#and fingers crossed that going into the second half of december thing will chill

[uayv]

december_2022

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 21

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“Hi,” she greets him as he walks in the door, “I have something for you.”

She’s perched in the armchair, a smile that’s coy and playful curling the corners of her mouth. He gives her a curious smirk as he slips off his shoes and overcoat.

“Okay, like a gift?” he asks, crossing the room to plant a kiss on her lips, stealing another to enjoy the warm feeling of her mouth against his, which is chilled from the wintery air outside.

She shakes her head as he goes into the bedroom, changing into sweats and a T-shirt.

“You’re going to have to find it,” she calls from the other room, and he smiles to himself.

This is his favorite version of her; playful and flirtatious, quick to smile and laugh. He loves all aspects of her personality, but the rarity of this one makes it feel special. She almost never acts this way in front of anyone else, even her family; it feels like it’s just for him. He moves to stand at the threshold of the living room, leaning against the wall.

“Are you going to give me a hint?” he asks, and she considers the question with a thinking man pose.

“Well, I will tell you that right now you are very, very, cold,” she finally says.

His eyebrows lift in understanding and he walks back into the bedroom.

“Colder!” she calls, and he moves to the kitchen.

“Still cold.”

He walks to her desk.

“Mmm, slightly warmer.”

Next he steps close to the fireplace.

“A little warmer.”

He turns to look at her and narrows his eyes. He takes a step towards her.

“Oh, warmer.”

He stands directly in front of her chair.

“Getting hot,” she says with a playful lilt to her voice.

He drops to his knees between her legs.

“Very, very hot.”

He slips his fingers into the waistband of her pants.

“On fire,” She says with a smile.

He moves to pull her pants down and the tips of his fingers meet with something foreign near the top of her thigh. He quirks his head quizzically, fitting his whole hand into her pant leg and pulling out two long strips of cardstock. Airline tickets.

“How do you feel about a California Christmas?” she asks hopefully, and he looks at the tickets to see that the destination is San Diego, December 22nd.

He knew that she and her mother had been talking about flying out to see Bill for the holiday, but he’d assumed that he’d be left at home.

“What about Priscilla?” he asks, both touched that she wants to include him in her family’s celebration and nervous about meeting her older brother, who he understands will hate him by default.

“We can ask the Gunmen to look after her,” she offers. “Unless you don’t want to come with me?”

He can tell by her tone that it’s not meant to be a way for him to opt out, but a test of his willingness to go. She clearly wants him to.

“Of course I want to go with you,” he replies, moving close and wrapping his arms around her waist. “I will admit to being a little worried about meeting your brother, and in his home, on his turf.”

She gives him a sympathetic smile. “Don’t worry too much about Bill. Missy and Charlie are going, and Mom of course, and they love you. I know Tara will too. So even if he does pull the big brother card and give you a hard time, we have strength in numbers.”

“Is Byers going?” he asks hopefully, and she shakes her head. “Missy only just barely told Mom about him. It’s too soon for them.”

“But not for us?” he asks with the smile he reserves for the times when she alludes to the seriousness of their commitment.

She shakes her head slowly. “Not for us,” she says.

———

“Oh my god, I’m going to lose my mind, Mulder.”

She’s pacing around the apartment, putting things into different piles and open suitcases, her level of stress palpable in the air.

“Honey, stop for a second,” he says, grabbing her by the shoulders and dipping his head to meet her eye. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs, waiting as she does so. “We don’t need to leave for the airport for another twelve hours,” he says, keeping his own tone calm and level to counter hers, “we have plenty of time to pack.”

“It’s not just the packing, Mulder, this entire week was a nightmare. Everything I was hoping to accomplish before this trip was waylaid in one way or another; I missed my doctor’s appointment because of an emergency autopsy and forgot to reschedule it before they closed on Friday, Trudy was out sick half the week so I had to absorb her workload, the dry cleaners lost the dress I was going to bring for Christmas Eve mass, Priscilla is out of food AND litter, and I can’t find my earplugs for the plane,” she rattles off.

He pulls her into a hug, feeling her relax a bit with the contact.

“I will go pick up cat food, litter and earplugs,” he says, pulling away to look at her again, “and I’ll remind you to call the doctor tomorrow and reschedule. Wear that blue dress with the little flowers on it to mass, it looks beautiful on you. And try to breathe,” he finishes, giving her a sympathetic smile.

She forces a small smile onto her mouth and takes another deep breath. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

He pours her a big glass of wine before bundling himself up against the cold and venturing out into the December night.

———

She glances at Mulder intermittently, watching for signs of overwhelm. She knows that coming from a small, dysfunctional family means that he’s not accustomed to the type of gathering they are currently entrenched in; the entire Scully clan plus Tara’s parents and brother, and several members of their church. He seems to be faring okay, sipping a beer while talking sports with Charlie and a few others.

As nervous as he’d been about meeting Bill, he was well prepared. Scully directed him to speak highly of the Chargers while eviscerating the Patriots, and to go easy on the PDA. While they aren’t exactly best friends, Bill doesn’t seem to actively dislike him, and they are calling that a win.

She’d fully expected them to be set up in separate rooms given Bill’s traditional family values, but the number of people who needed to be housed made that impractical. They ended up relegated to the guest room and a single twin bed, though the enormous stack of pillows and blankets arranged on it suggest that one of them is expected to make a bed on the floor. They don’t do that, of course, instead sleeping nested together like spoons, Mulder continuously making half-hearted attempts at getting frisky while she laughs and slaps his hand away.

They are dressed for midnight mass on Christmas Eve, Scully in her flowered blue dress and Mulder in one of his typical weekday suits. They sit in the pew between Mom and Charlie, hands clasped chastely on the bench between them, suppressing giggles as he leans over to warn her that he is at risk of bursting into flame. He traces patterns on her palm with his index finger and she realizes at some point that they are letters. She concentrates, trying to understand his message, expecting it to be ‘I love you’ or something similarly sweet. When she puts together that he is spelling out ‘sex tonight?’ she looks over at him with wide eyes and then purses her lips together tightly to keep from laughing, doing her best to glare at him.

They file sleepily through the door at nearly 2am, quietly going off into their respective bedrooms and pull-out couches, hoping to get some rest before Christmas festivities in the morning. Scully quickly brushes her teeth and washes her face before darting to the bedroom, wriggling under the covers and pressing her back against Mulder, her cold toes brushing against his shins.

“Hm, you’re cold,” he says softly, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

“Thanks for going to mass,” she whispers back, “it meant a lot to my mom to have all of us there.”

“Thanks for inviting me,” he answers, his breath hot on her neck, “it’s nice to feel like a part of a real family.”

She threads her fingers through his where they rest on her belly, squeezing his hand. She tries to go to sleep, but his chest rising and falling against her back and the heat of his groin tucked against her backside are distracting. She wiggles a little bit against him.

“Hmmm,” he responds, thrusting his hips against her gently.

She swore that she was not going to have sex at her brother’s house. She knows that they can go without for the week they are here. But as she feels him grow hard against her ass, the throbbing between her legs suggests otherwise. No doubt it’s exacerbated by the forbidden nature of the situation; the door doesn’t have a lock and the house is quiet and still, though packed with enough ears that the risk of being heard is high. When his lips press against the back of her neck, she knows she’s done for.

She reaches behind herself to slip her hand into his pajama pants, stroking him firmly as he breathes hard into her ear, suppressing the groan that she knows would normally result from her touch. He pushes his pants down to his knees with one hand, then hurriedly brings hers down as well. She emits a small gasp when he slips inside her, simultaneously pushing his hand under her pajama top to squeeze her breast.

“Jesus fuck, you’re wet,” he whispers harshly in her ear, and she wants to make a joke about not taking the lord’s name in vain on his birthday but when he starts pumping in and out deliciously slowly, the thought slips from her mind.

If he moves too quickly the bed squeaks, so he keeps a languid pace as he pinches her nipples and kisses her neck, then slides his hand down to play with her clit in the tight space between her legs, which are still pinned together by the pajama pants around her knees. It feels incredible, and yet the necessary slowness and need to stay quiet make her wonder if she will be able to come. As if intuiting this, Mulder withdraws momentarily, sitting up and freeing her top leg from her pants, then lies back down and hitches her ankle behind his knee; her favorite position. He pulls the blanket back over them for warmth and modesty, though if anyone were to walk in now they’d have no chance of plausible deniability. With more room to move, he resumes his slow strokes and pairs them with hard and fast circles around her clit, murmuring little affirmations into her ear so softly she can barely hear them, much less anyone else. The vibration of his voice, the slip of his cock, the rough brush of his fingers, all come together in crescendo as she stiffens in his arms, turning to muffle her cries against his mouth as she comes. Now able to focus on his own release, he continues to pump slowly, pressing his face into her neck and letting out a low growl as she feels him throbbing inside her.

He slips quietly out of the bed, retrieving one of his dirty T shirts and swiping it between her legs before he pulls her pajama pants back into place. They get comfortable again, the sexual tension that had prevented them from relaxing before now dissipated.

He kisses her cheek softly, murmuring “Merry Christmas, Scully,” into her ear just before she drifts off to sleep.

In the morning, they sit around the lit tree, drinking coffee and eating pastries as they shake off sleep.

“Is your house haunted, Bill?” Charlie asks, and Bill gives him a doubtful look. “I swear I heard some weird noises, like creaking and whispering, I felt like I was in a horror movie,” Charlie defends.

Scully hides her face behind her coffee cup, glancing over to see Missy giving her a pointed look.

“I’m sure it was just the Christmas spirit,” Maggie says jovially. “Who wants to open presents?!”

[rosaliepostsstuff]

Little steps (George Weasley x reader) | pt 2 - Interest

Pairing: George Weasley x reader, (hinted) OC x reader

Part 1

Word count: 3059

Summary: When the term starts Y/N tries to enjoy everyday life at Hogwarts, finds herself treated by the twins no more as just their brother’s friend or the popular girl and is excited for the Triwizard tournament to come. The announcement of the Yule Ball leaves her with many propositions, when she already thought she had a date set

Warnings: just a few swears

A/N: Strap back folks, cause I let loose. Didn’t want to rush things and was worried about the pacing of the plot. Excited for the next part cause we’re getting there...

September, 1994

This year was going to be a good one. All three of your previous years at Hogwarts, you and your friends never got to enjoy the ordinary. Each and every time, something was brewing, only to blow up right before the school year ended. Evenings spent on studying and essays were followed by trying to save the world. Or Hogwarts, at the very least. But not this time. You were trying to push back the memories of what happened after the Quidditch World Cup final and just be a teenager.

You sat between Hermione and Harry at the welcoming feast. The sorting hat had sang its song, and you curiously watched the sorting ceremony, wondering who’d join your house this year. But the most exciting thing that happened was, without a doubt, the announcement of the Triwizard Tournament. Even if it meant cancelling the Quidditch Cup that year, you hoped it would prove entertaining enough. You were also looking forward to what having students from two foreign wizarding schools would change in Hogwarts’ life. Only you’d have to wait two months to find out.

The next day was your first day of class, when everyone was starting to get back to their Hogwarts routine after weeks of vacation. The table was busy, some were discussing magical ways of making oneself older a few seats further, some were discussing their new timetables. You studied yours, chewing your toast and listening to what your friends had to say about it. -Today’s not bad… outside all morning, - said Ron, running his finger along Monday’s column -Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Care of Magical Creatures… damn it, we’re still with the Slytherins… Herbology with Hufflepuffs, huh. You smiled a little to yourself. You had some friends in that house, two of them – Matthew and Eric – you’ve known since childhood. You even went to muggle elementary school together, before your adventure at Hogwarts began – your parents, even though pure-blood and rather wealthy, were progressive. Eric was a year above you, but Matt was your age, so you’d partner up in herbology. This year it would be slightly different, as over the summer things between the two of you changed a bit.

In the first weeks of the term, things had slowly but surely settled down. You had a new, as usual, questionable DADA teacher. Hermione decided to found S.P.E.W., trying to fight for house-elves’ rights. Although slightly unsure of her methods, you couldn’t help but agree with her message. In your world, it seemed normal, in the mansion owned by your dad’s ancestors it was normal, you never questioned it. But in your parents’ household there never was one, and you were just fine.

 The day was nice, mid-September air still quite warm as you were making your way through the open corridors near Transfiguration. Your thoughts were shifting between schoolwork and leisure. As you were approaching an intersection, you heard quick, heavy steps. Most people were already in the great hall, as lunchtime started not long before.

Fred and George ran out of one of the corridors, ran past you sparing a glance in your direction as you watched with interest, and then they hopped a half wall to hide behind it. What was it this time? After them, emerged Filch, panting heavily.

For half a second you panicked. Would he blame you for whatever they did? Take you for an accomplice?

It wasn’t logical, you were just casually strolling, but you wouldn’t put anything past the old maniac. You tried to keep yourself together when he looked at you expectantly. Quickly, you pointed into one of the corridors. Your chances were 50/50, he could believe you and let himself be fooled, or see right through you, finding it suspicious, that you tried to help him and try to convince the Headmaster to allow him to tie you in his beloved shackles that were always ready in his office.

He ran. You slowly pretended to continue your way, until he was gone, when you approached the wall the twins were hiding behind. -Bli-meey, he definitely added something special to his oatmeal this morning, he never lasts this long -said George to his brother -I expected him to snuff out halfway through! -added Fred -You lads owe me one. – you said smugly, crossing your arms over your chest -That we do, flower. – George said, smiling at you, showing off his dimples -Just say a word when you wanna break some rules – Fred winked at you, then grinned at his twin and the two walked away, as you forgot where you were going before that encounter.

 October, 1994

October was passing quickly in huge amounts of work, as if all the teachers made some kind of pact to rob you of free time. George and Fred seemed more confident in their bantering with you, though.

Before you knew it, there was just a week left until Halloween. You were now in the entrance hall, in front of a sign Ron was reading out loud:

TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT

The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o’clock on Friday the 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early —

-Brilliant! - said Harry. -It’s Potions last thing on Friday! Snape won’t have time to poison us all!

Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast.

The following week, the faculty was getting more and more nervous. The castle was being thoroughly cleaned and everything was supposed to be perfect for the visit. When the time for the feast came, you and your friends arrived in the great hall, which was decorated beautifully overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers’ table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.

Before dinner, everyone headed to the Entrance Courtyard to greet the guests. Examining all the young witches and wizards from both schools you couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated. But nonetheless, you were looking forward to the following months, when the events of the tournament were explained to you scrupulously.

The next day was Saturday, which would usually mean late breakfast for most, but not today. Students were huddled around the Goblet of Fire, placed in the centre of the entrance hall. You watched curiously to see who could become the Hogwarts champion.

George, Fred and Lee decided to try their luck with aging potion, all three taking a drop of it and clearly confident in their ability to survive win the tournament and split the prize.

When you saw George follow Fred and step over the age line to place his name in the goblet, your eyes narrowed down a bit. You were just about to contemplate, what if, when- Loud sizzling noise and the twins were thrown back, rocking long, white beards. You laughed at the sight, just as everyone else. But you also felt something else deep down, which you didn’t give a thought – relief.

 November, 1994

November was weird for you. Harry was chosen to be Hogwarts’ champion along with Cedric Diggory, but Ron wouldn’t believe he hadn’t thrown his name in, so now your group of friends was split. You thought the whole conflict to be a tad ridiculous, but you found yourself alone with Harry more, who most of the school seemed to hate now.

You and Hermione helped him prepare for the first task of the tournament, once you learned what it would be. Thanks to Moody’s tip, you spent hours practicing the summoning charm. You grasped it faster than Harry, and you tried not to show that it worried you a bit.

The 24th finally arrived. You found a place for yourself in the wooden stands, fellow Gryffindors around you. George and Fred were doing rounds, taking bets. After it seemed they were finished, as the first contestant was about to walk out, they took an empty spot next to you. -Care to make a bet, young lady? – said Fred, leaning down a bit and wiggling his eyebrows at you. -Gambling, huh? – you said, smirking and looking between the boys -Sign me up. -Atta girl. -George said and opened their suitcase once again. You were thankful your cheeks had already been a bit pink from the November chill as you were taking out the money. -3 galleons for Ced, 2 for Harry. – you handed them the coins -just don’t tell him -You pretended to whisper but just loud enough that they could still hear you over the crowd.

At some point after the task had started you got a bit cold and decided to put on the warm scarf you packed in your bag just in case. In the tight crowd, you clumsily fumbled with the bag and the jacket, trying to wrap yourself up. You were about to attempt to hold the bag between your knees to avoid placing it on the floor, when a big hand reached out to you from your right. You looked up to see George silently offering his help. You smiled and said ‘thanks’ just above a whisper. Handing him the bag, his warm hand brushed your cold one for just a moment. You put the scarf on, took your bag back and resumed your spectating position, this time, just a bit more to the right.

December, 1994

At the beginning of the month, the Yule Ball was announced. For you, it meant hordes of boys asking you to be their date. Even ones you haven’t exchanged a word with before. Some of them you politely declined, some of them just got a short ‘no.’

Professor McGonagall took it upon herself to make sure students from the house of Godric Gryffindor knew what they were doing on the dance floor, and not behave like a babbling, bumbling band of baboons.

And so, you were all gathered in her classroom, cleared of all desks, boys on one side of the room and girls on the other. When she called Ron over to demonstrate, you couldn’t help but stifle your laughter at your friends awkwardness, when he was asked to grab her waist. Soon, she directed everyone to pair up and practice.

Just like always in these situations, you kind of stepped forward, trying not to be awkward and hide, but at the same time looked around the room a bit nervously – wondering who’d ask you, if you could afford to pick and choose or if anyone would come up to you at all.

Your eyes involuntarily found George Weasley across the room. But you didn’t expect him to also look in your direction. Neither did he, but he tried not to let it show. You weren’t able to predict, what he’d do next. You didn’t know what you wanted in that moment, either, as your thoughts seemed clouded. Whether it was for him to run over to you and sweep you off your feet or just leave you, in your nervous state, so he didn’t have to witness you like that. After all, it was unlike you. Y/N Y/L/N, the talk of the school.

You’d rather not think about what your facial expression looked like, when you saw his eyes on you, his lips slowly curling into a small, shy smile.

You were brought to the world of living by Dean Thomas who walked up with a kind smile, holding out his hand for you and asked you to dance. You liked Dean. He was nice, smart, tall and cute. You said yes and smiled charmingly. When you glanced at the spot where George stood previously, for just half a second, he wasn’t there anymore. You weren’t sure what you expected. Why would he? Besides, it was just George after all, right?

Dancing with Dean, there was some small talk about classes, a few jokes about poor dance skills, and before you knew it, Professor McGonagall thanked you all for your time and you were dismissed.

The group headed to the wide, wooden doors at the back. Dean still beside you, the two of you also making your way out. -You know who you’re going with, then? – he asked you. -To the ball, I mean. -  You didn’t, to be fair. You assumed you’d be going with Matt. -No, not really – you replied, skipping the details. -So.. any chance you’d like to go with me?.. – asked Dean, smiling shyly and looking down at your face, bringing his hand to the back of his neck. You felt someone’s eyes on your back, or maybe you just imagined it. Shit. You didn’t expect that. You looked at the tall boy beside you, trying to hide your shock. In the corner of your eye, you see two tall gingers pass you by in the corridor. You liked Dean, you thought again. He was cute. -No.. sorry, mate… - you muttered, truly apologetic -Hope you find somebody nice, though – you offered him a wide, hopeful smile. -That’s alright. Had to try my luck, though – he said, nodding and grinning to you. He truly seemed to take it well. –See you around – he gave you a little wave, which you returned, and picked up his pace, losing you in the crowd. So you walked the rest of the way to your common room, in the black-and-red sea, making a little mental plan of the homework you were to do for the rest of the day.

A week later, you made your way to the library in the afternoon. You seized the moment when you were in a relatively good mood and decided it’s a good opportunity to work on some assignments, to maybe wrap them up before the Christmas break.

Walking through the library you were trying to find an optimal spot for your little session. When you picked one, you walked into the aisle and were about to sit down when you spotted George sitting in the opposite row, facing the bookcase, away from you.

He didn’t see you, as he was bent over a book, his hand supporting his head and holding hair out of his face, elbow propped on the desk. He held a quill in his other hand and seemed – focused? Maybe just a little distressed. You caught yourself staring but you couldn’t blame yourself – you don’t see a Weasley twin working in the library often. In fact, you rarely see them separately.

You looked around, stepped back and forth awkwardly for a bit, unsure what to do. You heard him mutter a few curse words to himself and have to hold back a chuckle. You debated just sitting down and just getting to your work, but you take a few careful steps to try and look through his shoulder aand-

Defence Against the Dark Arts. What sometimes seemed to be the only thing you were good at – Merlin had your back. You decided to take your chance, your own schoolwork be damned. You walk up, lean on the desk next to him- -You come here often? – was not what was supposed to come out of your mouth, but it did, before you could think it through. Merlin would surely be proud of the bunch of curses you directed at yourself in your thoughts. What was wrong with you?!

George was looking up at you with wide eyes but amused smile.

-Eh, erm.. you need any help with that? – you tried to save yourself, gesturing at his parchment -I’m pretty good at DADA, ahead of my year, actually… - you continued, looking down, because if you kept looking into those warm, brown eyes, you’d surely be finished. -Uh, yeah, sure – he answered, chuckling slightly -I mean, I could use the help -He straightened up and shifted slightly as you grabbed the back of the chair next to him. -I don’t come here often… -he said under his breath with a cheeky smile.

After you settled into the seat next to him, surprisingly, the both of you relaxed pretty quickly. Even if you suspected it had been the first time the two of you properly talked alone. It was nice, your banter was natural and you actually managed to help him with the assignment, your own ones long forgotten.

-Thanks, Y/N, I really appreciate it. I’d probably rot in here, trying to do it myself, or just give up – he said and rolled his eyes, packing up his things and you were getting up. -No problem, really. I know how often you just need someone to put it in different words and everything starts to click. – you paused for a moment -I’ll see you around, George. – you started to slowly to walk away -Yeah, see you.. -he had packed his things already, and was looking at your back, retreating- -Hey, Y/N? – you stopped and turned back, looking at him curiously, your eyes telling him you were listening. -D’you have a date to the ball? – he asked, not believing his own words. Matt still hasn’t asked you. You suspected why, after you and Eric went a little far with your teasing when you hung out the other day, he got a little salty. But you knew he’d get over it, it wasn’t really serious, and there was still almost two weeks to the ball. -Noo.. -your tone almost saying ‘go on’. -Fancy going with me? – he asked looking into your eyes expectantly, but his voice was soft, and if we weren’t talking about George Weasley here, you’d say shy. You really had set your mind on going with Matt, Georges question was really surprising. You were not aware that was the case for the both of you. You’d never expect that. Yet the idea was interesting. You knew you’d have fun with him. -Yes – you smiled sweetly and bit your lower lip a bit, standing small in front of him He let out a breath, grinned at you and nodded too, looking away -Yeah, cool.. wicked.. – the last part almost inaudible.

Part 3

[xbunnybunz]

always maybe never [wolf keum x reader]

Summary: A story in which you love Wolf Keum, and maybe he likes you back.

Genre: Romance, Angst, One-sided romance

Date: December 27, 2020

-----

“They took my glasses,” He said.

He looked pissed.

You watched him blankly, taking in his bruises, the scrapes and the blood.

“Did you lose?” It slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, and boy does that get him worked up.

“No.” He snaps, louder than before. Maybe be regrets it, maybe he’s tired, but he lowers his volume immediately after. “No. I fucking didn’t.”

Silence falls over the both of you. Over you, drenched, standing over him in a moldy, stinking alley. Over him, shielded from the rain with your umbrella, lip busted and knuckles bruised.

The red and blue lights of a police car soaring through the night carry into the alley. It throws hues of neon colors upon Wolf’s face, he’s so belligerent even like this, you think you might just leave him here.

“If you’re done asking me questions, you can fuck right off now.”

He’s a nasty little thing, but the way his eyes glint like diamonds in the sliver of yellowed streetlights intrigue you.

“How long were you planning to stay here then?”

He doesn’t respond. Shifts half an inch away from you, like he kinda wants you to leave and also not really.

“It’s real cold out tonight.” You say. And he looks seriously hurt, but you don’t say this aloud. You wonder what the fight was about, if it was worth ending up next to a dumpster for.

You move closer, kneel so you’re eye-level with him despite his adamancy to not even glance in your direction. The moon bounces light off his damp hair, first silver, then purple. The city lights tend to play tricks on your eyes.

“Let’s get somewhere warm, alright?”

You present a palm to him, face up and already starting to pool with rainwater.

It hangs in the air for a long moment, long enough for you to begin to retract it. But then he reaches out and grabs it, a large, calloused hand wrapping over your own. Even in the chill of twilight, a warmth blossoms there.

“You’re fucking annoying.” Is all he says.

You roll your eyes and hoist him up to the best of your ability, which included almost dislocating your elbow as he slowly picked himself up. It’s only when the top of his head hits your umbrella do you realize how much bigger he is than you.

“Here, you should take this.” You hold out the umbrella to him. He takes it wordlessly, placing it right between the both of you. He’s shivering, despite his best efforts to hide it, you can feel the tremor of his body when it brushes against yours for that golden split second.

You look up at him, eyeballing the furrow of his brows, the slight twitch of his lip, eyes cast somewhere far into a long distance. Just what was he looking away from?

You make it to a nearby hole-in-the-wall eatery without serious injury. He flops down onto the seat like a wet fish and grills the patrons who look at him funny.

“Play nice.” You hum, moving beside him and drying him out as best you could with takeout napkins.

He grunts and exhales deep and heavy from his nostrils, hair matted to his forehead and neck. You dab at it, wondering if the purple color would bleed like cheap tye-dye. Of course, it doesn’t.

“You have such an interesting taste.” You coo. Fingers find strands of hair and pinch, rolling.

He turns his head slightly to meet your gaze, eyes cold yet burning. Like this hasn’t happened before, like he hasn’t absolutely taken you apart and pieced you back together before.

“I know.”

Just those two words are enough to send electricity down your spine. You pull away before you’re zapped by this high voltage man.

You take a seat but never break eye contact with him.

The low buzz of the yellowed restaurant lights above you hum life into your fingertips, into your ears, into your heart. It’s nauseating to see the dark red and purple bruising on his cheek and browbone.

“You should find some hobbies,” You offer, voice quieter now. “Like knitting, or something.”

Your lips begin to quirk up, but his straight face drains you of that energy.

“Maybe later.” He says, and you remind yourself to start keeping a tally of each time he says that.

“Right.” You look down at your lap and laugh, but it sounds dry. “Let’s eat, and then I’ll bring you home.”

He doesn’t argue.

The next time you see him, he’s got his glasses again. He’s still scuffed from the last fight but at least he can walk straight now.

“Are you alone?” You ask, bumping hips with him behind the slushie machine.

He takes one crinkling bag of chips off the shelf, cellophane crackling under his fingers. There’s a black motorcycle helmet wedged under his arm and he’s got his riding sneakers on.

“Yeah.”

You peek at the door and true to his word, you only spot his motorbike and pedestrians cursing how it was parked.

“That’s rare,” You tease. You’re standing close to him, so you dare to brush your pinky against his. Nearly have a heart attack when he hooks his with yours.

You look up at him but he’s not looking at you. To anyone who wasn’t watching for a sign, he’d just be pondering the selection. But you were watching, always watching for anything. A glance, a flutter, a chance that he was really there with you.

Today, he’s generous. Staring straight ahead, he graces you with a slight upward curve of his lips. Just a bit, just enough to dimple his cheek, just enough for you.

Play it coy. You pull away from him and tiptoe between the fridges with a sway in your step. You pray and pray he’s following you. When you catch sight of his figure in the reflection of a coffee pot, you feel like a million bucks.

“Ah, I wonder what I should get for tonight.”

You don’t mind that you’re in the unthawed hams section because you know he’s not paying attention anyways. He’s just relying on muscle memory while you agonize over all your movements, you’ve both been through this a hundred times.

Right on beat, he asks the question you’ve been praying for.

“Do you need a ride home?”

His shoulders look broader when he rolls them, the red school blazer stretching and falling back into place. He has no idea how mad he drives you.

“Oh, I guess that’d be nice.”

He smirks, a wicked smile.

Or maybe he does.

You love riding on his motorcycle because everything smells like him, but you guess that’s easy when your face is buried in his hair and the crook of his neck.

Every time you wrap your arms around his waist, you hold onto him like you’ll lose him. One of these days, you swear you will. Sometimes you catch him throwing a glance over his shoulder, and sometimes you wonder if today’s the day he’ll finally tell you to let go. But it never is.

The wind whips about the both of you and blisters your cheeks with the cold. He’s slowed down, and you love it because you know he rides like a demon without you.

The city lights zip by you like fireflies in the distance, the glow of commercial buildings dwindling to zero as you enter the residential area. The scrape of rubber tires on concrete pavement makes people peep out their windows, tongue in cheek, before closing the blinds.

“How are you back there?” He asks at a red light, voice muffled from under his helmet.

“Warm.” You lie. Kind of.

His chest moves in rippling motion that might’ve been a chuckle, might’ve been a cough. And he’s off again. Your eyes close and you hold him closer to you, feel his body and heartbeat against yours, breathe in the smell of his cologne, his bodywash. For the few minutes you’re on the back of his bike, there is only you and him in the universe.

It always ends a second sooner than you remember it should, and it makes you wonder if he’s riding faster or if you’re too eager. He shakes out his helmet hair and helps you off the bike like a proper gentleman, rare for someone as unruly as Wolf Keum.

“Thanks.” You say, and peer at him through your lashes, batting them slowly. You’re feeling cold and emboldened tonight, so you’re hoping he’ll take the bait.

He reaches out, long fingers brushing aside your windswept hair. He traces your jaw and it feels like home, like victory, like you’ve almost got him where you want him.

The warm lights of your house illuminate his face softly and silhouettes his more angular, predatory features. It brings out the Wolf Keum you know and you yearn to keep him like this forever, away from the bloody knuckles and broken bones that make him so sharp to hold.

“Do you want to come in?”

His eyes are calm, barely a trace of emotion save for keen interest. You pray to all the gods that he’ll come in just this once, after so many nights of being left empty handed. For a second, you think the heavens have heard you when he misses his cue to shake his head like every other time. His hesitation is dizzying, and the adrenaline that pumps through you overpowers even the motorbike ride.

He ponders for just a second too long, and his phone rings.

It snaps both of you out of the reverie. From where you stand, you can see the caller ID. Donald Na.

Wolf turns away and takes a step towards his bike to pick up the call. You can’t help the hand that goes out after him. When he looks back to you, he gestures to his phone.

“Maybe later.” He mouths.

And you smile and nod, because that’s what you always do. You watch as he pulls on his helmet and gets on the bike, idle chatter falling from his lips and into the receiver. When he drives away, the exhaust from his bike billows behind him and clouds your vision with smoke. You return home without knowing if he’d waved goodbye.

It’s a temperate day when you speak to him next.

You’re sitting in the park waiting for Wolf, shaded by trees and warmed by the sun. You’ve left the remainders of your croissant on the floor and it’s become a meal for a flurry of pigeons, cooing and flocking by our feet. An ant crawls up to your sneaker, confused with the obstruction. You’re entertained by it’s strange dancing for a few moments before a shadow crosses your vision.

“Hey.” He says.

You smile. “Hey yourself.”

He exhales through his nose in a manner that you assume is amusement.

You pat the seat next to you and he eases himself onto it, stretching out his legs and sending some pigeons head-bobbing awkwardly away from him.

Mindlessly, you note that he’s abandoned his blazer today, opting to tie it around his waist instead.

Birds chirp overhead and the grass tickles your ankles. There’s the sound of children laughing and the rushing of a fountain a ways from you.

He’s relaxed. You can tell from the way he’s kicking his feet.

You peek at where his hands are and notice that they’re close enough to feel his warmth, but don’t miss the bandages on his knuckles and forearms.

“You’ve been busy?” You ask. You pretend it’s a joke but it’s not actually.

He raises his arm and regards it as if it doesn’t break your heart to see him like this. “This? It’s nothing. Some shithead thought using a pocket-knife would hold us off.”

Something in your chest twists.

“That’s funny.”

He hums in agreement and you want to choke him for it.

You let the sounds of the park ease your mind and his. Wonder silently if there’s even a point to all of this heartache, this outlandish game of who-gives-less-fucks anymore.

Beside you, Wolf leans back and lets the sunlight wash over his face, his neck, his chest.

His eyes are closed, but you can see his eyelids fluttering slightly, like he wants to look into the sun but the brightness scares him. His messy lavender hair sweeps over his forehead and spills over his ears, just brushing the nape of his neck with soft curls. It’s nearly concealed, but you can see a faint line of a scar peeking out at you. Just past his adams apple, trailing upwards to his jaw. When he first got it, he refused to say where or how it had happened, but you’d be a fool to not know only metal and gems cut so deep.

This isn’t the only scar he adorns. You’ve memorized the marks he has lining his body like constellations; switchblade starry sky and cigarette burn borealis. In the sun, you can see the endless expanse of marks on his skin like a splatter of cursed stars. There’s far too many for you to count, so you turn away and rest your eyes.

It remains like this for a moment longer, but then he says something that surprises you.

“I’ve been thinking about it.”

Your head snaps towards him, blink and situate yourself further in your seat, wondering if you had somehow fallen asleep and wandered into a dream.

Wolf nods once and the action is slow, like he’s still churning the words in his head.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “Everything about this situation is... Strange.”

He picks up a hand and gazes at it, brows furrowed. He clenches a fist and unclenches it, turning it this way and that in the light of the sun.

“But say I do leave, right? Then what will I have left to do? My school life is shot, and no one dares to approach me.”

He drops his hand and looks at the clouds rolling lazily over the blue sky.

“If I leave, what will I have left?”

You almost want to laugh, almost want to cry, or maybe do both at the same time. You want to ask him if he remembers who is speaking to at all, but you cannot find the courage.

Suddenly, he looks in your direction and that peaceful yet painful moment is over. A strange look crosses his face and you can feel him tensing, back becoming just a bit straighter.

As you turn, the sound of a hundred of flapping wings taking off meets your ears. The shadows of pigeons in flight scatter across grass and the park path, crossing over the figures approaching briefly before ascending skyward.

The first foot to emerge from the shadows belongs to a tall blond hair with sharp eyes, followed by three or so other men.

You stare, but he doesn’t spare a glance in your direction.

“Keum, didn’t expect to see you in this part of Yeongduengpo.”

Wolf remains reticent. You look at him but he won’t take his eyes off of Donald.

Donald raises a hand to gesture to Wolf and you don’t miss the way his silver rings glint in the midday sun, all precious metal and shining gemstone. When he speaks, it’s almost a hiss.

“Come, I have last week’s reports to discuss with you.”

He doesn’t move from beside you, but you can hear him swallow thickly.

Donald begins to stroll again, the men beside him following suit. As he passes Wolf, he fails to even regard you and it makes you feel tiny.

A second passes as he holds his gaze with Wolf, it’s a challenge to disobey and it’s not at all unfamiliar to you. Those dreary nights Wolf has spent with you, both a man and a husk of a man, is because of Donald Na. It is within this essential and excruciating second that his behavior either becomes normal or abnormal, dictates whether he steeps deeper into that endless black sea or fights amidst the raging storm.

In this second, you hope he remembers himself, hope he remembers you. Those endless nights you’ve spent picking up pieces of his shattered self, putting him back together and brushing over the cracks with adoration. Those endless nights you’ve spent despairing for him, for yourself, for all the tears you’ve cried when trying to convince yourself this won’t get any better.

You hope that he proves you wrong this one time, hope that in his heart, he knows he’ll always have you.

But when you feel him pull his hand from yours, you already understand his answer.

You’re acquainted with this sensation in your throat, this burning in the back of your eyes. It’s made a home in your heart, barren since the day you ever laid eyes on Wolf Keum.

Still, a final flame of hope flickers within you.

You grab his hand just before he’s out of reach. When he looks back, he’s all sharp teeth and hard eyes but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

“Can we…” You want to speak, but your tongue feels leaden and dry. “Can we speak about this soon?”

Wolf’s face remains the blasé, brows set in a furrow and lips downturned into just the slightest scowl.

To a passerby who wasn’t looking for signs, he may seem apathetic, annoyed, even. But you were no passerby. For Wolf Keum, you’d always be willing. Waiting. Watching. For a glance, for a flutter, for anything that meant you hadn’t been the only one foolishly in love the entire time.

And for a second, you think he regards you with a gleam in his eye, something that resembles sorrow, or regret, or anything else that may ease the stale aching of your heart. But when he opens his mouth, it’s that same damning line again, that empty promise that keeps you stumbling in darkness for a trace of salvation.

“Maybe later.”

It will only ever be Wolf Keum that you allow yourself to be swindled by every time. You promise yourself this. Release his hand, or he pulls it away from you. You cannot tell which came first.

“I understand.” You say, heart breaking again.

You never will.

[prouvaireafterdark]

Wrong Place, Right Time

For the @malexremix, I remixed @insidious-intent’s excellent frat bro Michael fic! Fair warning, though: it’s rule 63

Also on AO3!

***

Fuck this fucking planet, Guerin thinks as she shivers in the icy December chill, leaning heavily against the cold metal of the bus stop shelter. The minutes drag by slow as molasses as she waits for the shuttle that was supposed to take her home almost half an hour ago.  

Ugh. This is the goddamn last time she tries to do the responsible thing and doesn’t take her truck when she’s heading to the bar. Now, with her patience and her alcohol blanket wearing thin, she’s never been more disappointed that her alien powers don’t include flight or teleportation. 

With a beleaguered sigh, she takes her phone out of her pocket and pulls up the bus schedule. The tips of her fingers grow numb with the cold as she waits for the piece of shit app to load, and when it finally does she’s met with a red banner that reads, Late night buses cancelled due to icy conditions.

“God fucking damn it,” she groans, throwing her head backward in frustration so forcefully that her skull smacks against the hard metal bus shelter. “Ow, fuck,” she winces, the pain flaring up instantly. She reaches up to rub the tender spot with her cold fingertips, wishing she had a bottle of acetone at her disposal.

It’s the thought of acetone that reminds her of Isobel and, more importantly, Isobel’s car, which is undoubtedly sitting in the lot outside her sorority house not too far from here. She’ll mock her mercilessly for it, but she probably won’t say no to letting Guerin borrow it if she promises to buy her bubble tea when she brings it back. 

Without a better idea, Guerin pushes off the bus shelter and starts walking, head downcast as her numb fingers type out a text to Isobel. 

She heads a few blocks down Sorority Row, eyes scanning the houses for those familiar Greek letters. When she finally spots them, she recognizes Isobel’s handiwork immediately in the tasteful Christmas decorations adorning the house’s brightly lit facade. Garlands encircle the tall white columns that line the porch and each and every window is framed with pale yellow lights, a festive wreath in its center. 

She also notices, much to her chagrin, that there appears to be some kind of party going on inside. Muffled music seeps through the walls and she can see people mingling inside through the large windows in the front of the house. 

Guerin checks her phone one last time, but Isobel’s read receipts tell her she hasn’t even seen the message yet. Looks like she’s going to have to go inside and find her. 

She looks down at her jeans and fleece-lined jacket, both threadbare and thrifted, and briefly considers some light carjacking, but in the end, she decides against it—as annoyed as Isobel will be with her for showing up to a party at her sorority dressed like this, it’ll be much worse if she wakes up to find her car missing. 

Sighing deeply, Guerin turns down the red brick path to the porch and makes her way to the front door.

One fist is poised to knock, the other buried deep in the pocket of her jacket, when an unexpected voice comes from her left.

“You lost?” the voice says. 

Guerin’s curls whip through the air as she turns to see Alex Manes, the very talented, very hot musician who sometimes plays at the undergrad cafe Guerin works at on the weekend, sitting in one of the rocking chairs on the porch. How she missed her sitting there is anyone’s guess, but now that she has the opportunity to look at her she isn’t going to waste it.

In the glow of the Christmas lights, she can see Alex is wearing heavy black combat boots and the tightest skinny jeans she’s ever seen with a thick knit maroon cardigan drawn closed across her chest. Her dark eyes are lined in black, as always, and in her lap is a battered moleskin notebook with a pencil caught between its pages.

“Nope,” Guerin answers, smiling as she turns more fully in Alex’s direction and takes a step closer. “I’m looking for Isobel.”

“Really?” Alex asks, head cocked to the side in confusion. “Why?” 

It’s a fair question, Guerin supposes. Isobel doesn’t exactly broadcast that their campus’ resident bisexual stoner is also kind of her sister.

“The buses stopped running apparently so I need to borrow her car,” Guerin explains.

Alex barks a laugh, a bright sound that makes the pit of Guerin’s stomach warm in spite of her. “Good luck with that.”

Guerin smiles good naturedly, but doesn’t head back to the door just yet. As cold as it is, she’d rather see if she can make Alex laugh again.

“I’m Guerin, by the way,” she introduces herself as she sits down in one of the rocking chairs next to her.

“Alex,” she says unnecessarily. “And I know who you are,” she continues, the corner of her mouth pulling up into a smile. “You work at Bean Me Up, right?”

“I do,” Guerin says, face brightening. They smile at each other for a moment, neither one really sure where to pick up the thread of conversation before Guerin asks, “So, what are you doing out here by yourself?”

“Oh, uh, wine mixers aren’t really my thing,” Alex answers, gesturing over her shoulder to the party inside.

“A sorority girl who doesn’t want to party?” Guerin asks, equal parts amused and confused. “I think you maybe joined the wrong crowd.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Alex sighs.

That brings Guerin up short. Sure, she’d been surprised to hear that Alex was in Isobel’s sorority—her emo aesthetic doesn’t exactly match the sorority girl stereotype that lives in Guerin’s brain—but she figured she at least enjoyed being a part of it.

“Do you really not like it here?” she asks.

Alex shrugs noncommittally. 

Guerin frowns. “Why not leave then?”

Alex is quiet so long Guerin wonders if she’s crossed a line, but eventually she gets an answer.

“My mom’s a legacy and kind of an asshole, so,” she says, as if that explains everything, and then adds, “If joining Greek Life is what it takes for her to keep paying my tuition, I guess this is where I’ll be.”

That is something Guerin can understand. If her scholarship relied on participation in Greek Life, she sure as hell would’ve pledged too. 

“Mm, gotcha,” she says with an understanding nod. “That sucks, though. I mean, we’re in college, right? Isn’t now the time we’re supposed to spend doing whatever we want?”

Alex raises her glass—a pink solo cup that’s been resting on the small table next to her—in agreement.

Silence stretches between them for a long few seconds. She should probably head inside to find Isobel now, but Alex is beautiful and talking to her and she just can’t quite bring herself to walk away.

“So, are you working on a new song?” she asks eventually, looking down at the notebook in Alex’s lap.

“Trying to,” Alex admits, her cheeks flushing just a little. 

“What’s it about?”

Alex bites her lip for a second before she answers.

They talk about the song, and music in general, for so long that Guerin forgets about Isobel entirely. It isn’t until Alex brings her up that she remembers.

“Oh, shit, don’t you need to find Isobel?” Alex asks, breaking off in the middle of her story about the My Chemical Romance concert she went to when she was thirteen.

“It can wait,” Guerin shrugs.

“In that case, you want a drink or something?” she offers, looking over her shoulder and through the window into the house.

Guerin thinks about it before she answers, “Wine mixers aren’t really my thing either, but I wouldn’t say no if you’ve got something stronger.”

Alex gives her a considering look before she says, “Alright then,” getting up from her chair. “Follow me.”

As she heads for the front door, Guerin follows close behind.

She’s a little surprised to be led straight up the stairs to Alex’s bedroom, but she isn’t about to complain about it.

“You can take your jacket off and sit on my bed if you want,” Alex says as she lets her inside. 

Guerin unzips her jacket and lays it over the back of the chair by Alex’s desk before she kicks off her boots and climbs onto her bed. She sits with her back against the wall, legs crossed at the ankles as she watches Alex rifle through the top drawer of her nightstand. 

She comes back a minute later holding a clear plastic baggie with a rolled joint and a shitty bic lighter inside. She tosses it on the bed beside Guerin’s thigh.

Guerin has it out of the bag before Alex can get her boots off and climb onto the bed, but she waits until she’s sitting next to her, too close to be an accident, to light it.  

 With one end between Alex’s lips, Guerin lights the other. She watches Alex take a long drag off the joint, watches the smoke curl around her mouth as she exhales. Her lips look so soft and pink and—Jesus fucking Christ, Guerin has never wanted to kiss someone so badly in her life.

It must show on her face because after a calculating look Alex takes another drag and holds the smoke in her lungs as she leans in close enough to kiss her. Guerin gets the picture and follows suit, her eyes slipping closed, lips parted and waiting. 

She inhales as Alex gently blows the smoke into her open mouth, their lips touching for a brief and charged moment. She holds it in her lungs for a minute before releasing it into the air between them. When her eyes flutter open, she’s as pleased as she is unsurprised to see Alex staring blatantly at her mouth. 

Without letting her eyes drift, Guerin takes the joint from Alex’s fingers and brings it to her mouth, sucking the smoke into her lungs once more. When she leans in to return the favor, she can’t resist flicking out her tongue to taste her bottom lip.

Alex moans softly against her mouth, the sweetest sound she’s ever heard, and the next thing she knows Alex is climbing in her lap.

Guerin lets out a shuddering breath against her mouth, the warmth of Alex’s thighs around her waist as intoxicating as the smoke burning her lungs and the lust rushing through her veins. It’s by a stroke of luck more than anything else that she doesn’t drop the joint onto Alex’s comforter and set her fucking bed on fire in her haste to get her hands on her hips.

Gentle fingers reach for Guerin’s hand then, taking the joint back from between her fingers. 

“What are you doing?” Guerin asks against her lips as Alex settles her weight on top of her. 

She feels it when Alex smiles against her mouth.

“Whatever I want,” she answers cheekily.

“Fair enough,” Guerin smiles back, and as she leans in to press their lips together for real this time, she can’t help but think that maybe leaving her truck at home wasn’t the worst idea she’s ever had after all.

[stillebesat]

Catch Me (If You Can) -Part 1

December Drabbles Day 17 Sanders Shorts: Remy  Sanders Sides: Logan  Blurb: Remy would not allow himself to be seen as needy and helpless in front of the general masses. He had an image to uphold. One of perfect health, snarky comebacks, and general sassiness. He didn’t get sick. Fic Type: Sick!Fic, Guardian!AU Overall Fic Warnings: Sickness, Fainting, Mentions of Religion Taglist in reblog. 

He tried to push open a pull door. That’s how Remy knew he was in trouble. 

“Gurl. Seriously?” He rasped, wincing at how his voice sounded like he’d been stranded in the Sahara Desert for twelve years. 

That wasn’t good. 

He needed to sound perfect. Perfectly uncaringly carefree that is. No one needed him sick. No siree. No. Remy would not allow himself to be seen as needy and helpless in front of the general masses. He had an image to uphold. One of perfect health, snarky comebacks, and general sassiness. He didn’t get sick.

The fact that the words ‘PULL’ were dancing right in front of his bloodshot eyes and he’d still tried to push open the freaking door was beside the point. 

Remy swallowed in a failed attempt to soothe the fire burning his throat to a crisp as he drew up his flagging energy to pull open said door. Pushing would have been so much easier. Taken less energy. Energy Remy was barely managing to keep above empty at the moment. No, if the cool glass door had only allowed him to let his weight fall against it in order to gain access into the local cafe that the interwebs claimed had a cure-all chicken based chili that could fix any illness within the hour, they both would have been much better off.  

Hopefully this was more of a fifteen minute cure. Remy would be spending the last of his money on this soup. He didn’t have an hour to feel better. Not after being laid up in his closet sized bedroom for the past two days with nothing but water in his apartment. He had places to be, a midterm exam to nail and a delightful after party to attend.

Adjusting his sunglasses, Remy walked-he did not stagger!-inside and paused to take in the place as the first nauseating wift of eggs and bacon hit his nose.

Quaint. 

That was the first word that came to his spinning mind. A quaint little cafe that practically screamed fifties country diner. Warm. Inviting. Probably run by a white-haired grandmother who adopted all the college kids as her precious grandchildren and piled their plates high with food to ensure that they got a ‘proper meal.’ 

At least that’s what he thought normal grandmothers did. His old hag had lived off of bread and butter for so long Remy doubted the creature masquerading as his granny knew other food existed. She certainly hadn’t when he’d been forced to stay weekends there as a kid. 

Focus.

Remy tugged at the collar of his jacket, already feeling sweat running down his back and prickling on his forehead. Too Warm. Grandma needed to turn on the AC. 

Focus.

There were far more of his peers hanging out here than he’d expected, doubling vision to be ignored, and he did not want to make a fool of himself by throwing up two steps inside the building. 

Remy took a shallow breath to avoid smelling more eggs. This soup better be heaven sent, because if it smelt anything like whatever was currently cooking...he doubted he would be able to keep it down.

“--lp you?” 

Remy blinked, lowering his sunglasses as he turned to the singular cadentic voice that cut through the buzzing in his head and promptly forgot that his lungs worked. 

If the soup wasn’t angelic, the help certainly was. 

Tall, lithe, with sharp sapphire eyes accentuated perfectly by a pair of glasses. The man standing at the counter was like the handsome stranger one meets in a romcom. That or one of those cherubic angels -minus the tropey golden locks- he’d been forced to stare at whenever the old hag had dragged him to church.

Remy pushed his shades back up, hiding his bloodshot eyes. What sort of deal with God had this Grandma made to have such a dark haired handsome glass of yesness working for her?

The man raised a singular perfect eyebrow. “Can I help you?” He repeated in that same melodious voice.

Remy nodded, not yet trusting himself to speak without sounding like a harpy in the face of such a wonderful tone. 

Focus.

First approach. 

Sticking his hands in his jacket pockets, Remy sauntered -he did not sway not at all, he was in perfect control of his balance thank you- up to the counter and leaned against it, offering his most dazzling smile to the man. 

Moment of truth.

“Hey, honeycakes.” He said keeping his tone low to prevent the rasp in his voice from being heard. “Where’s your Halo? Cus you, my dear, are quite the Angel.” 

Nailed it.

The man pursed his lips in a thin line, his head moving in the slightest of shakes. “Unfortunately, we’re out of honey cakes, sir.” He said, tilting his head to the display of desserts in the glass next to him. “But our triple death by chocolate cake will send you,” his hands moved to form air quotations -who did that anymore?- “over the edge.” 

Ooo was that a threat or an invitation? Remy flashed another smile, tugging at the collar of his jacket. So warm in here. “So long as you’re there to catch me, Honeybee. I’ll gladly leap over any edge for you.”

The man adjusted his black rimmed glasses, moving to the register. “So you want the cake then? That’ll be $3.58. For here or to go?” 

Seriously? Remy gaped before clicking his tongue in exasperation and straightened, only to grab the counter to keep himself from falling backwards as his legs nearly buckled. 

Focus Darlin. Get in. Get out. Get healthy. Flirt later. 

“Actually.” He flinched as his voice grated in his ears. He swallowed, again lowering his tone to hide the soreness of his throat as he rested his elbows on the counter. “I came for your ah--”  He flicked his eyes up to the menu overhead, briefly lowering his shades to squint at the wiggling letters. “Chicken Chili a la Cluck.” 

A spark of recognition flashed in the Angel’s eyes. “Ah, you are under the weather?”

“Wha--NO!” Shoot. Was it that obvious? “No, ma’am!” His voice cracked as Remy jerked his hand up in the scout salute. “On my honor it's for a….” He trailed off. Well that was a pretty pickle. How the blazes could he lie if he was promising on his honor? 

The man crossed his arms the faintest of smiles appearing on his lips. “Let me guess? A friend?” 

Was that excuse used a lot then? He shrugged, shivering as a chill ran down his back. Geez, Grandma had cranked the AC up a little too high now. The place was going to freeze over any second. “I just wanted a taste of home-made soup is all.” He managed, rubbing his arms. “To go.” 

Handsome remained silent, seemingly staring straight into his soul, bright blue eyes analyzing him like a hawk about to swoop down upon a rabbit.

Geez. He was no rabbit! Remy fixed a smile on his face, ignoring how his gums ached. Don’t show weakness. Not in front of his peers. He was fine. He totally didn’t feel like his knees were going to buckle at any second. Not at all. He could hold it together for a few minutes longer.

Abruptly the man nodded, releasing Remy from his analyzing stare as he pushed his glasses up so that the glare of the lights overhead on the lenses hid his eyes.

A pity. He could stare into those glorious eyes all day long.

“Of course, Total is $4.78 for the half size.”

Perfect. He only had a five anyways. “Ah, Sugarbee, truly you are an angel to provide me with such an affordable price for homemade goodness.” He purred, shifting slightly to fish out his limp wallet from his back pocket. This soup better be divine. If he kept up this conversation much longer his throat truly would catch fire. 

The man raised an eyebrow, holding out his hand. “I am not the one to thank for deciding prices, sir.” 

Sure sure. Grandma was the one who did, sweet soul that she was, making things affordable for all her poor adopted college children. 

“I’m sure if such an angelic being such as yourself set the prices then they would be even more heavenly.” Remy swallowed wishing the soup already was in his grasp as he finally pulled out the crumpled bill, fingers betraying him by trembling. “Even so, you can keep the--” 

The Angel’s cool fingers brushed his own, feeling like a breath of fresh air on a hot summer’s day. Remy’s breath caught in his throat, hazy mind short-circuiting at the unexpected touch. How he wanted to take those hands and-- GET A GRIP REMY! “--change.” He choked out, dropping his hand to the counter before he did something even more stupid than pushing on the pull door. 

Smooth. Real smooth. Geez Gurl. Keep it together! 

But that didn’t stop his fingers from tingling, nor from the room suddenly feeling like a sauna. What had happened to the arctic temperatures freezing him two minutes ago? 

The man huffed, slipping the five into the till. “Your soup will be out momentarily, sir.” He said, dropping the coins into the nearby tip jar with an all too loud clink. “If you could step aside so I could help the next customer in line?” 

Remy glanced behind him, lowering his glasses. Internally he cursed as he took in the gaggle of people he could barely focus on. Shoot. When had they come in?! He usually was more aware of that sort of thing. 

“Relax, Specs.” Said the guy right behind him, wearing a simple red shirt that showed off nicely toned arms.

Specs? What an ugly nickname. The Angel behind him was far more than his glasses.

 “I don’t mind the wait.” Red flashed a smile to Remy. “It’s not everyday I get to witness someone flirting with you.” 

Really? He had to have misheard that. “Who wouldn’t flirt with him?” Remy asked, casually straightening slowly enough that his vision wouldn’t tunnel. “Honeybee here is absolutely…” He gestured to give himself a chance to swallow back the agony rising in his throat. “Divine.” 

Red’s grass green eyes sparked with humor as he looked beyond Remy. “So I keep telling him.” 

“You tell me yes, and we both know you’re prone to drastic exaggeration.” His Angel stated, barely twitching as the chef rang the bell, placing a to-go bowl within range for ‘Specs’ to reach if he would simply turn around and grab Remy’s food. “Now are you going to order or are you just here to antagonize me at work again?” He asked. 

“Mmmm. Gurl. No. No.” Remy shook his head, whirling to fully face his cadentic Angel and promptly regretted it, placing a hand on the counter as his knees almost buckled. Hold on. Hold on. He was fine. “Ah--” He forced a smile to his face, fighting to see through his darkening shades, to look into those wondrous eyes. “Red here---no---doesn’t lie. You are an….an….ange--” The words suddenly felt heavy on his tongue as the diner tilted, the pressure of the cool marble top fading from his fingers as he fell backwards. 

“HEY!”

A band of ice wrapped around his wrist, jerking Remy upwards. His eyes fluttered open enough to see his Angel lunging over the counter, one hand holding his, the other clenching onto his jacket, saving his head from hitting the tile floor.

Well how about that? 

“You…caught me.” He whispered in stunned disbelief as his Angel’s bright blue eyes seemed to fill his entire world before everything went black.

To Be Continued Part 2

[codylabs]

December’s Wrath

Chapter 1

It hadn't been a simple decision to leave California and his family and his sister to go spend the holidays in Gravity Falls with Wendy. But that was the decision he had made, and by the time he was really starting to question whether or not it was the right one, he had already crossed the state line into Oregon, and the rumble of the bus's engine had lulled him halfway to sleep. Thoughts like his parents' and his grandparents' disappointment at his absence, thoughts like Mabel wishing he could be there to see her new Hanukkah sweater, thoughts like the price of the bus fare, thoughts like the incomprehensible breadth of miles increasing between him and home, thoughts like the knowledge that the Corduroys had 'apocalypse training' instead of any kind of holiday celebration, thoughts like he wasn't prepared, thoughts like high clouds and dark trees and rare sun, these were the thoughts drifting through his head. Thoughts like he was right. Thoughts like he was wrong.

It was a starless night outside the bus, so all he could see beyond the window was a foot and a half of whirling snowflakes, and his own reflection, both layers tinted a grim color by the bus's pinkish interior lights. Crystals of frost were growing on the outside of the window, his breath was condensing on the inside of the window, and he was fast asleep a minute later, and his dreams were sad and lonely and brave and cold, cold, a terrible and cutting cold that pierced to the bone, clawed like an eagle's talons. His dream was a walking dream, while Wendy called him forward and Mabel called him back. The wind was calling too, but not in any specific direction. It just called.

The dawn came around 8:00, he woke up around 8:30, the bus left him at the stop around 9:00, and Wendy met him around 9:01. He almost didn't recognize her at first, beneath the layers of unfamiliar winter clothes, the gloves twice the size of her hands, the grey jacket and the baggy pants. It was only her face by which he identified her, peaking out from the middle of the hood. There was a light in her eyes and a smile on her lips, and he only barely had time to recognize her before she grabbed him in a hug and lifted him off the ground. "EEEEEYY It's good to see you man!" She hollered as she twirled him around. Her words were drowned out for a split second by the hissing of the bus's brakes as it moved off down the road. "How's it been going?"

"It's been going good!" She hugged her back until she set him back down. His backpack threatened to tip him over as he landed but he managed to catch himself. The ground was icy. He took a deep breath of the chill air as he shrugged the pack higher onto his shoulders and tightened the straps. "Good to see you too! I've really been missing this place! And, uh, and you, and everyone. How about you? How have you been?"

"Oh, same, you know how it is!" She punched him in the shoulder. Her breath crystallized in the air in front of her smile, and for just a moment, she looked to him like the most beautiful thing in the world. "Same as last time you were here, same as last time you called, same... I mean, what changes, man? School still sucks, weather still sucks, life's going great."

"Mood." He agreed, even though school had never really sucked that much for him, and the weather wasn't too bad, was it? It had stopped snowing, at least. "Anyway, I packed as best I could, I got my whole winter... Outfit. On." He gestured inclusively to his heavy jacket, heavy boots, three pants, and gloves, and took some reassurance that she was dressed similarly. "And uhhh toothbrush and sleeping bag and stuff. Is there anything else I need? I've never gone hiking in the winter."

"Nah, you're good. And if you're not, don't worry, we don't set out until after breakfast, and dad'll get you squared away once we get to the house." She led the way toward the Corduroy truck, parked on the roadside. "You got a change of clothes at least?"

"Yeah."

"Eh." She gave a dismissive shrug as they climbed into the truck. "You'll be fine." She was right, she was wrong.

As Dipper tossed his backpack into the back seat and made to close the door, his vision was almost completely obscured for a moment as a gust of wind pushed the vapor of his exhale back into his face. He blinked for just a moment, almost startled, and then as his breath dissipated, his eyes landed on the forest.

The forest.

It was the same forest he'd known before. The same valley, the same cliffs, the same mountains, same dome, same trees, same grass and ferns, he recognized that bend in the road, and that sign, and that water tower. But at the same time, this couldn't be the same place. Could it? The old woods were green, green and brown, and crowned with gold beneath a blue sky. These woods were grey. Grey within grey, grey as pale as snow on the fingertips of the trees and grass, grey as dark as night in the spaces beneath. The sky was grey too, no blue, no shapes of clouds, no penetrating ray of sunshine, all the world stood as if encased in prison.

It was beautiful, to be sure. Beautiful as art. But Dipper couldn't shake the nonsensical feeling that the bus had taken him to some alternative reality, some timeline where the bombs had dropped or the sun had gone out or time had frozen, that his eyes were seeing some grim warning vision and not reality. As he gazed out at that sight that used to look like a playground or a second home or some magnificent untold adventure waiting to happen, he thought, at this moment, that it looked something more like an enemy; a world-sized monster, some overbearing rival of mankind itself. He found himself sizing it up.

As Wendy watched him doing so, watched his eyes travel the landscape with a look so needlessly grim and fearless, for just a moment, he looked to her like the most handsome thing in the world. "Eh, I guess the weather's not so bad." She shrugged.

"...Yeah." He finally climbed fully inside and closed the door. "Not so bad at all." He was right, he was wrong. They rolled off down the road, toward the tall old woods where the Corduroy cabin lay hidden.

Dipper had been expecting some sort of grim, apprehensive, even frightened mood when they entered the house, (the whole 'apocalypse' motif having prepared him for the worst) but was pleasantly surprised to find the place full of laughter. Dan was bent over the stove cooking pancakes and shoveling nuts into bags, while the boys zipped around the house with their backpacks, thinking and rethinking and packing and repacking. Conversation loud and boisterous filled the air, about past trips and future trips and present trips, about weather and trees and old campfire stories and whatever else lumberjacks and mountain men talk about. Wendy joined right back in with it too, reminding her dad to bring the jerky, telling her brother to find the radio, getting told by another brother to bring an extra jacket, and all five of them were arguing about whether one person should carry all the toilet paper, or whether they should all bring their own, or whether they should just rough it off the land and wipe with leaves.

Somehow, though was no tree in the house, and no presents or decorations or cookies or little colored lights either, something about the joy and the togetherness of it all struck Dipper as belonging to a Christmas mood.

"YOU." Dan boomed down in Dipper's direction. He spun with a start to look up into the enormous man's face. "You got a knife on ya, boy?"

"Uh y-yeah. Got one right here." He nodded.

"Got matches?"

"Nope."

"You'll need matches." Dan tapped one enormous finger on a paper on the fridge; a packing list. "Need all this on here. Ask Wendy if you don't know where anything is."

"Awesome. Okay." As Dipper joined the rush, a smile touched his face, and he began to suspect that this would be a good Christmas after all. Different, for sure, different of course, but it may not be so hard, it might not be so worse. This was family, after all, a very close and loving family, and when a family is close and loving, nothing that ever happens to it seems quite so bad.

And besides, Christmas was more than just presents and decorations, wasn't it? More than just a few colorful nonsense traditions. A lot more.

But without all that, what was it exactly?

They were all packed by the time pancakes were done (As they had to be. Part of the Corduroy tradition was to leave immediately after breakfast no matter what; in a real apocalypse they wouldn't have much more warning than that, after all.) With Wendy's help Dipper had managed to get packed with everything on Dan's list, all except for a compass; the family had only six, and the sixth wasn't for using. He'd just finished zipping up his pack by the time breakfast was ready. The warm smell drew them together into the kitchen, and they set in.

"What was your name again?" Dipper looked up from his pancakes to see Wendy's youngest brother frowning across the table at him, mumbling words through a full mouth.

"Dipper." He nodded, and realized he'd never actually talked with any of Wendy's brothers, and didn't actually know anything about any of them. "...I never got you guy's names?"

"I'm Gus." The 11-year-old pointed a pair of thumbs in his own direction. "I'm the cool one."

"And I'm Marcus." Said the 15-year-old, and extended a hand to shake Dipper's. "I'm the actual cool one."

"I'm Wendy." Said Wendy, not even looking up from her phone. "I'm your girlfriend."

"I'm Kevin." Said the 13-year-old. He glanced Dipper up and down. "I bet I could take you."

That took Dipper off-guard.

Wendy snorted.

"Hey, be nice." Marcus snapped. "He's a guest!"

"You be nice." Kevin retorted.

"Everyone fight!" Gus cheered.

"EVERYONE BE NICE!" Dan thundered.

Silence descended rather immediately. u could take him. Wendy texted Dipper under the table.

Not gonna try???? He texted back.

By 10:00 their packs and supplies were all stacked in the back of the truck, and they were underway.

By 10:30 the truck was parked and locked at the end of a narrow logging road, with six sets of footprints leading away from it, deeper into the woods.

That was Friday, the 20th of December. Next week on Wednesday would be Christmas. The very next day, Saturday, was the solstice, when the days would be the shortest of the year and the sun would be dimmest, and the things the light drives out would feel most free to rise.

By 11:00 they were out of range of the cell towers, and there was nobody who could help them.

The sun flared yellow through the briefest gap in the overcast sky.

The wind howled.

A tree broke and fell with nobody to hear it.

The spirit heard it.

[notsowrites]

it always leads to you

A bit of angst (because what’s a Malex fic without some angst), and a happy ending.

(AO3 Link)

Enjoy! <3

----------

Christmas had never been a happy holiday for Michael. Especially growing up in the system. When he'd come back to Roswell, after he'd found Max and Isobel, they'd tried to include him in their festivities. But for the kid who was bounced around the system, who lived out of his truck so he didn't have to spend the nights in a house he didn't feel welcome in, Christmas was a reminder of how much he wasn't wanted, and how he never fit in.

"You've never had a real Christmas before?"

The shocked sadness in Alex's voice was exactly why Michael was fine with not celebrating it, and especially with not telling anyone. He tries not to dwell on how much Alex has believed he should have experienced as a child and didn’t.

"But I was here during the holidays, we'd seen each other, you always said-"

Michael rolls his eyes. "I lied."

It had been easier those times Alex had been back on leave, when he'd shown up at the junkyard, knocking on the door of the Airstream, asking Michael what his plans for Christmas were. And he'd always answer that he would be with Max and Isobel. In the end, Alex hadn’t spent the night, and Michael knew he had no way of knowing that Michael wasn’t actually going anywhere on Christmas Day.

Christmas is only a few days away, and now they're standing in the middle of a field full of fully grown trees, ready to chop one down and haul it back to Alex's house. It had been Alex's idea, something he'd whispered into the space between them as they lay in bed at night. And Michael was more than content to just go along with however Alex planned on celebrating the holidays.

"Holidays were for family," he continues, not liking the hurt look on Alex's face, needing to fix it. "Back then, I didn't believe I had one."

"But you had Max and Isobel-"

"They had a family, they had parents who loved them. I was just the kid nobody wanted, and no one adopted." He glances around, pointing the saw in his hand at one of the trees close to Alex. "What about that one?"

Alex shakes his head, and they keep walking.

Not far from the one Alex had just rejected, Alex stops, walking all around a tree, eyes inspecting the branches, a smile slowly creeping across his face. Michael watches him reach out and feel the needles, the smile never fading.

"This one," Alex announces. "What do you think?"

Michael shrugs. "It's your tree, Alex."

The smile fades from Alex's face, but Michael watches as he turns back toward the tree and nods. "This one."

He drops the blanket on the snow, falling to the ground and scooching himself under the branches to get the teeth if the saw working against the wood of the base of the tree. Once it's cut, he ties a rope to the trunk, so they can pull it back to his truck to take it back to Alex's house.

Once the tree is safely in the bed of the truck, Alex reaches out and grabs his hand, stopping him from walking towards the driver's seat, and Michael turns to look at him. Alex is a vision, with a beanie on, a scarf tied tight around his neck to keep the chill out, his winter jacket zipped shut - and his cheeks stained a beautiful rosy red from the December cold.

"I can’t believe you never had a real Christmas before."

Michael sighs, not really wanting to talk about it. He's more than happy to go along with whatever Alex wants to do over the holidays.

"It's not a big deal," he insists. The last thing he needs or wants is for Alex is focus on him and forget to celebrate however he normally does. "If you're happy, I'm happy."

"Michael-"

"Let's just get the tree back to yours, okay?"

He leans in, pressing a kiss to Alex's cold cheek, and is surprised when Alex doesn't pull him back this time as he moves toward the driver's side.

The drive back is quiet, and when he glances over, he sees that Alex is focused on watching the world pass by through the window, he brow furrowed in concentration. Michael doesn't dwell too hard on it, doesn't ask what he's thinking about, just focuses back on the road instead.

They work in almost silence at Alex's, to get the three from the truck to the living room, in front of the window next to Alex's keyboard set up. Somehow they manage only to not spread pine needles all through the house, and Alex sweeps up the few easily. Michael works on adjusting the tree, gets it standing upright and straight in it's stand.

When he's done, as he steps back for one final check, he notices two boxes have appeared on the kitchen table - one labeled "tree lights" and the other "decorations." He pulls the lid off the box with the lights and gets to work, not waiting for Alex to reappear or give him instructions. He picks a string of soft white lights, nestling the wires in the branches, and wrapping then around to the top.

But Alex does reappear, immediately opening up the other box, pulling out decorations and ornaments as Michael works. He doesn’t pay close attention to the what until the lights are on the tree, and he’s standing back to make sure they look good, leaning back against the table near where Alex is standing.

“Thank you,” Alex says, turning to look at the tree. But it’s the lack of a smile on his face, the almost sad look in his eyes that has Michael reaching out and taking Alex’s hand pausing his movements in searching through the box in front of him.

“I was an asshole earlier,” Michael immediately replies, because he knows he was. Christmas isn’t something he’s ever celebrated, isn’t something he’s ever believed is for him.

Alex shakes his head. “I get it though. I just- I never knew.”

“Because I didn’t tell you.”

He watches Alex nod, turning back toward the box, continuing his search for something. He watches Alex pull out colored garland, and ornaments that look like they’re definitely from the Manes home and not something Alex has recently purchased in the time he’s lived in the house. Then, he watches as Alex pulls out a picture frame - it’s smaller than a normal size, much more akin to something you’d hang on a tree that wouldn’t kill the branches.

Alex holds it out to him.

“This is for you.”

Michael takes it, and gets a better look at the photograph - it’s the two of them. Seventeen and happy, guitars in hand, standing in the middle of the desert. Alex is focused on a chord progression on his guitar, and Michael is staring at Alex. It’s a photo he’s intimately familiar with, one that he has his own copy of, that he’s stared at more times than he can count.

“I left my copy with Maria when I enlisted, so nothing would happen to it. Because it was the only picture I had of the two of us.” Alex picks up some of the pile he’d made on the table, and turns around, crossing the living room, and dropping the contents on the sofa. Michael watches as he picks one thing - a string of garland - and starts to hang it on the branches. “And then my accident, and I moved back here, and my first Christmas in this house, I had that made. We weren’t together, we weren’t much of anything yet - but it was a reminder to myself.”

Michael’s fingers rub up against something on the back, and he flips the photo around to find duct tape, and something underneath. He peels back the tape, and pauses.

It’s a key.

“I didn’t know when we’d figure it all out, if we’d figure it out. I didn’t know if we’d ever end up together. But if we did, if we’d gotten to this point where we were together, and figuring us out, I thought one day I would ask.”

Michael’s gaze snaps to Alex.

“Ask me to move in?”

Alex nods, finishing with the garland on the tree, and walking back towards Michael, who hasn’t been able to move from where he’d been standing. Too distracted by what was happening, that Alex wasn’t angry at him for how he acted today, that he’d planned this.

“But this is your home. I can’t just-”

“It’s a house, Michael. It’s walls, and a roof, and place to rest my head at night. It didn’t feel like a home until I started waking up next to you in the morning.”

Oh.

He gets it, because he feels the same way. The first time Alex had stayed the night, the first time Michael had woken up and Alex had been there, next to him, waiting for him to wake up, had been such a happy moment for him. One he’d wished he’d gotten more of at the time, because for a second he’d allowed himself to hope that there would be more of them. That it wouldn’t be the first, and only time, he’d get to wake up next to Alex.

Gently, he pulls Alex toward him, so they’re pressed together, and Michael drops the photograph on the table, key still half attached by the tape on the back, reaching up instead to take Alex’s face in his hands, leaning forward to press their lips together.

He hopes it’s enough of an answer for Alex.

Michael lets himself think of the future, of their future together, something that is always easier, and comes more naturally to him when he’s got Alex in his arms. There’s never been anyone else who has made him hope, made him believe Earth could be home, the way Alex has.

[reddesertcolbs]

heather // colson baker

(idk if the last bit makes sense but it’s just my interpretation of the lyrics, pls give me some feedback on this)

requested: nope 

summary: you’re colson’s best friend, who you have feelings for and you watch him fall in love with another girl. (based on the song heather by conan gray) 

word count: 2.4k words.

warnings: mention of alcohol, angsty fic.

my writing

//

i still remember third of december me in your sweater you said it looked better on me, than it did you only if you knew how much i liked you

the december chill hit you in the face whilst colson and you walked towards the cafe for a late breakfast date. the wind gushes past you swiftly, creating tiny goosebumps which litter your bare arms, only now you regret wearing just a tshirt without a jumper to help warm you up. 

your body trembles as your muscles contract, trying to generate any heat to further warm you up, but it’s useless as the wind continues to blow forcefully. wrapping your arms around yourself, you glance up at colson briefly with a smile, before looking ahead again, whilst you rub your arms trying to heat up your skin. 

“are you cold?” colson’s voice pierces through the howls of the wind, causing you to turn your head and look up, his eyes filled with concern whilst knitting his brows together. 

“a little bit, but we haven’t got far to walk now.” you respond, teeth chattering ever so slightly, causing the blonde to shake his head with a grin before he stops his strolling next to you. 

you watch him with intrigue, as he tugs his hoodie off his body in one swift motion. your eyes tracing his exposed tattoos that are now visible from when his shirt that’s underneath his hoodie has ridden up, before he pulls on the shirt, tattoos now hidden underneath the black tshirt. 

“here, have this.” he stretched his hand out, clinging onto the blue material so it doesn’t get blown away because of the wind. 

“no you’ll be cold then, cols. honestly, we don’t have far to walk.” crossing your arms further, you try to walk again, before an arm gripping your shoulder and pulling you back stops you. 

“y/n,” his voice is stern, as he raises his eyebrow up, further extending his hand out to you. “don’t make me put it on for you.” 

“okay fine, only because it’s my favourite.” chuckling, you take the hoodie out of his hand, fingertips grazing along the soft hoodie. “thank you.” 

your heart is hammering in your chest as you pull the blue hoodie over your head, instantly being met with the scent of colson, causing your heart to thump quickly and your face to heat up ever so slightly. 

after tugging it all the way down, the hoodie ending past your bum and sitting on the middle of your thighs. sure you must look ridiculous, but the oversized hoodie and the smell of colson’s aftershave warms you up immediately. 

“god it looks so much better on you, than it does on me.” his right eye drops in a wink, a smug smirk tugging onto his pink lips, whilst you giggle, pushing his chest teasingly. “come on, let’s get a move on, your man is starving.” 

your man, how you wish he was.

you watch colson as he walks ahead of you. he is only a few steps in front but you can’t stop the various thoughts of colson from whirling around inside your head. you’re feelings for this special man in your life are through the roof, but you would never tell him because you do not want to ruin the friendship between you both. 

“hey, y/n.” his smile is huge, hands waving dramatically to gain your attention before his laughter is filling your ears. “snap out of your daydream, let’s go.” 

“i’m coming, i’m coming.” laughing with him, you jog the little way to meet up with him, his hand circling your shoulder and pulling you close to his body. the body heat radiating off of him helping your muscles to stop shivering within a second.

if only he knew how much you liked him, life with colson would be a whole lot easier.

but i watch your eyes, as she walks by what a sight for sore eyes brighter than a blue sky she's got you mesmerized while i die

“colson.” you shout for the third time in two minutes, trying to gain the blonde’s attention who is sitting opposite you on the table, before kicking his shin underneath the table playfully, which finally gains his attention. “hey, i’m talking to you.” 

“sorry what did you say?” he sends you an apologetic look, eyes flicking from yours to the girl who is walking past the table that the two of you are sitting on, before taking a seat in the chair that is three tables down, and quickly back to yours. 

you turn your head into the direction where he was previously looking, offering the girl a sweet smile as she glances over to the both of you, before looking back at him and raising an eyebrow up at him with a shit-eating grin, making him chuckle.

“i said what are you getting to eat?” your eyes observe his, watching the way his bright blue eyes that you love the most, scan across the menu that’s sitting in his ring-covered hands. however, your attention diverts from colson to the girl who walked past earlier, taking note of how breathtakingly beautiful she was, and how she was exactly his type, which makes your shoulders slouch. 

“i’m thinking about getting the pancakes.” the softness of his voice causes your eyes to flick over to him with a nod in agreement, telling him you’re having the pancakes as well, before a distinctive frown is tugging on your lips when he looks to the left again with a warm smile. 

after ordering and waiting for your pancakes to arrive, the two of you talk about how the past week has been, since it was the first time seeing each other in person for over a week. colson lets you in on some secrets for music videos and new music, but he always stops mid sentence to throw the girl three tables down a smirk. 

to make the whole situation even worse for you, he even hands her his number on the way out, telling her to call him. he can’t stop talking about how pretty she was, which you respond with short answers, fed up of hearing about the mystery girl who happened to mesmerise the man of your dreams. 

put your arm 'round her shoulder now i’m getting colder but how could i hate her? she’s such an angel but then again, kinda wish she were dead

at this moment in time, colson is throwing a get together, therefore his house is filled with lots of familiar faces. even though you busy yourself by talking to rook, who loves to spend time with you when you’re not hanging out with colson, there is a pang of jealousy sitting in the pit of your stomach when you look towards the new couple, who are standing in the kitchen with the gang and you. 

colson’s hand is linked with hers, huge smiles on their faces as they talk amongst themselves, occasionally lifting their bottles of beer up to their lips to take multiple swigs. 

you so wish you could hate her, but it was near impossible. she is so kind, and it melts colson’s heart every time he sees his favourite girls interacting or laughing freely with each other. the one thing that you liked the most about her is that she treated colson so well, and you know that she isn’t with him just for the fame that comes with his job, or anything that comes with machine gun kelly. 

she was literally an angel, and it killed you so much to see her be the one to make him laugh, kiss him and hold his hand in front of everyone. sure, before she came along the two of you would hold hands and hug all the time, but out of respect for the new relationship, you made a stop to the touching, even if it was all innocent. 

her sweet giggle makes you turn to the couple again, eyes flicking over colson’s arm that’s sitting securely on her shoulder. his fingertips rub soft circles into her exposed skin whilst he brings his bottle of beer up to his lips, taking a big swig and then licking the remains of any spilt beer off his lips with the tip of his tongue.

you excuse yourself from the group, before wandering off around the house and settling to distract yourself in the living room by playing a round of beer pong with the group who is crowding the pool table. 

why would you ever kiss me? i’m not even half, as pretty you gave her your sweater it’s just polyester, but you like her better wish i were heather

from the pool table, your eyes remain on colson, as he tugs her close to him whilst a huge and warm smile is taking over his face. his hand raises to move the piece of her hair and place it behind her ear, a blush raising on her cheeks from the simple action. 

sadness washes over you, shoulders slouching whilst you blink your eyes repeatedly to remove the tears that are threatening to spill. stepping away from the pool table to lean against the wall, your mind rewinds to last year, and you’re unaware of the tear that trails down your face as you’re stuck in your thoughts, eyes lingering on the tiled floor below you. 

--

“you look so beautiful tonight.” colson mummers, eyes racking over your body as you stand in front of him. a pink hue spreads across your face as you bring your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing gently as your heart hammers rapidly inside your chest. 

‘he’s just drunk he doesn’t really mean it’, you try to tell yourself. but that doesn’t stop the glimmer of hope of colson liking you back.

“thanks, cols. you’re looking great tonight too, as always.” you smile wide, watching the way his mouth turns into a smirk before he tucks his own lip between his teeth, eyes dilating ever so slightly as they linger on your lips, before his eyes flick back to yours. 

he walks forward slightly, his chest touching yours. his hand right trails upwards, brushing his fingertips across the softness of your cheek before his index finger is toying with a strand of your hair that is covering your face. with a gentle smile, he tucks the tendril behind your ear before cupping your face lightly, his face moving closer to yours whilst you stare up at him in awe. 

“can i kiss you?” he whispers, the warmth of his breath and the smell of tequila fanning across your face, making you nod your head slowly, muttering out a quick ‘of course’.

with a grin, colson leans forward, not before searching your face for any signs of hesitation or uncertainty, before connecting his lips with yours. his kisses are slow and soft, as his left hand grips your hip, pulling you impossible closer to him. your hands move from his waist, up to his hair, threading your fingers through the blonde strands and emitting a shaky breath from colson.

gaining more confidence, your tongue swipes across his bottom lip, begging for entrance. his lips part, his tongue brushing against yours within a second, battling for dominance. soft sighs spill past your lips as his fingertips dig into your hip, whilst your hands tug onto his roots. 

wolf whistles and obnoxious cheers make the two of you pull away, face warm and breaths shaky. turning around you’re both met with slim, who has a knowing smirk written onto his face before you turn around to glance up at colson, who’s eyes remain on slim. 

“i’m going to get another drink,” you mutter out, the sudden feeling of dread filling your chest at the thought of kissing your best friend, before you’re exiting the crowded living room and making your way to the kitchen. god, how could you have fallen for your best friend?

--

“hey, y/n. are you okay?” a voice pulls you out of your trance, your eyes lift from the floor to the person standing in front of you, whose eyes are laced with worry. 

“um, yeah. i’m fine, colson.” you clear your throat, hands flying up to your face to remove the tears that have fallen during your flashback to the summer of last year, before standing up straight against the wall. 

you glance around him to search for the girl, who isn’t standing next to him for the first time tonight, and your heart drops at the sight of her body now covered in the same blue hoodie that colson let you wear for your breakfast date. 

you shake your head, trying to remove the constant question ‘why would he ever kiss me?’ from the back of your mind, once your eyes scan over her figure, and you finally came to the conclusion that she was so much more suitable for colson. 

“you don’t look fine, come here.” his hands reach for your body, his arms wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you close to his chest. circling his waist tightly, the smell of tobacco, cedar wood and alcohol filling your nostrils, as you close your eyes for a brief moment to help stop your tears from flowing down your face. “what’s wrong? please tell me. you know i don’t like you being upset.” 

“it’s nothing, it’s just stupid.” you send him a smile, hoping he wouldn’t ask anymore questions that result in you admitting your feelings towards the blonde. but your words clearly can’t stop colson’s eyes from glancing around your face, trying to read your emotions. “i’m fine, honestly.”

“please, i hate seeing you like this. who do i need to go and sort out? is it anyone here?” his eyes flick around the room, trying to see if anyone is looking guilty before he is looking back down at you with a deep frown when his eyes gaze at a single tear rolling down your cheek. 

“no no, it’s fine. i’m getting tired, i think i’m going to head home now.” sniffling and patting the underneath your eyes to dry up some of the tears, you offer him a small smile whilst unlooping your hands from around his waist and stepping back, suddenly feeling slightly cold because his body heat is no longer surrounding you. “i’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“y/n…” his eyebrow furrows in confusion, as he watches your body walk away from him and towards the door, tugging your jacket over your shoulders as you move. his eyes are diverted from your body as it nears the door when he feels a hand wrap around his waist, eyes connecting with his lover and his arm is circling her shoulder. 

oh how you wish you could be her.

request here

[ifliamsmile]

Days Gone; Dick Grayson| Ch2

summary: After Dick’s death, you faced the worst feeling during months: Grief. Day by day the pain grew inside your life and you had no expectations of being able to pass through that until someone appeared again bringing all of this down but still, a lot of things changed and even though you looked for answers, the turnaround that life brought you was gently welcomed.

pairing: Dick Grayson x y/n

warnings: angst.

prologue

previous chapter

wanna be tagged?

Living without Dick during these months has been the closest I got to hell itself. September, October, November, December and the last image of him saying goodbye still makes me wonder if it’s true the saying that god doesn’t give us more than we can take, because honestly, I’m not sure if I can take this any longer. 

I don’t know how much of myself have died in this time, but I surely can say that a little bit dies everyday, I get alright when the guys are around, Rachel, Jason, Donna, they tried to fix me and I feel a little less broken until I’m alone and lately..that’s all the time.

People often say that when someone dies, their image will fade away, bit by bit, from your mind, but it’s clearly an utterly lie, because Dick’s face only gets more and more real in my head, his voice and the gap in my heart everyday when I wake up and his side on the bed is still empty, yes..it is so  cruelly real to me. 

It was still morning, around 8 AM, when I got up. I took a shower and left to the closest coffee shop. I needed these caffeine doses to start my day, San Francisco was amazingly cold these days and coffee was more than necessary. 

Rachel loves it here, she was still asleep when I left and I couldn’t wake her up since she trained a lot yesterday, so I came alone. 

I ordered my doppio coffee and waited to receive it in the next county. 

“Y/n Grayson” the clerk called my name pointing that my order was ready. I’ve been using Dick’s nickname ever since we got married when we were younger, but hearing it would always remind me of him first. Because I always loved calling him like this when I was mad, or just pretending to be, I smiled to myself hearing my own thoughts. I was going to take a sip of my drink when I felt a hand on my shoulder and I instantly turned around to see who it was.

And for a minute, I wished I could have turned around slowly, because the image I saw in front of me made me dizzy, almost like I would fall on the ground. My hands shaked and the grip on the cup of coffee got loose.

I only realized that it hit the ground when the person in front of me looked down and so did I, following his look.

He had shaved hair and a scar on the side of his head which looked like a wing. And a look..this look that I would never forget, the same tiny and tight brown eyes that he had. I could only be crazy, maybe I’m seeing things, because this man looks exactly like.. Dick. 

He looked at me again, locking our looks and my legs trembled again.

 “Dick is dead Y/n, I’m sorry” 

“He got shot in the head, Y/n. I’m truly sorry. He’s gone” 

Bruce’s voice telling me he had died echoed in my head..it couldn’t be him, Dick died.

“Y/n—” the man spoke and hearing his voice was excruciating. Why does it sound exactly like my husband’s voice? “It’s me, Richard.”

No. Absolutely no. No fucking way.

“How's it even possible?” I spoke, almost inaudibly, shaking my head slowly, in disbelief.

“Can we talk?” he tried to reach my hand and in instinct I moved it away from him but maybe touching him was the only way to find out it wasn’t my mind playing tricks on me, so I did. I touched his hand and he was there, physically, in person, not less than that and for my relief: I wasn't crazy. 

My other hand covered my mouth and a lonely tear streamed down on my cheek, what was going on? I asked myself.

“Can we please talk? I— I need to talk to you.” he asked again and I nodded, still scared.

“Not here, please— I can’t” I snapped. I couldn’t do this here. He nodded.

“I have a place, can we?”

“Yes.” I said quickly, I needed to get out of there, I wasn’t ready for this.

--

Dick took us to a loft. It wasn’t far from where we were and took us almost 5 minutes to get here, it seemed so new, like he had just got here.

We got in the place in silence, no words were spoken since we left the coffee shop and I was still trying to breath and digest everything.

I entered what seemed to be the living room and he was right behind me.

“Y/n—” he said and I stopped. His voice calling me broke me in uncountable pieces, what did life expect from me? 

I turned around to face him and the tears took my vision again. 

“Richard.” I said his name.

“I’m here— I'm here, Y/n” he said and came closer. Dick took me into his arms and I cried my heart out.

He was back. 

I don’t know how many minutes I spent like this, crying on his chest, but he kept his chin on the top of my head.

“Look at me—” Dick asked “Please.”

I lifted my head and looked at him. He wiped my tears with his fingers.

“I’m afraid I’m truly crazy and hallucinating and—” I said.

“I’m not a hallucination, Y/n. You touched me, I’m real.” Dick said firmly but still soft, looking into my watered eyes.

“It’s too much for me to understand.” 

“Well, I’m not capable of explaining you a lot now, except for the things I remember, but I’ll try my best to make you understand, I promise.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Let’s sit here.” He led me to sit on the sofa in front of a fireplace, which made the place warmer.

I stood there looking at him, waiting to hear what he had to say, anxiously looking for an answer.

He half smiled looking at me, in his usual position, resting his elbows on his thigh, crossing hands.

“What’s so funny, Grayson?” 

“I thought that through all these months you’d have forgotten me.”

“Are you kidding me—You can only be kidding me.” I told him in disbelief 

“Alright, alright, I’m kidding. But the truth is..I don’t remember everything, to be honest, I don’t remember anything..But you.”

He looked at me and I couldn’t say anything, confusion took my look, I was perplexed, he didn’t remember anything.

“What happened in the night you died?” 

“I didn’t..they told me I got shot in an attempt to kill commissioner Gordon, the bullet that hit me was actually trying to hit him. They told me I lost a lot of brain tissue and my memory was compromised. So now I can’t remember anything and the only thing that’s alive enough in my mind for me to remember, it’s you.” He looked down.

“Oh my god, Dick..” 

“They call me Ric, Y/n..” they? Ric? what the hell.

“They?” I asked 

“The people who were treating me. The ones I ran off, my doctor..she was from the Court of Owls, she was trying to keep me there and my memory only got worse so I needed to leave,I— I couldn’t forget the only thing that remained.” 

“This is too much. I can’t imagine how you could deal with all of this.” 

“I couldn’t, I am not dealing, I’m running, I’m struggling because I can’t face it. But finding you is a sight of hope.” he said 

I got closer to Dick, Ric, It didn’t matter because my Richard was back. I hugged him and I couldn’t contain my emotion. He hugged me back, even stronger.

“I’m so sorry that you had to go through this all alone, It must have been terrifying.” I told him with one of my hands on his cheek.

“Would you believe if I told you that it feels a little better now?”

“Maybe, yeah” I smiled at him and he opened his bright smile. God, how I missed this, how missed him. “

“Sorry if I went into shock when I found out that you didn't die. I deserve some credit— You should be grateful that I didn't scream or run” I completed. 

Dick smiled. All the sensations that Dick used to cause me were still there, perhaps even more intense. The chill in the belly didn't seem to want to go away.

“Stop smiling, it's not funny at all”  That's what I said, he nodded and broke the smile, but the damn gleam in his eyes didn't go away. 

“Forgive me” Dick said, his intense, emotion-filled tone immediately caught my attention. His gaze held mine, in that familiar way of seeing the depths of his soul. Pure and intense. Sincere and...Passionate. 

I did not dare to interrupt him. Silently, I gave him the authorization to continue. 

“If I could have done everything differently, I would have found you before, just so I wouldn't see you suffer that way. It breaks my heart to see you like this and— to know that I am responsible. You are the last person in the world I would hurt, you know that. I would trade places with you without a second thought, if it were humanly possible.”

I pressed my lips together in a thin line and held a stubborn tear that wanted to escape from the corner of my eyes.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Richard, you got shot, you lost your memory and gratefully you still remember me.”

“Maybe now you see that all the times I told you you were unforgettable it was true.”

I smiled and looked down slightly shy.

“So cheesy, Grayson.”

“I didn’t come sooner because they were watching you.”

“They who?” 

“The court of owls”

“What— Why would they?” I was completely unable to understand this situation.

“That’s what I was trying to figure out before I left the clinic.” he sighed “Especially why they stopped watching you for three days. That's why I approached. I couldn't miss a chance. I've been trying to communicate with you for the past few months, but they just didn't give up. And I couldn't put you in risk, even if I had no idea what they wanted with you.”

I smiled at the end of his sentence.

“You have the incredible power of thinking about me even in the worst scenarios.” 

“Yeah, that’s your fault.”

“What?” I pretended to be mad 

“You heard me, that’s your fault that I can’t stop this, this unending feeling that no matter what’s going on, protecting you with my life will always be my duty. Your fault that I love you like this. Deal with this.” He had a sassy smile on his face and his sincerity made me melt.

I felt Dick's hands gently take my face, so I surrendered to the moment, because there was no reason not to. 

I let my touch feel his lips touching mine, and thanked the heavens for having another chance to kiss him. Because my flawed and ridiculous memory had almost forgotten how splendid it was to be in his arms, having his lips molded to mine, caressing every possible inch of her mouth. 

I had forgotten how wonderful it was to have Dick's strong hands caressing my cheeks, then reaching down to my neck and plunging into my hair, pulling it with the strength necessary to dictate the rhythm of the kiss and transform my desire into the purest essence of lust. 

I had forgotten the intoxicating sensation that it was to have Dick so close, that his perfume tame my nostrils, that his rigid and strong body made me feel protected from whatever harm the world might cause me. 

Because with Dick everything was complete. 

With Dick everything was just fine.

[makeste]

Bnha is a little too irregular for me right now (covid is the worst :( ), so I started reading One Piece and it's like, soooo long. Got me thinking, how long do you think Bnha will be? Personally I think we're just before time skip and it will take, like 300-400 chapters to end? So manga would be 600-700 chapters long. I could be wrong of course. Thoughts?

One Piece is fucking awesome, and the beauty of it is that is is 12 million chapters long so it will take approximately 182 years to finish reading, and you are almost guaranteed to be entertained for the vast majority of that time lol. I actually took a break from it a little ways into the Wano arc (sometime in the middle of what would later become volume 92) because it was getting harder for me to keep up with the plot week by week, especially since I was really into BnHA fandom by that time. my plan was to binge it once Wano ends. however when I was looking at the list of chapters on Wikipedia just now I saw that Oda is only 11 chapters away from breaking the 1k mark, which is pretty awesome. so I might try to catch up in the next month or two in celebration of that milestone, because damn.

with BnHA though, my own guess for how long the series will be is actually a lot shorter than most estimates I’ve seen. first of all, full disclosure that I am definitely biased regarding the timeskip part, because I personally am not the biggest fan of BnHA timeskip theories, unless they’re really short timeskips like the 3-month one we got recently. the thing is, this is explicitly a manga about their time at UA. it’s in the title and everything lol. and I like that. I like reading about them as kids, little hero eggs gradually growing into little hero chicks who will eventually become big hero birbs, but not just yet. a lot of the story’s appeal for me comes from that. there’s a certain... I don’t necessarily want to say innocence, but idealism, maybe?, that’s associated with stories about young adults, and doesn’t always carry over into the stories about those same adults once they’ve grown up. and I want the story to keep that.

there are a lot of things about the current setting that I’m very attached to and don’t want to lose. I like that they’re kids, and that they’re full of potential but don’t always know what they’re doing, and they screw up and make mistakes and get in over their heads, and are dealing with all of their messy jumbled teenage emotions. I like that they’re living with each other in the fanfic dorms and seeing each other every day in their classes. I like that romance isn’t a big part of the series (though there’s still plenty of shipping fuel to go around). I like that we get to see them interacting with their parents and siblings and get to see those relationships. and most of all, I like that -- unlike almost every other young adult series I can think of -- BnHA acknowledges that they are just kids, and the adults by and large actually treat them as such. and yes, I’m even including the child soldiers arc here, because the decision to basically draft them into a war was handed down by the HPSC (an organization that likely has a history with child abuse from what we’ve seen). U.A. was against it, and tried their best to keep them away from the front lines, chilling out in the woods and helping with evacuations instead of fighting villains. contrast this with, say, a:tla, which I love, but which is very much one of those series filled with full-grown adults who are all “it’s up to this 12-year-old and his assorted 12-to-15-year-old friends to lead the battle to save the world lulz.” and this includes possibly the most beloved full-grown adult of all time, who nonetheless peaces out with an ironclad argument of “while it is true that the final villain is my actual brother, I’m still going to let the 12-year-old handle it because something something politics slash destiny.”

but anyways lol got sidetracked there. so steering this back on course now, I genuinely, truly love that in BnHA there are all these adults in the characters’ lives who are trying to keep them safe and nurture them and shield them from that extra burden of responsibility for as long as possible while they’re still learning. and so the kids have that extra safety net of support, which to me as a reader is just... comforting, I guess. like, I understand that it’s not going to last forever, but it’s reassuring to know that it exists for them for now. and I’m not in any hurry to say goodbye to that in favor of just tossing them out into tHE REAL WORLD!! lol. like omg no my babies.

anyway but so the point is that, with respect to everyone else’s theories, I personally don’t want a timeskip lol. and tbh I don’t really see the need for one either? if anything, we’re about to enter the most chaotic period in the entire manga once this arc ends. I’m assuming Tomura will survive this and escape somehow, the better to live and fight another day. and so if that’s the case, I feel like this would be the absolute weirdest time to do a timeskip, because how far ahead can we even jump lol. too far and we’d basically be coming back to an already-destroyed world lol whoops. basically I just don’t see how we can jump ahead more than a few months at the most, assuming that the threat of Tomura is going to be looming over everyone’s heads the entire time. plus we’d miss out on what I’m betting is going to be some of the most intense worldbuilding drama in the entire series, with our beloved characters potentially being swept up in like half a dozen political controversies. I sure don’t want to miss out on any of that. we didn’t wait so long to see this war play out only to skip out on the highly entertaining aftermath of it all.

anyway so that’s my as-usual-longer-than-necessary rant about timeskips. so now let’s talk about the series length. and here, I’m basically just basing my guess off of what Horikoshi has said in interviews. off the top of my head, there are three times he’s mentioned the ending of the series in interviews. first, there’s this interview, published in July 2018:

Interviewer: Previously in SUGOI JAPAN*, you mentioned that you would like Boku No Hero Academia to be a short and concise story and not drawn out, but what percentage of the story is complete at this point?

Horikoshi: When the decision to extend the series happened, I personally thought “I guess I want to end it here” and it was around Volume 30.

Interviewer: So then are you 2/3 done with the story?

Horikoshi: That’s what I had originally planned, but when I think of all the things that must be set up before getting into the last arc, I realized, “Ending the series at Volume 30 will be impossible” (laughs). However, the current arc that is going on all has purpose that will be relevant in the last arc.

*this is referencing a remark he made back at an awards ceremony back in March 2017.

second, we have this interview from August 2018, where he again mentions wanting to keep the story concise:

Do you know what the ending of My Hero Academia is? Do you think it'll be 80+ volumes like One Piece?

No, it won't be infinite – I don't have the stamina for it to be as long as One Piece. I'd like to keep it concise.

and lastly,  this one which was published in December 2019:

What can you say about the future events of the manga?

I’m conscious of the end of the series, and writing towards that. I think the story will always be moving in big ways going forwards. My Hero Academia has a lot of characters, a lot of characters doing different things with different motivations, and the story is heading towards a conclusion where all of that comes together and heads towards the end.

my takeaways from these interviews are that (1) he originally planned for the story to be about 300 chapters long, (2) he’s had a clear idea of his overall endgame for a while now and has been steadily working towards that (as he put it in another interview, he knows all of the dots, but is still figuring out the lines to connect them all), and (3) he specifically said a couple years back that he did not want to write a long One Piece-length series, and his goal was to write a more concise story than that. Horikoshi’s pacing has always been much faster than Oda’s (or Kishimoto’s, or Kubo’s, etc.), and so I think it’s a realistic goal for him to wind up with a significantly shorter story in comparison.

my best guess is that BnHA won’t be much longer than 400 chapters, or a little over 40 volumes. he said back around chapter 180-something that he was nowhere close to being two-thirds of the way done. but it’s been two years since then, and if we haven’t reached at least the two-thirds mark by this point, I would honestly be very surprised. it would mean we’ve barely made any progress at all, and I don’t know about you, but the past few arcs have felt very purpose-driven to me. I think he has a pretty good idea of where he’s heading at this point, and that to me supports the idea of a shorter story than a lot of people have speculated. mind you, he might end up doing a sequel or something afterwards (although I kind of cringe thinking about all the ways we’ve seen that kind of thing go wrong in the past, ngl).

but as far as the series proper, yeah, I’d say 400 chapters is my best guess. ultimately I just hope he’s able to tell the story he wants to tell and gets as much time as he needs to do so, without feeling any pressure to then drag it on past that. knowing when to end your series is so underrated honestly. I have my fingers crossed that it’s a skill Horikoshi hopefully possesses.

[elsanna-shenanigans]

December Contest Submission #15: You Are Not Dating

words: ca. 3100 setting: mAU lemon: no cw: none

Anna smiled and stared ahead, lost in thought. It wasn’t until she felt a finger poke her forehead that she returned to the present.

“Earth to Anna, come in, Anna.”

“Yes?” Anna guiltily turned in her desk to face her friends. She hadn’t meant to ignore them, but thoughts of spending time with her girlfriend tended to side track her. 

“I asked if I could give your number to my friend, Toby?” Merida rolled her eyes, annoyed.

“Why?” Anna frowned in confusion. She couldn’t remember a Toby in their class and besides, she wasn’t interested in tutoring anyone.

“He thinks you’re cute and wants to ask you out.” 

“But, I’m dating someone already.” Surely her friends remembered that. Wait, had she told them?

“WHAT?!” Three voices exclaimed loudly.

Apparently not.

“When did that happen?”

“Who are you going out with?”

“When did he ask you?”

“Does he go to our high school?”

“How did you meet?”

“How far have you guys gone?”

“SSHHH!” Anna looked around the classroom but no one was paying them any attention. Good. She beckoned her friends closer and whispered, “I’m dating Elsa.”

“WHAT?!” Again three voices shouted, this time attracting the notice of a couple of other students. 

“SSSHHH!” Anna shushed them again and smiled nervously at the students watching them then turned back and glared. “Stop shouting.” Now she remembered why she hadn’t said anything.

Rapunzel leaned in and whispered, “Elsa Andersen? You’re claiming to be dating Elsa Andersen?”

“We are dating,” Anna sighed in exasperation. She really needed new friends.

“No way are you dating her,” Merida rolled her eyes. 

“I am!” The two nearby students, again, looked over at the commotion. The redhead ducked her head in embarrassment and whispered, “Elsa and I are dating. Why don’t you guys believe me?”

“For starters, we have never seen you two hanging out together. Are you even friends?” Rapunzel raised an eyebrow.

“We eat lunch together every day.”

“Our cafeteria is tiny. Sitting next to each other isn’t hanging out,” Merida replied.

“What makes you think you two are going out?” Rapunzel asked skeptically.

“Because we are?”

“She is the most popular student here and a Senior. If you two are going out, why doesn’t everyone know about this?” Merida asked. 

“Elsa’s a private person.”

“No one’s that good at keeping secrets at this school,” muttered Merida.

“She comes to my basketball games.”

“She’s in charge of the scoreboards, of course she’s at your games.” Rapunzel put her hands on her hips, clearly exasperated.

“We go home together everyday.”

“Isn’t that the only bus line that goes out there?” Merida asked.

“We-“ Anna closed her mouth. She wasn’t going to share that everyday Elsa invited her over to her house where they would talk and do homework together and half the time her girlfriend’s parents invited her to stay for dinner. Anna knew that Elsa liked honey in her tea after school, that she had been taking singing lessons for years and had a beautiful voice, that she loved playing video games even though she wasn’t very good at them, and that she laughed at her own jokes. The list of personal details only she knew went on and on and refused to share them with anyone else. Even her best friends. 

“How long have you two been going out?” Kristoff asked gently, speaking for the first time.

“Two months,” Anna grinned goofily.

“Have you kissed yet?” He asked.

“…no.” Anna bit her bottom lip nervously. Could her friends be right? Could this all be in her head? No, Elsa loved her; she was certain of it.

“See?” Merida grinned triumphantly.

“We’re taking it slow.”

Three groans and a muttered ‘goddamn it’ were their only response. Before they could ask anything else, the calculus teacher walked into the room.

“Okay, class, take your seats and pull out last night’s homework.”

* * * * * 

Anna glanced at the quiet figure next to her. On a typical bus ride home, after after-school activities, they would be laughing and chatting about their classes. But Elsa hadn’t said a word, just silently wrapped her arms around her middle and stared out the window.

“Elsa?”

She kept her head turned away, staring at the snow blanketing the town.

Completely baffled, Anna readjusted her knit cap and fidgeted uncomfortably.

The silence persisted while disembarking from the bus and as they walked home. Snow began falling again. Anna shivered in the cold and missed having Elsa’s arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and keeping her warm. But a distance stayed between them and her gaze on  the icy sidewalk. 

It didn’t take long to reach Elsa’s house where, silently, her girlfriend turned and walked up the walkway.

“Elsa, what’s wrong?” 

Footsteps faltered on her front steps but didn’t stop. Before she could call out again, Elsa stepped through her front door, shutting it quickly behind her.

For the first time since they met, Anna didn’t know what to do.

* * * * * 

Having calculus first thing everyday was bad enough, but it was particularly horrible that day. Laying her head on her arms, Anna closed her eyes and tried not to think or she would remember that morning and she was barely keeping hold of her emotions. Elsa didn’t respond to any of her text messages the night before or sit next to her on the bus that morning and she didn’t know what was wrong.

Did she do something to hurt Elsa? Did she forget something important? Did someone find out about them that shouldn’t have? Questions crowded Anna’s brain without an answer in sight. She decided to skip going to the cafeteria; it would hurt to watch Elsa sit with someone else.

* * * * *

Not caring if she got benched for tomorrow’s game, Anna skipped basketball practice. Whatever was bothering her girlfriend was far more important. On the top step of Elsa’s porch she stood, shivering in the cold and snow, determined to wait all night if needed. 

The sound of footsteps walking up the path caught Anna’s attention.

Elsa froze when she saw her. Gazes locked for a few precious moments.

“Anna…” whispered so softly that if she hadn’t seen her lips move, she never would have known her name was said at all.

Anna took a step forward and the spell between them broke.

Pulling her keys out of her pocket, Elsa avoided her eyes as she climbed the steps to her front door. 

“Go home, Anna,” the keys fell from her shaking hands. 

“No.”

“Please…” Elsa closed her eyes and stood in front of her door, keys at her feet.

“What did I do?”  Anna choked out, scared at the answer but needing to know.

Elsa’s backpack fell off her shoulder and landed in the snow. Bonelessly, she sagged against the porch railing.

“You didn’t do anything. I just…” Elsa wrapped her arms around her waist and turned to face Anna. “I just need some time,” tears fell silently. 

Seeing her girlfriend in tears broke Anna and she crossed the small distance separating them. She held Elsa’s face gently and wiped the falling tears away with her thumbs. 

“Please, don’t,” trembling, Elsa pulled away from her, “I… I… I need… some space.” Deep gasping breaths, clearly struggling to keep it together.

Tears fell from Anna’s eyes. “Please don’t break up with me,” she whispered, cold beyond the weather seeping in, chilling her to the bone.

“What?” Elsa’s brows furrowed.

“Give me a second chance,” Anna leapt at the opening and resisted the urge to touch Elsa again. “I-I’ll fix whatever I did.”

Elsa opened and closed her mouth, confusion painted on her face. “What are you talking about? We aren’t together?”

I’ve lost her. The world rocked under her feet. “I-I-I’m sorry. I…” Anna backed away, nearly tripping on her own feet. She needed out of there fast before she completely lost it. Snow began drifting down again, the cold not touching her with the realization she lost Elsa.

“No! Wait!” Elsa rushed around to block her escape down the steps.

“Please,” tears began to fall and she bowed her head. Anna wished to be home alone to cry in earnest. Torturous, happy memories played out in her mind’s eye. “Please, let me leave.”

“No. Anna, did…” Elsa ducked to meet her gaze and visibly swallowed. “Did you think we were together?”

Oh god, my friends were right. Anna’s head spun and she wished to disappear. Tears fell rapidly. Stupid, stupid, stupid! 

Chilled fingers wiped her tears away and cupped her face. “Anna, please answer me.”

“Yes.” Anna struggled to push the word through a closed throat. 

Warmth enveloped her and she found herself in Elsa’s arms. Tears fell on her neck.

“Oh god, when you didn’t say anything I thought…” Elsa sagged against her and sniffed, “I thought you rejected me.”

“Huh?” Anna fought the urge to wrap Elsa in a comforting embrace, no longer trusting her instincts on anything.

“The letter.” Pulling back, Elsa wiped her eyes.

“What letter?” Unsure what was happening, Anna’s tears stopped and mind raced.

“I left a letter in your locker about…” Elsa’s tears stopped and she offered a watery smile. “About how I fell in love with you and asking you on a date.”

“I never got a letter.” As Anna wondered what could have happened to it, a falling snowflake landed on the back of her neck. She shivered violently.

“Anna, you’re cold!” Elsa quickly picked up their bags and her house keys out of the snow. “How long have you been out here?”

“I skipped basketball practice.” Teeth starting to chatter, Anna pulled her coat closed more tightly.

“That was hours ago.” She looked distraught.

“I-I-I n-n-needed-d-d t-to t-t-talk with y-you.” The cold wind bit into her and Elsa pulled her  inside.

* * * * * 

Anna shivered in front of the roaring fire.

“Come here,” Elsa settled in behind her and wrapped them both in a blanket. “I’ll keep you warm.”

Snuggling into the warmth, she finally stopped shivering.

“Why did you think we were dating?” 

The softly spoken question pulled Anna from the light doze she slipped into and she stiffened. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Hey now, no going anywhere. Talk to me. Please.” Elsa tightened her hold, laying a chin on Anna’s shoulder. “Why did you think we were dating?” she repeated.

Face warming with an intense blush, Anna sighed before answering. “I asked you out and you said yes.”

“What? When was this?”

“The antique marble exhibit downtown.” Now that she thought about it, they had a wonderful time but maybe it hadn’t been a good idea for a first date. 

“The marble exhibit?” Elsa sounded startled and Anna kept her eyes on the fire. “But that was two months ago.”

Anna nodded. 

Strong hands moved her until she sat across Elsa’s lap. “Didn’t you wonder why we never held hands at school? Or why our friends didn’t know?”

“You’re a private person.”

Elsa rolled her eyes. “Not that private.”

“Didn’t you wonder why…” fingers gently traced her lips and deep blue eyes locked on her, “we never kissed?”

Unable to form a coherent thought, Anna stayed silent, buzzing with anticipation.

Lips she only felt in her dreams, pressed against hers softly.

Oh. 

Anna hummed and tilted her head, pushing herself more firmly into Elsa. A slick tongue traced the seam of her lips and she eagerly opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. For long, rapturous minutes they explored each other’s mouths.

Slowly, without breaking their kiss, Elsa guided Anna to the floor and covered her body with her own. Kisses traveled down her neck and Anna tilted her head to the side, giving her girlfriend more room. 

“S-s-shouldn’t we…” Anna whimpered, “we be doing our homework.”

“Later,” kissing back up her neck slowly, Elsa pinned Anna’s hands above her head. “I have kisses with my girlfriend to make up for.”

* * * * *

Hours later, a bright red Elsa returned to the living room from the kitchen, where she had gone to ask her parents if Anna could stay for dinner.

“They said it was fine.” She grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around them again.

Anna snuggled back into Elsa. “Are you alright?”

“Yup!” 

Turning to see her, Anna raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Umm… well,” Elsa drooped with a sigh. “I told my parents you’re my girlfriend now and they were confused.”

“Confused?”

“They thought we were already dating.” 

Anna laughed.

* * * * *

Stating she did not want Anna to walk home by herself at night, Elsa escorted her the two blocks home holding hands the whole way. The temperature plummeted and snow continued to drift down in lazy fat flakes, but Anna didn’t feel a thing.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning at the bus stop.” Anna squeezed the hand in hers and took a step back in the direction of the front door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Elsa tightened her hold.

“You have to let go,” Anna giggled.

A hard tug and she fell into Elsa’s arms. 

“No, I don’t.”

Arms circled her waist and Anna wrapped her arms around Elsa’s neck.

“No, you don’t.” Warm lips and Anna smiled into the kiss, heart soaring with joy.

“Anna! You can kiss your girlfriend tomorrow! It’s cold out here, get in the house!” Her mother’s voice called from the front door. “And Elsa, you be careful walking home!”

Burying her face in Anna’s neck, Elsa groaned pitifully. “I think everyone knew we were dating but me.”

“We weren’t, though.” Head lowered, still incredibly embarrassed, Anna’s fingers played with the hair at Elsa’s neck.

“No,” Elsa kissed her gently, “we were.”

Anna smiled.

“But,” Elsa’s expression turned serious, “I want to redo our first date.”

“ANNA!”

“Coming, Mom!” A quick kiss. “And I’d like that.” 

“This weekend, then.”

“Okay.” Anna practically skipped to the front door.

* * * * *

At the bus stop the next morning, Anna shifted from foot to foot in anticipation of seeing Elsa and pulled her scarf tighter around trying to keep the icy breeze out. Arms wrapped around her from behind.

“Good morning.”

“Hmmm,” Anna snuggled back into the hold. “Good morning.”

“Yes, it is.” Elsa placed a kiss on her cheek.

Anna turned to face Elsa. “I like this.”

“Where are your gloves?” Elsa frowned looking down at the bare hands between them.

“Oh, I forgot them in my locker yesterday.”

“Here,” Elsa grabbed her hands and placed them on her warm neck. “Shit! They’re freezing!”

“Sorry!” Anna tried to pull away.

“No no no no no,” a strong grip held her there. “You hate being cold.”

Anna hummed happily as feeling returned to numb fingers.

Elsa grabbed her right hand and slipped a still warm back leather glove on Anna’s hand.

“Wait-“

“You need them more than me.” Elsa slipped the second one on.

“But what about you?” Anna bit her lip.

“Don’t worry.” 

Two hands slipped into the back pockets of Anna’s jeans and pulled her close.

“Elsa,” Anna looked at the other people waiting at the bus stop but no one seemed to notice them. 

“Does this bother you?” Elsa frowned anxiously.

“No, I just thought…” she trailed off.

“For two months you thought I didn’t like PDA.”

Anna nodded.

“I do with you.” A gentle, chilly kiss, and she sighed happily.

* * * * * 

Smiling so wide her face actually started to hurt, Anna sat, the letter found in the very back of her locker and now tucked safely in her backpack to be read later, and waited for the calculus teacher to arrive.

“Anna! Why didn’t you respond to any of our texts?” Merida, hands on hips, stood next to her desk. 

“Why do we even need to learn calculus?” Kristoff moaned pitifully and laid his head down on the desk. 

“Sorry.” Only now did Anna remember seeing the messages in their group text asking for help with the homework. “I was with Elsa.”

“Ugh!” Merida threw her hands up in exasperation.

“Sweetie,” Rapunzel laid a hand on her shoulder. “Do you still think you’re dating Elsa Andersen?”

By now they had attracted the attention of most of their classmates.

“We are.” Anna sunk down in her seat, withering under the stares.

“No, you aren’t.” Looking even more irritated than before, Merida stomped.

“Feisty Pants, we know you’ve had a crush on her forever but this is going too far.” Kristoff tried to smile encouragingly though he just looked exasperated to Anna.

Buzzing filled the room. Her friends had not been quiet. 

“Did you hear that?” Anna heard a girl from behind her whisper. “She really thinks Elsa Andersen would give her the time of day.”

Laugher in response.

“Seriously? Why would she date her?” The deep voice from in front of the class didn’t bother trying to whisper.

“I know right? Elsa Andersen has standards.”

“Awww, I wanted to ask that redhead out.” It was now too loud in the room for Anna to pinpoint who was talking.

“You dodged a bullet there.”

Finally deciding that maybe she should pretend she was joking, Anna lifted her head and saw Elsa stride into the classroom.

Anna smiled at, happy to see a friendly face amidst all this chaos. “What are you-“ a pair of soft lips cut her off.

A bit dazed from the unexpected kiss, Anna missed whatever it was Elsa said. “Uhh… what?”

“I said,” Elsa smiled and leaned back only slightly, their faces still close. “I found your math notebook in my backpack.”

Only now did Anna notice the battered thing on her desk. “Thank you.”

“I won’t be at lunch.” Finger brushed lovingly along her jaw and Anna leaned into the touch.

“I have to go to the library and finish my homework.”

“Oh, right.” Anna blushed remembering the kisses and snuggles in lieu of homework.

Elsa’s smile widened and Anna’s blush deepened.

“I’ll see you at your game tonight.”

This time, it was Anna who leaned in for a kiss. 

“Okay.”

Straightening up, Elsa strolled out of the classroom.

It was only after Elsa left that Anna realized it was dead silent. It stayed that way for several long moments before sound exploded.

“Oh my god, I’ll text Jenna and you text Kristy.”

“Holy fuck! They are dating!”

“Wha… bu… huh!?”

“Anna, we are so sorry!” Merida collapsed into a nearby chair in shock. 

Kristoff opened and closed his mouth, completely speechless.

“Ummm…” Rapunzel frowned. “Isn’t your basketball game away today?”

“I told you guys,” she smiled at her contrite friends, “she comes to all my games.”

[pls-let-me-out]

Invisible string

Chapter 1, 17th and 18th of December

Spending Christmas’ Eve with a complete stranger wasn’t in Will’s to-do list, but sometimes fate really doesn’t care about one’s opinion, and strange shit happens. That’s what happened to Will, he was just chilling, with text-books spread all over the place, hoping anyone would just come and save him, when the doorbell rang. Not fifteen minutes later, Will was moving across the globe to meet his soulmate.

 Will had spent most of his day with Princess Hazel. She had talked him through the procedures, telling him what he’d need to do when the Prince came home.

‘I’m sure he’ll be happy to finally meet you,’ she had said more than once. ‘He’s reserved, really reserved. Don’t let his demeanor fool you, though. He’s a sweetheart.’

She had given him such a sweet, little smile, that Will couldn’t do anything but believe her. It hurt him just to think about meeting his soulmate, but what could he do? He had no chance of leaving.

Then he met Prince Niccolò. It wasn’t love at first sight, not with the way Will’s heart crumbled.

Will had been stuffed into a navy suit, and a long grey French coat, worth more than his apartment’s lease. He was shifting his weight from one foot to the other, when Queen Persephone sent a glance his way, and he finally stopped, blushing a deep red. The bells rang and a sleek, black car pulled in the driveway of the palace.

It stopped before the fountain. Will’s heart was thumping in his chest, so fast and hard it was a mystery how no one else heard. It was the 17th of December, but the sun was too hot on his skin.

A body-guard pulled the door of the car open, and the Prince stepped out. He was wearing a black military uniform, the only touch of color were the embroidery buttons of the jacket, one of which the Prince was just pulling close, and the medals hanging on his chest.

Their eyes met. From the very first second, Will knew he couldn’t walk away. The mark on his shoulder burnt as though on fire, but not nearly as hot as the tears on his eyes.

The Prince had stilled, too, completely taking in Will’s appearance.

Somewhere, the bells rang again, and cameras went off.

 It was a long ride to the airport, but this time Will wasn’t alone. It was four in the morning, the air was cold, and the silence heavy. They were heading to the Royal Family’s chalet in the Alps between France and Italy, Will hadn’t understood the name of the place. He was half-asleep when they told him, anyway. He wasn’t even sophisticated enough to have ever heard of it, to be honest.

In the reflection of the car window, Will saw that the Prince was giving him his back. He was wearing a suit, still completely black, and an obsidian ring shone on his middle-finger. He was already in the car by the time Will reached the parking lot.

Will wanted to talk, but he didn’t have anything to say. He closed his eyes, and faked sleeping. He actually dozed off at some point, and was awoken by the Prince shaking his shoulder. He wore a black face mask, that only left his forehead and eyes uncovered. Will couldn’t see whether his eyes were black or brown, nor differentiate between the pupils and the irises. His heart jumped up in his throat.

“We’re at the airport,” the Prince said, before hopping down the car.

He had left a blue face mask behind, and Will wondered whether it was for him for half a minute, before deciding he would just take it. It was soft under his fingers, and smelled of oranges.

He and the Prince had only taken a few items with them, the Queen had said many times that their belonging would arrive later in the evening.

They sat beside each other during the short airplane ride, little more than an hour and a half in the air. The Prince was tense in every place they touched each other. Thigh, arm, and shoulder. Maybe he was always like that, he often seemed like a statue.

“We haven’t been properly introduced to each other,” Will said, finally raising his eyes from the ground. His voice was steady, despite the thumping of his heart. “I’m Will.”

“Niccolò,” the Prince replied. “You’re American, right?”

“Yeah. Someone told you?”

“Your accent.”

Will nodded. He didn’t find anything to say for a long moment. “Texas.” He cleared his throat. “That’s my accent.”

“I’ve never been there,” the Prince said. He yawned discretely. God, he probably thought that Will was some sort of uncultured peasant. “I heard it’s horrible, though.” Will blinked at him, and the Prince blushed a deep red. “No offense.”

“None taken. It’s not –it’s not horrible if you’re a white supremacist, though.”

“Are you?”

“Absolutely no. That’s why I moved to New York.”

The corner of the Prince’s lips twitched. “There I’ve been.”

“I go to school there.”

“You go to college?”

Will nodded. “You just ended your military service, right?”

The Prince’s face turned dark, as though a shadow had fallen upon it. Nodding, he looked out of the window, clearly putting an end to the conversation. Will tried not to let it get to him. It wasn’t like he wanted to be there, anyway.

 “It’s a mansion,” Will said as soon as he could see the ‘chalet’. “Like, it’s bigger than the mountain peak.”

Prince Niccolò gave him a blank stare. “No, it’s not. This is not even the mountain peak. Have you seen the mountain peak?”

Will bit his tongue. I need to shut up, I need to shut up, I need to-

Then the Prince clicked his tongue, the sound made the blood in Will’s vein rush in anger. “Did–”

Will didn’t let him finish. “You said it was on a mountain, and this is not a mountain! This –this is a village. We are in a village, not a mountain. A village at the foot of the mountain, but still a village. Seriously, did you take me here to kill me? Is that why you wouldn’t even tell me where we were going?”

The Prince blinked slowly, completely unmoved by Will’s rant. Will, who was flushed and panting, as though he had had to run there, instead of having taken the car alongside the Prince.

“Was that sarcasm?” the Prince asked. “Is that your humor?”

“No, that’s–was that sarcasm?”

If that was someone else’s life, Will would have laughed. With tears in his eyes, and cramps in his stomach, because holy shit, that is not something that’s supposed to happen. Who would ever be kidnapped one week before Christmas, to go live with his so-called soulmate, who is the Prince of a small island between Italy and Greece, then dragged to a fucking chalet?

“No, that was me replying to you.” The Prince’s lips twitched, but he didn’t smile. “Were you sarcastic when you asked me if I was being sarcastic?”

“Are you being –no wait. You are mocking me!”

The Prince turned to the side. “I would never do that. You are such a put together person, it would be hard to find reasons to mock you.”

Even without seeing his face, Will knew the Prince was smiling. He wondered what his face looked like when he did, whether his nose scrunched up. It wasn’t a strange thought, really, he had just noticed that the tip of his nose moved a lot when he talked, it was only realistic that the whole thing would also–

No. That was a mistake. Will couldn’t do that. Thinking about the Prince’s nose would make him human, and Will couldn’t do that. No sir.

So, Will said the only thing he could think of.

“I want pizza for dinner.” Then the Prince gave him a bewildered expression. “Thank you.”

“It’s not even midday!” The Prince was saying, but Will had already reached the door.

He realized a bit too late that he didn’t have the keys. It was embarrassing to say the least, but he just stood there and made no move to turn back.

 The Prince’s voice turned lower when he spoke in Italian, Will heard it when he was NOT eavesdropping standing just outside the living room on the first floor, but just minding his business. By not hiding. And he was always silent, thank you very much. He hadn’t been careful not to step too loudly, nor knock into anything. He never did.

Since Will couldn’t understand Italian, he just waited until the Prince didn’t talk for a couple of minutes before dropping in the room.

“Where you watching me,” the Prince asked, although it sounded more like an answer than a question. He was sitting on the floor, just in front of the fireplace,

Will’s skin heated up, as he crossed his arms. “No, absolutely not.”

“I saw you.”

“There was nothing to see.”

“You were standing there, not moving, with your ear against the door.”

Will’s silence lasted a bit too long. “You must have confused the coat hanger with me.”

“The only coat hanger is attached to the wall next to the door, on the other side of the floor.”

Will clasped his hands. “So you agree with me that this house is massive!”

“You were–”

“You seem to know a lot about me. Were you spying on me?”

The Prince stuttered. Will almost pitied him for a second. He had lived with his siblings for years, there was no way he’d lose an argument. From what little he’d heard about the Prince from Hazel, he guessed they didn’t fight nor bicker often. He had no practice in front of Will. For once in his life, he was glad for his sister Kayla’s habit of being nosy as fuck, which had given them countless occasions to fight.

“Your pizza will be here at twelve,” the Prince ended up saying, after some grumbling in Italian. Or Greek. Will didn’t know much of either, but it was probably Italian.

“Why? Won’t you be eating it too?”

“Italian pizza is different from American pizza. You, like, share one with multiple people, right? Italian pizza isn’t supposed to be eaten in slices. You eat a whole one.”

“Like, you don’t cut it? You fold it in half and stuff it in your mouth? I’m seriously confused.”

“Of course you cut it!”

Will shook his head. It wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have. “When will yours arrive, then?”

“At twelve.”

“You –you seriously need to work on your communication skills, man.”

Once again, the Prince’s unblinking stare settled on Will. “Right.” He cleared his throat, the air around them shifted to awkward.

Will supposed it wasn’t surprising, they were strangers with a house all to themselves, after all. He dropped on the floor in front of the Prince, so close to the fire his skin heated up immediately. He drummed his fingers on the hardwood floor, the sound echoed in the silence.

“So, are you like giving me a tour?” he asked.

The Prince tilted his head to the side. “Couldn’t you just look up the city on Google Maps?”

“I meant of the house. I mean, if you’re as put together as you don’t look, I guess you have it–”

“I look very much put-together.”

“You are sitting on a floor, when there are multiples sofas, you look at me like a deer caught in the headlights whenever I talk, and your nose scrunches up when your lips move downwards.” The Prince opened his mouth, and Will silenced him with a wave of his index finger. “Don’t fight me on this, it’s happening right now.”

The Prince’s silence prolonged for a moment, before he brought his fingers to his nose, smoothing it out. Will felt a strange kind of pleasure with the knowledge that the Prince was blushing.

“Wait, what were you doing before coming in here then? I thought you were exploring.”

“I don’t normally snoop around people’s houses. Or chalets. Or mansions.”

The Prince looked at him from under a thick layer of lashes. “Castles?”

Will shrugged, a grin pulled at his lips. “When the occasion arises.”

For a moment, it looked like the Prince may laugh. He didn’t, and Will tried to keep the disappointment hidden. He shouldn’t even be disappointed, damn.

“So, where is my tour?” Will continued.

“I haven’t been here in ages. I’m not even sure I remember where things are supposed to be.”

“Good then!” Will clasped his hands, a smile erupted on his face, as the Prince flinched. “We’re exploring!”

“But–”

“I can snoop around if the owner of the house is with me.”

“Your logic baffles me.”

Will rose to his feet, so fast his head started spinning, and bent down to grab the Prince by the shoulder. “Come on! We don’t have forever.”

“We’re literally stuck here for a week,”

Will tried pulling the Prince up, but he seemed cemented on the floor. “Time flies when you have fun!”

“We’ve been here for half an hour and it already feels like a lifetime.” Despite his words, the Prince stood, his legs wobbled for a moment.

“Wow, rude.”

Despite his words, Will didn’t let go of the Prince’s wrist –his hand had fallen there somewhere during the run, and honestly, why not?– and stopped only when he reached the hallway. Their hand-bags were still by the door, which made sense, since neither of them had tried moving them.

“So, we’ll act like you are a mannered guest instead of yourself–”

The Prince snorted. “That’s incredibly bold to say for someone who believed me to be a murderer less than an hour ago.”

“I was just ranting, and honestly–”

“So that wasn’t sarcasm.”

Will waved his finger. “Don’t try luring me into that loop again.” He exhaled heavily, and let go of the Prince’s wrist to put his hands on his hips. “So, that tour.”

The Prince rolled his eyes, and pointed to the stairs on the left. “The second floor. Go there, and you’ll easily find your way to the attic.” He pointed to the direction they had come from. “That’s the living room, and–” the only other door. “I honestly don’t remember. I think there’s like a corridor? You can reach everything from everywhere. The chalet is all connected, so–”

“Wait, wait, wait. Is this the tour?”

The Prince slowly blinked. He probably spent half of his time doing just that, it was in equal part amusing and annoying. “Yes?”

Will tsked. In the back of his mind, he was aware he was acting like a child, especially when he started stomping his foot on the ground. “In a tour, you need to walk around. Point at the rooms, and tell me something about each of them. Something that will make me smile.”

“I don’t even know what makes you smile.”

“I know, that’s what we need this bonding experience for! So you get to know it.”

The Prince rolled his eyes. “You are probably one of those people who just smile when they see cat videos on Instagram. God, you probably even laugh when you see dogs stumble and fall.”

“I’ll let you know, I actually cry when dogs fall, because they are pure souls, and don’t deserve such treatment.” He sighed. “So, my tour…”

Will wasn’t surprised to hear the Italian grumbling at this point. What surprised him was that the Prince actually gave up, and started stomping toward the mystery door.

“So you only came to the living room, where I was?” the Prince asked.

Without paying much attention, Will nodded.

“So you stayed here? Like an insect when you draw a circle around them?”

Will shook his head. “I’m sorry I have manners and don’t sno–oh my God. Oh my God. Is that –is that you?” Will pointed at the pictures on the wall, eliciting a groan from the Prince. “In a onesie? Oh my God!”

“Who else would it be?” he asked.

“Babies all look the same, you could have told me that was the neighbor’s daughter, and I would have believed you. Oh God, is that a –is that you dressed as a princess? This is priceless!”

“Oh, shut up,” the Prince said, covering his face with his hands.

Will giggled. “You were adorable. What happened to you?”

“Gee, thank you. I may not be a mannered host, but you aren’t the perfect guest, either.”

Will flashed him the finger. “Be glad I haven’t mentioned how you’re still not out of your emo phase. Anyway–”

“I have never gone through an emo phase.”

Will raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, Wednesday Addams. Whatever you say.”

The Prince huffed. “It’s such a pleasure to have you here.”

“Thank you, I’ve always been told I was a pleasure to have in class.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.”

“Yeah, that was a lie. I was always considered too loud and–”

“Always considered?” He scoffed. “More like always was.”

“I will tell your sister about your behavior.”

“My sister? Let’s hope she doesn’t ground me.”

“Well, I’m sorry your father scares me!”

The Prince’s lips started twitching again, and Will wondered why he didn’t just smile. It was far easier than fighting it, to be honest. Plus, he had some freckles on his nose, and Will wanted to see whether they’d stretch or not.

The doorbell rang, a loud sound, that had Will jump in the air.

The Prince snickered. “Come on, pizza is here. Try not to faint when you see our shadows.”

Will stuck out his tongue at him, but the Prince was already in the hallway.

 “You’re giving me the real tour later, right?” Will asked, sitting at the kitchen counter.

The Prince rolled his eyes. “I swear to God, I’m going to put you in the dungeons.”

Will gave him a saccharine smile, and lied through his teeth. “Funny. I looked it up on the Internet, you can’t do that.”

Once again, Will was put under the Prince’s unblinking stare. “You are in a city you don’t know, in a country you don’t speak the language of, with a stranger.”

“I know you, now. You are a bit grumpy, but also a big, big softie.”

The Prince’s face scrunched up, as though Will had put a lemon in his mouth. Would he be offended if Will took out his phone and took a photo? Probably, but it wasn’t really Will’s problem, was it? Unfortunately, the Prince turned his face back into careful blankness before Will could act.

He turned to open the fridge. “We only have water.”

“It’s freezing outside, don’t take it from the fridge.”

Without taking his eyes off Will, the Prince stepped away from the fridge, revealing all its emptiness. Will looked at the fridge. Then at the Prince’s exhausted expression. He couldn’t control the laugh bubbling up inside of him, especially when the Prince took four glasses and filled them with water, not to make more than one trip to the sink.

“I was wondering–”

“If the word tour leaves your mouth, I swear to God, I will close myself in the bathroom.”

“I mean, sounds more like a treat than a threat, but okay. That’s not what I was asking, though.”

“Will this bonding experience ever be over?” The Prince groaned. “Can’t I ever just eat?”

“I’m not stopping you from eating, so –oh, wait. Are those your manners? Are you not eating because I’m not eating either, and that’s what a good host would do? Aren’t you the–”

“I’m jumping out of the window if you don’t shut up,” he grumbled, finally opening the pizza box.

“Rude. Does anyone stay here when you’re not? Like, did we throw someone out?”

“No, I don’t think so. Wait, are you asking me so you can call someone to rob us?”

“That would be pretty idiotic of me, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, like the Queen wouldn’t protect you. You just had to look at her once, with your blue eyes, and your puppy enthusiasm, and she was gone for you.”

The Queen. Will hadn’t wanted to assume, he knew mixed people that could pass as white, and he knew it was rude to ask. So, since the King was white, the Queen black, and Hazel black, he had just thought the Prince was white passing. It must have been written on his face, because the Prince reached over to open Will’s box for him, as though he didn’t want to look at his face.

“She’s not my mother, you know,” he said. “I’m just the King’s bastard son.”

Will gasped. “No one says things like that, anymore.”

“Not where you are from, they don’t.” The Prince took a slice of pizza, and motioned over for Will to do the same. “Listen, you are part of this, now. I’m not going to lie to you, it has both pros and cons. You will never have to worry about money, rent, whatever you used to before. But you have to be extremely careful. Whenever you do something wrong, people will be there to judge you. Things as little as leaving a party too early or too late, you will be seen anyway, and people will try to tear down every single move you make, until even you doubt yourself. Until even you can’t like yourself.”

Will cleared his throat. “I know what it’s like.”

The Prince shook his head. “You don’t.”

Will’s throat closed. He should have told the Prince. He should have looked in those brown eyes, and simply said that his parents weren’t exactly farmers. He opened his mouth. He was about to say it.

“It’s the first time I eat pizza so close to Italy, you know?”

The Prince didn’t pressure him for more, he just rolled his eyes, cheeks dusted with pink. “You really have no idea where we are, do you?”

“Yes, I do! In the border between Italy and France.”

Will’s smug moment was cut short by the Prince’s scoff.

“We’re in Livigno, genius. It’s in Italy. Well, technically it’s on Switzerland soil, but it’s an Italian city.”

Will shrugged, willing his blush to disappear. “You should stop lying to yourself.”

“Says the guy who treats borders between countries like they are no man’s land. ‘Where are you Will?’ ‘Oh, you know, just in the border.’ You should have been given bodyguards, seriously. You are a public danger!”

Will shook his head, but there was no way of hiding the stupid smile on his face. “Going back to pizza–”

“Pizza and tour, two words that will give me nightmares and scar me for life.”

“So, now that we’re talking about tours again!” Will moved so fast on the high stool he bumped into the pizza box and sent it flying to the floor across the room. Luckily, the pizza didn’t fall out.

“Was that you sending the pizza on a tour?”

“No, that was a threat for you.” Will pointed at the floor, where his pizza was looking back at him. “Take me on a tour, or you’ll end up like the pizza.”

“In your stomach? Because I’m not calling the restaurant to order another.”

“Wow, I see the length you’d go for me. I’ll remember it.” He popped down the stool, and bent to take back his food. “Look! It’s not even smudged. You should give me the restaurant’s name, I’ll put on a nice review.”

When he turned, he found the Prince stubbornly looking at his food. “I can take you to the village later. Do you ski?”

“No. Do you?”

“Well, yes. There’s this hotel where you can use one of those sled with dogs. I can call and see if they have a spot for us in the next few days, I’m not sure, though.” He looked up, to see Will staring at him with wide eyes. “What? Is there something on my face?”

Not caring about the dough on his fingers, Will put his hands on the Prince’s cheeks, and squished. “Do you think they have puppies?”

“What the–what are you doing to my face?”

“I’m forcing you to look at me, because I honestly think that I’m more interesting than food. So, do they have puppies?”

Will squished tighter, and the Prince’s words turned out muffled. “How would I know?”

“How would you not know? How can you go anywhere without checking whether there’s puppies or not?”

“You’re here with me. Did you check?”

Will threw his hands in the air. “I just admitted that I didn’t know what city we are in, so make a wild guess, darlin’.”

The Prince shook his head, exhaling through his nose. “We wouldn’t go there today, anyway.”

“I want the tour of the house first, anyway.”

“Sure thing, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, peasant.”

For a second, Will thought he’d gone too far, taken the jokes too lightly, and the Prince would never talk to him again. Then, the Prince just shook his head.

“You are so bad mannered it’s literally scary.”

“My Texan grandmother would be heartbroken over your words.”

“My Italian grandmother would tell you not to talk while you eat.”

Will rolled his eyes, stuffing another slice of pizza in his mouth. “She would love me. I’m lovable. Lovely. I would sweep her off her feet.”

“I’d tell her you called me a peasant and she’d hate you forever.”

“Would she?”

The Prince’s lips twitched, he took a large gulp of water before responding. “No, not really.”

Will scoffed. “I’m far too bright for your lies.”

“Sure thing, principino.”

“What does it mean?”

The Prince sighed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

 “I’m calling Persephone,” the Prince said. “That was her doing. Or Hazel’s. I hope to God it wasn’t my father, or I’m fucking retiring as Prince, and they can find someone else to fill the fucking spot.”

So the Prince stomped away, Will heard his angry steps on the stairs, as he went to retrieve his phone. Will just stood there, watching the only bed in the whole house as though he had never seen one before.

During their tour, they had discovered that every bed had disappeared, except for the one in the Prince’s room. A queen size bed –which Will would have found hilarious, in any other circumstance– with far more pillows than necessary.

Outside it was already dark, although it was only five in the afternoon. Will could almost see people on the streets in the village, which wasn’t more than fifteen minutes by foot, or so the Prince had said.

Without anything else to do as he waited for the Prince to return, Will decided to snoop around a little. He stopped in front of the desk in the corner of the room, remembering he couldn’t snoop around. Then the Prince would know that Will was a snooper, a serial snooper, which he had denied being. With a heavy sigh, Will fell on the chair.

There was a trunk in front of the bed. It looked pretty old, probably the first thing in the whole chalet that had a story, and it was in the Prince’s room. Will couldn’t help but wonder what was in it.

The Prince reappeared at the doorframe, heavily panting, leaning forward on his knees.

“Geez, did you run all the way back to your island?” Will asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

“I can’t believe you don’t even know the name of ‘my island’,” he replied, making quotation mark with his fingers.

Will stared at him without blinking, much like the Prince often did. “Maybe you don’t know it, and I don’t want to give you any clues.”

“Why wouldn’t I–do you even hear yourself when you speak? God, you’re giving me a headache. A headache!”

The Prince sat on the bed, taking off his shoes to fold his legs underneath himself. He passed his hand through his dark hair, sighing heavily.

“What can I say, it’s part of my appeal,” Will replied, shrugging. “You’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning, darlin’.”

The Prince sighed again. “I’m not even going to respond to that.”

Will stretched his arms over his head, arching on the chair until he started seeing black and foggy. He spoke around  a yawn. “So I win.”

“You don’t win shit, don’t you –whatever. That’s not what I needed to say.” He finally took his hands off his face, revealing his frown. “Persephone –that’s the Queen, in case you didn’t catch her name either– said that the other beds needed changing.”

“We can order one on Amazon. Wait, does it exist in Europe?”

“We’re in Asia.”

Will’s eyes widened, and only then did he notice the Prince’s grin. He put his hand on his racing heart. “You’re an asshole.”

“It’s not my fault you have no clue as to where you are, principino.”  The Prince shook his head, and passed his hands through his hair again. “Anyway. She said we can’t get other beds for a couple of days, so we only have this. I’ll just sleep on the couch downstairs. By the way, your suitcase was lost, so only mine was delivered.”

“Lost.”

“Well, as you can imagine, it probably never left the island. Persephone must have told the bodyguards to bring it back to the palace.”

“But why would she do that?”

“She reads too many books, that’s why. She probably thinks sharing clothes is a bonding experience, or whatever.” He fell on his back, making the pillows bounce. “We can buy clothes tomorrow. I don’t want to go out now.”

Will scratched the back of neck. “I didn’t really bring that much money.”

“I told you, you don’t need to worry about it anymore. You can just use one of my cards.”

“I’d much rather not do that. Just–I don’t want to use your money.”

The Prince looked at him for a long moment, but he didn’t insist.

“I’ll sleep on the couch, you stay here. It’s your bed.”

“You’ve been calling me a bad host all day,” the Prince said. “Let me sleep on the couch. I insist.”

“No, you’re sleeping here. It’s your house.”

“Listen, for the past two years, I’ve mostly slept on the ground. I can handle sleeping on the couch for a week.”

“I’m letting you sleep on the couch in your own house.”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the couch in my own house.”

“What if we slept together? No wait, that got out wrong. Like, what if we share the bed? No wait, that’s like letting the Queen win. We’ll share the couch!”

“How is that any different?”

“I’ve seen the living room, darlin’. There’s like three couches. I’ve seen couch-sellers with less couches, plus the fireplace is there! It’s perfect. We can even make a blanket fort! It’ll be like a cool sleepover.”

The Prince rubbed his closed wrists on his eyes. “I haven’t done blanket forts when I was a kid, I’m not going to start now. So get it out of your head.”

“You are no fun.”

“Whatever.”

“So, are we having a sleepover?”

“It’s not a sleepover, are you going to call the whole week a sleepover? Because I’m already finding it annoying.”

“Yeah, I know, it’ll give you a headache. Anyway, we need to bring the blankets and pillows downstairs, and take pajamas. Did you bring any?”

 As it turned out, the Prince was quite a bit taller than Will, which he had noticed, but not given too much thought to. Just taller enough that he needed to roll up the pants. The Prince also gave him a pair of sponge socks and a sweatshirt in which he literally swam, and told him where he could find a toothbrush. The neck of the sweatshirt kept falling over his shoulder.

When Will got out of the bathroom, the Prince was also wearing a pajama. Will shook his head, feigning disappointment.

“And you say you have never had an emo phase. You say that to my face, then give me black clothes, as you wear black clothes, and have only brought black clothes.” Will waved his index in front of the Prince, who tried to take a step back, but was blocked by the bed. “I may not know much about Europe. European princes, hell, I didn’t even know your island existed. But! I know everything about emo phases. So don’t you dare lying like that to my face, ever again.”

“You are so weird it’s scary.”

“Thank you. So, blanket fort?”

“Absolutely not.”

[blahblahwritings]

Body of a Goddess.

A/N: A Billy Russo request with a reader who is insecure about her body! Hope you like it. 

Words: 1574.

Warnings: Swearing, Gross comments about weight, PlusSize!Reader if that even constitutes as a warning. Alcohol Mentions.

Business was booming. Patrons were buzzed, shots were being poured and music was rattling the windows. Working at the bar brought you a sense of joy, you knew the regulars, could handle trouble and the boss was more than happy to let you run things considering he owned about ten other bars and had a very nice penthouse in the city. He could care less as long as he makes his money. That wasn’t to say you and the other girls didn’t get good pay, he was rich but he wasn’t a dick.

This guy, however, was.

“Sweetheart, can you pour me and my friends another round?” He slurred, his attempt as a wink turning into an awkward blink as his eyes raked over you. Regardless, you did as he asked, filling three small glasses with a dark liquid, pushing them towards him. He caught your wrist as you went to move to the register. “I’d like to get a little something else from you after you finish too, if you wouldn’t mind.” Snatching your arm from his grip, you grimaced making your disgust evident then turned, wordlessly. “Fine, fucking fat ugly bitch.” He sneered, taking the drinks and stumbling through the crowd.

The words hurt but it wasn’t something you were new to hearing. Drunks often tried to flirt and a majority would be nice enough when you turned them down but others… others spat insults after a hit to their fragile ego. You had learned to ignore them, mostly, so you carried on with your night. Shots, cocktails, pints you name it you poured it and the rest of your shift ran smoothly.

When it got to around 3am, it began to empty and the girls started to tidy the mess. Glasses, spilled drinks, vomit, the usual. Last call was half an hour ago and you were wiping down the bar when the same guy from earlier fell forwards, barely catching himself on the counter.  “Can I have one las’ drink, darlin’?” It took you a little while to decipher what he’d asked between the southern accent that had made itself more prominent now he was trashed and the fact he couldn’t coordinate his tongue enough to form full words. Once you figured it out you simply rolled your eyes.

“I think you’ve had enough, buddy. How about I call you a ride home?” You offered despite his earlier rudeness. His eyes couldn’t even stay focussed on you, his head wobbling as if his neck couldn’t hold the weight. “Only if you’re coming back with me.” At this, you sighed, signalling Perry, the security guard to escort the guy out. “There’ll be a taxi outside in a little while.” You said, the man fighting against the fact he was being dragged away by someone twice his size as he struggled against his hold. More foul words spewed from his mouth, not unlike before until the door slammed behind him.

Another half hour passed before you were ready to close and you sent everyone on their way home, the girls and Perry included. Rolling down the shutters and locking up, you turned on your heel to begin walking to your car. It was freezing, your breath coming out in small clouds as you wrapped your jacket tighter around you. Mid-December in New York always brought two things, plenty of business and an icy chill.

Rounding the corner, you picked your keys out of your bag, unlocking the car as you got closer. Unfortunately you didn’t quite make it that far before someone hurled you into the alleyway behind the bar. You were quick to retaliate, your self-defence lessons not lost on you as you kicked the attacker, causing him to double over. This gave you the chance to stand and you stared, wild-eyed as the adrenaline kicked in. Feet shoulder-width apart, left shoulder facing opponent means a smaller target, dominant hand behind gives more momentum and power. The man didn’t stand again in a hurry, instead, a pool of vomit burst from his mouth, steam rising from it in the cold. He wiped away the leftover trail from his chin with the back of his hand before rising to his full height again. It was the same fucking guy.

You relaxed only slightly, knowing he was probably far too drunk to do much of anything. Staggering towards you, he gripped your coat at the chest and you landed a solid hit to his jaw. It made him falter for a moment before he returned the hit with a backhanded slap, sending you to your knees.

“Stupid cunt, you should’ve just let me have my way with you. I asked nicely but no, your disgusting fat ass isn’t even worth the fight.” He growled, chest heaving. He approached your position on the floor, towering over you as you tried to blink the double vision away. The pain flooded your face but you swiped his shaking legs from under him, taking the moment to sprint out the alley and down the street.

You called the only number you could think of calling in that moment and heard his sleepy voice after the first few rings.

“Babe? What's wrong, will your car not start again? I told you I’d buy yo-” You cut him off with a panicked explanation of what happened and he was on his way in seconds. You kept running, not taking the chance that the asshole would catch up to you. Tyres screeching broke you from your instinct to keep going and you whipped your head around. Relief crashed over you in waves as you recognised Billy’s car. He parked beside you so suddenly that had you been in the car you swear you would have whiplash.

Breaths came out in small ragged puffs, desperate to fill your lungs with air. You weren’t sure how far you’d ran but it was easily a few blocks. His hands found your face, concern etched into his features as he brought your eyes to meet his own. Concern turned to rage as he spotted your split lip that you hadn’t even felt in the rush to get away.

“That bastard I swear to god I’m gonna tear him apart for ever laying a finger on you.” He spat, teeth gritted. Stopping in his path as you buried your head into his chest, he wrapped his arms around you as the adrenaline faded and you began to sob. You had dealt with angry patrons verbally before but never physically, Perry always made sure of that. Billy’s chin rested on the top of your head, jaw clenching and unclenching as he tried to comfort you, anger slowly ebbing away. “Let’s get you home, c’mon, baby.” He cooed, opening the passenger side door for you.

--

Upon arriving at his place, he took your coat and brought you a cup of your favourite tea and some biscuits. You were sat on the sofa, curled up in his lap but he knew something was still off. You’d refused the sweet treats, opting just for the tea and you had tensed up as he dragged you onto his legs.

“Sweetheart, something else is bothering you, I can tell.” He whispered, tucking a stray strand of unruly hair behind your ear. His lips placed soft pecks wherever he could reach, brows furrowed as he waited for you to open up to him.

“I’m not crushing you, am I?” Your voice wavered and you couldn’t meet his eyes. You had always been a bigger girl. High School was rough for you and plenty of people still made comments about your size with their transparent concern for your health. Over the years you had learned to shrug it off, practising self-love and acceptance was the biggest fuck you to it all but there were still bad days.

Billy reeled back, not prepared for such a question, the nature of which, to him, was absurd.  “God, of course not, is that what it is? Did that guy say something to you about your weight?” He asked gently, hands moving to rest at your sides. You flinched away from his touch and that was all the answer he needed. Taking the cup from you and placing it on the coffee table, he pinched your chin so you were forced to look at him.

“You are the most beautiful woman to me, you have the body of a goddess and no I’m not exaggerating. Sculptors would have been glad to make something in your image. I adore every inch of this body, you’re soft and warm and it's exactly what I need.” He started, hands cupping the sides of your face. “Your cheeks are perfect for kissing, your arms give the best hugs, your stomach makes for a great pillow and my god you know your thighs drive me insane. There is not a part of you that I don’t love and that lowlife doesn’t deserve a second of your time if he doesn’t realise you’re the hottest, most gorgeous woman he has ever crossed paths with.” A stray tear fell from your eye at his words, a genuine smile on your face. You sniffled and he brought his lips to meet yours in a tender yet passionate kiss. His hands returned to your hips, stroking the skin underneath your shirt.

“Now, come shower with me and I’ll show you just what I think of your body.”

[royalcordelia]

i found my voice (in her sweet melodies)

Summary: Christmas with Gilbert has never been traditional, but it always manages to steal Anne’s breath away. (A S3 + Married Shirbert Christmas Story).

This story is for @mariamancini who was one of three winners of my fic giveaway. I do hope you like it, dear!! ♥

***

December 1898.

For once in his life, Gilbert Blythe was blissfully unaware of the winter chill. It might have been the scarf Mary had just finished knitting for him with soft midnight blue yarn, or his father’s old sweater that he was finally beginning to fit into. Each breeze brought faint scents with it - the flowery perfume of Mary’s soap, the lingering essence of his father. 

Yet, Gilbert was only half aware of these comforts as he marched through the snow. Perhaps what really was warming him was the trail of footprints leading from his back door directly to the Green Gables homestead. The small boot tracks, without a doubt, belonged to the youngest member of the Shirley-Cuthbert household. Gilbert’s eyes glazed over as he walked, following the footprints, though his mind was off elsewhere. As it was, he couldn’t help but notice hints of Anne in everything he saw - the white-tipped tree branches, the cardinals on their high perches, the unique stellar shape of each snowflake that flurried before him. 

His thoughts were consumed by her up until the moment he saw her through her window. Anne - as lovely as she ever was, floury apron tied around her waist and her braids tumbling down her back. With movements somehow laced with affection, she kneaded a sugary dough on her kitchen table. Her lips moved in a song Gilbert couldn’t hear until he nudged the side door open. The melody from her lips was her favorite Christmas tune, “The Holly and the Ivy,” but the words were entirely of her making. 

“My footprints fall behind me, across this crystal field. It’s you I’ve come to see, my love. It’s you that brings me here.” Her voice echoed through the peace of the house like a hymn loose in a cathedral. “So come and stand beside me. And hold me in your arms. I long to lay close with you, beside our warm hearthfire.”

Already rosy from his trek through the cold, Gilbert felt his cheeks tingle. How tempting it was to pretend that this kitchen belonged to him and Anne, that the pastries she crafted with her loving hands were for their very own Christmas dinner. Just the two of them. She’s keep singing her song, and he’d heed its lyrics to reap all of its marvelous benefits...

With a shake of his head, Gilbert rapped his knuckles against the door before letting himself in. He’d been subject to too many of Marilla’s “Gilbert Blythe, you know you’re welcome anytime. Please let yourself in!” lectures to wait for Anne to get the door herself. Her head rose from her baking, and the sight of Gilbert made her face split into a grin. 

“Hello Anne,” Gilbert greeted warmly, unwrapping his scarf from his neck so that he could speak. If he’d been looking, he might have seen Anne’s eyes linger on his chin and neck as they became exposed, and if he’d been looking even closer, he might’ve noticed her bite her lip. But instead, he smiled and took a few steps into the room, tracking some melting snow in behind him.

“You look like a mountain man just now returning to society,” she teased, crossing over to him. With a captivating softness, she brushed a flurry of white flakes from his hair. Gilbert’s eyes watched her face with tenderness.  She was so close that he could smell the vanilla on her hands. Seeming to notice the boldness of her action, Anne gave a friendly sweep of her hands across his shoulders and then patted it firmly. “Ah, there’s the Gilbert Blythe I know. Next time wear a hat!” 

“It’s only a short walk across the field,” he argued.

“The field and the orchard,” she corrected.

Gilbert rolled his eyes, though he was smiling. 

“Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?” 

Anne moved back to the table and began to roll out her dough until it was as smooth as ice. 

“Do you ever need a reason to visit?” She peeled off a tiny bit of the dough and held it out to him. “Try this.” 

Gilbert smelled the sweetness of the biscuit dough seconds before he tossed it into his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to prepare him for how divine it tasted. His expression must’ve betrayed his thoughts immediately because Anne smiled in victory and began to press a circle shaped cutter into the dough. 

“You’ve outdone yourself, Anne. What are you baking for?” 

With a gasp, Anne slammed her hand down the table. The various bottles and containers of flavorings and flours rattled at the impact, but thankfully, nothing capsized onto the floor. 

“I nearly forgot! These biscuits were going to accompany me as my persuasive gift when I went to invite you and your family to Christmas dinner. I was going to leave as soon as they were out of the oven so they’d still be hot.” She paused, realizing she’d confessed her surprise plan. “I’d still like to make a formal invitation, if you don’t mind.” 

“I do mind, in fact,” Gilbert countered. Anne dropped her shoulders incredulously. “I’m afraid I’m here to make the same exact formal invitation, only I hope you will still accept even with my lack of baked goods.” 

“Gilbert Blythe, you mean you came here to-” 

“-to invite  you and your parents to Christmas dinner at our house, yes. You were kind enough to invite Bash and I last year. It’s only right that we return the invitation.” 

For a moment, Anne hesitated. She’d had been planning the Christmas dinner decorations for over a week, collecting the necessary stray ribbon and pinecones in her room. Anne felt it was far more comfortable to play hostess to your loved ones than be the guest, however perhaps that was merely her proclivity to hospitality rearing its head. 

But then she remembered the sweet laughter of baby Delphine and the fact that it likely had been many years since Mary had the chance to host a Christmas dinner for a full sized family. 

“Well?” Gilbert asked. Anne crossed her arms across her chest and pursed her lips.

“I tentatively accept on a few conditions,” she stated firmly. Gilbert cocked a brow but nodded for her to continue. “My first is that Matthew and Marilla must agree.”

“That’s a given.” 

“My next is that Mary absolutely let us bring a dish or two.”

“Alri-” Anne cut him off.

“ And I’d like to help Mary cook and decorate,” she concluded. Then remembering her manners, quickly added, “Only if it isn’t an imposition on her. I think it would be so lovely to spend time with her that way, especially since she’ll need an extra pair of hands to cook and take care of Delphine.” 

“You act like Bash and I don’t know how to take care of the baby,” Gilbert bristled, though not genuinely offended. Anne couldn’t help but smile warmly as she slid her tray of sugar cookies into the oven. 

“Oh, I’d never. Between the three of you and my family, that little girl will grow up with more love than she’ll know what to do with.” 

An unreadable expression crossed Anne’s face, but Gilbert noticed it before she could hide it completely. Maybe she was remembering the childhood of another little girl who never knew such an abundance. A sigh slipped through his lips. Things were different for Anne now, but if he could go back and provide all the love she’d been lacking, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

Lost in his thoughts, Gilbert did not notice Anne dip her finger into the flour and walk up to him. With a dramatic flourish, she tapped his nose with the powdery substance.

“Do you accept my conditions or not, Mr. Blythe?” she asked playfully. Any hints of her past haunting her were gone now, but the ache in his chest that urged him to merely love her was still overwhelming. Gilbert rubbed his sleeve across his nose and smirked at her.

“I accept your conditions and offer one last offering of my own.” 

Anne nodded, eagerly awaiting whatever he had in store. She was too busy staring into his forest hued eyes that she didn’t flinch when he took a step closer. With the stealth of a storybook hero, Gilbert reached behind her into a small pile of flour and swiped it across her cheek. The white streak made it that much more endearing when she beamed up at him, but her smile turned heavy when his fingers lingered on her skin. For half a second, she felt his fingers move ever-so-slightly against her cheek to hold it, then-

“Why! Gilbert Blythe is here!” 

Anne and Gilbert jolted back a few steps, the latter wiping excess flour onto the sleeve of his coat with heated cheeks. Marilla took no notice of the tension she’d walked into, or if she did, she was kind enough to spare Anne any indication.

“Gilbert invited us to Christmas dinner with his family. Isn’t that positively grand?” Anne said, enthusiasm barely masking her distress. Surprise lit up Marilla’s countenance. 

“That’s awful kind of you, we’d be delighted!” Marilla said. 

“Wonderful! Bash and Mary will be thrilled to hear it,” Gilbert replied. He pulled his scarf from the hook and began to wrap himself back up, as neat as a Christmas package. “I ought to be heading back. I promised Mary I’d collect a few things for her in town so she can get a headstart. Anne, I’ll speak with her about you assisting her with the cooking.” 

Anne’s face was still the same color as her hair, but she nodded with a tight smile. He was halfway out the door when he turned back, sending her a look so intense with adoration that she shivered down to the soles of her feet.

“Until then,” he said softly. Then he was off back into the flurry of Avonlea snowfall, a figure of warmth amongst the blanketed crystal field. 

~*~

December 1907.

Initially, Gilbert thought it might be interesting to see what it was like to have the house entirely to himself, but all he felt was a dull loneliness in the background of his mind. Without work or Anne to distract him, he found himself keenly aware of a thousand oddities he’d never noticed before. There was a spot on his collar that was oddly itchy. A weird stain looked like a shadow of a spider above the kitchen stove. The tiny apron tied around his waist, which he borrowed from his ever-generous wife, constricted him like a snake skin, but was resolved to keep flour off of his pants and waistcoat.

Gilbert peered down at the countertop before him, analyzing the sticky dough he had just mixed together. Anne’s never looked quite like that. Maybe if he kneaded it more, it would take a more familiar shape? Clapping his floury hands together resolutely, a tiny cloud of flour exploded into his face. He coughed, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand and began to fold the dough over on itself. 

That was how Anne found him ten minutes later, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, kneading biscuit dough with all of his manly strength. Under his breath, he sang a song that was too quiet for her to hear. Icing sugar was smeared across his cheek and his forehead, making Anne bite her lip. 

When the door closed behind her, his gaze shot up to hers. In all of her glory, Anne S. C. Blythe stared upon her husband with appreciative eyes, a bundle of firewood in her arms and dirt on the knees of her trousers. The sight of her broad shouldered and confident made Gilbert swallow, but his face was contorted in confliction. 

“Welcome home, my love,” he said, with controlled evenness.

“Thank you, darling,” she replied sweetly, wiping her snowy feet on the doormat. She made no move to rid herself of the logs tucked in her bicep. Gilbert’s brows knit together at the sight. “Charlottetown was positively rife with christmas spirit! Usually those townspeople are so dreadfully-”

Anne paused, noticing the somewhat pained look on her husband’s face. 

“Alright, out with it, Gilbert Blythe,” she ordered. Gilbert set down his dough and tried to look nonchalant, but only succeeded in appearing hesitant. Slowly he began to explain himself. 

“As your doctor, I logically know without a doubt that you are more than capable of lifting a few fire logs without any sort of danger to your health,” he began.

“Uh huh,” Anne drawled, amused. It wasn’t often Gilbert was so bunched up.

“And you know I respect your desire for us to do equal parts of all the work in the house, and return that desire.   I recognize that you specifically asked not to be coddled.” 

“But…?” 

Gilbert’s resolve melted away as he unburdened himself.

“But as your doting husband - who, by the way, loves you more than anything and anyone - it positively kills me to see you doing heavy lifting. What are husbands for if not to wait on you hand and foot so that you don’t need to lift a finger?” he exasperated.

With a patient sigh, Anne dropped the logs next to the stove and came to stand by her husband’s side, arms wrapping comfortably around his neck. Gilbert’s hands immediately cradled the bump on her stomach, rubbing the tiny spot where a growing baby could just barely be noticed. A print of his strong hands was left on the soft fabric of her dress in white flour, sending a chuckle through Anne’s throat. 

“Oh Gilbert Blythe, you have no idea how much I appreciate that you care for me to such extremes,” she murmured, pressing her lips to the spot on his cheek where the icing sugar was smeared. “I’d be lying if I pretended to be completely unaware that my, as you say, heavy lifting would bother you. But I���m just so anxious to get everything ready in time for when our families arrive, that when I saw the logs at the side of the house, I figured I’d knock one more thing off our to-do list.” 

“That’s what I’m here for!” Gilbert argued gently. “I’m baking your favorite cookies from Mary’s recipe, I cut down that tree you said you liked, set it up in the living room, and brought down the candles and ornaments. I’ve even started decorating the house.” 

With a hand running through his hair, Anne scanned over the house. Gilbert’s heart lifted in relief when an impressed smile filled her face. There were candelabras in the windows with sprigs of winter flowers underneath them and a garland of pine was placed on the mantle. Gilbert had channeled Anne’s artistic soul as he adorned it with pinecones, ribbon, and holly. 

“I left the table centerpiece and the wreath untouched so you could decorate them. I know how you love it so,” he explained. “I thought we could do the tree together, just like last year.” 

Anne held his face lovingly, nuzzling his nose with with hers before planting a soft kiss on his lips. The second she pulled back, something caught her eye. Above the fireplace,  Gilbert had hung not two, but three stockings - two adult sized, and one tiny one. Stepping away, she neared the stocking with a growing lump in her throat. With the stocking completely in sight, she noticed one word embroidered across the red fabric with an unskilled hand: Jem. 

“Gilbert…” she muttered with a bittersweet heart. “You don’t even know if the baby will be a boy, yet.” 

Anne relaxed when she felt her husband’s strong arms wrap around her waist, his  lips in her hair. 

“That’s why I put Jem instead of James. Even if the baby is a girl, she’ll still be our little gem. Joyce’s stocking is on the tree, up near the star.” 

Anne’s throat was too thick to say anything. She held Gilbert’s arms close to her and leaned her head back on his chest. It would be her first Christmas since she’d lost her first baby, but her and Gilbert had decided it wasn’t going to be a sad time. They’d make sure it was bright, peaceful, hopeful. That was why had invited the Lacroixs and the Cuthberts to their home this Christmas - to bring family near, to prove that they were alright. 

“I’m sorry I worried you,” Anne said quietly, spinning in his arms until there was hardly any room between their lips. “Since you’ve respected my wishes, I’ll respect yours and resolve to be slightly more relaxed.”  

Gilbert pressed his lips to the spot underneath her ear that made her shiver, and nodded against her skin. When he pulled back, he glanced at the clock. 

“Our families will be here in a few hours. Will you please help me salvage the gingerbread cookies? I fear I missed a step.”  

With a burst of laughter, Anne caressed Gilbert’s cheek. How wonderfully dependable he was, this husband of hers. She couldn’t remember what Christmas looked like without him by her side, and cherished the future of many, many more holidays spent together. In a few hours, they’d reveal the impending arrival of their family’s newest addition, but for now, Anne was quite content to bake biscuits with the man she loved and smear icing sugar along his lips for her to kiss. 

[lucas-lowe]

TASK 2: IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER

July 2010.

Luke idly glared at the retreating dark of the dawn. His stomach let out a pathetic growl, or more accurately, a dying squeak. There comes a point in starvation where you can’t even sleep because of the hunger, and Luke was far too familiar with that pang.

The earth beneath his back was stiff and cold like a cadaver, and he could not think of a reason to get up. His head knew he should go look for food, something to eat-- like one of those small rat like creatures he saw in the woods, a fish swimming in the stream, the berries he ate a few days ago that made him threw up all night. Anything. If he couldn’t find anything to eat, he at least needed to get water. But no, his body didn’t want to move.

Luke coughed off a weak laughter, wheezing at this madness. He was stranded in some kind of an island, like that guy Crusoe in the book, with a group of lunatics who were probably in some cult-- something about elements and the First and not aging. As soon as his ankle healed, he slipped out of the camp and made his way to the west edge of the land. 

The trouble was, Luke didn’t know a thing about surviving in the nature. He was a city boy through and through. Even when he was without a home, he could have dumpster-dived and scavenged for food in the city. No such option on this godforsaken island. He didn’t know how to hunt or fish, didn’t know what berries are edible or not. He couldn’t even start fire for fuck’s sake.

Perhaps he should have stayed with the cultists, learn a thing or two about the island living. But no, his tendency to isolate himself got to him again, and he would probably die out here.

December 1997.

The night descended on the open road, breathing down the chilled air on his neck. The cold crept up to his blistered feet, seeped into his shivering bones, and he feared that he was marked for life. The ghost of a white breath danced before his eyes before vanishing without a trace. A raggedy backpack, a half-empty water bottle and a few pieces of clothing were all he had.

Empty-handed and alone, yet he had persisted for almost a year on his own. But for how long? He ran out of his saving months ago. He doubted that his family was looking for him-- if they ever bothered to, that is-- but he couldn’t be too careful with the Lopes. He couldn’t live on the streets forever, either. That’s why he was bound westward, to find a better life for himself. Start anew.

No car had passed by for hours, so he had given up any hope of hitchhiking to the closest town, and had started walking. He was under no illusion that he would get anywhere like this. It was just that he had nothing but his own two legs, and walking was all he could do.

He stopped to catch his breath as his bad leg started to ache. “What the fuck...” he said out loud just to remember his own voice. What the fuck am I doing? Since he couldn’t afford a bus ticket, he reasoned his options were either hitchhiking or walking. But this was his only pair of shoes and it had already started to show wear and tear. He didn’t even own a map so he just had a vague idea that he was heading west. He was, absolutely and completely, un-fucking-prepared for this journey.

A shaky sigh escaped from his cold, empty stomach as he dropped his backpack and flopped down next to the empty road. Up above his head was the cruelly brilliant sky full of stars, and the vast wilderness stretched as far as he could see, but his eyes lingered on the cracks of the asphalt. He knew there was nothing for him out there-- no star watched over him, no light guided his path, and no one was coming to save him.

He had nowhere else to turn but himself.

He should feel sad, or scared, but all he could do was laughing at himself. The truth of the matter was, he was far too talented at isolating himself in a self-destructive way. He knew that. He could have easily asked for a help, but he didn’t. He could have picked a safer, less strenuous journey, but he didn’t. He simply didn’t know how to exist any other way.

The stars burned bright above. He just didn’t look up. There were lights in the distance. He just closed his eyes. Maybe, and just maybe, someone was out there waiting for him-- he just refused to believe that. That very thought scared the life out of him. It was so much easier to hide alone in the dark, not found, not missed, not needed and wanted and loved. No one could hurt him if they couldn’t found him.

So how could he not laugh at himself? This was his own fault, no one else’s.

He breathed in the frigid, forlorn air, let it filled his lungs, and got back up to his own two feet. He stretched his creaking legs, cracked his neck, and turned his eyes forward.

He dug himself into this grave and laid himself down. So it was his job to claw his own way out.

May 1995.

[tw: gun, death]

The sun came up nevertheless, even after a sinful night.

Almost everyday, he watched the frozen colors of daybreak painting the sky. Waking up in the morning, on his way to the training or on the track, he had seen it until it became a part of his routine. But until today, he didn’t realize how painstakingly beautiful it was.

A man just died by the hands of another, yet the dawn was terribly radiant.

“You okay there, kid?” asked Pablo as he lit a cigarette. Pablo was a tall guy with the unkempt, bushy beard, and always smelled like a mix of smoke and horribly musky cologne. He was one of Father’s henchmen, the trusted kind.

Leaning against the hood of the car, he fixed his dry eyes on the sunrise without words. He didn’t know how he was, to be honest. He could still taste the last night’s dinner in his throat after throwing it all up. His body was sore and he could use a shower or ten. So no, he wasn’t okay. 

They had arrived at this riverbank a few hours ago as three. Now they were only two. ‘Take care of it’. That was Father’s order. 

He quietly ran a thumb on his blistered, dirt-covered palm.

-----

“You know how to use this?” Pablo asked, holding out a grip of a loaded gun. They stood over the brand new grave in the field, both of them covered in sweat and dirt. He never liked guns. Having the weight that could end someone’s life in his hands wasn’t exactly pleasant.

And then Pablo dragged out the third man from the trunk of the car. Blindfolded, tied and gagged. Pablo forced them down on them knees. Their bloodied head and shoulders were shaking uncontrollably. They reeked of desperation and piss, squeezing out a muffled, incomprehensible plead.

He unlocked the safety and cocked the gun just like his brother taught him. ‘Man, your aim’s terrible.’ He remembered Leandro’s crooked laughter when he had managed to hit none of the beer bottles set up as practice targets. He brought the gunpoint up to the back of the captive’s skull. The shudder crawled up the barrel and grasped at his hand like barbed vines.

The cry morphed into a terrible howl, held back only by the spit-soaked gag. It begged and begged and begged for mercy, while spewing fear and rage and curse.

And he wondered, do any other animal beg for their life? Do they experience the same primal hatred that burns in your chest, the ashy black smoke of grudge you exhale at the one who holds your noose? Not just the instinct of self-preservation expressed in aggression, but the acute malice humans carry like a venom.

Because he wished he couldn’t understand what was buried underneath the scream.

Please, I’ll do anything.

He wished he couldn’t feel a thing.

I don’t wanna die.

His finger wrapped around that trigger and--

He lowered the gun, only to realize that he was covered in cold sweat. He couldn’t pull it. It wouldn’t take much force to squeeze that trigger. Just a tiny movement of the finger, and the gun would roar, and all this would be over. That was the impossibly thin line he couldn’t cross, the infinitesimal difference between a man and a killer.

He fumbled at the safety, shivering. His hand was locked in place and couldn’t let go of the gun.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay,” said Pablo, approaching him gingerly. A much bigger hand gently peeled his off the gun.

He stumbled backward as his knees gave in. The captive was now sobbing. From relief or panic, he couldn’t tell. But before he could process it, he heard the mechanical click, followed by a gunshot. With his ears ringing, he stared blankly as the headless body fell into the grave with a thud.

-----

“For what it’s worth,” Pablo started, polluting the fresh morning air with his cloud of smoke. “I thought this whole thing was fucked up.”

He didn’t reply, staring at the sunlight shattering against the surface of the murky river. No speck of cloud wandered in the sky above, and it would be the perfect sunny day of May. The air smelled of cigarette and late night rain. Three or so ducks swam about in the water, quacking without a care in the world. No care at all.

“Hey, don’t worry about your father,” Pablo blurted out. “I’m not gonna rat you out.”

“...okay.” He wasn’t particularly worried about Father. He thought whatever would happen would happen. What he didn’t understand was why would Pablo take a risk like that. He was just too tired to question it. “Thanks.”

The weight shifted as Pablo walked over to his side and sat down on the hood of the car. “Want some?” He extended a stick of cigarette.

He stared at the wrinkled packet in Pablo’s big hand, and then back toward the river. “I can’t.”

“What? You’re old enough.”

“No,” he said, “I run tracks. Can’t fuck up my lungs with that cancer sticks.”

“Oh,” Pablo thought for a second before putting out the cigarette. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Pablo fished out a pack of gum instead. Without asking, the older man handed one over to him. Instead of unwrapping it, he just stared at it in silence. It was mint. 

Disgustingly, his empty stomach demanded food with a grumbling. He recognized in a sick sense of detachment, that nothing had changed. The morning still came. The sky didn’t collapse. They could still talk about insignificant things. He still wanted a breakfast. Maybe no red meat, not at least for a few days, but he was still hungry.

And that moment, he realized that absolutely nothing would change if he were to die. The world would continue regardless.

July 2010.

Luke jolted out of his sleep. Groaning, he forced himself to sit up and rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t have been out longer than a few minutes. The sun was still rising toward the east, and the sky was ablaze with cold amber. He rose to his feet and dragged himself toward the western cliff of the island. Might as well watch the sunrise, he thought. 

Just when he reached the end of the land, it occurred to him that he should have gone toward the east for the sunrise. His brain must have gone on a hunger strike or something. 

Standing by the edge, he looked down into the mouth of the ocean, its jagged teeth and dark depth. That’s a long way down, he thought. The ocean collided into the land and shattered, crying out in the cacophony of waves. The light was yet to reach this side of the world, but gradually and surely, the boundless firmament was waking up. From the fading darkness emerged thin whisks of clouds. He sat down by the cliff, and aimlessly watched the clouds traveling westward, toward the horizon and beyond.

Even on this god-knows-where island, the world was as always infuriatingly and unabashedly beautiful. It taunted him, a tiny, meaningless blob of existence compared to its marvel, that it didn’t give a damn.

“Fuck my life,” he sighed to himself, laying back down and promptly finding the cliff to be the worst place to lie down. More clouds rushed by him toward the ocean, carried by the salty, lukewarm wind.

Death didn’t scare him-- not in the way it should, anyway. He knew it didn’t matter if he died here or not. He could starve himself to death, eat a poisonous berry, get eaten by a... whatever the fuck that lived in the Jungle, or jump off the cliff-- and the world would not care.

It’s just that, to him, death felt like admitting defeat.

Luke shot his final glare at the audaciously bright sky. He survived his family. He survived the streets-- hell, he was thrown into the ocean with bricks tied to his leg, and that didn’t kill him. Surely, it would take more than an island away from the civilization (and with possible cultists) to kill him.

So he got back up to his feet, as he always did, ready for another day of hunger.