#((it's a lot easier to hide a locket than it is a ring after all!))

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

"Not a wink," Susannah confessed with a shy smile, as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes: Although she knew she'd be getting up plenty early, she just couldn't quite bring herself to get some sleep, adding with an equally shy chuckle, "I feel like a kid at Christmas, honestly!"

All throughout the night, she found herself rolling over, looking at the time on her bedside table, sometimes even hearing the grandfather clock chime downstairs-all signs pointing to the fact that she needed to get some rest, but giddiness had completely overtaken her, and so sleep came in fits and starts. Yet, despite that, she was still feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed that morning, as she bathed and dressed in her nicest blouse and skirt before enjoying a quick breakfast, eyes still darting towards the clock until she heard the carriage drive up.

"Doreen also lent me some dresses so I'll have something to wear out!" she added brightly, as she walked with Philippe back to the carriage to load up: Upon hearing word of the vacation, her old friend immediately made a run for the closet, pulling out some of her best and brightest dresses and shoes to lend to a gobsmacked Susannah, who couldn't turn down this enthusiastic offer (and even if she did, she knew Dori wouldn't let her).

So everything was ready: Mickey begrudgingly gave her the time off (while also telling her to be back bright and early first time come the end of the vacation; he would not tolerate her slacking off just because she took a few days off), her bags were packed (well in advance, admittedly), the house was locked up tight (though she couldn't imagine for the life of her what anyone would want to steal from her), and she was looking forward to enjoying every minute of her vacation with the man she loved by her side.

[a-bottomless-curse]

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬.

—001. WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE?

It normally depends on the situation. Before she entered Yharnam (for the second time) she often smelled like ink, parchment, medicinal ointments, faintly floral via candles, and rain. After entering Yharnam, her connection to the sea (particularly with her habit of having high insight) grew stronger and she starts smelling constantly of sea salt. 

The rest of her usual scent depends on if she’s been able to have a break from the hunt or not. If she hasn’t, then she smells of dried blood, rust, the muffled scent of mint leaves (the leaves she carries in order to give her some clarity when she struggling during the hunt to gather her thoughts, either by smelling them and getting that shock to her system with how strong her sense of smell is combined with the already strong scent of mint, or to eat for similar reasons), metal shavings, and the subtle scent of the oil she uses to keep her blade and the thread clean and easy to use.

When she is able to take a break from the hunt though, she still smells of sea salt of course, but she is also more likely to smell of herbs (from her lotions and ointments for her back), mint in particular, as well as whatever flowers or floral candles she manages to get her hands on (preferring scents like lilac, lavender, rosemary, honeysuckle, mint, chamomile, and other soft florals). She occasionally ever will wear mellow perfumes (if she decides to attend a service, this is normally when she wears them), as well as her paints and the ink she uses for writing.

—002. WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE?

Partially calloused, with the most noticeable ones being on along her palm where she grips her Threaded Cane, the pad of her thumbs, and between the knuckles of her index and middle fingers, where she holds paintbrushes and ink pens. However, she does lotion when she can, and with her gloves protecting her hands during the hunt, the callouses are not necessarily immediately noticeable, they are still present and never go away.

—003. WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY?

Given the lifestyle that Hunters have, she tends to stick to either easy to carry snacks, or small meals that quick and easy to both eat and prepare. Cooked or raw vegetables, dried fruits, cured and dried meats (usually beef jerky sticks), slices of bread, and nuts carried in cheese cloth or designated bottles/packets on her person are the most common snacks she’ll have on her person. If she is able to, she’ll also bring three separate flasks with her while patrolling the streets. One of saloop, one of bone broth, and one of either tea or alcohol (or spiked tea on occasion). These flasks are specifically so that she can maintain protein and sugar levels if she needs to move fast, and the alcohol flask is for dulling pain when she hasn’t been hurt enough to feel the need to take blood.

When she finds the time to cook, she makes a lot of stews (particularly beef and vegetable stews), knows how to make her own jellys and jams and about a quarter of her pantry is filled with them, along with plenty of pies. Meat pies, mince pies, vegetable pies, and fruit pies. She makes a lot of them. Most of the meals she has revolves around getting a lot of protein in her body considering her lifestyle. But she also makes sure to have something sweet when she can, usually either with small cakes (including tea cakes), honey (when she can find it), sugarplums (when she can get the ingredients together), or something like bread pudding since that can last for a couple days at least.

A look inside her pantry will show that she has; jelly and jams of a variety of easy to make flavors, bottled bone broth (for when she’s tired but needs something in her body), plenty of stored jerky, shelves of root vegetables or any sort of vegetable that has a long shelf life, bottled honey/honeycomb, bottled dried fruits and nuts, and a sizeable collection of various herbs/roots for cooking.

—004. DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE?

She doesn’t sing much, preferring to hum more often than not. However, one of the skills her mother wanted her to learn, that her grandmother and school teachers taught her though, was the art of singing. She likes to sing lullabies oddly enough, and there what she’ll normally hum to herself when she’s working or doing something. She’s comfortable in both the Mezzo and Alto ranges, though she tends to be more of a lower-range Mezzo more often than not.

—005. DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICKS?

Popping her knuckles is a bad habit she has that first came about when she entered school and needed to do something to subtly (ish) relieve tension in classes but only got worse once she was diagnosed with an illness and back issues. Chewing on her bottom lip became a bad habit in her younger years when in Yharnam that stuck with her throughout her life (even though her hated it as she was apparently ‘ruining her own value to future husbands’). Tapping her fingers against any surface, specifically if she is deep in thought (or thinking about things that trouble her) or simply because she’s waiting for something to happen is more of a nervous tick for her. She also shifts her weight and will slightly bounce on the balls of her feet for similar reasons.

—006. WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE / WEAR?

Linen shirts, embroidered vests, leather overcoats, Hunter gear, top hats and hats of a variety really, gloves (including archery gloves), neckties (slim and simple or fancy and large, depends on her mood), lace and satin frocks, satin or linen nightgowns/nightshirts, linen or cotton trousers, riding trousers and boots, leather boots, cotton ‘adventuring’ clothes, soft slip ons, simple dresses, petticoats of cotton & linen, the occasional ballgown, rings & earrings & necklaces (particularly lockets and anything with rocks embedded in the jewelry). Overall, she likes to go for a ‘lady gentleman look’ or for the look of a wandering writer. She also likes having clothes where she doesn’t mind getting dirty in (as in, going into the woods and not carrying if dirt/sap or anything of that matter gets on her). Lots of purples, blues, and greens, but also black & white, and some pastel colors (such as pink) that match her mood.

She tries to keep her wardrobe full of clothing that matches all aspects of her personality/moods and what she likes to wear regardless of her upbringing. She normally stays away from the fancier side of her clothing (minus the jewelry) and likes her clothing to be lightweight (hence so much linen) as well as easy to move in. Much of her wardrobe started to form in this way as an act of rebellion against her mother who wanted her to always look dressed up/doll like

—007. IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE?  HOW MUCH?  HOW SO?

Oh yes, of course she is. So much of her actions, of her beliefs and decisions and drive come from love, specifically loving others. Being deeply affectionate was bound to follow and be such a deep set part of her as a person. Even though she has a strange relationship with receiving affection, it’s an intrinsic part of her nature to give both love and affection frequently and freely whenever she can. And, in this, she tries to be honest to those who receive her affection about why and how deeply she cares for them. In the same vein though, she doesn’t want to come across as forcing others into loving her, particularly due to deep-seated trauma in being treated (and even told on occasion) by her parents that she can not be loved for who she is without changing or hiding her true self away. So, while she tries to find a balance between being open and honest about her feelings and affections (whether platonic or romantic), more often than not she will lean into showing through subtle (and not so subtle) gestures, because she doesn’t want anyone she loves to even for a moment think that she does not love or accept them.

In order to show her affection, she will do a few things frequently: seeking to spend a lot of time together, gentle touches (the brevity of which depends on how she feels the touch might be received), cooking for them, discussing topics of interest with, carving out moments of peace and calm that they can enjoy without worrying about immediate bloodshed. She will also try to grow more familiar with those she cares out, both silently (usually making mental notes of mannerisms, small things they say in passing that seem important, and learning to read body language) and by asking simple questions that can lead them to discusses themselves. She also likes to give gifts, both bought and handmade, to those she cares about as a reminder that they are thought of and cared about. Endearments and being vocal (either subtly or bluntly depending on who she’s talking to) about her affections and feelings are also common things for her to do. And lastly, she will sacrifice for them nearly whatever they ask.

Out of all the above, spending time together, either in calm and comfort or watching over them during a hunt by going together, is Kaydens’ favorite way to show affection as spending time together usually makes it easier for her to show her affections for those she cares about. However, she prefers the calm and comfort as a setting to spend time together given that it opens more windows for vulnerability and allows for the softer and small intimacies to show themselves more freely.

—008. WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN?

If she makes it to her bed, then she likes to lay on her stomach, partially starfished, or on her side leaning on/against some pillows. If she makes it to her couch, then she normally falls asleep on her back with her hat on her face. If she doesn’t make it to either of those places (such as, she needs to sleep outside her or a close companions home), then she usually will sleep with her back against a wall and upright, or sitting down/curled up in a ball with her gun in hand in a hidden location. She can sleep in just about any position, but she prefers those.

—009. COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM?

If she doesn’t want to be heard, then she won’t be. She’s learned, from when she was a child sneaking through her parents home to read and write unsupervised, how to balance her weight and move in tandem with her clothes and even jewelry so that she’s not heard or that whatever soft sounds she makes blend in with the background, even if it’s just the wind. She’s able to keep up this stealthily movement ability up until she needs to full out run, in which case she is more likely to be heard, but only briefly. 

The more likely reason she could be heard in the hallway from another room is if she has a frenzy moment, or if she got caught up in her thoughts and started humming or working through her thoughts via talking to herself. Otherwise, she’s normally very quiet with her movement.

Tagged by: @derjaegermond​ (thank youuu!)

Tagging: again, don’t know really who’s done it yet so, anyone who wants to do this steal it and do it :D

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Love Isn’t Always On Part Thirty Nine

Previous Part| Next Part | Masterlist Notes: Not Beta-Read.   Just a quick note! I’m starting school this week (aaaahhhhhhhh) so going forward I’m going to try and keep my posts as consistent as possible, but yeah. Just a heads up. I hope everyone’s doing well :) Warnings: None Summary: “... Your mom’s name was Sarah... You used to wear newspapers in your shoes... And you...”

The throbbing in my head had moved from between my temples to the base of my skull. It felt like it was pounding so hard my teeth were chattering with it. I heard ringing in my ears, then the buzzing of helicopters overhead. I groaned quietly as I opened my eyes, looking around the dingy warehouse I found myself in.

“Hey-- Hey, careful,” Steve was kneeling by my side in seconds, speaking softly, cupping my chin to keep my head from tilting, “Don’t move too fast.”

“Where are we?” I asked softly.

"We’re laying low for the time being.” “Sam alright?”

“He’s fine--”

“And you--”

“I’m in one piece, sweetheart, just hold still--”

“Where’s Bucky?” I asked, glancing around.

“He’s... In there. We’ve got his arm in a vice until we know what we’re dealing with.” The unease in Steve’s face told me he didn’t like telling me that as much as I hated hearing it, but I understood. I nodded a little bit, sighing.

“Help me up,” I said, holding a hand out to Steve. “You sure?” Steve frowned, straightening, “You don’t have to--”

“I’m not made of porcelain, Rogers, just gimme a hand.”

Steve did as I requested, pulling me off of the floor. I rested a hand on his chest to steady myself, wincing as I rolled my shoulders.

“Don’t push it,” Steve mumbled. I glanced up at him, a warning in my look, and he shook his head.

“Don’t,” He repeated more softly, “You scared the hell out of me.” I sighed, giving his hand a squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. Steve nodded, leaning in and pressing a kiss to my head.

“Cap!” We turned as Sam’s voice rang out across the empty garage. I followed Steve deeper inside, slowing when I saw Bucky hunched and restrained in the middle of the room.

“... Steve,” Bucky greeted.

“Which Bucky am I talking to?”

Bucky took a moment to reflect on that, but there was no bitterness there, no rage. Just calm resignation.

“... Your mom’s name was Sarah... You used to wear newspapers in your shoes... And you...” His lips had turned up into a smile as he looked from Steve to me; I was taken aback, almost. I needed a moment to reconcile this smile and ease with the man that had come after me with such ruthlessness. “You worked at Harper, Cheswick, and Lowe... Steve sketched you the first time you came over for dinner. I made ma’s sauce.” I nodded, swallowing thickly. “That’s right, Buck,” I murmured. “Can’t read that in a museum,” Steve smiled.

“Just like that we’re supposed to be cool?” Sam asked, eyes darting between us.  “What did I do?” Bucky asked, fear edging into his voice. “Enough,” Steve passed it off. If we went into it all now, Bucky would do nothing but beat himself up about it. “Oh, God, I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words,” Bucky mumbled. “Who was he?” I asked. “I don’t know,” Bucky said honestly. “People are dead,” Steve stressed. “Steve--” I hissed as Bucky’s head fell forward in shame; Steve pressed on: “The bombing, the setup. The doctor did all that just to get 10 minutes with you. I need you to do better than ‘I don’t know’.” Bucky was quiet for a few moments before he lifted his head again, brow furrowed. “...He -- He wanted to know about Siberia... Where I was kept... He wanted to know exactly where.” “Why would he need to know that?” I asked. The look Bucky fixed us with was almost cruel in its regret. “Because I’m not the only Winter Soldier.” It took us all a moment to let that soak in. “Look, we know it’s him, can we just,” I waved in the direction of the vice, “Can we get him out of that thing, please?” Sam shot Steve a look before they both stepped forward. The mechanism was unlocked with a few hydraulic whirs that brought the ringing in my ears back. I winced a little, turning my head away. I almost wanted to hear the helicopters again. Once Bucky was out of the vice, Steve and Sam both stepped back, giving him some space. “I looked through those files,” I started, drawing us back to the matter at hand,  “there was nothing about multiple Winter Soldiers anywhere.” “There wouldn’t be,” Bucky shook his head. “Who were they?” Steve asked. "Their most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum.” “They all turn out like you?” Sam asked, not even bothering to hide the slight sarcasm that seeped into his voice. "Worse,” Was Bucky’s flat answer. "The doctor, could he control them?” Steve frowned. “Enough,” Bucky conceded. "Said he wanted to see an empire fall,” Steve added.

“With these guys he could do it. They speak 30 languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize, They can take a whole country down in one night. You'd never see them coming,” Bucky admitted.

Sam gripped my arm, steering me closer to Steve and turning me away from Bucky. “This would have been a lot easier a week ago,” He murmured. “If we call Tony...,” Steve offered, but Sam waved it off. “No, he won’t believe us.” “Even if he did,” I offered. Sam nodded. “Who knows if the Accords would let him help.” “We’re on our own,” Steve surmised. Sam considered this for a few seconds. “Maybe not. I know a guy.” -- As Sam left to make his call, I edged closer to Bucky. I sat on the floor in front of him, smiling a bit as he met my eyes. “How are you here?” He asked softly. “The answer to that question has a lot of moving parts,” I laughed a little, ignoring the amplified throbbing in my head as I did, “Ones that we don’t have  time to go into right now.” Bucky hesitated before he reached out with his human hand, running his finger along my cheek. I leaned into the light touch, then turned my head, brushing my lips over the pad of his fingertip. Bucky smiled a little bit, and I felt my own smile widened. Even after all this time, that look had butterflies swirling around in my stomach. My eyes drifted down his face, over his neck where I spied a chain peaking from the under his shirt. I reached up, keeping my eyes on his the entire time. When he didn’t stop me, I slipped a finger under the chain, lifting it from under his shirt and smoothing over the engraving.  “What’s that?” Steve asked, drifting closer. “It’s your ma’s locket,” I said, keeping my eyes on Bucky, “I gave it to ‘im when he brought you to the riverbank.” Bucky looked from me to Steve, eyes soft and imploring. “Steve...What happened back there--” “That wasn’t you,” Steve shook his head. Bucky looked set to argue, but he pressed his lips together instead, lowering his eyes to his lap instead. I let go of the locket, resting my hand on his knee. “We’re going to get out of this,” I promised, “And when we do, we’re going to find a way to undo what HYDRA programmed.” “What if it can’t be undone?” Bucky’s voice was small, tired. I took his metal hand into mine, intertwining our fingers. “We’ll find a way, Buck. We always do.” Tag list: @gloryevans @redryderdesigns @winter-scolder @aactuaaltraash @secretagentben @staplerrrr @elliee1497 @adayinmymeadow  @allonszassbutt @mannls @witch-of-letters  @niallssweetheart22 @uneniffler  @rinthehufflepuff @panic-angel3314  @firstangeldragonranch @kaetastic @mcuwillbethedeathofme @skeletoresinthebasement @i-dont-know-what-im-doing-yay @kkaos15 @iamnotoverlyfondofwhatfollows  @bassclarinety @tomshelbystits @rvgrsbrns @marvelmenarebeautiful @tenaciousperfectionunknown @intricate-melody​ @stuffandstuff-stuff​ @fanfuckingtastic04 @messybunnyartist @anescapefromtheworld  @shesa-riott​ @bihoeofmanyfandoms

[apriorisea]

“One Year” You x Hoseok

“Hello?”      “Hi, angel.”       Smiling faintly to yourself, you cradle the phone between your ear and shoulder and get up from the table, moving to the cupboard where you stored the plastic containers. “Hey, baby.” You get a few of the containers and take them back to the table you had set for two, carefully moving the contents of one of the plates into the containers.        “I’m so sorry, angel, but I’m not going to make it for dinner tonight,” Hoseok says quietly, and in those words you hear all the exhaustion, disappointment, and guilt that he’s carrying.       “It’s okay,” you reassure; you had known from the very moment he called you that the dinner plans would have to change. “Are you doing okay?”      He exhales heavily over the phone. “Yes. Just...tired. I thought I’d be able to make it home by now, but we’re running later than expected. I’m so sorry.”      “Hobi, stop,” you instruct, fitting the lid over the container and taking the phone back in hand. “It’s okay. Are you guys going to eat something there?”      “I’m not sure...” he sounds distracted.      You smile again. “Make sure someone orders something, okay? You need to eat.”       “Okay,” he agrees easily. “I’m sorry, angel. I don’t know when I’ll be home, so...”      “I won’t wait up,” you tease. “Just kiss me when you get in, right?”      He chuckles. “Yes, ma’am. Oh---and we’re leaving at 8:30 tomorrow, right? Or do we need to go earlier?”      “Oh.” You’re caught off guard by the sudden change of topic. “Y-yeah. That was the original plan. But, baby, if you’re too tired we can change it. And if you’re too busy, it’s okay, you don’t have to go.”      “I’m going.” He sounds vaguely offended. “I’ll be ready by 8:15!”       You smile. “Okay.”      “I love you, angel. I need to go now,” he sighs.       “I know. Have a good rehearsal. Tell the guys I say hi.”      He laughs again. “I will.”      “Love you, my hope. Be safe.”     “I love you the most!”       The call ends and you pull the phone away from your ear, your gaze unfocusing slightly as you think about tomorrow. The truth is you didn’t really want to go without him, but if he stayed too late at work tonight, it wouldn’t really be fair to force him to go....      Your phone buzzes at that moment and you look down to find a text from him: I love you more than anything, angel. Goodnight! <3      The smile that crosses your face is huge, and you’re transported back to the moment a week ago when you’d first approached the topic, right here at the kitchen table.       “So I know you’re busy,” you finish, fidgeting with your chopsticks. “But....I was just....if you had time and you wanted to, I thought you’d like to come with me?” When he doesn’t answer for a moment, you feel your heart start to sink and look up at him, a negation already on your tongue, but when you see his face, you stop.       Tears shining in his eyes, Hoseok reaches for your hand, tugging on it gently until you get up from your chair and cross to where he sits. He pulls you into his lap, his face serious. “Of course, I’ll go with you, angel.” He brings your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it gently.      “Are--are you sure?” you ask, feeling tears fill your own eyes as you look at him. “I know you’ve got a lot going on at work right now, and it’s not a big deal, so---”      “Yes, it is,” he interrupts you quietly. “Baby, I can’t even tell you how honored I am that you’re asking me to come with you. I’ll be there. I promise.”       The first tear slips down your cheek, and you duck to hide your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps his arms around you, and you feel him kiss your shoulder.       “Thank you,” you manage after a while, pulling back to look at him. The sight of the two of you in matching tears makes you laugh a little and you reach to cradle his face in your hands. “That means a lot, my hope.” You lean down and kiss him once.      When you break away, he shakes his head seriously. “Thank you for asking me, angel. It means the world.”       Laughing a little at the tears the memory brought with it, you finish eating your dinner alone, then tidy up the kitchen and head to the bedroom. Standing in your guys’ shared walk-in closet, you pull up the weather app on your phone and enter the cemetery’s location: tomorrow morning would be brisk, but not devastatingly cold, a perfect match for the outfit you had planned already. You pull the pieces together, setting them aside for the next morning; the last thing you add is the delicate gold chain necklace he had given you for the last Christmas you’d spent together. There. Perfect. Taking one last look at it, you turn off the lights and shut the closet door carefully behind you.       You change into your favorite pajamas, wash your face, brush your teeth, comb your hair, apply all the lotions and serums, and climb into bed. You immediately miss having Hoseok next to you, but you bravely put that aside, knowing he’d be home soon enough. Grabbing your Kindle, you read until your eyelids grow heavy, then finish your pre-bedtime routine by plugging in your phone and turning on the correct alarm for the next morning. Before you reach to turn out the lamp, your gaze goes to the picture on your nightstand.       Smiling sadly, you whisper, “See you tomorrow, daddy. Love you.” You turn out the light and snuggle into bed. 

     Hoseok gets home around 1am, but you’re in too deep a sleep to feel him softly kiss your forehead, so the next thing you know, someone’s alarm is ringing at 7am.       Groaning, you roll over and look at your clock: you’d carefully set it for 7:30, what was its problem??      “Sorry, sorry, sorry, angel,” you hear a familiar, sleepy voice say behind you. The alarm shuts off and you feel his arms wrap around you. “I didn’t mean to wake you up so early”      You relax immediately. “Good morning, Hobi,” you say, turning to kiss his arm. “What time did you get in?”      “Not too late,” he lies easily. “But I didn’t want to shower last night, so I set my alarm for 7.”     “Ah,” you nod with a smile. “I wondered if my alarm clock had gone rogue or something.”     His soft laugh tickles your neck. “Nope, no killer alarm clock. Just me.”       Twisting in his arms, you roll over to look at him. “You look tired, baby,” you say quietly. “It really is okay if you want to sleep in today instead.”      He leans down to kiss the tip of your nose. “I can’t believe how hard you’re trying to get rid of me...”      “Never!” you gasp, faux-offended. “I just want you to do what’s best for you.”     Smiling, he kisses you more seriously. “I am, angel. Now, let me go shower! We leave at 8:30 sharp!”      You’re not exactly sure how, but you end up ready way before him, scrolling mindlessly through your phone on the couch in the living room while you wait.      Still, it’s exactly 8:15 when you hear him say, “All right, angel, I’m ready!”     Looking up, you’re surprised to see him dressed in a nice, dark suit, his hair perfectly done; he looked carpet-ready, not graveyard-visit-ready. “Wow.” You can’t help but stare. “You...you really dressed up.”     He grins, the sun shining through his smile. “Of course!”      “....Why?”      Crossing to where you sit, he extends his hands, pulling you carefully to your feet. When you’re up, he leans in to kiss you. “Because, babydoll, it’s important to make a good first impression!” His gaze drifts to your gold necklace and he releases you in order to reach out and fix the chain, resettling the clasp at the back of your neck. “You look beautiful, by the way.”     You have to take a second, already choked up a little. “F-first impression?” you repeat to buy yourself time.     Giving a little sympathetic hum, he reaches up to take your face gently in his hands, using his thumbs to carefully brush away your tears, making sure not to mess up your make-up. “Yes. Do I look okay for a good first impression??”     Still not trusting yourself to speak, you nod wordlessly as you process his meaning. You had met Hoseok 23 days after your dad had passed away. You knew this stat perfectly, because it had been 23 days since you’d been able to really smile, and from the moment you’d met him, things had felt lighter, easier, happier. He’d never met your father, but he had immediately become your greatest source of strength, your rock to rely on in the hard times that had followed. It was macabre, maybe, but somehow it felt right that the two of you would celebrate this anniversary first, followed 23 days later by your own 1 year anniversary.      Unable to contain your gratitude, you wait until he releases you and then wrap your arms around his waist, holding him tight. “You’re going to make a great first impression,” you reassure him. “He would have loved you, Hoseok. I know he would’ve.” You feel him kiss the top of your head.       “Really?”      You’re touched at the sincerity in his question. “Yes,” you say firmly, pulling away. You cup the side of his face. “Absolutely. In fact, he definitely would have made lots of stupid jokes about how he loves you more than I love you. Which, by the way, is pretty much impossible.”      He’s smiling again, and the warmth of it touches every corner of your soul. “I love you,” he can’t help but say.      “I love you more.” You glance at the time. “8:30. Ready?”      Slipping his hand into yours, he gives it a quick squeeze and nods. “Let’s go.”      As he’s helping you into the passenger seat, a thoughtful expression crosses his face. You smile at him before he can close the door. “What is it?”      “Well...I was going to say, it’s true for me, too.”      “What is?”       “I love you more than anyone else ever has,” he says, the truth as simple and easy as breathing for him. “But.....then I wondered if that was, maybe...disrespectful?”      Your smile grows wider and your heart grows two sizes. “Not at all,” you reassure him. “Like I said, dad would’ve loved you.”      Relieved, he bends down to kiss you one last time. “All right. I’m ready.”      As he closes the door and makes his way around the front of the car, your hand wanders to the locket hanging from your necklace. Holding it tight, you say to yourself, “He’s a good one, right, dad? I’m glad you’ll finally get to meet him.”       You keep one hand on the locket as your boyfriend starts the car and reaches automatically for your free hand. Yep. He’s a good one. 

[kriscme]

One Life To Live

Hi Readers, this is a reposting of Chapter 24.   I didn’t like parts of the ending so I rewrote it.  I hope this makes Katniss’s thought process clearer.  As always, thanks to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take” and thanks to you for reading.  “The Chance You Didn’t Take” is on Ao3 and FanFiction. Chapter 24

Ready to move on with my life.  I repeat this mantra at least a dozen times the following day.  I say it as I walk to work.  I say it as I clean the blackboard.  I say it as I walk past the bakery.  I say it as I pass through the Village gates on my way home.  I’m still saying it when I go to answer the knock at the door, and I say it again when I see who it is.   It’s Peeta.

He hangs back as if he’s unsure what kind of welcome he’ll get.  He looks tired, with circles under his eyes, and his clothes are a little disheveled, like they’ve been slept in.  One hand clutches a large, bulging paper bag.   A silver ring with a love knot gleams dully on one finger.   He gives me a hesitant smile.  “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” I say in return.

There are a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.  If Peeta has a reason for being here, he’s slow to get to it.  “Um, do you want to come in?” I ask.  Maybe that’s what he’s waiting for.  I step back to give him room. He hesitates for a moment, as if considering it. “Thanks, but I can’t stay.  I have to get into town.  I just wanted to see you before I left.  To give you this.”  I take the bag he offers me.  I unfold the top and see that it’s full of cookies.  A least six different kinds.  He has been busy. “And to apologize for the other night.   I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.  I know none of it is your fault.  I don’t why I did – I think it just reminded me – “ “Of another time?” I interject.  “I thought that’s what happened.  Memories are returning, then?” He nods.  “Yeah, and at unexpected times and places.  I was wrong to blame you that other time too, wasn’t I?” I shrug.  “It’s not nice to be the last to know, especially when it concerns you,” I concede.  “We – that is, Haymitch and I – thought Lace would have told you, since you’re engaged and all.  That’s why we didn’t.”  I refrain from mentioning that I had also threatened her.   “I understand.  It was Lace’s place to tell me.  No one else.”   We lapse into silence again, but even though Peeta has said what he came to say, he makes no move to go. “I missed you this morning,” I blurt out, when the silence becomes untenable.  I want to kick myself.  The plan was to pretend I hadn’t noticed.  But I waited nearly fifteen minutes for him to show when I shouldn’t have even given him one second.  He was the one at fault, not me.  As the day progressed, the anger built.  I kept it leashed when I was with the children, but when Max started on me with his usual teasing, he got the full force of it, and he left me alone.   And I know he was just dying to pester me for details of what happened at the pub.   “Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he says, all contrition.  “I’ve had a couple of rough nights and I slept in.  I ended up taking the day off work.”

“Oh,” I feel myself soften a little.  That’s something I can relate to.   He does look very tired, exhausted even.  And there’s something about it that’s familiar, a sort of haunted look about the eyes.  I guess it takes one to know one.  “Nightmares?” “Yeah, I’ve been having them for a while now. They came with the memories, but the ones just lately . . .” He doesn’t finish, but looks away, as if he can’t meet my eye.   “They’ve got worse?” I prompt.   “No.  Not worse, just . . . different.”   I wait for him to elaborate but he doesn’t. Maybe he wants me to ask.  He seems to be waiting for something.  But I don’t want to know about his nightmares. If he wants to talk to someone about them, he has Lace.   “I guess it’s the cost of finding yourself,” I say rather unhelpfully.  “But I sympathise about the nightmares.  They can be brutal.”  Unbidden, a hint of animosity creeps into my voice.   That guest room ban still rankles.   “I’ve found that out,” he replies.   “I’m sorry now that I wasn’t more understanding of yours.  I suppose you can add that to the list of the many things I have to be sorry about.” There’s another pause.  He wants me to ask what they are, I know he does.   But I’m tired of this round-a-bout way of conversing.  It’s confusing me.  If he has something to tell me, why doesn’t he just say it straight out?  I thought he was in a hurry to get into town, anyway. “Well, thanks for the cookies.  There’s enough to keep me going for weeks, but I’m sure Marcus will help out.”  I don’t know why I bring up Marcus, except to show Peeta that I can have someone too if I want.   “I’d better not keep you any longer.” He does that looking away thing again.  “You’re right, I should be going.  I have a lot to do.”  He turns back to me with a sad smile.  “Bye Katniss.  I guess I’ll see you around.” I watch him pass through the Village Gates and then disappear from sight.  He seems so forlorn, almost defeated. The nightmares must have come back with a vengeance.  And I suppose this business with Lace has knocked him around a bit too.  I have an impulse to run after him and put my arms around him, to give comfort in any way I can.  I don’t act on it, of course.  Besides, what did he mean by “I’ll see you around?”  Surely, he should have said, “I’ll see you tomorrow?”  He’s decided not to walk with me into town anymore then.  I suppose he’s realized that he can’t continue to cling to the friendship the way he has, not when he’s to marry in a few weeks.  I don’t know whether to feel anger or relief.  I decide on relief.  It will be easier for us both.  

Johanna comes over for a visit, conveniently right on dinnertime.  We sneak in a few words about Peeta while Marcus isn’t listening, but she has little to add to what she told me last night, other than the locket is still by the phone where he left it.  

After dinner, Johanna and I decide to visit Haymitch.  Marcus is occupied pouring over maps so we won’t be missed.  Unfortunately, our timing is off.  Haymitch has settled into his favorite lounge chair with a bottle of white liquor and a big paper bag of cookies beside him.   “One Life to Live” is about to start and this particular episode has been promoted as not to be missed.  Apparently, Celia is to lose the chaste in Chastely.   Johanna and I clear a space on the sofa and sit down.  There’ll be no real conversation until “One Life to Live” is over.  I sigh.  You have to be brain dead to enjoy this show.  But then I see Haymitch take a swig of his liquor.  I guess he’d have lost a significant number of brain cells by now. The show opens with Ginger having the final fitting for her wedding gown.   “She looks like a giant puff-ball,” comments Johanna. “It’s to hide her pregnancy.  It must be quite advanced by now,” I say. “Quiet!” barks Haymitch. Chastised, Johanna and I turn our attention back to the TV.   Blake and Ginger are consulting with the caterers over the menu for the reception.  Ginger wants it all to be ginger-colored to go with her name. She decides on sweet potato souffle, lobster with thousand island dressing and blood orange jelly with carrot ice-cream for dessert.  Blake is apathetic about it.  He looks like a man who’s given up all hope.  His roguish older brother, Ryder, who accompanies them, tries to cheer him up with a dirty joke, but it barely raises a smile. Meanwhile, it appears that Celia has got herself a boyfriend.  Her parents enthusiastically approve.  His name is Lance Bounder and his family owns the largest marijuana plantation in the district.   Actually, it’s grown and sold as hemp, but everyone knows where the real source of the Bounders’ wealth comes from and it isn’t rope.  On the surface, Lance is perfect for Celia.  Amazingly good looking with abs to die for.  Wealthy, charming, loves horses and small fluffy animals and, most importantly, shares the Chastely passion for organic farming. On this day, Celia is spending the day at the Bounder mansion.  The rest of the family is out, leaving Celia and Lance all alone.  Lance reaches into a dish for what looks like dried-up grass, and stuffs it into a small pipe.  After it’s lit, he offers it to Celia. “I couldn’t possibly,” says Celia. “I don’t approve of mind-altering drugs.” “It’s 100 per cent organic,” says Lance. “Oh, alright then,” says Celia, and takes a puff.   And another. And then another.   Celia loses all inhibition.  Clothes are strewn the length of the room and soon Celia and Lance are engaged in passionate sex.   “Wow,” Johanna whispers to me.  “Outside of the porn channel, I didn’t know they allowed this sort of thing on television.  Is he licking her – “ “Yes,” I say quickly before she can say the word. “It looks as if he’s trying to reach her tonsils.” After they’ve tried multiple positions, they call out for the gardener.   He’s been clipping the same hedge by the window since soon after they started.  

“What are they doing?” I whisper to Johanna.

“Making a sandwich,” she replies. Eventually, all three of them collapse exhausted.  The camera pans over Celia’s face.  The corners of her mouth curve into a satisfied smile.   “She’s going to regret it the next day,” murmurs Johanna in my ear. “Why do you think that?”  Celia seems very content to me. “Urinary tract infection.  Believe me, I know,” she answers. Next, we see Blake and Ryder on the porch of the Knightly home having a drink together.  A glorious sunset delineates the oil rigs in the distance, but Blake is blind to its beauty.  He’s sunk in despondency.  Ryder watches him, deeply worried. The episode ends with Ginger meeting secretly with the real father of her baby – the lead guitarist in the punk rock band “The Sucking Mosquitos.”  She tells him that soon after the baby is born, she intends to file for divorce and get half of Blake’s fortune.  The lovers seal their dastardly plan with a passionate kiss.  

The closing credits roll.  Haymitch fumbles around for the remote control, eventually finds it down the side of the chair, and turns off the television.   “So, what do you two want?” he asks crossly. I guess I should have remembered that Monday nights are special to Haymitch.  He likes to sit and relax with his favorite soap while imbibing a bottle or two of some alcoholic beverage.   “Can’t we just visit a neighbor without wanting anything?” I reply. “It would be a first.  So, what is it?  Information about the boy?  What makes you think I have any?” “That bag of cookies for a start,” says Johanna.   “We know he’s been here.  Peeta made enough to feed an army.   We’re concerned for him, that’s all.” Haymitch’s eyes travel to Johanna before landing on me.  He looks skeptical.  And then he shrugs.   “Memories are coming thick and fast and he doesn’t know what to do with them.  He says they’re all mixed up in his head.  He had a lot of questions about what happened in 13.” He looks in my direction. “Your reaction to his capture.  How you came to be the Mockingjay.  Questions like that.” “What did you tell him?” I ask. “The truth.  That you became the Mockingjay so he’d have immunity.  How I got the scars on my face.   Why he was rescued.” “What he did he say?” “He said you must have cared for him very much.” “And?” “That’s all.  He didn’t have any other questions.  That’s what you want, isn’t it?  Only tell him what he asks?”   “But how did he seem?  Was he happy about it?”   Haymitch pauses as if can’t decide to be truthful or tactful.   He settles on his usual bluntness. “He seemed upset.” My heart sinks.  For the briefest of moments, hope had flared.  But it was simply another false alarm, like always. Haymitch opens his mouth to add something, but his attention is claimed by Johanna.  “Did he tell you what happened with Lace?” she demands.  

Through a fog, I hear them talk about what happened at the pub and Peeta’s reaction to it.  Only one thought reverberates through my brain.  He knows!  He knows! And then: he wasn’t happy about it.   The very opposite, in fact.   “. . . making a mistake.  But it’s up to him.  Katniss, what do you think?” “Hmm?  Ah, yes.  Up to him,” I stammer out.  Johanna gives me an odd look and then goes back to talking with Haymitch. “Are you alright?”  she asks, shortly after we leave.  “You’re acting weird, even for you.” I scowl at her.  “I’m fine.  I’m just tired, that’s all.” “Better have an early night then.” Johanna lets out a massive yawn.   “Actually, I think I could do with one myself.  ‘night.” “Goodnight.”  

Johanna makes the short journey across the road to Peeta’s house, while I make the even shorter one to my house next door.  But I don’t go in.   Instead I sit down on the porch steps.  I need to think.   Was there anything I missed, in that strange conversation I had with Peeta?  There might be some hope in all that gloom.   I know Peeta had called in on Haymitch first. He must have, because he left to go into town after he called in on me.  That means he knew then how I feel about him.  I go over what was said.  He told me he’s having nightmares.  There’s nothing unusual in that, though.  Most of us who have gone through the Games have nightmares.  And then he said he has things to be sorry about.   But that’s just a natural consequence of regaining one’s memories.  Nearly everyone has something they wish they could take back, or do differently.   So, nothing he said tells me anything. But the way he acted did.   Haymitch said he was upset when he heard, and he wasn’t happy when he came to see me either.   He’d be glad, wouldn’t he, if my being in love with him was a good thing? Of course, he would.  It was unwelcomed then.  That explains why he could hardly look me in the eye.  It’s awkward when someone loves you and you don’t return it.   I remember that feeling with Gale. You feel bad.  Bad for them.  And bad for yourself, because whatever easy relationship you had can never be the same again.  That’s why he’s not walking with me into town anymore.  He knows he has to separate himself from me for my sake, as well as his own.  He can’t be with Lace, and knowingly continue a friendship with someone he knows is in love with him.   I want to crawl into a hole and die. It’s what I’ve been dreading all along. I am so humiliated.  For once heartbreak doesn’t come into it.  I’ve been dealing with that for months.  But I had my pride.  And now I don’t even have that.  How can I face him, knowing that he knows?  He’s probably gone over in his head all the clues he’s missed.  My moods, my insistence that he find his former self.  What a fool I’ve been thinking that it would make any difference.  If he loved me, he’d love me, memories or not.  The hijacking wasn’t the cause.   His love for me had simply burned out.  Or he’s been right all this time.  It was illusion.  Never real in the first place.  How stupid I’ve been.  Peeta’s been telling me all along how he feels, but I’ve refused to accept it.   I don’t know how long I stay on the porch. It’s like I can’t move, because to do so will require some kind of action, or emotion on my part.  A great weariness seems to have pervaded my very bones.  I haven’t felt this way since those early days when I returned to 12, when my entire world had shrunk to an old rocker in a corner of my kitchen.   It seems such a comforting thing, to shut the world out entirely, and not have to deal with it.  Across the road, I see the lights in Peeta’s house go out.  Johanna has retired for the night then.  Haymitch is still up.  Even from here I can hear his television blaring.  Whether I participate or not, life goes on.  

I stretch out my stiffened legs and rise from the porch.  Perhaps this is for the best, this end of hope.  I can give up this game.  That the question of whether I can regain Peeta’s love has been answered, even if that answer is a resounding no.   I’m now entirely free to act as I wish because whatever I do won’t make a scrap of difference as far as Peeta is concerned. I can survive this just as I’ve survived everything else.  I know I can. It might even mark the start of something new and exciting.  I’ll try every food at the feast.  Or I could be like Peeta.  He found love again.  What did he say to me once long ago, when I despaired that I will never again be loved as he had loved me?     “I hope that you will, and it will the kind of love where you both feel the same way about each other." Marcus has started to pack away his maps when I enter the house.   “How was Haymitch?” he asks. “He’s good.  We had to sit through “One Life to Live” though.  Celia lost her virginity and Blake is miserable.  That’s all you really need to know.” “Good to see the tables turned for a change. And no, I don’t watch it, if that’s what you’re thinking.  I’ve just seen the advertising on TV for it.” I walk over to the table and peer down at one of the charts.  It’s an aerial photograph of the lake area.  A small square structure at the edge of the lake must be the concrete house.   Marcus comes to stand close behind me. “I’ve been mapping out walks we can do from the lake.  Nothing too arduous.  I thought it would be nice if we have time to simply relax and enjoy the surroundings. Here, I’ll show you one of them.” He takes one of my hands and traces a loop that takes in a densely wooded area nearby.  I know it well.  

His body is warm against my back, and I press into it.  The hand that covers mine comes to rest around my waist to pull me closer.  Something stirs in me, something primitive and wholly physical that has been suppressed for far too long.   And there’s something else too.   The need for human contact?  Affection? Reassurance that even if Peeta doesn’t want me I’m still desirable and worthy of being loved?   I don’t know and I don’t stop to analyze it.  I’m done with thinking.  I want to be a creature purely of the senses, unconcerned with anything beyond this moment.  His free hand pushes aside my braid and his head dips to nuzzle my neck.   His beard, rough and soft at the same time, sends tiny shockwaves of pleasure down the entire length of my body.  And when I turn within the circle of his arms, his lips are waiting for me.  

[cieloxcnco]

yo te haré mía (cnco) - ch9

Chapter 9

Words: 3,200+

Warnings: first scene has light implications of smut. second scene you’re fine. third gets a little raunchy but not down and dirty.

A/N: all necessary things to lead up to Ch 10 when the real shit starts going down. sorry you waited so long for something so meh, but it gets better. swear. chapter 8 is here if you want to catch up.

Zabdiel slid his heavy steel rings off his fingers into a jewelry dish on the nightstand as he sat on the edge of his side of the bed, heaving out a sigh. “He's finally asleep.” Isabella muttered in assent, brushing her hair out over her shoulder before sliding beneath the bedsheets. “I feel horrible,” he grumbled, rubbing his palms over his cropped hair. “I do miss spending time with him. I feel like this whole album has taken over everything.” He rolled his shoulders with an audible huff, shedding his t-shirt and making short work of sliding his jeans to the ground. Grouping the laundry together in a ball he tossed it into the hamper, a small grin at the victory. “It should all be better once the new album is done.” Isa rolled to the inside of the bed, facing toward him for a change. “And after the album is promotional things and interviews, after promo is a tour, and after a tour is another album. There’s no slowing down or stopping, Zabdiel.” He collapsed into the pillow beside her, his arm thrown haphazardly over his eyes, almost in defeat. She tucked her hands under her head. “The cycle of your career won’t stop. And the difficulty with your family won’t stop until you show some effort.” He lifted his arm off his face and lowered his gaze to meet hers. “We're not only talking about Joaquin anymore, are we?” Isa looked down toward the lump in the sheets where her toes were hiding. “You have to understand,” she began slowly, “how alone all of this has made me feel.” He huffed, throwing his arm down on the mattress beside him. “How am I supposed to know how you feel if you don’t tell me?” She still couldn’t look to his face. “How am I supposed to tell you how to parent, how to be a husband? Your sole focus right now is being a musician. It’s frustrating when the people on the outside of it have to cope without you, but it’s been so long we’ve gotten used to the situation. It just doesn’t make it easier to stomach.” Zabdiel stared up at the ceiling, clearly ingesting her words and now deep in thought. He was silent for a few minutes, no sound but their slow breathing. She knew that she had probably been harsher with him than was necessary, but clearly it had made an impact. She was just sure it would change nothing. “I promised you,” he started slowly, turning his body towards hers and trailing his hand down her arm until it clasped hers, “that I would be faithful, loyal, and loving, and I haven’t been that to you in a long time. I’ve taken you for granted and I’m sorry.” The shock set in and her mouth was too dry for her to speak. He squeezed her hand affectionately. “Maybe a little island getaway for the two of us before the baby comes?” She was a lot more hesitant about it than her immediate response let on. “I know that you need new inspiration for your love song. Being so tranquil and relaxed on vacation will make you a better songwriter.” “Amor, no.” Her gaze still focused away from him, he leaned down so his lips could meet hers. Surprised by the kiss, she looked up and met his eyes. “I want to be a better man for my family, a better father, a better husband for you.” She shook her head against the pillow, tracing her fingertips over his that were tightly clutching the pillow from underneath. “You can’t do that and put your music on the sidelines.” He shook his head in agreement. “No, es cierto, pero I can take small steps to show you all you mean to me. Saying it is only one part. You deserve to be shown it.” He sat up on his knees to be able to reach into the drawer in the table of the nearby nightstand. “I had this to give to you when we were going to go out tonight, but we didn’t really get that chance.” Retrieving a small jewelry box, he presented it in his hand that lay in his lap. She sat up beside him, hesitantly examining the box with her eyes, unsure if she should reach for it. “Izzy,” he chuckled, “I promise it won’t bite you.” Lifting the lid, she revealed inside a small silver oval locket. Engraved across the front were the the words “te recibo a ti” and in flipping to the back to find the opening there was the continuation “y me entrego a ti”,  a line of the vows they’d made at their wedding. A button sat below the hook of where the locket connected to the thin chain and pressing the button lightly opened the hinge of the locket. On the left panel was a thin layer of glass covering a backdrop of diamonds, a miniature blue orchid like that of her wedding bouquet pressed between. The right panel held a small photograph of the two from their wedding, staring into each other’s eyes with unmistakably genuine smiles. He lowered his head to be able to press his lips against her forehead. “Te lo prometí, mi amor, and I’m sorry I haven’t been acting like it. Pero te amo, y siempre te amaré.” The genuine thought and effort to create something so meaningful struck a chord in her heart. For so long, she had believed him incapable of any sort of effort involving her. Perhaps she had lost the will to put forth effort when she thought he had also given up. But he clearly hadn’t. The tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes were stopped as she shut them to pull him close and kiss him deeply. He shuffled the box back to the nightstand as he lost himself in her lips. And as his body fit to hers and they physically reconnected, she had to think that this was the connection that they had both been missing. And as they laid tangled in each other afterwards and he fell into peaceful sleep at her side, she couldn't help but stay awake wondering if now that they were trying to mend things if her secrets with Christopher would be too much to overcome.

-

Chris was never early to anything. Ever. But the lack of sleep he’d had the night before had him awake anyway, so he figured he might as well head to the dance studio for choreography rehearsal. It might have even given him time to relax and take his mind off of his best friend’s wife. If his best friend hadn’t been the only other person in the room. “Hey, man, ¿como estas?” Zabdiel was always so energetic even before caffeine and it was almost frightening. “Exhausted pero estoy aquí," he mumbled, rubbing his palms over his face. “¿Quieres café?” Zabdiel offered, reaching for his wallet and ready to run down the block to the Starbucks. “Nah, esta bien,” he murmured. “I already had a cup when I left.” He didn't want to admit that it was to shake how drunk he still had been from the night before. Knowing that Zabdiel was spending a romantic night with the woman that should have been in bed with him had been too much to mentally handle while sober. “You’ve been pulling late nights with Krista for a while though, hermano,” Zabdiel mused. “¿Que esta pasando?” “She’s stressing me out, bro,” he groaned, the still tipsy mind revealing the true thoughts he usually kept under wraps. “I get that everyone is talking about us and the new music. It’s bringing publicity like it was supposed to. I just can’t stand being around her anymore and she tries to make it real. I don’t want it.” Zabdiel studied his friend’s expression and how the stress didn’t leave his face when the alleged cause had been spoken. “That’s not all.” Chris tugged on the brim of his fitted cap and pulled it slightly over his eyes as he sat down against the mirrored wall. The only time Zabdiel had seen his bandmate engaged and excited lately was when he had been in the studio texting that girl, then writing that passionate ballad. “¿Crees que no estas feliz con ella porque estas pensando en otra?” Zabdiel chuckled. With the silence that followed, he quickly realized that it was less of a joke than it was hitting the nail on the head. “Si no estas feliz y quieres otra mujer,” he said softly, “¿por que no puedes acabar lo que tienes con Krista para empezar algo con la otra?” “It’s not that simple,” Chris muttered. “Why not?” Zabdiel asked, ending his bicep stretch and shrugging his shoulders to loosen them. “La otra esta casada,” Chris confessed. Zabdiel chuckled again before the uncomfortable realization sank in again that he again was not joking. “¿En serio?” “I know, man. It’s fucked up.” Christopher tossed his cap to the floor between his feet. “I knew her before she was married. And she’s told me she’s in love with me too. She just… She won’t leave him. And I don’t know what more I can do. I don’t want to break up a home but… Estoy tan enamorado. I… can’t live without her.” Zabdiel anxiously gnawed on the top of his water bottle. He couldn’t dare tell Chris of his secret that he had not taken those sacred religious vows as sincerely as he ought to have. But he understood the pull of love in the positive and the negative directions, and he refused to allow his friend to suffer with no love at all. “Pues, if you both are in love, it will work itself out. It’s complicated but you should hold on to something if it’s that undeniable type of love.” Christopher fiddled with the sideswept tendrils of his angled bang, letting out a nervous exhale. “How can a man who has a wife tell me to steal one?” “If she loved him enough,” he asserted, “then she never would have began anything with you at all.” Christopher exhaled heavily through his taut lips. "Tal vez.” “Sabes," Zabdiel reasoned, “If you feel love for her and her marido does not, then it’s time for it to be done and for the both of you to be together.” “How can you tell me that? You’re married. Imagínate-“ And Christopher stopped at once, realizing just what he was asking Zabdiel to envision. Zabdiel shook his head. “If her heart doesn’t belong to him, you’re not wrong.” Christopher scoffed. “Someone as pious as you- you don’t believe marriage is sacred? A commitment before God? How can you give me advice when you…” “Marriage is difficult. No one involved in one is ever perfect. I’m sure Izzy and I have not been perfect. But love is different than marriage. Love is something I understand, and I know how you must feel. You can’t let go of what you feel.” He sat across from Chris, still toying with the plastic spout on his water bottle. “It’s more complicated than that,” Chris whispered, regretting having allowed the subject to surface at all. Zabdiel continued, “Fear isn’t as strong as love. And I know the situation is scary, but you have to fight for her. You love her, right?” Chris kept his eyes pinned to the floor. “I’m in love with her. I can’t imagine my life without her. I look at my future and I see myself with her.” Zabdiel shrugged. “Well you have your answer.” Christopher toyed with his shoelaces, anxiously needing to busy his fingers. “It’s wrong. She has a husband and a life. I’m trying to let her go and let her be happy.” Zabdiel studied his friend’s nervous movements, trying to read what Christopher left unspoken. “You’re still having sex with her?” Again his silence was enough of an answer. “Then you’re not really trying to let her go.” Chris shook his head. “I want to do the right thing. I’m just in love with her, bro, and she loves me. She just won’t leave him.” Zabdiel leaned over and clapped his hand on Christopher’s shoulder. “It will work itself out. And you know I’m always here for you.” “Gracias, man,” Chris said, flipping his fitted cap on backwards and rocking his head back and forth to each shoulder as if it would shake the thoughts of her out of his mind. Zabdiel gave an acknowledging nod, trying to rid himself of his own advice. If they’d really been in love, one wouldn’t have strayed to start with. Maybe he didn’t… Maybe his indiscretions with Krista were telling him that it was over with Isabella and this trying to make it work was a futile effort. Richard, Joel, and Erick walked in with their coffee a moment later, joking and laughing from whatever they had spoken about on their trip. “¿Listos, chicos?” Richard asked, throwing down his cinch sack and taking a long chug of his iced macchiato. Clara pushed the doors open behind them and rushed ahead to stand in the center of them all. “Stop. Everything.” she panted. “We’re not rehearsing today.” “¿De que hablas?" Erick asked, tilting his head like a puppy who had just heard a foreign sound for the first time. “We’re going out and celebrating,” she started with her trademark beaming grin. “¿Estamos celebrando que?” Erick pushed. “You guys,” she squealed, “were just nominated for a Grammy for Album of the Year.”

-

The evening had spun out of control pretty quickly. The early afternoon was all the boys huddled in the dance studio, tweeting and posting to their instagram stories about the Grammy details. They eventually made their way back to SONY to go over specifics for promotion, did a Skype call with Ricky Martin from the conference room, and called in to three radio stations for interviews and congratulations. Only then did they get the opportunity to call everyone they knew, who already knew because of the social media posts. It was decided that the evening would be made into an impromptu party at Zabdiel’s house. Noemi was more than happy to take her grandchildren for an unplanned sleepover so her son could have the chance to properly celebrate with his friends. There was always enough liquor in the spread of their basement to take care of all friends, production, and family. And it had all night long. Isabella being so far along pregnant couldn’t drink so just tended to all of her husband’s guests. Most of the producers, DJs, and fellow artists in their circle had left after one in the morning. Clara caught an Uber back to her AirBNB with Kevin about two hours after. Joel had been playing billiards with Chris but disappeared about half an hour before in search of a snack and had yet to return. Yashua and Richard were aggressively playing basketball on the court right outside. Erick had been playing Xbox games alone but had stumbled up the stairs to find Joel for further competition and had been lost for ten minutes. Zabdiel, as was common in most situations, had sat on a corner of the couch and fallen asleep. Having consumed more than his fair share of alcohol, there would be no waking him now. Chris had thought this out almost strategically. His celebration would be best experienced sober when the rest had ended their night and he got the opportunity to be alone with her. He had a few drinks sporadically throughout the night, but to keep up appearances only, not to drink to excess. He placed his pool cue on the table and stepped quietly over as Isa covered her snoring husband with a blanket. "¿Necesitas ayuda?" "No, estoy bien, gracias,” she said softly, visibly stiffening. “Gracias por todo lo que has hecho esta noche, amorcita,” Chris breathed, skating his hands up her hips and breathing softly against her ear. “Christopher, what are you doing?” she hissed, knowing she should break away but falling further back into his embrace. “What I’ve wanted to do all night,” he murmured, kissing a path down from her temple to the base of her neck. “Are you insane? Zabdi is right here,” she seethed, wriggling in his arms. She stared at her husband’s sleeping body beside her and gasped, but felt electricity surge through her as Christopher’s hands stroked down to the apex of her thighs. “Y el no tiene que saber nada,” he groaned, pressing into her. “Todavía estoy enojada contigo,” she moaned quietly, winding her waist against his. “Obviously.” He nipped at the nape of her neck and slipped his hand into her jeans. “We need to stop taking shots at each other and just accept we’re in love and this isn’t over.” His fingertip touched her clit and she clutched his wrists for stability. “Amor,” she exclaimed, begging for nothing specific but she didn’t need to say it. “You want it,” he insisted, his growing desire pressing into her from behind. “I know it. You push me away but it’s because you’re scared by how much you need me.” “Christopher,” she gasped. Zabdiel stirred in his sleep and Isa jumped, jerking her body to the side which only made the friction of Chris’ hand send more sensation up her spine. “Ay, Dios mio.” “I shouldn’t have pushed about the baby,” he murmured, now pulling the collar of her top down so he could lay open mouthed kisses on her shoulder. He feared her moving away again but saw she was too lost in pleasure to react. “I’m sorry. I just love you. I want you. I want all of you.” “Fuck me, papi,” she pleaded, leaning forward to grip the back of the couch. Chris withdrew his hand and smirked, sarcastically repeating her warning. “Are you insane? Zabdi is right here.” “A mi no me importa,” she sighed, turning to face him and gripping the back of his neck to pull his head down to meet hers. She kissed him fiercely, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him as close as her belly bump allowed them. It was an immediate spark that ignited a wildfire. It didn’t matter how wrong it was- something this intense could not be so easily extinguished. He roared into her mouth as he kissed her, his one hand sliding up her back and his other sliding to grab her ass. He took a brief breath between their parted lips just to say, “Lo siento. Te amo tanto,” before pouring himself back into their kiss. In the back of his mind he realized that he shouldn’t be debating about whether to set her down on all fours next to her unconscious husband or to bring her up to bed, but the thought was all that was running through his mind. He stopped again to ask how she wanted to continue, only to hear stammering from the staircase. “¿Q- Que hacen?” Isa and Chris both whipped their heads around to see Erick, mouth agape, staring at them from the doorway, surely having seen the entire thing.

- chapter 10 is now here

[fuckkerydicckery]

What if the Potters had Really Lived | Part three

Sirius Black tucked his long hair behind his ears, he was waiting for Arthur Weasley to show up to the Order meeting. So far most of the members were at the meeting place for the Order. He saw Dumbledore talking to young auror. Sirius Black recognized him as Kingsley Shacklebolt. Sitting across from Sirius was Minerva McGonagall, one of Sirius’s former professors. She was reading her newspaper and by the looks of her face, she was absorbing all the information. Sirius noticed some people were talking in hushed reverent tones and others were reading their papers. It was a period of dark times and Sirius Black was in the middle of the chaos.

All Sirius wanted was his best friend, James Potter, beside him. Ever since James and his son and wife went into hiding in the Weasley home, Sirius’s contact with the Potters was nonexistent. The only time he had some sort of conversation with the Potters was when Arthur would give Sirius a letter from Lily and James. James wasn’t Sirius only friend, he technically had two other friends. One was by name the name of Remus Lupin and the other was Peter Pettigrew. Remus was mostly at the Order meetings but because he was a werewolf once a month he missed a meeting because it was the full moon. Today was one of those days, normally he and Remus would be talking about some serious issue or laughing remembering the days when life was simple. Peter Pettigrew became a sore topic to both Remus and Sirius as he was in Azkaban. Just six months earlier they realized Peter betrayed the Potters and everyone in the Order as he became a Death Eater. Immediately he was sent to Azkaban. After he was sent to Azkaban Sirius immediately told Dumbledore that he was an illegal amiganus and he could easily escape. Dumbledore fixed that problem quickly, but Sirius felt guilty spilling a secret they promised they would never tell anyone. But that was before all of this happened, before James went into hiding, before the order, before Peter became a death eater.

Sirius spotted Arthur from across the room, he waved the ginger man over so he could sit beside Sirius. Really, Arthur was now Sirius’s only friend aside from Remus Lupin. Sirius really didn’t remember Arthur Weasley when he went to Hogwarts, he knew that Arthur Weasley was head boy and that he was an excellent Quidditch player but that's about it. They were seven years apart and Sirius knew Arthur would never bat an eye about the first year when he was in seventh. But now, age didn’t matter. What mattered was the protection of the Potters and stopping the Dark Lord. Arthur shuffled through the crowd trying to grab a seat beside Sirius. Arthur managed to get a seat beside Sirius and the minute he sat down Dumbledore called the meeting to order. Sirius was disappointed as he wanted to talk to Arthur about the Potters and other things going on, but he knew that people had places to be and Dumbledore needed to assign missions to people.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming, we have a lot of information to share today so we must quickly get started.” Dumbledore boomed, grabbing everyone's attention, “so far we have managed to find three Horcruxes, but we have no idea on how to destroy them.” Everyone in the room started to whisper as Dumbledore announced they have found the items that would eventually lead to the death of the Dark Lord. Sirius didn’t know how to destroy the Horcruxes, neither did anyone else in the room. Before Dumbledore told the Order about Horcruxes he didn't know they even existed.

“If I may,” Horace Slughorn peeped in through all the whispers, “ the act of Horcruxes is extremely dark magic, a simple spell would not destroy the soul as well as the dark magic within it. We need something that would kill a human within seconds, or more like destroying the human within seconds.” When Slughorn was talking it reminded him of Lily Potter. She always loved potions class with Slughorn when they attended Hogwarts. Every lick of information he told the class she absorbed, she even knew things that sometimes Slughorn didn’t know or for any teacher of that matter. Sirius knew Lily would have some sort of an idea about how to destroy the Horcruxes. He would have to tell Arthur to ask Lily of what she thought about the issue.

“Sir,” Sirius started, “what are the Horcruxes you have at the moment?”

“We have a diary, a ring, and Helga Hufflepuff's cup. We tried to get Salazar Slytherin's locket but it turns out someone got it before us, they left a note within the false locket. Their initials were R.A.B.” Dumbledore explained to the group. But once Sirius heard the last few words of his sentence he stopped paying attention. Everyone started to talk again,moving on from the subject but all Sirius could think about was the initials and the locket.

“It’s my brother,” Sirius whispered under his breath, no one heard him or if they did they ignored Sirius.

“It’s my brother,” Sirius said once more, louder for the crown to hear. Everyone stopped talking and faced Sirius, “he is R.A.B, the locket must be within Grimmauld place.” Ever since his brother died he never really thought about him, he tried to ignore the fact his brother died because of the Dark Lord. But now he knew Regulus was trying to stop the Dark Lord, which gave Sirius some sort of comfort.

The meeting went on for another hour but the main conversation was talking about assignments to missions. So far Sirius was not sent on a mission ever since James went into hiding, most likely for safety issues. But today, he was assigned a mission.T o retrieve the locket from his parents old home. Sirius hadn’t been in his childhood home in years, he never planned on going back. But because his whole family was dead he was the heir of the home. Sirius knew he had to do this for the Potters and anyone else within the order. Sirius started to make a game plan within his head when Arthur tapped his shoulder.

“Lily wrote this letter for you, it's easier than me telling you everything,” Arthur explained to Sirius, immediately Sirius snatched the letter excited to finally have another way of contact with the Potters.

“Thank you, Arthur, tell Lily thank you. Also, could you tell her if she has any idea of how to destroy the Horcruxes?” Sirius told Arthur, “ and once again thank you.  Thank you for protecting my best friends, we owe you everything.”

‘It’s the least I can do, Sirius. Molly and I don’t mind. I will make sure I ask Lily, she may have an idea. But I should leave you to your letter.” Arthur replied, leaving Sirius with his letter. Sirius quickly opened the letter waiting to absorb all the words.

Sirius,

I believe it's much easier to write a letter then to tell Arthur everything so he can deliver it to you. Things get lost in translation and as well people forget.

You know that both James and I are bored out of our minds, we cannot leave past the backyard and as well we can’t have anyone from the outside world come and visit us. If we could, you and Remus would be at the top of our list. We miss you both so much, mostly James. Arthur is a very nice and James does like his company and hopefully, you do as well,  but I know it isn’t the same as both of you being with James. You two know everything about my husband, maybe more than I. You are more than best friends, you are more so like brothers. Hopefully, soon we can get back to life as normal as it was before.

Harry is as well growing, he is starting to put sentences together. Him and Ron talk constantly, it's mostly all babble but to them it's real. I can already tell they will be lifelong friends. Sometimes Harry asks about Uncle Moony and Padfoot, it breaks my heart to tell Harry that we can’t see them for a little bit. Harry doesn’t understand what we mean, but he misses you terribly.

Please tell Slughorn to make sure he adds a pinch of Sandroot within his potion to take away Peters ability to turn into a rat, I’ve been researching and I believe this will help. As well tell Dumbledore that all the Horcruxes will be objects and items with importance to the Dark Lord.

All the love,

Lily

Sirius’s eyes welled up as he read the letter, once he finished he started back at the top again. His heart ached to see the Potter's once more. It felt nice to have something Lily had touched and put her heart into, he could imagine her writing this letter sipping on some tea watching the children run wild. Sirius looked around the room to find either Dumbledore or Slughorn and he found them together talking. Sirius got up from his seat and slithered through the groups of people talking until he reached his past professors.

“Sorry to interrupt sirs, but I have important information that will benefit both of you.” Sirius told both the gentlemen, “Lily wrote me a letter, by the end she mentioned both of you.”

“What did she say?” Slughorn asked, with hope within his eyes.

“She said to tell you that adding a pinch of Sandwood to your potion will help.” Sirius informed Slughorn, then he turned to Dumbledore, “she also said that the Horcruxes will be something with sentiment to the Dark Lord.”

Sirius excused himself from the two men, then went to leave. He stuffed the letter within his bag then took a deep breath. Soon he would be entering his childhood home, but he needed to do this for the Potters. He needed to do it for humanity's sake.

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Granted, the Shaqtin' A Fool favorite only took layups and dunks, though 15 points on 6-of-7 from the field looks good regardless of where the points come from. The Warriors' win doubled as their 21st game of the season scoring 110 points or more. Beyond another impressive output, it was far from Golden State's sharpest effortthough the result was a marked improvement over last season's 113-95 loss in Michigan. The Pistons turned 12 steals and 23 total Warriors turnovers into 33 points. They outscored Golden State in the paint (54-46) and on the break (19-12) while shooting better than 50 percent from the field. Tobias Harris torched the Warriors for 26 points off the bench, with Andre Drummond (15 points), Reggie Jackson (17 points, six assists) and Kentavious Caldwell-Pope (25 points) all landing in double figures. Golden State will have to be better on both ends if it's going to extend its current winning streak to eight games. The Warriors' next tilt is the marquee matchup of Christmas Day: the season's first faceoff with the Cleveland Cavaliers, who erased a 3-1 series deficit to upend that 73-win squad in the 2016 Finals. The current Cavs won't be whole for this one. Minneapolis They'll once again be without J.R.

For the original version including any supplementary images or video, visit http://bleacherreport.com/articles/2683541-friday-nba-roundup-warriors-rolling-ahead-of-finals-rematch-with-cavaliers