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jeankirsteinsgrlfrnd · 5 months

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pairing: jean kirstein x f!reader

content warnings: none really for this chapter, mentions of anxiety & depression

word count: 2.5k

find chapters 1-3 RIGHT HERE on: wattpad

summary of book: Jean Kirstein has no interest in girls. He'd tried dating and found himself often bored before the end of the evening. Competing for captain of The University of Trost's lacrosse team, there is no shortage of women available to him but he'd rather be on the field. Unfortunately for him, it's the off season. (Y/N), however, found herself feigning ignorance about her desire to love deeply and be loved even deeper. After her first day at college, her hopes for the school year diminished greatly until she grew to know Jean.

summary of chapter: It’s (Y/N)’s first day at the University of Trost. Having gone through most of highschool keeping to herself, she suspects that college will be just the same. However, she runs into an old friend and discovers that college may not be as easy to avoid people in. (Y/N) begins to suspect she’s going to have a long year at college, thanks to her picking what would be the worst seat in psych class.

note: this is going to be a slow burn with many chapters, i am hoping for at least 30. although this is a jean fic, i will be potentially exploring a connie plot line. this story will contain topics of mental health/illnesses, suicide/death, grief, violence, drugs & alcohol, sex and other sensitive subjects. i will do my best to give you a warning ahead of time.

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of lilacs & lacrosse

chapter 1.) first day

I'd say the funny thing is that I'd say I'd never given too much thought about how I'd fall in love, but that would be too much of an easy lie to spot. Love was all around me. It was in the movies, the songs, it was on the train and in the grocery store. I was frustrated when it didn't come to me in highschool, when a mysterious, pale man hadn't approached me, like the media had taught me. Where was my love and was it worth the wait?

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I've known these people since middle school, of course not every single one of them, but the ones that mattered, I'd known them. Hell, I'd even been friends with them at some point. Why was it so hard now? Was it the fear of saying something silly or more simply, the fear of being less than enough? More than enough?

These thoughts kept me up the entire night before the first day of college. I'd woken up in sweats, in screams even. I told myself, college would be no different than highschool and I'd be alright.

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Beep, beep, beep.

That's it, it's time.

I yawn, my ears pissed off from hearing the never relenting alarm of my phone. Panic filled me.

Why?

I've been settled into my dorm for quite some time, it was nothing special but nothing to be ashamed of either. I pull the blankets off of me and swing my legs over the edge of my bed, which seemed to not want to let go of me, but very well could have been my own reluctance wanting to keep me in place. My bare feet hit the ground and I inhale.

It's just an 8 a/m class, (y/n). Just an 8 a/m. No matter the first day or not.

I tiptoe across the cold, hardwood floor. Opening my closet, I'm surprised at the lack of options for my first day of college, even though I was the one who had done the lack of college shopping. I wasn't going to complain, I'm not the type of person who cared so much about clothing and having the newest things. I was okay wearing clothes from highschool. It's not like anybody would actually notice. A simple outfit would do for the day. A black t-shirt, a pair of ripped jeans, and nothing more, except for a hair tie to keep half of my mess up. And shoes, of course shoes. My black and white converse sat on the floor, under my massive collection of black clothes. Pick me, they called. I grab my sneakers and bundle my clothes under my arm, shutting the closet doors behind me. I slip my choices over me and look in my bedroom mirror. Smoothing out non-existent wrinkles, I can't help but let my mind think. My eyes meet my own.

Was I afraid? Was I confident? Would anyone else be able to tell?

Stop it, (y/n.) You'll get nowhere, I tell myself abruptly.

My clothes are satisfactory enough. There is nobody I need to impress today and I'm okay with that. I'm not looking to make friends, just looking to make it through one class. I look at myself in the mirror, tugging my hands over places I'd hope nobody would look at. My steps to the bathroom are as sad as I'd imagined they'd be last night, trying not to make any sound although I'm the only one who could hear. Makeup bags sit on the white bathroom sink with various beauty products strewn about. I grab my go-to bag and unzip. My fingers fumble in the makeup bag on the counter. Mascara, foundation, eyebrows, lip gloss.

What if they don't like you?

Mascara, foundation, eyebrows, lip gloss.

Who's they, (y/n)? You don't actually really know anybody. Besides, I thought you weren't looking to impress anybody and you were just fine with that.

Mascara, foundation, eyebrows, lip gloss.

My hands tremble with the mascara wand.

"Fuck, shit." My lips part before I know. Dots of black cloud my eyes. In the mirror, I frown. I bite my lip, I'd already fucked up with nobody around. I feel a growing black cloud in my brain.

No big deal, (y/n). Clean it up, it's alright.

I grab a q-tip, quickly turn on the faucet and wet it under the water. I begin to blur away my mistakes. I bring the q-tip up to my face, relentlessly poking at the lingering black marks upon my face.

Go away, go away, I'll be late, I plead.

Eventually, the gods oblige to my demands. My eyelashes, and myself, are happy. My fingers find themselves once again fumbling in my makeup bag for a probably expired foundation. Even though I don't remember the last time I had actually gone and bought foundation, I don't have the heart to check the date, but there's no way I'm going to my classes on the first day without any face makeup. I pour a bit of my foundation on the back of my hand to warm it up before applying it straight to my face. I dip my beauty blender into the cream and bring it to my face. I'm staring straight into the mirror.

Who is this? It's me, idiot. It's always been me. Stop thinking.

I tune out the rest of my thoughts before I finish my foundation. I place the container back into my bag, and dig around for my eyebrow brush. Not like I actually do anything to my eyebrows, but somehow brushing them out creates a false sense of security.

Brush your eyebrows, (y/n), nothing bad will happen today. Oh please, brush your eyebrows (y/n), you've saved the world from eternal damnation.

My eyebrows are clean, sleek, and saving the world from an intergalactic attack. Eyebrow brush back in the bag, I search for my lip gloss. It was nearly a clear, transparent lip gloss but hey if it made my lips shiny, someone was bound to notice, right?

Right.

I'm looking in the mirror, I'm satisfied. My lip gloss is good and the shade of black my shirt is, well, black. No time to reflect on that. I head out of my bathroom, which I am grateful for the fact there's nobody to share it with. I'd somehow gotten lucky finding a cheap apartment I could afford without having a roommate and didn't have to settle for a college dormitory. This, however, did have its downsides. The place is quiet and I find myself staring. My kitchen is missing a sense of home. I shake away the fact and think about what I want for breakfast.

Pancakes? Eggs? Both? Nothing? Oatmeal?

There's no use. I hate the kitchen. I don't want to make anything for myself. I don't want to use any of my good, hard earned money for breakfast. I grab my black Jansport backpack that I purposely left on the counter last night. I would have forgotten it if I left it in my room but I can always count on myself to have a good old fashioned kitchen crisis. I stand in my kitchen, looking around.

I hate this.

I grit my teeth, unsure of how to be a person without anybody else around me. I made the heavy decision that heading out the front door is best for me. My steps to the door are heavy, unchanging and solid. I shut the door to my apartment. The hallway is cold and unforgiving of crimes I've never committed.

I'm sorry, college apartment, I'll never do it again.

Another thing I had gotten extremely lucky with regarding my apartment, was that I could walk to the campus in under ten minutes, five if I decide to really put some pep in my step. Outside my building, the leaves are still green and wanting to hold onto the summer. I stand under the overhang and pull out my phone from my pocket.. The weather app tells me it's 79 degrees, which is typical for the beginning of September in Trost. Maybe even a bit cooler. I pull some earbuds out of the mesh bindings on the side of my backpack. Untangling them is a challenge but the bigger challenge is deciding what to listen to.

[play: To All Of You- Syd Matters]

The campus is bigger than I expected. Maybe it would have been smart to have come by earlier and taken a look. The main building looks like a museum, it's built of brick and there are students everywhere I look. Most people are smiling and walking with a friend. I take everything in as I walk. There's a girl with purple hair sitting at a green metal picnic table, the kind that had holes and people would get their fingers stuck in. Her fingers are free as she dances a pencil across a black notebook. The leaves are blowing and I try not to think about the fact that nobody else is thinking about me. The grass is very green and for that, I am thankful. Nothing is dead. My steps are silent to me as I near the entrance. A boy walks in before me. He is wearing a black sweatshirt with the number nine in white on it. I cannot see his face and he doesn't look back to see mine. He does not hold the door for me. Upon reaching the door, I am cruelly reminded that nobody waits for you. I am alone. The door handle is cold in my grasp. My first and only class today is psychology, because who doesn't love their brain being fucked with at 8 am?

Nostalgia hits my nose when I step inside. It's cooler than it was outside and the lockers are blue. The floor is tiled and white with gray specks underneath my black shoes. Students are leaning against lockers, some people are completely frozen in time and others are bustling. I scurry to the side of the hallway to stay out of the way. I pull my phone out and look at my lock screen that I had previously set to a screenshot of an email reminder from my teacher. My psych class was on the first floor in one of the lecture halls. The time at the top of my phone reads 7:50. I put it back in my pocket and make my way down the hallway. I am able to find the room quite easily.

Nobody stands out to me as I pass through the doorway. It seems to be mostly carbon copies of the same brainless girls who would spew about how they'd change the world with their non-existing compassion. My eyes flicker across the room, trying to find a spot that would be the least painful to sit in. I don't want to sit completely alone in the back but I don't want to sit directly next to anybody either. I found a seat in the somewhat crowded room. It was towards the back but closer to the middle section and it was an aisle seat, closest to the wall with nobody occupying the seat next to it. A girl with brown hair sat just next to the empty seat. I wonder if she made the same game plan as me. I walk up the steps to my seat and sit. Quickly, I turn my head, wanting to see who is sitting with me. I can't see her face. Her head is tilted down and her phone is resting on the desk. She is focused on whatever it is she's doing. I turn my head back and take my headphones out of my ears then unplug them from my phone. 7:59. The professor was not here yet.

"Y/n?"

My head instinctively whips to the right, completely startled. My eyes zooming across the features of the person who called my name.

God, who knows me here? And who was it that remembers me?

Her skin is sun-kissed tan, or maybe it was natural. Blurts of freckles were clinging to her slim cheeks and small, pointy nose. Her hair is brown and brushed out of her face into a ponytail, a few pieces escaping the clutch of the loose hair tie. Eyelashes dark and the bags under them too. I have to peel my eyes away from her face. She's wearing a baggy black shirt and jean shorts. My eyes travel back upwards to look at hers. That's when I recognized her.

"Oh my god, Ymir?" She smiles and tilts her head at me.

"It only took you about, hm..." She looks down at an invisible watch on her wrist. "Thirty minutes."

Ymir and I were friends when we were younger. Actually, we were really close. She was even my first kiss. We used to be inseparable but I grew up and she grew mean. It was when highschool came around that I began to hate being around. She was just cruel to me, to herself, and to others. It was draining to even just exist in her cesspool of hate. Ymir could be sweet when she had wanted to be but it was rare to receive any love or support. However, when she loved me, she really loved me. She'd hold me so tight I was afraid I'd shatter but without her arms around me, I'd have shattered anyway. It was sophomore year when she had met a girl. Meeting Historia was the complete end of us. We weren't in love or anything simple of the sort, but it would have been nice of her to think about me first, or think of me at all.

"I'm so sorry, you surprised me, that's all." I hope my eyes aren't as wide as I think they are. A smirk still lingers on her face. She really was beautiful even after all these years. Ymir put her arms behind her head and stretched a bit. There was a tattoo of a triangle right above the inside of her elbow. I wonder what that meant.

Was it just a triangle? Maybe she had a matching one with Historia. Side note, I completely forgot her and I have matching shitty tattoos, just little stars by our ankles. We'd always wanted to go to a shop together to get professional ones but Ymir's garage was as classy as it got.

"How've you been?"

"Ah, (y/n.) I knew you'd be here, I bet your brainy ass is already psycho-analyzing me." She put her arms on the table in front of us.

Would she ever stop smiling?

"Why are you here? And I've been good, thanks for asking." I don't know if I'm making a playful joke or being snarky.

"I wouldn't mind learning a few tricks to get into people's heads. Besides, this class looked the most entertaining and you're here, so it must be my lucky day." She slides into the seat next to me. She leaned in close to me. "Are you wearing makeup?" This was going to be the longest class of my life.

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zoe-oneesama · 2 years

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what is your opinion about this episode?

What, Troublemaker? Hm, off the top of my head it's an episode of Missed Opportunity and Unfair Writer Intervention for the Sake of Humiliating the Main Character Unnecessarily.

Penny gets akumatized in "Troublemaker" because she's stretched too thin. She takes on too many responsibilities to the point that the people around her are completely dependent on her and she takes on more duties than she needs to and it overwhelms her.

Hm, sounds a lot like aNOTHER character we know quite well.

Marinette, it's Marinette.

This could've been a good episode to teach Marinette that she needs to find a work/life balance by showing her how it can be detrimental to your own mental health. By having Penny be akumatized over the same thing Marinette often puts herself through (double booking herself, offering up extras like race banners for events that don't need them, making the smoothness of events entirely her own responsibility when it's not) could've made Marinette look at how she handles these things and make changes so she won't be overwhelmed.

They could've changed the ending so that instead of Jagged declaring how much he needed Penny, which was part of the problem, he could've offered some way to HELP Penny - hiring an assistant for her to help her, giving her time off every once in a while, reflecting on his own "demands" (he wanted to eat breakfast off the back of Polar Bear at the start of this episode, maybe he should think about how unnecessary that is?!). It could've shown Marinette that it's okay to ask for help too, maybe reach out to her parents or Alya or Fu (at this point).

But no, we can't do that. If we taught Marinette to have an actual balance over her civilian life and superhero life, we can't have her stuck in awkward situations because she forgot something she promised to do or superheroing pushed all her responsibilities to be due on the same day! And where's the fun in giving Marinette an easier time?

SPEAKING of not giving Marinette an easier time, how about we talk about the fact that her Adrien photos duplicated themselves to cover 5x more of her bedroom just so it would be that much more embarrassing to be shown on live tv? Why was that necessary? She already has his photos up, has a homemade computer screen background of Adrien with hearts on it. Jagged only needed ONE of those things to be just as embarrassing, there is no reason to add photos like wallpaper all over her room or hide them under her...mattress?? And chaise lounge?

Like, is that funny? Did people think it was funny when it came out?

And it amounted to nothing. She was so embarrassed (seriously I would DIE if that were me) and no one teased her, she wasn't bullied by Chloe, and Adrien still thinks she doesn't have feelings for him because after being exposed all over Paris in the most shame inducing way he thought it was a good idea to corner her and try to "confirm" whether or not she had feelings for him and in her panic she lied.

Because what was the show going to do, have her confirm it with only 2 minutes of the episode left? Please.

So now we miss out on Adrien being on the same level as Ladybug, having just realized in Season 2 that Marinette/Chat Noir has feelings for them and navigating their friendships with that new knowledge. Balance? In this show? We don't know her!

It's just so frustrating from a writing perspective that this could've been such a good episode for Marinette to learn a lesson she actually NEEDED, that is applicable to MANY people irl who overwork themselves because they want to be helpful, but the writers made it about the Love Square (big shocker there) and then didn't even do anything interesting with that. They needlessly escalate Marinette's picture collection just to shame her for being in love with the person the writer's WANT her to end up with and then write it off as not a big deal.

The fact that Penny was akumatized instead of Marinette told me everything I needed about where Marinette places in the importance of things tbh.

#ml salt #writing salt #troublemaker salt #troublemaker #ask zoe #an essay by zoe

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aspenwritesstuff · 12 days

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Part Three

prev | masterlist | next (soon)

warnings: angst, feelings of guilt and isolation, misplaced anger, scars mention, language, mental health struggles, very brief mention of institutionalization

wc: 7553

"You told them about Hyunjin, the beautiful boy you were charged with transferring the remaining shreds of the dream you’d always dreamed to." "You told them how, despite your disdain, teaching Hyunjin forced you to make an effort to be human again. To be alive. To wash clothes and wear them clean after taking a shower. To leave your apartment."

“You told them how, your own trauma aside, Hyunjin wasn’t all that bad.” "You told them how, in a way, it was because of Hyunjin that you’d finally broken your silence today. How wrong it felt to be better for a stranger when the two of them had been waiting for so long."

a/n: hey, hi, hello. I'd like to thank any of you who are still around to read this. From the bottom of my heart. I know I've been very inconsistent, and for that I apologize. I'm trying to pace myself, and slowly return to writing. Updates will be happening with more regularity now that I'm back to it! Comments, reblogs, asks...all of those things really light the fire in me to write, and are very deeply appreciated! So please let me know if you enjoy my work. Enough of my prattling, please enjoy part three!

with love and forehead smooches (if you consent),

-Aspen

taglist: @findingjieunn @hyynee @hyunverse @dreamstarsandskz @linaliann

permanent taglist: @svintsandghosts @notastraykid @abiaswreck

Gray clouds and the distant call of thunder encased Seoul today, despite how nice the weather had been the day prior. It was days like this that were meant for staying in, avoiding getting caught in the inevitable storm, filling your time with something mindful.

Days like this had once been reserved for painting, locked away in the studio as the sky bellowed its approval over each brushstroke. Days like this meant the completion of a work that had been left unfinished, allowing motivation to come from the weeping sky. Days like this, and the work that went into them, had only been allowed interruption by one thing - your friends.

Changbin and Felix, the sole bearers of the right to break your focus whilst poring over a canvas.

Days like these were once reserved for them, too. Movies that none of you really watched, talking over them about anything and everything. Laughter regardless of what was playing. Comfort regardless of the impending downpour.

What were days like this supposed to be now? When the thought of a brush in your hand was enough to bring about the ache in your heart that you couldn’t quite get used to, despite its frequency. The longer the monochrome sky loomed overhead, the longer the obvious answer hammered at your psyche.

They were the only thing left meant for days such as these.

You could call them. You could reach out in hopes that they hadn’t quite given up, despite your prior avoidance. It would be easy, just the tap of a few buttons on a screen. A child could do it, and yet you found yourself struggling to get past the menu.

Guilt has a funny way of complicating things.

Prior to the accident, and the subsequent lack of contact, reaching out to Changbin and Felix had been effortless - simply a part of your day-to-day routine, requiring little to no forethought.

Now, however, you were terrified.

Your phone felt much heavier than it should have in your hands as you stared at the long-neglected group chat on your screen - the accompanying double digit number next to it taunting you with its reminder of just how long you’d been absent. Just how long you’d avoided speaking to the two.

How long was too long to ignore somebody before they’d stop considering you a friend?

Talking to them meant facing the possibility that your actions - or, rather, lack thereof - could have destroyed the only two friendships you’d ever cared to maintain.

Until you actually spoke to them, you could live in ignorance.

Until you actually spoke to them, you could assume they still wanted you around.

Until you actually spoke to them, they were the only thing that hadn’t changed.

That just served to make the notion of finally reaching out absolutely petrifying.

These were the same boys you’d stay up laughing ‘til sunrise with, so deliriously tired that everything had become funnier than it should’ve been. The same boys that, rather than letting you fend for yourself, allowed you to follow them around like a duckling as they showed you the ins and outs of Seoul. The same boys who’d all but drag you from your studio when you’d forget to eat in the midst of a big project, bringing you to the diner for your favorite burger.

These were the same boys who brought new flowers to your bedside every week, even when you wouldn’t so much as look at them when they did.

You tapped the thread, swallowing both the lump in your throat and your pride as you read the messages you’d missed - maintaining your composure up until you got to the most recent two, sent only a day ago.

Felix: Honey, please talk to us? We’re really worried about you. Your mom said you’re home now, so maybe we could come by? I miss you a lot.

Changbin: We could go to the diner if you want? I’ll pay even though it’s your turn. Nothing feels right without our favorite girl, okay? Love you.

Your heart squeezed tightly in your chest as you hiccuped, unsure if it was shame that you’d doubted they’d stick around or relief that you were wrong that finally broke the dam - but broke it did as hot tears blurred your vision.

So many things had been ripped from you - violently, remorselessly, suddenly. Your future, your outlet, your joy, all gone in a terrible symphony of metal against metal. Your dreams snatched away by the malicious hand of fate, dangled above your head - just far enough away to taunt you, to remind you that it still existed, just not for you. Reminding you that everything had changed.

Everything, it seemed, except for Changbin and Felix.

Undeserving didn’t even begin to cover the way you felt. After all of this time, receiving nothing at all but radio silence from you, these two men had been contacting you - at least one of them, at least once a day - since the accident.

You scrolled up, noticing that they’d never once gotten angry. They’d never once blamed you. They’d told you about their days, their lives, what happened at work, changes to the diner’s menu, and - always - how much you were missed. Not once did either of them condemn your behavior. Not once did either of them criticize you.

And you’d ignored them. Treated them as if they, and their unending support in spite of your withdrawal from them, didn’t matter. As if you didn’t need them. As if you were better off alone after suffering loss.

All it took was shame weighing down your shoulders to remind you, though, that you weren’t - and never would be - better off without Felix and Changbin.

How inexcusable it felt to have left them in the dark made your thumbs difficult to move. Two simple letters turned into near-impossible hurdles. The level of anger you’d expected to have to face from them had significantly raised your expectations.

You had been ready to beg, to offer anything to make it up to them when the gloomy skies forced them into your mind. You were prepared to listen to lectures, to agree with them had they called you a bad friend.

You had been ready to face the possibility that they’d lost faith in you completely.

So, how were you supposed to just say, “Hi.”

How could you simply address them casually as if you hadn’t neglected them? Hadn’t deserted them? Hadn’t forsaken them in the name of sorrow, shunned them for your own selfish pity?

How absolutely wrong it felt to simply greet them as if nothing had happened. How slimy it felt not to apologize a million times over, sinful not to grovel at their feet for forgiveness.

How heavy two little letters could become.

Yet, despite the painfully slow rate at which your trembling thumbs tapped against the glass, they were suddenly there. Sitting plainly, four lines and a dot - “Hi” - black against white. It waited, just as the long-neglected curves and lines of another word had - send - white against blue.

You suddenly understood why minimalism paintings were regarded in such a profound way, as everything inside of you screamed at the sight displayed on the screen. No longer did you question how a few strokes of a brush and a signature could justify more than a glance. Gone were your bitter thoughts over the success of such seemingly simple works. Four lines and a dot, black against white. Curves and lines, white against blue.

Hi. Send.

They were not as simple as they appeared on their own. Together, they were complex.

Complex enough to paralyze you.

Hi.You never used to find it this difficult, not once. The luxury most had when facing the unfortunate drifting from friends was not yours to have. You couldn’t simply exhale a plaintive sigh, asking forces unseen what had happened to what once was. It would be ridiculous to even entertain the notion. You knew what had happened and you bore the angry, red reminder of exactly what spurred the change.

The reminder that things would never be the same.

You never used to care for minimalism paintings. How could you have? They were just lines before. Just haphazard shapes pointlessly ruining a perfectly good canvas. Cruel irony, realizing the potential of the style now that your talent had been reduced to nothing more than fond memories that pained you to recall. Harsher still was the realization that the closest attempt you’d ever make at the style was staring at you from a screen dimming from disuse. A strange medium on stranger canvas, the credits for which would certainly raise brows:

Eclipse, Hi, 2023, 6”x3” Thumbs on Glass. Your heart dropped at the use of your old habits from your days of gallery submissions. Despite barely qualifying as a piece of art, you’d gone ahead and planned out the label for the four lines and a dot, black against white. Despite your wounds, you’d forgotten the pain for just a moment - losing yourself in the meaning of curves and lines, white against blue.

Forgetting, for a moment, that everything had changed.

Perhaps it was the surge of adrenaline that accompanied your panicked realization, maybe even a brief stroke of inspiration from your inadvertent first-attempt at a style you’d once hated. Those two little letters were no longer the heaviest thing on your heart - and, in comparison, were suddenly light. Before you could talk yourself out of sending those lines and dots off, you tapped the blue that housed curves and squiggles. Send.

The cartoonish whoosh carrying those two heavy little letters felt starkly out of place amidst the rolling of thunder and the thrumming pulse in your ears. Your legs bounced, anxious feet filling the silence with muffled taps as you waited. All you could do now was stare holes into the screen and hope. Hope that, despite your certainty, you were wrong. That everything hadn’t changed.

That, if nothing else, this could be the same. They could be the same.

It felt like a form of purgatory, staring at a screen filled with tiny bubbles of even tinier lines, dots, and curves. Time seemed to me moving in strange ways - seconds felt like their own small eternities as you stared at your underwhelming message.

You wondered if Felix and Changbin felt this way, too, during their admittedly much longer wait for a reply. Certainly they had. It would be difficult to imagine otherwise. If ten seconds felt this long to you, how long had these months felt for them? Your heart dropped at the thought, but rose quickly along with your pulse at the sight of three little dots moving at the bottom of the screen.

Those three little dots disappeared and reappeared once, twice, and three times before a few sentences appeared on screen. You saw that it was Felix who’d answered first, but couldn’t bring yourself to read it for at least a minute. Although these two had constantly been checking in on you, despite your lack of answers, it was hard to completely let go of the possibility that they would be angry. Hurt.

They had a right to be, after all.

Once your nerves allowed you to skim the message, a melancholy calm washed over you. In typical form, Felix was perfectly understanding - and sweet - with his reply.

Felix: Oh my god, hi! How are you? I miss you so much.What you had done to deserve such an immediate and warm reaction to your return was beyond you, having fully expected at least a bit of resentment sent your way - yet there was none to be found. Perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised though, seeing as neither Felix nor Changbin had ever given you a reason to doubt the depth of their care for you.

Recalling that brought the ache of guilt - having gone hand in hand with the thoughts of the two for months now - back to the surface. The shift back from your cautious optimism nearly knocked the wind out of you in its abruptness.

Guilt, and its funny way of complicating things, resulted in paranoia at Changbin’s lack of response. Maybe you were foolish to feel hopeful at the warm, brief, comfort of Felix’s kind response. The lack of discontent Felix expressed at your return held no guarantee to extend to Changbin. He could very well hold onto an indignation towards you for trying to simply slide back into their lives after so long of icing them out. What if he wouldn’t forgive you? What if, due to this, your closeness with Felix - in spite of his unabashed eagerness - too, would lessen? What if..? Changbin: Never disappear like that EVER again, stupid.You couldn’t even find it within yourself to feel a shred of irritation at the insult, a buoyancy you’d nearly forgotten was possible surrounding your heart as it thudded hard in your chest. You weren’t sure where to go from here. Of course, an apology was in order, but beyond that…you were clueless. It felt shallow to apologize over text, though, for something as grievous as the vanishing act as you’d performed. You stared at the screen for several minutes, thumbs trembling over the keyboard projected against the glass as you held the phone in both hands, before you finally decided.

You: Come over, please?

You’d been spurred into making your appearance, after all, been spurred to finally make an appearance by memories of stormy days spent together. Hoping the nostalgia was hitting the duo, too, was all you could do - eyes glued to the dancing gray circles at the bottom of your screen. Felix: Not gonna lie, I was running to my car the second your name popped up on my screen sweetheart.

Changbin: I’m quite literally already on my way.Felix: Thought you didn’t text and drive? Your principles, or whatever.Changbin: These circumstances allow exception.Changbin: And, for the millionth time, it’s JUTDAE.The ghost of a smile graced your lips as you witnessed their usual banter unfold - something you hadn’t realized you’d missed in your numbness. The shape of your lips felt foreign, though not uncomfortable, on your face. Your lack of reply was largely attributed to knowing Changbin would likely look away from the road to read whatever you would contribute to the conversation - but, it would be a lie to say that was the sole reason. Their imminent arrival gave you an unpleasant reminder that, aside from your sessions with Hyunjin, you hadn’t left the house - and cleanliness wasn’t typically associated with apathy.

From the couch alone, the mess was impossible not to notice. A lump of unwashed laundry could be seen from the cracked doorway of your bathroom, left there despite the hamper being in your bedroom one door down. The coffee table was littered with unwashed dishes, wrappers, and empty plastic bottles, and the blankets that you’d typically kept folded neatly were all strewn about - discarded on the floor or left on whichever piece of furniture you’d decided to brood on that day.

You rarely went into your room when the boys were around, so you weren’t too concerned about the clothes and items littering the room’s floor and your bed. Your studio was, for obvious reasons, another room you didn't need to worry about...but you didn’t even want to think about the mess in the kitchen. You knew for a fact you hadn’t bothered soaking - let alone washing - any pots or pans you’d used. The murky dishwater in the sink - clouded by the few dishes you had picked up - wasn’t forgotten either. You scrambled to your feet, grabbing empty water bottles from the coffee table in front of you - stumbling in your rush to get them into the recycling bin before returning swiftly to the living room to gather the dishes you’d left behind in your indifference. You set them on the counter, having to use a bit of force to squeeze them into an open space far too small initially, before plunging your hand into the sink with a grimace and pulling the plug - draining the stagnant water from days ago.

With the plug replaced, soap added, and the faucet turned on at a scalding temperature, you hurriedly put the dirty dishes in - grabbing the pots and pans to fill with a bit of water to let them soak in hopes that it appeared as though you weren’t living the way you had been for so long. A whispered curse left your lips as you abandoned the still-filling sink to make your way towards the bathroom - pulling the large pile of clothes into your arms with a soft grunt before trudging into your bedroom and tossing them into the hamper.

You had just gathered the wrappers from the table and thrown them away, on your way to pick up the blankets when you heard a rhythmic knock on the front door - there was no mistaking the one-three-one pattern as Changbin and Felix’s signature, seeing as you’d jointly decided as a group that this was how you’d all make it apparent who was visiting in case of a spontaneous drop-in.

Elation and panic weren’t necessarily an easy pair of emotions to blend together, but that didn’t stop your instant stiffening as your head spun to stare at the rich mahogany - knowing that, for what felt like the first time after an eternity, your friends had arrived.

Kicking blankets towards the corner as you crossed the room hurriedly, you turned the deadbolt and grabbed the knob. Goosebumps covered your arms as you held the cold metal in your hands for a moment - though you’d be remiss to blame it all on the chill - hesitating before turning it and pulling it open. “Hey,” you began before the door was even fully open, your anxiety apparent in the way your voice quavered on such a simple word, “Thanks for coming, I know that–” You were cut off by an abrupt, tightly set pair of arms wrapping around your body as Changbin, standing in front of Felix, crossed the threshold in one long and impatient stride. He didn’t say a word, simply crushing you in what could’ve easily been mistaken as a restraining hold rather than a hug. He was soon joined by Felix, who approached much more slowly and opted to hug you from the side - enveloping you between himself and Changbin with a sniffle that, despite being unable to see his face, made you absolutely certain he was crying.

“Don’t you ever disappear on us like that again,” Changbin muttered against the top of your head as he placed a chaste peck atop your unbrushed tresses, earning a nod felt against your shoulder as Felix silently agreed, likely afraid to speak considering his likelihood to sob the moment he made a sound.

The guilt you’d grown so accustomed to when you’d think about the two of them lurched in your stomach at the way relief had audibly invaded what you were sure Changbin had intended to be a scolding tone.

“I’m sorry…” you choked out, joining Felix in crying as you spoke the only words you could. The only words that felt proper, considering the circumstances. The only words appropriate after snubbing the only people with the potential to understand you during your darkest time.

“Changbin, don’t make them cry!” Felix reprimanded with a sniffle, squeezing you tighter as he shot his best attempt at a glare Changbin’s way.

“I would’ve cried anyway,” it was true, your response. If the guilt on its own wouldn’t have been enough to rouse your emotions, the relief that they came after all this time was.

Felix nodded, but sent Changbin one last playful glare as you were guided inside, making your way to the sofa in tandem, settling in to wait out the storms; raging outside and in your mind.

As the crying ceased on both Felix’s and your end, he and Changbin had questions. You’d been absent from their lives for so long, after all. It was only natural they wanted some answers.

You told them. You told them every unpretty detail.

You told them about your hand, and how despite the effort you made in rehabilitation that it would never be the same.

You told them about the scar, and how sometimes it would hurt as if to taunt you, to remind you as soon as you thought that you were maybe, possibly okay that you would never be again.

You told them about your solitude, surrounded by the company of dirty dishes and overfilled hampers.

You told them about your mother, and the ultimatum she gave you regarding the way you were living.

You told them about Hyunjin, the beautiful boy you were charged with transferring the remaining shreds of the dream you’d always dreamed to.

You told them how, despite your disdain, teaching Hyunjin forced you to make an effort to be human again. To be alive. To wash clothes and wear them clean after taking a shower. To leave your apartment.

You told them how, your own trauma aside, Hyunjin wasn’t all that bad.

You told them how, in a way, it was because of Hyunjin that you’d finally broken your silence today. How wrong it felt to be better for a stranger when the two of them had been waiting for so long.

You told them how deeply, painfully sorry you were.

And, when they told you not to apologize and that they were never going to leave you behind, asking if you’d go shopping with them tomorrow?

You told them nothing would make you happier.

When the two of them left, you felt lighter. As though a great burden had been lifted from your shoulders…or, more accurately, distributed between three sets rather than being carried by you alone.

Changbin and Felix had only been gone for about an hour when the buzz of your phone alerted you to a message from an unfamiliar number.

???: Hey! I hope this isn’t a bad time. Ms. Park gave me your number!

???: This is Hyunjin, by the way.

You knew now who the messages were coming from, though more questions were acquired than answers.

You typed and deleted several responses ranging from, “What do you want?” which you decided seemed a bit too rude, and “Why are you contacting me?” which seemed the same, only stiffer. You finally decided on a tried and true, much more casual:

You: What’s up?

It took only a few seconds for him to respond with a simple question that - from any other mentor - would seem reasonable. Yet your heart, once lightened by the reunion with your friends, seemed to gain several pounds as it plummeted uncomfortably into your stomach.

Hyunjin: Would you be willing to come with me to the art supply store? I’m new to oils and really don’t want to grab the wrong brushes.

Technically speaking, you were perfectly capable and more than qualified to fulfill this task. In fact, at risk of sounding vain, you may be one of the best people to help him out. If he’d have asked you prior to the accident, you’d have jumped on the opportunity to help an aspiring artist purchase their first set of oil-appropriate brushes.

Under different circumstances, you’d have found great joy - fun even - in browsing an art store with someone who wanted to be there. You’d often found yourself wishing for exactly that when you’d notice the bored expressions on Felix and Changbin’s faces on the rare occasions that you’d managed to convince them to tag along.

This, however, was not under those circumstances.

You were not excited. You were not looking forward to it. You would never have wished for this in a million years.

And, despite the fact that Changbin and Felix were; you were not the same.

You debated ghosting him, acting as if you’d perhaps dozed off or set your phone down and lost track of time. You considered telling him to ask the clerk for help instead, despite knowing that they probably knew the bare minimum and were only working there for a paycheck, not passion, and would likely encourage him to buy the most expensive option rather than the most effective. You even considered simply saying, “No.”

You likely would have gone with any of these options had it not been for the way he’d grown on you.

Perhaps it was his apologetic nature during last week’s lesson, when you’d displayed an unexpected level of emotion following his innocent query regarding you painting.

Or perhaps it was the ease with which he offered to drop the subject.

Maybe it could even have a little bit to do with the warmth of his work, and the way it made you feel something other than empty or angry - however briefly, before jealousy took over - for the first time since the accident.

Regardless of why, you did not, in fact, choose any of your reflexive responses. Instead, you agreed, telling him to meet you in about an hour, cleverly choosing a shop other than the one you were once a regular at despite the further distance.

You simply couldn’t handle the barrage of questions Hyunjin would likely have should you be recognized; should it come to light that you had lied to him. That you were, in fact, a painter once.

Once.

The reminder, though self-inflicted, still stung as you gathered your bag and jacket, a pit in your gut still present even as you locked up and made your way to the roadside to hail a taxi. The drive did little to remedy it either, and you found yourself unable to match the smile you were greeted with as Hyunjin spotted you exiting the cab.

“Hey! Thanks again for agreeing even though it was last minute!” he called warmly, jogging up to meet you halfway.

You simply nodded, adjusting the bag over your shoulder and gesturing towards the shop in an attempt to occupy him with something other than expressing his thanks.

There wouldn’t be anything wrong with that if it weren’t for the way the brightness of his smile only seemed to accentuate the shadows of your envy, allowing it to grow and fester despite your intentions to be a good teacher to him.

Luckily, he took the hint without breaking stride, walking a few paces ahead of you as you entered the shop. You watched as he paused, eyes wide and curious, until he smiled once more upon spotting the aisle labeled brushes. You followed along at your same slow pace even as he rushed ahead towards it, finding him with two different sets in each hand as you caught up to him.

Reading the furrow of his brow as an internal debate over which was better, you spoke up from behind him, “Neither of those are what you want.”

He jumped, as if the few second gap between your arrivals in this aisle were enough to startle him. It was endearing, in a way, and you couldn’t help but let out the tiniest laugh in the form of a dry scoff.

Setting both sets down, Hyunjin chuckled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head as he turned to face you, “Which ones then?” he asked, choosing not to acknowledge his brief moment of fright as he gestured with a grand sweeping motion to the display racks.

“Let’s see,” you murmured back to him, letting him off without any teasing, instead taking a few strides forward with your eyes on the rack and skimming each set for a specific logo - a simple white outline of a lily - belonging to the brand you preferred.

Used to prefer.

A pause imperceptible to anyone but yourself made itself in your stride, but you focused on the task at hand. You could handle this. It was just picking out brushes. It wasn’t a taunt from the universe, despite the way it felt. It wasn’t a cruel joke. It was just picking out brushes.

So why was your heart racing like you were about to get thrown into a pit of lions?

Swallowing your own nerves, you reached out to sift through the rack, finally producing the same set of brushes you’d once started with on your own journey, before it had been cut short, and handed it over to Hyunjin.

“These are gonna be your best bet,” you supplied, hoping he’d leave it at that.

Whether it was luck or a bit of intuition on Hyunjin’s part, he did just that.

“Thanks, I would’ve been staring at the rack like a fool for at least twenty minutes if not for you,” he said with a quiet laugh, tucking the set under his arm.

“Think of how many people could have startled you in that time,” you gave an attempt to banter, at which his quiet laughter exploded into a bright, vibrant cackle - out of place both from someone as beautiful as he was, and someplace as quiet as this.

He quickly smacked his hand over his mouth, eyes widening as he continued to snicker, “Since when are you funny?” he asked between subdued snorts.

“There’s more to me than you know.”

What a double-edged answer, considering all that you were actively hiding from him.

“Besides,” you began, keen to distract your mind from the discomfort of dwelling on secrets you kept from Hyunjin, “It wasn’t really that funny.”

A shake of his head prefaced the assurance you hadn’t asked for, “Trust me, I don’t laugh like that often! In fact, believe it or not, I try not to be noisy in quiet, public spaces.”

“Oh, is that so?” you responded with a laugh that felt foreign falling from your lips, shaking your head, “In that case, I will do my utmost to keep my hilarity to a minimum.”

Hyunjin exhaled a small snort from his nose, giving an over-dramatic bow - complete with a flourish - before speaking in an deliberately ostentatious tone, “I am most grateful.”

You shook your head, shoving his arm playfully to spur him back into standing, “Ready to check out?” you asked him, hoping the answer was yes. You wanted - no, needed - to leave.

It wasn’t Hyunjin, by any means. If it were anything but art supplies, you’d actually have quite enjoyed this outing. Hyunjin was good company, once you’d given him a chance. You’d smiled more today than you had in a long while, your cheeks hurting from the lack of use prefacing today.

Hyunjin was warm, bright like the sun, perfectly good company. He was funny without being a tryhard. He was unabashed in his individuality, from the way he bantered to the guffaw you could still hear echoing in your mind.

It definitely wasn’t Hyunjin.

Despite not being your old favorite, being inside of a supply shop still gave you an unwelcome feeling of nostalgia. The scent was the same, regardless of what shop you went to, and you could swear the once-comforting aroma was now a foul stench, something you’d likely shower away when you got home.

“Just about, I need a couple canvases and a few tubes of paint,” he answered absently, blissfully unaware of just how dire of straits you were in.

You nodded, waving him away playfully with your hand in hopes he’d gather what he needed quickly, walking up the aisle to wait near the register for him. You weren’t about to abandon him here, now that the job of finding brushes he’d spontaneously tasked you with was complete. You weren’t that desperate.

It was close, though.

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the counter. A scoff was earned from the cashier, but you were more than used to ignoring people after your recent experience, allowing you to stay put without so much as an apologetic glance.

You shuffled, growing antsier with every moment you waited for Hyunjin. You weren’t exactly spatially aware, and nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard a clatter following the brushing of your bag against the countertop.

“Sorry,” you muttered, ignoring the way the cashier rolled their eyes at you as you bent down to pick up what had fallen.

It was obvious that it was a set of brushes, considering the shape of the package. As you lifted it, something possessed you; whether it be curiosity or masochism, you turned the set around in your hands to get a good look at it.

The first thing you noticed was a simple white lily.

What were the odds? Of anything you could’ve accidentally bumped, it just had to be something you were intimately familiar with? You shook your head, fighting the urge to roll your eyes before you realized that perhaps you weren’t as familiar with this set as you once thought.

Next to the logo was a small, ornate ‘7.’ The last you knew, there were only six sets from this brand.

For the briefest moment, excitement coursed through your veins. Your eyes lit up, your lips twitched in anticipation of a smile. This brand always had such great improvements with every set they released, and you weren’t sure they’d ever release a new one. You owned all six prior sets, and wouldn’t part with them for anything in the world.

And then it hit you.

And the smile that had begun forming dropped.

And you felt sick to your stomach.

Because you would not use these brushes. You no longer used the other six sets.

You would never feel the difference in the improved handle shape, how comfortable it would feel in your hand with the carefully formed grooves.

You wouldn’t buy them without a second thought, as you once would’ve. You wouldn’t rush home to lock yourself away until someone came to check on you; because you wouldn’t need checked on, considering you’d never get so sucked into painting that you’d forget the outside world ever again.

“Hey! Sorry I took so long!” Hyunjin chirped from behind you, making you jerk your head up towards him.

“Oh, uh, no problem,” you managed, though you sounded more robotic than you’d intended. You set the brushes down on the counter, quickly enough that you nearly knocked over the rest of the display, “I’m gonna wait outside, okay?”

Confusion furrowed the man’s brow as he tilted his head, inquisitive gaze locked on you as though he could find the answers he sought in your face if he stared long enough, “Uh…sure. You okay?”

Damn him.

Damn his earnest concern and his functional fucking hands.

Damn his too-loud laugh and his ability to get so lost comparing sets of brushes that your return after only a few seconds startled him.

Damn his drive to improve, damn the way he made you smile, and damn the universe for bringing him into your life now; when you’d lost the ability to fully appreciate him.

“I’m fine,” you lied with a forced smile, nodding your head quickly, “Just need some air.”

“Oh…sure,” Hyunjin answered slowly, returning the smile - though the furrowed brows remained, betraying the concern he still felt. “I’ll try to be quick.”

“Take your time,” you called over your shoulder, having already been walking as fast as was socially acceptable indoors the moment you’d heard the first syllable of a positive response.

Your chest felt tight, your heart in a vice as you gritted your teeth, forcing air into your lungs in short little gasps. The doors seemed so far, and your steps felt too slow…but you did eventually make it outside, sitting down on a bench as you ran a hand through your hair and stared up at the sky, focusing on getting your breath under control before Hyunjin was finished.

God forbid you give him yet another reason to worry. It was ironic that, despite becoming his mentor to avoid such a fate, you didn’t doubt he may be wondering if you should be institutionalized considering your proclivity to lose your composure around him.

By the time he returned, you were as composed as you’d get considering the thoughts swirling tumultuously in your mind. A tight lipped smile from your end was returned brightly by Hyunjin, all traces of furrowed brows and concern completely wiped from his now elated face.

“I didn’t take too long, did I?” he asked as you rose from the bench.

“Not at all,” you shook your head as you spoke, silently grateful that he’d taken as long as he had. You didn’t want to imagine how he’d look right now if you’d still been struggling to breathe upon his return.

“That’s a relief,” his voice sounded…excited somehow. Like a child eager for praise - his eyes wide and bright and his lips still upturned happily. You wondered what, exactly, had brought him into this state of mind…though you didn’t need to wait long.

He reached into the white paper bag, his slender fingers grabbing something out and lifting it.

The first thing you saw; a white lily. The second; the number ‘7.’

Your stomach sank. Was this a joke? You already struggled to teach him, considering his ability to do what you no longer could…and now he was going to use the brushes you never would? Internally, you wondered if rage or sadness would be more appropriate - despite the answer being neither, considering he didn’t know any better.

Damn him.

Damn his –

“I noticed you were looking at these when I came up to check out,” he began, cutting off your internal rant, and earning a disconcerted tilt of the head from you.

“And?” you asked, a bit too sharply to be towards someone who was simply making conversation.

It isn’t his fault, don’t be a dick, you reminded yourself, gritting your teeth.

“And,” he drew out the word, treating your venom as though it was nothing more than a continuation of the simple banter you’d shared in the brush aisle, “I wanted to thank you for all of your help so far, but you don’t share much.” He paused, holding the set out towards you.

No.

Oh, please no.

Your heart lurched into your throat as you realized…he didn’t buy them for his own use. He got them for you.

He was giving you the very object that had spurred your hasty retreat from the shop in the first place.

Damn him.

Damn him and the way his eyes bored into yours, waiting for a response besides a dumbfounded drop of your jaw.

Damn him and the way that, despite thinking he had done something good, he was just like a housecat. Bringing you a dead rat, very proud and completely unaware that you did not want to touch it.

Waiting for praise. For gratitude.

He must have noticed your silence, because his bright smile turned into more of a shy, half-upturned grin, his voice softer and filled with significantly less glee.

“It’s just…You looked excited for a second when you picked them up, so I figured they must be important, even though you said you didn’t paint,” he paused to laugh under his breath…but not like he had earlier. This was not joyful, it reeked of self-deprecation and embarrassment.

Damn him and his ability to make you feel guilty for the feelings you cannot control.

“Shit, I’m sorry–” you wondered for a moment why he was apologizing for such a kind gesture, but got your answer in the form of wetness becoming apparent on your cheeks. He reached out with his sleeve, wiping at the tears, looking and sounding so very panicked.

You shook your head, ignoring the comfort his hands brushing away your sadness brought, and wondered if he even knew exactly what he was apologizing for. Surely he knows he did nothing wrong…before the accident, you would’ve likely crushed him in a hug upon being given the exact gift that had you in shambles now.

“It’s stupid, you told me you didn’t paint,” he sighed deeply, looking down at you with that same worried, furrowed brow he’d shown inside. He lowered his hand from your face - his perfectly functional, unscarred hand - and rummaged through the bag with it, “I should’ve asked if you wanted them, I’m sorry.”

You couldn’t do anything other than shake your head, the ability to form words gone as you struggled to even garner a single cohesive thought.

“I’m sure I can bring them back, I kept the receipt–”

“No!”

You surprised yourself with the quickness with which you declined his offer to rid you of this accidental reminder of what you’d lost; quicker still had you reached out and snatched the set from his hands, holding it tightly to your chest.

“No..?” Hyunjin asked, the slightest hint of relief creeping into his voice - so subtle and tentative. So ready to return the brushes and apologize again at the first sign of discontent.

You were just as surprised as he was, unsure of what possessed you to decline the offer that would remove the unwelcome reminder.

Maybe it was the pride with which he’d presented them to you, or a desire to wipe the worry from his expression.

Or, maybe it was simply a dream refusing to die.

“No,” you repeated, shaking your head and looking up at him. Tears no longer fell, and you sniffled quietly as you felt your lips pull up into the smallest of smiles.

“Are you sure?” he asked slowly, as if prepared at any time to take the brushes back to the cashier. You gave him a nod and tucked the brushes away in your bag.

“Absolutely.”

Hyunjin nodded, and as per usual didn’t press any further. Hyunjin was good about that, aside from your initial meeting. It was easy to assume he’d learned not to delve too deep into your psyche following the abrupt exit you’d made.

The only question he’d asked after your acceptance of the brushes was if you’d like to share a cab, to which you agreed, standing at his side as he hailed the first one to come by.

You watched out the window as the cityscape blurred by, keeping your gaze on the window. It was easy to get lost in your own mind with the drone of the tires on asphalt serving as white noise, easily lulling you into tangential thought.

Perhaps there was more about Hyunjin that you envied, aside from his ability to paint. To dream.

Everything seemed to roll right off of him. The moments you’d seen him concerned were so easily put behind him. He didn’t dwell. He didn’t linger. He moved forward, unstoppable despite the way you were effectively acting as a roadblock.

He kept showing up to lessons following the very first one, in which you could readily admit you did not make the best first impression.

You wished you could do that, move forward without looking back. If it were a skill to be taught, maybe you could ask Hyunjin for lessons in exchange for the ones you gave him.

With that thought in your mind, you finally spoke into the silence of the backseat.

“What would you do if you woke up tomorrow and couldn’t paint?”

You heard Hyunjin rustle across the seat, his breath coming out in an extended sigh as he contemplated how to answer. You didn’t need to tell him what happened to you in order to pick his brain, you’d realized.

“You mean like…if I forgot how to?” he asked, his tone riddled with confusion.

“No,” you murmured, turning your gaze from the window to look at him, “I mean…If something happened to make you lose your ability.”

Hyunjin hummed, looking up at the roof of the cab as he rubbed his chin in thought, his head tilted back against the headrest.

You couldn’t help but wish you had the luxury of considering this situation as rhetorical.

Finally speaking up as the vehicle came to a stop in front of your apartment, Hyunjin let his head loll over without lifting to look at you, “I wouldn’t accept that,” he answered firmly, “I’d keep trying until I could again.”

You didn’t realize you were laughing until the sound came out of your mouth, earning a befuddled look from your companion, his lower lip jutting out slightly.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, looking almost offended, as though there were some inside joke he desperately wanted to understand but wouldn’t get an explanation to.

You simply shook your head, waving a hand and stopping your laughter with a sigh, “Nothing, nothing at all,” you mused, lips still upturned in amusement as you got out of the cab, closing the door and walking up the steps to your apartment, turning around at the door to wave goodbye.

Still appearing painfully puzzled, Hyunjin lifted his hand to wave back. Though, considering the slowness of the action, it could hardly be considered such.

As the cab pulled away, you made your way inside. Locking the door and removing your shoes, you picked up the brushes and set them down on the coffee table, a wistful smile on your lips as one thought echoed over and over in your mind.

If only it were that easy.

#hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin angst #hyunjin romance #hwang hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x you #hyunjin fanfic #hyunjin fanfiction #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #skz angst #skz romance

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localplaguenurse · 9 months

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Pantalone Appearance Headcanons

Or, they’re sort of appearance headcanons? Combination appearnce and self care headcanons. Think of this as a sort of part two of my health headcanons, it’s just an extension of how his childhood/health have affected his day to day life. Brief mention of lice and mentioned/implied self esteem issues.

Pantalone’s body is on the softer side. It just clings onto fat and refuses to let it go. No, he’s not fat or chubby by any means, he’s actually rather svelte, it’s just that he doesn’t have a lot of muscle definition because childhood starvation ate away at his muscle mass and threw his metabolism out of whack.

His skin appears porcelain pure when he’s in public, in both colouration and even texture, but if you get close to him or catch him in private, you’ll see it’s just makeup. He has some imperfections in his skin, from getting kicked around all his life, childhood and even adulthood acne, and a bit of aging. His skin is also a little more sickly in complexion on some days, and he’s got rather prominent eye bags. Some days they’re lighter, other days it looks like he’s been hit in the face, so he usually covers up with makeup.

Which as an aside, I think he would enjoy makeup regardless, but most of the time it’s a coverup rather than anything actually fun.

Has a very thorough morning and evening self care routine, has a wide variety of lotions, ointments, oils, face scrubs, body scrubs, face masks, soaps, cleansers, it is insane. (Eat your heart out, Lush.)

Because he was very poor, he was unable to adequately take care of his teeth among other things. One of the first things he did once he started making money was get dental work done. I have such a strong mental image in my head of younger Pantalone on opening day for the Northland Bank with braces on.

Since then, he’s gone through several retainers and currently has a metal wire fitted behind his teeth (Thank you Machiko for your contribution). He also takes dental hygiene very seriously with brushing, flossing, mouth wash, etc..

Because of all this dental business, the ever smiling banker is actually very careful about how he smiles. He rarely ever smiles with his teeth due to his experiences with braces. They made him look younger than he really was, almost juvenile, and as such it made it difficult to be taken seriously because why would anyone listen to some crazy kid ranting about economics?

The only time you will see him smile with his teeth is if he is with someone he trusts, or someone has told a really, really funny joke.

He cares so much about his hair. He has all manner of shampoos, conditioners, oils, brushes, combs, accessories, and has put so much thought into how he chooses to style his luscious locks.

During his time in poverty, it was not uncommon for him to go for extended periods of time without washing or brushing his hair, which resulted in it being a tangled, matted mess when it was long. Even if he did have a brush on hand, it was just easier, faster, and less painful to cut it all off than try and untangle it.

Having long hair, to Pantalone, is a source of pride and comfort to him, as he can not only keep it from getting that bad again, but if he ever gets it cut, it’s because he wants to get it cut. Not because it’s too messy to fix, or too dirty, or full of lice, but because he is actively choosing of his own free will to have shorter hair.

He’s also been dyeing it black. He actually has more grey in his hair than he wishes to admit or show, so he regularly dyes it black save for one lock of grey hair. He thinks it makes him look distinguished and handsome. It does.

This whole thought process came to me because I was wondering if Pantalone would have had any sort of cosmetic surgery, and I think no. Not unless there just happened to be a cosmetic side effect. He’s naturally a very pretty man once you get him cleaned up and cared for, and he doesn’t want to be slowed down by recovery periods if they’re not even necessary.

(That doesn’t include gender affirming operations if you subscribe to the trans Pantalone agenda, which I do on occasion because as a transmasc enby he gives me the worst genderlust imaginable. Gender affirming surgeries are so much more than merely cosmetic, they’re life changing and even life saving.)

Pantalone carries himself with an abundance of confidence and pride in his appearance. He knows he is handsome, he takes great care to maintain his image, and he knows when and how to use it.

Still, when you spend so long trying to get to where you are, especially in regards to your appearance, there are things you cannot shake off so easily. Things people probably won’t even notice or care about if they do, but if you can see it, then so can everyone else. That’s why Pantalone goes to such lengths to appear the way he does, because people eat with their eyes first, and if they don’t like what they see, then they won’t bother.

#pantalone #genshin impact #genshin pantalone #pantalone headcanons

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drarrily-we-row-along · 2 years

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July 3: Fruit Stand

Harry hadn't ever skived off of work. He'd never called in sick (even when he was), he'd never taken a mental health day, never even used a day of vacation time.

But when he woke up this morning, he just couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't go into work for another day, couldn't listen to stories of heart ache and misery, couldn't keep fighting the darkness like there was nothing else left in the world.

So he called in sick. It was surprisingly, ridiculously simple. They didn't even ask him any questions.

As soon as he got off the floo call, he put on a pair of muggle skinny jeans and plain black t-shirt. He pulled his hair up into a messy bun, put on a pair of sunglasses, and got into the convertible he'd purchased on a whim three years ago.

With the top down, Harry took off down the road, music blaring as he drove wherever the roads took him.

He ended up driving along the dirt roads in the country, hardly wide enough for two cars. The fields and the sun, the dirt and the humid air, it made him all but giddy.

And when he saw a fruit stand off the side of the road, he couldn't resist pulling over to see what they were selling. He parked and meandered through, touching the veggies and fruits, sniffing the bouquets of fresh flowers.

The sound of a crate being set onto the table behind him startled him and he turned, ready to greet the person who'd come into the stall only to be struck mute instead.

And for a moment, Harry was certain that it couldn’t be Draco Malfoy unloading mason jars onto the table. Draco Malfoy would never be caught wearing dirty jeans and a white tshirt with a hole in the side. He couldn’t have imagined that Malfoy would have hair long enough to braid, but that strands would slip messily out of the braid. There was no world in which Draco Malfoy would be caught wearing muddy work boots, or that he’d have dirt streaking his forearms all the way up to his elbows.

The other man was still adjusting the glass jars when he spoke and Harry was positive it was Malfoy, "Good morning," he started, "sorry I wasn't here when you-" he turned and caught sight of Harry, "Potter?" he asked, taking a startled step back. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

"I don't even know where here is," Harry confessed. "I just started driving-"

"And ended up at my fruit stand?" he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” he replied, “As unbelievable as it sounds.”

Malfoy blinked at him, seemed to weigh that information in his mind before nodding once, "fine."

"Fine?"

He shrugged and went back to pulling the glass jars out of the crate he'd brought over. "What else am I supposed to say?"

And when Harry actually thought about that, he supposed that was fair. What had he expected? "Maybe you'd like to insult me, for old time's sake," he offered.

Malfoy snorted, "I'm more self aware than I was at 13."

Harry cocked his head at him, finger idly tracing the fuzzy skin of a peach in the basket in front of him, "What does that mean?"

"That I can recognize that I was a gay teenager, desperate for attention."

Harry laughed, couldn't help it. Malfoy's eyes flashed but Harry spoke up before he could say anything, "It's funny because that was one of the first things I realized after I realized I was bi."

Malfoy's shoulders eased a bit, he gave Harry another long assessing look and seemed to decide to hold his tongue. "Those peaches are good, by the way."

"Are they?" Harry asked as he lifted one from the basket.

The other man hummed, "I have it on good authority that they're the best batch of peaches I've ever sold."

"Good authority, huh?" Harry said as he pulled out his wallet.

"First one's on the house," Malfoy said, waving away the money Harry was trying to offer him. "And yes, Martha has been buying my peaches for her pies for years. She just won the county pie baking contest yesterday and told me that she was certain it was because my peaches are to die for this year."

"Only one way to find out, I suppose," Harry replied as he brought the peach to his lips and bit into it. Flavor burst across his tongue, juice dripping down his chin and fingers, and he couldn't help but let out a soft groan at how good it tasted.

"Told you," Malfoy said with a pleased little grin as he watched Harry.

He swallowed the bite, "Merlin, Malfoy," he said. "That is the best thing I have ever tasted. I want to buy an entire bushel."

"I'll make a deal with you," Malfoy said, "If you help me with carrying up some crates from my barn, I'll give you an entire bushel."

"Alright," he replied around another mouthful of decadent peach, because he honestly couldn't see a downside to that.

Malfoy grinned at him, "Come on then."

He followed the other man toward the barn, tossing away the pit once he'd finished the fruit. Malfoy pulled the door open and Harry was met with the sight of more crates than he'd ever seen in his life. "What in the name of Merlin-"

"I don't grow all of my own fruit, obviously," Malfoy said. "So I trade with other farmers. I have lots of crates to return," he added.

Harry laughed, "I'll say."

"I just don't have time-" Malfoy started, "And they all have families to help them-"

He softened, he understood that sentiment well, "I'll help," he said quickly.

Malfoy gave him a grateful little smile and Harry wondered at it for a moment, until Malfoy started giving him instructions. "It's pretty simple," he said earnestly, "Just sort them by their marking, we'll make stacks out by the fruit stand so that we can trade back."

"Got it," Harry said as he started to pull crates down.

There was the sound of crunching gravel as a car pulled up, "Sorry-" Malfoy started.

"It's fine," Harry said, waving him off, "Go ahead."

Malfoy gave him a grateful little smile and headed over toward the fruit stand once more. Harry watched him go for a minute before turning back to the crates and starting to sort once more.

-----------------

It had taken him a couple of hours, but he'd managed to sort everything and bring the crates up to sit beside the fruit stand. In return, Malfoy had given him a bushel of peaches for his labor.

That had been five weeks ago and Harry had found himself driving back each week on his day off. To buy more peaches, of course. Not because he wanted to help Draco.

Only, there was something about Draco's smile when Harry asked if he could trade him some labor for peaches that made his stomach swoop.

"The DMLE really must not pay you all that well, if you're here looking to work every week," Draco teased that afternoon after Harry had finished helping him sort the crates and fill them with the peaches and honey that Draco was trading with them.

He hummed, "I think it costs me more to work there than I actually make," he muttered darkly.

"Say more about that," Draco murmured, shoulder brushing against Harry's.

Harry closed his eyes and let the sun soak into his skin, "I feel like everything is dark there," he said, which he knew sounded like bullshit. "I'm constantly fighting wave after wave of people doing evil or idiotic shit and it just-" he broke off, shaking his head, "You start to forget that places like this exist. That sunshine and fresh air are easily accessible, that there's hard work to be done that's meaningful and life sustaining in it's own way."

Draco hummed, "Maybe you should look for a new job."

They might have said more but one of the neighboring farmers pulled up with his rusty old pick up and they were swapping out crates of produce.

Still, the thought echoed in Harry's mind when he went to bed that night, not quite able to shake it.

--------------

When he returned the next week, he was a bit worse for the wear; the last case he'd been on had gone horribly wrong. His magic going haywire in self defense had been the only thing that let him make it out alive. He was hobbling a bit as he got out of his car and made his way around the trunk, wincing as pain tugged at his ribs.

"You look like shit," Draco said when he looked up and caught sight of him, but the concern in his voice and in his eyes belied his words.

Harry hummed, "Being cursed repeatedly with experimental curses will do that to a person."

"What?" Draco asked, rising to his feet and moving to Harry, fingers fluttering over Harry's neck as he looked at him.

And it felt so good, to have someone care, to have Draco's tentative fingers brushing his skin as though he wanted to fix something, that his eyes welled up with tears, much to his mortification.

"Hey," Draco said, hands gripping his shoulders a bit more firmly as he drew Harry into his embrace, "Are you alright?"

"Sorry," he said, trying to pull away, "It's stupid."

"Hush," Draco replied, keeping Harry in his arms, "Tell me you're alright," he instructed.

Harry nodded against his neck, letting himself relax in Draco's arms, "I'm okay. I'll be okay," he clarified, "Just sore still."

"Okay," Draco murmured, his hands rubbing soothingly over Harry's back. "Okay," he whispered again.

When they drew back from each other Harry rubbed the back of his neck, "Sorry-" he tried again.

"For what?" Draco asked, as he went back to putting fruit into the display cases. "Having human emotions? Not being unbreakable all the time?"

He huffed, "You didn't sign up to help me get over being a basket case."

"First, you're not a basket case, you've experienced trauma" he said, with the air of someone who had repeated that phrase over and over as he tossed Harry a peach. "Second, who has signed up for that job?"

"No one," Harry said through a mouthful of fruit. "Who would want to?"

Draco turned and looked at him, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen out of his braid behind his ear, "I would."

Before Harry could even think to respond, Draco was transfiguring a basket into a chair in the corner of the room between the peaches and the honey jars, “sit,” he instructed.

“I’m here to help,” Harry protested.

Draco nodded, “Great. Then sit down,” he repeated.

With a huff, Harry collapsed into the chair.

"Have you ever collected honey from a honey comb?"

"Is that a serious question?" Harry asked, eyebrows furrowing.

Draco shrugged, "Well you know what they say about assuming things."

Harry laughed, "No, Draco," he said. "I've never collected honey from the comb."

"Well," Draco said, dragging over a box and placing it beside the chair Harry was in, "I was going to work on it today anyway. But you can work on this and since I have you here, I'll work on boxing up more jars of honey."

"Alright," Harry said, "What do I have to do?"

Draco patiently showed Harry how to use the uncapping comb to take the wax off of the honey comb that blocked the honey, then how to carefully load the honeycomb into the extractor. Harry diligently filled the extractor with the honeycomb, then, per Draco's instructions, started to hand turn the extractor. It was surprisingly difficult, hand turning the extractor, spinning the comb to get the honey to come out. But when he'd finished he felt pride swell under his breastbone and he looked up to see Draco watching him from the corner where he was putting flowers into vases, a little smile at the corner of his lips that he didn't bother hiding.

He came over to where Harry was still sitting and handed him a pail that he covered with a cheese cloth, and showed Harry how to drain the honey from the extractor and separate the wax. Then he handed him a pail for the wax, explaining that he'd make lotions, soaps, candles, and even lip balms with the wax later.

And Harry couldn't help but feel even more amazed at this version of Draco who'd learned to do so many things by hand, the muggle way. who was patient, and diligent, and hardworking.

The day went on in much the same fashion, Harry continuing to extract the honey and strain it. He helped to cover the stand when people stopped by while Draco went back and forth from the barn, bringing up crates and filling them. Draco tossed him peaches to eat throughout the day and Harry found himself staying longer than he normally would and feeling glad of it.

When Draco was closing up the fruit stand, Harry stood, covering the last bucket so it could sit for 48 hours and allow the wax to rise to the top. Draco had told him that he'd skim it off the top with a metal spoon. He stretched and winced as it pulled at a bruised rib.

"Come in for dinner?" Draco offered.

Harry blinked at him, not having expected such an invitation.

"It's nothing fancy," Draco hurried to add. "Just some beef stew that's been simmering in the crockpot and I was going to throw together some biscuits," he shrugged, "but there's enough for two. If you want?"

"I'd love that," Harry said eagerly, "If it's not too much of an imposition."

Draco smiled at him, open and easy, "Not at all. Come on," he said, nodding toward the house.

Like a stray in need of a meal, Harry followed at Draco's heels and sat at the counter, eating fresh strawberries from the carton while Draco talked about his bees and made baking powder biscuits. And Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this content.

Maybe he never had.

He stayed late, they'd moved onto Draco's porch, drinking a raspberry lemonade that Draco made himself and chatted as the stars came out and the cicadas began to sing.

After a comfortable moment of silence, Harry sighed. "I should go," he said, ankle knocking against Draco's where they're resting on the porch railing next to each other.

"No you shouldn't," Draco said, turning his head to look at Harry and Harry turned to look back at him. "You should quit your job and buy a farm."

Harry laughed, "I couldn't possibly own a farm, I wouldn't know where to start."

"I didn't either," Draco said softly.

"Yeah, but you're-" he broke off, not sure how to finish that thought.

"I'm?" he prompted.

He licked his lower lip, "Resilient," he murmured, "Brilliant," he added and watched as Draco's cheeks flushed a pretty pink in the pale light coming through the kitchen window, "too stubborn for your own good," he teased.

Draco huffed a laugh, "Isn't stubborn your middle name?"

"Maybe," he conceded. "But I'm not brave like you."

"Harry James Potter!" he all but shouted, swatting at him, "you take that back, you absolute pillock. You are literally the poster child of Gryffindor bravery and heroics."

"But it's different, isn't it?" he asked softly. It was something he'd been thinking a lot about since he found Draco here all those weeks ago.

"What is?"

He shrugged, "I've been brave in all of the ways I was expected to be. I've followed the rules and guidelines laid out for me and have been the perfect storybook hero."

"Right, so bravery is also your middle name."

He laughed, "that's a lot of middle names," he teased and Draco rolled his eyes. "But it's different to be brave like you've been," he said seriously. "To try something new, something off the beaten path, to do something that no one is asking of you, to start again with no support." He shrugged, "You're really brave."

"I might kiss you," he said, eyes dropping to Harry's lips.

The smile that threatened was too big to be contained, "I might let you."

Draco was out of his seat slipping his knees on either side of Harry's thighs, and they were laughing a little breathlessly as the rocker made it an extra challenge for him to straddle Harry. Draco paused inches away from Harry's mouth, meeting his eyes, and all of the laughter drained from his body.

He carded his fingers through Harry's curls, slowly combing them back from his face as he looked at him like he was intent on memorizing every freckle. Then he carefully slipped Harry's glasses off, to allow his fingertips free access to carefully traced his temples, his cheekbones, nails scraping lightly against Harry's beard.

And Harry could barely breathe, could barely move, too afraid that if he shifted he'd break the spell and Draco would realize that it was Harry that he was touching with such reverent care.

"You've no idea just how exceptional you are, do you?" Draco asked softly but before Harry could answer, Draco's lips were brushing over his, the lightest, barely-there pressure before he drew back again.

"Draco," he rasped, "Please."

The other man groaned and cupped Harry's face as he brought their lips together once more, applying more pressure this time, and Harry's head was swimming at the contact. He gasped into the kiss and his fingers clenched in Draco's t-shirt, pulling him closer. Draco obliged him, sinking lower into his lap so he could get a better angle.

He had no idea how long they sat on the porch kissing and kissing and kissing, but he knew he was dizzy with it when Draco drew back to press their foreheads together.

He skimmed his hands along Draco's sides and Draco shuddered. "You're so sensitive," Harry murmured, and he was sure the awe in his voice was a tangible thing.

Draco swallowed and Harry nudged his chin back with his nose so he could trail kisses along the pale column of Draco's neck. Draco let out a soft whine and Harry's blood sang. "I've never-" he started, then broke off to whimper when Harry's scraped his teeth lightly over his adam's apple.

"Never?" he prompted.

"Done this," Draco whispered, like the confession terrified him.

Harry buried his face in Draco's neck, fingers clenching in his shirt, "Yeah?" he asked.

Draco nodded, then hastened to add more like he thought Harry needed a justification, "I just never-"

"You don't have to explain," Harry said, lifting his head and drawing Draco's mouth back to his own, to kiss him lingeringly.

The other man sank into the kiss again and Harry wanted to do so many things, wanted to deepen the kiss, wanted to slip his hands under Draco's shirt; wanted to touch him and kiss him and hold him until he was shattering, until he was falling apart, and the only thing holding him together was Harry.

He pulled back, "I should go," he said.

"That's a terrible idea," Draco replied, leaning in to steal more kisses.

Harry groaned and slid his hands into Draco's hair, undoubtedly making a mess of his braid. "I should go," he murmured against Draco's mouth.

Draco shook his head, and let out a petulant and needy whine, and Harry almost caved.

"Draco," he murmured, cupping his cheeks and pulling back far enough that he could get him to look at him. "I want to do this the right way."

He pouted at him, "What's 'the right way'?" he asked, making air quotes around the words.

"I want to take it slow," Harry murmured, kissing his pouting lower lip. "I want to kiss you, and hold your hand, and take you to dinner," he said as he pressed a kiss to the corner of Draco's mouth. "I don't want this to be just one heat of the moment encounter. I want you to want this-"

"I want it," Draco whined. "Trust me."

Harry chuckled and sucked Draco's lower lip into his mouth, "I want it too," he said when he pulled back again.

"Then stay," he said, hands rubbing over Harry's shoulders.

"I want you to know I'm serious," he said. "I don't want you to think I'm not in it for the long haul."

"I promise not to think that," he said, fingers toying with the collar of Harry's shirt.

Harry groaned, "You are making it very difficult to be a gentleman."

"Good," he replied unrepentantly.

He laughed, nose brushing over the spot between Draco's neck and ear and making the other man shiver. "Anticipation is a good thing," he murmured directly into Draco's ear and his entire body shuddered. "Trust me."

"Are you really going to leave?" he asked.

Harry nodded, sucking his earlobe into his mouth.

"Fuck," Draco cursed, pulling out of his arms and off his lap. "If you are leaving, you need to do it now, or I swear to Merlin I will not be held accountable for my actions."

He laughed and held his hands up in surrender as he stood out of the chair, groaning as his sore muscles stretched. "Besides," he added, grinning with mischief, "I want to be in tip top condition, not grunting and groaning every time I move, like an old man," he said as he stepped down off the porch.

"Best not wait too long, then," Draco replied snarkily, following Harry to his car.

When he reached the car, he turned and wrapped his arms around Draco one more time, "I had a really good time tonight."

"Me too," he said, hands lightly trailing over Harry's chest. "Let's do it again sometime."

"Is tomorrow too soon?"

Draco smiled, "You tell me," he said. "You're the one with the plan to take it slow."

He laughed, "I'm just thinking that I've got some vacation time I haven't used. Have any use for an extra set of hands around here?"

"Plenty," Draco said as his thumb honed in on Harry's nipple.

He grunted in surprise, "You're a menace," he said, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin.

Draco caught his face and kissed his lips again, soundly. "You are welcome to stay," he said.

"Tomorrow," Harry promised, kissing him once more before starting to de-tangle himself.

"Tomorrow," Draco repeated.

Harry grinned at him and climbed into the car, he leaned over the side and gave Draco a wink. "Sweet dreams."

As he drove off, Harry couldn't help but think that he was more excited for 'tomorrow' than he could remember being in a long time. The next morning he started to call in to use vacation time, but ended up quitting instead.

Within the month, he'd moved in with Draco and there they stayed, happily farming peaches and keeping bees until the day they died.

-------------

July 2: Garden Hose | July 4: Radio

Read more of my gentle July ficlets

#drarry #gentle july #love #soft #fluff #bee keeper draco #auror harry #peaches can grow in England- in case anyone was wondering #don't ask me where #I didn't do enough research #easing back into writing

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fatestayyuri · 8 months

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Finished Ward Arc 3

TL;DR: taking an indefinite hiatus you can all unfollow me now

okay so like. first things first; probably gonna take a break for my own sanity’s sake! not the Biggest fan of his writing and the fact that from everything i’ve heard it only gets worse from here Does Not Assure me. anyway,

tattletale is so fucking funny Victoria just shows up and goes “fuck youuuuuu” and blames her for the [????] that amy did (i still have no idea what amy did) and lisa’s just like. “yeah. whatever. stop being a cop idiot.” then fucks off and leaves. the thing about wildbow’s writing is that while lisa comes off as like. kind of an annoying (endearing) loser who feels the need to overexplain to literally everyone i’m pretty sure wildbow intended her as his take on a Holmes-like all-knowing smart person? that’s honestly way funnier than any of his jokes tbh

the thing about arc 3 is that it’s not particularly objectionable enough to be a fun hateread and the annoying bits are subtle enough and caked in enough to the character moments that it just kind of blends into a big slog. Tristan and the other one’s dynamic reads INCREDIBLY gauche and all of the other stuff i’ve seen as part of the book club don’t lead me to read it kindly. i think that’s the problem actually by reading it all at once as a group we’ve been inundated with so much Wildbow moments so quickly that i kind of stopped reading it “with love” as it were; I kind of just see the artifice of a deeply copbrained liberal sockpuppeting characters and getting them to compliment his writing.

I think a large part of this is that i don’t actually particularly like superhero settings wait no actually i just remember that like my #2 favourite web serial is a superhero one i think i just hate wildbow’s writing i think

yeah it’s like, i don’t think wildbow should write fight scenes they kind of suck. Victoria “flying brick / cop Dallon doesn’t really have an interesting enough skillset to carry 2 million words of fights around. sorry. all of it tends to boil down to “punch really hard physically or emotionally” and i’m Bored. even the fight scenes as metaphor for emotional moments is Boring. it doesn’t do enough.

and like, i can’t actually take the [whatever untitled group] thing seriously since i got spoiled that Tristan is gay and the other one is straight so like. this just comes off as blaringly homophobic in the “what if the world was made out of pudding” sense. fuck off

yeah it’s really really hard to justify continuing to read this, when i am told that it only gets worse from here. like, genuinely wondering why i should spend that time when instead i could finish reading good serials, or the VNs on my backlog, or do literally anything else

sorry Certified Wardheads (all three of you) but like. indefinite hiatus for my mental health this shit sands away at my brain. i could probably say more but like, unlike the other stuff i’ve subjected myself to (Tsukihime) i’m not even promised something like, Good good in spite of all the forks. there’s other stories where you just have to do jury duty for 40 hours instead of eating forks for the sphagetti. i have a newfound appreciation for VNs that are just boring before they get good now

#ward lb

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demi-shoggoth · 8 months

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2023 Reading Log, pt. 11

51. The Book of Fun by Russ Frushtick. This is a collection of anecdotes about and descriptions of various ways that people have fun, such as toys, games, festivals and theme parks. Each page has a paragraph or two of text and a painting to accompany it, and the book covers everything from the history of Coney Island to the time World of Warcraft had a plague. It’s a fun little miscellany, a good bathroom reader type of book, but not very substantial.

52. Queer Ducks (And Other Animals) by Eliot Schrefer. This book is aimed at young adult audiences (think high school students) and is about animal sexuality. It summarizes quite a bit of research, including pretty new material, covering homosexual behavior in animals. The thesis, of course, is that animals have a wide range of sexual behaviors, so these existing in humans as well is perfectly natural. The book also has interviews with a number of queer biologists about their research and their experiences with representation, intersectionality and other topics. Plus, there’s cartoons! Honestly, the cartoons are probably my least favorite part; they’re cute and have a funny premise (a QSA meeting at a high school for animals), but the animals are all mean and judgy with each other. This feels like it misses the point, even if it might be more accurate to the high school experience. Still, the writing is good, and it covers some stuff I had never heard of, like velvet bucks and other mammals that have common intersex members.

53. Sentient by Jackie Higgins. This book is about senses, using examples from the animal kingdom as a launching point to discuss how the sense works in humans. The book starts with vision, covering the many (tumblr famous) cones of the mantis shrimp, but how recent evidence suggests their color vision isn’t actually particularly good. I was familiar with most of the animal examples discussed, but a lot of the content on human health and senses was new to me. The material that wasn’t new to me, like the controversy over whether humans have pheromones are not, is told very well. And the coverage of the different kinds of touch, and how humans have touch receptors that seem to be linked to areas that are commonly groomed in other primates that are connected to things like mood and mental health… well, that helped put my touch starvation into context.

54. The Devil’s Atlas by Edward Brooke-Hitching. I usually quite like Edward Brooke-Hitching books, so this one was something of a surprise disappointment. The book talks about how different religions and cultures have conceptualized heavens, hells and other afterlives, with copious illustrations. My first complaint is the sorting into heavens and hells, when a lot of the afterlives discussed don’t really fit into the model of paradise or torment. The coverage of each is pretty superficial—there’s a post-script about utopias (including More’s Utopia) that I feel could have been cut in place of more thorough takes on the religions. My biggest complaint, though, is an editing one. No fewer than eight chapters are cut off, so that the last sentence (or even paragraph) is incomplete. It’s remarkably frustrating, and it took me right out of the book.

55. Snakes of the World by Mark O’Shea. Another in the X of the World series put out by Princeton University Press, this is pretty similar in content to the other books in the series. The first quarter or so of the pages are devoted to an overview of the biology of the group, and the rest of it is surveys of its biodiversity, organized by subfamilies and geographic regions. Mark O’Shea also wrote Lizards of the World, and this book seems in many ways to be a direct sequel to it. The main draw, of course, are the species accounts, which include gorgeous photography of a wide variety of species, including some very obscure taxa.

#reading log #snakes #herpetology #comparative religion #folklore #art book #animal behavior #neuroscience #biology #lgtbq #queer #games

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hersweetrevenge · 9 months

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corey cunningham headcanons [volume three]

corey has my heart, i want to know every single detail about him, and if i am not given that information then i will simply make it up (he told me through prophetic dreams). based on this set of questions. and if you missed the previous instalments, no you didn't: volume one and volume two.

[credit where credit is due, some of these hcs are shared with @/slutforstabbings, and i have merely adopted into my own belief system and expanded on certain points that i latched onto, so please go read through blake's stuff too because they actually know what they're talking about !!]

WARNING for angst, brief talks of sex, and mentions of child abuse, child death, mental health, trauma and sexuality.

[image sources: X, X]

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

corey had a pretty isolated childhood, the internet wasn't really a thing for a while, joan put a lot of restrictions on his television time, and he never had play dates or the chance to hang out with people outside of school. therefore corey is the daydream king, always in his own little world. corey had a lot of spare time and he can sit and zone out for hours, unbothered, if he has the time. he's been chastised so many times by joan for not paying attention or being away with the fairies.

however, that's not to say he can't pay attention when he needs to, he has a very good attention span when he has something to focus on, like school work or reading or watching movies. but, if it's a mindless task he can do without thinking then his mind does tends to wander.

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

i've said this before but the way having a laughing fit with corey until my sides hurt would literally fix me.

corey has a funny sense of humour, kind of dark but kind of dorky. pre-accident corey laughs pretty easily. at school he had a kind of off-beat friend group who had an overall off-beat sense of humour that occupied them in the cafeteria or while they slacked off in gym class.

post-accident corey holds back from making his own jokes or being funny, like he doesn't know the social rules anymore. like he doesn't deserve to laugh or thinks people will be mad at him for thinking he can be funny.

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

as previously mentioned, corey has a lot of time to think. he struggles to sleep well at night and honestly his daydreaming can make things worse if he latches onto a thought and keeps following it when he should be trying to clear his mind.

if he wants some stimulation though, he goes on wikipedia. he will fall asleep having fallen down a wiki rabbit hole and wake up in the morning on the page for like the 1847 great fire of bucharest with no memory of how he ended up there.

How easy is it to earn their trust? How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

it's not that easy to earn corey's trust. corey is used to being in a pretty emotionally volatile environment, so he does a lot of premature damage control around people that he doesn't know well enough to read their moods and behaviour. however, once he feels more comfortable, he's a lot more open (though still has a sense of wariness in the back of his mind). basically, it's not impossible to earn his trust.

post-accident corey is a different story though, he has an automatic distrust of everyone. he can't assume anyone intentions are solely good for a long, long time. honestly, he doesn't trust most people, he canonically only goes to one gas station because he trusts they won't speak to him. and he distrusts his co-workers at prevo for different reasons, i.e. he's been low-level pranked more times than he cares to remember.

What triggers nostalgia for them most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

corey gets good nostalgia and bad nostalgia.

bad nostalgia is usually something to do with joan, or remembering how he felt as a child when he was on edge so often. spaghetti truly was joan's worst meal so the smell, taste, texture and look of spaghetti is something he can't really stand anymore. if he never eats spaghetti again, it'll be too soon. rabbit paraphernalia give a lot of bad nostalgia.

corey's sense of good nostalgia is pretty specific. good nostalgia comes from watching old movies. he loves westerns and anything cowboy adjacent. a lot of the shows he watched as a kid were older cartoons so he gets a lot of nostalgia from those too. the smell of night time, where everything feels kind of dewy is good nostalgia for him, as well as the smell of the woodwork room at school.

What were they told to stop doing most often as a child?

i've mentioned before that as a baby, corey was actually very content and not fussy at all, which joan was unreasonably pleased about -- he was her perfect, happy, chubby-cheeked baby. however, once he hit the terrible twos and developed some autonomy, that's when joan's control issues started to really kick in with her parenting.

joan told corey off for doing all sorts of things as a child -- fidgeting too much, being too boisterous, getting grass stains on his clothes, not finishing his dinner, meddling with the rabbits (or anything else around the house), watching cartoon network, not holding her hand around the store, playing with a kid she doesn't approve of, asking too many questions -- the list is honestly endless, and not all of these misdemeanours have any logic behind them other than joan's moods and keeping corey on his toes.

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

he swears sometimes but not that much. his first swear word was probably 'shit' (he overheard joan mutter it once), like out in the yard at recess him and his little friends all went around in a circle and said the worst swears they knew. once he hit middle school and high school, swearing becomes more common and he sprinkles it through his vocab. then when he starts at prevo it's a much more rough-and-ready attitude to language and he gets (light-heartedly) teased for how much more reserved he comes across compared to the other mechanics.

joan would kill him if she ever heard him swear, so he'd never dream of swearing in front of her. he has a distinct line he draws between his language at home and outside.

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

corey lies a lot, but none of his lies weigh too heavily on his conscience.

corey would sneak out at night to parties and joan never found out about it. he can navigate his house is total darkness as to not wake his mom, and to his credit joan never found out. he used to lie about his day when he was in college all the time, and he lies saying that he comes straight home after work now.

i guess you could say he emotionally lies a lot? it's easier to placate joan with being agreeable than to admit anything (to himself or joan).

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

joan used to (and still does) tell him off for fidgeting so he will restrain himself until he can leave the room and will then become a grizzly bear and itch his back on the nearest doorframe.

Are they easily embarrassed?

yes. end post.

but seriously, he is pretty easily embarrassed. corey has never had a very good self esteem, he honestly is under the impression he's kind of unlikable and that all his actions are under some kind of social scrutiny.

pre-accident his self confidence was healing a little bit with his growing independence, so he could more easily brush things off but awkward moments still stick in his brain for him to agonise over later.

although he's learnt to deal with it in most situations, if he's feeling more vulnerable or he's with someone he really likes/admires then he does not cope well when he feels like he's being made fun of -- he gets all defensive and sulky.

What is their favourite number?

i don't think corey has a favourite number, but if he had to pick one, i think it'd either be something like a mathematically "special" number, or something sentimental like his dad's birthday.

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

oh man, this is not corey's forte at all. corey does not have a very good grasp on (his own) boundaries or the lines between different types of relationships.

i've said this a million times before (and no one has stopped me yet heehee), but because he's so used to the lines being pretty blurry with joan and having such an insular upbringing, he doesn't really know how to draw lines between how he loves someone. he's a real all or nothing type of person -- he's only ever learnt how to put all his feelings onto one person. joan wants that person to corey, because corey is that person to her.

subsequently, corey has only really experienced familial love in this abusive way, so projects the opposite (and what he reasons to be "normal") onto his imagined relationship with his father, idolising him to an unrealistic extent.

platonic is a sort of grey area for him, he tends to feel emotions either very intensely or not at all. he can go from really "loving" someone (either a friend he already has or someone he wishes he could befriend) to being mostly indifferent. the strength of his emotions tend to mean he can't really pinpoint exactly what he desires from the friendship/relationship. that's not to say he doesn't understand what "being friends" is, he does, but it doesn't always feel as poignant for him. it's something he was starting to figure out in high school and college, but then regressed with after the accident.

[this isn't the case for everyone] for corey romantic attraction and sexual attraction are usually linked, so romance does becomes slightly easier to differentiate. however, coming back to his boundary issues, even if he undeniably feels romantic love for someone, he's hesitant to communicate it unless he's figured out "the rules". everyone has rules (boundaries) to learn, and once he understands them, corey knows how to play the game -- he can do what he has to to be loved/wanted/tolerated enough to satiate his own feelings.

Why do they get up in the morning?

currently, it's because ronald will kick his ass if he doesn't show up to work. well, ronald is usually pretty lenient on him, (maybe too lenient, and the other mechanics know corey doesn't get as much shit because he's ronald's step-kid). corey does actually like going to work though, his dream didn't pan out the way he expected but he does love being a mechanic -- it's just dampened by the rest of his circumstances.

corey has never been very good at getting up in the morning though, and back when he was at school he was no stranger to nearly missing the bus every morning.

during the manslaughter trial, he had so much to do, between trips to his lawyers office and then the courthouse once the trial actually starts, he is stressed enough that he gets up and ready for the day pretty early and then just sits and worries until someone tells him what to do.

after the trial though, he honestly just doesn't get up in the morning. he has no job, no social life, and honestly no reason to do anything at all. he spends most of his time in bed, unless joan nags him into showering, eating or running errands with her, or if he has an appointment with his shrink.

Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom?

as previously mentioned, corey is pretty self conscious so he won't admit to a crush under any circumstances, and he doesn't have a lot of his own experiences to talk about, so he's kind of refrained when talking about sex. he is a known prude, to be honest.

but, he is also a teenage boy with a weird friend group, so sex is a frequent topic. he can't talk about sex in regards to himself at that point, but he'll laugh at jokes and is kind of enthralled by hearing anecdotes (not that his friends have many).

in a relationship, i think it takes corey a while to open up and be comfortable talking about sex outside of doing the act itself. dirty talk makes him blush, and he's never really had a lot of experience or opportunity to seriously think about what he likes and then be able to convey that out loud.

What are their thoughts on marriage?

i don't think corey cares about the legal aspects, but he does like the idea of marriage. devoting yourself to one person and one person only, whom you love dearly, forever and ever until you both die? literally exactly what corey wants, the legal part doesn't really matter.

the only wedding he's been to was when joan and ronald got married at the courthouse. he was 15 and honestly had surprisingly few feelings about the whole thing -- he caught on pretty early on that his mom and ronald were hardly "in love" but this is what adults do, so here he is in his best clothes and thinking about the wedding cake he'll get to eat later. this is partly why he doesn't care too much about the legal side; anyone can get married, but the real true proven commitment if what love really is.

corey would be more than happy with a courthouse wedding himself, he just wants to be with his s/o forever, so a simple, no guests, sign on the line type wedding is good enough to get the job done.

What is their preferred mode of transportation?

motorbike, of course. he knew his dad had ridden a motorbike since he found some old photos, but corey never actually rides one himself until ronald gives him the kawasaki. he knew theoretically how to ride, because he knows the mechanics of a basic motorbike, but he truly learns as he goes when he fixes up his own bike. the motorbike gives him a huge sense of freedom, and fulfils all of his easy rider (1969) and the wild one (1953) fantasies.

corey learnt how to drive at 16 through drivers ed, but joan rarely lets him drive her car, and he obviously can't afford his own. sometimes she lets him drive them home from the store, but she is a serious backseat driver so it's sort of just a nightmare for everyone involved.

corey hasn't travelled very far before, so he's never been on a train, but i think he'd enjoy it. long journeys where he can zone out and just look at the landscape? a very good combination for corey.

and how can we forget his trusty bicycle. corey learnt to ride a bike as a child, joan wasn't a very good teacher, but he got the hang of it pretty quickly anyway. corey has had his current bike for almost 10 years now. the chain constantly comes loose, and he's had to tape up the seat and the handle grips more times than he can count. it mostly does the job, and it did give him a lot more freedom as a teenager than he'd had before that.

Who do they most regret meeting?

is it cliche to say the allens? maybe so, but it's definitely the allens.

if he never met the allens then jeremy wouldn't have died and corey would have gone off to college and got his degree and a graduate job at mercedes or boeing or somewhere and --

mostly corey tries not to think about the "what ifs" but they do creep into his mind.

[and, if you're that way inclined, if corey had never met roger he could have saved himself so, so much heartache, and maybe not have ruined his perceptions of relationships for the foreseeable]

Could they be considered lazy?

on a superficial level, maybe. he sleeps in late and doesn't do any housework, so maybe out of context he could seem lazy, but he actually has a really good work ethic and likes to be doing something. joan doesn't enlist him to do chores because chores are skills and she wants him to be dependent on her.

he definitely is not lazy at work though. when he first started a prevo, he mostly just did grunt work and the easy tasks that the other mechanics were too busy for but still needed to get done. he pulled his weight, no one can deny that. a few years in, he still doesn't handle many full jobs himself, but he is trusted to do more specialised things.

How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt?

joan ingrained it in him to feel guilty about a lot of things that aren't his fault. baseline guilt like that he can cope with, he just grovels and submits himself enough to earn forgiveness and then the whole thing starts over the next time joan finds a bone to pick.

after the accident though, his guilt is pretty constant. everything serves as a reminder of what happened, and even if he got acquitted, he does feel like it was at least partly his fault jeremy died.

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)?

corey has a great memory but he doesn't really have any particular system, things just stick with him. he's great with remembering conversations, and when he was studying he could retain information in maths/science pretty easily, but his "less strong" subjects required more work on his part.

he does remember all the states and their capitals because of the animaniacs song.

What memory do they revisit the most often?

it's not his most frequent, but there's this memory that corey has about his dad that usually comes to him when he's on the cusp of sleeping and awake. subconsciously, i think he's aware that it's probably a false memory. wally "died" before corey could really form any proper memories of him, but he loves this one anyway. corey remembers himself, as a baby, laughing while his dad is holding him, maybe he's playing with him, or bouncing him on his knee, but the details are pretty fuzzy -- it's barely a fragment of a memory but it makes corey happy.

a memory that has involuntarily has made it's home in corey's brain is from the accident. the blood was bad, but mostly it's the sound that corey can't forget. that sick thud sound.

How do they feel about children?

pre-accident corey didn't care much about children. he doesn't dislike them, but he doesn't really interact with them (he doesn't have any family, and at the houses he does yard work, the parents tend to keep their kids out of his way so he can work without dodging any kids). he's kind to them though, if a little awkward.

post-accident, corey avoids kids as much as possible. he's no more mean to them, but seeing kids just brings back too many memories of the accident and also it just is not good to be seen near kids when you're regularly called a kid killer in public.

corey never wanted his own kids. maybe in some half-baked daydream he thought about a life of college, then a salary job and marriage and 2.5 kids, but i don't think he ever took it seriously.

part of him kind of wants the chance to be a better parent than his ever were, but he also worries that he'd just fuck his kids up like his parents did him. maybe he'd be unable to break the cycle (no matter how badly he wanted to) and be destined to become a helicopter parent -- trying his best to protect his child but ultimately smothering them.

to be honest though, i think his idea of love is so skewed towards obsession, that a kid would just get in the way. he wants to be the only person his s/o loves, and they will be the only person he loves in return, a baby is going to take that love away from him.

How badly do they want to reach their end goal?

at one point, all corey wanted was to go to college and get out of his house, out of haddonfield. he wanted that more than anything else, and if he just worked hard enough, for just a little bit longer, he'd make it. if he were in a better position (more supportive family, better socio-economic status) his goal would be much easier to attain, but if he did have those benefits, would he feel so strongly about that goal?

i feel like even though college is his way out, corey requires and enjoys mental/intellectual stimulation enough that he would want to go to college anyway, even if things were better for him at home.

post-accident, he doesn't have a goal at all beyond surviving, and even then we see his commitment to that goal is pretty tenuous.

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so?

ahh well if you read my hcs about corey's sexuality, you would already know. but that will not stop me repeating those hcs here.

corey doesn't really consciously label his sexuality, but if he was asked point blank i think he could probably connect himself with bisexuality, but he's way more of a euphemism person -- "swing both ways".

#corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #not directly but i mention an s/o who could easily be you #also just tagging it because look at my hcs boy #take a shot every time i say 'i've said this before but...'#joan cunningham hate club #this is 3.5k words of me saying joan ruined a perfectly good boy

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duchessofostergotlands · 10 months

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It's funny how yesterday I was listening you stressing out British people don't emphatize with the riches' misery while strolling news about five millioners stuck in a submarine.

Lol, I speak only the truth!

In all seriousness, whether it’s right or wrong, it is hard to sympathise when people voluntarily chose to go in an obvious death trap, without doing any due diligence, to explore what is an actual gravesite because they’re so rich they have no understanding of personal risk and want to be able to boast about accessing things most humans can’t access. If our species was supposed to be at the bottom of the ocean we would be lol. This wasn’t about discovery or science but purely about profit and ego, and it’s killed five people. And the fact one of them chose to take his 19 year old son with him - there is no way that boy could have gone on the trip without his dad’s money and approval, and since I first drafted this it’s come out he may have been pressured to go - and now a family have lost two people in terrible circumstances makes it even worse. It’s just wasteful, frankly. I sympathise with their families, I wish things had gone differently, but it really is such a perfect encapsulation of how insane wealthy inequality has become!

I was thinking about this topic after we did our episode and I think it’s about balance. I’m comfortable, financially, because I have parents who were comfortable financially, I studied in a place where higher education is free, I have no kids and no social life, and I’ve been hoarding money like Smaug since I was a child. But even I worry about keeping a roof over my head, I worry about what happens if I lose my job. I’ve been made redundant before and had that feeling of panic and fear that I’ll never find another job. I couldn’t find a place to live on my own on my salary in the city I worked in which negatively impacted my mental health and I’m already struggling with a severe mental illness. And I’m lucky, millions in the U.K. have it way worse than me. I’m not one of those people who thinks the rich can’t suffer or that their emotions don’t matter - that’s a slippery slope as that would dnd up with everyone except the one human who is worst off in the whole world being told they can’t suffer and they don’t matter - but at the same time normal humans all have this struggle. So when you see multi millionaires and billionaires - especially those who inherited wealth - they automatically have less on their plate to worry about in terms of financial security, they don’t have those daily worries we all have. And so when they do experience hardship it kind of feels to the public - or to me at least - like the hardship has to be more intense in order to balance the scale because they already start off so much higher. Does that make sense?

I do think actively celebrating deaths is a bit much. It’s cruel but more importantly it’s completely pointless and damages the cause, and I think is more often than not done so people on the Internet can feel better about themselves and show off to their friends. But I completely get why people don’t feel pity or sympathy either. There’s a massive cavern in the middle where most of us sit. I just think it’s knowing the time and place and manner when it comes to vocalising that view. Nobody can make you empathise but you don’t have to declare it, unprompted, in the most callous way you can think of

#ask #anon #oceangate #applies to royals too I guess

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bluiex · 1 year

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Been watching a Tik Tok Series called CaFae Latte, and had a Convexianbo idea.

Grian huffed away a strand of hair, the day had been more than just slow. Mondays had a rush mostly during the morning, lots of Watchers Blood Coffees to get a lot of people through the day. One drop of that stuff and you'll see sounds for 3 days.

Work here wasn't so bad at least despite the slow days, his bosses were neat and his vampire co-worker was nice. Grian would say, for a human, he was lucky to land this job. Even though his bosses weren't often liked by other people.

The door bell rang as Grian looked over, "Hi! Welcome to the Chimes Cafe and Wifi." he smiled, "Today's special is the Vex Iced Mocha, a pinch of vex magic to help with all your disastrous needs."

The woman stared, "Might try that tomorrow for my cousins birthday prank." she mused, then shook her head, "But no thanks, I'm actually here for a Fae Curse?" she asked.

Grian's turn to stare, then nodded, "Oh, okay, let me get my boss, he's the Fae here." he said going to get Cub from his office.

Cub came out after that and smiled at her, his feathers blue wings flapping, "I heard you're looking for a curse?" he asked her, "Well I'd first have to know the reasoning. Such as why, if it's more than just petty revenge."

Smiling, the woman shook her head, "So uh... it's my boss, and... hmmm Context, I work for a rehab center for mainly human teens. And the work is great but my boss is terrible." she started to explain how he'd cut peoples pay, sexually harassed her and other woman, was openly racist to humans and magical beings, among other things too. Was cheating on his wife, with his cousin of all people, and abused many of the teens.

Cub just nodded slowly then held up his hand, "That is... a lot." he said slowly to her then hummed. "So, I'm an allay Fae, meaning I work with curses more attuned to emotions and mental health, but I think you'd want Scar for this."

"Would he do something more... harsher?" she asked looking at Cub.

Grian laughed from where he was making someone else brew, "Oh yeah, Scar as a Vex Fae, they are known for some of the worse curses around. The last guy he cursed with a truth spell." he snickered, that Karen left being able to only ever speak the truth with no filter.

Cub nodded in agreement, "I'll get my husband out here, and he'll help you for a good price." he told her.

"Does he like shiny objects?" She asked curiously.

"Yup." Grian and Cub said in unison, Scar was like a cat with them.

*Next Day*

A call on her work phone at her picking it up, "Hello?"

"Oh thank god you picked up, the boss is a Pig!"

"What?!"

"No, he literally turned into a Pig! He was showing around a new client when he just poofed into a pig! We managed to get him into an office, but he can't speak or write anything!"

She covered her mouth to hold back snickers, that Vex guy really did say he had the perfect idea in mind.

dkjlsfksASKJFDSKJ this is such a brilliant idea, sounds like a really funny and cool series oh my gods- if this has anything to say about it

#long post #bluie gets an ask poggers #convexianbo

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axolozzy · 1 month

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vent (tw for extreme ablism transphobia and overall terrible stuff idek if i should even post this im sorry i just really need to vent i will probably delete this later)

y’all i’ve finally gotten comfortable vocal stimming in front of people im comfortable with like my friends and family and now my mom all of a sudden thinks im hearing voices or that i have “multiple personalities”????????* like no i promise nothings “going on” with me and j don’t need to see a mental health professional im just stimming because im happy. what the fuck

*also i’ve literally told her for YEARS that it’s called DID and talking in different voices does not fucking mean someone has “multiple personalities” because this has come up SOO fucking much over the years and i’m getting tired of explaining it. i repeat things in funny voices because it’s fun. i’ve done it my whole fucking life it’s called echolalia it’s called STIMMING and she doesn’t listen to me whenever i explain that

so much for being comfortable being myself around people. “you never used to act like this” BECAUSE I WAS SCARED!!!!! BECAUSE I HAD TERRIBLE ANXIETY AND DIDNT WANT TO BE JUDGED FOR BEING WEIRD!!!!!! my parents genuinely think there’s something severely wrong with me now. they literally told me that. because i meow sometimes as a vocal stim. and so do LITERALLY ALL OF MY FRIENDS AND PEOPLE AT SCHOOL. PEOPLE IN CLASS TALK IN WEIRD VOICES AND MAKE ANIMAL NOISES TOO ALL THE FUCKING TIME!!!!!! ITS NOT FUCKING SERIOUS!!!!!! GOD FUCKING DAMMIT

i’m genuinely so fucking tired of this god who fucking gives a shit of im weird. i’ve been like this my whole life its not my fuckign fault that you didn’t pay attention and don’t remember. FUCK

my step dad’s a fucking dick too i genuinely hate him so fucking much i cant fucking take it anymore. NO!!!! IM NOT GOING TO FUCKING MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH YOU BECAUSE IT MAKES ME UNCOMFORTABLE AS FUCK. “why” because im autistic. “that’s not an excuse” yes it fucking is bitch its literally a symptom of fucking autism. no i AM going to keep calling myself autistic because thats what i am. no its not “putting a label on myself” because im actually fucking diagnosed autistic im not going to pretend it doesnt exist. because i fucking exist. im not going to “beat” my autism by suppressing all of my autistic traits because you want me to. “why?” DO YOU FUCKING HEAR YOURSELF???????

and this guy worked in mental health for 17 years. he worked at a psychiatric hospital for 17 years. he never went to college or learned anything about mental health at all. he thinks he knows more than me about my fucking disability when he says the most outdated offensive shit ive ever heard about autism or DID or schizophrenia. he doesnt listen to a word i say because he’s “older than me and has more life experience” and therefore he automatically “knows more than me and im wrong.” he doesnt listen to anyone actually. he literally says to people not to correct him when he’s wrong because he doesnt like being told he’s wrong to being told what to do or think. he’s “not going to change his beliefs for anyone” even if he knows his “beliefs” are literally just fucking factually wrong or actively harmful. he purposely makes people feel like shit if they stand up for themselves against him. he purposely makes me feel like shit because im the only one in this fucking houses that dares to disagree with the shit he says. he’s a republican he’s obsessed with trump and blasts conservative transphobic racist news channels on the tv right outside my room at night so it keeps me awake and doesnt turn the tv down when i ask because apparently he has hearing problems but has never once got that checked out. he deadnames me and says “because of his adhd he’s not sure he’ll ever remember to use the right name so he’s not even gonna try.” and he says he loves and supports me but is constantly saying the most ableist transphobic shit to me and says he’s just giving me a hard time because he loves me. he has said on multiple occasions with a straight face that “fat people piss him off and they’re the one type of people that he doesnt feel bad for being outwardly hateful and discriminatory towards.” he tries to make me feel guilty for not believing in god. he’s anti abortion. he doesnt want me to get gender affirming care under his roof because he thinks its weird and disgusting and doesnt want me to get a dick even though i have told him a million fucking times i never want bottom surgery and i dont know why this is any of his fucking business anyway. he constantly tells me my online friends aren’t real friends and when he knows i love talking to them he purposely turns the wifi off. he asks me why im acting so weird and i say its how ive always acted alone and with my friends and im just being myself and he says “stop acting like that.” “why. im not going to change who i am for other people.” “well i want you to around me.” KILL YOURSELF IM SO FUCKING SERIOUS. GOD FUCKING DAMMIT I HATE HIM SO FUCKING MUCH

he’s a manipulative bastard and whenever we get into arguments, SOME FUCKING HOW a few hours later were happy and forgiving eachother and im the one saying sorry. he’s an asshole to me and everyone around him, he’s an asshole to my mom. they are constantly fighting but always deny it. i cant fucking take it anymore

sorry for this vent i know people dont follow me to know about my personal life i know i shouldnt say this stuff but i dont fucking care im so sick of this. i woke up this mornign feeling more excited happy and motivated than i have felt all week and it was ruined the second my mom came in my room saying that the way i act (my literal vocal stims) make her think there’s something severely wrong with me. i love her more than anything in the world she’s the best mom ever but what the actual fuck??????? anyway i hate my stepdad and even though i dont believe in hell i hope he fucking burns

#vent

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the-cult-of-russo · 1 year

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Poetic Tragedy (Part 11)

Pairing: Reader X Billy Russo

Warnings: Cursing, angst, sadness, substance abuse, mental health issues, mentions of sexual assault. This one’s a little dark and not really in a violent way (okay some of it is lmao). Just more the themes explored, I guess?

A/N: There’s one more chapter after this one! I hope you guys have enjoyed this story as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it!!

—------------------

“Here you go, Tom,” you smiled brightly, handing the Agent his coffee and donut as you walked into the room.

“Thanks, Allie,” he grinned, taking them gratefully before he handed you a magazine. It had been eight days since you started coming here and Billy still hadn’t woken up yet. You’d been buttering up the Agent, needing his trust for your plan to work. You’d figured out a way to get him out of the way when go time happened, because even though Billy still hadn't woken up there was no possibility in your mind that he wouldn't, and you needed him to trust you for it to work. You’d run your idea by Frank and he’d been impressed by it, and with his go-ahead, you’d started to work on getting the Agent on your side. Micro had found out some things about him. He came from a big family, loved sports and for some weird reason, had a thing for single moms. You’d carefully crafted a backstory for Allison White that was wildly different to your own, using some of this information to help your cause. You were the youngest of five kids to happily married parents. You always wanted a big family and ended up marrying your high school sweetheart when you were 18. By 20, you had two kids already. Only a year later, the asshole cheated on you and left you and the kids in the wind for the new woman. You’d been alone with the children since and worked hard to make ends meet. You were in the process of changing jobs but it had been hard to find one, so while you were between jobs, not wanting to sit around and do nothing, you decided to sign up to volunteer with Happy Helper Buddies. Your kids were staying for a month with their grandparents as your mom was sick and wanted to spend some time with them before it was too late. Another reason why you signed up to volunteer as the house felt so alone and quiet without them. He’d eaten all of it right up and you had him eating out of the palm of your hand. Now you were both on a first name basis, or more accurately, nickname basis. You brought him coffee and a donut every morning and he’d give you a magazine as a trade off.

You’d never read a magazine in your life and at first, you’d been confused why everyone was obsessed with these celebrities and their eating habits or shampoo. But after finding out you weren't too into celebrities, Agent Delaney had started getting you more lifestyle and dating-related ones and it was a little better. Being as sheltered from the world as you had been, you didn't know much of anything, much less relationships. So you’d read all the articles and the people writing in to the agony aunt section and found you learned a lot of shit. Mostly that you might actually have feelings for Billy more than a friend. You’d been clueless, not ever having a relationship before. Hell, you hadn't even had friends. And your only sexual experience had been your assault and then just you laying there wishing you were anywhere but there as Josh used you so you could get your fix. You had no idea about why your heart would race around Billy, or why your stomach would feel funny when he smiled at you or touched you. But now you had a feeling that it was because you liked him more than a friend. You didn't really know what to do with that information though, even if Frank had told you Billy felt that way too. It was hard to believe that someone like Billy would be interested in a homeless ex-addict, it didn't really make sense in your head. So while you knew now why Billy made you feel weird and why you liked his physical affections, you decided it wasn't important.

You moved to sit in the chair you’d claimed as your own, eyes glancing to Billy who didn't seem much different to the first day you’d gotten here. Some of his color had come back into his cheeks and you hoped it was a good sign. You’d really settled in here, a wolf among sheep. Even the doctors and nurses chatted with you as you charmed them with a smile and kind words. The nurses even let you use their shower facilities they had after you told them a bullshit story about your plumbing not working right.

“How are the kids?” Tom asked, making you glance up from your magazine. Some of the articles were like mini real soap operas and you often found yourself getting sucked into them.

“They're doing good, spoke to them last night on the phone. They're having fun with grandma and pop-pops,” you grinned, rolling your eyes good-naturedly and making him chuckle.

“I bet you can't wait for them to come back,” he mused. You didn't know if he was genuinely interested or just hoping to score points with you since you knew he liked single moms. You still didn't understand why.

“I know, I miss them so much. It's not the same without them here,” you murmured softly. It felt like time flew before you were once again leaving and on your way to the alley, another day where Billy was yet to wake up. You’d found out through talking to the Agent that he left not long after you did and he only waited until then so you wouldn't be alone with Billy as it wasn’t ‘safe’. Before you’d been coming, he left at 10 pm. You were a little surprised to hear that Billy was left alone at night, but then again, he was cuffed to the bed so it wasn't like he was going anywhere.

The routine was always the same. You’d get to your alley and Frank would be there waiting for you and waiting for any updates, bringing food in a plastic container with him that Annie had cooked for you. You’d lied to him the first couple of days about eating at the hospital, but he soon called you out on your bullshit and started bringing you food. You didn't mind so much now, your appetite had come back after the shock wore off from what happened to Billy. You were still worried but you didn't allow your thoughts to stray into the morbid ones. You’d told yourself he would wake up and he would be fine and you would definitely get him out of there. Frank would always stay as you ate as you spoke about any new information or he just tried to make conversation. You knew he was tense over the fact Billy still hadn't woken up. It was only intensified by the fact that physically, Billy was healing quite well. This meant that when he did wake up, the window to get him out of there would be smaller and you knew for a fact that the Agent was eager to get Billy out of there as soon as possible. It would be harder now, more of a rush between him waking and getting him free. You’d do it though. Or at least, you’d do it or go to jail right along with him for trying. There was no way you’d give up without a fight.

The next morning you got ready and headed out once again, stopping at the coffee shop like you always did and getting the coffee and donut for Agent Delaney. The line was a little longer today and you were getting impatient and anxious just to get to Billy. Despite trying to keep your thoughts positive, you kept having this recurring nightmare of getting there and his bed was empty. The nurse would come in and tell you he’d died in the night. You shook off the thoughts as you finally got served and rushed to the hospital. You greeted the receptionist with a bright smile as you scanned your card and sauntered down the hallway like you’d been there forever. But when you pushed open Billy’s door, you were startled to see he was sitting up and very much awake. It felt like all the air had been knocked out of your lungs as you blinked at him and he turned to you, visible confusion all over his tired-looking face as his dark eyes quickly swept over you and your current attire.

“Mr Russo, you’re awake,” you smiled, the relief in your voice very real. Billy didn't say anything, just giving you this scrutinizing look.

“Don’t mind him, he hadn't said one word since he woke up,” Agent Delaney huffed. You turned to him then, forgetting he was even there. Facade back in place, you smiled at him, walking over and handing him the coffee and donut and gratefully taking the magazine.

“Thanks, Allie,” he grinned. You moved to set your magazine down on the table before you hovered at the foot of Billy’s bed.

“I’m Allison White, Mr Russo. I’m from Happy Helper Buddies and I’ve been assigned to be your buddy,” you explained softly, tapping the badge around your neck. His dark eyes drifted to it as he swallowed thickly with a nod. You still weren't quite sure what his mental state was or if there was any damage. Didn't know if he was catching on to your plan or if he didn't even recognise you.

“It’s Billy,” he muttered after a long moment, his voice sounding hoarse and raw.

“Seriously? You're gonna talk to her?” Agent Delaney scoffed, almost sounding like a petulant child. You almost whipped your head around to glare at him and your right eye twitched at the sheer restraint it took you not to. Billy had no such qualms though as his narrowed eyes glared daggers at the man in the chair and he had the good grace to avert his eyes from Billy’s scornful gaze.

“Can I get you anything, Billy? Some water?” you asked as your eyes darted over all of him, trying to figure out if he was okay.

“Water would be good,” he answered quietly. You nodded, rushing from the room quickly. Had he even been offered a drink since he’d woken up? There was a little water cooler right outside of the door and you grabbed a plastic cup and started to fill it.

“Really, Russo?” you heard the Agent ask from inside the room, he was met with stony silence though.

“You think I didn’t see the way you looked at her? You think she’d be interested in a piece of shit criminal like you? I mean, look at your face, man,” the Agent snorted. The plastic cup suddenly crumpled as your hand tightened like a vice around it, the water splooshing right out of it. You felt some curious eyes on you but you blew out a breath, trying to not get angry and blow your cover here. You tossed the useless cup into the trash before quickly filling another.

You breezed back into the room, trying to give Billy a reassuring smile as you approached the side of his bed.

“Don’t get too close,” the Agent warned and you turned and gave him an incredulous look.

“He’s handcuffed to the bed, how’s he supposed to drink?” you asked with a short tone. The Agent looked away for a moment and sighed.

“He’s not safe to be around,” he replied tensely.

“I don’t think we’re gonna have a problem, are we Billy?” you turned your eyes to Billy then.

“Nope,” he shot the Agent a dark smirk that you knew wasn't really helping the situation.

“Allie…” The Agent started, but you cut him right off, getting fed up with his bullshit.

“He can’t look after himself while he’s restrained like this. I’m here to do a job, Tom, so I’m going to politely ask you to let me do it,” you sighed, trying not to snap at him because it would only make you look suspicious. You knew he was only trying to look after you given he’d taken a shine to you, but you really couldn't care less about him. He shrugged as he shook his head, gesturing for you to go ahead and you turned back to Billy then who was looking between you and the Agent with dark eyes. You held the cup to his mouth and helped him drink and he did so greedily, the water gone in seconds.

“You want some more?” you asked softly and he shook his head, hands flexing a little by his sides.

“How are you feeling?” you asked curiously, toying with your hands in front of you for a moment. He shrugged, not looking at you and you didn't like the lack of verbal responses from him. You still had no idea if he even knew who you were.

“Can I get you anything? Some more pillows? Or… do you need me to ask the nurse for some more pain meds?” you asked. You just wanted to help him, ease any discomfort he was feeling.

“No… No thanks,” he muttered and you nodded.

“Okay, well… I’ll be right there if you need me. If you need anything, don't be afraid to ask,” you murmured, gesturing to your chair. His eyes met yours then and your heart kicked up in your chest. But he didn't show any signs of even recognising you before he looked away with a sniff. You sighed and moved to sit in your chair, grabbing your magazine to keep you busy.

It was in the afternoon that the doctor came in, a chart in his hands.

“Well, Mr Russo, all of the tests we ran came back fine. Honestly, I was a little worried there for a second but you seem perfectly fine,” the doctor smiled at Billy who was staring at his lap. You felt lightheaded from the relief of his words but the feeling was short-lived as Agent Delaney spoke up.

“So does that mean he’s free to go?” he asked, far too eager for your liking and you had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from snapping at him. The doctor turned to look at him then with a slightly disapproving look on his face.

“Not yet. I want to keep him in for a few more days just to make sure,” he answered, making the Agent sag in his seat a little. You felt a jolt of panic seize you then, you really wouldn't have long. The doctor left not long after and Tom smirked at Billy.

“You hear that, Russo? A few days and you’ll be all mine,” he grinned maliciously.

“Tom!” you chided, frowning at him.

“What?” he scoffed, but the look you shot him made him shift in his seat uncomfortably. You heard him muttering something about you being too soft under his breath but you chose to ignore it.

When dinnertime rolled around, with it being the first day that Billy was awake, it was the first time someone had come to bring him a meal. You jumped out of the chair, grabbing the tray from the woman with a warm smile before walking over to Billy.

“I ain’t eatin’ that,” he muttered tensely.

“You need to get your strength up, Billy,” you warned, giving him a look. And you meant it too. You had to get him out of here and soon. He’d been unconscious for 9 days and he really needed to eat something.

“You’re not feedin’ me like a goddamn baby,” he huffed, glaring at you. Your eyes narrowed to slits as you pursed your lips.

“You can’t exactly feed yourself right now and unless you’re planning on slamming your face into the food and hoping some goes in your mouth, you don’t really have a choice. I’m here to look after you so you’re going to let me,” you bit out firmly. He blinked at you for a long moment and you knew now that he did indeed know who you were so you didn't care about the heated look he was getting from you. You wouldn't budge from this.

“Fine,” he muttered, looking away from you. You tried to make each forkful of food large enough that it would be over with quickly. You knew it was his pride getting in the way and you wondered how different it might have been if the asshole Agent hadn't been in the room, watching with a sick satisfaction over the whole thing. Billy wouldn't look at you though and once you were done, you set the tray on the bedside table before moving back over to your chair.

Billy didn’t utter another word then as time ticked on but luckily, neither did the Agent unless it was to try and make small talk with you. You were just grateful he was leaving Billy alone. When it got time to leave, you really didn't want to now Billy was awake. You hadn't even had a chance to let him know there was a plan in place to get him out of here since you hadn't even had a moment alone with him. You knew Agent Delaney had no qualms with using the restroom that was in the room as he’d done it before, but since Billy was awake it was like he was refusing to so you wouldn't be alone with him. You wondered how he hadn't pissed himself by now. When you stood up, grabbing the cardigan you’d taken off at some point and putting it back on, Billy’s dark eyes snapped to you.

“You leavin’?” he asked, eyes narrowed a little and a slightly panicked edge to his voice that only made you want to stay even more.

“My shift ends at 11, but I’ll be back in the morning,” you said with a soothing smile. He nodded, a small frown on his face as he avoided looking at you once more. You wondered what he thought about you being here, if he put together that there was a plan or if he thought you’d just snuck in to check on him. You left feeling heavier than before now you had to leave him behind but you couldn't wait to tell Frank he was awake. It was time to enact the plan and you had to do it quickly. The doctor had said a few days and for all you knew, that could be two or five, you really had no idea. And now the Agent knew he was okay, you wouldn't put it past him to use his authority to demand he get let out early. You felt anxiety eating at you as you walked to the alley you were staying in. You really hoped your plan worked.

The next day, your hands shook as you made your way into the hospital restrooms on the first floor, hurrying into the cubicle and locking the door behind you. You dropped the duffel bag you had with you to the floor and took the lid off the coffee cup, setting the cup on the closed toilet lid before grabbing a bag from your cardigan pocket. You glanced at it, trying to ignore how it looked a lot like something else. It wasn't that though, it was crushed sleeping pills and strong ones at that. You poured the power into the coffee and used the little wooden stirrer you’d taken from the coffee shop to stir it until it dissolved. You hoped it wouldn't taste much different but you weren't about to take a sip to find out. You took a shaky inhale as you put the lid back on, taking a moment to gather yourself before you grabbed the bag and left the restroom, making your way your way to the elevator. Your heart had been pounding since you woke up. You weren't built for this kind of shit but you were doing it for Billy. You plastered a fake and bright smile on your face as you scanned your ID card and made your way into Billy’s room.

“Morning, Tom,” you grinned, handing him his coffee and donut. You looked away as he took a sip, wondering how much he’d have to drink before it started to work. You honestly had no idea.

“Morning, Allie. Here you go,” he smiled back, handing you the magazine. Billy’s dark eyes were narrowed at the man but went to you as you approached the bed.

“You need anything?” you asked, giving him a smile despite your nerves. You had a feeling he knew something was off though as his eyes searched your face.

“Nah, I’m good thanks,” he replied with a shake of his head. You nodded, making your way over to sit down with your magazine as you tried your best to conceal your shaky hands.

“You got plans after your shift?” Tom asked, his eyes going to the bag at the side of you.

“Oh… I was thinking of staying at my parents, get to see the kids, you know?” you smiled sheepishly, not missing how Billy suddenly looked at you like you’d grown another head.

“Ah, I get it. Can’t wait for them to come back so you’re going to them, right?” Tom chuckled and you smiled and glanced back at your magazine.

It was only minutes later when the coffee cup hit the floor with a splash, the lid popping off it and the coffee spilling all over the floor. The cup was joined by the Agent who hit the floor with a thud and you winced. You thought he’d just slump in his chair, not fall right off it.

“Wha-” Billy started, sounding confused.

“No time,” you bit out, jumping to your feet and crouching near Agent Delaney. You searched his pockets, smirking to yourself when you found the handcuff keys. You sprang back up, rushing to Billy whose eyes were rapidly flitting from the man to you.

“We’re getting you out of here,” you murmured, quickly ridding him of his cuffs. He rubbed his wrists as he moved to sit up carefully with a groan.

“You shouldn't be doin’ this,” he muttered tensely. You knew he was worried about you being involved, worried you might get in trouble.

“Well I am, so get the fuck up,” you shot him a look before you grabbed the bag from the floor and set it on the bed when Billy stood on shaky legs. You rummaged around, grabbing the black sweats, black t-shirt, his hoodie and some sneakers. You handed them to him before you rushed over to the door, cracking it open a little as you peered out of it. It was pretty quiet as it always was at this time, but there was one person you had to worry about. You hurried back over to him just as he was pulling his t-shirt on carefully and you got a glimpse of the four bandaged wounds on his torso. You had no idea how he was shot so many times and came out of it fine. You looked in the bag again and grabbed the knife out of it and Billy’s eyes widened a little. You paid him no mind, slicing your palm with a wince. It was only a small cut, not very long and not very deep.

“What the fuck are you doin’?” he hissed quietly at you, looking at you like you were insane.

“I’m gonna distract the receptionist. You need to hurry up, meet me in the stairwell,” you muttered, cradling your now bleeding hand. You didn't give him a chance to argue as you left the room, quickly shutting the door behind you.

You made a beeline for the reception desk and as she looked at you, her eyes grew a little larger.

“Oh my god, what happened?!” she asked, standing up.

“I dropped the vase and tried to pick up the pieces, I’m a bit of a klutz. Any chance you got some of those large bandaids handy?” you asked, giving her a sheepish smile.

“I’ll go check,” she said as she hurried into the little admin office behind her desk. You glanced around nervously and your heart skyrocketed when Billy slipped out of the room, his hoodie now on and the bag in his hand. His hood was up as he rushed down the hallway, glancing at you briefly before he made his way to the stairs. You shifted on your feet wanting nothing more than to hurry after him, but you knew it would look too suspicious. You didn't want to draw attention just yet. Whatever happened after you were gone didn't really matter. You’d used a fake name, no one knew who you were. The receptionist came out then with a furrowed brow.

“I’m sorry, I couldn't find any. Do you want me to find a doctor?” she asked, full of concern.

“No, that's fine, it’s not too deep anyway. I’ll just grab some toilet paper and see how it goes,” you shot her a wry smile before heading off into the direction of the toilets, only to rush to the stairs instead. You hurried down a flight, seeing Billy pacing.

“We need to go, Frank’s waiting,” you insisted, hurrying down the steps. He nodded, quickly handing you some paper towel he must have swiped from his room. You took it gratefully and pressed it to your hand as the pair of you all but ran down the stairs. When you got to the bottom, you slowed your pace so you didn't draw attention, Billy’s head down as both of you quickly left the hospital. You walked down the street a little, spying the black van on the corner like you knew it would be. Your heart was still hammering away in your chest though, half expecting the Agent to come barreling after you. You ran to the van, Billy opening the back doors as you both hopped in. He slammed the door shut then and the van started to drive away.

“About goddamn time, Bill,” Frank grinned from the front, glancing over his shoulder at him.

“Was thinkin’ the same thing. Thought you were gonna let me rot in jail, Frankie,” Billy murmured, a tired smirk on his face as he held his body tightly. You knew he was hurting.

“Considered it. But who the fuck would I beat the shit out of when I get bored?” Frank snorted, making Billy smile to himself. You heard the relief in Frank’s voice though.

“You alright there, Allie?” Frank asked you then, a smirk curling his lips.

“Fuck you, I’m having a minor heart attack here,” you practically whined, a hand over your chest as it almost beat out of your chest. Stealing you were fine with, dosing a Federal Agent and smuggling a known fugitive out of hospital not so much. The anxiety had made your head spin. But it was over now and you allowed yourself to relax against the side of the van, resting the back of your head on it. Billy was sitting opposite you and glanced at him, seeing him already blinking at you. You thought he might say something but he didn't.

When the van stopped, Billy moved to the door and swung it open, getting out slowly. His feet had barely touched the floor before Karen tackled him into a hug.

“Jesus, woman. I’m injured, remember?” Billy grumbled, although he didn't sound too mad.

“I don’t care,” she sniffled, face pressed into his chest. You watched as you got out of the van as he brought his arms around her and hugged her back, holding her for a long moment. When she pulled away from him, she turned her teary eyes to you then.

“And you… we couldn't have done this without you,” she implored, moving to give you a tight but brief hug. You hugged her back awkwardly for a moment before she moved away, wiping her eyes.

“I’m sure you guys would have figured something out,” you murmured shyly, not looking at her and instead inspecting the cut on your hand. It had stopped bleeding already so you stuffed the bloody tissue into your pocket.

“Nah, we needed you, Y/N,” Frank argued as he stood next to you. He gave you a meaningful look and you looked away, unable to take the weight of his gaze.

“Come on, the guys are dying to see you,” Karen beamed at Billy, grabbing his hand and dragging him off inside. You trailed behind slowly, arms wrapped around yourself. You were glad to succeed in your mission but now you weren't sure what to do with yourself. When you walked in, you saw Billy get swarmed by everyone who was happy he was back and you found yourself smiling. Billy seemed to be relieved to be back, happy even, as he talked with everyone, but he also seemed exhausted. You lingered around for a bit, unsure when would be appropriate to dip out. You wanted to speak with Billy but you weren't sure what mood he was in. When you’d left last time, it had caused a fight and your time with him at the hospital had been strained but you weren't sure if he was still upset with you or if it was because of the Agent. After a while, Billy approached you.

“Could you help me to my room?” he asked softly, a pleading look to his tired eyes.

“Sure,” you answered with a small smile. You knew it was still very early but he looked like he could do with some rest. You wrapped an arm around his middle carefully and he wrapped his around your shoulder. You knew he was hurting, the whole escaping thing really not helping. But you also knew since he’d refused pain meds at the hospital, that also hadn't helped at all.

You were slow going up the stairs and it took a while getting to his room. He opened the door and let you help him inside before your arm dropped from him. You’d never been in here before and your eyes swept around quickly. It was pretty much the same as your old room except with some pictures of him and Frank from the Marine days and some with what you presumed to be Frank’s family. It was weird seeing pictures of him without the scars, you’d never known him then. You didn't think he was any less handsome though.

“You didn't need to get me out of there,” he said quietly, a small guilty frown on his face. You shrugged, nibbling your lower lip.

“I wanted to. Figured you’d helped me out so many times, it's only fair I return the favor, righ-” Your words were cut off because Billy’s lips were suddenly on yours, his hands either side of your face. It took you so wildly off guard that you tensed, standing there unresponsive. It was your first-ever kiss, it wasn't even like you had experience with that and you certainly hadn't expected Billy to want to kiss you, even with Frank and Dean’s words pinging around your brain. He pulled away quickly, his eyes wide.

“Shit… shit, I’m so sorry,” he muttered, shaking his head rapidly as he took a step back, hands falling from your face. You suddenly felt cold.

“Billy…” you trailed off, worried why he looked so weird.

“No, I shouldn’ta done that. I know you… you don't like to be touched and I fuckin’... I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he rambled, unable to look at you.

“It didn't make me feel uncomfortable,” you admitted softly, feeling the heat creep into your cheeks. His eyes snapped to you then, scanning your face like he was trying to solve a puzzle. You’d been quite happy to ignore your revelation of feelings for him before, but now he’d kissed you, you toyed with the idea of just coming out with it. The worst that would happen would be him not speaking to you, but since he’d been the one to kiss you, you knew that was unlikely. You knew all too well that life was too short to dance around stuff like this for nothing. You’d already almost lost him once.

“I figured some shit out in the 9 days I was there with you at the hospital. I care about you… more than a friend. I didn't really get it before, I mean, I’ve never really been through this before so it didn't make sense. But I get it now, why I feel the way I do around you. Why my heart beats all weird and my stomach flips around on me,” you explained as you shifted on your feet.

“You care about me?” he asked slowly, looking so astonished like his brain couldn't quite comprehend it. You nodded and tugged on the sleeves of your cardigan, feeling small under his gaze.

“I didn't really understand it, I’m still not sure I do if I’m honest. This whole thing is new to me,” you shrugged.

He closed the distance between you as he walked back over, his hand slowly coming to rest on your cheek. He leaned down, resting his forehead on yours and you felt breathless, the free-falling sensation hitting you once again.

“I care about you too,” he admitted in a whisper. It made your heart stutter in your chest and your hand gripped the front of his t-shirt. His thumb stroked your cheek and he leaned in again, this time slower as if giving you a chance to move away. You didn't though. His lips touched yours once more and you allowed yourself to melt into him. When his lips moved against yours, you tried to mimic him, really not knowing what you should be doing. He pulled away, giving you a smile, his eyes bright as they shone at you.

“We uh… we don’t gotta rush anythin’. I know we both… we both got our issues. We can just take shit slow, see what happens,” he stroked your cheek as you smiled at him, feeling your chest fill with warmth. He pecked your lips once more before moving away. He looked ready to drop where he stood and you smiled shyly as you bit your lower lip.

“Let’s get you to bed,” you murmured softly.

“What happened to takin’ it slow?” he asked mischievously and you snorted with a roll of your eyes. You helped him sit on the bed, kneeling to take his sneakers off for him before standing back up as he lay down.

“Will you stay with me for a bit?” he asked, dark eyes pleading and you were powerless to resist him. You pulled off your boots before climbing onto the bed on the other side of him. He opened his arm out to you but you frowned.

“You’re hurt,” you protested.

“Please?” he asked softly, blinking his eyes at you. You sighed, moving over to him and being as careful as you could to try and avoid hurting him as you lay your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and both of you relaxed instantly. You weren't quite sure how this thing with Billy would go and you hoped he wouldn't get upset that it didn't mean you’d just be moving right in here. You hoped he understood you better than that by now. You’d take it slow like he said, see what happened. You were both damaged, both had a tonne of baggage. It was slightly scary to think you finally found someone to care about you like this, that you cared about him. Getting attached meant you had things to lose and you didn't think you couldn't stand to lose anything else. But the feeling also filled you with a sense of happiness at the same time. You felt like you’d finally found a home and it was with Billy.

Taglist: (if you’ve been asked to be tagged and aren’t here, it wouldn’t let me tag some people.)

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#billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfic #billy russo x reader #billy russo

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