#I know at the end of the day there’s nothing to be done about it

[cheshirewrites]

Luka gives the girl a thorough look over, noting her knotted hair, the dirt smudged on her cheeks, and the thread-bare state of her clothing. Holes in the knees of her trousers, patches on her elbows (clearly hand sewn, he knows that much), even the fabric of her bandana fraying at the seams.

She looks like an ordinary girl, one who has faced far too much peril during his father's rule.

"Are you certain?" Luka asks his guard for a second time, because he doesn't want to be wrong about this. Doesn't want to put the weight of the world on a little girl because of a false prophecy. "You're sure-"

"Yes, my prince," Fox says, grinning their sharp grin. "My love, my dear, you know I wasn't misinformed. The Misses aren't wrong about things like this."

And they're right, of course.

Ari and Dahlia were the best advisors a prince could ask for.

So when the two of them found a prophecy, claiming that a girl who shared his birthday would grow to hate the world, would try and burn it to the ground if she was left alone? Luka just wanted to find the girl and hold her close, apologize for everything he hadn't done and everything he hasn't changed yet. Prophecies are complicyed, after all, and Luka refuses to look at someone and only see the bad in them.

People deserve more than that from their prince, their king, their- whatever title Luka gained when Fox convinced a Dark Lord to overthrow the throne.

( After all, Fox is the best person Luka knows, and Gods know that Fox isn't innocent, no matter how sweetly they may smile. )

"Do you want some cake?" Luka says, and he knows how strange it must look. The prince and his guard, offering you cake in your own home, and on your birthday, at that. "I promise it isn't poisoned or anything, my aunties Dahlia and Ari made it, and both of them think poisoning is a cheap way to fight."

The girl stares up at him for a long, long moment, until something like amusement creeps onto her face. "Sure," she says, taking a few steps closer. "I've got some questions, though, and I want answers."

Luka grins at that. "Of course!" He says, almost shouting. "Can I ask you one, tiny thing first?" A nod. "What's your name? The Aunties told me a few things about you, like where to find you, but they left that out, and-"

The girl holds up a hand, and Luka falls silent. His grin turns sheepish. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it, Princey," she says, grinning. "The name's Cassandra, but most people just call me Cass. Now-" Cass leans forward, crossing her arms across her chest- "Tell me about these aunties of yours."

"They're actually the reason I'm here!" Luka says. "Ari and Dahlia -- yes, that Ari and Dahlia, the long dead Hero and Dark Lord, it's a long story -- told me I needed to find a girl who shared my birthday, and well," his voice trails off, "you might wanna sit down for this bit."

Cassandra -- her name is Cassandra! --gives him a questioning look, but sits down at her table anyway. "I'm seated, Princey," she says, nearly sounding reassuring. "What terrible news do you have to deliver? You look like you're gonna tell me the world is ending, for fuck's sake."

Luka looks at Fox pleadingly, but his partner only shrugs. Both of them know that this is Luka's responsibility, even if Ari would be the best at it. She is the one who found the prophecy, after all, and Fox has told him word for word what she said to them that day they first met.

Their exchange isn't subtle, though, and Cassandra's jaw drops. "You're kidding me," she says, her voice perfectly even. "The world isn't actually ending, right?"

"No!" Luka says, and this time, he does shout. "No, no, nothing like that. It's just-" He hesitates, trying to find the right words. Knows that there aren't any right words, not when it comes to prophecies and royalty and the like.

It's better to be straightforward, right? Luka thinks to himself, and then takes a deep breath. That's what Dahlia always says.

"How do you feel about prophecies?"

You are a poor girl selling flowers. Today is your birthday but no one knows. When you return home you find the prince of the kingdom waiting for you with a birthday cake. "Are you sure this is the one?" He whispers to his advisor.

[hcneymooners]

⋆ woman of my dreams, don't betray me.

wife!ambessa x wife!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you and ambessa are wives, and your parents have come to visit the two of you. everything will be fine, or would've been if you mother hadn't brought up her desire for grandchildren.

cw: angst, angst with a happy ending, wife!ambessa, wife!reader, age difference, older woman/younger woman, sfw but suggestive content, emotional hurt/comfort, you're a little bit of a crybaby, anxiety attacks, discussions of children and pregnancy.

notes: i hate this so much, but ce la vie hmm? this is a drabble.

“Sweet girl, don't bite your nails. You'll be so upset later.”

“You'll just give me the money to get them done,” you mutter. 

Still, your hands lower from your mouth to tremble yet again over the dinner you've painstakingly made.

Ambessa moves behind you, her presence steady and warm against your back. Her hands settle on your shoulders, thumbs working small circles into the knots that have been building there all day. You lean into her touch despite yourself, despite the anxiety that makes you want to vibrate out of your skin.

“Will this occur before or after you protest against me giving you too much?”

A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, and you turn to slide your arms around her neck. You take in the strong line of her jaw, the crooked set of her lips with it’s thin stripe of golden jewlery in the middle. You thumb at it, face flushing slightly as she nips at the tip of your finger.

“My nails have yet to cost five hundred dollars, Bessa.”

“I include the tip.”

“I must be incredibly generous.”

“You are,” she hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Besides, you never think of tax.”

“Tax?” You say in disbelief. “What tax would they be adding that costs that much? Honestly, Bessa.”

“You never know,” she says with a slow smile. “They could swindle you very easily. You have such a trusting nature.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell her, cupping her face.

"Talk to me," she says, and her voice carries that gentle authority that first drew you to her. You turn away, your attempts at misleading her thwarted. "Is it your mother again?”

You stiffen under her hands. "Among other things." The roast in front of you blurs slightly. 

You can picture her expression without turning around - that careful neutrality she wears when she's processing something that angers her. It's the same look she gets in meetings when someone has said something particularly stupid.

"And what did you say to her?"

"Nothing. I deleted it. I’ve never been any good at convincing her to leave me alone." You pull away from her hands to adjust a perfectly arranged plate for the third time. "It's easier than explaining. Than having the same argument over and over about how I'll change my mind, how I just haven't met the right person yet." You pause, throat tight. "As if you're not..."

"As if I'm not what?" There's an edge to her voice now, not angry but intent. When you don't answer, she gently turns you to face her. "Look at me, little dove."

You do, though it hurts. She's beautiful in the warm kitchen light, silver hair gleaming, dark eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that still makes your heart skip even after all this time. You see the question in them and can't bear to answer it.

"The table still needs-"

"The table is perfect. You're being avoidant."

A laugh bubbles up, slightly hysterical. "Isn't that what I do best?"

"No." Her hand cups your cheek. You can smell her: blonde wood, vetiver, pink pepper, dry vanilla. "What you do best is love fiercely and completely. And we agreed that that meant being honest with one another.”

She titls your head up, presses a thumb against your pulse. The action makes you almost confess the words that crowd your throat, threatening to spill out:

I'm terrified you'll realize I can't give you the family you deserve. That one day you'll look at me and see all the things I'm not, all the things I can't be. That you'll regret choosing someone so much younger, so much less certain of their place in the world. That my mother is right and I'm being selfish, denying you something fundamental.

But before you can voice any of it, the doorbell rings. Your whole body goes rigid. Your hands come to your sides and you’re back to shaking, neck burning with sudden stress. 

“I’ll get the door,” you say.

Your voice is rasping, as if you’ve swallowed down endless snakes of smoke.

‧₊˚ ⋅  𓐐𓎩 ‧₊˚ ⋅ 

Dinner is excruciating. Your mother talks about your cousin's new baby, about how wonderful motherhood looks on her, about how she's "simply glowing." You push food around your plate and feel Ambessa's concerned glances, even as she masterfully deflects conversation toward politics, toward her work, toward anything else.

But with each deflection, you can feel her growing more tense beside you - the way she sets her wine glass down with just a fraction more force, how her knife scrapes against the china with military precision.

"But really," your mother says, wine glass tilting dangerously in her hand, "I just don't understand why you two haven't started trying yet. Ambessa, dear, you must want more children? And you're not getting any younger-"

The fork clatters from your hand. "Mother."

You can feel your body pulsing with that sick warmth that comes with the rush of tears. You’re boring a hole through the dining room table with your gaze, eyes growing large and wet. If you were a lamb, you’d be bleating except your mother is the wolf so who will be the one to save you? 

Beside you, Ambessa goes perfectly, terrifyingly still. The kind of stillness that precedes a storm, that makes the hair on the back of your neck rise. You can see her hand flat against the table, the metal of her rings catching the light, and you know without looking that her face has taken on that marble-smooth expression that makes junior officers quake in their boots.

"I'm only giving you something to think about, my love. I’ve been you before. You think you have so much time, you know? It’s just—you've always been so good with kids, sweetheart. Remember how you used to babysit for the Hendersons? And Ambessa's children turned out so well-"

"Stop." Your voice comes out strangled. "Please."

Ambessa's hand sneaks under the table to grasp your thigh. The touch is slightly grounding but you can feel the tremor in her fingers - not from fear, but from restraint. You know she wants you to look at her, but then you'll really begin to lose it.

You'll spill over, right into her lap, because she always could unlatch your body in ways you thought were only for other people.

You catch the slight movement of her jaw, the way she swallows whatever cutting remark she wants to make. Because this is your mother, and Ambessa—for all her power, all her authority, because of the love—is letting you handle this your way. But the tension in her body screams of fury, of a woman forced to watch her beloved take wounds she can't deflect.

"I don't see why you're being so sensitive about this. It's a natural progression-"

"Natural?" You're standing now, though you don't remember deciding to. "Natural is me not wanting to vomit every time someone mentions me being pregnant. Natural is not having a panic attack every time you send me another fertility clinic link or baby clothes or-" Your voice breaks. "I can't. I can't do this."

You flee, ignoring your mother's startled "Well!" and your father's awkward attempt to change the subject. You're halfway up the stairs before the tears start properly, and by the time you reach your bedroom, you can barely see. The door locks behind you with a satisfying click.

You stumble to the vanity, clutch blindingly at your hair to yank out the pins. You feel out of control, your hands sliding up your neck and over your face.

A sob slips out despite you clutching your fingers over your mouth, and you press at your stomach until you feel the urge to dispel the mixture of your decayed dinner and acid that sits within it.

The bed. You need to be under the bed. It's childish and ridiculous but it's where you used to hide when things got too much, and right now everything is too much. You curl up in the darkness there, pressed against the wall, and try to remember how to breathe.

Time passes. You hear murmured voices downstairs, the front door opening and closing. Footsteps on the stairs - Ambessa's, you'd know them anywhere.

"Little dove?" A gentle knock. "Let me in?"

"It's unlocked," you manage, voice thick.

The door opens. A pause.

"Are you under the bed?"

"...yeah."

Another pause. Then, to your utter astonishment, you hear grunting and turn to find Ambessa - your tall, dignified, warrior-queen wife - attempting to squeeze herself under the bed frame.

"What are you doing?" you ask, hiccuping between tears and startled laughter.

"Coming to get you," she says, voice strained as she wriggles forward. "Though I'm beginning to think this bed was not built for someone of my size."

"You're going to get stuck."

"Then we'll be stuck together." She finally manages to get next to you, though she has to lie completely flat to fit. "Hello, sweet girl."

A rush of gratitude floods you and you press forward, drawing her into a soft kiss. She deepens it, sliding a large hand underneath your thigh and holding you to her. You part with a soft, slick noise. 

“You’re always meeting me where I am, even when you don’t understand,” you tell her. “Literally.” 

You gesture weakly at the whole predicament. The absurdity of it - Ambessa Medarda, covered in dust bunnies, cramped under a bed - breaks something in you. 

"I have this terrible secret inside me, and it’s that I feel so—so sick when I think about being a mother," you blurt out. The words slide out of you, like maggots from a rotting body. "Not—not your children, I love them, but being one myself. Having them. I can't. I won't. And I know you must want- but I can't, I just can't, please don't leave me.” You begin to sob again. “Please, Bessa. Please don’t leave me. Please. Plea-”

"Shh." She pulls you closer, awkward in the confined space but no less tender for it. You tuck your head into her neck as she soothes you. "Shh, my love. I'm not going anywhere."

"But-"

"I have two children," she says firmly. "Two wonderful, grown children who I love dearly. I have never once thought about having more. What I want - all I want - is you. Happy. Whole. Exactly as you are."

You're crying again, but differently now. "Really?"

"Really." She strokes your hair, rocking you as best she can in the tight space. "Though I would very much like to have this conversation somewhere with fewer dust bunnies."

You laugh wetly into her shirt. "Sorry."

"Don't be. I would crawl under a thousand beds for you. Even into a grave." She kisses your forehead. "But perhaps we could move on top of this one? My back is not what it used to be."

"You’re really not getting any younger," you quip, the onslaught of relief making you giddy.

"Watch it, little dove." But she's smiling - you can hear it in her voice. "Now come out before we really do get stuck."

“What if we stayed here forever,” you whisper, “and you never let me go?”

She releases you, then shimmies out from the crawl space. Gently, she curls a hand around your ankle and pulls you out with a sharp yank. You gasp as you emerge from your hiding space, hair spilling around you and your dress rucked up just enough to display your panties.

Ambessa leans over, drags the dress further up until she can kiss the swell of your breasts. She looks up you, face ever-calculating.

“I will never release you,” she finally says. 

It should scare you, the clear promise, but it doesn’t. You lead her hand to your throat, just to hold it there, and smile instead.

© hcneymooners.

[rosenclaws]

Would You Fall In Love with Me Again || Worst!Logan x Reader

Would you fall in love with me again If you knew all I've done? The things I cannot change Would you love me all the same? I know that you've been waiting, waiting for love

warnings: angsty af, happy ending, sad logan.

wc: 1.5k

a/n: I heard this song and immediately pictured Logan so this fic was cooked up! I hope y'all like it <3 I'd recommend listening to the song while reading or before or after! Its a great musical btw

Logan holds the small piece of paper in his hands. It's been crumpled and flattened countless times. He turns it over in his hands, the faded black in is just bright enough to read. He glances down at it again. Written on it is an address. Laura's words playing over and over in his head.

Find her. She would want to see you.

Would you? Would you want to see him? He's not the same man that you knew. He's not your man. He's not the hero you remember. He's just a broken, tired, old man. He's a coward.

Laura gave him your address shortly after he came to his world. But he never went. He was afraid. This tiny slip of paper would keep him up at night. If the nightmares didn't get to him first than this stupid, little paper did. He debated on throwing it away.

You didn't need him. You were better off without him. But was he? You were his better half. Always had been. Just one look, a meeting. Closure. So he set off to find you one last time.

Each foot step weighs heavy as he marches to your front door. A small cabin tucked away from the the busy town only a few miles away. This is his handiwork. Logan always promised you that he'd build you a house one day, when you two were done with all the X-Men bullshit.

He had already written out the plans back before...before he lost you. Initials are carved into one of the wood boards. His fingers running over the letters, tracing them as his mind floods with memories of you.

He raises his fist and knocks at your door. His ears straining to hear you move behind the wooden door. Though if you didn't answer he couldn't blame you. He's the ghost of the man you once loved standing on your doorstep. He waits and waits and nothing.

His shoulders sag in defeat. What was he thinking? This was stupid. He takes the paper and crumbles it up in his hands, throwing it as far as he could into the woods.

"Pretty sure that's littering." He freezes at the sound of your voice. He knows it's you. He doesn't need to see your face, this voice had been haunting his nightmares for years.

"Logan?" He nearly falls to his knees. His name sounds so sweet coming from your lips. He hasn't heard it in so long. Ever so slowly he turns around, a part of him afraid this is another dream.

"Is it really you?" You're holding a grocery bag, dressed up for the cold weather. He's frozen as you walk up to him. Your eyes shine with tears as your hand reaches out for him.

"Please tell me its you." Your hand cups his face.

Thumb lightly brushing over his face. He looks different. He looks tired. So much pain behind those gorgeous eyes. He melts into your touch. He clenches his fists at his side as he leans his head into your hand.

"My love, how I've missed you." Logan opens his eyes to see the wedding band sitting on your finger. He never got the chance to give that to you.

"Sweetheart...I'm not the same man." He wishes he was. God he wishes he could sweep you up in his arms. Runaway and live in this cabin for all eternity. You smile softly. Your hand leaves his face and he visibly sinks.

"Come inside yeah?" Without thinking he takes the grocery bag out of your hands and follows you inside. There's not much inside.

"Laura told me about you, she sent letters when she came back." You explain as you reach into the fridge and pull out a beer, his favorite.

"I buy a new pack every week, in case you ever showed up." You smile when you talk but Logan can only focus on the bottle in front of him. The guilt eating him alive.

"I'm so sorry." He chokes out.

"For what?" You ask. He looks at you in disbelief, how could you be so forgiving, so welcoming.

"I'm not your husband. I-I'm not the man you fell in love with." He places the beer on the counter. If he closes his eyes he can picture you and him in this little cabin. Be the family you both always wanted. But he's not yours.

"I know you aren't. I'm not a fool Logan. But..." He's not your husband, he's different. He's not a replacement for the man you once loved but your love for Logan was stronger than anything you've ever felt.

"Would you fall in love with me again? You don't know what I've done. I'm not worthy of the love you gave to him." A tear slips down Logan's face.

He sinks to the ground, on his knees. Silently begging to be loved by you once again. The shame of his past chains him to the ground, he can't even look at you.

"What did you do my love?" You cup his face and tilt his head up.

"I lost you, I lost everyone. I can still smell your blood, I can still hear your voice calling to me. But I walked away." He grabs onto your wrists and holds onto them desperately.

"I walked away from you." You wipe away a tear that falls down his cheeks. His normally stoic face crumbles into a mess of despair and loneliness.

"I needed to numb myself. I started drinking, I started killing. I left a trail of blood in my wake." He expects you to cower away from him. To be disgusted with what he's done.

"Once I started, I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. I was so angry, so buried in my grief that the only thing I could feel was rage." The grip on your wrists is firm and tight. Not to the point of pain but he's locked around your hands. Please don't leave him again, please.

"Forgive me." You drop his face and it hangs low, ashamed of what he's revealed to you. You've been waiting for him, all this time only to come and disappoint you.

"If you think that's true, that you're not the same man I feel in love with. Then leave."

"W-What?" He's taken aback.

"You want me to leave?"

"I don't want you to leave but you keep saying you're not the same man. So if you truly believe that, than leave." Logan is stunned to silence.

"No." He says without thinking. He's spent every night missing you, thinking of you. You're here in front of him, it's not the same you but he still loves you. He will always love you.

"I can't leave you, I just found you again I...I won't." He stands up and takes your hand.

"This wedding band, I bought it after out first date. I knew, that I was in love with you but I was so scared to lose you." Tears fall down your face as he presses your hand against his face.

"I ended up losing you anyways."

"He told me that story when he proposed." You say softly. He may be from another universe but he will always be the love of your life.

"You asked if I'd fall for you again, how could I not?" He presses his forehead to yours, noses knocking together as you get to take in the man before you.

"I will always love you. I don't care how you got here, where you're from or what you've done. " You close your eyes as Logan wraps you up in his arms. Holding you close as he whispers apologies.

"No matter how long its been, you're mine." You kiss Logan fiercely, tasting the man who you've longed to hold in your arms again.

He's equally as desperate to feel you. His hands squeezing your sides gently as he walks you back until you hit the wall. Your hands run through his hair, the feeling of your wedding band in his hair only eggs him on.

Silently he thanks the universe for bringing him to you, for your forgiving, loving nature. He would have begged on his knees for a chance like this. He growls when you tug on his hair. His hand slipping up your shirt just to feel your skin. When you finally part he refuses to stay too far.

"Tell me Logan, how long as it been." Your heart aches to think of the pain he's been through. The life he's had to live without anyone to calm his self loathing thoughts.

"I can't even remember." He sounds so tired as he buries his face in your neck.

"It's okay, I'm here now."

"I love you." He whispers, a sense of relief washing over him as he utters the words he thought he'd never get to say again.

You had been waiting for him to come home and you would have waited until the day you too your last breath. He's worth it, all that waiting was worth it for you to call Logan yours.

"I love you too Logan, forever."

[sagekjs21]

@korrasera No, I actually completed my studies quite some time ago. I have earned my degree and graduated. I earned my degree in the summer of 2012. So granted I will absolutely admit that I am fairly rusty.

As I've said, I'm not aiming for operant conditioning here, strictly classical. I want my child to associate going out in the street unaccompanied by an adult with a sense of that being incredibly wrong, whether that would mean a hint of pain or a hint of fear. I don't want them to think that running unaccompanied out into the road is a safe or fun activity. And yes, I am well aware that conditioning takes time. That much I do definitely remember. But I also remember that when Pavlov was doing his experiment with his dogs, it took a lot less time than he was assuming. Although to be quite honest I don't remember the specifics as far as time amounts go other than I remember his surprise at what he ended up discovering. 

Is spanking traumatic? In many cases definitely, I would agree with that. In all cases? No. No it is not, because that would mean that literally every single child brought up in the United States public school system from like the 1920s through the 1970s would have severe trauma. And this is simply not true. Corporal punishment ran rampant in public schools in America back in those days, and, while there are certainly some traumatized adults for sure, not everybody is going around with complex trauma.So this argument is just simply not true. In order to truly deduce how traumatic spanking is to a child, there would have to be a lot more research done than is currently being done. Also, every child to ever receive any kind of spanking, even if they only received one in their entire childhood, would have to be studied for decades beyond their childhood just to ensure the accuracy of the study. This is simply not possible. Child abuse is absolutely traumatizing, I will never diminish that. But a SWAT on the butt or the wrist that causes literally about 15 seconds worth of pain and leaves no mark and that is implemented maybe a maximum of five times in a child's life is not going to lead to PTSD by any means. there would have to be some other factor involved, some other type of abuse going on.

I'm under the assumption that I will fail as a parent. On the contrary, I know full well that I will fail my child in some respect as a parent. Why? Because there is no such thing as a perfect parent. There are great parents, there are Zent parents, there are negligent parents, and there are abusive parents. There are also parents that are quite inconsistent. I strive to be a great parent, but I have no delusions that I will be a perfect parent by any means. That simply doesn't exist. It doesn't matter how educated someone is, how hard someone tries, how kind, loving, patient, perfection and parenting simply will never exist. So will I fail? Absolutely. And I pray it won't be too severely.

But if my kid accidentally runs out into the middle of the street, if I am simply too slow to catch them and if I'm calling their name and they don't stop, that is not a failure on my part. That is simply an unfortunate happening, an unfortunate event. I tried my best, I wasn't ignoring my child, I was just too slow. The reality is, I'm partially blind. I don't see well in bright sunlight, so if it's bright and sunny outside and my kid runs out into the middle of the road, I will absolutely chase after them, but what if I trip on something on the ground? Is that my fault? No, it's just an unfortunate happening. This has nothing to do with me fearing my future role as a mother, not at all. This has to do with practicality. It has to do with safety measures. It has to do with prevention.

I completely agree with your third to last paragraph. Everything in that is golden, I'm totally with you. But again, this has nothing to do with my fear of failure. It has to do with safety. It doesn't matter how attentive a parent is, unless you keep your child in a plastic bubble literally, you cannot protect them from absolutely everything. It is simply impossible. For instance, you have to sleep at some point correct? You can't supervise them 24 hours a day. You can do your best and that's all you can do. And this is why small, fairly harmless, preventative measures are necessary. I'm not afraid of failing my child, I'm afraid that in the event I could not get to them fast enough their life could be in danger. That's a rational and reasonable fear. It has nothing to do with me being inadequate, it has to do with life being complicated. But I'm with you on parents not letting their kids become independent adult adults in adolescence, that's completely abusive and selfish and just plain wrong. So at least we agree there.  

When people get pregnant, they will give up smoking, give up alcohol, give up coffee and soda, give up fondue and raw cheese, give up cold cuts and sushi, all because they have heard somewhere, from someone, that these things can be bad for the baby. They don’t know the research, haven’t looked at the studies, can’t talk about sample sizes and control groups. But their dedication to their future child’s safety is so strong, their caution is so overpowering, that they give up these things just in case. 

So it baffles me when those same people will insist on spanking their kids. 

Even when they are shown the research.

 Regardless of what the experts in the field say. 

No matter who says it. 

Or how it is said. 

People are so invested in this ability to hit their kids without judgement or consequence, that it absolutely confounds me. 

[crimsonmochi]

Prompt. Full-heartedly believe Choso is the goodest most pathetic boy for his partner ever. And not just when it comes to sex, just everything. He just loves you so much :( I can't prove it, but I can write about it. Smut included.

Choso, who just doesn't know what he would do if you weren't there. I mean, this boy gets lost so easily because of how much he wanders, he has to call you because he gets upset and has zero sense of direction.

"I don't know how to get home."

"Why did you leave?"

"I saw a kitty and I wanted to pet it."

Choso, who pouts, and he pouts a lot. He pouts when he doesn't understand something you're explaining, he pouts when he wants something, and he pouts when he doesn't get what he wants. Will act like you killed his whole family if you don't give him kisses right now.

Choso, who needs to be touching you at all times in some way, or he panics and thinks you don't love him anymore. The first time you gently push his hand away from your waist in public due to being overstimulated at the mall, he nearly has a breakdown going over every single thing he's said and done in the past week.

He told Yuji about it the next day, explaining that he will literally end his life if you leave him and telling him he had to help.

"Just make some sort of big gesture. You should be fine."

Choso decorated your bed with some flower petals the next day, found out he was allergic to pollen, and was sneezing throughout his apology. Apology you didn't know was for, but you forgave him regardless, nursing him back to health in your arms until he didn't have the sniffles from the pollen anymore.

Choso who was a virgin when you met him and remained one for a good part of your relationship, entirely confused when his dick would get hard when you held his hand? Love, why does it do that? It hurts. He couldn't look you in the eye for a bit after you had explained it, embarrassed and flustered.

Choso had to be shown everything bit by bit. He complained when you showed him porn because it's not you, so why would I watch it. Makes no sense.

Choso who, after that session, tried to masturbate, but it wasn't working. He was clumsy with his movements, too needy and eager, and didn't even know what he was supposed to be chasing. Until he thought about you smiling at a joke he made earlier, and before he knew it, he came all over your bedsheets.

Choso tried to hide what happened from you but couldn't lie when you asked why he was hauling your bedsheets into the washing machine on a weekday, meekly trying to put together the situation with words. After explaining, he asked if he needed to go see a doctor.

"That's normal, babe."

"Are you sure? Felt like I got possessed for a moment, maybe we have a ghost."

He couldn't understand why you laughed at that but was thankful for the reassurance that he wasn't dying.

Choso, who begged you to take his virginity a month later, whining about the wet dreams he had been having about you, confused about what it meant, but it had to mean something.

Choso spent an hour just feeling and looking at your body, unsure where to place his hands, where you liked being touched, where you didn't. He spent so much time asking questions, wanting to please and be good for you, that he only remembered how desperate he was when you finally took control, something blooming in his stomach as you gave him orders.

Choso, who discovered he cums fast and from almost nothing. He shuddered when you took his length in your hand, his back arching off the mattress as a soft whimper escaped his lips, shooting ropes of cum onto his stomach.

Choso, who discovered that going down on you was his favourite thing to do of all time. For a week straight, that's all he wanted to do; he wouldn't understand why you couldn't just stay under him all the time as he feasted. Has orgasms from it, too, completely untouched, just whining and moaning between your legs like a kicked puppy.

Choso, who pouts at you when you don't let him give you head.

Choso, who loves to be called a good boy, lives for it. In and out of the bedroom, it's like you saying "I love you" to him. Honestly has a bad day if you don't say it.

He is your good boy, and you will call him that.

Choso, who refuses to brat out because how can he be your good boy if he acts up. Days are filled with "yes ma'am," "no ma'am," and "right away." If anyone were to witness, they'd think you're running a tight ship military, but it's just your handsome man on his best behaviour as always.

Choso, who never argues. Not because of anything in particular; he's just not wired that way. He listens too well, is in tune with your emotions and his, and adapts fast. He just wants to make your life easier, and if you want the trash taken out at 8:31 instead of 8:30, then he'll be damned if he doesn't make that happen.

Choso, whose personal therapy is laying his head in your lap while you braid a strand or two. He loves the gentle tug on his scalp, loves your fingers in his hair, and loves to look up at you and see how focused you are.

Choso, who needs to feel helpful and wants you to depend on him the same way he depends on you, sometimes goes out of his way to make himself feel indispensable because he likes how it makes him feel. Once stole your schedule only to memorize it and recite it by heart when you mysteriously couldn't find it, the biggest smile on his face when you thanked him.

Choso, who could make out with you for hours on end just to feel your fingers playing with his baby hairs once. Nearly gets off on it.

Choso, who likes to shower with you only for the soap and shampoo part. He likes to be taken care of, your hands on his body as you lather him up properly, his eyes closed and his mind sleepy. Double points if you're taking a bath instead.

Choso, who lays in bed every night with you and tells you he loves you, why, for what traits, for what you give him and what you make of him.

Choso, who could write a whole essay about you, would never be done, could never run out of things to say.

Choso, who just loves you so much, needs you forever, no matter what.

[peppermintquartz]

Evan Buckley was made to save lives.

Literally.

Selected to amplify the healing abilities that had already manifested in his sister, Philip and Margaret Buckley allowed Manifest Bio Tech to harvest the necessary cells and tweak them.

But nature or fate still had a say, and Evan didn't emerge a healer.

++++

Evan was made to heal, but the only person he could heal was himself. He still got hurt, but his recovery time was four to six times faster than regular, unaltered humans.

They tried harvesting his bone marrow to replicate the effects but it didn't work.

Daniel still had to die, the cancer in him too resilient against even the harshest of treatments.

When they buried Daniel, Evan had barely begun to learn to walk. If he hurt from the extractions, his parents didn't know or care; Maddie's tears would ease the physical pain anyway.

++++

When Evan ran away from home to get Maddie to flee with him, Doug flipped out. He needed Maddie's tears. They were the secret to his success as a doctor.

She didn't run. She didn't even meet him to tell him why.

Evan drove away, full of a helpless fury at his sister and at himself.

++++

Across the world, Tommy Kinard was gaining a reputation for surviving unlikely odds. But when the options were death, maiming, disfigurement and merely broken bones, there was only so much Tommy's ability could do. But that tiny spark that danced up and down his spine got him to bank sharply just before they were hit, so while they crash landed with injuries, they were not blown up to smithereens.

He received a medal and promptly shipped home to the States to recuperate, and he insisted on remaining in Los Angeles where his grandmother lived. Since he needed a job, he decided to join the LAFD.

Because of Tommy, Nonna had another eight happy years with her beloved grandson. On her last birthday (not that either of them knew that), she bought a lottery ticket and had him check it.

The effect of his ability was dampened slightly since she was the one who made the purchase, but it did make Tommy's life after Nonna a lot more comfortable.

After Nonna died, Tommy felt that little tingle that said something unlikely was about to happen. The very next day, an opening in Harbor Station for a trained pilot opened up.

Tommy knew that was for him.

++++

Evan ended up in Los Angeles, and after a series of gigs, decided that he might as well risk his life and limb for good reasons than bad. His accelerated healing stood him in good stead, too, though he had to choose a different name.

Fire, falls, explosions, water, lightning; Buck survived them all.

And then he met Tommy.

++++

The moment he saw the three from the 118, he felt that telltale zing running down his spine.

Unlikely odds.

Not Chimney, that was for sure; they had encountered each other often enough.

Soulful Eyes shook Tommy's hand. Nothing. "Eddie Diaz."

"I'm Evan, Evan Buckley," says the pretty guy with the kissable lips and fingerprint-sized splotches of wine pink on his left eye and brow.

"Tommy Kinard, hi," said Tommy. He braced himself for the moment they made skin contact, and there it was - the spark, racing from the point of contact over his skin all the way up and down his spine.

Unlikely odds.

++++

They still broke up.

Before he drove over, he had felt the telltale tingle along his spine, and he should have known that it was only for the parking spot, and not for Evan to say, "I am falling in love with you."

There was nothing his ability could do in this case.

++++

Buck didn't know why his healing abilities refused to heal the hurt or fill up the emptiness in his heart. He baked and baked and baked, and each time he was done, he wanted to call Tommy and tell him about what he made.

And he would bake some more.

Maddie who hardly cried nowadays gave him a vial of her healing tears, to be added to any recipe of his choice.

He added it to a simple brownie recipe. It didn't help.

++++

While he had sort of vaguely wished he had healing abilities that could have helped Daniel, Buck never cursed his abilities more than when they raced to rescue Tommy and the patient he and his partners were transporting.

"I don't need to heal me," he begged the fates that had granted him his power. "Heal him. Save him."

Tommy smiled, feeling consciousness about to slip away. "Evan, what are... the odds for me... to have you as my last?"

"You know what's less likely?" Buck demanded through his tears. Droplets fell on Tommy's upturned face. "That you make it through this unscathed and we get back together and we have a happily ever after. Focus on making that happen!"

A tired tremble raced over Tommy's skin and down his spine. He smiled to himself and murmured, "As you wish."

[shecriestotheclickingoftime]

for the first time - 1.2k words

ex!Patrick Zweig x college!reader

you guys... i wrote something... and it ends abruptly but i felt like i'd rather post this and then post a follow-up later than keep this in the drafts for another 2 months...

inspired by "For The First Time" by Mac Demarco

based off of a request from a long time ago from @rayhalloffame but then i got inspired by the mac demarco song and lost the original plot- my sincerest apologies for that... (so so so sorry that this was so late and also that i lost the plot...)

basically patrick is your ex and you went off to college trying to forget about him, avoided him for a couple years, but this year you've brought back your new (shitty) boyfriend, taken him to your hometown bar, where patrick also happened to be.

tw! for drinking, also abrupt ending, also im not the best writer but i wanted to contribute something...

~~~~~~~~~~~

While she’s been away

Living day-to-day has been tough

Without her by my side

Simply being alive has been rough

And though she won’t be gone forever

There are many times I find it feels that way

And I’m not trying to forget her

Just understand how I’ll be feeling on that day

The bar was surprisingly packed, even for a Saturday night, and the overlapping conversations around him were so loud, it was hard for Patrick to even hear his own thoughts.

It was the weekend before thanksgiving, and it seemed that everyone was back in town for the holiday. Patrick recognized the faces of a lot of his old classmates from high school around him, but not you. 

He knew that you’d come back to town the past few years for the holidays, but he somehow never saw you out. He figured that you must’ve been avoiding him. You two hadn’t seen each other since the summer before you went off to college, the summer that you broke up with him.

He could remember it vividly: it was a hot July day, and you had told him to come over. You opened the door, looking like you had been crying for a while, having that closed-off look that Patrick hated. 

“I just… can’t go off to college with a boyfriend from back home. Long distance never works.”

Those exact words had been engraved in his mind since that day. Patrick Zweig had never been one for commitment, but something about you was different. Losing you had felt like losing part of himself. But he wanted you to do well in college, so he accepted it. And moved on.

Or, at least, he tried to. But even two and a half years later, things without you still didn’t feel right. Patrick felt pathetic; still stuck on some old childhood friend-turned-high school sweetheart that definitely wanted nothing to do with him. But, he still cared. 

So, here he was, standing next to his best friend Art, who had just come back from Stanford, in the middle of a loud, rowdy bar full of college kids. He already knew that you’d be avoiding him again this break, like you’d done for the past two years, but it didn’t sting any less to know that he’d go another year missing you, while you were off at college living your own life. 

Without her by my side

Simply being alive has been rough

It was right then that he saw you across the bar, standing in a group of girls that you’d been friends with back in high school, looking even more beautiful than the last time he saw you. 

You hadn’t noticed Patrick yet, and he was sure that when you did, you’d shut down and push him away again. You’d avoided him for so long, he was surprised that you two had even ended up in the same place. 

Next to you was some guy, standing stiffly and looking completely uninterested in whatever conversation you were having with your friends. It felt like a knife had just been shoved into Patrick’s stomach. He figured that you’d move on eventually, and he’s been with girls that he met on tour since he’d dated you anyways, but seeing you, with this boring, pretentious-looking guy felt unbearable. 

That “guy” was your boyfriend, of about 6 months now, that you’d finally brought home to meet your family. He was boring, and uninterested in the things that you liked, but he was stable, and seemed like a good option for you. So, you two had started dating. 

Everything with him was just… ok. He had a habit of talking down to you, making you feel dumb, and explaining things to you that you’d already known. He didn’t put much care into the relationship, he had never gotten you flowers or anything, but that’s just what guys are like, right? He treated you just fine, and you guys didn’t fight much, so it must be a good match. But something for you was just missing. 

He just… wasn’t Patrick. As much as you resisted admitting it to yourself, deep down you knew that you missed him. Which was basically why you had avoided him at all costs for the past two years, knowing that as soon as you’d start talking again, your progress of “moving on” would be completely wiped away. 

But now, the winter break of your junior year in college, you’d started to be less careful about avoiding the popular spots. Maybe it was just you being careless, or maybe you were hoping that you’d see him somewhere, at the bar, or the club, and have the “chance encounter” that’s been replaying in your daydreams since you started dating your current boyfriend. 

So, already on your third drink of the night, you couldn’t look away when you locked eyes with Patrick Zweig. God, he looked good. He’s gotten more toned from tour, and you’d forgotten just how tall he was. You could feel your boyfriend standing like a statue beside you, scrolling on his phone while your friend updated the group on all of the hometown gossip. But you couldn’t look away from Patrick. And he knew it.

Before you could fully process it, Patrick Zweig was there, standing in front of you. After two years. You wanted to roll your eyes at the smug look he was trying to keep pressed onto his face, but you could see the tenderness in his eyes as he looked at you. He looked so much… softer with you than he did with anyone else. You’d forgotten about that. 

Even your friends smiled when he joined the circle, standing across from you with an almost sheepish smile. Against all odds, they liked him as your boyfriend. At least more than they liked this stuck-up finance bro that you’d brought home this year. As your boyfriend, Patrick had almost become one of the girls, always joining in on a gossip sesh with you all as he held you on his lap, while this current guy acted like he was above that kind of “girly stuff”. 

And you just wanted to fall back into his arms. And god, he wanted that too.

But the idle chatter kept going, as you looked at the ground in silence. Your boyfriend didn’t pay any attention to your current state, he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation anyways. But Patrick did, he always did. 

“So… how have you been?” he asked, as you looked up hesitantly. And, at his voice, your boyfriend finally looked up from his phone. 

“She’s been good,” your boyfriend said, his face contorting into a bitter snarl. “I’m her boyfriend, by the way. Who are you?” he asked Patrick, his voice immediately sounding defensive.

The conversation passed by uncomfortable between them, as you dissociated from the scene before you. Your boyfriend sucked. You missed Patrick. And maybe it was wrong to break up over something like that, but in that moment, you just couldn’t care. 

Finishing your third drink, it all passed by in a blur. You pulled your boyfriend away for a second, ending that relationship before you did anything else. It was impulsive, and not your best moment, but honestly it needed to happen. 

And you ended up back with your friends, as your boyfriend ubered back to the hotel, talking and laughing with them, feeling at home for a moment. 

The rest of the night passed by in a blur, as you fell back into Patrick’s arms as the conversation with your friends continued, him laughing alone, his arms snaked around your waist from behind as you leaned against him, the haze of the bar finally feeling relaxing, instead of too loud or too chaotic. 

[madamspellmans-met-tet]

🍷Illicit Affairs🍷┃ Ch. 3

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

wc: ~ 3.2 k

summary: Lilia has a stressful day at work and wants nothing more than to enjoy a hot bubble bath—but she is interrupted.

*******************************************

All of Lilia’s pants had been in the washing this morning, leaving her with no other choice but to wear a pencil skirt that she didn’t dare bend over in for fear it might rip. The new concierge had been paying her enough attention today without the need for a spectacle. Who was she kidding? She would’ve laughed her pretty ass off if it would’ve happened. 

She drove home through the dense autumn fog after her shift and nearly ran into an unfortunately positioned trash can, but after a day of yelling at people to get their shit together because the hotel inspectors were bound to show up any day now as they did every year, she didn’t have an ounce of energy left to work herself up about it. Her scalp ached from a day of wearing her hair tightly pinned up, even now that she’d tugged it loose. 

In her driveway, she left the car without her parka but regretted it as soon as she'd stepped out. She was plucking the house keys from her bag when the front door opened. Alice came out with her hair curled and a tinge of scarlet on her lips that matched the ends of her fringe—a highly unusual sight. 

"Mh, where are you going?" Lilia sang. 

"Just Stephen's."

"Stephen." She weighed the name on her tongue. "He has a name. So it's serious."

"Well, we've had a few nice dates, and he's—he's a good guy, mamma, I promise. Even mom said so, and she—"

The house key dug into her palm as she clenched her fist around it. "Lorna has met him?"

“He was in the area, and—and you don’t like men.”

She huffed, blinking the ache away, swallowing, and nodded. While she might not have the same interest in men that Lorna did, she would have hoped Alice knew she would never mock her for dating one. Didn't she know that she loved her no matter what?

Alice sighed, a breath heavy with guilt. “Are you mad, mamma?”

“No.” She stepped closer and fixed Alice's lipstick with the edge of her red nail, holding her face between thumb and index finger. The smile didn't reach her eyes. “Just sad.”

Alice pulled her into a hug and squeezed tight, squishing her cheek against Lilia's as she'd done since she was a little girl. Lilia put her hand on the back of her head and felt the hurt in her chest melt away. Even when she drew away, Alice kept her arms looped around her neck, and Lilia put her hands on them, rubbing her thumbs in crescents. "You look beautiful, piccinia. Bellissima."

"Thanks." Alice smiled and let go of her. "I'm off now." She kissed Lilia's cheek. "Don't wait up for me."

She set about to leave, but Lilia stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Wait. Have you heard from my docezza? She left so suddenly after the concert—"

"She cancelled band practice this week. Not sure what's going on, but I'll give her a call tomorrow."

Lilia took the information in, but it did nothing to quell her worries. Her mind went spinning with possibilities of what could've happened. "Va bene. Have fun, my love." 

"Bye, mamma."

She ran off with a wave, and Lilia looked after her for a moment before going inside. It was quiet. Her house was hardly ever quiet. Having Alice live with her again after the divorce had ensured it stayed that way, but now she was once again leaving the nest. When Alice had first left for college, it had thrown her into a midlife crisis that had led to her ripping the tapestry off the walls one night and then renovating the whole house. This time, she was developing a crush on the sinfully much younger best friend of her daughter.

She tossed everything aside—her bag, her coat, her shoes—and went to the bathroom to open the tap and draw herself a hot bath. Letting the water run, she headed for the bedroom to fetch her bathrobe, reading glasses, and the copy of Wicked Witch on her nightstand. While she was at it, she let her clothes pool at her feet and stood naked in front of the floor-length mirror. 

-> continue

[gotzapbytheportal]

DPXDC ( YALL I TRIED HEHEHHHBF)

No…

Please… NO..

Stop…

M-MOM ITS ME, PLEASE! MO-...

SKRRRRT

Danny still remembers the day he got separated from his own twin brother, and the day he got a loving older sister named Jasmine.

Dark stormy sky and a one ratty dumpster was all Danny has for company after all he's been through

Escaping with nothing but hope and 4 years worth of training  just to escape them. 

Then

 Jasmine Fenton for all her 12 year old glory, saw a wounded 9 years old little danny bleeding hiding behind a dumpster, threatening her with a wakizashi to end her life.

To his shocked what she saw was not a treat to her life. What she saw was

She saw a brother. A little brother.

Dannys grateful… after all.. 

Her patience and love was the reason Danny was able to forgive his brother after what he's done after all..

She was the reason why…why i-...

…..

Damn dying for real does make you reminisce about your life… 

Looking back….. Damian did care…. Huh

Those long nights scolding me for being reckless. Eyes pierce as he stares at me while patching me up… hiding behind those eyes was a caring older brother… ehem by a minute 

Eyes that you can compare to a loving older sister…

a calloused hand from training to meet an  immortal creep standards compared to a soft gentle hand…. Both had unconditionally loved a little failure disguised as a boy and considered him their brother…

Their brother… 

 A Brother who was about to die permanently as his loving sister's biological parents digs inside his chess and discovers his core…

A Brother to a certain heir meant to be with their father as Robin

A Brother who the last thing he sees as his inside were grabbed was his once considered loving mom and dad who promised they would protect them….

Maddie and Jack fenton gleaming faces as they grabbed his core, transferred it to a machine of their creation and promptly cracked it.

It would be two days after then a geek boy and a goth girl would be finally able to find the boy.

Body discarded at the side of the room that was once a basement as the older fentons would later make an agreement with a certain government officials and successfully capturing and causing harm to the ghost of the past killing them succesfully 

Later then an older sister would promptly Cry herself to the last of her breath with regret for not saving her dear little brother.

Oh and the dear Brother of the boy who would only know the truth of what really occurred the night his brother went  missing is when years had already passed..

That it's already too late to make a change.

[uncle-fruity]

I love the new year! It's my favorite holiday, and people who say that nothing changes or resolutions don't work or that everything is bad so there's no point in celebrating miss the point, imo. It's about getting through another year! It's about progressing and surviving and setting intentions for the new year. But too many people think of resolutions and new beginnings as things that have to be Big and Challenging for them to be meaningful, but that's really not how change works.

For the last several years, I've done what I call Resolution Bingo. I think of 24 things that range from Easily Doable to A Challenge and write them out on a bingo sheet. (Free space is always just Stay Alive.) The idea isn't to do all 24, but rather to try to get one or more bingos throughout the year.

I have never actually gotten a bingo (though I've come very close) but it doesn't matter. The point of Resolution Bingo is to put intention out there for the new year. I think of things I want to do or learn or get back into and I put them on my bingo sheet. Because of Resolution Bingo, I've gone to see more live shows than I used to. I've done more art projects & followed through with them. I've visited new places & had new adventures. I've learned new skills in cooking, needlework, and many other areas of interest. I have made both big and small positive steps for my life because of the resolutions I set at the beginning of the year.

So my advice is to think of resolutions as less of a major life change that you want to dive into -- take the stress off. You can make smaller resolutions that help with your bigger goals. I always tell people who decide they also want to do Resolution Bingo that they shouldn't put anything like, "Run daily/weekly," because as soon as you miss a day, it can demotivate you into stopping all together. Or, if you keep it going, you might feel guilty about marking it off on your bingo sheet at the end of the year, even if you still did a lot of work towards the goal. So, usually, I recommend setting realistic goals that get you going. Stuff like "run a 5k" or "run 3 different running trails" or you know... whatever is reasonable for you and has a tangible beginning & end. If you start working towards something fun or rewarding, you will still be doing the running you set out to do. Going for a daily run is good and all, but it's a slog if you don't know what you're working towards or if you don't allow yourself to rest on days that you really need rest.

My resolutions this year include things like getting a piercing, reading 50 academic papers, visiting all the libraries in my city, learning to place all the countries on a world map from memory, learning 3 new recipes, go somewhere new, complete 1 sewing project... Stuff that will take time and energy, but which will improve my life in ways I want to see it improve. If I don't set some goals -- even fun ones like going to a new museum -- I will just forget to do anything exciting or new & get lost in the depressing Grind of Life. And if you're lost in the depressing Grind of Life, remember to get outside and so anything at all that sounds appealing or productive or fun. It really helps to connect with the good things in life; makes you stronger and more stable in the long run.

I'm coming out as a new year's enjoyer. "Oh you will never stick to these goals" "nothing is really different between one day and the next" "why celebrate the bad years" because I want to!!! Because I love endings and beginnings and making lists!! I love the concept of starting the year by partying I love the drama of kissing someone at midnight I love the one time of the year when it is cold I love starting a new calendar and I love cheering for no reason

[palskippah]

PLEASE I NEED SOMEONE TO DRAW AMBS AND BAL (MOVIE VERSION) ON THEIR WEDDING DAY KISSINF AGHHHH

HII I'm not good at drawing people kissing in the lips but I got these!!

References and some thoughts under the cut!

-One of the ways I imagine them marrying is through the civil (? whatever it's called in English), where Nimona would be right behind Ballister when he's signing like, sign, Ballister, sign the contract now! like that scene in Shrek 4 with Rumpelstiltskin

-Neither of them carried a bouquet, but they got one anyways just to throw it (Ambrosius did)

-Apparently in some Mexican weddings they throw the groom in the air to celebrate him and I love the idea, so both Ballister and Ambrosius get thrown in the air djfkdf

>(better if they're part of the crowd that is throwing them, and then it's them catching eachother when they fall aaa)

-Also the dancing, imagine it with any sort of music in the background and both of them dancing together and then just deciding to have fun on their own and doing whatever dance moves, even if they have nothing to do with the music (like there's cumbia sounding and Ambrosius is doing the gangnam style and Ballister is throwing it back or something 😭)

-They have a lot of fun wooo

-Also wanted to draw them in traditional clothes too wiwiw I hope you know what I mean with the 'groom pose' sjdksd both hands held in front of them

-Based this (unfinished) thingy on a TikTok I saw of 'if I (anxious person) were to get married' and thought of both of them but drew it with Ambrosius.

-It goes like:

Ambrosius: Hey! So- Just wanted to confirm, is the wedding still on? (Ballister answers) Ambrosius: Yes? (Ballister says something) Cool! I'll see you there then! Ambrosius, in his blue wedding clothes: I'll be the guy in blue. (Ballister says something) Yeah! Okay, bye, love you :D

>And at the other end of the thing, there was Ballister all nervously rambling to a very bored Nimona about what if Ambrosius calls it off last minute? Or what if he regrets marrying me right now? I can't just ask either, that'd be- and then there's the call and he's like, yes, it's still on! :D Yes I know, and remember I'll be wearing a dark sherwani. See you there, love you too :D

>And then they're both a bit more relaxed with that sjdfks (they're some rooms away from each other)

>[btw, those are supposed to be Ambrosius' moms helping him get the final details in his clothes done, like patting him to iron out the sleeves (they're ironed already) and placing his headwear and stuff]

-They're still pretty nervous tho, so, based in a video I watched, imagine them like:

Person marrying them: Now, I, Ballister. Ballister and Ambrosius, at the same time: I, Ballister- Ballister: ? I'm Ballister. Ambrosius: No, it's me. Ballister: Oh, okay. Ballister: No, wait what--

-Ambrosius: Hi, I'm Ballister's husband :D

>Ambrosius: This is my husband, Ballister. We're married :DD

>Ambrosius: We're the Goldenhearts :DDD

>>

-(some of the references)

That's it!

[ar-ghilas-vir-banal]

When I first played DAI, I found Solas callous and cold. He aggravated me with how bull headed he was about his plans and not listening. Still does in that regard. But what upset me so much was how he treated the Inquisitor.

Just. Broke her heart. For nothing. And he was so scant with his affection that you can tell she drank up whatever drops he spilled out for her. Like in Crestwood when he touches her cheek, the woman is so touch starved that she touches her face in shock.

But now I realize what was happening with that enraging man and I can’t hate him for it. It was never meant to be cruel. He adored her. So much that despite knowing he had to follow through, he knew the price of it would be what shreds of goodness he still had. Even in DAV, Rook can accuse him of being just like Elgar’nan and all Solas says is “I know.” He knows what he is.

And that kind of person would only take Lavellan’s love for him and use it to control and eventually destroy her. If she’d been there the night Varric was killed, he’d have killed her in the heat of the moment. If she’d confronted him before he’d been worn down again, beaten down to the ground physically, it wouldn’t have worked. And he’s still trying to go through with it right up until Mythal, with her final key for the chains wrapped around and within that man, finally does something.

Solas didn’t leave her because he grew tired of her or “couldn’t be distracted.” He left because he was terrified of her seeing what he’d become. If she was close enough to see that, she’d be close enough for it to hurt, and she would either come to hate him or she wouldn’t even get that chance. He loved her. He couldn’t just let that happen.

When she snarled “Var lath vir suledin” at him through her pain, his reply was “I wish it could.” It doesn’t mean “our love is too weak for this.” It means “I am becoming something that will destroy what we have and even though ending it is cutting my own heart out, I’d rather this pain than for us to become what the Evanuris did. Remember me as Solas. You will always be my Vhenan.”

I think that’s why Lavellan never stopped loving him. Because she knew he still loved her. Even if it was very confusing. But the beautiful unhinged Lavellan girl you are you’re own flavor of obsessed thing that Solas she sees him again, he reminds her of what he’s done like “I TOLD YOU, DON’T YOU REMEMBER WHAT I DID?!”

To which she snaps back without missing a beat: “I FORGIVE YOU!” and sounds so exasperated, like OF COURSE I DO!!

[elixirfromthestars]

A Snow Day With You

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (college au)

Summary: The end of the semester has you stressing beyond belief, so Bucky decides to cheer you up by spending a snowy afternoon sledding.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warning(s): none. pure fluff.

Prompt/Event: @the-slumberparty december daze -> sledding isn't as fun as when we were kids

a/n: This fluffy drabble is my holiday gift to you my dear Ray @whatever-lmaoo ♡♡ Your comments on my first fic of these two have forever carved a home in my heart, so this one is for you ♡ I hope this fluffy piece can bring you a bit of happiness whenever college gets stressful ♡ This is a standalone fic, but everyone is welcome to read more of their story!₊˚⊹☆ Thank you everyone for reading! ₊˚⊹♡ Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

where their love story began ♡ || fluffy winter fics masterlist ❆

“Babe, we're going to get hypothermia,” you grumble out, hugging your coat closer to your body. The frosty wind shoving past your face, chilling you to the bone. Bucky plops the wooden toboggan onto the snow, laughing in disbelief at your assertion, “Sweetheart, we’re not getting hypothermia.” He’s not wrong as he says this, since apart from the wind, the weather was tolerable. Last night’s snowstorm ended this morning, leaving behind ten inches of snow. Enough for a multitude of winter activities—like sledding—to be possible. 

“Maybe not, but one of us will break a bone,” you retort, watching in growing concern as other people slide down the snowy hill and end up tumbling out of their sleds when they reach the bottom. Bucky follows your line of sight and playfully rolls his eyes, “No one is going to break a bone, Y/n.” He goes to adjust your scarf, the indigo fabric a little too loose for his liking. Up close he can see the look in your eye, the one that tells him you’re not done trying to back out of this just yet. 

“Maybe you won’t, but I might. I’m not athletic enough to go sledding.”

“Baby, you don’t have to be athletic to go sledding.”

The more you speak the more Bucky’s amusement grows, but he tries not to show it too much as he sees the underlying nervousness dancing in your eyes. He finishes fixing your scarf and you plant a soft kiss on his cheek as a thank you. He smiles at you fondly, noticing your grumpy mood subside slightly. He doesn’t take your mood to heart, knowing the real reason you haven’t been feeling the best lately is because of one thing and one thing only. 

Finals.

More specifically, final grades—or the lack thereof. Most of your professors haven’t submitted them yet, leaving you in a state of limbo unsure of whether you managed to save the semester or not. 

Bucky has been your rock throughout finals season. Supporting you with extra study sessions, holding you close to soothe your frustration when it got the better of you, kissing all your tears away, and on those days you needed a break, he would put on your favorite comfort show and order takeout from your favorite restaurant. He did anything and everything he could to make you feel better. 

These last few days, however, all of that wasn’t enough to shake away the dread that insisted on making a home in your heart. Bucky knew he needed to do something different to cheer you up and get your mind off of things. After seeing how the snow had piled up overnight, he was either going to ask you to build a snowman or go sledding.

Your boyfriend—captain of your university’s baseball team—naturally chose sledding. 

“Just trust me, okay? I’ll hold you tight and make sure nothing happens to you,” Bucky promises as he makes his way over to the sled. He sits down on the end of it, his left hand gently outstretching to grab onto yours. Your gaze locks with his, your trepidation melting away the more you look into his eyes. There’s something about the snow all around him that makes his eyes a little more blue and it pulls you in with the assurance of safety. You nod, taking hold of his hand and letting him guide you to the front of the sled—slowly pulling you down to sit in front of him. 

He instructs you on everything you need to know to keep yourself stable and inside at all times. You’re not entirely paying attention as you focus more on the way he scoots forward and presses your back against his chest. His arms are on either side of you, encasing you in a protective embrace. You lean into it, letting the steadiness of his presence soothe the remaining unease in your body. 

“I’ll countdown from five and then I’ll push off, okay?” he mentions kindly, his chin resting on your shoulder as he awaits your response. You watch as others go down the snowy hill without a care in the world. Children and adults alike coasting down on sleds and pool floats, merriment written on their faces and echoing in their laughs. It helps subdue the butterflies in your stomach somewhat. 

At your silence, Bucky presses a comforting kiss to your cheek, the coldness of his lips bringing you back to him. You look over your shoulder to give him a reassuring smile, “Okay, but don’t you dare let me go, Bucky Barnes.” You warn playfully, feeling the way his chest rumbles with a laugh before he replies, “I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” 

He pulls you tighter against his chest as your hands grasp onto the steering rope. He starts the countdown from five gradually inching the sled to the edge of the peak. When the countdown ends, you feel the butterflies in your stomach flutter intensely as the descent begins. Your breath gets caught in your throat and your eyes close tightly the entire way down. While a shriek of adrenaline escapes you, Bucky chortles the entire time as he’s having the time of his life. 

“See, that wasn’t so bad was it?” Bucky poses the question when you reach the bottom, a boyish grin on his face. Your eyes open when you look behind you, noticing the way the apples of his cheeks and nose are rosy from the cold, his hair blown across his forehead, and yet the sparkle in his pretty blues unaffected by the chill. You’re reminded then and there that you’d do anything for him. Even sliding down the hill a million times if it meant keeping that joy on his face. 

“I think I left my stomach at the top of the hill, but apart from that—it wasn’t so bad,” you concede, your smile matching his. He hums in amusement, “We should probably go get it then. Shouldn’t we?” You know he’s really asking you if you two could go down the hill again, and there’s no way you would ever be able to say no, so you nod—knowing you would follow him anywhere. 

The second time you go down the hill you keep your eyes open. Marveling at the sight of the snowy trees blurring into one. By the third time, you're laughing along with Bucky and by the fourth you have the same sparkle in your eyes—enjoying the rush of the fall. And by the fifth, the stress of finals is long forgotten and Bucky feels an overwhelming sense of pride knowing he was able to lift that weight off your shoulders. 

On your last descent, things don’t go as smoothly as the other times. Halfway down the hill, the sled bumps into a large rock hidden beneath the layers of snow. You barely have time to register when Bucky yells your name, as the sled derails from its path—your stomach flipping along with the sled. 

You end up tumbling a few feet down the hill. Bucky holds you like a lifeline to his body as you land in the blanket of snow. You’re disoriented for a moment, but Bucky lifts himself to his knees in an instant, hovering above you to scan you from head to toe for any injuries. The worry etched into his features tugging at your heartstrings. 

“Y/n, are you okay? Sweetheart, please tell me you’re not hurt. Do I need to—” The fit of giggles that erupt from you cuts off his distressed rambling, a bewildered expression replacing his concern. Instead of telling him you’re alright, you decide to show him. Your hands reach out to grasp the edges of his coat and pull him down for a kiss. He melts into it faster than ice does, a cheesy smile replacing his frown. 

“I think that’s enough sledding for today,” you mumble into the kiss. He nods, agreeing wholeheartedly as he deepens it, “Mm, I second that. I can think of other ways we can spend the rest of the day,” his tone drips with suggestion, his eyes glimmering with playful mischief. You slap at his chest lightheartedly, which only elicits a deep chuckle from him before he plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

No matter what comes next, you know there’s nowhere else you’d rather be on a snowy day than with him.

[sylvia-und-sybille]

💯 [100] How many words does your WIP currently have? How many words do you hope it’ll have when it’s done? 2.3K+ now, and whatever happens, that happens.

⌛️ [Hourglass] How long have you been working on this WIP? 3 days.

📚 [Books] Is this WIP part of a series or standalone? AU location (starts as) and aged-up characters.

🎀 [Bow] How many named characters are in this WIP? How many do get a POV? OTP only. Even as 3rd person's point of view there's little of point of view at all (as thoughts or just about a person alone.)

💖 [Heart] What is your favorite moment in this WIP? OTP talk & do things together.

🎶 [Notes] Do you have any other WIP related things, like moodboards, character portraits, playlists or similar? It can happen in 0.001% of cases (if, then fanfictions only.)

📖 [Open Book] What form do you want this WIP to take when it’s done? Posted, printed, published, etc? Posted only.

🐀 [Rat] Name three reasons why this WIP is great at being insert genre here. (You can send a genre, or let the recipient pick one.) Romance, as it's about a lot of love (as in every fanfiction about them.)

🐁[Mouse] Name three reasons why this WIP is horrible at being insert genre here. (You can send a genre, or let the recipient pick one.) Humour. Unfortunately, no funny moments.

🔎 [Magnifier] Is there a phrase/word you know you use too often? Will you change it in editing? So (for years.) If exaggerate, the answer is, so what? So to be it. | Whenever possible, I try to find other way to glue parts of looong sentences and not to break them into shorter ones. The writer of the original version had looong sentences as well and paragraphs can seem almost endless in many cases.

🍖 [Meat] How many fictional people were harmed in the making of this WIP? EVERY SINGLE of my fanfictions & original stories has happy end (unless past when I wanted to write about harm done to or defeat of a bad or unpleasant character.) In the case of latest WIP fanfiction: deep sadness of both, character 2: wish to cry before relief, no harm.

🌈 [Rainbow] If at the beginning of your WIP the characters knew about the end, would they kill you to stop you from writing it? They would look forward to a plot twist (mostly character 2, as character 1 had an idea.)

‍🎨 [Palette] If your WIP was a color, which color would it be? Rainbow, as they deserve.

🍩 [Donut] What’s the weirdest thing someone eats in your WIP? What’s the best thing? No food or drinks are mentioned (yet?)

🔒 [Lock] Would you let your family, friends, or other people you know in real life read your WIP? No, and I almost don't know people in real life. Yes, I'm so called "live under a rock."

🖋️ [Pen] Describe your WIP in a single, terrible sentence. At first, the two are icebergs, but very, very soon, nothing is under water . . . (They talk about character 1 as having an iceberg, so . . .) . . . positive plot twist, philosophical discussion, something else unexpected (positive again.) (Note: something else is before plot twist, though. | I've had to search for answers to at least understand how such description can be possible.)

❌ [Cross] What would your WIP get cancelled on Twitter for? What does it mean even? If as not accepted, one of important parts is gender non-conformity. Those who are against girls & women who don't look feminine can be highly displeased. BUT what can I say, the version the fanfiction is based on has scenes with character 2 in man's shirt. So yes, haters can hate as long as they want.

Random WIP Ask Game

💯 [100] How many words does your WIP currently have? How many words do you hope it'll have when it's done?

⌛️ [Hourglass] How long have you been working on this WIP?

📚 [Books] Is this WIP part of a series or standalone?

🎀 [Bow] How many named characters are in this WIP? How many do get a POV?

💖 [Heart] What is your favorite moment in this WIP?

🎶 [Notes] Do you have any other WIP related things, like moodboards, character portraits, playlists or similar?

📖 [Open Book] What form do you want this WIP to take when it's done? Posted, printed, published, etc?

🐀 [Rat] Name three reasons why this WIP is great at being insert genre here. (You can send a genre, or let the recipient pick one.)

🐁[Mouse] Name three reasons why this WIP is horrible at being insert genre here. (You can send a genre, or let the recipient pick one.)

🔎 [Magnifier] Is there a phrase/word you know you use too often? Will you change it in editing?

🍖 [Meat] How many fictional people were harmed in the making of this WIP?

🌈 [Rainbow] If at the beginning of your WIP the characters knew about the end, would they kill you to stop you from writing it?

‍🎨 [Palette] If your WIP was a color, which color would it be?

🍩 [Donut] What's the weirdest thing someone eats in your WIP? What's the best thing?

🔒 [Lock] Would you let your family, friends, or other people you know in real life read your WIP?

🖋️ [Pen] Describe your WIP in a single, terrible sentence.

❌ [Cross] What would your WIP get cancelled on Twitter for?

[reocidal]

the other side

— xiao x gn!reader

prologue || >

masterlist

content warnings: break-up, angst, mentions of nausea

"we should break up."

xiao is stone-faced as he sits opposite you at what once had been your shared kitchen table. now it's just yours; apparently his staff will drop by later to take his things. and he's leaving, without even a proper goodbye.

where'd this come from, so out of the blue? you'd been fine as of late. maybe a little busy, a little distant because of that, but nothing more.

"xiao," you begin.

"don't." he shakes his head, standing up roughly. "i don't expect you to understand, but don't try to fight it. nothing will make me change my mind."

"xiao." you're so, so close to crying; but then his next words make you pause out of disbelief.

"how much?" he demands, and though you know he's trying to act all mean and nasty right now, you still hear his voice shake. just a little.

"what?"

"how much do i need to pay for you to not pursue me about this? i only have about a thousand in cash right now but—"

"this isn't about money!" you get up, stumbling blindly after them.

"you can contact my staff and they'll wire over any amount you ask for—"

"xiao, what— i love you!" your voice is raw and broken, and it makes him freeze in place.

"stop," he pleads, though he doesn't make a move to turn back. and his voice breaks, and you think he might be crying too. if only his back wasn't turned, if only you could see—

unceremoniously, the door slams shut, leaving you alone with an empty apartment and a broken heart.

THE OTHER SIDE

he hates himself for being this weak, for letting you see what he'd been desperately trying to hide the whole time.

it's more about you than him, this breakup, but still completely his fault nonetheless. so, so many regrets — he shouldn't have followed those stupid dreams of his, when all he dreams of these days is you.

and it's his fault that you're at risk now, too; his fault that you being associated with him in the slightest will result in you getting jumped by a horde of rabid fangirls. he doesn't want any of that anymore though, not the game and not the fans and not even the money.

but he can't tell you that — he knows you'd follow him to the ends of the world (to be fair, he'd do the same for you) and so the only way to really make sure you're going for good is to make you hate him.

his phone rings — it's one of the higher-ups of his company, and he says exactly three words when xiao answers the call.

"is it done?"

"yeah," xiao grits out. he fucking hates that guy.

THE OTHER SIDE

4NEMO's latest press conference addresses the recent rumours about dating and similar topics; you watch xiao tell everyone there that he is definitely not dating anyone, and he doesn't even look sad or anything. seeing him so okay is nauseating and the love that you'd been so full of just a few days ago feels terrifyingly out of reach.

TAGLIST IS OPEN !!!

@kissunday @tiramizuloz @verafunny @heartmaddie @mivqko @fiannee @kang-ulzzang @mixolya @kr1nqu

© reocidal 2025

[fleuryuns]

presenting a fic by @FLEURYUNS

kiss me

IN WHICH trapped in a tower and controlled by your father your entire life, jay helps you come up with a plan to finally escape

PAIRING ⟡ guard!jay x heiress!femreader

UNIVERSE ⨯ tangled au (minus the long hair)

WARNINGS ⟡ depictions of a controlling parent (not in detail), fluff, kissing, inspired by anthony and johanna from sweeney todd

WORD COUNT ⨯ 1.8k

AUTHOR'S NOTE . . . wrote this after watching sweeney todd live and was inspired by the lovers’ storyline… so here’s this! title (and subtitles in the header) taken from kiss me from the musical

You wait until your father is out of sight, walking through the thick vines that separate you from the real world, before you rush to the main window and slide the key down. Leaning over the ledge, you watch the silver key shine with the sunlight all the way down, before it lands with a ting! onto the rocks below.

Without a word, the guard bends down to pick up what fell at his feet, not looking up, or making a face that tells what he’s thinking. Then, he turns and heads to the front door.

Hearing the door unlock and open downstairs, you decide to wait for him on the couch, anxiously fiddling with your hands as you listen to his footsteps coming up.

Your father delivered the news as soon as he came home from his overnight hunt. He’s found someone for you—You’ll be married off in two moons.

To be married off means to be taken away from the tower, only to be locked in a legally binding prison with a man you know nothing about. You’ve had enough and need to get out of here.

Jay has worked for your father since his own parents passed away. It’s his only way of making a living in these harsh times, he can’t even protest the grotesqueness of his position. As a guard, he stands post at the bottom of the tower to assure no one comes in and no one comes out. Nobody even knows of the tower’s existence, let alone of the heiress that lives in it, so it isn’t a difficult task. Though, it is daunting.

Within the first week, you tried to escape twice before accepting that this new guard will take his job just as seriously as the previous worker. You frowned. He did too.

After another week, you decided to start sending him letters through paper cranes you’d throw out the window. There’s no reason for you to try not to at least make a friend—He was much younger than any of the other guards, so this was your chance. It took him four days before he bent down and read one.

“What’s your name?” That was the first thing he asked you.

Looking over to make sure your father wasn’t around to hear the interaction go through, you leaned over the window’s edge and yelled a reply. “Y/N, I’m D/N’s daughter.”

He didn’t respond, simply nodded and went back to staring off at the big vines, waiting for his employer to come back from his hunts.

After a month of these exchanges, growing lengthier by the day, you pushed the key off the ledge for the first time.

“What’s this,” Jay had asked, examining it under the light.

You watched the light refracture off of it from the window. “The key to the front door. It only works from the outside.”

“I hope you’re not asking me to let you out.” His voice was stern. “That’s asking for both of our heads to end up on sticks, if not worse.”

You grimaced at the visual. “No… My father will be out for another few hours. That’s his spare key which only works from the outside. Do with it what you will.” Keeping it vague and leaving it at that, you stepped away from the window, hoping he received your unspoken message.

It took him two other days to figure it out.

From then on, while your father was away, Jay would come up the tower and spend a few hours with you. You’ve never done something so scandalous, but it felt so freeing.

You would do whatever you could in here. Although the space was limited, and there really wasn’t much to actually do, you managed to get creative, inspired by the new friend you’ve made.

Sometimes he would teach you to cook new meals.

(Your father would ask how you learned to cook like this, you would reply it was all from your head.)

Sometimes he’d teach you to play the guitar, using crafting strings you’d attach to the chairs to create faux-guitar strings.

Other times, you would teach him how to draw.

(”Did you make this?” your father asked one night. You simply hummed.)

Once, you even taught him about the constellations, the first time your father’s hunt went through the night. You were sitting by the ledge, pointing at the stars.

Your father came back to the tower unexpectedly that night. Jay had to cling down the tower from the outside. His employer was rushing up the steps below completely unaware of their visitor. When he found you leaning against the window, he grumbled something about you failing to escape it by jumping off. Coward, he called you. You told him you were going to bed early.

Even though you’ve still been bound to these achingly familiar walls, spending time with Jay felt like you were in a new world. His jokes made you laugh out loud like you were the only girl in the world, and you might’ve been. He’d look into your eyes as if they were brighter than every constellation in the sky, but you knew that couldn’t be true because his eyes held the brightest stars.

You know your father doesn’t even have a hunch of your friendship with the guard, not a single suspicion—He’s not the brightest man on the block, and that’s saying something considering, before Jay, he was the only man you’ve ever known. And yet, he marched in this morning to tell you to prepare for the wedding.

Two moons. In two days, you’ll be a married woman.

You can’t have that.

Jay comes bursting through the door with a smile. “Good morning, M’Lady,” he greets.

“Hello, Jay,” you respond solemnly. You can’t find the strength to hide your disappointment.

“What’s wrong?” Of course, he sees right through you.

So, you motion him to the couch and waste no time in telling him the horrible news. Not missing out any details. The glint in your father’s eyes, indicating that he must be getting a fair sum of money out of this. The drop in your stomach when the words left his mouth. Your fear of not only leaving Jay, but being trapped once more and never being able to leave.

He understands, you see. His eyes look into yours comfortingly. “You want to leave?”

You nod. “Tonight,” you specify. “I’ll pack my bags right now. My father won’t return until the sunset, that gives me plenty of time. We’ll make some food to bring, as well, in case I don’t find somewhere to stay. Blankets, too. I’m not sure how long I’ll be away, where I’ll be, but—”

“Kiss me.”

“I want you to come with me.”

“Kiss me.”

You smile up at him.

He takes your hands in his. He repeats, “Kiss me.”

“Kiss me?”

Bashfully, Jay turns away, still keeping your hands locked in his comfortably. His cheeks redden, you notice. You can’t hide your smile.

You reach up to his face, holding his cheek in your hand and turning his head to face yours again.

His smile shies, but not away. “I love you, Y/N. I want to keep you safe, I want to help you see the world you’re missing out on. It’s so beautiful, Y/N, you’ll love it.”

Tears well up in your eyes and you’re not sure why. You see Jay’s eyes get teary as well and you let a giggle escape. “I want to see it with you,” you tell him in a whisper. “Show it to me.”

You spend the day running from corner to corner, wall to wall, pulling apart the only place you’ve ever known and stuffing your memories into a bag. You only take your happiest memories with you, leaving the living nightmares behind, shoving them under the bed to never see again.

Jay is in the kitchen for the most part. He puts together meals that don’t require being kept in a fridge, first, then adding in the refrigerated foods into bags, last. He tells you that the two of you will need to prioritize these foods. “I’ll take care of it.”

“We’ll take care of it together,” you assure him, closing the tupperware for him.

In total, you have two bags of your things and one of food. It’s heavy, but worth it. “We can take Hemi,” you say. Your father didn’t take the horse today, you noticed. He only does when the hunts are far. “He’ll carry my things.”

The two of you come up with a game plan. If your father isn’t too far out, that means that the most difficult part would be getting out of the city, but once you’re out, you’ll be free from him. Jay knows enough of the city, so he’s to take the lead and guide you through the hidden streets to not draw too much attention—Last thing either of you need is being spotted by a commoner who’s nosy enough to spread gossip that’ll reach your father.

With the bag on your shoulders, you say goodbye to this life. This life of misery, of suffocation. You say goodbye to the younger version of yourself; The version of yourself who had hope. The version that lost it. You’re proud to be the version that gained it once more.

You take a hold of Jay’s hand as you make your way down the spiral staircase. He opens the door for you, while you stand in awe at the light shining through it.

“Woah,” you whisper, taking your first steps outside. “It’s…”

“Beautiful,” Jay finishes, though you don’t notice his eyes are on you, instead of the scenery.

There’s a rose bush growing from where the vines come down to. You never knew they could smell so fragrant. The grass hasn’t been cut in a while, it reaches above your shoes, tickling your calves. You almost wish you weren’t wearing shoes to really feel it. You want to roll around in it for hours. 

You hum, closing your eyes. There’s a light breeze. You take a deep breath to take it all in. “All of this was underneath my nose all these years…”

You’ve always known your father was a cruel man, but knowing that he kept something, everything so heart wrenchingly beautiful just out of reach from you, taunting you without even knowing it. You frown.

“Let’s get out of here,” Jay suggests, feeling the shift in the air. He takes your hand once more and gestures toward the barn. Hemi snorts from the inside.

“Wait,” you say, pulling him back toward you. “Kiss me.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Jay places his hands on your cheeks and leans down to meet your lips.

It’s magical, so much more than you expected. With your eyes shut, you feel a flush of something familiar running underneath your skin. You press your body against his through the kiss.

You realize, the worst thing your father kept from you has been in your hold this entire time.

Now you know to never let him go.