#I also was desperate to see a hummingbird

[nelkey]

I'm Spanish, and I spent a year abroad in the US, in Ohio, and after the school year, my family used the opportunity to fly over so we could all travel a bit around the US together.

We were walking at dusk when I saw a few fireflies flashing up ahead and realized I had the chance to show them fireflies, for the first time! My parents and my brother were fascinated by them, and I'm really happy I got to share that with them.

Especially because I had the same reaction as them the first time I saw fireflies. To me they looked like something magical and my host family was shocked by my wonder because they couldn't imagine that not everyone sees fireflies every summer.

look at me. listen to me. this is directed at americans for the record. the reason you think North American animals are boring is because you live here. there are so many cool and beautiful animals here. we have beavers. we have wolves. we have moose. we have sea lions. we have armadillos. we have mountain lions. we have alligators. we have foxes. we have bighorn sheep. we have manatees. we have bears. we have ocelots. we have BISON. and that’s not even touching on the birds! or the turtles! or the snakes! we have amazing beautiful and diverse wildlife right here and it deserves to be appreciated and protected

[thezombieprostitute]

Hummingbird - Part 4

Summary: You didn't want to break into someone's party but you were desperate to see the art at the gallery before it was gone. You're so busy trying to make sure no one sees you that you miss the ever present gaze of Steve Rogers who is wondering why you crashed his party.

Word Count: ~1300

A/N: Reader is female but no physical descriptors are used.

A/N2: This takes place at the same time as Dream Come True - Part 3.

Warnings: Talk of purposefully not eating enough. Let me know if I missed any!

Part 3 -- Part 5

Series Masterlist

After the party was officially over and the last guest had left, Steve pulled you in for a deep kiss. “Thank you for staying with me tonight,” he breathes. “Couldn’t have gotten through this without you.”

“Yes, you would have,” you croon. 

“Nope,” he counters, holding you close to him. “I definitely wouldn’t have been able to keep my calm without you on my arm. Would’ve thrown everyone out in a huff at the end of the scheduled time instead of letting them linger as an excuse to keep you with me.”

“Ah, I was wondering why you let so many stragglers stick around,” you smile at him. “Anything to spend more time with me, huh?”

“We can spend a lot more time together. Tonight. If you want,” he smirks.

“As much fun as that would be,” you tease, “I want to have an actual date or two first.”

“I can respect that. What would you like? A night on the town? A night at the gallery? A fancy, incredibly exclusive restaurant?”

You smirk, “I want to see you in something other than a suit.” He blinks in surprise and you continue, “do you even have any casual wear? When was the last time you were able to just have a night in and not have to dress fancy?”

His cheeks turn a little pink at that, “it…it really has been a long time.”

“I figured. So, for our first date, you’re coming to my apartment, wearing something casual, and we’re going to stay in and watch movies. How does that sound?”

“It sounds perfect,” he coos as he pulls you in for another kiss.

Steve stood, hands on his hips, staring at his closet for the better part of an hour. Your date is tonight and he’s realized he might be lacking in terms of “something casual”. He’s had to wear suits for so many years that it just became easier to wear them every day, especially if he had an emergency meeting come up. His closet was completely dominated by professional clothes with no denim, khakis or t-shirts in sight. 

Sam and Bucky weren’t being helpful, either. “Seriously, Steve, you know she’s into you,” Sam exclaims. “Stop worrying so much about it.” 

“Just don’t wear a jacket and keep the top couple of buttons undone,” Bucky added. “It’s not quite casual but it’s probably as close as you’re gonna get.”

“How about some of your workout clothes,” Sam asks. “They’re all clean, right?”

“Sweatpants might be a little too casual,” Bucky retorts. 

“Fair, fair,” Sam concedes. “But the shirts could work.”

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “One of those shirts, not tucked in, and no jacket. That’s pretty casual. Especially for Steve.”

Steve lets out an exasperated sigh and follows their advice. He also makes a mental note to figure out something less formal from his tailor.

When you open the door to your apartment Steve hands you a bouquet of purple petunias and violets. You bounce on your toes a little as you take them from him and gesture for him to come inside. He’s immediately hit by the delightful mix of smells coming from your kitchen. 

“I thought we were going to order delivery,” he comments.

You snort, “ordering out is for when I’m worn out and can’t bring myself to cook. I really enjoy cooking and everything that comes with it. Except for the dishes but thankfully I have a dishwasher.” 

Steve chuckles, “is there anything I can do to help out?”

“Yes, actually. I need a taste tester!” You giggle as you pull him into the kitchen. You set the flowers in a vase and turn back to your cooking. “And thanks for wearing a t-shirt,” you comment. “Now I don’t have to be so scared about accidentally spilling some food and staining your very expensive clothing.”

“That’s why you wanted me in casual wear? If any shirt got stained I’d have just gotten a new one,” he argues.

“Or,” you counter, “you could just have an outfit that’s okay to relax and not a big deal if you get food, makeup or whatever on it.”

He raises an eyebrow, “are you thinking of getting some of your makeup on my shirts?” Heat rushes to your cheeks and you stumble over your words, trying to think of a reply. Instead you dip a spoon into the sauce and ask him to taste test it. He grins wickedly at your deflection but obliges. 

“Mmmmmm,” is his immediate response. “That tastes really good! A nice bit of heat with it, too. What is it?”

“It’s the sauce for some tinga de pollo,” you reply. “So not too much cumin or too little garlic?”

“Not at all,” he affirms. “It’s damn delicious!” 

You squeak in delight and turn back to the stove. You turn off the burners and start dishing up the rice and chicken. “If you need some more heat for it, let me know,” you tell Steve as you hand him his plate. “In the meantime, let’s watch a movie. Do you have any preferences?”

“Umm,” he ponders. “Just no True Crime stuff?”

“Okay! We’re watching Labyrinth, then.”

“A Muppet movie?”

“A great Muppet movie, thank you.”

Steve smiles as you both sit on the couch and you sidle up to him. The food really is delicious and you were nice enough to dish out large portions. Definitely better than a fancy restaurant that serves mostly empty plates. It makes him think about his early career when he was finally able to afford to eat his fill. People were amazed at how quickly he was able to bulk up once he was finally getting enough food. But he had to stop eating his fill in favor of manners and societal obligations. He’s so caught up in enjoying the food he doesn’t realize how fast he’s eaten it until he accidentally brings an empty fork to his mouth. 

“Thank you for the compliment,” you smirk. He blushes and tries to apologize for eating so fast but you cut him off. “Sincerely, Steve,” you comfort him, “I’m glad you enjoyed the food. Would you like some more?”

“Yes, please,” he looks at you so appreciatively you give him a small kiss on the cheek as you grab his plate. He tries to grab his plate back but you put a hand on his chest, to keep him seated. “I can get my own food,” he argues. “You should sit and keep eating.”

“Hmm…” you ponder, enjoying the feel of his chest under your hand. “Okay. But promise me you’ll leave room for dessert.”

“I promise,” he smiles and you hand him his plate back. He comes back from the kitchen with his plate entirely covered with food. You raise an eyebrow and he looks right at you as he starts eating. Figuring he knows what he’s doing you settle in again and get back to the movie. 

When you’re done eating you set your plate on the coffee table and snuggle up against Steve, resting your head on his shoulder. He freezes for a moment but finds himself relaxing into you. When he finishes his plate he sets it aside and wraps his arm around you. Hugging his massive bicep you sidle closer to him until you’re almost sitting on his leg and rest your head on his chest. He gently moves you so that your legs are sitting on his lap and leans his head against yours.

Between the weight of his arm, his body heat and the steady rhythm of his heart you find yourself falling asleep. You try to fight it but then you hear Steve’s gentle snores. Carefully, so as not to wake him, you glance up and smile at his handsome face, more relaxed than you’ve ever seen. You decide to go with it and let yourself fall asleep feeling safe and warm in his arms.

Part 3 -- Part 5

Series Masterlist

Tags:

@alicedopey; @aryhyuuga; @cynic-spirit; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @ktficworld; @rebekahdawkins; @texmexdarling

If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know.

[cinnamongorll]

Wildflower - chapter 2

read on ao3 🤍 previous chapter 🤍 masterlist 🤍

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC Synopsis: Joel Miller is an infuriating constant in Alex’s life. As her dad’s best friend and smuggling partner, she can’t seem to avoid him no matter how hard she tries.  When a weapons trade off goes wrong and Alex becomes the next target in a dangerous revenge vendetta, Joel is forced to uphold the promise he made to his friend to protect his daughter from the dangers of the post-apocalyptic world. But when Alex and Joel reluctantly grow closer, and she starts to peel back the layers of animosity between them, Alex realises that nothing is what it seems and that trusting Joel might be more dangerous than anything outside the QZ walls. Series tags: dbf!Joel, age gap (Joel is 49, FMC is 26), older man/younger woman, slow burn, enemies to lovers, mean Joel, protective Joel, dark Joel, sexual tension, smut, mutual pining, feral Joel, first person pov, angst, more tags to be added, ultraviolence Joel. Chapter warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence. Also, Joel is pretty mean in this one, sorry xx Word count: 6.5k

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Chapter 2:

“Yes.”

The word leaves my mouth and the firm grip on my face disappears before I can prepare myself for the loss of my anchor.  

Joel’s hands retreat to rest against his thighs, fingers curling into tight fists. His head is turned away from me, scanning the crowd, tracking the movement around us. Without his grip, my body deflates and I blink, trying to catch my breath. The air pulls and pushes against the inside of my chest, forcing my mouth to remain open in desperate gasps which neither fill my lungs nor bring me any sense of relief. 

Mourners, witnesses, and survivors just going about their day crash into us from all sides. The square is becoming smaller and smaller as more people file past the stage where the wooden structure stands, where the bodies swing, where my - 

“Joel,” I bite out, my stare burning into the side of his face. 

His head drops towards me. When his eyes catch mine he winces as though caught off guard by the grief that’s splattered over my face. 

“What?” he demands under his breath as his gaze detaches from mine almost immediately, back to scanning buildings and people. I’m abandoned, alone in my confusion.

Someone crashes into me and I stagger to the side, into another man who growls out a loud curse and pushes me away from him. I’m lost in a sea of bodies and screams, my heartbeat roars in my ears as another elbow digs into my side and a foot slams on top of my own. 

I grunt in pain as I twist and turn in the waves of people. I can’t see Joel and, with every push and shove, I’m dragged closer and closer to the gallows. My hands reach out, grabbing at clothing and arms and anything that will stop me from moving towards my dad’s swinging body.

I want to scream. I can feel it crawling up my throat again as another shoulder carves into my chest, but I remember what Joel said. The awareness of guns scanning the crowd seizes my throat and I feel myself choke out a gargled yell that I couldn’t quite keep contained. 

Who are these people? What happened to my dad? Where is Joel?

He told me to trust him, that he’d get us out of here. But he let go, and now I’m floating helplessly in unknown waters, in a battle with no knowledge of my opponents. 

I’m spun around with the flow of people and my eyes catch sight of my dad. 

It’s like someone has reached into my lungs and stolen all the air I’ve so desperately consumed, like I'm being suffocated from the inside. My heart moves at a hummingbird's pace, rippling and thrashing against my thin jumper. 

For a moment I think that time has stopped, but, no, it's worse than that: time keeps moving. People around me keep pushing, my legs keep stumbling. If time stood still, if everyone would just stop moving for a second, I was sure that I could figure this out, that I could wake up from this nightmare. 

I’d realise that this is all a mistake, a misunderstanding. I’d realise that, no, that isn’t my dad up there, it’s someone else, of course. This is someone else’s nightmare, not mine. Please, god, can everyone just STOP. 

Please.

STOP.

I don’t realise I’m saying the words, screaming them, even, until the hand I’ve come to  intimately recognise slides across my open mouth. 

His chest is pressed against my back, his mouth drops to my ear. 

“Don’t turn round, don’t make a sound. Just keep movin,’” Joel growls in my ear.

Something resembling relief pumps through my bloodstream and, by some miracle, my legs don’t falter at the malice in his tone and I fulfil his demand. My legs keep moving, fortified by Joel’s own stride that shadows my own. 

I can’t see anything past the sea of people that I’m swimming through. But Joel does, and he grunts directions in my ear as we weave through the square. “Left” “Right” “Stop” “Keep goin.’” His hand has dropped from my mouth to rest casually on my shoulder, like he does this all the time. 

I realise quickly that this is a performance. Joel is a puppet master, pulling at my strings, pushing me around in some dance I don’t know the moves to. I don’t even know who’s in the audience, who is watching us… who wants us dead. 

I feel Joel stiffen against me at every shove I face as I try to follow his commands, and I hear him unleash low warnings to those who get in our way: “watch it” “move.” 

I shiver at the cold authority in his voice, and those around us do as well. I can sense, though, that Joel is holding himself back, that he could easily clear those who cling to us. But I have enough awareness to understand that Joel is using the violence of the crowd to our advantage; embracing the anonymity of being another stumbling victim in an ocean of people travelling in numerous directions. 

When the sight of legs and shoes give away and I begin to get a clearer view of the ground, I feel Joel’s grip on my shoulders tighten and I’m swept into an alleyway.

His movements are too quick and his hold on me is too strong for any protests to leave my lips. My back hits the brick wall hard and a choked gasp unleashes from my throat as my eyes flash up to meet Joel’s face which is once again turned away from me.  

We’re in a small alleyway, it’s dark and muggy, and as my eyes dart around the space I see tipped bins, leaking unfamiliar fluids onto the cracked concrete, and piles of discarded clothing against the walls. I shiver despite everything, despite the two hands that are holding firm to my shoulders, pinning me against the wall. 

“Joel, what’s happening?” I whisper. 

His eyes drop to mine. Joel is breathing heavily, he’s standing so close I can feel his chest rise with every quick breath. It takes me a moment to notice the ire in his eyes, but when I do, I press my back harder against the wall behind me.

“Told you not to make a sound,” he grinds out. His gaze is unfocused, darting between me and the street to my left which continues to pump out people moving in different directions, some escaping the horror in the square and some desperate to steal a look. 

“And you told me you’d get us out of this, but all you’ve done is lose me in the crowd and get us trapped in an alley,” I retort, enjoying the sudden anger that pulses over my skin. It feels much better than fear. 

Joel stiffens and his hands flex against me, increasing their pressure on my shoulders. 

“Don’t be a fuckin’ smartass,” he seethes with his jaw clenched, pupils flaring. 

I know I should be frightened by Joel’s anger. I know what he’s capable of, I know that he could leave me here to get killed and I know that he wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. But for some reason, I feel a strange sense of immunity. 

In fifteen minutes, my entire world has gone up in flames. I’m standing in the ash pile, waiting for the next fire to catch. 

Joel’s anger isn’t a new threat, it’s an old one, familiar and predictable. The blaze that he ignites is one I like to run my fingers over, enjoying the heat of the burn. 

I tilt my chin up, meeting his narrowed eyes. “Tell me what’s happening, now.” 

He scoffs as his head swings towards the street, then after he’s satisfied that the crowd is still thick, his eyes find mine again. The anger is rippling off him in waves, along with something else that I don’t think I’ve ever seen in Joel: fear.

“You agreed to trust me.”

I shift to stand straighter. His grip eases to let me. 

“Trust only works if it goes both ways.” 

I watch Joel’s jaw move as he digests my words. Then, his eyes fly upwards, a long breath releases from his mouth and he purses his lips. 

My own breath huffs out of me when I realise I’ve won. 

“We took some weapons from the wrong people,” he reveals in a low, grumbling voice as though every word is a struggle. 

“You mean you stole them?” I challenge. Goosebumps trail over my skin as my brain fills in the blanks, jumping to conclusions.

Joel’s chin drops in a sharp nod. 

“Fuck,” I sigh as my eyes follow the movement in the street before returning to his black stare in the dim light of the alley. 

“So what? The people you stole from are the ones who - who,” my throat catches and I swallow roughly, unable to verbalise the reality that I’m confronted with.

Joel’s silence is answer enough. 

I feel tears prick at the corner of my eyes but I’m quick to blink them away. Anger still bleeds out of me and I’m not ready to stem the flow yet, it’s the only thing holding me from  breaking down. 

“Who’s idea was it?” I demand, pushing forward, forcing Joel’s grip on my shoulders to loosen. “To steal the weapons?” 

Joel straightens, standing taller. I can practically feel the rage rising in him. Too bad - I’m angrier. 

I plant my palms on his hard chest and push. “Are you the reason he’s dead?” I attempt to sneer but my voice comes out choked and raw. I watch as Joel takes a step backwards, his eyes somehow darkening further. 

My breaths grow heavy as I wait for him to retaliate; to deny my accusation or push back even harder, to pin me to the wall or even turn and walk away. But he doesn’t, Joel just stares down at me, his eyes roaming over my face as a muscle jumps in his cheek. 

I’m disappointed, I realise after a few seconds. I wanted the push back, I wanted the fight. So, I try again. 

“This is your fault, isn’t it? They’re here because of you,” I taunt, stepping into the space he vacated until my chest almost grazes his. My head is tilted up, my eyebrows are raised. 

Joel says nothing but I watch with satisfaction as his breaths grow sharp and fast and my snide smile lengthens. 

“You got my dad killed, and I’m gonna be next because of you,” I fume, lifting my hands to his chest again to unleash another inch of my anger. 

But my fingers don’t even graze the dark material of Joel’s shirt before his hands wrap around my wrists as he forcefully twists my body around until my arms are pinned behind my back, secured with one hand while the other wraps around my throat, pulling me against him. 

I struggle, shaking my shoulders, attempting to kick his legs, but with every retaliation I feel the grip on my throat increase.

My anger gives way to fear again and, as the red cloud clears, I realise that I’ve been walking along the tightrope of Joel’s fragile patience, and with those last words thrown his way, it snapped, leaving me dangling at the mercy of his sick punishment. 

Joel is sneering in my ear, I can practically feel the snarl on his lips as he grunts and pants while securing my complete submission. 

“Keep talkin’,” he taunts with a growl along the shell of my ear. I’m gasping now, my mouth is open wide but only a minimal amount of air is allowed to enter. 

I feel Joel’s laugh rumble against my back as his grip suddenly eases and my chin drops against his arm as I gulp down the precious air that he refused me.  

“I made a promise to your dad to keep you safe,” he hisses as I land another kick to his shin. I bite my lip when he pulls me closer and my eyes squeeze shut when his hand hovers over my neck like a warning. “But if I hadn’t,” Joel pauses and grunts out a harsh, humourless laugh. “I would’a left you out in the open for a bullet to find you.” 

My body goes limp in his hold. I’m still gasping, greedily swallowing air in case his hand once again finds itself wrapped around my throat. 

“I don’t want your help,” I manage to croak. 

“Too fuckin’ bad,” Joel drawls as he finally realeases me, and I stumble forward, my hands reaching up to cradle my neck before I spin around to face him. 

“Choking me isn’t a good way to get me to trust you,” I cough out, pinning him with my stare.

Joel considers me for a moment, his eyes skimming down my face until they drop to my trembling hands. He looks away quickly and I watch him blink a few times before he wipes a hand over his forehead and turns back towards me. Some of the malice has disappeared from his face. He looks tired, defeated, almost.  

“You already agreed, sweetheart,” Joel replies, but his voice has lost all its fight. “Only way we’re gettin out of this is if you follow my lead.” 

He’s right, I know he is, but my agreement gets caught in my tender throat. 

When I don’t answer, Joel steps forward.

I flinch.

He stops, immediately, and something resembling remorse ripples in his eyes. 

“Got it?” he demands slowly, carefully. 

I look out into the street. The crowd is starting to thin, if we don’t move now, we’re going to lose the cover it gives us. 

“Got it,” I reply. But my response doesn’t sound like a willingness to survive this situation he’s got us in, it sounds more like a sign that I've lost. 

………………………….

We walk side by side through the streets, Joel’s hand is wrapped loosely around my wrist. 

I keep my gaze forward, focusing on putting one foot in front of another. As we move, Joel murmurs quiet commands, altering me when he wants to turn a corner, letting me know that there’s no sign of the snipers, telling me to walk quicker. 

Soon, through the fear and horror that drenches my vision, I recognise where we’re headed. 

“Don’t tell me we’re going back to my apartment,” I whisper sharply. 

Joel doesn’t respond but his footsteps are harsher across the pavement. 

“Joel,” I hiss as I continue to stare straight ahead. “If people are looking for us, our apartments are the first place they’re gonna look.” 

His face whips towards mine and I know I’ve snapped his patience again. 

“We need a place to lay low, to figure this out,” he explains with a biting tone. “And unless you’ve been breakin the rules, no one knows where either of us live.”

My stomach drops but I don’t let my steps falter.

“Fine, okay.”  

My dad had strict rules to keep our heads down, not to make friends, to make sure that we were never noticed. By all accounts, we lived like ghosts in the QZ. 

Joel’s right, no one should know where either of us live. 

In theory. 

His name sits on the tip of my tongue, ready to tell Joel about the one person I gave my address to. But I can still feel the strength of his hand wrapped tight around my throat, warning me that my next misstep might hurt even more. So I keep quiet. 

I broke his rule, just once. Theo would come when Joel and my dad had left, knocking on my door, stripping off my clothes, dipping my body onto my mattress, grunting my name. 

It was casual, fun, inconsequential… right? 

I feel Joel tug on my wrist and I quicken my steps, head down as he leads me home. 

…………………….

My legs give out as I step into my apartment. 

I slide down the wall beside the door as the weight of my new reality is forced down on my shoulders. 

He’s dead. 

He’s not coming home. 

My ears are ringing, my heartbeat is screeching in my ears, drowning out the sound of Joel’s footsteps as he locks the door, steps around me and strides to the window, pulling down the makeshift blinds. 

The apartment is plunged into darkness until he finds the lamp and turns it on. 

Immediately, I’m coated in flickering yellow light and I have to cover my mouth to keep the sob from erupting. Or maybe a scream, I don’t know. 

Joel is talking to me. I can’t hear him but I can see his mouth moving and his eyebrows furrowing when he notices I’m not responding. 

He throws his hands in the air and turns, walking until he reaches the rug in my dad’s room. I squint my eyes when he rolls up the edge and opens the compartment under the floorboards that I hadn’t realised he knew about. 

When he turns back around, there’s a gun in each hand. 

Are they some of the stolen guns?

My hand drops from my mouth as he walks closer, and my chin tilts up to meet the look he’s pinning me with. His eyes survey my face, probably condemning me for the tears that wet my cheeks and the red splotches that stain my skin. 

I expect him to shout at me, to tell me to get up, to stop crying, to stop being weak. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, Joel reaches out, gun dangling from his grip. 

I blink up at him, lines forming on my forehead as my grief stricken mind attempts to understand what kind of game he’s playing.

“Take it,” he commands when I make no move to accept. 

I shake my head quickly and drop my limp hands to the floor. 

“I don’t know how to use it,” I confess, exhaustion clipping my voice. My pride is overshadowed by my grief and fear as I reveal my weakness to the man who had held my life between his hands less than an hour ago. 

His eyebrows shoot to the roof. “You’re jokin.”

Despite my numbness, a fierce pulse of mortification still shoots through my body. 

“Do I look like I’m fucking joking,” I fume as I push myself off the floor and straighten my spine.

The gun hangs between us. 

I’m reminded of the night before, when it was me who handed the gun to my dad. If I take the weapon from Joel, will I meet the same fate? 

I wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand, then cross my arms over my chest before my gaze finally lands on Joel’s face. He’s watching me with that reluctant curiosity again and I squeeze my arms tighter to shake the chill of his attention. 

Eventually, he shakes his head and pockets one of the guns. When only one remains in his hand, Joel nods at me.

“Watch.” 

His command has my eyes flashing to his hand, gripped tight around the gun. Joel’s veins are like ropes rippling under his skin as he waits for my full attention. 

“Point down, check it’s loaded, safety off, point, shoot.” 

His instructions are short and blunt but I find myself mesmerised by the movements he makes. Joel’s fingers look like they were moulded to wrap around the handle of a gun. They ache power and scream pain. 

I notice the blood on them, too. Blackness curled around his nail beds and a red tinge staining his knuckles. 

I force my eyes back up to his, and I swallow when I find him already surveying my expression. He looks like he’s taking note. 

“Understand?” he asks roughly after a moment. 

I nod, and accept the weapon into my hand when he tries again. It’s heavy, like the weight of what it means is dragging me down. 

“Why are you giving me this?” 

Joel sighs and rubs his neck, his muscles straining under his shirt. 

“To protect yourself while I’m gone,” he says calmly, still watching me with close attention. 

“What? Gone? Where are you going?” questions spill from my mouth and Joel’s eyes hit the ceiling again before he turns and marches towards the radio by the window. 

I’m on his heels, matching his steps, begging for answers. Panic has attacked my chest, firing lightening bolts of fear throughout my body. 

When he doesn’t turn around, without thinking, I reach out a hand, meaning to land on his broad shoulder and force him to meet my questioning glare. But he catches it before I touch him. Once again, Joel’s hand is wrapped around my wrist and he holds my arm in suspension between us, reminding me of the power he holds in his body. 

“Stop askin’ so many questions,” he grunts before dropping my arm.

I choke out a laugh. It’s so absurd, his absolute refusal to let me in on his plans. 

“Are you being serious? You’ve told me next to nothing about what is going on and now you’re leaving? I have a right to know where you’re going,” I argue, my words are frenzied and breathless. 

Joel dismisses my desperation with a cruel shake of his head, like I’m a child who’s reached their curiosity limit.

His hands curl into tight fists and I involuntarily take a step back until the back of my legs meet the cushions of our worn couch. 

Joel tracks the movement with a sharp inhale. 

“I’m gettin’ us a way out of here, that’s all you need to know,” he answers before turning and stalking towards the apartment door. 

“Out of the QZ?” I blurt out, my voice loud and pleading as I follow his brutal path. 

“You wanna stay here and get killed? Be my fuckin’ guest,” he calls over his shoulder. His threat is meaningless after confessing the vow he made, but a part of me wonders how far his loyalty to my dad goes. 

I swallow down the scream of frustration that threatens to erupt from me, and I dig my nails into my palms, imagining that they’re wrapped around his throat instead. 

“I’m coming with you,” I declare, straightening my spine, trying to appear taller, more capable. 

Joel freezes at my words, his hand paused on its journey to the first lock on the door. I can feel the weight of the sigh he releases before he turns on me, striding forward until he’s towering over me, consuming the space around us with his dominating presence. 

I can practically see the seconds that we’re wasting ticking behind his eyes. Every moment is on the clock now, counting down to those snipers finding us. 

“You’re stayin’ here, end of story,” Joel proclaims with a tilt of his head that has goosebumps rising again on my skin. 

I picture Joel walking out the door, leaving me here alone, unable to shoot, unable to fight, just waiting for him to return. Left to face the cold fury of my grief in this dark apartment that’s coated in memories of the man who now swings from a thick rope.

I consider begging, getting on my knees with my hands clasped and staring up at Joel while I plead with him not to leave me here, to let me come with him. 

I hate this. I hate depending on Joel Miller of all people. My dad’s psychopathic friend. 

But he’s all I have. 

“Don’t leave me,” I plead, scanning his face, searching for any sign of a living breathing person behind the wall of stoicism that he’s built. 

I watch as his eyes narrow and he grits his teeth. 

“Grow up,” Joel scolds, and with one last withering look, he returns to the lock.

His words are like a blow to my stomach and I cough out a choked breath. Heat rises in my cheeks as mortification and anger ripple under my skin. 

I stagger backwards as he pulls the door open. My questions lay unspoken, having died by Joel’s sword of cruelty. 

He turns before leaving but he doesn’t meet my eyes. I wonder if he fears what he’d find in them.

Then, Joel says the same words he uttered last night, before everything went to hell. 

“Don’t do anythin’ stupid.” 

……………………….

The gun is on the table, resting just a few inches away from my fingers which drum on the hardwood surface. 

He left me, he fucking left me. 

I’m seething, every bone in my body is groaning under the weight of my rage. My fingers tap to the rhythm of the thoughts that shoot through my mind. Questions, visions, worries, and regrets meld together into a ball of nausea that surges in my gut. 

I don’t know how long Joel has been gone. Minutes or hours, I can’t tell. The blinds are still drawn and the only light that illuminates the space is the broken lamp that mocks me with its flickering light. 

I imagine myself lifting the gun from the table and following after Joel, surprising him with my capability, shocking him into telling me the truth. 

My eyes squeeze shut until I see nothing but darkness, erasing the vision entirely. 

I wouldn’t even know where to start. I can barely touch the gun without flinching and I don’t have a single clue where my dad’s connections live. He didn’t want this life for me, and I’ve always been content in trusting him with my safety. 

My fingers stop drumming and lift to push into my eyes, turning the darkness into a bright searing orange behind my lids. 

Now my past indifference in learning how to protect myself has caught up to me, and I have to trust Joel fucking Miller with my life. 

What a sick joke. 

I drop my hands to the table with a loud thud, enjoying the slight burn that flashes up my arms when they connect with the hard surface. 

With my palms flat, I push myself out of the chair and stand, inhaling long deep breaths as I turn in a slow circle, taking in every inch of the home that’s closing in on me. 

I wince when my eyes find that broken bulb, bathing me in its fractured glow.

Without thinking, I’m moving towards it, gripping the cold metal stem with my hand and slamming down towards the floor. The light ceases immediately. Glass splatters around my feet, latching onto the laces on my boots and implanting in the rubber sole. 

Sharp breaths claw out of my lungs as I stand over the carnage. My relief is mixed with sorrow as I drop to the floor, my legs shaking as they make their descent. 

The glass bites into my jeans but I can’t see their fractured points. The apartment has collapsed into shallow darkness, faintly illuminated by the threads of daylight that leak out the corners of the blinds Joel pulled down. 

My face is wet again, I can feel the tears drip off my skin, landing somewhere I can’t see. 

My breaths are ragged like the fragmented edges of the glass rubble I rest on. I don’t know how to see past this darkness, I don’t know what my life is going to look like when Joel returns. I’ve been dragged into a mess I don’t even know how to begin to clean up. 

All I know is that Joel and my dad’s smuggling enterprise might have been more dangerous than I thought. 

I lean forward, lifting my arms to cradle around my bent knees as my hair falls around my face like a black veil. 

Joel is capable, I remind myself. If anyone can get us out of this, it’s probably him. He’s a dick but he knows what he’s doing. 

My teeth capture my bottom lip as I consider the frightening reality that despite every bit of survival instinct he has going for him, Joel still managed to get himself targeted by a group strong enough to infiltrate a QZ. 

So Joel can make mistakes, afterall. 

I inhale a shaky breath, but the exhale doesn’t come. 

A loud bang rattles the apartment door. My head swings towards it, hair flying around my face. 

I don’t move, I don’t breathe.

Another bang, a fist hitting off the wood with enough force to shake the doorframe. 

This isn’t Joel. He wouldn’t make that much noise. His knocks are quiet, contained, covert. 

My heart starts to pound. 

This isn’t Joel. 

Panic slams into me. I have to move, I have to hide, I have to do something. 

My hands land on the glass speckled floor and the fractures bite into my skin as I push myself up, moving my legs as slowly as possible. 

I’m standing when I hear the voice. 

“Alex!” it calls. “Are you in there? Open up!” 

Shit. 

I race to the door, my feet crunching over the lamp’s debris. I don’t even look through the peephole, I know exactly who is behind the door. And if he doesn’t shut up he’s going to get us killed.

My fingers are rapid as they release the locks and pry the door open. 

Theo stands on the other side, his chest moving quickly like he’s been running. I don’t give him a chance to catch his breath. I grip his arm and pull him into the apartment, shutting the door quietly. 

“Did anyone follow you?” I demand, sliding my eyes across his face before I turn to deadbolt the door. 

“Follow me? Alex what’s going on?” he asks softly, his eyebrows pinched and mouth gaping. “I saw your dad -” 

My back meets the door. I raise a hand, stopping him. I beg him with my desperate stare to not say the words. My mind is so fragile right now, one more reminder of my dad will shatter it entirely. 

“Did anyone follow you? Please, just answer the question,” I plead, making a considerable effort to calm my voice.

“No, of course not. Why? Is someone looking for you?” Theo asks, stepping closer. 

I drop my head into my hands with a heavy breath. “I don’t know,” I mumble into my palms. 

Strong arms wrap around my middle and pull me into his warm chest. I drop my hands to curl around Theo’s back, fingers gripping the soft material of his t-shirt. 

“What’s going on? You can tell me,” he whispers into my hair. 

“I can’t,” I murmur into his chest.

I can feel Theo try to pull back, to meet my eyes in the dim lighting, to uncover what’s happening, but I’m not ready to let go yet. I just hold him tighter, basking in the comfort of his touch. I allow myself to disarm for a moment, to let the weight of the last few hours fall onto me. 

My breaths come easier, I can feel my mind begin to settle. My thoughts are clearer. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say when I drop my arms back to my side and peel my cheek from the safety of his chest. 

Theo brushes a hand across my hair, tucking a few strands behind my ear. “Alex, please. Are you okay?” 

“He’s dead,” I croak out, blinking up at him. Theo is only half visible in the light and I appreciate that I can’t see the pity I’m sure is shining in his eyes, just as I also appreciate the fact that he can’t make out the full extent of the devastation and fear on my own face.

“I know - I came as soon as I saw. I’d heard they had caught a bunch of smugglers last night but I had no idea your dad…” Theo trails off, leaving the rest of his words to remain unspoken, like my dad’s occupation always was. 

“Come on,” he breathes as he takes my hand and leads me through the darkness to the couch. 

I sink into the cushion as Theo wraps an arm around my shoulders. He’s always been good at calming me down. 

In the back of my mind, a voice yells at me, telling me that he can’t be here. What if someone followed him to this building? What if Joel comes back and finds him - 

An image of Joel pointing a gun at Theo’s head flashes across my vision. 

I stand quickly. Theo’s arm falls to the back of the couch. 

“Alex?” he asks, sitting forward.

I shake my head and send a small smile in his direction. “I’ll just be a second.” 

My legs tremble as I walk towards the kitchen. I run my hands through my hair, tugging at my scalp, begging myself to think of some excuse, some explanation for why I need Theo to leave, to protect himself, to stay away from me, to not get caught up in this mess. 

I’m standing at the table, my fingers pressing into the wood. The gun sits inches away, predicting a future I want nothing to do with. 

“Alex -” 

Theo’s voice is cut off by the sound of locks exploding. 

I swipe my hand across the table, grabbing the gun as I drop to the floor. My hand covers my ears as my mouth opens in a silent scream. 

The open door illuminates the apartment in a bright, exposing light. From under the table, I see a man I don’t recognise march towards Theo.

“What are you -” 

A trigger is pulled and I watch in a state of absolute horror as my friend’s head swings backwards with the force of the bullet that shoots through his skull. 

My hands pile over my mouth, feverishly holding in my scream. My gun is pressed against the side of my face. Every inch of me is shaking. I can’t move, I can’t feel anything but terror. 

The man turns and I know with a sharp pulse of dread that he’s spotted me. It locks my muscles and steals my breath. 

At least I didn’t have to live too long in my grief, I think. 

What are you doin’? MOVE

My eyes flash open at the imaginary sound of Joel’s voice rattling through my skull. 

“What do we have here?” the man taunts as he stalks closer. I wonder where he’ll shoot me? In the head like Theo? Or maybe the heart, let me bleed out slowly?

“Are you hiding?” the man laughs and his feet pause their movements. “Seriously?” 

I grit my teeth, confused at the man’s taunting. There’s something in his tone like he wants me to fight back, like he wants to punish me.

I think of my dad, and how hard he tried to keep me from this life. I blow out a trembling breath, he wouldn’t want me to die like this. 

From my position, I can’t see anything but the man’s feet planted on the other side of the table. The gun shakes in my sweaty palms as I try to remember Joel’s instructions. 

“Point down, check it’s loaded, safety off, point, shoot.” 

Blood roars in my ears as I follow the rhythm he showed me. The man continues his taunting, but I can only vaguely make out his snide remarks, trying to bait me out from under the table. 

Seconds later, the safety is off and I shoot before the man can react to the sound of the soft click. 

A strangled yell ricochets off the walls of the apartment and I tip backwards with the force of the gunshot. 

I hit his thigh, I think. 

I’m in shock but my brain still screams at me to move, to get out of here, to use this distraction to my advantage. 

My ears are ringing, and I can see a cloud of blackness enter the corner of my eyes that tells me that fainting is a real possibility, but I tighten my hold on the gun as I begin to crawl. 

I release a sharp, guttural scream when my head is lurched backwards as a hand wraps around my hair with a blaze of white hot pain across my scalp.

The gun drops to the floor as my hands fly up to grip my head, to try and block my attack. 

“You little bitch,” the man snarls in my ears as he pulls harder, dragging me upwards until I’m standing. I stumble and struggle in his grip but he doesn’t let up his vice like hold. 

“Guess you’re not so different from your dad then, are you?” he grunts out as I attempt to slam my back into his chest. 

My life is hanging by a very weathered thread and yet my eyes still prick with the mention of my dad. 

“If this is about the weapons,” I gasp out through gritted teeth as he increases his hold on my hair. “We can sort this out - we can pay you back.” 

The man’s answering laugh frightens me more than the sight of his gun. 

“You think this is about some stolen weapons?” he demands, his voice is blaring in my ears and I flinch, squeezing my eyes shut. 

For a short moment, myself and this man both pause in a display of our mutual confusion but the cold rim of the gun that finds my temple ends our short truce. 

I release a trembling breath. In fear or relief, I’m not sure. 

“Shit.” 

Something hot and sticky splatters against the back of my head and I drop to the floor, released from the man’s brutal hold. My eyes open when my body hits the ground. I can’t hear anything, my limbs aren’t responding to my commands to move, to get up, to run. 

Am I dead?

Hands land on my shoulders and I twist around, throwing my arms around and kicking with all the strength I didn’t know I had. My eyes are wide but they’re unseeing. I’m moving too quickly to focus on any single thing. 

Whoever is touching me is strong and once they land a firm grip on my shoulders, I’m pinned to the floor with only my legs to continue fighting for me. 

“Alex, stop.” 

My body goes limp, following the command without question. I blink rapidly, trying to clear the terror from my eyes.

“Joel.” I slur his name as his face appears above me. 

He’s furious. The line between his eyebrows looks like it's been carved out with a knife. 

“You hurt?” he demands, his voice sends shivers down my aching spine.

I shake my head and wince when the movement sends another wave of dizziness to wash over me. 

Joel seems unconvinced. He releases one of my shoulders to search my body for wounds. Flames erupt under my skin where his hand grazes me.

When he’s satisfied, Joel leans back until he’s on his knees, perched over me. 

The black cloud that darkened my vision has returned, curling around the edges like ink in water. My breaths can’t keep up with the pace of my heartbeat. 

Joel frowns as he looks down at me. 

“You left me,” I murmur.

Then the black cloud claims me as its victim.

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

@kaseyconnour @casa-boiardi

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

Hey!! Thanks for reading!! I'm going away again for a few days and then I'm starting my new job so I'm going to try and aim for a new chapter every 2 weeks - hope that's okay 🤍

[huhyuhbah]

just finished watching peaceful property ep 7 (forcebook ep)

amazing acting from fb. every single scene was able to hurt me in each and every way.

i've written a lil bout most of the phoomvicha scenes cause i just need to word vomit before i start crying again.

when peach was offering the food to vicha and peach had told older phoom that vicha was there causing phoom to say "I miss you" was the first heartbreak of the ep for me. the desperation in his voice.

when i watched the kiss, it definitely felt like it was meant to be a happy scene but knowing vicha dies, the moment was just bittersweet and i ended up crying more.

"I won't just disappear. I swear on my life." why do the writers want to hurt me so much. and book's acting of carving the tally into the tree was painful. so much conveyed through just his facial expression.

the following scene hurt me the most for sure. phoom having to push vicha away then being unable to perform the gesture for "happy". everytime he did the "sadness" gesture, he couldn't stop looking at vicha hoping he would look back and see him. since vicha never saw phoom, vicha was left heartbroken.

seeing vicha hurt himself at the tree really just nailed it home and i ended up crying even more. from this point i couldn't breathe properly because of how much i had been crying up until then.

the cut to phoom lying on the floor next to vicha and them having one last dance together was tough to watch. dancing together and vicha saying "You're back" was too much. also finding out that fb actually improvised the final two lines is making me crazy. if the scene had just ended after they danced, something would've felt like it was missing. "You're back" and "Sorry to keep you waiting" were just perfect to end their story. especially since phoom decided to buy the house while vicha's ghost continued to stay.

overall amazing ep. i would love to see fb act in another role that is more intense emotionally bc they were incredible as phoomvicha. i also understand why people were crying just from reading the script.

while phoom came back for vicha, they will never get to grow old together as vicha's life ended too soon, just like the vegetable hummingbirds phoom had plucked too early.

[mad-c1oud]

perhaps a “Don’t freak out, please” from the injury prompts list for karaoke duo :3 only if you want ofc

KARAOKEDUO LETS GOOOOO

yes yes yes YES Went a completely different route (This isn't really an injury but uh you'll see) for fun and man, wanted to turn this one into a full oneshot but alas- kept it short for the sake of practice but who knows, this one was fun.

Thank you for the ask anon!!!!!

+++++

“Don’t freak out, please.”

Charlie feels a little hysterical at how calm Baghera is right now with all— this. “Don’t freak out? I’m not freaking out I am so completely and utterly calm right now.”

“Good!” She cheers, “It isn’t a big deal, right? We’ll be okay.” Baghera says happily as she’s actively melting into the ground, limbs turning a translucent yellow as her bones start poking out of what was always solid skin. Charlie whimpers a little at the sight, unable to acknowledge the new appendages at his back or along the side of his face. He can’t even talk about the fact that his bones are firmly in place. What he would give to pull a rib or three out in stress right now.

“Is slime like come. Or the feeling of breast milk? What if it was?”

“Baghera.” Charlie doesn’t even know how to continue that or even begin to reply, “You’re a piss-yellow more than anything. Go that direction, at least.”

The pile of goop bubbles and gurgles happily and holy fuck this is weird, knowing she’s laughing, amused and silly silly silly, but not being about to understand anything else than surface-level emotions. Something bubbles up in his own throat and he has to swallow it, panicked. The pile of lemon jello ripples happily and Charlie desperately needs someone more adult than them here. Phil. Where is Philza Minecraft. He can fix this switch-a-roo they’re stuck in.

“Were you going to chirp? You swallowed like you were going to chirp, Charlie.”

“Stop watching me swallow, you’re weird.”

Baghera sounds too delighted when she talks back, “Not until you chirp. Oh! Maybe you can fly! You are not a duck, but you still have w-“

Charlie groans loudly, “Don’t say it. Don’t.”

The pile of Baghera stays quiet and Charlie worries she lost her voice box in the mess of bones and organs, but he’s not that lucky. The mound bubbles.

“Your wings look like they belong to a little bird, like a hummingbird or a green bee-eater-”

“Baghera Jones what did I just-”

It’s fine. This is all fine. The wings at his back flutter anxiously and the ones at his temple keep trying to block his face like they want to protect him. Charlie wants to throw himself off of cliff to see if he can fly or just to die in general, but he has no idea how avian hybrids work. There’s no time for tests when his best friend is becoming one with the ground, also.

“Okay, enough goofing, it’s bucket time, Jones.”

“Oh, I have never had bucket time, I’m so excited! How many will it take? Can we bring my bones, please?”

Despite the situation they’ve found themselves in, Charlie smiles hard enough for it to hurt. He’s happy Baghera is here with him.

“At least five buckets. And of course, we can bring your bones.”

Her happy chittering doesn’t stop the entire trip it takes to find another islander to help them. And if Charlie lets out a few accidental chirps and trills too, there’s only one other person around to hear, and he’ll never mind that it’s Baghera.

[grifff17]

Audiodrama Sunday 4/7/2024

Lots of stuff to listen to this week. I really need to stop starting these writeups at 11:30pm on Sunday evening.

Loved the new Dear Liisphyra this week. I thought that the sponsor for this episode was really funny. I laughed out loud and looked like to an insane person to some guy I was walking past when they said that every weapon box comes with 50 feet of hempen rope.

Season 2 finale of @backagainpodcast! Man I love the themes of this show. It's such a well written tragedy, the dramatic irony is so good. Also I desperately want to know more about the other Soldier. We know several very relevant details about him but very little else.

New @spoutlore-blog was fun. Billie is such a good character, Jessica plays the "immortal child" trope so well. This show really puts the coolest worldbuilding you've ever heard with the dumbest dick jokes in existence. I still haven't gotten over the spider and the hummingbird.

Speaking of Spout Lore, the new Rude Tales of Magic episode has Abdul Aziz as a guest. He was a great guest, his style of humor fits perfectly with the setting of Piss Harbor. Are all the characters he plays street rats with a heart of gold. Excited to see who they bring on as guests in the future. They had Zac Oyama a few episodes ago, I would be excited to see more Dimension 20 people.

The new @midstpodcast was super interesting! Every episode in this season they've introduced another way that the Trust is incredibly fucked up. Why can't we go back to the Mother's Merciful, they were so nice.

Somehow I fell behind on @storiesfromylelmore. I'm not sure how that happened, I think my podcatcher didn't update or something, because I've been listening to new episodes of this show immediately. The second most recent episode was great, with Rion going through werewolf puberty. The most recent episode had some really good character work, with character development for all 3 main characters. I love this show so much.

New episode of SCP: Find Us Alive. A new Dash Two being created is really interesting, we've only had Dumptruck and Hiway Robbery for so long it's weird for there to be a third one. Where did they even get a bird?

I reached the crossover with Forgive Me in @kingmakerpod. Forgive Me is such a grounded show, especially by audiodrama standards, which tend to be way out there, so it's so funny when they cross over with shows that have such a wildly different tone and premise. The character interactions were on point though.

@camlannpod the fairy world! This show continues to have really cool takes on myths. The idea that you can shed a Name simply by going by something else is interesting. Could some random person start going by Lancelot and gain magical powers? The reveal at the end was great too, both from a worldbuilding standpoint and a character perspective.

Man that really was a lot. Lots of stuff to look forward to next week as well!

[wylanslcve]

to the bone ━━━ a six of crows one-shot.

spoiler warning: this is not a safe space for fans who have only watched the show and do not want to have wylan's story spoiled for them in case we get the spin-off. this one-shot is based off a scene that is referenced in six of crows, and contains heavy spoilers for wylan's backstory which hasn't yet been explored in the showverse (I say "yet" because I'm holding onto hope that we'll get that spin-off asdfghjkl).

summary: ever since jan van eck had hired him for the mission at the ice court, kaz intended to use wylan as leverage against his father. but wylan had known from the start, from the moment that kaz had told him that he'd be excellent at hostage, that that wouldn't be effective. not when he'd been nothing but a disappointment to his father. not when van eck was hellbent on forgetting that he ever had a son. wylan couldn't keep it hidden anymore. kaz needed to know the truth. (or: the scene where wylan tells kaz about his disability.)

author's note: this work is a submission for grishaverse disability pride day by @gvdisabledpride that will also be available on ao3, so if you also see this work there... that's why :)

content warning: descriptions of ableism, mentions of past child abuse, ptsd

ABOARD THE FEROLIND after the battle at the Djerholm harbour, Wylan lay curled up in his cot below deck, waiting for the moment the sway of the ship would lull him to sleep.

Except he knew it probably wouldn't. He'd been lying in his cot for what felt like hours, tossing and turning, desperately trying to silence his racing thoughts and just fall asleep. He tried to focus on the sound of the sea muffled by the hull of the Ferolind, on the sway of the ship as it journeyed closer and closer to Ketterdam — but the freezing cold wasn't doing him any favours, and neither was that anxious gnawing in his gut.

The mission had been, considerably, a success: they'd escaped the Ice Court in one piece, with Kuwei Yul-Bo stashed away in one of the other cabins and the promise of thirty million kruge awaiting them back in Ketterdam. Wylan would get his share and leave this life behind. He'd journey somewhere far away, never having to speak the name Van Eck again.

Van Eck…

Wylan swallowed the bile rising up inside him. Kaz had intended to use him as leverage against his father, lest the plan go awry and Van Eck was suddenly uncooperative. “Wylan isn’t just good with the flint and fuss,” he'd announced that first day on the Ferolind, right before he'd revealed Wylan's true identity to the rest of the crew. “He's our insurance.” 

Wylan shut his eyes, curled up tighter in his cot. His heart was starting to beat a little faster, a hummingbird trapped inside a cage, and he forced his breath slowly through his chest — a deep breath through his nose, shattering the silence that had thickened around him. Kaz had kept him close to use him as leverage against Van Eck, but one thing the older boy wasn't aware of was that Wylan couldn't be their insurance. Not when his father wanted him to disappear. Not when he was attempting to forget he ever had a son. Not when his new wife, Alys, was bearing the heir of the Van Eck empire — a proper hier, not the defective one he’d received in Wylan. Not the one who’d turn the Van Eck name into a laughingstock.

I have to tell Kaz.

Instinctively, his fingers reached up to touch his neck. He could still feel Prior's meaty hands clasped tightly around it, his grip firm and relentless as Wylan grew dizzy and black spots slowly filled his vision. He sat up, hoping the feeling would subside if he got up and let more air fill his lungs — and yet, the feeling of his throat constricting persisted, and a suffocating, uncontrollable panic welled up in him.

He hugged his knees to his chest and slowly rocked himself back and forth with his head buried in his arms, horrified by how his breath was coming out in short, shallow whimpers as the memories came flooding back, by how the tears prickled the corners of his eyes as his father's voice echoed in his ears.

A child half your age can effortlessly do what you cannot.

I've tried everything I possibly could. I've tried tutors, specialists, I've tried forcing that stubbornness out of you and yet you refuse to be taught.

You can't be sent anywhere because your defect might be revealed.

“Get out of my head,” Wylan whimpered, grabbing fistfuls of his hair as he continued to rock himself back and forth. “Get out of my head.”

Once you reveal yourself to be defective, they'll turn your back on you. They'll leave you as you were: the wayward son of one of the richest men in Ketterdam.

“Get… Get out of my head.”

But the voice was persistent, unwelcome. You worthless fool. You soft-pated idiot.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, blinking back the tears that formed a painful lump in his throat. He swallowed, trying to force it down to no avail, and a fresh flare of panic swelled within him. Someone could walk into his cabin at any moment and see him in this state: rocking back and forth with his head in his hands, chest shuddering over and over as he gasped for air, begging the voice in his head to lapse into silence. And yet, there was nothing he could do about it. He felt detached from his own body, as though he were watching himself from the perspective of an outsider, helpless against the wave of shame overcoming him.

He stayed like that until the jittery feeling coursing through him had subsided enough for him to think rationally again. Above that irrefutable voice in the back of his mind, he once again thought about revealing his greatest shame to Kaz. What would happen if he just stayed there on his cot, if he never told Kaz that he couldn't be used as leverage against his father? And what would happen if Van Eck double-crossed them, and there wasn't any good enough insurance to ensure that the six of them would get their money? Their efforts would have been futile, and none of them would get what they'd initially sought — and it might as well be his fault.

His body starting to tremble, Wylan forced himself to stand up from his cot. Just do one thing at a time. Just like his tutor had taught him in order to stop him from getting overwhelmed by the page. Stand up. He slid off the edge of the cot, straightened as his feet touched the ground. Take a deep breath. He closed his eyes, took another deep breath through his nose. Open your eyes. He opened his eyes and forced himself to walk. Go find Kaz. He assumed Kaz would be in his own cabin, scheming away, concocting backup plans for their backup plans in case anything went wrong.

He quietly left his cabin, making his way down the Ferolind's lower deck to find Kaz. He found the older boy sitting on the cot in his own cabin, staring intently at the floor with one hand gripping the crow head of his cane.

“Kaz?” Wylan swallowed frantically, his skin burning hot as he fought the words to come through. “I… I won't be leverage enough against my father. I know I'm supposed to be your… insurance, but I can't be. It won't be enough.”

Kaz sat up straighter, his free hand curling over the head of his cane as he looked up at Wylan. “And why is that?”

Something about Kaz's cold glare, his rock-salt rasp as he asked the question, sent a chill rippling over every inch of Wylan's skin. He wanted to scream. He wanted to bolt back to his cabin, hide beneath the paper-thin covers until he vanished completely. He wanted the floor to open up beneath him, to be dragged by the rolling waves into the depths of the sea. He wanted to disappear, just like his father wanted him to.

I have to tell him.

“I…” The roar of blood in his ears was deafening, drowning out the murmur of the waves outside the Ferolind's hull. That shameful helplessness was taut in his belly, a knot incapable of coming unravelled.

You just have to say it. You just have to say you can't read.

His father's taunts reverberated in his mind. Defective. Imbecile. Worthless. Broken. Disgraceful. Idiot. Useless. He was choking on them. They pressed against his throat like Prior's iron grip closing around it all those months ago, dirty fingernails digging into the skin of his neck. His cheeks burnt with shame despite the cold sweat that had broken out over every part of his body. His heart was a war drum beneath his ribs, his chest too tight, his breath too short and shallow. Take a deep breath. He couldn't. His clothes felt tight around his body — too tight, as though they stuck to him.

“I… I have an affliction.” Uttering those words aloud was enough to send a violent roil through Wylan's stomach, and he had to stop himself from throwing up. This was it. There was no taking back those words: he was halfway there.

Kaz merely sat there, looking rather impatient with his gloved hands folded over the crow's head of his cane. Wylan couldn't imagine what he looked like in this moment: red-faced, a trembling hand near his lips as if he were about to bite his nails, his eyes not meeting Kaz's.

It felt like the walls of the cabin were closing in on him, Prior's hands tightening around his throat as the latter half of his confession choked him. The waters he'd leapt into all those months ago were rising around him, filling his lungs and numbing his limbs with its icy grasp. He tried to fight against it, but the water was weighing him down, his limbs useless against the tide as he drowned in the murky waters of the Ketterdam harbour.

He drew another deep, shuddering breath.

Spit it out.

“I… I can't read,” he finally gasped, and the water receded.

There. He'd said it. He'd revealed his shame to Kaz, his voice barely above a whisper lest the sea around them carry his shame across its rolling waves and let the whole world know about Jan Van Eck's defective child.

Kaz's piercing glare was still on him, as if expecting him to say more. His expression remained as cold and calculating as ever — had he known about this too, just as he'd known about Wylan's true identity? Did Wylan have any tells that gave away his shame — his face growing pale at the sight of the tangled scrawl of words across a page, staring at it for too long hoping that he'd recognise the shapes of the words? Or had Kaz been surprised? Had this been the one thing he hadn't seen coming? His gaze was piercing and unreadable, but Wylan sucked in another breath and continued, trying to keep his voice steady.

“It's not that no one tried to teach me, lots of people did. But I just can't do it. It's like something in me refuses to do it.” That was what his father used to drill into him throughout his childhood, and the memory filled him with a sickening dread.

“I'm…” Wylan moistened his lips thoughtfully, trying to phrase his next words carefully without having the entire shameful story out in the open. The story of his father sending him away, supposedly to study music in Belendt. Of his Miggson and Prior trying to kill him, of him leaping into the murky canal with nothing but his satchel, fake enrolment papers and a soaked-through stash of kruge. “To him, I'm not worth losing. You can't use me as leverage if I'm not good enough insurance. There has to be another way around this, because this won't work. I know it won't.”

Kaz averted his gaze thoughtfully, then shrugged before standing up, leaning on his cane. That was his only response — a shrug. Had Wylan not been so afraid, so shaken by that shameful helplessness, he would have burst out laughing: he'd just revealed his defect to Kaz Brekker — the Bastard of the Barrel, the boy they called Dirtyhands in the grimy streets of the Barrel — and he'd merely shrugged. Shouldn't he be concerned with what to do with Wylan, now that he'd found out that his demolitions expert was just a useless fool evicted from his father's home?

“We'll have to work around that, then,” Kaz responded in that low, raspy voice. His eyes met Wylan's, boring into him as though searching for some semblance of worth within him, something that would compensate for his other failings. A pinprick of discomfort shot up Wylan's spine at the prolonged eye contact, but Kaz's eyes left his as he scanned Wylan from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes and back up again.

Wylan just stood there, completely stunned. He'd expected Kaz to sneer at him, or laugh at his affliction and refuse to give him his share of their reward once they'd reached Ketterdam. He'd expected the knot in his stomach to tighten, the shame growing, but he felt it loosen ever so slightly with the odd sense of relief and liberation that came with revealing his condition to Kaz.

“And how do you suppose we do that?” Wylan asked, his voice a low croak. “What other leverage could we possibly use?” 

Kaz looked towards the door of his cabin, then back at Wylan. Kaz Brekker saw the world as though it were a puzzle, and he studied Wylan like he was a piece of that puzzle that didn't fit where he'd thought it would — but now, it seemed, he'd found another place he could slot that piece into without having to tear the entire project apart. “Lest Van Eck double-crosses us, we'll have to stop him from getting what he wants.”

Wylan's brow furrowed. “And how, exactly, would we do that?”

“Nina's a passable Tailor at best — but, under the influence of parem, she could achieve something that shouldn't be possible. Not even in the hands of the most gifted Tailor.” Wylan swallowed thickly as Kaz continued. “We'll have her tailor you to look like Kuwei, and hand you off to your father.”

Wylan's heart stuttered at that. He was no stranger to Kaz's elaborate and unbelievable schemes — after all, they'd stolen a tank from a high-security prison — but this was different. This was absurd. Wylan agreeing to be tailored to look like Kuwei was a death wish: the Shu boy was valuable, certainly with large bounties on his head. He held the secret to the world's greatest threat, one that could wreak havoc if it fell into the wrong hands. Wylan could have refused — he should have refused, if he wanted to make it back to Ketterdam alive. Instead, he cleared his throat and responded with an assertive, “I'll do it.”

For a split second, a surprised look flashed in Kaz's eyes, but disappeared as quickly as it came. He expected me to refuse, Wylan thought as his cheeks heated with embarrassment once again.

“It may be permanent,” Kaz warned him.

Wylan shook his head. “I need to know. Once and for all, I need to know what my father really thinks of me.”

Kaz cast him an almost pitying look. “Surely Van Eck would have some qualms about ending your life—”

“He wouldn't,” Wylan asserted, picking at the skin of his lip, that ill feeling returning as the reality dawned on him. Van Eck had tried to kill him once, what would stop him from trying again? “I'll bet you that.”

“How much?”

“Ten kruge.”

Kaz's lip curled in a grin. “Surely your father wouldn't be so callous.”

Wylan shrugged. “You'd be surprised.”

“Nothing surprises me, merchling. That's why I'm still alive.” Kaz walked past Wylan and made his way to the cabin's entrance. “I'm going to fill Nina in on the plan. Go to her cabin within the hour.”

Wylan nodded as Kaz left the cabin, leaving Wylan alone with nothing but his own racing thoughts. When he'd finally gotten himself to move, he walked back to his own cabin and propped himself down on his cot, his body still trembling with the aftermath of confessing his greatest shame to Kaz. His fingers itched the way they always did whenever he yearned to play his flute or the piano in the music room of his father's house. Ghezen and his works, he wanted nothing more than to snatch his satchel up from the foot of his cot and grab his flute. He wanted to close his eyes and bring the instrument to his lips, letting the world disappear around him as the notes wrapped him in his own story — one free of the shame and fear he'd carried for so long, one that made his heart flutter with joy as the music flooded a soothing warmth through him. But he couldn't bring himself to even glance in the direction of his satchel.

He thought back to Kaz's unchanged expression at his admission, the light, dismissive shrug of his shoulders. The shame still gnawed at Wylan, but there was also the strange relief of getting something off his chest despite it, as though telling Kaz had freed something in him — something that had been encased in the chains of his father's contempt for as long as he could remember.

It's not too late to decline, pressed that voice in the back of his mind.

He shook his head assertively — if this is what had to be done to ensure the crew got their money, then so be it. And yet… he was terrified and horribly anxious.

He looked down at his hands, his eyes tracing over the creases of his slender fingers, the little scars with no clear origin along his skin, the crescent outlines on his palms from digging his nails into them. Within the hour, they weren't going to be his hands anymore — they'd be Kuwei's. Slowly, he buried his face in his hands, sighing deeply as his fingers raked through the tufts of hair that brushed his forehead. The face in his hands wouldn't be his anymore, and neither would the hair between his fingers. With Nina's power, he'd soon become the most valuable person in the world. He was terrified, but that wouldn't stop him from doing what he needed to. From ensuring that he and the rest of this crew got their money.

From finally learning what his father truly thought of him.

Van Eck had made it clear as Wylan grew up that there was no space for his son in his household. He'd made it clear that he wanted Wylan disappear for as long as it took him to forget that he ever had a son. And yet, a part of him hoped that maybe he'd misunderstood everything. That his father did indeed love him unconditionally just as any father loved his child.

Wylan lifted his head from his hands and started gnawing at his thumbnail. He wouldn't know for certain until the rest of Kaz's plan was carried out, when his face and name were no longer his.

[heimeldat]

Kate Orman I love you.

Left-Handed Hummingbird might be my new favorite DW book. It's like...every single one of my favorite tropes in one story. Three hundred pages of timey-wimey psychic conflict against an eldritch mind-controlling monster, with the Doctor trying to bring a clever scheme to fruition before said monster finishes eating his mind...

Also this supports my theory that the vnas desperately need more of the Doctor's pov. This one was largely written from his perspective and it was soooo much easier to follow the plot and to see past his uncommunicative facade.

[beigetiger]

More writing-based notes for scenes I want to put in Where the Wild Things Go when I get back to my computer:

- Go back and input a scene talking about why the Hummingbird wants to leave their parents permanently, preferably by showcasing the parent’s attitude towards Wild Things.

- Go back and show more of the Hummingbird adjusting to living in a forest and the culture that goes along with it, probably before the Hummingbird has their full transformation and they’re still living with the Spider alongside the other young Wild Things

- Show the Hummingbird learning to craft a spear that they can use in hunting and learning how to use said spear.p

- Show how the Wild Things typically survive in the wintertime, since large farmland is pretty much impossible given the circumstances. As a result, the Wild Things are more social with each other and hunt in groups to ensure that nobody dies of cold and that everyone gets to eat.

- The Hummingbird creating a place to live, possibly sharing a living space or living nearby the Cyclopean Feline, basically finding the materials to decorate it and make it livable.

- Show a different winter, and a much harsher one, where a group of Wild Things are nearly shot to death after chasing some sort of animal into the field near the Civilized Society. This leads to a Civilized Person leaving a couple bags of food near the edge of the forest, which leads to a debate about whether or not the food is safe to take or if it’s been poisoned/if they’ll be shot upon entering the field to grab the food. But desperation leads the Hummingbird to go out and grab the bags before quickly retreating to the forest.

- The Hummingbird, now a much better flier, doing air trickshots through the trees alongside other flying Wild Things.

- The Cyclopean Feline adopting a young Wild Thing (maybe 12-13?) and the Hummingbird agreeing to co-raise the kid with them. The kid is probably on-par with a griffon but has the front half of a tiger and the back half (including the wings) of a dragon. Basically show them raising and interacting with the kid.

- The Hummingbird unwisely getting near the Civilized Society and spotting a partially transformed kid inside the wall who is being chased. Hummingbird then dives down, grabs the kid, and flies away with them, which causes a ruckus within the wall and gets the Hummingbird in vague trouble when they get back.

- Another average day in the Hummingbird’s life now that they’re slightly older and a more functional adult, plus them checking in on the now fully-transformed Wild Thing they saved. They also fly around with the Tiger-Dragon.

- The Civilized Society getting more and more aggressive towards the Wild Place, which eventually leads to a party of them going out to capture Wild Things. They nearly capture the Tiger-Dragon, who’s probably around 16-17 at this point, but the Hummingbird saves them and gets captured instead.

- The Hummingbird is caged inside the wall and meets an old classmate of theirs, who is their jailer. The classmate recognizes them and is horrified by their transformation, but the Hummingbird eventually convinced them to unlock the cell and let the Hummingbird fly away.

- Civilized Society continues to be aggressive, which causes more and more Wild Things to leave the forest in search of somewhere better. The Hummingbird, Cyclopean Feline, and Tiger-Dragon stay as long as they can, but eventually also choose to leave together in search of somewhere safer. The Spider, however, opts to stay so it can continue to care for young Wild Things. The family wishes it luck and then leaves.

- Show a couple different places that the family travel to and see if it’s a good fit for them, leaving for various reasons. They do, however, eventually find a place they like and decide to stay. They then have to learn to adjust to this new place and to having fewer Wild Things around.

- The three of them continue to live their lives and they all slowly get older. They also reminisce along the way about the Wild Place, and the many creatures who lived there alongside them.

- Eventually, the Hummingbird and Cyclopean Feline are quite old and struggle to do many tasks, but are still relatively happy and enjoy their life together, especially since the Tiger-Dragon is capable of caring for them. The Hummingbird does eventually die (although not of violent causes), and dies looking up at the sky and seeing the birds flying around.

[kaiowut99]

Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters GX Episodes 113 & 114 Subbed (Finalized)

(Previously: Episodes 111-112 Subbed [Finalized])

(Check out my Subbed!GX Stream Masterpost!)

TURN-113: Judai VS the Traitorous Elemental Heroes

Because of the large amount of wounded due to the Dis-Duels, and their being convinced that Professor Cobra has something to do with it, Judai and the others head towards the SAL research lab where Cobra is hiding out. Finding an elevator that leads underground, they advance on to the lower levels of the SAL lab, deciding to split into two groups there to find Cobra. Along the way, Judai comes across Professor Satou, who tells him, "Unless you defeat me, this door to where Cobra is will not open." Judai then duels with Satou. The Scab Scarknight that Satou summons is a Monster that brings Monsters that attack him to his side--so, with his Burstlady attacking him, Judai...

TURN-114: A Desperate Situation! The Battered Hero

With Burstlady and Air Hummingbird now on his side through his Scab Scarknight's effect, Satou wages attacks against Judai. For his part, Judai Fusion-Summons Sailorman and wages a direct attack against Satou. Cobra, watching the battle through his monitor, informs Judai of the trap he set for this duel--that trap being taking Asuka hostage and increasing the water level in the room she is locked in with every attack Satou takes. With Judai unable to attack, Satou wages merciless attacks against him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Semi-slight delay on these aside--hoped to get these wrapped up last week prior to my birthday on Wednesday lol--episodes 113 and 114 are now finalized!

Come for the crocodiles taking on wild tigers, stay for the introspection Satou spurs within Judai as their duel goes on as he confronts him for the lethargic attitude he's spread among the students due to being unaware of the great power he has as the Academia's hero, and enlightens him about the responsibility he bears and the lack of darkness in his heart. This duel and the "darkness of the heart" bit/"what do I duel for?" question are the start of the thread that runs through the rest of Season 3, and it's always fun to revisit these in hindsight, knowing what comes later (and why it causes pain seeing how the dub handled this). We also have everyone splitting up to find Cobra while Amon sneaks around to get close to Cobra and a certain card.

And almost as if foreshadowing the change in tone and Judai's character arc this season, we have an updated Teardrop opening! This V2 changes the shots of Judai looking more somber--in his shots with Johan, the Academia, and his friends at the end--to having him looking more confident but also determined. It's more subtle compared to the updates V3 will give us later, but interesting.

Also, fun to note that Satou's VA, Mitsuru Miyamoto, gets brought back in ZEXAL to play the real Don Thousand; that was neat to learn as I finished ZEXAL for the first time recently, lol. And speaking of VAs, wanted to make a quick shoutout to Taiki (Tatsuya) Matsuno, Manjoume's VA, who passed away too early a few weeks ago at 56; as I mentioned here, Manjoume wouldn't be one of my fave YGO characters without the life he brought to the role, and I hope he's making 'em feel the thunder up there somewhere.

(Quick Translation Note: Early in the episode, as Amon talks with his commandant in the submarine [Echo], she sends him a bio on O'Brien which highlights his involvement with Cobra; though it's a quick shot, lasting 64 frames/2-3 seconds, I went and translated the bio for the hardsub, as highlighted here. Shoutout to Zichs over on NAC, who provided me with a clearer shot of the text in the bio from the DVD itself than the Astral_Union raw I worked with, allowing me to identify more of the Japanese text.)

Animation error-wise, there were about 30 fixes I worked on throughout both episodes, with the bulk of them in 113, ranging from smaller quality-of-watching things like split-screen timings to card errors (including a big one in 114) to the ol' forgotten Burstlady outfit shoulder strap. Given the amount of fixes worked on, I'll go through the usual edit breakdown in this separate post for the interested!

Quick housekeeping: I made a quick revision to 110 and 111 again to just update the one line Cobra has referring to the being he's collecting Duel Energy for, correcting "it" to "them" as I had him use in 113. The 110 and 111 links in their respective release posts now link to the re-uploaded versions, as do their links in the Masterpost; the re-finalized hardsub/script/MKVs have been posted on NAC along with these.

Anywho, enjoy! After a little detour back into TFSP land for a bit (and enjoying a little bday vacation time), we'll have episodes 115 and 116 next, as Johan deals with a Spirit Hunter and we get some lore about him. Also hoping to work on the three-part Judai vs Cobra together after that. Stay tuned!

[thezombieprostitute]

Hummingbird - Part 7

Summary: You didn't want to break into someone's party but you were desperate to see the art at the gallery before it was gone. You're so busy trying to make sure no one sees you that you miss the ever present gaze of Steve Rogers who is wondering why you crashed his party.

Word Count: ~2k

A/N: Reader is AFAB

A/N2: This takes place at the same time as Dream Come True Part 9

Warnings: Death of minor characters, Rough sex, Smut, Violence. Please let me know if I missed any.

Part 6 -- Part 8

Series Masterlist

The next few hours mostly involve Steve pacing around his office. You stayed in the same chair you promised you would. As much as you want to calm him down you know this isn’t the time. Steve had gotten notice that Curtis had pulled Teach out of Lloyd’s hotel room and she was safe. Everyone breathed easier after that, but Steve was still stressed. For good reason, of course. Bucky and Sam would regularly find reasons to leave his office because his pacing and stressing wasn’t helping them, either. But you stayed in place, as you promised. 

“Why didn’t you have Curtis take Lloyd out at the hotel,” you ask. “We know he’s there.”

“Pine’s hotel is a neutral zone,” Steve explains. “If one of our people killed anyone there, we’d open ourselves to attack from all of the families at once. Cairo Hotel, any hotel under Pine’s jurisdiction really, is where we have our most important meetings and negotiations.”

“Which is why Lloyd is staying there,” you intone. “So Pine isn’t obligated to tell anyone about any of his guests? Even when they’re clearly dangerous?”

“True neutrality,” Steve confirms. “Otherwise there would be no place for real negotiations, peace talks, reparations, whatever. It’s important for business.”

“So the only reason Curtis was allowed to go get her was because Pine owed Ari a favor?”

“Well, there’s that,” he nods. “But also Pine has standards. He never likes to involve civilians in our dealings. The fact that it was solely a rescue mission definitely helped get Curtis the ‘in’ he needed.”

Your next question is interrupted by Bucky running in, “he’s at Ran’s. Let’s go!”

Steve gave you a kiss and a “stay here” before running after him. You have no idea when Steve will be back but you’ll be right where he needs you to be. 

Bucky’s team is first to go in. They’re the stealth team, taking out guards and others that might raise the alarm. Bodecker’s police cruiser is close enough to hear any gunshots but far enough to not raise eyebrows at the quick police response. If all went well, none of Ransom’s neighbors would hear anything. 

Of course something went wrong.

A scream from within Ransom’s house pushed up their timetable to “act now”. The slow and steady plan was under the premise that Ransom was having a conversation, not that he was being tortured. Bucky’s team focused on making a path to the front door before doing perimeter security. Steve and his team charged up the path they created to the door. 

Steve was first through the door, acting as a shield for his people came naturally to him. Quick firing to take out a couple of Rumlow’s men, he pushed forward, certain that his team would clean up if he missed anyone. Intel said that Ransom hadn’t left his office since his meeting with Teach so that’s where Steve led his team. 

Knowing that the people torturing Ransom were sure to have heard the gunshots Steve signaled his team to stay in various doorways as he knelt down to open the office door. The shots went well over his head and opened the shooters to his return fire. If he missed any, his team had him covered. 

Carefully moving forward Steve was able to confirm no one else was in the office. He found Ransom and called for a medic. The telltale sound of a police siren confirmed that they were moving into the coverup part of their plan. Sam ran into the office, carrying some emergency medical supplies, and started taking care of Ransom. This allowed Steve to look around at the bodies. He recognized all of them but quickly realized Lloyd was not among them. 

“Where’s Hansen,” he calls out. “Anyone got eyes on Hansen?” There was a lot of quiet. Steve messaged the Garbage Men, “Hansen is missing.”

Steve slams open his office door, startling you. He kneels in front of you and touches you almost reverently, whispering, “you’re okay. Thank god you’re okay.”

“What happened, Steve?”

He doesn’t answer and just moves you so that he’s sitting in the chair with you on his lap, holding you close. You start kissing his neck, your signal to him that he’s safe, that you’re okay, that he can relax. It takes a few minutes but he does calm down. 

“Lloyd escaped. You’re not leaving my sight until we’re able to find him.”

“Of course, Steve,” you assure. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Ransom’s in the hospital,” he reports. “Sam says he should be okay. He’ll just have some scars afterwards.” 

“And probably some mental ones, too,” you comment.

Steve agrees, “after he’s stable we’ll get some more information from him. See about helping him. In the meantime, no one goes alone and everyone is armed.”

“I take it you’re not going to be sleeping any time soon?” Steve shakes his head in response. “Then let’s at least get you some food to help you think.” You start to get off of his lap but he pulls you close to him, hugging you in place. “Steve, we’re going to be okay,” you coo between kisses along his jugular. “I’ve been sitting in this chair all day and I need to move. And get something to eat.”

He relaxes a little and lets you get up, but you make sure to not let go of his hand. Even when you’re both in the kitchen and cooking up a little something you’re making sure to touch him. Letting him hug you from behind while you’re working. Letting him know you’re still there and you’re okay. You know it’s the only thing that’ll keep him from going out and maybe getting himself killed. He needs a cool head and you can help with that. 

You’re both startled to alertness by Bucky running into the room. “Hansen is dead. Everett got him!”

“What’s the update on his co-conspirators?”

“Scattered to the winds,” Bucky confirms. “The other families have even agreed not to protect them. If they’re found, they’re delivered to us.” 

You feel Steve legitimately relax for the first time since he picked you up from your apartment. He talks to Bucky for a bit about the finer details of the aftermath; getting Ransom’s cover story for what happened, following up on the hacker who helped Lloyd, getting all of the Family members back safely. 

By the time he and Bucky are done, Steve is beyond exhausted. All he wants right now is to curl up in bed with you and hold you. So when you ask him if you should grab your suitcase to head back home, he nearly growls at you, “you’re not going anywhere.” He takes you into his bedroom and throws you down on the mattress before crawling over to you, wrapping you in his arms, and pinning you to his chest. “Mine,” he grunts as he takes in the smell of your hair, the feel of your skin, the sound of your chuckles. 

“I’m definitely yours,” you assure. “We’ll see about me going home later.”

“You are home,” he asserts. “Can’t be without you. Sleep better, feel better, eat better.” He kisses you with each item he says, adding weight to his words. 

“Are you actually asking me to move in with you,” your voice barely a whisper from his kisses taking your breath away. “Or are you just in a mood?”

“Hummingbird, you’re moving in with me,” he insisted. “Either that or I’m moving in with you. I’m not going another night without you in my bed.” He starts removing your clothing, “I need you. Need you with me every day.” He’s stripped you down to your panties, his eyes darkening at your form. “Please,” he pleaded. “Please move in with me.”

“Yes, Sir,” you breathe. “I’ve just been waiting for you to actually ask.” 

“Let me apologize for taking so long to do so,” he says before he kisses down your front, his beard scratching your skin in just the right way, making you moan. 

He rips your panties off and wraps his lips around your clit, making you gasp and arch your back. His tongue moves from your clit to your dripping pussy before his strong arms grab your hips and he rolls so that you’re sitting firmly on his face. You grab Steve’s hair to help you ground yourself as you cry out from surprise and pleasure. 

Steve knows exactly how to play you to get you to cum so he does other things, wanting to prolong your pleasure, wanting you to drown him in your juices. And he will get what he wants. Every time you try to move your hips or drag yourself away, he grips your hips harder, not letting you even wiggle away from where he has you. 

“Oh, Steve, I’m so close,” you whimper. He smacks your ass hard and you’re quick to correct yourself, “Sir, I’m so close, Sir. Please, please let me cum!” He gives your ass an appreciative squeeze, his sign that you had permission, before he hits all the spots he knows you need him to. He’s rewarded with your shouts of pleasure and a rush of slick. He doesn’t stop. Even after you’ve recovered from your first orgasm. Even when you’re begging him to slow down. He keeps at it until you’re cumming again. 

You’re whimpering from exhaustion and over-stimulation, “please, Sir. Please, can’t stay sitting up.” He spins you both so you’re laying on your back and he finally lifts his lips from you, his beard drenched, his eyes full of hunger.

“Tired out already, Hummingbird,” he chides. “Definitely need to have you here every night. Build up your endurance.” He rolls you over onto your stomach and gives your ass hard smack, making you cry out with pleasure. “Keep you with me, claim this pussy every damn day,” he says with another spanking. 

“More, please, Sir,” you cry out. “Please smack my ass again, Sir!”

He happily obliges, “can’t take more of my tongue in your cunt but you never get enough of my hands on you, do you?”

“No, Sir. Always need more of your touch.”

“Good girl,” he says with another smack to your butt-cheek. 

“Thank you, Sir!”

“I’m gonna claim that pretty little mouth of yours now,” he growls as he pulls you to your knees on the floor, making sure you land on a pillow he’d placed down there. Your mouth salivates as he undoes his belt and zipper before pulling out his cock. You open your mouth for him and put your hands on his thighs so you can signal if you need him to stop or slow down. 

He shoves his length into your mouth with a groan. You’ve done this enough times that you don’t need as much of a warm up but he’s still careful to not overdo it on the first few thrusts. You eagerly take every inch you can, moaning around his girth as he picks up the pace. By the time he’s grabbing the back of your head and forcing you to take every inch, you’re a crying mess and loving every second of it. 

Steve gets rougher as he gets closer to his own release. He grunts, “looking so fucking beautiful like this. Gonna ruin your holes every day and you’re gonna thank me for it.” You moan at his words and he slows down just a little, “play with your clit, Hummingbird. I know you’re soaked from this.”

He was right, you could feel yourself leaking down your thighs. You quickly start playing with yourself and you’re already so close to cumming. 

“That’s it, cum for me,” Steve groans. “Need to hear you cum before I spill down your throat.” At his command your orgasm takes over and you moan and whine around his cock which pushes him over the edge. Your pleasure grows with the feeling of his seed down your throat and you make sure to lick up every drop. 

Steve pulls out of your mouth and helps you get into the bed. After some gentle kisses and some settling of nerves he goes into full aftercare mode. He makes sure to worship you as he cleans you up, massages and cuddles you. As you fall asleep in his arms he thinks about the ring he has hidden away in his closet.

Part 6 -- Part 8

Series Masterlist

Tags:

@alicedopey; @aryhyuuga; @cynic-spirit; @icefrozendeadlyqueen @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @ktficworld; @leryg0; @rayofdawnworld; @rebekahdawkins; @texmexdarling

If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know.

[crazylittlejester]

Returning with your regularly scheduled LU EAH AU brainrot. 👍 I apologize in advance for the disjointed ADHD trains of thought.

Time is going to be one of those kids that was whisked away by the fae and raised in the Lost Woods. I'm not completely sure how I want to do that, but if he's kidnapped and replaced, then I think Hyrule would make a decent changeling. The major problem with this being that uh... they're supposed to be different ages, and I'd probably need to fudge things with some kind of time-related magic.

Hyrule could easily be a normal person, half fae, or full fae. I kind of like the parallels that could be made between him and Time if I go with the changeling idea, but I also really like the idea of him being some random guy who just so happens to be super popular with the fae for some reason.

I feel like anything Time did in Termina could easily be shoe-horned into Wonderland. I haven't played Majora's Mask, but from what I've heard it sounds like it could potentially fit with the sheer bizarreness of it all.

Speaking of the fae, I have a desperate need to include little gardens for attracting fairies like hummingbirds.

A problem that I just thought of is the fact that every Zelda is from the same lineage. If I had a few more of them "The 12 Dancing Princesses" could have been an option. Alas. For now I need to figure out if I'm going to make them related or not, and how that's supposed to work. Aurora and Flora would probably end up being sisters, but beyond that I have no idea what to do with them.

In the EAH books they make a big deal out of having animal companions to the point that there was an entire short story anthology for it, so I think I can use that for part of Twilight's role. I have the book(s) on hand, so I'm going to double check. At the very least it could be a good way to explain why Sheerow exists.

I think Sun would make a good unicorn of Lady of the Lake (from King Arthur) but neither really feels like a good fit, so I'm going to keep looking for options.

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, im grabbing a blanket and a drink to sit down and read :3

TERMINA AND WONDERLAND. I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT!!!

Oh my god please little gardens… I’m begging you…. small fairy gardens 🥺🥺🥺

ANIMAL COMPANIONS!!

oh my god i fucking love arthurian legends and shit

I LOVE THIS ALL AS ALWAYS, AND I KNOW LITERALLY NOTHING ABOUT EAH BUT IM SO EXCITED TO SEE WHAT YOU DO WITH THIS NEXT!!

[zel-shadedreviews]

In Spain, two conmen, Tulio and Miguel, win a map to El Dorado during a fixed bet and stowaway on a ship, only to be immediately captured. They however escape with a warhorse to a mysterious island and follow the map to El Dorado, but upon arrival, are mistaken as Gods by the residents. Willing to take advantage of their misunderstanding, the two con-men play along as the roles of Gods, but are quickly found out by the thief, Chel. Their plan is to get out of the city and return with a hunk of gold but their differences arrive where Tulio continues their plan while Miguel finds peace in the city. During their stay, the priest plans to expose the truth and continue his human sacrifices.

For story standards, I’m impressed that the movie didn’t have to pull off the whole “liar revealed” cliche, only to make fun of it when both conmen are discovered by the villain. The beginning and the journey to seeking out El Dorado contained a small layer of fun, before the tone settled down when they arrive at the titular city. The plot itself doesn’t exactly pick up but rather spend a large chunk of the middle act mainly focusing in the city; it’s all up until the third act which forced out a couple of climaxes, both differing in quality with a tame chase around the city and a thrilling boat escape down the rapids.

However, while I’m greatly relieved that it avoided one overused cliche, there was a whole conflict by the third act that involved the friends separating due to different pathways. It couldn’t have stopped there as they had to include a whole song number dedicated to the moment of misery. It was filled with some small moments of comedy, but I could tell from a mile away that they were going to reunite when the next very climax rolls on by.

While The Prince of Egypt had a larger scope and animation was geared for the realistic approach, this upped the game by increasing the facial expressions of the characters, able to pull off a variety of shifts to pull off the comedy. Its animation style also relies heavily on quick movements during the action sequences, while throwing a lot of witty one-liners at you at the same time. It’s not entirely perfect where the quality can be overblown, as it practically throws all of the prettiest colours directly at you, similar to the entire second act of The Three Caballeros; they do dive bomb directly out of the screen during the song numbers, but there’s moments where the characters and overall movement style take their time. Not saying it’s better than the previous but certainly a step-up to their game. I really liked the fast-paced nature and endless amount of colours even it can be a bit too quick. It does know when to take a break. El Dorado itself is well-designed as the city of gold, stupendously appealing to audiences and even to the main characters themselves. With two climaxes, the animation especially knew how to up the tone from a stone jaguar wrecking the city to a hazardous boat escape.

The side characters are also fun and make their own mark in the story, such as the thief, Chel, becoming an amazing secondary character and instigator in the main’s plans. She wasn’t just a simple pretty face as she’s able to see through their plans, before deciding to go with their scheme as a desperate way out of the whole city.

I also liked the horse for sticking as an animal sidekick, where he had some intelligence to mouth the name of El Dorado and hide his horseshoes by the end. There’s also an armadillo who helps them mainly as their way to fool the residents, but am I the only one who hears almost the same voice as the hummingbird from Disney’s Pocahontas? I also liked the chief of El Dorado for being incredibly generous and understanding of the two, actually allowing the last supposed God to leave without a single moment of disdain or anger, since he saw how much they impacted his people.

The only characters I really couldn’t get into were the villains. There’s the Spanish conquistador, Hernán Cortés, voiced by Jim Cummings, that you see during the beginning and ending parts; based on a historical figure, he proposed such significant threat from his status and booming personality and could have been a larger threat. The downside was that he’s limited to only background fodder.

Then, there’s Tzekel-Kan as the high priest, managing to find the truth behind the newcomers, while experiences the sacred rituals of human sacrifices to achieve his true potential. After his defeat, you’d expect him to be written out of the movie, only for him to wear out his welcome even more. He does become an obstacle by the middle, but then is subjected to becoming the first villain’s slave, all amounting to nothing by the end. I won’t lie that upon rewatching, I actually forgot that he was even in the storyline.

I understand that the soundtrack was worked on by both composers behind The Lion King, namely Elton John and Hans Zimmer, the latter even working in The Prince of Egypt; however, I’m not that much of a fan of the songs. The only two that I actually do recall in my mind were Elton John’s El Dorado and the enjoyably-catchy It’s Tough to be a God, portrayed by the main’s voice-actors. The one song that does stick to me, though not in the same boat as the first two was Friends Never Say Goodbye, incredibly amping up the bittersweet momentum between the two main characters, focusing on their disagreement before their predictable reunion.

Coming back to this movie was certainly a ride, where I can see this film’s comedy similar to The Princess Bride in a way. I do feel that this is one of DreamWorks’ lesser-known films and one of the few that I feel that deserves a place as an internet phenomenon.

Final Rating: B

8/10

[missmaywemeetagain]

A Million Little Heartaches: Pandora's Box 💔💫❤️‍🔥

A/N: Hi, my darlin's! I was feeling a little hesitant about posting my first non-EP fic, but I got over myself lol. This one is a bit of an experiment as it's not told in chronological order, and we'll see if I continue it based on inspiration and interest. Please let me know your thoughts! As always, they are so appreciated and what helps keep me motivated a lot of the time, especially as I'm trying new things. I really hope you enjoy it and can't wait to hear what you think. 💗

ALSO, I'm not sure if tumblr has changed its algorithm or what, but I know I'm not seeing people's posts in my feed like I used to. Turn on notifications for me to not miss anything and if you like this, it would be super helpful if you reblog this post! Thank you babies! 💗

Key Tropes: Angst, right person(s)-wrong time, star-crossed lovers, slow burn kinda? friends to enemies to friends to lovers?(LOL), forbidden love, second chance love

💥 Head's up! My first Scarf Universe exclusive (Red Scarf) is set to come out THIS WEEK for my Patreons! It's utterly filthy and indulgent, so if you are interested, you can join my Patreon community HERE to get access! 💥

A Million Little Heartaches

Part 1: Pandora’s Box

March 2026

I’ve curled my legs up under me in an oversized armchair, staring aimlessly at the fire. My empty wine glass is precariously balanced in my hand as I am hypnotized by the flames. Liam’s angry outburst shocked everyone, and his words still ring like poison in my ears:

You abandoned me.

I run through all the things I could’ve said in response instead of just standing there speechless as he ripped me into pieces in front of everybody.

Namely, you made your choice, Liam. And it wasn’t me.

It was never me.

Good ole Lily, forever the consolation prize, I muse, shaking my head.

There’s a hollow feeling in my heart that hasn’t been there for a long, long time.

“Mind if I join you?” Jake’s rumbling voice startles me out of my staring contest with the fire.

Oh god, now? Seriously? is what I’m thinking, but I manage a cordial nod instead, setting my empty glass on the side table next to me.

He sits in the chair facing mine. A glance over reminds me he’s a man now, not a boy, the firelight hitting the weathered but not unattractive lines on what used to be a baby face. The peach fuzz which had tickled my cheek so long ago is now a short, dark beard on a sharper, less rounded jaw. His once sandy hair has darkened some and is peppered with grey. He has aged well.

I can’t imagine how he must be looking at me after all these years, at the changes he must see. I know I’m not the girl I was. I look back at the fire.

“Are you okay?” he asks after a moment of silence.

I roll my eyes over to him and huff a bitter laugh. “Does it matter?”

I shouldn’t have said it like that—Liam’s freak out wasn’t Jake’s fault—but everything feels so fucking raw that I don’t have the wherewithal for a filter.

“It always has,” he says quietly.

The words hang there between us, heavy. There’s a poignancy and deeper meaning to them that slaps me out of my pity party.

“Excuse me?” I breathe out, blinking. My heart starts racing, like a hummingbird trapped in my ribcage.

He doesn’t get to say my feelings have always mattered. Not him. Not the guy who dragged me to hell and back because he was too much of a coward to let me down easy. Not the one who I spent nearly six years trying desperately to know and wishing for him to know me, too. Who I tried, only somewhat successfully, to forge a friendship with after it seemed all between us was well and truly done.

Jake shifts uncomfortably in his seat, looking at the fire before he finds what he needs there to bring himself to look back at me.

He only knows a fraction of what he put me through, or at least I think he does. He was ever the master at shutting me out, so it’s always been hard to know what he’s thinking or feeling without having to pry it out of him with a crowbar.

His voice echoes in my head, a long-forgotten memory: I guess I’m just the kind of person who hides my feelings.

An understatement.

This makes it a surprise when he looks straight at me with those warm brown eyes that used to melt me into the floor and says, “Your feelings have always mattered.”

Maybe it’s the wine, or the blowup with Liam, but my filter disappears completely. There’s a latent, hot anger that boils to the surface.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You, of all people, think my feelings have always mattered?” I throw back at him, scoffing.

He looks as though I’ve slapped him, and if I wasn’t so upset, I might try to backtrack. But I spent six years of my adolescence trying to shield him from my feelings, and as an adult, I don’t have time for that shit anymore.

“I suppose I deserve that,” he recovers, looking back at the fire.

I’m surprised, to say the least. It’s not as though we hadn’t talked about it back in the day, at least somewhat, but I never let him know just how deeply he hurt me. I never told him about the panic attacks, the intense depressions, or the manic feelings I’d get from just a morsel of attention from him. No, I’d buried all that for the sake of our “friendship” or whatever it was.

Part of me knows it’s stupid to try and rehash things that we put to rest so long ago. I shouldn’t hold it against him—we were just teenagers—but it wasn’t until my twenties that I finally grasped just how much Jake fucked me up. He made me think that if you love someone enough, they can treat you however they want and it doesn’t matter, and if it’s “meant to be” then someone can string you along indefinitely without consequence. I’d been so convinced we were these star-crossed lovers that had such a deep thread of connection that we’d someday figure it out. But someday never came.

Liam had. Liam pulled me from the ashes of my heartbreak and showed me real love. Or so I’d hoped. I’d hoped so much that I’d ignored and excused all the similarities between the way he and Jake treated me. But he had loved me and risked it all for me at one time. I mattered to him, to a fault.

But with Jake, I’m never sure I mattered. I always felt on thin ice, or at least that’s how I remember it. But memory warps over time. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’ve been wrong about all of it.

God, he still has me running circles around myself.

“Yeah, you do deserve it, a little,” is what I finally settle on, but it comes out gentler than I want it to.

He gives me a familiar sardonic half-smile.

Ah, there he is, the little shit. It was a look that twenty years ago would set my heart a-flutter on a good day and made me want to throttle him on a bad one. Some things never change.

Another thing that hasn’t changed is my need to shove him past his comfort zone with all my thoughts and feelings.

“Sometimes, I’m still not sure I mattered to you at all.” The words catch in my throat, giving away more than I want to.

His eyes snap back to mine. “How can you say that?” he asks with a surprising level of hurt in his voice.

I’m taken aback. “Jake, I don’t think you entirely understand the way you…” I stop myself and shake my head.

“The way I what? Say it,” he challenges, uncharacteristically.

I take a deep breath. “The way you broke my heart completely. How I spent months—no, years—trying to figure out what I had done that was so bad that you didn’t have or couldn’t really admit you had feelings for me, or why I was so repulsive you couldn’t bear to be with me. You had me so tied in knots I could hardly breathe.”

“Lily, you were never—” he starts, shaking his head, but I don’t listen, plowing right through whatever he thinks he needs to say.

“And then Liam came into the picture and helped me heal, and still I was so desperate for your approval, for us to be friends. But you always, always kept me at arm’s length. I could never figure any of it out. I still wonder if it was all one-sided and I was just a crazy little girl who manufactured this epic love story in her head,” I ramble out, shaking my head.

I’m saying too much, I know I am, but what the fuck does it matter now, after all this time? I have no need to impress him anymore.

   He shutters down, and it’s so entirely familiar that I have to laugh. “That. Right there,” I point, “is the same thing you did to me 27 years ago. You could never let me in, could you? As much as I hoped you would, as close as I swear I got sometimes, this brick wall is what made me question everything about us. It always has.”

His eyes widen as he’s called out so viciously, his hands tensing then releasing the arms on the chair. I let him sit in it for a moment before I drop the last bombshell, the one I’m sure will ruin the precarious balance between us:

“You were my first love, Jake, and I was so in love with you it hurt. God, I was so convinced we were connected in some timeless, deep, soulmates kind of way. And sometimes you did things that seemed to confirm that, but then you’d turn around and…well, I tried so hard to understand why you didn’t feel it, too. But I was young and stupid and obsessed, I guess,” I laugh, looking into the fire. “I finally just had to accept I was never gonna figure you out or understand why you didn’t love me back.”

He’s quiet for a long moment and I’m almost afraid he’s going to get up and walk away.

“Sorry, I guess old habits die hard. Here I am, still blasting you with all my feelings, 25-plus-years later,” I chuckle. “No wonder you never wanted to be with m—”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” he interrupts.

My head snaps back to him. “What?”

“I never meant to hurt you like that. I never meant to drive you to…Liam,” he says, with a frustrated bitterness in his tone that surprises me.

“Okay…?” I’m not sure where this is going, but my heart kicks up again.

“I told you back then I liked you,” he says blatantly, as if it were ever that simple between us.

I can’t help but laugh. “Did you, really? You told me in different ways how you were ‘gonna ask me out, but…’. And there was always a ‘but.’ And it was never in the present tense. I heard from other people that you liked me, sure, but you never really told me. Not in a way that felt like I wasn’t forcing something out of you that you were ashamed of or just telling me to save face. And it was always me who came to you. Always. You had a thousand chances and never followed through. We never even kissed, Jake! You kissed everyone but me. What was I supposed to think?”

“I-I-I…damn it, Lily,” he growls. “I couldn’t.”

 “Excuse me? You very much ‘could,’ you just didn’t want to. And that’s fine, you never owed it to me to reciprocate my feelings. Just don’t pretend—”

“Of course, I had feelings for you!” he yells.

I’m stunned into silence.

“I had feelings for you since we were 12! You were the first girl I ever really thought of in that way and I had no idea how to deal with it. And the moment you showed any interest in me I panicked and pushed you away. And I regretted it after and thought I’d ruined everything, but you came back, and I-I-I did it again. And again. Because my feelings for you scared the shit out of me.”

My heart is jackhammering now. I can barely breathe. “Why?”

“You were special. I couldn’t—I couldn’t ruin that…or you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense! You didn’t want to ‘ruin me’ so you broke my heart, over and over?”

“I didn’t deserve you. You were way too good for me and way out of my league.”

Flabbergasted, I blink at him. The pure insanity of this conversation has me whirling.

“But you kept flirting with me anyway, leading me on? You’d hug me, hold my hand…Lord, you even snuggled me and popped a fucking boner against me at that party freshman year…” I babble.

A blush floods his cheeks. “I was only 15, I-I-I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You knew enough to fuck Talia.”

He looks like I’ve struck him again, but I can see in his eyes he knows I’m right. Talia would forever be a sore spot between us.

“I was young. And dumb.”

“No shit. And it doesn’t track. You did the same with Tina, Heather, and pretty much any other girl who showed the slightest bit of interest in you. Everyone except me.”

“I know. I was wrong. I was in a…bad place.”

“I practically handed myself to you on a platter and you humiliated me. How do you think it felt that I was the only one you never…you just kept me dangling on a string,” I say, shaking with anger.

“I know,” he whispers, “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t…”

“Sure,” I shake my head and look away. I don’t know why I care so much. I shouldn’t. This is all ancient history, and maybe it is Liam’s doing for sucking me back into the past tonight, but for some reason it all feels like it happened yesterday.

“I knew it was wrong, that I was treating you badly, a-a-and that’s why I found God. I wanted to be better…for you.”

Something cracks inside of me at the gesture. It doesn’t make any sense—why would he do that for me? My breath starts to falter a bit.

I remember he had changed dramatically mid-sophomore year, turning into a nicer, happier, and kinder version of himself. He’d stopped going after every girl in sight and wasn’t blatantly ignoring me anymore. We’d become friends again. I’d thought he was swept up in wanting to hang with the cooler, older Christian kids in the group, bowing to a weird form of peer pressure, just as I had done.

Of course, my “conversion” had not stuck after everything that happened later, but that’s beside the point.

Slowly, pieces start falling into place. Things I’d never considered.  

“You didn’t. You did it for…me?” I say breathlessly. “That’s a pretty drastic thing for a 16-year-old to do…”

He nods.

A shiver runs down my spine.

“Why…why would you do something like that for me?” I hold my breath and quell the trembling of my hands by clasping them together.

In the heavy pause, it feels like all the air gets sucked out of the room, and everything else around us warps and stops.

“Because I was completely in love with you.”

My heart stops. “What?” I whisper.

This can’t be real.

But his eyes are as open and pleading as I’ve ever seen them, begging me to finally understand what he couldn’t impart all those years ago.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” I manage to choke out.

A pained look crosses his face. “I was too late.”

It’s like I’m 16 again, the way my heart is ready to explode while simultaneously being yanked from my chest. The air whooshes out of my lungs and I can’t bring myself to speak. All I can do is look over at him with questioning eyes.

“Me being such an asshole pushed you straight into his arms and by the time I came to my senses, it was too late. You’d fallen for him, even though he was with someone else,” he says bitterly.

He is not wrong. The whole reason Liam and I became friends in the first place was he listened to my heartbreak over Jake.

“So, I tried to be your friend instead. That was what you wanted, right? I thought maybe I could get closer to you and change your mind, talk some sense into you.”

I find my voice. “What are you even talking about? Liam and I were very much not together that spring and summer because of Melissa. You had the perfect chance, but you started dating Tiffany right when school got out.”

His jaw sets, clenches. “Oh, come on. It was beyond obvious you weren’t over him. So, yeah, when Tiffany showed interest, I gave it a chance. But I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You probably don’t remember how I messaged you all the time. How our conversations got longer a-a-and deeper. How I begged you to call me.”

Vague memories flash back to me. “I did call you. And I definitely would’ve remembered you telling me this!” I shake my head.

He has no idea how this revelation would have changed everything. God, I can’t breathe.

            “I tried to feel you out that fall, but you were pretty focused on Liam.”

            Mind racing, I try to remember how it all went down. My attraction to Liam had been all-consuming, made worse by the way we desperately tried to keep our hands off each other when Melissa left for college. We weren’t officially together, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes that we were mad about each other. Between that, the play, and keeping my grades up, things were intense that fall, to say the least. But there had been some weird moments with Jake that I’d tried to brush off as friendly at the time, but maybe they weren’t.

            “Friendsgiving.” It pops into my head suddenly, and I look at him with wide eyes. “I couldn’t figure it out—you went out of your way to take me home that night, then you were so teasing and flirty. We sat in my driveway for like half an hour. You couldn’t keep your hands off me—tickling me and putting your arm around me. I thought it was strange…but you were with Tiffany. I convinced myself I was imagining it.”

            It starts to dawn on me that perhaps my instincts had been right this whole damn time.

            I ramble as I recall more, “You were so obsessed about Mick having to kiss me for the play. We talked about how weird it would be if you had to understudy and it was us who had to kiss instead.”

            Jake looks at me sheepishly. “I wanted to kiss you so badly.”

            “God, why didn’t you?!”

            “You were in love with Liam!”

            “You are still such an idiot. Did you not hear anything I’ve said to you? If you’d kissed me, it wouldn’t have mattered. You were always there in the back of my mind. It was always you.” My hands are trembling at the admission, at how easily I would’ve folded if he had come for me.

            His eyes narrow, almost incredulously, as if he can’t believe it.

            “That’s all I ever wanted, Jake—for you to care enough to show me, or tell me, or anything at all! To fight for me…for us. But you never had the balls to do it, and that’s why we never happened. Not because of Liam. Not because I didn’t feel the same way. Because of you,” I say, voice shaking as hard as my hands.

            I’m coming apart at the seams, unravelling for the second time tonight because of men who never truly understood me or put me first. Refusing to cry in front of Jake and let him know just how much he’d changed with his inaction, I stand too quickly, wobbling on my feet.

            Jake jumps up to steady me, one hand at my forearm and the other at my waist, touching me for the first time in over 20 years. My stupid body responds with a jolt of electricity now just as it did then, like a phantom limb come to life. Logic tells me to pull away.

I don’t.

            He steps closer. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into my hair, “I feel like all I’ve ever done is hurt you, and I hate myself for it.”

            Oh, god. His proximity is dizzying, a reminder of moments long gone. A whiff of cologne. The way his thumb gently rubs the dip of my waist through my dress. The not-so-subtle way he lures me in closer.

            I don’t understand. How is it after the decades of life that have occurred, after having my heart swell and break and swell again with different types of love, that this man still can send me reeling?

            And he’s right—all he’s ever done is hurt me and tie me in knots. Being near him is like being edged in the most painful of ways because there is never any payoff. He had seen to that.

            There is something inherently cruel in the fate of it all. How the moment I had moved on all those years ago, the moment I released my hope of being with him and found another, that was when he figured his shit out. The worst part used to be feeling like he’d never felt the same about me, but knowing now that he loved me somehow makes everything ache even worse than it did before.

            Tears sting the corners of my eyes, even though I promised myself long ago I’d never shed another tear over Jake. I hate he will forever be the one that got away. The one who I’d never felt closure with, like a scab that crusts over but won’t heal underneath. As stupid as it sounds, there has been a part of me since the moment he so sweetly helped me solve a math problem in the 7th grade that has unwillingly left a piece of my heart in his hands ever since, no matter how many others there have been to take his place in between.

            And I hate him for that. I hate him even more now that I know I was always right about us from the start, about the thread of connection that bound us to each other almost 30 years ago.

“Does it even bother you? The ‘what could have been?’ Did it cross your mind that maybe everything would be different if you’d just said something? Or did you just forget about me, about all of it?” I whisper angrily.

God knows, I haven’t.

Furious and frazzled, I press my hands into his chest to push away. It’s a terrible move because his large hand covers mine, pinning it to him. He’s warm through his dress shirt and his heart beats wildly under my palm. My eyes fly up to meet his.

“I think about it all the time. More than I should. But God works in mysterious ways,” he says, as if that explains it all.

I roll my eyes. Another wonderful excuse. “I guess he does,” I add sarcastically.  Extricating myself from him, I immediately feel clearer, but part of me wants nothing more to feel his touch on me again. I shake the feeling off.

I had abandoned religion and the guilt and bigotry that came along with it the moment I got to college, when I realized just how much it had fucked my young brain up. Not shockingly, the religious friends who’d taken such offense when I’d gotten together with Liam were the same ones who quickly fell out of my life once they realized I wasn’t going to tow the line. Jake had only dug his heels in deeper into his religion after that, with Tiffany and his cookie-cutter perfect family and church going ways, and now it crosses my mind that it’s all because of me.

Don’t be stupid.

He’s waiting on me to say something. It takes me a moment to absorb the fact that he admitted thinking about me more than he should. This good and pious Christian man was thinking about me when he should have been thinking about his wife.

But I am in no place to judge. Not about this.

I want to know what salacious thoughts have run through his mind about me, but I can’t bring myself to ask. Part of me wants to utterly ruin him in all the ways I couldn’t when we were teenagers. A heat gathers low in my belly at the thought, at his nearness.

Romantic and physical chemistry is no joke, I realize. It’s like my pheromones were preprogrammed by the universe to be attracted to his, and by the cautiously heated look he’s giving me now, I’m wondering if it’s always been the same for him.

One of my biggest regrets about us, since the beginning, was the question that if we had even just kissed once and got it over with, would it have broken the tension between us like a summer rainstorm breaks the heat? Would we have gotten it out of our system and figured out if whatever chemistry we had was real or just something we’d worked up in our imaginations?

But it’s too late for that. The past can’t be changed. Now the ‘what if’s’ that plagued me for all these years hurt worse than before, knowing that with one stupid admission or one kiss all those years ago, we could have had it all. Maybe we would have been the high school sweethearts who got married and annoy our 2.5 kids with stories about what an idiot their dad was until he’d finally told me how he felt.

There would’ve been no me-and-Liam, or him leaving me because the world had gone to shit. I wouldn’t have met my husband. All of it, an entire life I’ll never know, flashes before my eyes and nearly brings me to my knees.

And while I don’t subscribe to his God, I do think the universe puts things in our path. But what was the point of all this, then—of us never being the “us” we both know we wanted it to be? I just don’t see why this thing can’t seem to die and fade into the ether. He’s like a bad penny I can’t shake.

At least with Liam, there was closure. We had loved and dated and all of the milestones that go with that. Knowing Jake loved me doesn’t make me truly feel any better, other than the fact I know I wasn’t a delusional, lovesick teenager.

But he loved a version of me that’s grown up into someone different, just as I begrudgingly loved a version of him that I’d made up in my head to be better than he was.

I’ve been quiet too long. “Why?” It pops out of my mouth unwillingly. “Why do you still think of me?”

“Do you still think of me?” I expect him to shirk away from the question, but he flips it on me so fast I have whiplash.

I close my mouth, my eyes darting away, answering his question.

He nods. “Then you know.”

Does that mean he replays fuzzy memories of interlocking his fingers with mine or pulling me too close in a dance? He sees the stolen, meaningful glances in his mind’s eye? He thinks about the multitude of chances he had to press his lips to mine but didn’t and what may have happened if it had gone farther than that? He thinks of how if he and I became a “we” it would’ve completely altered the course of our lives?

I have trouble thinking he ponders any of that.

But if he loved me like he says he did…

The hollow ache in my heart is back with a vengeance, erasing all hope I had at getting out of here relatively unscathed.

“Maybe we were just destined to hurt each other. Maybe we’ve always been bad for each other,” I say indignantly instead of voicing all the other thoughts buzzing in my head. But it feels true, nonetheless.

I watch him shake his head rather vehemently. He opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to the punch.

“But too bad we never had the chance to find out for sure,” I add with venom. After this, I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling like he stole that chance from me.

We were babies. Give the guy a break, a tiny voice in the back of my head chimes in.

            Unfortunately, I’m a little too emotionally wrecked to let a silly thing like logic get me back on track and remind me I’m a goddamned adult.

            Star-crossed lovers aren’t real. “Meant to be” isn’t real. Threads of fate tying us together in inexplicable ways aren’t real. What’s real is hormones and youth and cowardice and terrible timing. What’s real are jobs and spouses and children.

            Then why can’t I shake the feeling that this isn’t even close to being the end for us? It makes no sense.

            It never has.

            I grab my purse. Furious and regretful, I can’t be around him anymore, which is made evident by the fact that I want to stay so badly, even if it means my heart is bleeding out in front of him. But I have more self-respect now than I had when I was 16, and I certainly am not going to cry in front of him.

            “Goodbye Jake. I hope your life is everything you want it to be. Give Tiffany my best.” It’s a dig, to be sure. We both know Tiffany wants nothing to do with me, and now I finally know why. I turn and walk away, quickly, escaping my past down the darkened hallway towards the bathrooms.

            “Lily, wait,” he commands from behind me, catching up and grabbing my hand. Shocked at his tone of voice and forwardness, I have no choice to spin back to him. His eyes are blazing.

            “What? What is there left to say?” I say, my voice cracking with emotion. “That one of my biggest regrets is that we never made this work, this—this silly pseudo-romance from our teens? That I hate how much this matters to me, even now, even though I haven’t seen you in years?”

            He advances, his eyes never leaving mine, and a small huff escapes my lips as my back hits the wall. It’s hard not to notice he’s broader and taller than he used to be as his body comes so close to pressing against mine. Every one of my nerves sparks to attention at his sudden proximity, a buzzing static electricity.

His hand clasps my neck, the rough pad of his thumb trailing along my jaw. I have no choice but to keep looking up at him, into those darkened brown eyes.

“What are you doing?” I whisper.

Shock precedes a pool of fire low in my belly when he boldly brings his thumb to the center of my lips and slowly drags it down. My lips part and a small moan escapes them. I’m vaguely aware of my purse hitting the floor with a thunk.

“What I should’ve done a long time ago,” he says definitively. His warm breath tickles my cheek where his mouth hovers too close to mine.

As my body fully kicks into overdrive, I’m reminded of what I’ve always known: I’m incapable of resisting Jake Lawson. One last rational thought pushes through the fire that is rapidly consuming me.

“This is a bad idea,” I pant, my eyes scanning his face.

“A terrible one,” he agrees, and when he nods, his nose brushes against mine.

I expect a crash of lips and teeth, but instead his soft lips brush mine tantalizingly, dragging in a way that sends an explosion of heat through my chest. The warmth of our breath mingles, and I can’t stop the way my hands instinctively reach for the lapels of his jacket. His hand on my neck pulls me closer and when our lips finally press together in earnest, oh, god, it’s everything I’d ever hoped it would be.

Instead of breaking away, we are pulled into each other by some unknown force that makes my entire body tingle from head to toe. Jake deepens the kiss, and I turn as pliable as putty in his arms, wondering how it is possible that we went this damn long without doing this. His fingers tighten in my hair, eliciting a groan as his mouth opens and his tongue persuasively brushes against my lips. Granting permission, I open to him further and our tongues roll gingerly against each other.

Something ignites in me that hasn’t in a long, long time. It’s a blast of desire and truth so strong it threatens to undo me. It’s different than pure passion—there’s a yearning, a need, a rightness lacing every touch between us. And based on the way he clings to me now, I have no doubt he feels it, too, this sense of fate that we were always destined to end up here.

Every instinct I have wants to feed the fire that is swirling in my belly, but the last thread of rationality left in me reminds me that I shouldn’t let this go too far. It has gone too far already. I force myself to pull away, which is like prying two strong magnets off each other. I can’t move more than an inch, just enough to separate our lips. I’m too dizzy with the smell of him and what must be a lack of oxygen. Or maybe it’s because my entire world feels upended.

His forehead rests on mine, his thumb caressing the hollow of my throat. “Shit,” he sighs out with a shudder, his breath tickling my face as he struggles to control himself.

For once in my life, I have no doubt of what he’s feeling. The way he says that one word tells me he is every bit as blindsided, connected, and aroused as I am. But it’s more than just that. A tether of knowing has tightened between us. It’s so overwhelming I feel like I might cry.

As we stand pressed close together in this dark hallway, I don’t think either of us truly expected it to feel like this. Like everything that’s been wrong between us was because we resisted this bond, a power that feels beyond anything I could have imagined. In mere moments, we’ve confirmed what both of us have inherently known but tried to ignore for almost three decades.

That’s when I realize we’ve opened Pandora’s box. We can never go back.

“Jake…” I choke, trying to get the words out, but they won’t come.

“I know,” he responds solemnly, and I have no doubt he has come to the same conclusion as I have:

We are in deep trouble.

*

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[greywolfheirs]

Send me Malkolai prompts!

@scorpiomindfuck Hi yes hello, I apologize for the delay and for the fact that this is 2k unbeta'd words I whipped up in an evening. I've been dying to write but life has been hectic. Anyway, I loved your prompt and I hope you like what I did with it. I love YOU forever for the prompt <3 (to my other prompters...I'm working on it)

***

It was an odd decision, Mal thought, for he and Alina to realize their feelings were simply love towards a friend nearly immediately after an adrenaline and power-filled kiss post-hunt. In the end, though, they both (awkwardly) admitted hoping for someone else to kiss in that moment. The difficult thing for Mal was that his desire was for one of the witnesses of that kiss. At least Alina’s crush wouldn’t be confused with sudden flirting.

Not to say that Sturmhond was showing any sign of confusion—the captain took it in stride. The problem was, he seemed to interpret it as their regular banter. Or was their regular banter just flirting all along? Mal dismissed that idea. Sturmhond had refused to learn Mal’s name when they’d started bantering—no way his new approval was flirting—he just considered them friends. Which, they were, except that Mal suddenly had an increasing desire to kiss his friend, which was getting harder to ignore by the second.

Now, as Mal watched the captain order the Hummingbird around, he couldn’t help but linger on the way his golden locks shimmered in the air, or how dashing they looked being rustled by the squaller’s wind.

“You should go talk to him.” Mal startled at Alina’s sudden appearance at his side. Yes he knew where she was at all times, but it got a little fuzzy at close distance. He certainly hadn’t been distracted.

“And say what?” Mal asked, feigning calm. “He doesn’t need a compliment. His ego’s already too big.”

“Perhaps a compliment from you would be different.”

Mal gave her an incredulous look but Alina simply shrugged. Well, that and she nudged him slightly closer to the approaching captain. Oh, Saints, the captain was approaching.

“I’ve just been informed that the Fold is nearing,” Sturmhond announced. He looked over his shoulder at the ever increasing darkness. “As I’m sure you can see. Destiny is in sight.”

He said that last part with a nod to Alina, who nodded back and said, “I’d better prepare.”

Before either man could respond, she began to walk to the other end of the Hummingbird. Mal knew she had nothing to prepare, but he couldn’t show his frustrations without revealing why he was frustrated.

“I wasn’t aware she needed practice,” Sturmhond mused.

“Well, she probably has to get used to the new extra power…or something.”

Stormhund hummed. “Suppose that leaves you and I to make our own preparations.”

“Which are…?”

Grinning as widely as ever, Stormhund pulled out a flask. Mal desperately hoped his slightly darker skin tone hid the blush at the ensuing wink. Still, he managed to shoot back a grin of his own and shake his head.

“Are you sure you don’t want a clear head entering the Fold?” he asked.

“I’m sure that I’ll need some liquid courage to get through this encounter,” Sturmhond said breezily. He knocked back a drink before offering it to Mal. “I’m also sure my already courageous friend doesn’t need more but it can’t hurt can it?”

Mal hesitated only for a second before taking the flask from him. Before taking his own sip, he shot back, “Your friend needs all the help he can get.” He nearly choked on his sip, throat burning all the way down. “Saints, what do you have in there?”

Sturmhond laughed. “You think I’d drink anything less than the best? You truly don’t know me, Malyen Oretsev.”

Mal handed back the flask before casually yet carefully asking, “And what if I’d like to?”

Sturmhond paused, both their hands still brushing. “Get to know me?” he swallowed in an uncharacteristically unsure manner. “I’m not sure you’d like what you find.”

“Can’t hurt to try, right?” Mal asked. He hoped he wasn’t imagining the smile curling on Sturmhond’s lips.

Before he could respond fully, there was a shout from Tamar. The fold was upon them.

One crash later, and Mal was watching Alina throw a punch at Prince Nikolai Lantsov, formerly known as Captain Sturmhond. Honestly, he was surprised it wasn’t his own punch. This pirate—privateer—had simply been an illusion. All this time he’d been a prince playacting like a child. The only reason Alina had gotten to him first was because Mall had too many warring emotions in his head swirling around fast enough to make him feel sick.

He’d been flirting with a prince of Ravka.

Mal processed all of this silently as Alina negotiated her way out of her own anger by talking to the prince. Angry as they both were, they did still need an audience with the king, and what better way to get there than through his son? Wrapped up in these thoughts as he was, Mal didn’t notice the negotiations end as Alina rode ahead.

“I did warn you,” Sturmhond—no, Nikolai—said suddenly.

Mal kept his expression and tone neutral as he replied, “That you were a prince?”

“That you may not like me once you get to know me,” Nikolai corrected.

“Apparently, everything I have known is a lie,” Mal said icily. “So, really, I don’t know you at all.”

“Sturmhond wasn’t a lie,” Nikolai countered. “He was a dream of what could be.”

“Lies we tell ourselves are still lies,” Mal shot back.

Nikolai sighed. “Look, I don’t intend any harm to come to either of you. You can trust me as much as you trusted Sturmhond.”

Mal finally turned to face Nikolai as he replied, “I never fully trusted Sturmhond. He seemed like he was hiding something.”

Mal sometimes hated how his life had turned out. True, he wouldn’t trade his friendship with Alina for anything, but honestly did it have to be one crisis after another? Soon after their arrival to the palace, Nikolai announced the darkling’s return, and Mal wished that were weighing on his mind more than the discussion that happened after. Mal’s best friend being proposed to—even politically—by his…by Nikolai? It just wasn’t fair, his lot in life.

“Marriage!” Alina scoffed after Nikolai left. “Like I’m just some pawn.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t break his nose,” Mal managed to joke. It went poorly.

“I’m surprised you didn’t!” Alina exclaimed. “I don’t understand how you seem to be taking this better than I am, when—”

“When what?” Mal scoffed. “Just because I fell for a mask doesn’t mean I like the face underneath.”

Alina gave him a look. “And what if Prince Nikolai is the real mask?”

Mal shook his head. “Still doesn’t matter. He’s a prince, I’m an orphan, and we’ve got worse things to worry about.”

“Mal,” Alina insisted. “This won’t be our lives forever. And even if it is, promise me you’ll try to find happiness for yourself.”

“I’ve found it,” Mal said, taking Alina’s hand and swinging it gently. “You’re my best friend, and that makes me happy.”

But Alina wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Then promise me you’ll find more.”

Mal sighed. “I promise.”

Later that night, Mal was in his new quarters, stewing. He’d stayed to watch the engagement announcement but excused himself immediately after. Admitting why he was frustrated just made Mal angrier. He’d somehow placed his happiness in a prince of Ravka and the impossible dream that maybe this could all be over eventually. Mal wasn’t sure which one was more ridiculous, yet here he was stuck trying to keep an impossible promise.

Taking a deep breath, and forcing a mask of calm so he could return to the festivities, Mal walked over to the door—only to find Nikolai Lantsov, his hand raised to knock.

“Oh, er, hi,” the prince laughed, his dashing smile on full display as Mal stepped aside to let him in. “Alina said you might be here.”

“Shouldn’t you be out there doing whatever it is princes do?” Mal asked, genuinely confused.

“Yes, well, part of that is strengthening alliances,” Nikolai said. He cleared his throat and sat down in a chair. “And ensuring those alliances…still exist.”

“Nervousness is not something I expected of you,” Mal said with a badly suppressed grin. Instead of sitting down, he crossed his arms.

Nikolai huffed. “Mal, please, I just wanted to talk to you. I’m truly sorry for lying to you, but it was for—”

“The people you love, yeah Alina told me,” Mal agreed.

“Then you also know that I truly want to have an alliance,” Nikolai pressed. “More than that, though. I want to get to know you, Mal.”

Mal sucked in a surprised breath at that. Here was Prince Nikolai practically begging to be friends with an orphan. Promise me you’ll find happiness for yourself.

Mal let out his breath and began speaking before he really knew what he was going to say. “I haven’t really had the happiest life. Sure, Alina was almost always there for me, and I can’t say there haven’t been some truly incredible things I’ve experienced. Overall, though? Could be a lot better.”

Nikolai was enraptured, but Mal felt like he needed to sit down. The weight of his next words were like a physical presence.

“Being at sea was the happiest I’ve ever been. I never knew life could be so rich yet full of peace at the same time. Part of that was the sea itself. Another part was the crew. But the biggest part was Captain Sturmhond. I’ve never been more jealous of a man in my life. Not only leading the life he lived, but doing it with more charisma than I could ever imagine. At least I thought it was jealousy. After the Sea Whip, I realized what it was. I was falling for Sturmhond.”

Nikolai blinked and sat up straighter at that, but Mal put a hand up. He wasn’t finished.

“The thought of being with a man like him—living that life together—that made me feel excitement like no other. But just when I started to think it could happen, Prince Nikolai pulled the plug on that hope. It’s not that I hate you. I don’t think I can even be angry at you. I just can’t look at you without seeing everything that I’ll never have again.”

“I didn’t realize,” Nikolai said, standing with sudden emotion. “Alina—?”

“Is a friend,” Mal answered. “We realized it pretty quickly after the Sea Whip.”

“Then, Mal,” Nikolai began, stepping cautiously towards Mal. He didn’t back away. “You should know how much I wish Sturmhond could be who I truly am. I love Ravka, yes, but the freedom I had on that ship was like no other. If I didn’t feel an obligation to help my country, I wouldn’t have sought out the Sun Summoner. If I’d known what she and her friend were really like I’d never have done what I’d done. But by the time I knew that, it was too late.”

Nikolai reached out to take Mal’s hand. For his part, Mal couldn’t speak what with his heart in his throat as it was.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Mal. You have to know that your feelings were returned. Are returned, if they still exist. I know my station may prove difficult for a relationship, but I’d like to try. Alina may be my fiancé but I need you to know that it’s you who has my heart.”

Promise me you’ll find happiness for yourself. “You talk to much,” Mal whispered around his heart.

Nikolai’s returning nervous grin was still just as dashing. “Speak for yourself.”

Except Mal couldn’t because his mouth was busy pressing itself against Nikolai’s. He should have known a prince’s lips would be soft, but Mal wasn’t used to palace life. He would make sure to never get used to it, if it meant he felt this way all the time. Nikolai’s lips against his lit a fire in Mal that contrasted the peace of Sturmhond’s sea, yet gave him the same excitement. The same peace. The same hope.

When they pulled apart to breath, Mal lost himself in the blue of Nikolai’s eyes. That is, until the prick spoke.

“Seriously, that was the most I’ve ever heard you speak,” he teased.

“Shut up and kiss me again,” Mal breathed. He surged forward before Nikolai could reply, but that was alright. He felt like there would be more opportunities in the future.  

[violetsvisions77]

The Return

What has it been, like 15 years since I’ve last posted on Tumblr AND painted!?

Whack…

I can’t say I know this platform that much anymore, and I’m due for a refresh (or crash course, all them veteran Tumblrers share your wisdom to fill me in if I’ve missed much).

Ngl. Writing this makes me feel old, I’m 34 by the way (since we’re doing introductions now?). I guess that is old in internet years. I know the zoomers think I’m a living relic, anyway.

Hey I survived Y2K, Ebola and really traumatically cruel 90’s Christian school teachers (IYKYK)

Anywho.

Where have I been these last 15 years?

Other than opening and then closing a business during the pandemic and nursing that wound, I think my last profile/posts (that no longer exist, hopefully) involved my broken engagement, that then turned into a bro-code breaking wet dream dating the best friend for 5 more years, that I’m still getting therapy for today. Love

Yeah. Love the whimsy of betrayal, lies and dudes manipulating naive hopeless romantic girls, who desperately needed confidence way more dick.

Oh… welcome to my tumblr 🥴😉

You’ll see a lot of rage-induced, ADHD fueled ramblings here with lots of other colorful sprinklings catapulted into the mix (y’know, kinda how the name Technicolor Ramblings implies). Not colorful how you think tho. Literally I’m an indigenous hairdresser and artist: Tater-baters and red hat brigaders leave wake (in fact take that lil Mayflower ass back on that sailing the ocean blue bullshit outta here and hope the killer whales getchu along the way too)

Anyway. Where were we?

Oh yeah, my hummingbird painting. Because like, that’s here so let’s talk about that instead of your daily dose of post-pandemic rantings and landback diatribes…

Right, so, this painting that’s not finished yet. It’s a Walela (Hummingbird in Cherokee. Yes I’m Tsalagi). The flowers all have meaning I’ll speak of later, but in short my life, more or less, has been saved by birds. My body has tried to kill me so many times, but picking up the simple hobby (should be something we all do, btw) of feeding birds and nectar-feeders has honestly saved my life and refocused my depresso messo of a fucked up mind.

My ancestors reminded me that I was here to be a steward. I have gifts. Feeding the birds and punishing the squirrels with spicy bird feed when they knock my cardinals off the feeder was my path in life (fr can we talk about what antagonistic little bitches squirrels can be?) Just joking… I’m indigenous, I love all animals and those lil fuckers do make me chuckle from time to time…

Lmao, okay okay, back to my sad sap story-turned influencer Tedtalk blog:

(Fr tho) I almost forgot myself, but the birds reminded me. I’m compassionate, I’m vibrant, I’m a work of art. I’m also crazy- like legit can’t keep my train of thought worth of shit, whatever the hell that means… (for laymen’s terms; I’m a bird brain)… but I’m me. An air sign, and an observer of nature, an indigenous woman who hails from descendants of Anitsiskwa (bird clan). Birds show me who I am. Weird little shits, but beautiful and so very valuable to our ecosystem. Each have their unique call(ing), colors, and purpose in this world.

And to be real, we waste so much of our own air chasing ideas of ourselves that’s based off others. We spoil so much of our own magic when we don’t love ourselves enough to foster the gifts we were given, that is MEANT to be shared

Magic. Yeah, Harry ain’t the only wizard here.

We each have our own rizz, y’all.

Mine is to feel, create and share, like many artists. That’s why it’s a blessing I can paint this Walela after a 15 year art hiatus. It’s my gift to share from the magic I contain.

Our experiences are meant to be the wisdom we learn from.

Our experiences were meant to heal.

And the experiences we foster into gifts of wisdom and art, are how we heal ourselves and others. It’s all tied together.

I feel like I haven’t always been good at that, using my experiences and turning into gifts to share. But with enough conviction, life is about second and third chances. So… with limited resources from our broken bird brain, we’re off into the races, my friends. I’m here to find, foster and share my colorful, weird and flighty magic again.

So without further ado as the Tumblr curtains open once again: I hope, if you done did the stumbler upon my Tumblr, you enjoy my own personal magic ✨

(It’s batshit crazy)

🥴😘