#dry sentences about what he created which took half of a page

[rennelelorren]

One day I'll made a post about all the similarities between Tobirama and Obito

And it's gonna be SO over for you

[holden-caulfield]

Desperately

↪︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

SUMMARY: reader and blaise are partners in potions class and he lets something slip about a certain friend of his.

WARNINGS: none i think!

WORD COUNT: 1513

A/N: this is my entry for @simpology 's writing challenge with the prompt "Oh, and he's wretchedly in love with you"... hope this is good :)) the plot is kind of confusing but just go along with it

"Do you have the instructions?" asked a nonchalant Blaise Zabini as he settled next to you, letting his bag fall down next to his chair.

"Of course, yes. We'll need-"

"I know, i've already picked everything." he said hurriedly as he placed several bottles and containers on the table, surrounding the boiling cauldron at the center of it.

"Oh! Ok... we can start then, we'll have to add-" you interrupted your reading as you noticed Blaise already pouring a non-specified quantity of some green liquid into the cauldron.

You eyed him curiously as he continued the potion-making on his own.

"Why did you ask me about the instructions if-" he raised his index finger in front of your face, successfully shutting you up and irritating you at the same time.

He poured another range of ingredients in the cauldron and began mixing, finally raising his eyes at you.

"Now we can talk about important things." he stated, not stopping his movements.

"You just interrupted me twice in the span of 5 minutes, what could be possibly more important than the potion that Snape is going to grade today?" you asked with annoyance audible in your voice as you crossed your arms in front of you.

"Don't worry about the potion, it's going splendid. We have far more important matters to discuss." his calm voice was doing nothing to soothe you, instead doing just the opposite.

"And what is that?"

"You." he announced, remaining as stoic as a statue.

Your eyes widened at the mere syllable that had just left his mouth.

"Me? And what about me?"

"Not exactly you, more like your current situation." his eyes bored into yours with such coolness you wondered whether you were the daft one there.

"My situation? And what-"

"Your sentimental situation." he cut you off. Again.

"It's the third time you do that."

"And you keep on posing questions but i'm the one that should be asking and we don't have a lot of time. Do you know Draco Malfoy?"

"What does that even mean?!" he raised an eyebrow at you, unimpressed, and you simply scoffed. "I'm not interested in whatever game you are playing right now, Zabini."

"Just answer my questions, y/l/n, i swear there is a point." he continued stirring the concoction, eventually dropping new ingredients. You sighed but decided to play his game.

"Yes, yes i know him."

"How would you describe him?"

"Zabini, i swear, this isn't making any sense, can you-"

"What did i say about asking questions?" he scolded you. You rolled your eyes and narrowed them at the boy in front of you.

"Fine. He's blond, tall-"

"Not physically, you idiot." he scoffed and you smiled to yourself, which made him eventually soften his gaze.

"He's a slytherin and..." you didn't know what to say. You obviously knew about his past actions, he wasn't exactly well-seen at hogwarts.

"And?" he asked expectantly.

"And i don't know, he's not the nicest person around, i think."

"Interesting." he muttered, almost to himself as he got lost in his own thoughts. "What do you think about me then?"

"You? You are like him, aren't you?" you asked, smirking as you did so.

"I don't know, i'm asking you." he said, returning the smile with playful eyes. You scoffed and returned to your potions book but Blaise snatched it our of your hands. "We were talking, weren't we?"

"We were supposed to brew a potion, weren't we?" you asked, mimicking his previous sentence while taking back your book.

"I got that under control." he added other ingredients and at this point you were wondering whether he knew what he was doing or whether he was improvising just to talk to you. "So, me and Draco are the same, correct?"

"Actually," you said while trying to find the passage in your book, "i hope he has half the patience i have or he should have hexed you ages ago."

You skimmed through the pages but you couldn't find the right ones. Blaise grasped it again and hid it behind his back, earning the most choleric stare you could muster.

"Or maybe i don't. I'd love to see him hex you. Know what? I might do it myself."

"Now that's a wonderful idea." your eyes widened again and, furrowing your eyebrows, you just stared at the boy i front of you, wondering what had happened to him. "But i had something else in mind. Why don't you go take your book back, we might need it."

You switched your gaze from his own eyes to his hands and noticed that he had no longer the book, instead his wand, pointed towards one of the other tables of the class. A table you noticed had two copies of the same book on it, meaning one had to be yours.

"What game are you playing, Zabini? Do you even know what you're doing there?" you asked, pointing to the concoction.

"I don't, so you better get your book back if you want to fix this." he said and you could feel anger boiling in your chest at the smugness of the slytherin.

You marched towards the table, exasperated.

"Oh, and y/n?" you turned around while walking, eyes still flaming with annoyance, "he's wretchedly in love with you."

You couldn't process the new cryptical information as you bumped into someone. You immediately returned your eyes to the front of you, finding a tall blond there, holding your book in between your bodies.

"Is this yours?" he lifted slightly the book but you were speechless. What had Blaise just said? "Cat got your tongue? I'm asking if this is yours..."

Your eyes darted from his to the book several times before settling on the latter.

"Yes! Yes, it is." you finally spoke and heard chuckling coming from behind you. Blaise.

Draco handed you the book and you took it slowly, still unsure of what your next move should have been.

"Wait!" you said, a little louder than you intended to but enough to catch his attention as he was returning to his own workplace. "Do you- uhm..."

He stared at you, waiting for you to finish your sentence but it was not as easy as it sounded.

"Do you want to switch partners?" you managed to let out, visibly confusing him.

"You want to be with Nott?"

"With you actually... Blaise said-"

"Blaise said what?" he suddenly got more serious, his irises darkening as if you had just created a storm.

"He said-"

"I said you are the best at potions and she needs help. Desperately." Blaise came up from behind you, laying his hands on your shoulder, still stiff from the embarrassment but it immediately vanished as you heard the voice, leaving its place to irritation.

"I do not need help and most certainly not desperately." you stated indignantly and the blond in front of you let out a small chuckle, earning himself an angry look from you too.

"I'll leave you to it then." he said smirking and you quickly grabbed his arm to prevent him from leaving you with Blaise.

"Please no, i can't bear another minute with him." you pleaded, which made the blond suppress a chuckle and his friend roll his eyes, clearly annoyed.

You stared at him for a moment longer as he did the same, almost as if time had frozen.

"Well... i'll leave you two to it" Blaise began to make his way to Draco's previous working table, "maybe you'll finally be able to tell her about your crush on her, huh?"

Draco's head whipped towards Blaise as fast as lightning, a panicked look ruling over his features. His best friend kept going, leaving the two of you alone, speechless.

You stared at him and he stared at you.

"I like you too-"

"He was kidding-"

"Oh." you both said in unison.

He stared at you and you stared at him. No more words were exchanged, just looks.

"You like me?" he asked tentatively.

"He was kidding?" you retorted, slightly hurt and embarrassed now.

"That depends."

"On what? On how ridiculous i must look right now?" you continued, the embarrassment turning quickly into annoyance.

"On whether you really like me or not." you were still unconvinced, his face unreadable as you tried to look for an ounce of sincerity in his silvery eyes, "Because i do like you, y/l/n."

Your brows still furrowed, you stared at him inquisitively.

"Were you the one kidding?" he asked now, suddenly self-conscious, letting out a single dry nervous chuckle.

You scrutinized him a little longer, noticing his confidence wavering and his patience thinning from the way he was looking at you.

"I wasn't." you finally stated, smirking at the blond boy in front of you.

He furrowed his brows too, the corners of his mouth hinting at a slight smile. But the sharp hit on both of your heads delivered by professor Snape made you both hurry back to your table.

"Get back to work."

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[well-its-not-human-anymore]

Hi! Could I get HC from the guys? 👀 How they would always react to catching the reader seeing them "badly", in addition to the fact that he usually avoids them, but with his brothers it is incredible and they feel bad because they think they do not like him.  But she actually likes them and she looks at them like that because she "studies" them to draw them and she is too clumsy and shy to talk to them, that's why she ends up avoiding them. Until finally he catches her drawing them with lots of hearts or maybe they'll find her notebook with lots of portraits of them.

It's kind of funny because when I study people to draw them, they think that I look at them with hatred xd maybe I should increase my glasses prescription

God, glasses are such a pain in the ass but I have to wear them. If I don't anyone within my near vicinity doesn't have a face. But why they gotta get dirty so easily???? Makes me wanna explode or something

TMNT Headcanons

The boys w/ a quiet reader who is fine with his brothers but acts cold around him and stares a lot

Michaelangelo

mikey couldn't describe his disappointment upon realizing that you didn't want to be friends with him

well, you never actually said that to him

but he was pretty sure it was the case

you'd never made an effort to be friends with him

stared at him an awful lot though, but there was always something off about your gaze when you looked at him

like you were sizing him up, scrutinizing him, like he was an opponent

it kinda worried him

to add to that, you didn't even attempt to look embarrassed when he caught you staring

you'd just stare harder

on your end it was quite the opposite

you always found the brothers fascinating and you LOVED studying their anatomy, you'd confessed this to Donnie early on and he happily indulged in your questions

and you loved how easily you got along with the boys

well, except for Mikey

but it wasn't for a lack of trying

whenever the orange sporting turtle came around your normally flamboyant personality crept back into its little corner and hid

any words of excitement that had previously been with you died in your throat

for the longest time you didn't understand it

and you hated not understanding things, so you turned to your only outlet

that's how you ended up with an entire sketchbook full of the youngest brother in vastly different styles and poses

you had a separate book for the others, none of them as detailed as this

and when you stared to analyze you'd fallen into a habit of not looking away when caught

by your logic, if you stared back hard enough he'd look away first or just assume you'd zoned out

he didn't

and on one hectic day you'd left your sketchbook open on the kitchen table in your rush to get to work

you hadn't even noticed the slip up until Leo texted you to let you know during your shift

instant panic

in truth, Mikey was the one who discovered the book upon waking up from his nap and he'd spent the next three hours analyzing every drawing

when you finally dropped in after work to grab your book the turtle was waiting for you with it in hand

he'd asked you if you hated him

you told him no and accepted your sketchbook from him

he was relieved and screaming excitedly, just in his head

"Do you maybe wanna hang out sometime?"

You sighed in relief and nodded

"If you're cool with it- you don't think I'm weird do you?"

"I mean- you are talking to a turtle..."

you lightly shoved his chest and smiled, although it faded within a second

"Oh hush, 10 o'clock tomorrow? I'll bring snacks."

he was so stunned he could only shoot you finger guns in approval

Donatello

Donnie genuinely couldn't understand your unease around him

he'd followed all the proper expectations of holding a conversation

he was polite and engaging

so why wouldn't you talk to him?

this boy has read so many social blogs to try and figure out what he was doing wrong and he just couldn't put his finger on it

you were fine with the rest of his brothers, you'd stay up for hours laughing and gaming with them

you'd even sat still long enough to listen to Leo explain some old Japanese myth that he'd read about in a book

but with him it was always a quick, cordial greetings and farewells with bland small talk in between

Donnie had picked up pretty quickly that you weren't interested in any sort of interaction with him

and he convinced himself that that was okay

but that didn't explain the staring

he'd caught you in the act several times, eyes narrowed and locked on him

especially when you were alone with him in a room or just in the lair

the poor turtle just couldn't put his finger on it

then he caught you drawing, he noticed early on that you always carried a small sketchbook on your person but he didn't think much of it

and it wasn't so much that he caught you drawing, in fact, he wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't snapped at him while he was trying to do a sudoku puzzle

"Damn it Donnie! Stop moving! If I fuck this arm up one more time I'm gonna decompose!"

he'd quickly moved back into the position he was in prior

"sorry?"

but you'd gone silent again, occasionally glancing up from your work and running your eyes along his frame before looking down again

nearly twenty minutes later Donnie had finished the puzzle and it seemed as though you had finished your drawing

"Uh- can I ask what are you-"

"I'm drawing you but you kept moving your arm and making me mess up. You always do that when I draw you so every damn picture I have of you stays a sketch because you always come out looking like a fucking octopus."

He just stared

"Sorry, I uh- I didn't mean to explode on you like that. I'm just- I'm really bad at talking to you okay? It's so easy with everyone else but you've just gotta be so damn smart all the time and I worry that you'll think I'm boring so I just... don't talk to you?"

Donnie is stunned™

You refuse to show him the drawing until you can complete the line art and color it

But at least he knows that you don't hate him

Leonardo

To be completely honest Leo didn't mind that you were distant from him

You created an aura of calm when you were around and you always managed to distract his brothers while you were present

And he enjoyed the alone time

But after a few months that calm acceptance turned into jealousy

Not that he would ever admit it

He would just push it off and ignore it, that usually seemed to work

So why wasn't it?

And your obvious staring problem didn't help at all

Leo didn't spend much time considering his appearance but something about your gaze made him self conscious

And he hated that with a passion

Why was it that you could hold entire debates with his siblings? Even his dad for gods sake. You'd have hour long conversations on almost everything but whenever he tried to say hello you'd make up some lame ass excuse and scamper away

He just wanted an explanation

It appeared that the answer resided in your sketchbook

You'd left it open on the couch when Raph had called you away to spar with him

Leo very delicately flipped through the pages, careful not to disturb some of the polaroid pictures of his brothers

He was admittedly surprised to find pictures of himself among the pages

One of him in a handstand, another of him meditating, there was even one of him mid sneeze that you'd recreated with pencil and paper

The image of his eyes was the most startling, but the book held no polaroid of his eyes

You drew them from memory

And he was shocked when you returned to the room and didn't immediately panic

But that might have been because he didn't try to withhold your book from you

"It took me three months to color them, your eyes. I could never get the shade of blue just right."

"I'm gonna be honest with you y/n, I really thought you didn't like me."

You had the nerve to roll your eyes and follow it with a laugh

"I don't. I mean- I do but no, you just remind me a lot of myself and I haven't exactly figured out why yet. I thought that maybe if I drew you it'd be easier to figure you out..."

"Well did it help?"

You grinned

"I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Raphael

If there was one thing Raph hated it was not understanding something that was right in front of him

which is ironic, as a much younger version of himself probably couldn't care less

and a part of him wishes he didn't care about it so much

he wishes that your blatant avoidance of him didn't upset him

but shit, it got under his skin better than any needle ever could

was it too much to ask for you to just tell him what he said or did wrong?

was he asking too much of you?

but on the same scale you'd never shown obvious dislike towards him, you were never rude and you sure as hell didn't talk shit about him to his brothers

you got along great with them

in fact it was getting more difficult to remember a time before you became a part of his family

he'd become so used to your presence that it no longer put him off when he found you hanging around the lair

but in another sense he was certain that you hadn't spoken more than three sentences to him in your time knowing him or his family

so what was the reason

several months in he finally caught onto the staring, your narrow, glassy gaze locked onto his body and refusing to look away

he stared right back at you

this annoyed you for several reasons

because within five seconds your very peaceful drawing session had turned into a staring contest and your eyes were getting VERY dry

then you exhaled in a half-sigh and looked back down at your paper

"Huh, I guess your head is more of an oblong shape..."

he took offense to this

"What tha' hell is that supposed t'mean?"

now your eyes held more of an amused silent judgement, you begrudgingly held up your sketchbook

"I'm drawing you, you fucking walnut."

"Oh..."

now you rolled you eyes and tossed the book to him, he nearly dropped it and fumbled with the pages

your annoyance was quickly growing

"Careful with that."

He flipped through the pages at a snails pace, assumingly because he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing

you had some real talent

when he looked back up at you he was wearing that crooked smile

"and here I was thinkin' that my eyes were just green."

Hope I was able to get this down pretty well! I really enjoyed writing this one! Thanks for the patience!

-Mars 🌠

[peachycheol]

| reliable |

© banner credit: thank you to the love of my life @suhdreams​ for making this banner for me 🥺💘 ➸ summary: when people say ‘not all men’, they’re actually right. kim mingyu, your best friend, would never disappoint you. especially not in the bedroom.  ➸ genre: pwp 😌 ➸ pairing: best friend!mingyu x reader  ➸ warning: dirty talk, slight dumbification, heavy petting, unprotected sex (pls use protection irl), cream pie, oral (fem. receiving), cum eating, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, yn is really horny? ➸ w.c: 3.2k ➸ tags: you can all thank @risquewonu​ for this <333  

➸ author’s note: ahh, i’m sorry this took me so long! i didn’t mean to write this much, but what the smuth wants, the smuth gets. also, i want to thank you all for 100 followers! i’ll make a separate post to properly thank you all, but i am!!! baffled!!! i really appreciate the support ;u; love you guys! 

If there are two things in this world that you are absolutely certain of, they are: 1) Men ain’t shit, and 2) with the exception of Kim Mingyu. Knowing this information doesn’t really benefit you in any way. You still go out on Tinder dates that leave you high and dry 15 minutes after taking you home. And Kim Mingyu is still your very platonic best friend, who seems to be reliable in every single way except perhaps in the one way you need most desperately. 

But for all you know, he could be just like every other male in bed. He couldn’t be unbelievably handsome, the most thoughtful, caring person you know, and a sex god; it just wouldn’t be fair! No, it is much easier to convince yourself that Mingyu’s perfection only extended to being a best friend, if only for your peace of mind. Otherwise, you’d have to live with the possibility that the only person who can give you sweet release is the only one you’re technically not supposed to fuck. 

For reasons that seem to become annoyingly hazy every time you lie down next to him on his bed, just as you are at this moment. 

The two of you often end nights out like this, scrolling through one another’s TikTok’s until the wee hours of the morning, laughing loudly until his neighbors threaten to file a noise complaint. As someone who has claimed him as your best friend for three years, you know you’re supposed to be used to the smell of the musky cologne that clings onto his sheets and the feeling of his warm body as he leans closer to show you his For You Page. But lately, it seems harder and harder to fight off the warmth that pulses straight to your core whenever he does anything as simple as laugh, making you shiver when his breath tickles the side of your neck. 

God, you just really need to get laid properly. You lick your dry lips and try to remind yourself that you have no idea if Mingyu would even be able to satisfy you. Though you do have to admit you couldn’t imagine any situation where the boy isn’t overly generous and eager to please-- No! Just watch the damn TikToks! 

“Hey, you good?” Mingyu suddenly asks, nudging your side. “Why aren’t you laughing? ‘His package needs to come in the fe-mail’! That one’s gold!”

You let out a snort. Leave it to Mingyu to bring you back to reality with one line. Even when you don’t say a word, he knows exactly what you need in a moment, which in this case is a reminder that he’s your very dorky friend. “Shut up, that’s so stupid,” you say, but you can’t help but laugh along with him when it replays.

“Aha, you laughed though.” Satisfied with your response he scrolls down to a video of a girl smiling suggestively into the camera. She points to the caption that says ‘If all the boys that made me cum were in my room with me right now, I would…’ Suddenly, the camera pans and she looks at the screen tiredly. The caption now read as ‘Be alone. Men are trash’.

At this, you bust out with a howl of laughter, clutching at your stomach. It was kind of sad, but it was good to know you weren’t alone in this world. All the while, Mingyu stares at you with an eyebrow raised. Once you calm down, you meet his amused gaze. “What are you looking at?”

“You thought it was that funny, huh? It’s not even that accurate,” he says teasingly. 

You roll your eyes. “Um, yeah it is. I’ve never met a man who could make me cum, and clearly many other people can relate. This video has 1.4k likes!”

Mingyu quickly puts his phone down and pouts. “Nu uh! Not all guys are that incompetent!” 

“Men are such babies,” you sigh. “They are that incompetent! You know how many dates I went to last semester, right? Not one of them made me cum!”

“Okay, I told you before you even went on those dates that those guys weren’t worth your time.” Mingyu waves his hand dismissively. “For your information, I have made sure that all the ladies that I’ve taken to the bedroom had at least one orgasm. At least!”

“Mingyu, sweetie,” you coo, patting his cheek as if to comfort him. “They were all faking it, because they didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”  Right? They all had to have faked it. You try to tell yourself this, try to reign in the last bit of sanity you have before your mind wanders off to anywhere inappropriate.

Your best friend now props himself up so that you could properly see the smirk plastered across his annoyingly chiseled features. “You’re so sure, huh? I bet I could make you cum multiple times. Easily.” 

Your mouth falls open in shock. It isn’t uncommon for the two of you to taunt each other like this, but you have also never been in such a vulnerable mood. It’s the type of mood that has your heart racing impossibly fast, the type of mood that has your panties pathetically damp from just one sentence. You blink, trying to regain as much composure as you can. You know it’s too late, though; your imagination is already flashing through scenes of your deepest desires, all being fulfilled by the man in front of you. But Mingyu is only joking, so you do what you can to continue playing along and pretend like you don’t want him to just fuck you into the mattress until you were drooling into his sheets. 

“I-I seriously doubt that!” you say, but there is no conviction in your voice. Clearing your throat, you try adding, “Dude, I’ve literally seen you fall down a flight of stairs when you were sober. And we were going up. Kinda hard to imagine that you’ll know how to fuck me to an orgasm when you can’t even walk right.” 

Now you’re just lying through your teeth, but you want to hold off the inevitable moment that Mingyu discovers your apparent arousal for as long as possible. The last thing you need right now is for him to laugh in your face.

Mingyu chuckles, then suddenly shifts so that his arms are placed on either side of your head, trapping you underneath him. To his surprise, you do nothing to push him off like you usually do at this point. Still, he doesn’t plan on being the first to back off, so he continues his little game, intent on winning. “See, this is why you can’t find a guy who can satisfy you. You clearly don’t know what to look for.” He leans down until the tip of his nose grazes yours. For good measure, he drops his voice an octave and says, “You’ll be the one who can’t walk right when I’m done with you.” 

Perplexingly, his shameless flirting doesn’t make you move as he predicted. Nor does it make you look annoyed. Instead, you look up at him with eyes that are unmistakably glazed over with something he didn’t quite expect to see: pure lust. It immediately sends a rush of blood down to his cock. He blinks. Oh. So this is where the night is going. He only falters for a moment, but he soon flashes a breathtaking smile down at you, his eyes glinting mischievously. 

 It isn’t like he’s never thought about it before; he had just assumed that once you started calling him your best friend, you were also lowkey telling him that sex was off the table. And it wasn’t like he minded, because he definitely liked being by your side knowing it was fully okay to be himself since you were obligated to love him regardless. Plus there was just something about you that made him want to take care of you and if being your best friend was the only way he could do it, then that had been fine by him. But now that he knows that he can take care of you in another way, in the way that he sometimes found himself yearning for on lonely nights, he is all too eager to break free of the unspoken boundaries between the two of you. 

“And what am I looking for?” you whisper. 

“It seems like you’re looking for me, baby,” he responds softly, before pressing a kiss where your jaw meets your neck. He slowly drags his lips down the side of your neck, and revels in how it already has you pressing your legs together. “Damn, you weren’t kidding when you said those guys didn’t make you cum, huh? Is that why you’re already so fucking worked up? You want to cum that badly?”

You nod wordlessly, not quite ready for Mingyu to hear the desperate whine that would surely leave your lips as he continues pressing wet kisses along your skin. You opt to simply thread your fingers in his hair and tug hard enough to show your impatience. It seems to trigger something in him; all in an instant, your best friend’s soft lips clash against your own, his tongue easily sliding into your mouth, all the while while his hand reaches down to grab one of your thighs. He squeezes it teasingly before pushing it outwards, which causes the mini skirt you’re wearing to bunch up around your waist, revealing your panties and how they cling to your pussy like a second skin. 

“M-mingyu!” you squeak into his lips when you feel his fingers tentatively rub small circles into the wet spot. He nips at your lip harshly as he starts to rub more deliberately, the flimsy fabric of your underwear creating a delicious friction against your clit. “H-hah! Yes, o-oh my god!” 

“Fuck, you’re already so wet for me, baby girl,” he chuckles, but he knows he isn’t one to talk while his cock is half hard just from hearing the way you moan his name. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you. You’re not leaving this room until your little pussy cums nice and hard on my cock.” 

“Ngh!-- yes p-please! Please, Mingyu,” you beg mindlessly. Your eyebrows are scrunched together in concentration. Despite your best friend’s promises, you are still hesitant to hold out any hope for anything more than what you’re accustomed to, so you try to take as much as you can while it lasts. However, in your lustful daze, you had forgotten that if Kim Mingyu is anything, he is a man of his word. 

 You let out a high-pitched moan when his fingers suddenly grind harsh circles into your clit, more surprised than anything else that he even knew where to find it. “But first,” he says, licking his lips, “you’re going to be a good girl and cum just like this. Right into your filthy little panties. Can you do that for me, baby?” 

He takes your drawn out whine as a response, and continues to rub relentlessly over your hardened clit until your legs begin to shake. That’s when he shoves the soaked material of your underwear to the side and pinches the bud. Hard. 

He rolls your clit between the pads of his fingertips over and over, sending jolts of electric pleasure all the way to your toes. It causes them to curl, all the while you feel the heat simmering in your lower abdomen finally coil tighter and tighter. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you chant, the words coming out slurred like you’re a teenager who’s gotten drunk from one sip of champagne. “M-mingyu-- mmh! I t-think I’m going to--!” 

A loud cry leaves your lips the moment the coil snaps, and you nearly tear up from how much better it feels to finally cum on someone else’s fingers, especially Mingyu’s long, thick digits.  He soothingly slides them through your drenched folds, mesmerized by how much wetness now covered his hand. “That’s it, baby,” he encourages. Once your body slumps back into the mattress, he brings his fingers up to see how they glisten in the light. “We’ve barely even started and look at what the mess you’ve already made. You must have been waiting so long for me to fuck you, huh?” 

Not even your post-orgasm buzz can keep you from getting irked by Mingyu’s cockiness, which is why you reach your own hand down to squeeze his cock through his jeans. “Seems like I’m not the only one who’s been waiting for this,” you say with a sly grin of your own. He watches you, jaw clenched, as you swiftly pop the button of his pants open and slip your fingers past the waistband of his underwear to take hold of his fully hardened member. 

It feels warm and heavy in your palm, which can barely wrap around the girth. You bite your lip, your pussy greedily clenching around nothing at the thought of how good it would stretch you out.

“I should have known you’d be a fucking tease,” Mingyu rasps. His hips buck into your hand involuntarily, and his smile returns when he notices how the movement makes you whimper in anticipation. 

There is a beat of silence when you and Mingyu meet eyes before the both of you begin undressing each other as fast as you can, haphazardly tugging off both your shirts, his pants, and your pesky undergarments. Once he’s tossed aside your soiled panties, he immediately presses your thighs apart to get a full view of your sopping cunt. “So pretty,” he mumbles to himself, spreading the lips apart with his fingers. His member throbs at the sight, the tip leaking precum when he sees how your pussy clenches in anticipation. “I bet it’s going to look even prettier when it’s taking my fat cock, don’t you think?”

The two of you watch in awe as Mingyu starts to sink into your entrance, a garbled moan leaving your lips when the tip alone already has you feeling so full. “Mingyu, h-how is-- ooh!-- your d-dick soo-- f-fucking big? A-Ah!” It takes a good while for you to finish your sentence as each of Mingyu’s shallow thrusts leave you gasping for air. By the time he bottoms out, the both of you are panting hard, both engrossed by how snugly his cock fits in your walls. 

“Shit, if I had known you’d be this tight, I would have fucked you sooner,” Mingyu groans. He slowly drags his member out of you, letting you feel every inch of him before he surges forward into a feverish pace that already has his bed frame creaking loudly. He is definitely getting a noise complaint from his grumpy neighbors tonight. But seeing you underneath him like this, lips parted and legs spread, definitely makes it difficult to care about anything other than the desire to hear more of your needy cries. “Does it feel good, baby girl? Do you like how my cock fills your little pussy?”

“It fuh--!--ngh, feels s-soo good,” Having already came once, your sensitivity is on overload, and each rough thrust of Mingyu’s hips, each crude slap of his skin against yours, is enough to drive you closer and closer to delirium. “Mmh-- please, Mingyu! F-fuck me so deep!”

“Anything for my little cockslut.” He moves quickly to kneel between your legs, hooking his arms underneath your knees to keep them open as he continues to pound into you. The new position instantly makes you keen loudly, eyes rolling to the back of your head when you feel his member brush against your cervix. 

“Fuuuuck,” you sob and clutch at the sheets. His grip on your legs tightens and he angles his hips so that he hits that spot every time, rendering you completely incoherent. You want to beg him to fuck you like this forever, to tell him you’d do anything to feel his cock fuck you open every night, but you can only babble, unable to comprehend anything that isn’t the insatiable thirst burning within you.

“Damn baby, did I fuck you stupid?” Seeing you so drunk on his cock, he wonders how anyone could ever fuck you without wanting to see you cum over and over again. His hair falls over his eyes as he fucks up into you with renewed vigor, his hot skin covered in a light sheen of sweat. He grits his teeth when he feels how tightly your walls grip onto him.“Shit-- you must want me to make you cum again, baby girl. Your little pussy just keeps sucking me in.”

“H-hah, y-yes! Yes, please god, Mingyu, I want to c-cum again. P-please let me cum,” you beg, practically writhing as you pathetically attempt to meet his thrusts. Without any hesitation, Mingyu brings down his thumb and presses it into your swollen clit, causing your body to seize up suddenly. “A-Aah Mingyu! I’m--!” The intensity of your orgasm has your back arching off the mattress, head thrown back in a silent scream. Wave after wave of pleasure continuously washes over you, seemingly unending, unlike any orgasm you ever thought possible. 

“That’s right baby girl, get my cock nice and wet,” Mingyu growls. He fucks you through your release as he sloppily chases his own, not too far behind with how your walls are pulsing around him. He makes sure his cock is deep inside you and stills his hips when fills you with his hot cum. “Fuck, this pussy was fucking made for me.”

Just as you think you’ve finally come down from your high, he pulls out of you and he shifts to lower himself to place his mouth on your spent pussy. “M-mingyu!” 

You squirm and half-heartedly try to shove his head away, far too sensitive to have his tongue licking into your leaking entrance, but Mingyu is persistent. He pushes your legs to your chest to keep you from squeezing them close, and hums when he tastes the hot mixture of your and his own cum on his lips. The way he slurps and sucks at your folds is absolutely sinful as he eats you out like you’re the most delectable treat. It almost hurts to feel so much ecstasy at once, but it still leaves you mewling for more, unable to get enough of the boy.

Your third orgasm ripples over you when he suddenly scrapes his teeth over your abused clit, and you feel a tear slide down your cheek as you weakly shake against his mouth. 

Mingyu is smiling when he pulls away, looking slightly ridiculous with how his lips still glisten with cum. You tiredly slump back into his pillows, eyes already drooping close. “What is it?”

“I told you I could do it~” he says proudly. He goes to grab some tissues from the bedside table so that he could start cleaning you up, giggling all the while. It really is unfair how he could look so cute moments after railing you into another dimension. 

You groan. You’re never going to hear the end of this.

[tumbledfreckles]

No Such Thing As An Easy Mission

There was nothing more annoying, James decided, than rescuing someone who did not want to be rescued. 

It should have been an easy mission. Well, easy was a relative term. Straightforward was probably a more accurate description. Get in, find the mark, get them out. Do it as quietly, discreetly, and quickly as possible.  

Simple. 

That the place he was getting in was an extremely secure, exceptionally well guarded safe house for Lord Voldemort. It was said that the man himself resided there often. Presided over meetings of his Death Eaters. Many an Order member had gone in, never to be seen again. 

Dumbledore had acknowledged the precariousness of the mission when he’d asked it. 

“I wouldn’t normally ask something like this,” his eyes didn’t twinkle, his face sombre and his tone gentle. “But we need them.” 

He hadn’t said who, exactly, James would be extracting. In case he was caught, in case the worst happened, it was better that he didn’t know. But he knew where they would be, that they had some combat experience, and that Dumbledore thought them valuable enough to risk James’ life for. 

“You are the only one I trust with this, James,” the use of his first name surprised him. He wasn’t sure his former headmaster had ever used it before. “But it is unfair of me to ask this of you.” 

“You’re not asking,” James replied firmly. “I’m offering.” 

He’d said goodbye to the boys. As they did when any of them went out on a mission. Hell, the way people were disappearing they should probably do it every time one of them left a room. 

“Come back, yeah?” Remus had clasped his shoulder, so tight James had almost winced at his werewolf strength. 

“Be safe,” Peter had squeezed his arm. 

“Don’t fucking die,” Sirius had hugged him, extra to the last. “Or I’m drinking the last bottle of Dad’s whiskey.” 

“You will bloody not,” James had choked a laugh as he thumped his brother on the back. “It’s mine.” 

“Ours, as Dad would say,” Sirius shook his head sadly as James pulled back. “You never were great at sharing, Prongs.” 

How he wished he was sitting at home, drinking that whiskey with his friends now. 

Getting in had gone to plan. He’d taken down most of the security wards, taken out numerous guards in a way that spoke to the ample practise he’d had in recent months. Being proficient in sneaking had been honed at school, something to be proud of. Being proficient at hurting people, even Death Eaters, was something he struggled with on a daily basis. 

James had made his way to the cell block Dumbledore had described. The masked man they’d captured in the last battle had come up trumps under Veritasium. It was exactly as he’d intoned, right down to the solid door on the final cell, behind which sat the person James was here to rescue. 

It took him longer than he wanted to admit to get the door open. Several spells, unlocking spells, blasting spells, a few curses, a hex or two. He swore several times, counting the seconds it took, knowing each one would reduce the amount of time he had to escape. Hopefully, the person he was rescuing could move quickly. 

He couldn’t have been more wrong. 

“Of all the gin joints, he had to walk into mine.” 

James' jaw dropped as he took in the figure before him. “Evans?” 

“James Potter. Fancy seeing you here,” She stood up, casually, as if they had all the time in the world. Twirled her wand around her fingers, just like she had in school. “I take it you’re the cavalry?” 

“What the fuck -” He stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. “We need to go.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Lily shook her head, moving toward him and the door. “Thanks for getting the door open though. They spelled the inside of the room to be impervious to magic. It’s why they left me this.” 

He ignored the wand tip she tapped against his chest, “Come on.” 

“Still not a good listener, huh, Potter?” She stepped even closer to him. He could feel heat radiating from her. “I’m not coming with you.” 

“You don’t have a choice, Evans. You can’t exactly stay here.” 

“Oh, I’m not staying,” she smirked at him.

“Then let’s go,” James shifted uneasily, his ears pricked for any sounds outside the cell. 

“I have a job to do.” 

“No, I have a job to do. We need to go.” He took her wrist, trying to ignore the electric shock that coursed up his arm when he touched her. By the way her eyes flicked down, he was sure she felt it too. 

“I need to finish what I started,” she tugged at his hold, frowning when he didn’t release her. “Come on, Potter. It was cute when we were younger, but surely you’ve learnt by now how to take no for an answer.” 

“I’m not asking you on a date, Evans. I’m trying to rescue you. Now, let’s go,” James couldn’t help the tension in his voice. Any moment now they were going to be discovered. While it was always going to be a stressful mission, it was so much worse now that he knew it was her. 

He needed to get them both out. 

“It seems we’re at an impasse, Potter,” she’d moved forward again, coming shoulder to shoulder with him. He could smell her familiar scent at this distance. It brought a wealth of memories. “You have two choices,” she continued, while he told himself to focus. It wouldn’t do to lose his head over her, like he had when he was young. 

“And what are they, Evans?” He looked at her properly then. He’d been avoiding it. As if he would ever have been able to get out of this without looking at her. 

Lily was more beautiful than he remembered. Either his memory wasn’t as good as he thought, or she’d improved with age, like a fine wine. His expression must have changed as he took her in, for her brow furrowed before she answered. 

“You can go back the way you came. Get yourself to safety. You’ve done your job, you’ve freed me. You can leave.” 

“I’m not going without you,” his voice sounded gravel, even to his own ears. 

She didn’t look surprised. “Option two it is then.” She moved her hand, pulling her wrist from his grasp and placing her fingers in his instead. “You’re coming with me.” 

Before he could protest, she’d started to move, tugging him along behind. James stumbled the first step out of the cell, before his brain caught up and switched back into mission mode. He crept silently behind her as they made their way out of the cell area and up the stairs into the manor itself. 

She knew her way around it, James gave her that. Lily didn’t hesitate as she ducked them down a long hallway and selected the third room on the right. She braced her back against the door, hand on the doorknob, wand ready. He nodded, she opened the door for him to lead through. 

Their preparation was in vain. The room was empty. James lowered his wand as Lily pushed past him to the benches and cauldrons set around the room. 

“What is this?” 

“Snape’s lab,” Lily answered distractedly, lifting books, opening draws, pushing scrolls of parchment around. 

“Snape’s?” James looked around him again, half expecting the vile man to appear at the sound of his name. 

“You remember Snape, don’t you, Potter?” She didn’t even look up, her voice dry. 

“Unfortunately,” he muttered. “So he really is a -” 

“Death Eater,” Lily finished his sentence. “Yeah. Since just after school I think.” 

“I’ve never run into him,” James knew he wouldn’t have missed the greasy git, even behind a mask. 

“He doesn’t really do duels. He’s more of an inventor.” 

“I remember,” James would never forget how he’d suffered at the end of one of Snape’s inventions. Werewolf gashes had nothing on the slicing spell that had seen him nearly bleed out in the middle of a corridor during rounds. 

Lily’s face implied she was also thinking of that night. If not for her quick thinking, James might not be standing here now. “Right. Of course.” 

“So, what is all this? What is he doing for them?” James was eager to move on from that memory. If he lingered too long, he’d recall what had enraged Snape so much that night. As vivid as the pain of Sectumsampra still was, even more clear was the feel of his lips on hers moments before. 

Their first kiss. 

Also their last. 

“Creating potions. For cursing, for destroying. For blowing us all to bits,” Lily opened a notebook, scanned several pages before shrinking it and shoving it in her jacket pocket. “He’s trying to win them this war without needing to cast a single spell.” 

“That bastard.”

“That about covers it.” 

“How do you know all this?” James couldn’t help asking, even as he moved back toward the door to check for signs they’d been followed. The manor was curiously silent. 

“Research. A chance meeting. Some well timed Legilimency.” 

“You saw into his mind?” 

Lily almost grinned at the disgust in his voice, “I washed several times afterwards, don’t worry.” 

“You should get hazard pay.” 

“Oh, believe me, I asked.” 

“Who are you working for?” James’ curiosity wouldn’t settle, despite the circumstances. He hadn’t seen her since school. She’d run a mile after the incident with Snape, blaming herself for him ending up in the Hospital Wing. There hadn’t been enough time left in the year to get them back on track before she’d vanished completely. 

“Same person as you, it would seem.” 

“You’re not at the meetings.” 

“Not enough snacks.” 

“Evans.” 

She sighed, still searching. “I’ve been working on my own. Dumbledore agreed. It was the only way I’d help.” She looked up at where he stared at her. “I couldn’t let anyone else get hurt.” 

“That was not your fault. Lily -” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped the book shut and pocketed it. “All done. Let’s go.” 

“Not a moment too soon,” James could hear noise at the far end of the hall. He pulled his cloak out and waved it invitingly. “I trust you remember this?” 

“Only because it broke my poor Prefect heart when I found out.” 

Despite her sarcasm, Lily moved swiftly to him, ducking under the cloak with a practised ease. And she did know it well. When they’d become friends in seventh year, they’d taken many an enjoyable stroll down to Hogsmeade, and made midnight raids to the kitchen for study supplies. 

Her back pressed against his chest as they shuffled slowly down the hall. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist as he pulled them back against a wall to avoid a patrolling goon. Her hair tickled his nose as her head rested just under his chin for several breaths before they edged down the stairs. His lips brushed her ear as he bent to whisper. 

“The door is unlocked, but we can’t open it without suspicion.” 

Her hand rested on his at her waist, as her chin tilted up to reply, “So, what’s the plan?” 

“In about thirty seconds, a diversion will happen upstairs. I set it before we left. We go then.” 

Lily nodded. James felt her twirl her wand in her hand, despite the small space. Then she did something he never expected. 

She relaxed back into him. 

Her hands smoothed along his forearms. Her body melted into his until he wasn’t sure where he finished and she began. Her cheek turned to brush against his chest, nose nuzzling into his neck. He never wanted this moment to end.

“Evans,” his whisper was a question, a plea. 

“Shhh,” she murmured back. “This has to get me through the next few years.” 

Before James could ask what she meant, several explosions went off upstairs. Footsteps from all over the manor thumped against the floor, all heading for the sound. A masked Death Eater came through the front door, and charged past them. 

“Go,” James pushed Lily, but she was already moving. 

The cloak slipped as they moved through the open door. James tore it off them once outside, shrinking it and shoving it in his pocket as they ran. They were almost out of the ward zone, almost safe to apparate, when a shout came from behind. James felt a curse hit him square in the back a second later. He fell over the ward line. 

“James,” Lily had gone several feet before she realised he wasn’t beside her. She came back, falling to her knees next to him. 

“Get out of here, Evans,” he growled. “I’ll be right behind you.” 

“Yeah right.” She made to pull him to his feet. 

“Lily, just go. You’ve got the information.” He could feel strength draining out of him by the second. He was dead weight. 

“Quiet, Potter. I’m being a white knight.” Lily pulled his arm over her shoulders, wrapped hers around his waist, and pulled him into a side along apparition. 

His head spun, his stomach lurched, and when they landed in an empty field, his worthless legs gave way, pulling her down on top of him. His eyes stayed closed as he groaned, a sound loud enough that he didn’t hear the words she muttered next. But the relief was instant. 

“Thanks,” he sighed. 

“All part of the service.”

He expected her to get off him, and was pleasantly surprised when she didn’t. Instead, Lily shifted her weight to her elbows, freeing her hands to gently cup his face. He opened his eyes to see her blinking down at him. 

“Alright, Potter?” she asked. 

He smiled, “Alright.” He brought a hand up, shifting her hair back from her face, mirroring her hold of his head. “But maybe you should stick around, make sure I’m okay.” 

“I only left to keep you safe,” Lily’s thumb brushed across his cheek, his lip. “But it looks like you need me here to make sure that happens.” 

“I’ve always needed you, Evans. Stay. Please.” 

“Well, seeing you asked so nicely.” She smiled as she said the words, but James never saw it. Her lips had pressed down on his, and he was only too happy to oblige with a kiss of his own. 

[themurphyzone]

104 Words for 104 Days: Cook

Enjoy!

The roof of Vanessa’s bedroom was ripped off by her overzealous robot brother at six on a Saturday morning. Saturdays were meant for sleeping in, but apparently her dad’s habit of waking up at some forsaken hour to scheme had rubbed off on Norm.

“WAKEY WAKEY CHOCOLATE CAKEY!” Norm cheered, in the closest imitation to cheering that his voice chip would ever produce. “GOOD MORNING, SIS!”

Vanessa rolled over, burying her face into a pillow. If she ignored him, he’d go away once he got bored.

“WHAT A BEAUTIFUL DAY TO MAKE BREAKFAST IN BED FOR OUR DAD!”

She seriously needed to invest in noise-cancelling earmuffs.

“Father’s Day was last month, Norm,” Vanessa mumbled into her pillow. “Or two months ago. I don’t know, the dates all blend in summer and I don’t feel like getting up to find a calendar.”

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE MY PUPPY DOG EYES? I’VE BEEN PRACTICING SO I CAN GET DAD TO PLAY CATCH WITH ME!”

Vanessa jolted awake. She’d seen Norm cry motor oil once while trying the puppy dog technique, and it was very messy business. She had no wish to repeat that incident ever again.

“I’m up!” she snapped, leaping out of bed and snatching her hairbrush off the nightstand. “Put the roof back, let me get dressed, don’t leak motor oil into my room, and maybe I’ll consider helping you!”

“I’LL BE OUTSIDE!” Norm chirped.

Vanessa buried her face into her hands. She wondered how Candace managed to survive being an older sister.

                                             O – O – O – O – O

By some stroke of luck, her mom was on an overnight camping trip for the weekend without wifi, saving Vanessa from any awkward explanations.

Apparently Norm had spent the past few days collecting ingredients, since the storage closet was almost bursting with flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder. The refrigerator was full of blueberries and butter.

She wasn’t sure if Heinz was aware that his living space had essentially been converted into a bakery, or if he was taking advantage of the ingredients and scheming to create a recipe for evil blueberry muffins.

“I DID ALL MY CALCULATIONS, AND THE PROJECTED TOTAL IS SIX HUNDRED BLUEBERRY MUFFINS,” Norm said. “PLEASE HELP ME BRING THESE INGREDIENTS TO THE KITCHEN SO WE CAN GET STARTED.”

He handed her a recipe page and chef’s hat, then gathered a shelf’s worth of items before heading to the kitchen. Sighing, Vanessa grabbed a bag of flour and trudged after him.

“Try not to burn down the kitchen,” Vanessa warned as she dumped a cupful of sugar into a mixing bowl. “Explosions are Dad’s thing.”

“DON’T WORRY, SIS. I’VE LEARNED FROM DAD’S MISTAKES. I KNOW EFFECTIVE WAYS TO BRING THE TRI-STATE AREA TO ITS KNEES AND HOW TO APOLOGIZE TO PLATYPI WHEN YOU ACCIDENTALLY CHEAT ON THEM WITH A PANDA BEAR.”

“I don’t consider that a strange sentence,” Vanessa admitted. “Should I be concerned?”

“NOPE.”

“You’re right. Probably not worth it.”

Norm’s fingers retracted, an assortment of measuring spoons replacing them. He dug the spoons into the baking powder, tossing it into the large bowl that was too high for Vanessa to reach. When he was finished, Vanessa grabbed her own spoon and added the baking powder to her own bowl, which was thankfully sized for a normal human.

“Hey, this thing’s jammed again! That’s it, I’m swearing vengeance against locks! And locksmiths to an extent too, but mostly the locking mechanisms themselves!”

A banging noise persisted in the background, and Vanessa was tempted to keep it there so she didn’t fall asleep on the spot.

“PLEASE IGNORE THAT. THAT WAS…MY…MIXTAPE. I FORGOT TO TURN IT OFF,” Norm said, intently stirring the contents of his bowl.

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “Sure, Dad swearing revenge against an oddly specific object just happens to be on your mixtape. You locked him in his room last night, didn’t you?”

“NOOO?” Norm replied, drawling the syllable for way too long.

“You’re a terrible liar, Norm,” Vanessa said, handing her finished bowl to Norm and starting over with another one. “Do you want me to teach you how to lie properly? You might not have to use that skill around Dad, but it’ll come in handy if you need to lie to anyone else.”

“ALRIGHT. I’LL JUST LIE TO PERRY THE PLATYPUS.”

“No. Do NOT lie to Perry the Platypus. He will give you his ‘I am so disappointed in you’ glare and look like one of those really sad animals on an ASPCA commercial at the same time. I was on the receiving end of that once after I lied about a date, and I felt like I kicked a million puppies for a week afterwards. It’s not a fun experience.”

It took forty minutes to get all the dry ingredients into the bowl and gather the remaining items, but Norm was surprisingly fun to talk to during the monotonous work. It wasn’t like talking with her mom, who was one of the few adults she respected, or her dad, who talked more than he listened. Perry gave good advice, but he could be a brick wall on occasion. She had to project an air of apathy and rebellion with her peer group, and she had to be careful about what she said around Monty.  

Norm was surprisingly insightful, and even witty with his own sarcastic quips. Despite admiring Heinz and wanting his approval, he wasn’t blind to the man’s flaws either. He just didn’t have the experience in handling him yet.

And Vanessa didn’t mind giving a few pointers.

“I know I complain a lot about Dad, but I care about him too,” Vanessa said. “He spent nearly a decade searching for a discontinued doll that I wanted as a kid. He didn’t have to. It was just one of those heavily marketed toys for the holiday season, and I was never upset about not getting it. I moved on after a while. But Dad never forgot that conversation. That’s the thing about him. He might be dense as a rock to what you actually want, but he’ll jump at any opportunity to give you what he thinks you want. Sometimes it works, sometimes it can be infuriating.”

Norm was silent for a while. Then he replaced his spoons with fingers and grabbed several boxes of blueberries from the fridge. “USING YOUR ADVICE, I THINK I’LL SIT HIM DOWN FOR A TALK AND EXPLAIN WHAT I WANT FROM HIM SO HE DOESN’T HAVE TO GUESS.”

“Best idea I’ve heard from you all day,” Vanessa said. “And if he tries to bail out, get Perry to sit on him.”

Norm laughed and moved onto the eggs, preparing to drop the entire carton into the mix.

“Norm, you’d better fold in the blueberries,” Vanessa said, quickly stopping him before anything inedible could ruin the mixture. She grabbed a clean bowl and expertly cracked several eggs, tossing the eggshells into a plastic bag. “I agree with Dad on how humans don’t eat eggshells or cartons.”

“YOU AGREE WITH DAD?”

“Yeah, I know. Put it on the record.”

Fifty eggs and seventy-five boxes of blueberries later, Norm’s built-in mixers made short work of the batter. Soon it was golden and thick, ready to be ladled into the muffin trays for baking. Still, Vanessa felt like they were missing something.

There was an unused container of sugar almost as long as her arm sitting on the counter. With such a large amount of ingredients, it was easy to miss one.

“Norm, we forgot about that sugar container,” Vanessa said.

Norm unscrewed the lid and dumped the white grains into the mix, giving it several quick stirs with his spoons. When he was finished, he started ladling the mix into each hole on the muffin tray. Vanessa hadn’t realized they owned so many muffin trays, or that the oven could hold eight at a time, or that Norm could transfer heat from his systems to make them bake faster.

Norm even understood basic safety and poured his undivided attention on the muffins, making sure none of them burned or set off the smoke detectors. It was good to know someone in the penthouse had enough sense to observe safe electrical practices.

Confident that Norm could take care of the kitchen by himself, Vanessa went to the bathroom to wash the sugar and eggs off her hands. When she came out, she found a very sheepish Perry handing a generous portion of his salary to her dad, who was nursing a black eye and bruised hand.

“-so next time, warn a guy before you knock down their door! The key was literally on the peg! You could’ve just grabbed that!” Heinz scolded, holding a bag of frozen peas to his eye. Then surprise overtook the scowl when he spotted Vanessa, and the toothy grin looked pretty ridiculous with half his face covered by frozen veggies. “Morning, Vanessa. What are you doing here? I thought you’d be sleeping in at Charlene’s like a normal teen.”

Vanessa shrugged. “Normal teens don’t have robot brothers who destroy roofs at six on a Saturday morning. Hey, Perry. I didn’t think you’d be here this early.”

Perry tilted his fedora to her.

“I sent a distress signal to OWCA since I was locked in my bedroom. And then a certain agent who I won’t name decided to knock my door off its hinges while I was leaning against it,” Heinz muttered. “In addition to teaching robots certain bad habits like breaking people’s homes. I told you he’d be influenced by your dynamic entrances!”

Offended, Perry pointed accusingly at Heinz.

“Well, it’s not my side he gets it from!”

Heinz stood up, discarding the frozen peas on the couch. Perry got into a fighting stance, but before either of them could start brawling, Norm strolled into the living room, cheerily humming the Muffin Man song as he set a tray of blueberry muffins on the coffee table.

“GOOD MORNING, DAD! GOOD MORNING, PERRY THE PLATYPUS!” Norm said. “VANESSA AND I MADE BLUEBERRY MUFFINS FOR YOUR ENJOYMENT!”

“I’m not done with you, Perry the Platypus,” Heinz said, his eyes lighting up at the sight of the tray. “But we’ll continue this after muffins.”

He nearly swallowed a blueberry muffin whole, then his eyes widened. He rushed to the kitchen, coughing and sputtering all the way as he hurriedly gulped down a glass of water.

Vanessa and Perry sampled a small piece, grimacing as the saltiness exploded across their tongues. And to think Heinz actually survived after eating a whole muffin.

“ANALYSIS SHOWED THAT THE LAST CONTAINER WAS SALT, NOT SUGAR,” Norm said, projecting a holographic image of a chemical formula.

“You couldn’t have said that before we used it?” Vanessa sighed.

“FORGIVE ME. MY OBSESSION WITH IMPRESSING DAD TENDS TO OVERTAKE MY RATIONAL THOUGHTS.”

“At least you’re self-aware,” Vanessa muttered.

“You made how many of these things?” Heinz asked incredulously, taking note of just how much flour, salt, batter, and leftover muffins coated his kitchen. “Alright, do you know how weird it is that this place is a mess and for once I’m not the culprit behind it? I’ve heard of role reversal, but that’s just weird.”

Vanessa agreed as she broke out the cleaning supplies. “So, clean up and blueberry muffins at the café?”

“DO I GET TO TRY COFFEE?”

“No!” Heinz said, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Your systems are for making good muffins and assisting me in evil, not for caffeine.”

Perry and Vanessa shared a knowing smile when Heinz wasn’t looking. It was progress.

“Dad, you can go scheme or something if you want,” Vanessa said. “Norm and I can clean. It’s our mess.”

Heinz shrugged, continuing to scrub at a stubborn crack where flour had settled. “I know, but you and Norm and Perry the Platypus are always helping me clean my messes. I want to return the favor.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Vanessa smiled.

“Anytime, sweetie.”  

Courtesy of Perry, a new photo was displayed on the mantle within a week. Heinz was covered head to toe in flour after a mishap with a leftover bag, Norm was rebooting after his squirrel escaped from its wheel and wreaked further havoc, and Vanessa was trying to do damage control around the sink area.

It was the best photo she’d ever seen of her family.

[nikatyler]

*gasp* a replies post! A long replies post! A long replies post where I overshare again! *o* Yeah I kinda missed doing these. I’m now at home, but won’t be for much longer. First, I’m going to meet some of my new classmates on Friday and I’ll spend the whole weekend with them! We’re going somewhere...well I don’t even know where that is, just that it’s in nature and I’ve never been there before! Thank gods we’re meeting at the main station in Prague, or else I wouldn’t get there myself. Then on Moday, I have to go to my uni, and then once more on Wednesday I think? And on Wednesday, I’ll have to wake up at 4 am. my LiFe Is SoOoOOOoO HaRd oH mY gOd. No, I’ll be fine.

And a month from now, I’ll be moving to my dorm. That’s some crazy stuff. I can’t believe it’s happening. Last week, my dad actually took me to Prague and we went to see where it is. The location reminds me a lot of my home, but I won’t tell you what exactly that is because no one needs to know that. Anyway, school starts in October. I’m actually looking forward to studying, but the “living alone in a big city with people I’ve never seen before” part is scary. D: I’ll give you updates.

Anyway, today was a weird day. First, I sat alone by the lake when these two guys came and talked to me (I didn’t mind that actually, they were kinda nice), then when I got up and said I had to go home, one of them complimented my legs...which would’ve been really nice but then he basically implied he’d go to bed with me...and like literally five minutes ago he said he had a girlfriend...basically men are scary. Then later, mum and I went grocery shopping and I saw my middle school crush with his girlfriend...and decided that his girlfriend is cute, way cuter than him actually...bisexual culture I guess, crushing on your middle school crush’s girlfriend lmao. Then we went to pay for our groceries and the cashier...was my childhood friend who also happened to be my first crush and also my last crush and these days I’m wondering if I’m really crushing on him or if I’m just holding onto him because I don’t know any better. Long story but if you ever feel like I have a thing for childhood friends to lovers trope, maybe blame him.

Wow. Oversharing much? Let’s get to those replies then, before I tell you what colour my underwear is or something.

Also!! Stream Lover. You won’t regret it.

volcanopasta replied to your photoset “@ ea guess what we still don’t have in ts4”

I miss spooning

I feel like that’s one of those little things half of the community misses. ;-;

simlishprincess replied to your photoset “MAGNOLIA???”

she’s morphing

She’s broken like this really often and it scares me :D

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your photoset “Vanessa: “So do you forgive me?” Gwyneth: “Of course I do. I must...”

Lol, a bpr founder telling thez plan no more children, they are so funny

These sims have no clue what I have in store

And just you wait for gen 2

Just you wait

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your photoset “There it is. Wonder what she could use the computer for…;) (no, I...”

Well I can`t say this is surprisingXD

Yeah...do most people go for purple? At least most bpr people I follow/followed went for this colour :D I also wanted to do this thing where the founder chooses the pink person, but the heir is purple. Idk why, I just wanted it to be like that haha

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your photoset “Uhh oh hi again. You guys are seeing this right after the last post,...”

Jeez, Vanessa looks like that liquid Terminaor from Terninator 2.Funnily enough he was posing as a police officerXD

Lol I have no idea what you’re talking about because I’m bad at watching iconic movies (read as: I haven’t watched any of the movies that people think everyone has watched :’D) but I’ll believe you lmao

dandylion240  replied to your photoset “I really can’t justify this, can I? Listen, I have to stay true to my...”

Sometimes the aliens won't let you go even if you want to.

Oh you’re right

create-a-sim replied to your photoset “She traded her policeman hat for a fishnet top. Fashion, you know.”

me as a policeman

Saaaame

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your photoset “You know how I said I couldn’t justify this? Well…Alexa play Oops I...”

Yeah, make Roxanne that purple sibling/s

Careful what you wish for 👀

dandylion240 replied to your post “The power of what sharing a worry with someone can do amazes me, as a...”

Awe I'm glad you didn't delete without telling anyone. You would have been missed. But you're not the only one who thinks about doing that though.

I love seeing you on my dash ❤️

1o8percent replied to your post “The power of what sharing a worry with someone can do amazes me, as a...”

I’m glad that sharing your worries was able to help you. Simblr can be overwhelming and well life in general can be too. It’s nice to have someone to let it out to. I’m glad you’re still around!

♥♥♥

Thank you guys so much. This happens to me from time to time, but it’s never been this bad.

desira-sims replied to your post “Random thoughts and ideas: NSB, BC and my hair (again)”

I’m slowly working through the sentence starters too. I didn’t realize quite how difficult some of them would be. Lol

Same! I might incorporate one of them into my yellow gen because it would fit there perfectly. God I’m really going to milk this one awful awful event for angst huh. That will be frowned upon. As for the other...I have an idea for it but it doesn’t fit the og Raleb timeline at all (it was for them) and I want it to be canon...like I kinda just don’t want to call it an AU, but I guess I’ll have to.

aiseinei replied to your photoset “Eden: “Ughhh oh my god my life is soooo hard!”

I would be too if I was stuck staring pink in the mirror for the rest of my life �� no very cute!

Oof same haha. One of the reasons why I was hesitant about starting BPR was the pink :D

And then I went and made my founder marry a pink sim and have four pink children with her, because that makes sense. I love making myself suffer, yay!

Thank you, btw!

medleymisty replied to your post “I'm not saying I want to re-read my entire NSB but...I kinda do. Will...”

*hugs* We're our own worst critics. I used to cringe at my old stuff too, but really it was decent. I might have learned more since then, but it was still good. I'm glad you can see the good in yours. :)

I’m definitely not as hard at my younger self anymore. I went and read some of my stories written when I was 13-14, and I tried to look at it that way. They weren’t perfect, but maybe they were good for a child of that age. I mean, I always got good grades on my writing homework, and my teachers have always liked how I worked with words, so...yeah, it’s not perfect, but I’m not going to have perfectly fleshed out characters and storylines when I have barely even understood that the world isn’t just black and white, good and evil. There are shades inbetween.

That got deep again but I have a lot of feelings about this and I’m sorry to my younger writer self for how I’ve treated her. Keep going, kid.

xiapxls replied to your post “Well, of course my bad wifi had to ruin everything. I guess I will go...”

Me! Whenever I come across a new blog I'm interested in I always read everything before I hit follow

whysimstho replied to your post “Well, of course my bad wifi had to ruin everything. I guess I will go...”

It was how I found your blog actually!

yamekamerainbows27 replied to your post “Well, of course my bad wifi had to ruin everything. I guess I will go...”

I have! ✋✋

elisabettasims replied to your post “Well, of course my bad wifi had to ruin everything. I guess I will go...”

I feel like I read over 90% of it?

dandylion240 replied to your post “Well, of course my bad wifi had to ruin everything. I guess I will go...”

Me. Was in love with Ross since he was born in game. He was such a lil cutie!!

desira-sims replied to your post “Well, of course my bad wifi had to ruin everything. I guess I will go...”

Me! Came across a Ross and Caleb post and went back to the beginning to read it all.

1o8percent replied to your post “Well, of course my bad wifi had to ruin everything. I guess I will go...”

I have ��

Wooow there’s a lot of you. And you stuck with me through the bad and the worse, through all the dumb ideas I got...thank you. Seriously, thank you. There’s more in store, I promise.

You’ll want to punch me in the face eventually, I’m just saying.

Speaking of punching someone in the face, yesterday I was waiting for my hair to dry and I thought hmm, let’s go read gen 2 of my NSB. And...I knew Ross was an idiot when he was young, but I forgot he was that bad. I’m glad none of us accepted it and we only collectively forgave him when he got his crap together. Yay. Also yay we didn’t cancel him because cancel culture is disgusting, people can learn from their mistakes.

I’m going off topic again. That happens when I’m in a good mood.

elisabettasims replied to your post “Let's play a game, "how many more curly maxis match hair can I...”

It's true, there is never enough.

dandylion240 replied to your post “Let's play a game, "how many more curly maxis match hair can I...”

There is never enough

Glad we’re on the same page haha

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your post “��”

Yes, tumblr finally stopped bullying me and send my ask!

Yay tumblr, it got its crap together for once!

No, jokes aside, if you ever send me an ask and I don’t respond, feel free to send it again. I think I got better at answering my asks fast, so you can definitely tell by that. Also, if I answer everyone else’s and not yours...that’s also a sign because I hardly ever keep asks private (unless I’ve been asked to do so, then I’ll always respect your wish!)

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your photo “I have to catch a bus in like ten minutes but here’s what I’ve been...”

This hairstyle suits Ross!

It kinda really does?? It was also the closest I could get to his ts4 one haha.

toxoplasmajuice replied to your photoset “Contestant number seven has arrived! Talia: “Is everything alright?...”

god yeah as an experienced bc player i feel that, introductions take SO long and get SO annoying

I had an “ok I’m never doing this again” moment with literally every contestant because 1) it was taking forever and 2) making ten different and yet still entertaining dialogues was hard

And I write a lot so you’d say that would be easy for me, but nope :’D

doka-chan replied to your post “I don't know how many of you are interested in my book...”

Book recommendations are always a plus. Thank you ! :)

I like them too! Not only because, well, I get a book recommendation, but also because I’m always curious about what people read haha.

vintageplumbobs replied to your post “Just queued episode 2 of the BC and one of the posts got flagged…wanna...”

Not all of us have time for breakfast! I can’t be looking at that in the staff kitchen! People will riot! ����

Oh that’s right, forgive me tumblr, I have sinned

desira-sims replied to your post “But I’ve never told you that before.” Caleb and Ross, please? ��”

That is the sweetest thing ever. ������

dandylion240 replied to your post “But I’ve never told you that before.” Caleb and Ross, please? ��”

I love it ❤️

Thank you guys ;-; ♥ I loved writing this so much. It gave me that nice warm feeling inside, you know what I mean? They make me so happy! ;-;

wcif a vampire best friend that would eventually end up marrying me?

dandylion240 replied to your post “Just queued episode 2 of the BC and one of the posts got flagged…wanna...”

Every single post of Emerson bc was flagged and they weren’t nsfw either mostly

Yeah, this is so weird...I know people say it happens when the picture has a lot of “skintone” coloured pixels...but that’s not always the case with my flagged posts??

Also (I’ll never shut up about this)...why is there a female-presenting nipples rule when it clearly can’t ever tell female and male nipples apart? I’m just saying. And yes I get it, for AI it sure has to be difficult to tell such things apart but in my opinion that’s exactly why they should get rid of it and only incorporate it when it can tell it apart. Actually, hold on, nope. The nipple rule is stupid no matter what gender the nipple is.

And I’ve just used the word nipple more times than ever before in my nineteen-something years long life.

desira-sims replied to your photoset “Some more pictures of Aretha ♥”

She's so pretty

Thank you! ♥ I’m happy with how she turned out.

vintageplumbobs replied to your photoset “I did not forget about those townie makeovers! @epicvictoria suggested...”

That style really suits her. But then...maybe I’m biased...

I think it suits her way better than her original outfits too, but same, I might be biased...vintage/retro aesthetic is my jam.

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your photoset “How to tell which characters are my favourite? Well, they probably...”

Looking good!

omiscanking replied to your photoset “How to tell which characters are my favourite? Well, they probably...”

I'm scrEAMINGGGG

Haha thank you! I hope it’s a good kind of screaming :D

toxoplasmajuice replied to your post “Thoughts?”

screenshots are cool and all but i say if you wanna rely more on text then go for it! especially if you've figured out that taking all those screenshots is an obstacle for you - do what works best for you, you know?

doka-chan replied to your post “Thoughts?”

For me a story is up to its writer. I don't mind only one picture with a huge text, or the contrary a lot of picture with little to no text. As long as we got attached to the characters, it's not important, as long as it's progressing and understandable.

dandylion240 replied to your post “Thoughts?”

I don’t mind reading a lot of text. Pics are always second to the story to me.

desira-sims replied to your post “Thoughts?”

I sort of think there should be a balance. No, not everything needs to be shown as a ss, but it should be more than one photo for a wall of text.

Thank you for your feedback! I think it would be no more than one Word page of text. Which is a lot still but I think that’s the maximum I’d go for. And I mean, I’d show all the important moments. It’s just, I guess I don’t need ten different pictures of the same conversation when these people are just standing next to each other. And it doesn’t need to be split into ten different posts either.

I’ll figure it out, don’t worry.

deathflowertea replied to your photoset “the softest bean �� alternate, boring caption: So I finally decided to...”

TS4 looks good on her! ��

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your photoset “the softest bean �� alternate, boring caption: So I finally decided to...”

Cute!

alfalfalegacy replied to your photoset “the softest bean �� alternate, boring caption: So I finally decided to...”

I love her!!

Thank you guys! I really like how she turned out too.

tiny-tany-thaanos replied to your post “I'm thinking of starting something like "random facts about..." tags...”

I do love when people talk about their characters and stories! It makes OCs more real and all the small details are just adorable!

Me too. I want to know all the details. Tell me how you came up with this or that. Tell me what inspired you to do this. Tell me which song you associate with them. Tell me little things like what shower gel they’re using. I JUST LOVE OCS OKAY

toxoplasmajuice replied to your photo “Nicky: “This is a tragedy. Can I burn my picture before anyone sees...”

me whenever i finish a drawing

big relatable mood

create-a-sim replied to your post “list 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the ask box for...”

I love good lyrics as well ;)

I’ve recently found a lot of appreciation for lyrics that seem simple, but then you get into them or read some behind the scenes facts and realize they’re not as simple as they might seem. Then I feel like the person who wrote it is a genius.

ineptbubbles replied to your photoset “Could I ever get bored of her? Nope.  Could I ever get bored of making...”

Omgosh I love that shirt!!

Me toooo and I need one irl ;-; But I mean, I’ve told my sister so many times this week, maybe when my birthday comes around in December, she’ll remember and she’ll tell my parents I want it? :D I mean I could just ask them for that myself but I just know I’d be embarrassed for some reason.

mlpsimmer replied to your photoset “Roxanne: “Dad, what are you doing here?! You told me you were supposed...”

Your sims are gorgeous!

Thank you so muuuuch! ♥

desira-sims replied to your post “Fluff sentence starter 16. “Do you think the moon is jealous of how...”

These two. �� My heart. I just love them.

dandylion240 replied to your post “Fluff sentence starter 16. “Do you think the moon is jealous of how...”

I love this thank you ❤️

Same. They borrowed my heart, said they’d give it back and then ran away with it and I never saw it again. smh guys, stealing isn’t nice

And no, thank YOU for making me write this ♥

mlpsimmer replied to your post “Tumblr……..your protect-kids-from-seeing-nipples algorithm still isn’t...”

It happened to one of my drafts, which was never published. They were fully dressed, too! It's a little annoying.

Yeah, I just talked about this above in a reply to an older comment. It’s...ugh tumblr, what is u doing

[maypalserrup]

Ever the Worrier (With Good Reason) -- Rafael Aveiro x MC

“Ever the Worrier (With Good Reason)” -- Angst, I think

Rafael Aveiro x f!MC (Rosalie Valentina - I know Raf is Brazilian, but Ro is Mexican and Cuban)

Word count: 2512

Warnings: Mentions of blood, physical trauma, and other medical procedures. Mentions of death but no one dies ________________________________________________________________

Guess who finally wrote a fic again!! I wrote half of this at midnight when my laundry was drying, so it might be kinda clunky. Also I’m a mexican ass mf who loves telenovelas, and this is def a telenovela-y.

In this, Rafael and Rosalie are engaged. Rafael is victim to a freak accident at work and is rushed to the E.R., but Rosalie’s coworkers try and keep her from knowing he’s hurt. Enjoy! ________________________________________________________________ Dr. Rosalie Valentina had just finished up with a patient; a twenty-two-year-old with an epidermoid cyst under her right armpit. An injection of lidocaine, a small incision and some cotton packing later, and she was sent home just fine. It had been a relatively easy day in the hospital--a few broken bones, some lacerations of varying depths, a case of a middle-aged woman coughing up blood. Collecting discharge papers for the twenty-two-year-old from the receptionist desk, Rosalie’s attention was piqued as she heard hustling, yelling, and commotion coming from the ambulance bay. She set the papers down on the desk, hurrying over as she saw multiple doctors and nurses flood the stretcher as it was rolled through the automatic doors.

“How can I help?” Rosalie asked a nurse bustling by. The nurse paused, biting his lip.

“We’re okay. Just tend to your patients, doctor.” He went to move again.

“Wait! Clearly you’re not! You have Dr. Mirani and three residents all crowding around a stretcher. That’s not okay!”

“Just trust me, doctor. It’s okay.” The nurse nodded quickly before hurrying to the stretcher as it was pushed down the linoleum floors. Rosalie tried to see, tried to ask what people needed. She could easily sense Jackie hide the face of the patient on the stretcher, pumping the BVM over their mouth. Rosalie knew she was being pushy, and that she might get reprimanded for not being able to follow instruction, but in the pit of her stomach she felt that something was wrong.

“It was a freak accident. He was helping a car crash victim on the side of the road and a drunk driver side-swiped the two of them. Sent patient flying and killed the original victim on impact. He flew into an old fence on the side of the road and was impaled by an old fence post,” One of the paramedics rambled to Dr. Mirani, who took in all the information with a straight face. The paramedic looked ashy and queasy in shock.

Jackie hunching over the patient’s face wasn’t enough to hide from the thin wooden fence post running through the left side of patient. Despite seeing many things in the E.R., she felt queasy looking at the patient’s blood dried on the post, the coagulation collecting around where wood met torn flesh.

“BP’s 67/46 and dropping!” One of the nurses yelled, and Jackie looked up reflexively. When she looked up, Rosalie saw the face of the unconscious patient on the stretcher. Extreme blood loss couldn’t hide all the warmth of sun-kissed South American skin, and a swollen, beaten and bloody face couldn’t hide the sharpness of cheekbones or gentle curve of his mouth. 

Dr. Mirani shouted something about contacting the blood bank upstairs, but half the sentence warbled in her brain and all she could register was a crackling static and blood rushing in her ears. All the blood in Rosalie’s body pooled in her feet, and she felt all the color drain from her face as she got an extreme headrush, one that knocked her unconscious and sent her tumbling to the floor.

“Get Aveiro to O.R. four! Emergency surgical team is already assembled!” ________________________________________________________________ She was in an emergency department patient room, one of the ones with the blue curtains separating the patient from the rest of the floor. But she wasn’t attending to a patient--she was the patient.

The lights of the room had never seemed so blinding to Rosalie before. Her eyes fluttered rapidly, getting adjusted to the light in the room. She looked around--at the ceiling tiles, at the warmed blanket draped over her body, the blood pressure clip on her finger, the IV in the back of her left hand, covered in clear tape. The plastic covering of the IV and the engagement ring on her finger glittered under the fluorescents.

Rosalie went through the events she remembered before her fainting. She remembered multiple doctors crowded around a stretcher rushing in from the ambulance bay, Jackie hunching over the patient’s face, the wooden post sticking out of the patient’s abdomen. And oh God, the patient.

Her favorite superhero, her fiance. Paramedic Rafael Aveiro, lying unconscious on a stretcher with a wooden post jutting up from his abdomen. Suddenly, she felt extremely queasy, and before she realized what was happening, she leaned over the side of the bed and vomited up the small amount of food she had in her stomach. Toast, shitty cafeteria coffee, a banana. And lots of stomach bile. She made a hissing noise, holding the blanket up to her runny nose, her throat and sinuses burning from throwing up.

Upon hearing her vomiting, Sienna pushed the curtain aside, peeking in the room. “Hey, Ro. You’re awake.” She gave a small smile, then looked at the vomit on the floor. “And queasy, I see.”

Rosalie looked Sienna dead in the eye. “Sienna, you’re my best friend. How’s Raf doing?”

Sienna frowned. “Still in surgery. You were only out for a minute or two, but we gave you a sedative to keep you asleep.”

“How long was I asleep for?”

“Two hours.”

“Two hours! Sienna-” Her heart monitor began to beep faster, and Sienna shushed her.

“It was for your own good and you know it, Ro.” Sienna walked toward her and sat on the side of her bed. “I don’t have any word on Rafael yet. But he’s in some of the best hands in the country. The world, even.”

Sienna reached forward and tucked a strand of Rosalie’s hair behind her ear. “We didn’t want you making yourself sick for hours on end,” she paused, looked at the vomit on the floor, and back at Rosalie, “Well, more than you already did.”

Rosalie couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile before her eyes welled up with tears. “I don’t know what I’ll do without him if he dies, Sienna. I think a part of me would die, too.”

Sienna took Rosalie’s right hand in hers--the one without the IV--and rubbed the pad of her thumb comfortingly along the back. “I know it’s scary. But all we can do right now is think good thoughts. Rafael is one of the luckiest men I know with all sorts of good karma. In my heart I know he has one of the highest chances of being okay. He has the best surgical doctors from every applicable department in that OR right now. He’s in the best hands possible.”

It was moments like these Rosalie was infinitely grateful for someone as wonderful as Sienna Trinh in her life. She was the kindest, most genuine person she had the pleasure of meeting, and she didn’t know how she would be able to get through this moment without her.

Sienna’s pager beeped and she hopped off the bed, checking it. “Mirani paged me. I’ll check in on you later and bring you something to eat, too. And I’ll send someone to clean up the mess.” She gave Rosalie a warm smile before disappearing into the organized chaos of the emergency department. Rosalie let her head fall back into the pillows of the hospital bed, tears in her eyes. She did her best to not think about Rafael, but all her mind was doing was replaying the scene over and over in her head where she looked from the wooden post up to Rafael’s unconscious face. The memory made her physically ill, and she had to suppress a gag once more. Subconsciously, she began to twist the engagement ring around her finger. Raf had bought it for her whilst visiting family in Brazil. It was beautiful--a golden band with a round cut black diamond surrounded by two round cut imperial topaz, which was a gemstone native to only a small mine in Minas Gerais. The topaz was when adorned with two small champagne diamonds, creating a formation looking similar to a flower.

Looking up at the ceiling, Rosalie did her best to take her mind of Rafael. She started finding designs in the plaster above, and she ended up drifting off before she knew it. ________________________________________________________________

A gentle hand on Rosalie’s shoulder shook her awake. She hummed her response, trying to force her eyes open, despite her sleepiness. “Hmm?”

“Ro,” Sienna said, softly. “Rafael’s out of surgery. He’s in the ICU, he’s stable. We think he’s going to make it.”

Even half-asleep, Rosalie registered what Sienna was saying and she felt tears well up in her eyes. This time, though, they were tears of joy, not anguish. She hadn’t ever been this happy, this relieved: not when she found out she got into one of the most prestigious medical schools on the East Coast; not when she found out her idol, Dr. Ethan Ramsey, hand-selected her application for a job at Edenbrook; not when she watched Rafael get down on one knee on a cobblestone bridge over the Charles River under the full moon and asked her to marry him. No, she had never been this happy before.

“Can I see him?” Rosalie whispered, looking up at Sienna.

“Technically no,” Sienna grinned. “But you’re a doctor. Maybe you’re just coming with me to help with his evaluation.”

“Sienna Trinh, I do love you.”

“I know, Ro.” She reached forward and took off the blood pressure clip, and peeled the tape off the back of her hand before grabbing gauze and removing her IV, taping a gauze square over the needle site. “I love you, too. He’s in room 408.”

Rosalie all but jumped off the bed, and Sienna stopped her to hand her a brown paper bag, full of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a bottle of water, and a brownie she baked last night. “Please consider walking. And eat on your way, will you?”

“Yes, Dr. Trinh.” Rosalie leaned forward to kiss her best friend’s cheek. She slipped her shoes on, which had been at the end of her bed, and pulled on the sweatshirt of hers Sienna retrieved from her locker. She gave Sienna a brief wave as she stepped out of the room, opening the paper bag to pull out the sandwich, wrapped in wax paper. Sienna liked to minimize her plastic use.

Trying to slink away from the doctors and nurses that would keep her from getting to her fiance faster, Rosalie got to the elevator and pressed the up button. Inside the elevator, watching the red light display each floor number was torture when it felt like they were minutes instead, minutes counting down to her seeing Rafael safe in the hospital bed.

The doors pulled open and she did her best to not speed out of the elevator, walking briskly as she navigated the quiet corridors, counting each room placard aloud to herself before finally getting to 408. Rosalie knocked briefly reflexively before opening the door slowly, cautiously. She peeked her head in first, then slinked the rest of the way in, her heart hurting as she saw Rafael laying on the hospital bed, peacefully asleep. It was eerily quiet, with nothing but the steady beep of the heart monitor and the hum of the machines echoing around the room.

His eyelashes were always so long, brushing his cheekbones under his eyelids. He had a few  bruises on his cheek, and a cut held together by two butterfly bandages. A nasal cannula ran from his nose to the flowmeter in the wall. The light blue cotton linens were pulled up to his chest, and someone brought up one of the quilts from the on-call room and laid it atop the blanket, across his legs. His arms were by his sides, miscellaneous tubes sticking from different points within his hands and arms, covered in sticky tapes and wrapped in bandages, an oximeter on his fingertip. She hurried to his bedside, taking his hand gently in hers as tears welled up in her eyes.

“Raf,” She said softly, bringing his hand up to her lips gently as she pressed a kiss to the back of it. “You’re so stupidly brave. I always told you you had to take care of yourself on the job, too. You’re too selfless.” She sniffled, lowering her head and looking at his abdomen. It was covered by linens, but under it, she knew it was covered in bandages and stitches and plastic coverings.

“Sienna said the surgery went well. I know we’re just waiting for you to wake up. Once you wake up, we know you’ll be okay. You gotta do it for me, Rafael. Make it through this and wait on being stupid until we get married at least. Please.” She was half crying, half laughing as she pulled a chair from beside the bedside table, sitting down and resting her head on the bed beside him, still holding his hand.

For someone who had just slept for hours from a sedative, she was still exhausted, and before she knew it, the gentle hospital lullaby of monitors and machines were lulling her into sleep. ________________________________________________________________ When Rosalie woke up, she was surprised to hear the TV on. She blearily blinked the sleep from her eyes, looking up to see the screen on, playing a telenovela she had watched time and time again when she was stuck at home sick. She heard a quiet chuckle, and her head whipped around.

“For someone who was panicking over me, you’d think that when you wake up the first thing you’d look at is me.” Rafael had small, sleepy smile on his face. His eyes were droopy, full of exhaustion. But he was awake.

Rosalie had to keep herself from crying in excitement. “Raf! Oh, gracias a dios,” she took his hand in hers again, squeezing it gently to not irritate the tubing. “How are you feeling? I was so worried!”

He laughed before wincing, clutching his abdomen. Rosalie winced, too. “You sound like my avo. Ever the worrier, Rosalie.”

Rosalie’s jaw dropped. “¡Ni en pedo! Do you even know what happened to you? I was worried sick! Literally sick, Raf--I threw up all over the linoleum in the E.R.”

Rafael rolled his eyes affectionately, snorting. “I do, Ro. Dr. Mirani told me when I first woke up. He was a bit unhappy to see you slumped over my bed when I hadn’t been approved for visitors. He told me that you haven’t left the hospital in over a day. Why didn’t you go home?”

“And leave you here? What kind of fiancée would I be if I did that?”

“One that took care of herself.” He smiled softly. Although his exhaustion was evident, his smile still reached his eyes. It was Rosalie’s favorite smile of his. For someone who was constantly smiling, the gentle smiles that showed in the eyes more than the mouth was her absolute favorite. “I love you, princesa. Thank you for staying with me.”

“I love you too, Rafael. And I would stay in here for the rest of my life if it meant I could make sure you were doing okay.” ________________________________________________________________ Spanish translations:   - “Gracias a dios!” -- Thank God  - “¡Ni en pedo!” -- essentially “fat chance!” or “there’s no way!” 

[chimmyboii]

The Lost World - Kim Namjoon au

Prologue Part 1 Part 2  Part 3 Part 4

Part 2

Over the next few days, Jimin and I try to create a plan to find a way to bring Namjoon back home. We spend hours constantly reading both my father’s and Namjoon’s notes on Underworld, but nothing stood out about bringing someone back. Taehyung has been little help; he refuses to believe that Namjoon is in the Underworld.

“It’s just a myth, Y/N!” He exclaims, pulling at his faded blue hair. I sort out Professor Choi’s notes on the Underworld, that I had taken from Namjoon’s bedroom. “There is absolute no way Namjoon is there!”

“Well, do you have a better idea of where he is?!” I growl at him. Jimin wheels a whiteboard into the living room. He ignores us as he places some coloured pens onto the table. Taehyung and I continue to argue as Jimin begins to set up the information which we have gathered so far.

“You just don’t get it! I refuse to believe Namjoon is in some mythical place!” Taehyung suddenly roared, “I’d rather believe he’s dead! At least that way I won’t be sitting here hoping that one day he’ll come walking through that door,” at that Taehyung voices cracked. I notice his eyes welling up with tears as he abruptly turns away, his back now facing me.

“He’s in Underworld, Tae. I know you don’t want to believe it, but he is.” Jimin says softly as he begins to write on the whiteboard. Taehyung shoots Jimin a glare, his hands begin to clench at his side.

“How can you believe that bullshit?!” Jimin turns to face him, his own eyes forming a glare.

“I believe it because Namjoon believed it. He spent majority of his life believing that myths were real, and I owe to him to try and figure out if its true.” Jimin spoke sternly at Taehyung, who just shook his head before storming out the room. I sigh before taking a seat. I knew how Taehyung felt, after my father went missing, I spent months trying to figure out what happened. I wanted to believe so badly that he was alive; it nearly drove me insane.

“Just leave him, Y/N. He’ll come around eventually.” Jimin places a hand on my shoulder before picking up a journal on the table. “Right so we know that the dais is the entrance to the Underworld, right?”

Nodding, I grab my father’s notepad and re-read his notes. “I think so, from what I am reading. To open the door to Underworld you have to offer a soul, I think. I remember Namjoon cutting himself, so maybe that’s how he got in.” Jimin nods, thoughtfully before writing it on the whiteboard in red pen.  

Jimin looks at the table which is covered in paper. Extracts from Namjoon’s notes, my father and also the late Professor Choi lay scattered around the table; Jimin gathers them together before taking a seat on the large chair next to the whiteboard.

“Professor Choi didn’t go into too much detail about the dais, he mostly wrote about the Underworld.” Jimin muses, his fingers flicking through the pages of the journal. I rest my head on my hand as I look at Jimin, he’s smiling faintly at the pages. “Choi believed that all myths must have been true at one point otherwise they wouldn’t have become myths.”

“Or some people are just really good story tellers,” I countered smiling softly, Jimin paused for a second before nodding thoughtfully.  

“The old man might have been right. I mean why else do we hold onto these old stories, especially if we don’t have any evidence that they really existed.” For once I don’t have an answer so I just shrug. “Maybe we did have evidence but people like Roth destroyed it,” Jimin goes to place the pile of paper onto the table when a photo falls out. He picks it up, his eyes crease as he stares at the picture longingly. I stand up to take a look. It was a picture of Namjoon and an old man who I presume is Professor Choi.

“Professor Choi was the only man at the University who defended Namjoon,”

“Defend him?” I ask, unsure by what Jimin meant.

“People didn’t particular like Namjoon, said he was a know-it-all, so they picked on him. Called him out, you know. You would think bullying would stop when you’re in University, but it didn’t. Because of this he didn’t have many friends, just Taehyung and me. People don’t like smart guys, that’s what Namjoon said.” I shook my head, my heart suddenly ached at the thought of Namjoon being harassed by fellow students. I remember how Adam Taylor treated him on the boat and how calm Namjoon was, he must have been so used to guys like Adam harassing him. “Taehyung was Namjoon’s roommate when they stayed in the dorms. They weren’t friends at first, like I said Namjoon had some trust issues. But eventually he couldn’t resist Taehyungs bright personality.” Jimin giggled and I smiled.

“What about you?” I asked, wondering how Jimin became a part of the group. Jimin just shrugged and was silent for a moment.

“I was friends with Taehyung in high school, so I met Namjoon through him,” Jimin runs his index finger over Namjoon’s face in the photo. “I was really insecure about myself, but Namjoon always made me feel better about myself. I owe him a lot.” Tears began to slide down Jimin’s cheeks, a chocked sob left his plump lips.

“I’m trying so hard to be optimistic but what if I’m wrong, Y/N!” he sobbed out, “What if Namjoon is really gone for good, what if the Underworld is really just a myth!” Grabbing onto him, I pull him into an embrace and try to sooth his sobs.

“I don’t know Jimin, I just know that I’m going to try my best and find out what happened.” I run my hand down his back, Jimin just nodded against my neck. “That’s all we can do.”

Jimin pulls away and rubs his sleeve across his cheek, gathering any stray tears before sniffing loudly. “I’m sorry, I’m just getting myself worked up. I feel like no matter how many times I read these journals nothing is making sense.”

“I know but we’ve got to keep trying, maybe we’ll find something eventually.”  

After Jimin managed to calm himself down, we went back to work. The whiteboard was covered in black, blue and red writing. There was little space left to write on. I let out a groan as I re-read the same sentence for about the twentieth time. Taehyung had still to come out of his room.

“I’m getting nowhere. I honestly have no idea how we’re supposed to enter the Underworld without basically selling your soul.” I chuck the journal back onto the table and look over the whiteboard. Nothing. Not a thing stood out.

“Maybe you have to, to activate the door or whatever.” Jimin suggests.

“But then if I give up my soul, how do I leave, can I even leave?” I ask rhetorically. Once again, I find myself siting with my face between the palms of my hands. By giving up my soul means I’ll have to die, the thought itself made me feel sick. What if the only way to find Namjoon is to give up my life, would I do it? Especially on a hunch like this. Namjoon’s dimpled smile came to mind, it sorts of sealed my decision. Yes, I would give up my life to find him. I’ve gave up my teenage years searching for clues to maintain my father’s reputation. This was no different. I would be the one to find Namjoon.

“I’ll go,” I say, my voice was hard as I stare at the whiteboard. Jimin stops re-organising the paperwork to look at me. His pouty lips turn in a frown as he stares at me.

“Go where?” I point to the large word written in red on the board.

“Underworld, I’ll go.” Jimin shakes his head, his dark eyes widen.

“No way! Are you crazy? I’m not losing you as well!” I frown at his words.

“Jimin you barely know me! You should be grateful it’s me that insists on going and not Taehyung.” He slams the papers on the desk, before standing up and towers over me.

“You’re important, Y/N! You’re just important to me just as Namjoon and Taehyung are. I can’t lose you as well,” My throat becomes dry as I look at his face, almost red in anger. “I know I’ve only known you a week, but you’ve done more for me and Taehyung than anyone ever has before. That means a lot to me.” Jimin’s voice softens to a whisper as he looks down, almost shyly.

There’s a long awkward silence as the both of us footer around the paper, not looking at each other. For a long time, I’ve avoided any human contact, I couldn’t deal with emotions well. The only person I really communicated with was Namjoon and now he’s gone. It’s hard to bring myself to trust someone deeply.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. The tomb entrance was block by a massive rock after the earthquake.” I mumble as I go to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. “I’d have to try and get in through the water again but I’m not a powerful swimmer.”

“You wouldn’t be getting back into the tomb anyway,” a deep voice startled me. Turning towards the living room entrance, I find Taehyung leaning against the door frame. His blue hair was tousled revealing his forehead. “Roth destroyed the tomb shortly after he took you.” I drop the teaspoon I was currently holding and grip onto the counter, I rest my head on the cupboard door.

“We’re fucked,” I whisper. “There’s no way to get into Underworld now.”

Taehyung scoffs before shaking his head, “Yes there is.” I narrow my eyes at him.

“Ok then, how?” I cross my arms and lean my hip against the counter. Taehyung smirks at me before lifting up a printed piece of paper. He hands it to me; the picture was of a tomb that looked identical to the tomb both Namjoon and I were in. It had a dais just like the one Namjoon touched, except the markings were different. The dais markings in the tomb I had visited had red markings around both dais and pillars. The markings on the pillar created circle, almost like a half moon shape. The pillars in the photo had a full moon carved onto them but the markings were in green not red. Both platforms surrounding the dais had a triangle carved into the concrete floor, that was identical in both of the tombs.

“Where’d you get this?” I whispered, my eyes still roaming over the picture. Jimin comes up behind me and takes a look. I look to Taehyung and notice his eyes are no longer sad like they were before, they look determined.

“Namjoon had it save on his laptop; and before you start Jimin, I know I shouldn’t be snooping. If he didn’t want me to look at his shit, then he should have made his password harder to guess.” Jimin just shakes his head, his pink hair brushing against my cheek. “Anyway, according to what Namjoon had typed up on a word document; the tomb is located in Japan.” Taehyung hands me three sheets of paper with the notes Namjoon must have typed.

“As you can see both tombs are identical, from what Namjoon had written he believed that there is more than one dais around the world. Hidden somewhere.” I continue to read of the notes when Taehyung clears his throat. “There’s a problem though.”

“What?”

“Roth already knows about the tomb. That chick Veronica, yeah she found about the tomb last year at some point.” I groan along with Jimin. Rubbing my temples, I decide now it’s time to take action.

“Ok, we need a plan.”

-

Over the next couple of weeks, Jimin and Taehyung gather equipment that will be needed for the trip to Japan. Both boys didn’t argue this time about me being the one to enter the tomb. I was determined that it was going to be me that goes considering I’ve already had the experience with the last tomb. I managed to gather some weapons, two guns and a knife. Whilst Taehyung and Jimin set up cameras and prepare the communicators, I trained up on combat and re-read the notes until I knew them by heart.  

It took us three weeks to be prepared, but we eventually got there. I had used the last of my father’s inheritance and book tickets to Japan. I had been staying in the country for a few days now, monitoring Roth’s every move. Thanks to both Taehyung’s and Jimin’s high tech equipment I am able to do so. I honestly felt like a spy not an archaeologist. At this very moment, Roth and his men are camping just outside of the tomb. Using Taehyung drone, I am able to keep track of what they are up to. So far, they have used machinery to create an entrance to the tomb. For this to work, I have to be a ninja - Taehyungs words. I have to be silent and invisible. As far as Roth is concerned, I’m dead, I died in that chamber he kept me in.

Moving up the hill, I keep on my toes careful not to leave any footprints in the mud.  Taehyung was currently chatting away in my earpiece as I adjusted the camera the planted on the strap of my tank top - the camera was in the form of a badge.

“Taehyung do you ever shut up?” I ask as I adjust my bag onto my shoulders. The weapons in the back were weighing me down but I knew I’d need them.  

“Well I’m sorry but it’s boring watching you run up a hill,” he sighed through the earpiece. I roll my eyes and continue to make my way up the hill, ignoring any snarky comment Taehyung makes. As I reach the top of the hill, I peer over it. Down below is where the tomb is located except unlike the last tomb this one is underground. I eye all the men crowding the hole in the ground - the same entrance that Roth had a team dig through. There must be at least twenty men down there.

“Fuck sake! How many men does this guy need?!” Taehyung exclaims. There’s no way I’m making it into the tomb without them noticing me.

“There’s got to be another way in,” I grab binoculars from my backpack, I zoom and search the surroundings. As I scan the area, I note that there was nothing but trees and grass throughout the area; I sigh and zoom back out. “Shit!” I grunt, from what I could see there wasn’t another entrance to the tomb. I’d have to get past Roth’s army of soldiers.

“I’m going to have to sneak past them,” I tell Jimin and Taehyung. Right away, Jimin is protesting, Taehyung also makes remarks about how I can die. “There’s no other way in! I have to go past them.” I cut them off, both of the boys fall silent.

“Ok, how are you going to do that?” Taehyung asked.

“I don’t know. Distract them somehow.” At this particular moment, it is daylight and it would make it easier for them to spot me. “I’ll distract them when it gets dark, that way they won’t see me.” Taehyung confirms his agreement but Jimin is silent. I sigh knowing he’s worrying. “Jimin, I have to do this. It’s the only way in.” It’s silent over the earpiece for a moment but then I hear Jimin let out a soft sigh.

“I know, I just don’t like it. You have to be extremely careful, no stupid tricks okay?”

“Okay.”

-

As the sun sets, I take out the weapons from the backpack. I attach the guns to my hips and slide a knife into the side of my boots. Throwing the backpack into the bushes so no one would find it, I begin to make my way down the hill. As I reach the bottom, I spot two soldiers walking in my direction. Eyeing the rifles in their arms, I move to side of tree shielding myself from their view.

“Oh shit! Did you see the size of those guns?” Taehyung gasps, Jimin makes a snarky comment but I didn’t fully hear it over the sound of my heart thumping. I had no idea how I was going to distract them; I didn’t own any smoke grenades. The thudding of their footsteps coming closer caused me to panic. Looking down, I spot a rock; an idea formed in my head. Crouching down, I picked the rock up and peeked over the side of the tree and spotted a bush. I threw the rock with full force and watched as it landed in the bush causing it to rustle.

“What was that?” One of the solider stops and whips his head towards the bush; the other following close behind. I watch as he walks towards the bush, his friend not far behind. I wait patiently until they are directly in front of the bush before I quickly sneak over to the other bush, trying to keep my steps as quiet as possible.  Just as I crawl under the bush, hidden from the soldier’s view, the other soldier turns around in my direction. My breath hitches, as I watch him scan the area that I am in. He turns back to his friend and nudges him.

“There’s nothing there.” He comments but the other soldier continues to run his gun along the bush in hopes something would pop out.

“I’m sure I heard something,” his friend doesn’t answer but shakes his head and walks towards the group of soldiers who have now gathered around a small fire. Eventually, the other soldier follows him. I sigh in relief my head falling forward as I take deep breaths, trying to calm my heartbeat.

“That was a close one.” Taehyung notes, I nod in agreement.

“It’s about to get a whole lot harder though,” Jimin grumbles, I scan the area once again and my eyes catch the entrance of the tomb, it’s not far now but I still won’t be able to get inside without the soldiers noticing. Just over from where I am situated there is another lot of bushes and trees that I could use to conceal myself with. Turning around, I note the tall grass and begin to form a plan. Pulling out the flare in my back pocket, I move to the edge of the bush getting ready to sprint to the trees. I pull out my lighter and began to light the flare, it burns bright red. Quickly I throw it behind me and watch as the flames and smoke begin to rise. I dive out of the bush and sprint towards the trees.

“Oh my God!” Jimin squeals in my ear. I just made it in time when the soldiers started noticing the fire that has begun.

“What the fuck?!” One of the soldier’s yell, frantically all the soldiers grab their weapons and equipment to put out the fire.

“Boss! There’s a fire up here!” I hear one of them translate over his headset. I don’t wait to hear more; I move as all the soldiers gather around the now large fire. I sprint towards the fire, feet thumping on the ground. As I get closer to the entrance my feet slip on the grass, causing my whole body to collide with the ground as I go skidding into the tomb.

“Y/N!” I hear Jimin shout. Quickly I grab the grapple gun from my hip and shoot for the entrance. I hear it grip onto the edge of the tomb, my whole body goes swinging towards the wall. I grunt as I make contact, pushing my legs out I stop the second blow.

“Y/N are you okay?” I hear Jimin ask over the headset. I moan as I feel burning pain along my ribs.   “I think so. I’ve hurt my ribs, but I don’t think they’re broken or anything.” As I swing on back and forth, I look down. Below me was sharp stakes pointing up towards me; a trap. I could see skeleton from unfortunate people.

“Holy fuck.” Taehyung breathes, I hum in agreement. Holding on tightly to my ribs, I try to swing myself over the trap below me. Ignoring the pain in my ribs I jump down landing harshly on my feet causing a shooting pain to travel up my legs. I turn and examine the trap; it was clear nobody was to enter this tomb. As I examine, I notice footprints on the ground. They’re fresh, the shadow print of the shoe’s was still damp from the grass outside.

“Someone is here.” I announce to Jimin and Taehyung, making sure the camera captures the footprint. Jimin curses over the headset.

“Be careful Y/N. If Roth finds out you’re alive, he’ll definitely kill you.” The thought of Roth made my skin rise in goose bumps, my heart beating faster. Ignoring my sudden fear, I pushed on through the corridor. As I look at the markings, I note how similar these tombs are. They must have been created by the same people.

“Hey Jimin, do you know what tomb was created first?” I ask as I run my fingers along the markings on the wall. It’s quiet for a few seconds before Jimin’s voice eventually breaks through.

“I’m not entirely sure. From what I’ve read the tomb has just been discovered so maybe the other one was first created. There isn’t any evidence though, so I could be wrong.”

“Mmmm…I think this tomb was created first. The markings seem much older and almost faded completely. Especially, compared to the other tomb. The markings in that tomb were bolder as well.” My finger feels the markings, the writing almost gone from the wall completely.

“Wait!” Taehyung voice suddenly appears, “Stand back a bit, so I can read the whole thing.”

Taking a few steps back, I let Taehyung read it over. He’s humming and grunting over the headset.

“Taehyung, what the hell is it?” Jimin growls, getting as impatient as I am.

“Two seconds, I’m trying to translate. Unfortunately, I’m no genius like Namjoon but using his notes helps.” Jimin just sighs.

“Ok, bear with me, but from what I’ve translated it basically says these tombs were created so Hade’s could find a human sacrifice.”

“What the fuck Taehyung that can’t be right!” Jimin protests which causes an argument between two boys. “Why would Hades want a human sacrifice, he’s fucking immortal! That makes no sense!”

“He might be right,” I cut in, Jimin suddenly shuts up. “I think it makes sense. Those daisies were created as a gate so that we could enter the Underworld, we were going to be use as a sacrifice. But what was the sacrifice for?” I begin to ramble, following the writing until I am at the end of the corridor. “It says something about power, I can’t really read it.” Taehyung says. Power. Sacrificed souls.

“I think Hades was looking for someone to pass his power onto.” Jimin mutters causing Taehyung to scoff.

“Now who’s not making sense!” I groan as they argue once again. Ignoring them, I enter the chamber, the dais sat proudly in front of me. I study it for a moment before commenting:

“Maybe Hades wasn’t exactly immortal, but his powers are. Overtime Hades would become weaker as his body gets older and perhaps, he uses humans to remain the God of Underworld by transferring his soul -or power into them,” A slow clap echoed behind me, I spun around.

Roth slowly walked towards me; a dark smirk graced his lips. “That’s an excellent theory, Y/N. Just like your father.” The sound of heels clicking drew my attention from Roth, my eyes dart to beside him. Veronica stood beside him, completely emotionless.

“Your father was a good man, I must admit. But he was too selfish, he just wanted more. Always after the next greatest thing, to prove he was worthy. And yet the greatest thing he was yet to discover was you.” From the corner of my eye, I see Veronica roll hers. I watch her fist clench together as he walks closer to me.

“Your Father was too busy searching for myths to see how special his little girl was. He missed out on the most important thing; watching you become the woman you are.” He places a hand on my cheek, I flinch away.

“What the fuck is wrong with this dude,” I hear Taehyung comment over the headset, breaking me from my frozen state. Jerking my knee up, I knee Roth in the stomach and grip on to his neck and swing a punch, knocking him over.

“Do not talk about my father!” I growl, kicking him in the stomach.

“Yes! Y/N kick his fucking ass!” Taehyung hollers. Roth just chuckles, spitting blood from his lips he turns to Veronica.

“You know what to do,” he mutters, a smirk taking over his face once more. I turn to Veronica and watch as her eyes roll back and a dark cloud emits from her.

“What the fuck.” I whisper as I watch the cloud form into some sort of creature with dark red eyes. My hands automatically reach for my guns, pulling them out, I aim in front of me.

“Ah guns won’t do anything to it, Y/N. It’s immune to pain.” Roth comments from the ground. A cold chill run through me as I watch is lock its red eye on me.

“I told you she was a fucking witch!” Taehyung screeches. I began shooting at the creature and stumbling back, it lets out a massive roar before pouncing for me. I roll out of the way, my back smacking harshly against the tomb walls. I continue to shoot at the creature, ignoring Taehyung constant cheers and curses over the headset. As I go to run, the creature grabs onto my shoulder launching me against the wall headfirst.

“Fuck!” I wail as my body hits the ground. I feel the blood dribble down my temple, groaning I struggle to sit up. Taehyung is yelling over the headset.

“COME ON Y/N, KICK THAT UGLY MOTHERFUCKERS ASS!” Over his screaming I can hear Jimin shout something, it was muffled over Taehyung yells.

“Shut the fuck up Tae!” I shout, “Jimin what did you say!?” I squeal as a ball of fire shot my way. My eyes widen as I take in the creature using both is claws to form a ball of fire. “Oh fuck!” I duck out of the way and stand behind a pillar.

“Y/N, you need to get the necklace off Veronica. It’s what’s controlling that thing!” Jimin shouts. Looking over the pillar at Veronica, I notice she hasn’t moved an inch. Her eyes still rolled to the back of her head. But I notice her necklace is glowing purple. Taking a deep breath, I sprint over to Veronica and grip her. She wakes up from whatever trance she was in and grabs a hold of my hair tugging at it. I grunt, gripping the necklace and try to tug it from her.

“No!” she grabs my hand and twists it, causing me to yelp. I grip her hand and kick her shin harshly causing her to drop to the floor. I rip the necklace from her, and smash is harshly on the ground before stomping on. It wasn’t breaking.

“Y/N YOU BETTER HURRY BECAUSE THAT THING IS MAKING ITS WAY TO YOU!” Taehyung warns, voice cracking at the volume he’s using. Using all my strength I jump down once last time; smashing the necklace into pieces. The creature vanishes into purple smoke.

“NO!” Veronica yells, reaching for the smash pieces. She morns at the sight before her blue eyes snap to me. They glare harshly at me as she stands up and faces me.

“You messed with the wrong girl!” She growls and pounces at me.

“Sister, you better sit your ass down before you get hurt!” Taehyung comments. I grabbed Veronica’s wrist as she attempts me punch me, I throw a punch of my own which collides with her check. Veronica stumbles back before growling and attempting to hit me again. I grip her shoulder and smash our heads together -headbutting her until her head smashes the back wall, knocking her out completely

“Oww fuck!” I growl, gripping my head.

“Not your finest move.” Jimin comments and I let out a dry chuckle.

“I’d like to see you do better.” I look at Veronica’s body unconscious on the floor, her icy blonde hair sticking to blood on her forehead.

“Well that didn’t last long,” Roth chuckled, “but then again Veronica was always weak.” He leans against the pillar smirking at me, his bottom lip cut and still bleeding. “But you, Y/N you’re a lot stronger than I had originally thought. Now I know why Namjoon liked you so much.”

“Now, tell me Y/N how do you get into Underworld. I’m assuming that’s why you’re here, to get lover boy back,” He chuckles taking a few steps towards me.

“Why would I tell you, you tried to kill me!” Roth shakes his head.

“And I’ll try to kill you again if you don’t, so you better started talking!” I chuckle and shake my head.

“Nah I don’t think so!” I go to punch him, but he blocks it, kneeing me in the stomach knocking the wind from me. I splutter and go to hit him again when he pulls out a switchblade, slitting my hand. I wince and watch the blood pour from the wound. With me distracted, Roth throws a punch at my face, I stumble back into the dais, my hand landing on the cold stood getting blood on it.

Suddenly, the sound of a wheel turning caused Roth to freeze. A cold breeze hits my back and a bright light takes over my vision. “Y/N!” I hear Roth scream; a hand wraps itself around my ankle. I cover my eyes and stumble as I no longer feel the dais pressed against my back. The feeling of fallen takes over me, I let out a squeal hoping that I’d feel land soon or if this is a dream I’d wake up.  My back hits the cold ground, my head feels like it’s still spinning so I keep my eyes closed for a minute.

When I eventually open my eyes, I’m no longer in the tomb, but somewhere else entirely. Looking around I note the faces of the Gods carved into the walls, the ground is decorated with paintings. Telling the story of the Gods and their legacy. I was in Underworld, I had made.

“Oh my God!” Taehyung screeches, scaring the shit out of me.

“Jesus Taehyung!” I grip my heart, trying to calm myself. “You guys can see this right?” I ask, fearing for a moment that I was the only one that could see this beautiful sight.

“No, we can see, Y/N. You’re in Underworld, it actually worked!” I chuckle breathlessly, hardly believing that I made it.

“I’m surprised the camera still worked,” I commented which caused Taehyung to let out a scoff.

“Of course, it would work, I didn’t spend thousands on the tech for it to let me down!”

All over the walls was the same red and green markings, next to them was the paintings of the God. It showed the rituals, the dais and human sacrifice coming together as one – the new ruler of Underworld.

 -

I continue to explore the other chambers in hopes I’d find some clue if Namjoon had been there; so far nothing. I as I walk down the corridors, I notice that it’s getting darker and a lot colder. I begin shaking as I get closer to another chamber; it is freezing in there. Walking down the steps, my jaw drops open. Before me was a large walkway leading to a platform; waterfalls were on each side of the platform. Looking down below, I shiver as I see skeletons swirling in the water.

“What the fuck is that?” Taehyung ask as I continue to look at them. They’re moving, I note but very slowly.

“They’re souls,” Jimin answers, my eyes widen slightly as the new information reaches me. “That’s the river of doom, where the lost souls go.” I was about to comment that maybe Namjoon was down there when a voice suddenly broke the air from behind me.

“After everything I’ve done for you, you were just going to take glory!” My breath hitches at the sight of Roth – who I thought I’d left in the tomb. His dark eyes were almost black as he zones on me, ignoring everything around us. His one target was me. “I loved you, gave you everything. Protected you from the dirt your father created, and this is how you repay me. By becoming like him! A selfish bitch!” He hurls for me, catching me unaware and knocks me to the ground.

“Get off me!” I yelp, pushing harshly at him. My body was aching, and I could feel myself become weaker.

“Since you couldn’t let the dead be dead, you can join them!” he growls, once again pulling out the switchblade and raising it above me. I gasp, grabbing hold of his wrist, pushing the knife away. I grunt as he applies more pressure, the knife getting closer to my chest. Suddenly, green energy formed itself around Roth’s wrist forcing him back. He lands harshly on his back; he quickly pulls himself onto his elbows. Roth’s eyes widen at first before he once again glares at whatever is behind me.

“You!” Roth growls. Quickly I turn around, my breath hitches and eyes widen at the person ten feet away from me.

“YES!” Taehyung screams in my ear, I can hear him banging his fists on the table.

“Namjoon!” I breath, eyes filling with tears.    

[thecreativeangel]

Dancing (Peter Parker x Reader) Hogwarts AU

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Part four of the Improper series

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3*

Summary: Between the upcoming Yule Ball and the completely biased new Daily Prophet column, you still find time to fight with Peter on most everything. 

Warnings: Swearing, attempted assault, Peter being a little bitch... 

Words: 2,570

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“What is this rubbish?”

You peered over the paper Abigail was reading, eyeing the bold Daily Prophet title wearily. She rolled the newspaper shut and thrust in in your hands, tapping her foot under the table rapidly. You flipped through pages until she gave another growl, signalling this page was the one. Scanning the article became harder and harder with each word that you read, every paragraph more unbearable than the last.

“Followers of the Dark Arts and believers in blood purification may have found their way into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” You read aloud, that sentence alone grabbing Erin and Keira’s attention. “‘The Ministry suspects that they are the children of Voldemort’s old followers, influenced by their wicked parents’ says Teah Craffmann, senior undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. ‘They were most likely chosen to be in the same house as their parents, further influencing them to become the next generation of renegade witches and wizards.’”

Erin blinked twice, processing the information. “Did they imply what I think they did?” She asks menacingly, ripping the Daily Prophet from your hands and spreading it out on the table between her and Keira.

“Concerning Hogwarts,” Keira quotes. “The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is yet to be apprehensive about the subject, but sources admit they have gotten reports that the rush of interest in blood purity and Dark Art practices may have spread to more than one house.”

“They’re barmy!” You exclaim hotly.

“Of course they’re barmy, it’s the Daily Prophet!” Erin cries. “So are they really-”

“Yup,” Abigail confirms, snatching the paper back. “The entire article is just one big conspiracy by the D.M.L.E. to lowkey say ‘Hey, those kids that like the Dark Arts are all in Slytherin.’”

“Don’t forget them saying this might span more than one house.” You remind sourly. “‘By the way-Ravenclaw seems to be friends with Slytherin so fuck it, they’re guilty too.”

“Get Michelle and Stella over here, they need to see this.” Erin says, pulling out her phone to text them.

“You don’t need to,” Abigail warns, scanning the Great Hall, her eyes flicking from one table to another. “Look.”

You followed her gaze, dread seizing you. All across the hall students were also reading the paper, flipping through its pages. Some were already looking over at the Slytherin table with skeptical eyes. Over at the Gryffindor table Peter was squinting over Inigo’s shoulder to look at the Daily Prophet. You watched Inigo slap the newspaper down on his empty plate and grin with glee, pointing out something to Peter. Your heart sank down to your feet but somehow managed to beat a thousand times per half minute.

“It’s too late,” Erin says, laying her phone down. “Mick says everyone at the Ravenclaw table saw, and Merlin knows they figured out what all the fancy wording means.”

Her phone dinged and another text popped up on the screen. “...And Stella says the Hufflepuffs figured it out too.” Erin informs with a tight tone. “...And the Gryffindors overheard.”

Keira gives a dry laugh. “Awesome.” She says, layering the sarcasm on thick.

Erin checked her phone again. “Stella’s asking if it’s true.”

“It’s probably a fake created to fill up a page in the Daily Prophet,” Abigail says, glaring at the paper like it bit her. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Absolutely great timing, as usual. Can’t wait ‘till the other houses start teasing us about this.”

Students began to file out of the Great Hall so you and your friends stood up first, eager to go.

“So it’s true,” A pleased voice behind you announces. “The weirdos who like Dark Arts have spread from Slytherin to Gryffindor. I told Pete, but he wouldn’t believe me.”

You tense up instantly and slowly wheel around to face Inigo. “Didn’t you love the Daily Prophet today?” He taunts, blocking your way. “Peter seemed to enjoy it, didn’t you Pete?”

Peter passed you to stand Inigo’s side, his face completely unreadable. “Enjoy isn’t the right word,” He says stiffly, watching you closely. “She chose her friends, not me.”

“C-Chose?” You sputter, a couple actives higher than intended. Tempers were rising fast; you wouldn’t be able to keep your cool for long. “The bloody hell you mean I chose my friends? What d’you think, being around him is a good influence.” You jabbed your thumb at Inigo.

“You are in no position to judge my choice of companionship.” Peter deflects, still serene and poised. That angered you like nothing else; him being so impassive.

“Why is that, eh mate?” Erin asks venomously.

“Because she’s surrounded by freaks idolize the Dark Arts.” Inigo states. Peter looks ready to say something but closes his mouth. “Merlin, and I thought you couldn’t get any creepier. Cruciated anyone lately?”

“No, but I’m about to.” Abigail threatens, her hand darting to her pocket.

Erin pushes you away from Inigo and Peter, leaving them standing there. She had to grab Abigail by the collar to prevent her from pulling her wand out and hexing Inigo in the middle of the hall.

“Not now Abby…” Keira whispers through clenched teeth. Abigail tried to wrench herself from Erin’s grip but the latter held on tightly.

“Just one spell!” Abigail snarls, starting to swirl her wand to cast a spell. “I could stuff his body in the closet and no one would notice! Peter too for hanging out with him!”

Erin snatched Abigail’s wand away and held it above her head. “Or we could go to the secret room and chill there,” She suggest. “Find Mickey and Stella so we can go steal popcorn from the elves. My mum sent me another Muggle movie, should be great.”

Abigail grabbed for her wand. “But -”

“It’s fine, Abby,” You reassure. “I’m tired of thinking about Peter, anyway.”

The Yule Ball was today. Right now, to be exact. ‘Yule Ball’ were two words that made you want to roll your eyes and scream into a pillow. It was just an excuse for unreasonable amounts of drama, which definitely came. You had a dress and all that, but the outfit was the least of your worries. Michelle, you and Abigail practically begged Professor McGonagall to let the group skip, but she wouldn’t budge. Something about “good school spirit” and “getting out more”.

“Erin, Keira and Stella don’t have to come,” Abigail grumbles, staring down at her shoes. “Lucky little-they’re only a bit sick too! Probably just their excuse to ditch.”

“We could run for it,” Michelle suggests, looking very uncomfortable in her dress. “The library doesn’t close until nine. If we hide in the bathroom that’s cool too. I’m down with anything but this.”

You wished that were possible. There were so many things that could go wrong. To put it simply, you plus the Gryffindors who hate you and the tension between houses, minus strict supervision of a teacher equals... Me, probably dead, bleeding out on the floor. 

The three of you were already late and the doors to the Great Hall were closed. While reaching out to tug them open, Abigail stopped you. “I wasn’t kidding (Name). I don’t want to do this. Let’s find a good hiding place and stay there.”

You swat her hand away and begin to pull the door open. “We’ll make it. It’s just a couple hours,” You say. “Stay together, remember?”

Abigail heaves an overdramatic sigh. “Fine.”

The heavy door is swung open and light from the corridor streamed into the dark room. Everyone nearest to the exit froze in place, disrupted by the late arrival. You took a step forth, and then another, and another until your legs carried you into the Great Hall. There was a silence and then; Abigail shut the heavy oak doors, and everything went back to normal.

Michelle gave a low whistle of approval. “They went all out this year, huh?”

You could only gawk at the Great Hall. The enchanted ceiling was showing a dark starry sky, the bright moon illuminating the room a gentle silver. The brick arches were turned to towering trees, the marble floor was soft grass. If you squinted you could see the little balls of floating light were fairies, peacefully drifting from one person to the next. Water cascaded off a stone fountain in the center of the Great Hall, splashing into a pond surrounded by lush greenery. A band you didn’t know played on stage as everyone danced to the beat.

Abigail tapped your shoulder. “Corner?”

You nodded before spying Peter twirling Liz Allan around near the stage. I’m not jealous. They looked so happy. What even is jealousy? Peter laughed at something Liz said. Never heard of it, never felt it… Liz leaned in and kissed Peter on the cheek. Okay, that’s enough torture for a lifetime.

Most of the Yule Ball is passed in the following activities: Abigail would carry plates of food to the small uncrowded corner that you found, Michelle would complain that there were too many pop songs playing, you would agree with her and silently hope they played some alternative rock. After half an hour of peppy pop songs the music changed to Nirvana.

“Oh thank Merlin.” Michelle yells over the noise, pulling you to the dance floor. “I was about to throw up.”

You swayed to the song, albeit somewhat awkwardly, but were slowly becoming more relaxed. Michelle was mouthing the words to “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, a constant smile on her face. You excused yourself to go get a drink and strolled over to the drinks table, pouring butterbeer into your goblet. 

A pair of hands latched onto your arm, causing you to spill some butterbeer on the floor. You assumed it was Abigail or Michelle, you prayed it was them, but the hands held on too tightly. They began to drag you from the ball, out of the Great Hall. You screamed at the person but one hand clamped down on your mouth, muffling the cries. They shoved you into a broom closet, slamming the door. You could feel their breath on your face, smelling strongly of firewhiskey.

“Geroff!” You yell, grabbing his (you figured out it was a boy) shoulders and shoving him against the wall. The broom closet was so small he only stumbled back an arm's length, clumsily falling on an old Cleansweep, snapping it in two. You scanned the person, remembering him from your bathroom encounter with Inigo. He was the same burly brunette who slammed your head against the mirror. The boy didn’t speak but pinned your arms above your head before you could punch him. He grabs the skirt and pulls it up, revealing a good portion of your legs.

“I said get off! I’ll tell McGonagall! I’ll have you expelled!” Your voice is slightly hoarse and all of you is revolted when his hand moves farther up your leg.

The door bursts open and the boy’s hand drops down off your thigh. “Petrificus Totalus!”

Your attacker falls to the ground, arms and legs pinned to his sides, stiff as a board. Peter stands with his wand raised, his face contorted in rage. You realize you’re panting and lean on the wall, not wanting to face Peter yet.

“Are-are you okay?” Peter asks, stuffing his wand in the pocket of his dress robe.

“Do you really want me to answer that?” You challenge, stepping over your attackers stiff body.

“Didn’t you have yo-”

“No, I didn’t have my wand!” You snap hotly. There was little fear in you, just anger and frustration. “He jumped me! He jumped me and I couldn’t do anything!”

“Bran’s drunk. I told Inigo it wasn’t a good idea to bring firewhiskey.” Peter says bitterly and slowly, shoving his hands in his pockets. He’s picking out the right words to say. You know that. “It’s not his-”

You growl like an animal, lip curling up in a scowl. “Don’t tell me it’s not his fault!” You snarl fiercely.

Peter’s hands ball into fists inside his pockets. “That’s not what I meant.”

“No, no, no. I heard you. You were going to say it wasn’t his fault.” You step on the boy’s sleeve, twisting it under your shoe. “How can you say that? How can you defend him?”

“You defended your friend when she punched you.” Peter grumbles, thinking you wouldn’t hear him. He thought wrong.

“Are you still on about that?” You marvel at his pettiness, your chest growing tight. “That was last year. How can you compare Erin to this twat?”

You prod Bran’s cheek with the toe of your ankle boot, moving his head to the side. “He was going to-to abuse me!” You shout and stomp down on Bran’s face, hearing his nose give a satisfying crack. Raising your foot again, you kicked the side of his head as hard as you could.

“What are you doing?” Peter yells, grabbing your arm and throwing you out of the closet, away from Bran. A trickle of blood was flowing out of Bran’s nose and pooling near his mouth.

“I’m, I-dammit I don’t know!” You sputter feverishly, throwing his hand off our arm. “He deserved it! He deserved being hurt!”

“That’s out of order.” Peter says, dangerously calm. “You can’t kick him like that for anything.”

“I’ll do what I want!”

“My god-you’re supposed to be brave and selfless, not-”

“Not what?” You ask shrilly.

“Cruel, inconsiderate, temperamental, dense, tactless…” Peter says. “The list goes on! You. Are. A. Gryffindor. Start acting like one.”

You stand there, processing his words. Angry red blotches appear on your cheeks, your entire face heating up as the anger set in. “And you were supposed to be my friend!” You bellow, blinking rapidly.

It takes a moment for you to cool down. You look straight forward and set your jaw, glowering at him. “Peter Parker, you are a shit friend.”

And then you ran. Past him, past Bran in the closet, past the closed doors to the Great Hall until your feet were splitting and only stopped when you reached the fireplace of the Gryffindor common room. You kicked your boots off and plopped down on the carpet with your feet tucked under your legs. One of the robes you lost is laying neatly folded on the couch, probably found by a house elf. You reach over and snatch it, pulling it into your lap. Peter’s words swirl around your head, repeating over and over again like a chant. You are a Gryffindor. Act like one. The pad of your thumb glides over the sewn on Gryffindor crest on the robe. You are a Gryffindor. Act like one. You clutch the robe tighter, resisting the urge to throw it in the fire.

If being a Gryffindor means being like Inigo or Peter… You tear the crest from the robe and chuck it in the fireplace, watching it smoke and curl at the edges, turning ashy and black.

Then I will never be one.

The next morning you thump down the stairs before anyone else even woke up to retrieve the robe you forgot on the floor. In your fury and tiredness, it slipped from your memory to take it back last night. You slide on the carpet, still in your pajamas and fuzzy socks to see the robe yet again folded, sitting on the coffee table. Picking up the article of clothing and inspecting it, you conclude it wasn’t jinxed or tampered with as a prank and everything seems normal, except for one thing-

A new Gryffindor crest was sewn back on the front. You frown, having mixed feelings about the house elves fixing the garment. It wasn’t until breakfast later that day you realized that the crest was sewn on rather poorly, and that no house elf worked past dark yesterday.

Tag: @madithemagicalfangirl, @makaylahoran,  @girlygirlbishop, @kaitlynthehuman, @inelasco, @mcheung0314, @damnedangel98

[booksncoffee]

how you get the boy - nineteen

“Tenley, that’s not fair. You can’t tell me that after last night. Or after you choose Louis over and over again.”

“I know,” I whispered with a nod of my head, “I know it’s unfair, trust me, I know.”

read below // story page

Louis was no longer in bed when I woke up the next morning. He was still in bed, however, about an hour ago when I stirred from my sleep, but now that I was completely awake, the spot next to me was vacant.

I sat up slowly, cursing myself as I felt the dull ache in the back of my head that I thought I could avoid start to take over. Looking at the slightly ajar door, I considered making a quick escape before Louis returned to his room but as soon as the thought crossed my mind, he appeared from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. I looked away, casting my gaze to the floor until he told me that he was fully dressed.  

“Morning,” he said rather gleefully as he moved around his room to pick up his dirty clothes. I looked at him, bewildered. And as though he could sense that I was somewhat confused by his behaviour this morning, which was a complete contrast of last night’s, he shot me a smile. One that usually made my heart skip a beat, but didn't leave the intended effect anymore. The mattress sunk in as he sat down. “Taking a shower helped, you know.”

This time, I didn’t bother to hide my frown. I was truly amazed by his ability to dodge the elephant in the room. In fact, I was beginning to believe that he was much better than me when it came to avoiding something, which was a feat considering that I avoided a lot of things.

“We need to talk,” I told him, surprising not only him but myself too. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day where I initiated this sort of conversation, but it seemed like the day had come. Even though a part of me knew I was ready to hear whatever it was that would come out from his mouth, another part didn’t quite agree. I was scared shitless, I had to admit, but I supposed it was fair that I felt this way.

“I know. I’m sorry about last night,” he began, lips pressed together as he scanned my face. I must’ve looked upset because a sigh escaped his lips and an apologetic look took over his feature, “and I’m sorry about the day before. I was out of line; I.. I didn’t regret taking you in as my flatmate, Tee. In fact, I never will.”

It was when he’s like this that made everything much more complicated for me. One minute I was so certain of my emotion, the next I was confused once again. It was as if the universe was testing me to see if I really knew myself and so far, I was failing it.

Granted, that didn’t mean today I couldn't change the outcome.

I reminded myself that some time last night before I drifted to sleep, I’d made up my mind; I wasn't going to let Louis treat me like shit again. If there’s one thing I learned in the past few weeks – apart from the fact that feelings could change – was that I deserved better although I’d grown to believe that I didn't.

“I like you, Tee, I really do,” he said easily as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me. Reaching out, his fingers touched mine for just a few seconds, and then there was only empty space between us as I recoiled from his touch.

“No, you don’t,” I argued, my voice on the brink of breaking as I said those words. I swallowed the lump in my throat and continued, “S’not fair, you know. You can’t say that to me if you don’t mean it.”

There were deep furrows in his brows, confirming me that he was confused and wasn't sure what I was getting at. Sure, few weeks ago or a month ago I would’ve been more than ecstatic to hear him say that he liked me, but now those three words felt nothing. They were empty words that he spoke to me just to pull me back to him after he was done pushing me away. The old me wouldn't have noticed this; I did now.

“What do you mean?” He questioned next.

I took a deep breath, feeling my heartbeats steadily increased as I looked straight into his blue eyes. “I love you, Lou. I’ve loved you for quite a while now and it’s stupid, I know, because how could I love you when I’ve hardly talked to you before I moved in?” I paused, a rather mechanical laugh escaping my lips, “But that’s the truth.”

His mouth opened and closed like he suddenly found it difficult to breathe or speak. I didn’t blame him for the silence, though, because if someone had just told me that they loved me, I would’ve been surprised to the point of being speechless, too. In this case, his silence spoke volumes and I knew what that meant.

“And you don’t love me, so no big deal,” I said with a dry chuckle, injecting some humour into my sentence, for that’s the least I could do to lighten the mood in the room. It didn’t work so I quickly climbed out of Louis’ bed, feeling the weight of his gaze following my every move.

He seemed to finally find his voice a second later, calling out my name before I could leave his room. I hovered at the door and glanced through my shoulder to see him still sitting on the edge of his bed as if he was glued there. The sunlight from the window had caught his chiselled jaw and I found it difficult not to stare. I blinked my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Tee, I really am,” he apologised and I’d never hated an apology as much as I hated this one. He wasn’t denying my statement and for a moment I wondered if being stabbed would hurt less than this harsh truth.  

“It’s okay, Lou,” I nodded, pressing my lips together. “I’ll be out of your hair soon, anyway.”

His eyes widened, whereas his jaw dropped open. “What?”

“I can’t keep doing this,” I sighed, my forefinger moving back and forth between us, “And I can’t be around you.”

I didn’t think he would hear the last sentence because my voice had turned into a whisper, but he did. Shaking his head, he got up from his bed, making his way towards me. He stopped when he saw that I had backed away from him, creating distance between us. “You-you don’t have to move out, Tee. I mean, this is your flat too and you have every right to stay.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose with hopes that it could lessen the pulsing headache, but it didn’t. Not in the slightest. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he argued as he placed both his hands on my shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze that should give me some sort of relief. Unfortunately, it left the opposite effect. I could feel tension knotting in the back of my neck and he seemed to have noticed that too, for he pulled his hands away, taking a few steps back.

“I can’t, Lou,” I sighed, shaking my head, “Not when you keep pushing me away.”

The way his body suddenly went rigid would’ve seemed – to outsiders – as if I’d just dumped a bucket of ice cold water over his head when all I did was tell him the truth. I told myself to count to five and if he still didn't open his mouth to speak by then, I would leave.

“Then, I won’t,” he said, urgency coating each and every word he spoke, “I promise and I’ll answer every question you want to ask.”

There’s a small voice in the back of my head, telling me to turn around and leave before I changed my mind. Unfortunately, there’s a much louder voice urging me to just go for it, telling me to ask the question that I’d been trying to ignore because I didn’t think I would want to hear his answer. It was as though you’re aware that there’s an itch on one part of your body, but you’re holding yourself back from scratching it because you didn’t want it to get worse.

But given what had happened, I didn't think anything could get any more badly than this. “Why’d you and Beth break up?”

Louis looked stunned like I knew he would. He opened his mouth only to close it a second later. It appeared as if he suddenly found it difficult to get oxygen to his lungs and I almost wanted to take my question back. “I-Can we sit first?”

I nodded, following him to the living room where we sat on the couch. I could tell that Louis was nervous by the way he was cracking his knuckles and bouncing his knees up and down. I had half the heart to place my hands on top of his knees to stop them from moving because he was making me jittery too, but I stopped myself.

Then, after what felt like an eternity of silence, he finally looked up at me and all of sudden fear crept under my skin. The intensity of his gaze made it difficult for me to breathe, let alone to think. But I prepared myself for whatever he had to say next.

“Beth and I, we-uh we were good friends long before we started dating. At first, everything was great – I mean we were happy, I was happy – and then I guess feelings faded.”

At that, he paused and his shoulders slumped forward as a sigh escaped his lips. It was as if there was a weight on his shoulders, pulling him down. Quickly, he took a deep breath and continued speaking like he hadn’t just said things that he probably had never told anyone before.

“We started getting into a lot of fights and one day Beth thought maybe it’s time to end things. She thought that maybe we should start seeing someone new and I, erm, wasn't happy with that. But she’s made her decision so there’s nothing I could do to stop her.”

An ‘oh’ was the only reply I could formulate, for the sadness in his eyes rendered me speechless. It was difficult to look at him and see the conflicted look written all over his face. It was then I realised that this was most likely the first time I saw him looking so vulnerable, his guards were smashed down for a moment. And I didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say in order to wipe that look off of his feature.

“It took me a while to figure it out, to realise that it’s my faults, too. I pushed her away in the first place so,” he trailed off, his eyes drifting to his hand like he was mulling over something. And when his eyes met my face a couple of seconds later, I could feel my heart up in my mouth. “I guess when I found out that you went out with Harry, s’just.. reminded me of that. I know it’s wrong of me to push you away, Tee, when you’re always there for me. S’pose you have someone that’s always there for you now.”

I didn't know what to say. My mind was thrown into chaos, making it difficult for me to focus on one thing and one thing only. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't seem to put a string of words together to articulate my thought; nothing I had in my brain right now would do justice to what I felt.

Although everything should make sense to me now given what he’d just told me, it might take me a while to process them.

“What I’m trying to say is,” he took my hand in his and gave it a squeeze, “I do like you, Tee. And so does Harry.”

&&

I was overwhelmed.

I had always believed that s shower could fix nearly everything – apart from a cup of good coffee, that is – but I was proved wrong. Even after standing under the shower for nearly thirty minutes, the lukewarm water cascading down my back, my mind was still a mess. It was as if someone had just walked into my room and started thrashing everything, mixing one thing with another until I wasn't sure where my belongings were anymore.

And at this moment, I wasn't sure of anything.

Therefore, after taking a much-needed shower, I rang Shiloh and told her that I was coming to her place soon.

Seeing that Louis wasn't around, I took that as an advantage for me to leave, for I didn't want him to convince me to stay. Despite every fibre in my body telling me to leave, I knew that if he asked me to stay, I would have difficulty saying no, I would eventually fall for it. I didn't want that to happen; I wanted to break the cycle.

I left a note for Louis, telling him that I was fine and that I just needed some time away to think so he wouldn't end up thinking that something had happened to me.

As I made my way to the front door, my hand instantly finding the knob, I told myself that this wasn't me running away, this was me attempting to fix the mess I’d created. However, before doing so, I needed to clear my mind and the only way that could help me do that was to pull myself away from this complication. I needed to take a few steps back and think.

In my head, the plan sounded easy: I would pack my clothes, write a note for Louis and leave without having to face anyone. But I should’ve known better than to expect that it would go that well. Of course something just had to come up.

As soon as I stepped outside of the flat, I heard voices in the hall, coming closer and closer towards me. I considered turning around and leaving immediately as it was the right thing to do, but my entire body had gone immobile the second my brain registered his voice. His laughter that I’d grown to love reverberated throughout the hallway, followed by another laughter that I’d never heard before.

That was when I realized that Harry wasn't alone and that he had a girl with him. A girl whom didn't look familiar at all to me, but then again, I didn't know most of his friends apart from Niall.

Body still very much frozen, I stood awkwardly in front of my flat. Harry, on the other hand, automatically stopped in his tracks when his eyes landed on me. For a few seconds, the girl didn't seem to realise that Harry had stopped paying attention to whatever she was saying.

I knew that because he was looking at me, now, a confused look written all over his face. His eyebrows pulled together above his green eyes, his lips pulling down slightly at the side because he didn’t get it, not really. He didn't understand why I looked like I was ready to run but here I was, eyes still locked with his. No matter what I told myself, I simply couldn't find it in me to move.

I watched as Harry whispered something in the girl’s ear and she leered at me, finally noticing my presence. Next thing I knew, though, she opened the door to Harry’s flat using the key he gave to her five seconds prior and stepped inside without saying anything whilst Harry made his way to me.

Harry stepped in front of me, his body language spoke of nothing but awkwardness as his eyes scanned my bag. “Where’re you going?”

It took me a while to answer his question, for as we stood opposite each other, Harry taking off his beanie so he could run his fingers through his hair, I realized that he smelt like familiarity and peppermint and I wanted nothing more than to bask in it. I stopped myself. “I, erm, I’m staying at a friend’s house for a few days.”

Shoving his beanie into the back pocket of his jeans, he took a few steps forward. Regardless, he made sure to leave some spaces between us as he frowned at me. “Why?”

“Need to clear my mind and all that,” I shrugged, my eyes drifting to my shoes that suddenly became interesting. An ‘oh’ escaped Harry’s lips; it didn't surprise me that he didn't know what to say because if the roles were reversed, I probably wouldn't have a clue either. In a desperate attempt to avoid the impending awkward silence, I added, “’m sorry, harry.”

He glanced up, his eyes meeting mine and I felt like every breath had been knocked out of me. “S’fine,” he said with a small smile. It baffled me how, after everything that had happened between us, he could still look at me as though I hadn’t done anything wrong to him. Could still tell me that everything’s fine when obviously nothing’s fine. It hadn’t been so since God knew when.  

“But s’not, isn’t it?” I questioned him once I’d mustered up the guts to speak up. Now or never, I told myself. “Cos if it is, things won’t be this way.”

Harry looked at me, really looked at me, caught off guard by my question. He must have not expected me to point it out because between the two of us, I was the one who’s good at avoiding the elephant in the room. “Then what do you want me to say, Tenley? That nothing’s fine?”

I flinched at the mention of my full name. Pressing my lips together, I nodded, “Yeah.”

“Why?” He quizzed, his brows furrowing deeper. My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach when he looked at me, his hard gaze making it difficult for me to breathe. “Why should I tell you the truth when you hardly do that?”

He had a point – of course he had – and that shut me up because I knew that this time, I was the one to be blamed. “’m sorry,” I told him again, head hung low, as though my guilt could erase every horrible feeling swelling up in my chest. I drew in a breath, trying not to inhale the addictive scent of his aftershave, but I knew that somewhere in my mind, I’d memorized his scent, I’d memorized every little detail about him.

“Could you at least tell me the truth before you leave?” His tone was a little more urgent than it was a moment ago and I knew that he was wrapped with frustration.  

The truth, those two words were on a loop in my mind, bouncing from one corner to the other. “The truth,” I said out loud. It sounded almost foreign, but I reminded myself that if I wanted to fix things, perhaps I should start with this. Taking a deep, weighted breath, I looked at him. “I like you, Harry – a lot – and I don’t know how or when that feeling developed but I’m sure, now, that I do like you.”

“That’s..” he trailed off, shaking his head and taking a few steps back. I’d never seen someone so distressed and I knew without a doubt that this was an image that would be engrained in my memory as long as I breathed. This was a guilt I’d carried with me forever. “Tenley, that’s not fair. You can’t tell me that after last night. Or after you choose Louis over and over again.”

“I know,” I whispered with a nod of my head, “I know it’s unfair, trust me, I know.”

Harry pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing on it, his green eyes never leaving mine. “Why’d you tell me this?”

“Cos you wanted to know the truth,” I said simply, because it was simple despite the fact that I could hear the sickening crunch of my heart and his. I stared down at our feet, for I didn't think I was strong enough to look into his eyes. “And that is the truth.”

There’s no immediate reaction from him, physically or verbally. My eyes finally made the brave journey up to his. When I saw the stoic look on his face, I knew that this was when I was supposed to turn around and leave. However, for reasons beyond my knowledge, I moved towards him. “I’m sorry, again,” I told him as I stood on the tips of my toes and placed my hands on his shoulder, then pressed my lips to his cheek. “See you later, Harry.”

Walking away, I shoved the idea that I might have just pushed him to the girl who’s waiting for him in his flat to the back of my mind. It was hard, unfortunately, because with each step I took, I couldn't help but think of what could’ve happened had I not been so daft.

But then again, he deserved better.

&&

“But you left anyway?” Shiloh asked, her jaw hanging open, her eyes nearly bulging from her head. If I didn't know my friend better, I would say that she didn't believe every single word that spilled out of my mouth. You see, she did, she just refused to believe them.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “I left.”

She huffed. “Tee, why’re you doing this?”

I stopped taking out my clothes from my bag and turned to face her, my brows furrowing in confusion, “Doing what?”

She pushed herself off of the door and took a seat on the edge of the bed, her eyes not once leaving mine like she was expecting me to see what she was seeing. “Running away-“

“-I’m not running away-“

Shiloh snorted and rolled her eyes at my interruption before she continued speaking, “-And holding yourself back from something that could’ve been bloody fantastic? Why’d you do that for someone who wouldn’t do anything for you?”

The silence stretched between us. I felt as though someone had just thrown a dart at me and it hit right at the center of my heart. Shiloh had a great aim, for she’d just found the right button to push, making me look away from her immediately because I didn't want her to see it. To see me crumbling merely because of her words that, I liked to believe, were daggers.

“It used to be fun seeing you deny how much you like Harry, Tee, but now,” she paused, taking a few steps forward to place a hand on my shoulder, coaxing me to look at her, “now it’s just sad. Cos it’s obvious that the two of you get along so well and you’re wasting it for Louis who-“

“Who likes me, Shi,” I cut her midsentence as I moved to the bed and began unpacking my clothes again. I tried to ignore her penetrating gaze, but it was pointless because she was standing in front of me now, blocking my way. It was beyond me why I felt the need to defend him, but I did it anyway. “Louis likes me. He told me that earlier.”

Corners of her lips were pulled down slightly and she shook her head, the faintest hint of a sympathy flashing in her eyes. “Not enough, Tee,” she whispered, the word twisting my gut, prompting me to take a few steps back from her. She sighed. “Yes, he told you that he likes you, but how much longer can you go on pretending that your feeling for him hasn't changed?”

I hated how she knew just the right things to say to make me think long and hard about everything. But then again, she was my best friend – one of those few people that I trusted – and if she didn't shove the truth down my throat, then who would do that?

As much as I hated everything that she said, I knew it was what I needed to hear. I needed someone to shake me and pull me out from my head; it happened that Shiloh was brilliant at doing so.

“I can see it in your eyes, Tee,” she continued as she got up from the bed, “That your feelings have changed; you just don't wanna acknowledge it. Why?”

I sighed, my shoulders slumping forward. “I don’t know, Shi,” I admitted, my voice barely above whisper. I closed my eyes momentarily and an image of Harry looking at me, his eyes so green so clear yet so guarded, appeared behind my eyelids; I hated it, so I shook off the image. I opened my eyes and offered Shiloh a smile that I’d learned to make even though I didn't feel like smiling at all. “Maybe I just need time.”

It was obviously an excuse for her to drop this subject – the two of us knew that – but alas, Shiloh went along with it. She nodded her head and made her way out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar the way I preferred it to be.

Once she was truly out of my sight, I let out a heavy sigh and threw myself to the unfamiliar bed. Exhaustion consumed me almost instantly and next thing I knew, I had fallen asleep without even realizing when or how it happened.

The vibration of my mobile phone woke me up a few hours later and though normally I wouldn't have a problem going back to sleep, upon seeing the name flashing on the screen, I found myself sitting up. Eyes squinting, I read the text message under my breath, surprised that it came at 3 in the morning.

I hope you’re alright, Tee & I’m sorry for everything.

My fingers hovered over the screen as I thought of a response. Two, four, six minutes past and yet I still couldn't come up with anything. I stared at the text, reading it over and over again, obsessing about it even though there was nothing much to it. But my mind liked to think that there was because first of all, it was 3 in the bloody morning, and second of all, Louis must have been thinking of me at this hour because why would he send this if he wasn't?  

Putting my mobile phone back on the nightstand, I pushed those thoughts to the very back of my mind and pulled the blanket up. I didn't need Louis to occupy every crevice of my mind when the main reason why I left was because I needed some time away from him, needed it so I would be able to think of something else other than him. Or the person living next to our flat. Because if that wasn't the case, I wouldn't have been staying with Shiloh right now.

With that thought in my head, I told myself again and again that I needed to stop thinking about them because this was when I put myself and my feelings first and this was also when I had to think of what I was going to do next. I couldn't risk making the wrong step and ruin everything all over again, couldn't risk hurting any more people around me. I’d done enough damage.

&&

It felt as though I was living with Nina once more, except this time I was with Shiloh. Ever since the conversation we had in the spare room back in her flat three nights ago, we had been avoiding the topic of Louis or Harry or the two of them in general. It was as if I didn't know any of them, judging by how I hadn’t heard a single thing about them, which was why it reminded me of those days when I was still living with Nina. Those days when things weren’t this complicated.

I wanted to ask Shiloh last night whilst we ate our dinner in front of the telly if my life would be this way had I not moved in with Louis but I bit my tongue. Asking her that would lead to us talking about Louis which then would somehow include Harry and that’s the last thing I wanted to talk about because that was the one thing I’d been avoiding.

Shiloh was skirting round the edges too, I noticed, because sometimes I could tell that she wanted to question me if I had talked to either of the blokes, but she swallowed the questions that sat heavy on her tongue.

Niall, on the other hand, wasn't as considerate as Shiloh was.

I was going through my notes from yesterday’s class under the tree, all by myself because Shiloh had a class, when Niall casually strolled towards me with a cup of coffee in hand. Pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose, he sat cross-legged in front of me and handed me the coffee. I gave him a questioning look.  

“Harry gave this to me,” he said as he took my hand and wrapped my fingers around the cup, for I refused to take it from him.

I frowned, confused as to how that could relate to me. “But he gave it to you, not me.”

“He knows I hate this bloody drink,” he pointed at the cup and I realized that it was caramel macchiato, my favourite coffee. “It’s obviously for you, Tee. Besides, I’ve had my coffee when I went to see him.”

“Why would he give this to me?” I questioned whilst inspecting the paper cup in my hand that had no sign of his scrawled handwriting.

“Dunno, cos he likes you maybe?” He said it warmly enough, delivered with a smile that matched his tone, but somehow it sent a chill down my spine. My attempt at not thinking about him was thrown out the window just like that and it was unfair. But then again, when was life ever fair? Putting on his serious expression, Niall pinched his lower lip before he asked, “Tee, what’re you doing?”

“Studying?” I pointed at my notes scattered all over the grass, to which he snorted because he knew that I knew very well this wasn't what he was referring to.

I put down my notes and took a sip of the coffee, fighting the urge to let out a relieved sigh. Warmth spread across my chest, reminding me of the reason why I kept coming back to The Cup apart from the fact that I used to think Harry was cute – probably the cutest barista I’d ever come across – and apart from the fact that it wasn’t too far from my campus.

“Tee,” Niall called my name, his sunglasses had been taken off and hung on the collar of his t-shirt, “Shiloh told me that you’re staying with her.”

“Are you two best friends or what now?” I quizzed him. It would surprise me, greatly, if they ended up being the best of friends, though if I had to be honest, it shouldn't come as a shock because I was positive that they talked about me behind my back.

Niall rolled his eyes, “Said you’re not actually running away, but I think you are.”

“Did she mention that I need some time away, too?” I asked as I switched on my defensive mode. I blamed it on the pent up stress due to the upcoming test, but I knew that wasn't it. “Or did she leave that part out?”

Instead of answering my question, he said, “Why? Why do you need some time away?”

“Cos everything is just overwhelming, Ni,” I told him with a sigh whilst I ran my fingers through my hair, “I don’t know what I feel anymore, alright? Is that what you wanna hear? That I’m so fucking confused because one minute I’m convinced that I loved Louis the next I’m convinced that I really like Harry, I jus-“

“Loved,” he repeated under his breath, cutting me midsentence and I looked at him, confused. His eyes finding mine, I noticed that there was a glint of newfound delight in his blue eyes. “Tee, you said you loved Louis.”

I didn't think I said that; in fact, I didn't even realise it. I’d like to believe that perhaps it was just a slip of the tongue. “I- Why’s that matter?”

“Because,” he trailed off, positioning himself so he was truly facing me, “I think you’re not confused, Tee. I think you’re in this- uh, what do you call it, state of denial? Yeah, yeah, you’re in that state.”

I scrunched up my nose at him. I’d never liked it when he started giving me advices but I had to admit that he did give good ones sometimes. Sometimes.

“You need to get yourself out of there, Tenley,” he said as he tapped my head with his forefinger, probably a revenge for when I tapped his head about a week ago, “S’not that you don’t know what you feel because you do, you just don’t want to admit it.”

Nothing wounded my pride more than the fact that Niall Horan, the bloke who knew things I wished he didn't, had a point. I was so used to giving him less credit than he deserved that when he did something that was so unlike of him, I found it difficult to comprehend. As a matter of fact, I didn't think I would be able to get to the point where I would understand Niall.

“Why do you care?” I asked him, squinting my eyes at him as I brought the cup up to my lips. I took a sip of the coffee and another one and another one.

“Cos I don't think Harry has ever liked anyone as much as he likes you,” he said nonchalantly as though that piece of information was something that I heard everyday. It wasn't, which explained why I spat the drink, earning a glare from Niall because now there’s a brown-ish dots on his white t-shirt. A sigh escaped his lips when he realized that nothing he did could get rid of the stain unless he washed his shirt. “Tee, don’t tell me you didn't know that.”

I mirrored his glare, patting my chin to make sure that there’s no remainder of coffee on my skin before I proceeded to checking my shirt, hoping that I hadn’t spilled anything on it.

“We both know that ‘m not an expert in this but damn it, Tee,” he threw his head back, an exasperated groan leaving his throat. “That boy’s fucking in love with you or summat.”

I quickly shook my head, denying his statement. There was no way that it was true. “He’s not,” I managed to croak before I cleared my throat. “He’s not.. He’s not in love with me.” He’s not, he’s not, he’s not.

“Well,” Niall trailed off with a shrug as he put on his sunglasses and heaved himself off of the grass, “He might as well be.”

[writerspink]

K-12 Words

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6.2

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7.2

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8.2

exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

9.1

stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

9.2

feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

10.1

install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

10.2

warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

[empyreanchimera]

this was something i started writing yesterday that grew into a bit of a monster... ended up 10 pages in word, lmao. gets kinda sad but it’s got a happy ending i promise

phelan belongs to @themoonmademedoit / @howeveryclever

tw for lots of blood

It was all Elijah’s fault, and he knew that. 

Frankly, he’d even admit it out loud, but right now he’s afraid that if he so much as opens his mouth he’s going to scream in pain. He can’t do that, because if he does, Phelan will become even more of a nervous wreck than he is. And Phelan has other things to worry about, like the deep gashes in his back and down his arm that are bleeding red everywhere.

Elijah had picked the bounty. This one looks easy, he’d said, transferring the posting to his ECHO and showing it to his partner. They were low on funds, and tracking down some asshole bandit camping out in buttfuck nowhere seemed like a quick enough cash grab. Find the encampment, shoot him in the head, bring back some proof, profit.

Except the bandit had a larger posse than the intel had assumed, and their outrunner could only take so much gunfire. Elijah ran out of sniper rifle ammo before they’d run out of men, and Phelan could only get so close with his shotgun without being taken down.

They’d made a pact with one another that only the direst of situations called for drastic measures. Elijah was too open for retaliation when he was engaging enemies at melee range and Phelan’s shifting was too unpredictable even under the best circumstances. But they were pinned down, running low on ammo, and with no easy retreat.

The bandits never saw it coming, at least. By the time they’d regrouped, half of them had been slaughtered by a vicious wereskag and a very angry glowing purple moonkid.  They worked surprisingly well together, Phelan ripping their enemies to shreds and scattering them for Elijah to flank and cut them down with his Eridian stave. If the fire got too hot, Elijah could throw a group away from Phelan with a well-timed energy blast. It was a dangerous game – Phelan could take more hits in this form but he wasn’t indestructible, and Elijah traded survivability for raw power – but they’d figured out how to create synergy out of their combined advantages while protecting each other’s weak spots. And, on the upside, Phelan was getting better at controlling his “other self” in the middle of a firefight. Less chance of him turning on Elijah, at any rate.

Neither Phelan nor Elijah had been aware of the fact that their target had been in the business of selling Pandoran beasts on the black market – which, in retrospect, explained why he had so many goddamn lackeys guarding his hideout. By the time they made it to the back enclosure of the camp, the idiot had already released several caged stalkers out of some misguided idea that they might keep his pursuers busy while he ran. Unfortunately for him, the stalkers had no qualms about turning on him and eviscerating him in short order.

Phelan and Elijah killed the stalkers that didn’t run away, and it wasn’t long before the camp had finally fallen into silence save for the distant warbling sound of the beasts that had run for the hills. If they weren’t attacking, they weren’t worth pursuing, so Elijah let his stave go and approached their target’s remains. There wasn’t a whole lot of him left, but he was identifiable enough for the ginger to snap a photo of him with his ECHO.

That’s when everything went to hell in a handbasket. The sound of the ECHO’s shutter clicking must have startled a stalker that had been cowering cloaked nearby, because one moment Elijah was standing over the body and the next he was being thrown to the ground by an invisible mass, shield shorting out and failing from the hit. Phelan was halfway shifted back to human, unarmed, and Elijah didn’t react fast enough – the stalker uncloaked, grabbed his leg with its teeth, and ripped.

He’s not entirely certain what happened after that – he’d kicked at the beast and one of its claws had torn into his side before Phelan had bodily tackled it and pulled it off of him. He remembers the snarling and screaming and seeing red splash across the sand. He thinks some of the screaming might have been his own, but he’s not sure. There was so much purple blood staining the ground. It took him longer than he cared to admit to realize that it was his own.

The thing he remembers most clearly is watching as Phelan, fully shifted, snapped the beast’s neck with his teeth.

He doesn’t really remember much after that; Phelan must’ve turned back because he remembers his voice, repeating his name. Human fingers had tapped his face, gripped his shoulders, shaking him until he came back from the verge of passing out. He’d opened his eyes and looked up at the man hovering over him, expression pained and worried.

“That could’ve gone better,” he’d managed to mumble, earning a weak laugh out of Phelan. 

“C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

So here they are, limping their way back towards safety with no hypos, no transportation, and barely any ammo. They’d done their best to patch and bandage their wounds with whatever they could find in the camp, but the stalker had left huge gashes in Phelan’s back and Elijah’s leg was too mangled to put much weight on without him collapsing. They’d wrapped it and the tear in his midriff, but the fabric they’d used was already completely soaked dark purple with his blood.

There’s nothing but sand and rocky outcroppings surrounding them. Nothing indicating civilization. The village they’d left out from was a good half hour away in an outrunner. On foot… he didn’t want to think about how long that was going to take.

The worst part is how they’ve been forced to a crawl because of his stupid fucking leg. He can barely walk and Phelan has to support him like a crutch if only to ease the pressure from being forced to put weight down on his injured leg. It’s not helping; each step sends a jolt of pain straight through him, and he’s not sure how much further he’ll make it without either getting sick or passing out.

It’s not a surprise when his leg finally gives out after a few minutes of uninterrupted walking and he nearly takes Phelan down with him, a ragged cry of pain tearing out of him before he can suppress it. He’s got his arm clutched tightly enough around Phelan’s shoulders that he doesn’t hit the ground, at least, but he has to take a knee and that hurts just as bad.

“I’m sorry,” he manages to rasp out, trying to use Phelan as leverage to get back up again, but his leg won’t have it. He drops again. “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m—”

“St—stop,” Phelan interrupts him, though Elijah isn’t sure if he’s telling him to stop trying to stand or to stop apologizing. It almost looks like Phelan isn’t sure either. “It’s okay. It’s goin’ to be okay.”

Phelan looks pale. He’s lost almost as much blood as Elijah has, and he can see how hard he’s trying to suppress the fact that he’s in pain too. He’d gotten hurt trying to protect Elijah. That thought is enough to make him feel sick with guilt.

He doesn’t expect it when Phelan shifts Elijah’s arm around his neck and scoops the ginger up in a bridal-style carry. It jolts his leg at first and he grits his teeth together, hissing in pain. The new position helps somewhat, but he can tell the act alone strained Phelan and put more stress on his own injuries.

“Phelan—”

“I’m fine,” the other man assures him, but his tone is weak. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

Elijah’s not sure what to say, the words sticking in his throat like a lump, so he lets his head fall against Phelan’s shoulder. He’s trying his hardest not to confront the realization that they could die out here. He’s not ready for that yet.

It’s hot and the air is too dry. The sun is beating down on them relentlessly, and every time Elijah tries to look towards the horizon for a sign of civilization, all he sees is the heat rising off of the sand and warping their surroundings. They’re lucky enough that they haven’t been intercepted by any bandits or wildlife, but Elijah’s starting to think being run over by an outrunner might be preferable to dying a slow death from exposure and blood loss.

The first time Phelan stumbles it startles Elijah and he clutches him tightly, a pained sound slipping from between clenched teeth as his leg is jarred again. Phelan mutters an apology in his ear and Elijah suddenly feels like crying. It’s an overwhelming feeling and he hates it. Phelan shouldn’t have to apologize to him. 

“Don’t say—don’t apologize,” he manages to reply, struggling to form the right response. “Please don’t.”

Phelan doesn’t say anything – he just gets up again and keeps walking, shifting his grip on Elijah and continuing onwards.

He’s not sure how much time passes – he’s drifting in and out, trying to focus on the sound of Phelan’s feet dragging in the sand in a steady rhythm or the sound of his breathing. Anything to keep him grounded in reality. It doesn’t help; if anything, the repetitive noises do the opposite, slowly lulling him towards unconsciousness. His head drops against Phelan’s shoulder again and he closes his eyes.

“Don’t go to sleep,” he hears Phelan say after a moment, and the other man gives him a gentle shake. “Talk to me. C’mon Elijah, say… say somethin’.”

“I don’t…” Elijah’s voice is too weak, words slurring. He’s too hot to think, or to form coherent sentences. God, he wants to go to sleep so badly. Anything to make the pain stop. “I don’t know. I dunno what…”

“Tell me about anything. Tell me about the moon, or… or… kraggons, or somethin’. Tell me about somethin’ you miss.” He hears him exhale heavily. “Tell me about somethin’ you wanna see again.”

“Why?” is the only thing Elijah can manage, lifting his head enough to try and see Phelan’s face. He’s gotten even paler.

“Because I’m gonna make sure you see it. We get this bounty money and we’re goin’ to Elpis. You and me.”

The urge to cry comes back, and Elijah’s vision blurs. Fuck.

“C’mon. One thing. One thing you wanna see again.”

Elijah buries his face against Phelan’s shoulder. He doesn’t know what to say. He hasn’t thought about going back in a long time; he’s been on Pandora too long, resigning himself to the fact that he’d probably never see his home again. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to, but sometimes he’d look up at Elpis at night and feel phantom pangs of homesickness.

“Concordia,” he finally manages to reply, voice cracking. “I wanna see Concordia again.”

“I’ll take you to Concordia,” Phelan responds, tone full of conviction in spite of everything. “Promise.”

Elijah shakes his head. “D—don’t promise that. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I’m takin’ you to Concordia,” Phelan repeats a little more forcefully, before he adds in a gentle undertone, “We’ll get there.”

They both go quiet again after a while. Each time Elijah lifts his head to look around, nothing has changed – the horizon is still empty, shimmering with rising heat. Phelan stumbles again, this time going down to his knees, and the sound he makes is heartbreaking to hear. He nearly drops Elijah, but somehow keeps his grip on him. He doesn’t get up right away, though, breathing heavy and labored. When Elijah manages to peer over his shoulder, he can see the long gouges of his footprints disappearing into the distance behind them. The encampment is long gone.

Phelan waits until his breathing has evened out somewhat, before he struggles to stand once again and keep moving.

He doesn’t make it as far before he falls again, and this time Elijah slips out of his grip and hits the sand too. They both lay there for a while, Phelan crouched over him, one arm still clutched tightly around Elijah’s shoulders and Elijah still clinging to his neck.

“Leave me here,” Elijah finally says into the silence between them, voice weak. He doesn’t feel as hot anymore, but it’s not a relief. He’s shaking. “You can’t keep carryin’ me.”

“No,” Phelan says almost immediately, shaking his head vehemently. He tries to slip his other arm under Elijah’s knees and lift him again, but his legs buckle and he has to stay down. He hears him swear under his breath.

“Ph… Phelan, listen to me,” Elijah reaches up with his free hand and takes Phelan’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling him down to look at him. “I can’t walk. You can’t carry me that far. If you… if you keep tryin’…”

Phelan pulls out of Elijah’s grip, looking away with a pained expression. “No,” he repeats. “I’m not leaving you. We’re gonna make it.”

“We’re not,” Elijah says, voice cracking again. It’s finally starting to sink in, and it’s difficult not to succumb to the grief trying to overwhelm him. Somehow this feels far worse than the first time, and he knows it’s unlikely the Watcher will save him a second time. He’s not that lucky. “You can still make it. But you gotta leave me here.”

“No,” Phelan says a third time, more forcefully than before. “We’re going to Concordia.”

He’s not sure where Phelan finds the strength to stand again. He’s not sure where Phelan’s found the strength for anything he’s done today. He’s walked miles with another living being in his arms, and as small as Elijah is, he’s not particularly light – his arm weighs far more than it looks. How Phelan can keep going is a miracle in and of itself.

Elijah thinks that Phelan might have tried to talk to him again at some point, but his voice has dropped off into a distant murmur that he really can’t understand anymore. He can’t even keep his head up. All he can see is cloudless blue overhead, so bright that it hurts his eyes. At least there aren’t any rakk circling. Small blessings, he supposes.

He’s thankful when the pain finally stops and the blue goes black.

--

Elijah’s eyes ease open to the realization that he’s looking up at a ceiling. No burning sun, no cloudless blue. Just a simple concrete ceiling, with a water stain and a hairline crack. He can’t really comprehend what he’s looking at right away. Logically he should question where he is or what’s happened since he lost consciousness, but the first thing he latches onto is Phelan.

He tries to shoot up into a sitting position with a pained gasp. “Phelan—” he rasps, scrambling to look around for the other man, one hand pulling at the sheets covering him and the other grasping at his bandaged side. His vision is reeling from the sudden movement and he feels like he’s about to vomit. It doesn’t help that his heart is pounding out an erratic tempo and there’s a sickly sweet taste on the back of his tongue – telltale signs that he’s been injected with one too many hypos.

He hears someone talking and suddenly there’s a person next to him, grabbing his shoulders and trying to steady him before he goes careening off of the cot he’s laying on. He’s too addled to even question the fact that a stranger is touching him.

“Phelan,” he repeats, words failing him – he’s not sure how to express what he wants to ask, but maybe this person will understand his predicament. “Where…” 

“Hey. Hey, come on, calm down,” the person – a woman, he realizes, aged with harsh lines on her face and steel grey hair – urges him. He doesn’t recognize her, but the symbol on her apron suggests she’s a doctor of some kind. “If you’re talkin’ about the boy who dragged your half-dead carcass in here, he’s fine. Or, he will be, if I have anything to say about it.”

The relief that floods through him is almost enough to make him cry. “Where is he?” he asks again, voice trembling. “Can I see him?”

She looks behind her, and Elijah follows her line of sight, eyes landing on a cot on the other side of the small room. He recognizes Phelan’s silhouette, but the other man is laying with his heavily bandaged back to them. He can see him breathing, at least, so he’s definitely still alive.

“He’s been out since I got him in here. Severe dehydration, heat exhaustion, muscle strain, blood loss… It’ll be a while before he’ll be fully functional.” She looks back at Elijah again, surveying him shrewdly. “You’re in the same boat as your boyfriend, kid. I’m not sure I wanna know how long you two were wandering the Dust like this. It’s a damn miracle neither of you died.”

Elijah tries to sit up a little better, wincing as he does so – the movement pulls at the wound in his side and strains his leg. The hypos had already started the scarring process, but the skin would be weak and too easy to tear until the nanotech finished its job.

“Wait, you… you said…” The realization hits Elijah like a sack of bricks. “You said boyfriend. How did you…?”

Most people usually assumed the two were just partners in crime, working together as bounty hunters. Elijah wasn’t very good at exhibiting anything deeper than a superficial connection with someone else, so the fact that the doctor had picked up on any sort of supposed intimacy between the two without him even being conscious was surprising.

The doctor rolls her eyes at his reaction, before reaching down and tugging the sheets away from Elijah’s legs. He resists the urge to yank away when she reaches for the injured limb, forcing himself to hold steady while she checks the bandaging for any reopened gashes. Her touch is gentle, at least, but his skin crawls nonetheless.

“Either you two are caboodlin’, or that boy is head over heels for you,” she says a little too matter-of-factly. Elijah turns red. “Ain’t any sane person on Pandora who would carry someone that far to find help – they’d drop the dead weight and run. Wouldn’t even let me touch him until I’d checked on you first.”

Elijah can feel a lump forming in his throat, and he tries to swallow it down. His eyes are burning again.

“Fuck… I told him… I told him to leave me,” he says, looking away out of embarrassment. “I wanted him to keep goin’ without me. I didn’t think we’d make it.”

She seems to pause, watching him, before she goes back to testing the healing skin on his leg. It hurts, but he bears it.

“Lucky for you he didn’t listen,” she replies, before pulling the sheet down to cover him again. She straightens up again. “Love makes people do stupid shit.” 

The laugh that comes out of him is borderline hysterical. The realization that Phelan had carried him as far as he had, even when he could have easily left him behind and saved himself… Everything still feels so surreal. “I can’t believe we’re still alive.”

“Believe me, neither can I,” the doctor replies a little dryly, but her eyes twinkle with amusement. “Almost had to amputate your leg, actually. Little disappointed. Wanted to see if it’d grow back like that arm of yours.”

Her words remind him that he’s in unfamiliar company, and he feels his gut twist out of nervousness. He and Phelan are prone to avoiding visibility in civilization – they’re both anomalies, and Elijah’s at least half sure that Hyperion still has standing bounties on him. The amount they’d pay to dissect either of them is enough to make them wary of literally everyone who even looks at them sideways. He half expects her to start questioning what he is – he’s a sight to behold, scarred with glowing purple markings and carrying around a rock-carved arm that is definitely not common to Pandora – but all she does is shrug. 

“Oh well.”

The doctor takes some time to check on Phelan’s wounds as well, and Elijah lies back down and watches as she peels away the bandaging to reveal the slowly healing claw marks raked down the other man’s back. They’re deep and painful to look at. How he’d carried Elijah that far with a wound that bad, he’ll never know. He’s clearly completely drained, though, because he doesn’t stir even as she pokes and prods the injury to test the durability of the newly forming skin.

When she finishes up and sets aside her supplies, the doctor finally leaves the room with a gentle order that he should get some rest. Then she flips the light switch and closes the door, casting the room into darkness.

Of course, sleep is the last thing on Elijah’s mind right now. His heart is still racing and he’s suddenly very much awake despite his body trying desperately to remind him that he needs to sleep for a week. Maybe two, with how he feels. He can’t stop thinking. The doctor’s words echo dully in the back of his mind.

“Love makes people do stupid shit.”

Love is a scary word on Pandora. It’s too final, attached to too many strings that are too easy to fray and snap. If you love someone, you save your ‘I love you’s for when they’re needed most. Nothing hurts more than giving your love to someone you could lose in the blink of an eye.

What Elijah and Phelan have… it’s a complicated mess of feelings that Elijah’s struggled to make sense of for some time. They’ve traveled together. They’ve laughed together, talked to one another, shared details with each other they’d never told other people. They’ve worked and fought together.

They’ve kissed. They’ve even touched, which is something remarkable considering Elijah feels like lighting himself on fire anytime someone puts their hands on him. But he’s let Phelan touch him because he trusts him. He’s let Phelan kiss him because he knows he won’t hurt him, or use him, or make him regret ever allowing him into his life.

He feels safe with Phelan. But he’s hesitated to equate safety with love; just because they trust one another and find comfort in their intimacy, it doesn’t mean they love each other. And on Pandora, you don’t love someone unless you come to terms with the fact that you’ll inevitably lose them some day. Elijah thinks about losing Phelan and it makes his chest hurt.

You love him, a quiet voice somewhere in the darkest corner of his subconscious whispers. It scares you, and you don’t understand it, but you love him.

He drags his hand down his face, covering his eyes when he feels them start to burn with unshed tears again. He feels like he’s about to fall apart at the seams.

I love him.

He’s not sure how long he lays there in abject silence, listening to the sound of Phelan’s breathing and the distant muffled noises of civilization outside of the concrete walls surrounding them. He’s not sure where they are, but wherever it is, it’s safe. That’s all that matters right now. Phelan is alive, and he’s alive, and they’re both going to be okay. They made it.

He releases a shaky breath, before carefully extracting himself from the sheets covering him. He knows he shouldn’t be up, but he can’t handle the space between them right now – it’s only a few steps away, but it might as well be miles. He needs to remind himself that this is real, and he’s not stuck in some dream conjured by his mind on the verge of death. For all he knows, he’s still bleeding out on the sand in the middle of nowhere.

He slips off of the cot, slowly adjusting to standing on his injured leg – he doesn’t want to hurt himself any further, so he moves carefully, trying to favor his good leg so he doesn’t rip open a gash and have to explain to the doctor why he’d been on his feet when he needed to be resting.

He shuffles across the space between their cots, taking care not to run into anything in the semi-darkness – there’s a high window in the far wall that’s casting sunlight into the room, but it’s not enough to lighten the whole space. He makes it to Phelan’s bed intact, at least, and finally manages to lower himself into a sitting position on the opposite side. The frame creaks a bit under the weight, but Phelan doesn’t stir.

He can see his face now. He’s still a little pale, but he looks far better than he did the last time Elijah was conscious enough to see him. He’s got small nicks and scratches patterning his face and shoulders, but nothing as serious as the wounds on his back and arm. The image of him in his other form ripping into the stalker that hurt him comes back to him, vivid and visceral, and it’s hard to equate the beast with the man lying on the bed in front of him. He looks too peaceful, too soft. But Elijah knows what Phelan is capable of the same way Phelan knows what he’s capable of. They both have monsters inside of them, and they aren’t afraid of each other.

He hesitates, before reaching forward and gently brushing some of Phelan’s hair away from his forehead. It’s getting longer, coarse strands tangling together and falling into his eyes. He’ll have to remind himself to give him a haircut later, when they’re both on their feet again.

He cups Phelan’s cheek in his hand, thumb trailing one of the old scars cutting across his face. Elijah had been self conscious about his own scars for the longest time – they were massive and ugly, raked through his face and burned across his torso. But then he’d met Phelan, covered in claw marks from head to toe, and he’d realized that the scars weren’t so bad. If he could love Phelan’s scars, he could love his own; and if he couldn’t, Phelan could love them for him. He knew he did, because when they were alone, safe, laying in darkness and comfort, he’d hold Elijah close and kiss them with a reverence he’d never really thought he deserved.

He watches him sleep for a little while, until he finally lays down next to him and slips his arms around him, carefully pulling the other man’s head against his chest and holding him closely. He buries his face in Phelan’s hair and closes his eyes tightly.

“I love you.”

[glopratchet]

404-not found

Oh boy. I don't think you want to hear the rest of it either, but then again neither do I. You turn your attention back to Vera and tell her that she needs to take a break from this for awhile since she is starting to get tired herself. She doesn't really argue with you, though she does say something about how if you ever need anything just let her know so she can help out as much as possible anyway. You need to pee too, so you ask Vera what she would like to drink first. She says she wants water, which you agree to since you're pretty thirsty yourself. You head over to the sink where you rinse off your face and hands before grabbing a washcloth and washing up as well. Once finished, you grab another towel and start drying off in between rinsing your hair with the water while looking at yourself in the mirror. You need to poo again too, but you doubt if you will get the nerve up to tell Vera to stick around a second time tonight. So you quickly wash your hair and towel off before returning your attention to Vera who is absentmindedly watching you toweling off your upper body. A part of you wants to tell Vera to shower with you since despite her epic failure tonight, there is no denying that she is attractive. You need to sell some insurance... Choose: Do you want to sell some life insurance? & "Gee James, that's the last thing I need, especially since I'm leaving." Vera says a bit irritated. -- The End -- You both head down to the lower level and wait for Gabri on one of the beds. He finally joins you, or rather drags himself in. You need to see the dawn... Choose: Continue------ 80 year old Gabri's face is holding up better than a lot of people you know 20 or even 30 years younger than he is now. You just hope you age as well. Bombs bursting in the lightening sky above, Forge your armaments and deadly machines. Cast them into the fray when the moment arrives, And will a vict'ry for liberty's sweet sake. Also known as The Chimera in more scifi circles, this experimental craft is the first real attempt at creating a long range cruiser to fight the Eternals on their own turf. And just in time too, less than two years later the entire universe seems to be against you. Before the time of the alligators, the Chimera served as a recon ship, though nowhere near as big or heavily armed. At the time, it was more of a automated probe with a tiny crew that transmitted information back to base giving the armies of mankind more targets to destroy unhindered. Although largely stripped of all its fancy and unnecessary equipment, it still serves to direct Goliath class Dropships through rough terrain. When the stains of night arose to take over the darkness, a warning call rang out from the now-dormant ship on the edge of human controlled space. Warned about newer and larger starships cutting off the path between Earth and uncoviced systems, each cruiser has had to extend their range, delaying reinforcements that may have helped setting up a more defensible line time and time again. I love you so much that I want to kill you, Self-important bureaucracy declares me your foe, My passion for you intensifies with each new skyline, But all affections are lost on one so unconcerned. You push apart the slick skin of the alligator's mouth to get inside. Be careful not to cut yourself on their razor sharp teeth. Choose: Enter Alligator's Mouth... Please be well... Please be well... The alligator slowly revolves on it's pedestal, a cyptic sculpture waiting to be noticed. Once inside, you notice a number of people peer at you from the alligator's mouth. A whirlwind of emotions come over you and out of confusion or fear, you slow down time to make sense of the chaos within that surprisingly calm space. Grabbing onto an arm of a nearby civilian firmly, a pained look on his face he turns towards you. Now for a story about alligators fire and fight, And primordial passion in form of this statue all right. Can you feel a warm stickiness coming off my hand? Choose: Hold On or Let Go. Fire and fight, passion and alligators, AND love? Well played mystery guest! Well...played... Dashing through the darkened halls, your arms laden with food and supplies, you hear loud cracks and booms as explosions rip through the air, shaking dust from the ceiling. You run as fast as your legs can carry you with several company men yelling and swearing behind you. Let there be some light, So that you might see some people searching, For someone to go back and fight, While others hide in the shadows fearfully. Roll for your if you oppose them. A shadowy hoodie hanging down past his face, a sharp-looking good-guy badge on his sleeve. That's right, this is your captain! He's come all the way here from Washington just to find you. Where are you going with all of this water and food? Choose: Continue or Hideout. You've chased a band of men through half the towns and settlements in this area, why would one silly alligator scare you off now? Letting down your friends like that would be super uncool. crowd image source: nugget Reviews If you don't complete your task within 48 hours, you'll float until your supplies run out at which point you'll die of thirst and starvation (or be eaten). Up to the moon the ship sails, past houses and heaven above, into a dark night with even darker ambition. When a body is found, the winds of confusion start to blow. Like someone whisper "Who did it?" in your ear... You're given three arrows and told that if you fail to kill your target then there will be no coming back from this one. The man is willing to confess, we just need someone reliable to shoot the dumb jerk. Yeah what happens when you skip a space Choose: Continue or Haul Butt. What happens when you skip a sentence?Why does anyone like big butts? What happens when you don't use coconuts to surf? Just how hard is it to shove a tree on top of another guy anyway? Why don't people eat the tasty with some chili? These questions and many more will forever burn inside of us, my friend... Even I don't know... why. Do not give up on me now! I'm finally getting to the good part. Once you do one of these, it'll affect the story for around twenty pages. They range from changing small one-line things to unlocking whole new paths to go down so pay attention. "Why would you think that? He's obviously just a regular employee." "You know more than anyone that there's no such thing as a regular employee around here.'' "True... true... 404: not found. If your mind is anything like mine then you're probably experience a powerful desire to :zip: around the following hallways. Most narratives are swiftly linear affairs, but Room is a story being told by a 4-year-old and there's some serious quirks when it comes to its layout. You'll get to pick from four options every so often and each selection will take you to a different bit of the tale... or even another story entirely. Confusing? I bet. 404: not found. ; Raleigh's Restaurant - Night 1 You look at your gooey reflection in the window. "Still as handsome as ever." The driver looks at you and shakes his head in dismay. "Will you stop talking to yourself?" I ask him why, if he dislikes it so much, he continues to put up with me. He ignores my question-- he knows as well as I do that no noise is louder than the sound of silence. 404: not found. It takes a while for you to notice that it's mold and not dust coating the walls; after all, the latter is something you're no stranger to. You wipe away a streak of grime and what was-- mere minutes before-- a condensation-filled glass... Now cracked from the heat of nostalgic rage. The orange hue of flame bounces off the shimmering walls, it dances among your surroundings... but does nothing to warm the incredibly bitter atmosphere. 404: not found. The rotting chair's here are far too heavy to carry while sprinting away; even the sticky floor beneath you is a safe zone compared to hovering between your merciless past and uncertain future-- if you even have one. Will anyone even miss you when you're gone? If they do, will it matter? After all, it only took a few days for everyone to start depending on you for their continued safety; what a hassle being important is... "You missed a spot," 404: not found. You don't have anything to say, but it'd be rude not to make the noise of acknowledgement in some way; you clear your throat as loud as you can and then :shake: your head-- in the direction of the sound-- a few times. "No... you..." The reflection has your attention now. "You don't get to live. Not after what you did... You don't get saving, either." 404: not found. Your head now bounces-- uncontrollably-- as if someone flicked on a switch to make it so, and the glaze over your eyes spreads to your entire body. Now even your reflection can see how tense you are. "They told you that you passed with flying colors, but they lied. They always lied... They knew it too. They just didn't expect you to repeat after what happened before... 404: not found. 404: not found. 404: not found. YOU CAN'T COME TO SAVELSVILLE. YOU WON'T BE SAFE HERE. 404: not found.Tip: If you're logged in, your g

[wendyimmiller]

Looking for Something More Positive

Lovettsville, VA

Dear Scott,

Rain. Glorious rain!

The exclamation point is, I assure you, fully justified. After three and a half weeks without the stuff and without piped water to my sunniest gardens, I had reached a point of exhaustion and had begun the process of separation.

Last year and the year before were the years to plant trees – and I did. But this year, I finally had time to put in the thuja hedge. Now it’s being kept on life support by milk jugs schlepped up from the creek. How wonderful that the crab grass and creeping charlie seem undaunted.

I know you are familiar with this gardener’s trick of self-preservation. Just stop looking at the things that upset you so that they in effect, disappear. My inherited 100ft Long Bed currently requires a machete, pith helmet and vaccine certificate to enter, but by simply turning my head left instead of right when I exit the back door, the issue is solved until winter takes a crack at it.

Douglas Adams wrote of something similar in his Hitchhiker’s series – advocating the use of a towel over one’s head to successfully protect the wearer from seeing anything dangerous.  And I am successfully using something similar with my mirror these days – you do not have that many years on me you know.

I touched upon this August feeling of exhaustion/annoyance two weeks ago on my own website – pulling no punches – only to have a subscriber withdraw her reading services, citing “Looking for something more positive.”

Oh how I wanted to reply to her – breaking no doubt, sixteen Mailchimp covenants and sworn oaths of privacy – to say “My friend and fellow gardener, this IS positive. It’s the perfectly packaged pap from the everything-is-okay-I’m-doing-awesome-having-it-all-#BestLifeEver crowd that you should be avoiding.  We’re all in this together – it sure as hell helps if someone is truthful about it.”

I refrained. But I did get a giggle when Anne Wareham of The Vedww House Garden commented “Still knackered – I measure this by how many times a day I say f… off to an inanimate object.” Wonderful.

I believe you are dry in the Midwest too this year – isn’t it annoying to find ourselves more dependent on the wet stuff than we wish to be? And that’s just the vodka gin and tonics. The despair attached to a long cool spring and mostly rainless summer in a year where I am writing and photographing a book on tropical plants has necessitated a few more visits to the drinks cabinet than are advocated by those that officially advocate these things.

Fresh flowers on the drinks cabinet keeps the intoxication process civilized.

Some mornings I can feel the ghost of Beth Chatto hovering over me and my watering cans as I slop warm rainwater over sandaled, gritty toes and give Anne at The Vedww something to strive for in graduate level Creative Swearing.

Hearkening back to our discussion of gardeners you do not care to read, but don’t mind slagging off, Chatto championed the idea of planting specifically for drought tolerance.  When I last visited the Beth Chatto Garden in East Anglia two years ago, they had received all of 13 inches of rain by the end of August, and the gravel garden (built over the remains of a car park) had not had a drop of supplemental water. It was a hot summer certainly, but that area of England is particularly dry in the best of years.

Beth Chatto’s Gravel Garden in August 2018

Chatto’s ghost chastises me for planting choices made in wetter years.  I’d offer her a coffee, but she has so many gardeners to chastise on her morning rounds there’s no time for a chat. Should she stay, I’m ashamed to say I would begin the discussion with an excuse — having been instructed throughout my gardening career not to.

“The difficulty with my garden,” I would say (How many sentences begin thus? I have heard hundreds myself.) “is that I live in a wooded stream valley.”

She would look at me blankly – in that way the British are so good at – in the way my militant (but beloved) godmother used to – politely waiting for the actual problem. And I would instantly feel ashamed of myself and get back to water slopping and some menial weeding.

Hypothetical one-sided discussion over.

Not that I wouldn’t continue to feel sorry for myself, chastised and muttering into the crabgrass.  For I am a gardener and that is what gardeners do. There is an enormous amount of energy spent feeling sorry for ourselves.  A dry season, a deer feast, a late spring freeze, a child on a mower. Poor Anne and Charles at The Vedww lost one massive yew in an established hedge to a dripping tap and I want to shake my fist at the Heavens for them – I can’t imagine how cosmically wronged they feel.

Ah! The glories we could achieve were it not for [X]!  The vegetables we could grow were it not for [Y]! The excuse-free year we would have were it not for [Z]!  I could go on, but I have an excuse to finish illustrating for you and demons compel me…

A wooded stream valley means free draining alluvial soils worthy of a Mediterranean garden…were it not for the 90 foot tulip poplars meting out sunlight like a miserly king. And then there’s the cold air that trips and tumbles down the hillsides to pool over my expensive zone-pushers.  Lavender without the sun. Ferns without the moisture. Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink…

A drone photo in May shows part of the lower garden, but more importantly, shows the surrounding woods lurking like Fangorn Forest. Minus the Ents.

It is a paradox that can only be solved by the time and effort needed to amend the soils and figure out what works and what won’t. Beyond the Japanese Stilt Grass, which couldn’t be happier.

During this dry year, it is tempting to allow the survivors to slip quietly into dormancy. With COVID bells sounding and everything off the calendar, including tours of my garden by highly opinionated gardeners tsking and tutting between mouthfuls of quiche and cheap plonk, I have questioned the need (for instance) to keep watering containerized color for my eyes only.  Further existential questions such as “What is it all for?” or “Is there a purpose to all this suffering?” or “Why the hell did I wait to put in that thuja hedge until THIS year?” have been springing from my lips just as often has Anne has been abusing her inanimate objects.

Now it is you who are no doubt looking for something more positive. Forgive me.  I am in an August state of mind and there is nothing like it. August will try the very soul of you. How many new, excited 20-something gardeners have met their Waterloo in August and fled back to more pleasurable ways of abusing their bodies and minds?

There I go again.  This is getting grim quickly.  You might as well be writing this letter.  Let me attempt to redeem myself with something profound: Adversity refocuses the lens of necessity.

This perhaps is the most positive lesson coming out of all this mess, by which I mean the COVID emergency, the dry summer, and the non-stop political wars:  The perspective it gives on the importance of the garden.  Not the garden in a particular moment in time mind you (glorious May, damnable August), but the garden in general. The necessity of the garden.

Space to breathe, a place to think, inanimate objects to abuse without recrimination.  I am very grateful for that.

I love the color and resilience of the Sombrero series of Echinacea too – Granada Gold is perhaps my favorite (though this is an early season photo), followed by ‘Baja Burgundy’

‘Baja Burgundy’ Echinacea

I have also been made more aware of the things I don’t need – like that containerized color in a far off part of the garden, extra pots of cuttings to water that will never find a home this season, clearance plants at deep discounts that will cost me dearly in sweat trying to revive them during a cruel summer.  It is a freeing state of mind.

I was so very thankful recently to a professional gardener on a social media page who took an honest picture of plants heading to the compost pile in the back of a truck because he hadn’t the staff to plant them, much less water them after the COVID mess.  He also had zero time to find homes for them all and arrange pick up etc… (yes, this takes time!).  He was saddened, but realistic.

I submit such honesty as “something more positive.” We all know we’re going to keep working with plants.  We all live, breathe and sleep it.  But to pretend the difficulties don’t get us down? That creates unrealistic expectations for others (particularly beginners) that may result in them chucking it all before they have had a chance to thoroughly swallow the hook.

Should we wallow? I do not believe this to be helpful either.  But a well balanced mix of good with bad is better I think than broad August smiles proclaiming truths one knows to be lies.

Now for “something more [overtly] positive”…

With August’s arrival, the tropicals are coming into their own, which is why I adore them and have spent the first half of this year slouched in front of my laptop trying to communicate why we should all have a tropical love affair or two.  They are heavy drinkers of course (you’d get on splendidly), but sometimes I am amazed by what I can get away with wielding only a watering can.

Ensete and ‘Bengal Tiger’ canna against a burgeoning ‘Baby Lace’ hydrangea.

In the early evening when I walk the garden in a better frame of mind, they magically transfer their enthusiasm for heat and humidity to the temperate shrubs and perennials who are flagging. A bit like that guest at the party who comes late, mixes up a new cocktail, commandeers the playlist and gets everybody moving again.  We’ll all have a hell of a hangover digging rhizomes in the fall, but damn, it will be worth it.

You simply can’t beat the instant effect of tropical foliage. This little pond area is five weeks old and looked like hell in June.

Thank you by the way for your last letter which elicited a belly laugh of the best kind. You are too rich in your praise – I can assure you it is undeserved.  I am merely an extrovert who enjoys the natural introversion of academics – and would happily sign my life away to sitting in a common room discussing Zingiberaceae over a subsidized beer if I didn’t have to literally sign my life away to another round of crippling student loans.

Been there. Done that.  If I had a rich uncle I’d be doing it again. So I read. And I study. And I tour. My garden is my lab. Minus the subsidized beer.  And the piercings.

However. Do not think for one minute I am not on to you and your cleverly-chosen avatar of Underdog. That is a strategic place to lurk, and you pull it off well.  I can only come off as harsh and unsympathetic in comparison.  I will remind you that I did once sit through one of your interminable lectures (the one where you weren’t attacking me), and you are fooling no one with the “I’m just an average, at best, student” shtick.

The Pity-The-Poor-Midwesterner routine is also particularly shrewd (esp. as anti-coastal bias is popular and I am creature of not one, but two); but I’ve seen the black, beautiful soils out there. You could throw a pack of cigarettes on the ground and sprout tobacco. Who needs mountains and oceans with fertility like that?

Yes. You are good at what you do. But do seek therapy at once.

Yours,

Marianne

P.S.  My version of too much gin at age 15 and the dirty asphalt of a drive-in right off the Mosteller Road exit in Sharonville, Ohio, is tequilla in a little town in Norway at 18. No asphalt.  Cannot touch the stuff now…double-vision fjords come flooding back. Thank God social media didn’t exist when we were young & supple, eh?

Looking for Something More Positive originally appeared on GardenRant on August 6, 2020.

The post Looking for Something More Positive appeared first on GardenRant.

from Gardening https://www.gardenrant.com/2020/08/looking-for-something-more-positive.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

[turfandlawncare]

Looking for Something More Positive

Lovettsville, VA

Dear Scott,

Rain. Glorious rain!

The exclamation point is, I assure you, fully justified. After three and a half weeks without the stuff and without piped water to my sunniest gardens, I had reached a point of exhaustion and had begun the process of separation.

Last year and the year before were the years to plant trees – and I did. But this year, I finally had time to put in the thuja hedge. Now it’s being kept on life support by milk jugs schlepped up from the creek. How wonderful that the crab grass and creeping charlie seem undaunted.

I know you are familiar with this gardener’s trick of self-preservation. Just stop looking at the things that upset you so that they in effect, disappear. My inherited 100ft Long Bed currently requires a machete, pith helmet and vaccine certificate to enter, but by simply turning my head left instead of right when I exit the back door, the issue is solved until winter takes a crack at it.

Douglas Adams wrote of something similar in his Hitchhiker’s series – advocating the use of a towel over one’s head to successfully protect the wearer from seeing anything dangerous.  And I am successfully using something similar with my mirror these days – you do not have that many years on me you know.

I touched upon this August feeling of exhaustion/annoyance two weeks ago on my own website – pulling no punches – only to have a subscriber withdraw her reading services, citing “Looking for something more positive.”

Oh how I wanted to reply to her – breaking no doubt, sixteen Mailchimp covenants and sworn oaths of privacy – to say “My friend and fellow gardener, this IS positive. It’s the perfectly packaged pap from the everything-is-okay-I’m-doing-awesome-having-it-all-#BestLifeEver crowd that you should be avoiding.  We’re all in this together – it sure as hell helps if someone is truthful about it.”

I refrained. But I did get a giggle when Anne Wareham of The Vedww House Garden commented “Still knackered – I measure this by how many times a day I say f… off to an inanimate object.” Wonderful.

I believe you are dry in the Midwest too this year – isn’t it annoying to find ourselves more dependent on the wet stuff than we wish to be? And that’s just the vodka gin and tonics. The despair attached to a long cool spring and mostly rainless summer in a year where I am writing and photographing a book on tropical plants has necessitated a few more visits to the drinks cabinet than are advocated by those that officially advocate these things.

Fresh flowers on the drinks cabinet keeps the intoxication process civilized.

Some mornings I can feel the ghost of Beth Chatto hovering over me and my watering cans as I slop warm rainwater over sandaled, gritty toes and give Anne at The Vedww something to strive for in graduate level Creative Swearing.

Hearkening back to our discussion of gardeners you do not care to read, but don’t mind slagging off, Chatto championed the idea of planting specifically for drought tolerance.  When I last visited the Beth Chatto Garden in East Anglia two years ago, they had received all of 13 inches of rain by the end of August, and the gravel garden (built over the remains of a car park) had not had a drop of supplemental water. It was a hot summer certainly, but that area of England is particularly dry in the best of years.

Beth Chatto’s Gravel Garden in August 2018

Chatto’s ghost chastises me for planting choices made in wetter years.  I’d offer her a coffee, but she has so many gardeners to chastise on her morning rounds there’s no time for a chat. Should she stay, I’m ashamed to say I would begin the discussion with an excuse — having been instructed throughout my gardening career not to.

“The difficulty with my garden,” I would say (How many sentences begin thus? I have heard hundreds myself.) “is that I live in a wooded stream valley.”

She would look at me blankly – in that way the British are so good at – in the way my militant (but beloved) godmother used to – politely waiting for the actual problem. And I would instantly feel ashamed of myself and get back to water slopping and some menial weeding.

Hypothetical one-sided discussion over.

Not that I wouldn’t continue to feel sorry for myself, chastised and muttering into the crabgrass.  For I am a gardener and that is what gardeners do. There is an enormous amount of energy spent feeling sorry for ourselves.  A dry season, a deer feast, a late spring freeze, a child on a mower. Poor Anne and Charles at The Vedww lost one massive yew in an established hedge to a dripping tap and I want to shake my fist at the Heavens for them – I can’t imagine how cosmically wronged they feel.

Ah! The glories we could achieve were it not for [X]!  The vegetables we could grow were it not for [Y]! The excuse-free year we would have were it not for [Z]!  I could go on, but I have an excuse to finish illustrating for you and demons compel me…

A wooded stream valley means free draining alluvial soils worthy of a Mediterranean garden…were it not for the 90 foot tulip poplars meting out sunlight like a miserly king. And then there’s the cold air that trips and tumbles down the hillsides to pool over my expensive zone-pushers.  Lavender without the sun. Ferns without the moisture. Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink…

A drone photo in May shows part of the lower garden, but more importantly, shows the surrounding woods lurking like Fangorn Forest. Minus the Ents.

It is a paradox that can only be solved by the time and effort needed to amend the soils and figure out what works and what won’t. Beyond the Japanese Stilt Grass, which couldn’t be happier.

During this dry year, it is tempting to allow the survivors to slip quietly into dormancy. With COVID bells sounding and everything off the calendar, including tours of my garden by highly opinionated gardeners tsking and tutting between mouthfuls of quiche and cheap plonk, I have questioned the need (for instance) to keep watering containerized color for my eyes only.  Further existential questions such as “What is it all for?” or “Is there a purpose to all this suffering?” or “Why the hell did I wait to put in that thuja hedge until THIS year?” have been springing from my lips just as often has Anne has been abusing her inanimate objects.

Now it is you who are no doubt looking for something more positive. Forgive me.  I am in an August state of mind and there is nothing like it. August will try the very soul of you. How many new, excited 20-something gardeners have met their Waterloo in August and fled back to more pleasurable ways of abusing their bodies and minds?

There I go again.  This is getting grim quickly.  You might as well be writing this letter.  Let me attempt to redeem myself with something profound: Adversity refocuses the lens of necessity.

This perhaps is the most positive lesson coming out of all this mess, by which I mean the COVID emergency, the dry summer, and the non-stop political wars:  The perspective it gives on the importance of the garden.  Not the garden in a particular moment in time mind you (glorious May, damnable August), but the garden in general. The necessity of the garden.

Space to breathe, a place to think, inanimate objects to abuse without recrimination.  I am very grateful for that.

I love the color and resilience of the Sombrero series of Echinacea too – Granada Gold is perhaps my favorite (though this is an early season photo), followed by ‘Baja Burgundy’

‘Baja Burgundy’ Echinacea

I have also been made more aware of the things I don’t need – like that containerized color in a far off part of the garden, extra pots of cuttings to water that will never find a home this season, clearance plants at deep discounts that will cost me dearly in sweat trying to revive them during a cruel summer.  It is a freeing state of mind.

I was so very thankful recently to a professional gardener on a social media page who took an honest picture of plants heading to the compost pile in the back of a truck because he hadn’t the staff to plant them, much less water them after the COVID mess.  He also had zero time to find homes for them all and arrange pick up etc… (yes, this takes time!).  He was saddened, but realistic.

I submit such honesty as “something more positive.” We all know we’re going to keep working with plants.  We all live, breathe and sleep it.  But to pretend the difficulties don’t get us down? That creates unrealistic expectations for others (particularly beginners) that may result in them chucking it all before they have had a chance to thoroughly swallow the hook.

Should we wallow? I do not believe this to be helpful either.  But a well balanced mix of good with bad is better I think than broad August smiles proclaiming truths one knows to be lies.

Now for “something more [overtly] positive”…

With August’s arrival, the tropicals are coming into their own, which is why I adore them and have spent the first half of this year slouched in front of my laptop trying to communicate why we should all have a tropical love affair or two.  They are heavy drinkers of course (you’d get on splendidly), but sometimes I am amazed by what I can get away with wielding only a watering can.

Ensete and ‘Bengal Tiger’ canna against a burgeoning ‘Baby Lace’ hydrangea.

In the early evening when I walk the garden in a better frame of mind, they magically transfer their enthusiasm for heat and humidity to the temperate shrubs and perennials who are flagging. A bit like that guest at the party who comes late, mixes up a new cocktail, commandeers the playlist and gets everybody moving again.  We’ll all have a hell of a hangover digging rhizomes in the fall, but damn, it will be worth it.

You simply can’t beat the instant effect of tropical foliage. This little pond area is five weeks old and looked like hell in June.

Thank you by the way for your last letter which elicited a belly laugh of the best kind. You are too rich in your praise – I can assure you it is undeserved.  I am merely an extrovert who enjoys the natural introversion of academics – and would happily sign my life away to sitting in a common room discussing Zingiberaceae over a subsidized beer if I didn’t have to literally sign my life away to another round of crippling student loans.

Been there. Done that.  If I had a rich uncle I’d be doing it again. So I read. And I study. And I tour. My garden is my lab. Minus the subsidized beer.  And the piercings.

However. Do not think for one minute I am not on to you and your cleverly-chosen avatar of Underdog. That is a strategic place to lurk, and you pull it off well.  I can only come off as harsh and unsympathetic in comparison.  I will remind you that I did once sit through one of your interminable lectures (the one where you weren’t attacking me), and you are fooling no one with the “I’m just an average, at best, student” shtick.

The Pity-The-Poor-Midwesterner routine is also particularly shrewd (esp. as anti-coastal bias is popular and I am creature of not one, but two); but I’ve seen the black, beautiful soils out there. You could throw a pack of cigarettes on the ground and sprout tobacco. Who needs mountains and oceans with fertility like that?

Yes. You are good at what you do. But do seek therapy at once.

Yours,

Marianne

P.S.  My version of too much gin at age 15 and the dirty asphalt of a drive-in right off the Mosteller Road exit in Sharonville, Ohio, is tequilla in a little town in Norway at 18. No asphalt.  Cannot touch the stuff now…double-vision fjords come flooding back. Thank God social media didn’t exist when we were young & supple, eh?

Looking for Something More Positive originally appeared on GardenRant on August 6, 2020.

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