#and that flame maple??? gorgeous

[thatgoddamngingerundercut]

SUGA: Road to D-Day 230421 Snooze - Agust D feat. Ryuichi Sakamoto & WOOSUNG cr. 0613data

[umeumeumee]

your lips, my lips

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- clarisse la rue x daughter of eros! reader

synopsis: valentine’s day- something that everyone truly disliked. until one moment, something changed.

authors note: this is not apart of fault is false (sorry!) but i’m sick with a really bad cold today and i wanted to write something special for clarisse on valentines! so.. Happy valentine’s day, everyone!

Valentine’s day.

Something humans found to be dear to them, coupled people exchanging gifts to one another on the fourteenth of February; the holiday of love.

in camp half blood, valentine’s day was celebrated to the fullest extent of its potential— it was so dear to humans as they had a rather short life span, hence a day to express your love to someone was so precious to the weak minded people. at camp, the holiday was acknowledged by the campers to recognize the importance of being half human, and half god, as well as the lovey dovey atmosphere that followed after. The same was done with other important holidays, such as Halloween and Christmas.

Clarisse la rue did not find the holiday to be particularly pleasant- or pleasant at all, for that matter. Valentine’s day was stupid in her mind. two people smuggling each other in both emotional and physical affection? openly displaying affection? i front of people? such thoughts made the daughter of Ares want to gag.

but than there was you— daughter of Eros, your charm was an automatic reminder of your heritage, and a stark figure of your character.

clarisse felt like a child by how hard she fell for you, stealing the breath from her lungs at every glance she caught of you.

your pretty smile, your wonderful eyes, your sweet face. Clarisse la rue was pissed at herself when she finally realized exactly what her feelings meant, shoving them down like lava to a volcano.

But like all creatures of nature, it was ought to burst out somehow.

and for the young daughter of Ares, her volcano ruptured on valentine’s day- to her fury.

it was a sunny day, but it had never felt so dark to clarisse. Her footsteps shook the earth as she angrily marched through camp, shoving heart shaped balloons from her path and kicking roses she saw on the floor.

The curly haired girl had caught wind that you’d received numerous valentine gifts- chocolates, flowers, posters and even jewelry. knowing people other that clarisse had been eyeing you down for a while made the flickering flame inside her chest burn down towers with her rage.

She stormed through camp with fire following her trail, each step was quaking those around her.

She stormed to cabin 39, where the children of Eros lay.

everyone knew the children of the Greek god of carnal love’s children rivaled those of ancient Greek goddess of love and beauty, Aphrodite. You were point of that accusation, the most beautiful girl Clarisse had ever laid her eyes on.

and even now she as she had a torch lighting aflame her chest, she still yearned for your touch— even as she was heading in your direction to explode in a way she wasn’t sure of.

She took a sharp turn around capin 56, for the children of eris— their dark aura usually affecting clarisse now deflected off her skin like a bow to raw metal, the children watching in discord as she stormed to the door of cabin 39.

Clarisse slammed her cinnamon skinned hand against the polished wood harshly, waiting with furrowed brows for someone to answer the door. When she saw the handle move, her back subconsciously straightened.

The wood was pulled back and you were revealed— in all your nauseating, grueling, pure beauty, smile growing wide upon the sight of the curly haired girl outside your door.

“Clarisse!” your voice was smooth like honey, sticky like maple syrup and sweet like sugar. Clarisse ignored the warmth that flushed her body at the soft call of her name you expressed in joy, stupidly gorgeous smile widening at her presence.

in honest, clarisse wanted to bathe in your touch- your voice, your gaze and your heart. She yearned for you in a way she’s never felt, her defensive and rough external force disintegrating pathetic into nothing when you traced your honey soft skin along her arm, pushing hair from her face as the only scent she cpould smell was the sweetness of your person.

Clarisse was scared of her feelings in fact, and the idea that you might like someone other than her had her at the edge of her seat. She knew that it was likely, and if she truly did want you— today would be the day to make the claim.

She huffed, squinting her eyes as you moved from the doorway to welcome her inside. she reluctantly agreed, tucking her chin upward as she took steps forward. Instantly, the smell of sweets and tea attacked her senses with not a single warning— sugar and honey the only smell she could register.

Her face scrunched, overwhelmed by the smell— you laughed, covering your smile with your fingers as you usually did, a cute habit clarisse admired.

“sorry, glykó korítsi. Cole went all out for tou Agíou Valentínou.” Clarisse tucked her face away from your view, scolding herself for faltering under the stupid greek nickname you’ve given her; “pretty girl.”

She took a moment to gather herself, huffing in an upset expression when she examined your cabin.

god, there was no place Clarisse hated more that the Eros Chilren’s Cabin.

the cabin has an intense aura that can drive other demigods insane with arousal— unless that demigod is the child of a love god or goddess once activated by a child of Eros. Clarisse was lucky enough to know you to the point you spared her the torture of the curse on your cabin, and was beyond grateful the so called ‘blessing’ can also be deactivated at will.

clarisss recalled when you first exposed her to your cabin- On the northern part of the first floor, it has a room that can bring to life any sexual and or romantic desire, as well as an exact copy of the person they desire. clarisse found it odd, disgusting even. Nasty fantasies coming to life? how alone and sad does your life have to be you have to imagine yourself with someone you love? she could laugh in their face and ridicule them until they run away crying.

In the living room, there are several shelves with books containing all kinds of unknown and known love stories recorded throughout the ages. It has a large TV in the center, and a rather nice leather couch, may the daughter of ares be so kind to say.

In the east wing lies the kitchen, and on the west wing lies the public bathrooms. There is romantic music playing softly in the background through the means of a record player. That is another reason clarisse despised your cabin; the music.

There is a chandelier hanging from the ceiling with artwork of all kinds of people procreating with one another. On the second floor lies the bedrooms of the children of Eros. Clarisse only knows that because…

Her face turned a subtle shade of pink, barely noticeable on her skin, but the warmth was all the same.

“so, why are you here?” your sticky sweet voice tore clarisse from her thoughts— thoughts she tries her best to… forget.

she cleared her throat— “I wanted to escape this holiday but obviously i came to the wrong cabin,” she lied through her teeth, gesturing to the many heart and love balloons and decorations littering your cabin.

You smile, “You definitely did. This is the last place you should come to on Valentines. Why not go to Eris cabin?” you question, obviously not catching the not-so-obvious hint clarisse thought dropped for you.

“Clearly. and those kids are lame.” she crossed her arms, scanning the area. Your cabin was something else. She felt her cheeks warm once more at the people making out along the stairs of your home, rushing upstairs to the soundproof bedrooms.

Her gaze flickered away, catching yours. Your eyes were red, same as your fathers. They were filled with so many things clarisse could only put her finger on, but all she knew is that her words always died in her throat at their gaze.

“Well, you are welcome to stay, anyway.” you hum, tucking some hair behind your ear as you shifted your weight to a different leg.

Clarisse stood standing with many various of feelings— her knees were uncharacteristically weak, tummy doing summersalts inside her belly, hands shaky as all she wanted to do was—

“come on,” you motioned her over, a strange smile on your face. Clarisse felt herself become uncharacteristically excited as you led her up the stairway to your bedroom, her steps close behind yours as you waved to your siblings in the halls as they sent you a teasing smile before retreating back into their own rooms, with someone who bore little clothes.

Clarisse would never forget the first time she sat foot in your room— a cold winter night, a heated moment— something she would never forget, even though she tried.

as you lead her down the familiar hall, music played lightly from the stairways entrance, echoing throughout the cabin. The sight of your door came to her view, your hand twisting the handle and revealing your room.

Clarisse got immediate flashbacks to the last time she was here, knees once more weakened by the remembrance.

You gently slid your hand down her arm, pulling her into your room and closing the door. Clarisse looked around nervously— your room wasn’t very decorated, only a few things representative of love here and there- most likely gifts from your father. You sat on your bed, eyes pulling clarisse in by the throat as she sat beside you.

It was an awkward silence— at least on her behalf, valentine’s day was always an opportunity to seem unhappy. but as she sat with you, the tension in the room was chewing her skin and muscles off her bones.

the bed shifted for a second, and Clarisse looked over to you— your red eyes staring daggers into hers.

They were so beautiful, a blood like red— so many emotions swarming in them— so many things to represent who you truly where— they held passion, desire, sexuality, lust, danger, action, drama, joy, stress, radiance.

Clarisse could barely hold herself back as your smile encased her in a cage, trapping her, tormenting her— The cinnamon skinned girl was about to make a daring move- but you did first.

You slammed your lips to Clarisses, bed creaking slightly from the fast, sudden movement of your action— but clarisse waisted no time kissing you back. Your lips fell into sync together, dancing in a rhythm that was so perfect you wanted to melt into her.

Her hands landed on your hips, and yours in her soft curly hair— she shoved you down, back meeting the soft pink sheets of your bed, the sound of you two devouring each other the only sound in your room other than the faint valentines music bouncing through the walls.

You pulled her hair, a soft groan leaving the girls lips as she trailed her kisses down to your neck. You hummed, completely emersrd- the feeling of her lips on you was so sweet— you wanted to faint.

But you quickly realized that it wasn’t nearly as cute as you thought, as a sharp pain ate at your skin where she was feeling on your neck. You gasp, the warm feeling of blood barely falling from your neck. She’d bit you.

“clarisse-“ she silenced you with her own lips, the taste of your blood swarming between your mouth and hers, and you melted into the kiss once more.

the kiss was harsh, filled with desperation from both parties, hands touching every possible part of each others body as you lay on your bed.

You weren’t sure, but you guessed this was her way of asking you to be her valentine.

and being the daughter of Eros, there was no better way to ask.

[cherryredstars]

Pairing: Miguel O’hara x curvyfem!reader

Warnings: Insecurity, Body Descriptions, Mentions of Erections, Suggestive Ending, Fluff

Summary: Shopping is never easy, but Miguel makes it 100x better

Word Count: 960 (Unedited)

You hate shopping. 

It always starts off fun. You prance round the store excitedly, Miguel following after you as you look through racks and pick things out that you love on the hangers. He always offers to hold your selections for you, humming and looking at each new piece you place in his hands. He lets you do your thing, smiling to himself fondly as you gasp and squeal over things you find cute and thanking heaven above they have it in your size. Then, after you’ve deemed Miguel is holding enough things, you walk over to the dressing rooms. 

The dressing rooms always ruin it for you. You take hours in there. Not because of how many things you picked out, but because you spend more than half of the time picking at your own insecurities. You hate how something will press tight around one place, but look loose and unflattering somewhere else. Hate how your skin will bulge in one area and make your whole body look uneven and distorted. You hate how your body causes the fabric to stretch, looking nothing like it did on the hanger. It's gross and it's disgusting and you always leave with tears in your eyes and your happy mood wiped away. 

On the other hand, Miguel is awed everytime you step out. His eyes instantly catch your frame when you walk out. He straightens up, eyes wide as he scans your body up and done. You’re a fucking knock-out. He swears he can’t breathe because he’s choked by your beauty. He’s absolutely convinced you can pull off anything. When you walk out in something he particularly loves, he has to blink a couple times and his cheeks flame pink. He’s constantly fighting the urge to keep his mouth shut, scared it’ll drop open and drool will run down his chin at how  gorgeous you look. More times than not, his ears are a hot pink as he tries to subtly adjust in his seat so his erection isn’t noticeable after you slip back inside the stall. 

It breaks his heart that at the end of your little fashion show, you mumble how you don’t want to buy anything after explaining why. Unshed tears glossing your eyes and his sunshine completely evaporated. All you do is give him a tight lipped smile and tell him how you want to go home. And he agrees, walking you halfway out of the mall before he makes a show of patting down his pockets. You frown as you wait for him, watching his brows furrow. He hisses under his breath, planting a kiss to your lips as he mumbles something about forgetting his wallet in the store and telling you to just meet him in the car. By the time he makes it back, you’re too busy frowning at your phone in an attempt to lighten your mood to notice Miguel shoving bags into the trunk. 

___________________________________________________

The next morning you are pleasantly surprised when you wake up to the smell of breakfast. Your eyes are still squinted as you take in the breakfast tray Miguel has prepared for the both of you, and when you turn your head towards the window, you find the blinding white filling the room is caused by the snow outside. You smile excitedly, and Miguel hands you a cup of cocoa that you sigh into. You both take turns feeding each other warm pancakes with syrupy sweet maple, topping them off with fresh, sticky fruit that makes your stomach full. 

You’re surprised again when Miguel moves the mostly empty breakfast tray, instead placing gifts into your lap. Your brows furrow, taking one and shaking it. 

“What’s all of this for?” You ask, eyeing the array of things on the bed. 

Miguel simply smiles, placing a kiss to the side of your head as he finishes off your drink, "Because I love you.”

You roll your eyes, swatting his arm at the cheeky response before opening the first gift. It’s a box, similar to the ones for clothing, and you gasp as you pull out one of the outfits you were excited about at the mall but didn’t end up looking good on you. You grab another one, opening it and finding another. And another, and another, and another. Your eyes well up with tears and you smile fondly down at the clothing. 

“When did you…?” You start, but as you say it you already know. The cheeky fucker didn’t forget his damn wallet.

You sniffle, wiping at your tears as you kiss his cheek in thanks. But then you quickly frown as you look at all the clothing. “Oh but Miguel, none of these looked good on me, remember?”

Miguel rolls his eyes at you, leaning down to wrap his arm around you and pull you into his side. “First off, hermosa, everything looks good on you. And second, believe it or not, I do listen when you speak to me. I brought them down to the seamstress you go to sometimes, got them adjusted.”

You feel more tears prick at your eyes, sniffling again as you pout. “Really? All of them?”

“All of them,” Miguel confirms, chuckling when you stuff your face into his chest to hide your tears of happiness. 

Miguel smiles down at you fondly, hand rubbing your back as he squeezes you tight. When you pull away, you give him a long kiss and mumble a ‘thank you’ against his lips. Miguel’s eyes sparkle as he takes you in, kissing the corner of your lip. Then, he gives you that cheeky smile as his eyes glint. 

“Why don’t I help you try them on this time, okay?”

More things definitely got taken off than put on.

[steviewashere]

Flames of Desire

Rating: General CW: NoneTags: Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Christmas, Light Miscommunication, Getting Together, Love Confessions, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fireplace As a Plot Device, Hot Chocolate as a Plot Device, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, First Kiss, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sappy Ending This is for the Spicy Six-Ber Month Challenge, hosted by the wonderful @thefreakandthehair. I claimed the prompt: Fireplace.

❄️————————❄️ There’s a stack of watched, rented VHS tapes on the coffee table. Next to two half-empty mugs of hot chocolate, rapidly cooling from the mountains of whipped cream he had been egged into topping them with. And a warm body pressed from shoulder to foot next to him on the couch, watching on at the static ripples of Michael J. Fox’s face in Family Ties, television propped in the corner of the living room, volume low because their eyes have been dipping and dipping like toes into a prepped bubble bath—close to that pure, utter, and complete relaxation they’re craving.

His head is nestled awkwardly on Eddie’s right shoulder, propped up by a bony joint and his ear alone, and his neck is aching something awful, yet he’s simultaneously too comfortable to move. Eddie’s tracing his fingertips over Steve’s own right shoulder, his bicep, connecting moles that aren’t showing right now—somehow memorized by times where his shirt was peeled off, probably sometime in the late summer under an unforgiving sun, ready to sink into a pool he’s recently learned to not fear. And something is full inside him.

Full and large like the red-orange shifting flames coming from the centerpiece of the living room, the beloved fireplace he’s known to light since his dad showed him how. The Duraflame log lit up behind the screen, crackling low and painting the side of Eddie with the glow.

Eddie’s eyes do something beautiful because of the light. Glowing in their own way. Going from dark chocolate melted for their mugs to drizzles of honey swirling in spiced chai. Deliciously gorgeous no matter which way Steve observes them, even as cliche as it is to compare them to chocolate. They’re dark, though, the same way logs are for the fireplace. Dark, but made to be comforting. He hums, eyes still roaming over Eddie’s soft face, and keeps his neck angled sharply. The discomfort is worth it, here under Eddie’s warmth, his beauty, the heavily saturated love that flows through Steve—even if he tries to push it away.

We’re friends, he tells himself, not for the first time.

Something’s different about this one, though. Charged. He never felt this sort of adoration, this ember to full-blown bonfire in his chest. Never towards Tommy. Definitely not towards Robin, but there’s adoration there, too—different.

This one is coffee and pancakes, maple syrup smiles, and groggy giggles at the dining table. Candles with slow burn wax, vanilla wafts and cinnamon flames. Reruns and greasy pizza dinners, breadsticks from the same bag, wiping marinara from each other’s faces because the other can’t find it. T-shirts lost, coming back with amber-musk cologne and citrus-lavender detergent, soft sleeves and worn graphics, apologies loose from the tongue, covered by soft snorts and playful eye rolls—“don’t worry about it, at least it’s back.”

A vest he has yet to return, blood-free and loose strings stitched. The collar white-worn from how many times he’s stroked his thumbs over the fabric. Its weight in his lap, contemplated over time and time again. Questions forming in his brain about what Accept plays and who Judas Priest is; a tape stuffed in his bedside drawer, rewound and played again, The Last in Line. Handfuls of dice with polished edges, promises to himself that he’ll gift them this time, next time, some time.

Falling in love.

One slow step at a time.

Burning up with it now like the log in the fireplace. Slow and then all at once. Dancing, warming, glowing. Not like the weak foundations of a house; akin to relationships in the past that were one-sided, collapsing under its own weight. This friendship he has with Eddie is give one, take one. One foot in, then a hand, two bodies on a couch, bellies full of hot chocolate and Christmas gold coins from this morning—Eddie’s stocking dumped over his lap, “I’m sharing my fortune,” he had told Steve, “let’s eat up, sweetheart.”

Eddie brought him a gift.

A sweater he eyed at the mall in the town over. Some Macy’s sweater, an ochre yellow like his other one, the price tag noticeably missing. But Eddie’s smile—his smile—dimples proud and teeth shiny, eyes crinkled, honey brown from the glow of fire. He excused the rosiness of his cheeks to the fireplace, the heat of the room, the gentle breeze still coming in under the front door.

And he had handed over his own little wrapped thing. …And Justice For All tied off with a ribbon, ready to be popped into Eddie’s Walkman. Two years of friendship culminating, little gifts here and there, knowing Eddie would’ve gone looking. He steered Eddie away from the Metallica section of their local record store; only for a couple months, but it felt like a lifetime. He presented the tape with his own smile, with laughter when Eddie’s hands shook and he tumbled about the living room on jumping legs—all signs of sleep that previously exuded, gone in a single rip, pried away with the wrapping paper on the floor.

Jokingly, Eddie had smacked a wet kiss to Steve’s cheek.

He took the scraps like a starving dog.

If that was all he could get, it would suffice. They were happy. And close.

Closer, now. Burning fire, Family Ties, coin wrappers, hot chocolate mugs. And Eddie’s honey glistening eyes, dark like firewood, lightened by that sweetener.

Eddie looks away from the screen, mouth open with words poised, and spots Steve already on him. “Hey,” he says instead of what he planned, “somethin’ on my face?” There’s a sort of sleepy sweet gargle to his voice, deep in the vowels and loose on the consonants—like he can’t quite bother to clear his throat, too busy with already speaking, already looking directly at Steve. He watches Eddie make a show of trying to clean off his face, merely smearing his palm over his rosy cheeks.

“No,” Steve breathes, “just…” This close, pressed against each other, he can hear each soft intake of Eddie’s breath. He squishes his face deeper into Eddie’s shoulder, suppressing the urge to do something stupid; like grin without reason; like kiss him. Yeah, that’d be pretty dumb. “‘M really glad you came over today,” he murmurs.

Once more, Eddie glints. Smile stretched slow, teeth light orange from the flames, tired eyes, and pink cheeks. There’s chocolate in the corner of his mouth, now that he’s really looking, soaking in all of Eddie’s features; Steve’s fingers tingle with the urge to reach up and swipe it away. Eddie breathes out a chuckle, not sharp and brash like it normally would, but reserved—comfortable; private. “I’m glad I came over, too,” he says, speaking soft, “no place I’d rather be, honestly.”

“Even though you could’a spent the day with Wayne?” And it feels right, especially private, to keep his voice low, too.

“I mean…he understood, y’know? We usually do our holiday stuff the day after Christmas anyway. So.” Eddie shrugs minutely. “You invited me over for a date, sweetheart, I couldn’t say no. ‘Sides, I’ve been tiptoeing towards this for awhile.”

All at once, the room’s warmth evaporates from Steve’s limbs. He goes cold, frozen, completely and utterly still. His head pulls up quickly from Eddie’s shoulder, neck pleading from the movement. “Wh…what?”

“This date. I’ve been looking forward to it for a bit. I’d be stupid to pass it up.”

“Wait…wait wait wait. You thought this was a date?”

That makes Eddie freeze. His thumb still running over Steve’s bicep comes to a stuttering halt. Head whipping over, big bug eyes landing on Steve’s. Wide and caught and wholly confused. Meekly, “Is this…is this not a date?”

“Um…I…um, no?”

Just as fast as he froze, Eddie is pulling himself away. Arm falling from Steve’s shoulders, jumping a few inches away, keeping his hands to himself. “Oh…oh, fuck. Steve—I—I swear, man, I thought this was…oh, this is so embarrassing.” He tugs at the ends of his hair, face coloring a bright red, pink cheeks going pinker in the yellow-orange glow. Somehow, even now, Steve finds him still endearingly beautiful. “Jeez. And I…I was thinking of kissing you, too! I mean you didn’t need to hear that, but I—Oh my god, I should go.”

A part of Steve melts, just as plastic does in fire—quick and nauseous and horrible. And Eddie’s standing up from the couch, further flipping Steve’s now upset stomach, trying to get away from it all. But he’s faster.

Faster still.

He reaches out and tugs on Eddie’s right wrist, bringing him flopping back down on the sofa. Eddie looks to him again, just as startled and eerily fearful as before.

Steve can’t make his mouth spit out the words he should. All those things he’d been thinking. How beautiful Eddie is. The slow moments over the last two years, every moment one increment closer to getting what he truly wants. He should be nonsensical. Explain. Paint the picture. Just as he did in the past for other people he fell face first for.

But Eddie’s looking at him. At him. Honey eyes. Pink cheeks. Plump lips.

The chocolate in the corner of his mouth both from their drinks and the coins. That scar he received for trying to buy more time, silver and soft and healed on his jaw. His hair cascading to his shoulders, heavy and dark. And him just alive on the couch, here to share the holiday, lit by the fireplace, cozy in a Christmas sweater and sweatpants. Soft. Sweet. Sacred.

He leans in, slowly as to give Eddie time to dodge, but when he doesn’t—it’s a simple decision from there. Closing his eyes, even if he’s reluctant to do so, reluctant to not see Eddie’s beauty. But he kisses him. Once, tender, slow moving with his lips. Their mouths sticky when he begins to draw back for a second, but he doesn’t get the chance to pull away completely, Eddie is welcoming himself back in. Hands cupping Steve’s cheeks, fingers pushing lightly into the soft give of his face, firm where they’re placed, but overall gentle.

Eddie’s hungry with how he kisses. As if needing this. It’s a little sloppy, the way he drags his lips, but Steve doesn’t care. They’re kissing. Sweet and sugary and milk chocolate on their tongues, when they introduce them to each other. Slow, but sure. New.

Though, Steve kindles a new flame—one flickering in his chest, warm and fragile—a candle, a firebox where this kiss is the first of many.

When he opens his eyes, Eddie’s already looking at him. Looking at him, looking at him.

“I didn’t know it was a date,” Steve whispers.

Breathing a chuckle, Eddie swipes his hands tenderly down the sides of Steve’s neck, setting in the crooks of his arms, heavy as they lay. “I didn’t either, sweetheart.” Those molten eyes bounce briefly, left and right; there’s something laying in them that Steve’s never really seen directed at him before, gooey and tender. Maybe that’s love? “So…so that was a pretty great addition to that Christmas gift, huh?”

“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, words bright with his smile, “guess it is. Wish I knew it was a date.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mhm. I would’a made us a nicer dinner instead of ordering pizza.”

“Next time, sweetheart. We’ll make a whole shebang of it. Keep the fireplace lit, have more hot chocolate, watch a bunch of movies…and we’ll have spaghetti and I’ll kiss you later that night and taste the tomato sauce you made. I bet it would still taste good.”

Steve wriggles slightly in his seat, hands wrangling up for Eddie’s, gripping to them hard. He can’t contain his bubbling excitement, stirring and stirring and swirling inside him. He’s too warm, under his pajamas, from the fire, from the love overcoming him. And he can’t stop smiling. Stretched wide, cheeks bulbous—so big he almost can’t see—eyes squinting hard. “Y’don’t know what my spaghetti tastes like, Eds,” he protests.

“Bet it would taste like that kiss did, though. Made with your love?”

He giggles and sways and swoons. “That was so corny.”

“Yeah, but I’m not wrong, am I?”

“No,” Steve sighs, relenting. He couldn’t even hide in his own hands. Face too bright and his body too vibrant and his heart pounding too hard, hard enough it could probably be heard if the television were turned down just a smidge. His stomach flips, a good way this time. And he’s too aware of the fact that his palms are clammy, fingers gripping too tight to Eddie’s hands, not wanting to let go. “Is it that obvious how I feel?”

Eddie lifts up one of his hands, squeezing his index finger and thumb together closely. “A little bit,” he says, “but it’s cute, Stevie. Could tell the moment I saw you lookin’ at me, your eyes all over me. Don’t even think you could see how I was looking at you, baby.”

“How were you looking at me?”

“Like I’m in love,” Eddie easily answers. “Because I am. Have been. For a long while now.”

“Really?” Steve breathes. “You’re in love with me?”

“Mhm. I love you to the moon and back, sweetheart.”

Steve squeezes their hands again. The fireplace crackles. There’s still chocolate on Eddie’s mouth. His heart beats hard, gazing deep into those swirls of honey, and it’s all so right. “I love you, too,” he murmurs, “been wanting to say that for forever.”

Tugging gently on their joined hands, Eddie begins to lean back on the sofa. “Come on, baby, let’s cuddle a while longer. Maybe we can gaze at each other some more?”

“Nothing else I’d rather do.”

❄️————————❄️

[vandaliatraveler]

Autumn on Snake Hill.

Elevation makes a huge difference in the Central Appalachians. Canaan Valley was at peak color almost two weeks ago. A thousand feet lower, at Snake Hill Wildlife Management Area, the leaves are just starting to approach peak. From top: red maple leaves drape fan clubmoss; the white-glazed, blue-purple berries of common greenbrier, an important food source for wildlife in the fall and winter; oldfield aster, also known as frost aster; milkweed pods release their precious seed; goldenrod gone to seed; the blue-black berries of mapleleaf viburnum, whose blushing red leaves are one of autumn's great joys; the brilliant yellow foliage of wild yam; the fiery red bolts of sourwood's dying flame; red oak burning away at the trail's edge; eastern teaberry loaded up with its distinctive red berries; a gorgeous Maryland golden-aster, one of the last beauties standing before the frost; and a spotted cucumber beetle, which despite its innocent appearance is a bane of late season gardens.

[garys-classic-guitars]

1963 Gibson Hummingbird, Rare with beautifully flamed Maple back and sides

[andrebearakovsky]

NHL Outdoor Game Jersey Tier List

I originally had this idea back during the Stadium Series weekend when I was looking at the jerseys and comparing them to jerseys of outdoor games past. So I decided to put all the different jerseys NHL teams have worn for every outdoor game since 2003 onto a tier list (excluding the 4 jerseys that were worn in the 2 games at Tahoe, since each team just wore their reverse retro jersey and they weren't special jerseys for the event).

Some of these are absolutely gorgeous, and some are flops. I've organized them into tiers of how good they are, and an important factor in my rankings is creativity - whether or not something was original and distinct for the event or a copy of a current/former jersey had a significant impact on what tier it went in. And a note that I am only rating based on the jerseys themselves, and I'm not judging any accompanying pants, helmets, gloves, socks, etc. All of these ratings are scientific and 100% correct.

All of these pictures were taken from the NHL Uniform Database website. This is also where I looked at each team's jersey history to see which outdoor game jerseys were just a copy of another jersey.

And a note that the Coyotes, Blue Jackets, and Panthers do not have any entries on this list since none of them have ever participated in an outdoor game. (Though this will soon change! Looking forward to seeing what the Jackets do for their Stadium Series jerseys next year. And tbh they really need to give the Yotes and Panthers an outdoor game 'cause I think those teams would make some pretty nice jerseys.)

Detailed list of which exact jerseys these are (team and event) are included under the cut for reference.

Jerseys listed from left to right as seen in the image above.

Amazing - Washington Capitals 2015 Winter Classic, Minnesota Wild 2022 Winter Classic, Seattle Kraken 2024 Winter Classic, Vancouver Canucks 2014 Heritage Classic, Ottawa Senators 2014 Heritage Classic

Good - Philadelphia Flyers 2017 Stadium Series, Philadelphia Flyers 2012 Winter Classic, New York Rangers 2018 Winter Classic, Detroit Red Wings 2014 Winter Classic, Washington Capitals 2018 Stadium Series, Toronto Maple Leafs 2018 Stadium Series, Los Angeles Kings 2014 Stadium Series, Pittsburgh Penguins 2011 Winter Classic, New York Rangers 2012 Winter Classic, Ottawa Senators 2017 NHL 100 Classic, Calgary Flames 2011 Heritage Classic, St. Louis Blues 2022 Winter Classic, Buffalo Sabres 2022 Heritage Classic, San Jose Sharks 2015 Stadium Series, Los Angeles Kings 2015 Stadium Series, Boston Bruins 2010 Winter Classic, Dallas Stars 2020 Winter Classic, Winnipeg Jets 2019 Heritage Classic, Winnipeg Jets 2016 Heritage Classic, Edmonton Oilers 2023 Heritage Classic, Calgary Flames 2023 Heritage Classic, Boston Bruins 2016 Winter Classic

All you did was pull an old jersey out of the closet (with little or no changes) - St. Louis Blues 2017 Winter Classic, Washington Capitals 2011 Winter Classic, New Jersey Devils 2014 Stadium Series, Pittsburgh Penguins 2008 Winter Classic, Chicago Blackhawks 2019 Winter Classic, Chicago Blackhawks 2009 Winter Classic, Chicago Blackhawks 2014 Stadium Series, Detroit Red Wings 2009 Winter Classic, Toronto Maple Leafs 2014 Winter Classic

This is just your jersey w/ little or no modifications - Calgary Flames 2019 Heritage Classic, Anaheim Ducks 2014 Stadium Series, Montreal Canadiens 2003 Heritage Classic, Montreal Canadiens 2011 Heritage Classic, Edmonton Oilers 2016 Heritage Classic, Edmonton Oilers 2003 Heritage Classic, Philadelphia Flyers 2010 Winter Classic, Chicago Blackhawks 2015 Winter Classic, Chicago Blackhawks 2017 Winter Classic, Chicago Blackhawks 2016 Stadium Series, Minnesota Wild 2016 Stadium Series, Buffalo Sabres 2008 Winter Classic

Fine - New Jersey Devils 2024 Stadium Series, Philadelphia Flyers 2019 Stadium Series, Pittsburgh Penguins 2017 Stadium Series, New York Islanders 2024 Stadium Series, Nashville Predators 2022 Stadium Series, Carolina Hurricanes 2023 Stadium Series, Pittsburgh Penguins 2019 Stadium Series, Montreal Canadiens 2016 Winter Classic, Tampa Bay Lightning 2022 Stadium Series, Detroit Red Wings 2016 Stadium Series, Colorado Avalanche 2016 Stadium Series, Boston Bruins 2019 Winter Classic, New York Islanders 2014 Stadium Series, Boston Bruins 2023 Winter Classic, Toronto Maple Leafs 2022 Heritage Classic, Toronto Maple Leafs 2017 Centennial Classic

Can't decide whether I like it or hate it - Colorado Avalanche 2020 Stadium Series

Boring - Detroit Red Wings 2017 Centennial Classic, Montreal Canadiens 2017 NHL 100 Classic, Nashville Predators 2020 Winter Classic, Buffalo Sabres 2018 Winter Classic, Philadelphia Flyers 2024 Stadium Series, Pittsburgh Penguins 2014 Stadium Series

Awful - Washington Capitals 2023 Stadium Series, Pittsburgh Penguins 2023 Winter Classic, New York Rangers 2014 Stadium Series, Vegas Golden Knights 2024 Winter Classic, Los Angeles Kings 2020 Stadium Series, New York Rangers 2024 Stadium Series

[catcze]

laying on the warm rocks in liyue with kazuha , or when its nighttime you lay on the same rocks and guess the constellations thats in the sky <3

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

!!⠀Feat : Kazuha x GN! reader

!!⠀## : Fluff & Stargazing <3

akjds MMM <333

This is your place, you’ve decided long ago. Where you and Kazuha can escape the world for a second and all it’s troubles. This particular stone that overlooks the harbor, shaded by beautiful trees with leaves like flames— this is the place where you feel the happiest and most at peace.

It has partially to do with the gorgeous view— whether it be at night or during the day. You can sit there for hours, half-dozing on the sun-warmed rocks when the sky is bright, listening to the birds chirp and the sound of Kazuha playing a tune on his leaf.

Or, when it is the moon that shines in the sky, you both rest with your backs against the very same rock, bodies close enough for your hands to brush at the slightest movement. You both gaze up at the stars, at the way the dot the night sky, and at the galaxy and the lights in the far-flung distance.

“What about... that one,” you point, closing one eye as you gesture to a cluster of stars. Kazuha squints, leaning close to see the direction of your finger (maybe not noticing how your heart picks up at his proximity or, more likely, delighting in it.)

“That... hm,” he pauses, raising a hand to his chin. “The other sailors have talked about it before, but I’m afraid it’s name escapes me.”

“Mmm,” you hum, cocking your head slightly. “My guess is... scorpio.”

“A fine guess indeed,” is Kazuha’s reply. You can hear the smile in his pretty voice, and the rustle of his clothes when he shifts around. “I suppose we will have to check later with the other sailors if astrology is one of your hidden talents.”

You laugh, nudging his side with an elbow, but the ronin is quick, and dodges it with way too much ease. There’s a laugh bubbling on his lips, and though it is quiet, it’s a sound that you will never forget.

Kazuha looks back up into the night sky, searching for another round in your guessing game.

“And that one? What do you think is it’s name?” He asks, pointing up with the hand he had wrapped in bandages. But your brow furrows as you try to follow the line of his direction, but see nothing.

“Which one?”

“That one,” Kazuha restates, taking your hand gently in his, maneuvering it so that your own pointer finger is out and pointing at the stars of his choice.

You have to swallow at the contact, and you have no doubt in your mind that Kazuha can feel the thrum of your pulse where his hand is wrapped around your wrist. To keep yourself from saying something in your flustered state, you lend your eyes to the sky instead.

“Oh,” you mumble, “I actually know that one.”

“You do?” Kazuha asks, surprised, but smiling. You notice that he hasn’t yet let go of your hand— if anything, he’s actually adjusted his grip to be more comfortable. “Perhaps I was right, and you really do have a penchant for the stars and the sky.”

You scoff jokingly. “As if.” Then, you clear your throat, realizing that he was awaiting your answer, and realizing how embarrassing said answer is. “It’s... your constellation, actually. Acer Palmatum. It’s a maple leaf.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, though you can feel his gaze trained on your face. It’s nothing malicious, but rather something searching, curious. Like he’s trying to pick you apart. You’re suddenly glad for the low moonlight, lest he see the embarrassment in your expression.

“My constellation...” Kazuha thinks aloud after a moment, like he’s lost in thought. His hand around yours shifts up, higher and higher, until your fingers intertwine and your breath hitches. When you gather the courage to look at Kazuha’s face, you can see him smiling gently, with the softest look in his eye when your gazes meet. 

“I’m honored to have you be so interested in it.”

You say nothing, stunned, but you just nod and gulp again. In turn, Kazuha giggles slightly at your expression. After a moment, he turns back to the sky, pointing out another constellation, which you shakily guess the name of, and the game continues.

Throughout the night, he doesn’t once let go of your hand.

[shywhumpauthor]

Hot Cocoa Part 8

Cw: creepy/intimate/affectionate Whumper, torture, burning, knives, conditioning, restraints, blindfolding, gagging,

Maple’s breath hitched as Bram pulled a cigarette lighter out of the tool box.

“I think this’ll work just perfectly,” Bram flicked the lighter on, the flames dancing in the reflection of his glasses for a moment before he let it go out. He placed the lighter back in his pocket, before pulling out a pair of shackles, with a good two feet of slack in between the cuffs. Bamboo fell from Maple’s lap to the ground, and Bram kicked it aside. Maple’s heart twisted as the plush sailed across the room, landing in a heap on the ground. They could see it… they didn’t take it.

In the back of their mind, Maple wondered what his search history must have looked like, and where on Earth he had managed to get all kinds of torture devices and restraints. Maybe he was on some sort of government watchlist, who would send police out to investigate him soon.

Maple had to suppress a smile at the thought. They could only hope and dream.

Bram crouched down next to them, and peeled the duct tape off their wrists, quickly replacing the shackles around their forearms. If Maple’s hands were any tinier, they would have been able to slip them right out of the cuffs, but sadly, they were just small enough to stay firmly in place.

Maple sucked in a breath as they were yanked to their feet by their wrists, as Bram hooked the chain of the shackles around a hook in the ceiling, leaving Maple’s chest, torso, and legs completely unprotected.

They whimpered as Bram yanked up the hem of their sweater, pulling it up over their head so that their bruised and scarred chest was exposed. He ran a finger down their side, over each bump of their ribs, and Maple shivered.

“Tell me what your first rule is,” Bram ordered, as he pulled the lighter out of his pocket, flicking open the flame.

“Rule one,” Maple’s voice shook, their eyes transfixed on the small fire, as Bram brought it dangerously close to their skin. They pressed back as far as they could, pushing up to their tip toes as if that would make a difference. “Do-do not speak out of turn.”

“Good.” Bram pressed the lighter up against their skin, just below their ribs, and Maple screamed. He only held it there for a second, before pulling the hot metal away, the burned area beginning to drip blood. “Two?”

“Do- do not ask for anything,” Maple gasped, squeezing their eyes shut as Bram pressed the burning metal back against their ribs, an inch below the first mark.

“Three?”

“I be-belong to you,” Maple sobbed out, twisting in their bonds as pain laced up their side, swallowing their senses until it was the only thought on their mind.

“Four?” Another burn had Maple writing in their chains, only held up by the shackles around their wrists.

“Say thank… thank you after each session.” Tears ran freely down Maple’s scarred cheeks, dripping down their chin.

“And five?” Bram flicked open the lighter, hovering the small flame over Maple’s skin, watching as it slowly turned red and blistered.

“Never- never question you.” Their head fell against their chest. It wasn’t the worst beating, no. They had had far worse done to them. But burns, they stung for days, and blisters were always a pain in the ass to put up with.

“Very good.” Bram praised, as they pressed the lighter against their skin just above their hip, a neat line of burns trailing down their side. “I have to get a picture of this, Brianna has been asking for one.” Bram dropped the lighter to the ground, and stepped back, pulling his phone from his pocket. Maple didn’t know who Brianna was, or why she wanted a picture of them. Perhaps she was going to help them? Maple didn’t dare hope. They looked up as the camera clicked, and Bram began tapping away at his phone, beginning to talk again. “She has this boy, Hayden, oh my he’s absolutely gorgeous,” Bram stepped closer, turning his phone so they could see a picture of a bruised, bloody young man with bright blond hair, matted with blood.

“We met online, and we have a date Tuesday afternoon, actually,” Bram sounded excited as he picked up the lighter, and replaced it in the toolbox. “We realized we have similar… hobbies, and instantly clicked.” He began to dig around the toolbox, pushing aside knives and zip ties, before pulling out a few long strips of cloth. “She’s been wanting to meet you for a while, we’ve been talking for over a month.” Bram approached Maple, and tapped their jaw. Hesitantly, Maple opened their mouth, allowing him to wedge the dirty cloth between their teeth, and knot it around the back of their head.

“She says she’s really good with a knife, but never gets to use one because she doesn’t want to scar the boy too badly, which is understandable,” Bram positioned another cloth over their eyes, the fabric entangling with their mane of messy what had the potential to be curly hair.

Maple whimpered around the gag, as they heard footsteps pad across the floor, before Bram was rummaging through the toolbox once more.

“Oh hush, sweetheart, I’m doing you a favor,” They chucked. “I know how you get squeamish at large amounts of blood.”

So thoughtful of him, Maple thought sarcastically. Before they were kidnapped, the sight of the crimson liquid always made them squirm, the first time Bram had ever beaten them they had passed out the second their nose besan to bleed. Recently, however, they had become quite immune to the effects blood used to have on them. It never gave them the same feeling as it did.

Maple cried out into the gag as they felt the tip of a knife dig into their shoulder, swiftly slicing a thin, shallow cut halfway down to their elbow.

“And the gag is because these houses are quite close together, if you scream too loud the neighbors will get upset.” Bram traced their collar bone with the blade, putting just enough pressure behind the knife to split the skin.

Maple sobbed into the cloth as he ran the knife down their back, cutting a smooth line across the jagged whip scars.

They knew better than to try and beg or plead. That never got them anywhere, and it only made Bram hurt them more.

Maple screamed at the tip of the blade plunged into their thigh, and tore a terrible gash straight down their leg, cutting through the oversized sweatpants Hugh had given them.

The stupid pants, they had been hoping they’d stay intact a little longer. It was all they had to wear, sure, they were lucky Bram let them wear clothes at all, but they had been from Hugh. They were Hugh’s.

It felt as if the knife had stuck them right through their heart.

[maybe-itll-be-someday]

How Far We’ll Go

Thank you, as always, to the immeasurably wonderful @jetaime-jespere for her support, friendship, and beta of this chapter. 

I am a better writer with every word because of you. 

Read on AO3.

Chapter 16

By the time flowers bloom from small buds aided by the warmth of spring, they celebrate Jack's seventh birthday at a local park and she stops monopolizing Aaron’s every thought.

The passing months had dulled the persistent ache in his chest - the one that had set him on edge after the wedding, traces of her perfume in his nose and her taste on his tongue. He had pressed his phone to his ear, a blush of a mark that she had drawn on the base of his collarbone, with absolutely no clue as to what he wanted to say. He just wants to hear her voice and ask her why.

Aaron tries for three days, her new number practically burned into his keypad as he dials the same thirteen digits over and over again. The night on that balcony was a sliver of hope, a small flicker that ignited a flame he had thought had long gone out. But the flame is extinguished as fast as it starts, doused by the never-ending dial tone in his ear and dozens of unreturned calls.

She never answers and he decides that he isn’t going to spend his life waiting for a phone call that would never come.

Aaron perfects a routine that avoids anything too reminiscent of her. He gets the strength to clear the expired creamer in his fridge he's conveniently forgotten about, tossing the shampoo bottle that's been nearly empty for months, and gifts the cat mug to Garcia who was none the wiser as to its previous owner. He starts to drink coffee at the office instead of at home and drives to and from work in a route that avoids the park they used to train at and the cafe where he first realized that his feelings had morphed into something soft and sweet, like the lemon curd pancakes that she used to order.

Now, he and Jack eat waffles on Sundays.

--

She meets Mark through a friend, being pushed into a conversation by their mutual connection, who insisted that they would get along. Emily resents the introduction, but feigns interest and agrees because she's lonely and for once, she doesn't want to think about the way the rough edges of brick pressed into her back as he drilled into her, as desperate and erratic as she felt.

Mark is surprisingly engaging, witty and smart as he talks about his work in corporate law, specializing in mergers and acquisitions. He's incredibly normal - filling his days with visiting his parents on the weekends and running when he can squeeze it into his calendar. His eyes light up when he talks about how he enjoys kayaking in the mornings and Emily is jealous of the seemingly simple life he lived. She finds herself drawn to the light he exudes because all she's known is shadows, secrets lurking with threats of unravelling the composure she's carefully built. He's bright and unscathed, and she wants a taste of what that's like.

When he slips her his number, soft and sweet into her palm, she blushes.

She tries to ignore that his eyes aren't the shade of brown that she wants and promises to call him.

--

Mark is sweet and persistent, insisting on seeing her again. She's hesitant at first, her breath hitching when he asks if she wants to get dinner the following Saturday, if she wasn't travelling for work. He has a very minimal understanding of what she did and for that, she's grateful, avoiding having to relive memories she isn’t interested in sharing.

She realizes that she'll probably never be truly honest with him, but says yes anyways.

He's easy to read. He's nervous, evident by the constant tugging on the cuffs of his sleeves, unconsciously fidgeting the small buttons between his fingers. He tries to impress her with his knowledge of wine, but quickly admits that he really didn't know the difference between wines aside from being red and white. She laughs and orders a Merlot that she loves and asks him what it’s like to be a corporate lawyer.

The conversation flows easily as does the wine, swapping book recommendations and Mark insisting that she would love hiking and that he would take her sometime. When the wine blurs her vision slightly, he kisses her and they end up back at her apartment, their clothes strewn across the living room as he touches her nervously as if she was made of glass. He's clumsy and unsure, fumbling with the zipper of the black dress she wore and spends a while attempting to unhook her bra. He finishes before she does and she barely gets anywhere, the coil in her abdomen tight with no relief in sight.

She slips into her shower when he falls asleep, muscles taut and tense, a stalled release still deep in her. She turns her shower head to the highest pressure and lets the warm water beat on her skin as she stroked herself, chasing the release that she needed after months of large piles of paperwork and being pulled away on one case after another.

Emily thinks of him, the veins on his forearms that formed ridges underneath his skin, thick and bulging as his fingers stretched her open. How he had curled right there and flicked just like this and it isn't long until she's toppling over the edge with the well-worn memories of him seared into the back of her eyelids.

She slips into bed next to Mark when her muscles are looser, the warm shower and orgasm dissipating the remaining tension she's been carrying around for weeks. She stiffens when she realizes that all the covers are pulled over around him, leaving no warmth on her side of the bed and she fights the annoyance that flashes through her and the subsequent pang in her chest.

She hated it when they hogged the covers.

--

The next morning, he makes her breakfast of eggs that he had run to the store to get while she was asleep.

Mark’s in her kitchen, using the only pan that she owns because she really doesn't cook aside from easy mixes she could throw together quickly, and makes her slightly overdone scrambled eggs and apologizes for falling asleep last night and wants to see her again. He's still nervous, fidgeting with last night's clothes that he had thrown on in an attempt to look decent, and she doesn't have the heart to say no .

Mark is uncomplicated and distracting and she wants to be distracted.

He smiles wide and drops a kiss on her lips before saying that he had plans with his sister and would call her later.

The eggs are left untouched on the counter.

She makes chocolate chip pancakes instead.

--

He meets a museum curator named Beth when he volunteers to chaperone Jack’s field trip. He had snuck away from the rest of the group, choosing to wander over to the classical art section as the kids ran mayhem in the dinosaur exhibit downstairs. His ears were starting to ring from the loud, high-pitched conversations about the stegosaurus and figures that a break would save his sanity.

He’s staring at a painting that is adorned with broad strokes of red. It’s an abstract piece of work, the lines fluid and dancing across the canvas. The movement reminds him of waves of red fabric, draped across ivory thighs and falling with every thrust of his hips.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” A light voice chimes, shattering the memory and suddenly reminding him where he is. He turns to the sound of the voice and his breath is slightly knocked out of his chest.

A pair of dark brown eyes are staring up on him, accompanied by a bright smile and deep dimples. Long brunette locks cascading like waves down her shoulder, a lightness to her that he doesn’t think he’s seen before. She radiates light.

He isn’t used to it - his entire life had somehow been shaded in different layers of darkness. His father’s calloused knuckles, Haley and his divorce, Haley’s death, Emily’s sudden departure after a taste of what his life could’ve been like. Things that brought him light were usually ripped away, torn from his hands at the seams. He’s used to lurking in the darkness.

“It’s gorgeous.” He says and she smiles.

Later, with her number saved into his phone and promises to call if he wanted to come back for a private art tour, Aaron wonders if she can help shine a light on the darkness that was determined to follow him around.

--

Emily doesn’t know what’s wrong.

She doesn’t know why her temper flares ever so slightly when his soft palm flexes over her knee. Why when she feels the slenderness of his fingers against her thigh, her first instinct is to pull away.

Her temper flares when he leaves his clothes in the bathroom like a child, the mirror covered in streaks from his fingerprints. She savors being alone at night, glad to not have his cold toes accidentally brush against her calf and his annoying habit of monopolizing the covers on his side.

On nights where she’s alone, grateful for his absence, she tips whiskey into an empty glass and savors the burn of the alcohol.

She used to hate dark liquor.

Now, she doesn’t know what she’d do without it.

--

There’s something about Beth that Aaron can’t quite place.

She’s kind and sweet. She’s smart and passionate about art. Her entire being lights up, her expression animated as she talks to him about the difference between the key differences between Greek and Roman art styles. She drinks tea and loves pop music and brings a smile to his face when she pulls on his hand to dance with him in the middle of her living room on a rare Friday night when Jack is with Jessica while Katy Perry is playing in the background.

Beth makes him smile and for a split second when her lips are on his, he forgets the hole in his chest that he’s gotten better at hiding with time.

It still doesn’t stop his dreams to be filled with memories of her, of maple syrup and of cups of coffee that grew cold on his kitchen island in favor of playing pirates with Jack, or of mornings spent watching the soft morning light dance on crumpled sheets and gentle curves.

Beth is uncomplicated and distracting, and he wants to be distracted.

On a quiet Sunday, he brings her to the cafe that he once frequented. His memories of the place had dulled, now blurred by the passage of time. He wants to make new memories - those untouched by the memory of lemon curd pancakes and their bikes sitting on the rack in front. He holds Beth’s hand loosely in his and guides her through an old routine still embedded in his muscles.

A sting of familiarity hits him, seeing Beth read a menu he thinks once upon a time he could have recited front and back. She orders french toast and a chai tea, which he points out is actually translated to tea tea. He expects her to roll her eyes and sarcastically reply, but instead Beth just smiles and giggles.

He ignores the pang in his chest when he realizes who he really expected that reaction from.

“Is the food okay?” Beth asks out of the blue, snapping Aaron out of his reverie.

“Oh yeah.” He pushes a piece of bacon to the side, suddenly losing all of his appetite. “Just not as hungry as I thought I was.”

Maybe there were just some places where she would always haunt him.

--

When he drops her off at her house, she wraps her arms around his waist and gives him a soft peck.

He catches a whiff of her shampoo and he realizes what it was that he couldn’t place.

Her hair smells like oranges.

He swallows the lump in his throat and promises to call her.

He buys a bundle of oranges before he goes home, determined to rewire his brain to prefer orange to lavender.

--

By the time the leaves start to fall, he’s forgotten what lavender smells like.

--

By the time the leaves start to fall, she feels like she’s simply going through the motions.

She floats through it all - a seemingly mindless blur of passing days. She floats through her days with Mark, her cases with Interpol, and her life in London.

Until one day, she sinks.

--

She loses someone on her team after a year of being their unit chief.

Peters was one of her younger agents. He had a degree from Oxford, an extensive background in linguistics, and had just recently proposed to his long-time girlfriend. He had just turned 31 a few weeks before they lost him.

She doesn’t lose him to another job opportunity or some notion of his that he wanted a normal life outside of days spent travelling to far off countries in pursuit of evil. She loses him to an unsub, a pistol pointed straight at his chest as a man with evil laced in every fiber of his being unloaded four bullets point blank.

She can still recount, moment by moment, how her carefully crafted plan had fallen apart so grandly. They had to lure the unsub into an abandoned warehouse by the river Seine to help the Police Nationale arrest him the moment he stepped one foot past the door.

The unsub, a terrorist from an old cell that Interpol had believed to have broken apart years ago, had lured them into a trap. The cell had gone underground, instead of completely disbanding, and fell off of the Interpol radar. They had resurfaced in recent years and they were on track to arrest the right-hand man of their leader.

If only she had known that while she was concocting a plan, they were already concocting their revenge.

Peters had ended up trapped, the only body in that warehouse as her team scrambled to escape while she was at the command center down the street, ordering whoever was around to get her team out .

She had heard the shots, her heart faltering in her chest when she realizes what those four cracks in the air meant. A moment too reminiscent of that day outside the bank.

Emily doesn’t let her team see her falter. She was their leader and a fearless one at that, and she was determined to keep a stony facade as she delivered the news to his family that he had died in action.

She thinks the sound of his fiancee’s wail at the news that her future husband had died would haunt her for the rest of her life.

“He was a great agent, and it was an honor to have him on our team.” She said, as his fiancee’s face crumbled into tears as his family came around to grab the last of his belongings. She had made a point to clear the desk herself, forcing herself to touch all the things he will never use again and pack them all in a neat box.

Forcing herself to relieve the consequences of her actions over and over again, so that she would never forget how one decision could alter the course of someone’s life.

She wonders how many decisions she’s made that ruined someone else’s life.

--

Peters’ death weighs over her like a stormcloud, the anger and disappointment that brews under her skin seeps into her judgement. Her temper is on a short fuse, mistakes that she would normally let pass now needled with a fine point that she knows is unnecessary. She’s hard on her team, and even harder on herself, in an attempt to grasp some semblance of control after the tragedy had shaken their foundation.

It doesn’t help that her office overlooks her team’s desks and every time she glances up, her heart catches in her throat when she sees the new agent is at his desk, empty of the framed picture he kept of his fiancee and the pictures of his family he tacked on his cube wall.

She’s no stranger to the nightmares that start haunting her after his death.

She wakes up in a cold sweat most nights, and on the nights that she’s with Mark, she tries to drown herself in wine to blur the dreams so she didn’t startle him with her nightmares.

It only lasts two weeks before the dreams get too intense even with the aid of an extra glass of wine at dinner and Mark insists that she start seeing a counselor. Clyde insists on it too, when she comes into his office with dark circles under her eyes and the heaviness of Peters’ death still clouding her.

He gives her a mandatory two weeks off to try and process his death, ordering her to see an Interpol-approved therapist in London, but the lack of work is more detrimental to her than she anticipated.

Without the menial tasks and challenge of work to keep her occupied, her mind immediately floods to replaying Peters’ death in excruciating detail. How she was powerless at the center of it all, the ice that flooded her veins at the cracks in the air, how she was the one who found his body, a pool of dark red beading underneath the bullet hole in his neck.

She spirals in the silence of her apartment, the vast emptiness of the space that is permeated with loneliness and darkness.

Her phone is pressed against her ear before she can think twice about it, not wanting to back out of a decision that she knew was treading a dangerous line.

There was a chance that he wouldn’t pick up, maybe a twisted form of revenge for letting his calls go ignored, unwilling to provide him with the answers he craved after that night.

He could’ve just let the phone ring, ignoring her call the same way she had done all those months ago. She honestly doesn’t know if she could handle him not answering, despite him having a completely valid reason to.

But he doesn’t. He sounds surprised when he answers, cautiously greeting her.

“Emily? Is everything alright?” Relief floods her at the sound of his voice and she lets out a soft sob at her name passing through his lips.

"You told me to tell you if I was having a bad day." She says, the tears clear in her voice. "I'm having a really bad day, Aaron."

--

She sinks, but Aaron is the lighthouse that guides her out of the darkness.

He listens as she blabbers, managing to get the full story in between tears and soft sobs. He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t press for information and instead lets her tell her story at her pace. He makes soft soothing noises while she’s crying and when the sobs dwindle down to soft sniffles, he speaks.

“You did your best, Emily. That's all we can do.” He says. “The rest is part of the job.”

“Who told you that? She sounds wise.” She teases, his words immediately sparking a memory of a shared moment they had in a different lifetime.

“She is.” Aaron’s voice is soft, tone lowered like he was speaking information that needed to be confidential and she can almost see the way his eyes would shift, tucking his chest away from the door.

Another secret, just one more to keep between them.

“His fiancee, Aaron. I don’t think I will ever forget the way that she sounded. The love of her life died.” He understands the implication of her words. It reminds her, too much, of that day at the bank. How she could hear her own curdling screams in Jeanette’s, aware of the hole that opened up in her world the moment that Peters’ blood pooled on that abandoned warehouse floor.

She lived that horror for a brief moment in the ruins of the explosion, searching for him in the rubble.

“She’ll find love again.” He says. “I did.”

Emily doesn’t know if he was referring to her, or the new girl that Penelope had hinted to, but she takes those words and tucks them away to be saved on a day she needed it most, taking its spot right next to Jack’s drawing of the three of them and his old Georgetown shirt. She replays the memory of her old words, when she stares out into the bullpen and straightens out her blazer before walking into her first briefing back.

The rest is part of the job.

--

They start to exchange calls. He starts, calling her one random Tuesday morning as his confidence was fortified by the alcohol in his blood. He was sitting in his hotel room in the Los Angeles heat, a cheap motel that was the only accommodation they could find on such short notice. The air is hot and sticky, the unusual humidity in Southern California causing beads of sweat to form on his neck.

He calls her, skin damp and his chest thick with old wounds resurfacing at the desperation in Mrs. Payton’s voice at his presence at the precinct instead of out in the streets looking for a little girl who was around Jack’s age when he was taken by Foyet.

They had successfully saved Phoebe but he knew all too well how wrong it could have all gone.

He thinks of Haley. He knew that she loved as fiercely as Mrs. Payton, who lashed out at him in the elevator. She was desperate to do anything to save her child.

He knew that Haley’s last sacrifice was the same - done in desperation to save Jack.

The thirteen digits are still embedded in his fingers and he plugs it into his phone the same way that he did that night.

Except this time, she answers.

She stays on the phone with him as long as she can, before she’s whisked away to a series of bureaucratic meetings where her attendance is mandatory. She listens when he talks about the case and doesn’t have to ask him how he feels about it.

She inherently knows which parts of a case would brush too closely to his scars.

“You won, Aaron. You saved her. Don’t kill yourself thinking of what could have happened, because it didn’t.”

He wonders why her words are the salve that soothes the hollow ache in his chest.

The next time he calls her, he doesn’t have any problems to talk through. Instead, he calls with a wordless urge that he’s worked hard to suppress, letting the need for her pour out of his being in a flood. He knows about Mark, a casual detail that Garcia had let slip after one too many margaritas during a team dinner.

But part of him doesn’t care.

“Hi.” He says, a small smile on his face when she answers, breathing his name out in a way that triggers a forgotten memory of soft morning light that broke through his window, the day barely beginning and him already occupied with tracing the length of her spine with his fingers.

He had been without her for so long. He thinks he’d have her anyway she’d take him.

“Did your meeting go well?”

--

He was an addict, and she was his vice.

He craves the way syllables roll off her tongue, the lilt of her laugh when he narrates Jack’s adventure at the water park, accidentally sliding head first on his back on one of the larger slides. His heart skips over itself when her number flashes across the screen, even when he presses ‘ignore’ when Beth eyes his phone at dinner.

“Work?” She asks sweetly and Aaron is unsure if she’s oblivious or giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“Just a friend. I’ll call her back later.” Her eyebrows quirk at his response, but she lets it pass and instead brings up the new art exhibit that was coming to her museum.

Emily is the first one to ask about Beth and he’s stunned into silence, unaware that he had given her any information about his current relationship.

“Garcia told me.” She explains and her tone softens at her next words. “You can talk about her, you know.”

So he does. He tells her about how they met, stumbling awkwardly through asking her on a date that he’s pretty sure he really didn’t end up asking anything, and Emily laughs. She tells him about Mark, and the companies that he consulted for, and how he took her hiking and it was a complete disaster. Aaron listens in amusement when she tells him about all the statistics for killers in remote places and how maybe hiking wasn’t going to be her thing.

Despite the subtle ache in his chest when she mentions Mark, he thinks that the comfort she brought him by hearing her stories outweighs the pain.

Emily calls him when she gets stranded in the rain, frustrated and with no one to talk to. She calls him and he smiles and tells her to duck into a coffee shop to wait out the downpour and that he’d keep her company. He calls her when he’s reading a book and wants to talk to someone about it, because he doesn’t think that Beth would understand The Wisdom of Psychopaths .

She listens to his theories and recommends a book to him, and suggests that maybe they exchange opinions over email. He wakes up to a lengthy email from her the next day, a breakdown of all her favorite quotes from the book and links to articles she thought he’d find relevant to the topic.

They learn how to be friends again.

--

She’s not stupid.

She can see the way his eyes lit up when his phone rang, his attention always curiously piqued towards the smartphone he kept face down on the table. He never answered her calls, at least not while he was with her.

It was hard not to know her, when some of Jack’s favorite stories included Emily and he retold them so many times she thinks she could recite them from memory. She knows of the emails Jack would write to her, always tugging on Aaron’s sleeve to hurry up whatever he was doing and help him turn on the computer because Emmy was waiting .

But Aaron never mentioned her. She got clipped answers, saying that she was a colleague at the BAU before she moved to London. She hadn’t found it weird, not at first, until her name started flashing across Aaron’s screen more times than she could count.

He always pressed ‘ignore’, but she had a sneaking suspicion that his early mornings were dedicated to her. He would always slip out of bed, at least an hour or two before she would, and she would awaken to his laugh muffled in the living room.

“Hey, I gotta go.” He would say to whoever was on the phone, and stand up to greet her with a kiss.

It wasn’t until recently, on an early Sunday morning, that she heard a small snippet of what he was hiding from her as she stood in his doorway.

“Come on, Em. You know that the only album that’s worth listening to is the White album.”

Beth didn’t even know that he listened to the Beatles.

She’s not stupid.

--

Syllables tumble out of his mouth, entangled in the dull ecstasy that he was accustomed to after almost a year of being with Beth. He was lost in the snapping movement of his hips, unaware of the words that were slipping from his lips as he teetered on the edge of a release.

She stiffens as he collapses on top of her, a last moan leaving his lips. His sweat is still breaking on his skin when she twists her head away from him in disgust. She pulls away from underneath him, pushing him off with anger.

“Are you okay?” He asks, the sudden change in her demeanor too apparent in the harsh way her hands collide with his chest.

“Do you even know what you just said?” Beth says, her tone biting and unforgiving as she snatches her clothes from the floor, an anger that he’s never synonymized to her suddenly etched into her every feature. Aaron reaches out, wrapping a tender grip around her wrist and she pulls away like his touch radiated with the heat of the sun.

“Beth, I don’t understand.” Aaron says, watching her pull on her clothes and collecting her belongings. She had been prepping for this conversation, for the inevitable break to ten months of companionship. She just didn’t expect it to happen like this.

“Beth, please talk to me.” He pleads, stepping closer to her and stopping her hand from picking up her purse in the chair in the corner.

“Do you know what you said, Aaron?” She asks, the deathly calm in her voice reminiscent of scorned women he’s become familiar with after a long career at the FBI.

“You said her name.”

He doesn’t have to ask who she’s referring to.

He steps back and lets her collect the last of her belongings, her body language stiff and curled as she throws her clothes back on. He doesn’t know if there are any words, if he could say sorry enough times to rectify his mistake.

But he also knows that this relationship would always come to its end.

He knew that before he asked her out for the first time.

“I don’t think you’ll be happy with anyone that isn’t her. Stop lying to yourself, Aaron.” Beth says, before slamming his apartment door shut and walking out of his life.  

He pours himself a whiskey, fishing out an unfinished bottle he thought he’d stop relying on. He lets Beth’s words echo in his head.

I don’t think you’ll be happy with anyone that isn’t her.

Maybe he’d always live with an Emily-shaped hole in his heart, the same way that Haley had.

He would never have his first love again. The sweet, light kind of love that was untouched by the harsh grip of reality. Of broken trust, of crumbling marriages, and of psychopathic serial killers.

He doesn’t think that he’d be happy with anyone as long as Emily was on this Earth.

He realizes that he probably wouldn’t have his last love again either.  

And that was something he had to learn to live with.

--

The nightmares start shortly after Beth breaks up with him.

He’s lived a life made for nightmares, so he isn’t surprised when more than one relentlessly steals his sleep and slowly, his sanity.

Some nights, he’s back to being a small child lurking behind the mustard walls of their corridor, listening to the smack of his father’s fist against his mother’s flesh.

Other nights, he relives Haley’s death in excruciating detail. Every moment was still sharp, constructing perfect reenactments of finding Haley’s body in their old den, the crush of Foyet’s bones underneath his knuckles, and Jack helping him on the case.

He tries to save her, but he’s always too late.

Most nights, it’s about Jack. Some variation of him losing Jack - either to someone who had taken him, or an unidentifiable unsub he’s sure he’s seen before but forgotten, that snatched him from his grasp and dragged him towards the shadows. Old crime scenes reconstructed with snippets of his memories, concocting nightmares that starved him of rest.

It isn’t long before the lack of sleep catches up to him. On top of the horrendous amount of paperwork that he had taken on since Strauss had passed, he knew that he was heading right towards burn out. Exhaustion was almost a regular feeling now - never able to shake the sleep that chased him. He was almost sure his diet was solely cups of coffee and a granola bar when he remembered to eat, his attention unevenly split between work and Jack.

He’s startled out of a nightmare when the unsub points a gun at Jack, and he shoots up from his fitful nap on his uncomfortable office couch with a mild ache in his chest and a panic when he’s not in his apartment. There was an open file in his lap, an unfinished report that he had meant to finish before he got home, still incomplete with pen marks staining the edges of the paper.

He would deal with that later, when he had taken something for the headache that was currently thundering around between his temples.

Aaron clumsily reaches for his phone, dialing Jessica’s number while his heart gallops in his chest, a dull ache creeping in when the phone rings for a second longer than normal.

“Hey Jessica, it’s me. I’m sorry, I dozed off. Is everything alright?”

He doesn’t really register the words he’s saying, a throb of pain shooting in his stomach that passes in an instant. Jessica pauses and Aaron assumes that’s the end of her sentence, his neck muscles tightening with a tension he was sure was caused by the couch.

“Ok. And Jack’s alright?”

Jessica confirms that yes he is alright and yes , she listened to his instructions this time and didn’t feed him dinosaur nuggets.

“Great. I should be there in about half an hour, ok?”

He apologizes again, because this isn’t the first time in the last two months that he’s accidentally missed Jack’s pick up time because of work. His chest is tight and his head spins slightly when he stands, but he’s quick to dismiss it when an Amber Alert comes through his phone.

There was no rest for the weary.

--

She calls him the following Thursday, wanting to ask him about the book he had just recommended.

Her call goes to voicemail and she doesn’t suspect a thing, knowing that his workload has nearly doubled since Strauss died. He had called her well into the night on his timezone, searching for company as she was on her lunch break. She had been pleasantly surprised by the call, being regaled with tales of Jack in between her file appraisals and his complaints about the mountain of paperwork the Director dropped on his desk.

But when she still hears the monotone voice of his pre-recorded greeting when she tries to call later in the day, she begins to worry.

It was unlike him to not shoot her a text that he was busy, promising to contact her at a more convenient time.

There’s a dark pit that grows in her stomach with each passing hour that he doesn’t call.

--

Dave is the one who breaks the news to her.

A bolt of fear passes through her when she sees Dave’s name flash across the screen.

No.

She answers on the second ring, a breathless hello as Dave greets her, a heaviness in his voice that she notes in an instant.

“Dave, what’s wrong?” She asks, not bothering to beat around the bush.

“It’s Aaron.”

He gives her a rundown of their morning, her heart in her throat as Dave relays the details. Aaron had collapsed during a briefing and they rushed him to the hospital. Internal bleeding, thought to be caused by old wounds inflicted by Foyet’s knife that were reopened.

“I thought you’d want to know.”

“Which hospital?” She prompts, already creating a to-do list in her head of all the things that she needed to make sure were buttoned up before she got on a plane.

“Emily, that’s insane.” Dave says, probably already aware of what she was planning to do and she knows. She knows that it’s crazy.

But she’s suddenly reminded of that day at the bank, when he offered himself as the sacrificial lamb to save lives.

It was that uncontrollable itch that rattled underneath her skin, tearing at the fibers in her muscles as she struggled in Morgan’s strong grip while he walked right into her greatest fear.

She needed to be with him and nothing was going to stop her from doing just that.

“Text me which hospital or I’m going to call Penelope and find out for myself.” She hangs up the phone, ending Dave’s protest mid-sentence.

She books the next flight out.

--

She can’t explain to him why she has to leave, why she books the first flight that she could despite the absurd amount of money it had cost and the two or more layovers she would have to contend with. She doesn’t even tell Clyde in person, opting to call him and explain instead of taking the time to head to his office, knowing that every second here was another one wasted without him.

“Aaron? Your ex?” Mark asks in disbelief, following her around her apartment as she pulls out her suitcase. He’s pacing behind her, begging for attention but all she can focus on is the panic in Dave’s voice, laced in a pessimism when he relayed the details of Aaron’s condition.

“Mark, I need to go.” She says stiffly, shoving clothes as quickly as she can into her suitcase. There was one seat on a flight that left in two hours - there was no chance that she was going to miss it.

“You’re on the phone with him all the time. His son calls you in the middle of the night. For Christ’s sake, you’re leaving in two hours to fly all the way back to the States .” Mark almost yells and she flinches, absorbing the anger in his voice. She deserved this. She didn’t deserve the understanding, gentle Mark that she had known for all of their relationship.

She was wondering how much he could take before she broke him too.

“Emily, if you leave, I’m not coming back.”

There is a finality in his tone, the end of a sentence she thinks that she shouldn’t have written in the first place.

At his ultimatum, her eyes widen at the realization that she’s shielded from herself for so long. A truth that she had attempted to put into a cardboard box, shoved in the back of her closet, only to be revisited as a taste of light in her darkest of moments.

There was going to be no one like them. No one who would feel as close to home as they felt to her - the safety that Aaron’s arms provide, the pure joy that radiates from Jack, how complete she felt when she was with them.

Doyle had made her afraid, so afraid of losing them that she thought she would sever the connection before someone else had the chance to. At least she could wrap her mind around it, prepare herself for the brutal blow that threatened to tear out her insides at the simple thought of losing them. She could live apart from them if she knew that it was for their own safety.

But there could be any number of things that could take them away from her. It could be an accident, an unsub, or old scars that burst after years of dormancy. She would rather be there with them than 3,000 miles away.

She’d go as far as she needed to.

“Goodbye, Mark.”

She lets the front door close behind her, keeping her gaze straight ahead as she focuses on only one thing.

Going back home.

--

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

For your smoochfest what about one was rambling and the other was just like "oh shit... he's gorgeous like this" and had to kiss them.

yeah that’s a Monty Python reference so what

---

“The average wingspan of a Eurpean sparrow is actual-”

Jaskier never managed to finish the sentence. Geralt had backed him up against a sturdy, flame-orange maple and kissed the breath from his lungs. He’d kissed his bard until the younger man could barely stand for the happiness he was feeling.

When at last the Witcher pulled away, Jaskier laughed. “What brought that on?”

“You’re beautiful when you talk about the things that interest you.”

Jaskier blushed and twined his fingers with the Witcher’s. 

“You’re beautiful too, you know. When you sharpen your swords or build a fire or catch us dinner. You’re marvelous.”

“This isn’t about me,” Geralt said, brushing his lips against Jaskier’s again. Something settled in the bard’s chest and tears sprang to his eyes. Geralt wiped them away gently with the thumb of his unoccupied hand. “This is about you and the fact that you glow when you gush about birds. Or new doublet styles. Or the latest gossip from Novigrad. This is about how sweet it feels to kiss you after you’ve been talking for hours and I can feel how chapped your lips have become in your giddiness to share. This is about you.”

Jaskier wrapped his arms around his Witcher’s shoulders and held on tight. This man, this mountain, would always make him feel like the god of the fucking sun.

[garys-classic-guitars]

1942 Gibson Super 400 Premier, "Cutaway",  Very Rare Blonde finish, Top of the line Model, Gold hardware, Original Kluson tuners with beautiful original Catalin tips, Super 400 engraved heel cap & tailpiece,  Script logo, Bound Ebony fingerboard with split block Pearl inlays, Original Brazilian bridge with Pearl inlays, Gorgeous flamed Maple back, sides & neck, Fabulous sounding, Has a DeArmond floating pickup that was installed which we will provide, Smooth playing instrument, Very special instrument, Excellent condition, Clean Original leather hard case with plush lined interior and cove

[lacheri]

hi cherry!! congrats on 200<33 ur event is so sexy i’m so excited!!

ok so infp+scorpio sun, libra moon, aries rising

she/her pronouns

as for trope i literally do not care what u do i just fucking love jean kirstein like if he told me to jump off a building i would do several backflips as i went down. so do with that info what you will

my love language is physical touch and words of affirmation

thank u bestieeee

hi cass! tysm for joining my event and being super patient w me as I juggle my billion and one projects ilysm <33 (tw: drugs)

The Lovers: this is the ultimate soulmate card. a couple stands in the Garden of Eden, the man looking to the woman, the woman looking to the angel, a symbol of consciousness and the divine. this is a card for eternity, karmic connections, a sure sign of a past life connection — true love at its finest.

robbers - the 1975. "She says babe, you look so cool."

Soulmates — Jean was your soulmate. Twin fucking flames, destiny written in the stars. Each life played the part, you always found your way back to one another. Not an ocean, nor a desert, could keep your souls apart. Every time he touched you it was electric, every kiss felt like he was setting you aflame. He was the match and you were the matchbox; you ignited him, reminded him of who he truly was, of where he was meant to be.

“We’re like Yin and Yang, you and me,” Jean would press his lips to your temple, a lit cigarette rolling between the fingers of his free hand. “Fire and water, wind and sea — I fucking love you.”

You’d roll over, smirking as you rested your chin on his chest, hand reaching for his cigarette, “You a poet now, Jean boy?”

You’d roll over, smirking as you rested your chin on his chest, hand reaching for his cigarette, “You a poet now, Jean boy?”

When he’d finally give in, passing the lit stoke over to you, he’d mumble out, “I’d rather be a songwriter, actually.”

When you’d exhale the toxins, Jean would grab your cheeks, smooshing your lips together and leaning up to peck your pout. This always ended in a heated make out, it always did. Until Jean would go to roll up a blunt, sparking it up and moving on to the new drug.

Jean would lean against the wall then, pulling the dizzying smoke from the cigarillo, exhaling as he would begin to muse, “We’re like Bonnie and fucking Clyde, y’know? I’d follow you anywhere.”

“Jean, come back to bed,” you’d throw your head back against the pillow, feeling the warmth he’d left behind on the mattress fade quickly. “Profess your love for me and cuddle me.”

He’d stride over, placing the blunt into the ridges of the ashtray on the nightstand, both hands placed on the sides of your face as he’d tower over, “I love you, forever and always. You’re my everything girl, my muse, I’d kill somebody for you.”

When the two of you would finally leave the comfortable tranquility of the bedroom, his white t-shirt hanging off your body, Jean clad in gray sweats, you’d venture to the kitchen. You would attempt to make breakfast, however Jean’s arms would circle around your middle as he pressed your back to his chest, chin on the top of your head.

“You’re going to be the best wife someday,” Jean peppered a kiss to your temple. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

“Jean!” you’d giggle, wiggling in an attempt to break free from his hold. “I’m just making pancakes!”

His hand would travel to yours, spatula in hand, tapping gently on your ring finger, “Mrs. Kirstein, total milf material.”

Rolling your eyes, you finished cooking, placing the pancakes on clean white dishes, shoving his plate into his chest, “How romantic.”

“Only for you baby,” Jean shot you a cocky smirk, the two of you navigating to your shared living room, popping down onto the couch. You ate in silence, your legs thrown over Jean’s crossed thighs.

You felt the sudden onset of mischievousness, smirking as you took your syrup covered fork, and pressed it to the side of Jean’s stubbled cheek, “Whoops, my bad.”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” he was quick to set his empty plate to the ottoman, his attention locked in on you. He grabbed the bottom of your half filled plate, and pushed it right into your chest, covering you in your breakfast.

“Jean!” you gasped, throwing your head back in laughter. “Now I’m gonna be all sticky!”

“Oh no,” he feigned concern, his forearms trapping your back against the couch as he crawled on top of you. “I can’t imagine how you must feel.”

You squealed as he rubbed his syrup-covered cheek all over your face. You threw your head to the side, shutting your eyes to avoid getting the substance in your eyes, “You’re like a dog!”

To prove your point, Jean attached his teeth playfully to the side of your neck. Both of you laughed carelessly, and you turned your face back to your lover. You hummed as he smiled down at you, eyes half lidded. He pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, hands coming up to cradle your face as he adjusted himself between your open legs. Jean pulled away, resting his cheek against your collarbone.

“I really love you,” you mumbled against his forehead, placing your lips to his hairline. “I could stay like this forever.”

“What, covered in maple syrup?” Jean teased. “I love you, more than you’ll ever know. You’re my forever. In this life, and the next.”

He pushed his lean torso off of yours after a few sweet moments, pulling you up along with him. He undressed you slowly, fingertips running over every crevice and dip of your body, guiding you straight into your bathroom. Jean tugged his own clothes off as you set work to turning on the hot water of the shower.

You felt the hot liquid roll over your shoulders as Jean stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle, “You’re so gorgeous. ‘S not fair.”

Jean’s fingertips were nimble and soft as the two of you showered, lathering shampoo across your scalp. You shared giggles as you bumped into one another in the confined space, Jean taking full advantage by peppering pecks against your exposed skin.

You’d never get sick of this, in this life, or any other. Jean was right about one thing, he was your forever.

LACHERI © 2021: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations. this is my only account.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Day 6: “What book is that?”//”Is that smut?”

masterlist

non-descript, non-canon-compliant AU

Leo Valdez sighs as he stares at the gloomy weather taking over his Saturday. It seems that while winter is well and truly underway the sun would not be making an appearance, or at least it hadn’t for the last week. He looks back at the rough sketches he’s drawn for his practical assignment due after winter break and decides he’s worked hard enough for the day. Writing down measurements and ruling a few lines counted, right? He didn’t care. Heaving himself out of his chair he pulls up the socks that had slowly started slipping down and shoves his feet into his giant Yoda slippers that are truly a wonder and a disgrace in equal parts. His friends take turns wearing them and pretending to be everything from big foot to Yoda-crushers. He has a polaroid hall of fame behind his door.

As he trudges across the wooden floor of his apartment his mind wanders to the upcoming days and the time that stretches before him. His roommates are gone to their homes for the break but Leo, ever the orphan, was still stuck in their shared apartment, the weather and his lack of plans keeping him steadfast. He hops onto the kitchen counter and slides across it, landing on the other side in a smooth glide to the fridge. With a self-satisfied smirk he prepares a hot chocolate, laced with coffee because he doesn’t need a sleep schedule when he’s on holiday! He dances at the thought, slurping up a marshmallow and burning himself on the steaming mug.

A knock at the door interrupts his little moment. He glances at the time on the microwave and frowns as he sees 13:30 flashing on the little screen. Who would be here at this time? Everyone he knows is well on their way to family homes or tropical vacations. Stupid Piper and her stupid rich father. He should call her and check in. The knock sounds again and he hurries to open the door.

“Jackson?”

Percy looks up from his phone, a small smile tugging at full lips, “Hi Valdez, can i come in?”

Leo instantly moves aside, as his mind runs a mile a minute. It’s not unusual for Percy to pop around, considering they went to the same university and hung with the same people. It just seemed odd that he’d be here now. When he was supposed to be in New York.

“Is uh, is everything okay?”

That signature smirk takes over that lovely face and it makes his heart beat just a little faster. Well that’s a new reaction. “Everything is fine. I just wanted to come back before the semester reopened, so I could catch up on sleep and video games without Estelle trying to press every button.” His nose scrunches in what’s supposed to be irritation but the soft look in his eyes offsets the whole charade.

“Oh, well make yourself at home.” He gestures to the lounge, which looks relatively neat for once.

“Thanks,” Percy looks around, setting his keys on the kitchen counter and flopping onto the double couch. “Want to play a video game with me?”

“Sure, mind if i go shower first though? I kind of got distracted with school stuff and haven’t actually gotten any self-care stuff in.”

A laugh that reminds him of forest brooks, catches around the apartment. “Go shower, you hazard. I’ll wait for you.” 

Sticking his tongue out at the jab he hops off to the bathroom, all the while thinking how nice it is to have a friend here. Even if that friend came back from two months of holiday with sun-kissed skin the colour of maple bark, and green eyes that twinkle as bright as the evening star. It’s never really been fair how gorgeous Percy Jackson was, with his whole skater boy-badass-saving the world-looking-out-for-the-little-people thing going on, but now he seems to be from another galaxy. One where they make humans out of gemstones. It is almost a shame he’s still dating Annabeth because Leo would happily set his heart on fire for a chance to be Percy’s flame. But no matter. He is allowed to appreciate without disrespecting.

His shower is quick and steaming as he tries to fight off the strange chill in the air. Soon he’s in a fresh pair of sweats and is running his fingers through damp, unruly curls to try to organise them into something that won’t resemble a bird’s nest when it dries. He doesn’t have much luck but at this point his interest is far below his luck. With a shrug in the mirror to make sure his top is on the right way- inside out, back-to-front shirts are a common occurrence- he pads across the cool wooden floors and into the lounge. There he finds Percy, sitting on the floor, back against the couch, with his nose buried in a kindle and the most adorable wire-framed glasses pushed up his nose.

Without saying anything he comes up behind him and settles himself on the couch. He knows his friend notices his presence because he shifts slightly so Leo can get comfortable and then settles back down. He sees two video games lying on the table and the controllers connected and waiting to be used.  And then he glances down at the book Percy is reading, curiosity pressing on his lungs.

“What book is that?” He leans in closer, his curls brushing the balck-haired boy’s cheeks. ”Is- Is that smut?”

Instantly his friend blushes, skin turning a deep red. “N-no.” He stammers.

“It totally is.” Leo smirks, delighted by the recent discovery. “You trying to learn some tricks for Annabeth?”

“Oh my gods Valdez!” He blushes harder and it is possibly the cutest thing he has ever seen.

“Well there’s no need to be embarrassed. I think it’s very cool that you’re putting in the effort to try and impress your lady. I know Annabeth would love this, she’ll see it like studying.”

Percy drops his head into his hands and groans in embarrassment. It sets Leo off cackling with glee.

“Annabeth and I aren't together anymore.” His friend mumbles.

‘Wait what?”

“Yea she went halfway across the world and we felt it was better to break up, If we find each other again then so be it.”

“Holy shit are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?” The scandalous book is all but forgotten.

“No, I’m good.” When he sees Leo’s raised eyebrow he rolls his eyes. “I swear. I was a bit all over the place in the beginning but the holiday with my family and talking it over with my therapist really helped. Besides we didn’t lose all contact. She’s still my friend.”

“Okay,” He is still a little skeptical but he drops it. “Let me know if you ever want to talk.”

“Will do love.” And he goes back to reading.

But Leo sits there frozen in shock as he processes the words Percy had just said. Love, love, love. Oh gods. This little crush was turning into a big problem in his life. 

“Want to play a video game now?” He asks a little too loudly.

The black-haired boy gives him a weird look but locks his Kindle and grabs the controllers from the table. “What am i beating you at Valdez?”

He scoffs, as he scrolls through the options, and then grins when he lands on the perfect one. “I’m going to absolutely crush you at Mario Kart.”

“Oof, wrong choice love. I’ve been playing this game since before i could talk.”

“Big words for a man who chooses Luigi over Princess Peach.”

“Hey don’t judge my avatar. Luigi is a beast.”

“He looks like the creepy brother who’s plumbing business is a front for the mob.”

“Good then at least you know not to mess with him.”

“Oh you are going down Jackson!”

The screen flashes with 3, 2, 1. And they’re off. Yelling obscenities at each other and slamming their little cars off the roads. Percy lands up in the ocean, and growls so loudly Leo is sure he has a stray animal in his apartment. But then a blue shell is hitting him and he’s the one making animalistic sounds, as he shoves Percy’s shoulder and zooms past Luigi’s car.

“I’m getting the family inheritance sucker!” He whoops as he crosses the finish line.

“Listen Mario. If i’m tied to the mob you’re tied to the mob so buckle up buddy, we got shit to do.” Green eyes flash, dark eyebrows knitting in faux seriousness and then they’re both keeling over with laughter.

Percy flings his head back and it hits the couch seat with a soft thud, but he’s too busy laughing to notice. Leo’s head falls forward until his curls are brushing his friend’s forehead and they are breathless with amusement.

“You’re a clown Jackson.” He whispers, still only centimeters away from beautiful brown skin. His lips a mere inch from brushing against the crease between those eyebrows

“At least i’m not Princess Peach.”

“Maybe you should be, and then you could actually win.”

“Oh you did not just say that!” He gasps, and Leo feels the intake against his knees, which are pressed to his back.

“Round two?”

“You’re on, mobster.”

And with a determined gleam in those green eyes they race into another round. And Leo thinks, maybe this is what paradise feels like. And Percy laughs as he releases a blue shell. And Leo knows this is what happiness looks like.

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

Tags:

@spoopylucy​​

@leydiangelo​​

@nishlicious-01​​​

[marvels-writings]

Hi! I had an idea for a Carol x R mini series. R has known Carol for 10+ yrs-Carol came back to Earth briefly after leaving to help the skrulls. R has powers, 1 of which slows her aging. A strong connection when they met but both had other obligations. R misses Carol and decides to write letters to her (including pics): everyday life, the Avengers, changes on Earth, adventures/interests, how much she misses Carol etc. The snap-R dusted, Carol finds R's letters to her/determined to get R back.

Letters to Space (1)

Series Masterlist

Carol Danvers Masterlist

A/N: if anyone has a better idea for a title PLEASE drop something in my ask box or sm (and i spent half an hour on the collage, thoughts?)

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1 month ago

“Promise me you’ll come back to me?” You pleaded softly, touching your forehead to Carol’s outside Maria’s home. You hadn’t known Carol for that long, but something just clicked when the two of you met, it just made you want to be with her all the time. 

Everyone had just got done sorting out the problem with the skrulls, Carol was about to go help them, you were a recruit for SHIELD and somehow managed to tag along with Fury and everyone else. 

The only reason you were with SHIELD was because of HYDRA’s experiments on you, thanks to them, you could create fire from your hands, had super strength, slowed aging, and a lot more agility than most other humans, it also turned you into a fireball. 

“I promise y/n.” Carol answered softly, holding your hands and gently squeezing. You quickly tore your hands away from hers and wrapped them around her neck in a tight hug, Carol’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she wrapped her hands around your waist in return, squeezing tightly before letting go and flying off. 

You smiled softly and sighed before heading back into the house, seeing Fury fidget with the pager and talking to him about some protector initiative he was planning to set up, he wanted you to help him, you agreed, it might help use up your time away from being tested on. 

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2 weeks ago: 

“Who’s there?” You asked sleepily, walking to the door of your apartment in your pajamas while using a towel to dry off your hair. The water dripped onto your sweatshirt, you sighed and quickly tied the string on your grey sweatpants before standing in front of the door. 

“It’s me.” A voice called out behind the door, the voice was distinct, it was definitely Carol. 

You opened the door with a huge grin on your face, towel still in your hand. Carol looked at you, matching your grin, you pounced at her, hugging her softly then pulling away, a grin still on your face. 

“You’re back quickly.” You said excitedly, pulling away but bringing Carol inside by taking her wrist gently. You used your other hand to continue drying your hair. 

Carol gulped, even though you were in casual clothing, your wet hair just made you look gorgeous. 

“I had orders.” Carol joked, standing slightly uncomfortably on the edge of the counter, you noticed how uncomfortable she was and shrugged, it was a weekend, you didn’t have work. 

“The shower is down the hall on the left, there should be some hot water left, I’ll drop off some clean clothes outside.” You instructed, Carol was a bit taken aback by how quickly you welcomed her into your home. 

“I’ll make something to eat, any preferences?” You asked, switching on the coffee machine and leaning back against the counter next to it. 

“Something sweet, I’m sick of space food.” Carol answered, “Thank you for this by the way.” Carol said, gesturing vaguely to the shower and everything else. 

“Yeah of course.” You answered, smiling and putting the wet towel next to the coffee machine. “Now go shower, you’re stinky.” Carol laughed and headed where you had told her. 

You went to your room, took out a navy blue crew neck sweatshirt, some black leggings and a few other things before setting them outside the door, yelling to Carol that they were there before heading to your kitchen, switching on some music and you started making chocolate chip pancakes. 

Carol stepped outside after taking a shower, wrapped up in one of your spare towels and hair dripping onto it. She tripped over the pile of clothes you’d set out for her before yelling a quick thank you and changing inside, she heard your laugh and then whatever music you were playing. 

She smiled to herself while changing, she loved this, the act of just being human, instead of some great hero. With everyone else she had to be a hero, someone who would always do the right thing no matter what. With you, all of that faded and she was human again, she was able to enjoy the day to day pleasures everyone else takes for granted. 

Carol grinned at the thought and stepped outside, relaxed music and the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes filling her senses. She walked over to the kitchen, spreading her arms and looking at you.

“How do I look?” She asked timidly, you turned your head while pouring the batter onto the pan and gave her a quick glance before turning back to your task. 

“Why does everyone look better in my clothes than I do?” You joked, finishing pouring the batter and turning around, hastily wiping the pancake mix off of your face before looking at Carol, she actually did look much better than you in those sweatpants and sweatshirt. 

“There’s coffee and a table, make yourself at home.” You offered cheerily, turning around only for the gas to go off. “Dammit not this again.”

 The room started smelling of gas, Carol quickly opened a window to let the smell out and turning around just in time to see you use your finger as a lighter for the gas, it flamed up instantly and Carol frowned, she didn’t know you had powers, all she knew was that you were a good fighter. 

“You’re a matchstick?” Carol asked curiously, pouring herself a mug of coffee from your fresh coffee pot. 

“Very funny,” You mocked, the topic was still a bit sensitive even though it was many years in the past. “It’s a long story but I have fire powers and enough strength to beat Captain America in an arm wrestle.” You explained while carefully flipping a pancake. 

“Well we have time, as far as I know.” Carol commented, sitting down on one of your barstools in front of the counter, resting fer faeon her elbow as she observed you make food. 

You sighed, putting 3 pancakes on a plate and pouring maple syrup in a small pourer and giving it to Carol, turning back to make some for yourself. 

“Well, when I was 7, I moved to California from (place of origin),” You started explaining. “Then when I was 14, I moved to Ireland because of my dad’s job, not the best I’ve had but far from the worst. Then one day, for work experience for my school, I took an internship at some new science facility.”

You inhaled sharply as memories rushed into your head, gently flipping the pancakes still. 

“The science facility ended up being HYDRA, they experimented on me, gave me these powers” You lifted your hands, turning around as small red and orange wisps emanated from them, watching Carol’s eyes widen before turning back to the stove.

“Moved me back to California because they had a better HQ, then their facility got taken down by SHIELD. SHIELD found out about my powers and recruited me, now, almost 10 years later, I’m still working for them.” You put the pancakes on a plate, hand shaking as you pour maple syrup onto them. 

“Trying to prevent that from happening to anybody else.” You muttered, walking to sit beside Carol, putting on a fake smile to pretend everything was still okay.

“And your family?” She asked, putting some pancake into her mouth. 

“Oh, I still visit my parents in Ireland, the rest of my family in (place of origin)” You answered, starting to eat with still shaky hands. “I actually just got back from (place of origin) after visiting my family when all of this outer space shit happened.”

“I’m so sorry.” Carol said softly, resting one hand on your free one, wincing when she saw you flinch at the simple action. You scooped food onto your spoon and ate it, looking into the distance. 

“Not your fault,” You answered with your mouth half full, you chewed and swallowed before continuing. “It’s in the past anyway, what about you?” You asked, changing the topic. Carol took her hand from yours before answering. 

“I think you already know,” Carol said quietly, you did know, you just needed to change the topic. “I need to tell you something.” Carol stated, you turned to her after putting another bite into your mouth. 

“I’m gonna be gone for longer this time, we just found a planet and I need to defend it.” Carol stated weakly, looking down at her feet. Anxiety bubbled in her chest the longer you didn’t answer, she heard a large gulp and looked up. 

“Sorry I was chewing.” You said, Carol couldn’t help but chuckle despite the situation. “But hey thanks for flying across galaxies to visit me.” You joked, a bit sad she was going but you knew it was for a good reason. 

“You’re not mad?” Carol asked timidly, still surprised you weren’t. 

“Two, well, three things,” You stated, lifting up three fingers then gesturing to your index finger with your other hand. 

“First, I can’t possible be mad at you for helping an entire alien race find a home,” You gestured to the other finger before continuing. “Second, I’m just happy you came to visit me to eat pancakes and shower.”

“I didn’t just come to eat pancakes and shower.” carol laughed, you were honestly taking this really well. 

“Third, I’m not your girlfriend that I’m gonna get mad at you for not spending enough time with me.” You and Carol both froze slightly at that statement, you ignored it and finished your food, putting your plate in the dishwasher. 

“True.” Carol admitted, not saying anything else as she followed the actions you made. 

“Well, since you’re not gonna be staying long, let’s make the best of what we have, right?” You asked, starting to do the dishes. 

“Definitely.” Carol answered, walking over to help you with the dishes, you grinned and flicked soapy water in her face, she laughed and did the same to you. 

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You were incredibly bored as you sat in the Avengers compound, you decided to add another letter to your shoebox. The small box was already almost overflowing with letters you had written to Carol. Her visits to Earth had grown more sporadic, the two of you talked once in a week, sometimes even once in a month through holograms.

Carol hadn’t seen you physically in almost a year, it was tearing her apart, she didn’t know about the shoebox, and you’d like to keep it that way. You sighed, you missed her a lot, you had developed feelings for her in Carol’s last few visits, you kept them to yourself, scared to lose your friendship. 

You wrote another letter, filled it with some pictures you’d taken with the camera Carol had gifted you on one of her visits. 

There were maybe 50 letters in the box, all of them filled with normal things, a coffee bean, one of your favorite pens, some art, some army patches you’d found in Cap’s things. It was filled with everything you’d done while she was gone. 

You wished she was here more than ever, after the civil war, you hadn’t talked to cap, wanda, vision and even Nat for a few months. They were the only family you had and now they were gone. You often visited Tony and Pepper, but it wasn’t the same. You wrote another letter to her. 

This letter was you wanted her with you, it was simple, exactly like a confession but on a letter. Halfway through, you got a call from your phone, it was from Rhodey, you picked it up to find out everyone was back in the other room of the compound, you shoved the half done letter to finish it later. 

Later wouldn’t be for a while now. 

Tag list: @capcarolsdanver, @versdan, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught, @lovebotlarson, @dhengkt, @5aftermidnight, @hstoria, @natasha-danvers, @veryfunnyal,@xxxtwilightaxelxxx , let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

A/N: Sorry to leave on a sad note but it will get better, and angstier but generally better too!

| Part 2 | 

[farnsworthguitars]

Let’s get this @sheoga_hardwood_flooring project going. If you missed my last post about it, check it out. We’re going to be making some F3s out of their gorgeous domestic hardwood 💪🏼 They sent me Birdseye maple, walnut and flamed cherry. First step is roughing out maple for fingerboards and quartersawn walnut for necks. Bodies will likely be walnut and we’ll do a mix of tops (maple, walnut and cherry). Stay tuned 😊 #wood #woodworking #sheoga #hardwood #workslow #getzen (at Edmonds, Washington) https://www.instagram.com/p/CMnhj9gAcHp/?igshid=1l9yru3do2al1