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ohheyitsokay · 3 years

Text

nicknames

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x reader

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings: none to my knowledge, just a silly thought I strung out

Summary: the things we call each other are an intimate look into how we regard them

“Why do you call him Mandalorian?” Cara was never subtle with you. You had been friends with her for years, and you should’ve known she would notice something after only a few days of your traveling with the three of them.

Shrugging, you looked at her. “I never told you?” You’d completed a lot of tasks together, as a very well balanced pair. And honestly you’d become close quickly, so it surprised you that she didn’t know you inside and out yet.

“I just feel like nicknames are too affectionate. On my home planet they're…” you searched for the word, not wanting to offend her, “intimate? Soft, maybe?”

Cara's dark eyebrows drew together.

“Mando… it sounds like a word some use for ‘dumpling',” you laughed, and her confusion broke - she grinned at you. “Mandu,” you offered, trying to explain. The words were similar under your tongue, thus the core of your problem.

“I cannot walk around professionally and call a warrior I just met dumpling.” And she nodded, laughing along with you.

It was too ridiculous, too cute, and far too intimate. Even without the double meaning, you didn’t want to be overly familiar with the Mandalorian. After all, you would only be traveling with him a few more days, and you’d hardly talked.

The mission went smoothly, however, and you were surprised to find that they offered for you to continue to team up with them. Another set of skills was welcome, and another pair of eyes on the little child was even more so. Your resolve stuck, though. It just didn’t fit, to call him anything other than the title he had given you. And you liked him a bit too much to open that door for yourself.

Din Djarin knew there was something special about you from the very beginning. He wasn’t sure if he liked it, at first, but certainly he had been very aware.

You were interesting, for someone in his field. Not at all the large, muscular fighter that he was used to seeing. But also not a seedy assassin. He’d learned quickly that your skill set came primarily in observation. You had no need to manhandle or shove your way to your bounty, instead choosing to melt into the background and watch until you’d identified the perfect strategy.

It made the first week of the job so much easier, he was content with the idea that you would travel and work with them. But then:

“How did you even know that corridor was there?” Cara was clearly excited by your field work, too. She was hardly paying attention as she walked through his ship into the cockpit.

Shoulders rising slightly, you followed her. “Micro-glitch in the holo-projection shield. I’m sure the Mandalorian's helmet identified it too.” You looked at him.

You looked right at him.

Effortlessly, your eyes found his through the visor. You were smiling a little bit, unaware of his state of shock.

Din had been wearing this helmet long enough to be used to never truly making eye contact with people. Sometimes a person got it right at random, but he could feel the difference – they couldn’t tell. But here you were, your gaze in his casually, like there wasn’t a solid layer between you.

He shrugged, reminding himself to get it together. As you turned back to Cara, he felt like he could breathe again.

Din had heard stories, children’s tales, of catching your soulmate’s eyes across the cantina - or maybe a palace room?, and being drawn together by fate. They were ridiculous, of course, but the very idea that you could bring up the memory was more than jarring.

Still, surely this was a one time thing, and he could forget about it.

For the first few weeks, it seemed like he was right. You rarely directed your gaze in his direction, anyway, being very professional and what he could only assume was shy.

You were more than happy to help with the child sometimes, and you talked freely to Cara, but in his presence you were polite and quiet. All your tasks were completed with efficiency and you would often complete other’s just because of who you were as a person. Normally, this was ideal for him - useless chatter had never been something he was good at. He was more than occupied making sure something was not breaking or mysteriously floating away, or they weren’t in danger. When you offered him silence, he should have been content to do the same, and watch the stars race by.

But… well, Din wasn’t sure he liked that either. Certainly it was strange to feel seen by you, but it felt worse that he could be making you uncomfortable, particularly as his comrade. And the more and more your eyes met his, the more it became exciting, and if maybe he wanted you to be even more than that.

So how could he get more if you hardly ever talked to him? Din shook himself, feeling silly for having zoned out in these thoughts. After all, he didn’t really talk to you, either.

After two months traveling with this strange little group, you were more than settled.

It took no time at all: you had hung up a spare scrap of fabric and made a little room for yourself, and the team functioned like a well oiled machine.

You got up before anyone else, this particular day, and were happy to enjoy the quiet sounds of the Crest as you checked everything needed for the day.

“Good morning, Mandalorian,” you heard the weight of his footsteps through the quiet halls. You didn’t even need to turn around, focused on correcting the flight pattern of the ship.

He had not questioned the use of the full title, had hardly questioned you at all. Outside missions, you two had only had a couple of actual conversations which seemed at first to be just fine. But there was a small nagging in the corner of your mind. His armor and helmet made reading his behavior hard, but you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off between you two. His body language was … almost gentle with you, not the same as he was with the little one, but as if he was afraid you’d startle if he wasn’t.

Unbeknownst to you, he had grown to like the way you said Mandalorian. It rolled off your tongue, as if it really was his name, as if you liked to say it. Din had been increasingly nervous about making you feel uncomfortable, awkward in his efforts to learn about you enough to make you stay. The prospect of sharing pieces of himself with you had become an indulgent fantasy, if only he could figure out how to talk to you.

“Good morning,” you could hear the sleep at the edges of his voice, and the softness you’d learned to recognize.

You hummed for a moment, thinking, before adding, “Good morning too you, too, little one.” You were rewarded with a sleepy little noise, and you smiled as you finished your task before turning towards them both. Thank goodness the child was awake, and you hadn’t caused any problems. His wide eyes were staring at you from above his father's armored forearm, and you smiled. It was these moments you were reminded of mandu – he was being soft.

You looked up to the Mandalorian, half wanting to tell him, but he stiffened: his shoulders rising and back straightening. Biting your lip, you averted your gaze.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” you turned back towards the stars, letting him think in silence for a moment.

“No,” he said, and you both relaxed. Whatever it was between you was gone for now, and you sat together, listening to the child wake up fully and begin to babble. It occurred to you that maybe he relished these moments, the times in which there were no expectations weighing on his shoulders. You wanted to give him more of those, if possible, to thank him for accepting you into his fold. Besides that, you spent much of your work life manipulating people, and you certainly wanted to establish that you weren’t like that here.

“How did you do that?” his voice, clearer now, interrupted your thoughts.

“Do what?” the Mandalorian rarely initiated conversation with you and it caught you off guard.

“How do you know what… is happening? What is going to happen?” he tone was genuinely curious, and you had to think before you responded. Of course, he knew you mostly just took the time to be more observant, instead of throwing yourself in head first. That’s not what he was asking.

“People are the same wherever you go. The more you watch and the closer you listen, the easier they are to predict,” you said, trying to be both brief and candid. “I was almost no one where I come from. One day, I decided instead of hating that, to use it.”

A small, deep, thoughtful hum came from the helmet beside you.

Silence settled over you for awhile before he quietly begin to talk.

Din told you of his people, his creed, and for the very first time you felt as though you were actually getting to know him. It was nice, not being professional.

“Do you ever want to be seen?” the conclusion of his talking was another surprise for you. Of course, this man who had sworn not to have his face shown would wonder at your apparent comfort with it.

The question felt as if it was seeping into your mind as you pondered it. It occured to you that this conversation had made you ache to be seen by him.

“I think everyone wants that, in their own way,” you said, and as you finally turned towards him, he held your gaze and nodded.

For someone so smart, it was infuriating how you seemed to completely miss the way he was around you.

Din Djarin, a warrior, had finally mustered up the courage to ask you to help him with a bandage on his lower back. The gentle touches and soft brush of your skin against his were foreign, but wonderful.

Unfortunately for him, you had noticed his awkwardness and assumed it was your fault. Ever the problem solver, you’d found a piece of mirror and rigged some wire to hold cleaning pads. It effectively made it easy for him to patch himself up on his own – and ruined the chance for him to steal your touch.

His previous fear had been wrong – you were not soulmates across the room, instead comrades sharing the same space. You were not exactly story royalty, but in spite of that, he was still falling hopelessly for you.

The way you talked to people – who weren’t bounties – with care and kindness. How good you were at your job, and how nice you made their shared space. How you laughed and rolled with the punches that came with this lifestyle. Din had never met anyone quite like you, and beyond all reason, he wanted to know everything about you, share all of himself with you. But you were so clever and polite it made him want to bang his head against a wall.

He couldn’t stop trying though, to get closer to you. Previously, you and Cara had left him and the child occasionally for a personal missions, and it left his feeling strange the entire three days. When you came back his heart had felt light and he wanted desperately to hold onto that feeling.

It wasn’t the same, when Cara went out for the afternoon a day or two after the patch up incident. In fact, he quite enjoyed the jolt of excitement that came with a whole few hours of potential.

Din couldn’t finish his tasks fast enough, even putting the child down for an early nap before nervously setting out to find you.

As expected, you were settled in the common area, reading through articles on your upcoming bounty. He sat next to you, willing himself not to betray his heart with his behavior and scare you away.

He said your name, his blood pumping even before you met his eyes.

“Yes, Mandalorian?” he had no idea why he was so nervous. He’d rehearsed this moment in his mind, it had been aching to be brought to life.

“You… you can call me Din… Djarin.”

It was not exactly as planned.

You’re eyes, ever in his, were wide.

“Din Djarin,” you said it reverently, before saying, “I promise I will keep it safe.”

He held back a small groan. There you went again, being so considerate he was afraid you’d never actually use it.

The frustration overwhelmed him, filling him with boldness and he pressed into your space insistently.

“No,” he said, “Well, do, but use it, please. I cannot stand you calling me Mandalorian like nothing has changed since we first met. I trust you, use it.”

You were adorable, the fear of his confession was damped by how intoxicating it was to be close to you. His hands found you, turning your body in your seat so you were facing him, and settling on the tops of your shoulders. He gently tugged you into him, encouraged that you didn’t pull away, but relaxed into his touch.

“I don’t want to slip,” you said, your voice barely audible.

The forehead of his helmet was so close to yours, you could feel your breath bouncing off of the mask.

“Please,” he said, and it smashed through all the walls you had created.

“Din Djarin,” you said again, tasting it on your tongue. You felt metal above your eyebrows and realized your eyes had closed, savoring the intimacy of the moment. You didn’t open them, allowing your heart to beat at lightspeed, and the tingles radiating from his gloved hands flow through you.

He was being soft with you.

“What if we compromised?” you could hear the smile in your own voice, and he gave a rumbling hum. You wondered if he was as absorbed in this moment as you were, unable to think straight.

“Mandu,” you murmured.

He was silent for awhile, the only indication he heard you being his palms, which slid to where your shoulders curved into your neck.

You could almost hear him thinking.

“I don’t understand,” he finally said, nearly inaudible. Your hands had reached out for him, one wrapping around the armor on his forearm, the other in the soft fabric on the side of his neck. He was distracted, bliss clouding his brain.

“Dumpling,” you said, and if it were anyone else, he would have thrown you across the room. “When you are being my strong and capable leader, you will be Mandalorian,” you continued, unaware that your words and actions were making his whole body fill with warmth and pride. “When you are being yourself, at home with us, I will call you Mandu – it sounds enough like Mando that no one will know it’s because you are truly soft.” He found himself smiling, despite his embarrassment. For you, he was soft. “And I will call you Din when it is just us, and I can be with you as you are now.”

There was no question that these moments would come again. He had made you give in to reading him completely, without any personal doubts.

“Okay, cyar’ika.”

Taglist: @fangirl-316 @scribbledghost

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #maybe i don't know people #THIS is the one i teased about #its a mess but i like it

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pars-ley · 3 years

Text

Try again

Pairing: Hoseok x Female reader

Summary: When your job lands you at one of the most famous Fashion shows in Paris, the last thing you expect is to run into an ex - the current most sought after model in the industry.

Genre: Exes to lovers / Smut / Fluff

Rating: 18+ (NSFW)

Warnings: Model Hoseok / Dior Hoseok / Unprotected sex (you know the dealio, wrap it when you tap it) / Ever so slight exhibitionism / Nipple play /

Word Count: 2.3k

Beta: @birbdae thank you for looking over it twice because I’m so extra (sorry) and thank you for all your help.

Notes: This is for my secret santa project with @thebtswritersclub for @yutasgalaxy really hope you enjoy! And I also used my square “Jung Hoseok” from my summer bingo card for the @bangtanwritingbingo event.

Taglist: @mwitsmejk @vantxx95

The lights go dim and excitement blossoms like spring in your stomach as your eyes remain trained on the runway. Phone at the ready to take notes for this month's fashion article you are in charge of.

The first model comes out and cameras flash wildly, illuminating the outfit. You scribble away rapidly recounting everything to write up later.

Dior's highly anticipated fashion show, one you had been eagerly counting down the days till. Flying out to Paris was the perfect opportunity for you to mark one destination off your travel list and you have not been disappointed at all. From the architecture to the food, you are undeniably impressed and living one of your ultimate dreams.

It's time for the most awaited outfit yet, everyone was on the edge of their seat poised. You look over at your photographer, he's in position and eager, looking ready to spring.

The lighting and music changes and out walks the model all in black. That's all the detail you notice as your heart stutters and stomach flips as your eyes shift rapidly to his face.

Jung Hoseok. How did you not know he would be here?

The cameras flash even more wildly, every photographer wanting to get the best pic of the most sought after model on this runway. Your hand however hovers over your phone, unable to scribble away like you were previously, too distracted by his general presence.

Swallowing the panic you feel rising into your throat you glance at your photographer, his eyes are already on you, pity creasing his brow but a message in his eyes that says "Focus on your job and get it together."

You take a deep breath and compose yourself, making notes on the outfit and nothing more. As soon as your eyes hit the harness stretched across his broad chest however, your legs squeeze together tightly, as not only do previous nights of passion flicker behind your eyelids but the temptation for one last night with him is almost too great to bear.

As you watch him strut down the runway, face impassive and professional, your heart pulls in a thousand directions. Memories of the few years spent together cloud your mind, taking you to another lifetime when he was yours and you were his - before fame, before everything.

You pinch the bridge of your nose hard, willing yourself to focus as you type wildly away on your phone, trying to stay focused.

The show ends a short while after your blast from the past's appearance and all you can think of is getting as far away from him as fast as you can. Before all your hard work of burying your feelings in an attempt to get over him is ruined by your self restraint.

As you head for the exit, a hand lightly grabs your arm. Turning you see a pretty young woman, a badge around her neck and a kind smile on her face, handing you an envelope.

"It's from Hoseok. He asked if I could make sure you get it." She said next to your ear so you could hear over the chatter of the other attendees.

You nod and mechanically take it. She's off through the crowd before you even get a chance to say thank you.

You head to the exit in a daze, clutching the envelope like it holds the answers to life's questions. As soon as you're out in the cool evening air you take yourself off around the corner of the building away from the scattering crowds. Your fingers fumble as you frantically rip at the envelope and open the piece of paper inside, instantly recognising his elegant hand.

Many love letters he would write to you with poetic words scrawled across the page, each sentence a meaningful lyric coming alive as your eyes danced across them with a barrier of tears waiting to fall. Those words tucked away in a box hidden deep in your wardrobe for those moments you wish to relive how he once felt about you.

You read and re-read the note, double checking the words are correct.

"I saw you as you came in, I always had the ability to find you in a crowded room and apparently that hasn't changed.

I can't believe you're here. Please. Please, meet me at Guy Savoy at 7 o'clock tonight. I would love to see you and speak to you properly. I will book a table under my name. I really hope you show, you have no idea how much I've missed you."

That last line did things to your insides you weren't expecting. Your chest felt full and ready to burst open, love bleeding out of a fresh cut. Maybe you should just go back to your hotel and order room service, or go out for dinner with your photographer seeing as you were both here alone.

But you knew, even as you thought it, you knew you couldn't. You knew you had no intention of doing either.

Folding up the note and shoving it in your pocket and went in search of your colleague to tell him you wouldn't be travelling back to the hotel with him. He wished you luck, even if there was a hint of apprehension in his tone, you ignored it and took a cab to the restaurant.

Sitting there waiting, your nerves were at their peak. You had chewed the skin along your fingernails until they were sore and you had now resorted to folding your napkin to make different origami shapes. Just as you didn't think your heart could take anymore, you picked up your bag but as you were about to stand and run away, you saw him. Walking towards you, shades on and the most familiar beaming grin that had always made your stomach flip. You couldn't help the pull of your lips, mirroring the same smile he wore.

He breezed up to you and wrapped you in his muscular arms, like a whirlwind his scent intoxicated you and jumbled your mind even further.

"You are a serious sight for sore eyes." he whispers in your ear before pulling away and pushing in your chair as you sit down in a daze.

"You're around gorgeous models all day, I doubt that." you reply, attempting to hide your blush.

He removes his shades and places them on the table, before pushing his fingers roughly through his hair. "Believe me, it’s not as glamorous as people think.”

There’s an awkward silence that falls on your table, with sly, shy glances from you both.

“How’s it been? Your career I mean.” you blurt out, desperately trying to ease some tension.

He leans back in his chair and shrugs. “I can’t complain, at all. It’s going better than I could have dreamed.”

You nod, taking in how nonchalant he’s being. “I have to admit, I’ve been keeping track.”

“Of me?” he asks, shocked.

“Your career.”

“Really? I’m flattered.” his lips stretch into a toothy grin as a faint scarlet hue spreads across his cheeks.

“You should be very proud of yourself. You’ve accomplished so much, there’s no limit on how far you can go.” you find yourself saying all of this without meaning to.

He covers his face with his hands. “Ok, I appreciate this, really, coming from you this means so much, but I am more interested to hear about you.” he leans forward and places a hand on top of yours, the action causing your heart to soar. “What’s been happening with you? Are you still in the apartment?”

You nod as you take a sip of the champagne the waiter is pouring. “Yep, can’t bear to leave it, I love it there so much, a lot of memories too.” you add sneakily trying to gage his reaction.

His eyes soften. “Yes, we made a lot there.” his fingers entwine in yours, a movement far too comfortable for how long it’s been. "I miss it," he looks into your eyes so fiercely you're slightly taken aback. "I miss us."

Your heart inflates excitedly in your chest as butterflies swarm inside your stomach. But is this a good idea to rekindle an old flame, maybe there was a reason it was extinguished in the first place.

He senses your hesitation. "Are you with anyone?"

You shake your head. "No, I've dated but nothing serious. What about you?"

He laughs a bitter sound. "Same. I've not found anyone that could match up to you."

You hesitate again. "Hoseok…"

"Listen," he puts a hand up quietening you. "I know it was mostly me who instigated us breaking up in the first place but that is my biggest regret. I never should have let you go." he bites back the emotion in his words and swallows.

"But if you hadn't you wouldn't be where you are today." you add, squeezing his hand still clutching yours.

He makes a disgusted noise at the back of his throat. "I left my dream girl to follow my dreams and let me tell you, it wasn't worth it. If someone asked me to choose, it would be you. every. single. time."

He grabs your chair and slides it along closer to him. He reaches out to cup your face. "Please, let me come back."

His plea does not fall on deaf ears. Your heart knows the decision it's made but you can't form the words to speak. Your libido overtakes the moment and you grab him by the collar of his shirt and crush your lips against his. The taste of him is so familiar and yet new at the same time. Sweet like butter as your mouths melt together as one. His arm around your waist almost pulling you off your chair makes you break away and giggle. The heat in his eyes is almost overwhelming, all your thoughts are no longer in your head but in your groin. He looks so good staring at you like that, like you are the reason for living, how could you not give into him?

"Come back to my hotel?" you whisper urgently.

He nods, throws some cash down for your ordered drinks, takes your hand and pulls you out through the restaurant. You jog along to keep up with his long legged stride. He flags down a cab and you're into it and moving off swiftly while his hands find you again. They roam your body, finding their way under your shirt and to your nipples. He rolls them gently between his fingers as his lips attach themselves to your neck.

His hand glides slowly along your thigh, up your skirt and just when he's about to reach the most desired area the cab stops abruptly, letting you know you've arrived. You groan with frustration but jump out, pulling him into your hotel and leading him up to the room. Your heart pounding so loud in your ears you can't think of anything, nothing but the taste of his lips or the feel of his skin under your fingertips and god, did you want to feel more.

As soon as your door is unlocked you're on each other. Clothes can't come off fast enough and as they leave a messy path like a trail of breadcrumbs leading towards the bed.

"God, I have missed you." he says as he glances down at your body before pulling you flush against him.

There's no time for sly touches or exploring, you're both too desperate to feel each other.

Your bare, naked flesh moulds easily together as he enters you, both of your moans echo out across the room. The feeling euphoric as it's what you know and yet what you are no longer used to. He moves inside you with a persistent, desperate rhythm as his hips wind in the most perfect way, hitting that sensitive spot every time and making your toes curl in consequence.

He looks down at you, a soft, determined gaze and says breathlessly, "I love you."

His words are your undoing, as you remember the sweet nothings he used to whisper to you while you were making love before. You unravel around him, blinded by pleasure as your back arches underneath him. He's quick to follow you as you feel his warm seed spilling inside you and you watch his face twist in pleasure, his eyes never leaving yours. The moment, so intense, almost too intense you had to look away.

Both of you breathless and riding on your high, lay back on the bed staring up at the ceiling. A thousand thoughts race through your mind as you panic that you've just made a huge mistake. What if his words weren't genuine? What if he leaves...again? What will you do then? You'll have to start over, all your hard work of pushing him aside.

Almost as if he can sense your rising doubt, his fingers entwine with yours, as he turns onto his side to face you, gently twirling a strand of your hair between his digits.

He watches you closely as if searching your thoughts, your eyes so open and vulnerable - letting him right in, wanting him to silence your fears.

He strokes your face and kisses you so softly your lips melt right into him. You want this. You want him.

"Hey, I'm serious," he leans back, eyes burning into yours. "I want to come home to you. I want our life back, I want you, always."

Your panicking heart is soothed by his words and you relax and lean into his touch, your limbs softening against him.

"Please, can I have another chance?" he asks, so vulnerable and sincere any doubts are washed away in an instant.

"Let's give it a try." you reply.

He almost blinds you with his sunshine smile as he pulls you against him, his lips dancing happily with yours. And you lose yourself in him completely. You are his, utterly and completely.

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apixrl · 3 years

Text

DRIVER'S LICENSE.

katsuki bakugou x fem! reader

WARNING(S): angst. cheating. swearing because it's bakugou.

word count: 4.5k

song: drivers license // olivia rodrigo (i wonder why...)

note(s): so i captioned this *at the time of writing* 'hello and welcome to i've had the worst two weeks ever so i wrote a katsuki oneshot to cope' and it's probably one of my most personal pieces of writing tbh

"-come Tuesday and we'll potentially see an end to this heavy downpour of rain. Temperatures will be on the rise to around-"

The talk on the radio cut short at the jab of your finger, heaving a great sigh which faded into the muffled pitter-patter of rain from outside. The streets had been showered with heavy downpours for the last week or so, no sign of sun or a still and restful day. Notwithstanding the miserable outdoors, the windscreen wipers on your car never ceased in their duty to grant you a clear view of the road ahead. And whilst you were grateful for their devotion, it didn't feel clear in the slightest. In fact, the road had never felt so blurry.

Shivering against the cold night chill and tucking your knees cosily to your chest, you eyed the raindrops on the windows. They raced against one another before they dripped down to your car's body, their glossy presence obvious thanks to the many hues of street lamps that surrounded them. You could have watched them for hours, being honest. Something about the droplets of water battling it out quite enticing. Anything to take you away from the cruel reality you were living in.

Your heart ached and yearned. But to no avail, the one you ached and yearned for didn't love you back.

Not anymore, at least.

Just the mere thought provoked a pulsating pang to resonate throughout your entire body. A pang filled with grief and sadness. Anger and hurt. You missed his sun-kissed face on the sunny mornings. You missed his eyes and how they gazed at you from across the room. You missed the smiles and laughter he would only show for you and you alone. The sense of glee and euphoria that came with that honour. Yet all of it was gone and there was no way you could get it back.

The memories of what had been triggered more waterworks. Hot, salty tears dug at the corners of your eyes and trickled down your face. Your motionless car concealed your cries and sobs. Every thrash against the wheel as you questioned to nobody in particular what went wrong and why. How you didn't see the signs sooner. What you could have done better. When he stopped loving you. If he ever planned to stop loving you. Whether it would have hurt more if you found out sooner.

All these questions with nothing to answer them.

Katsuki Bakugou had always fascinated you. From the very moment you met. You accompanied your friend on a double date, and he was the guy who she matched for you. Whilst he originally acted as though a blind date was the last place he wanted to be, underneath the aggression you could tell there was something much more genuine and true.

And your assumptions were correct. Truth be told, Katsuki Bakugou was one of the most genuine and truest people you had met (at the time). Once it was just the two of you, he allowed his true colours to unveil. Through the smallest of kind gestures that still haunted your mind to this day. Then upon confrontation, as you bid each other goodbye at your back door, his denial resulted in a flirtatious contest which then proceeded to an intimate night that changed your life forever. From there your mind was set.

He was the one.

Emphasis on was.

So blinded with a fairy tale love you grew so accustomed to, you never saw it coming. Never in your two-year relationship - that had so much strength and commitment built on top of it, never did you think that Katsuki Bakugou would throw it all out of the window like it was nothing. Disregard your loyalty and adoration for a drunken one night stand that slowly became an occasional hookup. Which soon became a mandatory pastime once a fortnight. Then twice. Maybe more than that. You wouldn't put it past him with what you knew now.

He kept it from you for nearly six months. Six months. The only reason you discovered his lies and deception was because you were let off early one night from work. You worked a night shift, see. Your last job had fallen to shambles, and it was temporary whilst you searched for a new one. And whilst that did take a toll on your relationship with Katsuki Bakugou, mostly finding time for intimacy since his working hours were during the day, none of that gave him any right to go and do what he did.

That wasn't one of the only reasons, you knew that for sure. There were other motives for his lack of loyalty. But you were never told. After you froze at the sight of another woman under his hold and stormed straight back to your car to flee. After he chased you down the flights of stairs in nothing but baggy pants into the streets of a twilight Musutafu. After you screamed into the darkness and belted your fists against his chest. Fists that were driven with rage and hurt and every emotion that burned like the hottest of fires and froze like the coldest of ice. He never even told you. He never made an effort to address it. Nor had he attempted to call or even try to visit your Mom's house - where you stayed as you searched for a permanent place to live. Just because you retreated for your car and cried that it was over, he never tried. But that didn't mean you weren't allowed an explanation. An apology. Something to give you a form of closure and a reason to move on. But you never did.

That wasn't even what hurt the most, either.

As silly as it was, the thing that hurt you the most was the very car you sat in.

EIGHT MONTHS AGO . . .

The red glow of traffic lights hit Katsuki's vermilion irises as he stared dead ahead at the long line of vehicles, the ash-blond heaving a sigh into the air. His finger tapped impatiently against the steering wheel he gripped with one hand, the spare rested casually against your upper thigh affectionately.

"I can't believe we have to sit through this torture just to go to some damn party," Katsuki grumbled, taking a glance over at you. His brows furrowed when he met you peacefully slouched down, nose dug into your phone as you presumably played some sort of game to pass the time. Like you had no care in the world for your predicament.

"It's your best friend's birthday, love," You mused back, Katsuki surprised you even listened based on your focused expression directed towards your phone. "It's not like we can just miss it,"

"Yeah, but we could have missed all this pain by taking the train instead of driving across town during rush hour,"

"Trains are icky, the seats would have ruined your suit and my dress," You pointed out, looking at the blond over your screen, sending him a sweet smile. He cocked a brow, a smirk creeping its way onto his lips as a scoff of a laugh broke out between them.

"Right, and laying down like a sloth is gonna help keep your dress uncreased?" He returned, amused at your realisation. At his comment, you sat up faintly and pouted your lip.

"Driving means more time to play Gravity Pops, and so does traffic,"

"Seriously? That's the game you're playing? You're such a dumbass,"

"Yes! I'm in the top 11% globally! I need to get to number one!" Was your protest, your arms flailing ahead of you briefly for dramatic emphasis. Katsuki clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, though the small smile plastered over his lips betrayed his initial reaction. Unable to deny your determination, he spoke with confidence and almost a sense of pride.

"Number one, hm? Clearly rubbing off on you aren't I?"

"In a way, yes,"

"That's my girl," Katsuki remarked, earning a giggle from you that was uplifting to hear. It was there your attention went back to your phone, but Katsuki wasn't done. "So, speaking of cars, Y/N," Hearing his chosen tone - which sounded suggestive, you eyed him closely. Hesitant to reply as you had a sense of what he planned to say.

"...Yes?"

"Have you thought any more about getting your driver's license yet?"

Called it.

"...No,"

"What?" Katsuki began, tilting his head. He was surprised that he felt surprised. You had said those words in regards to this topic countless times. Still, he persisted. "Is that a no meaning you haven't or no meaning that you don't want to?"

"Both?" You half-guessed, sheepishly grinning at the look you were sent. "Look, cars scare me okay? And so do roads. And people. My nerves wouldn't be able to handle it! I can barely communicate with people face to face, so me being on the road is a recipe for disaster!"

"I know but -," Katsuki exhaled sharply, understanding your reasoning. You had voiced these concerns when confiding to Katsuki about your fears of the road. Something built and corrupted from social media as well as phobias and fears in general, it was a battle you had yet to overcome. You wanted to drive but was terrified of messing up or causing chaos on the road. Potentially inflicting harm to someone and yourself. You still weren't sure what triggered it all, but over the years it had manifested into something quite irrational, to say the least. Katsuki had been supportive of it and whilst he truly would love to always act as your personal taxi - you couldn't hide from it forever. It wasn't his job to keep you in your comfort zone. That, and he couldn't always be there for you that way. What if he was miles away and you had somewhere urgent to go like the hospital? "It's not as scary as you think. I know it's hard to believe that but seriously. The freedom you get from driving is amazing,"

"I'll think about it a little longer, okay?" You said with hesitancy, looking at Katsuki for a sign of confirmation. He nodded in defeat, knowing you probably needed more time and felt put on the spot. So he averted his eyes back to the road to check if the traffic had moved at all. It had not.

"Okay," Katsuki said. "But I can't be your taxi service forever,"

"But I like you being my taxi service," You jokingly said, a little sadness in your tone. "Your road rage is funny and I like watching you get out of the car and walk to my door after pulling up in my driveway,"

"What do you mean?" Katsuki asked, catching the twitch of a smile on your face upon saying those words. It struck his interest in what you could mean.

"You know, like when you say you're coming to pick me up?" You explained. "You pull up at my driveway and I don't know... simple things like that just remind me of how much I love you. It's dumb really, but it's important to me,"

"Really?" Katsuki questioned in disbelief. How something so small and meaningless could mean so much was puzzling. He couldn't understand why it was so special to you. But that didn't invalidate it in any shape or form. So he pushed that aside, replacing his wonder with gratitude. He returned to your bashful and flustered features, feeling a smile grow on his face.

"Yeah," You said, shrugging to downplay your words. "I love you. Stuff like that means a lot to me,"

"I love you too, even though you're a dumbass," Katsuki said, humbled by what you had said. The two of you shared a gentle exchange, your hand grabbing hold of Katsuki's as you gave it a squeeze. He squeezed back, and silence ensued. Had he realised such a thing sooner, then Katsuki would have pulled up in your driveway much more than he had been doing. But at that a thought struck his mind, victoriously smirking as he had an idea on how to potentially sway your worries. Or begin swaying it. Something was better than nothing, after all. "But what if I wanted you to pull up in my driveway one day?" His words caused you to look over at him in curiosity, hearing the seriousness in the question. It caught you off guard momentarily, having to contemplate as you gradually concluded that he had a point.

"Well one day, maybe I will," You vaguely replied and sat up a little bit. The hand holding yours pulled back and lifted to land on your shoulder, gripping reassuringly tight.

"I hope you do, I'd like to get in on this driveway action," He joked and smirked, faith riddled in his expression. You giggled ever so slightly, tempted to lean forward and peck Katsuki on the lips in thanks, but never a thing was to happen as the alerting red light from outside switched to warm amber.

"Ah!" Katsuki yelled in triumph, his attention leaving you swiftly as he got back into the driver's seat. Giving you no opportunity to respond to him and overall ruining the moment. "Took fucking long enough!"

The light turned green, and he set the car in motion, leaving you with your thoughts and the words he had uttered that day as the traffic stood still.

All your efforts, all your time devoted to getting over your fear of driving and the road as a whole... all of it was pointless. You did it for him. You promised him you would overcome your fears and better yourself. He built that motivation up brick by brick until you could grab hold and seize control. He wasted all that time to get you to reach such a stepping stone only to abandon it once it was through.

Just so you could pull up in his driveway, just like he requested. And what did you get in return when you finally did? A stab in the back and the loss of your other half.

You wiped your eyes via the sleeve of your hoodie, dampening the cuffs. Sniffling and exhaling a shaky breath, your gaze landed on nothing in particular. Yet somewhere within your clouded mind, you found interest. As that was where your gaze remained for a certain amount of time. You weren't sure how long exactly. It could have felt like an hour and only been five minutes. Or it could have felt like five minutes and was actually an entire hour. Either way, the clock ticked on and didn't wait for you to stop.

It was a good thing you had pushed your fears down and rose above them. It just pained you that you didn't even do it for yourself. Without Katsuki Bakugou, you never had any intentions of doing so. As a matter of fact, you had set out to take the train or bus for the rest of your life. Hell, you were going to use a bike and scooter if you got desperate. Had he even acknowledged how much work you put in just to get where you were? Was all that effort part of the reason why he decided to cheat? There was absolutely no telling. Absolutely no telling at all.

You wondered what he was doing now. Was he laid in bed resting peacefully? Out with his friends for a boy's night only? Maybe cooking his favourite curry? Possibly on a late-night jog despite the harsh weather? It never stopped him other times.

Did he ever think about you? Regret what he did and the actions he took? Had he ever considered apologising? Would he ever apologise? What if he was celebrating the fact you were no longer in his life? Had there ever been any love there for you in the start? Did he ever actually want you to get your driver's license because he believed in you? Or was it so he could get rid of you with much more ease? Make his departure less severe and less selfish? A way to justify his choices because it's not like you were hopelessly left to suffer everyday life now that you had a means of transport. Was he really that cruel?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sharp jingle of your phone, the device lighting up as it sat in the passenger seat to your left. It took two or three rings for you to glance over at it, E/C eyes sore and drained from crying out. You squinted them to read the caller, seeing the name 'Work' fade in and out on the brightly lit screen. For a second or two you argued back and forth on whether to even bother picking up. Something about reaching across for your phone requiring a magnitude of energy you no longer possessed. Having spent it all on your cries of agony and the deprivation of your old life as a whole.

However, you had ignored your work in the last couple of weeks too many times now. So many times that pulling the same stunt again would probably risk you losing your job. It's not like your work was interested in why you felt such overwhelming pain... all they cared about was you turning up to do what you were hired to.

So using a forceful hand, you leaned over to pick it up. You fumbled to grip your phone and accepted the call with a dainty tap of your thumb. Then you blinked away your tears and subtly sniffed, pressing your phone to your ear to address the caller.

"Hello?" You practically croaked, quick to clear your throat and push any signs of upset down. It was presumably dry from how much you'd cried in the last two hours.

"L/N! Hey! Glad you finally picked up!" Unlike the droll and unvarying tones of your boss, the person on the other end was much more lively and greeting. So much so you could only assume it was none other than your work colleague, Etsuko. Probably the only person you genuinely liked where you worked, and the only person who made the time pass by faster. "I was worried you were gonna leave me on answer phone again,"

"Hm, what? Oh right. Yeah. Sorry about that. Haven't been feeling too great," You lied, even though it wasn't a complete fib. You hadn't been feeling great at all. You had never felt so rock bottom. It all just originated from your mind over anything else. But when did work care about that?

"Sounds like it, I hope you've been okay!" Still cheery as ever, Etsuko followed up with a laugh to fill the silence you created by not saying anything. "Is everything well? It's nothing serious, is it?"

"No. It's not. Just some dumb cold I caught," You excused. "I'm better now, though," Slouching down in your seat, you decided to ask the question that had been roaming your mind the last minute or so. "So why are you calling?"

"Oh, right!" Etsuko said. "Mr Kobashigawa was just wondering when you planned on coming back - for schedule reasons and to get people to fill in for your shifts,"

"I er...," Not entirely sure how to answer, you stuttered as your words cowered away in your attempt to speak. "I don't -,"

"It's okay, he doesn't need an answer yet," Etsuko reassured. "Maybe in the next day or two, though? He wasn't really specific, being honest,"

You sighed at the guilt brewing in your stomach. You weren't even sick for crying out loud! Why were you lying just so you could wallow in your own sadness?! Like that was going to change anything! Sitting around and crying wasn't going to give you what you wanted. You weren't getting him back. Katsuki Bakugou wasn't yours anymore. He made that clear by cheating. By making minimal effort to give you an explanation. By causing you so much pain with little care or concern. Why couldn't you get it through your thick skull that your feelings didn't matter anymore?! That they were being wasted on a lost cause. A lost relationship!

"Well I mean -," You started, running a hand through your hair as you tread carefully on your words. "I could come in tonight? Has Mr Kobashigawa got someone to fill for me yet?"

"Um... no? I don't think so?" Etsuko answered, uncertainty in her voice. "Let me go check. Be right back!" And with that, the line fell dead. The call didn't end, just Etsuko placing the phone down to get an answer for you. Leaving you all by your lonesome once more.

Reflecting, you could see the logic in your thoughts. The best course of action would be to hold your head up high and live life the way it was before. When you were happy. Just... excluding the factors that actually made you happy. Which was him. Wouldn't that be healthier than crying all the time?

Yes, it would. But was it what you wanted? Not really.

"L/N!" The voice in your ear startled you to the point you nearly dropped your phone, panicking through a gasp as you fiddled to grab hold of it again.

"Wa-! Careful you nearly scared me half to death!"

"Oops, sorry!" Etsuko giggled softy, sounding as perky as ever. "I'm just excited to tell you that nobody's filling in your shift! You can still come in for ten-thirty!"

"I-I can?" You asked. After an upbeat 'yeah!' filtered through your ears, you considered your options. Remaining in the serene, quiet confines of your car with only the downfall of rain to accompany you sounded like utter bliss, given how you felt. But you felt an internal kick up the backside which told you - no... demanded you to just get over this moping attitude of yours and look on the bright side. To get over the lack of closure and simply... move on.

Yeah... if he found out you were an utter train wreck thanks to the damage he inflicted; Katsuki Bakugou would probably revel in it. He had a history of gaining pleasure from other's misfortunes... or it was rumoured he did (during his younger years, anyway). You had never wanted to believe it but you couldn't find a reason to refute it anymore. After all you had been through, it seemed to fit his character and personality more than ever. So with that fact apparent, you held a firm forefront and searched for a determined tone, and made your answer to your friend.

"You betcha I'm coming in! I'll see you in half an hour!"

Too enthusiastic? Probably. Still, it was better than acting pessimistic and hopeless. No matter, however, because that was exactly the attitude Etsuko had been hoping for.

"Alrighty!" She exclaimed, smile audible in her voice from the other end. "I can't wait to get our dynamic duo going again! I've missed you!"

"Yeah, me too, 'Suko," You hummed in agreement.

"Great! Catch ya later my partner in crime,"

"Heh. You too, dumbass," You found a reason to smile from her childish behaviour, though your choice of wording seemed to hit a nerve. It did more than that, it practically reverted all that confidence and progress you had made in the last ten minutes of being on the phone. All from one innocent word that escaped your lips.

Dumbass.

That's what he used to call you.

The phone call had ended without you even noticing, your phone still pressed to your ear as a small buzz sounded into it. You stared dead ahead, flashes of all the times he had said that word to you running through your memory. It was his form of a pet name. Some might see it as a little degrading on the surface, but you never minded. Once you learned the deeper meaning of the name, it became something equivalent to the likes of 'Sunshine' or 'Angel'. If anything, you ended up preferring it to those sorts of nicknames. Hence why Katsuki Bakugou had called you it on so many occasions.

No. Stop it. You can't let something like that bother you. Not after the efforts you just went to. Stop. Shaking yourself out of it, you returned to reality and permitted your phone to drop onto your lap. Your hand once holding it gripped onto your steering wheel, the other following shortly behind to do the same.

"I love you too, even if you're a dumbass,"

That rung in your head one final time, tormenting and mocking your present. The things you'd be willing to do to hear him say that to you one last time...

"No," You firmly shook your head, banging it lightly against the headrest to return yourself to reality. An attempt to knock those words to the back of your mind where you could lock them in a securely tight safe for the rest of eternity. "Just... just don't think about it. Easy. Just focus on what you're doing now," You reached for your keys which sat in the ignition, taking hold and turning them ever so slightly. Your car stirred to life, engine rumbling and the dials lighting up in a form of warm greeting. "You're going to work. No more feeling sorry for yourself,"

No more feeling sorry for yourself.

Your eyes set themselves on the road ahead. The vacant, dark and solitary road that didn't wait for you to make your decision. Life moved on after all, so if you were going to do anything - it was to catch up and take the winning lead.

So despite your circumstances; your inner desires and wishes and begs for what you wanted back but to no avail would ever get, you pulled out of your parking space (which had long exceeded the time limit, thankfully nobody was around to see) that drowned in pitiful rains of the night, and began to make your way down the street. In search of a place better than the one you were trapped in.

An endless road that wasn't all that clear, you were going to tackle it. Not for anyone else, unlike the last time you met difficulty and hardships. No, no, no. This time it was for your sake. All the mental energy to recover and become a better version of yourself, in the endgame it was all for you. You could push past all the deceit and lies you had been told and you could push past your normality which was him. Katsuki Bakugou. The man that hurt you as nobody had ever done before. You could create new normality without him.

A thought of forever he created and destroyed, resorted to driving alone past his street, never to be thought of again.

#katsuki bakugō #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #anime x reader #anime #x reader #angst #katsuki bakugou x female reader #katsuki bakugou x you #katsuki x y/n #katsuki bakugou

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harringtonheartache · 4 years

Text

Daybreak | Part Eighteen

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Lab Escapee! Reader?

Summary: Part eighteen of this fic. Steve and Nine must leave the house and stumble upon — ?

Word Count: 3,300 +

Warning(s): Cussing

A/N: Yay! I think that I have an idea of where the next few chapters are going (and then... *whispers* conclusion?) Enjoy!

P.S. watch Joe Keery’s new movie Spree! I did! It’s great! :-)

The two sat in Steve’s familiar car (doors locked, double-checked) with the windows down, breeze against both of their faces as he cruised down even more familiar roads. They had made a successful escape through his bedroom window earlier: Steve first, Nine second with a perhaps overly-cautious helping hand to guide her down. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this earlier,” Steve said when her shoes hit the pavement of his back patio. He hadn’t bid farewell to either one of his parents, but it wasn’t necessary as long as they couldn’t find him if they went looking.

After a solid half-hour of aimless loops around town, the car’s gaslight began to blink. “Shit,” Steve muttered, turning the wheel down a new road. “I have to stop to get gas,” he said, his head drifting from the road to glance to his passenger. “It will only take a minute,” he reassured.

Five more minutes and he pulled in slowly to a gas station, exhaling with relief at it’s empty state. “You can stay in the car,” he told Nine. She looked to him and nodded with a smile, happy to oblige. He slung his door open lazily, exiting the car as Nine shifted in her seat. She pulled her left arm in front of her, eyes catching the vibrancy of red leaking through layers of white bandage it wore. Warily, she dragged a finger against the stain, and took it away to see that same red on her finger pad. “Shit,” she said, copying Steve.

He returned to his seat, a gas pump sticking out of the side of the car where he had been standing. Sitting again, he gazed over at Nine. “Oh,” he said, then turning in his seat so that he could see her better. He caught sight of her concern and reached out a hand. “Here, lemme see,” he said gently. She offered him her arm and he turned it tenderly, assessing the damage of the day’s activities. “There’s a small store down the road from here. We can stop there and pick up some more bandages, fix you up,” he proposed. The gas pump clicked, signaling that the tank was full.

The newly-filled-up car pulled into a parking place in front of an indeed small store, and once again Steve was reassured by the lack of action in the lot. There were a couple more vehicles than the gas station (which had been completely empty) held, but none of them were tall, white vans that implied severe danger. He made sure to check, as if a five-second head start to peel out of the storefront would make all the difference if one had been there. “I’ll be right back, any requests?” Steve asked Nine as he stood, a hand on the top of the car as he leaned down to peer in from outside.

“Can I come with you?” she asked.

“Uh… I meant, like, snack requests,” he replied, his words stalling as he thought over his ask. “But, um, you can. Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Nine said, a hand reaching to unbuckle her seat belt. She took the hat that had been sitting on the dashboard from its last use as she slid from the car.

She jogged around the front of the car to Steve and he laughed quietly. They walked together now, and he slung an arm around her shoulder, pulling her towards him with ease. His forearm draped down her front side as he spoke softly, something close to a whisper-in-her-ear. “You know, I’m starting to think that the hat doesn’t do much,” he teased. She pulled her head back, looking at him with the beginnings of a smile. A hand reached up from her side and she plucked it from herself. Holding it by the brim, she pulled it down over Steve’s head instead. “Hey! Not cool,” he said, flicking up the front of the hat that had covered his eyes. He took the hat off and gave his head a shake in an attempt to fix his hair from it’s damage. “It looks better on you, anyway,” he admitted, placing it back on Nine’s head and dragging his hand down the front of the brim to cover her eyes as it had his. She tossed her head up to give Steve a bemused smile from underneath the hat’s cover.

The store was mostly empty when they walked in. The buzzing of some unrecognizable song played through speakers too cheap to work without the hum of electrical problems masking the music’s lyrics. The cashier supposed-to-be greeter didn’t look up from her magazine when the bell in front of the door rang to signify their entry, but the two wandered past her without care anyway. A few steps down one aisle and the shuffling of objects in the neighboring one made Steve creep backwards, stretching out his neck to peek around the corner at the commotion.

Joyce Byers stood, far too occupied to notice spying Steve, using one arm to shovel boxes of Christmas lights into her cart, and the other to keep the cart steady. He contemplated her actions for a moment — squinted confusion — then reached a hand out in front of him to gently grab for Nine who was a slow step ahead of him and unaware of his departure. She twisted around lightly at the sensation of his touch (fingertips brushing her arm, just out of reach) then sent him a puzzled look of which he did not see. He pulled himself back up then, and whispered so only Nine would hear.

“Will’s mom is here, I have to talk to her,” he informed, throwing in a “she’s trustworthy,” afterwards to settle her nerves about being seen.

Rounding the corner, Steve hesitated with his introduction, wondering if he should clear his throat like he had caught Joyce in the middle of something. “Hi, Ms. Byers,” he called out, a little bit of something — perhaps he adopted a shyness — to his voice.

She turned around sharply, bumping her arm against the handle of her cart and rattling the contents inside. Stacks of the Christmas lights Steve had watched her throw into a pile sat on top of a few lamps as the foundation of her basket. She would hit the light bulb section next, not bothering to count the number she’d need for however many lamps she had claimed before sweeping them on top of the pile. Her hair fell in front of her face as she jolted to Steve’s voice, and a hand reached up quickly to tuck it behind her ear — an action taken less to look presentable and more to be able to see whoever was advancing on her. Shoulders deflating from the scare, Joyce sighed and tried on a smile that looked a little too forced. “Hi, Steve,” she returned.

“We- uh. We were just here to pick up a few things and saw you,” he started explaining his hello. “Oh. This is Nina, she’s a friend,” he said, lifting a hand to waver in front of Nine as he introduced her politely. Joyce, as if she hadn’t even noticed the girl, lit up her face in a look of corrective surprise. “Oh!” she sang, another solemn grin but also an accompanying hand stretched out for a shake. Nine, caught a little off-guard herself, took the handshake with a kind smile. “Hi,” she said, pondering a second after if she should tell Joyce it’s ‘nice to meet her,’ (people say that, right?) then realizing that she waited too long to decide. Steve sweeped the conversation right back up anyways.

“How are you? Um- like, is there anything we can do?” he said, unable to decide on a question. How is one supposed to speak to someone with a missing child? What are the right things to say? Did he already mess up? He wondered for a second if this was one of those situations where you just don’t mention the elephant in the room, it’d be rude to bring it up. He then mentally scolded himself for even considering that to be the right route to take. It’d be inconsiderate not to, he assured himself.

Nine could have sworn she saw Joyce flinch when he asked his questions, as if it would break the role of happy mother she was playing to answer them. “Um - you know -” (he didn’t) “Just doing everything I can. I think people are starting to think I’m crazy”. She tried to laugh, but it came out sounding even more forced than the smile had appeared.

Steve held his breath a moment, replaying the mental picture that had been on loop in his mind since Dustin told him Will was missing. The mental picture of Will himself, the night Steve and Nine dropped him off at home, opening the door to his house and disappearing inside. Steve worried repeatedly if this particular moment he had often called upon was a mix-up, a recollection of a different night he had conveniently changed the time stamp on. He kept asking himself if he really saw Will go inside that night. He did, right? It wasn’t just his guilty subconscious protecting him by substituting memories, right?

“You’re not crazy,” Nine unexpectedly spoke. Steve glanced at her then quickly retreated his gaze.

“Thank you,” Joyce said with a sincere smile that faded into silence.

Wanting to recover, Steve opened his mouth to speak again, but Joyce turned suddenly to gesture to her cart. “I guess this doesn’t really help my look,” she said as she peered over the mountain of electrical supplies.

“What is it all for?” Steve asked, thankful for both the recoup in conversation and new attention paid to the second elephant in the room.

Joyce shifted on her feet, hesitant and unsure of how to continue. She was starting to realize her lack of skill in answering questions. “I- I’m going to sound… I’m going to sound delusional,” she said. For the first time in the conversation her voice fizzled out, became weaker with clear indication of tears that wished to join the dialogue. “I feel like Will is trying to communicate with me”.

Steve’s eyebrows jumped and he staggered over a reply. “Wh- wait, what? Did he call or something? Did someone take him-” he stopped as Joyce began to shake her head.

“No, no, nothing like that. He just…” she trailed off, refusing eye contact as she searched for the words. “The lights”.

“The lights?” Steve glanced at her shopping cart once more.

“They flicker. And I know it doesn’t make sense but- but I feel like it’s him.”

There is another silence as the two process Joyce’s words - interpretations independent of one another withheld from sharing as she waits for a reaction. Steve first considers the woman in front of him, her cart of lights and missing child, and has to wonder if she is (as politely as he could put it) losing it. He then acknowledges the woman to the side of him, steals another glance in her direction as he remembers how he met her and what she can do, the reason they’re in the store in the first place and how they came to be in the situation. Maybe Joyce was doing just fine.

Nine’s head quirked as she tilted it a little in confusion. Confusion or realization — her mind connecting dots, checking boxes on a recently developed mental checklist that helps her decide if something is just peculiar enough to be related back to her. Flickering lights, like the flashlights Steve, Dustin, and her swung from limp wrists in the forest. Flickering lights, like the ones above her head in the lab that made her close her eyes tight when her powers left them flashing too erratically.

“You feel like it’s Will?” Steve said. The realization began to dawn on him that this is a heavy conversation to be having in a shitty, run-down store that’s only still in business because the town it’s in is too small to let it die. And so he deliver’s his response a tad quieter, suddenly itching for a bit more privacy.

“I know how it sounds… but that’s why-” and she gestured to her cart again. “I have to find out”.

“No- um,” Steve stumbles for a logical response. “I get it,” he tells her, “you’d do anything to find him”.

Nine hadn’t gotten a chance to choke over her own response. Instead she was still thinking up ways she could somehow help the woman she had just met who stood sad and small in front of her.

Steve inhaled, cutting short her chance as he redirected the conversation. “Well we- we’re just here for some bandages. Um-” Is it rude to just shift the topic like this? He’s second-guessing himself more often than he’s used to. “Nina scraped herself up pretty bad earlier.” Nine looks down at her arm, a problem completely forgotten from her mind despite the still growing red leak showing through the bandage. It was stinging, too, she remembered. “We’re here, though. Any help you need — we’re going to find Will. I know that,” he finished.

Consoling looks shared between thank-you’s concluded the conversation within the minute. Now the groups backed away from one another, heads turned to watch the departure and toss solemn smiles for the other to catch. A few awkward strides and Steve and Nine were rounding the corner of the isle, shuffling to redirect their attention back to their errands. Neither of them were brave enough to talk again with Joyce so close in the otherwise silent store. And so Steve led Nine down the closest row of shelves, eyes glossing over the products lined up on each one but not quite focused enough to register what they were (what did they even come here for, again?).

He moved hurriedly, putting as much space as possible between them and the woman he could only assume was still stockpiling light bulbs. On his third twist around an end-cap, Nine reached a hand out to grasp onto his wrist and stop him from continuing his march. He turned to her easily, eyebrows perked as if he didn’t understand why she stopped their search (...for… oh, yes! bandages). She kept her eyes on his face, and after a moment it gave into a look of distress; brows quirking again, this time dipping downwards with a sadness he wasn’t able to disguise anymore. Big brown eyes so somber, he looked like a puppy someone had just kicked.

“Steve,” Nine said, and her voice was pacifying — a quilted warmth that fit snug around his name.

A determined hand — the one Nine had dropped from her gentle hold — reached from his side and rubbed once underneath his eye. He hadn’t started crying yet but his vision was wet, and he was trying to scare the tears away. Unsettled breathes made his chest rise and fall quickly while he tried to catch up with his brain’s sudden increased demand for oxygen. Nine said his name again, conciliatory tone still present and pretty. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

He was looking down at her, but when he spoke he took his eyes away from hers. Instead his gaze darted around the store to fixate on anything else. “I can’t-” he started, his own voice weak and damaged from his body’s anxiety. He tried to center himself enough to talk, blinking irritatedly in an attempt to get rid of that threat of tears he hadn’t forgotten about. He was shaking his head now as he worked up the breath to continue, “I was responsible for her kid. She- she trusted me. I was supposed to get him home safe and now she has to deal with the fact that I failed.” He looked to her again — either her turn to react or his turn to take another breath.

“Steve, it’s not-”

“I can’t even remember if I made sure he got inside that night. I don’t know what happened and I’m too fucking stupid to remember.”

“Don’t say that,” Nine said, but her words were pushed away.

“She thinks she’s losing her mind. And she might be, I don’t even know, but I know I could have done something.” His words were picking up speed alongside his heaving chest. A tear finally escaped his vision but he was too focused on his speech of self-hatred to notice. It traced down the length of his cheek but he didn’t feel it.

“No you couldn’t have,” Nine told him, and she sounded sorry. “Steve, look at me”.

And he did, face still painted with pain. “You can’t remember that night because of shock. Your brain is trying to fixate on every detail but it can’t happen. You’re not stupid.” She said her words like she was so sure of them (because she was), but Steve looked skeptical at best. Nine continued anyway, reassurance incomplete and will with unwavering persistence. “You didn’t fail at anything. You’re a good friend to those kids and a good guardian, too. Something happened that night that was out of our control. Something from Hawkins’ Lab happened.”

He sighed this time, eyebrows furrowing as another tear dropped.

“You told me it wasn’t my fault that Will was taken, and now I’m telling you that it wasn’t yours, either.”

For a moment he simply thought about her words — a long moment that convinced her that he didn’t believe them. His lips parted to speak but he only took in air to hold it in his lungs. Another second passed and his shoulders fell; perhaps he was giving in. Giving into what she told him, giving into her, and he reached downwards to wrap his arms impulsively around her body still somehow warm from the outside sun. She let him, of course, and felt his fingers squeeze around the fabric of her shirt. With his head burrowed between her neck and her shoulder, his hold was desperate and he breathed out a huff of air that felt built up, heavy against her neck. She hugged him back, and while he closed his eyes tight, she understood that this was both a thank-you and a release.

A single bag with a lone item dangled from Steve’s grip as they walked, side-by-side again, through the parking lot. Joyce, a few minutes ahead of them, spun her cart around by the handle so that she could stack her purchases in the backseat of her car. Seeing her from afar, that nagging resumed in Nine’s head, reminding her of her aching desire to somehow help the woman.

“We have to help her,” Nine said, and her walking slowed. She didn’t look away from Joyce when Steve turned to face her, and she missed his visibly confused reaction. “What?” his disorientation still managed it’s way into his voice, though, and for a moment he thought that she meant they should assist Joyce with her shopping bags.

“We have to go to her house, see what she’s talking about”.

“Nine, hold on-”

“If she can contact Will then maybe I can figure out where he is. No more wandering around the forest unsure of what we’re even looking for. I can find him. I can actually find him this time and get him out of there. Steve, I-” she pulled her eyes away from Joyce and looked wildly at Steve.

“Wait, slow down,” he told her, jumbling to catch up with her rapidly developing plan.

“Steve, we can save him,” she said.

He paused at this, and the bag at his side swayed lightly. Then, looking off to where Nine had been so focused, he studied the woman so integral to the plan.

“Okay, I’m in. If you think we can save Will, I’m definitely in,” he told her, unmoving. He brought his head back to Nine after a moment of delay. “She doesn’t know… know about you, though. How are we going to… do this?”

Nine paused herself. “...I guess we let her know”.

---

A/N: Realizing how sad these characters have been these past few chapters... they’re going through a lot, okay?! Can’t promise it will get more uplifting right away, but I have... plans. Whatdoya think?

Tag List: @ggclarissa @gurl-ly @hyp-oh-critical @alewifex @we-are-band-sexuals @cpt-lamby @l0ve-0f-my-life @easvtohate @used-avocado @kwyloz @itzpikapie @samwise-babeyy @1985keery @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mochminnie @peterwandaparker @ayamecrevan @lilyhw1 @seninjakitey @lulurose17 @write-from-the-heart @harringtonlr @sledgy14 @stranger-names

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #st fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #ST fanfic #joe keery #joyce byers

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cavalierious-whim · 3 years

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Felix's life is turned upside-down when Sylvain comes back after years away to hustle at his pool hall. #

Ever have an idea that's neat until it grows legs and just becomes 12k words worth of filth? Yeah, that. My google search history suffered intensely for this fic, but now I know that you can use cue stick oil as lube. You're welcome. Read here on A03 for better quality, and for wips, updates and more, follow me here on Twitter!

Felix runs a clean establishment which is why the red-headed idiot is the bane of his existence.

Every night, he’s there, running the action for a dime a pot. Making his victims even up before they start a new round. Regulars know that he’s hustling; he makes his targets put the money in the rack and then before they know it, he sweeps them in the last game, taking the pot for his own.

The newbies don’t stand a chance. Everyone else stays to watch the slaughter.

Felix waits before he steps in. He might run a tight ship but he can’t risk his regulars running out because he puts a stop to the usual entertainment. So, Felix watches from his corner spot on the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he scowls.

The idiot has cued up a tricky three-rail bank shot. His opponent looks confident that he’s going to win but everyone else knows better. Ingrid tries to warn the new guy; tugs on his arm to whisper into his ear. The man only smiles at her like she’s dumb, twirling a lock of her short hair around his finger.

When Ingrid smiles back, it isn’t kind.

The idiot takes his shot, the cue ball connecting with all three walls just as planned before sinking the eight like there’s a magnet in the pocket.

The newbie’s cigarette falls from his mouth, Ingrid stamps it out before it can do any lasting damage, and Felix makes his move before things get ugly.

“Sylvain,” he snaps, sliding in near the billiards table and leveling him with an unimpressed glare.

Sylvain’s already snatched up the money, thumbing through it and double-checking even though he knows it’s good. The bills never leave the table, not under his keen eye. Sylvain pauses dramatically and offers him a smarmy smile.

“Felix,” he greets in a low baritone.

“Are you done swindling my customers?”

“Hey, I’m a customer too.”

Felix scoffs. “You’re a leech and I can throw you right out.” The crowd around them is used to the theatrics of it all and begins to disperse, making themselves scarce. Ingrid hangs back for a moment and exchanges a knowing glance with Felix.

She isn’t much better than Sylvain at the end of the night, hustling her own targets in games of Cribbage before clearing the table, but she and Felix have an agreement. Felix and Sylvain don’t. Mostly because the latter is impossible to reason with.

“You won’t,” says Sylvain, back to counting his bills. “If I made this much, you easily made twice that.” He folds them before tucking them into his pocket.

Sylvain isn’t wrong. He might be a hustler, but he’s a damn good pool player, and people will spend all night in the hall just to peek at a game or two. Sylvain makes good change, but Felix takes a better cut off the booze and food he sells as a result.

It’s a win-win and it’s why he’s never actually kicked the man out despite his idle threats. Among other reasons, those far more complicated. Still, it’s the principle of the matter.

Sylvain orders a whiskey, neat, and Felix scowls. When Annie brings him a crystal tumbler, Sylvain gives her a wink. He’s barking up the wrong tree and knows it, but it’s harmless flirting that they throw between them on the regular. Annette finds it cute.

Felix finds it appalling.

Sylvain takes a sip and sets the glass aside, picking up a cue stick and rolling it between his palms. “So, it was a good night, I’m sure,” he says conversationally.

“I don’t talk shop with patrons, least of all you.”

“Here’s a reminder that I bring in money--”

“You could bring in Blaiddyd himself, and I still wouldn’t talk.”

Sylvain whistles lowly. “That’s a bit low,” he says. “Blaiddyd wouldn’t ever step foot into a place like this.”

Dimitri wouldn’t. Felix knows it, but it’s not because his pool hall is tucked into a dark corner of Fhirdiad. It’s because he and Dimitri aren’t on speaking terms and likely never will be again. The red-headed idiot doesn’t know that, can’t know that. He and Sylvain haven’t properly talked in years. Hustling in his hall is a fairly new development and it’s haunted Felix’s dreams for nearly a half-year.

Sylvain’s calling a blind-eyed bluff and Felix lets it ruffle him.

“Insufferable fool,” snaps Felix.

Sylvain shrugs as Felix rounds the table to clean it off, grabbing the wide boar-bristle brush. He sets about sweeping up the chalk marks from the felt because Sylvain’s shit at doing it.

Or, he doesn’t even bother, racking up another game without any consideration. Truly, the bane of Felix’s existence, a constant aggravation, from the way that he hustles patrons in his carefully cultivated pool hall, to that damned smirk that is more attractive than it should be.

Old habits die hard, especially when it comes to the decade-old flame still flickering in Felix’s pathetic heart.

When Sylvain leans against the table, Felix stands up, instantly high alert. When he sits his ass on the rail with his entire weight, Felix nearly has a coronary.

“Off!” he snaps, shaking the brush at Sylvain. “You’ll fuck up the balance.”

“I can fuck up a lot more than that, you know,” says Sylvain. “All you have to do is ask.”

Felix isn’t a mobster so he doesn’t murder the man. But he is a pool shark, so he does the next best thing. “You and me,” says Felix. “Later when the doors close. One-on-one, house rules.”

Sylvain regards Felix with one long, sweeping gaze across the entirety of his body, and Felix almost snarls back. But he doesn’t. Ingrid would be proud.

“I’m a front-runner,” says Sylvain, as though it makes a difference. Of course, he’s a front-runner, he’s likely the best player Felix has ever seen aside from Glenn. But Glenn’s dead and that doesn’t matter anymore.

“I’m no slouch,” says Felix.

Sylvain smiles a curling thing that spells danger. “Oh, I know. I’ve seen you shoot a rack or two.” Or two thousand. Sylvain looks at his whiskey glass, swirling it gently. “And the stakes? A dime? Two?”

“Rights to play here,” says Felix. “You lose and I get to kick you out once and for all.”

“And if I win, you never bother me about hustling again.” Felix opens his mouth and Sylvain cuts him off. “Ah-ah-ah, none of that. You and I both know that I bring in more business than this dusty old place would see without me.”

Felix hates that he’s right and he hates that he doesn’t have the guts to refute it. He swipes the brush over the table angrily. “Fine, I’ll take your damned deal.”

They don’t shake on it, but Sylvain does tip his glass in a salute. Good enough for Felix since the faith of Sylvain’s word doesn’t mean shit.

So the thing is, they’ve actually known each other since they were children. Ingrid and Dimitri as well; they’d grown up together during the tail-end of Prohibition, spending their afternoons with Glenn shooting pool on tilted tables with badly balanced cue sticks.

Felix was good, but Sylvain was the prodigy when it came to shooting racks, an absolute monster that no one wanted to challenge. Back then, he didn’t hustle, he just enjoyed the sport. And Felix did too, their days spent leaning over chalk-dusted felt and hand-me-down sticks.

Then Glenn died, Sylvain went pro and Felix turned bitter and angry. And everything between them stretched wide and thin, colored by wanton attraction and the fear of fucking it up.

Dimitri bought this place to relive fond memories. Abandoned it when he lost his mind for fancier clientele. Felix, unable to forget his youth no matter how he tried, stepped in to keep it from shutting down entirely.

No longer in its prime, the place struggled for years, Felix barely paying the bills and keeping it afloat.

Until Sylvain walked back in one day. It’d been five years without a word, and nearly a decade of sore, unbidden feelings. Felix wanted nothing to do with him. Didn’t want to relive those memories.

One problem, though: Sylvain can’t take a fucking hint. Felix has told him to his face that he’s unwelcome and Sylvain just shoots him that signature smirk of his, the one that’s so impossible to ignore, and pretends that nothing was ever said.

Felix never kicks him out because he lacks any resolve, something that haunts his dreams. It makes Ingrid laugh.

“So, house rules,” says Sylvain, sliding up next to him with a smooth swagger that Felix makes a point of ignoring.

“Eight-ball,” starts Felix, but Sylvain tuts.

“Where’s the fun in that? That’s a family game.” Felix doesn’t like the glint in Sylvain’s eye as he leans against the table rail. “Nine-ball. Best three out of five.”

“Nine-ball’s a tournament game,” says Felix. “I don’t do tournaments.”

“You could,” says Sylvain with a shrug. He’s right; Felix can. But he won’t.

“You know that I don’t compete.”

“Anymore,” says Sylvain, a quiet correction that turns Felix’s blood red-hot. Sylvain must see it because he raises his hands in deference. “Not the point, not the point. I’m just saying. We’re playing for a high pot so might as well make the game match.”

Felix doesn’t think that playing for his pool hall is a high pot but there isn’t a point in arguing-- Sylvain’s been bit by a competitive bug and it’s too late to stop it.

“Fine, nine-ball,” says Felix. He crosses his arms over his chest and scowls at Sylvain. “Casual rules, though. Ball-in-hand--”

“Ugh.” Sylvain sounds positively offended and Felix smirks.

“And none of that fancy shit you like to pull.”

“Felix, you wound me.”

Felix levels him with an unimpressed look. “I don’t have time for it,” he says. Then he kicks Sylvain’s shin. “And off the fucking table. I won’t tell you again.”

Sylvain hops off but doesn’t apologize. “I’ll rack--”

“I’ll do it,” cuts in Felix, reaching for the triangle rack instead of the one used for nine-ball. “I don’t trust you further than I can throw you.”

Sylvain pauses, frowning the slightest bit, a tiny little crack in his carefully maintained facade. Felix nearly pauses-- nearly. Sylvain isn’t the kind to wear his heart on his sleeve. He only shows what he wants other people to see. But this here, it doesn’t seem intentional. He’s already off his game, distracted by something.

“I only meant you setting up the game,” says Felix.

“I’ve no qualms about you racking, but you know it means that I get to break.”

A calculated decision that Felix has already considered. Felix isn’t bad at getting a good spread, but Sylvain’s better at it. It’s a risky move to give him the first shot since he’ll likely sink one at the get-go, but it’s a risk Felix is willing to take.

Sylvain pulls a cue from his bag and twists it together, carefully wiping it down with a soft little cloth. Felix watches while he arranges the balls, nine in the middle. He presses his fingers against the bottom of the diamond, pushing them tight into the corner of the triangle. Not a traditional method, but Felix can get a better grip if the rack isn’t in the way of his fingers. Sylvain hasn’t noticed his stare.

Instead, he’s too busy inspecting the tip of the cue that he uses for breaking before chalking it up.

Once the balls are racked, Felix steps off to the side, showing off the table. “All yours.”

Sylvain offers him a smile, something small and genuine and for a second it’s like they’ve gone back in time. All that unwanted shit he’s tried to forget just wells right up from the depths of his heart. Felix pretends that they aren’t friends, that they were never close, that he hates Sylvain quite severely.

It isn’t true. When Sylvain left they’d been sitting awkwardly, hanging strangely in their friendship. Trying to figure out what they were together. For Felix, it’s never been something as simple as just friends.

And it never was for Sylvain either, which is why everything’s so fucked up between the two of them. Sylvain, despite whatever he feels, isn’t the type to settle down. And neither is Felix. But they’d thought about doing it, together.

Feelings can’t save shitty relationships, though, no matter how strong they are. They’re better off like this, frenemies that constantly dog each other.

Sylvain looks slick as he runs a hand through his wild auburn hair. The light above the pool table is dim and casts a shitty glow, but Sylvain looks alive as he takes his place at the south end of the table. He’s focused when he leans over, break cue held loosely in his hand. He lines up his shot, utterly focused on the task at hand, and then he brings the cue back before letting it loose.

There’s a crack as the cue ball flies across the table. The diamond scatters and balls bounce off the rails. He doesn’t sink one on the first shot which is an immediate red flag.

“You missed,” says Felix. “You did that on purpose.”

Sylvain shrugs, unconcerned as he swaps out his break cue for his regular. He chalks it up. “There isn’t any fun in running the table on the first go.”

Felix scowls. “You’re playing for keeps.”

“It’s best three out of five,” says Sylvain. “Might as well make it worth it.”

He’s a hustler through and through. Sylvain makes his bread and butter swindling poor sots out of their coin, pushing and pulling pots as he sees fit. Ingrid’s no better, but she’s already at a disadvantage. No one takes her seriously because she’s a woman, and if her goal is to take men down a notch, Felix isn’t going to be the one to tell her no.

Sylvain, however, doesn’t do it for the money, he does it for the thrill. He’s always been like that, living by the seat of his pants because it’s the only way that he feels things. Like right now. It’s the only reason he even bargained the game to begin with.

Felix only wanted a go at it, a friendly game between somewhat enemies. Sylvain was the one that put stakes on the table.

The cue that Felix uses is old and a little battered, but it’s straight and it’s got a decent weight to it. Nothing fancy, but he doesn’t need fancy, he only needs functional.

The spread on the table is good. The one-ball sits at the bottom left and the nine is at the right side pocket. The rest have enough space to get in a good table run if he plays his angles right. Felix leans over the corner of the table, lining up his shot.

Sylvain watches as Felix thinks it through. Nervousness prickles down Felix’s spine. He might play a game or two alone after the doors shut, but he’s admittedly, out of practice. Felix already knows if he mucks this shot up, Sylvain will spend the rest of the night poking fun at him.

The cue stick strikes true and Felix sinks the one-ball in the opposite side pocket. So far so good. The two is near a north corner, an easy shot. But the three is along a rail, leaving behind a tricky follow-up lie. Felix sighs and sinks the two, the cue ball kicking back to the left.

Not far enough, leaving him in a precarious position.

Sylvain whistles low and says, “Tricky, tricky. Not where I’d want to sit.”

“Shut up,” says Felix, scowling. He chalks up his cue, thinking about his next shot.

Sylvain shrugs, sipping at his drink. “I’m just saying. You’ve always been shit at putting spin on the ball.” Sylvain’s right. Felix never did practice his English much.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve played a game,” says Felix. Not since before Sylvain fucked off. He’s watched him, of course, but Felix hasn’t shot a rack around Sylvain since he came back. “Plenty of time to pick up some skill.”

“It wasn’t ever about skill, you just sucked at it even with how much you practiced.”

Felix would spend hours hitting shot after shot. He’d set up complicated lies and work out the math. He’s good with angles, and he’s decent at putting spin on the ball but it’s definitely his weak spot.

Felix doesn’t answer and Sylvain crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not trying to be rude--”

“Zip it,” cuts in Felix, shushing him. “I’m thinking.”

Sylvain’s quiet for exactly ten seconds before he says, “Lower half, middle of the ball. Put some meat behind it and it should stop dead.”

Felix ignores him on principle, hitting slightly to the right instead. The cue ball connects with the three, then banks to the side, flubbing the shot entirely.

Sylvain snickers from behind his hand, amused.

Felix knew it was a bad shot the moment his arm moved. He’s unsure why he’s so obstinate when it comes to taking Sylvain’s advice on a go. But then he sees the insufferable smirk plastered across Sylvain’s face.

Scratch that, he knows exactly why: Felix refuses to give in to his hustling.

“Should have just listened to me,” says Sylvain, getting up from the barstool and chalking up his cue.

“I’d rather sell out,” says Felix. And he would. He’d sooner leave him a good shot, sitting pretty on the table than give him any sort of satisfaction.

“Thought we were playing for keeps,” says Sylvain, repeating what Felix snarked earlier. “At least give me some satisfaction.” He leans over the table, marking up a shot at the three. He pulls the cue back once, twice, testing the wait of his aim.

“The only satisfaction you want is someone stroking your big, fat ego.”

Sylvain stops right in the middle of his shot, head cocking to the side as he shoots Felix a dangerous look. “Oh trust me, there’s something else I’d rather you stroke.”

Felix turns red in anger, hissing at the innuendo. Here it is, that unspoken thing that’s loomed between them for years. Sylvain’s always been overtly flirty with it, low whispers as he murmurs dark and dirty words into his ears. Felix refuses to be just another notch in his belt.

And it’s hard, so unbearably hard because the worst part is that Felix wouldn’t say no. Ingrid tells him that it’s stupid to hold off, that he should just get it over with and satisfy his fucking curiosity.

Felix refuses.

Sylvain bursts into laughter, shaking his head. “Man, you should’ve seen your face, Felix,” he says, setting up his shot again. He falls silent as he baits the cue ball, his practice strokes smooth like buttered perfection. Then, he takes the shot and sinks in the three, lining up for a perfect hit to the four.

And the five, and then the six. Sylvain cleans the table with little-to-no effort, calling his shots because he knows it pisses Felix off.

“Eight off the seven,” says Sylvain, grinning widely as he surveys the table. “But I’m going to bank it off this rail and nail the corner pocket instead.”

It’s an absurd trick shot and Felix tells him as such. “You’re wasting time with these superfluous tricks.”

“Sit back,” says Sylvain. “Relax. Shit Felix, this is supposed to be fun.”

Felix knew that it wasn’t going to be fun the moment he proposed it. He knew he’d be staring at Sylvain’s long and lean form, bent over the table as he figures out math and angles. Sylvain’s a smart guy, despite what people think. It’s one of the few times that the look on his face is truly genuine.

He’s more handsome now than ever before, something straight from Felix’s most vivid wet dreams. He has a love-hate relationship with those.

“Nothing about this is fun,” says Felix finally. “It’s infuriating.”

Sylvain bites the inside of his cheek in a huff, a nervous tic that he’s never been able to get rid of. “You’re the one making it so,” he says smoothly. “As I said, just relax. We’re here to play a game.”

“That I need to win if I want you good and gone.”

Sylvain pauses at that, still hanging over the table as he looks at Felix. “Is that really what you want Felix?” For once in his damn life, he sounds serious, not his usually mocking tone.

Felix doesn’t warrant the question with an answer. Instead, he just crosses his arms over his chest as he lurks in the corner near his pool cue.

Eventually, Sylvain gets tired of waiting. “Suit yourself,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for Felix to hear. He lines up his ridiculous shot and takes a few practice sweeps. The moment he pulls back, Felix speaks.

“Of course I want you to piss off.”

Sylvain fucks up the shot, nearly miscuing. The cue ball lurches to the side, misses the seven entirely, and nearly sinks in the nine-ball instead. That’d be a game lost, one to Felix’s favor, which is greatly amusing.

To his credit, Sylvain doesn’t look angry, despite his swear. He looks dejected. And really, what does he expect? That he’d come back here to find everything normal? Back to the way it was? Felix is too tired for ifs, ands, and buts. He moved on years ago.

Or so Felix pretends. It’s his most practiced lie, second nature at this point.

The look, though, that shadow of sadness that falls across Sylvain’s face is gone nearly as soon as it appears. He schools it into a competitive grin instead, nodding to the table. “Well, here’s your chance,” says Sylvain, leaning onto his stool, cue resting against his thigh. “Knock me out of the game.”

Felix surveys the table. The ending lie of Sylvain’s kicked shot leaves Felix in a decent position. Just enough to smack the seven-ball in and clear the table if he can keep his mind empty. Felix looks at Sylvain again who stares right back. Easier said than done.

He sets up his shot, pulling back the cue a few times. He sinks the seven easily and with the left spin he put on the cue ball, it rolls over to the eight. The side pocket’s an easy target that leaves only the nine left.

“Think it through,” says Sylvain.

“Shut up.”

“Look, I’m just saying. The easiest shots are always the worst, especially when it’s the nine.”

True. Felix can hit a stellar shot and still fuck it up-- there are a thousand ways to lose a game of pool, almost all of them your fault. Felix knows that he should take a deep breath, sit back and think about angles and spin.

But he won’t because he’s too fucking impatient, the absolute worst quality he has.

“Nine-ball, corner pocket,” says Felix, gesturing with his cue. He forces himself to try and take his time, at least, breathing in deeply before letting it loose.

He fucks the shot up royally. Taps it a little too hard and overshoots, the cue ball sinking in right after the nine. A scratch, and the worst kind-- entirely self-inflicted because he’s far too distracted to keep his head in the game.

Felix blames it on Sylvain. Doesn’t matter what part of him-- that handsome, devilish smile of his; the way that he twirls his cue around nonchalantly; the gentle grasp he has around his crystal whiskey tumbler; the ease as he sinks in ball after ball.

It’s all the same shit as far as Felix is concerned.

“Man, you dogged it,” says Sylvain, a badly concealed smirk set across his face.

“You’re taking way too much pleasure in it.” Felix is beyond annoyed.

Sylvain’s expression changes as he raises an eyebrow. “Felix, if I wanted to take pleasure from something, it certainly wouldn’t be you losing.”

“Is that so?”

Sylvain doesn’t answer, he only stares him down, the depth of his face smoldering. And Felix stares back, frozen in place as he worries his lip between his teeth. At least after the game, he thinks. The pool hall deserves that much.

The tension between them is so thick you could cut it; the kind of joke that Ingrid would happily make were she watching their sorry asses dance around each other. Ridiculous, Felix thinks. Utterly ridiculous, how the two of them still act like teenagers who can’t keep it in their pants.

“You nearly had it,” says Sylvain finally, trying to diffuse the tightness in the air. “Next time I can show you--”

“I don’t need your pity,” says Felix suddenly.

Sylvain blinks. “An honest offer,” he says. “No pity involved.”

Felix knows there’s a catch, though. There has to be. When it comes to Sylvain, there’s always an ulterior motive.

They fall silent again for a moment that stretches a little bit too long. Staring at each other, neither willing to make the first move.

It’s Sylvain that finally does. “Rack them,” he says, pulling the balls from the pockets on his end of the table.

Felix says nothing as he sets the next rack, the nine-ball right in the center. He rolls them back and forth, pressing his fingers in between the wood and resin, ensuring a tight diamond.

“Three out of five, one to my name,” says Sylvain as he swipes some of his drink before cueing up his for his break.

It’s effortless as always, the crack of his shot deafening in the awkward quiet. He sinks two balls on the first go, the three, and the seven. Sylvain isn’t playing around this time. Felix knows he isn’t angry. He’s trying to distract himself.

And Sylvain does that by doing what he does best-- sharking pool.

He continues to clean the table in relative silence, intensely focused on the game. He gets like this when he’s thinking about things. Goes weirdly quiet as he formulates what he’s going to say next. Most think he’s inherently suave, an instinctual casanova, but that isn’t it at all.

Sylvain’s the best pretender around, carefully cultivating how others perceive him. Everything he says and does is by design.

Especially when it comes to Felix. It’s a well-practiced game to Sylvain when it comes to whatever the fuck their relationship is. Felix maintains there isn’t one, that there wasn’t ever. But it’s hard to hold to that when Sylvain’s two feet away in the pool hall, hustling right next to him every night. And Felix can’t stop looking, hasn’t ever been able to stop.

Even now.

“It’s hot in here,” says Sylvain, hooking a finger into the collar of his shirt, pulling at it slightly. It is, and a little humid too. That’s what the weather does this far south, as far away from Fhirdiad as you can get.

“You’re the one insisting on being fully clothed,” says Felix.

Sylvain’s usual fare of dress is high-class. Crisply ironed button-downs paired with a well-tailored vest. Sometimes he wears his pocket watch, sometimes it’s a pocket square. He always rolls up his sleeves though, showing off well-defined forearms. Paired with the sleeve garters, everyone can’t help but stare.

Felix included.

“Gotta look the part,” says Sylvain with a tawdry wink. “You know that.”

“You already do,” Felix huffs, “With all the money you spend on those ridiculous brand-name labels.” Because it’s always been the best of the best for Sylvain.

Sylvain responds by reaching up and pulling his tie loose, unfastening the top few buttons before pressing the collar open, showing off his collarbone. And the sheen of sweat that glistens in the shitty glow of the light hanging above the table. Felix finally looks away, settling his gaze onto the wall.

“Nine off the eight,” says Sylvain. “Corner pocket.” He doesn’t point to the corner pocket that Felix would aim for.

Sylvain leans against the table, ass on the railing, the cue behind him. Shooting backward because he’s a gluttonous prick who can’t help but show off.

“Wrong corner pocket, you dick,” says Felix, obstinate as always. Mostly because he can’t stop staring at Sylvain’s ass when he should be watching the game. Between that and Sylvain’s gleaming collarbone on display, Felix is a goner.

Sylvain’s aim is impeccable, so naturally, he sinks the nine, winning the second game. “Rack ‘em,” he says with a smirk, jumping off the table.

Felix snarls before doing as he’s asked. Sylvain keeps smirking, running a hand through his unruly hair, stretching out his neck just so. Because he knows; he’s seen Felix looking and he’s hamming it up.

“Insufferable git,” says Felix, dropping the balls into the triangle-shaped rack and shuffling them around.

“You’re the one who keeps staring.” Felix pauses, looking back at Sylvain. He knows a challenge when he hears one and Sylvain’s looking at him like he’s ready to eat him right up.

“Only because you’re utterly ridiculous,” says Felix finally. “Pompous and loud, cheating my good patrons out of their money. Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

Sylvain hums at that, sipping at his whiskey. “Well, if someone’s going to, I prefer it be you.”

Felix nearly throws the rack at him but he doesn’t, hanging it neatly where it belongs under the table instead. Ingrid would be proud of his remarkable restraint. “Your break,” says Felix, turning away.

Sylvain’s already chalking up his cue. Figuring out exactly how he wants to set up his final run. “One more, my favor,” he says. “Better step up your game.”

Felix intends to, tired of this song and dance, of playing cat-and-mouse. They’ve chased after each other for years. It’s time to put an end to it. As Sylvain preps his shot, Felix switches cue sticks, pulling a second one from his bag. Pitch black with mother of pearl accents, but a tad beat up and not well-polished.

When Sylvain turns to him, he goes stock still like he’s frozen in time. Watches as Felix screws it together, brows knitted as recognition sets in.

“You kept that old thing?” asks Sylvain, quietly.

“It shoots straight. Might as well.”

Sylvain’s surprised because he gave the cue stick to Felix. Spent nearly three month’s loose change when they were young and desperately poor. Probably thought Felix chucked it the moment that he fucked off. Felix nearly did, and nearly has repeatedly over the years. Never quite gets there.

There’s one thing that Felix is really, really bad at: actually getting rid of Sylvain once and for all. It’s a complicated thing, full of complicated feelings. For better and worse. Felix and Sylvain were very nearly something all those years ago. Shared a few kisses in dark corners, wandering hands here and there.

Childhood friends to nearly-lovers, then rivals to whatever the fuck they are now.

Felix has caught Sylvain off guard, judging by his unsure expression. And for once, Felix doesn’t know what he’s thinking, can’t really tell. Sylvain just looks at him with this entirely unreadable expression.

“What?” asks Felix, a little more bite to his tone than he wants.

Sylvain doesn’t immediately answer, just rubs at his chin with his fingers. Thinking. But then he smirks, shooting Felix a rather dirty grin, and just like that everything’s back to normal again, brushed away like chalk from the table felt.

“Nothing,” says Sylvain, swiping the cue ball from Felix’s hand and their fingers brush, Sylvain lingering. Felix is the one to pull away.

But, he can’t look away when Sylvain sets up his break, or the long lines of his frame as he leans over the table and tests the slide of his cue. Draped over the felt like he belongs here, in this dingy pool hall. Right before Felix, just like the days of old.

Felix sighs. He’s tired of longing for the past.

Sylvain’s cue makes great contact and the break spreads well. He sinks the two and four-ball and leaves a good lie for the one. Sinks that, and then the two. Leaves the three, and the five onward. Felix bites at his thumb nervously because Sylvain’s likely about to run the entire table with little effort.

He’s fucked this up.

Sylvain spares a glance at him and pauses, biting at his lip. Then he lines up his shot for the three. Should be an easy shot into the side pocket, incredibly straightforward. Until he fucks it up. Intentionally.

“Shit,” murmurs Sylvain, “Jawed the tit.” Bounced right off the corner edge of the pocket.

Felix’s eyes narrow. Unlike before, this time it doesn’t seem like he’s giving him a chance to catch up or drag the game out. He’s left Felix with a pretty terrible lie. Whatever Sylvain’s plan is, it’s something else entirely.

Something that Felix isn’t sure he wants part of.

Which is why he doesn’t call it out. Instead, they swap sides, slowly rounding the table. Felix has been left with a shitty option for the three-ball, but still doable. He lines it up and calls his shot, takes a deep breath, and then shoots.

Sylvain watches from the stool on the opposite side, strangely quiet. The cue ball hits one rail, then the second, then connects with the three-ball, sinking it into the left corner. Felix lets out a sigh of relief and Sylvain a low whistle.

Felix makes quick work of the five and six-ball, leaving the seven in a good spot on the side pocket. He freezes, hesitating. The last time he had a shot like this, he fucked it up, leaving the table open for Sylvain to take the win.

And Felix knows that Sylvain won’t risk losing because he isn’t playing to keep hustling, he’s playing to keep Felix at his side. Even if they aren’t anything.

Anymore, Felix’s brain unhappily supplies.

“Think about it,” says Sylvain, just like before.

“I am,” says Felix irately.

“If you want, I can show you a trick. Help you sink shots like that with no issue.”

“I’d win.” It isn’t a guarantee, of course, but a high chance. The spread on the table is in Felix’s favor if he sinks this shot.

Sylvain shrugs and stands. “Fine by me,” he says. Sylvain walks around the table, running his hand along the wooden rail smoothly. Felix tracks the movement. Then Sylvain’s behind him, leaning close.

“Alright then,” he says right next to his ear. “Mind if I guide you?”

Felix nods minutely, words stuck in his throat because he lacks any conviction to say no. Sylvain reaches around him and takes the cue, carefully arranging Felix’s arms. “Loose form,” he says. “Lift your elbow just a bit, yeah, like that.”

Sylvain’s hand isn’t just warm, it practically burns through the sleeve of Felix’s shirt. “From this angle, you want the cue ball to kick left, so you’ve got to put your spin here.” Sylvain slots himself even closer, his pelvis flush with Felix’s ass. One hand on his waist, holding him there gently as he reaches even further to point to the cue ball.

The only thing that Felix can focus on Sylvain’s crotch and-- “Are you seriously hard right now?”

Sylvain freezes but he doesn’t move. “Can you blame me?” he asks simply. Like there’s nothing to it, like it’s completely normal. He doesn’t make any further movements to manhandle Felix, he just stands there nonchalantly as Felix’s gut twists at the thought of it.

Definitely not how this game is supposed to go.

“Yes,” says Felix, “I can absolutely blame you.”

A pause. Sylvain’s mouth is very close to his cheek, Felix can feel the gentle puffing of his breath against it. “Do you want me to move?” asks Sylvain, sincerely.

“No.” Felix’s answer is barely above a whisper and comes far too quickly. Sylvain’s breath hitches slightly as he shifts his stance just barely, his hardness more evident than ever before. “But at least help me finish the shot.”

“Felix--”

“You never give away your tricks,” cuts in Felix. “I’m not letting this opportunity go.”

Sylvain laughs mirthlessly but complies, guiding Felix’s cue to the proper position. “Tap it here, on the right. Not too hard, just enough to kiss it.” Felix swallows, trying not to think of the insinuating verbiage. He doesn’t want to kiss the ball, he wants to kiss Sylvain instead.

Sylvain pulls back but doesn’t move away entirely, still holding onto his waist. Felix sinks the shot and the cue ball kicks back just as it should.

Time slows, the both of them hesitating. Sylvain makes the first move. He doesn’t give Felix the chance to lean into another shot, turning him around and pressing him against the edge of the pool table.

Felix lets him, but says-- very weakly-- “We’ve got a game to finish.” He still has a cue in one hand as the other reaches up and latches onto the tie hanging loosely around Sylvain’s neck, tugging at it slightly. Teasingly, if he were the sort to tease.

Sylvain certainly takes it that way, reaching up to grip Felix’s chin lightly. “The only game I was playing wasn’t pool,” he says, thinking he’s smooth.

“I’m aware,” says Felix. “Noticed it the moment that you undid your shirt. How annoying.”

“But it worked, didn’t it?”

It certainly didn’t help, thinks Felix, but he’d been gone long before that. Before this night, weeks and months ago. He was gone the night Sylvain walked right back into his life.

“I’m tired of pretending,” says Felix. “Of ignoring it.” Because he is. Tired of being the last to leave work because he knows he’ll go home with Sylvain if he isn’t. Of watching from afar, itching to touch but resigning himself to stay on the other side of the room. Of Ingrid’s eye-rolling and suggestive hand gestures. It’s exhausting.

“So don’t,” says Sylvain.

Felix pulls him down and Sylvain meets his mouth eagerly. Felix is risking the balance of the pool table for this, leaning onto it fully as Sylvain presses in close, slipping a thigh between Felix’s legs.

Kissing Sylvain is like riding a bike; Felix remembers exactly how to do it. What Sylvain likes and the amount of pressure. The way their mouths slot together like it’s meant to be. Sylvain moans against his mouth, just a soft breathy sound like he can’t believe this is happening.

Maybe he can’t. Felix isn’t the type to reciprocate and he’s been fighting this for months. Not that Sylvain hasn’t tried his best to unruffle him, to get him to fall back into the ease of it.

Felix finally gives in, tumbling down that darkly lit corridor to chase that tell-tale fire that stokes slowly in his gut.

Sylvain’s lips are soft against his and he holds him too tenderly. Felix responds by yanking at the tie again and nipping at his mouth. Sylvain opens it in surprise and Felix’s tongue finds his, seeking out that wet warmth and comfort.

The sound that Sylvain makes is enough to fill Felix’s cock halfway.

They part to breathe and Felix knows he looks a mess. Flushed and breathing heavily in the hot and humid pool hall. Half-sprawled across one of his carefully balanced tables. He can’t find much care in it, his brain muddled by the sharp press of Sylvain’s body against his own.

“Shit, Felix.” Sylvain runs a thumb across the high arch of Felix’s cheekbone. Just looking at him as it slides across the seam of his mouth. Felix nips at the digit in response.

Their next kiss is a little slower, driven by Sylvain’s persistence to take his time. Felix is impatient but lets him lead, relishing in the softness of his lips. Sylvain slides a hand down his front and pulls his shirt from his pants. His fingers are cold against Felix’s skin despite the heat of the room, splaying smoothly across the planes of his stomach.

But he hesitates, nails just barely scratching at the top of Felix’s waistband.

“Touch me, you imbecile,” says Felix, demanding and needy, kicking his hips closer to drive home his point.

“Right,” says Sylvain against Felix’s lips. “Yes, okay.” He sounds even needier, something that Felix takes great pride in. Sylvain’s stopped kissing him, nose pressed into the nape of Felix’s neck instead, resting there. No doubt savoring the moment or whatever other romantic bullshit that Sylvain thinks when lost in the moment.

Felix’s only complaint is that he isn’t moving fast enough. “Sylvain,” he warns, “I’m this close to shoving you off and taking care of myself in the office.” Not his favorite option and not nearly as fun.

Sylvain pulls back, one hand gripping Felix’s chin. “You wouldn’t,” he says.

“Try me,” says Felix defiantly. Because he definitely would and Sylvain knows it.

And the way that Sylvain looks at him in response, how his gaze smolders as he smirks knowingly, makes Felix want to drown in the heat of it.

Sylvain surprises him by dropping to his knees against the hard ground, grasping Felix by the hips. Nuzzles at Felix’s crotch, where he tents his trousers. Felix lets out a soft moan, fingers finding Sylvain’s hair, scratching at his scalp.

They’d shared kisses in the past and rutted against each other fully clothed. Fevered hands grabbing at each other over rough cotton in dark corners as they roughly jerked off.

Sylvain’s hand is soft as he drags it over the front of Felix’s trousers, the touch somehow still familiar. Then he grips a little firmer, cupping him properly.

“Sylvain--”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Sylvain, fingers already pulling at his zipper instead. “Impatient as always. Just like old times.” Even with Felix egging him on, Sylvain is unbearably slow when it comes to undressing him. “I’m savoring it,” he says when Felix grunts in frustration. “You only get one first time with another.”

Felix can’t dispute that. Still. Felix moves, shimmying his trousers past his ass, letting them drop to the ground.

“That’s one way to do it, I suppose,” says Sylvain with a chuckle. Then Felix’s briefs quickly follow and he stops laughing. Sylvain’s mouth falls open as he stares, hands gripping Felix’s thighs tightly. “Felix,” he croaks, looking at him like he’s a man starving, fingers itching to touch. And do more.

Felix isn’t an angel. There’ve been others. But this is Sylvain, and Felix has never been like this with him, never given him that much.

He would’ve but it never panned out.

Sylvain leans in close, pressing a kiss at the juncture where Felix’s groin meets his thigh. Then to the base of Felix’s cock, his lips lingering there. Felix takes a deep breath, his eyes slipping closed at the sensation.

Then Sylvain swallows him down, his mouth hot and wet around his length.

“Fuck,” says Felix, fingers tightening their grip on Sylvain’s hair. “Fuck.”

Sylvain moans around him as he bobs up and down his cock, tongue flat along the underside of him. Then on the upstroke, Sylvain’s tongue curls around the tip and his hand finds the part of Felix’s cock that isn’t buried in his mouth.

Felix wasn’t expecting this and he tells him as such. “You’re the kind that takes what he wants,” says Felix in a light-hearted jab. Even if this had gone another way, he wouldn’t have complained.

Sylvain pulls off to retort. “Oh, darling,” he says, pressing a sweet little kiss to the crown of his cock, “I never do anything that I don’t want to. And this? I’ve wanted to do this for years.”

“Insufferable bastard,” says Felix, but the insult dissolves into a blissed-out moan when Sylvain’s mouth finds him again, this time sucking around him properly. Felix can’t get enough of it, the tight and wet heat that engulfs his cock. The way that Sylvain works him like he’s trained his entire life for this.

Felix likes to think he has.

Sylvain’s hand moves to cup his balls, rolling them softly in the palm of his hand, and Felix nearly pulls Sylvain’s hair right from his head. He can feel the way that he smiles around his cock, the way that his laugh rumbles up from his throat. How it caresses his dick.

Felix shoves Sylvain’s face off none-too gently, his chest heaving as he tries his best not to come right then.

“Oh,” says Sylvain in surprise. Then his face melts into something amused. “Oh--”

“Shut it,” cuts in Felix. “I’m losing my patience and I didn’t want to finish in your mouth.”

“But what if I wanted you to?”

Felix blinks, the words barely registering. “What?”

“What if I wanted you to come in my mouth?” Sylvain looks up at him, eyes half-lidded and hazy with want. “What if I wanted to swallow it down?” It’s sinful, the earnest way that he says it. The way that Sylvain still cups his balls in one hand and drags lazy circles across Felix’s thigh with the other. Eagerly waiting.

Felix swallows thickly, thinking about the debauched image that fills his mind. Then he guides Sylvain back to his cock, his hands on either side of his face, thumbing at his cheekbones. Sylvain happily accepts it, tongue out and waiting before slotting his mouth around Felix’s length once more.

And he keeps going until the tip of Felix’s cock hits the back of his throat, and Sylvain’s nose is near the coarse hair at his pubic bone.

Felix is going to die, he’s pretty sure of it. Not a bad way to go, all things considered. One hand moves to grab at Sylvain’s hair tightly, the other still cupping his jaw. Sylvain’s efficient in the way that he moves, sliding up and down, tonguing expertly around him. The pressure as he sucks and laps at his cock.

“I’m--” Felix tries to warn that he won’t last much longer. “Sylvain, I’m--”

Sylvain doubles his efforts, letting go of his balls to press his fingers a little further back. Against the smooth skin there, massaging at it gently. Felix curses and spills into his mouth, doing his best to not buck against him. The tightly coiled tension has snapped and Felix does his best to come down from the high of it, but he’s nothing but a puddled mess, leaning back against the pool table. His legs shake like jelly.

When Sylvain pulls off him, he looks triumphant, swallowing Felix’s spend like it’s an expensive delicacy. Which is almost worse, the fucked-out look of it. Seeing Sylvain like this, on his knees before him, lips swollen and face ruddy in the aftermath of spectacularly sucking him off.

It’s almost enough to get Felix going again.

Felix tugs at Sylvain’s tie and he stands, leaning over him again, slotted between Felix’s open legs. Felix doesn’t care where his mouth’s been, he pulls Sylvain in for a kiss. Tastes himself as Sylvain deepens it, licking into Felix’s mouth.

Sylvain’s cock is fully hard and digging into his thigh.

“You’re wearing too much,” says Felix when he breaks the kiss.

“Going to return the favor?” asks Sylvain, his hands braced against the table rails on either side of Felix.

“No,” says Felix. “Not this time. You took too long, indulging as you did.”

“You weren’t complaining about it.”

“And I won’t.” Felix knows he’s being cheeky but Sylvain loves it, the way that he teases. Felix presses a hand to the open collar of his shirt where it’s undone, fingering Sylvain’s collarbone there.

“Irritating,” he continues. “How good you look when you show off your skin.”

“Only for you, babe,” says Sylvain.

Felix scoffs. “That, I doubt.”

Sylvain’s expression changes, softening. “No, really,” he says. “Not in a long time.” It isn’t a lie; judging by the subtle change in his demeanor, Sylvain’s sharing a rare moment of truth.

Felix stares at him for a long moment, and Sylvain stares right back. Then, Felix’s hand shifts down to Sylvain’s vest. “So, no one else has peeled this off you in a while, then.” He toys casually with a button.

“That’d be right.”

“That must’ve been annoying.” Felix undoes one button and then the rest, and Sylvain shucks the vest off faster than Felix can finish his sentence. “Knowing you.”

“I managed,” says Sylvain.

Felix hums as his hand curls into the front of Sylvain’s shirt, pulling him closer. “Must’ve put your hand through the wringer,” taunts Felix. He unbuttons the rest, pulling it from Sylvain’s trousers. Sylvain’s always looked good, but he’s downright unfair now with his trim waist and just-enough-muscle.

“A downright nightmare,” says Sylvain with a chuckle. “Damn near sprained the thing.” Then he leans close, his mouth near Felix’s ear as he whispers, “Last few months especially, with all the thinking I’ve done about you.”

Those are the words that do him in. Felix’s hands drop to Sylvain’s waist, pulling at his trouser band. His hands are steadier than expected he when unzips them. Not so much when he slips his hand in, caressing Sylvain’s cock through his underwear.

The moan Felix gets in response can set him on fire.

“You’re cruel,” says Sylvain through a punched breath.

“Not as much as you with how slow you’re being. Are you going to fuck me or not?”

Sylvain has two modes. The first is the saccharine one where he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, his voice smooth as silk. The kind that makes women swoon at romantic, chivalrous ideas, toes curling in their shoes.

This is the second; the searing hot one where his smile is a devilish smirk, and everything that he whispers against Felix’s ear is dirty and salacious. “Is that what you want?” asks Sylvain, before pressing a kiss just below Felix’s chin. “Goddess knows it’s what I want, you underneath me all hot and bothered.”

Sylvain’s intoxicating in the way that he leans close to him, and the weight of his hard cock pressed against Felix’s thigh.

“You’re all talk,” says Felix, rubbing a thumb across the front of Sylvain’s briefs, relishing in the wet dampness there. The way that his cock tents against the soft cotton there, twitching slightly under Felix’s grasp.

Were he more a patient man, he’d suck Sylvain off. But Felix isn’t, so he’ll save it for another time.

“You wound me, Felix,” says Sylvain, eyes shutting as he bites at his lip.

“Certainly no action,” says Felix, fingers tugging at the waistband of his briefs, letting it snap back into place.

Sylvain groans. “Have you forgotten so quickly? How I was on my knees before you just moments ago?”

Felix’s hands still as he thinks about it. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget such a sight,” he says.

And he won’t. It’ll haunt his dreams for decades to come. Even now, Sylvain looks so delectable; his face flushed, his shirt is open in the front and showing off his pecs, and his sleeves rolled up to the arm garters, revealing perfectly toned forearms.

Felix said it before, how irritating it is; how he can’t help but stare, to drink up and memorize it so he’ll never forget. Maybe he won’t have to. Maybe this’ll be the start of something new and a little more permanent. He won’t hold his breath.

Sylvain’s unpredictable at best and despite his earlier promise that there hasn’t been anyone else, for years, it’s always been the flavor of the week when it came to his interests.

“I’m waiting,” says Felix, tugging at Sylvain’s briefs again.

“Okay,” breathes Sylvain, kicking off his pants entirely. His briefs land in a messy pile on the floor beside them. His hand finds Felix’s hip, squeezing it gently as he looks down. Felix feels the heat of his gaze deep in his gut, his cock already twitching again.

Sylvain smirks as he sees it, hand sliding over Felix’s front and then down, his fingers nestling into the hair at the base of his dick. “Gorgeous,” says Sylvain, before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Felix’s neck. “But you know that.”

“Yes,” says Felix. Then pauses, huffing. “Still waiting.”

Sylvain licks a stripe up the side of his neck, then says, “Lube?”

At least he’s considerate. Felix is too impatient to even think about something like that at the moment. “What, none on you? What’s happened to your stellar reputation?” As a player who was always ready. Felix is going to tease him about it until the end of time.

“Wasn’t expecting this to happen,” says Sylvain, looking around the room.

“You practically orchestrated this.”

“Trying to seduce you isn’t the same as actually doing it.” Sylvain’s got a point there. Felix is notoriously prickly. He’d managed to ignore it the best he could for months. Until he couldn’t anymore. Sylvain’s gaze settles on something at the far end of the room. “Jackpot,” he says, pulling away from Felix.

Felix watches his backside with a burning gaze, eyes honed in Sylvain’s perfect ass. Sylvain digs through his cue stick bag before pulling out a bottle. Then, Felix narrows his eyes. “Is that your cue stick oil?”

“What?” asks Sylvain, looking incredibly dumb as he stands there mostly naked and confused. “It’ll work.”

“Sylvain, I’m not--”

“It’s linseed oil,” cuts in Sylvain, “and it’s very good for--” Felix bursts into laughter and Sylvain stops dead. “What now?”

Of all the things they can argue about, it’s what they’re going to use as lube. Not their sordid past, or the awkward shit between them, or hell, why Sylvain even left in the first place. But lube.

Sylvain crosses the room in record time. “I’ve broken you,” he murmurs.

Felix clears his throat and says, “Not yet.” He leans back onto the table and spreads his legs, and Sylvain’s gaze drops right to where Felix wants it. Sylvain’s throat bobs as he swallows. “But I expect you to ruin me entirely.”

“Shit,” says Sylvain, a soft little curse as he looks skyward. “I can do that.” His hands find Felix again, squeezing at his hips, running along his sides, pressing close enough that it’s hard to tell where Felix ends and Sylvain begins.

“I mean it,” says Felix. He’s never been one for dirty talk, but with Sylvain, it feels natural. He reaches out to grab the loose tie that still hangs limply around Sylvain’s neck. Felix’s other hand dips into the open shirt, smoothing over a pec. He thumbs at Sylvain’s nipple and gets a low moan in return. “Make it impossible for me to forget.

Sylvain will, Felix knows it. Can already tell by the way that Sylvain whimpers softly against his neck when Felix’s hand drops to grab his cock. Felix’s fingers finally circle around him after such a long wait. He’s hard and wanting in Felix’s hand, already wet at the tip.

“Turn around,” says Sylvain when he regains his senses. Felix responds by sliding his hand up and down instead. “Felix, move--” Felix palms the crown of Sylvain’s dick and he chokes out a sound that Felix would give his first child to hear again.

Sylvain turns him around and presses Felix’s chest down against the felt of the table. “We’re going to fuck up the table,” says Felix, teasing. He doesn’t give a shit about the table anymore, the only thing that matters is Sylvain’s hands on his ass, settling him into a more preferable position.

“Not as fucked as you will be,” says Sylvain, leaning over and whispering into his ear. “Thoroughly and extensively. Within an inch of your life.”

Terrible, terrible lines that absolutely work on Felix. “Do your worst, then,” says Felix, goading him.

Sylvain smiles against the side of Felix’s neck. Felix can imagine it, the way that Sylvain’s lips are curled dangerously. Sylvain presses a soft kiss against the skin there, directly contradictory to the way that his hands slide across his ass, massaging it gently.

“Is that a challenge?” asks Sylvain.

Felix scoffs. “Everything’s a game with you, isn’t it?”

“Not this.” Sylvain’s voice is quiet as he bites at the back of Felix’s neck. “Never this.”

Felix loves it, the way that Sylvain sprinkles in romantic shit as he touches him. “Is that a promise?”

“Yes,” says Sylvain immediately. Sincerely. Like he’s holding the world in his fingertips. One hand slides around Felix’s front, tweaking a nipple through his shirt that’s stubbornly remained on.

Felix hates how much he craves this kind of attention, those soft-spoken words of attention that he’s longed to hear, even when he was pushing them away. In the end, he’s never been able to say no to Sylvain, even if he tries. He’ll always come back.

Still, Sylvain’s insufferably slow at this, taking his damn time. Fingers skimming across Felix’s skin as he relishes the way he’s pressed into the pool table underneath him. “You’re playing lemonade,” says Felix. Stalling everything intentionally, slowing the pace of the game to a crawl. “Get on with it.”

“Yes, yes,” says Sylvain, pulling back. He spreads Felix’s ass cheeks and stares. Felix squirms under the touch, kicking his hips, trying to get the game on the road.

Sylvain slicks his fingers with the accursed cue stick oil and presses one against him. Felix’s breath hitches in anticipation, huffing slightly as Sylvain carefully circles around his entrance. When he slips the finger in, Felix moans so loudly that it’s embarrassing, practically echoing in the empty pool hall.

“Dammit, Felix,” murmurs Sylvain, working his finger in gently, pressing around inside. “Your--”

“So it’s been a while,” Felix bites out. “Fuck off.”

“No, that’s not--” Sylvain pauses, biting at his lip. “Goddess, I can’t wait to just--”

“Faster then, you idiot. I won’t break.”

Felix knows that Sylvain will still be careful, though, treating him like he’s something precious. Sylvain keeps it slower than Felix prefers, pressing in and out leisurely as he tugs slightly at his rim. Then a second finger joins the first. Felix loves the stinging pressure and the way that it makes him feel alive. It sets his blood on fire as it starts to boil, the pressure mounting deep in his gut.

Felix is hard again, cock twitching as it hangs below them.

Sylvain’s fingers move a little faster, setting a prickling pace. The way that he slips them in, the way he spreads them wide to lovingly stretch him-- Felix thrusts back against Sylvain’s hand, trying to speed up the process.

A third finger is added, Sylvain perfectly attuned to the wants and needs of Felix. Felix moans again, bites at his lip, grips tightly at the table rails below him. Sylvain’s good at what he does, prepping him so nicely.

Then his fingers stroke across his prostrate and Felix tightens up.

“Bull’s eye,” says Sylvain triumphantly.

Felix huffs, trying to seem indifferent. “Took you long enough,” he says, but his voice pitches high, crying out wantonly as Sylvain caresses him there relentlessly.

“Not yet,” says Sylvain. He slows his fingers but he doesn’t stop, moving them slowly as Felix does his best to not buck against his hand. “Don’t come until I’m inside you properly.”

“Give me some credit. It’s going to take more than your half-assed efforts.”

Sylvain’s fingers halt. Then he pulls them out entirely, leaving Felix suddenly bereft, his hole clenching around nothing.

“Half-assed,” repeats Sylvain, opening the bottle of oil once again. Felix looks back, watching as he pours it over his cock. He’s delicious looking, long and hard as Sylvain spreads the oil around with his hand. Then he’s spreading Felix’s ass again, thumbing at his loosened hole, watching with a dark and heated gaze. “I thought we weren’t playing games?”

“That was before you decided to take too long. I think I’ve already threatened you about that.”

Sylvain laughs before pulling Felix’s hips back. He nudges Felix’s entrance with the tip of his cock. “Ready?”

“A decade ago,” says Felix. It’s a double meaning, they both know it. They’ve wanted to indulge in this for far too long which is why Felix is so tired of waiting. He has to commend Sylvain on his valiant show of constraint because if it were Felix in his position, he’d have already lost.

Sylvain slides in like it’s second nature. He fills Felix up like he’s always belonged there. And maybe he has, maybe this is what Felix has been missing for so long. The heat and pleasure of what’s probably the world’s most perfect cock.

The man attached to it isn’t so bad either.

“Fuck,” says Sylvain, leaning forward once he’s fully seated, pressing his brow into the back of Felix’s neck. Waiting. Trying to ground himself. His fingers grip Felix by the hips, nearly bruising as he hangs on.

“You aren’t yet.” Felix can’t help the banter and Sylvain chuckles. Presses a kiss to his neck and then moves.

The slide of his cock is smooth. Sylvain’s lazy in the way that his length drags through Felix, a carefully maintained pace that’s just gentle enough. The kind of pace that’s wholly satisfying but not nearly enough.

It’s Felix’s turn to curse; filthy words, Sylvain’s name, anything that he can remember at the moment. He presses back, meeting Sylvain’s thrusts eagerly.

“Are you going to come like a clean shot?” asks Sylvain, his lips finding his ear, tongue licking around the shell of it. “Without me touching you? Like you’ve sunk the nine-ball without any interference.”

Felix should hate the ridiculous pool analogy on principle. He doesn’t, tightening up in response to the jargon. Felix moans at the words, biting at his lip and Sylvain smirks like he’s just won a new pot of money. Felix feels so satisfyingly full. Sylvain’s cock hits in all the right places as he moves over him. In and out. Pulls at his rim with stinging satisfaction.

Sylvain lifts Felix’s leg slightly, the angle changes and suddenly, Felix is seeing stars. Blinding white pleasure now that Sylvain’s cock has direct access to his prostate. Felix is mostly sprawled across the table now, his cock pressed into the soft felt of the table. Dribbling precome pathetically all over it.

“The table’s wet,” whispers Sylvain naughtily into his ear, his breath warm and intoxicating. Felix knows he doesn’t mean the humidity of the room and how it can fuck up a game. Sylvain reaches around to grab Felix’s cock, hand sliding along the length in time as he thrusts into him. “Felix, look at the mess you’ve made.”

“More,” says Felix, needily. He barely recognizes his own voice, too busy chasing the high that’s coursing through him. He can only focus on the thrust of Sylvain’s hips and the way that he fills him so perfectly, setting his nerves alight with every touch.

Sylvain delivers, pressing in as deep as he can go. He’s got a slick grip on Felix’s cock, fingers curled around it loosely as he jerks him. Sylvain bites at the meat of Felix’s shoulder, marking him up, and Felix moans, craving it.

“Felix, fuck.” Sylvain sounds so gone, his hips dragging against Felix in stuttering motions. He’s close, Felix can tell. And Felix is close too, the heat in his groin tightening more and more with every touch of Sylvain’s hand over his dick.

“Inside,” says Felix.

Sylvain pauses. “What?”

“I said to come inside me, you bonehead, not to stop. As in--”

“Yeah, yeah,” murmurs Sylvain. “Shit, Felix. You’ve got a way with words don’t you?” Then he lets go of his cock, leaving Felix feeling stripped of pleasure and entirely on edge. “Think you can do it? Come from just my cock?”

Felix can and he will, wholly determined. It’s perfect, Sylvain’s perfect; from the heat of his length, to the way that drags at him-- Felix can’t think of coming any other way. “Yes,” he says, his voice cracking like the word’s been punched straight from his gut. “Yes.”

Sylvain leans back, fingers digging into the meat of Felix’s waist. He doesn’t speed up, but he thrusts in hard and deep, sweeping strokes that aim to finish this off quickly.

“Look at you,” says Sylvain, “Taking me so well. Always knew that you would.” He spreads Felix’s cheeks, watching as his cock slips in, watching the way that Felix’s rim is stretched around him. Felix can imagine that satisfied smirk on his face, the kind that he gets when he’s won a pot.

Felix is the first to come, his cock just barely touching the felt of the table as Sylvain ruts into him. He tips over the edge, crying out Sylvain’s name and a litany of curses. None of them bad, all of them deserved. He feels rung out and limbless, legs shaking as he collapses onto the table.

Sylvain’s right behind, thrusting in only a few more times because he comes deep, filling him up. The resulting sound is downright sinful, Sylvain’s moan the kind of thing that Felix dreams about every night.

Even his dreams can’t compare. Sylvain lives up to the hype, thinks Felix as he breathes heavily, awkwardly folded against the pool table. His only regret is that he’d been facing away, that he wasn’t able to see Sylvain’s face in the throes of his orgasm.

Next time.

Sylvain’s careful when he pulls out. He’s gone for only a moment before he’s back with his polishing towel, splashed with lukewarm water from the tap. He cleans Felix up with a soft touch, pausing to look at his work. Felix can feel his spend leaking out of him. Moans when Sylvain presses it back in, his thumb lolling around his hole with smug satisfaction.

“Was it an adequate ruining?” he asks Felix.

Felix shoots him a rude gesture back, too tired to say anything else. Sylvain only chuckles, finishes wiping him up, and then leans in close for a sweet kiss against Felix’s sweaty head.

“For the record, I think you ruined me more,” says Sylvain. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

Felix won’t either. After a few minutes, he finds the strength to move, pulling back from the table. Then he sees the absolute mess he’s made all over the felt. Felix pinches the bridge of his nose, hissing at the idea of it.

Sylvain looks over his shoulder, wincing. “That’s, uh--”

“It’s ruined,” says Felix. “I’ll have to get it re-felted.” It’s his fault, though, not Sylvain’s. Not entirely at least. Felix was so gone he didn’t even think about it, lost entirely in their passion. Felix sees Sylvain’s expression and he reaches out, grabbing him by the shirt sleeve. “It isn’t a big deal.”

Sylvain’s flushed and sweaty, his cheeks pink and his hair mussed. Looks like he ran a marathon. Might as well have; Felix put him through the wringer. But then Sylvain smiles like he’s found the meaning of life, a wide grin that makes Felix’s heart stutter.

Felix leans back against the edge of the pool table gingerly and pulls Sylvain close. Sylvain follows, his hands immediately finding purchase on his waist. “Does this mean I’m not kicked out?” asks Sylvain quietly.

“You do bring me a lot of business,” says Felix.

“Oh, so this is all business then?”

Felix is quiet for a moment, fiddling with Sylvain’s collar. “No, it isn’t all business. It’s definitely something more.”

Sylvain cups his cheek, looking at him seriously. Felix pulls him down for a kiss, the kind where lips linger because you want them to. He doesn’t want to forget the way that Sylvain tastes.

When they part, they clean up. Felix limps about slightly, resulting in more raunchy innuendo from Sylvain. He’s never going to hear the end of it.

But Felix doesn’t want to, smiling softly when Sylvain isn’t looking.

They leave the pool hall tired and satisfied, fingers melded together as they walk hand-in-hand. Sylvain stays the night at Felix’s shitty apartment and it’s surprisingly chaste; they fall asleep fully clothed, shoved into a too-small bed, and wrapped around each other.

The next night at the pool hall is the same old bullshit.

Sylvain’s hustling Felix’s customers, stripping them of their money by winning pot after pot. Felix stands against the wall not far off, arms crossed over his chest as he watches. His expression is disgusted as usual. But his demeanor is entirely soft.

Ingrid notices. “Something happened,” she says.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” says Felix, obstinate as ever.

Ingrid levels him with a look. “You and Sylvain. Spill.”

“We played a few games last night.”

“Did you win?”

Ingrid sits on the edge of the doomed pool table. It’s covered that night and entirely off-limits. Felix isn’t sure that he’ll ever be able to look at it again, his face burning red at the mere thought of what he and Sylvain did there.

“You--” Ingrid’s mouth falls open. Then her gaze drops to the table which usually isn’t out of commission. “No,” she says. She jumps off it. “ No.”

Felix doesn’t confirm nor deny it, just sips at his well-deserved alcohol as he looks back at Sylvain. He’s dashing as ever, despite the shitty lighting, sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms. He isn’t wearing a vest this time and the collar’s undone, showing off what Felix would consider his biggest fucking weakness.

He swallows thickly and Ingrid makes a disgusted noise.

“I mean, about fucking time,” she says, “But really, Felix? Here?”

“It wasn’t planned,” he says truthfully.

Silence stretches between the two of them, relatively comfortable. Sylvain wins another pot, leaving behind an angry victim. Looks like someone’s about to go fisticuffs.

“You should go stop whatever that is,” says Ingrid.

“Yeah,” murmurs Felix, pushing away from the wall.

Back to normal, thinks Felix as he tries to talk the scorned gentleman down from punching Sylvain right across the face. Except that it isn’t. Things have shifted entirely, almost like they’ve both gone back in time, and moved forward. The start of something fresh and new.

Felix can think of worse things.

#sylvain/felix #felix/sylvain #felix x sylvain #felix hugo fraldarius #fe3h #sylvain jose gautier #fe3h fanfiction

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pokenimagines · 4 years

Note

:O ask box is open!!! Okay, so since you said aus are cool, do you think you could write thief!Reader who’s next target ended up being more than they bargained for? Mostly because they got distracted by how hot the mark ended up being and then found out they can also turn into a dragon at will. The dragon is Raihan

So I got two requests for a Shifter!Dragon!Raihan, and halfway through this one, I realized I had accidentally combined the two. So to the person wanting the injured raihan fic, it’s incorporated into this one! I hope you enjoy it because we all need a little bit to dragon love for this man.

Discord - Request Info

Dragon!Raihan x Reader: Injured Thieving

You were, for lack of better words, a thief. It ran in your blood, like your father before you, and his father before that, all had the same occupation. Which was stealing shit and making a run to the next town. It wasn’t the noblest thing to do, but in your defense, most of those people didn’t need five hundred gold bars just sitting in their house. They wouldn’t use it, and they sure as hell didn’t help anyone out with them. You were pretty sure they just kept it because they were shiny.

Still, despite being a thief, you did have standards. You didn’t steal from the poor, only take from the rich, share your spoils with those in need. Like a real-life robin hood…but not as kind because you definitely kept most of that shit to yourself.

You quickly did a check on your map, wondering if your next target was going to be worth it. You’d stolen from shifters in the past, but it was never easy. You had no idea what this person was capable of shifting into, but judging by the sheer size of the rooms and the size of the mansion…well, it was clear they were probably going to be big. You also noted you didn’t see any guards, …which meant they were pretty strong.

You calmed your nerves, reminding yourself that it was just a town rumor that this person was a shifter. Shifters were so damn rare, and townsfolk were fast to point fingers. Shifters were to be killed on the spot if possible, so poor people would usually accuse the rich of being them in hopes their wealth would be spread after death. Thankfully for this person, everyone lacked evidence, and therefore, authorities dismissed it as just the poor pointing fingers.

You slipped through one of the open windows of the mansion and peered into the darkroom. Your senses were pretty good after doing this your entire life, so you were satisfied when you didn’t hear anything going on. You slowly began creeping through the home, searching the rooms for any sign of riches. You knew he had to have something in here, as all rich people did, but the issues were finding out where it was.

As you passed by a room, you paused for a second, and your breath hitched. You could see the slight shimmer of something through the cracked door, but also the distance breathing of a living being. You took in a deep breath before backtracking and looking through the crack in the door. The shimmer of gold and some random gems scattered on the ground gave you the perfect sense that this was the vault.

It was unnerving that the door was a normal one, simply cracked open in the dead of the night with no guards in sight. You slowly opened it, thankful the door didn’t creak and took another look inside. You searched the corners to look for any traps that might be set off as you knew from experience that it was never this easy.

“You know, you’re not as sneaky as you think.” You covered your mouth to hide the scream as you could feel the warmth of a body behind you, and their breath on your neck. You quickly turned around, only to have the person pin you against the wall as he looked over you. You flushed at finally seeing who it was. You had seen a few drawings of him in town, but none of them did him justice.

This man currently had his hair down, covering the shaved sides of it slightly, while those tired looking aqua eyes bore into you. He was presently shirtless, only sporting some pants, and he looked exhausted with bags under his eyes. Despite that, he was still overly handsome, and your mouth went dry as you tried to figure out what to say. You were caught, that was for sure, and were probably going to be thrown into jail. You were never one to fight, and this man towered over you, and if his muscles were any indication, then it meant he could hold his own. He definitely wasn’t like any noble you had ever come across.

“I uh…I got lost?” You tried to squeak out, hoping that maybe your entire black attire, topped with a black cloak that hides your face and black back, wouldn’t be ant indicator. He actually laughed, his breath fanning over your face as you squirmed a bit to get away from him.

“Just like all the others got lost in here? People in this town really aren’t good with directions.” He said, despite his tired expression, he had enough energy to flash you a smirk, and one shocking fang made itself noticeable. Your eyes widened, knowing full well that the fang wasn’t normal. Some people had sharp canines, sure, but this was like looking into the mouth of a snake type of sharp.

“Yes…?” You muttered out before suddenly the man before you started falling to the side. You just stood there as his body crashed to the floor, and you slowly looked down. On his back was a large gash that was currently bleeding out, and it seemed like it finally got to him. He was definitely passed out on the ground now. You just stood there, in shock, thinking over your options. You could just grab the things and let this dude, probably shifter, die in his house. Still, the thought was…well, you weren’t a murderer. You stole, you didn’t kill people. Wouldn’t leaving a poor, injured man alone in his house be considered murder in some form?

You groaned while you bent over and poked his cheek. His face scrunched up a bit, but other than that, he didn’t respond. A whine came from your throat as you realized you’d be needing to do the right thing. You slowly began lifting the man up from under his arm and slinging it over your shoulder. His feet would be dragging behind, but that was the least of your worries.

Mentally, you thanked yourself for being strong enough to lift gold bars out of windows, or else you’d probably have left him due to the sheer weight. You quickly found one of the bedrooms you had discovered while looking around and laid the man down on his stomach. It took a solid half an hour of searching to find a medical kit of some kind, and when you came back, he seemed to be out cold still. You set a bucket of water down on the counter by the bed and lit a few candles before getting to work.

Stitches weren’t your specialty, but they were kind enough to make sure he wouldn’t completely bleed out. You weren’t a doctor and couldn’t do blood transfusions, so you hoped he didn’t lose too much blood. Once he was all wrapped up, you did a quick check to make sure that was the only area that had been injured. Once satisfied, you grabbed a chair and sat yourself down, staring at him.

You weren’t sure when the staring became sleeping, but the only thing that woke you up in the morning was a stream of light coming through the window, along with the groaning of pain from the man. You blinked a few times, not knowing what was going on before you noticed your ‘patient’ was now sitting up and staring at you.

His cheeks and shoulders were covered with these red scales with a small shimmer of teal bouncing off them. His eyes seemed to have a more slitted look to them while his hands now sported claws. You froze while looking at him, your suspicions of him being a shifter being correct.

“Did you patch me up?” Was the sudden question he asked, and you blinked a few times, wondering where you were before your eyes widened at his appearance.

“U…um Ya. You looked like…you could use some help…” You murmured, taking in his current appearance. This had been the first time you saw a reptilian type of shifter, as normally they’d shift into bears or wolves. Seeing the scales reflecting a teal color in the sunlight was almost captivating, if not for how he was looking at you.

“You’re kind of a dumb thief, you know that?” He commented, flashing you a smirk as you flushed. You realized you probably could’ve just patched the asshole up and made a run for it with some gold, but instead, you stayed the night. You didn’t know why (perhaps it was because he was hot and you didn’t want to leave until you knew the cutie was fine), but you stayed.

“You’re a dumb shifter…how did you even get injured? Also, why are you sitting up?” You said while standing up and walking over to him and gently touching his shoulder so he’d get the hint to move and show you his back. He rolled his eyes while turning a bit, and you noticed the witches were already coming out, but the injury looked like it was almost healed up.

“I heal a lot faster than humans; by tomorrow, it’ll be like it never happened.” He said as he went back to sitting. You still weren’t convinced, and he still hadn’t told you what exactly was going on.

“You didn’t answer my question as to how this happened to you.” You said, and he seemed to wince at the memory. He flashed you the toothy grin, though now he had more sharp teeth than before. You shivered at the sight, knowing he could probably tear into you if he wanted. Those were the teeth of a carnivore, and you knew a lot of shifters had no issues eating humans.

“Had some issues in a town nearby. It’s fine, it happens.” He explained, and you now looked curious while you sat at the edge of the bed. He shifted over a bit to make more room for you.

“So you were causing trouble? Were you shifted? What exactly do you turn into? A giant lizard?” You began teasing him almost, letting your childish side out. It wasn’t every day you got to speak with a shifter, so now was your opportunity to see what type of things they got into. Living a double life as both a human and creature seemed to be pretty exciting in your eyes.

“I was shifted, and I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.” He explained, and you made a motion with your hands for him to go on, “And if you can’t guess what I am, then, I’m not telling you.” He said, shooting you his own cocky glare, and you puffed out your cheeks.

“Fine, keep your secrets. I bet you're just some overgrown lizard, anyway.” You said, trailing off at the end before perking up, “Anyway, I should head out. Got more placed to steal from, since this was a bust.” You said, standing up. You suddenly felt a warm hand go over your wrist, though a bit rough form the scales over it.

“If you make me breakfast, I could give you a ruby as thanks.” He coaxed, and you actually laughed, raising an eyebrow.

“Excuse you, do I look like someone after an honest living? If anything, you owe me for stitching you back up. Even with your abnormal healing abilities, if you had bled out, there’d be little you could do about it.” You said, though, you didn’t make a move to remove his hand from your wrist. It was almost like a furnace, something you noticed last night. Even when he was bleeding out, he was still so warm. Like there was a fire always burning inside of him.

“Think of it as atonement for breaking in and trying to steal from me. I could’ve just reported you to authorities and had you thrown into a cell.” He reminded you, and you just shook your head at the thought. Saving a life definitely overshadows any witty thievery on your part.

“Well, I could’ve reported you as a shifter, but I didn’t.” You shot back, though he didn’t look like he was even remotely affected by this statement.

“Who do you think they’ll believe? A noble whose family has lived here for generations or the little rat who broke into his house to steal?” He made an excellent point. Suddenly, you heard your stomach growl a bit, and his eyes flickered with amusement while you snatched your wrist back.

“Fine, dragon boy, I’ll make some breakfast…but I want a ruby and gold bars as payment.” You huffed, spinning around to begin finding out where the hell the kitchen is.

“Congrats on guessing correctly.” He said, and you were only slightly shocked; your assumption was right, “Now come on, I’m expecting the best breakfast in the world for that price.” He got up, and you felt him slinging an arm over your shoulder. His sly smile was enough to let you know he wasn’t planning on letting you off the hook so quickly.

“Whatever…you never told me your name.” You said, and he sighed as he guided you through the halls.

“It’s Raihan.”

#pokemon #pokemon swsh #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon imagines #pokeimagines #pokemon raihan #pokemon raihan x reader #raihan swsh #raihan #raihan x reader #dragon au #dragon raihan

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cecilspeaks · 7 years

Text

111 - Summer 2017, Night Vale, USA

A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we lay open-eyed, watching it all.

Welcome to Night Vale.

The City Council reiterated for the 1874th consecutive day that the Dog Park is off limits for both dogs and humans. The fence is electrified and highly dangerous, et cetera. Hooded figures and all that. Since its construction, we have shied from and feared the Dog Park. The Dog Park is neither a park nor for dogs, so what does it even mean to call it a Dog Park? Why do we use language that means one thing to describe something that is entirely else? I don’t know what the word for that place the City Council calls the Dog Park, but I do know it’s time to start searching for that word, and once found, to use it boldly.

The angels – who I can know say are angels and will say are angels because they are angels- held a memorial for Old Woman Josie in her house. Everyone in town came, overcome with the feeling that finally, they could look at these beings and recognize them for what they were. Even the City Council attended the memorial, but refused to make eye contact with anyone. Of course, this positive concrete identification only led to more mysteries. For if these are angels, then where did they come from, and what does that mean for us? Even now we find that we cannot voice these questions. Not because we are not allowed, but because we cannot find the words to ask. Instead, we ate cake and drank coffee in the living room of Old Woman Josie, which was once just that, the place she lived. Now, it is only a room. One by one, we laid our hand on the angel’s hands, and in that moment of contact, each of us in turn found ourselves weeping.

As the party wound down, we all heard a soft pop outside. It was the lightbulb on Old Woman Josie’s porch, burning out.

A man who I know very well came into my house today, which is also his house. He laid his head with its perfect and beautiful hair upon my shoulder and crossed his arms over his perfect and beautiful lab coat. I embraced him. We are creatures of touch, humans. And we retrieve so much meaning and happiness from contact.

“I’ve become too complacent,” he said. “When I came here, I understood this town as scientifically fascinating. And then, gradually, it became my day to day life. I could no longer see the strangeness, but only my home.” “We are all guilty of that,” I said. “But I’m a scientist,” he said. “Well,” I said, “we have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives.”

Just a reminder to all the parents out there. Let’s talk about safety when taking your children out to play in the scrublands and the sand wastes. You need to give them plenty of water, make sure there’s a shade tree in the area, and keep an eye on the helicopter colors. I asked my best friend and brother, Steve, to talk me through which helicopters belong to which organizations. Obviously the black helicopters belong to the world government. Although I had not realized until Steve laid it out for me, how closely they are also associated with the lizard people. The blue ones are Sheriff’s Secret Police. The pink ones are the new Double Secret Police. And the ones painted with complex murals depicting birds of prey diving? [inhales sharply] Well, not even Steve knows what those helicopters are, nor what they want. On Steve’s chart, those are just labeled with the word “RUN”. And then a few hundred exclamation points.

A commercial airliner flying through local airspace disappeared today, only to reappear at the fifth hole of the Sagebrook Pines Private Golf Club and Bulk Supplier. This disrupted all golf activities badly, as well as scaring a family of four who were perusing bulk paper towels offered at a discount price in a nearby sand trap.

I feel, for the first time, that I can articulate that this airliner had flown into some other universe, those divisions being particularly thin here in our quaint little community. This also is the cause of things like dead relatives occasionally joining us for breakfast, or the shimmering skyscrapers and crowded cities that appear for flashing moments in the sky.

Of course, it also could be the handiwork of the East Night Vale Cacti, the basketball team at the new East Night Vale Elementary School. Those scamps are always pulling pranks. Could they transport a large plane through multiple universes? Who am I to say? But probably yes. For shame, East Night Vale! For shame!

My husband and our town’s friend and protector Carlos called a town meeting. He thought we hadn’t checked in with each other in a while and wanted us to have a moment where we came face to face, and saw those faces, and remembered that we are all real and all affect each other. Erika and Erika of the newly acknowledged angels brought corn muffins.. which were inedibly salty. They explained that angels just can’t get enough salt. Dana Cardinal was there, not as our Mayor but as a citizen, one who is so young for the responsibility that has been thrust on her. Tamika Flynn was there, not as a City Council member, but as a citizen, one who is so young for the responsibility she has seized with an army of loyal and extremely well armed teens. Please see my upcoming editorial on why millennials are always joining armed teen militias. Ugh, millennials!

Carlos reminded us that we are by far the most scientifically interesting town in the country, and we joined hands and nodded, because boy, don’t we know it!

We have clear eyes now. We see ourselves for who we are, but more importantly, we see each other. We are still a community.

The Night Vale Business Association is proud to announce the refurbishment of the Night Vale Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area. Now you might remember that these facilities have always been absolutely beautiful, eco-friendly, and with a pedestrian-focused design. However, they have suffered poor attendance due to the complete lack of water in the desert. But this is where things have changed. The Night Vale Business Association said, in a press release that they drunkenly sung in unison out in my yard last night.

The recent problems we had with other universes intruding on our own resulted in a great deal of pain and loss. But it has left us with an ocean. This ocean is only visible from the Waterfront Recreation Area’s boardwalk, and viewed from any other angle, the area still appears to just be the usual sagebrush and rocks. Carlos said he doesn’t understand how this window into another world works, and warned that no one should attempt to touch the ocean, for we do not know what lurks within it. But, he said, there could be no harm in a sunset stroll along the boardwalk, listening to the soft hiss of the retreating waves.

The local chapter of the NRA is selling bumper stickers as part of their fundraising week. The stickers are made from good sturdy vinyl, and they read, “We genuinely do not value human life.” Cute!

Carlos and his scientists, like Louisa and Nilanjana, are renewing their investigation into the house in the development of Desert Creek, out back of the elementary school. The house that doesn’t actually exist. “It seems like it exists,” muttered Carlos, “like it’s just right there when you look at it. And it’s between two other identical houses, so it would make more sense for it to be there than not.” But he says, it is actually a doorway into another world, a world he himself was stuck in for a year. There seem to be secrets about that year he’s keeping to himself. Maybe some day we will learn what they are.

Lights seen in the sky above the Arby’s. Not the glowing sign of Arby’s, something higher and beyond that. One night years ago, two people scared and vulnerable and loving and ready came together for a quiet moment under that sky, and I pretended at the time to understand the lights. But a big part of recognizing the world for what it is is recognizing when you have no idea. Invaders from another world? Harbingers of future terror? A fragment of other universe, fading into our own above reasonably priced lunchmeat? Maybe any. Maybe all. Maybe none.

But here is what I do know: the lights are, among other things, a part of my memory and a part of my marriage, and a part of my love. They are a piece of my past and I don’t need to understand them to understand that. Ladies and gentlemen, the past is here, and it’s about a hundred feet above the Arby’s.

Carlos and Louisa say that the monitoring station near Route 800 is recording wild seismic shifts, even as our ground reminds completely still. He suspects that this might be because multiple universes are colliding, creating earthquakes that are undetectable in the third dimension. “Picture our worlds intertwining,” he said. “And here we are in the coil, the friction of every possibility coming into contact, shaking the very structure of chance and fortune,” he said. Well, submit an insurance claim anyway and see what you can get, right?

Listeners, the traffic. Police are issuing warnings about the ghost cars out on the highways, those cars only visible in the distance, reaching unimaginable speeds, leaving destinations unknown for destinations more unknown. It seems that the ghost cars have taken to drag racing on weekends, which poses a hazard to both pedestrians and other drivers. The police indicate that they will be arresting whatever beings drive these cars, as soon as they can figure out how to pull one over.

And now – The weather.

["Andromeda" by Airospace soundcloud.com/spairoace or on Spotify]

The sun didn’t set at the correct time today or any other day, Carlos and Nilanjana reported. They are quite certain about that. They checked several blocks. But, they said, the sunset was really beautiful, so at least there’s that.

Carlos still does not have any explanations, but he did suggest that while time is especially weird in Night Vale, time is weird anyway. Mostly people don’t notice in the rest of the world, because while time is weird there, it’s always weird in the same way, and so is mistaken for being remotely understandable.

It’s easy to forget in this hot, hot, desert climate, but things would actually be slightly harder for us without the sun. We know this because there was a version of Night Vale in some other universe in which the sun did not exist. And that version of Night Vale was teerrible. Ugh, just no good at all! Their street plan didn’t make a lick of sense, for one thing. There was no flow to any neighborhood! I’m glad I live in my sunny Night Vale, and not any other.

The City Council would like to remind you about the tiered heavens and the hierarchy of angels. The reminder is the council is grumpy that all of this is not forbidden knowledge, but due to the new laws, they are required to inform you that the angels have made all of that information available. Stop by the house where the angels live if you want to pick up a free packet outlining exactly how all of that is organized. While the packet itself is free, it is likely the angels will ask to borrow five dollars. They tend to do that.

Over at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, Terry Williams, its owner, reported the startling news that there is nothing under the pin retrieval area of lane 5. As you may remember, there has been a tiny city of warlike people under the bowling alley for several years now. Which has caused some trouble, although not a lot of trouble, because they were very tiny people. But now there is just a hole in the earth under the pin retrieval area, an empty space containing only my own memories of a night that someone I loved almost died, before I had a chance to truly love him. So good riddance to whatever that town was.

Carlos, perfect and beautiful, came into our studio during the break earlier and we ate lunch together out of Tupperwares. He had some sort of blinking box in his hand, covered with wires and tubes. When he put it close to the microphone it sounded like – well, like a bunch of baby birds had just woken up, really went crazy. He asked if I remembered it. He had brought it by on the first day we had met. He had told me that it tested for materials, but he wasn’t actually sure what materials it tested for. He had just wanted an excuse to come by and talk to me. “Anyway”, he said, “I thought it was a nice memento back when we were fumbling awkwardly toward this life we share.” “But,” he added, “it’s a real instrument that is detecting some actual materials of some kind, so there is a good chance that everything about this studio is deeply dangerous. Please, be careful.” Then we fed Khoshekh, the cat floating in one of the bathrooms here at the station. Carlos pointed out cats don’t float. I stared at Khoshekh, having never really thought about that. After a bit I said, “This one does.” Carlos smiled, petted Khoshekh between the eyes and went back to his work, and I went back to mine.

This is my work, listeners. My work is to speak to you all. To talk you through the day, to murmur you into the night. Settling in to be another clear and pretty evening here in Night Vale, this weird, weird, town. I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through it with. I know I do.

Good night, listeners, Good night.

Today’s proverb: There is no proof you exist, only evidence. .

#welcome to night vale #wtnv #wtnv transcripts #episode 111 #summer 2017 night vale usa #sorry it's so late #i was out of town #also i used the wrong episode number but i corrected it now

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pseudocitrus · 7 years

Text

a very basic guide on how to find doujin in tokyo

i went to japan recently and i love doujin so i spent a lot of time hunting around for them. i felt like writing about it, so, here's my write about how to find/buy doujin in tokyo if you have absolutely no idea how to do so :)

disclaimer: this is current as of sept. 2017. i write this from a foreigner's perspective, and also from scrambling together a lot of here-and-there online resources and personal observation. so, it's very likely that i've gotten some language/cultural things wrong, this is just meant as a post for someone who knows absolutely nothing and also meant as a memory helper for me personally lol. if i do get something wrong, feel free to correct me ^^

why buy doujin in japan?

probably the main reason would be that it's MUUCH cheaper. recently-released doujin cost around ~¥800 to ~¥1500, whereas older works can be ¥400, or even ¥200 each if your pairing isn't that popular. in the US, in my experience, doujin can cost $20 (or ~¥2000).

(as a note, some doujin are at a premium — for example, works by 3745 house are ¥2000 each, and i also saw some gearous art books for ¥5000.)

i also enjoy the treasure hunting aspect. being in the tg fandom and being weirdly fond of rarepairs, i felt really excited every time i came across kaneki/touka or even ones like tsukiyama&hinami, tsukiyama&kanae, tsukiyama&nishiki 😲

some stores allow you to buy “tax-free” as well if you have a non-japanese passport with a temporary visa (i think this is the kind of visa you need). for example, in mandarake, if you spend over a certain amount (¥5000~¥5400) then they'll refund you the sales tax. they staple a little customs form into your passport which can theoretically be checked by an officer who will make sure you have everything you bought in your possession and weren't buying it for a citizen. but, no one has ever actually like gone through every doujin title that i bought (thank goodness, honestly). you can remove this customs form when you depart japan.

where to get doujin

here are the “must-hit” stores!

mandarake

in case you don't know already (i certainly did not for a long time), mandarake is a good store to search for doujin! they sell a variety of used/new anime/manga/idol goods, and have shelves upon shelves of doujin, usually with “women's sections” (containing mostly BL) and “men's sections” (containing what you might think of as, like, “hentai”).

in tokyo, there are at least four “major” mandarake locations —

akihabara

contains the super large multi-level complex with a whole men's floor and a women's floor, as well as other floors for toys and stuff. this location isn't far from the JR akihabara station.

ikebukuro

contains a smaller mandarake which is very women-focused, with no “men's section” that i can remember. this particular location is beside a lot of k-books stores which contain merch and more doujin.

nakano

also accessible by JR rail, and a short distance from the station, through nakano broadway. i think this is the “flagship” mandarake, and there are like seventeen stores in one mall-like setting, nestled beside other goods stores, some of which also have doujin. the women's and men's sections are in separate rooms and i had good luck here finding other merch.

shibuya

the smallest mandarake of the ones listed — with more of a focus on retro toys, though there's tons of doujin and idol stuff here too.

(as a sidenote, i also went to osaka, where there are two mandarake. one of them has a live stage where the women's section is. the other organized their doujin in a way that i couldn't quite parse and was too shy to ask about.)

k-books

in ikebukuro there are like TONS of different kbooks buildings so be sure you're visiting the right one! each kbooks is a “something館” which means “something building.” for example, “コスプレ館” or “cosplay building” has a lot of cosplay stuff, there’s also a “games building” which contains games merch like from pokemon, etc.

for doujin, go to “同人館” or “doujin building,” which is on a road called “otome road” (and also has the mandarake nearby underground! also — there’s also a “k-books athlete building” near here which contains only stuff from sports anime! which is separate from the other one that has mercy for other anime. last time i was there it was half yuri on ice, haha.)

in k-books, you can get a points card for ¥100 which lets you accumulate points to get other goods when you buy stuff, idk. i didn’t actually research this that much because i ran into it only on the last day. seems useful tho!

melonbooks

honestly, i don’t know that much about melonbooks. the ones that i’ve visited were in nagoya and ikebukuro and they felt more “men”-centered. it seems there can be melonbooks-exclusive doujin here. could be worth checking out if you see one. my impression was that it sells stuff that is popular or recently released. if you are squicked by hentai, be warned that in certain “men”-centered areas they play it on small monitors.

tora no ana

i visited only a couple of these so i don’t know that much either, but my impression was that like melonbooks it sells stuff that is popular or recently released. anyway it’s probably worth looking at too! if you are squicked by hentai, be warned that in certain “men”-centered areas they play it on small monitors.

i was on the hunt for TG stuff mostly which isn’t incredibly popular right now, so i wasn’t as interested in tora no ana. (regarding tg, however, i think wherever you go you can probably find tsukikane.)

general tips before you set out

these are good things to get in order before you go hunting!

know what you’re looking for, specifically. if you’re looking for something specific, think get the title, maybe a photo of the cover, the artist name, and the circle name. make sure that you know the artist/circle name as it’s written in japanese (whether by kana, kanji, or roman characters). also make sure that you know how the japanese ship is spelled.

know what you’re looking for, generally. if you’re not looking for something specific, think of all the possible series/games you might be interested in. i went out for TG but then circled back to all the stores once i realized i really wanted to find something by mikami takeru, lol. (also, if i had done my research beforehand, i would have known that what i wanted was a certain mikami takeru anthology — instead i was a fool and ended up buying some doujin, and then ALSO buying the anthology when i found it later, and doubling up on some stories 😭). i also ended up in doujin sections for “games” and realized i was also kind of interested in phoenix wright and persona 5 and odin sphere. anyway, it’s just good to know ur facts beforehand.

know the store opening/closing hours and days. they tend to open kind of late, like around noon, and are open until later, like 8pm or 9pm. stores in japan tend to be closed on tuesdays (which can affect your overall plans). idk it’s just probably good to confirm things. also, it can be really small quarters in doujin stores, so consider going during weekdays when it will be quieter and easy for you to move around.

if you’re not familiar with the japanese alphabetical order, keep a copy with you. since things are arranged alphabetically and all that.

bring your passport! for the aforementioned sales-tax-free shopping.

how to find doujin

every store is kind of different. but, generally, if you’re in the “women’s section:”

there will be a small area for newly-released stuff for popular series, like doujin that just came out during recent events, ex. natsukomi. this area is fun to browse because the doujin covers are facing outward and there are small “sample” prints on the back that show more of the art style. older works are shelved normally and all you can see is the cover art. (all doujin are sealed in plastic which you can’t open in store.)

it’s also likely that there will be separate sections for overall genres — anime, games, “western” (like sherlock), jump series (ex. shounen jump, young jump).

popular series (which right now are yuri on ice, osomatsu-san, haikyuu, gintama, jojo, etc.) will often have their own “major section” after that, with lots of shelves devoted to them.

i wish i had a picture of this but i don’t, so just imagine shelves packed with doujin with little manilla folder tabs sticking out, haha. for less popular series, the series name will be written on these tabs. series will be listed in alphabetical japanese order.

within series, things will be organized by ship, which will also be in alphabetical japanese order. if the circle is popular, it will also likely be listed in a tab.

when you find the tab you want, the doujin pertaining to that tab will be listed to the RIGHT of the tab. keep searching shelves from left to right, up to down.

also — these stores can be overwhelming in their density of doujin. if you don’t really want to spend a lot of time searching, feel free to just ask somebody about it. i just said something that was probably silly like tokyo ghoul no doujinshi arimasen ka or tokyo ghoul no doujinshi sagashitemasu ga…. and an attendant will lead you to the section. while i was furiously battling my social anxiety i saw another foreigner just bust into the store with a picture saying “KONO MANGA ARIMASU KA?” and she got her answer and led to her desired location immediately, so, there you go.

for a not-as-popular fandom like TG, the sections in stores tended to be very small. the majority of it was tsukikane, but i crawled through everything anyway, and did in fact find like THREE WHOLE KANETOU doujin tucked away in there!! anything that wasn’t tsukikane (which tended to be arisasa and utayomo) was basically listed as “その他” or “other pairings.” if you’re looking for TG and are an english-speaker, it might help for you to look for TYUUNI! which is a popular circle and easier to spot than trying to read all the japanese. again, though, if you’re having trouble, don’t be weird like me, just ask.

this might also be a “duh” kind of thing, but, doujin with nsfw content will have “R18” somewhere on the cover. also, ships included in the doujin are often listed on the back. this doesn’t really help you when you can’t open doujin packs, but i noticed that some doujin recently have been including content warnings in the beginning that are like, “this doujin contains arisasa...it starts maybe looking like it might be sasa/ari, but it’s arisasa! if you don’t like this, please close the book.” idk if you are in a situation where you CAN open the book and read japanese and are squicked by pairings/certain content, maybe this will be valuable information 4 u.

general tips while searching

in stores like mandrake, there are footstools that you can use to access higher shelves, but it’s generally bad to use these for sitting. if you do this someone will probably ask you to stop, haha.

in stores like mandarake, there are also glass “showcases” (ショーケース) which generally contain nice merch but can also contain doujin. i went through a lot of trouble to find a mikami takeru anthology only to buy it and then walk out and realize there was one right in the store window for a slightly different price! it turned out the conditions of the two were different (with the display version being more expensive because it didn’t have a crease) — but maybe you care about creases! idk! check the showcase!

i’m pretty sure most stores have shopping baskets, if you see one you can take it to help carry your loads of doujin u are gonna buy.

also be careful about if stores would prefer that you make your purchase on each floor, rather than taking your unpaid-for goods to a different floor.

if you need to get past someone, you can say “sumimasen.”

it’s possible that different versions of the same doujin will come with different promotional material too, like an extra little flyer or something.

mmmm, that’s all i can think of now, will probably add some more later.

if you’re going be able to hunt for doujin soon — good luck/have fun! if not — i hope you get the chance to!

#personal #pseudochat #my own ref post #lol #long post

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fulldreamsahead · 5 years

Text

Hotel Strange

I last night I had a dream where my partner and I are in a hotel and we’re being psuedo-haunted? by some sort of shapeshifter. It starts when I get up in the middle of the night to pee and I see something fly across the room back towards the bed. Mason is still there and I scream for him to grab it. Mason bolts upright to look at what I originally thought to be some sort of huge moth, but now it sort of looks like a tiny mouse? Mason can’t shake his sleep-brain like in real life, so he’s too tired to rightly deal with it and after airing out the sheets and finding nothing, we decide to stop the search. Mason goes back to bed, but I am too upset to sleep and keep looking for whatever it was. Eventually my search rouses Mason enough to truly join and we are able to find and close it off in the bathroom. We then call the hotel staff to come deal with it.

A woman attendant arrives and as she opens the door to the bathroom she seems at ease while we are stressed. She tells us that it is alright and it’s nothing more than the hotel bird. We look out from around her to find a double yellow-headed amazon parrot on the ground. She kneels down and it immediately bows its head for scratches. I exclaim that this is outrageous and we are being harassed by some sort of monster and not a bird. The woman is unimpressed so I leave to go complain at the front desk. On the way I run into an old friend from college, Eddie, who is staying in the hotel on a business trip. I ask how he is and he is upset because he can’t make a money withdrawal on his bank account for some reason. I forget my original mission and offer to help him.

In this dream world, all I need is to take Eddie’s info over to an ATM and I will be able to hopefully get into his account. So I take out a pen and paper and jot down his birthday as being 1/20/2020 and his name as being Mason Meyers (which are both obviously very wrong). I leave Eddie and find myself in what is essentially a tiny store room lined with shelves and a counter barring me from directly using the ATM. I take this at face value and wait for a clerk to show up to operate the ATM for me. As I wait a commercial for my friend’s gym runs on a nearby TV screen. After watching it, I think how great it is that their business is growing.

I become impatient that no one is coming so I turn around to find that this store room is butted up against some sort of bustling kitchen. There are beer steins lining the wall and something about seeing them jogs my memory of seeing similar glasses in Eddie’s room, so I go back to see him. His room number is highlighted in gilded gold numbers reading 102. I think how funny it is that its the same as his birthday (it’s not and it’s not even the same as the fake birthday?!). I ask him what he was trying to pull the money out for and he tells me he had just had a few drinks and was trying to order more but they forced him to close out his tab because his card could not be charged further. I told him that is alright and ask if I can take one of the beer steins so that I can at least help with that. He agrees because the steins will need to be returned at some point anyway.

I take the stein over to a cafe that is being waitressed by three South American women. The cafe sits mostly outside on a huge open air deck with a view of the sea. It seems very casual and I try to order, but they are quite haughty with me. For some reason I follow them around while complaining about everything that’s happened in the hotel and they dismiss me and tell me to wait my turn. I get tired of waiting for them and pour myself a few shots of clear liquor into the stein, but remember that Eddie wanted a margarita and I have no idea where the mix is. I go to one of the waitresses who is piping out some pastry dough on parchment paper. She pipes three circles, each one a bit bigger than the last. I tell her it looks like a beautiful pate de choux and I watch as they bake and rise right there in front of us.

The other two employees join us and one of them says the big one did great and they’ll definitely be able to sell them as a new menu item. The woman who piped them says she is very proud of her ‘shoe’ buns and I try to correct her. She argues that her name is good enough and I’m about done with this whole cafe situation. I demand margarita mix for the stein and one of the other women goes to get it. Just to spite me, she pours so much in that the blue tinted mixture overflows and spills all over my hand. I stare at the mess with red in my eyes and seething silence. I go to check out with Eddie’s information and see review cards for the service you received. I leave a vicious review and as I set the card into the small accompanying box the information is seemingly transferred directly into all three waitresses’ heads.

The woman who overfilled my glass screams at me about how she was never rude and I was the one who was rude. I lose it, climbing over a suddenly impossibly large table like this is Alice in Wonderland to scream at her ever growing form. She towers over me and just as I am ready to storm off, I get a better idea and turn around to get some fries from a dedicated fry box. Now the fry box is something I truly wish existed in real life, because it is a box affixed in mid-air with a picture of fries on it (very similar to a brick block in Mario games). I consider an order of fries from the box to be restitution for my pain and suffering. Everything returns to the same size, which means I am now a bit too short to reach up and headbutt the box.

My friend Jon strolls up to me wearing an all black suit. It has a black suit jacket with red pin stripes and he is wearing the Classic graphic tee under it. I think that he looks like an arcade cabinet and decide that it would be best not to tell him because I am too focused on trying to climb on a bench to reach the fry box. He’s on a date with one of my old co-workers and he tries to show her off to me, but I am obsessively focused on my potato-based goals. Even while standing on the bench I cannot reach the box so while Jon is still trying to talk to me, I make a great leap and just barely am able to grab onto the fry box as if I was a video game character that was barely able to grab the edge of a cliff. I am now in a predicament, because I need to strike the bottom of the box to get fries, but since I am now suspended in mid-air and hanging from the box itself I cannot do so. As my fingers begin to slip, something enters my throat in real life and I wake up in a suffocating coughing fit.

#me #dream #dreams #strange dream #story time #original story #fiction #hotel #paradise #bar tab #misinformation #shapeshifter #fry box #alice in wonderland #food service

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4jimin · 7 years

Text

change my mind

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook and Park Jimin; jikook/kookmin Genre: Fluff (a lot), college au, friends to lovers Length: 7k words; 3 chapters | crossposted on ao3 Summary: “I don’t do relationships,” Jimin spills in the fresh air of the fast food – a mixed smell of hamburgers, ketchup and french fries surrounding them. “I enjoy the conquest and the flirting part better. Relationships are always so boring and predictable. Not to mention most of the times fake.” Jungkook rolls his eyes and laughs, pretending he doesn’t feel his heart clench and slightly sink inside his chest. “You’re helpless.” Jimin smiles at him, and it’s almost unfair. “Call me realistic.” he corrects, taking a greasy thumb till his lips to clean it out of the oil of the food. He repeats the same action with the rest of his fingers. Jungkook has to divert his gaze, scared he might end up staring too hard. He snorts with a made up irritation. “I call you a pain in the ass.”

“Love means never having to say you're sorry”. It's written with white chalk on the blackboard hanging by the wall a few tables across him. It quotes “love story, 1970” in a smaller calligraphy right beneath the sentence. Jungkook dwells in the words for a while. He observes the vintage posters pending from the newly painted lilac walls around him with a forced interest, as he taps with long fingers on the plastic cup of cola he ordered. Bullshit, he decides. What is even supposed to mean? That you can't mess up because you love someone? Or that you can't say sorry, because if someone loves you they instantly forgive you, it doesn’t matter what you did? Either way, bullshit. People give too much credit for things just for being old. He sighs, the scent of fresh paint invading his lungs. It used to be baby yellow. The walls. Before the place was just a normal coffee shop and not a fast food with a coupled bookstore. “It's not going to work out,” Jungkook remembers Namjoon saying when they were passing in front of the place being renovated, “people will have greasy fingers from their hamburgers. How will they touch the books like this? The covers will be all disgusting after some time.” Jungkook just shrugged back then. He doesn’t really remember if he agreed or not. But, it turns out Namjoon was wrong. There is a glass wall separating the bookstore from the fast food, so the smell of french fries and cheddar won’t mix with the scent of newly printed copies and fresh ink – also, people has enough sense to clean their hands before moving to the books section, so, by far, the recent business seems to be going very well. Jungkook can’t decide if he prefers the prettier environment it became after the reform, or the calmness it used to have before the appealing design of modernity attracted an alarming number of people. Probably the calmness, since it wouldn’t take so long for Jimin to change a wrong order. The waiter had somehow mixed it with someone else's, getting the boy a double chicken with extra cheddar when he had asked for a steak with barbecue sauce and cream cheese. After opening his hamburger, Jimin had grimaced with the funniest – and maybe kind of cute? – nose scrunch ever. “I hate cheddar.” He stated, as if it wasn’t obvious by the utterly disgusted expression on his face. Another discovery for his on-making list of things about Park Jimin. “How dare you?!” Jungkook had brought a hand to his chest at the declaration, just for the sake of accentuating drama. “I trusted you.” He choked out in fake offense, hoping to hear the older boy's laugh. Unfortunately, he had been given only a faint chuckle followed by a roll of eyes and a “You're an idiot, Jeon. I'll be right back.”, before Jimin got up from his seat and disappeared on his walk till the counter, in search for the right order. They've known each other for five months now – not that Jungkook is counting, it just happened for them to meet on the exact same day the latest movie of Avengers was out, so it also just happened for him to have the day tracked in his mind. Coincidences of life. Anyway, it's little time – Jungkook knows –, and it was definitely not enough to deepen their relationship the way he wished – but, nevertheless, it's nice. They are past the awkward silences and the weird topic's conversations it has some time now, and it isn’t like they are the most intimate people in the world, but yeah, they have some intimacy. Enough that Jungkook has grown used to regularly tease Jimin about his height or – this one Jimin hates the most – his fingers. He bites the inner part of his cheek in order to repress a smile at the memory of Jimin cutely glaring at him with rosy cheeks when Jungkook told him he had baby hands for the first time. He tries not to think about it for too long though, scared he might blush just as hard as Jimin did that day.

There is a foreign song comfortably floating around the place. He is almost sure it belongs to Coldplay, or to a band with equivalent musical genre. It's nice, but he is growing impatient and his lunch is cooling down untouched in front of him – consequently losing half of the unhealthy flavor only a fast food could provide. He wonders if getting up to see how much longer it would take for Jimin to come back would be rude of him. Maybe it would. So instead, he chooses to open the (mostly useless) notifications on his phone. There's a message from Jin and another from his dad. The one asking if he has eaten belongs to Jin. Not that he is surprised. He smiles, typing 'yes mom' – because well, he is about to –, and decides to ignore the one from his father, which questions him when he is paying them a visit. His smile almost fades, but then he clicks on Jimin's icon, leading to their conversation thread.

Jiminie – 11:45 am why are you online u kid shouldn’t u be on class?

You – 11:46 am i am and stop calling me kid

Jiminie – 11:46 am ohhh seems like we have a rebel here lmao

You – 11:46 am shut up asdjk aren't you supposed to be on class too?

Jiminie – 11:47 am …

You – 11:47 am ;)

Jiminie – 11:47 am dont you ;) me !!

You – 11:47 am ;)

Jiminie – 11:47 am ugh

You – 11:49 am hey wanna grab some lunch after class? the fast food that reopened seems nice

Jiminie – 11:49 am the one across the street?

You – 11:50 am yea

Jiminie – 11:50 am do you like being with me that much? ;)

You – 11:50 am shit up look who's ;)-ing me now i just need company to eat

Jiminie – 11:50 am shit up

You – 11:51 am !! istg!!!

Jiminie – 11:51 am lmao meet me at 12:30 at the central gate

You – 11:52 am just changed my mind im calling someone else, you suck

Jiminie – 11:53 am yeah right

He didn’t change his mind. Nor did he call someone else. How could he, honestly? “Hey there.” Jungkook hears the voice he's already so familiar with, and smiles. “I'm back.” “Oh, nice,” he pretends to check the time on his nonexistent watch. “Just took you a lifetime.” “Shut up.” Jimin chuckles, taking his seat in front of the younger. “I decided to change my previous order.” Jungkook leans back on his chair, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to the side. “No…” he drags the words out, disbeliefed. He had literally taken ten whole minutes to decide his order when they got there. Jimin giggles, following the same tone in a playful manner. “Yes…” The younger boy adjusts his posture, eyeing the other with something akin to incredulity. “How are you the most indecisive person in the whole entire world?!” he jokes, catching some fries from his tray, and shaking his head with a smile. “I just… like most things on the menu, okay?” Jimin tries to defend himself, sipping his orange juice from the straw. Hates cheddar and loves orange juice. Jungkook gave up on understanding him from there. “Except–“ he starts, already laughing, but is cut off. “Except the double chicken with extra cheddar, yes.” The older rolls his eyes, an habit he is very much attached to – almost as much as his uncontrollable urge of running his fingers through his hair. Jungkook is surprised he still haven't done it in, what? Three minutes? “You know, how fucked up is this?” Jimin drops the question, placing his elbow on the table to look at Jungkook with his face leaning on his hand. “The menu has like, at least thirty different hamburgers and mine got to get mixed with the only one I absolutely hate. I'd eat any other one.” Jungkook laughs at his misery, because they are past the phase where this kind of reaction could be read as rude. “I guess coincidences are really out there to bite us in the ass in our worst moments.” Jimin sighs, defeated. Jungkook shakes his head, shoving another portion of fries into his mouth. “Or perharps, you're just the unluckiest person in the world for the day.” Smiling, the older frowns, and unwraps his hamburger to take a bite. “What's this, a theory?” he asks after swallowing the food – because he's polite, unlike Jungkook, who speaks with his mouth partially full all the time. Not that any of them really cares. “What do you mean?” Jungkook doesn’t get the line of thought. “Like…” Jimin shifts on his seat to find a more comfortable position, “Do you think that there is a day for every person in the world to be the unluckiest?” Jungkook laughs, amused by how a random choice of words he made, aroused this kind of questioning on the boy. “Um, I don’t know? I've never really stopped to think about it, but maybe? It might.” He is about to remove the paper enveloping his own hamburger when an idea surges in his mind and lights up his features. “Oh! How about we do an experience?” “Experience?” Jimin smiles, never really able to not to when he is around the younger – because there is a thing about Jeon Jungkook that just keeps on impelling his cheeks to rose up and flush without his consent. It'd be frustrating if it wasn’t endearing. “Yeah, experience! You're our subject. If bad things enough happen to you today, then it's a proven theory.” He nods confidently. Jimin licks his lips before speaking. “I'm pretty sure every scientist out there in the world would be flattered by our revolutionary method of research.” They laugh, and Jungkook takes the chance to fully stare at Jimin – he is so pretty. However, the older's smile fades way too quickly, replaced by a sudden curious expression when Jungkook unwraps his hamburger. “Oh! Didn’t you tell me you were vegetarian before?” he asks, pointing at the food with a good piece of meat between the breads. Jungkook archs his eyebrows, genuinely surprised. “Oh? Do you remember that? It was like, months ago.” Jimin looks away, humming a sort of agreement and Jungkook almost thinks he sees the lightest of the pinks coloring his cheeks. “Ah…” he tries not to focus on it too much – it might make him delusional –, and concentrates on his response instead. “I don’t… You got it wrong. I'm trying to turn vegetarian. But fast food is kind of the misfortune of my attempts. And the meat here… Well, let's be honest, it doesn’t really tastes like meat.” The older giggles, sucking more juice from the straw afterwards. “But why did you decide this?” he licks his lips to catch some drops of the juice that accumulated on it and Jungkook has to try unusually hard to not stare. “Mhm, I…” he clicks his tongue in order to regain his focus and elaborate an answer, “I just… Don’t think eating animals is right.” Clever. Very clever, great job, Jeon. He facepalms himself inwardly. The problem is: he is always put on a challenge whenever he has to explain his ideals – he feels like he's pressured to convince the other person what he believes is right, and this, he just hates. Usually, because people tend to get defensive pretty fast, but also because he understands he can be wrong and that is okay for other people to not follow the same way of living as him. He just believes in what he believes and that's it. Jimin bites the corner of his lips, looking up thoughtful. “Yeah, but I don’t think anyone thinks it's right? I mean, don’t we just need it? As a vital necessity for our daily pack of energy as humans or something?” Jungkook decides to finally take a bite of his hamburger. “Not really. I mean,” he swallows, “of course it's important and it helps, but there are many potential substitutes. At least, for me it works. It doesn’t for everyone though. Some people really need it to survive, but since I don’t… what bad it does, right?” Jimin smiles, genuinely interested and Jungkook stupidly flushes. Seriously. “What made you get into it?” “Ah.” he bites his lower lip. It's not a topic he was expecting to talk about while they were eating. “It's a cruel system.” He stops himself when he is about to add an 'I think' in the end of the sentence. It's not an opinion; at least not this. It's the truth. “I kinda got disgusted of eating meat after watching a documentary about the way animals are treated in slaughterhouses. It's… unpleasant to know.” “Oh.” Jimin puts his lunch down. “I feel bad now.” “No, don’t feel!” Jungkook hurries. “I mean. Yeah, okay, you can feel, cause it's bad, but it's not like only one person can change the way this industry treats animals by not buying any more meat, so…” He explains. “I understand that, I'm trying to stop just because I truly feel disgusted now. I don’t enjoy the taste. Well, except for this. Fast food is my only weakness. And chicken nuggets.” Jimin nods and tries to lighten the atmosphere, changing the subject of conversation. “Oh! Just like soda to me.” Jungkook archs an eyebrow, ready to tease. “But you drink beer?” The older doesn’t answer, caught in a trap. “Seems logical.” He laughs hard when Jimin leans over the table to slap his arm. “Shut up.” He repeats for probably the tenth time that day. “It's addicting.” “I know. Even though it tastes like shit.” Jimin rolls his eyes, running his fingers through his hair and pushing his bangs backwards. Oh, there it is. Some strands get back on its place, but his forehead remains mainly exposed. It's a great sight. “Kid.” Jungkook rushes to defend himself. “M' not! Sayeon-noona is the same age as you and she agrees with me!” “Another kid!” Jimin accuses and laughs. Jungkook's scowl almost instantly disappears, as he gets busier being overwhelmed by the sound. “How is she, by the way?” How are you two?, he knows it's what it means. There's a sigh asking for allowance to escape from Jungkook's throat, but he reprimands it. “I guess we're really just friends, after all. We don't work out as a couple.” Jimin hums. “I'm… sorry to hear that.” “No, it's okay, truly. It's nice like this.” Jungkook takes the chance to sip another gulp on his drink, before asking, “What about you?” Jimin purses his lips to contain a smile, while shaking his head to the sides. His bangs move cutely, falling over his forehead again – almost calling for Jungkook's fingers to move them aside, so his beautiful skin can be fully on display once more. He swallows the urge, taking his hand to scratch his nape instead. “I'm the unromantic romantic type.” Jimin muses, and Jungkook frowns. “What?” he laughs, confused. “What do you mean?” “I don’t do relationships,” he states and Jungkook can almost feel his heart sinking at the words, but he pretends it's the ghostly sensation of the soda's gas on his throat. “Cause I enjoy the conquest and flirting part better.” The boy is suddenly amused at the reason. “Why?” Jimin clicks his tongue. “I like the nervousness of the unknown. The fluttering heart and the stomach's butterflies at the beginning. But that's it. I don’t like what comes next. The boredom of relationship, always so predictable and…? I don’t know, I don’t like it.” Jungkook nods understandingly, but not really agreeing. “It isn’t always like that, though, you know?” “Oh, please.” Jimin smiles. “You know it is.” “It's not!” Jungkook is smiling too, but he feels defensive, ready to stand for his point of view. “If your relationships are being predictable and boring, then you're dating wrong.” Jimin chews on a lonesome fry, before letting out, “Uh, I never dated.” He takes a moment to absorb the information. Park Jimin never… What? Jeon Jungkook is beyond offended. He stares at Jimin for a long second – mouth gaping for effect –, before playfully slamming his fist on the table with a fake angry expression, dragging the most gorgeous and contagious laugh ever out of Jimin's throat. He almost forgets what he is doing when the older squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back, having Jungkook's own lips unconsciously quirking upwards into a giggle as he watches him. When Jimin composes himself again, Jungkook continues dramatically. “How can you possibly say you hate, with capital h, relationships, when you have never even once experienced one?!” Jimin shrugs, nonchalantly – yet, still with remainings of a playful chuckle on his features. “I just know.” “That's aburd. And impossible.” He emphasizes. “It is not!” It's Jimin's turn to stand for what he believes, it seems. “You have to agree with me that the flirting part is the best one.” Jungkook ponders for a second, just to sigh defeated on the other, already flashing a victorious smirk on his hyung's lips. “Well, yes, but only because I've been through a lot of shitty relationships.” “Jungkook… My dearest dear Jungkook… Let's be honest here.” Jimin closes his eyes while holding Jungkook's wrists for drama's sake, and then sighs even more dramatically when he blinks his eyes open to look at him again. “Every relationship is shitty.” Jungkook snorts. “Hyung! You're being very unfair and unconsiderate with every healthy and happy relationship out there in the world!” Jimin laughs. “Which is none.” “I'm offended.” Jungkook says, looking away with a pout and crossed arms, getting Jimin extra aware on his seat. “Wait, for real?” The boy eyes him, reluctant on his play. “No, but…” he lets his arm fall, already giving up on the act. “I mean, come on, there must be a relationship you look at and say, 'that's it, relationship goals'.” Jimin fakes a gag and Jungkook can’t help but chuckle at the sight. Fucking idiot. “Thankfully never.” “You're helpless.” “Call me realistic.” Jimin corrects him, taking a thumb till his lips to clean it out of the oil of the food. He repeats the same thing with the rest of his fingers. Jungkook diverts his gaze, scared he might end up staring too hard. “I call you a pain in the ass. Outch!” he complains when Jimin punches his shoulder – even though it didn't really hurt. “Respect your hyung, brat.” It's Jungkook's turn to roll his eyes – although, he keeps silent, eating the remainings of his now withered fries, and drinking the rest of his cola, hamburger already being digested inside his stomach. Jimin, however, is still on half of his burger, almost all of his fries out of the red container and scattered over his tray. “How do you eat so slowly?!” Jungkook asks, nearly shocked. Jimin answers him mouthful for the first time and Jungkook has to bite back a smile at his puffed cheeks. “Well, I'm sorry if I don’t eat like a starving tinasor!” Jungkook furrows his brows. “A tinawhat?” He swallows before speaking again. “Dinosaur!” The younger takes a hand to his chest, faking offense. “I don’t eat like a starving dinosaur! You're the one who eats like a slug!” Jimin rolls his eyes at him and sticks out his tongue. Jungkook has to chuckle in order to pretend he's not on the verge of melting. “You're so cute.” He lets out before his mind processes it. Well, shit. “I mean,” he tries to correct it, but just ends up pointing at Jimin's entire face. “Cute.” The black haired boy flushes so hard even his ears turn pink. “Shut up.” He mutters a second before taking the white straw to his mouth, the plastic turning orange when he sucks the liquid from the cup. He has such nice lips it's distracting. Jungkook misses the chance to tease him for blushing thanks to it. “Uh.” He forces a cough. “So.” And scratches the back of his neck, because it's terribly itching all of a sudden. Jimin's phone vibrating on the table saves him from the embarrassment and also from an awkward silence it was for sure going to settle on the table. The older takes the gadget on his free hand and presses the side button so the lockscreen lights up. “Ah!” Jimin groans, throwing his head back. Curious, Jungkook leans his cheek on the palm of his hand and asks, “What is it?” Jimin snorts, seemingly annoyed. “This guy.” He doesn’t look back at Jungkook to answer, busy trying to type something on the phone with a single hand. “I told him I didn’t want nothing serious, but now that we fucked he keeps on texting me, asking me to go out with him and shit.” The younger nods, and bites the inner part of his bottom lip, pondering what to say. He almost smiles, dying to tease with an “are you that good?!” – but ends up choosing the most secure option. “Why don’t you?” “Dates sucks. And the whole idea of going out already fades the conquest.” Jungkook furrows his eyebrows for probably the tenth time on the day – his never ending battle of trying to understand Park Jimin – and reclines on the backrest. “Um, no?” Jimin turns his attention back at him. “Um, yes?” He places the phone on the table. “I mean, if you're going out with someone it means the flirting is done, because well, the purpose of flirting is getting a date. Or getting laid.” He adds thoughtfully. “Which I already did. So now it means feelings are about to be involved, and no, thanks.” He emphasizes the last two words and takes another bite of his hamburger, chewing on it while waiting for Jungkook's response, who can only roll his eyes. “Ah, hyung.” He snorts, letting his head fall in defeat. “Why are you like this? Have you even gone to a date, at least? Or you just hate it based on nothing?” Jimin straightens his back, and acts as if he's very offended. “Excuse me? It's not based on nothing. I've analyzed it with my own eyes, you just have to look around.” And so, Jungkook does. Jimin watches him with something akin to amusement on his face. “Not literally, idiot.” “No, let's do this.” Jungkook decides, looking for a table with couple vibes. “There!” He excitedly bounces on his seat once, turning back to Jimin to make sure he is looking the right people. “Those two.” Jimin shakes his head in confusion. “What?” And with no further explanation, Jungkook simply gets up and gestures for Jimin to follow him. “Wh-what, Jungkook!” He quickly gets up when he realizes the boy intends to walk over to the two girls at the other side of the restaurant. “What the hell, are you crazy?!” He hurries to grab the younger's arm with both hands, attempting to pull him back to his chair. There are firm muscles bulging against his palms, but he ignores it with a gulp. “What?” he asks indifferently. “I'mma just ask them some things.” He has a calm expression on his face, as if he's not about to approach two strangers about their supposed love life. Jimin laughs with incredulity. “Yeah, not happening.” He tugs at the arm more insistently. Jungkook doesn’t flinch a centimeter. “What, why not?” Shining, big doe eyes winks back at him innocently and Jimin can’t decide if the he is naive or just dumb. “Um, because that's very impolite? And extremely invasive.” Jimin eyes the couple discreetly for a second. The girl with blonde short hair is leaning with forearms on the table, attentively listening to what the other is saying, and adorning a tender smile across her pink lips. Jimin can’t see the face of the one speaking, but her long hair lays on her back in soft bluish curls. They both seem very pretty. “You also don’t even know if they’re like… a thing.” Jimin finds himself turning his attention back to Jungkook just in time to catch the boy rolling his eyes. It's annoyingly cute. “Oh, please. Just look at them, of course they're a thing.” He doesn’t find much argument against that. He might have never allowed himself to fall in love in his life, but he does recognize a fluttering heart shinning through enamored eyes when he sees one. “Besides, what the hell do you think I'm gonna ask them?! Their sexual lives? No, thanks, Namjoon-hyung's story of his first time eating a guy's ass is traumatic enough.” A grossed out expression makes its way across Jimin's features. “Dude. Thanks for the unnecessary information.” Jungkook tilts his head to the side, smiling sarcastically. Jimin wants to punch it out of his face. With his mouth. Maybe. “You're welcome. Now come.” He's about to complain and step back when Jungkook suddenly grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers. The world kind of spins in a soft blur for a moment and his eyes instantly fall down to it – intertwined fingers clasped together; Jungkook holding firm and he loosely –, which gets his stomach to clench very weirdly. Oh, shit. However, he doesn’t have much time to dwell on how smooth, warm and soft Jungkook's skin feels against his, cause one second he's wondering how it'd feel pressed on his nape – or waist, maybe? – while they make out, and the other he's put in front of two very confused, unknown girls. He forces out a smile to the strangers after a second of hesitation, doing his best at crushing Jungkook's fingers on his, hidden behind their backs. “Hah!” the younger loudly gasps, startling the girls and pulling his hand away from Jimin's grip, quickly forcing a smile on his lips as well. Jimin hopes he felt a lot of pain. Jungkook takes the embarrassing moment to bow in greeting, so Jimin follows suit. “Hello, nice to meet you two. I'm, uh, I'm Jungkook and this is my friend, Jimin.” Jimin lightly leans his head forward again, a low mutter of something that seems “nice to meet you” falling from his lips. The two girls bow back uncertainly and stare at the both of them in silence. God. Jimin never wanted to deck someone in the face so bad – Jungkook, deck Jungkook, not the girls, for god's sake. Yet, he chooses to poke him with his elbow instead. For the time being. “Ah!” the idiot jolts, clapping his hands once in front of his body, obviously trying to come out with something to say. Jimin is sure he could bury his whole self in pure embarrassment right now. He's already blushing hard enough for the two of them anyway. “I'm sorry to, um, interrupt your meal, it's just that me– Me and my friend,” he reiterates, pulling Jimin closer and Jimin really has to manage all of his self control to not kill the boy right there. “We were talking about dates and we got onto a disagreement, so we're doing… research.” Jimin turns to look at him, a smile that says “I'm so going to murder you” hanging on his lips. “We are?” “Ah. Yes.” Jungkook laughs the threat away. “So, anyway, since you two seemed to be on a really nice date, we thought–“ “Oh.” The short haired girl's voice surges for the first time. She takes a hand to her chest and laughs, seemingly relieved. “Thank god, I thought you were trying to hit on us.” If Jimin's cheeks were flushed before, now they are the red of the flames in hell itself. The other girl also laughs, and gestures with her hand to the both of them. “I'm Eunji and she's Hyerin. But, um, actually… We're not on a date.” Jungkook snaps his head back just the slightest, surprised. “Oh.” He voices out innocently, exactly like a kid who just discovered the ocean is only blue because it reflects the sky. Jimin would find it adorable if he wasn't, you know, dying. “Ah, sorry, we thought– Well, that's not a problem, really.” Jungkook smiles. “Can you still answer our questions, though?” Jimin facepalms himself. Literally speaking. “Please, just say yes, so we can leave and I can kill him after this.” His voice comes out muffled, but he can hear giggles, which means it was audible enough. “Yeah, sure.” One of them say. Jimin finds out it's the one with the blue highlights when he takes his hand out of his face. Eunji, right? “What is it?” He finds himself curious, considering he also has no idea what Jungkook is about to ask, so he redirects his attention to him. “Ah, it's truly just one question.” The boy admits, and Jimin could easily mistake the way he is scratching his neck with nervousness. He watches Jungkook open his mouth once and then be caught in a loss of words, as if he is reconsidering what he's about to ask. Jimin doesn’t have time to say anything though – the younger is quick to talk again. “Do you think dates erase the whole meaning of flirting?” Yes, it's his immediate thought. He halfheartedly shifts his gaze from Jungkook's profile to the girls, so he can see their reactions. Hyerin is the first to answer – she has her head tilted a bit to the side in thought, with a pair of furrowed brows. Jimin feels a faint smile forming on his lips, because she's cute. “I think it depends? It's the first date? Second?” Eunji intervenes. “Why would that matter?” Jimin kind of knows why, but he doesn’t want to interfere in their path of discussion. “Well, if it's the first date maybe not, but if it's the sixth then probably?” He nods, as it was exactly what he was thinking. However, Jungkook doesn’t seem to agree beside him, if the way he keeps on changing his weight from a feet to another is anything to tell. “I mean, if you got to the sixth date, there's a high chance that you're, well, dating.” Hyerin concludes, and Jimin takes the chance to subtly glance at Jungkook, but the boy is still resolute in his opinion, it seems. Eunji is the same apparently, as she places her palm on the table and gapes at Hyerin for a second, almost offended. “Excuse me, but what makes you think couples can't flirt at all? My parents are married for 20 years and they flirt all the time!” “Yes, my grandparents too!” Jungkook decides to buy Eunji's fight, so Jimin steps in. “It's not the same.” Although, he is surprised as Hyerin says the very same thing as him in complete sync. They look at each other with open mouths, right before chuckling and high-fiving. “When you flirt with someone you're already dating, it doesn’t really hold the whole meaning of flirting, since the purpose is making the person whom you flirt with fall in love with you.” she concludes and Jimin almost thinks Eunji doesn't have any other argument to beat this one – except she does. “Well, but you can fall in love with the same person everyday.” And this seems to be the actual K.O., given how Hyerin intensely blushes, ducking her head down and Eunji smiles victoriously. So they're actually on a date, Jimin realizes with a smile on his face that warms all the way to his chest. Smart as ever, Jungkook doesn’t seem to catch on that, smirking at Jimin and quirking his eyebrows twice with a hidden teasing that says “see?”, since he thinks they won the argument. Jimin rolls his eyes just because. Hopeless romantics. “Anyway, in which context did this surge?” Hyerin is quick to ask in order to not let an awkward silence stretches on the table, but just after the words leaves her mouth she seems to realize how they actually sounded. “Oh, sorry, I-I didn’t mean to be rude or intrude, I was just curious.” “It's okay.” Jimin reassures with a warm smile, and when he is about to tell her and reasonably explain his point, Jungkook decides to be a dick and paint him as the shallow asshole by cutting him off before he even started talking. “He hates relationships. And he thinks dates sucks.” Jimin punchs his arm, embarrassed. “Yah!” His cheeks feels warm and the grin Jungkook gifts him with does nothing to ease it. “What?” he asks, rubbing the sore spot. “It's your own words! Do they sound completely heartless when I say it to other people?” Jungkook teases and Jimin purses his lips, focusing really hard on stopping blushing so he doesn’t make a fool of himself. “Shut up, I have plenty of reasons.” Jimin emphasizes and Jungkook mocks him by pinching his cheek in front of two strangers. Oh boy, he's dead. “Mhm-mhm, I bet you do, you red baby.” He coos. Oh boy, he's dead. “Oh, we have similar opinions,” Hyerin's voice snaps them out of their personal bubble, “but I don’t think dates sucks.” Jimin sighs. He is alone in this battle, apparently. “But you used to!” Eunji points an accusing finger at the short haired girl. She rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of a smile on her lips. “Well, but I don’t anymore!” Hyerin protests in her own defense. “Stop exposing me.” she mutters. “But what made you change your mind?” Jungkook asks, genuinely curious. “About dates, I mean.” “Well,” Eunji starts in Hyerin's place. “I guess she had to go through a series of many awesome dates, right?” They share an accomplice gaze and Jimin knows it's time for them to leave the girls alone again. “Okay, so. Thank you so much for helping with this idiot's “research”, I'm sure he'll make good use of it being a pain in the ass later.” The girls smile sincerely, politely bowing their heads afterwards. Jimin places a hand on Jungkook's back motioning for him to move back to their table. When he starts walking, Jimin takes a second to lean down a little and whisper so only the girls can hear him, “Enjoy your date.” Hyerin cheeks turns pink instantly, but Eunji simply waves at him, a loving smile adorning her features. “You too.” she whispers back. Before Jimin can clarify he and Jungkook aren’t on a date, said boy holds his waist and waves the girls goodbye over their shoulders. “Thank you!” the younger makes sure to give them his brightest smile. Jimin isn’t able to catch it in full hd though, because Jungkook’s hand on his waist is currently making the skin beneath his jacket tingle in a funny way. ”What did you whisper to them?” the boy questions when they are almost at their table. Jimin has to pull up a small battle with his brain to detach himself from Jungkook's touch so he can reach his seat. He waits for Jungkook to do the same to speak. “I told them to have a good date.” The boy in front of him seems very shocked, much for Jimin's amusement. He chews on a now very cold fry, waiting for Jungkook’s answer. “What– how rude! Hyung, they told us they were not on a date!” Oh god, was he still clueless? For real? Jimin swallows. “Jungkookie. They are on a date.” “Bullshit, they're not–“ he insists confidently at first, but as soon as he turns his body back to take a glance at the girls and spots their shy hands curling in one another, he gulps his previous words. “Shit, they're on a date.” “No joke, Einstein.” Jimin teases. “Now stop staring, they just stopped thinking we're weird and I'd like to keep that way, thank you.” Jungkook does as he's asked, but Jimin can see a hint of offense on his eyes. “They lied to us. Why would they do that?” He shoots Jungkook a face, and the offense painted on the younger's face only grows ten thousands bigger. He places a hand over his chest and almost chokes out, “Do we look like homophobes?!” Jimin rolls his eyes at the boy's innocence. “Jungkook, seriously, when you go out with someone of the same sex as you in an homophobic country, everyone around you looks like homophobes. I thought you would know that.” “Oh.” His face softens. “Right.” And then he smiles. “That's good, then, they form such a cute couple.” Jimin hums agreeing, finally finishing his hamburger with a last bite. His fingers are greasy, so he takes a napkin to clean them and when he looks up, Jungkook smiles a smile with no teeth that makes his cheeks plump up like two little red apples. Jimin knows that smile. He's seen it before. “What?” he asks cautiously, sensing an idea forming in the younger's mind. He's planning something. Something stupid, probably. Once, they were trying to chill in an ice cream shop with Taehyung. Jimin remembers the day was unbearably scorching – and even inside the refrigerated place, there were droplets of sweat forming on the back of his neck, turning the tips of his hair humid. They were talking and trying to distract themselves from the heat as well from the upcoming finals. The topic of the conversation was human beings physical limitations. Don’t ask him how they got there, they just did. Apart from the hot weather, the atmosphere was nice and cozy; their fingers and lips smeared with sweet, Taehyung being the messiest of the three – but that was no news –, and their voices occasionally overlapping one another as they shot random guesses of how much ice cream a person could eat in one sitting. When a mutual agreement – between Jimin and Taehyung – settled that 15 scoops was the limit, the table fell in silence. Jungkook wasn’t pleased. He stared at the older boys with a cocky wriggle of eyebrow and then smiled the way he was smiling now. Before anyone could even say a word, he called for the waitress and well, proved Jimin and Taehyung were wrong by eating twenty scoops of ice cream. Twenty. Jimin almost felt impelled to go and eat twenty one just because, but he wasn’t that suicidal. “What do you have on your schedule today?” Jungkook asks, leaning his head on his hand and blinking his eyelashes in a way it's kind of hard to stare at without getting a heartbeat to skip. A seminar to finish, dance practice for the upcoming performance and a good lay at night, he remembers. “Nothing.” he answers, “Why?” At that, Jungkook's smile grows so wide Jimin's heart clenches and it's awkward, because what the hell. However, he has no time to freak out since Jungkook is suddenly grabbing their personal belongings and shoving it all down his backpack. “What are you doing?” his voice sounds genuinely confused, just how he feels. “Come.” The younger simply gets up and says – as if it's very self explainable –, looking around the table and tapping his pockets to check if everything's there. When Jimin keeps his butt glued to the chair, Jungkook diverts his focus to him. “You're not coming?” he seems puzzled and maybe a bit taken aback, but that’s probably just Jimin reading his actions too deeply. “Coming where?” And that’s when Jimin has to hold back all his oxygen inside his lungs in order to keep a straight expression, because all of a sudden Jungkook places one hand on the chair's backrest, another on the table and leans down so fast his face is found just inches away from Jimin's. He almost gasps, but he knows his self control better, so he quickly finds his composure again. “To the mall.” Jimin's mind suffer an abrupt short circuit, because is Jungkook really planning on doing what I think he's planning to do. “I'm gonna be your cupid.” Oh. Well, he's not, but wait– “What?!” The younger straightens his column with a smile, hands hiding in his pockets. “I'll be your cupid.” He repeats plainly, something hidden in the way his lips curve at just the right angle to form a timid dimple. “Let's find you a date. That's the only way we can know who's right.” Jimin laughs with incredulity. “Would you go that far just to prove a point?!” That's when he sees a chance to tease. And he takes it. “Are you sure you're not just using this as an excuse to take me out?” He gets up, and even though Jungkook is taller, this time, the proximity seems to disconcert the younger. It lasts such a short second, though, just like it did with Jimin. Apparently, they're playing games and well that's Jimin's language. He smirks, and so does Jungkook. “It's not like I have to find an excuse to take you out, is it?” he whispers closer to his face. Jimin is left back shocked at the boldness, since Jungkook pulls away just as fast, switching his tone and consequently the atmosphere. “And of course I'm serious!” he steps backwards at the cashier's direction. “Let's go, it's gonna be new. That's the synonymous of exciting to you, right?” he turns around in order to walk properly and misses Jimin rolling of eyes at him, but Jimin's pretty sure it was purposeful. He rolls his eyes one more time, following the younger nevertheless – and it's not like he doesn’t realize the bothersome tugging at his chest, but he decides to settle on it being simple anticipation. Maybe Jungkook's right and new is really another word for excitement to him. Not that he is letting him know he's right. When Jimin reachs the boy at the front counter, Jungkook's money is already being handed to the lady behind the computer. “Yah!” Jimin reprimands him. “What are you doing, idiot? Told you it's my treat!" “Of course not.” Jungkook looks back at him. “I invited you, so I pay.” Jimin shakes his head, insistent – not like it's useful, since the woman is already giving Jungkook the change and thanking him. But no dongsaeng has ever paid for him – not even Taehyung. It's somewhat intimate, and it unsettles him. “I'm the hyung.” He says. “So?” Jungkook puts the money back on his wallet and then snorts. “Aish, stop being difficult, you're the only person I know who complains for getting free food.” There's a couple of young teenagers already waiting behind them to pay, so Jungkook bows for the lady who attended to him and walks towards the exit. Jimin follows suit, maintaining his lowkey sulking mode. “We're probably proving that theory right by the end of the day and I'm really the unluckiest person in the world today.” Jungkook isn’t sure if's he's more of pouting or talking. Either way, it's adorable. He fights the urge to squish his hyung's cheeks, and decides on bending down instead, putting them on eye level. “Don’t be like that…” he trails, entertained by the way Jimin's eyes widen slightly and his bottom lip is sucked inside his mouth. “You're spending the entire day with me.” He reminds him. When Jimin releases the flesh, it comes back a flushing red. “It's not that bad, right?” Smiling amused, Jungkook does exactly what he did minutes ago, and gives Jimin his back – instead this time, he does catches the elder rolling his eyes. Within the cutest pair of rosy cheeks coming along on the package. Too bad he misses the loving smile sprawling on Jimin's lips when he turns arounds.

#busanboysnet #armiesnet #btsmaknaenet #jikook fic #kookmin fic #jikook #kookmin #bts fic #bts

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quitetender · 5 years

Text

Kmode Exception Not Handled Overclock

Repair KMODE Exception no longer treated Error: this is a Blue screen of demise (BSOD) error this means that that you windows won’t function usually and you would not be equipped to entry your procedure. The error on the whole implies that the exception produced by means of KMODE (Kernal Mode software) is just not dealt with by using the error handler and that is shown via the stop error:

fix KMODE Exception now not dealt with Error

The above stop error offers expertise a few specific driver which is causing the error and accordingly we must fix the error related to the above driver. To be able to do this comply with the beneath-listed tutorials which will with ease repair the home windows 10 error KMode Exception not handled.

Table of Contents

repair KMODE Exception now not treated Error method 1: replace Your Drivers in reliable Mode approach 2: Disable speedy Startup method three: replace the driving force manually process 4: replace BIOS (common enter/Output method) method 5: Run home windows memory Diagnostic approach 6: Run Memtest86+ system 7: Run Driver Verifier approach 8: repair set up windows 10

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repair KMODE Exception now not handled Error

make sure to create a restore factor just in case something goes incorrect.

Procedure 1: replace Your Drivers in riskless Mode

1.Boot into riskless Mode, in windows 10 you ought to allow legacy evolved boot alternative in order to do so.

2.As soon as logged in safe Mode press home windows Key + X then prefer gadget manager.

3.Now expand other gadgets and you will see an Unkown gadget in the record.

Unknown device in gadget supervisor

4.Correct-click on on it after which click update Driver program.

5.Pick Search robotically for up-to-date driver application.

Search robotically for up to date driver application

6.If the above step doesn’t update your drivers alternatively click on update Driver application.

7.Prefer Browse my laptop for driver software.

Browse my computer for driver software

8.Next, click on Let me select from a list of device drivers on my laptop.

Let me decide upon from a record of device drivers on my pc

9.On the following reveal, decide upon the driving force from the record and click next.

10.Wait for the process to replace your drivers after which commonly restart your pc.

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Process 2: Disable quick Startup

if you are able to access your windows mostly after KMODE_EXCEPTION_NOT_HANDLED Error then proceed, if not then you definately need to boot your home windows to safe mode as you did in above approach.

1.Press home windows Key + R then style “powercfg.Cpl” and hit enter to open power choices.

2.Click on on pick what the energy buttons do in the high-left column.

Select what the vigour buttons do usb no longer recognized repair

3.Next, click on on exchange settings which might be currently unavailable.

4.Uncheck turn on fast startup below Shutdown settings.

Uncheck activate quick startup

5.Now click on keep changes and Restart your laptop.

Disabling fast Startup appears to repair KMODE Exception no longer dealt with Error as it gives home windows time to load necessary drivers however if you’re still no longer able to fix this quandary then proceed with your next step.

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Procedure 3: update the driving force manually

If that doesn’t work, try updating the driving force stated within the error text. The error will learn similarly to “KMODE_EXCEPTION_NOT_HANDLED (DRIVER.Sys)” you will be seeing the driving force title rather of (DRIVER.Sys) which we will be able to use to update its drivers.

Comply with the system 1 with a view to replace driver software of the above driver.

Procedure 4: replace BIOS (normal input/Output system)

Performing BIOS replace is a valuable undertaking and if some thing goes unsuitable it will probably seriously damage your procedure, for that reason, an educated supervision is endorsed.

1.The first step is to determine your BIOS variant, to take action press windows Key + R then kind “msinfo32” (without quotes) and hit enter to open process expertise.

2.Once the procedure understanding window opens locate BIOS variant/Date then notice down the brand and BIOS variant.

3.Subsequent, go to your manufacturer’s internet site for e.G in my case it’s Dell so i will go to Dell website and then i'll enter my pc serial number or click on on the auto become aware of option.

4.Now from the record of drivers shown i'll click on on BIOS and can down load the recommended update.

Word: do not turn off your laptop or disconnect from your power source while updating the BIOS or you may harm your pc. For the duration of the replace, your computer will restart and you are going to in brief see a black monitor.

5.As soon as the file is downloaded, just double click on on the Exe file to run it.

6.Finally, you may have updated your BIOS and this may resolve the error also.

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Procedure 5: Run home windows reminiscence Diagnostic

1.Type memory in the windows search bar and select “windows memory Diagnostic.“

2.Within the set of choices displayed decide on “Restart now and investigate for issues.“

run windows reminiscence diagnostic

3.After which windows will restart to check for feasible RAM error and can optimistically show the feasible motives as for why you get the Blue reveal of death (BSOD) error message.

4.Reboot your laptop and check if you happen to’re ready to fix KMODE Exception now not treated Error or not.

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Process 6: Run Memtest86+

Now run the Memtest86+ which is a third party application but it eliminates all the viable exceptions of reminiscence error because it runs outside of the windows atmosphere.

Notice: before commencing, be certain you've gotten entry to a different pc as you'll have to down load and burn the application to the disc or USB flash pressure. It’s excellent to leave the pc overnight when running Memtest because it definite prone to takes a while.

1.Connect a USB flash pressure to your method.

2.Down load and install windows Memtest86 Auto-installer for USB Key.

Three.Right-click on the picture file which you just downloaded and decide upon “Extract here” alternative.

4.As soon as extracted, open the folder and run the Memtest86+ USB Installer.

5.Decide on your plugged in USB force to burn the MemTest86 software (this may structure your USB drive).

6.As soon as the above procedure is completed, insert the USB to the pc which is giving the KMODE Exception no longer handled Error.

7.Restart your computer and make certain that boot from the USB flash drive is chosen.

8.Memtest86 will begin testing for reminiscence corruption for your approach.

9.You probably have passed all of the scan then that you could be sure that your memory is working safely.

10.If probably the most steps have been unsuccessful then Memtest86 will in finding reminiscence corruption which means that your KMODE_EXCEPTION_NOT_HANDLED blue monitor of loss of life error is due to the fact of dangerous/corrupt reminiscence.

Eleven.With a view to fix KMODE Exception no longer treated Error, you're going to ought to replace your RAM if bad memory sectors are located.

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System 7: Run Driver Verifier

This approach is only priceless if that you can log into your home windows usually now not within the nontoxic mode. Subsequent, make sure to create a procedure restore factor.

System 8: repair install home windows 10

This procedure is the final lodge seeing that if nothing works out then this method will most likely restore all issues together with your pc. Restore install simply utilising an in-position improve to restore issues with the method with out deleting user data gift on the procedure. So comply with this article to see easy methods to repair set up windows 10 with ease.

Advocated for you:

7 ways To fix laptop battery plugged in no longer charging Reboot and choose proper Boot gadget limitation repair Antimalware provider Executable high CPU utilization repair You have got to upgrade your Adobe Flash player That’s it you might have successfully repair KMODE Exception no longer handled Error however when you nonetheless have any queries concerning this advisor then believe free to ask them in the remark’s part.

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howboutdemwings · 7 years

Text

In which I boss @Luchas_L around...

Lassiter - <The walls of the mansion weren't as sound proof as the occupants liked to think they were, if I listened hard enough, I could generally catch a convo or two happening near by. Generally speaking, I avoided eavesdropping on the ones that were more sounds and grunts than words. The doggen were some of my more entertaining group to listen to. The things they spoke about when they thought nobody was around to hear was comedy. Fritz actually was a bit of a mess when he cooked but only because he liked spending his time in the kitchen more than anywhere else. Then there were the rambles of Piper. I never knew what she was going on about but that was endless entertainment too. The Chosen also gave me a chuckle or two from time to time. Their wonder and amazement at things on this side of the earth was so very innocent and pure. To the point of concern but I always left that worry to Phury and the brothers. Until today. A telephone conversation between one of the females here and another up at the Chosen camp had me deep in the bowels of the mansion. Past V's forging area and into a tiny locked Harry Potter under the stairs cupboard. The lock had been no problem in picking but the low ceiling height and tight quarters had me cursing any time I smacked my head against the floor supports or when my wings brushed up against something or another causing it to crash to the floor. Sneaky like a ninja, I was not. But thankfully it didn't take me long to find the item I sought. The branding iron Wrath had used on the male was long since cold but the memory attached to the item was fully intact and because it had served to completely alter the life of someone, I could use it to trace him which was exactly what I needed to do. Rumours floating through the mansion of a male stumbling past the mhis and onto the grounds of the Chosen's compound was not ideal and would send every male in the joint crazy. And since the only vampire I could think of to be related to a brother was the one who had been marked as a traitor, my hunch made the most sense and would be the exact same conclusion Wrath or Phury would make. Chances were good that Q's brother probably became a bit of a wandering soul and given the mark that marred his hand, he was likely having a difficult time finding a female to feed from. He needed a warning before one of the brothers hunted his ass down to give him something worse. Tucking the brand into the back of my jeans and using my wings to conceal the bulk of it beneath my shirt, I tidied up the mess of fallen boxes then closed the heavy wooden door before slipping the lock back in place before I made my way back to my room so I could do a little tracking to make sure my suspicions were correct. > Luchas: *The hike back to my humble shack was full of aching muscles and a headache that resembled what I always imagined a hangover to be like. That symphath had done a number on me. Even though I know he… she… hadn’t laid a finger on me, the mental torture had done the trick just fine, scrambling the neurons up in my brain and lighting them on fire. It was like sparklers going off under my skull. As the small cabin appeared before me, dawn’s warm warning on the back of my neck, I half expected to find the Scribe Virgin herself waiting for me on the other side of the door. No doubt she would take action after a traitor such as myself touched another of her purest creations, then went trudging into the Symphath Colony. But I was greeted with nothing but an empty cabin, the faint smell of fire lingering in the air. My shoulders sagged. In relief or disappointment? I couldn’t quite come to terms with whether I was happy I was alive or regretted that the King let me live. Death would bring an end to this burden of guilt I carried. Death was easy. Which I knew is why the King did what he did. He knew I’d suffer much worse trying to survive in a world I’d betrayed than getting my head ripped off. He didn’t want me to have easy. He wanted to punish me. I locked up for the day, checking the boarded up windows once before starting a small fire and stretching out on the couch. Despite all that had just happened, I still slipped into a deep sleep. Maybe it was like the humans after a large Thanksgiving Day meal. A full, warm, sated belly made them sleepy.* Lassiter: <After closing and locking the door to my room, I crossed over to the large French doors in a few long strides and stepped out onto the terrace that overlooked the grounds. The sun shone bright and felt warm on my skin, filling me with energy despite the temperature of the frigid air. The mansion was mostly asleep which was the reason I had chosen to go snooping around in the basement in the first place. I reached behind me to pull the branding iron out from the back of my jeans and inspected the image, picturing the mirrored version that was imprinted upon the male vampire’s hand. What an awful way to be labeled and in the same instant ostracized from an entire species. My hair fell around my face as I shook my head in disbelief. This was not the way the Creator wished for one of his children to be treated. Even if said child had disobeyed a few of the commandments along the way. Forgiveness was his thing. Always. If remorse was genuine, the bossman would forgive anything. I felt a pull to male begin to form and stitch itself to my insides, similar in the way that I had felt with Tohr, and every other one of my previous charges. It was one I knew I would not be able to deny. My eyes rose to the heavens and I blew out a breath.> Point taken, boss. <Both hands closed around the head of the iron and without trying or needing to force the memory out, it slammed into me. Screams and the sound of searing flesh filled my ears as if I were in the room as it had happened. Wrath’s deep and menacing voice echoed as he kicked the male out on his ass and stripped him of everything that was important to a vampire. I sighed and pulled myself out of the assault of images. The guilt that must weight on his shoulders would be undoubtedly overwhelmingly heavy. I wouldn't need to trace or search out his location. I could already feel the distance between us and the direction in which he was at this moment. Any time I’d been assigned a soul to save, an invisible bond was formed that allowed me to know where they were at all times and gave me the ability to see them within my mind’s eye. Right now, he was in some run down cabin, asleep. Of course. It was daylight hours so I’d have some time to execute my plan. First, I’d make a quick pit stop for my usual soul saving fare. Big Macs and fries. Perhaps a double round given the size of him and how his limbs spilled over the edges of the couch he was currently crashed upon. Then I’d flash myself inside, set the food on the table and wait for him to wake. Hopefully the peace offering would be enough for him to listen to reason and if not…well, it wouldn't be the first time I went toe to toe with a male vampire.> Luchas: *I don’t think I’d dreamed in a long time. Seemed like the less I fed, the less it happened. Maybe my brain was trying to conserve energy, grabbing onto all the rest it could get and not bothering with letting my subconscious come out to play. But today my mind took a fantastical trip. I wandered these hills and valleys, met other vampires, found a home for myself. They didn’t judge me by what I’d done, they didn’t care what my past was, we just all needed a safe place to live. I knew there had to be others out there like me. Vampires lived a millenia, pure bloodlines maybe even longer. Those kinds of miles had to had a few bumps in the road. I know I couldn’t be the first vampire to fuck up royally, and then get the royal exile from the King himself. I was pretty sure I was the only vampire that had gone full Lesser. But there had to be other criminals, other serial killers, other deviants that either met their demise or were cast off like I was with their tail between their legs. In my dream we were sitting down for Last Meal, the night giving way to early dawn as windows were locked up and deadbolts turned. Faces gathered at the table, smiles and tales of one another’s nights on the tips of our tongues. Something smelled delicious, like a warm memory from a life long ago. I searched for the source of the smell but couldn’t find it. I reached across the table, lifting plates, checking dishes, but to no avail. It was sweet, salty, and my mouth was watering for it. Then the sound of a brown paper bag caught my ear, swinging my head around to seek out the source of the most incredible smell. My eyes fluttered open, still half in my dream, the steamy aroma of burgers and fries fresh in my brain. I hummed low, hand rubbing over my stomach. That was one of the best dreams I’d had in a really long time. Usually my days were filled with bad memories and dreams that left me shaking, covered in sweat. But this was different. It was so lifelike, I could still smell the delicious meal. Movement to my side caught my eyes suddenly, my hand going still on my shirt. Someone was there, just a few feet away.* Lassiter: <My arrival to the tiny cabin in the woods was without fanfare or an announcement. One moment I had been standing in the parking lot of Mickey Ds, hands filled with bags of salty, calorie laden, artery clogging goodness and the next, I found myself standing on creaky floorboards next the blond vamp who was sawing logs and had a tiny bit of drool running out of the corner of his mouth. I peered down at him for a few moments, waiting to see if he was one of those light sleepers who roused at the sound of a feather dropping on the floor. I checked behind me to make sure all of mine were still in place then set down one of the bags on the little coffee table close to him then moved around and dragged the chair that had seen better days over to the other end of the table and parked my ass in it. As I fished out my fries and Big Mac, I could feel the wood beneath me moan and groan under my weight but it remained intact, thankfully. To keep my hands busy and away from dipping into his mind to see what he was dreaming about, I shoved a handful of fries into my mouth and chewed as I looked around. The cabin needed some love and elbow grease and a fresh coat of...something...paint maybe. I wasn’t sure it belonged to the boy, and I was pretty sure it didn’t belong to his family either. But I couldn’t blame him for squatting after he had been tossed out on his ass by Wrath. Twisting in my chair after taking a mouth full of two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, onions, pickles and a sesame seed bun, my eyes caught sight of the small wannabe kitchen and barren pantry, he was probably rationing what ever was in there and wasn’t too far from running out. No doubt, he’d be grateful for my thoughtfulness when he woke. Bite by bite, I made my way through my meal then sat back on the chair and propped my vans up on the table, waiting for him to wake. Before I could get impatient and start making a ruckus, he stirred and began to run that scarred and branded hand over his chest and stomach. A wide smile stretched my lips and just as his eyes landed on me, I smirked.> Sleeping beauty finally wakes and I didn’t even have to kiss you. <My head nodded toward the bag of food that awaited him.> You hungry, boy? <Shifting up from the chair but moving slowly, not wanting to startle him more than I already had, I moved my softly glowing hand over the bag to warm the food back up for him then sat back down.> Eat. And before you ask, no, you’re not seeing things. And yes, I really have wings. Luchas: *My eyes cleared as some sort of celestial fast-food worker appeared in front of me. What the Scribe……..were those wings? And that hair…. His face was like one of those greek statues, and his skin glowed like he drank glow-sticks for breakfast. My arms started back stroking, swimming me in reverse up the couch until I was as far away as possible from the stranger that sat in my cabin. How had he gotten in here? And I don’t mean the obvious, through the makeshift front door. I meant how did he get in here without opening it up, making noise, waking me, or burning me to ash by letting the sunshine in? I glanced down at my phone as it lay on the coffee table. It was barely one in the afternoon. But what sat next to the little rectangle with the blinking lights made all the air in my lungs whoosh out. McDonald’s. A big, steaming bag of greasy fast food. My stomach roared to life, crying over the cans of baked beans and other assorted salty vegetables and soups I’d managed to force down over the past few weeks. I slid back over on the couch and opened the bag. Fucking Fade… I was two bites into the oversized burger when my brain finally caught up. As his words replayed in my head, the questions started. Who was this guy? What’s with the radiation? How did he find me? Oh shit…* Is this your cabin? Scribe, I’m so sorry. I just needed a place to crash and came upon it. I didn’t think anyone lived here. I ah… I’m sorry about the furniture. And the doors… Lassiter: <My laugh was loud and obnoxious, the kind of laugh I saved only for the brothers when I wanted them to know they had read a situation all wrong. The kid thought I owned this POS cabin? What an assumption to make. I couldn't fault him seeing as I parked my ass on the chair like I owned it. I did that with everything though. It was just my style. When I had sucked in a couple lungfuls of oxygen, I shook my head and let my amusement filter into my voice as I spoke.> Not mine. Do you honestly think someone like me… <my wings ruffled a little to draw his attention purposely> ...would own a place like this? It looks like you're barely surviving, buddy. And I prefer more than the bare essentials if I have my way. <I gave him have a few moments to let his paranoia fade away before I spoke again, this time all humour was gone and seriousness filled the space between us.> I'm Lassiter. My halo is back at the Manse, where I heard some little chatterbugs talking about a vamp who stumbled his tall ass onto the Chosen compound. You wouldn't have any idea what I'm talking about would you? <I popped a pierced brow at the male, letting him know there would be zero room for lying or beating around the bush.> Luchas: *That one eyebrow arched so high I swear it brushed the heavens. And his wings seemed to fill the room even though he was neatly perched on the lounge chair next to me. I recognized the feeling that came over me. I had felt it before, back at the mansion. When one oversized, badass of a warrior male in leathers and wraparounds had given me the scolding of a lifetime. Branded me a traitor, cast me out, and sentenced me to a life of solitude. Power. In massive quantities. That's what this angel, Lassiter was oozing out into the cabin. I’d been good about staying off the Brotherhood’s radar, not even contacting mine own brother, Qhuinn. I kept away from vampires altogether, managing to only run into a few from my past. A victim or two, even. But I never harmed them, never showed any aggression. In fact, it frightened me to see them, the way they looked at me. A flash of the Chosen I’d fed from flashed across my mind as Lassiter questioned me like a father who caught his son sneaking in past curfew. Was she just another victim on my tab? Is that how every vampire I encountered would be labeled going forward for the rest of my life? I swallowed an unchewed bite of greasy goodness, forcing it down as I set the burger back on the wrapper. Funny how the lump in my throat remained, even as the food slid past.* The Brotherhood knows I was at the Chosen compound? I mean… Scribe, of course they do. I didn’t realize where I was until I was already through the mhis. And then there this female was, coming towards me. I hadn’t fed in so long… she offered, I didn’t force her. I’d never do that, you know. *I stared at the rest of the food, my appetite suddenly gone.* Are you here to punish me? Lassiter: <It was interesting to watch the metamorphosis of emotions fade in and out on the kid’s face. I didn't need to delve into his mind to know what he was thinking, the remorse... the guilt were all as clear as my hair was awesome. His question surprised me though and I slowly shook my head before nodding toward his food, not wanting it to be wasted. It was a Big Mac after all and that was against my code.> I'm not here to dole out any sort of punishment. Seems to me you've already endured a lifetime of that. <I couldn't help the disappointment that crept into my voice for Wrath’s choice as my eyes landed on his branded hand and my brows knit together, wondering if he knew I could remove it for him. I filed that under conversations for another time and focused on the more important matters.> None of the brothers or Wrath for that matter know you were at the compound. Not yet. I heard one of the Chosen talking on the phone about it. They simply believe you to be a brother or trainee or something like that. <easing back on the chair and folding my arms behind my head in an effort to make the kid less jumpy, I held his eyes and spoke in earnest.> I came here to help you. And warn you that a mistake like that could get you dead if you're not careful in the future. I believe it was an honest mistake and I will take care of things at the mansion for you because second chances and forgiveness seem to be lacking when it comes to you. <My eyes stayed on his until I could tell he was feeling uncomfortable before they moved around the tiny cabin again and I let out a sigh.> What exactly was your plan, Luchas? You know you can't hide here forever. Luchas: *I was so sure, so sure the fates had once again had it out for me. That one slip would define me. I hadn’t been up in the mansion proper much during my time there, but I had heard enough down in the med suite to know that the Brothers and their trainees screwed up all the time. Mine own brother was a terrific example of that. He was as stubborn as the night was long, especially when he was trying to protect the ones he loved or the Brotherhood. But with Blay at his side, he was able to find his place--and forgiveness--among Wrath’s most trusted males. I knew there were times when they fought amongst themselves, even attacked one another. Scribe knew members had even been suspended or removed over the centuries. Or simply needed some separation and time to heal. My fingers absentmindedly rubbed over my scar on the opposite hand. Now that Wrath had made my status known, I had taken a similar path. Where would it lead? I wasn’t sure yet.* I came up here looking for others like me, other outcasts. I’d heard there were groups settled north of Caldwell, I figured maybe if I came up this way I would eventually find them. And maybe they’d let me stick around. If none of us are welcome in Caldwell, then maybe we can find a place up here that’s safe. So far I haven’t found much… *I knew I’d never be welcomed at the Chosen Compound, but my mind drifted to the Symphath Colony. Sure, I had been mentally bitch-slapped by whichever one had found me near their borders. But maybe if I went back and asked again… or simply never stopped asking… they’d let me live there. Could a vampire live off of Symphath blood? I honestly didn’t know. It had to be stronger than human blood, right?* I know I can’t stay here. Even if no one is around, this cabin does belong to someone. I will fix it, the furniture and doors, and then I’ll move on. It was just a place to stay out of the sun while I looked for other vampires. Lassiter: <My head was shaking, sending my multi-coloured hair into my eyes as he spoke of seeking out others in the area. Surely he was smarter than that? Surely God wouldn't have stuck me with a charge who really did have a death wish...not even Tohr had been /that/ stupid when it came down to living and dying. I sighed out a long breath and pushed my hair back with both hands before levelling him with a piercing white gaze that left no room to argue.> Dude, that aimless wandering around to find somewhere to belong has already led to me showing up on your doorstep. If I could find you, you best believe any of the brothers could, all they'd have to do was find that lovely Chosen you fed from and she'd locate you through the blood connection. They wouldn't be so forgiving this time and you know it. They’d boot your ass out the door at high noon and think nothing of it. <My fingers tapped my temple while I spoke> Get smarter, please. The Sympath colony isn't too far from here and I can guaran-fucking-tee they won't be welcoming you with open arms unless it's to mind fuck you into insanity. <My frustrations mounted within me and I stood from my chair to pace around the small living room, as I always did when my mind was running through scenarios. I cursed under my breath knowing the rules I had to follow when trying to save a soul, he had to do the work himself and I couldn't give him the answers on how, he had to want it for himself above all else.> Luchas, you belong in Caldwell. It's not safe anywhere around here. Not after crossing the mhis like you did. <pausing in my pacing, I turned toward him and planted my fists at my sides, hoping perhaps the look might beat home the gravity of the situation he was in.> Get your life back together, find something worth living for. Something that doesn't involve wallowing over that damn mark on your hand. It's just a scar, nothing more, and when you start thinking like that rather than feeling sorry for yourself, you’ll be free of the mistakes you've made. Maybe you’ll even find a way to forgive yourself. I’ll do my best to help you along the way but if you truly want your life to be yours again, it's going to take some hard work. Luchas *I could tell there was a lot the angel wasn’t telling me. But I could guess as good as any that this was how it worked. He couldn’t interfere, he could only guide others. This wasn’t a spirit guide to hold my hand and take me on a magical adventure through the forest to get in touch with my soul. Lassiter was more like a distant but loving father. “I gave you the tools you need, figure it out yourself. And if you fail, pick up the pieces and try again until you succeed.” Maybe that’s how the humans felt about their God. Distant… requiring blind faith. I stared up at the glowy, show, f-a-b-u-l-o-u-s winged creature pacing my cabin. He seemed a bit too big a presence to thought of as distant in any way. As if he’d heard my thoughts and felt the need to personify the very God I was considering, he suddenly vanished from the room. I waited a moment to see if he’d return, but all that was left proving he’d ever been here was the rest of my Big Mac and fries. I took another bite, chewing as his words ran through my head. So the Brotherhood had it out for me if I slipped up again. No real surprise there. I know Wrath wanted me to suffer a lifetime of guilt, and so far I’d done a pretty damn good job of sticking to that punishment. But Lassiter wanted me to rebel against that, start a new life, find some purpose. It’s not that I wanted to just waste away up here in this cabin, I really did want to find other vampires to coexist with. Make a few friends, have an acquaintance to offer my blood too in return for some of theirs. I just wanted a simple life. Wasn’t that enough? Apparently to Lassiter, no, it wasn’t. Could I really be destined for more? I had been so sure my first and second act had already been played. Rather than be an old diva hanging around backstage, hanging on to nostalgia like one last aria, I’d left the theater completely. I had been cruel to mine brother Qhuinn in the first set. Paid dearly at the hands of the Lessening Society before joining the Omega himself. What else was there for a male like me? I was of no use to the race anymore. /You belong in Caldwell./ How could that be true if the King banished me? /Find something worth living for./ I looked down at my branded hand. It was like Lassiter wanted me to sign up for the volunteer firefighter department. Maybe scoop some meals at the local soup kitchen. ...Help the humans? I had gotten along well with the males at CHEMLAB. It was easy enough to blend in as long as I was out at night. Feeding would still be a problem, but up here wasn’t any better at the moment. So that was it, then. I’d go back to Caldwell and back to living with humans. And that’s when the cabin’s owner walked through the door. #BigWingsAndBigMacs

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guardiandae · 7 years

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OKAY it’s time for that write up about my trip to Boston

aka Why I’m Glad I’m Still Alive and also Dae Makes Bad Life Choices And Needs To Be Grounded :c

(long, long post)

okay so, my friend H takes a trip down to Boston every year to visit her friend D who goes to college there. She invited me to go a few days beforehand, and as luck would have it I managed to arrange to have Friday & Saturday off work, and Sunday closing shift, so I could make it down there and back.

Of course, I had a runny nose and stuff beforehand... and then the night before (Thursday night, I think) I had a really hard time at work bc I felt feverish... I got home and my temp went up from 99.6 (which is already 100% a fever for me, my temp runs low) to 101.3 during the night. I kept waking up every three hours, and I had to get a bag of ice to press against my head. I went to bed early but slept in longer than I expected so I got like 13 hours of sleep and felt a lot better in the morning, aside from a sore throat. Actually, my throat does this fun thing where from time to time, it will close up on me and I can’t breathe. It can happen even from drinking water. So I took cough syrup and my throat closed up. Yikes. No more cough syrup for me, just cold & flu tablets! I can’t remember the other incident, maybe I drank something harsh, but I remember it did that twice, two times in two days. So, yeah. Gotta be careful what I drink with this sore throat.

Friend wants me to spend Friday night at her house so we can leave at 3am Saturday. So I go to H’s house, with her boyfriend T. My throat is like, raw as fuck. We hang out, they pack, and we all take a nap before we leave. I get like another 3 hours of sleep, then we all get up and hit the road.

We pick up T’s friend, S. My friend H keeps trying to hook me up with S despite the fact that I am 1. gay 2. asexual 3. not interested in douchebags. And she’s been teasing me about the fact that, S and I will have to share a bed at the hotel. My god. Mind you, the plan she has in Boston is to take me to a strip club and I’m like, sdgkdfkgjd. No? Maybe. No.

We stop at a gas station and I get myself a big powerade for my RAW AS FUCK throat. Swallowing is seriously painful at this point. My friend swaps seats to sit beside me in the back, so now T and S are in the front. THEY FUCKING START CHAINSMOKING ALL THE WAY DOWN. So they have their windows cracked, freezing cold air pouring in, secondhand smoke making my eyes water and lungs burn, all the way down. Maybe at most they would stop for two minutes and then, boom, another FUCKING cigarette. On top of that, they listened to really gross rap music on the way down, like violent, sexually-explicit, drug-endorsing songs that were just honestly annoying lyrics aside, total crap, lol.

My friend and I show each other memes (she pronounces it me-me and I think it’s too funny to correct her) all the way down. We arrive at her friend D’s campus at about 6am. He has keys to all the buildings and has to make rounds, so we’re going to walk with him all across his campus.

D is a really interesting dude. My friend H told me, “he’s a bible-thumper” beforehand and I was like, eh. great. But he’s this 40-ish year old guy going to a religious college studying to be a minister. He’s super friendly and considerate as soon as we meet him. It’s 6am in January, fairly warm considering the time of year, but I’m still in just my hoodie and SICK, so while I was kind of excited for the experience, my body is so not. We’re going from building to building, up flights of stairs and back down again, and I am wheezing. My voice is pretty rough at this point too.

But let’s talk about the school, and the setting, because... I love it.

In Maine (my state) the trees here are mostly pines, maples, oaks, etc.

But in Boston, I’m not sure what kind of trees they might be, but my gosh. It’s a grey, chilly day (my favorite weather 100% honestly, too bad I was sick) and the trees are bare. Their branches are all twisted in different directions, like the fingers on an old man. Ever seen those kind of forests from creepy horror movies? They are just like that and it’s absolutely gorgeous. Most of the buildings on campus are very old, so some of them still have old fashioned latches, like the thumb-latches in my grandfather’s house.

The other thing I really loved about the campus, is that the students attending are actually very liberal and diverse, despite the religious focus. As D put it later, the other three people in our group, H, T, and S, doubled the population of straight (and cis) students by being on campus. Haha.

Anyway, I survive running around campus, and then we head down to catch the Green Line subway into town. At this point, I really wish I had realized we were going to be gone from the car for several hours, because I would've at least grabbed my hat. :c

This is the first time I've ever been on anything like a subway and I'm so glad that we had D with us to be our guide, because it was so confusing. The car was packed with people because of the Women's March going on. I don't know how this compares to other subways, but this went pretty fast and had a lot of hills and turns, and with every change in momentum I'm hanging onto the rail for dear fucking life trying not to fall over. My friend H has a lot of anxiety, especially around crowds of people, and riding this subway itself, so she is SHAKING and trying really hard to just hold on and get through the ride, and so am I. We get off a big station and decide to go up and walk the rest of the way instead of waiting for the next car, because my friend and I are curious to see the march going on.

We ended up walking around a lottt down all of these different side streets. H, T and S wanted to find a big tall building to go all the way to the top floor and take pictures, so we kept trying to enter different buildings at random, and most of them were locked and one we were politely told to leave, lol.

The whole walking around event was kind of more random than planned... we ended up at Bruins arena which I think was my friend's only actual goal, so she could buy her brother a gift. We saw tons of protesters everywhere and I got one of the pink hats from a nice lady who brought extras. But after that, our wandering was pretty aimless. We headed towards Boston market (still trying to find tall buildings) and accidentally stumbled onto the Holocaust memorial.

H and I were like 'oh... damn' and of course, I had to go in. The memorial consists of four towers made of panes of glass, with steam inside rising up. When I walked into the first one, the panes of glass had quotes from survivors of the Holocaust written on both sides in side, and on every single pane of glass, going up to the sky, there were the serial numbers the nazis tattooed onto people. I took a few pictures, but once I entered that first tower I put my phone away because it just didn't feel right. We walked through and read each quote... I was trying not to cry because the two guys with us (D excluded) were pretty douchey and I wasn't sure they even would, y'know, care. But when I read one of the quotes about the homosexuals being put into the death camps, I definitely cried and I was like, yeah. This is why we fight. This is why we can't stop fighting.

When we left, H was pretty shaken too (the quotes about children were the ones that got to her the most, I think) and D suggested that we head to the farmer's market to try to lighten up the mood. While we were walking there, S decides to ask a question, in a suspiciously condescending tone of voice, "I wonder what the founding fathers would think about all of this."

The rest of us were like, ??? "Think about what?"

S: "You know, the protests that are going on right now."

Guys, my voice was half gone but you know I clapped back.

"They'd probably think that they're exercising their CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHTS??? What do you think the founding fathers did against the British???"

Then he said something about how, people keep pushing and pushing for more rights, and he thinks that's a bad thing because it just ends up dividing people into more and more different groups and takes away rights from others. At this point I was like, HOLY SHIT, this fucking white boy is one of those people who thinks that EQUAL RIGHTS means his rights are somehow being TAKEN AWAY from HIM. Like, you DO realize that my great-great grandmother and your great-great grandmother didn't have the fucking right to vote??? and in MY lifetime, I had to go fucking vote on my right to get MARRIED??? It didn't take away SHIT from poor helpless straight white men, it just GAVE more people the SAME FUCKING RIGHTS. HOLY FUCK.

So anyway we headed on to the market area, checked out the Newbury Comics store and I was exciiited bc I found a cute pair of knee-high socks to buy (my new aesthetic). But while in pursuit of my knee-highs, I wandered too close to the Dick's bar, and at this point everyone was ready to drink/eat and had been searching for a bar for a while. There were sooo many to choose from, including really nice looking Irish bars, and historic old bars, which I actually wanted to check out. But which bar did we go to? The fucking cock-themed bar.

They ordered drinks. I just sat by them kind of uncomfortably bc everything is not only "I love dicks" but the mascot is a sleezy overweight balding man and the waitress makes fart jokes. Like. For real. But I'm watching the tv, making small talk with D (who is awesome) and H, while S and T get drinks and fries. Some guy brings his CHILD into this establishment, and is apparently very familiar with their theme bc he plays right along with the waitress's fart jokes like he sees her every Saturday or something. What the hell. Then the party at the opposite end starts putting on these huge condom hats made out of white paper. I can hear a child crying on the other side, maybe the same kid. Why the fuck. And then the waitress starts kind of badgering ME now, like, "Why are you just sitting there without a drink?" I tell her, in my really hoarse voice, "If I have any alcohol I'm pretty sure I will stop breathing" and she's just like "Well it's not like you can't have a water or a juice" (me: where the fuck is there water or juice advertised ANYWHERE on this shitty menu??? also the food was ridiculously overpriced otherwise I would've been happy to order >_< ) and then I look over and realize that, S has already had two beers, but he JUST ordered a fucking THIRD. Now I'm angry and I tell my friend I don't wanna sit in this (shitty) bar all day, so I'm going to head to the comic store again.

Comic store is right across the street.... but... I'm legitimately pissed off right now, so as soon as I step outside I'm like, actually, lol, fuck off, bye, I'm gone.

And I just keep walking, back the way we came in. I sit down at a bench for a while, half thinking that D or H had followed me, but nobody had. So I'm like, cool, and contemplating actually buying a train ticket home if I had to. But I'm sick as fuck and my legs are killing me and my lungs are wheezing and it's cold and I know that no train goes all the fucking way home, so I'm like, :)))

I decided to go and see something that *I* wanted to see so I looked at my phone and saw the Samuel Adams statue was nearby. They texted me "where are you" and I told them Sam Adams (of course, knowing them they probably looked for a damn bar). But I got lost getting to the statue, lmao, bc it was RIGHT BESIDE ME and I was expecting something larger and headed towards a crowd of people instead. By the time I circled back, I hung up on like three phone calls and ignored several texts, just texted back again "sam adams" when they asked where I was. Took a picture of the statue, then sat down again and waited. Still more texts and calls to not respond to. Finally I was really annoyed but got up to go back to the bar and was thinking, if they aren't here, I'm fucking off again, lol. But they were there and ... my friend H was in tears.

Uh oh. Nice going, Dae.

I put my frustration aside and just fell back into step... she didn't talk to me for a little while. I felt like such an asshole. It was only later I saw some texts that hadn't come through then... half of them already had their phones dead, the others were almost dead, and they'd texted me that they were going to head to the car without me and pick me up in a couple hours. Of courese, my phone was low battery too. I almost fucking stranded myself in Boston, extremely sick, with no cellphone, please ground me.

We went back to the subway (there was another station right near to us, thankfully, so no long walk), and rode all the way back to our original station. Then we had to trek back UP the hill we came down from the campus... I was wheezing hard.

Everyone crashed in D's room for a while. I collapsed on the couch and they all went into the bathroom to smoke pot. I considered leaving to the car to get my phone charger but was like, if I do they'll probably think I bailed again. and then I could literally hear them talking about me, and S saying, "I bet when we come out, she'll be gone again" and I just... felt so angry at him but also like such an asshole bc I'm sick and having a miserable time when I WANT to have fun but instead I'm being a bitch and I can't help it. And they want to drink and get high and I don't like either of those things even when I'm NOT sick as a dog and barely able to breathe, so fuck no I'm not doing that, thanks.

I think after that we finally went to our hotel bc it was check in time (3pm). My friend had reserved the room but they wouldn't let her pay because her card didn't have her name on it, and the others only had cash, so I stepped up to put the room on my card. It made me feel better about being there at all, because they literally wouldn't have had a place to stay (this was a fairly long drive away from Boston).

We went out to eat and this is where S shows once again how much of an asshole he is...

I'm not sure WHERE this came from, but out of the blue while we're sitting in this restaurant, S says something like, "If a drunk girl tells me to fuck her and then she passes out, I can tap that without getting in trouble."

Yeah... I'm positive I didn't remember that right but the statement he made didn't make ANY sense.

All four of us (D, H, T, and myself) were like, ???? NOOOOOOOOOOOOO. That is RAPE.

D and I start trying to explain, for one, UNCONSCIOUS = no, and two, in this hypothetical she gave her "consent" while drunk, and you cannot legally consent while drunk!

"But what if we're both drunk"

We're trying to explain that technically neither could consent, it's a risky situation, and then he goes,

"So what if my ex texts me and says 'come tie me up and have your way with me'."

D is like, "I can't even begin with how many variables there are in that situation."

Me: "It depends. Is she sober? Is it actually HER texting? Is she going to say no when you get there?"

S: "She'd have to prove that it wasn't her texting..."

We kept talking about this and trying to explain like, the limits of consent and finally T is like, "Why are we talking about this?"

D and I: "Because it came up and it's worth talking about! There are a lot of people who don't understand."

But anyway, we pretty quickly dropped the topic, but I cannot get over the fact that S randomly said that he'd fuck an unconscious woman. And I am expected to share a bed with him at the hotel.

I was super super pissed with S at this point like, this actual FUCKBOY, first he thinks that equal rights means his rights get taken away, now he's stated that he'd rape somebody?? like?? get the fuck away from me, permanently.

We had to drive D back to his room and it's dark outside now.

I haven't yet mentioned, but as beautiful as Boston is to walk around, the roads are crazy and driving is a fucking nightmare. There are some normal streets but almost everything connects directly onto a highway (at least where we were... and I'm not sure if highway is the right word bc fuck if I know anything about driving but they are SCARY multi-lane roads). The highways are like 4, 3, or 5 fucking lanes of people driving like there's no speed limit, cars constantly switching lanes and assholes flying past us.

All of that is scary enough, but worse is that:

- T is the one driving, because H is too scared to drive in Boston traffic. - T does not have a license. - The car's left blinker doesn't fucking work, so switching lanes to the left is a deathwish. - Did I mention the drinking and getting high? Yeah. - Also, the chainsmoking resumes and I am in fucking misery.

We manage to drop D off, and they had mentioned the fact that they HAVE the lightbulb for the back blinker, but didn't take the time to install is before leaving. D had mentioned that he could probably do it. So I'm like, hey, how about we do that? D takes a look and realizes that it'd take some time to take apart, but he'd be able to do it with some assistance. T is like, nah it'd take some work, and I'm disheartened (bc I want this car to be as legal as fucking possible bc if we get pulled over I'm 100% sure that I'm fucked on getting home, best case scenario. Worst case scenario, I might charged with something just for being with these guys. Idk if that's even rational but honestly.) but they agree to just deal with it later.

We get back to the hotel and H and I decide to go swimming in the pool. It's honestly one of the highlights of the trip for me bc I rarely get to go swimming, so we enjoyed ourselves for a while, talking about how T and S were kind of annoying both of us. The guys were getting alcohol and stuff while we swam, and they drank some and then joined us. It was kind of funny bc H had worn her bikini bottom but also swim trunks over them, and S didn't have anything to wear to swim in, so she gave him her trunks. They fit him so tightly lmaoo. The guys were splashing around, goofing off, and at this point I'm less angry and more just like, letting it all go, I know I don't like S whatsoever, he's fucking dumb, but I don't want to be hostile and I'm trying as much as possible to not be a huge bitch and a wet blanket, so it's whatever. We joked around a lot, and had fun, and finally got out of the pool when it was closing. But it was really awkward bc they had to go to change and T had gone into the women's room with H so I had to stand outside and wait to change my clothes... and I could hear H yelling at him about... peeing wildly everywhere? Oh my god. I don't even wanna know. It was one of those moments where I was like, there is nudity beyond both of these doors and I am probably forever going to be not comfortable with that. It's kind of a bizarre and shitty realization that everyone else is on a different plane of existence. Like, I'm the weird one because I don't wanna see dicks flopping around. Huh.

Rinsed off, changed clothes, went back upstairs, blow dried my hair and flopped onto the bed. At this point, I'm physically worn down but.... not.... tired. So I'm not sure if I'm going to fall asleep. But they want to run around, and ask about the strip club plans, and my friend is like, "Dae said she didn't want to go" (which is true, I told her no because I'm very sick and felt uncomfortable about the whole idea anyway) but the guys are like, "You're killing us, we're not going?" and she's like, "Are we?" and I'm so sick and tired at this point that I'm like, "Actually yeah let's go" and get up and get dressed again, ready to impress, ready to jump in and see some ladies and titties and see how uncomfortable I feel about it all.

We get into the car, and all of us have been trying to see what the nearest strip club is... there really isn't one. What the nearest bar is... eh. We're trying to find something really close by, because the guys have been drinking and T has no LICENSE and the car blinker is broken so instead I'm like, "Where's the nearest Walmart?" over 100 miles away jfc. "Where's the nearest target?" Less than a mile away. Awesome! My mood is UP bc we're going to Target, now this is my idea of a good time.

Yeah, no. My phone is a piece of SHIT and they refuse to even look at it, but their phone won't update fast enough while we're driving and we CAN'T FUCKING MERGE LEFT because we'll be killed in this traffic, so we have to go to the right. We see other stores and want to go to them, but the problem is, when we turned right we already missed that opportunity. And this road merges directly into a fucking interstate. And we cannot turn off of it. And now we are going 80 mph in the wrong direction and have to take the next off ramp.

For the next fucking 30 minutes at least, we are desperately trying to get our fucking phones to tell us where we are and where we need to go. Everything loops in circles, because of the highways and off ramps. We keep missing fucking turns and ending up in even more of a tangled mess. Our phones did not charge up much at the hotel and are on the verge of dying once again and we cannot fucking turn LEFT. T and S are getting frustrated, I'm convinced I'm going to fucking die, and H is having an anxiety attack, texting me like, "This is my car and if we crash everyone is going to get hurt and it's my fault" and I'm like... can we please fucking stop somewhere and just fix the fucking light.

By the time we finally make it back to where we belong, we just go straight to the hotel. So fucking much for strip clubs, or bars, or even Target. Fuck that noise. We aren't driving anywhere after all, we all agree on that and we're all really frustrated and stressed.

I ask again like, even if it takes a while we should really fix the light bc driving down to Mass we had the same problem, and we're going to keep having that problem until we fix it, but the guys are like, we'd have to take apart the whole back end, if it were a quick fix we'd have done it already. In the daylight it'll be okay, it's really just at night that's the worst because all they see is our tail lights, and a lack of left blinker means someone might get killed. So I'm like, alright and let it go.

We get snacks from the vending machines, and crash in the hotel room again. Despite all the hyped talk from the guys about drinking and drugs (seriously, S was like, "Let's go get some ecstacy or heroin" before we left on that horrific ride, and H was like "UHHHH NO, NOT HAPPENING." He also talked about forcing girls to choke on his dick, so if anyone was wondering if he learned anything from the Consent Discussion, the answer is, probably no. And people wonder why I have sex anxiety jfc.)

Thankfully, I crashed on one bed, and H, T, and S all crashed on the other bed... probably bc they didn't want to catch my germs tbh. I heard S saying "bacterial pneumonia" to his phone.

Sleep was... hellish. I woke up at 4am, SHAKING uncontrollably and had to turn up the heat for a while. I think I was running a fever so it didn't help me at all.. after that I had to press a cold drink against my forehead and didn't fall asleep again until 6am, and we all get up around 8:50am.

Btw, the hotel was pretty shitty... a bunch of ants were under my shoes at the indoor pool when I picked my shoes up... they were coming up from the vents because I guess I stepped in something sugary. H freaked out a bit. Then in our 3rd floor room, there was another of those ants on my pillow. Nice. The breakfast service was shitty. The only edible thing for me was the apple juice, the rest of it was awful cheap stuff. We went to burger king instead, which H had wanted for breakfast anyway. My voice was nearly gone at this point and I had to type my order onto my phone and let the cashier read it. The burger king was also super shitty lmao it was under construction but the bathrooms were just, awful and unkept. We realized we had to head straight home now in order to get back in time for everything H and I had to do, so we got straight onto the highway.

Once again... terrifying traffic, and the difficulty of merging to the left. Every time T had to merge, I had to close my eyes and post facebook statuses like "pray for me because I am going to die." At this point, T and S are like, "We should've just fixed the light before we left" and I am like, internally fucking screaming BECAUSE I SAID THAT ALREADY OH MY GOD. Also, CUE THE CHAINSMOKING AGAIN.

I got dropped off directly at my work a couple hours before my shift, and then worked my closing shift.

Remember, at this point I've had very little sleep and fevers every night since Friday... my voice is just a whisper, I spent hours walking around Boston, hours awake at night, I should be exhausted but I am wide the fuck awake. By the time I finally got home, I still didn't even fall asleep until almost 2am.

So yeah.... I'm not even sure how to summarize my trip to Boston and how it made me feel. Everything was really random and accidental. It took a long time for it to occur to me, holy shit I am in BOSTON, historic Boston, and should be taking pictures and seeing the Freedom Trail and actually interesting stuff like that, but it didn't seem to occur to any of us until the day we had to go back and H wwas like, "I wish I'd taken more pictures." I wish I had too, especially of the march, but since I ws sick before I even left, I actually wasn't even aware that the marches were going on, I was completely out of the loop. It's something I was super excited about and would've never been able to go to normally, but somehow I accidentally happened to end up there at the right time.

In all it was, frustrating, miserable, beautiful, surprisingly nice and diverse, historic, terrifying, stupid, and extremely lucky. Lucky that we managed to arrange the trip on short notice, lucky that we didn't die on the way down, lucky that I happened to be there for a huge protest event that I was able to partake in at least a tiny bit, lucky that I didn't have to go to the strip club after all, lucky that we didn't get arrested, lucky that we made it back safely, lucky that I didn't chop S's dick off and shove it down his throat. I think I might've used up all of the luck for the next ten years, and I'm a bit frightened.

For those keeping score at home,

Reasons Why Dae Needs to be Grounded:

- going on a trip with sketchy drug dealing wannabe-gangsters who are racist, transphobic, homophobic, misogynistic dumbasses - going on this trip while extremely sick - ditching my friend and the group while extremely sick, in a strange city, with all of our cell phones dying, and ignoring their calls - swimming in the pool while extremely sick (I broke the pool rules whoops) - getting BACK into the defective car with a driver who had been drinking and has no license, at night - going to work directly after this trip, while extremely sick - still trying to talk while my voice is 99% gone - not cleaning my room (it’s so messy help) - staying up late at night to type this instead of sleeping

and now my throat feels much better but I’ve 100% lost my voice and can only communicate through strained whispers and interpretive dance.

but I have tomorrow off and I plan to finally.... rest.

assuming that I can even fall asleep.

#I'm sorry mobile users if you had to scroll this whole thing #long post #dae makes bad life choices #please ground me #I'm honestly thankful to be alive #bc I'm convinced I should be dead several times over

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