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#unpack your adjectives
artbyjasonleung · 25 days
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“Unpack Your Adjectives” from Schoolhouse Rock 🏫
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gameraboy2 · 2 years
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Schoolhouse Rock (1973), “Unpack Your Adjectives”
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Happy 50th anniversary to Schoolhouse Rock!
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Miles be like: Yes I did once make out with my beautiful old flame Bel Thorne. Yes the way it flips its hair is heart-catching. Yes I sometimes regret not taking things further. Yes I am exclusively attracted to women why would you ever think otherwise?
like. buddy. you're the one who chose those adjectives
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pansyfemme · 5 months
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also like we havent gotten fully into my phase of weird covers of kids/classic songs. i only listened to covers of schoolhouse rock songs for like a full six months
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loveindefinitely · 1 month
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༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader
12 — IN SOME SAD WAY, I ALREADY KNOW
featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)
warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence
series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.
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“A written statement from the General himself.”
You mindlessly nod, eyes unfocused and ears ringing as you sit at the conference table, Laswell at the head with the paper in hand. Her brows are furrowed, and one of her hands rests at her hip as she reads over the paper’s contents once more.
Everything feels numb. Like your entire body’s been reset, and nothing makes sense – as if your very existence has been muffled.
Price and Ghost sit at the table, too, sharing looks with each other. The Sergeants are out training rookies – and a small, minute part of you is grateful. You don’t want them to see you so…
Whatever you are. Numb, cold, unfeeling. Any adjective that fits.
“Shepherd traded her,” Price seethes, knuckles whitening on the tight grip he has around his pack of cigars. 
“But why?” Laswell asks, exasperated, pacing at the front of the conference room. The overhead beams have been left off, so the frosted window is the only source of light. It allows a soft, gentle glow from the moon to fill the room, and it helps with your racing mind.
“We need to find him,” Ghost demands, voice gruff and icy. Thinly veiled anger – you recognise the tone all too well. 
“This gives us evidence to push the search further,” Laswell cuts in, her footfalls pausing as she searches the scrawled handwriting for something. “And it opens up a new trail. Why did Graves want you? And what did Shepherd deem worthy of trading his star soldier?”
Your leg’s bouncing, the soft tap tap tap of your foot against the linoleum floor sounding more like a ticking time bomb than anything.
When you look up from the table, your eyes instantly clash with a pair of dark brown. Ghost.
He’s watching you – something hidden behind his gaze that you can’t unpack. Not now, at least, with your mind racing at a million thoughts per hour. With your body feeling as sensitive as a live wire. Every breath feels manual, a feat in and of itself.
You break your eye contact with him suddenly, weary, looking to the window instead. The moon isn’t so complicated; doesn’t hold so many layers of darkness, both in colour and soul.
There’s nothing like the feeling of moonlight against your skin, the brush of nightly breezes against your chilled skin.
“Sweetheart –” Your attention instantly goes to Price, whose hands are clasped on the table, gaze heavy where it sits on you, “Do you know anything at all that could help us. Any leads.”
You go to open your mouth, but everything feels wrong, your stomach sinking and hands trembling and vision going blurry.
Without any thought, or reason, you abruptly stand, slightly shaky on your feet. You swallow, once, a difficult movement against your barren throat. Scratchy and harsh.
“I – I’m sorry, I need a moment,” you manage to mutter out, taking a step back in a shadow of defence.
Brows furrow, a question’s asked – you don’t hear, don’t see, because all you can do is turn and bolt out of the room, shouldering the door open and heading down the hospital light-white corridor, the white burning your vision.
Your eyes sting with unshed tears, your chest heaving, the echoing sound of your boots against the floor a distant soundtrack.
“Fuck,” you mutter, palms coming up to rub harshly at your face as you slow, unsure. You just need space, a moment to yourself, a place to break apart with no one as your witness.
A slightly ajar closet to your left seems like your best bet.
Heading for it, you push in, the stale scent of cleaning products hitting your nose. It’s difficult to find any part of you that cares in the slightest.
The door closes, and you just stand, for a moment, your head resting against the wood. Every breath rattles your bones, like your core is falling apart at its seams. Another breath. Two more.
Except it’s getting harder, with every breath, to fill your lungs. They come out harried, shallow and not unlike slices of a knife against your windpipe. They tear from your mouth like coughs.
Your back hits the wall, and you slide down, until you’re sat on the floor, head sat between your bent knees as the first tears finally fall down your cheeks. Hiccups leave your chapped lips, and you squeeze your eyes shut as your shoulders shake.
You haven’t allowed yourself to break down like this in... Gods, you can’t even remember. All you know is that it hurts, at your very core, but it’s also kind of freeing.
It’s as if your world is closing in around you; your breaths doing nothing to quell that intense sense of suffocation, cruel in the grasp your fear has around your throat. Nothing makes sense – everything hurts, your tears leave lines of heat down your cheeks –
The door creaks open.
Heart stuttering in your chest, you look up from your balled up frame with blurry vision, to see who your intruder is. Did Gaz or Soap leave the rookies early? Did Price or Laswell get worried and come check on you?
“Sweetheart.”
The tall, threatening frame of the man fills out the small crack of the door in a way that has your breath catching for a whole other reason.
“Ghost?” You find yourself asking, your voice threatening a whine with the state you’re in. 
He steps in, the scent of blood and some cologne filling the space as he does. You wipe at your bloodshot eyes, curling in closer.
“If you want to kill me, this is probably your best bet,” you bite, posturing, an attempt of goading so your image isn’t completely ruined. The idea isn’t completely unfound, either – he very well could pull out his gun and shoot you clean through the head.
He shakes his head, closing the door – allowing pitch black to envelop you both.
“You’re too cheeky for your own good,” he mutters, and despite all of your notions of the man, he slides into a sitting position next to you.
If you could stabilise your breaths, you would, if for no other fact than your own embarrassment. Your body still trembles, and small hiccups still leave your lips with every shaky breath.
His presence is warm against yours, and when he moves, the fabric of his uniform brushes against your own.
“Why are you here?” You find yourself asking, a whisper under your breath. Just loud enough for him to hear, for him to hear the fragile undertone. The risk you’re taking, sitting beside him in this state. 
He looses a breath – easy, soft. Unlike everything you know about the hulking man. “I understand.”
You can’t help the uneasy chuckle that leaves your lips. “You understand? Mister been-conspiring-against-me-since-day-one?”
“I understand what it’s like to have the weight of the world on your shoulders, with no one you trust there to hold you, too.”
You look to him, but in the darkness, it’s more of an instinctual act than anything. 
“Didn’t realise you were a poet, Lieutenant,” you chide, voice breaking slightly around the syllables. He doesn’t comment; a small mercy.
He shrugs, brushing against you as he does. “Not a poet. Just a soldier.”
“And an asshole,” you hum, and you can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes you when he elbows you in the dip of your waist. You elbow him back, unthinkingly, freely.
Silence fills in the gaps, except for the background noise of your shaky, tight breathing, and the bounce of your knees.
That is, until the man beside you breaks it.
“I asked my dog what two minus two is,” Ghost says, easily. You loosen your posture, just slightly, brows furrowed when you turn your head towards him once more.
“What are you on about?” You ask, incredulous. He shrugs. Nods.
“I asked my dog what two minus two is,” he continues, despite the confusion that is surely emanating off of you. “She said nothing.”
You let out a shocked, lost bark of a laugh at that, turning your body around so you’re facing him in the enclosed space. “Was that a dad joke?”
“I found out why my dog’s such a bad dancer,” Ghost starts once more, continuing despite your elongated groan. Seems to relish in your dismay.
“And why’s that?” You entertain him, despite the anxiety in your gut, the words left unsaid burning your tongue.
“She’s got two left feet.”
You heave a sigh, shaking your head – but the corners of your lips pull into a cheesy grin, and your breaths are lighter. Easier, natural, less harsh against your dry throat. “Do you even have a dog?” You ask.
“Her name’s Riley. She’s my family,” he says, earnestly, and your heart shatters just a bit more.
“What breed is she?”
“German Shepherd. Used to work in the military, till a mission gone wrong left her too scared to work in the field. Saved ‘er from the pound.”
How can this man be the same one who threatened your life? Who – who had made it very clear how little he trusted you, and was generally such a jerk? A complete asshole, of whom you had no qualms hating?
“She’d like you,” he adds, and you blink, “Always did like girls more than guys. Strong ones, at that.”
“You think I’m strong?”
You can tell he rolls his eyes, even without being able to see it. “I’ll bring ‘er in, when this is all said and done.”
“When this is all said and done, we’ll probably never see each other again. Small mercies, hey?” Your tone takes on a joking lilt.
He doesn’t laugh.
And it hits you, then. How fragile this very situation is. How unimportant, in the real scheme of things, your relationship with the 141 is. When Graves and Shepherd have been dealt with, where do you fit in? What purpose will you have?
You don’t, can’t, truly fit in with them. They’re already so interconnected, memories spent together that you’ll never understand, connections you have no place in joining.
Oh, what a stab in the gut that is.
“I can get Johnny or Kyle if you want,” Ghost offers, but you find yourself answering just this side of too soon.
“No.”
You realise, as you sit here beside him, that he is all you need. Soap and Gaz would’ve tried to ramble or make a move on you, Price would’ve tried to embrace you. Ghost just sits, and waits, his presence speaking a thousand words. He’s your anchor, right now.
“What does a bee use to brush its hair?” Ghost breaks the quiet, once more, his words steady and grating with the low timbre of his voice.
You exhale, but go along with it anyways. “I haven’t a clue.”
“A honeycomb.”
You scoff, but the smile on your face doesn’t waver – your cheeks hurting from the way it tugs on the muscles of your tired face. “That was awful, Lt.”
“Johnny laughed at that one,” he replies, head tilted to rest his skull against the wall. His arms rest on the bends of his knees.
“That’s cause he feels bad for you,” you hum, satisfaction weighing on your words.
Ghost elbows you once more, a bit too hard, but you find the movement grounding more than harmful. Like a way for your body to come back to itself, and register the world around you. No need for self-destruction or derealisation.
“They really like you, y���know,” he murmurs, and your breath pauses in your chest. “The Sergeants. Won’t shut up about you when you’re gone.”
“Well, if you’re gonna hate me, some support is nice,” you retort, and he huffs a low breath. Pauses, like he’s thinking something over. Weighing the risk and reward of his next statement.
“I don’t,” he rolls his tongue in his mouth, “I don’t hate you.”
“You’ve had me fooled,” you retort, the cool wall against your cheek a steady reminder of the world. “The whole threatening to kill me thing, and all.”
“If it means protecting Johnny, Kyle – even Price, I’d do it. Still will,” he says, the last statement bordering on a warning. “If you’ve somehow fooled us all, then I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”
You swallow. Scratch at the skin of your wrist.
“I just need to figure this shit out,” you admit, looking to the roof for answers. “Once Shadow Company’s been taken down, and Shepherd’s dealt with, everything can go back to normal. This’ll just be a blip in time.”
“The Sergeants aren’t going to let you go,” Ghost warns, an edge to his words. “What are you gonna do, anyways? Live in the countryside?”
“I don’t know,” you confess, picking at your fingernails. “I’ll figure it out when it comes to it. We’ve got bigger things on our plate.”
With his shoulder pressed against your own, you let your body relax, your breaths finally even. No tears on the verge of falling down your cheeks – and no fear lacing your veins with a thick coat of adrenaline.
However, that short-lived relief is quickly replaced with the all too familiar crash.
Your head pounds, and your limbs suddenly feel heavy. Your eyelids threaten to close, even though you don’t feel the need to sleep.
“Tired?” Ghost asks, low and soft, careful not to startle you. So at odds with the idea you had of him.
Without meaning to, you lean further against him, using his frame to hold your own up. He doesn’t comment on it. “I’m – just need a minute,” you murmur.
His hand moves to rest at the side of your head, pulling you in so your temple rests against his shoulder. It’s warm, comforting – a parallel to the man of which you thought you hated.
Rest comes easy, at the side of one of the men who wants to kill you.
*
When you come to, it’s with the feeling of fingers brushing through your hair, and the scent of cajun.
The gentle mid-morning light filters into the room, casting light through your closed eyes, the faraway sound of bullets being fired an odd comfort. Soft sizzling, too, can be heard, as well as the chopping of a knife against a board.
“That smells bloody divine, Si,” a familiar, Scottish voice calls, quietened by what you can only suspect is due to your ‘sleeping’. “Ya’d be a bonnie housewife.”
“Watch it, Johnny,” Ghost replies, stern, even with the undercurrent of humour in his voice. 
The fingers in your hair continue to card through your strands, pausing to massage at your scalp every now and then. The movements have you melting further into Soap’s lap.
“Ken the other two are goin’ at it?” Johnny chides, and even without vision, you can see the goading smile on his face.
“I ken you should shut your face,” Ghost retorts, the sound of chopping finally coming to a pause. “And, no, you’re a bloody idiot.”
“Rude.”
Fluttering your eyes open, you let out a small huff of air, stretching your tense muscles. They feel sore with lethargy, and stiff from the position you fell asleep in.
“Mornin’, Sweetheart,” Johnny smirks, looking down at where your head sits in his lap.
When you look towards the kitchen, it's to find Ghost, flipper in hand as he stands by the stove, a glass bowl filled with salad to his side. One thing in particular has you looking twice.
“A bit promiscuous, don't you think, Lieutenant?”
Ghost's eyes narrow, but Soap lets out a pleased chuckle. “Like a lad seein’ an ankle, aye?”
Instead of gloves, the pale skin of his hands is shown for the first time, patterns of ink decorating the back of his hands. The small hint of a sleeve has you desperate to see the full thing.
“You're both fuckin’ ridiculous,” Ghost scoffs, starting to swap the contents of the pan into the salad bowl.
As you move to sit up, Soap’s hands fall to your waist, pulling you so your back presses against his chest. His thumbs trace circles into the skin where your shirt rides up, but it’s more out of instinct than anything else.
“What’d you make us?” You ask, rubbing at your weary, sleepy eyes as you deflate against Soap.
“Cajun chicken ‘nd salad,” Ghost quips, serving up a plate for each of you. It smells nothing short of delicious, and you sit up straighter against the Sergeant.
“Lt and Gaz are our personal chefs,” Soap chimes, squeezing you tighter against him. “Bloody perfect at it.”
Ghost rolls his eyes, but comes over with two plates, setting them on the coffee table in front of both you and Soap. It’s a small space, next to the personal kitchen, but it’s nice. Intimate.
The first mouthful of salad is like heaven on your tongue, and you look up at Ghost with wide eyes as you swallow. “This is amazing.”
“You’d better eat it all then,” he jerks his chin towards your plate, grabbing his own before sitting on the chair to your left. Soap, still with his chest to your back, shovels his food into his mouth like a man starved.
It’s quiet, for a few moments, just the three of you enjoying your food.
“What’s the next step?” Johnny asks, around a mouthful. You elbow him in the side, and he feigns hurt. He swallows, before continuing, “Aye mean, what’re we gonna do? What lead do we follow?”
“I think,” you work your jaw around the words, thinking, “I think if we get to the root, we can bring down the whole tree.”
You scan the two men, and it’s Ghost who understands your words first.
“Shepherd. You think we should take him out first,” Ghost leans back in his seat, studying you with calculating, chocolate brown eyes. They shine in the midday light.
Nodding, you swallow around some lettuce, before continuing, looking between the two. 
“If we can find Shepherd, and learn why everything’s happened the way it has,” you rub at your face, “Then we can bring it all crumbling down. Like dominoes.”
“He’s MIA,” Soap furrows his brows, placing his empty plate on the coffee table. “We’ve tried finding the twat – he’s gone.”
You shrug, a plan forming in your mind like the final pieces of a puzzle connecting. A small, pleased smile spreads on your lips, before you’re moving off of the couch, ready to head to Price’s office.
“Where’s you going?” Ghost queries, leaning forward, elbows resting on his spread knees.
You tilt your head.
“Power in numbers, right?” Heading for the corridor, you open the door, before turning back to look at the two men one more time.
“I know two soldiers who’ve been waiting for a call.”
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mitsies · 9 months
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isagi yoichi can’t take his eyes off you.
you’re not even wearing anything special— an old shirt that’s been demoted to pajamas and some short shorts that ride up dangerously high. your hair is tousled and in your face in a less-than-elegant way, and sleep drags at your eyelids. you’re not quite put together, not quite what you would consider presentable. but he’s still unable to look at anything but you.
today marks the first day of living in your new shared apartment. all the big furniture has been moved in, including the couch which is what the both of you were sat on now. your laptop, propped up on a box rather than a stand, plays some cheaply made film which you insist was really good. but you look more asleep than awake, so isagi doubts that you agree with your own sentiment. you’re exhausted, that much is obvious. he would be too, if your company didn’t always give him energy.
you’re curled into his side like a cat, head resting on his shoulder staring blankly at the screen. your shirt rides up in some places revealing lengths of skin that glow beneath the moonlight that slips in through the apartment’s windows. late night air filters in but all he really wants to breath in is you, and how you smell, and how you taste.
you must’ve noticed his gaze fixed on you at some point, because you turn your head to meet his eyes. you’re so pretty, he thinks, like this. laying on him, so beautiful, like an oil painting. he thinks you look unreal. a hand skims down your side, planting itself on your hip as he tries to bring you closer still. you hum, “yoichi?”
“yeah, babe?”
you purse your lips. “is there something on my face, or what?”
isagi blinks at you. “no, you’re good. why?”
“so you’re just staring at me, then.”
heat rises to his ears as he tries to fight a grin. god, he’s so in love with you— your words, your face, your whole entire being. “can’t a guy just appreciate his amazing, lovely, cool, spectacular girlfriend?”
you’re not stupid. you know that look, that hunger, those eyes. and the night isn’t over yet, you decide, as you rise from your place on his side, dragging yourself to be seated on his lap. he’s so stupidly enamoured by you, how you fit him above him so perfectly, and how you would fit even better beneath him. his hand finds your thighs and yours move to his jaw. he’s sure he’s equally a mess, hair mussed and bags beneath his eyes, but he’s also sure that he’s looking at you like you’re a greek god, and you’ve personally hung all the stars in the sky. some kind of angel, meant only for him.
“add a few more adjectives and we have a deal,” you tease, breath ghosting his cheek. he shivers beneath you. you know what you’re getting into.
it’s maybe 2 in the morning. the movie is still running on the laptop. the only things unpacked are a set of dishes, the couch, the bed, and an armoire. you’re a mess, he is too, and you’re both dead tired, but when he kisses you it’s like none of that really matters anymore.
his palms and fingers are digging into the flesh of your thighs, hot and heavy and demanding, as he tries to close any semblance of distance left. greedy, he’s so greedy, with how he swallows the surprised noise you let out when his teeth bite your bottom lip. you’re suddenly not so tired anymore, as you all but melt into his touch. pliant like a sculptor and his art, you allow isagi you meld you into anything he wants you to be, anything and more. a hand remaining on his jaw, the other travels to his hair as you try to pull him closer.
when the both of you finally break away for air, he can’t help but think you look even better now. breathless, your mouth hangs open a little as you breathe in sharp mouthfuls of air. your lips are reddened and swollen, and your pupils are blown up and god, you’ve got to be some kind of divine figure sitting on top of him like that. and he wants to ruin you.
the night is only young. the movie is almost over on the laptop screen. the only furniture that’s been unpacked is this couch, and your new bed. he grins at you, and it’s all teeth. (you know what you’re getting into.)
isagi yoichi can’t take his eyes off you.
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chaotic-iguana · 7 months
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Refuge | chapter three. 
series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter | general masterlist 
chapter three: damning rebirth
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wordcount: 3.8k - my longest work yet lmao summary: what if reader and joel were married before the outbreak? warnings: angst, estrangement, anger, violence, sad, its like centered around finding yourself again, reader and joel are both quite complicated broken ppl im trying to do them justice, not much joel he’ll be in the next chapter i promise.
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You didn’t speak to him for weeks after that first afternoon. You’d run out of words to say. You stopped speaking to his brother, too, for keeping you in the dark; ignoring Maria’s justifications, the constant droning of “…he did it to keep you safe, you know? So you wouldn’t leave Jackson’s safety and run after Joel. You could have died. Sarah’s death would have broken you, like it broke him, and you should be thankful that…” 
You tuned her out after a while. It was getting tiring coming up with rude adjectives to describe how wrong she was in your head. There was no fight left in you to even protest, so you just left the room while she was talking. You loved her, but there were days you thought she just enjoyed hearing herself talk. Which she was extremely welcome to do, but with the acknowledgement that you would rather walk into a bloaters' den unarmed than sit through it.
Tommy had lied to you, kept the truth about your family from you, and no matter how many ways he spun it, it wouldn’t change the fact that when your first fucking words to him were asking about Joel and Sarah, he had looked you in the eyes and lied through his goddamn teeth when he said he didn’t know. He could go crying to Maria all he liked. You’d need a while not to recoil with disgust every time you saw him no matter how many times you got told to stop acting like a child. When Tommy realised the extent of your anger, he attempted to remedy it by telling you everything. Sarah getting shot on outbreak day - you still winced when he said it- and Joel’s time in the QZ, with a woman called Tess. You didn’t even know what to make of that. You probably couldn’t unpack your feelings about it if you tried. How he found the girl you’d gotten alarmed by - the job he got, how he took her in, how he lied to her and why she won’t look at him now. 
You didn’t even bother forming opinions about any of it, let alone voice any. Thinking was futile; your thoughts or ideas or opinions or offense wouldn’t change anything, would they? You continued the same monotonous routine you had established for the past year or so since you arrived to Jackson, this time with even fewer occasions of leaving the house for a party or drink. 
The shop and your bedroom became your life, the only people you spoke to were those looking for books. You’d collected them for years in the hope that if the outbreak ever got under control, there would be literature somewhere for humanity to remember what it used to be. Or perhaps a relic, serving as a legacy for a species long gone. Something, just to yell at the world and all those to come after, that you were here, even when you weren’t really. You hadn’t quite been here since the day the world had ended. Since the day you had lost everything. And now, twelve years later, all of it just came crashing back. 
The pain was as if someone had crawled into your flesh, peeled your ribs back, and plucked your heart out.
Sarah had become less of a person and more of a concept to you over time. The intangibility that very literally gave you strength when you lay bruised and beaten, held down and overlooked by snarling strangers. She had been your salvation; your everything. Losing her wasn’t something you had truly came back from the first time around, suppressed guilt and fear and worry gnawing at the back of your mind. The reappearance of all of it, overshadowed this time by crippling guilt, was a cruel albeit welcome one. You wanted to feel bad - because much like Joel, it was what you deserved. You had failed - not only as a mother but as a wife, too. You should have just gone home on time that fucking night, but life got in the way as if often used to back then. All those little things that got blown out of proportion like work and deadlines and projects and careers didn’t even matter now. You should have come home. You should have been there.
You didn’t even want to imagine how Joel felt. To you, the ache was a phantom limb - trailing you wherever you went, interwoven with your shadow. To him, it was a stain on his hands that he never seemed to be able to rub out; he could always see a tinge of crimson coating his fingers, ever since that night.
Neither of you could look the other in the eye anymore. 
Yet, even after all of it life simply went on, stuttering but still relentless in its proceedings. Pink, jagged scars marred the flesh of time as it stretched around the metalwork of the lives you had fought to keep, yet lost the worth of anyways. Fate is seldom kind.
It wasn’t too peculiar, this distance. Ironically, even after all these years, you both understood the other perfectly - as if each thought either of you had, each feeling you felt, was respected and loved and relayed by the refuge of your marriage, still. You understood that he was too ashamed by his self-proclaimed failure to speak to you, and he understood that the loss had so wholly devoured you that you wouldn’t have the strength to look in his eyes and be reminded of hers for a while.
The song and dance continued, the delicate persuasion of ensuring not to jolt the fragile existences the other had created for themselves. Joel didn’t come near your bookshop, and you didn’t go near Tommy, lest the words ‘family dinner’ be spoken into existence. Truly, he was idiot enough to suggest it. As if all that your currently brilliant (more like fractured) relationship with your husband (was he still? what about tess?) needed was a dinner with his brother, his sister in law, and the kid he had apparently adopted, lied to, and was now in a rough spot with. Gotta love reunions, no?
In another life, you would have stepped in. You would have spoken to either of them - perhaps even made more of an effort to include Ellie in your own life to ensure that after all she had been through, she wouldn’t feel alone even when she wasn’t doing well with Joel. In this life, though, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Joel acted like a selfish, moronic liar, sure. But if this kid couldn’t see, that at his very core, he was just plain scared - that he practically shook in his (adorable) cowboy boots anytime someone mentioned what happened to Ellie - then, great, she deserved Joel not realising that it was her decision to save humanity; to pay the price, to do what it took; entirely independent of him, or anyone else. You tamped down on the cynical part of you sneering at the romantic heroism of it all. The world knew now, better than before, how selfish man was. How utterly human, for Joel to struggle to separate his feelings for his own daughter and the one he had taken in; for Ellie to be too caught up in her own view to even consider what Joel was going through. It was almost like one of those plays you used to enjoy reading - like a Greek tragedy. The hamartia of both heroes was humanity alone.
They’d come around, eventually. Joel and Sarah always did, too. 
The irony lay mostly in the fact that you had spent a decade craving him - his comfort and his warmth. The kneading of his large hands on your back after a long day; the scratch of his stubble when he nuzzled into your neck from behind. The years you didn’t have him were spent with only him in mind; a mindless worship of the love you had. Now that he was within reach; close enough to grasp and curl your fingers around, to sink an burrow into; you were… lost. The desperation; the wild frenzy with which you had remembered only them through the years - to have lost one now leaves you clueless about what to do with the other. The cracks that have made their way into your heart - the ones tainting your soul - you see them reflected in him, too. Your first look into his dark eyes told you that he, too, has done too much to be standing here today; that his first kill, too, had been the man he once was. No wonder you can’t bear to look at each other anymore. The grief - not only of what you have both lost, or what you once had, but the grief of who you both used to be - rears its ugly head in any room you find yourselves in together. Look at me, it screams. Look at what the years have done to me. I can’t recognise myself in mirrors anymore. I don’t see who I used to be. I was so beautiful. I was so good. Look at me. Look at me. Look-
Is this how the angels felt when they fell? You’d never know - there were no angels; there was no God. What divinity would allow for any of this to happen? This joke, this mockery of nature. You never were religious, but fumbled prayers had found their way into your vocabulary every night when you didn’t know where Joel and Sarah were. You - who had never even stepped into a church had prayed.
You must have forgotten there was nobody sitting in the sky to listen.
You had made your peace with the mutual decision to avoid him and the girl - not only because you didn’t even know how to start apologizing to her-but because you were content with the mere knowledge that he was here, that he was alive and breathing.
Tommy’s guilt worked in your favor, ensuring that he didn’t try pairing you and Joel up for patrols - likely fearful of the fallout that might occur (but like, what could even happen? another apocalypse?) but the comedown of that meant that you were paired up with Fred, instead. A man who infuriated you to no end, one who found it extremely interesting that you were once married, that you have a child. Had.
His ceaseless questions made you want to rip your hair out, but you refrained - if only so he wouldn’t have another reason to put his arms around you to try ‘calming’ you like last time. He was a bastard, but you didn’t have it in you to challenge him just yet.
Your answers to his enquiries were grunted or simply monosyllabic, your irritation clear as day in the set of your jaw, the slant of your brow. Nevertheless, like the dumbfuck he was, he persisted. So then how was this your fault?
It had been a decent morning. You’d gotten up early in time for the patrol, taken a shower, drank some water and arrived at the stables. But as you stood outside, you could hear the commotion of people inside - boisterous cheering and laughing as if one would hear in a pub. Interest piqued, you inched your way to the entrance of the barn silently, trying to understand what was going on. 
“…fuckin’ whore’s been leading me on for like half a year, turned out she was married the whole time. Dodged a bullet, though. Nearly lost her shit when he told her that her kid died. Went completely apeshit and ruined my goddamn shirt with her snot- nearly clawed through my arm, too. Feel bad for the poor husband, had to yell at everyone to get out just so he could calm her crazy ass down. Everyone’s lost someone, lady. Get over it, right? Plus, girl that age wouldn’t have done too well at a QZ, know what I mean? Wouldn’t have gone untouched, anyways.” He paused for them all to laugh at the supposed comedic gold in his words - him and his little pack of primitives - and all you could do was stand there, glued to the spot in shock.
The fucking audacity. Leading him on? You fucking tried your best to get him to stop talking to you, stop touching you - and you didn’t claw at his arm because you were crazy, you did it because you were fucking panicking and some idiot was making it worse by caging you in. And that was brushing aside what he said about Sarah. No, that had you seeing red, chest heaving.
Fuck, the old you would have broken his nose on the first day. Never is too late to do the right thing, is it? 
Just like before, a laugh was forming in your chest. A giggle at first, before you were chuckling, clapping a hand to your mouth and horrified with your own humour. The joke here was priceless, though. See - the world had ended, God was dead, and you were worried about being lightly reprimanded? Fuck that, and fuck him. You hadn’t let yourself feel fear out there. You hadn’t let yourself feel despair, and you sure as hell hadn’t let yourself feel hope. Joel’s arrival forced you to confront all the pain you had ignored. This cunt of a man was managing to unearth all the anger you had neglected, too. His fucking funeral.
Your tongue sat agitated against your teeth in anticipation, waiting to give way to the venom lacing the words in your brain. 
Fury sparked in your blood, washing away all your hesitation. Fragmented, she etched herself into the ring of black that blew out your pupils; the unfaltering thumping of your heart in your chest. The threads of your fate were now in her slender, silhouetted hands, and all that was left for you to do was obey. Not that you had a choice. 
Before you could so much as blink, you had burst into the crowd. Fred’s eyes widened at the wild snarl on your face, begging and apologizing.
He was unaware, though, of just how sick you had become of apologies. Tommy’s apologies, Joel’s apologies, Maria’s shitty ones, and then the sympathetic apologies you’d been getting from customers because apparently word of Sarah and her role in your life had spread like wildfire throughout Jackson. Joel wouldn’t have shared it, nor would Tommy- not when he knew you were two seconds away from breaking his nose just weeks ago. That left the kid Joel bought-Ellie-or Fred. And something just told you it wasn’t the girl. You’d trust Joel’s judgement blindly any day.
His empty sorrys fell upon deaf ears, his trembling voice cracking as he repeated them over and over.
You grinned, baring your teeth.
“Hello, Fred. Hello, everyone. Having a party and I wasn’t even invited?” You pouted mockingly. “Y’ know what I personally think is absolutely, knee-slappingly hilarious?” You paused, watching their curiosity grow as they fell hook, line and sinker for the cheerful façade, furrowing ther brows in question and stepping in closer. “How untouched you look, asshat.” Your grin dropped just as you rocked back on your heels, surging forward within a split second while throwing all your weight into your fist. 
Just as it collided with the asshat's jaw.
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“What the fuck were you thinking? You’ve been…frazzled since Joel came back, fine, but I cannot excuse your behaviour just because I know you or because you’re family. This was absolutely out of line, is that clear?” Maria stopped her pacing to turn to you, expecting a justification or an apology. You offered neither. When you refused to so much as look up from your split knuckles, she threw her hands up, huffing at her husband, who was leaning against the table sheepishly while wincing every time her voice rose as she yelled at you. 
The door swung open and Joel practically stumbled in, eyes searching wildly until they landed on you curled up on a chair with your hands in your lap. Did news seriously spread that fast, even now? Guess people don���t have much to do when the world has ended.
“Look- I know, I know you went through a lot. At first, you were spacey and Tommy told me to just leave it alone. Then, you got the bookshop and you just spent all your time there or on patrols, never even trying to integrate yourself here, and I’ve let it go because he-“ a finger in Tommy’s direction, “-begged me to. Let go of your little…tantrum with Ellie, too. I watched Tommy mope around and I said nothing even when you refused to accept that he hadn’t told you about Joel, for your own good.” Tommy flinched, but she went on. “I just can’t do it this time. You broke Fred’s jaw, you know? He is a contributing, well-liked citizen in Jackson. Not a recluse. I didn’t believe you’d done it until I saw the state of your hand. You’re always so quie-just-just give me one fucking reason you would punch him.” She was panting by the end, her chest falling rapidly under the weight of her own tirade. 
Joel had planted himself directly between you and Maria, as if trying to protect you from the onslaught of her words. He looked more apologetic than you did, hands extending towards her while he took a deep breath, attempting to placate her. 
“Maria-now just wait a damn minute, she wouldn’t-“ 
Was he defending you? When had that happened? When had you become this-this blubbering, weak version of yourself that Joel had to protect? 
The cold, unforgiving numbness loosened its grip; fear, guilt but most strongly, shame coiling in your gut. Maria was right, in her own fucked up way. You had retreated so far back into yourself that all that was left within your grasp now was mere tendrils of who you used to be. 
Sarah would have been proud of me for punching the bastard, though. 
The thought rang in your mind as you raised your head, squared your shoulders. Took the stutter out of your voice, and looked Maria right in the eyes. 
“Your contributing, well-liked citizen said Sarah was lucky to die. That she wouldn’t have gone untouched in a QZ. Whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean. And thanks to how well liked he is, I didn’t get a chance to tell you that he’s been touching me for months. That he took advantage of the fact that I was too fucking broken to say anything, to anyone. It’s not like you would’ve believed me.” You watched both Millers’ faces harden, brows furrowing as fury began sinking her talons in their flesh. Joel looked murderous, jaw set at that angle you knew meant he was livid. Good. You had been, too. Tommy looked shocked, anger painting his features, and his wife just looked terrified, eyes darting from you to Joel, wide and panicked. It made you smile at her, the curl of your mouth dripping with condescension and mockery. 
“Maria, I’m so sorry you’ve had to overlook this many…grievances, let’s call them. I’ll work on my attitude here, I promise. I’ll go to book club and gossip about my husband and my dead daughter. I’ll do my hair and cut my nails and smile at people who don’t fucking deserve it. Hell, I’ll even forgive Tommy.” You pause, nodding at him, watching the relief in his eyes. Smile dropping, you meet Maria’s gaze again. 
“But here’s what I won’t do- I won’t stand in a room with that asshole again without breaking all the other bones in his body. I won’t stay quiet next time his hands are on me - I’ll snap his fucking neck. Anyone else with anything else to say about Sarah - even if it’s just goddamn condolences - will find themselves in a similar predicament. Is that clear?” She blinked at you, mouth wide open at the radical transformation in you as you spoke, taking so long to nod that you doubted she’d heard you at first. You didn’t blame her - you’d folded in on yourself, made yourself small these past few years. Become meek: looking at the floor, wringing your hands; doing absolutely anything to avoid confrontation or issue. You’d been too tired to fight or stand on your own two feet, and everyone had focused on the wobble in your voice; the wet lining in your eyes; the shake of your hands, and just decided that just because you chose not to challenge them, you weren’t capable of it. Fuck that. 
Joel’s eyes shone as he looked at you, chin dipping in acknowledgment as he, too, had a stunned look on his face. You just shrugged back at him, swinging your legs and getting up, walking out of the house without so much as a glance over your shoulder. 
The flame that had forged your spirit - the fire burning in your veins, the one snuffed out long ago - flickered back to life. Dim,  shaky, practically translucent - but ignited. 
And fuck, it felt good to be back. 
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hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @imherefordeanandbones, @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore, @breakfastatjoels, @millerscoffee, @nostalxgic, @sscorpiiio, @pedrosaidsheispunk, @its-nebuleuse, @sofiparallel, @mandoisapunk, @bastardmandennis, @pawnshopb1ues. dividers by me! series taglist (same rule: message/comment to be added or removed, no hard feelings): @spookyxsam, @obscurexsorrows, @planet-marz1, @lunxramour, @anavatazes, @joeldjarin, @stunkbiggu, @joels-darlin, @casa-boiardi, @noisynightmarepoetry, @chiogarza, @jasminedragoon, @daddy-din, @moonlightdivine, @stickthegremlin, @jamesmasbone, @avampiregf, @amanitacowboy
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chemicallady · 6 months
Text
I WANNA FEEL LOVE AGAIN
Part 1
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Couple: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader
Content Warning: none. It's gonna be a slow burn, baby! Just a couple of bad words and some references to sexual intercorse. Should I add Matt to the warming just because it's part of this?
Taglist: @ada-clarence, @badalmondzzzz, my wifey @starsomens
Summary: Reader is Matt's sister and PR for Bad Omens. After a long relationship that ended quite bad, with her brother help, she decides to give herself a fresh new start in Los Angeles.
A/N: from now on, I'll post my notes at the end of the chapter to avoid spoilers!
As always this is just a product of fiction, nothing in this ff is real, my intention is to entertain myself and all of you.
Enjoy 🐕
I don't know if I count, but I'm trying my best.
This is not a story with a happy ending.
This is not one of those scenarios in which the grumpy old brother, after a significant amount of time, realises that his sister and his bestfriend are in love and the two of you can live happily ever after.
This is the real life, not an urban fairytale.
And there's a lot to unpack, emotionally.
First of all, you and Noah are not in love. You weren't aware of who he was before an hour ago. In your head you can ear in loop Eric, Eric, Eric, and it's fucking annoying that you actually had had the feeling you know him but you didn't recognised his throat tattoo after licking it. Or his nose. He has the most perfect nose you've ever seen, but nothing. It's not even an excuse that you haven't seen each other for three years because Matt shares videos from their gig on weekly basis, when on tour.
It's the fucking Clark Kent paradox, but instead of a pair of glasses, he got those long, perfect silk hair cut.
Losing the 25% of his charm, in your modest opinion.
But it doesn't matter.
Because when you met Eric, your first impression was that he seemed to be genuine, but shy maybe, in a good way a bit weird.
But genuine.
He is not genuine for the fuck sake! He lied on who he is and now you both have a problem.
Matt hasn't noticed yet, but only because he's too invested in the production of the music video to connect the dots. The way Noah stood in front of you, paralyzed, without talking, was loud enough for someone to notice.
You're sure about that.
After that stupid exchange of words you ran back inside the house telling everyone that it's too hot and you are not use yet to California's sunny day.
Dumbest excuse ever since is almost november, and Texas is warmer than here. But it worked so you can sit on the kitchen counter, and reflect about how much fucked up you are.
This is not even a story in which the main character is overreacting. You're Not. Matt has always hated every boy who laid and eye on you. From the very first boyfriend in mid school to a couple of classmates in highschool that just asked for your help with homeworks. Then, Shawn. He has never tollerated Shawn even if the rest of your family accepted him as a son. Matt never made up a scene in front of him or mistreated him in any way. But behind his back, he talked a lot shit, made you furious every time. He said that Shawn wasn't genuine enough (this adjective is starting to sound funny, at this point), caring enough, that he was drinking too much at your parents dinner table, that he looked too possessive.
In your modest opinion, your brother is terrible in judging others. For real. The issue on the table is always the same one; he is afraid you can get hurt. Matt can't physically stand the sight of you crying or being miserable.
Now, after this long mental digression, it's fair to say that he doesn't have to know. Absolutely. And you need Noah to be on the same page about that. You have to cut any contact with him that is not related to work. The date you have for friday is deleted.
It's sad because you really enjoyed having Eric around.
But he's not fucking Eric.
You don't have the chance to speak face to face with noah until after lunch. When the nerds move on Orie's room to give a first look at the unprocessed scenes and Jolly joined Folio in the pool, Noah is the one who actually comes looking for you.
You are on the sofa, petting Harper. He indulges just one second on the sight of you cuddling the adorable princess of the hous, before take a seat next to you. 《 Harp likes you.》
《 Well, she is not the only one. Isn't she?》
Noah release a long, loud sigh, while is cheeks get pink-ish. 《 You really are outspoken, are you?》. He gives a look at you, straight into your eyes. You are ready. You can feel how reticent he is right now, almost scared to say the wrong thing. 《 You are not gonna tell your brother about...》
《 About you eating me out in you car?》 It's your question, whispered between the two of you like the biggest secret in the world. 《 initially he won't believe us, but further investigations will follow; Maybe he will take the fingerprints from the back window. My hands were there while you were fucking me from behind. And he loves CSI.》
《 I'm serious. Are you going to tell him?》
And he is serious. You were joking, maybe because you feel a little embarrassed, maybe because your dad is right when he says that making fun about serious situations sometimes helps in facing them. But Noah on the other hand doesn't look amused. He looks like thinks you're mocking him.
So you hinale deeply, before looking back at him, leaving all your bullshit behind. And that's the moment in which you start to feel how tense the situation is. 《 I would rather chop my own foot than telling him I fuck with his best friend. He's gonna be furious. To me, but also to you. Do you have any deathwishies? Because I just got a fresh new start and I intend to survive the beginning of the week.》
Noah nods with a slow motion. He seems to have already evaluated any bad scenarios and keep it quiet is for the best of all of you. Especially Matt, who doesn't deserve to end up in jail. 《 So it's a secret between you and me now, Vanessa.》
《Don't you even try to use this card against me, Eric. 》
Noah brings his hands to his eyes. He looks even more concerned than you are. Matt once told you that Noah never had a real family, growing up. He was always on his own, so he formed a family with the friends he chose. Probably he is scared to disappoint Matt as much as you are.
《 Why you lie? Why you told me your name was Eric?》
With another sigh, Noah looked back at you. 《 I don't know. Sometime I ... fuck, you're going to have a bad first impression of me.》
《 Don't worry. I already had a bad first impression of you. 》
When he see you smile softly, he chuckles. It's pure tension right now and not the good one. He is living the horror of being caught with his hands in your honey jar. 《 ...When I meet a girl that sounds like troubles, I never bring her home and I give her a fake name.》
《 Did I sound like a troubles, to you?》
《 Yes because I knew I've already seen you.... but I couldn't recall were or when. And when you told me you had just moved in with your brother for a second I thought 'oh shit its y/n, her tits got bigger'. But then you lie as well and I believe I was in the safe.》
《 You didn't remember anything else but my breast size?》
It makes sense.
In some ways.
Half of fault is on both of you.
《 Sorry I lied》 , he says while rising from the sofa, ready to join his friends and check how the video is going 《 and sorry for... you know. 》
《 ah, don't say anything, we both enjoyed that part》 .
《 yeah, it was...》 Noah stays a couple of second in silence before biting both is lips. 《 We have to stop anyway. I cant loose Matt and he gave us a lecture about NOT fucking around with you, before you arrived.》
Now it's your time to sigh loudly. Yeah, you have seen that coming. But it's fine since you and Noah didn't planned it. You call it a casuality more than an incident.
You haven't big aspectation on Eric, anyway.
You feel like you've lost the capability of love long, after Shawn.
《 I agree. It's not gonna happen again》.
He smiles at you in relieve and you feel the same. 《 Can wait to work with you, than 》
《Otherwise》
He waves his hand before turning around and leave you in the living room. Harper is licking your hand so you start to pet her again, feeling better.
Matt will never know about your rendezvous.
You're washing the dishes after dinner, while Matt is picking up a movie. Even if you convinced yourself that you and Noah took the most resonable way, and also your conversation was short but clearifyng, you cant help yourself but feeling a bit down because you're not going to meet Eric anymore. And you know that Eric doesn't even exist. You will see Noah on a daily basis, and this will help a lot in moving on, but it's gonna be tough for the first week or two.
Because you and Noah are not in love, but you can feel the first syntomps of a beginning crush. Which is legit because Noah is funny and goofy and good-looking. More than that, he was nice to you and didn't force you in silence or nothing. You two have a conversation and reach an easy solution that makes everyone safe. Safe from Matt. After clearing the air, he also asked you for some advices because he never had a PR. It's his job usually and the two of you should work on that together. The prospective makes you nervous since you have no clue about the job itself, and Matt noticed. You know he did.
And you also know that he was waiting the vulnerable silence of your shared flat to talk about this with you.
《 What's wrong with Noah?》
You don't look back at him, rinsing the dishes from the soap. 《 What about Noah?》
《 He froze when he saw you this morning. And then you didn't look so happy about working with him》.
Matt and his way to be fucking direct.
You scroll your shoulders, epically good in lying. 《 I can't tell about him freezing in front of me. But I'm not looking forward to be his assistant and bring him his favorite brand of coffe.... or fold his underwares.》
《 That's not your job. He can make his own caffè and he won't let you fold any of his clothes. Trust me, that man on the edge of an OC diagnosis 》. You mumble something about being good in folding clothes while Matt approaches you, crossing his arm on his chest. 《 C'mon. Do I have to pull the big deal out of you kicking your ass?》
You're trapped because you two are too similar. You can read your brother like a book written for kids. Really dumb kids. And it's the same for him. You can't fool him too long.
《 Alright. I met a guy at the gym. He's name is Eric and he looked nice, but now I'm convinced that he's fake like a three dollar coin. Happy?》
You wait for the ocean of question that Matt is going to storm on you, but.... Nothing. He simply exhales before helping you, drying the dishes and the glasses with a cloat. You feel like you just turned twelve again and he was always around helping with the cores your mom gave you.
《 It's good that you're moving on fast. When I brought you here, I was afraid to see you again in the sane state you were in Texas. Close in your own room, drowing your bad feelings under the blankets. It's a good thing that you go to the gym and meet new people but be careful. People in LA are different from what you're used to. 》
You don't know what to say. You were aspecting Matt to start a lecture about rushing your new life and instead you got a boost. That's a progress.
《 Thanks for the advice》.
《 Just text me every time you're with him. And send me the position in real time so I can check.》
There he is! 《 You almost got me scared. I was wandering where my medieval-mind brother was. 》
《 Shut up!》
A soft laught leaves your mounth while he pours so water from the sink on you. And you oblige, doing it back on him. 《 I won't see Eric again, anyway.》
《 Who's Eric?》
《 Gym guy. He left.》
Matt finished drying the last fork before push you a little, playfully. 《 What did you say to make him run?》
《 Nothing! You asshole!》
The two of you reach the sofa, but apparently he is not done with the conversation. 《 Can you promise just two things?》
《 Alright, shoot》
《 In case this guy will be back and you won't be interested, just call Noah. He is enrolled to the same gym》.
You have to do your best to not laugh or betray yourself in any way. 《 Promise. What else?》
《 You are more than allowed to look for some happiness. You deserve to be loved by someone who is not an idiot as Shawn. Someone who sees the real you.》 You smile with some commotion to these beautiful words, reaching for his hand on the cushion in between you two. 《 But please never date anyone from the crew. No one wants drama while we're hitting the road.》
The smile froze on your lips without giving your brain the chance to process why you suddenly feel so .... disappointed.
《 y/n, pinkie promise?》
A bit reluctant, you grab his pinkie with yours, like you have done billions of time.
《 I promise》.
And you really hope you will be able to keep it.
It takes six days to meet again Noah at the gym. Matt helped you find a class about management and public relations, and day after day, you're learning how you can be useful for the band. Working on websites, taking care of the agenda, and defining schedules sounds scary, but you feel more confident day after day.
Noah is sitting outside his jujitsu class, his mitts next to him, and some bandage in his hand. The other one is busy scrolling the screen of his iPhone. You're reticent in bump into him, but just for a second. You know that if you start to avoid him, it will be a bad habit to lose. So you approach greeting him.
He looks surprised, but just for a couple of seconds, while he's buring the cellphone in his shorts' pocket. 《 How is yoga going?》
《 Fine, nothing noticeable》 , you take a seat next to him, smiling. 《 How jujitsu is going?》
《 Today, not so good》 he answers, showing you his brushed knuckles. Some blood on the right hand is almost dry. 《 I have to change my mitts. These are fucked.》
That's an amazing start of conversation for two people who had sex and then started to pretend that never happened in less than 24 hours.
《 Let me help you with that.》 With a nod, you indicate the bandages. He slowly gives the box to you, and after cleaning your hands with the sanitizer you have in your gym bag, you start to wrap the bandages around his hand gently.
《 How's school going? Matt said that you're taking it so seriously》. There is something in his voice that is illegible. Is he mocking you? Or maybe he is amused? You're focused on his hands to pay attention to his sminking face.
《 Well, I'm supposed to, right?》
《 Why? Why do you want to work with us? I mean... you can find a job as a piercer. I saw you in action and you're really good at it. 》
After fixing his left hand, you proceed to the other one, avoiding his gaze. 《 Do you want me to be honest?》
《 You can be honest, or you can be Vanessa 》.
A sigh escapes from your lips, uncontrolled. The audacity of this bitch. 《 Because I want the money. Because I want to spend a lot of time with my brother. Because I want to choose my job and leave the one my prick ex chose for me behind. Because I have nothing left to lose. I want to love my life again, waking up in the morning with a purpose.》
You have no idea why you're opening up to someone you barely know. But it is what it is. You can't have a fresh new start if you are not honest with yourself.
And when you look at Noah, you find respect in his gaze. 《 You just move in LA, and i'm not gonna lie to you: it's hard work. Are you sure you can take this?》
《 I'm used to fight any battle at my lowest》 it's your answer. The most honest one you can guarantee to him. 《 I'm ready to drag myself if it's necessary and only if it's forward. I need a hurricane to shake up my entire existence》.
《 Well well, you might have found the right one. Our new record could be a total disaster or grant us more than I can even imagine. You pick up the right train or, at least, you will enjoy every second of my downfall》
《 You're so drammatic, like every singer. 》
Noah giggles at your last affirmation before checking his hands. 《 thanks. You're already an amazing assistant. 》
《 I'm not your fucking secretary. 》
《 So who are you, y/n?》
A broken doll.
A girl that just wants to be love.
A woman covered in scars, who has a heart hidden in meters and meters of barber wire to prevent everyone from hurting it again.
《 A friend, Noah.》
And you can tell by his smile that it's the right answer he was waiting for. And this beautiful and sincere smile could be enough to put aside any crush you can develop in order to gain a true friend.
《 Lets grab a beer, then.》
A/N : I know that probably a lot of you are here for the smut, but I rethink this ff with a lot of realistic scenarios and the idea of writing a friends to lovers. It's my first attempt on this topic, and I'm thrilling to recieve any thought about it from you! I left an important hint for the future in the text by the way.
You can also send me inbox about my ff, about Bad Omens in general or headcanons! It's gonna be fun if you give me some credit ♡
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I also added a song in the beginning that should be a sort of soundtrack for the chapter. I added it to the first chapter as well if you want to check!
Lastly, if you wish to be added to my tag list, comment here or send me a pm!
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frierengf · 5 months
Text
how will i know -- choso x reader
— you get dumped. its awful and it fucking hurts. you do your best to pick up the pieces of your heart on your own, but find that the trail of tiny red hot shards lead somewhere you wouldn’t expect.
wc : 9 065 [chp1 + epilouge] | ao3 [tags & notes]
-- chp1
”Can you just fuck off already?” The words have been ringing through your head since last night, echoing and repeating, ad infinitum. It’s exhausting. You barely slept a wink, and you’re sure your eyes are both puffy and dark. You couldn’t find it in yourself to go to your classes, having stayed in your bed for most of the day. Your phone is laying next to you, screen open on your unread texts to him, music playing quietly. A small ping interrupts the music, and you sluggishly reach for your phone, holding it to your face. — From : Choso :-) <- Hey, just so you know, Yuuji is coming over later! Is there anything you want me to get from the grocery store? To : Choso :-) -> ah cool -> some ice cream maybe? chocolate if they have it, but any kind is fine. a bottle of coke too please :] i think were almost out of garlic but i can get actual groceries some time later this week From : Choso :-) <;- Okay! I’ll be home in about an hour :-) — It was in fact, not ah cool. While you’ve lived with Choso for almost a year now, and you’ve met his younger brother Yuuji a handful of times, you’d rather die than be seen by either of them in your current state. It’s not that your room is messy, because it isn’t. Almost everything is as you left it when you went out to see him yesterday, except your purse hanging off your desk chair. Besides, you seriously doubt Choso or Yuuji would even see your room, so it’s more yourself that you’re worried about. You feel… disgusting? Like a mess? Revolting? Any adjective with a negative connotation, really. In reality, you probably look fine. Decent. Acceptable. But in your twisted illusion, you can feel the words you vomited out sticking to your body, the tears you shed ingrained into your cheeks, the burning oil of his words spilled on you, tainting your entire existance. It’s not that deep, the snarky voice in your head comments. It was just a lame college relationship, and it was bound to end sooner or later. But it wasn’t just a lame college relationship. You’d been together for three years. Even if he didn’t love you, or even like you anymore, aren’t you owed more than filth, thrown in your face? You sit on your bed, frozen in thought, playing with your bracelet. It feels cold between your finger tips, and you sigh. You need to shower, brush your teeth, remove your makeup, put on normal clothes. Maybe make your bed and do the dishes for good measure. Standing up, you shed your clothes from last night, and grab a towel from your closet. Shower first, everything else later. As you stand at the edge of the shower, waiting for the water to heat up, you plan the coming hour in your head. You have approximatively 50 minutes until Choso is home, and probably an extra 20 until Yuuji arrives. Shower for 30, plenty of time to wallow in self pity, and actually clean yourself up. 2 minutes to brush your teeth, 10 to do an indepth facial cleanse. 8 minutes to pick an outfit that says I am fine. 20 minutes to help Choso unpack groceries, and then do the dishes like the helpful roommate you are. After that, you can retreat to your room to do whatever you want. A perfect plan. After the water has heated up, you stand under the spray, cleansing yourself. You’d like to think you don’t know why you have this inane need to seem well put together in front of your roommate and his 15 year old brother, both of which you’re probably never going to see again after college, but in reality, you know the cause down to a T. It’s an awful habit, there’s no denying it. You’re unsure where it stems from, all you know is that you don’t like it. Self worth is hard to have and even harder to find, you think. So, you simply seek it from wherever possible. Validation, affirmation, appreciation. From your mom, your sisters, your teachers, your friends, strangers on the strees, or even the afformentioned roommate and his brother. It definetly doesn’t help to have been dumped the night before, but alas, there doesn’t seem to be anything you can do about that.
Walking away with a scoff, leaving you to pay for the drinks, ignoring your calls and texts. He doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you anymore. It fucking hurts, of course it does, but what are you supposed to do about it? It’s not like he will appear out of the blue and give you actual closure, so all you can do is try to move on yourself. As you step out of the shower, you wipe the steam off of the mirror. You feel clean. Or at least cleaner. While you brush your teeth, you glance at the small clock that’s standing on the shelf by the door. 5 minutes ahead of schedule. You nod at yourself in the fogged up mirror. I can do this. Can you? I can. I’ve been through worse. Have you? You spit. Spit out the toothpaste, spit at the snide voice in your head, spit at the image of him. You have been through worse, and as cliché and corny as it sounds, you are a strong, independant woman. You wash your face. Cleanse the tears, cleanse the touches, caresses and kisses he had given you, before throwing it all back at you, like both you and the affection he had once shown you was dirt, not even worthy of being stepped on. You resent him. Despise him. It’s unfair, you think, as you walk back to your room. How come he gets to keep living normally, while you don’t? How come you have to crawl through hell and back, and he gets to swagger off into the night, never to be seen again? It’s unhealthy, you think, you know. The smothering, the pushing down of your emotions, the twisted mess of sadness turning into rage. It’s bound to come back and bite you in the ass. You flick through your closet. A tank top and jeans. Normal. Fine. You pull on your clothes, before standing in front of your mirror. Acceptable. Charming maybe? Friendly. Normal girl, who didn’t go through the second worst heartbreak of her life last night. Meeting your own gaze in the mirror, you frown. You think Choso might know what happened last night. He wasn’t friendly with him exactly, but they’d met about as many times as you’ve met Yuuji. He most likely did not text your roommate that you’d just gotten dumped, but Choso knew of his existance. Your shoes have been in the entryway since you came home last night, but even if he didn’t notice that, it’s an undeniable fact that he heard you sobbing as you came home, sobbing as you laid in bed, and sobbing as he left for class.
You know Choso heard you, because you’ve heard him. Talking to himself while he works on his art projects, the muted voices from a show or movie, discussions with friends. You’ve heard it all, and your crying was definetly louder than all of those, probably combined. Besides, if your roommate leaves home, dressed up and excited to meet her boyfriend, and comes home later, hysterically sobbing and alone, what else could’ve happened? If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it probably is a duck. Duck in question being a miserable and heartbroken 20-something. Your frown has grown in to a scowl. Angry, bitter, hurt. Because you are. As much as you try to convince yourself that you’re fine, you’re not. As much as you want to move on right away, quicker than he can, you can’t. The apartment door opens, and you startle slightly. ”I’m home.” Chosos voice almost echoes through the silent apartment, and you rush out to the common area. ”Welcome home.” His gaze flicks up to you, and you smile slightly, nearly breathless. ”Hi,” he says, breaking eye contact to focus on untying his shoes. ”Hey,” you reply, eyes still focused on him. ”Thanks for getting groceries. I’ll put them away. I can do the dishes too.” Choso looks back up at you from the small bench he’s sitting on. He’s frowning, just slightly. ”Are you okay?” Your eyes widen, and you let out a tense laugh. ”Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?” His frown grows, almost turning… pitiful? Compassionate? You don’t know. ”It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, especially with me, but pretending everything is fine won’t do you any good.” You flinch. Read like a book. ”Well, sitting around in my room and crying won’t do me any good either,” you mutter, reaching for the bag. You hear him sigh. ”It might. Good release of emotion and all that.” ”I don’t know if you heard, but I did plenty of emotion releasing last night. I think I’ve probably dried up for the coming year, so.” You walk in to the kitchen, starting to unpack the bag onto the counter. Choso trails after you. ”I heard. I’m sorry for not coming to check on you, wasn’t sure if you’d want me to.” ”It’s fine,” you say, putting the groceries away. ”Probably for the best. Would’ve been a real pain in your ass.” ”I wouldn’t have minded,” Choso mumbles from where he’s leaning against the counter.
You look at him. Try to read him like he read you. He looks earnest. Truthful. Caring. His gaze is warm, but it still makes you shiver. It’s not that he’s making you uncomfortable. If anything, he’s making you too comfortable. You’re not blind. Choso is handsome. Silky dark hair, deep brown eyes that seem to shine violet when the sun hits them just so, charming scar across his nose. Tall, strong, and kind. He’s entrancing, and it makes a clump settle in your throat. He had never liked Choso, but you’d always just assumed it was a childlike jealousy, born from having his girlfriend live with another man. Maybe it was more than that. You feel too comfortable, too soon. It’s staggering. You turn your head, staring out at the small balcony, and the city that lies beyond. ”I… it’s,” you sigh. ”It’s complicated Choso. There are too many emotions and-” ”I know.” ”I don’t want to be a bother to you. I can barely handle it so-” ”Then let me help you.” You look back at him. His eyebrows are furrowed. He looks sad. Sad because you are, not because he feels what you feel. You try to swallow the ever-growing lump in your throat. ”Let me help you,” he repeats. ”Just because it’s hard, or complicated, doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to rely on other people.” ”It’s embarrassing,” you mutter, forcing the words from your throat. ”All of it. The way it happened, the way I reacted, the way I hadn’t noticed anything going wrong.” You blink away the tears that are gathering in your eyes. ”I don’t want your help, because I’m fucking humiliated Choso. It’s something I should get over on my own.” You see his throat bob up and down as he swallows, taking in your words. You tense, turning to the kitchen sink. ”I’ll do the dishes, then I’ll stay in my room so you and Yuuji can do whatever.” ”Okay.” You wait for the water to get hot. He isn’t leaving. You swallow. A stray tear runs down your cheek. ”I’m sorry,” you mumble, barely audible over the running water. ”You don’t have to be,” he says as he walks past you, patting your arm. ”Still.”
=========
It’s late. Early? You don’t know. The darkness outside your window has been replaced by a dull, grey light, and you haven’t slept. You haven’t really tried either. The exhaustion and sadness roots down into your very bones, so you don’t see a point in sleeping to get rid of it. You curl in to your sheets. A warmth covers you, but it’s not the kind of warmth you want, the kind you crave. Your phone pings and you pull it towards you, squinting at the screen. It’s 5 o’clock, and you have a text notification. — From : Choso :-) <- Are you going to class today? To : Choso :-) -> idk -> i should but -> eh From : Choso :-)<- Do you wanna join me for breakfast now then? I made enough for either a lunchbox or for now — You let out a breath, dropping your phone back to the mattress. You look up at the ceiling. You think you’ve seen it more than anything or anyone else this week. You get up. The floor is cold when you place your feet down. The air is cold when you pull on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. Chosos gaze is warm when he meets your eyes from the dinnertable. ”G’morning,” you mumble. ”Morning,” he says. You sit down opposite him, and he pushes a bowl of chazuke towards you. ”Thanks,” you say. He hums.
You fill up your spoon. Rice, tea, fish. Warmth. Still the wrong kind, but better than the selfmade one of your bed.
”Why’re you up so early?” you ask, muffled by the food in your mouth. He’s seen you do worse, you think. ”Have to be at the studio all day today. Working on an exam piece,” he replies, mumbled around the rim of his tea cup. You hum.
It’s not awkward, it’s just kind of tense. You’re unsure on how to fix it. You don’t think Choso and you are friends exactly. Maybe just good roommates.
He makes dinner, you do the dishes. He’s busy working on a project, you bring him food and snacks at his desk. You get dumped, and he does his absolute best to do whatever he can for you.
Whatever you allow him to do for you.
Which hasn’t exactly been a lot. It’s not like he hasn’t offered. He has, and maybe that’s the problem. It makes you feel weird. A nervous clump in your chest. Stinging your eyes. A tiny spark of warmth in your heart, that you don’t want to permit yourself to think about.
It’s too early, too soon, and he’s too kind, too caring. It scares you. You feel guilty. It’s only been a bit more than a week since he broke up with you.
You want to move on, but it feels wrong. You don’t know why. You don’t want to move on, but that feels wrong too. It’s not like he waited to move on. Your younger sister had told you when you spoke over the phone the other day.
Making out with someone at a party, going home with them, eating lunch with them the following day. Not exactly the actions of someone who feels wrong or guilty.
Maybe you feel guilty because of the circumstances. Maybe it feels like you’d be proving him right. He hadn’t said anything about your relationship with Choso during his tangent, but you feel like you could tell he wanted to.
You scrape up the last of your bowl of chazuke, before pushing it away and resting against the table. You look up at him. His hair is down, held back by a hairband, and you think it makes your heart flutter. You look away, scolding yourself.
”Can I come with you to the studio today?” you ask, and he hums. ”If you want to, yeah,” he says, and you curse him for sounding so warm. You sigh.
”You’re too nice to me Choso.” ”I’m not.”
You stay quiet. You don’t want to argue, and you know he isn’t going to change his mind.
”Are you driving?” ”Was planning to. Traffic shouldn’t be too bad, so.” ”Okay.” ”I was gonna leave in just a bit? If that works for you.” ”Sounds good.”
You look at him again. He looks at you. You don’t know if he ever looked away. It makes a sickly warmth spread through your body, and you don’t know what to do about it. You get up and gather the dishes on the table in to a neat little pile, and carry it to the kitchen sink. Choso stays at the table, but you think you feel his gaze sticking to you, following you. ”I’ll do them when we get home,” you say. ”Okay,” he replies. You turn to look at him. He’s smiling at you, slight but warm, and you think you feel a slight heat rise to your cheeks. ”I’ll get my stuff and then we can leave,” he says as he stands up, before walking to his room. ”Okay,” you reply, following him with your gaze until he’s out of sight. You go back to your own room and change your sweatpants to a pair of jeans, and your hoodie for a t-shirt and flannel. You throw your laptop and notebook into a bag, just in case you find the motivation catch up on your work during the day. A knock. ”You ready?” he calls out, and you meet the gaze of the girl in the mirror. She doesn’t really look like you. Or maybe she does. You don’t really remember, if you’re being honest. She looks normal and you feel like you don’t. ”Yeah,” you reply as you break the eye contact you had with the mirror. Choso is already in the entryway by the time you leave your room, sitting on the bench and pulling on his shoes. You look at him for a bit. He’s hunched over, tying his shoes, and it makes his hair fall down to cover his face from your eyes. Parts of him peek through the silky curtain. His nose, his eyes, his lips. A spark lights up in your chest, but you trample it down as soon as it appears. You can’t. Shouldn’t. Not yet. You slip your feet into a pair of sandals. Choso looks up at you. You look down at him. ”Forecast said it was gonna rain.” ”Just park close to the entrance then.”
He chuckles. The spark you’re pressing down turns to an ember. You try to press it down further. You don’t know if it’s working. The car ride is quiet. Morning news prattle lightly on the radio. Choso drives and you sit next to him. You rest your head against the window. There isn’t much to talk about. You haven’t left the apartment for more than 5 minutes a day the past week, and Choso has been working on his project that he’s been deliberately vauge about since he started it a month ago. The morning news transition into an old rock station. You reach over and turn it up, just a bit. Choso lets out a short hum, tapping his fingers against the wheel. Neither of you speak. There’s no need to. Choso pulls up to the university parking lot, taking the spot closest to the gates, just like you asked him to. You snort, and you think you see a small smile grow on his face. You don’t realize that this was the first time you’d laughed since everything happened. The two of you reach the art departments studio building just as rain starts to fall. He walks to his shared studio and you follow behind. He shows you to his desk and workspace before pulling out the desk chair and urging you to sit down. The stupid ember in your heart keeps sparkling, no matter what you do. You sit down, hoping that Choso can’t tell how quickly you’re falling. As you pull out your phone you hear the studio door open and close before the sound of footsteps stop near where you sit. ”Who’s this?” You look up at the source of the voice, and instantly regret it. A man stands above you with sickening grin on his face. You think you recognize him, though only from rumours around campus. He smiles down at you, and a shiver runs down your spine. ”My roommate,” Choso says from his workspace behind you, and the mans grin widens. You tense. ”Brought her here as a model, did you? Maybe we can share!” The undertone of his voice makes bile rise in your throat. Dehumanizing, like you’re nothing but filth, only worthy of being used, never worthy of being loved. It sounds like *him*, and it makes your eyes sting. You clench your jaw and swallow, trying to think of something, anything, to say. ”She’s kind of been having a shit time, so I brought her here ’cuz she wanted to come. You being a piece of shit and pestering her for no reason sure isn’t helping. Leave her alone.” ”Aw come on Choso, take a chill pill buddy!”
The smile on his face as he speaks is almost nauseating, and you curl in to yourself, doing anything you can to gain an illusion of being out of his sight. ”Are you fucking incapable of listening to people or something? Fuck off.” ”Woah, alright! Take it easy. All yours man.” The man turns around and swaggers out of the studio, and you’re unsure if he even is in the same class as Choso. ”Sorry about him. Loser who only comes to the studio once every month to be annoying,” Choso mumbles as he leans down to grab his materials from his bag ”Oh. Uh… yeah. No need to be sorry,” you reply quietly. He’s close. If he turned his head towards you, you’d be close enough to count his eyelashes. Your stupid, stupid heart is still relentlessly aflame. You can smell his aggrevating eucalyptus shampoo from the bottle that falls down every time you shower. You can see the scrunched tip of his nose as he mutters to himself, digging deeper into his bag in search for something. You can feel his proximity to you. His body heat, his knee bumping against your shin, his presence. It’s overwhelming. And then it’s gone, just like that. Choso stands up and walks back to his workspace and you turn to lay down on his desk, trying to calm your flickering heart. The day continues. At one point you doze off, head resting against the half empty pages of your notebook. You startle awake when Choso places a soda bottle and a bag of chips near your head. ”Lunch,” he says before taking a bite of a protein bar. You hum and stretch in your seat. ”Thanks. Any equally fantastical dinner plans?” you ask, joking. You don’t need him to buy you dinner. ”Might get something from the cafeteria before we leave if that’s cool with you?” ”Oh. Sure,” you reply. He’s buying you dinner. Why is he buying me dinner? Choso gets back to his work, and you attempt to do the same. It makes your flaming little heart burn in a way that stings, the way he so easily, so nonchalantly, takes care of you in a way that makes you fall more and more every single time. It reminds you of him, at the very start of it all, back in your tiny countryside high school. Kindness that is shown in a way that makes you feel special. Kindness that is shown in a way that makes you feel loved. You don’t really get any work done at all. Choso buys you dinner. Because of course he does. It’s nothing fancy at all, just a bowl of gyudon, but he still bought dinner for you. The question of why still bounces around in your head, but you ignore it. The gyudon is good. Maybe you should eat at the cafeteria more often.
It’s a rather quick and quiet affair, dinner. The two of you eat in silence, enjoying but not savouring. It’s late after all. The road is dark and empty as Choso drives the two of you home. A soft jazz tune is playing quietly on the radio, and you pick at your nails. ”You know you don’t have to do,” — you wave your hands in front of you — ”all this, right?” ”This?” Choso questions, mimicking your hand movements slightly above the steering wheel. You clench your jaw. ”Bringing me to your studio ’cuz it’s the first time I’ve been outside in a week. Buying and cooking food for me. Defending me from your weirdo classmates. I don’t know. You don’t have to be so kind to me Choso.” ”I know I don’t have to. I want to.” His answer makes you sigh, and you turn to look out of the window. A slight drizzle has covered the city and you can’t really see further than a meter outside of the car, but you welcome the simulated feeling of isolation and calm. ”I don’t understand why,” you mumble. ”I don’t get it and it makes me feel weird.” ”Good weird or bad weird?” ”I don’t know. Both?” You pause. ”I’m sorry.” ”You don’t have to be. I’m sorry too.” You see his reflection in the car window. A small confounded frown has taken over his face, and you cringe. At yourself. At how this is exactly what you were worried was going to happen, but you let it happen anyways. ”I care about you. I don’t know exactly what happened but I know that for you to react how you did, it had to be awful. No one deserves that.” His words make your lips tremble, and you turn to look at him. He meets your gaze, if only for a second, before looking back at the road. ”It just pisses me off. You deserve someone who takes care of you, and if that asshole isn’t gonna do it, why don’t I?” You flinch. Flinch at the mention of him, flinch at the way the ember in your chest bursts into a raging bonfire. You flinch at the way Choso says it so nonchalantly, as if he doesn’t realize the way it makes you feel. ”You uh… want to take care of me?” you ask hesitantly. ”Yeah,” he says, as if it’s the easiest question in the world. ”Oh,” you breathe out. ”Yeah,” he repeats.
You look at him again. Try to read him again. He looks sure. Calm. Decisive. Your heart flutters, and you swallow. ”Take care of me how?” you ask quietly, almost scared of hearing the answer. ”Any way you’ll let me,” he says softly, and you frown. ”No, Choso. Don’t… don’t be like that. Please. Just tell me for real.” His throat bobs, and he tenses up. The city lights illuminate his face, blue and orange shining across his cheeks. ”I know you’re just trying to be careful, but it’s unfair Choso. I can’t read your mind. Just be honest with me, please.” ”I meant what I said. However you let me,” he forces out. You sigh. ”Choso,” you mutter. His knuckles whiten against the steering wheel. The car stops abruptly, and you startle, looking out of the window. You’re in your apartment buildings parking garage, and before you can even turn back to look at him again, you hear the car door slam shut. You look to the driver seat. Empty, keys still in the ignition. You look to the back seat. Both yours and Chosos bag rest in the middle, against each other. You grumble to yourself before grabbing the bags and the keys, getting out and locking the car behind you. As you walk in to the stairwell, you hear his footsteps a few floors above you. ”You forgot your bag dumbass!” you yell, and the footsteps stop. As you start walking up, you hear him come down to meet you. He’s standing at the top of the stairs. You look up at him. His eyes are wide, expression unsure. You walk up and past him, slamming his bag into his chest. ”Don’t be a fucking asshole Choso. It’s embarrassing. For both of us.” He sputters, and you keep walking. He follows, two steps at a time, before he catches up to you and grabs your arm. You stop. ”I’m sorry,” he says. ”Okay,” you reply. You pull your arm from his grip. He lets go. ”I’m sorry,” he says again. ”Okay,” you reply again. You keep walking. He follows. He stands behind you as you unlock the door. He sits down on the bench as you slip off your sandals. ”Good night,” you say. He doesn’t reply.
=========
You go to class the next day. If only to make it easier to avoid Choso. A childish solution, you’re sure, but it feels warranted. It might not have been awkward before, but it most definetly is now. You sit on the bus, going home, cramped between the window and an older woman with a kid in her lap. Your text notification sounds out through your headphones, and you shuffle your phone out of your bag, doing your best to not disturb anyone around you. — From : Choso :-) &lt;- Are you home? — You purse your lips and frown down at the screen. Frown at the stupid little emoji he put there on his own as he entered his number into your contact list. Frown at his bluntness. Frown at how the bonfire inside you is still raging, despite Chosos behaviour last night. — To : Choso :-) -> on the bus -> home in maybe 15 From : Choso :-) <- Okay <- Can you let Yuuji in when you’re home? He was going to come over but something came up and I have to stay late at the studio. To : Choso :-) -> okay will do — You debate adding an emoji of some kind, but ultimately decide against it, before shoving your phone back into your bag. If Choso is going to be weird and awkward, you might as well do the same. A small tap on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts, and you turn to the woman next to you, plucking your headphone from your ear. ”Hm?” She smiles, warm and knowing. You raise your eyebrows. ”It’s better to talk about it, you know?” she says. Your eyes widen. ”Excuse me?” ”Your boyfriend! Fights never get resolved by being ignored.” You sputter. ”He’s not- It’s- We aren’t fighting. And he’s my roommate, not my boyfriend,” you grumble. The lady just laughs. ”All right, all right. My point still stands,” she says, before putting the child in her lap down on their feet and standing up herself. ”You need to be honest with yourself too, young girl.”
Her parting words are soft, and you sink into your seat as she walks away.
As you tredge up the final steps to your apartment you spot Yuuji sitting by the door. You cringe. It’s definetly been over a year since the floors were cleaned. And you’ve also never been any semblance of alone with Yuuji. You don’t really know how to deal with teenage boys.
You take off your headphones as you walk up to him. Yuuji looks up at the sound of approaching footsteps and shoots up to stand as he realizes it’s you.
You stare at each other for a few seconds.
”Hi,” you say. ”Hey!” he exclaims. ”Uh, Choso told you what’s up right?”
You almost laugh. Because he did, but he also very much didn’t.
”Yeah,” is what you end up saying. You don’t need to vent about your issues to someone who views the person you’re having issues with as the best brother in the world.
”Cool,” Yuuji says, and silence takes over again. You fiddle with the strap of your bag and Yuuji scuffs his shoes against the floor.
”Do you- Um, we can go to the store. If you want anything to eat, or something. While you wait,” you say.
How the hell do you even talk to people? ”Oh! Uh, I don’t have any money though.” ”I’ll pay.” ”Ah okay then!”
You nod and Yuuji smiles. You try to smile back but it feels tense and weird. You hope he doesn’t question it.
”There’s a corner store just a minute away, they have snacks and food and stuff. We…”
You pause. We. As if you and Choso are a unit. A pair. A couple.
”There is some stuff at home but I don’t mind treating you to whatever,” you say. ”Cool,” he says again.
You nod, and start walking back down the stairs. Yuuji follows behind. You clench the strap of your bag tightly the entire walk.
Why are you doing this? You could’ve easily just let him in and then retreated to your own room and left him to watch TV or hang out in Chosos room.
You’re not friends with Yuuji. Barely even aquaintainces, and definetly not ”bring him to the corner store” close. You feel dumb. Weird.
As the two of you walk into the store, Yuuji speaks up.
”Y’got a spending limit? ”Uh. Don’t get more than you’d pay for with your own money, I guess?” you reply. ”Sweet!”
He takes off between the aisles, and you wonder if you’ve made a mistake. You follow behind, meandering around the store. After a minute or two Yuuji appears before you, a ramen cup, a bag of chips and a bottle of soda in his hands. ”Is this okay?” he asks. ”Yeah. I’ll grab something too, hold on.” You walk to the refrigerators and pick out an onigiri and a soda bottle. ”Y’didn’t eat lunch?” Yuuji asks, hovering over your shoulder. ”Uh. I did, just didn’t want you to feel awkward. Or whatever,” you mumble as you turn to walk to the register. ”Oh, cool.” The two of you put down your stuff on the register desk and you give a small smile to the cashier. Yuuji stands behind you, looking around at the stuff behind the register. ”What a nice sister you have!” the cashier says to Yuuji as you tap your card against the reader. Twice in a day now. That you’ve been mistaken for having some actual connection to Choso. It didn’t use to happen this often did it? Do you carry yourself differently after all that’s happened? ”Ah, she’s just my brothers roommate,” Yuuji replies. You huff out a quiet laugh. Yeah. Just Chosos roommate. The cashier hums. You think you see a knowing glint in his eyes. You sink into the collar of your jacket as you grab your things, before moving to the eating area of the store. As Yuuji heats up his cup noodles, you get started on your onigiri. You had actually forgone lunch, solely because you know that Choso often eats in the campus cafeteria. Once again, childish, and once again, would be weird to mention to your current company. ”Just didn’t want you to feel awkward.” A lame excuse if there ever was one, but you trust that Yuuji and yourself aren’t close enough for him to question you. The two of you eat. You attempt some smalltalk. You ask him about school. Yuuji tells you about his exams and exchange events. You nod along. He asks you about school. You tell him about your major. He seems interested, but you can’t really tell if he’s just trying to be polite. The two of you leave the store and begin the short walk back. ”You’re smart right?”
The question comes almost out of nowhere and you stop in your tracks before turning to look at Yuuji. ”Uh, I guess?” you say. You don’t know what Yuuji classifies as smart. ”Okay so like, if I do my homework while waiting for Choso would you help me if I get stuck?” he asks, if only slightly awkwardly. ”Oh. Uh, yeah sure. Can’t promise I’ll be that helpful but I can try.” When you get home the two of you sit down at the dinner table, you with your laptop and Yuuji with his schoolbooks. He asks you a question now and then, and you help to the best of your ability. Occasionally you read him a passage of your essay to see if it flows how you hope it does, and he laughs at how little he understands. You smile, just slightly. Yuuji is nice. Choso comes home eventually. The rusty orange of the sunset shines through the balcony windows. Yuuji springs up from his seat and hugs his brother before heading to the couch and turning on the TV. Choso is about to go over to join him before he stops and turns to you. ”Thanks, for uh,” Choso says, gesturing behind him at Yuuji who’s busy setting up the video game they’re going to play, ”keeping him company.” ”Yeah, no problem,” you reply. ”He’s a good kid.” Something takes over Chosos face when the words leave your lips. You’re still not great at reading him. Sentimentality maybe? Melancholy? Satisfaction or pride? Maybe all of them at the same time. ”Yeah. He is.”
=========
It’s been a week. Things are more or less back to normal. Whatever normal means. The cool wind plays across your face as you look down at the street below. Choso joined you on the balcony about five minutes ago. Something in your head tells you he wants to say something. Something important. So you stay silent. You haven’t looked at him since he opened the door and quietly asked if it was okay for him to be here. You had turned your gaze back to the city before nodding. You feel him next to you, prescence overwhelming, your arms touching, just slightly. You interlock your own fingers, picking at your nails. You hear him swallow, preparing to speak, and you lean your head further over the railing. ”I think I fell in love with you before you even moved in here,” Choso says. You swallow and chew on your lip, still unable to raise your gaze from your own entwined hands. ”I saw you. At the party after the opening week. You… um, you were with him, but I just… couldn’t tear my eyes off of you. You looked so pretty and so happy and I just couldn’t stop staring at you. Was surprised neither of you noticed.” You finally look at him. He’s leaning his back against the balcony railing, face tilted up against the stars. Chosos ears are red and it makes heat rise to your cheeks. You look back down at the city streets below. ”He went off to get new drinks or something and,” he swallows. ”You looked at me. And then you smiled. I don’t even think it was for more than a second, but you looked me in the eyes and smiled.” You feel his gaze shift to you. ”I think I’ve been in love with you since then.” You look at him. The stars are reflecting in his eyes. You almost feel nauseous from the intense affection in your chest. ”That’s like a year and a half ago Choso,” you mumble. ”Yeah.” You let out a breath before turning back to the city. ”Um, I don’t mind covering rent for a month or two,” he mutters. You look up at him again. ”If you wanna move out, I mean. I get it. It’s weird and creepy of me to even have accepted you as a roommate, let alone having liked you like this for so long, so really, I understand if you-” You grab his hand. Choso looks at you. His eyes are wide and his cheeks are red and he looks so nervous and so endearing and so pretty. ”I like you, Choso.” You blink. His mouth is opening and closing, trying to find words, as the blush spreads across his face. ”Oh.” ”Yeah,” you say, tilting your head. ”Like me? Or just like me?” ”I like you.” ”Oh.”
You let go of his hand before pressing your palm against his, interlocking your fingers. He squeezes your hand. You smile and squeeze back.
=========
Choso isn’t your boyfriend. You aren’t Chosos girlfriend. Too soon you’d said. I’ve been waiting a year and a half, what’s a bit longer Choso had replied. But still, something in the air has undoubtedly shifted. One day you come home from class just as Choso leaves the bathroom after his shower. He’s fully dressed, just some sweatpants and a T-shirt, yet you can’t help but stare. Eventually your eyes meet his and he gives you a small grin as he dries his hair. You look away, face as hot as your burning heart. One night you leave your room to get a glass of water before bed. Choso is sitting on the couch, playing a video game on low volume. As you open your door his eyes flick to yours and then down to your legs. Your bare legs. His eyes snap back up to yours and then quickly move back to the television as a blush spreads across his cheeks. You huff out a small laugh as you walk past him to the kitchen. After you finish your glass of water and go to head back to your room you instead take a seat on the armrest of the couch, next to where Choso is sitting. He looks up at you and you smile before reaching and running your hand through his hair. So many unspoken words shine in his eyes and your smile grows shy. You lean down quickly and press a short kiss to the corner of his mouth with a whispered ”g’night.” As you stand up Choso lightly grabs the hand you’re pulling out of his hair before softly kissing the inside of your wrist. Heat rises to your cheeks as your eyes meet his once again. Choso repeats your simple sentiment and you give him a nod before returning to your bedroom. You barely sleep that night, spending multiple hours rubbing the spot he’d kissed as you imagine how his lips would feel against yours. One afternoon the two of you are grocery shopping together, huddled closely together, inspecting the produce. You see an older woman steal a glance at you before tapping her husbands shoulder and gesturing to Choso and yourself. ”Remember when we were that young?” she asks him. He laughs. ”Of course I do.” You glance up at Choso and find his ears are as red as the bell pepper you’re holding in your hand.
One evening you and Choso are on the way home from going out with a few friends when you tell him you’re going to pop in to the convenience store really quick, and he tells you that he’ll wait for you outside. When you leave the store you find Choso outside, talking to a girl. As you approach, her eyes widen before she falls into a short bow and takes off. ”Never took you for a womanizer Choso,” you joke, taking a bite of pocky before offering the stick to him. ”She wasn’t hitting on me,” he mumbles as he chews. You snort. ”Sure she wasn’t.” You grab his hand and the two of you start walking home. ”No, really. I don’t think I’ve ever been hit on,” he muses, rubbing his thumb along your fingers. ”I find that hard to believe,” you say, bumping against him, teasing. ”What do you mean?” he asks simply. You flush. ”Well… you know. You’re handsome,” you mutter. ”Oh.” You’re not sure if the response of simply gripping your hand tighter and burrowing into the collar of his jacket, muttering something you can’t make out is because he was in fact unaware of his own attractiveness or the fact that it was you who said the words. One day you text Choso. He replies straight away, even though you know he’s in class. — To : Choso :-) -> do u have plans today? From : Choso :-) <- Just my classes <- Was there anything you had on your mind? To : Choso :-) -> wanna go out? -> like on a date i mean -> we can stay in too if youd rather do thay -> that -> i just thought we cpuld talk maybe -> could -> so yeah -> lmk —
As soon as you press send on the final message you throw your phone down on the bed next to you and bury your face in your pillow. You don’t dare look at the screen. You stare at a tiny hole in the wall. Minutes pass. He’s in class you rationalize. Choso slams his phone down on the table as soon as he sees the word ”date” in your texts. As he sinks down in his chair he puts his face in his hands, feeling the blush spread from the tip of his nose all the way to his ears. His seatmate throws a questioning glance his way and the professor keeps talking but all he can think about is you. — From : Choso :-) <- Yeha sounds good! <- Yeah* <- My class is over in an hour if you want to meet up somewhere near campus? Otherwise I can come pick you up at home :-) To : Choso :-) -> does the park by campus sound ok? -> ill come meet u at the gates if thats fine From : Choso :-) <;- That’s fine! <- I can’t wait :-) To : Choso :-) -> me neither <3 — After sending the message you spring off your bed and hurry into the shower. You do your best to be as quick but also as thorough as possible. As you stand in front of your closet, wrapped in your towel, a thought pops in to your head. I want to look pretty. A thought you haven’t had since that one fateful meeting with him. You don’t want to call it a date. It hardly qualified as one anyways. I want to look pretty for Choso.
The simple specification makes heat rise to your cheeks. It feels easy, the soft, almost innocent affection you feel for Choso. You don’t dare think of what you feel as love, not yet, and you definetly don’t dare to say it out loud. However, despite the softness and the innocence, there is another aspect to your affection. A decidedly less soft and innocent aspect. You hesitate to call it something as simple as attraction, but can’t imagine calling it something as loaded as lust. Alas, something inside you yearns to look pretty enough that he won’t be able to take his hands off you. Something inside you yearns to look pretty enough that he’ll fall speechless the second your eyes meet. Something inside you yearns to look pretty enough that Choso will be yours, forevermore. You talk to your older sister on the phone while you do your makeup. She teases you relentlessly as you beg her for advice but you can hear the loving smile in her voice. For the entire busride you bounce your knee and pick at your nails. Your mind is running at the speed of light and you can’t seem to stop it, no matter how hard you try. Will you be my girlfriend? Can you be my girlfriend? Do you want to be my girlfriend? You try to imagine how he’ll phrase the inevitable question. A different scenario pops into your head. Please be my boyfriend, won’t you? Heat rises to your cheeks and you sink down into your seat. Be my girlfriend, yeah? He had charmed you at the time, you can’t deny that. The nonchalant words mixed with the slight eagerness in his eyes. But Choso won’t do that. As conceited as it makes you sound, you know that he won’t. He’s been waiting for you for too long, he would never be so careless about it. He meets you at the bus station, breathing heavily, sweat gathering at his brow. You glance at the small clock on your wrist. His class ended just a minute ago. You crack a smile as his eyes meet yours. ”I wouldn’t have minded waiting y’know,” you tell him as the two of you begin the short walk to the nearby park. ”Still,” Choso says as his breathing calms down. ”I never wanna make you wait.” "Unfair," you say, bumping your arm against his. "I've made you wait plenty of times." "Hm, well. Call it a special privilege." He doesn't elaborate on if the privilege is his or yours.
The park is quiet, a calm wind playing through the trees. You and Choso walk around for a bit, talking about nothing and everything. His class, your upcoming presentation, Yuujis exams. Groceries, favourite foods, pastries. Eventually the two of you sit down on a small bench under a willow tree, facing a pond. A family of ducks float across the surface, maneuvering between lilypads and reeds. Both of you know what you came here to do, but neither of you seem to know exactly how to do it. A few minutes pass in silence, broken by Chosos hand coming down to rest over yours. You look up from the pond and meet his eyes. Nervous and wide, yet more sure than you’ve ever seen them. Deep pools of dark brown with a tiny hint of a moody violet. ”Can I be your boyfriend?” Oh. Oh. You can’t find the words, so you just nod. So kind, so gentle, so humble. Not asking, not offering, not demanding. A simple request, one that you’d fulfil time and time again, through eons and lifetimes. You love him. I love him. ”I love you,” you mumble. Chosos cheeks bloom into a glowing red, and you feel the tips of your ears heat up similarly. You’re Chosos girlfriend. Choso is your boyfriend.
-- epilouge
It’s hot out. The cicada song and sunshine overwhelms your senses, but Chosos warm hand in your cold one grounds you as you walk up to your childhood home among the rice fields. You don’t hate the countryside, not at all. You just don’t think you were particularly made for it, at least not with how you live your life right now. Your sisters meet you on the porch, Namie, your older sister living at the house halftime and your younger sister Rei having left as soon as her classes ended and she was on break, two days before you and four days before Choso. Rei and Choso exchange waves and small greetings, having met a handful of times before back in the city. As you introduce him to Namie, Choso falls into a deep bow and quietly promises that he’ll take care of you. Your sisters just laugh, but both yours and Chosos cheeks are as warm as the searing summer sun. Your mother and her husband are still on a business trip, their promised arrival being a week after yours. Choso had been relieved when you told him he wouldn’t be meeting your entire family at the same time. Chilled glasses of ice tea sit on a tray in the living room, freshly poured by your grandfather as the four of you take your seats. He spends the better half of an hour interrogating your boyfriend while you rest on the engawa with your sisters. It’s nice to be home. Even if anywhere you are with Choso is home, you feel like bringing him here shows him how he makes you feel. His eyes meet yours through the open sliding doors and you hope and pray he understands how much it means to you that he’s here and he’s yours. A sliver of a grin grows on his face and you let out a content sigh. Dinner is short and sweet, most of the evening instead being spent on drinks and board games. Choso wins the first round and your grandfather mutters beginners luck under his breath, but you can see the small smile on his face. Namie retreats to her room after five rounds, your grandfather after seven and Rie after eight.
You and Choso stay downstairs for a while, just sitting in silence. As much as you love to speak with him, you also love how you never need to. The wind chimes play a soft melody as you stand up and pull Choso up from his seat, guiding him to your room. He gets into bed before you, half covered by the sheets. His eyes never leave you as you get undressed, and as soon as you step closer to the bed he pulls you down on top of him, brushing his lips against yours. You can taste the lemon sake you drank earlier mixed with the subtle mint of his toothpaste and grapefruit of your lip balm. He lets go of you after just a second or two, and you sink down against him. ”Can’t believe you’re trying to seduce me in my childhood bedroom,” you whisper against the crook of his neck. He hums. ”Is it working?” You laugh quietly before pressing a short kiss to his lips. ”Maybe. Pervert.” Neither you nor Choso are particularly affectionate with your words. You know he loves you and he knows you love him. But the words are rarely spoken out loud. The last time you told him was after he asked to be your boyfriend and the last time he told you was nearly three months after that, when the two of you had gone out on Christmas Eve. However, this seemingly normal summer night, quiet and warm, evidently brings out waves upon waves of whispered confessions as your bodies move against each other, skin to skin and heart to heart. It’s hot, almost boiling. The sweltering summer air blowing through your open window, Choso holding you tightly to his chest and the feeling of his body heat against your sticky skin. You’d noticed it after just a week of actual dating. Choso always runs hot. You run your hands through his hair as you grind down against him. He looks up at you before leaning up and kissing you. His lips are slightly chapped and burning, marking yours with an almost frantic obsession. ”I’m,” you gasp. ”I’m so fucking in love with you.” The words are mumbled against his lips, like a secret only the two of you are privy to. ”M-me too,” Choso murmurs, trailing off into a quiet whimper. ”I love you so much.” Between the whispers and pants, you hear the muted sound of crickets outside. ”Never wanna leave you,” he says softly. ”Me neither,” you answer, not even having to think about it.
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ach-sss-no · 3 months
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100 song challenge - Unpack your Adjectives
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muppet-facts · 1 year
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Muppet Fact #617
For the 2023 special Schoolhouse Rock! 50th Anniversary Singalong, Kermit and Fozzie performed the song "Unpack Your Adjectives."
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Source:
Schoolhouse Rock! 50th Anniversary Singalong. February 1, 2023.
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gameraboy2 · 2 years
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Schoolhouse Rock (1973), “Unpack Your Adjectives”
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starglitterz · 1 year
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elysian.
─── THE BEGINNING ; 03.
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elysian adjective; relating to or characteristic of paradise
summary: when you lose your job out of the blue, you’re pretty sure this is the end of the road for you. at least until you reconnect with your childhood best friend aether and he offers you your ideal job and a place to stay. the only condition is that his office will be behind the store you’ll be running, and under no circumstances are you permitted to enter. that’s how you begin your new life as a florist, though you’re not sure how to focus on working when aether seems to have too many pretty boys working both for and against him. your fresh start gets a whole lot more interesting when you discover just how many secrets these men are hiding, but somehow you think you’ll still be able find the elysian ending of your dreams.
pairing: various genshin male characters x gn!reader
a/n: this chapter is so long but wahhh finally !!! requests for elysian will officially open after this ! i'm so excited to see what you all come up with omgjkskdjsk :D <3
previous. // elysian masterlist. 
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"For the last time, I don't know what you're talking about! And no, I'm not saying anything else until I get a lawyer.”
You lean back in your seat defiantly, folding your arms over your chest. Strands of white hair frame the face of the officer opposite you, offset by his red eyes boring into yours and searching for even a hint of deceit in your gaze. When he finds nothing, his stern stare doesn’t change, but he exhales slowly and leaves the room. 
The other officer in the room gets up and hands you a glass of water. He has messy gray hair and teal eyes, and because of his simple kindness you think he must be slightly friendlier than the one who was interrogating you. “Hey, can you let me out of here? I haven’t done anything wrong, I swear!” Asking one of the guys who arrested you to set you free is a definite shot in the dark, but you suppose it’s better than nothing. He doesn’t reply, but he quirks an eyebrow and you frantically scan the name on his tag, “...Al-Haitham? Listen, I seriously was just minding my own business when you stopped us. Is it even legal to randomly bring people in?!” Haitham rests against the cabinet in the back of the room and doesn’t answer your question, “Why do you want to be set free?” “Because I want to go home, dumbass. Is that so difficult to understand?” you scowl at him, and somewhere in the back of your mind you can hear a voice saying that it’s probably best if you don’t insult the officer in charge for now, but you choose to ignore it. “No.” He doesn’t elaborate or offer a reaction and you groan.
This has got to be the most idiotic conversation you have ever had, and you once argued with Aether and Lumine for an hour about whether water was wet. And you don’t even have anyone to blame, you and Kaeya were just driving around with him pointing out the sights when an officer pulled you over for a random inspection and decided to bring you over to the station without even an explanation. If you had just shut up and stayed home, by now your apartment would be unpacked and ready, but instead you’re stuck in a dreary room with tiled floors and stained walls. 
Just then, the door swings open and the officer who left earlier enters with an indecipherable expression, “You can leave. Haitham, escort them out.” Relief swells in your heart, and you jump off the chair and practically skip out, accompanied by Al-Haitham. In the main lobby of the police station, you notice a tall man with blue hair and matching eyes surveying the area with an aura so intimidating it’s as if he was the owner. A chirpier blonde man scans the room, and when his green eyes land on you, his face breaks out into a huge smile, “Sir Kamisato, Y/N’s here.” 
Kamisato? The name rings a bell, and you mentally dig around your brain until it clicks. Wait. Kamisato? As in Kamisato Ayato, the heir to Yashiro, one of the biggest corporations in Teyvat?! And more importantly, why does he seem to know you? The two of them stroll up to you, and the blonde man sticks his hand out to shake yours vigorously, “Hello! I’m Thoma, Kamisato Ayato’s bodyguard, chauffeur, retainer…” Ayato tilts his head, “It’s safe to say he is very multi-talented. And so are you, it seems.” “Pardon?” You’re not sure what he’s insinuating until his smile turns cunning, “Not everyone manages to end up getting interrogated by the Chief Officer Cyno.” You frown, irritation edging your tone, “I think we both know I would prefer that hadn’t happened. How do you even know who I am?” “I’m a friend of Aether’s,” Ayato smiles mysteriously, but before he can elaborate further, the door opens so roughly that it slams against the wall and threatens to break off its hinges as a group of guys stumble in.
“I had advised you against rushing in,” a tall man with a long ponytail sighs, “I’m not sure why you request for advice that you instantly ignore.” “For fun! Or perhaps you don’t know what that means, Zhongli,” a much shorter man with twin braids grins, “Anyway, it’s a good thing that Ragnvindr guy got fired.” “Indeed. He would have locked Y/N up without a second thought,” Zhongli agrees before adding, “But I still believe you should have followed my advice.” “I think that must be Y/N over there!” another man with artfully messy maroon hair and a mole dotting his cheek cuts in before their bickering can start again and points at you. You’re staring blankly at this whole exchange when yet another man with white hair streaked with red steps forward to introduce himself, “Kaedehara Kazuha, at your service. Aether instructed us to bring you back to the florist.” 
Now you’re really getting annoyed. “I’ve had quite enough of people claiming to know Aether, thank you very much. I’ll find my own way back.” “Unfortunately, that will not be possible,” a man with brown hair and blue eyes replies, “It’s too dangerous to let you go alone. Aether would be very worried.” “Not to mention he would have our heads!” the short man pipes up, to which the maroon hair knocks him on the top of his head, “Shut up, Venti.” “If Aether’s so worried, why can’t he come get me himself?” you glower, and all of them unconsciously take a step back at the intensity of your death stare. 
“Seeing as we were the ones who got Y/N out, perhaps it would be best if we sent her back-” Thoma starts, but is easily shut down by Zhongli, “No. That is not a feasible option considering our clear differences.” The simple sentence seems to hint at something much heavier, and Thoma groans before admitting defeat. “Just let us send you back,” Kazuha pleads, “On a samurai’s honour, you will return safely.” You jut your chin outwards, “That’s not enough. I want to know the truth as well.” “The… truth?” “Yes. I’m 100% certain it’s not normal for me to be interrogated about all the people working at some flower shop in the middle of nowhere.” “Did you say anything?” the maroon headed man’s gaze flicks sharply to yours, and Kazuha swats his arm, “Heizou, even if they did-” “Did you?” Heizou presses on and you give him a dirty look, “No. I’m not an idiot. Or a snake.” “Better than Kaeya, at least,” Venti snickers, and Heizou elbows him, “Kaeya isn’t a snake… he’s just slippery.” But even Heizou’s voice sounds doubtful.
Then he snaps himself out of it, “Regardless, we will be taking you back now. And good job for not saying anything.” Heizou turns around and starts to walk away, flanked by everyone except Kazuha, who at least gives you an apologetic shrug first. You glance at Ayato and Thoma as if seeking assistance, but all you see is an amused smile playing about Ayato’s lips and a tight smile on Thoma’s face. When he catches you looking, Ayato smirks, “Don’t worry. I suspect we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other soon. Get home safe.” 
With no other choice, you sigh, groan, and roll your eyes in quick succession before hurrying after them. Maybe taking up Aether’s offer wasn’t such a good idea after all. 
— 
After what has to be both the longest and simultaneously most awkward car ride you have ever been in your life (it wasn’t helped by the fact that the driver was the most muscled man you have ever seen, and he wouldn’t shut up the entire time), you finally reach the florist and you’re ready to just crash into bed. But the minute you see Aether silhouetted in the doorway, your fatigue disappears, replaced by a desperate desire to know what’s really going on. From the secretive looks shared between the men in the car and the two guys at the police station, not to mention the fact that their so-called office is situated at the edge of the city, it feels like everyone is in on a secret and you’re purposely being kept out of the loop. 
“What the hell is going on, Aether? I trusted you. Why won’t you do the same for me?” That barrage of questions is the first thing that comes out of your mouth when you’re close enough to speak to him. It feels like a dam in your mind’s been broken and all your worries about jumping headfirst into a suggestion with so many unknowns combined with your stress from being fired and evicted are flooding out. “Listen, Y/N,” Aether looks pained, and the seriousness of his expression is enough to make you stop in your tracks before you can scold him even more, “I didn’t want to tell you this at first, but now I think it’s best if you know. Would you mind having a seat?”
You pull up a chair and look expectantly at him, “So, what is it?” Aether sits opposite you, seeming as if a million and one things are rushing through his mind at the speed of a bullet train, “You remember my sister, don’t you?” “Yeah, Lumine. Of course I do,” you don’t understand where he’s going with this. Obviously you remember his sister; the three of you were inseparable in university, but the two of them had always been joined at the hip, closer than any other siblings you had seen before. You often wondered just how much the two of them had been through that bound them so close together. But as uni friends often do, you all had fallen out of contact, your rare interactions stemming from mere posts on social media, and even that had trickled to an end eventually. “Right. Well, she’s gone missing,” Aether can’t meet your eyes when he admits it. “What?!” it takes you a few seconds to process, “What do you mean?” “Gone without a trace. Not even a text,” he sounds clinical, detached from the story as if he’s gone over this many times in the past.
“But… what happened? Lumine wouldn’t just up and leave like that.” “I’m not sure if you remember, but Lumi was always into journalism. She was always busy looking for ‘the next big scoop’, and she had special obsession with politics. She liked exploring, poking around in places she shouldn’t be, and…” here his voice breaks slightly, but he forces himself to continue, “I think that she saw something she wasn’t supposed to, and they took her away.” “Who did?” “The government; the Abyss Order. Or maybe the Fatui.” You shudder at the mention of the government’s special operations service; they’ve been rumoured to have murdered hundreds, if not thousands, of people globally without hesitation nor remorse – they acted purely according to instruction. 
“What does that have to do with this place? Or me?” While you’re reeling from the impact of what he’s just accused the Abyss Order of, you still want to know how this correlates to your current situation. “Well, I obviously wanted to get her back. So I started searching around, hunting for information, that kind of thing. And I found out that Lumine wasn’t the only potential victim. There were people disappearing all the time, I’d see their families posting about it online. But I didn’t want to stop at just a cry for help on some random internet forum - I wanted to go further. I wanted to find Lumine and punish those who had unjustly taken her.” Your mouth feels dry, and you’re not sure how much you want to hear what comes next, but you know it’s something that you have to listen to. 
“I found a bunch of people with similar mindsets who had the same thing happen to them, and we…” his voice trails off, but he keeps going, “We started what could be called a support group at best… but a gang at worst. And we don’t do anything bad, I promise. We just keep our ears to the ground and find out things we aren’t supposed to know, and Y/N, you won’t believe how deep this corruption runs within the system.” “So, essentially you invited me here, knowing how badly I needed a job and a place to stay, just to work as a cover for a gang,” your throat feels tight, and your heart is threatening to shatter, “Y’know, for a second there, I really thought you genuinely cared.” You move to leave, but Aether stands in your path, “But I do! I didn’t mean to involve you in this business at all, you were just supposed to live your dream and run a peaceful flower shop and stay in the apartment upstairs. You weren’t supposed to find out about any of this.” Your gaze softens – you’ve known Aether long enough to know when he’s lying and when he’s telling the truth, and you recognise that he honestly wanted to keep you in the dark about the whole thing.
“But now that I do know, what are you going to do?” “Nothing,” Aether states, a mask of calmness slipping into place, “What happens next is up to you.” “What?” “You can either go to the police and tell them everything I just told you,” he begins, “Or you can stay with us, and work, as you put it, as a cover for a gang.” You fall silent, the protests bubbling up on your lips dying in seconds as you do your best to observe the circumstances rationally and figure out what to do next. But deep down, you already know what you’re going to choose. Perhaps your decision was decided for you the second you met Aether in that coffee shop. You don’t even listen to how he’s explaining, “-if anything happens, you can claim plausible deniability-” before you say, “I’m staying. I can’t leave you now.” “Really?” Aether’s in disbelief, but he manages a grin when you nod, “I’ll be your spy florist.” 
And that’s the story of how you ended up as a florist for a gang. It wasn’t that great of a job, but the people you got to interact with daily made things much better, and if anything, that’s where the real story starts – within the elysian new life you carved out for yourself.
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ainti-pretty · 11 months
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lame fuckin furry
wow theres a lot to unpack here, and all of it is technically correct! three for three, good job!
lets go through it though!
firstly:
lame:
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i assume you were trying for the second definition, but given you're (attempting!) to send what seems to be anon hate, i really think that makes me not lame because clearly ive inspired something in you. so, as a result we're going for the first definition. which is, by dictionary definition true! i have chronic pain in my left ankle as a result of several severe injuries, and i likely will have pain for the rest of my life there.
moving on to "fucking"
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both work, but it wouldn't be grammatically correct if you were trying to use it as an adjective. next time i'd suggest saying: "you are a lame fucking furry." you need a verb in there! but you were close! i will give you the benefit of the doubt, however, and assume you meant the second one. the second one is true. i do in fact have sex. more sex, likely, than you ever will.
finally: furry.
this is the most correct portion of your ask! i am a furry. i cannot argue with that! good job!! here's my boy:
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in all: well done! all are correct points, your grammar just might need some work. good job!
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