#bought the blossom decor just for this image

[askgart]

[starsbegantofall]

Rate my springtime gaming hag PC setup, starring Francis Bonnefoy from Hetalia! This marks one year of seasonal decor for my workspace and I'm loving each one more and more. I get to display my favorite merch and use these flowers I bought on clearance and just make a small oasis of joy in this desert of despair called living.

Check the instagram original post for the video bc I’m too lazy to reupload here.

https://www.instagram.com/p/Cr53BLsLwSh

What I really adore in this setup is how France naturally is known for a variety of flowers; red and pink roses in his image art that also has purple accents, also purple irises and lavender in the French countryside, combining with the quintessential spring pink of cherry blossoms and purple of wisteria blossoms. I then added a baguette candle, a red wine diffuser, a macarons tin I got in Paris, and a print of a fashionable woman in a hat shop trimmed with wisteria that just matched the theme perfectly. The tea cup I bought in Mount Vernon, not really related to France except the 18th century style. I know Hetalia is problematic even in a good faith reading, but I still love this character and the heart wants what the heart wants.

Hmm, I don’t know why the menu bar showed up in these photos, lol

[ysbrydthespoop]

Gorillaz Headcanons Part 2

Whoever uses the kettle first when everyone's up is usually asked to make tea or coffee by everyone else.

Russel is now in his "old man era," as he calls it, and has gotten into gardening. He finds it relaxing and calming.

Murdoc is not allowed anywhere near the garden unsupervised because his new hobby that he finds calming is arson.

All four members are obsessed/fixated on specific things. At home, their decor is a choatic, clashing mishmash of all of them.

Now that his eyes have turned white, 2D has tried wearing contact lenses to make his eyes look more normal. Murdoc hates it. It creeps him the fuck out and he thinks they make 2D look like a giant, haunted, possessed doll

But 2D loves it. Before, if he wanted to go out without being recognised, it was impossible without wearing giant sunglasses on his face. Now, it's much easier to blend into a crowd.

Russel and Noodle can kind of see where Murdoc's coming from. But they love seeing Murdoc freaked out, so they tell 2D they looks great.

2D really loves those fluffy hoodie things. He has a whole collection of them now but his first one, he bought the second he saw an advert for them. And, of course, it existed in his wardrobe for one day before it went missing. Instead of just looking for the hoodie itself, he immediately went to find Noodle.

Murdoc steals his hoodies too. It's not uncommon to find him wearing one while passed out drunk.

And Ace did, after living with them for a while. It kind of made him feel like one of the family when he realised 2D didn’t mind.

In the Gorillaz Universe. The Powerpuff Girls is a TV show, just like it is in this one. Noodle grew up loving this show. It was hard not to have a fan girl moment when she met Ace in person.

Noodle met Ace way before he became Murdoc's temp replacement. She met him all the way back in 2002 when the boys decided to suprise her (and give her a break from how chaoticaly dysfunctional things were at the time) by taking her to the premier of the Powerpuff Girls Movie. She got to meet the entire cast that day, and she still remembers it to be one of the best days of her life.

Ace relates because to 2D, Murdoc and Russel a lot when it comes to Noodle because he has a similar relationship with Jen, Liz, and Tara. The kids who played Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup in the Powerpuff Girls. They're like little sisters to him, and he's still in contact with all three of them.

After Ace left Gorillaz, he realised he missed being in a band and formed one of his own. One of the band's members is Liz. The girl who formerly played Buttercup.

When tabloids and gossip magazines started speculating that Ace and Noodle were dating, Ace couldn't help but feel a little bit uncomfortable. He knows he only knew her as a kid briefly, but he can't get that image of her out of his head. Noodle, on the other hand, was just glad these fuckwits weren't trying to tell people she was going out with 2D again.

2D hates these magazines and the press in general with a fiery burning passion for this very reason.

The closest thing Noodle has ever had to grandparents are 2D's parents. He would bring her with him to visit them when she was a kid, and now she sees and talks to them just as much he does. They adore her. Always phoning and checking in on her and, if they can't give them to her in person, they always send presents for her birthday and Chrismas.

In the last one, I touched up on Noodle's vibe checking, but I didn't mention what happens if Noodle finds out the person 2D's dating is dangerous. If she does, she'll immediately show 2D the evidence, make him promise he'll never contact them again, and then go beat the absolute crap out of them.

NO ONE hurts 2D. She's protective of all three of the men who raised her. Even Murdoc. But she's the most protective of 2D, by far, because he's always been the most vulnerable and the least likely to fight back.

Even when she was a kid, she made it very clear that anyone who put a hand on 2D got beat up. Murdoc learned this the hard way.

She's protective of each of them in her own unique way. She's strives to protect 2D from the people who could hurt him and take advantage of him. Russel from the things he can see and his mental health and Murdoc just from himself.

2D's had his drink spiked several times before, and it's never ended well. For the person who spiked him. Noodle, Russel, Murdoc, and Ace are all banned from at least one of the various bars and nightclubs these incidents took place in. Even Murdoc bottled someone over the head when he caught them doing it.

When Noodle became fluent in English, Russel and 2D made her go to whatever youth groups they could think of so she could spend time with other kids and not be so isolated.

Growing up, 2D's advice to Noodle was, "Whatever advice Murdoc gives you, don't take it."

When Noodle was a kid, Russel sought about hiring her a private tutor to teach her English and give her a general education. The teacher they hired thaugt her up the El Maniana incident and her disappearance. Over time, this man would become a good friend to the band, but it took years for Murdoc to trust him. When he came over to tutor Noodle, Murdoc would sit in on his lessons. He'd keep himself busy. Reading newspapers, writing songs, but always keeping the two of them in his sight, and never leaving him alone with her. He never gave a reason as to why.

When Del was still around, he'd show himself to the doctors the others made Russel go to, to prove Russel wasn't crazy.

There have been times in the past when Russel purposfly distanced himself from Noodle because he didn't want her to see him in his worst moments. As an adult, she understands now why he did that, but she'd be lying if she said it didn't hurt.

Even though Russel would push away more than he accepted help. 2D did manage to support him through some of his lowest points. Didn't really have solutions. He didn't know what he could say to make this better. He just listened and reassured him it was going to be alright. He isn't really sure how much he actually helped but it means more to Russel than he could ever know.

[husbandohunter]

What they love about you (part 1) [Genshin Impact]

Synopsis: It was as if the universe had changed when they saw you.

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, Venti x female reader

Part 2 here

(A/n): Okay okay I know I have some requests yet I decided to write something super indulgent. I'M SORRY! This past week I've just been writing so much angst *looks at inbox* AND MORE ANGST TO COME I really need that dose of Vitamin F(luff) 😭

===========================

Noctua's Heartbeat (Diluc)

For a man who had the whole world in the palm of his hand

With looks, fame and all the wealth he could demand

But what stole away his breath was something not to be bought

For it was merely the calming presence of your living and beating heart.

Your heart was a dignity born for empathy, so beautiful and magnificent with the kind of charm similar to white Cecilias blooming across Mondstadt's fields. Diluc would watch from afar, admiring their glow. It shines without reservation, blissfully unaware to a fault that he couldn't help but feel afraid knowing how the real world would simply pluck you from your roots and shape you in the way they wanted to. People who were tainted souls with tainted soles roaming from the shadows, constantly trampling on other's beliefs before leaving them to rot.

Ah but of course, Cecilias are wildflowers. No matter how many times they were stepped on, they could still withsand any force nature throws at them. Whether it'd be raging storms or scorching heat from the summer sky, you were the same through it all. Love. You were in love. You were in love with the wind, you were in love with people, you were in love with the world and everything that lives in it.

And so, Diluc wonders if that was the reason why everything suddenly began to shimmer.

He treaded on a path fated for loneliness while longing for the dawn to appear out of the night horizon-- where emotions once frozen until you came in to melt the ice. He blocked his heart but you tore down those walls. Diluc swore to never feel if it meant protecting himself and yet you held onto his shattered pieces tenderly, dearly, blowing the love of life and teaching it how to beat again.

Your heart was like a fountain of all the hopes he abandoned years ago and the dreams that no one had the courage to envision, cleansing everything within it's reach and freshening them anew. You were a being so in tune with your emotions that it sang through all that you did, laughing despite your obstacles and shedding tears when overjoyed, a single drop it was but still held the depth of the entire ocean. Diluc vows to protect you for your heartbeat was also his own. He'll gladly lay down his life because losing you deemed far worse than any death he could imagine.

~xx~

The other eye of Pavo Ocellus (Kaeya)

The knight's shining armour serves only as a disguise

When beauty from the surface is one's own demise

He used it to protect himself, decorating his words with pretty lies

But unmatched when facing against your truthful eyes.

They say the eye was an open window to a person's true colours. If that were the case then the painting inside him must have been an unsightly one.

Every once in a while the people of Mondstadt would speak about their Cavalry Captain's eyepatch, whether he was injured after being sent out on a mission or if he wears it for the sake of image. No one knows, it was rather unsettling, why someone would cover their eye despite not being injured. Secrets? Perhaps. Kaeya was known to be a man shrouded in mystery after all.

Your gaze was his Death After Noon. Sparkling upon the surface yet with the tasteful allure so captivating that it was almost dangerous. Just one glance and he was intoxicated, eventually leading to a slip of the tongue, revealing what was buried deep within his contaminated essence. Kaeya hated that you had the uncanny ability to see through his mask. Your innocence so contrasting, he felt like looking into a mirror, reminding just how much of an ugly person he truly was in comparison.

But mirrors are easy to break, no?

The thought delivers a sinister smile on his face. Pitiful-- is the state where you were. Pitiful-- it's what he is. How could he think of such things when all you offered was kindness? Unlike Kaeya, you were an honest person, always wearing your emotions on your sleeve and unaware of the devil's vicinity. He was tempted by the invite to crush you and run away like the coward he was meant to be. However as he stares deeply into your eyes he realized they weren't made of glass. They were gems. The most precious gems hardened by the pressures of experience.

In the shine of thine eyes resides the stars and the moon as if stolen from the Abyss, leading to the edges of the universe that was blessed within your mind. The look of curiosity filled with rich hues all held by a soulful stare while they pierced through the armour shaped around his heart. It was your ability to recognize beauty amongst the most wretched of things that he fell so hopelessly in love with you because for the first time someone had seen him-- his flaws and his faults, his abyss painted darker than black but loved him despite it all. As he drowns himself in the world of your gaze, Kaeya prays to never be the one who will steal away those stars or moon because they looked the most beautiful on you.

~xx~

The Winged Nemesis who flew towards the Sun (Xiao)

He looks at your face as if he saw spring for the first time

An unsual encounter, wondering how could something be so sublime

The yaksha stands upon the corpses while reaching for the sky

Seeing the sun in your smile that he wishes to fly

Xiao has dealt with the cards of death and won through many of it's games. But his life was a gamble as the karmic binds may one day bring the same fate that was done upon his comrades-- insanity, murder and corruption. So he swears an oath to his god and himself, ensuring the darkness only he could bear does not seep into the light.

A gust of wind sways in when you pass by, he was struck by pensive bewilderment because happiness was a feeling unknown to him. It was the expression you made whenever you greeted him good morning. The complexion you had while charging through life's challenges. And the face you wore even during the times where there was no reason to smile. Xiao has felt the might of the sun for her light will never be exstinguished by his darkness, he could only succumb to it.

But you were not just the sun, you were the flowers that bloomed beneath her heavenly sky and the birds that chirped upon those earth-like trees. You were a whole new world he didn't dare to touch because dreams were delicate and his cursed self would only devour them until nothing was left. Still, the mighty sun shines through it all, stretching out her rays like a welcoming embrace until the universe had been revitalized, giving birth to new life after winter's storm.

If pictures told a thousand words then he had a thousand reasons and more to love you. Xiao witnessed the sweetest joy decorated by pink petal blossoms dancing around him, the one who pulled him out of his spiraling trance of darkness. The breath he takes no longer felt suffocating and instead was replaced by the smell of nature's greatest gifts: you. Stay away, he says, because there were times where you shone so brightly that he had to look elsewhere. Your rays burned him and he thinks it might drill holes into his wings. Painful it may be but if the splendor of spring could only be admired after the harsh cold snow, then maybe pain and love were only two sides of the same coin.

A world without the sun--such unfathomable thoughts--is a death he does not wish to deal with.

~xx~

A song she sings for the God of Wind (Venti)

Man lives by the power of the tongue,

Whatever Man speaks is aligned with Man's choice.

Hearken when she talks for her words are to be sung,

Because not only was she lovely but so was her voice.

-Venti

There were many reasons why Venti loved music. The freedom to express oneself when words weren't enough, allowing one's spirit to flow out of their mouth and be with the wind. It was the feeling he had when he listened to you because your voice was sweeter than any song he sang or played.

When you speak it was as if the world around you danced, bringing them to the mercy of your stage. Like standing upon the soft grass while letting the sparks of dandelions dust against his own skin, Venti would close his eyes as he hears you speak-- it was you, just you and that was all he needed. He swears that no one in the world could sound as living as you did because it was the words you say that stole his heart away.

The vibration in your tone was fleshed with kindness yet so sure and firm to the point it could even bring a god to his knees. If he were a sailor then you were the siren, enchanting him with your bell-like voice and bringing him to a territory where he can never escape from. It was the spell of your divine song, his Carmen Dei, that tricked the trickster. Venti did not mind as long as he was able to feel the blessing amongst his ears.

[honouredsatoru]

JJK Characters x You on a date

notes : I tried including Gojo's love for Digimon since I also grew up watching Digimon and loving the anime with all of my heart, also because Gojo's seiyuu, both Japanese and English versions, voiced for characters in Digimon, so I wanna pay homage to the both of them. other than that, I also included my love for arts and history, something I tried to incorporate into my writing, just to make it like.. lilith's style, ya know?

extra notes : also I wrote megumi for Elli, just because haha.

warnings : slight cussing. not proofread lol. other than that, none. 100% fluff!

characters : gojo satoru, fushiguro megumi, kugisaki nobara, nanami kento, itadori yuji.

Gojo Satoru - Arcades, vintage shops, especially collectors, especially Digimon, comic book/manga stores.

[Your name]! [Your name!]! Look, look! It's the Digimon Adventure V-Tamer 01 series! All 9 of them! Let's get in!"

"Ahh hold on. Towu! We're supposed to visit the cat cafe, you promised that you would go with me and take pictures with the cat hairband on! And I'm starving!"

You jokingly scowled at him, tapping your Doc Martens feet on the ground, arms folding.

"Fucking adorable. Let me see if I can tease her more, hah." A smirk soon appeared on this blue-eyed darling of yours.

"Let me get the manga and I promise, I'll go to this cat cafe with you, baby. Hm?"

"Oh alright."

"I love you, sweetheart. I know how much you wanted to go there but the manga. I- ahaaaa"

He started pouting as he kept pointing in the direction of the Digimon manga by the window. You quickly opened your camera, taking pictures of him sulking, emitting a soft giggle that actually made his heart squeezed with joy.

He presses his lips against your forehead, thumb circling your cheek, gently squishing them before opening the door, yanking you into the comic book store with him. You vowed to hide the comic books once he goes on a mission. After all, he made you wait a month before the two of you finally get to go to this cafe you always wanted to visit.

"Baby, I can read what you're thinking. Your face shows it too. Hehe. Watch me hide your panties."

Taking in a few gulps of air to deepen your breath, you opened your eyes, to meet the love of your life's own eyes, snickering at you, his large hands on the crown of your head before ruffling your already messy hair. There is no way you can stay mad at this man, as childish as he is, you know he loves you and deep down? He knows you love him too.

Itadori Yuji - Thrift stores, internet cafes to play online games with you, cinemas.

"Candy! [Your name] love! Don't! Make! Me! Ahhh cover up for me! I am gonna lose! I am gonna-"

He turns around to face you with soft eyes, his eyebrows slightly droopy before looking back at the computer, taking in the seconds in his head to register the fact that he lost in his mission with you in Inferno.

"Awww sorry babe. I mean.. you just started playing CSGO, so tell me, why- again- damn it- you wanna- AH. Damn it! Throw the fucking grenade! I mean why you wanna play this game, you need more practice- FUCK YOU."

Gentle chuckles were heard, emitted from his throat, his soft, peach toned lips landed on your cheek repeatedly as he rubbed soothing circles around your back.

"Breathe, bunny baby. You're so feisty whenever you start having online matches. Breathe. I love you, and I don't want you to get your blood pressure rising because of these dumbos, hm?"

Your lips curl into a faint and appreciative smile, nodding while your eyes are glued to the screen, ignoring the fading laughs and snickers from the people acknowledging your mini rage.

"I love you too. If I win, I'm getting us boba and chicken nuggets. So let me fight them, okie?"

"Yes ma'am!"

Megumi - Museums, art galleries, photo exhibitions, aesthetic cafes.

"Oh Gumi bear, look at that! That is the Raft of Medusa, it was done by Thèodore Géricault, he himself interviewed two survivors from the shipwreck."

He looks over your eyes that shine with excitement and pure happiness.

"Art"

Was what he thought every time he laid his sight onto you. God knows that he falls in love with you every single time he is blessed with your presence. Resting his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, inhaling the scent of mixed berries and wild roses, he swore he heard his heartbeat increasing every two seconds in a span of one minute.

"Oh really? What do you think this painting is all about?"

Glancing at him before returning to the painting, you puffed your cheeks, pressing your lips together with your index finger curled on your chin and your thumb under it.

"Lord, she is so cute whenever she does that. Can I kiss her? Should I? No wait, she's trying to tell me her own interpretation of this painting. To me. Oh wow. I'm gonna kiss her... later. I can't interrupt her." That is all he could think of. You. He is deeply, madly, beautifully in love with you.

"In my opinion, it tells me the ways of how men, or human beings, seek out in order to survive. When we are at the brink of desperation, insanity, happiness, greed, lust, desire, wrath, grief, don't we all do things unimaginable to help us go through the day? They even resolved to cannibalism. I think even I would commit to that if I was in an extremely dire situation."

You looked at him, a wide smile on your face, emitting a soft giggle that entered his right ear and stayed within the chambers of his mind. He closed the spaces between the both of you, sealing his lips onto yours, with the intention of making this very moment last a little longer heavy within his heart.

"Art."

Was what you thought of him.

Nanami Kento - Theatres, historical museums, fine dining restaurants.

You squealed, lightly clapping your hands as you ran to a block of marble, your foot tapping against the floor. He chuckles, hands in his pocket, taking fast strides towards you.

"Namnam! Look look! That's the Parthenon Sculptures! It was founded in hm... Athens, yes! If I am not mistaken, around 438 to 432 BC. These sculptures decorated the insides of the Parthenon, it is a temple located at the fortress of the Athenian Acropolis. It is said that this temple was built to appreciate and worship the Goddess Athena, she was the deity worship in Athens. Also, ah ah! Did you know that the word parthénos means "maiden", "girl" or ‘virgin"? And I-"

You look at him, your magnificent lover wearing a dark brown trench coat, with ecru brown trousers and a black turtleneck tucked in, his neck layered with white gold necklaces. Your hand unconsciously scratches your sideburns, giggling at the side of his stoic expression, eyes piercing yours beneath that yellow-green glasses he constantly has on his chiseled face.

"Oh... I am sorry... I didn't mean to bore you. I was just so excited because you know me! I love anything that is related to ancient greek history and mythology. I can't seem to get enough of it and it is absolut-

"I'm not bored, [your name]. I was just paying attention to every single word that pretty lips of yours uttered. It's magnificent that you knew all of this. It shows just how smart, curious, bright your mind and soul is. And darling?"

"Huh?"

"I am lucky to be blessed with someone like you. With Gojo constantly following me, there is no way I can read the books I bought for myself. However, having you around, breaking the ice with your random history tib bits, I feel like I am reading the pages, savouring each word, alphabet, sentence, thus expanding my quest and love for knowledge."

You looked down. Normally, you're not the type to tear up this easily but seeing how this man, this angel of a man, appreciates the little things you loved and adored, you can't help but let the waterworks out. You lifted your head up to meet his gaze, the tip of your nose slightly stuffy. You grabbed his arms, clinging onto him, the difference of height and size makes it sweet to the eyes of strangers surrounding you both.

"Oh Namnam. Thank you so much. This means the world to me. Shall we... go and see the best of Ramesses the Great? I've loads to tell you!"

Nobara - Shopping malls, ferry rides, beach dates, parks with cherry blossoms.

"Baby... tell me, have you ever seen anything as joyous as the ocean?"

You two stood by the seashore, fingers intertwined, your head resting on her shoulders, the sound of the seas splashing against the rocks and the warmth around your foot, it tingled but it feels good at the same time.

"I don't want this moment to end, [your name]."

"Why is that, pretty one?"

A faint sigh leaves her lips, you feeling her body loosen up.

"I just.. school is sort of stressful so my time spent with you liberates me from the pressure, fatigue, and image of curses embedded in my brain. Walking with you... through this airy womb of skies and clouds, don't you know it makes me happy?"

You leaned closer, pressing a soft peck on her cheeks, earning yourself a pair of scarlet cheeks with a gorgeous smile from the one next to you. You turned yourself to face her, hands on her shoulders, bringing her body closer to yours.

"Whenever and wherever you need me, I will be there. I might not be perfect, but I am gonna do my best to be the one you can always count on."

You pressed a kiss on her left cheek.

"I love you."

A kiss on her right cheek.

"I love you."

A kiss to the lips of the woman whom you shared your entire universe with.

"To the moon and back, I love you, Kugisaki Nobara."

The end.

tags : @tojisveryown @sookyshima @megumifushi @sixeyesgojo @sirthisisa-wendys @sasso-oda @fushigurocockslut @nkogneatho @kotarousgf @noritoshiikamo

[qianoir]

Divine Lies

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Guardian angel!Winwin (WayV) x human fem!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 13+

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing (censored), lying, stealing, cheating, family problems, mentions of death, mentions of suicide, mentions of self-harm, brief mention of sex, abandonment, blasphemy, reader is an implied only child

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.4K

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @staysstrays

Preview

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have worked as a guardian with the style of Lucifer. “Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image,” I have reversed this commandment and given it life to a body of the soul I vowed to protect. Cast upon me a punishment, for I have wandered too far from your holy grail.

Si Cheng Dong, Guardian Angel #1028

Si Cheng knew you from the day you were born. You had marks dangling from your shoulder blades like the torn wings of an angel. He had asked God about the dainty marks, but He said his eyes must be tempted by the Demon of Trickery because no marks appeared to be decorating your back as he said. When he is assigned one of His children to protect, he knows nothing of God’s plan that is unique to every one person. His plan and your decisions were lived through Si Cheng’s eyes as well.

“What is behind your back?” Si Cheng interrogated your five year old self.

“Nothing…” He yanked your hands to unclasp, forcing them to drop the chocolate you had stolen from the convenient store you and your parents had just left.

“Your mother said you could not have this, yet you took it anyway and without paying. That is wrong.” You could only look with deceptively innocent eyes as your guardian took the sweet into the store, placing it back on the shelf you had tip-toed up to.

“Come on, Y/N dear.” Your mother called for you to follow her and your father to the car. There was no sight of Si Cheng, even when you had gotten into the car. Only a couple of miles from the store did he appear in the seat next to you. He looked over to see your closed mouth moving ever so slightly.

“What is in your mouth?” You shook your head and continued to chew slowly, trying to be as unapparent as possible. He continued to stare you down in silence, watching as you finally swallowed what he felt in his heart was something else that you stole. Breaking the intense eye contact, you turned around to look out of the car window. The ride was already silent, but a darkly mixed feel swam in your spine after Si Cheng’s next comment.

“Thou shalt not steal. You will be punished for that sin.”

...

As you blossomed into adulthood, the divine morals you had been taught by your covenant Christian parents seemed to have exited your mind. You were one of the top names of your college's Dean’s list, but the your personal out-of-school extracurriculars could mistake you for a completely different person. Your academic abilities were almost God-given, yet you showed Him no gratitude.

Si Cheng had been by your side to witness each time you strayed away from God. However, it was not his place to direct you back to Him, that choice was wholly your own. Each night since you turned 18, after reading his Bible out loud to you, he left for Heaven. You always told him that you would be in bed through the night, awaiting his return.

Those nights were spent sleeping through the day and partying at different clubs, downing bottles of red wine like a Black Christian. During one night out, you had thrown an empty bottle of Giuseppe Quintarelli into the unknown while walking out of the club; an incident you had forgotten until two police officers showed up on your doorstep with pictures from the club’s security cameras, portraying your indecent act.

Not much of the confrontation could be interpreted or remembered in your hazily hungover brain, but you do remember everything after you shouted a very pathetic “That’s not me!” because your hands were cuffed behind your waist and soon anxiously gripping the bars of the chair behind you at the station.

“What happened?” Si Cheng walked out of the wall when the police left you alone to discuss your charges.

“I forgot to pay for chocolate at the store today It's not—"

“Do not lie to me, Y/N.” You gave him silence. “How could you act in such a way?”

“If you know the answers, then why do you always ask questions?” The light from the interrogation room’s light kindled your eyes when you looked up at him, but you took unusual comfort in the pain.

“I’m trying to help you to understand your sins, but you never learn.”

“You could have stopped me, you’re my guardian ang—” “Yes and I am not you.” Si Cheng gripped the bridge of his nose before speaking again, “I protect you from unrighteous harm. Your actions have consequences with which I cannot interfere.”

Suddenly feeling very nauseous, you wretched forward, your cuffed hands gliding up your spine. A mix of drunken liquids racing from your throat, onto the floor and your distressed jeans. Si Cheng took your hair up, sitting behind you, rubbing your back when you failed to vomit and fearfully gagged.

He was ready to save you when he heard you starting to choke, but took your vulnerable soul into his arms when he realized you had started sobbing.

This was a normal occurrence for you two.

Every day, you would wake up thinking the thoughtless decision you had made the night prior was just a nightmare, but would fall apart when dealing with the consequences. Si Cheng would be there to comfort you and recite something religious that would travel a non-permeable route through your two ears. When you were back to feeling yourself— or what was left of yourself— you would sin again and lie to your guardian about it. Then Si Cheng would read you a bit of The Bible to sleep every night, for when morning comes, your morning s.hit would be on the sacred book once again.

“My back hurts…” You cried out. Si Cheng kept holding you.

“You tempt me.” Si Cheng announces as he waits for you to finish your nightly routine, Bible in hand. He decided to stop sleeping at his home in Heaven and would instead be wherever you were to take away the matches you light your fire with.

“Well I mean we don’t always have to pray when we’re in the bedroom.” The sleeping shirt takes its sweet time to cover your breasts before his angelic eyes.

“Not sexually.” Si Cheng rolls his eyes and chooses his next words carefully for your innuedic mind. “When you lie to me, I want so badly to tell you off. To make certain that no such fibs should ever fall from your lips again.”

“Sounds frustrating. Are you sure you don’t want to just go have sex?”

“The seed falling among the thorns refers to someone who hears the word, but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choke the word, making it unfruitful.” Your guardian recited, ignoring your offer.

“The what now?”

“Matthew 13:22. Just because I hear the lies you tell, does not mean I should engorge in them by talking back or forcing you to be something you are not.”

“And what am I not again?”

“Holy.”

“D.amn straight.” Si Cheng huffed in exasperation of his inability to get through to you, opening his Bible once you settled in bed next to him. This was the final part of your nightly routine.

…

Si Cheng ended your nightly prayers. “We send this message to You in the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior. Amen.”

“I’m an atheist.” You say with your eyes already closed.

“How could you say that when I exist?”

“You’re not real. It’s all in my head because since the day I was born, I was not right. If God were real, he wouldn’t have made me this way.”

“You are not an atheist.” Your eyes open halfway.

“How can you decide what I am and what I am not?”

“You would not be so angry at God if you were an atheist. They are non-believers, not betrayers.”

…

The next morning, you wake up in an empty bed. Finally. There was no sign of Si Cheng along the walk from the bedroom, to the bathroom, to the hallway, down the stairs, or to the kitchen, where you sat down to enviously admire the dying rose bouquet trapped in a blue China vase.

The front door bursts open and in comes Si Cheng with two handfuls of goods you had mostly already bought. He walks to the dining table as soon as he spots you, laying out the groceries in front of you.

Angel Soft toilet paper, Angel food cake mix, a sack of Angelina plums, Victoria’s Secret Angel perfume, and a CD of Chancellor and TaeYeon’s “Angel.”

“What is all of this?”

“To remind you that angels are all around you. And we are sad that you do not wish to accept us.”

“Angels, always looking for human validation huh?” Si Cheng bites back his tongue at your passive comment.

“I also got you this.” Sicheng gingerly places a luxe Bible in your hands, with a grandiose “belonging to Y/N” engraved under “The Bible”, complimenting the gold edges of the dainty pages.

“I don’t want to read it.”

“Liar.”

“Excuse me?”

“I can tell the quality of it catches your eye and entices you to want to read. Humans, always wanting the most or nothing at all.” Si Cheng savors the way you glare at him sideways for his mirrored comeback to your insult.

“Let us read it in the bedroom before starting our day.” And you don’t know if you are too tired or desperate or want him to shut up with this religious nonsense, but you go up to the bedroom with him anyway.

“It doesn’t make any sense, Si Cheng! Why would God make me just to torment me? After everything I have done to d.amn myself and spite Him, how could he ever take me as one of His own children?”

You sat in the bathtub, soaking in a mixture of the darkest red wine and gasoline, the color staining the tub and your skin with the darkest black, the color making the markings on your back more defined than ever.

For the past hour, you had been threatening to end it all and managed to rope the divine being into the most intense argument. His hands gripped your arms to keep you from going under, but could not even begin to think about pulling you out with the ear piercing screams you let out between comebacks.

Despite his greatest efforts, Si Cheng had to admit that he was never able to help you get back on a good path. “I am going to Hell and you can’t save me. He has failed both me and you”

“He has failed neither me nor you. How dare you speak of the Heavenly Father in such vulgar form.” His anger rose and teeth tried not to bare animalistically behind his lips. In a way, you were right and Si Cheng knew this. He had been the cause of such deathly marks to appear on your back in response to the resentment building up in his heart to have to wake and sleep with your sins.

“Then show me! Take me to God and show me that he is real. Let me hear from Him that He wants me for good and not for sport.” Your body weighted his hands down as the stinging in your back made you lightheaded.

“He has told you. Your entire life, He has told you. He speaks through me and I am one of his most trusted children.” Still desperately trying to pull you up, Si Cheng could not focus on saving you and controlling the pain he was unconsciously inflicting on your flesh.

“You are not God. You are just an angel who has disappointed Him, like me.”

“We are not alike.” Si Cheng’s grasp unravelled from your arms, letting them sink back under the black liquid.

“You are a sinful woman.”

“Where are you going?” You screeched at him, trying to fight your back from folding itself. Tears were now falling without control as you realized you had really done it this time.

“Heaven. See you there.”

The pain suddenly halted. Si Cheng left and another angel entered. Upon seeing your body partially submerged in Christ’s Blood and Devil’s fuel, he lifted you from the tub and rid you from the onyx glaze. He never spoke a word to you for the rest of your life by your side.

And you could only assume that it was because “The seed falling among the thorns refers to someone who hears the word, but the worries of this life and the deceitfulness of wealth choke the word, making it unfruitful.” (Matthew 13:22)

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟖. 𝟗𝟖 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫.

“Happy birthday, Number 1028!” A party hat was forced onto Sicheng’s head by Archangel of Love Number 6, poking through his halo like a cloudy mountain.

“Hey! It’s my birthday, too!” Archangel of Birth Number 1028 pouted at being one-upped by his Brother in Christ.

“Yes, but it’s Guardian Angel Number 1028’s birthday.” Number 6 clarifies, using his title to mockingly signify importance.

“Such social hierarchy is hellish! This is Heaven!”

“Right, it is finally the year you are no longer banned from Earth and can be a guardian again!” The angels gather around Si Cheng to "ooh" at his year of redemption.

“It is my loyal duty to serve God with the occupation he gifts me.” He dismisses their awe with words of loyalty to his creator.

“She is ready.” His Heavenly Father calls for His Guardian Angel Number 1028 to meet his valuable assignment.

When he walks into the incubation room, Si Cheng is met with the eery feeling of deja vu. A disheartening sense of nostalgia washes over him as well. Then he sees a design on the fertilized egg in the incubator.

Those marks.

The scarring on the biological sphere are like vents that send the aromas of Giuseppe Quintarelli and Diesel gasoline to his nose.

Si Cheng suddenly could no longer feel the comfort of his halo, fear zapped through him as he could feel evil beings tempting him through all four walls of the incubation room instead. Light burning aches and agonizing pains danced along his back.

His vision went black and his mind regressed to 9 months before this October day, 118 years ago. The Heavenly Father took his body, that was wrapped up in his mother’s egg and his father’s sperm, into His hands and placed him next to yours, both of your fertilized compartments looking like identical twins.

“You have much still to learn, my son.”

*Black Christian = A Christian who betrays God, like Archangel Lucifer betraying Jesus and becoming Satan.

𝘲𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘳

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 4

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Summary: Post Mi6 - August manages to escape with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. With every agent in the world on the hunt for him, life became a living hell, but that’s okay because hell is where he reigns.

Too bad for the woman who’ll stand in his way.

Previous Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 |

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild)

Word count: 6K

Warnings: Explicit Smut, dark themes, male/female masturbation, bodily fluids, mentions of sexual encounters, dirty words, sexual threats. It’s August, he’s the baddest of bad boys!

A/N: Soooooo this chapter was fun to write, I hope you guys like it :)! Thanks @agniavateira for being my editor and my emotional support! 

Title: Memento Mori

Funny, he’s never seen someone drown in icy water before. With her injury and massive blood loss, the struggle doesn’t last longer than a minute. This is beyond her natural survival instincts, gradually her muscles give up, running stiff as the blood in her veins chills.

August stares with rapt. Not once did the Valkyrie scream for help, or even begged him to save her.

Truth be told, it kinda pisses him off as much as he finds it admirable.

‘Such a strong-willed girl. Would be a shame to rid the world of her so soon.’

“Whatever,” he mutters and carefully steps toward the crack in the ice. His hands hoist the body up before she sinks below the surface. With water in her lungs and her muscles rigid, she’s impossibly heavier.

A red path of blood tarnishes the ice as he drags her body toward the edge of the lake. There is no urgency in his behaviour, relaxed he kneels to stare at the lifeless woman and wonders if in her hubris this is how she believed this day will end.

Her skin is pale blue, lips dark purple. Drained out of wit and life, those delicate Scandinavian features look like something out of a fairytale and he muses whether a kiss will wake her up.

It won’t make any difference to the world if she’s dead or alive, it certainly won’t make any to August Walker.

His digits stroke her frozen cheek, sensing the skin is stretched over the hardened muscles. He tilts her head up and presses at the hollows of her cheeks to force her lips open. For some reason, he thinks of a different dead girl, though they are nothing alike.

Planting his mouth over hers, he breathes oxygen into her lungs. Her chest rises, filling with the air he breathes into her. He repeats the process four times and then begins compressing her heart, watching her corpse lie peacefully on the snow.

Never in his years of service had he needed to perform CPR on another person. It’s not as melodramatic as shown in the bullshit movies he’s seen; no one’s shouting “C’mon girl! Breathe!!!” and hits her chest in despair. The owls and bats that chant between the large trees and the wolves howling at the moon from a distance couldn’t care less if Ingvild, whatever her-last-name-is lives or dies.

On the contrary, they’ll be thrilled to eat her eyes out.

He pauses on his attempt to resuscitate her and watches as no change appears in her face. His hands rest in the air, hovering above her for less than a second, considering if to give her another chance. He leans to capture her mouth again when Ingvild suddenly twitches, gagging as water seeps through her mouth and nose like some decorative fountain.

August observes quietly. Her eyes are shut, her body is only reacting instinctively, coughing out the water in her lungs. He nudges her to the side, draining the water out until she stops coughing and lays unconscious on the ground.

He moves his ear closer, listening to her soft breaths. He wonders how long will she survive in such a condition, suffering from hypothermia and massive blood loss. Letting her drown might have been a favour, he might have just granted her a cruller death.

Blackness surrounds her, chaining her to the ground. An excruciating pain blossoms in her lungs, as if someone placed a massive weight that smothers her while her throat and her nose sear with pain. The rest of her body feels numb, someone might as well leave her limbless.

The image in front of her appears blurry as she attempts to open her eyes and hang on to the tendrils of reality, uncertain when and where she is and what happened at all. Was life just a dream?

Or was it a nightmare?

‘Liam?’

No voice is produced from her lips, she is not even sure they’re moving.

The face that greets her is certainly not Liam. It’s the man who granted her this agonizing death. He looks at her with silent curiosity, not saying a word as her glassy eyes become more and more vibrant.

Her hands suddenly reach to his throat, clutching him with all the energy left in her traumatized body. As battered as she is, he still has to use force to peel her claws off of him. She struggles, grunting and hissing, her nails leave bleeding scratches over his cheek.

“Remember you are only alive for as long as I permit it.” August speaks to her calmly, impressed by her stubborn will to kill him even when she’s hanging by the last thread of her pathetic life.

The struggle takes no longer than a few seconds as her eyes roll back and she falls to the ground, unconscious again.

August collects her in his arms and rises, carrying her through the woods. “Better this way, princess,” he whispers to the sleeping beauty in his arms. The temperature of the water has slowed the bleeding, causing the blood vessels to clot and reduce the pace of her heartbeat. It benefits in keeping her alive, but it’s also slowly killing her.

He returns to the bed and breakfast to be greeted by the receptionist who stares at him, baffled.

“Too much to drink,” he explains, offering her a charming smile as he continues marching toward his room with the unconscious girl in his arms.

~*~

“Fucking mess,” he mutters as he enters the room and shuts the door behind him with his leg. That stab wound may be bleeding slower now, he hasn’t ruptured any viable organs. However, the gash in her flesh is large and still needs to be dressed.

He drags her to the bath and puts her on her feet, letting her limp body lean onto his while he unzips her suit and boots, stripping her to her undergarments. A crescent-like slit gushes blood at the side of her abdomen.

August places her in the empty bathtub before grabbing the first aid kit he bought at the hunters’ shop. Being a wanted man now, he had to be prepared for everything.

It was nearly him tonight that needed that first aid kit.

The scent of alcohol fills the room as he pours it onto her open wound. He waits for a response from her, maybe a twitch from the excruciating pain, yet Ingvild is so far gone she doesn’t react whatsoever. His finger presses to the tendon in her neck, only to make sure he is not taking care of a dead girl.

A faint pulse is there; her heart still beats. Yet her body is as cold as ice, and he knows that if he won’t take care of her soon her systems will begin to shut down one organ after the other. He sews her wound shut quickly, making unfashionable stitches across the wound.

“Sorry love, no more bikini for you.” he mocks the sleeping girl. “Although porn sites must be filled with scar-porn, so you’re good.”

After stitching her up and dressing the wound, he carries her back to the bedroom and lays her on the bed. Her skin is shivering, frozen and pale as death itself. She has hypothermia and needs to have her body temperature stabilized before every one of her major organs will go into failure.

“Not how I pictured us getting into bed naked,” August jokes without humour while beginning to peel off his clothes until he is completely bare. He towers over her trembling form and watches how helpless she appears. His hands run down her spine, reaching to find the hooks of her bra. It takes no effort to unclasp the flimsy soaked fabric and discard it on the floor. Next, he coldly and methodically slips her underwear off.

He takes no pleasure in stripping an unconscious woman who can’t defend herself or struggle, yet he cannot resist observing what’s laid right in front of his eyes.

The sight is indeed pleasing.

‘Hate me later, princess. I am just a man.’

August climbs onto the bed and lies in front of her. He pulls her toward the warmth of his body until her forehead is pressed against his chest and every inch of her skin is covered by his own. With a clenched jaw, he holds her close.

In his arms she trembles, teeth chattering, while her heartbeat is feeble and can be hardly felt against his chest.

He thinks of nothing while holding the cold, half-dead girl against him.

Nothing at all.

Not the memory of another dead girl.

~*~

Ingvild scratches a scab on her knee, watching the other girls as they play without her. They stick their tongue at her and call her a freak. She doesn’t cry, only sniffles gently while her small fingers pry at the itchy skin.

“Ingvild,” Sister Marja walks toward her, making a sour face as she sees the girl. She never liked her either. “Someone is here to pick you up, finally.”

Little Ingvild jumps from the dirty log she is sitting on, brushing her skirt and arranging her braided pigtails before joining Sister Marja. ‘That uptight crone, all she needs is a good fuck.’

The sister hurries toward the orphanage while Ingvild runs after to keep up. Her heels echo on the floor through the arched hallway of the facility.

A man waits for them in the office of the Mother Superior, Yet another crone who looks like she never had a good fuck. But there is a smile on her face, making her loose skin become all creases and wrinkles like a dried rotten potato.

Ingvild looks at the man who stands with his hands behind his back. His hair is black with few threads of silver. She is uncertain if he is smiling or not; the expression on his face is of a person who’s trying to appear pleasant but in a very contained way.

“Ingvild, this is Liam.” Mother Superior speaks in her terrible heavy smoker voice. “He is your new adoptive father.”

~*~

Warm light strokes her face, forcing her eyes to blink open slowly. A basic function that suddenly feels oddly painful. Her eyelids are too heavy as if she never opened her eyes before in her life. The scenery around her is still too vague; she doesn’t recognize the room at all, wondering if she is in another dream.

A word in her own language blurts out of her mouth as she tries to sit up, accompanied by a small groan. Everything feels out of place as if her limbs have been misplaced and her internal organs exploded inside her body. Pain begins to course through her body, starting with the muscle of her right forearm which now feels extremely strained.

“Ah…” she grunts out, tugging at her arm which is in an odd position.. But for some reason, her arm won’t budge. It’s tied to the bedpost above her head by a tight rope.

‘This is hilarious. Like watching a dog wake up from anaesthesia.’

“Hva?” she asks in her mother’s tongue. “What?”

She gives the bind a few good moments of struggling before giving up. It’s when the heavy blanket that covers her slightly descends from her chest. She realizes she’s been completely stripped of her clothes.

Panicked, she hugs the cover to her chest with her free hand. Her eyes were looking around with slight anxiety while she continues to pull her right hand in an attempt to free herself.

The scent of coffee tickles at her nose, alerting her that she is not alone.

August appears in front of her with a red cup of coffee in his hand. He wears that familiar arrogant look with a hint of a smile, so vicious and cold it makes her feel she wasn’t only stripped off her clothes but of her skin and muscles as well.

Would have been better if I was stripped and bound to the devil’s bed.

He takes the wooden chair, dragging it on the floor which makes her cringe at the screeching sound. Fragments of the night before begin to fill the gaps in her memory. She tied him to this chair.

Placing it in front of her, he sits down, legs spread widely with confidence she can only describe to herself as irritating as fuck.

She hugs the cover tightly to her chest, her legs curling toward her torso to shelter herself which suddenly inflicts an excruciating pain in her lower abdomen making her moan involuntarily . Peeking beneath the thick blanket, she finds the large bandage on her torso, stained with a few drops of brownish-red blood.

“Good morning, love, we’ve had quite the night.”

More shards of memory begin to cut through her mind. Like remembering an event that happened so long ago, it almost feels like a dream. Her mind fights to make sense, to grasp at the fuller image. She recalls gasping through the woods at night with weak limbs and a hand full of blood. Then a shot that ripped through the night. Bats were flying everywhere and then her body was cold for some reason.

No, she was freezing.

Like a videotape that’s cut off and glitches in the middle, her memory stops there. Making her stare at the Scandinavian pattern on the blanket as if she will find any answers there.

“Who is Liam?” August asks, taking a long sip from his coffee. There is much amusement in seeing her cowering before him looking so helpless right now. Stripped, unarmed, and bound to his bed after he took her life and gave it back.

He licks his lips at her which only makes the alarmed look on her face become more distinguished.

“You’ve undressed me?” she asks, finding out her voice is aching and hoarse, as if something seared her throat. “And tied me to the bed?”

August’s teeth are exposed to her as his smile widens. She makes a note of two sharp fangs, it makes him look like a vampire. “Perceptive, aren’t we? Wasn’t for any personal interest, you were in hypothermia.”

He gives a small pause, his eyes travelling across her covered body, unable to deny how nice it was to wake up with a naked woman in his arms. “Not that I didn’t enjoy having your tits pressed to me for an entire night.”

Even as lost as she is, she can’t help but roll her eyes at him and groan with hatred.

‘If anyone in Icarus hears of this, I’m done for.’

Was the stinging pain in her chest failure or sepsis? Either way, it stung. This was far from how she imagined this mission going along. Ending up as a captive of psychotic target, tied to his bed as a future sex slave or heaven knows what.

‘How the fuck did I end up here? Like this? Why?’

August watches as she frowns with deep concentration, forcefully trying to evoke some memory of all the lost hours from last night. He wonders if she knows he killed her. He’d very much like to remind her of that, of how she was at his mercy and the only reason she’s alive right now is because he allowed it.

‘And still she tried to kill me right after I gave her back her life. What a woman.’

“Who is Liam? And please don’t make me ask again, given the poor situation you’re at right now, princess.”

More echoes begin to float in her mind. It’s the look of superiority on his face, the piercing gaze that threatens to cut right through her.

“You tried to kill me!”

“No. I have killed you,” he corrects her.

“You were dead for at least 5 or 7 minutes.”

She stares at him completely bemused, her eyes seeking answers on the lines of his chiselled face. There is no remorse, no care, no mercy in it. She doesn’t even bother to look for affection, whatever that looks like. He is as cold as Helheim.

“But you saved me. Why?”

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face straining as he remembers that idiotic idea he had last night, that mistake that’s now lying naked on his bed. For a man who plans ahead, he hasn’t thought this one through, not even for a second.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, I only need you for intel. One wrong move and I’d be glad to put you back to the bottom of that lake.”

“You know who sent me, CIA, Erica Sloane.” She shrugs, staring at him oddly.

He leans forward in his chair looking deeper into her eyes, trying to invoke fear in her. Yet she remains stoic, only her eyes glaring at him like two icicles.

“How did you know I was here? Who else knows?”

“I’m a good tracker,” she answers, doing her best attempt to shrug her shoulders with one hand latched above her head. “And you are not as smart as you think you are, August Walker.”

August offers her a dangerous stare, crossing his arms around the wooden backseat while his feet push from the ground to lean closer to her. He doesn’t like to be challenged, especially not by silly little girls.

“Why is that?”

A small smile spreads on her face. “From all the vehicles you could have taken, you stole my bike.”

A hiss of disbelief leaves his nose but the answer doesn’t please him. He leans back on his chair until it lands forcefully on the ground, making a loud thud through the moderate silence in the room. His hand reaches toward her, grabbing her jaw and cupping it crudely.

“No, how did you know I was in Norway?”

She clenches her jaw, trying to escape his touch but his grip becomes firmer, his fingertips painting red marks on her sickly pale skin. “Answer me.”

“I didn’t-”

“Bullshit.” he challenges her, now closer to her face than she would have ever wanted. His hot breath is a breeze on her skin. Her natural instinct to learn details kicks in, forcing her to pay attention to every freckle s on his nose, his bottom lip, and the lines and small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

‘So much anger’, she analyzes. He is not even furious yet it seems he keeps so much bottled up.

‘Does he ever get tired?’

“I didn’t know,” she finally answers, both sincerity and scorn in her voice. Then, a small provoking smirk appears on her lips. “It was destiny that brought you to me.”

He snorts, shaking his head at her with disbelief, recalling their little flirtatious run-in 2 days ago. His eyes observe her while a smug smirk spreads across his face. He allows his gaze to travel further down her neck and her chest, attempting to peer beneath the blanket to get a reminder of what was pressed to his body the night before.

“Telling you the truth, August Walker, would have killed you then in the ladies room,” she provokes, aware of the fact that he’s staring at her chest even though she keeps it covered.

“Oh?” he returns his gaze back to her, a single finger now takes a hold of her chin, tilting her head up violently. “How would you have done that? I’m intrigued.”

Ingvild licks her lips, drawing attention to her mouth. It’s seduction that she offers but with that same cold, now vicious smile.

“Slicing your throat, while you’re were washing your stupid hair below the tap. I’d then shove a tampon up your ass and send a photo to everyone in Icarus and to Sloane so they can have a good laugh.”

‘My phone, shit.’

The mobile device is traceable, if Liam hasn’t heard from her in a few days he could find her. But now August has it, with the rest of the stuff he confiscated from her. She looks around, trying to find where he placed her items.

August interrupts her inspection, his hand wrapping around her sore throat with a menacing gaze. “Don’t give me any ideas, princess. I’m not the one tied up and naked here.”

“I need to go to the girls’ room,”

She ignores his threat, remaining calm despite the hand that can easily snap her neck.

He looks at her dumbfounded, clenching his jaw once more. “What?”

“I need to go…”

“I heard you.” he frowns, letting go of her throat forcefully and then shoving the chair back, making it screech against the wooden floor while pacing the room, irritated.

‘Great, now I’m a fucking babysitter?’

He begins to regret ever saving her pathetic little life. What is there to gain anyway? A guy named Liam? Whoever that is to her. She mumbled that name in her dreams when her body was struggling to fight for survival.

August finds the bathrobe in the shower room and throws it on the bed next to her, before hovering above her chest to cut her bindings with the same knife he used to stab her last night.

She tries to remain as relaxed and brave as she can, wanting him to think she is not intimidated by him and what she believes to be his empty threats. But every time he makes sudden movements. the intimidation shows in her beautiful grey eyes. Her body flinches and squirms helplessly.

If only she knew how aroused it made him, she’d be terrified.

“Try anything and I’ll unstitch you and let you bleed to death.”

Her wrist burns, the narrow rope has chafed her skin so badly there are deep purple marks on her flesh. She rubs it gently, trying to soothe the pain before grabbing the white cotton robe and staring at August with hatred.

He stares back at her while playing with the knife between his large hands. He slides a finger carefully on the edge of the sharp blade, making a harsh statement. No, he is not going to turn around.

Rolling her eyes she hides beneath the cover, pulling the bathrobe beneath and wearing it quickly, the relief of having something other than a blanket covering her feels almost astonishing.

At last, she throws the heavy blanket away and kicks her legs out of bed while wearing his oversized bathrobe. August remains silent, his eyes fixed upon her while the knife is pressed between his teeth.

Trying anything like killing him or escaping is far from realistic as she finds her legs hardly able to hold her own weight. The hardwood floor beneath her feet feels soft and mushy, if someone would have told her she’s stepping onto marshmallows she might have believed them.

She only manages to make two feeble steps before black spots appear in her sight and she falls forward with a pained grunt. She never makes it to the ground. Odd, she hasn’t noticed how big and strong he is when wrestling him on the floor. It seems that August has doubled in size.

“Who was it that didn’t love you, August?” she provokes coldly, grunting as she tries to lift her torso from his elbow. “Was it your mother? Or your dad?”

Silence and indifference is his answer to her query, with only a muscle that twitches in his cheek. He observes quietly as her hands grasp his biceps desperately and pathetically, trying to stabilize herself. It must make her hate him even more right now, to need him as much as she does.

He recalls how much he hated himself when he needed someone.

“Both then…” she answers, slightly panting.

“Did anyone ever loved you at all? Ingvild?” he taunts her back while helping her get to the toilet. He notices how her eyes look around while they move through the room, looking for her things, no doubt. She is smart, he’ll give her that, she is cunning and calculated even in her weakest moment.

But he’ll always be a step ahead.

“More than they loved you, I am sure.”

He lets her into the small room and shuts the door, leaning against it and patiently waits with his arms crossed. The sudden silence and her short absence begin to cloud his thoughts. It’s almost as if he’s dreaming awake, seeing her again, her hair falling from her decaying scalp like leaves falling from a tree.

‘Not more than you.’

The crude vibration of his phone snaps him back into reality. A message from one of the apostles, stating nothing but a location and an hour. He smirks to himself, glad to be soon away from this freezing hell. Now the question left is, what he should do with the little problem he created for himself?

Snap her little neck? Strangle her to death? Make it intimate, she deserves as much. He can already see his body hovering on top of hers, his hands wrapped around her, tight like a lover’s embrace. The robe opens as she struggles, exposing much of her naked flesh.

The thought makes him hum with delight but once again he is interrupted. This time it’s by her face that stares at him, blank of emotion, with eyes like two empty crystals. She leans against the door frame, her face tilted up to meet his gaze. “I need to shower. I smell like you.”

He wonders at all why he should fulfil her request. She’s a prisoner, not a guest, and far from being someone, he’d care for. His eyes run up and down her body and finally at the cold unreadable expression on her face.

“Whatever.”

The bathroom is rather large, surrounded by cream-coloured marble tiles that adorn both the walls and the flooring. There is a large, fancy bathtub in the middle of the room, one that is made to look old and classy with golden taps. An additional shower is placed at the other side of the room, surrounded by a thin wall of glass.

The bath looks so tempting, her eyes fixate upon it, fantasizing about slipping into a warm bubble bath with one of those pink and purple bath bombs.

August notices her fascination and snorts, edging her toward the shower instead. “You should’ve taken my offer back then, princess. Be thankful that I am allowing you the luxury of showering at all.”

For all, he cares she can die of infection, who knows what bacteria these lake water she bled into had.

“I’d take the shower over-sharing anything with you,” she spits back, her hand grasping the golden handle of the glass door. August remains facing, leaning against the marble tile with ease while sucking on his bottom lip with anticipation.

“Aren’t you going to at least turn away?” she asks naively, crooking her eyebrow up, bewildered by the large man who’s standing there with sheer confidence on his face, not bothering to give her an inch of privacy.

“No,” he smirks cockily, licking that small freckle on his lips. “You tried to kill me, I don’t trust you. But don’t worry, won’t be anything I haven’t seen before, princess.” he shrugs and tilts his head. His eyes gesture at the robe as he awaits for her to slip it off her body.

Ingvild chews the inside of her cheek with the fury that courses through her veins. He seeks to humiliate her even more, to show her again how little power she has.

But men are fools, a woman has more power over a man, especially when she is naked. She doesn’t mind what he sees and if he likes it or not anyway. Also, nervousness is not in her spectrum of emotions.

The white cotton robe falls off her body, landing at her feet with a soft thud. There she is standing completely bare before the man who tried to murdered her and who for some sick, twisted, megalomaniac reason nurtured her back to life.

Unlike last night, he has the freedom to linger on what stands in his sight. Milky white skin, stretched taut over an apt figure. Athletic; formed by years of whatever combat training she has endured. There are no scars on her body save for the new one he gave her which is hidden behind gauze. The thought of letting her survive just so she can curse him every time she sees the hideous crescent scar is quite the temptation.

He further inspects her body, imagining cupping her small breasts in his large hands, they will not fill his palms completely, but it will suffice. He was always more into women’s behind and the rounded shape of her tight ass is indeed pleasing.

“As I said, nothing I haven’t seen before,” he speaks out, letting his gaze travel back to meet her face again.

She hisses through her nose, rolling her eyes as she walks inside the translucent room and turns the stream of the water to wash over her body.

The heat of the water immediately makes her groan loudly with pleasure; it echoes through the entire room. Her body is far more battered than she even realized, it feels as almost as if she is being redeemed, baptized, or whatever other religious allegories she could think of.

She leans against the wall for support with both her palms flat against the surface. Her back arches and she lets her head tilt back with her eyes tightly shut. The damp hair sticks to her spine, while she lets the droplets of water slide between her perky breasts and down her torso.

Sweet moans escape between her lips with every second, accompanying the water that soothe her aching muscles.

August can feel the fabric of his trousers tightening as blood stirs through the veins of his cock. She squirms beneath the stream, moving so sensually while making these “fuck me” noises all too clear. It’s meant to tease and provoke him. He is tempted to march in there and fuck the living hell out of her.

Fucking her to death, now that one I haven’t tried before.

“Enjoying the show?” she asks, turning to face him while the water trickles down her back. She can see the hardness in his groin, growing larger and larger with every second she stands there wet and naked.

“I am, actually,” he answers, not bothering to hide his desire.

She turns to face the shower tap, one hand plastered to the wall while the other leisurely runs down her chest. Smooth and slick, she allows it to circle her breast, making sure August can see how her finger brushes the hardening peachy nipple before descending along her flat torso.

His breath becomes rigid, his eyes furiously focusing on how she praises her own body. Her lids are half-hooded, hazy with lust and her mouth is reddening and slight swelling as she bites into her plush lips with delight. He dares, taking a step closer, allowing himself to have a better view of the show.

It is for him after all, is it not?

Tender and slow like honey, she lets her fingers creep between her thighs. In her mind, she fancies larger hands taking control over her body. A man’s hands, hands that are rough and callous, counter to how she is built, yet they caress her gently, working their way up between her inner thighs and spreading her open.

A feverish moan escapes her tightened lips as her fingers rub against her clit. She opens her eyes with her head thrown to the side. Giving August a lustful stare, cruel and full of snide she begins working herself with sensual strokes. She can feel her own wetness, thick and oily against her delicate fingers.

August’s nostrils flare, the bulge in his groin now enormous and aching for release.

Does she think she is torturing him? Does she even know men?

He inches closer toward the shower, close enough until so his hand can touch the glass which is now covered with tiny droplets of water and a thin layer of steam. His hand falls toward the zipper of his trousers, letting it sink before reaching out to pull his erect cock.

There is a smitten look upon her face, and an unpleasant chill runs through her spine as if she is intimidated by the sheer sight of him. Obviously, he is very much aware of how impossibly large he is. She gathers he is used to the look she is giving him, knowing exactly what’s going through her mind.

“Why are you stopping then, princess?” he asks with a cocky smile, his large hand wraps around the base of his hard cock, immediately beginning to stroke while eliciting deep, low groans.

Ingvild finds it surprisingly arousing, unable to help herself but stare at how his fingers engulf the fleshy shaft, feeling herself throb at the sight of the thick bulging veins and the ridges that run across his erection. When she started this little game it was in order to abuse him. But now, there is a certain desperation in her spiteful urge.

Looking at him as if driven to insanity, she lets her fingers massage her mound with increasing force, hard yet slow while her thumb traces the engorged nub. With every intent to let him see what he cannot take, she leans against the wall and parts her legs wide for him, letting him see her pink cunt and how her fingers play and tease while her other hand moves to squeeze her breast.

Her mind escapes into fantasies again, to urge the tingling sensation that burns between her thighs. Betrayed by lust, it’s him that she sees, holding her down as he did the night before, only that instead of trying to kill her he tears off her panties and splits her flesh open with his enormous cock.

The yelp that escapes her mouth is barely human, the image triggering something dark and unfamiliar and despite its wrongness now all she can think of is him.

August, on the other hand, is anything but inclined to indulge this. Pumping his cock urgently, he imagines pounding the little valkyrie against the wall, his grunts so low and loud he is certain the neighbours renting the room nearby can hear.

‘Have you ever fucked an undead girl? Imagine how sweet that wet little cunt must be after coming back to life… milking around you as if you are her saviour, your cock a gift sent from heaven…’

‘Or hell.’

Leaning his forehead against the glass, his breath leaves a veil of steam against the surface while he glances at Ingvild climbing toward her climax.

“Fuck!” She shudders, trying to fight the burning image of him in her mind, but these forbidden fantasies continue to assail her; all the different ways he could take her, exploit and humiliate her. How his body would feel atop of hers while he holds her down and hammer her into the floor.

Her battle wanes, heat spills between her legs as she falls into dark euphoria.

Seeing her arch against the tiles, naked and showered by ecstasy, his control finally snaps. August slams a hand against the glass, spourting white ribbons of cum all over the surface.

‘Oh to see her die and then burst with life…’

They stand in front of one another, both with heaving chests and frowning faces.

Finally, she turns the stream off and opens the glass door while August tucks himself back in. Apparent sweat covers his forehead while his chest is still heaving. She crouches to grab the robe, wearing it again while moving next to him with a teasing look on her face.

Although her legs feel feeble, the adrenaline made the blood kickstart her body again, her heart pumping with excitement as life returned to her system. She pushes past August scornfully, letting him follow her as she walks out of the bathroom.

He grabs her elbow, shooting her a warning glare. “Where do you think you are going?”

She tries to fight him but his grip is fierce and she is too weak.

“You are still a prisoner here,” he warns her and begins to lead her back to the bedroom and toward the bed while grabbing more rope on the way. He notices once again how she desperately seeks her personal belongings, gun, and phone.

“Don’t bother, angel, it’s all in the bottom of the lake.”   

______________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible or August Walker

[claudiasjeancregg]

we can find each other this way, i believe

for the tww flowershop au, created here!!

for ariel and bianca, and everyone who’s helped create this lovely universe<3

title from Come and Find Me by Josh Ritters, a song @aerielz introduced me to that we both now think should be this au’s anthem. seriously, listen to it.

Toby opens every morning, bright and early. Comes with the job of owning the shop, he supposes. But still, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for Sam to relieve him of the duty for once.

He hears a shuffle at the door, keys jingling, and looks up without a word.

“Morning, Toby!” Donna breezes in, all sunshine and cheerfulness even at 6 AM— she’s exactly who people expect to work at a flower shop. He is decidedly not.

“Hey, Donna,” he mutters, lost in thought. Something’s happening this morning, something big that’s lying in the back of his mind, almost close enough to remember but just out of reach.

“Is there- do we have a big order we’re doing today?”

She frowns. “No, not that I know of, at least. Why, do you want me to do something?”

He shakes his head, giving her a sideways look. “Aren’t you busy enough?”

“Yeah, I really am,” she sighs, dropping her keys on the counter and jumping onto it, like his remark had been some invitation to vent. It had not been, as a matter of fact.

“I love my job, don’t get me wrong. But Josh doesn’t let me do anything! I’m stuck working on bacon in the back-“

“Bacon? Is that some tattoo shop slang I'm not aware of? Or— Donna, please don’t tell me it’s a sex thing.”

Donna gives him a petulant look, eerily similar to how his older sisters looked as kids when they hadn’t given what they wanted. “You’d think so, but it’s actual bacon. They seem to think I’m training to be a butcher, not a tattoo artist.”

Toby lets out an uncharacteristic laugh and sits next to her, mind filled with images of a future Donna with dyed hair and full tattoo sleeves.

She shoves him off the counter. “What?”

“Come on, it’s funny! You’re Donna Moss, you really want to work at a tattoo parlor?”

She turns her head firmly, staring straight at him. “Yeah! Yeah, I do. I want to work everywhere and learn everything and not just be Donna Moss, the blonde ditzy girl who can’t stick to a major.”

Well, he can understand that. Donnatella Moss is an interesting girl, the opposite of what he had expected to find in someone as— well, as blonde and sweet and young as her. But ever since she had walked in, incessantly asking questions about his shop and practically begging for a job, Donna hasn't stopped surprising him. She’s eager to learn everything about everything, flower meanings and proper bouquet arranging and the ins and outs of running a small business. She’s a business major— well, sort of. He said that tentatively because Donna had changed majors over and over again through the years he had known her. But this one seems like it’ll stick. She has a knack for business, enough of a knack that she had been able to talk herself into jobs at two stores on the same block.

As much as Toby judged her at first, he has to admit that she knew what she was doing. And he doesn’t want to lose one of his best employees— not that he would ever tell her that— but he isn’t about to hold her back from something that for some reason, she seems very interested in.

“Okay. Then I say do it. If that’s what you want, the shop can operate without you.”

“Uh, you know I’ve already been working there, right? I don’t need your permission for everything, you ass.”

The combination of Donna’s snark and the ridiculously big grin on her face almost makes Toby laugh.

“Hey, I’m still your boss. I should have gotten rid of you when I had the chance,” he groans.

“I mean, I already have a job lined up! It’s been like two weeks, I’m sure they’d take me full time if I asked—“

“Shut it, Blondie.”

“Don’t call me that.” She rolls her eyes, but the whisper of a smile on her face gives her away. “Speaking of working at a tattoo parlor—“

A smile grows on her face as Toby shifts uncomfortably in his spot.

“Donna, I swear—“

“Oh, don’t even try and deny it, just tell me how you're going to woo her.”

“Woo her? What is this, one of your Cary Grant movies? This isn’t the 1930s.”

“Um, Cary Grant was the 1940s. Well, and 50s. And I know what year it is, the year doesn’t matter,” she says with a bright smile, pushing herself off the counter and landing solidly on the tile. “Every girl wants to be wooed, Tobias. You work at a flower shop, she’s upstairs, give her a rose or something!”

“God, it’s like I haven’t taught you anything. A rose is nowhere near the most romantic flower, it’s too cliche,” he mutters. He’s barely listening to her response, though, too busy imagining what would happen if CJ knew the full truth behind the bouquets he gives her every morning. His gift for her every single day, love and adoration and strength, placed delicately in a vase and arranged to perfection. And she still thinks it is just a decoration for her shop, a way to brighten up the waiting room in between the burly guys and terrifying girls who frequented the tattoo parlor. CJ had no idea what the flowers really meant.

Donna grabs a handful of blood red roses, camellias and carnations from the shelf— a handful that had probably been painstakingly put together and shelved by him, or Sam, or Ginger, or even Donna herself two days prior— and threads one through her hair with a concentration and precision Toby envies. She holds the rest out to him with a knowing look.

“Sometimes cliches are cliche for a reason.”

A retort dances on the tip of his tongue, a retort that will surely remind Donna he isn’t about to take romantic advice from a woman whose only experience is with douchey ex-boyfriends and her new boss— the boss she had pined after for years, long before she had been given a job.

But he doesn’t get a chance to answer before the old bell rings on the door, pulling him out of his thoughts. Toby looks up— and in less than a minute, he’s finding the customer the exact right flower to give to a new neighbor (forsythia, for anticipation of good things to come, apple blossoms, for good fortune, and peppermint, for cordiality).

It reminds him of the flowers he gave to CJ when she first moved in, after they met for the first time. He still remembers the way she looked, walking into the shop, her ever-present grace and fire shaking him to his core. The customer leaves and he’s left to stare at his wall of flowers, nothing to focus on but Ginger and Bonnie’s quiet whispers in the storeroom and the pounding rhythm from the deafening music upstairs. He only sits for a minute before his mind drifts back to thoughts of CJ.

And in a second, like someone had whispered it into his ear, he remembers exactly why today was a big day. Six months ago, she had started her tattoo shop. Five months and three weeks ago, he’d seen her face through a glass door and his heart had practically stopped. She said she likes surprises— a small detail that’s managed to stay in his memory for all these months, like a diamond buried in sand waiting for someone to come along and lift it out. And if his father had been able to charm her with flowers, so can he. He’s a hell of a lot more likable than his father. But that isn’t the point, Toby reminds himself. The point is to celebrate his friend’s victory. If there was ever an occasion for flowers, this is it.

He decides to create a bouquet that reminds him of her— daffodils and dahlias and daisies, gladiolus and ivy and yellow jasmine and kennedia. He doesn’t dwell on what they mean for too long, the sentiment behind the flowers obvious to him but hopefully not to anyone else. His plan fails in a remarkably short time.

“Hey, boss— well, that’s a very romantic bouquet,” Ginger points out with a curious glance, poking her head out of the back room.

“Boyfriend or crush?” Bonnie adds on as she hugs her girlfriend from behind.

Toby doesn’t answer. He’s too busy trying to think of a way to get out of this conversation— apparently, the sentiment was obvious to everyone. The downside of working in a flower shop was that the romantic flowers never went unnoticed. They all know the bestsellers, of course, the red roses and tulips and orchids, typically bought by a regretful boyfriend who they all knew was going to be dumped in 2 to 6 business days. But a bouquet like this either means a customer had done a hell of a lot of research, or someone in the shop had picked the flowers themself. So, in a few seconds, Toby’s private, meaningful bouquet is about to become everyone’s business.

“I don't know,” he mutters. He can’t even think of a feasible lie— he’s too busy trying to calm his heartbeat that’s pounding in his chest, faster than the most enthusiastic drummer in a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

“Uh, I think it’s a crush,” Ginger notes. “Gladiolus and daffodils? Seriously—“ She shakes her head, the amused reaction of someone in a happy, stable relationship who had forgotten what it was like to be one of the lonely hearts. “—It screams unrequited love.”

Toby’s head snaps up at that. “Love?” he sputters. “That’s just- I don't know. I think it’s just a crush.”

He’s showing all his cards, now, and one of the girls is bound to figure out who put together the bouquet in a minute or two. But he doesn’t care. He turns around, about to walk to the cashier and hoping no one stops in.

“So,” Donna steps into his path with a knowing glance, the glance of someone who’s very obviously been listening this whole time. “You made the bouquet, right?”

“Donna—“

“Oh!” She lets out an excited squeal and throws her arms around him, before realizing exactly what she was doing.

“Donna,” he sighs.

“Right. Sorry. But is this-“ she lowers her voice. “This is you wooing, right?”

Toby lets out an exasperated groan. But she’s right, of course. This is, in some twisted way, his idea of wooing. Donna spends the rest of her shift giving him tips on what to say to CJ while simultaneously filling orders in the storeroom, a combination that leads to more than a few mistakes on her part.

But eventually, she leaves, and he’s left with a too-long lunch break to contemplate how to give CJ the gift. They’re just flowers, he reminds himself. Don’t make it weird, Ziegler. But his gift is more than just flowers, it’s a reminder that there’s someone rooting for her. A reminder that he’s proud of all she’s done in this past six months. Well, that’s what he hopes it’ll be.

Toby hears the bell ring and looks up— for once, he’s not expecting to be CJ. But it is. She stands outside and meets his eye with a careful glance, more anxious than usual. This is the moment he’s been waiting for, he thinks as she comes in.

“I got you coffee,” she says without a greeting.

He can’t stop staring at her. God, she’s beautiful. Tattoos dance down her back like battle scars, tangible reminders of her strength every time she walks into a room.

“Thanks, CJ.” Donna swoops in with an easy smile and gives Toby a nudge, silently telling him to stop staring like a pervert and to say something. Or maybe her look said none of that, and he was just projecting.

“You’re- uh, thanks for the coffee,” he says abruptly, turning back to the task at hand.

“It wasn’t for you.” She smirks as she says it, eyes dragging over his body in a way that made Toby feel like a live wire. He can feel her eyes sparking with electricity as she watched him stock the new shipment of flowers.

God, she makes him act like such an idiot.

Toby can't imagine what CJ must think of him, the owner of the shop downstairs who has a huge crush on her and couldn’t form more than a few sentences when she was in his line of sight. She’s just so strong, so pretty— not that beauty is all that mattered to him, but it’s practically impossible not to notice her deep brown eyes and hair that flowed down her back like a cascading waterfall. And her grace, the way she commands all the attention when she walks into the room, how she is sharp but never cold, never mean. And her genius amazes him— he isn’t one to be overly complimentary of another person, but she’s taken a part of the building that hadn’t had customers in years, and turned it into a lively, successful tattoo parlor. He knows they’ve only talked a few times in the months since she had started her shop, but her very presence brightens up his store.

She is like a sunflower, light following wherever she goes.

And maybe she has no idea who he is, beyond someone she talked to occasionally who brought her flowers for her shop. But for some reason, he still finds himself desperately wanting to know more about this woman with a million tattoos adorning her arms, this woman who knew his father and loves Donna as much as he does and has turned a lifeless corner into a booming business. He wants her, and it feels inevitable, a predestined fate that was sealed the moment he first saw her.

CJ leans her arms on the counter and lets her head fall. He isn’t sure what to do. So he doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t press, just pulls out a chair and motions for her to come sit in it. That lifts the awkwardness out of the room, thankfully, as she collapses into the chair next to where he’s working. They sit there for a while, just like that. And then he feels her breath on his shoulder and suddenly can’t think of anything but how good she smells, and how easy it would be to turn around and pull her closer. She’s like a magnet, this woman. It drives him crazy.

“Toby?” Her voice is soft, delicate, nothing like the steely way she usually speaks.

“Yeah,” he swallows, preparing to answer a question about why he acts so weird whenever she’s there.

“What’s the bouquet for?”

He turns around and follows her eyes to the bright bouquet of flowers still on the counter— the bouquet he made for her less than 20 minutes ago.

“You,” he manages to say. Her eyes widen, a delighted smile growing on her face. “I mean, it’s your sixth month here. I figured you deserved a gift for the shop’s anniversary. I know it’s not much, but—

“No.” She stops him, hands over her heart like he’s touched her deep inside, in a place behind her walls and behind her cool facade, the place where her strength lives. It pulls on his heartstrings, the thought of her choosing to trust him with that. It lights him up inside— the thought that he made her happy, even for a minute, hits him in a place he didn’t know was able to feel so deeply.

“I- really? I mean, thank you, it’s beautiful.”

“So are you.” He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth. Who said stuff like that? He isn’t some cheap hack trying to pick her up at a bar, he’s her friend.

CJ’s eyes are wide as she tries to pick out the meaning of his words. He worries he stepped over the line, ventured into the unknown territory they have yet to allow inside their newly-forged friendship.

“Well, you certainly are a gentleman,” she laughs a little bit. It didn’t feel like a joke. The air between them is taut, filled with more tension than a magnetic field. CJ leans in, just a little bit. And suddenly Toby wants nothing more than to lean into her, to pull her close and show her how much he had meant his words. But instead, he pulls away. She was like the sun, and he knows that if he leans in, they will collide. They will burn bright and flame out in an instant. She matters too much to him for it to be a fling, and right now, that was all they would have. Toby grabs the bouquet and holds it in between them.

“Here,” he breathes, hoping she’ll stay for a while longer but also knowing that if she does, his resolve will crumble in a second. “Congratulations.”

CJ gives him a cautious, slightly confused, smile— “Thanks.”

She takes it from his hands, fingers brushing as he lets go. She blushes, the pink on her cheeks complimenting her black camisole. He watches her go, the bell ringing as the door slams shut. He hears it again a few minutes later, a few customers filing in to fill the stretch of emptiness that happens in the hours when he’s the only one in the shop.

He doesn’t love CJ. He barely even knows enough to like her, but that is something that happened without him even noticing. Like a wave crashing against the shore, he didn’t realize until he was drowning in it. CJ Cregg is an enigma, a woman who can make anything happen and does, a woman who makes him feel like he’s breathing in electricity.

Life’s a funny thing, Toby thinks. No one ever sees the big things coming, until suddenly your estranged father is dead and you’re the sole owner of his flower shop.

It’s startling, how much the last year has changed him. The thing he always was ashamed of growing up, something he never quite understood as a kid, has somehow become his solace. It’s grasped onto his heart, this lively little corner of DC, and refuses to let go. He even finds he’s minding the shrill bell above the door less as the months go by, and the silence more than more. A customer walks in, and Toby rises to help him. He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind— his unnecessarily morose self-reflection can wait. He has a job to do.

[myforeverforlife]

portrait of you.

For @colorful-taste​! Junmyeon and 48. "We've become the clingy couple that you used to complain about." (I hope you like it! 💖)

Come send in a request here!

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

Word Count: 2,164

Masterlist

You loved your boyfriend, you honestly did. But sometimes, you wondered if he really needed rows upon rows of jackets in his closet. That didn't even count the shirts and pants folded away in numerous drawers, as well as accessories.

From where you sat on the floor in his walk-in closet, everything seemed even more cluttered and suffocating. Junmyeon had kept a lot of the clothes since he had begun his career, unable to throw things away because of the sentiment that each one had. 

"Chanyeol bought that for me!" he said once, as you were trying to help him sort through his clothes. The puffy jacket was a bright-yellow color, and a few sizes too small for him now. But still, he refused to let you give it away or throw it out. 

Shaking your head, you brought yourself back to the present. "Sweetie, we're going to be late for the exhibit. You look fine."

Junmyeon came back into the closet, two different ties in his hands as he held them up. "Which one do you think is better?"

"Myeon, you don't need to dress up. It's just a normal museum exhibit." 

"It's Van Gogh, Y/N," he said, as if that explained everything. Although you supposed in Junmyeon's eyes, it did. "But maybe ties aren't the way to go." He placed them on top of a small dresser, placing his hands on his head as he looked around the room. He was truly a sight to see — white button-up left open over his chest, and tweed pants threatening to slide down his hips. 

Sighing, you stood up and smoothed your hands over his shoulders in an attempt to calm him down. "You always look amazing, no matter what you wear. But, I think you're really overthinking it right now. Just go with your gut." 

Junmyeon smiled bashfully, emphasizing the round apples of his cheeks. "You're right." He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, before following it up with a kiss on your forehead. "What time is it?" 

You pulled out your phone, both of you grimacing as the screen lit up. "Almost two. But we should leave soon, there's always traffic and parking to think about."

Junmyeon began scrambling to change out of his clothes, hands and feet flailing as he struggled to pull his arms out of his sleeves. With a giggle, you reached over to help him out, folding the garment over your arm once it was finally off. 

"I'm surprised you didn't plan your outfit already." Junmyeon was by nature, a meticulous planner, but even more so when it came to figuring out what to wear. You didn't mind though — not when the end result was so appealing to look at. "Oh, I did," he replied. "But when I put it on today, it didn't look right." He hummed thoughtfully, rummaging through a rack of cardigans. 

Setting his button-up down, you squeezed his shoulder reassuringly as you passed by. "I'm gonna run to the restroom, but we really need to leave when I come back."

"Shoot," Junmyeon gasped, quickly moving over to a set of shelves and pulling open the top one. 

You could hear him moving around, hangers clattering against each other and drawers shutting closed even from your spot in the bathroom. Upon returning, you were pleasantly surprised to see that your boyfriend had found an outfit that he liked.

Junmyeon stood in front of the full-length mirror, staring down at his phone as he texted someone. He was unaware that you were back, so caught up in his conversation as you took the time to admire his beauty. You almost felt like you were studying a portrait in an art gallery, studying every detail that made up Junmyeon's overall charm. He had gone for a simple, black and white striped polo shirt with some well-worn light blue jeans. On his head, he wore a black felt beret, only it was sitting backwards. Altogether, it made for a very pleasing sight, especially with the face of the wearer. Junmyeon let out a soft giggle at something he read, awakening a fluttering sensation in your chest. 

"Are you ready?" you asked sweetly, touched to see how his face lit up when he heard you.

"Yep!" Junmyeon stuck his phone into his pocket before checking that he had his wallet in the other one was well. Walking over to you, he wrapped an arm around your waist. "Let's go!" 

This was an event that both of you had been looking forward to for a long time — the arrival of the special Van Gogh exhibit. The two of you were a pair of avid museum-goers, and were frequent visitors at the Leeum and Daerim museums. But this journey was different, a visit to see a traveling exhibit on its stop in Seoul. The Van Gogh interactive exhibit was on loan from a museum in Australia, and had been making its rounds through Southeast Asia before coming to Seoul. A wide assortment of Van Gogh's works were projected on large screens that formed an almost maze-like setting, immersing visitors in his work. 

You and Junmyeon could hardly wait once you heard that it was coming to Seoul. 

Junmyeon was practically buzzing with anticipation, his hand tightly holding onto yours as both of you were let in. "Wow," he breathed out in awe. 

The gallery was filled with visitors, from couples admiring the work together, like you and Junmyeon, to groups of friends or family, and even a few individuals wandering around alone. People milled about the open space, marveling at the enormous screens that were currently projecting Van Gogh's "Wheat Field". The billowing clouds looked so soft and fluffy, swirls of white and shades of blue mixed together. The fields of wheat were painted so meticulously, individual brush strokes making up the stalks of grain. It all looked so real, you could have sworn that you were really there. 

Painting by painting, you and Junmyeon watched in wonder as Van Gogh's works flashed before your eyes. At one point, Junmyeon turned around and pointed at the floor. "Y/N, look!" 

Spinning around, you were taken aback to see Van Gogh's "Almond Blossom" projected on the floor below you. A cluster of blossoms overlapped with your feet, the colors creeping up onto your shoes as you exchanged a delighted smile with your boyfriend. 

Of course, Junmyeon didn't forget to take pictures himself, documenting his favorite pieces as he snapped photos of the images. You even took a picture of him posing in front of a large screen displaying "Cafe Terrace at Night", Junmyeon crouching down and pretending to sit in a chair. 

"Did you take it yet?" he asked, squatting and trying to hold an effortless grin.

"Oh, this one's no good," you lied, trying to hide your giggles. "Hmm, no the lighting is weird from this angle." You stepped to the side, taking a photo before shaking your head. "Not this one either."

"What?!" Junmyeon exclaimed, teetering on his feet as he tried to maintain his balance. "Are you serious?" 

You burst into laughter, coming over and showing him the photos you had taken. "I'm kidding! I'm sorry, Myeon, I couldn't help it." 

"Gosh," Junmyeon sighed, finally allowing himself to stand back up. "You're so mean, Y/N. How long were you going to make me stay like that for?" he asked with a chuckle.

"Oh, not much longer. But I'm glad to see your workouts have really been paying off." You patted his stomach as you gave him back his phone, hand brushing over his clothed abs.

Junmyeon shook his head with a grin, playfully swatting your hand away before swiping through the many photos you took. Both of you laughed over some of the funnier ones, Junmyeon visibly trying to maintain his cool composure even as his face said the opposite. 

It was easy to get swept away by the marvels of the exhibit, the paintings constantly changing even as the room stayed the same. From specific works like "Irises" to assorted views of the countryside and self-portraits, the pair of you were spellbound. Most of the visitors reacted the most when "Starry Night" appeared, the swirling skies and repeated brushstrokes evoking a sense of calm. 

"It's amazing how he made all of these," Junmyeon whispered to you. "He put so much emotion into each of his paintings, and we can still feel it, all these years later." He hugged you from behind, lightly swaying both of you from side to side as the animated paintings continued to play on the screens. "I'm so glad I get to experience this with you," he murmured into your ear, placing a delicate kiss on your shoulder.

Leaning back against him, you closed your eyes. "Me too, Myeon. There's no one else I'd rather have with me." 

Everyone was reluctant to leave the room, still entranced by the interactive displays. But the next area held informational placards on all of the works displayed, providing more context behind each individual piece of work. You and Junmyeon soaked it all in, not leaving a single one unread.

As you neared the end of the placards, you noticed the entryway leading to another part of the museum. "Myeon, look!" you pointed out.

The museum had a cafe set up, normally left minimally decorated in shades of brown and gray. But for this special installation, the cafe had gone along with the Van Gogh theme and changed its interior accordingly. Tiny, elegant light fixtures hung from the ceiling, resembling the stars in Van Gogh's "Starry Night". Even the walls had been covered in the painting, making you feel as if you were an actual part of it. 

You wasted no time in lining up to order something, coaxing Junmyeon into trying one sweet treat with you. Just as he was consistent about many other things, Junmyeon was particular about maintaining good eating habits. "Just one!" you reasoned. "Today can be your cheat day."

Junmyeon stared wistfully at the beautifully decorated cakes and other desserts displayed in the cases. One particularly beautiful cake caught his attention, decorated with a sapphire mirror glaze. "Yesterday was my cheat day though," he said woefully. "But it's a special day today. You deserve it! If it makes you feel better, we can split something?"

Junmyeon's eyes shifted uncertainly, a hand rubbing the back of his neck before he gave in. "Okay, but just for today." 

You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand, leaning against him as the two of you waited in line. "You deserve a treat every once in a while, Myeonnie. You work too hard." 

"Which is why I'm glad I have you to remind me." He sent you a flirty wink, chuckling when you pretended to look away. "You know, we've become the clingy couple that you used to complain about." 

"I don't know what you're talking about," you sing-songed, trying to ignore the familiar sensation that Junmyeon evoked in you. He made it too easy for your stomach to start doing somersaults, for the dormant butterflies to wake up in a frenzy even with just a simple smile of his. 

"You don't remember how when we first started dating, you said I was too cheesy? How the tables have turned," he said with a smirk. 

"You're still the cheesiest," you countered, melting into giggles when Junmyeon swooped in to press a prolonged, sticky kiss to your cheek. "Myeon!" 

"What?" he feigned innocence. "I can't show you how much I love you?" Junmyeon smiled to himself when you hid your face against his shoulder. You mumbled something he couldn't make out, words muffled against the fabric of his shirt. "What did you say, sweetheart?"

Lifting your head, you made an effort not to shy away. "I love you too," you confessed. You cringed inwardly, fighting to urge to retreat back into your hiding spot. But seeing how Junmyeon's eyes lit up so brilliantly held you in place, your smile mirroring his own. 

"I love you more," he countered, his bunny smile only growling larger when you groaned. "Too cheesy?" 

"I should have expected it, coming from you. I don't mind," you joked. "I've grown used to it by now. I don't think I can last a day without your cheesiness."  

Junmyeon's tender eyes drank you in, committing every detail to memory — staring at you intently as if you were the subject of his painting. Even in a gallery full of artwork, he only had eyes for you. 

A furrow appeared between your forehead as you wondered what Junmyeon was thinking about. "What is it?" 

He shook his head, content to keep his sappy musings to himself for now. "Nothing. Just got lost in my thoughts."

"Don't get lost in them for too long. I'll miss you." 

Junmyeon giggled, shaking his head. "Don't worry." 

He would never stray too far away from you, his muse.

A/N: I went back and watched junmyeon’s heart4u episodes to get inspo for this oneshot, and this idea just jumped out at me! this exhibit is based off of a real traveling exhibit (although I made up the cafe lol 😂 I really recommend checking the official site out, and watching the promo vid they have here at: https://grandeexhibitions.com/van-gogh-alive/#explore)

Come send in a request here!

[korakira-blog1]

Flowers Language

A call or an email to arrange flowers from florists might be a generally present day highlight of everyday life except flowers have assumed a significant job in our carries on with throughout the long term.

A portion of the Crusaders who voyaged abroad experienced the convention of ladies conveying orange bloom as an image of endless love and constancy. Inside the English setting, this convention was altered by the utilization of local British flowers. During Elizabethan occasions a mainstream strategy for freshening the air was to put a blend in a room. Flowers have additionally since quite a while ago been utilized for restorative purposes.

During the Victorian period the language of flowers (frequently alluded to as floriography) was utilized to send coded messages through a decorative layout. Bluebells communicated something specific of never-ending love while snapdragons (antirrhinum) represent a generous woman. Shading (especially of roses) was additionally significant with burgundy recommending puzzle, pink showing elegance and orange conveying energy. Despite the fact that the full scope of the language of flowers is infrequently seen now by some other means than specialist students of history or florists, the suffering message of love is as yet imparted through the gift of red roses to a lover.

Our proceeding with love for flowers is reflected in the fame of utilizing them as young ladies' names. Late top picks incorporate Daisy, Lily and Poppy.

One of the attractions of flowers is their transient magnificence. Regardless, we as a rule need the blossoms to keep going to the extent that this would be possible. Luckily this is frequently conceivable by following our Hot Hints.

Hot Hints for Extending the Life of Cut Flowers

Check your flowers cautiously when purchasing. Leaves ought to be fresh and green instead of limp and wounded.

Most flowers can be purchased before they are completely evolved. With the a couple of special cases which incorporate orchids and some tropical flowers, they will keep on opening once positioned in a vase.

Set up your vase for your flowers by guaranteeing that it is extremely perfect. Microbes can execute flowers by obstructing the stems and keeping the flowers from leaking water.

Utilizing a sharp blade - scissors can squash the finishes of the stems - cut the stems off at a point about 3cm from the base. This opens up the stem with the goal that the flower can leak fresh water. Cutting at an edge gives a more prominent surface zone and keeps the come from getting fixed against the base of the vase.

Acquaint flower additive with feed the flowers and ward microbes off. Many flower courses of action accompany exclusive mixes which are ideal. Additional provisions can be bought from florists or nursery focuses. Custom made renditions are another option. One model can be made utilizing a liter of water with a teaspoon every one of vinegar, blanch and sugar. Change the water at regular intervals.

Evacuate foliage underneath the water line all together forestall the leaves rotting.

Most flowers should be avoided ethylene gas which is radiated by maturing leafy foods. Flowers including freesias, lilies and carnations are especially delicate to this gas.

A few flowers need special consideration. Tropical flowers including orchids will be especially touchy to cold temperatures and care ought to be taken to keep them in temperatures above 13oC. In the event that you need to attempt to keep your tulips from hanging make a little prick at the head of the tail just beneath the flower. For additional data counsel your local florist.

[am-i-invisible777]

Little Blossom

Maxwell x MC

I’m tired. 

Never before had I imagined I’d feel so lost in my own house Beaumont. The long hallways and high ceilings gave me a headache as I tried to navigate through them. I got lost a few times, turning to dead ends and locked doors. I don’t even know why they were locked, or why they needed to be locked…what made them so special? Soon it became apparent that I didn’t have a destination in mind, I was just wandering. Maybe I had planned on doing something somewhere, but I can’t remember where or what. I stopped walking, feeling my entire body wobble from the motion, as if unprepared. It’s as if I wasn’t even existing, like, my brain and body were two separate things entirely. I glared at the rug, taking a deep breath. I stood. Silent. Then glanced to my right.

Oh…that door...

My brain told me not to open it as I reached for the handle. Cold. Locked. My arm fell limply to my side. Was I wrong? Did I mix up the doors again? They do all look awfully similar sometimes. I blinked. 

I ran down the hall, past paintings and drawers. Tiny tables with vases on them. A blur of physical memories. Two squids, at least. Sliding down, no, soaring past those stairs. Past more paintings featuring strangers we called family. I turned a corner. Two.  Skidding to a halt in front of a different door, this one ajar, messing up the rug in the process. I gasped, out of breath, one hand on the doorframe as my legs tried not to give out beneath me. I entered slowly, cautiously, as if someone were sleeping inside. I forgot why I was in here. The confusion left as soon as it came, and I turned to a desk. Top drawer on the right, I remembered. Underneath some forgotten files of paper, I knew, was a key. It wasn’t a fancy one or anything…just an ordinary key. I stared at it, almost afraid to touch it. I heard a familiar voice in my head—my voice—telling me not to touch the key, motivating me to grab it anyways. It was cold. 

Once again, I took off. Not bothering to close the drawer or the door or fix the rug as I ran past more rugs and more drawers and even more doors. Up the stairs again, two, maybe even three at a time. Running through the halls with their high ceilings once filled with laughter and high hopes. All the doors looked the same when they’re a blur, but I remembered where I needed to go. I stopped. Panting. At that infamous door. I used to love it, catching myself smiling every time I passed it. Finding myself just standing, unable to control my excited giggles, from just beyond the door itself. 

My brain told me not to open it as I inserted the key and twisted—the wrong way at first. The door creaked as it crawled back. Did it always do that? Pocketing the key, I stepped inside the room. Dark. Cold. 

…lonely. 

I shut the door behind me, not liking how loud it sounded. I didn’t bother turning on the light switch and by the time I considered it I was already a good five steps away from it. I opted for the lamp instead, fingertips touching its soft shade as I felt for the small knob that would turn it on. The light was dull, barely illuminating the part of the room of which it stood, on a white desk. I stared at the lamp for a minute, admiring the baby lamb that decorated it. It was my idea, I didn’t want a boring lamp. She had picked it out. 

I sucked in my breath through clenched teeth and forced myself to look away from the lamp. I watched my shadow, still as a statue, the only thing I wanted to look at for the moment. Maybe coming in here was a mistake? Still, I didn’t want to leave. I stood up straighter, fixing my posture, liking how confident my shadow looked. Knowing I didn’t come in here to just look at my shadow yet not exactly knowing why I was here either at the same time was making me feel dumb. I knew why I refused to look anywhere else…but once again, my body betrayed my brain as I turned around. Staring. Hands clenched into fists. Nerve wavering. I stared at it, my old joy. A symbol of innocence, and now, burning pain. Barely touching the light, securely against the other side of the wall, was the small cot. 

The crib. 

That’s what she called it. That’s what they called it there, wasn’t it? The white wood matching the white lamp that complemented the yellow blanket folded neatly inside. I could only take one step before I shut my eyes, remembering having the cot custom made. Remembering how badly she wanted to set it up herself. Remembering everyone—Liam, Hana, Drake, Bertrand, Chance—all inside this room. Laughing, talking, goofing off. Remembering how Drake had gotten furious with the instructions given, chucking a screwdriver into the wall and getting it stuck there. Remembering how happy she looked when it was complete, more paint on all of us combined than the walls. Remembering how, even after the cot had collapsed in on itself, she was still smiling and joking around. 

I opened my eyes, the familiar stinging sensation of tears beginning to form. I tried to hold them back, tried to push them down and escape from them. I was never successful, feeling the first wave slowly roll down my cheek. My room blurred, just like the halls did, before I blinked, letting more tears slip by. I took another step towards the cot. Then two. Three. Holding back a sniffle, I slowly reached inside. For a minute, I imagined an infant laid there, eyes the same hue as hers staring back at me. I jerked back, shaking the image away. I loved and hated it all at once. 

My sob filled the quiet room. Gripping the edge of the cot with both hands, I let out a shaky breath, watching my tears plop down on the carpet. Still looking down, my hand found itself inside the cot once again, feeling the cotton bedding and slowly trailing past a blanket until it touched something even softer. I grabbed the stuffed toy by its leg, pulling it out while I slowly crumbled to the floor. I hugged it tight. Not wanting to let it go. I brought it to my face and allowed myself to sob again, the sound now muffled by a stuffed hippo. 

It was the last thing we bought together. Barely three days later did I realize the toy would never be used. I pulled it back, gazing into its black eyes. The hippo looked like it felt sorry for me, looking back with what I assumed as pitiful eyes. I was pitiful. I hugged it again, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the action. There were so many things I wanted to do instead. I wanted to scream. To throw something. Everything. But I wouldn’t dare leave this place different from how she left it. 

Instead, I sat. On the floor. Cradling the stuffed hippo. Just like I do every week. As if it would make them both come back. 

“…I’m sorry little blossom…” I weakly croaked, not sure if I was referring to my dead wife or dead daughter. 

[minuete-blog]

Philes’ Xmas Advent Calendar Prompt Day 25: Christmas Day

🎄 Merry Christmas!!!🎄

The very last advent prompt story is finally here. It is the first and only multichapter I’ve drafted for a series on AO3. Thank you to all who traveled through this journey of various degrees of angst (there were only 5 stories?) to the early msr fluff. Special thanks to @only-txf-fanart for the Advent Calendar Prompts. My writing muse came back in time to participate.

🎁 For those of you who haven't read the series, it can be found here. 🎁

❤️For those who just want to read the subtle romance that blossomed from this advent calendar series, read in this order: I’m Offering You The World, Last Minute, The RomCom Gift, and Christmas Offering. ❤️

Tagging @today-in-fic @txf-prompt-box

Christmas Offering

Chapter 1. Movie Missed

Scully feels warm and cozy as she sinks deeper into the couch. She hears Mulder calling her from a distance, strands of hair being swept away from her face with a gossamer touch. She hums in defiance, wraps the afghan blanket more securely around her.

“That won’t do.” She hears Mulder chuckle. She furrows her eyebrows and manages to crack open her eyes making out a blurry image of Mulder kneeling on the ground, his chin resting on the crook of his right elbow upon the couch, facing her at eye-level. He smiles softly.

“Hey there, Scully. The movie just ended.”

“What?” She asks confused, disoriented as she sits up, her hair plastered on the left side of her face. Pouting a little, still groggy from sleep, she remembers what happened. “I missed the movie?” Mulder nods and gets up off the ground to run his fingers along her left cheek and loosen the strands of hair stuck to her face. She thinks she felt a featherlight kiss on her left temple.

“Come on. Go freshen up. I’ll have coffee ready for you before you head out.”

“Mmkay,” she mumbles and untangles herself from the blanket. A few minutes later, she re-emerges from the bathroom looking somewhat awake and decent, her hair looking more windswept than bedhead. She can smell the pot of coffee brewing in the kitchen as she sits down on the couch to put on her boots. Mulder reappears in the living room, and hands Scully the travel mug he just gifted her a couple hours ago filled with coffee. She offers her thanks as he walks her to the door. She turns around.

“Mulder, are you sure you don’t want to come to my mom’s? You’re always welcomed.” He shakes his head.

“Nah, I’m good, Scully. I won’t be the best company considering how tired I feel.”

“Well, what are you going to do the rest of the day?”

“Once you leave, I intend to fully pass out since I hadn’t slept yet. I’ll be okay, Scully.” She frowns a little, looking up at him from behind her shoulder as she opens the door. Mulder leans against the door frame as she exits. “I kept you long enough away from your family. I need to be nice and share.” Scully gives him a small smile.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder.”

“Merry Christmas, Scully.”

Chapter 2. Scully Christmas Gathering

Scully arrives at her mom’s home on time with 15 minutes to spare despite the fresh snowfall. She gulps down the last of the coffee in her travel mug before stepping out into the cold, and retrieves the large shopping bags containing the presents in the trunk and backseat of her car. Just when she reaches the front door, it suddenly opens revealing a man standing nearly six feet with ruddy brown hair and dark green eyes clad in a burgundy plaid shirt and jeans.

“Charlie?!” Scully exclaimed surprised and excited to see her little brother. She drops the bags and gives him a huge hug. He laughs.

“Hey, Sis.”

“That’s it?! A ‘hey, sis’ after years of not hearing from you, and you decide to show up on Christmas Day?!” She playfully punches him in the arm.

“Hey, now! You get photos of my whereabouts. They’re a small fortune, you know.” Scully rolls her eyes at him, though she’s not the least bit irritated by his remark. Her free-spirited brother found his true calling as a freelance photographer right after college, landing assignments every so often from travel guide magazine publishers.

“Those don’t count. You’re not even in them.”

“Yeah, but I took them.”

“I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“I know. Mom’s pissed at me right now for not telling her I’m in town. She’s upset that I won’t have any presents to unwrap. Come on, let me help you out.” Charlie reaches for the bags and brings them inside as Scully follows him to the tree. The house smells like holiday spices from the mulled spiced cider their mom prepared in the kitchen the night before. The living room looked picturesque with a roaring fireplace, complete with hung stockings and a fully decorated tree with all the ornaments handmade and collected over the years. She notices Melissa’s stocking with her favorite horse sleigh ornament hanging on the mantle. Scully smiles a small bittersweet smile as she heads over to the tree to place the gifts underneath. She sees a light flash from the corner of her eye.

“Charlie, really?” She turns to him only to be greeted with another flash of light.

“I’m creating memories, Dana. Just go about doing what you’re doing and pretend I’m not here.” She scoffs.

“Don’t worry, Dana. I’ll be turning off the flash once daylight breaks.” Scully hears footsteps coming down the stairs and sees their mom in cozy, festive flannel pajamas and a fluffy robe. Their mom smiles at the two of them beside the tree.

“I see you two are catching up. I’ll make some coffee. I already woke up Bill and Tara. They’re getting Matthew ready. The King’s Mass is held at 9 this morning. That should give us more than enough time to unwrap presents and get ready.” Their mom looked at them amused by their dubious expressions. Both Scully siblings seemed to have forgotten about the Christmas Day mass they hated attending as children. Bill hosted Christmas last year, and Scully’s previous holiday seasons had been overshadowed with life-altering events. Their mom shakes her head smiling as she heads to the kitchen.

“Shit! Crap! Sorry for cussing on Baby Jesus’ birthday. I totally forgot all about The King’s Mass. This is probably why I subconsciously avoided visiting during Christmas season,” Charlie murmured to Scully, “I guess I’ll have to don on some khakis.” He glances over at Scully, “and you look like you’re a government agent. Shouldn’t you dress in something more festive?” Scully shrugs.

“I packed an overnight bag, but I didn’t account for Mass this morning. I’ll be fine. I’m sure Tara or Mom bought me a nice scarf or something this year for me to throw on.”

Within the next couple of hours, the Scully family festivities went underway filled with chatter, coffee, spiced cider, cinnamon buns, and Christmas music playing in the background. Matthew is the main star as he wobbly walks to his Nana, allows Auntie Dana to hold him, and pats the shiny boxes that keep coming his way. Charlie stays in the background taking photographs. The adults exchange presents, with mostly Tara and their mom oohing and ahhing over presents they unwrap. Scully merely grins and offers her thanks until she opens a box from Tara that housed a royal blue blouse tunic with a scoop neckline. She gasps in amazement; she hears a click and shutter from Charlie’s camera.

“Looks like you have your festive outfit,” he says. Scully admits to her family that she plans to wear the tunic for mass as her family breaks out in laughter. She excuses herself to quickly change.

As Bill, Tara, and their mom get ready for mass, Scully tidies up the living room while Charlie entertains Matthew. “So what’s up with Fox? Why doesn’t he join us?” Scully looks at Charlie in surprise.

“He goes by Mulder and he doesn’t celebrate Christmas.” Charlie hums.

“I’ve been taking photos this whole morning, Dana. You’re here, but you’re not here. It shows.”

“I just have a lot on my mind.” Charlie shakes his head as he lets Matthew study his camera.

“No, you have this far-off look in your eyes. A restlessness about you. I recognize that look anywhere.”

“What are you trying to say, Charlie?” He purses his lips and shrugs, their conversation ending as they hear the rest of the family returning downstairs.

Bill rented an SUV that could transport all of them to the church, but Charlie insists that they take two cars.

“I wanna catch up with Dana!” Charlie announces as he runs to the passenger side door.

“Really, Charlie? I’m tired of driving,” Scully whines, but she walks to the driver’s side and unlocks her car.

Chapter 3. The King’s Mass

The Kings’ Mass at St. Mary’s Church was full of generational families much like the Scully clan. Their mom waved at many of the churchgoing ladies, offering well wishes and season’s greetings as she led them to her usual pew. Tara, Matthew, and Bill sat in the row first, followed by their mom, Scully, then Charlie. The service started with the usual procession of the pew boys, then the priest, Father Bennett, and the deacons. They had a larger than usual choir having some of the Sunday School children participating in today’s service. Just when the priest welcomed everyone to the church and encouraged all to greet their fellow brothers and sisters, Charlie turns to Scully and says, “I think you should head back home after service.”

“What?” she hissed through a fake grin as she waves at a family two pews ahead.

“You heard me, Sis. Just go.” Scully gives him a look as she sits down waiting to listen to the choir sing before the liturgy. Charlie pesters her again when they stand up to recite the hymns from the church bulletin. He causes enough commotion for their mom to give them a pointed look. Scully glances at her apologetically.

“You two are worse than Matthew,” she whispers leaning back for the two to see Matthew passed out in Bill’s arms. They sit back down again for the sermon after a deacon recited Isaiah 9:6 where Father Bennett spoke in detail of the miraculous birth of their Lord and Savior, symbolizing hope and love to mankind, but not without the struggles and sacrifice that Joseph and Mary had to endure to travel to Bethlehem.

“...so let us be reminded of His enduring love for us as we celebrate his arrival with loved ones. To not forget the road traveled for all of us to be here in this room. Let us honor his arrival with a giving spirit, full of compassion and empathy towards our fellow man,” Father Bennett concluded, “Now, as we begin communion, let us feel His loving spirit surround us.”

“Now’s your chance, Dana,” Charlie says as the pew rows were systematically dispersing to line up for communion, “Just make a break for it. You heard what Father Bennett said ‘celebrate with loved ones.’”

“I am celebrating with loved ones!” she responds a little too loudly as they stand at the ready for the church volunteer to beckon them to get in line.

“Mom, can you talk some sense into Dana, please?” Charlie says turning around giving their mom a knowing look, “I know you saw what I saw this morning. You can’t deny it.” She sighs in resignation, lips pressed together.

“Dana, I’m glad we got to spend time with you this morning, but Charlie’s right-- a part of you isn’t with us, it’s someplace else.” She gives Scully a fierce hug. “We’ll see you later this week. Charlie is staying for a couple more days before he flies out to the Netherlands. Now, go. You have some matters to attend to.” Scully’s eyes turn glassy as she manages not to cry. She smiles against her mom’s shoulder and gives her a quick peck on the cheek. She mouths and waves goodbye to Bill and Tara who each had a curious expression on their faces. Charlie gives her a quick hug and waves goodbye to her as he stands aside to let her out of the pew. She can hear Bill asking their mom where she’s going, and her mom answering that she has to attend to matters of love. Scully walks out of the church with one destination in mind.

Chapter 4. Give vs. Offer

It seems that no one left Hegal Place as Scully had to park a block away nearby a liquor store. She quickly runs into the store and purchases some items for the day. The afternoon weather is nippy, but tolerable with a heavy coat she had placed in the back of her car as she briskly walks on the sidewalk, being careful not to slip. She doesn’t know whether Mulder is at his place or not; it didn’t occur to her to give him a call during her trip. The early snowfall that morning had covered all the parked cars, making it difficult to identify which car is his. She finally arrives at his building, promptly taking off the heavy coat from the extreme temperature change. She knows her hair looks unkempt again from the weather as she takes the elevator up to the fourth floor. She can’t decide whether her heart was rapidly beating from the brisk walk or the notion that Mulder might not be home. Scully raps on the door sharply, causing the “2” in “42” to be slightly askew. To her relief, she hears muffled footsteps behind the door. The door cracks open revealing a disheveled Mulder dressed in sweatpants and a white t-shirt. He braces himself against the door frame with his right forearm as he rubs his eyes. His left hand still on the doorknob.

“Scully? What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with your family?” he asks in a gravelly voice, eyes squinting from the hallway light. She realizes she must have woken him up from his sleep. His eyes come into focus, and she can see him take in her appearance. “Is this how you usually dress at family gatherings? Maybe I should accompany you next time you go.” She feels a blush forming on her cheeks.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about the movie this entire morning,” she says, averting her gaze away from Mulder’s form, staring down at her boots. “It’s been bothering me, how Sandra Bullock’s character is in love with what looks like a huge asshole.” She looks up at him slightly flustered, “And Mulder! Even if I had watched ‘While You Were Sleeping’, I wouldn’t have caught on with the line you misquoted. The character’s mom gave her dad the world, which by the way is not a snow globe but a regular globe. So, I can only deduce that the actual line is ‘I give you the world’ not ‘I offer you the world.’” Mulder looks amused.

“To be fair, Scully, I only watched the movie once on cable. I thought I got the gist of the phrase, especially when paired with the snow globe I grabbed at Grand Rapids to show you. It appears much later in the movie by the way.”

“But ‘give,’ and ‘offer’ are two very different words, Mulder,” she continues, “Their meaning is completely different in context. ‘I give’ means that there are no strings attached to this phrase, no conditions set in place, while ‘I offer’ allows the other party a chance to accept or decline the option.” Scully knows she’s rambling, but she can’t stop herself. She holds up the plastic bag in her hands.

“For instance, I’m offering you this bag full of items I purchased at the corner liquor store. It contains components to make delicious hot chocolate—you still owe me hot chocolate, Mulder--”

“Of all the things to begrudge me for, it’s hot chocolate?”

“Hot chocolate, milk, whipped cream, chocolate sprinkles, marshmallows, and peppermint sticks. And since it’s around lunch time, I even purchased some gourmet frozen dinners because I know the state of your fridge and pantry, Mulder. A man can’t suffice on sunflower seeds alone.” Mulder’s grinning at this point. He unbraces himself from the door frame and reaches for the bag, but Scully holds it away from him.

“Mulder, this is an offer. Offers usually come with conditions from the party presenting it.”

“State your conditions then, Scully.” He drawls as he leans against the door frame crossing his arms.

“I want you to be the one to prepare hot chocolate for the both of us. I also want to finish watching the movie. I want to see how Sandra Bullock’s character goes from thinking she’s in love with an asshole to falling in love with Bill Pullman’s character.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Mulder’s eyes shone brightly as he stared at her intently. Her eyes slightly widened at his question. He straightens himself up and fully opens the door. He motions with his head as he says, “Get in here, Scully.”

She exhales a breath as she crosses the threshold. Mulder murmurs, “I was thinking about you all morning too” as he closes the door behind her.

[roserozu22]

Chapter 2 of DRAMAtical Murder

Chapter 2: Data 01: Login

Notes:I’m sorry for the short prologue, and I hope you enjoyed it too. A massive thank you to my beta Shinocchi!! In my head, I feel like everyone is very protective of Aoba, as Sei is seen weak in health, I thought Aoba could be as well (due to his headaches)

Author note 26/08/2019: I’m sorry for any typos and spelling mistakes as this hasn’t been beta checked. You can find me on Tumblr: roserozu22.tumblr.com and on Twitter under @Roserozu1

Disclaimer: See Prologue

Warning: mentions of underage rape (it’s not graphic)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

It was morning in the Old District and a twenty-three-year-old male is running like his life is on the line.  His name is Aoba Seragaki. His civilian outfit consists of a navy long sleeved top, on top of that a white and blue jacket that has an image of a brain, on one of the sleeves. He also has a blue and black glove on his right hand and a coil on his left wrist. He is also wearing blue jeans with a blue studded belt.  He is also wearing matching shoes with dark blue leg warmers. Aoba’s hair is also waist-length and has a gold coloured eyes. Around his neck, he has pink overhead headphones and a necklace that looks more like a choker with a blue leaf that says ‘ Aoba’ .

♪♫ ◟¶(⁄•˅̥•∖)⁋ ♪♬

A few hours later, Aoba was sitting on a chair, that happened to look like a reception desk.  The phone then rang, after a few minutes of talking to some pervert, and ordering parts for some All-Mate, after the pervert hung up,  Aoba’s All-Mate Ren woke up.

Ren is an old type all-mate, he looks like a Japanese Spitz Dog, he also has blue fur that’s constantly fluffy, he also has a collar with a syringe that acts like a dog tag, and Ren's tongue sticks out like he’s panting and has black eyes.

“Aoba, did you have another call about your voice?” Ren asked with protectiveness in his voice.  Which only Aoba heard and thought ‘I hoped Ren would stop being protective of me .’

♪♫ ◟¶(⁄•˅̥•∖)⁋ ♪♬

A younger Aoba is seen walking down a street while holding Ren, the teenager in question is smiling as he won a Rhyme battle, but unknown to Aoba, the participant that Aoba fought against, is secretly following him until they reached an alleyway, that was empty stabbed Aoba and quickly ran away but didn’t very far as Ren bit his ankle, very painfully and caused it to bleed.

A few days later Aoba woke up and lost his memories of fighting Rhyme and Ren then became the protective all mate that he’s known for today.

♪♫ ◟¶(⁄•˅̥•∖)⁋ ♪♬

Then Aoba’s coil went off with some e-mail and as Aoba was about to open the e-mail, he got hit on the head with some kind of bat, and then he noticed three children.  The children are siblings (and according to Aoba ‘Little Brats’). Their names are Kio Kuniyashi, Nao Kuniyashi and Mio Kuniyashi.

“What are you doing here, you brats?!” Aoba exclaimed.

“We wanted to see you miss Aoba,” Mio replied innocently.  Mio is the eldest out of the three and wears a pink and white top that fits loosely on her form and matching shorts, and she also has freckles and a band-aid on her forehead.  Her short brown hair is always decorated with pink pom poms and clips.

Aoba sweatdropped after being called ‘miss’ by Mio.

‘Sure what if I'm too small for my age of twenty-three and have a slender feminine build and have long hair,’ Aoba thought.

“I’m a male though,” Aoba corrected.

“Nope!”The two boys shouted at Aoba. “You’re a girl”.  The two boys have the same personality but have different clothing styles. As Kio is always wearing a light green and white sweater that's cut off below his chest to reveal a green striped shirt. To stay consistent with the rest of his colour scheme, his pants are also the same type of green shades as his undershirt, and his hair is always covered with a black hat that looks like a teddy bear ears.  While the other brother Nao is always wearing an oversized jacket with a mouse's face as his hoodie, and light brown shorts. His sleeves are always seen covering his hands and his short brown hair always looks scruffy.

Then the entrance to the shop opened and entered the owner and Aoba’s boss Haga.  The owner of the shop has brown hair but he covers it with a blue cap that has a symbol of the shop.  Haga’s clothing is mostly a cream coloured long sleeve shirt with the logo of his shop that is slightly covered by his light blue overall, and an overall that has a large black belt holding a large colourful fanny pack.

“Did we have any calls this morning Aoba?” Haga asked his employee.

“The same as always boss,” Aoba reported .

Haga then noticed the children and decided for his mental health ignored them and asked Aoba.

“Do you mind taking this package to the delivery works?”

“Sure I don’t mind.” Aoba replied

“After you have delivered the package you can go home.” Haga said .

After the Aoba just left the shop he heard Haga shout at the kids and looked like fire sprouting from the shop too, after Aoba muttered something about the kids not learning their lesson, he put on his pink headphones while trying not to catch his choker on his headphones, started to walk while listening to a song called ‘AI Catch’ by a band called GOATBED.

♪♫ ◟¶(⁄•˅̥•∖)⁋ ♪♬

As Aoba was walking to go to Delivery Works, a friend of his noticed him and walked up to Aoba and one of his hands went to on to the right side of the headphones and Aoba’s music stopped, which then caused Aoba to notice who stopped him from listening to his music.

“Hello, Koujaku.” Aoba greeted with great reluctance.

Koujaku is 6’1 and has navy coloured hair, with a thick fringe covering his right eye. And keeping the rest tied in a ponytail in his ponytail, he wears a hair accessory and bears a large black neck cover with a red tassel hanging off of it. He has a muscular build, his chest and abs visible through his bandages. He is currently wearing a flashy red kimono, designed with decorations such as blue leaves, blossoms and birds, along with a golden sash to hold it up. He also wore black armbands with sandals to match and white bracelets on each wrist. Underneath his kimono, he wears a pair of black jeans, the only modern piece of clothing that clashes with his traditional outfit. On his body, he wears a sarashi and other bandages around his forearms, calves and feet. Although for some reason he carries a large sword on his back.

“Hello, Aoba,” Koujaku greeted back “I see that you're going to Delivery Works?”

“Yeah, after I delivered this package, my boss said that I could finish early.” Aoba answered.

“Well be careful, Aoba a lot of bad things keep happening,” Koujaku warned.

Aoba then left after two young women flirted with Koujaku, which made Aoba very uncomfortable.

♪♫ ◟¶(⁄•˅̥•∖)⁋ ♪♬

After arriving at Delivery Works, Aoba is talking to the owner. The owner of Delivery Works is a woman named Yoshie, she is a very stout, older-looking woman. She has a fair skin complexion and wears glasses. Her hair is short and styled neatly with a yellow pin stuck to the side. She wore a white work undershirt with a light purple blouse over it and a long black skirt.

“Aoba, you didn’t get hurt on your way here?” Yoshie asked .

“No,” Aoba replied puzzled . “Why would I be?”

“Well, I heard strange rumours that a Rib-team that only criminals are walking around the streets,”Yoshie answered.

Aoba looked at Yoshie in shock and was about to say something until he heard a female squeal, Aoba looked around and saw that Clara, Yoshie’s all-mate, sat next to Ren, while poor Ren looked very uncomfortable.

Seeing that Ren looked uncomfortable, Aoba decided that it was time to leave until he was roped into trying Yoshie’s homemade cakes.  

♪♫ ◟¶(⁄•˅̥•∖)⁋ ♪♬

As Aoba and Ren left Delivery Works, both were grumbling about Yoshie and her all-mate.

Suddenly, a group of Ribsteez surrounded Aoba.

“I like your Brain Nuts Jacket miss,”One of the members with blond hair said. “Can I have it?”

“There’s one back at the station,” Aoba said in a very annoyed and sarcastic way.

Hearing that tone in Aoba’s voice, Ren growled in anger and called for one of Aoba’s friends (more like family).  As the gang members made fun of Aoba for not being in a rib-team and at the same time explaining their own team.

Then, out of the other end of the alleyway, came a young man.  The young man in question is wearing a red shirt and a studded leather jacket in red and black. Additionally, he is also wearing fingerless gloves that have small studs on the knuckles, a studded belt, black leather pants, and red shoes. As he moved closer, the boys that were surrounding Aoba could see a  teardrop tattoo, located underneath his left eye. He wore two black and red earrings on one side of his ear and also had a white symmetrical tattoo on his neck.

“Oh, my fucking god!”One of the gang members shouted. “It’s Mizuki.”

After a quick kick and a punch by Mizuki, the boys ran away with tails between their legs. Mizuki then gently took Aoba to his tattoo shop and bought him a soda, while Mizuki himself was drinking Sake.

“Aoba, why were you going home down that alleyway?”Mizuki asked with concern in his voice.

“.....”

“Aoba wanted to find a quicker way to get home, and that alleyway was the quickest way.”Ren explained .

“Aoba, you should by now, not to go into alleyways,” Mizuki lectured. “I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

Mizuki looked at his honorary little brother and remembered what he and Koujaku found when Aoba was only seventeen.

♪♫ ◟¶(⁄•˅̥•∖)⁋ ♪♬

A younger Koujaku and Mizuki are seen walking down together after helping an old lady with her bags and hair (Koujaku is a hairdresser).

“Thanks for the help Koujaku,” said a very grateful Mizuki.

“Your welcome.”

Until they spotted a teenager that looked like the age between sixteen and seventeen leaning against a wall with a very worried All-Mate on his lap, as the young adults walked towards the figure they noticed it was Aoba.

“Aoba!” Mizuki and Koujaku exclaimed as they tried to help Aoba until they noticed there was blood and semen coming out of his bum. As the boys helped Aoba, Ren explained to them that Aoba, was playing Rhyme and lost, and the winner raped him and called him his prize.

And ever since then, Koujaku, Mizuki and the rest of the adults including Ren treated Aoba like a fragile flower, which caused Aoba to be frustrated.

♪♫ ◟¶(⁄•˅̥•∖)⁋ ♪♬

After being lectured by Mizuki and told how Mizuki felt about rhyme being more popular then Ribsteez and meeting up with his two supposed fans, and at the same time running away from a crazy and corrupt policeman while all of that suffering from a really bad headache.  Aoba finally arrived home.  

Aoba’s house is a three bedroomed house. Downstairs there is a kitchen, lounge and a downstairs bedroom for Aoba’s grandmother.  Upstairs there are two bedrooms, one has a king size bed (which was for Aboa’s parents before they died) that is always empty and one with a single size bed and has computer on the floor, a jacket and a cap hanging on the door, there is also a door that leads out to the veranda where Kajoku smokes.

After a quick dinner with Tae and another lecture by Tae but this time about closing the front door, when he leaves for work.  

Aoba went to his bed and quickly fell asleep while dreaming about a certain someone giving him the choker that he wears every day (and never takes it off).

The next morning, Aoba was seen at a familiar house and was forced into a rhyme game, with some person that dressed up as a rabbit, after a few hits Aoba muttered something disturbing  that sounded like "destruction and death.”

[kanasmusings]

[Translation] ROCK DOWN Unit CD Vol. 1 Drama Track 1

Here’s the translation for ROCK DOWN’s first drama track~! A cute detail about this track is that they included Ayumu’s birthday tweets in the track! 

Credits to ryuukia for sharing with me her CD!  ※ Again, as per her request, please don’t ask her for the files ^^

Track 1: [新しい日常] “A New Daily Routine”

※ Please don’t re-post the English translations without permission.

Under the cut, enjoy~

Track 1: [新しい日常] “A New Daily Routine”

(footsteps and then a window opening)

SHOU: Oh~ This is such a wonderful cherry blossom [tree].

SHOU: Such a magnificent view.

SHOU: This might be a good beginning to our recent move-in.

SHOU: (chuckles) It’s spring, huh~ And also-- (Shou stretches) we have wonderful weather today~

SHOU: A cherry blossom in full bloom under the clear skies…

SHOU: What a wonderful day to start a new way of life~

SHOU: This is where it will begin… My—no, ROCK DOWN’s new days.

  ***

  (Haruto moving boxes around)

HARUTO: (sighs) At least, I’ve finished putting things in the bathroom and living room for now.

HARUTO: All that’s left is putting away these small decorations inside these boxes for later.

(Haruto arranges the boxes)

HARUTO: Alright, that’s done. Maybe I should put labels on them, too.

HARUTO: Hm? My pen’s not here. I’m sure it was in one of the small boxes but…

HARUTO: (Haruto continues to look) Now that you mention it, that box is not here… Where did it go?

HARUTO: Is it over here…? (Haruto rummages around) No? What about—(he continues to search) over here…?

HARUTO: Huh…?

(doorbell rings)

SHOU: (over the intercom) Haruto, are you there?

HARUTO: Hm? Shou?

(Haruto walks towards the door and opens it)

SHOU: Hello, good afternoon, Haruto. Are you doing well?

HARUTO: I’m doing great. I was just unpacking my luggage.

SHOU: Oh, what a coincidence~ I was doing the same, too.

HARUTO: I would figure. Since the truck this morning was carrying both our items.

SHOU: (chuckles) Well, I guess that’s true. About that, I was looking over the boxes and saw one of yours that got mixed in with mine.

SHOU: It’s this box. I saw the clean handwriting on it and I figured that it might be yours. Am I correct?

HARUTO: Ah, yes, that’s mine. So it got mixed in with yours, didn’t it? Thank you for bringing it. I was just in the middle of looking for it.

SHOU: My timing was good, wasn’t it~? Here you go. (Shou hands Haruto the box)

HARUTO: Thank you.

HARUTO: What about you? Are you progressing well [with the unpacking]?

SHOU: Yes, thanks to you~ I’ll be finished after I arrange some of the music scores in my room.

HARUTO: Heh~ How unexpected.

HARUTO: For some reason, you don’t give off the image of someone who’d unpack on his own.

SHOU: That’s because I’m elegant, is all. I don’t look like the type who’ll do manual labor?

HARUTO: Yes, do you get told that often?

SHOU: Unfortunately, yes.

SHOU: It seems like that image of me is pretty common.

SHOU: But in all honesty, as a performing musician, I’ve had the experience of performing from places to places including overseas so, I’m quite used to travelling.

SHOU: Plus, if I don’t have stamina then I won’t be able to do tours now, would I~?

HARUTO: Now that you mention it, that’s true. Ever since I met you, you’ve started to ask me to send you pictures of places whenever you go overseas.

SHOU: Yes, exactly~ You made it able for me to re-live Japan’s sceneries [when I was overseas]. (chuckles) How nostalgic, huh~?

HARUTO: Oh, that’s right. I think there’s some coffee and tea inside this box you brought.

HARUTO: How about drinking a cup as a breather since you’ve already started talking about nostalgic memories?

HARUTO: I mean, if you’re okay with instant coffee.

SHOU: (chuckles) It’s fine. You know it well, don’t you, Haruto? That my taste is positively common despite how I look~

SHOU: I quite like common things like instant noodles or anpan and milk from convenience stores.

HARUTO: In short, you’re someone who’s appearance doesn’t match his tastes, huh?

SHOU: Thank you for the compliment~ Then, I’ll gratefully accept yo— (loud crashing sounds interrupt Shou)

HARUTO/SHOU: Huh?

HARUTO: D-did you hear that just now…?

SHOU: That was quite an orchestra of sounds, wasn’t it?

SHOU: I thought that the dorms would be completely sound-proof.

HARUTO: Maybe they left the door open? It totally didn’t sound okay but… [do you think] it’s fine…?

SHOU: Oh, that’s right. Ruka and Gaku were supposed to be moving in today, too.

SHOU: That means the sound just now might have come from either one of their rooms, don’t you think?

SHOU: Haruto, have you met—

HARUTO: If they’re here then it would be our first meeting. We were supposed to all meet at the agency meeting tomorrow.

HARUTO: Well, it’s not gonna be funny if it was an accident so I’ll go check.

HARUTO: I’ll help them if needed after greeting them.

SHOU: Then, I’ll go with you. The tea party will have to wait~

HARUTO: Yeah.

  ***

  RUKA: Ow, ow-- That hurt…

GAKU: Hey, hey, hey. I thought I heard a loud crash but… Are you okay, Ruu?

RUKA: Do I look okay to you? This! In this disastrous scene!?

RUKA: Ah…! (whines) My special collection…!

GAKU: You mean, your can collection?

GAKU: Now that this toppling incident has happened, don’t you think you should throw the others?

RUKA: Hey, now! Gakkun, isn’t that rude?! What the heck are you saying in front of my collection-chan?!

GAKU: “Collection-chan,” you say… (chuckles) Ah, sorry ‘bout that.

GAKU: When did you gather this many? You were collecting beer cans with unusual designs, right?

RUKA: Yep~! Isn’t it awesome? Lately, even convenience stores have started stocking on different brands~ Now, I have so many!

RUKA: I have limited edition ones, too, y’know~?

RUKA: See? (he shows Gaku some cans) Like this, or this! The spring Cherry blossom version!

RUKA: Isn’t it pretty~?

RUKA: (sighs with satisfaction) I remember the taste of drinking this while watching the cherry blossoms~

GAKU: Instead of focusing on the flowers, you were more focused on the beer, huh?

GAKU: Anyway, Ruu, how about reminiscing after cleaning up? Your inflammable garbage is scattered around in the hallway, too, you know?

(Haruto and Shou arrive)

HARUTO: Is everything alright? Some trash have scattered around the hallway a--

RUKA: AH! It’s not garbage or trash! That’s my important collection-chan!

HARUTO: Collection…chan…?

SHOU:  I see. So, they’re valuable things, aren’t they?

RUKA: Eh…? Oh…!

GAKU: My, my.

SHOU: Good afternoon, Gaku, Ruka. We saw each other at the agency the other day, didn’t we?

SHOU: We heard a loud sound so we came to check. Is everything okay?

RUKA: (standing up) Shou-kun! You were moving in today, too~?

RUKA: Uwah~! You look so elegant as always~! It’s like roses are blooming behind you~!1

GAKU: I feel like I understand… yet at the same time, I don’t…

GAKU: Yo, Shou. Sorry for the sudden noises.

RUKA: It wasn’t planned, you know…?! The balancing was at fault! My collection-chan suddenly came down while I was arranging it, ‘kay?!

RUKA: I wish it had a barrier-free design.

HARUTO: Did you fall? Are you okay? Any injuries?

RUKA: Eh? Ah… Y-yeah, I’m fine! I managed to dodge at the last moment.

RUKA: My specialty on stage is balancing and keeping my ground, you see~?

GAKU: Liar. What are you trying to show off for? You were completely on your butt until a while ago.

RUKA: How about you keep quiet, Gakkun?

GAKU: Sure, sure.

GAKU: (to Haruto) Um, this is our first time meeting, right?

HARUTO: Yes, I’m one of ROCK DOWN’s members. I’m Kujikawa Haruto, 21 years old.

HARUTO: It’s nice to meet you.

GAKU: Yeah, nice to meet you.

GAKU: I’m Ooguro Gaku, 22 years old. Feel free to call me Ooguro, or Gaku, or Gakkun.

RUKA: Hi, hi~ Nice to meet you, too! I’m Nadumi Ruka.

RUKA: I’m Gakkun’s childhood friend so I’m 22 years old, too~! Nice to meet ya~

HARUTO: Yes, it is very nice to meet you. (Haruto bows)

GAKU/RUKA: (internally) He bowed a complete 90°…!

GAKU: E-er… Haruto-kun is—

HARUTO: Please, you can call me by name [without an honorific].

RUKA: Then, Haru-kun~

HARUTO: Oh, it’s a nickname. (in his usual stoic tone of voice) That makes me very happy.

GAKU/RUKA: A-ah…

RUKA: (to Gaku) H-he’s strangely honest, huh…?

RUKA: U-um… Are you a very formal person…?

HARUTO: I don’t think so. I think I’m pretty casual.

GAKU/RUKA: (internally) What part…?

GAKU: (clears throat) U-um… Well, at least we can understand that you’re a very “my pace” kind of guy.

RUKA: Y-yeah…~ You’re a “my pace warrior” An easy-going samurai, Kujikawa Haruto!

HARUTO: Samurai…? Samurai, was it?

SHOU: (chuckles) Samurai, huh? I feel like it’s quite accurate with your serious and unwavering personality.

SHOU: He might not look it but, he’s quite the talkative type. He’ll talk a lot once he gets used to you~

SHOU: I wish you’d get along well with him.

HARUTO: Yes, I think of myself as quite the friendly type.

GAKU: His looks and lines totally don’t match~

RUKA: (laughs) I like you, you’re interesting~! Haru-kun, you’ve got great character~!

RUKA: I like you~! Once again, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Haru-kun~

HARUTO: Yes, the pleasure’s all mine. So, about this garbage—

RUKA: I told you, it’s my collection-chan!

GAKU: No, no~ Looking at it, you can’t really argue, Ruu.

GAKU: Look at this one. (Gaku picks up a can) It’s so worn out that it’s obviously just trash.

RUKA: AAAHHH!! That was one of my favorites…! It’s the Black Cat one…! For real…?!

SHOU: By the way, I was trying not to ask but… This is a collection?

HARUTO: This is a beer can, isn’t it?

RUKA: Yeah~ If they have an unusual design, I collect them~!

RUKA: Though, I made a rule that it would only be cans that I bought and drank out of! Overtime, I gathered this much but—Now, they’re…!

RUKA: (cries)

HARUTO: My condolences.

GAKU: It feels depressing hearing Haruto say that.

  ***

  AYUMU: (sighs) So peaceful…

AYUMU: (he munches on something)

AYUMU: What a blissful time.

REIJI: Oh~ Isn’t that Ayumu? What a coincidence~ What are you doing all alone here?

AYUMU: Ugh…!

REIJI: You… I went out of my way to call out to you so what do you mean by “ugh”, huh?!

AYUMU: My bad. This is a totally unwanted chance meeting.

REIJI: You’re as frank as ever, you bastard.

AYUMU: Thank you for your praise.

AYUMU: And what about you, Amaha Reiji-san? Aren’t you a busy person?

AYUMU: Please don’t bother yourself with a bastard like me. Feel free to leave if you want to.

AYUMU: If we do meet again somewhere, please ignore me.

REIJI: You… Well, never mind. Today’s a special day.

(Reiji hands Ayumu something)

REIJI: Here, have this.

AYUMU: Th-this is…! The legendary daifuku that’s being sold at BStar! Only ten are sold each day…!

REIJI: You want it, right~? You love Japanese sweets, don’t you~?

AYUMU: Grr…! Did you come all the way here just to brag?!

REIJI: Just how bad of an image do I have in that head of yours?

REIJI: Here, I’ll give it to you.

AYUMU: Eh…?

REIJI: Birthday present. Congratulations, Ayumu-kun~

AYUMU: Ah… Amaha, you…  

AYUMU: I thought you were just a flashy, overconfident, and overbearing guy but…

AYUMU: I re-evaluated my thoughts of you by 1mm. By the way, the current level of my feelings is -2km before it reaches [Normal].

REIJI: Isn’t that still too far away even for normal?!

AYUMU: Well… if you’re going to offer then… I’ll accept it…

AYUMU: That is because today is my birthday! I have the right to accept birthday presents.

AYUMU: Plus, it’s not good to let food go to waste. That’s right, isn’t it?

REIJI: Yeah, yeah, you’re absolutely correct. I get it.

REIJI: Well, just accept it after you’re done citing your reasons [on why you should accept it]. But if you don’t need it then I’ll—

AYUMU: I’ll take it! I’ll gladly accept it!

AYUMU: Thank you very much!

REIJI: (chuckles) Ayumu, you… You really love Japanese sweets, huh~

  ***

 AYUMU: (sighs) Eating taiyaki and daifuku under the cherry blossom trees is definitely something special.

REIJI: (chuckles) I was surprised when you brought out another taiyaki after finishing one. And then you went ahead and ate the daifuku, too.

REIJI: You sure can eat a lot of sweet stuff, huh?

AYUMU: I can’t help it. I had filming since this morning and I only managed to get a break a little while ago.

REIJI: Well, thanks for your hard work.

REIJI: Anyway, don’t just start saying “ugh” as a reflex when meeting with someone.

REIJI: I told you that during a T.V. recording, too, didn’t I?

AYUMU: It was unconscious. Now that you mention it… You’re right.

AYUMU: Sorry, I guess it was an involuntary reflex or a natural phenomenon something.

REIJI: (chuckles) Involuntary reflex and natural phenomenon, huh…

REIJI: Guess I’ll have to get used to it. Soon enough, I’ll be seeing you every day even if I don’t want to.

AYUMU: Hm?

REIJI: Hm?

AYUMU: Hm?

REIJI: Hm?

AYUMU: What… did you just say…?

REIJI: What…?

REIJI: The part where I said, “I’ll be seeing you every day even if I don’t want to…?”

AYUMU: Hah?!

REIJI: Eh… wai— Don’t tell me… You didn’t… hear anything about it… or…?

AYUMU: What are you… talking about…?

REIJI: The VAZZROCK Project… You’re participating in that, right…?

AYUMU: Hm? Oh, that. I remember arranging it so with my manager.

AYUMU: It’s different from other projects I’ve been in so it’s going to be a step-up for my career—

REIJI: RIGHT! I see…! A-ah, you sure think ahead, huh.

REIJI: I don’t really think there’s a problem with that but…

AYUMU: What is it that you really want to say?

REIJI: The 12 members of the project will be divided into two units with 6 members each and… You know that much, right?

REIJI: One is VAZZY and their leader is Takaaki. Then, the unit that you’re part of is ROCK DOWN, lead by the world-famous violinist, Shou.

AYUMU: Of course, I know that. But, that info’s not officially announced yet…

AYUMU: You sure do know a lot about it, huh?

REIJI: Of course I would. I’m a member, too, after all.

AYUMU: I see. Then that would explain how you know— Hm?

REIJI: (scoffs) That’s how it is~

AYUMU: (gasps) Y-you…! You’re a member…?

REIJI: Yep, that’s right.

AYUMU: Don’t tell me… Your unit is…

REIJI: The same as yours, ROCK DOWN.

REIJI: I’ll be in your care, Ayumu-kun~

AYUMU: A-ah…

  ==END==

  ※ Please don’t re-post the English translations without permission.

 ※ If you like this, please consider buying me a coffee here. It’ll really help me out a lot. (o^▽^o) Thank you!!

[whatsinyourstory]

Instructions to Utilize Used Books for Stylistic theme

One of the best ways of growing your adorning supply assortment is to buy used books online. A pile of flawless collectible books gives classic appeal and character to your home.

The quantity of improving elements that can be utilized in a house is almost boundless. Everything relies on our creative mind and the wellsprings of motivation we look for. In this model, we'll check out at certain thoughts for utilizing old books to improve our home. In spite of the way that we live in a cutting edge home, these collectible books might give any region a one of a kind and heartfelt feel.

What to Consider While Choosing Old Books for Stylistic theme

Variety Plan

While purchasing second hand books online, remember your variety range. This holds your style in line. Additionally get occasion tones for entertainment only occasion style!

Size

Purchase various sizes. Who knows whether you want to fill an immense rack, little spot or simply need a few pretty books to stack stylistic layout with.

Sets

 Offer it a chance to purchase sets of books, it fabricates your rare "library" rapidly and sets can continuously utilized together or fallen to pieces, however you ought to just purchase total sets!

The insides

We ought to periodically buy used books for the representations inside. Consider reusing the pages of an old book loaded with photos and prints as wall banners, work of art, or an imaginative medium in the event that you coincidentally find one. To destroy the book, you can continuously copy the pages. For the pages, we need to often buy old hymn books, music books, Books of scriptures, and instructive books.

Theme

We as a whole struggle with regards to a rare book about a subject, we are energetic about. This is a marvelous, relaxed strategy to infuse your character into your home's stylistic layout. In the event that you have a specialist or bookkeeper in your family, one of a kind designing and bookkeeping books can be both lovely and a recognition for the one you revere!

Brightening With Used Books

Used books can make an incredible wall design, or at any rate a genuinely remarkable one. These books can be fastened to the wall where the top meets the wall, permitting the leaves to be seen uninhibitedly. We can see a few open books in these motivations that have been decorated with gems and different accents. Then again, distributions have been remembered for which a tricycle has been brightened in an exceptionally creative way.

Archaic exploration of used books

You'll see a great exhibit of curves in homes, book shops, and libraries in the event that you look for #BookArch on Instagram. They're perfect for outlining chimneys, roundabout entryways, and adding character to a wall.

Book curves are popular for weddings, as per Julie James, a flower craftsman and wedding creator in the Pittsburgh region. They're particularly well known among English majors and instructors. James bought a used book curve comprising of two long segments of bowing steel for an image meeting (rebar). Two openings were bored in different hardbacks and soft cover books, which were then strung onto the curves, which were then fixed onto solid bases.

As per James, books play various jobs at weddings. "I've hung book pages from trees and put book pages on tables underneath blossoms and greenery," she says. Little piles of rare books with a candle or minuscule jar of blossoms on top are a famous focal point.

With Books on the Headboard of the Bed

This is a phenomenal idea. We've seen a ton of remarkable bed headboards since they might be made in different strategies, from beds to textures. Nonetheless, this headboard is exceptional in that great for people appreciate perusing. Books that grip to a wall or a design and open are used. Subsequently, a whole headboard is framed that is both alarming and special.

Spines that are colored

The shade of the colored page tops can be utilized to arrange books by variety. As per Nancy Martin, owner of Many years of Classic, which sells old books arranged by variety as well as interesting collectible books, blue and green are the most favored page-top tones. Distributer's stain, a specialized term for stained page tops, was put to the page edges of a few notable books to safeguard them from residue and foulness later on. Martin makes sense of, "It was a modest method for making things look fancier and gave a progression of books an upper hand."

Since 1950s book series like the Bobbsey Twins, Nancy Drew, and Tom Quick had hued tops, she notes, racking used books with the page finishes appearing out is well known for nurseries and kids' rooms. "In some cases people might put a couple with the spines out and afterward a couple of level the other way," Martin makes sense of.

Books that are novel

We are practically before certain masterpieces in this situation. These used books have been cut into wonderful things. From one viewpoint, they've removed circles and appended them to ropes so they hang from the book like pages stripping off, and on the other, they've made butterflies out of leaves that appear as though they came from the book. It's a difficult task in the two conditions, and just individuals who know how to make genuine specialties ought to endeavor it.

Stacking of Used Books

Stacking used books can be a wreck or can be utilized for enrichment in the event that we know where to put everything. These books can be set in a particular region and make them interest subtleties added to them so they don't give off an impression of being neglected. We can see how those old trade-in books contain wooden letters or glass containers for this situation. Assuming we have any old things, they will without a doubt be the ideal last little detail for this room.

Used Books for the foot stool

In the distributing and stylistic layout universes, the huge, photography-weighty used books stacked on numerous a foot stool have their own class: "end table books."

These booklets much of the time incorporate data about the prisoners of an office. These used books could be utilized to offer a political expression or uncover data about the proprietors' movements.

Sandra Cavallo, a Cape Cod creator, pivots the books on her foot stool in her West Falmouth shingle-style home to mirror the seasons. Assuming she has a short-term guest, she might pick books in view of their inclinations. She heaps volumes and carefully organizes assortments around them, considering simple admittance to the books. Cavallo makes sense of, "Collection books by variety and size assists my game plan with showing up spotless and straightforward," however "blending strong, vivacious tones and different sizes might be an incredible plan explanation."

Racks overflowing with used books

In certain areas, old used books can be utilized to enrich. They concentrate on the mantles of smokestacks. Different things, like glass jars, may be included with everything else. To go with these old books, quite often pick subtleties with a heartfelt vibe.

At weddings, books are utilized to beautify.

Rare things are oftentimes utilized as embellishments during occasions like weddings. This happens because of their unmatched passionate touch. Subsequently, antiquated used books of different sorts have for some time been utilized to add mood to weddings. They are utilized as blossom focus upholds or as an expansion to flower focuses. We additionally see interesting ideas like books hung close by candles and glass containers.

Upheld by Books

Old books can be stacked all alone or utilized as a help for different undertakings. One of them is an exceptional modern light made of metal that differentiations with the books. In the event that appropriately heaped, these extraordinary used books can likewise act as a bedside table, adding a bohemian and exceptional touch. In fact, we notice a very much caused table on which the books to have in all probability been caught set up so they don't continue on a straightforward wheeled stand.

Tables with Used Books

Putting these books on tables as an enhancement is a straightforward method for utilizing them. Regardless of the way that perusing is agreeable, many houses treat books as a reconsideration. They can be placed on a foot stool, an office table, or lounge racks, with open spaces among them and different highlights, for example, containers or pictures to separate the dullness of books.

Used Books and Blossoms

Used books and blossoms may be a decent expansion to the set. Sentimentalism is guaranteed with regards to assembling these two components. Burlap texture, trim, or a rarity string may be utilized to wrap or join the books. Roses or a bouquet are added to these books. Indeed, even a glass jar with blossoms, for example, roses, looks decent close to it. These parts, which range from tables to endlessly retires, are appropriate for each room.

So what are your waiting for? Buy second hand books online from best second hand bookstore and decorate your place!

[nulltune]

let's 👏 pretend 👏 lynn 👏 answered 👏 this 👏 on 👏 valentine's 👏 day

@artisticichor sent:    He didn't want to do this, or rather, he didn't want to be seen doing this, but before he could actually start regretting his poor life choices, it was already too late for him-- Hakuno (or how he tends to refer to her as 'the gorilla') was now standing right in front of him, thus he had no other choice but to give her the bouquet of chocolate roses he had bought her (he opted for chocolate roses because he knew how gluttonous his gorilla was) "----Hurry! Take it! I've been carrying these dumb flowers and this canvas around like a fool and it's killing my arms...!" Ah right, Edgar Valden was a rather extravagant person, and as a painter, of course he had to also give her a huge canvas as well- "If you don't like it, which I hardly doubt of course, you can sell it and get money to buy yourself a better wardrobe or something-" (HAPPYLATEVALENTINES)

⠀⠀⠀❝⠀ . . . ! ⠀❞      it's an image that startles her :    the esteemed edgar valden struggling carrying a rather plentiful amount of gifts,    that alone was enough to raise her brows,    head soon canting with a slight curiosity.    hakuno's expression still remains that seemingly never - changing stoic,‎ ‎ ‎ however,    until edgar barks at her asks of her to take the items   ——   why ?

          maybe he could even picture the question marks floating above her head,    despite her constant and very inexpressive face.    though she is yet to fully grasp the situation,    already her body moves as she asked of,    accepting the chocolate bouquet and canvas quite easily;    which   —   could have possibly wounded edgar's pride a little,    seeing how she'd so easily done a task that had so taxing to him   (  though it may have a different kind of effect, ‎ ‎ ending up as more fuel to the fire of this gorilla - hakuno mindset he seemed to have   ..   ah.‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ maybe she'd get an edgar - esque comment about how this strength of hers was expected of a gorilla ‎ —-  )  .    hazel gaze settles on the items now held in her hand,   before shifting back to the painter.    just as a question as to just what he wants her to do with these was about to leave her,    she finds her question indirectly answered by his   —-   very indirect way of telling her that he'd gotten these for her.      ❝⠀ o - oh. ⠀❞      and that,    to her is even more surprising.    the prospect of anyone gifting her something is one that she already finds   . . .   surprising,    to say the least.    so the prospect of valden - sensei gifting her something ?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ . . .   for one thing, the joy that accompanied is in a far greater quantity as well.

          had this been a typical bouquet of blossoming flowers,    she'd have lifted them up to her flushing face already;    soft pink naturally blending into the flora.    that doesn't sound like something she could achieve with these cocoa browns,    however,    though the very presence of these chocolate flowers were proof of how much thought went to the gift.    it's easy to picture the doll - like hakuno kishinami decorated with a bouquet of flowers,    she certainly held a fondness for the blooms as well,    but those who know of her would know of her sweet tooth;    a quality not many would've expected from the regal display she'd seemed to exude.   

         ——   and that image is broken with a giggle slipping through pink lips,    with her hands occupied,    hakuno has no means to muffle her laughter.    not that she'd intended to so in the first place.      ❝⠀ no,    i wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. ⠀❞⠀⠀⠀emphasizing that point,    she tightens her hold on them,    bringing them closer to her person   —   well,    an attempt was made,    at least.    one might even describe it as a very childish sort of attempt at that,    and truth be told,    even her gorilla arms were starting to ache from holding the items.    even so,    hakuno has no intentions of on letting them go anytime soon   (  rather,    she feels the need to keep holding and looking at these gifts !  )  .    yeah,    that definitely is a very childish line of thinking.    but what is that if not proof of how deeply she cherished these gifts from him ?      ❝⠀ . ‎‎. ‎. thank you,    valden - sensei  ..  ! ⠀❞