#I and severely doubt people would participate nowadays

[loki-survey]

(Source)

Research can be frustrating at times, but it can be incredibly rewarding, too, mostly when formerly shown results are validated by new info. This is one of those moments. Taika Waititi‘d interview (date: 27.11.23) confirms what fans had long time argued based on Waitit‘s comments on Thor Ragnarok in 2017.

This interview shows that there was not a correlation between Thor Ragnarok‘s different style and the widening gap between the fandom fractions, but causation. In this case, the lack of respect the director had for the original product (both comics and former movies) have shown their effects. In the short term, the effects have been present but little acknowledged in the mainstream media. Most debates took place in fandom spaces. Yet, the Loki survey showed the gap starting with Thor Ragnarok.

In 2021, the effects have been multiplied by the Loki series which stepped into Ragnarok‘s footprints in terms of creative direction. Moreover, the split in the opinions of the fandom shows a broadening gap that has reached its maximum by the end of season 1.

I conclude, that this interview hardens the evidence for Thor Ragnarok being the divisive point for the split of the Loki fandom and that we now can safely assume that a new director’s lack of interest in the previous franchise material can result in a decrease in quality of the respective product. However, the effects of that decrease in quality might show up delayed.

The poor reception of Thor Love and Thunder shows that the decreased quality does come with a decrease of audience interest. Eventually.

This is true for Loki season 2, as well, which I intend to show in a different post. I‘ll link it as soon I have made it.

The Loki survey is evaluated!

In August 2021, I conducted a survey to examine what might have led to the highly divided opinions regarding the Disney + show Loki (2021). The survey gathered over 500 responses. In my survey, the majority of the respondents identify as women, but the survey also got above average feedback from non-binary and genderfluid fans. In this survey, about 75% of the respondents liked the show, 15% disliked it, and 5% felt neutral about it. Several tested variables turned out to be significantly connected to the enjoyment of the show, which converged towards three major factors affecting the enjoyment while watching the show.

Firstly, the enjoyment of non-binary, including genderfluid fans, and respondents who felt strongly about representation was moderately reduced by the execution of the representation in the show.

Secondly, respondents who had deeply desired Loki to have a love interest and those who enjoyed his interaction with Mobius reported a moderately increased enjoyment. However, a third of all respondents who liked the show reported a high preference for one of the two relationships over the other, indicating a strong rivalry among the two groups, which most likely contributed to the increased confrontations among Loki fans on social media.

The people who disliked the show did not favor one possible relationship (Mobius vs Sylvie) over the other. Thus, the shipwar is mostly limited to the fans who enjoyed the show.

Lastly, respondents who considered Loki a morally good character, liked Thor (2011), or disliked Thor: Ragnarok (2017) reported a reduced enjoyment.

The highest correlation with a dislike of the show was associated with perceiving Loki acting out of character. This may be attributed to fans who saw Loki as a morally good character and were unable to recognize him in the portrayal in the show since the show heavily depended on Loki being motivated narcissism, as a starting point for his redemption arc.

Calculated over all responses to the survey, Loki’s likeability decreased within the show, with episode 6 marking the first time the likeability of the installment surpasses Loki’s likeability as a character. Between the opinions of the respondents who liked the show and those who did not, an increasing divide is visible in the categories of Loki’s relatability, likeability, and in-character acting.

Interestingly, the starting point of the division coincides with the disbanding of the Marvel Creative Committee in 2015. Possible causalities, as well as who was the favorite Loki variant, and which characters the respondents would like to see in the second season are being discussed in the complete paper you can find here or here as a pdf.

I will try to answer possible questions as soon as possible, but it might take me several days to do so.

My thoughts go out to everyone suffering in Ukraine right now. If you can, please consider helping those in need!

[gemsofgreece]

Taking a course on Greek myths and I'm just curious on how atheism worked in the Greek world considering how entrenched the belief in the gods was. Like would a person not participate in festivals and such? Were they punished for it?

A belief close to what atheism is nowadays existed but it was usually pretty different from how atheism is perceived nowadays. We should keep in mind that atheism is largely founded on scientific progress, therefore it must have been a much rarer phenomenon when science was still in extremely early stages, let alone that the feats of early scientific knowledge were not accessible to 99% members of the ancient societies. This is why when we study ancients who might have in some way or another doubted the established religion of their time (i.e Democritus, Anaxagoras, Epicurus) they are almost always esteemed scientists, philosophers, sophists and so on. I don't think many of the average, everyday people had the scientific backrgound and critical thinking needed to even entertain this ideology.

And what was similar to atheism in antiquity was in fact closer to agnosticism. Rarely, if ever, did the ancient "atheists" reject the existence of the divine completely. What they doubted mostly was whether those gods were indeed the true ones or whether the deities truly interferred with human matters as much as it was usually believed.

There is not much knowledge about how "atheists" or better areligious people were treated, except for Athens, which is known to occasionally banish or even execute such people. A very famous example is the execution of Socrates under the fabricated charge that he rejected the gods of Athens (which was a total lie, Socrates was devout). We don't know much about what happened in other city-states regarding such matters but Athens might as well have been one of the strictest places regarding religion. Athens was also one of the last places in Greece to completely abandon the ancient religion for the sake of Christianity, well into the Byzantine period, which makes me think they were really the most absolute against other religious beliefs or different approaches towards the divine.

The Homeric epics reflect a society in which religion plays the absolute most pivotal role. Mortals could hardly even think without the direct interference of a god who guided them what to say and how to act. I think very slowly Greeks were loosening up about it, with Archaic, Classical and then Hellenistic periods being gradually less and less religiously uptight and strict. This could have to do with their interaction with other nations and cultures. Seeing so many different faiths and beliefs could eventually make them start questiong what the ultimate truth is.

I don't think however everyday people would think much of this or intentionally oppose to rituals and festivals to express their opposite ideology. There certainly were several different approaches towards religion and countless variations in the intensity of the faith, however too few would oppose so strongly. As a result, I don't think punishing someone for atheism / areligiousness was a common phenomenon, especially in later stages of Ancient Greek history.

I have a feeling that by the Roman period, the Romans were more devout than the Greeks. They start getting involved with the gods and their myths more earnestly than the Greeks. Then Christianity spread like wildfire amongst the Greeks or, rather, the Greeks spread it like wildfire so this makes me conclude that the Greeks deep inside had long been in a process of seeking a different worldview, unlike the Romans at the time. But of course this is not atheism, this is lurking agnosticism and then promptly embracing a new, very different religion. I believe the vast majority were spiritual, true atheism must have been extremely rare and even more rarely openly expressed.

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Time for the rest of the first challenge. Event. Whatever. Words hard.

[No. 26 - Chase Down The Leader]

We flashback just a minute or so from where we left off, in order to see just how Izuku pulled off his impressive launch across the field. He stands at the start of the minefield, watching other students pick their way through - and occasionally setting off mines with missteps - while having a veritable mumblefest over the mines and the general issue of trying to pick past them. 

The general gist of the mumbling: The mines are the type that blow up when stepped on, and aren’t that strong, but can throw a student off enough to possibly cause a chain reaction and lose them a lot of time. It’s better to go slow to avoid damage, even for leaping types, and trying to slow others is a guaranteed time loss. Izuku then analyzes the field in front of him, noting the spots people avoid and that most students will be most on guard at the entrance, which means there are plenty of mines left for his plan so long as they stay frosty. 

Izuku puts his armor plate to work digging up mines, muttering about how anti-personnel mines should only be 14 centimeters or so deep (about 6 inches). Jirou, just making her way into the field and using her quirk to��� I guess disable mines in front of her? Anyway, she actually notices Izuku is up to something and asks what he’s doing, though I think it’s not one she expects to get answered. In short order, Izuku has a pile of about a dozen mines, and mentally claims he’s taking a page from Kacchan’s book. Meanwhile, Present Mic announces Shouto and Katsuki are still in the lead, and that they’re about to cross the finish line.

Not for long, though, as Izuku names his adhoc maneuver ‘great blasting turbo speed’, throwing himself on top of his armor sheet and onto the pile of mines, launching him over the field and right towards the two leading the pack. Pretty much everyone hesitates or stops to stare for a moment, shook by the sheer brass balls it had to take to literally blow yourself sky high. The two most shook, of course, are Shouto and Katsuki, who only just start moving again when Izuku actually flies ahead of them, forgoing their fight in order to catch back up.

Izuku considers the whole experience intense, and is even more focused now that he’s managed to gain the lead. However, there’s one huge issue - he didn’t think far enough ahead to consider how he was going to land. As if that’s not enough, Katsuki is throwing himself forward with more explosions, screaming at ‘Deku’ to get back there (presumably to fight). Shouto’s not far behind, giving up keeping the others hindered in exchange for the speed he gets from icing over the field ahead of him - he doesn’t have time to worry about those behind him now.

Present Mic announces the temporary ceasefire between the two in order to chase down Izuku, and how when a common enemy appears, people stop fighting - then tacks on that, well, actually they’re still fighting, just not each other. Aizawa wonders what his friend is even trying to say. 

Izuku starts floating away from his armor sheet, the larger surface area causing it to stall and slow faster then he is. He grabs onto one of the wires as he recognizes this, and that if he loses time on his landing, passing the two again will be impossible. As the two just start to rush past him, Izuku swears mentally, telling himself to not let go - while he’s still ahead, this is his only chance. So, if passing them is impossible, then he has to maintain the lead. 

Somehow, he manages to flip in the air, using the momentum to bring the armor plate swinging around and into the ground right between the two, the pressure enough to set off several more mines. The two are forced to stop from the resulting explosion, while Izuku’s newfound momentum throws him readily ahead. 

As he falls into a duck and roll, Present Mic announces how Izuku blows off the competition with no time to lose. He goes on to marvel at Aizawa’s class, wondering what he’s teaching the kids. Aizawa says it’s not his doing, and that they’ve been spurring each other on all on their own. Present Mic rolls on with his commentary, asking who could have predicted such an incredible turn of events? Aizawa asks if he’s being ignored as Present Mic announces the first one back to the stadium:

Midoriya Izuku. The crowds go absolutely wild. Outside the stadium, Death Arms recognizes Izuku as the kid from a year ago. At home, Inko falls off the couch sobbing while repeatedly stumbling over Izuku’s name. In an unknown location, Shigaraki watches on while scratching idly at his neck. 

Izuku looks around the stadium while breathing heavily, eventually looking at one spot in particular. Somehow, he’s found Toshinori in the stands, and the two have a Moment™ from across the stadium. 

These fucking two, man. 

While Izuku is trying to keep himself from crying, the other students start making their way across the finish line as well. 

Toshinori thinks about how Izuku has the spirit of a savior hero to the core, but the sports festival is a competition that tests the exact opposite of that - your willingness to take down the enemy. Heroes nowadays depend on popular opinion so much. So many selfishly seek to beat everyone else. But that’s not Izuku - and that’s why Toshinori chose him, even as he thoughts that lack of selfishness would be his one weakness. He claps in the stands, happy to have been proved wrong and mentally apologizing for doubting him, even as he laments Izuku’s crying habits.

Some business students nearby catch Toshinori’s attention, mostly due to them discussing Izuku’s potential and how they’d market him. They talk about how Izuku’s stock is about to rise, but it’s hard to say what’s still in store for him since he didn’t show his quirk. They then start speculating about how a hero agency would market him if they took it on, with one pointing out how he’s not much to look at, so they’re have to push his skills and his unique, almost artistic sensibilities. When the resources you need aren’t there… Well, we don’t hear how that gets handled, but Toshinori does note how some things never change.

We get a brief narrative insert about the business course, most notably how they have nothing to gain by directly competing in the sports festival. Instead, they hone their skills as salespeople and run business simulations. 

Back with the hero students, we see Katsuki and Shouto both catching their breath. Katsuki is furious at Izuku once again managing to wrangle a win right from under him, while Shouto is just staring after Izuku silently. Present Mic announces more racers reaching the finish line, and that the standings will be gone over later, so the students can catch their breath for now.

Ochako and Tenya make their way over to Izuku. Ochako calls Izuku’s strategy awesome, while Tenya is in despair over losing a race with his quirk, stating that he still has progress to make. Ochako states that she’s jealous of Izuku’s first place; Izuku flushes and hides his face behind his arms, stating that it wasn’t that impressive, and was still too close. Internally, he laments that he just got lucky, that all his chance strategies happened to work. They say it’s awesome, but it was just a lucky break, and that the real test of skill starts now.

Anyways, Midnight announces the end of the race, and we get the results:

Midoriya Izuku

Todoroki Shouto

Bakugou Katsuki

Shiozaki Ibara

Honenuki Juuzou

Iida Tenya

Tokoyami Fumikage

Sero Hanta

Kirishima Eijirou

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu

Ojiro Mashirao

Awase Yosetsu

Asui Tsuyu

Shouji Mezou

Satou Rikidou

Uraraka Ochako

Yaoyorozu Momo

Mineta Minoru

Ashido Mina

Kouda Kouji

Jirou Kyouka

Kaibara Sen

Tsuburaba Kosei

Kaminari Denki

Bondo Kojiro

Yanagi Reiko

Shinsou Hitoshi

Kendo Itsuka

Shishida Jurota

Kuroiro Shihai

Kodai Yui

Rin Hiryu

Shouda Nirengeki

Komori Kinoko

Kamakiri Togaru

Monoma Neito

Tsunotori Pony

Hagakure Touru

Tokage Setsuna

Fukidashi Manga

Hatsume Mei

Aoyama Yuuga

I wasn’t able to find this list in word form anywhere online, so I made it myself. You’re welcome. I also calculated the points each of them had going into the second event, but I’m not gonna worry about that here. I’ll do individual and team points when we actually get to the teams. That way, we’ll know who has which teams’ headbands at the end!

Moving on with the chapter. Midnight announces that the top 42 from the qualifying round will move on, conveniently just including every hero student as well as the two non-hero students who managed to place higher. For those who placed lower, the sports festival will have another way for them to show their stuff!

(Not that we see said show, which I mean, makes sense narratively speaking, but also…)

[I was going to insert the server discussion about my thoughts on the arbitrary cut-off point here, but it’s getting long enough to merit its own post at this point. So look forward to that whenever it goes up!]

Anyways, Midnight continues on, explaining that now the main selection really begins, and that the press corp is going to be jumping out of their seats, so the students should give it all they’ve got. Now, onto the second event, which she already knows - which confirms these are predetermined by UA and they just do the randomizer for the sake of the crowds. Said event is… 

the cavalry battle!

Kaminari is nervous at that, thinking about how he’s going to suck. Mineta is also looking concerned. Tsuyu notes they’re teaming up, but how, exactly? Midnight explains with a neat little graphic:

Basically, participants get in teams of two to four, and get into a horse-and-rider formation. The rules are the same as your regular cavalry battle - snag the opponent’s headbands while guarding your own - but with a twist. Each student has an assigned value based on their placement in the race. 

Sato notes that it sounds like the points in the entrance exam, so it sounds simple. Hagakure comments on how this means the point value of each team is based on its members. Midnight snaps and cracks her whip at the students that she’s about to explain, so they should shut up already. 

Individual point values start at five, at the bottom, so the student in 42nd place is forth five, 41st is worth ten, etc etc. However, the first place participant - that is, Izuku - is instead worth a whole ten million points.

That, my friends, is the face of someone realized they done fucked up.

Basically all the students stare down Izuku as he goes stiff from the internal panicking. Shinsou and Hatsume seem to be shown particular interest in it. Midnight finishes the chapter by noting that the higher-ranked students are the ones to aim for, and that this survival game is a chance for a comeback. It’s anyone’s game!

And with that, we end chapter 26… and volume three. Which means bonus content will be coming soon! See y’all then, and we’ll be back with more sports festival action in the next volume. 

[shutupandshipit]

Words from your mouth - Oneshot

Summary: When Shinsou had used his quirk on Bakugou to tell the group who he was in love with, he wasn't expecting an honest answer. Even under his control, he'd been expecting Bakugou to resist or say something narcassistic along the lines of, "Myself, what the fuck kinda question?"

That's not what he got.

What he got was a perfunctory, "Deku."

.....

Or where Shinsou uses his quirk and feels bad about the secrets spilled.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T (for Bakugou’s mouth)

Author’s Note: Yeah, not sure where this came from. I thought about not posting it, but I'd already finished it, so here we are. Hope you enjoy it!

When Shinsou had used his quirk on Bakugou to tell the group who he was in love with, he wasn't expecting an honest answer. Even under his control, he'd been expecting Bakugou to resist or say something narcassistic along the lines of, "Myself, what the fuck kinda question?"

That's not what he got.

What he got was a perfunctory, "Deku."

Everyone around the table made some sound of surprise. A gasp. A squeak. A little, "What the fuck?" Several jaws dropped, but more hands leaped to cover mouths instead.

"Wait, really? Does he know? What did he say?" Kaminari asked rapidly, the only one who seemed to be able to speak after the revelation. He leaned across the table toward the other blond, hungry for secrets.

Shinsou wanted to shove him back in his seat, tell him to stop asking questions, but he was still trying to wrap his mind around the information he'd just been given. Bakugou who was loud, proud, and very passionate about how much he hated Midoriya was actually, in fact, in love with the other hero in training. He felt like he'd been transported into an alternate dimension.

Bakugou's red eyes were blank, but he still rolled them as if he was still in control. "Yes. He loves me too. Thought that was obvious."

"So... you're gay?" Kaminari was more eager for answers than Shinsou thought he should have been, nearly halfway across the table.

"Yes."

Shinsou finally rebooted, blinking rapidly as his concentration faltered. Before Kaminari could shoot off another invasive question, his control over Bakugou shattered.

The blond blinked back to awareness, red rising high in his cheeks as the life bloomed in his eyes again. Most people couldn't remember what happened when they were under his control, but both Midoriya and Bakugou had proven that they were cognizant when his quirk was in affect. So, reason prevailing, that meant Bakugou knew exactly what he'd just said. His eyes dropped to the table, hands curling into fist in his lap.

Instead of yelling and screaming or attacking Shinsou, Bakugou simply rose from his seat and left.

Groaning, Shinsou rubbed at the back of his neck. "I shouldn't have use my quirk." As a general rule, Shinsou didn't care to muck about in his classmates' personal lives. He didn't care who was dating who. He didn't care who liked boys or girls or who didn't. He didn't care who had money or who was poor. He'd come to UA to learn to become a hero, not to make friends (even though it had eventually happened). Honestly, he did his level best to stay out of the ungodly amount of drama Class 3-A had. But they'd been playing a stupid game that up until that point, Bakugou had willingly been participating in. When he flat out refused to answer the question, Shisou just kind of...

Caved to peer pressure, went too far and crossed boundaries he shouldn't have.

The others whispered wildly between each other. Ashido leaned into a dejected looking Kirishima with a gentle smile while she ran her fingers through his hair. Kaminari shook Sero until the other teen's head flopped back and forth on his neck. Yaoyorozu and Jirou wore wide eyes, heads ducked together. Shisou thought that maybe he was the only one who thought he'd crossed a line.

'I really don't want to apologize to him,' he thought with a sigh, but knew he was going to anyway. He'd do it in the morning instead of going out to find Bakugou that very second. He didn't know what the blond would be up to, but he was sure it would involve destruction of school property in some shape or form.

Bakugou wasn't back in the dorms for dinner as far as anyone knew, and Shinsou's guilt grew just that much more. Luckily, the group had the common decency to keep their mouths shut around Midoriya. Whether they kept them shut around any of the others, he wasn't too sure.

.....

Two years of training with Aizawa had set his body on a timer that woke him up ungodly early no matter how late he went to bed (if he went to bed). Nowadays as graduation grew near, Aizawa had decided to push their time to coincide with a normal human sleeping schedule, but Shinsou still woke before the sun rose every morning.

Most days, it irritated him, but that morning, it would come in handy. He knew he wasn't the only one who woke up before anyone sane. One of those people was Bakugou.

Dressed in his gym clothes, Shinsou set out at a brisk jog for the gym. Unlike what he'd assumed, he didn't find Bakugou among the heavy weights or cardio machines (which was honestly for the best). Redirecting himself to the training rooms, he hadn't even reached the double doors before he heard Bakugou going absolutely ballistic inside. While he didn't particularly feel like fighting for his life before five in the morning, he knew he needed to apologize before it was too late.

After a moment, the room went eerily quiet. With a heavy sigh, Shinsou began to pull open the door, but stopped with it barely cracked.

In front out him, Bakugou had Midoriya bodily pinned beneath him. They were both sweat slicked and panting, shouldering heaving. Ash stuck to their skin as dust slowly settled around them. Bakugou straddled Midoriya's waist, shins pinning his legs while his hands held his shoulders down.

Shinsou didn't move a muscle. Neither spoke while their breathing calmed.

"What's the matter, Kacchan?" Midoriya was the first to speak, his voice barely a whisper and gentle to a fault. Bakugou's shins slid to the ground, and he sat back onto Midoriya's hips. His hands didn't leave his shoulders, but Midoriya's hands found their way to his thighs, rubbing slowly. "And don't say nothing. Something happened last night. I can tell. Please talk to me."

"It's not something you did," Bakugou muttered gruffly. His voice was different, strained in a way Shinsou had never heard it.

"I would still like to talk about it. I don't like to see you like this." After a moment, Midoriya whispered, "Please. Please just talk to me. I want to understand. I want to help."

A hoarse bark of laughter erupted from Bakugou. Shinsou couldn't see his face from his angle, but he saw him raise an arm to scrub at his face. "I fucked up. I'm sorry."

Midoriya's soft expression never wavered.

Shinsou blinked rapidly, unsure if he'd really heard what he thought he'd just heard. Possibly, he was hallucinating from lack of sleep. Maybe he was having a stroke.

"What are you sorry for? How did you mess up?"

"I just-" Bakugou paused, shoulders hitching for a moment. "I might have ruined our chances of going pro, and I just- I'm fucking-" His voice broke, dropping in volume. "I'm fucking sorry, okay. I'm sorry."

Still, Midoriya's face never changed, and he reached up a hand to cup Bakugou's face. "What do you mean? How did you ruin our chances?"

"That fucking purple haired bastard!" Bakugou exclaimed, but the fury didn't last as his hand cupped the one pressed to his cheek. His body dipped lower, closing the space between them and making it that much harder to see what was going on.

"Shinsou?"

"Whatever the fuck his name is."

"Come on, Kacchan, I'm not a mind reader. Tell me what happened."

There was a slow wet sounding inhale before Bakugou continued. "It's... we were playing this stupid fucking game. We were all answering questions and someone asked who everyone was in love with. And I didn't want to fucking lie, so I refused. I wasn't going to answer at all, but that fucking troll doll used his quirk on me and made me tell everyone. I didn't want to, but I couldn't stop it. And then Pikachu kept asking questions. Asked if you knew and how you felt. Asked if I was gay. I couldn't stop answering."

Midoriya was silent for a breath. "How would that ruin our chances?"

"How the fuck could it not?" Bakugou moved to stand, but Midoriya's hands held him in place. "You know how the fucking world works. Why do you think there's no openly gay heroes? It's not because there aren't any, it's because they would be fucking cancelled by their own fanbase for the person they love. We haven't even graduated- What if they- Fuck-" His breath was coming in quick, staccato gasps, shoulders heaving all over again.

Shinsou didn't think he'd ever seen Bakugou spiraling into a panic or anxiety attack, but he'd experienced enough of them to recognize the signs.

"Kacchan, calm down, breathe." Midoriya eased himself up beneath Bakugou until he could wrap the blond up in his arms. They sat like that, tangled together for several long, silent moments, Bakugou's breathing the only sound in the room. "Our classmates don't care about stuff like that. They're not going to say anything about us."

"You don't-"

"I do know because we're not the only ones, Kacchan. I can't tell you who. I won't break their trust like that, but believe me when I say, we're going to be fine. Even if they weren't, you should have more faith in them." Midoriya pressed his lips to Bakugou's temple, but his voice was still strong. "Even if people did find out, I have no doubt in my mind that we'd still be able to become the top two heroes. No matter what, we're going to be the best heroes the world has ever seen. No one is going to stop us from achieving our dreams, and nothing is going to keep me from being with you either. Okay?"

Bakugou didn't answer, his face tucked into the crook of Midoriya's neck.

Midroiya stroked a hand through Bakugou's hair, tugging at the spikes. "Okay?" he repeated.

"I just don't want to take more from you than I already did when we were younger."

"You're giving me more than you ever took every second you're with me." Pulling his head away from his shoulder, Midoriya stared into Bakugou's eyes. "I love you. Nothing's going to change that. Not even if it makes it harder to become a hero. You're my only, Kacchan, and I'd give up everything to stay with you."

"Don't say that," Bakugou hissed, "I wouldn't let you give up your dream for me. I'm not worth that, not compared to everything you've done to become a hero."

Midoriya's smile was so sweet that Shinsou thought maybe it was a good time to leave. Really, he should have left the second he'd realized the moment was intimate, but fascination kept him in place.

"You forgot that being with you is one of my dreams too."

"You're such a fucking sap," Bakugou grunted, but he was the one to lean forward, to seal their lips together as Midoriya's hands dropped to cup his waist.

Shutting the door as silently as humanly possible, Shinsou made his way back down the hall. He gave them fifteen minutes to themselves before returning, deliberately being as loud as possible. He made a show of stomping around, tapping on the door, rattling the handle, before finally stepping into the room with head lowered. He jerked his head up as if surprised.

The pair had separated, squaring off as if they'd been about to spar instead of making out.

Shinsou scrubbed at the back of his head, uncomfortable with the intimacy he'd witnessed and not entirely sure how to pretend like he hadn't seen it. "Oh, I didn't realize anyone would be here, but I wanted to talk to you anyways, Bakugou."

"Well, I don't want to talk to you, troll hair. Fuck off. We're busy."

'You sure were,' Shinsou thought, but managed to restrain himself from saying.

He pushed on as if Bakugou hadn't say anything, ignoring the way Midoriya's eyes jumped between them. "I came to apologize for yesterday. I shouldn't have used my quirk on you. I didn't think I was going to get a serious answer. I crossed a line."

Working his jaw, Bakugou finally scoffed after a moment. "You can take your apology and shove it. If you want to make up for it, we'll spar instead."

Midoriya rolled his eyes, but Shinsou shrugged. "Sure. Whatever." He stepped into the training room, allowing the door to slam behind him.

[bxllafanficc]

¡Skate/sing your hearts out! (Yuri Plisetsky x reader)

(Part two)

Part two. Part one Part three Part four part five

Summary: After last year's cancellation of Figure Skating Grand Prix, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself unable to bring out his inner skater after a year of doing nothing but enjoy life like a regular teenager. That's when you enter the picture; We Are Voice Grand Awards's currently hottest competitive vocalist come first place two years in a row. Just like the other competitors of Grand Prix, it turns out that Victor and Yuuri faces the same issue. With an arrangement between Victor and Yakov, they agree to travel to Japan and hire you as a mutual coach for Yuri and Yuuri to help bring back the emotion into their performances like before, maybe even more intense than ever. Yuri however, who's never experienced issues with his coaches before, for some reason finds this one particularly difficult to coexist along with in their (reasonably) odd partnership. Warnings: none

*Your POV*

There. All set and done. You took a last look at the pair of eyes staring back at you in the full body mirror. Your hair all dried up with a blowdrier and a pair of white jeans along with your favorite leather jacket. A grey turtleneck on that and that was the outfit for today. Keeping it classy since Victor failed to cancel the meeting with the press a couple of hours from now. 'A big hoodie would've been the ideal alternative though' you thought and sighed. Nowadays it's all about keeping it as simple yet kind of professional for every day. Social media were all star struck about the world's latest announcement. 'Winner of this year's Grand Prix senior division goes on a tour with none other than the (y/n) (l/n)!' The newspapers were first out as usual thanks to the reporters crowding her personal space since two weeks from now since the news came out. A collaboration between a figure skating competition and a competition for vocalists. You never saw that coming but you could see the appeal. The currently hottest male skater along with a popular female singer, fighting for the spotlight even though they're sharing it evenly. Him with his skills and she with her voice. You agreed to participating when asked, of course. It was a great opportunity and experience. And currently you sought out every great possibility at the market right now. That's what lead you here.

You made your way out the room you were staying in and headed towards the dining area in deep thoughts. 'So that's Yuri Plisetsky up close?' You thought as you passed the living room. You entered the dining area and stood still at the entrance to take in the scene before you. Yuri Plisetsky is sitting at the dining table with his back facing you. Beside him with his side profile turned at your direction is coach Yakov who's chatting with Victor and Yuuri opposite of the table. Yuri is not talking. He's busy eating a dish called the pork cutlet bowl, you assumed. You had never tried one before but the dish was all too familiar thanks to the last Grand Prix competition on Yuuri Katsuki's behalf. You eyed Yuri carefully and entered the room. He's a little shorter than what was given away on television but other than that, very much the boy you'd seen competing time to time. His skating was without doubt impressive to say the least. His jumps were always perfect as expected and his upper body movements in beat to the music. Though, you always deemed something missing in his already amazing performances. Expression. The year he won gold at the senior division, you saw some great scenes of emotion displayed in his skating but it was clear that he never let them consume him. It always looked as if there was something on his mind and that held him back, even made him stop and hesitate sometimes.

"Whoo! (Y/n) is back! Yuri! Meet your coach in musical expressional performance."

The boy's attention was suddenly entirely on you now, in comparison for being totally relaxed and unfocused. He tensed up and the pair of breathtakingly blue and green eyes widened at her for the second time today. 'Hope this is not becoming a regular habit of his' whenever he sees me. It's starting to get a little embarrassing.'

"You! What even- What are you doing here?! A-aren't you like 19 years old or something? That's just two years away from me! That's.. You're far too young to be my coach!" The startled reaction of his kind of made you wonder what was up. He did meet you just about- ah. Your face mask and your covered hair clearly disguised you well enough for the boy not to recognize you. Though he clearly knew you.

"Great, so you're familiar with me. Then I don't need a further introduction." You flashed him a smile.

"Who isn't familiar with the star of We Are Voice and winner of gold two years in a row? At this point, you're basically stealing the spotlight I fought so hard to gain at my senior division debut." The words came out in a mutter and the negative impact of the comment made you raise an eyebrow at the boy on the floor in front of you. He still hadn't stood up to greet you which would be the appropriate thing to do first time meeting your coach. Then you pouted and leaned your now crossed arms against the wall to your right.

"Though, I am a little disappointed you didn't recognize me by voice. I mean, if I am as famous as you speak of, you surely would've known right away." That just earned a scoff from him.

"There are thousands of girls who sound similar to you. Yes, even with that (nationality) accent. Your voice isn't that special." The other men in the room widened their eyes. Ouch. And he's just as grumpy and homeboy teenage-crisis as he was portrayed in television and social media as well. You had thought it was only mere acting in an attempt to shun people away and making the attraction towards him less appealing.

"I see... Well that's one way putting it."

It certainly worked on you, you had thought for several years now but turns out he's just a jerk. Yakov moved to get in Yuri's face and scold him.

"Where is your manners? Quit playing a brat all of a sudden."

"What? Am I not allowed to speak my mind now when you have to suck up to miss universe over here all of a sudden?"

You raised a silent hand for the arguing pair to let their words die down and then you locked gaze with the insolent boy. Your eyes were blank but rock hard and you could swear that you saw a faint gulp forming in his throat.

"Get on your feet and get over here. Turn sideways." At least I didn't have to ask twice. But I didn't really ask him either. He rose to his feet and took some hesitant steps towards me. It was clear that he didn't trust me. 'Something to work on' I hummed to myself. His posture was stiff and crooked but after another word from Yakov, he straighten his back for me to see him properly. He pulled the hood of his hoodie off and mirrored my blank hard stare. I began to circle him, getting a fair look on what I would be working with for a set of weeks. His eyes didn't dare follow mine as I stepped beside him, knowing that I was out for him to break character. A stale being is much harder getting to know than a forward and open one.

Then, when you were behind his back, you reached out with your hand to his back and - shoved him casually forwards. A yelp of surprise echoed through the room as he stumbled and fell towards Victor who caught him right before hitting the floor face first. You and Yakov locked gaze and gave each other a slight nod before you once again turned to the upset boy.

"What the hell was that? You pushed me for what? Are you that sensitive for a little negativity for once?"

"Your balance is off." You simply said with the same blank expression and a headshake. He seemed dumbfounded of the answer and got off Victor with quick feet. He was close to you this time and the daggers you received was intended to leave wounds after he was done.

"Because you pushed me."

"Exactly."

"I wasn't prepared!"

"Exactly."

"We have some work to do, Yuri. Your break has been too long, it seems. She was only picking up on where you left off, in a way." Yakov spoke up between the one-sided staring contest. The boy turned towards the man which included his back facing my front once again. But this time, he was careful on taking a few steps forward to avoid history repeating itself.

"She's not you. She shouldn't do your job. It's none of her business anyway."

"It actually is if you think harder on it. There's no point in me working on your emotional performance if your practical performance is flawed. A skater who can't manage a simple shove will not get up on his or hers feet at the competition as well." You expected some kind of backlash from Yuri, at least a glare or something. But you were met with nothing to your surprise. He didn't speak up either.

"It's settled. You and I will rehearse you back into your former shape before your time with (y/n) begins, starting tomorrow. Meanwhile, also take some time to get to know each other, you two. You seem to need it." Yakov declared the schedule and choose to pinpoint the obvious tension between you and Yuri. You somewhat agreed on spending time besides training. Though, you would rather not take a verbal beating more than once a day further on.

Yuri still didn't speak up but he didn't object either.

"(Y/n), there's food left for you too! Please join us for dinner." Yuuri Katsuki exclaimed and waved an energetic hand towards the bowls and plates on the table. In front of you, you saw the back muscles of the Russian skater's form tense at the words.

You had to decline though. If not for the meeting, then for the sake of giving Yuri some space. It must be hard, after all. Whatever's he's going through right now.

"I would love to! But I have to excuse myself this time. After all, I have a meeting to attend and if I don't get going, I'll soon be running late. See ya folks later!"

And with that, you dashed off.

[namjoonspiration]

Saudade

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Summary: After your parents died, you are the sole heiress to a booming electrical company, and your grandmother has put you to the task of making connections. Although, Park Jimin didn’t seem all too happy to see you.

Word count: 16.8k

Rating: M

Genre: fluff, angst, 1920s AU, non-idol AU

Warnings/Tags: Short, non-descriptive mentions of parental death and miscarriage (i.e. no gore or graphic material); so much angst; mentions of amnesia, apathy and heartbreak; lots and lots of kisses. It’s not really a hardcore story. I purposefully tried to keep my story from being too heavy.

Author’s note: This is my first BTS fanfiction, so please go easy on me. I tried my best at editing, so I apologize or any blaring grammatical errors or word misusage. If you liked it, please leave a comment or a heart. It’ll help me continue forward with my other projects 🥺👉🏻👈🏻Enjoy!

Masterlist

You were the picture of perfect togetherness. Your grandmother had made sure of it. You must present yourself as the rightful heiress to the family fortune if you are to be accepted by these people. Rightful heiress? You’re the only heiress. These people can be quick to judge. No, really? The thought hadn’t crossed your mind all day. The maids had entered your room before the crack of dawn to get you ready for battle for a brunch that wouldn’t start for another several hours.

White satin T-strap shoes with crystal embellishments adorn your feet, which stand in a precise parallel position. White gloves fit perfectly to your fingers, hands fold neatly right over left, which hold your soft pink Chanel purse. Your loose, straight-fit dress of a matching color falls below your knees. Underneath are the ungodly itchy flesh-tone tights that you had despised since you bought them. Your hair, which is painstakingly curled and styled into a bob to the give the illusion of the short trendy hairstyle nowadays, was half-hidden under a white cloche hat. Pearls--all of which tapped with every step into the mansion of magnificent grandeur--adorned your ears, neck, and wrists.

It was hard to focus your eyes on anything in this place. At any point, dark rich colors of purple, red and dark brown jumped out to blind you, making you feel as though the sun didn’t come out this morning. Portraits upon portraits of the family line the walls, along with countless gold plaques. Oddly shaped awards and random busts perch on pedestals. Clearly the people who owned this house--the Parks--were not shy about displaying their achievements in the industry and within their family. But then again, who lived in the East Isles and didn’t have the main entrance of their home brag about their elite status for them?

You didn’t. Yes, because you weren’t a narcissist. You were also “new money.” Your family hadn’t been in the electrical business for generations...  People seem to forget it’s still a relatively new thing.

To be honest, you didn’t really care you were here. The pomp and circumstance didn’t make your heart jump or your fists clench. In fact, nothing these days invoked much emotion from you. You’re not sure when you started feeling that way and why it was so prevalent. Maybe it was after your parents passed away a couple years ago. Your grandmother came to live with you to help you transition into your new life. You had asked her repeatedly how your parents died, but she never could bring herself to tell the story. You mourned your parent of course, but after a while, you just stopped feeling most emotion.

So, as you walk behind your grandmother--who was talking to Mrs. Park presumably--you wondered about the food you might get to eat. If anything brought you real satisfaction and pleasure from living this lifestyle, it was the meals. However, you don’t think scarfing down food will win you any points with these people today. Your job was to network today, make connections to build your way up in the world, or so your grandmother had put it. Once again, you didn’t care, but your grandmother very much. did. So, you decided that you would do your best for her. Your apathy may get you most days, but you know in your mind without a doubt that doing this for your grandmother would make her happy, thus should make you happy. Even if you didn’t feel it.

Hopefully, Hwasa, your life-long best friend, is here. She should be. After all, her family doesn’t own the largest portion of the country’s textile industry for nothing. She was always best dressed and loved getting a kick out of the other ladies gawking at her perfectly stitched clothes that were ahead of the trends.

“Y/n,” your grandmother calls, waving at you come forward to her side. You obey, and the butler opens the door, announcing your arrival. Good lord... You felt like fresh meat being served to the wolves. But, of course, the scene before you is masqueraded in pastel colors, silk furniture, glimmering flute glasses, and smiling faces to make the whole situation seem less grotesque than it felt.

You survey the room to find most eyes on you. Ladies piled around the couches in front of the open floor-to-ceiling windows had stopped chattering and sipping their tea. More of them clustered in small groups had stopped their conversation as well, some even daring to give you looks of disapproval. However, there were some that might as well have been deaf to the announcement, much to your gratitude. Young children still run around the room or played their games on the lawn just outside the open French doors. Old men continue with their odious laughter and cigar smoking. Even the young men don’t spare you more than a glance or two.

Except for one.

A young man with dark blond hair dressed in a dark blue suit, gently cradling a flute in his ringed hand. Perhaps more striking than his blue-gray eyes are his full pink lips, which were slightly parted to reveal one slightly crooked tooth in an otherwise perfect row of white teeth. You have never seen a man with a face such as his. But what is even odder is the way his eyes shone as he looks at you.

You tilt your head slightly, holding his stare. What a weird way to look at a stranger.

Your curiosity about his strange behavior only goes so far. Suddenly, the brightness on his face is gone, replaced with a deep frown and a scowl aimed towards his shoes.

So much for trying to appear approachable and “make connections.” You had not learned anyone’s names yet, and it was already going south.

Your grandmother tugs on your arm, steering you over to the ladies surrounding the couches. Then the introductions and small talk begin. You only had enough motivation to explain the premise of your family business and some future projects and contribute to some of the minor gossip being shared. You didn’t want to be doing this at all, but your grandmother had put in so much effort today to make sure this went swimmingly. She was also putting up with it so you and she could continue to live comfortably.

Every so often, you survey the room again. After almost two hours into this, the men have filed out, probably to have a crack at the gaming tables, and the children have been laid down for their afternoon naps. You thought you even needed a nap yourself. Or maybe it was the conversation. In any case, you excuse yourself to freshen up.

Once outside the room, you take a deep breath, inhaling the air free of heavy perfume and bad breath. You wonder around the seemingly endless hallways, looking at the paintings and occasional pieces of art. Anything to delay going back to the gathering.

Then, you hear harsh. whispering. Slowly, careful of the noise from your shoes against the floor, you approach the voices and peer around the corner.

To your surprise, it’s your best friend. She is talking furiously with a man, whose back is almost completely facing you, his hand propping himself against the wall not too far from her.

“Hwasa?” You call, stepping out completely from the corner. She jumps at her name, and the man stiffens. She looks over the man’s shoulder in your direction and smiles brightly at you.

“Y/n, is that you?” She steps around the man and greets you with a hug. “It’s so wonderful to see you! It has. been way too long.” You relish in the brief happiness you best friend’s hug gives you. Then, your smile falls. She notices when she pulls away and follows your line of vision.

He is looking directly at you. The young man who actually isn’t happy to see you after all. “I must be interrupting something,” you state blatantly. “You know, Hwasa if you wanted to be intimate with the son of the house, you should have demanded he take you to a less-traveled part of the home.”

They both look at you in surprise, and it’s enough to make you cringe. “How did you know he was the son?” Hwasa asks.

“The paintings.” You look around the hallways, twirling your finger. “Kind of obvious.” Hwasa lets out a laugh. The son breathes out a sigh--not sure if it’s relief or something else--and then chuckles to himself. “What’s so funny?” He stops but doesn’t respond. “Hwasa, your man is very rude.”

She smiles sweetly and laughs off your comment, “Oh, he’s not mine. I’m way above his standards. And I don’t like men who can’t bother to be polite and introduce himself properly to a new friend,” she hisses in his direction. “Come on, let’s have a proper introduction.” She grabs your hand to lead you closer to the man. “Y/n, this is Park Jimin. His family is in the metal industry--”

“Old family steel,” you mutter, but both fo them apparently hearing it.

Jimin looks at you curiously, “How’d you figure that? The paintings?”

You shrug, “I just knew that. Maybe it somehow came across my vision when I was admiring all the participation trophies at the door,” you say, with probably a little too much sarcasm. His eyebrows rose, and you saw Hwasa try to hold in a giggle. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Park.” I think. “I’ll just leave now, so you two can finish your private conversation.”

Hwasa stops you, her mood cheery again. Probably to mask the shocked and confused feelings coming from Mr. Park. “It’s alright, y/n. I need to do my pleasantries with those in the sitting room. Why don’t you get to know Jimin more? I find him to be one of the more tolerable ones in this lot. I’ll see you later.”

Once Hwasa is gone, you continue to look around the hallway, but Mr. Park is just staring at you as if he’s trying to figure you out. You notice he’s somewhat taller than you, his sun-kissed skin looking even deeper in color in this oddly lit hallway.

“Are you mind-reading skills working?”

He is caught off guard. “What?”

“I was wondering if you had discovered anything about me while you were burning holes into my head.”

He scoffs. “You’re awfully blunt.”

You simply shrug again. The emotionless part of you felt dominating today, so his comments and strange looks don’t affect you. You think back to Hwasa’s bright personality and heart-warming interaction when she greeted you. It sparked some brief brightness in your stoic heart, but only briefly.

He clears his throat, trying to fill some of the awkward silence that has blanketed the atmosphere. You look at him expectantly. He raises his eyebrows in response. “Y/n, may I ask you something?”

“Please address me as Miss Y/l/n as we’ve only just met.” You’re quick to speak. He shifts awkwardly on his feet. You soften your tone. “But go ahead.”

“Would you like to have dinner this Friday?”

“Dinner? Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Park?” You are taken back. What an incredulous question. And he had commented you were the blunt one...

“Uh...” He trails off, confusion rippling across his face. “Yes, I am.”

“Mr. Park, may I ask you something?” You don’t even give him the chance to nod. “When I first arrived, you seemed very unhappy, and dare I say, disgusted, at my presence, and now you’re asking me to have dinner with you?” It seems that Mr. Park is giving you quite the first impression as you feel anger start to flare in your chest.

His eyes widen in panic. “No, y/n--I mean Miss Y/l/n. Please do not misunderstand my earlier interaction.”

“Misunderstand? How could I have possibly misunderstood you when you looked directly at me and appeared as if I insulted you?” You fire back.

“I apologize. It was not like that. You just reminded me of someone who broke my heart.” He rushes out in a hurry to redeem himself. Well, it didn’t seem clear to him that he failed until a few moments later when he squeezed his eyes shut and palmed his forehead.

You practically gawk at him. “I’ll give you the effort of trying to save yourself Mr. Park, but I will not give you a second chance to redeem yourself over dinner.” And with that, you walk off, heels clicking against the mahogany floors.

What a spoiled boy. He’s probably never had a woman reject him before. It brought you satisfaction that you were probably the first. Never has a man looked at you with such distaste and then try to woo you with dinner. You don’t know what he wants from you, but he wasn’t going to get it.

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

The rest of the gathering stretched into the late hours of the afternoon. You didn’t see Mr. Park or his parents for the rest of the day. Hwasa grabs you before leaving the party, telling you to meet her for lunch Friday on Brouton Street.

And you do, and it turns into more of a shopping spree than a lunch date. Not that you were complaining. You never complained when it came to shopping and trying on the latest fashion trends out of Europe. You stepped out of probably the thirteenth ship you’ve visited today when you notice it was already two pm, and you still haven’t eaten lunch yet. You were waiting outside the shop while Hwasa was paying for her new bracelet.

You survey the bustling street, thinking about what you wanted for lunch when you spot a pair of men that seem to have all the ladies giggling to themselves and their friends. Even wives are looking twice, much to the discomfort of their husbands who definitely noticed, but weren’t immune to looking a second time as well. As they got closer to you, your vision focuses.

Mr. Park.

You couldn’t resist rolling your eyes at the name. What a surprise. Next to him is a dark-haired young man you didn’t know. They were dressed to the nines, complete with hats and walking sticks--more for fashion rather than function.

They spot you, and the young man gives you a big, boxy smile and a wave. Your eyebrows shoot up, and you look around to make sure he wasn’t waving to someone else. By the time you stop looking around, they’ve approached you. The strange young man seems ecstatic to see you while Mr. Park looks embarrassed. Serves him right.

“Hello, Miss y/n.” The young man greets you enthusiastically.

You blink. “I’m sorry, have we met before?” And why didn’t you greet me formally, you wonder. You glance towards Mr. Park. His lips are pressed, hand tightening on your walking stick.

The young man laughs charmingly, but somewhat nervous. “Oh, right. It’s just... my friend, Jimin, here mentioned you!”

“Did he?” You smile, sweetly. Almost too sweetly. Mr. Park’s jaw clenches. “How did you know what I looked like?” You inquire further for the fun of it.

Mr. Park quickly cuts in. “I--we saw you b-back there,” he gestures down the sidewalk. “I said, oh that’s y/n--Miss y/l/n. We met the other day...” He looks anywhere else but at you in the eyes. You narrow your gaze at him.

The store’s door opens with the ring of a bell, and Hwasa joins you. “Taehyung! It’s so good to see you again.” She gives him a quick hug. You notice some of the other women walking around you are gawking or giving her death stares. “I hope your time in Paris was spent well. Have you met my best friend, Miss y/l/n? She’s new to town. Her parents made quite the fortune in the electrical sciences, and she is their sole heir. Y/n,” she gently wraps her arm around yours, “this is Kim Taehyung, a true artist. He has his own exhibit in Paris to display his work. He also dabbles a bit in photography.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kim.” You smile.

“Please call me Taehyung. Mr. Kim is my father,” he laughs, showing off that boxy grin of his again. You have to admit he’s a very charismatic person.

“Alright, but please address me as Miss y/l/n for the time being. I understand Jimin may not have told you my last name, but I would hate to see his rudeness rub off on your seemingly polished character.” You tack on a smile at the end, hoping Mr. Park feels the jab.

Indeed, he does. Mr. Park sputters, muttering “polished” under his breath like it was the last word he’d use to describe Taehyung. You ignore him.

“Yes, Miss y/l/n.”

Hwasa interjects, “Well, y/n and I are famished. Would you both care to join us for a late lunch?”  Before you could protest, Taehyung agrees enthusiastically. Hwasa takes his arm, leading the way back up the street. You pout. You wanted to eat with your best friend only, who you haven’t seen in forever. Mr. Park notices your sad expression and offers his arm to you. You simply look down, tightening your grip on your bags before following Taehyung and Hwasa.

Jimin rubs his face in frustration, watching you walk away without a second glance. He can’t keep tiptoeing around you. He made himself a royal fool and an ass last week at the gathering. He needed to fix this if he wanted to get closer to you.

Mr. Park catches up to your side. “Miss y/l/n,” he speaks politely.

“Yes?” You offer.

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, and I apologize if you find my behavior to be untoward. I was not very good at expressing myself the other day, and it bothers me greatly that you would think that I find you unpleasant when I really don’t.”

You consider his words. The apology was genuine, you know that. You also. know that he found you pretty. Or at least Hwasa had told you as much. You complained to her earlier about Mr. Park’s behavior at his. house. She had laughed, claiming it was because he found you attractive. You were confused as to what made her say that. She explained that you were all he could ask about before you found them in the hallway.

You didn’t know what to say. Hwasa wouldn’t lie to you. It certainly made your heart flutter that Mr. Park, an uncommonly handsome man--discounting his behavior--would find you attractive. You can’t say you didn’t stand in front of the mirror for a while after that figuring out what he liked about your appearance. In the end, you credited his odd behavior with the fact he found you pretty. While that did not excuse his rudeness, his present apology has rerouted the course of your thoughts. He genuinely seemed like he was trying to make amends.

“Alright, Mr. Park. I forgive you. I understand that sometimes introductions and first impressions can go awry. Especially if the man finds the woman astonishingly pretty and charming.” You gently fiddle with your diamond earring.

“Pretty?” he asks, chuckling.

You stop walking and turn towards him, “Do you not find me so?” Your tone is accusatory.

He looks a bit panicked. “No. I mean, yes. I--” You take a step closer.

“You what, Mr. Park?” You ask, looking into his blue-gray eyes, which are traveling all across your face before landing back to your eyes. Your brain has already started to take back every meaning you put to his apology.

“I think you’re more than pretty.” He finally breathes out, tension slipping from his shoulders.

Your heart pounds so heavily against your chest, your composure slips. A blush rises to your cheeks, partly from relief and partly from embarrassment. “I apologize,” you say, suddenly your voice much softer.

He didn’t seem to hear it. Instead, he smiles, eyes twinkling. “I think you’re very beautiful, Miss. y/l/n.” Oh, your mind blanks momentarily. Now you felt like the fool. Your cheeks become hotter, pulse racing faster. He said it with such nakedness. He didn’t beat around the bush about it or tease you into guessing how you looked in his eyes. You lay a hand on your cheek, surprised at the heat. Hopefully he would think it’s the weather. It has been unusually warm lately. Your flustered state is clearly evident. Mr. Park grins cutely at you. While your head is still swimming, trying to process the abrupt change in your interaction, he gently takes your shopping bags from you before shifting it to hold in his hand that holds the walking stick. He offers his arm again, “Shall we catch up with Taehyung and Miss Hwasa?”

Your eyes snap to his. Your cheeks are still flushed, lips parted.

Jimin thinks it’s the most beautiful sight he’s seen.

Suddenly, as if you fell into a drunk stupor but without the disorientation and wild behavior, you feel warm and… fuzzy, like you were covered in a soft blanket. You haven’t felt this kind of happy feeling in what seemed like forever. And he does look incredibly cute with the way he was smiling at you.

Returning the sentiment, you take his arm. The muscles hiding underneath his peach colored suit jacket felt strong in your hands.

You two leisurely stroll, having lost Hwasa and Taehyung after they turned the street corner.

“Do you know where we are eating?”

“This little French restaurant between Main and Central. Le Lacroix Pâtissier.”

He hums contently, “I love their almond croissants and apple tartlets.”

“Really? Those are my favorite dishes! Are those your favorite?”

He shakes his head. “But I had a friend who insisted I try them once, and I ended up really liking them.”

You were pleased. “You have good taste, Mr. Park.”

“Please, address me as Jimin.”

Your smile to yourself. “Okay, Jimin. Since we are moving onto a first name basis, you may address me as y/n.”

He repeats your name. It rolled softly off his tongue. You like how it sounds very much coming from him. And you, without knowing it, tightly your hold on his arm, leaning more into his solid form as you continue to the restaurant.

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

After that Friday, you meet Jimin every week for several weeks at the same restaurant. First Taehyung and Hwasa joined you—you insisted Hwasa come with you to keep you from making a fool of yourself in front of Jimin—but after about two weeks, they claimed other commitments. However, you didn’t mind at that point. You grew really comfortable with Jimin. You talked about everything together—your favorite dishes and restaurants in town, your families and their businesses (okay, those were brief topics of discussion), your interests (you found out you both like dancing, upon which he offered to take you to a dance club sometime), your future plans… Of those, which then led course into deeper topics—marriage and love.

It was a strange conversation, and it wasn’t brought up during lunch. He actually had invited you over to his estate for tea and a meal of any foods that you could want—more of a change of scenery decision if anything. You were concerned that your favorite food might not be so favorite if you kept eating it for several weeks on end.

Following the delicious meal, he suggested a light walk outside. He led you out of the back of the mansion to the small private beach. You both kicked your shoes off, walking in the sand, letting the fine, white grains sift over your toes. You two strolled side by side, enjoying the sun’s warm on your faces, the summer air and each other’s company.

Then, Jimin had asks the question. “Has your grandmother proposed that you marry anyone yet?”

You shake your head, laughing to yourself. “My grandmother wouldn’t put that out there. At least not yet. I think she thinks it would be too soon after the accident.”

Jimin turns sharply towards you, concerning etching lines into his handsome face. “Accident?”

You nod sadly. “Yes. My grandmother told me I fell down the stairs several months ago, and I hit my head. She said it had frightened everyone we knew. She was concerned about my recovery from it all. I don’t think I’ll get married until life returns to normal,” you trial off. “But, actually… I don’t really know what normal is anymore. Not after the accident. It’s like I woke up in the completely different world, and I don’t know what I’m doing. There’s always this awkwardness I can’t get past. It’s like I’m walking on eggshells.”

You weren’t sure why you were telling Jimin all this, but you knew you could tell him, and he wouldn’t make fun of you for it. He wasn’t that kind of person. He seemed very open with you, so you supposed that in your heart, you could be vulnerable with him too.

After the silence became too long, you looked up from your feet and saw Jimin wiping at his eyes. “Jimin, are you crying?” You lay a hand on his arm to stop him from walking any further, and step in front of him. He bows his head lower, and you crane your neck to the side to try to see his face. After a few moments, he breathes in deeply, bringing his head up. He looks at you with eyes, pink and puffy from rubbing at them, and a slight upturn of his lips accompanied by a chuckle.

“The sand and salt keep getting in my eyes. That’s all.”

“Would you like to go back inside?” He shook his head. “Are you sure?”

“No, no, I’m alright. I’m sure I’ll be okay now.” He smiles at you, attempting to reassure you. He blinked away the redness in his eyes. Besides, you look too beautiful in the setting sun for us to leave, was what he wanted to add.

You return his smile. Then, you’re just staring at each other, taking in the colors the evening sky paints on your skins and in your eyes. Then, you ask him, “What about you, Park Jimin? Has your mother arranged you to marry anyone?”

“She did once, to the daughter of a man who owned a successful old railroad company.” He admits.

“Are you still to marry her?”

“No,” he hurriedly states. “I didn’t want to from the start. I eventually pushed it off enough that they let it go. They said they couldn’t wait around forever.”

“Why didn’t you want to? I’d assume a business like that would pile onto your wealth, and she couldn’t have been that hideous.” You inwardly cringe. Why would you try to reason with him?

He laughs, almost bitterly. “You wound me, y/n. To think that I would think about money and looks to be the top priority in finding a wife.” You open your mouth to assure him you don’t think so lowly of him, but he beats you to it. “But I know that’s not like that. You merely considering the things we have to think about in our world. And I know that’s not how you truly think either. I know you wouldn’t marry for money.” You hadn’t realized how close he was until he was gazing intently into your eyes.

“Then what would I marry for?” A soft, curious question.

“Love.” There is no hesitation in his response. He believes it whole-heartedly. Then, he pulls away. “Just as I once tried to do.” He reaches down in the sand, picking up a shell.

You didn’t expect that. “What happened to her?” Jimin’s jaw clenches and unclenches, but not in anger. This was really difficult for him. You suddenly regret asking about it.

Then, he says, “She left. And I haven’t heard from or seen her since three months after I proposed to her.”

“Why would she leave?”

He shook his head, “I don’t think she had a say in leaving, and so she left quietly.” He gently brushes the grains of sand from the shell, exposing its pure white and rose color.

“I’m so sorry, Jimin,” you say after several moments of silence. I’d never imagined that something so horrible could happen to two people in love.”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter anymore though. What is done is done, and I can only move forward to find that love again. Except this time, I’m never letting it escape from me so easily.” He sounds resolute, so sure of himself and you can’t help but admire him. He smiles, holding the bonnet shell out to you.

You accept it gratefully, pleased with the small gift. Glancing at Jimin, you see his cheeks have turned pink. Your mouth curves into a smile. You take his hand in both of yours, the shell pressed between your palm and his. His skin feels smooth, and although his hands are smaller than the average, they feel no less strong and comforting. You squeeze his hand lightly in comfort. The bonnet shell imprints a small circle in each of your hands, serving as a little promise of your connection with him. “You’re a good man, Park Jimin. And I hope you find what you’re looking for.” He smiles at you sweetly. But to his unhappiness, you let go of his hand much sooner than he thought you would. However, it didn’t take long before you realized how much you missed it too.

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

You don’t see Jimin for the next week and a half. He left to accompany his father out West for several days to learn more about the family business. When he mentioned it, you couldn’t help but pout, which he immediately felt guilty about. He told you that he’d very much make up for the missed Friday lunch tenfold. He promised the next Friday lunch you two would have all the food, chatter and enjoyment as a month’s worth of lunches. Upon this, you giggled and said you would expect nothing less.

During the days he was out of town, you quickly grew to miss his company. After only missing one lunch, you quickly realized how much more time in the week you wanted to spend with him. Those lunches on Fridays, along with the regular community gatherings, just weren’t enough. You wanted to see him every day. He brought brightness back into your days, made you feel warmth and happiness again. And when he talks with you about the hard stuff in life and is so honest with you, it’s like he’s filling in the empty spots in your life. Where your lifestyle of material and money is only the surface of your being, Jimin looks deeper and sees you as the person you are. He never wants to talk about business or money. He always wants to know about you. And you can’t ignore the way your heart flutters when you’re answering one of those many questions about yourself and you catch him so content listening to you.

He would relax in his chair, head slightly tilted to the side, lips turned up in a pleasant smile, his eyes gleaming with interest and admiration. Never once would he look away from you when you spoke. You always had his undivided attention. And the more and more you think about, you love it. His caring heart towards you, his kind words and gentle soul, the ability to be open around him.

But it was also more than that.

You like Jimin so much that you feel you’ve known each other longer than four months. It feels like a lifetime that you’ve known him.

You told Hwasa about it one afternoon while painting in the sunroom of your home, unsure what it meant. She merely giggled at you and said, “Y/n, you’re falling in love. And you know it, too.” You did know in your heart, but you couldn’t help but feel the shock of it all. But also, the doubt given your circumstances.

“But Hwasa, how do I know what love feels like? I feel empty most of the time. I don’t even know if I can know what love is.”

Hwasa stopped you right there, “I know where this is coming from, but you don’t have to you worry about that. No one knows what love feels like until it hits them. Besides, you just told me that Jimin makes you so happy and you miss him so much when he’s not here. Trust me, don’t think I don’t see the moping you’ve done for the past couple days. That’s emotion. You’re feeling everything for him with your heart, and there’s no reason to doubt that, no matter what.” And that was why you loved your best friend so much. She was a grounding force and always has been since the accident. Always a level-headed thinker and confident woman. A true role-model. You gave her the biggest hug, thankful for her friendship. Without her, you thought you would have reasoned yourself out of your love for Jimin.

Finally, after said week and a half, you are walking with Hwasa and your grandmother in The Grand Hotel for a large gathering of all the affluent families in the East Isles.

Of course, you and all the other ladies wouldn’t be in the same room as the men. Instead, the women would be drinking tea, tasting little cakes, gossiping and playing a few rounds of light-hearted card playing while the men ate their hearts out and smoked cigars while testing their gambling skills. They would talk of business, family dealings, blah, blah, blah.

Just as the last of everyone was filing into their respective places, you were trailing behind Hwasa and your grandmother to the tearoom. Then you felt a hand grasp your arm.

You gasp, whipping around to see Jimin with a playful look on his face. Your face breaks into the biggest smile, and he pulls you into an empty hallway in the hotel. When he let go of your hand, you pull him into a hug. “I missed you, Jimin.”

He hugs you back with equal the comfort and emotion, his strong arms pulling you tightly to him. “I missed you as well.” He pulls away and that’s when you noticed his disheveled state.

“Oh, my goodness. Jimin, did you just come from the train station? Your collar isn’t even straight.” You grasp the edges and aid him in fixing it.

“I apologize for the long trip, but it gave me enough time to think about how I’m going to make up for it.” He smirks lightheartedly.

“Oh, really? How?” You asked curiously, smile creeping up on your face. You finish with his collar and brush your hands down his shoulders and arms to smooth out the wrinkles in his jacket.

“We’re going on a picnic tomorrow at the best place in the East Isles. I’ll pick you up tomorrow from your house around lunch time.” He looks hopeful about the idea, but you can’t help but figure from the confidence he exudes that he already knows you’ll agree.

You bite your lip to prevent from smiling too much like a fool. “Okay! That sounds wonderful. I can’t wait.” You dare yourself and kiss his cheek quickly. You’re about to dash off before he could see your face turn scarlet, but he catches your wrist.

He slides his fingers down to grasp yours before bringing the back of your hand to his lips. They press a soft kiss there. He keeps his eyes on you, and your heart won’t stop fluttering. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he smiled at you in farewell.

You practically skipped to the tea hall.

Once there, you sit with Hwasa at a table with four other finely dressed girls. “Oh, good you’re here y/n. We were just about to start.” She hands you a little stack of cards. All of you begin shuffling and laying out cards onto the table as the game begins.

The red-haired girl dressed in a powdery blue color directly across from you seems smug. Hwasa notices it too. “Something you would like to say Florence?” You remark.

She shrugs her shoulders, but the smirk doesn’t leave her face. “I think I’ll be married by spring.”

“Oh! I suppose congratulations are in order then. Who’s the lucky man?” The petite girl at the end of the table chimes in.

“None other than Park Jimin, of course.” Your blood turns to cold steel in your veins. It takes every effort for you not to reveal too much of yourself. Hwasa stiffens next to you. “What other man is there to marry?” Florence has turned her attention directly to you, eyes flashing with spite. Your eyes narrow only enough that she would notice. What was she going on about? Did she know about the time you were spending with Jimin?

Thankfully, being the well-versed girl Hwasa is in social graces, she merely laughs. “Florence, you are funny. Park Jimin has not committed himself to a woman since he was rumored to be in love with someone almost two years ago.” You felt your head swim. Did Hwasa know about Jimin’s lost love too? She was pretty close with Taehyung, who was close with Jimin. Maybe she only knew the rumor. Regardless, your heated rage turns cold, remembering how devastated Jimin looked talking about her.

“Doesn’t matter,” Florence sneers. “Clearly she is long gone. Or maybe she never existed in the first place. I heard a rumor he was using that as an excuse to get out of his previous arranged marriage anyway.”

Hwasa raises her eyebrows, her gaze scrutinizing. “And now you’re saying you’ve magically brought Park Jimin out of his despair and you two are hopelessly in love?” Hwasa harshly fingered the edges of her cards.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” She replies with bittersweet venom. “Try not to get jealous, Hwasa. I’m sure Taehyung will propose to you when he finally impresses your father with a fortune earned from his artistic talents. Although I don’t know how long that will take. I heard his exhibit caught on fire last month, torching most of his work. A shame he will have to start over…” Your eyes snapped to Hwasa. She hadn’t told you about the fire. Nor did she ever mention just how close her and Taehyung were.

“Florence,” Hwasa tosses her cards on the table, the paper landing with a smack on the polished wood. “I need you to get your head out of your ass for a minute and listen carefully to what I have to say.” You are shocked at her choice of words. Some women at the table behind you glare in Hwasa’s direction, but she ignores them. “Firstly, Taehyung and I are not getting married. We are close friends.” Florence falsely pouts. “Secondly, Taehyung has more talent and grace in his pinky finger than you have in your entire body and then some. So, I suggest you shut that trap of yours before you wake up and find every single one of your father’s department stores foreclosed.” Florence’s face was the perfect cross of fear and royal anger. With that, Hwasa straightens her spine and stands up. “If you are confused about what I said, I hope you figure it out because I won’t be repeating myself.” Her red-painted lips are set in a deep frown, most of her rage having left her. She heads for the door, her shoes clacking loudly from her firm steps on the marble floor. Most of the women in the room have paused their games to watch her leave, some even going as far to disapprove of her sour attitude.

“Poor Hwasa. She’ll die an old maid if she keeps that attitude.” Florence remarks with unrestrained smugness. You are ready to slap her into next week for her treatment of your best friend. It’s time she gets a reality check.

“I don’t think you should be wasting your time worrying about the wrong person,” you say coolly.

She scoffs, “Is that right, y/n? If I shouldn’t be worrying about Hwasa, who should I be worried about?”

“Yourself, obviously. I forgot that you can’t put two and two together. I’ll remember next time to spell it out directly for you.”

“Get to the point,” she hisses.

You lay your cards down and fold your hands neatly on the table. “My point is you’re not marrying Jimin. Not in the spring, not in the year, not in your lifetime.” Florence’s face nearly matches her hair color. “In fact, I dare say Jimin doesn’t even know that you are planning to ask him for his hand.”

“I won’t be the one asking, you stupid girl. By the time I’m done with him, he’ll be begging me to marry him.”

You force a smile. “If you insist. I’ll just give him a fair warning about his eminent doom tomorrow during our picnic date.” Florence’s expression twists into surprise. “Oh, and while we’re on the topic of you, I’ll mention how I accidently walked in on you and—what was his name?” You tap a finger thoughtfully to your chin. “John Withers!” You snap your fingers. “You two were in quite the predicament at his sister’s birthday a few months ago. Petting parties and dancing tongues and all that.” Florence gapes at you like a fish, her face overtaken with terror. The other girls looked at her in shock.

Caught in a lie.

You smirk. Your work here was done. Gathering your purse, you send a wink her way before strutting out of the tea hall. You knew you had hundreds of eyes on you, including your grandmother’s. You know you’re going to owe here an explanation later. Everyone in the room probably heard what you said about you and Jimin, but you could care less. You never had such pleasure in telling someone off.

You find Hwasa standing outside in the hotel courtyard smoking a cigarette. She sees the look on your face as you approach, and she grins wickedly. “What did you do?”

“I may have called her out on her lie and mentioned me spending time with Jimin. You should have been in there. Her face was priceless.”

“That’s my girl,” she takes another drag from her cigarette. “Want one? Special edition tobacco. Tae got them for me in France.”

You consider it, eyeing the delicately arranged rolls in the silver case. “Sure. I think I’ve earned it.” Hwasa laughs, handing you a roll and helping you light it. You feel your body release all the rage and spite with each pull. As you eye the cigarette in your fingers, you can’t help but think about what was said about Hwasa and Taehyung’s relationship. They were awfully close, and you had to admit the idea of them marrying had come across your mind sometimes. You had no idea about Taehyung’s finances or career, or even that his relationship with Hwasa was enough to warrant her father’s attention. You couldn’t help but feel bad for Hwasa; however, at the same time, you knew she’d test her father’s patience to its limits. She’d refuse every single marriage he’d set until he gave up. It didn’t matter if she didn’t marry. She had an older brother who would inherit the family business and take over. You wonder if this was a part of her plan. Even if she and Taehyung didn’t marry, they would be lifelong companions.

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

“She said that?” Jimin yells over the vroom of the engine. He throws his head back and laughs. “I’ve never heard such a lie before. I was the one who first caught her and John Withers together. They were having a petting party in the back of his car during a party a few years ago.”

“Really?” You yell back, holding onto your hat. “That’s so disgusting! I’ve seen him before, and he’s so greasy looking.” You make a face of sheer disgust, making Jimin laugh even harder.

“Yeah, he is! But, y/n, are you sure she wasn’t just saying something like that to get a rouse out of you?” He inquires, one hand relaxing on the steering well as he drives. “From what you’ve told me how she acts towards you it seems that way.”

“I have no idea! I really don’t know what the whole point of that conversation was,” you laugh. “Even if she was, I don’t care. I like you a lot Jimin, and I wasn’t about to let some girl try and spread false rumors about you.” You look out the car, trying to hide your blushing cheeks.

“Y/n,” he calls you. You turned your head, looking over your sunglasses at him, with your hand resting against your cheek. You answer with a small hum. Between the road and you, he spent as much time as he could gazing at you. Despite his own pair of dark sunglasses, you could still see joy twinkling in his eyes. “I like you a lot too,” he finally says. It did nothing to slow your racing heart or help you cool down, but you didn’t care. Not with the way he could barely keep his eyes off you.

You bite you lip, barely suppressing a huge smile. You lean back in your seat, gazing up at the blue June sky. It was a perfect day for your picnic with Jimin. Not a cloud in sight. A slight breeze blowing through every now and again to relieve you of the sun’s beating rays. The tall grass fields dotted with white and yellow flowers made soft hushing sounds with the wind.

Soon, you and Jimin arrive at the place he promised was the most beautiful place in the East Isles. And it was beyond beautiful. Jimin opens your door and takes you hand to help you out of the car. He was pleased to see your expression of awe as you took in the scene in front of you.

Flowers of all colors poke through the grass—a luscious green carpet—and lead to a small, crystal clear river. The water flows gently after soft brown rocks and into a pond at the end. Birds chirp, some of them chasing each other in the air before perching on the delicate branches of nearby trees. You think this is heaven.

Jimin grabs a large basket and blanket from the car. You seemed entranced by the scenery, and he giggles at your reaction. He slides his fingers down the back of your hand, breaking you from your trance, and threads them with yours. He leads you further into the grass to a perfect spot partially shaded by foliage. He expertly unfolds a thick blanket onto the grass and unpacks the basket, pulling out plates of all your favorite foods and wine. You kick off your shoes and sit down on the blanket, fixing your skirt to neatly cover your legs.

“I didn’t know what you wanted to eat, so I just had everything made that I know you like,” he smiles sheepishly.

“You must have been taking notes after our meals.”

“That and I feel like I know you well enough that if I had to guess out of these foods is your favorite I could.”

“Really?” You challenge, chewing on some grapes. “Which one then?”

“The cheese Danish,” he states without hesitation.

“Nothing else?”

“No, just the pastry itself. Even if you were in a new place with the most fantastic patisseries in the world, you would always go with a cheese Danish.” He replies with such confidence. He knew you so well.

You smile in delight. “I see your mind-reading skills have improved Park Jimin,” you tease, grabbing the cheese Danish from its plate and taking a huge bite out of it. Jimin laughs at your expression when some of cheese falls out of the pastry due to your aggressive eating and you try to catch it. He hands you a cloth napkin to wipe your hands.

“You’re going to spoil lunch!” he joked. “I have proper lunch dishes to eat before dessert. Glazed salmon with a spring mix salad and raspberry walnut dressing?” he offers.

“Yes please,” you grab the plate excitedly, your mouth watering at the sight of such a delicious looking lunch. You and Jimin eat through the first dish with ease, both admitting to each other that you each had skipped breakfast this morning in order to eat lots of food during your picnic. Then, you finally got to eat your cheese Danish, savoring every bite. After your stomachs were nearly full, you both drank wine, nibbling on an assortment of grapes, cheese and buttery crackers. You and he moved to the bank of the river, letting the water move soothingly over your feet. Conversation flowed with ease, discussing literally about everything that popped into your mind or led from one topic to another. Somehow you had gotten from topics like how you had a green thumb as a child and how you would be upset every time the birds ate the seeds you freshly planted to Jimin helping a man fix his car when in broke in the middle of downtown the other day. The man offered Jimin to take one of the puppies his dog gave birth too recently as a thank you.

“And you didn’t pick one?” You ask, surprised.

He laughs. “No, I said I didn’t need a puppy.”

“What about me? I wanted a puppy,” you deadpan.

Jimin’s face morphs into bewilderment. “You’ve never said to me that you wanted a puppy!”

You giggle at his reaction, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m teasing you, Jimin. I don’t expect you to think of me all the time.”

“But I do think about you all time. I should have picked one.” He rubs a hand over his face in frustration and regret.

“Jimin, it’s okay! I was only giving you a hard time.” You push his hand out of the way from his face and gently brush away the hair that had fallen into his eyes.

He watches your face as you focus on fixing his hair. Then his eyes slide to the hat on your head. He hates how you covered your hair with that ridiculous accessory. He knew about your voluminous curls that were pinned and restrained to the current trend. It made him unhappy.

He pulls your hat from your head and tossed away somewhere in the grass. “Jimin, what are you…” you trail off as he begins to pull the pins from under your hair. Somehow, he knew where each one was, as if he’d done it a million times.

As he removes each pin and your hair falls over your shoulders, he keeps his eyes on your face, gazing into the mesmerizing dark caramel color of your eyes. A blush paints your cheekbones. Slowly, you become your real self—the one that Jimin knew so well, but you had forgotten about.

When the last pin was removed, Jimin smiled lovingly at you. “I like your hair down. You shouldn’t wear it up so much. I love your curly hair. It kind of reminds me of one of the puppies I saw.”

“It had soft curly hair like mine?”

“Yes. The man said they were called Lagotto Romagnolo dogs. Ironically, they’re an Italian breed, but I only found that out after I said to the man, they sounded like a type of pasta dish.” Jimin explains, and you laugh softly. Comfortable silence fell upon the atmosphere. The sun warms your back, and the trickle of the river soothes you into an almost sleepy state. You turn your head and lay it on Jimin’s shoulder.

You sit there like that for several minutes, watching nature go about its day, sipping on your wine. Your wine glass then becomes empty, and you say as much. Jimin said he would get you some more, gently laying a kiss against your hair. Any relaxation you felt from the wine dissipates and your nerves spark. You lift your head up, and Jimin swoops in for a kiss on the cheek. He smiles cleverly, grabbing your wine glass from your hand before getting up to fill it with more wine. You couldn’t help tracking him with your gaze. From your sitting position, you finally get a good view of his body, particularly his backside. It’s a nice backside, you thought to yourself. As if he felt your eyes on him, he glances over his shoulder and totally catches you checking him out. He winks at you, and you shyly shift your gaze to the river.

Suddenly, your head feels so fuzzy. Your mind drifts, like you’re falling into a dream. You rub the heel of your palm against your temple, squeezing your eyes shut. When the sensation passes, you open them again, gazing back into the water.

Then, a dream comes to you, and it’s such a vivid dream.

You and Jimin are in the river, splashing water at each other. He wraps his arms around your waist. Pulling you to his naked chest, he spins you in circles in the water.

The sensation in your head turns into a pounding, and you gasp at the pain. You lay your hand against your forehead, your skin feeling hot. You feel your pulse beating against the side of your neck. You twist in your seat, craning to see Jimin. He’s putting the cork back in the bottle. He looks up and smiles sweetly at you.

Another dream flashes before your eyes. You see the bodies of a man and a woman locked in a passionate embrace, kissing and holding tightly to each other. Underneath the woman is a familiar blanket and patch of wildflowers.

Then, it’s gone and so it the pain. Jimin’s face with creased with concern. He jogs over, abandoning the wine glasses. He kneels in front of you. “Y/n, what’s wrong? You look hurt.” He searches your face, your arms, your legs, your torso. But he finds nothing wrong with you.

That was because nothing was wrong.

You were remembering. Everything.

You pull Jimin in for a kiss, and your world bursts into a kaleidoscope of memories.

All of them were so vivid.

Your parents. How your father’s electrical business took flight. The money and the new lifestyle that came with it. Hwasa and the dance clubs. The parties and gatherings for tea. And then Jimin—he was in most of them.

The first time you met him, almost five years ago, similar to the situation months age when you “first met” him at his estate, being presented as new money. Except he never looked away from you when you walked in the room. He looked at you with the gleam in his eye like he does now, as if he’d fallen in love with you right then. And you too had found it difficult to look away. He was so handsome. Dressed in a black suit, with the pants so perfectly fitted that it made his legs look unbelievably long. His hair was styled to expose his beautiful face to the world. It was much darker back then, making his blue-gray eyes even more striking.

You had met him every chance you got. You were both inseparable. He was always so polite and sweet. Then, one night he confessed to you under the moonlight at the architectural park downtown and gave you the best kiss of your life. You secretly met up for picnics and boat rides, soaking in the luxurious things in life together, making happy memories. And you fell deeply in love. You had even gone to this place—the meadow with the crystal river. Jimin insisted taking a swim, immediately stripping down. You were worried someone might catch you, but he owned this land and assured you that no one would disturb you two. You looked away when he removed all his clothes before entering the water, and you insisted Jimin do the same. And he did. You remember the exhilaration thrumming in your bones when you removed the last of your undergarments. Never in your life had you imagined that you would be walking in a meadow and swimming in a river stark naked, much less in front of a man you weren’t married too.

When you got in the water, it was chilly, and you had said as much. Jimin had offered to warm you with a suggestive smirk. You had felt boneless at the thought but decided to tease him instead. You smiled mischievously before splashing him with water. Thus, a water battle ensued, and he ended up capturing you in his arms and tickled you to death. After admitting that you teased him on purpose, he finally stopped tickling you and insisted he just hold you in the water. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and you rested your head on his solid chest. He pulled you around the pond, humming and laying the occasional kiss on your head. You complained that you were getting too cold and hopped out of the water onto the picnic blanket.

You flopped down on your back, smiling up at the sky. Jimin laid down next to you on his side, head propped up on his hand so he could look at you. Water droplets fell from the ends of his dark wet hair and collected on his skin. You turned your head towards him and offered a soft smile. You reached your hand closest to him and brushed it soothingly on his forehead, pushing his hair from his eyes, which were slowly taking in your body. His eyes had grown darker with passion each passing second. Eyes locked on yours, he placed his hand over your heart, feeling the fast racing of it. Jimin saw your expression change, more reflective of his. “Jimin.” Your hand moved to his full lips, stroking the bottom one with the pad of your finger. “Please.” He leaned forward, kissing you passionately. Jimin conveyed his love with every touch.

Your one and only true love.

You feel your soul rush back into your present body, pulling away from Jimin. You were breathless and panting. His eyebrows are scrunched together in worry, eyes bright with fear “Jimin, I remember. I remember everything,” you rush out.

A million emotions flash across his face—happiness, sadness, confusion, fear, joy, pain, relief, but love outshines all of them. Tears form in his eyes that quickly fall down his cheeks. You feel your own tears on your face.

He cups your face in his bands, thumbs wiping away the tears. “What are you feeling? Tell me.” He speaks so softly, and it breaks your heart.

“Everything. I remember everything that I couldn’t from when my father’s company succeeded until now. I can’t explain it. I remembered things. I didn’t feel like I had any gaps in my memory before. It’s like I couldn’t remember that I was missing memories of you, my parents and my friends.

“I… I didn’t just fall down the steps, did I?” You ask. He shakes his head gravely. “I was in a car accident.” And as you explain the details, you see it clearly in your mind’s eye.

You were driving home with parents after a weekend getaway to the coast. Your dad was stressed and needed to get out of the city. After the weekend was over, you were riding in the car with your parents back into the city. Your dad was driving the car over the bridge when another car smashed into your family’s vehicle. Everything happened so quickly, you don’t remember seeing your parents. All you remember was falling so far, so fast and then hitting the ground before blacking out. Then, you woke up in the hospital with your grandmother by your side surrounded by doctors.

“My parents died that night, didn’t they?” Your voice cracks with the question.

Jimin frowns deeply. “I’m so sorry, y/n.”

“I already knew they were dead, but not how they died or when.” Then, you see their faces in your mind. “Mom… Dad…” you sob, covering your mouth to prevent from crying out. The full force of the loss hits you. Jimin quickly situates you into his hold, grounding you while you grieve for your parents.

You remember the family meals and time you spent together; the happiness on dad’s face when the business took off; the times when your parents got on your nerves, and now you wish you hadn’t argued with them so harshly; all the times you had mom-daughter and dad-daughter conversations. It all ended too soon.

You’re not sure how long you cried before you finally calmed down. Jimin was rocking you gently, cheek against the top of your head. The sun had started to go down. Jimin finally speaks, his voice forlorn.

“I went and saw you in the hospital. I heard what happened the next day. I hadn’t seen or heard from you. I called your house so many times, but no one answered. So, I went over there, and your staff had gotten a call from the police. They said your parents had died in the crash. I grieved for them.

“But you had managed to survive. Somehow by some miracle, you landed on a wooden platform not too far below the bridge. I thought they were going to say you fell in the icy water and that they wouldn’t find you. They took you to hospital, and you were unconscious.

“I visited you every day. I brought you your favorite flowers. I held your hand and told you everything I loved about you. And that I wanted you to wake up so badly so I can hear your voice and fully convince myself that you were still here. You didn’t wake up for almost a month. When you did, I was on my way to see you. I heard your voice from down the hallway. I was so excited. Finally, I could hear your voice again and kiss you. But, as I got to the door, the doctors had been explaining your condition to your grandmother.

“You suffered a serious brain injury and had amnesia. They assessed you couldn’t remember what happened in the last two or three years with other long-term memories having been forgotten. They found you could no longer associate emotions with most of your memories anymore. After the doctors left, you had already fallen back asleep. Your grandmother saw me and stopped me at the door. She knew that I had heard everything, and she insisted that I stop visiting. You hadn’t asked for me, and that based on the doctor’s evaluation, it was unlikely you remembered me at all. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I should have been in there, trying to help you remember, but your grandmother forbade it. And, in the end, she was right.

“You had just gone through so much, a lot of it you didn’t remember. You didn’t need me, someone you would have thought was a stranger, to come in and try to convince you that we were in love. It wouldn’t have brought you back. I wanted you to love me, not because I told you, you did, but because you do. I wanted to give you the chance to discover love again. Whether it was with me or not.

“It killed me to see you walk into my house again, several months after the accident, and reintroduce yourself and everyone pretend as if they didn’t know what a wonderful person you are. That day a couple months ago, when I had seen you… It was like seeing you again for the very first time. Then I was reminded I had lost you, but you were still here, not knowing that you still had me in the palm of your hand.” He softly circles his fingertips on your palm. “Besides,” he smiles ruefully, “what would you have done if I came up to you and said I was your fiancé?”

You hiccup from your tears, “Fiancé?”

Jimin swallows thickly, nodding. “Yes. I had proposed to you that Christmas. We were in the sitting room in front of the tree. We were just sitting there. You were looking at the candles and ornaments on the tree, commenting how pretty they were and that you’d want Christmas to be this beautiful and peaceful in your own house one day. When you said that, it made the ring that I had kept in my pocket for weeks feel heavier, and my heart was racing so fast I thought you would have thought something was wrong. But nothing was wrong. I was with the most beautiful, kind, intelligent woman in the world, and I wanted nothing more than to be in the future she was talking about. So, I got down on one knee and asked you, y/n y/l/n, to marry me—to allow me the honor of cherishing you every single day until our last.”

“And I said, ‘Yes, I will marry you.’” You sob, but it’s happy tears.

“And I kissed you and told you I would never leave your side ever, no matter what came our way. I guess I just hadn’t imagined that, that something would come so quick and with so much loss.”

You looked deep into his eyes, soothingly caressing the side of his face. “I’m here now Jimin. And I promise I’ll never leave you again.” You had forgotten the most beautiful moments in life—your memories of your parents, Hwasa, and Jimin—but you didn’t know that you had. And ever so slowly, Jimin was bringing you back to him.

However, despite your promising words, he was holding back something. He got choked up again, fresh tears shining in his eyes. He let out a shuttering breath, “Y/n, there’s something else about those months leading up to the accident.”

You trembled, anxiety lighting every nerve. “What is it?”

He covered your hand on his face with his and wiped at his eyes with his other hand. It took him a few moments to gather himself to say it, and it came as a shock—

“You were pregnant.”

Your world stilled and began to spin. “I was pregnant…” You repeat it quietly to yourself. Your mind spun into the kaleidoscope of memories again. You remember you hadn’t asked for your napkins at the beginning of the new year. You remember telling your mom about your missed cycles and explaining to her that you and Jimin had already been together before. You hadn’t told Jimin yet because you didn’t want to tell him until you saw a doctor and said it was official. And you and she were going to tell your father about it, but he was so stressed when he got home. That was the Friday of the weekend getaway. You both decided that you would tell him together when you got back home on Sunday you when he was in a better mood. Except that never happened.

“The doctor had said you were 12 weeks along. It made sense. After I proposed to you that night, we made love, but we decided not to use protection that time. I was so excited I didn’t think to ask if you were taking a contraceptive medicine. I assumed you were, so I didn’t think about it. You didn’t even show at all during those 12 weeks. The only way the doctors found out was because you miscarried. The trauma from the accident was too much for your body, so the baby…” Jimin couldn’t say it, breaking down into sobs. It was still too much for him to talk about.

And for you. You began to cry as well. “I’m sorry, Jimin that I couldn’t protect our baby.”

Jimin hushed you immediately, looking deep into your eyes. “This wasn’t your fault, y/n. You have to know that and believe that. I would never blame you for what happened. I’m not upset that you didn’t tell me because you weren’t ready to yet. And that’s okay. I mourn our son or daughter every day, and I still love them as much as when I found out they had existed and as if they were here.”

You cried for the loss of your parents and the pain your grandmother felt of losing her son and daughter-in-law. You cried for your unborn baby. You cried for Jimin, who had to hold in everything he knew and felt so you could figure out who you were again. He could have told you he was your fiancé but didn’t because he wanted you to love him and accept his love without controlling your heart.

“I know we’ll never be the same people before the car crash, but that doesn’t matter. I would go to the ends of the Earth for you, y/n. And if that meant we would have to start over and fall in love all over again, I would do it a million and ten times more. I was reminded of things about you that I had forgotten that I shouldn’t have and the little things in the experiences that we have together that made me love you all the more. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Jimin. Even when I couldn’t remember anything, I was falling in love with you.” He kisses you passionately, quickly muttering about he waited so long to hear you say those words again. Your faces are warm and wet with tears. You each kiss them away on the other’s face until they are gone. “I don’t have enough words to describe how incredibly patient and loving you are with me. You didn’t deserve to go through all of this.”

“Neither did you. We just know now that our love has conquered all. It has transcended tragedy, doubt, heartbreak and stolen memories. You’re mine, and I’m yours; and I’m never letting you go again.” You kiss each other sweetly, the pain of the past melting away with each press of your lips. Neither him nor you were sure how long you stayed perched in his lap just brushing kisses across each other’s lips and whispering promises.

“You know,” you start, brushing his hair from his eyes, “there’s no way I’m letting you leave me tonight to go to your too-far away house. You’re going to go to sleep with me in my bed tonight, and the night after, and the night after, and—”

He interrupts you with a laugh, his eyes squishing into cute crescent moons. “That sounds like a fine idea.”

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

After quickly shoving the picnic basket and blanket into the car, you and Jimin drove to house. It was nearly 9 o’clock at night. You had been gone practically the entire day. You wondered if your grandmother was worried.

Thankfully, when you tiptoe through the house, your hand holding Jimin’s, the only person you encounter is Hwasa, who had been staying with you the past couple days ever since she got in a fight with her parents. She sees your intertwined hands and says, “Finally you two confessed your feelings. I was concerned I was going to lose my bet with Tae. Although, y/n, I would keep the noise level down, your grandmother is sleeping—”

You didn’t even give her the chance to finish before you pull her into a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you, Hwasa. For being the greatest friend ever.” Hwasa returns the hug. She looks over your shoulder at Jimin, who simply winks at her. Even in the dark of the night, you and Jimin appeared radiant. “We have so much to talk about, Hwasa. But let’s do it tomorrow morning over breakfast.”

She beams at you, finally understanding what was going on. “I’ll be up bright and early. You two get some sleep, and I’ll phone Tae in the morning to bring some extra clothes for your guest. Goodnight, you two.” She exits the corridor, her silk kimono floating behind her like an extra shadow.

Once in your room, you and Jimin collapse on your bed. The only sound was the delicate chorus chirped by the crickets out in the garden by your window. You gaze at each other, listening to the other’s breathing, until you both fall asleep.

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

You and Jimin meet your grandmother and Hwasa in the seating room the next morning. Taehyung had stopped by briefly to drop off Jimin’s clothes. He said he gave the excuse to his parents that Jimin was stayed the night at his house after a much-too-fun game of pool. The staff had laid out extra breakfast and tea per your grandmother’s request. There was a lot that needed to be said before life could move forward.

Your grandmother and Hwasa explain the whole point of the plan they had set when it was discovered you had amnesia. It was very similar to why Jimin agreed to go along with it. It was to let you rediscover yourself and grow into a new person that fit the life that you knew. Nothing would have been more miserable than being told who you were and what you had to do. It was difficult getting the community around you to agree to it, but in the end, most felt awful about the terrible ordeal you’d been through. Everyone loved your parents, who were honest and hardworking, so they decided that if pretending to meet you again for the first time was the best way to help you recover it would be so. Thus, began your new journey.

You talk through the difficulties you had. The emptiness and loss of emotion that came with the “gap” memories your brain had created to lessen the trauma. This world hadn’t felt real to you in most aspects until you had more interaction with your best friends and lover. Even though your head had forgotten your memories with them, your heart had known them. And you were so grateful you had Hwasa, Jimin and Taehyung to anchor you back. You can’t say that you desperately wish to turn back the clock to change the events that happened. Firstly, that would be futile and a waste of energy. Second, although your parents have passed on from this world and entered paradise, you know you will see them again someday. You’re happy that your memories came back and you have those to remember them by.

This whole journey has only grown your love and appreciation for every moment and person in your life.

After many hugs and tears with Hwasa and your grandmother, Jimin politely asks if he could have a moment alone with you. Hwasa walks arm-in-arm with her out of the room, beginning to chat away about Paris. Before leaving, Hwasa looks over her shoulder and smiles at you both. You smile back at her, pink coloring your cheeks.

Jimin stands from his chair and holds his hand out to you. You take it, him helping you to your feet. He gazes at you, seeming focused and determined. You grow a little shy, and giggle. “Quite the morning, right? Probably one of the most eventful breakfasts in my life.”

“Yes, I think so too,” he states, but sounding only half-present. He’s engrossed in memorizing the features of your face, and the brightness that is radiating from you after just rediscovering who you were. He thinks that you only get more beautiful with each passing day.

He presses a kiss to your cheek with plush lips, the softness of it drawing a light gasp from you. His lips move closer to your’s, pressing another kiss to your cheek, but firmer this time. His steady hands come up to hold your waist. You tilt your head towards his, your lips brushing his as they come in for a third kiss. You’ll never get used to this. The passion with which Jimin shows you, even with the most delicate of touches. Your hands slide from his shoulders to around his neck, pulling him closer.

When Jimin breaks the kiss, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you as close as he can. You lay your hand against his, fingers gently stroking through his hair in comfort. It occurs to you for a second that he might not believe that you’re really here, that you remember everything about your love for him. “Jimin, I promise I’ll never go far away again. I’ll stay so close by your side you’ll start to think you’ve got a second shadow.” You whisper to him. He chuckles against your neck. You feel him relax against you, his weight growing heavier in your arms.  Then, he’s letting go of you, sinking to the ground.

To get on one knee.

“I know you won’t, y/n. And I promise I won’t be the only one who thinks they have a second shadow.” He smiles at you endearingly.

You laugh at the turn-around of the joke, but you feel hot tears already prickling at your eyes. Happy tears.

“You’ve already heard most of what I’ve wanted to say for so long, so I’ll keep it short and get to what I’ve really wanted to do since you came back into my life. Y/n… Life had thrown us a huge curveball, but we made it out on the other side. Never did I imagine that when I met you again that I would mess up so badly,” he tells you, and you laugh at the memory. “I was just so in love with you, and I didn’t know how to act around you without wanting to convey my love. And then, you called me rude and refused dinner, and even though you were made, you were so beautiful when you were. Of course, that didn’t help me get my thoughts straight because I was so head over heels for you. Then, the next opportunity came to make it right, and I knew I couldn’t miss my shot to be around you again. I’m so glad I didn’t because I know you’re the only person in this entire world that makes me feel the way you do. And, if you’ll allow me again to honor and cherish you for the rest of eternity…”

He reaches into his pocket to pull out a velvet box, not once taking his eyes off of you. Jimin opens the lid to reveal the diamond ring that once made a home on your left hand. Details of his first proposal to you rush in for a moment. Between that memory and the present, Jimin still looks very nervous, albeit in an endearing way, but wears all of his love for you on his sleeve.

“Will you marry me, y/n?” The tears finally escape his eyes as he asks you for the second time, one of the most beautiful questions in life.

“Yes, Jimin. Always.” You sink to your knees in front of him, hands reaching to pull Jimin in for a passionate kiss. He wraps you against him tightly, dropping the velvet box to the floor. You both kiss for what seems like forever between the two of you until you hear a very Hwasa-like cheer from outside the door. You and Jimin, pull away laughing.

He takes the ring out of the box and slips it on your engagement finger. He marvels at it, “You make this ring ten times more radiant,” he grins cutely, earning another laugh from you. “I’m serious! When I was picking one out, I was concerned that I’d never find one that matched your bright spirit, and then I realized that it was impossible. No diamond or gem will ever shine brighter than you.” He lovingly pinches your cheek.

You pinch his in return. “You’re so cheesy. I love it,” you smile at him and kiss him again. “Let’s get married next week. I don’t want to wait too long. I think we’ve done enough waiting.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I’ve already got the best place in mind for our honeymoon.”

“Really? Where’s that?”

He smiles knowingly.

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

You are married on the following Tuesday, only five days after Jimin’s proposal. The news of your marriage had hit the papers the next day, thanks to the Parks who were finally happy to see him finally getting married. Between Mrs. Park and your grandmother, everything from flowers to food and cake to wedding favors was planned to perfection. Hwasa called in every favor from the best dress designers in the city to create the most beautiful gown imaginable. It was very necessary, she explained when you had said you only needed a simple gown. And she was right. Because when you walked out of the church on Jimin’s arm on that bright sunny day in June, you looked like royalty in the photos. Many citizens in the city were excited to finally see a big wedding happen again. They cheered and tossed flower petals when you and Jimin descended the church steps to head to the car for reception.

The next morning, you and Jimin left home together when the sun rose for your honeymoon. You briefly rode to the airport, where you and Jimin boarded a small plane. You asked him repeatedly where he was taking you, but he would simply grin and kiss your hand. He was probably much more excited than you, if that was even possible. You felt as if you’d been on a high for the past week since the proposal. Life couldn’t have been any better.

But, of course, it got even better.

When Jimin said you both had finally arrived, you are pleasantly surprised.

Santa Bella Island.

You’d heard about it before from friends and family. Crystal clear, blue waters with warm, white sand speckled with seashells. Pleasant summer weather that was a tad hot during the peak of the day but left a gentle breeze by the time the sun fell in a cascade of pinks, oranges, and purples. The sunrises were even better.

You stood against the threshold of your private villa, drinking in the morning sun as it started to peek from the ocean’s horizon. You sipped quietly on a cup of tea, letting the sun’s early rays warm your skin. Jimin was still sleeping on the bed, body wrapped around the sheets, which were sufficiently wrinkled from last night’s late activities. You giggled to yourself, fingering the silk of your robe.

It was so perfectly peaceful here. Birds chirped happily as they began their morning songs. The waves lapped softly on the sand. The palm trees swayed with ease. Jimin was snoring softly on the bed, his cheek squished against the pillow and lips parted. You couldn’t believe that you get a whole month of this with your husband.

Husband. You smile to yourself. That will never get old. It brings warmth to your cheeks every time you think about it. You murmur the word to yourself, testing out how it rolls off your tongue. It was so strange to say, yet it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your husband must have heard you. Caught up in the sunrise, you’d only heard soft footfalls against the wood floor that signaled Jimin’s wakefulness. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back to rest against his bare chest. His head rests on your shoulder, tilted to nuzzle against the side of your neck. “Good morning, my lovely wife,” and he places small kisses along there.

“Good morning, my darling husband. Did you sleep well?” Your free hand comes up to stroke his hair.

“I did,” he murmurs against your hair. He reaches over your shoulder to take the cup from you and set it on the table. He wraps both arms around your waist from behind you, fingers massaging your skin through the silk of the robe. “Although, I was hoping I would get the chance to wake you up in a very husband-like kind of way,” he says coyly. You giggle, biting your lip. You hold your left hand closer to your face.

The two white diamond rings—for your engagement and wedding—glitter perfectly in the morning sun. You marvel at the striking beauty of them.

“My forever is with you y/n.” Your husband whispers in your ear.

“You’re my forever Jimin.”

[lovemesomesurveys]

What time are you starting this? It’s 3:49AM. Name? Stephanie. Nicknames? Steph or Sis. Date of birth? July 28th. Sex? Female.

Height? About 5′4.  Eye color? Brown. Where were you born? Somewhere in California. Number of candles on your last birthday cake? 32. D; Pets? I have a 4 year old doggo named Princess Leia. Hair color? Dark Brown. Piercings? Just my earlobes. Town you live in? I’m not sharing that. Favorite foods? Eggs, ramen, chicken tenders, garlic parm and lemon pepper boneless wings from Wingstop, pastas, turkey or bologna sandwiches, potatoes in various forms, and pizza. Ever been to Africa? No. Been toilet papering? No, and I’d never participate in something like that. Love someone so much it made you cry? Yes. Been in a car accident? No, fortunately. Croutons or bacon bits? Croutons. Favorite day of the week? I don’t have one really since my days seem to just blend together. Favorite resturant? I don’t have one. Favorite flower? I don’t have one. Favorite sport to watch? None. Favorite drink? Coffee, Starbucks Doubleshot energy drink, Coke, Cherry Coke, Dr. Pepper, Cherry Dr. Pepper, Pepsi, Cherry Pepsi... lol clearly I like the cherry flavored sodas. And *gasp* I like Coke and Pepsi, highly controversial I know. Favorite ice cream flavor? Strawberry, mint chocolate chip, birthday cake, cookies and cream. Warner Bros. or Disney? Disney. Favorite fast food restuarant? I guess Jack in the Box because I really like their chicken strips. Carpet color in your bedroom? Tan. Whom did you get your last email from? From one of the stores I’m subscribed to. Which store would you choose to max out your credit card? I don’t wanna max out any credit cards. What do you do most often when you are bored? I do the same things regardless: scroll through Tumblr, do surveys, check social medias, watch TV, read, color, play The Sims... Most annoying thing to say to me? I hate being told to “calm down.” Bedtime? I fall asleep in the early morning hours. Favorite TV show? I have several. Last person you went out to dinner with?: I haven’t gone out to dinner in quite awhile. Been out of country? Once when I went to Mexico. Believe in magick? No. Ford or Chevy? Ford. What are you listening to right now? An ASMR video. Have you ever failed a grade? No. If you have, what grade did you fail? -- Do you have a crush on someone? No. Do you have a bf/gf? No. If so, what is their name? -- How long have you been together? -- What are you wearing right now? A t-shirt dress. Would you have sex before marriage? I don’t plan on getting married, I just want to be in a long-term committed relationship with someone I’m in love and feel comfortable with before engaging in that. Have you ever had a crush on any of your teachers? Nope. Are you a virgin? I am. Do you smoke? No. Do you drink? No. Are you a player? Np. What are your favorite colors? Pastels, rose gold, sea foam green, coral, and yellow. What is your favorite animal? Dogs and giraffes. Do you have any birthmarks? Yeah, one on my right elbow. Who do you talk to most on the phone? My mom. I don’t talk on the phone except for quick calls from my mom or sometimes from my brother who call to ask/tell me something real quick or my mom might call on her lunch at work to talk for a bit. They’re just brief calls. Have you ever been slapped? No. Do you get online a lot? Yeah, I spend a lot of time online. Are you shy or outgoing? I’m very shy. Do you shower? Yes. Do you hate school? I’m not in school anymore, but no I wouldn’t say I hated it. Well, not overall anyway. I definitely felt that way at times, but there were parts I liked.  Do you have a social life? Nope. How easily do you trust people? I don’t really have a trust issue, I just have a hard time opening up and expressing myself to others. That even includes people I’m close to. Would you ever sky dive? Nooo. Do you like to dance? I don’t dance except for like nodding my head to the beat or moving my arms or hands a little.  Have you ever been out of state? Yes, a few times. Do you like to travel? I do. Have you ever been expelled from school? Nope. Have you ever been suspended from school? Nope. Do you want to get out of your hometown? Yes. Are you a brat? I feel like I’ve been acting like one nowadays. I’m just so irritable and moody and snippy all the time. :/ Have you ever been dumped? Yes. Do you like snapple? Sure. It’s bee awhile since I’ve had it, though. Do you drink a lot of water? Not nearly enough. What toothpaste do you use? Sensodyne. Do you have a cell phone? I do. Do you have a curfew? No, I’m 32 years old. I actually never had a curfew, though. There was no need to set one because I didn’t go anywhere.  Who do you look up to? My mom. Are you a role model? I wouldn’t say so. Have you ever been to Six Flags or Cedar Point? I’ve been to Six Flags several times. What name brand do you wear the most? I have a lot of Adidas clothes, shoes, and accessories. What kind of jewelry do you wear? I hardly ever wear jewelry, but if I do it’ll likely be bracelets. What do you want pierced? Nothing. Do you like takin pictures? Not of myself. Do you like gettin your picture taken? No. Do you have a tan? I have a slight tan from my beach trip earlier this month. Do you get annoyed easily? Yes. Have you ever started a rumor? No. Do you have your own phone or phone line? I have a cell phone. Do you have your own pool? No. Do you have any siblings? I have two brothers. Have you ever been played? Yes. Have you ever played anyone? No. Do you get along with your parents? I do. How do you vent your anger? By crying. Have you ever ran away? No. Have you ever been fired from a job? No. Do you even have a job? Nope. Do you daydream a lot? I suppose so. Do you run your mouth? No. What do you want a tattoo of? I highly doubt I’ll ever get one. What do you have a tattoo of? I don’t have any. Are you rude? I truly don’t mean or intend to be, but like I said I’m so moody, irritable, and snippy nowadays that I feel like I probably am kind of rude at times. :/ What was the last compliment you recieved? On my hair, I think. What is your lucky number? I don’t believe in luck, but my favorite number is 8. What does your hair look like right now? It’s really short. Could you ever be a vegetarian? No. Describe your looks? Really short dark brown hair, brown eyes, some freckles, thin, about 5′4... quite average, nothing special. Would you ever date someone younger than you? I’d much prefer someone older but in my range. I wouldn’t date anyone younger than 30. Would you ever date someone older than you? Yes. When was the last time you were drunk? Almost 10 years ago on my birthday. How many rings until you answer the phone? I don’t answer after a certain amount of rings. Have you ever been skinny dipping? No, and I have no desire to ever do so. If yes, when was the last time? -- When was the last time you went on a date? It’s been a few years. Do you look more like your mother or father? My mom. Do you cry a lot? I feel like such a crybaby nowadays.  What phrase do you use most when on the phone? I don’tave a certain phrase I always use when on the phone. Have you ever been chased by cops? No. What do you like most about your body? Nothing.

What do you like least about your body? Everything. When did you have your first crush? When I was in 3rd grade. When was the last time you threw up? It’s been a few years. In the opposite sex, do you prefer blondes or brunettes? I don’t care. Do you ever wear shirts do show your belly? No. What about cleavage? No. Is your best friend a virgin? No. What theme does your room have? It doesn’t really have one. What size show do you wear? I wear a size 6 in women’s US. What is your screen name on AIM? Aw, rip AIM. How are you feeling right now? Tired and hungry. When was the last time you were at a party? Back in June for my bro’s grad party. Has there ever been a rumor spread about you? No. What is one of your bad qualilties? One of many is that I’m very stubborn. What is one of your good qualilties? I’m understanding. Would you marry for money? No. What do you drive? I don’t.  What kind of music do you like? I like variety. Would you ever bungee jump? Nooo. What is your worst fear? Losing my loved ones, never getting better/getting worse, never doing anything with my life. Would you ever join the army? No. Do you like cows? Sure. If you were to die today, what would you do? Uhhh. If you had one last word to say to someone before you die, what would it b? I would tell them I love them and thank them for everything. Do you like to party? I like small, chill get togethers.  Hearts or broken hearts? Uh, hearts. Moons or stars? Stars. Coke or pepsi? Both. Favorite scent? I have a lot. Favorite band? One will always be Linkin Park. Would you ever dye your hair red? I was dyeing my hair red for the past 5 years and plan on doing so again when my hair grows out more. How many languages can you speak? I’m only fluent in English. What time are you finishing this? 10:47AM. I fell asleep at some point so I finished this later.

[things2mustdo]

I doubt anyone needs to be reminded that the media is rotten to the core; even the most reluctant and closed-minded people are accepting this as a given now. But despite the media being widely condemned nowadays (my special thanks to Germans for bringing the word “Lügenpresse” back), few people know or understand what’s really going on in the journalistic kitchens, where the foul slop of lies that people are fed every day is cooked up. However, there is always a way in—through purposeful infiltration or, in my case, by accident.

I have an old friend—let’s call him Sven—whom I always knew as a kind-hearted and sincere man. However, these traits are also coupled with always assuming the best of people and being rather naive. Due to this, he keeps ending up in awkward and sometimes dangerous situations. One of them turned out to be a short stint as a journalist for a popular online newspaper. He barely maintained contact during his employment and eventually went completely off the grid. In about a month, he resurfaced a changed man, and not for the better. As he explained, he quit the job and then shut himself in for a while, armed with nothing but alcohol, to cope with the depression working as a journalist gave him.

Now, this probably sounds very soft to many of you, including myself. Men don’t sink into depressions or try to drink themselves out of problems. While I granted my friend the clemency of explaining his failures to him, I also recognized the usefulness of his experience and started questioning him about what he saw and heard at the job. I will relay his findings below; however, I will not disclose his true name or the name of his employer—given the “free” country we live in, this can land him in very hot water.

Whoever pays you, owns you

Sven joined the ranks of journalists to tell people the truth. To his credit, he believed he would be doing exactly that. His first assignment sounded so simple, after all—talk to a person, record the conversation, write an article, publish it. The reality turned out to be diametrically different—after our fresh-baked journalist returned from his first interview, he was immediately ordered to transcribe the recording and email it to the content manager. Half an hour later Sven received a heavily edited version of the transcript, with the parts he considered most crucial replaced with meaningless buzzwords or removed completely. When he went to the manager to voice his indignation, the manager simply replied: “This man did not pay us for an article that would disparage him. Get back to your desk.”

This was far from the only case of Sven witnessing how much pull money has in journalism. His numerous colleagues almost never produced independent content—they were too busy publishing one paid article after another. When Sven asked whether these articles should be marked as sponsored, the only reply he got was a bitter laugh. Very often the content manager would come over to his desk and say something along the lines of “Do you know the guy you are writing about is a close friend of our boss? Do not screw this article up.” Sven was also surprised to see that many interviewees (usually politicians) would not even bother to talk to him, instead referring him to their secretaries or assistants. One of them even went as far as to hand him a pre-written speech, tell him to work with it and walk away.

However, our Sven also happens to possess a burning sense of justice, which has several times led him to ignore the “recommendations” his content manager gave him, deviate from the official story and allow small snippets of truth to make their way into public view. For each of such occurrences he was called to the manager’s room, given a strict admonishment and had his paycheck for the month reduced. Any “unsanctioned” things that he wrote were quickly edited away afterwards—even if the article had already been read by thousands of people. And his was supposed to be a “neutral and objective” media outlet!

Standards? Never heard of ’em.

It was a big shock for Sven when he finally realized that his employers were beings without conscience who whored themselves out to the highest bidder. It was an even bigger shock when he discovered how nonchalantly his colleagues treated their responsibilities. Investigative journalists relied on information they got from Google searches and Twitter posts, editors and sub-editors used rumors and hearsay to write scathing op-eds, website managers just posted any content that caught their fancy as long as they could come up with a flashy enough headline for it to attract people. Fact-checking was almost unheard of, unless someone specifically paid for it.

When it came to choosing topics and writing articles, the guideline for the entire establishment was simple: do not make the people angry. Not the regular people, mind you—those were not even considered human beings, just a faceless mass that one threw articles at and got pageviews and money in return. No, the label “people” was reserved for people who mattered. This included representatives of the powers that be, well-known public figures, moneybags with fingers in the political pie and, of course, personal buddies of the outlet’s owner.

These were to be protected, coddled and praised at all costs, while everyone else was fair game. Needless to say, politics held as much sway in the outlet as money did—whenever something noteworthy happened, “protectors of truth and objectivity” immediately went to work spinning the events in a way desirable for those holding their leashes. Hit pieces against political opponents and undesirables were churned out, smokescreens were cast, facts were omitted, denied and misinterpreted. Sven confessed to me later that the day his outlet covered the parliamentary elections was the first day in his life when he spent the entire evening drinking. Journalistic ethics, a term that the media loves throwing left and right, turned out to be nothing but hot air.

In the media omelet, you are an egg

The title says it all. For top dogs in the media business, a rank-and-file worker is not just a pawn—he is a condom. Contrary to what many people think, a typical journalist’s existence is quite pathetic: underpaid, undervalued, thankless and constantly bossed around. Staff turnover in the “kitchen” is very high, and not because people are getting promoted. In this field, the term “veteran employee” frequently means a poor sod who has no alternatives and cannot quit.

According to Sven, plenty of his colleagues worked only for the sake of getting their paycheck, which explains their negligence. Grey faces, pinched mouths, shifty eyes and sour attitudes—whatever it takes to get through the day. In addition, the higher-ups avoided any responsibility for the published content: whenever an angry reader called the office and complained about an article, the guy who wrote it was immediately thrown under the bus, even if his work was reviewed and approved by the management before publication. After all, what does it take to find another office drone with half-decent writing skills?

However, Sven also describes those of his coworkers who enjoyed their job. They arrived at the office with a spring in their step, a smile snaking across their faces and a mischievous glint in their eyes. These were the “talented” favorites of the outlet’s boss—unfeeling, cold assholes who would sell their own mothers for a juicy piece of gossip that they would later smear all over the website. Whenever they got a chance to write a hit piece, spread a nasty rumor or ruin someone’s life, one could almost see them light up from within. Remember all these smug, holier-than-thou, oh-so-intellectual articles churned out by rags like Salon, Dagens Nyheter and Huffington Post? You can bet your pinky finger they were (and are) written by these people. Which brings us to the next topic.

No wrongthink allowed

As you have probably noticed long ago, the media field is a huge and accommodating Petri dish for all varieties of Kulturbolschewismus. In Sven’s case, it wasn’t just a fear-based company policy of snitching and self-censorship, but an actual agenda at work. He told me there was a flowchart hanging in the newsroom explaining what to do when reporting crimes and incidents. It went something like this: “Was the perpetrator native (white)? Y = report in detail, amplify, N = gloss the details over, downplay.”

Sven wrote an article about a national holiday once, but his content manager refused to approve it for publishing due to it being “too patriotic,” advising him instead to “write more inclusively about minorities’ participation in the festival.” Anything praising the country and its indigenous inhabitants was undesirable and omitted whenever possible, while any piece that brimmed with self-hate, praised inhabitants of other (read: African and Muslim) countries or attacked the natives and their way of life was a big hit and flew through approval like a bird.

Needless to say, the outlet’s newsroom was crammed full of women, their pet cucks and, of course, Jews. The former enjoyed absolute power regardless of their position—a simple complaint to HR was enough to fire anyone, no proof required. The cucks, represented by twig-armed, piercing-laden, wispy-bearded creatures in Che Guevara shirts, were very pleased with the way things were going, sipping lattes and snitching to HR on those who expressed ideas incompatible with the narrative. Jews were in their native element in the newsroom, doing their usual “arrogant intellectual” schtick and getting promotions out of nowhere. The majority of articles bashing natives, their culture and values came from them, as later study of the newspaper’s website showed me.

Liars for hire

So, to sum it all up: the media is not composed of good but misguided people, as many still think. On the contrary, it is a very purposeful and self-aware entity that positions itself somewhere between an unscrupulous opportunist and a loyal lapdog of the state. At best, it is faux-patriotic (“such a wonderful country we have, let’s invite more immigrants!”), while at worst, it is openly hostile towards the indigenous population of the country it exists in.

Moreover, it allows for consolidation and self-affirmation of globalist forces—the traitorous governments, the world Jewry, the multinationals, the entertainment industry and the like—against the increasingly disenfranchised and declining native population. And last but not least, the media is complicit in crimes committed in the West by non-White immigrants due to purposeful obfuscation of them and, if that fails, rabble-rousing to pressure the courts into letting the criminals off scot-free. To me, the latter reason alone is enough to send all the journalists and their owners to the gibbet.

The bottom line is to always remember that the media is not your friend in any way, shape or form, even if its lowest tier operatives fit the description of hapless victims rather than nation-wrecking enemies. The media must be opposed, exposed and boycotted at every turn until it starts bleeding money and choking on its own venom.

Read More: Is Washington Post Writer Adam Taylor A Shill Or Part Of Something Larger?

While reading  Roosh’s article about Adam Taylor and the Washington Post, I noticed quite a few things I would like to share with people here. The direct link between Adam Taylor and the Radio Free excerpt is an anomaly. Such blatant copying is a very rare thing to occur because it gives away a possible collusion between entities.

Looking for these open relationships is long and hard. The better way to analyze  the relations and motivations of certain publishers, policy makers and other manipulators  is to study the various themes they put out and where these themes repeat. While Roosh  might assume that Adam Taylor is the paid shill by himself, I’ve noticed that his writing changes to whoever publishes it. Therefore the Washington Post Worldviews section may be the one that is parroting US State Department themes not just Adam Taylor.

As is shown in Roosh’s article, the similarities between Adam Taylor’s piece and Radio Free Europe are quite telling. It is a possibility that it is a coincidence but a small one. People that try to influence public opinion go to great lengths to ensure things like this do not happen which is why I’m assuming that Adam Taylor is  part of larger machine and not a shill by himself.

Looking back at Adam Taylor’s writing for the Huffington Post, he wrote fluff pieces about gay dogs and other mass consumption items for that audience. His writing about geopolitical intrigue only takes the current form when he begins writing for the Washington Post. All his articles are the Who’s Who of what the US State Department doesn’t like. The roster includes Russia, China, Venezuela, Syria, and Zimbabwe. He writes nothing critical of any American allies.

Could this mean that his change in format indicate that someone turned him? I doubt it. Compare his work at the Washington Post to the rest of the “world views” section there, his writing is merely a contribution to a giant echo chamber and not unique to him.

As I said earlier, it’s very rare for open evidence of collusion such as the similar quotations to present themselves. A better technique to discern propaganda and collusion is to analyze trends and themes.You should look for such things as what the work attempts to convey, does it try to get you to think or act in a certain way, and does it try to get you to disregard other things.

In the Adam Taylor case, the pattern changes significantly from the Huffington Post to the Washington Post. You can also apply this trend analysis to pretty much any author. You can even apply to the contributors here at  Return of Kings and see what you get. Do the trends indicate that the publisher may dictate what the writers write about? Do the trends indicate whether or not the writers have freedom to write about whatever they want? To help you readers out on this exercise I’ll inform you there were two articles I did at the direction of the publisher. They were my article for fat shaming week and my article for #backtothekitchen.  Feel free to comment on any other trends you might notice and if they do not line up with the “about” page.

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Beauty and the Beast Ch.3 (Bucky x Reader)

Next chapter is here and I’m finishing up the next chapter of “His Shooting Star”. Hope you guys like it!

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Warnings: Cussing is always a thing in my chapters, but I try to keep it tame. 

Summary: It took the kingdom of Hydra five years to finally take advantage of the disappearance of the Stark Kingdom. It took Prince Brock two weeks to make the small, unprotected village of Marveline hate his existence. His ways left Captain Rogers to go looking for help, hoping to find a royal family that could protect the people. But what happens when he hasn’t come back? It’s up to Bucky to find out what happened to his best friend and the royal siblings, but he never expected what’s to come.

Chapter Three

It had been a week since Bucky had traded places with Steve. It had been a week since he had given up his freedom to play prisoner for a royal beast. It had been a week of being left alone with no one to talk to, with no one to keep him company.

Bucky had forgotten how much he loathed isolation.

Wandering the long halls, he started to think about the beast that ruled this castle. Y/N. The name was different. It sounded different in his head and on his tongue and yet there was a sense of familiarity to it. He just didn’t understand why. But after blatantly saying no to lunch and dinner three days in a row, she seemed less interested in reaching out to him. That meant he lost track of the hours. He didn’t know when food was served or anything. They practically ignored his existence.

So now he was wandering with a growling stomach tugging at his attention. He needed to eat something. He needed to find the kitchen and then he needed to eat something.

“What were you expecting to happen? You know how she is and trying to play last minute matchmaker never worked out for you. Even when you were human!”

The sound of a new voice made Bucky slow his strides. It was female. Not Rhodey or Sam. How had he been here a week already and yet hadn’t met anyone else? Leaning against the wall, he was curious what else he could learn.

“I was just trying to help. We’re running out of options.”

“What if there aren’t any more options, Sam? Can’t you be satisfied with that?”

“No! Of course I can’t! It’s not only about her. There’s a castle full of servants and people that don’t deserve to live their lives as…objects.”

“They don’t or you don’t?”

“Shut up, Wanda.”

“Hey, um…” A new voice — a boy’s. Perhaps a teenager? “The big guy is listening to you from the door.”

“Bucky?”

At the sound of Sam calling him, Bucky rounded the corner and stood in the doorway. What he hadn’t expected to see speaking to the candelabra was a large, porcelain teapot. He assumed this was Wanda. Next to her was a smaller teacup with a chip at the very top. Bucky couldn’t help, but be curious what his name was.

“What are you doing here, Bucky? We haven’t seen you leave your room since…” Sam faltered, shrugging. “Well, since Y/N showed it to you.”

“I —“ His stomach interrupted him, the low rumble of its discontent and hunger being heard by everyone.

The teacup snickered. “He’s hungry!”

Oh, how Sam wished Y/N was here. He’d give anything for that stubborn woman to see the sheepish look on Bucky’s face. He’d give anything for his princess to have a conversation with this man that didn’t end in them trying to one up one another. But unfortunately, she wasn’t here and the odds of that conversation happening weren’t looking great. 

“Well, if he’s hungry, let’s get him something to eat.”

“I don’t need much. Just some water and a sandwich or something,” Bucky rushed out, his words running into one another. He scratched the back of his neck, strands of hair falling free from the bun and shielding his face.

“That’s not happening,” Wanda told him. “Peter, get some food put together for our guest.”

“I’m not a guest.”

The look Wanda gave him was enough for Bucky to wish he had only thought the words instead of voicing them. She had that motherly look. It reminded him of Steve’s mom and all the lectures she gave him and Steve during their youth. “You certainly aren’t a prisoner, so you aren’t going to eat like one.” Wanda’s voice tore him from his thoughts. “If you were, we’d send Vis to make you food.”

Sam snickered, shaking his head. “Believe me. You don’t want that. No one deserves that kind of punishment.”

Bucky found himself smiling at their kindness. When was the last time someone other than Steve was nice to him simply for the sake of being nice? “Thank you,” he murmured before hearing the clatter of a plate.

“Let’s not get Y/N’s attention,” Rhodey snapped as he entered the room. “You know how she barely sleeps as is.” Realizing Bucky was in the room, Rhodey instantly regretting his words. He probably should have been more careful.

“We’re getting something for Bucky to eat,” Wanda explained. He noticed how she was beaming a little brighter than she had been the past few days, but decided not to comment. Perhaps Bucky could bring some light to their home.

“Here ya go.” The sound of Peter’s voice made Bucky turn. He had been so focused on the new voices, the new people to talk to, that he hadn’t realized how large the kitchen actually was. There were two large tables in the center of the room, spanning the length and leaving room to spare. Lining every wall were shelves. Some had herbs, others had plates and cups. There were jars filled with unidentifiable things and even a few spices here and there. Tucked away on the opposite side of the room he noted that there was a large stove and a thick door. No doubt, on the other side of the door was the cold room filled with things like meat.

Shifting his gaze, Bucky looked back to the table where Peter had set up a plate filled with leftovers. It was radiating heat, filled with corn and carrots, a couple pieces of bread, what looked to be boar meat, and something else he hadn’t seen before. “How’d you put this together so fast?” he asked, looking at Peter curiously.

“We’ve been waiting to see how long it’d take you to visit.” Bucky glanced at Sam, confused. Why did they care? And that still didn’t explain the food.

Rhodey seemed to notice his confusion and elaborated, “Peter’s a little overeager. Boy’s been making a plate of food for you every night just incase you came by.”

Bucky chuckled and looked at Peter. “Thanks, kid.”

“Thanks for calling me a kid. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ve actually missed it.”

Bucky frowned at that, taking a bite of his food before he asked, “How long have you been like this?” He looked at all of them, his eyes scanning the room. “And how many of you are…”

“Cursed?” Wanda asked, amusement lacing her voice. A moment of silent passed. It seemed they were all debating whether that was information worth divulging. “Too long.” 

Her answer made him feel sick. He wanted to know the story. Bucky wanted to ask all the questions and understand what made this happen. Each of these people had stories and lives, something they wanted for the future. They had something or even several things that made them tick. How did they get cursed? What made it happen?

Who made it happen?

“Do you want some more?”

Bucky jumped, startled from his thoughts once again. It seemed almost too easy for him to get lost nowadays. He looked to Peter then to his empty plate. Had he really finished it so quickly? 

“Aw, look! Big man’s ears are all pink. He’s blushing,” Sam teased.

Bucky shot him a glare, ready to say something, but he stopped himself when Peter made his way to get the man more food. “You don’t have to —“

“Nonsense. Do you know how long it’s been since we got the opportunity to help someone? Someone who willingly participated in a conversation with us?” Wanda hopped over to him and nudged his hand gently. “This is our way of thanking you.”

“But I haven’t done anything.”

“You’ve come out of your room. You’re talking to us.”

“And,” Sam added. “Judging by the look on your face, you’re actually interested in how all of this happened.”

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” Rhodey snapped, crossing his arms. “That is not our story to tell.”

“Isn’t it?” Bucky raised an eyebrow. Clearly curiosity was getting the best of him.

“No,” Sam begrudgingly agreed. “It isn’t.”

“Then how am I supposed to comprehend any of this?” Bucky felt something nudge his hand and looked down, surprised to see another plate of food. How was Peter able to move so fast? 

“Have you thought about talking to Y/N and asking her?”

“Rhodey, come on now, Bucky doesn’t have the confidence to go talk to her,” Sam teased. He barely jumped up fast enough to avoid the swing of Bucky’s hand. “Rude!”

He huffed, ducking his head behind his hair as he grumbled, “I don’t have any interest in talking to some royal brat.”

“Someone has a problem with authority figures.”

“Rogers said you’re a soldier,” Rhodey said, brow of gold furrowing in confusion. “So —“

“I was. Past tense.”

Silence fell in the room as Bucky went back to eating his food. Clearly he wasn’t so open to discussion regarding his history. He wasn’t Steve and judging by the way they glanced at each other, Bucky managed to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Steve liked being distracted from the now. He enjoyed talking about the old days because he still felt drawn to them. He had no ties to the village or a calm life. Not unless Bucky was a part of it. 

Clearing his throat, Sam asked Bucky, “Would you like a proper tour? It might help with adjusting to the whole thing.”

“I want to help!”

Sam and Bucky glanced at Peter and, in all honesty, Bucky was actually amused by the little teacup…boy. He reminded him of his little sister, Rebecca. Clenching his jaw, he picked at his food. Rebecca had been a scar he hadn’t thought about in a long time. He went out of his way to avoid her. 

Closing his eyes, he took three slow breaths. In and out. In and out. In and… “Where do we start?”

Peter was more than eager to fill the silence of the tour, telling Bucky about everywhere and everything they came across. If there was a painting hung on the wall, Peter somehow remembered who painted it, why it was here, and what it meant to whichever sibling had purchased it. So far, the only thing that interested Bucky was learning that Y/N had a sibling. 

His mind drifted to the walls. There was so much unnecessary art. He noticed the long lines of armor lined on either side and wondered whether they were alive or merely decoration. Were they cursed or a means for the royal family to show off? 

Finally tuning back in to his tour guides, he listened to Sam. “Up the stairs is the East Wing and —“

“East Wing?” Bucky slowed his steps and looked to the grand staircase. It was tall and broke off in two different directions — east and west. That little itch appeared in the back of his brain, wondering what it possibly was that Y/N was hiding up there. What secrets could she possibly be keeping?

“Don’t even think about it, Buck. She gave you one rule, remember?” Sam looked up at him. “Just follow it. Please.”

Peter noticed the way Bucky wanted to argue. However, he was the kid in the situation. He shouldn’t have an opinion. He really shouldn’t even say anything. Still… “Um…there’s a lot more to the castle you have to see, Bucky.” He earned his attention. Thank god. 

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s the gardens! And we have the dining room and ball room and there’s the armory and —“ Peter swore he saw Bucky’s eyes glaze over with every addition to the list. He looked impossibly bored. Lamely, he finished, “There’s the library.”

His ears perked, eyes shining that bright, curious blue. “That’d be something to see.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief as Peter perked up. The kid obviously felt accomplished. “Then to the library,” Sam announced. He followed the overly eager Peter, the two of them leaving soft thuds echoing through the hall with every hop they took.

But Bucky was much quieter than the pair.

He ducked to the side, silently moving up the stairs. Glancing to the hall, he smirked as their voices became a low echo. They didn’t even notice he decided his own destination was a little more interesting. 

Bucky wasn’t sure what he expected, but dark and gloomy wasn’t in the top three or even the top ten. He wandered the halls, the eery quiet enough to send a chill down his spine. Goosebumps covered his skin as he passed by the broken windows. Multiple panes were shattered with glass shards left on the floor. He was careful to step around, not wanting to alert any one of his presence due to a simple misstep. 

Lifting a tattered curtain out of his way, he ducked out of the moonlight and back into the shadows. Why was the place so destroyed? And why did Y/N want to keep him out of it? Surely this place didn’t serve any importance to anyone in the castle. Another step and he found himself in a new room. Broken pieces of furniture littered the floor and a slashed painting took up most of the wall to his left. Raising an eyebrow, he tried to see the details. It looked deliberately destroyed and the moonlight was barely bright enough to give him a good look at it.

Where was Peter and his memory now?

Huffing softly, Bucky lifted one of the larger tears and noticed how, when it met the one above, the image formed a portrait. Y/E/C stared at him, peering through his very soul. The color looked familiar and warm, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen those eyes before. Shifting his gaze, he was met with the kindest, most open and honest smile he’d ever seen. He’d never seen such a look from anyone and yet it was captured in a portrait of all things.

Who was this woman?

Bucky’s curiosity was pulled from the portrait when he noticed a warm glow coming from out of the corner of his eye. He looked away, his brow furrowing when there was nothing there. Odd until he saw its reflection had come from a broken mirror. Turning his head, he noticed the balcony where most of the moonlight was coming in. Nearby was the only piece of furniture that wasn’t broken. A small wooden table. In the center of it was a glass dome and inside — a floating black and red rose. He walked closer, feeling almost entranced by the glow coming from the flower. Circling the table, he noticed how there was a bit more black than there was red. Why? 

Lifting the dome, he set it to the side and crouched in front of the magical flower. His mind was racing with questions. Was this connected to the curse? Why were the petals black? Was this the significance of the East wing? One little rose? He reached out, his fingers lightly touching the black stem. It was so dark. Such a light, hopeful glow was coming from such a dark little thing. Bucky didn’t understand it. 

He wanted to.

“What are you doing in here?”

He jumped, pulling his hand away from the rose and spinning around. Y/N stood before him, blocking his exit. Her looming figure was covered in her cloak, the rest of her shrouded in shadows. Claws clung to the doorframe, splintering the wood when she saw the dome was removed. “I—“

“Get out.” Her gaze shifted to him and Bucky felt his stomach clench. Her eyes were filled with hatred, anger, and fear. Fear? He swallowed when he noticed the color of her eyes, the back of his mind drifting back to that portrait. Y/E/C stared at him with such animosity. “Are you deaf?” She stepped forward, glass cracking underneath her feet. “I said leave.”

Y/N ripped her claws out of the wall, knocking the mirror in his direction. Bucky quickly jumped out of the way, knocking into the table with a grunt. She lunged towards the table, towards him, and Bucky stumbled back. Catching the table before the dome fell, a low growl rumbled through her chest. A snarl curled her lips as she used the utmost care in covering the flower. “Leave, Bucky,” she muttered. “Now.”

Pushing the small bit of fear aside, he stepped forward and asked, “What is that?”

Y/N spun on him, snapping at him with her fangs. She rose to her full height, towering over him and covering him in her overwhelming shadow. “I said,” she snarled. “Get out!” Claws gleamed in the moonlight, making him flinch.

Bucky froze. His mind flashed to Hydra, to men breaking him down and beating any sense of humanity out of him. He remembered the cells and being prisoner. He remembered constantly living in fear. Spinning on his feet, he quickly ran out of the room. Glass crunched underneath him, but he paid it no mind. All he could think about was his racing heart, his quickened breath, and the sinking pit in his stomach. He had to get out of here. 

Y/N watched him leave, eyes wide when she realized her mistake. A large hand covered her face as she closed her eyes tightly. She screwed up. Royally.

Racing down the stairs, he stumbled around Sam and Peter. “Bucky!” Sam’s voice was distinct, but fell on deaf ears. “Bucky, wait!”

Running ahead, Bucky’s feet echoed in the halls as he approached the massive doors. He pushed it open, grunting from the unexpected fight against the outside wind and snow. Glancing back, he saw the fear and panic that crossed Peter’s and Sam’s faces.

“Mr. Bucky?” Peter’s voice made him falter.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not staying here.” He shifted his gaze to the stairs. “I can’t stay here with that thing.”

Bucky opened the door more, a flurry of snow coming inside as he slipped out. The door closed with a loud thud, leaving the two in the empty hall. Peter blinked away unshed tears. “S-Sam? What do we do?”

Sam grimaced, shaking his head. “There’s nothing we can do, kid.”

-----

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@learisa​

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[etherealwaifgoddess]

Grateful

Main Characters: Steve Rogers (and a little secondary Bucky Barnes)

Summary: Steve knows he should be grateful for the gift he was given through Project Rebirth but his new life wasn’t as easy as he expected it to be. 

Warnings/ Content: Sad feels and some angst. Very brief mention of PTSD. 

Word Count: 1943 (not intentional AT ALL. I’m currently laughing my ass off at  this)

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! We’re trying something new today! My very first Steve fic and I’m nervous AF about posting it because I feel like this is a version of Steve that most people won’t really jive with. Everyone expects him to be this icon hero but like he’s still going to have some pretty raw emotions. The man went through war and losing his best friend and then battling his best friend, and alien monsters, etc. I refuse to believe that our sweet, scrappy little Brooklyn boy came through all this unscathed. We see other heroes battle their mental health but never Steve, he’s the stoic one. I think not. And so this fic was born. I hope you all like it as much as I do! Please be gentle, I’m just getting my feet wet writing Steve. And thanks for bearing with me while I rant, I love you all more than words can express. 

XOXO - Ash

Grateful

Steve had a lot to be grateful for when he walked out of the Vita-Ray chamber in 1943. Something as simple as taking a full breath without wheezing or coughing seemed miraculous after twenty five years of battling endless illnesses in a tiny, frail, body. Dr. Erskine crowed that Project Rebirth was a success and in that moment Steve felt like one too. Steve had assumed life would have been easier now that he was in a more powerful form. He had the natural moment of adjustment, having shot up from 5’4” to 6’2” in just moments, but other than that he expected to have less hurdles in his life from that day forward.

Steve was wrong.

One of the first things Steve was grateful for was his improved eyesight. He no longer needed ultra thick glasses and his astigmatism had cleared up as well. The world was alive with fine details and vivid colors, and he couldn’t wait to get everything down on paper in his sketchbook. He wanted to capture the way strands of Peggy’s hair fell around her shoulders, slightly mussed, after a long day, and the way the rays of sunlight filtered through his bedroom curtains in the early morning. He never got them down though. Steve sat down one evening as Peggy curled up with a book, ready to commit the scene to his page when a sharp, snapping sound startled them both. Steve looked down at his hands and found he’d broken his pencil in two. The second pencil he held too gently, unable to keep his hand steady for fear of breaking it as well, and then in a moment of frustration he held it tighter and it too snapped. His once beloved sketch pad sat awkwardly in his hands, feeling as if it were the wrong size even once he got the pressure correct on his pencils. Steve missed his former size for a moment, the way the sketch pad had fit perfectly balanced on his lap, how the pencils had felt like an extension of his own hands when he drew. He was clunky feeling in his new form, his body designed for brute strength instead of artistic endeavors. Steve shook himself when he realized he was feeling down about the amazing gift he’d been given. Sarah Rogers had instilled a deep sense of humility in her son and Steve felt painfully guilty at having a momentary lapse of appreciation for the gift he’d been given. 

Steve was so surprised the first few days when slept through the night. Outside of the times he was so ill he couldn’t maintain consciousness, he could count on one hand the number of times he had slept all the way through to morning. If it wasn’t his asthma waking him up to wheeze or cough, it was his arthritis aching so deeply it woke him. Sometimes his heart palpitations would start up as he slept too, waking him with a jolt, feeling like his heart would beat out of his chest. Bucky used to tease that he pitied the dame who tried to sleep over in Steve Roger’s bed. After Project Rebirth, Steve was grateful each morning for a full night's sleep, until the nightmares started after his first real battle in the war. Sleep wasn’t so appealing after that. It wasn’t until a lifetime later that Steve knew why the memories of war haunted his dreams, Sam taught him the word: PTSD. But back then all Steve knew was that he longed for the nights he was woken by a cough, instead of in a cold sweat with the cries of dying men echoing in his ears. 

The thing that Steve missed most, on the rare moments he let himself admit he missed anything at all, was the way he used to disappear in a crowded room. Social anxiety was as palpable to Steve as his physical ailments and it was the one thing Project Rebirth couldn’t cure him of. He was called the star spangled man with a plan, but really he was still a sweating, nervous wreck when all eyes turned to him for direction. Steve wanted to curl into himself in the way his 95 pound body used to be so good at, and slip away into a corner, lost in the collection of larger bodies around him. Now he stood a head above the rest, the breadth of his shoulders and sharp line of his jaw inspiring confidence in his men as he detailed their next moves. It was fortunate Steve was a whiz with math, having taught himself more at home than he’d ever learned in school, and was able to piece together battle strategies based on logic and equations. His anxiety only increased seventy years later when he returned to a strange new world he was completely unprepared for. More often than not Steve missed the days he could drift through the world like a ghost. In the modern world he couldn’t even walk to the store without being stopped by a “fan” let alone try and spend a quiet day at The Met or grab a baseball game in peace. 

It was both harder and easier when Bucky returned. Bucky seemed to instinctively know Steve was struggling. Bucky encouraged Steve’s art whenever he could and while Steve had gotten better, he knew he would never quite be what he was and it frustrated him. Bucky tried on several occasions to throw an arm around Steve like he used to when Steve would get nervous out in a crowd, but Steve would blanch at the embrace and Bucky would recoil, distraught that he had somehow made it worse. Steve wanted to explain it but couldn’t past the lump in his throat. Back in the old days Steve’s narrow shoulders had fit so perfectly under Bucky’s arm, pulling him in to shield him from the world. Steve was too tall, too broad, now and what should have brought him comfort was just a painful reminder that nothing would ever be the same. 

After months of watching Steve struggle Bucky finally put his foot down. He’d been in therapy since before his trial started and it was helping immensely. His therapist had offered to see Steve for an informal meeting after Bucky had, reluctantly, shared some of his concerns with him. “You’re going. Tomorrow.” Bucky said firmly, staring at Steve across the dinner table. 

“I don’t need a therapist, really. Maybe it’s working out for you but there’s no need for me to go. I’m not…” Steve trailed off before he could say something tactless. 

Bucky didn’t let it slide though. “Not what? Hmm? Don’t punk out on me. What did you mean? Yes, I go to therapy. So what does that make me? Weak? Damaged? Less than?” 

“That’s not what I meant, Buck.” Steve ducked his head, completely chagrined. 

“Are you sure about that? Because you’re the one who’s struggling and refusing to go and even entertain the idea of getting some help. You don’t have to struggle. I know I’m not the poster boy for mental health but I’m a hell of a lot better off because of Dr. Franklin. I think you would be too. Just talk to him once, see if you feel any better afterwards.”

Steve groaned, knowing he was on the losing end of the argument.

“I need you to be okay, pal.” Bucky continued, “It’s you and me to the end of the line, right?” 

“To the end of line.” Steve said quietly, nodding in agreement.

“Then tomorrow morning, after your run- don’t give me that look Stevie, we’ll go over to see Dr. Franklin and you can just meet him.” 

“Okay, if that will make you happy, we’ll go. Now will you please finish your steak? You wouldn't believe what these things cost nowadays.” 

Bucky chuckled and speared a piece of meat on his fork, grinning as he took a bite, his smiling eyes never leaving Steve’s. 

~~~~~

Steve was still hesitant to meet with Dr. Franklin the next morning but he had promised Bucky he would go and he was a man of his word. Thankfully Bucky didn’t insist on participating other than the initial introductions. He said he had plans and would be back before the hour was up. Steve doubted he actually had plans but appreciated the sentiment. Dr. Franklin seemed nice enough, Steve mused. He could see why Bucky was so trusting of the man after a few minutes of idle chit chat. Steve didn’t expect to get anything out of the session but was too polite to say so. 

It all started over a banana. There was a banana sitting on Dr. Franklin’s desk and Steve gave it a subtle glare when he spotted it. The doctor noticed and asked Steve if he disliked bananas. It was an innocuous question but somehow it was also the key to Pandora’s box.

“I used to.” Steve told him with a sigh. “They don’t taste the same anymore. Not that I’d had very many growin’ up but I remember the flavor and those things are just not it. I read a few years ago that apparently the variety we had back in the 20s have all died out and the kind available now are a different type.” 

“I’m sure you find a lot of things like that.” Dr. Franklin said simply. But it was a leading statement and Steve took the bait whether he meant to or not.

“Oh boy, do I. You’d be amazed at how things change in seventy years.”

“Like what?”

“Well you certainly can’t get a normal cup of coffee, that’s for sure. And I will never understand why everything has to have a scent or color…” Once the flood gates had opened it seemed impossible for Steve to stop. Dr. Franklin steered the conversation around gently, letting Steve get things off his chest after so many years of being stoic and putting on a brave face. Steve talked about his confusion of waking up after the ice, the painful longing for the world he’d left behind in the 40s, and even a little about how hard it was to find that Project Rebirth hadn’t solved all of his problems after all. 

Steve was mortified when the buzzer sounded and Dr. Franklin’s assistant announced his next appointment had arrived. Steve had gone on for over ninety minutes without realizing it. Dr. Franklin didn’t seem overly concerned and told Steve to think about what they’d talked about and consider coming back next week to talk again. 

Bucky was pacing in the waiting room and Steve noted his hair was shaggy looking, like he’d been running his hands through it. “You okay, Stevie?” He asked, pulling him close for a quick hug. 

Steve realized he must look as worn out as he felt. “I’m good, Buck. Can we go home though?”

“Yeah, of course. Let’s go.” Bucky steered Steve out the door. 

Back at their apartment Steve was quiet for most of the afternoon and Bucky wondered if taking Steve to therapy had been a mistake. 

Steve did a lot of thinking like Dr. Franklin had asked him to do and the next week, same day, same time, Steve was back in the therapist’s office baring his soul all over again. He went back week after week, even when it was tough to get over the hurdle they were tackling at the time. Slowly he healed. And eventually Steve found the peace and happiness he had been chasing since the lid to the Vita-Ray chamber opened almost eighty years before. 

[thetravelerwrites]

Verith’s First Halloween (Orc) NSFW

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Orc x Female Human Additional Tags: Exophilia, Orc, Orc Girlfriend, WLW, Halloween, Trick or Treating, Halloween Party Content Warnings: Pregnancy Mention, Corsets, Sex, Oral Sex, Tribbing, Strap-Ons Words: 4922

A special gift for @aelia-likes-monsters​ for being a wonderful friend, supporter, and bouncer of ideas for me and this blog. She’s the best and I hope this fic brightens her day! This is both a fic for Halloween and Orctober. An orc woman who has always lived in a closed orc community begins dating a human and starts participating in human customs. The first one is Halloween. *Note: "Samhain" is pronounced "Sow-in." Because Irish. Please leave feedback!

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“You’re not making your case very well,” Verith said as tucked the folded sheet down over the corner of the mattress. “I don’t understand this human holiday of yours, I never have.”

“Haven’t you ever celebrated it?” You asked her as you tucked the opposite corner down.

“No, of course not,” She said scornfully. “The gym is closed for human holidays and I stay in the community during most of them. Just watching about it on T.V. was mind-boggling.”

Verith was an orc and had lived in a closed orc stronghold community just outside of Willowridge for her entire life. The stronghold, called Willowshield, did a lot of things the old way, as in they made a lot of their own things themselves. You’d been there a few times with Verith to visit her family and was amazed by the weird mix of modern and medieval. They did have some modern things, like wifi and cell phones, but they had their own grocery, farmer’s market, butcher, home goods store, and even had a real blacksmith, cobbler, and glassblower. But they didn’t have a cafe or a crafts store or a gym, so many of the orcs took jobs in town to enjoy a few outside luxuries that Willowshield didn’t yet have.

Verith worked at the local gym as a personal trainer, and you were immediately attracted to her. However, knowing she lived in Willowshield made you feel hesitant to ask her out, fearing that perhaps she just wasn’t interested in humans. Even still, you took extra classes with her to the point where she suspected you were addicted to exercise, but in reality, you just wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, too chicken-shit to ask her out.

It wasn’t until she got annoyed with you following her like a wounded puppy that you were forced to admit your feelings for her. She was surprised, but open to the idea. It only took one date for you to fall in love with her, and she wasn’t far behind. In fact, it had been her idea to move in together.

You’d expected that she’d want you to live in Willowshield, as some non-orc mates had done, but she actually left the community and moved into your small apartment. She said she wanted to understand more about the human world, having been cut off from it most of her life. She’d lived with you for almost three months by this point, but she still struggled to understand human customs and cultures. The newest struggle was Halloween, which was just three days away.

“So people dress up, eat candy, get drunk, and act like assholes? That’s the premise you’re trying to get me to go along with?”

“Please, I’ve been to orc weddings,” You told her, throwing a decorative pillow at her. “I seem to remember a certain hot personal trainer who got drunk at her brother’s wedding and ended up wearing the ceremonial communal wine chalice on her head.”

“Hey, that is a well-respected tradition, I’ll have you know,” She protested.

“Sure, it is,” You said skeptically.

“Okay, well, explain it to me,” She said as she shook out the quilt. “It’s a holiday about being scared? That’s so unnatural to an orc. Orcs aren’t supposed to get scared; we see fear as weakness. Hell, we growl and make terrifying faces at our children when they’re infants to teach them not to fear anything that looks or sounds frightening. We certainly wouldn’t dedicate a holiday to being afraid.”

“That’s not exactly the point of it,” You told her. “See, it originated back with the celts. The Irish practiced Samhain, which literally means “summer’s end,” and they would have a three day revel to celebrate a successful harvest. It was all about the change of the season and prosperity.”

“So, what the hell happened? How did it turn into a glorification of fear?”

“Because Samhain was seen as the death of the year, as in winter, when things die. People are scared of death, so people began associating it with fear. They also saw it as the day when the veil between the living and the dead thinned and the dead walked the earth to haunt and terrorize the living. There was only two ways to prevent the dead from coming after you and playing tricks on you: one, you could leave gives of food or treats on your doorstep, or two, you disguised yourself as a ghost so they wouldn’t know you were part of the living.”

“I guess that makes sense. So why are there little kids running around dressed like Captain America and Disney princesses begging for sweets? Where did that come from?”

“Well, when the Christians tried to purge pagan holidays by appropriating them, they changed it to ‘All Soul’s Day,’ where children would go from door to door, singing songs or performing for the people inside, and would get small cakes, called souls, as a reward. That’s how trick or treating started. Although, nowadays, All Soul’s Day is observed on November 1st, and people just go to church.”

“How do you know all this?” She asked, flopping down on the newly-made bed, ruffling it a bit. “Do all humans know this?”

“No, no, I dated a witch in college. She was so obsessed with the history of Halloween that she often forgot to enjoy it. She saw it as a holy day and used it for remembrance and contemplation. I just wanted to hand out candy and wear cute costumes.”

She frowned and leaned against the headboard. You snuggled up against her very hard, muscled body and sighed.

“It’s fun, I swear. You get to watch scary movies, dress up, carve jack-o-lanterns, go to parties, give kids candy, go to haunted houses and ghost tours. Ooh! We should totally go to New Orleans one year. They’re ghost tours are second to none. Well, besides Georgia’s plantation ghost tours, I guess.”

“A lot of what you just said made no sense to me,” She grumbled, wrapping her arm around your shoulder.

You kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry. By the time Halloween rolls around, you’ll love it just as much as I do.”

“Promises, promises,” She said in a snarky voice.

The next afternoon, the two of you were at the store, trying to shop for a costume. Verith was being rather pessimistic.

“A lot of these are speciest, you realize that.”

“I’m not going to buy one of those, Vee,” You said, looking through the racks. “What about a slutty nurse?”

“But you are a nurse,” She protested. “Why not just wear your scrubs?”

“Because I don’t wear corsets to work, babe. Don’t you want to see me in a corset?” You asked her cheekily.

She snorted, but didn’t disagree.

“What about you? You need a costume, too.”

“Why?”

“Because, my love, it’s a costume party. That’s what one does.” You take two from the rack, examining them judiciously. “I’ll need two, actually.”

“Why?”

“For the trick or treaters! I’m not going to wear my sexy costume for a bunch of kids, that’s gross.” You held up a costume to her body, and she looked down at you quizzically. “No, that won’t fit,” You grumbled to myself.

“Honey, I highly doubt any of these will fit me,” She replied. “I’m 7’5” and built like a brick shithouse.”

“You need to stop listening to slang at the gym,” You said wryly. “Anyway, I think you may be right. We’ll just have to make something. Ooh! What if you wore your running clothes and we pin a number to your back and you go as a marathon runner.”

“But I am a marathon runner,” She growled.

“Fuckin’… I know that, babe… could you just… work with me here, okay? For fuck’s sake?” You groaned in exasperation, clutching her arms. She sighed and shook her head at you.

You ended up buying the sexy nurse costume for the party and a more demure scary Victorian ghost outfit for the trick or treaters. You figured you’d cobble something together for Verith when you got home.

The next day, you went out to a pumpkin patch to pick out a few so that the two of you could make some jack-o-lanterns.

“So what’s this all about?”

“What?”

“Carving faces into vegetables.”

“Oh, that,” You said, picking up a largish one. “It’s another tradition that originated in Ireland, but they didn’t use pumpkins, because they didn’t have pumpkins in Ireland back then.”

“So what did they use?”

“Turnips and gourds and things.”

“Wha…” Verith’s face pinched in confusion. “Ancient humans were so fucking weird.”

You chuckled. “You’re telling me a pregnant woman eating an entire raw horse’s liver in front of her entire extended family is supposed to be normal?”

“There is absolutely nothing weird about that. Pregnant women need the iron.”

You shook your head. “There are several versions of the story about jack-o-lanterns, mostly about warding of spirits and fairies, but a lot of them are about Stingy Jack.”

“Who?”

“Stingy Jack. He was a miserable old drunk who liked playing tricks on people. One day, he tricked the devil into climbing up an apple tree and then placed crosses around the trunk of the tree so that the devil couldn’t get down. Jack made the devil promise him not to take his soul when he died. The devil agreed, and Jack let him go.

“When Jack died, he went to Heaven and was told that because he was mean and cruel, and had led a miserable, worthless life on earth, he wasn’t allowed in, so he was sent to Hell. The devil kept his promise and wouldn’t allow him in, which meant Jack had nowhere to go and would have to wander Earth forever.

“Jack asked the devil how he could get out of Hell, as there was no light. The devil tossed him an ember and Jack hollowed out a turnip, which was the only thing he had with him and placed the ember in it to light his way. When the Irish immigrated to America, they discovered pumpkins were bigger and easier to hollow out than turnips, so they used them instead. Now it’s all anyone uses.”

“And we’re supposed to carve scary faces in these to ward off bad spirits?”

“Essentially.”

“I doubt spirits would find vegetables very scary.”

“And why is that?

She picked one up and put between her thighs, crushing it as if it were made of light cardboard. Pumpkin guts and juice ran down her bare legs and into her shoes.

You took a very deep breath and said, in as even a tone you could, “I see your point, but as hot as that was, and as much as I enjoyed it, we do have to pay for those.”

“Hmm,” Verith said, her lips pursed. “Can we buy some extra ones so I can crush them with my biceps at home?”

After a contemplative moment, you replied, “I think that would be… yes, please, let’s do that. But only if you do it shirtless.”

“Deal.”

That evening, you had a messy carving lesson that led to a pumpkin pie, toasted pumpkin seeds, a small fight of flung pumpkin guts, and kissing on the couch with a scary movie on T.V. and the snacks you’d made that night.

On Halloween afternoon, you had the genius idea of putting Verith in a slapdash scarecrow outfit to scare the trick or treaters. After she jumped up and roared at the first crop of kids and they ran off screaming, she laughed and admitted, “Okay, that was fun.”

She did it a few more times, but couldn’t bring herself to do it to the family with three small half-rabbit girls, hardly more than toddlers adorably dressed as the three little pigs, and she simply sat on the stoop with you, handing out candy to the kids. The father, a tall rabbit man dressed smartly in a white shirt and black slacks, handed us a treat bag full of cookies cleverly decorated like Day of the Dead sugar skulls before they left, their human mother winking as they walked away.

At about eight o’clock, when the trick or treaters began to dwindle, you left the candy bucket on the front step for anyone who came to help themselves, and they two of you went to get dressed for the party.

You ended up doing the marathon runner for Verith, insisting she wear the sports top with her midriff showing, and she huffed that she didn’t understand why she needed one at all as she laced you into the corset of the nurses outfit. You told her to stop griping and led her out of the house and down the street to the party at your friend’s place.

You were ashamed to know that there were “human only” parties going on in town, one of which your own sister was throwing, but the one you and Verith were going to was an open to all kinds party. Anyone who wanted to have a good time was welcome, regardless of tentacles, teeth, or temperament.

The party was huge, and you immediately sought out your best friend since highschool, Rachel, who owned the house with her girlfriend. She was also an orc, but she hadn’t lived in a community like Verith had; she had grown up on a cattle ranch that her family owned on the edge of town.

Her brother and all four of her sisters were at the party, too: dancing, drinking, and having the time of their lives with their various significant others. These orcs, at least, knew how to celebrate Halloween.

Rachel’s brother, Varik, was back in town visiting his family for the holidays, wearing a doctor’s coat. He had moved to the city a few years ago with his fiance and was the first orc in history to be accepted into an accredited medical university. You had worked with him in the hospital before; he was a really nice guy, and his fiance, Elena, who was currently dressed as a renaissance-era bar wench, was incredibly confident and capable, despite her disabilities. They were a really good fit for each other.

“Hey, you got Verith to come!” Rachel said as she came. “Awesome! Let’s turn this party into a huntcraic.”

“A what now?” You asked.

“It’s an ancient custom of throwing a week-long party after a particularly good hunting season,” Verith explained in an undertone. “We rarely have them anymore.”

“Girl, let’s show these tiny humans how orcs party,” Rachel said, grabbing Verith’s arm, who grabbed you in turn, and dragged her through the horde.

“Varik! Elena!” Rachel called, and the pair turned. “Look who’s here!”

“Hey!” Varik said, swooping down on you for a big hug. He was three sheets to the wind and in a great mood, and Elena looked at him with an exasperated smirk. After handing him off to Verith, you went to give her a hug.

“Hey, girl, good to see you,” You said.

“You, too,” She replied, squeezing your back with her forearms. “Got yourself an orc, too, huh? Aren’t they the best?”

“Definitely,” I replied, watching the three orcs talk to each other. Verith seemed to be more at ease since she arrived now that she was with familiar faces. “Is that his real doctor’s coat?”

She scoffed disgustedly. “He never takes it off. I swear, he’d wear it during sex if I let him.”

The two of you giggled.

“I haven’t met your girlfriend yet,” Elena said.

“Oh, that’s right. Verith!” You called, and her head came up. You beckoned her over. “This is Elena, Varik’s fiance. They’re getting married in the spring next year. Elena, this is Verith, my girlfriend. We’ve been dating for about half a year. She was my personal trainer.”

Elena held out her hand, covered by the long bell sleeve of her gown. Verith took Elena’s hand, and you saw a moment of confusion cross her face, but she said nothing and shook Elena’s hand gently.

“So, Varik likes the city?” You asked Elena.

“He does now, but it took some getting used to,” Elena replied. “He lived in the country for most of his life, so it was a bit of a culture shock for him. He eased into it after a while, and now it’s like he was born there.”

Verith’s face was thoughtful, but she didn’t say anything.

Another familiar face caught your eye: the librarian from your college, Holly, although she hadn’t worked there since last year. She’d also been in your creative writing elective several years ago. She was there in a ghost bride costume with another orc dressed like a mechanic you hadn’t met before. They were both looking a little anxious and out of place.

“Holly!” You called, excusing yourself from Elena and making your way toward Holly.

She looked up and saw you, relieved to see a face she recognized. She grabbed her orc by the arm and led hem over.

“Oh, hey, good to see you again,” Holly said, giving me a side hug.

“Yeah, you too. You sort of disappeared for a while, there,” You told her.

“Getting my life sorted out, is all,” She said, smiling. She gestured at her companion. “This is my boyfriend, Ravadhi.”

You shook his hand. “Haven’t seen you around.”

He shrugged. “I keep to myself, really. Or I did. Holly insists that we’re too isolated. That’s why we’re here, actually. She thinks we need to get out more.”

“I agree. It can help you get out of a rut, for sure.” You pointed at his outfit. “Nice costume.”

He laughed a little self-deprecatingly. “Actually, it’s my uniform from my last job. I just couldn’t find a costume that fit me.”

“Oh, yeah,” You laughed, pointing at Verith in her marathon outfit, who was laughing with Rachel, Varik, and Elena. “We had the same problem.”

“She’s community, right?” Ravadhi asked. “How did you get her to agree to celebrate Halloween? Communities turn their noses up at stuff like this.”

“Believe me, it was like pulling teeth,” You said. “How’s your sis?”

“She’s great,” Holly said brightly. “She’s going trick or treating for the first time in her life, and then spending the night with some friends. Now that she’s allowed to have friends.”

You smiled sadly. It was an open secret how Holly’s father treated her. You were glad that secret was out and over now.

“Well, good for her. And good for you guys, trying to get out more. It’s a chore getting Verith out anywhere besides the gym.”

“Talking about me, are you?” Verith said as she wrapped an arm around you, an open container of vodka in her hand.

“M-hm,” You said, pulling her down for a kiss. “Just talking about what a hermit you are.” You turned back to Holly and Ravadhi, who were grinning. “She loves to tell me the only reason to leave the house is for the gym and Chinese food.”

“And I stand by that,” Verith said, taking a swig from her bottle. Ravadhi nodded and chuckled and Holly shot him a dry look.

“Oh, my gosh!” Rachel called over the noise. “Tuck is about to tie a bottle rocket to one of his tusks, just to see what happens. I’m not going to miss this.” And she dashed outside.

Tuck was a troll married to Rachel’s sister, Keter. You didn’t know him well, but from what you did know, this was not out of character for him.

“That’s another Halloween tradition,” I said wryly as people began flooding out to the backyard. “People doing really stupid shit just for laughs.”

“Now that’s a tradition I can get behind,” Verith said, kneeling down so you could piggyback and carrying you through the crowd.

The party was as epic as you expected it to be, and you and Verith made your way home, only slightly tipsy, at around midnight.

When you got in the door, she grabbed you by your arms and held your back against her front, growling in your ear.

“Someone had a good time,” You smirked, reaching up to snake your arms around her neck.

“Despite myself, yeah,” She mumbled, kissing your neck. You bit your lip and moaned.

“So, did you enjoy your first Halloween?” You asked her as her hands traveled up the sides of your corset and over your breasts in the bodice.

“Don’t know,” She said seductively. “It’s not over yet.”

You turned and jumped up, wrapping your legs around her waist. She held you up and kissed you hard, kicking her way past every obstacle and taking you to the bedroom, where she laid you down on the bed.

You reached back to undo the laces, but she stopped you.

“No,” she said in a low growl. “Leave the corset on.” She bent down to take off your high heels, then kissed up your calves, using her tusks to split the pantyhose upward. You felt a shiver in your back as the cold, dry, sharp bone scraped up your legs. When she reached the apex of your thighs, she ripped off your hose with little effort and snapped your underwear off as well. The muscles of her arms barely twitched.

She flipped up your skirt while kissing your inner thighs and massaging the skin. Her tongue flicked out to press itself to your bud, and you moaned. She licked a long strip from bottom to top and teased you with her nose. You whimpered and wiggled, and she grabbed your hips to keep you still.

She put her whole mouth over your slit and sucked, gently at first but gaining intensity as she continued. You gasped and your legs shook, and you tangled your hair in the long mohawk style cut of her hair that she usually let fall over her left shoulder. She reached up and pulled the cups of the corset down and kneaded your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between her fingers.

One hand continued its massaging while the other came back down and stuck two fingers inside you, crooking them and rubbing that delicious place only she had ever been able to find.

You were almost crying over how good it felt. No one you’d ever been with was as good as Verith at finding all your sweet spots. She could have you cumming in less than two minutes, if she really wanted. But she was drawing it out, working up to the bigger event.

She pulled away from you and reared up, pulling off her pants and underwear and throwing one of your legs up across her torso, positioning herself so that her lower lips were touching your own. She began to rock against you slowly, sweetly.

You reached up under the sports top to grip her breasts and she moaned as the place where the two of you were joined got hotter and slicker. Looking down at it, it almost looked ask if they were kissing down there.

“Oh, fuck,” You moaned. “Faster, baby.”

She was more than happy to obey, grinding her clit into yours vigorously. You could feel the orgasm coming up hard and the wall of pleasure crashed into you that you nearly blacked out. He own pace slowed as she also came, shouting and grunting and biting your ankle gently.

As you were trying to catch your breath, she grabbed you and easily flipped you onto your stomach.

“Don’t you get cozy yet,” She said. “I’m not done with you.”

You grinned and looked up, watching her pull her favorite strap-on for your “special” drawer. She took off the rest of her clothes and climbed over you, kissing your shoulders and back, carefully scraping her tusks across your skin, enough to give you chills but not enough to harm.

She pulled your rear up forcefully and positioned herself against your entrance, and then leaned back down on her hands so that she could kiss your mouth as she entered you. You gasped and laughed. She’d chosen the big one.

Without warning, she sat back up and started ramming into you with enough force for it to hurt slightly, but god, it felt so good. You pressed your face into the pillows and screamed as she thrust hard and fast. You could hear the faint buzzing of the rabbit vibrator built into the strap on and knew she was ready to get hers, and all you could do at this point was ride her wave.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you cried.

She grabbed your hair and yanked you up. “Couldn’t hear you, baby,” She said. “Does it feel good?”

“Fuck, yes,” you whimpered.

“You look so fucking sexy in that tiny little corset. I just want to rip it off with me teeth.”

“Fucking do it,” You snarled at her. You felt her bend over you and grip the corset in her teeth. You heard ripping, and the rather sturdy fabric of the corset was yanked away from your body as if it were made of paper.

You came. You came hard. You came screaming and swearing. You fell to the bed, and she pulled you back up by your hair. Her speed quickened even further until she finally came too, grunting and growling. She collapsed on top of you, and you collapsed back onto the bed, her body pushing you into the mattress.

But she still wasn’t done. With one hand she hooked an arm under your waist and used the other to cover your mouth, thrusting slowly, and then quickly, with the both of you laying flat against the bed. You cries were muffled against her palm, and her heavy breath blew across your shoulder. She bit down in the same place she always did, her mark, the one she’d left on you the first time you made love, and you came together, panting and growling and cursing. Finally, with the strap-on still planted firmly inside you, she became still and quiet.

You both lay there, gasping for breath. After a few moments, she got up and you felt the toy pull out of your body. You lay there on your stomach with your eyes closed and heard her busy herself with something, but you were so exhausted, you didn’t look to see what.

Not until she lifted you into her arms and took you to the bathroom, putting you in the giant tub she had insisted you install and got in after you, arranging you so that your back was against her stomach and your head was leaning against her chest.

“To answer your question,” She said as she stroked the midline of your abdomen up and down. “I had a great Halloween. Thanks to you.”

“See?” You said. “It’s really a fun holiday. I knew you’d like it once you warmed up to it a bit.”

“Yeah,” She said. “Going to the party helped, honestly. When I left Willowshield, I felt really isolated. There aren’t very many orcs in Willowridge, so I felt kind of alone. Seeing the other orcs not participating made me feel less… out of place.”

You turned to look at her with concern. “Is that what all this has been about? Honey, you should have told me that’s what’s been bugging you. What did we have that conversation about communication for if not for situations like this?”

“It’s different for orcs, babe,” She said. “Admitting you’re worried or nervous is the same as admitting that you’re scared, and to orcs, being scared is just about the worst thing you can be.”

“But I don’t think that way. It’s okay to be anxious about new things, Vee, that’s completely normal. Especially if you’ve always done things differently.” You straddled her lap and pulled her face down for a kiss. “Look, I get that you’re supposed to be this big, bad orc paragon to your people, but you don’t have to be that with me. If you’re worried or nervous about something, tell me and I’ll help you. That’s what I’m here for.”

She smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I know. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Vee.” You took the loofah from the shelf and poured soap onto it. “Now hold still, you’re literally covered in glitter. Did Dinae hug you? She was dressed as the biggest, sparkliest unicorn I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Verith belly laughed, nearly dislodging you from her lap, and let you scrub her down.

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Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[maulionicious-blog]

PRENATAL

Prenatal development, this follows 2 developmental patterns are cephalocaudal pattern and proximidistal pattern. Cephalocaudal pattern growth that proceeds from the head downward. While Proximidistal pattern growth that proceeds from the body outward. The fetus is responsive to stimuli and appears to learn in the womb. Prenatal temperamental differences persist into infancy and childhood, and some aspects of the prenatal sensory environment maybe important to future development. There are risks associated with teratogenic material diseases these include rubella, AIDS, syphilis, gonorrhoea, genital herpes, and CMV. If a mother has poor nutrition, her fetus faces increased risks of stillbirth, low birth weight, and death during the first year of life.

               When I realized prenatal, I really don’t know if this past is real that I remember or not because before I come into this world I started seeing pink path flowing through the clouds of what I see it depicts that makes me travel at that time I was like watching from what just I saw passes me by. I don’t know if these are real or that was inside my head but from what i see that looks like stars maybe a nebula of some kind galaxies. When I was born I thought it was like a space shuttle which I was riding but that’s it that is how I end up either I imagine that or it was like I saw how I really travel from that part and even so I choose to forget it.

INFANCY  

In infancy, many were able to say first words or other making sounds like cooing and anything that the baby emotion has express. The humans are born with adaptive reflexes that help them survive. Automatically sucking any object that enters the mouth, disappear in infancy or childhood. Primitive reflexes controlled by the less sophisticated parts of the brain. Sensorimotor stage, infants use information from their senses and motor actions to learn about the world. Object Permanence understanding that objects continue to exist when they can’t be seen. The infant has attachment things to the parents to identify his or her parents.

I didn’t remember what I do but I experience how difficult I was since my first guardian abused me then my parents forced me to go in Tagum were my grandparents can take care of me while my parents can do their work on their own. I was lucky and happy which leads to me being naughty and I was a difficult child to handle. From that past I was never recognized who are my parents was because all I know my parents are my grandparents thought they were real to me. And from that day I was quiet and suddenly would be different than any other day.

 EARLY CHILDHOOD

           The measuring intelligence an assumption in studying differences in intelligence is that these differences can be measured. The first tests led by Alfred Binet and Theodore Simon to identify children who might have difficulty in school. This intelligence was later called Intelligence Quotient (IQ). The intelligence of child affects the influences in the family it depends how they raised their child. Parenting styles differ in temperament themselves, so, just like their children; they vary in how they respond to situations. The four types of parenting styles are permissive parenting style, authoritarian parenting type, authoritative parenting type, and uninvolved parenting style.

             When I was elementary student I was a running around person until they set new rules for me. My parents were became permissive or strict in general term, they intended to bring me after class hours in the tutorial centre to guide me through my topics and some of that I became a nuisance to others who were studying there too I suppose that I never learn anything that days. It may be different from today because I realized that studying is important and I learn through their reasons why my parents are so very strict to me. As of today I realize something that even when in difficult struggle, can be trying harder again to accomplish once goal.

      MIDDLE CHILDHOOD

           Physical and cognitive changes the way for being a middle childhood. Many children participate in such clubs like sports, arts, and etc. This has intellectual interest about their health, fitness, and academic performances were concerned. The cognitive changes which term for their language on how they initialize their potential to make it in time. Achievement tests are designed to assess specific information learned in school. The relationships of parents and also friends are important to keep the bonds together and strong no matter the problems are and their child and friends help to sustain their courage to do so in the end.    

           Middle child hood for me is about the pressure and sometimes I ignore the mistakes I did but I never well go around. I focus more on ignoring stuff playing a gadget my prioritize time that I did than studying. I never concern about my health and fitness, I always drink soda and eating junk foods. I had friends before, friends that see u one time then ignore me instantly, only cares when I am bullied by my classmate then they come and when the problem solves they’re gone. Parents can courage to their child something more and something wonderful to be great.  

 ADOLESCENCE

           Adolescence is the transitional period between childhood and adulthood. They’re puberty changes as primary and secondary sex characteristics, which their hormone as menarche which is the beginning of menstrual cycles. Adolescent sexuality can be so tempting and there are risks factor which led to sexual situation. Teens nowadays engaged in sexual activities were often seeing on television shows like the Pretty Little Liars. An adolescent learns and changes their gender identity as they confirm themselves gay, lesbians, and bisexuals. Most of the teens engaged in drugs, alcohol, and tobacco which of them bring out the curiosity of teenagers are sensation seeking.

           As I experience there are things which is evolving around me my sexual characteristics that I don’t understand which leads me to confusion. After that when I saw some television shows that romantic love scene how to proper court someone and make fell in love. Creating sexual desires in their dream longing for someone to be loved and that is how is. I tried to be gay for a contest which I had someone make up for me and quite a lot of fun to give laughter for everyone in just a nick of a time. I am into alcohol but not a strong one; I usually drink if there is an occasion going on with my parent’s permission.

EARLY ADULTHOOD      

           Primary aging occurs most of them develop gray hair, wrinkles, and changes in visual acuity. While Secondary aging is the product of environmental influences, health habits, or disease, and it is neither inevitable nor experienced by all adults. Health habits shows the detection of illness can see what kind of illness is and can determine can be prevent it or not. Sexual Transmitted Disease which the humans never use contraceptives to protect from it and they were getting from it through sexual intercourse. Most intimate partners’ abuses which due to most reasons are jealousy of having their partners seeing someone. Career development focused on adapting to the workplace, managing career transitions, and pursuing personal goals through employment.

             I may develop gray hair but I always thought of something that an illness which of the disease may try to kill me in the only way to die but I always thought the diabetes is the reason why I die. I will never know which would be so my fate will be decided which one of the diseases. I had always doubt about my lifestyle and I am getting obese more than ever. Career development for me is different, imagine where would I be sitting and seeing I help people. I really dream about not only becoming a RPm but maybe becoming an air force pilot someday.

     MIDDLE ADULTHOOD

            Most of men and women having osteoporosis resulting in reduced bone mass and more brittle and porous bones. Vision and hearing can be sudden changes for adulthood which began to decrease the retina and person’s overall sensitivity to light waves. Health and Wellness can be so devastating when it comes to illnesses which started by imbalance diet or any hobbies like smoking that lead to lung cancer. Memory function drawing conclusions about memory rarely include middle-aged people. They were being generosity is their care, give what they can give for their grandkids. They struggle long enough to survive from their illness.

             I really imagine that what could be waiting for me if I suffer an illness which is different from early adulthood of mine. I should be hardly and slowing to move my body as I was beginning to had crack bones of mine with its sound. As I imagine a lot what would be the life of me in 60 years age of me look like exactly. I can be grown old, grumpy, and sad living in home for the aged or even live with grandkids of my own. It is really hard that thinking way more about it is just never ever will happen if I just don’t let it.  

 LATE ADULTHOOD

           Life expectancy and longevity improvements in these variables among the elderly themselves over the past several decades are responsible for changes in the expected lifespans of adults in their 60s and beyond. General slowing the biggest single behavioural effect of age-related physical changes is a general slowing down. Wisdom and creativity elders might have some advantages over the young because of their accumulation of knowledge and skills. Wisdom reflects understanding of “universal truths” or basic laws or patterns. Life satisfaction or a sense of well-being is also an important component of successful aging. Religious beliefs are the component of religious coping involves people’s beliefs and attitudes.

             Life can be full of surprises when realize about something that can be precious to our love ones and we expands our life expectancy to experience more and thank God that we exist long lives today and some of old of us can be slow to stimuli. We do believe our own will to find out how our experiences can show to others how we make it and offer as a good advice to others that may help to guide others away from dangerous paths they never cross. Life of our existence is constant and I would say that it is okay for me to live this life, I owe it to the end of my last breathe for I shall die happy person. Religious gives you the morality and the spirituality which gives the inner peace of our mind and channels our prayer to our God.

[all-that-is-left-is-the-heart]

Sometimes life surprises us. And some people come into our lives always for a reason.

AO3

Chapter 20

Cloudy sky and the imminent threat of yet another summer rain made up the still hot New York weather this time of year. The city was crammed full of tourists and finding a quiet place was almost impossible. If there were doubts that the city never stopped, in August this was proven to be true. But there were still places in some neighborhoods that seemed forgotten by the bustling tourists who preferred the bustle of Times Square or the beauty of Central Park. And these places Elizabeth knew well. When Robert called her that morning asking if they could have lunch together, she knew exactly where to go and get away from all the agitation.

They then went to a small, cozy restaurant a few blocks from the gallery and had a lovely lunch, entitled to shared chocolate dessert. This seemed to have become a habit and Elizabeth used the excuse to say that she wouldn't run the risk of getting fat but Robert knew that she just liked the moment shared by the two during lunches and he was sure that she thought it romantic, she would never admit it though and he wouldn't he tease her either, he wouldn't risk losing that moment with her where occasionally he would feed her with the piece that would be for him. She always ended up eating a lot more than he did, but he didn't care, the smile she gave him whenever he offered her a slice of her favorite pie was worth it.

After lunch they still had some time before they both had to go back to work, so they decided to take a walk in the neighborhood.

“Michael can't stop talking about you. In fact everybody adored you. Which is no surprise to me,” he mentioned and hugged her, Elizabeth blushed and placed her hands on his chest. They were no longer walking and Robert was leaning against a building railing while she was leaning against him.

“I found everyone friendly, even though I practically only talked to Michael, but it was nice, although the after party was much more ... enjoyable,” she said maliciously, remembering the night they had had and what was still on her mind.

“I would like to say that I completely agree with you,” he said, and gave her a quick kiss and she smiled.

“You know, Michael talks so much about you and how you're the perfect girl, that if he was not my best friend, I'd think he was interested in you,” Robert said jokingly.

Indeed, Michael seemed fascinated with Elizabeth ever since he met her and talking about her at every opportunity he had over lunch they had had earlier in the week. This didn't make him bothered, on the contrary, he was glad that his friend and his girlfriend got along so well and some situations that happened in the past wouldn't repeat themselves this time. He hated when he had to give up spending some time with his friend because of complaints. It was so throughout his marriage.

“That wouldn't be possible, Robert. But I confess I found him very interesting,” she teased him and then he pinched her sides, making her dodge him.

“Stop!” She demanded, laughing. “I'm kidding. You know the only guy I find interesting is here in front of me.”

“Where? I'm going to put him to run,” he joked, looking around and that made Elizabeth giggle. She was liking this fun side of his that he was showing more and more.

“You fool,” she said, and then taking his face with both hands she gave his a quick but passionate kiss.

“But seriously, it wouldn't be possible for him to be interested in me since he's gay,” she then let out and Robert was surprised. “By the way, you could have told me that, Robert. I hope you're not against him-”

He then began to laugh.

“What is it?” She asked, frowning.

“Liz, he's not gay, where did you get that from?”

“Oh, he is. Robert, don't tell me you didn't know that?” She asked perplexed and it made him laugh even more.

“No. I mean, no he's not, and of course I would know that, after all I'm his best friend.”

“Well, he really looked like he was. At first I was in doubt because I thought you would have mentioned it to me, and you also said that you two went out together and his interest was in women too, but I could still swear he was gay,” she said, tilting her head to the side as if she still had some doubt. But maybe this was triggered by the champagne that she and Michael had had and that made their conversation fun.

“I think sometimes he's so excited about something and has a way of talking to women, that maybe he can give the impression of being gay. Although he...” he stopped the sentence without knowing whether he would tell Elizabeth this or not. Despite all the pranks his friend made, Michael knew when there was something that Robert didn't want to comment on and he did the same. Both cherished their friendship.

“Although what?” She coaxed him, curious to know what he was going to say, unaware of the internal conflict that was going on his mind.

“He has been involved with men for a few times,” Robert decided to tell her and she raised both eyebrows in surprise. Although he thought she was gay she was now surprised by the revelation that he was bisexual or at least that was what meant by what Robert had just said.

“At college time,” Robert began, this was no secret at all, only Michael had no need to tell it, but after meeting Elizabeth, he was certain his friend wouldn't mind her knowing it. “Michael started dating guys, you know, college is the time of several discoveries, to find out who you are and he found himself attracted to men too. At first it was conflicting for him but then he accepted who he was and over time he also had the support of his family, although they weren't happy about it.”

“I can imagine, it's incredible how these days it's still something people don't know how deal with and accept it, so imagine back then. He was lucky to have you as a friend,” Elizabeth said proudly.

“Yep. I don't know if he considers himself bi, because after college he didn't get involved with any man, like in a relationship, you know, at least as far as I know, and he soon got married. But his marriage ended years later because of another man, and it wasn’t his wife's betrayal.”

“Oh!”

“And about it I couldn't support him, with a woman or a man, he should never have betrayed his wife. He paid a heavy price for that.” Robert talked more than he should about his friend's life, but he didn't even have to ask her, because he knew it was something Elizabeth would never tell anyone.

“Was that why his children were taken away from him?” She didn't approve of what Michael did, but she wasn't going to judge him either, and she suspected that was the reason he was away from his children, and if so she would find it unfair.

“Anna didn't forgive the betrayal and of course she asked for divorce and moved away with the children to another city. I didn't support what he did to his wife but I wanted to help him as a lawyer, because he had rights as their father,” Elizabeth nodded. “His father also wanted to help, he had several lawyers who could help him, but Michael didn't accept, he didn't want to start a custudy battle. I think deep down he did it to punish himself.”

“He made a mistake, but he couldn't have been removed from his children's life because of it. This was something between his wife and him, their children shouldn't be harmed in this way. He is their father after all.” Elizabeth reasoned. “Didn't his ex-wife even let him visit the childreen or let they going to see him?” She sympathized with Michael's story because even if someone made a mistake like he did, no one should be taken away from their children.

“After her anger had passed, she started to take the children to see him, but not often. I think she just decided to do it because he gave up custody, she knew he would have his father's parental rights guaranteed by the court. Nowadays his children visit him, but not in the way he would like to. I wish things will work out between them. Michael is a good father, he just needs to get a chance to participate more in their lives.”

“That is so sad. I also hope he can have it,” she said sincerely.

“Well, your doubts were taken,” Robert said and smiled, taking away the sad mood the conversation had become.

“I wasn't so wrong,” she followed him, also smiling.

“No, you weren’t.”

“So glad he's your best friend or I could worry about him getting interested in you,” she joked and he started to laugh.

“My goodness, Liz, what an idea,” he kept laughing. “Wait till I tell him that.”

“Robert! You're not going to do that,” she demanded. Elizabeth didn't want Michael to be offended by what she thought and said about him.

“Of course I will. Mike doesn't miss any chances to screw me. I want to see his face when he hears what you said.”

“No, you will not tell him that,” she said again in a little more authoritative tone.

“Will not I? And what are you going to do to stop me?” He challenged her.

“Well, you'll never have a night like that again.”

“That's not fair,” he said indignantly and pouted.

“Of course it is, tell him anything and say goodbye to another sex like that,” she whispered in his hear so that no one who was passing by could hear.

“You're evil, Elizabeth Mackenzie.”

“I can be a really bad girl,” she teased him and he pulled her into a kiss.

They forgot where they were and deepened the kiss until they heard someone clear their throats. When they broke their kiss, they saw a old lady with a cane behind Robert. Apparently they had stopped in front of a gate and were preventing her from opening it. They apologized and stepped away giving the passage to the lady who just shooked her head and gave a knowing smile. They were both blushing and felt like two teenagers beeing caught by the truant officer on high school. Taking her hand, they crossed the street.

“That was funny,” Robert commented as they sat down on a bench.

“That was, but no funnier than getting drunk and mistaking the rooms,” she chuckled as she remembered the story Michael told her. In fact, she loved teasing him about it.

“You talk like you've never had such a shameful moment.”

“I did, but not on that level,” she was still laughing.

“So tell me, what's the most embarrassing moment you've ever had?” He asked interested.

“No way am I going to tell you,” she shook her head.

“Come on, Liz, it's only fair that you tell me yours since you know mine.”

“But it wasn't you who told me it was your friend,” she reminded him.

“So I should talk to your friend so I can know these things then?”

“Kim hasn’t known me since my teens, she couldn’t tell you certain things.”

“Um, so it means certain things happened in your teens,” he hinted, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course it did, just like in everyone's adolescence,” she said and he kept raised his eyebrow at her.

“Robert, don't make me tell it. It's embarrassing,” she complained.

“That's why I want to know,” he smirked. Elizabeth sighed, she knew he wouldn't let her out of this and she would end up giving up.

“Okay, but promise not to make fun of me later.”

“Just like do you do with me?” Robert teased and she looked at him in a way that told him to stop joking or she wouldn't tell him anything.

“Okay, I promise,” he said and then waited for her to begin.

Elizabeth was silent for a moment, as if trying to remember a story, and when she finally seemed to come to a conclusion from which one to tell, she turned to him.

“Um right, that was in 1st grade...” Robert raised an eyebrow, this wasn't what he expected to hear but she ignored him and continued. “Well, it was reading day and it was my turn to read in front of the entire class and of course my tooth chose a great time to finally fall out...” she ended up laughing at that.

“My upper front tooth had been loose for days and I was anxious to pull it out but my parents insisted to just wait it to be ready, and guess what it decided to fall out on the day I was reading for the class. That was a nightmare, I just remember all the kids laughing and then the teacher approaching me. Probably I must have turned red like a bell pepper.” Despite all the years, she could remember exactly the shame she felt that day, and although the other children had forgotten the unfortunate event quickly she couldn't do the same and she got nervous whenever she had to read to the entire class, fortunately that didn't it became a trauma and soon she left it behind.

Robert was still laughing and it annoyed Elizabeth or so she pretended, until he was stopping.

“Sorry, Liz. That was funny but it's also cute.”

“This is nothing cute about it and I spent three days without going to school,” she retorted. “It was really terrible.”

“You were all just kids, Liz. That wasn't so embarrassing, it happens to every child,” he said softly, putting a lock of hair behind her ear.

“I was so angry and embarrassed that I didn't even take the tooth home to put under my pillow. Even so the tooth fairy left me two dollars.” Robert couldn't help laughing again, the whole story was adorable as was her face as she told him that.

“The tooth fairy was very generous to you,” he smiled.

“Yes she was but that didn't make up the shame I've been through.”

“Think it could be worse, it could have happened at school lunch while you were eating,” he chuckled and she grimaced.

“Well, I told you my shameful moment, now we can change the subject huh?”

“No, that one was adorable and not shameful,” she shot him a glare but he continued.

“I want to know something about when you were a teenager, you must have some story to tell, after all, certain things happened,” Robert winked at her and Elizabeth couldn't help but smile.

“Come on Liz, just one more story and I'll leave you alone about it.”

“All right, just one more and I will not tell you anything else, unless you tell me another one of yours,” he nodded his head in agreement.

“Let's see ...” She seemed to think again before she spoke. “Okay, that one was from when I was in college... And you don't get excited because it doesn't involve drinks,” she informed when she saw his excitement.

“But it was really embarrassing. There was this teacher, he was in his sixties and was very reserved, didn't talk much about him and was quite strict. Once, at the end of his class some of us were still in the classroom while he packed up his things and before he could leave, a little girl, maybe five years old, ran in and threw herself into his arms. And for the first time we saw that grumpy man smile, a real smile, you know, he really turned into another man when he saw that little girl and I found it incredible because I never imagined he could be as loving as he was being with the girl. In fact I didn't think he was able to move a muscle in his face other than while he was talking,” she laughed just like Robert.

“He seemed to forget that we were still there and then we decided to leave. He looked at us but his expression didn't change, it was still soft so of course I ...” Elizabeth rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I had to open my mouth and say how adorable his granddaughter was and then his expression changed and the little girl corrected me saying that she was his daughter and not his granddaughter.”

“Holy fuck!” Robert commented.

“Yeah, it was an embarrassing moment and I felt the color disappear from my face. My friends slipped quietly out of the room and I froze in place not knowing what to say. The little girl was happy and smiling just like when she ran in the room but Mr. Carter oh god, he was no longer as affectionate as before, not with me anyway. I tried to apologize but he cut me off and finished picking up his things to leave with his daughter. They left and I was still in the same spot ... I was really paralyzed with that situation and needless to say that the rest of the semester was tense in all of his classes. I had the impression that he always looked at me as if he wanted me dead.” Robert smiled and shook his head.

“No seriously, do you know this feeling? Like if someone could kill you just by glaring at you? I felt like this every time he looked straight at me.”

“That was an embarrassing situation, for sure but I'm sure he didn't want to kill you,” he said and smiled again.

“Well, but he gave that impression. The only good thing about it was that it encouraged me to get high grades in his class and not give him a chance to give me a failing grade for the course.”

“You may not have been his favorite one but you were probably the best student he's ever had, I'm sure,” he then kissed her cheek. “And for the record, you have the best story about how to embarrass yourself in college.”

“Hey,” she protested. “My embarrassing moment didn't spread throughout the campus. Your story is still the winner.”

“Yeah, it wasn't turned news, but I didn't spend a whole semester feeling like I would be killed by the teacher,” Robert teased and she slapped him on the shoulder making him laugh.

“I've already regretted telling you this,” Elizabeth said sulkily and he kissed her lips.

“I will not nag you about this. Not to much, I promise,” he teased. “But we went through great stories huh?” He smiled and so she did.

“No back then. But yes, telling it today are really funny.”

“We should do this more often. I liked it,” he said and she nodded. Although she didn't enjoy to tell about those things that happened in her youth she liked doing it with Robert because then they knew little things about each other. She leaned her face close to his for a kiss but before that deepened he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

“I completely lost track of time,” he remarked as he read the message. “I need to get back to the office now, “Robert lamented, wishing he could stay with her longer.

“I must go too. And you don't have to go with me to the gallery, you'd better take a taxi from here, so you'll get there faster.” He didn't want to but he agreed with her. He was already late and going back to the gallery would delay him even more.

“Right. See you later?” Robert asked and she nodded. They got up from the bench and gave one last kiss before he got into a cab, which for his luck passed empty. Elizabeth would go back to the gallery on foot, they would always choose some restaurant in the neighborhood, so they wouldn’t have to take a cab or drive, saving time and spending more time together as they talked. Today they really lost track of time but had a very nice time together and found out more things from each other, or rather, he learned more things about her. Smiling she made her way to the gallery.

It was making a really hot day in NY and that made them decide to end their walk earlier. Elizabeth couldn't take it any longer and she wanted to return to the comfort of her apartment. Not that she didn't like hot days but she enjoyed a cool weather the most and after a full week where they had little time to see each other, she wanted to spend time with him at home.

When they got home she wanted to go straight to the shower; she just needed a cup of cold water first but Robert grabbed her as she left the kitchen, taking her by surprise.

“Where do you think you're going?” He demanded, kissing her neck and making her laugh.

“I don't think, I'm going to take a shower,” she returned as pulling him away, but to no avail.

“Robert, stop!” She admonished. “I'm all sweaty. I need to take a shower first.” But he ignored her and continued to kiss her neck.

“I like it,” he said, licking from her neck to the valley of her breasts and it excited her more than she would like to and suddenly she no longer wanted him to stop.

“What got into you huh?” Her fingers were already entwined in his hair, scratching his scalp.

“I was missing you,” Robert murmured under her skin.

She snorted with laughter. “That's not possible. We've been together since yesterday.”

“You know what I mean,” he said and slid a nimble hand inside her leggings, making her gasp. He was glad and proud of how wet she was already for him. He was always amazed at her quick response to his touches. It was something that impressed him, but then his body responded to hers in the same intensity.

“I need to get rid of those clothes,” Elizabeth said panting. The apartment's temperature was higher than when they were on the street and she knew that this wasn't just the hot weather. She needed to take off all her clothes or she would collapse. She turned completely red and felt her skin burning.

Robert wasted no time and started taking her clothes off, and with her help he took off his as well. They fumbled with their sneakers but soon they were completely naked, to Elizabeth's relief. She looked at Robert's member and seeing him ready for her, she felt her cheeks even warmer and her core aching to have him filling her. She loved this feeling every time they were together; the desire they felt for each other and that only slowed when they were completely spent and sated.

He wouldn't have time to take her into the bedroom and decided to put her on a dresser in the hallway. She didn't say anything, just smiled and looked at him with a twinkle in her eyes that told him that she approved of his choice. Elizabeth spread her legs wide waiting for him to enter her but Robert knelt in front of her, pulling her further to the edge and brought his mouth to where he wanted the most. She gasped in surprise and arched her back, banging her head against the wall. Robert's skilful tongue worked on her so intensely that she felt her orgasm build quickly. She screamed as he played with her clit between his teeth and then soon she felt the heat of her orgasm on her belly and the explosion of pleasure he tasted in his mouth.

Elizabeth was still immersed in the haze of her strong orgasm when Robert entered her, giving her no time to recover. She gasped at the sudden, but welcome, invasion and so wrapped her legs around him. They finally kissed and she could taste herself on his mouth. Robert pounded into her with strength and desire and she couldn't keep her eyes open. She was preparing herself for another powerful orgasm without ever having recovered from the first. All this feeling was wonderful. The feeling of him fully inside her was overwhelming her completely and she felt her orgasm building violently in her body. She couldn't stand much longer. She felt the shock waves from the tip of her feet, through her spine and ending in her scalp.

Elizabeth opened her eyes quickly but couldn't focus on anything other than the heat spreading though her core, it seemed her body was burning as if on fire. Closing her eyes again she clung to Robert when her orgasm finally exploded, leaving her mind completely blank, or rather black.

The last thing she remembered was to scream his name before it all turned dark around her.

They climaxed together and after emerging from his ecstasy, Robert could feel Elizabeth's body limp in his arms. Moving away from her just enough for him to see her face, he realized she was unconscious. He pulled away some strands that were stuck to her face and tapped lightly his fingers on her cheeks, which were red and hot.

“Liz,” he called out, trying not to panic. Without any reaction from her, he wasted no time and lifted her languid body into his arms, leading her into the bedroom.

Placing her carefully on the bed, he ran into the bathroom to get a wet towel in cold water and came back, sitting next to her and wiped the towel over her face. Robert was really worried and if he didn't have a reaction from her in the next few minutes he would have no choice but to take her to the hospital. He just hoped that wasn’t necessary.

“Liz, please, wake up darlin’,” he begged worriedly. Robert kept the towel on her forehead and was caressing her wrist when she started indicating her senses were coming back.

“Hey,” he smiled as she opened her eyes and then pulled the towel away from her face. Elizabeth only stared at him for a moment, still familiarizing herself with her surroundings.

“Hey,” she repeated after a while. “I fainted?”

“Yes,” he replied gently and stroked her face, her cheeks no longer red as before. “You gave me a fright,” Robert smiled, relieved that she was better and kissed the wrist he was still holding.

“I'm sorry,” Elizabeth apologized needlessly and he shook his head, she had nothing to be sorry for. “I don't know what happened, suddenly my vision was blurred and I felt myself losing consciousness. My pressure must have gone down because of the heat,” she explained and then sat down. She looked at them and realized they were both still naked.

“I was really worried and if you hadn't woken up soon I would have taken you to the hospital,” he said seriously.

“I hope you would remember wearing ours clothes first,” she joked and he laughed as he looked at them.

“I hope so too,” he said and grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed to lay on top of her but she rejected the offer by saying she was still feeling warm.

“Do you want something? A glass of water?” Robert asked gently.

“No, thank you, I'm fine. But I still can't believe I fainted.”

“Has this ever happened before? I mean, this has already happened while you... you know, during sex?” He asked curiously.

She shook her head before saying, “No.” This had never happened to her and so she was surprised. But from what she remembers, the sensations she was feeling were stronger than she could remember some other time but she could tell that this was probably the warmth she was feeling. This mixed with the sensations she felt were a perfect match for fainting.

Elizabeth could see the smirk forming on Robert's face.

“So it was the first time you fainted during an orgasm and I was the one responsible for that?” He teased her and she felt her cheeks grow hot again.

“Stop being smug, this was due to the heat. Probably my blood pressure went down,” she retorted.

“Let's pretend it was only that,” Robert keep teasing and she wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face. She knew he was just teasing her but also knew he had some reason, though she wouldn't admit it.

“From what I remember it wasn't so special so as to make me pass out,” she teased too, trying to stop that annoying grin of his.

“That's because you missed the best part,” he wasted no time and retorted.

“So you're admitting that it made you pass out?”

“I didn't say that. But I'll admit, that was really good,” she smirked.

“I knew it,” he smiled broadly and then leaned over to kiss her.

“Now seriously,” Robert said as he broke the kiss. “That scared the heck out of me. Are you sure you're feeling okay?” He had been genuinely concerned about her.

“I'm feeling great. Really,” Elizabeth assured him, running a hand over his stubbled cheeck. “That was probably the heat and of course, because of what we were doing,” she smiled, she would give it to him. “But I'm fine, don't worry.” He nodded, relieved.

“Where are you going?” Robert asked as she got up from the bed.

“Finally take a shower.”

“Can I join you?” He asked and she looked at him over her shoulder. “You know, just in case you feel a heat wave again,” he winked at her. She smiled and then motioned him to the bathroom.

Elizabeth got out of the shower first. They had done nothing more than just shower together, her body was still weak from all the activity they had had early and she enjoyed that he was with her and let him wash her body, enjoying the feel of the warm water and his hands over her. She dried her hair with a towel, and put on a white bathrobe. Robert was still in the shower when she left the bathroom. She then decided to make a snack for them and as soon as she arrived in the kitchen she heard the doorbell. Elizabeth wasn't expecting anyone and had no idea who it might be but decided to answer the door in her bathrobe.

To her surprise it was Lynette, whom she hadn't seen since the day she took Annie from her home when she was sick. Then she figured that the only reason that would bring her back would be her daughter.

“Is Annie okay?” It was the first thing she asked, and the woman nodded her head yes. “Sorry, hi Mrs. Johnson. Please, come in,” then she said, anxious but appearing calm.

“Hi Elizabeth, I don't want to disturb you,” she said, realizing that she had just gotten out of the shower and was probably not expecting anyone.

“No problem, I-” She stopped when Robert called her name and appeared in the living room. He was only with a towel around his waist, wet hair and a few drops of water sliding from his neck to his chest.

Lynette wasn't surprised the two of them were together — she had already suspected it from the first time she'd meet him in her apartment when they'd gone to get Annie — but it wasn't the scene she'd expected to see to make sure they were having an affair. Probably none of them wanted to be in that situation.

“Sorry Liz, I didn’t hear the doorbell,” he apologized, flushed with embarrassment just as Elizabeth, who focused her gaze on her bare feet.

“I'm the one who needs to apologize for coming without warning,” Lynette also apologized. “But I wanted to talk about Annie Leigh.” Elizabeth had already noticed that she always called her granddaughter by her full name, maybe it reminded her of her daughter, she guessed.

“Well, I'll let you two talk.” Robert wanted to get out of this situation as quickly as possible, it wasn't at all comfortable to be seen that way in front of the woman who had always seen him as a respectable lawyer, and now he was wearing only a towel. It wasn't a view of him he wanted her to have for longer.

“Please stay, Mr. Parker. What I have to talk matters to your client,” she said, and the term she used after seeing them like that, no doubt coming out of a shared shower made everyone more uncomfortable than they already were, but she didn't know what to say and didn't was there to provoke Elizabeth, she had done it so much already.

Robert stopped in his tracks and stood behind Elizabeth, at least he felt less exposed.

“What happened to her?” Elizabeth asked bluntly, emerging from the silence in which she had been since Robert's embarrassing entrance.

“Elizabeth, she can't forget you. She is always calling for you, every day and night. We don't know what else to do,” she confessed, causing Elizabeth to swallow a lump in her throat. She couldn't believe that her daughter was ill again because she was away from her. Robert placed a hand on her waist and gave it a squeeze. He no longer cared about the situation he was in. He knew this conversation was going to be serious and he just wanted to support his girlfriend.

“Is she sick again?” She asked in a broke voice. She couldn't bear the idea of her baby girl suffering again.

“No, but I'm afraid she'll, there are days that are harder than others and these days she will not eat much.”

Elizabeth wanted to cry and beg to give her her baby back. She knew that Annie would suffer with the separation but hearing these things ripped her heart apart. Robert was feeling the same way.

“She needs Liz, Mrs. Jonhson. Annie needs her mother,” he said, forgetting about the decision that was made before. He wasn't just the lawyer, he was the man who loved Elizabeth and her daughter, and he wanted them to be together again. “Maybe we can-” he tried to argue but he was cut off.

“Listen, I don't want you two take wrong the reason I'm coming here. I'm not going to make any deal, Annie will stay with us, but the fact is that she can't forget you so easily, Elizabeth. And I can't see her that way anymore. So maybe if you see each other at least once a week, for a few hours she could go back to the way she was before and gradually learn to stay away from you,” Lynette said nonchalantly, as if what she was saying was the best option.

Robert found it absurd. She couldn't use Elizabeth like that, and neither could she subject Annie to it, see her mother once a week and then be taken forever from her wouldn't do her any good. Did Mrs. Johnson really think that would be the best option?

“Mrs. Johnson, this isn't the best solution. You couldn't-” And this time he was cut off by Elizabeth.

“I accept,” she said simply.

“Liz, you can't agree to that,” he said, stepping aside to look at her in disbelief.

“I can and I will,” she said firmly, also looking at him.

“Well I think you two should enter into an agreement about it. I'll be waiting for your response, Elizabeth,” the woman said, wanting to leave as soon as possible. They had been too long in this situation and apparently the couple had to come to an agreement, if he was still her lawyer, she thought.

“Mrs. Johnson I already gave you my answer. I agree to see Annie once a week, on your terms,” she stated.< /p>

Robert sighed in frustration and anger. She was making a wrong decision. Lynette then said goodbye and left the two of them alone.

“That's wrong Liz,” he said in a loud tone as she closed the door.

“I'll be able to see my daughter, Robert. How is this wrong?” She asked.

“We could have gotten a deal. She came here because she didn't know what else to do. We could have proposed to you spend more time with Annie,” Robert explained.

“What if she didn't accept it? What if she gave up on this offer instead? So Annie would continue to suffer,” she said, her voice breaking at the end.

“And you think this is a good offer? Do you think it will do Annie good to see you once a week and every other day not? That it will be good you see each other only when that woman finds it convenient? Do you think this is good for you Elizabeth? Really? You're just getting crumbs,” he said harshly.

Robert didn't want to be hard on her, but he needed her to realize that it was absurd.

Elizabeth wanted to scream at him, she wanted to cry. She knew that everything he said was true, but she also wanted to be with her daughter again, and if that was the only way, she wouldn't let it slip. She would take crumbs if it meant at least one day with her daughter.

“I'll take this Robert. And I'm not going to let nobody stop it,” she snapped.

He looked at her in shock. “Nobody? You mean I'm nobody now?” He was hurt and she knew it.

“That's not what I meant,” she tried to mend.

“No, that's exactly what you meant. At least as your lawyer I was someone, and you would hear me,” Robert said, and his hurt tone made her feel a tightness in her chest.

She called out to him when he turned his back on her and walked back to the bedroom. Elizabeth put her hands to her head and a tear ran down her face. She knew she'd screwed things up and wanted to kick herself.

When Robert returned to the living room, she was in the same place but his only intention was to leave the apartment. He was angry that she had accepted Mrs. Jonhson's absurd proposal without a second thought, but most of all he was hurt that she didn't take his opinion into account; she didn't hear him as her boyfriend but could have heard him as her lawyer, but she didn't. It was silly to believe that he could be part of Annie's life too, he loved that little girl so much that he thought he might be something more to her, and thought Elizabeth might want that as well.

She wasn't to blame for him waiting for such things, she was the mother and always would have the decisions about Annie but he wished he could someday be part of it. But Elizabeth made it clear that in this case he was a nobody and that really hurt him; very hard. He would need time to think about it and couldn't be at her place. Just like her, he sometimes needed his space and at that moment that was what he wanted.

Maybe he was exaggerating about it and all he had to do was stay and talk to her, but he didn't really want it. Not now.

Elizabeth regretted what she had said, the way she had said it. She just wanted to see her daughter and she would take whatever chance that was given her. Robert might not agree with it and maybe he was right but what it mattered to her was seeing her daughter, she just should have said it another way and not being stupid like she was. She didn't mean to hurt him. He'd always been on her side and she'd simply dismissed his opinion, but she didn't really want it.

Seeing him in front of her, holding the overnight bag he'd taken to spend the weekend at her place made her want to ask him to stay. She didn't want him to leave feeling anger at her, which seemed to be the case.

“Robert, please listen to me, I didn't want to-” she began.

“I think you did, Elizabeth,” he said sternly, cutting her and headed for the door. He stopped before he opened the door and kept holding the doorknob, expecting her to say something else, but she remained silent, he then turned his head to look at her. “I hope you made the right decision.” Robert knew she didn't but he wished for Annie's sake that it would work. He then opened the door and left.

Elizabeth shook her head and started to cry. She wanted to ask him not to leave. She wanted to apologize for the way she talked to him. But she couldn't. She didn't say anything because she knew he would make her think better and realize that this wasn't the best option and she would end up giving up on this proposal and this wasn't something she wanted to. What she wanted was to pick up her phone immediately and call Mrs. Johnson to say the decision was made and ask when she could see her daughter, but for some reason she didn't do it. She just kept staring at the door and thinking about how she finally screwed things up with Robert. Their day had started wonderfully well and she couldn't believe that it was all over.

She closed her eyes and wished he'd walk in that door again.

But she knew he wouldn't.

[samsevenwrites]

“So?”

Rachel had waited a few minutes, just enough time for Peter to pack his things. Now, she wanted an answer.

Earlier in the week, as a new student at Blackwell Academy, Peter had asked for her help to catch up September classes he had missed, and Rachel gladly accepted before realizing that the new one was smarter than most of the students. No, in fact, he was smarter than any other student.

Peter Parker was good at photography, was an accomplished scientist, and when he did not excel in a subject, he was good anyway. Everyone expected him to fail at least on the basketball court, but he had surprised the whole class, including the teacher, by scoring several baskets effortlessly.

In fact, it would not take much for Peter to help his classmates himself.

Rachel had finally concluded that his request maybe disguised a classic, but sometimes effective, attempt at flirtation: after all, it was an approach like any other. Yet, instead of being the teacher or the courting girl, Rachel just had the role of the observer, watching Peter while he was completing the exercises, without hearing any questions.

What was the point of learning in silence what was already known? Why lock yourself in an empty classroom instead of enjoying the end of the day?

So Rachel had the idea to play.

After he had stuck his notepad between two textbooks in his bag, Peter lifted his face to his classmate, noting how the tired sun’s rays were sketching her silhouette.

The golden hour had the power to make the shadows immense without becoming terrifying, to transform the colors of fire into peaceful shades, to accentuate the mystery that enveloped Rachel, this girl full of life.

Peter quickly dismissed this painful thought.

His approach did disguised an intention, and unfortunately, it was not romantic: Peter was interested in Rachel not as Peter Parker, but as Spider-man.

“OK, explain your game.”

Despite Peter’s hardly convincing sigh, Rachel smiled radiantly.

When neither of them spoke, they could hear the students’ discussions outside, and under the screams and laughter, if they gave enough attention, they could even hear the murmur of wind and water from the fountain where was perched Jeremiah Blackwell.

Behind her back, Rachel felt the melancholy heat of the end of the day. She did not notice the soft blaze colors that were unfolding on the horizon, yet she guessed them in the eyes of her classmate, in the hazel pupils that were at that moment as the same hue as honey.

“This is a game I learned in theater class. It's all about improvisation,” she got up and went off to sit on the edge of one of the windows, “we’ve to spy on people from far away and imagine stories from what we see. The best would be to choose two people to engage in a dialogue.”

“So we observe other students and we make them talk, huh? A preference for the register?”

“Comic or dramatic, I let you choose.”

She suspected that he would understand the rules quickly, but it was about interpretation through an imagination influenced by feelings: it was a game that could say a lot about the player, even a smart one.

“I’m curious to see what you think, Peter. What a New Yorker can say about high school students in Arcadia Bay?”

A brief, guilty grin showed that the new student was sorry to be so distant. It had been three weeks since Peter Parker joined Blackwell and he stubbornly remained at the back of the stage even though he had attracted attention: his New York accent had invoked dreams of the great a city for those who had never walked down the Broadway’s sidewalks, and for Rachel, this city dweller was an enigma. Why did this boy leave the big city to get lost on this little coast? Worse, for the Californian, this exile was as serious as crime.

“Then my participation is an honor?”

“May you satisfy my curiosity,” joked Rachel, bowing.

As he laughed, Peter leaned on the edge too and watched the grassy ground where everything was so calm, so easy. Different groups of teenagers illustrated the many facets of youth: geeks who played a board game to escape the real world, footballers who drew in infinite energy, popular girls who composed their brilliant image, rebels who did not even hide to smoke, defying the simplest authority—

Peter Parker almost envied them for their common worries.

With a reflex, he rubbed his wrists that were too often clasped by his web-shooters.

The teenager would have liked time to be suspended, then the sun would never cross the horizon and that the problems of this school would resume to weed and unprotected sex.

With a heavy heart, Peter tried not to look at Rachel: although he was seeing her for real with her colorful face, he was haunted by the black and white portrait he had seen.

“You can choose anyone,” said Rachel with a wave of her hand. “You won’t hurt anyone, this game will stay between us, promised.”

Concentrate on this game, Peter. Enjoy this quiet moment, they’re so rare—

He studied several samples, moving from one individual to another, to finally stop on this girl with blond short hair, both elegant and cold. He did not know what her name was, and he was certain that this oversight would have been an affront to this diva.

With his finger, he pointed to the schoolgirl who, chin pretentiously erect, was chatting with a friend. After clearing his throat, Peter started:

“What will I do after high school? Invent sunproof makeup, I can’t stand this sun anymore!”

“Oh my god, Victoria,” Rachel exclaimed, agreeing with Taylor's surprised expression in the distance, “you’re so smart! Waterproof is so overrated nowadays! I’ll be your first client.”

They tried to compose the continuation of the dialogue, watching the faces, the gestures, the movements. Their comedy sounded so good that it was hardly spoiled by some contradictions.

Suddenly Rachel laughed, pulling herself out of Taylor's role:

“I didn’t know you had so much humor!”

“Because I didn’t have a public worthy yet.”

“Oh, my humble person is enough for your one-man show?”

“Absolutely. I’ve always loved mischievous audiences.”

“Seduction by words is the only weapon that matters.”

Haloed by the sunset that served as a projector, the two teenagers gave themselves great airs from their perch that became a secret scene. Both actors betrayed themselves with laughter and smiles, making their game adorably bad.

Now that they were discussing, Peter understood the Rachel Amber’s popularity.

He first thought that it was her beauty that attracted people: the profile of the future model was well designed and, endowed with the calm that seemed untouchable, she had a smile that looked like the Mona Lisa’s one who challenged anyone to impress her.

Now, he knew that her success exceeded the image: Rachel knew how to direct the conversations thanks to an always witty repartee. If she respected the silences, the timid ones, however, could become talkative in her presence as she was lively and friendly.

Some might have said she had too many dreams to accomplish, but Rachel had enough energy to make them all come true.

Peter hoped for her a promising future.

Stop thinking about it. Stop looking at her this way or she’ll have doubts.

To silence his anguish, the unsuspected hero turned away to find another subject of inspiration. He then observed one of the skaters on the lawn who was tightening the screws on his board. For a moment, he wondered if he was also a student of Blackwell since he had never seen him in class.

After a few moments, Peter says:

“I wonder if there is enough room on my skateboard to engrave the full periodic table? Would people notice it?”

“The nerd who isn’t at easy, good one! It works with Justin, too.”

Rachel leaned in, visibly taken in the game.

She was really having fun with Peter and was even tempted to suggest that he join the theater class. What she had imagined to be shyness was only prudence.

Head bent to the side, Rachel looked at him with great attention.

Modest, Peter answered:

“Well, it’s pretty classic actually, but thank you.”

“That’s true, but I’ve a weakness for stories where appearances are misleading.”

A weakness for the mysteries, therefore.

In a reflex, Peter looked down, pretending to look for other topics to improvise a new dialogue. His research was interrupted by a rather surprising question:

“Peter, what would you say if you see Spider-man?”

He was so surprised he wondered if he had heard correctly.

“Spider-man?”

“Yes. Imagine: all of a sudden, Spider-man web swings to cross the campus, greeting students just below him. That would be a perfect subject, right? What would you invent?”

“Uh— Gotta go fast?”

They burst out laughing.

“But really, Rachel, I doubt that Spider-man goes through Blackwell one day. Everything’s so calm here.”

“Who knows? Even he might need rest.”

She did not imagine how hurtful it could be for the spider-man to hear this: every time someone showed compassion, Peter Parker had to pretend to be indifferent and hide an moved pride.

“Spider-man has been seen in Oregon twice since the beginning of the month, after a long absence—”

“It may be another Spider-man.”

“He had the same blue and red suit as the one from New York.”

Oops.

The conversation was beginning to make him uneasy, especially because of Rachel’s posture: her hands were on her hips and she was looking at him with her head tilted to the left, as if to watch his reactions.

She can’t know.

Peter pulled out his phone, preparing the excuse of the late hour to leave Rachel and take refuge in the dormitory.

“If Spider-man was swinging in front of us,” continued the student, “I would say he’s in a hurry to go back to his lab.”

“His laboratory? Why a laboratory?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’m convinced that the one who hides under this mask is a scientist, a good scientist, and like any self-respecting good scientist, he has his own laboratory.”

Peter was unable to decipher that cat’s gaze that was scrutinizing him, that barely hemmed smile.

Would she remain so calm if he told her, right there, right now, that he was the man who hides under the costume covered with webs?

Or had she already guessed?

“It’s funny,” the plainclothes hero muttered, “you’re one of the few people to imagine that Spider-man can have a life on the ground, far from fighting.”

“There’s a difference between a superhero and an everyday hero.”

“The first one has super powers and not the other?”

“No, it’s a matter of costume. Just like Spider-man and the one wearing the suit.”

Peter nodded, looking distracted.

He could not contradict this logic when he had set himself the goal of protecting Rachel without his costume.

Peter kept his lips closed, calculating the years before that corridor would be wallpapered with “Missing Person” posters. Three years to understand what was going to happen to Rachel Amber. Three years in any universe, but not this one, he promised.

And to succeed, he should become a discreet hero, an everyday hero.

[transracialqueer]

Five Potential Side Effects of Transracial Adoption

by Sunny J Reed

A trans- anything nowadays is controversial, but one trans- we don’t hear enough about are transracial adoptees. This small but vocal population got their title from being adopted by families of a different race than theirs — usually whites. But adoption, the so-called #BraveLove, comes with a steep price; often, transracial adoptees grow up with significant challenges, partly due to the fact that their appearance breaks the racially-homogenous nuclear family mold.

I am transracially adopted. My work is an outgrowth of my experience, research, and conversations with other members of the adoption triad; that is, adoptees, birth parents, and adoptive parents. This piece is a response to the misunderstandings and assumptions surrounding transracial adoption, and I hope it brings awareness to some rarely-discussed side-effects of the practice. While this isn’t an exhaustive list, by any means, these are just a few of the struggles that many transracial adoptees grapple with on a daily basis.

1. Racial Identity Crises, or “You Mean I’m Not White?”

Racial identity crises are common among transracial adoptees: what’s in the mirror may not reflect which box you want to check. I grew up in a predominantly white town that barely saw an Asian before — let alone an Asian with white parents. Growing up, I’d forget about my Korean-ness until I’d pass a mirror or someone slanted their eyes down at me, reminding me that oh yeah, I’m not white.

There’s a simple explanation for this confusion: “As members of families that are generally identified as white,” writes Kim Park Nelson, “Korean adoptees are often assimilated into the family as white and subsequently assimilated into racial and cultural identities of whiteness.”

Being raised in an ethnically-diverse area with access to culturally-aware individuals would help keep external reactions in check, but still belies the race-based role you’re expected to play in public. Twila L. Perry relates an anecdote illustrating the complexities of being black but raised in a white family:

“A young man in his personal statement identified himself as having been adopted and reared by white parents, with white siblings and mostly all white friends. He described himself as a Black man in a white middle-class world, reared in it and by it, yet not truly a part of it. His skin told those whom he encountered that he was Black at first glance, before his personality-shaped by his upbringing and experiences-came into play.”

Positive racial identity formation might be transracial adoption’s greatest challenge since much of the dialogue related to race and color begins at home. Multiracial and interracial families sometimes have difficulties finding the language to discuss this problem, so it’s an uphill climb for transracial parents (Same Family, Different Colors is a great study on this).

Parents can begin by talking openly about their child’s race. Acknowledging differences is not racist, nor does it draw negative attention to your child’s unique status in your family. Instead, being honest about it places your child on the path to self-acceptance.

2. Forced Cultural Appreciation (à la “Culture Camps”)

Picture culture camp like band camp (no, not quite the band camp talked about in American Pie). The big difference is that, unlike band camp, culture camp expects you to learn heritage appreciation in the span of just one week instead of how to better tune your trumpet. Sometimes adoption agencies sponsor such programs, designed to immerse an adoptee in an intense week or two of things like ethnic food, adoptee bonding, and talks with real people of your race, as opposed to you, the poseur.

These camps often get the side-eye — and rightfully so. Critics argue that “fostering cultural awareness or ethnic pride does not teach a child how to deal with episodes of racial bias.”

Much like part-time church-going does little in the way of earning your way to the Pearly Gates, once-yearly visits with people that look like you won’t make you a real whatever-you-are. I know culture camps aren’t going away, so a better solution would be using these events as supplements to whatever you’re doing at home with your child, not as the sole source of heritage awareness. And yes, racial self-appreciation should be a lifelong project.

3. Mistaken Identities -aka — “I’m Not the Hired Help”

Transracial adoptees’ obvious racial differences provoke brazen inquiries regarding interfamilial relationships. Having “How much did she cost?” and “Is she really your daughter?” asked over your head while being mistaken for your brother’s girlfriend does not contribute to positive self-image. It publically questions your place in the only family you’ve ever known, setting the stage for insecure attachments and self-doubt.

Mistaken identities aren’t just awkward, they’re insulting. Sara Docan-Morganinterviewed several Korean adoptees regarding what she describes as “intrusive interactions,” and found that “participants reported being mistaken for foreign exchange students, refugees, newly arrived Korean immigrants, and housecleaners. [One adoptee] recalled going to a Christmas party where someone approached her and said, ‘Welcome to America!’”

Obvious racism aside, transracial adoptees often find themselves having to validate their existence, which is something biological children are unlikely to face. Docan-Morgan suggests that parents’ responses to such interactions can either reinforce family bonds or weaken them, so expecting the public’s scrutiny and preparing for it should be a crucial piece in transracial adoptive parent education.

4. Well-Meaning, Yet Unprepared Parents

Sure, they’ll be issued a handy guide (here’s one from the 1980s) on raising a non-white you, but beyond a few educational activities and get-togethers with other transracial families, they’re on their own (unless online forums count as legitimate resources).

Some parents may good-heartedly acknowledge your heritage by providing dolls and books and eating your culture’s food. Others may mistakenly adopt a colorblind attitude, believing they don’t see color; they just see people. But, as Gina Miranda Samuels says, “Having a certain heritage, being given books or dolls that reflect that heritage, or even using a particular racial label to self-identify are alone insufficient for developing a social identity.”

Regarding colorblindness, Samuels explains that it risks “shaming children by signaling that there is something very visible and unchangeable about them (their skin, hair, bodies) that others (including their own parents) must overlook and ignore in order for the child to be accepted, belong, or considered as equal.”

As mentioned in point #1 above, talking about color while acknowledging your child’s race in a genuine, proactive way can counteract these problems. This means white parents must acknowledge their inability to provide the necessary skills for surviving in a racialized world; sure, it might mean admitting a parenting limitation, but working through it together might help your child feel empowered instead of isolated. Talking to transracial adoptees — not just those with rosy perspectives — will be an invaluable investment for your child.

I’d also suggest that white parents admit their privilege. White privilege in transracial adoption is beautifully covered by Marika Lindholm, herself a mother of transracially adopted children. Listening to these stories, despite their rawness, will help you become a better parent. By acknowledging that you may take for granted that being part of a societal majority can come with dominant-culture benefits, you open your mind to the fact that your transracial child may not experience life in the same way as you. It doesn’t mean you love your adopted child any less — but as a parent, you owe it to your child to prepare yourself.

5. Supply and Demand

During the early decades of transracial adoption (1940–1980), racial tensions in the United States were so high that few people considered adopting black babies. People clamored for white babies, leaving many healthy black children aging in the system. (Sadly, this still happens today.) And since adoption criteria limited potential parents to affluent white Christians, blacks encountered near insurmountable adoption roadblocks.

Korea offered an easy solution. “Compared to the controversy over adopting black and Native American children,” says Arissa H. Oh, author of To Save the Children of Korea, “Korean children appeared free of cultural and political baggage…Korean children were also seen as free in another important sense: abandoned or relinquished by faraway birth parents who would not return for their child.”

After the Korean War, adopting Korean babies became a form of parental patriotism — kind of like a bastardized version of rebuilding from within. During this time, intercountry adoption fulfilled a political need as well as a familial one. Eleana H. Kim makes this connection as well: “Christian Americanism, anti-Communism, and adoption were closely tied in the 1950s, a period that witnessed a proliferation of the word “adoption” in appeals for sponsorship and long-distance fostering of Korean waifs and orphans.”

Although we’ve seen marked declines in South Korean adoptions, intercountry and transracial adoptions continue today, retaining some of their politically-motivated roots and humanitarian efforts. We need to keep this history in mind since knee-jerk emotional adoptions — despite the time it takes to process them — have serious repercussions for the children involved.

But we can make it better

None of this implies that transracial adoption is evil. Not at all. Consider this missive as more of a PSA for those considering adoption and a support piece for those who are transracially adopted. I’m aware that I’ll receive a lot of pushback on my work, and that’s okay. I’m writing from the perspective of what I call the “original transracial adoption boom,” and I consider myself part of one the earliest generations of transracial adoptees. Advancements in the field, many spurred by adoptees like myself, have contributed to many positive changes. However, we still have work to do if we’re going to fix an imperfect system based on emotional needs and oftentimes, one-sided decision making.

(source in the notes)

[daydream-in-a-dream]

Autumn Leaves (NCT Winwin)

The sun peeked its way out from the horizon, making its presence known with its amber glow. Together with the crisp air in an environment full of sturdy trees shedding its elegant leaves of various shades of yellow and orange, it was enough motivation for you to wake up extra early just so you could witness the nature at its finest.

And it just so happen that a particular boy often found himself appreciating its beauty together with you. Basking in the warmth, your head was resting on his shoulders while he leaned towards you, gently placing his head on top of your head. There wasn't any conversation going on between the two of you as both of you were equally afraid of breaking the tranquillity existed.

Once the sun had fully made its way up, the man beside you suddenly picked up a bunch of fallen leaves and let it drop in front of you quickly, resulting you to jump from your seat. A hearty chuckle was heard as you pouted a little at his playful act. Brushing the dirt off from his khakis after he stood up, he offered his hand to you, in which you gladly accepted as you rose as well before both of you headed down to the café to have the usual together.

~~~

You were surprised to see him already seated the next morning, waiting for the sunrise which only happens roughly half an hour later. It was definitely weird to know that he came before you because he usually arrived a few minutes prior to the sunrise. Subconsciously playing around with the leaves, he barely acknowledged your presence when you sat next to him.

Something's wrong.

The thought appeared in a flash. Despite the lack of light currently, you could still catch a glimpse of the sullen look on his face. He still didn't face you though as he continued to fidget with the dead leaves, letting it crunch with his fingers and hoping it would reduce the tension in the surroundings. You were already frustrated with him shutting himself out from this world so you carefully placed your hand on top of his, causing him to stop touching those leaves as he turned to look at you - albeit with listless eyes.

"I'm moving away after the sun rises." Letting out a soft sigh, he was holding your hand firmly while his eyes were averted away from you as if bracing for the reaction from you. It was obvious that you were very disappointed by the news as your expression morphed into a crestfallen look. Silence encapsulated the surroundings instead; no one was courageous enough to continue the conversation.

Nonetheless, his hand was still within your grasp, tightening your hand every now and then to remind himself that this might be the last time he had a chance to get a tangible grip of you. Especially when an armed conflict was going to take place anytime soon.

Movements of the citizens now became restricted, curfews imposed all over the town, people facing harsh penalties when they failed to obey the police who patrolled over the area. You were aware of these things. You were also aware of the fact that the authorities had called out capable men to fight against the incoming enemy and lead the country to glory all over the radio. And you also happened to catch wind that they have to report to the office the very next morning.

You knew it was his choice after all to protect the nation, but you couldn't help feeling worried for him. Fighting was never his forte. He was the epitome of peace, harmony. It hurt you so deeply that you could possibly lose him if he was to participate in the warfare. The world was just damn cruel for a kind soul like him.

"Do you really have to go?" Mustering every ounce of your energy to prevent yourself from breaking down in front of him, you managed to ask, despite your voice cracked a little.

"I have to. It's for the country." Turning to face you, you didn't realise that some of your tears escaped until he wiped it away for you, cradling your face as if you were fine china.

"And also for you."

"What if I asked you not to go? The worst that could possibly happen to us is that we die together if you stay with me." Holding both of his wrists, you persuaded, even though you knew how stubborn he was once he had made up his mind.

"That's the reason why I want to fight - I don't want you to die. I’ll rather be killed than witnessing your death." You wanted to refute - you really want to - but knowing that this conversation was getting nowhere with his stubbornness, you remained quiet as you shut your eyes in an attempt to control the sadness which overpowered you in an instant. His warm embrace didn't help you either as it spurred you to shed those tears out.

Meeting his eyes again with yours as he held your face dearly, you started memorising his features as much as you can while the rays bestowed upon his visage. The intimate atmosphere which settled between the two of you prompted him to rest his forehead on yours before you lessen the gap by letting your lips clash with his. Unleashing the ardour within you, you kissed him harder than you expected as you were overwhelmed with the sudden surge of emotions, but he didn't back out either as both of you engaged in a heated exchange until the sun was fully up in the sky.

Placing a chaste kiss gently on your forehead, he brushed away the baby hairs away from your face just so he could get a clear view of you. The horn blared around the small town, signalling all men to report to the office immediately, and a cue for him to stop being sentimental and get his act together if he really wished to protect the country he adored, and the woman he loved.

~~~

Countless moons had passed since the countries involved had declared war. He still sent you letters every now and then to inform you of his well-being. He did mention that all this warfare going on will draw to a close very soon as the opponents seemed to be in the losing end. He also revealed how much he missed you and that even though he had familiar citizens like the loud, boisterous Lucas and the amiable, down-to-earth Kun as his comrades, he couldn't deny how he longed for your presence.

"The sun seems so dull nowadays, and there were barely any leaves to play around with when you're not here with me. I even brought your letters along with me whenever we faced the enemies just so I could feel you encouraging me all the time."

"I still don't get how Kun can tolerate his nonsense all this while. There seems to be no end in Lucas' energy, whether in or out of the battlefield. But I still respect this guy even though it can be quite tiring to deal with him most of the time."

Most of his letters would include the progress of the war, how he felt lately and even some jokes and banters shared within the camp. Such excerpts often made you smile as you patiently counted for the days he would return.

You also responded to his letters by updating about his family, his friends in town and also your daily life as you waited for the country to declare the end of the seemingly endless war. You even gave him a heart-shaped silver pendant which contained a picture of you and him on each side of the heart inside.

"I can't believe the general almost planned to confiscate the pendant! I know that we're discouraged from using accessories in the battlegrounds, but I'm sure a pendant should be fine right? He probably doesn't realise how much this means to me."

If you had to choose which letter was your favourite, you would have decided on the latest one which you received just a few hours ago from the postman. Although your tears had dried out by now, you were still moved by his sudden confession.

"Sometimes I wonder if it was selfish of me to ask you to wait for me. There was never a day when I don't think of the possibility of getting stabbed or shot by our opponents, and there was never a day when I don't doubt myself whether I'm worth waiting for. But knowing that you never once wavered in your feelings, it only motivated me to fight till the end just so that your heart swells with pride when I see you again. I know it's improper for me to declare what I'm going to say over this letter, but let's get married once the war is over. I don't think I can wait any longer than that. I'll definitely ask for your hand properly when I come back. I promise."

So when the defence minister had declared the end of the war and announced that the surviving soldiers had already departed to go back home all over the radio, you quickly got on your bicycle to reach to the harbour. Most of the people had already crowded around the dock once you arrived as you watched a few ships sailing towards the shore. Families and friends alike immediately approached their loved ones once the soldiers had landed. Some were crying, while some were exclaiming victory for the country. Most of them had already found each other by the time the ships left.

Except for you.

You frantically searched for him among the crowd, but to no avail. Upon sighting Lucas and Kun laughing together, you advanced towards them to ask for his whereabouts. When the question had been raised, both of them looked at each other, suddenly finding it hard to talk. It was the first time you saw Lucas being so solemn and it was scaring you. Eventually, Kun was the one who decided to put an end to this silent air - even though it was very contradictory to think that way when numerous cheers filled around them.

"He was severely injured during the last battle, and we honestly don't know whether he can make it out alive, considering how he got shot near his heart." Your legs instantly gave way and if it wasn't for Lucas who supported you, your knees would have kissed the ground already.

"Wait, no. He said he'll come back and marry me. No... this couldn't be it... He promised!" Hysterical cries were heard as Kun hugged you in sympathy, regularly patting your back in an attempt to soothe you.

You knew you should have held him back better when you could previously.

~~~

Autumn was retreating once again, and this time, there was no him by your side to witness this beauty with you as the leaves dried up to prepare for the cold winter. You had come to accept the reality when you received nothing from the office. Even Kun and Lucas received no updates from their comrades on site where the both of them had left earlier. But you couldn't deny the void in your heart every time you watched the sunrise alone, especially in autumn. This morning was no different as you observed the sun slowly rising up. However, you were particularly miffed when someone eventually blocked your view as the person walked towards you. You couldn't recognise who the stranger was with the sun shining behind the human being, but as the person sauntered closer, you found the silhouette of his lean figure very familiar - especially with the way he carried his large bag over his shoulder.

He's alive.

You couldn't believe it. No, it didn't make any sense to you. Even as you stood up once he was standing right in front of you with his uniform, you still couldn't fathom it. It was only when he opened his arms wide did you jump at the opportunity to hug him, feeling his flesh and bone after so long. He also sighed blissfully as he took you in his arms again, but you surprised him moments later when you pulled away from the embrace to hit his chest continuously.

"How dare you make me worry for you! Do you know how devastated I was when I don't receive any news about you?! I really thought you died during the war!" He stood still throughout as you vented your frustrations on him. Stopping you mid-way when he thought it was enough, he took something out from his breast pocket to show you the broken pendant which you gifted it to him.

"If it wasn't for this thing, I would've actually died in that field. The doctor said I was lucky that the arrow hit this instead of my chest directly. But it did take a while to recover because my body was still shocked from the impact previously."

"Idiot." You muttered under your breath, in which he responded with a chuckle as he sheepishly scratched his head.

Releasing a cough from his throat a few seconds later, he placed his bag down before he kneeled down on one knee as he disclosed the content in the small velvet box. While you previously cried in vexation, you definitely cried with happiness as he asked the question.

"Will you marry me?"

There is no doubt in your voice when you agreed to his proposal immediately, despite being teary-eyed. And there is no way you would choose other guys over him to spend the rest of your life with, regardless of how long the wait is. And one thing for sure, the reason why the sunrise is a magnificent beauty to admire about is because of the man who you held so dearly in your heart. Even if winter is approaching.