#I Hope tumblr won’t fuck with the colors haha

[tobytost]

Luke and Ezra magically got lost somewhere in the galaxy

[leifygreeens]

"you said a while back that Elliott isn't "vanilla by any means, but that's a story for another time"....... your requests are open........ is it another time now please? 👀 xoxo @unabashedly-so"

I tried posting this once before but tumblr said “we’re gonna block this from everyone and make it impossible to find haha.” So I’m reposting it and hoping this works lmfao. Anyway, Elliott is a kinky man and we all know it. Here are a few of my own thoughts on how he navigates playtime, per Bash’s request. Thank you! <3

Warnings: Temp play, false modesty, tickling, blindfolds, improper(?) use of mirrors, pomegranates, and ropes. Enjoy! ;)

Elliott likes temperature play >:)

Would stick an ice cube in his mouth and kiss all over your skin, and would absolutely pass the fuck away if you did the same for him

He’d burn candles that turn into lotion that’s wonderfully hydrating AND smells delicious

And spend twenty minutes at LEAST rubbing it in until you’re all sleepy and content

Sometimes that shit doesn’t even lead to sex, and he takes absolutely no issue with that at all

Likes tying you up

Prefers using pretty colored rope (deep red is his favorite) to tie you up with, and sometimes he doesn’t even want to touch you afterward, he just wants to look at you

Something about the pretty intricate knots swirling over your skin does something to his brain

But he’s weak for you, so begging usually works to get him riled up, and he’ll touch you eventually

He adores it when you indulge him, though

And it also helps him in other ways, too

It’s great for when he has some nasty writer’s block

Working on something as methodical as shibari knots gets his brain rumbling and allows him to go back to his writing desk with a fresh perspective

Also fruit kink. Specifically with pomegranates

Similarly to the ice cube thought, but also not

He would squeeze a pomegranate over you and watch the juice drip onto your skin, staining it temporarily, and then he’d lick it right up, because Elliott always cleans up his messes

A few of his own shirts have been stained purple permanently by his fruit kink and his burning desire to make love to you while you’re wearing them

He won’t even unbutton them or anything, especially because he thinks false modesty is hot

Think backless dresses, poet shirts that show off too much clavicle, or god forbid SHEER clothing where he can barely see the outline of your body when you stand just right in the sun?

This man will literally pass away and it will be all your fault babe

Have I mentioned that he likes tickling?

You can fight me on this but I fucking swear he likes it

If you’re riding him, do me a favor and tickle his stomach, just beneath his belly button

You’ll make him come in like five seconds flat so definitely don’t do it unless that’s your goal

But yeah. Tickle him. He fucking loves that shit.

Also blindfolds. Blindfolds are so hot to him.

He’s fine being blindfolded, adores it, but seeing your reactions and how you’re completely blindsided by every touch is just.

HNNNNGGFGF he’ll cry

Mirror sex besties

He thinks you’re so gorgeous and will get so fucking sad if you don’t watch yourself while he has his way with you

Please indulge this man. He just wants you to see yourself from his point of view :(

[ringmyheart]

Omg that writing was soooo good! I love Scott kwon 😭 could I have another one with Scott? Maybe the first time his crush stayed over, like just crashing at his place but oh no, there's only one bed😏 and the absolute worst is! Crush likes to cuddle!

I’m so glad u liked my last hcs lol, & thanks for requesting again <3 I hope it turns out how u wanted, idk that much ab Scott lmao 💘 also I’m starting to get the works of tumblr, so I added a picture! There r seriously no pictures of this character tho LOL 😭

It felt fortuitous when Scott Kwon heard a string of knocks on his door that rainy afternoon, and he understood why when he opened it off its’ hinges slowly to see you. Behind you rain pelted against the floor like a percussion, and you clearly had caught the brunt of the weather that afternoon. A liquid drop slid off the bridge of your nose as you stared at him with an irritated expression (not directed to him in the slightest), your eyelashes dampened and every blink of your lids sending a raindrop falling onto your cheeks.

“Hey,” you said sheepishly, an awkward half-smile adorning your lips. “Uhmm, do you mind if I stay here for a bit? It’s raining really hard,” you gestured to behind you, as if he couldn’t tell already, “and it kind of caught me off guard. Like, I was just walking and suddenly it started raining bullets. It was crazy.” A chuckle escaped your lips.

He blinked at you slowly, your words taking a moment to register in his mind. Time had come to a standstill when he’d seen you at his door - of all people, you, and his mouth hung open like a fish. Your words finally rang though his mind and resonated, and he shook his head like it would start him up. Time resumed once again when you arched a brow at him.

“Uhh... is it okay if I stay here?” You seemed like you felt guilty for asking, and he shook his head vigorously.

“Oh, n-no!”

“No...?”

He frantically waved his hands in front of him as if clearing the air from his mistake in speech, one hand stopping the ministration to rest on the back of his head. “No, I mean I don’t mind!”

He took a step to the side to allow you to enter the doorway. “Yeah, you can totally stay.”

You smiled, wiping your shoes against the floor to try and rid them of the dirt and water soaked in the material fruitlessly. “Thanks! Uh, I’ll try to not make a mess, haha...”

It was too late for that. The moment you’d stepped inside, you’d left wet tracks behind you in the form of footprints. Before you noticed, he zoned out at your person walking into his home, hitting his head to start thinking straight.

‘Get it together, dude!’ He internally yelled at himself, ‘don’t mess this up!’

As he glared at the floor in thought, you took a glance behind you, seeing the tracks you’d left as well as the trail of water dripping from yourself and onto the floor. You threw a hand over your mouth remorsefully. “Oh my gosh, Scott - I’m so sorry!”

That sentence broke him free from his train of thoughf, and he snapped his head up to see you looking at your footprints - following your gaze and understanding. You bowed slightly in an apologetic way, throwing your hands together around your middle.

“Can I clean this up...?” You asked, mind clouded with embarrassment. He lagged for a second, before nodding nonchalantly.

“It’s just water, it’ll wash off.” He said the first thought in his mind, throwing you a smile afterwards. “It’s fine, so really don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, right...” you felt dumb, and rubbed the back of your necks with both your hands. “Uh, can I take a shower, then? So I won’t continue to mess your house up or anytning.”

He grew visibly red, and averted his eyes from yours at your sentence - and you wished you knew what was going through his head. Your question caught up with him finally, and you patiently waited until he finally answered.

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, of course.” He bent over backwards placing a hand on your back - feeling how thinned out and soiled the rain left your clothes. He nudged you throughout a few twists and turns in his house until you reached a door, and he gestured for you to open it. He followed behind closely.

“Uh, this is my room. You can use my bathroom.”

You briefly scanned his room, noticing how it wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of cleanliness, but wasn’t necessarily unkempt. There was a single water bottle on the floor, and a few shirts were slung atop of the dresser. A pair of boxing gloves were hung on a nail over his bed, and it felt so him-like. After your quick examination, you went into the bathroom, saying a quick “thanks” before entering.

Hot steam billowed from under the bathroom door while you showered, and he sat on his bed in, mind in a frenzy. When you came out - what would you do? Where were you gonna sleep? Would you leave if the rain stopped?

‘Please, God, don’t let the rain stop.’

It eventually hit him that while you were gone he could make his room look nicer - cooler, even. He began to get to work on that, throwing a few shirts over his arm and preparing to shove them in his dresser, until the break of the bathroom door resounded.

His eyes naturally turned to the sound, and you peeled your head through the door, keeping the door half-closed. He seemed baffled, and straightened his back.

“Uh,” one of your hands wrapped around the side of the door, “you know how my clothes got kind of ruined by the rain?”

He nodded, waiting to see what your point was, but you left it up to him to pick up the context clues.

“... Yeah,” you said, eyes glaring holes at the shirt in his arm. He looked from it to you, and he got that familiar clouding of his mind and thoughts which made it hard to be articulate. His face matched the shade of his hair as he guffawed.

“You-“ he pointed to the shirt in his hand, “-you want to wear my shirt-?!”

You nodded.

“Wha- what?! No!” He couldn’t think properly. If you wore his shirt... how would he keep his cool?! Did you have any idea the stress you were putting him under?

You seemed rattled by his outburst, an shrunk back. “Oh, no...? Sorry, then.” Mood successfully dampened, he realized his mistake when he caught the expression on your face.

“Oh no! Not nooo, I mean-“ he shuffled in your direction, keeping an arm’s length distance with you and out stretching his hand with the shirt in it to you. Looking away as if you were radiation and looking at you would send his eyes alit, you grabbed it thankfully. You shit him a questioning look at his apprehensive nature all of a sudden. “Sorry, I didn’t mean no. Yeah, you can wear this.”

He inched away from you as the transaction happened. When you were so close to him - he couldn’t think logically. Like love took the reins of his psyche and controlled him from the inside out, his mind was befuddled. A few drops of perspiration fell from your hand onto his, and the the heat in his heart spread to his face - coloring it the same shade as the organ itself.

“Uhh, Scott?” You asked, keeping yourself still and balanced with the hand clutching the door.

He nodded, “yeah?”

“Can I have shorts, too?”

He gave you sweatpants instead, and while you changed he sat on his bed, thoughts continuing to race. Eventually you finally emerged from the door, in his clothes, and his mind was a fog - the only thoughts he has lily pads of his infatuation with you.

“Uhmm, you...” he started, trailing off incoherently. You grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it down whilst looking down at it amazedly.

“This is really comfortable. I’m probably gonna steal, like, all your clothes tonight.”

He blinked, mouth agape. “Uhh...” once again it took a while to register in his mind, but he chuckled when he did. “Oh, haha...” he rubbed the back of his head, “it’s good you like them.”

You stood idly at the foot of his bed, and he looked at you quizzically, before realizing you were probably waiting for an invitation to sit. He was going to say “oh, you can sit on my bed-“, when it dawned on him; were you gonna sit on his bed?

He would offer you another, if he had one, but there was only his. One bed, two people. One liking the other-?

What, were you going to leave after a while? Or were you gonna sleep there, too?

He struggled for the words to invite you to sit, and he wasn’t sure how you’d react if he invites you to sleep with him. So, he craftfully invited you to sit and made you, without realizing it, make the decision.

“Wanna sit on my bed - and watch a movie?” He asked, presenting you with two options: you either took it as you watched a movie and then left, or you saw it as him inviting you onto his bed and then offering a movie along with it.

He would have to wait and see how you perceived it, and leaned towards the latter option.

You blinked at him before grinning. “Yeah, I’d love to. Thanks!” The bed dipped beneath your weight as you sat on it, getting comfortable and leaning against the headboard just besides him. He couldn’t tell if he was happy or despaired at the lack of width his bed had.

“Did you have a movie in mind?” You asked, looking up at him. Your faces were so close, he could feel the beat radiating from it. He leaned back a little to try and clear his mind.

“Uhh, no.” He hands you a remote. “You can decide. Guest’s honor.”

You grabbed the remote as if he’d bestowed upon you a great present. “I’m flattered.”

You flicked mindlessly through television channels until you suddenly stoped, clearly excited about whatever was playing. “Oh - I love this!” You exclaimed, setting the remote down between the both of you. If you loved it, surely he would, too. This movie was an invitation to your likes and interests, and he was determined to watch intently.

His eyes flitted from you to the TV with an interested expression, but he immediately backtracked when he saw the scene playing.

Those people were-

“-kissing! They’re kissing?!” He yelled, shocked. You inquisitively looked up at him.

“Yeah? What, are you not allowed to watch? Pfft!” You jestered, and he stammered.

He’d seen movies with much worse, where people went much further. Fuck, in real life he’d seen people get brutally beaten up. But when he was with you, he withdrew from reality and entered his own personal heaven; and watching something so suggestive, with you right besides him?!

You were the absolute worst, doing this to his weak heart...!

Seeing two people be in love while the person he wa in love with was besides him?! He nearly combusted into a million pieces, and he swiftly changed the channel.

“We can’t watch this!” He exclaimed like it was something forbidden, and you chuckled with a shrug.

“... Okay. I’m sorry my movie choices are so bad then, you pick something. Yeesh.” You joked, and he did the same back.

He huffed. “Yeah, I will.”

There were remnants of a smile still glued to your lips, and that was his tell that you and him were still merely poking fun with the other.

Soon another show was displayed on the TV, and he forged himself to be engrossed in it. Otherwise, he’d only focus on you, and he’d lose his lucidity again.

Like the whistle of a train hooting, steam arised from Scott’s ears when, out of nowhere, your head rested on his bicep. He went rigid, as stiff as a robot, and his teeth chattered as he turned to you.

You were comfortably laying on him, and casually, like this was no big deal. And truthfully, it wasn’t. But it felt like the stars aligned against him in that moment. He could feel you adjust and readjust to get comfortable against him, and his heart hammered against his ribcage so violently there was no way you didn’t hear it. And if you hadn’t, you certainly would.

His thoughts raced so quickly until they tripped over eachother. You were close - too close. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t focus - there was only the awareness of the feeling of you and him. He jerked himself to the side, and shoved you off of him to your side of the bed, face beet red. Would his rapid heartbeat be the tell to his true feelings?

What would you say?

Would you know? Would you somehow immediately know, like a clairvoyant?

He looked down at your peaceful self against him. Did you... did you know already?

He felt overstimulated and overwhelmed.

When you’re too close to him, he can’t think clearly. He couldn’t think. It was the absolute worst, he couldn’t be normal when you were around. But he needed to think...!

“No, don’t get too close-!” He was dizzy, his heartbeat echoing in his skull. When he looked back at you, he saw the hurt expression you had - and was consumed with guilt.

“Oh, sorry...” you shuffled further to your side of the bed, eyes downcast. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Sorry.”

“Ah!” His hands hovered over you concernedly. ‘What have I dooooneee?!’

“N-no, it’s okay!” He said, and you looked at him confused.

“It’s... okay?”

He paused, lips forming an uncertain line, heart trying to rip through his rib cage and where they belonged - in your hands. “Yeah... yeah. It’s okay. Sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

“Can I lay on you again, then...?” Seeing the glimmer return to your eyes made him disregard his previous concerns, and he scooted closer to you this time.

“Yeah, you can. Y-you can get close.”

You offered a small smile, and leant back on him again, this time leaning your full weight onto him and curling into a small ball. “Thanks.”

You moved a lot until you found a comfortable position. “... Are you comfortable?”

“Uhh...”

“Try moving your hand up for a sec.” You said, and he followed it like an instruction, lifting his hand. You furthered yourself into his midsection, resting your head around his ribs - right where his heart was confined. He felt the weight of your head rest against him, and the heaviness was extremely comforting - but there was no clarity in his mind.

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah! This is totally okay!” He bellowed awkwardly, and you hummed.

“You can move your hand back down, now.”

With a concerningly red face, he rested his hand back down. Your body obstructed the path to his side, and it ended up resting on where you curled up. Whatshouldhedowhatshouldhedowhatshouldhedo-

“Hey, Scott?” You asked calmly, a tired lilt in your voice. Were you going to sleep?

On him?!

“Yeah...?”

He felt extremely distressed, but when he shifted his eyes to your face, his countenance offense. Your eyes were closed finally, and you seemed content - and his mind felt at peace. Maybe, this wasn’t too bad...

Meanwhile, you began to fall asleep, nearly forgetting your question as your consciousness began to slip.

Ba-thump,

Ba-thump,

Ba-thump

“Your heartbeat... it’s really fast. Well, it started to slow dow- oh, it’s picking up again. Like, really quickly...” you trailed off into sleep, a hum leaving you last until you were out like a rock.

Meanwhile, his mouth was wide in a squiggly, concerned line - what he hoped you somehow wouldn’t notice the very thing you pointed out. He felt his heart swell, in a good way, at the sight of you - and the last tone of your voice, and he sighed.

He took back what he said, he was right; you were the absolute worst.

(Unedited)

[mthofferings2020]

HogwartsToAlexandria

See HogwartsToAlexandria ’s existing works here.

Preferred contact methods: Discord: Marie | HogwartsToAlexandria#9558 Tumblr: HogwartsToAlexandria

Preferred organizations: - Disability Rights Education & Defense Fund - Médecins Sans Frontières (Doctors Without Borders) - NAACP Legal Defense and Educational Fund - Planned Parenthood - Rainbow Railroad (See the list of approved organizations here)

Will create works that contain: For Gen to Teen Content, I enjoy writing about: Canon divergent fics that avoid all or key angsty elements (canonical MCDs included), Complete AUs. Fluff, Family and Domestic vibes, Found Family and Strong Friendships, Adoptions, Pregnancy, Surrogacy, Mpreg, Trans Male Pregnancy, Any Stage of a child-oriented prospect, Temporary De-Aging. Also yes to platonic pairs parenting together!! Proposals, Weddings, Honeymoons, First Time Everything, Moving in Together, Roommates. Casual intimacy. Sharing clothes. Platonic caretaking. Feeding/Cooking for others. Love languages. Teaching each other things. Bonding over shared interests. Identity headcanons: all of them, whether gender, or sexuality. Disability representation and neurodiversity representation. Hurt/Comfort: I could get as serious or silly as you want as long as the focus stays on the comfort/happy or hopeful/meaningful ending. (Meaning I will absolutely write about serious diseases and even terminal illnesses if we can find a silver lining of some sort for our ship.) For Mature and Explicit Content of a sexual nature I enjoy A Lot Of Things but have a small list 😁: Size differences, Age differences, Strength differences, Biting, Hickeys, Kissing, Touching Anywhere, Hair-pulling, Hair-petting, Licking, Honor bondage, Predicament bondage, Wall sex, Non-bed sex but also Bed sex haha, Bath sex, Oral sex, Face-sitting, Face-Fucking, Awkward but fun sex, First Time First Time trying a new position or kink. Kink Negotiations, Establishing kink dynamics, BDSM whether formal or not, Kneeling, Presenting, Collars as wedding rings, Contracts, Service Kink, Glassy-eyed subs, Caring Doms, Verbal Humiliation and Physical Degradation, Cuckolding, Rough Sex, Gentle Aftercare, Watersports, Spitting, Snowballing, Rimming, Felching, Fingering (mouth, vaginal or anal is all fine), Breathplay (from strangling to full-on latex suits, sheets, bags), Pain play (from spanking to whipping and everything in between as long as it doesn't break skin).... Age play: from Daddy/Mommy kink to full on Cg/l (Sexual Age Play/Infantilism is also okay if all negotiations are made in Adult headspace).

Will not create works that contain: 1st and 2nd Person POV. Serious shovel talks and family/friends reacting badly to ship's relationship. Bullying. Issuefic: fic that focuses on issues relating to bigotry/prejudice. On-screen abuse whether verbal, physical or sexual. (Brief scenes of canonically shitty parents are okay.) Hopeless Endings. Cheating. Excessive jealousy or possessiveness. Gaslighting. Non-kinky indifference/humiliation. Total erasure or villification of canon partners, best friends parents/parental figures, Character or Ship bashing, Team Cap/Iron Man discourse, POC Characters in the therapist or matchmaker friend trope. Head/Eye trauma. Graphic depictions of open wounds. Blood play (Except for Vampire AUs). Scats, vomit, vore. Micro-Macro, Sex under Any influence (sex pollen, alcohol...), Misgendering, Non-gender comforming terms for trans characters if not IC, Pushiness about sex, Gender and race kink. Non-con. Bad BDSM practices (RACK ok, but I won't write about like, someone ignoring safewords for example.) Top/Bottom discourse.

  -- Fic or Other Writing --

Auction ID: 1256

Will create works for the following relationships: Phil Coulson/Tony Stark - MCU JARVIS/Tony Stark - MCU Happy Hogan/Tony Stark - MCU Stephen Strange/Wong - MCU Tony Stark/Sam Wilson - MCU Ned Leeds/Peter Parker - MCU James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark - MCU Peter Parker/Tony Stark/Stephen Strange - MCU James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Steve Rogers - MCU Pepper Potts/Natasha Romanov/Tony Stark - MCU

Work Description: Heya! So, as the ships I listed may hint at, I'm going for a rare pairs auction this year. I would absolutely love to write something for any of these pairings and probably more rare pairs that didn't make the 10, so if yours isn't there do reach out in the MTH server or in DMs to ask , chances are I also love it haha. I'm a big fan of fluff as my deets showed, and smut if also my happy place so if that's you too, we'll be well-matched. I would also love it if you shared my interest in fics that focus on marginalized identities and bodies, whether that's in term of gender, sexuality, skin color and culture or disability and neurodiversity or even size. I'm offering a 1k minimum fic, 5k maximum (if bids end up at 25$ and upwards). I will not be able to start working on it before January, but we can talk about it at length before that and you can tell me all the ways you want our faves to be happy! Feel free to look through my works and pick things you like if you'd like something similar in vibe or if you're short on prompts! As for your involvement once I start writing, if you'd like to cheer me on that'd be fun too but it's not a requirement at all. We'll play it by ear!

Ratings: Gen, Teen, Mature, Explicit

CLICK HERE TO BID ON THIS WORK

The auction runs from October 18 (12 AM ET) to October 24 (11:59:59 PM ET). Visit marveltrumpshate.com during Auction Week to view all of our auctions and to place your bids!

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (40/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I’ve written a lot of words - it’s actually a ridiculous amount - but some stories worm their way into your heart. This one definitely goes in the top five of that for me. I don’t know if it’s because this was the first story I managed to write after getting some pretty harsh words sent my way or if it was because this story was something I wrote throughout my pregnancy. Did you guys notice how much food was involved? That’s why. Haha. Nevertheless, this is a special one. Thanks for coming along for the ride ⚾️

Thanks to you @resident-of-storybrooke​ for all of her hard work with me on this one​! I’ve kept this epilogue a secret from you as your gift for being a spectacular human being, so I hope you enjoy it ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current 

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-/-

“What are you wearing today?” Ruby asks her over the speaker on her phone.

Emma hums in response as she thumbs through the clothes in her closet, passing by sweater after sweater that Killian has organized by color despite her consistently messing up his organizational system for their closet. Miraculously, it always gets fixed, heels going on the shelf and white sweater moving to its section instead of chilling with the red jackets on the other side of the room. She didn’t need a closet this big, not really, but if this is what came attached to the master bedroom in their brownstone, Emma is certainly going to fill it up with clothes and boots and far too many hats.

She’s simply not going to organize them the way that her husband wants her to.

“I’m not sure yet,” Emma tells Ruby while running her hand runs over a black turtleneck sweater that might look good with her plaid skirt and the thigh-high boots that she owns three pairs of now since she wears them so often. It’s not a problem no matter how much Killian says it is as he places them on the shelf. “It’s cold outside, but it’s going to be sunny. Maybe my plaid skirt with the black sweater. What are you wearing?”

“Jeans and a sweater, but it’s not my big day.”

“It’s not my big day either.”

Ruby sighs, and Emma can imagine the exasperated look on her face and the way that Graham is likely sitting on the bed behind her reminding her to be gentle or something similar. He should know better after so many years with Ruby – she’s not gentle when she’s in a teasing mood, and she’s definitely in a teasing mood.

“It is your big day,” Ruby corrects. “Your husband could be retiring from baseball today. That’s a huge fucking deal.”

Emotion lodges itself in Emma’s throat, and if she could swallow it down and get rid of it for the day, she would. Quickly, she turns around to look and make sure Killian isn’t standing in the closet or the bedroom. He’s not, at least that she knows. He could be hiding in that blind spot near the bathroom. He’s got weirdly quiet footsteps, and she can very rarely hear when he’s moving in this house.

“Killian wants to think about it as any other game. He’s told me approximately five hundred times that this isn’t a big deal.”

“And you believe him?”

“Hell no,” Emma scoffs as she unties her robe and hangs it on a hook before pulling the plaid skirt off of its hanger and slipping into it as most as she can without having someone tug the last little bit. It’s got this stupid hook that never does quite right. “He hasn’t slept in days. Like, actual days. I wake up in the middle of the night to find him reading or running his fingers over me or something. Killian doesn’t want to admit it, but baseball is in his bones. He’s never going to be able to fully leave it behind. He just…they’re down three games to none in the ALCS and even if they win tonight, they could lose tomorrow. I don’t – I want him to win tonight, but I think if that happens, he’ll just keep holding onto the hope that it’s not over yet.”

“It’s never over until it’s over.”

“You sound like Killian.”

“I’ve spent a hell of a lot of time with him in the past six years. It was bound to happen at some point.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who was supposed to start picking up his mannerisms, not you.”

“We’re sister wives, baby.”

“Um, no,” Emma laughs as she clasps her bra together behind her back, “we are not sister wives. I love you, but that’s not true.”

“Ah whatever.” Ruby scoffs. “Is the jersey going to go over that sweater well?”

“Yep.”

“The plaid may not mix with the stripes.”

Emma clicks her tongue, a protest on her lips, but then there’s a high-pitched squeal followed by small legs lacking pants running into the closet. It’s not like she can judge. She doesn’t have a shirt on.

“Mommy,” Jace squeals, still giggling and running toward her until he’s slamming right into her calves and wrapping his fingers around her legs while his dark mop of hair brushes up against her thigh. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.” “What, Jace?” she questions with a small laugh before scooping him up and resting him on her hip. She swears that he gets bigger every single day, and it kind of freaks her out. Then again, most things about being a mom to a two-year-old kid are terrifying. But also weirdly rewarding. She’s been reassured by Mary Margaret, Elsa, Ariel, and Anna that it’s normal, but she’s not sure she believes that quite yet. “What’s got you running in here out of breath?”

“Daddy funny,” Jace giggles, and like he was summoned by the laugh (he probably was), Killian walks into the closet with a small smile on his face and the slightest shake of his head.

Handsome as ever.

“Daddy is funny,” Emma agrees, leaning down to press her lips against Jace’s forehead, “but we can’t tell him because his ego might get bigger and then you and I won’t have any room in the house.”

“Ems,” Ruby interjects, “I’m going to let you go so that you can continue to tell lies about Killian being funny.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon. I’m wearing the plaid skirt.”

“It’s not going to go with the stripes,” Ruby says before the line goes dead.

“You’re hysterical, love,” Killian grumbles, walking toward her and placing his hands on her waist. They’re warm and rough, callouses that she’s grown used to scratching up against her skin, and he tugs her zipper up without her asking. He’s going to have to undo it when she puts her sweater on, but it’s sweet that he realized she needed a bit of help. “Where’s your shirt?”

“Where are our son’s pants?”

He arches a brow before waggling them both across his forehead, a smirk stretching across his lips. “Touché, darling. Touché. Jace seemed fit to not stop squirming around so that I could tug his jeans up.”

Jace smiles at her, a toothy grin, and it’s almost not fair how much he looks like Killian. Genetics are not supposed to work this way. There is supposed to be some of her in him. She didn’t carry him in her body for nine plus months for him to not at all be like her.

There’s supposed to be some kind of payback or reward or something.

(Unconditional love or whatever, probably.)

“Baby, did you not let Daddy put on your pants?”

“Nope.”

“Would you let me put on your pants?”

“Nope.”

Emma rolls her eyes and looks up at Killian who simply shrugs his shoulders. “Well, I guess you won’t wear any pants, and I won’t wear a shirt. Daddy will have to go without shoes.”

Killian shrugs. “All in all, I think I’ve gotten the good deal here.”

“You have,” she promises, pressing up on her toes to quickly brush her lips over Killian’s. He needs to leave soon to go to what may be his final practice (she swears that she’s not thinking about it too much), but they were all going to ride over to the stadium together. “I’ll get him dressed, okay? You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Swan, no. You’ve still got to get ready. I’m perfectly capable of dressing him.”

“His lack of pants suggests otherwise.”

Killian opens his mouth to say something, but then his lips are pressing together and he’s reaching forward to run his fingers over Jace’s stomach while his other hand comes to rest on her ass, squeezing enough that she jumps.

“I’ll dress him,” he continues. “We’ve got to have a go at the jeans again. He might want the light wash instead of the dark. The kid is particular.”

“Just like you,” Emma sighs before handing Jace off to Killian. “I’ve only got to curl my hair and then finish getting dressed, okay? It shouldn’t take me more than thirty minutes, and then we can go.”

“There’s no rush, my love. Take your time.”

Killian walks out of the closet talking to Jace, murmuring little nothings that Emma can’t make out but that she’s sure are sweet and funny and probably ridiculous. It makes her heart swell, which isn’t good for how emotional she is today. She told herself that she wouldn’t be sad, that she would believe Killian’s lies about today not being a big deal, but Killian is a liar. Anyone that says today isn’t a big deal is a liar.

She’s a liar.

And she’s standing in the middle of her closet holding her hand against the chain around her neck staring at shelf after shelf of Yankees t-shirts and sweatpants and uniforms. This sport and this team are so intertwined with their lives and nearly everything that they do, and Emma’s not sure how she’s going to function commentating on games where Killian isn’t playing. When she got the promotion, she knew this would happen eventually. It was at the back of her mind, and it was supposed to stay there.

This wasn’t supposed to come so soon.

Killian is only thirty-three, and Emma always thought that they’d have more time.

Dammit. Why is she letting herself spiral like this when she’s supposed to be curling her hair and putting this sweater on and not freaking out?

Taking a deep breath, Emma grabs the black sweater, a pair of socks, and her boots before tugging them all on, taking each task one at a time while she gets ready. It’s fine. It’s simply another day and another baseball game. There’s nothing happening today that’s any different. They’re going to go to the stadium, drop Jace off with Ariel, Killian will go to practice, and Emma will go up to the booth to review her notes and do the pre-game show. Then the game will begin.

It’s all normal and just what they’ve been doing for almost every home game since Jace’s birth.

(Except it’s not normal.)

(She’s going to act like it is.)

When they get to the stadium an hour later, Emma and Jace both fully dressed despite the complications, the hallways are full of people – publicists, players, family members, coaches, vendors. Anyone Emma can think of is flooding the walkways, most of them waving hello and giving Jace high fives that Emma knows Killian will sanitize later simply because he’s a germ freak now, and there’s a particular look in each of their eyes, a tightness in all of the smiles, that make it especially hard for Emma to pretend that today is a normal day.

“Jace Jones,” Ariel yells out when she comes into view. “What’s up, my man?”

“Ariel,” he screeches out, squirming in Killian’s arms until Killian puts him on the ground and he runs toward Ariel. He’s a blur of pinstripes and the number twenty-nine running in a miniature version of Killian’s jersey. Emma’s got her version hidden away in her purse.

“I was always jealous of other guys who got this.”

Emma twists from where she’s standing to look over at Killian as he softly smiles at Ariel and Jace, the crinkles around his eyes much more prominent than they’ve ever been. “What?”

He nods his head before turning to face her as well. Killian puts his hands on her hips, tugging her a little bit closer to him, and she lazily slings her arms around his neck so that she can smile up at him and his stupid blue eyes. Emma talks for a living. She should be able to find a better way to describe how much she loves Killian’s eyes, but that’s not really in the job card for baseball commentators.

Killian’s lips tick up to the right, the crinkles showing up some more, and he can’t seem to decide between looking at her or Jace. “That,” Killian repeats, nodding at Jace. “I used to be damn jealous of all of the guys who got to have their kids watch them play and got to wear their numbers on their backs. He’s not…fuck, Emma. He’s not going to remember that I did this, that I got to be this really cool guy who lived out my dreams and brought joy to a lot of people, and it’s so idiotic – ”

“Hey, hey, no,” she whispers as her hand keeps running through the hair at the nape of his neck and her own eyes fill with water, “don’t go there, twenty-nine. You’ll drive yourself crazy. Jace may not remember seeing you play professional baseball, but he’s going to know that you did. And he’s going to have a million other memories that are going to be so much cooler than this, yeah? Today isn’t an ending, babe. It’s a new beginning.”

Killian sniffles, his jaw still tense, but it softens a little bit when he dips his head down to hers and starts running his lips across Emma’s jaw and down her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that light her entire body on fire and make her cant her hips up into his until Killian has her pressed into a concrete wall. It’s not unusual for them to find a spot to make out in this stadium, not at all, but it’s unusual for them to be this open about it. Their relationship has been a public one without their permission, and they try to keep it as quiet as possible.

Right now, Emma doesn’t care.

Not at all.

Until there’s a whistle and Ariel speaking. “I know you guys are probably going to try for another one of these munchkins during the infamous baseball mating season, but here is really not the place to do it.”

Killian chuckles against Emma’s jaw, his scruff brushing into her skin while his smile is tattooed there, and of all of the things Emma is going to miss, she thinks this might be at the top of the list. She guesses that they’ll simply have to do it at home…or Killian can come visit her at work. They have their options.

“Daddy kisses Mommy a lot,” Jace explains to Ariel in his broken speech, which only makes Killian snicker into her skin even more before he pulls back.

“I bet I can kiss you more than I kiss Mommy,” Killian challenges as he swipes Jace out of Ariel’s arms and peppers kisses across his face and down his arms.

Emma’s heart is never going to function normally again, and their insurance is not going to cover this.

“You guys are ridiculously cute,” Ariel sighs before walking up to Emma and wrapping her up in a hug so that she can whisper in her ear. “It’s all clear for you to come down after the game. Will and Eric are under strict instructions to keep him in the dugout instead of letting him go back to get his PT and hide out away from the field.”

“Thank you, A. You’re the best.”

“Yo, Professor Jones,” Will calls out from down the corridor, and everyone’s eyes glance over toward him. “I know you’ve got that fancy college degree now and could actually be a professor, but you’ve still got to show up to practice.”

“I’m right outside the door to the clubhouse, Scarlet,” Killian yells back.

“Outside isn’t inside, man. I bet Jace knows that, and he’s only two.”

“Give me three minutes, and I’ll be there.”

“Al is going to have your head.”

“He can have it.”

“My boy,” Killian sighs as he brushes Jace’s hair off of his forehead, “will you be good for Ariel so that Mommy and Daddy can go to work?”

“Nope.”

That is undeniably the word of the day.

Sending Killian off to practice and the game is a little bit more difficult than usual. The words are lengthier, the hugs longer and tighter, and the final “good luck” and “I love you” weigh heavier on Emma’s mind as she walks away from the clubhouse and to the elevators so that she can go and do her job.

It’s a hard day, but it is simply a day.

And a ballgame.

-/-

Before Killian’s first pitch, he looks up to her in the commentator’s booth and taps his fist right over his heart.

She does the same thing back before holding her hand to the ring that still rests against her sternum.

“You’ve got this, twenty-nine,” she whispers, not caring that the microphones are going to pick it up.

-/-

The Yankees lose, 3-2, and the loss definitely stings. The season is over, but Killian’s career is also finished, the bookend closing on the mound and his time there.

A beginning, she told him. It’s an ending but also a beginning of him not spending half of the year with a crazy schedule. Her schedule is crazy too, but at least she won’t be traveling with the team anymore.

It’s a new beginning for her too.

Chants of Killian’s name ring out around the stadium, a melody that sends chills down Emma’s spine, and Killian walks around the bases waving. He looks like he both loves and hates it, and Emma chuckles as she waits in the dugout, hidden away from him until he steps back on the mound one final time.

The man she loves is so intertwined with this game and this field, but she knows he’s also so much more than any of this.

He’s everything.

“You ready to go support Daddy, kid?” Emma asks Jace as his little blue eyes look around at all of the noise. He’s not used to this.

“Yes,” he says, and Emma sighs in relief at finally getting that word out of him.

It’s not a long walk, not at all, but it feels that way as she passes by all of Killian’s teammates, past and present, to get to him. When he sees the two of them, he immediately moves toward them. His strides are long, almost quick enough to be a run, and Killian wraps his arms around them so tightly that Jace protests and tries to move. He can’t, though, especially when Killian slams his lips into hers and kisses her deeply enough that every thought that Emma had disappears into the continuing chant of the crowds.

Killian. Killian. Killian.

It’s overwhelming but in the best way, and every thought that Killian has about it is felt in the kiss that leaves her breathless and with barely working limbs.

Falling in love with Killian was like this, overwhelming, unexpected, terrifying, and thrilling all at once, and she’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

“Easy tiger,” Emma laughs when Killian finally pulls back, “we’ve got company.”

“Are we talking the kid we just squashed or all of these people?”

“I’m talking Jeff and the camera that’s on our face. I’m supposed to interview you right now.”

The smile that breaks out on his face is beatific, and he kisses her again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Killian grabs onto Jace and pulls him into his arms. “You too, kid. You ready to watch Mommy work? She’s really good at this even if it isn’t her job anymore.”

“She play baseball?”

“Something like that, lad.”

Emma barely remembers the questions that she asks Killian. It’s a blur of laughter and funny questions and maybe one or two actual questions about baseball. It all gets interrupted by Jace’s talking, most of it tired babbling, and then Liam, Elsa, and the rest of Killian’s family coming out onto the field. The stands don’t empty out, the constant buzz of the stadium staying around, but Emma doesn’t bother looking around up there when she’s got so much going on down here.

It’s absolutely everything.

Even more so when Killian takes Jace’s hand and walks him around the bases, the two of them laughing together in the way that they always do whenever they’re together, and Emma is most definitely scouring the internet for those pictures tonight.

But far too soon, the moment is over, reality coming back to everyone, and Killian has to go inside to do his press conference just like so many of his teammates. There are still articles to be written and deadlines to be met, and the world doesn’t resolve around them.

Emma’s world revolves around the two guys wearing the number twenty-nine.

She gets Jace back from Killian when they go inside, and the two of them hide out in the corner of the back of the press room as Killian settles down behind the table and all of the journalists and photographers sit in their seats. It starts mostly with the game, Killian’s stats as well as his team’s. It’s standard, just like any other post-game press.

Until it isn’t.

“You threw a one-hundred-and-one mile per hour pitch out there eighty pitches in. And it was accurate. Why are you hanging up your glove when you have some good years left?”

Emma flinches at the question, but it’s one she knew he would get. It was pretty much inevitable.

Killian’s hand reaches up to rub over his eyes, the blue sparkling against the red rims from where he’s cried and tried to hide out. “Look,” Killian starts while staring down at the baseball cap in front of him, signatures from every single teammate marking it up, “I get that I’m only thirty-three. That’s not old in life, but on occasion, it’s old in sports. The fact that I’ve played this game professionally for twelve years for the same team is a wonderful honor, especially when you consider the issues I’ve had with my shoulder. I think…it feels damn good to be able to throw an accurate strike like that one you mentioned, but it feels better to be able to hold my son without pain. It feels better for me to be able to embrace my wife or keep my arm around her shoulder while we watch a movie. Those are things I might not be able to do if I keep playing and screw my arm up a little bit more.”

Emma adjusts Jace in her arms, careful not to rouse him since he’s probably about five minutes from sleep. The kid has no idea the declaration of love his dad just made for the two of them, all of the declarations he’s been making, and he has no idea just how lucky they are that the sweet man having to talk to strangers about a huge part of his life ending is also the dumbass who thought it would be a good idea to ask her out on television.

It’s a good thing that Killian has learned from his mistakes and that she knows how to forgive.

“So you’re retiring because of your family? Lots of guys play with families.”

Killian rolls his eyes. Emma does too.

“I’m retiring because it’s my time,” Killian corrects with a forced smile on his face. “I love this game and everything that it has given me. I’m never truly going to leave it. I think I’ll likely take a few years off, maybe spend a hell of a lot of time making another kid with my wife, and then I’ll come back somehow. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get into the commentator’s booth with Emma. I think we’d make a hell of a team, and there’s nothing I’d love more than working with her again. Maybe I’ll be a coach for an MLB team or for a college or for my kid’s little league team. I don’t know yet. I haven’t exactly gotten it figured out.”

“One more question,” Ariel calls out, and Emma swears that she’s not crying. Nope. It’s not a thing that’s happening.

Except that she’s definitely crying and far too emotional, and she doesn’t want Killian to be up there by himself for his last press conference question. So as there’s a loud chorus of questions with every reporter’s hand raised, Killian still trying to pick someone to ask a question, Emma moves around the side of the room until she’s stepping up on the stage, her heels clacking against the platform, until she’s gently sitting down on Killian’s lap.

He rolled back in his chair in anticipation of her walking this way.

And his hand is warm on her arm and around Jace’s back, and just the slight touch is enough to make her emotional all over again.

Killian deserved to go out winning the World Series again. He deserved for his Hall of Fame career to have a big bang for an ending instead of a quiet fizzle, but life doesn’t work out that way. If this is what he wants, this is what he wants, and it’ll be perfect for him.

“Lawrence,” Killian calls out, nodding to the reporter who took over Emma’s job at ESPN.

“In all of your career, what’s been your favorite moment? Do you have one?”

Killian snickers at the question before turning to the side and pressing a kiss against her forehead. “World Series 2019, game seven. That was the year that changed every aspect of my life, and that game was incredible. I don’t think I’d ever experienced such an adrenaline high before. I don’t know if I have since in terms of baseball. I just…that was a special win for me because I got to do it with my mates, a lot of whom have retired since then or been traded to other teams, but I also got to do it with Emma. I know that I…God, I know that I sound like a sap right now, and I – ”

Killian tilts his head to the side and buries his face in her hair while his arm tightens around she and Jace. She can feel his body shaking the slightest bit.

“It’s okay, Killian,” Emma promises, whispering in his ear while Jace twitches in her arms, waking up the slightest bit. “You’re doing great, twenty-nine.”

“I was a fucking liar when I said that today wasn’t a big deal.”

“I know.”

He chuckles, that same chuckle she’s heard almost every day for six years, and when Killian pulls back from the two of them, he’s got a smile on his face.

“That year was the first time I had a partner in my life outside of my brother that I knew was always going to be by my side, no matter what happened, and I think baseball wise, that moment is always going to be my favorite. I’ve loved almost every minute of this journey, even having to deal with all of you guys hounding me about every move that I make, but if you don’t mind, I think I’ve got a toddler who is fast asleep and needs to go home.”

Emma twists her head to look at Killian, and he throws her a wink before leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers in a kiss while applause fills the room, an echo of the standing ovation Killian received while out on the field. He doesn’t stay to listen to this one, though. Instead, he encourages her to stand from the chair, and the two of them walk out of the room with his arm looped around her waist to the sound of people cheering for Killian.

He deserves every single clap.

They don’t stick around the stadium much longer. Killian runs into a few people who want to say goodbye, mostly those who won’t see him in their personal lives, but they’re able to leave pretty quickly. Their families have already gone home per Killian’s request of not making a big deal out of today. They’ll have some kind of celebration next week, one full of food and laughter and joy that isn’t so bittersweet like today.

When they get home, Jace is completely out, the car ride having knocked any remaining wakefulness out of him, and instead of waking him, Emma tells Killian to go take a shower while she changes Jace into his pajamas. He protests, like he always does, but eventually he relents and walks out of the room and down the hall to their bathroom so that he can shower. Emma figures that he likely needs a little time alone anyway.

It’s a weird day.

Once Jace is asleep, his arms wrapped around Will, the stuffed lobster toy that Jace named after Will Scarlet, Emma quietly turns on the baby monitor and closes the door behind her before making her way to the bedroom. The water in the shower is running, a constant hum of a stream, and Emma really does intend to let Killian be and let him have his moment alone where no one will bother him while the warm water beats against his skin. But Killian left the door to the bathroom open, pretty much inviting her inside, and she doesn’t think that he’ll mind even if her plan is simply to stand underneath the water with him and have her makeup fall down her face until she’s left looking like a terrifying clown.

Slowly, she steps into the room, the tile cool against her feet, and strips out of her clothes, picking them up off the floor and throwing them into the hamper. Killian hasn’t noticed her yet, the water pressure too high for him to hear her, and he’s got his back turned to her so that she has a view of strong legs and a firm ass that looks a million times better like this than in baseball pants.

She’s lucky for a lot of reasons. The muscles that stretch up Killian’s back and his arms tick off some of the more superficial ones.

Steam escapes the shower door when she opens it, a little bit of water too, but then she’s quickly pulling the clear glass door closed and stepping onto white tile so that she can wrap her arms around Killian’s waist, her finger threading into the patch of hair over his stomach, and her cheek nuzzling between his shoulder blades. Heat curls between her thighs at the feel of him, at knowing just how much she loves him, but instead of acting on any of it, she presses her lips to his back, laying soft kisses wherever she can while Killian’s hand comes to rest over hers.

“I thought you had banished me in here so that I could be alone,” he finally says as the water continues to pound down on them.

“Do you want to be alone?”

“I want to be with you.”

Emma hums and moves her arms from his stomach, sliding them up his body until her hands come to rest on his arms. Killian grunts something unintelligible, a mixture of pleasure and relief, and she’s barely even begun to work out the knots in his shoulder. He didn’t get his post-match massage, none of his usual recovery happening, so his shoulders are particularly tense. She knows exactly what to do, which muscles to apply pressure to and which to knead. It’s a rhythm and a practice that they’re been doing for years now to make sure Killian’s shoulder doesn’t get too stiff in the middle of the night.

Running her hands from his shoulders to his neck, she kneads the straining cords there while Killian reaches forward to press both of his hands against the tiled wall. His head drops, chin practically touching his chest, and his groan is almost more than Emma can handle.

“Fuck, love. I don’t...this feels so damn good, but if I don’t get to touch you soon, I’m going to lose my bloody mind.”

The heat she feels at his words, spoken in a deep and gravely tone, is almost dizzying, and Emma is ready to let him touch her, to let him bring her to life in the way that he always does. But today is Killian’s day, whether he wants to accept that or not, and instead of letting Killian turn around and kiss her, Emma wraps her arms around his waist again, dipping lower and lower until she can feel him straining warmly against his stomach.

She wants to tease him, to draw this out and make him go crazy with want now that they have actual alone time together, but Emma’s never been very good at being patient, especially not when it comes to this man wanting her. Killian’s the patient one, the one who is willing to wait until things are right, but his shallowed breathing and stuttered words make her think that he’s not very interested in being patient right now.

“Emma,” he breathes out, a mixture between a plea and a promise.

“You do this thing,” Emma begins as her finger traces underneath him, tracing a line in the vein in his length that Killian loves for her to do, “with your arms that make your veins more prominent. It’s just, like, all of the time, and your forearms are ridiculous. I get distracted staring at them. You’re a very distracting man.”

She wraps her fingers around his cock now, slow and steady as Killian’s knuckles practically go as white as the tile, and moves it in long strokes. Killian is very obviously trying to keep from thrusting his hips, the tenseness in his body back in full force, and all Emma can do is continue to stroke him and let him find more pleasure than pain as the water falls down around them and causes the hair on Killian to mat together and for the hair on her head to tangle.

“Sometimes I worry that I don’t let you know how much I love you,” she continues while Killian’s feet move and his hips begin to pump, aiding her hand in its work. “You’re so good with words and affection, with letting me know how much I mean to you, and I wish I could do the same with you. You deserve that.”

Killian’s step falters once more, and Emma thinks that he’s on the precipice of coming until he turns around, her hand falling from him as Killian’s hands come up to grip her face, kissing her with something approaching desperation. His tongue is sinful, hot and wet mixing in with hers, and Emma can feel his all the way down to her toes. There have been times over the years when they’ve gone through rough patches, when things weren’t always great between the two of them simply because of busy schedules or disagreements, but they’ve always worked back from those and come back to this.

Come back to this and everything else that makes up the two of them: baseball games, late-night baking sessions that never go right, attending far too many weddings and baby showers, having their own wedding at a courthouse on a random Wednesday, racing each other through Central Park as they run, laughing at the other as they trip over a pair of socks, sharing the depths of their hearts while under the covers, the lights of the city surrounding them.

Sobbing at a false positive on a pregnancy test. Sobbing at the accurate positive.

It’s a whirlwind, their life, and none of that can encapsulate it all.

Emma’s eyes are shut tightly as Killian continues to kiss her, his mouth insistent, and there’s no stopping the curl of heat now. Absolutely none. Especially when Killian moves his left hand and turns the water off, the stream immediately stopping so that chilled air hits the heat of her skin, gooseflesh rising. It’s cold, that’s undeniable, but Emma doesn’t care as her desire roars and Killian slowly backs them out of the shower with water dripping down both of their bodies.

“I swear if you let me trip, Jones,” Emma mumbles out as her feet hit against the cloth of the mat in the bathroom.

“You’ll what, Jones?” He enunciates the last word with a flick of his tongue against hers before he’s pulling back so that her nipples are no longer brushing against the thick patch of hair on his chest. Emma whines, her thighs too slick with wanting him to even care how desperate she sounds, and all Killian does is grab a towel from the shelf to wrap around her body, the soft cotton nothing compared to Killian’s touch. Even if he’s being an asshole right now. “I know you’re capable of a myriad of things darling, but I think you’re too desperate for me to do any of them.”

“You’re pretty confident in yourself, aren’t you?”

The towel tugs tighter around her waist, pulling her back into Killian so that his straining length brushes the inside of her thigh, and his lips are so close to her ear, breath heavy, that she’s not sure if she can handle any more of this. “Extremely. You usually like that about me.”

“You’ve had a lot of people complimenting you today. I wouldn’t want it to get into your head.”

“Of course. You’re here to keep me humble.”

“Exactly. I’m very good at my job.”

“Mhm,” Killian hums as the towel drops around them and Killian’s hands find the globes of her ass, kneading both of them while he continues to back them up into the bedroom. His lips are on her neck, her shoulder, back to her lips. “I love you, you know? It’s ridiculous how much.”

“Funny thing, I feel the same way.”

“Good.”

Once Emma falls against the mattress, they come together quickly, easily, like they have thousands of times before. Killian knows each inch of her skin intimately, knows just where to kiss and to touch and how to thrust, and it takes absolutely no time for her to begin to feel that desperation of needing him seep into her bones and settle there like it’s going to make a permanent stay. He’s fully seated in her, a heavy and thick drag that is like nothing else, and she can feel all of him hovering over her, heat and strength surrounding her he takes his time with his thrusts.

They’re slow, languid, and so damn breathtaking that Emma can’t even speak. She’s not sure that she wants to. Sometimes sex is just sex, a simple release of desire and passion to physically feel good. Other times it’s words of affection written with each kiss and feelings of love enunciated with each thrust and swirl of a thumb over a bundle of nerves.

Right now is the second one, and every word that Killian spoke to her earlier – in the hallways, on the field, in the press room – is echoed back to her as he moves within her and over her, his lips writing his love while Emma holds on and attempts to write the same words back.

Her heartbeat is thundering, a sound so loud that it blocks out nearly every other noise, and then she’s there, falling apart with a plea and a whisper, pleasure shaking over her body faster than she thought it would.

Holy fuck.

“Fuck,” Killian repeats back, almost as if he heard her thoughts. “Fuck, love. You’re exquisite.”

“So are you. You planning on finishing anytime soon?”

“I’m an old man. I’ve got to catch my breath.”

Emma barks out a laugh that Killian captures with a resounding kiss while his hips snap into hers, a perfect fit that is like nothing else in the world, and as his fingers intertwine with hers and he pulls them up above both of their heads, Killian joins her in her bliss, his body tensing up as his words become breathless, a mess that gets carried away with the thrum of the ceiling fan.

They collapse against the mattress, a tangle of sweaty limbs and wet hair, and when Killian pulls the comforter up over them, Emma turns on her side until she’s snuggled against Killian’s chest with her cheek resting against his heart and his hands in her tangled hair.

“We’re going to have to take another shower.”

Emma laughs with unbridled joy before pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Tell me the truth. Did I have mascara running down my cheeks this entire time?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

“Totally worth it.”

“Tell that to sheets that have little black marks.”

“I think we can wash them.”

“Possibly,” Killian sighs. His hand moves down her back until it’s resting on her ass once more. “But your mascara is damn stubborn. Ruined one of my favorite shirts that way.”

“It did not.”

“No, no, it did. I swear.”

Emma huffs and reaches around to pinch Killian’s side. He doesn’t even flinch. “Would it be so terrible for the two of us to go downstairs and make some brownies and then eat all of them so that we don’t have to share with Jace?”

“I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had.” Killian winks, trademark smirk curling on his lips. “Besides asking me out. That was a pretty bold move on your part, Swan. You had no idea that I had feelings for you. It’s not as if I’d given you any inclination.”

Emma laughs again, uncurling herself from her husband and sitting up in bed with a sated, goofy grin. “I had a pretty good idea, my love.”

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[lunafeather]

9 for the kiss prompts?

Hey I don’t know if you saw that I posted my response to this on AO3 (I was taking a break from tumblr at the time!), so I totally forgot to answer this ask and shit, I hope you saw it on AO3.... I’ll post it here, too, just to be safe haha

9. Fuck You Kiss

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

It becomes a routine:

Put the kids to bed, stay up prepping their lunches for the next day, entertain Dean until he finally collapses onto their air mattress, then sneak out when he’s dead asleep.

She usually drives to Boland Bubbles in silence, her mind whirring, picturing the numbers in her head and rearranging them in a way that’s believable, but profitable, in a way that her husband won’t catch on -- not for a long while, anyway.

The parking lot is empty as she pulls in, the building ominously dark. She knows its dumb, but she wedges her keys between her fingers anyway as she leaves her car and treks to the employee side entrance and lets herself in. The motion sensor lights flicker on as she makes her way down the hallway, peeking into the warehouse to make sure it all looks kosher, doing the same with the break room and then the mood room, her eyes sweeping through the one pink tinted light they leave on for good luck, and she’s just about to turn away --

She screams when she notices the shadow looming in the corner of the room, hands in its pockets, seemingly staring into the hot tub they always have filled for customers to test out before buying.

Rio meanders closer, into the light, and Beth should have known it was him, of course it’s him, it’s always him. Still, she presses her palm to her chest, against the harsh thudding of her heart.

His eyes track the movement with interest.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hisses.

He smirks, that dumb, handsome, terrible and infuriating smirk. “That any way to greet your boss?”

Beth rolls her eyes and stalks away, not waiting for him. He won’t answer her, and he’ll eventually follow her to the office planted in the center of the show room. She doesn’t have the time nor the patience to entertain him.

He appears in the doorway a few minutes later, leaning his hip against the frame, and she has to resist the urge to look up from the papers in front of her to properly take him in -- but she can see him in her peripheral, sees the black beanie tugged low over his ears, the charcoal grey button up shrouded by the black coat with the one white button hole, the loose black jeans and the black and white sneakers.

He’s found a color scheme he likes and stuck with it, and she can respect that -- her brain chooses to focus on this thought instead of the overwhelming surge of want that flows through her, the frustration prickling at her skin -- frustration with everything that’s happened between them, frustration with this business not being hers, not really , frustration with how fucking beautiful he is. He’s taken to sporting a full beard lately, trimming it instead of shaving, and it drives her to distraction when they’re in the same room together, many times Rio just staring at her while she tries to fight the blush at the memory of that beard against her thighs, of her fingernails running through it.

The worst part is that she’s convinced he knows exactly what it does to her.

All of this lust, all of this attraction, had been a lot easier to keep at bay when she was convinced he was going to kill her at any moment, reap his revenge with three matching holes -- his and hers -- blasted in her body, and when she was consumed with the desperation for survival, convinced she needed to get rid of him first to save herself.

This stalemate of theirs makes it too easy to slip.

So she ignores him.

She can feel him smiling at her.

Still, she’s the first to break the silence.

“How did you get in?”

Rio shrugs, doesn’t answer.

She didn’t really expect one anyway.

“You worried about bein’ all alone in this big warehouse in the middle of the night, baby?”

He smiles when she glares at him.

“Maybe if you told me how you got in, I’d be able to keep the place more secure.”

His eyes are dark, framed by those thick, long lashes. “Nah, where’s the fun in that?” he murmurs.

They stare at each other for a moment.

“Well, if you didn’t need anything, I’ve got some work to --”

“Why you keep coming here at this hour anyway, Elizabeth?”

Her brows furrow. “How did you --”

He tilts his head, gives her a look.

“Are you still having me followed?” she splutters.

He shrugs again, faux nonchalant, sticking his lower lip out and then pursing his lips.

“I thought we moved past that.”

“Oh, what, you think I’m s’posed to trust you, after everything?”

Beth tips her chin in defiance. “I mean, I did bring you this idea--”

A bark of laughter, devoid of amusement. “Nah, sweetheart, that’s not how it works and you know it.”

Her mouth settles into a hard line, and she lets her expression go blank. “Fine. But if that’s all --”

“You never answered my question.”

She can’t help it, she squawks, indignant. “I’m sorry, when the hell have you ever answered --”

“Why you keep comin’ here in the middle of the night?”

“Will you let me speak?” She’s not proud of losing her temper, never likes to let her emotions slip around him, especially not now, so she balls her hands into fists in her lap and tries to channel her anger into them.

Rio watches her, waits for her to say something else, but she doesn’t have anything else, was mostly annoyed at him cutting her off. His eyebrows hit his hairline.

“Oh, that it?” He takes three long, slow steps towards her, his fingers sliding along the edge of her desk -- well, Dean’s desk, but just for now, just until she can wiggle her way in -- stopping at the corner and leaning over it, hands splayed. “Cause I thought maybe you were gonna tell me why you sneakin’ around your business, fudgin’ numbers. Why your husband still thinks he runnin’ the game and callin’ the shots.”

Beth swallows. “I told you, it’s going to take some time for me to convince him to let me handle the books. He can’t know you’re involved, or he’ll --”

“He’ll what?” Rio sneers. “Go runnin’ to the cops, the FBI? He still refusin’ to see you’re the one who bossed up and pays the bills, huh? Guess what, darlin’, I shot him once, nothin’ stoppin’ me from doing it again.”

She’s not sure what reaction he’s expecting, but she has a feeling that her cool indifference isn’t it. He squints at her.

“If you let me take care of him, it won’t come to that.”

“I ain’t got time for you to try to pussy whip your dumbass husband --”

“Excuse me?”

“You should be pullin’ in way more cash than you are, so I’ma need you to stop gaggin’ on Dean’s dick and get your shit together --”

She’s up and in his face before she realizes what she’s doing, jabbing her finger into his chest. “How dare you!”

Rio snatches her hand and holds it away from them both. “Don’t.”

His voice is rough, a warning, but she doesn’t catch it, blinded by her fury.

“You don’t know anything about my marriage, about what I’ve had to do, what I’ve had to sacrifice!” Flailing wildly, she yanks her hand from his and goes onto her toes to get onto his eye level, waving her hand in his face and prodding him again.

“Elizabeth,” he growls.

“I will not let you degrade me, or treat me like --”

And then his mouth is on hers, effectively shutting her up. The kiss is rough, angry, desperate and filthy -- Rio’s hands cup her ass and lift her onto the desk, then slide up her back to mold her body against his, her breasts wedged against his chest and spilling out over her v-neck sweater. Beth wails into his mouth and clings to his shoulders as he steps between her thighs. He ravages her mouth, alternating rubbing his tongue against hers and sucking on it. She sinks her teeth into his lower lip hard enough that she thinks she tastes blood, and he groans and twists his fingers into her hair to yank her head back and expose her throat.

“You think about my tongue in your mouth when you kiss him, mama?” he says against her skin, sucking a hickey below her ear.

She scratches her fingernails against his scalp, helpless in his arms and writhing against him. One of his palms lowers to her ass to hold her in place, not allowing her to seek out any friction.

“You close your eyes and pretend its my cock fillin’ you up, makin’ you beg?”

Beth moans as his voice vibrates against her ear, pleasure singing down her neck and across her shoulders, threading through her spine and pooling at her tailbone. He grinds his hips into hers, and she can feel how turned on he is.

“He can’t make you come like I can, huh, baby? Gotta wait til he’s passed out and touch yourself, but your fingers aren’t enough, are they? Can’t reach inside you the way mine can.”

Those fingers clench in her hair, forcing her eyes open to meet his stare, his eyes dark fathomless, drawing her in and smothering her. She tries to lean forward, to kiss him again, but he keeps her still.

“He ain’t me,” he growls. The words tumble out from his lowest register, like he pried them from deep within himself, from a place he never lets see light, dripping with possessiveness and pride, and maybe even hurt.

She shakes her head. “He’s not you.”

Almost like he doesn’t want to hear it, like he’s already said too much, revealed too much, he crushes his mouth to hers again, and this kiss feels like a punishment and a plea. Beth lets it consume her.

And just like that, he’s releasing her, both of them panting as he steps back, putting some space between them and looking at her like she’s hexxed him, woven a spell to lure him, tempt him. And then the mask is back in place.

“You got a week to get your husband in line,” he says as he wipes their spit from his chin with his sleeve. He turns to leave, but stops in the doorway and looks over his shoulder. “And you better get a gun if you gonna be spending this much time here alone. Need to protect yourself.”

She arches an eyebrow at the implication under those words, that she needs to protect herself from him.

Beth’s got a feeling that his intentions are a little less murderous and a lot more carnal.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll empty the clip this time?”

His responding grin is slow, feral, like he’d been hoping she’d say that.

“Nah.”

And then he’s gone.

[carbonitekisses]

I’ll Be Coming For Your Love, Okay? (final chapter)

[AN: After season eight I, like many others haha, had massive writer’s block. It’s been a while since I posted (both on AO3 and tumblr). Anyways, I started this story before I had a tumblr so the last chapter of this fic is the only one on here. If a reincarnation/time travel-esque AU interests you, you can read the other five chapters on AO3 :)]

Chapter summary: Willas walks ahead and Sansa hesitates before following suit. Normally Sansa would stop by and chat for a bit with Jeyne at the reception desk but she doesn't want to interrupt. She's ready to walk by and head straight to her office when Jeyne calls out her name in obvious relief.

Frowning for the first time today, Sansa redirects her route. The man Jeyne had been speaking to turns around to face her so quickly it's almost comical.  

She would laugh to herself but then she see his face. For a second (or two or three...) Sansa's reality shatters before piecing itself back together into a kaleidoscope of bright colors and pure light.

Also on AO3

//

Bliss, he thinks, this is pure bliss. Her lips upon my lips, her breath mixing with mine. What need do I have for food or water when she is here? When she kisses me like she remembers?

“Let me never wake.”

“You’re not dreaming, love,” Sansa murmurs, and Jon opens his eyes to something he had resigned himself to never again see on her face. Recognition. Love. Joy.

Could it be true or will he wake to find her gone, her side of the bed empty and cold like it has been for the past year? Jon knows he wouldn't be able to survive if she were to leave him again. One time was one time too many. Each day had been filled with duty and routine until Ghost dragged him to the heart tree two days ago. The world seemed to right itself when he saw her laying on the grass before the heart tree. For the first time in a year Jon felt whole again. 

“Are you,” Jon tries to swallow past the hope that chokes him, “are you here? Are you here, back with me?” His hands slowly, shaking, reach to hold her face. “Have you come back to me, dear heart?”

”Yes, yes, yes.” With each affirmation she brings herself closer to him, lifting her dress until she’s able to straddle his thighs. His hands carefully wander to rest on her waist. It's a pleasure like no other to simply have her familiar weight atop him. “I was here—I was always here. It was strange. I felt trapped within what I knew to be my own body. And after the vision with the blinding light, somehow, the other presence was gone. And it was only me.

“I don’t know how I am alive, how I am home. All I know—” She takes his hand and brings it to her lips, kissing the scarred fingertips “—is that I am grateful to be with you once more. It's a blessing, it must be.” His hand remains encased in her soft grasp, resting in the space between them. “After all we have lost the gods owe us this much.”

Her gratitude reminds Jon that it is because of him that she ever left the world of the living. It was my own hands that killed her, he pulls his hand away from hers in self-disgust, I killed her.  

"If I hadn't plunged Longclaw through your heart... Forgive me, love." Jon shakes his head in anger. He is greedy asking for forgiveness. He is selfish. "Forgive me, forgive me—"

Sansa cuts him off. "No more. You don't need my forgiveness, Jon. If you hadn’t killed me the world of the living would have ceased to exist. Our family and our people would have fallen."

Jon is inclined to disagree. It must show on his face that he is more than willing to argue because Sansa pulls his face to hers and kisses him wildly, leaving him no air with which to voice his disagreement.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Jon," she repeats once more. Her fingers nimbly unclasp the cloak she made for him so many moons ago. They pause and wander to the jerkin where grey fabric peeks out from underneath. A watery sob leaves her as she takes out the favor she had made for him before he left for war. It is almost weightless, so thin and worn it has become. The direwolves and winter roses haven't lost their color and Sansa looks at it in awe. "You kept it... after all this time."

"Everyday. Not once could I bear to keep it anywhere else but near my heart."

And it's true. The square piece of fabric, lovingly stitched with Sansa's own hand, had been a poor replacement of his wife. Nevertheless, it gave him hope. Hope that perhaps the red priestess was right. That some day Sansa would return to him. 

And now she's here in his arms.

Warm. Safe. Alive.

He brings his forehead against hers. Shares the air with her. He has been relieved of an emotional weight he has carried ever since he saw her blood paint the snow. "Never leave me again." He kisses her, drowns in the mere fact that she is here. Here, here, here. The next word comes out strangled and heavy. "Please."

Strong, kind, lovely Sansa Stark presses her smiling lips to the corner of his own. "I love you. As long as you love me—"

"Always." In life and in death. In whatever exists in between and beyond.

"Always is a long time."

"Always is not long enough. Not for us."

The truth. A spark. Firelight catches and dances in her hair. Sansa launches forward and takes him. He gives himself willingly. She undoes the lacing of his jerkin while her hips begin to move in a rhythm that leaves Jon completely in surrender. Any and all thoughts of books, visions, and gods of light flee into the night. “Always,” she whispers, she prays. His love, his wife, dips her head to kiss slightly underneath his jawline, whispering a request along her trail of kisses. He hardens underneath her touch. It's been so long, so very long. 

“I’ve missed you, husband. I only ask you to love me... Love me, Jon.”

And so he does.

// 

Sansa's eyelids refuse to lift under the weight of sleep. The last vestiges of a dream cling to her memory. Cold, cold snow... a fire... a man... a name. J-Jo—hmm. Joe? Jonas? Joseph? Her motor skills finally succeed in opening her eyes to the world. It definitely started with a “J”. Joel? I definitely wasn't dreaming about Joffrey. I'm sure of that, at least.  

The muscles in her neck strain and her bones creak in protest as she makes to stand up from the couch. Disoriented. That's how she is feeling. Unbalanced, too, if her trembling knees are anything to go by. Last night...what happened last night? If it were the weekend she would chalk it up to a hangover but it's Friday morning and she didn't go out last night. 

Sansa picks up a book from off the floor. She turns it around to look at the cover. A man and a woman are embracing underneath a heart tree. She vaguely remembers the book. it feels different... even if I can't remember much of it right now. Did she fall asleep trying to read this? Sansa quickly thumbs through ink-filled pages, trying to recollect something, anything, about it. 

"Where did—Oh!" Sansa recoils as her mind registers the time being displayed on her watch. She woke up later than usual, having seemingly forgotten to turn on her alarm last night. An hour. She has an hour to shower, change, and get to work. Pressed for time, she puts the book back into its manila envelope and then into her work bag along with her reading glasses.

She'll work out the mystery book once she gets to her office.

Without wasting any more time Sansa absentmindedly starts her favorite playlist on Spotify. Mornings are better with music.

Take on Me by a-ha starts to play.

Sansa groans.

Here we go again.

// 

The morning sun melts the small crumbs of her dream into oblivion until Sansa forgets that she even dreamed at all. 

Things are looking up for Sansa Stark after such a rough morning. And if the air feels cleaner, or time itself feels fresher... Well, Sansa won’t be the one to complain. Although, the time constraint did mean she was unable to make herself her usual cup of coffee. That's one thing I will allow myself to complain about.

Still, good-naturedly, Sansa steps into the brownstone building that is Grand Maester Publishing. It feels good to be here—on time!—as she greets the coworkers she passes with a smile and a hello. The elevator ride to the third floor is full of pleasant chatter with Willas, a fellow editor who just learned that a book he worked on will soon be turned into a feature film.

"How exciting!" The elevator door dings open and they step out and into the lobby. "I'm assuming there will be a reissue with cover art relevant to the film?"

"Most likely; I actually have a meeting today with the author." He checks his watch. Behind him, Sansa sees that Jeyne isn't alone at the reception desk. Though she can only see his back she can tell the man is stressed and agitated. Willas speaks and she looks back at him. "I'll let you know how it goes later, yeah?"

"Please do."

Willas walks ahead and Sansa hesitates before following suit. Normally Sansa would stop by and chat for a bit with Jeyne but she doesn't want to interrupt. She's ready to walk by and head straight to her office when Jeyne calls out her name in obvious relief. 

Frowning for the first time today, Sansa redirects her route. The man Jeyne had been speaking to turns around to face her so quickly it's almost comical.  

She would laugh to herself but then she see his face. For a second (or two or three...) Sansa's reality shatters before piecing itself back together into a kaleidoscope of bright colors and pure light. 

She swallows and tears her eyes away from the man and looks at her friend instead. "Hi, Jeyne. Do you need me?"

Seven save me. I know I'm a romantic but fuck I'm being overdramatic. Goosebumps litter her skin. He's not even that good looking. She tries to discreetly look at him once more. She fails; he was already looking at her. Okay, that's a lie. He's handsome. Beautiful, even. But still. Keep it in your pants, Sansa Stark. Sansa flushes and hopes that whatever Jeyne needs her for is resolved quickly.

Jeyne looks apologetically at the stranger. She gets right to the point. "Sansa, do you have the manila envelope that I dropped off at your office yesterday?"

Oh, so she was the one who delivered this to my office. Well, that's one mystery solved.

"Yes, it's in my bag." She takes it out and keeps a firm grip on it; an oddly possessive feeling washes over her. The man beside her slumps in, what she can only describe as, relief when he sees the envelope. Confused by his reaction she asks Jeyne, "Why?"

The grey-eyed man answers instead, speaking for the first time. His voice reminds her of smoke and dark chocolate. "That envelope, it's mine."

Sansa stands there dumbly, speechless. Wait. What?

"I am so sorry for the mixup." Jeyne's hands are twining and twisting around each other. Her friend and coworker is such a gentle and caring person. She loathes causing problems or inconveniences for others. "I thought the envelope was addressed to Sansa. It was an honest mistake, I swear."

Apparently her distress is evident enough that even the owner of the book notices. His face softens, the stress that furrowed his brow dissipates, and he offers Jeyne an awkward, comforting smile, "I'm sorry for worrying you so much." He turns to look at Sansa. "Honestly, it's my fault. If I hadn't been in such a hurry and written Sam's name more legibly this wouldn't have happened."

At this remark, Sansa looks down at the scrawl on the envelope. Hm. Everything after the S is messy. If she scrutinizes the writing she can kind of make out the name. "Sam Tarly? The literary agent? That's who this was meant for?"

"The one and only," he says with a grin that speaks of pride. "I'm to meet with him later to discuss the book."

The book isn't hers. It wasn't meant for her. She has no right to it. And still, it feels wrong to let it go. Wrong, wrong, wrong. But return it she must. 

Just then a woman comes up to the receptionist's desk, and Jeyne whispers an apology before turning away from them to attend to the woman. She and the man with the handsome voice move away to let Jeyne work. 

Her arm is stiff as she finally hands over the book to its rightful owner. 

Their fingers touch briefly and Sansa nearly drops the envelope. Ridiculous. Utterly RIDICULOUS. Be cool, woman! He doesn't seem to notice but the genuinely happy smile he grants her throws her into a tizzy again. Who does this man think he is, affecting her in such a way?

"I'm being all sorts of rude today, I never even introduced myself." He holds out a hand. It hangs, waiting in the space between them. "I'm Jon Snow."

Cautiously, she places her hand in his. She knows it's ludicrous but if she had to describe his touch she would describe it as warm, safe, and alive.

"Nice to meet you, Jon Snow." His name tastes sweet and rich. "I'm Sansa Stark."

He smiles again, "Sansa Stark." She thinks he makes her name sound sweet and rich, too. "A pretty name." He grimaces and his ears turn red. "I didn't mean—uh, I'm sorry. It is a nice name. I just—" He's flustered and it's a new side to him she hasn't seen yet. It's endearing, really. He may look broody and mysterious but it's almost comforting to know this stranger, Jon, can be just as awkward as she is.

She can feel herself blushing but pays it no mind. It's a compliment no one has given her before but Sansa likes it. Her name, an old family name, is pretty and it's time someone said so. The corners of her lips upturn into a pleased smile. "Thank you, Jon Snow."

They stand there for a moment just smiling at each other.

There's something here and maybe it is a bit ridiculous to fancy a connection between them but Sansa feels brave. 

What if he's not interested in me in that way? What if he already has a girlfriend? What if— No. I'm done with what-ifs. Put on your big girl pants, Sansa. You have to put yourself out there if you want something in life. And if he's already in a relationship, well, one can never have too many friends.

Sansa shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "You said you had a meeting with Sam?"

He clears his throat and promptly answers, "Aye, some time around one. He's not coming in to work until after lunch hours."

"I know this is quite sudden but would you be free to discuss the book with me beforehand? My schedule is clear today and I'm just really interested in the book and would like to learn more about it. I didn't get a chance to read it last night but there's just something about the book itself that really spoke to me." I'm rambling. Sansa cringes internally. It's true that I'm curious about the novel but out of all the times to word vomit...  "You don't have to if you don't want to!" 

Jon looks surprised at her request. In the couple seconds it takes him to respond Sansa wishes the ground would swallow her whole. It only gets worse when she notices that Jeyne has been supervising their interaction with nothing more than a raised eyebrow.

Surprised he might have been but he answers her with a grin that wrinkles the corner of his grey eyes. "I'd love to."

//

Jon didn't expect his Friday morning to be like this. Especially not after the anxiety and worry he had felt last night. Nonetheless, he increasingly finds himself grateful for whatever choices or divine power led him here. Here with the increasingly wonderful Sansa Stark.

They've been talking for hours.

She's an editor and has been working with the publishing house for almost five years. Yes, she's from that Stark family but she's not pretentious or snobby at all. That isn't to say that her impeccable manners and obvious upperclass rearing don't intimidate him, if just a little. He's not unaware of the ways of the great houses of Westeros (he may be a bastard but he's a Targaryen bastard) and he can tell there is genuine warmth and interest when she speaks to him.

"I still can't believe you found this at an estate sale and you were practically gifted it by the owner," Sansa's voice is a near whisper and filled with incredulity.

Incredulity has been a latent feeling during their conversation and it all began when they read two names within the book.

They had started off sitting opposite each other at her desk but had quickly transferred to the moderately sized loveseat in her office. It was easier to look over and study the book together this way. It was also easier for Jon to talk to and infatuate himself with the smart redhead sitting next to him.

They're currently reading the last legible section in the book. The writer's husband seems to be on his deathbed and she writes about how she feels her soul will not wait long to be reunited with him once more. Jon has read the book before but he feels as if he is truly reading it for the first time with Sansa, at moments, reading it aloud. He also can't shake the strange feeling that perhaps he had never actually read the book. But that would be unfathomable. Why would he not read a book with words in it?

"Neither can I. If I'm not mistaken this could have been written centuries ago." It's a theory that he has no way to prove (yet) but is uncharacteristically confident in. Sam's expertise will be immeasurable and doubt-breaking. Sansa hands the book back to him, slowly and gently. "Sam's the expert on historical writings so hopefully he'll help me understand just who wrote this. When he worked at the history museum with me he was the one to go to about these sorts of things," Jon fondly remembers how his friend's work docket never seemed to empty. "Even though there were more than ten people in his department."

"I've worked with Sam before—he always finds amazing stories and authors—I'm sure you couldn't find anyone better to help you figure this out." She pauses and uncrosses her legs. "Now, I'm no historian but I am an editor and..." Her eyes land on the book currently being held in his hands. "I think this might be semi-autobiographical. Maybe, quite possibly, written as a diary or a journal. The tone and style is extremely intimate." She hesitates before speaking again and he notices vulnerability bleed into her voice. "The sections that are still legible remind me of how I write in my own."

Years of being extremely socially self-conscious helped him notice how quickly Sansa seemed to regret voicing a personal detail. If he hadn't been looking at her so attentively (she has gorgeous eyes) he wouldn't have noticed it, so adept was she in calming her features. Not wanting to make her feel that her implied trust was misplaced he hummed in gratitude for her professional and personal input. "Huh, that is actually very helpful. It would explain why there seems to be such a lack of details. If this were a diary, written for personal use, it stands to reason the writer wouldn't need to explain things like a commercial writer would." Sansa shows teeth when she smiles. Really smiles. It's warm. He likes it. "Although, it is a bit odd don't you think?"

Coincidence. The word is too small. A word with bigger significance is in order. Fabricated? No, sounds too cold. The editor, with sensibly attractive black heels, blushes and opens her mouth to speak but seems to be in the same predicament as him. Preordained? Now that... sounds almost like destiny. Almost too big.

A crisp, bitingly endearing laugh. "I wasn't sure whether to mention it." It is something Jon has noticed about Sansa. She does not seem to like causing discomfort—be it real or imagined. It is easy to think everyone has this trait. However, Jon's experience with people from all walks of life has proven that to not be the case.  "But yes, it's odd. Maybe weird?" She says this like a question they both know the answer to. They do. And Jon laughs. "Okay, definitely weird. I mean, what are the chances that there is both a Sansa and a Jon in the book?"

Almost.

It's probably the strangeness of the situation that made them avoid call the writer by her name. Or to call the husband by his. Because if Jon's theory, and Sansa's hunch, are proven right then that means there existed a Sansa and Jon before them. A Sansa and Jon whose love and life filled countless pages with words handwritten by a woman who thought them worthy of ink and time. Though many of the words have faded or been damaged they still tug at his heart. And Jon would bet it does the same for Sansa. 

I feel bubbly, Jon thinks. Bubbly like the feeling of a fizzy drink in his mouth. Like an adventure about to start. Like a newly discovered military artifact that he can't wait to analyze and date. To be frank, Jon has never described anything as bubbly. Yet something about Sansa makes him think it the most appropriate. As a true pessimist, doubt and caution in the name of self-preservation make him lean back a bit from her. He hadn't noticed how close they had gotten. Way to over-exaggerate a moment, bud. She could be in a relationship for all I know.

His pocket vibrates. Sansa had pulled away as well and briefly glances down to the source of the noise. "I take it that's Sam?"

"Probably." Jon pulls his phone out. "Aye, it's him. Says he just arrived at his office."

It's time for him to leave. Sam is here in the building and he should leave before he gets too invested in what could only stay as a pleasant meeting between strangers.

He gets up and picks up his jacket. The book weighs heavy in his hand. 

Sansa stands up and smooths down her skirt as she does so. He hadn't noticed but the skirt has pockets that she now puts her hands into. "Tell him I say hello. It's been a while since we bumped into each other." She tucks her hair behind her earring studded ear. "Feel free to let me know what ends up happening with the book."

Is this...hm. If Jon weren't so jaded by the punches of life he would interpret this as an opening to ask for her number. He wants to but a pit of fear gurgles inside him. Rejection. Better to keep my heart safe. Sansa seems like the kind of woman that would ruin him for any other. In all the best worst ways possible.

"Will do." I won't. "It was a true pleasure meeting and spending time with you, Sansa Stark." Was that too formal? Yeah, it was. Goddammit.

"The pleasure was all mine, Jon Snow."

They shake hands one last time and Jon leaves.

//

Shit.

//

He immediately walks right back into the warmth of her sunlit office. 

It's worth taking a risk. A little bit of optimism never hurt anyone. Sansa hadn't moved but her head snaps up at the sound of his entrance. She's surprised and he's clearly caught her unaware. Her lips part and she takes a step back, bumping into the armrest of the loveseat. Okay, too late to back out now. 

"I just realized we didn't exchange business cards." He tries to act cool but is hindered by the struggle of digging through his wallet for a card. "Here, it has both my cell and work numbers. And email." She can read, idiot. Way to point out the obvious. 

Sansa takes it. She studies it for a bit and Jon knows he visibly relaxes when she meets his eyes with a smile. She turns on her heels and grabs her own card from a clear business card holder sitting on the edge of her desk. 

"Here. Mine also has both my cell and work numbers." Her eyes are glittering with what he can confidently describe as mischief. "And email."

The card design is elegant and sleek. And sure enough her cell number is on there.

"Thanks. I'll.. text you, after I meet with Sam." Might as well go all the way. "Or if you're free after work we could go get coffee? A drink? Let you know what Sam could figure out."

"I'd like that!" She uncrosses her arms and stands leans her weight to the left. "And, yes, I'm free tonight."

"Well, guess I'll see you later, Sansa Stark."

"Sansa." She rolls her eyes, minutely, in good humor. "Just Sansa."

"I'll see you later, Sansa."

"See you later, Jon."

Jon waves at her and leaves; he's kept Sam waiting long enough. He's practically jogging to Sam's office. People are moving out of the way and giving him odd looks. It's probably because he's grinning so wide he must look manic. Jon doesn't know what the future may bring but he knows that Sansa is someone worth knowing and learning more of. Simply stated, he likes her. Something about her calls out to him. It's beyond physical attraction. It's... it's something he caught glimpses of when she smiled, when she fidgeted with the ring on her middle finger, when her hair reflected the sunlight coming in from her large office window.

Jon doesn't even have both feet in Sam's office before his friend says, "What happened? Why are you smiling like that?"

"Nothing." It's an obvious lie. His lips stretch more and it hurts. But he can't stop smiling. "Ready to solve this mystery?"

[purplesurveys]

497

Have you ever cut your own hair? Nope, my mom would never allow me; and tbh I never would allow myself to do it either. What do you eat most frequently? Rice. I have it for every meal, 7 days a week. Except for when I have pasta. Are you a fan of video games? I’m a fan of watching people play them, and there are a lot of video games I have sentimental attachment to because I was raised in a home where all the boys knew how to work a console; but I myself don’t play. What's your favorite color combination? Black/white with anything earthy. I’m all for simple tones. Did you share a locker at school? No, we all had our own.

What's one sport you could never play? Basketball. I never could understand what the rules were. When we had basketball for PE in high school, I would literally just stand on the court when it came time to play because I never had a grasp on the game. I was a sucky teammate fosho. Blue or black ink? Black. I hate using pens with blue ink. Have you ever sang karaoke? I think the last time was when I was 12 or 13. I hate hate hate being the center of attention and the last thing I want is to sing (which I don’t do) on a microphone that’s gonna amplify my voice and will force people to look at me. What was the last concert you attended? Man it was nearly a year ago, but it was Paramore. Have you held anyone's hand in the past week? Yup, you just barely caught the timeframe! I last held hands last Thursday, exactly a week from today. What's your favorite perfume/body spray/cologne? I bought Beyoncé’s Heat Rush a few years back because I was a huge fan (still am), but I didn’t know I was gonna end up loving the scent so much. It’s still my perfume today and it’s my go-to when I’m going on a date or going somewhere fancy and/or formal. How long does it take you to get ready in the morning? 45 minutes should be generous enough. I have to beat the traffic everyday so I don’t devote a lot of time simply to get ready. What is the oldest age you think should wear makeup? No age is too old for makeup. How old were you when you went on your first date? I’ve never had a first date per se...I did have one special museum + early dinner ‘date’ with Gab that ended up becoming memorable. I was 16 then. What's your nationality(ies)? Filipino. Pretty sure there’s some distant, distant Spanish blood somewhere down the line. Are you an open book? Very open.  Do you think you're a good secret keeper? For the most part, yeah; but there’ll be times that I wouldn’t be able to help it and spill to Gabie. Which is fine, because she forgets things easily and is 101% not up to date with and doesn’t care for anyone’s lives. She’s super unbothered which is why I kinda choose to tell her stories; but if she had a big mouth, then I probably won’t spill secrets to her. Name one fashion trend you could never follow. Oversized shirts. Do you prefer long hair or short hair? Right now, I’m preferring short. When do you plan to go to sleep tonight? Just my bed. Has anyone besides your family seen you naked? Yes. If so, who? My girlfriend. What exotic animal would you love to have as a pet? NOPE. Do you want kids when you're older? Yeah, I do. Did your parents sign you up for anything you hated as a child? They made me sing to 100+ guests on my 7th birthday party if that counts. I had ballet when I was 5, but it wasn’t that I hated it...it’s just that I was too young to understand what was happening and what I was signed up to, which was partly why I did so badly in the class. Where's your cell phone? I lost my first cellphone on a 1st grade field trip, so it’s definitely somewhere in the waterfalls we went to 14 years ago. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Egg. What are your feelings about Octomom? I don’t really know the circumstances surrounding her, so. Do you know of Smosh? Of course, I grew up watching them. I was there when their popularity exploded, and a little longer after that. I don’t anymore, but sometimes I’ll go back and watch their 2011-2013 skits, and my personal favorite series of theirs, Lunchtime with Smosh.  Do you drink enough water daily? Yep. I looooooove water; I probably drink too much of it haha. Is your diet healthy? I think it *could* fall under healthy? I eat too much junk for my life but I always balance it out with veggies and I just basically make sure that everything else I eat can be beneficial for me, so it balances all the junk out. What's your favorite fruit? Yeah no I hate fruit. What was your favorite Halloween costume? The year when I dressed up as AJ, because I got noticed by her for it. Also the time I dressed up as Sofie, because that was lowkey hilarious. Have you purchased any cool objects from a foreign country? No because everything in other countries (at least the ones I’ve been to) is SO EXPENSIVE. I prefer taking photos, they serve as the best souvenirs for me. Are you on a laptop or a desktop computer right now? Laptop. Where do you plan to post this survey? On my Tumblr, which you’re on right now if you’ve reached this point of the survey. Do you remember anyone's number by heart? Just my mom’s, sister’s, and Gabie’s. Are you a morning person or a late night owl? Night owl, definitely. Name something you will never try in your lifetime. Fruits that I haven’t already tried. What do you think is your biggest flaw? I chicken out of certain things because I’m afraid of failing. First physical trait you notice in the sex you're attracted to? Body language. That technically counts right? Hahaha. How about personality wise? How they speak to me. Are you sick often? I’m sick never. Would you rather have strep throat or an ear infection? I’ve had neither and would like it to stay that way thank you??? When did you last shower? A couple of hours ago, because it was weirdly and annoyingly hot today. Do you have neat handwriting? Yes, I get a lot of compliments for my penmanship. Are you a messy or organized person? Depends on what the space is. My bag for school can get very messy, but my files are always organized; and my room is what I’d call messy-organized in that it’s a mess but I remember where every single thing is. At what age do you hope to get married? 27-28. Is being thin really all that great? I don’t hate being it, that’s for sure. Which of the seven deadly sins do you think you're most guilty of? Envy. How much time have you spent on the computer today? Pretty much the whole day. My body wanted to watch a whole season of Queer Eye today haha.

What size shoe are you? 6-7. How was the weather today? Ugh, MAKE IT RAIN ALREADY. Do you live above, below, or on the Equator? Above the equator, but it’s very very close to it. Do you know how to use Photoshop? Nope. Admit it, you're thinking about someone right now. I’m thinking about the next meal I’m gonna be having lmfao. Where is he/she? It’s in the dining area. Where was your first job? I haven’t had one yet. Favorite year in high school? 3rd or 4th. East or West? East? Where did your first kiss take place? On my bed. What color do you wear most often? I can’t tell which but it’s definitely black or white.

Who was the last person you talked on the phone to? Gab. Have you ever been to a night club? Nah, I don’t know if clubs are my thing. I’m much more comfortable in bars. Are you allergic to anything? I’m not. What's the best place you have ever eaten? The buffet at Circles, Sambokojin, or the food I had at my cruise ship vacation. I really can’t pick. Do you own a hair straightener? I don’t have one of my own, but my mom will let me borrow hers if I need it. Are you barefoot right now? Correcto. Are you subscribed to any magazine? Nope. Puppies or kittens? Puppies. If you had a billion dollars, where would your first investment be made? A modern, spacious house. Who is the best artist you've seen live? PARAMORE YOOOOOOOOOOOO. They connect with their fans so well and you can easily tell you love what they do. Coldplay is a very close second as their production value is fucking insane. Any major plans coming up this week? No not really. I have a date with Gab tomorrow and we’re gonna go out and watch Midsommar, but that’s it for this week. She, Angela, and I are taking a road trip to Nasugbu next Monday though so that’s pretty major. Did you know they never told you Arnold's last name in Hey, Arnold? I never really thought about it. Would you rather watch a romantic comedy or watch a thrilling horror movie? OMG, my two favorite genres :( I’m watching a horror flick tomorrow so I can go for a romcom right now.   Why is Paris Hilton famous? Because of her great-grandfather and her Iconic show with Nicole Richie hahaha. How is your hair styled right now? It’s just down and dried out right now.

Favorite person that you've talked to today? Angela. Do you need AC right now? AC is always a good idea in the Philippines. Do more people call you by a nickname or your first name? My first name is already my nickname/given name. Name something you're proud of. Still being here. How do you feel about couples who say 'I love you' too soon? No judgment. If that’s how they communicate and if it works, so be it. What's the most recent favor you've done for somebody? I drove Laurice to UPTC last Tuesday so she can catch her bus going back all the way to Alabang. Are you at home right now? Yesssssssss I’m so happy to just be at home this whole week. What did you last spend money on? My parking fee at UPTC. Does any accent annoy you? No. How about turn you on? I like certain English accents but not to the point where they turn me on haha. Are you wearing any jewelry? Not right now. Do you get along better with your mom or your dad? Dad. Are you craving anything right now? BURGERS What's worse: Crocs or Uggs? Crocs. Do you knock before you open doors? Yeah, as much as I can. Do you know what a sock on the doorknob means? I think Penny from Big Bang Theory was the one who explained that this means that there are people having sex in the room, but then again it was a tie on the doorkob in that episode so I dunno if they still mean two different things. Chocolate or vanilla? Chocolate. What's your zodiac sign? Taurus. Does Fred from Youtube annoy you? No, not really.

[nitewrighter]

Maybe it's not the time nor the moment to ask this considering that Tumblr is dying but... If the fankids were to get married with their corresponding partner, where and how would the ceremony be? (Yeah weird question I know)

Tumblr isn’t dying, its code is just a fucking disaster, as usual.

(Also it’s not a weird question. OC wedding planning is a weakness of mine haha.)

Seye and Marti get married at the old community church Marti’s mother was a part of. Seye rocks an agbada rather than a tux. Wedding color scheme is scarlet and teal. Marti’s dress is a fairly traditional lacy white with a sleek kinda-sexy-but-tasteful silhouette and some cool colorful Huipil-esque embroidery at the hems and waist. It’s a pretty small was-nearly-an-elopement-but-then-your-friends-found-out-and-insisted-on-throwing-it wedding

Aedan and Rei get married in church ruins so like… fairytale-feeling, but also a little goth. Color scheme is green, yellow, and amber. Rei’s wedding dress has kind of an elven feel to it, with vaguely Japanese + Regency elements. Aedan’s tux is a lovely deep moss green. It’s a bit more planned than Marti and Seye’s wedding, but there are more bittersweet undertones to it. 

Moira: *pacing back and forth in her creepy Magneto/Hannibal Lecter cell* Tch. I hope you’re happy. What kind of son won’t even bring his own mother to his wedding?Aedan: You’re in prison.Moira: Hmph. Still…Aedan: And you murdered the bride.Moira: She got better.

[aisulinn]

[Translation Script Only] Florist/Bookshop(Karaoso) Manga

Source : 【おそまつ】花書(カラおそ)まとめ【腐】

Artist : 48Sensei/しば [pixiv id: 324108 ] [twitter: 48sensei ] [tumblr: 48sensei]

I DID NOT HAVE THE PERMISSION TO REPRINT so this is just the translation script! THE ARTIST DOESN’T ALLOW ANY REPRINT SO PLEASE NOTE THAT

Please read it side by side with the manga on the link~!

48sensei made a compilation of the florist/bookshop karaoso that they posted on twitter! It’s really cute so I just wanted to share it with you guys!

It’s 42 pages long so.... MORE UNDER THE CUT!

Notes:

Italic = inner thought (thought bubble or thing that’s not in speech bubble)

Bold = the writing that’s bold in manga

one paragraph = one panel

*__* = sfx

Divider = different section/scene according to the twitter post (note that 48sensei posted the pages separately on twitter)

ENJOY!!

***

PAGE 1

Radio : Good Morning! The first rank of today’s fortune telling is for you Geminis!

Kara : *yawn*

 Screen : First place = Gemini

             Second place = Sagitarius

             Third place = Aquarius

 Radio : Your lucky item iiis…. RED GERBERA!

 Kara : Heheheheh~ ♪

 Kara : Good morning my flowers. As always, today too you’re beautiful it’s blinding

  PAGE 2

Kara : heh

 Kara : Hello, my lucky baby. You will surely bring me wonderful fortunes today

 Oso : Good morniiing~

 Oso : is it open yet?

Kara : welcome!

 Oso : excuse me, is it okay if I just buy a single flower?

Kara : of course!

  PAGE 3

Oso : okay, good!

 Oso : I want the red…

Kara : Red gerbera…

 Oso : what?

 Kara : A red gerbera...

  PAGE 4

Oso : Wow! How do you know which flower I want? Are you an esper?

Kara : HUH?! Uh…

 Kara: Pardon me, the red gerbera… It’s this flower over here right?

Oso : yup! Sorry to buy just one. I happened to see my fortune today and my lucky item is red gerbera~

 Oso : Now to think about it, this flower was also in the book I read yesterday… so yeah

 Kara : Sir, are you perhaps a Gemini? Because I am one too

 Oso : You too? I saw this morning’s fortune! Haha, somehow I feel like I can relate to you more now

PAGE 5

Kara : thank you for the wait

 Oso : thank you

 Kara : *doki*

 Oso: I recently start working on Akatsuka Bookshop. If you like books, please come and stop by! See you!

 Kara: Ah, thank you very much!

 Kara: Thank you, baby. You’re really giving me wonderful fortune

  PAGE 6

Kara : COME ON NOW! TURN! MY GEAR OF LOVE!

 Naration: As he gets closer to Karamatsu, Matsuno Osomatsu starts doing stuff like “Flower Arrangement Fair” or “Gardening Fair” frequently

Co-wrkr1 : Matsuno san, we’re doing that kind of fair agaain~?

Co-wrkr2: Do you like flower that much?

Oso : It’s not that! I told you horticulture system is really popular right now!

Co-wrkr: really, now~?

Oso : REALLY!

***

***

PAGE 7

Oso : Minette sensei~ I did it!!

Ichi : Niisan! FOR REAL?!

 Ichi : then, then?! How far did you go?!

Oso : Karamatsu kun has the same zodiac as me! ❤

Ichi : then?!

 Oso : isn’t that wonderful?! The chance of that is only 1/12!! I wonder if our birthday is close~

 Ichi : eh?

 Ichi : by “did it” you mean, that? That’s all?

Oso : what do you mean “that’s all”? Well, that IS all

  PAGE 8

Ichi : huh??? What the hell! I THOUGHT YOU DID MORE YOU IDIOT! Your hands touched and your hearts went doki ☆ for instance! Or maybe he said something like, “compared to this flower, Matsuno san is more beautiful”. OR MAYBE YOU KNOW? END IT WITH A BANG AND MAKE A DATE PLAN OR SOMETHING? NO?!

Oso : You have a wild imagination, huh

 Ichi : No those ideas are overused and heck they’re actually really lame?? That is why I already expected those from you, niisan…

Oso : I mean you know, today is the first  time I talked to him! Knowing his zodiac is already a great achievement, right?

Ichi : WHAT?

 Ichi : seriously??? I mean, every day, the only thing talk about is this “karamatsu kun”…. That’s why I thought…

Ichi : What?

 Ichi : YOU WERE NOT EVEN ACQUAINTANCE YET?? YOU ONLY SEE HIM FROM AFAR? UNTIL NOW??

Oso : He doesn’t even know my name yet…  I’m sorry

  PAGE 9

Ichi : *slump*

 Ichi : hah~~~ I’m really disappointed in you, niisan… Ah~~ The deadline for the storyboard of my next series is in two weeks… Ah~~ It’s impossible… I’m dead… Let’s just die….

Oso : Come on~ I even gathered up enough courage to talk about the lucky flower with him! For you!

 Oso : niichan did his best you know? Don’t you wanna praise me?

 Ichi : …….

 Ichi : did you at least properly show him your appeal?

Oso : I said “I’m working on Akatsuka Book shop! Come by if you love books!” ❤

Ichi : Does he... look like the type that loves book? That Karamatsu kun?

Oso : ………………^^

  PAGE 10

Ichi : you fucked up didn’t you

Oso : I DIDN’T!! I'M JUST GETTING STARTED

 Oso : well, that is why…

 Oso : You’re doing book signing event at my bookshop~

Ichi : HAAAAAH??? I DIDN’T HEAR ANYTHING ABOUT THIS?!

Oso : So that I can ask for the decoration flower at Karapippi’s, don’t back out on this

 Ichi : YOU’RE USING YOUR LITTLE BROTHER FOR THIS?! I REFUSE!!

Oso : LOOK WHO’S TALKING?! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO’S USING YOUR ANIKI’S LOVE LIFE FOR MANGA REFERENCE!!

Naration : ★Without noticing each other’s feelings, the gear is turning!

 ***

***

PAGE 11

Co-wrkr2 : Matsuno saaan~

Oso : here~

Co-wrkr2 : Have you ordered flowers for this week’s Minette sensei’s signing event yet?

 Oso : uh.. no, not yet….

Co-wrkr2 : From Flower Akatsuka right? Should I go?

 Oso : DO--

 Oso : DON’T!! DEFINITELY DON’T DO IT!! I’LL DO IT SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO!

Co-wrkr2 : I-- I see..? But you already said that two days ago…

 Co-wrkr2 : if you’re slacking off again the boss will be mad

Oso : I’m not slacking off!!

 Oso : it’s just… I need more preparation for my heart when it comes to flowers….

 Co-wrkr2 : what?

Oso : NOTHING!! I’M GOING NOW! *dash*

  PAGE 12

Oso : Good evening~

Kara : Welc--

 Kara : --come

 Kara : ah, the red gerbera guy!

Oso : what?

 Oso : red gerbera guy….?

 Kara : pardon me… you’re the one who bought red gerbera recently, right? So I just…

Oso : Oh!

 PAGE 13

Oso : Ahaha you remember! Thank you~ HE ACTUALLY REMEMBERS?! SERIOUSLLLY???!!!!

 Oso: but red gerbera guy is like… haha that purple rose guy

Kara : purple rose?

Oso : you know? Glass Mask?

 Kara : I’m sorry, I don’t really read a lot of books

Oso : Ah I knew it. It’s an old manga anyway~

 Oso : oh, I’m not here to chat

Kara : Then what can I help you with today?

 Oso : erm… This week, our shop will be having a signing event of a manga author, that’s why we need some flowers

Kara : Do you have any certain color you’re hoping for?

Oso : The author personal color is purple so I thought maybe purple shades flower is good

Kara : purple…

 PAGE 14

Kara : we have purple roses!

Oso : eh, for real?

Kara : yes

 Kara : look! Look how pretty this girl is! *smile*

 Oso : *kyun*

 Kara : Purple rose has “Pride” or “Elegance” or “Honor”, for its meaning…

 Kara : that author surely is a lovely person that is no less than these roses~

Oso : well, sure…

 PAGE 15

Kara : to be chosen for that person’s gift…

 Kara : this girl must be very happy

 Oso : heh

 Oso : all right, I’ll take that one

 Kara : Thank you very much!

 Oso : I love this side of him~

***

***

PAGE 16

Oso : okay then, Friday at 10

Kara : okay, noted!

Oso : I’ll look forward to it!

 Oso : somehow it feels like a date. Yay~

Naration : it’s actually just delivery time

Kara : u-- um…

Oso : hm?

 Kara :  uh… last time… you told me to stop by your place… right?

 Oso : ...to my shop?

Kara : yes. Then, uh… the next day I decided to stop by

 Oso : EH!!!??

Oso : seriously~~!!??! The next day!! I!!  I was working at the back for a whole day, packing and wrapping returned goods~~~?!?! Haaaaaah~~~!!! What a waste!!

Kara : but you were not there

 Kara : that was too bad…

Oso : I-- I’M SORRY! That day was exactly the day I’m working on the back, so I already said that I won’t come...

Kara : so, Matsuno san

 Oso : eh? Why do you know my name…

 PAGE 17

Oso : oh, my nametag… Ah, it’s written my full name here, how embarrassing

 Oso : it’s because in this part of town there’s a lot of Matsunos…

 Kara : here, as a gift for coming here today. Please accept this

 Oso : eh, are you sure?

Kara : of course! It’s my sincere feelings.  I will continue on my service

Oso : Thank you… I’m really happy

PAGE 18

Oso : MINETTE SENSEI!!!!!!

Ichi : THE FUCK YOU WANT?! THE PRESSURE OF THE SIGNING EVENT YOU SET UP FOR ME IS ENOUGH TO SEND ME TO HELL

 Oso : I got a rose

Ichi : what?

 Oso : ka-- ka-- Karamatsu kun gave me this…

 Ichi : …………serious?

Oso : SERIOUS!!!

 Ichi : wait!! OSOMATSU NIISAN CALM DOWN!

Oso : *boeh*

Ichi : CALM DOWN AND HEAR ME OUT!!

 Ichi : you know, I’m a shoujo manga author that’s why I’m pretty familiar with flower language

Oso : o-- okay

 PAGE 19

Ichi : do you know the meaning of a single rose?

 Oso : I don’t

 Ichi : do you wanna know?

 Oso : no

 Ichi : WHAT ARE YOU BEING SCARED FOR! PAY ATTENTION!

Oso : NO!! YOU’RE MAKING THAT FACE SO IT’S GOTTA BE SOMETHING BAD RIGHT?! ICHIMATSU YOU IDIOT! YOU DARK! NOOOO~~!!!

 Ichi : love at first sight

 Oso : …..what?

 Ichi : a single rose means…

 PAGE 19

Ichi : “love at first sight”, osomatsu niisan

 Oso : *furiously blushing*

 Oso : ha, haaaaa~~~?!?! NO NO NO THAT’S GOTTA BE A LIE!!!?!?

Ichi : this is some content! Some progress? Right?!?! Yes~~!!!

***

***

PAGE 20

Kara : I finally gave it out~~~

 Kara : I feel so happy he actually accepted it that I could fly. But he probably doesn’t understand its meaning….? But, if he knows what should I do….? No, even if he knows it shouldn’t mattered… But I feel like it’s too soon

Kara : …but

 Kara : it has been my dream since a long time ago

 Kara : To give a flower that is attached with my feelings, to the person I love

 Kara : People who bought flowers from this shop, they all put their feelings in those flowers. When they’re happy, when they’re sad, when they want to encourage someone…

 PAGE 21

Kara : I envied them. I thought that someday I want to feel that way about someone too.

Kara : hnggh *throb*

 Kara : daaammnn isn’t that person superrrr cute?! Red flowers really suits him~~!! Maybe I should give him carnation next?

 Kara : *ha*

 Kara : I have to stick to the flower he requested. If I beautifully arranged it, I’m sure he’ll be glad

 PAGE 23

Oso : wow!! It’s great~ splendid! So beautiful! That’s what I call a pro~

 Kara : thank you very much! I did my best into this! So that I can make you happy, Matsuno san!

 Kara : But as I thought, the color red suits you better

Oso : eh? Me?

Kara : that’s right, Matsuno san

 Kara : Please allow me to give you another gift. For your charm overshadowed an even the most beautiful flower…

Oso : Karamatsu san…. *the sound of Osomatsu’s ribs breaking*

 Kara : hmm?? What is that breaking sound? Heh, my imagination is pretty wild, huh?

Ichi: No it’s overused and actually really lame!!!!!

 Kara : anyhow, I will do my utmost best *sneeze*

 Kara : heh, Matsuno san must be talking about me right now

***

***

PAGE 24

Naration : previously on this manga, he got a gift that means “love at first sight” from his crush

Ichi : There’s no way a person that works around flowers doesn’t know their meanings? He has a thing for you, I tell you!

Oso : that’s what he said but…. Isn’t it to good to be true?! Well I never thought that he hates me or anything, but to think that far….?

 Co-wrkr2 : Matsuno saaaan~!

Oso : YEASH!

Co-wrkr2 : The florist is here!

 Oso : o… okay~! HE’S HEREEEE

 Oso : Ah~ I can’t bear to look at his face right now… come on, pull yourself together

Poster : MINETTE SENSEI SIGNING EVENT, TODAY!

 Oso : sorry for the wait~

 Flo : hello, I’m from Flower Akatsuka

 Oso : hu-- huh?

 Flo : Let’s see… you ordered these flowers, right?

Oso : excuse me…

 PAGE 25

Flo : yes?

 Oso : the usual shopkeeper… um, that Karamatsu san…

 Flo : oh, I’m sorry! He should be the one who’s doing today’s delivery but he’s not feeling well at the moment

 Oso : eh?

 Flo : after making this flower arrangement his condition dropped, so he’s resting right now. I’m a temporary part time worker that helps him sometimes. I’m really sorry he couldn’t make it.

 Oso : oh no, that’s fine

 Flo: The truth is he wanted to come and deliver this himself. He said “because I already poured my heart into making this!”.

 Oso : I see…

 PAGE 26

Oso : it’s…

 Oso : really beautiful…

 Flo : I think he will come back to work next week, so if you want, please stop by! Thank you very much for the purchase!

 Oso : …..

 Ichi : that’s too bad

Oso : *startled*

 Ichi : I was looking forward to meet this so called “karamatsu kun”~

Oso : he’s not feeling well… I wonder if it’s a cold

 Ichi : maybe? I mean, this is season makes you prone to colds

Oso : ….

 PAGE 27

Ichi : are you worried?

Oso : that’s… well… That’s because I never saw him sick…

 Ichi : According to shoujo manga theory, in this situation you must pay him a visit and bring him stuff. This is an event that will surely shorten the gap between you two. But, you don’t even know his address right, niisan?

 Oso : ….know

Ichi : what?

 Oso : I actually know his house…Karamatsu kun’s house...

 Ichi : what….?

 Ichi : Niisan… No way… You’re a stalker? That far? That’s really creepy…

Oso : NOPE! YOU’RE WRONG!!!  NO NO THAT’S WRONG! I HAPPENED TO KNOW ACCIDENTALLY!

 PAGE 28

Oso : one day I just… Happened to see Karamatsu kun going home, then I got so overwhelmed and the next thing I know….

Ichi : that’s called a stalker

 Oso : BUT THAT’S ONLY ONE TIME! AFTER THAT I’M DOING IT MODESTLY!

Ichi : then why don’t you go?

 Oso : what?

 Ichi : why don’t you go bring him something?

Ichi’s face : “REPORT PLZ”

Oso : his face is too easy to read

 Oso : but isn’t this too meddlesome…?

Ichi : don’t worry don’t worry, just trust the theory!

Oso : But if he report me to the police I can never live it down

Ichi : report? you’re right…

 Ichi : welp, maybe you can’t but… I’LL THINK OF SOMETHING SO IT’S FINE!

Oso : What the heck have you been blabbering about?!

***

***

PAGE 29

*At Karamatsu kun’s house*

Oso : I DID IT SOMEHOW

 Oso : the nameplate is right. Even for me this kind of behavior is really creepy…

Oso : I mean, if I were him I’d be so annoyed if someone doing this when I’m so tired and in the middle of my sleep… Ah but, I’m already here…

 Oso : ……

 Oso : ah~~!! This is soooo unlike me!!  LET’S JUST GO WITH A BANG!

 Oso : HERE GOES NOTHING!!

*ding dong*

 *dragged feet*

 Oso : *doki doki doki*

 PAGE 30

*click*

Oso : DOKI

 Kara : yes…?

 Oso : goo-- good evening

 Oso : …..

 Kara : HUH?!

Oso : UM!! THIS IS!! I’m really sorry to come here so suddenly!

 Oso : how should I put this…. Um….  I’d rather you don’t ask me the reason why but I heard that you’re sick and sleeping in so I just came here without thinking… or something…

 Kara : ……what? A dream?

Oso : it’s not a dream…

 PAGE 31

Kara : Oh… Even though I thought my temperature has gone back to normal, the fever comes again…? Or is it my hot heart that’s continuously thinking of him creates a convenient vivid hallucination… *doki doki*

Oso : Somehow you look fine? Thank god~

 Oso : I rarely got sick so I don’t really know what to bring. I bought you pudding and Pocari Sweat

 Oso : Please take this if you want

Kara : ah, yes. Thank you very much

 Oso : well then, I’m sorry I dragged you out even though you’re not feeling well

Kara : eh? You’re… You’re going home?

Oso : yup!

 Oso : I mean, you know… I thought I could see you today but I couldn’t…? So I thought I just wanted to see your face even just for a while

 PAGE 32

Kara: *stabbed*

 Oso : Just kidding nyahaha~ Ah, but please let me tell you this real quick, about today…

Oso : thank you for the flower

 Oso : they’re really

 Oso : beautiful….

 Oso : w-- what…?

 *door closed*

Kara : …….did you come because you’re worried?

Oso : …. Yes

 Kara : I wanted to see you too, Matsuno san

Oso : Is… is that so….?? GYAAAAAA HIS VOICE HIS VOICE HIS VOICE!!

 Oso : TOO CLOSE!! MOREOVER…

 PAGE 33

Oso : ISN’T THIS WHAT I SAW IN ICHIMATSU’S MANGA?! KABEDON!!!! OR MAYBE DOADON?! IT’S SHORTEN THE GAP BETWEEN US ALRIGHT~! IT’S WAAAAY TOO CLOSE!

 (t.n: kabe= wall, doa=door)

Kara : *huggies*

Oso : ah

 Kara : I’m sorry, I’m still kinda dizzy and woobly

Oso : SERIOUSLY?!

 Oso : then go back to bed, if you don’t sleep it won’t go away. I’m going home too anyway

 Kara : don’t wanna

Oso : what…

 Kara : come with me, Matsuno san

Oso : No, I really shouldn’t…

 Kara: didn’t you come because you’re worried about me?

 PAGE 34

Kara : I’m really happy… Can’t you stay? Just for a while?

Oso : A-- are you kid...?

 Oso : okay I get it, but just for an hour okay?

 Kara : okay! Yaay!

 Oso : you… that’s not fair

Kara : can I eat the pudding?

Oso : sure... you can eat as many as you like…

***

***

PAGE 35

Oso : are you sure it’s okay to stay up?

Kara : I’m pretty sturdy and the fever has gone down anyway

 Oso : we’re sitting next to each other now… we’ve been waaay to close since then it’s driving me nuts

Kara : ah, this is really tasty!

 Oso : for real? I’m glad! I really like this so I thought I should bu…

Kara : *stare*

 Oso : ……..o...kay....

 Oso : should I eat one too…?

 Kara : Matsuno san

Oso : YESH!

 Kara : I heard from my part timer who delivered the flower, he said that the shop keeper who wear red glasses is worried about me

 Oso : o-- oh….

 PAGE 36

Kara : But I never thought that you’d pay me a visit too

Oso : a-- about that, that’s…

 Kara : why do you care that much about me?

 Oso : !!

 Kara : ah, sorry… That’s badly put…

 Kara : When I got the work request from you, even though I know it’s for the author,

Kara : the truth is you’re the only one I was thinking about while doing the arrangement

 Kara : um… I… gave you a single rose…

 PAGE 37

Kara : and I feel somewhat satisfied with that… But it’s not good enough, I have to say it to you with my own lips…

 Kara : there’s something that’s been bugging me…

 Kara : you might have found out already because of that rose but I

 Kara : I…..!!

Oso : .....

 PAGE 38

Oso : ……..? Karamatsu ku…

Kara : *wobbly*

Oso : WHAAAT??? YOU’RE KIDDING!? WAIT…

 Oso : that was close… aren’t your fever getting worse?

 Oso : I told you it hasn’t gone away yet! Sheesh…

 Oso : I’m barging in your room then

 Oso : Haah… I’m glad we’re inside your house… I wonder if your blood pressure went up because of tension and excitement….

Oso : but you know, my heart is going all over the place too nyahaha~!

 Oso : …..

 PAGE 39

Oso : *smoking*

 Oso : that was deeeefinitely a confession!!!!!

 Oso : Now to think of it! As soon as I’m alone with him the atmosphere turn into something dangerous! The feeling of the event that’s going to come was overwhelming!!

 Oso : But I didn’t think that you’re that serious, Karamatsu kun. Do you seriously like me?!?! This is baaaaddddddd

 Oso : I’M REALLY HAPPY

 Oso : but he hasn’t confessed yet… maybe he’s not but I’d like to think that he would….

 Oso : *sigh*

 PAGE 40

Oso : Should I just wait? Or I wonder if it’s better if I’m the one who says it?

 Oso : somehow, I feel like you saw right through me

 Oso : when you gave me flower I was smiling like crazy, eventhough we don’t have any special relationship I went ahead and come to your doorstep, my heart exploded with that awkward hug, and I always turn red when the atmosphere is nice…

 Oso : what am I? A teenage girl?? Well but it’s only just now…

 Oso : but I guess it’s the best if I don’t say it? Probably you want to be the one who say it right, Karamatsu kun…

 PAGE 41

Oso : what a cute sleeping face

 Oso : *looks around*

 Oso : Get well soon *peck*

 Oso : I’ll…. I’ll go ho…. What the hell am I doing just now… seriously it’s bad…

 Oso : well then, see you later Karamatsu kun

 PAGE 42

Oso’s letter :

Thank you for today!

I put the keys in your mail…

Line : Oso05

08 XXXX XXX

See you Next week! ^_^

Osomatsu

 Kara : It’s… IT’S NOT A DREAAAAM~~~~~!!!!! I feel like I’m guilty of doing something embarrassing when my health is butchered but I got his contacts as a result!! Yaaaaay!!

Author : the continuation of this probably will be in a book! Please read it if you can! Even though it ends like this, it’s actually not done yet!

[buysomecheese]

I posted 3,033 times in 2021

190 posts created (6%)

2843 posts reblogged (94%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 15.0 posts.

I added 206 tags in 2021

#sunny - 74 posts

#(/gen) - 23 posts

#(/pos) - 16 posts

#cheese - 15 posts

#(/p) - 15 posts

#aromantic - 14 posts

#chuckle sandwich - 14 posts

#chuckle sammy - 13 posts

#(/j) - 11 posts

#cw cussing - 11 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#our mom once we get an autism diagnosis: you think and process things slower you're more childlike than the other kids your age you can't do

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

The fact that I’m probably not ever gonna be able to see... clearly? That I’m never gonna see things normally- without a field of static over everything, without seeing lines and flashes of color when it gets just a little bit too dark, without intense pain when looking at anything brighter than my phone on one of the lowest levels (pain that’s bad enough to rival my sensory issues with sunglasses), without negative afterimages that last at least twice as long as they should- really fucks me up sometimes. Usually, I don’t mind, and honestly a lot of the visual phenomena is kind of cool. But then it hits me and it starts to hurt my soul. I’m such a visual person but I won’t ever experience “normal”, it’ll always physically hurt me to watch movies, to be outside without sunglasses/shade of some sort, to look at the fucking walls and floors in my house.

38 notes • Posted 2021-07-04 23:50:37 GMT

#4

Watching yourself switch from relating more to Dan, to relating more to Phil,,, really a trip

42 notes • Posted 2021-06-22 01:27:10 GMT

#3

I cannot WAIT for the day I can just. Sit here. In just boxers and actually feel comfortable. I hope it’s a lot closer than I think

56 notes • Posted 2021-08-07 19:33:49 GMT

#2

So uh

Chuckle Sandwich high school (or college honestly) AU

Where uh where Ted is in the marching band, Charlie is on the football team, and Schlatt is in the color guard

(Yes I am projecting onto Schlatt because he’s big Gender Envy and it helps with dysphoria)

(Ik ik Ted was a theater kid but. C’mon. Marching band!Ted? Yes.)

Fun shenanigans ensure

(I’d write/draw this myself but uh I can’t write or draw for anything so hopefully someone else likes it?? I want it to exist please lmao)

61 notes • Posted 2021-09-02 23:25:20 GMT

#1

Me, laughing at this picture in my brain: haha tall man fuckin talk ass can’t go in the store tall man ahahhah

The voice in my brain: yeah but you love him

Me responding in my brain: Yes. Yes I do he is favorite puppy and I wish to Look Like Him.

88 notes • Posted 2021-08-18 17:21:28 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[sole-cuore-amore-e-droga]

Eurovision 2018 is many Eurovisions being called back to in one

2005

Just a reminder that a Hellenic banger has won that year (and Eleni Foureira is an Albanian-born Greek whereas Helena Paparizou is a Swedish-born Greek :ooooooo could this mean Albania will do mediocre in the final just like Sweden 2005???), and there was at least a rock act that... at least finished 10th? Could this repeat

2006

Of course because of the harder rock entry that was sent to Eurovision, Hungary. And somehow bookies love us this year, so there’s a possible potential of this scenario repeating too if we believe in coincidences actually repeating themselves. I propose Ukraine 2nd because of a man emerging from piano as opposed to a ballerina, Sweden 5th because... you know... and since Montenegro didn’t qualify, there’s no way a token Balkan ballad will finish 3rd, sorry guys. :’(

2008

But then again, Cyprus is hailed to be having “the new Ani Lorak”, and wouldn’t it be just the tea if she ends like... 3rd or something? Ukraine could get 2nd again just for the trolololololo, or even 1st because... Mélovin’s a Slav, and that year a Slav with a... rather interesting way of singing words in English has won. Worth noting he was barefoot though, so this opens up to have Lithuania and Hungary getting ready for something...

2010

You know the elephant in the room. Hungary might be as well 2nd (and might be as well last for all we care and tied with someone for qualification) or even end up like Teräsbetoni (which, as you all know, were somehow a bit too underrated. I hope it has nothing to do with the fact they sang rock music in their beautiful Finno-Ugric mothertongues, just like AWS). All possibly thanks to jury (hey they did have maNga lower than quite an amount of acts, but still in the top 10 I assure you!!) Also the Danish entry being a Melodifestivalen reject. Too bad Sweden still qualified :’( >:)

2011

A rollercoaster in every aspects of itself. No one knows where juries and televote will be geared towards. Will the diaspora votes prevail now that a large part of ex-Soviets are missing out of the final and there are at least some in that could snatch (that being Lithuania, Moldova, Ukraine and Estonia. My personal pick is Moldova because Kirkorov himself says that a vote for Moldova is a vote for Russia as well xD). As the Turkish diaspora was gearing towards Azerbaijan now that Turks were out of the semi. And since Italy is now underestimated thanks to being drawn after a banger, their emerging would be a surprise.

2012

Oh IDK I just had a feeling to mention a lot of ties between the past Albanian entrant and the current one because of the current one indeed covering Suus. Top 5 is, however, a wishful thinking because “Mall” isn’t a headscratcher song that sounds sorrowful but is not understood because of the waaaaaaailing (sorry but I had to bring Hungary on to this as well, no one understands what’s it about because of the language, a bit of a headscratcher because of the screeeaaaaaming and a song about... actual death??? Wouldn’t you want to scream after losing someone too, through tears at least?), “Mall” is mostly longing for hope and the close one to come back because (s)he can. And it sounds rather... cheerful, which is why I love it so much to the levels of Naviband’s one. Speaking of which, it’s a year my #1 was predicted not to qualify by a lot of authorities, but it FUCKING did and was announced late-ish, so of course I was happy for Malta 2012 and Albania 2018 qualifying against all the odds! ^^

2013

Lots. I was a 13-year-old who foolishly believed in the victory of Sweden with deeply knowing that “yeah Denmark’s gonna win this, it’s the bookies fav, what’d you expect?!” and therefore there’s no chance for a host victory. That’s not the same I feel about Cláudia Pascoal, and I even wonder WHY people think this could also be a surprise winner! No. Instead I want my 4th place to win and I know it won’t because there are now bigger cheers for other few songs?!  A dance song from the radio already tanked this year (Cascada kind of underperformed and sorry not sorry but the dress was ugly imo, Lukas Meijer kind of recreated the bad vocal vibes he had in the national NF and esp. in second chorus). Hungary doing at least a “Kedvesem” type of result would be just great enough, because oddly enough, AWS were placing 4th in jury’s result for to make A Dal’s superfinal and so was ByeAlex. Bizarrculous? 0_0 There might also be a theory for me to have Albania 2018 and Lithuania 2013 attached (more like Hungary 2018 could relate to Lithuania 2013 because the lead singer of the former was shown drinking a lot while the latter looked like he was already drunk) because... we had to have a token chill guy with a rock-sounding song through and they could also do really badly. For this one, don’t mind me.

2014

The odds were different before rehearsals, so they are this year as well. Austria and The Netherlands rushed up to the to-o-op (i x my heart haha lol) after rehearsals and during the heat of dress rehearsals, and so does Cyprus, Lithuania, Ireland (can you BELIEVE Ireland was 3rd in the odds after being 17th in the QUALIFICATION odds?! Yeah, things bizarre. #gaypower), Moldova... etc etc. No token Sammarinese qualification unfortunately. And Lea Sirk had to do something with qualification of her nation, sweet.

2015

Guess a fellow hero who got drawn 13th in semi 2... >:) Yeah, believe it or not but apparently the name Örs (the name of the AWS frontman) has to do something with the word “hero” in Hungarian, or so I was told by a friend, but that also could be a quite skewered meaning of that word because the actual meaning of that word in Hungarian is “hős”, so it’s not an exact meaning of the name but somewhere up there (also might mean “man”). Fun fact, according to one Hungarian chronicler, one of the seven chieftains of Hungary was bearing that name (the other chronicler of the name Anonymus (I shit you not) thinks it was Ond). Also, Italy is drawn last and gets quite the following on Tumblr, so if they don’t win, that will mean that some will definitely regard this song as the true winner of 2018, just like they’re doing it to Il Volo (and some doing the same to Sergey in 2016 and Francesco in 2017). Token rock act, this time again from a Finno-Ugric nation, except that this one smelled like a delibarate failure because the song is short, there’s no melodic singer per se and the band was made up of mentally disabled middle-aged men who’re already a cult in their homeland. Not to mention that their 3 letter acronym, PKN, always had the same meaning ever since creation, but there’s a whole more lot you can do with AWS and the number of it keeps on growing, and even the band itself acknowledges it. There’s a wheelchair girl from a Slavic country too, but she got impacted in an accident while Yulia had that disease somewhat since childhood. Montenegrin balkan ballad. And a song titled “goodbye” (in another language and also did way better than this year’s “goodbye” title that was sole, the other one has another word in it so yeah). San Marino sent an almost delibarate failure (as Switzerland were the actual last placers in semi) by pairing two people. I thought I could think of more but my mind is dry

2016

Guess who else just got the 21st draw in the final~ okay I need to cut this more often. Israel was also hailed as divisive, and even if their momentum has faded, maybe they will win afterall? Except that it is more positively divisive than negatively. Also, lots of Bergendahlizations (well not that many but Greece and Bosnia & Herzegovina were finally out of the final for at least a year, and Greece can add a second year out while Czech Republic can add a second year in! Will this be the new Finland-Cyprus?).

2017

Madame Monsieur/Metamoro are the new Salvador Sobral maybe (with their acronym letters being similar like MM MM SS)? Netta is the new Francesco Gabbani? Sennek is the new Blanche during rehearsals, yeah that’s for sure, except that Sennek flopped and Blanche’s fragility was rewarded by televoters en masse. Also, Macedonia got a good modern song whose chances was smashed by the poor performance and the draw 3rd wasn’t so cursed afterall, at least in semi 1! ^^ Another Maltese try-hard artist in their NF finally went to Eurovision and failed to qualify. Guess that’s all I can think of at the moment? (Also a country with red-green colors on flag won last year, but there’s a drill that their coat of arms is on their flag too, which has yellow on it... :’) )

[inspirationallyinsane]

January 7 2021

Hi Tumblr. I'm writing tonight because I'm feeling reminiscent I guess. I've had a lot on my mind for the past few days and I've been going over my life and I just felt like I needed to talk to someone about it. But no one is interested in your life story, I know I wouldn't be. So here I am, writing it out instead. I think that I have made a lot of mistakes in my life. I used to say that I didn't have any regrets in my life because everything that I have done has led me to become the person that I am, and I generally like the person that I am. Now, I'm not so sure that it is enough; the idea that just because you like who you are now, you don't regret your past. I think I might regret a lot of things. High school was a weird time for me. I can't relate to the person I was anymore. Tonight I was reading through old text threads and over the last week or so I've been reading old posts on my blog and I just... I can't remember that girl anymore. I was so obnoxious, so oblivious to what real struggle was. I was obsessive about something as petty and ridiculous as love. My main concern, my main focus at any point in time, was love. And as odd as it is, as much as I put into love, I was horrible at it. I chose the wrong person time after time. And I didn't see the value in the right ones. I always thought that there must be something more, there must be something better. I really didn't know. I feel like maybe I know now. It doesn't make it easier. But, I think it might make me less obnoxious. I'm so tired, Tumblr. I'm so tired. You know, when I was at Chapman, I wrote "letters" to Austin every day. I wrote to him because it made me feel like he was there with me. But he was awful. He was a pompous asshole who, in all likelihood, could've given two shits about me. Yet I glorified him. I felt like he could solve my problems. I think that part of the reason that I felt so out of place there was because I was stuck with him. I think it would be different now. I wouldn't write him letters. And in High School, all the shit with Emry. I look back on the way I felt about him and I grasp at straws as to why. Going into HS I had hoped that he would be there, and I had hoped that we would have some sort of connection because I felt that we could have such a beautiful romantic story. You know, meeting in kindergarten and playing house every day, not seeing each other for years and years, and then reconnecting in HS and finding real love. It'd be like a movie. But beyond that?? He wasn't the type of person that I truly would want to love. It's so stupid. I wasted four years of my life being miserable, and a lot of it was because I was pining for someone who, in my true heart, I didn't care about. I was chasing a story, an ending that would make sense to me. And I guess, I'm a writer so... of course I'm going to chase the story. But now? Now that perhaps I'm not a writer, I can't see the story anymore. Not with Emry. Not with anyone. Life is grayer now. There are no perfect moments with the perfect guy who suddenly makes you see color. He doesn't appear in your life and solve all your problems and make you feel any less anxious or depressed. You don't suddenly realize you have value or you're beautiful just because some dude is interested in you. There is no perfect ending, there is no fairy tale, just a series of choices you have to make every day. To be honest? I don't care about that story anymore. My romantic story. I don't particularly care about my professional story or my personal story either, but maybe more so than the romantic one. I don't daydream as much as I used to, but when I do, it is no longer about locking lips with the perfect man, it's about finding success and happiness in my career. About finally finding satisfaction in what I do. I have a specific one in which I give a TEDtalk about retiring early. I like that one. I want to have that someday. I regret the way I acted before. Even the way I was after I came back to Medford and I was hanging out with Zach and Alec and those guys. I just. I feel sad for myself. And the craziest thing is? I didn't enjoy it. I acted that way because I thought that their validation would somehow improve the way that I saw myself, or the way that the world saw me. Reality is though, no one fucking cares. No one cares about one person's opinion of you. I live in a world now where no one knows the people I went to HS with. My FA partner could give a rats ass if some random kid from my HS thinks I'm cool. But even a short two years ago, I thought that it would always matter. That their opinion of me would ALWAYS matter. Forever impact me. It's just not true. I want shit to be different. I want to go back and make it different. I want to re-meet people. I want to make things right. I want to change the outcomes. I want to change the way I spoke and change the way I treated people. I want to change the way I held myself. It is occupying so much space in my mind right now. I need to change it. I'm going to try to change it. And maybe part of changing it is just being better now. Holding myself to a higher standard and focusing on myself. Becoming the best person I can be. It's funny because I am 22 years old and I feel so ancient. I feel old af. And everyday I am feeling older. I yearn for boring. I yearn for normalcy. For something less dramatic, something easy. I want a summer rain. I'm so tired of the flood. Goodness. Sometimes I wish time were different. Because, it is 3:16am and now is the time when I want to pick up the phone. But I feel so lethargic during normal people hours that I don't do it when I can. Having this work from home job is really messing up time for me, I think. I've always worked better at night and now I can do all my work at 3am and then just clock in at 9am and take a quick nap before I have to do any training. Eventually when I'm not training I can just work at night and it won't matter. As long as I get everything done, it doesn't matter. I hate texting. I honestly, I hate it so much now. Like if I want to talk to someone I'd rather just call them. But I feel like maybe that is sort of frowned upon socially now? I guess part of getting older is maybe not caring so much about what is "frowned upon" as far as communication styles go. You know, I was genuinely worried about deleting my instagram and my facebook. I was concerned that it wouldn't be socially acceptable. And new people I met would think I was weird or people wouldn't care about me as much if I wasn't on those sites. That's so dumb. Haha. I don't miss it at all. And now, if I want to see what someone is up to, I actually have to call them. Which?? Is so much better? Not that I have done that but in theory I think that should be the way that it is. If someone is on your mind, contact that person. Right? I hate that now it's like, if you think of an old friend and you think 'I wonder what that person is up to', you just go on the internet. I think it'd be better if people actually talked to each other. Maybe it's just that I want more people to talk to. Maybe it is that I'm right though. And talking to someone is significantly more enriching than looking at photos or posts online. Who knows. I've become a technology skeptic. I can't get behind the smart home stuff, and recently I got a new phone and I miss my old phone. Lowkey, if I didn't have my anxiety apps and stuff on my iphone I would seriously consider a flip phone. I'm tired of texting and I'm tired of feeling like I should always be connected. I don't know. Maybe that doesn't make sense. I don't know why but I guess right now I feel like I'm at a crossroads. It is odd because really, I'm not. I have my career and I have a home and I'm doing well. But there seems to be this impending choice. A choice I'm going to have to make, perhaps a choice I'm making already. A choice I'm making every day. A choice not to change... a choice to make a change. It's hard for me; being such an indecisive person. I will always doubt myself. Part of me is happy in my job and with my life, part of me wants to say fuck it and go back to school and study creative writing. Part of me is happy in Eugene, and growing more happy here all the time, but part of me wants to be in Medford. Part of me wants to stay, part of me wants to go. Part of me wants to be an adult, and part of me wants to stay a child. Part of me wants to focus on what matters, and part of me wants to stream League of Legends all day and just get really into that. It's hard. What is the right choice? How do I know I'm doing what is best for me? Especially when I can look back and see so clearly that in the past I have NEVER done what is best for me. Do I go against my gut because I don't want to repeat old habits? Who in the world knows about this stuff? I don't know. I'm a naturally anxious person and so maybe I'm just overthinking life. Maybe it is much simpler and time will simply pass and choices will be made and I have to settle within myself those choices. My brother believes strongly in determinism. I think it would be easier for me if I believed in that too. But I don't. So. Maybe I'll always be plagued with doubt. Maybe it is a good thing. Maybe it is the case that reevaluating your life every once in a while will cause you to grow. I feel like I've grown. Although, it could also just be that as years pass people will change. And the idea that some change is good and some change is bad is semantics and all change is just... unavoidable. Because if the point of life is happiness, and I don't know that it is but for simplicity's sake let's say it is, am I really happier doing what I am doing now than I would be in literally any other situation? I don't think so. I think happiness is consistent and humans are adaptable creatures and so I guess maybe it doesn't matter what you do. Hm. But I said earlier that it does. That would be a contradiction wouldn't it? Oh well. I also said that I don't know so. A healthy debate with myself is justified. A healthy debate with another human being would be more fun though. Haha. Anyway. I guess that is all for tonight. I hope you are well Tumblr, I appreciate having a space to, more or less, think out loud. This was helpful for me. I missed writing. Maybe I'll do more of it~

[briteboy]

WHO is Santi and WHERE is his face?

i am LIVING for your warm & colorful posts right now!! your editing is so amazing and it brightens my day everytime i see a new post of yours *.*

THANK YOU!!!! <3 i am so happy/relieved to be using warm colors once more, i feel like myself again. don’t get me wrong, i do like evoking different moods, but sometimes (a lot of the time, especially with santi) too much is too much. today’s posts were HOPEfully my last emo edits..............for now

LOL I actually made a comment about Fiona naming a cat/dog (once Pets comes out) Rodrigo. I'll go back underground now haha (still a great story, cant wait to read more) -Runaway NONY

OH I DIDN’T EVEN SEE THAT wtf. either tumblr ate it or i accidentally scrolled past it i’m sorry. i always enjoy seeing messages from anons who return to my inbox! but lmAO that’s a good idea. i actually met the most perfect dog today and now i know the breed and name of dog santi needs immediately

Hii! If you dont mind me askin, how do you edit your darker screenshots? I always end up making them too light or too dark to see a thing :( Thank you!

hmmm idk what to tell you about making them too light or too dark, because that’s a very specific thing that really depends on the picture. BUT i know that the dodge tool is my bff for brightening up dark pictures while still retaining some of the darker elements you want in them (aversely, the burn tool will help darken parts), messing with the exposure can also really help, coloring can also help too, selective color is my bff especially with blue shadows and orangey skin...this is kind of a broad answer, i’m sorry, but if you needed help with something specific, let me know!

I remember you answered an ask and said you drew tears when you edit right? Is there a reason you don't use CC tears?

i answered this like two weeks ago but i can’t find it so whateveR i’ve used cc tears a few times but there’s only like three of those in existence and my characters have cried a LOT. i feel like it would be kinda weird if they had the same tears every time. also there are just some variations that i like to customize myself by drawing, like sometimes they’ll be full on sobbing, sometimes just one single tear...it just depends on the situation, that’s why i draw ‘em.

Santi is my favorite Harvest Moon character.

idk shit about harvest moon so idk how to respond to this :[ here’s a small picture of michael cera with a cactus

Would you recommend buying a macbook for playing sims?

if a macbook is what you already have, then yeah, i’d say it suffices without many problems. if you’re specifically going out and buying a computer with the knowledge that you’ll be playing sims on it, then mmmmmm i’d probably say no...but it also depends on if you’re like gonna get REALLY into storytelling and cc n shit or if it’s just casual gameplay with a mods folder that’s like 5 gb or less...if it’s the latter i think it should also be fine. but yeah it just depends on what kind of gaming you’re planning on doing.

How can I read your story from the beginning? Is there a link or something? I keep seeing it on my feet and it looks so great!

thank you! there’s a button at the top of my page that says “story directory” but if you’re on mobile you can just go here or copy this link: http://femmesim.tumblr.com/tagged/story/chrono

I've talked to u like once before and I'm to shy to talk to u again... Why am I like fish?

This**

we are all like fish if you really think about it lmao but really just reach out my dude! if we talked once then y’know you already broke the ice so just go for it!! i am here and ready to talk about all the things under the sun

Do you use Topaz Clean?

yep

hi hello so maybe I am just a blind bean but may I ask how in god's name do you get your images to be so crisp? I have everything set up, but it seems as if when I do my thing in Photoshop, everything turns out lookin like a blobfish. I'm not sure if you use another person's topaz settings or if you have your own. Thank you so much if you do respond bc I was too much of a wuss to message you *cries in Spanish*

OMG well it’s mostly just resizing, smart sharpening, and most importantly topaz clean (see above) that makes them so crisp. i also use the sharpen tool on sims’ faces, and the smudge tool when something is particularly pixelated or whatever. everything i do is listed in here! UR NOT A WUSS *hugs you in spanish*

youre my inspiration to be a better writer. I know i'm good and giving characters depth and backgrounds and coming up with a rough story idea. but i rush things and i'm not great at putting it into a good story so ya. My story on simblr started out as casual gameplay but i wanted it to be more and i'm trying to get better @ everything

OMG ;_________; it sounds like you are a good writer already, and it’s awesome that you recognize your strengths while also acknowledging that you need to work on some things as well. i try to do the same and i think that’s what keeps me level headed. it sounds like you just need to dedicate some time to planning, that way you start to realize all the nuances of your story that come together to flesh out that initial rough idea. you seem to have a positive attitude, so that’s great!! you’re already getting better and better, i know it <3

now Santi's song is Post Malone - Congratulations

OMF LMAO u sent this when santi finally got to mexico and it’s fitting

sos i was listening to the song fight song by rachel platten when i saw the photoset of santi making it to mexico and now i can't stop ugly crying please make it stop

omG i see it TAKE BACK UR LIFE SANTI U GOT THIS

This is so random but like, can I just say that you're so amazing like?? Why?? You're so sweet and funny and I love you very much ok

AKJSKJDFKJS THANK YOU THIS IS SO NICEEEE ;-; i try but a lot of the time i feel like a sarcastic asshole lmao thank u for thinking otherwise <3

Am I the only one who's like... really mad about pets being NPCs? I just feel like being able to control them was the best part. I don't really feel like the EP is worth it without them. Like, don't get me wrong, I understand that the team worked really hard on it, but I feel like they didn't do it as well as they could have.

hmm i’m kind of meh on that front because like on one hand i did like controlling pets and the novelty of the fact that you could just see their different interactions firsthand, but ultimately i think i’m okay with not controlling them because it makes it more realistic for me and honestly they’re probably more likely to take care of themselves a little bit more if they’re automated, because i’m just thinking about ts3 pets and how i literally had to make them go pee outside otherwise they’d pee in the house...even if they were well trained and stuff lmao. plus there might be a cheat or mod that lets you control them, like there was in ts2? so don’t lose hope yet.

hey your blog is AWESOME, i read through your stories in a day and am obsessed (kind of in love with gianni) ❤ what are some of your favorite ts4 blogs? i'm trying to find more awesome blogs to read through during my miserable journey of trying to get the game to work on my computer lol

heyo here’s some! thank you btw, and i hope your miserable journey ends soon :{

(I really need to get this off my chest) ok so my aunt is currently in a critical condition after having a kidney failure and she's in desperate need for a new one and I'm the only one in my family that's a match (so far) but I'm not allowed to donate bc I myself have severe health issues affecting my day to day life that would make it extremely dangerous for me to remove a kidney. I'm so fucking frustrated you don't understand like I just want to cry most of the time

first off i’m so sorry that this is even happening to you ;__; and you’re an amazing person for being willing to help out your aunt like that, so just know it isn’t your fault that you’re unable to. don’t guilt yourself for it okay? is there any other possible donor at all? i wanna know how this situation ends up. i really hope your aunt will be okay. just stay close to your family for support and don’t blame yourself.

how did you get photoshop for free? I'm trying to find a link that won't give me a virus, but I had no luck yet

the pirate bay is ur friend

Ok I gotta rant. GoT does NOT deserve the hype/amazing ratings. Like, sure the cinematography is pretty great and they have ok actors but the freaking script is so mediocre I actually think I could write a better one. Me. A 16 y/o tiny child. There are so much better shows out there! Hell, even Supernatural has a better script than GoT

whenever ppl agree with me about how much GoT sucks i grow stronger and stronger even the actors are iffy at this point. watching daenerys act is painful, jon snow is wooden as hell, it’s just bad. ur 16 yr old self has more potential than these writers tbh. it’s just completely mediocre; it started out as something great because it followed the same layered storytelling pattern as the books, but it’s diverged from that completely because the writers got too caught up in the hype. and you’re right, it doesn’t deserve that hype! omfdkjsgkj i’ve never watched supernatural but i haven’t heard good things. that’s a low bar

[actuallymollyweasley]

kids of the in-between: ch. 14

aka “Ticking Backwards”

Honestly, you’re all amazing for being so patient all this time, and I hope this chapter was worth the wait! Managed to finish just in time to celebrate the end of the beauty that was Pynch Week haha. Feel free to ask to be tagged in future updates if you want!

Read all parts: on tumblr | on ao3

One second, Adam was highlighting his calculus lecture notes from last week in an effort to try and remember how the hell he was supposed to answer the questions in his problem set. The next second, Blue Sargent had somehow managed to snatch up his notebook and highlighter, toss them onto his bed, and perch herself on his desk, all in a single motion. She then proceeded to smile at him as if this was completely normal.

(Although Adam supposed that because Blue Sargent was involved, it kind of was.)

“Hello, Adam.”

Adam narrowed his eyes. She was using her customer-service voice, the one that managed to convey I'm running on two hours of sleep so you can be polite to me or die just by the way she shaped her vowels. “Blue. What do you want?”

“Can’t I just want to talk to my best friend, whom I love dearly and never see anymore?”

“You can,” Adam said. “But you generally do that from your own desk, not mine. Also, it's not my fault that you've only slept in your own bed three times in the last week.”

“Adam!”

Blush was an interesting color on Blue. It clashed rather horribly with the neon green streak Noah had dyed in her hair the other day—but the neon green streak also clashed horribly with her ripped purple overalls, so maybe it all balanced out in the end.

“I'm just saying,” Adam continued, “don't try to pass all the blame off on my double shift and weird boyfriend.”

To his surprise, that statement made Blue eye him carefully. “That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

“The double shift?”

“The weird boyfriend, you idiot.”

“Could have gone either way,” Adam argued, although he couldn't quite keep the corners of his mouth from twitching. “What about him?”

Blue snagged one of his pens and started doodling on her overalls, as if owning ripped purple overalls wasn't anti-establishment enough already. “How are things going between you two? Since your… since that phone call?”

“They're good,” Adam said, and was surprised to find that for once in his life, he actually meant it. Good wasn't something he came across very often.

Blue drew a suspicious smiley face on her overalls. It sported a single raised eyebrow and a curled mouth and a judgmental stare that pointed directly at Adam. “So no problems at all?”

“I said good, not perfect.”

After all, Ronan had blown into this very dorm room yesterday morning to show Adam a caricatured painting of Gansey that he'd created using Gansey's sleeping face as a model. Adam had been working at his desk with his deaf ear pointed toward the door and all his focus directed toward his assignments. When Ronan had let the door slam shut behind the tail end of his hurricane, Adam had flinched. It had been instinctive, and unavoidable, and had nothing to do with Ronan himself, and he had still freaked out and left and refused to talk to Adam for the next several hours out of misplaced guilt.

So they were working on it.

But that was good too. It was nice to work for something that Adam actually thought he could get.

“There's already too much perfect in our friend group,” he continued. “Henry and Noah never even frown at each other, and don't think I didn't notice that Gansey’s wearing a lavender polo shirt today.”

“Coincidence,” Blue insisted.

“You guys matched outfits,” Adam replied, unrepentant. “Ronan and I have to have disagreements just to balance out the rest of you.”

“That's a terrible reason to have a fight.”

“You yell at Gansey for wearing boat shoes every day just to keep up your three-week streak.”

“This conversation isn't about me and Gansey.”

“The thing about a conversation,” Adam said, “is that you shouldn't start one if you don't want it to go both ways. Why are you suddenly asking about Ronan?”

At that, Blue finally looked up from the drawings on her overalls, rolling Adam’s pen between her palm and the desk. “I just… Are you sure you want to stay here for Thanksgiving instead of coming home with me? Because I know that you don't want to cause issues with money, but you know my mom always cooks too much food anyway, and you really wouldn't be imposing and my baby cousins would love to see you and I don't want you to have Thanksgiving with Ronan just because you don't think you have any other options.”

“Oh, Blue.” Adam reached out, rolled the pen out from under Blue’s hand, and started drawing. “I'm staying here for a lot of reasons. One reason is that I don't want to go back to Henrietta so soon after telling my father that I don't need to.”

“But Adam,” Blue protested, “you shouldn't—”

“Another,” Adam continued pointedly, “is that Calla always looks at me like I'm either going to destroy the house or fall down dead at any moment, just because she knows I notice when she's doing it. Also, your mom always burns the turkey, and Ronan has never actually burned anything that he's cooked in front of me. Not to mention that I genuinely like Ronan and am looking forward to making out with him over break. I'm pretty sure all of those are valid reasons. Do you disagree?”

Blue looked at him, blinked, looked down at the vines now twisting across the hem of her overalls, and sighed. “No. I just had to make sure I didn't need to beat Ronan up for you. And I was hoping I could convince you to come so I wouldn't have to suffer through my mom’s burnt turkey alone.”

“And the truth comes out,” Adam grinned, capping his pen. “Don’t worry about it, Blue. I'm sure Orla will show up with her husband for Thanksgiving dinner so she doesn't have to cook anything herself, and if Orla enjoys doing anything with you, it’s painting nails and complaining.”

“You got me there,” Blue said, then paused. “You realize that I'm never going to be able to wash these overalls now, right? These drawings are a symbol of our friendship and ability to have serious conversations without deflecting. I have to preserve them forever.”

“All I did was make squiggly lines,” Adam said. “If you really want something worth preserving, hand them to Ronan and give him a Sharpie.”

“He'd just write the lyrics to the Murder Squash Song across my ass.”

“Or he'd draw something really thoughtful on your front pocket and pretend Chainsaw did it.”

Blue considered that statement. “Knowing Ronan, he'd do both.” She clapped both hands on his shoulders—a distinctly Gansey gesture—and looked him in the eye. “He really is perfect for you.”

Then she hopped off his desk.

“Did you just… give me your blessing?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Isn't that Gansey’s job? Are you assigning each other parental duties now?”

“Sorry, gotta go, meeting Henry to tear holes in our clothes and drink tea from his expensive mugs.”

“Henry would never defile his vintage Madonna t-shirts and designer jeans.”

“My and Noah’s clothes,” Blue corrected. “Have fun with your calculus.”

Blue had been his best friend for over three years at this point. Adam didn't know why he kept making the mistake of attempting to understand her.

“Now, I restocked the coffee beans and cereal—and remembered to buy milk this time, before you ask,” Gansey said, glancing around the kitchen like the cabinets would help remind him of what he wanted to say. “Ronan said you two were fine to do the grocery shopping on your own, but I didn’t know if you would get a chance to go out before breakfast tomorrow so I wanted to make sure you didn’t have to worry about that. The lock on our door is still broken, so you might want to push the couch in front of it at night just in case. Declan and Matthew are welcome to stay in my room if they don’t want to book a hotel. I’m planning to return Sunday afternoon around four, but if anything happens before then, just give me a call and I can be back in three hours. In fact, if you think I might need to be here for any reason at all, say the word and I can cancel my plans. Maybe I should just call Helen right now and tell her to let Mom know that I can’t make it home for Thanksgiving after all. I’m sure she’d underst—”

“Gansey.” Adam had been planning to let Gansey tire himself out, but this was getting out of hand. “I have been self-sufficient for the last ten years. I'm pretty sure I can handle a week in the dorms, even if that week does involve Ronan.”

“Dickface,” Ronan called out from inside his room.

“Are you talking to me or Gansey?”

“Yes,” Ronan said.

Gansey’s face contorted like he wasn't sure whether to feel offended or amused. “Regardless. You'll call me if the need arises, won't you?”

“Yes, Gansey, we'll call you.” Adam pushed at Gansey's rolling suitcase with his toe, watching with satisfaction as it bounced off the kitchen cabinets and slowly rolled back. “Now go enjoy your Thanksgiving.”

“You too.” Gansey considered Adam for a moment and then held out one hand for a fistbump. It was absurd and boyish and brilliantly Gansey, and Adam accepted it with a smile tugging at his lips.

Gansey's responding grin was blinding as he reached down and grabbed the handle of his suitcase. “Ronan, I'm leaving!”

“Good fucking riddance!” Ronan replied before sticking his head out of the doorway. “Watch your shifts into second gear. That's when the Pig stalls out most often.”

Adam wouldn't have thought it possible, but Gansey's smile widened. “Thanks, Lynch,” he said, and then he was gone, and Adam and Ronan were alone.

Adam turned and raised his eyebrows at Ronan, who very purposefully turned around and retreated back into his room. Unfazed, Adam followed him. “Second gear, huh?”

“You're the mechanic,” Ronan said. “Didn't you notice?”

“Oh, I noticed,” Adam said, “but I wasn't the one who made sure that Gansey knew too.”

“Shut up,” Ronan said, and kissed him.

They'd been dating for a few weeks now, but kissing Ronan Lynch still felt like starting a wildfire. Adam had to break away before they burned down the whole dorm.

As he did, he eyed the extra sheets draped across half of Ronan's room. “When are you going to let me see what's under those?”

“When I’m fucking done with it.”

He frowned. “‘It?’ Is all of that for one art piece?”

Ronan shrugged. “Dr. Azalea.”

“But I thought you already turned in your last assignment.”

“This,” Ronan gestured vaguely, “is for my first assignment.”

Adam felt his heart collide against his ribs, a bang rather than a thump. “Happiness?”

“Yeah.” Ronan tugged the sheets more securely over his stack of canvases. “It's stupid.”

“It's not.” Adam reached out and took one of Ronan's hands in both of his, rubbing his thumbs over Ronan's knuckles. “Now come on, what are we supposed to be buying for tomorrow?”

“This was a terrible idea.” Ronan looked about five seconds away from throwing the pasta he was cooking out the window. “Adam, why the fuck did you let me cook? We should have met them for lunch somewhere. I shouldn't have let them come here in the first place. We should have driven to D.C. We should have stayed here by ourselves. Fuck, this dish is shit.”

Adam peered over Ronan’s shoulder. “Doesn't look like shit to me.” He snagged a bite of penne with a fork before Ronan could stop him. “Doesn't taste like it either.”

“It’s shit compared to my mom’s,” Ronan said, and that was startling enough to make Adam turn off the stove and take the spatula from Ronan’s slightly shaking hands. He hadn't heard Ronan mention his mother since before his father had died. Actually, he'd never heard Ronan mention his mother at all.

“Ronan.” Adam frowned at his boyfriend’s hands, trying to find the right words. He'd never been particularly skilled at offering comfort. He'd never really needed to be. “It doesn't have to taste like your mom’s to be good. I'm sure they'll love it.”

“Matthew might,” Ronan muttered. “Declan’s going to hate it.”

“He won't,” Adam insisted, but the look on Ronan's face told Adam he knew that Adam had no idea what he was talking about. He was an only child, his parents were both alive and terrible, and he had never met Declan Lynch before in his life.

“I mean it,” Adam said, not sure how he would back up that statement, and then there was a knock at the door.

Ronan tensed, gave the pasta one last stir, opened the door—and was promptly tackled by a medium-sized bundle of brightly colored clothing and hair like sunshine.

“Ronan! I've missed you so much! Your hair is so short! How is college?”

It's mostly like high school,” Ronan said, voice a little rough, “but with better friends. Are you still growing?”

“Like a weed,” came from behind Matthew’s mass of curls. “If you don't watch out, he’ll end up taller than you, Ronan.”

“Doubtful,” Ronan said, shoulders stiff but eyes still soft because Matthew had stuck his tongue out at him in response. “Are you coming inside for lunch or what?”

“Or what,” Matthew replied, although he was already passing Ronan in the doorway.

Adam hid a smile in his shirt collar.

At the same moment, Matthew caught sight of him and bounded forward like a wayward basketball, only skidding to a halt to extremely vigorously shake Adam’s hand. “Hi! I'm Matthew, Ronan’s brother. It's great to meet you! What’s your name?”

Adam’s smile froze onto his face. Had Ronan seriously not told them—

“Hello, I’m Declan Lynch, and you must be Adam Parrish.” Ronan's older brother slipped past Matthew to introduce himself. He had Ronan’s sharp cheekbones, the type of suit that a millionaire would wear for a casual evening out on his own personal yacht, and a handshake with half of Matthew's enthusiasm and twice his firmness. “Matthew, don't you retain anything Ronan says?”

“I retain the things that matter, like that he said lunch was ready,” Matthew retorted. Then he glanced at Adam. “Um, not that you don't matter, obviously. I just forgot that you were going to be here the whole time. But now I'm even more excited to meet you! Ronan’s never had a boyfriend before.”

The Lynch in question was currently glaring at the pot on the stove—probably because he couldn't bring himself to glare directly at Matthew, Adam thought with amusement. “Shut up,” Ronan said, “and grab a plate.”

“I'll shut up if you let me drink beer with lunch,” Matthew said.

“Not a fucking chance,” Ronan replied.

Adam had no way of proving it. But when he turned around to shut the front door, he was pretty sure he glimpsed a small smile on Declan’s face.

The rest of Wednesday went so well that Adam had to refrain three times from asking Ronan what he'd been so worried about. As he’d expected, Matthew had nothing but compliments to bestow on the food Ronan made, and Declan didn't mention it at all, which Ronan claimed was its own kind of silent approval. After that, they spent most of the afternoon shopping for last-minute groceries—or rather, Ronan and Declan argued about what they needed to buy while Matthew stealthily added cans of whipped cream to the shopping cart behind their backs. By the time they reached the checkout line, there were at least fifteen cans tucked between the bags of sweet potatoes and fresh green beans, but the older Lynch brothers placed each new can on the conveyor belt without a word.

Declan made dinner and spent most of the meal talking about his job.

Matthew begged Ronan for beer unsuccessfully half a dozen times.

Ronan painted all through the night, telling Adam that with a little luck, he could be finished by the end of Thanksgiving break.

And then Thursday morning came.

Adam woke up to yelling, which was both familiar and discomfiting. For a moment, he couldn’t distinguish reality from his dream about the double-wide trailer he’d grown up in. The sheets felt scratchier. The room felt smaller. He even thought he heard the sound of breaking glass.

But then Declan shouted, “And it’d be nice if you’d answer your phone every once in a while,” the polar opposite of anything Robert Parrish would have said to his son, and Adam refocused.

“It’s college,” Ronan snapped. “I’m fucking busy.”

“Oh, please, you’re an art student.” Declan’s voice was scathing. “Don’t bother pretending that you’re drowning under some heavy workload.”

Adam decided to grab a pair of sweatpants and open the door before somebody got punched.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly, doing his best to pretend that the walls weren’t paper-thin. “You’re up earlier than usual, Ronan.”

“Didn’t sleep,” Ronan growled, which Adam already knew. “I was working on an assignment for class.”

“And I’m sure it’s very pretty,” the eldest Lynch brother said. Ronan was still silently fuming behind the kitchen counter, but Declan’s expression had shifted from derisive to politely neutral the moment he caught sight of Adam. “Good morning, Adam. Would you like some coffee?”

“I’d love some,” Adam said.

“Sugar? Cream?”

“Just a little cream is fine, thanks.”

“Gross,” Ronan muttered.

“You’re gross,” Matthew said over a yawn, wandering into the hallway. “What are we talking about?”

“Coffee,” Ronan said.

“Oh, yeah. That is gross.”

Adam furrowed his eyebrows. “I thought you two were staying in a hotel room?”

(It was the type of decision he had a feeling he would never understand—in his opinion, spending money on a hotel when there was a perfectly usable bed and couch in the suite was a frivolity and a waste. But Declan had thought a hotel room would be more comfortable, and so the money was spent.)

Matthew rubbed a hand across his eyes, yawning again. “We did.”

“But Matthew said he was going to use the restroom and ‘accidentally’ went back to sleep on your friend Gansey’s bed,” Declan explained.

“Lame,” Ronan said. But this time he reached out and ruffled Matthew’s hair, so Adam figured things would be all right.

Less than an hour later, the Lynch brothers were arguing again.

“What do you think you're doing?” Declan demanded.

“Making the spice rub for the fucking turkey, like I said I was going to,” Ronan growled.

“With those spices? You're doing it completely wrong.”

“No, I'm fucking not.”

“It doesn't need sage.”

“Yes, it does.”

“How would you even know?”

“Because I actually cared about helping Mom out with Thanksgiving dinner, unlike you, and I listened when she was teaching me! It's parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme, like in that fucking song, but without the parsley because who the fuck needs parsley anyway. And then if you’re not a fucking idiot, you’ll remember that it also uses salt, pepper, and garlic powder. That's what she told me.”

“Yeah? Then I'm sure she would have loved to hear you repeat it back like that.”

“Guys,” Matthew whined.

Ronan turned to him. “Matthew, you always hung around the kitchen at Thanksgiving too. Tell Declan that he's wrong.”

Matthew bit his lip, eyes darting between the two of them, and said, “I'm sorry. I don't remember how Mom made it.”

Declan and Ronan both froze for such a long moment that Adam inexplicably remembered the drawing he’d seen on Ronan’s wall the first time he ever entered his room—Declan and Matthew wrestling in the grass, Ronan perched on Niall’s back, and Aurora Lynch smiling softly in the background.

Which was worse? To have never felt the kind of love that the Lynches offered each other, or to grow up surrounded by that love, only to have it all ripped away in a single bloody morning?

Declan sighed. “Maybe it has been too long since I helped Mom in the kitchen,” he said. “Go ahead and do what you want, Ronan.”

Ronan’s knuckles were white as he gripped the edges of the mixing bowl. “Who even fucking cares about the turkey anymore?”

“I do!” The turkey was lying on the other end of the counter, so Matthew nudged it within Ronan’s reach. “Come on, Ro, I’ll help you with the turkey.”

“I can start peeling potatoes,” Adam offered.

Declan stiffened like he had forgotten Adam was there. But when he turned to face him, his smile looked unshakable. It would have been enough to make Adam question whether Ronan and Declan were actually related, except that they shared too many facial features. “That’d be great, Adam,” he said, as if tension wasn’t stretched between everyone in the room like bungee cords just waiting to snap. “But I don’t want you to feel like we have a monopoly on tonight’s menu. Do you have any family recipes you want to make?”

Adam flinched—but a quick look at the rigid lines of Ronan’s back told him that one family’s worth of drama was enough for this Thanksgiving, so he covered it by pulling the bag of potatoes closer to him. “No,” he said simply. “My parents never cared much for Thanksgiving.”

Ronan snorted, and not kindly. “You can say that again.”

Matthew looked between his siblings and Adam, frowning. “So. What are we doing for lunch?”

Lunch was an argument, as Ronan thought they would be too full to eat dinner and Declan thought he was just trying to be difficult. Cooking was an argument, as they were constantly bumping shoulders and using each other's mixing spoons and changing the oven temperature. Chainsaw flew into the kitchen at one point, looking for scraps, and that sparked yet another argument, as Declan couldn't decide which was more horrifying: that Ronan had broken the dorm’s rules to get a pet, that said pet was a raven, or that Ronan was planning on feeding her some of the leftover turkey later.

When the Lynch brothers got along, it made this too-large-for-a-couple-of-college-freshmen dorm feel like a home.

When they were fighting, it made this too-small-for-a-couple-of-angry-boys dorm feel like a certain double-wide trailer that Adam was still trying to put behind him.

And on top of that, he was developing a migraine—because everything sounded louder when you could only hear out of one ear.

So when Matthew went digging through their grocery bags, surfacing only to exclaim that they had forgotten to buy pumpkin pie filling, Adam jumped at the chance to get out of Walton.

“I think there are a few grocery stores just off-campus that are still open on Thanksgiving,” he said. “I can bike around and see if any of them carry pumpkin pie filling.”

“Oh, we couldn't ask that of you,” Declan said.

“It's really not a problem,” Adam replied. “Besides, I want pumpkin pie just as much as Matthew does.”

“Don't be stupid,” Ronan said. Then, when Adam turned to frown at him, “It’s fucking freezing outside.” And he tossed the keys to the BMW at Adam.

Adam caught them out of reflex and sheer luck, furrowing his eyebrows. If he'd been having a shitty day, how much shittier had Ronan been feeling? He’d spent the entire day arguing with the only family he had left. “Ronan,” he started, and then hesitated, not wanting to offend Declan. In the end, he settled on, “Do you want to come with me?”

Ronan just shoved his hands in his pockets. “Nah,” he said. “Gotta keep an eye on the turkey.”

Adam frowned at him again, but when Ronan didn't budge, he had no choice but to leave.

Buying pumpkin pie filling on Thanksgiving afternoon took Adam almost an hour. It turned out to be more difficult to find an open store than he'd anticipated, and if he'd lingered in the one store he had found, walking through every aisle and relishing that it was quiet enough for him to hear the buzz of the fluorescent lights… well, no one could prove it.

In any case, by the time he returned, Ronan was no longer in the kitchen. Instead, his awful electronic music was blaring inside his room.

“The turkey finished cooking, so Ronan decided to let us make the rest of dinner while he went back to painting.” Declan didn't roll his eyes, but with that tone of voice, he didn't need to.

“Well,” Adam replied, “he’s extremely dedicated to his art. He wants everything he works on to be perfect. That's what makes him such a good artist.”

Declan looked like he couldn't imagine Ronan Lynch being dedicated to anything. “Good for him,” he said, sounding unconvinced. “Were you able to find the pumpkin filling, then?”

Adam nodded.

“Awesome!” Matthew sprang up from where he'd been lounging on the couch. “Do you want to help me make the pie, Adam?”

What Adam really thought he should do was check on Ronan. But Matthew’s eyes were shining with excitement, and Adam found himself unable to refuse.

Between making pie, throwing together a few side dishes, and reheating the turkey once everything else had finished baking, hours passed without Adam noticing. Suddenly it was seven o’clock, and dinner was ready.

“We usually try to eat by five,” Declan said, sliding into his chair at the kitchen table, “but with putting everything together ourselves, I suppose delays were inevitable. I hope you don't mind, Adam.”

Adam thought Declan must not have actually gone to college to believe that a seven o’clock dinner was some horrible catastrophe. “It's fine,” he assured him. “Should I go get Ro—?”

“RONAN!” Matthew shouted out of nowhere, making Adam jump. “DINNER!”

“He's fifteen feet away, not five hundred,” Declan chided, although even he seemed unable to properly discipline Matthew. “I’m pretty sure you didn't have to scream that loudly in order for him to hear you.”

“Yeah, but it was fun,” Matthew grinned. “And apparently necessary, because he's STILL NOT OUT HERE!”

A pause.

“RONAN?!”

“I'm coming, I'm coming, Jesus,” Ronan said, shrugging on his leather jacket as he came out of his room. “I had to finish the thing I was working on, calm the fuck down.”

“We were all waiting for you,” Matthew said, in a supercilious tone he could only keep up for half the sentence before breaking into giggles, but Adam’s eyes narrowed as he took a second look at Ronan’s hands.

Declan followed his line of sight and frowned. “Ronan… Ronan, are those bandages? Are you all right?”

“Calm the fuck down,” Ronan repeated. “My hands slipped, it's not a big fucking deal.”

Declan’s frown only deepened. “You cut yourself… on art supplies?”

“Ever heard of a palette knife?” Ronan said, scathing.

“Nope!” Matthew broke in cheerfully. “Now come on, Ronan, sit down, we have to pray.”

Ronan's shoulders stiffened. “Right.” He sat down next to Adam. “I guess that's your job now, Declan?”

For the first time since Adam had met him, Declan looked visibly uncomfortable. “Actually, I was thinking we could all say it together?”

Ronan clasped his hands together so tightly, Adam thought it must be hurting the cuts on his palms. “Fine.”

He bowed his head, and after a moment, Matthew and Declan followed suit. “Bless us, O Lord, and these, thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from thy bounty, through Christ Our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” Adam said along with them, although he wasn't sure he believed in gifts or bounty, let alone a benevolent God who supposedly offered them. It just seemed like the polite thing to do.

When they were done, Matthew's head popped back up like a puppy's. “Okay! Let's eat!”

Declan smiled, passed Matthew the mashed potatoes, and stood up to begin cutting into the turkey. Adam got so caught up in filling his plate with green beans and sweet potato casserole and stuffing and peas and turkey and gravy and cranberry sauce—he may have been getting three meals a day from the dining hall, but putting as much food on his plate as he could, whenever he could, was second-nature by now—that he didn't look over at Ronan until he'd sampled everything in reach.

“Ronan,” Adam said, “this turkey is amazing. Whenever I go to Thanksgiving at Blue’s house, her mom always burns it and makes us eat it anyway, but I… Ronan, why is your plate empty?”

Ronan was staring off at nothing.

“Yeah, Ronan, if you don't get some food soon, I'm finishing off the sweet potato casserole without you.”

No, not nothing—the empty chair at the head of the table.

Adam started to get a hard feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Ronan?”

Ronan stood abruptly and nearly knocked his chair over. “I need a drink,” he said before heading toward the refrigerator.

“A drink,” Declan said drily.

Ronan threw open the refrigerator door.

“Are you serious? Beer on Thanksgiving?”

He grabbed one, seemingly at random, and slammed it on the counter. “Yeah, Declan, beer on fucking Thanksgiving. Who's gonna stop me?”

“I—”

“No, I mean it,” Ronan said. “Who's gonna stop me? Because Mom hasn't spoken in months, Dad’s dead, and I don't have to listen to a word you say. You're not our fucking parents.”

Declan went completely still, as if this was another one of Ronan's paintings. Adam thought he knew which emotion Dr. Azalea would accept this one for. Heartbreak.

“Shit,” Ronan said, “I’m sorry.”

The door slammed shut behind him when he left.

For a moment, silence.

Then, “Ronan, wait!”

Matthew scooted out of his chair and hurried after him.

Adam got up and ran to Ronan's room, intending to use his window to see if Ronan headed into the parking lot, but when he finally tugged Ronan's door open, he couldn't do anything but stare.

At last, the sheets Ronan had been using to hide his happiness assignment had been tossed aside, leaving the project in full view.

It was a wreck.

Adam thought Ronan had actually been proud of how his artwork was turning out, but that was clearly no longer the case. Several of the canvases had been slashed through, while others looked like they had been kicked in. A paint tube had been squeezed out over a few more, leaving behind red paint hardened and flaking to the touch like dried blood. Preliminary sketches had been torn up and scattered over the mess, perverted confetti celebrating creative disaster. And when Adam finally remembered to lean out and look for Ronan, all he noticed was another pile of Ronan's ruined paintings that he’d apparently thrown out of the window. Everything was just—

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s his art,” Adam said. “He's been working on these canvases for weeks, insisting that he was getting close to finishing, insisting that his next idea was going to be the right one, and now it's all destroyed.”

But when he turned around, Declan wasn't staring at the ruined paintings. He was staring at the objects that Adam had gotten used to after spending so much time in Ronan's room.

“What?” Adam asked. “You can't tell me you don't know about Ronan's dreams.”

“Of course I know about his dreams,” Declan snapped, his eyes too wide and horrified to make his harsh tone effective. “But these are…”

Adam looked around and tried to remember how it had felt to see Ronan's room for the first time. The unnaturally bent sword, the twisted clock that ticked backwards, the dark stain on his floor that was now mostly hidden by ripped canvases and red paint…. That pit in his stomach came back. He'd known the objects weren't exactly fun dream souvenirs, known they could even look menacing, but they were just dispersed among the other objects, right? Tucked between self-bouncing balls and clocks that worked properly, hidden behind dream lights and whimsical inventions? Everyone had nightmares sometimes, and anyway, Adam hadn't seen Ronan dream up anything bad since that night at the campground. Of course, he hadn't been around Ronan every night—but he'd been around sometimes—and Ronan had never objected when Adam asked to spend the night, he'd never said that there was anything to be worried about—but then he was always the one who woke up first, and last night he had never fallen asleep at all.

“This isn't normal,” Adam said. It wasn't a question because he already knew the answer.

He knew it wasn't normal.

But Ronan had been so happy for the last few weeks—he’d thought Ronan had been so happy—that he'd stopped worrying.

Adam felt, abruptly, like a terrible boyfriend.

“No, it’s not normal,” Declan said derisively. “None of this is fucking normal. I haven’t seen him dream like this since…”

“Since Kavinsky?” Adam guessed.

“How do you know about Kavinsky?”

For some reason, the question snapped Adam into action. “This may surprise you,” he said, “but being in a relationship occasionally requires communication.” Except, apparently, when you destroy weeks’ worth of hard work. No, that’s not worth mentioning at all. Adam pushed the thought out of his mind. “Listen, Declan, I still have Ronan’s keys. That means he can’t have gotten that far. You should take your car and look around off-campus. He likes to go to St. Agnes or Nino’s, but check liquor stores too. I’ll search his usual on-campus hideouts because you can’t exactly find those on Google Maps.”

Just then, someone started banging on the front door. For one hopeful moment, Adam thought Ronan might have changed his mind about storming out. But when he flung the door open, only Matthew was waiting on the other side, red-faced and breathless.

“I tried to run after him, but by the time I went into the hallway, he was already gone. I went down the stairs and looked around, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t figure out which direction he’d taken.”

“That’s okay, Matthew,” Adam said. “We’re going to find him. You stay here in case he comes back, all right? Do you have my phone number?”

Matthew shook his head, so Adam took Matthew’s phone out of his hand and punched his number into his contacts, sending himself a text so he would have Matthew’s number as well. Then he did the same to Declan’s phone, grabbed his coat off the couch, and felt in his pockets to make sure Ronan hadn’t taken his keys without Adam noticing after all. They were there, a cool and hard and reassuring weight.

In the same time span, Declan had barely managed to put on one shoe. “You seem to have this search-team business down to a science. Have you… has something like this happened before?”

Adam felt something shatter inside of him. “Not in a while,” he managed to say.

Then he was gone.

Adam checked everywhere. Every classroom Ronan had bribed or broken his way into, every tree he’d sketched, every bench he’d fallen asleep on. By the time he got back to Walton, it was almost nine, Thanksgiving dinner was a forgotten feast weighing down the kitchen table, and nobody had been able to find Ronan Lynch.

Finally, feeling guilty and desperate, Adam called Gansey.

“Adam! I’m so happy to hear from you! I hope you’re having a lovely Thanksgiving. I’m just,” he hiccupped, “watching Food Network with Helen. Because obviously we haven’t seen enough—hic—food for one day.”

Gansey sounded sleepy, wine-drunk, and content. Adam could picture him leaning against Helen on an extravagantly luxurious couch in their living room, even though he had yet to actually see a photograph of Gansey’s sister. It made him feel even worse about saying, “Ronan is missing again.”

Gansey caught himself mid-laugh. “What? But I thought—”

“I don’t think it’s anything serious,” Adam was quick to add. “I mean… you know. Now that we know the truth about that one time. But he left during dinner and Declan and I have checked all the usual places and I….” He sighed. “I would just feel better if I knew where he was.”

Gansey was quiet for a while. “Did he take his car?”

“No.”

More silence. “Did you check the roof?”

Adam felt his heart stop, restart, and stutter again, all in the space of a moment. “The roof?! Gansey, I thought we just established that Ronan wasn’t—”

“Not like that!” Gansey interrupted hastily. “Ronan and I used to go up to the roof to talk. We haven’t been up since… but anyway, it’s worth a shot.”

Adam’s heart did its best to reestablish a natural rhythm. He didn’t think it was particularly successful. “Oh. Okay. Thanks, Gansey.”

“Do you need me to come up? I wasn’t being flippant, you know, when I said I would the other day. If you’re concerned that Ronan might—”

“No!” Adam’s voice was too loud for the near-empty campus. “No, Gansey, you really don’t need to come. You’ve already been helpful enough.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Adam hesitated, squeezed his eyes shut, and opened them again. “I’m sorry for calling you like this. Don’t worry, all right? Ronan is fine. This isn’t like before.”

“Just text me when you find him, okay?”

Gansey’s voice was smooth, measured, and nowhere near immature enough to belong to an eighteen-year-old boy.

Adam tried not to let the guilt crush him like a cartoon anvil when he said, “Of course I will, Gansey. Have a nice night.”

After a moment’s indecision, Adam ducked into Ronan and Gansey’s suite on his way up to the roof. It had gotten cold, and Ronan’s leather jacket offered almost no insulation, so he just wanted to grab a couple hats and maybe a blanket before heading up to the roof.

Of course, Matthew Lynch stopped him in his tracks.

“Did you find Ronan yet?!”

Adam shook his head. “Still looking. Gansey told me about another place I haven’t checked yet.”

“Okay,” Matthew said before handing Adam a brown paper bag.

Adam frowned. “What is this?”

“Well, you both pretty much missed dinner, so I filled up some plastic containers for you,” he said. “They should still be warm. There are forks and knives in there too.”

“I—thank you, Matthew.”

“I had to do something while I waited,” Matthew shrugged. “Now I’m working on this.”

He turned around in his seat and gestured at the kitchen table, on which rested a medium-size square canvas. From the underlying design, Adam recognized it as one of the ones that Ronan had elected to squirt paint over rather than completely mutilate, but it was getting harder and harder to make that distinction. Matthew was methodically covering every inch of the canvas in a gentle, chrysanthemums-at-sunrise yellow.

“You’re repainting one of Ronan’s canvases?” Adam asked in surprise.

Matthew shrugged. “He said he was having trouble with his happiness assignment. I thought this might help.”

Adam looked at the bag of food in his hands, at the serene smile on Matthew’s face, and at the yellow canvas. For the first time, he understood why Ronan had such a soft spot for Noah Czerny.

“Paint fast,” he said. “Ronan will be back soon.”

He draped one of Gansey’s spare blankets over his shoulders and took the stairs as high as he was allowed to go, and then higher. The door to the roof read, Locked: Authorized Access Only, but when he pushed on it, it swung open.

Adam poked his head out. The wind whistled in his one good ear, making it difficult to hear anything.

He squinted into the darkness.

“Ronan?”

@reytrashqueen @nymphhadora @thehufflepuffshuffle @thegreywarenloveshim @siriiusblcck @thefangirldiaries98 @adamprrishcycle @xerxesians @lirapheus @sacrebleusargent @laniemoriarty @actuallyronanlynch @iridescentsparrows @sapphicclary

[blackwhitefrancis]

August 27, 2017 12:20 AM

I keep seeing those list of questions to get to know people here in Tumblr and in Twitter, so I decided to give it a shot. I found a list of questions that I think I could comfortably answer and would give you ideas of me aside from what I post here. Instead of asking for a random number or a word from ask, I answered them all because I don’t think I have enough followers to get through all of them anyway. This is also because I haven’t posted for a while and would like to remind people I’m still alive. I’ve got a couple of drafts going, but they’re not fully thought out yet.

Anyway, here goes!

1.  Who was the last person you held hands with?

Does the Ama Namin prayer in church count, because if so, I’d have to say my brother.

2.  Are you loud, outgoing, or shy?

Shy if I’m not comfortable around people. Outgoing if I am.

3.  Who are you looking forward to seeing?

Well, this blog is dedicated to a certain someone.

4.  Are you easy to get along with?

I’d like to think so. 

5.  Have you ever given up on someone, but then gone back to him/her?

I’ve given up on a lot of people, and I have never gone back to any of them. 

6.  If you were drunk, would the person you like take care of you?

I should hope so.

7.  Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now?

I don’t think two months is enough to get to know someone before being in a relationship, so even if I do meet someone today, the answer will still be no.

8.  Who from the opposite gender is on your mind?

My very busy friend who I wish I could hang out with more often.

9.  Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable?

Me, no, but the company I keep does, so we rarely talk about it.

10.  Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with?

That same busy friend. I spent the last Saturday just lounging around in her room.

11.  What does your most recent text say?

“Medyo nga. Baby steps. Haha.”

Have fun figuring that out. 

12.  How do you feel about abortion?

Fun fact #1: I’m a BS Biology graduate from a Catholic University and I was still studying at the same time the RH Bill issue was at its peak. We weren’t allowed to openly support it as long as we wore our school uniforms. I was in third year, and our Embryology professor defied that rule and supported it anyway and taught us why. I don’t remember the specifics scientifically, but what I remember was that abortion should be fine but only up until a certain point, but only because this considers the health of the mother. 

13.  Do you like big crowds of people?

Hell, no!

14.  Do you believe in luck and miracles?

Yes!

15.  What good thing happened this summer?

I got a raise in my salary.

16.  Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

I kiss my parents on the cheek before I leave for work and when I come home, so yes.

17.  Do you think there is life on other planets?

Statistically speaking, yes.

18.  Do you still talk to your first crush?

Not as often as I like, but yes, she and I still do talk when we happen to bump into each other. Yes, she.

Fun fact #2: She was the very first person I came out to in high school, but we’ve known each other since 1st grade, and I had a crush on her during 5th grade.

19.  Do you like bubble baths?

Haven’t tried it yet. We always have showers. Even if I do find bathtubs, I’m always to tall to fit in them comfortably.

20.  Do you like your neighbors?

Not really. They have kids and those kids cry sometimes at godforsaken hours in the night.

21.  What are your bad habits?

Is eating ice after I finish my drink a bad habit? I’ve also been told that taking a shower immediately after I get home from work is a bad habit.

22.  Where would you like to travel?

Denmark and Iceland

23.  Do you have trust issues?

Yes. My default setting is to trust, and if that trust is broken, then it’s gone.

24.  Favorite part of your daily routine?

That shower after I arrive from work.

25.  What body part are you most uncomfortable with?

Fun fact #3: I have a birthmark on my left arm. It’s not that I’m uncomfortable with it, but I often forget it’s there and it’s very noticeable for other people. I get uncomfortable when people point it out.

If not that, then my height. For a very introverted person, standing a head taller than most people is extremely uncomfortable. I get noticed with and without my presence, like “oh, there’s the tall guy”, or “where’s the tall guy”? 

26.  What do you do when you wake up?

During weekdays, after I turn off my alarm, I change to workout clothes and exercise for around 40 minutes. During weekends, depends on what time I wake up, but usually I’ll start playing Guild Wars 2, because that’s North American prime time, and I get to do stuff that I can’t usually do.

27.  Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker?

I like the color of my skin. I guess it could be lighter, but I don’t really care either way.

28.  Who are you most comfortable around?

The same handful of people I’ve known since high school.

29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up?

If I play my cards right, I won’t have an ex, but for now, let’s label this as TBD.

30. Do you ever want to get married?

I do. The church and the government not so much.

31. Is your hair long enough for a pony tail?

No. I like my hair short. My hair gets really wavy when it gets too long and it’s hard to comb.

32. Which celebrities would you like to have a threesome with?

Scott Hoying and Matthew Daddario. 

33. What do you spend most of your money on?

Bills. *cries in corner*

34. Do you play sports?

My friends and I just started playing badminton regularly. I hope we can continue doing it as a weekly thing, but knowing my very busy friends, that just might not happen.

35. Would you rather live without TV or music?

I already don’t watch TV, technically speaking. But if I had a choice between TV shows and music, I would drop TV shows. I need music. It helps calm me.

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them?

Don’t we all?

37. What do you say during awkward silences?

Nothing. I would let the silence continue.

38. Do you think age matters in a relationships?

Physical age, no. Maturity, yes.

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in?

Booksale, Fully Booked, Powerbooks.

40. What did you want to do after high school?

Fun fact #4: I originally wanted to be a marine biologist, which is why I took BS Biology. But in college, Bio subjects were my weakest subjects. As in I would do very well in my Math/Chem/Literature classes yet barely pass my Bio classes. I realized that it might not be for me. I wanted to shift to Sociology or Behavioral Science, but my parents didn’t think I would get a good job from that. So I weathered it out and graduated in the same course anyway. I did try to find a job related to my course though. In the end, I found my love for the written word, and got a job in editing. Haven’t looked back since.

If I could give any of the young Tumblr bloggers here some advice, I’d say don’t worry too much about your course or your future. Use your college experience to find out more about yourself and the things you’re passionate about. Five to ten years after graduation, nobody will give a fuck what your course was, as long as you’re doing a good job. Just make sure that job is something you love.

41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance?

Yes, but no more than that.

42. If you’re being extremely quiet, what does it mean?

Look up Tranquil Fury in TVTropes.org.

43. Do you smile at strangers?

Not really. Which is why people usually think I’m unapproachable or intimidating. The height doesn’t help with this.

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean?

Outer space. I don’t know why, but the ocean kinda scares me.

45. Do you want a roommate?

I already sleep in the same room as my two brothers so no thanks. I also help pay rent, so moving out will just add more expenses for me. 

46. What are you paranoid about?

That I’ve said something offensive or hurtful without even knowing. My humor tends to be a mix of sarcasm and wit, so there are times my intention gets misunderstood.

47. What was the meanest thing someone ever said to you?

My friends and I were playing this game called Disturbed Friends (look up the game if you want to know the rules), and they basically said that I would screw up raising a child.

48. The nicest thing someone ever said to you?

That I would make someone incredibly happy someday.

49. Have you done something recently that you hope no one ever finds out about?

Yes. Let’s leave it at that.

50. What language do you want to learn?

I took Spanish in college and want to continue learning the language someday.