#and just in general our clothes take forever to dry and that makes them smell bad and we can't dry bedsheets

[texas-bbq-pringles]

i love student housing (get me the fuck out of here)

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

Common Myths

An excerpt from Memoirs of a Flesh Eater, never published.

Next Excerpt

Everyone knows about ghouls, right? Everyone grows up hearing scary stories about us, from parents telling you to brush your teeth or the ghouls will get you, to your friends on the playground lying about how they saw one with their own two eyes and it was so scary no really even scarier than that, to - eventually, as you get older - news stories about mass murders and human slaughterhouses and graverobbers digging up your grandma and biting open her bones to get what’s left of her marrow.

The stories are terrifying and vivid and mostly sensationalist garbage. It’s kind of a shame, honestly - a lot of them are really well-written. With the best ones, it’s hard to tell sometimes if they were written by a human with an overactive imagination, or by one of us.

Weird, right? You wouldn’t think we’d want to spread stories that make us look even worse to the rest of humanity than they already think we are, but as far as I can tell, we’ve been making up horror stories about ourselves forever. Our records are spotty at best - oral histories don’t always get passed on before the person carrying them dies, and there are none of us who can trace our family line more than a few generations before it gets too muddled by death to trace any farther. And as for physical records, those are even more vulnerable. Those can’t just be lost - they can be stolen. Used against us. As far as I know, there has never been a written record of ghoul lore circulated. Not until this one.

{Editing Note: Too dramatic? Maybe. But I like it. I’ll think about it}

That being said, though, I think we used to tell these stories to enhance our reputation. To keep humans too scared of us to mount a serious resistance when we came hunting. If they believed we couldn’t be beaten, they wouldn’t try as hard. I think we lived more openly back then, back before automatic firearms and high explosives and kevlar body armor and chemical weapons leveled the playing field. Back when those of us who chose to could hunt humans with near impunity.

{Editing Note: I don’t like ending the paragraph there. We weren’t all killers then any more than we are now. But we did kill. We did hunt them, and I think we hunted them more. I need to make them understand us, but how can they understand us if telling them the truth just makes them hate us more? It needs another pass}

Even then, there were a lot more humans than there were of us. That’s basic ecology - there have to be more prey than predators {Editing Note: I need to find a better way to say that. There are gentle ways to be truthful, and there are hard ways. Do better}. Working together, humans could threaten our existence even then. The stories helped, I think. If they were too scared to work together against us, then we had a better chance of surviving another day, another month, another year.

Times are different now. Fear is no longer a tool that helps us. Human fear threatens our existence. But we still make up these stories and spread them. I spread my share on the elementary school playground. Whenever any of the other kids told a scary ghoul story, I could always come up with a better one. Scarlet’s were even better. He’s always been able to make words dance.

He was my best friend growing up. We were the only ghouls in our grade, maybe even in the whole school. I couldn’t tell for sure - we didn’t see the other grades as much. But he was enough. He was someone I could be myself with. I didn’t have to pick all of my words carefully, or make sure that the thing I was telling him was a normal human experience. It was such a relief to truly be me, even if it was only outside of school hours and well out of earshot of anyone nearby. It didn’t hurt that we actually had some common interests, you know, like friends do. We used to play imagination games together. He’d conjure dragons into existence with his words, and he’d help me use mine to slay them.

{Editing Note: My academic advisor would rip this into shreds, but this isn’t a research paper. This can’t be dry. This needs to be full of heart, not just information. They need to understand. But I might have gone overboard a little}

Scarlet’s an aspiring author now. I’ve read a few of his short stories. Horror and romance, always hand in hand {Editing Note: That’s too identifying. Make that less specific}. I asked him why he thought we still told these stories about ourselves, why we still want them to think of us as more terrifying than we are, why we make ourselves seem larger than life.

He told me that it’s because they hate us. Because there is nothing we can do to make them stop hating us, so why not give them something more worthy of their hatred? Why not give them a comically exaggerated monster - one that bears only a passing resemblance to us - to hate instead? This way, we can laugh at them for their foolishness amongst ourselves, laugh at how little they understand us. If what they hated was closer to our truth, we wouldn’t find it as easy to laugh at. It isn’t always easy as it is, to look at the world around you and know that 98% of the people you see burn with hatred at the mere thought of you, and to meet that with laughter. How much harder would it be if what they hated was who we really were, complex and vulnerable and as human as them? How would we ever endure it if they beheld us for all that we were and still called for our annihilation?

Scarlet’s always been good at giving words to truth. I hope that I’m as good at using words to make a new truth. I want to make him wrong. So here is some truth for you. Here is the truth beneath the myths about who and what we are.

Ghouls eat people

This is true, at least in part; we eat human flesh. That isn’t always the same thing. I’ll go deeper on our dietary needs later, but for now, know that we don’t have to kill to eat, most of the time. I’ve never killed a human, and I hope I neve have to.

Ghouls like hurting people

Not as a rule. There are ghouls that like hurting people. There are humans who like hurting people too.

Ghouls don’t feel pain and can heal from anything

Ghouls have two foot long prehensile tongues

I can tell you from experience that this one isn’t true. We feel pain as acutely as any human, I think, though it does take a little more to hurt us. Our skin and bones are tougher, harder to break. Our muscles are a little stronger too. Not enough that the weakest ghoul is stronger than the strongest human, but it’s not an insignificant advantage. I was always one of the best performers in PE, and I’ve never worked out in my life. So we’re harder to injure, and our strength lets us push through some injuries that would incapacitate a human. But we don’t heal any faster than humans do, or any cleaner. 

Contrary to what the politicians said when they passed the Chemical Exterminants Act.

… I think this one started with a human fetish artist, actually. No. We do not.

Ghouls have two sets of teeth

This one is true, although most of the time you’d never know unless you did an autopsy on one of us. Fetish artists, go nuts with this one.

{Editing Note: Do I really want to directly address ghoul fetishists in the book that will redefine the relationship between ghouls and humans that has existed for as long as anyone can remember? Maybe. At least they have a vested interest in keeping us from being wiped out?}

Ghouls can’t eat human food

False, at least in the most literal sense. If we physically couldn’t eat human food, we’d have all been found and killed a long time ago. We can consume things other than human flesh, but they don’t do anything for us nutritionally, and they don’t taste good to us either. That doesn’t always mean they taste bad, though. If we eat too much it will make us sick, however, and some things will make us sicker faster, or make us more sick than other things. Some of us even have allergies. For example, grapes give me hives. A single chicken nugget will trap me in the bathroom for the rest of the day. French fries, on the other hand... I almost manage to enjoy french fries sometimes.

Ghouls have better senses than humans do

This one’s a mixed bag. Our sense of smell is definitely better. That’s how Scarlet and I found each other; we could smell the flesh on each other’s breath. But as for the rest… Some people say our hearing is worse, but I’ve never come across anything conclusive one way or the other. I might just have bad ears. Our sense of taste is definitely different, but I don’t think it’s necessarily better or worse. We’re just adapted to taste different things. I’m pretty positive our sense of touch is the same. As for sight, our night vision is better, but only sometimes. I’ll get to that in a minute.

Ghouls true forms are terrifying and inhuman

Definitely false, but there’s a tiny kernel of truth a little to the left of this one. Most of the time, we look indistinguishable from humans, which is definitely an evolutionary advantage. But we have three traits that help us when we hunt. They mark us as distinctly inhuman, so it’s a good thing that they only come out when we want them to. First, our nails are a lot harder than human nails, and we can cause them to extend, like claws. They can rip through flesh and most cloth without breaking. Second, that second set of teeth I mentioned earlier. They’re sharper, better for tearing flesh. Our mouths have to distend a bit to make room for them, so that’s a dead giveaway when they’re out. Third, our eyes. We can dilate them a lot wider than humans, and we can control their dilation consciously. That’s what I meant about better night vision.

Last one.

Ghouls are monsters. They must be exterminated

Keep reading. Maybe by the end of this book, you can answer that for me.

[nagia-pronounced-neijia]

WIP WEDNESDAY

tagged by @ejunkiet

Warnings: Catholicism, somebody being extremely sarcastic about the holiest of the sacraments; if those things trigger or upset you, scroll on by.

So, the thing is, it wasn't supposed to go like this.  He gets about four seconds of, "oh shit" when he puts his foot down inside what was apparently a circle of something.

A whole lot of things seem to happen in those four seconds.  He recognizes the circle -- formed in salt!  He doesn't know much about magic, but he knows you can't write spells in salt! -- and looks up at the witch chief.  She looks over-fucking-joyed, and expectant, and he can't watch that, so he looks to Alucard and Sypha.

Sypha reaches for him, fingers splayed and arms out like she's trying to cast.  He sees the determination locking down her jaw, thinning her mouth, and the wide edge of real fear that makes the corners of her eyes smooth out.

Alucard reaches too, and he's fast.  He blurs red around the edges; Trevor almost doesn't see him coming.

Their fingertips touch.  Sypha screams something, ragged and desperate and horrible --

His hand slips through Alucard's, somehow translucent, like a silk screen or a chemise.  Like a ghost.

Alucard's eyes go so wide, the red burning away inside them out of what's probably rage.

The world falls away.

He wakes with a bony elbow prodding him in the ribs.  He jabs back reflexively without opening his eyes, muttering, "Fuck!" as he does.

His voice sounds weird. 

Those are the two stupid, stupid things he first notices: some arsehole's bony elbow and that his voice sounds higher pitched than it should.

He opens his eyes to find a pew in front of his face.  An actual church pew, complete with the kneeler and the carved cross cut-outs and everything.   Hell, his knees are on the kneeler, how's that for hopelessly wrong?

He looks around out of the corners of his eyes.  He hasn't been in a church in thirteen years, but he remembers how shitty people get about other people not paying attention.  It just looks like a normal congregation; everyone in what's probably their best and the women all have their hair covered.  Their eyes are all on the priest ahead of the chancel.  He looks and sounds and moves like every other parish priest Trevor has seen.

At the front, the priest calls, "Oremus," in that rhythm they have, and apparently Trevor is still a Christian in deed, if not in heart, because he rises smoothly, automatically, with all the rest.

This church looks familiar, he thinks as he rises.  There's the transept with the little crack in its window.  The chancel is a little more in shadow than it ought to be; it takes the shine off the altar, which is arranged simply.

Something is fucked.  He knows something is just in a new land of wrong and upside-down.  He just can't tell what it is, besides his presence.

The priest chants in Latin.  Trevor fights not to roll his eyes.  Yes, yes, he wants to say.   Praise be to God for the Eucharist.  What would we do if we didn't literally eat and drink our Savior?  Praise him, praise him, forever and ever.

Everyone around him repeats after the priest.  It's all such garbage and he's still trying to figure out how the hell he got from the salt circle to a church, and how he's not on fire for being in said church. 

The person next to him jabs him again with their bony-ass elbow.  Trevor jabs back, again, muttering unkind things about their parentage.  The next jab is harder, and shortly after that there's a familiar cuff to the back of his head.

He almost starts looking around more, but fourteen years of getting cuffed for looking any way but forward are very fresh in his mind.  Best not to draw any more attention to himself.

With no better options, he recites with everybody else.  His voice still sounds wrong in his head, and it cracks and feels uncomfortable when he tries to speak lower.

After the Postcommunion, they all kneel again, then rise.

"Benedicamus Domino," the priest sings.

They all chant back, "Deo gratias," and the general shuffling toward the exit begins.

And now that Trevor can actually look around without getting smacked, he's starting to see precisely why everything seems so familiar.  He knows this nave.  Knows this church.  They'd come here his whole life.

And, filing away toward the narthex, he sees four familiar dresses, four familiar white veils, made of fine linen from Targovişte.  They move with the smooth, graceful glide over the rough stone floors that he'd thought he'd never see again.

His sisters.

It hits him like an actual sucker punch, like somebody slamming a chair into him in a bar fight.  His stomach clenches up like a fist.  He makes some sort of horrible choking noise as all the breath in his lungs decides to leave.  He wheezes in another breath, feels it whistling down a throat that doesn't want to open. 

And ahead of them, his mother shines in the doorway, outlined and turned into a smudge by the early afternoon sunlight.

Ahead of her, Father turns.  He makes an impatient gesture, calling Trevor's name.

His whole body feels numb.  He goes anyway.  Now that he's doing something more complicated than standing and kneeling, he can't help noticing his balance is off.  Like he's not just shorter but slimmer, lighter.

Like, for instance, he's fourteen or so.

This can't be happening.  Salt doesn't work magic.  People don't step into salt circles and find themselves in fucking consecrated churches from thirteen years ago.

Near Father, Luminița gives him a smile from under her hood.

Trevor smiles back.  Even if this isn't happening, even if it's some cruel dream, she's his closest sister.

They walk home from church in a thick knot, exactly the way he remembers.  The way he's longed for.

It's Sara, his second-closest, who laces her arm in his and leans in.  The hem of her cap has frayed a little; it needs re-sewn.

Ha.  Like he can talk.  He only launders his clothes regularly because otherwise Sypha and Alucard probably wouldn't speak to him.  And sure, he can darn his own socks, but that doesn't mean he actually does any mending when it needs done.

"You seemed distracted during Mass today," she says, and her voice is the same mixture of high pitch and dry delivery that makes everything short of a threat sound kind of funny.

It's not real.  Can't be happening.  Not.  Real.  Just a fucking vicious, painful dream a witch came up with.  Somewhere above him, Sypha and Alucard are dealing with a small coven and trying to wake him up.

Knowing all that doesn't stop the warmth in his chest, that huge bubble of impossible fondness that always accompanies seeing his most precious people after a long absence.

"Just thinking about things."

It's Luminița who asks, "What kinds of things?"

"Just things."  One good point of being probably four-and-ten again: he can get away with that.

Both his sisters laugh at him.

The walk home is long and surprisingly warm.  He thinks it must be Lent, and that means early spring.  He would have expected grayer skies, the last few flurries of snow, but instead it's all an expanse of blue.  The sun pours down on his head, gradually warming him.

They reach the great gate by late afternoon.  A nod from Father, and Mother takes her keyring from her belt and fits key to lock.  There's a resounding click and then they're swinging it open.  Trevor, as the last one through, pulls the gate shut, listening for the sound of the mechanism.

He still has a hard time believing any of this is real.

He stares up at the stout walls, of good oak and better stone, at the windows with real leaded glass, at the pennant of the Belmont crest hanging from one of the windows.  A hunting party must be away; they only display that when someone's left the house on a hunt.

This all feels… It's completely crazy, but at the same time, it feels right.  Accurate, maybe: it feels like he's walking, all too aware, through a Lenten Sunday that really happened to him.

Father and his sisters go directly into the house.  Except for Luminița and Sara, none of them has ever had much patience for him when he's being slow.

It's Mother who waits on the front step.  She reaches out to catch his face in between her palms.  They're softer than his own, than Father's, but they're still callused and chapped, just in different places.

"You've been out of sorts," she says, sweeping her thumbs over his cheekbones before resting the back of her hand against his forehead.

He doesn't protest the touch.  Maybe he would have, at fourteen, but he hasn't been anywhere near his mother in thirteen years.  Instead he allows it, unwilling even to close his eyes if that means losing sight of her.

"I'm fine.  Just thinking."

His mother hums.  "If it's about Old Marta… Well, you're kind, Trevor, but there was nothing we could have done for her."

Old Marta?  He thinks back, trying to remember.  He has the vaguest, dimmest memory of an aging woman with apple cheeks who always smelled of onion.  She sold cheese, maybe?

His mother mistakes his confusion for something else.  She does the thing where she squeezes his face in her hand.  Squeeze isn't the right word -- but she cups his cheek and grips, and instead of threatening, it's comforting.

How had he forgotten that she did things like that?  Does things like this?

"It's not the fire or the heat.  It's the smoke.  It's very quick -- minutes, at most.  Almost as good a death as a beheading, and then they're made pure and good again.  She didn't suffer."

The sheer fucking irony of those words coming from the mouth of this woman.  This woman, who didn't die of fire or heat, but of being trapped in a smoky little room, who died coughing, is telling him that burned witches don't suffer?

He squints at her, looking not with the eye of a self-absorbed youth, but of a man.  The last thirteen years taught him to read a room, to read a face, to listen to what people weren't saying.

That's why he sees it: the faint tremor at the corner of her mouth, the flickering of her eyelids.

She's lying.  She's lying to protect a boy who's always been a little too soft to be a Belmont.

And that's when the memory finally settles in place, and he remembers Old Marta.  Burned as a witch in the town square in Sighișoara, and they hadn't been able to do anything about it.  It had been uniquely galling to the whole family.  Even Grandfather Rafael, who always focused more on killing what was wicked than on protecting his countrymen, had hated everything about it.

Of course, less than a year later, they'd all been accused of black magic, excommunicated, and burned alive.  Fuck.

[good-rwbyaus]

Au blake opens up her own bookstore

Blake’s Book Trade - mod lilac - 

// Bit of an experiment with this one. Going to try and make this more of an open AU and thus more receptive to influence by asks. So unlike other AUs I’ve written, this could end up making a lot of things out of order depending on the asks I get - or invalidate other pieces that are written in this AU. I don’t know. Never tried this before ahaha. Though if people prefer the general fic format where I do things with actual direction, feel free to comment. 

As with the rest of my writings, here is the “nail” post.   - lilac

1. End of One Dream

“Goodbye,” Blake whispered as she swung her blade at the train latch. She watched as Adam - her friend, her mentor - reached out quietly but stayed on the cart he was on; she already knew he would choose the mission over their friendship. He and the train vanished into the distance, much like her dreams of the future. 

She was just tired of the fighting. After working with the White Fang for so long, she could say one thing for certain; the humans who hated them would continue to hate them, just as the Faunus who hated humans would continue to hate humans. All she did was perpetuate a cycle, a cycle she didn’t know how to stop.

Because Adam - and the current leader of the White Fang - might very well be right. Violence might really be the answer. Because no one cared about the Faunus plight until the violence happened - until the White Fang drove up the costs for mistreating Faunus, both physically and monetarily. 

No. Going back to the White Fang was no longer an option for her. She can’t handle what the group has become - what she’d be expected to do.

Becoming a Huntress had no charm for her either, for Hunters and Huntresses didn’t just hunt Grimm. They hunted the enemies of Mankind and by extension the Kingdom, and it was very easy to declare someone an enemy. 

So in the end, she had nothing. No cause to fight for. No direction to go.

...What was she going to do now? 

-----

2. Under the Sun

Rain poured onto her as she wandered through the streets of Vale. She’d been in a daze since Forever Fall; one moment she’d been surrounded by trees and train tracks, and now she’s surrounded by buildings and vehicles. How she survived the forest in her insensate state she wasn’t quite certain.

Ring ring.   

“Welcome to Tukson’s Book Trade, home to every book under the su- Blake,” said a familiar voice, “You came ba-”

She lifted her head in shock and saw a familiar face – Tukson – the handler she and Adam met before taking on the Forever Fall job. Her eyes glanced over at all the books and shelves around her. How she got back here, she didn’t know. Why she was here, she wasn’t sure either.

Before she could apologize and run out the door, she could feel a pair of gruff hands rest upon her shoulders and gently guide her to a seat behind the counter.

“I’ll be right back,” Tukson said as he disappeared behind a set of doors.  

She watched him leave quietly, watching the double doors swing, before she turned around and took in the view beyond the store counter. The shelves and tables lined with tens of hundreds of books. The faint silhouettes of people walking amidst sheets of rain. The tiny bell on the door that had long stopped shaking after her passage. She could smell the dusky scent of old texts lingering about. 

Her body relaxed for a moment before she tensed up again. 

What was she doing here? She shouldn’t be here.

She should leav-

Everything went dark and then bright again, causing her to stiffen in shock. It took her a moment to realize that a thick, wooly blanket had been placed over her head and back, its comfortable warmth making her unconsciously wrap herself deeper into it. She didn’t realize how much the chill seeped into her bones until just now. 

“Here you go,” Tukson said, handing over a small white, almost dainty teacup over, “Sorry if it tastes bad. It’s been a while since I made this.” 

Almost automatically, Blake took a sip of the hot beverage. And she couldn’t help but immediately scrunch up her face. It was bitter, really bitter. 

“Yeah, Ma always said I couldn’t make tea to save my life,” Tukson loudly guffawed, “It’s warm though. It’ll help stop you from getting a cold.”

She took another sip, and the warmth in her belly did make her feel a little bit better.

“Umm… thanks,” Blake choked out, a bit surprised as to how hoarse she sounded. Her hand brushed against her wet eyes. Had this been all just rain or had she been crying this whole time?

The older faunus nodded his head, quietly letting her regain her bearings. The silence did make her feel a bit better, even though she knew it was temporary. Tukson was after all one of the White Fang’s handlers in Vale - knew more things about its seedy underworld than the average Huntsman. The probing she would face was inevitable.

“I thought something had gone wrong,” Tukson said, finally breaking the silence, pulling a small stool by her side, “Adam poked his head in to tell me the mission was complete. And that you weren’t going to return. Then he just walked out without a word.”

“...I left,” she started. 

“I quit. I just...” 

Adam’s cold uncaring reply echoed in her head – to set the bomb charges despite people still being on the train. 

Blake held the cup of tea in her hands, shaking, “I just can’t...”

“Can’t see yourself fighting the good fight anymore?” Tukson finished with a patient smile.

She lifted her head in surprise, lips open to ask the unspoken question.

“I used to live in Vacuo,” Tukson perched himself on the tiny stool he set for himself. “I fought and killed to protect my village back when the local Huntsman academy was still setting up shop.”

“It had been easy to tell myself I was doing the right thing when I was the only thing standing between the raiders and my friends and family,” he continued as he lifted his head in pride before lowering it again with a sigh. “But…”

“…I couldn’t really do that when I fought as part of the Fang,” he spoke softly, “all I could see was that I was robbing and terrorizing humans for the hope that some good would come out of it,” he shook his head, “It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Before I was the protector, but then I became the raider, the aggressor…”

He shook his head.

“ -So I finally told them I couldn’t fight anymore. Old battle injuries if I recall,” Tukson continued, “But they couldn’t just let me quit, since I knew too much about our operations. So I became one of the handlers at Vale instead.”

He glanced over at her and then at his store and then back at her. He grinned.

“You must love books very much.”

“Yeah. I do,” Blake said quietly, curling deeper into the warm blankets, “How can you tell?”

“When I realized what I’d become and wondered what I was going to do from then on, “ he looked up at the ceiling in remembrance, “I went back to Vacuo. Not back to my village, but just stayed in the endless desert, pitching up tents, hunting small game, surviving off cacti…”

He glanced over her and smiled. 

“I suppose it’s because when you get lost it’s natural to search for someplace familiar. 

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

3. My Answer

They both sat in comfortable silence. Tukson had replaced the blanket on her with another, somewhat apologetic that he didn’t have anything for her to actually dry off with. The teacup in her hands had long been sipped empty. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, why a bookstore?” she asked, finally asking the question that she’s been wanting to ask.

Tukson chuckled.

“I guess the bookstore is my answer.”

Blake stared at him in confusion.    

“Knowledge... makes you free,” Tukson explained, “It’s harder for people to chain you down when you know that’s not the way it should be. Every time a Faunus comes in and picks up a book – even if it’s as simple as a basic language primer - I know I’ve contributed to our plight.”

He lifted his head, back a bit straighter and smile proud.

“When I see a mother pick up a fairy tale whose lessons are of tolerance and acceptance, I know I’ve made the world a little better.”

“When I see a kid whose eyes are too tired - too old - for their age coming in and asking for a recommendation, I can give them something that shows that the world still has some light in it.”

“None of these things are world-changing on their own, but I can see the good I’m doing. And if I give it a hundred, a thousand, tens of thousands of times, I know that I’ve made Remnant a better place with means I could accept. 

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

4. Message

Maybe she’d been charmed by that simple description of Tukson’s occupation because as soon as Tukson finished his passionate monologue, she immediately asked if he was hiring before realizing how absurd she sounded.

Tukson had been kind enough to bring her out of the rain and give her such available advice - not ratting her out to the White Fang was already a big enough favor - and now she was asking to be a further burden on him. But as she was stammering her apologies and thanks and goodbyes, the older man had good-naturedly accepted her request.

 “You don’t have to go. I’ve been meaning to get an assistant to run this place actually. I want to go back to Vacuo to see Ma, tell her I’m doing okay so having someone keep an eye on the shop will make things easier.”

After realizing she somehow landed the job that was simultaneously not one she expected to have and the one of her dreams, she had profusely thanked him - told him she’ll meet him bright and early tomorrow morning to report for her job. Just had to quickly find lodging and proper clothes that didn’t make it look like she was going for a fight. 

Before she could leave to do these things though, she heard her now employer speak out one more time. 

“Before you go, Blake. Just...” Tukson paused before smiling, "your friend’s an idiot with more pride than sense, but he did try to protect you in his own way. At least let him know you’re okay.”

---

That was why she’s now in this cheap studio, mulling over a message she’s read forty, probably fifty, times over. She’d been in the wrong, abandoning her partner - her mentor - behind on the message. The White Fang were a band of brothers and sisters in the end, and she effectively spat on that in her moment of pique. 

Maybe Adam didn’t want anything to do with her now. 

But Tukson was right.

She should at least let him know that she was okay. That she was sorry. What he’ll do after that, whether it be ignoring her or telling her off, would be up to him.

Nervously, her finger hovered off the send button.

She closed her eyes and pressed down. 

Adam. I’m sorry. For not being able to go on. For leaving you behind. In hindsight, I was the one being dramatic. But I just don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. I can’t continue on fighting this fight, knowing that I’m taking lives in the name of peace. So I decided not to be part of the White Fang nor become a Huntress. I’ll just find my own way.      

I know you hate humans. You showed me part of that reason, so I don’t have the right to tell you what you can’t or shouldn’t do. But I’m afraid for you, Adam. I know all this fighting and bloodshed isn’t you. This isn’t the guy who mentored an idiot kid in the way of the blade all those years ago or patiently listened (with maybe some eyerolling) when she read her stupid fantasy books at you. You’ve always looked out for me, for everyone in the White Fang. You’ve always protected us. You’re a hero, and I don’t want to see you turn the villain.

If you ever need to talk, you can reach me on this scroll. I’ll always care about you.

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

She never received an answer back. 

[redrobinhoood]

the lakes | chapter 1, something of good quality

A sequel to no choir

AO3 Link | 2,800 words (approx) | Chapter 2

A/N: Experimenting with putting chapter titles on Tumblr

This was supposed to be a oneshot. It was supposed to be an in out and done. Less than 15% of this chapter was planned. I’m in writer’s agony.

Story Summary: Fox and Riyo are at peace. But Fox's injury has yet to heal, and they find themselves redefining who they are now that their prior identities have been stripped away. [M rating]

Riyo awoke to an empty bed beside her and the sound of retching. She threw off the covers and hurried to their bathroom to find Fox bent over the toilet. She sat down beside him and pulled him into her arms when his body had stopped heaving, running her fingers through his sweaty hair as he rested his head against her breast.

“I thought they’d said one month?” She said softly.

“So did I.” He huffed. “And I waited three.”

“We can go to a medic in the morning if you want.”

“I’ll see how I feel.”

Riyo reached behind her for the closest towel and wet it with water from the bath tap before raising Fox’s head from her chest and cleaning off his lips with the wet cloth. After she had set the towel aside she leaned down to kiss him, gently brushing her lips against his before she pulled his head back to her chest. “I just want to know you’re healing.”

“Well, my stomach works.”

“Fox.” She chided.

He laughed. “But not my liver, can’t even process weak Phibian beer.”

“Who would win; one genetically engineered super solider with patented DNA and deadly accuracy, or half a glass of rye water?” She teased, grinning as she felt his chest shake underneath her touch.

“I didn’t even drink the whole bottle.”

She leaned down and pressed a kiss into his jaw, taking delight in the scratchiness of his short beard against her lips. “I won’t tell Jek and Thire.”

“No, please do.” He chuckled quietly. “They’d love to hear from you.”

Riyo took in a deep breath, trying to cement the moment in her memory. Fox’s laugh, the press of his head against her breast, the sterile bathroom lighting falling over their bare skin. “Want to go back to bed?”

“Yeah. I think my stomach is settled.” He rose slowly from her lap and waited for her to stand beside him before they made their way back into the bedroom together. Riyo gently pushed him back down into the sheets before she herself slunk down into them. She turned away from him, pressing her back against his body, giving him room to breathe. But Fox wasn’t having that tonight. She felt an arm snake around her waist before he pulled their bodies together and buried his face in her hair. She draped her arm over his and closed her eyes, listening to him breathe her in as they fell back into sleep.

---

The light coming in through their bedroom windows woke Riyo first. Finding that she had turned onto her back during the night, she slowly opened her eyes to find that her head was resting against Fox’s, whose face was still buried in her hair, though now in the crook of her shoulder. Some small movement of her waking woke Fox in turn, and he stirred beside her.

“Jate vaar’tur, cyar’ika.”

“Kaliméra, philaítatos.”

“Oh?”

“Two can play at this game, Fox.” She craned her neck down to kiss his forehead, then his nose, then his lips as he pushed closer to her. Then she was the one being kissed when Fox leaned over her. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, stroking the smooth skin beneath them. His hands were roaming over her bare torso, one thumb lazily stroking the curve of her hips as the other teased the waistband of her underwear.

He leaned further over to plant a kiss against her neck, only to flinch and draw away with a groan, reaching for the fresh scar in the center of his torso. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be sorry.” Riyo sat up to press her fingers over his, fully covering the damage that the sniper’s shot had left behind. She pried his fingers away from the scar and pressed her lips against the pink skin to leave gentle, fluttery kisses over the exit wound, then the surgical scars that his recovery had left behind. “I know sex has been painful for you with this bastard.”

Fox took her face in both hands and raised it back up from his chest. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“You did take two shots of blasterfire for me the week we met.” She closed her eyes and accepted his kiss. “And I know that you respect my opinions and will go to a medic today because you don’t want me to worry over you.” She continued when he had pulled away.

Fox laughed and brushed his lips against hers one last time before drawing away completely. “I guess the matter is settled then. Such a politician.”

“Blackmail is my specialty. Get me and a Jedi in the room and-.” She stopped, remembering there were no Jedi. Not anymore.

“I know, it’s still weird. And I was there.”

Riyo sighed and ran a hand over her scalp to push back her hair from her face. “Do you think the Emperor had anything do with it?”

Fox shook his head as he got out of bed. “I think he’s a slimy conspiring snake, and was a traitor to the Republic, but even he is just a politician, in the end. A damn good one too.”

“Has Thire found anything out?”

“No. He says the Emperor is good at covering his tracks. But I trusted him, Riyo. I really did.”

“I know.” She threw her legs over the edge of the mattress and stood up, walking around the foot of the bed to Fox and taking his hands in hers. “But that’s in the past. All that matters now is me getting you into the shower because you still smell like vomit.”

“And yet, you still kissed me.”

She took a moment to take in the man before her. The scars that stretched across his bare skin, a bruise stretching up from the waistband of his boxers from when he banged his hip against the counter two days ago, the familiar curves of his body that she had so often traced with her palms. “The logical part of my mind wasn’t awake yet. It is now.” She stepped back from him and slipped her underwear off, managing to throw it in the dirty clothes bag she had propped open against the packing crate that their bed had come in.  She didn’t look back at Fox’s reaction as she stepped into the bathroom to turn on the shower tap.

Fox joined her before the water had warmed. “You know it’s never too late in life for you to become a hover ball player.”

“That toss was for me, Fox.” She laughed. “Personal accomplishments are important.”

“After you missed with your socks last night.”

“I’d like to see you try to throw your clothes across the room!”

“Oh I’m sure you would.”

She reached out a hand into the water and found it to be satisfyingly warm. “I’ve changed my mind.” She said as she stepped in. “This is my shower now and you’re going to have to wait.”

“How ever will I recover from this devastating loss of my shower privileges? I suppose I should go for a run and come back and lie down in our bed to sleep it off.”

“Are you going to roll around in the dirt too while you’re out there? You animal. I suppose I could make an exception. Just this time mind you.”

“Just this once, I understand.” Fox stepped into the shower with her. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, head turned to block the flow of water from her face. Like this, she could feel the strong beating of his heart against her cheek. She could feel that he was alive. He reached around her for the soap, then he was running lathered hands over her body. She relaxed further into him as he rubbed slow circles in the soap on her back, wishing they could stay like this forever.

---

The smell of breakfast in the air reached Riyo even in the bathroom, where she sat perched on the countertop drying out her hair. Once, she would have immediately pushed it up into a ceremonial updo. But these days, she let it hang loose down her back. She didn’t know why she still dried it instead of patting it down with a towel and letting the warm air of Numidian Prime lift the moisture from the strands. She supposed that old habits die hard. Except for makeup. She’d had no issues with ditching her long makeup routine she’d once had as a senator. Coruscanti standards were far above par for her new home, and she didn’t feel the deep hunger to please everyone with her appearance anymore.

When she thought her hair to be sufficiently dry, she rejoined Fox in the kitchen just in time to see him setting their plates on crate that currently served as their table.

“Do you want juice?” She asked as she reached into the cabinets for two glasses.

“Water, please. I think if I drink anything with taste right now my stomach is going to turn itself inside out.” He said as he gingerly lowered himself to the floor beside the crate.

Riyo was beside him a moment later, setting the glass before him and running a hand through his half-dried hair before she took a seat on the ground opposite him. “You know, dear. I think we should buy some furniture. When the rainy season comes, we’re not going to be able to spend the whole day outside.”

“We could sit in the greenhouse.” Before Riyo could protest, Fox held up a hand. “I’m joking, Ri. There’s still holes in its roof. I agree. A couch, two chairs, and a table? Nothing fancy.”

“Nothing fancy, but something of good quality. You can enjoy the nice things in life with me, Fox. We’re not in danger of starving for a long time.” She’d been wise with her money as a senator, and now she was glad that she had put nearly all of her earnings away.

“I promise, Riyo, once I’m recovered, I’ll make a living for us.”

“We’ll make a living, Fox. We’ll do it together.”

He smiled fondly at her. “Together.”

“What are you thinking of doing?”

“Well, I fixed that speeder well enough. I figured I could do speeder repair, then from there learn how to fix other things. Get a small business going.”

“Could I go into business with you?”

“Do you want to?”

“My grandparents own a small farm on Pantora. My family were farmers for generations before my father became a senator. I grew up fixing farm equipment with my cousins.” She waited for Fox to finish his sip of water before continuing. “And for the record, I look really hot when I’m covered in grease.”

Fox coughed lightly, raising a hand to his mouth as he sat the glass of water down. “Then I suppose I’ll have to wash you off again.”

“I’d like that.” She winked at him.

They fell into silence. Having finish eating, Riyo sat sipping her glass of water and watching Fox try to stomach the small portion he had set aside for himself. His hand had fallen back from his mouth to his torso. Three months later, it still pained him. Three months later, she still had nightmares about it. Ones where Fox had died in her arms before the medics could arrive. Ones where the assassin didn’t miss. Once, one where Fox was never targeted and carried out his plan to kill the Emperor before being shot dead by a commander of the guard. Thire? Stone? Thorn? She hadn’t been able to tell. Maybe she had been the one holding the gun. She never told him about the nightmares. He must’ve known, sometimes she woke up to find herself bundled in his arms or pulled against his chest, but they’d never spoken about it. He had nightmares too. She could see it in his eyes when he woke, and in sleep she could feel his hands twitch as if around the trigger of a blaster. Sometimes she walked in on him holding the gauntlets of his phase II armor and a picture of four kama-wearing guardsmen sitting on the edge of a patrol transport as it flew over the city. She knew for a fact that one of his gauntlets had once been Stone’s, she had watched Fox repaint it to match his own armor, but she’d never had the courage to ask him who the other gauntlet came from. She didn’t have to. She already knew.

“Are you okay, Ri?”

She came back to the present to the sound of Fox’s voice. “Lost in thought. Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah. I can’t finish this.”

She nodded before standing up and making her way over to Fox, helping him to his feet. They walked to the front door together, Riyo stopping to put her shoes on while Fox took the remains of his food to the compost bin that sat against the side of the garage under the house. By the time he came back up, she had cleared the crate of her plate and their glasses.

“Are we missing anything?” She asked as he set his plate in the sink.

“Nothing we can’t live without for a few days.” The freezerbox and the cabinets were full, or full enough, to sustain them for weeks.

When Riyo stepped outside onto the porch, she took a moment to breathe in the air. Warm and wet. Alive. Everything Coruscant was not. She couldn’t compare it to Pantora either, whose chilly air and warm soils she had grown up in. For Fox, nothing in his life came close. Kamino, Geonosis, Coruscant. That was his scope of the galaxy. Dead planets with dead air. Here, the whole planet was covered in life.

“One of my batchmates would have loved it here.” Fox said as he stepped out of their home behind her. “Alien species were his specialty. He’d know the name and purpose of every lifeform on this planet in a week.”

“What happened to him?” Riyo asked as they descended down the staircase to the ground.

“He died on Kashyyyk at the end of the war.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s what we were made for. And we were never close.”

Riyo fell silent as they waited for the garage door to open. When it did, she pushed Fox to the passenger side and climbed in the driver’s seat. This was what she had wanted during their time on Coruscant; to drive around with Fox in the passenger seat like any other couple could. She waited until the door had closed once more and they were speeding through the trees before she spoke again. “Who were you close with? You never talk about your brothers.”

Fox sighed, sinking further into the seat and turning his gaze out towards the jungle. “Wolffe. And that ruled everyone else out.”

“I didn’t think he was that bad.” Riyo laughed.

“You met him for an hour. We lived with him for ten years. The only troopers who could stand him for extended periods of time were me and Thorn. We were a quite a trio. Sometimes Cody and his pet captain hung out with us, but we all knew we wouldn’t see each other much once the Jedi came for us. No sense in forming bonds like the regular troopers.”

“Was it Captain Rex?” By the look on Fox’s face, she knew it was. “I’ve met him. He came to Orto Plutonia with the Jedi.”

Fox’s look shifted into one resembling regret. “He’s dead too. He and Tano. Their Venator crashed. I know you two worked together before.”

“Yes, we did. She helped me lift the Trade Federation Blockade of Pantora. Which as you know, led to a bounty hunter being hired and ultimately, you.”

“Did you ever talk after she left the Order?”

“No, she just disappeared. I didn’t know she went back.”

“Cody was there. Cody told Bly, Bly told Wolffe, Wolffe told me.”

She grinned. “You gossipers.”

Fox laughed. “News travels fast between battalions. All we clones know is fight, gossip, and die.”

Riyo fought to keep her eyes on the road as she laughed. “Now you know fight, gossip, die, and cook breakfast. The foundations of the modern man.”

Fox went quiet for a few moments, and when he spoke again his tone was softer. “Riyo, if there’s something wrong with me and they can’t-.” He stopped, throwing his head back against the headrest as he fought to find the right words.

“There’s not.” She said firmly. “You’re fine. They just took you out of the bacta tank too early, that’s all. You’re going to be fine.”

[sadaboutniall]

something about you;

introduction | masterlist | tag | wattpad

Thirty One. December, 2020.

On Boxing Day, Niall wakes up to the sound of laughter downstairs, to the smell of cinnamon buns wafting into his room, to sunlight streaming in through a small gap in the curtains. The bed is empty but when he stretches his arm out he can still feel the warmth where Isla had slept, and when he opens his eyes he can see that the sheets are still rumpled on her side. 

As he stretches and slowly wakes up, Niall lets out a soft, contended sigh. He remembers how Boxing Day felt when he was a kid, when he’d wake up early to rush downstairs and play with the toys he’d gotten the day before, then spend hours feeling happy and sleepy, watching football and eating leftovers on the couch. That’s not quite his plan for today, but, as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and starts to find some clothes, this morning feels just as magical. 

He finds exactly the scene he’d imagined in the kitchen: his mam, Isla, and Chris, together at the table, cradling mugs of tea and giggling over some joke Niall’s missed out on. There’s a plate of cinnamon buns between them, a Boxing Day classic, and Niall wants to be invisible for a moment, to just take this scene in uninterrupted, to memorize it forever. 

He only gets a few seconds before his mother notices him. 

‘Good morning, pet,’ she says, smiling. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Grand, yeah,’ he tells her, padding the rest of the way into the kitchen. He drops a kiss on her cheek, then one on the top of Isla’s head. ‘Missed you,’ he says, soft, just for her. He catches a tiny flush of red to her cheeks, a private twitch of her lips. 

‘Cinnamon bun, mate?’ Chris passes the plate across the table, so Niall drops himself into the seat next to Isla and takes one. They’re good enough to make him moan out loud, eliciting a surprised sound from Isla, who knocks her leg against his under the table. He tosses her a smirk. 

‘So the charity match is at 11?’ Maura asks, oblivious. ‘Will we all take the same car?’

‘Reckon I’ll drive Isles and myself,’ Niall says, around a bite of cinnamon bun. ‘Was thinking we might take a bit of a walk after, near the canal maybe.’ 

From across the table, Maura catches Niall’s eye. She knows what Niall’s been planning, of course, but not the details—he hadn’t worked them out himself until this morning, until the day settled over him comfortably and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was time. But she gets him, his mam, has a brain just like his, a mother’s intuition, unmatched. She gives him a small nod, which Niall mirrors, and then brings her mug up to her lips to hide her smile. 

-- 

Niall’s team loses the annual boxing day charity match, which is fine, really, because they raised €40,000 for Mullingar General Hospital, and Niall couldn’t really think about anything other than Isla, anyway. He feels like he spent half the match watching her, bundled up on the sidelines with Emilia, Siobhan Foley, and Una Moran, cradling a cup of hot chocolate, standing up to cheer every time Niall gained possession of the ball. 

He finds her out on the pitch after the match is called, once he’s showered, changed into street clothes, bundled himself up appropriately for an Irish December. They’re here until January second this time, the longest Niall’s spent in Mullingar in a long, long time, and he feels so comfortably relaxed about it, so warm all over, tingly down to his fingers. That feeling only multiplies when he finds Isla, kicking a ball back and forth with Mia. 

‘Hey,’ Mia calls, when she spots him. ‘There’s our loser!’

‘Your husband lost too, you know,’ Niall calls back, sidling up to Isla. He wraps his arm around her waist, feels butterflies flutter in his stomach as she leans against him. ‘Where is he, anyway?’

‘Waiting in the car, said he’s too cold,’ Mia shakes her head. ‘LA’s softened him.’

‘Embarrassing,’ Niall laughs, leaning forward to give Mia a kiss on the cheek. ‘We’ll see you two tonight, yeah? At Deo’s?’

‘Assuming Sean doesn’t freeze to death, you will,’ Mia steps back, smiling now. ‘See you lot later. Enjoy your walk!’ And then she’s gone, rushing across the pitch toward the warmth of Mully’s mam’s car, idling on the side of the road. His arms still wrapped around Isla, Niall watches her go, thinks about that: the word husband. 

‘Really fucking miss her,’ says Isla, turning in Niall’s arms so he can wrap her up in a hug, press a kiss to the top of her head. ‘I hate LA.’

‘Me too,’ Niall laughs, rubbing Isla’s back gently. ‘I wish it would fall into the ocean.’

‘It might, one day, all them earthquakes and shit,’ Isla glances up at Niall. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t say that.’

Niall laughs, presses a soft kiss to Isla’s nose. ‘You’re right, I take it back.’ 

For a moment, they stand there, holding each other in the middle of the football pitch as the early afternoon settles around them. This feels like the center of the universe, like Isla is the gravitational pull that holds it all together. He tilts her chin up to kiss her, remembering their very first kiss, exactly like this, in another pitch only a few miles away.

‘You know,’ says Isla, when they pull away. Her lips are cold and her cheeks are red and Niall can see her breath, curling in the air between them, as she speaks. ‘I realized something this morning.’

‘What’s that?’ 

‘We broke up ten years ago today. Like, to the day.’

‘Fucking hell,’ Niall thinks about it for a second, shaking his head to ward off the memory. ‘You’re right. Boxing Day 2010. Fucking stupid of me.’

‘It needed to happen,’ Isla’s fingers gently run over the back of Niall’s neck, cold, giving him goosebumps. ‘It sucked, but I don’t think we’d be here now if we hadn’t.’

Niall hums, agreeing. He hasn’t spent too much time thinking about the different roads he and Isla could’ve taken, because he knows this is the right one, too. The stupid mistakes, the seemingly endless pain, the drunk dials and the sleepless nights, they were part of a road: twisted, messy, perfect, theirs. He wouldn’t want to change it. He wouldn’t be holding her here, now, if he did. 

‘I’m glad,’ Isla says eventually, softly. ‘I’m glad we broke up and did all that stupid shite when we did it. I think I always knew we’d find our way back to each other, you know? And even though we lost time, I… we have the rest of forever to make up for it.’

‘We do,’ he tells her, his throat suddenly dry, his heart leaping in his chest. ‘I love you.’

‘Love you too,’ she smiles, presses her lips to his gently, and Niall knows. 

‘Isla,’ he says, pulling back from the kiss, reaching his hand into his pocket. He closes his fingers around the small, soft box, taking a deep breath when he thinks about the ring inside. ‘I have something I want to ask you.’

And he knows, as he drops onto one knee in the muddy grass in the middle of the pitch, in the middle of Ireland, in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, in the middle of the Universe, that Isla is going to say yes. 

AN DEIREADH // THE END

####

there it is, the end of niall and isla for now! this has been such a journey and I didn’t want to sign off without saying thank you so, so much to anyone who has read even a sentence of this fic. it started off as such a small idea, and I genuinely thought most of the chapters would be between 500-1,000 words. instead, most are 1k plus, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t proud of myself for managing to pull this off. niall, isla, emilia, and mully are so close to my heart now, and they so feel like they’re going to be a part of me forever. it means the fucking world that I got to share them with other people. thank you for reading, for letting me have a space to do what I want to do, and for trusting me with them. i love you and I owe you. finally, a big ol thank you to @moonshiningsunrising, without whom this concept wouldn’t even exist. I wouldn’t have started posting my niall x ofc writing without rand’s remarkable support and kindness, and I owe this work, which is a piece of my heart, to her. thank you thank you thank you thank you everyone. niall and isla belong to you now. i’ll be back soon with more.

taglist: @stylishmuser @thicksniall @stayclose-holdsteady @niallhoranruinsme @ajayque @flickerswinehouse @1dfangirls35 @crocodileniall @halfpinthoran @awomanindeniall @booksncoffee @edgeofmyniall @kare38 @emmathefantomes @coconutdawn @irish-nlessing @niallspeachybum @perksmikey 

[caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma]

Map of the Soul, Chapter One

For the @btswritingcafe​‘s Map of the Soul: 7 Workshop

Author’s Note: This story pulled me into long range territory, so I had to split it into 7 chapters to make it more manageable on Tumblr. Here is the first installment of this journey through the soul. I hope you like it!  

Pairings: OT7 x reader (kinda); Jungkook x reader

Series Summary: If you give a piece of yourself to everyone you love, at some point, there will be nothing left for yourself. While feeling lost and alone in your adult life, a strange box falls onto your head in your own closet, and you take an unexpected walk down memory lane wondering where everything went wrong.  Was it the romances that fizzled out, the friends & loved ones you left behind, the “what could’ve been” moments, the brush with Fate that never quite connected? Could the strange map you find have the answers you are looking for?  Determined to feel complete once again, you embark on a journey to reclaim the missing pieces of your soul.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Word Count: 8K+

Warnings: NSFW 18+ cursing/profanity, alcohol consumption, sexual tension,  one night stand, sexual content, protected sex, oral sex (female receiving)

Chapter One: There’s Always Time for Euphoria

March 15th - 5:45pm

Done.

That was the singular thought pulsating in your brain as you parked the car. The day was only halfway over and you were way past the breaking point of your own sanity.

From the moment you’d stepped out of bed and into your urine soaked house slippers, you should’ve known that the day was going to be beyond disastrous. Even as you washed them in the tub and left them hanging to dry, you just knew the rest of the day would be a downhill slide.

You didn’t know why your dog Oberyn was upset, but apparently, it was enough to prompt his indiscretion on your only pair of house slippers. He’d even had the audacity to sit in his bed and glare at you while you hurled your anger and frustration at him as you got dressed for your day.

I don’t know what crawled up his butt this morning, but I hope he’s in a better mood. I’m in no condition to deal with his bullshit right now.

After almost tripping up the stairs to your apartment entrance and dropping your keys into the bushes on the way up, you finally made it across the threshold. You quickly changed out your work shoes for sneakers and got Oberyn ready for his walk. Fifteen minutes later, you were cleaning the bottom of your shoe after a happy little accident found your foot at the dog park. Oberyn seemed to smirk at your misfortune, but you couldn’t even muster the energy to care.

Once you both returned to the apartment, you put his harness and leash away and reached over to grab his after-walk treats. You noticed one was already out on top of the container and the morning’s havoc immediately made sense. Oberyn wagged his tail and waited patiently for his treats and a well deserved apology.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” you sighed, handing him both treats. “I didn’t realize I’d forgotten to give this to you.”

He accepted your apology and head pats, then happily grabbed both snacks and ran to eat them on his bed. You shook your head and smiled at the easily appeased creature.

If only everything worked like that. You get something you were missing and it suddenly solves all your problems. The Universe finally makes sense again. What a life!

You quickly changed into comfy clothes and collapsed unceremoniously onto the couch. The random assortment of unfortunate events of the day replayed like a blooper reel in your mind and you groaned at the stacks of embarrassment and humiliation you’d endured.

You’d locked yourself out of your office and the university maintenance guy took forever to unlock it for you, which made you late to your first class. You had to dismiss the class and reschedule the quiz since all the copies were sitting on your desk in your locked office.

You’d torn your favorite black slacks and had to patch them with bright green thread from your emergency sewing kit.

You’d sustained several injuries including three paper cuts, a stubbed toe, your knee knocking the underside of a table, and a staple stabbing underneath your fingernail.

You’d spilled coffee down the front of your blouse when a fly unexpectedly dove into your face.

You’d even lost one of your favorite earrings while taking off your scarf outside the Humanities building. It was now lost among the clumps of mud by the front door.

Why does the Universe hate me so much today?

RIIIIINNGGG!!

You swiveled your head over to your cell phone screeching at you from the side table. The comical picture of your mother flashing on the screen drew a groan of exasperation from your throat.

I can’t deal with her right now.

The phone ceased its machinations and you turned into the couch seeking an escape from the tragedies of the day.

RIIIIINNGGG!!

“Argh!” You wailed. “What could she possibly need from me right now?!”

After taking a deep breath, you picked up the offending device and swiped the screen to answer the call.

“Hello, mother,” you grumbled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she sighed. “Don’t talk to your mother like that. It’s undignified.”

“I apologize,” you corrected with fake cheerfulness. “Hi, Mommy! I missed the sound of your voice. How was your day?”

“We really need to work on your phone etiquette, honey,” your mother groaned. “You’ll never meet anyone with that attitude.”

“Yes, mother,” you replied snarkily. “My goal in life is to trap someone in my love nest with only my wit and wisdom as weapons.”

“Anyway,” she drawled. “The reason I’m calling is because I’m looking for something. Do you remember that stole you wore for your college graduation? The one your grandmother made?”

“Yeah, I remember,” you responded. “It has all the graduate names from our family embroidered on it. It’s in my memory box in the closet. Why?”

“Your cousin Sana is graduating from college in about a week,” she announced happily. “I need that stole so we can get it embroidered before the graduation ceremony. Can you overnight it to me, darling?”

You leaned back on the couch and released a sigh of defeat.

Of course other people are doing great things in their life. I’m the only dumbass stuck in a rut right now.

“I’ll dig it out of the closet and send it to you tomorrow,” you replied. “Let me know when and where the graduation will be so I can make plans to head down.”

“Splendid,” your mom chirped. “I’m sure everyone will be happy to see you. Get some rest, honey. You sound tired. Love you!”

Without giving you a chance to respond, your mom ended the call. You looked at the screen and rolled your eyes.

She gets what she needs and then she’s gone. Typical.

Knowing you would probably forget to do it later, you wandered over to your spare closet, grabbing the stepladder along the way.

Might as well get this over with.

You climbed up on the ladder and pulled on the chain for the light above your head. You couldn’t stifle the groan from escaping when you spied the piles of plastic containers and boxes on the upper shelf.

Why is my life such a hot mess?

You started pulling down boxes one by one to avoid an accidental avalanche. The collection of dust and crumpled cardboard left you sneezing and gagging on stuffy air and a faint smell of mothballs.

After clearing your throat and taking a sip of water, you looked up and spotted the box you’d been looking for.

Just one more box to move.

The box in question had shifted slightly and was wedged against the ceiling at an odd angle. Try as you might, you couldn’t get it to budge. With a huff of annoyance, you balanced yourself on the top of the stepladder and pushed up to get closer to the box. You heaved your palms against the side of the box and it gave away before you could regain your balance. You crashed into an uncomfortable heap on the floor and whined loudly as you felt the painful throb on your ankle.

After a quick assessment, you discover no other injuries except for a slightly swollen ankle and a sizable knot on the top of your head.

What the hell hit my head?

You glanced around and saw three different boxes scattered around you. One was the memory box you’d been trying to get, one was the previously wedged prisoner box, and the other was completely foreign. You stood up and walked over to lift it from among the clatter on the floor.

This isn’t mine. Is it?

You brushed off the subtle cobwebs and dust and revealed a collection of stickers and decals that were strikingly familiar. Most depicted the many fandoms you followed, but others appeared to be nothing more than artfully scribbled words in elegant script.

Time. Destiny. Passion. Happiness. Faith. Friendship. Love.

You turned the box over in your hands and furrowed your brows quizzically. You didn’t remember ever seeing the box before and it certainly wasn’t there when you originally packed the closet full of your crap.

A loud text message tone pulled you out of your reverie and you abandoned the box on the counter in search of your phone.

Ah yes, we have to keep the tradition going.

Your grandmother and her sentimentality were time consuming, but also adorable. She wanted to stress the importance of education in the family, but also find a way to keep everyone connected from generation to generation. It was her insistence that solidified this current graduation tradition.

You opened the memory box and lifted the neatly folded stole in its plastic bag and the small scrapbook decorated with graduation memorabilia. You took a moment to reminisce about your prior accomplishments and then placed the items on the counter. After cleaning up the mess on the floor and carefully returning everything to the closet, you limped over to the kitchen and poured yourself another glass of water.

On your third gulp, your eyes landed on the mysterious box again. It was no bigger than a shoe box, but was definitely sturdier. Curiosity got the better of you and you inspected it a little more closely.

There was a tarnished metal knob that needed to be turned in order to lift the lid. The glossy surface appeared to be varnished or glazed so that the stickers and words would remain fixed. There was no lock, so you decided to open it.

You didn’t know what to expect when you opened the lid, but it certainly wasn’t what you found.

Laying on top of a folded piece of paper were seven items: a rubber banana keychain, a cute little hamburger toy, a metallic purple kazoo, a gold sequined bow tie on an elastic band, a red beanie dragon plush, a spoon with a floral design, and a thin metal disc with an assortment of holes. You tentatively inspected each item and placed it on the counter.

What the hell is all this?

You lifted the folded paper out of the box and looked underneath. All that was left at the bottom of the box was a quote etched into the surface.

My life and yours are an equal sign, So my remedy is your remedy.

You read the phrase over a few times and couldn’t make sense of it. It seemed familiar, but you couldn’t place it. You turned the folded paper over in your hands a few times and then unfolded it. It’s a fairly large sheet and it resembled parchment. At first glance, the image on the paper looked like an intricate abstract drawing. There were large lines of ink brushed across in elaborate swirls resembling a disjointed heart.

The swirling lines were connected by smudges of charcoal across from blocks of text in colorful ink. There were seven smudges with lines of text to the left of each smudge. You couldn’t make sense of it, but there did seem to be some type of pattern implied. The lines flowed from left to right increasing in width and each successive line grew wider as it progressed to the other side of the page.

You studied the lightest portion of the drawing and read the lines of text next to this first smudge.

Were you wandering around Looking for an erased dream too? It’s different from the typical definition of destiny. Your pained eyes are looking at the same place as me. Won't you please stay in dreams?

The words were certainly poetic, but you didn’t understand their significance. You glanced at the other phrases and they seemed just as cryptic.

What the hell am I looking at? Why would something like this be in my closet?

You were too exhausted to think too much on it, so you shrugged your shoulders and folded the paper and placed it back in the box. You left everything else on the counter and decided that it was time for a shower and then bedtime. As you lay in bed, you exhaled heavily and focused on the hope that tomorrow would be better than today.

March 17th - St. Patrick’s Day - 4:27pm

Oh no...please don’t let her find me in here.

“Ok, no arguments,” Gina chirped in excitement as she pranced through your office door. “It’s time for green beer and dancing!”

Damn, she’s quick!

You lowered your head to your desk and groaned out slightly and silently scolded yourself for not leaving the office earlier to avoid her completely. It was much easier to avoid Gina if you were already out of the office, but once she had you cornered, it was almost impossible to tell her no. She was your favorite faculty member and the only person at work that you would consider hanging out with outside of the university.

Gina had been trying to get you to go out for months, and after a long week of midterm exams, you couldn’t find the energy to counter her offer. Besides, you were now, technically, on Spring Break.

“Come on, girl,” she pleaded. “You know I’m leaving for Acapulco the day after tomorrow with my sisters. If I can get you out of your stuffy apartment and into an Irish bar for a little St. Patty’s Day fun, then I can truly enjoy my vacation. You know how I worry about my work-bestie when I’m not around.”

She pouted at you and batted her long eyelashes, and you almost cackled at her adorable puppy dog look. You half expected her to start whining at you like Oberyn would when he wanted something. Maybe that image in your head that weakened your resolve against her proposal for a St. Patrick’s Day outing.

“Fine,” you acquiesced. “Where are we going, Gina?”

She squealed in excitement and twirled around with glee. You tried to resist the growing enthusiasm, but you quickly gave in with a sigh and a smile.

“Fine. Let me finish up here and we can go to my apartment,” you suggested. “I guess I’ll need you to help me pick out an outfit for tonight.”

Gina nodded happily and ran upstairs to collect her things. Once you finished packing everything away, she was hopping around in anticipation at your office door. Her bunny antics made you giggle.

Such funny friends I have.

March 17th - St. Patrick’s Day - 10:37pm

After a quick dinner of sushi, you were pushing your way through the crowded Irish bar back to the booth where Gina was entertaining her latest acquisition. The guy was certainly handsome, but he only had eyes for Gina. You had another set of drinks for the two of you, but upon discovering the entwined couple making out in the booth, you decided to retreat to give them some privacy.

Typical. She invites me out and then she ditches me for a pretty face.

You wandered back toward the bar and gazed at the writhing mass of bodies under the flashing lights on the dance floor. Desperate to lose yourself in the moment, you downed the two drinks and relished the flavor of Guiness and Bailey’s on your tongue.  If Gina was going to have fun, then so were you. You motioned the bartender over and ordered a Jameson & Ginger Ale.

“A whiskey girl, huh?” exclaimed a sultry voice behind you. “Much better than those Appletini chicks.”

Ah, yes, the pick up line. At least his voice is sexy. Let’s hope the rest of him matches.

You couldn’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed, so you decided to let his face make the decision for you. You turned around prepared to give him your best smirk, but lost your nerve once you saw who it was.

“Jungkook?” you replied in squeak. “What are you doing here?!”

Pure amusement filled his doe eyes and he huffed out a laugh. You were floored that your secret hopes of your mystery man being handsome were completely dashed. In fact, he didn’t just have a sexy voice, he was also drop dead gorgeous. You hadn’t seen Jeon Jungkook in almost 7 years, and he hadn’t aged a day. Back when you were both still working on your undergraduate degrees, you’d been his writing tutor on campus, spending countless hours pouring over research papers and essays that needed serious revision and editing.

So many late nights spent at each other’s apartments, so many long hours in the private study rooms, so many casual touches, missed opportunities, awkward moments, and those long nights alone in your bed where you wished his strong arms were holding you. There was no denying the sexual tension you’d felt back then, and there was certainly no denying it now.

Now, here he was leaning on the bar in his billowy shirt and dark ripped jeans looking like some kind of Greek god holding a glass of bourbon.  You quickly cleared the inebriation out of your brain and tried to appear sober and sane while you smoothed out your ruffled hair.

“So,” Jungkook smirked while pulling you closer. “I’m guessing you weren’t expecting to see me here, huh?”

“Ummm, no,” you admitted sheepishly. “I didn’t even know you were back in town. I haven’t seen you in years. What are you doing here?”

“I just took a job here,” Jungkook stated simply. “Just hanging out with my new coworkers for the night. I saw you and thought I’d say hi, but I wasn’t expecting you to look so enticing though. You’re not here with your boyfriend or husband, are you?”

“Is that your subtle way of asking if I’m still single?” you popped your eyebrow at him. “And enticing, really? Still trying to pick me up, Kookie?”

He smiled a bright bunny grin at his old nickname. You were the only one who would ever call him that and he would never admit just how much he loved it.

“Oh, did you want me to try?,” he continued while reaching up to run his hands up and down your arms. “Hmmmm, where should I begin, babygirl?”

He pulled his lip between his lips and shot you a smoldering look while flipping his hair slightly. You tried to look disinterested, but you lost your composure when he reached up to push a lock up hair behind your ear. Your breath caught in your throat as he moved in between your legs.  

“I mean it, you know?” Jungkook insisted while locking eyes with you. “You still look incredible.”

The bartender returned with your drink at that moment. Thankful for a little distraction, you lifted the glass of liquid courage to your lips. You swallowed a large gulp of swirling heady sweetness and smiled at Jungkook. He was watching you with stars in his eyes and you were enjoying every minute of it.

“So what are you doing these days, Kookie?” you asked, trying to shift his gaze elsewhere. “Are you still playing with your camera and crayons?”

Jungkook laughed and rolled his eyes at your insinuation. As an art major, Jungkook dabbled in several mediums including painting, sculpture, photography, graphic design, and drawing. The boy was insanely talented, so you were actually curious about where he’d ended up career-wise.

“I just took a job at an advertising agency,” he replied with a cocked eyebrow. “And no, I’m not playing with crayons, smartass. I’m their new Assistant Art Director, so I’m mostly working on graphic designs and managing their photography department.”

“Look at you,” you grinned. “Little Kookie all grown up and making big bucks as an actual adult.”

“I was always an adult,” he corrected. “Someone just always chose to treat me like a little kid.”

“Not always,” you shot back. “It’s not my fault you had a tendency to act like an idiot teenager sometimes.”

“Fair point,” he conceded. “But we all have to grow up sometimes, right? Except you, I guess. Looking at you, I could never guess that so much time has passed since I last saw you. You honestly look amazing.”

He leaned in and ran his nose along your neck up to your ear, inhaling deeply as he grazed your skin. He hummed happily as the intoxicating scent of your perfume hit his nostrils.

“You smell amazing too,” he sighed against your ear. “I bet you haven’t thought about me once since I last saw you.”

“Well, that’s a lie,” you smirked. “I’ve thought about you quite a lot actually. You, sir, are one of my big regrets from college.”

“Oh yeah?” Jungkook chuckled lightly while nipping at your earlobe. “Why is that, babygirl?”

You nearly purred at his touch and you hissed lightly when you felt Jungkook’s lips attached themselves to your neck.

“Oh, you’re such a fucking tease, Kookie.” you whined. “How am I supposed to think clearly when you’re doing that?”

“What?” he mused. “I’m not doing anything you don’t want me to, am I?”

You pushed on his chest slightly and he pulled away just enough to rub his nose along your own. You felt his breath ghost across your face and you allowed the smell of bourbon to mix in with his fresh scent.

“Kookie,” you sighed. “How much have you had to drink?”

He wrinkled his brow in confusion and stepped back to look at your face, searching for some explanation for your implied accusation. You weren’t trying to sound like you were chastising him for drinking, but you couldn’t shake the insecurity itching under your skin. It was entirely possible that Jungkook was just feeling a little tipsy from the evening and his familiarity with you was the cause of his brazen behavior. It wouldn’t be the first time, but you weren’t about to let a longtime crush be ruined because of a questionable drunken daze. Jungkook picked up on your train of thought and placed his drink on the bar.  

“I hope you’re not insinuating that I’m only hitting on you because I’ve been drinking,” he scowled. “You should know better than that. I’ve been hitting on you since before I was able to buy my own alcohol, remember?”

“Yeah,” you giggled. “I remember having to sneak you into a few clubs back in the day.”

“Exactly,” he bragged. “So don’t try to make it sound like I’m just some random drunken idiot trying to get into your pants. I’m the same Jungkook who would look down your shirt or pull you into his lap in the hopes of making out with you. I mean, I’m still trying to get into your pants, but at least it’s not something new.”

“Still, huh?” you prompted after downing the rest of your drink. “Well, it’s going to take more than a little flirting to get into my pants, Kookie. You want to dance? I want to see if you still got those sexy moves, Kookie.”

He giggled and then finished his own drink with haste. He grabbed your hand to help you off the barstool and you pulled him toward the chaotic dance floor.

You shook off your previous nerves and worked your way into the pulsating mass of dancers. The music was thumping out a steady bass line and you swayed your hips back and forth to the beat. You weren’t sure if Jungkook noticed your attempt at seduction, but within moments, a pair of strong hands attached themselves to your gyrating hips. Given your vaguely inebriated state, you had no problem relinquishing a little control to your sexy suitor.

You encouraged Jungkook’s boldness by pushing your ass back into his crotch, grinding onto his growing erection. He leaned into your body and pulled you closer.  His lips ghosted a kiss on your exposed shoulder and then nipped at your neck playfully. The pleased sigh that left your lips prompted a dark chuckle from him.

“So naughty,” he murmured into your ear. “If you keep on grinding onto my dick like that, I’ll have to take action, babygirl.”

You leaned your head back onto his shoulder and reached up to grip his wavy hair. He groaned softly as you tugged on the roots and his hips thrusted against your ass. You quickly calculated how long it had been since you’d had sex and decided that it was time to update your calendar.

“Oh yeah?” you taunted. “I’ll accept that challenge.”

You turned in his grasp and locked onto his lips with your own. He hesitated for a moment, but pushed back with his own lips in seconds. They were unbelievably soft and his fervent kisses ignited an inferno in your center. You decided to take it a bit further and you swiped your tongue across the seam of his lips. He moaned slightly in response and dove into your mouth with his own tongue. Once you bit down on his bottom lip, you both decided it was time to move to a more secure location.

He turned away from the crowd and pulled you behind him toward the bar. You both quickly closed out your tabs and made your way to the exit. Once you were both outside, you pounced on him and pushed him into the brick exterior, unable to contain your lust any longer. Jungkook appeared flustered by your eagerness and took a moment to gather his bearings.

“As much I would love to lose myself in this moment,” Jungkook huffed while pulling away from your hungry lips. “Maybe we should decide on a place with softer surfaces.”

You glanced at the vacant alleyway next to you and the brightly lit city street and frowned.

“Sorry,” you apologized. “Kinda forgot where I was for a second there.”

“Really?” Jungkook grinned and kissed your forehead. “You could’ve fooled me.”

“Let me call an Uber,” you volunteered. “My place isn’t too far from here.”

Once you were both in the Uber, you couldn’t stop touching and smiling at each other. The driver commented on the “happy couple,” and you didn’t have to heart to correct the old man.

Once you were both inside your apartment, Jungkook pushed you against your front door and started nipping lazily along your jaw.

Jungkook stroked his thumbs along your sides and leaned in to kiss your flushed cheeks. You sighed happily in response and ran your hands up his firm chest and rested them on his shoulders.

“Jungkook,” you began. “I didn’t think I’d ever run into you again. I haven’t seen you since my undergraduate graduation party.”

“I tried to see more of you that night,” Jungkook admitted while stroking your hair. “But someone disappeared in the middle of the party with their friend, Jimin.”

You flushed further at his words, remembering that night a little more clearly now that he’d brought it up. You and your former friend with benefits had indeed disappeared that night to have a little undergraduate graduation celebration of your own. By the time the two of you rejoined the party, Jungkook was long gone.

“Sorry about that,” you muttered. “I honestly didn’t think you’d be interested. You always had so many girls pining for you, I never thought you’d give me a second glance.”

“Are you kidding?” Jungkook scoffed. “I’ve wanted you since our first tutoring session. I could barely concentrate with you wearing that tank top and those little shorts. What kind of tutor shows up wearing something like that?”

“It was summer,” you countered. “It was over 100 degrees. What was I supposed to wear? A parka?”

You both giggled at that, and it broke the tension that was building since you recognized him. Feeling encouraged, you started lightly scratching his shoulders and chest, noting the stiff pebbles you grazed down the front of his shirt.

“So what now?” you asked. “Do we just keep reminiscing about old times until the sun comes up?”

You gently popped the top button from his shirt to reveal more of his deliciously tanned skin. Jungkook bit his lip and lifted an eyebrow suggestively.

“I think we’ve talked enough,” he grinned wickedly. “There are better ways to spend our time.”

Your eyes locked and you could almost feel the searing arousal growing between you. You gently pushed him away from you and then started walking toward your bedroom, tossing your shoes aside along the way. At the edge of the living room, you lifted your dress over your head and tossed it on the couch. Jungkook smirked and continued to unbutton his shirt while walking toward you. His taut muscles caused your thighs to clench in anticipation.

“Are you enjoying the view, baby?” Jungkook purred while looking you up and down. “I know I am.”

He unbuckled his belt and tugged at the buttons on his jeans. You stepped forward to help him, but got too caught up in touching his bare skin to be of any use. You pulled Jungkook’s lips to your own just as he leaned forward to pull his pants down. He was caught off balance, but quickly recovered after using his feet to pull the troublesome fabric from his legs.

After flinging his shirt behind him, you were both left in your underwear and no inch of exposed skin was left unexplored. Your dominant personalities were at war as you made your way down the hallway, and the aggression became tangible, especially after you practically slammed his back into the wall by your bedroom door. Jungkook squealed happily when you started climbing onto his chest and he reached down and pulled your legs up and around his waist.

Even though his hands were already busy holding you up, he still managed to slip a few fingers in between your legs from behind. The soaked fabric of your underwear pulled a sultry groan from his kiss bitten lips.

“Holy shit, baby,” he said in a breathy tone. “You’re so fucking wet already.”

You moaned softly into his ear as he trailed your arousal back and forth across your slit. He walked across the threshold of your bedroom door and sat down on the bed. You quickly pushed him on his back, but he sat back up and tried to still your frantic hands.

“Baby, baby,” he implored. “You can slow down a bit. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But,” you pouted. “You have no idea how many times I fantasized about this. I’m just excited that it’s actually happening.”

He reached up with one hand and unsnapped your bra with unbelievable precision. He smirked at your awed expression, tossed your bra to the floor, and then leaned up to kiss you sweetly.

“I feel the same way,” he confessed. “I just want to take my time with this. There’s no rush.”

Jungkook continued kissing along your jawline and proceeded to your neck. He pulled on your nipples slightly and then slipped his fingers around your waist to toy with the band of your underwear. You took a deep breath and smiled. Maybe you were a little eager, but it wasn’t often that a legit snack was delivered unto you by the Universe. The restraint was a real struggle.

Jungkook nipped at a sweet spot just below your ear and you hissed and clutched desperately at his back in response.

“Kookie,” you whined. “Don’t tease me.”

“Oh yeah?” he chuckled darkly. “I’d say you deserve a little payback for all the times you teased me, don’t you think?”

“What?” you scoffed. “When?”

Jungkook turned and tossed you onto the bed. He reached up and pulled your hands above your head and held them in place with one hand.

“Every time I saw you,” he reiterated while kissing down your chest. “Your flirty smiles, your sexy winks, your playful jokes, you sat in my lap on more than one occasion when we cuddled on the couch.”

“You never reacted to any of that,” you breathed out in a gasp. “I just assumed you wanted to be friends.”

“I didn’t want to assume anything either,” he admitted. “But I definitely wanted to be more than just friends.”

He leaned in and pulled you into another intoxicating kiss, and you leaned forward to slip your tongue into his mouth, needing to satiate your overwhelming lust. He pushed his own tongue against yours and then pulled away from your lips completely.

He smirked at your needy whine and trailed his free hand across your cheeks then down onto your breast. He leaned in to capture one nipple with his lips and stimulate the other with his fingers. You writhed in desperation, but he only hummed in response.

“Something wrong, babygirl?” He mused. “You seem a little agitated.”

“Gee,” you huffed. “I wonder why.”

Pure amusement played across Jungkook’s beautiful face as he released one nipple from his mouth with a loud popping sound. He licked the valley between your breasts and shifted his body between your legs. You could feel his thick clothed erection brushing across the top of your thighs. He leaned up to kiss your lips and lingered for a moment before releasing your hands.

“Keep your hands where they are, babygirl,” he instructed. “Don’t move them until I tell you to, ok?”

“What happens if I move them?” you challenged. “Will I get in trouble, Kookie?”

“Oh yeah,” he glared. “Big trouble.”

To send his comment further into your mind, Jungkook rubbed his girthy length gently across your clit and grinned wickedly as you moaned wantonly in response. He placed another kiss on your lips and began crawling down your torso. You released a flustered exhale and wiggled your hips beneath him in anticipation.

His hands continued to explore as he kissed a trail down your body. Jungkook paused and adjusted his position when he reached your dripping center. He nuzzled his nose into the thin fabric of your panties and gave the wet spot he found a lick.

Your hips tried to snap forward with the sensation, but Jungkook held you firmly in place. He slid your underwear down your legs and flung them on the floor with the other discarded articles of clothing. He then situated himself firmly between your legs and slid his strong arms under your thighs.

Intent on prolonging his sensual torture, Jungkook ran his tongue delicately along your juicy folds and the blew a cool stream of air onto your exposed nub. The sensation triggered a shiver to erupt across your skin, and you latched onto the pillow above you to anchor your hands in place. Before you could unleash another whine of displeasure, Jungkook dipped the tip of his tongue into your dripping center and swirled it to collect your juices. He released a satisfied hum when he swallowed and got his first real taste of you

“Oh, fuck me,” Jungkook groaned into your upper thigh. “Your pussy is delicious, baby. I may be down here for a while. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Ah,” you squeaked as he licked another stripe through your folds. “Go right ahead, Kookie. I won’t stop you.”

Jungkook nearly growled as he dove into your sopping wet slit, slurping up every drop of slick he could find. You moaned and twitched uncontrollably and he sent you into a tempest of pure pleasure. Every flick of his tongue, every bit of suction against your clit, and every grasp of Jungkook’s hands on your skin jolted your nerve endings into a full blown orgasm careening from your center and spreading all the way across your extremities. He was certainly taking his sweet time and enjoying every minute of it.

Once the climax shifted into overstimulation, you reached down and pulled on Jungkook’s hair and begged him to stop. The little bunny grin he flashed you was completely at odds with the sinful actions of his fingers in between your legs. He planted one last lingering kiss on your throbbing bundle of nerves and crawled off the bed.

You were about to protest his absence from the bed, but then he left you slack jawed when he pulled his boxer briefs off and kicked them aside. The sight of his quivering length made your mouth water, even more so when he gave it a few purposeful strokes. The swollen pink tip was already weeping with precum and you licked your lips, wondering about the taste.

“Ah, you can’t do that to me,” Jungkook blushed. “You’re looking at me like you want to eat me up.”

“Maybe I do,” you teased. “Can you blame me when you’re looking so damn tasty?”

Jungkook chuckled wickedly as he mounted the bed again and hovered over your tantalizing naked figure. He licked his lips, still tasting your essence on his tongue, and raked his eyes up and down your body.

“Are you ready for me, babygirl?” he mused. “Do you think you can take all of me?”

Glancing down at his sizable girth, you popped an eyebrow and tilted your head pensively. You reached over to your side table and opened a drawer to pull out a condom, handing it to Jungkook with a smile.

That’s a damn good question. Can I?

“I guess it’s time to find out,” you teased. “How long are you going to keep me waiting, Kookie?”

That was all the encouragement Jungkook needed to act upon his voracious hunger. He quickly rolled the condom onto his dick and leaned forward to give you a passionate kiss. He released your swollen lips and you gasped as you felt him rubbing his tip along your damp slit.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” Jungkook murmured. “Just know that you’re in for a long night, baby. I’m not going to stop until we’ve made up for all that time we lost.”

With that being said, Jungkook plunged his throbbing cock into you and released a ravenous groan above you. You both remained still for a few moments and you squirmed in his hold hoping to increase the friction you craved. After the tension in Jungkook’s shoulders subsided, his hips burrowed deeper and deeper into your soaking heat. He relished the deluge of your juices dampening his thighs, the melodic moans of his name you uttered over and over again, and most of all, the profound elation of finally reaching the state of euphoria he’d been dreaming about since you were both in college.

The night raged on with your ardent love-making, and after hours of unbridled bliss, you were sprawled across Jungkook’s chest, buzzing with contentment. Both of your glistening chests heaved from exertion, but the fucked out looks on your faces didn’t reveal any hints of exhaustion.

“That was unbelievable, Kookie,” you panted. “Why didn’t we do that sooner?”

“Because we were both idiots?” Jungkook suggested. “Whatever it was, I’m glad we finally found the time to do it.”

He kissed the top of your head and smacked your ass playfully. You hissed at the contact and pursed your lips at him in a pout. He giggled at your cuteness and wrapped his arms around you.

“What was that for?” you whined. “You’re so mean, Kookie.”

“Hey,” he protested hotly. “I told you to keep your hands in place earlier, but you just had to pull on my hair. I owed you at least one good spank.”

“I think you spanked me enough tonight,” you replied cheekily. “Among other things.”

You both smiled at each other as you replayed the events of the evening in your minds. You leaned over to pull him into another lingering kiss. He chuckled and stopped you from deepening the kiss.

“We should probably clean up,” he argued. “We are a hot steaming mess right now.”

“Speak for yourself,” you shot back. “I’m not a mess.”

He lifted his eyebrows and then reached between your legs to drag his fingers across the stickiness clinging to your legs. You mewled in protest and shot him a dirty look for calling you out.

“Ok, fine,” you agreed. “I’m a mess, but so are you. How about a shower before I change the sheets?”

He nodded in agreement and helped you off the bed and into the bathroom. Your legs were still a little wobbly after so much physical activity.

It’s been a while since I put my thighs to good use.

The intimacy carried on in the shower, but neither of you had enough energy to initiate another round of passion. The most you were able to do was kiss each other lazily after helping each other clean up. After the shower, Jungkook was an absolute gentleman and helped you change your sheets.

“You don’t have to leave, you know,” you suggested. “You could just stay. It’s after 5am anyway.”

“I know,” he replied coolly while buttoning his shirt. “But I’m not really in the habit of staying the night.”

“Oh, really?” you teased while popping an eyebrow. “Then can I get you a drink before you leave?”

Jungkook smiled at your hospitality and nodded in response. You were quick to get him a glass of cold water and set it on the counter. A now fully dressed Jungkook walked over and pulled you into another kiss before grabbing the glass and taking a drink. You nuzzled against his chest and sighed. Jungkook set the glass aside, wrapped his arms around you, and kissed the top of your head sweetly.

“Hey,” he exclaimed suddenly. “Where did you find that?”

He reached over and picked up the banana keychain still sitting on your counter. You totally forgot about the small collection of random objects you found in the closet, but now that Jungkook was examining the keychain, your thoughts revisited the mysterious items once again.

“It was in a box I found in my closet,” you confirmed. “Why? Do you recognize that keychain?”

“Of course I do,” Jungkook murmured. “It’s mine, and it isn’t just a keychain, it’s a USB drive.”

He pulled the banana apart at the center and it revealed a USB connector bearing the lettering 512GB. Your jaw dropped at the sudden revelation.

“What the-” you queried. “Why would I have it?”

“Maybe I left it at your place or something?” Jungkook said. “But the point is, I looked everywhere for this thing. I have so many layouts and artwork on here, and this will be incredibly useful at my new job. You are literally saving me weeks of work with this thing.”

“You’re asking me to just give you this flash drive that I found in my apartment mixed in with my stuff?” you reasoned. “How do I know this is actually yours?”

“Because I recognized it,” Jungkook argued. “And I also knew what it was. You obviously didn’t.”

“Hmmmm,” you mused. “I don’t know. What’ll you give me in return?”

Jungkook patted himself down and reached into his pants pocket to pull out a green shamrock on a beaded necklace with the word “Lucky” emblazoned across the front. The look on his face gave off the impression that he was confused, but then it transformed into amusement. He grinned and flipped a switch on the button, causing it to erupt into a barrage of green LED lights.

“I will give you this limited edition, LED powered four leaf clover necklace,” Jungkook proposed. “It’s the perfect good luck charm, and so much better than a horseshoe or a rabbit’s foot. What do you say?”

You eyed the glowing button and burst into a giggle fit. Jungkook was presenting it to you as though it were some kind of grand prize on a game show.

“Where did you even get that?” you asked. “Do you just hide random holiday necklaces in your pants?”

“No,” Jungkook chuckled. “They gave it to me at the bar. I almost left it on the table, but I couldn’t put it down. When I saw you by the bartender, I guess I just put it in my pocket. It’s weird, I usually don’t keep stuff like this. But it’s yours, if you want it.”

“Well,” you grinned. “With a sales pitch like that, how can I resist?”

He joyfully handed you the flashy plastic bauble and pressed another delightful kiss on your lips. You set the shamrock necklace aside on the counter and wrapped your arms around Jungkook’s neck to continue pressing sweet kisses on his soft pink lips. Before things got too heated again, Jungkook pulled away and kissed your forehead. He exhaled a deep breath as you buried your face into his firm chest.

The night had been phenomenal and this thing between you and Jungkook was heating up so well. Maybe there was a possibility for more than just a one night stand? It was a risky proposal to bring up, but your history with Jungkook gave you a sliver of hope.

“So when do I get to see you again, Kookie?” you breathed out while looking up at him. “Now that you’re in town again, maybe we can see each other more often?”

“Uh, well,” Jungkook sighed nervously. “I’m not sure. I just started the job and I’m going to be pretty busy, so I’ll have to let you know.”

“Oh,” you replied while gently releasing your hold on him. “That’s fine, whatever.”

“Hey,” he began while pulling you back into his embrace. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I had an amazing time with you tonight, but I’m not sure I can give anything more than something casual. I wish I could give you more than that, but I’m not really in a good place for anything serious right now.”

You pouted slightly and nodded your head in understanding. Having been in that exact same head space before, you could understand his apprehension. There were easily five years between you and Jungkook, so it was natural that you would be at different places in your life. It would be unfair to expect more of him if he wasn’t ready for it yet.

“I understand,” you murmured knowingly. “I don’t want you to feel obligated or anything like that.”

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you more than that,” he admitted. “Believe me. If ever I’m ready for something long-term, I’m going to be looking for you.”

“If I’m still available,” you mocked him playfully. “You never know. Some other gorgeous man might snap me up before then.”

“Well,” he growled while sinking his hand into your hair. “If that’s the case, then he better be ten times better than me and willing to give you the world on a silver platter. You shouldn’t settle for anything less, babygirl. You deserve to be treated like the goddess you are.”

You rolled your eyes at him and pursed your lips. He shot you an adorable bunny smile and eagerly kissed your lips once again. He took a moment to brush his thumbs across the apples of your cheeks and then shook his head with a goofy smile.

“Ah, I better go,” he announced in a huff. “If I spend any more time here, I’ll never leave.”

“That isn’t necessarily a bad thing,” you shot back teasingly. “I’d definitely make it worth your while.”

“I know you would,” he snickered. “But I really do have a lot of work to do. I’m going to need the rest of the day to recover from tonight before I have to be at work on Monday. Someone gave me a hell of a workout.”

You winked at him and leaned up to kiss him once more before he pulled away toward the front door. You shared one last hug and kiss at the open door after exchanging phone numbers.

“Thank you again for giving this USB back to me.” he expressed with gratitude. “You have no idea how much time you’re going to save me. I’ll try to call you later this week. Maybe we can meet up and do something, if you’re not busy?”

“We’ll see,” you smirked. “I’ll let you know.”

Jungkook flicked your chin and shot you an impish grin. You watched him disappear behind the elevator doors before closing the door to your apartment. Once you were back in your kitchen, you sipped at the water you’d poured for Jungkook and looked at the scattered items on the counter. The absence of the banana keychain was noted, but the glowing shamrock was a welcome replacement. You decided to send Gina a little update before you went to bed.

You put your phone on the counter and let out a loud yawn, the evening and all of its activities finally catching up with you. The mess on the counter annoyed you, so you placed everything back in the box on top of the paper map and switched off the lights.

“I’ll take another look at this tomorrow,” you yawned. “Time for sleep.”

As you walked back to your room, you turned off all the lights and got settled into your comfy bed with fresh sheets. There was still a faint scent of Jungkook floating in the air and it calmed your senses. You started drifting off to Dreamland with visions of Jungkook prancing across your brain.

At least I can stop wondering about Jungkook and what might have been. I’d been obsessing over that for so long. Now, I can move on if I need to.

Reassuring visions danced across your brain and all of them resembled Jungkook. He kept tossing four leaf clovers at your feet, and you giggled in your sleep as he continued showering you in lucky charms.

Jungkook made a good point. Four leaf clovers were much better than other good luck charms. Your bunny boy bestowed a bounty of luck upon you, all while blessing you with a rabbit’s foot of his own.

Well maybe a few inches less than a foot, but size isn’t everything.

With a smile on your face and your heart full of possibilities, you coasted on fumes to the final mile into a deep sleep, knowing that tomorrow would be brighter without the added weight of your past insecurities pulling at your nerves.

It’s funny. I almost feel like I’ve regained something I didn’t know was missing. Maybe Oberyn is on to something after all. The Universe definitely makes more sense than it did yesterday.

That couldn’t just be a coincidence.

Could it?

Your mind continued its existential ramblings throughout the wonders of Dreamland, and in your kitchen, something inexplicable was happening. Only Oberyn was awake to witness the subtle purple glow and sparkle emanating from the counter top. It was over in a flash, but Oberyn still sniffed at the air in the kitchen trying to locate the origin of the unexplained phenomenon.

NEXT:

Chapter Two: Soulmates are a Forever Kind of Thing

MAP OF THE SOUL MASTERLIST

@caught-in-a-seesaw-stigma​‘s MASTERLIST

[sugar-kisser]

Black Hour - Choi Jongho

warnings: mafia affiliated acts, prison breaks, violence, guns, cussing, & attempted murder 

Your maniac laugh is almost drowned out by the screeching tires, prison sirens, and gunshot.

“You think this is funny?” Jongho, the love of your life, growls.

“No, of course not. I think it’s just fun,” you tell him as you lean onto the center console of the car.

“This is the last time I break you out of prison. I don’t care what they do to you after this. Engaged or not I’m sick and tired of saving your ass from the stupid shit you pull,” Jongho hisses. Yup, you heard that right. You and Jongho are engaged, but not necessarily by choice. I mean you’re ecstatic about the idea; you’ve loved the idea of Jongho since you were little. Jongho?.... well he says he’d rather be stuck with Wooyoung and San for the rest of his life. Both your parents thought it would be a great idea to finally put a two and a half generation war to end by marriage to combine two of the strongest mafia’s together.

“You know,” you start as you twirl your finger on Jongho’s arm, and he pulls away from you, “we’re very similar to Joker and Harley Quinn. You hate my guts and would rather have me dead; while I’m madly in love with you and doing stupid shit.” Jongho ignores your comment and continues to drive down the empty highway.

In the far distance he could see the row of cops from the city and their flashing red and blue lights. They hold a line across the entire highway stretch. He looks in his rearview mirror at the police cars chasing him and he quickly makes a decision.

“Unbuckle your seat belt we’re going to jump,” Jongho tells you.

“Oooooh, an adventure. Is this going to be our first date?” You tease him excitedly. Jongho growls and unlocks the doors to the car. He quickly turns the car and it runs into the metal bars that are suppose to stop cars from falling off the side of the highway, and the two jump out of the car and fall into the dark water below. The car falls with them, and the two quickly drive to two separate sides to avoid the car falling on them.

------

“That was so much fun!” You cheer as you finally reach the shoreline under the highway after swimming the rest of the four miles back to the city.

“Fun? Are you fucking joking?” Jongho yells, “we almost died! I should of left you there. I should of let them kill you!” Jongho snarls in your face before huffing and storming away leaving you there starring at the ground. A negative feeling you can’t quite name floods your body. You know he’s right, but all you wanted was his attention. He already made it clear that he will never find anything in him to “love such a waste of oxygen” as he said three months ago. But to you, this is the only way to get some type of attention or reaction out of him.

“Okay,” you mumble, “I’ll leave. Leave you alone forever.” You hold your arms close to your body for warmth from the water on your skin and soaked into your clothes that’s suddenly turned cold. You turn and begin to walk away and quickly leave to find somewhere to go. The sounds of yelling officers and aggressive barking dogs startles you which sends you off sprinting down the shore and quickly up into the trees of the short forest in front of the shoreline. You continue to run the sounds of dogs and yelling quieting the further you get and you find shelter in what you think is an abandoned shed.

You quietly enter in it and feel around in the dark to make sure your don't run into anything and make noise. You find the corner and sit on a sack of what you assume is soil based off the smell. Should mask your smell right? The water already took most of it. You curl your body as small as you can make it to radiate more body heat onto yourself. You eventually fall asleep from exhaustion but thoughts wondering how happy Jongho must be now that you're gone.

-----

The shed door opens, light pouring into the small space and older man gasps at the sight on you in the corner, thinking you might be dead. He turns and looks outside and then back towards your body.

“Miss?” He calls out to you, causing you to stir and slightly wake up. He sighs in relief knowing your alive.

“Miss,” the man calls out louder this time. You quickly wake up, open your eyes, and see the man before yelping and slamming your head against the back of the shed.

“You’re alright,” the man chuckles, “I was worried you were dead.” You look up at him, squinting due to the bright light behind him, and rub the back of your head. “Now how did you find yourself in my shed?”

“I-” you start before thinking about last nights events, “I got lost. This was the first shelter I could find.”

“Do you want to use the phone to call someone?” He offers.

“I... I don’t have anyone,” you tell him looking down at his feet, “not anymore.”

“Oh... I’m sorry,” he tells you, “would you like to have a cup of tea or coffee? Come inside and warm up?”

“That would be really nice,” you take him up on his offer. You stand up and walk out of the shed. You follow him into his house which you managed to miss last night while running. The warm air envelopes you into a comforting hug, and you quickly begin to warm up from the cold night.

“You can take a seat here,” the older man motions towards the chair he lays a towel on. You removed your shoes and socks before stepping onto the carpet surface to avoid getting anymore dirt in his home.

“I’ll be right back with tea,” he tells you. You quietly thank him again and begin to look around the small room. Pictures litter all the open space you can see and although it looks cluttered you admired the thought of wanting to be reminded by so many memories. You look to the circular table beside your chair and notice a single picture on the table. You pick it up and you instantly notice the older man but younger and a women standing next to him. The pictures in black and white but the features were easily recognizable, it couldn’t have been anyone else.

“Her name was Nari,” the older man speaks up as he returns with two warm mugs in his hand. You graciously accept one of them, and he slowly walks over and gently takes a seat in the car across from you.

“Was she your wife?” You ask.

“Oh, no,” the man chuckles, “we were set to get married but she passed away.”

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him as you look back at the picture, “you two met very young.”

“We did. I believe we met about eight or nine. That picture was taken before a school dance,” the old man recounts back on his memories.

“Did you enjoy the dance?” You ask him as you set the picture back down on the table.

“I did. That was the night I knew I wanted to be with her forever.. well I shouldn’t say that. I always loved her but that night was the night she finally came around,” he chuckles.

“Came around? Did you two not get along?” You ask.

“Oh no. We hated each other growing up. She for some reason hated me more than I hated her,” he explains, “but over the years of hating her I began to notice the things I actually liked about her and I started to fall in love.” You feel a heavy weight begin to sit on you heart thinking about Jongho. “So I decided to do something ballsy. I asked her to the dance. Told her to put aside our differences for one night, and we did.”

“And things works out in the end, didn’t they?” You ask, hoping it was possibly a sign of hope although you have practically given up.

“They did,” the old man smiles. You return a smile, but the heavy weight still sits on your heart. “If you would like,” the old mans starts breaking you out of your little train of thought, “you can take a shower and I can wash your clothes for you. I think I still have some extra clothes from my granddaughter in the spare room.”

“That would be extremely nice of you,” you tell him. He shows you the bathroom and where to place your clothes so he can collect them and wash them. So when you get into the shower he takes your clothes and replaces them with new ones. You quickly change into the long t-shirt like dress and place on the shorts underneath.

“Thank you again for letting me use your shower and dry clothes for the time being,” you thank once more to the old man.

“Oh it’s not problem,” he tells you as he heads into the living room, “it’s nice to have company. I rarely ever get any.” He grabs the remote and turns on the tv. The large red “Breaking News” sign flashes on the bottom of the screen as the newscaster is in the middle of delivering the news.

“The execution will be taking place at 4 o’clock this afternoon. This will bring the end to not only the mafia war that has been going on for decades but bring the fall to the Choi group,” the newscaster says. You watch in horror on the screen as the news station turns to a live cast from outside the vision gates where protestors cheer on for Jongho’s execution.

He got caught? You’re eyes widen in horror and you understand now the horrid feeling in your heart and you begin to get sick to your stomach.

“Are you going to go save him?” the old man asks after a couple minutes of silence.

“Wha-” you start in complete shock.

“I know who you are,” he looks over at you as he gently smiles, “I know you’re not a real threat unless provoked.... this looks pretty damn provoking don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” you answer rather calmly looking back towards the tv screen.

“I know love when I see it. You looked heartbroken as I told you that story earlier. He will come around. You just got put things aside and go for it,” he tells you.

“Why aren’t you alarmed by who I am? Or what I can do?” You ask him.

“I play by the rule of being accepting and open, hoping others will do the same. Cheesy I know, but it worked didn’t it?” He asks. You give him a small smile and he stands up from the couch.

“I’ll retrieve your clothes. You don’t have much time,” he walks past you and out of the room.

How could such an old gentle man encourage you to go implement such harm? I mean of course you’re going to listen to him; making things a mess is your calling. But at least this time you have a purpose.

“Here you are,” the old man returns with your clothes folded neatly.

“Thank you. Could I also use a cellphone?” You asks him. He turns and shuffles towards the kitchen and pulls a small phone off a charging cord and hands it to you.

“Thank you. I’ll return it once I’m changed,” you thank the man and hurry off to the guest bedroom. You dial a number you’ve learned to memorize and after the second ring it picks up.

“Y/N that better be you,” Chaeyoung instantly speaks over the phone.

“Yes it is,” you answer.

“You are a real dumbass. How did Jongho get caught and not you?” Chaeyoung begins to interrogate.

“I don’t have time for this. I need my bike and a backpack with all my favorites in it,” you demand as you change back into your all black clothing.

“You’re about to go do something stupid again?” She asks.

“No. I’m about to go save my finance’s ass. I don’t care if he hates me. This is my fault to begin with,” you ramble on, “just meet me by the bridge in 10 minutes.”

“Okay,” Chaeyoung hangs up the phone and you head out of the room and give the man his phone back.

“Thank you again for all you’ve done. It will not be forgotten,” you tell him, “I’ve gotta go save Jongho.” The man wishes you well and good luck and escorts you out of the house and watches you till you disappear from his sight.

-----

You lean up against a wall in an alleyway and wait for Chaeyoung to arrive with you requested items.

A motorbike silently rushes down the alley and stops in front of you. Chaeyoung pulls off the helmet and hands that and your backpack over to you.

“You realize this is a ploy,” she tells you, “plus this is black hour. It’s heavily guarded.”

“One, when has their ploys ever stopped me? Two, that’s just more casualties. Not my problem. Don’t take what’s mine,” you tell her and you sling your backpack over your shoulder.

“Just get Jongho and you out of there. You two already have an ear chewing when you get back,” Chaeyoung explains.

“Thanks for the wise words,” you sarcastically retort as you pull the helmet onto your head. You start your bike back up and quickly drive out of the alley leaving Chaeyoung standing there.

“Must be really important to her if she’s not taking me,” Chaeyoung mumbles to herself before disappearing into the shadows.

You drive down the busy highway, in-between cars, earning honks but you pay no mind. Once your eyes are on the goal, nothing stops you. Not even if security is increased a hundred times. You speed up the bike and race down the prison exit and up the windy road to the front gates.

You park your bike amongst the crowd of cars that belong to the people standing outside the prison, and you make your way to another side of the prison. You reach in your backpack and pull out the most explosive bomb you have. You quickly connect the phone up to the loose wires and walk away- back towards the crowd of people.

“Are you here to watch the execution too?” Someone from the back of the crowd asks, as they stand behind you.

“No. I’m here to do something stupid,” you turn around to face the man whose eyes widen in horror- instantly recognizing you, “I’m about to make a big entrance. Cheer for me?” You pull out your phone and hit the green call button, with the burner phone number already in placed. Ten seconds later the bomb explodes taking out a large section of the prison wall.

“That’s my cue,” you cheerfully giggle before pulling out two hand guns from your belt that Chaeyoung managed to strap onto you before leaving. You hurry off and though the crowds of people screaming and running away.

You hold your breath and manage your way through the thick dust and hole in the wall and quickly are greeted by guards which you quickly take out one-by-one. When one magazine empties you quickly replace it as well as bringing out your favorite little firecracker bombs. You quickly alight four of them sending two to your right and two to your left. They explode as soon as they come into contact with the ground, and explode with a force to send plenty of guards away from you. You manage a path and pull out you stash of keycards holding them all up to the scanner hoping that at least one will work.

When the scanner flashes red you angrily shoot the sensor which somehow manages to unlock the door.

“Don’t know why I just didn’t do that all the other times,” you complain under your breath and you toss the keycards aside, “would of saved so much time.” You yank open the door and you begin firing your gun again taking guards out left and right. Some guards backed down and you carefully watch them as you pass and round a corner.

It’s funny seeing some of the guards from your first visit to the prison, and they easily let you on by knowing of what you’re capable of. Many guards in the prison do because they’ve watched what happens to those who get in your way, and they find it in their best interest to stay out of it. You quickly find a clock and watch the time quickly tick closer and closer to the black hour. Four minutes and 57 seconds to go.

In a raging fit, which to others is your scariest point, you push past the next few hallways and and towards the back of the prison in the courtyard where they hold the bigger executions. You pull out another cellphone triggered bomb and set it off immediately once you hide behind the steal door of the next room. You walk out in the courtyard, but are quickly greeted with easily a hundred guard, automatics pointed at you, ready to fire at will.

“Well, well, well. Didn’t expect this did you now Ms. Y/L/N?” The head of the prison asks as he snicker from the stage. You quickly find Jongho not to far from him on the stage as well, strapped to an electric chair, his facial expression unwavering.

“Fine,” you raise your hands and drop your guns, “you got me.”

“I don’t think we do,” the president retorts, “I know all your little tricks missy. This isn’t the first time we’ve done this.”

“Wow do you want a cookie for counting the amount of times I’ve kicked your ass and had fun?” You counter sarcastically, only to piss off the man.

“We can kill him right now,” the president threatens, angered by your comment.

“He doesn’t love me. Nothing’s stopping you,” you tell him.

“Then why are you here?” He demands, “why go through all of this to end up here?”

“Because why not,” you answer shrugging your shoulders, “you know I do stupid shit for fun. This time Jongho won’t be the one to get me out.”

“Get her!” The president orders. Men quickly swarm you and your shoved to the ground. You feel your backpack ripped off you back and you slightly smirk in content.

“Hey what are you smiling about?” One of the guards yells and his foot steps harshly on your face. Your body almost falls limp but you still hold onto consciousness. You need to see your final play. You’re dragged on stage and dropped at the feet of the president. You try to push yourself up but his feet knock you over and you roll onto your back.

“Leave her be!” Jongho growls.

“Oh so you speak!” The president counters. He crouches down and grabs a fist full of your hair and pulls your head off the ground. You yelp only causing Jongho’s blood to boil. You open your eyes and meet Jongho’s before winking. Jongho’s eyes slightly widen and he looks over towards the group of guards who still hold your backpack.

A high pitched beep echo’s from your bag, causing the guard to drop it to cover their ears and when it hits the ground it explodes on impact, sending everything near it away and most likely dead. The president flies back and your back is slightly burned from the radiating heat. You push yourself off the ground and drag your aching body towards Jongho. You begin to take of the restraints and once his first hand is free he quickly moves onto his other hand and his foot. You crouch onto the floor and begin to take off the restraints to his other leg.

“Why did you come back?” Jongho asks once he’s free and helps you stand. He pulls one of your arms around his neck and his other hand wraps around your waist.

“I wasn’t going to let them kill you for something stupid I did,” you answer his quietly. Jongho pulls you along out of the courtyard and through the mess of the prison.

“You risked your life like an idiot and by yourself. What were you thinking?” Jongho asks.

“You,” you answer. You answer catches him off guard. Usually you would respond to him with an even more sarcastic and hateful answer but you don’t. You take in the old man’s words, ‘you just got put things aside and go for it’.

“I’m sorry for causing you trouble. I don’t know how else to get your attention. I know you hate me and you say I’m a waste of oxygen... but even with your spiteful words I couldn’t stop myself from loving you. Even if you never returned it,” you start, “I’ll stop the games. I’ll be quiet and stop causing trouble. I promise.” Jongho’s eyes widen even more as he hears your words. Had she really heard him say she was a waste of oxygen? It was just an in-the-moment thing to say, he never actually meant it.

Outside the hole of the prison wall a car awaits. Chaeyoung opens the door and Jongho helps you in before sliding in after. Chaeyoung quickly drives the two of you back towards the house you two plan on sharing once the marriage takes place. You let your head rest on the window but can’t find it in yourself to rest although your body begs for it. You feel a slight tug and your body is pulled and you lean up against Jongho. Your head resting on his shoulder and his hand lightly holding yours. He looks down at you with a slight pity in his eyes. Maybe if she’s willing to put things aside, so can he.

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

Tears of an Angel (Crowley/Aziraphale)

Right... so I saw this beautiful, heartrending artwork post and... I couldn’t help myself.  I didn’t think I could ever do this, but... I’m sorry.  I am truly sorry. 

Warning: Major Character Death

Tagging: @tonystark5ever @giulisetta @swanheart69

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

Adam’s wedding day is beautiful – a gorgeous, sun-stroked jewel of late summer, imbued with an intoxicating scent of honeysuckle and freshly cut grass. Not a hint of clouds in the brilliant blue sky that smiles down at the happy mingle of guests: some chatting amicably with those around them, others indulging, somewhat furtively but with obvious pleasure, in the impressive spread of refreshments heaped onto the white-clothed tables, others still swaying blissfully to the soft, enchanting sounds of music.

 It’s perfect.  And Crowley wouldn’t have expected it to be anything but.  Adam, after all, is still, to this day, the Spawn of Satan, whom he so bravely, so brilliantly rejected all those years ago.  And that means, reality is very much still his to change the way he pleases.

 Crowley can’t find it in himself to complain.

 He leans casually back against the side of a gazebo, arms crossed on his chest. Smiles fondly as he watches Anathema drag Aziraphale out into the dancing area, the angel shooting a pleading look Crowley’s way before submitting to the inevitable with a resigned huff, hurriedly shoving the remainder of a strawberry tart into his mouth.

 Oh, angel…

 “Interesting setup you got here.”

 He straightens out instantly, all sense of leisure gone from his posture, tension bleeding from every line of his body.

 “What do you want, Hastur?”

 “I’ve been watching you two,” the demon drawls out ominously from behind him – an oppressive, dangerous presence just off to the side, just out of his line of sight.  And Crowley fights the urge to turn around; suppresses the frisson of unease the demon’s presence sends down his spine.

 “What do you want?” he repeats in a growl of forced annoyance, even as his metaphorical heart clenches in mounting fear.  Hastur’s been watching them.  All these years.  Does it mean he figured out their swap? Does it mean he knows?

 “I know you tricked us,” Hastur answers his unspoken question, a note of smug satisfaction in his voice telling Crowley the demon noticed his panic despite Crowley’s best efforts.  “I don’t know how you did it, but…” There’s an ugly bark of laughter – like a crack of a dry twig underfoot, followed by rustle of clothes and an overwhelmingly strong presence, dark, magical.  “I don’t really care.”

 And Crowley can’t help turning around now.  Can’t help looking down at Hastur’s gloved hand, at the wicked-looking knife held cautiously in its grip. Can’t help the nasty, cold feeling that claws at his chest when he sees the flame-red sigils carved into the darkened blade.

 “Oh, good, you recognize it.” Hastur’s smiling at him now – a dark, sadistically gleeful grin.  Turns the blade in his hand in a mockery of awed contemplation.  “A hellfire-forged blade with holy sigils – a perfect weapon against any being, ethereal or demonic.” Growls out low, his upper lip curling in predatory anticipation, “Heaven and Hell will be happy to see both of you gone.  Me personally? After watching the two of you for a bit? I think killing just one of you will make for a far better torture.”  He waves his free hand in the air, a look of almost blissful dreaminess spreading across his face.  

 Crowley grinds his teeth together in helpless rage, glances back out to where his angel is fumbling dreadfully across from Anathema in a poor imitation of dancing, blissfully unaware of the danger lurking only a few feet away.  Flinches when he feels Hastur shift closer.

 “I’m feeling generous today, Serpent,” he murmurs, the smell of swamp and rot wafting over the side of Crowley’s face.  “I’m gonna let you choose.”

 Choose.  A bitter smile twitches at the corners of Crowley’s lips, his eyes never leaving the achingly dear white-haired form in a cream color jacket.  What is there to choose, really?  His choice has been made over 6000 years ago, standing on that wall in the Garden of Eden next to a beautiful, mystifying angel who gave away his sword to protect humans and then proceeded to shield a demon from the First Rain.

 He doesn’t even have to think about it.

 “Me,” he states calmly, ignoring the sharp pang in his heart at the thought that this is it for him, that he will never see his angel again.  “Take me.”  Turns briefly back to his unwelcome companion to glare murderously into the bottomless dark pools of his eyes.  “But thisss isss it, Hastur,” he hisses, low and menacing, putting all of his venom, all of his demonic, serpentine conviction into the words.  “After thisss our debt isss paid in full. Nobody touches the angel, understood? Not your lot, not the Heaven.  And you will make sure of that.”  He leans in closer, eyes bleeding a terrifyingly hypnotic, poisonous yellow. “You will make sure of that, Hasssstur, or I swear on all that is unholy, that I will find a way to come back, and I will make you wish you were the first one through my office door that day instead of Ligur.” He lets his upper lip curl, lets his fangs slide out in warning. “Undersssstood?”

 Hastur’s lips twist in an echoing snarl, but Crowley can see the minute perturbation on the other demon’s face, knows his threat (bluff, yes, but Hastur has no way of knowing that) has hit its mark.

 “Meet me in the cemetery behind the church,” the Duke of Hell spits out, nodding blindly in the direction of the small village church that hosted the wedding ceremony a mere hour ago.  And disappears in a cloud of thick gray smoke.

 Crowley remains where he is a moment longer.  Lets his gaze linger on Aziraphale for one last time, drinking in the sight of his dancing angel – so blessedly carefree, so endearingly clumsy, so unfailingly good, so… so… beautiful.  He sighs, smiling despite the traitorous, anguished tremble of his lips.  Closes his eyes, letting that final image of Aziraphale become engrained in his memory. And follows Hastur to his doom.

 He doesn’t see Aziraphale turning to glance in his direction an instant before he disappears from view.

 ***

 He reappears but a moment later in the place of Hastur’s choosing.  Stumbles a bit on the uneven surface of a freshly laid grave.

 And gasps, his breath choked off and stolen, as sharp pain explodes below his ribcage, doubling him over with the force of the blow.  A wave of power rushes through him – angelic and demonic, woven together to create a monumental, monstrous hybrid of destruction.  Cold and fiery, deadly and unstoppable, sluicing through his veins to tear him apart, piece by piece by piece.

 He reaches forward on instinct, grabbing blindly, convulsively for the support of the putrid smelling shape that materializes in front of him.  Groans pathetically as Hastur shoves the blade deeper with a hard, vicious thrust.  And shudders, his fingers unclasping, nerveless, from the demon’s sleeve, as Hastur yanks the blade out and steps quickly back out of reach.

 “We are even now,” Hastur observes dispassionately as Crowley sinks to his knees before him onto the clumpy ground, one hand pressed uselessly against the bleeding gaping hole in his chest, the other seeking purchase in the loose dirt.  Cringes with sympathetic fear as Crowley draws in another harsh, labored wheeze of a breath, face twisting at the ever-mounting pain.

“It was quicker for Ligur,” he notes darkly, sheathing the blade and putting it away into the folds of his coat. “Merciful almost, compared to yours.”

His cheek twitches minutely, a fire of grim satisfaction flashing in the black depths.  Then, suddenly, he squats down before the injured demon, stares unblinking into the wide, pain-glazed eyes.  

“But perhaps you can be thankful for a chance to say goodbye.”  He cants his head to the side, nodding at something in the distance.

 Blearily, Crowley follows his motion, and the cold that fills his chest no longer has anything to do with his impending death.  Because there, weaving his way toward them between the maze of tombstones, is the angel, his angel.

 No.

 He grasps for Hastur’s coat again, gritting his teeth at the fresh flare of pain that rips through him at the unsanctioned movement.

 “Your promisssse… re… remember your…,” his voice cuts out, his throat spasming from a sudden buildup of pressure that drowns the rest of his words in a vicious gurgle of a cough that spills forth in a spectacular spray of blood.

 He gasps, breathless, against the intensity of it.  Squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, missing the grimace of disgust that flits across Hastur’s face as the demon raises his hand to vanish the bloody splatter that carried from his former colleague to settle on his face and clothes.

 “I have not forgotten, Serpent,” he grouches, extricating himself once again from Crowley’s feeble grip. Straightens back out, making a show of dusting off his forever-filthy coat. His cheek twitches again – a tell of discomfort, as he forces out the parting words of (questionable) reassurance. “Have a nice… death.”

 A snap of fingers and the Duke of Hell vanishes from sight, and then the angel is there, kneeling on the ground before Crowley, hands pawing frantically at the darkened, bleeding hole in the middle of his chest; grasping Crowley’s shoulders as he sways alarmingly on his gradually weakening knees.  

Crowley tries to steady himself, tries to look strong for his angel, but the devastating power ravaging his essence has already done too much damage, and he can’t help but succumb, slumping forward into Aziraphale’s chest with a helpless groan.

 “Crowley?”

 The angel’s voice trembles, tinged with desperation and fear, and Crowley can feel the same anxious tremble in the arms that wrap themselves around him; can hear the panicked beat of the angel’s heart.  This will not do, he thinks, sluggish.  He can’t leave his angel like this – so desperate, so panicked.  He has to–

 “I can’t… I can’t heal it. What…. Crowley, darling, please, what’s–?”

 “Shhhhh….” He forces his head up, forces his weakened hand to move.  Presses a shaking finger to the beautiful plump lips that he has been so fortunate, so privileged to taste in these past few years.  How incredibly, insanely lucky he was!  

“Shhh,” he repeats, running careful, gentle fingers across the angel’s cheek, wiping away a streak of golden tears that trails down the soft pale skin. Frowns when fresh tears begin to trickle down the same track.  This isn’t right, he thinks. Aziraphale shouldn’t be… he can’t…

 “Don’t cry,” he pleads, voice raspy and shaking with pain that is becoming harder and harder to conceal. But he will try.  He has to try. For his angel.  “S’okay… Zira… sss’okay.  I cho…chose this… My choicssssse…”

 Tear-filled blue eyes widen in understanding, the angel glancing briefly at a spot where Hastur stood only moments ago, before shifting his grief-stricken, horrified gaze back to Crowley.

 “No…,” he whines, tears falling harder now, as his arms tighten around Crowley’s shivering form in mounting despair.  “No, Crowley… Crowley, you can’t….”

 Crowley blinks at him fondly, a faint smile pulling at his blood-stained lips.  “S’okay,” he exhales, fighting to speak against the gradually thickening blanket of darkness that begins to weigh down on him, threatening to pull him under.  He can’t let it happen.  Not yet. He needs to get the angel to understand, needs to explain.  He knows that, once he surrenders to that darkness, he won’t get another chance.

 “I had to… They won’t… won’t bother you now.  Not any…anymore.”  

 It’s important that Aziraphale knows this.  Because it’s something that’s been bothering the both of them all these years – the fear that Heaven or Hell or both will be coming for them any moment.  It dampened the serenity, the pleasure of that short time they spent together, forcing them to constantly look over their shoulders. But no more, no more…

 What little strength he has left to keep himself upright runs out and he sags, boneless, in Aziraphale’s feverish embrace, their foreheads touching.  

Aziraphale is saying something, the angel’s breath hot and suspiciously wet against his skin, but Crowley can’t hear him, not anymore – the darkness pulling at him, engulfing his senses.

 “Kiss me,” he asks instead – a barely there whisper.  

 He can hardly feel his arms anymore, but he manages somehow to raise one, to hook it feebly around the back of Aziraphale’s neck, smearing blood onto the white curls.  Tugs, trying to urge the angel closer.  

 There’s barely any discernible pressure behind his gesture, but Aziraphale follows it nevertheless. Surges forward with a choked off sob, closing the already negligible gap between their mouths, latching on to Crowley’s lips as a man wandering for days in the sweltering heat of the desert latches on to the refreshing watery escape of an oasis.

 The fear of loss, the desperate denial, the frantic need to hold on, and the love – overwhelming, all-encompassing, unfaltering love: Crowley reads it all on the trembling, tear-stained lips that cling to his own.  It’s warm, the angel’s kiss.  So beautifully warm against the numbing, agonizing cold that fills his entire being.  

 He closes his eyes, sinks deeper into the kiss, trying to capture as much of that warmth as he can, to bask in his angel’s essence before darkness pulls him away for good.

 It isn’t long now, he can feel it.  Can feel himself falling, breaking will-lessly away from the soft anchor of Aziraphale’s lips – the warm light of his angel’s presence growing dimmer and dimmer, until only a tiny spark remains in the thick, stifling darkness that swathes his mind.

 He latches on to it, weakly, stubbornly.  Peels his eyes open, unsurprised to find the angel leaning over him, his face – a pale, haloed blur for his failing sight.  But even now, faded almost beyond recognition, he’s still the most beautiful thing Crowley has ever seen.

 He tells him so. Releases the truth of it on the final exhale his corporation’s lungs allow him.  Along with a faint susurrant confession, “Love you… angel…”

 A soft, wet splatter of a warm, golden tear on his ice-cold cheek is the last thing he feels.

FIN

[searchingwardrobes]

Start of Time: 2/?

Here it is finally, the second chapter of this fic!! Sorry it’s taken me so long to get this up, @teamhook ! I also have no idea how long this is going to be. Looking at my outline, it should be at least six chapters.

Remember that Emma can’t remember her name in this, so Emma is just “she” at first in this chapter, then “Wendy” later on. (You’ll see why once you read the chapter). I won’t lie, writing a story in which Emma can’t remember her name and no one else knows it either has been a big challenge. Hopefully I wrote it a way everyone can follow!

Rating: T

Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this but is Killian’s adopted daughter with Milah, and so is Henry. Henry has no relation to Emma in this. There is also positive past Millian.

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist.

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells​ @teamhook​ @kmomof4​ @let-it-raines​@whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @xhookswenchx​ @jennjenn615​ @kday426​ @welllpthisishappening​ @wellhellotragic​ @winterbaby89​ @stahlop​ @spartanguard​ @shireness-says​ @scientificapricot​ @xhookswenchx​ @distant-rose​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @vvbooklady1256​ @thislassishooked​ @bethacaciakay​ @hollyethecurious​ @nikkiemms​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @optomisticgirl​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @branlovestowrite​ @tiganasummertree​ @snidgetsafan​ 

I'm an atom in a sea of nothing

Looking for another to combine

Maybe we could be the start of something

Be together at the start of time

When she awoke again, the sun shone brightly through the curtains. She struggled to sit up, her mouth dry and tasting of cotton. Her head still ached, but it no longer throbbed. How long had she slept? Was the sun this bright when she woke up before? She heard sounds outside her door as she swung herself slowly around and stood up. The room spun a bit, but once she took a few deep breaths, she was able to walk across the room easily enough. Her clothes were folded neatly on top of a white dresser, and she made quick work of changing out of the pajamas. The fabric was warm and smelled of fabric softener - someone had washed them.

Speaking of washing, she suddenly realized how greasy her hair was. She could actually smell her own body odor, which was never good. It made her wonder again just how long she had been asleep. A shower would be nice, but she wasn’t about to ask such a thing of complete strangers. They had been kind, she understood that, but she couldn’t stay here any longer.

When she exited her door, she was struck by the quaint log cabin style of the home. Her bedroom was at the end of an open hallway that looked out over a great room with high beamed ceilings of exposed wood. On the other side of a stone fireplace, she could see the dark haired man named Killian at the stove in the kitchen.

She made her way quickly down the stairs and through the living area. She paused at the threshold of the kitchen, and when she did, the family’s chattering stopped abruptly. Little Alice sat at the kitchen island spreading jam on toast. A boy with dark hair just a shade lighter than Killian’s stood by the sink pouring glasses of orange juice. A woman with a dark pixie cut stood with mouth agape clutching a fistfull of silverware. For some reason, the domestic scene made a lump rise in her throat.

“You’re up!” Killian exclaimed with a wide grin. He lifted the pan of scrambled eggs he was stirring. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Um, no thank you,” she replied nervously. “I um . . . I thank you and your wife for everything you’ve done -”

The woman interrupted her with an exuberant laugh. “Oh no, I’m not his wife. My husband David and Killian are best friends. Killian was delivering a foal at our farm last night, so I came over to babysit Alice.”

“I am not a baby,” protested Alice with a pout that said otherwise.

“Excuse me,” the woman corrected with a pointed smile at the little girl, “I was having girl time with Alice, my favorite seven year old.”

Alice tilted her chin with satisfaction than started slathering jam on another piece of toast.

“I’m Mary Margaret,” the woman said as she turned her attention back to their visitor. She extended her hand.

“I - um, that is, I . . .” Shit! What was the social protocol when you didn’t remember your own damn name?

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Mary Margaret exclaimed snatching her hand back. “I forgot.”

“Sooo, what are you doing here if you two aren’t married? At breakfast?” She shook her head and rubbed her temple. Why was she still talking? “Um, I’m sorry. How long have I been asleep?”

All four of the people before her spoke at once, but only Mary Margaret’s words penetrated her brain.

“Awhile.”

“You slept forever!”

“I was worried you were dead!”

“Oh honey, we’re snowed in.”

She shook her head as she tried to comprehend Mary Margaret’s words. “Um, okay, that’s a problem, I know, but I can’t stay here. I mean, I don’t . . . that is to say . . . I’m just, um, gonna go, okay?”

She inched her way backwards towards the front door as she spoke, stumbling once over a toy lightsaber. Killian rushed forward, and that only made her dart for the door faster.

“We really are snowed in, love,” Killian insisted as she reached for the doorknob.

“Well, I’ll just walk to the nearest town, or -” her words ended abruptly as she opened the door to a wall of white. The snow was packed in hard, letting in not a trace of light, yet the snow on the threshold had melted enough to tumble inside over her feet. She let out a gasp as the cold seeped through the leather of her thin, stylish boots.

“I told you we were snowed in,” Killian told her with a lopsided grin and a sparkle in his eyes.

She sheepishly tried to kick the loose snow back outside, amazed that he wasn’t at least irritated with her. Shoving the door shut was something else entirely, and it took both of them to get it done.

Hands shaking, she made her way over to a cozy armchair angled towards the roaring fire. She stared at the flames as fear clawed at her chest. Killian came over and sat on the edge of the wide hearth, tilting his head a bit so he could look into her eyes.

“I know you’re confused and frightened, but I promise you you’re safe here. We’ve got plenty of firewood and food, even a generator if the power goes out -”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she whispered.

He nodded in understanding. “We’re strangers, and I can’t imagine how terrifying this all must be. I know it takes trust to believe this, but we really just want to help you and make you feel at home.”

She glanced up to see Mary Margaret perched on the arm of the chair, smiling down at her encouragingly. Alice sat down next to her father, and he put his arm around the little girl and brushed a kiss to the top of her head. Surely a man with such obvious affection for his daughter couldn’t be dangerous. Right?

The boy stood a bit shyly behind Alice and Killian, shuffling his feet a bit before stepping forward to offer her his hand. “You were passed out when you met me in the truck. I’m Henry.”

She merely nodded as she took the child’s hand, still not sure how to respond with no memory of who she was.

“That does it!” Mary Margaret exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “We have to call you something. You sure you don’t know your name?”

She scrunched her face up, thinking as hard as she could, but all she could come up with was darkness, snow, and pain. She bit her lip as she shook her head in the negative.

Mary Margaret shrugged. “So we give you a name!”

Killian narrowed his eyes at his friend. “MM, we can’t just name her like she’s our pet.”

“Why not?” Mary Margaret shot back. “Alice doesn’t have a creature in this place for more than five minutes without it having a name.”

“I have a white rabbit named Tick Tock,” Alice told her eagerly, “and a turtle named Mossy, and a frog named Prince, and two goldfish -”

“You can introduce her to your menagerie later, Starfish,” Killian chuckled as he ruffled Alice’s hair.”

“We can pick a name from one of our favorite books!” Henry exclaimed. “Alice is already taken, but what do you think of Lucy like the Narnia books?”

She wrinkled her nose.

“Fern like in Charlotte’s Web?” Alice suggested.

“Fern!” Henry exclaimed. “Seriously? Charlotte would be better!”

“Charlotte is a spider,” Alice shot back before sticking her tongue out at her brother.

“What about Wendy?” Killian asked.

“Dad’s favorite is Peter Pan,” Henry explained.

“Yeah, but he like’s Hook best, not Peter,” put in Alice.

“Hey!” Killian chuckled, poking each of his children playfully in the tummy. “Hook is just misunderstood.”

She narrowed her eyes. Wendy . . . “That name sounds familiar,” she told them softly.

Killian smiled at her. “Perhaps because it’s yours?”

“Or maybe it’s someone you know?” Mary Margaret put in helpfully.

She shook her head, frustrated. Every time she thought of the name Wendy, it was as if she were squinting into the fog, trying to make out a figure in the distance.

“I don’t know!”

“It’s okay,” Mary Margaret said gently, patting her hand, “it will come to you, I’m sure of it.”

“And we’ll get the doctor out here just as soon as the weather clears enough for the snow mobiles,” Killian added, “as well as the sheriff. I’m sure someone you love is looking for you.”

She nodded and attempted to give him a small smile.

“So, are we gonna call her Wendy or what?” Henry asked.

“Don’t be so rude!” Alice yelled.

“I’m not!”

“Get along, please,” Killian admonished, and she couldn’t help but smile at the bickering siblings and their father’s resulting exasperation.

“It’s okay,” she told them, “it will be nice to have a name, even a temporary one.”

“So . . . “ Killian prompted with arched brows.

“So, Wendy it is!”

A wide smile filled her face despite her circumstances as the four people around her cheered. If she were snowed in, there were worse places she could be. And if she had to join a temporary family, this seemed like a pretty happy one to stumble upon.

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

The strong scent of cedar filled Killian’s senses as he opened the long forgotten trunk shoved into the far reaches of his walk in closet. He closed his eyes briefly, letting the woodsy aroma wash over him. Not only would the cedar have protected the clothing inside, it would also have eradicated the scent of the former owner. He could do this.

Killian opened his eyes and looked down at the sweaters and leggings that Milah once wore. He lifted one of deep purple from the trunk and pressed it to his face. All he could smell was the cedar. Not the lingering scent of the citrusy shampoo Milah had preferred nor the hazelnut creamer she always used in her coffee. Surprisingly, it didn’t make him sad. Instead, he was relieved. Relieved that her scent no longer clung to the clothing but also relieved that he still remembered details about her. He would never be able to forget her, and the truth of that finally brought him comfort after four long years.

He rose from the floor of the closet with a pile of clothes in his arms and made his way down the hall to Alice’s bedroom. He hated that Wendy had to use his daughter’s room, but Mary Margaret was already set up in the guest room. He also hated that Alice was sharing his bed. The girl was a cuddler who hogged the bed, and Killian was simply exhausted after two nights of sleeping on the very edge of the mattress.

Killian knocked on the door, but there was no answer. However, he could hear the shower running from the jack and jill bath that Alice shared with her brother. He eased the door open, calling out that he had the clothes he had promised. There was no answer, though he did hear a voice drifting from the bathroom. The voice was singing.

Killian let the door swing open and couldn’t help stepping into the room, mesmerized by the voice. Wendy was belting out The Pretenders “Brass in Pocket” with the powerful voice of a rock star. He drew closer to the sound as if he were a sailor and she was a siren calling out to him. As he rounded the bed, however, he fumbled and dropped the clothes in his hands. Wendy had left the door to the bathroom half open, and through it he could see into the bathroom. He spun away quickly, not wanting to be a voyeur, but he wasn’t fast enough to miss the silhouette of Wendy’s figure through the frosted glass of the shower door. He fumbled again as he picked up the clothes and set them on the bed. They now looked like Henry had folded them, but he didn’t care. He rushed from the room before Wendy caught him and thought he was a peeping tom.

He shut the bedroom door quietly behind him and sagged against it, his heart pounding like a teenager. Yes, four long years. Four long years since Milah passed. Four long years since a woman had been living in this house. Killian drew in several deep breaths and ran his hand wearily down his face. He had to get a grip! Wendy needed his help. This was no time to become sexually attracted to her. She had been through something traumatic to leave her wandering injured on a remote snowy road. She had amnesia and was understandably frightened and confused.

Mentally listing all the reasons he couldn’t be attracted to her helped his blood cool considerably. Besides, he had made a vow to Milah when she was sick that he would make fatherhood his highest priority. Making sure Henry and Alice were happy and thriving left little time for anything else. Hadn’t that been made abundantly clear after that disastrous blind date he’d let Mary Margaret set him up on?

Wendy had a life somewhere to get back to, and he had his kids to think about. He wouldn’t let her sultry voice, inviting curves, or golden hair distract him from those two hard, cold facts.

[g0dblessthefandom]

a secret recipe

I literally wrote this in 30 minutes, and it is just about nothing, but I wanted tos, so please don’t judge me, thank you. I posted it here, cause why not?

Dani gets the feeling that Grace always needs to be moving. When Carl suggests that they wait until the afternoon to leave his house, she can feel the antsiness almost radiating off of her, and it takes everything she has not to place a steadying hand on her back. She doesn’t know what stops her, but there is a feeling there that is blossoming that Grace nearly seems afraid of, and she doesn’t want to push. 

So, she does what she always does and she gets busy. She helps Alicia find clothes that will fit everybody, and she gets Sarah into a shower and changed. When it’s her and Grace’s turn, she realizes that Grace will only agree if she promises to sit on the toilet until she’s done, and then allow her to do the same, so she relents, and tries not to stare too hard at the glimpses of naked torso that peek through as the curtain waves. 

Grace gets ansty again, and Dani decides that she needs food (the woman is always eating), so she is back to Alicia, and rounding up some ingredients that she directs Grace to place on the table. Their closeness flusters Dani again, and she has to remind herself that she only met the woman a few days ago, and she never develops feelings for someone that quickly. Well, almost never. It doesn’t help that Grace is always nearby, and underfoot. She doesn’t ever get in the way, but after Dani struggles for a few moments to reach something on a top shelf, she needs only to turn slightly, and Grace is beside her, reaching it with ease. The soft smell of lilac body wash brushing past her nose, and making her eyes flutter from the closeness. She shakes her head, and looking down finds herself exactly at midriff level, and Grace’s reaching for the high shelf has exposed her bare stomach. Dani takes a step back, and nearly trips on a rug, but before she hits the ground a strong arm encircles her waist, and she opens one eye to find herself face to face with Grace. 

“Uh, thanks.” She says, hurrying to right herself. 

Grace sets her upright and hands her the bag of masa flour. She gestures to the table, sitting down and beginning to organize ingredients. “Tamales, huh?”

A soft smile plays on Dani’s lips. “Yes, an old family recipe.”

“The Ramos Tamales. Known from Oaxaca to Jalisco.” Grace remembers, returning the smile. 

Dani raises an eyebrow. “How do you know about them? I made them for you?”

“Sure!” This is the first real nostalgia that Dani has seen from Grace, and she loves the way it makes the other woman’s face light up. She loves the way her voice lilts and twirls. She gets caught up in the memory that still her future. “We finally had our first good corn crop. Legion had found and destroyed others, but this one made it all the way to harvest. It was the first fresh veg we’d had in forever, and everybody got a share. The first thing you did was dry it and grind it, and make tamales. I think it was the happiest you’d been in a long time. You told me, ‘Grace, this recipe has been in our family for a long time, and you should know it too’, so, you taught me. And we ate them, and it was pretty much the best thing I’d ever had.” 

She’s laughing, but Dani was a bit dumbstruck. The recipe was one that had been in their family for generations. It was never taught to just anyone. Whatever they had been in the future-

“Grace, that’s incredible. My dad didn’t even teach me the recipe until I was nearly ten years old. I must have really loved you. I-in the future, I mean.”

Dani’s voice gets soft near the end of that sentence, and she can see that Grace doesn’t want to look at her. After a moment of quiet, she walks over the table, putting a hand on Grace’s arm. 

“I can see why I- why she loved you so much. And trusts you. She’s very lucky to have someone like you to look after her.” 

Grace turns to Dani suddenly. “It wasn’t just me, she looked out for me too. She took care of me, she listened to me, she supported me. I owe everything to her.” 

“Not everything Grace, you have a good heart, and no one can teach that.” 

There is a moment of silence as they look into each other’s eyes. Dani can see there is something that Grace wants to say, but she wonders if she’s the Dani that needs to hear it. She interrupts her before Grace can form the words. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Grace. I’m really glad.” She places a gentle kiss on Grace’s forehead, and watches as Grace’s eyelids flutter closed. 

“Me too, Dani.” 

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

[vkelleyart]

For Carry On Countdown: Day 9 - Sunset/Sunrise

I’m going to level with you guys. This all started with just the bottom panel. Then I got inspired to do a short strip based on the idea for a post-canon scene in which Simon wakes Baz up in the morning. Then, on impulse, I drew the ring on Simon’s hand. 

Which spawned an entire one-shot fanfic that I wrote in the middle of the night on Saturday. (Good grief, what is WRONG with me.) So... a strip-with-a-fic. 

The art is above, of course, but if you want to know how that ring got on Simon’s finger, read on. :)

Title: Beginnings

Word Count: 3815

Rating: Teen+

I pull the car over. Suddenly, I feel dizzy. Like I can’t take in a full breath of air.

Simon turns to look at me. “Baz, what’s wrong?”

“Marry me.” I say it quietly.

He squints at me, incredulous. “What?”

BAZ

“I’m not sure I understand you, Father,” I interject. “What exactly do you find objectionable about Simon Snow?”

My father is standing at the bookshelf of our family library in the exact spot Penelope Bunce and I had once stood five years ago, consulting one another over the known and unknown details surrounding my mother’s murder. Today, I am across the room, sitting on the sofa where Simon emphatically declared no one was “seducing a vampire” within 24 hours of seducing me.

My, how times do change. 

My father, on the other hand, manages to stay exactly the same.

I know the answer to my question already, but I want to force Father to stare his own bigotry in the face. His problem isn’t that I’m queer; he’s known about that long enough to have made a stink by now. I can’t imagine that the Old Families care much about that anyway.

What bothers him about my relationship with Simon is Simon himself. Nameless, Normal Simon who was raised in homes and groomed for battle against the Old Families. Giving up his only credit to a world that never quite accepted him--his magic--only stained Snow’s reputation further in the eyes of the Grimms.

My father is too sharp to be cornered by my question. Like me. 

“You’re not giving this the consideration it deserves, Basilton.”

“I beg to differ,” I protest. “You made certain I thought of nothing else for nearly a decade and a half.”

Father shakes his head, ignoring me. “The Families follow our lead,” he states in his best paternal-sounding voice. “The world of mages takes its cues from us, and with that influence comes an obligation to maintain a degree of… magical integrity.”

Magical integrity? 

So Bunce is right about my family after all. Bigoted purists.

He goes on, and rage surges up my throat like bile with every word. “I won’t be around forever, Basil, and your mother doesn’t have the expertise to do what I do. Maintaining the operation of our estate is no small burden. It demands an even hand, a focused approach... and a respect for the reputation bound to our name.”

Our reputation. It always seems to come back to this. Though I’m so furious I could set the room ablaze, my voice remains passive as I say the words I know will cut through all this bullshit like a knife.

“I love Simon Snow, Father.”

His stone expression cracks. (Good.) 

Something about saying these words out loud to my father feels like a dam is breaking. Like stepping into the light. So I keep going. “When I think of my future, he’s in it. He is it. Whatever plans you’ve assigned me, Simon’s partnership will be part of them, and if that’s a problem, I might advise you to rethink my role in the future of the estate altogether.”

His eyes narrow as he sits across from me, lips curling in a scowl. The cool veil over his face is gone.

“He’s a Normal. He’s not a part of our world anymore - he hasn’t been for five years - and you haven’t come to terms with it yet. When it comes to ‘the future of the estate’ as you put it, I think you know that there are certain expectations that must be met, and they do not include diluting our influence by associating with the likes of Snow.”

I can’t stop my face from contorting in disgust at his words, but I refuse to raise my voice. “I do know. I’m 23 and I’m prepared to meet my obligations, but they don’t include sacrificing my one prospect for happiness just because the Old Families think Simon is beneath them. He lost - no - sacrificed his magic to save the world of mages,” I say, my voice losing some of its steadiness. “That they haven’t fallen down on their knees to thank him is a despicable show of their arrogance. If being with Simon diminishes our family’s influence, well, frankly…” 

I lean back and cross my arms. 

“I don’t give a fuck.”

My father sets his jaw. He knows who my every reference to the Old Families is really talking about, and he’s ready to deliver his kill shot.

Well, that’s just fine. I’m ready, too.

“Basilton, I will not stand by while the heir to the House of Pitch throws away generations of effort building our standing in the magical world. This name for which you have so little regard is what has made your life possible,” he snaps, rising to his feet so he can talk down to me like I’m a teenager again. Like I’m still the lynchpin in the master plan to take down the Mage and I’d better not fuck it up for everyone.

“If you choose to remain with Snow, you forfeit your name. Your influence. Your inheritance. Everything.”

For a moment, I stare at him. There it is. His ultimate threat. He disapproves of Simon so much, he’d toss me out of the Pitch line of succession altogether, and I’m surprised to realize that I’m not shocked by how far he is willing to go to exert his control over me. I’m far more astonished by the ferocity of his blind hate. 

I pause to think.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Father,” I say at last, casually standing and straightening my suit jacket. “If that is the case, then the House of Pitch has no heir.”

They are the last words I say to him before I stride out the front door of Pitch Manor, carrying nothing but a box of my mother’s photos, jewelry, and books in my arms, my spare violin case slung over my shoulder. I can hear Daphne shouting at my father to stop me from leaving, and while the sound makes everything inside my ribs constrict, my legs keep walking.

My other belongings, the clothes, the furniture - my bloody inheritance - they can keep all of it. If denouncing everything they’ve given me is what it takes for me to earn a sliver of happiness in this world, I’ll do it with a fucking smile on my face.

Simon is waiting for me at the car, and he’s looking at me, eyes wide in a mixture of confusion and worry.  

It’s all right, love, I think. I have everything I need.

I have you.

*****

Earlier, Simon and I had gone up to my room to inspect how my family had kept up the place since the magic returned to Hampshire. I’m the only one who never moved back to Pitch Manor; by then, Bunce had gotten engaged and ventured to America to marry Micah, so I took over her part of the lease and moved in with Simon. Scanning my old bedroom, I appeared my things remained exactly as I’d left them. Meticulously organized. Spotless.

Less like home, and more like a hotel room.

Father had called me to visit because he had “something of critical importance to discuss.” I agreed on the prerequisite that I would take Simon with me and pilfer some of my mother’s things. No one would miss them. I’m the only one who thinks about her anymore, it seems.

I’m the only one who thinks about anything. I can’t help it. Being a vampire, it’s a necessity to think and plan and carry out my daily life with scalpel-like precision lest I accidentally find myself in a compromised position with a mouth full of fangs. 

Not like Simon. As I poured over boxes in my closet, I glanced over at him as he idly ran a hand over the carved bed frame where he sat beside me and first asked to be my “terrible boyfriend” - only a day after he first kissed me and only two days after he insisted I creeped him out. 

That about-face happened so fast, I’m shocked we both didn’t get whiplash.

But that’s just Snow. Heart over head. Always.

I envy him. I’m so... cerebral compared to Simon. When your senses are constantly bombarded with the sights and smells of a blood meal, even when you’re used to it, you still need your wits about you to stave off the impulse to sink your fangs into some poor unsuspecting creature and drain them dry. (Though I’d light myself with a match before I’d ever hurt him, sometimes, that creature is Simon himself.) 

Simon, on the other hand, is all intuition. He practically stumbles into brilliance because he goes with the flow and feels his steps before he thinks them through. It’s insufferable how easy he makes it look. Granted, he thinks about things a lot more now than he did before that fated night in the white chapel five years ago, but in general, he’s still unencumbered by the small anxieties and questions that plague me about pretty much everything.

Routines help. So does planning ahead.

I’m still plotting, even when I have no one to plot against.

All this mental exertion ever seems to do is delay the inevitable. The first time Simon and I made love happened two years after we’d started dating. I’d say it was because Simon was still working through trauma after losing his magic and watching the Mage die or that we were simply waiting it out because we weren’t ready - which was true for a while, I guess. But it’s more accurate to say it was my fault, and mine alone. Given the depth of my affection for Snow, it felt absurd to wait that long.

He wanted it. I wanted it. (So badly.) It came up during kisses and naps and homework and dinners, and it very nearly happened several times before I inevitably derailed us, using my “condition” as a scapegoat. But the truth was that I was terrified to traverse a line into the ultimate unknown. I tortured myself with questions. What if everything I’d waited so long for was going to change? What if my emotional failings are laid bare and he realizes I’m not worthy of the devastating sacrifices he’d made to be with me?

(Not to mention, his wings and tail practically sent me into a fucking panic attack every time I tried to factor them into the logistics.)

But when it did finally happen, it was because Snow told me to shut up and trust him and, for once, I listened. My freckled fallen angel - who will still eat butter out of the dish when he thinks I’m not looking, loves sour cherry scones with his tea, and constructs his sentences like he’s part Numpty when I fluster him - took me into his arms one night, and, in the middle of a kiss, whispered into my mouth to stop thinking.

So I did.

(Granted, he was also undressing me in torturously slow motion. The state I was in, he could have asked me to walk blindfolded into a blazing inferno and I would have agreed.)

As it turns out, I’d worked myself up for nothing. Making love to Simon felt like discovering I could breathe underwater. Like unlocking a superpower I’d always had, the way it felt when Simon first shared his magic with me, only this time, the universe was in my own pocket to give to Snow. 

I look back on it now and then, and I think, even after giving it all up to the Humdrum, Simon Snow is still made of magic.

*****

We are exiting Hampshire when I catch Simon looking out the window, his eyebrows forming a straight line over his eyes.

“Should I call someone for help, Snow? You look so lost in thought, you’re going to need a map to find your way back out,” I quip, but my attempt at levity falls flat now that Simon knows the details of my meeting with Father.

“I don’t want to come between you and your family, Baz.”

“Crowley, why do you care? These are the same people who spent the whole of our time together at Watford commanding me to plot your demise,” I say.

He shrugs. “They’re still your family.”

“Well, I’m not the one who needs reminding,” I mutter petulantly, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn even whiter. “All of this rubbish because they don’t want me to smear the family name. You’re the greatest mage who’s ever lived and it’s still not good enough for one Malcolm Grimm-Pitch.”

“Baz, you’re speeding.”

“Shit. Yes. I know.”

I ease my foot off the accelerator as Simon takes my hand off the wheel and presses it. “He’ll come around.”

“He won’t. He’s too much like me.”

“That’s precisely why he will. He loves you.”

I scoff. “One would think.” 

Tears are pricking at the corners of my eyes, but letting them fall feels like giving in, and I don’t want to give my father the satisfaction of hurting me, even if there’s no way for him to know. 

“Fuck, Snow, I don’t need his approval. I don’t want it even if he had it to give me. What has being a Pitch ever done for me but complicate my life and put me in the crosshairs of power hungry ingrates and monsters?”

“You don’t mean that,” he says.

“I do,” I snap back. “Anyway, I still have Fiona. I still have friends. I have you. Father has always treated me more like a political pawn than a son. I’ve fared well enough without my mother. I don’t need a father.”

Simon squeezes my hand before he lets go and returns his gaze to the scenery passing by the window. “I think you’d feel differently if you’d grown up without one.”

He’s right, but I don’t say it. He already knows.

I look at Simon, then. He’s older now, but there are traces left of the boy he was when we shared a room in Mummer’s House. It’s still there: the face I fell in love with when I was twelve and too young to realize I was already done for when it came to ever loving anyone else. He still has a mop of bronze curls I get to touch now, and those are still his eyes--ordinary but for the extraordinary way they look at me. 

My Simon Snow. Brave, blundering, and chosen by something to turn my villainous life upside down and make a hero out of me. The kind of man who would be mistreated and rejected by an ignorant, snobby prat like my father and still find it in his heart--and mine--to forgive him.

Merlin, I love him. I love him so much, I ache thinking about it. If I’m only half dead, the part that’s living is alive because of him.

I pull the car over. Suddenly, I feel dizzy. Like I can’t take in a full breath of air.

Simon turns to look at me. “Baz, what’s wrong?”

“Marry me.” I say it quietly.

He squints at me, incredulous. “What?”

“Marry me. Today. I’m done waiting,” I insist. “I’m tired of thinking everything has to be just right and storybook perfect if I’m going promise you everything I am and will ever be. I’m not holding out for my family’s approval anymore. Everyone who counts loves you already. Let’s just go.”

“But-”

“We could go to town to the register’s office. Bunce is in town with Micah visiting her mum at Watford - she can bloody officiate for all I care.”

“You want to elope? Baz, do you hear yourself?”

“I admit this is one of the more half-baked schemes I’ve ever come up with. And I know everything’s shit and I’m a walking disaster and you could do far better than an arsehole vampire with an arsehole father who doesn’t accept you--and I know I’m not stopping time or whatever the bloody hell Bunce did for Micah--but none of it matters because I just want you with me always, on paper, signed, witnessed, and fucking notarized, and anything that delays it isn’t worth the trouble,” I ramble, stopping only for breath before I continue pouring my heart out over my steering wheel. 

I swallow hard, and my voice softens to a whisper. “I want to spend every day forward endeavoring to deserve you. I don’t care if I’m never welcome at Pitch Manor for the rest of my cursed, immortal life as long as I get to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of yours.”

His mouth keeps opening and closing, like he can’t comprehend what I’m suggesting. So I keep going because there’s no taking back what I’ve just done, and I can’t seem to stop the torrent of words falling out of my mouth. I don’t want to. 

I take Simon’s hands.

“Crowley, I love you. You only need to look at me to make me feel like I’m back in Watford being set ablaze with your magic for the first time. You kiss me and it’s like the universe is expanding in all directions inside my chest. You make me feel alive, Simon. All I ever want to do is make you happy and protect you and yes, take the mickey out of you, and I feel... I feel like this is the one thing I can’t overthink. And in my defense, I’ve had all the time in the world to contemplate this considering I’ve been obsessed with you since the day we met.”

I’m starting to tremble, so I grip Simon’s hands tighter until he’s wincing and staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. But his hands are warm and I’m losing my nerve, and he still hasn’t answered.

“There’s no one else I will ever feel this way about. If we wait for my family to accept you, we’ll be waiting forever, and now that I know there’s nothing to wait for, I just want us to belong to each other already so I don’t have to bloody think about it anymore, and Simon Snow.... do you want to marry me?”

There. I’ve done it. I’ve finally gotten my head out of the way and let my heart lead for once. Simon is slack-jawed and staring unblinkingly at me. I wonder if he’s breathing. I know I’m not.  

I’m not sure he understood me.

Or maybe he did, and this is just what rejection looks like.

Oh, Merlin...

Simon’s breath comes out in a ragged gust as he pulls me into a crushing embrace. His face is pressed into my neck, and I feel his voice resonate through me as he speaks the two words I’ll remember for the rest of my days.

“I do.”

*****

The sun will be rising soon. I haven’t slept, and soon enough I’ll lose the chance to do so. I’ve been married to Simon for ten hours and it seems like such a waste to miss out on it by sleeping.

Yesterday afternoon, Bunce and Micah met Simon and me at a local register office in London after that disastrous morning spent in Hampshire. I thought Bunce might balk at the rashness of my proposal, but I rather think she relished seeing me plan something that didn’t necessitate the use of a whiteboard for once. “You smitten, sentimental berk,” she said, smiling at me as she handed Simon her father’s ring - a temporary one since we needed a ring in a pinch and Simon insists on picking one out for me himself.

I only ever had one ring in mind. I gave Simon my mother’s ring and spelled it to fit him. (“Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger.” It’s a complicated spell, and one I’d practiced and perfected in private knowing how and when I’d use it.) She was the one who had brought us together, after all.

It was only the four of us at the register office, so we agreed to make a decent celebration of our marriage eventually and invite our friends and loved ones once we had time to plan something properly. Bunce immediately volunteered herself. (“I’ll eat pixie dust before I let you plan a wedding party without my help.”)

She cried during the vows. I very nearly did myself. They were simple - a script read to us by the deputy registrar for us to repeat back - but any mage in the room could feel the magic dripping from those words. I think even Snow himself felt it.

And thus, Simon Snow married me. Afterward, we all went back to our flat in Sutton with an enormous order of biryani and samosas to go with the champagne Micah and Bunce had brought to celebrate, and we toasted the future. I waited for them to leave before pulling SImon into my arms to dance with me. He dances so poorly, he nearly twisted my ankle.

I didn’t care.

I felt light. Free. Simon may have the wings, but last night... I was flying.

*****

SIMON

The last 24 hours happened so quickly, I feel like I’ve imagined them.

I got married yesterday. To Baz.

And somehow, like waking from a dream, we’re back in our flat and I’m up with the sun, watching him sleep like I always do. On the surface, the only thing that seems to have changed is that we’re both wearing rings now. And yet, I feel different. Everything is different. New.

I think I understand now what Baz meant when he said my instant change of heart during our last year at Watford left him both disoriented and elated at the same time.

It’s bittersweet for him, I know. Baz believes he’s orphaned now. There’s also that.

He’s not.

His dad will come around. The ones who love us almost always do. Not even Baz and I could hold our grudge, and we were meant to kill each other. But, Merlin, if that’s what it took for Baz to make a husband of me sooner than later, I’m grateful that his father is, for the moment, such a colossal fucking knob.

The sun is rising, casting long shadows in the room, and the glow off the horizon makes Baz’s skin shine gold. He looks so peaceful this way - with strands of his black hair falling into his face and one hand draped over his pillow beside his cheek, his chest rising and falling with every long breath. He often has his heart in a vice over something or other, even when he’s playing insufferably cool, calm, and collected all the livelong day. I’ve learned to read the signs that tell me Baz’s mind is in overdrive. Seems like his thoughts are always churning.

Not so just now, though. I can’t help myself; my fingers reach out to gently brush away the strands of hair on his face, and he stirs. 

Baz sighs deeply and opens one eye in my direction. He grins, and the sight overwhelms me. He’s in my arms, right where I want him, and he always will be.  He’s looking at me like I’m his, and that’s because I am. (Legally.) I always thought I’d be the one to propose first, but I might have guessed Baz would beat me to the punch, the competitive git. I’m fine with that. 

We’ve got the rest of our lives to take turns leading.

So many of the important things we say to each other anymore are said without words, so I don’t need to say anything for Baz to reach for me. He pulls me down to kiss him, and as our lips meet, I get a fleeting glimpse at the future we’ve just embarked on together. Hundreds of moments yet to be shared rush through my mind and my breath is catching because I feel it all at once...

Joy. Sorrow. Pleasure. Pain. Ecstasy. Hope.  

Love.

And then I stop thinking.

[kyouxa]

Diabolik lovers Chaos Lineage: Carla Tsukinami (Story 09)

In terms of the gameplay: The black choices lead up to a bad ending, the white choices lead up to a good ending. Please no reposting onto other sites, ask me before translating this into another language too! I’m an amateur translator, but I hope you do enjoy it anyway!♡

Place: Violet mansion — entrance hall

Subaru: Shit, why am I being the one who needs to clean up.

Yui: I'm sorry, that was the only thing that came to my mind...

Carla: I can‘t help it. It would make them suspicious if the three of us were in the same room.

Don‘t be like that and share actions. To that end, it’s the best to make you clean as a punishment.

Subaru: So, why aren’t you helping cleaning it!? Why are you just standing there?

Carla: I’m watching you so you don’t drop your work. Such a construction would have been...

Subaru: Thats why, it would have been nice to say to everyone that it’s cleaning duty.

Carla: Then why aren’t you thinking about working harder to get done soon?

Subaru: Damn... ! You seriously make me frustrated!

Yui: W-Well, uhm... For everyone else, I also want them to get their memories back.

Why aren’t we trying to talk with them, in a meeting maybe?

Subaru: ... Well, I don‘t think that they would believe us, if we suddenly told them about their lost memories.

Yui: Probably, it might be better to keep it as a secret for now.

(I set up this cleaning, so we could talk about our future plans without making anyone suspicious...)

(Honestly, I don't hate cleaning once in awhile)

Subaru: So? When will we go to that church which you said is suspicious?

Carla: That’s what I’m thinking about. If we move badly, we‘ll be attacked by members from other houses.

Once, I've been attacked by the Orange members. There is a high possibility that they’ll move again.

Yui: Certainly, Laito-kun’s out on his daily reconnaissance, right?

Carla: Yes. We need to wait for a time when we can say surely that there is no movement.

Subaru: That means we basically have no plan...

Carla: I just carry out things very carefully. Obviously, I also want to escape from this weird world as soon as possible.

Besides, in the Orange mansion... there’s someone I still need.

Yui: Ngh...

(Shin-kun ... we have to recover his memories too)

(Subaru-kun is completly different from Shin-kun who also is a founder, but how can we make him remember?)

Carla: Anyway, let's wait for the reconnaissance report today.

Subaru: Ah, idiot! Don't start walking around! There’s a bucket with water somewh—!

Carla: Hm?

Yui: Hey what!?

Place: Violet mansion — bathroom

Carla: ... I was careless. It‘s my fault that bucket fell down, you‘re completely soaked wet now.

Yui: No, this is all right. I’ll just take a shower, I will be completely refreshed after that.

(I thought that before, but Carla-san is in general, not really good at cleaning...)

(I think I can get used to it if I give it time, but the fact that he’s not good at cleaning and maybe other things... is really cute)

Carla: You should also clean the places you can’t reach. I’ll stay here to help you with it.

Yui: Eh!? It's alright. It‘s just a bath, I can clean my own body by myself!

Carla: There’s no need to be ashamed. Besides, I also got some water on my own clothes.

If you already take a bath, I‘m sure it wouldn‘t be a problem if I joined you in there?

Yui: Uhm, because there are other people in this house we can’t do this! We need to avoid actions which stand out!

(There was nobody interrupting us in the demon world, but now there are people around.... I'm somehow embarrassed)

Carla: You‘re face makes it clear for me... I‘ll leave you alone, but only this time.

However, when you finished your bath, come straight to my room. I‘ll wait there.

Yui: Huh? Y-Yes...

(I wonder what he wants?)

Place: Violet mansion — Carla's bedroom

Yui: No way, I didn't expect something like this to happen ....

(Carla-san, he really is brushing and drying my hair...)

Carla: It was me who made you wet in the first place. Let me do this for you now, to make you feel good.

Yui: But, Carla-san’s already nice to me, and you didn’t even took a shower for yourself yet, right?

Carla: That’s not a matter of concern.

Yui: Also, to say that...

(But, I do feel good. Why is it so good to have your head being touched by the one you like?)

Carla: Do you think, your body is warm enough already?

Yui: Yes, thank you.

Carla: It looks like that. Your face is kinda red. It matches the colors on your neck...

...mwah...

Yui: Hey what!?

W-Why did you kiss me?

Carla: Maybe because your blood flow is getting thicker, the smell of your blood is way too intense.

Right now, I just want to put my fangs in your skin...

Yui: Ahh...

(I-It’s tickling... it’s a weak stimulus, but I missed it)

(I-I honestly think, I’m getting completely comfortable with Carla-san sucking my blood, I might start loving it...)

Carla: I finished brushing your hair. If you are in a good mood, would you mind if I continue sucking your blood?

Yui: Carla-san... why are you suddenly asking for my permission to take my blood?

Carla: I just wanted to ask you for today. However, as long as I receive your love I‘m fine.

Yui: (I really do look pretty after he brushed my hair like that... I don‘t want my hair to get sloppy again...)

(Oh ... by the way)

Carla-san, did I change your bandages after rising out of the bath acceptable?

Carla: Did you divert the brave of the topic? Do you really think that you can get away changing it?

Yui: No, I'm not. I won't run away ... I just wondered if I've rolled it up properly.

Carla: The wound seems to be already closing. I won‘t need bandages anymore so it doesn’t matter.

Yui: Does that mean, you didn‘t do anything about your injuries?

That’s not good, just in case you should continue wearing bandages.

Carla: I said that it is unnecessary.

Yui: (T-That‘s right. He’s acting like a child again...)

Choices

1) — scold (black)

2) — worried (white) ♡ ♡ ♡

— scold

Yui: I can’t just leave you alone while being injured, do you want to make everyone worried like that?

Besides, if you don’t look after it, Carla-san won’t be at ease if you become ill again, right?

Carla: ...You are, recently coming to threaten me way more often.

Yui: That’s wrong. I'm just worried about your health.

— worried ♡

Yui: Sometimes even a few injuries lead to severely worse wounds. You shouldn’t take off your guard.

Carla-san’s body is not a normal one in the first place. Please don’t hesitate to ask me for help.

Carla: You have a brave character .... I got a good understanding which makes the part to argue with you difficult.

More than that, how did you learn to act like that...

end Choices

Yui: Then I will redress the bandages for you, but promise me to take care of yourself.

Carla: …It can’t be helped. The medical products are in the storage of the house.

Yui: Thank you! Well then, I'll go get them.

Carla: Wait. I’ll go with you.

Yui: There’s no need to, I'll be back soon!

Carla: ... Good grief. I’ll probably never get to understand that woman.

Place: Violet mansion — Storage

Yui: Bandages, uh... here! Was there anything else that I needed?

Oh, there is a first aid suitcase. I'm going to bring this with me too.

(After all, I'm glad I can also do something for his health)

(It seems that I was not the only one who was left alone until a little while ago—)

(If you tasted such loneliness, your heart is pretty light like a cloud now)

(Carla-san and Subaru-kun’s memories have returned. I won’t be alone anymore)

(And, we know that the cause of this situation is likely to be in the church)

If everything goes well, we might be able to escape from here.

I don’t want... to reduce more days which I used to spent with Carla-san and Shin-kun in the demon world.

*breaking sound*

Yui: Uh... ngh!?

Wait what!?

(W-Where, am I... !?)

??? : — Eve

Yui: Ngh, that voice. I heard it in the church before ...

??? : Oh, so you do remember our first meeting. My name is Socrates. I'm the creator of this box garden you’re in.

Yui: Box... garden... ? Creator... !?

After all, it was you who made this space!?

Socrates: That's right. I wanted to give it a try and made up this place for a certain experiment.

Yui: Did you, also make our memories go crazy and shut us up in here... ?

Socrates: I did.

Yui: Why... why, this is, such a horrible situation!

Socrates: Horrible?

Yui: Planting false memories, they are all fighting their own brothers because of it!

Even if, life is bothersome sometimes... Why did you do this to us!?

Socrates: I needed to do it.

This space you’re currently in was created by magic. Supplied magic powers are going through the church as you predicted.

As long as there is the church, this space garden will continue to exist forever.

I won’t hesitate to leave once this experiment is over.

Yui: What exactly, is the experiment about?

Socrates: It wouldn’t be fair to just talk about it now. The experiment wouldn’t continue, like I predicted it would if I did tell you.

Yui: Do you have any intention of returning us to our original place right now?

Socrates: Whenever we see the end of the experiment we will release all of you.

Yui: ...Ngh

(Honestly, I have no idea what I’m supposed to do in such a situation. But... )

(Everyone suffers, because of this experiment and this person. Everyone is fighting without a meaning)

I... I can’t understand your experiment neither your ideas...

But I swear, we’ll definitely get out of this space!

Socrates: So you really will choose this option. But, is that really the right choice to make?

Yui: ... What does that mean?

Socrates: This box garden, is completely deviating from the normal flow of time.

In other words, it is the same as the time has stopped for this world.

Yui: The time, it stopped ...?

Socrates: Exactly. For example, even diseases that touched the body are stopping its progression.

Yui: ...Ngh, that’s...

(That means Endzeit— Carla-san’s disease couldn’t continue getting worse because of this space?)

Socrates: That man, was a survivor of the founder. However, he seems to be affected by a certain sickness.

It will only be temporary that his symptoms have settled down. If you leave, you’ll lead him to death.

Yui: Such... !

(Carla-san is suffering from Endzeit which took away his whole family’s life already)

(But, if the time really stops in this space, does that really mean Carla-san is released from this disease...?)

Socrates: Choose it wise, Eve. Do you want to continue to live in this paradise, or do you want to get expelled from here?

I’ll be here, continuing to watch the experiment—

Yui: Please wait. Just who are you... !?

Socrates: This is useless to ask for. You mustn’t tell anyone about this for now—

*returns to storage*

Yui: He returned me back here...

(The person, who created this box garden)

(Certainly, is it true what he told me about the time in this world?)

I shouldn’t, tell anyone what just happened for now...

If it’s true what he said, Carla-san’s disease really won’t progress at all.

But, even after I heard that, Carla-san would—

Monologue

Socrates words, they are still confusing me.

Getting out of this box garden, is something my beloved Carla-san wants — but is that really the best for him?

If we’d stay here, Carla-wan would be free from his sickness.

But, Carla-san who is a proud founder, wouldn’t agree to twist his fate with the use of others hands.

I can't even answer myself right now, should I get out of this garden or stay?

With my intricately intertwined feelings, I ended up holding a heavy secret that I can’t tell anyone—

[https-em]

Bucky Barnes: Power Outage

Warning: this is a smut!

(repost from my Wattpad)

This is my baby right here 👉🏻

Words: 4,000 - i put a whole ass storyline into this

Sum: While staying at the Avengers complex, Y/N finds herself stuck in a power outage, lucky there’s one other person awake to keep her company. Lemme tell you, she’s real lucky.

~

I turn my head stare out the window into the dark country sky. I admire the stars and the nice blue sky  In upstate New York, the rain crashing down against the window. I woke up in the middle of the night and I can't fall back asleep so now I am soaking in a bath. A dim light is in the corner of the room, not serving much light. I take my hand and play with some of the bubbles.

My own home got destroyed due to an Avenger incident, my apartment complex went down. Thankfully I'm closely aquatinted with Wanda who is allowing me to stay with her in the Avenger complex. No hard feelings, I got my own guest room honestly I can't complain. Tony and most of the Avengers have been gone out on business for a while, but Wanda and a few others are still here. Honestly it's been rather relaxing and welcoming.

Strangely, the dim light flickers off. I furrow my eyebrows and sit up in the tub. I'm in complete darkness.

"That's creepy," I whisper and stand up, pulling the drain lever. Maybe the bulb burnt out. I grab my towel and wrap it around myself, stepping out of the tub and drying myself off.

I drop my towel and grab my clean clothes, pulling shorts and a tank top over my body. I can see myself in the mirror, my tired eyes and wet hair. My shirt clings to my body, making it almost see through, but I figure I won't see anyone. I shiver and open the door which leads to the hallway. Everything is pitch black and I can't see anything. I begin to hear a faint noise far away, it sounds like bottles clinking together. I blindly walk towards the noise and my eyes slowly adjust to the darkness.

I turn random corners and realize I'm walking in the direction of the kitchen. It's very late, I wonder who is up. Gliding my fingers against the wall so I don't bump into anything, I see a dark figure moving around in the kitchen. Timidly, I walk towards it and cross my arms, feeling overwhelmingly cold.

"Hello?" I ask in a low voice.

I stand at the entry of the open kitchen, looking at this large figure which is not Wanda. His arms are moving around and it looks like he is pouring alcohol. His head looks up and his hair falls behind his head.

"Hey."

He has a low and calming voice, I know who that voice belongs to. My feet patter along the cold tile as I walk towards the counter. I can't really see anything but I can kind of see his face. I think that’s Bucky, I've talked to him before in these past couple of days. Before I came here, Wanda talked about him because she assumed I would be scared of him. I look down at the bottle he is pouring and see it's vodka. He is straight up drinking vodka in a whisky glass. He must take alcohol well. But it is past twelve in the morning– seems personal.

Moonlight shines from the window and surrounds us, giving me a better view of his face. He looks at me with kind eyes and pushes a glass towards me.

"What do you drink?" He asks and turns around to the alcohol cabinet.

I can tell he just came out of bed, he's wearing grey sweatpants and a tee shirt. I can see his metal arm that extends from his shoulder, I eye it for a moment, trying not to stare at it.

I stumble my words and say, "anything really." I wasn't planning on drinking tonight, I was actually planning to look at apartments in Manhattan.

He pulls a bottle of something out of the cabinet and turns towards me.

"Enjoying yourself so far?" He asks with a small smile on his lips.

I nod my head and say, "it was very generous of Tony to let me stay here. I'm leaving soon though."

He pours himself another glass of vodka and I can smell it from here, it's burning my nose. With that much alcohol in his stomach, he must be drunk.

"I haven't seen you around here that much," I mutter and drink some more of the wine. I think this wine costs more than me.

My mind trails off but then I recall that it's true, I have only spoke to him a couple of times but other than that, I haven't really seen him. I can tell he's shy and reserved.

He nods his head and speaks, "you can probably tell this place isn't very private. Tony has his security following me around all day. I'd rather live anywhere else but here honestly."

"Why's that?"

He shrugs his shoulders and says, "he thinks I'm a threat." My bottom lip pouts when he says that which makes him chuckle.

"Well," I speak and finish the glass. "You seem fine to me."

He smiles and looks up at me for a couple of seconds and we sit in silence. He's rather handsome, his stubble and hair compliment his face rather well, and even in the darkness I can see his deep eyes. Looking away, I stare out the window at the horrible storm.

I clear my throat and ask, "what happened with the lights?" Obviously trying to make small talk.

Bucky shrugs his shoulders, "just the storm probably. But no one is awake to fix it."

I laugh and look back up at him. So I'm stuck in darkness for who knows how long.

"Rough night?" I finally ask, watching him chug his glass of vodka.

He nods his head and stares down at the bottom of his glass. "Yeah." I couldn't help but feel bad for him. I feel rather comfortable around him, Wanda was right.

"You’re not alone on that one.”

I can see another smile forming on his face. "Why are you awake at this hour? Beauty sleep is important you know."

I laugh and respond, "I couldn't sleep so I took a bath. And then the power went out."

He nods his head and his mouth timidly opens like he's going to say something. His bottom lip falls and he timidly says, "you're being really nice to me." It almost sounded like a question.

I furrow my eyebrows In confusion and my words slowly stumble out, "why wouldn't I be nice to you?"

"I don't mean to state the obvious but,” he looks down at his arm and my gaze shifts to his to robotic piece. “the metal arm is kind of flashy," he jokes.

I shake my head and say, "Wanda throws things with her mind, I'm not one to judge."

"Well," he begins and plays with his glass. "I'm not used to this much kindness from a stranger. People don't take lightly on what I did." He taps the glass with his digits. “Not to get all sappy here, but..” He trails off with weak laughter.

A small smile forms across my cheeks and I shake my head, " I don't believe in ghost stories."

He mutters, "a lot of people do."

He smiles and his hand reaches over the counter for mine. My eyes follow his hand as I’m curious what he’s going to do. His hand wraps around mine and carries my hand to his lips. "You're a doll." He places a soft kiss on my knuckle, slightly grazing my knuckle with his sharp stubble. I can feel the warmth rising in my cheeks like I’m some child. We look at each other for a second, which seemed like forever, and just from those seconds I can tell he is in desperate need of loving– genuinely speaking as well. Our hands rest on the table, his on top of mine. Then I hear a loud familiar bang remarkably just outside the window; my body tenses up and I peer outside. Bucky couldn’t help but to chuckle a little. The amount of thunder outside is making me wonder how long this complex will be in darkness.

My eyes finally meet Bucky’s and I sense some sort of tenderness in them. My first instinct was to question his sobriety, but then again I don’t think any human would even be standing from drinking that much alcohol. “Are you drunk?” My head falls and I watch our hands.

"No."

And that was all I needed. There’s something about how he’s scanning all over my face and arms, and shoulders, and my neck– something rather extraordinary.

Bucky slips his hand away from mine and reaches into his pocket, fiddling for something. I look down at my empty hand and swallow my disappointment. I slide my hand back to my wine glass and fiddle with the stem, distracting myself. I notice a bright light and look up to see Bucky on his phone. He squints from the light and his eyes crinkle as he analyzes the screen. I turn my head and stare out the window at the rain, watching as each bead hits the glass, splattering and cracking into multiple directions. I turn my direction back to Bucky, thinking of conversation to make.

From the speaker on the ceiling, I hear a robotic voice speak, "connected to IPhone." In confusion, I watch as Bucky places his phone down flat on the counter and he gives me a small smile. Surrounding me, I hear the sweet tune of Fly Me To The Moon by Frank Sinatra. I instantly smile in excitement.

Bucky sticks out his hand to me, and without sharing words, I know what he is asking.

I can feel myself being flattered by his request, and I stutter for a moment before eventually and uncertainty giving him my hand.

Bucky broke out into a toothy smile, pulling me into the open kitchen, right below the speaker. The music floods in all directions, I can feel it swaying around me. My eyes trail up his face and lock eyes with him. He bears such kind, watery eyes that visibly travel all around my face and body. Bucky tilts his head lower, leaning closer to me, causing pieces of his chocolate hair to fall on his cheeks.

Bucky lifts up his arm and twirls me around, I couldn't help but giggle. My hair whirls around my head and I come to a stop in front of him. His tired eyes look into mine and his hands grab at my waist, pulling me closer to him. I slide my hands up his neck, feeling the muscles and caressing his prickly skin, eventually resting them behind his head. We move in tiny circles to the smooth beat as I slightly sway my hips.

He twirls me around again, wind fluttering my hair, a thought comes to my head and I say again, "I think you're drunk."

He shakes his head and chuckles. "I'm not drunk."

The song ends and we continue to dance as another song which I don't know but it sounds old-timey. I swear I can do this forever. But he stops me in front of him and keeps his hands wrapped firmly around my waist. I can feel my heartbeat increasing, and my skin getting a hot flush of red as we stand on the cold tile just admiring each other. Truth be told, no words can stumble out of my lips right now, he has me locked in a trancelike state. My finger tips start to circle around pieces of his hair, making his tongue swipe across his bottom lip.

My lips part and I speak a couple of words, "we should get to sleep soon.” I look past his face and into the empty hall.

Bucky's smile fades and his face slowly moves closer to mine, his breath bouncing off of my face. Our faces are centimeters apart, I had an overwhelming feeling to move closer, like something was even pulling us closer

"I don't want to sleep."

  Then Bucky filled the gap and kissed me, I shut my eyes, sliding my hands down to his stubbly jaw, and gently gripping him, falling into his cracked lips. I kiss back, our lips gently moving together until he pulls away, staring down at my face with his eyebrows gently furrowed. I can feel my body temperature rising every second that he just looks at me with his deep eyes, there are hints of lust as well, him slowly looking at my body and every curve of my face just added to it. I can feel myself wanting more of him. Maybe it was the time, maybe it was the wine, or maybe it's just him- but I ache to show this man love.

Through the silence of us and the song playing in the background, he mumbles, "are you leaving soon?"

I nod my head and swipe his bottom lip with my thumb. "Yes," is all that I can say, it seems all of my words are choked up in my throat.

"I don't want you to."

His voice is deep and demanding, making me realize that I don't want to either. Bucky smushes his lips against mine, making a little moan slip out of my mouth. His lips separate from my mouth, making me ache for more, they slide down to my neck and I tilt my head back, giving into his gentle yet lustful kisses. His large hands swiftly make their way to my ass, and in a quick motion, he lifts me up into his arms. He detaches his lips from my neck, and cold air hits against the wet kiss marks, sending shivers down my body. Bucky gently places me down on the counter, his hands placed firmly on my waist.

His thick fingers run along my back, giving me tingles and a sensation I didn't know was possible. I can feel a heat and a tickling sensation run throughout my stomach and core as his wet lips tease me with kisses and his fingers dance along my back. I can taste the vodka on his tongue that plays with mine.

His hands move down to my thighs and he gently grabs at them. I wrap my legs around his waist and slide my hands down his torso and up his shirt, feeling his abs and every muscle on his body. He leaves a trail of sloppy wet kisses down my neck and soon the only noise in the room was our heavy breathing and slow music. Some part of me wants the lights to come back on so I can see every single part of him. I pull up his shirt and he stops kissing me. He rests his head on my chest and looks up at me.

“Are you sure?"

Before he can finish his sentence I cut him off and eagerly assure him, "yes."

Bucky goes to work, removing himself from me and pulling off his tee shirt. I gawk at his bulging biceps and thick torso. My eyes trail up his chest to his eyes, only see lust and passion in his them; Bucky bites down on his bottom lip and leans into me, kissing me softly, making sure there’s no skin left untouched. His rough, calloused hands run up my shirt and send a shiver throughout my entire body. I can feel myself getting excited and eager, rubbing my thighs together to make some friction. Under my shirt, Bucky grabs at my bare boobs, massaging me while lustfully kissing me. I grab at his lip with my teeth and gently pull his lip as little moans fall from my mouth.

He takes off my shirt and lets it drop to the floor, and for a moment he stares at my chest, admiring my body.

"You're gorgeous, doll."

I smirk and moan as he plants wet kisses on my exposed nipple. When he pulls away I get hit with a burst of cold air on my boobs. He leans into my ear, biting it and kissing my jaw. I throw my head back and tangle my hands into his hair, tugging gently at his locks. His breath on my neck sends shivers down my spine.

"I want you," I whisper into his ear.

Bucky grabs my thighs and roughly pulls me towards his hips. "Yeah?" He asks in a husky low voice. His voice makes my hormones go nuts, I can already feel myself dripping for him. I can feel his large excited bulge inside his sweatpants waiting for me as Bucky's hips grind against me.

"Not just yet, doll," he mumbles in my ear.

My body wants him, in a way I need him. His fingers hook in my shorts and pull them down, along with my panties. They both drop to the floor. I'm completely bare, and his eyes roam my body like I'm candy. Bucky hooks his arms around my thighs and pulls me to the edge of the counter. He bends down, coming eye to eye with my dripping pussy. His stubble runs along my inner thighs as he places small kisses on my skin. His tongue pressed between my folds, dipping deeply into my clit, teasing me. My free hand grabbed his hair, pulling it out of his face. Bucky licked kissed and sucked like he couldn't get enough of me, taking 'eating me out' to the next level.

"Bucky," I gasp and he looks up at me, staring into my eyes just to see how I react to his tongue flicks.

His mouth wraps around my pussy and pulls my thighs closer to him, locking his lips against my pussy. He doesn't stop, continuing to devour me, and his aggressive tongue sent me over the edge. He still stares up at me, watching me come close to my orgasm.

"James," I moan and throw my head back in ecstasy. I felt the tight coil inside myself snap, my walls tightening and legs trembling with the shocks of pleasure coursing through my body. I try to close my legs from my sensitive clit, but Bucky pushes them open and slowly licks the enternece of my pussy- cleaning me up. I think that was the quickest I have ever orgasmed.

I speak unintelligible words, "oh my god."

Bucky stands up and spreads my legs that feel like jelly across the counter.

He scans my entire body, taking the image of me in and muttering,” you’re gorgeous.”

He leans down and plants a kiss on my lips before taking his thumb and gliding it across my entrance. Bucky kisses me as his middle finger slowly slides inside my wet entrance. He pumps a couple of times and I whimper. His erect cock springs out and Bucky pulls my thighs closer to him, aligning himself with my entrance.

His hand circles his thick cock against my hot folds, and I swear his teasing is killing me. His cock scrapes against my sensitive nub and I let out gentle frustrating moans. I can feel myself trembling under his touch.

He finally aligned himself with me and stared into my eyes, slowly pushing himself inside of me, looking at me to see how I react. I let out a low hiss and bite my cheek as he pushed into my tight core. He watched my distressed face, slowly pumping in and out of my wet core. I can feel his veins rubbing against my walls, which only lead to more indescribable pleasure.

"Faster."

Bucky happily obliged, sliding deeper and harder into me. I tilt my head back in ecstasy. I had never felt to filled until this moment. Every hard thrust sent throbbing pleasure throughout my body. His hands comforted me, his cold metal hand placed on my waist, and his warm hand holding open my thigh, gently caressing it.

He looks at my face, admiring every ounce of pleasure I showed through my face. Bucky grunts and snaps his hips harder, pushing himself further inside of me. I mutter something like 'yes' or 'more,' his cock completely sending waves of pleasure inside me.

"You feel so good, babydoll," Bucky mutters, digging his fingers into my leg and hip.

After what seemed like minutes, the noises in the room got louder, our breath picked up, and our moans echoed throughout the room. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out what is going on in the kitchen, but I don't care.

I can feel myself coming over the edge, my hands went to my head, putting my hands over my head. Bucky snaps and rolls his hips one more time, making my body be sent over the edge and my walls tighten around him. All of the muscles in my body contract as I moan his name and he deeply fucks me. Bucky takes his hand and grabs my chin, making me look directly at him as I have a breathtaking orgasm. I swear I moaned his name over and over again. The feeling of my tightening walls around him and my moans was enough to make him cum on the spot. He pulls himself out of me and groans as a hot spurt of cum lands on my stomach, still staring into my ecstasy filled eyes.

We both calm down, he turns his head and kisses my leg with wet kisses.

"That was amazing," I whisper, laying lifeless on the counter like jelly.

Bucky chuckles and looks down at me with passionate eyes. He caresses my thighs and smiles down at me. Bucky places his hands on my hips and lifts me up to his chest, I look up in his eyes and he grabs the back of my head, pulling me into a lustful kiss.

He whispers, "I think you should stay for a little longer."

He was serious, just looking down into my eyes. I smile and say, "I think I should too."

He kisses the top of my head before bending down and pulling up his sweatpants. He held his tee shirt over his shoulder and I swear I can stare at him forever. I place my hands on top of his biceps, gently feeling both of his arms. I run my fingers along the scar where metal meets skin, expecting resistance from him– but he doesn't pull away, he just looks into my eyes. I feel along his muscles, in every curvature of his body, admiring him. Bucky smiles and takes my hand, helping me off the counter and grabbing my clothes for me, putting my tank top over my head and pulling my shorts over my legs. His hands run from my feet up to my thighs and I get shivers down my spine.

Bucky holds my arm and we walk out of the kitchen, to what I assume is his bedroom. We pass peoples bedroom doors and no one seems to be disturbed. I think we got lucky.

As we walk into Bucky's room I hear his phone buzzing from his pocket. I take a look around Bucky's big melodramatic bedroom before seating myself in his bed that released a smell of cologne. He closes the door and takes his phone out of his pocket, putting it on speaker and leaving it on his dresser.

"Yeah?" Bucky answers. 

I hear a noisy background from the other line. I wonder who that is. In his dark room the only light is the light from his phone.

"Hey Buck."

I instantly recognize that voice, it's Steve. My attention snaps to the phone call.

"You should tell Tony to get his crew over here, there's a power outage, it's storming pretty bad outside."

Steve responds, "Yeah, we saw. They're coming in the morning."

"You saw?" Bucky questions.

Steve chuckles and I hear another voice chime in, who I recognize instantly. "Yeah we have cameras tinman," Tony loudly announces.

Bucky and I freeze, looking at each other, just remaining dead silent.

Tony jokes, "I guess the tinman does have a heart after all."

I put my hand over my mouth as I stare off into his wall in amusement is disbelief. Bucky smirks and rubs his stubble with his fingers.

"Tony-" Steve speaks, interrupting Tony. Both of them start to laugh. At least they aren’t mad.

"I never knew a one hundred year old man can preform so well," Tony says.

I mumble to myself, "oh my god," and hold in my laughter. How unfortunate.

Bucky picks up his phone and says, "alright-" but only to get interrupted by Tony.

"I'm gonna have to get a cleaning service on that counter ASAP-"

Bucky instantly hangs up and we both start simultaneously laughing, probably waking up the entire complex. I've never been more embarrassed and more pleased in my entire life. Bucky sinks into bed with me, making me bounce up a little and weighing down his side of the bed. I turn to face him and we stare at each other smiling. Bucky places a kiss on my forehead and pressing his chin against my head. I lay there inhaling his intoxicating scent, falling into a daze.

Yeah, I think I'll stay longer.

[something-tofightfor]

Skin

Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader

Word count: 2431

Rating: M (language… lil bit of zest)

Author’s Note: This is answering an ask from @its-my-little-dumpster-fire

I didn’t skimp. 

Tagging: 

@banditthewriter @breanime @obscurilicious @madamrogersstorytelling  @suchatinyinfinity @chibiyanai @songtoyou @ethereal-heavcns @editboutique @marauderskeeper @drinix @ilkaeliseb @delicatelilyflower @king4thesirens @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @ymariejp @mr-robot-x @rageshots @shinebrightlikeafanbase @littlemermaidprobz @zaffrenotes @introvertedlibrary @writing-for-a-chance @yesixoxo @ilikebeachessushiandsmallanimals @likeorions @swiftyhowlz @dylanobrusso @luminex3 @malik-payne @lexxierave @lynne1993 @elanor-of-imladris @bucky-is-my-precious @traeumerinwitzhelden @mfackenthal @weallhaveadestiny @ladyblablabla @sweetybuzz25 @dreamwritesimagines @thesumofmychoices @audreychaz @tc-elliot @dreams-with-thoughts @kind-wolf @gollyderek @honeyydippaa @thesandbeneathmytoes @geeksareunique @the-blind-assassin-12 @benbarnestongue @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @binbonsadoration @ificouldhelpyouforget @nananananananananananabatman @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @bellastellaluna @agentlingerie @elioelioeli0 @wangmangagavroche @projectcampbell @christinawxxx

“Are you almost done in here?” Logan was standing in the doorway, one shoulder pushed up against the frame and both of his arms crossed over his bare chest. “You’ve -”

 “Logan, there are two sinks.” You gritted your teeth as you spoke, narrowing your eyes at him in the mirror. “You can just…”

 “Hey.” He stepped into the large bathroom, stopping directly behind you and wrapped one arm around your waist before planting a kiss on your bare shoulder. “Shouldn’t do that, it’s gonna give you wrinkles.” You were silent for a few seconds and then a loud groan left your lips, head dropping down so that your chin was near your chest. 

 “Logan.” You whined his name out, bringing your gaze back up so that you could meet his eyes in the mirror. “Of all the people to tease me, you’re going to…” 

 “I was just kidding.” He ran his hand up and down your arm a few times, the wedding band on his left hand catching your attention as it always did. “Even with wrinkles, you’re still going to be the -” You elbowed him gently in the midsection, cutting him off in the middle of his sentence, but you were smiling, knowing that your husband was just giving you a hard time. He laughed too, stepping away from you and to the second sink, opening the drawer to pull out a few small containers. 

 He might have been kidding, but he’s not wrong. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, reaching down for the fourth product in your nightly routine: moisturizer. “We’ve got that fundraiser on Friday, Logan, and I can’t…” You shook your head, using your fingers to gently smooth the cream onto the skin of your face and neck. “I’m not going to be one of those women that starts getting botox in their early 30’s and then has to keep up with it for the rest of their life, Logan. It’s expensive and it’s -” 

 “Expensive?” He side-eyed you in the mirror, using his fingertips to rub cleanser on his own skin in small circles, paying attention to his forehead. “Really? You’re a Delos, nothing is expensive.” 

 “That’s not the point and you know it.” Leaning in and peering at your reflection, you waited for the moisturizer (with retinol, something that Juliet swore would help) to fully absorb, tapping your fingers onto the counter. “Logan, you’re… you, and I’m me. I’m expected to look a certain way as your wife, and…” You shook your head, watching as he rubbed at his face with a damp cloth, cleaning it off. He patted his skin dry before opening a tub of his own moisturizer and applying some of it to his face, the movement of his long fingers capturing all of your attention. 

 That done, Logan washed his hands, grabbing for his toothbrush and wetting it before he applied the paste and stuck it in his mouth, turning to look at you. “Wha’?” You smiled at him, shaking your head and then picked up your tube of eye cream, applying it to your own face. That done, you sighed, picking up the final item that you’d be using - a face oil that smelled vaguely like a mixture of citrus and flowers - using the dropper to apply it to your skin before smoothing it in with your fingers. Logan paused before exiting the bathroom, but you closed your eyes without saying a word, and when you opened them again, he was gone. Asshole. 

 Finishing your own routine - it was only Tuesday, so you didn’t have to worry about exfoliating or using a face mask - you brushed and then flossed your teeth, turning the light off as you walked back into the bedroom you shared with Logan. You grabbed your brush before sitting on the edge of the bed, where he was already stretched out on top of the blankets with one arm folded beneath his head as he scrolled through his phone with his other hand. You’d only gotten it through your hair a few times before you felt Logan moving behind you, reaching out to take the brush from your hand as he stretched his legs out around yours, settling in behind you. “You don’t have to do that, Logan, You were already laying down.”

 “I want to.” The brush moved through your hair again and you settled your hands on your lap, sitting quietly as Logan worked through the tresses, careful not to pull too hard on the ends. He finished a few minutes later, reaching over to put the brush onto the side table before he pushed your hair over one shoulder, leaning down to kiss the bare skin there again. “You ready to lay down?” You nodded, feeling him remove himself from behind you, and you reached down, pulling your shirt off and tossing it across the room in the general direction of the hamper. “Almost made it in that time.” He snickered the word as you glanced back over your shoulder at him, rolling your eyes as you laid down on your stomach, turning your head toward him. “Shoulders?” Really? 

 “Please.” Though you didn’t know what you’d done to deserve such special treatment, you couldn’t turn down a massage from Logan. Of all the massages you’d ever gotten, your husband’s were the most thorough - his fingers knowing exactly where and how hard to press down into your skin to make it feel good. “Lo,” you mumbled, biting down on your lower lip as he settled in against your thighs, twisting your hair off of the bare skin of your back. “What’s this for?” 

 “No reason,” he replied as he leaned down, applying pressure to the center of your back with his thumbs. “I just figured that after bein’ in there for almost 45 minutes and lifting all of those face products... “ He trailed off, sighing. “I’m kidding. I know you think it’s unfair.” You lifted your head slightly and Logan immediately removed one of his hands from your back, using his palm to push your face back down and onto the pillow. Hey! 

 “It is unfair, you drink all the time and wash your face once a day and you still look like you’re twenty five, and I use fifteen different products and drink a gallon of water every five minutes, and it just doesn’t matter.” You were whining, but he was right - you were less than excited about the fact that Logan didn’t seem to age while you felt like the exact opposite was true for you. “The fucking magazines are ruthless, Logan. It doesn’t matter what we do, they’re always looking for some crack in our relationship, some way to…”

 “Look.” He pressed down on the small of your back, causing you to sigh. “We’re both getting older. I’m going to be 37 in a few months, right?” You nodded, feeling as he began to work his way back up. “It scares the hell out of me, no matter how clear or smooth or whatever my skin looks.” Logan leaned down, speaking into your ear as his hands kept moving. “I didn’t marry you because you don’t look your age. I don’t plan on trading you in for a younger version of yourself. I don’t give a shit about any of that.” He kissed you on the cheek before sitting back up, shifting his hips against your legs. “You could literally stop using every single product you own in there and I wouldn’t care. I got lucky; the one fuckin’ thing my dad passed on to me that I’ve always had going for me was good skin -”

 “And a good metabolism, Delos. I’ve seen you eat.” He laughed and you felt yourself smiling, too. “It just ... I want to make sure that I’m… that you’re always proud to be seen with me.” You said it. His hands stopped moving and you used the opportunity to prop yourself up on your elbows, turning to look up at him. “I mean, I know that…”

 “What do you mean?” He shook his head. “Sit up, look at me.” You did, turning to face him before you drew your knees up to your chest and resting your elbows atop them. “Why wouldn’t I be proud to be seen with you?” Heart thudding in your chest, you locked eyes with Logan. 

 “Logan, at Delos … you build perfection every goddamn day.” You blinked. “I’m not… that. I won’t ever be that, I’m getting old, and I’m going to change, and so whatever I can do to stop that, I will.” He looked shocked, mouth open as he watched you. “Juliet found a way to make your dad’s health improve, which is like the first step to living forever, and if I’m going to…” You trailed off, realizing how dumb you sounded. “For once, Lo, I just want to go out there and feel confident no matter where I am or what I’m doing. The park is one thing - I can’t compare to the Hosts, and that’s fine… but Tiffany in reception? Ari in R & D?” You narrowed your eyes again, chewing on your lower lip. “I’ll slather on as much fucking retinol or rosehip oil or serum as I need to to keep up with them and their ‘I drank til 2 am and got an hour of sleep but still look like I just stepped off of a runway’ looks.” Logan threw his head back and laughed loudly before moving his hands away from your back and to your arms, squeezing. 

 “The first time I saw you, you were sunburned in an airport with no makeup on.” He cleared his throat, all traces of laughter gone. “I couldn’t stop looking at you, even though I was so goddamn annoyed with that lady at the counter.” He waited while you rolled over before continuing, eyes on your face even though your bare chest was completely visible, too. “I felt... “ Logan closed his eyes, bringing a hand up to his face and rubbing at his eyes. “I didn’t wanna be an asshole to you.” Even then? You knew that it was a big deal for Logan - he was recovering, had changed a lot about himself at that point, but he was still imperfect - and him wanting to be nice to someone that he hadn’t known was a big deal. “I made you cry that first night we knew each other - and then fifteen minutes later, we’re kissing in the rain and you’re dragging me into bed?” Logan shook his head. “Shit like that doesn’t happen, it’s cliche, like in some fuckin’ fairytale.”

 He leaned down, resting his elbows on the blankets as his body made contact with yours. “Yeah, Logan, you’re a real Prince Charming.” He wrinkled his nose and then pressed his lips against yours, one long lock of hair falling over his eye and trailing against your skin. When he pulled back again, you spent long moments staring at the man above you silently.  You joked, but Logan really had swept you off of your feet, and in the three years that you’d known him, the feelings that you had for him had grown every day. There were struggles - gossip sites intent on tearing you apart, William’s presence for Emily’s sake, Logan’s duties at work - but the most difficult thing for you to get past was the feeling that what you had with him was fleeting. 

 You didn’t think this because you doubted Logan’s love for you, you thought it because of the way that you felt inside - when comparing yourself to those in his life and the people that wanted to be in his life. The ring on his finger didn’t deter many of them, and that’s why even though it bothered you, you put up with the nightly skincare routine, why you made it a point to exercise at least three times a week in a capacity that didn’t include being naked in Logan’s arms, and why you’d learned how to best deal with the paparazzi: because you were very aware of what you had, and didn’t want to lose it. “Hey.” Logan said your name quietly, bringing his right hand up to your left, twining his fingers with yours. “You need to stop.” He raised his eyebrow, eyes full of warmth. “I loved you before, and I love you now, and I’m going to love you when we’re both 60 and look nothing like we did when we met.” You opened your mouth to speak but Logan quieted you with a squeeze of his hand. “How many times do I have to marry you to prove it to you?” He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing the knuckle of your third finger. “Three isn’t enough?” 

 “Logan.” Your voice was hoarse and you felt tears rising in your eyes. “No, it’s plenty. It’s already too much.” 

 “It’s not.” He shook his head, lowering your hands back to the bed and then looking over at your right hand, where another ring was settled snugly on that ring finger, this one a completely different style than the other two; diamonds and rose gold - much more understated, much more you. “Because you deserve it.” He kissed you again - hard and on the mouth, stealing your breath as he always did when he kissed you without warning. “Now.” He broke the kiss, sitting up and rolling his neck, the smile on his face growing with every word he said. “I know you need to get your beauty sleep… and I do too, because even though you might -”

 “Logan.” You relaxed into the bed, rolling your eyes. “Spit it out.” He grinned, his hands working their way down your stomach toward the elastic waistband of your pants. 

 “There are other things that are good for your skin that you can’t buy from the store.” He gripped your hips, pulling them upward and toward his, which he rolled forward. “For instance -” You pushed yourself upward, wrapping your arms around Logan’s neck as you slowly shook your head back and forth, pulling him closer to you. “Oh.”

 “‘M all for trying new things, Logan.” He grinned against your lips, easing you back down onto the bed. “But if sex was going to help keep us young, we’d both be Benjamin Button, Delos.” He laughed loudly at that, hands back at your waist and pushing your shorts down as you gripped his back, lifting your lower half up to make it easier for him. 

 “Can’t hurt to keep trying.”

---

[nightwving]

i was tagged by @mollyweasly​ to answer these questions, tysm!! i did most of them the other night but got distracted and am posting them now lmao

1. on a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now? idk, i’ll say maybe a 7 or so? honestly i’m feeling pretty decent for the first time in a while

2. describe yourself in a hashtag? #ohfuck

3. if you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be? that’s tough... i would never want to actually subject anyone to the horror or doing that with me, but i guess either tom holland or sebastian stan??

4. if your life was a musical, what would the marquee say? “a juxtaposed comedic disaster”

5. what’s one thing people don’t know about you? shit man i usually overshare pretty much everything, but i guess one thing would be that i got hit straight in the head by a golf ball while on a course with my parents when i was in middle school?? it came from way far out but miraculously didn’t seem to crack my skull or give me too bad of a concussion. my dad said it hit so hard that it sounded like it hit the pavement. now i have severe anxiety near golf courses and when things are flying near my head in general lmfao

6. what’s your wake up ritual? i check my phone real quick and then immediately go to pee and brush my teeth. depending on the day and whether or not i’d be late for class back when things were normal, i might shower lol. then either get dressed real quick and go to class or, these days, play video games or get on my computer

7. what’s your go to bed ritual? i’ll usually wrap up whatever i’m doing, make sure my fan is on, lock my door (when i’m at school), strip, take some melatonin, lay down, set my alarm, plug in and then get on my phone for a while until i (hopefully) get sleepy

8. what’s your favorite time of day? i love the evening around sunset or so but i also just love the night in general, especially when things get quiet in the am

9. your go to for having a good laugh? tiktok

10. dream country to visit? ummm... honestly canada 😂 or germany or something

11. what’s the biggest surprise you’ve ever had? last spring i spontaneously won an award in the department that i work for at school because my friends insisted that i get one for all the work i do on the newspaper and for my work study and stuff. they had to work some stuff around because i’m not actually a major and that’s who the awards are for, but they all agreed to give it to me at the ceremony and i was NOT expecting it whatsoever. it was one of the most amazing moments ever especially since i struggle with finding a niche and having faith in myself

12. heels or flats/sneakers? sneakers!!

13. vintage or new? i love vintage but that shit can be hard for me to find

14. who do you want to write your obituary? probably a friend idk i feel like my family would say some dumb corny shit lmao

15. style icon? i have quite a few but slash or duff mckagan from 80s GNR would be a couple ok don’t judge me. and john bender from the breakfast club

16. what are three things you cannot live without? internet, my ps4, and friends

17. what’s one ingredient you put in everything? chili or garlic powder

18. what 3 people living or dead would you want to make dinner for? i don’t even make dinner for myself lmao but if i really had the motivation, probs stan lee, carrie fisher, and my tiny son josh bassett

19. what’s your biggest fear in life? being institutionalized against my will and/or death before i’m ready/feel like i’ve done something worthwhile.

20. window or aisle seat? depends tbh

21. what’s your current tv obsession? i’m not really on a kick with it right now, but i’m slowly making my way through the clone wars in chronological order.

22. favorite app? tiktok

23. secret talent? uhh... i guess a lot of people would assume that i’m not athletic because of my weight but i’m actually naturally pretty sporty and can still be when i really feel like it

24. most adventurous thing you’ve ever done in your life? well i’ve tried to summon spirits in multiple different places, attempted to break into an asylum with my ex, done a pregnancy test with an old friend in a burger king bathroom... idk if those count as “adventurous” but that’s about all i got as of right now in my life

25. how would you define yourself in three words? eclectic, resilient, and real

26. favorite piece of clothing you own? my denim jacket

27. a must have clothing item that everyone should have? also denim jacket lol

28. a superpower you would want? i debate this often... i think shapeshifting would be cool but also telekinesis

29. what’s inspiring you in life right now? movies and stuff i guess

30. best piece of advice you’ve received? probably that it’s okay to do things at your own pace and to not be so hard on yourself when you aren’t doing things the same way as others

31. best advice you’d give your teenage self? wear some better fuckin clothes lmao

32. a book everyone should read? bruh idk i don’t really read anymore, harry potter i guess 😂

33. what would you like to be remembered for? being honest and real but also someone that would’ve been there for you, or to have a good laugh with

34. how do you define beauty? beauty is like something that fills you with wonder and a sense of life or something

35. what do you love most about your body? uh... i have nice legs i guess 😂

36. best way to take a rest/decompress? find something that distracts you and makes you forget about all the shit. get lost in another world in movies/music/etc or just laugh with someone about anything

37. favorite place to view art? i like seeing it in the studios at school when people are still working on it

38. if your life was a song, what would the title be? “somethin’ else”

39. if you could master one instrument, what would it be? ugh i would love to be a full blow pianist but i ain’t got the patience for that. i made it through a few periods of lessons throughout my life and three classes in college but i don’t have the capacity to do more than that. but i would also love to get even better with my voice. i’ve been taking classical lessons for the past couple of years but quit recently because of the anxiety that studio recitals and master classes give me. music major shit is rough

40. if you had a tattoo, where would it be? i have one janky one behind my right ear that i got when i was 16, it’s a bird. but if i wasn’t a fatass bitch, i’d like to get more in different places on my body

41. dolphins or koalas? dolphins

42. what’s your spirit animal? it used to be a coyote according to a quiz years ago lol but it’s probably something different now

43. best gift you’ve ever received? probs my shitty first car that my dad got me last summer. but it’s a hell of a lot better than nothing

44. best gift you’ve given? shit i can’t even remember. i love doing personal little gifts for my friends. ACTUALLY i’d probably say the playlist i made for my friend last christmas because listening to music late at night was our thing

45. what’s your favorite board game? secret hitler is the BOMB

46. what’s your favorite color? yellow

47. least favorite color? probs brown

48. diamond or pearls? diamonds

49. drugstore makeup or designer? drugstore bitch, i’m broke

50. blow-dry or air-dry? air dry preferably but i’ll blow dry if i need to

51. pilates or yoga? neither lmao

52. coffee or tea? coffee unless it’s sweet tea

53. what’s the weirdest word in the english language? all of them

54. dark chocolate or milk chocolate? dark

55. stairs or elevators? elevators bih i got bad knees

56. summer or winter? winter, FUCK the sun

57. you are stuck on an island, you can pick one food to eat forever without getting tired of it, what would you eat? potatoes

58. a dessert you don’t like? a lot of things, i eat like a picky five year old. but i don’t like anything minty

59. a skill you’re working on mastering? singing. but also design-y stuff and videography

60. best thing to happen to you today? i went on a short walk with my mom earlier and there’s always a man across the street from us who sits on his porch every evening and sings with his guitar. i love it

61. worst thing to happen to you today? sitting through my zoom class lmao

62. best compliment you’ve ever received? idk, just when someone has generally called me beautiful? that makes me feel really nice

63. favorite smell? i love the smell of cookies or brownies in the oven. i’m also weird af and love strange things like basement smell and gasoline. also sharpies

64. hugs or kisses? hugs probably

65. if you made a documentary, would it be about? idk probably something about a niche community/town or some cult-y shit

66. last piece of content you consumed that made you cry? avengers: endgame

67. lipstick or lipgloss? i don’t usually wear either very much but probably lipstick

68. sweet or savory? savory

69. girl crush? ana de armas or margot robbie

70. how do you know your in love? i feel like you’d do anything for that person even if it hurt you, and you think about them all the time and want to protect/be there for them

71. a song you can listen to on repeat? i usually avoid listening to things on repeat, but if i had to choose something... idk maybe africa by toto 😂

72. if you could switch lives with someone for a day, who would it be? probs someone like elon musk or bill gates to see what it’s like to be that fucking rich and successful

73. what are you most excited for about this time in your life? just enjoying it and maybe honing some skills with all this extra time. also watching some movies on my watchlist

i’m tagging @verafarmiga, @northuldrra, @tmhnks, @spaceoddly, @breaksfastclub, and anyone else who wants to do it!! but feel free to ignore or just laugh at my answers