#and historically if i push a boundary that makes him pull back HARD

[likeawolfatthemoon]

just told my not-boyfriend whatever person that ive been referring to him as my partner at work bc i was not about to explain our weird fwb situation to professional office company, especially when it includes 50 something year old men

and he.......was okay with it..........

not sure what to make of this

[not---meat]

Paradise: Chapter 14: To Always Think Of You

Pairing: Javier Peña x McKenzie Martel

Rating: A - Adult

Warnings: Angst, Mental Health, Fluff

Summary: McKenzie works on healing. Javier explains how he feels.

Note: I apologize in advance for any historical inaccuracies. We are in the mid to late 90's now woooo. Officially after the events of season 3 of Narcos! -- I'm so incredibly sorry that this took me so long to get out!

MASTERLIST --- PARADISE MASTERLIST

"And how did that make you feel?" The womans voice chimed out. McKenzie had been rambling for what felt like forever, trying to explain her though processes as she relived the events of her past. Her and Javier mostly, seeing that she was there to push past the trauma and better herself.

That was all the woman ever said, though. How did that make you feel? It almost felt as if she wasn't actually listening to what McKenzie had to say and only sat across from her in her plush seat, twirling her pen between her fingers, because she was paid to do so.

"Broken." McKenzie replied. She was trying. McKenzie was trying so incredibly hard to do better and be better because she knew at the end of the day that would fix her. If she could be fixed, that was.

The woman just nodded, eyes trained on the paper in front of her as she jotted down notes on the pad in front of her. In the two sessions that McKenzie had been to she had noticed a pattern. Notes, twirling, a small comment here or there, but aside from that it was Kenzie who had to make the first move. In the back of her mind she wondered if she would be able to just sit in silence with the woman. She wondered if the woman would even say a word about it. At the end of the day she would still be paid.

"When Javier left it felt like my heart was being ripped in half. I felt… numb after a while. Like… there was nothing that I could do to make the pain go away so I just got used to it…."

The end of the session couldn't have come any sooner. A curt not on the way out of the room and down the stairs McKenzie flew, eager to slide into the passenger seat of Javiers truck. He had insisted on picking her up just in case one of the sessions had broken her. He drove her there and drove her back to the ranch.

The ranch had become her home away from home. Still too terrified to go back to her apartement alone, McKenzie practically took over Javiers bedroom. At first he had insisted on sleeping on the couch but after the first week he relented. Working on the ranch and sleeping on the lumpy couch in Chuchos livingroom only brough backache and exhaustion.

Kenzie didn't mind. The two of them had shared a bed before. Though the last time they had shared one they were still teenagers and it was more so to comfort McKenzie after something traumatic had happened. Kenz couldn't even remember what it was that had lead to him holding her like that all throughout the night. It couldn't have been that bad if she couldn't remember what it was and honestly she was thankful that it had. Being in Javiers arms was the highest comfort in the world to her.

It was different, though, the way they shared the bed every night. Seperate blankets, seperate pillows. Even though there was still that spark and they both knew where they stood, there was no intimacy. It frustrated her. They were both finally in a place where they could love one another without any boundaries and Javier was once again pushing her away.

Of course Kenzie wasn't about to fight him on it. There wasn't a single piece of her that wanted to fight him again. She was far more afraid of losing him than frustrated that he wouldn't touch her or hold her. Instead she waited. Hoping every night for the past week that it would finally be the night that he made the first move. That he would pull her close. That he would kiss her, hold her, show her that he loved her.

Yet when the night fell it was always the same.

'Goodnight Kenzie.'

' Goodnight Javier.'

The light would flick off and they would be left in the darkness. McKenzie would often roll onto her side to face away from him just in case he decided to roll over. She stayed awake for a long time, just listening to the soft sounds of his breathing coming and going. She would focus on it, let it lull her to sleep and relax her. It reassured her that he was there, that he wasn't going anywhere and she wouldn't be alone again.

Yet there was always that fear in the pit of her stomach that she would wake up and he would be gone again. That he would walk away from her again without saying a word. Another ten years of silence. It terrified her that she had allowed him to wiggle his way into her life again and left her vulnerable to the pain that it would inevitably bring when he pushed her away again.

"You're quiet today." Javier spoke as he turned onto the gravel road that lead to the ranch. "Was the session okay?"

McKenzie looked over at him, not realizing that she had been staring off into the distance for majority of the drive. "Yeah. I'm alright. Just a little tired."

Javier nodded slowly, eyes trained on the road as he drove. "You know you can tell me about it too. I'm not going to be upset, Kenz. I'm here for you."

"Yeah… I know I'm just… Trying to uhm… keep you out of it, I guess. Besides�� you already know everything that we are talking about so…" She trailed off, looking out the passenger side window, afraid to meet his eyes.

"Ah." Javier breathed, letting them fall into silence for the rest of the trip. He pulled into his parking spot, wordlessly shutting off the truck and slipping out of his seat. McKenzie watched as he rounded the truck and opened the door for her, offering a hand to help her down. Of course Kenzie took his help with no hesitation. It was the closest thing she got to intimacy from him. His hand in hers when he was helping her.

It was driving her wild.

Still, she followed him into the house and hung up her jacket and bag. Silently they went through their motions, heading off to do their own things for a few moments before meeting up in the livingroom to relax.

"Javi." She started, eyes trained on her fingertips as she fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist.

"Hm?" He hummed, still focused on the television set in front of him. When she didn't respond right away, Javier peeled his eyes away from his show, looking over at Kenzie. A slight flicker of worry in his eyes as he shifted and lifted her chin with a finger. "What's wrong, Kenz?"

Kenzie let out a shaken breath, eyes flicking up to meet his as she tried to find the right words to say. "Are we… okay?" She whispered, eyebrows pinching together slightly as her eyes flitted between his.

"Yeah? Of course we are, babygirl. Why?" Javier tilted his head. His hand moved from her chin to brush away pieces of her hair and rest on her cheek, holding her in place so she wouldn't look away. When she was silent he let out a breath, leaning closer toward her. "Tell me what's going on in that beautiful head."

McKenzie captured her lip between her teeth, still unsure how she wanted to word her question. She wanted to know what was wrong. She needed to know why his touches had been so… chaste. Almost as if he didn't want her the way that she though he did.

"C'mon, hermosa. Talk to me. What's wrong?" Javier cooed, caressing her cheekbone with the pad of this thumb. "You can tell me. I won't be upset."

She let out a deep breath, eyes softening as she stared up at him, taking in the concern in his eyes. He was such a caring man. Such a deep heart that, although it had hardened over the years, was still full of gold.

"You haven't… touched me." She whispered, feeling like a touch starved child. "We sleep together yet we don't actually sleep together and I'm just… Did I do something wrong?"

Javiers eyes widened. He shifted in his seat, inching closer to her. "No. Baby, no. No it's nothing that you've done. I just don't want to push you."

"But I told you that I want you to touch me and you still won't." McKenzie countered. "You won't even hold me, Javs."

Javier just stayed silent, eyes narrowing slightly, eyebrows pinching together as he shook his head in almost defeat. "Kenzie… It's not because I don't want to. Hermosa, I want to. I want you. I just don't want to do anything you aren't ready for." "But I am ready, Javs. I've been ready. I… I want you too I-"

Javier shook his head again, "No. Kenz." He cut her off, cupping her face in his hands. "Listen to me. Hear me. I don't want to do something you aren't ready for. I don't want to move too fast through this, McKenzie. It's already too much that you sleep in my bed and live in my house. I want you to heal first, babygirl. I want you to be ready." He traced his thumbs along her cheekbones, eyes flicking from her eyes to her lips and back. "The day I get to have you? That will be the happiest day of my life but I need you to be ready because… Babygirl, I'm not holding back. I want all of you."

Kenzie just stared at him, feeling as though the breath had been knocked from her chest. "All of me?"

"All of you." Javier nodded, "Every single piece of you that you'll give me. Hermosa… when I said that I'm all in I meant it. You're it for me. I'm not going to rush this. I'm not going to let sex become the driving force between us. You're my Cradle to Grave and I'm not fucking it up this time." Javier leaned into her, pressing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "We are going slow." He muttered against her skin. "Because the day I ask you to marry me I want to already know the answer without a doubt."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Laisse tomber les filles 7

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; size kink; age gap; manipulation; sexual acts and dubcon (not explicitly tagged for a surprise but nothing extreme).

This is a dark!fic and Lee Bodecker x (short) reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find yourself ostracized on campus by your shyness, but your reticence won’t deter an unwanted suitor.

Note: We back at it again! Happy Tuesday.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

‘When I was nineteen, pureness was the great issue...I saw the world divided into people who had slept with somebody and people who hadn’t, and this seemed the only really significant difference between one person and another. I thought a spectacular change would come over me the day I crossed the boundary line.’

You read and reread the paragraph. You couldn’t help it. The first time you read that book, you just didn’t get the cynicism. There were still parts you couldn’t quite relate to. But that passage sank into you like a pebble in water. You felt changed already and after something so little.

You hadn’t seen Lee since Saturday. He had your number now and called at night. A few times, there was noise in the background; people, cars, life. You realised he must’ve been at a payphone, taking a moment away from his patrol. That was another thing about him; he felt so established, so wise, and that made you feel even less.

When the phone began to ring that night, you ignored it. And when it stopped, you picked up the receiver and dialed the only number you knew. Your mom picked up and you heard the sink running in the background. She was always busy when you called.

“Mom,” you said, “it’s me.”

“Oh, hi, dear,” she replied in her creaky tone, “how are you? Oh, is something wrong?”

“Um… I’m okay, I just wanted to call, I…” you thought of telling her about Lee but you weren’t really sure how. You weren’t even sure why you called her, only that you felt alone. “I miss you and daddy.”

“We miss you, too,” you heard her steps and her grunt as she stretched the cord and twisted off the faucet. “He’s been working hard down at the steel yard and he’s so proud. All the other men tell him to hush up when he brags about you.”

“Yeah? I… I’m working hard. Got an A on my last paper,” you played with the coiled cord.

“That’s great, dear,” she chimed, “are you sure you’re okay? You sound tired.”

“I am tired,” you said, “that’s all. Studying and all that.”

“I hope so. I wouldn’t want you going out late to one of those parties,” she tittered, “Noreen’s son got arrested at one of those and spent a night in jail. They spent their mortgage to get him out.”

“No, no, I don’t, um, go to parties,” you assured, not adding that no one would even think to invite you to one.

“Oh, dear, I’m sorry, I’ll have to call back tomorrow,” she sighed as you heard the door clamour, “your father’s so intent on hurting himself these days.”

“Okay, um, it’s alright, I’ll talk later, love y--” the phone went dead and you listened to the dull tone.

You put the receiver back in the cradle and tapped your fingers on your lips. You picked up your book and sat back on your bed. You couldn’t focus on the words though as your mind lingered on the familiar sounds of home. You missed it terribly. You just wanted to take the bus and go hide in your old childhood bed.

The phone rang again. You knew it wasn’t your mother. You left it and when it silenced, there was only a second before it started again. You waited until the next lull and moved the receiver off the cradle and let the low hum rise from the speaker. You kept it off the hook and closed your book.

You didn’t want to deal with any of that today. Not Lee, not Plath, not the plague of woes that roiled your stomach. You flopped onto your bed and pulled your pillow over your head. You weren’t going to think again until your morning lecture.

📚

You sat near the front of the hall with your elbow on the small fold-out desk. You swirled your pen lazily in the air as you listened to the professor expound on the flaws of historical revisionism. He wasn’t the type to entertain questions or comments, he merely ranted and expected you to note those few words of value amidst the sea of thoughts.

You yawned, exhausted despite an early night. You felt empty and drained those last four days. Ever since…

You didn’t think about it. Tried not to even as it tugged at your mind. When the memory managed to poke through, you felt the same tingle between your legs and your cheeks burned in humiliation. 

How had you let it happen? How could you let yourself do that?

You were so confused by it all. How could it be wrong if Lee said it was right? He was older, he was a cop, and he knew much more than you. You never even kissed a boy before him and he was so confident in everything he did that he must be doing it all right. 

Besides, after everything, if you refused him, you’d have only been leading him on and using him for his kindness, even if you didn’t realise what you were doing. Because what you did know was that he was a man and you were a woman and that he was doing nice things for you. And you accepted them all. The least you could do was bide his affection. That was the age old exchange, was it not?

“Next week, we’ll review chapters five and six,” the professor’s tone piqued as his ramble subsided, “I expect a class discussion and you can expect ten percent of your mark to be evaluated from your contribution and I will know if you just ‘skimmed’ the introduction.’

The class grumbled as he dismissed you and you stood slowly, stretching the cramp from your leg. You packed up your bag and hauled it on your shoulder. You had a gap between that class and your afternoon publishing class. You trailed out behind the flow of chattering students but found many of them lowered their voices as they came out into the hall.

There voices fell to whispers as they entered the hall. The sight of a brown hat assured you of the reason. Sheriff Bodecker stood against the painted brick and watched the students pass by, each eyeing him nervously and some chuckling under their breaths nervously. You tried to hide behind a taller student but your name tripped you up.

Despite your efforts to maintain your invisibility, he’d spotted you and you knew you could run away. Several of your peers craned around to watch you, no doubt suspecting some trouble on your part. You dragged your feet and stepped out of the tide of fleeing co-eds to stand along the wall with Lee.

“Hi,” you said quietly.

“Young lady,” he said staunchly and kept his eyes on the other students, nodding at them darkly as they passed.

He waited until the hall was empty before he turned on you. You fidgeted and caught your bag as it slipped from your shoulder. Your thoughts wrinkled above your brow and you stared at his brown leather shoes.

“How did you… find me here?”

He was silent as he reached in his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He opened it and showed you a print-out of your schedule.

“Easy enough,” he tapped his badge nonchalantly, “I was worried. You didn’t answer last night.”

“I fell asleep early,” you said weakly, “morning lecture, you know?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, “not that early.”

“I’m sorry, I was sleep--”

“You’re no good at lying and I don’t like you telling me fibs,” he growled, “you playin’ around with me, honey.”

“No, I…” you blinked as he folded the paper back into his pocket and pushed his jacket back to settle his hand on his pistol.

“Did you forget who I am? What I am?” he arched a brow darkly.

“N-No, sir, I… I got schoolwork and--”

“You can’t stop and talk to me for ten minutes?” he challenged, “you hurt me, honey. I’m out on patrol all night, in danger, and the only thing I got to look forward to is hearing your sweet voice.”

“I, um, I… er, I’m confused,” you eked out, “I don’t know… I…”

“Honey,” he leaned in and his hot breath glossed over you as he lowered his voice, “you know what this is, we both know what a bad girl you were on Saturday.”

“I didn’t…” you swallowed and choked on your voice, “I gotta go to the library--”

You tried to turn away but were pulled back by his tight grip on your arm. He forced you against the wall and knocked the wind from you as your bag tumbled from your arm. You gasped and stared up at him in fright. In that moment, he seemed bigger than ever; taller, thicker, and strong as hell. Stronger than you for sure.

“You don’t go nowhere ‘less I say you do,” his other hand shifted on his gun, “you got me?”

“What are you-- I didn’t… why are you being mean?”

“Me? Honey pie, you been avoiding me and I’m mean?” he snarled.

“I wasn’t avoiding you, I’m just... busy,” you whimpered as he squeezed your arm so tight it throbbed, “you’re hurting me.”

“You’re hurting me,” he hissed, “you think I got time to be comin’ down here on duty to find you?”

“You didn’t have to--”

“I did,” he barked, “I had to make sure you weren’t hussyin’ around with any other boys, like I found you last week.”

“I told you, that wasn’t--”

“Shhhhh,” his hand flew to your chin and forced your mouth shut, “I don’t got the time for this, honey. I’ll be around tonight and you’ll wear a pretty dress for me, won’t you?”

You clenched your jaw and nodded stiffly as his thumb toyed with your lip. He smiled and the tension left his grasp.

“Good girl,” he drew away and squared his shoulders, “you be ready at six and don’t keep me waitin’ again.”

“Yes, sir,” you croaked.

“Mmm,” he nodded with a smirk, “you know, I think I do prefer ‘sir’.” He bent and kissed your lips before you could turn away. You let him and he stood straight again and adjusted his belt, “six o’clock, honey pie.”

[hobidreams]

april 1869.

the night brings with it the moon, rippling waters, and truths silenced with his mouth hot on your skin.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst words: 2.2k contains: historical au, exhibitionism (but more indirectly), rough sex, dirty talk, name-calling, hurt feelings, hair pulling, a very unhealthy (but historically accurate) relationship, yoongi is an ass

moonlit throne index. this is drabble two. start from the beginning?

The chilly evening wind of coming spring sweeps a scattering of fallen leaves across the courtyard. It ripples through the sleeves of your jeogori as you descend from the stone veranda of your quarters towards the private palace gardens. The two guards who stand at the entrance move wordlessly aside upon seeing you, offering you slight bows that you return. Past this barrier, the tall, reaching trees hang against the darkened sky, heavy branches scratching invisible marks over the moonlight. You follow the set path with steady footsteps, passing blooming shrubs with a yawn on your lips. The day has been long and your eyes are sore from studying medicine with only a dim lamp for company. But the breeze - it whisks away fatigue with an enviable ease.

The path winds along the expansive pond. Water lettuce and lily pads cover most of the liquid surface, lining the makeshift island that houses your favorite: the grand pavilion. Recently renovated on the king’s direct instruction. You move closer, slippers leaving stone to scrape the thin wooden bridge.

Something in the dark shifts.

Your eyes fall upon a shadow. Your steps stutter, then quicken.

“Jeonha.”

The king sits on the left bench, near the open front that has yet to be replaced, with a casual arm draped over the intricate banister. He doesn’t stir at the sound of your deliberately soft voice, his gaze remaining mired on something in the distance, far beyond the pavilion’s, or perhaps even the palace’s, reach. His hat is abandoned beside him, the topknot slightly loose where it is bound on his head.

“May I join you?”

He waves his hand absently.

You consider your options, but ultimately take advantage of the pavilion’s half-finished state and sit on the very edge with your legs tucked under you in a traditional kneel. You cannot even remember the last time you’ve sat together like this - out in the open outdoors, away from the tightly-drawn curtains of his chambers and away from prying eyes. Only now do you realize how much it had been missing. “The willow trees have grown out nicely,” you offer, what you hope is a safe topic. You watch a lily pad drift idly by. “I hope the lotus flowers bloom well this year. The pond truly felt so empty last season without their color. I—”

“Is it commonplace for subjects to inflict idle chatter on their king?” The ice in his voice is a slap across the face.

You shut up immediately. Nervously swallow too, but the heaviness in your throat remains stuck. You’ve become uncomfortably familiar with that tone, the quick temper that flares up in seconds but takes its time to dissipate. A part of you wants to retreat and hide; the other can never bear to leave him. Ever so slightly, chewing on the inside of your cheek, you turn your head instead. Take your first good look at him and almost gasp at how gaunt he looks in the sparse light. Nor do you expect the deep purple settled beneath his eyes. If this had been ten or even just two years ago, you wouldn’t hesitate to mention it but with things as they are, you are so nervous to speak and…

“What?”

“Have,” you bow your head slightly, “have you not been sleeping?”

Silence.

“Jeonha?” You press. “Please.”

When he finally looks at you, it’s with a glare. “I haven’t the time.”

“And your meals?”

“Not hungry.”

Your fingers knot. “But rest, sleep is essential. As is food. Without it, to make important decisions—”

“Hah!” His scowl deepens, the scar stretching down with his lips. “It would make little difference in how they are received.”

Ah.

You should’ve known it was impossible to miss the rumors rumbling through the palace, their source the restless palace occupants faced with a ruthless king. He can’t stop the rampant thievery brought on by the grain shortage, yet executes the thieves themselves. His petty rejection of treaty with Japan left threats of war looming like an open wound that refuses to heal. All this, the former king would never have done. Or so the gossip goes.

“Still… Jeonha, you cannot, simply cannot, live like this. The people need you to be strong. They need their leader. Every hour you spend pushing yourself too far is an hour taken off your life. ” Saying the words alone puts a tremble in your fingers. The thought of his death could keep you awake right along with him. Has. But every syllable you speak is an overstep of your boundaries and rank. “I-If something is weighing on your mind, tell me. Use me. Tell me what you need and I’ll try to help however I can.”

He laughs then, but it’s an ugly, mocking sound. With a thud, he drops to the floor. “Spare me your fucking idealism.” His tight fist finds the roots of your hair. He yanks, hard. Your plain hairpin clatters to the floor, teetering wildly off the pavilion edge. “You, help me? What power do you have?” He drags you backwards, your eyes wide and quivering as they find fury in his. “What can you really do?”

He all but rips open your sash and you let him. You let him throw aside the layers that cover your chest until you’re exposed to him, torn white fabric pooling around your arms. His breath is hot at the shell of your ear as he growls, “this is all I need from you. This and nothing else.”

“T-Then use me,” you repeat, despite the dagger stab of pain in your heart. If this will lessen his burdens, you’ll do it. If this will have him in your arms if only fleetingly, you’ll do it.

He grabs a breast and smirks when you tense, then cry out when he pinches a nipple pebbled from the wind. Take it all, you think deliriously when his fingers tighten with an almost unbearable strength, and again when he dips his head low, sucking hard at the nape of your neck to give you a dark ache to remember come morning. He leaves one mark then another, and another, as if threatening to consume you entirely with his desire. And you? You’re addicted to that jolt of pain, the heady wetness of dominance that says he wants you. He wants nothing but you right now, and you tuck that precious knowledge away with a moan.

When he flips you onto your back, you don’t hear the quiet splash as your hand knocks the pin over. All your focus is stolen by your king between your legs, demanding obedience even from his knees. He wastes no time in forcing your skirt up, undoing the ties of the shorts beneath and throwing them aside. You don’t think you breathe until his nail rakes across the scrap of cloth covering your heat. “Look at you,” he mutters. “So wet. Shameless.” He doesn’t bother taking off the sokgot before fucking two fingers into you, deep enough for you to feel the ridge of his knuckles. The way your tight cunt opens and molds to him makes him sink his teeth into his lip in appreciation.

You already feel pressure building when he curls his fingers. It spikes up when he scissors, pushes you apart to hear you gasp. The noise travels far, echoing across the water while he makes a mess of you with each rapid pump. You don’t need to see to know that clear arousal is running down the sides of your lower lips. The sound of slick is as lewd as your whines, pitched at a tell-tale high.

“Fast, too fast,” you groan. But when you shift back, you’re only met with open air beneath your hands. You turn your head in panic and yelp when you realize just how close you are to the edge, with nothing but murky water below. “J-Jeonha, let me bac—”

“No.” His eyes glimmer with something possessive at the sight of you stretched out over the precipice, moonlight’s glow painted across your bare skin. All that pliant softness for him to ruin.

And you do break, when he hits that spot and punishes it without a second’s pause. “Please, oh god, please.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for but his palm slaps against your skin with reckless strokes. Your spine curves back, head going with it until all you see is the night and burning stars and everything in this palace that belongs solely to him. You let go. You cum with an errant hand flung out, fingers skimming across the water, the rest of you pinned beneath him. Uncontrollable.

His smile is sadistic as he leans over you, still fully clothed in his royal robes as he watches you tremble. “Think the guards can hear you?” You want to shake your head but all you do is grind your hips into him. “If they turned their heads, they’d see you like this. Needy. Desperate.” He spits the humiliating words through set teeth. “Why don’t I call them over and show them what the esteemed physician is really like?” His cocksure grin stretches even wider when he feels you clench in response. It seems to make up his mind; he doesn’t extract his fingers even though bliss has turned sharply into soreness. Just fucks you through the last of the aftershocks and then some until he brings you to peak for a second, noisy time.

Only then does he draw back, swiping his tongue slowly up his soaked hand. His eyes never leave you, even as he strips enough to pull his thick cock from the folds of gilded silk. You don’t get much of a glimpse before it’s sheathed in you, much fuller than his fingers. Your overstimulated cunt reacts despite the sensitivity, wetly clinging to his shaft as he bottoms out. He doesn’t stop to savor, doesn’t even let you catch a breath before he’s moving forward. His thrusts now, angry and quick and deep  - they’re for him.

The low grunts of effort drop alongside sweat down his neck, topknot bobbing back and forth and he keeps going, nimble hips pistoning with none of the precision of his swordplay. Where that is beautiful, controlled movements, he finds himself the exact opposite when he’s inside you. A damn slave to the pleasure surging through his body,  and he seems to hate that he needs it. A loathing that he leaves in the bruises on your ass every time you smack to the floor.  “Always this tight for me,” he mutters in a low register.

You’re trying your best to hold on, and survive the acute ache of him battering against your deepest core because you could never ask him to stop. Your fingers cling to the stone boundary, holding you to solid ground when everything feels like it’s been tossed clear up into the air. You almost can’t bear to look at him like this. It’ll make you believe in the intimacy shared between lovers when this is—

He snarls your name, draws your attention back.  “Say it.”

“J-Jeonha…!”

He must like what he hears and finds in your gaze, for he smirks. “You’ve become a nice little whore for me, haven’t you?”

And that’s it. That’s when you feel the hot sting behind your eyes finally overflow. It’s a word that’s you’ve become well-acquainted with these past few months but to hear it from his lips is... The tears slide backwards down your cheeks, rippling the pond but he doesn’t notice. Or if he does, maybe he pretends they’re of pleasure. If only you could follow suit.

He takes two almost-unbearably deep strokes and then, suddenly, you’re empty. He’s gasping, surprisingly undone as his hand slides frantically on his own cock. Sticky cum soon splatters all over your stomach, staining your skirt with his conquest. Panting, he looks at you through loose strands of blonde hair and doesn’t pull away. Instead, he leans forward. For a moment, you forget yourself and expect him to kiss you. Instead, he hauls you up from the brink with a sweaty hand on the back of your neck.

“What? Want something else?” He snaps when he finds your puffy eyes staring at him.

You think about asking him if he’s alright. Maybe he would listen if you tried again, just once more time. But your body is sore, your thighs and core between them especially so. A lingering reminder that this is perhaps all you are good for in his eyes. Whore.

“No. Nothing.”

He stands, wiping dust off his sleeves, but otherwise not bothering to fix much of his wrinkled robes.  “Then you are dismissed,” he says, then walks off. Likely to his private quarters, the back entrance connected to this garden.

Alone on the floor, you curl yourself up and still feel the emptiness, a dissatisfaction. You hadn’t noticed it before, but a songbird has been singing, marking the terribly late hour. On a sigh with fingers trembling, you pull the scraps of your jacket around your nakedness and try to shield yourself from the wind.

[thebluestbluewords]

Something New (~1700 words, Mal/Ben, shameless fluff content because I don’t care what Disney says, I’m writing a better wedding for these kids)

✨

“Hey, Mal.” Ben says. “Look at me for a sec?”

Mal turns. There’s a faint breeze blowing through the pines, and the air moving over the water of the enchanted lake smells fresh and sweet, despite the late-summer heat that’s making Mal’s hair fall limp and sweaty against the back of her neck.  “Yeah?”

Ben’s smiling at her, that sweet one that makes his cheek dimple and his eyes go all bright and happy. He’d been sitting on one of the rocks by the lake, but slides off so that he’s kneeling instead, still staring up at Mal with that sweet look on his face. “Will you marry me?”

What.

“I--” Mal stutters. “Yes?”

“Really?”

Mal’s heart is pounding like she’s running from a dragon. From Mother. No need to sugar coat it when there’s nobody but herself to hear. “I think so,” she tries again, breath stuttering. “I mean, yes. I do want to marry you.”

Oh, gods above. Mal does want to marry him, and it’s terrifying. She’s never wanted to marry anyone before, and she’s thinking about it too much now, and oh, Evie is going to absolutely flip when she hears this. “What the fuck.” Mal says. As Ben scoops up her hand and kisses it. There’s no new ring in his hand, but he kisses the seal, the one that Mal’s been wearing since that first day where she choose this new life, when she chose to be good.

“I love you,” Ben says. “And I want to marry you.”

“And I love you.” Mal says back, automatically. “Why do I feel like I’m being completely blindsided by this?”

Ben shrugs. He’s still down on his knees, and the sunlight filtering through the trees is turning his hair all golden. He’s so earnest about these things. Mal loves him, whatever the hell that means.

“I couldn’t tell you that,” Ben says, leaning into Mal’s leg a little bit. “I wasn’t trying to be subtle, you know. The whole, like, cute place out here, making time to actually get a proper date instead of just crashing after class, and I did literally ask you how you felt about marriage the other week.”

“I thought it was a hypothetical.” Mal says, almost automatically. “I thought you were asking for, like, some kind of vague time in the future, not now.”

“Do you want me to take it back?” Ben asks, looking a bit taken-aback himself. “I can ask you later, or never, if that’s what you want.”

“No!” Mal exclaims, and makes a grabby motion at her fiance, whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean. Ben’s got a very kissable sort of face, so it only makes sense for Mal to kiss him a little bit.

“Okay.” Ben says, but it comes out sort of like ‘Ookey’ because of the way Mal is sort of holding on to his face. “Not taking it back then.”

“I think I’m gonna need a hot second to process this.” Mal says, once she’s pulled back from kissing the daylights out of her prince, what the fuck. “Are we like-- what does this even mean?”

Ben buries his grin in Mal’s cheek, as is right. “Well, when two people love each other very much--”

“Shut up! Are we like, is this it?” Mal asks, tipping over into something a little bit hysterical. “Do you have some kind of royal bling hidden somewhere you’ve been waiting to pass on until now?”

Ben kisses her again, just a little bit. “Well, I do sort of have to do this publicly at some point,” he says, voice low like he’s at least sorry about it. “It’s a whole tradition, and my parents will get really mad if I don’t, and you know the whole deal. I was going to give you the ring then.”

“I want fair warning before you make me have emotions in public,” Mal says, quick as anything. She’s crying a little bit, oh gods. “And the council will get mad, you mean. Your parents accept me for who I am now.”

Ben kisses the tears that are sliding down Mal’s cheek. “Yeah. My parents want me to be happy, and you make me really happy, so. The council was still hoping that I’d get married to one of the Auradon Prep princesses, but well, you saw how well that was working out.”

Mal snorts through her tears. “You like a bit of rough, huh princling?”

“I like you.” Ben says, oh-so-earnestly. Oh, she’s going to cry again. Ben must notice the way that Mal’s face is going warm and blotchy pink with the emotion, because he pulls back sort of abruptly to put his hands on her shoulders instead, moving his thumbs gently along the tense muscles there. “Is that too much? I shouldn’t say I like you?”

“I-- I don’t know,” Mal stutters. She feels sort of sick, but in a good way. A stomach-flipping, butterflies way.  “I feel sort of like I’m going to-- I think I’m having an emotion?”

“Does it hurt?” Ben asks, grinning.

Mal smacks him gently with the palm of her hand, and leaves it there, cupping his sweet face. “Yeah! It does. What’re you gonna do now, huh? You’re making fun of me, and I’m hurt. You can’t say something like that to your girlfriend. That’s not Auradon-approved.”

Ben’s grin only gets wider. “Ah, but I’m not saying it to my girlfriend!” he says, approaching unbearable levels of disgusting joy. “You said yes! You’re my fiancee now.”

Mal has to laugh, and even if it comes out a little hysterical sounding it’s better than nothing.  “Evie says it doesn’t count until there’s a ring on it, and I don’t see any ring yet, princeling. Gotta get me that bling and then you can be mean to me all you want.”

“I do have a ring, you know,” Ben says, leaning into Mal’s touch. “I thought you wouldn’t want to see it yet.”

Mal’s not sure what exactly to do with that one. Sure, she’s got some different traditions around relationships, but it’s hard to miss any wedding traditions from back home when none of the villains she knew even got married unless it was to publicly announce an alliance, and even then those marriages were usually short lived and an excuse for a night of indecency and public innuendo. Nobody but sidekicks got married for love on the isle, and while gangs might have exchanged some sort of trinket to make sure they were marked as running together, the bracelets and tattoos didn’t have the same sort of sentimental value as proper wedding jewelry.

Unless.

“Oh. Until you do it publicly?” Mal realizes. She’s been the one to put more emphasis on doing things the ‘right’ way, and even after some of the revelations that came with her somewhat public meltdown last year, she’s still got some hangups about doing things the way that Auradon society would have them done.  Evie would have some psychoanalysis about it , that’s for sure.

Whatever. It’s fun to figure out how to blend in to proper high Auradon society, especially now that she knows there’s no pressure from Ben to do so. As  long as she’s not actively insulting people or trying to stir up too much trouble, he doesn’t care what kind of lowkey, simmering dissent she’s stirring up against his father. It’s like blending in anywhere else, really. All it takes is a little practice and some bending of the rules, and now that she’s got a good enough handle on what boundaries can be pushed, it’s almost like a game and not like a terrifying unknowable pit of anxiety that’s consuming her bones from the inside out.

Yeah.

“Yeah,” Ben agrees. “I thought you’d want to have something left of the surprise for when I do it publicly, but you can look at it once we get back if you don’t wanna wait.”

“Yeah? Is it in the back of your sock drawer too?” Mal asks, teasing now that she’s got her mind under her again.

Ben goes a bit pink about the cheeks. “Maybe,” he says. “So what? It’s not like anybody’s looking there.”

“Knowing you, you’re keeping some kind of historical relic in the back of your drawers, huh?” Mal asks, sweeping her fingers through her fiance’s hair. Fiance. It’s not sort of a nice sound to it, actually.

“No.” Ben says, immediately. “It’s not a relic. Not for you, Mal Bertha, first of her name, first of the VKs to come over to Auradon. You deserve something that’s all your own.”

“I’m not--” Mal starts.

Ben cuts her off. “You are. You’re the first Mal, and that’s what matters. Your mom might not have given you a full name, but you made one for yourself. That’s what we’re about, aren’t we? We’re the ones in charge of our own destinies, not some stuffy adults who are still living in the past.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you crying?” Ben asks, because he’s awful sometimes and wants Mal to talk about her emotions.

Ugh. Dragons don’t cry. “Not yet, asshole.” Mal gets out, around the weird feeling in her throat, and okay, yeah, the tears that are threatening to slip out.

“Do you want me to stop being nice to you? I can smack you if that would help.” Ben offers unhelpfully, still grinning a little bit. What a dork.

Mal lets out a choked sort of laugh, and leans back to offer her cheek, tears and sweat and all. “Yeah, actually. Just gimme a good whack, okay? I’m sure that’ll go over great with the others.”

“We can say you drove into a branch.” Ben says, and presses a kiss to her cheek instead.

“Oh geez, don’t even remind me,” Mal says, wincing a bit at the memory. She’s still getting the hang of the whole moped thing, and narrow forrest trails don’t make for the easiest learning experience. “I think I still have pine needles in my teeth.”

Ben kisses her again. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not.” Mal reminds him.

“I’m not!” Ben says gleefully, and hugs Mal so hard she can feel her ribs protest a little bit. “I’m going to marry you.”

“Dork.” Mal says, ruffling his hair.

“Yeah.” Ben agrees, and pulls on the sweaty end of her ponytail in something like retaliation.

“You wanted to make this official, beastie boy?” Mal says, teasing but also so deadly serious that she can feel her heartbeat all the way in her fingertips.

“Yeah,” Ben breathes. “Yes, Mal.”

“What’s more official than a little true love’s kiss, huh?” Mal breathes,  and kisses him.

[readingaway]

Mid Year Book Freakout Tag

Stolen from @ninja-muse, this was a good distraction for a few minutes

How many books have you read so far?

126; fewer than I wanted to have read but there’s a lot of extenuating circumstances and reading must take a back seat to everything else. A few have been re-reads like Dance of Thieves, Red White & Royal Blue, the first three books of An Ember in the Ashes, and I will get to re-reading We Hunt the Flame in the next few weeks. 

What genres have you read?

A decent mix, I think. It’s still somehow dominated by fantasy and YA (or YA fantasy), but I’ve gotten in quite a few other genres like contemporary/ adult literary fiction, historical fiction, romance, sci-fi, classics, and some nonfiction, poetry, short stories, and graphic novels. 

Best books you’ve read so far in 2021:

Not counting re-reads -

Saga by Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples (book 3 hurt so much)

Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? by Jeanette Winterson

A Memory of Light by Brandon Sanderson & Robert Jordan 

Men at Arms by Terry Pratchett (my favorite Discworld novel so far)

The ABC Murders by Agatha Christie

The Color Purple by Alice Walker

New Spring by Robert Jordan

The Emigrants by W.G. Sebald (was a bit hard to read but the flow and the emotional pull)

The Lives of Christopher Chant and Witch Week by Diana Wynne Jones (I’ve discovered that when I’m in a slump - usually because my reading has been too depressing or dry I just have to pick up a Jones or a Pratchett to fix things)

A Sky Beyond the Storm by Sabaa Tahir (I mean, I thought I was upset by certain things but then I checked the tagged posts on here and realized I’m normal, actually)

Spindle’s End by Robin McKinley

Curses are for Cads by Tamara Berry

The Goddess Chronicle by Natsuo Kirino

The Box in the Woods by Maureen Johnson

The Valley and the Flood by Rebecca Mahoney

The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers

Cures for Heartbreak by Margo Rabb

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

Best sequel you’ve read so far in 2021:

Uh, I’m gonna go with The Box in the Woods even though it’s not quite a sequel, it is connected to the main series

New release you haven’t read yet, but want to:

Lucky Girl by Jamie Pacton, Delicates by Brenna Thummler, Lucy Clark Will Not Apologize by Margo Rabb, and Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir. There’s a few more but these are the ones I’m most anxious to get to.

Most anticipated release for the second half of the year:

I’m very excited for A Snake Falls to Earth by Darcie Little Badger, Vespertine by Margaret Rogerson, Hypnosis is for Hacks by Tamara Berry, and The Winners by Fredrik Backman - the intended release date is unclear but it looks like it should be out in English in November/ December but might be pushed to next year. (On that note, I am still waiting for The Winds of Winter and The Thorn of Emberlain.)

Biggest disappointment:

Ace by Angela Chen was well put together but nothing earth-shattering or even that affirming for me. I keep myself sheltered from discrimination so I don’t face the stuff that people in the stories related faced, nor is it like I’ve never heard of asexuality before. 

In terms of books I think were just bad, Coyote America by Dan Flores was a flop; it looked like it might be pretty informative and some parts of it were, but there were so many assumptions and presumptions, as well as poor argumentation, that it threw everything else the author was claiming into question. Brideshead Revisited and A Handful of Dust, both by Evelyn Waugh were also big disappointments, out of all the classics I’ve read so far this year they were both boring, stale duds in which nothing interesting happened at all and the narrative voice was even more boring and grating. 

Biggest surprise:

Um, The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. I thought it would be iffy but it was... it flowed well and highlighted the differences between the women and had such emotional depth and also drew so much attention to patriarchal religious structures and patriarchy in general. 

Favorite new author (debut or new to you):

Ooh, I’ve read quite a few debut novels - mostly middle grade since I’ve been reading a lot of middle grade since my own novel project falls somewhere between middle grade and YA and I want to study the story types and narrative styles and I like how they’re written much more clearly than YA and adult books and yet typically have great emotional depth. So for most notable debut authors I liked Rebecca Mahoney and Nora Shalaway Carpenter. In new to me authors, Rachel Maddow, Tillie Walden, and Natuso Kirino all have other books that I’m now interested in checking out. Actually I have one of Tillie Walden’s other books next to me right now.

Underrated gems:

I’m going to say Spindle’s End, The Goddess Chronicle, The Valley and the Flood, Cures for Heartbreak, the Chrestomanci series by Diana Wynne Jones, Sia Martinez and the Moonlit Beginning of Everything by Raquel Vasquez Gilliland, Black Flamingo by Dean Atta, The Midwich Cuckoos by John Wyndham (a classic horror/ sci-fi novel), and The Thirty Names of Night by Zeyn Joukhadar

Newest fictional crush:

Was gonna say “don’t have any” but one could say that I love Marko in Saga (they draw him with such a strong jawline and he wears armor and has beautiful ram horns; bearded Marko was peak Marko) and Eleanor Wilde in Tamara Berry’s Eleanor Wilde mystery series might count.

Newest favorite characters:

the crew in Saga and Ashby in The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet stick out but really, I loved a lot of characters this year.

Book that made you cry:

Jumping Off Swings by Jo Knowles, Love & Olives by Jenna Evans Welch, and The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid leap to mind

Book that made you happy:

Aside from the ones I already listed, The Transatlantic Book Club by Felicity-Hayes McCoy

Most beautiful book cover of a book you’ve read so far this year:

Oh but there’s quite a few! Like The Pull of the Stars, the vintage classics copy of Orlando, The Go-Between, The Valley and the Flood 

How are you doing with your year’s goals?

Well I didn’t make any official goals aside from my overall reading goal of 200 books, which I’m doing well on. I might up it to 250 but I’m not sure how demanding fall semester is going to be yet. Aside from that I just have vague goals to push my boundaries and read as diversely as possible - not just with things like #ownvoices books but in genre, all the different categories, as well. That’s going pretty well.

What books do you need to read by the end of the year?

SO MANY. I can’t give a list because there is no way to keep it concise.

Tagging: @softironman, @she-wolf-of-highgarden, @motherofkittens94 and anyone who wants to do it.

[seijuurouxryuu]

apart as we may, i still feel you here

Title: apart as we may, i still feel you here Author: Shiro (TeitoxAkashi [AO3]/ seijuurouxryuu [tumblr]) Rating: T Pairing: Fon/ Reborn; brief Byakuran/Rokudo Mukuro Event: @khrrarepairweek Prompts: Alpha/Beta/Omega AU | Mental Bond/Mental Link Tags/Warnings: No Archive Warning

Day 8: Earth/Flameless Day

Fon was a beta through and through despite looking like an alpha. He, in his lithe yet muscular body, had always been mistaken as an alpha throughout his years since childhood. His parents expected him to be an alpha, his grandparents expected him to be an alpha, heck even his neighbours expected him to be an alpha.

He never felt like an alpha though, not even before he was classified as a beta. He just felt normal. Like a normal person with blood flowing through his veins.

So no, he never identified himself as anything else but a human--a beta.

AO3

Being a beta wasn't hard; you wouldn't have to undergo a rut like an alpha would, or a heat like an omega would regularly. It was normal, as normal as it can be.

But it can be hard for a beta to survive in the society full of dominance by Alphas and Omega.

 Fon was a beta through and through despite looking like an alpha. He, in his lithe yet muscular body, had always been mistaken as an alpha throughout his years since childhood. His parents expected him to be an alpha, his grandparents expected him to be an alpha, heck even his neighbours expected him to be an alpha.

 He never felt like an alpha though, not even before he was classified as a beta. He just felt normal. Like a normal person with blood flowing through his veins.

 So no, he never identified himself as anything else but a human--a beta.

 He sighed as he fixed his face mask properly, hat pulled down. People were staring at him again because of his fit and tall stature. He wasn't bragging or anything, but gene was really a joke. He, a beta, had the height and fitness of an alpha, all gained from his hard work and training. And yet a lot of people first thought it was because he was an alpha when he was anything but.

 Maybe he should just put up a sign saying 'I'm a beta' to get people off his back. (A lot of them maybe came for his figure, but 99% of them came because the thought he was an alpha.)

 He didn't have any discrimination against alphas, omegas or even betas like some betas would have complexes about it, he just hated how people thought all the fruit of his hard works were all because of his secondary gender. And they even got it wrong. It was fucking hilarious, if you ask him. And frustrating. God-fucking-damn frustrating.

 Shaking his head, Fon pushed away all the irritation to the back of his mind. He had work to do, even if said work annoys him even further. Tapping his card on the sensor, he pulled the door open, making a beeline to the office as he nodded to the passing students. He was a history lecturer in this... Fancy university that should be sued for capitalism. Honestly, too much money was used on advertisement and not enough was supplied to improve facilities for the students and lecturers. Really, capitalists should die.

 Fon sighed in relief once he safely made it to his office without anyone stopping him. However, when he stepped foot into it, he immediately regretted it.

 The smell of an alpha and omega pheromones was so thick he felt nauseous.

 Thank god for his mask.

 He immediately backed out and pinched the bridge of his nose. Mukuro and Byakuran were at it again. He shared the same office with them for a few years now, and while they were good (questionable) colleagues, god forbid they flirt in front of Fon. They had been going at it since Mukuro started working and Byakuran kept trying to seduce him. Fon rooted for them, but fuck if he had to suffer another day smelling their pheromones, he would lock them up in a room for a week.

 Or just outright end them, whichever comes first.

 He huffed. At least they finally got together. Hopefully they'd learn some decency soon.

 Maybe they won't.

 Fon so kindly locked up the room and messaged Byakuran.

 "I helped you lock the office door. You owe me one :)"

 Fon pulled out his phone to look at the time and paused. No mails, that was normal. He smiled at the background image he had set, stress dissipating. He missed his beloved, even if he had just left home about... An hour ago. An hour too long actually.

 A loud moan reverberated out from the office.

 Fon's smile was gone and he wanted nothing more than snap someone's dick in half.

 He held himself back and did some breathing exercise, turning around and heading straight to the lecture halls. He could tell, it was going to be a damned long day.

 .

 For once, his lectures were quiet. Usually, his students would be engaging, enthusiastically answer his questions and pull him into debates about whether a historical figure was stupid or /stupid/. However, aside from timidly answering him when prompted, none of them spoke much. He would have asked if they were alright, but he wasn't in the mood so it was good news for him.

 Thankfully, with his running short fuse, it was finally his last class of the day. Eager to end it and return home to his beloved, he was even more scary with his smile that said 'Don't Ask'.

 Suddenly, he smelled blood. It wasn't his blood, of course, and neither it was his students’ blood. No, it was more of a psychological thing.

 Fon's mouth snapped shut as he stared blankly into space.

 He 'heard' his beloved grumbles and whimpers.

 When he came back to reality, he was already running out of campus and to his car, books and other stuffs left behind with a quick instructions to the TA, which he didn't even remember what it was.

 In record time, he was in his car and driving home.

 'Love?' He called out in his mind. 'Are you alright?'

 He could still smell blood, but it was faint now. He felt his spouse tensing at the other end of their bond before hearing a sigh.

 'Did you leave.' A statement rather than question.

 Fon stayed quiet.

 'I'm fine.'

 'I'll arrive in 5.'

 'Go back to work, Fon.'

 'No.'

 Another sigh. '... Pick up coffee for me.'

 Fon smiled and made a minute detour.

 .

 When Fon arrived home, he was attacked by an onslaught of pheromones. The one and only he loved and would react to despite being a beta. Breathing in deeply, all the crankiness he brewed throughout the day disappeared without a trace. "I'm home." He announced loudly, toeing off his shoes and rushed in, not even bothered to arrange it properly. It was fine, he had more important thing to attend to.

 Putting the coffee on the coffee table, he looked around and found that his love was nowhere to be found. He followed the trial of smell back to their bedroom. The door was halfway closed, leaving a glimpse of who was inside and their state. Fon took it all in with a fond smile.

 Knocking gently on the door, he softly asked, "Can I come in?"

 He had to stop himself from laughing when a head of messy hair popped out from the neat nest made of their unwashed laundry, cushions, bolsters and pillows. Even the Flareon and Umbreon plushies they had were not spared. It was so cute.

 Reborn gave him a look and grunted. "Yes. Take off your clothes and give me."

 Fon chuckled, walked in and started stripping. He stood outside the nest, handing his clothes for Reborn to examine. He patiently waited for the results outside of the nest, smiling as he watched Reborn scrunitize his clothes.

 "Why does it smell like that marshmallow bastard?" Reborn growled and Fon couldn't help but shuddered. He loved how Reborn cusses.

 "He and Mukuro, well, you know."

 Reborn scoffed. "Should've known that that two horny asses couldn't keep their pants on." He snarked and stuffed those clothes under the pile to erase and replace the smell with his scent. He then turned and squinted at Fon again.

 "Bend down" Fon obediently did as ordered, careful not to overstep the boundaries and bared his neck for Reborn. Reborn leaned in and sniffed purring in possessive delight that no other scent stuck to his neck. In fact, Fon had wiped down his neck with wet wipes when he was buying coffee but Reborn didn't need to know lest he took it differently. (He knew no one touched his neck, not that anyone dared to, but just in case someone else's scent stuck to him.)

 Reborn nosed his neck once and nipped at the permanent mark he made on Fon, causing the latter to shudder again. There was another purr, but it came from Fon himself. Fon loved how Reborn could take ownership of him even if he couldn't do it to Reborn. He loved how he always bit that mark, lapping lovingly at it and kissing them. He loved seeing it in the mirror, loved touching it and feeling it throb faintly.

 He loved just the same that he could mark Reborn again and again since he could only mark temporarily, loved biting into the skin, tasting the blood and Reborn keening at the bites. Fon loved everything about being a beta who fell for a possessive omega.

 Reborn's eyes were golden black when he pulled back, glinting. He shuffled back slightly and let Fon, who was in nothing but his boxers, join him in his nest. "Come in." He said, giving consent to his loved.

 Fon's eyes shone and he carefully stepped over the boundaries, taking care not to accidentally kick down the walls of clothes. He settled in besides Reborn and sighed in relief at the lovely pheromones that surrounded him, making him all relaxed and safe.

 Reborn quickly attached to him burying his face onto the crook of his shoulders, purring louder. Fon wrapped his arms around him and turned slightly to kiss his forehead, joining him in purring. He suddenly laughed. "I think I know why I was so cranky today."

 Reborn made a questioning sound, all but melting into his arms. "Your heat affected me. I could feel it through our bond."

 Reborn bit him. "Sucks to be you, then. I was busy nesting and you had to be away."

 Fon whined, nuzzling against him as he tightened his hold around him. "I thought it is tomorrow, that was why I planned to settle my leaves today."

 "Well, it came early."

 Fon hummed. "I'm glad it came early. I can keep you company longer." He said lowly into Reborn's ears. "Speaking of which, why did I smell your blood just now?"

 He felt Reborn tensing against him and immediately drew comforting patterns on his back, purring louder to comfort him. "I don't mean anything, I'm just a little worried..."

 Reborn slowly relaxed as Fon patiently waited for his answers without rushing him. In fact, if Reborn didn't want to speak of it, he wouldn't force him to say either. "... I accidentally broke a nail."

 A sharp scratch on his chest made Fon hissed softly. He looked down and grabbed the hand, pulling it up to see the broken nail. It was broken, yes, but it wasn't serious thankfully. However, it hurt Fon's heart to see the redness at the edge, feeling the pain even though it wasn't his wound.

 He kissed the finger and cooed. "Oh, baby. It must've been painful." He kissed again.

 Reborn snorted, but by the purrs he sounded happy that Fon was worried about him. "It's nothing. I can take more than this, you know that."

 Fon nodded, rubbing and cuddling him closer. "Uhum, I know. You're the strongest person I ever know, and I'm so happy that you're mine. You worked so hard and surpassed everyone's expectation. You proved everyone wrong about how you aren't limited to anything just because you're an omega, and I'm so proud of you. I love you, Reborn. I love you so, so much." He gave him a few kisses in the mouth before Reborn hummed into his lips and opened his mouth.

 "Hmn, love you too. You aren't an alpha, but you are so much better than one. You don't limit yourself even if you're a beta too, and I'm proud of you too. In fact, I'm so proud that you don't depreciate yourself just because of that." Reborn said into his mouth, slow as they made out.

 Fon laughed and kissed him harder, heart swelling in happiness and love. Reborn bit his lips for laughing but was chuckling himself too.

 "Sleep, babe. I'm sleepy." Reborn nudged his forehead against Fon's. "We can do other things when we wake up."

 Fon agreed, kissing his nose and eyelids. "Okay, sweet dreams, love."

  Reborn purred.

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

A/N: LAST DAY!!! THANK YOU TO THE MODS OF KHR RAREPAIR WEEK FOR THEIR HARD WORK AND THANKS TO YOU GUYS FOR READING MY STORIES

I missed a day for this year's event, but still!! I managed to do 7!!! Which was beyond my expectation since I was ded because of finals, which clashed with the beginning of this event.

Onto the story! Basically Alphas and Omegas can make permanent mark on anyone else, while Beta can only do temporary ones. I just love the concept of nesting so when I saw Day 8's theme I went bLING

I don't like how some omegaverse stories I have written has this... thing with A and O being the rarest and then most treasured. I like it better if regardless of being A, O or B, everyone is of the same, equal and fair. Of course, some of the laws should cater more for A and O since they have ruts and heats but still? No discrimination.

Although, the discrepancy here is that most O and B still prefers A because, well, genes.

But that's just the background I thought up of; there's no need for that since all you need to know is that Reborn NESTED and Fon LOVED HIM.

Cranky Fon is lovely Fon :DDDD

anyways THANKS FOR READING AGAIN! HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED MY ENTRIES THIS YEAR!!! SEE YOU NEXT TIME

[I apologize for any grammar, spellings, etc. etc. mistakes]

[nala-raines]

Chapter 5 History

Tomorrow the five of us are headed to Ludington to do some sightseeing and to see/tell my Aunt Karen that Adrian and I are engaged.

I’m in bed, watching a movie on my laptop, waiting for Adrian to join me when I hear him call to me from the bathroom, “What did you and your family do in Ludington when you were little?”

I take a moment to pause the movie and remember before answering, “We used to sit on the beach and watch the water. I used to play in the waves, even if I didn’t bring my bathing suit.” I pause to laugh and I hear Adrian chuckle. “One year, the four of us took a 2-mile walk so we could get to a lighthouse that was supposedly haunted. Sarah and my mom complained most of the way there, and most of the way back. And we went to a historic village, called WhitePine Village. Old houses, kitchens, toys, and people dressed in 1700’s garb. It was fun, even though Sarah tried to rush through the whole thing, and they had a whole building full of old freaky frickin’ clowns. Oh, and another time my Aunt Karen and her friend took Sarah and I on a sand dune tour. That wasn’t in Ludington, but it was still a lot of fun.”

“So, you’ve always been fascinated by the past.” Adrian comes out of the bathroom leaving the light on and shutting the door but leaving the door slightly ajar to let some light into the room. He knows that I don’t like the dark, especially after waking up in a coffin and being on Feral Island (Demetrius’ Island, but it still works). After he gets in bed with me, he takes the laptop and sets it on his lap so I can lay on his chest before I answer.

“Yeah. From the clothes to the history, I’ve always just been drawn to the past. I used to say that if I was the way I am now, but I lived in 1775, in New York, I would die an old maid.” I tell him jokingly.

“That’s not true. And before you try to argue with me, in case you’ve forgotten, I lived in New York in 1775, and if I had met you, I would’ve followed you home, asked for your father’s blessing, and married you as soon as I could.”

“What about Elenor? When did you meet her?” I ask him teasingly.

“I was friends with Elenor at that time, however, I had no romantic feelings toward her. Like I told you when I gave you this ring, I feel more comfortable with you than I ever did with anyone else. Including Elenor.” I sigh, nuzzling my head against his chest and resume the movie, and I immediately start to fall asleep. “Get some rest, My Love. After all, we will be hitting those spots you mentioned tomorrow.”

“What if it gets sunny? You and I will be okay but the others won’t be.” I say falling asleep.

“I already checked the weather, it will be cloudy, but no rain. If it rains or the clouds break and the sun comes out, we’ll bring a few umbrellas and they can wear a hoodie or a jacket. It won’t kill them.”

“You’re right. Love you. Night.”

“Good night, Love. Sweet dreams.” He kisses my head, as I fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, excited to see what tomorrow will bring.

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

I wake up at 7:30 in the morning. I turn to see Adrian looking at me, “Morning, Handsome.” I say as he puts his hand on my cheek, while the other is supporting him. I place my hand on his as he bends down to kiss me, before saying.

“Good morning, Beautiful. How did you sleep?” He says stroking his thumb along my cheek.

“I slept great. How long have you been up?” I ask him. He’s usually up before me, but I always ask, afraid that I may have woken him up somehow.

“Not long. Maybe ten minutes. I like seeing you so peaceful.” He says before kissing my forehead.

“So, you like watching me sleep?” I laugh and he rolls his eyes before chuckling and saying,

“Yes, but not like that. I know that today may be taxing for you, and didn't want to wake you. Besides, I thought that the more you slept the less likely it would be that the jet lag and vertigo would kick in. So, how do you feel?”

“I feel good. Just… happy that I get to wake up and see this handsome face.”

“I feel the same way.” He tells me, he is so sweet and caring towards me.

“Well, there is something I guess…” I say shyly.

“What is it?” Adrian’s face fills with worry, but I just laugh and give him a kiss.

“It’s nothing bad. I was just wondering if I could get up, and take a shower before we go eat and hit the road.”

Adrian breathes a sigh of relief, then kisses me once more,  “Of course. Where do you want to go for breakfast? I know there's a breakfast bar here in the hotel, but is there anywhere else you want to go?” He says as he sits up and walks around the bed, as I get out of bed myself. And he picks up my suitcase and sets it on the other bed in the room.

“Thanks. And no, the hotel breakfast bar is fine. I’ll try not to be too long in the shower.” I say grabbing an outfit out of my suitcase, as Adrian hands me my toiletry bag.

“No, I want you to take your time. I know that hot showers help you relax, and that is part of the reason we’re on this trip.” He stops to think for a moment, “Well at least as relaxing as I can make it.”

“Wow. It’s like you spend half of the time studying me. Is it weird that I think that’s sweet?”

“I don’t think so. I believe that couples should spend some time studying each other. To notice the little things.” He says as he presses a kiss to my temple.  Before I walk to the bathroom, but I leave the door open a little so we can still talk.

“So, what ‘little things’ have you noticed about me?” I ask as I start the water so it has a chance to warm up.

“Well, you bit your lip, when you're nervous or anxious. You play with your necklace or your ring, too. Or you do it absentmindedly. You love using emojis, even though you don’t use them often. And when you’re angry, you get really quiet, and usually write or listen to music to calm down.”

“Wow, you really do pay attention to the little things,” I say from the bathroom, “Ah, crap.”

“What’s wrong?” 

“I left my shampoo and conditioner in the bag. Same with my razor.” I pause before asking, “Could you hand them to me, please?” Talking through a slightly open door while one of us is taking a shower or a bath is still new for us. I wanted to relax and hear about Adrian’s day, so we came up with this compromise. However, this is a new level of comfort with each other, at least on my side.

“Sure. Is the bag on the counter?”

“Yeah.” I answer quietly. I hear him open the door, and a moment later, he hands me the bottles through the curtain. I grab the bottles before saying, “Thanks. At least I didn’t leave them at home.” We both chuckle a little, but I can tell that he knows that something is up.

“You know that I would never disrespect you or make you feel uncomfortable on purpose, right?” He says gently.

“I know. I’m more comfortable with this than I thought I would. And I don’t know if that’s a good thing or bad.” I tell him, putting the shampoo in my hair. Being honest with him is easy and hard at the same time, but I know that at the very least, talking with him can help me sort out how I feel.

“Do you want to be comfortable with this?” He asks.

“If you’re referring to you being in the bathroom, while I’m naked in the shower, then yes. I want to be comfortable, I am comfortable with this. I just…” I pause, “I don’t know, I guess I’m just wondering if the way I’ve changed other the past few months is good or not. Kinda like how you felt right before Jameson grabbed me a few months ago.”

“Oh, yes. I’m here to listen if you want to talk. I want to help you the best I can.”

I’ve rinsed out all the shampoo and conditioner, and move to shut the water off, and then grab a towel off the rack and wrap it around my body before pulling back the curtain and stepping out of the shower. Right in front of Adrian. “You don’t make me uncomfortable, I know that when I draw a line, you respect it. Like right now. I was just raised differently, told to think differently, I even felt differently about this a few years ago. But, I don’t know, after everything that’s happened, I feel better with you around. Does that make any sense at all?”

“Yes, I understand what you are trying to say and I would never intentionally disrespect you. Nala, please let me know if you want to do something different when it comes to us. I know we’ve been through a lot, and that it’s pushed your boundaries, but if there’s something that just you want to do when we’ll do it.”

“I know and I will. The truth is, I like how we are, you respect me, my beliefs, and my boundaries. Like where you are fine with having sex outside of marriage, I’m not okay with that, and you haven’t pushed for it once. Even after we moved in together. I think I feel comfortable because of the respect and trust that we have for each other. Thanks for listening babe.”

“Of course. Now, I’m going to step out so you can finish getting ready.”

“Sounds good.” He steps out of the room with a smile. When I’m done getting ready, Adrian takes his own shower, we meet up with the gang. Eat breakfast and hit the road.

⚜ ⚜ ⚜

You would think that being in a car for two hours with four other people in the car, with no one saying anything, would be awkward, but it's not. It’s kind of comfortable, usually, when it was quiet, we knew something bad was about to happen, or something bad had happened. But this is oddly peaceful until I realized that Adrian had made an odd turn that made the GPS angry. “Hey babe, where are you going?” I ask Adrian.

“Like I said, this trip is meant to be relaxing. I knew that there would be stressful moments, but I want you to relax too. That said, I want to surprise you.”

“I wish you would've told us,” Kamilah said from the back.

Adrian just slightly shakes his head, “Don’t worry I have everything covered.”

I look and see a small grin. Adrian has always loved surprising me with dinner, a trip, gifts, etc. I can tell he’s excited about this one. I just know one thing… I’m taking way too many pictures.

A few minutes later I see a familiar sign. Slightly faded dark green and white paint, WhitePine Village. I feel my eyes widen in shock, and my jaw drops. I look over at Adrian as he parks the car, and he sees my expression. He smiles at me. I look back and forth between the building and Adrian, the excitement rising in my chest. I quickly turn and throw my arms around Adrian’s neck, while shaking with excitement.

“THANK YOU!!! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” I say almost faster than I can comprehend. I quickly grab my purse, open my door, and hop out of the car, before turning back and saying, “Come on, guys! Let’s go!”

Adrian laughs and gets out of the car. Followed by Kamilah, Jax, and Gaius. I grab Adrian’s arm and quickly head to one of the small buildings that was the gift shop/box office.

After Adrian bought everyone’s tickets and I grabbed a map, we started walking the grounds.

I followed the map, just like I did the last time I was here. It felt nostalgic, but better since I was on Adrian’s arm. After taking a quick glance at Kamilah, Jax, and Gaius, I giggle. Remembering a few scenes from Bridgerton, that Adrian and I binged last weekend.

“Is something amusing to you?” Adrian asks, seemingly feeling in the past himself. Although, he’s probably farther back in the past than I am.

“I was just wondering if this is what courting felt like.” I tell him, hugging his arm closer, and tilting my head towards our friends, who are having their own conversation. Close enough to keep an eye on us, but far back enough to give us some privacy.

Adrian smiled, and shook his head slightly, before answering.

“A little bit, but not quite.” We stopped for a moment, looking at the small ‘lake’ in front of us. After a moment, Adrian looked back at me, “I’m glad that the times have changed. That the way people ‘court’ has changed.”

I figured where he was going with this, but I want to have my fun with this too.

“Because back then we would’ve taken chaperoned strolls in the park. Or had iced tea on a porch.” I turned to face him better, looking at his face. He still smiled but he had that ‘oh here we go’ look on his face. Watching dumb movies helps me destress and relax. The movie of choice a few weeks back had been the entire Twilight Saga. We made fun of most of it, insulting people’s choices, how inaccurate the is, and how dumb/concerning the relationships and dynamics between the characters.

“And maybe stolen a kiss or two.”

“Oh, I would’ve stolen far more than that.” He said wrapping his arms around me. I look in his eyes and see love, devotion, humor, and so many emotions that I can’t identify. “Even though I would’ve done everything I could to make sure that we could marry within the first week of meeting you.”

I feel the truth of his words sink in. I lean up and kiss him, and as always, he returns it. Sweet and slow, letting all of our love seep into it. It only lasted a minute. When we pulled away, I rested my head on his chest, looking at the water.

“Hey, Jax. Would you mind taking a few pictures of Adrian and me?” I ask him. Happy and carefree for the first time in a while.

“Of course.” He said walking forward and taking my phone. Aiming the camera at Adrian and I.

“Smile.” Jax said.

Adrian pulls me closer to him as we both smile. But of course, it wasn’t just the one picture.

Adrian turns and kisses my cheek in another.

We stare into each other’s eyes. We kiss sweetly for another. After the impromptu photo shoot, Jax hands me my phone back, and we look over the photos. Each of them is pro-quality (in my opinion).

“These are great Jax, thank you.”

“No problem.” he says with a smile.

We continue through the historical site, enjoying the sights, and Gaius, Kamilah, and Jax poking fun at my fear of clowns.

All too soon, we go back to the car and head to see my Aunt.

‘It’s just my Aunt Karen. It’ll be fine.’

Tag list:

@secretaryunpaid  @txemrn  @obsessedwithdool  @evlyngashfordraines @god-save-the-keen  @adriansbiss @kinda-iconic​ @kingliamandriley

[chocolate-parfait]

Hi hi love! Big congratulations❤🥰🦋could i please request an ikevamp matchup❤ i am A female INFP aries. I am incredibly stubborn, shy, aloof, driven, sarcastic and hard to get to know. But once you break through the wall im goofy, funny, go with the flow, playful and teasing. Hobbies: gyming, writing, reading, sleeping, baking and cooking, helping people and watching conspiracies hehe likes: cuddles, art, rainy days, hugs, Sweets, drinking (wine, gin, whiskey), chilling with friends❤🌻1/2

Thank you lots luv💖 I hope you like this~

I match you up with... Theo!

When you first walked through the door, he didn't really think much about you, seeing you as just another victim of Fate's weird twists, and his brain automatically decided that he should avoid getting involved, but after getting to see your true colors he finds himself growing more and more appreciative and curious of you

Your sarcasm and sense of humor amuse him greatly, and when he sees that you're comfortable enough to show him a goofy grin, all the self control he had flies right out of the window

You can hold your own against his and Arthur's constant teasing (a quality very much appreciated by both), though he may get a bit too carried away with it if he gets too comfortable. The moment he sees that you are genuinely upset by a remark he made, guilt will become a constant, throbbing thorn stuck in his heart until he apologizes and sees you back to normal

This will make him realize how sensitive you truly are, and adding to your genuine kindness and care for others, he now already has a full list of things he loves about you; wait- love? That's right. Once he recognizes the fuzziness in his stomach, the spring in his step and the warmth in his chest whenever you pass by, his brain shuts down because Oh God I fell in love

He'll try to keep it a secret for as much as possible, feeling like he doesn't deserve you and not wanting to make you give up your life and friends in the future for him. When you notice his evasive and distant behavior and sit him down to discuss about it you are presented with a choice. If you decide to remain there at the mansion Theo will swear you he will make every day worth it

Bake him whatever you want and he will eat it all till the last crumb. He's not that much of a picky eater, especially when it comes to sweets and things you cook with your own hands, but serve him your home made pancakes for breakfast and your love stats will increase so much that you'll be able to read "Error 404: Not Found" on his forehead

The best date would be you, King and Theo all cuddled together on his bed, a very nice wine on the bedside while you both rant your heart out on topics that vary from Vincent's newest piece to things like the Da Vinci code. The light ticking of the rain against the window as your 20th century lofi music, you chill your whole way through the man's day off, but it is not a wasted one! He needs nothing more than a break from running around all day like a madman and your hugs and kisses are the best vacation to him

Despite being well aware of the sunshine-like side of your personality (that reminds him of Vincent quite a lot), he LOVES seeing you act tough and stand up for yourself. He melts with pride when he sees you telling some punk off for trying to order you around! And since you like working out, too, you're definitely fit enough to throw a punch or two (though he will step in right away the moment someone tries to touch you)

Second choice: Sebastian

He's a man that generally prefers maintaining formalities due to his upbringing in Japan (that we all know as a country which gives a lot of importance to respect) and his job as a butler. Despite your reserved personality he finds himself very comfortable with spending his time with you, and as a result opens up relatively soon. This is something that both amazes and pleases Comte, who is very happy to hear that his butler has found such a great companion

Your determination and willingness to help around and get whatever job done is, on a much more physical level than an emotional one, a blessing from the sky. Though you may butt heads every now and then because of his perfectionism and inclination/habit to correct every single mistake you make, he quickly learns where your boundaries lie and treats you as an equal on all levels

You both seem to help the other loosen up in an environment that, for someone coming from the 21st century, described as extremely demanding would be an understatement. Spending time together grants you a safe way to get to learn a new time period and the residents of the mansion, whereas Sebastian gets to have someone he can freely rant to without fearing judgment

You react well to his weird sense of humor and subtle sarcasm, matching with a pretty dark one of your own, and your goofiness is a breath of fresh air in the middle of all that stiffness. He couldn't be more grateful for it and you can feel his appreciation whenever you try to lighten up the mood

He starts feeling these random fits of nostalgia whenever he looks at you, and just as his brain starts to subconsciously associate you with home, he realizes how much of a comforting presence you have become to him. Admist all those important historical figures, to you he's the one that comes first and foremost for the only reason that he's your friend. His heart greedily wishes to be considered as something more, to become a cardinal figure in your life just like you have become to him, and that's when it clicks. He's in love and there's no way out of this.

(Also, he definitely uses you to collect more data on the residents, but the stronger his feelings get, the more his notes will turn about you; the little thing that have made you smile that day, a comment or an afterthought to something someone said, etc.)

Return his feelings and he will not believe you at first. "Is it really the time for such jokes?" "I'm not joking though?" "...". You can't really see it from his stoic expression (you might have just asked him the weather) but inside he is PANICKING

A relationship with you would mean a constant push and pull of jealousy and a weird pleasure to him. His heart is always trying to carefully balance greediness and a nameless feeling that makes him feel ashamed of himself. On a side you are his (just like he is yours but that is undoubted), but on the other hand a part of him craves to see you with the other residents (interpret that as you like :)). This, though, will be a secret that he will keep forever locked deep inside his heart and won't let out even under torture-

[minnuet-archive]

Saw the prompt thing, decided to slide in. I'm not the best at prompts but one I always default to is: An evening in the library. (sending on anon because my writeblr is a sideblog) - ducky-writez.

Beanbag Chair

Rating: PG

Trigger Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,114

Fan-fiction or Original Work? Original Work

Notes: Thank you, @ducky-writez, for the prompt for my 100 follower event (link embedded)! Not going to lie— I genuinely hate this, but it’s currently 4:29 am, I’m in a block, and I’m done trying to make it good. Something’s better than nothing, yeah? Hope you can enjoy it anyway!

Solace didn't particularly like the library, yet he found himself in it regularly. It wasn't that he disliked the library, but he preferred laying on the grass on a sunny day.

The fact of the matter was that libraries had words. And however boring and fruitless he found the quiet and humble atmosphere of his local library, he loved words enough to spend his time there.

"Hello, Anna," He spoke politely and softly to the young librarian, as was library etiquette.

"Hello, Solace," Her voice was singsongy and slightly disinterested, but Solace either didn't notice or didn't care.

"I was wondering if you by any chance had a historical fiction book or article on the history of California pre-Columbus." He looked up at the ceiling out of the corners of his eyes, trying to remember what Finn had spoken about the day before.

Anna cocked her head, no longer disinterested. "Since when are you interested in non-fiction? You always come in here looking for books with big words that are written by pretentious old white men."

At this, he rolled his eyes. "A friend told me about it and it sounded interesting."

She raised an eyebrow and simpered, drawling her words out. "Ah. A friend."

"Listen, do you have the book or not?" Solace spoke sharply, breaking his usual polite tone. He tapped his fingers against his left arm rhythmically.

Had they not been in an otherwise silent library, she might have pushed harder on the subject, but she instead answered his question. "I highly doubt we have any books on it, but I'm sure there are some books out there. I can look for one and add it to the list of books to buy, if you'd like."

A frown spreads across Solace's face. "No, it's alright."

As much as Anna tries to respect boundaries, it's really, really hard to when it comes to Solace, so she prods at the subjects again. "What's wrong? I thought it was something you wanted to learn about?"

"Oh, cut the crap, Anna. We both know that's not why. I just wanted Finn and I to have at least one shared interest."

She nodded her head in understanding. "Oh, so this is about Finn." She had heard about Finn many times. Some (including her) would argue too many times. Solace never shut up about him.

"Of course it’s about Finn. We just have such amazing conversations when we can find something to talk about, but we're barely able to do that because we have practically no shared interests. Except for our love of words."

"Yeah, man. I know. You've told me," The two looked eyes for a moment and Anna saw that he was truly disappointed. She had never seen that look in his eyes before, and it made her sad. She surprised herself by speaking again. "So why don't you create a shared interest for the two of you?"

"What do you mean?" Solace was confused at what he didn't understand and skeptical at what he did about what she had said.

"I mean,"

What did she mean?

"That you can find something that sounds cool to both of you. Maybe a book or show you heard about in passing. You can both read it or watch it or whatever and talk about it. And on top of that, you can share what you're already passionate about with each other and find new interests."

He was in awe of what she'd said, though he felt like he shouldn't have been. It was such a simple, easy answer. They could communicate. Share. And yet he had never thought of it. Why hadn't he thought of it?

"Yeah. You're right. Then, uh," he stumbled over his own words as he tried to reorganize his thoughts. "I'm going to go check out two copies of And Then There Were None."

Anna laughed at his choice, but he retorted her silent comment. "At least it's not written by a pretentious old white man."

"True. Only checks off one out of four of the boxes." He grinned at her before shuffling off.

Before he went to find the copies of And Then There Were None, he stepped outside and pulled out his phone, pressing it against his ear.

"Hey! Are you free? Yeah... Cool... Okay... See you then!"

Only five minutes later, Solace checked his books out at the counter with Anna. A small bell rung out signaling that the front door had opened and he spun around to look at Finn, smiling widely.

He waved goodbye to Anna and grabbed his things before walking over to Finn. "Hey."

Finn smiled and spoke softly. "Hey."

"Where do you want to sit?" Solace spoke quickly, far too excited to show Finn the books he had checked out for the two of them.

"Maybe in the corner by the window?" Finn suggested warily. " Hopefully it's not taken."

"Sounds good to me!"

As they sit down on the bean large bean bag chair in the corner of the room, Finn pulls a little bag out of his backpack. "I know we're not supposed to have food in here, but I had a couple of those chocolate chip sea salt cookies I made left over. I brought one for you."

Solace felt his cheeks warm up just the littlest bit as he took the cookie. "Thanks," He grabbed both books and held them up. "So, I checked out two copies of And Then There Were None. Agatha Christie is an absolutely amazing author, but I haven't read this book yet, and as far as I know, you haven't either."

Finn grinned at him as he spoke. "I have not."

"Well, then! Here we are." He handed one to Finn.

Finn flicked the front cover open, planning to read just the first few lines. The first few lines turned into the first few chapters as they read next to each other.

The sun set slowly behind them, and Solace glanced over at Finn who seemed to be in a reading trance. His soft light brown hair was ruffled and messed up and his electric blue eyes somehow looked warm in the light.

Hiding a smile as he directed his own eyes back toward the page, he felt Finn shift closer to him, leaning his head on Solace's shoulder.

His breathing quickened involuntarily and he closed his eyes to slowly reel it back in before looking down at Finn. Solace shifted himself down the beanbag to match him, resting his own head on Finn's.

He couldn't say they fit together well. Even saying it was comfortable was a stretch. But it was nice. And he felt safe. And happy.

Maybe he did like the library.

Tag List (ask to be added/removed): @sunandshinee @writingamongthecoloredroses @ettawritesnstudies @rhycantspell @just-perhaps @monstrouswrites @antisocialdragonenby @etddivine @lordfenric @medusaswrites @adaparkwrites @cadewrites @uptown-worm @holdup-pause @gaydemiboy

[tracybirds]

*grins* @gumnut-logic another one for your “to read” pile. Thanks for being so welcoming to all us newbies in the fandom and glad we can babble about the ecosystems and whales and writing and goodness knows what else together :D I don’t even hold your Aussie heritage against you (true historic international relations are happening here)

Of course it’s featuring Virgil :D Have a wonderfully Nutty Day !

Warning for non explicit nudity bc well that’s what happens when you take a shower *whistles innocently*

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

The sound of streaming water and snatches of off-key singing that floated out from the hangar bathroom told Virgil that Gordon had once again raced through his post-mission checks in order to snag the best shower on Tracy Island. There were eight showers scattered around the sprawling villa, all fitted with temperature controls and pressure jets that could wash away sweat and blood and private tears after a hard rescue. But all the brothers were in agreement, the shower in the hangar was the best, if only for the virtue of being no more than fifty metres from any of their birds and removing the requirement of climbing stairs before stripping away the muck that clung to them. The ritual of jostling each other for first shower and talking in low voices, sprawled across ancient couches while they waited their turns, provided them with a necessary boundary between rescue and rest that none of them were willing to sacrifice lightly.

Virgil couldn’t bring himself to care today. His head was pounding slightly as his body protested at the thought of more exertion and he held the railing tightly as he climbed the stairs to the main section of their home.

He wasn’t sure what he had been planning as he swayed slightly in the lounge room. All he really wanted was a sandwich and to not need to talk to anyone for a couple of hours. He collapsed on the nearest couch, groaning at the way his sash dug into him as he piled his weight on top of the utilities that adorned it. Wriggling slightly, he pulled it off and discarded it on the floor beside him. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes for a second, he thought to himself.

---

Somebody’s finger was jabbing into his side, pulling Virgil up from the depths of slumber.

He assessed the annoyance as he groaned at its intrusion.

“Virgil,” called a voice from above him.

“Ngh,” he grunted, and turned away, burrowing his face into the back of the couch.

“Grandma is gonna kill you if you don’t get up,” insisted the voice. “Come on, you need a shower, you stink and you’re gonna get mud everywhere.”

Virgil knew all this. He wanted the voice to go away and stop badgering him with information that he was already perfectly aware of.

He considered for a moment that perhaps there was some sort of dissonance between his actions and his awareness of the fury that would rain down from above if his Grandma discovered him lying there, mud-soaked, grass-stained, and covered in unidentifiable substances that he didn’t want to dwell on.

“On your own head, Virg,” chirped the voice and suddenly all was silent again.

---

It was mid afternoon by the time Scott crashed into the lounge room, loud and cheerful as he chatted on the comm to Kayo.

He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Virgil, still snoring on the couch. His eyebrows raised as he took in the semi discarded uniform, the muddy footprints that showed how Virgil had crashed without a second voice.

“What is it, Scott?” asked Kayo.

“It’s Virgil,” he replied, holding out his wrist to allow the comm to transmit a rudimentary holoscan of the room.

“Yeesh, is he okay?” she asked. “Looks like whatever happened this morning hit him hard.”

“He should be, Gordon would have mentioned otherwise. Or at least hidden it better.”

“Should we start heading back?”

“Nah,” said Scott, moving gingerly through the room to avoid spreading more mud around. “I’ll start clean-up here and check on him myself. I’ll let you know if I need back up.”

“F.A.B., Scott,” she said and signed off.

Scott sighed as he looked around him and grabbed the mop. He could worry about the couch – and his brother – after the most immediate mess was dealt with and food was procured. He thought back over the report Gordon had made only a few hours prior, his face freshly scrubbed and skin still pink from the heat of the shower water. There had been nothing to indicate injury, just a comment about both of them being famished and Gordon looking forward to making a meal without Grandma hovering over his shoulder ‘helping’.

Virgil snuffled in his sleep and Scott looked down at him with a fond smile. He was too young to remember life before his brother was born, the two of them partners for as long as he could remember. They’d shared a room, shared toys and computer games and sports equipment and even their classroom teacher when they’d been put in a split year class. They’d always shared their responsibilities as big brothers too. But Scott was still Virgil’s big brother, and the only one he had, so it was with a gentle touch that Scott woke him.

He grinned at the sight of Virgil frowning against the light, blinking owlishly as he readjusted to consciousness.

“Hey Virg.”

“Morning?” his brother asked in confusion.

“Nah, just a nap.”

“Oh,” said Virgil, stretching out the crick in his neck. “Wow, what happened?”

Scott frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“I remember climbing up the stairs,” said Virgil, looking carefully around him. “God, I was exhausted.”

He scratched at his chin and sniffed sharply.

“Am I still in uniform?”

“Yup,” said Scott. He held out a sandwich and grinned when Virgil promptly inhaled it.

The brother sat in silence, eating their way through a plateful of ham sandwiches. Food didn’t need to be fancy when you’d burned through every energy resource you had not four hours ago.

Finally, Virgil sighed and leaned back. He pushed the plate away as he bent down to remove his boots and tear the socks from his feet.

“Eurgh,” said Scott, shoving him away. Virgil threw the socks half-heartedly at the laundry chute, shrugging indifferently when they fell short.

“You’re getting those,” said Scott firmly. “I’m not touching them, that crosses a line.”

Virgil groaned and held out an arm.

“Come on, help me up then.”

Scott hauled his brother to his feet, waiting patiently as Virgil stooped down to collect his things.

“Shower, then bed,” he said firmly, as though it were the first night he’d been trusted with babysitting his brothers all over again.

Unlike then, Virgil didn’t fight him, instead leaning sleepily against his should and allowing Scott to drag him up the stairs to his bedroom.

Scott gently kicked the door open and walked into Virgil’s sunlit room. Wide windows opened onto magnificent views of the surrounding landscape, the blue ocean and lush greens of the forest that had established itself on the rocky island hundreds of years before them. He could feel Virgil sagging in relief beside him and swung into their shared en suite bathroom.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked, rummaging through his brother’s drawers.

Virgil didn’t reply, only giving him a thumbs up when Scott looked up to scowl at him.

“Well, yell if you need me,” said Scott, throwing a pair of sweatpants at him. “I’m gonna go clean the couch before Kayo comes back with Grandma.”

Virgil blinked as Scott hurried from the room. He was feeling a lot more human now, the food and nap having done him a world of good, but he was now very aware of the grimy feeling that coated his skin and stuck in his hair. He peeled off his uniform, bundling it into the basket that sat in the corner and turned the tap on. While he waited for the boiler to heat the water and fill the bathroom with a steam that would clear the fog in his mind, he padded back into his room, fumbling with the sound system for a moment until the calm sounds of his favourite sonatas filled the air.

His stomach and soul fed, Virgil jumped into the shower, murmuring happily at the stream that massaged his muscles and joints and pulled the sweat and mud from his skin.

He took his time, savouring the moment and washing away the heartache of the day. Mudslides were fast and vicious, burying homes and suffocating the living without discrimination. Even though the rescue that he and Gordon had been assigned had been successful, he knew that he was saving people who had lost more that he would ever know. The emotional toll of the day had worn him down and it was only now, as the burden lifted, that he could recognise how it had weighed on him.

There was a knock on the door.

“You good, Virg?” called Scott.

“Yeah,” he called back, his voice rough against his throat.

He turned the shower off, the strains of music still floating in air joined by the slow dripping of water.

Virgil felt more refreshed than he had done in days, perhaps even weeks, but as he pulled on the soft sweatpants, the events of the day came crashing back down upon him.

He barely greeted Scott when he left the bathroom, making a beeline for his bed and flopping down on it face first, not even bothering to close the blinds in his room.

“Uh, Virg?”

Virgil didn’t respond as he sunk into the mattress, wet hair squashed down as he burrowed deeper into the pillows. A soft snore snuck out and Scott chuckled.

“Sleep well then,” he said and walked out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar. “Love you little brother,” he whispered.

[eldunea]

So You Want To Run Through Preuzien?

i’ve received a fair few messages from people interested in having their muses go through prussia, with one person even being interested in making a preuzien OC, so i thought i’d do this post setting up some necessary boundaries and limitations for any character who intends to challenge the prussian league and make a name for themselves in my fakémon region. this applies primarily to muses who wish to start their prussia arcs before lotor became champion, although some of these points still apply to a certain extent even after he won the position.

without further ado…here we go. >:3

[TW: Mentions of death, animal abuse and human abuse. If these topics trigger you, do NOT have your muse do a run through pre-Lotor Preuzien.]

First Things First: Your Muse Probably Won’t Be Champion Anytime Soon

i’ll be blunt. unless your character 1) is willing to kill lotor and all of his pokémon, most of whom are sapient, 2) is willing to risk their life and the lives of all their partners in the championship battle, and 3) can also singlehandedly defeat a five-core complete forme/ragnamax zygarde that has world-ending capabilities and is comparable in power to eternamax eternatus, they don’t stand a chance. for #1 and #2, though lotor has dismantled most aspects of the fight to kill clause, he still keeps the part that says all official championship battles must be fought to the death. he does this as a deterrent to challengers--and he is not afraid to slaughter his opponents in their moments of hesitance should they express any reluctance to kill. and while he doesn’t own ragnamax zygarde, he has definitely single-handedly defeated it, as it’s how he became champion in the first place.

i want to make it clear that this doesn’t mean he’s unbeatable in every scenario. he can still be defeated in a less high-stakes setting where he isn’t allowed to kill or cripple his opponents, or destroy everything around him in a 5-mile radius. one of his big weaknesses is that ever since his championship battle in kalos against diantha he’s gotten real rusty in traditional 6v6 style battling; this is because he has spent all his time perfecting the prussian style of battle, and because if any criminals are stupidly polite enough to do a traditional 6v6 against him, his unprincipled bitch self will just bring out his entire team to gangbeat their ass. but in an all-out campaign match where he gets to use deadly force and unleash the full apocalyptic extent of his pokémons’ power, he is not going to lose to any muse who 1) is not as fully psychologically ready to shed blood as he is, 2) is not psychologically able to handle seeing their pokémon get killed or the mere thought of their pokémon being killed, OR 3) could not also pull off what he did. that is a FACT.

i do hc that lotor stops being champion eventually, but i haven’t figured out when would be a good time for lotor to lose his spot, or even whether i’d want him to lose it rather than stepping down. there are many different possibilities that can be explored and i may make different verses for them, such as the possibility that he loses/steps down from the championship some time in the near future (5 - 10 years) when he feels that his work is done/feels the pressure is too much, or the possibility that he feels his work will take literal decades and he steps down as an old man once he is satisfied that the region has finally reformed. if you are interested in lotor’s championship spot though, please know that as of writing this, i am IFFY about any plot where a muse defeats lotor and then returns prussia to its original ways. this is because despite my love of “ow the edge,” as the creator of preuzien i do want to write a happier ending for a region whose people have seen nothing but suffering. if this does end up happening, it will have to happen in a separate verse.

Be Prepared for a Long and Potentially Traumatizing Haul

the prussian league is a thirty-six-badge-long, MULTI-YEAR ordeal. there is no way around that. i hc other leagues usually take about a year to complete. the prussian league, on the other hand, takes a MINIMUM of 4 years to finish for trainers who start their journeys in preuzien, 3.5 years for trainers who have already entered the hall of fame for a foreign league, and 2.5 years for trainers who have entered the hall of fame in more than one foreign league. for some perspective on its difficulty--lotor, the guy with the 200+ IQ who beat ragnamax zygarde and stopped ragnarök during his championship battle, STILL took multiple years to complete his league challenge. can your muse clear the league in, say, half a year or a year less than the time it normally takes? yes, but i will be selective about who gets to have that honor. please don’t be “that person” and say “well my muse is capable of doing it in less than a year”--no. they can’t. why? because i said so.

another thing to note about the prussian league is its difficulty. this is part of why it takes such a long time for any trainer to get through preuzien: your muse will not have an easy time going through it, NO MATTER WHAT. yes, even if your muse has legendaries…joke’s on them, preuzien’s entire culture is geared toward beating the shit out of legendaries, and i daresay they’re damn good at it. yes, even if your muse is “really, really strong”…everyone in preuzien is also really, really strong, and not to mention, strength in preuzien is different from strength in most of the pokémon world because historically, the prussian league has put its trainers through situations--both on and off the field--approximating WAR. again, for perspective: lotor has one of the highest IQs on planet pokéarth and literally saved the world from the previous deity champion, and preuzien still had times when it PUSHED HIM PAST HIS LIMIT. so if you state that your muse is somehow able to just breeze through every gym and the national tournament like it’s nothing, that’s something i’m going to have a real hard time believing.

as to the trauma part of this section, prussia is a much friendlier place now that lotor is champion…provided you’re not an abuser or a member of a corrupt ruling class. but if your muse is entering the league pre-lotor’s championship, when the region was still under the rule of wilhelmine von hohenzollern, your muse WILL suffer some sort of trauma. there is also no way around that. if they started in preuzien, they would have started in mandatory trainers’ school, where they would have been both physically and emotionally abused by their teachers. the only ways to avoid this abuse are to 1) be a junker’s child whose parents are the rare prussian unicorns that do not support child-beating or 2) become a total kissup to the teachers and other authority figures of the school, screwing over your fellow students to save yourself, and i doubt most peoples’ muses would want to do that. if they started outside the region and came in…they still have the below section to deal with.

Your Muse Will Lose Pokémon

this is no longer a guaranteed if your muse is joining the prussian league under lotor’s rule. but in the time of wilhelmine, under the fight to kill clause, you may be ordered to kill your opponent and their pokémon for the entertainment of the crowd. and you can’t back out from this either, because if you do, you will be publicly executed for failing to provide the audience entertainment. this aspect of the fight to kill clause is no longer in effect, but when it was, it was responsible for so many young peoples’ deaths that the region’s age dependency ratio went completely out of whack. what’s more, the fight to kill clause also states that gym leaders can choose whether they wish to kill you without warning and/or your pokémon at any point during their matches, which only adds to the danger. in a region where the league literally requires you to fight for your life, it is NEARLY INCONCEIVABLE that anyone could get through this without losing at least one of their trusted partners. there is only one person in the entire history of wilhelmine prussia who managed to go through all the gyms and the prussian national tournament without losing a single one of their pokémon (and his name, by the way, is not lotor). i am going to keep it that way.

what’s more, if the brutality of the battles don’t get to you, the lack of healthcare will. preuzien in its pre-lotor days was infamous for the shortage of both human and pokémon healthcare that plagued its system. healthcare was only guaranteed to junkers, the military, and those who are deemed “victors,” aka those who fought long and hard enough to get the government’s attention and be seen as worthy. for the rest, they have to struggle through long and potentially life-ending lines at pokémon centers and doctors’ offices, all of which come from the fact that preuzien glorifies pokémon training and militarism to the point that almost every other profession is suffering a shortage in professionals and that includes healthcare. even if we go with the fanon that nurse joys are always in abundance because they’re actually ditto spawn that can be mass-produced, preuzien would deliberately make it so that there’s a lack of healthcare so they could force people to kill each other over who gets treated. so yeah. under wilhelmine, this is a region in which losing at least one pokémon is a 99.99999% certainty.

Your Muse is More Likely to Fail than Succeed

i’m gonna be straight up right now: i won’t let more than a handful of muses succeed in winning the prussian national tournament--at least, in proportion to the rest who fail. why? because if i as preuzien’s creator let too many people have a successful run through prussia, the difficulty of the league will lose its meaning. it’s not “the hardest league in the world” if every muse and their mother is capable of receiving all 18 type specialist badges, receiving all 18 other strategic badges, and clearing all four stages of the 256-person prussian national tournament. by having too many muses being able to achieve this extraordinarily difficult feat, it cheapens the accomplishment of the few who did. i might be more lenient on this for muses that enter the league after wilhelmine is deposed, seeing as the fight to kill clause is abolished and that explains a big chunk of the prussian league’s difficulty. but even so, given the unique demands that prussian-style battling foists on its trainers, they’ll be hard pressed to rise to the challenge--especially if they were not raised like most prussian trainers are to take it on.

if you want your muse to succeed, i will be tough about this. i will play devil’s advocate and come up with every single possible way in which your muse could fail, whether psychologically or strategically. even the best strategists which basically every muse seems to be can crumble and be broken by a league specifically designed to mentally shatter its participants in order to “weed out the weak.” and even the strongest-willed people which basically every muse also seems to be may lack the particular intelligence needed to handle strategic situations that require one to think less like a trainer and more like a MILITARY COMMANDER. this applies mainly to wilhelmine’s preuzien, because her league is brutal on a scale that is unseen anywhere else in the world and what’s more, it’s not afraid to play dirty. if doing a run when lotor is champion i will be less exacting, but i still want to keep the success to failure ratio low. please don’t take it personally when i start grilling like it’s a BBQ--i just want to be realistic and a hardliner about whether your muse really has what it takes. like the officials of the prussian league itself, i want to make sure that ONLY THE BEST OF THE BEST make it through. 

i will, however, say this: just because your muse fails to get to/through the prussian national tournament, doesn’t mean it’s the end for them. they could join tournaments for the badge level at which your muse stopped, or join the coordinating scene that has gained new life under lotor’s leadership. they could move on to another region and enjoy their newfound capacity to beat the shit out of almost everyone they come across, because sometimes even the people who fail in preuzien are leaps and bounds stronger than those who succeed outside it. or they could divert their efforts from trying to climb to the top, thank their lucky stars that they still have their mental health mostly intact, and start taking care of pokémon who were abused by the system. there’s still plenty to do after an unsuccessful prussian run--your character’s story will not necessarily end there, and even in prussia’s darkest days, it would not necessarily end in disaster. to sum it up, failure to complete the league is still a plot point that you may find worth exploring.

in closing, i would like to say: your muse will have it extremely rough going through prussia but honestly…the struggle is half the fun of writing it. >:3

[romance-and-revolution]

Romance and Revolution boyfriend headcanons: Team USA

George Washington

Yes, he’s the leader of an army and the OG Captain America, but secretly he’s a dork.

Seeing you nearby makes him grin like an idiot.  

Totally the kind of guy to bring you flowers just because he saw them and remembered they’re your favorite color.

Loves watching you play with his dogs.  Teach them tricks and he’s an absolute goner.

“Hamilton look she’s so smart and pretty.  Hamilton. Hamilton, you aren’t looking.”

Also really likes quiet moments with you.  Fighting a revolution is hard.  Sometimes he just wants to relax by the fire with his favorite girl curled up next to him.

He’s super clingy in private.  Gotta have his arm around you.  Like all the time.

Loves to listen to you talk about your day.  Tell him about non-army things, no matter how silly.  Like how you saw some neighborhood kids trying to catch frogs near the creek.  Or about the stray cat you pet earlier that day.  The little things remind him of what he’s fighting for.

Thomas Jefferson

Leaves notes written on bookmarks for you.

“I found this argument idiotic.  Please tell me you agree with me.”

“I thoroughly enjoyed this book.  I hope you like it too.  The heroine reminds me of you, in a way.”

“Don’t bother with Chapter 18, dear.  I hated it.”

Loves to tell you about his ideas, show you his inventions.  His face lights up like nothing else.

“No no, just sit here.  Look! It’s a chair, but with wheels!”

 Swivel chair races down the hall

Let him teach you about something.  A science, a language… he’s a smart boy and a patient teacher, and it means a lot to him that you’re interested in learning from him.

Tries to act extra-cool when you’re around.  It doesn’t always work.  Historically he broke a wrist while trying to jump a fence to impress a girl.  

Oh good god did Hamilton see me just now.  I hope not.

Loves simply existing in the same room as you.  Reading a book while you’re writing a letter.  Tinkering with something while you’re having a cup of tea.  Quiet co-existence.  

 Alexander Hamilton

King of PDA. Like seriously.  A kiss on the cheek in passing, hand-holding, you name it.

He loves parading you around to show you off.

“Take that, Jefferson, I got the cutest girl in the colonies and YOU didn’t!”

And the LOVE LETTERS.

SO MANY.

Man, the man is NONSTOP

May need to set some boundaries with this one before he starts tugging you into nearby closets for makeout sessions.

“What?  I can’t serve my country without kisses. You’re not donating to my cause?”

Will absolutely use horrible pickup lines on you just to make you laugh.

“You’re under arrest for stealing my heart, you minx.  I guess you can keep it, though.”

“Could I borrow a map?  I keep getting lost in your eyes.”

Will write a joke pamphlet “On the Important Subject of Why MC Is Far Better than Any other Woman in the Colonies”

Marquis de Lafayette

Whispers sweet nothings to you in French.  Just because he can.

Tbh they might not always be sweet nothings.  He may be just rattling off a grocery list.  But he knows you don’t understand French at all, and he also knows you turn red whenever he does it.  Major guilty pleasure.

Totally forgot that Jefferson speaks French once and was idly murmuring to you about what he’d like to do with you later… Thomas didn’t make eye contact with either of you for days afterwards.

Total prince charming.  Treats you like a princess.  Opens doors, pulls out chairs, doesn’t let you lift a finger to do anything.

The man’s super rich, so expect presents.  He would think it appalling if you DIDN’T have nice things.

“What?  Do you not like the dress?  I can have another one made in a different color, it’s no trouble.”

“It’s called an Ocelot.  Look at its little spots!  Don’t you just love it?  Look, I had a leash made for it so you can keep it close.  You should name it Bonbon.”

I never said the presents were all practical

10/10 will talk shit about people behind closed doors to make you laugh.  He’s been in French courts.  He knows ALL the details.

So. Many.  Pet names.  ‘mon cherie’ ‘mon tresor’ ‘mon chou’… you kind of wonder if he’s forgotten what your actual name is sometimes.

Paul Revere

Will swing by to visit whenever he has spare time.

Rivals Hamilton in PDA.  He loves to see how much you blush after he plants a loud kiss to your forehead or cheek. Often has an arm around your waist or a hand on your back when you’re together.

Wanna go out on the town?  Of course you do.  He knows all the best spots.

Wanna stay home instead?  He’ll have a buddy of his bring some food by his place so you two don’t have to go anywhere.

Colonial Grubhub.

As a silversmith, he sometimes has a little extra stuff lying around.

“Ok look, I know it’s not that great, I don’t do jewelry very much, but I wanted you to have it…”

Grins like an absolute fool when he sees you wearing something he made.

Would take you for rides on Sweetheart, but only once in a while.  His second-favorite girl is temperamental.

10/10 will use you as a model when making an engraving.  He thinks you’re the most gorgeous thing alive, so why not?

“It’s gonna be Venus rising from the waves.  You may need to undress for this one.”

“Paul, you’re making an engraving of Sybil Ludington.  Nice try.”

“…couldn’t hurt to undress tho.  For science.”

“PAUL.”

Nathan Hale

Oh this precious bean

You’ve gone from childhood friends to lovers, and he can’t imagine anyone better.

He’s just. So comfortable around you.

Will walk up behind you and drape himself over you to see what you’re working on.

Will also lift you up to help you get things off of tall shelves even if you don’t ask him to

Sometimes he’ll just plop his head down in your lap so you can play with that curly hair of his.

Because you’ve been friends for so long, though, he knows how to push your buttons.

He’ll tease you until you’re ready to throw something at him, then come in with apologies and big hugs.

He gives THE BEST hugs, btw.  Almost too tight, super warm, super comforting.

Sometimes he’ll just sit and hold out his arms and wait for you to come sit with him. Good luck trying to get up for the next hour or so!

Loves listening to you talk about anything and everything.

Whenever he has to go on a spy mission, he always tries to bring you back a little souvenir, whether it’s a cool-looking rock or a little wooden figurine or an Indian arrowhead.

He’s best friend and boyfriend rolled into one big loveable ball.

[lowat-golden-tower]

I sent one like this to another but now I want your take with my other favourite ship! So here we go- Roman is smitten with his flatmate Virgil so he tries to summon a demon at the crossroads to make a deal so Virgil will fall in love with him. But the demon that's summoned ends up being his flatmate and hoo boy this is awkward!

(I saw the other prompt you sent to @secretglittersauce and specifically didn’t read it so as not to be influenced. XD Too bad you specified Virgil as the demon, I was leaning more towards Roman for shits and giggles… but now you get Southern!Roman, so there’s that. :D

This took me like fifty years, and wound up way too long, but I hope you enjoy it @fangirltothefullest! I might do one with demon!Patton and Logan as a follow up, if you’re interested?)

Honestly, Roman wasn’t entirely sure this would work. According to folklore, one could summon a demon at a crossroads to broker a supernatural deal. It was a legend spinning around the South for decades, sung in the Blues and whispered between old men in rocking chairs on front porches and store stoops. Hell, Roman had heard it from his own next door neighbor as a mere child. The man, a retired musician and one of young Roman’s many inspirations, used to tell all kinds of stories and fables. Really, it became evident in Roman’s later years that he’d just wanted someone to talk to, or listen.One of those tales had been about the crossroads, and his own experiences with chatting up a demon for a foothold in the music business. Roman had been positively dazzled, though his mother had warned him not to believe in such “nonsense.” She especially warned him not to go wandering about intersections in search of some monster or spirit; that he could pave his own path to his desires.

He really never gave her enough credit. Her advice had pushed him through to adulthood, to where he was now, just the star attraction at the local theater but soon, soon Broadway would be knocking. No, it wasn’t furthering his career that brought him to the crossroads.

Skin white as snow. Hair the color of roasted chestnuts, but fluffy as a newborn chick. Lips that were always chapped because their owner wouldn’t stop chewing on them, pulling them between his teeth and oh, how many times Roman had envisioned his own lips being there instead-

He, may have had a… small thing, for his… roommate. They hadn’t known each other for exceptionally long, but already Roman simply knew they were meant to be. Putting out that ad for a roommate had been the best decision of his life, besides auditioning for his first theater role. They’d hit it off like oil in hot grease, gunpowder and flame, shoving aluminum foil in a microwave and watching the sparks fly. The phrase “opposites attract” had never been more appropriate and Roman knew, he just knew, Virgil must have felt the same. It was a gut instinct, intuition, a feeling in his very bones.Yet, strangely, no matter how hard he tried the man was positively infallible to his advances. Roman liked to think of himself as a romantic; truly the cream of the crop in the flirtatious crowd. He was young and handsome with a smile that gleamed and a voice smooth as silk on the skin. Men and women alike swooned at the mere sight of him. Heartfelt serenades had left more than one romantic prospect weak in the knees.Not Virgil. No pickup line, affectionate gesture, thoughtful song or bold action would sway his roommate. There was the banter, of course, the core and life blood of their relationship, but the mutuality of the spark ended there. Virgil either shrugged off his efforts or outright turned his back on Roman, avoiding it all in the same stubborn manner he’d avoid a proper sleep schedule. It was infuriating at first, but as the weeks went by with zero progress, Roman felt himself growing more and more disheartened. He was desperate.

Which brought him to the crossroads.

Of course, it wasn’t all so simple as wandering to the nearest intersection. No, Roman had to do a little research, and tried to recall details from the story he’d been told as a child. This was going to be quite the grim undertaking, but Virgil was worth it. Roman would do anything to at last break through that gloomy shell and harbor his roommate’s subtle affections.

First, he needed a dirt crossroads. That would be a slight drive to the countryside, but nothing beyond his abilities. Next, he needed a photo of himself- again, hardly a problem. Roman took enough pictures and selfies for ten people. The other two “offerings,” however, were the real test of his mettle. Dirt from a graveyard; morbid, and he’d nearly gotten caught, but luck was on his side. Who knew having a historic graveyard just a few blocks from his residence would be a good thing? The last was the worst. He couldn’t even comprehend why this particular ritual piece would be necessary.

A bone from a black cat.

Roman didn’t like to think about how he’d obtained that one. He hadn’t killed any animals, obviously, thank god. But the alternative wasn’t much more desirable. Still, at the end of the day, he’d claimed his prize and was ready for the event itself.

He wasn’t nervous.

That’s what he told himself, as he shut the items away in a box and pulled the shovel from his car. He kept the mantra up as he found the exact center of the dirt crossroads and dug a shallow hole. Were it not just before midnight, he might have gotten in trouble for this. Thankfully, there wasn’t a residence in sight for at least a mile, and only one lone street light illuminated his desecration.

In went the box. That wasn’t his anxiety spiking, it was adrenaline. This was a big power move. How many people summoned a demon to attain true love? Virgil would probably love it, with his dark affinities and creepy interests. He definitely seemed like the occult type.

Burying the box, Roman patted down the dirt, then returned the shovel to his car. From there, it was just a matter of waiting. Pulling out his phone for a quick game of Candy Crush or a scan of his social media feeds would have been the best time passer, but somehow it felt wrong to bring technology into such a place, during a touchy process like this. He didn’t want to risk anything going wrong. Roman’s knowledge was already shaky at best and at its core this was all nothing but pure rumor and folklore. There was no guarantee it would work.

In the quiet of the countryside, it was just him and the crickets, and the frogs. They chirped away in the field, paying him and his endeavor absolutely no mind. He caught the hoot of a nearby owl and assumed the creature must be up in the old oak tree beside the road. It was the only thing around, besides the streetlight and telephone poles.

The light’s presence came as a relief, honestly. Roman had no idea what phase the moon should be in that night, but it didn’t matter, because the whole sky was clouded over. Not a single star could be seen and thus without the streetlight he would have been stuck in pitch blackness. The heavy shadows outside its circular beam, a metaphorical sanctuary from the unknown, made him uneasy enough. And as the minutes stretched into nearly an hour, he started to wonder if this really was such a grand idea, after all.

In hindsight, it was rather foolish. Go to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night and bury something in the road, hoping to summon a demon? What was he thinking, exactly? There had to be better ways. There had to be a safer, more sane method to have Virgil fall for him. He didn’t need to do this. He shouldn’t be doing this.

It was when he reached towards his pocket for the car keys that it finally happened, because of course that’s when it did.

The loose dirt where he’d buried the box shifted. It drew his attention instantly, and he blinked. Nothing else happened for nearly a full minute and Roman started to wonder if he’d just seen things, if his mind was indulging his wishful thinking. He shook his head. Anything could have made the dirt move. Maybe he’d buried a beetle too, on accident. Maybe gravity or the wind had finally knocked a few bits of sediment loose. Maybe… maybe…The dirt shuddered again, and then it swelled, rising and spilling out in a circle as something broke through it. Roman knew the hole he’d dug was too shallow for even an animal, let alone a person. There had been nothing this large inside when he’d dropped in the box. The sequence he was viewing with his own two eyes didn’t make any sense.

Yet there it was, a looming shadow with glowing purple eyes. It didn’t look to be much larger than Roman, but its shadow stretched far longer, crossing the boundary of the streetlight to meld with the surrounding darkness. It was holding the box he’d buried. Stunned almost breathless that the stories were true, Roman could only gawk at the thing as it popped the lid off, rummaging around the contents. A hiss bubbled forth from it; Roman swore he could hear the sneer there, even if he couldn’t see it.

“Is this an animal bone? Dude. Nasty.”

Roman blinked again. He recognized that voice. Yes, it was distorted and gravelly, but beneath that was a core cadence he found all too familiar. He squinted, inquisitive, some of the shock ebbing away so that he could push off his car. “I was merely followin’ the necessary ritual! Are ya tellin’ me I didn’t need to include the bone of a black cat?”

The culmination of shadows tossed the bone aside in distaste, snatching up the photograph before callously dumping the graveyard dirt onto the ground. “I mean, if you wanna be all old school about it, sure, I guess. Hope you didn’t kill anything for it.”

Good lord. What place did a demon have to be so damn judgmental?

Roman scoffed and puffed out his chest, confidence returning swiftly on the wings of defensive indignation. “’Course not! Just what kinda person do you take me for, creature of the night?”

He swore the demon rolled its eyes at him, but it was difficult to tell when there were no visible pupils. It stared at Roman’s picture for what felt like ages, not saying anything else, merely scrutinizing his visage. Was this part of the ritual? Did it have to do with the deal Roman would be making? Why didn’t the demon just look at him instead? Then there was the matter of that voice, which Roman still couldn’t pin down. He just knew he’d heard it somewhere- though, that was impossible. This was a demon. How could he know its voice?

At last, the picture abruptly went up in violet flames, not exactly turning to ash but instead disappearing before Roman’s very eyes. The demon performed the equivalent of rolling its shoulders before locking Roman into place with its piercing gaze. “Alright. You summoned me. What is it you want? Fame? Fortune? The hand of some girl who couldn’t care to give you the time of day?”

Roman gasped and pressed a hand to his chest, rightly offended. “Bold of you to assume I like women.”

“Oh, please.” The demon snorted; actually snorted. That sounded familiar too. “I know your type. A dime a dozen; brazen young men who know ‘exactly’ what they want but can’t seem to get their hands on it. So they cut corners, and they summon me, and get me to do their dirty work for them. Or were you just feeling lonely and wanting some company out here, in the middle of nowhere?”

Roman sputtered. He’d expected some derisive comments, perhaps something sinister about the ritual and his soul, but this? This was an absolutely outrageous and unwarranted level of sass. From a demon! He was positively gobsmacked. In fact, there was only one person who so thoroughly thrashed him like this. Ironically, they were the cause for this entire debacle, yet if Roman didn’t know any better he’d think Virgil were there making fun of him. The uncanny similarities were really beginning to grate on his sanity.

Was this part of the demon’s ploy? Did it already know his deepest desire, and was playing on it to wear Roman down? Make him more inclined to accept a grave deal? Swindle him straight out of his soul without actually providing a lick of compensation? What had Roman gotten himself into?

Apparently, the demon didn’t have much patience. It growled softly at Roman’s lack of verbal response. “Well? What do you want? I don’t have all night.”

Roman was surprised by that comment. “Don’t have all night? Whatever do you mean? You’re a demon. What else could you possibly have to do but make deals with people? What, do you have some angels to terrorize? Candy to steal from a baby?”

Oh, the demon was scowling, Roman could just feel it. “I thought maybe, just maybe, viewing me in this form would make you even a tiny bit less annoying. This is what I get for hoping. I should have known hell nor high water would get through that thick skull of yours.”

“Uh. Excuse me?” Now Roman was really confused. “Do I… know you? What do you mean, ‘this form?’ Are you not always a walkin’ ink blot, Bendy the Depressin’ Demon?”

“Like you just said, I’m a demon, princey. I can change my form at will. One of the perks of being a monster. Usually, I just can’t be bothered, so I show up like this and get the deed done with.” The demon sighed, its voice edged with another sneer. “You would be difficult.”

Roman stared. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be offended again, because there was only one person who used that nickname for him: “princey.” Virgil had coined it after coming to one of his musicals, after begging and pleading with the reclusive grump for days. Roman was playing a prince, and after returning home Virgil had commented how fitting the role was. After a bit of banter regarding whether the title was a compliment or not, the nickname had stuck, and it retained a small soft spot in Roman’s heart.

Had the demon read his mind? It was speaking to him with such stark familiarity now, though. The menace and eerie factor were fading in the wake of a growing sass and gruffness. As if directly affected by the change, the elongated shadows were coalescing as well, framing a more distinct silhouette. Roman paled.

It couldn’t be.

“Oh, don’t look so surprised, Your Royal Arrogance. You’ve labeled my appearance as ‘concerningly demonic’ before.”

“Virgil?”

The shadows melted away, revealing pale skin and brown hair and smudges beneath glimmering purple eyes. Virgil’s clothes were nothing out of the ordinary; just his usual ripped jeans and thick, patchwork hoodie. Were it not for the circumstances, Roman might think his roommate had simply snuck along for the ride. Instead, the reality of the matter was starkly reaffirmed for him when Virgil parted his lips to reveal two rows of sharp, pointy teeth. More could be seen behind them as he spoke, the distortion gone from his voice. “In the flesh. Well, relatively speaking. This still isn’t my true form.” He shrugged.

Roman gaped, eyes so wide they could have popped right out of their sockets. He had to be dreaming. Maybe he’d never actually left the apartment. Maybe he’d changed his mind, been sensible and just gone to bed, and now his brain was conjuring up what going out to the middle of nowhere to summon a demon of all things would have looked like.

Which was why it looked like Virgil, because dreams were messed up and jumbled together and never, never made a lick of sense. That was the only explanation. He refused to believe this was real.

A blink, and suddenly Virgil- the demon- no, the dream demon- was in his face, mere inches separating their noses. The demon had raised a fist to mime knocking on the empty air and there was mirth glinting in his eyes. “Knock knock, Prince Gawking. Anybody there?” He gave a dark chuckle when Roman understandably leaped back, hitting his car with a loud “thud.” “Okay, I take it back. You are difficult, but this is also really amusing and totally worth the trouble. You look like a mouse.”

Roman spluttered, his indignation returning as he felt an embarrassed heat rush to his face. “I beg your pardon! I am no mouse!” He hurried to straighten up and dust himself off, tugging down his shirt hem. “An’ you will cease usin’ the visage of my cru- of my roommate immediately!”

Virgil- the demon- snorted, still clearly amused. Every time he so much as smirked, or sneered, Roman got another good look at all of those sharp teeth. The sight of them sent chills running laps along his spine. “Oh, but princey. This is what makes you comfortable, isn’t it?” He spread out his arms. “The person you spend the most time with, the one who’s always on your mind. Oh yes- I gleaned enough from those shoe box offerings you buried. This, is precisely who you want to see.”

Roman paled a bit and swallowed hard. “Listen here, Bruce. Cloakin’ yourself in his skin doesn’t make you any less of a shark. Much as I might compare Virgil to the demonic sort an’ the occult, you are besmirchin’ his name by puttin’ on this little act! I won’t stand for it!”

Abruptly, the demon rushed up in a violent surge of purple flames. Roman was so stunned he stumbled back and landed on his butt in the dirt, all bravado expelling from his lungs in a rush. The sass really made it easy to forget he was speaking with a denizen of hell. “Then sit for it! Because guess what, princey, this is no act.” The demon bellowed. Clearly, it was exasperated and possibly frustrated.

Well, it wasn’t the only one. “Stop callin’ me that!”

“Calling you what? Princey?” The demon sneered, though it was simmering down, returning to its more humanoid form.

“Yes, princey!” Roman snapped. He scrambled to his feet, determination burning in his brown eyes as he worked up the courage to stare the monster down. His fists had clenched at his sides. “You’re not allowed to use it. Only he is.”

The demon quirked a brow. “Who? Virgil?” Another dark chuckle and the demon shook its head. “Oh, princey…”

“What did I jus’-”

“Who exactly did you think you were talking to all this time? A doppelganger? Tough luck.” A blink, and suddenly a more realistic, spot-on Virgil was standing there. The sharp teeth were gone, the eyes had dulled and the sinister aura which had been whipping about the creature had disappeared. “Virgil is already here. It’s me, I’m him. So, that means I can say what I want. Princey.”

“That’s impossible!” Roman exclaimed. “Virgil isn’t a demon. He’s my roommate! He’s always been perfectly human, this is jus’- ’s some dream, ‘r a sick joke. You said it yourself, you can shapeshift! This is jus’ a trick to steal my soul!”

“Uh, newsflash, Drama Overlord. You came here and summoned me. To make a deal. Exactly what were you planning to barter with if not your soul?”

“Well- that’s, uh…”

“Trust me when I say you’re not dreaming. I know that first part- trust me- might be a hard pill to swallow, but this is real, and you’re no Sleeping Beauty. You’ve already hit your ass twice. Don’t you think you would’ve woken up by now?” Virgil was starting to circle Roman, eyeing him up like a wolf or a butcher.

Roman would really like to know just where his bravery had run off to. He had a few choice words for it. “I mean, that’s… that is…”

“And you’re right. I can shapeshift. But I’m not gaining much by taking this form, am I? I could’ve stayed a shadow and gotten this crap over with. I just wanted to see the look on your face at realizing you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as a demon all this time. Real hellspawn. I could prove it, if you like.”

He swore he felt something brush against his back; did Virgil have a tail? Horns, too. Was it on purpose? Was Virgil just messing with him?

“You always hide the spare key under the loose step instead of the doormat. You won’t admit it but there’s a bunny sticker still stuck to the sliding glass door for the balcony from when you put them up as Easter decorations and didn’t realize they’d be a bitch to peel off. All of your shampoo smells like a fruit salad, you have an entire stash of Lush bath bombs hidden under your towels, you spend at least one entire hour every morning getting ready, even if you have nothing planned for the day.”

“Now jus’ hold on a minute-”

“You sleep with a stuffed Build-A-Bear you dressed up like a prince, his name is Sir Growls-a-Lot. You refuse to drink anything carbonated, even sparkling water, and you always put Crofter’s on your breakfast- even when it’s not toast. You prefer cinnamon toothpaste over mint like the damn Extra diva you are. I can go on. And trust me, unless I’d been targeting you, I would not know all of this.” Virgil grumbled, “I sort of wish I didn’t….”

Roman was gobsmacked- again. He stared at Virgil for a long period of time before finally, slowly, bringing a hand up to press against his own chest. His eyes stung with the wetness of unshed tears and his expression was the epitome of fondness. “You… remembered all that… about me?” His voice squeaked a little.

Virgil immediately looked like he’d swallowed an entire lemon. He glowered at Roman and shoved hands into his pockets. “Shut up.” His voice reverberated and echoed, like it had while he was ensconced with shadows. “Point is, I’m a demon. The dude you’ve been rooming with is a goddamn demon so now the question is, what are you gonna do about it? I’m still waiting to hear what you want. But then are you just gonna go back? Pretend this was all a dream and look at me the same in the morning?”

Roman blinked. Oh. Right. The entire reason he’d driven out here in the middle of the night, and gone through the trouble of gathering the ritual items. He’d almost forgot. In an instant, it felt like a stone had been dropped into his stomach, and his next swallow was around a dry throat. He began to fidget, no longer able to look at Virgil, those soft feelings gone from his face. He awkwardly cleared his throat. “Ah… yeah. About that. You see… it’s… um. Right, the thing is… I….”

Virgil released an aggravated sigh. “Get on with it, Your Shyness. I don’t have all night.”

“What do you mean you don’t have all night? You’re a demon- nevermind, nevermind, gettin’ off topic here.” Roman cleared his throat again, desperately coughing into his fist as if it would make this any easier. How was he supposed to know the demon he summoned would be the same person he wanted to fall for him? This is what he got for messing with the supernatural. “I wanted… to… have someone fall for me. As hard as I’ve fallen for them. You see, they don’t seem to really notice me, or my advances. I’m… jus’ about at wit’s end.”

Virgil scoffed. “I can see that. You summoned me for help. Pretty desperate.” He brushed some of his bangs out of his face with a soft huff. “Should’ve known it’d be something love related, if not fame. You always were the worst type of romantic.”

Roman winced. He tried not to shrink under Virgil’s scrutiny, but it was hard. Because he knew which question was coming next.

“Surprised you’re so embarrassed about it all of a sudden. Or that you didn’t rant to me about it. You ramble about all your other passions in life. What makes this guy so different?” He eyed Roman a bit longer, partially just to make the man squirm, before shrugging his shoulders. “Whatever. Not like it matters. What’s the poor asshole’s name?”

“Ah…” Roman rubbed at the back of his neck and shuffled his feet. Never before had he been so nervous, even before his very first on-stage performance in front of a real crowd. He was basically confessing here- not even just that, he was admitting that he cared for Virgil’s affections enough to seek out a demon. Hoo boy. He’d really stepped in it this time. “His name… is… Virgil.”

It was Virgil’s turn to blink. He stared at Roman, taken aback, before cool indifference slid over his face again with a shake of his head. “Wow. Figures. Same name as me, this is gonna be fun to deal with.” He sighed. “Last name? Gotta have the whole thing if I’m gonna mess with their head.”

Roman wrung his hands together. Well, there was no real backing out now. Might as well go the whole nine yards. “Virgil Deimos.”

The silence which instantly engulfed their little ring of light was palpable. The tension from Virgil’s initial appearance, which had slowly ebbed away, returned with a nasty vengeance and then some. It was so thick in the air Roman swore it was trying to choke and suffocate him. He wanted to cough, but he’d admit it- he was too scared. Virgil was staring him down with such a blatant intensity and disbelief that it stole away his last remaining breath.

Why the hell did he still find him so beautiful, even like this? He must have a death wish.

At last, the silence was broken by the sound of tinkling glass. Except it wasn’t glass, it was Virgil, and he was beginning to laugh. The demon laughed, tilting his head back, the sound warped and distorted and just a touch hysterical. Roman thought he saw a glimmer of tears rimming those smudged eyes and he grimaced. He hadn’t even known it was a thing for demons to cry. He’d certainly never seen Virgil do it, but then, Virgil usually hid away in his bedroom whenever he was feeling upset about something.

The laughter subsided, and Virgil brushed away the tears with a careless finger. They must have been from pure mirth because he didn’t look sad at all when he focused on Roman again. “You’re joking. Okay, I get it. You find out I’m a demon, you know I’ve been scaring the piss out of you on purpose, so you try pulling my leg. Good one. Now what’s his real name?”

Roman sputtered. “That is the name! Virgil Deimos.” He stared the demon down, even as he felt that heat return to his cheeks. “…you. It’s you, alright?”

Virgil’s eyes glinted purple for a brief moment, and then he took a step back. His expression shifted to shock. “You’re serious. Holy shit.”

“Uh, isn’t it an oxymoron ‘r somethin’ for a demon to use the word holy-”

“Shut up.” Virgil snapped, before running clawed fingers through his hair. “Holy shit. Holy shit. You mean it. You mean… me. Me. Why?” He turned to look at Roman again, his eyes narrowed with newfound suspicion and paranoia. “…why?”

Roman bit at his tongue for a moment. Lord, hadn’t he gone through all of this trouble to avoid blatantly confessing his feelings to Virgil? Still, now that he knew Virgil was a demon with untold power, he was far more inclined to just answer the question. He only hoped Virgil didn’t get insulted or something and decide to rip his guts out. “Why? Why? Because you’re soft-” He tensed as Virgil hissed and hurried on. “-a-an’ attractive!”

Virgil scoffed. “You call me things like ‘Emo Nightmare’ on a regular basis, princey. And constantly judge my ‘look.’” Virgil raised his hands to use air quotes for emphasis.

It was Roman’s turn to huff. “Jus’ because I might not… agree… with your fashion choices, that doesn’t mean you aren’t attractive. You’ve got this sort of… broody, dark allure about you.”

“Wow, you really only hit half of that ‘Prince Charming’ nickname, don’tcha?”

“Shut up an’ listen to me!” Roman snapped, and he was a little surprised when Virgil actually blinked and shut his mouth. Well… good. Maybe he could actually get out more than one sentence at a time now. He tugged down his shirt a bit and straightened his shoulders. “From the moment I saw you, I was smitten. Downright lovestruck, do you hear me? Cupid took one of his frivolous little arrows an’ jabbed it straight into my heart!” He mimed the act of being stabbed in the chest.

Virgil rolled his eyes, but there was the barest hint of a smile on his face. “Nice choice of words there.” At Roman’s glare, he held up his hands. “Couldn’t resist, couldn’t resist, go on.”

Roman pouted at him. “Laugh an’ be amused all you want, but I speak the truth. There are many things I like about you, Virgil.” His tone softened, along with his gaze, and he offered the demon a hand. Of course, Virgil only proceeded to stare at the appendage like Roman had lost his mind, and maybe he had. He continued speaking nonetheless. “I like how your hair is an utter mess in the mornin’, but you don’t seem to care. I like how meticulous you are about your eye liner, an’ your hoodies, but little else. I think it’s adorable that your favorite color is purple, that you doodle little storm clouds any time you get your hands on paper an’ a writin’ utensil. I like how intense your voice gets when you’re passionate, an’ how witty you can be with your sass. Few can be a match for me, after all.

“I like how you always curl up into a ball, no matter what you happen to be sittin’ on. How you always hug the throw blankets an’ pillows. You’re never cold, you jus’ like to be cradled in soft things, an’… I’ve always wondered if that could include my arms.” Roman dropped to a knee. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but it just felt right. This grand gesture and confession of love needed the proper pose! “I’ve wanted you, Virgil. I’ve wanted you for weeks an’ I’m at my wit’s end.”

Virgil actually looked uncomfortable, but not in a bad way. More like he’d never dealt with this sort of affection before, or the feelings it caused. He was flustered. “You can’t be serious. Crushing on me for weeks? All we ever do when we’re in the same room together is butt heads.”

“That’s jus’ it!” Roman exclaimed. “I absolutely live for our banter, the heat of a verbal battle, each of us vyin’ to have the last clever word! That’s when you’re at your most fiery, your most enticin’. I tried comin’ onto you in several ways, but you always mistook my flirtations as a gag, ‘r a tease. You always completely missed the point an’ you never took me seriously- just like you’re not takin’ me seriously right now!” Roman’s eyes might as well have been aflame. “Well, it doesn’t matter if you believe me or not! You’re here to make a deal with me, right? I want Virgil Deimos to notice me. I want him to feel things for me. Or at the very least, see my motives for what they truly are.”

Virgil seemed to be at a loss, and Roman knew he had him. The demon squinted at him, scowling hard and shoving his hands back into his hoodie pocket. “You realize that means I get your soul, right? You’re not even asking me to fall in love with you, or be yours. You’re asking for a chance. That’s all.”

Roman smiled, and his voice had gone soft again. “I know. But even if you are a demon, I wouldn’t want to force you into anythin’. I wouldn’t try to make anyone love me. What’s the point, then? Is it really love? I just want a chance to earn it. I want that initial spark, an’ then time to see if I can fan the flames into somethin’ truly marvelous an’ worthwhile. An’… if I fail at that….” He dropped his gaze. “…I suppose it would at least have been worth the adventure, in the end.”

Virgil pursed his lips. He looked legitimately torn for a moment, which was odd. For him, as a demon, surely this must be a real win-win of a situation. No matter what, he’d get Roman’s soul, and he might not even need to pay the full price for it. So why did he look so conflicted? “I….” He stared at Roman for several moments longer before sighing. “I… can’t. I can’t make this deal with you.”

Roman was immediately on the defense. “Why not?! I summoned you! You’re supposed to take whatever deal I’m offerin’, that’s how it works, you can’t jus’-” A cold finger pressed to his lips and his brown eyes widened.

“Shut up, princey.” Virgil growled. He was quick to remove his finger, clearly uncomfortable with the gesture but desperate to stop Roman from talking. “I’ll still make you a deal. Just… not that one. Not one for your soul.” He grumbled, “At least not immediately.”

Roman blinked. “What… do you mean?”

Virgil sighed. “Listen. I might be a demon, but I’m not heartless, and I’m not as cruel as I could be. I’m not… just gonna let you throw away your soul on me. But I am obligated to make a deal with you. So how about this? I’ll… give you your chance. To swoon me, win me over, whatever. If… if you fail at that, like you decide to give up and move on, I… I get your soul then. But if it works, deal’s off. You won’t owe me anything.”

Roman could do nothing except stare at Virgil, wide-eyed. He belatedly realized he was still on his knees. Something about that minute detail made the situation all the more poignant. “But… why? Why do this for me?”

Virgil wasn’t looking at him, but he did provide an answer; sort of. “Don’t worry about it. Demon business. You wouldn’t understand.” Roman had a feeling that was a load of bull, but Virgil barreled on so he couldn’t call the demon out on it. “Anyway, do we got a deal or not? I can’t refuse to make one with you, but… you can change your mind. Now’s your last chance to do it.” Virgil stuck out his hand.

Roman’s stare shifted to the appendage instead, while the gears churned away inside his head. Technically, he was still getting what he wanted. Now he just had the chance to skip out on eternal damnation. He couldn’t even be paranoid about it being a trap or a trick; Virgil had clearly lowered his odds at getting Roman’s soul. It really didn’t make a lick of sense to him, but… who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? Perhaps Virgil had a change of heart. Maybe he already saw Roman in a new light, after all. His stance on trying had hardly changed, so… he had nothing more to lose.

Decisively, Roman took Virgil’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “Deal.”

A flicker of anxiety passed through Virgil’s face before it dimmed back into indifference, and he retracted his hand. “Alright. Cool. You just made yourself a deal with a real life demon, Sir Desperate. How does it feel?”

In a single, fluid motion, Roman rose to his feet. One hand pressed fingertips to his chest, while the other swooped out in a grand gesture towards Virgil. He was giving the demon his very best smolder. “Like I’ve got a chance in hell.”

Virgil’s eyes widened, then he snorted, shaking his head. “This is gonna be hell. For me, anyway.” He looked over at Roman’s car and quirked an eyebrow. “You drove all the way out here in the middle of the night? You really do have a death wish.”

Roman laughed and spun on his heel, hands rising up towards the sky. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!”

[kuraiamore]

MadaKaka fic, vigil for the night bloom, part 3

@madakaka Remember those oneshots where Madara freaked out over Kakashi’s forearms? Well, here’s pt.3 and look, it has a title now :D

Congrats again to our little ship for reaching 100 shipmates!

Previous instalments: part 1, part 2

Time is a strange and unwieldy creature, Madara has come to learn, able to be as cruel and unrelenting as it can be generous and kind. Leaning in with the soft glow of the late afternoon sun, it stretches languid and drowsy across the space of the Hokage office, taunting him with every passing minute.

A minute, and Kakashi sighs, head drooping as he looks forlornly at the paperwork scattered about his desk.

A minute, and Kakashi fiddles with his brush, twirling it around long, bare fingers, the digits curling and unfolding the air.

A minute, and Kakashi drops the brush and leans back into his desk chair with a huff, the spikes of his hair fluffing out with the movement.

A minute, and Kakashi rolls his head with a groan, the column of his neck stretching and making the tendons of his neck stick out against the thin fabric of his mask.

(Madara tries not to remember how that neck had felt pressed against his palm and fingers, how it had felt to have Kakashi’s pulse throbbing under his hand; tries not to imagine Kakashi groaning like he just groaned, low and unselfconscious, throat trembling.

Madara tries very hard—and fails just as badly.)

A minute, and Kakashi slumps forward again, head to desk, and this time it’s a whine that slips out from covered lips.

The sound knocks the air right out of Madara’s lung, zaps all the way down his spine, and trills. His hand tightens without his permission on his pen, the thin plastic creaking under pressure; it takes every bit of self-discipline and focus for Madara not to snap the fragile thing in two. Loathed as he is to admit it, he knows he wouldn’t be able to stand up under Kakashi’s scrutiny, not with all his pride and dignity intact.

(He’d only manage to escape the last incident involving an unexpected glimpse of a pale nape and the sudden combustion of a new experimental storage scroll thanks to the panicked arrival of a passing administrative assistant, drawing the Hokage’s attention away long enough for Madara to smother the fire and stalk from the room to smother his own burning embarrassment in the closest supply closet. It had taken twenty five minutes for him to calm down and return, pretending like the sight of two fingers dipping into the back of a mask and stretching it down to rub at a stiff neck hadn’t made what little chakra he has left unbound go charging through his fingertips. If Kakashi suspected anything, he never said.)

The memory threatens to flare red in Madara’s cheeks, so he pushes it aside and turns back to his own assortment of paperwork. Except it’s all done for the day, sheets stacked to his front and left side in his preferred system: sorted by division and industry, then further sub-divided according to each form and report’s status and pending requirements. The largest stack of all towers over twice the height of the others, made up entirely of applications and reports filled out and written with such ineptitude, he simply refused to file them. Now though, now he reaches for that stack, taking the topmost papers and practically burying his face into them.

It’s been a few weeks since that night; neither of them have spoken of it, Kakashi seeming content to move on like it never happened. On Madara’s part, he’s been making sure he keeps a clear distance of at least five paces from the Sixth Hokage—not that it helps all that much considering his entire parole is structured around working with the Hokage to make up for the damage done during the war. Meaning another fifteen years and four months of working alongside and enduring the little quirks and flashes of skin that make up Hatake Kakashi. The thought makes something clench (or was it more of a flutter?) in his stomach, and he’s unable to resist peeking over the top of the paper to steal a glance at said man.

He’s back to fiddling with a brush, twirling it around his fingers as he stares down at the paper in front of him. Considering the lateness of the day and Kakashi’s earlier fidgetiness, Madara estimates that there’s only a twenty percent chance that he’s actually reading the damn thing.

But he’s sitting still for longer than he has in the past hour, excepting the hypnotic spin-spin-spin of brush over thumb, and that’s enough to calm that squirming feeling in Madara’s gut.  He lowers the paper and concentrates on reading it properly. He can’t leave until Kakashi does, as per the contract of his parole, so he resigns himself to fixing up the incompetency scribbled out in white and black.

Time trudges on: the day staff drop pass to say good night and the night staff report in to start their shift; Madara’s paper tower dwindles to half its height; and finally, Kakashi scrawls his last signature for the day, dropping the sheets into his own system of paper stacks.

(It’s only natural that Madara’s sneaking glances at this point; he’s waiting for the man to finish after all.)

A loud thunk sounds in the room. A look up reveals Kakashi with the side of his forehead pressed to the desk, eyes staring blearily at a spot on the wall behind Madara’s head. Their gazes connect, Kakashi’s eyes changing from an exhausted half-squint to the half-curves of a lazy smile.  

That horrible clenching, fluttery feeling comes back with a vengeance, almost like a punch to the face. Madara clears his throat, taps his pen against the table twice, and hastily skims through the rest of the paper he’s reading, marking corrections where he catches them but mostly rushing towards the end. Every peep out the corner of his eye shows Kakashi slumped on his desk, just watching him work.

Madara resists the urge to run away and hide in the supply closet again. “Hokage-sama,” he says instead, putting a pointed inflection into each vowel of the title, “if you are done, you should head home and rest.”

“Ahh, I've told you already to drop the ‘sama’,” Kakashi replies, ignoring the rest of Madara’s words in favour tucking his hands beneath his chin. The curves of his eye-smiles grow larger as he settles, pushing his chair back to slouch more comfortably.

Not even Hashirama had been so indolent when he was Hokage.

“Certain etiquettes must be respected,” Madara says, to Kakashi’s amused huff. It is not the first time he’s given this particular lecture to the Sixth. “To maintain the truth of one’s place and power, others must see and hear and act upon it. Allowing those below you to address you without the proper title and honour that ought to be bequeathed to you as Konohagakure’s Sixth Hokage risks inviting challenge and opposition.”

“Maa, I don’t think I have to worry about that. It’s been four years, nobody else wants the job.”

Madara pulls a face. “Then it is even more important that they address you appropriately,” he presses. “Your title is a symbol and reminder of your power, a performance and expression of your legitimacy and leadership. You must not take it so lightly.”

Madara ought to know: he has lost all power and legitimacy here, reduced to little more than a glorified secretary, the Uchiha name and legacy crumpled into dirt and legend.  

(But he still remembers the thrill of Kakashi’s pulse beneath his hands, the intoxication of Kakashi’s surrender, confused perhaps, and unaware, but surrender nevertheless. If that was a moment of power… Madara suppresses a shudder.)

“Maa,” Kakashi says again, giving a one-shoulder shrug and lifting a hand to fiddle with the bottom corner of the paper closest to him, “I think I’m doing alright. Besides, you’re here to help me with all that, aren’t you?”

Madara forces his eyes away from the delicate strip of skin peeking out from between the end of Kakashi’s glove and the cuff of his robe, unable to meet Kakashi’s gaze.

“Yes,” he says, after making a final mark on the last paragraph of the page he’s on and setting the paper down, “I am, Hokage-sama.”

Certain etiquettes must be respected.

~ x ~

The problem, Madara works out, is this: Kakashi has not an ounce of respect for etiquette.

Orders and regulations, yes; etiquette, however, is given the same treatment as his paperwork, which is to say, ‘ignored until convenient and/or necessary’. The apparent difference between the two is a fine line Madara has yet to uncover.

Perhaps he ought to remind Kakashi of the reality of their relationship as jailor and prisoner, or if that could be considered crass after all this time, then perhaps he could make the argument for master and vassal. Either way, redefining the boundary between them, whatever that might be, might help clear up those terrible squirming feelings burrowing into his gut.  It had been, after all, Kakashi’s laxness and willingness to abide Madara’s presence that had allowed him to catch the Hokage unawares and unguarded.

Yet even as he considers this, another, greater part of him knows that he will not. He is Uchiha; selfishness comes naturally, and it is against his nature to reject what is so coveted and selflessly given.

(Love, he carefully does not consider.)

It's Kakashi’s carelessness for etiquette that finds them sitting together in the times Kakashi is free from both duty and the call of his old war comrades. Somehow, between his need for peace and solitude, and his day to day livelihood, Kakashi finds a sliver of time to offer Madara escape from the oppression of his own silence. Why the Sixth Hokage flouts historical precedent and bothers with a former war criminal now on parole, whatever his usefulness to the restoration of the village, is something Madara also has yet to figure out in the years since his conditional release.

Not that he can begrudge it, not when it gives him moments like this, just the two of them sitting together on the rooftop of the Hokage Tower after another long day of reading and correcting and signing papers, watching as the evening fades away into pure night.

The stars in the sky tonight are dimmer than in his memory, as if they had grown dark and dreary in sorrow as the world below them torn itself apart. There seem so few of them compared to the thousands of lights rolling out in hazy brightness across the jagged silhouettes of a half-reconstructed village. Maybe when he had hadn’t been looking (growing mad alone in a cave, buried alone in the oblivion of death, awaiting judgement alone in a lightless cell), some of the stars had chosen to defy the wrath of a mad moon goddess, fell to the earth and became reincarnated into the light of the lampposts and lanterns and household and apartment windows that gleam beneath his feet.

He knows the world has changed now beyond his control; it’s grown brighter, perhaps too bright for the shinobi way of life to continue on.

…But hadn’t that been the dream? The purpose that he had dedicated his life to and sacrificed everything for? The reason he’s where he is now, pride cast out and playing at service and penance to a place he loves and hates in equal measure? Does that give him a place here, in this village hidden in leaves, a village he himself had christened so very long ago? Perhaps a place even, he dare wonder, next to the man sitting beside him, symbol of great Konoha herself?

(The man whose mind and command had brought Madara to his knees, then given him the chance to stand again with an outstretched pale hand…)

Catching the slide of his thoughts, Madara mentally shakes himself; that kind of thinking is dangerous, makes it too easy for him to forget himself and his position. A prisoner on probation—and hadn’t he been the one to berate Kakashi for not adhering to formality? To act upon his desires, no matter how tempting, would go far beyond that, would break everything he has so painstakingly built up over the last four years without his awareness. No fleeting touch of skin could be worth a cold, hardened gaze and the risk of never sharing a moment like this again. Kakashi had let it go once, but Madara knows the Sixth Hokage is a private man; he doubts the Hokage would be so lenient again.

No, better that he guards what he has now, and guard it jealously, even from himself. (Madara hasn’t forgotten: he is a man who has bled the life out of the things he wanted nothing more than to protect, never knowing whether his hands are warm with skin-touch or blood.)

—And then the memory again, of Kakashi’s pulse thrumming, that way he shivered, so softly Madara wonders if he had imagined it, except that the memory is so excruciatingly detailed, it’s impossible that his brain could have made it up.

He curses, exhaling the word in a hard breath. He hates how his thoughts swirl round in frustrating circles, irritation flaring because he keeps sabotaging himself and he just can’t decide and stick to it, when had he become so faltering, so unsure—

A dramatic sigh, startling and loud in his ear. Without warning, Kakashi pitches sideways and settles neatly against him, a single long line of warm contact pressing from shoulder to knee.

Madara jerks, freezes. He opens his mouth to voice his surprise only to realise his brain has short-circuited and he has no idea what to say, groping blindly for a reaction. He’s still struggling to make sense of what just happened and process his reaction when Kakashi speaks, voice an easy drawl.

“It's an Uchiha thing, right?”

Stupefied silence, drawn out far too long when he realises that Kakashi is waiting for a response.

“What?” he asks, eloquently, because that is all he can manage with his mind running sideways and turning upside and shrieking to high heaven.

“The touching thing. You Uchihas like to touch.”

There, that. He can respond to that. “And what gave you that idea?”

Kakashi shrugs in his usual way; Madara feels it like the run of a burn up and down his arm, every shift of muscle as shoulder and arm lifts and drops against his own.

“I figured it was a large clan thing. Obito was always clinging onto whoever was nearby, and I remember Itachi with Sasuke before the massacre.”

Kakashi nudges him with the roll of his shoulder; the shoulder pad of his vest presses hard into the flesh of his arm.

“It's alright,” Kakashi says, “I don't mind this.”

There's a genuine sort of earnestness to his voice that makes Madara’s heart beat faster. He doesn’t think he has ever been so conscious of the boundary of his body, of the nerves and cells that register touch and warmth. And to have them be given willingly—

He holds his breath, body rigid and tense. Somewhere in the high distance, a bird cries. To his odd disappointment, the stars have grown no dimmer or brighter. Without a word, Kakashi pulls back, shuffles so they’re sitting a respectable distance away from each other.

Neither say a word.

The air feels suddenly frigid, the world spinning like Kakashi had been an anchor he didn’t realise he had secured himself to until he let go. He’s frozen and mute with surprise and disbelief and confusion, the silence between them so loud, it roars in his ears. Everything is tumbling inward, his stomach is churning and upset, blood rioting in his veins, and he doesn’t know how to react, what to do with himself—

“I’ll, ah. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

The tone registers first, the little curl of uncertainty and withdrawal; then the words, though they catch his attention more than his comprehension. It’s not until Kakashi goes to stand up and walk away that his meaning clicks together and Madara jolts with understanding, propelled forward as if by a force he can’t control.

It seems to happen in slow motion: Kakashi shuffles back from the edge of the roof, gets his feet underneath himself, pushes up with his arms, and gets halfway up to a standing position when Madara blinks and his hand launches itself out, clinging onto the closest bit of Kakashi it can reach.

Madara looks at his hand wrapped tight around Kakashi’s forearm, fingers scrunched into the sleeve of Kakashi’s shirt, thumb pressing into the reveal bit of skin between cuff and glove, and then he’s back there, to that night. All the same mad emotions come crashing back and screaming in a cacophony that makes him tremble. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, tingles running from his hand up his arm, down his spine and seems to spread all across his body, right to the tips of his toes.

Stupid, he thinks, cursing himself.

They’re both suspended in that moment, tense and awkward with Kakashi midway to his full height and Madara splayed out on his side, weight resting entirely on his hip and the grip he has on Kakashi’s arm. Desperate for a way out, Madara lets go like he’s been burned, almost toppling over before he catches himself and twists back to the dark horizon.

“You shouldn’t let people get so close to you,” he says, barely hearing himself speak over the pounding in his ears. His eyes pick out a random light illuminating the village, keeps his gaze locked on it.

“Why not?” To his mortification, he feels Kakashi sit back down next to him, closer than before, perhaps two handspans apart.

Madara’s lips are dry. He licks them. “They could bring harm to you.”

Kakashi ponders this for a moment, judging by the silence that falls over him. Then Kakashi surprises him once more: “But that’s why I have you here with me, isn’t it?” he says.

Madara can’t help it; he looks at Kakashi incredulously. Kakashi shrugs.

“Is that so surprising?” he asks.

“Yes,” Madara hisses, overwhelmed by the thought, “and above all, it’s foolish. You would allow someone to reach you where you are vulnerable, give them the chance to strike at your vitals. Have you no care for your life? What would this village do should you die? The former Nine Tails vessel is years from being fit to lead with his current disposition. Your Fifth has run off with her drink and her dice and has not stepped foot here in three years. For all their strength and heart, the young are still grieving, and cannot suffer the full burden of rebuilding without guidance from their betters. Who is there left to manage if you were to fall? You must be more vigilant!”

He doesn’t realise his voice has been steadily growing louder until he’s outright shouting. He bites his lips, breathes deep and forces down the knot in his throat.

“Think of your position and responsibility,” he says, once he has control of himself again. “You cannot risk yourself now, whatever your personal inclinations.”

Kakashi makes a show of a thoughtful hum. The sound is almost obscene, a dragged out, “Mmmm” that lingers in the air. Madara’s hands clench.

“Okay, thinking done,” Kakashi declares with a sudden rise in pitch. He nods to himself as if in confirmation, then he whips a finger in front of Madara’s confounded face, narrowly avoiding his nose. “Number one! His name is Naruto. Uzumaki Naruto. You should remember it. He might not be ready yet, but one day he will make an exceptional Hokage. I wasn’t the only one who argued for your conditional release.” He looks at Madara meaningfully, and Madara only just manages not to flinch. “Two!” A second finger goes up. “You’re may be right about the Fifth, but that is why the next generation is so much stronger than you think. Have you seen any of them run from their grief? They finished a war somebody else started, and now they’re cleaning up the mess too. If you think there’s anyone here who is better than them, you’re wrong.”

Kakashi takes a pause, as if giving time for Madara to reply, but he says nothing. A third finger goes up.

“And three,” Kakashi says, and now his voice is sharp like a blade, “I’m not at risk at all. Didn’t I say before? You’re here with me.”

“What?”

“You. Here. With me. I’m not at risk. Am I?”

Madara goes to retort, and then stops, the words echoing in his mind. There’s a genuine question in there, he realises—and a challenge.

Loyalty? Kakashi is asking. Konoha?

“No,” Madara answers, when it’s been long enough that the rage in the blood and guts has simmered down into a single, clear revelation, “you’re not.” Not from me.

“Then I don’t think we have anything to worry about,” Kakashi says, all cool eyes and easy smile. A moment later, he knocks their shoulders together in a friendly bump, placing him an inch closer. Madara can feel the heat radiating from his skin.

They sit together until the stars start being swallowed up by the encroaching light of morn. Only then do they part ways to steal what few precious hours of sleep they can, before meeting to start another day.

[amlao]

Day 84 of Being Alone for the First Time in My Adult Life

Sometimes I think about the fact that I had serious avoidant/insecure attachment traits up until my mid-20’s and literally all it took to fix them was Logan and his family promising to love me unconditionally.

And it’s taken me a long time to realize it, but I think that actually says more about my strengths and abilities than it does about him.

Has that made it hard to move past him, despite the fact that he crossed boundaries in our relationship that I considered to be irreconcilable? Sure.

But like…what I gained from it was so unbelievably worth it, and it was honestly me who put in the work. I’m so proud of myself.

I read my posts from early 2015 to 2017, and see this shift of me going from, ‘I never want to love anyone fully and also have horrible self-esteem and rejection issues,’ to, ‘Holy shit, I love this person so much and it’s really fucking scary, but I’m letting myself feel and express it,’

And now, at this stage of my life, I’m in such a healthier place. I don’t regret loving Logan as much as I did, even if he ultimately lied to me and betrayed me. It didn’t make me look weak or stupid. Learning to openly love like that was rewarding. I’m glad I have the privilege of looking back on that relationship and knowing that I gave it my all. Knowing that I’m capable of growth. When I would look back at his emails expressing regret/trying to make amends, he repeatedly mentioned that one of the things he missed most about me was that the way I looked at him made him feel more deeply loved than anyone ever has…and reading that has never made me feel anything other than proud. I have the capability to love an enormous magnitude, I did love him an enormous magnitude, and I’m so proud of myself for having the strength to convey it instead of stifling it for some twisted form of self-preservation.

Those strengths didn’t leave me when I left that relationship. It doesn’t have to be him giving the love—simply knowing that there are people out there who will transparently, earnestly, and repeatedly express their love for you; who will pull you closer when you try to push away; and can make you feel secure the way I did in the better half of that relationship…that’s enough to make me want to change.

After seeing that Brad was home in KC on Snapchat for several weeks, I reached out to him and told him that I wasn’t mad about my birthday three years ago, that I’d love to see him but would also understand if he wanted to keep his space if that’s where he feels more comfortable, and that regardless, I’d always cherish our friendship and be rooting for him. Was he kind of a bad friend to me? Yes. But I also wasn’t always the best to him, and I don’t want him to think that there’s standing resentment between us. I’m not doing anyone any favors by holding a grudge for him flaking. He’s the one who has historically struggled with feelings, and I can afford to be the bigger person.

As I left Veronica’s after we booked our upcoming trip to New Orleans, she sent me off with a, ‘Byee, love you!’

‘Love you too!’ I yelled back, only slightly hesistantly, immediately remembering the story she told me of her grandmother, unused to such blatant displays of affection, responding to ‘I love you, grandma!’ with an uncomfortable and bewildered, ‘Well, alright,’

I’m getting used to expressing love. Slowly and surely and not always romantically, I’m getting used to it.