#do i go back home and say goodbye to this life i’ve fought tooth and nail for to keep my brothers in my care or

[qprpbj]

oh thank god ppl aren’t crucifying me for saying i like it better that darry dropped out of school over just not going at all i feel so vindicated. i think it makes sm more sense for his character and—-

[misteria247]

You stood in front of the mirror, the image of the home you left behind shimmering in its reflection. You couldn't help but smile as you saw the familiar house with your loved ones looking the same as you'd left it. Standing behind you was all of Night Raven College's students who were bidding you a goodbye. You turned towards them and quickly hugged those who were willing to give you actual physical affection while giving those who wouldn't allow it smiles and tearful goodbyes. As you made your way through all the friends you'd made and fought the tears the entire time you finally turned towards the one who you'd miss the most.

Malleus Draconia, the most powerful fae and mage to attend this school. Also known as the man who captured your heart.

Malleus stood before you, his gaze unreadable as he stared you down. You felt your heart burn slightly at his gaze before your eyes began to burn with tears. Without thinking about it you flung yourself at him and hugged him tightly. Malleus stumbled a bit from the sudden gesture before returning it, wrapping his arms around you tightly.

"I'm going to miss you Tsunotarou....."

You said in a somewhat broken tone. Malleus squeezed you tightly, his own eyes starting to get misty.

"I'll miss you too Beastie...."

He said softly, his usually smooth tone breaking a bit due to the conflicting emotions he was feeling. Ever since Malleus had met you, you'd brought his world to life. You made his heart race and made him smile. You brightened up his dull world so much and now that you were going home it was killing him. The dragon fae knew that you had to go home. You didn't belong in this world filled with danger and magic. But a another part of him, a more selfish part wanted to keep you here with him. He loved you more than anything in this world and any other world if he was being honest with himself.

"You won't forget me right child of man.....?"

Malleus asked you softly. You quickly shook your head and looked up at him, your tears flowing down your cheeks.

"Never. I'll never forget you, I couldn't because.....because I-"

You started to say only to be cut off by a gentle kiss to your forehead. Malleus gave you a small heartbroken smile.

"I know.....as do I......."

He said softly. You sucked in a sharp breath and with a shaking hand pulled him down to kiss his cheek. Malleus closed his eyes as your lips touched his cheek.

'This is the last time I'll ever receive your kisses.....'

Malleus swallowed the lump that threatened to consume his throat and with a small hesitance he finally let you go. You stepped back from him and wiped your eyes before giving him a shaky watery smile. With one last tearful wave towards him and the others that you held dear you stepped through the mirror and disappeared in a bright light. Once it was dim again the mirror went silent, leaving Malleus with a hallowed feeling in his chest. The fae turned on his heel and walked away from the Chamber of Mirrors, refusing to break in front of his classmates and his dormitory. He was never going to see you again and it destroyed him.

'Goodbye (Y/N).......I'll always love you.....'

With that last thought Malleus disappeared from the school to grieve in peace of the one who got away.

~~~~~

Six years later.

The house was quiet that morning. You slept peacefully in your bed, unaware of your surroundings. Your bedroom door creaked open softly, the tiny sound of pitter patting footsteps made their way towards your bed. You felt the covers move and felt a small body cuddle up next to you.

"Mama......"

A small voice whispered. You let out a small sleepy sigh and opened your eyes. A small smile came upon your face as a pair of bright green eyes met your sleepy gaze. Laying next to you was a little boy no more than six years old.

"What time is it....?"

You mumbled stretching a bit as you forced yourself up, the small boy sitting up as well.

"8AM. Mama we've gotta get up, we're going to go see grandma today."

The boy said with a small pout. You gave a chuckle and pulled the boy into a tight hug making him huff.

"I'm up, I'm up. Go get dressed and then I'll meet you in the kitchen alright little one?"

You asked in a somewhat cooing way. The boy blushed lightly before nodding and giving you a somewhat shy smile.

"Okay Mama."

He said before sliding out of your bed and running out of your room to go get ready for the day. You sat where you were, more awake now as you watched your son leave.

"He looks so much like him....."

You muttered softly, a small pang going through your heart. With a tired sigh you slide out of your bed and began to get ready for the day yourself. It'd become routine now, to have your son be up before you and waking you up. Not that you'd trade it for anything in the world. With a small smile you finished getting ready and went to the kitchen to start breakfast for the two of you. Once there you got out the eggs and bacon and began to cook, humming softly to yourself. You felt yourself break out into a smile as the sound of running footsteps came into the kitchen.

"I'm ready Mama! What's for breakfast?"

Your son said. You turned around and took a good look at your son. Big green eyes surround by (H/C) strands of hair covered his pale face. Two small horns stuck out from his forehead, no longer covered by the bangs he usually had. An adorable fang toothed smile beamed up at you. His outfit was simple, a pair of pants and a t-shirt with his light up sneakers on his feet. You smiled a soft motherly smile.

"It's bacon and eggs for breakfast today Elliott. Now go set the table for Mama okay?"

You said as you turned your attention back to the eggs. Your son, Elliott beamed even more and went to go set the table. You gave a small giggle as you watched him from the corner of your eyes grab the plates from the counter and began doing his task. Elliott set up the two plates and got the forks and cups while you cooked. You again felt your heart twist at seeing the two plates.

'There should be three....'

Your mind whispered in a broken way. You shoved the thought down and continued to do your job. You couldn't focus on the past anymore, it's been six years since you've seen him. Six years since you've had Elliott and six years since you've accepted the fact that you'd never see him again. You were broken out of your mental pep talk when you smelled smoke and heard Elliott let out a small "Oops." Quickly turning you saw that part of the table cloth was on fire, bright green flames flickering. You reacted quickly rushing towards the sink to get a cup of water and tossed it onto the flames, grabbing Elliott with your free hand. The small boy looked incredibly upset with himself.

"I'm sorry Mama I didn't mean to..."

He started to say before you shushed him gently.

"It's alright sweetheart it was an accident. Now no need to be upset I'm not mad."

You cooed softly as you held Elliott close to you. It wasn't easy raising Elliott especially when he could do magic and you were a non magical being. But you didn't mind too much, they were usually small little things like this that occurred and with each passing day he got a little bit better at controlling his flames. Breakfast passed by after that without too much of a hitch. The two of you ate and got ready for the visit with your mother. Making sure you grabbed your keys, bag and cellphone you grabbed Elliott's hand and led him to the car and buckled him into his booster seat. Once he was secured you shut his door and got into the car, starting it up and making the journey towards grandma's house. Elliott sat in the backseat, playing with his shoe strings.

It wasn't easy being a single parent to a child like Elliott, especially with his magical capabilities. But seeing your son sitting in the back of your car peacefully playing with his shoe strings made your heart swell with love and affection.

'If only your father could see you now Elliott.....'

You mused in a bittersweet way. You knew that Elliott's father would never be able to see him. After all......

He wasn't from your world.

But Elliott didn't need to know that.

*I have no clue where this came from it was literally just a small thought and then bam I ended up with this. Honestly I just kinda rolled with it and now I've got a new kid whoop. Context for this. The reader was 18 when she was with Malleus and when she returned to her world which makes her about 24 years old (I think I don't know I'm not good with math don't judge me sgsgsgfh). Elliott's father.....you probably figured it out lmfao. But anyways I honestly don't know if I'll continue this or if it'll remain a oneshot who knows. Anyways if any y'all read this I hope you enjoyed it!!*

[goldentournesol]

Mon Cher

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

Part 2 of Mon Lapin

The one where Spencer and Reader finally go on a date after pining over each other for too long. (Reader owns a French bakery)

Length: 2.6k

A/N: tooth-rotting, cheesy FLUFF! thank you to everyone who requested a part 2, i wasn’t going to write it but y’all--i think this might be my favorite thing that i’ve written so far!

masterlist

Spencer knew that across many cultures, pink lilies represented love, admiration, and compassion. All things he wished to convey to Y/N, so it really wasn’t difficult to pick a bouquet of pink lilies for her. His heart thumped against his ribcage as he neared the bakery where he told her he’d meet her. He hoped he wasn’t too forward with her yesterday, but he was getting antsy. Despite seeing her a couple times a week when he was in town, it was never enough just to chat casually. He wanted to lose himself in conversations with her. With all his ambition for knowledge, he couldn’t think of a subject he wished to memorize more than everything she is. 

He cleared his throat and made sure his tie was as straight as it possibly could be before pushing the glass door of her bakery, the chime of the small bell reaching the corners of the store. His eyes swept across the familiar scenery, but she wasn’t there. He approached the counter nervously.

“Hey, Marissa. Is Y/N here yet?” He asked her coworker and she beamed upon seeing him.

“Hey! She should be here any minute. I kind of forced her to go home to get ready and all, it’s really hard getting her out of the bakery!” She laughed and Spencer nodded, smiling, grateful for the extra minutes he needed to compose himself. 

He found Y/N’s dedication to her job endearing. He glanced down at the bouquet and adjusted the flowers in an attempt to find something to do with his hands instead of tapping nervously against the counter. Why was he so nervous? She wouldn’t have agreed to the date if she wasn’t interested. Well, then again, he didn’t really give her an option. Was that the wrong decision? 

Just before he could spiral into his thoughts any deeper, the bell chimed again, causing him to turn to face the door. The air evaded his lungs as soon as his eyes settled on her, an occurrence Spencer didn’t think happened in real life. He’s read about it, sure, but he never thought he’d ever experience it. She strolled in, a dark emerald dress flowing with her movement. Spencer had to remind himself what the function of the respiratory system was when she approached him. 

“Spencer?” She spoke softly, realizing that he hadn’t said anything. He blinked, snapping out of his daze with a prominent blush. 

“Y-yes. Hi, sorry, um,” he paused, a bashful, sheepish grin overtaking his face, “you look beautiful, Y/N.” She mirrored his smile, cheeks reddening as she glanced at the bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Merci, mon lapin. [my bunny] You look just as dashing as ever. I see you remembered the lilies.” She sent him a sly smile. He had forgotten about the bouquet in his hand under her intense gaze. He nodded, his arm extending the flowers to her. She graciously accepted them and immediately buried her nose in the center of the bouquet, emerging with a smile that could make Spencer’s knees buckle if he wasn’t careful.

“They’re beautiful, thank you. Give me one moment.” She scurried off into the kitchen of the bakery and returned with the largest cup she could find. She settled the flowers in their new home before picking one out of the bunch and securing it to one of the bobby pins near her left ear. Spencer was positive he resembled a love-sick puppy as he took in the sight. Marissa was pretending to wipe down a table in the background, but really she was fawning over the two lovebirds. 

“Shall we?” Spencer managed to speak, gesturing towards the door. 

He tried to contain his grin as he stared at her ethereality. She smiled up at him and nodded, taking one last look at Marissa before she left. Her coworker sent her a teasing look and waved goodbye. Spencer offered his arm to Y/N as they stepped into the chilly air. She gladly took it and beamed up at him. He tried not to focus on the way his arm felt tingly with hers around it.

“I’m so glad we’re finally doing this, Spencer.” She spoke and he nodded.

“Me too, Y/N. So, I wasn’t sure what you liked so I settled for a reservation at an Italian restaurant. Would that be okay?” He tried to swallow his nerves.

“Yeah, that’s perfect!” It didn’t really matter, she knew she’d go wherever this man asked her to go. 

The nervous energy in the air was lighthearted and it made her feel like she was a teenager going on a date for the first time again. They caught each other up on their lives as they walked. Both of Y/N’s hands ended up around Spencer’s arm and he found himself relishing in her warm touch as well as every little squeeze she gave when she got excited about something she was saying. He wanted to pay attention to the direction they were walking in, but it was too damn hard with the way the lamp lights reflected in her irises. He’d almost walked right past the restaurant.

“Oh, we’re here.” He laughed lightly, leading her to the entrance and they were seated immediately.

Dinner went smoothly. She’d known that he was an interesting man, but he made it so easy for her to get lost in him, what he was saying, his eyes- oh man, those eyes. She knew all about eyes being the windows to the soul, but she didn’t know how one man’s eyes could possibly convey so much emotion. She watched him talk about his work family and his real family, although not in great detail. They were so captivated by each other, the waiters had to make noises with either their throats or mouths to get their attention.

Once they were out of the restaurant, they continued walking down the same street, still deep in conversation about a topic probably wouldn’t interest anyone else. Spencer hadn’t really planned the night out, he didn’t know what exactly she would like, so he decided he’d let the leaves fall where they may. All he did know was when she giggled, his heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, they stopped in their tracks and she let out a loud gasp.

“Oh! You know what I just remembered?” Spencer stared at her curiously, “There’s a tiny theater up ahead that plays some really cool foreign films, you probably know about it. I know the owner, she texts me whenever they add a French movie. Tonight they’re playing one of my favorites, Les Parapluies de Cherbourg! [The Umbrellas of Cherbourg] Oh, you would love it! Would you like to go? It’s totally fine if you have something else planned, though.” Spencer grinned at her excited nature and nodded eagerly.

“Are you kidding? I always have to beg my friends to come see foreign films with me, I’d love to go.” Spencer couldn’t believe this was happening. They arrived at the theater soon and she was disheartened to hear that they didn’t have subtitles for the movie.

“It’s okay! I don’t mind if there aren’t any subtitles.” Spencer said once he saw the smile dissipate from her face. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her that he’d already seen the movie before anyway. The gleam in her eye was much too precious when she spoke of the film.

“Are you sure? I can probably whisper-translate to you, uh, i-if you’d like.” She stated somewhat shyly, a blush creeping up to her cheeks.

“I’d like that.” Spencer smiled as he realized that the roles were usually reversed and he’d usually be the one whisper-translating a movie to someone.

And so they sat in the small theater, arms tangled in each other over the arm of the chair between them. She had one hand on his bicep as he leaned the top half of his body closer to her. They were probably sitting closer than they normally would have sat, but she used the excuse of whisper-translating to her advantage. She felt a strand of his caramel hair tickle the tip of her nose as her lips whispered in his ear. Spencer fought to regulate his breathing every time she came near. He was glad he’d seen the movie before because he was sure that if this had been his first time seeing it, he’d have absolutely no clue what was going on. She also fought to resist the urge to press her lips to his clean shaven jaw--and basically everywhere else. 

The movie ended before they knew it and they could finally see each other in the gentle light of the theater. Spencer turned his face to send her a grateful smile just to find her face inches away from his. His eyes involuntarily flickered down to her lips. The same lips that were by his ear a few moments ago. She smiled back softly and they enjoyed the closeness for a short moment before Spencer shyly broke eye contact. They broke apart, both blushing from head to toe. Both far too shy to initiate anything. He cleared his throat before standing from his seat. Y/N followed him out of the theater.

“So, did you like it?” She asked as they stepped out, noticing that the streets were a lot darker and quieter than they had been prior to entering. It must have been late. 

“Yeah, I loved it.” Spencer said, almost breathlessly, but he wasn’t talking about the movie, of course. She grinned with triumph and courageously slipped her hand into his as they walked back in the direction they came from. He took it one step further and laced their fingers together. She swooned over his smile. 

An aggressive gust of wind suddenly washed over the two of them on the sidewalk, which made them instinctively close their eyes to brace themselves against the dust in the air. She only opened her eyes as she felt the lily in her hair slip out of its secure place from in between the prongs of the bobby pin.

“No!” She gasped and Spencer quickly -and ungracefully- leapt to catch it before it flew too far. She laughed as he turned to face her with a pleasantly surprised expression, almost in disbelief that he actually caught it. He approached her again and gently returned the lily to its rightful spot just above her ear. He moved a stray strand from her face and she gazed up at him with a certain type of adoration. His hands moved to cup the plumpness of her cheeks as they relished in each other's tender gazes. She let her hands rest right under his ribs and pulled him impossibly closer.

“You are so beautiful.” He whispered, his breath washing over her face. He felt the skin under his fingertips warm up.

“Merci, mon cher.” [my dear] She whispered back, a definite level-up from mon lapin. That he did know the meaning of.

Spencer grinned slightly before finally leaning down to close the gap between both their lips. It was gentle and sweet, neither of them rushing it. To many onlookers, they were just a young couple sharing a kiss on the sidewalk in the middle of the night. To them, it was a silent declaration. A statement that conveyed more emotion than any of the thousands of words that existed in all the languages they spoke between them could. Y/N found herself following through after Spencer reluctantly pulled away for air. She stopped herself, blushing profusely at her involuntary movements. He only grinned wider in response before stepping back and grabbing her hand again.

“Let me walk you home.” He told her as they began walking again.

“Actually...the night doesn’t have to end yet, if you don’t want it to, I mean.” She smiled up at him.

“I don’t want it to, what do you have in mind? Everything’s closed down.” Spencer pointed out.

“Um, I might know a place.” She said in a teasing manner with a slight smirk, “The owner and I go way back.” She giggled.

“Oh really now?” Spencer played along, laughing.

“Mhm, we’re practically like this.” She laughed as she crossed one finger over the other on her free hand to represent a bond.

She unlocked the door to her bakery and pulled him in, closing the door again behind him. Before Spencer could even register what was happening, she had grabbed a hold on his tie to gently guide his face back to hers and enveloping his lips with her own. Spencer responded immediately by wrapping both arms around her waist securely. The kiss was significantly more passionate than the first, but just as sweet. She pulled apart first and bit her lip sheepishly.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it.” She admitted and Spencer stood in a daze. 

She giggled and moved away to turn the lights on, but only some. The soft light illuminated the empty bakery and he realized then just how beautiful the place really was. Or maybe he thought everything would look ten times more beautiful after a kiss like the one he’d just received. The thought had extended to her, of course. Spencer didn’t think it was possible that she could look any more beautiful. But there she was, in all her glory, proving him wrong as each second passes.

“Come with me, I have something to show you.” She hooked her pointer finger around his and dragged him to the kitchen. He was in awe as he took in the sight of all of the kitchen appliances. It wasn’t a large kitchen, but it was oddly spacious and organized. 

She smiled wide at his reaction, “This is quite literally where the magic happens. Ooo! Come look, I made these right before I left, Marissa must have taken them out of the oven before she locked up. They’re for tomorrow.” She pulled him to a tall bakery rack and he spotted his favorite treat, pain au chocolat. She took one off the tray and gave it to him. It was still warm on the bottom. He couldn’t hold his excited grin back as he took a hefty bite out of it. She giggled as she watched him close his eyes dramatically.

“I’m truly at a loss for words, Y/N. They’re so good. How do you get them right every time?” He asked with fascination and she propped herself on the counter of the kitchen, taking one for herself.

“Well, it took time and effort to perfect the recipe, Dr. Reid.” She giggled, biting into it. “I can show you how to make them one day. Maybe our next date?” She looked at him hopefully and he nodded eagerly.

“Yes! You can finally show me how to make pain au chocolat.” He tried to imitate her accent, he really tried. She burst out laughing at his cuteness.

“Pain au cho-co-lat.” She emphasized, separating the syllables.

“That’s what I said! Pain au chocolat!” He laughed, although the pronunciation was still slightly off.

“Alright, close enough.” She giggled again as she pulled him closer, locking her legs at the ankle behind his waist. They’d have plenty of time to perfect his accent later.

“Embrasse-moi, mon cher.” [Kiss me, my dear] She whispered. 

Right then, he thanked himself for having the foresight to brush up on the language enough to do exactly what she asked. 

Half-eaten pains au chocolat were long forgotten.

Mon Lapin (part 1)

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Wedding Fluff

A/N: Got this request a while back and Tumblr was giving me a hard time with this. I’m so sorry for the delay anon! I’ve tweaked it a bit here and there. Hope you like it :)

Pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader

Word count: 1730

Warnings: 18+ stuff, NSFW, Tooth-rotting fluff and SMUT!!

…

Butterflies. You felt a thousand butterflies in your belly as you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your dress for the hundredth time. Never in your wildest dreams had you thought about this day, and yet it was all a reality now.

It was almost time!

“You look lovely, Lady (Y/L/N).” you turned to see your maid of honour Lady Sif, emerging from her changing room to yours, carrying a bridal bouquet in hand. She walked behind you and fixed your veil while giving you a reassuring smile.

Exhaling a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, you smiled back and thanked her. She was describing Asgardian wedding traditions to you, to which you were half paying attention; most of your thoughts taken up by the fact that you were about to walk down the aisle in front of hundreds of people, to be married to the love of your life.

There was a loud knock on the door and your heart almost jumped out of your ribcage. Lady Sif went to answer it and kept whispering furiously to the person on the other side. You caught a ‘you cannot be here’ before the door was pushed wide open revealing the visitor.

Thor walked in leaving Lady Sif huffing as she closed the door behind her. He spotted you and he stopped in his tracks. Eyes roamed every inch of you as he stalked closer and closer, a look of wonder, love and disbelief donning his face.

“You’re not supposed to be in here Thor.” You adjusted your posture and turned to face the mirror once again, though you were blushing a little on the inside looking at his reaction.

He stopped right behind you, arms encircled your waist as he locked eyes with you in the reflection, “I can’t leave now. You look like an angel.”

“And you’re exaggerating.” blushing crimson at this point, you dismissed him, never knowing how to take a compliment.

“The groom cannot see the bride before the ceremony, it’s considered bad luck.” You explained.

“It is a silly Midgardian tradition. And I don’t care.” He placed soft kisses up your neck and behind your ear.

“But we are on Earth.” You argued, giggling as his scruff tickled. You closed your eyes and hummed as his kisses made your nerves melt away.

Technically, you were in New Asgard which was in Tønsberg, Norway. After the destruction of Thor’s home planet, their people had settled here. It wasn’t exactly a match for Asgard, as Thor had described it, but it was home now. So the wedding was going to be a beautiful amalgamation of both the traditions.

Your reverie was broken when Lady Sif opened the door harshly and stormed in, making you break away.

“Your ten minutes is up, Thor. They’re ready for you.” She said staring pointedly at him.

After placing another kiss to your cheek, he left you alone with Lady Sif and walked out.

“Ready?”

“Yes.” You smiled widely, taking a deep breath.

…

The ceremony took place on a cliff overlooking the majestic sea. The setting, food, drinks, even the weather was picture perfect beautiful. Albeit it wasn’t on Thor’s home planet, with golden palaces, royal gardens or all his loved ones all present to share this special day with you, it was nothing short of special yet spectacular.

The reception was being held under a magnificent looking canopy, it was abuzz with music and cheerful chatter as it filled the atmosphere as the wedding progressed to your first official dance as husband and wife. The whole ‘happiest day of your life’ cliché had come true and you were pretty sure your cheeks had started to ache from smiling so much. You couldn’t help it.

The band changed the song to a slow number as you wound your arms around Thor’s torso and rest your cheek against his steady beating heart, hugging him close as you swayed from side to side.

“We did it Mr. Odinson.” You murmured with your eyes closed.

A hearty chuckle reverberated from his chest making you grin, “We did it, Mrs. Odinson.”

You lifted your face to look up at him, seeing nothing but unadulterated happiness and love swimming in his mismatched yet still dreamy eyes.

“I like the sound of that.” You whispered as you reached up to capture his lips in a kiss.

After you parted, he pressed his lips to your ear and breathed, “I can’t wait to have you all by myself tonight, my love.” The words sent shivers down your spine as anticipation for what’s to come grew stronger inside you.

…

After the festivities had ended, you could feel the exhaustion of the day starting to set in. Saying your goodbyes you began walking hand-in-hand towards your house but Thor stopped you.

“I thought the cottage was this way.” You laughed, confused as to why your now husband was facing the other way.

“I have a small surprise for you. For us.” His blue eyes shining with excitement.

He revealed nothing as you both strolled along an unfamiliar path, passers-by congratulating and blessing you on your way there. The sun was just about setting leaving the surroundings in a tranquil, gorgeous orange glow.

Thor asked you to close your eyes as you turned around a narrower path to which you obliged, you had never seen him this ecstatic in a while.

“Alright, open your eyes.”

The sight before you left an audible gasp from your mouth. A rustic yet modern looking mini castle came into view. It looked like something that had appeared right out of a fairy-tale.

“Our new home, my love. Do you like it?” he asked, voice full of hope.

Smiling widely as you fought back tears you turned to face him, “Like it? It’s perfect Thor. Let’s see it from the inside, come on.” You grabbed his hand and went in eagerly.

…

“And finally this will be our bedroom.”

After the tour of your ‘palace’, Thor opened your bedroom door. It was a huge room complete with a four-poster bed with candles placed on the side tables and all around, making the room glow in soft yellow light. Stunning.

“I still don’t think any of this is real. I have no words, I really don’t. Thank you.” you were overcome with emotion at that point, thanking your lucky stars. Turning, you walked towards him and jumped in his open arms to kiss him.

“You don’t have to thank me. I would do anything for you, my love.” He said in between kisses. He slowly walked you back towards the bed, never breaking the kiss, and sat down.

You broke the kiss to undress yourself, as much as the dress was comfortable for a wedding gown, it was time to take it off now. As you slowly stripped, your husband’s eyes grew darker with lust and need, never breaking eye contact as he too got out of his tux.

Once down to your lacy wedding lingerie, you placed your knees on either side of the bed sitting in his lap. Grabbing his face you kissed him with every ounce of love, gratitude, and adoration you had for him. He responded by wrapping his arms around you, pulling you closer to his body and kissing back with equal fervour.

He laid back on the soft mattress as it sunk down with his weight, taking you with him. A giggle escaped your mouth as the kiss turned desperate, he sloppily began ridding you of your underwear and you did the same.

Now fully naked, you sat back admiring the God underneath you as your fingers danced on the plains and dips of his broad chest. Reaching back, you grabbed his fully erect cock with your hand, biting your bottom lip as your thumb swiped over the tip, collecting pre-cum. Soft gasps and low, rough grunts coming from him made you feel powerful and proud, his wide eyes silently pleading you to quit teasing.

“What’s the rush now, darling? We got all night, don’t we?” Your voice came out surprisingly authoritative yet full of desire as your movements picked up the pace.

“And all night’s not enough.”

Suddenly he sat up, removed your hand from his cock, and grabbed your hips roughly, lifting you up and lowering your slick core over himself, making you groan in unison. He began guiding your hips into a steady pace as you held onto his shoulders.

The otherwise silent room soon filled with your collective groans and the sound of skin slapping against each other as he picked up the pace.

“I’m close.” You whispered into his shoulder as your body stiffened, feeling your orgasm approach.

“Cum for me (Y/N).” Thor encouraged as he pressed his thumb over your clit, toppling you over the edge.

You shuddered and winced at the loss of contact as he pulled out, only to lay you on the bed on your side. Taking hold of your leg and draping it over his, Thor drove into you once more, making you cry out in pleasure.

The new angle already pushing you towards your second release. Thor’s hands wandered over your body as he kept pounding into you, whispering praises in your ears. You reached your hand behind grabbing his hair and tugged on it as he littered your neck with hickeys.

He felt your walls clench and pulse around him as his hand went to rub circles on your clit once more. Writhing, you turned your head into the pillow and let out a muffled screamed as your orgasm washed over you for the second time that night.

You felt his hips falter as he grabbed you tighter and came with a loud grunt, spilling into you.

Both of you were still quivering with the after-effects of mind-blowing sex, as you managed to sit up to bring the sheets over your naked bodies. He hugged you close to his chest as your eyes began drooping, thoroughly exhausted.

After a few moments of drawing meaningless patterns on your back, Thor whispered,

“If you think I’m done with you, you’re mistaken.”

A lazy smile spread over your face as you supported yourself on your elbows to look up at him,

“Good. I’m not done with you either.”

With that, you captured his lips in a kiss once more.

…

[kiridune]

On Hallowed Ground

Sat, Sep. 07, 2002 Miami Herald

By DAVE BARRY (http://davebarry.com/misccol/hallowedground.htm)

On a humid July day in Pennsylvania, hundreds of tourists, as millions have before them, are drifting among the simple gravestones and timeworn monuments of the national cemetery at Gettysburg.

Several thousand soldiers are buried here. A few graves are decorated with flowers, suggesting some of the dead have relatives who still come here. There's a sign at the entrance, reminding people that this is a cemetery. It says: "SILENCE AND RESPECT."

Most of the tourists are being reasonably respectful, for tourists, although many, apparently without noticing, walk on the graves, stand on the bones of the soldiers. Hardly anybody is silent. Perky tour guides are telling well-practiced stories and jokes; parents are yelling at children; children are yelling at each other. A tour group of maybe two dozen teen-agers are paying zero attention to anything but each other, flirting, laughing, wrapped in the happy self-absorbed obliviousness of Teen-agerLand.

A few yards away, gazing somberly toward the teen-agers, is a bust of Abraham Lincoln. Lincoln gave his Gettysburg Address here 139 years ago, when the gentle rolling landscape, now green and manicured, was still raw and battle-scarred, the earth recently soaked with the blood of the 8,000 who died, and the tens of thousands more who were wounded, when two armies, 160,000 men, fought a terrible battle on July 1, 2 and 3 that determined the outcome of the Civil War.

Nobody planned for the battle to happen here. Neither army set out for Gettysburg. But this is where it happened. This is where, out of randomness, out of chance, a thousand variables conspired to bring the two mighty armies together. And so this quiet little town, because it happened to be here, became historic, significant, a symbol, its identity indelibly defined by this one overwhelming event. This is where these soldiers - soldiers from Minnesota, soldiers from Kentucky, soldiers who had never heard of Gettysburg before they came here to die - will lie forever.

This is hallowed ground.

On the same July day, a few hours' drive to the west, near the small Pennsylvania town of Shanksville, Wally Miller, coroner of Somerset County, Pa., walks slowly through the tall grass covering a quiet field, to a place near the edge, just before some woods.

This is the place where, on Sept. 11, 2001, United Airlines Flight 93, scene of a desperate airborne battle pitting passengers and crew against terrorist hijackers, came hurtling out of the sky, turning upside down and slamming into the earth at more than 500 mph.

That horrendous event transformed this quiet field into a smoking, reeking hell, a nightmare landscape of jet fuel, burning plane debris, scattered human remains.

Now, 10 months later, the field is green again. Peaceful and green.

Except where Flight 93 plunged into the ground. That one place is still barren dirt. That one place has not healed.

"Interesting that the grass won't grow right here," says Miller.

Nobody on Flight 93 was heading for Somerset County that day. The 33 passengers and seven crew were heading from Newark, N.J., to San Francisco. The four hijackers had a different destination in mind, probably Washington, D.C., possibly the White House.

Nobody on the plane meant to come here.

"I doubt that any one of them would ever set foot in Somerset County, except maybe to stop at Howard Johnson's on the turnpike," Miller says. "They have no roots here."

But this is where they are. And this is where they will stay.

No bodies were recovered here, at least not as we normally think of bodies. In the cataclysmic violence of the crash, the people on Flight 93 literally disintegrated. Searchers found fragments of bones, small pieces of flesh, a hand. But no bodies.

In the grisly accounting of a jetliner crash, it comes down to pounds: The people on Flight 93 weighed a total of about 7,500 pounds. Miller supervised an intensive effort to gather their remains, some flung hundreds of yards. In the end, just 600 pounds of remains were collected; of these, 250 pounds could be identified by DNA testing and returned to the families of the passengers and crew.

Forty families, wanting to bury their loved ones. Two hundred fifty pounds of identifiable remains.

"There were people who were getting a skull cap and a tooth in the casket," Miller says. "That was their loved ones."

The rest of the remains, the vast majority, will stay here forever, in this ground.

"For all intents and purposes, they're buried here," Miller says. "This is a cemetery."

This is also hallowed ground.

In the Gettysburg Address, Lincoln was essentially trying to answer a question. The question was: How do you honor your heroes? Lincoln's answer was: You can't. No speech you give, no monument you erect, will be worthy of them, of their sacrifice. The best you can do is remember the cause they died for, finish the job they started.

Of course the passengers and crew on Flight 93, when they set out from Newark that morning, had no cause in common. They were people on a plane bound from Newark to San Francisco. Some were going home, some traveling on business, some on vacation.

People on a plane.

Which makes it all the more astonishing, what they did.

You've been on planes. Think how it feels, especially on a morning cross-country flight. You got up early; you're tired; you've been buckled in your seat for a couple of hours, with hours more to go. You're reading, or maybe dozing. You're essentially cargo: There's nowhere you can go, nothing you can do, no role you could possibly play in flying this huge, complex machine. You retreat into your passenger cocoon, passive, trusting your fate to the hands of others, confident that they'll get you down safe, because they always do.

Now imagine what that awful morning was like for the people on Flight 93. Imagine being ripped from your safe little cocoon, discovering that the plane was now controlled by killers, that your life was in their bloody hands. Imagine knowing that there was nobody to help you, except you, and the people, mostly strangers, around you.

Imagine that, and ask yourself: What would you do? Could you do anything? Could you overcome the fear clenching your stomach, the cold, paralyzing terror?

The people on Flight 93 did. With hijackers in control of the plane, with the captain and first officer most likely dead, the people on this plane got on their cell phones, and the plane's Airfones. They reached people on the ground, explained what was happening to them. They expressed their love. They said goodbye.

But they did not give up. As they were saying goodbye, they were gathering information. They learned about the World Trade Center towers. They understood that Flight 93 was on a suicide mission. They figured out what their options were.

Then they organized.

Then they fought back.

In "Among the Heroes," a riveting book about Flight 93, New York Times reporter Jere Longman reports many of the last words spoken to loved ones on the ground by people on the plane. They're not the words of people in shock, people resigned to whatever fate awaits them. They're the words of people planning an attack. Fighters.

Here, for example, are the last words of passenger Honor Elizabeth Wainio to her stepmother: "They're getting ready to break into the cockpit. I have to go. I love you. Goodbye."

Here are flight attendant Sandy Bradshaw's last words to her husband: "We're going to throw water on them and try to take the airplane back over. Phil, everyone's running to first class. I've got to go. Bye."

And of course there are the now-famous words of Todd Beamer, who, after explaining the situation on the plane to an Airfone supervisor in Illinois, turned to somebody near him and said: "You ready? OK, let's roll."

They're getting ready to break into the cockpit.

I've got to go.

Let's roll.

We'll never know exactly what happened next. Some believe that the fighters managed to get into the cockpit, and that, in the ensuing struggle for control, the plane went down. Others believe that the hijackers, trying to knock the fighters off their feet, flew the plane erratically, and in doing so lost control. Inevitably, there is Internet-fueled speculation that the plane was secretly shot down by the U.S. government. (The government denies this.)

But whatever happened, we know two things for sure:

We know that the plane went down before it reached its target - that the hijackers failed to strike a national symbol, a populated area. They failed.

And we know that the people on the plane fought back. On a random day, on a random flight, they found themselves - unwarned, unprepared, unarmed - on the front lines of a vicious new kind of war. And somehow, in the few confusing and terrifying minutes they had, they transformed themselves from people on a plane into soldiers, and they fought back. And that made them heroes, immediately and forever, to a wounded, angry nation, a nation that desperately wanted to fight back.

And now these heroes lie here, in this field where their battle ended. This cemetery. This battlefield. This hallowed ground.

Wally Miller, coroner, has walked this ground hundreds of times. He spent endless hours among those collecting human remains and picking up plane parts. Even now, he walks with his eyes down, looking, looking. Every now and then he reaches down and picks up a tiny piece of plane - a thimble-sized piece of twisted gray metal, a bit of charred plastic, a shard of circuit board, a wire. This is what Flight 93 became: millions of tiny pieces, a vast puzzle that can never be reassembled. Despite the cleanup effort, there are still thousands of plane parts scattered for acres around the crash site, just under the new plant growth, reminders of what happened here.

The site is peaceful; no sound but birds. Miller walks from the bright field into the hemlock woods just beyond the barren spot where Flight 93 slammed into the earth. It's mid-afternoon, but the woods are in permanent dusk, the tall trees allowing only a dim, gloomy light to filter down to the lush green ferns that blanket the ground. The woods look undisturbed, except for bright "X"s painted on the trunks of dozens of hemlocks. The "X"s mark the trees that were scaled by climbers retrieving human remains, flung high and deep into woods by the force of the crash.

Some of the hemlocks, damaged by debris and fire and jet fuel, had to be cut down. These trees were supposed to be trucked away, but Miller, who, as coroner, still controls the crash site, would not allow it. Some of the trees have been ground into mulch; some lie in piles of logs and branches. But they're all still here. Miller won't let them be removed.

"This is a cemetery," he says, again. And he is determined that it will be respected as a cemetery. All of it. Even the trees.

Almost immediately after the battle of Gettysburg, people started coming to see the place where history happened. More than a century later, they're coming still.

Some are pilgrims: For them, Gettysburg is a solemn place, where the suffering and sacrifice of the soldiers still hangs heavy in the air. Some are purely tourists: For them, Gettysburg is another attraction to visit, like the Grand Canyon, or Graceland - famous, but not particularly relevant to their everyday lives. You park, you look, you take a picture, you leave.

I think that most of the visitors to Gettysburg, even today, are some mixture of pilgrim and tourist. But as the battle has receded in time, as the scars of the war have healed, tourism clearly has come to dominate the mixture. Despite the valiant efforts of many to preserve the soul of this place, to explain to the waist-pack hordes why this ground is hallowed, Gettysburg, surrounded by motels and gift shoppes, accessorized by a wax museum and a miniature-golf course, is now much more a tourist attraction than a shrine.

But soldiers are still buried here. And people still come to place flowers on graves. And the sign at the entrance to the cemetery still makes its plea: SILENCE AND RESPECT.

Immediately after Sept. 11, people started coming to see where Flight 93 went down. The site is a little tricky to find, but they found it, and they're coming still, every day, a steady stream of people who want to be near this place. They're not allowed on the site itself, which is fenced off and guarded, so they go to the temporary memorial that has been set up by the side of a two-lane rural road overlooking the crash site, a quarter-mile away.

The memorial - the word seems grandiose, when you see it - is a gravel parking area, two portable toilets, two flagpoles and a fence. The fence was erected to give people a place to hang things. Many visitors leave behind something - a cross, a hat, a medal, a patch, a T-shirt, an angel, a toy airplane, a plaque - symbols, tokens, gifts for the heroes in the ground. There are messages for the heroes, too, thousands of letters, notes, graffiti scrawls, expressing sorrow, and love, and anger, and, most often, gratitude, sometimes in yearbookish prose:

"Thanx 4 everything to the heroes of Flight 93!!"

Visitors read the messages, look at the stuff on the fence, take pictures. But mostly they stare silently across the field, toward the place where Flight 93 went down. They look like people you see at Gettysburg, staring down the sloping field where Pickett's charge was stopped, and the tide of war changed, in a few minutes of unthinkable carnage. There is nothing, really, to see on either field now, but you find it hard to pull your eyes away, knowing, imagining, what happened there.

There will be a permanent memorial for Flight 93. The temporary one is touching in its way, a heartfelt and spontaneous tribute to the heroes. But it's also haphazard, verging on tacky. Everyone agrees that something more dignified is needed. The official wheels are already turning: Congress has begun considering a bill to place the site in federal custody. Eventually land will be acquired; a commission will be appointed; a design will be approved.

Wally Miller frets about the memorial. He worries that, in the push to commemorate this as The Defining Moment In The War Against Terrorism, people will forget that it was also - maybe primarily - a personal tragedy for 40 families. He believes that, whatever is done at the site, there should be a place set aide for the Flight 93 families to grieve in private, away from the public, the tourists, the sightseers, the voyeurs, and what Miller calls "the metal-detector assholes."

Tim Lambert, who owns the woods where many of the remains were found, agrees that the paramount concern has to be the families.

"They are forced to live with this tragedy every day," he says. "The site itself is, for the most part, the final resting place for their loved ones. People need to remember and respect that."

One of the most heartrending quotes in "Among the Heroes" is from Deena Burnett, the widow of Flight 93 passenger Tom Burnett, who is believed to have played an active role in the battle on the plane. Mrs. Burnett is describing what it's like to be the widow of a hero:

"In the beginning, everyone asked, 'Aren't you proud of him? Aren't you happy that he's a hero?' I thought, my goodness, the first thing you have to understand is, I'm just trying to put one foot in front of the other. For my husband to be anyone's hero ... I'd much prefer him to be here with me."

So we need to remember this: The heroes of Flight 93 were people on a plane. Their glory is being paid for, day after day, by grief. Tom Burnett does not belong to the nation. He is, first and foremost, Deena Burnett's husband, and the father of their three daughters. Any effort we make to claim him as ours is an affront to those who loved him, those he loved.

He is not ours.

And yet ...

... and yet he is a hero to us, he and the other people on Flight 93. We want to honor them, just as we want to honor the firefighters, police officers and civilians at the World Trade Center and the Pentagon who risked, and sometimes gave, their lives to try to rescue others. We want to honor them for what they did, and for reminding us that this nation is nowhere near as soft and selfish as we had come to believe.

We want to honor them.

And so in a few years, when grass grows once again over the place where Flight 93 hit the ground, when the "X"s have faded from the hemlocks, there will be a memorial here, an official, permanent memorial to the heroes of Flight 93. It will be dedicated in a somber and dignified ceremony, and people will make speeches. Somebody - bet on it - will quote the Gettysburg Address, the part about giving the last full measure of devotion. The speeches will be moving, but they will also prove Lincoln's point, that the words of the living can add nothing to the deeds of the dead.

Thanx 4 everything to the heroes of Flight 93!!

There will be expressions of condolence to the families, and these, too, will be heartfelt. But they will not take away the grief.

I'd much prefer him to be here with me.

And then the ceremony will end, and the people will go home. And the heroes, the people on the plane, will remain here in the ground of Somerset County.

And years will pass, and more people will come here, and more, people who were not yet born when Flight 93 went down, coming to see this famous place.

Let's hope, for their sake, that the world they live in is less troubled than it is today. Let's hope they've never had to feel anything like the pain of Sept. 11, 2001.

Let's also hope that, when they stand here, they know enough to be silent, to show respect.

Let's hope they understand why this is hallowed ground.

[tendous-socks]

DRAFT. “ don’t, take another step in my direction. just stay where you are oikawa. “

he freezes, hand slowly lowering itself as he sees you across the bed room facing the window sitter on the bed.

your silhouette being encased in a dewy glow as the sunsets behind you, showing the end of another day.

“ i’m sorry? y/n - chan what are you “

“don’t call me that oikawa “ you breathed, hand snapping towards him as the shine of the background illuminated your face, visibly distressed as you stared directly into his chocolate eyes, one you got lost in for hours.

ones that seems like the glow of honey, but are now full of shit.

“ i i don’t understand y/n - chan, what’s gotten into you are yo”

“i know that all the accusations posted against me have been getting more attention, so i have decided to talk about them”

the moment you cut him off, there was a sinking feeling in the chest that dropped to the pit of his stomach. eyes slowly widening as your shaky form continued reading.

“ yes it is true, i did sleep with the saun “

your back was back to face him, when you swiftly snapped back to your previous position.

though, your smooth reading quickly came crashing down down as he heard you struggling to even breathe.

a step was taken, “ y/n-san”

“ with the san jaunt ram manager who i have been seeing for a few months prior. though i had a fiancé. i was doing all of this without her knowing and with her husbands knowing consent. “

like a spring, he saw your trembling figure shot up as the glowing device laid captive in your whitening hand.

“ SOMETIMES we would do it in my own house, where my fiancé“ a pause. “ where my fiancé was away from at the time for an overseas trip to the state’s for her work. “

you had skipped a line, he had noted.

“ though, i regret the action, i can not keep quiet about it anymore, i sincerely apologize to all my fans and to y/n, as they don’t deserve this. we had cut off all contact as of today. “

though once he heard you stop reading he wen to open his mouth to talk, though the action stopped as his voice was held in a, iron cage, the lock not coming undone as h entries to break it.

“as of today..what about the day before yesterday hmm? YOU TELL ME TOORU. WHERE YOU SEEING HER YESTERDAY, THE DAY BEFORE I GOT BACK TO BRAZIL. PLEASE JUST FUCKING ANSWER ME”

“YES I DID”

silence followed quickly after, encasing the dimming room as he took another step towards you, face unreadable at his sudden out burst.

“ i see... you know tooru.”

in, out, you breathing had calmed a bit as you chucked the phone he got you for christmas onto the contaminated bed.

“ i see how all these girls look at you, men sometimes too. i see how they all flock to you, fall to one of your many charms, one i thought was reserved just for me. “

finally with a quick change you were now making eye contact as he looked into your eyes, the lighting stilling as your grimacing eyes met his fully, truly for the first time tonight.

“ your smile “

the eerieness continued as the sun stopped setting, stating in place as the air got harder, tenser, like he was on a mountain.

“ you know oikawa tooru, age 27 who loves argentinain native food, who loves volleyball as if it were his daughter, our daughter, who’s in back home now as i don’t want her knowing what you did. “

home? this perplexed him cause wasn’t your home here, with him in argentina ?

oh. you meant back japan where you stats for before ,asking the big move to argentina to pursue a life with him, and at the time unborn child.

mouth twitching down as the side of your neck bulged a bit as your hand went hide this tic of yours he had never once seen.

“ i don’t know you, oikawa tooru. “

another pause.

“ i won’t pretend i know you anymore, i’ve never knew you tooru, i only know a side of you that you want me to know. i’ve realized that now. “

“ you know me better than anybody else y/n”

do he had found his voice was slipping out fo it’s cage.

“ do i? maybe you’re right. maybe you know how i see you look at my brother. maybe i see the longing glanced you both send as you catch up on old highschool days. maybe on our wedding night hajime warned me.”

“ maybe he warned me about marrying you, saying how ‘ you were his best friend and wanted you to be happy, but wanted me to be as well. ‘ he had called you an icarus who was making his way to the sun, slowly getting closer, and closer, and closer. “

“.. you know i don’t love iwazumi, that was in the past y/n, but i love you now, from the moment we met i’ve loved you “

“so why! why did you do it oikawa? why did you do what you did, why are you looking at my brother the wya you look at me? sometimes i feel as if you would’ve rather married him than i. “

“ you were away for so long y/n i missed you and it was lonely, she came onto mei promise i tried to stop her “

“ should’ve tried harder than. but what baffles me is that you posted it? why. why the fuck would you tell the whole world how you brought this girl into our bed. what were you trying to clear your name or something. cause you ruined our ducking lives oikawa “

“ i’m aware y/n “ he winced.

timing back in, the room grew darker as the once small shadows started to creep up the wall, shackling themselves onto him as he looked at them clinging to his legs.

“ you know, i thought i made you happy, i thought i was the one to finally say this. loosely like yourself. ‘ tie down oikawa tooru, the world famous volleyball player who i’ve been with since highschool where he fought tooth and nail for what he wanted. “

a silence entrapped the two as oikawa was waiting for her to continue, knowing if he tried to put a word in he’d just get shut down.

“ .. why did you even marry me, tooru?”

a sharp pain erupted in his head as in he jerked up, mouth drying went dry as his eye eyes met your narrowed ones hip propped as you stared at him.

“ i know you’ve always hated the idea of marriage, children even as you wanted to be free, as you would always tell me in highschool. so why did you?”

“easy, because i love you”

“nope, no, jett no oikawa, you love the idea of me, of having a family, to have string to lean on “

“ no it’s not y/n and you know that, i love you that’s why i married you, that’s why i wanted to have a family with you “

“ are you sure about that cause you seem like you wanna family with her “

“ y/ n you can’t blame me i was lonely “

“ then call me damnit! “

“ i did y/n, but that wasn’t enough! “

“ obviously i can see that now asshole. and you know that i know that you could’ve fucked any bitch that came up to you and got them pregnant and i would stay because i love you. but like you i’ve changed. “

“we’re not the same as we were back then tooru, you know that“

“ y/ n lease, i’m sorry “

“ no. no. you’re making this harder than it needs to be oikawa please stop. “

“ no i can’t because i love you “

he was getting desperate, chains restricting him as he hastily made his yea towards you, reaching out to you, for you.

pain circulated through his hand as he stared dumbfounded at your scowling face, pressing your lips firmly together as you growled out a curse.

“ don’t you dare touch me. “

massaging his brows he tried again. “ y/n please i didn’t mean to “

“ shut the fuck up shitty bitch. one time is when you didn’t mean two, i could look past with counselling. six fucking months? you’re kidding yourself if i plan to stay with you. i’m going to Switzerland for some work i have to do. “

speeding towards the door he had finally noticed the two duffel bags that sat next to the floor white barrier.

he couldn’t move a single muscle in his body as she bent over to pick them up. one in each hand.

“ goodbye oikawa, good luck at nationals “ something else was muttered as you traveled through the untamable portal.

but he stared, eyes wide as slow, cold, glossy tears trickled down his cheeks. he wouldn’t, couldn’t move as it closed, only seeing the back of your head as you left your shared bedroom.

[lovehugsandcandy]

One-on-One: Rematch (Part 2)

A/N: Remember when i wrote the first one of this and I was all like “WHY can’t I write anything short?!?” And NOW we’re at part 2 of a 16K word hot mess and that annoyance over three thousand words seems so quaint. (Part 1 here)

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length: ~4,000 words

Rating: N*FW (Sex-not explicit (I think?) but it’s there. Swearing.)

Summary: When Langston made it to Nationals, Ellie planned on spending the entire time studying in her room. It didn’t end up quite as planned.

Ellie hoped it was out of her system, that her temporary insanity had run its course and she would return to her normal focus and drive, but Ingrid ruthlessly guilt-tripped her into attending a party that night. Apparently, there were parties every night, various hotel rooms and bars teeming with players and associated hanger-ons, and Ingrid was never one to be left out of a party, especially when they were celebrating a Langston victory.

She was dabbing concealer on the mark at her collarbone when Ingrid walked in, fixing her with a penetrating stare. “You know… you know what you’re doing, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hooking up with a player? Who is it?”

Ellie blinked; her reflection looked as startled as she felt. “I don’t...I don’t know what you’re-”

“I’m not stupid.” Ingrid swiped a brilliant red over her lips, pursing them in the mirror. “You stayed out all night and showed up exhausted to the game with a hickey no makeup can hide? Seriously?”

“It’s not….” Her cheeks were as red as Ingrid’s lipstick.

“Ellie. Listen. Hooking up with players is...complicated.” She turned to fully face Ellie, hip resting against the sink, eyes imploring. “Be careful. They are in it for one thing and one thing only. And you’re never the only one. They always have fans in and out of their beds and we can’t be seen with them, anyway. It’s always temporary; no matter what, there’s always an expiration date.”

“I don’t…”

“Everyone hooks up here. Playoff week is like Candyland but then everyone goes back to the real world. And hookups with players, whether Langston or opponents... it doesn’t translate to back home.”

Ellie swallowed, hoping that it was the bathroom lights that were making her look so washed out.

“But...the guys are all in their peak physical prime so the sex is verrrry good,” Ingrid purred, wolfish smile alighting her face. “But don’t fall for it. Cuz that’s alllll they want.”

“I…” She inspected her nails.

“Ellie… I know…” Her voice was kind, confiding. “I know what you were like in high school and I have really loved seeing you come out of your shell, watch you meeting new people and having a social life. I just... I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t.” She looked up to meet Ingrid’s gaze head on in the mirror. “It’s not like that. It’s…” Images and sensations flashed through her mind, the glint in his eyes as he tracked her movements, the curve of his hand as he pulled her back into bed. “You’re right. It’s just sex. Really.”

Ingrid’s sigh echoed through the bathroom but, thankfully, she dropped it in favor of a sassy lipstick kiss on the mirror. “Fine, fine. Ready to go?”

Ellie didn’t answer the question, only dutifully followed Ingrid out the door, hoping that the party was worth giving up an evening with her nose in theorems and formulas.

It wasn’t.

The party was everything she dreaded; she could barely see through the bodies crowded in the penthouse suite. They forced their way through the crush, avoiding the flailing arms on the dance floor and cheering bros piled around a beer pong table before finally stopping by the makeshift bar. 

“What do you want?” Ingrid wrinkled her nose as she looked over the selection, finally picking up some fruity spikes seltzer with dainty fingertips.

Ellie hummed absentmindedly, “I’ll have a water.” She looked through the crowd again, spying players from all the teams milling and laughing, other cheerleaders she recognized from earlier in the season. But not everyone was there, apparently; she stood on her tiptoes, stretching to see over the crowd, trying and failing to avoid looking for a certain smirk.

“You are so boring.” Ingrid chided and then grabbed her arm. “Oh, there’s Jack. I’m gonna go say hi. Be right back!”

Ellie didn’t even have time to say goodbye before Ingrid was off, weaving through the crowd, trained like a honing missile on the upperclassman she had been fawning over. Ellie sighed, leaning against the table. It would be an interminable night.

As she was nursing her drink, she felt a gentle nudge at her side.

“So are you on a women’s team or are you a cheerleader?” 

She turned and immediately flushed as she realized that the boy next to her fit every single qualification of tall, dark, and handsome. Were all basketball players this cute? Of course, he was tall but the chiseled cheekbones? The dark scruff teasing its way down his jawline? She had to replay his question in her head.  “Oh... cheerleader.”

“I should have guessed. It’s a prerequisite to be gorgeous, apparently. Who do you cheer for?”

“Langston.”

“Ah, we beat you guys three weeks ago. And if we both keep playing well, we’ll see you in the finals.” She nodded, but a familiar figure pushing through the crowd stole her attention. He was engrossed in an intense conversation with a tall brunette; even from here, she knew they were talking strategy, Colt’s eyes lighting up as they parried ideas back and forth. His eyes swept the crowd as he walked past the dance floor, nodding along as his friend spoke, but he stopped as soon as his eyes locked on hers. She swallowed, unable to look away, as he bid farewell to his friend and walked over, positively swaggering, every step filled with the unbridled confidence owned solely by boys who threw the first punch because they knew they would throw the last. She wished she were more stoic, able to pretend that he wasn’t affecting her, but the swoop in her stomach made it impossible to think of anything else.

However, when he sidled up to them, she was surprised that he turned instead to the boy in front of her.

“Logan?”

“Sup, Kaneko?”

“Toby was looking for you.”

“What?”

“He said something about that play you guys were drawing up. With the hand-off at center court?”

“What did he-”

“I dunno man, something about trying it while dribbling backwards?”

“What?” Logan’s eyes widened. “I gotta... I’m sorry.” He turned to her and panic flared on his face. “I have to go.”

Once Logan rushed away racing through the crowd on a mission, she flushed under Colt’s gaze; he narrowed his eyes. “What in the world you talking to him for?”

“What? What do you…” She lifted her chin to shoot him a challenging stare. “Wait, you jealous?”

“Jealous?” He rolled his eyes. “Ha. If I were, I would have just given him a black eye.”

“Why do you care who I talk to?”

“I don’t.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, deflating under her scrutinizing glare. “I am shocked to see you here.”

“What do you mean?”

“This doesn’t seem like your kinda place,” he scoffed. “I figured you would be in your room studying.”

“This doesn’t seem like your kinda place. I figured you would be in your room brooding.”

“Ha. That hurts..” He shrugged, eyes intent on her. “I mean, nothing was really going on in my room.”

She bit her lip. “Ingrid wanted to come and, after my vanishing act yesterday, I figured I should spend some time with her.”

“Well then, where is she?”

Ellie pointed to the dance floor, where Ingrid’s heavy make-out session with the Langston forward was definitely an NCAA violation.

“Hey, I know him.” Colt ducked his head to see through the crowd, rolling his eyes. “He got so huffy about a pick I made that he tried to punch me. They had to stop the game to find his tooth.”

“What?” Ellie peered through the crowd. “No, it was our center you fought.”

“Nah, different game.”

“Wait… how many times have you fought someone on my team?”

“Hmm…” he pondered, eyes narrowing, “I mean, how many times have I played you?”

“Wait…”

“Twice a year in the regular season and once in the playoffs last year, so what is that? Five?”

“You’ve... you’ve been ejected from every game you’ve played us?”

“Sweetheart… I’m ejected from about half of the games I play.”

“How are you still in the league?”

“I’ve gotten a lot of warnings.” He glanced around the room. “But people here have done far worse than me.”

She wasn’t stupid; she had heard horror stories of the trouble athletes had gotten into. It was one reason she had consciously avoided players until... well, until now. Players were not in the plan. But now?

“You wanna get outta here?”

“What?”

He shrugged. “I mean, we could stay and play drinking games and get wasted…” He nodded at her water. “Or we could not.” She smirked, holding his gaze as he ducked his head to whisper in her ear, “So, do you wanna get outta here?”

“Yeah, I do.” She really did. With one last glance across the dance floor to ensure Ingrid was occupied, she followed him back to the exit, eyebrows flying up when he clasped her palm to lead her through the mass of bodies. His hand was warm, strong, and entirely too solid for a fling with some collegiate athlete; she held tight anyway. 

She eyed him closely as they walked to the elevator. Now that the roar of the party was receding, Ingrid’s words rang loud in her brain. “What did you mean when you said you noticed me?”

“What?”

“The first time we played you. This season.” The sports page said it had been his best game all season; she didn’t remember a thing except for flashcards on enthalpically driven reactions.

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean, when you were so busy studying that you didn’t even say hi to me? You ignored the star of the game?”

“Oh my God, you are so full of yourself.”

He laughed, looking far more relaxed than he had at the party; instead of being on guard, he looked almost boyish, young, eyes gleaming in the elevator lights. “When I first saw you, you were berating your friend.”

“What?” Of all the things she was expecting, that was not it.

“Your roommate? Ingrid? She made some mistake in her hand placement of a hold and you were trying to fix it before the game. And then you made the team try to retry the jump flip thing?”

“The what?”

“Christ, I don’t know what it’s called. You jump in the air and flip around and three people catch you before you crater onto the court. You made them do it repeatedly until you thought it was perfect.”

The doors opened, and she stepped out, glancing over at him.

“I honestly couldn’t fucking tell a difference any of the times you did it.”

“I…” She followed him down the hall, brow furrowed. “I thought you would say something about the skirt.”

“I do like the skirt.” He reached into his pocket for the key, eyes on her the entire time. “But you’re tough. You didn’t take Ingrid’s shit. Hell, you don’t take my shit. You have high expectations of others, but you expect perfection from yourself. You’re smart and you don’t let anyone stand in your way.”

The door opened with a ding and she stumbled in, unsteady. Apparently, Colt’s talents at surgically cataloguing and exposing the strengths and weaknesses of others was not confined solely to the court.

“What? Why do you...?” he asked.

She blinked, inhaled slowly, exhaled slower, and finally spoke. “You sound like a fortune cookie.”

He laughed again; thankfully, his head fell back so he missed how weak her return smile was as her eyes drifted to his jersey, tossed in a heap on the floor. The championship game was in five days.

If that was her expiration date, then goddamn, she would make the most of it. Straightening, she stalked over to him. “Did you bring me here only to talk?”

He looked down to where her fingers were touching his arm and then caught her eye. “How about some dirty talk?” She rolled her eyes, blush flaring, and he stepped even closer. “How ‘bout some things that definitely wouldn’t be on a fortune cookie?”

Her breath stopped as he ducked his head, lips tracing her cheek, neck, lower, following a trail of red as far as it went, then lower as they fell to the carpet.

They didn’t make it to the bed.

And when security banged on their door to inquire about a noise complaint, Ellie could not stop stuttering apologies, Colt could not stop laughing; once they left, it became his mission to make her scream even louder.

He succeeded.

~~~~~

Ellie woke up slow. Her muscles ached, the best kind of sore, and she sighed in satisfaction. The room was gauzy around her but, as things slowly came into focus, she realized her head was pillowed on a muscular chest, legs intertwined, sunlight just starting to crawl up the starched sheets.

“Colt?”

His eyes were focused on his phone, staring intently at something flashing across the screen. He didn’t move.

“Hey, Colt?”

Finally, he looked down and realized she was awake. “Oh, hey.” He pulled out an earbud. “Morning.”

“Morning. What are you so focused on?”

“Hmm? It’s game tape.”

“What is it?” She sat up, curling into his side to peer at the screen. “Oh my God, you narcissist. Are you watching yourself?”

“Ha ha.” He wrapped his free hand tighter around her waist and sighed, “It’s the game against Williamsburg. See him #42?”

“Yeah.”

“He torched us for a double-double. That’s not gonna happen again.”

He hit play, and the video ran, zoomed in on the player Colt referenced. Ellie had learned a lot from cheering at game after game, but she was no expert. However, even she could tell he was their best player, watching him drain three after three. She squinted at the screen. “What is that weird thing he does with his hand?”

“What weird thing?” Colt hummed.

“The weird flick thing. With his wrist.”

“Huh? What are you…” Colt moved the video back a few seconds to watch. And did it again.

“That! You see that?”

“Yeah….” He sat up slowly, eyes trained on the screen. “He does it before his pump fake. Holy… how did you…”

“Biomechanical engineering, remember?”

“Damn…” he finally turned to her, eyes gleaming, and the awe in his voice made her flush. “I am so fucking keeping you around!”

And when his lips crashed into hers, she could almost forget the twisting in her gut that reminded her of their expiration date, her plans, and the fact that no one was keeping anyone around. 

Almost.

 ~~~~~

Ellie was tucked back into his sheets when he sauntered out of the bathroom. She stared. It had been a while since she had seen him in actual clothes.

“Are you going to the other quarterfinals games?” he asked, toweling his hair.

“Uh…..no? Why would I?”

“I dunno. I go to all of them.”

“Why?”

“Well, we play whoever wins the afternoon game and I think it’s gonna be Williamsberg. Good time to scope out the competition.”

“That’s very strategic of you.”

He leaned over the bed to kiss behind her ear. “I’ll show you strategic.” Then, his tongue parted her lips, stealing her breath until there was a pounding on the door.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” a feminine voice hollered from outside.

He pulled back. “Give me a second, for Christ’s sake!” He turned back to Ellie and kissed down her jaw, sloping down her neck. “I’ll be back, ok?”

“What?” she whispered.

“Yo, Kaneko, let’s go.” The girl from outside pounded on the door again.

“Will you be here when I get back?”

Her eyes widened. “If you’re going to both games... you want me to stay here until 10 tonight?”

The kisses returned to the side of her neck, lower, and she tangled her hands in his shirt. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Fine.” She couldn’t help but return the smile, laughing as he flashed her one last wink before ducking out the door and settling back against the pillow.

She lounged for a while, flipping back and forth between channels and seeing what appeared to be every single Picta image ever posted before she snuck out, hotel key firmly in her pocket, and made her way down the stairs to duck back into her own hotel room.

Ingrid greeted her with a raised eyebrow. “Where have you been?” Her eyes immediately found the hickie on Ellies neck and she leered, “And what, or who, have you been doing?”

“Oh my God, stop.” Ellie barely glanced her way before sticking her head in her backpack, rummaging around for a couple textbooks. If she was hanging out in a strange room all day, she might as well get some studying in.

“Seriously, though. Are you...Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Yes! Yes yes, jeez, yes. I’m having fun. Isn’t that what you want for me?”

“Yeah, but…” Ingrid frowned. “I just worry. You’re so set on studying and school and after school...I don’t want some loser meathead to ruin it for you.”

“He’s not-” She had to physically bite her tongue to stop herself from refuting the phrase. Colt was a lot of things, a walking ball of contradictions wrapped in tight muscles and fast fists, but meathead loser was far from it. Unfortunately, Ingrid’s raised eyebrows suggested she knew exactly how Ellie would have finished that sentence. She sighed and started over, “He won’t ruin anything. I have a plan and I’m sticking to it. He’s just….” She had to inhale a shuddering breath to power through the rest of the words. “He’s a fling. It’s just sex and, after this, everything is gonna go right back to normal. My future plans are fine.”

“Ah yes, Ellie’s seven step plan to get her doctorate and take over the world.”

“Not the whole world.” Where were her highlighters?

“I worry about you.”

“I’m fine. It’s all fine.”

But even when Ellie clutched her books to her chest and headed out the door again, even when she did her best to keep her head high and fight back the blush, Ingrid did not look convinced.

Ellie didn’t know how convinced she was herself.

~~~~~

The only sound in the room was the ESPN announcers droning on and the scratch of a pen over dense words. She had nearly finished the chapter on thermodynamic principles, sprawled over the bed with her toes buried under warm sheets, when the door opened.

“Hey, how were the games?” She finished writing out a formula on an index card, checking to make sure she had noted the correct number of atoms.

“Good. We’re gonna win it all this year, you wait. Williamsburg looked rough.”

“What about Langston?!?”

“Yeah, I don’t…” He sat next to her, trailing off as he noticed that the television was on. “Ugh, turn that shit off.”

“What do you mean? They’re talking about the playoffs.”

He reached for the remote but she held it over the side of the bed, giggling as he flailed. “Look, Langston, there we are. Future champ-Hey! Red and gold. Wait, that’s you!”

“You know they replay this shit, right? They showed it already.”

“You’ve seen it? Don’t ruin it for me, big shot.”

She glanced over at him and his jaw was set, eyes hard.

“Colt?” He didn’t move, eyes looking through the television in front of them, sour lines painted across his face, even though the announcer was droning on about his court vision and passion. She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Hey, I can turn it off.”

“It’s fine, whatever.” He shook his head and sighed, eyes looking past the tv, past the wall. She frowned. “I just wonder sometimes... does he fucking see this shit? He never watched a fucking game, he never fucking showed but now, that asshole... he cares so much about the family name, the family legacy and now, when people look up Kaneko, it’s me. It’s me they see, not that asshole.” He blinked furiously, still staring straight ahead.

She hit the power button, dropping the remote on the floor to straddle him, cupping his cheeks to look him in the eye. “Colt.” He didn’t even blink, staring straight through her. “Colt.” She thumbed his cheekbone; he didn’t move. “Kaneko.”

“You’ve…” His eyelashes fluttered slowly as he gazed at her. “You’ve never called me that.”

“Isn’t that what your teammates call you?”

“It hits a little different when you say it.”

“Huh? How so?”

“When people say it to me…” He swallowed, hard. “When people say it to my dad...I’m used to it being hollered or screamed. Not...” He trailed off.

“Not what?”

“Not all sexy.” His gaze softened when she glared, and his voice dropped so she had to strain to hear. “Not like it means something.”

“You’re the only Kaneko that means something.”

She gasped as the room spun, landing on her back as he hovered over her. “Call me that again.”

“Kaneko,” she gasped and his lips found her neck, lower, sharp pinpoints of white pain as he found the bruise on her collarbone.

“Again.”

“Kaneko,” she moaned and a tense hand dove into her hair, tilting her head to the side to drive teeth into her sensitive neck. Her hips bucked.

“Me, my name,” he growled into her ear and her vision dimmed, consciousness fading to the only things that mattered: his hands rough on her hips and his voice a rasp in her ears.

“Colt. Cooolt. Kaneko. Colt, please!” He ripped the shirt off his head and her clothes followed, flying through the room, textbooks slamming on the floor, a flurry of motion until she was underneath him, nails digging into his back. He slid inside of her and she screamed, pressure building as his name fled her lips, along with epithets far too vulgar for daylight, as he worked her into a frenzy and then an explosion, when names and sight and anything except for white-hot pleasure was meaningless.

~~~~~

At least when she woke up next, it was still morning. But, by the time they got their act together, breakfast in bed followed by a shower and, a few hours after that, another shower, it was no longer morning, sun high in the sky as Colt grabbed his wallet. “You ever been to Nationals before?”

“Nope.” She shrugged. “Freshman, remember?”

He smiled, grabbing his key from the desk. “Then let’s get outta here.”

“What?”

“Let’s go. See the sights. You don’t have a game until tonight, right?

“Yeah… our semifinal match. I need to be at the arena at 7.”

“Good. Come on.”

She was confused but followed, escaping the hotel to make their way into the city, avoiding the crowds and the press to hop a bus downtown. They grabbed lunch at the waterfront, Colt threatening to push her in the river, hands solid around her waist as she laughed and laughed and laughed. He bought her ice cream and then wiped vanilla on her cheek; his tongue was absolutely indecent as it licked it off, entirely inappropriate for a crowded street. She couldn’t bring herself to complain through her flush. He followed her through small shops, grumbling bitterly the entire way, but she still snapped a photo of him in prop sunglasses and a cowboy hat before he put her in a headlock, pulling her out the shop door as the bell rang merrily over their heads. 

And when she arrived at the arena, 20 minutes before game time, clutching her uniform in both hands, he pushed her against the closed doors to thoroughly map her mouth, lips pinned to hers as hungry hands roved her body and her Langston blue-and-whites fell to the pavement as she pulled him even closer.

And during the game, she had no idea what the score was, registering neither her routine nor the Langston victory; her mind was far away, and she felt distracted, disembodied, until she was sliding the key into the lock and was falling back into his bed.

.

Tags

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ROD @omgjasminesimone @mskaneko @lovemychoices @burnsoslow

Colt

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[dickwheelie]

@ciguierre​ suggested on the Discord server that I write a ficlet about Aziraphale trying coffee, which turned into a discussion about the boys going to Starbucks, which turned into this. Thank you for the inspo Cig!

Disclaimer: I love Starbucks, and I went there basically every day while I was in college, but because of that I also know that Starbucks absolutely belongs to Hell.

____________

Contrary to popular belief, Starbucks was not a human invention. (Nor were any two-tailed mermaids involved.) While the original locally-run coffee shop founded in the charming and often damp American city of Seattle, Washington in the early seventies was a quite human family business, the Starbucks Company that grew from such humble (read: marketable) beginnings was a result of the demonic forces of Down Below, as one would say in polite company.

Specifically, it was a result of the demonic forces of Crowley.

Crowley had always liked coffee, ever since the strange effects of the coffee bean had first been discovered by a young Ethiopian woman during a primitive version of a game of truth or dare. While he wasn’t necessarily after the effects of the drink, he did enjoy the taste, and although he preferred tea he wouldn’t say no to a nice, hot, strong brew of black coffee.

Crowley hadn’t turned Starbucks into an international brand because he liked coffee, however. He’d done it because he’d envisioned, prophetically, as it turned out: the long lines, impatient customers, frazzled employees, too-expensive drinks, confusing cup sizes, terrible brewing methods, tasteless pastries, and above all, below-average coffee that would soon cloud the early-morning skies with evil all over the globe. Crowley had only ever had one drink at a Starbucks in his lifetime, to test the results of his meddling in action. He’d ordered an Americano with almond milk and a shot of espresso, and it had been as horrible as he’d hoped it would be.

(The Frappuccinos were not one of his. Only humans could come up with something so ridiculous and yet so popular.)

Despite all of this, Crowley was currently standing in a Starbucks. He was very upset to discover this, because even though he’d deliberately made the trip there, parked the Bentley out front, walked into the store, and had been standing in line for about five minutes now, he still couldn’t quite believe he had been talked into this.

He shot a glare at Aziraphale, who was staring up at the corporate-mandated seasonal fall menu in blissful ignorance. Aziraphale, out of all the beings in the Universe, was probably the only one who could have talked Crowley into this, and even then he had only just barely managed it. He’d promised to pick one (1) item, place his order quickly, and get them out of that place as soon as possible.

Aziraphale was not sticking to that promise.

“I’ll have the Pumpkin Spice Latte,” he was saying to the barista, who looked as though he would have rather been feeding his own limbs to an alligator than taking orders at a Starbucks. “No--no, wait, the White Chocolate Mocha Frappuccino. Or, no, the Dragonfruit Refresher. What is a Refresher? Is it like lemonade?”

“Angel . . .” Crowley muttered into his ear.

“Right, right, sorry.” Aziraphale smiled his most angelic smile at the barista, who, despite the fact that Aziraphale was objectively the worst customer to have in line on a busy day, actually managed to smile back. (He didn’t understand why, of course, but since it was the first time he’d had a reason to smile since his shift had started at 8 AM, he wasn’t going to question it.) “I will have the Pumpkin Spice Latte.”

Wonderful, Crowley thought. Something simple, quick to make, and then they could flee.

“. . . And the Dragonfruit lemonade. And the White Chocolate thingy I said earlier, that sounded delightful.”

Crowley massaged his temples. He loved Aziraphale with all of his heart, but sweet Someone, that angel was going to kill him one of these days.

“Oh, and one of those delicious-looking almond scones as well, there’s a dear.”

Crowley was going to drive home without him. He was. His feet weren’t moving, but he was absolutely going to do it, just you wait.

“What sizes would you like for your drinks, sir?” said the barista. Crowley fought the urge to curse him right then and there; it wasn’t his fault the sizes were confusing. In fact, it occurred to him, it was technically Crowley’s fault, but he quickly shoved the thought aside.

“Ah, medium, I think,” said Aziraphale. “All things in moderation, yes?” This was a phrase Crowley had never heard Aziraphale use or implement in his everyday life, and he suspected he was quoting something Gabriel had said at a meeting once.

The barista pointed up at the menu board. “We have tall, grande, venti, and trenta.”

“Ah. I . . . see,” said Aziraphale, visibly confused. “Which one is medium, then?”

“I guess grande would be medium, sir.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows knitted together. “But grande means large in Italian, yes? And venti is twenty. Twenty what?”

Crowley had mostly tuned out of the conversation, but something had caught his attention, and his mind was slowly catching back up. “Wait. Trenta? What on Earth is trenta?”

The barista looked at him in surprise; he hadn’t said a word since he’d come grumpily slinking into the store behind Aziraphale. “It’s our largest size, sir. Thirty-one ounces.”

Crowley had never wanted so badly to take Christ’s name in vain before. He felt certain he hadn’t come up with that one. Once again, the humans had one-upped him in terms of acts of pure evil.

“I’ll just take them in grande,” Aziraphale said hastily, sensing that Crowley’s patience was wearing thinner by the second.

“Name?”

“Aziraphale.”

The barista Looked at him. It was the kind of Look that really earned the capital L. He scribbled something on each of the cups. Aziraphale paid without another word.

As they waited at a too-small and slightly dirty table for Aziraphale’s order to be called, Crowley asked, “Why’d you want to come here, anyway?”

“Newt told me about it,” said Aziraphale excitedly. “I was telling him about how I so enjoyed the coffee you made for me, and he said I should come here. He goes all the time, apparently, although Anathema won’t set foot in the place.”

“Smart woman.”

“He recommended the pumpkin spice thing to me, and told me with my sweet tooth, I’d be sure to love anything on the menu.”

“Huh.” That was probably true, at any rate. “You do realize this is one of mine, right?”

Aziraphale looked up at him, eyes wide with alarm. “Is it?”

Behind his sunglasses, Crowley’s own eyes widened. “Angel, I thought you knew. I mean, it should be alright now, Heaven isn’t exactly breathing down your neck anymore, and--”

Aziraphale was giggling. Crowley’s mouth snapped shut.

“You’re having me on.”

“Oh, my dear. I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d be so upset. Of course I knew, it’s my job to keep track of your wily schemes, so I can thwart them.”

“You’re doing an excellent job of thwarting them now,” Crowley deadpanned. “You only bought twenty pounds’ worth of merchandise.”

“Well, it’s like you said,” Aziraphale said wryly, in that slightly devilish way that Crowley adored, “Heaven isn’t exactly breathing down my neck anymore.”

They were interrupted by a shout from the counter. “A falafel?” a second barista called out confusedly.

Aziraphale sighed and rose from the table. “I suppose that must be me.” He returned a moment later with a tray of three drinks and the bagged scone.

One by one, Aziraphale tried each item, and to Crowley’s disappointment (but not necessarily his surprise), he seemed to love every single one.

“The scone isn’t terribly good,” said Aziraphale through a mouthful of scone, which he was almost finished with, “but the rest of it is just delightful. I don’t think I’ve ever had lemonade with dragonfruit in it, but it’s a lovely combination.”

“Isn’t lemonade,” said Crowley, “but I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” He meant it; if his angel was happy, he was happy. He just hoped that, if this was going to become a thing, Aziraphale would be willing to get Starbucks to go from now on. Or just miracle up a passable imitation at home.

They sat there for an hour while Aziraphale worked through his three drinks. Now that they weren’t waiting in line or dealing with confusing menu items, Crowley had to admit it wasn’t so bad to just sit in a Starbucks and chat with one’s companion. (Granted, that companion was Aziraphale, whom he’d be happy to sit and chat with inside of an active volcano, but the sentiment still applied.)

Aziraphale, for his part, was practically glowing with joy, and every frustrated writer and college student in that building felt a bit of weight lift off their shoulders.

Despite Crowley’s protests (“This is a Starbucks, Angel, not the Ritz,”), Aziraphale insisted on going back up to the counter when he was done and thanking each barista individually, by name, even if they’d forgotten their nametags. Though he’d tipped generously when he’d paid, Aziraphale dropped another twenty-pound note into the tip jar before he left. By the time Crowley managed to pull him away, the baristas were all smiling at him and waving goodbye. “Come again soon!” said the barista at the register, and found with surprise that he actually meant it.

“Leave it to you,” said Crowley as they climbed into the Bentley, “to leave a place of demonic influence looking like that.”

“Just doing my job,” Aziraphale said with a pleased little smile that made him look like an absolute bastard.

“Thwarting all my wiles.”

“Left and right, my dear.”

“. . . Aziraphale.”

“Yes?”

“What are you eating.”

“I . . . hadn’t quite finished the scone, darling.”

“ . . . Just . . . please don’t get any crumbs in the Bentley.”

“I won’t, dear.”

Crowley sighed, and floored it.

[strawberryfitzsherbert]

What’s up Steve Irwin? Are you holding up okay?

djfjdjfahd that made me laugh thank u for that

the short answer is yeah i’m fine! the longer answer is under the cut~

overall, i’m comping well. y’know, all things considered! doing okay. i’m so busy i would’ve been mostly staying at home anyway tbh so isolation itself isn’t really bothering me. plus i have a bunch of animals to chill with! but i’m sure like anyone else i’m having a few wobbles here and there:

already got like 4 diff mental health issues which don’t make this any easier

had to leave university really suddenly and come back to england - didn’t realise i would never attend uni again (i was in my last year) or live with my housemates again or hang out with my uni friends again (we all live in different parts of the UK and some even live abroad like bermuda and malaysia)… i didn’t get to say goodbye to any of my friends or lecturers (the people i’ve spent the last three years with). and this is my LAST year of education FOREVER and it’s been marred by all this? i have 0 closure for my friends OR my studies and nothing feels real

having to immediately readjust to being back in my family home, which is nice, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a Big Adjustment and very loud and hectic in comparison with so many of us here

uncertainty about my exams and what’s gonna happen - what kind of grade am i gonna end up with? has all my hard work been for nothing? i overcame SO much in that past couple of years and fought tooth and nail to stay at uni and stay on track to get a First, but now that’s been snatched away from me at the last second and honestly? that SUCKS. i didn’t drag myself through the worst year of my life and a genuine mental break only to be thwarted by a fucking virus

still trying to do my dissertation which is hard enough on its own

worried about some close family members/friends who are particularly at risk from all this

had SOOO many plans (a couple of which i think were once-in-a-lifetime, like two months of travel to australia and america, a disney trip, my graduation…) that i was really really looking forward to that now won’t happen because of fuckin c.ovid

soooo… yeah, there’s a lot going on but hey, there’s a lot going on for everyone right now. sometimes i’m not okay (like everyone else) but overall, i’m fine! a lot of other people have it way worse, it’s chill!

[darkredehmption]

Past and Present

#SL #PastAndPresent

Written by @DamagedBrother and @OfFeatherNFang

Mentions @PanwerePredator

*~*~*

Zsadist: 

As we rushed Hadrian back to the mansion, I couldn’t help but think about the time I rushed him to Havers. That day where I stabbed him and yet he still trusted me after it all. We definitely had a bond, and I knew that he was going to be alright. He had to be. I wouldn’t allow it any other way. 

We quickly got him down the tunnels and in the PT suite where they transferred him to a stretcher. Vishous, and the medical team we had on staff, took over from there. Leaving the rest of us out in the hall. As soon as the door shut we all kinda just let out a sigh. Some Brothers dispersed, while others like Cop, and Phury, hung around. Nodding over to them before my eyes meet Mal’s. He was studying the shifter behind the glass. Reaching out to land my hand on his shoulder, not caring if the others watched me do it.

“Thank you...It means a lot that you were there, that you helped him.” 

My hand gave his arm a squeeze, eyes never leaving his own. I wanted to just take him into my arms, lay him on my bed, and kiss every inch of his body. This male...was a male of worth and he was mine.

Slowly I drag my hand forward, letting it rest at his throat, my thumb brushing over his soft skin. I didn’t take my eyes off of him. I wanted him to see the emotion behind them, even if I was so bad at expressing how I felt. He knew. He had to know. Parting my lips to say something, only to be cut off by the sound of his cellphone. Fuck. What now? 

Mal:

The sterility of the room was something I was familiar with, after having spent a few days in there myself. Watching the team go to work on the shifter, try to assess him and his unconscious state, reminded me of how I’d ended up here. That stroke of luck, good or bad, that saw me help these males protect the Chosen. Saw me land in front of Zsadist and shield him from a bullet.

As if sensing my thoughts of him, my male reached out and squeezed my arm. For all that I’d been reluctant to trust in a were-animal, I still couldn’t let him die if it meant hurting Zsadist. For whatever reason, he’d forged some sort of friendship with Hadrian, and I wasn’t the type to deny him a person that made him happy. 

So with an effort, I wrenched my gaze from the med team hooking him up to heart monitors, to my mate. His gratitude was a warm, tender thing, and I drew it into me, reassuring myself I’d made the right call. Hanging on to Hadrian’s soul had been… exhausting. Fighting the pull of death itself? I’d never tried anything like it with my divinity. But it was worth it for him. For this.

I leant into his touch, stared into the golden pools of his eyes, and felt that knee knocking rush of emotion. This male, the one who would fight tooth and nail for his friends, for his family, wanted me. A rough half breed hunter with a few fake credit cards to his name. His lips parted, but the sound that broke the silence was not his voice.

An exhausted sigh slipped past my lips as I slid a hand into my pocket and extracted the device, my brows arching upward at the caller ID. Shit. I swiped to open it without saying anything to the male.

“Ethan?”

‘Mal, man, you said you were near Caldwell yeah?’

“Yeah, why?”

‘Well, m’ gonna call in that IOU. Need you. A town about an hour away. I can text you the deets.’

My head spun as I turned away from Zsadist, taking a few steps from him and the other Brothers lingering in the hall. Even as the night’s events dragged at me, I felt a fresh burst of adrenaline that only came from a hunt. 

“Car or fly?”

‘Fly. Need you here fast. We’re running out of time. You good?’

I looked up and turned back to face Zsadist. I could see it in his face, his eyes. I was leaving, and any other time, any other night, he’d have come with me. No questions asked. But Hadrian was here, and the shifter needed him. 

“I’m good. I’ll see you soon.”

Neither of us said anything else as the line went dead. I lowered the device, feeling the weight of the silence that followed until my phone beeped again with the text - the location.

“…that was Ethan,” I managed, gesturing toward the med suite. “The one who helped us with… with Hadrian. He needs me. I have to go.”

Zsadist:

Soon he was taking the call, walking away from me in the hallway as he talked to one of his hunter friends probably. I tried not to eavesdrop on the phone call, but I couldn’t help but keep my eyes on him. Watching the way his brow lifted with a curious stare, lips parting to reply back, back slouching forward slightly from exhaustion, most likely. Finally his eyes meet mine, trying not to look like a lost puppy as I gazed back. Then he was bidding whoever on the other end Goodbye.

It was Ethan. He needed my male for something. Something that...was not lesser related. That even if I were to go, I bet I wouldn’t be of much help. Slowly my head turns to gaze into the PT suite, watching Hadrian as I murmur. “Go.” I didn’t want to ask if he was flying or driving. Figured I’d leave that up to my imagination. 

“Lucky you don’t have to worry about daylight.” Butch chimes in.

My eyes shifting back towards my male. Oh yes. I almost had forgotten, but how could I? Mal craved the sun, needed it, and maybe after his trip he could get some. Recharge his energy after helping the shifter. But he could also get hurt, and then who would come to help him when the sun was up? Fritz? Shaking the thought from my head as I turn to gaze at Butch and Phury. I give them a look, watching as they disperse. Cop heads straight towards the Pit, while Phury made his way down the hall in the opposite direction, back towards the manse. Leaving just me and the angel. 

“You better be safe.” Trying to hide the roughness in my tone, but I couldn’t help it, feelings were forming. Feelings that I’ve never felt before. All of this was new to me and I didn’t know how to deal with it. Taking in a deep breath as I make my way towards the male, pausing when I was just inches away. Tell him. Tell him how you feel. Come on Z. You watch all your Brothers express their...feelings...towards their mates. Do the same. Swallowing the lump in my throat before parting my scarred lips. 

“I’ll...be a mess if you don’t come back safe and sound. And I think...you know why…” My hand lifts, pausing for a moment before making contact with the angel’s cheek. Dragging my calloused thumb over his soft skin. “Be careful. Please. I really can’t lose you.” Leaning in to capture his lips in a passionate kiss. Taking the time to explore his mouth with my tongue before pulling back, gasping for air. 

Shifting my head to graze my lips over his ear, whispering against it. “I can’t live without you, and I don’t ever want to.” I went off in the old language. Just sweet words that I didn’t know how to express in english, ending it all with one word that I hoped he knew. “Nallum.” I breathed as I pulled away. Turning to lean against the wall, peering into the PT suite at Hadrian once again. My chest felt heavy from everything I just spoke to the male who meant everything to me.

Mal:

The Brothers took the hint and made themselves scarce, leaving just Zsadist and myself in the hall. Through that door I could hear the machines beeping, the life support or whatever it was being hooked up to make sure the shifter didn’t die on their watch. Like Z wouldn’t march his ass straight into the afterlife and drag him back.

I could see that look in his eyes now as he watched me; a silent plea that I wasn’t to go anywhere he couldn’t follow. As he lifted a hand to my cheek, his thumb stroking over my skin, I fought the automatic rush of longing, the need to kiss him and hold him and erase the sadness from his eyes. 

The kiss seared into my bones, my body melting to his, a perfect fit, as my tongue brushed against his, as I devoured the taste of him. And too soon it was over, the loss an ache when coupled with the knowledge I was leaving. The whispered string of words in a language I didn’t know still sounded sweet, like a caress all on its own.

Nallum. 

Beloved.

“I’m coming back,” I managed, my voice husky. “I’ll always come back to you, Nallum.”

There was so much left unsaid. Words I felt. Words I meant. 

But saying them now felt like a goodbye, and I didn’t want them to be a goodbye. I wanted them to be forever. 

So I didn’t say them. 

Instead I summoned my wings, the weight a reassurance. Reaching to the sensitive inner curve near my back, I plucked a single, small feather. Lush and glossy and soft and dark. Stepping close to my male, I slipped it into his hand as I ghosted my lips over his, a silent promise I’d be back soon. That a part of me was always here. I let myself look into the simmering gold of his eyes, holding that look in my mind, before I stepped past and kept going.

I needed to get to my car, grab a bag of supplies, and take off.

I needed to focus. 

Because the sooner I dealt with Ethan’s problem, the sooner I could come back.

Come home.

[snapessecretdiary]

So far down the road

Summary: eight years, four month and 27 days after your first date with Matt Murdock your facing a difficult decision.

A/n: writing this hurt.

Word count: 2132

It had been like this for a while now. Work being complicated, and that more than usual, your flat looking like someone just dropped a bomb and your Mom who was just about to move into another city quite far away which didn't really add to your desperate wish for relaxing. What only add to your miserable situation was your boyfriend.

You've been with Matt for a long period of time now, almost 8 ½ years. And to say you loved him was an understatement. The both of you had been through so much on your own and ever since you two were together, you fought your daily opponents together. When you were strong alone, you were so much stronger together. And maybe this was what encouraged Matt to do this. Maybe this was what made him think he could fight the dark of the night all on his own. For a while, it seemed like a good idea; you knew how outstanding his hearing ability was- it seemed to completely compensate his blindness. Matt was a fighter, he never did complain about what he could and couldn't do. When you got to know him, he was blind already. That was the Matt you knew, the Matt you were used to, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

So as he started leaving your shared flat in the night, you were encouraging. You supported him, as best as you could. You, on the other hand, weren't a fighter. You had never been involved in a fight and you wished so hard to never be part of one. So what really could you do? Other than stay at home and worry and force yourself to sleep? Nothing, really. And as time dragged on and sleep didn't come you started to worry even more. What if this would go wrong?

Now, eight years, four month and 27 days after first having met this boy called Matthew Murdock, you sat on the floor, your back to the couch, knees pressed to your chest, head in hands and tears spilling pathetically from your eyes. So what did happen in those years?

Well, it was easy. Really, really easy: It did go wrong.

The thing is, it was not because Matt got hurt. At least not seriously so. It wasn't anything new to see him with a new scratch or bump or bruise on his body. You had gotten so used to this, you kind of started to wonder whenever you didn't found him covered in blood. On a point, you even stopped asking whether it was his or someone else's.

It wasn't like you didn't care, it was just that you cared too much.

Worrying day per day and in ever minute that you should normally spend sleeping, took its toll on you, and you knew it.

Those eight years, four month and 27 days had changed you, and it did change your mind.

You loved Matt, and you did so for a long time and you would probably always love him. But you had enough. You had worried about him too much. You wanted peace, you wanted a day spend like a normal couple would, you wanted a full eight hours of sleep, cuddled closely to a body that didn't harbour a newly forming scar each other day. You just wanted Matt and you to be like you once were again. Happy, in love, leading a quiet life and planing your future.

So now- now it was the day you had dreaded for oh so long. Of course you knew this day would come. It was your decision, after all.

So right now, sitting there, with no more tears left to give, you closed your eyes. And suddenly all was dark. No more shade, no more colour, no more needing your eyes. And you got up. It was confusing, to not see anything.

The couch pressed against your legs and lower back, you pushed yourself off, slowly walking towards your bedroom. You wanted to know what Matt felt like, when he walked around his surroundings, but not seeing any of them. Maybe if you could understand from this perspective, than maybe you could understand what he felt, too. In a quite ridiculous way, you even thought you could feel his pain. But of course you didn't. You never did.

With something hard pressing against your knee caps, you re-opened your eyes. You stood in front of your bed. The bed you had spend so many days twisting and turning, never quite settling because the worry slowly drove you insane.

Looking down, your eyes took in the black material of you bag. You had only packed your most important stuff. Clothes, tooth brush, a comp, your mobile phone, some other things you thought you'd need and a picture of you and Matt. This would do, for a while. You'd come back to get the rest when a little time has passed.

Tracing your fingers over the material, you wondered what he would say right now, if he knew. Don't go. Those famous words would probably be involved. Maybe he would plead for you to re-think about your decision. Or maybe he would accept it.

So this was it, you thought, this was goodbye.

It was ridiculous. You had spent so much time trying to talk your best friend out of splitting up with her partner of three years. „You're together for so long now [F/N], don't just throw this away.“ How ironic of you. Now it was you who was about to throw away a relationship that you would have thought lasted a lifetime. But how little were eight years compared to a lifetime.

By the time you had finally managed to get your back to the door you felt a knot build up in your stomach. You had experimenced so much in this flat. So much love and joy as you first got here, devorating every room, making it look homely. It was a little difficult, but you soon grew attatched to the bright billboard outside your window. And you grew used to the fact that everything in this flat reminded you of Matt. Hell, it even smelled like him, as if you had never been here. As if you were destined to leave one day. And of course it was. This was Matt's now. His flat, not yours. With that bag in your hands and your foot about to step towards the door, you were a stranger to all this. You wouldn't think of this place anymore, when you talked of home, you wouldn't remember exactly where you put your favourite shirt or where exactly Matt's razor was placed. You were about to leave the one place you called home, about to search for another, when the door opoened out of nothing, reavealing the one person that you wanted not to see right now. Matt Murdock. Your home.

And maybe it was because of his special senses, or maybe it was because it's Matt, but he knew something was off. He just knew.

There was no sound that was anything close to what he had gotten used to hear when he returned home from work. There was no silent breather that made him realise you were home, no delicate flipping of pages that indicated that you, once more, read a book. There was just silence, ever defeating silence and in a way Matt thought it was so unbearably loud. It floadet his senses, drowning out everything he knew. There was something that wasn't supposed to be this way and he was about to find out what it was.

And he knew it had something to do with the erractic speed-up of your heartbeat, sounding nothing like the rhythm he loved to listen to when falling asleep, but so much like a strangers. What was wrong?

„[Y/N]?“ he asked quietly. Your name had rolled so often down his tounge, but you had never heard it sound much like this. Broken.

And this was what truly shattered your heart- this voice that was so unlike Matt. And it was your fault. Only yours.

„Matt I'm so sorry,“ you cried, tears streaming down your face almost violently. You let them. It was okay to cry. Right now, it was the only logical thing to do.

„I cannot do this anymore. I'm not strong enough.“ Your own voice was barely more than a whisper, but you didn't care. Matt would understand you anyway, he always did. And you really hoped he would do now, too.

„No-“ he sobbed. You had seen Matt cry before. But never like that. He never fell to his knees like that, he never almost hit the ground. „No..“

He has fought enemies that could have easily killed him, but Matt wasn't afraid.

There were so many times that he was closer to death than to being alive and still, he wasn't afraid.

But Matt was very much afraid now. You were slipping through his fingers and he closed his hand to late. And before he could try to put all his power into holding you, keeping you close by his side, he had lost already.

„Please,“ he begged, the back of his head pushed so hard against the wall behind him, you were sure it hurt, „Please don't leave me [Y/N]!“

Of course he would say this, you knew he would. Hollywood had already taught you so. And this situation was very much movie like.

„Matt you have to understand. You've got to understand me.“ Even though still standing, you were in the same state as him. Your hand gripped the wall so hard, your knuckles had started to turn white. If it hurt you didn't feel it, right now it was the only thing to prevent you from falling over.

„I have to do this. I have to, and you know this.“ you sobbed, your stomach twisting so violently, you wanted to throw up. „You know I've gotta do this Matt..“

His deep brown orbs darted around the room madly. He couldn't make out where you were, everything was just too much, the thoughts in his head were too loud. How could he let this happen? How could he be so stupid and not see this coming?

Trying to contain himself from sobbing, he pushed himself off the wall and walked further into your flat, his eyes blurry from tears, his hands outstreched. He was searching for you. Right now, Matt did want nothing more than to touch you, to hold you in his arms, as if that could change everything. It couldn't, he knew that. And you very surely going to flinch away from his touch, but he had to try. He would never forgive himself if he wouldn't.

„[Y/N], love, please don't leave me alone.“

His cry seemed inhuman, so unlike him. That only teared at your heart even more. You had to do this. You ought to. That much you had promised yourself.

Seeing his hand reach out, about to touch your ellbow, you let it happen. Matt seemed almost surprised. His soft fingertips dancing delicately over your skin. This once would have been enough to give you your much needed solace- right now it just burned your skin. But you wouldn't move away, so you took his hand yours, gently drawing small cirlces on his palm. Just for the sake of a last time. To remember how his hands felt like.

„You won't be alone Matt. You have Foggy, and Karen, and you'll be okay. I'll be okay too. And maybe one day we can be friends again.“ you whispered, a sad smile on your lips. You reached out, took your bag and went to kiss his lips. „I love you Matt. Goodbye.“

Taking a deep breath in, you watched as his head head dropped and his plush lips formed themselves into an expression of pure hurt. This sight alone stung. Nothing had ever been more beautiful than his smile. The way the corner of his lips pushed up all while his deep brown eyes lit up. People found it unsettling when his eyes darted around, never really foccussion on where one actually stood, but you didn't. You had grown used to it, couldn't imagine how it was possible to be any other way.

Gently stroking his stubbled cheeck, you smiled at him one last time. This was Matt Murdock, a great lawyer, part time vigilante, the man you loved. But it was over now. Eight years, four month and 27 days after you fell in love with him, you were facing your end. You both put up a decend fight, but in the end, you were defeated.

[axispheydra]

Prompt 7 - Pardoned

“When the Amalj’aa become more aggressive, it’s because they’re plotting something. There’s already been several skirmishes, and it’s only a matter of time before there’s reports of abductions, I think.”

“Then we’d best thank the Twelve they’re being predictable. Though I suppose you don’t always need to be clever when you’re nine fulms tall and have arms like tree trunks. Still, if we know they’re coming, we can do something about it. For now, let’s get some patrols between here and the encampment, to try and cut them off.”

“Should we send word to the Hall of Flames? They might send us additional personnel if the need is dire.”

“Well it isn’t, not yet. And hopefully it stays that way. But the Adventurer’s Guild said they would be sending someone to assist us in the meantime.”

“Just one? Hells, we’ll need a whole party to fend them off once they realize we’re onto them. What could one person do?”

“That’s just it, they’re sending someone special. They’re sending a paladin.”

It had been some time since Orara came to this part of Thanalan- even her work with the Immortal Flames over the past few years hadn’t taken her near her old home. Now, outfitted in the sleek white-and-blue armor of the paladin order, she found something like guilt gnawing at her heart. She often spoke of wanting to help the weak and needy, and the people of Drybone and the Golden Bazaar we’re often short on supplies as well as protection, so why hadn’t she come back?

Her family was part of it. She hadn’t spoken to her parents, even via letter, since she’d left for Ul’dah, and she didn’t even know if they were still alive or not at this point. In the end, Orara decided that maybe it was for the best that she tried to move on from what had happened. Being back here just dredged up old memories that would get in the way during this request, and if peoples’ lives were at stake, she couldn’t have that.

She arrived at the local Flames station in the middle of their strategy meeting, and they were glad to see her.

“Ah, you must be Orara, yes?” said the Hyur at the head of the table. A map of the area lay on top of it, with several stones of various colors dotting its surface, as well as a number of ink marks. “I am Captain Kerl, and I am overseeing this- well, I don’t know if I’d call it warfare, but I’m afraid it may come to that at some point.”

“That’s why I’ve come,” she said, situating herself between another Lalafell and a Roegadyn at the other end of the table. “I admit I don’t have much experience leading a battle, so I’ll defer to you.”

The captain nodded and continued the meeting, which went in the direction Orara expected. The Amalj’aa prided themselves on their strength, so a show of force typically cowed them enough so the Flames could reinforce nearby trading routes and hamlets before they regrouped. Orara could easily act as the vanguard of any fighting force sent to raid their encampment.

“If everyone is clear on the plan, then we’ll strike tomorrow night,” said Kerl. “The beastmen tend to be less active when night falls, so that will give us all the opportunity we need.”

It was a straightforward exercise, and Orara wasn’t concerned about its outcome. The encampment at the edge of Camp Drybone wasn’t large enough to have a significant number of Amalj’aa, and with a handful of Immortal Flames soldiers, combined with her own battlefield expertise, it would likely end in victory. Although Orara had enjoyed being part of the Flames, she was enjoying this kind of freedom even more. The soldiers would remain here even after the assignment was done while she was free to leave and pursue her own code of justice once more. Perhaps she should’ve become an Adventurer sooner.

When she asked one of the Flames about a place to spend the night, the Roegadyn just shook his head. “Only place in town’s the Eternal Sleep,” he said. “Not much of an inn, though. 'Course, this ain’t much of a town, either. Should be enough for now, just make sure you lock that door at night.”

Even with the Immortal Flames around, this place could never be “safe” the way Ul’dah could. It was too far out, too small, too desperate for survival. The desert did that to people, made them struggle and fight for every scrap they could, and while the Immortal Flames could deter most, they couldn’t be everywhere at once. Even the local vendors fought tooth and nail for every coin they could, and Orara found herself paying a few thousand gil for food she could get for half the price in Ul’dah. Was parting with her money like that its own type of helping people in need?

As she ruminated, scraps of conversation nearby caught her ear, especially since they were about her.

“I’m sorry, I just sold the last one,” said the Roegadyn manning one of the stalls. “To that paladin over there. Maybe if you ask nicely she’ll be willing to cut a deal, I hear they’re all about helping people in need.”

She could part with the food, Orara thought. There were other places to fill her belly in Drybone, and if someone really needed what she had, she couldn’t allow herself to say no.

“Excuse me, adventurer?” came a voice nearby. “I’m so sorry to bother you, I only heard that you bought some meat from that merchant, and it was the last of his stock and-”

“Say no more,” said Orara, turning around. “I couldn’t allow myself to do nothing while you- oh.”

She stared at the woman who had approached her, who stared back. They both had that same dark skin, ebony hair, and golden eyes. It was a face Orara hadn’t seen in years.

“Ma?” she managed.

The other woman’s eyes widened. “Orara? Is that- oh my gods, look at you.” Her hands went for Orara’s face, feeling her cheeks and hair as if proof of her daughter’s identity could be found there. “You’ve gained weight, I see.”

“Ma! That’s not- Nevermind.” Orara reached up and took her mother’s hands in her own, sifting through her feelings. “Why are you here?” she said, unable to find anything more meaningful to say.

“Well, meat’s cheaper here than at the Golden Bazaar, and it’s not too far, so I don’t mind. What about you, what brings a paladin of the Sultansworn all the way out here? By the Twelve, the Sultansworn, your father would have a lot to say about that if he were here.”

“If he were here? Is dad-”

“Oh, he’s just at home. I don’t mean to worry you.”

Orara nodded, letting go of her mother’s hands. She hadn’t expected this reunion, but she wasn’t sure what to think about it either. The way her mother spoke, this wasn’t how you normally talked to your estranged daughter, was it? This was catching up with someone you hadn’t seen in a few weeks.

“Why did-” She stopped short, thinking about what she really wanted to ask. There was a number of things she needed to know: why her mother hadn’t been willing to support her even a little, why they had refused the money she offered, and why was her father so upset in the first place? Her mother waited for her to speak, and Orara finally settled on something she’d been wondering since she enlisted in the Immortal Flames.

“Why did you never respond to my letters, ma?”

The woman’s face fell. “Oh, that. Your father-” She looked away, biting at her lip. “You saw how angry he was. When you left, he didn’t want anything to do with you. When your letters came, he didn’t want me to respond. He even wanted to just throw the money away, but I thought you didn’t deserve your hard work to just go to waste.”

Her father, again. And her mother, doing nothing about it, again. Orara sighed. “I was worried. I didn’t even know if you were still alive. So it’s... it’s good to see you, ma.” She forced a small smile, feeling an old knot in her chest coming undone. She’d forgotten it was there in the first place, it had been so long.

“It’s good to see you too, Orara. And I’m glad you’re doing well.”

It felt nice to talk to her mother like this. It was like they were on equal ground now, not just an unhappy daughter and her mother, but rather two adults who had found their own ways in life.

Her mother smiled. “You know, Orara, when you’re free, if you want... you could come and visit. Your father, he was angry before, but now he’s gotten over it, and himself. I imagine it would do him some good to see you like this.”

“I... I might like that.” Maybe if she showed up in her armor, her father would understand that he wasn’t right about everything. Ul’dah wasn’t a perfect place, but Orara had made it there. She’d climbed the ranks of the Immortal Flames and found a role as a paladin, as a protector of the realm and its people.

Her mother nodded, now encouraged. “Yes, if you apologized, I imagine he would even forgive you.”

“If I... apologized?” Orara looked up, almost laughing to herself. “I don’t- why would I apologize, ma? Why would I even need to?”

“Well, it’s just that-” Her mother sputtered, realizing she had said the wrong thing. “I only thought that, since you know how stubborn he is, that it would just be easier that way.”

“But I wasn’t wrong!” Orara gritted her teeth as she felt that old indignation, that old anger bubble up in her. “I found something good in Ul’dah, I’ve been helping people. I made something for myself, he should be proud of me!”

“Well, I think he will be, but you know how he is-”

“Just because that’s how he is doesn’t mean I need to bend backwards for him! And neither do you!”

Her mother was silent in response, a hurt look on her face. Orara was suddenly aware that most of the eyes in Camp Drybone were on her, that she’d made a scene. It definitely wasn’t fitting for a paladin.

“I have to go,” she said, surprised by the coldness in her voice. “Here, take the meat, ma. I don’t need it. And I’m sorry for shouting.” There was a gap that begged to be filled with more words, but Orara couldn’t find the right ones to say. “I’m glad you’re doing alright. Goodbye.”

She hadn’t expected any kind of reunion, but this wasn’t how she would’ve guessed it would go. Turning away from her mother, she headed towards the inn before the other woman’s voice stopped her one last time.

“You’re a lot like him you know,” said her mother. Orara could hear the tears in her voice. “Stubborn as all hells. But you always do what you think you need to do. I don’t... blame you for wanting more. I’m just sorry we couldn’t give it to you.”

Orara sighed. “Please don’t apologize to me,” she said, unwilling to turn around. “Just promise me something. If I write again, please respond. I don’t care what you say, just say something.”

“Okay, Orara. I promise you. You deserve that much.”

Orara nodded, and walked towards the inn. Her limbs now felt sluggish, as if the knot inside her had tightened, pulling her muscles and spirit along with it. She needed rest now, if she was going to be ready for the battle ahead, because the Amalj’aa wouldn’t care what kind of familial troubles she was having.

But it took some time before sleep finally found her. Orara’s mind buzzed with thoughts of a potential meeting with her father, and she turned the scenario over in her mind time and again, and found she had no idea what to say.

[tnystrk-exe]

The Plan

Based on To All the Boys I Loved Before

Growing up wasn’t the worst. Life was great with your siblings and father. Those three were your backbone. If anything happened in your life they were always there for you. Whether it was to hold you when you were down or joke about the situation. They were the only dependable people around. 

At a young age you learned that not everyone was dependable. Your siblings and yourself got to hear your mother rant about how she had never even wanted to adopt once, let alone three times. It was heartbreaking to hear. It didn’t take long after for your father to file for divorce with full custody of his three kids.

Natasha was the oldest, a natural leader. She was the first child the Fury’s had adopted. No one knew anything about her past. Your father was the one who found her walking along the road. The little girl couldn’t have been older than three, she was in tattered clothes and all muddied up. Nat refuses to be pulled away from Nick after. It was safe to say she grew on him just as well. For a year your father fought tooth and nail to adopt her, against the state. With your mother’s support he assumed she was on the same page as him. 

Soon after your father felt like having another child in the home. Along came you. Your birth parents had ditched you at a fire station. There weren’t as many blanks in your story as Nat’s. A fireman had managed to catch a glimpse of a young couple scattering, while a newborn cried into the night. You must’ve been at the right place at the right time because three months later Nick made a place in his family for you. 

It was four years before Peter was born. The Parker’s were a young couple that had got a bad case of baby fever after hanging out with you and Nat. They considered you all their family. Around the time Peter was a year old, his parents were in a horrible crash. Neither made it to the hospital. They had left the baby to Richard’s brother Ben and his wife May. The young couple struggled between college, work, and a baby. Nick extended his hand, putting forward the idea of him being Peter’s legal guardian until the two could handle having the child. Weeks passed before they finally agreed. Ben and May were still heavily involved in Peter’s life from then on. Just until they finally had good enough footing to take care of Peter on their own, they had stressed. 

The history with in your family led you to believe people came and go as they wanted. So why let more people into your life than necessary? It left less of a chance to get hurt by others just picking up and leaving. You never threw caution into the wind and played with your card close to your chest. If getting heartbroken was in the possible out comes, then you always opted out. 

That meant each time you though you were even developing a crush, you’d drown it out. You’d write a letter out, leave it in a box in your closet and forget about those feelings the best you could. The collection was up to five letters now. All hidden away out of sight and out of mind. 

There was Bruce, the nice boy you fell head over heels for when you were 11 at summer camp, his glasses, curls, and shy demeanor made him adorable. Sam who asked you to dance at the spring formal, the whole night was passed twirling around with one another. Scott from freshman year’s biology class, he was nice and managed to make you laugh at everything. Tony who was your first kiss at 13. Finally, Steve...

Steve, Steve, Steve.

Steve was in all ways your first love. The original wound. When you were seven his family moved into the house next tours. It was a start of a beautiful friendship. There wasn’t a moment of time the two of you would be apart. A duo to be reckoned with. That was until freshman year. Nat and Steve had suddenly realized the other’s existence. You were late in realizing your feelings for him, but that was okay. Right? At least they were happy?

Everything and nothing changed all at once. They made sure to include you in everything, without making you feel like a third wheel. No way it ever worked out. Now you were nothing but an add on to their relationship. 

“YN! Wake up, breakfast is up soon,” Nat woke you. 

“Nat, leave me alone. I’m trying to stay unconscious for longer than you’ll let me.”

You felt the bed dip and Peter jumped on to the bed, “Not gonna work. She’s a tyrant.”

“Trust me, I know.” 

“YN, eyes open. Now.”

Finally complying, you opened your eyes. “Ready to know my commands for the day, dear.”

“Just get up, dad’s making breakfast and I need you to help me pack up for college.” She turned heel.

Peter dashed after her, “Wait? I thought you were cooking. Dad’s cooking kinda...sucks.”

“You’ll smile and happily compliment whatever he sets down in front of you.” 

“I will, just not as excited anymore,” Peter answered wistfully. 

You took your time getting ready for the day. There was no rush. Two more days before you needed to go back to school. Besides it’s not like your schedule was ever particularly eventful. 

Bounding down the stairs, you were met by the sight of Steve and Nat apperently greeting each other happily. “You two know what houses are full of? Rooms. There’s even a handy one that belongs to a certain red head.”

“Morning, YN,” Steve chuckled a light blush across his cheeks, “How are you?”

“A lot better now that I don’t have to as you and my sister going for it,” you answered, leaving the couple behind and walking to the breakfast table. 

Everyone got situated at the table soon enough. Peter was evidently not a fan of the food but was happily immersed in the conversation. 

“Nat, you’re coming home for Thanksgiving right?” Peter asked around a mouth full of food. 

“No,” your dad shook his head, “We can’t afford it, she’s coming for Christmas break.”

“That reminds me..” Steve set down his sketching supplies and looked through his bag, holding up a plane ticket. “I thought about surprising you the day of, but I figure a count down would be better.”

Natasha looked surprised and not exactly as pleased as everyone expected. “Did you already pay for that?”

“Yeah! Of course. Same day you said it was official.”

“Steve, we need to talk...”

“Uh oh, that doesn’t sound good,” you heard Peter whisper to himself, “Dad the food is delicious. Would anyone like more some more of this bread egg bacon stuff?”

The rest of the day was like WW3 broke out in your home. Nat and Steve were completely at odds. They ended up being pushed into the backyard to continue their conversation. It wasn’t until late that night that the arguing finished. 

Nat fell dramatically beside you on the bed. You set your book aside and turned your attention to her. “What’s up?”

“I broke up with Steve,” she said matter of fact. Nat didn’t seemed phased. Though she never was, she was a tough one. 

You however were taken back, “Really? That’s...that’s something...Why? You seemed to, at least I thought-“

Nat rolled her eyes, “I loved him,” she completed. “I do, but it’s stupid to drag this out. He’s a great guy, but we all know how this is gonna work out in the end. Might as well snip it before it gets worse.”

“Doesn’t mean you two would end up that way. Why not take the chance? Maybe some big gesture?”

“You read too many romance books, kid. Not everything works out in the end. How about you go find your own person to romance and cut out of mine?”

You raised your hands, “Stalemate. Done. I got my reasons for doing things, you’ve got yours. Leave it at that, what do you say?”

“Sounds good. YN, I need to talk to you,” Nat used her more parental voice. It was used for bad decisions and advise. 

“Go for it,” you shrugged, already leaning against the headboard, knowing you couldn’t avoid one of her talks. 

“Dad’s a busy man. He tries to balance it all out between family and work, but he needs some help. Between the three of us, there’s a lot of stress. While I’m gone, you’re in charge. You’re gonna be the oldest sibling, Pete and dad are going to need you a lot more often. I just need you to step up.”

You picked at your fingers, “Yeah, I, um, definitely. You know, Nat, you didn’t have to come tell me that. I’ve stepped up to the plate just as much as you have.”

Natasha nodded and stood up, “I should finish packing up. Get this room clean.”

“Yes, mom,” you answered monotonous. As much as you loved Nat, she had a tendency not to see you on an equal footing as her. She didn’t do it purposefully, but it always got under your skin. You knew she was just worried about the family and let it go as best as you could. 

You tried cleaning, you really did, but each found object was a new thing to explore. As much as it annoyed your family members your room was just destined to look a mess. Pushing yourself to clean again, you came across an old shoebox. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you carded through the carefully decorated letters. Reading through them, you laughed and cringed. The past wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, but you could remember being in the mindset when you wrote each one clearly. It was nice seeing how you had developed and expressed your emotions through out your life. Placing the box back on the floor, you pushed it under your bed to be forgotten until the next time you came across it. 

The following morning everyone helped Natasha put all of her things into the car. You noted that she made a point of it not to look at Steve who was working on his old motorcycle. Having known Steve long enough, you knew he had some hope of something, anything to happen. Still, there was no such luck. It was known that Nat was the type that could leave things and never think of them again, but you thought it was different to her with people. You couldn’t deny, the thought came with a healthy dose of fear. 

At the airport, everyone said there last goodbyes. 

Nat playfully ruffled Peter’s hair, “Don’t give these two too much trouble.”

“I forgot to pack your magazines,” Peter remembered, “Dad, let’s go get some for her.”

Nick was dragged away by Peter, “Slow down, they’ll still be there if we get there a second later.”

You watched them walk off, to the stand a couple of feet away, “Don’t have too much fun in Scotland without me.”

“No, I’m leaving all of the fun here with you. Good luck with your junior year. Loosen up a bit and have fun. If anything happens, I’m a call away.” She gave you a tight hug. “I’m going to miss seeing you around, kid.”

“I’m going to miss you too, Nat...Things are going to be different. Did you really have to go out that far?”

“It was a full ride scholarship,” she shrugged, “less for dad to worry about.”

“We didn’t know what you’d want to read, so we grabbed one of each,” Nick said, handling over the stack of magazines.

Nat grabbed the stack and offered the three of you a smile. “Thank you. Guess this is where I leave. I’ll see you guys at Christmas.” Nat walked toward the terminal. 

“Do you think she’ll wave?” Peter asked. 

“No. Nat’s not like that,” you answered. 

Nick put his arms on your and Peter’s shoulders. “Are you two thinking about going to a different country too? Am I really that bad?” He joked, leading the two of you out of the airport. 

“Well,” Peter smiled, “If you get me a dog, I’ll stay a lot longer. How’s that for a deal?”

“I don’t think so, nice enough try. What about you, YN?”

You thought for a moment, “I love it here, but I really don’t know yet. It’s a lot to sort out.”

“The beginning is tough,” Nick allowed, “I’ll be here to help you sort it all out.”

Two weeks had passed since Nat left for school. Which meant it was prime time for school to start for you and Peter.

“Hey, Pete!” You shook him awake. “Time to wake up.”

“Ten more minutes,” he grumbled, pulling the cover over his head, “It’s what Nat would have wanted.”

“Nat would have woken you up thirty minutes ago. You don’t know what she would have wanted. C’mon get up.”

He groaned, pushing off the blanket. “Fine, but only because I owe you the world for those thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get ready and do what you need. Hurry though, breakfast is almost ready.”

After breakfast, Nick had managed to convince you and Peter to take the annual first day of school pictures. 

“Smile!” On the command you signaled Peter to make a funny face with you, “Ha, ha, give me at least one nice one.”

“Yes, sir,” you complied, putting an arm around him and smiling happily. The two of you settled for a cutesy picture.

“Was that so hard?” Nick said, pocketing his phone, “Drive safe, have good days, I’ll see you both at dinner.”

That left the two of you to go to Nat’s car. You stared at the wheel, hesitant. Driving was still new to you. Anytime Nat and Steve dragged you anywhere, they insisted on driving. There wasn’t much room to practice, coupled with the fact that you had never driven with Peter in the car. You felt some pressure. 

Peter stared at you, “You can do it, YN. I’ll even ride without my seatbelt to prove how much I trust you.” He clicked it off. 

You clicked the seatbelt back in before it had a chance to go back. “Appreciate the confidence. Rather not risk it, if it’s cool with you.”

The ride to school was bumpy and you were never more thankful that Pete’s school neighbored yours. 

“It wasn’t so bad, YN! Good job!” He held his hand up for a high five. “Meet up here after school?”

You slapped your hand against his, “Yeah. Tell Ned I said hey.”

“Will do! Good luck today.” He gave you a smile before leaving the car to get to the middle school. 

You grabbed your backpack and locked up the car. Luckily enough you had gotten there early enough to miss the schedule line. Another year of...probably the same as the year before and the year before that. 

Passing Steve you gave him a quick, slightly awkward wave. Neither of you had spoken since the break up. Amazing that it wasn’t even your break up and you got to deal with the weirdness of it. With your mind occupied, you crashed into someone’s back.

“Watch it! Oh, it’s you,” Pepper said, rolling her eyes when she saw you. Pepper was your old best friend in middle school until she decided her popularity was more important. 

Ignoring her sneer, you gave her a smile. She hated when you were polite to her more than anything. “Sorry, Pep. Nice seeing you around.”

She looked you over, trying to find any flaws. “Really? You’re shopping at the army surplus store now?”

“Oh yeah,” you showed off your boots, “Like them? They’re pretty amazing.” You felt an army sling around your shoulders. 

“My favorite neighbor fucking with you again?” Val asked, “What’s up? Mommy and daddy’s took away your money and now we’re throwing tantrums? Gotta say, the boots are way better than your whore heels.”

“Fuck off, Val. You’re already drinking for the day? I can smell it from here.”

“No, but I am. I’m pretty sure you’re smelling me,” Tony said, wrapping his arms around Pepper, trying to defuse the situation, “Morning, baby. How about we go meet up with the group?”

She turned in Tony’s arms, greeting with him with a morning kiss. “That sounds great, honey.” Pepper walked through you and Val. It didn’t pass by you that she gave you a proud look. 

“Sorry, about her. Pep’s just be-“

“Don’t want to hear it, Tony. Everyone has problems to deal with,” you cut him off.

“Yeah...YN, Val, always a pleasure. I’ll see you later. ” He walked around you and to his meeting place. 

“For what it’s worth your shoes really are killer.”

“Aww, you really think so?”

“One compliment a day, LN. Don’t push it.”

Later that day, much to your disappointment Val decided it was time to start her ditching career again. To be fair, you hadn’t expected her to show up at school at all so you had to give her that much credit. Well, it was time to stop avoiding Steve, if you wanted to sit with anyone.

“Hey..” you greeted, “Do you mind if I...?”

“Yeah, sure!” Steve quickly cleared his stuff off of the space beside him and set it on the floor in front of himself. “Didn’t think you’d come after everything.”

“If I remember correctly, I found this spot. Technically, I should have custody of this stair case.”

“Nope, we found it together. Gotta share.” His attention was back on the sketch he was working on, “Sorry to disappoint.”

“That’s hardly a disappointment. I like having you around.” You sat down next to him, thankful things weren’t as awkward as you had imagined. 

“So..” he said nonchalantly as possible, “Did you know? Just you and Nat are so close. I just wanted to know if she had talked to you about it.”

Of course you jinxed it. “No. Sorry, I really had no idea. I’m pretty sure, if anything, we both assumed the same thing happening,” you spoke quickly, “Nat didn’t say anything to me.”

“Oh, okay.” 

You were never so thankful to hear the bell, signaling time for the next class. 

Later that day, you walked over to the middle school and waited for Peter near the entrance. The first day wasn’t all that bad now, was it? 

“Hey, YN! Is it cool if Ned comes over? We already texted his parents.”

“I don’t see why not.”

The boys high fived. You followed them over to your car. They settled down in the back, Peter had already told Ned you were nervous and to be on the quieter side until further notice. Considerate kids, those two. 

Putting the car in reverse, you just went for it, stopping the car completely when you heard a bump. Tony quickly walked around the car and knocked on your window.

“Hey, YN,” he said sweetly, once you rolled it down. 

You only nodded in acknowledgment unsure of what to say. Probably a sorry, but you couldn’t get yourself to speak.

“When I said ‘See you later, this isn’t exactly what I was picturing. You know back in 18whatever mirrors were invented? Really handy for cars when you need to see something behind you.”

You answered automatically without really thinking, “I know, I have one, just always thought I’d see your ego coming from a mile away.”

Two gasps filled the quiet that followed your statement. 

Tony closed his eyes, taking in what you had said. The corners of his mouth twitching trying to keep away a smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute, LN. Seriously, though, next time check. Boys, do me a favor and don’t let her hit anyone else.” He walked away without another word. 

A couple of minutes passed before you restarted the car. Peter and Ned assured you multiple times that no one was crossing before you exited out of the space. 

The first day of school went well. 

Everything Tag:

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[delanceyxbrothers]

Headcanon; Age Gap

Since I totally forgot to mention it (although I’ve put their ages in the most recent fic), Lucille is only ten months older than Oscar— her birthday is in February—and Oscar is a year and nine months older than Morris, with Lucille being two and a half years older than Morris. This is what contributes to how Lucille and Oscar’s relationship contrasts with Lucille and Morris— as well as Oscar and Morris’s relationship vs. her and them.

Lucille sees Morris as the baby, even though he’s about 16 years old by the time the strike rolls around. A lot of the arguments between Oscar and Lucille are based around Morris’s work at The World, because it physically pains her to know that the curly haired boy she taught how to read and do math comes home bruised and scraped to hell and back every evening. Morris sees Lucille as more of a parent than a sibling— she’s the one who got him dressed and made sure he ate and fussed over his messy hair and clothes when he was a kid— and tends to stay out of arguments between her and Oscar. Morris realizes he’s the baby of the family, but the moment things between his siblings are about to come to blows (and they have, with Lucille throwing the first punch just as many times as Oscar) he’s the one who steps in the middle and cuts them off.

Oscar and Lucille spent a lot of their lives trying to keep their father happy and their little brother safe, and they’ve both found comraderie in the stress they were put through in order to give Morris a childhood. However, after Lucille left New York without saying goodbye, it really drove a wedge between them; she went from being the person he could rely on to just another person who up and left him without warning, and he has a hard time forgiving her for that. Even though he knows their uncle was three flights of stairs from having her arrested, he doesn’t understand how she could think he would let him do that— although he also realizes that Lucille was at the end of her rope and needed to get away from their uncle. However, almost two years is a long time to be gone, and Lucille feels that Oscar gave up the life she fought tooth and nail to give him in order to become a brutish thug like their father, and dragged Morris down with him.

Lucille loves her brothers, but she has a lot of guilt and fear to work through. She stopped being a child when her mother left (she was ten years old) and that has affected her both mentally and emotionally— and not just by causing her to go through a midlife crisis at 16. Not only does she bear the physical scars from their father, but she then spent the next 3-4 years being verbally (and sometimes physically, although not as much as with their father) abused by their uncle. Her relationship with Wiesel is complicated (and will get its own post), but it weakened her resolve to the point that she had to choose between herself and her brothers, and she can’t forgive herself for running away instead of sticking with her family.

Leaving for California was the break she needed to find herself, but coming back has caused a rift between her and her brothers due to the fact that the Lucille that left New York is not the Lucille who now lives on her own and isn’t afraid of the future. Don’t think she’s totally on board with Jack doing that, though. Running off for a year only showed her that you can’t run from your problems, because they stay no matter how far you get.

[banded-warrior]

LET ME AT ‘EM!

My heavy boots were the first to hit the stairs as we all cleared out of the office. I was fucking furious that Wrath had snubbed me, again! What was it going to take for that son of a bitch to trust me?! I put in more hours than half of the others combined. After years of living on human blood alone, my body knew how to exist on very little, and I had definitely used that to my advantage in this war. I had pushed harder, fought and trained longer, and spent less time on menial things in between. Even Bella was after me for more time but, this was war, and during war, sacrifices were made. One thing that hadn’t been expected was, we had lost the queen of our race, and it had been completely my fault. Not again!

I didn’t think I was going to survive the loss of my brother, Phury but, by the grace of what family I had left, I fought tooth and nail to get some tiny part of my life back… only to be thrown for a spin when I lost the queen on my watch. It was as if someone had ripped the earth out from under me. I don’t even know how many times I went out on suicide missions, planning on taking as many mother fuckers as I could with me. Everyone would have been better off. Bella and Nalla didn’t need to see me, day in and day out like I was, wondering when they would get that call, the one that told them I had fought my final fight and ended myself in The Fade. None of the Brothers trusted me, nor did they want me on their six. And Wrath… fuck! If it had been up to Wrat, I’d have been exiled, never to step foot in Caldwell again.

I know it’s been a hard road back but, at some point I decided I wanted live, despite losing the queen, and even without Phury. I decided I needed vengeance on that oily shit, The Omega, for everything he had done to my world. I think it was during Nalla’s first, and only pregnancy to date. We came a hair’s breadth away from losing her. She lost the young before slipping into a coma that lasted a fortnight. Never in my life had I ever prayed for anything before. But I swear, that night, I hit my knees and didn’t come up until I heard her precious voice call out to me once more. I prayed to whatever God, Goddess, Scribe Virgin, shit even that tinsel-toed shithead, Lassiter, that would listen, that if they would see my blooded young through what she was going through, I would live and do everything I could to see this war ended, so Nalla could live in a world of peace… and that’s what I’ve done.

Tonight, in command or not, that was my plan. We would get Lyric back and do what we could to stop The Omega. Unfortunately, as we collected in the grand entryway, time was not on our side. There was no time to go looking for Bella and say, “Goodbye.” She would have to do with a nice big “Welcome home!” when we got back with Lyric in tow.

#LetMeAtEm #BDBRP

[mentallychill-ill]

A rape poem: Until 8

Rushing bussing hosting bussling My arms my legs my back ached Yes sir no ma'am we don't serve that anymore Saying hello and goodbye to the hundreds of customers that flow in and out that door I remember when I was just a customer Now I'm a sufferer Until 8 At 4 I would start a restless shift in which I would set all the tables say hello to the old woman that came and sat at the same table everyday and give her iced tea with lemon and rolls for 2 At 5 people started crawling in and telling us about the booth they wanted away from the a.c. but not to far from the t.v. At 6 people started hustling in and complained about the seats that were taken by those at 5 At 7 cranky families who didn't think ahead waited for me to buss all the tables alone and not notice my inner cry to go home At 8 I spammed the shift button and got my ticket I grabbed my tips and tipped myself a pat on the back because I survived But At 8:01 i wasnt free I was still working For myself For he sat by my car with smoke rolling from the same lips that stole my freedom after 8 pm. What I forgot to mention was at 4 pm he waited for me up front and told me about his wife I forgot to mention at 5 his shift started I forgot to mention at 6 I would buss his tables until 7 in which he would pass by and buss my ass And at 8 he took a smoke break, and waited by my car. And one night, when he no longer had shifts, he took me to an alley way And pressed his hands where he thought was his right to take like a dirty dish And he took the breath I could've been using to tell my mom about how busy tonight was And he whispered in my ear "I've been wanting to do this for a long time" But a 4 hour shift three times a week shouldn't have been a full time job to a grown man with a wife and expecting kid. A 4 hour shift shouldn't have groomed me into believing he was a nice man that night I was crying in my car because of school A 4 hour shift shouldn't have stalked me after school and asked why I was ignoring him A 4 hour shift shouldn't have even come to my school A 4 hour shift shouldn't have left me with text messages about what he wanted to do to me and me pushing and crying when he did them A 4 hour shift shouldn't have had me picking up Tylenol everyday after band practice in hopes that if I took enough I wouldn't see him anymore A 4 hour shift shouldn't have made me drive to the hospital in which when I got there and they asked what happened it took 4 hours to pull it out of me like a broken tooth that ended in a police report and scrubs A 4 hour shift shouldn't have given me a month long in patient treatment for ptsd in which was combated with "but they weren't a solider"but I was. I fought. And I lost a war against my body and I lost my soul. A 4 hour shift shouldn't have had my band director visiting me in a hospital seeing me cry because they weren't going to go through with my case A 4 hour shift shouldn't have made me shower every night for an hour trying to scrub his filthy palms off of me A 4 hour shift shouldn't have ended me up in a sexual assault center with repressed memories that turned into this poem about how a 4 hour shift turned into my life being a 4 hour shift But because of a 4 hour shift ,I learned that until 8 pm, bussing, Rushing, hosting, was delaying, fighting, hiding. Until 8 I was safe But now after 8 I stay inside I turn off my phone And I wait for myself to find a way home