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luvlyhyunjin · 1 month

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Thirty-Five - Flickers Of The Past I.

TW: mentions of disordered eating, diets, mental health issues and suicide.

wc: 8.3

playlist: dollhouse - melanie martinez / cardigan - taylor swift / until i found you - Stephen Sanchez

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The first time you ever saw Hyunjin you were seven years old. It was amid a hot June summer; the scorching hot weather and unforgiving sun were unrelenting. Swearing to make the process of you and your family moving into a new neighborhood absolute hell. Not for you though, the only thing that was causing you discomfort is your long hair. Adding unnecessary layer to provide heat on your neck and causing beads of sweat to roll down it.

Your mom had muttered countless excuses to you. Something about how this time your dad is finally gonna make it. His business is gonna flourish and soon enough you’ll be rich. You didn’t really understand what does having money make any difference? You only wanted three things right now, your mom, dad and one of the cookies that your mom had placed on a plate on the table in front of you. A rumbling in your tummy only confirms your hunger.

“Stay still Y/N.” she warns, pulling slightly on your hair as you had inched forward without noticing. You nodded earning a tsk in return. You stilled, shoulders slumped and trying not squirm in discomfort. The thigh highs your mom forced you to wear cling to your thighs in sweat. Your mom continued brushing your hair, tying your hair in pigtail to start working on the left section of your hair.

“Can I have a cookie mommy?” you ask with a hiss when she finally tied the remaining hair in a pigtail, like the right one. Your mom stood up; her brown hair falls beautifully over her shoulders, resembles silk. She sighs, a line of annoyance between her brows “it’s not time for your snacks yet Y/N.”

“But mommy I’m hungry” your small palm clutched the end of her red dress, a pout that would be described as adorable to anyone else but to your mom it was an eyesore. It was what she always said.

“Don’t be an eyesore Y/N. I don’t care if you’re hungry you need to wait.” She scolded with a stern voice and a glare you were too used to in her eyes. And just like that your small heart crumbles, breaking into pieces right at her feet. She turned away with a huff, her black heels stepping all over your broken heart. Breaking it into smaller pieces just to make sure that you won’t be able to pick it up.

You didn’t cry, despite the lingering heaviness in your heart. You told yourself it didn’t matter; your mom was probably just stressed. She always is whenever you guys moved and with this being the third time already in a year. She was probably overwhelmed. You adjusted the overall strap of your dress that had fallen to lie beside your elbow. An ache in your knees as you stood up. Your big eyes had stayed on the narrow corridor leading to your parent’s room.

You counted to ten and when there was no sign of your mom coming out, your small hand reached for one of the cookies in a hurry. Panic has your heart picking up its pace, a fear clinging to the tips of your fingers. Your other hand clutching the ear of your stuffed bunny, your small feet scrambling in hurry towards the door leaving a trail of cookie crumbs on the floor. The sound of the front door closing echoes in your empty house. Reminding your little mind that this isn’t home it’s nothing but another stop sign along the way.

Once you’re outside, you sit down on the steps of the front porch. Your stuffed bunny sitting by your leg as you chew away on your chocolate chip cookie. Humming in delight with a smile as you turn to watch the two boys playing soccer on your one of neighbor’s lawn. It wasn’t fun to watch simply because you did not understand a thing, did not understand if they were good or bad. Why was the girl cheering, on the ground with catlike eyes and a big smile. Was she cheering them both or one of them?

As if on instinct one of the boys had noticed you, leaving their game unattended to look at you. Locking eyes with you had you frozen in place, the cookie half way into your mouth. For an odd reason an uncomfortable feeling had travelled its way through your body, like you had been caught doing something you shouldn’t have perhaps that’s why when the boy with midnight black hair, a mole under his right eye, waved at you with overflowing excitement, your face burned, and you turned away. Walking back to your house in hurrying manner. A strange feeling in your chest. You blamed it on the boy’s smile, it was as bright as the sun.

Three weeks exactly after that you saw him again. You were waiting at the bus stop, short legs swinging back and forth as you sat comfortably on the wooden bench. Your dark hair is tied into a high ponytail and away from your face. Your pink skirt and matching thigh highs were added cuteness to your already chubby cheeks or at least that’s what the lady next door had said to you. It had earned you two small cartons of strawberry milk. One that is between your hands and its straw in your mouth while the other is protected in your pink bunny backpack.

The sound of sniffles had your ears perked up; attention stole. Looking to where they were coming from you saw a small boy, almost the same size as you, curled up on the sidewalk. Head in his hands. You eyed him curiously, a bit surprised by the number of adults passing by and not sparing him a glance. You weren’t really a brave kid, always more on the shy side, refusing to talk to strangers and clinging to your mother’s leg during social events. So, what you did next was definitely out of character for you.

Jumping down the bench, you threw your now empty carton of milk into a nearby trashcan. A hop in your step, the sun warming the coldness in your palms as you settled right beside him. Shoulders brushing and with your presence he looked up, eyes red and tear streaks over his pretty mole. You were surprised, didn’t expect it to be the boy from your neighborhood.

“Why are you crying?” you had asked, head tilting in spirit of inquiry. The boy eyes sharpen, a childish glint in them as he crossed his arms over his chest “I’m not crying!” he defended weakly, bottom lip trembling “mom said big boys like me never cry!” as if mocking him a tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another just to break down the act he worked so hard on putting on.

Your chest had tightened painfully in sympathy, an emotion you still didn’t know what to call.

“But it’s okay to cry when you’re sad doesn’t matter if you’re big or small.” The words came to your small brain like common sense, colored in innocence. He shook his head stubbornly, despite the sniffles escaping his mouth. Your own lips have formed into a pout, searching your brain for a way to make his sadness disappear.

“What happened?” you finally asked after a while, a black cat taking its place next to your leg. You scratched behind its ear with a smile and Hyunjin watched you with tear clouded vision.

“I-I think my dad is sick.” He muttered between sniffles; you furrowed your brows “tell him to take some medicine. Mommy always gives me that when I’m sick. It tastes awful but it makes me feel better.”

“I told my mom that too.” Hyunjin replies, his own hand reaching over your lap to scratch at the cat’s ears. It starts purring, eyes closed in bliss “but she says he’s sick in here.” He explains by pointing to his head with his index finger and a pout on his pink lips. You grow even more confused haven’t heard of people being sick in the head, but you keep quiet. Nodding in faux understanding as you tell yourself you should read about it later. A short silence settles between you two when the cat jumps into Hyunjin’s lap and curls on itself.

Hyunjin chuckles, the only evidence of his sadness is the lines of tears drying on his cheeks “she likes me!” Hyunjin mumbles cheerfully as he turns to you with a big smile, the same one you saw three weeks ago and that was as warm as the sun. You smile back at him “yeah.”

At the end of the street, you notice your familiar school bus making its way towards the stop “I have to go now.” You announce standing up and adjusting the straps of your backpack. Hyunjin pays you no mind, nodding slightly as he is too immersed in his excitement about petting the cat on his lap. You loiter, staring at the boy before unzipping your pink backpack and taking out the strawberry milk you were planning on drinking later.

“Take this.” You said, outstretching your hand to him with the carton. Hyunjin looked up, eyes widening slightly in surprise “I don’t like strawberry milk.”

“But why? It tastes good and it helps me when I’m feeling down.”

“Really?”

“Yes! I was feeling down this morning but now I’m so much better!” you boosted, an enthusiasm in your voice that had him growing slightly excited as well. He took it, a pink coloring his cheeks as this has been the first time he had ever taken anything from a girl aside from Yeji “Okay!”

“Later sad boy!” you waved with a big smile, his own words of protest left unsaid when you turned around and ran towards the bus stop.

After that day you never saw Hyunjin, not around the bus stop and nowhere around the neighborhood. You heard your mom and the women next door talk about how the Hwang’s moved away because her husband has passed away. It didn’t make much sense to you back then, but you only remember realizing that you never asked for his name, and he never asked for yours.

You don’t see Hyunjin again until you’re sixteen. It’s another wheel of destiny that spins you around just to throw you in the same spot as him, for you guys to clash into one another. But back then, you hadn’t realized it yet. It was a similar cycle, an old record that had played repeatedly till you memorized all the tracks. You had just moved to a new neighborhood, a house bigger than your last one, a more modern version than the last one with marble floors and big glass windows, a slick black aesthetically pleasing kitchen. It all meant nothing to your mom though, not good enough because even though your dad was making a lot more money than last year. He wasn’t rich enough for his name to mean something. It’s evident in the way your mom grumbles all afternoon, brows knitted and a scowl permanent on her face. You ignore her, lazing around on the couch in the living room and counting the number of black dots decorating the ceiling.

The faint sound of music coming from the turned on tv aids you in keeping your mind off your reality.

“Y/N! come on it’s time for your meal!” she calls for you from the kitchen, voice sounding a bit far just to remind you of the bigger space of this house. You sigh, rolling off the couch and onto your feet, passing by the unopened boxes and through foyer the only seems to grow longer with every house. You make it to the kitchen to be greeted with the plate your mom had made specifically for you, a bunch of steamed vegetables. Broccoli, carrots, and peas.

A sour taste settles in your throat, the emptiness of your stomach nudges to ask for more and you contemplate it, fingers drumming on the kitchen island.

“Can I at least have protein?” you finally ask, voice weak and unsure and your body wavers in similar weakness when your mom turns to face you with a hateful glare. As if she’s offended “You had protein for breakfast that’s enough.” She spits with disgust dousing her tone, and you don’t need her to say more to know exactly what she’s thinking, it’s the way her eyes trail over your body with a wrinkled nose. As if she hates to look at you.

“But I’m hungry.” You try to argue, ignoring the goosebumps raising on your body due to her harsh eyes.

“Being a little hungry won’t kill you Y/N. Now eat your food and shut up. You’re giving me a headache.” She rubs her hand over his face and then through her hair, an act of stress and your anxiety renders you mute. But your mother never stops and that’s always been her downfall. A greed that’s never full and it’s the same way with her mouth, always spilling venom and leaving it behind for you to clean up.

“Just look at your body, always talking about how hungry you are no wonder none of the diets are working.” She’s talking to herself, you realize that. And it’s not something you haven’t heard before, so you don’t know why it triggered you that day. Maybe it was another card destiny had thrown on your unfortunate table.

“I don’t fucking care about my body” the words have divulged from your mouth without warning, spilling like vomit. It was the first time you cursed in front of your mom, the first time you argued this long for a while, but you don’t get to dwell on the thought, don’t get to reflect long enough when her palms come in contact with your right cheek in a burning slap.

It’s not the first time she has hit you, it happened a few times before, so you wonder why does is it more agonizing each time? Why do your eyes still fill with tears and why does betrayal seep into your eyes, into your shocked look at her. As if she was anything different than a snake who sank her teeth into you. But she looks at you as if you’re a criminal who had stabbed her right in the heart, feed on it and threw the rest to dogs.

“Go to your room no food for you today.” It was a punishment you knew was waiting for you down the line the longer you had talked. And the best way to deal with all this was to take it but instead you run away. An ocean of tears had clouded your vision and you had somehow ended up on the beach. Sniffling as you hugged your legs to your body.

Now that you think about it you know fate had played you, placed you in another position where you would have no choice but to run into him, you had no choice but to be cursed by him but that’s not how you felt when his ball hit you, it’s not what you felt when even more tears had streamed down your face because what else could go wrong?

Frustration had bubbled in your blood, blending itself with your sadness to form a puddle of overwhelmingly painful emotions that you had no choice but to lay in. It gets worse when Hyunjin had jogged your worry, his apology dies on his tongue when you make eye contact with him. Teary yet fiery eyes pierce his soul, and he was never the type to be left speechless. It comes to him like a flame blown out from a candle and the heat burns him.

At his name being called, he picks his ball and turns away. The face of the crying girl on the beach leaves him awake an hour longer at night.

The second time you see Hyunjin it’s in the halls of your school. It was early in the morning, the halls bustling with students rushing to their first class. You were by your locker, getting your biology book out and once you closed it shut the last thing you expected to see that morning is the face of none other than Hyunjin. Leaning on the locker next to you with a tight smile on his face

“Hi.” He says and somehow his voice is nothing like you expected, it ends up being on the sweeter side, pleasant to hear.

“Hey?” you reply with an edge of confusion in your tone, clear enough that it makes him nervous. Pushing a hand through his already pushed back black hair “I’m Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin.” You nod signaling for him to continue, by now you already knew who Hyunjin was. It was impossible not to know him when his name was on everyone’s tongue. The talk about the endless impressive acts of his are a record you had to endure daily from every student you come across. From his outstanding dance skills at the dance club to his impressive plays on the field during soccer games. Getting the captain title was a piece of cake for him, a piece he hadn’t even planned on eating, but it ended up right on his plate by its own.

His silence stretches a minute or two too long as if he’s waiting for you to say something back, when you don’t, he clears his throat in attempt to regain his missing confidence “Uh- I hit you with my ball last week. At the beach? Remember?”

“I do,”

“Great! Uh I’m sorry about that.”

“it’s okay.” You assure with a smile in hope it will dissipate the awkwardness “how is your head by the way?” he trails bunglingly, fingers pointing to your head.

“I still have my memories so I’m probably fine” You reply with a soft smile. Amusement swims in your eyes at the way he acts, the way he won’t meet your eyes for longer than a second before they travel elsewhere. Randomly staring at a few lockers away.

Hyunjin’s blush colored lips twitch upwards in mimicking smile, a breath of a chuckle escapes him “that’s a relief.” He says, bouncing on the heels of his feet with his hands buried in the front pockets of his school uniform.

Another awkward silence settles between you two, he looks as if he has something more to say but the words won’t come out, you try not to rush him, try to wait for him to just spit out but when it stretches. You clear your throat to capture his wandering eyes, they lock with yours, widening as a nervous pink blush takes its place on his pale cheeks “Well I better head to class.”

“Yeah of course.” He nods. Taking a step to the side to move out of the way and with another faint smile of yours you go on your own way. Once you pass by him the smell of peaches and cream coats the inside of your nose and stays there far longer than you anticipated.

If you count the time, you’re sure it’s exactly sixty seconds and if you’re a little bit off then it won’t be more than eighty seconds before you feel his hand circle your wrist, halting your movement with a rushed out “wait!”

His palm is warm, yet his rings are cold as ice, and they leave you more buzzled when you turn to look at him with inquisitive eyes.

“Your name,” he sounds breathless, and you wonder why “you didn’t tell me your name.” the halls had started to empty, reminding you that you’re late to your first period already. The dying noise brings attention to the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and something else in the distance. If you focus hard enough you swear you could hear the chirping of birds as if they’re signaling the beginning of something you aren’t aware of yet.

If your life was a book this will be the chapter where everything changes and flips upside down, the chapter where you begin to see how large the real world is compared to this small bubble you thought was the world. And all what it’d take is a singular look at Hyunjin’s dark eyes. And if this was somehow a movie it would be the beginning of a fairytale like arc and a soft tune with overflowing lovestruck words would be playing right now. Swirling around and tempting you into a spell that tastes like nothing but pure gold and affection.

But this wasn’t a book nor a movie.

“Y/N” you say “Song Y/N.”

This was a game fate had started and choose you as the main player. The only problem was the rules were never explained and your purpose has yet to be found. Years later when you look back at your meeting you remember how Hyunjin never asked you about the fact that you were crying or the glaringly obvious red mark on your cheek.

You’re thankful.

The next time you see Hyunjin it’s in detention. Given his reputation you shouldn’t be surprised but given your reputation he is more than surprised when he notices you there. His bored and cold stare had transformed into a wide eyed one, eagerness filling his limbs into jumbled tapping of his foot on the floor. Grinding on his teeth as he chewed slowly on his mint flavored gum. Eyes pasted at you, you who was sitting a few seats way from him, you who was too immersed in whatever you were doing on your notebook to spare a glance in his way. Your dark hair falling over the side of your face like a barrier depriving him of stealing glances at your face. It left him withering away in disappointment he didn’t quite understand.

Truth, is you didn’t deserve to be here, well at least partly. Last night you stayed late, working on a brand-new idea you had for a jacket design. You were so focused on it and hadn’t realized the number of hours that had passed by. Once your neck had started aching from your position, fingers sore, you had finally looked at the clock placed next you, you were shocked to see it’s already 3 am. So, when you ended up dozing off the next day and falling asleep in chem class. You did not expect the punishment to be detention. You had argued with your teacher. It was a bad idea because it only resulted in a week worth of detention.

However, now that you’re here you realize it is not that bad. It was quiet, the other students dozing off along with the teacher that was assigned to watch you. It was an opportunity for you to finish your designs. Away from your mother’s nagging and your father’s freezing stare.

You feel it then, something hitting your shoulder to steal your attention from your drawing. You look down at the crumpled piece of paper by your shoes.

Hyunjin gauges your reaction, watches as you elegantly tuck your hair behind your ear. Brows furrowing in confusion as you bend down and pick up the paper. Pulling your pretty lips into an even prettier pout as you open the paper only to find it empty. Only to discern it was an attempt to capture an ounce of your attention. You’re surrounded in softness that has him drowning in jealousy, wishing he was a piece of paper just to be held by you.

He watches as your eyes scan the room, looking for a culprit to blame and then they’re landing on him. Bullseye.

Hyunjin plays his role way too well, leans in his chair with his soccer varsity jacket on. A spread in his legs. Undeterred by the speeding beats of his heart, palms watering in nervous sweat the longer your darling eyes are on him. His own hand raises in a wave, a wink colored in confidence he lacked last time is thrown your way. You feel a wave of shyness wash over you at his unexpected forwardness. Your lips curl into a sheepish smile, a shake of your head as you look away and back down at your notebook.

As if you have given him the green light. Energy surges through his body, overshadowing his nerves and he moves as if your smile has been a magic spell you so willingly put on him. And the empty seat in front of you is taken by him. You smell him before you see him, a whirlwind of emotions swim through you when he’s face to face with you, his back to the sleeping teacher.

“Song Y/N.” he greets with a grin, charm clings to his features and your eyes linger on his mole. Sending familiarity to your mind. Raking through it but finding nowhere to place it.

“Hwang Hyunjin.” You greet back, leaning back in your seat, arms stretching in front of you to cover your notebook.

His eyes flicker to it momentarily before going back to your face. A fresh glint is in there, a pleasant one like he’s happy you remember his name.

“Didn’t expect to see you here.” There’s a pleasant breathy edge to his voice.

“I don’t fit in here?” you ask playfully, tilting your head and he’s almost suffocating on your beauty. Didn’t think it’s possible for someone like you to exist.

“Good girls don’t belong in detention.”

“How do you know I’m a good girl? I might have a wild side to me.” You challenge with a raised brow. With his heart beating wildly in his chest when he reaches forward, his fingers drum on the wood of your table almost brushing against your hand “I’d love to see that.”

You hum, his hand radiating heat that spreads through your body despite the fact that he isn’t touching you “well I expected seeing you here, so I guess that helps with your bad boy image.” You comment.

“Bad boy image?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that why you walk around with a cigarette tucked behind your ear?”

“Oh.” His other hand reaches for the poisonous stick he forgot he placed there “that’s why everyone was glaring at me earlier.”

There’s a short silence that fills the small spaces between your bodies, melting on your skin and in your throat begging you to speak the longer his eyes watch you “what are you here for?” you ask after a while, Hyunjin blinks as if he had forgotten the moment he was in, as if he was lost in you, aa if you were anything deserving to get lost in.

“I got caught smoking in the bathroom.” He says stonily “and you?”

“I got caught sleeping in class,” you reply with a shrug, and he chuckles, amused at how different you two are in the best possible way. It ignites something in him, waters a field he didn’t know was abandoned in his heart.

“What are you writing?” he asks, pointing with his eyes at the notebook you’re still hiding. You hesitate, gnawing on your bottom lip before tentatively removing your hands, allowing him to look. And he does, ever so eager as his eyes study the sketch of your design.

“You did this?” he asks with wide shinning eyes, and you wordlessly nod “Y/N it’s amazing!”

“You really think so?” you ask and Hyunjin’s grin widens in response “yes! You’re so talented holy fuck!” he exclaims in strives to convince you. His tone raising in volume before he slaps his hand to his mouth, eyes wide and he turns around to check if he disturbed the sleep of the teacher. He still snores peacefully.

You break into a fit of giggles, a sound he did not expect to hear and when he turns back to you. Your small hand is covering your mouth. The sight has butterflies roaming through his stomach, violently as if fighting for a way to come out. His own lips stretching into a smile until your laughter dies down, settling into an awkward silence as you avoid his eyes.

“You’re cute, Song Y/N.” he says absentmindedly, as if he didn’t mean for them to run away from his mind to his tongue but he doesn’t flatter, doesn’t take it away and you bask in the way it makes you feel. In the way your face burns as you grip your pencil and resumed the swirls of your hand, running away from his words only for them to hunt you down again.

The rest of detention had passed in a tranquil silence, despite the windows being closed you had felt incredibly warm. It courses through your heart, bumping life into the dull ache that has settled there. The warmth of Hyunjin’s gaze had lingered, it seared on your being even after weeks of not seeing him again.

You don’t see Hyunjin for a long while after that, not until the end of the semester. A week before summer break and during preparation for your school’s summer festival. A yearly event that they held. In the midst of your group making a sign with unmatching colors for your class you had ran out of color, grumbling and complaining they argued on who should go get more “I’ll go get it.” You volunteered, killing their argument successfully and earning thank yous in return.

You strolled along the running track on your way to the main building taking your time as you had grown tired from working all day. It felt like a nice break. Your hand swings back and forth capping and uncapping the sharpie pen you didn’t realize you picked up when you got up. Your eyes linger to your left, watching the soccer practice that is taking place. It wasn’t hard to notice him, the star of the team. The hushed whispers of nearby students remind you that you’re all enamored by the same person.

It is these specific moments that have you grasping the reality of how different you and Hyunjin are. It dawns on you like a cold bucket of water, you didn’t think about it much, didn’t think about him much but it’s like when you see him you can’t stop. Every time you see him you know he will haunt your mind for a few nights after. Perhaps that’s why your steps had come to a stop. Hyunjin had once again managed to filch attention you weren’t willing to give but that was just the kind of person he was. He easily captured the attention of everyone around him, admiring him. That’s the thing with Hyunjin, it was so easy to admire him. And maybe that’s why you had made it a challenge with yourself to be different. To not be a person who waits around the corner just to steal a look at him.

When Hyunjin notices you, eyes widen in gleam and a beam on his face. You don’t think about how fast you fail. And when he waves at you from a distance. A scene so strikingly familiar it has you confused. Your challenge collapses as fast as it comes, lying pathetically by your feet as you wait, just like every other admirer you wait as Hyunjin says something to his teammates. Two of them you recognize because they’re always around him, Lee Felix and Kim Seungmin. You had smiled at them, in attempts to be friendly and kind. It was part of your building reputation after all.

Back then, you were once again proven to be naïve. Constantly pushed into the shadow as destiny liked to fuck with you. You didn’t know it back then, that soon enough Kim Seungmin, the Seungmin you smiled so willingly at would be the same person who’s aiming a blade at you, you didn’t know the amount of pain he’d inflict on you.

Hyunjin is jogging towards you as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he isn’t fast enough, his soccer uniform is a tad too big on him. His lithe body leaves space.

“Song Y/N.” he’s out of breath when he’s next to you, sweat rolling down his exposed forehead as he grins at you.

“Hwang Hyunjin.” You greet back as usual.

“I didn’t know you were watching me.” His hand starts wiping away at his sweat, brushing through his hair multiple times as if he’s suddenly feeling self-conscious about his disheveled appearance. It has smile tugging at the corner of your lips “I was just passing by,” you explain lightly, a palpable tension oozes around you the longer he keeps his eyes on you. His stare burns as hot as the sun above.

“Nice ears by the way,” he comments, eyes flickering to the top of your head, and you subconsciously reach for it, your hand touches the fake fur of your cat ears that you had completely forgot you put on. Your face burns in embarrassment while his eyes light up as if witnessing a rare scene.

“My class is doing a cat slash zodiac café thing.” You fumble with your words to explain, your nerves show in the way you go back to capping and uncapping the lid of your pen “sounds like a lot, Y/N.”

“It is.” You answer shortly and he hums into the momentary silence “what’s your zodiac sign?” he suddenly asks and you’re thankful for the change of subject, you show him your wrist, the symbol of your sign your group had drawn for you.

“What’s yours?” you ask, tone curious and gentle. Feels like feathers against his skin as he swallows back nothing “not sure, I was born on the 20th of march.”

“Ah, you’re a Pisces.”

“What does that mean?” he wonders, eyebrows furrowing in thought.

“That you’re a sensitive baby.” You let a playful smile climb to the corners of your lips, lifting over the wall of slight awkwardness that stays around you two. He pauses at the glimpse of it, his own lips quirking upwards, and he rolls his eyes “are we at least compatible?”

“I think we might be the worst match out there.” You reply, giggling faintly. Hyunjin watches you, a garden of flowers blossom in his throat, taking every word he could say back to you. Your softness is prodigious, delicate in ways he wasn’t aware of.

“I have to go.” You say after a while and Hyunjin blinks rapidly, realizes he had done nothing but stare at you like a fool.

“Wait,” his voice is hoarse, his hand that stop you only touch you for a mere minute before he retracts it, it leaves you burning for more “Can I uh-“ he nervously rubs the back of his neck with his hand, eyes lolling everywhere “Can I have your Instagram or something?”

“I don’t really use Instagram.”

“oh.” Hyunjin’s eyes drop in disappointment, so glaringly obvious and you feel like a criminal who had stolen his light. Maybe you felt sorry and maybe that’s why you decided to light a match for him.

“I can give you my number instead.”

Was it then? That your heart had decided to surrender? Or was it when he messaged you for the first time that night with a link to an article, talking about how your signs are in fact compatible.

When was it exactly that you had become a willing victim of his?

On the last night of your summer break you saw Hyunjin again, passing by a skate park in your off white vintage two-piece your mother had picked out for you, your heels leaves a dull ache in your body leaving a trail of disappointment behind you with every step you take, evidence of another failed blind date your mother had set you up on.

“Hwang Hyunjin.” You had spoken first that night and he froze, a cigarette mid-way to his lips as he stared at you in complete awe. As if he couldn’t believe you were real, as if you were a mirage and you were gonna be gone if he blinks. You looked so beautiful to him, you always did. You were the only person capable of making his breath hitch.

“Song Y/N.” he says breathlessly “Wow! You look amazing,” his eyes rake over you appreciatively, you were incredulously pretty. A goddess that threats to steal his remaining sanity.

“Thank you,” you mumble, something akin to relief had spread through your body at the sight of him, you hadn’t realize how rigid you were until your eyes met, melting the tension in the folds of your feature with a single glance of his.

Have you already surrendered?

“Back from a date?” he asks clearing his throat after noticing how hard he was staring at you, he twirls the white stick of poison between his fingers. How lucky, you can’t help but think.

“A blind date,” you specify “it was horrible.” You trail off, eyes fliting to his group of friends behind him before they’re back on him.

You’re not sure of what kind of expression you had on, not sure if Hyunjin had maybe pitied you. If maybe he felt nicer than he’d like and that’s why you ended up sitting next to each other on the beach. He lent you his dark flannel and you used it to cover your bare legs. Your shoulders bump as he splits his sandwich in half and hands you the bigger piece. Your heart was beating wildly, the warmth of his shoulder somehow spreads through your entire being leaving you wondering how could a single person radiate this much warmth?

“It’s kinda spicy,” he says through a bite, acting so naturally and it’s unfair the way he leaves you caught between his dark eyes and his nice gestures.

“I like spicy food,” you retorted taking a bite from your own half, he hums, watches as you chew and doesn’t look away until you’re nodding in satisfaction.

“So, how bad was your date?”

“It had me questioning if I’m even attracted to men. That bad.” Hyunjin chuckles but doesn’t say anything, he looks captivated by you. Watches the way your fingers wipe off the corner of your mouth despite it being clean, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear. The way you hum in delight as you take another bite of your sandwich, the sullen expression you had earlier is nowhere in sight. Was it normal to be this interested in such small mannerism? He felt peculiar.

“Do you think soulmates exist?” You ask after a while of silence, tone soft and content and your food is long gone.

“My answer is a little complicated.”

“Tell me, “You say, turning to look at him as you lay your head on your bent knees. He sees the moon in the flickers of light in your eyes. How exceptional you are, stealing the attention of the great moon. How could he ever not be defeated by you?

“I do think soulmates exist, but I don’t everyone is lucky to meet their own.”

“How come?”

“I just don’t think it’s not realistic for everyone to meet their soulmate. Not everyone can be lucky and happy that’s not how the world works.” He replies with a shrug, mirroring you as he leans his head on his knees. The sound of the waves fills the empty spaces between your words “What about you? Do you believe in soulmates?”

“I don’t,”

“Why?”

“I don’t know I just don’t think they exist. I don’t believe in forever and all that other stuff.”

“You don’t think someone is gonna love you forever someday?” he asks, tone soft and faint. And somehow it feels like there’s no room in your heart anymore for oxygen. It’s all taken by him. And you’re suddenly consumed by him without realizing it. His delicacy waters your heart, it’s in the flannel on your legs, in the scent that had now stuck to your body and it’s in the food you shared. His tenderness was unwonted for you.

Is that why you craved for more? Is that why you wondered if you could just fall?

“The idea of loving someone forever sounds ridiculous.” Hyunjin never said anything back to that, a tranquil hush had fallen over you two. Both of you quietly gaze at each other, entranced by one another. And a foolish little sparkle had formed in the middle of your heart, spreading its light through your being and birthing even more sparkles into your soul.

Was this another a test by destiny you failed or was it possible for him to fall too

Hyunjin had lingered by your doorstep that night, swaying on his feet. The night breeze is cooling as it brushes against you. And his flannel is now around you. His scent mixes with yours, leaving you feeling intoxicated.

“What?” you asked with a hint of a smile. He lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes vulnerable as they stare you down. “I’m just feeling somewhat sad.” he makes no attempt to conceal it.

“Why?” your voice sounded as frail as your swaying feelings.

“I don’t know. I guess I regret spending the entire summer chickening out when everyday could have been like today.”

Back then you had found his sadness to be indiscreetly foolish . It’s not like you were gonna dissolve into thin air. You had next summer and the one after. You had the upcoming winter and the one after. You had so much time coming or at least that’s what you thought. You wonder if Hyunjin felt it, if he felt your time running out already and just like you, he had desperately tried to clutch onto it. To squeeze himself into every passing second where you coexisted in the same space.

You didn’t know it then, that your own words would return to you tenth fold. You didn’t know that the words you spoke ever so causally were gonna be your dreading reality. You didn’t know you’d break down to the point where you’d hold on to a sliver line of hope wishing for it to someday bleed into the forever you once said you didn’t believe in.

You were constantly at the edge of your seat, every time Hyunjin had turned his back to you it left you drowning even more and wondering if tomorrow he’s gonna be there. You had prepared yourself all this time and yet when Hyunjin turned his back to you for the last time. It broke you.

The sliver of hope had ended up killing you.

Looking back at it now you think that your sixteenth summer might have been the last moments of your sincerity, the last few moments before change had barged in, breaking your door down and taking place in you to turn you into something you weren’t able to escape. a snake that you pretended to like being in the skin of.

On the morning of your 17th birthday the planets had shifted and just like always you were a pawn in this game fate liked to play. your fairytale like arc had ended. To commingle into something new, an agony that had spreads its roots into your life. Vow to not never leave unless it made a mark on you, unless it sucked the life out of and diluted you to nothing but an immense penumbra.

You were taking a stroll outside on your bicycle, the wind dancing its way in your hair. A cool breeze that draws a smile on your face settling into a peaceful warmth in the center of your chest. You hadn’t anticipated the break of it all. The dull darkness that had replaced every sense of and shape of light you had ever known. It all came in sudden waves, seeing your dad’s car parked three streets away was a surprise that had soon melted into curiosity as you inched closer to look. You didn’t think of why, didn’t think about the consequences. You were naive and that became your downfall when you peeked inside the car and saw your dad with another woman, your dad kissing another woman, your dad’s hand in another woman’s hair.

That morning you had experienced your first heartbreak, and it was caused by no one other than your own father.

“Make a wish Y/N.” your mother said, placing the sugar free vanilla cake she had purchased two days ago, and you ended up seeing in fridge in front of you. You didn’t feel happy, not an excited bone in your body. Instead, all you felt was betrayal and rage, melting into liquid to run through your veins. It transmitted through your eyes, sharp as they glared at your father who sat across of you. Sipping on his coffee.

“Go on.” Your mom urged you with a push to your shoulder. You stared at the candle, your heart catching on fire alongside it. You close your eyes, you draw in a deep, shuddering breath. And you blow on it. Your mother doesn’t clap and neither does your father. He’s scrolling through his phone and your mother takes the cake from in front of you.

“I’ll give you a piece after dinner.” She says and you wordlessly nod. Fresh pain swims in you the longer you look at him, the longer you notice how indifferent he looked. Was a guilty man supposed to be this relaxed? Did he even care? Just for how long he has been doing this? The questions overwhelm you, leaving you feeling choked.

Your phone’s screen lights up and your eyes flicker to the coming message.

Hyunjin: Meet you at our spot in 5? I have something I wanna give you.

“I’m going out for a bit,” you announce, standing up from your seat with one last glare sent your father’s way.

“What? Dinner’s almost ready. Where are you going?” your mother scolded, followed you as you were putting on your shoes “I’m seeing Hyunjin for a bit.” You explained frigidly, not letting her huff of annoyance affect you.

“Again? All you do is spend time with that Hwang kid! I told you a million times he isn’t good-“you close the door shut with a slam.

Once you see Hyunjin standing on the beach, his back to you as he stared at the sea immersed in the crashing waves, you felt the same waves crash against the walls of your heart. Washing it into a tempest of blues that you didn’t even know you were capable of feeling. It wraps around your ankles and drags you down, threatening to make you one with the sand. Taking wobbly steps to him, you wish it would happen.

“Hyunjin.” You call once you’re close, once you’re in an appropriate distance for your heart not to jump and attack his. He turns around and your heart is weaker than you hope for. Jumping out of your grasp and into him.

Please give it back.

“Y/N!” his voice is airy, light enough to blend in with your blood, light enough to have you wishing he was running through your veins.

“Hey.” You breath in faux cheerfulness, a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes but he doesn’t get to dwell on it because with three quick steps he’s in your presence, destroying your safe distance as he pulls you into him with a hug, arms around your waist. His scent invades your space and your fingers desperately clutch the fabric of his white shirt, tears brimming in your waterline.

When he pulls back, his cold hands are cupping your cheeks. It has goosebumps and tingles littering along your spine. “what’s wrong?” he asks gently, his concerned eyes search your own. Letting loose, your tears fall like a waterfall that can’t be stopped “I’m just overwhelmed.” You chuckle, humorlessly.

“About what?”

“I’m getting old,” you sniffle and Hyunjin is smiling, a comfort he doesn’t know he can provide “you’re an idiot Y/N.” he shakes his head at you, and you agree.

“Well hopefully this will cheer you up.” He tells you, eyes glinting with happiness you wish to never leave him, you wish for him to always shine this brightly and maybe that’s why you didn’t tell him back then, the burden you carried felt too heavy for his softening gaze. You watch as he reaches in his pocket, he gauges your reactions as he pulls out a silver chain, a bracelet. Eyes dancing with overflowing emotions as he clasps it around your wrist.

You look at it only to realize that the letter ‘H’ dangles at the end of it, he raises his own wrist to show you a matching chain around his, your initial dangles from it “We’re matching.” He tells you with a grin and just like that Hyunjin had once again managed to pick the broken pieces of your heart and glue it together with emotions you shouldn’t feel.

You bury your face in your hands, overwhelmed and stolen away again by his charm. He had pulled you from the sinking sand under your feet and into his embrace instead. Wrapping you into the delicacy you run away from only to end up drowned in.

The day you turned seventeen your serial mendacious had began with two lies, the first was a witless venture to protect your family. You thought if you kept quiet then you could save them maybe someday, you’ll be able to mend them back together. It was an idiotic idea.

The second lie didn’t matter because you were certain Hyunjin would never feel the same way about you. It was an idiotic idea to explore as well. How could the sun possibly be attached to a dying speck of light?

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sightofsea · 6 months

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147 for the ineffable beauties because i’m a basic ass bitch

this took a hot sec but here ya go!

147. "Tell me again."

The bench is in the middle of nowhere. They've been meeting in the middles of nowheres a lot recently: at picnic tables in littered children's parks, on the hoods of cars in empty car parks, inside of a Korean restaurant named Park's in some strip mall in Iowa. This middle of nowhere is a rhododendron garden, tucked away in some neighborhood with just a bulletin board to acknowledge its presence.

It's after closing, yet the fountain still runs. Probably to keep the pipes from freezing, Aziraphale had suggested, when Crowley asked. And then they talked as they usually have, during these visits: stunted sentences. Business talk, you understand, about the end of the world and such. How to stop it, et cetera. Nothing more, Crowley, you have to understand. This is strictly a transactional exchange.

So they talk business. They exchange things--words mostly--and then as most conversations do, it veers. It twists and turns and does a U-ey until there's a pause. A pregnant pause at that, five days overdue and with ankles so swollen its legs might as well be tree trunks.

The water continues to run. The air smells like rain approaching.

"Tell me again," Aziraphale says finally. "Just one more time."

Crowley considers this. A part of him--a big part--wants to start begging. But he's got to have his dignity, of whatever's left of it.

"No."

Aziraphale blinks. "No?" he asks, voice pitched high.

"No," Crowley says, shaking his head and licking the front of his teeth. He gives the angel a small, sad smile. "Once was enough, don't you think?"

"Not for me," Aziraphale says truthfully.

Crowley leans back on the bench and crosses his legs. "Too bad, so sad," he drawls, and contemplated the sky above them. Cloudy, heavy. Rain knocking on their door.

He waits for the space next to him to go empty. That's usually how conversations like this have gone as of late. Instead, it's still occupied. In it sits one angel, fidgeting with his hands, blinking rapidly and swallowing. Crowley feels the lady of his dignity start to crumble. "Oh, don't...don't do the--"

Aziraphale takes in a deep breath and steels himself, as if caught out. "The what?"

Crowley groans and gestures. "The eyes, the lip, the--"

Aziraphale starts to wipe at his face, but it only serves to make things worse. "I can't help it, now can I?" he asks.

"Well why would you wanna hear it again?" Crowley asks genuinely. Aziraphale stares at him in confusion. "Hm? Words all...jumbled and, and half--half something or other. All full of...of..."

Love. Affection. Care. He tries to remember the speech he gave and comes up empty on the specifics, but the emotions wash over him again. He swallows them back.

"Can't even get them out now," Crowley says, voice suddenly too small in his mouth. "I don't see the point, really. I said one thing, you said another, and now we're..." He tries to grasp onto some concrete definition of what they are. "...here."

He gestures to the garden. Aziraphale looks around, as if trying to find a response somewhere between the moss and the thick leaves. He fidgets a little more. It takes all of Crowley's might to not curl around him.

He must find the words somewhere, perhaps under a rock or something, because he stops his fidgeting. "Maybe," he says, anxiously angling himself towards Crowley, "I want a do over."

Crowley's internal organs do a funny thing involving a clove hitch and perhaps a somersault. "A do--a do over?" he stutters out.

Aziraphale nods. "Yes."

"Oh," Crowley says. Then he tries, very very hard, to remember his whole speech. He comes up woefully short. "Um." Come on, think! THINK! "Uhh." Right, okay. He can be smooth about this. "A-Actions speak louder than words, I think."

Aziraphale blinks, and smiles pleasantly. "I happen to agree."

Right. Okay. Jesus--Adam, whoever. Okay, time for action. "So..." Crowley says, and lifts a hand. Towards what, he's not entirely sure. He supposes the other angel's hand--kissing didn't go very well last time, did it? So, yeah. Crowley lifts a hand, and then places over Aziraphale's, and feels like he's just climbed Kilimanjaro.

He looks at Aziraphale, unsure. Aziraphale smiles and also lifts a hand. Now that's interesting, Crowley thinks, triple hand hold. Didn't know you could do that.

He's midway through that thought when Aziraphale's hand goes for his tie and pulls him in lips first. After that, things go a bit fuzzy. There's hands, he knows that. Quite bit of gripping from both parties, and something involving a bit of tongue and teeth that causes his kneecaps to liquify. If actions speak louder than words, then Aziraphale is practically shouting. Crowley happily gets the message.

"How was that?" Aziraphale asks when they pull apart. He hand is still on Crowley's tie. "As a do-over."

Crowley's mental facilities struggle to recover. They aren't helped by the fact that Aziraphale's twirling the tie around his finger. "Wh--uh, hoooo...yup," Crowley eloquently puts it. He clears his throat. "Might, um. Might need a, um. A couple--few more--"

"A few more tries?" Aziraphale asks.

"Yeah," Crowley breathes out.

Aziraphale takes in a shaky breath. "Well," he says, and starts pulling at the tie again. It starts to rain. Neither of them notice. "Let it never be said I've been anything but thorough."

#my fic #good omens fic

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yoonavii · 10 months

Text

𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒

Regency Era! Law x Reader

Description: Lady Y/N defies societal norms with her down-to-earth nature, setting her apart from other noble ladies. During her debut, she captures the attention of numerous suitors, but her heart is unexpectedly drawn to Lord Trafalgar Law, a brooding and mysterious Duke known for his coldness towards women. As their relationship develops, they face the challenges of unraveling Lord Trafalgar’s enigmatic nature and navigating their contrasting personalities amidst societal expectations. Will their connection withstand the obstacles they encounter? or will it crumble?

A/N: this is chapter one of the law x reader fic. more chapters will come out in the future! important note that paragraphs that are italic and in third person is narration.

In the heart of London's upscale neighborhood, an estate of remarkable stature commanded attention. This magnificent home, a testament to great wealth and refined taste, stood as a beacon of opulence and grandeur. The exterior showcased high-end architecture, its facade adorned with intricate carvings and decorative elements that spoke to the exquisite craftsmanship of the time.

Stepping through the imposing entrance, one would find themselves immersed in a world of luxury and sophistication. Expensive furniture, meticulously crafted and upholstered in sumptuous fabrics, graced every room. Plush velvet sofas and ornate chaise lounges invited guests to relax in regal comfort, while gilded mirrors and marble-topped tables added an air of elegance to the surroundings.

Amidst the resplendent interior, a large painting adorned one of the walls, becoming a focal point of the estate. The painting depicted a prestigious family, their esteemed lineage evident in their refined fashion and exquisite jewelry. Most of the family members, portrayed with stoic expressions, showcased the composure expected of their social standing.

Yet, amidst this tableau of solemn faces, one figure stood out—-a young lady named Y/n. With her radiant smile and lively countenance, she brought an unexpected burst of joy and vibrancy to the portrait. Her presence in the painting captivated all who gazed upon it, drawing their attention with her captivating charm.

Y/n's image exuded a magnetic energy. Her vibrant dress, adorned with delicate lace and intricate embroidery, mirrored the effervescence that emanated from her every feature. It was as if her smile had the power to breathe life into the static canvas, leaving an indelible impression on all who beheld her likeness.

————-

Momentarily the front door swings open. you step into the grand entrance hall, accompanied by your family, returning from a long and tiring trip in Germany. The housemaids, lined up to greet your arrival, stand there, eager to offer their salutations. Your family members, weary and preoccupied, pass by the maids with indifference, their focus on reaching the comforts of home. But you pause and break away from the crowd.

A warm smile graces your face as you approach the housemaids. You understand their tireless efforts and the integral role they play in the functioning of the estate. Despite your high status, you have developed a genuine bond with the maids and staff, treating them with the respect and kindness they deserve. you silently greet the housemaids, your smile a reflection of the camaraderie you share. Your actions speak volumes, conveying your appreciation and gratitude for their hard work. You recognize that no matter their station, every member of the household contributes to its smooth operation. Through such actions, you instill a sense of belonging, making the maids and the rest of the staff feel seen and valued.

“Welcome back Viscountess” a few maids spoke to your mother, their voices brimming with warmth and respect. she completely ignores their well-intentioned greetings. Instead, she launches into a tirade about the bone-chilling coldness she experienced in Germany, directing her complaints toward your father, the Viscount. Her voice carries a tone of dissatisfaction, echoing through the grand entrance hall. “Darling,” she begins, her breath visible in the slightly chilly air, “I can’t believe how frigid it was in Germany. The weather was unbearable, and I simply couldn’t enjoy a single moment!”

Your father, already grumpy from the long journey and his own frustrations, offers a dismissive wave of his hand, clearly uninterested in her grievances. “Oh, stop your complaining,” he retorts, his tone laced with irritation. “We’ve returned now, haven’t we? No need to dwell on it.” Summoning the butler with an impatient snap of his fingers, your father abruptly changes the subject, demanding that the meeting for the town’s gentlemen club be arranged. His voice carries a brusque authority as he addresses the butler. “Smithson, I need you to arrange a meeting for the gentlemen's club. The sooner, the better.” Smithson, the butler, trained to fulfill your father’s every command, quickly approaches, his expression neutral and professional. He acknowledges the order with a deferential nod. “Of course, my Lord. I shall make the necessary arrangements promptly.”

Your younger sister and brother were escorted by their nannies to their rooms, their playful voices echoing through the hallways. However, your governess awaited you by the stairs, a figure you disliked immensely. She was strict and overbearing, making you feel suffocated in her presence. As you approached the stairs, she held out her hand, expecting you to take it and be guided up the staircase as usual.

Summoning your courage, you address the governess with a polite tone. “May I go up the stairs on my own this time?” The governess gazes at you with an unyielding expression, her stern demeanor unaltered. “Absolutely not, Y/n,” she responds firmly, her voice carrying a tone of authority. “As a young lady of your age and high status, it is imperative that you adhere to the rules and traditions that govern your position. You are not to go up or down the stairs without a servant or trusted adult present.”

You let out a frustrated sigh, feeling the weight of her words pressing upon you. “But I am capable of managing the stairs on my own!” you assert, your voice laced with determination. “I desire a sense of independence and responsibility.” The governess’s gaze intensifies as she counters your plea. “Independence will come in due time, Y/n.” she insists, her tone unwavering. “For now, it is my duty to ensure your safety and proper conduct. The rules have been set for a reason, and it is my role to enforce them.” Resigned to the reality of the situation, you reluctantly extend your hand toward the governess, a subtle gesture of submission. “Very well,” you concede, your voice tinged with disappointment. “Lead the way.”

As your fingers lay atop with the governess’s, you continue up the stairs together, a blend of frustration and determination swirling within you. While the governess’s presence remains an unwelcome reminder of your restricted autonomy, you quietly resolve to find small ways to assert your individuality and independence within the confines of the estate.

As you finally make it to your room, a surge of frustration and determination courses through you. Standing in the doorway, you block your governess from entering, asserting yourself with a resolute tone. “I require privacy,” you declare, slamming the door shut in her surprised face. To your astonishment, the governess, taken aback by your display of defiance, obeys and leaves you alone.

Sighing with relief, you take a moment to collect yourself. Walking further into your room, you intend to find solace and a moment of peace. However, your tranquility is short-lived as you suddenly hear a rustling sound, causing you to jump back in alarm. To your surprise, a maid emerges from your bathroom, holding a towel and an empty bucket. The maid’s presence startles you momentarily, but she quickly apologizes for the scare.

Taking in the maid’s appearance, you notice that she is fairly young, perhaps around your own age. Despite your initial shock, the maid exudes a sense of politeness and shyness. Curiosity piqued, you addressed her. “Are you my new maid?” you ask, your voice filled with genuine interest. The maid nods shyly in response. “Yes, Miss. I have been assigned as your new maid,” she confirms, her voice soft and respectful. She pauses for a moment before adding, “I apologize for any inconvenience or startle I may have caused you.” You offer her a comforting smile, instantly appreciating the maid’s polite demeanor. “No need to apologize. I understand it’s part of your duties,” you reassure her, wanting to alleviate any discomfort she may be feeling. “What’s your name?”

The maid’s eyes meet yours briefly, her shyness apparent. “My name is Emily, Miss,” she answers, her voice barely above a whisper. Your curiosity deepens, and you feel a connection forming between you. “Well, Emily, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say warmly. “I look forward to working with you and getting to know you better.” Emily’s shy smile brightens her features as she responds, “Thank you, Miss. I too look forward to serving you.”

As your mother sits in her chamber, discontentment permeates the air, her maids carefully changing her into a fresh set of clothes. Grievances escape her lips under her breath, a reflection of the frustrations that weigh upon her. Seeking control and release, she casts a scrutinizing gaze towards her head maid, her voice laced with authority as she issues her command. “Ready a carriage for me tonight,” she demands, her determination evident. Her intentions remain veiled, but her head maid, well aware of her secret desires, nods in understanding. Unbeknownst to your father and the rest of the family, your mother has been entangled in a scandalous affair since the previous autumn. The object of her affections is a married man, adding an element of forbidden allure to her illicit connection. Complicating matters further, he happens to be one of the main founders of your father’s gentlemen club.

This clandestine liaison both thrills and torments your mother. The intoxicating pull of forbidden love clashes with the guilt and uncertainty that come with such entanglements. Yet, she finds herself unable to resist the magnetic allure, drawn deeper into the affair, risking the stability of her own marriage and the tranquility of the household.

As the maids finish their tasks, they exchange knowing glances, their loyalty split between their duty to your mother and the secrecy they guard. Silently, they continue their duties, maintaining a facade of loyalty and discretion.

As someone abruptly opens the door without knocking, anger flares within your mother. She inhales sharply, ready to unleash her frustration in a torrent of words, but her fury swiftly subsides when she sees that it’s your father standing there. The sight of him, though unexpected, immediately stifles any outburst she had prepared, and she quickly composes herself.

Realizing the presence of her maids, who discreetly avert their gazes, she turns to them with a controlled tone and instructs, “Leave us.” The maids, well-trained in their duties, cast quick glances at each other before promptly exiting the room, leaving your parents alone to face the impending conversation. Attempting to change her tone to a more conciliatory one, your mother addresses your father, her voice carrying a hint of apprehension. “My dear, is there something you require?” she asks, her gaze shifting from his face to the room’s elegant decor, momentarily avoiding direct eye contact. However, your father, with a cold demeanor, wastes no time in cutting to the chase. “I have a plan for the gentlemen’s club,” he declares, his words firm and decisive. “I intend to host a grand gala, and I will need your assistance in the arrangements and sending out invitations.”

Your mother’s eyes meet your father’s, a flicker of uncertainty shadowing her expression. She takes a deep breath, mentally preparing herself to set aside her own desires and reservations for the sake of their shared goals. “I understand,” she replies, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and determination. “Expanding the gentlemen’s club and establishing connections with nobles from other regions is indeed a prudent move. I will assist you in every way I can.”

Your father nods, his stoic demeanor remaining intact. “Good,” he replies curtly. “We must secure the support and patronage of influential figures if we are to successfully expand the club’s reach.” As the weight of your father’s plans settles upon them, your parents exchange a lingering gaze, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Their union, intertwined with societal expectations and shared responsibilities, remains a delicate balance of compromise and ambition, even as personal desires and hidden secrets simmer beneath the surface.

—————

Sitting on the floor of your bedroom, your back resting against the bed, you immerse yourself in the book you managed to acquire through your friendly bonds with the household servants. It's a book on finances and politics, a subject your governess would never approve of, but your curiosity compels you to read it regardless. As you delve into the pages, your mind absorbed in the complexities of the world beyond the estate, a knock on your door interrupts your concentration.

Swiftly, you slide the book under your bed, hiding your forbidden treasure, and invite the person to enter. To your delight, it's your new maid, Emily, bringing tidings of great news. With an animated expression and a hushed tone, she leans closer and shares the exciting revelation. "Y/n, your parents are planning a gala of the season," she whispers, her voice filled with anticipation.

A smile dances across your lips as you lean in, eagerly soaking up Emily's words. The prospect of attending the gala stirs a flutter of excitement within you, and you can't help but imagine the allure of the event, filled with young gentlemen and eligible bachelors vying for attention in a whirlwind of refinement and courtship. Emily continues, her voice barely above a whisper, her excitement palpable. "I hope the Duke attends," she confides, her tone betraying a mix of admiration and hesitation. "Though he can be rather unpleasant, it's a shame because he is quite attractive."

You can't help but chuckle softly, amused by Emily's candid remark. The Duke, an enigmatic figure known for his charm marred by a disagreeable demeanor, holds a certain intrigue for you as well. "Indeed, it would be a shame if his behavior overshadows his overall attractiveness," you agree, sharing in Emily's sentiments. "But perhaps, at the gala, we might witness a different side of him."

In that moment, a shared excitement and anticipation fill the air as you and Emily exchange conspiratorial glances. The possibilities and potential of the upcoming gala ignite your imagination, where love stories may unfold, and connections may be forged in the enchanting ambiance of the event. Together, you revel in the dreams and hopes that the gala of the season holds, savoring the anticipation of what the night may bring.

——-

As the Duke stands in the tailor’s shop, being meticulously fitted for a new outfit, his sharp ears catch snippets of conversation between two gentlemen nearby. Intrigued, he subtly adjusts his position to listen more closely, feigning disinterest while keeping his attention focused on their discussion.

The first gentleman, his voice tinged with excitement, exclaims, “Have you heard? Lady Y/n is finally making her debut this season!”

The second gentleman responds with equal enthusiasm, “Indeed, it’s been long-awaited. I’ve heard she possesses an unparalleled grace and beauty. Many young gentlemen are eagerly anticipating the opportunity to court her.”

The Duke’s interest piques further at the mention of Lady Y/n. Her name carries a certain mystique, whispered through the corridors of high society, and he has caught glimpses of her during previous social events. Her radiant smile and captivating presence have left an impression on him.

The first gentleman chimes in, “I’ve heard she has quite the intellect as well. A rare combination of beauty and intelligence. She’ll surely have no shortage of suitors vying for her hand.”

The Duke, ever the observer, listens intently, allowing the words to sink in. A flicker of curiosity dances in his eyes as he contemplates the allure of Lady Y/n. Inwardly, he wonders what lies beneath her elegant facade and infectious smile. There is something intriguing about her, something that sets her apart from the other debutantes.

With measured steps, the Duke approaches the tailor to finalize his measurements, all the while his thoughts swirl with anticipation of the upcoming season. His mind races with questions: Would Lady Y/n’s presence bring a breath of fresh air to the social gatherings? Would she possess the depth and substance that he seeks in a potential companion?

As he exits the tailor’s shop, the Duke’s mind is filled with thoughts of Lady Y/n. A newfound curiosity blooms within him, kindling a desire to unravel the enigma that surrounds her. He resolves to keep a watchful eye on her debut, intrigued by the prospect of encountering her and discovering the woman behind the captivating smile.

©𝐘𝐀𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

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aris-ink · 1 year

Note

can you PLEASE write this couple again? soft smut? i literally beg nothing topped this i swear (daddy's got you one) 🎈 https://at.tumblr.com/aris-ink/694418642578849792/lws2mtncn3lz

yes angel 🫰most of us have muddled reflections. I hope sometime you can see them for what they really are, and love yourselves every day for the rest of your lives.

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: romance

warnings: mentions of violence (not towards the reader), allusions to emotional abuse (not by jungkook), hurt/comfort, reassurance, praise, dirty talk, dd/lg, choking, mentions of spanking, riding, rough sex, creampie, soft!dom jk, he is.... in love.....

What's wrong with me?

Jungkook couldn't stand hearing that question. He couldn't stand seeing you cry, and he absolutely couldn't stand the people you lived with.

He refused to call them your family. No one who made you feel so down about yourself deserved to hold such a title. After he beat the shit out of your brother, he wasn't welcome in your house anymore and he had zero regrets. The next night, it took him all of twenty minutes to arrive at your place, stuff your bags into the trunk of his car and take you to his house.

It took all of his self control, however, not to sneak back into your neighborhood and slit the fucker's throat. Mostly because he had more important things to take care of, like helping you settle in. But if there was anything Jungkook has learned over the years, it was that there was no need to hurry when it came to making someone suffer. He knew how to hold a grudge. There was not an ounce of space for forgiveness in his heart for anyone who tore at your self esteem. No willingness to find it either.

By now, he didn't even need to hear you ask the question out loud. One look into your eyes and he knew what you were thinking. One look was enough to make him forget about everything that existed around him; the only thing that felt real and that mattered was you. Your warmth under his fingertips, so solid. The rest was smoke.

"Baby," he whispered into your ear, his hands running over your waist slowly as you sat in his lap. "Look at me."

You lifted your eyes to his, met with a soft smile.

"Nothing," he said.

You blinked at him, so adorably confused.

"What?"

"The answer is nothing," he clarified. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"Oh."

You immediately tried to avoid his gaze, but he wouldn't let you, not now, not ever. Not until his words were burned into your mind, covering all the other scars there.

His big hand cupped your cheek, tilting your chin up.

"Do you trust me?"

You fiddled with the fabric of his shirt, trying to find the right words.

"I- I do. I just wish I was more-"

"Don't say it," he warned. "I mean it, baby."

He hated the word normal. Absolutely abhorred it. His jaw twitched, his thumbs stroking both of your cheeks. Why did you have to grow up surrounded by people who littered in your lake, throwing all of their ugly thoughts, ignorance and hatred into its clear waters? Muddling your reflection so much that when you peeked into it you appeared small and distorted, like a dead, crumbling star, when in reality you were so bright and expansive; an entire universe of wonders. How were you supposed to see it in all the pollution? Some you even caused yourself, because they made you want to erase your image from the rippling surface altogether.

He didn't care how dirty that lake was. He was ready to dive in and suffocate to help you clean it out.

"Color?" He murmured, the tip of his nose pressing against yours.

Your eyes fluttered shut. Even though you weren't sure what he needed the confirmation for, you still answered quietly.

"Green."

Jungkook's mouth parted softly next to yours, his breath hot and minty on your skin.

"Then let go," he whispered. "Let daddy take care of you."

Let daddy take care of you. The one sentence that always made your shoulders relax, seeming to melt all your worries away. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip, warm and wet, teasing, inviting. He pulled you closer to him, already lost in your galaxies, and more than happy to turn to ashes among them.

He heard somewhere that bones were made of stardust. Yours and his must have been from the same star, longing to be reunited, moulded together for all eternity. He kissed you hard, his hands slipping under your shirt to skim your breasts, feel your nipples harden in response to the touch. His cock stirred and twitched at the feeling of your skin, his lungs constricted.

"I am going to fuck all of this doubt out of you, baby," he breathed, tightening his hand on your breast to fondle it. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard you'll only know whatever I say, no other thoughts."

He lowered your panties with one hand, the movement clumsy and hurried.

"Like how much I love you," he grunted, lowering his lips to your neck. "How pretty you are. How amazing."

He twisted your nipple, teeth grazing your throat, a groan fleeing his lips when you sneaked your hand into his pants to palm him.

"Shit, what did daddy say about being a little minx, huh?"

You breathed out a whine, tilting your head back to allow him to press wetter kisses into your neck.

"But I need you, daddy."

Jungkook could feel his eyes rolling back. The sounds you made, the begging, the way you stroked his cock - it was too much. He hissed, his hips rolling forward unconsciously, seeking more, always needing more.

"Are you wet for me, baby? Already soaked your little panties?"

You moaned shamelessly, nodding against his lips. The sound was drowned out by Jungkook's groan, louder, longer.

"So fucking hot."

He let you pull his pants down his thick thighs, just enough to free his cock. It throbbed in your hand, leaking with the need for more friction, for a connection that would leave him buried so deep inside you there would be no space for anything else ever again. Not for doubt, not for fear or pain. Just him.

"Baby," he detached his lips from yours only to whisper these words. "Need to fuck you."

You moaned softly, your arms wrapping around his neck, hips lifting off his lap. His breath hitched when you lowered them again, agonizingly slowly, wet heat coming into contact with the aching tip of his big cock.

"Yeah, good girl. Ride me, baby."

You whined into his neck, sinking down softly to get used to the stretch, gripping him so tightly he couldn't help the stutter of his hips, the veins in his neck prominent with the effort of trying to not fuck into you.

When the skin of your thighs met his, your slick dripping onto him, he moaned into your hair and gripped it in one hand, keeping the other under your shirt.

Up. Then down. These were his favorite sounds; the wet, desperate slapping of your bodies, you falling apart around him like there was no tomorrow, lost in bliss. He let you roll your hips and set your own pace, experiment, torture his poor, damned soul in all the sweetest ways you wished.

But the heat in his body was becoming feverish, the need to take over and take care of you overshadowing reason. The need to pound into you and make your legs shake, hear you scream his name.

Licking his lips, he slid both hands down to your waist, soft to the touch, his hold on you secure and strong as he flipped you onto the mattress. You gasped, fingertips digging into the nape of his neck.

For a moment, he remained still, his eyes locked on yours. Could you learn to see your reflection in them instead?

He buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"I can't do this by myself, baby, I won't," he whispered. "Daddy needs you. Needs you to work with him on this."

Your thighs trembled around him. He looked up at you, dark gaze full of love.

"Promise me, baby."

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded slightly. That was progress. Jungkook grabbed a hold of your neck, gently at first, making your lips part.

"You're a good girl who doesn't break promises, aren't you, sweetheart?"

You nodded again, your pussy clenching around him. He groaned, pulling out of the sticky heat only to plunge back in roughly, setting a pace so different to yours. The headboard banged against the wall, but Jungkook didn't give a shit. He wanted to come so bad, wanted to take you there with him.

"Fuuuck, fuck," his moans turned raspier, higher, his balls aching with each thrust. "Good girl, is this what you needed? Daddy's love? Daddy's big cock in that tight, pretty cunt?"

"Y-yeah," you stuttered out a whine, sharp nails dragging down the flexing muscles of his back. "Please daddy, please-!"

Jungkook choked you harder, shaking you a little.

"Are you gonna start listening to daddy? Huh? You gonna stop saying all that shit about yourself that makes my heart hurt? Are you gonna let me fucking love you?"

You let out a sob into his neck. He wasn't sure whether it was because of what he said or because of how needy you were, knowing that coming without his permission in this case would do nothing but land you in a whole pile of trouble.

"Color, s-shit, baby, what's your color-"

"Green!" You moaned. "Please. Please, daddy."

Jungkook shuddered, fucking you faster, meaner, punishing you with all the strength he had. You'd be bruised tomorrow, but the way you chanted his name clouded his mind, made his cock throb inside you.

"Answer me first, baby, do you want me to fucking spank you? Answer me."

You clenched around him again. He hissed, satisfaction washing over him when your back arched, words spilling out of your pretty mouth brokenly.

"Yes, I promise! I promise, d-daddy, ohh-"

"That's my good girl," he groaned. "So tight, oh god. Fuck. Come for me, yeah? Come on. Cream daddy's cock, baby. You want me to come inside you, don't you?"

That was enough to make you tense beneath him, his lips quick to capture yours and control at least some of the volume your cries carried throughout the room. Jungkook continued fucking you, his cock pulsing, filling you up with hot, thick strings of cum. He broke the kiss only when his own self control slipped completely, breathy yeahs let out into your neck.

Praises fell from his mouth in whispers when he limped against you, as natural and unconscious as every breath he took. Good girl, so beautiful, feels so good, I love you so much.

He lifted himself up to kiss you, hazy and sated, but the faint smile he noticed on your face made him pause. It looked relaxed. Genuine. Warm.

It made his heart feel like it was no longer attached to his body, but floating, entwined with yours, cells grown into each other, atoms connecting. He smiled back, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

Maybe you could learn to see yourself in his eyes. At least until your lake was clean again.

💌 taglist: @wonyuknow @imnotlauriane @baalsgurl1913 @bucketofhiros @glowunderthemoon @silv3rswirls @osakis-gf @era-genius @iceprincessviviane

#jungkook x reader #yandere bts #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts reactions

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ovaruling · 26 days

Text

no one asked, but here’s my detailed bird seed update since this blog has become not only a record keeper of my fitness but also my bird friends:

adjusting my budget severely for the elaborate bird feeding i’ve got going on. to recap, i feed about 200+ wild birds per day, mostly doves, grackles, blue jays, cardinals, catbirds, warblers, mockingbirds, and woodpeckers. sometimes i get a rare painted bunting! the number may possibly be more, my counting when they swarm is not reliable.

when i first started feeding, the birds were all terribly thin—the development in my neighborhood has been devastating to the general health of the bird population, as well as the sweltering heat of recent years. growing up, i remember it being a common sight to see birds milling about on the ground, scavenging for food. you almost never see it anymore, bc there IS no more ground. if its not paved, then it’s all tightly mowed grass with no chance for food to even have a chance to be there. based on the cityscape, my guess is that they have had to fly further and further distances in search of somewhere to forage. which, in this climate, must be utterly sapping them. they haven’t moved away, they still nest right here bc there are still thankfully lots of sheltering trees. but they are having to go further and further for food—not good.

the adjustment is worth it. i did find one store online that sells very cheap whole corn kernels by the pound, which the squirrels and jays love.

there is a female squirrel who is very obviously and very definitely nursing some babies. i am trying to keep supporting her bc she unfortunately picked a very bad place to give birth (landscapers and horses and vehicles nearby tear through almost daily on the other side of my hedge).

i don’t want her to have to go far, especially with the heat getting more intense, and so i’ve been making sure she has corn cobs every day at the base of her tree. but those get expensive, so i’m excited to have found whole corn kernels so cheap.

also found one decent price for halved peanuts which all the birds are absolutely obsessed with.

and the rest i’m still reliant on Tractor Supply for. i’d love to stop giving their murderous animal agriculture supporting asses money, but i’d need to find a better priced Fruit and Nut seed than they offer, and i haven’t yet.

as for seed cakes for the woodpeckers—which, the vegetable gelatin ones i buy are the most expensive per unit that i’m spending on rn, bc there is absolutely no way i’m going to conscience animal gelatin—my experiment in making them myself is ongoing. i used too little agar agar powder in my last batch (and also didn’t get it boiling enough) so it just ended up being a sticky crumbly treat that i put on the ground for the scavengers.

i’ll try again this week bc i’d really love to keep supporting my native red-bellies, especially as it gets hotter and hotter into the summer and the birds get more exhausted at a much faster rate.

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lieslab · 27 days

Text

Northern attitude

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Changbin X gn reader

Summary: You've been raised to be resilient and unbreakable your whole life, but when the neighborhood stray kitten loses its life in an accident, your walls crumble and you fall apart.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 3K

Trigger warning: Verbal and physical child abuse, animal death, brief mention of animal abuse, PTSD episode, and a dead parent joke.

_ _ _

Stoicism wasn’t something you learned overnight. It was something that grew deep inside of you over time. Every hardship, you met it with a blank face. You took it in a determined stride and kept your dignity intact.

Growing up with your family was rough. Learning that crying was a weakness instead of a way to get out pent up feelings had done massive amounts of damage. You never let yourself cry. It was the one thing you were always proud of yourself for.

You didn’t cry, you didn’t break, and you stood tall. You were unreadable when it came to your emotions. You could get told awful news and it didn’t bother you. You taught yourself how to stand with your back straightened and your chin up.

You taught yourself how to let the current of words flow through you. You never took words to heart or maybe you did. Perhaps you did and you let your heart soak up the words, but you never let yourself grieve.

To be strong was to be brave and to be brave was perfection. Life was often filled with the echoes of family members and their threats. “You wanna cry? I’ll give you something to cry about.” It was usually met by some type of physical punishment.

It’s funny how things from childhood fade, but sometimes the past voices never do. Elementary school friendships can become blurry, but the angry words of your father thrown at your face on a random Sunday stick to you like glue.

It’s hard to experience sympathy for those who didn’t grow up the same way. Sometimes it’s hard to see eye-to-eye with the rest of the world. Sure you grew up difficult and in a mess of a household, but you didn’t cry like a lot of people did. Your habits were set in stone.

You folded to your father’s wishes. Even as an adult, you didn’t cry. When you broke apart on the inside and crumbled, you didn’t mourn. You buried the grief, along with more dejection, deep in the depths of your heart.

Your heart was like Pandora’s box. Who knew what awaited for the person that opened it. You didn’t think too much about it. Eventually, those inner demons would fade away and you’d busy yourself with other things.

Bury yourself in mountains of work or go out to exercise. Sprint on a treadmill until your calves are on fire or lift weights until your muscles scream. It always managed to do the trick.

In fact, it worked a little too well. In a matter of months, you whipped yourself into the best shape of your life. The gym was where you met your boyfriend. You had never met anyone quite like Changbin before.

Changbin didn’t run away from his emotions. He allowed himself to feel what he felt and he allowed himself to sit in them and experience them. Similar to you, sometimes he let them fuel him at the gym.

He did a lot more than that though. Sometimes he placed them into his music or threw them into dancing. You admired him for that. There was so much to Seo Changbin that you didn’t quite understand.

It’s not like you didn’t sympathize with him, you did. All the times he came home upset or something happened and he got sad, you couldn’t understand why he allowed himself to cry.

If your father would have raised Changbin, his tears would have been beaten out of him. How many times would he have been spanked with a wooden board until his tears dried? How many belt whips would it have taken before his body felt numb?

“No child of mine will grow up to be a sissy.”

You didn’t know how to comfort someone crying. You were raised as an only child, so you didn’t have a choice amongst your childhood grief. Not even your mother was there to coddle you and wipe away the remainders of tears from your cheeks.

Every time Changbin cried, you stood beside him awkwardly patting his shoulder. It wasn’t something someone had taught you. You always dealt with your emotions by yourself. It was so unfamiliar and foreign; the warmth of Changbin’s salty tears on your chest.

When he grabbed you and cried into your chest, you let him. All you could do was wrap your arms around him and let him grieve. You never got to experience how he comforted you because you never cried around him.

You laughed and you smiled. You openly experienced your happiness, but you locked your sadness away. Every time he poked around asking about it, you changed the topic. It was something you didn’t like to talk about; the only topic you flat out refused to discuss.

However, lately things had been shifting in your life. It started with your co-worker being fired from their job. You were close to them, so it was difficult to come to work without their upbeat attitude.

The wave of destruction continued with another friend of yours. After a freak accident while out on a hike, they were killed. It crushed your heart, but you continued to stay strong. You had to be, it’s what your father told you and it’s what your mother agreed upon.

Your heartstrings were stretching thin. How much could they stretch before they broke and your heart shattered in your chest? How much more grief could you swallow before your glass lungs cracked?

It all came to a stand still in the middle of the week. You had just returned home from the pet store with two small glass dishes and a collar. One bowl was for water and the other was for kitten food. After doing hours of research, you decided to somewhat adopt the newest neighborhood stranger.

A tiny gray kitten had been abandoned by someone. As much as you wanted to bring it inside, you couldn’t, not with Changbin’s cat allergies. His company needed him to be in tip-top shape for rapping and singing. A kitten in the house would destroy that and make him miserable.

You opted to take care of the kitten outside on your own terms. You played with it, you pet it, and you fed and watered it. After you messed with him, you changed your clothes, dropped them into a separate hamper to wash them without Changbin’s clothes, and you took a shower. When he kept coming back to your backyard, you decided to claim him as your own.

The sky blue collar was going to go great with his fur coat. You even got a tag with your phone number on it in case someone wanted to know more about him. You had even picked out a name for him.

You were so excited to share your purchases with Changbin. He was so happy to have the kitten, even if he couldn’t interact with him. A few nights ago, he opened up the back door and watched you play with the cat through the screen door.

You were grinning and laughing while you teased the cat with a stick. The small kitten kept batting his tiny paws and trying to catch it. Right when he was about to, you jerked the stick just out of reach.

Behind you, Changbin’s affectionate laugh filled the air. It delighted you for nearly an hour. The two of you were smitten with the kitten. It had been the highlight of every evening for the past two weeks.

It all came to a tragic end as you stopped your car a few feet before your driveway. The tiny gray kitten you opened your heart to sat in the middle of the road unmoving. You parked your car and got out as fast as you could, but it was too late. Someone had run over the kitten and drove away.

You stared at the dead kitten in shock. The stars had fallen from the sky. The sun wasn’t shining anymore, despite its rays piercing the sky from above your head. You sucked in a defeated breath and trudged back to your car with your head down.

Cats used to be the thing your father couldn’t stand. He hated animals with a burning passion. He was stronger than them and he used that to his advantage. The last pet you had as a kid, your mother got rid of because she found your father kicking it around the house.

You pulled into the driveway, but you didn’t get out. Tears burned in your eyes and you blinked rapidly. The smell of the cigarettes that your father used invaded your nose. Your fingers curled into your palms.

His voice began to echo in your head. You could still feel the stings from where items bit into your skin. The nip of a cold belt buckle in the middle of your spine. The lash of an angry board on the back of your thighs.

Your head curled into the steering wheel. Your brain was remembering everything. Your hands shielded your head, but that didn’t stop the flashbacks. It didn’t stop fight or flight from activating and it didn’t stop the feeling of failure weighing heavily on you as tears crept into your eyes.

Everything was slipping through your fingers and falling out of control. The metal rails of strength that you cemented inside of yourself were rumbling. The kitten was the spark that lit the fuse inside of you.

You could feel the catastrophe igniting every bone. Your brain screamed at you. All you remember was plugging your ears and letting out your own scream as your father’s voice echoed in your head.

The past constricted around you like a snake. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t do anything, but scream and hope it went away.

The next thing you knew, your car door was being ripped open. The sudden force shifted your arm that was against the driver’s side window. You jerked your hands from your ears and swung frantically trying to keep the person away.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Changbin cried out. He stepped back and jerked his hands away with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Changbin?” You choked out.

“I’m right here. What’s wrong, baby? Are you okay?”

He must not have seen the kitten yet. The dead kitten. The memory of its small body sprawled out limp on the pavement caused tears to build up again. Did it die instantly? Was the grim reaper merciful when it came to the innocent and defenseless creatures?

A choked out sob fell from your lips. Changbin watched you with worry. The two of you dated for months and not once had he seen you cry, let alone break down like this.

“Oh, what happened? What happened, baby? Talk to me.” He leaned back towards the car and gently placed a hand on your thigh.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You snapped as you shoved his hand away.

He jerked it back instantly with a hurt look. The moment you saw it, you couldn’t stop the tears from dripping down your cheeks. “I-I’m sorry, just don’t hurt me. Please, I’m sorry, I’ll stop crying.”

Frantically, you pawed at your own tears. It felt like someone took a baseball bat to his heart. That was the worst thing you could have said. Your actions afterwards caused his heart to physically ache.

He didn’t know for sure, but he always had a feeling that you might have gone through some type of abuse as a kid. There were certain ways you reacted to things. You turned your face away at harrowing news and refused to let it bother you. You stiffened when he held his arms out for a hug. You flinched at loud noises and nobody he knew acted like that unless they experienced some sort of trauma.

“Can I touch you? I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to comfort you.”

You sniffled and shrugged. You weren’t sure what you wanted when you were like this. It was still unfamiliar and made you feel uneasy.

“Can I hug you?”

You responded with a nod and Changbin tugged you into his arms gently. In your neighborhood, it was a miracle that everyone else was inside. Surely, someone would have come to investigate if they saw you like this.

“What’s wrong?” He reached up and carefully wiped away your tears with the warmth of his thumb.

“T-The kitten,” you got out, “s-someone h-hit-” You couldn’t finish your sentence. The words became too choked up in your throat.

Changbin’s face fell. You didn’t have to finish the sentence, he already understood what you meant. “I’m so sorry.”

“And my friend, they’re dead. M-My other friend, they’re not-” Tears blurred your vision, but Changbin kept dabbing at them with his hands.

“I know, I know. Life can be hard sometimes, right? You’re really going through hell right now. I can’t fix it entirely, but I can be here for you. I’ll be here as long as you want me to be.”

“You’re not mad at me for crying?”

“I could never be mad at you for crying! I always cry! I’m one of the biggest cry babies out there. There’s nothing wrong with crying and being vulnerable.”

“My dad said it makes you weak.”

“Well, no offense, but he sounds like a dick. Crying is so brave and it makes you so strong.” He wiped away a few more tears. “I bet you feel so much better now that you cried, right?”

You nodded.

“See? There’s nothing wrong with crying every now and then. The best people cry sometimes.”

“Like you?”

“Well, I was going to say like Felix. He’s sensitive and he cries a lot, but I love him. You’re allowed to be sensitive too. It doesn’t change my love for you.”

“I don’t know how I feel about crying.” Another sniffle fell from you. Shockingly, you really did feel better. All those pent up emotions trapped inside you had finally been released.

“When was the last time you cried?”

All you could do was shrug your shoulders. Changbin reached over, kissed your forehead, and pulled away. “It’s probably been years,” you finally admitted. “My dad used to beat me for crying.”

“Is it wrong to beat him up for beating you?”

“He’s dead now, so unless you have plans to beat up a canister of ashes.”

A half snort and half laugh spurted from his mouth. He quickly shoved a hand over his face. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s alright, he was an asshole anyway.”

Changbin let out a sigh and nodded. His hand found yours and he squeezed it. “Really though, it’s shitty you had to go through that. I’m sorry life has been such an asshole to you lately too.”

“I’m sure I’ll get over it, but it hurts.”

“Yes, but there’s nothing wrong with grieving.” He swiped a thumb beneath your eyes to gather the last tears. “There’s nothing wrong with experiencing this sadness for a while. You can mourn the things you once had.”

“Thank you,” you finally got out.

“For what?”

“Not beating me until I can’t sit on my ass for crying.”

“Hey, I would never do that! The only thing you’re going to get from me is waddling because we fu-”

“Changbin!” You cut him off while laughing.

He grinned at the sight of your eyes scrunching up. The corners of your mouth went up into a smile. He let out one of his own laughs. You shook your head and playfully rolled your eyes.

When the laughing died down, the two of you were left in silence again. You dropped your gaze down and spoke up. “I really am going to miss that kitten though. I didn’t know him for long, but I loved him. I love cats.”

Changbin paused for a moment before his face lit up. “I have a great idea. Let me just text Lee Know real quick.” He jerked out his phone and began to frantically text.

“Lee Know?”

“Yeah, you know, my band member.”

“I know that, but why?”

“He has three cats. You can go hang out with him and play with his cats. Trust me, he won’t mind.”

“I don’t want to invade his space.”

“He loves to talk about them like they’re his kids. This will give him a chance to brag about them. Plus, they stay at his parents house, so you’ll be able to meet his parents too.”

“Okay, but what about you?”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You’re allergic to cats,” you pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but it’s Soonie, Doongie, and Dori. They’re practically celebrities. One minor allergic reaction is worth it to pet them. Plus, Lee Know’s mom makes really good food.”

“I still don’t think it’s a good id-”

“Start the car, baby! Minho said we could come over!” He gleefully giggled as he rushed to the other side of the car and climbed in. “I’ll give you the directions! Let’s go!” His loud voice raised the energy in the car. He rushed to buckle his seat belt.

You hesitated until he urgently insisted you to go again. You sighed, but did what you were told. Changbin pulled out his phone and began texting again while he bounced up and down.

The studio wasn’t that far away. He’d have Chan and a few of the other guys come bury the kitten with stuff from the garage. Later, he could help you set up a memorial for the tiny kitten who left a big imprint on your heart. For now, he was just happy to see you smile at his infectious energy.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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jiminjamms · 2 years

Text

sex therapy :: 10. birthday babes

chapter tags/warnings: mentions of violence. infidelity. misogyny. classism. strong language. dirty talk. use of alcohol. manipulation undertones. sexual frustration. degradation.

word count: 3.4k

notes: enjoy the special guest appearances :P likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Roppongi, you always knew, was a special place.

As a popular nightlife district in Tokyo, Roppongi always bustled with locals and tourists once the sun went down. Growing up in a conservative family, though, you were constantly reminded that any 'proper woman like you' must stay away from something as 'cheap and degrading as clubbing.'

However, you would be lying if you said that you didn't envy Roppongi's carefree spirit—one that was full of lust, of love. And of sex.

That much you could tell from the countless times you had been chauffeured around Tokyo like a Hollywood star, passing through the neighborhood's neon signs and dance music without ever interacting with the evening scene yourself.

Until now.

"Get out," Choso ordered dryly.

Realizing you had been lost in your own thoughts, you immediately turned over to the man who unbuckled his own seat belt and then reached over to undo yours.

"What?" you chimed as your belt whipped past your neck and back into its retractor. Confused, you peered past the window and stared at the dark brick building that Choso had stopped in front of. You squinted and tried to make out the words over the facade.

Except there were none.

No words, no signs, no indication that—past the sleek doors twenty feet to your right—there was any nightclub that existed.

Brows furrowed, you turned back around to see Choso removing his ignition key. "Are you sure we're in the right place?"

"Yes, so get out," he deadpanned and stepped off the car.

He circled around the front clad in nothing but an oversized black hoodie and gray joggers because, as you far as could tell, he could barely give a flying fuck about impressing anyone at Sukuna's nightclub.

Regardless, you must admit that he had a pretty good build that was still obvious despite the baggy clothes, not to mention that the dark ink that peeked through on his neck and forearms made him one hell of a walking eye-candy.

With one hand shoved in his pocket, Choso threw his car keys to a valet nearby with the other. "I'll be back in two hours," Choso instructed the man and then continued in his long strides.

With all that, Choso didn't even look back. Clearly, he sure as hell wasn't going to wait for you, and when you registered that, you frantically hopped off his Corvette.

"Hold up!" you shouted.

That, at least, got Choso to do a one-eighty on his spot.

He angled his head so that he could observe you above the rim of his sunglasses, his gaze somewhat irritated as he watched you stumble out of the car.

Moving more, however, was your real challenge.

After making comments about your overly fancy fit, Choso dragged you briefly into a Macy's only for you to leave with what might just be the tightest outfit known to mankind. This magenta bodycon dress? It left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

In this, you didn't miss the way Choso had stolen glances at your butt all night long because of your new fit. Not to mention that paparazzi photos of you in this dress would leave you falling down hard from grace.

Cold evening wind brushing against your bare legs, you wobbled to Choso's side as the hum of booming music became more audible, giving you some confidence that he wasn't taking you to some mere murder ring after all.

At least, you hoped so.

As though he could sense your apprehension, Choso eyed you (or more specifically, your thighs) rather curiously. He must have noticed your slight quiver because he asked, "You nervous?"

You fought the urge to crumble on the spot. "Yeah." About you.

But Choso must have thought you were referring to the nightclub behind him. Club parties, in the end, were an entirely different realm compared to the other parties—particularly, the dinner gatherings—that you were accustomed to.

When he finally had the decency to look at your face rather than your ass, he shrugged so casually that he was somewhat pissing you off again.

"There's a first for everything, kid. I'm sure you'll be a complete natural with this. With a body like yours, you'd probably leave with a new husband by the end of the night."

You rolled your eyes. "Listen, I know Naoya and I have problems but—"

Before you could finish your thoughts, Choso suddenly pulled you into his side, burying his face into the crown of your head.

"No one gives a shit," he murmured quietly even as he inhaled the floral scent of your shampoo. Then, you felt the small smile against your ear. "Remember, you're our little slut."

Who's little...what?

You glanced up at Choso for an answer only to see his expression falling flat once more. Heck, he wasn't even looking at you back.

Rather, Choso led you to the enigmatic set of gilded doors, not even giving you a chance to even comment on how tight his grip was on your hips, how handsome his studs were under the moon.

When he finally led you to the entrance, you half-expected some sort of ridiculous knock on his end. Instead, the right door swung inward almost automatically, opening to a burly bouncer right at the doorway.

The knowing exchange of glances between Choso and the other man told you that they were a little more than acquaintances. Choso was an obvious regular at this establishment, and that was obvious from the snarky tilt of his lips.

"Jealous of my bitch, Itto?"

The bouncer, so-called Itto, raised a brow. You had never seen a man quite like him before. He was handsome and tall, his downy silver hair draping down the back of his neck. His eyes were a captivating marmalade shade as well, darting from you to Choso to you and finally to…your boobs.

Whether this ‘Itto’ man was jealous of your escort at this point, you couldn’t quite tell. Nonetheless, this bouncer had a build that could easily toss Choso aside with one hand while bending you ninety degrees over with the other.

“Never seen you around,” Itto ultimately noted, his voice so deep and gruff that you had to hide a violent shudder. “Ever been here before?”

Lashes fluttering, you smiled shyly. “No, I—”

“Enough,” Choso interjected, for some reason dragging you down the corridor. “Chick’s with me. Sukuna knows her, too. You should know to not mess with our favorite girls.”

What…? Even if you wanted to ask, there was nothing you could do when Itto gave you one last look and Choso made haste to drag you down the corridor. Steering you by the waist, the latter must have noticed how you still had your neck craned over because he pinched your side. “Itto’s not even that good looking.”

Huh?! You whipped your head around at lightning speed, offended. “I…I never even said that.”

“Right,” Choso responded sarcastically. “And you sure didn’t look like you were about to drop your panties for him.”

This Choso—one who was overprotective and, honestly, rather possessive—was nowhere near the bitter Choso that you had first met.

Literally night and day, the differences.

Were they even the same person? Was he always like this? Choso didn’t appear like a man who was good at expressing his emotions, but it almost seemed like he…had some sort of interest in you. Not that you were complaining, though, given that this was a welcome change in his terrible attitude towards you.

“So, rich girl,” Choso started as you two approached a second entryway. “You want to go to a real party?”

Even if you wanted to counter his statement, your voice vanished once Choso pushed through the new set of double doors. Jaw suddenly dropped, you slowly stepped in behind him. “Wow.”

That was all you could say because inside seemed like an entirely separate building, a whole different planet. If you thought that you were already impressed with the cushioned walls and lit-up lanterns behind you, there was nothing to describe your amazement as you absorbed the scene in front of you now.

Gone was the lifeless entryway, replaced by sleek black walls that were washed with a soft red glow from the disco lights above. At the far back corner, one large neon sign flickered with the nightclub’s name—Teyvat. A ‘Happy Birthday, Sukuna!’ banner waved right above the DJ Station.

This place was definitely luxurious and high-end in its own right. But the scene was outright insane, nothing compared to the pompous dinner galas and cocktail receptions that you frequented. So, this was a real party. This was how the other half lived.

And Sukuna owned this place?

In one corner, someone pranced around with a Manhattan. In the other corner was a scene that…you’d rather keep your eyes off of.

Nonetheless, a J-Lo song boomed from the speakers around, and beyond the small flight of stairs, crowds of clubbers bounced in their happy, carefree way.

Then, there were the girls. Hordes of some twenty-something year-olds all gossiping and swarming around the stairs, dressed in outfits that covered nothing beyond their nipples and crack, gazes all landing on Choso as he nonchalantly strolled in.

As though on cue, their eyes lit up at once and gleamed with so much desire, their lips curling into grins meant to seduce. They were all too eager to prowl like panthers on their way to him, who was quite obviously some celebrity in this establishment. It was also like you didn’t exist, like Choso wasn’t already holding you so close to him as he pushed through the crowd in the most passive aggressive way possible.

Making her way to the front, one girl batted her over-curled lashes. “Finger me again tonight, big boy?”

No response.

Someone else then placed a hand on Choso’s bicep. “How about a well-deserved dick massage, daddy?”

Choso swatted her away. “I told you before to not call me that.”

Put off by his lack of usual interest, foxy eyes—pair-by-pair—turned to you instead. Clearly, these women have had some long histories in bed with Choso, and they couldn’t stand seeing your sweet innocent figure pressed snugly against their beloved dick donor. Some rolled their eyes. Others straight up scoffed.

“Who the fuck is she?” someone had murmured.

In the end, their coy smiles soured when they took notice of little ol’ you clinging onto him, another pussy for the club to play with. Even if their tits were hanging from their dresses, G-string thongs peeking from under their skirts—there wasn’t much these cock-needy girls could do if their precious boy toys weren’t interested.

Genuinely, this shook you. Out of all the therapists, Choso always looked and acted like a bitchless bitch, but who knew that he had a strong pussy pulling game all along?

“Where are we going?” you asked when Choso quietly maneuvered you past crowded booths and drunk dancers. It was hard to discern his thoughts when his sunglasses hid the windows to his dark and dirty soul. However, turned out that your answer came in due time as you two stopped not too far from the bar.

“Zhongli!” Choso shouted above the roar of the new Tiësto beat. His voice was strikingly loud and commanding for someone as quiet as him, which only made you realize even more that you truly knew nothing about anyone. “A double vodka with Redbull,” he said and then looked over at you. “And make it two.”

The fine-looking fellow behind the counter—Zhongli, no doubt—looked up from the martini he just completed. Under his waves of brown hair, his golden eyes slowly turned from Choso to you. He held in a breath as though he was ready to say something (something about you, it seemed) but decided to instead huff a bland “Cool.”

Unlike you, Choso didn’t think much of it. Rather, he released his grasp around your waist and pocketed his joggers for the phone that displayed a caller ID on its screen. He lifted one brow. “Stay here for a bit? I have to take this.”

Was if wrong for your heart to sink a little? It wasn’t that you really liked Choso, you think, but you did have to admit that his presence did give you some comfort in this unfamiliar environment. Who were you to stop him, though? “Sure,” you chirped helplessly in the end.

At your response, Choso hurriedly placed a generous tip on the counter (which was promptly swooped up by Zhongli) and then dashed off. Now alone, there wasn’t much you knew how to do besides stare at the bar.

Zhongli, finishing up an earlier order, placed some finished cocktails on some serving trays, all of which were quickly snatched by two girls dressed in purple, their names Lisa and Raiden according to their badges. Next to Zhongli, two other bartenders—Diluc and Kaeya—bickered loudly about whose order was whose.

Another man, a runner, hurried to the counter and warned them to shut their traps on their boss’s birthday before ‘Sukuna released his wrath again’—whatever that meant. Just as this new man turned around with a defeated sigh, his honey-colored gaze landed on you. ‘Xiao,’ his tag read, and he gave you a good long stare before Lisa called out for his help in the distance.

The bar, as you could easily tell, was its own busy market, which was expected in a place made for adult-level fun. Without Choso by your side, though, you awkwardly observed the hectic congregation of bartenders, waiters, and runners. Once again, people were too busy to entertain someone like you. How ironic was it that—in a room full of people—you felt so impossibly alone?

Unsure what else to do, you creaked onto a bar stool. Although you had hoped that would make you feel better, your mind was still simply a roaring white blank of stage fright. Sighing in defeat, you angled your head back to pretend that there was something interesting on the ceiling when there, in fact, wasn’t.

“Oh hey, it’s Rich Girl!”

You lowered your gaze from the lights to the new voice in front of you. Then your eyes widened at the surprise arrival. “Su…kuna?” you peeped.

Like Choso, Sukuna dressed much differently than his office attire—a button-down with slacks that was much better than the near nothingness you saw him in last time. He was the club owner here, after all.

But it wasn’t even his outfit that you should be concerned about. It was yours.

Dressed like a thot, you certainly did not miss the way Sukuna obviously slid his gaze down your body. You could swear that this idiot wolf-whistled while taking the empty seat next to you, but that was difficult to ascertain given the loud music above. Nonetheless, Sukuna’s sudden presence turned the bantering bartenders stiff. No one dared to be on Sukuna’s bad side. Except you.

“What are you doing here?” you huffed and shot a glare.

Smirking at your defensiveness, Sukuna glided his thick fingers across the counter’s mahogany surface. He chuckled too, a sound so low and coarse. “That,” began the narcissist beside you, “is what I should be asking you, young lady. Trying to make an appointment here or something? I could get Toji, Geto, and Choso here since this place, uh, doesn’t really look like your scene.”

Sukuna then stared at you through his giddy little smile. You don’t trust his façade at all. You have both heard about and experienced first-hand just how hubristic this man could be—not only an infamous womanizer, but also infuriating, to say the least.

As a result, you chose your next words carefully.

“I’m already here with Choso,” you explained in a dull manner, hoping that Sukuna would leave you alone. “He invited me in but just stepped out since someone phoned him.”

“A booty call, probably.” Sukuna turned away as he mindlessly toyed with the silver rings that adorned his fingers. He was pushing your buttons, and he knew it. “What?” he finally asked after what seemed like an hour later. “Wishing it was you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Fuck, no. I’d rather eat bricks than—“

“This Choso’s order?” Sukuna interrupted, gesturing to the two vodka Redbulls that Zhongli had finally placed in front of you. You had your mouth open to speak, but Sukuna didn’t even wait for your response before his fingers clasped around the nearest glass.

Instinctively, your eyes followed the motion: the angle in which he tipped the drink into his lips, the motion in which his Adam’s apple bobbed with each gulp. At some point, you just realized that you were simply gaping at him because, as much of a douchebag he was, this man had the features of a god.

It didn’t take long for Sukuna to notice your gaze. “Someone might just fill your pretty mouth up if you keep staring like that, princess.”

You froze. Despite your practiced gracefulness, you puckered your mouth shut and scoffed. He’s unbelievable. What were you about to say again? “That drink,” you started and pointed to the glass happily in his hands, “that’s not even yours.”

Unbothered, Sukuna rolled his shoulders back. “Well, Choso’ll just have to order another one. Tips aside, he already gets away with not paying a single dime here, anyway.”

With narrowed eyes, you took a long hard sip from the other untouched glass. “Do you always have a stick up your ass? You still can’t do that.”

“Of course, I can do whatever I want. This is my club.” He then pointed to the DJ banner. “And today’s my birthday.”

He had a point, kind of. Nevertheless, you glared begrudgingly at Sukuna, who—from the cocky tilt of his head—was waiting for the magic words. Well? his sadistic little gaze seemed to say. Anytime now.

What a cocky bastard. Everything in the world had to be about him, huh? Frustration made you to chug the rest of the cocktail down in one go, leaving you slamming the empty glass against the counter, surprising not only the bartenders but Sukuna himself.

“Happy,” you ultimately seethed between clenched teeth and with a burning throat, “Happy…Birthday.”

He raised an eyebrow. There was a tinge of genuine disappointment in his new frown. “That’s it? No birthday kiss for the birthday boy?”

The craziest fucking thing was that you actually considered it. Maybe it was the alcohol kicking it. Or maybe this was what you truly wanted. Whatever the answer, all logic told you that this man was only interested in some birthday bitches.

Yet for some reason you couldn’t find it in you to truly dislike him because Sukuna was snarky but eloquent. His charm was almost unnatural. Had he been anyone else, the way he eyed your cleavage would normally throw you off, but his irresistible charisma made you hope he would look for just a moment longer.

You had to swallow hard in order to redirect your thoughts to the present. “So, how much did you hear?” was how you chose to respond in the end.

Sukuna, who was toying with the glass’s rim, stopped to give you a puzzled look. “What…?”

You’ve done messed up, Y/N. Internally, you braced yourself for further interrogation. Your brash question was not much better than a mini make-out session with the man you pledged to hate, yet—for now—you would prefer anything but the latter.

As Zhongli quietly appeared and disappeared to refill your drink, realization finally settled into Sukuna.

“Oh, that,” the club owner said, laughing rather pityingly. “You talking about that little quickie or whatever with Toji last week? Yeah, I’ve heard enough. You’re quite the moaner, but who am I to keep a pretty woman from a good dick-down? Good for you, honestly.”

Now, it was your turn to be confused. "What do you mean, ‘good for me?’”

A coy curl appeared at the corners of his lips. "Those genes of yours are something you'd wanna pass down for sure. Whether it’s with your husband or Toji or…”

Or with Sukuna himself.

The nerves of this jackass. Was he not at all ashamed of the sheer indecency of his suggestions? Not that it was a bad idea, but—

Get a fucking grip on yourself. You sent a slap across your own face, which undoubtedly had bystanders giving you funny looks. Not that you cared. Face flushed hot, you hastily guzzled down your second cup of vodka Redbull because if there was anything you wanted to forget about this night, it’d be…whatever the hell this entire conversation was.

And whatever the fuck this night was about to be.

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simstorian · 10 months

Text

This upscale gated community offers its residents all the warm, wild benefits of living in the desert along with the luxury of endless green grass.

Still working on my savefile here and there and I have had some real CAS inspiration lately, so here are the sims from my version of the Skyward Palms neighborhood in Oasis Springs! Head-canon lore and mini-rant about the Calientes below lol:

At Sulty Springside, we have the Caliente household. On the latest Behind the Sims summit, the Sims team tried to retcon the existence of Katrina as Nina's and Dina's mother instead of/besides Nighat as Katrina being a clone they made bc they wanted a mom that was like them? So many question marks about that and so many other pieces of lore that don't really make sense if that is the case, but ok... My headcanon mostly places Sims 4 after Sims 2 in the timeline, even though I know that it is just an alternate timeline. In my mind, things got too messy in Pleasantview for the twins and for Don so they both moved away. Being the slow-aging alien-blooded gurlies that they are they partied and romanced around for a while before creating Katrina as the family matriarch to make the family seem more normal in their new environment of Oasis Springs, Cullen family style if you will. Two Calientes to romance and have drama is bad enough so I imagine Katrina moved out for a while bc it got messy, started dating Don, moved back in and brought him with her to mixed reactions from Dina and Nina, and that is where the save starts. In my mind Dina is more focused on romance as a way to get wealth whereas Nina finds enjoyment in all kinds of intrigue and drama, even with her clone-mothers boy-toy lol. This reflects in Katrina's new jealous trait and Don, well he is just Don lol.

In the middle we have the resident of Rio Verde, Gino Delicioso. Gino is in a similar way to the BFF household and DJ Candy inspired by a MySims character of the same name. I actually plan on including quite a lot of MySims characters in the savefile! He does not have a lot of lore of his own, so I made some up for him! Gino Delicioso is a world-famous pizza chef who has started pizzerias all over Simnation. He has the wealth and the fame, but has yet to be as successful in the romance department. Settling down in Oasis Springs and with a clear focus on his local Gino's Pizza and Pitstop restaurant, will Gino find a true love to eat pizza with forever or get stuck in the web of the ladies across the street?

Last but not least, living at Granada Place is the Aspir family. The Aspir's are a family from Desiderata Valley in Sims 2 Freetime I used to interact with a lot when I played Sims 2 as a child! I added some extra lore, did a little time-jump and wanted some extra toddlers in town so I added the little brother Darius, named after one of his great-grandfathers just like Pauline seems to be named after a relative. The Aspir family seems like the perfect multi-generational family from the outside, but in reality, they are falling apart. Crumbled under the pressure of her husband and stepfather Elizabeth had another child with Victor just like he wanted, but Elizabeth still secretly dreams of leaving it all behind to pursue her dream of becoming a famous actress. Victor still wants a bigger family and can not for the life of him understand why his wife keeps drifting further away from him. In the mids of this the couple's oldest daughter Pauline feels lonely and eager to grow, good thing she now has a brother to keep her company, as well as Victor's eccentric gadget-making father, Luis.

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softlyapocalytpic · 1 year

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So like, @pchberrytea tagged me forever ago now, but I actually got some writing done today SO I THOUGHT I'D SHARE. IT'S TID BIT TUESDAY/WIP WEDNESDAY.

Does anyone want me to tag them? Please give me people tag. I hath no one! Let me give you an excuse to spotlight your writing. I'll so happily read everything and give it love. Let me love you, random stranger.

Anyway, here's Deacon being my excuse to ramble on for two pages about Leo's clinic. Characterization through how someone effects their setting. My buddy nicknamed me tolkien on discord for this.

Most people thought that you had to meet a person to get to know them, but Deacon had learned long ago that there was a lot you could tell about someone from the place they lived.

On the corner of Nowhere Avenue & Shank Alley, tucked away from the hubbub of Goodneighbor’s street market, was a small two-story clinic that stood out from the rest of the anarchist settlement. Sure, it was built with the same New England brickwork as the rest of the neighborhood sporting the same centuries-old weathering, a small neon sign hanging daintily in the window that said Open in big red letters, and a radio tuned lovingly to one of the two preferred stations of Goodneighbor residents that could be heard nostalgically muffled through the walls, but that was where the similarities ended.

You could tell at first glance that someone had put in the elbow grease to restore large parts of the building both inside and out. Where there used to be crumbling brick were children’s murals painted over the patchwork cement, and every window had been blessed with a proper pane of glass. The storefront itself was painted, trim and all, in a rich blue that had only just begun to chip in the places that people touched and leaned in against it. Painted on a wooden sign that fitted into the front door was a message that made its owner’s intent very clear: “All are welcome, free of charge.”

A peak in the window revealed a waiting room with walls painted a cheery yellow. Hanging on them were posters from movies, tourist destinations, and even the rare cute animal by the corner with children’s toys and a rug. Lining the walls were the best-scavenged chairs one could buy and a desk with a pen and paper to put your name on a waiting list.

From experience, he’d come to know the backroom where the good doctor met with each patient and served as a surgery room if necessary. It was tiled with mismatching sets made to create a new pattern out of the scraps and properly grouted to boot. It was also clean. The stainless steel was scratched but shiny and the room always smelled like antiseptic and abraxo. The whole place would smell like it if it wasn’t for the fact that the doctor had flowers and candles (when he could find them) out in the waiting room. Most of Goodneighbor didn’t have the noses to smell it, but it certainly added to the ambiance.

From his peaking around when the doctor was out Deacon had learned that the upstairs was where the doctor lived. The bedroom, kitchen, dining, and workshop were all stuffed together in the same cozy room with only the bathroom being closed behind a door.

There was always a bag packed with non-perishable foods, a set of clean clothes, a tarp, rope, and a handful of other survival essentials. In a framed picture by the bedside was a family of three; a father, an older sister, and a younger brother with a melted candle beside it.

#wip wednesday #tid bit tuesday #leo lockhart #fallout 4 deacon #fallout fanfic

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cyberphuck · 5 months

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I looked up an old address, just out of curiosity. I wanted to know who lives there now, how long they've lived there. The current owners bought the home in 2002, from my parents. Is everything the same on the inside? Did they walk into the house after the sale went through and look into the empty rooms, imagining who had been there before them? Were the echoes of raised voices still rebounding in the furthest corners, could they see the marks from the screwdriver he used to pull my door off its hinges, or the nails at the top of the doorway I hammered in so I could hang a bead curtain, in a desperate attempt to pretend that everything was normal? The website, unasked, provided me with the names of the former owners, and their current address. I typed it into the search bar, because I had no other choice. It's a nice house. Not a palace, not a mansion, but nice. Cozy looking, with a front porch and space for a garden, in a woodsy neighborhood. Sunshine. Here is where I start to believe there is no god. Any semblance of justice or fairness would see her sharing a portion of the pain she caused. Dancing in burning shoes until her feet crumbled to ash, or dragging herself on her belly across broken glass. Withered and ugly, crabbing door to door and begging to be sheltered, but turned away every time. A god would have seen that she understood what she had done, and a god would have seen that she was punished for it. Today I screamed and screamed and couldn't figure out how to stop. She's comfortable in her old age, living in a good house with the man who stood in the hallway outside my childhood bedroom and explained that I had lost the privilege of a door, while she looked on, smirking.

#no comments please

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inlocusmads · 1 year

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Promises Made, Promises Kept

A thirty day writing challenge project:

Day Ten: Write with the title, "Promises Made, Promises Kept".

The universe has a funny way of assuring people. It takes everything from everyone and leaves them with scraps, before slowly supplying them with shrivels of hope.

Featuring: Maura Tauber, Sledge from Wake the Dead

Slight Gore/Teen+/WC: 1.9k

The Park Street neighborhood was a paradise the same way a desolate sewer would be a home for fugitive rats. It was empty; its buildings hollow and full of regret and shame. The people in it were told they'd be leaving and it was just a little mixup, that's all. The Drone situation was merely an outbreak and that, people would likely return home after their time in mandatory quarantine camps. And yet, they never returned.

Maura grew up in Park Street. To see it in a devastating condition was heartbreaking, but it was nothing new anyway. Behind her was Sledge and the two of them were on Scavenging Duty - gathering medical supplies, any morsel of something they could find - anything for them to get through the winter with clothes on their shoulders and food in their stomachs. Sledge surveyed the small community, as they walked briskly against each other; between long and boxy apartments. Tall, narrow and almost hollow. The act of living went from being a privilege at birth, to a chore during adulthood and in the recent years, a matter of great pride. To have survived so far; to see the children at Camp Cypress grow up with knives and armours and who were taught to defend and hold their ground was a bit of a gut punch, because children were.. children.

They were young.

Maura could imagine the days. She was just a little kid - about four years old during the summer of 2018 and about seven before the Outbreak. At some points in her life, she'd played several games of street football. She'd especially hated Gina Weissman; this notorious pig-tailed girl whose parents had just gotten her a Wii console when she could barely recite her ABC's. She hadn't been a very bright child but they'd play football like the funny men on TV.

To think that Gina Weissman was now dead was a tough pill to swallow. Likely torn apart by a Drone and she'd have been so young too. Helpless. She'd have run away with her Wii console, crying for her Ma and Pa when they were long gone and Turned. She'd have been likely bitten by one of them too. Gina Weissman was Maura's sworn enemy, but to conceptualise the fact that she was living when everyone else who'd grown up with her, who'd shared the same laughs, the same jokes and sometimes even the same food from the plate - were all gone.

"We can look for a different place." Sledge said. "I doubt there's anything good here."

"No, I know this shop just down the street. It's this pharmacy and they'd probably have coats and jackets and cardboard boxes."

"Alright, then. Let's make it quick."

***

The pharmacy was more of an apothecary owned by this gentle man named Stephan. He was half Italian and half Cuban and would narrate all sorts of stories. He'd kept the old ladies entertained and the young children out of trouble and his pharmacy had the biggest TVs. You see, when Maura got into petty little fights with her friends from class, her dads would put her on probation to make her learn her lesson. Which meant no TV, no mobile phones or tablets and absolutely no music. It is safe to assume that Maura spent all her summer afternoons, tending to her rough wounds as she listened to Stephan speak about his uncles and aunts and his weird cousin Allie, as the big TV played all the latest daily soaps, sometimes even reruns of news broadcasts and if she were really lucky, late-noon marathons of all the best Pixar movies.

The pharmacy was now a crumbling piece of infrastructure. The beams were filled with patches of dried blood, like a five year old's finger painting drawing. The columns were slowly losing themselves; being subjected to corrosion - the slowest and most painful forms of death there ever existed. There was no more Stephan or his stories or the TV or anything, really. The fridge where the best lemon sodas were cooled down, was broken into smithereens. Bloated corpses hung low and they had to be careful with their eyes and feet, because even the slightest of sounds might trigger a wave of chaos.

They couldn't make any noise. It was too dangerous.

Sledge signed in ASL. Check the cash register if you can find stationery and novelty stuff.

Maura signed back; a hand holding a shopping bag and her other hand doing the signing. We need jackets, plumbing stuff and duct tape.

Sledge gave her a little nod. She proceeded to walk to the end of the aisle in the silence. Maura turned to the cash register and quickly studied its workings before holding on and opening it without making any noise. She spotted loose change, which were unnecessary at this point and several collection of pens and pencils. Maura pocketed the stationery, then turned to the drawers to see if she could find soap. Stephan usually had an assortment of homemade soaps somewhere here…

The first thing she noticed were several bars of ginger soap. Delighted, she grabbed them all in a handful and put them inside the bag as slowly and steadily as she could. The next thing she saw were some important heavy-duty equipments. Well, as heavy-duty as screwdrivers and other tool kits could get. Either way, it was better than nothing and besides, they were running short of them anyway. Thirdly, there was a collection of pictures. Which was not odd, considering Stephan was the only one who managed, purchased and maintained the store and it was perfectly reasonable for him to store any and all important things if he wanted to.

Maura grabbed the pictures and shifted through them as quickly as she could. As Shannon once claimed, "The greatest of cures and ideas stem from the unlikeliest of places." So it was only warranted she go through personal documents - anything that might help them survive and get a scientific edge over the Drones.

The first was a picture of Stephan in his shop. It was old, crinkly, the kind of picture a grandpa would have preserved in between pages of a book, only to open years later and reminisce about the good times. It was back in 2019 when Polaroid pictures were incredibly popular and having them on your dormitories or on your walls made you preserve certain key memories. Stephan was accompanied by a girl and Maura recognised the face instantly.

Gina Weissman.

She looked so happy. She had long red hair and always wore a pink shirt. She'd been -- six then, by the looks of it and she had her arm around Stephan's side, like she was an incredibly proud daughter and had a winning smile. Gina Weissman wasn't Stephan's daughter or anything. She was just the neighborhood girl who was mean to everyone and had Wii parties every other Saturday. Captioned with the date and time and other little quotes and something in hasty Italian.

Maura turned to the next one. This time, it was a different picture. Stephan, Gina and her mother were standing in front of a beach on a winter's day. Her father wasn't pictured but it is likely he could've been the one taking the photo. Stephan had his hands cover his eyes and he had bits of gray in his hair. Maybe he was a family friend. A friend who was more than that. An old uncle, maybe.

Maura recognised the beach and the sky. It had been Silja's eleventh birthday and they'd gone to the beach to celebrate because Silja had always wanted to get one of those candy floss on a stick things they had in little rolling stands. It was all that she ever wanted and Papa and Dad had taken them there. Dad talked on and on about birthday wishes and promises and so on and how eleventh birthdays were important and what he did and everything, so much so that it got extremely boring and Papa had to silence him with a proper kiss, to which Dad became intensely flustered. Silja had chuckled and Maura had gagged and the four of them then enjoyed some falafels under the night sky.

The third and final picture had a clear shot of the night sky, with a comet whizzing by at just the right time. Underneath the picture, it said: Made a wish! and once again, in rapid, but now coherent Italian, it read: Non auguri! Promesse! Accadranno sicuramente. (Not wishes, promises! They'll definitely happen)

Her Dad had said the same thing. "You don't wish for things. You make the universe promise you that good things will happen and I tell you, the universe never fails to listen. It's hard to get there, but it is worth the run."

Silja had asked. "Is it sort of like the time when you had to run after Papa in the pouring rain because you had this massive fight?" to which Papa laughed and Dad shook his head, exhausted from being the butt of all jokes. He'd taken it well, except later that night when they'd all gotten home, ready for some celebratory dessert as a little surprise for Silja, he'd taken a bite out of her icecream in mock resistance.

Why?

Why did they have to leave?

Maura stuffed the photographs in her bag and searched the drawers for anything extra. There was nothing else left. She decided to hold onto those pictures. If Gina Weissman wanted anything, she'd have asked for everyone to keep talking about her. And if Stephan wanted anything as his last wish, he'd have hoped people would continue to tell stories, have some fun, enjoy a night out in the starry sky, make unlikely friends and find a family - even if they aren't always by blood.

Sledge emerged from the back aisles, carrying a bag full of coats and a duffel bag full of parts.

Did you find any food? She signed.

No. Just soap. Maura signed back.

We should head up to the next street. There's a bakery.

Okay. Let's go.

If there was anything she learned from Papa and Dad and Stephan, it would be a lesson in hope. Dad was a person of reason and yet, he believed, till the very end, that it was nothing more than the universe paying him back - telling him that it'd one day fulfill its promise. The promise of finding love and a family. Dad would complain. He'd spent years talking about how his twenties flew by with him moping about as if he was in a doomsday of his own making. Everyday, he'd beg the evil puppeteers that controlled his life; his every step, to be a lot more kinder. And with hope came trusting those promises. Trusting that even though nature was cold and cruel, there was something about it that made everyone feel instantly at ease.

Stephan had talked about it too. How lonely it was, being of mixed blood. He spoke Italian but he was never Italian enough. He spoke Spanish but was never Cuban enough. And there was this family that showed him hope; showed him that even in the darkest corners, that even in the crooked little mind of a vindictive little child spoiled with Wii games and three-tier birthday cakes, there existed hope. The promise that everything will be okay and the hope to fuel that belief. To trust the process and to understand that though, not everything happens within a reason, it isn't the end.

The Universe had always kept promises. It delivered right when it meant to - carefully playing around until Dad "happens" to bump into Papa; listening to Stephan and placing him right at the Weissman's place.

And if it hasn't fulfilled a promise just yet, it means it isn't the end.

___

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! I drew the ASL concept from A Quiet Place where you had the same situation with hyper-sensitive creatures with insane hearing abilities. Though Maura and Sledge don't have difficulties hearing, they prefer to use ASL in places where they're not sure about the Drone infestation and it is required to be quiet.

Thank you so much for reading! (I ended up finishing both Day 9 and Day 10 prompts today, which is.. the 25th of January 2023, if you must know lol!)

Tag List:

Perma: @tessa-liam @writing-not @peonierose @trappedinfanfiction

Wake the Dead only: @aallotarenunelma @jerzwriter @cariantha

30 Days: @jerzwriter

Once again, I am super duper sorry for spamming your notifications lol. Please do let me know if you'd like to be tagged for this or if you'd like to be removed/added, etc. I want to keep people's preferences in mind!

#wake the dead #maura tauber #sledge wake the dead #w:inlocusmads #thirty days writing challenge

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acertainmoshke · 8 months

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Cracks in the Glass

(my entry for the free @writeblrsummerfest contest)

It was an excellent house, especially for its age, and Nul was lucky to find it at such a good price. The rest of the neighborhood was newer, but he had never needed the fade-out doors and self-monitoring cleaners. He was fine with old sliding doors, even if they did stick a little. The corner view from the back windows of this neighborhood more than made up for any coolant leaks and the fact that he was pretty sure one of the bats from the lab down the corridor had gotten stuck in the walls. A coat of paint to cover the faded façade and a bit of tinkering with the heating system and it would be good as new.

Today, after a long day of replacing other peoples’ poorly maintained ports and cables, he turned the corner to find a person standing on his doorstep. She was actually standing on the little step that led up from the public corridor to the gray house door. Her hair was wild in a way beyond end-of-day mess or even the latest out-there styles and she wore a jumpsuit, the kind that had once been worn by engineers and pilots but not in at least a couple of generations.

“Hey!” her voice was rough but soft. “Hey, I have something to tell you!”

Nul wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he said nothing.

“Lovely house, yeah? Good price?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Don’t you wonder why it was so cheap?”

Nul did not. “Because it’s outdated and crumbling. But I like projects. Now,” he moved to go around her, “If I could get inside—”

“WRONG!” She shouted it in his ear and Nul stumbled back into the center of the corridor. He glanced around, but the busy neighborhood was still and empty. Soundproofing was excellent these days. No one wanted to hear street drama through their walls.

“It’s cheap, and it’s crumbling, because no one wants to share—with a ghost!” She waved her arms to emphasize her point.

Nul raised an eyebrow. “Are you serious?”

“She died and no one cared…so now she waits.”

This was ridiculous. Right? “How did she die?”

“It was generations ago now and no one remembers her name. If anyone ever knew it. But there was a lady here once. She inherited this house, and it was beautiful and full of the newest tech. She lived alone, but she was happy here. She printed flowers for the windows and painted it yellow. You can almost still see the color. She smiled at the neighbors, but they were too busy for her. This was back when jobs were assigned and she worked down in reclamations. They said she smelled of death, but all she wanted was a little company.

“There’s no way to tell if it was accident or murder, but those neighbors killed her. Soundproofing wasn’t so good then. Glass cracks slowly. They should have heard her screams. But they were busy and they didn’t know her well and no one came. They never found her in the mess, but the entire observation window was shattered. The street was sectioned off for weeks to protect the rest of the ship while they rebuilt.

“They say she never left. All she wanted was company but they left her to die and still she haunts the place, crying of the cold. She still longs for someone like her, so anyone who owns this place is doomed to die like she did. It’s been empty a damn long time.”

“Seriously?” Nul asked again. Who accosted people on the street to tell ghost stories?

The woman shrugged. “You have been warned. Leave or forever join her, lost and freezing on the outside.”

She walked away, swaggering slightly down the corridor.

Nul swiped his card to go inside. It was cold, but he wasn’t up for fighting with the heating tonight. He’d just dig out extra blankets. He pulled a stack from the closet and tossed them on the observation bench to take upstairs after dinner. He looked up at the view, inky blackness beyond the window filled with tiny drifting pinpricks of light and color. Yes, this was worth it. Maybe he’d invite his work buddies over tomorrow to enjoy it.

A noise distracted him, somewhere between the scrabble of the bat and a human sob.

Nul turned around, just in case, and shook his head when nothing was there. He couldn’t let ghost stories get to him.

He looked back out the window.

His breath froze in his throat.

A thin webbing of cracks filled the middle, warping his reflection and obscuring the darkness beyond.

This wasn’t possible, Nul thought as he stared at the incredibly solid cracks. This couldn’t happen. This glass was over a foot thick and reinforced with the best impact-resistant polymers.

He took several slow steps forward. He could see the inner lines of the glass within the cracks, the jagged edges where it hadn’t broken cleanly. Was it getting harder to breathe?

Out. He had to get out, he had to warn people and get a crew down here. Nul turned and ran across the room. He smacked the open-door button. Nothing happened. The door didn’t even creak. Nul grabbed the emergency-open handle and pulled with all his strength. It shifted and protested but didn’t open. Hell of a time for it to get stuck.

Almost too petrified to move, Nul forced himself to turn around and check the progress of the cracks.

His own open-mouthed reflection stared back, clear and unblemished.

The glass remained whole and smooth.

Slowly, carefully, Nul crossed the room. Reached out a trembling hand. Felt glass that had never so much as chipped.

Something squished and he looked down. The carpet under his feet was soaked through. Nul knelt to get a closer look, and the dreaded smell filled his nose. Seawater had leaked in from Outside.

Upstairs, something scrabbled desperately against the walls.

#summerfest contest #writeblr summerfest #writeblr #moshke writes

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willel · 2 years

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Been thinking about how much season 3 dropped the ball with what the Byers family was going through.

They pretty much completely dropped Will's issues after episode 3. Like, actively ignored it. That kid just finished destroying Castle Byers, his safe place that ALL of them know about, and no one says anything ever again. You'd think Mike and Lucas would be like "Oh shit... something is WRONG" after seeing that and mention it to the others or something? It kinda feels like only Lucas was returning the favor to Will and trying to include him in stuff after blowing him off.

Then you got the Nancy and Jonathan situation. I didn't mind their argument, especially when it followed up with Nancy finally confiding in her mom. But why the HELL wasn't that scene paralleled with Jonathan and Joyce?????? Like, the Byers are about to be out of work. Joyce's job is clearly coming to its end. The rest of Hawkins is crumbling because of the mall. Seemingly the only job Jonathan could find is that newspaper job which he was so desperate to hold onto. Imagine Joyce noticed Jonathan looking so deflated and she sat down with him and got him to talk and then sorted hinted at them potentially moving away or something??? Reassuring him it's not his responsibility to support their family and she'd figure it out??? Apologizing for the situation she's put him in as his mother? Like?????????????????????

And then Joyce herself. The fact that her job was on the line and she was thinking about moving away was brought up twice the entire season. The rest was saved for Hopper bickering at her about even glancing at another man. While I have no problem with jopper in season 1, 2, and 4, season 3 really bugged me and it still does. I wish they had taken a slightly more serious approach and that Hopper was actually doing stuff to convince her to stay rather than what we got?? Like mentioning different jobs to her. Offering some kind of assistance in paying her bills. Suggesting a new neighborhood for her to move to if the current one stirred up too much bad memories. Heck, if he were really bold, offering to find a place for all of them to move into together and split up the bills in a totally "just helping out a friend' living arrangement". (sarcasm on Hopper's part)

Like.... they could've dropped in way more stuff instead of spending it on romantic drama.

#stranger things #me thinking thoughts and wishing for more

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footsteps-of-the-furies · 1 year

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Superiority of walking

There is a house there, underneath the mess of intertwined vines. Vines are still dormant, but soon when they are in full bloom there won't be even the slightest indication of an old and partially collapsed house there.

The house is right at the beginning of the street that belongs to the neighborhood where I was born, and where my mom was born and still lives, and other relatives called this neighborhood home as well.

And now, I live here again — after a torturous circle of life that was my lot. And I know my old/new neighborhood well, but this house escaped my attention until my morning walk today.

I drive on this street at least once daily, and ride my bike there several days a week. But since I am a safe driver and responsible bicyclist — I keep my eyes on the road and pay attention only to the traffic around me.

So the sight of the remnants of this house today was a revelation. And a reminder — my mom told me once a while ago that she went to school with two girls who lived there, but they moved away soon after graduation.

That was sixty years ago, and the house stood there — abandoned, alone, slowly crumbling with that passage of time, forgetting that people were born, lived, and died there. Or cried or loved or dreamed there as well.

Maybe their dream was to move away from this house.

How otherwise explain the abandonment? And the decay and rot and collapse that followed? Was there no one who wanted anything to do with this house? Was there some deep tragic secret inside the walls?

If that was so, it will stay a secret now. Soon there will be nothing left except expanding nature that will cover all the remains — as it should be. As is the natural circle of life — nature wins and takes over eventually.

If I hadn't decided on the spur of the moment to take a walk today, I would still be ignorant of this house and its remains. I would keep driving or riding by without registering that it is still there.

And that would be my loss — which I avoided by going for a walk today.

#walkingaround #walking #abandoned #secret

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dankdefrank · 11 months

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Vibhava-taṇhā

Summary: Vibhava-taṇhā (craving for non-existence): one of three types of taṇhā, which is an important concept in Buddhism, referring to "thirst, desire, longing, greed", either physical or mental. It is typically translated as craving. Vibhava-taṇhā can be explained as craving to not experience unpleasant things in the current or future life, such as unpleasant people or situations. This sort of craving may include attempts at suicide and self-annihilation, and this only results in further rebirth in a worse realm of existence.

Surviving is a miracle - living after is a curse. Two teenagers try to help each other while picking up the pieces of themselves. Content warning: underage smoking, light blood, guns, mentions of suicide/suicide attempt, suicidal/depressed thoughts. Read also on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47493457

It starts with a feeling. Feeling almost primal, that it can even be called forgotten. She barely can believe it is still with her, as it appeared one day and has never gone away since. Running through her veins, she has realized – this so-called flight or fight response has become an inseparable part of her, whether she likes it or not. And even when her life is not endangered anymore, she can still feel it, crawling under her skin. It doesn’t leave, creating a mind of its own. She finds it ironic. After all, she knows the day she’s going to disappear, for good. It’s one of the marks that her death has left on her. Another – the fear of dying again. So she holds on to this feeling for her dear life, as she believes if she lets herself breathe, she’s going to fall apart, crumble to dust – literally. But maybe this paradox is killing her. Even if it does, she won’t admit it. Not yet. While Anne knows when her time will come, she cannot stand this lack of knowledge about the lives of others’. The war is over, she may be safe and sound, but not the others. Every day, she hugs her parents so dearly, listens to her colleagues a little bit more than it’s needed, pets her cat way too often, and finally, she finds every excuse to turn back to Sasha Waybright in her English class. But when it's been a second week in a row since she has appeared in school and answered her texts, Anne starts thinking that something is very, very wrong. Her absence is understandable, given… the circumstances. She knows that Sasha probably needs time but still, she can’t stop worrying. Maybe something wasn’t working, indeed, or they were too complicated to understand their own feelings, not speaking about the feelings of the other, but they’re still friends. At least, she believes so.

Whatever the word for people sharing the same trauma is called. Sometimes, she thinks the events from Amphibia are the only thing that connects them and it makes her wonder – have they been friends at all? What does it mean to be friends? What’s the meaning of friendship if it ends with hurting the people that we love? She’s becoming more mature, thus she has to ask questions and eventually find the answers. It’s the part of growing up, the key to truly getting to know ourselves.

She doesn’t really control her body when she turns to Sasha’s dad’s house instead of hers on her way home from school. She lets it work on its own, coming up with an "I just wanted to keep you updated on homework and you weren’t answering" excuse. Not as if that really matters. It's a sunny, warm day. Spring is coming. The scars stay. She doesn’t feel that she's here though, as if her life was one big autonomic algorithm, but she won’t exit it. It would be unforgivable.

She passes through Sasha’s neighborhood. Although she has known her for years, she has only been in her house a few times. She has to think for a moment about whether she should turn right or left. An irritating voice in her head suggests as if that was the sign she shouldn’t go there at all. She doesn’t listen to it. Then, she sees it. After a closer look, Sasha’s dad’s house isn’t different from the rest of the building by the street. When she was younger, she’d always imagined it as an enormous, spacey villa with a beautiful garden, a crystal pool and an open driveway. It turned out she was more wrong than right – Sasha’s family could be living better than hers, but they didn’t see the point in buying a huge house for money to burn, when no one was there most of the time. Not like a smaller house would make Sasha’s loneliness more bearable. Still, the house is big enough to fit the family of five at least – when Sasha’s dad got remarried, Sasha gained two younger step-siblings. Before Amphibia, she hated their guts, calling them "annoying little shits", but after… It seems like she started tolerating them. Sometimes Anne would see her picking them up from school or even taking them to the movies. It surprised her at first, but it was heartwarming to see that Sasha was trying. Now, the house is quiet. No bikes left in the yard, no car in the garage – no living soul. She thinks so at first. Approaching, she notices the familiar silhouette sitting on the porch’s stairs, buried in the shadow. Sasha looks miserable. Her eyes seem to be more absent since their last meeting, with eye-bags bigger than before. Her short, messy hair, which definitely needs a haircut, is going in every direction. Chapped lips with bloody knuckles, one hand holding a flickering cigarette, and the pack of Marlboros sticking out from the pocket of Mr. Waybright’s old bomber jacket. Compared to this lovely weather, Sasha fills this view with her own sorrow. Anne even hesitates, as her friend doesn’t notice her appearance. But, instead, she finds her presence as the sign that now she has to reach out. "Hi," she says, standing in front of Sasha, who almost drops her cigarette. "Home alone, I see?" "Jesus Christ, Boonchuy," she lets out, "You almost gave me a heart attack." Anne laughs and decides to sit next to her. "Did your family leave?", she asks. Sasha nods. "Yeah, they went to a restaurant. I didn’t wanna go." She shudders. "Which gave you a perfect opportunity to smoke a cig." "If you want one, just say it." "I’m good." Anne declines. She decides to get to the point. "You weren’t responding to my texts." "I was sick." Sasha looks away, as if that was supposed to help her with an already bad lie. "Sasha." Anne's look pierces her. It's gentle, yet firm. "One of these days?" She doesn’t want to be too sharp, although she is, in fact, irritated – she can understand Sasha’s actions though, as her well-being is not something that she can completely control. To be honest, she lost this control the day they came back. Slowly, it started to take over and soon Anne had to admit it – Sasha was a wreck, nothing like the Sasha she has known all these years. She has changed, yes, and she appreciates it every day, but sometimes she would miss that courage and spark in her cerulean eyes, replaced by cold indifference. And then, Anne also had to admit – she could have saved the world, but still, she is helpless to make her world even slightly better. Sasha is quiet for a moment. "I guess. I’m sorry."

Anne sighs. She knows her – if she wants to know exactly what's going on, she has to dig deeper. Not directly.

She changes the subject.

"What about these?" She asks, gently grabbing one of Sasha’s bleeding hands. Sasha doesn’t stop her, even when Anne reaches out for some water and gauze in her backpack. Sasha lets out a little chuckle. "Always prepared, aren’t we?" "Better be safe than sorry. There’s always some scratch at the tennis practice." Anne answers, smiling a little. She opens the bottle of water. "Gimme your hands." Sasha listens to her – Anne knows it’s not Sasha letting herself be cared for, but it’s still the same indifference swallowing her. Sasha just doesn’t want to make it longer than it’s needed, that’s all. Anne pours some water on Sasha’s bleeding knuckles and then applies the gauze, pressuring it a bit. "Thanks," Sasha murmurs. "I would be fine, though." "I know. But there are a lot of things where I could leave you on your own. I just don’t want to." "Yeah. I– I get it." The silence falls. It’s kind of awkward, although they have spent a lot of moments without any words. For now, though, the silence is not as safe as it was – it’s unknown, unpredictable and they have gone through too much to just let it be. The silence is a sign that they, in fact, have grown apart and will continue to do so. Which is a natural course of events, but they’re too tied to each other to cut the strings of their fates. They fulfilled their destinies, but the aftermaths of these are still present in their lives. Slowly, it becomes clear – they won’t fade away. And they can be swallowed by these or accept them as part of their way to, whatever. They’re supposed to figure that out. They can’t even figure themselves out. As Anne keeps holding Sasha’s hands in hers, trying to find something that would cut that silence between them, some topic to talk about, to pretend that absolutely everything is alright (when it’s not and she wonders if it ever will be). She cannot ignore her bleeding knuckles, or rather – the reason why they are even bleeding in the first place, but she’s perfectly aware she won’t get the straight answer. It will be lost in the sea of generality, which means – it won't even be an answer at all. Instead, she takes a closer look at the details she noticed when she stepped by Sasha’s house. Now, she’s more aware of those that she saw earlier and recognizes the ones she didn’t. Then, the familiar smell of cheap beer she can find at typical, high school parties during which she realizes she’s more lonely than ever, fills her nostrils. Before she knows it, she withdraws her hands from Sasha’s and the genuine, curious question leaves her mouth.

"Have you been drinking?" Sasha shrugs. "A little. I’m fine." She adds in a way that Anne is going to investigate more and it is absolutely not needed. She wouldn’t have to, because in that matter Anne believes her, "This beer from his fridge tasted like shit either way." And she chuckles. Anne is aware Mr. Waybright won’t notice one or two of his bottles missing. Even if he will, he’s that type of man who offers some Bud Light to any teenager entering his house, probably wanting to be this "cool" dad. Sometimes Anne can’t stop hysterically thinking that he’ll make Sasha an alcoholic before she turns 21, but it’s only panicked thinking, because Sasha just doesn’t care about some percents in her body, unlike the average American teenager. Anne has seen her at the parties – and if she had to choose, who, the fuck, from this bunch of tipsy, vomiting kids still has all of their marbles, it would be Sasha, actually. No matter how crazy it sounds. He’s not a monster, to be honest. He’s just a really crappy parent, or like Sasha once told her – he "fucked up and is too afraid to clean his shit up because it started living its own life". Her words are painfully… accurate. It’s easier to let it be. Her rage has already evaporated anyway, leaving only a void in her heart but both seem to be equally destructive.

"Why did you drink it, then?" For a while, Anne thinks she’s like the host interviewing the guest invited to the show, fucking Christ, the same surrealistic grotesque situation.

"I don’t know. I do a lot of stuff without thinking." Her knuckles are not bleeding as much as before, so she plays with gauze in her hands. "Although… I was frustrated. I think."

At this point, it looks like Anne could’ve left if she wanted to. Their whole conversation is only a facade, to be honest, as there’s nothing to talk about – or rather, their misery is too big to put into words and they’re focusing all of their strength to survive. They know, it’s not the only way to live, yet the old habits don’t go away, in their heads war continues, so do they, covered in grime and blood. Being safe is out of place, it’s… wrong. She could’ve let go of her hand, as they are both drowning in dark water, and kept drowning on her own – because one of them is the weight to the other and vice versa. Maybe in some alternate world she realizes – they share nothing with each other, not anymore. So she nods, gets up, says goodbye and goes home, and that's the last time she sees her – not six feet underground, where she stays the same messy teenager forever. Maybe, in some alternate world she doesn't even think about that as she actually has been dead , even if right now it feels like she is, and it cannot be, they’re whole, the one, even if on their own they’re only shattered pieces of people they used to be. Maybe , she thinks, sitting on this very porch outside Waybrights’ house and seeing the blink of reality that still can happen flashes in front of her eyes, we’ll die.

I hope we both die.

(It’s not her thought).

Finally, she asks something she should have asked a long time ago – despite the obvious answer – reverse shibboleth, that "hello" at the beginning of a phone call, while you know who’s on the other side. But you still have to do it and you don’t know why, the impulsivity of the decision you won’t even remember.

"Are you alright?" Sasha looks at her – in the deep blue of her eyes Anne sees all of that hidden pain and she knows. Hell, no, the kids aren’t alright, the kids with skinned knees and gaps in their teeth, once they’ve run onto these streets where they grew up and got lost. Yet, they came back and prayed, prayed so hard to be able to continue being kids. They’ve lost their innocence though, disturbed by the aftermath of their experiences. It is a miracle they survived. But living with the consequences of such wonder, it is a curse.

And then, Sasha does something that will haunt Anne in her dreams for a few next weeks, although the echo of it stays with her until her dying days. She puts her hand in her pocket and pulls out a gun.

It happens in the second – she springs up, just to step back, panicked and realizes – she thinks she’s in danger. She thinks that Sasha holding Mr. Waybright’s fucking Walther may be a threat to her and she hates it. Sasha has to realize it too, as her eyes are widening, wondering if that’s betrayal as well. Anne has to cover it up.

"What the fuck?" She whispers, her body still tense and ready to flee in any second. "It’s empty," Sasha says, her voice breaking a little, "I promise." "What were you thinking?" "I’m sorry–" "Have you gone crazy?!" She explodes and she’ll regret it later but she can’t help it right now. "Has it even crossed your damn mind what the hell– I would– what I would have to tell her ?!" "I’m sorry!" Sasha yells with full force and Anne is aware that she’s not lying. "I’m fucking sorry, okay?!"

The silence falls, right before the neighbors become interested in this yelling outside. So they quiet down, for their own damn sake, although it doesn’t really matter. Anne even feels this unbearable, beastly, immature desire to scream her lungs out about what her friend-not-friend tried to do. Instead, she takes a deep breath. "Put this shit down. Right here," she commands coldly. "Don’t– Don’t protest." So Sasha follows. This little pact of the war, which is her dad’s gun being kicked as far away as possible from them, hurts because it’s not a necessity, not at all, yet it clearly draws another new line between them. And, she has to admit, Anne fully has the right to do so – she cannot be in control of it.

Then, Anne sits down on the stairs again, but farther than before, as if the invisible wall grew during these few moments that just took place, separating them. It’s not the first time, though. A lot of walls have grown in Sasha’s life. The one that her parents placed when she was just a kid, about whose existence she would learn much later, another one when both of them found new families and she realized there’s no place for her, and the other one, in a place way more different from the Earth, eons from there. The thing is – none of these walls have been broken and Sasha doubts they ever will be. But not Anne, Anne would always find some way to break through walls that have been laid down in Sasha’s life, as they weren’t existing for her in the first place. Anne would reach her, to the place where she went without any sound – her hero, her villain, her savior, her downfall. Now, Sasha has failed her and she knows it will impact both of them for the rest of their lives.

Anne lets the air out as if she was thinking if she should or should not ask the question. Finally, she decides to do so. "Is that because of us? Just… be honest," she says so quietly and exhaustedly that Sasha just wishes she had the strength to take her inside so they both could’ve laid down and after they’d wake up this whole situation would be nothing as some bizarre, blurry dream that they couldn’t have remembered. Like they used to. Sasha blinks. "No," she says, almost defensively, "no, it’s never been us, I swear."

Anne nods. "Alright." Her face softens, somewhere between blame and the feeling that maybe it’s the last time she believes her. "I’m sorry. For… yelling at you and stuff." Sasha chuckles wryly. "I’d yell at myself too. And… I’m not a fan of compassion either. So, uh, I probably needed that." "It wasn’t okay, though." "Anne, I swear, from this point now nothing will ever be worse than that." "Then tell me why." Anne looks her in the eyes and the icey, piercing blue meets the warm brown. "Tell me the truth."

It reminds her of the same sunny afternoon, from a few weeks ago when they both decided it’s clearly not working – or at least, not for now. Maybe, some beautiful day they will eventually understand themselves and become exactly the persons they have been looking for in the images of way too troubled teens they were. But there, she loses it, the stability of her future, because just a few moments ago she could’ve been not here anymore. Her empire of dirt falls, so does she, from its highest tower – there’s no more place to hide. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, as one of the catechists from the Saint James middle school used to say during mandatory Lent’s masses.

Funny thing – God. She quickly realized she wasn’t a believer and it wasn’t really a surprising thing. Although her parents declared themselves Catholics and she was Saint James’s student after all, none of them took care about raising her in the faith. Her parents rarely attended church, which she used to find ironic, and Saint James was mostly Catholic in name only. It worked really well with her during her early adolescence, when she would find any feeling of being subjected to some, in her opinion, ridiculous religious system absolutely outrageous. If God exists, why do people suffer? Why does hell exist? Why does the loving God kill or hate his own children? And none of the priests, believers or sacred books would give her the satisfying answer – somehow, they still believed and she couldn’t understand it. She does now, hell, she craves strength to follow them as well. Lost in her own humanity, maybe faith in some higher being would save her from annihilation. She would live in a lie, but she would at least live, frightened by God Almighty, like the kids are scared of monsters under the bed. But, in the disguise of promising the rest of her soul that’s still a lie, making her sick to her stomach. The pain is a better companion, always silent and harsh – yet, she can count on it either way.

"Okay."

Dance on my grave with me – take my hand and let me sing.

Sasha gulps.

"Do you remember how you died? When you turned into leaves and we thought you were gone forever?" "Hard to forget." Anne chuckles hollowly. "What about it?"

"I… I just kind of started thinking about it. That it could be some kind of salvation for me. And I guess that’s why you were so furious, because you survived."

"We all survived, Sash," she says, her eyes staring into space in front of her. "Now we have to live with the consequences."

"Yeah." A moment of quiet, she starts to fidget with her hands. "It’s not like I exactly want to die. There are still things I’d miss and I know that there are some people who care about me and I care about them. I didn’t even live half the life I wanted. But there’s something in… me, some kind of wish to not exist and sometimes it’s just too strong. Like, there’s too much pain to fight for some happiness." Sasha takes a slow breath. "A-And there’s no real way to experience nothingness. Maybe death is too much, but… Shit, I wouldn’t even have time to think about it if that gun was loaded, I’m just… exhausted. I wouldn’t really care if I had to die in five minutes."

Anne nods slowly. She thinks for a second, and then she speaks up.

"We have a name for it. In Buddhism. It’s vibhava-taṇhā. Basically craving for non-existence." "Vibhava-taṇhā," Sasha repeats. Silently, she whispers it a few times under her nose. It sounds weirdly good while she says it. Anne looks at her, but Sasha doesn’t. "I told you what happened. To be honest, I’m not sure if I didn’t dream it, but… I don’t think that death is a salvation for non-existence."

"Why?"

"Because there’s no turning back," she says, "and we don’t want to leave forever."

"And why did you come back?"

That surprises her. Sasha knows, she had to have some thoughts like hers at some point of her life. Yet, she decided to come back here, to existence, being the man’s worst nightmare and his biggest dream. Sasha still cannot fully grasp this concept and she wants to understand. "I… I still want to experience. And… nothingness will come at some point. Why not stick around a little longer?"

"But we’re smaller people than we used to be. I mean, we’re alive, but… what now? Because I have no idea. It kind of feels like I never will," she admits.

"Actually, it’s fine," Anne assures, "nothing matters. In a good way, so that’s okay. We’re the ones who give it all direction."

"Do you think we’ll figure it out?"

Anne shrugs. "Eventually. I hope."

"I hope so too."

They don’t say anything for a while. A little eternity. Next, Anne decides to address something that is pretty accurate.

"You’re not going to like it, but I think you should call your dad." Sasha opens her mouth as Anne cuts in firmly, "Or any other adult. I’m your friend but I’m also just a kid. I can’t just ignore the fact you just tried– tried to kill yourself and to be honest… I just simply don’t know what to do."

And Sasha indeed doesn’t like it, but Anne’s right. She won’t argue with her.

She sighs. "Can you at least stay? For a moment?"

"Sure," Anne says. She doesn’t hesitate. By this, she means " I’ll wait for you. " So, with a shaking hand, Sasha pulls out her phone from her pocket. Nervously, she looks for "Dad" in her contacts, while her brain frantically tries to find some good words to tell him what happened, what is happening and what will happen. Eventually, she calls him and the sound of dialing seems to last forever. But he fucking picks up. She kind of wishes he didn’t.

"Hi, Sasha. Everything’s okay?"

She looks at Anne and she doesn't know what to say anymore. She gulps. "Hey, dad. Can you come? I– I think I need your help." "What? Are you alright?" He sounds genuinely concerned. "I found your gun," she blurts out. She doesn’t even need to say anything more as the silence from Mr. Waybright seems to tell everything as he already guessed what she wanted to do.

"Okay," he finally says, probably still processing her words, "is anyone with you? "

"Y-yes."

"I’ll be there in twenty minutes."

"I’m sorry." She doesn’t even control it, but that’s something she wanted to tell him a long time ago.

"It’s fine. Just wait a moment."

"Okay. Thanks." She’s sure he wants to tell her something more – maybe "I’m sorry " as well, or "I love you ", but he doesn’t. He never does and she can understand it – they may be a family, but the lines were drawn a long time ago and probably even her death wouldn’t change it. But that’s okay, she can live with it. She’s used to it, after all. But he ends the call, as if they were just casually talking about what to get in the store and that thought makes her laugh.

"He picked up," she chuckles, still shaking, even more than before. Her vision becomes blurry as the tears start to run down her face. "H-he picked up."

Anne just slowly opens her arms and, as if it was her only way to save herself, Sasha drowns in her. Clenching her shaking hands on Anne’s t-shirt, she lets it all out, her own catharsis – she will wake up in the morning. Anne holds her gently until her dad arrives.

They’ll be okay. Eventually.

#amphibia #my ff #sashanne #sasha waybright #anne boonchuy #angst #hurt/comfort #post finale #character study #implied sashanne break up lol #this shit took me two months i'll kiss you gently on forehead for a comment #pretime skip #teenager with issues lmao #totally not based on my experiences/existential crisis (im ok)#also sasha's realtionship with her dad #he fucked up he didnt want to but he did

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