#[whispers] its the same sketch i just changed some ingredients

[kanelitanko]

tomura n tenko sketches to cope with the world

[elliethesuperfruitlover]

I’m So Baked (says the pie)

A/N: So I’ve been paying more attention to Topazi (mentally) and I realize that I need more shenanigans between her and Klaus..so here we are.

Warnings: some suggestive material

Tag List:  @joz-stankovich, @misskittysmagicportal, @badsext, @super-unpredictable98, @the-freckled-luba, @magic-multicolored-miracle, @ghouls-buddy, @maerenee930, @frogs–are–bitches, @neuroticpuppy, @forenschik, @bisexualnathanyoung, @robert-sheehan, @firstpersonnarrator, @salvador-daley, @lokis-rock-n-roll-chick

“Klaus, what happened to your hand?!” Topazi asked, as her partner walked in, his hand held far away from his body, almost as if it had offended him greatly.

“I was trying to get inside of the house and the patio door shut on my hand. We need to get that fixed at some point.” he said, putting a generous amount of dish soap on his “Hello” hand before putting it under the tap.

“I’ll put it on my list to get to. Do you know when Allison and Claire are supposed to be coming over. I need to make sure I have time to get the flowers done beforehand. And I need to make sure there’s no extra snails in them, like I’ve let slide recently.” she added, getting her tools gathered on the floor of the living room.

“Uh, I think she said around regular dinnertime, 6-7ish.” Klaus replied, and Topazi let out a sigh of relief. That’s plenty of time to construct and reconstruct her design.

  It was a simple bouquet, really. Allison hadn’t asked for a specific type of flowers, but she wanted to get a specific message across. Maternal love and affection. Claire had been through quite a lot, and she wanted to be sure that her kid knew that she loved her very much. Material objects only do so much as well, so Allison planned to write a letter, and just generally try to spend more time with her kid, and be there for her more.

“That’s valid.” T remembered saying, as she picked a few cinquefoils, as well as a few carnations from her collection, looking back at her sketch.

  It reminded her in pieces of a sunflower, actually, how it looked. There wasn’t a darkness in the center, but she chose yellow cinquefoils, and yellow carnations, with regular greenery on the outside, so she’d need to change something up a little. She worked away for some time, and made multiples of the same bouquet, trying different combinations of the flowers.

  In the kitchen, Klaus was looking at a recipe book. He wanted to make Allison one of her favorite desserts, a key-lime pie. He was sure that there were limes somewhere in the house (or if the neighbors have some). There had been multiple occasions where he wished to make a specific dish and lacked a few ingredients. Topazi had mentioned, in passing, of her wishes of having a fruit orchard. That would help with the fruit issue, lest Klaus decide to become a full-time baker. It may not be a huge one, but she wanted to provide for herself. Plus, who doesn’t want to take care of plants?

“Now where is the microblade?” he asked himself as he rumbled through the cabinets, trying to make sure he didn’t let anything drop too loudly.

“I don’t even know if we have one.” Topazi replied, eyes focused on trying to properly tie a ribbon on one of her bouquets.

“Ah, here it is!” Klaus exclaimed, extracting the microblade from between the cheese grater and a plate.

   He finally went into the fridge after a few more minutes of glancing over the ingredient page, and withdrew a few limes from the bottom drawers. Soon enough, Klaus began working on the crust, and took some of his anger out (mostly at the sliding door) pounding the graham crackers to crumbs. A small part of him wanted to taste said crumbs, but then he remembered that it was for his sister, not him. (although her giving him a slice isn’t completely out of the question) He pressed the crumbs into the side of the pie plate, making sure to press from the bottom, going up. He put it in the oven, took note of the time, and got started on the filling.

“T, why do you like flowers so much?” Klaus asked, zesting a lime. He knew the obvious answer, “They’re pretty, and a lot of people like them.” However, he wanted to hear his partner talk, as the sound of the cicadas outside were beginning to annoy him.

“I like them because what’s not to like about them? In a sense. They’re pretty, and were historically used as a means to communicate, when people thought it rude and insensitive to discuss such things in public. Everything about them is made so carefully, down to how they look microscopically. Even though plants themselves aren’t sentient, they still live, and have their own systems to maintain, and how they work. If one was to extract a piece of DNA from a sunflower, specifically one that gives it its color, our perception would be completely different of it.” she stops for a moment to collect her thoughts.

“It’s also how people work, too. I like flowers because they’re easy to maintain, if you know what you’re doing, and don’t forget they exist, or run out of energy. And they’re so nice to look at. You’ve seen me stop in parks to just admire how flowers are placed in the mulch, or soil. They planters may have had the littlest idea of how I would view them, even down to what order they put them in, but they’re there. I find it so worth it to just pause for a moment, and to think, and indulge in the true meaning of something, even if it wasn’t meant to be. That’s why I like flowers. It’s completely fine to just see the surface when someone gets you flowers “Ah, they got me something pretty, and thought of me to give me this. It’s a meaningful gift.” But I want to pick apart every part of it. Because there’s so much more to so many things than what you see.” she responds, and jumps when she looks up to see Klaus leaning over the kitchen island, his face in his hands.

  His hands have small bits of pulp on them, and the “Kiss the Cook” apron that he wears has abstract juice drippage on it.

“I fuckin’ love you T.” Klaus whispers, and bends over to capture her lips in a gentle kiss, and he feels her smile into it. Her hands carefully come to wrap around his neck, making sure not to get any of the stem juice in his hair.

“Love you too.” she whispers back, pulling away “Your crust smells just a smidge burnt (pronounced buent), by the way.” she says, picking up her phone to refresh her memory of other flower requests. A small look of panic passes across his face before he pushes himself off of the counter, practically ripping the oven door off to check on his crust.

  It, fortunately enough, wasn’t too terribly damaged. It wasn’t too crisp, or burnt. He set it on the stove to rest for a moment, and he grabbed the yogurt from the fridge, and sweetened condensed milk from the pantry. He poured the juice, zest, yogurt, and sweetened condensed milk into a bowl, and whisked to combine.

“I never thought I would be so turned on by a man cooking, and the pie isn’t even for me.” T admitted, looking at the way Klaus’ arms flexed while he continued to mix the ingredients together.

“Oh, is that right. I’ll be cooking a lot more then, if your response is openly admitting your horniness to my non-conformity to gender roles.” he said casually, blowing a stray hair out of his face.

 Topazi looked up, and stared Klaus straight in the face, and put a finger up, opening her mouth, only to close it, and put her finger down.

“I’m not sharing my thoughts with a malewife like you.” she uttered, shaking her head in mock disgust.

“And this malewife puts it down every evening for you, willingly that is, and this is how I’m treated, ugh, the gumption.” he mutters, putting a hand to his chest, feigning disgust.

  Topazi and Klaus look at each other once more before breaking out in laughter, urging Minnie, who was sitting on the floor, to wake up from her nap. Klaus snorted, hand gripping the counter. Topazi had to put her head down to prevent any excess spittle from getting on her flowers. Once they caught their collective breaths, Klaus poured the filling into the crust, and put it into the oven to bake. He washed the dishes that he had, and dried the bowl, due to needing it for the topping.

“Okay, good, I just need to write these cards, then I’ll be done with this.” T said, grabbing them, and grabbed a permanent marker.

“These look really good T!” Klaus exclaimed, his eyes shining with glee.

“Thank you love.” she said, dragging a hand across her face. She stood up to stretch, and her back cracked loudly, mildly surprising her. She walked over to Klaus and wrapped her hands around his waist, her head resting on his back.

“Every time you put your arms around my waist like that, I swear I gain 10 more years of life.” he said, wiping his hands on his apron. She felt the vibrations of his speech on her face, and she took a deep breath before responding.

“I wonder what happens when I hug you then.” T said, walking away to put the flowers in their designated “T’s flowers, do not touch nor smell.” place in the fridge.

“I’m so smart, I know.” he retorted, pouring the heavy cream into a bowl, along with a few tablespoons of confectioners’ sugar. T jumped at the sound, and shook it off. 

  She had mentally took note of the time Klaus put the pie in, and took an oven mitt off of the hook, (patterned with tiny cookies on it) The top looked set enough, and she set it to rest on the counter. She turned the oven off, and watched as Klaus finished whipping the topping, holding it upside down to check if it was ready. It didn’t fall on his head, so he put plastic wrap over it, and looked outside for a short moment, looking up the tree in the front yard. 

  He took a breath, and thought for a second. Maybe a bit too long. His mind fluttered back to what it took for him to be where he was. How much it physically took out of him, his siblings, hell, even the timeline for him to be able to have a peaceful life (for the most part) and a loving partner. A tear slipped down his face, and he thought of how silent the ghost had been recently. He still had his powers, but the ghosts seemed to respect his current want for peace. And he loved that. He would float around the house if his feet were tired, and sometimes even do a side gig of being a medium if he felt inclined to. However, something about knowing that he couldn’t physically see Ben anymore, (his Ben, he thought, now with his newest collection of siblings, with a limited edition Sparrow Ben). He still even missed the cult, even with its downsides. He never got the right type of parental love, or familial love. At times, he doubted his siblings’ love for him, even though they’d made it pretty obvious that they’d be there for him, lest he need it.

  “Hey, Klaus, the- are you alright?” Topazi asks. She had been calling a few clients back from her home office, telling them that their bouquets had been completed. She got a random craving for cookies, and planned to go to the kitchen to make them, but she found Klaus in tears, hand covering his mouth. He hadn’t even noticed her there.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. I was just thinking too much.” he explained, letting her wipe the tears from his face.

“You sure?” she asked, and he nodded before taking a deep breath, and releasing it. “I was just coming in here to A. make some cookies, and B. tell you that the pie is good and cooled, and it’s time for it to be topped.” she said, rubbing his back gently.

“Okay. Thank you T.” he responded, gathering the willpower to put the whipped cream on the pie, and adding small lime slices and spare zest on top. He smiled at the completed job, and put it in the fridge to finish chilling.

“Go take a nap darling. You’ve been on your feet for a while, and you look tired. I’ll let you know when Allison is here. Or at least 5 minutes before.” she whispered, kissing Klaus’ cheek. She looked at him for a moment more, and cupped his cheek with her hand. The light scruff that covered the bottom of his chin tickled her hand, and she had the urge to scratch her palm. She however, resisted said urge, and took her hand away. Klaus smiled at her once more, and trotted up the stairs, with Minnie in tow behind him. Topazi went back to the kitchen and gathered her ingredients. She spun some vinyl as background music, and got to work on her cookies.

  A couple hours pass, and Topazi is drying the last cookie sheet she used for her cookies, putting it back in its rightful spot. She stretched again, and checked her phone, seeing that Allison had texted her a few seconds go, saying that she was on the way, which gave her about 30 minutes to get Klaus awake. She headed up the stairs, and ended their bedroom, where Klaus was sprawled across the sheets Minnie resting on his pillow. T gently shook him awake with one hand, and giving chin scratches to Minnie with the other.

“Come on, it’s time to get up Klausie.” she mutters, watching as her partner came to slowly, more of his hair having escaped from its confinements.

“Hmmm, I’ll be more up in a bit. You smell good, hon.” he whispered, rubbing his eyes.

 The sun was shining in his face, and although it may have been mildly uncomfortable to wake up to, he looked absolutely stunning in it. His hair seemed to glow, and his skin, albeit a little pale, seemed to reflect every bit of sun that hit it. His eyes though, seemed to be pools of emerald and gold. Topazi admired him from afar, and she ignored the strong urge to climb into bed with him and bask in the sunlight together.

“You’re staring love.” Klaus says, leaning on his arm in bed, petting Minnie, who was beginning to wake up as well. She meowed gently, and purred at his touch.

“Oh, hush. Like you haven’t stared at me in the sun before.”

“.....You got me there.”

“Yeah, mhm.” Topazi said, jokingly side-eyeing Klaus.

“Come here mama.” Klaus teases, pulling T’s arm towards him. She falls into Klaus’ arms, her head resting right below his. He bends down and kisses her lips, breaking away, before Topazi reciprocates the gesture, taking a small handful of Klaus’ hair in her fingers. Klaus smiles, and chuckles, letting his mouth fall to her neck. He nuzzles into it, and they sit there for several minutes, before coming to a realization.

“Oh shit, I forgot that Allison and Claire are coming over.” T said. “I’ve got to get the cookies in the jar...and I need to fix the bed too.”

“Ah, calm down. It’s fine. She’s not going to come up here and see where we engage in sinful activities, is she? No. However, I would love to join you in the cookie jarring.” Klaus mutters, smiling at her.

“Fine, you can help. But so help me god if I find even a crumb on the freshly swept floor.” Topazi said, closing the bedroom door behind her.

  T worked quickly to get the cookies together, and Klaus took a very short shower, as he knew that it would help wake him up, and he could go back to bed without having to worry about showering again. The doorbell sounded, and Topazi almost slipped trying to get to the door. She checked herself in the mirror once more before letting her niece and sister in law into the house.

“Hey Allison! And little miss Claire.” Topazi said, giving the respective people their own hugs.

“How’ve you been T?” Allison asked as she was welcomed in, shoes taken off at the door. She was also carrying a dish of some sort, covered in Aluminum Foil.

“I’ve been good. The business has been going well, and I’m thinking of making an orchard.” T replies, leading them both to the living room. “Let me get that for you.”

“That’s good. Claire’s been begging me to let her go visit the shop, but it’s always been at a bad time. Oh, thank you! I brought dinner as a bit of a treat.”

“It’s much appreciated. I like seeing you both, and having you two visit would never be a hassle.” she replies, petting JJ, the other cat, who just so happened to be waiting for attention.

“IS THAT MY SISTER AND MY FAVORITE NIECE?” Klaus yelled from the top of the stairs, quickly running down them to give his sibling a hug.

“Uncle Klaus!” Claire exclaimed, giving said uncle a very big hug around his middle, only to be picked up.

“How’ve you been, Allison, smaller Allison?” he asked, setting his niece back on the couch before taking the place next to his partner.

“We’ve been good.” Allison says. “We’ve been doing really good.” 

  The four of them sit and converse for a while, and eventually dinnertime comes around, signaled by Klaus’ stomach growling loudly. Allison had brought a very large amount of lasagna, and Topazi immediately dug in, which shocked Klaus, but he’d bring the cause up at a later time. Claire did, however, get a pre-dinner cookie (Topazi’s request because “That’s how you teach kids that good things come to people who deserve them.”)

“So, I do so happen to have a bit of a surprise for the both of you.” Klaus says, standing up and opening the fridge.

“Ooh, what is it?” Allison asks excitedly, and Claire matches her mother’s expression.

  Klaus pulls out the pie, and T moves to gently give Claire her bouquet, asking her to hold it a specific way as to not jostle the flowers, or change the position of the ribbon.

“That’s so pretty, T! Oh my gosh, I need to ask you to make more things for me, I swear I’ll pay you in whatever you want.” Allison exclaims, looking at the bouquet, leaning forward to smell some of the flowers.

“Thank you! The meanings of the flowers, and ribbon placement are on the card. Also your brother made a whole pie...by himself......we need to eat it before he does.” she teases, sticking a pointed thumb back at her partner, who already had a knife out to cut said pie.

“Klaus, it’s my favorite! Thank you so much.” Allison says, taking another bite of the pie.

“This is really good Uncle Klaus.” Claire states, looking across the island at him.

“Why danke. It was made with love. Both the pie and the bouquet, actually.” he said, kissing T on the cheek. She smiled against him, and took a piece of the pie for herself, trying to resist eating the rest of the pie it all of its entirety.

  The night came to an end, and Allison and Claire said their respective goodbyes, and drove off. T and Klaus lay in bed that night, with a book and knitting needles in hand, respectively. Klaus feels a weight against his shoulder, and Topazi had fallen asleep, small breaths escaping her lips. He put a marker in her book, and took note of note of where he stopped in his stitches. It took him some more time to get to sleep that night, probably due to his earlier nap, but he got to sleep, so peacefully. Something he’d wished for many a day, and now it seemed that he was finally getting it answered.

Masterlist

Key Lime Pie

[marvels-writings]

Calm

A/N: I literally feel like I’m going insane so i had to write this

Summary: Quarantine is taking its toll on everyone, most people are fine, you are going crazy because of your adhd, and your girlfriend, Wanda, notices. 

“Hey kid, you okay?” Tony asked, plopping down on the couch next to ou as you clicked on a different TV show to watch, your fifth in the past half hour. 

You had sketch books and torn up paper balls and a nintendo ds scattered around you as you tried to figure out what to do. It felt like you were going insane, you couldn’t sit still or focus on anything for more than a few minutes, the more you tried to focus, the crazier you felt. 

“Fine, just bored.” You answered, fidgeting with the small red fidget cube Wanda had gotten you a few weeks back. 

“Oh I love this show.” Clint stated, sitting on the couch next to you with Natasha, soon enough the entire team was watching the TV show even though you could barely focus on it, you wanted to change it so badly but you couldn’t. 

Instead, you got up and gathered all your things, leaving and going into your room, thankfully no one noticed. You threw your things on top of your already messy bed, deciding what to do. You couldn’t and started pacing instead, playing some music to try to keep yourself a bit more sane. 

“Hey,” Wanda greeted softly, leaning against the doorway and watching you pace for a second until you noticed her. 

“Hi,” You answered, stopping your pacing and standing there, fidgeting instead as you decided what to do. Clean, start a new art project, a new ds game, clean your closet, bake something. 

“What’s up?” Wanda asked softly, feeling the thoughts racing in your head and knowing you were going absolutely crazy in this compound. You’d walked around the entire compound at least 5 times today in an effort to calm yourself. 

“Nothing, I don’t know what to do.” You answered, cracking your knuckles just for the sake of having to do something, only for them not to crack. You practically groaned and started putting clothes back into your dresser. 

“Don’t lie to me.” Wanda said softly, stopping your hand with hers on your wrist, you looked up at her. “I know something is wrong.” Her accent slipped in, making the words much softer. 

You took in a deep breath, taking your hand away from hers and running it through your hair on impulse, thinking of washing your hair even though you had two days ago. You threw the clothes back on the bed, staring at the half empty closet you’d tried to organize today. 

“I just,” You sighed, not knowing how to explain it. “I don’t know, I can’t focus, I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“It’s okay.” Wanda comforted, moving to stand next to you, then gently pulling you down to sit on the clean spot on your bed next to her. 

You felt your presence in your mind the same way you felt her softly stroking your hands, trying to calm your thoughts. 

“No!” You shouted, Wanda exited your mind instantly, scared she had hurt you, her face looking more guilty and scared than you’ve ever seen her, you couldn’t help but notice how she took her hands away from yours. 

“I’m sorry,” You apologized quickly, looking away from Wanda. “I just want to be able to deal with this on my own.”

“It’s okay if you need help.” Wanda suggested, placing her hands back on top of yours. “If you want, we can go cook something for dinner together.”

You took in a deep breath, calming your nerves slightly and looked up at Wanda with a soft smile. 

“Sounds good.” You smiled, Wanda grinned at you then kissed your forehead before getting up and grabbing your bluetooth speaker, knowing music helps ground you. 

“Ah you know me so well.” You commented when you saw her take the speaker, Wanda shrugged and walked over to you, taking your hand and walking outside your room with you and into the kitchen. 

Thankfuly, the rest of the team was too absorbed in the TV show to notice the two of you cooking and you were grateful for that, you weren’t sure you could handle their company too. Wanda pulled out the ingredients to make pasta and put on your favorite music. 

The next half hour was probably the best you’ve had so far in quarantine. Wanda helped you cook but let you do most of it, helping out where she could but mostly talking to you and sometimes singing if she liked the song that was playing, you were smiling the entire time, making Wanda happier to see you smile. 

“C’mon it’s almost done!” Wanda said, dragging you away from the dish and into the center of the kitchen. 

You groaned through your grin, letting Wanda wrap her hands around your waist softly, you wrapped your hands around her neck, grinning as you swayed gently to the music. You gently touched your forehead to hers, taking in her gorgeous eyes and soft brown hair. She was so beautiful, and you were so lucky to have her. 

“Thank you,” You said softly, Wanda smiled and leaned forward to peck your lips before pulling back and continuing to rest her forehead against yours, shivering slightly when you gently stroked her neck. 

“Of course moya lyubov.” She answered softly, swaying with you and hugging you closer to her. She felt your confusion at the nickname and chuckled softly. 

“It means ‘my love’” Wanda said in your head, you grinned at the nickname and pulled away to look up at her, smiling up at her, feeling more relaxed than ever. 

“I love you,” You whispered, your heart lifting when you saw the smile on Wanda’s face when you said that. “I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”

“The honor’s all mine.” Wanda jokes, you smiled at her accent and pulled her closer to you. “I love you too.”

“Oh food!” Clint shouted, coming in the kitchen because of the aroma of the pasta. 

You groaned and rested your head on Wanda’s shoulder. Wanda laughed and moved slightly to switch off the speaker, still holding you close. You smiled up at her before pulling away and helping her serve dinner. 

Usually, dinner was living hell for you as the entire team was sitting and arguing. This time, Wanda sat closer to you, hand holding yours under the table and helping you whenever you needed it. You were the most amazing person she had ever met, and it was okay if you needed help sometimes, she was happy to give it to you. 

A/N: I still feel crazy after staying at home for a week but not so much now after writing this, my heart literally feels lighter and I hope you like this!

Tag list: @capcarolsdanver​, @versdan​, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught​, @lovebotlarson​, @dhengkt​, @5aftermidnight​, @hstoria​, @natasha-danvers, @veryfunnyal​, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ , @ophelias-heart​  , let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

[letsperaltiago]

I call it magic when I'm with you |Jake x Amy|

So for my b99 Fall Fic Exchange 2019 I got to write for my fave @amyscascadingtabs and got these 3 prompts to inspire my story:

Halloween costume parties

Baking together (could be something Halloween-related or general fall coziness)

Peraltiago kids celebrating Halloween

I decided to combine all 3 of them (somewhat? I mean there’s no party but there’s the mention of costumes) with a main focus on nr. 2. Hope you like it even though I finished it so last minute and it’s kinda not what you asked for... I’m so sorry! I don’t know what happened. Started out good and next thing you know there’s Harry Potter sexy times going down... Anyways happy Halloween and fall-season to you, Johanna and everyone else on here. You’re sweetheart and I hope you still enjoy it though my take on your prompts is... alternative. 

———————————————————————————————————

The sound of crunching leaves beneath her feet secretly provoked a happy, giddy feeling in Amy’s stomach and an extra pep in her walk as she made her way back from the deli down the street from their apartment. It was the day before Halloween, a Friday, and this just so happened to be her and Jake’s weekly common day off which had lead to the purpose behind her trip to the deli: Instead of simply handing out candy, the sergeant was going to (see: try to) bake cute Halloween-themed cookies for the cause. Today was truly a day of mysterious events. Not only was Amy Bad-at-anything-culinary Santiago-Peralta going to bake for innocent kids who didn’t know any better than to politely accept her cookies… She had also willingly gone grocery shopping and everyone knew that she far from handled anything colder than 60 degrees very gracefully. Yet Amy couldn’t help but smile just a bit as a fresh breeze played with both her hair and dead leaves in various shades of red, orange and yellow.

Also extra plump from all the unconscious smiling, her husband couldn’t help but notice the extra bright pink shade of her cheeks when she finally walked in the door with a stuffed paper bag.

“Not too cold?” He hurriedly made his way from the living room to where she was standing by the door to grab the paper bag from her grip.

“A bit,” she shrugged off her coat before putting it away along with her shoes. “But also kind of nice. Refreshing even.”

A scoff could be heard from kitchen the room where Jake was now in the midst of putting down the heavy bag and its content. “Amy Santiago enjoying the cold? Must be a lie.”

“Perhaps adding Peralta to my name changed me for the better,” was mumbled into Jake’s left ear suddenly, letting a tiny giddy shock run through him as an effect from feeling her arms wrap around his waist from behind him. Not that he minded one bit but he hadn’t noticed her making her way from the door to him. Instantly in a reaction to the pleasent surprise, a smile grew on his face and though she couldn’t see his face, it didn’t take much more than the slight change in the tone of his voice to tell her that he was smiling.

“Well… ” the affectionate touch had quickly captured Jake’s full attention causing him to stop his dutiful process of unpacking the groceries onto the counter as to allow himself to turn around in her grip on him to look at her. Their nose-tips briefly brushed across each other, bubbling chuckles dancing from their lips, accompanying their stupidly happy grins. There was barely what could be called space between them. A tiny readjustment was all it would take for them to get that loving lock of lips they always craved. Indeed Jake was in the midst of leaning in to kiss his wife whilst mumbling, “Guess I’m the best thing that has ever happened to you then-“ when a loud wail interrupted their little moment, this bursting their otherwise bulletproof bubble, just as their lips were about to come together and he’d just barely been able to sense that his wife’s lips were still cold from her trip to the deli. A sigh was the only thing Amy got to feel, not at all as satisfying but nonetheless replacing the kiss, before she drew back to shoot him an apologetic yet slightly amused smile.

Jake returned the exact same look. “Did you tell her to do that?”

In a split second Amy’s cheeky apologetic blush switched to a look of defence followed by a playful punch to his shoulder. “How dare you!”

Seriousness being a rare matter it all of course just earned her a soft laugh from Jake who put his hands in the air in what was supposed to look innocence as he slowly backed away from the kitchen towards the hall. “I’m just saying… She’s been napping peacefully ever since I put her down before you left for the deli so it seems rather suspicious that she just now, all of the sudd-“

“Shut up, Peralta,” she scowled picking up on where he’d left off unpacking the groceries, “… and feel free to collect your daughter since you two seem to be ganging up and framing me.”

Though she was clearly messing with him there was no way she’d have to tell him twice; apart from Amy, their new barely 3-month old daughter was Jake’s favorite human and every second with her, wailing furiously or making happy gurgling-sounds, was precious. Still, even after a few months into fatherhood, her daughter was even better and more perfect than he’d ever dared to expect. Actually he never actually knew what to expect since he was so damn scared, but Marcy was incredible. It felt amazingly incredible to not be able to imagine a life without someone that you used to not be able to imagine your life with.

“Hey, Marcipan,” he cooed as he carefully pushed open the door to the infants little, pastel yellow painted room. The little girl of course didn’t answer but simply let out another wail as to call out for someone’s (preferably mom or dad’s) attention.

“Shhh,” he shushed her calmly all while safely leaning down over her bassinet to cradle her tiny body his warm hands. Within seconds, making sure to be careful with the tiny human still as fragile as porcelain, his daughter was safely cradled in his arms and a warmth that had come to grow very familiar spread within him. “What do you say we go help mom bake some cookies, huh?”

He pecked Marcy’s forehead before slowly making his way out the room and down the short hall before continuing the one-sided conversation. “Just between the two of us, we have no choice but to help her,” there was a truth in the words that provoked a chuckle from the father’s own lips. “If we don’t she’s gonna burn the place down and we’ll have to spend Halloween in the streets. Your mom might be tough enough for that but I sure as hell am not.” Whether is was on purpose or not, his sentence ended as he rounded the corner to the kitchen.

“I heard that, you know…” His wife currently had her back turned to them, hands working on something on the kitchen counter and allowing Jake to admire the long, shiny pony tail flowing down her back. Pony tail meant serious business in the book of Amy Peralta-Santiago.

“Just being honest with her, honey.”

There was barely any time for her to react before she felt his figure’s presence besides her, presenting her her now awake and curiously observing daughter. A smile instantly appeared on the mother’s face, her hands interrupting whatever she was doing.

“Hi, baby,” she cooed sweetly ahead of bowing down to place a kiss, similarly to how Jake had just seconds ago, to her daughter’s soft forehead. “Did you nap well while mommy was gone? Or did you just spend the entire time plotting against me with your father?”

“Oh mommy, me and dad would never be mean to you,” Jake spoke in a high-pitched, phony voice as to take on his daughter’s role.

Amy straightened back up to take in the funny sight of her husband’s parody with one hand on her now popped hip and a suspiciously cocked eyebrow. Though there was no way she was actually mad at him, this kind of banter was a Peralta-Santiago trademark. Not a day went by without it and Jake incorporating their newborn daughter was definitely to his advantage.

“Hm,” she turned back to what appeared to be a bowl with mixed ingredients. “I don’t know if I believe you two…”

“Please believe us, mommy,” Jake continued his little sketch, following Amy’s movement away from them trying to close the remaining distance between them. “I napped really well and daddy just sat there thinking about how much he loves you and how he can’t wait to see you wearing that sexy Hermione costume he bought-”

Upon hearing those last few words slipping off her husband’s lips (her husband who was currently holding their tiny daughter in their arms!!) Amy’s head snapped back to him and away from where it was looking at what was slowly but somewhat surely becoming cookie dough. “Jake!” Though his wife’s eyes would forever and always be the most beautiful, soothing and perfect brown pair, for a second right there in that moment, he feared them and the threatening daggers they shot. “Don’t say stuff like that in front of Marcy!”

“Babe, she’s a baby,” he chuckled warmly to his defence, leaning in before tenderly placing kiss to his wife’s cheek followed by replacing them directly onto her ear so that his breathy whisper could hopefully cause shivers to run down her spine. “I could add so many more details about what you and I do when she’s asleep and she wouldn’t understand a thing.”

One side of Amy, the one that did quiver beneath the feeling of his whisper into her ear, wanted to give in to the tension her husband had managed to sneak into an otherwise very innocent and domestic moment.  Yet her contradicting side, the one that was eyeing their tiny daughter safely cuddled up in his arms, managed to fight her urge. Yes, it was a fact that the otherwise incredible arrival of their daughter had kept them from any particularly intimate activities. Whenever Marcy happened to somewhat sleep through the night the two exhausted parents made sure to use every precious second to catch up on the constant state of lacking sleep that they currently lived in. Yet she couldn’t get herself to act on her urges right in front of the tiny, innocent human.

“Jake…” Amy’s vocal chords barely managed to generate a mumble with a longing quiver as she fought the fight between giving in to the side of her that was simply a craving human and the side that was a parent.

Deep down she knew that they couldn’t go any further - at least not right now when her baby’s beautiful, innocent face was looking right at her. Nonetheless she couldn’t break the spell without allowing herself to give into the intrigue that her husband’s familiar lips waiting expectingly against her ear brought to life within her. There barely even time to acknowledge the movement before her neck and head had twisted just enough in his direction for her ear to be replaced by her lips. Years later and he still made her feel like a bubbleheaded love-sick teen.

“I know she’s a baby…” Amy whispered into the merge of their moving lips, somehow managing to keep up with Jake’s lips that happened to be persuasive as ever in the act of pursue this rush of affection for his wife. “… But we need to behave.”

“Uhummm,” as carefree as he was known to be, there was no way the mumble meant Jake planned on stopping. Itself the fact that he’d been able to keep Amy going, partially against her morals, for this long was a tiny victory that sparked the teasing competitive within him that he loved almost as much as her.

Though Amy kept telling herself that she was indeed about to break it up, Marcy letting out a tiny squeal beat her to it. The two enamoured adults quickly broke the embrace both instantly redirecting their wild gazes down at their fussy daughter. Both had to let out a small chuckle meanwhile Marcy looked anything but pleased by her parents’ lack of immersion in her presence.

“We pissed her off,” Jake joked before taking a step back from his position previously glued to his wife, allowing room to gently rock the infant which instantly reacted by quieting down. Still by the kitchen counter and having learned quite early into their new role as parents that Jake was very much capable of handling their daughter’s small tantrums on his own, Amy had resumed to the process of her Halloween cookie-experiment (Amy doing anything in the kitchen was an experiment, Jake had learned a long time ago).

“She’s tired of her dad being so obsessed with her mother instead of her.”

Jake could hear the smirk in her voice as she shuffled across the tiny kitchen to turn on the oven for her.

“That must be a big misunderstanding then,” he carefully repositioned the tiny human. Instead of cradling her carefully he was now holding her by the armpits, Lion King-stylez, facing him as he raised his arms to hold her at his eye level. “Isn’t that right, Marcipan?” He kissed his daughters forehead tenderly before holding her back out to look into her eyes. “You and I both know that you’re my favorite, don’t we?” his voice immediately indulged in his daughter’s universe, mushy and goofy,  only adding sweetness to the sight of him simultaneously nuzzling her tiny with his big nose.

Moments like these could only kindle a varm feeling in every corner of Amy’s body.

Since things were going so well for them she rarely gave it any thought, but in moments like this specific one it suddenly hit her that at some point Jake actually doubted his abilities as a parent. Yet here was, goofing around with their child like it was the most natural thing in the world, and Amy could only burst with pride at the sight. Not only had she witnessed Jake picking a tough battle in order to disobey the voices in his head telling him that there was no way he could be a better father than his own was; now she was also witnessing him, on a daily basis, being what she could only consider as being the most loving, dedicated and hard-working father to their daughter.

“I’m okay with that,” Amy smirked, making her way to the fridge to put the dough to rest. Jake’s eyes followed her, staying attentive for many reasons, as he carefully placed his daughter back into a cradled position in his arms. There was no way he was going to be let off with being right; something was coming to shut him up and all he could do was observe, wait patiently for his witty wife to pull out the last trick hidden up her sleeve. Her every move was noted.

Slowly closing the fridge was step one. The movement wasn’t exactly slow enough to seem suspicious, like it was leading to something else, but what happened afterwards or better known as step two would definitely blow his mind.

“… cause at the end of the day, as soon as I put on that costume… I’ll be your favorite.” Just in time to match her reaching the end of her venomous sentence, Amy tantalisingly turned around (right on that very same spot by the now closed fridge) and like a dagger stabbing him in his hopelessly devoted heart her deep, her brown eyes told him everything he needed to know. As so many times before she was more than right - and as so many times before he didn’t mind one bit. If she wasn’t smirking before (which she was) then she definitely was now and it was driving Jake crazy which with the biggest guarantee in the world she immensely enjoyed. Amy Santiago-Peralta had driven him crazy with great, legendary purpose for the past 11 years and by the looks of it she wasn’t planning on stopping; yet another fact Jake didn’t mind one bit.

He especially didn’t mind later that evening, after saving five entire batches of cookies from burning, when Marcy decided to stay asleep and his wife suddenly walked into their bedroom clad in a what Hogwarts would definitely define as a scandalous outfit: a way too revealing school girl outfit (if you asked Hogwarts - not Jake), red knee-socks and tie, only to be topped off with a magic wand. Needless to say that Jake, who’d quietly been sitting in bed on his phone playing Candy Crush (such a dad) dropped his jaw through their bedroom floor right at that very moment. Ambushed was not the word; this was so much worse (better).

“Hey, babe…” She smiled teasingly, posing by the end of the bed well knowing that she hypothetically could say or do nothing at all and it would still drive Jake insane. But where was the fun in that?

“Wanna explore my chamber of secrets?”

His reaction to those words, to her brief dismay, reminded her of Scully’s famous heart attacks. “Oh my God, Amy,” he basically gasped for air and Amy loved it as she took her time making her way around the bed before straddling him with the dopiest yet sexiest grin on her face.

“Jake Peralta!” She gasped playfully. “Is that a wand in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

And though he loved his daughter more than anything in the world, he prayed that tonight would be the night Marcy Santiago-Peralta would make him proud and sleep soundly.

“Guilty as charged…” He returned the grin, having finally returned from his stroke-like state, only to put his phone aside to slide his hands all the way up her thigh to her waist, burying them under her robe to pick at the edge of her skirt. Amy Peralta-Santiago-Granger… You’ve definitely got me under your spell for the night.”

[faee-riee]

let me see your soul; pt. I

let me see your soul;

SoulMateAU! OCs

\\ where everyone sees in black and white until they meet their soulmate.

TRIGGER WARNING: A few swears, but other than that, none !

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

     It was depressing, to say the least - to witness people halt in their tracks as they meet eyes with a total stranger then suddenly, sparks fly. It is a monumental moment in every person’s life: they meet their lover, they can start a family with their lover, they can turn grey with their lover. However, they obviously do not know the risks of locking eyes with their lover.

     Elena rested her chin on the palm of her hand as she peeks out the window at the tops of people’s heads, trying to find a subject to illustrate. Her gaze locks onto a couple parting ways, seemingly, for good. The girl walks away as the boy stands dazed. He stares at her shrinking form until she disappears out of his life completely. He looks heartbroken and that is exactly what ignites the fire inside of her. Elena’s brows furrowed together and she gripped her stubby pencil.

     What’s the point in dating another person if you know they are not the one? Were they really soulmates? Is it possible for a soulmate to be unrequited? If so, is this man really heartbroken or is he just going through the notions? Either way, it’s just more wasted time that you could be using to do something more productive. The fact that some people pretend to be, bothers me. They don’t know what heartbreak looks like; and,  they should be elated that they don’t.

     Elena feels her pencil snap from the pressure that has been put on it in the midst of her irritation. She doesn’t need to look down to process what happened, instead she allowed her eyes to close as she sighed in frustration, “You’re kidding me.” She opens her eyes and gets up from her task chair to walk across her studio to where she keeps her graphite pencils. Passing by the door, she glances out to see her dad’s slumped form in his armchair. Elena frowned to herself by continues to open the drawer containing her regular graphite pencils. After tugging at the handle of the drawer, she groans at how light it feels and runs her fingers through her hair before looking inside.

     “Empty. Okay. This is fine,” reaching for the other drawer, “Anything is okay. I’ll make do with whatever I find.”

     She prays that it is filled with graphite sticks, pencils, pens, anything - but, alas, nothing. Deflated, Elena truds back to her seat and rests her head on her desk. Her lips involuntarily assumed a pout as she thinks back to her dad - she’s never seen him look that down before. Minutes pass by before she gets up and heads to her closet. She psychs herself up as she changes to go out to buy another bulk of her art supplies. Usually, she would ask her dad to buy her art supplies when he goes out to buy groceries but he hasn’t been in the mood to go outside. The food stashed at their house has been diminishing slower than normal so they did not need to head out as often. Elena deduced that her father had not been eating properly and chastised herself for not realizing sooner. She makes his favorite foods constantly, but it’s still never enough for him to finish a bowl. At the dinner table, she would look into his eyes and see a piece of his soul missing as each day goes by. His facial expressions lost its warmth: his soft dark hair, his smile, his dimple, his laugh lines. All of them were replaced with short strokes of depression etched onto his skin. Elena hated seeing him like this, and she hated her mother even more for making him like this. She has tried to convince him to go out and meet new people, telling him that maybe there was a mistake but, this would only bring up emotions that she would rather keep subdued.

------

     Her father’s eyes crinkled into slits, “No, listen to me, Elena. Your mother was my only shot. She was my person! My love! She left with all the color! This shouldn’t have happened -- no, this doesn’t happen! Who else has experienced something like this? No one! This is a predestined thing, and you know you fucked up when it turns out that you and your soulmate aren’t meant to be.”

     “But dad! Who says that she was your one shot? Who says that--”

     “No, Elena. Please, hear me out,” his sharp eyes softened considerably as he regarded her tense stance, “Her leaving isn’t the only thing that saddens me. It’s you.. You had to witness this, and you had to adapt to my behavior. I can no longer see the vibrant explosions of your work that you created. Your heart and soul. While you couldn’t see them the way I saw them, I saw you in your artwork. Along with that, I lost the colors of your warm brown eyes, your olive skin, your long black hair. That hurt my heart because all of those colors were you! All of them, painting or appearance.”

     He let Elena process what he said and continued when he saw tears form in her eyes, knowing that she needed to hear this for her own good.

     “I wasn’t able to hide the hurt and, I’ll admit, I let it get the best of me. But seeing you notice and start to use more colorless mediums that I told you about, just so I wouldn’t be sad made me realize that you had hidden yourself for my sake.,” he stood up from his chair and walked over to Elena to embrace her, “I’m sorry I got angry earlier.”

     “Elena hid her face in her father’s chest, “It’s okay, dad, I’m sorry I pushed.”

     “I don’t want you worrying about me like this, honey. Could you do that for me?”

     “I can’t promise you that. I’m sorry.”

     “I know, baby. But please try? I hate seeing you like this more than anything.”

     “I’ll try my best.”

------

     Elena stared at her reflection for a few more minutes and then grabbed her sketchbook before heading out into the kitchen to see which groceries she needed to buy. Okay, potatoes, carrots, chicken broth, what else..? Her dad slowly stood up, “You’re going out?”

     “Yep. Ran out of some art supplies-- well, actually, all of them. But! I thought I’d restock on food while I’m out.”

     Elena turned around and her dad was at the kitchen island, taking note of what was gone in the fridge, “What else do you need?”

     “No, dad. Sit back down,” she pointed back to the chair and threw a playful glare at him, “I’ll be the one getting all the stuff today.”

     Her dad smiled softly, “You don’t need to, I can do it. I know you don’t want to risk going outside.”

     “I never said that you can’t do it,” Elena rolled her eyes, I know that you shouldn’t, “I’ve been in this house the majority of them time, that window really blocks where most of the action happens. So, I had the brilliant idea of actually putting myself in the action for once.”

     She closed the fridge and smiled at him, “I’ll be fine. I’ll be out and back in no time, you wouldn’t have even known I left.”

     “Why are you taking your sketchbook then?”

     Elena walked over to the keyring and grabbed the spare key and put on her sunglasses, “I’ll be in the action this time, remember? I’ll do rough sketches of things and come back home to add more details.”

     She walked up to her dad and stood on her tiptoes to give a kiss on his cheek then headed for the door. Once she stepped out, she realized that she actually truly missed being outdoors. While her parents were together, seeing how in love they were - it made her long to be in a relationship with someone like that. So, as a little girl, she always wanted to be outside staring at random boys around her age until she locked eyes with them. Of course, none of them were the one as she still sees in shades of black and white. Once her mother left them, she refrained from going outside as much as possible for two reasons. First being so she could stay and keep an eye on her dad to the best of her abilities, and second is to not risk ending up like him. She walked down the sidewalk until she turned onto the main road where all the businesses were. Elena waltzed through the doors of her local grocery shop and navigated herself to the vegetables. At times like this, she wondered if seeing in color would really make a difference. Words like Orange, Green, Vibrant, and Dull were just words. She knew basic things like, the sky is blue, grass is green, trees are brown, and clouds are white. But they meant nothing because she couldn’t manifest what she’s never seen. She picked up a carrot that did not look physically deformed and gave it a light squeeze to see if it was spoiled or not. Because she couldn’t rely on color, she depended on her other senses to make sure she was not buying potentially poisonous ingredients. She tossed a few more into the basket before continuing the same process with potatoes.

     Elena rounded the corner into the aisle containing the chicken broth. Okay, a little rectangular carton with a picture of a chicken shouldn’t be that hard to find, right? It was. The relatively short length of the aisle seemed to drag on forever as there were multiple small rectangular boxes with a picture of a chicken. She browsed each row on the self reading the titles since she did not recall any unique features of the one they normally buy. Her walking back and forth in the same row did garner some unwanted attention.

     Things like, “Poor girl, remember when we had to live like that?

     “Colors really change the game.”

     “Isn’t she like, twenty-one? How has she not found her soulmate?”

     “I’m so glad I have you now.”

     “I don’t appreciate color enough!”

     They were poorly whispered around Elena. She heard every single comment, but she carried on with what she was doing until she found what she was looking for. Smiling softly to herself, she placed the chicken broth into the cart and grabbed a few more for good measure so she doesn’t ever have to do that again. She made her way to the self check-out, as she wanted to desperately get away from the eyes of those who saw her earlier, and paid for her items then immediately beelined to the exit.  Elena peered into her bags to recount her items as she went through the doors only to run into a wall, effectively knocking her and her things to the ground.

     A voice appeared, “I’m so sorry! Let me get those for you!”

     Elena’s eyes saw a hand frantically grab for her sunglasses and her gaze couldn’t help but trail up the person’s arm until she met with this person’s eyes.

     “Oh shit.”

     She stared at this man’s face as it slowly started to warp into something unknown to Elena. Something new and scary - but so refresing!

     “Definitely not what I thought my soulmate’s first word to me would be. But that works, too. I’m Adolfo.” He bent down to pick up the other items before he reached his hand out and patiently waited for her.

     Elena’s mind wanted to start a war with her subconscious, but she put it on hold as she processed more colors becoming more saturated. She doesn’t know what she’s seeing, but she wants to see every single bit of it. It started with the color of his eyes, his skin, his hair, then it moved to the color of his shirt all the way to his shoes. Before she knew it, all her surroundings had painted themselves in all the colors known to mankind. She looked up to the sky, blue. Then to the trees, brown - her eyes went to the grass surrounding the base of the tree and jumped back up to the leaves on the tree, and green? A clearing of the throat from behind her made her take his and and jump up, apologizing profusely to the individual who wanted to get past them.

     Her mind clicked and Elena whipped around to face the man who was flipping through her sketchbook, “Oh god. I said that out loud didn’t I?,” she was mortified. 

     He looked up and smiled, “You sure did, cutie. What’s your name?”

     “I’m sorry, it just slipped out of me. I’m.. Elena.”

     He cocked an eyebrow, “And that’s your real name, correct?”

     “Of course! What makes you say that?”

     “You hesitated.” Adolfo shut her carefully shut her sketchbook and handed it to her.

     “Oh...”

     “Well! Nice to meet you Elena, like I said before: I’m Adolfo. Your elated, and less talented, soulmate.”

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

Author’s Note: It’s been awhile. Writing got rusty, but with all this online learning classes, an opportunity to write more stories came up. Revised the first part got tired on the rest :p This is actually supposed to be a short story for my english class, but I think I’ll make it into a series? Who knows. Hopefully through this, I improve some more and get better ideas! 

I hope that you guys are staying safe and calm. If you are struggling with something and just need to vent, I’m here if you’re comfortable with that. I won’t push. In any case, if it’s more serious (because I know that some people are in unfortunate circumstances) please, don’t hesitate to seek help. People are here for you in this time of need, and they care for you.

Below, I’ll list hotlines that you or someone you know may need:

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255 National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-SAFE U.S. National Domestic Violence Hotline: (800) 799-7233 The Trevor Project: (866) 488-7386 Crisis Text Line: Text ‘START’ to 741-741 National Runaway Safeline: 800-RUNAWAY (800-786-2929) True Colors United: (212) 461-4401

Stay safe and Take care. -s.

[yoongi-sugaglider]

Starry Nights and Hot Cocoa Delights

Based off of this request.

An artist struggling with the opening of his new art gallery seeks the solace of his favorite cafe in order to relieve a little but of stress.

Artist Taehyung x cafe owner Reader

Warnings: Fluffy fluff, lots of soft Tae blushing. More fluff...also fluff.

Word count : 2175

It never failed. When the chaos of everyday life got to be too much and he couldn’t find the peace he so desperately craved, he would come here.

A quiet coffee shop far removed from the busy main streets of Seoul and so infrequently visited that he always knew he’d be able to pick any seat in the place that he so desired.

Despite this he would make his way to the same table each time, a solitary seat by the window overlooking the street beyond. Though there wasn’t ever much to see besides the pigeons strutting their stuff as they looked for tasty morsels to snack on and the occasional cat looking to chase off said scavengers, he still preferred it.

 It granted him the sunlight and peace he craved, along with an open view of his favorite regular employee.

A soft jingle echoed through the shop as he made his entrance, a pencil case covered in the Van Gogh painting Starry Night Over the Rhone and his trusty sketchbook in hand.

A soft voice drew his attention to the register, the cheery smile that greeted him lifting his spirits almost instantly as he moved to take his place at the counter.

“Hello Mr. Kim. The usual today I take it?” Her soft eyed smile melted the ball of anxiety that’d sat at his core since he’d signed the lease that would allow him to finally open his own art gallery.

He nodded, wiping a finger at the bags that’d formed beneath his eyes from one too many sleepless nights.

“Yes please. And a blueberry scone to go with it if you would?” His low vocal tone sounded far gruffer to his own ears than he would have liked and so he shuffled hastily to his seat, hoping that she wouldn’t notice the bedraggled state he’d fallen into over the last few weeks.

After settling in at the window, he finally allowed himself the chance to observe his surroundings, noting that the slight change in decoration they’d applied didn’t take away from the homey feeling he’d grown to love and almost crave.

A few small paintings hung on the walls, surrounded by knicknacks situated on small wooden shelves painted a light white that seemed to have been sponged on to simulate clouds that contrasted well with the soft blue paint of the walls. The effect did leaps and bounds to open up the space, along with pastel yellow tables covered in various floral print table clothes and seated with matching tall backed chairs.

Taehyung hummed, leafing through his sketchbook to find a blank page among the chaos as he shifted the flower shaped salt and pepper shakers aside and placed his pencil case down. Pausing for a moment he glanced over to the cafe’s counter, noting with a smile the way the young woman attending it danced along to the music playing in a whispered murmur in the background. He watched her hips sway back and forth as she handed a drink to another customer with a to go order, only just realizing that the place was slightly more crowded than normal.

It seemed that every other table had one or another customer sat at it, enjoying their drinks while reading from their phones or participating in conversation with their fellow table mate. He thought it odd, though it didn’t seem to bother him nearly as much as he thought it would considering this had been his quiet respite in the chaos of city life.

Turning back to the blank page he sighed, taking out a pencil and tucking the tip between the moistened creases of his lips as he leaned back in his chair to stare blankly out of the window.

“One triple chocolate hot chocolate with nutella whipped cream and a blueberry scone.” The rasp of her voice drew him from his revelry and he turned his gaze from the pigeons fluttering across the sidewalk to meet the warmth of her eyes.

“Ah, yeah sorry.” He blushed, scratching the back of his neck as he pushed the sketchbook off to the side to make way for his order.

“It’s alright. I’m used to it from you Mr.Kim” She giggled, the sound brushing against his ears and sending a warmth through him that glowed forth in the apples of his cheeks.

After placing the large mug and plate on the table she slid into the seat across from him, catching him fully off guard as she untied her apron and hung it on the chair behind her.

“Um…” His blush only served to brighten as he glanced down at his plate, hoping to hide the hopeful glisten in his eyes.

“Ah, sorry, I hope this is okay? We’ve been so busy today and I haven’t had lunch. I’m honestly starving and I figured...well” Her voice trailed off and he dared glance up at her, only just realizing she’d had a plate of her own adorned with what looked to be the most delicious sandwich he’d ever seen in his life.

“It’s alright, I mean I don’t mind...it’s just well…” The ding of the bell hanging over the door interrupted him and he waved to the door before tucking his hands in his lap to hide the trembling of his fingers.

“Oh? The customers.” She giggled, the sound sending the fire in his cheeks running towards the tips of his ears and threatening to smother him.

“Well, thankfully I’ve got Seokjin covering me from the kitchen. If he weren’t here I swear I’d die from hunger most days.” She smiled, though it seemed to turn more shy the longer he stared at his plate.

“If...if you’re uncomfortable I can lea…”

“No!” He jolted at the volume of his voice, reaching out as if to stop her. “I mean, it’s alright. I don’t mind, really.”

Her laugh of relief calmed him and he chuckled in return, trying to cover the butterflies fluttering in the pit of his stomach by taking a drink from the whipped cream covered chocolate delight she’d served him.

The whipped cream itself was a rich chocolate and hazelnut flavor, melting on his tongue instantly and serving to chase away some of the exhaustion he’d been feeling. He sighed, closing his eyes and inhaling the aroma with a quiet hum of appreciation.

A gentle chuckle tore him from his revery and he blinked owlishly at the woman across from him, realizing with a jolt that his appreciation of the drink she’d made for him had caused her presence to be erased from his mind, if only for a moment.

“Oh, sorry. It’s just…” He scratched at the delicate patch of skin just beneath his ear as his cheeks burned. “Your hot cocoas are the best in the city and with all the stress I’ve been under I guess I really needed it…”

Her smile brightened as she watched him stutter over his words. “You know, we were supposed to take that item off the menu once spring arrived. The only reason why I keep the ingredients in stock is for you Mr. Kim.”

His eyes widened at her statement and he swallowed thickly before setting his mug delicately back in its saucer. “R...really? I mean, if it’s going to get you in trouble I would hate for you too have to…”

“Aish, I doubt the owner is going to mind. She’s pretty chill. And besides, you’ve basically become a regular. I would hate to lose you to somebody else’s hot chocolate.” She continued to smile as she picked up her sandwich, giving out a hum of appreciation as she took her first bite.

A companionable silence settled over them as they began to eat, each lost in their own little world as they stared at separate points beyond the glass of the window beside them. The silent murmur of conversation in the cafe served as a soothing backdrop, setting Taehyung at ease and allowing him to pick up the pencil with a confidence he hadn’t had in a long while and begin sketching mindlessly as he watched the birds beyond the window play.

“So, you’re an artist?” The melodic whisper floated to his ears, gaining his attention as he turned to his table mate.

“Mmm, I am. Though, I’ve been second guessing my career lately. Who knew opening up your own gallery would be so taxing?” He chuckled, brushing a crumb from the paper of his sketchbook as he watched her chocolate brown eyes search his face.

“Your own gallery huh? That does seem like quite the undertaking. It’s a wonder you’ve been coming in here looking so stressed lately.” She crumpled up the napkin that’d been wrapped around her sandwich, folding her arms before her on the table and watching as his fingers glided elegantly over the stark white paper.

“Yeah? Sorry about that...I mean I didn’t mean to.. Ah...aish!” He could feel that blush creeping up again as he reached up and brushed the hair away from his eyes.

“No no it’s alright.” Her giggle served to increase his blush as he laughed along awkwardly with her. “It’s just something I do. Noticing things about my regulars. Especially the cute ones.”

“The..c...you think I’m cute?” He practically choked on the words. Mentally he groaned at himself, knowing for a fact he was making a fool of himself and yet seeming wholly unable to prevent the drivel that continued to spew forth from some deep dark teenager with a first crush depth within himself.

She nodded, the faintest hint of a blush spreading to her own cheeks. It took everything in him not to coo at how adorable she looked in the rosy color.

“So uh...t...tell me about your gallery? What’s got you so bothered about it?” She tilted her head at the faint sigh that heaved forth from deep within him.

“Where do I even start?” He muttered to himself as he turned back to stare out the window.

“How’s about starting at the beginning, work your way through it. Maybe talking to someone who’s not in the middle of the drama will help. Heck if anything it’ll be good to get the worst of it off your chest.”

And so he did, spending the next almost half hour unloading on the sweet barista that sat across from him.

And he’d have gone on if it weren’t for the elder man that came sauntering up to their table, looking very much on the verge of being put out to pasture with the amount of stress he seemed to be under.

“Hey boss...we uh...we got a problem with Wednesday’s delivery and they’re not taking please as an answer.” He huffed, shoving his round rimmed glasses up his nose as he nodded to Taehyung in acknowledgment. “Think we need your particular brand of bargaining Ms. Ln.”

“Wait...L/n? As in L/n’s Bakery and boutique?” Taehyung stuttered, shock coursing through him as he realized he’d been talking to his favorite cafe’s owner this entire time.

“Ah, yeah that would be me.” She giggled, pushing away from the table and making to stand. “And as acting owner of this grand establishment, I think it’s about time I get back to work.”

Her smile served to brighten the blush that’d seemed to have made a permanent home on his cheeks in her presence.

“If you’ll excuse me Mr. Kim, it has been an absolute pleasure speaking with you. And don’t forget, give that contractor hell if you need to but don’t let them take you for your money.”

And in a flourish she vanished, disappearing into the kitchen area of the cafe before Taehyung could even think to bid her goodbye. He huffed out a chuckle, eyes finally glancing down to the sketchbook he’d been busy with this whole time.

An almost exact image of the woman he’d found himself infatuated with stared back at him, a singular beauty captured on paper in carbon smears from his pencil.

She was a beauty worth being the muse of any master artist. And he just so happened to have the pleasure of finally sitting down to a conversation with her.

By the time she returned from the back room Taehyung was gone, along with a good portion of the lunch rush customers, leaving the main dining area for her to clean up in preparation for the end of her shift.

By the time she’d made her way over to the table she’d shared with the attractive artist her arms were sore and her fingers smelled of dishwater. But that didn’t seem to matter as she picked up the intricate drawing that perfectly captured her smiling face.

A thrill rushed through her at the image, and a gasp left her lips as she spotted the message written in sprawling script at the bottom.

Xxx-xxx-xxxx call me sometime, maybe I can treat you to dinner as thanks for your excellent advice. Signed Kim Taehyung.

[shipmistress9]

Not one of Them - Epilogue 7: Good Memories and Two Firsts

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3: Chapter 4

Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8

Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Epilogue 1; Epilogue 2

Epilogue 3; Epilogue 4; Epilogue 5; Epiloge 6

Alright, here it is. It took a while because I'm already writing and plotting the next story.

As promised, we go back to happy Hiccstrid here. Fluff, and smut, and more fluff, and more smut, ending with fluff again. I hope you'll like it ;)

Grinning widely about the sober notification he'd just gotten on his phone, Hiccup dug for his keys, and opened the door to their flat. And then grinned even wider when he heard a stream of unashamed curses. Swiftly, he got rid of his jacket, grabbed the bag with his shopping, and entered the living room, eager not to miss the comical display.

As expected, Astrid was walking up and down in front of the large windows at the opposite side of the room. She looked beautiful in a tightly fitting red top and that sorry excuse of a skirt, even with that disgruntled expression on her face, hands running through her hair, and ranting into thin air.

Her phone, Hiccup noticed, lay on the kitchen counter, its display glowing with the signs of an active call, one unread message, and a muted microphone. He placed the shopping bag next to it on the counter, and walked over to take his girlfriend into his arms.

"That bad?" he asked, smirking into her hair where she couldn't see it.

"Worse!" she growled angrily. "I swear, if that old scarecrow doesn't stop changing his mind, I'll turn into an axe-murderer. This is the sixth time now. The sixth! I mean, I'm pretty sure I got what he was asking for. But every fucking time I send him my sketch, he comes up with another alteration. And then shouts at me for not being able to read his mind. Gods, why am I doing this again?"

Hiccup pressed his lips to her forehead, snickering inwardly, and felt her relaxing already in his arms. "Because you love your job," he murmured against her skin, making an effort to sound calm and serious. "Because this old man is just a client, and the company wouldn't have given us this assignment if they thought it unimportant or boring, because we're the best. Because you know he's probably doing it just to listen to your beautiful voice some more. Because you're a professional, and that weirdo is not worth your anger. And because you'll love it when I have to deal with him, once he's satisfied with your sketch."

Chuckling quietly, she snuggled closer into his embrace. "Right," she snickered. "That'll be fun to watch." She stretched to give him a light peck on his mouth, whispered a low "Thanks!" against his lips, and retreated before he could pull her in for a real kiss. "But I need to get back to being a professional now."

With a smile, she wound her way out of his embrace, snatched her phone from the counter, and hopped onto the sofa. "Mr Mildew? I'm sorry for this interruption. Now, I'm all yours again. So, what was it exactly that bothered you about that sketch?"

Hiccup watched her with a fond smile, then went to change into more comfortable clothes. When he returned to the living room, she was still sitting on the sofa, her head dropped back, and an unnerved expression on her face. Her replies to the seemingly endless stream of instructions coming from her phone had become noticeably monosyllabically, consisting only of short hums and monotonous yeses. A small grin crept across Hiccup's face, and he decided to distract her a bit, to put her professionalism to the test.

Quietly, he stepped closer and crouched down on the ground behind the sofa. She hadn't noticed him so far, and jumped a little when his hands began to play with her hair that hung in long golden waves down the backrest.

Lately, she almost always wore her hair down while they were home. It was something she hadn't done before, and it had taken her days to notice, and to realise why. And her explanation had made his heart sing. To her, her tightly braided hair represented some kind of mental wall, a shield. Only rarely had she felt comfortable and safe enough to let her hair down, during sex with those random guys the met in the club or in general. Eret had never seen her with her hair down, while she'd never thought twice about it when with Hiccup. This knowledge gave him a weird kind of satisfaction. Hiccup hated the other man with a passion, for everything he'd done to Astrid, for tricking her, and for hurting her when she was so vulnerable. Which had been his fault, and Hiccup would happily spend his lifetime making it up to her.

Slowly, he worked his way through her tresses, combing his fingers through them, and entangling them. Every now and then, his slight pulling on single strands made her hum in pleasure, sounds that, so far, mixed perfectly with her replies on the phone.

He went a step further, lifted his hands up to massage her scalp, fingernails lightly scraping over sensitive skin. Astrid shivered and fidgeted when he didn't stop. Her eyes were closed now, a small smile on her lips, and Hiccup doubted she was listening closely to Mr Mildew's explanations anymore.

With a cheeky grin, he brushed her hair aside, and brought his mouth toward the soft skin at her neck. His light kisses and nibbles left her whimpering quietly until, after a few minutes, he bit down into her shoulder. An urgent moan tore itself from her throat, one that startled her and made her clutch a hand over her mouth in shock.

Chuckling, Hiccup got back on his feet, and grinned at the incredulous look she threw him past her phone.

"N- no, I'm sorry, Mr Mildew," she said hastily. "Yes, I'm listening. I just... got cramps. Yeah, cramps, in my arm. Guess I need to move it more, maybe throw a few punches later or something." As she spoke, her gaze met his across the room, her eyes gleaming dangerously.

Unashamedly, Hiccup grinned back at her, and then unpacked his shopping. It wasn't much, just some ingredients for dinner. Getting them had been a spontaneous decision, a way to celebrate this day. One month might not be that long in terms of relationships, but, without a doubt, it had been the happiest month of his life.

He went about grating the different types of cheese – Gouda, Mozzarella, Cheddar, Brie, Parmesan, Swiss, Munster, and Monterey Jack – while listening with half an ear to Astrid's call. This particular client had been bothering her for almost a week now, and from the little Hiccup got his requests were pretty weird indeed. What was that about a sheep and... a bed? Hiccup frowned, but then shrugged, and turned his focus back to the task at hand.

Once Astrid was done with her phone call, she came over to keep him company. She grabbed the bowl with the freshly grated cheese while he was busy getting out the large pasta pot and filling it with water, then lifted herself up onto one of the counters nearby to curiously watch him work.

"Mmh, to what do I owe the pleasure of you making Mac and Cheese for me?" she asked, tossing a bit of cheese into her mouth. "It's still two weeks until my birthday. Or is that supposed to be a bribe so you don't get punched after all? Because it works."

Smirking at her words, Hiccup reached past her for the salt and oil, not missing his chance to caress her rear and bare thighs. "Well, it's... been a while since the last time I made it," he replied, frowning slightly. He didn't like remembering that day. "And I thought today would be a good day to create some new memories. Good ones over the bad. Also, it's been a month... And it's Wednesday, we could return to old habits. You know, squish in a film night. Unless you need to finish those sketches for this impatient customer."

The last words, he said with a twinkle in his eyes, even though they, too, belonged to that day. But dwelling on bad memories wouldn't do them any good, they both agreed on that. Instead, they were intent on drawing them back out again and repainting them with brighter colours.

Astrid smiled despite the hint of pain in her eyes. She didn't like to remember that day either. "That sounds like a great idea. And no, I don't need to finish those tonight. A film night would be great," she replied, stealing more cheese, and smirked at his scowl.

"You know, the more you eat now, the less will be in your dinner later," he pointed out good-humouredly, not mentioning that he'd bought more cheese than necessary anyway. He had expected her to swipe a bit after all. "But what was it our dear Mr Mildew asked for? Does he really want an erotic picture of a sheep in a bed?"

Astrid choked on the last bit of cheese as his joking words made her laugh. "Quite possibly," she wheezed. "At first it sounded like a metaphor. You know, something along the line of 'sleeping innocence'. But by now, I'm not so sure anymore. It does sound like that's what he's after. Weirdo. And he actually wants it to look like a real sheep. Not the usual furry-kink style with a humanised sheep-girl. Wouldn't be the first time we drew those, after all. Although, I still don't see what's so special about animals in bed."

"Oh, I don't know," he said with a grin, interrupted his preparations for now, and walked over to where she sat. Standing between her legs, he wrapped his arms around her waist, and leaned closer. "I quite like the lioness that's occupying my bed lately," he whispered into her ear.

She chuckled as his breath tickled on her neck, and wound her arms around his torso. "Miaow," she breathed, and lightly scraped her fingernails over his back, just where her marks on him were beneath his shirt.

Hiccup shuddered and growled, head spinning by how quickly the atmosphere between them had shifted. Again! Gods, how he loved being with her, every aspect of it. He retreated, just enough to look her in the eyes, and saw the same spark of desire in them which had flared up inside him.

She pushed one hand up into his hair, pulling him into a deep kiss that hid nothing of her hunger, and he responded eagerly.

Kissing her was his personal drug; simply just too intoxicating to not respond to it. His eyes fluttered shut, and, in a way, it hurt not to look at her. But at the same time, not being able to see increased the sensibility of his other senses which made it perfectly bearable. All those sensations were overwhelming.

Her heat pouring into him, and the sensation of her soft lips moving with his...

The sweet taste of those lips, of salty cheese on her tongue, of her...

Her scent in each breath he managed to inhale in-between...

And her small noises which filled the air around them...

Oh, her noises...

Her desperate gasps for air...

Her low whimpers before she pulled him closer...

Her gentle sighs while she buried her hand in his hair...

Her small moans when he held her as tightly as he dared...

Her soft keening as their bodies pressed against each other...

Hiccup was losing himself in her careful noises – and he actually had before, frequently. He had no idea how long this kiss lasted already. It could have been only seconds or several hours. He didn't know, but he also didn't care.

As always, Hiccup lost track of everything as he kissed Astrid. All he was aware of was her tongue sliding along his, her small gasps and whimpers, her hand clutching at his back and hair, pulling him in, and their bodies grinding against each other with persistence. His fingers were entangled in her long golden tresses, his fingertips scraping over her scalp, and he could feel her tremble and twitch every time he hit a sensitive spot. He could go on like this forever. Or so he thought...

"Did you get the same message I did?" she asked with bated breath after finally tearing herself away from his lips. Suggestively, she let one hand glide down his front. "The clearance?"

"Yes." His voice was hoarse with want, his cock already straining against the fabric of his boxers. The hiccupy breath she took at his answer didn't exactly let him soften either.

Her hand slid beneath his waistband without further hesitation. She moaned softly when she found him hard already from their heated kisses, and pushed down his trousers to fully expose him.

"Here?" he asked, a little breathless. She nodded, and he pushed her short skirt up – to find her bare beneath already. With a low growl, he let his hand drift over her exposed sex, slick and wet, already ready for him.

Astrid shifted closer toward the counter's edge, and wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, drawing him in.

For just a second, he paused, hesitated, drew the moment out a little bit longer. He watched the anticipation flare up high in her eyes, mirroring his own feelings, before, finally, pushing into her.

"Oh, Gods..." he whimpered at the overwhelming sensation. Being inside her was always wonderful, but this... The physical sensation of, finally, actually, feeling her, skin on skin, was intense. The emotional aspect though...

There were no boundaries between them anymore, nothing that separated them, and it was amazing. They were one.

"Hic–" she gasped, rolling her hips to get him moving, and he complied.

He pushed into her, slowly at first, but quickly going faster and faster. His hand were on her rear, pulling her toward him in time with every one of his thrusts. Her urgent little noises spurred him on, and it took only minutes until they were both high, until Hiccup reached for her clit to push her over the edge completely. Mesmerised, he watched her eyelids flutter, listened to her crying out his name, and felt her clenching tightly around him, rippling along his length until he came as well, buried deep inside her, filling her.

Trembling and panting, they floated down from their mutual peak, leaning against one another, and basked in their closeness. He felt himself soften, but for once, there was no need to pull out, no risk of losing the condom. He held her tenderly, cradling her against his chest, as if to never ever let her go again.

Astrid giggled, and her hand fluttered down to her stomach. "I can feel you," she whispered, grinning. "All bubbly and... and..." she shrugged, giggling some more, and he couldn't help his lips twitching as well.

"And I can feel you, too," he replied equally low. "All these little aftershocks–" he broke off as one of those rippled through her, squeezing him almost playfully, and they chuckled in unison.

"I love you, Astrid," he finally murmured, and kissed her sweetly. "Gods, I do..."

"Mmmmh, I love you, too," she hummed happily, nuzzling his neck.

"But now... Could you hand me the kitchen towels? I feel a bit leaky." She winked at him, and Hiccup snorted, but complied.

They cleaned up, themselves and the kitchen counter, before resuming their former tasks – cooking on Hiccup's part, and Astrid returned to the sofa to retrieve her discarded briefs.

For a while, they worked in companionable silence. It was so easy, so effortless. There was no need to fill every minute with meaningless chatter, no need to always do something together. It was enough to simply be together, to know the other one would be there if needed.

Hiccup could hear Astrid humming to herself while she worked, and it harmonized perfectly with the noises the boiling water made as he grated the rest of the cheese. It was the perfect background music as he added the butter, evaporated milk, and sour cream to the cooked pasta, seasoned the mixture, and then carefully added cheese and water until the creaminess was how Astrid liked it best.

"Okay, dinner is ready," he called over to her, and grinned as she scrambled off the sofa in a hurry.

Eating dinner went about just as easy and comfortable as everything else. They joked and teased one another, and talked about simple daily things like bike maintenance and an upcoming collaboration. Astrid ribbed him a bit by stating that his Mac and Cheese alone was worth staying with him forever, and Hiccup accidentally dropped some pasta on her top while playfully feeding her with his spoon – and greatly enjoyed how she finished her meal topless.

Afterwards, they cleaned up the kitchen together – which turned into more of a water fight than actual cleaning – before they settled in for their film night, both of them dressed in fresh clothes after tossing their soaked outfits into the laundry to dry.

"And what did you have in mind?" Astrid asked as she placed two glasses with fruity lemonade and a bowl of nuts on the coffee table. "After cooking for me, it's your choice today. Although, I'm always up for Doctor Who, as you know. How about The End Of Time? Donna is awesome as half a Doctor, and I love the bittersweet ending."

Hiccup looked at her thoughtfully, and, for a moment, actually considered it. But comforting her through the inevitable tears at the end was not how he wanted this day to end. Then he grinned as he remembered something else.

"No, I have another idea," he countered. "Make yourself comfortable, while I get the Blu Ray from my room."

"What's it doing in your room?" she called after him as he left the living room.

"I... ahm... couldn't stand it lying around here when I bought it," he called back. "And then I forgot that I bought it."

"What is it?" she replied, looking up at him as he returned.

But instead of an answer, he just stared at her. His heart made a painful thud when he saw her lying on the sofa, on that sofa, the one neither of them had even sat on in nearly two months. The memory of the last time she'd sat there rose in his mind, and it made him feel ill. Her eyes met his, and she gave him a cautious smile.

"Good memories over bad ones, right?" she reminded him quietly, and, after a moment's hesitation, he nodded. Slowly, he walked over to her, legs still a bit shaky.

"So, what film do you have there?" she asked in a clear attempt to change the subject.

Hiccup shook off the bad feeling the memory had triggered, and returned to the here and now. She was right, after all. No dwelling on bad memories.

With a small smile, he held out the case of Thor: Ragnarok to her. "I've heard this is a good one. No idea if it's true though, I didn't notice much of the film when I went to watch it."

A wide grin spread across her face. "Perfect!" she exclaimed, beaming.

He plugged it in, and then climbed over her to lie behind her on the comfortable sofa. It felt good to wrap his arm around her waist, to pull her closer against his chest, and to inhale the scent of her hair with every breath he took as the TV flickered to life and Marvel's starting theme played out. It felt good enough to not constantly think about how Eret had been in exactly this position before, during that other film night. And it felt good enough for him to decide that it didn't matter anyway.

It didn't matter what Eret or Heather had done. Not that particular event and nothing else either. All that mattered was that he and Astrid were together now, and that they would do whatever felt good and right, without letting any past events influence them.

It felt good to hold her, to feel her. She was warm and soft and everything he needed. Funny, and witty, and loving, and, oh, so wonderful. He leaned down to place another kiss on her hair, and felt her relax in his arms.

For a while, they simply watched the film, cuddling comfortably. His hand moved over her, slowly and innocently at first, caressing her waist and wandering down to her belly button. She shook with silent giggling as his touch tickled her, her vibrating body against his distracting him.

Without really intending to, his hand wandered on, up her arm, over her shoulder, and brushed her hair aside so he could place light kisses on her soft skin. Humming contently, she rolled her head to the side to give him better access, and leaned back against him until her cute ass pressed against his groin.

Hiccup inhaled sharply as he realised where they were going, but was far from complaining. This, too, had been one of his fantasies, after all. Smirking to himself, he kept his mouth on her neck, nibbling and licking teasingly, while his hand drifted onwards to her breasts, kneading them carefully and pinching her hardening nipples through her fresh shirt. Then he wandered down further still, over her taut stomach, and down between her legs.

Astrid was writhing beneath his touch by now, taking in short and panting breaths. After turning the volume of the TV down, she'd turned to look up at him through clouded eyes, and Hiccup couldn't look away from her.

And he didn't need to, either.

His fingers knew what to do, even without him seeing it. Slowly, they glided over the fabric of her briefs with just enough pressure to let her feel him. Then they teased her further, rubbing her clit through the thin lace, pressing between her folds. When he pushed the fabric aside to really touch her, she moaned and strained toward his touch, needing it, needing more.

But he wanted to take his time. He wanted to lazily play with her body, and watch her twist and tremble. There was no hurry, no hunger for relief, just the simple pleasure of the moment. She was so beautiful like this, hands clenching at his shirt and the cushions below.

When he pushed his fingers into her, first one, then a second, her back arched into his touch, and he watched in rapture as she fought to keep her eyes on him. It didn't take much from there, just a little crooking of his fingers, a little rubbing of his thumb over her clit, until her quivering body became stiff for a second, only to wildly thrash and spasm a moment later. Her orgasm came with a beautifully sinful moan as her eyes rolled back into her head, and then fluttered shut in bliss.

He would never... never... never get enough of her.

"Mhhh, yeah," Astrid hummed lazily after regaining her senses. "Definitely a good memory." She gazed up at him with a dreamy look on her face that spoke of love and happiness. Then she whispered, "Come here, you," and pulled him down to kiss him.

Hiccup adjusted his position in an attempt not to crush her beneath him. He'd meant to let his hand, that still rested over her sex, glide down to prop himself up on the sofa as her surprisingly swift move left him with few other options. He'd not meant for his slick fingers to virtually stick to her skin and glide over her ass instead.

Astrid's low groan and the realisation of where exactly he was touching her drained his face of all blood. "I-I'm sorry," he sputtered, pulling his hand back in a hurry – only to let it glide again over that taut circular muscle! "Shit! Ah... sorry, I... I didn't mean..."

His stammered apology got interrupted by her light chuckle, and Hiccup hoped that his slip-up hadn't angered her in any way.

"Why are you sorry?" she asked drowsily.

He swallowed, hastily drew his hand away from her, and sat up straight. "I didn't... didn't mean to touch you... there. I mean... I know that... that..."

"That what?" she continued when he lost himself in his sputtering, and looked up at him curiously. Then light dawned in her eyes. She relaxed back into the cushions, and, with a small smile on her lips, said, "Ah, don't worry. I don't mind. It's been a while since I had anal sex anyway. I'm more than up for it."

She was joking, right? Teasing him as a punishment for his slip-up? Yeah, that had to be it. Hiccup's vision swam out of focus as the image of him sinking into her pert ass rose in his mind. Hastily, he chased it away, aware of how his cock twitched eagerly at the idea. She hadn't been serious. She couldn't have been.

"Hah, funny," he said shakily, and reached for his glass on the coffee table with a trembling hand. "I'm really sorry, okay? Won't happen again, I promise."

Astrid's quiet chuckling was a bit disconcerting.

"Too bad," she hummed. "But if you don't want to, that's alright."

He threw her a measuring look. She sounded serious. But that couldn't be true, right?

"You... you can stop joking now, Astrid," he stammered as more images appeared behind his eyes. But he didn't even dare to actually imagine... that would... she would kill him!

"I'm not joking."

"Astrid," he pleaded. "It's alright, I learned my lesson. I know that... that women don't like anal sex. And I would... I would never ask for something you don't want to do."

She gave him a long measuring look before sitting up as well. "Hiccup... I do like it," she said earnestly. "It just depends on enough prep and lube." She shrugged offhandedly, and reached for her glass as well.

. o O o .

Smiling inwardly, Astrid sipped at her lemonade. Hiccup was simply too good to be true.

Most men she'd been with hadn't even hesitated for a second whenever she'd indicated she would be up for anal sex.

But Hiccup? No, he was different, of course, he was. She'd blatantly offered it to him, and he still wouldn't go for it out of fear she wouldn't like it. And he clearly wasn't averse to anal sex, either. On the contrary. She'd seen how his cock had grown and twitched at the mere mentioning.

Carefully, she glanced back at him. He sat still, his glass in one hand, the other one opening and closing absentmindedly. He had a strange look on his flushed face, a mixture of lust and curiosity, but also worry and nervousness.

After taking his glass out of his hand and placing both back on the table, she crawled onto his lap to straddle him.

"I really mean it," she murmured into his ear. "I'm more than up to it if you want to."

Hiccup gave a weird strangled noise, and placed his hands on her waist, but only to remove them a second later again. She could feel his cock beneath her, straining against his jogging trousers. Why was he so reluctant if he clearly wanted it?

Then an idea occurred to her, and she retreated to look at him again.

"You've had anal sex before, right?" she asked, incredulously. Surely, he had. He was Hiccup Haddock! He'd literally had sex with hundreds of girls. Surely, he-

"No, I haven't," he replied, voice barely more than a whisper. Biting his lip, he looked away, almost as if he was... embarrassed? "I... I didn't want to pressure them for anything that, surely, they wouldn't want to do. And I've never been with one of them long enough to figure out what else she might like. And..." he swallowed, frowning. "And Heather made pretty clear what she'd do if I ever dared to venture into that direction." He grimaced, though whether due to the reminder of Heather or what she'd threatened him with, Astrid couldn't tell.

With a small smile tugging at her lips, she reached for his hands and placed them back on her waist before leaning in to brush her lips against his.

"Well, I'm not Heather," she teasingly mumbled against his mouth, and it had the desired effect.

Hiccup chuckled and relaxed, holding her more firmly again. "No, you're most definitely not," he agreed, but then paused. "Does it... bother you? That I'm not as... as experienced in that area? I mean, I... I'd love to try, but..." Helplessly, he lifted his shoulders only to let them slump down again. Gods, he was so adorable.

"No, it doesn't bother me," she whispered, dropping her head to avert her eyes "It... it means I can be your first. I–" she took a deep breath as the full meaning of those words hit her. "I... didn't expect that. But I like it," she added, chuckling weakly.

Hiccup chimed in a moment later, nuzzling into her neck. "My first, my last, my one and only," he mumbled, making her giggle even more.

"So, do you want to try?" she asked after they'd calmed down again, feeling like he wouldn't approach that topic on his own again.

And sure enough, he started to fidget nervously right away. "Now?" he asked, his voice noticeably higher than usual.

Astrid fought not to chuckle or even grin at that. He was nervous, no point in teasing him further. "Sure, why not?" she asked as casually as she could. "I'm already fairly relaxed, and as far as I can tell, you're definitely hard enough." Okay, maybe a little teasing was acceptable...

"Yeah, I guess so," he replied with a shaky laughter, his hands running distractedly up and down her sides. "So... erm... what do you... ah... need me to do?"

"Mmhh... we need lube. And a condom wouldn't hurt either. We should have a few spare now, I think. Mind getting those? I have lube in my bedside table, second drawer, back left corner. Oh, and some baby wipes?"

The speed with which Hiccup lifted her off his lap and disappeared into the hallway that led to her room was honestly hilarious. Astrid had to bit her lip pretty hard as not to laugh out loud at his eagerness. He was back in record time, eyes gleaming in anticipation.

"Okay, what now?" he asked after they'd both stripped and were settled on the sofa again.

"Now, I need a little prep," she said, smirking at his member standing at full attention. "I won't be able to take you without."

She lay back, and showed him how to do it, how to massage her sphincter muscle until it permitted first one lubricated finger and then more. She let him try, and quickly began to enjoy the feeling of him fingering her open. Yes, she had long since learned to enjoy this kind of treatment, but having Hiccup doing it still felt so much better.

"Okay, that's enough," she gasped when he had three fingers easily wiggled into her.

He seemed mesmerised, and barely even registered her words, his dilated eyes glued to her body and how it was able to stretch.

"Hiccup?" she addressed him more directly, and, finally, he reacted.

"Mmmh?" came his distracted answer as he absentmindedly reached for a baby wipe to clean his hand. But at least his gaze returned to her face, if a little clouded.

Astrid sat up, and drew him into a deep kiss. She'd meant to distract him, to ease his nervousness, but it rather served to throw them both off track for a bit. His heavy body pressed her down into the cushions as he lay above her, barely remembering to support himself as he kissed her hungrily. He was all hands ravaging her hair and tongue ravaging her mouth, all skin sliding over skin. She let her hands roam up his back, searching and finding the scratches she'd marked him with, and he growled as her fingers brushed over them. A second later, his mouth was on her neck, biting and sucking, and she arched up against him in response. Gods, she needed to have him inside her, and soon.

"What now?" he growled against her skin. He sounded so eager, and yet he still gave her the lead.

"Condom. And more lube," Astrid replied, panting, her arousal betraying her own eagerness as well.

. o O o .

Hiccup followed every single one of Astrid's instructions. He still could barely believe that she actually wanted to do this, but he trusted her. He trusted her that she wouldn't do anything like this just for his sake alone.

With practised ease, he sheathed his cock, and whined needily when Astrid applied bounteous amounts of lube to both him and herself at the same time. This was really happening!

Then she turned, forearms resting on the sofa's backrest, and butt invitingly pointing in his direction.

"Like this?" he asked a little confused, but kneeled down between her legs nonetheless. He'd wanted to see her face, see her reactions, whether he hurt her or anything. As much as he was looking forward to this, he didn't want to hurt her.

"Yeah, it'll be easier that way," she replied, pushing back against his cock. "Just... stay still for a moment, okay? Let me..." she trailed off as his tip brushed over her hole, and they both gasped.

Ohgodsohgodsohgods, was all Hiccup was able to think as she slowly pushed back against him. Without much resistance, his tip slipped inside her, and his mind went utterly blank. She pushed further, and he watched himself sink into her, unable to come up with a single coherent thought.

"So tight..." he whimpered when her cheeks were pressed against his stomach, a sound that Astrid mimicked.

"Mmh... big..."

With shaking fingers, he reached for her, rubbing her back and holding her hips. He fought to further keep still, even though all he wanted was to move, to fuck into her soft and hot body. But he would be good, would wait for her to go on.

It took her a few seconds, seconds in which she twitched and clenched around his cock, seconds during which he thought he might go insane at any moment. But then she stirred, carefully pulling away, only to push back on him again. The movement elicited a moan from them both, and her head dropped down on her arms.

"Okay," she gasped, "Your turn. Just... go slowly at first, okay? It's been a while..."

Hiccup whimpered again, and nodded, forgetting that she couldn't see that. He grabbed her hips tighter, took a shaky breath, and began to move.

It felt weird, different. Slick with all the lube, so tight, so fucking tight, and hot as Hel. He pushed in and out of her, hesitantly, and tried to concentrate on being as gentle as he could be.

Astrid squirmed beneath is hands, trembled and twitched. Then she suddenly pushed back against him, just as he was about to push back in, making his thrust much harder than planned. She groaned loudly, and Hiccup stilled immediately.

"S-Sorry," he gasped. "Did... did I hurt you?"

Astrid, her face buried in the crook of her arm, shook her head. "No," she whimpered. "Didn't hurt... just... Gods..." She shivered, muscles clenching around him.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, worried. He let his hands glide up her smooth back in an attempt to distract them both.

"No!" came her urgent reply. "No, don't stop. Gods, no. Please–" she broke off, voice caught in her throat as she began to move on her own again.

And Hiccup understood.

She'd been serious.

She liked it.

He began to move again, carefully pushing into her tight channel, and her answering moans and whimpers were all the reassurance he needed. Soon, he became more confident, moved with more purpose, became a little faster, thrust a little harder, when her reactions kept spurring him on.

"Gods, Hiccup. Harder!" she begged, voice rough and needy.

Groaning, he complied, went harder, and faster, and harder still when she kept begging for more. Gods, she never got vocal like this. Soon, he was covered in sweat, and panting heavily. He fought not to come too early, to drag it out for her as long as possible, but it was hard. Thor almighty, she felt so good.

"Fuck... Astrid, I... nng... I..." he growled, vision blurring. He was close, so close to losing it. Only a few more thrusts, he wouldn't be able to hold out any longer. Her moans grew in volume, and somehow she seemed to tighten even more around him. It felt like she was choking him, sucking him in even deeper, and it was too much for him.

"Gods, yes! Aahh- Astrid! I... Fuck!" Hiccup shouted as he came, buried deep inside her. Her lustful noises carried him through his height and down afterwards. He tried to go on, as she wasn't done yet. But he softened too quickly, utterly spent after she'd milked him so thoroughly.

"Mmmhh, sorry," he mumbled against her back, embarrassed, and yet still stunned by the intense experience. Carefully, he pulled off the condom and wrapped it into a baby wipe, before slumping down onto the sofa. Mixed feelings crept up in his heart as Astrid snuggled into his side. For him, it had been great, but for her... he hadn't been good enough for her.

"Don't be sorry," she sighed happily. "That was fantastic, even better than I remembered. Or maybe it was just because it was finally you," she added, sounding thoughtful and completely serious.

For a while, Hiccup didn't reply. His arm lay limply over her shoulder, but he didn't dare to touch her further, and he wasn't sure what to do. "But you didn't come," he finally stated, eyes cast down. Sure, this had been his first anal sex, and he obviously had no experience there. And they didn't always climax together, and he could easily get her off otherwise. But still... No matter how much logic he applied, the nagging feeling wouldn't go away.

Not until Astrid chuckled quietly at his side.

"I never do from this," she murmured sleepily against his skin.

Hiccup frowned, and tried to make any rhyme or reason of her words, but finally gave up. "But you said you like anal sex. And now you say you can't come from it? That... that doesn't make much sense."

She sat up to look at him, probably finally sensing his mood. She smiled softly, and leaned in to peck his lips, before she explained, "It feels amazing. Not sure if you noticed, but I really enjoyed it. And I don't need an orgasm for this to feel good. I came before already, that's enough. For now, at least."

He gave her a long, scrutinising look, but then nodded. "You could have said that before, you know?" he pouted. Her explanation was enough for him. She had enjoyed it, that much had been obvious after all. But he didn't want to let her off the hook that easily.

But Astrid didn't fall for it.

"I could have," she grinned. "But that would have made you only even more reluctant. Now, you believe me at least." She cuddled back against his chest, and this time, he took her into his arms properly.

For a couple of minutes, they simply sat there, quietly basking in the afterglow, before Astrid pushed herself up on wobbly legs. It looked almost comically as she stumbled toward the bathroom, as if her legs weren't working right anymore.

"When did you get so drunk?" he asked teasingly as she returned in the same manner. It really looked funny.

But Astrid just poked her tongue out in reaction, and slumped back onto the sofa. "Very funny," she stated flatly, smirking at him good-humouredly. "Get used to it, that's how I'll be walking for the rest of the day. And tomorrow, too, probably. Your fault entirely!"

Sobering up in an instant again, Hiccup pushed himself up to give her a serious look. "Did I hurt you after all?" he asked anxiously. "Gods, Astrid, you should have stopped me. I didn't want to hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "It's just because of all those loosened-up muscles. I won't be able to walk straight for a day or so. And I won't be able to sit without my butt stinging for a couple more days, but that's alright."

"Astrid," he began, worried, but she interrupted him directly.

"It's fine, Hiccup! It's just a bruise. Every time I sit down my butt will sting, and I'll remember this amazing hot sex we had. And, damn, did you fuck me good!" she said dreamily. Then she awkwardly climbed onto his lap, facing him, and wound her arms around his neck. Her hands lightly caressed the almost completely healed scratches she'd left on his back over a week ago. "It's like these, sweet little reminders. Just funnier, for you at least." She grimaced, but he could see the amused glint in her eyes.

"Alright," he accepted her explanation. But she would have to live with getting pampered for a few days, he decided. Just to make it up to her.

Smiling warmly, she leaned in and kissed him. Maybe it was simply meant as a short peck, but it ended in a long and intense liplock, one of those where neither noticed the passing of time anymore.

What finally tore them out of enjoying each other was the music.

"I swear, if that menu theme plays even one more time, I'm going to throw the Blu Ray player out of the window," Astrid mumbled, voice saturated by humour despite her unnerved words.

"Totally understandable," Hiccup agreed. "Another thing though... have you noticed anything about the film? Because... I haven't," he added, grinning.

"No, me neither," she replied, giggling. "I guess we'll need to watch it again. How awful..."

"Mmmh, horrible," he chimed in, but then became serious again, if a little corny maybe. "I'd watch it a thousand times with you. And maybe, we'll even make it through it one day."

"Oh, I plan to accomplish that today," she said, sounding quite determined, and reached for the remote controller.

"Maybe we should skip the first twenty minutes or so, though," he mused. "You know, to turn the odds in our favour." They shared a look, and then simultaneously shook their heads.

"No, those are too fantastic already," Astrid giggled. "I want to see Thor sassing out Surtur while dangling on that chain again. And Loki falling for thirty minutes. We can't miss that!"

They made themselves comfortable on the sofa again, cuddled together under one of their soft blankets, and started the film again.

And this time, they actually managed to watch it all.

Okay, I hope this was enough in forms of compensation for the previous two chapters ;)

It also was the last of the epilogues I planned to write. There are at least two more I want to write from your prompts, namely the handcuff-story and ten years later. But I'm not sure when I'm going to write those, as I want to focus more on my next project from now on. Stay tuned ;)

[savedbythenotepad]

Oh how about some cute fluffy prompt? Victor trying to cook for Yuri but he is kind of bad at it so Yuri helps him to cook (I love it when couples cook together)

It’s been a while since I’ve written something so I feel a little rusty! Hopefully it’s good and it’s a nice read. I really had fun writing this one. :)

One would think that someone who lived by himself for so long would know how to cook. Or at least have some basic recipes underneath his sleeve due to the rapidly dulling magic of ordering take-out every night. Especially for someone like Viktor Nikiforov who needed to keep his body in tip-top shape. 

Ideally, he should have known how to cook and he wanted to but life as a champion figure skater was no joke. Practice started early in the morning and went on to the late hours of the evening. Viktor simply didn’t possess the time to cook as his free time was spent sleeping or going out and enjoying his youth with friends who weren’t…really friends. But that all changed when Yuuri Katsuki stepped into his world and completely turned it on its axis. 

Viktor had never wanted to learn cooking more than he did then. 

And it was for a pretty simple gesture, Viktor had thought, when he rang up Hiroko one afternoon. Yuuri had taken Makkachin out for her afternoon and was only a little thrown off when Viktor told him that he wouldn’t be going out today. 

“I’ve just got business to…attend to.” Viktor had came up with on the spot. It was a rather lame excuse and Yuuri definitely thought the same as he raised an eyebrow. 

“Business?” Yuuri questioned, a quirk of a smile at the corners of his lips. “Since when do you have business? During off-season?”

“Since I decided to dabble in different hobbies like fashion design.” Which wasn’t a complete lie and Viktor mentally high-fived himself for that. He smiled innocently when Yuuri looked him over before shaking his head with a fond eye roll. 

“Fine,” Yuuri conceded and walked up to Viktor to press a sweet kiss upon his lips. “But I better see some sketches when I get back.” There was that smile on Yuuri’s face, playful, and Viktor felt his heart melt a little as he watched Yuuri and Makkachin walked out the door. Yuuri giggling as he cooed at their happily barking poodle. 

But it wasn’t the time to fawn over his adorable family. 

That could be done later. 

His call with Hiroko consisted of him seated at the dining room table with a pen in hand and a notebook in front of him. His tongue peaked out the corner of his mouth as he listened carefully to the instructions given to him. He asked questions when he didn’t understand a step and a smile never failed to grace his features at the sound of Hiroko’s gentle and patient voice. 

“This is really sweet, Vik-chan,” Hiroko said, her wholesome smile evident in her tone. “Doing this for my Yuuri, he’ll really appreciate it.”

“Well, he’s always doing so much for me so it’s the least I can.” Viktor murmured, going a little dopey at the thought of his beautiful fiance. 

“You do a lot for him too,” Hiroko replied before a little giggle came through the phone. It was hers. “Especially this seeing as Yuu-chan told me that you can’t cook.”

Sheepishly laughing, Viktor rubbed the back of his neck. “Yuuri told you that, huh?”

“It was more than obvious, dear. Let’s not remember the day you almost burned down the kitchen boiling a pot of water.”

Viktor groaned as Hiroko’s soft laughter graced his ears.

All the ingredients had been bought and Viktor had made sure that Yuuri would be out for the whole afternoon. The vegetables had been washed and the pork had been thawed, ready to be breaded. The rice was ready to be washed and cooked and it was all a simple step-by-step recipe. 

And he had the notebook with Hiroko’s instructions in front of him so nothing could do wrong. 

He felt confident. 

“I’m going to rock this, Makka,” Viktor said, smiling widely at the poodle who looked him skeptically. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Makkachin barked before trotting off to the living room. 

Viktor furrowed his eyebrows but shook his head before rolling up his sleeves and securing the ribbon of the apron around his waist. 

He felt confident. 

Too confident. 

The pork was just…rubbery and the rice was somehow not cooked even after boiling and the sauce tasted…well, it didn’t taste like Hiroko’s or Yuuri’s sauce. 

Everything was falling apart faster than he had planned and Viktor was in panic mood. 

Yuuri was due home any moment and he was supposed to be done by now with the katsudon placed on their beautifully decorated small dining table. He was supposed to greet Yuuri by the door with a glass of red wine and surprise him with a dinner that he had made all by himself. He was supposed to make this night special because Yuuri always made dinner and always cooked and Viktor wanted to show Yuuri just how much he appreciated him and-

The sound of jiggling keys at the front door and Makkachin’s joyful barks was enough to freeze Viktor in his frantic steps. There wasn’t any time to fix anything and Yuuri was now calling his name from their small hallway and slowly making his way to the kitchen. 

“Oh boy.” Viktor whispered, blue eyes wide as Yuuri appeared into his view and it was like time had stopped. 

The two of them stared at each other for a brief moment. Wide brown eyes meeting anxious blue ones and soon those brown eyes moved to the mess that was the kitchen. The cooked but uncooked pork resting in a plate and bits of rice stuck on the gas cooker and on the floor. It was like a war zone and Yuuri didn’t even utter a word as he walked into the kitchen a little more. 

Viktor watched him, a little cautious of Yuuri’s reaction and more than ready to begin an apology. 

But there was no need for that because Yuuri’s wide eyes turned into amused crescents as a snort of laughter left his mouth. Followed by another and another and soon the whole space of the kitchen was filled with Yuuri’s laughter. 

Viktor didn’t know if he should have been amused himself or insulted. 

It was neither of those though as when Yuuri looked at him with those big brown eyes filled with adoration and downright fondness. 

Viktor felt nothing but absolute love and that was then he started laughing himself. 

And soon, it was just the two of them, their laughter entangling to form a sweet harmony. 

“You called my mother?” Yuuri asked and Viktor nodded as he waited a few minutes before turning the pork in the pan. Just as Yuuri had instructed him to after they had cleaned up the kitchen and began making another batch of katsudon. 

This one being done with Yuuri’s supervision and guidance. 

“She must have been happy.” Yuuri said, smiling softly when Viktor nodded, rather happily. 

“She was,” Viktor replied. “And surprised, seeing as I have no cooking skills whatsoever.”

“Yeah. I mean, when you almost burned down the kitchen-”

“Let’s not talk about it.”

Yuuri chuckled at the sudden embarrassed flush that settled over Viktor’s cheeks and moved to settle next to him. His head came to rest on Viktor’s shoulder and he hummed happily when he received a peck on top of his head. 

“Why did you call her though?” Yuuri was curious. 

“Because I wanted to do something special.” Viktor was honest. “And before you say that I do special things for you everyday,” He gave a knowing look at Yuuri who flushes with a slight pout. “I know and I love to make sure that you know how important you are to me. It’s not much but cooking your favorite meal is a lot more special than taking you to a fancy restaurant, don’t you think?”

Yuuri said nothing but the warm smile and soft look in his eyes was more than enough. 

“The pork’s done,” Yuuri said, pointing to the well-cooked meat and turning to look at the vegetables. “Now, let me teach you how make rice in the magic invention that is a rice maker.”

Viktor nodded, determined to learn but went willingly when Yuuri pulled him into a kiss that took his breath away and sent his heart racing. 

A little gesture did go a long way.

“How did it go?” Hiroko asked, the next time she and Viktor spoke on the phone.

Viktor smiled down at the bowl of katsudon he made completely by himself. He took a bite and hummed to himself, pleased. 

“Perfect.” 

[seracross]

Heart of Fire - Chapter Twelve: Bookwyrm

Summary: “A dragon without fire is nothing but a liability.” Nine years ago, Syra was thrust into a war: a hide-and-seek battle for control of five powerful crystals, hidden by a secret organization 200 years prior. Taking human-form, Syra searches the dragon-hating city of Altaira for clues on their location. But when her secret is revealed, fickle hearts are quick to change. And when an old enemy raises his scaly head, who will be there to turn to? Her estranged siblings? An ex-fiancé? Or a temperamental pixie the size of a duckling? In a race against her father’s murderer, Syra must traverse the five kingdoms to halt his efforts to rebuild a powerful relic that should never have been created. Are the bonds of love and family strong enough to survive the horrors of secrets and betrayal? And how do you fight an elder dragon bent on revenge when you’re a wyrmling who can’t even breathe fire?

Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Romance, Drama

Rating: PG-17 (Strong Language & Violence)

Read All | Read Next

"All of Caelus’ notes are on these shelves," Sulaer said, waving to a bookcase brimming with old books and older scrolls. Some laid sideways, still open, while others had free pages poking out of them. "I tried to organize them, but they just never seem to stay put. You can blame Ristau for that."

Syra pulled one with roughened edges from a shelf and leafed through it. Her jaw tensed, overwhelmed by the mass of messy script and sketches smiling up at her.

"I know it looks daunting," Sulaer said. "Believe me, I've spent decades pouring over these things and I'm still puzzled by some of his spelling."

"And you expect me to find something you haven't?"

Sulaer grinned and took the book from her hands, sliding it back in its place, "I expect Valen's apprentice to give it her best shot."

"You know him?" Syra knew her mentor had a reputation, but was surprised by its reach.

"All the Kesh Raza know him. But he was also a study partner of mine back in Sylvani."

"You went there, too?" Syra broke into a whine. "I am so jealous."

Sulaer laughed and patted her on the shoulder, "Well, there's plenty to learn here!"

"If I can even understand any of it."

To say there were many tomes would be an insult. Sulaer’s lab might as well have been a library with the occasional bench and cabinet. One with writing’s Syra had never seen, on subjects she had never seen, and most all of them were written in Talian.

"Don't you worry. I took notes on Caelus’ notes, and they're much more organized."

Syra forced her unease down and took a long look about the room, steeling herself, "So, where do we start?"

Sulaer guided her through the makings of the spell first. Its foundations and procedure, and why this was added with that. Over the next couple days she gave demonstrations, showing how the different ingredients interacted under different conditions, and translating along the way. Syra was relieved that her room was adjacent to the lab as they rarely left, even for sleep. After days of introduction and mental drilling, Syra had a rudimentary hold on the language and was able to read and deduce for herself with the use of Sulaer’s notes.

"Now, the experiments start," Sulaer said, gathering her notes.

"Experiments?"

Sulaer grinned, "Today, I take you to the shard."

Further into the academy, where wooden walls became carved from stone, the shard slept in an iron case within a room stained, charred, and fractured by the years of failed trials. The cabinets were stocked, but the shelf-lined walls were bare, their contents moved to a safer location—which would explain the lab’s overabundance—and the acrid air stung Syra’s nose hairs.

“You’ll get used to it,” Sulaer said, seeing her crinkled nose, “but do make sure to take a break now and again.”

Peering into the box, Syra could feel the pressure pulsing from the shard. Such a puny thing, she thought, seeing how it took up little space in the box.

“Take it,” said Sulaer, “It won’t burn you. Surprisingly.”

The green-and-purple shard fit neatly in Syra’s palm and was warm. Very warm. Like a fire before you got too close. And Syra could feel her body gulping down the mana it radiated, to the point of becoming dizzy.

“Be careful not to drink too much,” Sulaer said, placing the crystal back into its box and latching it, “You’ll overload yourself and end up with a horrible headache.”

Syra nodded and stepped back from the box, its heat fading from her skin, “What should I do now?”

A wide grin cracked across Sulaer’s face and she handed Syra a notebook, freshly bound, “Play with it.”

“Play with it?” Syra repeated, “Isn’t that what caused this whole mess in the first place?”

“And it’s the only way to get us out of it. Like you said, work backwards. You have the notes, supplies, and now the power source. I expect an update every other day, and do try not to blow anything up—this is the last room left. I’ll keep my study door open if you have any questions, and I’ll update you if I find anything new.”

And like that, Syra was left to wilds of alchemical discovery, with a hurried vocabulary list and 150-year-old ramblings of a Talian hermit. If there was ever a magical exam to be passed, it was this one.

A week passed with Syra mired nose-deep in parchment and potions, but book after book, trial after trial, she still hadn't made any leeway outside of singing her eyebrows. And other than at mealtimes, she hadn’t seen nor spoken to Aidan or the twins. Any attempts were met with, “How’s the cure coming?”, “Find anything?”, or the more common, “Just focus on getting the shard so we can go.”

Normally, she wouldn’t have minded being left to her devices in solitude, but normally she’d have someone to turn to for help, be it a teacher or classmate. Even Aidan had clever solutions sometimes. But despite her original promise, Sulaer busied herself in her own readings and research, many times disappearing for hours all together. It was that sort of day when Syra went to her balcony for a quick rest.

The balcony off her hallway faced over the terrace towards the city’s center. She could see the Playhouse with its patrons, and beyond that a training field, and a flower garden with a small pond. She watched from this spot as Cassius and Petra trained one-on-one in combat—Wyn had insisted that if they were to stay until a cure was found, they might as well learn to be useful. They were getting better, and Syra found it a relaxing distraction from the dim cave and strong smells and words that blurred together. But there was something off about that scene that day. An uneasiness that drew her attention from the twins to the small bench by the pond. A bench where Aidan sat, too comfortably, next to Sulaer in her satin dress with her big books.

Syra’s stomach dropped. They were laughing. She waved the thought away as quickly as it came, but the cold knot in her gut told her to keep watching. Sulaer pointed to the book Aidan was reading—Syra’s book—and he smiled. He smiled that smile where his forehead creased and his eyes glinted from behind that mask of smart sensibility he always wore—a smile she had not seen since the festival. But this time it wasn’t for her.

There were more laughs, more smiles, more flicks of the hair. There was always more, and Syra had to break away from the balcony before she broke herself. She returned to the lab, in its quiet, dim solitude, but her mind was now a blur and she felt the prodding of nausea. Just ignore it, she thought. We’ve all been stressed and he deserves a nice break. Even if something did come of it, halflings weren’t all that rare—there was one in her Runes class after all.

She forced herself to continue working, throwing herself into the scripts and charts and diagrams of old, looking for any missing piece or glint of hidden meanings. But nothing helped. Her mind kept returning to the image of Aidan smiling with Sulaer, and she continued to return to the balcony where any sight of him numbed the grief left to fester.

More days went by like this. And the more she looked for evidence of their relations, the more she found: more hours in the garden, more exchanged gazes at meetings, more whispered giggles at the dinner table. Many times she started to tell Cassius of her troubles. Hoping that, perhaps by purging them, she could lessen the ache that gnawed away at her and made her world dim and gray. But she never could.

She'd watch from her balcony as he and Petra found confidence in their two-legged fighting skills: their weapons becoming lighter and swifter, until a swing and twirl were second nature. No, he had his own problems to deal with. Certainly, he had dealt with hers far too much at this point. This was something she had to bare on her own. And that just made the ache deeper.

She was returning from her time on the balcony—which had become a bit of a habit—when a low rattle came from one of the rooms a few doors down from the lab. The door stood slightly ajar and through the crack she could see Ristau slumbering wide-mouthed at his desk. She went to walk onwards down that hall, but the mortar and pestle atop his desk called her back. Ristau had those at the Playhouse, she thought, recalling their first meeting. She had been curious about this "Down" they spoke of, but never found the chance to ask.

Please don't squeak, she begged the door as she pushed it open with a fingertip. She took a step into the room and paused, watching Ristau for any movement, but he snored on with his head rested back against his chair. Padding over to the desk, she examined the dusty bowl and the small bag sitting open next to it. Again, she glanced over at Ristau, but he continued to dream with a slight grin on his ruddy face. He looked so calm and happy. Did Down affect dragons the same way it did Tal?

Then she reached for it, plucking it by the drawstrings. It was the swift, heavy hand that made her jump.

"Careful, milady," Ristau said, fully awake and gripping both her hand and the bag in one large hand, "That's a slippery slope you're treading on."

Syra looked down at the bag, but didn't move, "Does it help?" she asked in a small voice, "Will it make the pain go away?"

"No," he said, empathy softening the edges of his face, "but it will dull it."

He lifted his hand and she took the bag, clutching it to her chest, before turning to leave.

She stopped in the doorway, "Why are you—"

"The only thing that clouds the mind better than rage," he said with a solemn face, "is grief. And I need your mind to save my people."

She nodded, shut the door, and returned to her quarters where she drowned herself in pages, and the ache slid into its box and waited.

It was Cassius who found her.

"Syra!" he exclaimed in a whisper when he entered later that night to find her dazed and lopsided in her chair. "What the hell happened?" He asked, sitting her up straight.

She mumbled something about a potion and needing to get back to work, and that's when he saw the dust specks under her nose.

"You're kidding me." He looked to her desk to find the bag open with dusting around its brim.

"It helps," Syra said, pulling out of her stupor and smiling up at him. "Well, at least until this groggy part. I think I might finally be on to something. I think I can—"

"Oh no," Cassius interrupted, putting a finger to her lips, "You're not telling me anything until you've sobered up." He picked her up from her chair and set her on the bed.

"But I'm fine, really!"

"Bashta!" he cursed, taking Syra aback by his sudden harsh tone, "You're pale, wobbly, and slurring your words, all things completely not you."

"I'll be fine so enough," she shooed his hand away from her forehead, "just...let me enjoy not feeling like shit for a moment."

Cassius stared down at her, his own face reddening, "How do you think Aidan would feel if he saw you like this?"

The mention of his name woke the monster inside the box, and Syra grimaced at the pin prick in her chest, "He has someone else to worry about now."

Genuine surprise flashed across Cassius’ face, “Who?!”

“Don’t play dumb. It’s sickeningly obvious.” She rested her head back against the headboard, tired of faking her cheeriness.

Cassius’ eyes searched his memories of the past few days before scoffing, “Well, it’s not Petra, I can tell you that right n—”

“No, you blind lizard. Sulaer!” She wriggled farther down into the bed and clutched at a pillow, “With her silky hair and library and big…womanly-ness.”

“You’re being silly.”

“I can’t compete with that, Cas,” Syra said, the sparkle gone from her eyes.

He sighed and looked away, unable to put his thoughts into words she would care to understand.

In the quiet, her grip on the pillow loosened and a wry smile bubbled to the surface as her mask slipped off.

“Though, I can’t really blame him. I’d squat for her if I were in his shoes.”

She chuckled and looked over at her brother who appeared a tad embarrassed by the subject.

“We’re all messed up, you know?” she said, gaining a raised eyebrow from him, “all three of us. Petra keeps pining after Tarys, who wouldn’t know she existed if she weren’t Vayguard. I’m going bat-shit over a human boy. And you…” She looked Cassius over with a slow, critical eye, and sneered when they landed at his neck. With a sly finger, she flicked the strands of hair away and slid it down across the light bruising just under his ear. “You go sneaking off to have a little fun with fairy boy when nobody’s looking.”

Cassius smacked her hand away and snarled, baring his teeth. But that didn’t stop him from flushing, or Syra from snickering.

“Hold your fire, I meant no harm. Hell, I might as well join you next time. First round’s free, right?”

For the first time since their reunion, she took a moment to study his human form: his slender face, toned shoulders, and firm chest that was just visible behind his unbuttoned collar. Her eyes stopped at the black marks that peeked out from under his shirt.

“Actually, while you’re here,” she leapt from the bed and snatched up a blank strip of parchment from her desk, “hold still for a second.”

“W-what are you doing?” He fidgeted as she unbuttoned his shirt.

“I said, hold still.” She balled a fist and light shimmered around him, yanking him down onto the bed.

Running down the middle of his chest were black runes left from Valen’s spelltag. She pressed the parchment overtop.

“Just relax,” she cooed and traced the markings with smooth strokes of a finger until they burned onto the paper. “Perfect,” she said, admiring her work.

“What’s that for?” Cassius asked, scooting away and buttoning his shirt.

“I told you, making progress.”

The two stood there silent and Syra looked from him to the door, “You may go now. I’m sure fairy boy is waiting for you.”

“What is with you?!” Cassius growled with true, but scorned, concern. “I’d expect this kind of attitude from Petra, but not from you!”

“Then you obviously haven’t been in my head long enough.”

“I think I’ve been there too long,” he said, standing from the bed. “Come find me when you’re not such a graga.”

He left her side but stopped in the doorway, “Sulaer’s already engaged, by the way. But you would know that if you got your head out of your ass and actually listened to people.”

The next morning brought Syra a splitting headache and a visitor.

“So, did you hit the books, or did the books hit you?” asked Ristau from her desk. She hadn’t even heard him come in.

“That’s not funny,” Syra said, massaging her temples.

“Yes, it is. And what’s even funnier, is that I was woken up by your brother lecturing me about keeping you sober.”

“He told you?!”

“Of course, he did. Who else does he know with access to this?”

He snatched the bag of Down from her desk.

“Hey, wait, don’t!” She sprang upwards and gripped at the air towards the bag, “I need that.”

“Uh-uh,” he said, shaking a finger, “One: this is mine. Two: it was my mistake for giving it to you in the first place.”

“But you use it all the time.”

“Yes, and I know how to keep my head up and my mouth shut. Not spitting venom at anyone who shows the least bit of concern.” Grief softened his eyes, “He’s your brother, Syra. And the only one you’ll ever have. Never take that for granted.”

She would have retorted, but the Down had left her system and the words she spoke last night burned her tongue worse than the dry-mouth. She groaned and hung her head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t tell me that,” he said, riffling through her papers, “I certainly wouldn’t believe you.”

His words hit hard, and she remained silent.

“And you know what’s the worst part?” He paused his shuffling to look right at her, “You knew better. And I know you knew better because you wouldn’t have said those things otherwise.”

Syra had no excuse to give. Every one that popped into her head she could reason away as being callous, petty, and downright pitiful. A bitter, self-centered brat wallowing in self-pity, that’s what she had shown herself to be. So this is what Aidan meant by ‘mopiness’.

“What is this?” Ristau broke Syra out of her self-reflection as he looked down on a spelltag similar to the one she had copied from Cassius last night. The runes were different and more complicated, but the structure was the same.

“Progress.”

“No-no,” he said, pounding a finger on it, “this isn’t a counter-spell. This is a shapechanging spell.” He leered over at Syra who met his gaze with confidence, “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious, and all I need now is a power source,” she said. “Plus, it made me realize something about Caelus’ spell, and why our attempts keep failing.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“That we’ve been going about it all wrong, for starters. But I can’t really get dressed and to go tell everyone with you standing here, now can I?”

Ristau begrudgingly put the spelltag back on the desk.

“Thank you. Now, shoo-shoo. Go and bring everyone to the lab.”

The seats around the lab table were filled by the time Syra arrived, and all waited anxiously for her news. To her disappointment—but of no surprise—Aidan took the seat next to Sulaer, who watched her enter with both nervousness and excitement.

“So, what did you find?” Sulaer asked, almost bouncing in her chair, “What’s this ‘realization’ Ristau was talking about?”

Syra pushed her insecurities aside and plopped a thick notebook on the table, opening to Sulaer’s cliff notes on the powering of Caelus’ spell and its general make-up.

“Lanis,” she said, looking to the king who was deep in thought, “when we first got here, you said that Kor Lahru’s mana spring ran down here, right?”

“Correct, it does.”

“You then said that you believed this to be a reason why the disease isn’t progressing—why the Lower Tal aren’t getting any worse.”

“Yes—”

“You’re wrong,” she said, inciting tension around the table, “At least, I think you’re wrong.” She pointed at little Leimia who sat quiet by his side, “You are getting worse. Every generation is getting worse. You said that children born here suffer worse deformities if they survived at all.”

“Again, correct, but what is your point?”

“I think it’s the mana spring that’s making them worse, and why we can’t find a cure.”

Sulaer looked confused, but intrigued and motioned for her to continue.

“We thought all the conditions had to be the same for the spell to be reversed. But you can’t counter a curse using something that it draws power from. You’ll only be feeding it,” Syra explained. “Caelus’ spell was powered by the shard—a huge source of mana—so would it not make sense that the disease is also powered by mana?”

“The mana spring is feeding the disease,” Sulaer hushed, growing pale.

“Yes, just like using the shard in our trials stops any counter-spell from working. We’ve been trying to swim upstream.”

“So, we do what, exactly?” Aidan asked.

“Stop using the shard, for one,” said Ristau.

“Not just that,” Syra said, setting a second book on the table and flipping to a sketch of an Arrun tree. “We have to starve it.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Aidan asked Syra as she devoured tome after tome searching for any instructions on how to create a mana-draining potion. “Don’t Tal need mana to survive?”

“Not necessarily,” said Ristau, who also joined in on the search party. “Unlike Fae or dragons, we’ve separated from the Mana Flow over time. So, while draining our reserves will severely weaken us, it will not kill us.”

“But you could run the risk of the disease killing us while our bodies are too weak to fight off the infection,” said Lanis. He and Leimia had a tower of books each to themselves that had already been looked through.

“So, we’ll just have to kill the infection before it kills the patient,” said Syra. “Do you have any information on any known cures?”

“Before we get to that, let’s focus on weakening the infection first,” Sulaer said, nose-deep in her own stack.

Aidan looked around at everyone sitting in a sea of parchment, their eyes red from hours of scouring—even Petra was making progress.

He sighed, “I think I know how to make one.”

All heads looked up from their pages.

“You tell us this now?” Petra yelled.

“I wasn’t sure if it fit what you were looking for, and I’m honestly not proud of it.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Syra.

“Dragonlances,” he said, meeting her gaze, “they’re tipped with a poison made from the bark of the Arrun tree. If concentrated enough, it can kill any magical creature…even dragons. That’s why we use them.”

Syra bit her lip, “And you know how to make this poison?”

“I helped invent it.”

Syra, Petra, and Cassius all stared at him shock.

“Those arrows were made by you?!” Petra growled.

“By my alchemists, yes.”

“We lost clan members because of you!” Petra screamed and Cassius had to hold her back from lunging at him.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have flown so close!” Aidan spat back, “Just stayed way up in the mountains where you belong!”

Tension grew with the silence, and Aidan lowered his head, “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me to say.”

“No, you meant what you said.” Tears formed in Petra’s eyes and she shot to her feet, knocking over her stack of books, “I knew we shouldn’t have brought you along! You’re no different than Marrak, or Larson, or any of the other Black Thorn members! Only caring to act when it suits you best. And to think I was starting to trust you.”

“Petra, I’m sorry. I take it ba—”

“Bashta!” she cried, spitting at him, “You’re just a lowly pink worm. Altaira’s doomed with a king like you.”

With that, she stormed off, leaving the rest to sit and simmer in her wake. Cassius went to say something, but he couldn’t bring himself to even look at Aidan. And the four Tal could only watch on as outsiders.

“Where we belong?” Syra finally asked, looking to him, “After what you’ve seen your own people do, you still see us as monsters? Even as we sit here trying to help another race?”

“It’s a hard habit to break, Syra,” Aidan admitted, “Those roots run deep and I…I just need time to let them die.”

“More time, huh?” She shook her head and closed her book, standing, “Unfortunately, time is something we don’t have. Marrak is moving, and we don’t have time to wait for your scars to fade. We need to know that we can still trust you.”

“Of course, you can!”

“Good. Now, get to making that vile poison of yours and I’ll look into killing the infection for good. Sulaer?” she asked, turning her attention away from Aidan, “Are these all the books you have?”

“No, just the ones we know with relevant information. There’s also the Grand Library below the academy.”

“A Grand Library?” asked Cassius.

“Yes,” Sulaer nodded, “Omei has the largest library in all the realms and, to be honest, there are scrolls there that even I haven’t read yet.”

“Take me there,” Syra said, her face steeled against the screams and tears that begged to burst out. “We might be able to find more clues on how to kill this thing.”

“Sure. There’s a whole section on all our medicinal advances.”

“Then we’ll start there,” Syra went to follow Sulaer out of the lab, but stopped abruptly, “And Aidan?”

Aidan looked up at her, guilt plastered on his face.

“Where I belong, is my choice.”

Down into the depths of the mountain they went, spiraling down the main staircase. The roots of Mother Tree still reached even this far down, and lit their way past floor after floor. The Medicinal Section was located on the seventh floor and took up most of the sixth wing that branched off of the main staircase.  

“So, this is even bigger than the Sylvani library?” Syra asked in amazement.

“Just by a floor, but I still like to brag about it,” said Sulaer.

“Just looking at all these books makes me want to fall asleep,” said Petra. She and Cassius had joined Syra after Petra decided that she’d much rather read than be stuck in a room with Aidan.

“We can’t nap now,” Syra said. “Not until we have a solid plan, at least.”

“Here,” Sulaer said, leading them to sit around a wide, round table off in a cozy nook with a small plant as its centerpiece, “have a seat. I’ll warm us up.”

Carved from stone and far from the warmth of the city, the Grand Library held a chill. The siblings sat about the table while Sulaer fiddled with the plant. She peeled back the cone of leathery leaves to reveal a rather plump bulb. She rubbed her hands together and blew on them, as if they were cold. Faint green light appeared between them and she wrapped them around the bulb. In seconds the bulb glowed and then unfurled, releasing a wave of warmth into the nook.

“Much better,” said Sulaer, turning back to the bookshelves, “now where to start?”

Book after book they read until their stomachs growled, but still they did not find a solution.

“What about this one?” Petra asked, sliding the open book over to Syra.

“Nope, not that one, either.”

“Ugh!” Petra groaned and laid her head on the table, exhausted and hungry, “I thought you said we could find cures down here.”

“These are cures,” said Sulaer, “they just all require some addition of mana, and that’s the opposite of what we need.”

“Well, we can’t stay here forever. Even you said you haven’t read all of these. How are we supposed to?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Wonderful.” Petra closed her book and left to return it back to the shelf. As she slid it back into place she screamed, dropping the book and making Syra and Cassius run to her.

“What is it? What happened?”

“What is that?” Petra pointed an accusing finger and grimaced at the fat grub waving its pincers at them from the shelf.

“It’s…it’s a worm,” Syra said, puzzled. “Sulaer, why is there a worm down here?”

“You are underground, remember?” said Cassius.

“That’s a bookworm,” Sulaer answered, laughing.

“Like, the kind that eat books?” Syra recalled hearing talk of them in Altaira, but had never actually seen one.

“No, not exactly.” Sulaer reached over and scooted the worm into her palm, and Petra quivered in disgust. “They eat their memories.”

“Come again?” Cassius asked.

“All the memories of all the people that ever read it, even the author. It takes a lot of energy to write a book, and even more is invested by those who pour themselves over one. And it’s these little fellas that hold on to that energy in the form of memories.”

“So, you’re saying these worms hold the memories of all the books in here?” Syra asked.

Sulaer took a moment to answer, “Depends on their age, but yes, it wouldn’t surprise at all.”

“Can I see it?” Syra asked, taking the worm from her hand and running back to the table.

“Don’t put that thing over there!” cried Petra, “I sit there!”

“It’s not going to bite you, Petra,” Syra said, setting it down on the table, “I don’t think.”

Syra took out a piece of parchment and a quill from her bag on the table and began writing.

“A locator spell?” asked Sulaer surprised, looking over her shoulder.

“If that worm has memories of the information we need, then maybe I can find the book it got it from.”

Sulaer watched her hands fly over the paper, her strokes a tad sloppy in her hurry.

“Don’t rush,” she said, stopping her hands a moment, “it won’t work as well.”

Syra nodded and continued with slower, more precise marks. The script wound around the borders and spiraled inward until only a blank spot was left in the center.

“Now you just need a purpose,” said Sulaer.

Syra hesitated. This was always the hardest part. She could learn spells fine, but creating one had always been a hurdle. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, imagining what she wanted and hoped the words would come. And then she wrote.

 Locate the tome,

your only quest.

And bring me thither,

At my behest.

 The bane of plagues,

it acts alone

To restore the body

And make it whole.

 “Not bad for your first try,” Sulaer said. “Now what?”

Syra picked up the worm and placed it on the page. She balled a fist, charging it.

“Sorry about this,” she said, pointing a finger. She tapped her fingertip to the worm and a spark of electricity jolted the worm, causing it to seize and spit up the juices from its gut onto the paper.

“That’s just disgusting,” said Petra.

“It’s magic,” Syra replied, scooting the poor grub off to the side.

“Nothing’s happening,” Cassius said, watching the paper.

“I’m not done.”

Sulaer took a pin from her pouch and handed it to Syra, who pricked her finger and pressed it to the page. The words shimmered as light traced along the spiral of ink until it came to the center. Please, work, she thought, but nothing happened. The page still glimmered, but did not move. Syra bent over the paper, analyzing it to see what she could have done wrong, stopping at the small glob of blue liquid just outside the center lines. She blew on it, flicking the glob over into the center.

It sparked, and glowed, and the page twitched and ruffled. Then it started folding itself. Over and over, folding and twisting until it formed itself into a bird that flapped its wings and hopped about the table.

“You did it!” Sulaer rejoiced, gripping her shoulders.

“Well, look at that, you did!” Petra said, laughing at the paper bird, “What’s it supposed to do?”

Syra bent over the table and the bird stared up at her, beak to nose.

“Go,” she said, and the bird flew from the table into the air, fluttering on its tiny wings in circles above them.

“Where’s it going?” Cassius asked.

“To find the cure.”

[chorusfm]

The Night Game – The Night Game

Do you remember your first kiss? A few weeks ago my mom stopped by for dinner and brought with her a shoebox she had found in the basement. The box, now flimsy and tattered, contained love letters and notes from elementary school up through college. I laughed when she gave them to me. Over the years she’s dropped off countless things from my childhood whenever she decides it is time to redistribute the stuff neither of us knows what to do with any longer. When she left, I almost just tossed them aside. However, on top of the pile, I caught a glimpse of something that caused sensory memories to start flooding back. I took a sip of beer, mumbled “fuck it” under my breath, and pulled a few folded pieces of paper from the box. I recognized handwriting. I recalled the way specific notes were folded. Ink colors. Inside jokes. Faded pencil sketches of pen-names and scribbled between class “I love you’s.” I started to feel long-buried memories of when these little pieces of paper, pre-cell phone and instant messaging, meant everything to me. When each letter represented possibilities and of being so in love that these possibilities, these fleeting ideas of a future, all felt inevitable. And each, now, clearly also representing a moment of heartbreak; of unfulfilled youthful promises. Do you remember your first kiss? Do you remember the way the car tires sounded when you pulled into the driveway to drop her off? Do you remember going back years later and driving by his house? Just trying to feel, something. The turns and directions from your high-school to the front door came back almost too quickly. Imprinted on your muscles in ways not even time can erase. Do you remember feeling the knot in your chest when you first said I love you? And laying in bed alone with your heart ripped out and never thinking you’d recover? Do you ever stop to think about what’s between the missing and loving — knowing now it was never to be and can’t ever be again? Do you still feel the hair on your arm raise when you catch a smell, hear a particular record, or read their name? That feeling of wistful remembrance, of looking back at what was once great and once equally as painful is the feeling the debut album from The Night Game captures in eleven songs. It’s goddamn exhilarating. The Night Game is the brainchild of lead singer Martin Johnson. Martin, best known as the frontman for Boys Like Girls, has always had a knack for a hook and catchy melody. While Boys Like Girls got pulled into the Fall Out Boy/Panic! at the Disco wave of pop-punk, Martin’s ear for melody always seemed slightly more heightened than his peers. Moreover, while this album has ties to the more pop side of his former band, it stands as a new entity altogether. Martin’s created a group and a record that alludes to his past work — in lyrical themes and even some melodies — but also stands alone in a distinct way. It doesn’t feel like a solo album as much as it feels like a reimagining. His vocals are undeniable, but the way he plays with pacing and almost speaks some of the words help to differentiate between this project and the still poorly named former band. At first, I wanted to call this music “nostalgia rock.” Not nostalgia in that it sounds like something from the past, although it wears those influences on the sleeve, more-so in what the songs are about. It’s about going home, seeing the town you grew up in, thinking about the times spent there, the friends, the girls, the boys, the love and the heartbreak. It’s about wondering where your youth went, where your friends are now, and what could have been. It’s flipping through the pages of a yearbook with a beer. Thinking about the people you used to know, the people you forgot, and getting lost in that moment. It’s thinking about the conversations you had with a summer romance, stealing moments away from the heat and dreaming about the future. You wonder where they are now. Did he get everything he wanted? Does she ever look through her yearbook and think the same things? This album excels at creating a mood. It reflects this universal feeling back into your ears, and by surrounding it in melody, you get the essence of what good pop music always strives to be. You think about the person you were, the person you wanted to be, and you measure those summers of possibility up against the person you became. An album like this unlocks the part of you that wants to believe your best moments aren’t behind you; one that ties a nostalgia for youth around your battle-worn heart. It’s a fine line to walk, and it takes a songwriting daftness that borders right on the edge of cheesy to pull it off. We know it’s silly. That’s why we love it. We open with “The Outfield” and are met with synth, glossy vocals, and a soaring chorus. It’s the kind of pop song that feels equally capable of being played with friends on an open road and experienced alone on a warm night. The album finds a way to blend pop, rock, and even a little hint of Nashville. It flows together perfectly to set the hook, then set the mood, and then expand its theme. By the time it is over you’re thinking about the nights with friends sitting on the tops of cars with a song just like this playing over the speakers. You’re thinking about what you wish you could have told your stupid younger self. As this album progresses, you’ll have sung along to the obvious pop hits, like “Bad Girls Don’t Cry,” and stadium built “American Nights,” and you’ll have found yourself wishing the album ended with “Coffee and Cigarettes” instead of “Back in the Van.” However, besides that small misstep, odds are you’ll be grabbing another drink, hitting play again, and re-opening this mythical musical memory-book. Through 45 minutes this album puts a modern spin on a pop-sound that’s proven timeless. From the soft instrumental interlude of “Sunset on the Beltway” to the call and return pop-magic of “Do You Think About Us.” The programmed drums and electronic elements found in some of the songs provide a nice mix between 1983 and 2018. Often the vocals and melody are the focus and only a few times do these electronic flourishes seem to overpower the songs. Most of the time the instruments or vocal effects provide a modern dichotomy to the more classic songwriting style. The feeling of the album shines through in moments like, “The Photograph,” where the chorus begins: Cause it’s gone, in the past, but we’ll always be together in the photograph. No, our love didn’t last, but we’ll always be together in the photograph. No I won’t forget/all the things she said/and the way she looked at me. And in how the song ends with a refrain of “she’s not the one,” a repeated mantra that’s almost trying to convince the singer to believe it. Or in one of the album’s highlights, “Die a Little,” where you’re pulled through an exceptionally catchy song with: What killed me yesterday, baby it’s still a part of me. I had to die a little, to learn to survive a little. And after all the pain, baby there’s nothing I would change. I had to die a little, to learn to survive a little. A song of self-reflection and coming to terms with how the worst we go through can become what makes us stronger. The vocals reach a crescendo as the emotional punch in a song built to get stuck in your head. Then we can look to “Summerland,” where the narrator reminisces about a summer romance and “fire and matches and cigarette lips” while searching for true love in the sand. But, the feeling unlocked with these songs always carries with it that key ingredient of nostalgia … a bittersweetness. Summer loves always end. It’s precisely because of this shelf-life, this never fulfilled fantasy, that they sit on our minds for the rest of time. I think that’s the magic in this album. It taps into a universal feeling of what yesterday was, and just as importantly never became, because that lets us lie to ourselves about what could have been. Deep down, we all know that feeling is a mirage. It’s a feeling you can only get because you don’t see the ending. The roads not taken are full of infinite yous doing infinite impossible things. You can find yourself staring at a box full of letters, and each one can represent a different version of who you might have been. That feeling is perhaps personified best in “Coffee and Cigarettes,” where a soft beat and whispered vocals reflect on a love that once said they’d wait forever but are now gone. Pop music is often dismissed for its saccharine sentimentality or melodramatic portrayals of youth and love. However, when a pop song hits you just right and can pull memories of what it was like to routinely feel those feelings, isn’t that part of why we’re drawn to it? There’s the innocence of a simple song getting stuck in your head and what it was like to put it on repeat. There’s a beautiful release in remembering the look and feel of your teenage bedroom — the CD covers taped to the walls and the pain of adolescence feeling as melodramatic as the music coming over your speakers. When the music can capture a feeling you’ve experienced and send it back to you wrapped in a chorus you can’t get out of your head — that’s when pop music feels transcendent to me. That’s when these silly songs can become so much more. Because I think there’s much good in being reminded of where we started, being forced to reflect on what we once let dominate our thoughts, of where we once dreamed we’d be, and the people we once thought would be there with us. Like reading a love letter full of words you thought were lost to time and then letting yourself, for just a brief beer-painted moment, remember, and I mean, really remember, that first kiss. That first I love you. And seeing how closely all of these feelings, these gloriously brutally perfectly awful feelings, coincide with when you first fell in love with music as well. They were tied together from the start. They still are. --- Please consider supporting us so we can keep bringing you stories like this one. ◎ https://chorus.fm/review/the-night-game-the-night-game/