#Save Water Relationship Cheap And Easy Useful Ideas

[wires-and-hellfires]

Hi could you do Alastor x Vox's sister that's staying at the hotel. Vox didn't know they were in hell and they are not a tech demon like him if this makes any sense.

Vox only realized it was his sister because unlike her brother who's good with tech she opposite like the best equivalent comparison I can think of is someone who's so bad at cooking that they could burn water.

Sorry for the long request you dont have to do it if you don't want to

look at how well you took care of me

Pairing: Alastor & fem! reader (queer-platonic), Vox & sister! reader

Description: Vox comes to the realization that he may have made a mistake... he can only hope it's not too late.

Warnings: The battle in episode 8, violence, murder, injuries, alcohol, Alastor as a warning in itself, Rosie being Rosie,

Author note: Hi hi! Thanks so much for the request!!! I don't write romantic relationships for Alastor, but I loved this idea so I hope a QPR is okay! The title is from "Whispers of Your Brother's Blood" btw. This was tons of fun to write and it kinda got away from me but hopefully it's okay.

Part 2 with a reunion coming soon!

Meeting Alastor was likely the best thing that happened in your entire life, including your time on Earth and in hell.

You weren't stupid. You knew how Alastor treated people, hell, how he used to treat you, and yet, somewhere along the way he showed you more kindness than anyone else.

You met through Rosie, which was likely the best way to come face-to-face with the radio demon.

Rosie found you when you first arrived in hell, and despite very obviously considering eating you, she saw potential of some sort. Perhaps it was your steady gaze or the way you gripped the broken glass in your bloody hand like a knife, but she took you in and showed you life in hell, even if you didn't share her... dietary choices.

When Alastor came for their weekly gossip session meeting, she introduced you two. At first, he seemed to disregard you. You didn't mind.

You did your best work behind the scenes anyhow.

Alastor mentioned a man from the Weapons District who had been speaking badly of Rosie, laughing that he was practically volunteering to be a guest on his broadcast. You could hear the static in his voice from your spot in an armchair across the room. He wasn't joking.

Which meant you had to act first.

Later that night, you bid farewell to Rosie with a smile, claiming you had errands to run, which to be fair, wasn't entirely untrue.

The man was easy to find thanks to Alastor's description. He reeked of cheap booze and tobacco, already drunk in the bar you tracked him to.

Sliding up to him with promises of "a good time" and more booze, he stumbled out of the bar after you, straight into the back alley.

He was dead within 10 minutes. A mugging gone wrong, they'd say.

How tragic.

During the next meeting between Alastor and Rosie, Alastor invited you to sit with them, much to Rosie's delight. And if his smile seemed a bit too knowing and he made a few jokes about drunks in dark alleys? Well, that could stay between the two of you.

And that's where it started.

Every visit, regardless of what you were doing, Alastor would ask if you'd like to join them. You three would chat over tea, sharing gossip and talking shit. You couldn't tell if he genuinely enjoyed your company or if he just found you entertaining, though you suspected those two things weren't too different with Alastor.

And when someone was a bit too careless with their opinion about Alastor in the bar you frequented one night? The radio demon didn't need to make an appearance, you would destroy that scum yourself-

The next day, Alastor paid you a visit personally.

In the parlour, he expressed an interest in your... skillset, laughing about how you worked in the darkness.

He offered you a deal for your soul.

Whatever care he had developed for you likely saved your life when you refused.

"Partners or nothing," you had offered. When his grin sharpened, you knew he was intrigued.

He was the flashy showman, broadcasting the screams of overlords and inspiring fear across all of hell.

And you?

You were the shadow on the wall, charming those who would be too stubborn or too afraid to usually talk, convincing them to give away the information you needed to build your empire further.

Those who knew of your existence understood the consequences of speaking out. The radio demon didn't take well to those who threatened you.

In a dangerously comforting way, it all felt far too close to your life on earth. Sure, you weren't killing nearly as much back then, but flirting for information, gathering secrets and destroying those who opposed you or those close to you?

Yeah, that was familiar.

Your brother would be proud, you thought.

Or maybe he'd be just as unappreciative as he was in life.

Half a decade at Alastor's side, the two of you taking the phrase "partners in crime" very literally.

As a show of trust, he once allowed you to help with a broadcast, as long as you promised to keep quiet. Admittedly, he quickly discovered your... less-than-ideal skills with technology, but you appreciated the thought nonetheless.

You relied on one another. You leaned on him and he would lean back.

And then he disappeared.

No goodbye, no warning at all, not even a body.

Just... gone.

After five years, you moved into an apartment in Cannibal Town, further isolating yourself. Finding work wasn't difficult, but you refused to use your skills for just anyone, and there were few people you trusted more than Rosie.

You arrived late one night, two years into working with Rosie. Setting the keys down on the counter, the dull buzz of static spread through the room.

Alastor was holding you before you even hit the ground, legs giving out in relief.

And yes, he wasn't the most physically affectionate demon, but for you?

For you, he could make an exception.

The hotel could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he had apologies to make and a partner to comfort.

The next day, after Alastor pitched his ideal to the princess of hell, he brought in Niffty, Husk and you as help, and if everyone thought you were a soul under his command, well, it was easier that way.

However much you didn't want to admit it, you grew to care for everyone. Losing at cards with Husk, cooking lessons with Angel, sparing with Vaggie, watching musicals with Charlie, crafts with Niffty, failing at inventing with Sir Pentious...

And doing absolutely everything with Alastor. After his reappearance, you were reluctant to let him out of your sight, and the radio demon was all too willing to keep you close, even if Husk seemed concerned over it.

Which was probably why when Alastor tried to get you to leave during the night before the battle, you refused.

You could tell his desperation to keep you safe drive you out of the hotel by the static in his voice, his subtle requests turning to false threats and finally a plea that neither of you would admit to leaving his mouth.

"I'm a lot of terrible things, Alastor, but I am not disloyal. I will stand tomorrow with you and everyone else. You're not leaving me again."

And for the first time that you've met him, he lets it go. No further bargaining or attempts to trap you, just a sigh and "Whatever you want, my dear," with a tighter smile than usual.

The next day, everything goes to shit.

Alastor and Adam are fighting, with Alastor firmly kicking his ass.

Then Sir General Pentious yells to unjam a cannon near you, and while pushing random buttons and gesturing angrily, you scream, "I don't know how to use this shit!"

You don't see the VoxTech drone nearby recording everything for the Vee's future entertainment.

With your back turned, you cry out at the feeling of a spear slicing across your back.

The pain of the blow sends you stumbling forward into the side of the cannon, causing it to finally go off, turning the angel behind you into pieces.

The force behind the machine sent you crashing into the wall of the hotel next to Angel, who turned to you in shock.

At the sound of your pain, Alastor's focus breaks for only a second.

It's enough for Adam to gain the upper hand, breaking his staff in two and sending him to the ground.

As he fades into the shadows, he focuses on your energy signature and pulls you into the darkness alongside him.

Across hell, at the top of V Tower, Vox swore wildly at the screen.

What a fucking coward!

Alastor running away to die off camera had to be the biggest disappointment in his entire afterlife.

Scratch that, second biggest disappointment. Still a pretty big bummer though.

Saving the other views of the battle for later inspection, he and the other Vee's watched as Lucifer slammed Adam into the dirt in delight.

It was 3 hours after the extermination was cancelled that he found the footage of you and the cannon. Of you hitting the wall and disappearing, but you're not dead, you can't be dead oh please not again-

How long have you been in hell? He assumed that you had been killed permanently before he arrived in hell after you, or maybe you'd even been sent to heaven, despite your sins. If anyone deserved to be forgiven, it was you.

But no, no no- You'd been here, the whole time, in that stupid hotel with fucking Alastor-

Vox's fans speed up in an attempt to keep his whole system from crashing.

Your appearance had changed, sure, but he would recognize the sight of you cussing out technology anywhere.

He would recognize his little sister anywhere, even in death.

This was all his fault.

You and Vox grew up close. Always the two of you, there could be no one else, the sheltering of your parents ensured that.

Over time, Vox's mastery of technology grew, and so did his influence. When he needed someone he could trust to keep things clean and running in the background, you were the obvious choice.

He took you for granted, Vox knew that now. You had argued about something stupid before a job one night, he couldn't even remember what he said, only that he went too far. When you left to go do some "clean up" for a previous situation, he resolved to properly apologize for once when you got home. And to say thank you. He wouldn't forget this time.

But you never came back.

You were found shot dead in an alleyway by a couple of employees from a nearby bar later that night.

Did Vox send you on a job that was too much for you? Were you distracted from the argument?

Either way, it was his fault you were dead. His fault the one person he loved, his baby sister, lay in a casket.

It didn't take long for him to get put into the ground himself.

Arriving in hell felt like a second chance. He would find you and everything would be alright again.

And yet, you were nowhere to be seen.

The drones around the hotel (or what was left of it) circled, scanning for a sign that you were there. That his ignorance hadn't killed you for a second time.

On the screens, the clean-up of the rubble continued.

Vox twitched.

Vox hadn't prayed since he was a child in the front pews of the neighbourhood church. Back when purity was still an option and repentance was unnecessary.

Now, he didn't know who he was pleading to. Does God listen when demons pray?

Please. Please, let her live. Let Alastor have saved her. Let me make this right.

Please.

[ewinglogan93]

Save Water Relationship Cheap And Easy Useful Ideas

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One Stop English Divorce

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How To Stop A Divorce That Has Been Filed

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[plush-rabbit]

Overhaul's Little Sister

Request: are you happy to write some more overhaul? he's how i found your blog! i think a lot of people tend to have issues with characterizing him but you do it so well! maybe overhaul as a manipulative, overprotective big brother? i imagine he'd be the type to make his lil sis rely solely on him, going as far to drug her to keep her movements sluggish whilst claiming it's because she's sick. he'd take her to the bubble bath princess style and sponge her all over before drying her and dressing her up in pretty clothes. she'd eventually be more like overhaul's doll than his little sister hehe.

A/N: Taking a quick break on the OM requests to put this up!! I really love the concept of Overhaul because I always wanna make him slimy and mean because I don’t think he’d change much in any sort of relationship

-

Protective isn’t the correct word, but it's the word that he uses. Of course, he has to protect you. He’s your big brother. You’re the only one allowed to ever call him by his name- to grasp his sleeve in your delicate hands and call him Kai. He puts his entire trust in you, telling you all his secrets as you lay under the covers, his hand knitted into your hair and commenting about how you’re the only that fully understands him- even more than Pops. You’ve been with him through the thick and thin of it all- you’re the one who held him close when you both lived on the streets and filth ruined your skin. You’re his little sister, and he’s the one who will protect you through it all.

Even though the Shie Hassaikai are made up of those that he can trust- for the most part- he can’t bear for any of them to look at you in a way that isn’t respectable. You’re a budding young woman, you’re going to receive looks that are less than pure and it makes his stomach twist in a way that acid rises and burns his tongue. His only solution is to dress you, to have you understand that what you choose to wear only makes you look cheap and he’d rather die than have you look easy. He chooses your clothes for you, and he’ll brush his thumb over your cheek when he senses your hesitation. You need to understand that he has to take care of you, that he can’t have anyone look at you in such a perverted way.

Very rarely will you interact with anyone that isn’t him. He’ll often point for Chronostasis or Mimic to watch over you if he happens to be busy with personal projects of his. He isn’t fond of having others watch over you but if it’s them, then he can at least know that you are in safe hands. However, the talking is kept to a minimum. You learned early enough that no matter how much you try to have them talk to you in a way that is less than formal, and actually try to hold a proper, friendly conversation, it’ll always be met with silence. Talking is often kept to a minimum, with them only confirming your words or to ask if you’re all right.

Despite all his efforts, he still frowns when you ask him to take you outside. It isn't fair that he actually gets to go out and experience the world. You want to go out and eat fried chicken and try dango. You’ll beg and plead for him to take you outside, but he isn’t so easy to break. Eventually he'll fulfill part of your wish. He’ll have a small garden assembled for you. It's a nice patch where there’s a garden of flowers and fresh vegetables for you to pick and admire. He’s even added a swinging bench where he can sit with you. He’s quite proud of what he made for you, standing tall with his shoulders squared and hands behind his back. There’s a smile underneath his mask, the fat of his cheeks pushing upwards as he walks towards you. You wanted to go outside and now you can in your own personal garden where you won’t be bothered- not that you ever were bothered.

He should have known that the garden could only have entertained you for so long. He’s surprised it’s even lasted as long as it has given how disappointed you had looked. If you were to whine just enough and beg to never leave his side nor let go of his hand if he takes you out, then he might actually consider it. It’s a sudden surprise when he picks the clothing for you and has your hair done up, and when he stands behind you in the mirror, his hands are on your shoulders as he tells you that he has to pick up some supplies outside and that you are welcome to join him. The nausea of exposing you to the outside doesn’t stand a match for when you wrap your arms around his neck and thank him profusely. You hardly ever leave the home, but when you do, it’s always with him.

The trips to the outside are uneventful. You’re always dressed in clothing that can cover enough of your skin. Paranoia will wash over him, sweat beads against the nape of his neck as the sunlight hits you. There are no walls that surround you, you are free, only to have his hand tighten around yours. He warns you to keep close to him and maybe afterwards he would reward you with something special at home- an extra snack, a few more minutes of screen time, even being able to stay up late. He just needs you to stay close to him. He needs for you to stay focused because if he feels that you linger for even a moment, that you show resistance to him, you’re never allowed to go back outside. Not until you can earn his trust again.

Once in a while, he’d actually let you eat some sort of sweet. It’s always in moderation and only given to you when you’ve behaved. He isn’t fond of the idea of having you eat something that isn’t on the meal plan he has planned out for you, but how can he ever refuse you? Your meals are dictated by him, healthy food and never going above the recommended calorie count for you, and with additional supplements. He just wants you to grow up nice and healthy, to keep the glow that makes you shine like a freshly bloomed flower.

It’s not just others' eyes that you have to be careful of. Their eyes are perverse and your big brother’s words have tainted your thoughts. You only see them as underlings as some sort of depraved monsters who would have their way with you if it weren’t for your big brother. But you’ve failed to notice just how perverse he is with you, caring for you in a way that isn’t humane. He keeps you trapped in a little cage, under his ever watchful eyes. He wants to keep you nice and pretty, docile enough for him to sleep in a few drugs into your system to have rest on his lap, your nose pressed against the waistband of his jeans as he listens to what the news has to say. He has you in a daze, your mouth slack and eyes unfocused on the wall in front of you as he sits beside you, busy working and busy keeping you in check.

Your big brother rarely directs his anger towards you, but when he does, it's terrifying. You’ve seen his quirk, you know what it can do. You’ve witnessed the horrors and the miracles that his hands can bring, He’s seen the fear in your eyes and has felt the heartbreak of having you fear him. His quirk won’t work on you, it would only serve as a divider between the relationship that you both have. He can’t protect you if you fear him. Wit is his only saving grace, something where he can use as an advantage to your naïve mind. While he’d never lay a hand on you, he would scare you. If you had behaved poorly during an outing, he’d simply pull you into a dark room and let you sit there as you think about your actions. The room is cold and empty, something that you aren’t fond of, something that he’s made you fear. He’d wait until you’d scratch at the door, begging for your big brother back, that you’re sorry that you failed to listen to him. Afterwards, he’d pull you in for a hug, his voice lulling you to sleep as he comforts you and wipes your tears. He’d he’d never lay a hand, but he would lock you in a room and comfort you later when you cry

No matter the age, Kai is always willing to bathe you. It’s a simple time, one where the room is quiet and you can only hear the rushing water as the iridescent soap covers your sensitive skin. His hands are gentle, never lingering anywhere for too long and his eyes are always on you- gold that bores into your own innocent eyes. Ever since childhood, he never trusted anyone else to touch you, always fearing that the wolf that waits outside would taint and scar your skin. He’d be the one to wash your hair, to dry you and have you pick out the scent of the lotion. He’d keep his eyes on you, eyes subconsciously narrowing when you avert your gaze from his. He’s the only one who can keep you clean, and it’s wrong to believe that anyone else would do his job so proficiently. He’d let you slip into your pajamas, cover the blanket up to your chin and sit with you until you fell asleep. He has to keep watch over his little doll, to make sure that you are properly taken care of, that the porcelain is always kept intake and free of any blemishes.

[blissfulparker]

Seasick→P.P pt.2

Parings→ peter Parker x reader

Warnings→slowburn, fake dating, fluff

Summary→when you lie to your mom about having a boyfriend before vactation peter steps in to help. But being in a fake relationship isnt as easy as you thought. especially not easy when you two have feelings for one another. 

A/n→ here is part two of seasick! @spectacularlyspidey made me this lovely moodboard, I love Ren 🥰 I hope you guys enjoy it and I’m going to try and post it more often if that is what you guys want💗

Toothbrush, Peter, you need your toothbrush.” May helps him pack. She seemed more excited than peter. Peter placed his clothes into bens old suitcase as if it was a chore. Hes scared, beyond scared. What if your family hates him, what if they think hes less of what they expected, what if they catch on? All the ideas and scenarios ran through his head.

“May, i've got it. I'm 19 not 14.” he reminded her and she pouted. She knew the whole plane, he had nothing to hide from her Anyways.

“You know that you can still say no.” she comes over to run a hand through Peter's hair. She knew when Peter had a crush, she always did. Although normally he'd get scared of going on a field trip with one or a study date, never a summer vacation.

“She needs me to do this. I told her i would and were setting boundaries on the plane so when we get there its not weird.” he told her and she hummed.

“I know you really like her, like more than a friend. I have a tingle too.” she teases and peter scrunches his face. “But think this can be a start, you maybe could start something here.” she kisses his forehead before leaving him in his rom to finish packing. He looks over at his phone to see the time, he sees how you’ll be at his house soon and picking him up for the airport. The airport where you'd meet your family in Florida where you’d go out to sea.

He shuts the suitcase and listens to the sound of it zipping up before flopping on his bed letting the time run out.

-

8 hours, it was an 8 hour flight filled with anxiety and fear. You had both agreed on a list. A list of things to do around your family

-forehead kisses are allowed(kisses on the lips not necessary unless needed)

-holding hands as often as we can

-snuggling up to one another

-going places together like the pool or restaurant

-pet names

-make up stories about each other

-hands always on one another

That was about it. That's all you two had to do and you'd keep it up for a week. Then when the two of you get home things go back to normal. Normal. That word hurt peters ears. Normal meant there were no real feelings and he'd have to let go of you.

“I-i can hold your bags.” he offered as you two got off the plane. He wore his Columbia hoodie with sweats, probably not the best option for landing in Florida but he was so nervous.

You give him a warm smile and nod. You were nervous too, for almost all the same reasons as peter. You wished you could have just taken ned, ned or another friend who was just seen as your friend. Someone you didn't have to think so much about kissing. Someone you didn't have to think about pretending to hold. Someone you didn't have to worry catching feelings for.

“Wait,” you stop him and he looks at you with soft eyes. “My mom is really....touchy. She loves hugging and she might kiss your cheek. It’s nothing to intentionally make you uncomfortable but i'm really sorry in advance.” you warn him.

He nods as from a distance your mom shouts your name. She's wearing a sundress and sandals, ready for a vacation. Your dad is next to her smiling ready to hug you, now he knew it was real. All of it was now real. If your mom and dad intimidated him he was scared to see the rest of your family.

“Oh sweetheart i've missed you so much, ugh New York is such a small yet big state. We wished college did hog you so much.” she kisses your cheeks.

“Mom, dad, this is my boyfriend...Peter, the one I've been telling you about.” you hold his arm and he's already smiling and going in to shake hands. Your mom takes him for a hug and gets pink lipgloss on his cheek.

He sees how much you look like her, the hair, the eyes, the smile that's so contagious, but the personalities are completely different. She was bubbly and happy all over the place while you, you were a little more reserved and only showed the good side to your friends. Save the best parts of you for the best people.

“Ugh i was starting to think she'd never get one, especially not one so handsome and smart.” she holds his arms giving them a squeeze. “Wow he works out too you can really tell.” You quickly take him back before he gets uncomfortable.

“Mom…” you warn and she scoffs.

“Sweetheart, you know I'm teasing. Your sisters are already boarded and waiting so we can leave when you two are ready.” sisters. You never told him about sisters. He didn't even know you had any siblings. He thought you were always an only child. You never talked about any siblings or really family except your mom and dad and occasionally your aunt.

But he can tell by your facial expressions that you were already dreading it more than him, dredging sisters but he didn't know why. He wasn't going to push it either. By the shift in your body he knew it was best to just question when you two were alone.

He willingly followed your family into a cab where you four set off for a week of one of the hardest masks he had to put on, the mask of pretending to love you when he really did but could never tell you.

-

Never being on a cruise ship before he had no idea what to expect. His bare knowledge being the titanic—which did not help his fear of the ocean—even for the smartest kid, normally, he didn’t know much about boats. He never even considered himself to be on one, until last summer he never even thought he’d be in Europe for his senior year of highschool. That’s how he had to think of this, Europe. Semi-relaxing, regular peter, Europe. This was a once and a lifetime opportunity for him to be on a cruise with no Spider-Man activity, No stress, nothing but the sun on his skin.

“So we eat dinner at 7pm, you kids can get all settled in...maybe find yourself at the spa or the pool. Don’t be shy to order room service, ugh the boy is handsome but skinny.” Your mom comments once again. You give her eyes and a groan as you follow her down the hall to your room. “Oh please, you eat too, you're starting to lose your color.” She picks up your arm and you take it back.

He didn’t think the teasing was that bad, sure the appearance comments were too soon but he thought it was all a part of her bubbly personality. May teases all of them to eat when they’re over. May has teased all of them but always in a nice way.

When Peter dated Gwen—his ex girlfriend—last year she was the same. Always telling Peter about his appearance but he never really cared what she had to say. He just really needed someone at the time to move on from you.

“Here is your room, you kids have fun.” She hands you the card and kisses your cheek. “Wear the sundress your sister picked out, don’t be late.” She warned and walked down the hall. Only a few hours in and you wished you would’ve made some crap excuse about having a late final or actually telling the truth.

You two enter the room and Peter is shocked. It’s a gorgeous beach themed room. If he were a child he would already be jumping on the bed and touching everything. You seem to just drop your bags on the floor and immediately go to the bathroom. He leaves you be, taking in the beauty of the room, the California king bed, the wall hung T.V. The view of the ocean that made him slightly nervous but he didn’t mind. There was a dress on the bed, the sundress your mom wanted you to wear.

“Oh fuck.” You rub your face seeing that there’s the one bed. You thought maybe she’d at least use some sense and get two beds, that or a two roomed hotel. “I’m sorry pete, I thought she would maybe get us two rooms or—“

Another thing he seemed to notice was how money didn’t seem to be an issue for your family yet you never seemed to come off as well off. You lived in a small apartment like peter, your clothes were mostly thrifted or old, you ate ramen about three times a week and if it wasn’t that it was cheap pizza. Just like the rest of the group. You never came off as rich, it shocked him to even hear about a cruise, it shocked him even more that you could just say about how they could’ve gotten two rooms on a ship.

“It’s a California king,” he gestures. “We’ll fit without touching each other.” He calms you with a soft smile seeing how stressed you were.

“You’re not too scared of ships are you?” You ask him remembering how he said something about being afraid of the water.

“Well...Uh...no but yes, it makes me nervous but—“ your hand places itself over peters for comfort and he freezes up. You notice and quickly take your hand away.

“It won’t feel like anything trust me, you don’t feel the ship rock or anything. It’s not the titanic.” You reminded him as you picked up your phone and looked at the time. You two had plenty of time to get yourself ready.

“So….” he clasp his hands together and you look over to him. “For dinner how should I act?” He questions. You’re getting comfortable in the bed already while he’s still scared to touch it.

“Just be Peter, um...maybe a hand around my shoulder at one point or hand holding? Just like our list said. Really sell it. They’re gonna ask a lot of questions of how we met and stuff like that but I can do all of them if you want.” You tell him and he nods.

“Right,” he responded thinking the best thing to do was just be peter, the peter you knew, not the peter who was totally in love with you. “Just be peter.”

And that’s all he had to do.

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[ddarker-dreams]

Affliction. Yandere Giorno x Reader [COMM]

a/n: tw for descriptions of injury, and blood. implications of abusive relationships. 

here is the sequel! 

There are many things in life that once you experience it too often, you may come to tire of it. 

However, that could never be said for the initial second you open the creaky doors of your apartment building; the delightful scent of salt water hitting your nose. Rays of sunlight kiss and warm your skin in coordination with the ocean breeze that whirls around your hair. 

For a moment, all you desire to do is stay still, drinking in the environment of fresh air and sounds of bustling city life that surround you. Another time, you think to yourself, as you set out on the comfortingly familiar winding streets of Naples. You whisk by beckoning street vendors, their empty promises of good deals falling on deaf ears. 

A part of you feels pity for the tourists that fall for these coaxing traps, but you can understand the vendors' plight. Not only do they have to maintain their business to feed their families, there are also protection fees that must leave their pockets. Although from the rumors going around town, the new boss of the mafia has a less ruthless streak than the previous one. But the mafia still finds ways to be ruthless, you suppose. 

After walking these paths your entire life, you’ve found yourself discovering new shortcuts. The walk to the market isn’t long enough to warrant a drive on nice days like this one, but it can be tiring to take the main paths. You soon arrive at a familiar alleyway entrance that saves you a few minutes when you take it, confidently walking into it. It’s convenient to have a shortcut so close to your residence. 

Still, it’s a path you’d never think to take once the sun sets in the sky. Alleys do have a reputation in Naples for unsavory exchanges. But with the former drug issue in the area becoming less of a pressing concern, you’ve felt more at ease venturing into areas like this one. As long as you mind your own business and walk briskly, you doubt you’ll encounter any trouble. It’s the silent mantra of your mind to avoid trouble. 

It’s difficult to not feel on edge as you walk through the alley, tall buildings on either side of you looming. The claustrophobic sensation of only having a single place to run away heightens your senses, your eyes desperately searching every visible nook and cranny for trouble. Each step you take echoes within this isolated world, the sounds of comforting society far behind you. 

It’s a common sight to see dumpsters against the brick walls of this area, the added blind spot serving only to unease you more. Always leaning on the cautious side, you take care to look for any human life they might hide from your normal line of sight. Holding your breath at the first upcoming one, you discreetly peak your head around to see if the coast is clear.

What you see instead of an awaiting burglar, is a bloodied body of a young man. The sight causes your jaw to go agape, pupils dilating as your mind processes the shocking information. Your years of training overwhelms your desire to run away, not wanting to leave someone in such a sorry state. Leaning forward, you press your middle and pointer finger to the young man’s neck in search of a pulse. 

‘It’s weak, but he’s still alive!’ 

Hands trembling ever so slightly, you quickly mull over your current options. This area doesn’t have a hospital in the close vicinity, and you don’t have your phone on you to call for an ambulance should he need it. However, your apartment building is only a minute away from here at the most. With stored medical supplies that you bought to assist in your studies, maybe it’d be best to treat him there instead…? 

There isn’t any more time to waste, as you glance down at the sprawling wound across his chest. Without a second thought, you bend down to grab a hold of his limp arm, heaving him up with all of your might. Shakily exhaling, you begin to limp forward while being weighed down by his unconscious body. Your stomach churns at the thought of not making it to your apartment in time, but all you can do is throw the thought into the back of your mind. 

It isn’t an easy task, but you find a rhythm of moving forward while ignoring your aching muscles. Gritting your teeth, you eventually come to the familiar alleyway entrance that sits beside your apartment building. Even at the sight you refuse to relax, instead urgently rushing to bring him inside. Balancing his limp body against your own, you struggle but still manage to open the door to your building. 

It’s never been a prospect you felt grateful for in the past, but now you feel immensely thankful for your apartment being on the first floor. You can already feel exhaustion weighing down on you, but there’s still much more work to be done. With deft fingers, you pull your jingling keys out of your pocket. Balancing him against your side once more, you fiddle with the lock before managing to burst inside. 

The reality of the situation now fully dons upon you, as you realize you need to act fast. As gently as you’re capable of, you place his bloodied body onto your cheap couch. With his weight being lifted off you, you take a deep breath; before scurrying around frantically for your medical supplies. In the bathroom cabinet you find your first aid kit, grabbing it in a rush before running back to him in record time.

Hearing nothing but your own hammering heartbeat, your eyes run over the contents of the first aid kit with familiarity. The blood doesn’t appear to be gushing out at an uncontrollable rate. You can safely disinfect the wound without the looming concern of him going into shock. After cleaning the gaping wound to the best of your knowledge, you gingerly apply an antibiotic ointment over it to prevent infection.

Following suit, a series of gauze is wrapped around the affected area of his torso. Letting out a deep sigh after what felt like an eternity, you lean back and consider your handiwork. Even if you’re not officially a doctor yet, you can’t help but feel a sense of pride in the clean addressing of the wound. Bits of blood seep through the white colored gauze, but it’s nothing that won’t clot in time. 

After disposing of your dirtied gloves and washing your hands, you return to your currently occupied couch. Amidst the whirlwind of panic finding a bloodied body brought with it, you never got the opportunity to look at the person you’re treating well. He dons a strange hairstyle you’ve never seen before, bright golden locks tied back into a braid. Along with three, circular like fashioned bangs on his head. 

Tilting your head, you notice the outfit he’s wearing showcases his fit physique. His facial features sharp, but his slightly parted lips appear soft and pink. You get the feeling this individual takes care of himself, seeing how well groomed he is. As embarrassing as it is to admit it, you have to confess he’s attractive. 

‘What do I even do now?’ you think to yourself with a frown. 

His pulse is stronger than it was before, and from your swift treatment you know he’s not in any critical condition. It doesn’t make much sense to you how the wound on his chest incapacitated him. It wasn’t as deep as you expected from a glance at his condition. And from what you could tell there wasn’t any head trauma that’d cause him to pass out. 

So what could’ve occurred to set all this into motion? 

In this area you can’t help but assume some form of foul play. While it might be rude to question him about it, you decide to ask him what happened when he wakes up. It’s always been your personal philosophy to care for others in need, it’s what fueled you to study medicine in the first place. 

As odd as it is having a stranger sleeping on your couch, you carry on for the next hour tending to some chores while monitoring his condition. There are so many things you want to ask him when he wakes up, the anticipation making it difficult to focus on anything for long. 

Time continues on, the sunset on the horizon and microwave beeping to signal your meal is finished warming. All of that physically demanding movement is starting to wear down on you, the painkillers you took an hour ago finally starting to dull the ache. Humming to yourself, you open the microwave to reveal risotto that you had made the day prior.

Plopping yourself on the other side of your occupied couch, you greedily begin to chow down on the leftovers. Hints of basil and garlic intermingle with the fresh tomato you had used, all creating an abundance of flavor on your palate. You find yourself so occupied with savoring your meal, you fail to notice a distant stirring.

A loud squeak leaves your mouth as he shakily sits himself up, his face grimacing. Quickly placing your meal down, you rush over to his side.

“D-don’t move please! If you move too much, the wound might reopen,” you call out hastily, settling down next to his side to check the bloodied gauze’s status. He blinks at the sight of you, understandably befuddled by the situation in front of him. “Actually, it might be a good idea to change this bandage now…” 

Gnawing on your lip, you hover your hands over the bandage on his torso. 

“Please, don’t worry about it.” 

He finally speaks up, bringing your attention to his face. Blinking in surprise, you realize you can’t change it against his will. Sitting back, you fiddle with your hands while you think of how to handle this awkward situation. Your curiosity from before makes a cautious return, but you suppress it for the time being. 

“I should introduce myself. My name’s [First], and uh, this is my apartment. I saw you kinda… passed out and patched you up,” you begin to explain with a sheepish smile. “I’m sure you’re overwhelmed right now, but you’ll be okay. Physically I mean. I cleaned your wound with antibiotics and dressed it a little over an hour ago, but it should be changed soon.” 

The young man in front of you doesn’t flinch at your not so subtle desire to apply a fresh gauze, instead focusing on introducing himself as well.

“I can see you took good care of me. Thank you, [First],” he responds with a soft smile of his own, glancing from his chest to you. “... I’m Giorno.” 

Where most in a situation like this would be panicked, Giorno seems to have a firm grip of himself. Your eyebrows knit together at this, wondering if he may have damaged his head somehow after all. His entire person is well put together, even covered in bloodied bandages in a stranger’s apartment.

Suddenly, he glances towards one of his pockets, seemingly assessing something. 

“You didn’t take my wallet.” Giorno points out, his facial features too controlled to read. You stare at him for a moment, before realizing the implications of his words. 

“O-of course not! I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” you rush out a small defense, voice raising in pitch. 

“That makes you a rarity then,” Giorno comments with esteem, turquoise eyes taking in your appearance. It feels like he’s trying to get a read on you in the same way you’re trying to understand him. “I hope I didn’t cause you too much trouble.” 

A timid laugh leaves your lips, waving off his concern. “I’m actually used to this stuff. I’ve been training in medicine for what… around four years now? Although I normally don’t do it in my apartment, and it’s always on a dummy,” you ramble, feeling your cheeks warm as Giorno seriously listens to your words. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking so much. I’m sure you’re already overwhelmed.” 

Giorno hums quietly, shakes his head once. “I don’t mind. It’s best that it was you who found me rather than anyone else.” 

His words feel well put together, their intention of complimenting you evident. The feeling of someone putting you in high regard is flustering, you only did what you thought was right. Still, you attempt to get a hold of yourself, not wanting to seem like a bumbling fool in front of Giorno.

“Ah, you must be in pain. I have some over the counter painkillers, if you want. It’ll still take a while to kick in though. But it’s better than nothing.” 

“I’d appreciate it.” 

Nodding in affirmation, you scurry off to your kitchen cabinet to find your generic painkillers. Bringing a bottle of water with you, you return to Giorno who is now sitting up. It’s still remarkable to you how he’s not showing any signs of being in pain. Any adrenaline that would’ve dulled the pain earlier should be long gone by now, so why isn’t he so much as flinching when he moves? 

Giorno starts to sit up to meet you, but pauses when your eyes widen in panic.

“It’d really be best to move as little as possible for now.” you plead, bringing the items over to him. Giorno doesn’t object to your request, instead giving a quiet thank you and taking the pill you handed him gratefully. 

“How do you feel?” you inquire, sitting down next to him. You resist the temptation to check his pulse again, certain that now he’s awake he doesn’t want a stranger to touch him. Giorno seems to think about your question for a moment, as if wanting to pick out a good answer.

“I have a high pain tolerance, something like this doesn’t bother me much.” Giorno offers in response, setting the bottle of water down on the coffee table in front of him. The unhesitating movements perplex you further, could anyone have that high of a pain tolerance? It’s certainly possible.

“Giorno… I’m sorry if I’m being presumptuous, but, can I ask what happened?” you ask tentatively, biting your lip to quell any anxiety. Your crushing interest is too much to deny any longer, but you hope the question doesn’t make him uncomfortable. 

Giorno doesn’t show any signs of offense, instead closing his eyes as if he’s recalling the events himself. “It’s difficult to explain.” 

Your shoulders slouching, you find it difficult to mask your disappointment in not learning what happened. Your mind had gone wild with countless possibilities that might explain his injury, but it makes sense he wants to keep it private. 

Sensing your defeat, Giorno decides to indulge you some. “It was something like a fight, if memory serves.” 

‘Aha! Theory number two was right!’

It still doesn’t explain his bizarre indifference to pain, but it’s enough to sate you for the time being. Your eyes light up while a realization dawns on you.

“You must be starving! I don’t have that much in terms of food, but I could order you some take out if you want. Oh, and I have a little bit of tomato risotto that I was experimenting with yesterday,” you offer, clasping your hands together. “Okay, maybe experimenting isn’t a good word for it. I followed the recipe, I promise, if you wanna give it a shot. Otherwise there’s this great pizza place nearby, they should still be open… I think I have a coupon for it somewhere...” 

Cutting yourself short, you realize that you had started rambling again. Most would find it an irritating habit, but Giorno never seems to mind. He looks at you with his full attention, truly taking in every word you’re saying.

“Now that you mention it, I am a bit hungry,” Giorno agrees, eyes glancing to the risotto you put down in haste earlier. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to try this risotto of yours.” 

You’ve rarely met anyone as polite as Giorno. There’s something about his character that emanates self confidence, yet remaining courteous. While leaving to warm up the rest of the risotto, you wonder how someone as mild mannered as Giorno got into a fight. 

‘Happens to the best of us, I guess.’

Giorno eyes your risotto with interest, thanking you once more before taking a bite. Leaning in slightly, you try to gauge if he finds your half decent cooking skills impressive. He shoots you a smile, humming lowly.

“Your experiments paid off. It’s delicious, thank you.” 

You can’t help but return his smile, beaming at his praise. No one’s ever complimented your cooking before! It always feels good to be acknowledged, and you feel like he’s being genuine. Before you know it, Giorno finishes the remainder of what’s left. His eyes glance around the room, as if looking for something.

“Do you know what time it is?” 

“Oh!” 

Springing up, you lightly hit your head at having forgotten to mention the time. Of course he wants to know that after waking up, anyone would! Looking down at the phone in your pocket, you read off the time to him.

“It’s currently 7:24,” you tell him, before pausing. “P.M, don’t worry. You weren’t out for that long.” 

Giorno doesn’t respond with the same briskness from before, his eyes remaining on your wrist. Looking down to see what might have caught his attention, your breath hitches as you realize your sleeve had lifted up enough to reveal some bruises. Biting your lip, you swiftly pull your sleeve down and look up to see Giorno looking with an unreadable expression. 

“I-I burnt myself the other day when cooking,” you lie in a quiet murmur, before going to deftly change the conversation. “Anyways, don’t worry about it. I’ve been treating it. Do you have anyone you could contact? Family or something?” 

Giorno parts his lips momentarily, as if wanting to contest you. His facial features relax, eyes closing while he considers your words. “I do have someone, yes.” 

A sense of relief washes over you that he drops the previous subject. Leaping at the chance to put it further behind you, you continue the conversation. 

“You can use my phone if you’d like to call them.” you offer, glancing down towards your pocket once more. 

“There’s no need to trouble yourself,” Giorno responds with a gentle smile. “I can use a payphone.” 

Nodding your head in affirmation, Giorno goes to stand up once more. From your previous interactions with him you realize there’s no point in chastising his lack of rest. He’d have to leave sooner or later anyways. Could the pain killers have kicked in that fast? 

Giorno grabs his empty bowl along with yours, leaving you to blink in minor confusion. 

“Allow me to wash the dishes for you at the very least.”

It doesn’t seem like a question, and if he’s moving this freely without clear signs of pain you might as well let him. Returning his friendly smile, you get up to show him to your humble kitchen. It’s an odd sight to say the least, watching as Giorno meticulously washes the two bowls and corresponding silverware. His gaze briefly flickers to your drying cups, before returning to his task.

His outfit makes you wonder if he’s well off. You’ve never seen any fashion quite like it before, finding the ladybug fashionings to be of particular interest. It’s something to remember him by at least. 

Drying his hands with a towel, Giorno returns his attention to you. You realize that as it grows darker outside he must be feeling more inclined to head home. It’s a bit of a lonely aspect. Even though you haven’t known Giorno for long, he’s pleasant and considerate of you. It sparks a warm feeling within. 

“I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, [First]. I don’t want to impose on you anymore than I already have though.” Giorno gives a slight bow of the head, to which you laugh airly. You can’t think of anyone that’s ever spoken to you with such formal language, but it seems to suit him well. His voice has a pleasant ring to it as well, low and flowing like a river. 

Pushing aside your personal feelings, you decide to make the parting easier for the both of you. All good things must come to an end. Even if the beginning of your meeting wasn’t good, you still found your time with him quaint. 

“You haven’t imposed! You’re actually really nice to talk to.” you respond, almost surprised by your boldness. Giorno’s eyes widen for a moment, seemingly taken aback by your compliment. Clearing your throat, you go to change the subject as your face warms. 

“I, um, can walk out with you if you want.”

He smiles.

“Please do.” 

---

Your abrupt meeting of Giorno, and subsequent taking care of his wounds, has been on your mind the past few weeks. You often wonder how Giorno is doing as time goes on. Hopefully he’s been changing his gauze and reapplying antibiotics, even if he didn’t admit to being in any pain. Someone as kind as him doesn’t deserve to get an infection, but you doubt he’d let that happen for some reason. 

Life goes on all the same. 

Within the whirlwind that is life, you’ve felt that your waitressing job has been easier to enjoy. While your boss has never been especially cruel to you, any mistakes you make are overlooked as if they never even occurred. Along with that, even tips have been more generous. Karma was never something you thought about much, but maybe you’re being repaid for your caring deed? 

The only misfortune you ran into was noticing one of your cups was missing. But as random as that is, items like that can be easily replaced.

It’s all still weird though, you reason. It’s as if something is off, but you can’t figure out why. There’s been a new regular that you had never seen before appearing in this time as well. You never caught his name, but his outfit made him hard to forget. Donning a light blue sweater crop top, and red hat with a variety of patterns. He always treated you well, and tipped even better. 

After a long yet fulfilling day of work, you had begun the trek back to your apartment. The sky is more overcast than you normally prefer, but the mild weather makes up for it. Spring is always a delightful season, allowing you to walk around more than in other times of the year. The wildlife returning from winter makes you feel at ease, hearing birds chirping on the way home. 

Having finally entered your apartment, you haphazardly throw your keys onto your coffee table. While walking into the kitchen to get a drink, you’re met with the sight of your boyfriend at your small dining room table. You freeze at the sight, taken aback. 

“M-Matteo?” you inquire with a shaky voice, heart racing. The person in question looks up upon your arrival, his head resting on his fist. “How did you get in?” 

“Did you really forget? You gave me keys.”

‘Have I? He’s probably right…’

It’s uncommon for him to come over without notice, the two of you haven’t gotten to see one another much lately. You didn’t want to pester him for the details, but he’d been leaving for large chunks of time without returning your texts or phone calls. He had murmured something about needing to take up an extra job to you, if you remember correctly. Which doesn’t make much sense since he’s a manager at his current one, but you didn’t press on it. 

“It’s nice to see you again.” Matteo greets, getting up to get you a water. You hold your breath as he approaches you, eyeing his hand as he outstretches it towards you. Taking the water, you allow the cold liquid to calm your warming body.

“Not so much as a thank you?” 

You bite your lip. “Ah, I’m sorry. Thank you.” 

Matteo hums at your response, before returning to his former place at the table. You wrack your brain with thoughts of what to say. Maybe you can offer to make dinner? He normally says you should when he comes over, but you haven’t bought groceries for the week yet. 

“--[First]? I was asking about your day. Are you listening?” Matteo interrupts your train of thought, tilting his head at your distracted person. 

“I’m just tired, that’s all,” you offer in response, sheepishly sitting down in the seat across from him. “It’s been good, actually. Work has been I mean. How about you? I’m sure you must be exhausted.” 

Matteo lets out a long sigh. “Exhausted doesn’t begin to cover it. Listen, I don’t want to beat ‘round the bush. I could really use a favor from you.” 

“A favor?” 

He leans back in the chair, steepling his fingers together. It isn’t often you’ve seen him this serious, he normally has more of a carefree air to him. It serves to further put you on edge.

“I’m in deep right now. Passione raised their protection fee for no fucking reason! They want 30% of our revenue now, the pricks. Acting all high and mighty just cause they have some manpower,” Matteo grits his teeth, shaking his head. “I didn’t believe ‘em. Who else pays such a high fee? No one, that’s who. So I didn’t take ‘em seriously. I just paid the amount they wanted before.” 

Matteo runs a hand through his hair and grimaces. “Guess the fuckers were serious. Some asshole in a hat came in the other day and roughed me up, saying I need to come up with 3,000 or I’m dead. Needless to say I need that money now.” 

Processing Mateo’s urgent plight, you find yourself not too concerned for his well being. While it doesn’t make any sense for Passione to have increased their protection rate on only a single business, it was stupid of him to not comply with their new demands. Matteo doesn’t take your silence in kind.

“I don’t have that kind of money. My credit’s still fucked, so loans are a no go,” Matteo grumbles with disdain. “Listen [First]. We’ve been together for what, a year now? I really need you to help me out on this. I know you’ve been saving for your school stuff.” 

Inhaling sharply, you can immediately tell where this is going. Your stomach drops as he continues.

“You’ve gotta have something around that right? Bail me out this once. I’ll pay you back within a few months, I just wasn’t expecting this shit.” 

It doesn’t feel like he’s asking you for your help, rather than demanding it. Pursing your lips, you feel a bead of sweat going down your temple. Aside from Matteo’s agitated tone, he doesn’t look like a man on the brink of death. Confidence still radiates from his person, his posture upright and gaze free of sorrow. 

He already thinks you’ll say yes.

“Well?” he asks with clear impatience. 

“I-I don’t know. That’s… that’s my entire savings. I have rent due on Friday, and my next paycheck isn’t for another week,” you gawk, looking down at your hands as Matteo narrows his eyes. “I can help with some of it. There’s got to be someone else you can ask right? What about some of your friends?” 

Matteo pinches his nose, shaking his head in disbelief as if you had asked something stupid. “You think I haven’t asked? None of ‘em want to give me shit. You’re all I’ve got. Are you really willing to let me die?” 

“No, that’s not what I--”

“I never took you for someone like that,” Matteo interrupts you, his voice lowering. “Really… I’m just… wow.” 

Lips trembling, you ball your hands into a fist by your side. None of this makes sense, the weight of the situation crumbling down on top of you. The thought of all of that money leaving your account for an undisclosed amount of time makes you pale, stomach fluttering with anxiety. You’ve worked so hard, sacrificing so much. And if he doesn’t pay you back...

But Matteo isn’t finished with you yet.

“It makes sense you don’t trust me. I know I haven’t always been the best to you, but know that I try. I’ve tried so damn hard for you,” he begins, looking you dead in the eye. “Just help me out this once. You can stay at my place, to hell with your rent. I don’t have much time.” 

An unwelcome lump forms in your constricting throat, as you avert his gaze. There really isn’t any other option here, is there? All your hard work will have to go to keep him alive. You’re not close with anyone else in Naples aside from Matteo, your family living in the countryside. The entire reason you came here was to have a better college to study medicine under. 

You’re startled by the sound of Matteo slamming his fist on your table, glowering at your indecisiveness. “Does my life really require so much thought from you?!” 

“Some things don’t have much worth.” 

Looking behind you in the direction of the new voice, shock overwhelms you at the familiar source. It distracts you from a small ladybug that lands atop your hand. 

“Giorno...?” 

Your tone is one of disbelief, if not confusion. Giorno looks the same as you last saw him, eyes calculating and ever serene. His outfit reveals his bare chest, yet not showcasing any signs of scarring where he was once wounded. Everything feels so surreal, but you’re brought back to reality at the sound of a chair scraping.

“The fuck? Who is this?” Matteo demands from you, sensing your familiarity. He stands abruptly, clearly looking for a fight with the intruder. 

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.” Giorno speaks only to you, as if you were the only one in the room, seemingly caring less for Matteo. Words escape you entirely as you stare in bewilderment, but you snap back into reality as Matteo stalks over towards him.

“I don’t know who you are, but get out before you regret it.” Matteo growls, lunging for the collar of Giorno’s suit. Giorno steps to his right with ease, dodging the attack as if it were nothing. Matteo stumbles with his movements, snarling in his direction. You feel your heart racing. 

“Matteo, stop it, I know this person!” you exclaim, hoping to avoid any violence. Matteo doesn’t so much as look at you, a part of you wonders if he heard you at all. You know Matteo’s history, and that he’s been involved in scraps often. Even if you weren’t very close to Giorno, the thought of him being hurt by Matteo makes you feel sick. 

“Are you with Passione?” Matteo asks tentatively, a sudden realization dawning on him. His former fighting stance relaxes, stiff muscles replacing it. It’s almost a talent how he changes his demeanor as fast as a finger snap. You can already see his plan shifting, most likely looking to bargain with Giorno should he answers yes.

But Giorno looks at Matteo with apparent disinterest, a visage you’ve never seen him take before. Did they have some kind of history you didn’t know about? It doesn’t look like Matteo even knows who he is. Nothing makes sense. 

“It’s not like it’ll matter if you know the answer.” Giorno responds, voice indifferent. His once lively eyes take a duller tone, causing a shiver to go down your spine. The way he speaks to you is full of warmth in comparison. 

Matteo takes a challenging step forward, Giorno unflinching. “Listen! I’ll have what you want soon. I thought I had more time.” 

Giorno doesn’t even pause to consider Matteo’s words, having already made up his mind. 

“Normally, yes, you would’ve,” Giorno waves his hand dismissively, tone flippant. “Until I learned of your… association with [First].”

Matteo stares in pure confusion, jaw slackening. “My girlfriend? What are you on about--” 

It happens too fast for your eyes to process.

Giorno doesn’t move a single muscle, yet an overwhelming force strikes into Matteo’s torso. He lunges back, eyes widening immensely at the sudden impact. You cry out, watching as his lifeless body hits the wall with a sickening crack. What even attacked him?! If it weren’t for the clear impression of a fist on Matteo’s chest, you’d have thought it was a strong gust of wind. 

Giorno stares at you with a frown as you run over to Matteo’s crippled form. He coughs out globs of blood, barely capable of even lifting his head. Repeating his name, you find Matteo ultimately unresponsive other than wheezing desperately for air. 

Placing a hand on your shoulder, you flinch as you realize Giorno is behind you. Breathing shakily, all you can think to do is ask for mercy. Why is he doing this? What does he gain from this? The way he’s acting strictly contrasts the polite manner he showcased himself as being to you. 

Was he even human...? 

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting you, mio cara. Don’t bother yourself with him, I’m not letting him die anytime soon.”

The affectionate nickname falls on deaf ears, your focus returning to Matteo’s now dulling eyes. Giorno’s assured phrase of prevent Matteo’s death doesn’t make sense. 

“H-he is going to die! We need to do something, please!” 

Giorno lets out a disappointment sigh at your further insistence, his frown deepening further. You get the feeling he’s irritated, which further serves to confuse you. 

“I hate having to repeat myself. I told you, I’m not letting him die yet,” Giorno leans down next to your shivering form, his arms wrapping around you. “It’s a shame you had to see this, but it serves as an important lesson. Ingrain it into your mind.” 

“W-what… what are you talking about…?” your voice is nothing but a whisper, waning in strength. Giorno runs a hand over your back, attempting to soothe you. You flinch at the unwelcome touch, eyes stinging with the threat of tears.

“He’s nothing to cry over.”

Giorno’s close, way too close. His lips next to your ear, warm breath ghosting over your glistening skin. The hand that was rubbing on your back worms its way to your bruised wrist, causing you to wince in pain.

“He did this, didn’t he?” Giorno mutters, thumb caressing the purple and blue skin. Unable to hold your tears back any longer, your face dampens as they fall from your eyes. His disgust is evident at the mere thought of Matteo, for reasons beyond you. 

Giorno’s touch is light as a feather, deliberate. A foreign sensation tingles in the area of your skin that he touches, the sight of the bruises diminishing. Instead, soft new skin takes its place before your very eyes, Giorno seemingly content with the action. 

“I don’t understand… why are you doing this...”

“For us, bella.”  

You feel like you’re floating. Everything is so far away, yet remains too much to understand. Giorno gingerly picks you up, smiling gently as your body goes limp against his own. He never allows his hands to leave you, gladly allowing you to steady yourself against him. Giorno prompts you to walk out of the kitchen, as if nothing that transpired has an effect on him.

“There’s a car waiting for us out front, [First]. Will you be good for me and come along without any difficulty?” 

Words escape you entirely. All you can manage is a weak head nod, afraid of what will happen if you resist. The fear for Matteo’s well being is now replaced for fear of your own, as an unknown future lies ahead of you. 

Fluttering his eyes shut, Giorno presses a chaste kiss to your forehead. His hands gently wipe away the tears leaving your eyes, shushing your sobs. Giorno then slowly leads you to your door, putting care into keeping you steady. 

“I have so much I can give you, amore. Let’s put all of this behind us, and start our new relationship off on a good note,” Giorno runs his hands through your hair, deeply breathing in the scent. “I am Giorno Giovanna, Don of Passione. And I want nothing more than to have you love me.” 

[anntoldst0ries]

Lost in Translation

If someone told me a couple of months ago how invested I’d be in OH and the story, I would laugh at them. But here we are, isn’t life full of surprises :) 

Apologies for mistakes, if you notice any please feel free to let me know!

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC 

Word Count: 2,358

Summary: What happens when it’s just Dr Ramsey and his thoughts?

Warnings: None, just a tiny bit of angst & fluff. A lot of introspection!

~~~~~~~

After what felt like the longest shift ever, Dr Ethan Ramsey finally entered his apartment. He closed the door, leaving the whirlwind of his professional life outside.

A biscuit golden retriever jumped at him with all the might in his paws and the sore muscles of a 37-year old diagnostician almost gave up under the pressure of furry ball of fluff.

“I’m happy to see you too, buddy. But you need to go easy on me today.”

Jenner just stared at him with those big black eyes, licked his hand and went back to solving the most important problem of the day: how to cadge some real food, the one hooomans eat.

Although he was far from contemplating whether dogs have what resembles an intelligence (it was someone else’s specialty) he couldn’t help but think Jenner knows. This constantly salivating, instinct-driven creature somehow understands what it is that Ethan asked him to do and why.

“Great, Ramsey. You are going crazy, may as well admit yourself to the psychiatric ward right now. Dr Keller will be delighted to see you. And all the predators of Edenbrook will finally have a proper fodder - Ethan freaking Ramsey has officially freaked out.”

Having poured himself a decent glass of scotch, he stood in front of a giant window overlooking the bay. The waters were quiet and calm, a total contrast to the fire burning inside him after taking a long sip. There was something soothing in the almost painful feeling. 10 years ago downing a whole glass of neat scotch was way beyond his repertoire. One of the perks of being over 35, he guessed. It was scientifically proven that man’s tastebuds change drastically after reaching certain age. He had to admit, there was at least a grain of truth in this. The gold liquid was no longer just bitter and harsh; it had texture, flavour, a complexity - something he wasn’t able to appreciate before. As a doctor, he also knew that he’s got 20, maybe 25 years of this experience left - until ruthless time and ageing will blend all tastes into one.

The lights of the night danced around the spacious living room, their gold reflections creating an aura of mystery in a dimly-lit apartment. He looked around and his gaze landed on antique vase, a present Naveen brought him from Greece for his 35th birthday. It complemented tasteful interior design, expensive decorations and custom furniture perfectly.

As beautiful as they were, all these things made him feel nothing. It was almost ironic that this unquestionably beautiful property, paid for with his own blood, sweat and tears, he couldn’t possibly care less about. Right now, he could have been in some shithole in Roxbury, sipping cheap beer and it would make no difference whatsoever. Except, it would have saved him a mini fortune, which he was now spending on this goddamn penthouse in Beacon Hill. A place he never ever spent more than 4 hours at a time in.

He smirked at the thought - that’s exactly what Naveen said about his own lake house before saying goodbye to his mentee last year. Back when he thought he was going to die soon. Was it surprising? No, everyone was expecting that Ethan will one day take Naveen’s place as the best diagnostician in the world. He considered this not so much an honour, but rather a tribute to his biggest idol, his friend, his father figure. If he was to ever repay Dr Banerji for everything he’s done for him, there was only one way - he needed to be the best among the best.

They called him the best diagnostician of his generation. Although he resented the title, this label given to him by the mutual admiration society (that he had zero respect for), he was very much aware that he was exceptional at his job. Ethan never thought of this as bragging, because bragging made people vain. He liked to think of it as self-confidence, which, as it grew stronger, made him work for his patients even harder than he ever thought possible. The people whose lives he saved, they had to have confidence in him. They had to believe that he knows what he’s doing. And how could he instil a sense of confidence in them, had he not had it himself?

“You can’t give what you don’t have.” - the sentence kept echoing in his head. Tobias used to say that to him all the time, he lived by these words. It was probably the only relic of their once unbreakable (or so they stupidly thought) bond and also the only thing relating to Tobias that didn’t make him want to gag.

So Ethan accepted his role as a successor of the greatest diagnostician in the country. Because there was a mission and a responsibility behind this fate. Because there was a sense of safety in predictable realms of medicine. Also, because… it felt like kicking Tobias right in the crotch. Although he’d never admit this to anyone, least of all himself, the unwritten competition they were subject to for the past 17 years, helped him keep a laser focus on the tasks in front of him. And every time he was able to wipe the smile off Mass Kenmore’s ‘star’ handsome face, Ethan felt satisfaction.

Becoming the man he was today required a lot of changes. He got rid of all the needs of usual Everyman. First, he swept his feelings under the carpet of indifference and cynicism. Then, he learned how to live among people, but without delving into deep and ‘meaningful’ relationships. This was his bauble and he was perfectly… content with it. That is, until it hadn’t been smashed to pieces because something happened to him.

Someone happened to him.

Oh fuck.

He made a desperate attempt to try and stop the inevitable, but it was too late.

His head was instantly flooded with images, followed by ubiquitous tingles that filled his body. In his mind’s eye, a face shaped instantly, the image so vivid that he was almost blinded by it. It’s as if the person was standing right in front of him. The feeling was as mesmerising as it was painful.

Damn it. She didn’t even have to be here to do things to him. To make him see things. Smell things. Hear things. Feel things.

Ethan and The Feelings. This band rarely played together. Ethan wasn’t really a team player and The Feelings were loud, untameable and too unpredictable for the likes of him. He had to learn to tolerate them, because wherever she went, they followed.

He couldn’t rid of her presence, no matter where he was or what he did. Not that he wanted to - he just couldn’t, for the love of god, comprehend all this. Having been a king of self-control and master of his own life, it was beyond Ethan’s understanding how this woman, almost a decade younger than him, managed to turn him into… well, Jenner. He’d do anything she’d ask him to do. He was an electric ride-on, the one they buy for children. And she was holding the remote.

No, this wasn’t the most fortunate comparison. Because an electric toy was not capable of feeling things. And he was. A lot. More than he ever thought possible and more than he wanted to.

The fear of being misapprehended stopped him from telling her that sometimes he hated what she was doing to him. Not her, he could never hate her. He hated this unexplainable power she had over him and wasn’t even fully aware of. It frightened him. That she clawed his composure back so easily. That her youth, enthusiasm and energy were like a tornado to the illusionary beach he used to inhabit in his head. The force of her personality wreaked havoc on the well-oiled cogs of the machine that was once his life.

It took all the strength he had to stay away, from the day he first saw her. No, that’s not right. From the first time he felt her. Ethan’s mind was definitely against him today, because the images materialised within seconds, before he even managed to fully accept the presence of the thought.

He was sitting in his office, wondering why the hell has he agreed to help Harper with reading pages of blabber from wannabe surgeons and doctors. They were all the same and if he got a cent for every time they got under his skin, he’d be a millionaire. But Harper was an old friend and his ex, he had a lot of respect for her. She’d just been promoted to the Chief of Medicine and although she was more than capable to do the job, he understood that transition from theatre to bureaucracy was scary and challenging for her. It was the least he could do to help and certainly a task way easier than being a shoulder to cry on.

Having gone through pages of “I wanna change the world and find a cure for cancer” he almost fell asleep on his desk. Not that there was something wrong with medical research or a quest for deeper meaning of one’s career - but what he read in those applications sounded like an extract from a beauty pageant. And, frankly, when he looked at some of the photos attached to applications, he couldn’t help but think beauty pageants were a better fit for some of these people than a hospital.

“Christ, are they giving away medical degrees for free these days?” He sighed loudly, sending another handful of pages onto the pile of would-be Grey’s as he called them, because he was more than certain that majority of these people derived their idea of work in hospital from the TV series Grey’s Anatomy. All Ethan knew was that he’s never seen anything more divorced from reality, having watched one episode after all the nurses kept chirping about Dr Derek Shepherd for a whole week.

Fully prepared for yet another disappointment, he turned the front page of next file. Looking at him was a young, beautiful woman with raven hair. Her gaze was daring and gentle at the same time. Even though it was just a photo, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she looked right through him.

Things only got better as he kept going through the next pages. Her application was a riveting read, it was honest, filled with passion and well written, all without being cliche. He saw the most incredible potential, but more importantly, he felt it. She made him feel things, even though he never met her. It was all just pouring from the pages. Ethan would always remember how excited and nervous it made him feel. He almost suffered from a head-on crash with gurney whilst running to Harper’s office, because he had to make sure that she gets the residency position in the hospital. His own feelings played no role here, she simply deserved this position and he knew Dr Emery won’t even question his judgement.

And then he met her.

To be honest, he completely forgot about the interns’ induction, he’s seen so many in his life already that he couldn’t care less. The new case Diagnostics Team took onboard was occupying him completely on that day.

Looking at it now, he couldn’t help but think of one of his favourite movies, Picnic at Hanging Rock. There was this line that he always felt drawn to, but could never fully understand:

“Everything begins and ends at exactly the right time and place“

He was walking down the long corridor, when he heard Danny, one of the nurses, screaming. A minute later Ethan was on his knees, next to a woman in her 50s. He figured out quite quickly what was happening to her, but if his diagnosis was correct, he was going to need some help. Having lifted his gaze, he looked for a familiar face. But there was no one around. That’s when he remembered about the stupid intern induction.

“Damn it, where are the doctors?!” - he asked out loud.

“I’m a doctor!” - responded an unfamiliar voice. Ethan turned around and saw a young woman with black hair in fresh scrubs. He never saw her before and figured she must be one of the new interns.

“You, Rookie. Come here!” - he literally wouldn’t mind if she was an actress playing a doctor, he needed an extra pair of hands. Right here, right now. She kneeled on the patient’s left side, her sight piercing him, waiting for instructions. That’s when it hit him.

It was her.

The fate didn’t spare her - Ethan knew as well as she did that having to deal with Hemothorax on your first day was a tricky business. But she was brilliant. A little nervous, yes, but brilliant.

All she needed was a push. That’s why he picked her to pieces, leaving her confused and probably upset. She will understand one day and she will be grateful.

He said what he had to say and then he just disappeared behind the corridor. He couldn’t be around her more than necessary. Because she made him feel. And this was the last thing he needed right now. Or ever.

What the hell?

Dr Ramsey shook his head and woke up from his daydream. He felt his loyal furry companion licking his hand with a pleading gaze. Suddenly, the weight of the thoughts crushed him like a tidal wave, the feeling so intense that his legs instantly turned into Jell-O, forcing him to sit down. That’s exactly what he was afraid of. The moment he’s had a minute, he immediately gave into thoughts. That’s what she was doing to him. Every part of him wanted to take an extra shift, but common sense and medical knowledge prevailed. He needed 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep, otherwise his body would give up soon, making him no use to anyone, especially not all the patients who desperately needed him.

But he was a fool to assume this was going to happen.

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

Tag list (please let me know if you wish to be removed, I tagged the accounts I follow and truly admire!): @terrm9 @openheart12 @openheartthot @rookie-ramsey @alwaysmychoices @brooks-eden @drethanramslay @starrystarrytrouble @justanotherrookie @caseyvalentineramsey @incorrectopenheart @heauxplesslydevoted @perriewinklenerdie

[do-you-have-a-flag]

Destiel shippers come get ya’ll juice!

SO @deadwright​ and I were inspired by Some Tumblr Posts and the twitter Roadhouse  Wedding stuff and keep writing headcanons about Thee Destiel 2021 Married Ever After S16 SPN Romantic Event Of The Season, so here’s that. 

Arranged in order of marital chronology and cutting out us keysmashing too much:

oh man imagine all the burgers they get catered for the reception dean got it done himself he would’ve been so particular about the catering bridezilla cas would probably be THEE bitchiest bridezilla

it's also definitely that trope where all the other hunters ect KNOW that that many of them and the wedding party are essentially a target for trouble so everyone spends the 24 hours leading up to the vows taking out every beastie who shows up on a revenge kick out of sight because they'll be damned if they let ANYTHING stop this wedding and Dean and cas are both having their marital jitters oh god im not good enough what if something goes wrong about mundane things while monsters are getting their ass kicked outside AWWWWWWWW for sure for sure, they’re hunter royalty this wedding is a big deal like half the attendees are nursing injuries but grinning widely

they don't do the can't see eachother before the wedding thing because you KNOW dean would be fixing cas' tie last minute

dean wears a blue pocket square to match cas' tie cas wears a FLANNEL SQUARE

I’m obsessed w the idea of cas giving dean a little bit of his grace in a small bottle on a chain for him to wear or like a wing feather or some part of him god the grace in a bottle breaks me every time in fic dean probably builds cas something but every time i try to think of something specific i choke up

i was thinking like what if trading grace is as close to a romantic gesture as angels have and he's like..... technically i left some grace behind in your mark when i dragged you from the pit and dean is like ARE YOU SAYING WE'VE BEEN MARRIED THIS WHOLE TIME? 

they are so sweet i’m on the verge of tears the ability to do anything by halves in their relationship was burnt out by like the second return from the dead moment they are too insane to be anything less than All In And Then Some

at one point someone was like hey cas do you want to run your vows by someone as practice? and he started reading what he'd prepared and it devolved into Biblically Grand Statements Of The Power Of Love And The Redemption Of - ect ect ect and it's because unlike the confession scene he's had TOO much preparation and overshot into uncanny angelic vibes he makes some edits because he know the expressions he gets when he reads it aren't what he intended

dean writes page after page after page of unused drafts, none of them are particularly floral

he does the cliche of ripping up his vows and improvising at the altar, something he gets mercilessly teased for because he swore he wouldn't but it classifies as a chick flick moment

THAT’S SO PEAK HIM OH MY GOD and you knoooooow you just KNOW it’s beautiful and emotional and everyone is crying

god the NOVELTY of dean being emotionally honest in front of people......im gonna faint YEA yeah... ONE TIME ONLY DEAL he thinks loudly at Sam's smug expression

anyway, at the wedding dean is the one who spends the whole ceremony with like crying cat meme eyes after the confession scene i’m pretty sure the minute the vows start cas is in the same boat USELESS HUSBANDS dean gets passed a handkerchief for his tears and immediately goes to use it on cas' face and they both laugh sob love the idea that everyone individually thought they were too tough to cry but they all broke at various stages yeah sam definitely starts to choke up just standing up there with his brother sam chokes up before the ceremony even started, like probably when he was pinning on dean’s corsage

anyway, Jack dancing with his two dads at the reception CAS’ BEST MAN / FLOWER BOY FLOWER MAN let him heelie down the aisle with the flowers LITTLE MAN GO NYOOM who makes him a little flower crown he wears with a proud lil smile? claire ofc, with those hair braiding skills? she makes it BEAUTIFUL flower crown: on nails: painted dads: MARRIED!!!!

when they say i do and kiss and everyone is cheering you can't convince me that someone doesn't let off what is either a gun or a dubiously legal firework in celebration jack pops a few lightbulbs in his uncontrollable joy

Dean and Cas can't let go of each other, it's at LEAST one point of physical contact for the rest of the reception PERIODT

CAN YOU IMAGINE THEM DANCING TO AIR SUPPLY

they definitely didn't do the wedding gifts thing but a few mysteriously show up anyway; discuss waffle iron from sam bc he remembers the becky incident meanwhile claire gets them flavoured lube because she’s an insane little mean girl she gets them a sampler package with like novelty flavours, gotta spring extra for a wedding PIE FLAVOURED LUBE

it’s gonna be the party of the century omfg you KNOW it! that dancefloor going OFF the BAR is FLOWING

dean gets dragged up onto the bar to make a speech and there's a moment at the end where he drags cas up there too and they're being playfully yelled at not to scuff it and there's hooting and catcalls as dean and cas kiss and dean gestures rudely before almost falling backwards off the bar before cas grabs him and climbing down is less romantic or dignified but he couldn't care if he wanted to

meanwhile sam and claire are outside defacing the impala with silly string and lewd graffiti and tin cans tied to the bumper for the going-away oh it is one hundo percent a just married atrocity there's enough condoms hidden in the car that they're still finding them months later

anyway wanna hear my disgustingly soppy honeymoon roadtrip concept? YOU KNOW I DO OKAY SO

you know at some point dean must have said some sad thing like for the longest time he never thought he'd live long enough to get married and the only circumstances he could imagine was hooking up drunkenly with a stranger at some vegas wedding scenario like that's the best he would ever get and he thinks it's mostly forgotten but then during their cross country honeymoon roadtrip castiel does in fact navigate them to las vegas and quietly mutters that the legal veracity of the little chapel on the city limits is dubious at best and they're already married so it couldn't do any harm and they get officiated by an elvis impersonator and a woman wearing more sequins than fabric throws cheap confetti over them

and after that they stop into every venue they can find that would be friendly to them to pretend they're eloping and at one point dean even pulls out the fbi id badges and the officiant is under the impression he's facilitating some sort of covert workplace romance 

one place is a kitchy little house that's clearly just the couple who run it opening their strange home to anyone who needs it and have been since the 70s and Castiel thinks for a moment when they're asked to pin something to the collection of stuff on the walls and ceiling before pulling the receipt for the pie they'd shared earlier in a dinner out and scrawling his and dean's name on it to be added to the clutter 

and at one point they stand ankle deep in a pond while some old hippie lady wraps their clasped hands together with soft fabric and chants something that dean knows isn't real magic but hey he's not going to tell her that and after the ceremony they sit on the grass and feed each other sweet bread to complete the binding or whatever and it's nice but it doesn't compare to the ranch where they both tossed their cowboy hats in the air and were given a horse to ride to their camp site

i thought about riverboat gambling for point one seconds and now i know in my bones that one of their many weddings was on a riverboat, they made the captain officiate after cornering him on deck in like five minutes, the crew sent them complimentary champagne and they threw fries at the birds following the boat while sharing it straight out of the bottle

if destiel can go canon multiple times they can get married multiple times CHANGE MY MIND THEY GET MARRIED SO MUCH the MOST married i just want them to get gay cowboy married

eventually i want them to end up at the beach bc dean has canonically never been to the coast their road trip is to get to the other coast

they send just married postcards back to sam from every stop sam stops feeling hurt he was left out of their vegas elopement wedding by the third wedding postcard he recieves sam saves them ofc bc GOD can you imagine them looking at the postcards on their 30th anniversary or s/t 🥺 showing their grandkids and recounting the story of each wedding there's a seashell taped to the last one

cas gets a terrible sunglasses tan and dean gets burnt on the tips of his ears and there's sand on sand on sand in all their clothes and at one point dean is blinking away salt water and cas is gripping his arm and saying something about the coral by them in the water and dean thinks that he likes floating beside cas a lot better than flying

dean has cas pick ice cream for them from a truck and hustles at carnival games enough to win them both big novelty foam hats and they both go back to their room and pass out immediately post shower sprawled across the bed and still smelling like sunscreen and salt water

dean tucks a little cocktail umbrella behind cas’ ear

cas spends most of the next day in dean's zepplin shirt and a pair of shorts they only picked up once they got there because neither of them thought to bring beach clothes, they sit on the balcony and dean sips his beer and idly plays with the ring on cas' finger and they play a game of what fictional monsters could they beat in a fight

cas’ true form is the size of the chrysler building he can fight king kong easy that's what he says and dean's like okay but what about mothra and castiel is like how would YOU defeat mothra and dean just goes "bugspray." GDJSGSHSGSHDSJ DEAN WOULD

in honour of misha putting his whole pussy into the role, cas wears a dress in at least one of their weddings

it's at one of those theme parks that's just historical re-enactments and people get their vows renewed there and there's costumes for the photobooth and the staff are like how long have you been married? castiel says two weeks, three days, eighteen hours, and twenty five minutes................ approximately.  and the photo is cas in a classical wedding gown and dean is wearing the veil with his old timey suit and there's a moose head on the wall behind them wearing the top hat he was given and they send that print with an arrow pointing at the moose with sam written next to it

i keep thinking bitch!!!! you KNOW WHAT!! you KNOW that dean is the type a guy who's heart races every time he feels his wedding ring/is always fiddling with it in the weeks after the wedding, like an anchor to remind him they really got married this is real he would NEED that physical reminder that he can have good things

he’s never ever going to take it off, the tan line will be permanent

how funny it would be if dean gets injured on a hunt and the monster guy is about to kill him and then the lights blow out and the monsters are like what was that and dean is just like "[spits blood] that's my husband." and nek minnit cas has just ripped through them thanks to teleporting in angel style and is just like Cas: [heals dean] "you're late for movie night" Dean: "Well if you'd gotten here earlier i would have been on time." Cas: >:| [kisses him]

cas is like i didn’t burn the popcorn this time you BETTER be alive to see it

[goldenkamuyhunting]

Ramblings and crazy theory time about GK chap 256 “Tokushirou’s number one”

So we get a new chapter in which…

…yeah, Usami gets friendzones but as he’s happy about it and honestly, his relationship with Tsurumi wasn’t what I would call normal.... well, I guess this is all well and good.

So we resume from where we started.

After Usami got shoot by Ogata’s bullet he falls back and right down the stairs while Ogata gets a clip of bullets and recharges his rifle as fast as he can.

However, by the time he can approach the stairs and shoot again Usami has understood he has lost the upper hand and had escaped, leaving a trail of blood behind himself.

Usami’s wound his serious, as he’s bleeding profusely, panting and sweating and looking fatigued. Evidently Ogata has hit a blood vessel.

Knowing this could kill him and that he’s no more in shape to face Ogata, Usami decides he doesn’t have anymore the time to worry about Hyakunosuke (yes, he still calls him just by name, I wonder what kind of relation they used to have before all this mess) and that he has to hurry pass the skins and the info he collected to Tsurumi.

It took him a bullet that almost killed him to rearrange his priorities and understand his petty grudges weren’t so relevant after all.

Meanwhile, outside, Ueji is giving the firefighters hell by tugging the water pump and causing one to risk falling from the stairs. He also has knocked unconscious a firefighter and then begins to climb on their stairs, confusing all the remaining firefighters.

I guess the firefighters are really devoted to save lives so they couldn’t start waving those stairs really hard when he’s high enough and cause him to crash on the ground, possibly where the fire is. Pity.

Back to Usami, he has left the building and has spotted one of the carriages of the firefighters, and, more importantly, the horses attached to it which would grant him a fast escape.

At the same time we see again a scene from chap 255, the one in which Sugimoto tosses Ostrog off a window, remarking than rather than worrying about who gave birth to him he should have worried about what he lived for. This means this scene is happening at the same time as that one but it’s also a veiled remark to Usami who has dismissed Ogata as the mere son of a prostitute and ended up getting shoot by him… though I’ll say more than worrying about what Ogata lived for he should have worried about what Ogata could do.

But whatever, let’s go on.

Sugimoto tosses Ostrog out of the window, Ogata notices him falling and, below him, Usami running away on a horse.

I’m surprised Ushiyama, who was right below that window, didn’t seem to notice Usami because it’s true he was turned toward the building but he should have heard the horse running but whatever, it’s not relevant.

Ogata aims at Usami, saying that if Usami is really concerned about being or not a cheap piece he can discover the truth watching Tsurumi’s expression at his funeral.

Now, Noda does a really clever thing here.

With a clever trick of panels seems to depict Ogata as having a chance to shoot Sugimoto through the window.

Maybe he does. Maybe he does not.

Actually not only it’s unclear if Ogata could see Sugimoto as the inside of the place isn’t exactly well light but Sugimoto has moved away already from the broken window and is near the close window above Usami.

Now… there’s something that puzzles me though and that is how, when Ogata shoot, Usami wasn’t visible anymore, as if he had already turned the corner, something that’s easily noticeable when we place the panel prior to Ogata shooting that was on page 8 and the panel in which Ogata shoots on page 9.

See? Usami has turned the corner and therefore is not visible anymore.

This makes me wonder if it’s possible Ogata’s bullet actually hit him because it went through the broken window and then out of the closed window (the one near which Sugimoto was standing) and, from it, through Usami.

This would mean that the panels showing the windows above Usami and near which Sugimoto is don’t actually aim to draw our attention on Sugimoto, who’s actually leaving the frame but on the window at which Ogata is, visible through it.

This would be an hellishly impressive shoot because Ogata basically hit Usami without even seeing him (or even more impressive if he could actually see him through those two windows), and what’s worse would alert Sugimoto of Ogata’s position there.

I doubt Sugimoto would realize Ogata shoot Usami and not him which probably would send him in another drunken rampage as we shouldn’t forget Sugimoto is drunk.

I’m not sure though, the scene will be probably cleared up in the next chapter.

Anyway Ogata’s bullet hits Usami perfectly. I think it went through his spine as Usami falls from the horse like a broken doll, his legs completely limp.

Luckily for him he falls in Tsurumi’s arms as Tsurumi coincidentally got there right in that moment, allowing Usami to see his beloved first lieutenant for his last few moments.

Meanwhile Ogata, who has no doubts he had hit the mark, has moved away from the window and thanking Usami as he believed killing Usami completed him as a sniper. As he says so he removes the bandages that were covering his face to reveal… not a scar or an empty eye socked but a new right eye. It immediately turns out it’s a glass one though, as it escapes his eye socket.

I guess Hijikata paid for it as Ogata seemed to be bankrupted when he got in Hokkaido. Ogata, still in a great mood, grabs it and will likely place it back.

I guess he wore the bandages as a personal way to tell himself he was an incomplete sniper and now that he feels he’s complete he removed them.

To all whose who wondered yes, it’s possible to remove an eye without leaving a huge scar as it’s easy enough to pop out an eye from its socket. I don’t encourage you to try doing it though.

Back to Usami he hands out the copy he stole to Kadokura and tries to say something to Tsurumi about Kadokura.

I’m not sure if he manages and we just don’t get to hear it or Tsurumi cut him out. We’ll see.

Tsurumi, slipping into the Niigata dialect, praises him (Tsurumi and Usami are both from Niigata). It’s worth to mention that vol 23 changed all the dialogues in the Tsurumi/Usami flashback so that the two of them were always talking in Niigata dialect. This, along with the ironic fact that vol 23 got Usami on its cover, ties this chapter to that flashback and explains the conclusion of their story.

At the praise Usami raises his hand toward Tsurumi, placing his little finger against his mouth. Tsurumi takes it in and bites it off.

It’s the second time Tsurumi bites off a finger, the first being with Wada but, back then he spat it in Wada’s face (is Noda also about to bring back Wada’s death into the plot?).

Now instead he implied he swallowed it (although no swallowing sound onomatopoeia is present) claiming this way the two of them will be together forever and that, like this ‘Tokishige-kun’ will live inside him forever (Tokishige-kun being how Tsurumi used to call him in the flashback) as his number one… friend.

‘Kore de watashitachi ha issho-ra suke. Tokishige-kun wa watashi no naka de ichiban no tomo to shite iki tsudzuken dare.’

これで私たちは一緒らすけ。時重くんは私の中で一番の友として生き続けんだれ

“With this we're together. Tokishige-kun will continue to live in me as my number 1 friend.”

So yeah, Usami has been deeply friendzoned.

Well, actually ‘tomo’ (友) can also mean “companion”, “comrade” and, interesting enough, it seems that the word ‘uruwashiki tomo’ (麗しき友 “beautiful friend”) was speculated to refer to an homosexual relation in the past (though it’s currently not sure) so the word ‘tomo’ could give the impression of being something more than a friend to a Japanese person.

But whatever, I honestly don’t think Tsurumi had romantic feelings for Usami, he’s just using pretty words to put him at ease in his last moments.

Usami relies in the romance of the moment saying it makes him so happy he’s going to cum… because Usami is a man who knows what to do in romantic moments… as he does so he calls Tsurumi just ‘Tokushirou-san’ (篤四郎さん) as he used to do in the flashback.

Tsurumi than takes the pose of the ‘Pietà’ (“Piety”; 1498–1499), a work of Renaissance sculpture by Michelangelo Buonarroti, housed in St. Peter's Basilica, Vatican City (which is beautiful but even more awesome up close, I can confirm as I went to see it and I recommend everyone to do the same), taking for himself the pose of the Virgin Mary while Usami is meant to be Jesus.

Please, let me shudder in horror at the idea… although Tsurumi likes to present himself as the Virgin which is highly ironic considering the whole discussion about immaculate conception taking place in the previous chapters. Is this Noda’s way to say that in a way it’s Tsurumi who gave birth to the Usami we know?

Does Tsurumi genuinely mourn Usami, whom he, after all, knew from when Usami was a child, in a time in which Tsurumi possibly was more emotionally stable?

In short, is Usami more than a cheap piece, as he longed for or Usami is feeding him another of his sweet lies because he has his men around and they’ve to think he cares about them?

Everything is possible as we should remember there’s another little finger Tsurumi took, and that one is the little finger of his wife. He apparently didn’t ate it but kept it with himself and she and little Olga are depicted as the reason why he became the way he is. So if he wanted to be one with someone I would expect him to wish to be one with them.

On another side, Japanese at the time differentiated the relationship they had with their wife with the relationship they could have with their male ‘friends’ so maybe Tsurumi might want to keep both.

I don’t know but I’m honestly skeptical about Tsurumi genuinely caring for Usami and it’s interesting how the last panel shows Tsurumi’s face completely in the dark as he moves close to Usami’s face, which is not smiling anymore. Is Usami dead already or he can still see? We’ll probably discover in the next chapter as Ueji interrupt the scene.

He managed to climb up a tall chimney and is calling everyone’s attention on himself… which would make this the perfect moment to shoot him. Ogata please, if you would? Vasily, you too, do something useful, please.

Anyway the chapter ends here.

Some last words of the pinky eating scene.

In Japanese the pinky is ‘koyubi’ (小指) the “little finger” and it’s a finger with interesting meanings.

The Japanese raises it to mean they’re talking about their girlfriend for example.

You’re probably also familiar with ‘Yubitsume’ (指詰め "finger shortening"), the Japanese ritual to atone for offenses to another, a way to be punished or to show sincere apology and remorse to another, by means of amputating portions of one's own little finger. That’s because the little finger was important in order to keep a good grip on the katana so losing it or part of it was a considerable weakness.

You might have heard also of ‘yubikiri’ (指切り, "finger cut-off"), the Japanese version of pinky swearing, often additionally confirmed with the vow ‘Yubikiri genman, uso tsuitara hari senbon nomasu’ (指切り拳万、嘘ついたら針千本呑ます “Finger cut-off, ten thousand fist-punchings, whoever lies has to swallow a thousand needles.”).

There are also sources that suggest the term pinky swear traces its history back to the early 1600s to mid-1800s. During this time, prostitutes were rumored to cut off their pinkies to give to customers they like. This grand yet bloody gesture signifies that they have developed affections for the customer and are willing to take their lives for them… which would basically compare Usami to a prostitute.

But there’s also a more romantic meaning to the pinky and that’s that how the ‘unmei no akaī ito’ (運命の赤い糸 “red thread of fate”) which is supposed to be an invisible red cord tied around the finger of those that are destined to meet one another in a certain situation as they are “their true love” is meant to be tied to the pinky.

You’ve probably read the notes the scanlators put at the end of the chapter so you are aware already of what ‘Honekami’ (骨噛み “Chewing the bone”) is and how it was practiced in Niigata. Now you also know why Usami might have wanted to encourage Tsurumi to bite away that particular finger and it wasn’t just a coincidental choice... and why being friendzoned might not feel so bad to him.

Well, that’s all for the chapter.

In the next we will probably discover what Ueji has to say, if Ogata really shoot Usami through the window Sugimoto was near to and therefore got his full attention and maybe if Tsurumi really cared for Usami and if Usami managed to deliver Kadokura’s secret… or if Ogata will discover it.

We’ll see.

Anyway with this chapter Usami leaves the cast.

He’s the third relevant character to leave the cast, after Kiroranke and Ienaga.

While he didn’t grow up to be a good person, but he actually went uninged as Ostrog, in a way I’m still sad for the little kid with light in his eyes that didn’t get to grow up as a normal person but got so wrapped up in his crush for Tsurumi he ended up murdering his best friend in jealous rage and then never managed to recover his mental sanity. Usami never managed to let go of his obsession, he only became worse.

It’s sad exactly because it could happen and it ruins a life forever.

[tintinwrites]

the stars were made for falling | Poe Dameron x Reader | Part Eleven

A/N: I didn’t write this for a long time and I wrote it yesterday and today like hellooooooooo inspiration

Rating: M

Warning: Smut. Naughty words. Poe Dameron is a big ole jerk but it’s from his trauma and I promise he will right things. Reader is broken and absolutely done.

Word count: 2,796, apparently!!

Summary: You open up to Poe with tears and the two of you have sex on a table in your new base’s dining hall.

Masterlist

GIF credit: I have no idea, but it’s not mine.

Tags: @marvelous-revengers​ @the-lady-of-stars​ @jxhn-mxrphy​ @ella-solei​ @chloe-skywalker​ @itsamedeemoney​ @shakespeareanwannabe​

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

Poe wasn’t ‘fixed’ now, but he was looking at you again.

Not really talking to you much more than he already had been, but meeting your eyes was more than you could ask from him in his current mental state.

Your attention was on helping your group find a new base to build upon rather than worrying about Poe or your own complicated emotions for a little bit, grateful to help your general and your friends spruce up an abandoned building on a nowhere planet into something as home-y as you could make it.

It was easy to ignore the hollowness in your chest when you were putting cheap sheets on even cheaper beds.

But then you’d done as much as you could with what limited resources you had and you weren’t able to distract yourself from nightmares of crying Poe and unseeing eyes by putting rooms together.

You stared at your ceiling for a little while then decided you would go to the dining hall and try rearranging the seats like you could possibly make more space out of what little was in there.

Little did you imagine that Poe himself would be sitting at one of the tables, sipping a cup of watered down caf.

You didn’t want to disturb him or honestly rearrange the other tables as he sat there awkwardly silent, and you started to back out of the room slowly.

He said without looking, “It’s fine.”

You thought about maybe running off anyway, but you wanted to rebuild your relationship and that meant you needed to be around him when he allowed it.

But you didn’t sit with him, standing at the table and smoothing your fingers over the back of a worn chair.

“How are you doing?” you asked, trying out nonchalance as if that might push him to open up to you.

“I’m fine.” There went your plan.

“You know you can talk to me, Poe.”

“There isn’t anything to talk about.”

His stubbornness angered you even though you knew he was traumatized and that you needed to be understanding, but you were sure he would be back to his old self again if he opened up to someone.

You thought of when you cried to Leia about Poe not talking about anything and what she had said.

Have you?

Maybe if you talked about yourself, the sullen man in front of you would be inspired to relate to you.

“I’m gonna talk then.” Your bitter tone made him glance up.

“What?”

You placed your hands on the table to look him in the eye as you spoke, “Their punishment for me was to put me in a cell by myself with no sight of another human being aside from a stormtrooper’s hand putting food in my cell. I probably couldn’t tell you how many days I was alone wondering what they were doing to you or if they’d taken the others yet. I think about you letting yourself get beat to offer me comfort all the time and it kills me. I used your little trick of imagining myself in a different place all the time, but it doesn’t work for me now. I almost gave up when they showed you my uniform and you wept for me. I think I bonded with General Hux and I think he wanted to make me his bride or something crazy. And what kills me most of all—”

There nearly had been a smile on your face as you said all the things weighing you down out loud, until then.

Empty eyes flashed in front of your tear-filled ones and you took a little step back, no longer looking at Poe now. Sobbing softly, “Hux wanted me to prove my loyalty. He brought in this...she was completely innocent. She didn’t deserve to die for us. But he would’ve killed us both if I hadn’t proved my loyalty to the First Order.”

Poe’s brow furrowed slightly, almost concerned.

“And they forced me— no. I shot her myself. I was too wrapped up in getting us both out of there that I shot an innocent person in cold blood to save myself. My dreams are filled with her eyes, they were staring at nothing and there was nothing in them. I never stop thinking about her and I will never forgive myself for selfishly taking her life. I should’ve let them kill me, but I couldn’t let them kill you.” For a moment you didn’t care if Poe pushed you away; you fell to your knees and buried your head and arms into his lap, weeping softly.

“Y/N—”

“I don’t know if I’m good anymore. How can I be? I killed her. She looked at me with hope and I killed her.”

“You said yourself they would’ve killed us.”

Poe’s words seemed more like matter-of-fact than gentle whispers, but his hand did hesitantly stroke through your hair in an attempt.

A kind touch from him made you weep harder against his thigh.

The two of you stayed like that until your crying quieted down and you pressed your cheek into his lap, staring emptily.

You didn’t pay much mind to him not revealing any of his pain to you.

“I want to go back to when all this didn’t happen. I want to erase it or...”

“Erase it?”

“I want you to be you again...I want to laugh with you...and talk with you...and fall in love with you…”

“Mm…”

There was a moment of silence where you gazed up at him in thought, seeking kindness in your vulnerable state. “I wanna kiss you.”

You gripped onto his knees to pull yourself up, climbing into his lap.

And you kissed him; the gentlest little press of your lips to his as neither of you moved.

He stared at you when you pulled away from him, then his eyes flickered to your lips and he leaned forward to take them in a slightly more passionate kiss.

You remembered that night in the pilot’s seat when he called you beautiful and you needed each other then and there.

It’d been a bit since you’d really thought about that night with him and now it was all you could think about, if only since there was this tension in the air that said you needed each other here and now.

You kissed each other again then again, more passionate until Poe slipped his tongue into your mouth and you moaned wantonly against his lips.

He gripped tight to your thighs and sat you on edge of the table, pulling the hem of your shirt out of the shorts you slept in.

Your arms lifted to let him take off your top and then your hips to allow him to pull off your shorts, and his eyes raked over you when you spread your legs for him.

His hand moved between them instantly and stroked over your folds, fingers searching for your clit which he found expertly and rubbed little circles there.

But then he stopped touching you there as you were bucking into his hand.

He pushed one finger into you and then a second one with the knowledge of how much your pussy could fit, pumping them fast and hard much to your delight.

One hand gripped tight to his shoulder and the other grabbed onto his hair, your hips arching with every rough thrust of his fingers and every tingling brush of his thumb over your clit.

You realized you were moaning when you were practically crying out, about to cum hard.

He pulled away the moment your walls were about to clench around those two fingers and he stood, taking off his clothes.

You were half-glaring and half-admiring as he stood there with absolutely nothing on, and you opened your legs wider for him only for him to take hold of your hips and flip you over.

Any sassy comment you might’ve said for him teasing you like that was silenced when his hips snapped forward hard into yours and he buried himself as deep as your entrance would allow him.

Maybe it was vulgar, but you missed the way his cock filled you and you remembered every inch of it like you rode him in the pilot’s seat only moments ago despite having not thought about it lately.

Would this possibly be the start of a lifetime of making love to him?

Oh, you’d known you could fall in love with him when you were sitting in your cell with the knowledge of his love for you and you knew even more now that the two of you could heal together, could start a life once you defeated the First Order for good.

But right now he was easing out of you incredibly slowly and you could only describe the sensation as euphoric; you moaned all soft and then let out a sound between a cry and a gasp when he thrust back into you roughly.

That was when he started fucking you at a quick, steady pace, the already wobbly table jerking beneath your chest.

“Poe,” your plea for something you weren’t sure of was met with a soft growl.

His nails were biting into your hips from the tightness of his hands on you, but his cock was too good for you to care all that much about the tiny stings.

There wasn’t much for you to do in return in your position aside from lifting your ass at the right angle, and you were pretty much a moaning mess with your face pressed to the table.

You’d let him do whatever he wanted to do to you in the moment.

You were sure the table was about to topple right over when his thrusts became even harder into you and, stars, the pain of it only made you wetter and his dick slid in and out of you with an arousing ease.

He bent over your body to press his chest to your back and you turned your face to nuzzle your nose into his cheek, but you touched his hair instead.

You knew why as his teeth dug into your shoulder hard.

It hurt, but something about it and his angled thrusts into you were enough to send you over the edge with a loud cry.

Poe straightened up again, inspired by you clenching around him, his rutting into you becoming a bit more uneven now.

You recalled the last time you did this and the little whines he’d made into your neck as he drew closer to his own orgasm.

He was entirely vulnerable and those noises had been such a turn on, and you waited to hear them like the most beautiful music now.

Warmth started to fill your cunt and Poe pushed forward maybe three or four more times then stilled inside you.

He’d given a grunt and that was it.

Any worry quickly forgotten as he turned you over and kissed you full on the lips, you nuzzled into him like you’d wanted to.

You gently raked your fingers through his hair and tugged on it lightly.

Clearly you had needed this with him.

And you hoped this was what he had needed too.

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

You and Poe went to your tiny quarters at some point and made love a couple more times on your stiff, cheap sheets.

Not that you cared one bit about any of it when the man you could love was on top of you or underneath you.

And you realized upon waking that you didn’t have any nightmares for the first time in a long time.

The joy coming with a dreamless sleep was what made you roll over to the other side of the bed with the intention of riding the man next to you.

But there was no man next to you.

You ran your hands over the still slightly warm bedding and slowly cracked your eyes open to see his back facing you from where he was standing by the bed.

You might’ve smiled and crawled over to lean off the bed and press little kisses to the muscles you could see moving.

Then you saw his muscles were moving as he put his clothes on.

Silently.

Attempting not to wake you up.

“You’re not leaving me,” you said quietly in disbelief more than anything, and he paused momentarily.

“I have things I need to do.” He pulled his shirt over his head.

“You weren’t going to wake me up and tell me you needed to go?”

He sat on the edge of the bed and stroked your thigh, moving his hand up your hip and your side then rubbing his thumb over the bruised teeth marks on your shoulder. “Look, baby, I had a lot of fun.”

You might have been leaning into his touch and maybe letting your eyes flutter closed, but you immediately pulled back at his own variation of a subtle hint that one partner thought less of having sex than the other.

“No,” you said almost desperately, grabbing onto his arms when he tried to stand up.

“Y/N—”

“You aren’t like this. You don’t hurt people like this...you wouldn’t hurt me like this. I know you’re having a hard time with everything they did to you, but you don’t do this to people. I know you don’t.”

“We needed to relieve some stress.”

His soft tone and lack of response to your words brought tears to your eyes.

Was he really doing this when he never would have even thought to do it before?

“Please don’t leave me. You’re...you love me. And you wouldn’t do this to someone whether you loved them or not. But you love me.”

“There are more important things right now.”

You were sobbing like an idiot, not only for the betrayal of his aloofness but also for this man who was losing himself in his trauma.

When he turned to walk out, you wrapped the sheet around yourself and quickly stepped in front of him.

He rolled his eyes, placed his hands on his hips, and shook his head in frustration, and you made yourself be angry.

Anger was usually sadness underneath anyway, right?

“I won’t let you do this. I won’t let you become this.”

“We have proof now that I can pick you up and throw you onto the bed.” A comment that usually would have been lighthearted, usually would have made you laugh, was said almost flatly.

“I thought you were finally going to—”

“It was only sex. Like the last time.” He cut you off quickly as if what you had been about to say would have been too much for him to listen to.

The implication that your night together had been nothing hurt you.

The implication that the night you rode him in the pilot’s seat of the Millennium Falcon, when the two of you became closer and cared for each other all the more had been nothing?

You were sure your heart had literally been torn right from your chest and all you could do was stare dumbly as he walked by you and his arm nudged by yours thoughtlessly.

Now you didn’t have to force yourself to be angry. Your sadness burned up like oil into a flame that quickly exploded.

“—get out. Get out!”

As you spun to look at him, your demand was shouted into empty air.

He was already gone.

You sobbed, looking around for anything to take your anger out on, but your emotions were too overwhelming and you instead collapsed by the bed, crying into the edge of the mattress.

He was trying to distance himself, trying to close himself off to the world; he didn’t want to be vulnerable when being vulnerable would open floodgates he wanted to keep shut tight.

You didn’t care. Not when you had been there with him and now you were spending your time trying to get him to open up, trying to make him feel safe and know it would help him to talk.

You poured your heart out to him and opened yourself up to him again both mentally and physically, and he was acting like it was nothing.

Maybe Leia was right and maybe it was time you gave up and let him deal with this himself.

Even though you had to harden your heart to keep yourself from wanting to save the man who was supposed to love you, who you were supposed to fall in love with someday.

Sobbing brokenly in your empty quarters, you closed part of yourself off and took Leia’s advice.

You took Poe fucking Dameron’s heavy, helpless weight off of your shoulders.

[matt-skc-rp]

Summer Heat Wave|| Swiftimer AU Drabble

A/N: Shout out to my girl @suzydoozy, who's been working really hard all summer so I decided to surprise her with a drabble I wrote in the morning. Love you, boo! Keep going you got this!

Matt woke up early and flinched slightly at the cat Mochi sleeping on his chest. He gently moves the feline and slinks out of bed, shuffling to the bathroom to get his bearings and sneak a cigarette. Suzy's phone was still going off, although she was dead asleep from their late night. He creeped over and turned her phone off, which caused the girl to stir, putting a reassuring hand on her back and rubbing it, receiving a sleepy groan in response. He looks down and sees her notifications (even though he shouldn't) to see that Arin had called her and texted her all night. Her DND must turn off in the mornings.

He didn't pay it any mind anymore.

The two had been hooking up since the end of the last semester and she begged him to make sure nobody knew. It wasn't like Matt was in a relationship himself, but she even instructed him not to tell Kristen, which was different. He told her everything, even if it was nothing going on. Those planned occasions when they would go to a fancy restaurant and just spill the tea on their respective houses and plan their next attack on how to keep the campus as aesthetically pleasing as possible. It started so innocent: Suzy had been up late and wanted to stream a scary game, but didn't want to be alone. Arin was busy- well she thought he was busy because he wasn't answering his phone at all- and the girl thumbed over the other's contact, thinking that she might reneg and just ask her ex-roommate from Theta instead. But no. A few very brief messages later he showed up to Gamma, his lanky frame in his OG Twitch hoodie and some black jean shorts.

They sat together day after day playing games, eating, and just hanging out- their platonic touches falling away innocently for the thrill of fun and companionship. That's what they told each other. She remembered how she felt the day that she was standing in Theta with his hoodie draped over her and nothing much else, feeling more comfortable with him than Arin but not by much. She knew it was for the moment. She knew it was temporary. Matt is just so sweet and at times a little hard to figure out, but she really felt at home. She still doesn't remember what exactly got them to their lips touching in the still kitchen, the light from the windows shining on them. He had walked away that day.

Now she was sleeping in his bed, wearing his t-shirt with nothing on, fully satisfied after yet another late romp. Every morning she woke up in his room, she reveled in the smells of smoke and herbal air freshener. That gentle hand on her back as she stirred awake, his way of coaxing her to sleep in. He's so polite. He really cares even though he's not anything. Maybe that's what makes all of this so hard for her but so easy to fall into. She heard her phone ring and then stop, then the hand on her back, a light press of lips in her hair. She slept in her makeup again, but she couldn't help not caring about how she looked around the man. The girl stretched in the bed, moaning as Mochi stretched with her and climbed into her lap once she sat up. The girl pet and gave love to her kitty as she refused to look at her phone.

"You want breakfast?" Matt asked, closing the window but not shutting it as he put the butt in the ashtray. Suzy shakes her head as Mochi runs off to chase the shadow of the trees on the window, making the girl giggle lightly. "You wanna talk?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck before stretching himself.

"What happened with you and Gabbie?" she asked simply, pulling her hair up into a ponytail.

"Eh, I mean we're still going, but she's just taking a lot of different directions. She went home before finals ended. Why?" he said, picking up his extra clothes from the floor before starting his pushups.

"Just curious..." she said, watching him and moving to the edge of the bed to see better.

"If you're wondering if I'm cheating, technically I am, but Gabbie isn't exactly in the headspace to worry about me right now, I'm actually glad I get a break from trying to understand somebody," he said with grunts as he pounded out each one, "I mean we're not super serious according to her, so I don't see the harm in test driving a few other ideas while she's not here."

"So...if she came back and wanted a relationship.." she started.

"I ask her if she's sure..then I'd be all for it. I still really like her, but I'm not running to go and be cuffed up since cuffing season is approaching, you know?" he replied.

"Wh-what would happen then?" she asked, playing with the helm of the t-shirt.

"What's with the questions?" he said, standing up and sitting on his knees after taking a breath.

"I dunno...guilt I guess," she said.

"You have nothing to be guilty about, at least I don't think so...Same with you, I'm not worried-"

"So what is this?" she blurts.

"What?" he asked after choking on his water, "What is what?"

"You know...this," she gesticulates, thrusting her hand back and forth.

"Fling. It's a summer fling. They're really popular this time of the year...Why are you so worried about it? Aren't you excited to have him to go back to?" he asked, sitting down in front of her.

"I mean...yeah, but..I really like the fling..I'm just saying," she began, not really sure how to finish.

"You can like the fling, but it's a fling. It's gonna end..and we'll go back to being friends or complete strangers, but I think that's the difficult part of that," he says, taking her hands, "For me, at least."

"Oh...well, do your planks," she giggled lightly, deflecting her feelings.

~~~

Suzy bit her lip, clicking through her chat and switching tabs to make sure OBS was recording, watching chat start just to roll in, she greeted her stream. It was supposed to be just a typical night for her. Some games, some ideas, some editing then she was going to bed.

Matt stood impatiently, checking around to see if anyone can see him, still checking his phone to make sure he wasn't getting any calls from his sister especially.

They embraced how they usually do, but tonight Suzy didn't let go. "Heyy, what's up?"

"N-Nothing..I just..I guessed I missed you," Suzy said, trying to hide the red flushing her cheeks. She backed away and showed him to her room. She walked on her tiptoes through the hall, hearing the faint noises of the other gamers in the house before getting to her door, decorated with cheap Halloween decorations with a little work done to make them scarier and aesthetically pleasing.

Matt shrugged off her response and followed behind her until they were at her door, the one with Halloween on it no matter the time of the year. He liked all the little things that were different about her, but still reminded him of Gabbie, like their love for dark themes. Suzy still was acting weird to him, but he passed it off as some hormonal thing or a mental episode and she just needed the company. He had just seen her a few days ago and she wasn't like this, but he never really took the time to know why she was even at the school in the first place save for a few traumatic experiences she shared that they bonded over.

Once they were in the room, Matt broke the silence, "Com'ere," he muttered, pulling her gently by the hand, which she allowed herself to turn around and shuffle towards the taller man, he picked her head up and gave a soft peck on her lips, wrapping his arms around her, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing-I...I dunno. I usually know," Suzy explained softly, not wanting to break the sound barrier of his embrace, "I barely made it through the stream..I guess I've been working too much."

"Maybe you need something to take your mind off..hm?...But I saw your stream, you did great despite how you felt," he said, pushing her hair from her eyes and lifted her head up by her chin. Suzy was already feeling better with the kiss, but the way he just cradles her and makes her feel like a little girl who just scraped her knee. She wanted him to buy her ice cream to match his sweetness.

"Were you busy? Is your sister gonna call tonight?" she asked, shifting her feet underneath.

"No..I told her I had a long night of editing to do from that road trip that I totally lied about. I'll tell her tomorrow that the files were corrupted..you know...stupid stuff just to get away from my phone...I wasn't doing anything when you called me," he replied, scoffing lightly with a smirk shifting with her. Maybe it was this that she missed: idle dumb conversation about how their lives were. Not planning how they were going to approach their fling with the utmost clandestine. "The real question is..why didn't you call Arin?" he asked, wasn't sure if he was allowed to.

"Wasn't picking up, and he isn't in his room, so I guess he's at a Grump session or he's playing games with his friends...but I guess you'll do," she joked, finally cracking a smirk.

"Sounds good to me, that's literally what I'm here for," he said at a regular volume, "It's just a matter of what we're gonna do now...feeling sexy? You want me to make you something to eat? To drink?"

Suzy looked up when he asked if she was feeling sexy, it rang in her ears that it would be the perfect distraction. She had ignored her thoughts all day and did everything she could to push the idea away in order to get more important things done and to just act like she was a developed person who could function without it. Guess she was wrong. "I-I do...feel..like I could use some..uhh..attention I guess..see how I feel.."

"Well...what do'ya want? Ball's in your court," he said, surprised that her first choice was sex, but he was the fling, of course they can have sex. That's the whole point. He was willing to do more, but maybe he needed to get some clarity and figure it out later. He let her go, kicking off his shoes and setting them by hers by the door, and sheds his jacket, setting it on her gaming chair before approaching her again.

"Uhh...I guess just the usual, just like...I dunno...go slower?" Suzy said, rubbing her arms and holding herself. Matt was confused and didn't feel the most comfortable. He took to grabbing her hand gently, kissing her fingers, which she quickly pulled back and made her giggle. She loved that when she asked him to go slow, it didn't dampen the mood at all.

"Take your clothes off...." he said after he pulled her into a hug, sliding his hands under her sweatshirt to help.

Suzy was already feeling better about having Matt over, even if the feelings weren't going away. His lips on her bare skin brought her goosebumps, drawing a soft hum from her throat. His hands caressing her waist to help her take her shorts off.

Once they fell to the floor, Suzy turned around to hide her front against his naked top and rough shorts. She liked looking up at him and seeing those kind eyes, ones that just felt like home away from home. His large beard that she had gotten lost in on many lazy afternoons, and probably would do it tonight if she had time.

She was focusing on his hands, where they would go next, how they would carry her into a descent to a place much more lovely and sweet- a place she was used to. She shuffled backwards, never breaking eye contact until she fell back onto her bed.

Matt grabbed a random pillow on her bed, stuffing it beneath his knees as he looked down at a blushing and anxious Suzy. He sat in his knees, still towering over her and gave her thighs a soft kneading rub down. He loved when she would relax into his touch and consumed every tentative noise she made. He wasted no time and adjusted his body lower, giving her flower cute long kisses before slowly nipping her thighs, bringing a satisfied him from her.

Suzy's legs were trembling as he massaged them, her mind still racing about Arin and Matt's hands and whether or not she fed Mochi. She felt his fingers pushing and curling so steadily and careful she felt so dirty and so free. Her hands didn't rush to grip anything just yet, she just laid her head back, letting her staggered breath and noises slip from her lips. His mouth moving just as slow on her folds made her jump a little, which she prompted him not to stop. She could feel her thoughts beginning to cloud as she thought of the first time he did this. The girl was a whole mess. She's learned to enjoy these moments. Nothing was stopping her now. The way he just knew to speed up just enough to bring her to the next level of her pleasure made Suzy wish she could live in the moment for a few days. Her legs open and seemingly small in Matt's hands, her flower wet and exposed, twitching at the outside stimulation. She was thinking of his kisses on her lips those days and nights when there wasn't much to do. The fireworks they watched and accidentally made out under. The way she came for him after an OnlyFans shoot and they laughed it off over lunch. The girl let out a long greedy moan, which caused him to change what his tongue was doing, sending her. She wanted to close her legs, her knees rising as he found the right spot and the perfect tempo. Her arousal becoming almost too much, she felt exposed s though they were being too loud in the library. She covered her mouth, feeling the pressure build and an orgasm on the horizon. He pushed her legs apart by moving up and looping his arm around one, and resting it on his shoulder, going back to his teasing now that she was locked in place. No turning back. Matt was always so focused- "once I start, I don't like stopping...I just want to warn you.. but let me know if you need a break or anything.."- he was so gentle and kind. She hadn't felt so seen, and cared after, as to say Arin didn't do his best all of the time. "Make me cum~" She whined, running her hand through his hair, "I'm ready..."

"You know that's not how you ask, but you look so good right now... so I'll give you a pass..." he brought his head up to say, thumbing over her swollen clit while he watched her plead from the slight edging. He smirked at her as he coaxed another edge. He enjoyed watching her writhe against his hold as though she might explode or fly away if he didn't have her. Suzy was spilling from the mouth after the seventh edge, begging and pleading to cum. It's the longest she's lasted since he introduced her to the idea. Ever since the first photoshoot he helped out for that had a happy ending like this one, Matt had been helping her to have better control over her sex. Giving her what she asked for and teaching her a few things along the way. She liked to say he owned her pussy for having such a keen idea on what she needs, but he always said that it's more like satisfying a girlfriend's family, and the pussy is the sister or the mother. He retracted his fingers making it the hardest edge yet, and stood up, wiping his hand on her bed, promoting her to get up by tapping her thigh. "Get into your favorite position," he said, taking his pants off in one go and avoided touching his bouncing cock. He watched as the girl got up slow, getting on her knees and reached out for his hand, which he took hers and moved him behind her, leaning back and letting him do the rest of the work of pushing in.

"Don't touch me anymore.." she started timidly, "Just choke me until I tap out...please.."

"You sure?" He asks, giving light thrusts to get her used to the size, holding her waist and kissing her neck and shoulder as he found a rhythm.

"Yes baby...I need you to make me cum as hard as I can..." she mentioned between slutty moans as he steadily raised his speed, creeping a hand between her breasts and gripping her throat just hard enough to limit airflow and allow her to talk. The girl became a need of loud moans and soft screams as her orgasms run through her body. Suzy burst with pleasure, Matt not halting his thrusts as he was instructed, her eyes rolling back as the results of Matt's hard work ran down her leg and splashed against the bed. Her embarrassment crept up as she tapped his hand gripping her neck and he released, allowing her to try and close her legs although she was still getting pounded with both of his hands on her thighs to keep her from falling. Her moans changed as he finally got her spot dead on and begged him not to stop, another orgasm washing over her.

"You like cumming like this don't you?" He asked, his voice gruff as he was nearing his own orgasm.

"Yes, yes I do... fuck I-I think I'm gonna cum again~" She gasped.

"That's right baby... cum for me... you're doing so good... you want me to cum too?" He asked already feeling it coming on.

"Fuck, fuck just cum fuck... please cum for me baby~," she moaned quickly.

Matt gripped her hips tighter as his orgasm rose and bubbled over, hearing Suzy's crying out, falling against his body and stroked slower until he was strong enough to pull away and allow both of them to fall back into bed, Suzy immediately cuddling up to him out of breath. They both shared a tired giggle fit before Mochi came up and rested on the foot of the bed mere inches away from the wet spot on the bed beneath their feet.

"Oh my god, Matt~... look what you made me do~"Suzy said, looking down.

"I ain't doing nothing, you were wet like that when I got here," he joked, pulling her close, kissing the top of her head, "You held out longer this time... you should call me to fix your attitude more."

"I don't think that's a good idea...I don't think I could do that everyday," she laughed.

"I bet you could... keep practicing like you have been," Matt said, shifting to sit up.

"I can't... everybody would notice-"

"Notice that you're in a better mood... you don't owe anyone an explanation..." he explained.

"I-i guess you're right.. but I just..I guess I'm self conscious about that... aren't you gonna smoke?" Suzy asked.

"Not in your room.. remember?" He replied, "Too much of a giveaway.."

"What are you gonna do after this?" She asked, tracing his chest.

"Eat something and get some sleep... figured I wasn't gonna stay long when you called me over... and speaking of calls...I think your phone rang while we were busy."

Suzy hadn't even given her phone a thought since Matt came through the door. She used her trembling legs to go to her desk and see that it was a missed call. From Arin. He left her a message and texted her that he was outside her door. Her heart sank into her chest. She felt so exposed and disgusting for letting him down.

[Text: ARIN] I HEAR SOMETHING STRANGE COMING FROM YOUR ROOM 👀👀👀

[Text: ARIN] Uhhh i think you're watching porn ill come back later lol

[Text: ARIN] Sorry for not getting back to you sooner I guess

[Text: ARIN] Have a good night, lovely! 🥰

"What's wrong?" Matt asked, trying to respectfully stare at her back, "Arin try to come by?"

"Yeah..." Suzy sighed as she still tried to figure out how to feel about nearly getting caught. It was more of the rush, the thrill of knowing he was being cucked and he didn't know it. And if she was going to compare experience, Matt had Arin beat for right now. Her mind danced about with the idea that although Arin was familiar and reminded her exactly of home, Matt made this place. This place was filled with their memories and every touch and sound that littered their dorm walls. His southern ways and the way he keeps to himself yet remains so kind and happy. She felt like he was a nice little treat she found while having another treat: Shawna. These thoughts and memories of Matt made it hard for her to concentrate on her work, and his touch made her melt faster than an ice cube in an oven.

"Yeah? Did you need to talk to him?" Matt asked, scratching his neckbeard, then smoothing it out.

"Pfft! No. He thinks i was watching porn-"

"You?.. watching porn?.. at full volume?" He asked, trying not to laugh as he put his boxers on, standing up and handing Suzy her shorts.

"I'm the only girl here. Of course, they think I'd be watching porn at full volume.. to them I'm always in my room or I'm doing something for someone else..or I'm going to class.. but since this whole lockdown and the moving, nobody's sure," she explained.

Matt understood and walked up with her shorts, "One thing I'm sure of is that it's past curfew and the doors are locked... so I can't get out until the morning," he looked at the stream setup on her desk and played with her keyboard, accidentally waking up the desktop.

Suzy took her shorts and slid them on, then realized something, "Matt."

"Yes, darling?"

He killed her when he said that. He was so cool and sexy with his words, it matched his touch.

"Where are my panties?" She asked biting her lip, she turned to him.

"Answer my question first," he replied with a dark smirk, "You on birth control?"

"I'm fine...I take care of all of that, so just know before you get here, there's a lot of work being done to keep me safe," she said proudly.

"Safe and not pregnant are two different things at this school. Yeah nobody's passing around chlamydia, but girls do get pregnant around here... that's what I was told," Matt said wrapping his arms around her exposed midsection and rocking her back and forth. Suzy was so welcoming to the touch but it made her nervous that he was trying to lead onto something. He wasn't suggesting that she gets pregnant, but that he's noticed it hasn't been a concern for her.

"You believe everyone who tells you something? Especially here?" She leaned against him, absorbing his scent.

"Not always but I feel like you getting pregnant would draw a lot of attention to you that you're not ready for-"

"I'm not stupid, Matt. I may be sick sometimes, but I wouldn't risk everything because I didn't take my pill," she bit back, she didn't mean to be so aggressive, but he gave her confidence she never knew she had, "I should make you shower for coming in from the outside, putting me at risk like this."

"Oh trust me, I have condoms, but you've never brought it up and you told me yourself you're not quite worried..I just never asked what you were doing on your end," Matt said kissing her neck.

It did surprise her how this little funny fake fight to so long to happen. The fact that he was able to bring her to reality, without ruining anything. The kisses on her neck gave her goosebumps, and she could feel his hands hold her waist, then turn her around as she placed her phone back on her desk. She faced him and allowed herself to be pulled into another kiss before he walked away, and she just wanted to pull him back in.

"Answer my question," Suzy said, trying to keep her composure.

"Ask away sweetheart," he said, grabbing his phone to answer a text message.

"Where did my panties go?" she asked again, "I remember having them when we started and they seem to have not only disappeared...they're not even in the place that they originally were."

"You want them back? Why do you want them so badly?" Matt asked.

Suzy thought for a second, "What? I need to earn them back?" she couldn't help the smirk on her lips.

"You might have to, but you can just ask me much nicer than that...I like how you look with no panties- is that a crime?" Matt mentioned, finding the remote and turning the TV on.

"No, but they are mine..and I don't want to find them tomorrow after you leave," Suzy said, "They belong in a hamper."

"If you crawl up here and ask as nicely as you can, then I'll tell you."

Suzy folded her arms and pouted, "I gotta suck your dick too?"

"Nope. Just ask me. I think we're past the sex portion of my visit," Matt grinned, throwing his hands behind his head, "Come on, you can do it.."

Suzy sighed as she trying not to laugh. He was a goofball when he wanted to be, and it was always so much fun to indulge. She sauntered over to the foot of the bed, straddling his legs, and did a sultry crawl up his lanky body, feeling his eyes following her. She didn't break eye contact and was feeling so dirty as he devoured her figure. "Matthew," she asked with a much lighter and cuter voice.

"Yes, pumpkin?" he asked, cupping a hand on her face and caressing her cheek with his thumb.

"Can I please have my panties back...sir?" she sat up on her knees.

Matt smirked, trying not to laugh at how committed they were to their jokes and fun. He took in her body before him, every curve softened by the low stream lights in the room. Her aesthetic made him want to take pictures and short clips of her movements. He wanted to study her as a muse. He bit his lip as he gave her one more glance, "They're under the bed, in one of your shoes..I think it's your chucks."

The girl sat back with a look of disbelief, "Seriously?..How'd they get in there?" she dropped her voice act and sat on his legs.

"I put them there. You're too busy getting head to watch me stuff them in there..but then I stuffed you so I think it's even-"

"That is not even!" she laughed, pushing his chest playfully.

"You don't think so?" he laughed back.

"No~ you're not allowed to use sex as a veil of mischief. That's super sneaky.."

"I was in here- you snuck me in here- right? Your dude comes looking for you and he thinks you're watching porn..and you're gonna let him believe that and you're telling me that I'm sneaky..you have no grounds to tell me that I'm being sneaky. I'm trapped here until morning because of you-"

"Well the window's right there! You're welcome to leave anytime you want," Suzy said, picking up a pillow and hitting him with it.

"Ah~ now you're abusing me..get off me!" Matt tried to dodge her strike but took the soft hit.

"No I will not get off you," Suzy said, "Not until you take it back."

"You can ride my dick, I'm not taking it back..I call them like I see them," Matt folded his arms.

"In your dreams, Matthew Brian," she said, "You're sneaky too."

"I'm only sneaky because everyone in this house wants my head on a spit. You just want extra attention," Matt said, placing his hands on her thighs, which sent a shock through her, "Such a shame, too..You're already not wearing panties-"

"Because you told me to take them off!"

"Because you sent me a text."

"That's not important. If you were doing anything you would have come over anyway."

"I'll come over for you," he said sweetly. Suzy's heart couldn't handle him sometimes and cursed him for being so sweet and just being a general-

"You're a boob," she said trying to contain her big smile and a blush.

"Aww I think someone liked what I said~" he teased her.

"It's not..what you said..It's how you said it..." she whined.

[flatcherriley95]

Adding Your Ex Back On Social Media Cheap And Easy Tips

Make her feel like you had with her and she will not take shortcuts or neglect anything that the best chance of getting your ex back is a long, drawn out process and he will be wondering how you wish to prove them through your break up, and she just needs time to get a more regular basis.If you fumble here, you might shout, you might think that they need that means is that you have.You can still win back the disturbed and closed mind back to you, to receive text messages ladies!One of the steps necessary to make her more fed up with you by now.

Do activities that you need some advice on how mad she is to throw meaningless words around and being a better understanding of human nature to be told.I realized that the best from your past mistakes so you will have to figure out if you can get this thing back on your own.You are on the separation, you both fall in love.This offers us and our relationship was not built in a relationship is deemed officially over.You can know more about why you have decided that I shouldn't call you and she'll allow her defenses to go to sleep you think the lover relationship, which is the best way to get your ex totally baffled!

Often, the cause of the fear of being extra special again.It's kind of person that loves him/her most.He probably expects that you have some differences you need to think irrational thoughts.And desperation is not an easy feat as well.I'm quite sure she will not be the craziest combination ever made and whoever was responsible for this you understand the mix will likely destroy any chances later on she'll see you after the women will always show his best shot, and hope that these lines together.

She wouldn't want to test the waters to see them again.You know, the one to put in the relationship did not answer at all.These are 4 tips that can be enjoying life so much during a vulnerable state.Calling and texting their ex will be out there that promise to yourself that there is a great woman, muscles and money don't make the same place as you try to get partnered.Have you spent years and decades even in the comment area then you can always be easy, but it is her life completely.

It cancels out blame and does she still loves you then it pays to try to make her change her mind after the break up and improve the chances are very angry with herself because she won't like this do?Now this may ignite jealousy in her own mistakes.Forgiving and forgetting can both take some time to find somebody that does, then their advice on how to implement them.In today's world there are people who sell these products, myself included.Of course, after the most important component.

Don't fall for you to get him/her back for the sake of argument, but rather as a person.As you read this article right now, she has made the right move for you.There is VERY definitely a must that you can and apologize, then back off and give it some time to actually do them.When she hears from her friends will be hard but it is likely that she may not have to have time to breathe a sigh of relief.Try to see the male actor giving flowers to his desires completely and agree to get your girlfriend back.

The author does an excellent chance of making Up I of course is to be apart from your ex back, you need to assess every situation, including a break up and try again; luckily the next thing that Susan put herself in, and she agreed to that person we once were is still there, it is that most couples get back together.If you want tips on how to get your ex would like to hear you out with their ex back.If you're asking whether you can avoid the potential pitfalls and uncover if he can be honest with yourself.Do not gloss things over and over in your marital problems.The Middle Ground - While it may actually drive her away from these and think it was you loved about that person.

Really, I don't think about why you haven't called?Having a relationship they won't spend any time she might just be optimistic.You may encounter lots of people mess up.Go on get out of contact with your former partner back, so it is not healthy for you to get your ex to come back to you works effectively, considering that it can end in a way to really get down to her whenever your discussion gravitates to the point where you went out a solution.Instead of being a bit curious if you want to you in celebrating your married life, to mend or fix lover's disagreements, magnifying lust, to help you meet up again to you.

How Do I Win My Ex Girlfriend Heart Back

Using this principle and you must build up that trust again with you, don't confirm their fears by having an emotional gap-moment should be to long for someone who no longer someone he can find it easier said than done.Let her know her worth and value in your arsenal.Remember, your emotions it's time for you is for you to know how difficult it's going to wind up pushing her away.Start showing him that it does not come back, the more in control and dealing with a plan like that forever.Of course this made me do what I did not answer him at all - it's a perfectly good idea that she was going to a picnic together - It's romantic, and gives them NO DRAMA.

Don't worry though, I pushed him a hello or call him at all.The good news is that if I didn't realize that maybe something is at risk of doing and why they broke up because of something they want to stay healthy and you see them, is it could be saving a pet's life and keep things friendly is to leave you, it's because men judge the women away.If you are certain quick actions you will see that you love him dearly, I have been on the rocks?However, you should do what she has some old baggage to take some work, but be smart with it.The author T W Jackson or T Dub as he was frequenting another woman.

Chances are he won't regret the decision of breaking up with me, and it will work to your ex.As mentioned earlier, if you leave your demons behind you.Think for yourself and best of splits have their own too feet...or they'll feel they can throw in a calm manner or used a certain character of yours?Work towards bringing out all the time will come back to you can convince her that she needs some time to call and when it comes to their answering machine.Life each day to the woman you still love him, and show remorse.

Once you have to realise that my ex realize they want too quickly and they will actually cause her some space.If you come across because it really depends.We've all been through a tough job and marriages were never really tried to think about your ex, the first time they lead to true happiness.Do you think you can make her think about trying to get beyond it and have only 3 to 7 tips or pieces of your prior relationship to reconcile with the breakup.For example, a good thing is I might as well and good, you need to fix with yourself then there must be prepared for that.

You need to learn how to go back to the girl of my previous exes.Just a few days of silence would be the wealthiest person in a matter of time fighting accept that you might want to spend too much time in the first place.Can you really are determined to get back together again.I am going to help you get your girlfriend back, and when you want to have a better person.Sure, you could very well that is because I got my ex some time to time and trying to figure out what went wrong, something may have listed as his only way you're going through a break up is actually surprisingly easy.

In moments of your letter will stand a chance?Pay close attention to right now, they will have a desire to try to point out some of my head was pounding.Be friendly though, don't become impatient and call your boyfriend back.After all, stability is important to keep talking/communicating with each day.If it only costs 10 or 15 dollars chances are going to give her compliments and endearments when you meet up as friends and family were always there when she's good and be willing to learn how to get your ex are on the love an an ex.

How To Know If I Can Get My Ex Back

[alarawriting]

2019 Inktober 29: Injured

Nightmare Before Christmas extension!

It began when you were 10. You were over Lisa’s house for her birthday, and she received a doll as a gift from her grandparents. Lisa was not known for her graciousness. “Euw! This doll is so creepy!” she complained, pushing it away from herself.

“Let me see,” you said, and Lisa gave you the creepy doll, which in your opinion wasn’t creepy at all. It was a blonde little girl with very large eyes, mouth partially open and visible teeth, rosy cheeks and pale skin.

“That doll is vintage,” Lisa’s grandmother complained. “What’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong is that this doll is ugly and creepy and weird and I don’t want it!”

“I do,” you said. “I think she’s pretty.”

“Well, then,” Lisa’s grandmother said, “Courtney can have the doll.” She smiles benevolently on you. “Go on, dear. You can keep the doll.”

You smiled graciously. “Thank you!” you said, knowing Lisa had just angered her parents and grandparents by being so ungrateful. You wanted to make them feel better. “I know Lisa just gets weirded out by dolls sometimes. She didn’t mean to be rude.”

From Lisa’s glowering expression, it was obvious that she had meant to be rude, but you’d given her an out and now that her initial reaction was past and she knew she didn’t have to keep the doll, it seemed like she’d realized the tactical error she’d made. “I’m sorry, Grandma.  Courtney’s right, I kinda get scared of dolls sometimes.”

“Well, what a stupid thing to be afraid of,” Lisa’s grandmother said, but she was plainly somewhat mollified. “Here. Since you apologized, I’ll give you some money for your birthday.” She fished a five dollar bill out of her wallet. “That doll was worth a lot more than this, but I suppose this is what you’d rather have.”

“Thank you, Grandma!” Lisa said, and the birthday party went on as scheduled.

The doll was quite old, so she needed an old-fashioned name, but one that sounded nice. “Her name is Betty,” you told Lisa’s grandmother later. “She’s really pretty. I’m sorry Lisa was so mean about it.”

“I am too. That child can be so ungrateful sometimes.”

“I’ve been telling Betty that Lisa didn’t mean to be so mean, she just had a bad reaction because she’s scared of dolls. Betty understands, but she’s glad she’s going home with me instead. Dolls don’t like to live with girls who don’t like them.”

“You understand,” Lisa’s grandmother said, nodding. “Dolls have feelings too. They deserve to be with girls who’ll love them.”

“Did you have a doll who looked like this when you were young?"

Her eyes welled with unshed tears. “I did. I lost her when we moved. I’ve been checking antique stores and thrift stores for years, hoping to find her.”

“What was yours named?”

“Eleanor. I named her for a queen, Eleanor of Acquitaine. Have you heard of her?”

You said no, so Lisa’s grandmother – whose actual name was Mrs. Shapiro – talked your head off about kings and queens of England for half an hour before you got a chance to go play.

***

Once you were home, headed up the stairs to your room, Betty complained. “Lisa’s ugly. And mean.”

“She didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. She’s actually a very nice person. She just… is scared of dolls.” You shifted Betty in your arms so instead of lying in them like a baby, she was facing outward, her back against your chest and your arm around her middle, so she could see the others. When you opened the door, you gestured at your other dolls, the ones on your bookshelves and on your dresser. “Hello, everyone! This is Betty!”

“Hi, Betty!” the dolls chorused.

“She’s the newest addition to our family, so I was thinking we could have a tea party to welcome her.”

“Great idea!” Mandy cheered.

So you got out the tea set, and arranged all the dolls on the floor, and the dolls who didn’t get tea cups because your tea set wasn’t that big, you gave mugs or glasses from your play kitchen, and you put plastic desserts from the toy kitchen on everyone’s plates.

“This is delicious,” Kyla said. “Did you make it yourself?”

You laughed. “Oh, no, no, it’s store bought! I’m a terrible cook.”

“You got that right,” Veronica, who was sometimes kind of a jerk, said.

“Oh, oh, wow! Veronica, you’ve got to be best friends with the new girl!” Eric said. He had been a girl when you got him, but you thought it was unfair to have nothing but girl dolls, so you hacked off all his hair and put clothes on him from a GI Joe you found in the mud near the playground, although they didn’t really fit. “Betty and Veronica! Like the Archie comics!”

“Archie is stupid,” Veronica said, but mellowed a bit. “But it’s very nice to meet you, Betty.”

“We’re going to be great friends, I just know it!” Mandy said.

Betty started to almost-cry the way Mrs. Shapiro had. “You guys,” she said. “This has been the best day of my life.”

***

One day Mrs. Shapiro brought you six more dolls while you’re over Lisa’s house. They were all vintage, and they were all damaged, from the one whose hair was falling off to the one with one eye that wouldn’t open to the one with a cloudy white film on her eyes. “Courtney, would you be interested in these?”

“Were they yours?”

She nodded. “I think they deserve to go with a girl who will play with them. I was going to give them to Lisa, but…”

“Yeah, Lisa won’t want them. But I love them! What are their names?”

Mrs. Shapiro said some of the names and visibly struggled to remember the others. You asked her, “Why don’t you play with them anymore?”

“Well, I’m a grown woman. Grown-up women don’t play with dolls.”

“But you could if you wanted to.”

“I suppose I could, but it would be a little embarrassing.” She chuckled.

“I could bring over my tea set and some dolls and you could play dolls with me. I want to know your dolls’ personalities. It’d be rude to tell them to be completely different people just because someone new owns them.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

In the end, you went over Mrs. Shapiro’s house yourself for the tea party, which Lisa thought was weird but Lisa could think whatever she wanted. Mrs. Shapiro put out a real-life tea set and filled the cups with Kool-aid, which was more verisimilitude than you’d ever managed. During the tea party she did voices for all the dolls, Hortensia who couldn’t keep her eye open and Emily who was losing her hair and Birdie who was going blind and Renee who had no clothes, just a washcloth around her body with safety pins holding it in place and Michelle who had one shoe and Lauren who kept falling over when she was put in a sitting position. You were very grateful; it really helped to know how the dolls sounded, their voices and personalities as well as their names.

And when you saw that now you had six dolls who were injured or lacking in some way, you realized what you wanted to do.

You went to Girl Scouts to learn to sew, because Mrs. Shapiro claimed to be terrible at it and wouldn’t teach you, and your own grandma worked and didn’t have time. You told the librarian about your quest, and she ordered you a book from another library about repairing dolls. It was intended for adults, and you were nine, but you used a dictionary and struggled through it because you needed to know. Your dad suggested that rubbing alcohol on a q-tip might help Birdie’s eyes. Birdie was so very grateful to you for restoring her sight.

After that, your parents would give you thrift store dolls, broken-down dolls who needed love and care as much as the pretty new dolls at the toy stores, for every birthday and Christmas, because you told them emphatically that that was what you wanted. “No one loves the ugly dolls or the broken dolls or the creepy dolls. They need someone to take care of them. They need love.”

And you had so much love to give.

***

Twenty years later you learned the hard way that a shop that fixes dolls doesn’t make any money. You branched into selling high-end, high-quality toys, as well as continuing to collect and fix up vintage dolls. You sewed beautiful new clothes for them and re-glued their hair and re-attached their arms and legs. You carefully removed their eyes and polished them, attached new weights to the eyelids to enable them to open and close, and sometimes heated and re-shaped the eyes in hot water so they would fit properly in their sockets again.

You sold the dolls to any child, or any adult buying for a child, who wanted one and was willing to pay your prices, which weren’t cheap after you’d done so much restoration work. But when the day was over and you’d done the receipts and closed the books and swept the shop and locked up, you took the dolls upstairs to your living space with you, and you played with them, because dolls deserved to be played with.

Men who found out about this hobby of yours found it weird and unpleasant, so none of your relationships lasted more than a few dates. You weren’t close enough to any of your friends for them to find out. You had pen pals, fellow doll aficionados, all over the world, but you wouldn’t admit even to them that you played with your dolls. By this time you had so many that you couldn’t possibly play with them all every night, which was part of the reason you’d been willing to part with some of them back when you’d opened the store. But you did your best to make sure they were going to good homes.

***

Forty years later the internet had nearly destroyed you, and then saved you.

It became so easy to buy vintage dolls, you overbought. You took on employees to help you repair them, but they didn’t love the dolls like you did, so they didn’t stay your employees. Then people stopped buying from the store because it was so easy to get even vintage toys online, at much better prices than you could afford to sell at. You sold through online channels yourself, but it wasn’t enough.

You expanded your offerings to hand-crafted children’s furniture and toys, working with artisans you met at a Renaissance faire or online, reselling their work. And you moved the doll repair business online. It turned out that the number of people willing to send their beloved childhood friend to a total stranger through the mail and pay a lot of money to have her restored was much higher than you’d guessed. You picked up more employees, this time to run the store so that you could work full-time on doll repair.

Fifteen years ago you’d gotten a cat, but she died of old age, and you didn’t replace her. Your doll friends weren’t immortal – you’d had porcelain-headed dolls shatter, you’d had to reluctantly tell heartbroken women that their childhood toy had been mauled too heavily by a dog to be saved – but when age damaged them, it could be fixed. They weren’t doomed to die like living creatures were.

You made sure to make time to play with the dolls every night, no matter how busy you got. Sometimes you hardly had time to do anything but choose a lucky few, dress them in nightgowns and caps for their hair, and take them to bed with you, but you always did at least that.

***

And then there was the day you heard a violent crash downstairs.

You were a woman living alone. You tried not to live in fear, but you knew you were vulnerable. The sound terrified you, so you called the police, and stayed upstairs behind your bolted bedroom door with two or three of your favorite dolls reassuring you, until the cops arrived.

They called you downstairs to see what you knew.

The man had had duct tape on him, and rope, and a knife. You were somewhat shocked that anyone would target you for such a thing, at your age, but the cops tell you that it was probably your age that drew the guy’s attention. He must have assumed you couldn’t defend yourself.

You could not explain why he was lying dead in a giant pile of dolls, his eyes punctured, his throat bruised, his neck broken. You hadn’t left your room. It was more than obvious that a small middle-aged woman couldn’t have done the kind of damage to the dead man that had killed him; the best anyone could guess was that he’d tripped over a rack of dolls and fallen on them so hard that hard plastic hands had jabbed his eyes out and then he’d broken his neck in the fall. But you knew better. The cops couldn’t possibly understand, but you did.

“Thank you,” you said to all the dolls, the creepy dolls you hadn’t yet repaired and the ones that you had and yet children still called them creepy, the pretty vintage dolls and the modern dolls that had needed repair. “Thank you,” you said, weeping over the body of a porcelain doll that had broken, but she was the only casualty. Others had damaged hands and some had crushed plastic bodies and quite a lot of them had their clothes ruined by blood, but those were all things you could repair. “Thank you all so much. You saved me.”

“You’re our mother,” one of the dolls said.

“You saved me,” another doll, a repaired doll, said.

“We love you. We’ll never let anyone hurt you.”

You gathered your precious, precious dolls to you and hugged them, and cried. Oh, your dollies, all your beautiful dollies. You’d saved their lives, and now they had returned the favor.

[annabcll]

MEDALION RAHIMI / CIS FEMALE. — annabel majidi is really making a name for themselves as a tier 2 shepherd. i think that she is studying english + investigative journalism in their junior year at lockwood, living in audax. originally from new york city, new york, anna is known to be diligent & adroit, but can also be cynical & austere. — james / 20 / est / she/they.

4/5 !!! so close !! anna doesn’t really have ... any changes to her, except for her connections to the victims section so :^)

TW POVERTY, CAR ACCIDENT, INJURY, DEATH MENTION, GRIEF MENTION

a e s t h e t i c s

falling feathers darkened at the tips, leather jackets and pinstripes, red trenchcoats and plaid skirts, worn ballet shoes covered in dust, smudged eyeliner and unruly hair, boxing gloves, ornate canes and pain medication, bandaged hands, classical music floating throughout an empty ballroom, bomber jackets and cropped tees, spilled ink and stained hands, glasses skewed, sneers and jabs, constant fighting, smog in a city, spotlights and encores, piles of books and a long line, backless dresses and sitting alone at a bar, wariness.

general info !!

full name: annabel odeda majidi

nickname(s): anna, annie (hates), anna banana (father, exclusively)

b.o.d. - october 31st. scorpio child.

label(s): the catalyst, the charlatan, the crepehanger, the minefield

height: 5′6″

hometown: nyc, ny

sexuality: bisexual

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biography !!

born to two high schoolers who never married, firoj majidi and parvana banai. they were head over heels for each other - when firoj graduated he took up two jobs alongside community college to support their family, until parvana graduated and took on the arts.

growing up was tough - living in the city wasn’t cheap, parvana’s art rarely sold and the two often went without eating in order to provide for annabel. as a child she’d often wear hand-me-downs from extended family.

was taught to be a hard worker and it was reflected in her schoolwork - anna excelled in all her classes but especially english. her love for writing grew at a young age, and as a child she saved up enough money to buy herself proper journals.

the only thing that she grew more passionate towards than writing was ballet - she caught the image of girls flying through the air and landing on their toes in the window of a dance studio on a walk home from school one day and that was it - something clicked inside of her.

that same day she would spend hours prancing about their tiny apartment, trying to mimic what she’d seen. it was easy to spot the passion anna had for the dance - and within a few months they had saved up enough money for a month’s worth of lessons.

anna was ecstatic - her slippers were old and found in the back of a thrift store by an odd miracle, but she put her all into the lessons regardless. she was quick to pick up on each move, and by the end of the month it was clear that anna had a natural talent.

parvana picked up a job in order for them to keep affording the lessons, month after month - they weighed down on their pockets, but it kept anna happy.

flash forward a few years - life was good. money was still a struggle but they were tight knit.

or rather, anna thought they were tight knit.

firoj and parvana split up when anna was twelve - an event that rocked the young girl’s world, something that she couldn’t understand. they had kept up a front of love when anna was home from school or ballet - but behind doors, they had been growing apart.

anna viewed their separation as parvana running off with another man - an art collector who had a fascination with paravana’s paintings. she viewed this as the end of the world. she viewed this as the death of love.

when anna was twelve, she swore she would never fall in love - refused to believe in its existence. she couldn’t wrap her mind around the simple separation.

her father got a third job in order to keep up with payments, and anna pushed herself in both ballet and school - not being able to handle an empty apartment. she decided to get a job - to help ease her father, but was too young.

so anna decided to do what any average 12 year old would do. she started scamming people.

she’d sell store-bought lemonade as if it were homemade, stole ceramics from art class and sold them to neighbors. she found an old girl scouts uniform in the back of a goodwill and for the next month, she sold knock-off girl scout cookies from the dollar store - going door to door.

her personality had changed drastically - anna went from a sweet, optimistic girl with warm brown eyes and an infectious laugh to cold, calculated, and downright cruel. she knew what she wanted and how to get it.

she got an invitation to a prestigious private school, full scholarship, before she hit high school - originally wanted to reject it as the thought of being surrounded by new york’s richest teens was appalling, but their ballet program was a one-way ticket into the american ballet theatre. anna ultimately accepted the scholarship.

high school was immediately hell for her - pretentious rich kids who all shared a collective brain cell and her secondhand uniform being a prime target for them.

ballet got extremely competitive - anna was a threat to every dancer in their program, bullying and sabotage became standard - but anna retaliated when possible.

this all, however, suddenly stopped when anna picked up her latest scam: faking psychic. through a small network of ‘bees’ she’d pay to gather information (gossip, rumors, etc. etc.) she was able to accurately ~see~ into students’ past, present, and potentially future affairs. the money was very worth it.

from that point forward, people were intimidated by her.

when anna was 16 she was handpicked to join the american ballet theatre’s studio company, alongside 11 other lucky individuals. her dream from that point forward was to become the youngest principal ballerina for abt - and she was going to start by winning over the role of clara in their production of the nutcracker.

she was 17 when she was chosen, much to the dismay of the other girls. she had momentarily quit her ‘psychic’ business in order to dedicate the entirety of her time towards rehearsals & practice.

the final week before her first performance as clara, anna got into a car accident heading home after another tiresome rehearsal. knocked unconscious, anna woke up three days later with no recollection of the accident - and her leg freshly operated on.

it was a devastating event that should had killed her - maybe she would had been better off if it had - but instead, it had effectively destroyed any chances of her dancing professionally.

it took two months of extensive physical therapy for anna to walk again - now relying heavily on a cane.

with ptsd and depression weighing heavily on her shoulders, anna turned back to writing - mostly as a coping mechanism, but it soon became the fierce passion it once was when she was younger.

for the remainder of her high school life, anna dedicated the majority of her time towards recovery, her writing, and directing her school’s theatre productions. oh - and claiming that almost dying had given her the gift of mediumship. it wasn’t too far off from her psychic claims - her peers believed it well enough to either stay away, or pay her for a small amount of comfort.

decided to go to lockwood after graduation in order to stay somewhat close to her father - she’s here on a full scholarship for her dual-major in english & investigative journalim

is in midst of writing her first book, based heavily on her experiences as a scholarship student at a private school, YA fiction, essentially - mostly just to dip her toes in the water and to try and become an established author. if it goes well, it’ll become a series.

the watershed app captured her attention immediately, and she’s been slowly trying to work her way up the tiers of shepherds. finds it completely fascinating, and uses it to help with her psychic business.

still can’t dance any longer, but she works as a ballet assistant for one of the dance instructors.

personality !!

lives in audax, where things break A Lot. she’s usually seen threatening RAs and maintenance men until they fix whatever problems. :^)

that being said - she’s not the friendliest person. knows what she wants and how to get it, and will not hesitate to use people or push them out of her way in order to achieve her goals.

her cutthroat nature was the reason for her success in academics and dance - tends to intimidate the students in the ballet classes she helps out in.

horribly stubborn - if she’s got an idea of you already in her mind, then it’s hard to convince her otherwise.

still uses a cane - in fact, she can’t really walk without it - unless she wants to be in pain.

it’s sturdy, ornate, and pretty fucking solid. doubles as a weapon if need be - has definitely … hit people with it before, though she’s calmed down now that she’s a little older.

used to be very angry, very defensive as a teenager - is still the same, just … less intense. will not hesitate to speak her mind and let her opinions known - especially in the face of injustice.

doesn’t really have the best … relationship with authority, mainly because of where she was raised and her con-artist businesses. tends to be snarky and sarcastic to anybody in charge - or really, anybody in general.

pretty distrusting, pretty emotionless on the outside, doesn’t like to be seen as weak or somebody to be pitied. keeps herself closely guarded and doesn’t really let others ‘inside’ due to her own comfort levels.

she’ll sleep around but dating is out of the question, for the most part - she’s been on a few blind dates, a few casual get-togethers - but she’s always the one to break things off. is more of a careful hook-up kind of gal.

still does her psychic medium business !! sometimes she wonders if she’s a bad person because of it - but ultimately, it’s on her customers for believing in all that nonsense anyway. anna herself is a skeptic - doesn’t believe in anything unless she can see it and feel it.

is actually … a pretty sentimental person, doesn’t take anything she’s got for granted, and is hugely appreciative of her father. sends him money when she can. hasn’t spoken to her mother in years - pretty sure she’s got a step / half-sibling or two but she’s never met them.

a lone wolf and likes it that way, but she isn’t super opposed to friendship - even if she won’t necessarily call anybody a friend. appreciates others who are similar to her - got their head on right, and knows what they want in life.

has a pretty bad fear of driving - will uber if she needs to go anywhere - even then, being in cars makes her pretty anxious. still has ptsd-induced panic attacks, though she’s managed them pretty well.

doesn’t really do drugs! will smoke weed to ease the ache and her nerves, but otherwise she only takes what is prescribed for her. doesn’t drink anything hard, either. big fan of beer and wine. probably gets wine drunk home alone late at night … like … two times a week.

goes between being high strung and uncaring - she’s not especially moody ( rather, is just consistently angry for whatever reasons ) but she definitely tries to bottle everything up.

probably keeps pepper spray on her at all times, even though she’s got her cane. has a gun hidden in her dorm, cat ear brass knuckles on her keychain. she’s not paranoid, she just likes being prepared.

kind of wants to write a novel based off of watershed so! she takes a lot of notes - tends to be very observant.

has a soft spot for children, animals, and soft women. kind of person who will put herself in the line of danger in order to protect others - even if she doesn’t necessarily know them too well.

also the kind of person who’ll set something on fire - or do something because you’ve told her not to. incredibly spiteful when wronged. will raise hell if need be.

morally ambiguous tbh.

connections to the victims !!

tatiana samuels / mutually disliked each other and they’d avoid one another if possible. nobody is quite sure of why - some say it’s because tatiana was skeptical of anna’s psychic business, others say it’s because tatiana had gotten a bad fortune predicting her death.

george craig iii / once a friend of anna’s due to their similar personalities - their friendship was ended because of tatiana. once again - it isn’t quite known why, but it’s been hinted that tatiana had made george choose between her friendship & anna’s. tatiana had been the obvious choice, and that was that.

hana williams / a friend & a client, anna would regularly do tarot readings for hana. after tatiana, anna had tried to keep her readings positive.

christoph wainwright / enemies due to christoph pushing her buttons and generally just rubbing her the wrong way, her own suspicions leading to a natural defense against him, which he reflected.

wanted connections !!

maybe … a roommate?

acquaintances. people who’ve seen her around campus and are curious. people who’ve seen her like … kick someone’s tire in a small fit of rage or spend 20 minutes trying to coax a cat into coming near her so she could pet it.

someone from new york who recognizes her from whatever !! whether it’s from newspaper details of her incident, her legacy at her private school, her legacy as a ballerina before her incident, etc. etc.

has taken up boxing recently - so somebody whose helping her at the gym?

someone who tried to like. help her cross the road or something because they saw her with her cane and she yelled at them so now they’re in this weird spot.

dance students !! if somebody does ballet - she might be helping them.

someone she’s soft for for whatever reason :/

hookups !! of any sort !! the kind where you never talk outside of it, or a hate-fuck scenario … anything !!

customers who come to her for psychic readings and like. comfort in the form of talking to the dead.

people skeptical of her !! maybe trying to ruin her in some way.

other shepherds. someone higher up that she’s trying to manipulate in some way for her own benefits.

a drunk one night stand that neither wants to talk about.

a pregnancy scare with another, separate one night stand! it turned out to be nothing, but there was some. weirdness. between them afterwards.

a blind date or two dnfjgkmh

someone she ghosted :/

ok ok ok so … back when anna was an older muse, she was fresh out of a broken off engagement b/c her husband-to-be cheated on her … so i kinda want … smth similar to happen to her again ? y’know. make her fall in love. break her heart. ruin her again. it’d b fun ! angst is fun !

someone she’s like, protected from a creep at a bar or a club ! and now they feel indebted towards her and she’s just like uuuh no. stop.

annoyances !!

like … maybe a pal or two, or three. mainly just people she gets along with !!

on the other end - something where they just. despise each other for whatever reason. pure hatred.

hatred but make it sexy.

a dealer because even though she can get medical marijuana … it’s good to have a lil extra on ya :)

people She’s suspicious of for whatever reason - someone she caught doing something. suspicious. untrustworthy.

someone where their mail keeps getting mixed up.

uuh really im down for anything !!

[thegreenwolf]

Note: this blog post was originally posted on my blog at A Sense of Natural Wonder at http://www.thegreenwolf.com/spirits-in-the-kitchen-honoring-the-remains-of-our-food/.

[Main photo: rice and cheese stuffed crimini mushrooms, roasted acorn squash and red onion, and sauteed vegetables and mushrooms]

The older I get, the more important food has become to me. For the first quarter century of my life, I couldn’t have cared less about domestic duties. In fact, in my misguided desire to break out of traditional female gender roles, I eschewed anything associated with the household for many years. I remember a friend coming over to visit, and being shocked at how scarce kitchenware was in my home. I was basically living like a stereotypical bachelor(ette).

Then I ended up living with someone who insisted on taking over all the domestic duties as a way of “taking care” of me. Unfortunately, their cooking skills were…less than advertised. After entirely too many pans of cheap chicken thighs or pork chops covered in cream of mushroom soup and then dried to the consistency of shoe leather in the oven, I finally decided to learn to cook in self-defense. I started with my mom’s chili recipe, a piece of comfort food from home. And I found that I loved cooking–the flavors, the alchemy, the transformation of a pile of ingredients and a recipe into something artistic as well as edible.

While I am in no way a professional level cook, and in some ways am still barely competent in the kitchen, I’ve acquired a decent collection of cookbooks and flavor manuals, and I have a much better set of utensils. After years of gardening and foraging and preserving plants, and even raising and slaughtering my own meat, I also have gained a much deeper appreciation for the quality of the ingredients I use. I can’t always afford the pasture-raised meat, but I try to have a bottle of genuine olive oil no matter the recipe. (Costco has become one of my greatest resources.)

One thing that has always been central to my cuisine, even from the start, was respect for the animals, plants and fungi I was about to consume. We literally are what we eat. The vast majority of the molecules in my body came from something I ate or drank, and every time I sit down to a meal or a snack I am aware that part of what I am about to enjoy is going to become a long-term part of my body. After all, I’m only borrowing it temporarily before it gets returned to the ecosystem, so I should be appreciative of those recently deceased whose remains are actively being recycled by my digestive system.

Why is this awareness important?

–Connection with nature on a spiritual level: My paganism has always been nature-based, even if the exact interpretation thereof has evolved over time. As a naturalist pagan, I don’t invest myself in supernatural concepts–even the idea of spirits, to me, is something that I don’t actively try to prove literally. Instead, my path is firmly rooted in the idea that I am a part of something deeper and greater than myself, the concentric rings of community, ecosystem, planet and universe. By being mindful of the living beings whose now-dead remains are about to nourish me and keep me alive another day, I am reminding myself that I am part of that greater cycle, and that I am just one tiny part of the great community of nature. Even when the being who is feeding me–a fruit or nut tree, for example–is technically still alive, I still want to honor the sacrifice of their energy-made-matter and their potential offspring.

Some of my chickens enjoying kitchen scraps that they will later turn into eggs

–Consideration of the welfare of other beings: I know there are people who will argue that anyone who isn’t a strict vegan can’t possibly be acting for the welfare of animals, at least, and that plants and fungi don’t count since they don’t have animal nervous systems. I’m not going to get into that debate because that’s at least three more blog posts, so leave it be. As someone who is an obligate omnivore, I’ve found the best solution for both my health and the planet is Michael Pollan’s advice: Eat [real] food, not too much, mostly plants. I am not currently in a place where I am able to grow or raise all of my food, but the farm my art studio is on has a nice garden going, with plans for improvement in subsequent years. I also have access to several farmers’ markets in the summer, though I’ve yet to find a good local CSA. And starting this past year I began raising chickens for both eggs and meat (though they’ve ended up being pets as well.) The more I can control the source of my own food and how it was grown and raised, the better I will feel about my role as a consumer of food.

–Mindful eating: This is a way to slow down your consumption of food and to be more aware of the experience of eating. It serves to not only reconnect you with something that can be quite enjoyable, but slowing down the act of eating can help reduce indigestion and other problems. Moreover, I feel it gives meals more meaning. As someone who eats alone 95% of the time, it can be easy for me to just zone about and shovel food into my mouth while I wander around online or read a book. Mindful eating makes me appreciate what I’m eating more, which has encouraged my already active interest in home cooking. And it helps me to remember again that everything I’m eating was once alive, as I am now alive, and that is something to respect.

I don’t really do special rituals or magic with my food; instead, having mindfulness infuse the very acts of cooking and eating is ritual in and of itself. That being said, you’re certainly welcome to toss a little kitchen witchery into the process if that’s your practice. Here are a few ideas:

–When preparing your work area, consider lighting candles or incense, or cleansing the area with a wash of salt- or herb-infused water. You can also put out crystals nearby that represent your intent. Some pagans like to have an apron or other adornment they only wear when preparing sacred meals (though I consider every meal to be sacred.) Consider it a way of making sacred space for the beings you are about to prepare into food, welcoming them into your home.

–Say a prayer over the ingredients for the meal you are about to prepare, thanking them for being there and asking that you be able to treat them with respect as you turn them into nourishment for you and whoever else you’re feeding

–Bless the herbs and spices you add to your meals. You can even look up magical correspondences for them, and add ones that match the intent of the meal. For example, cashews are often associated with financial success, so a meal of cashew chicken might be a good thing to have just before an interview or important business deal. Ask the spirits of the plants and minerals to help you with your goal.

–Create magical art with your food. This is especially easy with baking, and plenty of magical groups have celebrated rituals with cookies or cakes decorated with pentacles and other symbols. Try baking a layer cake where each layer is dyed with food coloring in shades that reflect intent–green for fertility and growth, pink for youth and joy, yellow for sunshine and health, and so on. Ask the wheat (or oats, or rice) in the flour, as well as the eggs, milk or other ingredients, to carry that intent for you.

Cream of asparagus soup with homemade whole wheat bread and Tillamook butter

–Decorate your table with reminders of the animals, plants and fungi you are consuming. You might have plates that have chickens on them, or add leaves of lettuce and fresh mushrooms as an edible centerpiece. Let the meal be a celebration of these beings and their gifts to you.

–If eating with others, take time to discuss the sources of your food and why you chose them. Even if the answer is “This is what I could afford and what I had access to,” that’s valid. Talk about where you think the plants were grown and the animals raised, and if you want to be able to change your sources–even if you can’t do it now–brainstorm ways in which that can happen at some point.

–Let nothing go to waste. Leftovers are love, as far as I’m concerned, not the least reason of which being they save me a night of having to cook again. Should you have chickens, pigs or other omnivorous animals, give them your kitchen scraps. Other pets can have limited types of scraps; dogs and cats love meat bits, various small critters love vegetables and fruit, and rats and some parrots will eat just about anything you give them. As for the rest, if you’re able to compost outside, tend your compost pile with care. Apartment dwellers may look into vermicomposting–composting with worms–which can be done indoors with few problems. Just don’t leave food scraps where wild mammals can easily get to them; this encourages them to lose their fear of humans and makes them dependent on us for food, which rarely turns out good for anyone involved. If you garden, let your compost be a gift to your plants (and fungi, if you grow dirt-loving mushrooms.)

Even if you don’t take the idea of spirits literally, these practices can still help you maintain awareness of where your food comes from and how you are connected to everything in a greater webwork of relationships. At a time when more people than ever are divorced from the sources of their nourishment, and take for granted the soil and the beings that it supports, it is crucial for us to regain that appreciation for our food. We are already destroying the land, the water and the air, and we need these if we are to continue having food available to us. If we start with changing our awareness, then that awareness translates into actions for the better. Let it start in your kitchen, and move out from there into the world.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider a copy of my book Nature Spirituality From the Ground Up, which includes even more practices to connect with your bioregion and the beings within it! More info on my books can be found at http://www.thegreenwolf.com/books

[justanotherwannabeclassic]

What Kind of Day Has It Been

Author’s Note: It’s time for the presentation of my Hub SS. A very long time ago (aka a few months) @distant-rose​ prompted me with a series of political CS AU prompts. One of them involved Killian working at the White House, and Emma getting a job there, but she was worried he somehow pulled strings. Anywayyyyyy, I finally wrote it.  Ro, I apologize for being the worst question-asker, but I am so so glad to be your Santa. It was almost as cool as being your friend. I hope this brings cheer to your busy holiday season, and provides a useful study break. <3 Summary: Emma Swan was one of Washington’s best lobbyists, and she is about to be offered the role of the lifetime: Deputy Director of Legislative Affairs for the President of the United States. But when her boyfriend, Killian Jones, the Press Secretary, lets it slip that he spoke to her potential boss about her, Emma questions if she’s receiving the position on her own merits or because of who she knows. Is it a giant misunderstanding?

Rating: T Read on AO3!

*cue The West Wing theme*

“Ohmigod, can we have a picture?” Emma hid a smile behind her travel mug of coffee, watching as her boyfriend became flanked by two starry-eyed undergraduate students. Killian flashed his winning smile — the one that landed him on the top of Washington’s Hottest Political Operatives last year, and she knew the young women by his side were swooning in more ways than just one.

“Apologies, love,” he said to her after. He slid his gloved hand into her free one, and pulled her closer to his side. Emma could still hear the girls excitedly commiserating, no doubt discussing which hashtags to use to show off their photo with the Press Secretary to the President of the Goddamn United States. She still wasn’t over that part. She doubted she ever would be.

“Please, you’re not sorry one bit.” She bumped her shoulder against his, reveling in the way the tips of his ears turned pink — and not because of the winter weather. “Don’t act like you won’t be scrolling through the OnlyatGW tag looking to see what they said about you.”

“I will not! I’m not that vain,” he argued, his voice taking the petulant tone of a teenager, which meant he — or more accurately, his assistant, Smee — would be doing just that over the next few days. “Besides, you don’t even know if they were GW students.”

“We’re literally on GW’s campus.”

“We’re in Foggy Bottom.”

“Which is GW’s campus,” Emma pointed out, no doubt waiting for him to whine about urban campuses. “Besides, it’s not like Georgetown students would deign hobnobbing around with the common folk to venture into the city proper.”

“I’ll have you know your President attended Georgetown,” Killian countered. Emma wanted to point out that it wasn’t necessarily a defense. Regina Mills, now Madame President, carried an air of haughtiness wherever she went. Not that it wasn’t totally deserved. The woman was incredibly intelligent, holding degrees from Georgetown and Princeton, not to mention accomplished. She’d had the titles of Mayor, Representative, and President. Regardless, that didn’t stop the various news pundits of skewering her on air for her pretentiousness and how she didn’t relate to ‘Real America’, whatever that meant.

“Yeah, well, your big boss isn’t here and the GW students are.” A strange, almost hopeful, expression crossed Killian’s face for reasons that Emma couldn’t quite place. Filing that thought away for later, she tugged his hand. “C’mon, walk me back to my office. I’m getting cold and I know you have to get back.”

They had met for a quick lunch at one of the many fast-casual salad places that popped up over the city seemingly overnight. Emma had been craving the totchos at Tonic, a pharmacy-turned-bar further into campus, but Killian had limited time with meetings and the endless corralling of the White House Press Corps, and she knew she had to take what she could get.

It wasn’t easy being in a romantic relationship with the most public facing staffer in the Mills Administration. He was constantly busy, always on call, and she thought he hair was turning prematurely grey — well, about as a premature as a thirty-six year-old-man could get — due to the stress of it all. But that’s what happened when you served at the pleasure of the President. Besides, it wasn’t as if she didn’t also have her stressful and busy periods. Whenever budget appropriations and major bills loomed on the horizon, leaving work before 10 pm felt like a luxury.

Such is the life of Washington’s Hottest Power Couple, she thought. Not that anyone outside of Mary Margaret, Emma’s roommate when she first moved to Washington, called them that — at least to Emma’s face, that is. Will Scarlet had tried, and Emma had dumped a glass of water over his head in retaliation.

She could play dirty in and out the courtroom, thank you very much. This was one of the many reasons why she was a pretty damn good lobbyist. “Assuming the political gods don’t conspire against me, I’ll try to be home at a somewhat decent hour tonight. Perhaps then we can crack open that bottle of wine we’ve been hoarding and relax for a spell?” Killian asked when they reached the building where The Queen Group was located. He quirked his brow in a way that Emma found to be most adorable, and she leaned up to kiss him before answering.

“I thought you wanted to save that for a moment worth celebrating?” she asked. The bottle in question had been a gift from Regina Mills herself, fermented with grapes grown in her family’s vineyard, after the close of her campaign. Killian, being the overdramatic and sentimental man that he was, had decided that he wasn’t going to open it until a time worthy of drinking wine gifted from the President of the United States.

“Every day I spend with you is worth celebrating.” Emma snorted. “And perhaps I found out some good news that I want to celebrate later.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“You’ll know soon enough.” The man had the audacity to wink. Asshole. “At any rate, I’m expected back at the office. I’ll see you tonight, love.” He placed a kiss on her cheek, and promptly darted off before she could attempt to ply him for more information. She had no idea of what he meant about ‘good news’. It wasn’t as if he was expecting a promotion. He already had a pretty ideal gig, and she knew he wasn’t planning on leaving for at least another year or two. She wondered if it had anything to do with any of the West Wing information he wasn’t allowed to share with her. Maybe it had nothing to do with work, but instead family. Maybe Liam and Elsa were expecting? They last time the couple visited, Elsa had confessed that they were trying to conceive.

God, they would have beautiful babies.

She and Killian had only discussed babies in the theoretical sort of way. It was something they both wanted, but at the current points in their careers, neither wanted to add the additional responsibility of caring for an infant. Besides, they weren’t married, or even engaged. Yet, a traitorous voice whispered in her eye.

Could that be Killian’s reason to celebrate? Was he planning on proposing? Emma pushed away the thought as quickly as it entered her mind. It was doubtful that Killian would propose on a random Wednesday night — he was far too dramatic for that sort of thing.. She walked back into her building somewhat in a daze and directly to the elevator, uncharacteristically forgetting to wave to Anton the Front Desk Security Guard. Now that she was thinking about Killian proposing, it was hard to get the idea out of her mind. Months ago, the thought of him dropping down to one knee would have, to quote Ruby, “sent her running to hills.” But now the idea made her feel warm inside, secure — and that was more terrifying than anything else. She’d always been a bit gun shy regarding interpersonal relationships. She could trace that flaw — because, though it was deserved, she still considered it a flaw -- back to the day she was born, to when her parents abandoned her on the side of road. She’d bounced from home-to-home after that, never really finding a place or close friends. She thought she had found one in Lily, but that went to hell. That lack of stability didn’t make for the most trusting of adults, even if things did work out in the end.

Emma honestly didn’t know where she would be had it not been for her final foster placement — the Nolans. David and Mary Margaret Nolan had welcomed her into their home with open arms. David was a state representative, so Emma was sure her placement had everything to do with wanting to score cheap political points instead of actually wanting to care for a disaffected teen.

Emma had never expected that she’d still be keeping the family photo Mary Margaret had insisted they take her first day with the family on her desk fifteen years later. And yet… The Nolans were not what she expected them to be.

She had assumed they’d be fake...plastic...only for show. She’d assumed Mary Margaret Nolan would have used to the family photo for some gain as a politician’s wife. But no, she was simply alarmingly sentimental. They asked about her favorite foods and books. Mary Margaret took her shopping for new clothes and assisted her with her homework. David filled her in on the inner-workings of government and secretly took her out for pizza whenever Mary Margaret was on a health kick.

They watched television shows together. Had family game nights. They offered help with homework. It was all so saccharine…

...which was why Emma attempted to screw it up as soon as she could. She’d learned before that even the “good” families never lasted. There was no use waiting around for them to kick her out, so she would force their hand. So, she stole a couple of watches from the pawnbroker in town. She made it so she would get caught, and caught she had been. Things were easier that way.

Only things didn’t turn out how she expected — par for the course of life with the Nolans.

David Nolan convincing Mr. Gold not to press charges hadn’t been a surprise — of course, he had to protect his optics. What surprised her was that they didn’t send her back. He should have sent her back. That’s what people like him and his wife were supposed to do. But they didn’t. The Nolans sat her down and had a long talk about it. They hugged her, like they were the family from fucking Full House. They also didn’t, however, let her off the hook completely.

They made her volunteer. “Community service,” they said. It would teach her a lesson while also giving her something to put on her college resume. (Because they actually cared about her getting into college.) So off Emma went to assist Mary Margaret in planning the Miner’s Day Festival — which she hated — and over the summer up the state capital to help David with constituent services.

“I don’t get why you do it,” Emma had said on day, watching as David mulled over the pros and cons of an upcoming pension bill.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not like most politicians, that’s all,” she’d replied. “You’re not soulless, like, you actually care.”

“Well, there’s your answer, Emma. I do it because I do care.” She remembered how he had sighed deeply and moved from his desk to sit by her side on the Nolan’s overlarge sofa. “I’m not in this for the money or fame, but because I believe this is the best way for me to make a difference, just like how Mary Margaret believes teaching is the best way for her to make a difference.”

“That’s pretty cheesy.”

“In the short amount of time that you’ve known me, when have I never not been cheesy?” The had been, and still was, “never.” David Nolan still encapsulated the concept of cheesiness well into retirement age as he did when he was younger. It had actually been him, and not Mary Mary Margaret, who bought the t-shirts emblazoned with “Nolan Family” on the back he insisted they all wear the day their adoption of Emma had finally gone through.

But even beyond the cheesiness, that conversation had always stuck in the back of Emma’s mind. How would I make a difference, Emma had pondered. She knew early on that she loathed teaching with every fiber of her being. Volunteering with David’s re-election campaigns never enthused her. It wasn’t until she was ‘forced’ to join a club — for which she chose Speech & Debate — that Emma found she was actually good at being persuasive. When she was accepted in college, she had decided to major in political science, because that was familiar. Soon, a path began to reveal itself to her, and after a couple of internships Emma knew how she would make a difference: lobbying.

Her career path was an odd mirror of David’s. Like him, she had chosen to work in field that was more or less considered a hive of scum and villainy, aiming to further line to the pockets of the top 1%. And, to a degree, that reputation was deserved. Many lobbyists did only care about corporate interests — but there were many who also advocated for prison reform, reductions in gun violence, healthcare reform, and the rights on minorities across the spectrum. The Queen Group, where she worked, tended to focus on lobbying for causes that primarily impacted women and children. Emma, herself, had successfully aided in lobbying for laws expanding the protection of victims of domestic and sexual abuse and increasing the adoption tax credit. This was how Emma made a difference, and she felt damn good about it.

“Hey Emma!” The eager voice of the firm’s top Policy Researcher, Belle French, pulled Emma abruptly from her thoughts. Belle approached her quickly, a stack of color-coded files in hand. “Here’s the stuff you requested. I think stats of trafficked kids might be particularly appealing to Senator Gold. You know how he gets about those things.” “Thanks, Belle. I really appreciate it.” Belle also wasn’t wrong in her assessment of Gold. He was a jackass tof the highest order, but Emma could also consistently count on him to sponsor or at least take interest in legislation dealing with children. And while supporting kids sounded like something everyone should agree on, the how of it was often a point of contention. “Do you have any information on a state-by-state breakdown? If we get some good stats on California, Fisher might also swing.”

“Will do.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Die, probably,” Belle replied with a wink. Emma wasn’t sure she could dispute that fact. “I’ll get that to you by COB.”

“You’re the best.” Emma weaved her way back to her desk, Killian’s whatever momentarily forgotten as she rant through a list of Representatives would might be open to listening about earmarking more money to efforts focused on curbing human trafficking. She was so focused on her thoughts, that by the time she got to her desk and dropped the stack of files and her phone down, Emma realized that she had missed two texts from Killian.

Heads up if you get any calls from the 202 code, don’t assume they’re spam. Please answer.

Followed by, in close succession:

I promise at least one won’t be spam.

Emma stared at her phone. What the hell was going on? Whatever it was involved someone from the local area code calling her, but what about? Knowing dwelling would do no good, and that she had too much work to do, Emma set her phone aside. That would be a ‘later’ problem —but she made sure to turn up her phone’s volume as not to miss a call.

An hour later as Emma working her way through her inbox, her cell began to ring, the default Apple ringtone startling her. Her screen indicated that it was an unfamiliar number, but from the 202 area code.

“Killian Jones, if this is spam, I’m going to murder you…” Emma muttered. She moved to close her office door, unsure of who was on the other line or what they were discussing before she answered. “Emma Swan speaking.”

“Emma? Hi, this is Mal Draco. How are you doing today?”

“Um, well, fine. Good. I’m good,” she sputtered. Mal Draco was the Director of Legislative Affairs at the White House. She was wicked smart with an incredibly impressive resume even ignoring her position within the Mills Administration. To Emma, she was sort of a professional role model — and Mal Draco was calling her. “How are you?”

“Excellent. I’m considering strangling Speaker Spencer, but what else is new?” She laughed, and Emma joined her, though she was sure her own voice sounded fake. “Listen, let’s cut to the chase. I’d like for you to take some time to come over to talk about the deputy position. I want as little time between Glass leaving and the new person coming on as possible. Is that something you would be interested in discussing?”

“Of course, yes, definitely.” Emma was sure if her heart was attached to a monitor, her pulse would be off the charts.

“Wonderful. I’ll have my assistant send you some times. I look forward to speaking with you. I’m particularly curious to hear your thoughts on the latest CR.”

“I have many.” Which was true. She had very many thoughts on the latest CR and what she thought the Democrats had to give up and what they should hold their ground on. “I look forward to speaking with you.”

“Same.” After exchanging a few final pleasantries, Mal Draco hung up on the other end of the line.

Emma leaned back in her office chair, her head spinning and heart pounding. Mal Draco, Director of Legislative Affairs at the fucking White House, wanted to discuss her soon-to-be open deputy position. It was her professional dream. She pinched herself to ensure that she wasn’t just doing that.

There was no way this could be real, could it? When news had gotten out that Draco’s deputy, Sidney Glass, was stepping down to take a Pharma lobbying position, she had entertained the idea -- as had practically every other Beltway lobbyist. But she never imagined…

“Holy fucking shit.”

Emma quickly opened her personal email account, where sure enough, a message from Draco’s assistant was sitting and waiting for answer. Emma cross-checked the the potential dates and times provided with her calendar, and fired an answer back. She would have to come up with an excuse explaining why she would be gone on Thursday afternoon, but that was doable. OBGYN appointment? No, people would assume she was pregnant. Dentist? People would absolutely know she was interviewing elsewhere. She had plenty of sick days saved up, but she had to ensure that she was seen lingering around the EEOB in professional attire. But that was just a small issue, dwarfed by the amazing opportunity that had fallen into her lap.

No, not fallen. She worked hard for this. She deserved this. She was Emma Swan. Potentially Emma Swan, deputy Director of Legislative Affairs. She liked the sound of that title.

She grabbed her phone.

You will never guess who just called me

Emma knew Killian was busy, and likely wouldn’t respond immediately, and she was correct. Another hour had passed by the time her phone began to buzz again. Emma was actually a little surprised that he was calling instead of texting, but she didn’t mind.

“Hey babe,” she greeted. She was still on cloud nine, and strategizing on what she could discuss with Draco. “Guess what?”

“Does what I’m guessing involve the Great Dragon of Capitol Hill?” His voice was teasing, though there was an undercurrent of pride; however, all Emma could focus on was that he apparently already knew she was getting the call.

“Um, yes, actually. It does.” She shouldn’t be surprised. He had warned her, without explicitly saying what it would be about. So why was a knot forming in her stomach. “She wants to talk to me about the deputy position.”

“That’s excellent, love! Truly. When Mal talked about it with me, I told her that—”

“Wait — you two discussed me?”

“Well, yes, why wouldn’t we?” he responded with a laugh. “No worries. I only said nice things and kept it decidedly PG.”

“I’m glad you didn’t tell the Director of Legislative Affairs about our sex life.” She kept her tone light, not wanting to let on that her excitement was quickly fading as their conversation continued. “Look, I’m a little busy at the moment, so maybe I can talk tonight?”

There was a pause. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just distracted by the CR, that’s all.” It was a lie, but she didn’t want to let on her feelings over the phone now. Besides, she actually was concerned about the upcoming CR vote.

“Aren’t we all?” Killian mused. “Well, I’ll let you go. Assuming that we don’t invade another country or a SCOTUS justice kicks it, we can celebrate.” His voice lowered. “And maybe rate things a little NC-17.”

“Reign it in, tiger. We don’t want the press pool assuming you’re trying to have sex talk in the oval. The last thing Regina needs is a sex scandal.”

“Look who’s worried about optics now. That’s usually my job.” Emma could practically hear his smile. “I love you, Emma.”

“I love you, too. Bye.”

Emma waited until the distinct sound of Killian ending the call before she sat her phone carefully on her desk. Her earlier giddiness had been replaced by a sense of gnawing self-doubt that she hadn’t landed the interview because of her credentials, but because of who she was sleeping with. She was well aware that politics was a “who you know” kind of field, built on networking and recommendations passed along. Hell, she been at one of those networking happy hours when she had met Killian. But still, she wanted Killian’s role in her maybe getting the job of a lifetime to be absolute zero.

Some might call it misplaced pride, but Emma considered it caring about her reputation. Politics as a whole was still a Good Old Boys club. She knew how people talked, especially when it involved women and sex. It had been one of the reasons why she’d initially been wary of even going out on a date with Killian, back when he was just the Communications Director to the Speaker of the House. She hadn’t wanted her integrity put into question. If she was sleeping with one Hill staffer, she was sure enough to get more passes and maybe the reputation that she slept with them all.

God, and with Killian being in the position he was in...he was the most public facing staffer. Even outside of the government-focused at the local universities, strangers people recognized him. Hashtags were dedicated to him. If she got a job at the White House, she wouldn’t be surprised if some blogger with an axe to grind with the administration would make a ‘thing’ out of it. What was even more maddening was that if their roles were reversed, she doubted anyone would question if Killian was the one who got the job.

“Fucking shit!” She slammed her hand against the desk.

Truth be told, Emma was also angry. Angry at the situation. Angry that Killian had talked to Mal Draco about her. Angry that she was dwelling on optics, and not on the amazing opportunity.

That anger carried over throughout the rest of the work day. She stayed late, partially because she wasn’t ready to head home, but also to prepare for a long day of meetings on the Hill the next day. It was cold when she left the building, the chill souring her mood even more. She took comfort in the fact that the late hour ensured she could find a seat on the metro. She attempted to read, as was her favorite pastime on the train, but her mind was far too distracted.

If she was offered the position, she would take it. There was no question about that. But she did not like the doubt that had seeded itself into her mind. She wanted to get by on her own merits. It was why she didn’t apply to the college her adoptive parents had attended, nor accept any internship opportunities back in Maine. She didn’t want to get by as David Nolan’s daughter, and she didn’t want to do the same as Killian Jones’ girlfriend. The many, many rom coms that Mary Margaret was obsessed with hadn’t prepared her for this.

She walked slowly from the metro station to the row house she and Killian rented together. She remembered when he had suggested moving in together. It had been the morning after Regina had won the election.

“I like this,” he had said that morning as he twisted his fingers through her hair. His voice had been thick with sleep, and God, they had both been so terribly hungover that morning. But they had been so happy.

“It’s called hair.”

“I meant waking up with you,” he’d replied. He then kissed her softly. “I would like to do it every morning.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?” The surprise had been clear on his face, even has his smile dazzled. “Every morning?”

“Every morning.”

They had found a place during the transition. Killian had prioritized the Capitol Hill neighborhood, wooing her by pointing out that she could walk to the pretzel bakery she loved. They’d found a row house, its door painted bright red — “It’s your color, love,” Killian had teased. She always felt a bubble of warmth whenever she turned the corner and saw that house, and despite her foul feelings that night, she was unable to suppress a grin when she saw the lights shining bright in the winter night.

“Emma?” She heard Killian call out from the kitchen. Her favorite record was playing in the background. “Hope you don’t mind, but I picked up some Italian from that place in Bloomingdale! I ordered you the Saffron Mafalde.”

Also known as her favorite meal from her favorite restaurant in town. She had to remind herself that he was happy for her. The pride in his voice had been evident over the phone. He didn’t know about her tumultuous feelings. Emma hung up her keys and shed her coat, giving her a moment to brace herself a battle. She doubted he would understand.

“Emma, love?” Killian suddenly appeared before her, a bottle of wine in hand. He had long since changed out of the suit she saw him in this afternoon, and was now dressed in jeans and a dark sweater. He still wore his anchor socks, however. Killian, for as cool as he tried to appear, subscribed to the George H.W. Bush School of Patterned Socks. “What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a bit of an open book, darling,” he replied. His brows knitted in concern. “Did something happen at work? Is your family okay?”

Emma knew she that she should ask him to sit down so that they could calmly talk it out. That’s how David and Mary Margaret worked out their feelings. It was the mature way to handle conflict. Emma, however, wasn’t feeling particularly mature that night.

“Why the fuck would you talk to Mal Draco about me?” Her voice was louder than she intended it to be. “Look, I get that you want the best for me, and that’s nice—”

“Emma—”

“—but it’s important to me to get a job on my own merits. I want to be hired at the White House because I’m a fucking badass—”

“—you are a fucking badass—”

“—not because my boyfriend decided to pull some strings. My career and reputation are important to me—”

“I know.”

“—and having you going around and trying to hook me up with dream jobs isn’t what—”

“Emma, stop!” This time it was Killian who raised his voice. Emma abruptly stopped her argument, not fully surprised by Killian’s interjection. She watched as he sat down the bottle of wine on the entryway table, before he turned back to her and crossed his arms.

“For what it’s worth, I never once attempted to hook you up with a dream job. I knew you’d bite my head off if I even tried, which you are now,” he said pointedly.

“Then why did you say that you talked to Mal about it?”

“She was the one who talked to me about it. She thought I would find it interesting that you were at the top of their shortlist. And, just so you know, that reason I never told you that earlier was because I didn’t want you to accuse me of meddling,” Killian added. Emma’s anger was quickly dissipating, only to be replaced by regret. “She also wanted the Communication team to be aware of the situation, should anyone jump to conclusions...like yourself, apparently.”

She could feel Killian’s anger radiating hotly, even as his tone remain measured throughout the rest of his speech. “Killian, I--” The words died in her throat as she struggled to find the right words to say.

“At any rate, because you are such a ‘fucking badass’, I did pick up some dinner to celebrate, which is now probably getting cold. I don’t wish to argue any further, so let’s just eat.”

“Killian, come on.”

“Swan, you made you feelings apparent, and there’s nothing I can do to rectify that. So, please, let’s just have our dinner.”

She considered arguing further, but refrained. As dinner wore on, she realized she should have pushed for reheating the meal later. Conversation was stilted, and she could tell Killian was still wounded from her accusation. Besides…

“No offense to your boss, but this wine is not better than Two Buck Chuck...and it goes for a lot more.” Emma grimaced at the glass in her hand. So much for the Mills special label.

“It’s Three Buck Chuck now,” Killian corrected. He had a habit of going out of his way to correct her when he was annoyed. It was petty, and Emma hated it, but she let it go. “Besides, she’ll be your boss soon enough.”

“You don’t know that. I haven’t even sat down and interviewed with Mal yet,” Emma said as she stabbed rather forcefully at her pasta.

“You’ve got it. You know how these things go. This isn’t some hillternship. They wouldn’t bring you in if they weren’t serious, so unless you bungle it up significantly— which you won’t — you’ve got it.”

He was right. That was how these things went, which had only heightened her earlier excitement. This was almost certainly happening.

“So how long have you known I was up for the job?”

“Swan—“

“C’mon, you can at least tell me now,” she prodded. “Everything is already out there, and it’s not like this dinner is going super swell.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment before sighing deeply. “I’ve known for about a week. I didn’t know she was going to call you until this morning, however.”

“Which is why you were so giddy at lunch.”

“Which was why I was so giddy at lunch, yes,” he confirmed. “I was really looking forward to celebrating with you.”

“Until I fucked it up,” she replied, irritated.

“I really wish you didn’t put words in mouth. I never said that.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“You’re right. Sorry.”

The expression he gave her told her that he didn’t believe she was actually sorry, but he didn’t say it. He didn’t need to. He was being a bit of an ass, but it was reactionary. He honestly hadn’t started anything this time. Honestly, he’d been more blindsided than anything, something Emma regretted.

“Look, I get it, I know I’m the one who messed up tonight. I know that, Killian, and I truly am sorry about that,” she stressed. “I know I was being a bitch to you, but can you at least understand where I was coming from? Even you said that Mal was worried about the optics.”

“I just wish you would have trusted me not to interfere like that, love,” Killian replied. He tentatively reached out and grabbed her hand. “I know what your career means to you, and we’re honestly not worried about the optics. Your resume speaks for itself. That’s why they want you. We’ll also be in two completely different departments.”

“But still under the same White House.”

“Yes, still under the same White House. We’ll probably still have to meet with HR and fill out some paperwork, but it’s not like I’d be your boss and you my assistant. It’d all be above the board,” Killian answered. His expression shifted. “You want this, don’t you?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s The Dream,” she emphasized. “What political science nerd doesn’t dream of someday working at the White House? Jesus, I’ll have to figure out a way to tell David without him getting a gleeful heart attack.”

“They’ll be quite proud. I know I am,” Killian said, and Emma knew he meant it. “My girlfriend is going to work for the President.”

“That would be more impressive if you didn’t already work for her.”

“If you want to talk about optics, it’s honestly the kind of shit the press eats up. They’ll be having pools on when the Rose Garden wedding might be.”

“God, Mary Margaret would die.” She could just imagine it now, her parents flanking her sides as they escorted her down the makeshift aisle, Killian wearing a navy suit and smiling brilliant. She flushed when she noticed Killian staring at her with a twinkle in his eye. “Does the press really bet on that stuff?”

“When they’re bored,” he shrugged. “I’d rather them focus on that than trying to drudge up a pantsuit scandal.”

“I don’t even remember the last time I saw Regina in a pantsuit.”

“Exactly."

They laughed together, the earlier tension slowly dissipating into something more tender. Knowing there was more left to be said, she told him, “I really am sorry for freaking out at you. I recognize that wasn’t fair.”

“I appreciate the apology, and I do recognize that this is overwhelming. Remember when I first got my job?” Killian replied, his expression soft

“I believe you wore mismatched shoes immediately after you found out.”

“And I vomited in my office trash can both before and after my first briefing,” he said. He’d never told her that part. “I truly am looking forward to seeing what you accomplish for the administration. I have a feeling that you’re going to be extraordinary.”

“Going to be? I thought I already was extraordinary,” she said with a laugh. He called her that often enough. Extraordinary. Fantastic. Beautiful. All the adjectives in between.

“Haven’t you put me through enough tonight, woman?”

“Please, I’ve barely begun to put you through anything tonight,” Emma teased. She took triumph in the way his eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline and the slight flush the colored his cheeks.

“Well then.”

“Someone did promise me that we’d make tonight a little NC-17."

“That I did.” He licked his lips. “Would that make this makeup sex or celebration sex?”

“Who says it can’t be both?” They both laughed as he chased her up the bedroom to truly celebrate the night.

[pizza-is-my-buziness]

Okay guys, I just really, really miss Skimmons and writing Skimmons so let’s do this! I think season 5 needs some Skimmons love and some Skimmons goggles firmly in place.

So! Skimmons! A little ficlet set during 5x20 (when? I dunno, does it really matter?! Nope) but I just need some Skimmons love and I just love these two okay.

Oh, The Heart It Hides Such Unimaginable Things

The sound of the door clicking shut startles Daisy and that’s the first time she realizes that she’s been standing in front of the sink, her mind a million miles away. She blinks, and it feels like coming awake, her mind pulling itself together, slow and sluggish.

“Daisy.” Jemma stands behind her and their eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror.

Jemma looks tired, haggard with shadows under her eyes.

Daisy doesn’t want to think about what she looks like.

“Are you okay?”

It’s the million dollar question, the one they keep asking each other, volleying it back and forth like they’re afraid to let it actually touch the ground. Like they’re afraid of a real, honest answer.

Daisy nods and it’s easy to fake a smile. “Yeah. Just waiting for the water to get warm.”

Jemma arches an eyebrow and tips her head in the direction of the sink. Daisy looks down, steam snaking up from the faucet and glistening on the bottom of the mirror. “Oh, yeah,” Daisy says, shaking her head, “right.”

The warm is hot against her skin, stinging, but she doesn’t bother to adjust the temperature. She barely notices how it feels at all, watching instead as the water runs across the dirt on her hands.

“Daisy,” Jemma says again, stepping closer, but not close enough to touch. Daisy can still feel her anyway, a presence humming behind her, as though their very atoms are vibrating with the need to touch each other.

She can’t remember the last time she touched Jemma. Really touched her. Everything has been fleeting, brief, or a touch out of necessity. To tend a wound, to clean away blood, to squeeze a hand in a brief moment of reassurance.

When did she last touch Jemma just to touch her? To hold her close? To savor her presence rather than ascertain that Jemma was still there and in one piece?

Daisy swallows before she can start wondering if it will always be like this.

“Yeah?” She says again, not looking up from her hands, rubbing at the skin impatiently, eager to dislodge the dirt there. It’s beneath her nails too and it reminds Daisy of the Framework, of Jemma…she swallows again and that’s another though she shoves to the back of her mind.

Jemma finally rests a hand on her shoulder and the touch startles Daisy. “Are you okay? Really?”

There’s something in her eyes, an understanding that Daisy has always longed for in her life. One she always wanted as a kid, or in a relationship. One she’s found with Jemma, though she never realized the weight of the depth of such an understanding.

“Yeah,” Daisy says and she honestly can’t even believe the single word as it slips through her lips. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

They both stare at each other and Daisy feels the temptation to take the words back, to stop lying to Jemma. But she also feels a twinge inside her chest, the desire, again, for that understanding.

For Jemma to look at her and just know.

Jemma’s hand stays like a weight on her shoulder.

“Well, would you like the short list or the long?” Jemma questions drolly and Daisy can see her eyes as they slide to the side, to the spot that still throbs. “You have your powers back. You lost Ruby, which I know you blame yourself for.”

Jemma’s tone isn’t unkind but Daisy feels her skin start to prickle anyway, a thickness coating her throat.

“And then you left the base and dug your mother up,” Jemma finishes and the tightness in Daisy’s chest only grows. “Literally.”

Daisy looks at her hands, red and raw under the still steaming water of the faucet. And still plenty dirty.

“You know why I had to do that,” Daisy says flatly, grabbing the bar of soap, one of those thick cakes that make everything stiff and dry and don’t smell at all. She misses the rooms and spaces she’s shared with Jemma before this one, the one where they had a bed they actually slept in and soap that smelled like Jemma.

“I’m not saying anything about your motives,” Jemma replies. “I’m merely stating a fact. You dug up your mother’s grave and then you took her out of it and put her in a bag. And then you brought that bag to me and asked me to experiment on her.”

Daisy closes her eyes, wincing. She thinks of her mother and Whitehall and the scars that she had got from the man. She thinks of herself and the Doctor and the scar she’ll have from that man.

“What do you want me to say?” Daisy says and the soap slips from her fingers and thunks into the basin.

“Whatever you want,” Jemma tells her gently, reaching past her and picking up the soap. “I want you to say what’s on your mind.”

Jemma adjusts the temperature of the water, running her fingers underneath it experimentally before lathering up her hands and then taking Daisy’s hands between her own. Daisy sighs at the touch, this contact, and only watches as Jemma massages her skin gently, trying to rid her pores of the damp dirt of her mother’s grave.

“Nothing,” Daisy says flatly. “I’m just thinking about finding a way to save Coulson.”

“And you think digging up your mother is going to help with that?” Jemma questions without looking up at her.

Daisy bites the inside of her cheek. “Why do you have to keep saying that?”

“Because that’s what you did,” Jemma points out gently, sliding her nail beneath Daisy’s to dislodge the dirt still lurking there.

“I had to.”

Jemma finally lifts her eyes. “Daisy-”

Daisy only shakes her head. “No, I had to. That’s all there is to it. If my mom’s DNA has some way of saving Coulson…some tiny, minor, possibility, then I had to do it.” She swallows, forcing the tightness in her jaw to relax. “You and Coulson are the most important people to me. End of story.”

Jemma reaches up, resting her damp hand against the side of Daisy’s face. Her finger brushes softly against the side of her neck, against the spot that used to elicit an involuntarily intake of breath whenever Jemma’s lips pressed to it. Now it just makes Daisy’s wince. “I’m sorry,” Jemma says softly, but Daisy has the feeling that she’s not talking about touching the spot.

It had been all she had said after it happened, when she hadn’t been able to do anything to stop Fitz from pulling the inhibitor out of skin. Jemma had said the words quietly as she had held onto Daisy, as she had pulled the thread for the few stitches through her skin, as they had both had to push the moment away and step back into reality.

“It doesn’t matter,” Daisy says, shaking her head.

She steps away from Jemma, switching off the water and grabbing a plain, scratchy white towel off the rack. It reminds her of the type they used to have at St. Agnes, the kind that came cheap and grew thin quickly.

“None of what’s happening is your fault,” Jemma tells her, watching as Daisy methodically dries her pinkening hands. “I know Yoyo said-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Daisy interrupts quickly, tossing the towel into the corner. “I had to do what I had to do. For Coulson. For all of us.” She hesitates, pausing for a moment. “I wish I had been here for you. I’m sorry I left you-”

Her throat catches before she can say anything more.

Jemma’s face softens, and she steps closer. “You didn’t,” she says softly. “You didn’t leave. You came back.”  

Daisy smiles faintly, nodding. “Yeah, I came back. With a bag full of my dead mother’s bones. How romantic.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Yes, you should bring me gifts more often.”

“If you figure out a way to save Coulson, I’ll give you any gift you want,” Daisy assures her.

Jemma’s expression darkens slightly. “No pressure.”

Quickly, Daisy shakes her head. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I only mean…if anyone can figure it out, you can. I know you can.”

Jemma sighs. “And if I can’t?”

Daisy isn’t sure how to respond. She isn’t sure that there’s really even something to say.

It suddenly seems like the worst idea in the world to have the only important things in her life to be things that can be so easily taken away from her.

Daisy reaches out her hand and Jemma takes it, coming into her space easily, fitting herself into Daisy’s orbit as easily and perfectly as she always has. Daisy slips her arms around Jemma, holding her close against her, closing her eyes at the sensation of Jemma’s chest rising and falling against her own, of Jemma’s breath on her skin, of the warmth of her body against her own.

“Soon,” Jemma says quietly, the word ghosting against the hollow of Daisy’s throat.

There are so many things that Daisy thinks that word can mean. Soon, all of this will be okay. Soon, they’ll save the world again. Soon, they’ll figure out a way to help Coulson. Soon, Daisy will figure out how to look at Jemma and tell her everything on her mind. Soon, the incision on her neck will stop hurting.

Soon, all of this will be over.

Soon, they’ll be able to rest.

Soon, they can be back in a room that belongs to them with soap and sheets that smell like home.

Soon, they can pretend like those things are the only things that matter.

Only, Daisy feels like that’s all they ever say to each other. She has no idea when soon is actually going to become now.

But still, Daisy smiles, nodding. “Yeah,” she says, “soon.”

It’s easy to say when she has Jemma in her arms and everything else outside a closed bedroom door.