#........then i better do at least two tomorrow to keep the pace of the queue up lmao

[byanyan]

i'm officially into drafts from january!!! ...which i do believe is when the majority of my drafts were already from anyway, since i've dropped fewer of them, but still. progress. i've got like...... a page and 2/3 left. my drafts are under 35 as of tonight. we're getting there. ...slowly. i've got a lot more shorter stuff from jan tho, whereas most things before that were (mostly) all a lot longer, so in theory i should be able to speed through some of these easier? we'll see. either way, i'm catchin' up, nerds

[thessalian]

Thess vs Slacking Off

Well, the good news is that Temp apparently has a sixth sense for how far to push her luck (or Violet or Milady have been picking up her slack today, either way), because she didn’t seem to be pulling her usual bullshit.

The bad news? Goblin pulled some egregious bullshit that turned a properly paced day into a little over an hour of pushing-too-hard nightmare and logging out five minutes past home-time.

See, even at our worst as far as workload goes, the thing we mainly try to do is be no more than 24 hours behind on the typing. It’s not always easy, but we try. And today it looked like we actually had it! I mean, only barely, but seriously, one of the last bits of dictation from yesterday was a twelve-minute monstrosity from someone who doesn’t normally do those kids of dictations, and whose dictation I usually dislike anyway because she’s got some sentence structure issues and will use ten words when one will do. Still, most of the rest of the typing was fairly okay so I figured I could take a minute to breathe and work at a regular pace for the last hour and a half or so before close of play. This should have been fine - I got the longer stuff done first so that I could time my day better, and was looking forward to a relatively gentle hour for once.

Except then I noticed that the number of dictations in the queue had grown a lot between the start of my two-minute dictation and the end of it. Like, I know the difference between “a lot of people dictating at about the same time” spikes and “someone just dumped a whole wodge from their queue back into the main queue” spikes, and this was basically the latter. And as it was 4pm, and Goblin’s day ends at 4pm, I had an inkling as to what had happened. So I figured I’d check just to make sure that there was going to be nothing from yesterday that would need to be done before close of play.

There were over a dozen reports from yesterday, all timestamped from before my end-of-yesterday chunk. It seems she pulled her usual trick of idling and chatting and gossiping and whatever the fuck it is she does to kill time, got next to nothing done on the typing she generally hates doing anyway, and then just dumped it all back in the queue when the clock struck 4. Hell, she was halfway through one, as far as I could tell - the one on the top of her list had the specimen details and clinical details typed in but she’d left without doing the main body.

Now, I know that you obviously want to leave on time. Particularly Goblin, as she lives a long way away and there are some timetable issues with the bus local to her house. However, it fucks everyone over if you sit on stuff in your queue for several hours, barely touch it, and then dump it all back in. If you know you’re not going to get the typing done for whatever reason, you leave it there, so others can arrange their workload accordingly. But no. No, she just idled through the last couple of hours of the day and then dumped all the stuff she couldn’t be bothered to do into the main queue again, so that those of us who work past 4pm would look bad when there’s this chunk of yesterday’s typing carrying over to tomorrow.

Well, Temp wasn’t going to touch it. I knew that perfectly well. So I grabbed it and got through it, and somehow managed to get them all done while only going five minutes past the clock. I mean, I’m paying for it now, but at least it’s done. While I may not like having to pick up my colleagues’ slack (because I really, really don’t), I do actually take pride in doing my job to the best of my abilities, and if I can keep us from being more than 24 hours behind on the typing, then that’s what I’ll fucking well do. Besides, knowing my luck, I’d get some of the blame for it splashed on me. I work too hard to be tarred with that brush, thanks.

Another bit of good news, though, is that I might not have to go into the office to help with the phones while Scruffman’s on holiday in a couple of weeks. I’m ringing to talk to him about it on Friday, but seems that there’ll probably be enough cover for the phones. I mean, this is good because after the bullshit I’ve taken from Temp and Goblin this week, it might be better to not have me share space with them, lest I throttle them both.

Anyway, at least I did the baked chicken and vegetables thing for dinner yesterday, so plenty of leftovers, and don’t have to cook. I think that would be a step too far. There will be a shops run in a little bit, though. Today’s one of those days when I deserve chocolate.

[lgcjino]

JIAH   、

Genetics will always impress Jiah. Yes, she almost failed science when she was in high school, but to be able to appreciate it (or, in this case, wonder why it was unfair enough not to give her some extra centimetres instead of making her brother a giant at the age of 20), Jiah didn’t need to understand it properly. She has the sudden urge to punch Jino again but stops herself from her violent instincts.

“You got a fair point. How many times did we leave Seoul in the past year since moving there, after all? Compared to when we lived with Mom and Dad, we’ve barely been anywhere while they are out there enjoying their childless lives,” and that’s true. Of course, it’s unfair to compare the lives of two well-established adults to two kids who are still figuring things out, and it’s not like Jiah is upset about their predicament. If anything, she’s glad they are all following their paths and doing what they want with their lives. It doesn’t mean she can’t miss the free family trips they went on when they were younger.

Jiah chuckles and shakes her head, “have I ever promised you something I couldn’t keep? Don’t answer that,” she quickly adds. “I think they said something about 8 PM to be ready to leave the park, but honestly, I don’t think they’ll leave us behind. If we’re late, they’ll get someone to look for us. Either way, we still got quite a few hours until then,” she reassures Jino because despite not being the most organized person, Jiah suddenly develops some sense of responsibility whenever she’s with her brother.

“Of course, I told them we’re here. How often exactly do you talk with them?” Jiah feigns incredulity as they move along with the queue. She’s not a prime example of a good daughter, she imagines, but Jiah tries to call either their mom or their dad at least every two weeks to update them on things, or whenever something big comes up. Poor parents had to hear her complain about the Project Origin musical for way too many hours. “Mom even asked for another snow globe, even though we’ve got so many at home already.”

obviously not often enough.

he turns, trying to not be so obvious that he was side-stepping her question. the line was moving at a snail’s pace, but he skips forward some for when it does move beyond a centimeter.

it was funny to think of their parents as empty-nesters when in actuality, they kind of lived their whole lives to that extent — towing themselves and their children all over the world, living like they didn’t have anything tying them down.  ( and for the time, jino had loved every minute of it  —  until the school year started and he was back in his khaki and dress shirts, snoozing on a school desk )

jino nods, agreeing to her sentiment, “i forgot  —  have them come back from the mediterranean or are they still there?” sure, he was guilty of not calling often  —  but he left the updates and what not to jiah, she had always been better with that kind of stuff. jino kind of just came along for the ride at most times, and he preferred it.

“snowglobe, got it. maybe we can pick one up tomorrow. i know grandma wants a few magnets for when we go to taiwan.”

while he didn’t call often to his parents, at least he made the effort that his parents didn’t when it came to their grandparents  —  after all, they were practically his and jiah’s entire fanclub in seoul. “do you think we’ll have time to get something fish-related for grandpa?”

[weuschoiceheart]

⋘I-Land (OT9) / Enhypen⋙ Love, I-Land

A special collection of stories, for a special group of boys...Happy anniversary to eggies, it’s been a year since I-Land announced the first batch of trainees, a year since we all dive into this roller coaster ride of a show.

~ Inspired by Taylor Swift’s love songs ~

Tagging: @mari-kigold @akira-star @affectionaterainoflove @enhypenthusiast @periwinkle-ink

Warning: suggestive in K’s part (just a brief makeout session), angsty in some parts BUT there’s fluff to make up for it, cursing (literally all my works have curse words in them, I can’t write without making the characters curse at least once lmao)

Word Count: 6k+

K - Wildest Dreams ; passionate love

You didn’t know how you two ended up like this.

It was just a simple school project, and you’ve told yourself it was going to be nothing more than that. That's what you kept repeating in your head, over and over again as you called him over. Yet in your heart, you knew you just wanted him all over you again, even if it’s just temporary, even though you knew it would tear you apart.  

Nothing lasts forever...but this is gonna take me down.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

You shouldn’t be making out with the school’s enigma, you shouldn’t have invited him to your house in the first place, knowing it would end up like this, with your lips latched onto his. You shouldn’t be reciprocating the kiss, his mouth hot against yours, one hand tangled in your shirt to bring you ever closer, the other wrapped tight around your waist that you knew it would leave bruises. And most of all, you shouldn’t be enjoying this as his lips moved down your neck, his warm breath tickling your sweet spot, tongue flicking over your collarbone.

Because you knew this moment would be your last, before he disappears and leaves you with a gaping hole in your heart.

K finally pulls away, panting slightly as he tilts his head, a cute gesture that doesn’t match the smirk on his face. “Your lips are so red.”

Bringing a hand up to touch them, you knew they were swollen from the amount of times he bit and nipped at them. Your eyes flicked to his, before looking away. “Well, so are yours.”

K studied you for a bit, his gaze searching, making you feel suddenly small under his glare. What is he thinking? After a moment, he lets go of you, standing up and straightening out his shirt. “I’m going to go. See you tomorrow.”

And suddenly, you felt that panicky feeling in your chest again, and the fear came rushing back. You don’t know if you’ll see him tomorrow, or ever again. Those were just casual words, something to say instead of “goodbye,” because some part of you, maybe it was just wishful thinking, hopes he feels the same. But K isn’t like that. He’s like the autumn breeze that comes and goes, before sending your life into winter without his presence. He never abides by the rules, and floats in that gray area in between, where your relationship with him also lies.

You knew what you were getting into when you kissed him on the rooftop that day, knew that it would only cause you pain. You don’t want your time with him, all these passionate moments of love, to disappear until you can only recall them in your wildest dreams.

Your body reacts before you can think, grabbing his arm as he turned to the door. He stiffened in your grasp, but didn’t make an effort to break away.

“Stay, please.” You mentally curse your voice for sounding so weak, the hand on his arm trembling.

K turned around to face you again, his cold, calculating eyes softening as they met your uncertain ones. His arm finally relaxed, and he sat down again.

“Alright.”

Heeseung - Superstar ; idol love

“I swear to god, why aren’t they picking up?” you tapped your phone in frustration, frowning. As if on cue, a message lit up your screen, and you opened it, curious to see the reason behind your friend’s unresponsiveness.

Sorry, I won’t be able to make it to the concert. I’m working on a project with K.

“K, huh?” you shook your head at your friend’s words. “Aren’t they afraid that he’ll break their heart? Project, my ass.”

Sighing, you pocketed your phone. There’s not much you can do to convince them that their relationship with K was only going to hurt them, but you couldn’t stop the two from having their hands all over each other, ever since your friend came to you screeching about their first kiss on the school rooftop. Like some romantic K-drama where a bad boy falls for the good girl.

Well, not like your love life is any better....

You shook your head, deciding to push these thoughts out of your head and go enjoy your school’s spring concert by yourself. At least you’ll be able to stare at Heeseung all you want without your friend teasing you.

A small twinge of sadness echoed in your chest at the thought of Heeseung, but you quickly pushed that out of your mind. You weren’t here just for him, of course. Youngbin and Geonu were doing a duet, Seon had a sexy solo that he’s been bragging about for weeks, and Nicholas, Jaeho, and the rest of their dance team prepared a special stage as well. So no, as much as you like spending most of the time ogling Heeseung, you were there to support your friends, have a good time off from your studies, and ignoring these annoying fangirls that always surround him—

Yeah, right. You knew it all circles back to Heeseung eventually.

Kicking at some pebbles on the ground, you sighed and realized that the guards were about to close the entrance doors soon. Joining the queue of parents and students, you handed your ticket to the theater teacher (who fixed you with a scrutinizing stare, perhaps remembering you as that problematic theater student she took under her wing a few years ago) and entered the auditorium. The lights dimmed, and the show began. 

You screamed yourself hoarse during the performances, cheering on your friends (turns out Seon’s performance did live up to the epic stage he was talking about, you saw the girls—and some boys—practically drooling), and the thought of Heeseung left your mind. Until the final encore, that is, when he and Geonu took center stage to cover “Butterfly” by BTS.

Your eyes widened as he started singing, heart racing a million miles per hour. A smile unconsciously made its way onto your face, and your breath caught in your throat as his eyes flickered over the audience. As if reading your mind, they landed on you, leaving you breathless. Please notice me...oh my god, his eyes are so pretty....

“Did you see that? He made eye contact with me!” the girl beside you squealed, and the moment was gone. The smile wiped off your face, and you turned to her, seeing her beaming at the same boy you were looking at before. Your gaze broke away to scan the masses of people staring at the boys on stage with love-struck expressions on their faces, and suddenly you just feel...alone. Some part of your heart broke, and it was like reality struck you across your face.

You were just another wide-eyed fan desperately in love with a superstar who doesn’t even know your name.

That revelation followed you outside after the concert ended, and as if the weather understands your thoughts, it had started pouring outside. Rummaging around in your bag, only to come up empty, you gulped down your tears and resolved to walk home without an umbrella. Damn it, you should’ve come prepared!

Well, you can’t really prepare for heartbreak, can you?

You hadn’t gone two paces however, when you felt something opening up above you, and turning, you almost had a heart attack upon seeing Heeseung standing beside you. He held an umbrella over you both, his eyes darting from you to the ground, a small blush painted across his cheeks. He seemed fidgety, unlike the confident boy on stage moments ago, and you’re left speechless. An awkward silence passed between you two, before he cleared his throat.

“You’re really cute—I mean, you’re Y/N from my research class, right?” You nodded, internally screaming at the fact that he just called you cute. “I...I, um, I saw you didn’t have an umbrella and it’s really pouring out here, so uh-” he laughed nervously, a small grin forming on his lips as he stared at you expectedly. “Do you want to share?”

Jake - Fearless ; first love

“Bleh, sappy couples,” you shook your head, wrinkling your nose at the scene in front of you. Then again, everyone basically called you and Jake a sappy couple, so you really shouldn’t be saying anything.

Speaking of Jake, you caught him running down the road towards you, his umbrella jostling over his head. Laughing to yourself, you watched as the umbrella caught on another, then got tangled in a whole mess of umbrellas. Jake quickly disentangled his from the rest, apologizing profusely to the party of concert-goers who only shook their heads and motioned for him to go. Giving them a slight nod, he ran up to you, thankfully with no further mishaps, stumbling to a stop in front of you.

“Hi,” he said breathlessly, beaming at you. You swear every time you look at him, it was like falling for him all over again. Despite the cold and the rain, the feeling spread all over you and you felt suddenly warm and fuzzy.

“Let’s go.” You grabbed his hand, and he tucked you under the umbrella, arm wrapped around your waist. The two of you began walking home. “How was the concert?”

“Amazing, though I still wish you got to perform,” you snuggled up to his side, unable to keep a smile off your face. Jake sighed, somewhat regretfully.

“You know I have to work overtime this week, or I won’t be able to pay the rent for the apartment.”

“I know, I know.” You turned to him, eyeing the dark bags under his eyes. “You look exhausted....hey, you should’ve gone home to rest, not come out in the rain to pick me up. You can catch a cold—”

“I don’t want you to walk home by yourself after dark, it’s too dangerous,” Jake interrupted. He grinned at you, and you felt like your heart was gonna melt. Is this what love feels like? Then I’m glad that he’s my first.

The two of you were almost home, when you realized that you were approaching the abandoned parking lot near your house. An idea struck you then, and you suddenly grabbed Jake’s hand, startling him out of his rant about the shitty customer at the cafe.

“Come on, let’s dance in the rain.”

“Huh?” Jake’s eyebrows knit into a frown. “Weren’t you worried about catching a cold a few minutes ago?”

You shook your head, a cheeky grin on your face. Your heartbeat quickened, a shot of adrenaline rushing through you. You weren’t usually like this, but you thought back to the shows you watched, and well, first love means trying something new, right? “The rain is letting up Jake, we’ll be fine. Please?”

A flicker of doubt crossed his face, and you thought he was going to say no, before he nodded and closed the umbrella. You let out a gasp as the cool drops hit your face, and a loud squeal when Jake grabbed your hand and twirled you around the parking lot.

You thought this only existed in movies, but it’s all real. You’re dancing with the love of your life, fearlessly, in the middle of a rain shower. His hands clasped around your waist, a wide smile stretching from ear to ear as you grabbed onto his shoulders and he lifted you off your feet, like the ballroom dances in these old fashioned films. The wind whistled in your ears, the rain splashing on the sidewalk sounds like music. You couldn’t stop laughing, and neither can he, and you knew you were going to remember this moment for the rest of your life.

However, your strength gave out after a while, and the two of you stood there, swaying side to side. At this point, you couldn’t care that your clothes are wet and sticking to your skin, and you lean your forehead against Jake’s. He giggled, small droplets of water trailing down from his soaked hair. And he slowly leans in, the distance between you two shortening, your hands begin to shake as your breath quickens.

Is he going to—?

Sensing your nervousness, he grabbed one of your hands in his, pulling you in. You felt a little more brave as you tugged at the front of his shirt in your other hand, and connected your lips, at last.

It’s a first kiss, it’s flawless, really something, it’s fearless.

Jay - Ours ; long distance love

Lucky Jake, you muttered to yourself, sighing as you rested your head on the counter. He doesn’t have to deal with stupid customers at this time, and at least he has more experience with people yelling at him. Or maybe you’re just jealous that he has someone to hang out with, go on dates with, and laugh by his side.

You smiled sadly to yourself and took out your phone, opening the photo gallery. You felt a pang of nostalgia and wistfulness as you clicked on the first photo of you and Jay. It was from your date at the shopping mall, where Jay had chosen several outfits and forced you to try them on. It was a time where you had let your insecurities get the best of you, and Jay was having none of it. The photo was of him hugging you after you tried on one of the outfits he picked out.

You look beautiful, you can hear him say. Stunning, amazing, don’t ever doubt yourself again.

I won’t, you had murmured back. Thank you, love.

“Seriously, is this some sort of playhouse? Can’t even do their job right....”

Your head quickly shot up, eyes widening at the intimidating businessman in front of you. Fuck, not him again....

He rolled his eyes at you. “Two large cups of mocha latte with a half shot of espresso. And make it quick, I’m in a hurry.”

You purse your lips in disdain. “Yes, sir.”

Putting your phone away, you sighed as you began making his order. If Jay was here, he would’ve made you laugh by making fun of his attitude, or just straight up told the man off. But he’s not here, and he’s not going to help you out, you thought to yourself, gritting your teeth together as you mixed the coffee. He’s working for that fashion company in Paris, so just let him live his dream. C’mon, Y/N, just make this damn coffee, give it to that damn businessman who can’t keep his damn mouth shut—

“Be careful, you idiot! You’re going to spill them!”

You snapped out of your daze, again, by the harsh voice of the customer, who grabbed the two coffees, spilling foam over your hands, causing you to hiss in pain. And he had the audacity to walk away muttering, “Gosh, I’m never coming back to this shitty place again.”

Swallowing the pain, you went to wash your hands at the sink. It’s part of the job, there will always be some people yelling at you, it’s not your fault, you tried to comfort yourself, though you were sick and tired of this. This endless routine, the fake smiles you have to put on, a gaping hole in your heart you can’t cover up. It’s been over a year since Jay has gone, and suddenly, you missed him more than ever. Frustrated, you turned the faucet off, almost yanking it off the sink in the process. Burying your face in your hands, your mind wandered to something Jay had told you, right before he left for the trip.

Don’t you worry your pretty little mind, people throw rocks at things that shine.

You smiled at Jay’s words, and took a deep breath, calming yourself down. You will get through this. Drying your hands off on a towel, you smooth out the wrinkles in your shirt and set your face in a hard line. Just a few more hours, and you’ll finally get off work. You can do this.

Making your way to the counter again, you prepared to put on your custom smile and act like the cheerful barista you were supposed to be. “Hello! How may I—”

“Y/N?”

Your breath caught in your throat, as your eyes met the person you were just thinking about. No, it’s not possible, how— The two of you stared at each other in disbelief, before Jay’s face relaxed into a bright smile, and he opened his arms.

You ran out from behind the counter and wrapped your hands around him. Nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, you held on tight, and that’s when the tears came, happy and sad at the same time.

Jay didn’t say anything, for there was no need to use words when actions and feelings showed it all. He grasped you in his arms, body shaking slightly as he blinked back the tears from his own eyes. I’m finally back home.

The two of you stood there for who knows how long, but you couldn’t care less. No matter how many annoying customers you have to face, no matter how many times coffee spills all over you, nothing can separate you from what is yours.

You can say what you want, but this love is ours.

Sunoo - Sparks Fly ; pure love

You and Sunoo quietly crept out of the cafe, not wanting to disturb the couple hugging by the counter. Unfortunately for you two though, it had started raining outside, and none of you brought an umbrella.

“Really? And the forecast said it wouldn’t rain,” Sunoo grumbled, pouting. “The weather person needs to get fired.”

You laughed at his words, resisting the urge to pinch his cheeks. “They’re just trying to do their job, Sunoo. I mean, it’s not that bad....should we just make a run for it?”

Sunoo gasped dramatically. “And mess up our hair? How will I take our end-of-the-date selfie with our soggy selves?”

You rolled your eyes, “we can use our school bags to cover us. I mean, it’s either that, or be late to our movie night.”

Sunoo mulled over it for a moment, scrunching his nose in concentration. “Oh, fine. But we’re sticking to the cover until we have to cross the street.”

“Deal.” The two of you shuffled along the awning of the cafe, until you reached the end of the street where the crosswalks are. You two looked at each other, hunching your bookbags over your head. One hand holding onto your bag, you stretched your hand out to Sunoo, a smile crossing both of your faces as he took it.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three. GO!”

The two of you dashed out into the rain, laughing and screaming like little kids. A wild, childish bliss took over you, and you couldn’t stop giggling as you gripped tightly onto Sunoo’s hand. He looked over at you, and you can see that he was having the time of his life as well, smiling so much that his eyes seemed to disappear. You wish time could stop at that moment, as rain poured down around you two, the happy feeling in your chest expanding with love.

All too soon, your journey ended as you two rushed up, panting, to the door of your house. Letting your bags fall over your shoulders, the two of you turned to each other and laughed. You reached over to part the hair from his eyes, and he playfully flicked his head, spraying water on your face. You let out an indignant yelp, before lightly pushing him, then reaching to catch him again before he slips down the wet steps. Sunoo held onto your arm, trying to contain his laughter, though his bright smile gave it away.

“Gosh, we’re a mess,” you said as you tried to catch your breath. Putting your bag down, you fumbled in your pocket for your keys. “But you know what? Let’s do that again next time.”

“Well, hopefully we’ll actually remember to bring an umbrella next time,” Sunoo said, shaking out his wet bag. He grinned at you, and you swear you can see sparks fly whenever he smiles.

Jungwon - Mine ; enduring love

You trudged down the street, not minding the fact that you’re thoroughly soaked by the rain. Everything felt like a blur around you as your mind kept replaying the scene from moments before, and the tears came streaming down your face again, mingling with the drops from the sky. The sound of laughter pierced through your reverie, and you turned to see a couple giggling together at the front steps of their house, the sight making your heart squeeze.

What went wrong?

We were like them too, so what happened to us?

Sniffing, you wiped your nose with the back of your hand, turning away from the scene. Looking around, you realized that you had walked farther away from the house than you expected, and that it was already dark. Should I go back? As much as you don’t want to confront Jungwon right now, you don’t want him to worry either. Would he even worry though? Maybe this really is the end...

Making up your mind, you resolved to just keep walking, until you finally decided on what to do. Taking out your phone, you texted your friend whether you can stay over at theirs tonight. Slipping the device back into your pocket, you continued plodding along.

Until someone grabbed your arm, and you screamed.

“Y/N, it’s me! It’s me.”

Whirling around, your heart rate slowed as you made eye contact with your boyfriend. The rain had slowed to a drizzle now, and you saw that his eyes were red, like he had been crying too.

“Jungwon...” you extricated your arm from his hold, and took a deep breath. “What are you doing here?”

“I ran after you,” he mumbled, looking down at the ground. “After you left.”

You blinked in surprise, not expecting that answer. “O-oh.”

Not knowing what to say, the two of you stood there, and each passing minute felt like a wall growing bigger and bigger between you two. You didn’t know how the two of you even ended up like this—an offhand comment, which somehow led to yelling and cursing, and then you were running out into the streets alone, crying. And now, to this silence. It felt like hours before Jungwon spoke up.

“I’m sorry.”

Gulping, you forced the words out of your throat too. “I’m sorry too. I should’ve stayed instead of just running away like that.”

He shook his head. “No, this was my fault. I shouldn’t have yelled at you...talked to you in that way.”

You sighed. “Well, let’s just say it’s both of our faults, then. It doesn’t matter.”

Jungwon nodded hesitantly, peering up at you. “Should we go back to the dorms?”

You bit your bottom lip, thinking. Everything felt too much, like a fragile heart broken into a million pieces, each one jagged and misshapen. “I already texted my friend that I’ll stay over at their house tonight. Should we—should we just take a break, Jungwon? These days we’ve just been arguing and fighting with each other, I don’t know how we can continue this, if we can even—”

Your voice cracked, and the whirlpool of tears finally broke free as you sobbed, face in your hands. Your body tenses as you feel Jungwon’s arms wrap around you, relaxing slightly as he patted your back, trying to soothe your sorrows.

“Y/N, do you remember when we first met?”

He was working part-time at a restaurant as a waiter, and you thought he was pretty cute. You found that he was going to the same school as you, and the two of you became best friends. You fell for him a few months later, and ever since then, he was always by your side. Until everything fell apart a few weeks ago, when your tempers ran short and tension climbed high.

“I thought you were so beautiful...and remember our promise? I swore I was going to stay with you, that we won’t make the same mistake as your parents. You are the best thing that’s ever been mine. I know it’s hard to be together right now, when both of us are so busy that we don't have time with each other anymore...but I’ll always have time for you, Y/N. I know this sounds cheesy and all, but I just want to say that I love you and I don’t want to let you go.”

Sniffing, this time the tears flow because of his words. Turning around, you gave him a cheeky grin as you wiped your face. “Didn’t know you were such a romantic, Jungwon.”

His cheeks turned a shade of pink, and he shyly held out his hand. You took it, and the two of you started walking back home.

Niki - Jump Then Fall ; childhood love

Never mind, I’m going home tonight.

You raised your eyebrows at your friend’s message. Probably some couple problems with Jungwon. You were about to text back a reply, before you felt your pants get splashed with water.

You lifted your eyes to the sky, exasperated because you already know who did it. Sometimes I wonder how I even have a crush on him. I waited for him after dance practice and this is what I get? Turning around, you faced your friend, or as you like to call him, your greatest enemy, Nishimura Riki.

He has his usual mischievous grin on his face, jumping from foot to foot as he kicks at another puddle. Thankfully, you jumped out of the way just in time. Narrowing your eyes playfully, you said, “I see how it is...this is war.”

The rain had left numerous puddles on the sidewalk (probably due to the potholes your school refused to spend their money to fix), and you chased Niki down the street, splashing him with water. He laughed loudly and reached up (dangit, why is he so tall?), grabbed one of the branches of a tree, shaking the water from it. Gasping, your eyes widened as you got drenched from the drops. You glared at him, only causing his smile to stretch even wider from ear to ear. “I won,” Niki announced triumphantly.

You pouted, rolling your eyes. “Oh, fine. But it’s not fair, how did you even get this tall?”

Niki shrugged, as if it was no big deal, though you want to wipe the smug grin off his face. “I grew 13 centimeters last year.”

“Impossible,” you huffed. He shoved his hands in his pockets, raising his eyebrows at you as if challenging your statement. Shrugging his dance bag over one shoulder, Niki started walking, and you followed. “You just want to brag about your height.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t,” Niki teased in a sing-song voice. “Either way, I’m still taller than you~”

You smiled grudgingly, stealing a look at him from the corner of your eye. It seems like yesterday when you both were kids, and he was this bouncy little boy who loved to annoy the hell out of you. He still does, but you felt a twinge of nostalgia as you see how tall and mature he had come, and even more good-looking as well. If only he knows how much I like him.

Sensing your stare, Niki wiggled his eyebrows at you, making you laugh at his expression. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing,” you turned away, embarrassed. You really need to be less obvious, though Niki’s too oblivious to know anything about your feelings for him. 

“No, it’s something,” he leaned closer to you, and suddenly you forgot how to breathe properly. “Is there something on my face?”

You shook your head quickly, gaze wandering anywhere but his eyes. Spying a puddle in the corner of your vision, an idea flashed through your mind. Leaning closer, so that your faces were only inches apart, you noticed that Niki’s cheeks were blushing pink at the close distance. Maybe this isn’t so one-sided after all.

“Actually, there is something.” 

“W-what?” You expected him to pull away, but his eyes were dreamy, getting lost in your own. Or maybe you were the one getting lost in his. Tearing your gaze away, you grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the biggest puddle near the curb of the street. Taking a deep breath, you jumped straight into it, causing a huge splash that doused both you and Niki in water. You wished you could capture this moment on camera: Niki’s flustered face when you took his hand, his eyes widening comically as water sprayed his clothes. You laughed out loud, smirking at him. “I won,” you said, mimicking his voice from earlier. 

Your smile faded when Niki didn’t say anything back, the shocked expression still on his face. Confused, you asked, “what’s wrong?”

Clearing his throat, he motioned his head towards your intertwined hands. “Um, you’re still holding onto my hand.”

Maybe it’s cliche, two childhood friends falling for each other, but what’s wrong with cliches? You tightened your grip on his hand, grinning as his face flared red. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” he looked down, making you giggle. Oh, how the tables have turned. You took a step closer. 

“No, it’s something.”

He glanced up at you, unable to conceal a shy smile. You loved the way his hair falls in his face, slightly damp from jumping into too many puddles.

And all I can say is come closer, take a deep breath and jump then fall into me.

Daniel - Fifteen ; platonic love

“When are they going to confess already?” you snickered, eyeing the two teens playing in the puddles. Daniel followed your stare, shrugging at your words.

“When they finally get in through their heads that their feelings are mutual,” Daniel said. “Who knows how long that’ll take.”

You fold your arms across your chest, turning away and gazing wistfully into the distance. “Maybe one day I’ll find love like that.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow at you. “You got time, you’re still fifteen after all.”

Your hands dropped, and you sighed as your shoulders sagged. “I can’t believe I’m fifteen already...high school is so hard.” 

Daniel laughed at the whine in your voice, reaching over to ruffle your hair. You pushed his hand away, glaring at him. “Hey, don’t laugh. You didn’t get any of the difficult classes this year.”

“That’s because I already know I want to major in art so...there’s no need to take these classes anyway.”

You stopped and turned to him, narrowing your eyes. “What in art, specifically?”

Daniel's eyes flickered to yours, looking away in embarrassment. “Oh, just something in music.”

You grinned slyly, probing further. “What in music, exactly?”

Daniel gulped, hoping you wouldn’t laugh at him this time. “Um...well, I really want to become a rapper…”

Your eyes widened and you gasped. “A rapper? Daniel, that’s amazing!”

Your friend blinked in confusion, surprised at your excitement. “You-you think so?”

Nodding fervently, you started walking again. Around you, the streetlights flared to life. “Yeah, I mean, you seem pretty passionate about it. I remembered how the teacher caught you writing lyrics in the back of the textbook when you’re supposed to be paying attention during class.”

Daniel humphed, his long strides quickly catching up with yours. “Hey, math is boring, alright? You weren’t listening either.”

You decided to concede with him on that point, because math, indeed, is a pain in the ass (also because you were afraid he’ll stop letting you copy his homework right before class). “Fine, but I’m just saying that you shouldn’t be ashamed of your dream. You’re dedicated, I know you can do it.”

Daniel smiled shyly at your words. “Thanks, Y/N.”

You smiled back half-heartedly. “And here I am, with nothing planned out. I still don’t know who I want to be, or even who I am.”

“It’s fine if you haven’t figured yourself out yet, just go with the flow and do things that make you feel happy. Then you’ll discover where your interests and dreams lie,” Daniel said sagely, making your eyes roll at his tone. He bumped your shoulder with his. “I’ll always be here for you, yeah?”

“Thanks, but I just...you know how you’re at that time in your life, when you’re just questioning everything? Like, what is the meaning of life? Why am I here?”

“Just to suffer,” Daniel whispered, flinching away as you whacked him on the arm. “Ok, ok, I didn’t know you were going to get this deep.”

“Maybe I should be an English teacher then,” you said thoughtfully. “Make all the students analyze the meaning of the universe, like how Mr. Kim is forcing us to analyze Romeo and Juliet.”

“Romeo and Juliet…” Daniel stopped suddenly, making you bump into him. “Oh no...I forgot my copy of the book at school!”

You gave him a look. “Seriously? I told you to get it out of your locker!”

Daniel scuffed his shoe on the sidewalk, avoiding your gaze. “Well, you know how loud and chaotic the dismissal was...I couldn’t hear you.”

You shook your head in resignation. “Whatever, I’ll just send you pictures of the pages we have to read.”

Daniel’s head shot up, eyes staring hopefully at you. “Really? Y/N, thank you so much, you know you're my best friend right?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just make sure to remember it next time, or you’re on your own.”

(Jokes on you, Daniel knows you’ll grudgingly share your book with him for the rest of the year if he keeps forgetting it).

Sunghoon - Love Story ; forbidden love

“Sunghoon!” you whisper-shouted, grimacing as your boyfriend stepped on a stick. The sound seemed too loud in the quiet darkness, and you looked around wildly. Grabbing his arm, you dragged him behind a rock, lips pursed in a tense line. Heart pounding, you felt both worried and exhilarated at the same time. 

“Sorry,” Sunghoon said sheepishly, scratching the nape of his neck. “Didn’t see that.”

You frowned at him, turning around. “And I thought princes have stealth training as part of their schooling.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “All they teach us is how to look buff and strong so we can pick fights with your family.”

Stifling a laugh, you took his arm again, pulling him along. “True true, that sounds a lot like what they teach Youngbin too...though Youngbin isn’t the fighting type.”

“Your brother’s too soft,” Sunghoon muttered, “I feel sorry for him sometimes...he’d rather be kind than argue.”

Your lips quirked up in a sad smile. “Yeah, but there’s not much we can do about the feud, right?”

Nodding, Sunghoon carefully stepped over a pile of leaves, hand clutching tight onto yours. As the two of you cautiously stepped around the bend in the country road, Sunghoon let out a light gasp seeing what lay ahead. You grinned at his expression, quickening your pace until you two stopped in front of an enormous garden. Its gates were made up of interlocking flowers and vines, a sweeping archway of overhanging branches from two willow trees, and an open field lined with flowers of every kind laid beyond. Pushing away the branches, Sunghoon watched as you unraveled the flower gate and stepped into the beautiful utopia.

“A secret garden,” Sunghoon commented in awe. “How…”

“Youngbin and I used to go here all the time, whenever our families fight,” you answered. “Now that he’s confined to the training field, I feel too lonely being here all by myself.”

“Are you sure Youngbin wouldn’t mind?” Sunghoon asked, not wanting to intrude in sibling affairs.

You cast a funny look at him. “No, I’m sure he won’t. Besides...you’re the person I’m closest to besides him.”

The comment made Sunghoon blush, and he followed you down the path. On each side of him bloomed hundreds of colorful blossoms, making Sunghoon wonder who lived here long ago to tend to them all. Marigolds, roses, lilies, fuchsias, tulips, flowers of every kind decorated the leaves and vines. He reached out to pluck a red rose from the fray, careful not to prick his fingers. Stopping every now and then to admire the flowers, you tugged him towards the open field. Sitting down on the grass, you leaned your head against his shoulder.

“Look, the sun is rising.”

And indeed it was. Sunghoon smiled as you two relaxed in silence, watching the sunlight streak over the horizon in different shades of pink, yellow, and orange. A new day, a new beginning, he thought. He turned when he felt something being placed on his head, only to meet your grinning face as you adjusted the flower crown in his hair. 

“There,” you said, pushing a stray hair away from his eye. Leaning back proudly, you nodded at how the wreath of white daisies complemented his raven hair. “You look pretty, flower boy.”

Sunghoon took the red rose, breaking off the stem, tucked it behind your ear. “No, you’re prettier.”

“Whatever,” you said, though Sunghoon saw that you were trying hard not to smile. “Do you know what this reminds me of?”

“What?” Sunghoon asked, laying back onto the grass. He took the flower crown off and held it up to the sky, scrutinizing your handiwork. You mirrored his movement, turning on your side to face him.

“There’s this story I read in the library a few days ago, about how two young lovers woke up at dawn so they could watch the sunrise together.”

“Oh?” Raising an eyebrow, Sunghoon motioned for you to continue.

“Mhm,” You gazed off into the distance, a thoughtful look on your face. The sunbeams have gotten brighter, and they cast a glow on your face that Sunghoon couldn’t describe, other than ethereal. “It reminded me of us.”

“Who knows,” Sunghoon shrugged. “Maybe someday someone will write a story about us too.”

“A forbidden love story?” You snickered. “Who would write something like that?”

—— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— —— ——

~ Which story is your favorite? ~

[yoichichi]

Modern!au Hange Zoë Relationship Headcannons

Hange Zoë x reader

a/n: hi!!! This is my first post for aot on this blog! Plspls tell me your thoughts and if you guys like this :) requests aren’t open quite yet but will he soon, I just need to finish some things up in my drafts first :) you can look at WIP page on my pinned post on my blog to see some other aot works I’m working on atm before I open requests :) pls enjoy !!! I luv them on god

gif not mine, credit to owner

Please tell them to go to bed, they have no self regard for their sleeping habits and WILL stay up for 2 days straight

It does not matter if they’re in bed with you either, they will lay with their back against the headboard and you cuddling into their side while they stroke your face until you fall asleep and then IMMEDIATELY start reading

The amount of times you’ve woken up to them still awake in the middle of the night looking at you like 👁👄👁😃 good morning sunshine~~ just go back to bed ~~ maybe you’re dreaming ~~ , cause they KNOW you’ll scold them and they’d like to avoid that at all costs

PLS they definitely wear one of those stupid little head light things so they can read while you sleep

AND IT JUST ADDS TO THE DISORIENTATION YOU FEEL WHEN YOU WAKE UP ABAJSKWJWNA

* 💡

* 👁👄👁

“good morning sleepy head”

I truly feel like they’re a pro at getting you to fall asleep though, not even so they can stay up they just are so good at soothing you

That one spot in between your shoulders thats always sore? They’re hands find it without you even having to mention

The way you have to cuddle laying on your right side and your left? They’re already adjusting themselves on the couch so that can happen

The way you like kisses on the top of your head but not your temple? Check ✅ they’re fingers are resting at your temple to remind them it’s always the top of your head -as if they’d forget-

Expanding on this, they’re just so good at remembering details about you in general???

And of course some of it is the basics like your favorite snack, your favorite candle, the current show your binging, the laundry detergent you always buy, etc.

But some of it you wouldn’t have even asked them to remember?? Like it gets more and more obscure the longer you’re together

Like how you wouldn’t like the leather seats in their car, which you mention once cause the skin on your legs were sticking to them in the summer

And then they’re in the market looking for a new car and this one doesn’t have leather seats, which to yourself you’re like oh cool :)

But then they just bring it up while you’re driving with them one day like

“Isn’t it nice that now when you wear shorts your legs don’t stick? I tried keeping that in mind for you, babe.”

And it’s just??? You’re almost questioning how they even KNOW that until they tell you about the one ☝🏼 time you mentioned it and it was at least a couple years ago and it’s just??? Thank you?!?

But yes, anything you do Hange WILL remember it for better or for worse cause they just see it as a part of getting to know you and love the person you are!

Okok emperor fidgety over here ‼️

WILL talk with their hands so intensely that they’ve knocked over countless drinks, vases, has even flung their fork once

Queue wide eyes and awkward laughing while they blush a little before they rush for a towel to clean up their mess

But will still continue to ramble while they clean, nothing stops their talking

Carpet cleaner is your best friend

Let’s just say when the two of you decided to move into a new place together, hunting for hardwood floors was a must

But BECAUSE this fools always making a mess and needs to just ~lower the chaos a teensy bit ~ they WILL grab onto your hands while they talk

They’d be getting particularly animated and loud and you’d just let out a giggle and nod your head, letting them know you’re listening and they don’t have to be so loud

And they’d just giggle and shush themselves and be like sorry sorry I know with some big stupid smile on their face

They’d reach their hands out and grab yours and clear their throat and raise their eyebrows a little,

“Ok, so, here’s the best part though. Get. This.”

And they’d just go back to ranting but this time they have so much more energy being focused into you rather than combusting out of them

Their eyes are locked onto yours so hard, no longer darting all over the room while they speak

Their hands moving yours only a little, swinging them up and down, squeezing them when they get particularly excited

Their voice is more hushed and deep, their words shooting sharply at you with an intensity vibrating off them making your cheeks burn

Now, when something would normally result in a flying fork, instead it’s a tug on your hands to bring you closer while their voice gets heavier and quiet - almost a whisper - sharing this moment with you and ending it with raised eyebrows and a squeal - sometimes even shaking your arms about if it’s especially exciting news

Speaking of ranting, when you rant you better expect Hange to get JUST as involved as you

You’re frustrated? Yeah Hange is getting heated too, riling you up in the process, it’s their problem now too

You’re happy? Hange is squealing and jumping up and down with you as if they got the promotion ajakskajaja

I feel like the only exception to this would be if you were stressed, upset, or sad

They’re immediately quiet and looking all over your face for any sign of distress with the most sincere eyes

Nodding and responding with little hums of understanding, ready to scoop you into their arms the moment you need them too

The RULER of taking care of their s/o when they’re down or sick

Not only cause they know everything there is to know about your existence lmao

But cause I think they’re smart enough to be able to not be over bearing when they’re taking care of you

They’ll check in a lot for sure, but never smothering you more than you’d like lmao

Their love language is definitely quality time in my opinion

Do you remember how excited they were when Eren agreed to listen to them talk and they talked literally ALL night?? -I miss them like this pls-

Please just spend time with them while they’re doing research at home or reading, they’ll never feel more loved and appreciated

Ok but like :

It’s late, it’s been dark outside for hours now. Your eyes became heavy hours ago but, you don’t have work tomorrow, and you’d hate leaving Hange in here by themselves, so you decided on cuddling up in the living chair in their office - that they definitely put in there for you - on your phone. You were scrolling mindlessly through apps trying to keep your mind stimulated enough when you heard their chair move from the spot they were in for the first time since you’ve been in their. You looked up to see them crack their neck and stretch their arms above their head, they’re shirt riding up just above their belly button.

They sighed deeply and slowly walked over to you, running their hands down the side of your face and cupping your cheeks to turn your head up to face them.

They leaned down at an agonizingly slow pace and pressed a deep kiss on your lips

“Let’s go to bed now, yeah?”

And while you were laying together drifting off to sleep, they’d just kiss your head one more time and tell you how much they love you

Pls you’d mean the world to them

HANGE IS A SEXY DRIVER HANGE IS A SEXY DRIVER HANGE IS A SEXY DRIVER

Like,,, WHEWWW

This isn’t even a relationship HC LMAO

I mean a little -

They’d LOVE to go on roadtrips with you, you can’t tell me otherwise

A fun stupid adventure to buy shitty souvenirs along the way? Meeting strange people and getting all these new stories together? Hange is at peace like this lmao

But more on them driving 👁👅👁

Definitely drives stick, and they’re a FAST driver

Always a little above the speed limit

So good at changing lanes, especially on the freeway

The way they check over their shoulder?? Lawd almighty

Sometimes they’ll check over their shoulder that’s facing you and flick their eyes to your’s for a moment, cause they can feel you staring at them in that brief moment, and they’ll just raise their eyebrows and shoot you a cocky little side smile

And then after they change lanes they reach a hand over and squeeze your thigh before they keep driving

Ok does have bad road rage though LMAO

Not in a dangerous way they just,, swear very loudly in the car and then roll their eyes and apologize that there’s idiots on the road LMAO

Anyways

All in all, Hange is a very attentive and loud partner, so I hope you’re ok with chaos and intensity

———————

a/n: thanks for reading yall!!! Feel free to check out my blog, more aot content coming soon! And I always love to hear from you guys :)

-🐇out

taglist: @plutowrites

[youaremysamshine]

So I wrote a thing! A whole thing! If you want to read some mostly-angst about Sam’s feelings directly post-Gadreel, then maybe think about reading this? I’ve posted it below and on AO3.

-----

Sam is reeling after he has kicked Gadreel out. He never wants to lose time again - unfortunately, his body needs sleep. 

Post 9.10 "Road Trip"

----- The first night is easy. Tired as Sam is, the fear and pain and disorientation far outweigh any exhaustion, and despite promising Cas he’ll try to get some rest, he never considers actually going to sleep. The idea is absurd. So yes, on the first night it’s almost effortless to avoid sleep. 

The next day isn’t extremely hard, either - in terms of staying awake, that is. It’s plenty hard in other ways, of course, but a staple of Sam’s life has been the sleep deprivation, and he is well practiced in functioning on precious little. He can act awake well, and any slips are easily chalked up to his recovery from the events of the past… however long.

But Cas has now spent time being human, and so notices - where previously he might not have - that Sam needs sleep. And after his prompts have been shrugged off several times by Sam - “It’s only 10, it’s not that late...”, “Yes, Cas, after I finish this chapter…”, “Yeah, I’ll just have a bite to eat first…” - Cas all but leads Sam to his bedroom and tells him to sleep. Now. 

Sam acquiesces to this command, knowing Cas won’t let it rest if he does not, but again, he still has no intention of falling into unconsciousness. The idea of sleep is terrifying. He can’t. He’s well aware his body wants to - his eyes are sore and he has been frequently yawning for the past hour - but he will not give in. Not today. 

He picks up another book from his own shelves - the one he had been reading in the library had been left behind when Cas had shepherded him to his room - and settles down in his chair to read. Okay, he might be needing to reread each sentence to take in the meaning, and yes, he did just spend several minutes wondering if queue was really a word, but no, he won’t yield, this is still far better than-

He startles, jerking forward, bashing his abdomen against the desk. The book has fallen out of his hands, the noise waking him up from his split-second nap. 

Alright, he concedes. I’ll just take a short break.

He sets his phone timer for fifteen minutes. Then ten. Then five. Then ten again. He lies down and shuts his eyes, but immediately gets up again, pacing the room. He cannot do this. He sits down at the desk again, not bothering to pick up the book this time, tapping his fingers anxiously against the wood. He can barely think, he’s so tired. 

Go back to bed, set your timer. Lie down, just stay there. Wait. It’s only ten minutes. It’s fine, Sam. Just ten minutes.  The timer goes off, quicker than he had expected, and he resets it. This will work, this might actually work. He had changed into his pyjamas earlier to placate Cas, and is pleased with the comfort that they afford him now. His eyes close, his body relaxes, finally getting the rest it deserves. 

BEEP. A brief moment of panic checking where he is, that the time is right, but relief soon follows. He resets the timer. He falls back to sleep. 

BEEP. Frustration at being woken up. Relief that he has woken up. Resetting the alarm.

Sleep. BEEP. Repeat. Sleep. BEEP. Repeat. Unconventional, but effective. Sam sleeps. He sleeps well. 

And then suddenly Kevin is there, looking at him trustingly until his eyes burn out and he no longer can and Sam is painfully wrenched back into wakefulness, the name of the boy falling from his lips as his eyes fly open. He scrambles for his phone. 

4:32

It’s 4:32. It should be 2:15. He is certain he’d last restarted his alarm at 2:05. He had been checking each time, paying close attention because he needs to know. 

Oh God, 4:32. That’s two whole hours. Fuck. Anything could have happened in two hours. He can’t -- He needs --

Cas. Shit.

In a blind panic he races for the door, turning into the corridor at high speed, his hunter reflexes being the only thing that stops him from hurtling straight into the man he wanted to find. 

“Sam?” Cas’ voice is laced with concern, his eyebrows furrowed as he looks at Sam. But, importantly, he’s still here, still alive, nothing has happened to him. 

“I just…” Sam trails off. Now that he knows Cas is alright, the need to see him has completely changed into a desire to get away, be anywhere else. Cas’s penetrating gaze and worry is not what Sam wants right now. “Toilet,” he finishes lamely, and sidesteps Cas to head to the bunker’s restrooms. 

“Sam, I know you aren’t okay.” Castiel’s deep voice follows Sam down the corridor as surely as the angel does himself. Sam ducks into a cubicle and locks the door, hoping Cas will get the hint. 

“Sam?”

A deep breath. Closed eyes. He pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m fine.”

He can almost feel Cas’s skepticism about that statement. “I highly doubt that, Sam. Let me help.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Sam, I sensed you distress from-” “I don’t WANT you here, Cas!” Even as he says it, he hates himself a little bit more. Cas is just being kind, far more of a good friend than Sam deserves, but right now Sam just can’t stand it. “Let me shit in peace, please,” he adds for good measure.

Footsteps, and Cas’s presence disappears. When Sam makes his way back to his room, he does not see Cas. He’ll apologize tomorrow.

4:44. Three fours. Huh, Good job it isn’t three sixes right? But you can’t get three sixes on a clock, Sam. Unless you count in military.. miltry.. mil-i-ta-ry time? No, don’t be stupid. That only goes up to twenty-two - no, wait, twenty-four? But does it ever reach twenty-four… Oh, crap, I really, really need to sleep. 

4:45. Only one more hour until. Until what? He was going to say until he can get up, or at least, pretend to get up, and go about yet another normal day, no longer needing to feign sleep. But it hits him now that he’s still going to be bone-tired.

He wonders at how he has missed this great, big, obvious fact. He’s been so caught up in avoiding sleep right here, right now, every single minute, that he’s lost the bigger picture. How long can he carry this on for? The rest of tomorrow? Until Wednesday? But he’ll have to stop at some point. 

This is too big, too awful, for him to contemplate right now. No, right now he does not need to sleep. And he can continue doing that. Saying no. He’s good at saying no. He just needs to keep on, just keep on, Sam. 

The next hour goes as slowly as the last two had gone quickly. Eventually he judges it a suitable time to leave for the kitchen to get coffee. He’s thought of how to apologize to Cas, reworded it several times, a good distraction from anything else in his head. 

The kitchen is empty. He still stops every yawn, stifles every urge to rub his eyes. Cas will not get a chance to send him back to bed. The coffee helps, a little, and the second one even more. Cas walks in as he is sipping his third. Sam can’t read his expression. He instinctively lowers his eyes, looks away from Cas, then realises this could be seen as rude, and looks up again. He doesn’t want to hurt Cas more. 

“Hey, Cas.”

“Good morning Sam. Did you sleep?”

Sam notices that Cas missed off the “well” that usually accompanies the end of that question. Cas really knows him. 

“Yeah, thanks.” It isn’t exactly a lie. Sam is fairly certain he had fallen asleep for those two hours, and that has to count for something, right? He quickly plunges on, needing to put the apology out there as soon as possible, and ends up stumbling over his words in his haste. 

“Look, Cas, erm- I’m really sorry about pushing you off last night. I’m not really sure why I acted like that but yeah, it was- I shouldn’t have.” 

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas replies simply. “I was worried - and I was wondering if this morning you might be wanting me to leave properly, to give you your space.”

“What? No!” Sam stands up, needing to ensure Cas does not think that necessary. “No, that’s not at all what I… Well, I mean,” he bites his tongue and thinks about his words. “If you want to go, of course, I don’t want to be the thing that stops you, but no. I was just tired and, well, like you said, not okay last night. I want you to stay here, of course I do - that is, if you want to stay here?” He’s looking at Cas cautiously, hopefully, but is suddenly convinced that of course Cas will leave, everybody leaves.

“My wish is to stay here with you,” Cas says. Sam lets out an involuntary sigh of relief. 

“You look surprised,” Cas comments. Sam is taken aback at how easily Cas can read him. 

“Yeah, no - I… You don’t need to, like, look after me, or anything. And I was horrible to you last night.”

Cas frowns. “But I want to look after you, Sam Winchester. You’ve suffered a great deal and that needs to be put to rights. I am your friend. As for last night - I understand that you were tired; you have now apologised, and it is forgotten.”

Sam stares and nods his head, a little unsure how to react to Cas’s words. “Thank you,” he manages to say, quietly, and Cas’s gentle smile suggests that he might be aware of everything else Sam means beyond the two words. 

Cas walks slowly towards Sam, raising his arms somewhat awkwardly. “If you would like,” he says, “the hug we shared yesterday was rather comforting, and I would like to give you that again.” 

Unbidden, Sam’s mind snaps back to their first meeting. “The boy with the demon blood,” Cas had called him, then. He marvels at how far Cas has fallen, to be here, now, with him, but selfishly he closes the gap, and allows himself to be hugged. It’s the best he’s felt in a long while. 

-------

A second part may happen but probably not. Subscribe over on AO3 if you’re feeling lucky :P

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

We’re All Mad Here | Jurdan College AU

Summary: Tenacious student, Jude Duarte, discovers a dark underworld in the very heart of RGU. It’s all just a game of Russian Roulette. Harmless, as long as you’re the one holding the gun.

Content Warning: Cursing, mild mention of panic attack (to skip, stop reading between the ~~~~~)

Part II   |   Masterlist   |   AO3

Part I- Slow Burn

I, Jude Duarte, third year at Royal Greenbriar University and soon-to-be reigning Top Scholar, am in a hurry.

It’s rush hour. The pavement is slick with sleet and packed with important people in fancy suits. They brave sheets of freezing rain that lash down from the angry October skies with an unending canopy of black umbrellas.

I don’t carry my own. Umbrellas aggravate the chaos of mornings in Insmire, and I don’t need to add another to the mix.

Luckily, I am short. Manoeuvring through gaps in elbows and shoulders does not take much effort on my part. It’s the briefcases and patches of ice which make running a bit of a challenge this morning—but then, I have always enjoyed a challenge.

As I tear through the crowded streets of Insmire, I only know one thing: No amount of wind or hail or people can stop me. And if anyone gets bludgeoned with my thirty-pound backpack as I weave through the throng, well, that’s on them.

Cold air slices through me with every heave of my lungs, every pounding thud of my boots on the sidewalk. My legs are sore from yesterday’s fencing practice, but I savour the sweet ache and forge on.

I am used to this rushing, for I am always in a hurry. It sometimes feels like I’ve been in a hurry from my very first breath. As if I’m constantly trying to catch up to something just out of my grasp.

My twin sister, Taryn, and I were born in a hurry.

So excited were we to join the ranks of men, we surprised our mother half to death by wandering into the world nearly four weeks early.

As a result, we spent the next several weeks of our lives as tiny things in incubators—a little sickly and terribly jaundiced. This was how our mother always used to describe it, at least.

Ever since then, I have been invariably late to everything. Mostly, I blame it on the incubators. And the jaundice.

If I’m being honest with myself, though, being always late is a trait I can only attribute to who I am as a person. It is as much a part of me as the tip of my left ring finger is not.

I sometimes wonder if that’s exactly the crux of it; that just like my fingertip, my punctuality has somehow been taken from me, too.

I have heard of twins absorbing their siblings in the womb. I can’t see why personality traits should be any different. Especially since Taryn and I had to spread them so thinly between two of us.

And Taryn is always perfectly on time.

I risk a glance at my watch. A tiny crack runs up the glass. It’s been there for ages, but I am still nettled by the sight of it and the unbidden memory it stirs.

It’s because of this tiny crack that the watch’s face is now fogged up from the inside. I can barely make out the three little golden hands racing each other toward my tardiness.

Seven minutes past eight.

I am really very late. Or, I know I will be, at least.

Technically, if I go straight to the Silhouette Gazette now, I will be right on time for my interview.

But I can’t go straight there. Not when I haven’t had coffee.

Without my fix, I won’t be able to string together even one sentence. Much less make it through an entire interview with enough charisma to snag the internship position I so desperately need. Since I am not very charismatic to begin with, I’ll need all the help I can get.

Everything depends on my getting this internship. If I don’t, there’s no way I’ll maintain my near-perfect GPA, no way I’ll graduate summa cum laude or Valedictorian of my class.

And then I’ll have to go into something boring. Like publishing. A shudder runs through me that has nothing to do with the cold.

I shove between two men wearing long coats and flat caps. They grunt in shock and disapproval. I hardly feel the zing of pain as my shin collides with something hard.

A briefcase flies out of its owner’s grip, crashing onto the pavement a few yards away. I don’t stop to apologise.

“Bitch!” One of the flat caps shouts after me.

Yes, I agree silently, hopping over the felled bag. I am very much that.

If I had the time and breath to tell the men just the same, I would. Instead, I flip them a rude gesture over my shoulder and don’t turn around.

I’m already ten paces away when a dull throbbing starts on my leg. It radiates from where I know there’ll be an unsightly bruise tomorrow. But bruises are a thing for future Jude to handle.

There is no way I will let what happened last year happen again. Second-year was a fluke. A one-time thing.

I will get this internship, take back my rightful title of Top Scholar, and keep it until I graduate—just like my mother did. I absolutely refuse to be beaten out by some preppy moneybags prick.

Or a bit of hail.

Before flying out the door of my flat this morning, I did a quick search on Google Maps, the results of which yielded the quirky little coffee shop I now see in my line of vision.

The White Rabbit sits mercifully in all its three-story glory right across the street from the newspaper’s office building. If luck is on my side, if I hurry, I should have just enough time to grab a cup to-go and make it with a minute or two to spare.

My thoughts are all jumbled as I barrel through the glass doors.

A white-haired barista stands behind the counter at the back of the shop, taking a customer’s order with an unbearable amount of cheer for a Monday morning.

The queue isn’t too bad, maybe three people long. I send up a quick thanks to whatever power of the universe might be in charge of coffee queues.

It smells miraculous in here—freshly ground coffee and something buttered and flakey. Suddenly, I am too warm.

I make a beeline for the back of the queue, shucking off my hat and gloves as I go. I’m unzipping my coat, a difficult task with hands full of knitted things, when a wall of black blurs into my periphery.

I don’t have a second to react before that wall smacks me right in the forehead. And collides everywhere else.

A scalding liquid sloshes down the front of my shirt. I stumble backwards, gasping at the pain.

There is a very loud “Fuck” followed by an equally as loud “Shit!”

I am not sure which curse fell from my lips, but I know it was one of them. All I can feel is this dreadful sting. It spreads like a wildfire across my chest.

Perhaps, I’d cursed both words. The pain certainly warrants it.

“Are you alright, dear?” a dark, silken voice asks. A pair of beringed hands steady me, grasping my shoulders with the barest of touches. As quickly as they appeared, like that they are gone. And then they are handing me a wad of brown paper napkins.

“Here,” the voice says.

I snatch the proffered napkins and look up at my assailant.

Perfect. Just perfect, I think with a scowl. Of course the person who spills their drink down my blouse has to be stupidly attractive.

The man before me is so beautiful it’s almost cruel.

A crown of crow dark curls circles his head, framing his oil slick eyes and sharp cheekbones. His is an unnecessary sort of perfection that sets my teeth grinding.

He’s clad in all black, save for his coat—a beaded brocade of black and crimson silk with quilted red lapels. From the breast pocket, a beaded scarlet brooch in the shape of a dahlia dangles in ostentatious splendour.

There is something familiar about him I can’t quite grasp.

For some inexplicable reason I amount to probable insanity, I cannot stop my gaze from flitting to his mouth.

Bad idea. Very bad idea.

His lips look like two full flower petals. I’m plagued by the inane thought that they might feel just as soft. If I can only reach out and—

I shake my head.

Concern creases the man’s brow now. To my horror, I realise I haven’t responded to his question. I’ve just stood here, dripping and sticky, for who knows how long. Staring. Like an idiot.

“I’m fine,” I grit out through barred teeth and my own mortification. I pat at the stain hastily with the wad of napkins. “I’m just great.”

It’s useless, of course.

The stain isn’t coming out, I’m late to my life-altering interview, and to make matters worse, I still haven’t had coffee. Not to mention, my chest burns in a way that makes me tempted to scrap everything in favour of a doctor’s office.

~~~~~

That’s when panic seizes hold.

A strand of pearls tightening around my throat. I am sure it means to strangle me because I cannot breathe.

My heart takes flight, battering my ribcage as if it intends to escape entirely. A trail of sweat trickles down my forehead.

I am going to be late. I am going to have this horrid stain on my shirt. I am going to fail this interview. I am going to fail this year and myself and my family.

There’s something heavy sitting on my lungs. I am both hot and cold, here and not.

Tears prick my eyes. I will them not to spill over, but of course, my body betrays me. I swipe furiously at my cheeks.

Everyone in the coffee shop plus one unfortunately attractive dude must be staring, watching as I teeter on the edge of full-blown hysterics.

“Hey,” Unfortunately Attractive Dude croons, but I don’t see him.

I try to draw even breaths. And fail. And fail again.

~~~~~

I’m barely aware of the hand that guides me to a corner of the coffee shop. It’s darker here. A bit quieter, too. I notice a large bookshelf obscuring the alcove from the main seating area. Away from prying eyes.

“Just relax,” the man says. “It’s going to be okay. Are you hurt?” He looks inclined to place his hand on my shoulder again but thinks better of it when he sees my expression.

I want to punch him in his stupid face. Maybe I should. It’s only fair, given the circumstances.

“Relax?” I scoff, hating the way my voice cracks. “Don’t tell me to relax. I’ve got an interview in ten minutes and I’m fairly certain my would-be boss won’t appreciate my being late. Or this sort of oversharing.”

I make a wild gesture at the stain on my chest, ignoring the slight tremor in my hands. I am acutely aware of the fabric’s transparency there. Today was not the day to wear a bright purple bra.

A moment passes before a smirk slips into place on Unfortunately Attractive Dude’s hateful mouth. He folds his arms across his chest, giving me a once over.

“You sure about that?” he drawls, and now I am positive I’m going to punch him. My hands curl into fists at my sides.

“You’re disgusting.”

“And you, sunshine, are no longer having a panic attack.”

Indeed, the tightening in my throat has waned. But as keen an observation as it might be, I would first run my hand through with my fencing sabre than admit he is right.

“I wasn’t having a panic attack,” I say too quickly. He produces a smug expression that is just as bewitching as it is infuriating.

He knows what I’ve said is a lie. I know it’s a lie, too. Very deep down. In some dark forgotten place inside me where things that don’t want to be admitted go.

The man grins as if I should be grateful. I am decidedly not.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” I say, taking a step toward him. “But don’t pretend to know me. Because you don’t.”

He lifts a brow—the worst kind of dare. “Don’t I?”

“No,” I say. I hope I come off more menacing than I feel with my tearstained cheeks and conspicuous underthings on display for all the world to see.

“Pity,” he says, still wearing that stupid smile. “You seem delightful.”

My face grows hot. Blood pounds heavy in my ears, and I feel like I’m running anew. I’m so angry I cannot think.

And apparently, I don’t think—because I take another step closer.

The rest of the world slides away. It’s just me and this loathsome beautiful heinous man in a secluded corner of a strange coffee shop.

He towers over me, lithe and angled, face limned in shadow. He’s unflinching and returns my gaze with equal distaste.

My heart skitters wildly, stumbling one beat over the next like it knows it's been spotted by something with sharp claws and jagged teeth.

In the unclosed space between us, a glittery treacherous thing ripples.

I am suddenly very glad for bookshelves.

I should leave. I should go to my interview before I do something I will regret. Before I ruin everything. I should walk away.

Then, I do the opposite of that.

“I’m the farthest thing from delightful,” I tell him, shooting a dagger-filled glare from beneath the hood of my brow. “Which is why I’d strongly advise against getting in my way again. And don’t call me sunshine.”

Something smells familiar; like a forest in winter. Like cedarwood and myrrh. With a jolt, I realise it’s him and dig my nails into the meat of my palm.

He chuckles, raising his hands in defence. “Fine,” he says. “Won’t happen again. But at least come with me. I think I can help.” He juts his chin toward the back of the coffee shop, presumably towards the toilets.

I wrinkle my nose.

This can’t seriously be some kind of come-on. I don’t have time for unsolicited advances right now. I don’t even have time for solicited advances.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I spit, and he flinches. “First, you give me third-degree burns. What’s next? Chop me up in the alley out back?”

The corner of his mouth twitches slightly. “As appealing as that sounds,” he says. “I’m shit with knives.”

“Oh, that’s a comfort.”

“Better with fabric, though.” He gives an unbothered shrug. “I was going to offer to get that out for you.” The man nods, seemingly unfazed, at my chest. Heat rises in my cheeks again.

“You’ve done enough already,” I snap.

Maybe I’ll just wear my winter coat through the whole cursed interview. Even that would be a better solution than this conversation.

I turn on my heel to leave, but the man catches my wrist.

Bad move, I think.

I’m contemplating dragging him out of this alcove by the ear so I can punch him in front of every customer in this coffee shop when, to my surprise, he lets go.

The man rakes a hand through his dark curls, heaving a great sigh.

“Wait. Just...” he starts. “Look, I feel bad enough as is. Let me make it up to you. It’ll take five minutes. You’ll only be a little late to your interview, and you won’t have to deal with a dry cleaner’s bill.”

I snort. I haven’t been able to afford dry cleaning since I stopped living in Madoc’s house two years ago. I will likely have to throw this shirt away if I can’t get the stain out with a good old-fashioned scrubbing.

“I’ll buy you a coffee for your troubles while we wait.”

I consider him for a moment. He seems sincere enough, though attractive people always seem sincere, even when they are truly not.

Now, though, I don’t really have much left in me to care.

I want the stain out of my blouse, a vat of coffee in my system, and a teleportation device that can transport me to the sixth floor of the Silhouette immediately.

If this man is a willing rung in the ladder to get me even two-thirds of those things, I will consider it a blessing.

“Fine,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’ll take a large cappuccino. Extra shot of espresso. And a shot of caramel. To go.”

“Wonderful.” The dazzling man smiles his dazzling smile. “Follow me.” And with that, he leads the way out of the alcove, a gleeful bound in his step.

I already regret my decision.

☽☽☽☽☽

Part II 

Masterlist 

AO3

Tag List: @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte @velarhysismine @knifewifejude

AN: this was originally sent to me as a request for the prompt “I’m running late to an important interview/meeting and you accidentally spill your hot cocoa all over my outfit” from a winter prompt list. but it spiralled into several chapter outlines and an almost fully-fledged plot so i’m rolling with it.

anyway, thanks so much for reading! hope you enjoyed :) if you’d like to be tagged in future updates for this AU, feel free shoot me an ask/message.

a few disclaimers:

1. i don’t think publishing is boring! i’m technically trying to go into publishing for my career so really just poking fun at myself. but i do think jude would find publishing (or any other office job) incredibly boring.

2. the depiction of jude’s panic attack is provided by yours truly, though i do not claim to speak for everyone who gets them, and am aware that they differ in both manifestation and severity from person to person. this just pertains to my own experience.

3. i was definitely listening to slow burn by kacey musgraves while writing part of this lmao (hence the chapter name).

[maviemesregles]

Twas two days before Christmas

This one-shot fic was written for @thelallybrochlibrary​ Holiday exchange.

A prompt from @maryooch​ :  "How about Jamie meets Claire while she’s trying to skate (badly) at Rockefeller center during the Christmas season. Both are unattached and in the city for different reasons."

Special thanks to Anne  @eclecticstarlightconnoisseur​  for always getting my messy ideas and improving them. For once again for making sure it's nice and readable for you guys.

Hope you enjoy and feel a wee bit festive! ❄️

AO3

New York, New York Frank Sinatra sang. The Big Apple stretched out all the way to the horizon in a milky white blanket of snow. The skyline pierced with gleaming structures of steel, glass, and concrete.

Claire stared out of the window where snow became even thicker than an hour ago and turned the buildings into giant ice cream cones.

“Honey, are you there?”

“Yes, Mum.” Beauchamp pressed her ear to her iPhone and climbed onto the high hotel bed. “I’m listening.”

“Baby, what did they tell you about the flight? Father has been calling British Airways at least a hundred times today. You know what he’s like.” Julia Beauchamp rattled around in the kitchen cupboards.

Claire dropped her head into the mass of pillows crispy scented of fresh laundry.

Of course, something like this could have happened only to her. After the three-day medical conference in New York, with bags full of gifts, sweets, booze for Dad, and cosmetics for Mum, Claire was ready to go back home for the holidays.

But this year the family tradition wasn’t going to happen because Claire got stuck in this city for God knows how long. The heavy blizzard came upon New York, forcing all the transatlantic flights to be cancelled. Red-faced, hands full of bags, and sweaty in her jumper, the English surgeon hissed “Fucking morons” when she was told she’s not flying today. And most likely not for the next three days. Her cell-phone kindly reminded her today is the 22nd day of December. Only two days left before Christmas. If not for being scared to be without a means of contact, Claire surely would have smashed the device on the white airport tiles.

“They put me into the hotel. It’s all paid.” She glanced at her suitcase, surrounded by shopping bags. “All flights to London cancelled.”

Reaching into one of the bags, Claire grabbed a chocolate bar, not caring about a proper lunch at the moment.

“What about Bristol? Manchester? Anything at all?” Her mother sighed, looking at the shopping list for Christmas dinner. “Dad could pick you up. Lamb just got the car back, all fixed.”

Chewing on the mint chocolate, Claire flicked through the menu on the side table.

“Nothing. I even checked flights to Edinburgh and Dublin. It looks like I’m stuck here.”

There was silence for a while. Claire could hear their dog Pop, an old pug, snoring in the background. All she wants to do is cry. Is it so much to ask? To be home for Christmas time?

“Oh, darling.” Her mother’s voice is soft and reassuring. She knows. “It’ll be fine. I’m certain that you will get home right in time for Christmas.”

After a brief goodbye, Claire checks the flight schedules again. Her frustration mounts and she begins to pace a circular path for at least ten minutes. Her nerves begin to fail her and she decides a cup of chamomile tea would be just the thing.

“Or better yet, a bottle of red," she speaks out loud filling the void for the room. She may as well take advantage of all this suite has to offer.

Her body relaxes into the lavender-scented bath foam, warming her chilly flesh as the fruity Sauvignon Blanc infuses her mouth. Later spurred by the TV forecast (damn the winter) Claire gets into leggings and oversized, knitted horridness of a sweater (decorated with mistletoes and festive ornaments all over it).  She shortly video chats with Geillis who is hugely disappointed Claire won’t get to the annual work party at the hospital.

“I do hope ye willna waste yer time in New York, a thasgaidh,*” hummed her ginger colleague. “Go to Time Square, Central Park or… Oh, weeeel, ye can go skating! Mebbe ye’ll find some attractive American who’d lay an eye on ye.” Geillis smirked.

Checking the explosion of hair on her head in the mirror, Claire sighed.

“If that attractive American is a pilot that takes me home, I would not mind, just tell me where to find him.” She tried to secure the naughty curls into something that could resemble a bun but eventually giving up.  “I feel like bloody Kevin McCallister,” Claire said as she slid into her boots.

“Weel, just dinna get in trouble with burglars.” Edgars barked a laugh and wished Beauchamp to have fun.

                                                   🎄  🎄  🎄    

Claire surely could say that Christmas time in New York must be wonderful. Even though her mood sunk to the lowest level, she became determined to raise her spirits. God, all those books about positivity and visualization her Mum reads out loud to her should have a hint of truth to them. Right?

The streets were decked with glimmering lights and dazzling displays. The chill in the air burned her cheeks and Claire was swept up into the herd of people like a fluffy sheep in her soft white woolly coat.

Roads were covered in a sparkling powder that made a nostalgic crunchy sound under feet. People were dressed in layers of scarves, cardigans, and warm winter coats. Some held onto hot beverages to warm their hands as well as their bodies. Some brave tourists were sporting red noses just like the one of Rudolph the reindeer Claire had seen in a Macy’s display. Everything was bright and festive. All the Christmas lights twinkled and the colourful signboards reflected off the snow. Christmassy music played from the shops displaying their wares touting them as the perfect gifts. The sounds of Christmas could be heard coming from phones and the passing cars. It was everywhere. Claire softly hummed a tune as her feet followed the crowd leading her to Rockefeller Center. When Claire lifted her head, her heart grew tender with childhood memories. She stood right in front of the huge Christmas tree, adorned with all its lights, the star on top causing Claire to get teary-eyed. She literally felt like a movie character standing here now. Glancing at rosy-cheeked, laughing people on the ice rink, she joined the queue.

“To hell with it.” She could make her own Christmas memories here, alone in NYC.

Claire had to admit she underestimated herself, thinking that skating is like riding a bike. But, she found that it most assuredly wasn't. She tried to keep her legs as steady as possible, trying to get used to gliding on the ice. Holding onto the rail, she wobbled around before she braced herself to finally go into the middle, and actually skate.

She surely thought that she looked like a penguin trying to find its friends, as she awkwardly moved around in the crowd. Occasionally, she squealed and even closed her eyes when particularly fast skaters passed her by. The moment Beauchamp thought she had got it, she pushed harder and began to glide on her skates. Before she knew it, she crashed into someone else. Clenching her fists and closing her eyes before her body hit the ice.

“Jesus. H. Roosevelt Christ!”

Falling down on her bottom, surgeon hissed at the burning feeling of her palms meeting the ice.

“Here, let me help ye.”

After no needed pause, Claire opened her eyes, glancing at the owner of the soft burr. The stranger whose hand was stretched out to help, smiled, a pair of blue eyes studying her intently.

“Thanks.” Giving a faint nod, Claire accepted the man’s hand. A swift pull and she was back on her feet, trapped between the arms of this bloody good looking man.

He was handsome from the depth of his cobalt blue eyes to the gentle tilt in his voice. A face with striking features Claire was sure she likely won’t forget. The strong jaw with a shadow of stubble and lips that took the soft shape of a smile. A scent of expensive cologne swirled around him. And the hair of the brightest red she’d ever seen.

“Yer didna hurt yerself, lass?” The man steadied her with both of his hands firmly on her waist.

Claire’s cheeks turned into a lovely shade of pink and she could feel the heat of his touch growing on her skin. Beauchamp dropped her gaze down her feet, mumbling.

“I’m fine. Though it takes some time for the pain to settle in and I can only hope I will be able to walk tomorrow.” She waved her hand in no particular direction but rather in frustration.

The stranger smiled as they awkwardly skated to the rail. Claire glanced at him through her lashes smiling back.

“So yer a Sassenach then.”

“Excuse me?” Claire furrowed her eyebrows, unable to stop looking at him. Damn him, he was attractive.

Her saviour let out a soft laugh.

“Yer English, no?” Besides his remark about her Englishness (Claire figured he was a Scot in mere seconds), his tone was kind. “It means an English person or an outlander.”

“How lovely.” Claire snorted examining her palms.

“I didna mean to offend ye.” He leaned to touch her shoulder gently. It took Claire longer then it should to speak up, the words burning against her dry throat.

“You didn’t.” The surgeon gave him a lopsided smile, stretching out her hand. “I’m Claire. Thanks for saving my arse.”

The Scot barked a laugh and took her hand in his. Claire wasn’t sure if she imagined it or not, but the way his skin felt upon hers gave her the rush of goosebumps all over it. Did he feel it too?

“I’m Jamie. And I’m more than glad to save such a lovely arse.”

What an eejit, he thought to himself. Who says that to a lass ten minutes after meeting her?

He already opened his mouth to give her a stream of apologies but she bit her lip and the bell of laughter warmed his heart. A Dhia, she was lovely.

Jamie had noticed her almost immediately when she entered the rink. That mass of curls that made her look like a fairy that stepped out the Scottish legends. He had to smile at the lass when she tried to skate (and very badly to his own good luck). Jamie watched her for a while when he could catch a glimpse of her absolutely horrid Christmas jumper and her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Her arse did not escape his attention either, perfectly round in those leggings.

As they made their way toward the lockers to gather their belongings, he learned she was from London. A surgeon visiting here for a medical conference. And no, she has never been to Edinburgh.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the window, Claire mentally admitted there were times when she had looked better when a man approached her. She could feel Jamie’s eyes on her back as she did her shoelaces, slowly she brought her head up, eyes locking with his.

The blue oceans met the whisky rivers. Claire wanted to say that she should go, it’s getting dark, and this day had got the better out of her. But instead, she took a step as if an invisible magnet was pulling her towards him. There was a silence that drowned them both into the abyss of unknown but much-needed connection.

“Jamie, I -” Her tongue, feeling like sandpaper, moved ever so slowly.

She felt hypnotized, barely registering that she started to walk the opposite way to the exit. But the next second, she found herself staring at their linked hands and his eyes travelling to her face.

“Wait, Claire.” Jamie wet his lips, the corners curl into an almost apologetic-like smile. “I ken it might be daft as we just met, but would ye do me the honor of joining me for dinner?"

She glanced at him, with eyes warm like a fine aged scotch.

“I would not mind a company.”

“I ken a perfect spot.” His hand on the small of her back, leading out of the crowd.

                                                   🎄  🎄  🎄

Claire was sure the air crackled with electricity or chemistry (or whatever they call it) as she and Jamie walked through the snowy streets of New York. The roads have been only partially plowed and cleaned. Beauchamp found her legs drowned up to the ankles in the fluffy mass. Jamie carried her over the asphalt where the snow began to turn into mushy puddles from the trampling of an endless stream of pedestrian traffic. Claire giggled as he carried her across each puddle, and felt the tips of her ears turn scarlet red.

The distance between them grew closer and closer until eventually, their shoulders were brushing against each other. She had learned that Jamie was born in the area of Inverness. He had a huge family, a sister and a brother which included many nieces and nephews as well. Claire smiled when she noticed his proud tone when he spoke about his father and the particular tenderness when he mentioned his older sister Jenny. Jamie had worked for the last three years in the US and at 34 years old he was a successful entrepreneur.

Claire mentioned the nomadic lifestyle she lived when she was a child. Her parents worked a lot and she had spent two years travelling with her uncle Lamb. She had a best friend, a Scottish lass named Geillis. Beauchamp liked to read and spend time in the garden with her mum. She sadly recounted that she had made the mistake of getting married only to find herself divorced after four months of the young marriage. Her ex-husband’s name was Frank. The memories made her uncomfortable and she did not want to remember more. Jamie did not ask further, only stating he never married.

“And yer telling me ye have no boyfriend?” Fraser’s hand curled over her delicate shoulder, encouraging Claire (to her own delight) to nestle closer against him. It was such a casual move that she had thought she knew Jamie for ages already. The warmth that was radiating from him rooted deep in her belly and was rising up and up, making her ache at the very core of her being.

“Seeing no one.” Claire shook her head, peeking at him through her lashes. “And how is that my fellow Brit is not with a lassie? ”

Jamie made a sound deep from his chest, something typically Scottish she’d gathered.

“I am with a lassie, and a verra bonnie one, I must say, am I not?” He smirked, though his voice was painted with seriousness.

“Flatterer.” Claire dropped her head, pretending her boots were much more interesting than anything else she’d seen. In truth, it was to hide a smile.

Later their hands merged together, fingers entwining. The strangeness and absolute familiarity of their palms fitting together was something neither of them could explain. Everything seemed to be suspended around them causing the time to become disjointed. Finally, they arrived at their destination.

“Highlands NYC?” Claire read out loud the name of the place Jamie had brought her. “Really? Out of all places in New York, you brought me to Highlander bar?”

The tips of Jamie's ears burned, the red matching his hair. Letting a shaky breath, his lips leaned over to her ear.

“Sassenach, ye should experience Scotland to its fullest.”

That moment Beauchamp went weak in her knees. The raspiness in his voice and… God damn, all of him almost forced her to drag Jamie to the nearest toilet and indeed enjoy one of Scotland's sons to his fullest. She did not.

They sat at the bar since all the tables were booked. The barstools migrated as close as possible for Jamie’s fingers to run freely at the expense on her back, sending goosebumps all over the skin. Her knees accidentally touched his. She laughed, loud and infectious at his stories. Throwing her head all the way back, exposing the pale skin on her neck, placing the blue of her veins in full view. The sight made his cock twitch. She laughed heartily, smacking her palm on his thigh when she found his joke particularly funny. Jamie's breath hitched becoming shallow and broken. She licked her lips. Claire slid her hand over the cold glass containing her cocktail. Her movements were deliberate, slow, down and up over the patterned glass mimicking... What did Geillis say about the unconscious signs?

Fraser shifted in his seat, more than ready to suggest they go somewhere where they find their way to each other. The hot air inside the pub and between them made both ache for each other.

But the food arrived distracting them from their lustful thought. They dined on Haggis dressed in whisky butter, and warm quinoa with crispy spiced chickpeas. They laughed and joked, speaking of this and that learning about each other. As the evening wore on, Claire found her heart beating its way out of her ribcage. She leaned in planting a soft kiss on Jamie's cheek fearful of having to whisper words of parting lying on the tip of her tongue. But she found she was not yet ready to say goodbye yet.

“Would ye like me to walk ye to yer hotel?” His voice was hoarse, scented with the whisky he had drunk. Claire leaned into him whispering:

“Yes.”

They hadn’t said goodbye in front of the hotel. Not in the foyer, either. Certainly not in the lift. As they stood in front of each other surrounded by glass cubicle she moved first.

Before he knew it Jamie’s mouth was claimed by hers. Chest heaving and gasping for air, both parted and stared at each other until the lift announced their destination with a soft Ding.

Claire’s hands shook, the room card almost slipping out of her sweaty palms. The second her feet entered the room, Jamie had pulled her closer by the waist. The lengths of the bodies pressing, Claire’s cheeks flaming hot. He breathed heavily as he left a trail of burning kisses down the column of her neck.

“Christ, I want ye.”

Cupping her arse Jamie’s lips traveled up, taking her bottom lip between his. She smiled against his mouth, hands pulling at his nape, closer and closer, until the kiss could actually hurt. She could feel the length of him, hard and ready through his jeans and it made her almost blind with animal-like want.

“Take this off,” Claire whispered pulling at the hem of his shirt. Aching for him became powerful to the point where she could not bother unbuttoning his shirt, Claire just yanked the soft material over his head.

She could swear she heard him growl when her sweater followed the same destination as Jamie’s shirt and landed into the fabric puddle on the floor. No bra in the way, Jamie did not hesitate to kiss his way down Claire’s cleavage, stopping for the thorough exploration of each breast. Her mouth dropped open in a silent plea when his lips captured the nipple. Almost burning with the heat that grew between her thighs and made her belly ache, Claire reached down, to unbuckle his jeans. Tongues danced, lips bitten surely to swell come the morning, teeth raking over the soft skin of the neck. Pulling the leggings with underwear to her ankles Jamie definitely left blueish trails where his fingers pressed. But it was a delicious feeling that bordered with painful pleasure. They stumbled upon the bed, falling into it, a suppressed laugh emerging between their mouths. Gently but firmly Jamie had pushed Claire flat on her back, letting his hand trace the invisible paths all the way from the high hills of her neck, down to the valley between her breasts, the plain expanses of her belly, all the way down to the hidden secrets between her thighs.

She moaned into his lips when his fingers had found her apex between her thighs. His bold caresses drew sighs, moans, and keening that he longed to hear. With the right pace and rhythm he drew those sounds out of her. Claire’s curls flew all over the white pillow. Air! She needed air and began to take deep lungfuls. Writhing as the sweet torture continued, Claire took large fistfuls of linens as an anchor. Arching into his hand, she had lost all the train of coherent thoughts.

“Jamie…” Gasping for air burning hot in her throat, she finally broke into the million atoms finding herself thousands of light-years later, breathing heavily, the sweat trickling down her nape.

“Ye’re so beautiful when ye become undone.” Jamie murmured, lips pressing a soft kiss at her brow.

Still shaking Claire reached between them finding a condom and gladly placed it on him. She’d found herself again in Jamie’s embrace. Still, she kissed him hungrily with the remnants of her own satisfaction yet to fade, asking for more. Jamie did not need much encouragement and with the slightest nod of her head, guided himself into her. The sudden, hot sensation of him made Claire throw her head back. Seized lungs could not produce any coherent sound. As Jamie’s hips moved fast into her, reaching that right spot, again and again, she could only cling to him for dear life. When Jamie’s own breathing became slow and shuddering, it wasn't clear where he began and she ended. The world expanded beyond itself. It grew into a million colourful stars shining brightly around them.

Well into the night, as Claire slept, he drew tender paths with his fingers mapping the lines and valleys of her body.

Later she awoke from her sweet slumber by the quiet rustle next to her. Jamie sat upright, hands roaming on the floor in the search of his underwear and jeans. For some reason, it bitterly stung. Claire slowly brought her hand up, gently touching his back.

“Please stay.”

                                                 🎄  🎄  🎄

Claire was sure it’s all had been a dream. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and in ten minutes her mother will call her downstairs to help start making dinner preparations. The brussels sprouts and mashed potatoes are not going to cook themselves. Her still sleepy mind started registering unusual noisy traffic outside, quite the opposite of the calm London neighbourhood where her parents lived. She turned to her side, eyes still tightly shut. Claire wasn’t sure now if she wanted to open her eyes and find herself home (where she so desperately wanted to be just twenty-four hours ago) or to wake up to the reality of finding one particular Scot next to her?

The mattress felt unfamiliar and too comfy. Her old bed in Beauchamps house surely did not feel that way. Moreover, the heat radiating from her left side was more likely from a person than the furnace. Claire’s eyes snapped open and she had to blink several times to get used to the bright sun, bouncing off the snowy scenery outside.

“Weel, hello to ye, sleeping beauty. I was afraid ye’d been cursed and would never wake.” Jamie rolled onto his belly, propping himself on the elbow. “Though it’s rather a nice sight to observe”

He ran his fingers down the line of Claire’s jaw before leaning in to kiss her.

“So you’re not a dream.” She smiled and pulled the blanket up higher than her waist, suddenly feeling shy. “What’s this?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion as Jamie fished his phone out, nodding to the screen.

“I don’t understand.”

“Ye’re going home, Sassenach.” He chuckled, feeling quite proud that he’d managed to find them both tickets to Edinburgh this evening. Jamie rather never did say out loud the price he paid but the look on Claire’s face was worth much more than that.

“Bloody hell!” She squealed, not believing her eyes. “How can I ever repay you?”

Jamie smiled when her hands wrapped around his neck.

"Love me some more, Sassenach.”

[findmeinpops]

FindMeInPops’ 12 Days of Ficmas: Christmas Day Bonus - I Promise I’ve Been A Good Boy

Merry Christmas, wonderful people! As it is Christmas Day and I had one more idea I wanted to write for, you have an extra drabble for my 12 Days of Ficmas. As always, the AO3 collection is linked here. The entire Masterlist for all of these drabbles will be posted tomorrow.

Prompt: No.12 - Person A dressed up as an elf because of their job. Person B is drunk and thinks that Person A actually knows Santa

Ship(s): Betty Cooper x Jughead Jones

CW(s): alcohol, swearing, mentions of street harassment

Reindeer Games: Blitzen - Holidays

Walking home in the half-melted snow, Betty’s mind was fixated on how much she hated her job. The owner of the bar that she worked at had wanted to go ‘full-festive’ to try to rake in tourists. That was fine with her when he had been hanging up garlands and fairylights as well as putting up a couple of Christmas trees and bunches of mistletoe but then he had decided to dress the bar staff up as elves. Betty drew a line at being forced to work in a short, skintight elf outfit whilst serving drinks to tipsy men but it was either obey or be fired and she really needed the job; lucky for her, a childhood friend worked as a bouncer in the same bar and had been happy to escort her as she maneovered around the room - that worked to prevent roaming hands. Archie had had to go straight home to his wife and newborn, though, Betty had assured him she would be fine, she’d grab a taxi and go home. But the line for taxis outside the bar had been an hour long and, not wearing enough clothes, Betty was half-freezing to death. On account of not wanting to lose any limbs to frostbite, she had decided to walk the three blocks back to her apartment. During the journey, she had been catcalled five times and was still at risk of losing a finger or two, but at least she was not still standing in the queue to get a taxi.

As she rounded the final corner, she spotted a mass sat on the steps up to the apartment complex. Not knowing what to expect at 2am in the middle of the city, her body tensed at the potential threat, her mind running rampant with all of the possibilities of what could happen next. Braving to continue forward with the goal of her nice warm bed, she wrapped her fingers around the can of pepper spray in her handbag, slowing her pace and trying not to focus her eyes too long on what she now realised was a person curled up on her steps.

She had just reached safety, her hand on the door handle when movement from the mass caught her attention. Trying not to make any sudden moves, she slowly opened the door but stopped as the person spoke.

“You’re an elf.” It wasn’t a question. The man had a gruff, slurred voice and was definitely intoxicated and, by the stinging stench of alcohol, he was drunk, very drunk.

Betty did not know what to do. Her body was screaming at her to run, to get out of there but her mind was chastising her, reminding her of how her parents had always raised her to be polite. She did not want politeness to be the death of her but a small part of her felt sorry for the man; after all, to be this intoxicated in the middle of the street at 2am on Christmas Day, he must be going through an incredibly rough time.

“I, uh, I’m not a real elf.” Her tongue tripped over the words, the adrenaline in her veins preferring that she ran rather than talked.

“‘I’m not a real elf,’” The man mimicked as he uncurled himself more to be sat upright on the stairs, “that’s exactly what a real elf would say. You have to keep secrets, can’t have the whole world knowing about the big man.” He tapped his nose.

“I-I guess they would.” She let out a small chuckle. “But I promise I’m not. I work in a bar and, you see-”

“Just stop with the practiced, convoluted, bullshit story!” He interrupted, pushing himself up onto wobbly feet. “I don’t care! I’m not about to out you to the whole fucking world!” Although still slightly slurred, his enunciation was getting better and his words more coherent.

“Seriously,” she tried to reason but he would not let her get further than one word. Now on his feet, he took a few shaky steps towards her.

Betty brought the pepper spray out of the bag so it was only hidden by the overflap, ready to use it if he attempted an attack. His proximity was making her nervous. Upright now, she had a clearer view of his face and could see obvious tear tracks down his face - she was right, he had gone through something rough. Surprisingly though, she realised that he was wearing a three piece suit, crumpled and dirty, but an expensive suit nonetheless.

“I honestly don’t care but please,” he pulled his hands into a pleading gesture, “please, tell Santa I’ve been a good boy. I promise I’ve been a good boy, I promise!”

“I’m not-” She stopped, changing her next words. ”Sure. Sure, I’ll pass on the message.”

The man only nodded in response, turning and making his way back to the stair he had been sitting on before. With the exchange over, Betty opened the door to leave before her conscience got the better of her. No man who owned a three-piece suit got into this state just for the hell of it.

“Hey,” he froze as she called out to him, both of them turning to face each other and Betty letting the door go, “what’s your name?”

“Jughead.” He threw himself down on the step but continued to watch her.

“I’m Betty.” She moved to sit down near him, not so close that he could easily touch her, but close enough that she could see his expression. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

Jughead scoffed but tears began to well in his eyes, a completely broken look taking over his face.

“My fiancée, my girlfriend of five years, has kicked me out of our apartment, it was my apartment before her.” He spat the word ‘her’ like it was dirty. The tears then broke free, pouring down his cheeks. “I accused her of cheating, fuck I know she’s been cheating on me - I walked in on her and my brother redressing!” He was now shouting but Betty did not have the heart to tell him to quiet down. This man was heartbroken and in her gut she just knew that he did not deserve a single inch of anything that had happened to him.

“She doesn’t deserve you or your love, you’re too good for her.” Over the meer minutes that they had known each other, he had made an impact on her, connected with her soul. She hated seeing him hurting. Betty scooted closer, laying her hand on his arm, brushing her fingers over the crumpled fabric.

“Thanks.” He offered a small, watery smile before it disappeared and he looked down to his feet. “I’m sorry, I’m not normally like this.”

“I know.” She soothed.

“Shit, I’m piss-drunk, covered in dirt, lying on my apartment steps and confessing my woes to a fucking elf.” Betty was still confused why Jughead was so convinced that she actually knew Father Christmas but had decided that it was not the most important part of this interaction.

Instead, Betty was wondering how she could help the broken man and, despite her head screaming for her not to, an invitation to come up to her apartment left her mouth. There was very little Betty could do for him on the street; if he were to come up, she could help him calm down, get him into clean clothes, let him sleep the alcohol off, give him food and water, and then talk him into kicking the she-devil out of his apartment.

“You’re inviting a drunk man up to your apartment?” Jughead questioned.

“Against my better judgement, I am.”

“No,” he protested, “no, I should…I should…” he trailed off, the alcohol taking its toll on his thought process.

“What about a trade?” She bartered. “You come and crash on my sofa, my conscience demands I insist, and,” she felt so stupid for even saying it, “I will tell Santa that you have been a very good boy.”

Those were the terms that made Jughead agree. He gathered himself up off the steps and followed her into the apartment complex.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Witness : 4

The Present

moodboard created by @chuuulip

Character(s): dark!Bucky, later dark!Steve, too

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. Some violence as well at the beginning. It goes without (and with) that this is 18+.

Summary: The reader awaits, or rather dreads, Bucky's next visit.

Notes: I am reposting this fic here. It was originally on ao3 but now it’s on tumblr too! If you read, I love feedback and would love any comments you have. And if you can, please share! Anyhow, enjoy :)

If it hadn’t been for the alcohol, you wouldn’t have slept. When you awoke, it took a moment for your mind to clear and the memory to return to you. Coming home, Bucky, his threats, his promises...

Bucky’s visit had unwound you. Even if you had been paranoid, you had convinced yourself deep down that no one would ever know. That you would get past this and forget about everything. That he had so easily watched you and come into your apartment was more startling than anything you could have imagined.

Amidst your spiral, laced with whiskey, you had forgotten to call in. When your alarm woke you, you had no choice but to rise and brave a hungover day at work. You didn’t have yogurt that morning, only toast with butter. A shot of espresso from the Keurig before you sat down at work and you’d survive. You arrived at the call center just in time, though no one seemed to notice anyway.

Sinking into the brim of your coffee cup, you tried not to think of the night before. Would he return that night? If he did, would he change his mind? Would he just kill you instead? Maybe that was preferable. Was it truly worth it to degrade yourself to save your own life? And what if he found you too boring? It would be for nothing and you would have drawn out your own suffering for the same end.

You were going to puke. You pushed your chair back and clamoured through the doorway, bursting into the washroom right before your stomach flipped. You swung the door closed with one arm as you bent over the toilet, emptying your insides until there was nothing left. You closed the lid and flushed, sitting back on the tiled floor despite the filth there. How had this all happened? Why had it happened to you?

You climbed to your knees, shuffling to the sink and rinsing your mouth out, spitting the water down the drain. You pushed yourself up with the porcelain and tidied your reflection. What if he was in your apartment right now? What if he was watching you? Did he know where you were working today? Could he had put cameras in this very room? In your office? You made yourself leave the washroom before you lost all nerve.

You went to the breakroom and brewed a tea in the Keurig, closing your eyes against the harsh flourescent light. You sat at the desk and drank your tea; not a single person came to your desk. Lately, it felt as if you lived in your own world. As if, even when someone was right in front of you, that you weren’t truly there with them.

Time moved faster that day, but not much. You grabbed your bag and parted without pause. You sat in your car a while before starting it. You wanted to enjoy these little moments you had with yourself. Here in your shitty old Honda, you felt safe. What if you just started driving and didn’t stop? Could Bucky find you then? He had said he was watching you and had proven as much. can

You turned the engine and set off on your usual route. Peering up at your building, your stomach dropped. It was raining when you pulled up and you were quickly soaked in the downpour. You dragged yourself up the stairs, taking several breaks. Were you shivering because of the rain or were you quaking in fear? f

At last you reached your floor, testing the handle before you shoved your key in. It had been locked yesterday when you entered, too. Nothing could stop him. You sighed and unlocked the door, flicking the light switch as soon as you entered. You were reluctant to go further down the hallway but you had nowhere else to hide. You crept forward and peeked into the living room, relieved to find it empty.

You carried on and inspected further. Empty whiskey glass beside the sink, another where Bucky had left it. The plate from your morning toast still unwashed beside your cup. All was as it should be. Except for that glass. You were almost afraid to move it, yet it only reminded you of him.

I’ll be seeing you soon.

You set your bag beside the counter and headed for your bedroom. You were calm enough to assume he wouldn’t be there that night. As you entered your room, however, you spotted a box atop your mattress. Sleek black cardboard; a red bow holding it closed. You stared at it as you changed into your pajamas; plush blue bottoms with a loose tee. You paced at the foot of your bed before you found the strength to touch it. You pulled the box towards you, loosing the bow with a tug. You took a breath as you lifted the lid, red tissue paper hiding its contents further. You folded back the paper and quickly rescinded your hand as if you had been bitten.

It wasn’t much fabric but it was enough to revolt you. It only took a glance to know it was lingerie. You blinked and shook your head. You brushed back the tissue paper once more and slowly lifted the negligee by its straps. It wasn’t much of anything. A rosy one-piece which had no ass and the cups of its breast were entirely transparent. You let it fall back to the box as you noticed a black card in the middle. You opened it with two fingers; “Tomorrow”. Well, at least it wouldn’t be a complete surprise.

You pulled your arm back, messily replacing the lid and shoving the box on your dresser. Don’t think about it. Not until tomorrow. Just enjoy your time before...then.

Friday night. It felt like the last of your life. What awaited you felt like a death sentence. Would he be there, in your apartment? God, did it matter? That day was too speedy for you; the hours slaking off the clock like the rain washing over the New York skyline. The weather that day seemed to reflect your mood; dour. You bid farewell to the office, glad to be done with placement, but dreading what would come after.

When the elevator dinged to release you, your heart pattered along with the downpour just outside the front doors. You pulled up the hood of your jacket and left behind the call center, searching out your blue Honda amidst the rain-blurred dots of vehicles that lined the street. You let your bag fall onto the passenger seat as you hurriedly shielded yourself inside your car, pulling closed the door with a gasp. You pushed back your hood and looked around at the traffic passing by. It would keep you a little longer. Just a few minutes, but better than nothing. d

You waited for your window and joined the queue of rush hour drivers; your patience fueled by your reluctance. When you reached the corner of your street, you turned in the opposite direction and drove towards the other side of the city. What were you doing? You couldn’t run. He’d find you, wouldn’t he? He’d know.This was hopeless and yet you couldn’t make yourself turn around. You need a little longer. Just another night. You couldn’t do this.

You pulled into the parking lot, vacant but for a few errant car parts and pieces of rubbish. Abandoned and forgotten beside an old printer's. Weeds grew through the cracks of the tarmac, drowned in the pools of rainwater. You shut off your engine and leaned your head back, closing your eyes. Just a few minutes and you would go home. Face the music. But it wasn’t just a few minutes. It was an hour.

Headlights passed you, flashing through your eyelids as you listened to the unknowing passerbys. If you fled, how hard would Bucky look for you? Were you really that important? Well, he had waited three weeks to reveal his plotting and you suspected he rarely expended such energy without a degree of commitment.

A knock came at the window, nearly hard enough to shatter it. Your eyes shot open and you looked over the fist clenched and leaned against the car door. The metal fingers were a giveaway. You shook your head. It couldn’t be. “Open up, Y/N.” Bucky called to you, “Before I rip the door off.”

You reached over, trembling, and pressed the unlock button, the doors clicking loudly. Bucky pulled open the door and climbed in, tossing your bag in the back as his weight shifting the car. He dropped his hood from his face and glared at you, his jaw gritting as he sighed deeply. His metal hand wrapped around yours; a grip meant to be a warning. “What are you doing?” He hissed, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You stared at his hand but he did not release you. You looked up, fear twisting your features as you sputtered, fighting to find any response. What could you say? You didn’t even know what you were thinking.

“Alright, let’s go over the rules now.” He declared, his hand squeezing tighter. He could easily break your fingers, mangle every bone without effort. “First, when I ask you something, I expect a response. Understood?”

“Y-yes,” You forced out, shuddering. His grip lessened slightly.

“When I tell you to do something, you do it, without question,” He spoke through his teeth angrily. “Got it?” You nodded frantically. He continued, “No funny business. No running, no lying to me, because I will know. I know every move you make.” He slowly released your hand, stretching his vibranium fingers as if to boast their strength. “Your disobedience will have consequences, but I am not without mercy. Today is difficult, I understand. I can forgive the first mistake, it is a given, but no more than that.” He licked his lips, brushing back his hair. “So, we can make this night easy or hard. Your call. No more fuck ups.”

He stared at you, his eyes turning dangerous before you recalled that he expected an actual answer. You cleared your throat and squeaked out what was left of your voice. “Okay. I’ll listen.”

“Good. Start the car. We’re going to your place,” He said, “Remember, you are to do as I say. Without argument.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” You nodded as you turned the ignition. There was nowhere else to go. Nothing else to do but listen. Do as he said and you would live. Your surrender was a small price to pay for your life, right?

[isthisthingeven0n]

get better : d.d

this was a request by a lovely anon, and I hope you’re feeling a bit better (or getting there at least!) and thank you for the request. obviously I took the idea into a direction I saw best, but I hope you enjoy it either way.  masterlist (that will be organised soon when I have a chance to I promise)

Picking up the third tablet I take the glass of water to ease it down my throat. Out of all of the colourful endless named pills, this one is always the hardest to swallow, it is the one that determines me living until tomorrow. 

For the past seven months, I’ve been living with this. This is my life now, being sick. I don’t want it to dictate my entire life, but sometimes it does. 

Except he doesn’t see that. He sees me at my best. He doesn’t see me sitting with my cannula as I breathe in oxygen desperately. He hasn’t witnessed me vomiting profusely in the early hours of the morning as I cry, as I weep hysterically about this. 

No, to him I’m just sick. And to him, I’ll get better. 

Sometimes I wish I had his optimism. That easy-going outlook on life. I once had it too, when we first met.

We were children, some boy stole my toy so he gave me his to share until I was alright to be left alone. I don’t think I’ve ever been alright to be left alone since.

Growing up we drifted, but when we found each other in LA that was it. Since then things have only gone up, the toy we share tied between the two of us.

I sigh loudly as I focus on my reflection. The tiredness that never goes away and cannot be concealed by makeup. My whole body wracks with exhaustion, and I just have to laugh it off, blame it on being tired. 

 Sitting upright I place the tablets back into the cupboard, back into the order they have to be in as the labels remain faint but memorised off by heart now. I take two of the white ones when I wake up. The yellow one for nausea and the pale pink one in the evening to help ease my headaches and help me sleep. It’s my routine that he doesn’t seem to notice as his toothbrush sits next to mine.

“You wanna go to that theme park today? The others are down for it.” He calls out from my bedroom whilst I look at my reflection.

The thought of it sounds draining, but I can’t say no. “Yeah, I’m down.” I shout back, knowing he’s smiling at his phone as he messages Todd back.

I turn out of the room, grabbing my emergency medication and kit as a just in case, my last resort if all goes wrong at any point.

Sitting in his car I keep my eyes focused ahead rather than watch the cars rushing by on the other side of the road. “You feeling alright, you’ve been pretty quiet most of the way.” David comments as he turns the radio down slightly, allowing me the chance to speak up.

My eyes glance over to him as he keeps his hand lightly resting on the steering wheel. “I’m just thinking about things, that’s all.” I brush it off with a smile that pleases him enough to not ask anything else and we sit quietly, enjoying the music until we arrive at the entrance. 

As he parks I let out a quiet nervous sigh. I clench my fists, ensuring I can still feel them and that my blood circulation is being effective for now. 

We get out of the car and immediately I’m brought into too tight of a hug. As he pulls away his big grin makes me laugh. “Hey Zane, missed you too.” I chuckle as the expression on his face changes as he glances over to David. 

“You feeling alright, Y/n?” Zane asks as he places his hand on my upper arm, focusing on my eyes. 

Clearing my throat I nod and feel David rest his arm around me. “She’s been working overtime of late, catches up at some point.” David explains before I have the chance to tell the truth, which version of it I could’ve chosen to explain will now be unknown to all of them. 

All of us head inside and everyone has ideas on what rides we have to go on first. 

“No, we have to go on the Death Chamber!”

“How about the helta skelta?”

“Come on, that’s for pussies. Let's go on the rocking horse.” 

Everyone is trying to drown out the last person, and I sigh before backing away and sitting down out of the way. 

However, it doesn’t go unnoticed as I see David stand back and join me. 

His eyes are so soft, so caring yet completely blissful as he remains unaware entirely. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? ‘Cause we can always leave.” He tries to justify us leaving suddenly, but I shake my head.

“I’ll be fine. I just needed to gather my thoughts.” I push back the growing lump in my throat and stand up, rejoining the group. “Let’s just do the rocking horse, gotta start somewhere.” 

Somehow they all agree as we head over towards the small queue for the ride as we watch and hear the high pitched whirring sound of screams blending together. It is the kind of sound that could easily make your ears bleed as it is enhanced by the velocity of the ride itself. 

I lean against David who automatically lifts his arm up, bringing me closer to him. Usually, I wouldn’t mind, but right now it is making me feel more claustrophobic than need be. 

Swallowing the growing lump in my throat I take a few deep breaths before the gates open and we all filter through towards the ride. Everyone is talking about it, about things they should film whilst we’re all here and how good it should be. Yet all I can hear is the sound of me trying to breathe as I reach into my bag for my emergency supplies. 

A hand touches my arm, preventing me from going any further. “Sorry Ma’am, no bags on the ride.” The guard tells me as I plead at him with my eyes, but he simply shakes his head. 

“Everything okay?” David asks as he walks back over, glancing to the guard and back at me. 

I pass the guard my bag before smiling to David and following him onto the rocking horse. 

We sit on opposite ends so everyone can get their reaction recorded. As we’re strapped in I feel the clamp cutting off circulation and I check my pulse before David holds my hand, laughing in anticipation. 

“Ready?” He asks with a bright smile and I force back the panic within me and nod. 

“As I’ll ever be.” I respond as I grab a hold of his hand, squeezing it lightly as the ride starts up. 

Getting off of the ride we’re all swaying a bit. We all screamed, but the ringing hasn’t stopped in my ears. 

“Y/n?” From afar I hear my name being called as I see everyone ahead, already walking perfectly fine. “Are you alright?” 

I see the concern in David’s face as he reaches out towards me, and I can feel blood dripping from my nose. 

And before I can react or hear him, everything goes black. 

*

Around me, there aren’t any sounds of people screaming in excitement. The smell of the food stalls are a distant memory and beneath me is something soft. 

“Hey,” Slowly opening my eyes I look up, seeing David sat in front of me. “I’m glad you woke up.” He says calmly as his eyes remain on mine whilst I move to sit upright, but he quickly moves closer, helping me to stay down. “Doc advised you don’t make any sudden movements.” 

Looking around I realise we’re back at my house. We’re in my living room where I stupidly left a book on this under the sofa. Now it is on the table beside David. “So, you know.” I state quietly. 

“I’ve known all along, Y/n. I, I just didn’t want to believe it.” He mutters before standing up, taking the book in his hand. 

It’s a heavy book for the subject matter. All of it is filled with stories of potential loss or potential gain, depending on your particular condition. Mine at this stage could go either way. 

“So why haven’t you said anything David? All this time I’ve been trying to deal with it and you just sat there, ignoring it?” I scoff loudly as I rub my face, seeing him pacing up and down. “Can you stop? It’s making me dizzy.” 

David stands still before sighing loudly. “I, I didn’t want to accept it because I knew what it meant.” He says softly as he kneels down next to me, his hand lightly brushing my cheek. “I’ve seen your medication, I know about the emergency supplies and all the numbers to dial. I knew all of it.” He explains how he knew who to call when I collapsed, what I needed to take at that moment and how to deal with it in a rational way. 

“You really did your homework, didn’t you?” I ask as I reach up slowly placing my hand on his cheek as he leans against it. 

He smiles sweetly at me. “Well, this is one class I don’t want to fail, baby. I’ll always be here, every step of the way.” 

[h-o-l-l-i]

Hearts Together

Jax Teller x plus size!Reader

Word Count: 1,740

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: This was requested bu @mrsjaxtellerfan! Requests are OPEN!

Let me know if you want to be added to any of my tag lists for SPN, SOA or TWD!

“Teller-Morrow Garage, this is Y/N. How can I assist you?” You answered the phone in the office, the door to the garage opened, a familiar face popping through. You raised your finger to him so he slid his muscular body in and closed the door, taking a seat. You pulled out the schedule, tailing your finger down the page, “I have two openings tomorrow, 11:30 and a 2:45 with Juice.” His piercing blue eyes glazed over your beautifully curved body, taking in the sight of you in secret. “Okay, you’re scheduled. Thank you for choosing Teller-Morrow, have a great day!” You confirmed, hanging the landline phone back up and sighing.

“What’s the problem, Darlin’?” Jax asked, lighting a fresh cigarette, his mouth curled into a micheivous grin.

“It’s just so cheesy, you know.” You laughed, “How nice I sound.”

“What do you mean, Y/N? You’ve been the nicest person that I’ve known my whole entire life!”

“I can be mean, Jax! Remember that time in middle school—” you pointed to him, leaning against the desk in front of him.

“Ha! Right, that was the meanest I’ve seen you and you just told someone to go screw himself because he was bullying you.” He handed you the cigarette, you rolled your eyes and took a drag. “You comin’ tonight?” He asked, you stared at him, your eyes laced with confusion, “The party at the clubhouse.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Oh! I forgot about that! No, I’m not going.”

He took his cigarette from your hand, his rough fingertips grazing your soft hand, his eyebrows furrowed at your answer, “What do you mean you’re not going, Y/N, you haven’t missed a club party since I got patched in.”

“I’ve got plans, Jax.” You brushed it off, your cheeks beginning to blush.

He leaned forward, “What plans?”

“I’m just getting some dinner with this guy…” your voice trailed.

“What guy? I know him? I can send some—”

You cut him off, opening the door, “No, you don’t know him and you’re not going to send along a prospect. Jax, I’m going on a date and I can handle myself…your next appointment should be here in about 5.” You leaned against the door, smiling.

He nodded his head, biting his lower lip and hugged you before he left the office.

***

You stood in your room in front of the long mirror that hung on the wall, you held  the red dress to your curvy body and then the black one, then cycled back through them. Your head snapped to the edge of the bed where your phone was buzzing.

“Hello?” You answered, sticking the phone between your ear and shoulder, cycling through the dresses once more.

“Hey, Darlin’ What are you doing?” Jax inquired.

“Um, actually trying to figure out what I’m going to wear tonight. I can’t decide.” You laughed, sitting on the corner of the bed, placing the dresses beside you.

“Let me guess, the red or black dress?” He guessed. You laughed, indicating that he was right. “Send me a picture of both and I’ll tell you what I think then.”

“Thanks, Jax.”

“Anything for you, Darlin’”

***

Jax’s phone lit up, a singular buzz, another one a few minutes later. He grabbed his phone and placed his cigarette between his lips, his eyes widened slightly when he opened the first photo, his finger swiped to the next one. “Wow.” He said aloud, catching the attention of Tig.

“What?” He questioned the young son. “Holy shit! Who is that?” His eyes lit up excitedly. “You and Tara?” He raised an eyebrow at Jax.

Jax closed his phone, shook his head and tuck his blonde hair behind his ears, “No, I’m going to the hospital to see Abel then I’m going to tell her that I just can’t do it anymore…” he inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke from his lips.

“If that’s who you’re leaving her for, you’re making one hell of a great decision!” He patted him on the back, “But, just in case thing don’t work out, what’s her name. Maybe she’ll like Uncle Tigger…” he smiled.

Jax scoffed and stood from his stool, “Something tells me that this is going to last. Sorry, Tig.” He smiled, he pulled out his phone and dialed your number that he memorized to heart.

“They both look beautiful on you, Y/N. Really.” Jax smiled, “I think you should wear the red dress.”

“Red it is then; thank you Jax.” You spoke softly. “I have to finish getting ready. Bye, Jax.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

***

You sat down at the table, legs crossed, your heel bouncing, your freshly painted nails, tapping anxiously as time continually passed. “Would you like to place an order ma’am?” The waiter asked turning your attention to him.

You cleared your throat, grabbing at your wallet, “No, um. I’ll just pay—”

He refused, “It’s on the house, I’m sorry they didn’t show…” he stated before leaving you alone, stunned once more at the table.

Your heels clicked as your pace quickened to reach your car before the first tear fell. How could I be this stupid! I should have never come here! You criticized yourself, trying to dry your tears as they began to smudge your make up. Your hand twisted infighting the engine of you old, classic car. A few tears trickled down your cheeks on the way to the clubhouse; you knew you could forget about this horrible night by being surrounded by your family…Jax always made everything better; nothing else mattered when you were with him.

***

“Hey, Tig. Think you can spare some?”  You faked a smile, pointing to the amber liquid pouring from the glass bottle.

His eyes eagerly trailed over your body, his eyebrows raised when he recognized the dress from Jax’s phone earlier. “You look fantastic, Doll.” As you stepped closer to him, he caught sight of your smudged eyeliner and mascara, your eyes bloodshot and swollen. He began pouring you a glass, pushing it over to you.

You downed the drink quickly, his eyes studied you, “What happened, Y/N?” He paused, “You alright?” His voice concerned as he watched you wince from the lingering burning inside of your throat.

“Are all men shit heads?” You asked, gently holding out your glass for another pour. He tipped the bottle and in your opinion stopped a bit short, you shook your head and motioned with your hand. “No, keep going, Tig.”

“You sure, Doll. That can hit pretty women such as yourself kind of quick…”

“I’m a big girl; I can handle myself Tiggy.” You winked at him, he poured. You tipped your glass to him, “Thanks.”

“You want us to go teach him a lesson, Doll?” 

“No, he wasn’t worth it anyway, I’m just trying to fill something that only one person can…nothing works, just him…” your voice trailed, “But, he has a girl and he’s probably not into me anyway so…” you twirled the liquid in your glass.

“You’re too hard on yourself, Y/N. I mean look at you! Any man would be lucky for you to at least think about them.”

You smiled sheepishly and felt yourself blush, “Where’s Jax?” You changed the subject to something that held your whole heart.

“He went to go see Abel.” He said, his eyes then came to you, calculating your reaction to confirm his suspicions, “He’s ending things with Tara. Had some hot chick’s picture on his phone earlier. Drove him wild in a red dress…” your eyes bugged out slightly, making you choke on your drink.

The moment couldn’t have possibly become more awkward until the familiar rumble of Jax’s Harley pulled up to the clubhouse. Tig took that as his queue to leave grabbed his glass, hugged you tightly and left to the sea of women, smoke and music outside.

“Hey, I thought you said you weren’t comin’ tonight, Y/N/” he said, brushing his hair back behind his ears, his swagger like walk and bright smile fading as he caught sight of you. “What happened?” His tone low and fierce.

“The guy never showed” you took a deep breath, “So, I decided to come here, have a good time.” You smiled.

“You’ve been crying.” He pointed to you face.

You shook your head, “It’s allergies.”

“Y/N. I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, I know you don’t have allergies—” his heart stopped in realization of what he just revealed to you.

Your eyes wandered his, your voice soft, “Jax…”

“I love you, Y/N. I tried to get my mind off of you because you deserve a nice guy; not an outlaw like me but no one can erase you from my mind. You drive me crazy, every single day; sharing a bed with you when you had no where else to stay, picking your drunk ass up when you were at parties. You constantly saving my ass from the police.” His eyes never left yours, the words he spoke left his perfect lips with such passion and unconditional love.

Your eyes burned slightly with tears, you prince revealing himself at your most fragile moment. All of the words he said rang true in your heart, “What about Tara…” you asked gingerly.

“She was a sad attempt to get my heart to love something else. I ended things with her tonight because I couldn’t stand to think about you with someone else.”

Your eyes welled with happiness, your heart full of love, “I love you to Jax.” You smiled. His face erupted into a wide, bright smile, he stepped close to you, his hands trailed up to your cheeks, pulling your lips to his, kissing you softly.

For that moment the whole world stopped, nothing else mattered, nothing else in the world existed, it was just you and Jax. His lips parted from yours just enough, his forehead rested on yours, “You’re my old lady now, I love you, Y/N.” He kissed your lips tenderly once more.

“Come on,” he said, holding your hand in his, leading you away from where you had your first kiss with him, “When you look you like that; I need to show off my old lady, Darlin’” he smiled wickedly and opened the door. The two of you mixed into the massive collection of bikers hand in hand; hearts together.

[180abroad]

Day 178: ...and We’re Still in Bruges

After a pretty intense day visiting the WWI battlefields and memorials of Flanders Fields, Jessica and I decided to spend our last day in Bruges enjoying some of the lighter things it had to offer: chocolate, fries, and a whopping bell tower.

After a return trip to the I Love Coffee espresso bar and a walk through the market square---this time filled with stalls of flowers and produce---we started the day with a trip to Bruges's Choco-Story museum.

We'd visited a different chocolate museum back in York, so we were interested to see how the chocolate museum in this other world capital of chocolate compared. A lot of the subject material was similar---obviously---but we found the Bruges museum much more interesting. Instead of a flashy guided presentation like we experienced at the York Chocolate Story, the Bruges Choco-Story is an actual museum filled with informational displays that we could take in at our own pace.

As we already knew, the earliest form of chocolate was a sort of cold bitter tea brewed in Central America from cocoa nuts.. What I hadn't known is that the word chocolate is derived from the Nahuatl (Aztec) word cacahuatl, meaning "cocoa water." The earliest known use of cocoa was by the Shuar people of Ecuador around 5,000 years ago. Archeologists have found traces of Shuar pottery still coated with traces of brewed cocoa.

The later Mayan and Aztec civilizations especially favored a type of foamed cocoa made by churning it with a special whisk. The foam apparently cut down the bitter taste of the unsweetened chocolate.

In addition to the more typical museum displays, the Choco-Story also had some delightful Duplo block dioramas.

Much later, Spanish nuns in Oaxaca were the first to add sugar to their cocoa. The drink became so popular among female Spanish colonists that they couldn’t even make it through church services without taking a break for their servants to bring them more. A local bishop tried to crack down on the problem by banning cocoa in church and was found murdered shortly thereafter. (An important lesson about men trying to get between a woman and her chocolate…)

It was nearly a century after Columbus’s first voyage before cocoa made it back to Spain, and it was another century after that before it became popular outside of Spain. But when it finally did, it quickly became a sensation across the continent. In the 1700s, the French philosopher Voltaire mixed cocoa with coffee to create the world’s first mocha. He drank over 40 cups of it per day---to his doctor’s great distress.

Apparently, people were so afraid of spilling their cocoa that a new type of saucer was invented with a basket or cup for holding the cup secure. Maybe they were so afraid of spilling it because it was so expensive. In 1800, a pound of chocolate cost five times the average daily wage.

It wasn't until the mid-1800s that solid chocolate as we know it was first developed by the Quakers of northern England, whom we'd learned about at the Chocolate Story in York. But even though the English invented solid chocolate, the Belgians would argue that they perfected it.

Belgian chocolatiers pioneered the use of fun shapes and fillings to make chocolates even more enjoyable. Belgium was also one of the first countries to impose strict purity laws governing the production of chocolate---sort of like what Bavaria did with beer centuries earlier.

We also learned a bit about the process of making chocolate. (Or rather, I learned, since Jessica was already well-versed in the making of chocolate as a former chocolatier herself.)

I learned that there are three main varieties of cocoa plant: Criollo, Forastero, and Trinitario. Of these, Criollo makes the best chocolate and Forastero makes the least-good chocolate. Still, Forastero is much easier to grow than the other two, so the vast majority of chocolate is made from Forastero beans.

On average, one cocoa tree produces enough nuts to make just one pound of dark chocolate per year. That means that it takes literally billions of cocoa trees to feed the world's sweet tooth.

They also had a diagram showing the composition of dark, milk, and white chocolate. I knew that milk chocolate has a lot more sugar and less cocoa than dark chocolate, but seeing the pie charts really drove the difference home for me.

We also got to eat as many sample pieces of dark, milk, and white chocolate as we wanted, which was nice.

The museum ended with a walk through some incredible chocolate statuary and a demonstration of how to make Belgian pralines. It was pretty much exactly like the demonstration we saw in York---the chocolatier filled a mold with chocolate, poured it out, filled with filling, then filled with chocolate. But it's always fun to see people make chocolate, and it's even better to get free samples afterward.

On our way out to the gift shop, a set of computer terminals offered to reveal our perfect origin chocolate based on our taste preferences. Apparently mine is Venezuela and Jessica’s is Vietnam.

Our next stop was to climb the iconic bell tower that overlooks the market square. I have to admit that I spent a lot of that time thinking about the movie In Bruges, in which the tower plays a prominent role.

Crowds have apparently become more of an issue in the ten years since the movie was released. It was about a thirty-minute wait in the newly installed queue room before we could climb the tower. The price has also grown along with the crowds–twelve euros per person instead of the five quoted in the movie.

While we waited, we watched a looping video showing how the design of the tower has evolved over time. It was once actually even taller than it is now.

During the Middle Ages, a lot of towns around Belgium made deals with the local lords. The lords gave the towns economic autonomy, and the towns used this freedom to make astronomical amounts of money that the lords could use to raise armies when necessary. Each town had a market hall where local merchants would keep their wares safe during winter, and it became a point of pride for each town to build the biggest, most elaborate tower possible on their market halls.

As we climbed up, we got to see some exhibits along the way. We saw an old lock-box and the original wrought-iron doors dating back over 700 years to the hall’s original construction. Back in the day, this chest would have contained important contracts and decrees, and it would have required multiple respected members of the community to open it together, since they each would carry one of several keys that were all needed to open it.

We also saw the giant brass cylinder that runs the tower’s carillon bells just like a music box. I hadn’t known before this trip that that was how they worked!

It's very clear from the inside how much the tower has been expanded and renovated over the centuries. The designs and angles of the staircase change dramatically every few floors or so, seemingly without any care for convenience or continuity. It clearly feels like a place that was originally intended to be behind the scenes and not seen by visitors.

Also, as far as I could tell, there wasn't any point along climb where the stairway matched the one shown in In Bruges. Oh well.

The view from the top of the tower was just as spectacular as we could have hoped. There was a web of wire mesh covering all the windows, possibly to prevent people from inadvertently reenacting the film’s climactic scene.

Still, we were able to get some spectacular shots of the surrounding town and skyline.

Back on the ground, we bought some fries at one of the stands flanking the entrance and sat down in the bell tower's courtyard. Fries are a big deal in Belgium, and there are dozens of condiments to choose from. There's the American staple of ketchup, the Belgian staple of mayonnaise, and a host of other sauces we'd never heard of before. Thankfully we had plenty of time in line to do some quick research on our phones.

We both settled on “Andalouse sauce”–a blend of mayonnaise, tomato sauce, and peppers. If you've ever tried Red Robin's Campfire sauce before, it is very similar to that. They were easily the best fries either of us have ever had.

After doing a bit of final shopping in town, we headed back to our Airbnb to rest up and get packed for the next day's trip up to Amsterdam, where Jessica’s brother Nic was already waiting for us. We were leaving a day earlier than we had originally planned at the beginning of the trip since we'd gotten tickets to a soccer match in Amsterdam tomorrow night, but we still had a great time. Belgium seems to have a bit of a reputation for being an underwhelming tourist destination, but we had a fantastic time. The people were great, the food was great, the beer was great, and the scenery was great.

Speaking of beer, we didn't do any other beer-related activities after the De Halve Maan brewery tour, but we did our best to sample the local offerings back at our Airbnb in the evenings. We enjoyed a bottle of Kasteel Rouge, the cherry-liqueur-fortified dark ale we'd tasted back in Prague. Just like before, the first sip was heavenly, but each sip afterward was increasingly cloying. It would make a great digestif, but a full bottle---or even half a bottle---is far too much.

Another ale we enjoyed was the ubiquitous but still impressive Leffe Brown. It is the standard dubbel offering of the Belgian abbey-style macrobrewery Leffe, part of the Anheuser-Busch InBev family. But like I said, it is still really good. As long as you like dark ales, that is. The first thing that struck me was just how appropriate the name was. Sure, "Brown" doesn't seem like the most unique or descriptive name for a dark beer, but I can't think of a better word to encapsulate its flavor. It's earthy, bready, and nutty---like drinking a fermented organic bakery.

And of course, we got some Lambic beers. Jessica had gotten me into Lambic beers back when we were first planning this trip. Technically, Lambic beer is just beer that's produced in a very specific part of Belgium using wild yeast instead of brewer's yeast. But commercially, Lambic beers are known for being mixed with fruit syrups to create a deliciously refreshing beverage that even people who don't normally like alcohol can enjoy. The main brand you can find in the US is Lindeman's, and one of the first drinks we opened upon our arrival in Bruges was a Lindeman's Framboise (raspberry). It tasted pretty much the same as it does in the US--which could be seen as either mildly disappointing (since it wasn't any better) or moderately encouraging (we don't have to feel depressed for not getting "the good stuff" back home).

Plus, we also had a ton of chocolates we had to eat our way through. Yeah, life was pretty hard for us in Belgium. But all good things in this life must come to an end, even if it is only to move on to the next good thing. And the next good thing for us was Amsterdam, a family reunion, and my first European soccer match.

[lilyvandersteen]

Puppy Eyes Chapter 18

Nope, no smut yet, sorry, only more schmoop and fluff...

Thank you so much to everyone who sends me feedback - you’re wonderful and you spur me on to keep writing :-)

This story is also on AO3 and on Fanfiction.net.

The other parts can be found here: Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17

Chapter 18: A Lot of Firsts

When Kurt had to leave for a dog walking assignment later that evening, Blaine felt a prickle of dread. Blaine had declared himself now, and handed Kurt his heart for safe-keeping. Did Kurt believe him? Did he want to be with Blaine? Kurt wasn’t going to slip out of his life again, was he?

Blaine didn’t want to seem clingy, but he also didn’t want to let Kurt walk away without any reassurances on this matter, so he offered to come with Kurt and help him walk the dogs.

It wasn’t until Kurt pointed it out that Blaine realised he was still naked from the transformation. It cracked the both of them up, and that bout of merriment instantly made Blaine feel better. He dressed quickly, and held Kurt’s hand all the way to the dogs’ homes and then to the park. It felt amazing. He sneaked a few glances at their joined hands, grinning happily, and that grin only widened when he caught Kurt doing the same.

“I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out of their own accord for the millionth time that day, yet Kurt’s eyes lit up as beautifully as if it were the very first.

When Blaine gave Kurt the unicorn brooch and the accompanying letter, he got the reassurance he’d been craving. The letter made Kurt tear up and reel Blaine in close, murmuring that Blaine was the one for him too.

Blaine didn’t check if anyone was around before taking Kurt’s face in his hands and kissing him like his life depended on it.

Kurt drew away a few times to gulp in fresh air, and each time Blaine chased his lips as if Kurt provided the only oxygen he needed.

Blaine didn’t know how much time had passed when they finally remembered the dogs and took them back home, but he did know it wasn’t long enough by far.

Kurt was dog-sitting, so Blaine knew he couldn’t come back to Blaine’s apartment. But maybe Blaine could come with him? He needed to be close to Kurt. Preferably till death did them part, but he’d settle for right here right now.

Kurt seemed hesitant about letting him stay over, so Blaine gave him his most beseeching look. The one that even Pam had never been able to say no to.

“You don’t play fair,” Kurt grumbled as they walked towards the apartment where Kurt was staying.

Blaine, happy as a lark now, beamed at him. “All’s fair in love and war, beautiful.”

Kurt shot him a quick look, and a corner of his mouth ticked up. “Is that going to be my pet name from now on? What happened to ‘honey’ and ‘sweetie’?”

Blaine shrugged. “Those are generic, and I use them for everyone. You deserve a special name just for you. And ‘beautiful’ suits you.”

That made Kurt blush, and Blaine just had to kiss him again because he was so adorable.

It wasn’t until they were lying in bed that Blaine initiated phase two of his wooing plan, and asked Kurt out on a date. He fist-pumped when Kurt said yes, and nodded off contentedly.

Then Kurt’s voice jolted him awake again. “Just so you know, we have an appointment at The Sweetest Thing Bakery tomorrow at four p.m. Make sure you include that in your date plans.”

“You rescheduled? Mrs Peters wasn’t angry that we missed our appointment?”

Kurt chuckled. “I pretended that you’d written the date down wrong.”

“Clever!” Blaine praised him. “I’m glad. She has the best reviews. And the best designs.”

“And hopefully scrumptious caaaaaake,” Kurt yawned.

“Sleep, beautiful.”

“Sweet dreams,” Kurt slurred, and then laughed, “because of the cake, geddit?”

He turned on his side, his head on Blaine’s chest, and was out like a light.

Blaine kissed the crown of his head. For a few minutes, he basked in the feeling of having Kurt with him again. Then, he started going over his date options. Their first date had to be perfect.

K&B

Of course, mandating that the date had to be perfect jinxed it. From the moment Blaine woke, he knew he’d have to adjust his plans. He’d counted on cold but dry weather, not the rain and cold wind that assaulted him as soon as he opened the window in the kitchen. That meant the walk through Central Park was out. Bummer.

Blaine busied himself making Kurt a delicious breakfast, making sure it would be ready by the time Kurt’s alarm clock went off, but Kurt didn’t even spare the breakfast tray a passing glance when he rushed past Blaine mumbling, “Dogs to walk. Back in half an hour!”

Blaine looked down at the tray he was holding and sighed. By the time Kurt got back, the eggs would be a congealed mess, the toast would be unappetizing, the fruit salad would no longer look fresh but brown at the edges, and the mocha would be ice-cold.

Oh, all right then.

Blaine sat down at the kitchen table and ate the breakfast intended for Kurt, grimacing when he drank the mocha, which was much too sweet for his taste. After that, he showered and dressed, and then made a new breakfast tray, timing it so that it was ready just when Kurt was due back.

Kurt and the poodles returned in the best of spirits, despite the weather, and now Kurt did notice the tray. “You made me breakfast? Oh, you’re the BEST! I’m starving! I forgot to make myself sandwiches yesterday.”

Kurt kissed Blaine square on the mouth before sitting down and wolfing the whole meal down in five minutes flat.

Then, he looked up at Blaine expectantly. “So what are your plans for today?”

“Still raining?” Blaine asked, and Kurt nodded.

“I guess a romantic walk in the park is out, then,” Blaine mused, and Kurt laughed as if Blaine had made an excellent joke.

Blaine praised himself lucky that he’d asked Ashton if there were any good exhibitions in the NYC museums. At least he had that to fall back on.

He looked up, meaning to tell Kurt they were going to the Met, but Kurt had disappeared. His bowl and plate stood in the sink, already rinsed, and his voice floated out of the utility room, singing a French song.

Blaine distractedly petted one of the poodles while letting Kurt’s singing wash over him, and then started on the dishes.

An hour later, Kurt and Blaine were on their way to the museum. Blaine had first stopped by his own apartment for Kurt’s present of the day. He’d had an umbrella made with the same puppy pattern as the book bag, and Kurt could really use that in this weather.

Kurt exclaimed over the umbrella, calling it über-cute. Outside, he opened it and offered Blaine his arm.

Blaine had never shared an umbrella with anyone before, and found it cosy and intimate. The wind still howled, and the rain still beat down on them, but the umbrella was sturdy enough to provide shelter, and the heat from Kurt’s body was a welcome solace against the biting cold.

When they reached the Met, the queue at the entrance made Blaine’s heart sink. He knew that Monet always drew a crowd, but this was simply ridiculous. They’d be queuing for hours, and in this inclement weather, standing still for so long wasn’t an appealing prospect.

He ran through Ashton’s other suggestions, and flagged down a cab to take them to the Museum of Natural History instead. The exhibit there was about newly discovered deep sea creatures, and when a class of third-graders came by with a guide, Kurt’s eyes shone and he followed them, soaking up every bit of information the guide doled out.

Kurt was keen to discover the rest of the museum too, and in the end, he only let himself be led out of the museum when his stomach started growling.

“We can always come back another day,” Blaine promised him.

Blaine looked at the overcast sky and chose a nearby sushi restaurant for lunch. It still wasn’t close enough for them to escape a sudden rain squall that drenched them in seconds, and they ran the last few yards, Kurt squealing and trying to protect his hair when the wind blew his hood off.

They stumbled into Gari of Columbus with dripping coats and squeaking shoes, laughing and shivering a little. In the restaurant, it was toasty warm, though, and Kurt slipped into the restroom to try and fix his hair.

“Ugh,” Kurt said when he came back. “I can’t get it into a decent coif. You’ll have to make do with the hairstyle I had when I was a sophomore in high school. Floppy bangs and all.”

Blaine smiled at him and cupped his cheek to give him a kiss. “You do look younger this way. But just as beautiful.”

After lunch, Kurt had to head back to the place he was staying to pick up the poodles for their midday walk, and then a few other dogs as well. Blaine grinned when Snowball and Summer greeted him enthusiastically. It was still raining, but Blaine hardly felt it as he ran with the dogs. Kurt flashed him a happy grin and upped his pace a notch.

After their run, Kurt was shivering again. Blaine hunted for a blanket in the apartment and wrapped Kurt in it, installing him on the sofa and hurrying to the kitchen to make them both tea. When he came back into the living room, Kurt was watching Casablanca, and stretched his arms out towards Blaine. Blaine offered him a cup of tea, and chuckled when that made Kurt pout. “So impatient, beautiful.”

Blaine kissed Kurt’s pout away and sat down next to him, encircling Kurt’s waist and sipping his own tea.

“So where is The Sweetest Thing bakery?” Kurt asked. “We have to make sure we’re on time today.”

Blaine beamed at him. “It’s not far, beautiful. Four blocks or so. So you can drink your tea and watch Humphrey and cuddle me and get warm again. Plenty of time for that.”

Kurt’s answering smile was wide and toothy, and he wiggled a bit closer still. “That sounds perfect.”

They arrived at The Sweetest Thing bakery twenty minutes early, and Kurt used the extra time to inspect the shop window. “I see what you meant about the best designs. These cakes are gorgeous. If they’re yummy, too, I’m sold.”

A gust of wind made them both head inside the shop, and they told the sales assistant that they had an appointment with Mrs Peters.

“Anderson-Hummel?” she asked.

“That’s us,” Blaine confirmed, and he felt Kurt squeeze his hand.

“What is it, beautiful?” he whispered, and Kurt blushed and whispered back, “I like that there’s an ‘us’ now.”

The girl behind the counter cooed. “Aww, you’re too adorable. Have you been together long?”

“Nearly a year and a half,” Kurt lied glibly.

“And you’re already engaged? Wow, I’ve been seeing my man for five years and not a peep about marriage!”

Blaine gave her his most disarming smile. “When you know, you just know.”

A voice behind him made a retching noise, and then hissed, “You disgusting fags, why don’t you get out of here before I break your neck!”

Blaine whipped his head around and saw a burly middle-aged guy, red-faced and looking furious.

Before he could say or do anything, Kurt retorted, “Why don’t you back to the Middle Ages, where you belong? Last I checked, gay marriage was legal. We have as much right to buy our wedding cake here as you do.”

The guy came closer, his hands reaching for Kurt’s neck. Blaine quickly got in front of Kurt and took on a fighting stance.

“Cut this out RIGHT NOW,” a woman commanded.

Blaine recognised Mrs Peters’ voice, but didn’t take his eyes off the angry guy.

“Mr Miller, if you have a problem with my clientele, I suggest you go elsewhere. I’m not having this kind of scene in my shop.”

Mr Miller looked at Mrs Peters, affronted. He’d clearly expected her to side with him. “Oh, fine. Your cakes suck anyway.”

He strode out of the shop and banged the door with all his might.

“Good riddance,” said Mrs Peters. “Now if you two would follow me, please. Anderson-Hummel, right?”

“That’s us, ma’am,” Blaine said. He grabbed Kurt’s hand, and together, they followed Mrs Peters.

Soon after, Kurt was deep in discussion with Mrs Peters about the design he wanted on the wedding cake. He drew several versions on a napkin, and promised to send the baker a digital version of the design by the next day at the latest.

Then, it was time to taste-test the different cake flavours. Kurt took small nibbles and closed his eyes every time a new taste hit him, his brow furrowed in concentration. It made Blaine smile.

Kurt pronounced the chocolate delicious but too heavy, shook his head after tasting the red velvet and vanilla options, made a so-so gesture about the carrot cake, wrinkled his nose at the pink champagne cake, but lit up when he tasted the coconut and lime combo.

“This is it,” he whispered, “This is the perfect cake.”

Blaine nodded. “Okay.”

Kurt took another small bite and moaned. “No, seriously, it doesn’t get any better than this. So good.”

Mrs Peters laughed. “That’s settled, then. So I’ll write down coconut and lime for the cake, and your own design for the decoration. Do you have my e-mail address to send the file?”

Blaine assured her they had the address.

“And what’s the wedding date?” she wanted to know next.

Kurt and Blaine looked at each other.

“We haven’t decided on the venue yet,” said Blaine. “It depends which one we’ll go with. If we pick the Bowery Ballroom, it will be the 7th of June. If it’s at the NY Public Library, it will be on the 14th of July. And the date for the Loeb boathouse is 9 September.”

Kurt cocked his head to the side. “I thought we’d decided against the Loeb boathouse? It’s going to be either Bowery or the Library, Mrs Peters. We’ll let you know as soon as possible. We’re visiting both places again next week, and then we’ll decide.”

Mrs Peters made Blaine repeat both dates and jotted them down with a question mark behind them.

As they filed out of the back room, Mrs Peters put a hand on Blaine’s arm.

“Hey…” she said. “Don’t mind that guy, please. Don’t you worry your pretty head about him. Your fiancé is right. Love is love, and it doesn’t matter to me that you’re two men. It shouldn’t matter to anyone. It’s nobody’s business but your own.”

Blaine swallowed and tried to smile, but it probably came out more like a grimace. “I’ll go pay the deposit at the counter, then.”

Nothing like striking while the iron was hot, so Blaine called both wedding venues to ask if he could come by again, this time with his fiancé. For the Bowery Ballroom, he made an appointment for Monday evening. There was no appointment needed for the New York Public Library. “We’re open until 5.45 today, sir.”

That gave them a little over an hour to go discover the place, so they took a cab there. As soon as Kurt entered the building, he seemed to be vibrating with excitement, and that enthusiasm increased with every detail he pointed out to Blaine, in reverent whispers. They stayed until the library closed, and as they went down the steps, Kurt told Blaine, “This is the right place for us. I can feel it in my bones. We can go check out the Bowery, too, but I don’t think I’ll change my mind. I see us getting married here.”

They picked up Thai take-away on their way back to the place where Kurt was staying. After eating, they took out the dogs for their evening walk, and then curled up on the sofa again until it was time for bed.

When Kurt laid his head on Blaine’s chest, Blaine blurted out, “I’m sorry our first date was such a mess. I wanted it to be perfect, but it all went wrong.”

Kurt raised his head. “Blaine, what are you talking about? There’s nothing about today that I would have changed. To me, it was perfect. A wonderful first date. I couldn’t dream up a better one if I tried.”

“B-but the weather…”

“I loved that it rained. That meant I got to share an umbrella with you. That was so romantic. I’d never done that before.”

“Me neither,” Blaine confessed.

Kurt beamed. “I like sharing firsts with you. I want us to share a lot of firsts. I couldn’t give you my first kiss ‘cause that one got stolen, but the rest of my firsts are all yours.”

Blaine smiled tremulously and pecked Kurt lightly on the lips, but then went back to his grievances about the day. “And I meant for us to go to the Met, but the queue was too long.”

“Aww, Blaine. The Natural History Museum was a much better choice. I loved it there!”

“And your hair got wet!”

“Yep. Yours too, and you looked so sexy with wet curls. I wanted to grab you right there and then and make out with you.”

“And then at the bakery, that guy nearly throttled you!”

“And you defended me, you brave knight in shining Armani.”

Kurt batted his eyelashes at Blaine and pouted his lips.

Blaine laughed and kissed Kurt.

When Kurt came up for air, he breathed, “Perfect. I’m telling you, perfect.”

[fuzzballsheltiepants]

Imagine Me and Mew

All For the Game/The Foxhole Court.  Follow up to Name Games and That Cocky F*%!ing Smile.  Neil greatly enjoyed getting coffee with his new friend, Andrew, until his coworkers inform him he went on a date.  An existential crisis, bad googling decisions, and contemplation of his sexuality ensue.  Read on AO3 if you prefer.

Neil slid into his seat and sighed at the enormous lineup of material to translate that had materialized in his inbox over the weekend.  Jean glanced up at him with concern but didn’t comment.  Neil sighed again, louder, when Sara popped around the corner.

“How are my favorite linguists?” she practically shouted.  Both Neil and Jean cringed.

“Fine,” they chorused.

Sara leaned against Neil’s desk.  “How was your weekend?  Do anything fun?”

Neil shrugged.  “Um, King got a urinary tract infection, so I spent the morning at the vet’s.  Then I had coffee with someone before I went to trivia night.”

“Which, damn, Neil, you’re terrible at trivia,” Jeremy said, appearing on the other side of Jean.  He always did that, appearing out of thin air; Neil wondered if he secretly had trapdoors in the floor or something.  Or an invisibility cloak like that kid in that weird movie about wizards that Nicky had bullied him into watching.

“No shit.  I told you that.  I keep telling you that.”

“Wait, back up, you had coffee with someone?” Sara practically squealed.  “Anyone we know?”

Mr. Rheman’s timely arrival provided Neil with a reprieve until lunch, but he knew the whole crew would descend on him for details.  They did that every time he spoke two words to someone, even half the people he was interpreting for.  It made no sense to him, why they cared about every simple interaction.

The only reprieve from the tedious work—Mandarin was still his weakest written language and of course Jean was useless with it—was the text he received from Andrew.  free 9 tonight or 6 tomorrow  

He texted back either fine and shoved his phone back in his jacket.  Half the time he’d forget to eat dinner until ten or eleven at night anyway, only thinking about it when King started screaming at him for her own food.

It felt like he had barely made a dent in the queue when Jean tapped him on the shoulder for lunch.  He blinked away the fuzziness of four hours looking at his computer screen and checked his phone.  Andrew had sent him a restaurant name for them to meet at that night.  At least he might have a little time to look up more lawyer jokes.

He had almost forgotten Sara’s shark-like interest until he approached the table in the lunch room and saw her looking at him with wide, sharp eyes.  Stifling his desire to pick another table, he dropped into the chair across from her.  Jean and Jeremy sat on either side of him.  Surrounded. 

“So, tell us all about yesterday,” Sara said, twirling her fork in her noodles.

“I told you already, I took King to the vet.  I got coffee.  Well, actually, I got a smoothie, then went to trivia night.”

“You said you met someone for coffee.”

“Yeah?”  Neil didn’t understand the emphasis she put on met.

“Who?”

Neil still didn’t get why she cared, nor why Jeremy and even Jean were so attentive.  He took a bite of his sandwich to buy himself time to puzzle it out but was unsuccessful.  “Nobody you know, I met him at the vet and we decided to get coffee.”

“Ah!” Sara said, pressing her hand to her heart.  “Did you hear that, Jeremy?  Our baby boy is growing up.”

Jeremy grinned.  “Good for you, Neil.”

“I still don’t understand that nickname,” Neil said, looking between them.  “And I drink coffee every day, I don’t see why it’s such a big deal.  Jesus, it wasn’t even coffee.”

Jean huffed, a tiny sound, and Neil shifted his glare to him.  Usually Jean was the one he could count on to dismiss the idiocy of the other two, but even he looked amused.  “It’s not the coffee, you fool,” he said in French, leaving Neil even more confused.  

“We’re just happy you went out on a date,” Jeremy said, taking pity on him.

“It wasn’t a date,” Neil said, “it was a smoothie.”

Sara and Jeremy exchanged looks.  “Uh, did he know that it wasn’t a date?” Jeremy asked.

“Of course!  Why the hell would he think it was a date?  We just sat around drinking and mocking each other for an hour.”

“Oh, god,” Sara said, putting her head in her hands.  “Oh, god, oh, god, that poor guy.”

Neil just looked between them with a sinking feeling in his gut.  He didn’t know why Andrew would have thought it was a date; why he would even have been interested in such a thing with someone with Neil’s fucked up face, but… I doubt they’re looking at your scars.  “Shit.”  Shitshitshitshitshit.

Jeremy immediately picked up on his distress.  “Maybe he didn’t.  Walk us through it, how did it happen?  You said you met at the vet?”

“Yeah,” Neil said, drawing out the syllable.  “Um, there was a misunderstanding so this asshole vet assistant pulled us both into a room and while we were waiting we talked a little.  Then the assistant made a snarky comment about King’s name and I, well…”

“You did what you do,” Sara supplied.

“Right.  Anyway, he joined in on my side.  So then we decided to get coffee.”

“How, exactly?”  Neil looked at Jeremy blankly.  “Like, while you were waiting, you made some comment about needing coffee and he was like, yeah, me too?”

“I gave him my number,” Neil said, feeling the heat rise in his face.  “He texted me after, inviting me for a drink.  I told him I don’t drink, so he suggested coffee.”

Sara laughed while Jeremy patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.  “It’ll be fine.”  Jeremy’s voice indicated it would not be fine.  “Do you like him?”

“I don’t know,” Neil said, hearing his own agitation and drawing a slow breath to quiet it.  “I mean, he’s funny, and he’s smart.”  He shrugged.

“But is he hot?” Sara asked.

Neil had absolutely no idea how one even decided that.  Were there some sort of set guidelines that pushed someone into the “hot” category?  He wondered if there was a website that explained this sort of stuff.  He’d have to google it when he got home.

“Alvarez!  Knox!” Rheman barked through the lunch room door, coming to his rescue for the second time that day.  “Stop torturing the new guy!”

“I’m not that new,” Neil said, but everybody ignored him.

“Why are you singling us out?” Sara asked.  “Jean’s here too!”

“Because Moreau is the only mature one out of the lot of you.  Get back to work!”

“Hear that?” Jean said, looking haughty as only a true Frenchman can.  “I’m the mature one.”

“Fuck off,” Sara said, setting the rest of them laughing as they threw their trash away and headed back to their desks.  “And you owe me ten bucks, Frenchie!”  Jean flipped her off.  Neil wondered what the bet had been.

After work he headed to the gym.  Nicky was there, of course, greeting everyone and keeping an eye out for who needed spotters or help with the equipment.  His whole face lit up when he saw Neil and he jogged over.  “Hey!  How’s my favorite new cat parent?”

Neil managed to keep from rolling his eyes.  Nicky constantly asked after King, which he supposed made sense since he was responsible for foisting her—and her gender-bending name—upon him in the first place.  “I’m fine.  King has a urinary tract infection, though.”

“Oh, poor kitty.”

“She’s feeling better.  I took her to the vet.”

Nicky ruffled his hair.  He always tended to do that, even when it was all sweaty and gross.  “Of course you did, I knew you’d take good care of her.”

Neil got on the treadmill and started running, keeping an easy pace for the first mile then upping the speed.  It was one of the few guaranteed ways to clear his head, but after eight miles at a pretty good pace he still didn’t know what to do about that night.  And though he was pretty sure Nicky would be all too happy to help, he also knew that absolutely, without a doubt, he would rather trust strangers on the internet than Nicky with this type of question.

Managing to escape the gym without further hair-ruffling or questions, he went home and sat with King on his lap and his laptop open on the table.  Staring at the open browser screen, he tapped his fingers on his thigh for a moment until the cat decided he was trying to play and smacked his hand.  

He typed What makes a guy hot into the search engine.  Over ninety million results.  He clicked on a few, and only ended up more confused.  Pictures of shirtless men holding kittens, comments about “quiet confidence” and strange things like “rolled up sleeves” and “being able to cook.”  Then there was the stuff that Neil didn’t even know what to do with, like “being gentle in bed” and “getting a boner in Target.”  

Neil was not cut out for this, that much was clear.

He checked his phone, half-hoping Andrew would bail on him but no such luck. He fed King and  left, giving himself plenty of time to get lost because the one-way streets in this city followed no obvious logic.  The end result was he sat in his car for twenty minutes listening to Tagalog podcasts before he saw Andrew walking towards the entrance.  Breathing in for a count of four, out for a count of four, he joined him.

“No sweatpants today I see,” Andrew greeted him.

Neil looked down at his suit pants.  He had changed back into his work suit after showering at the gym and hadn’t thought to change again, just left his tie and jacket on the back of his couch.  He looked back at Andrew, lost.  

“Come on,” Andrew said with laughter in his voice, pushing through the door.

It was kind of like a burger joint, but nicer.  They ended up seated in a booth in the back corner of the restaurant, Andrew claiming the bench against the wall so Neil’s back was to the rest of the room.  At least they were right next to an emergency exit, but he was barely able to restrain the cringe when the waitress appeared out of nowhere.

Her smile faltered for a second when she noticed Neil’s scars but she hitched it back on quickly.  Somehow Neil was not surprised that Andrew ordered a milkshake.  An alcoholic milkshake, but still.  

Neil looked furtively at Andrew, still trying to figure out how one could determine “hotness”.  Andrew had a cat; it wasn’t a kitten, but maybe that counted?  His sleeves weren’t rolled up, but the waitress’s had been and Neil definitely didn’t think it was anything special.  They were just arms.  He didn’t know if Andrew could cook, and there was no way he was going to ask about the boner thing…

The easy rapport of the day before was gone, and Neil didn’t know how to find it.  Andrew didn’t seem interested in making conversation for the sake of hearing himself talk, and Neil didn’t know what to say.  How did you ask someone if you were on a date?

Andrew was watching him with what could have either been concern or irritation.  Neil flinched involuntarily; he hadn’t even realized his leg was doing the bouncing thing again, vibrating the whole table.  He saw Andrew’s eyes darken as a result.  “Sorry.  I, um.”  There was no good way to explain this, either his current nerves or the fact that he had been beaten as a child for that habit.  “Sorry.”

“Do you not want to be here?” Andrew asked.  

It was entirely possible that in his twenty five years on the planet Neil had never met someone quite as blunt as this man, yet he still felt like he was missing pages of subtext.  “No, I do.  I just…”  He rubbed his face, another nervous habit.  “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Andrew’s mouth twitched as if he were suppressing a smile.  “You astonish me.”

“Oh, go to hell,” Neil said, feeling the whispers of a smile himself.

“It’s entirely possible I’m already there.  What exactly is the problem here?”

It suddenly occurred to Neil that he had absolutely no good way out of this.  If Andrew wasn’t gay, he could end up with a royally pissed, very short but very muscle-y man across the table from him.  If he was, Neil was likely about to hurt his feelings by being completely unsure if they were dating or if he wanted them to be.  And if he ran, well, that would just be embarrassing.  Plus he might never stop, and he was pretty sure his FBI handlers would have something to say about that.

He settled for the truth.  “My coworkers informed me that our trip to the cafe yesterday could be considered a date.”

Andrew’s expression did not change from mild amusement.  “Oh?  And what did they say about this?”  He gestured to the restaurant.

“I didn’t tell them.”

“Why not?”  Still no change in expression but there was a tinge of venom in his tone.

“Because they were already way too excited and I didn’t want to hear it when I don’t even know if you’re gay.  Fuck, I don’t even know if I’m gay.”  He suddenly remembered Sara crowing that Jean owed her money.  “Oh, shit.”

“What new revelations are coming forth?” Andrew asked.

“That’s what they were betting on.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of Andrew’s spiked milkshake and Neil’s iced tea.  Neil gulped half of it.

“Who was betting on what?” Andrew asked once the waitress was well out of earshot.

“Sara and Jean.  After they informed me you probably thought yesterday was a date, Sara said Jean owed her ten bucks.  I bet they were betting on whether or not I was gay.”

“Your coworkers need help.  Or a hobby that does not involve betting on the lives of humans.”  Andrew waited for a moment, then went on.  “This is only a date if you want it to be one.  You said yesterday you were trying to make friends, I thought that was pretty clear.  But even if it wasn’t, that doesn’t matter.  If it’s not a yes, it’s a no.”

Neil thought about that.  He wondered if it was a general dating rule, or an Andrew rule.  “That makes it a lot less complicated.”

Andrew did that thing where he arched one eyebrow but didn’t comment.  Neil wondered what it was like to have one’s eyebrows trained to speak for you.  Maybe it was a lawyer thing.  After all, it could sway a jury but would be impossible for the court reporter to transcribe.  The prosecution raised an eyebrow, conveying the stupidity of the defense.  He pushed the whole thing away as ludicrous.  

Neil somehow managed to get his brain online again and asked about the seminar.  A conventional enough question, but Andrew answered him anyway, going on at some length about the horrors of bad lecturers and asshole classmates.  He managed to convey a great deal about the individuals with very little change in facial expression, just by subtle shifts of his voice and the angle of his mouth.  It was oddly engaging.

They didn’t leave until the restaurant practically kicked them out, vacuuming aggressively in their vicinity.  He wished he hadn’t already used his best lawyer jokes; he wasn’t able to think of a good one when they said good-bye.  King gave him an enthusiastic greeting, wrapping around his legs as if he hadn’t already fed her, and he picked her up and nestled his face in her fur.  He got ready for bed with her perched on his shoulder, her little body vibrating with the force of her purr.

He set the alarm on his phone, then hovered over Andrew’s latest text, debating.  Finally, he typed quickly and hit send.

How do lawyers sleep?

It took a few minutes before the phone chimed.

First I lie on one side then I lie on the other.  Talk tomorrow idiot

Tomorrow.  He had never gone to bed looking forward to the next day; it was just another thing to get through, to survive.  But in the dim light from the streets coming through the blinds, he fell asleep with a faint smile on his lips.  

[frogsandfries]

Pretty solid day

Cleaned up two and a half frames, finished filling a third, swatched out a fourth, scheduled a bunch of posts to the WordPress to catch that up and added a few more posts to the queue on my Tumblr. Man, my Tumblr is getting queued out till like October, going on November, and it's getting a little tedious to page through the calendar like that. But it definitely would be cool to get to the end of this year this soon. I'm pretty sure if I can keep up this kind of pace, moving up next year to twice weekly new content will be really rewarding.

Scheduling posts on WordPress is one part a pain in the butt and the other part, not so much but still. I really hate that it's such a process, but hey, it remembers and alphabetizes my tags. Plus, if I really work with it, I can probably get the click-through effect that I want, as well as building the vibe that I'd like to have. Wildbow's has a table of contents and you can click to the next page.

Oh, and I started to link some of the newer posts. It's hard to link a post that isn't live yet. I swear I remember being able to do that, but I don't think Tumblr allows that anymore?? That would save me so much hassle.

So yeah, the power to the property is going to be shut off tomorrow for a good chunk of the day, but I would still like to put a good number of items in the WordPress queue, as well as continue with cleaning up frames. I'm really really glad that I can work from my phone and tablet, rather than needing to be plugged into the wall. I don't really know why, but I also feel like I should keep putting a good effort into my lineworks. I mean, getting my lineworks well ahead of my colorwork definitely leaves time for me to think about if the scenes make sense, if there's enough detail or not, gives me time to decide if frames need to be rearranged. I only had so many frames originally thumbnailed, and eventually, I'm going to run to the end of these frames--as a matter of fact, my thumbnails only go to the scene when we first meet Kitty's roommate, and this probably doesn't matter to the casual reader of this blog, but I've only inked to the part where Kitty and grandpa are leaving the house, and I'm penciling......oh yeah, I'm currently penciling the scene where Kitty and her grandpa arrive at the school. I got really excited to update the scene that I find funny/humorous/amusing just before Kitty interacts with the doorman.

Once I reach the end of the frames I've already thumbnailed, once I've come to the end of material that I've already had the opportunity to see and reflect on and think about, I'm going to want just a little more leeway to work out the scenes that I can't currently, literally see. I'm going to want the time to see them as they occur in my head, and work out whether or not that works, and I'm going to need the valuable time that is going to take to improve the scenes before committing too much.

So honestly, the sooner I can at least pencil the linework for already existing thumbnails, the better. I have a sense things are going to get even slower when I have to go back to the source. Hmmmmm.......... I've been debating if I shouldn't keep writing the script, that way I can boil the story down to actions and dialogue. It would most likely make it easier for me to write parts that haven't been written neatly and cohesively.....

It feels like there's just so much material left to linework, let alone color, it doesn't feel terribly important to work on whatever script I have planned and get the rest of all of that information organized in a way that's accessible for me......but maybe it's important to nail down more of the raw material, more of the plot points and scenes I want to touch on......y’know, before I actively need that material........ maybe...?

It just feels kinda overwhelming, even though (because?) I have mountains of notes, and I even have the beginning of the final writing. I wonder if thumbnailing out that far might actually help.

Wait......

I'm not really sure I have enough sketchbook pages yet. I'm having trouble finishing this second sketchbook so I can even move on to the third. Of course, I already have every intention of making a fourth, but I don't want to be too zealous too quickly. Sixteen frames per most of my signatures and ten to twenty signatures per handmade sketchbook....... and I haven't even finished the store bought sketchbook. I have enough paper (about 500 sheets) to make......a great, great several sketchbooks........ At what, maybe about two hundred frames per sketchbook, and it's taken me, let's say a year to make a hundred lineworks. As much as I would love to be releasing about three hundred frames a year.........I just don't think it's humanly possible.

I'm wondering if this story will actually encompass thousands of frames--that would be anywhere from a few hundred pages to several hundred pages.......