#had to find these the old fashioned way (blindly and with a little luck)

[zorosdimples]

Can we please get the links for the picrews! 🥺 they’re so cute

YES YES YES !!!!

i tried so hard to find all of them—the only one i can’t find (yet, anyway) is the stuffed animal one! i searched for over an hour last night and haven’t located it. i found the rest, though!!!

here’s a link to the original post with the picrew/neka.cc links <3

[hobbit-in-kuroshitsuji]

Kuroshitcember 2022 Prompt Nr. 5

Prompt: Fast forward a century or so, and the Grim Reaper Dispatch’s collection system has switched to AI and other complex technologies. How good are the grim reapers at this? How do they feel about it?

You can find all prompts here!

All of these will be uploaded/archived to this blog's Ao3 eventually

Summary: In a modern era filled with smart watches, smartphones and modern technology... one grim reaper struggles to adapt. But at least he has his found family to help him. CW: a cookie for every time I write poor Ronald being late to work like... I don't even HC him as someone who is late THAT often?? anyway... no CW XD it's all silliness within this modern AU

(I don't think I did as much of a modern AU as was suggested in the prompt but this is the best my brain could produce <3 )

Ronald rushed into the office building, eyes glued down at his watch. He tapped the screen, flicked to the unread messages tab, and started slowly scrolling. His feet carried him through the office, waving at the right time when he blindly greeted his fellow reapers, too occupied by the little screen.

He was two minutes late. The time showing on his watch seemed to glare at him, but he couldn’t do too much about it now. He was, however, checking to make sure William hadn’t sent an angry email yet.

Othello wrapped an arm around Ronald’s shoulders once he arrived at the right floor, enveloped in a half-hug the second the elevator doors let off their signature ‘ting’.

“You’re late.”

“I know,” Ronald sighed. “Has he noticed?”

Othello fixed Ronald with a look. The silence prompted Ronald to look away from his watch and up to his fellow reaper. The ‘are you serious’ look that was on Othello’s face said it all. “Good luck,” Othello voiced with a final pat to Ronald’s shoulder before leaving him to his fate.

Taking a deep breath, Ronald pushed the glass door open to reveal a room with no one but William and Grelle left.

Grelle, of course, hanging back to talk to William, who for once offered her some attention.

“Did I miss it?” Ronald asked with wide eyes.

“Of course you did,” William scoffed in indignation. “The room is empty. What other logical conclusion could you have made?”

“Sorry, sir-“

“Oh don’t stress about it, Ronnie-boy,” Grelle complained with a wave of her hand, annoyed Ronald was taking William’s attention from her. The man still stood at the far end of the room, in front of a little podium. Behind him, the screens were all still lit up, showing satellite images of England. Grelle was lounging in one of the front rows, as usual. “It’s all recorded, you can catch up on your lunch break.”

William huffed, as if Grelle had just offended him personally. Taking a deep breath, William lifted his chin and touches his glasses: “The use of technology in such a fashion only serves to slow us grim reapers down further. It promotes tardiness if there are no consequences to-“

“Yeah yeah,” Grelle interrupted, taking her phone out to check her makeup (and take some selfies). “Whatever you say.”

There was another deep breath taken on William’s end, then he busied himself by collecting the papers on his podium.

“Sir…” Ronald sighed in amusement, trying his best to make William forget Ronald’s mishap. “Did the department not give you a replacement tablet?”

William pursed his lips. “No.”

That was a lie. William always pursed his lips when lying – it was a tell. The man was a horrible liar, more prone to telling too much of the truth than actually offering a gentle lie to shield someone’s emotions.

“Right,” Ronald said with a chuckle. “Did you get frustrated with it and throw it to the floor? Again?”

William stared over at Ronald with a look that was meant to be authoritative and annoyed, but the use of it as defence against Ronald’s apparent correct deduction only offered a comical effect to the situation at hand – and Ronald chuckled again.

“I much prefer the old ways of working.”

“The old ways of working meant heaps of paper everywhere that needed to be filed correctly because there were no do-overs. This new system allows for-“

“Tardiness,” William finished, holding the notes for his morning debrief in his arms as he walked down from the podium and glared at the two reapers present: one obsessively scrolling down TikTok, and the other complaining about the old ways. “If you are exempt from making mistakes, how will you ever learn to work properly, efficiently, and without delays?”

A shrug was all William was given.

“Precisely. I absolutely loathe these new ways but no matter how many complaints I send in, management simply refuses to change anything.”

“The new reapers don’t seem to mind.” That had been the wrong thing to say to William as the man scoffed and fixed his glasses twice.

Twice.

Twice meant William had been close to scolding Ronald.

“The newly assigned grim reapers come from an age I do not even pretend to comprehend.”

“Oh this age isn’t so bad. This Lady Gaga person makes things much better, William dear,” Grelle interjected. “You should go to a concert.”

“Lady who?” William asked with a quirked brow.

“Sir…” Ronald bit his bottom lip. “Would it help if I came up with another little song to help you sort out how to work the tablet? Like I did with the heating? The minus button makes it go cold, cold, cold. The plus button –“

“Yes, you’ve quite made your point, Knox.” There was no glare, only an embarrassed look sent up to the heavens as a silent prayer left William.

Amused, Ronald watched William leave in a hurry, having forgotten all about Ronald’s tardiness that morning.

And without telling Ronald ‘no’ in regards to the memory song, which only meant they helped which only meant… William used them. Ronald spent the rest of the morning coming up with one for William’s tablet issues.

This modern age proved difficult for some reapers, but at least they all had each other to help.

__ taglist: @eemoo1o-animoo

[secondhand-trash]

Gap

A/N:  this is based on my personal experiences😌

Pairing: Okkotsu Yuuta x reader

Word count: 1195

Zenin Maki was visibly delighted when she flipped her card over to show everyone the bright red “K” printed on its corner, while everyone else in the dorm room shifted back.

You gulped down when she opened her eyes and allow her gaze to scan over each person in the little circle you had formed.

Starting from her left, every (and the very few) students of Tokyo Jujutsu Tech had gathered around under Inumaki and Panda’s request for some old fashion bonding activities. You had a feeling they had planned for this to happen the moment Inumaki pulled out a deck of poker from behind his back, pointing excitedly at the king he had picked out specifically.

“Hm...” Maki rolled her neck, tapping the card against her palm as she closed her eyes. She had a lot of... petty grudges she would like to get back at people for. To say that she was not at her best luck today would be an understatement, she was almost starting to wonder if the rest of her friends had just decided to collectively cheat against her with how many times she had been blindly picked to do whatever the king of that round commanded. 

After a lot of running circles, pocky game, and very cheesy skits that made her want to puke, she had been waiting for this moment to get her revenge.

Her smirk only grew wider and wider as she stopped at each person and you instinctively hid your card under your palm when she looked at you.

“What? It’s not like I’ll know what number you got,” she snorted, her ponytail swinging behind her as she tilted her head to her side with a sly smile.

Maki threw her card down on the floor. “3,” she gave it a tap with her index finger, her hand freezing in place as she thought of another number on top of her head, “kabedons number 5 for 30 seconds.”

She gave an ugly laugh when you frustratedly covered your face and groaned, “Maki san...”

“I really have no clue, alright?” she was still laughing and gloated, “who is 3?”

The laughter only grew when a white-sleeved arm raised up weakly, with some whistling threw in from his friends. Okkotsu’s lips were pursed into a sheepish smile, his hand pushing away his bangs that had grown out while he was away before hiding his flush behind the back of his hand.

“Get up, get up, make it quick,” Maki slapped his hand against the floor repeatedly as you begrudgingly climbed up, “(y/n) stand over there against the wall. Come on, Yuuta, bring out your courage, hurry up!”

The boy let out a whimper as Panda gave his shoulder a firm push, “Go sweep them off their feet.”

“Good luck, Okkotsu senpai!”

“Shake, shake!”

“God,” Okkotsu rubbed his neck nervously as he stood in front of you. His eyes were darting around as his face got redder and redder, an awkward smile hanging on both of your faces to hide the clear embarrassment you feeling, “I’ve never done anything like this before...”

You toyed with the hem of your sleeve as you shifted your weight between your feet, “It’s fine, me neither-”

“Are you two done yet?” Maki shouted, her body leaning out of the circle to look at you two in entertainment.

He blinked as he looked down at you, rolling his sleeves up tentatively, “Can I...?”

“Oh,” you blurted out, “yeah. Yeah, of course-”

!!

Your heart jumped together with the loud bang. The beating in your chest drowning out the noises from your speculators and there was no thought in your head other than that Okkotsu Yuuta was so freaking close to you right now. His forearm had slammed down above your head, trapping you between the wall and his chest. Your face was burning up as your eyes saw nothing but white, not knowing where to station your gaze except staring down at your feet.

Shivers ran down your arm when you felt a light brush of his knuckle under your jaw.

“Look at me,” he muttered, and your mind screamed in confusion at how this was not what you remembered him to sound like. 

It was not until you swallowed the saliva pooling in your mouth and lifted your head in a defeated snap that you noticed the stark contrast of your height. With his arm above your head, he was towering over you. His hair framing his face as he stared right at you. Turquoise eyes were dimmed and dark with his back blocking the light, seemingly endless in depth as he locked you in his gaze. You had to remind yourself to breathe, that you were starting to feel light-headed with his presence all around you. His shoulders were wider than you thought, and the baggy shirt he had on could not hide the firmness of his waist. 

If you did not have the guts to look up, then now you were scared to look away. The bags under his eyes added a sickly beauty to his pale skin, the slight chap of his lips only more prominent with the corners pressing down under the clench of his jaw. Your back stood straighter when you saw the bobbing of his throat from the corner of your eyes and a nerve-wracking self-consciousness rising in your chest.

Oh dear, you did not expect to be this affected.

But he was so fucking hot from this angle.

“30 seconds up!”

You were still holding your breath in when Okkotsu backed away with a heavy exhale, the familiar smile returning to his face as he pressed his palm to where his heart was.

“Wow, that was...” he chuckled, pressing the back of his hand to his neck to feel the heat on his skin as he stumbled back to his seat, “I feel so shy now....”

“You released the wolf in you,” Panda nodded approvingly as he swung a paw onto the boy’s shoulder. Okkotsu tried to whine and squirm away from the inevitable teasing but was held down by Inumaki at his other side who was grinning ear to ear under his collar.

“Senpai, are you ok?” Itadori asked when he saw that you had slowly slid down from the wall and was now crouching there with your face hidden behind your hands.

The genuine question only made your classmates holler even more, and you lifted your hand weakly at him to tell him to give you a second.

You were flaming up feverishly, the heat transferring from your face to the skin of your palm. You could hear the laughing, but you honestly could not find the energy in your brain to care about them when the adrenaline rush from what just happened earlier refused to go away.

You bury your face deeper into your palm, and let out a silent scream.

“Ahhhhh....”

”I think you broke them, Okkotsu senpai,” Fushiguro said after sparing a glance your way.

”Really? Then what should I do?”

Maki sniggered, and leaned over to collect everyone’s card before shuffling them up again, “I love this game so much.”

[xfandomwritingsx]

Hold Your Breath - Chapter One: A Blank Page - Draco Malfoy

-gif source unknown-

Description: After decisions put you on opposite side of the war, returning to Hogwarts to finish your education proves to be challenging. Maybe closure isn’t the only thing you need from Draco.

Warnings/Labels: Angst. Hints of depression. Unhappy reunions.

Approx. Word Count: 3,000

A/N: I’m trying to keep the reader’s house open for interpretation, but I think it’s pretty plain to see that in my head, she’s a Ravenclaw. I’m also not a fan of this chapter. This is the chapter in which I converted what I had written of the oneshot into a longer piece so there are bits that to me still have a different feel than the rest. Makes it a little choppy when I read it, but hopefully it’s not bad for you!

Story Masterpost

-

September 1998

The world looks the same as it always has outside of the train window, but it all feels different. Colors still feel muted and even though there’s less chaos raging behind the trees, they still give you an ominous feeling deep in your gut. There are familiar faces on the train, but not enough to make you feel at home. Eyes either avoid yours or stare uncomfortably long. You feel out of place. You’re not supposed to be here.

But, yet, here you are. Your classmates have affectionately dubbed it “The 8th Year” at Hogwarts and even that makes you feel ill-fitting since you didn’t actually attend any of your 7th year so how could it possibly be considered your 8th? You had spent all of last year in hiding, most of which at The Burrow working to gain trust and prove your worth. You’d spent the end of it fighting on the winning side and risking your life for people you once hated.

You don’t belong.

And right now, if you could, you might just get off the train and call it quits on the whole 8th year idea. But you’re already committed now and you refuse to be labeled a quitter. It’s time to move on and build a life for yourself and you know that starts with finishing your education as best you can. So you swallowed the nausea and stayed.

You are one of the last ones off the train partly because you don’t like being in the crowd and partly because you hope it might lessen the stares. Armed with a bag filled almost entirely of long sleeved shirts, you take a deep breath and step onto the platform.

The air is warm, though the threat of colder weather ahead lingers in the air. You yearn for it, having taken a liking to the cold in the last year or so. Trees still hold their color so you suspect you have to wait just a little while for it yet. At least it gives you something to look forward to.

You begin your walk down the platform, feet padding gently along the wood. One step at a time, you tell yourself. One foot in front of the other until they suddenly stop when the sight of Draco exiting the train a few doors down causes your lungs to seize. You’d heard he would be attending so it shouldn’t have stunned you to see him, but it did. You had chosen to ignore the fact that you��d likely run into him, instead choosing to blindly hope you could somehow avoid him all year.

The thinning crowd of people allows you to see him fairly clearly. He’s looks good, well and healthy even. The little boy who broke your heart had grown into a man somehow. Perhaps in the four short months since the end of the war, he had healed. Maybe he was atoning for his wrongs. A softness in your heart grows as you watch him, letting yourself briefly daydream about a happy reunion filled with apologies and hope for the future.

His eyes scan the platform and when they fall on you, your heart speeds up anxiously. His look is not warm or friendly and when you recognize the façade painted on his face, your girlish fantasies are wiped away. He’s nothing more than the same boy he’s always been, playing pretend in a black dress jacket and trousers with a coward’s fear hidden behind his steely eyes.

He doesn’t even acknowledge you, just keeps scanning the platform before adjusting his jacket and continuing on his way. Pushing back the anger you feel starting to bubble, you tighten your grip on your bag and make your way to the carriages by yourself.

~~~

Your memories of him have always come in waves and the last two weeks have been no different as you settled into your new, old routine at school. You can go hours, even days without thinking about him and then out of nowhere, a memory will hit you so strongly that you feel like you’ve entered a pensieve.

Even now, looking at him across the great hall, you can still remember his touch. You can still practically feel his breath on your skin, your nails in his back. It was pain and comfort all in one. You remember how he’d laid his head in your lap afterwards. You still can’t be sure if the wetness left on your thighs was sweat or if he’d cried while he laid with you.

You cringe at how you had so naively thought that was the end of it. You were his salvation and he’d wake up the next morning and run away with you to the other side, to the right side of the war. But those had been foolish, little girl dreams. And you promised yourself after seeing him exit the train that you wouldn’t get involved with Draco Malfoy again.

So why can’t you stop staring at him?

Maybe because he hasn’t so much as acknowledged your existence yet and that, more than anything, pisses you off even if it shouldn’t. Despite your vow to yourself, you crave him talking to you, looking at you, noticing you’re alive for Merlin’s sake! Instead, you feel like you’ve been completely invisible to him. While this clearly made it easier to not get involved, it bothers you. He’s taking away your choice to be rid of him which is just rude.

Fingers snap in front of your face.

“Do you just want to hex him and be done with it?” Ginny asks next to you, a ghost of a smile on her lips. One positive of this year; the voluntary segregation of sitting with your house had been all but completely abandoned, allowing you to sit with the very few friends you have. “You could probably do it with minimal punishment.”

“I don’t want to hex him,” you argue softly, forcing your eyes back down to the plate in front of you. Ginny raises an eyebrow at you.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes!” You let out a huff and poke the food with your fork. “No. Maybe a little bit,” you admit. She nudges your shoulder with her own and sighs sympathetically. Ginny was never someone you thought you’d end up close with, but after staying with her family during the war, she’d become practically like your sister. She’s a better friend than you’d ever had before. Probably better than you deserve too.

“Have you spoken to him?” She keeps her voice quiet amongst the chatter in the hall. You look at her, full of irrational guilt, and shake your head in the smallest fashion you can. “Maybe you should.” You look back to him and remember the way he felt on top of you, whispering your name and the way your legs wrapped around his waist. But then, just as suddenly, you’re hit with the memory of him walking away from you in the middle of the night with a hollowness in your chest.

“I think that’s the last thing I need to do.” You force yourself to stop looking at him throughout the rest of your meal and attempt to join into jovial conversation at the table.

Fate, however, seemed to have heard your words and thusly thrust her middle finger out to you, because Draco is suddenly everywhere. It was inevitable that you run into each other, after all, you had classes together, but he still seems to be within your eyesight an excessive amount; sitting right in front of you during lessons, resting under your favorite tree, always managing to be where you can see his face during meals. Your only reprieve is your common room which you’ve taken to staying in during most of your free time.

Going strictly to and from classes and meals has become tiresome though. You’re starting to feel like you’re back in hiding and can feel a darkness creeping in. You don’t have an abundance of friends at Hogwarts. Or anywhere really. The loneliness threatens to eat away at you sometimes, but you keep it at bay by keeping your nose in your books; a coping skill you’ve become entirely too proficient at executing.

But today you venture out, book in hand, hoping to find a quiet place with a little background noise to read. A change of scenery and a breath of air may help the frayed nerves you haven’t been able to shake these last weeks. Your feet carry you to the library almost without any thought. It had been among one of the first areas rebuilt and reconstructed after the war and though they built it much the same as it had been, it had a distinctively new feel to it.

It’s a bit of a bustle with people, mostly first and second years who think studying is still the most important thing they can do. Idiots, you think. You walk around for a little bit, admiring the fresh wooden tables and shelves, before gravitating towards a back corner. There used to be a couple of chairs in a back row of books by the muggle section that no one ever frequented. With any luck, it might still exist.

Fate smiles down on you, but it’s a wicked smile because yes, your little nook is still there, but so is Draco. He sits in the armchair in plain clothes, an elbow on the armrest, and his face propped up on his fist as he stares down at the book in his lap. His platinum hair falls into his eyes, yet he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. He looks so ordinary, like he could be any man in the world and it irks you in a way you can’t put into words. He’s not ordinary. He’s not any man. He’s Draco Malfoy.

You stare long enough for him to sense it and look up from his book. And for what feels like for the first time all year, he looks at you. He freezes for just a moment, as though he’s shocked or perhaps scared at the sight of you. Then in a blink it’s gone, replaced by a softer tone in his eyes.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, his voice a rush of warm nostalgia. He closes his book. “I can leave.” Even though you’re negatively shaking your head, he gathers the bag at his feet and stands.

“It’s alright,” you try to tell him. “I’ll just go somewhere else.” He’s already standing up in front of you, ready to slink past. There’s an urge to reach out and grab his arm. You repress it.

“No, it’s fine. You like this spot.” He says it so quickly and his eyes flitter to anything but your face as he passes. Before you can try to say anything else, he’s disappeared beyond more shelves of books, completely out of view.

You’re left standing there looking after him feeling entirely unsatisfied and empty with the interaction. You can’t put your finger on or voice what you wanted to happen, but that certainly wasn’t it.

Sighing, you concede to do what you had come for. Even that proves to be too difficult because when you settle into the chair, it’s still soft with his imprint and warm with his body heat. It gives you the barest sensation of having him wrapped around you. It reminisces more than it should of that too-long-hug you shared before he’d kissed you for the first time. The memories washing over you make it too difficult to focus on the words in your book. You snap it shut and leave. The common room is clearly the better place to stay.

~~~

All of your interactions after that are all short and insignificant. He’s always there, but never looks your way. If he does have to speak to you, it’s always in a minimal way. It never fails to leave you frustrated and angry. Even your books aren’t easing your tension like they used to.

It's been nearly a full month now and throwing yourself into your studies hasn’t helped you any either. You’ve practically finished the coursework for half of your classes. Your homework is done well before you wish to go to sleep for the evening. You haven’t set foot outside the castle walls. You have so few friends, no family, and no one who can relate to your troubles. And the one person you’d counted on your whole life, your best friend and the boy you would have done almost anything for, barely even looks at you.

The suffocation of it all comes in the darkness of night. It crushes down on your chest and burns on your arm. Your fucking arm. You’ve scrubbed it. You’ve concealed it. You even went so far as to try to cut the skin off. Nothing works. That skull and snake are with you forever. And everyone knows it.

Some nights you can’t take it. You can’t merely lay in your bed and pretend sleep will come peacefully. So you leave your room. You wander the castle, trying to find those places that bring warmth to your heart and avoid those were people died.

Tonight, you go to the courtyard just to look at the stars. There’s something soulful about the sky. It’s where muggles look to when they pray to a higher power. It holds a universe more expansive than you could ever imagine. It could swallow you whole if you let it or maybe, just maybe one day it will show you how to be happy.

You forcibly don’t recognize that laying in grass and looking up at the sky had been something you and Draco used to do together. It works well enough to let you enjoy the activity again by yourself, but it blinds you to the idea that Draco might be doing the same thing.

You shouldn’t have been so surprised when you reach the courtyard and he’s there, leaning back on the fountain and staring upwards, but you are. When your shoe crunches on the gravel, his head snaps to you and with his own surprise, stands up.

Another short apology. Another move for a quick exit in the opposite direction of you. Your fists clench at your sides, unable to bottle in your anger any longer.

“Oh would you shove off with that?” you snap before he can slip back into the shadows. He turns and raises an eyebrow at you. “I was ready,” you tell him angrily. “I was ready to come back this year and hate you. I was ready to avoid you and shoot you pissed off glares from across the room. Then I get here and you avoid me!” His face puzzles for a moment.

“So you want me to try to talk to you so that you can tell me off?” A little bit of his old self, of the Draco you once knew and loved, comes through in an irritated eye roll. “Sorry to disappoint.” You let out a huff of air and cross your arms.

“Why are you avoiding me?” The puzzled look on his face returns.

“The way you’re reacting right now doesn’t answer that question for you?” He tilts his head and hums mockingly. “Not as smart as I thought you were.”

“Smarter than you are, clearly.” He grinds his jaw at your condescension and then he’s walking up to you, getting closer than he’s been all year and your bravery falters for a moment as your feet step you back and your arms uncross to hang useless by your sides.

“That’s why I haven’t approached you. I don’t need another lecture. I’ve been to trial. I’m on probation. I’ve had everything I’ve ever done wrong put out in front of me in excruciating detail. I don’t need you to give me another run through.” His eyes and his tone are cold, hard. You recognize it all too well and while he’s gotten better at hiding it, you can still see the pain underneath. It tries to soften you, but ultimately fails.

“They shouldn’t have let you come back,” you spit at him, instantly regretting the words when he pulls away. You don’t mean it. Of course you don’t mean it, but you say it with enough venom and hate that he believes it.

“We all made mistakes,” he hisses at you before glancing down to your arm. The heat of his stare practically stings and you have to resist that instinctive pull to hide it away. “I hear you’re the shining example everyone uses to demonstrate that not all bad guys hail from Slytherin, even despite the fact that you changed sides in the end.” The only reason you don’t crack your palm over his cheek is because you give in to the need to hold onto your left forearm tightly, your palm now busy cradling the skull of the Dark Mark underneath your shirt sleeve. “How’s that feel?”

“You’re horrid,” you tell him weakly. He tilts his head again.

“That is what everyone says.” He gives a shrug that tries too hard to be casual and finally steps out of your personal space. With a small shake of his head, he turns to leave again, but you refuse to let him get the last word.

“At least I tried to atone!” you call after him. He pauses, but doesn’t look back. “I did the right thing when it mattered!”

“And where did that get you?” he asks bitterly. “Where did it get your family?” You suck in a harsh breath and try desperately to hold back the tears that are abruptly burning behind your eyes. Dead, you think. It got them killed.

“They made their own choices.” It sounds rehearsed because it is. You told yourself those same words over and over again every night for months. Your parents weren’t good people. You knew that. They were still your parents though and when you heard He’d killed them, it hurt more than you want to admit. And Draco knew that. Draco knows your weaknesses and your soft spots and just how to twist a knife into you. Perhaps that’s why you hated him so much.

“You don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.” He still hasn’t even so much as looked over his shoulder back at you.

“Fine,” you answer curtly, your hand still wringing around your forearm. When he leaves, you allow yourself to crumple onto the ground and cry. You feel so much hollower than the last time he’d left you in tears. Back then, the air had practically crackled with tension and death and war. Now the air is silent, calm and that makes it all the more unsettling. All the more finite.

~~~

Thanks for reading darling! If you’ve enjoyed, I ask that you like, comment, reblog, or if you’re really feeling generous, buy me a coffee! https://ko-fi.com/writerashley

Keep up with my progress on Instagram! https://www.instagram.com/thatfandomwriter/

TAG LIST

If you want to be added to any tag lists, shoot me an ask!

HYB TAG LIST  @lexi-ravenclawdracomalfoy​ / @yucksiedoodles​​ / @desertdwellerwitch​

[paulinedorchester]

Mosley, Leonard. Backs to the Wall: London Under Fire, 1939-1954. London: George Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1971; reprint, as Backs to the Wall: The Heroic Story of the People of London During World War II, New York: Random House, 1971.

Each generation gets the history that it needs — or wants, or demands. That’s what kept going through my head as I read Backs to the Wall, which appeared three years after France’s youth explicitly rejected both Charles de Gaulle, the self-appointed leader of the Free French during World War II, and the political ideology that he represented, and amidst ongoing unrest over the Vietnam War. (It’s also worth mentioning that it was published in the same year as Norman Longmate’s How We Lived Then: A History of Everyday Life During the Second World War and two years after Angus Calder’s The People’s War.) This book gives up a World War II narrative in which Churchill was an improvement on Chamberlain only in that he wasn’t an appeaser, de Gaulle was worse than both of them put together, the Allied leaders all cordially loathed each other, half the British public wanted to sue for peace, and there was across-the-board mutual dislike between London civilians and American troops (and British dismay at the way African-American troops were treated by their white counterparts was far from universal). Do I exaggerate? Only slightly. Backs to the Wall is a sort of distant, city-specific pre-echo of Juliet Gardner’s sour 2004 book Wartime: Britain, 1939-45.

As with Wartime, however, this book does have the virtue of introducing us to a number of very interesting people. I became interested in reading it because it brought Vere Hodgson’s wartime diary to public attention. Mosley quotes or paraphrases Hodgson’s writing from the beginning of the war through its end, and also seems to have interviewed her extensively. His primary villain, meanwhile, is not Chamberlain but Chamberlain’s chief acolyte, Henry “Chips” Channon, from whose diary he quotes widely (and who turns out to have been born and raised in the United States, to my surprise). We hear a great deal from the chemist and novelist C.P. Snow and follow the misadventures of two civilians, Jenny Martin and Polly Wright, whose consistency in both bad luck and bad choices meant that neither of them was able to stay out of serious trouble for any length of time.

There are many glimpses of the London home front through the eyes of two boys, both eight when the war began: John Hardiman, of Canning Town and later of Aldgate, who was evacuated in 1939 but soon returned to London, and Donald Ketley of Chadwell Heath, who was never evacuated at all. Donald, who thoroughly enjoyed himself during the war, had an experience that speaks to our own recent reality:

Another good thing: quite early in the Blitz, his school had been totally destroyed by a bomb. Since Donald was shy, a poor student and unpopular with his teacher, he was overjoyed when he heard the place was gone. Thereafter he went each day to his teacher’s home to pick up lessons, which he brought back the next day for marking. In the following months he changed from a poor student to an excellent one, and although he was aware that his teacher rather resented it, he didn’t care. 

Mosley also introduces us to Archibald McIndoe, the real-life counterpart of Patrick Jamieson, Bill Patterson’s character in the Foyle’s War episode ‘Enemy Fire.’ Art seems to have imitated life pretty accurately in that instance: he and his burn hospital in East Grinstead were apparently exactly like what was depicted, the only difference being that the hospital was set up in an existing hospital building, not in a requisitioned stately home.

Backs to the Wall seems to have been one of the earliest books to make substantial use of Mass-Observation writings. Most M-O diaries are anonymous, but there are two named diarists here who stand out. John James Donald was a committed pacifist whose air of lofty detachment as he observes the reactions of those around him to air-raids and other wartime event and prepares for his tribunal — which, in the end, he decides not to attend — quickly grows irritating. More interesting is Rosemary Black, a 28-year-old widow, in no small part because she differs markedly from what I had thought of as the archetypical M-O writer. Here’s her self-description on M-O documents: “Upper-middle-class; mother of two children (girls aged 3 and 2); of independent means.” Mosley continues:

She lived in a trim three-story house in a quiet street of the fashionable part of Maida Vale, a short taxi ride from the center of the West End, whose restaurants and theatres she knew well. She was chic and attractive, and lacked very few of the niceties of life: there was Irene, a Hungarian refugee, to look after the children; Helen, a Scottish maid, to look after herself and the house; and a daily cleaning woman to do the major chores.

Black took her children out of London at the beginning of the war but quickly brought them back, and when bombs began falling she kept them in place — air raids might be disruptive for them, but apparently relocation had been worse. She was very much aware that she was riding out the war in a position of privilege, and she often expressed guilt feelings; but this tended to fade away before her irritation at the dominance of “the muddling amateur or the soulless bureaucrat” in the war effort. Offering her services, even as a volunteer, proved very frustrating. “She was young, strong and willing; she typed, spoke languages, was an expert driver and had taken a course in first aid,” Mosley tells us, “but finding a job even as a chauffeur was proving difficult” in September 1940. (She actually wasn’t all that strong physically: as we learn, she suffered from rheumatism which grew worse during the war years and probably affected her outlook.)

Black was greeted with “apathy and indifference” by both A.R.P. and the Women’s Voluntary Service. Early in 1941 she was finally able to get a place handing out tea, sandwiches, cake, and so on to rescue and clean-up workers at bomb sites from a Y.M.C.A. mobile canteen. She was a bit intimidated by the women with whom she found herself working:

Their class is right up to the county family level. Nearly everyone is tall above the average and remarkably hefty, even definitely large, not necessarily fat but broad and brawny. Perhaps this is something to do with the survival of the fittest.

And the work did bring her some satisfaction, even if it was of the type that lent itself to being recorded with tongue placed firmly in cheek:

We had a pleasant and uneventful day’s work serving City fire sites, the General Post Office, demolition workers and Home Guard Stations, etc. We were complimented at least half a dozen times on the quality of our tea ... I think the provision of saccharine for the tea urns to compensate for the mean sugar allowance is my most successful piece of war work. What did you do in the Great War, Mummy? Sneaked pills into the tea urns, darling.

For all her good humor and astute observations, Mrs. Black was far from immune to tiny-mindedness. After an evening out in 1943 she wrote:

I had to wait some time for the others in the cinema foyer, and I was much struck, as often before, by the almost complete absence of English people these days, from the capital of England. Almost every person who came in was either a foreigner, a roaring Jew, or both. The Cumberland [Hotel] has always been a complete New Jerusalem, but this evening it really struck me as no worse than anywhere else! It is really dismaying to see that this should be the result of this war in defence of our country.

Indeed, Mosley cites the results of a multi-year Mass-Observation study that showed a marked increase in anti-Jewish views London’s general population over the course of the war. Since it’s just one study, and since I haven’t seen that study mentioned anywhere else, I am reluctant to trust blindly in its accuracy; and there’s also this:

The small flat which George [Hardiman] had procured for [his family] ... in Aldgate was cleaner and airier than the old house in Canning Town [which had been bombed], and the little Jewish children with whom John now went to school seemed to be cleaner than the ones in Elm Road; at any rate, he no longer came home with nits in his hair.

On the other hand, Mosley himself gives us only a fragmentary view of London’s wartime Jewish population: everyone seems to be either a terrified refugee or an impoverished East Ender. We hear nothing about the substantial middle- and upper-middle class population — mostly of German descent and in some cases German birth — that had already taken shape in Northwest London; and while we are briefly introduced to Sir David Waley, a Treasury official, in connection with the case of an interned Jewish refugee, we aren’t told that Waley himself was Jewish, a member of “the cousinhood.” On yet a third hand, Mosley also quotes other M-O surveys from the same period that indicate largely hostile attitudes to most foreigners in London, with Poles at the bottom of the ladder and the small Dutch contingent on top. (Incidentally, the book’s extremely patchy index identifies Vere Hodgson as a Mass-Observation diarist, which she wasn’t.)

Backs to the Wall closes with a very brief, remarkably non-partisan account of the 1945 general election and its immediate aftermath. “Neither side had any inkling of the way the minds of the British voters were turning,” he writes.

When [Churchill’s] friends suggested that he was a victim of base ingratitude, he shook his head. He would not have such a charge leveled against his beloved countrymen. Ingratitude? "Oh, no," he said quietly, "I wouldn’t call it that. They have had a very hard time."

The book is worth reading for the primary materials that it includes, but it probably tells us as much about the era in which it was written as about the period that it covers.  

[visions-from-reaver]

CHAPTER VIII: Finding John

First of all I want to apologize to the people who I have had to make wait for so long for this chapter! I am so so so so sorry! I lost motivation for a while and I also had a bad case of writers block on top of it all! -low key begging for forgiveness- Anyway enjoy this next chapter!

The morning sun brought a blinding white light shining through the dusty and cracked windows. Arthur groaned and blindly searched for his hat, which was on the table next to him. He placed his worn hat over his face to try and get some more sleep when voices outside his door caught his attention.

“So what are we gonna do now, Dutch?” Arthur recognized Hosea’s tired voice.

“We get strong, we get warm, we wait and when the storm breaks we move. But we’re safe here and warm enough not to freeze to death.” Dutch said, trying to reassure the older man.

“I guess.” Hosea didn’t sound so sure and Dutch seemed to pick up on it.

“You sound doubtful, Hosea.”

“I’m not doubtful, just worried.”

Arthur stood up and moved to lean against the door frame as he listened to the two men bicker at each other. They were both sitting in old, worn out, wooden chairs in front of the fire; trying to knock the chill out of the frigid morning air.

Dutch noticed Arthur and turned to address him “What do you think, Arthur?”

Arthur sighed not expecting to be called out by the leader “Well I wasn’t on that boat so hard to say, but I trust your judgement, Dutch, always have.”

“Thank you, son,” Dutch said, seemingly pleased with Arthur’s response before turning his attention back to Hosea. “We have been shot at before Hosea I don’t feel that this is honestly anything new.”

“I hope not…”

“We had a bit of bad luck, Hosea I’ll admit that. But then the storm covered our tracks, so now we wait a bit then we go back to Blackwater and we get our money, or we get some more money and we keep headin’ west.”

“But we’re heading east!” Hosea argued back like Dutch didn’t realize it himself.

“For now, Hosea. For now. But we got this. We’re safe!” Dutch paused as he stood up from the chair and laid his hand on Hosea’s shoulder “Stay strong, Hosea, and Arthur…” The leader turned once again to face him “Well you know me, son, I am just gettin’ started, and once we get some money...well they’d better send some good men after us, ‘cause they ain’t never gonna find us...but in order to get out of here we need money.”

Arthur nodded without hesitation “Of course, Dutch.”

Dutch stepped forward and placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder “Thank you, son, for your strength. It means a lot to me...especially right now.”

“Sure.” Arthur said, “Oh, by the way, that kid from yesterday...there’s somethin’ strange about her.”

Dutch paused on his way out the door “I’m assuming something stranger than what she told us last night?” Dutch was confused, what could possibly be more strange than having someone tell you they were from the future?

“She knows about us Dutch. She knows we’re outlaws and I didn’t say nothin’ to her about that.” Arthur said a little frantically “She said she’d tell us this mornin’ but I..I jus’ don’t know.”

“So what do you suggest? That we just leave the poor girl up here to freeze? I raised you better than that, son.” Dutch’s tone was firm and condescending.

“No I ain’t sayin’ that at all I jus’...I jus’ think we should keep an eye on her. At least til’ we know for certain what’s goin’ on. I mean if…” Arthur stepped closer to Dutch so only he could hear him “If she is tellin’ the truth, and she really is from the future, then how the hell she even get here?”

“Did you ever think to ask her, Arthur? She might know about us, about who we are, but she is one girl. What could she possibly do to us?” Dutch had a point and Arthur knew it.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Now come on, let's go talk to her.” 

The pair walked outside into the cold morning air “Ms.Grimshaw!” Dutch called to the older woman of the camp.

“Yes, Dutch?” She replied as she hurried over 

“The young girl that we brought into our care, where is she?” Dutch asked as he looked around. 

“Ms.Heather?”

“Yes.”

“She is in that building with the rest of the girls. I think she is still asleep.” Ms.Grimshaw pointed to the old schoolhouse that sat across from the cabin that Dutch, Arthur, and Hosea were currently staying in.

“Thank you, Ms.Grimshaw. Arthur, you go in there and get her, I am gonna check on the others.” 

“Sure,” Arthur responded as he headed into the smaller building and directly into a hushed conversation.

“He ain’t been seen in days, the weather hasn’t let up…” Abigail said in a worried tone.

“He’s strong, and he’s smart.” Tilly Jackson said, trying to bring comfort to the distraught woman.

“Strong at least,” Abigail said in a spiteful tone, one she used only when talking about John Marston.

Arthur made his way over to the small fire burning in the fireplace as he looked around for Heather. He saw her sleeping in the far corner of the room, alone.

“Hello, Arthur,” Abigail said, trying to get his attention.

“Abigail,” Arthur responded shivering.

“Arthur...how you doing?”

“Just fine Abigail...and you?” He could tell she wanted something from him.

“I need you to…”

Arthur sighed and lightly rolled his eyes. He knew this was coming, whenever John got into any sort of trouble he was always the one to save him or clean up his messes.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m  sorry to ask but…”

“It’s little John...he’s got himself caught into a scrape again.” Arthur lightly brushed her off.

“He ain’t been seen in two...two days,” Abigail said frantically, trying her best not to become angry with Arthur.

“Your John’ll be fine. I mean, he may be as dumb as rocks and dull as rusted iron ...but that ain’t changin’ because...he got caught in some snowstorm!”

“At least go take a look.”

Arthur turned around hearing Hosea’s voice come from the door, it annoyed him a bit, but he wouldn’t voice it.

“Javier.”

“Yes?” An annoyed answer came from a Hispanic gentleman with a strong Mexican accent, sitting across from Arthur and Abigail.

“Javier, will you ride out with Arthur...to take a look for John? You’re the two best-fit men we’ve got right now.”

“Now?” Javier asked in almost disbelief, he had only just woken up himself.

“She’s…” Hosea turned to Abigail for a moment “We’re all worried about him.”

Arthur looked over at Hosea in annoyance giving him an old fashioned ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ look.

“I know.” Javier sighed out “If the situation were reversed...he’d look for me.” He handed Arthur a sawed-off shotgun and headed out the door. 

Arthur grumbled and took in the room with a sigh “Alright, fine, but when the kid wakes up, tell her to go find Dutch. She’s got some explainin’ to do.” He then turned around and followed Javier out into the snow.

*****Two Days Prior*****

This was the biggest mistake that John Marston would probably ever make. He was lost and caught in the storm with hardly any food, on the back of some random horse he stole on the way out of Blackwater. Dutch had sent him and Micha to scout ahead of everyone else, things were fine but they got separated when the storm blew through. So now here he was, on the side of some mountain somewhere, huddled by a pathetic campfire that was hardly anything more than a few burning coals, freezing to death.

He searched in his satchel for some food, but could only find provisions for the poor stolen horse. He took a bite out of one of the oatcakes and nearly choked on how dry it was. “How can you stand to eat this stuff? It’s horrible.” He grumbled to the horse who was totally ignoring him. “Look at me, talkin’ to a horse, maybe I really am as stupid as everyone says?” It was then that he realized the situation he was in, he was going to starve out here if he didn’t find something to eat.

Arthur had tried to teach him how to hunt when he was younger but gave up pretty quickly when he obliterated a rabbit with a shotgun slug. He was around twelve at the time; hadn’t ever really been hunting. Most of the food he ate was what he dug out of the trash in the towns, or stole from the General Store when no one was looking. But now it seemed he would learn, or he would die. That, and there was another problem, there was no fresh water around him, which meant no fish, which would be the easiest thing for him to catch out here.

He ate half of another Oatcake, giving the rest to his stolen horse when he heard howls in the distance, which meant only one thing, wolves. He kicked some snow over his measly fire and mounted his horse spurring her in the opposite direction of the howls. These were going to be the longest two days of John Marston’s life.

**********

He was able to find a river, after about a day of travel. It was frigid cold, but clean and as clear as a crystal. He was able to catch a few fish with a makeshift spear made from a branch. “At least I can fish, unlike Arthur,” John said to himself as he cooked the flaky meat over the fire. It was bigger this time so it actually kept him warm, and hopefully, it would keep any predators away from him. A sound and movement in the distance caught his eye. He couldn’t exactly make out what it was, since it was dark and the only light was the burning fire, but it looked like the outline of a horse.

He quickly got to his feet, maybe someone in the gang had found him? “Hello! Is anyone there?!” Silence answered him in return “You’re goin’ crazy Marston…” The shadow came closer and his stolen horse spooked and reared. “Easy girl!” John shouted to try and calm his steed down. He looked back up to where he saw the shadow of the horse only for it to be gone. “Yep...you’ve officially lost your damn mind.” A howl rose in the distance, not too far from where he was now. A chill ran down his spine at the sound, the wolves had followed his scent and they were getting closer.

He quickly mounted his horse, not bothering to put out the fire. His horse spooked as he mounted the saddle and bolted across the river and up the side of the mountain. “Woah girl, easy!” More howls pierced the air, they were close this time, way too close. “Come on, faster!” John yelled as he spurred the mare in the side.

Snarls sounded at their backs, along with the sound of snapping jaws. John's horse squealed, bucked, and toppled over onto her side, throwing him into the snow. Pain tore through John as the wind was knocked from his lungs. As he struggled to get up he was knocked onto his back. Pain raked down the side of his face as a snarl ripped through the air and into his ear. John yelled and fought the wolf off with a struggle, when he looked over his horse was on the ground, its intestines spilled out into the snow. He clumsily got to his feet and stumbled away from the gruesome scene and up the side of the mountain.

He heard snorting behind him, thundering hooves in the snow. But that wasn’t possible, his horse was dead. John spun around to see what was running up behind him. A large black stallion slammed into him, its eyes a pure moonstone white, its hooves a deep silver, and its teeth sharp as daggers. He fell back down into the snow as the beast stood over him, facing the direction he ran from. He was too afraid to move, afraid of being trampled under this horse’s hooves. He heard the howls in the distance. The wolves, he was gonna die, he just knew it, he could feel it in his gut.

The horse above him was calm, rigid, but calm, like a guardian. He saw the wolves now, running up the hill towards him at full speed. The stallion reared onto his hind hooves. He then charged the wolves at full speed, snapping at them almost like a dog. John didn’t wait around to see what happened to the horse, he got up and continued sprinting up the side of the mountain, disappearing into the storm.

*****Present Day*****

“This way. Last I know, John was headed up the river.” Javier said as he led Arthur north up the mountain.

“For all we know...he kept riding north and never looked back,” Arthur said as he drove his stolen horse into the snowstorm. He was annoyed, annoyed that he was having to once again go and clean up one of John Marston’s messes.

“He wouldn’t leave. Not like that.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

The pair rode further up the mountain in silence, the wind, though it had calmed down considerably from the day before, was biting and tearing at their bodies and lungs. 

“Hey!” Javier called over the howling wind, “I see some smoke. Come on, let’s take a look!”

“Sure, let’s just hope it ain’t more of O’Driscoll’s boys!” Arthur responded as he spurred his mount to go just a little faster through the snow.

“Well…” Javier climbed down off his horse as they got to the smoldering campfire. “...Seems somebody left….” he stuck his hand down close to the ashes and felt they were still warm. “...recently….and they went...that way!” A pair of hoof marks left the fireside and across the river, followed by what seemed to be several considerable-sized paw prints. 

“Sure, well, come on then!” With a slight sinking feeling in his gut as he followed Javier across the river. “So, do you think it’s John?”

“You tell me. Those are horse tracks for sure, but it could be anyone. Let’s see where they lead us.”

Arthur had a burning question. He wanted to know what happened back in that town back in Blackwater. “So….you were there, Javier, what really happened on that boat?”

Javier was silent for a moment before he answered. “We had the money, it seemed fine, then suddenly they were everywhere….”

“Bounty hunters?”

“No. Pinkertons. It was crazy. Raining bullets.”

Arthur had heard tell of the Pinkertons. The Pinkerton Detective Agency. If bounty hunters and sheriffs couldn’t stop the gangs of outlaws, the Pinkertons were called in to take them down. It wasn’t peaceful either. Everyone would be killed.

“Dutch killed a girl in a….bad way. But it was a bad situation.”

“That ain’t like him, though,” Arthur exclaimed. Sure they were outlaws, criminals, but Dutch Van Der Linde never killed anyone in cold blood, never. 

They came across a large ravine, and the horses whinnied and tossed their heads.

“Easy boy, it’s okay, you’re alright.” Arthur patted the horse’s neck, trying to soothe him.

“The tracks lead around it, to the other side, see?” Javier said as he pointed in front of him. “I don’t know why he’d come all the way out here, though, especially in this weather.”

“I saw some paw prints alongside the horse tracks a ways back,” Arthur said as he guided his horse alongside the ravine.

“Do you think they are wolves?” Javier asked, concerned.

“Possibly, I don’t know of any coyotes living this far north,” Arthur replied.

“We need to hurry then. He could be hurt. He’s already been shot!” Javier called as he spurred his horse to go faster once it was safe to do so.

“He got shot during that whole mess?!”

“Yeah! So did Mac! We still haven’t heard about what happened to Sean!”

“Damn…I knew John was hurt, just didn’t know he got shot.” Arthur’s mind whirled at the new piece of information. Just because he and John had a falling out, didn’t mean Arthur wanted the man dead.

“To be honest with you, Arthur, I’m surprised we escaped at all.”

“What you mean?”

“By the time you and the boys showed up from the other side of town; we were only just holding on…”

“Damn...that was some bad business alright. I’m glad we made it out alive...for the most part anyways.”

The weather only got worse the farther up the mountain they went.

“Damn snow is comin’ in hard again!” Arthur yelled

“I know, we need to move fast!”

They reached a pass that seemed to cut the top of the mountain almost in half, the snow was much thicker here, untouched, which made it hard on their horses.

“Come on boy!” Arthur said, trying to encourage his horse. “The horses are getting tired, Javier!”

“I know, there's a lot of fresh snow here!”

The tracks they were following only moments ago were completely covered by the freshly fallen snow.

“I don’t know about this, Javier. W-We can’t follow nothin’!”

“Let's push on a little bit, we might be able to pick up the tracks again.”

The path curved up and around, cresting at a somewhat flat area that seemed to connect to the side of another mountain. Just down that path was something that neither of them wanted to see.

“Arthur...do you see that?” Javier sounded concerned as he spurred his horse into a canter “John was riding that horse when we left Blackwater.”

“Oh...thats…” Arthur didn’t even want to finish his sentence. The horse was gutted, its entrails covered in snow and ice.

“He couldn’t have gotten too much further on foot, let's see if he can hear us.” Javier pulled out his revolver and shot up into the air, the crack of the shot echoing off the sides of the surrounding mountains.

**********

John was freezing, he had barely escaped those wolves with his life intact and he now found himself huddled on a cliff edge, alone. Or at least he thought he was alone. The sudden sound of crunching snow behind him told him otherwise. He carefully turned around to face whatever was behind him, his body screaming in protest with the effort it took. There, in the cleft of the overhanging rock stood the massive stallion from earlier. It pierced him with its coal black eyes and John felt a chill go down his back. What was this beast?

His thought was cut short when he heard the distinct sound of a gunshot ring out through the howling wind. He did the first thing his mind told him to; he yelled. “HEY! OVER HERE!” He continued to yell until he heard two voices he immediately recognized. 

“Marston, you hear me? Marston!” Arthur.

“John! Where are you? Can you hear us!” Javier.

“I’m over here! On this ledge!” John called back to them. “Over here!” John yelled as he saw Javier come into view, only to watch him stop dead in his tracks.

**********

“Alright. Pipe down, Marston.” Arthur grumbled as he ran straight into Javier with a grunt. “What’chu stop for?” He asked; catching the smaller man before he could fall over.

“Arthur….what is that?” Javier said as he pointed over behind John, in the cleft of the rock face, and straight at the large black stallion.

“Holy shit...how’d you get up here?” Arthur mumbled as he stepped around Javier.

“Wait, you recognize this horse?” John called over his shoulder at Arthur.

“Yeah. I know him. He belongs to the kid.” Arthur grumbled as he stroked the horse’s muzzle.

“Kid?” John questioned “What kid?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Marston. All you need to worry about is gettin’ the hell offa this mountain.” Arthur snapped in rebuttal.

“Looks like we can go back down that way.” Javier said as he pointed to what appeared to be another path down.

“Alright then. C’mon.” Arthur gently grabbed Reaver’s makeshift bridle and tugged him forward; clicking his tongue to get the beast to follow him. “Here.” Arthur grumbled as he reached Javier “Hold him still, and for the love o’ God don’t spook him.”

Javier reluctantly held onto the bridle, keeping the stallion still as Arthur bent down and grabbed John, pulling him up and away from the cliff edge.

“Don’t die jus’ yet cowboy.” Arthur grunted as he put John on Reaver’s back.

Reaver startled and snorted, lightly rearing onto his hind legs. “Woah! Easy!” John yelled and gripped onto the rope that was used in place of reins with as much strength as he could muster up. “Where’d you say you found this horse?” 

“In a barn back where the rest of us are holed up.” Arthur murmured as he soothed the stallion, grabbing the bridle and tugging him forward along the path down the mountain.

“Has he even been broken?” Javier asked as he walked alongside them.

“No, I don’t think so. He don’t like bein’ spurred'. Bastard tried to throw me when I used ‘em.” Arthur replied.

“He don’t like wolves neither. Ran straight at them!” John exclaimed.

Arthur laughed “Y-haha! You mean to tell me a horse had to save your sorry hide from wolves?”

“I know it sounds crazy but it’s true!” John argued

“Sure! I believe you, Marston. I believe you jus’ about as much as I believed that ferry job in Blackwater was gonna work.” Arthur growled out, “I told Dutch not to send you out on the scoutin’ job once we got up in the mountains, told him you weren’t the right man for it.”

“Yeah...guess you were right on that one.” John grunted in pain.

“‘Course I was right! Jus’ look at you! You was almost wolf food! Best be glad that Abigail was worried ‘bout you, cause I wasn’t.”

“If you hate me so much just say it Arthur.” John murmured

“Alright, Marston.” Arthur quipped as he spun around to face John “I-”

“We’ve got a problem…” Javier said and pointed up to a cliff. Three wolves were staring them down, some already looked pretty mangled up, ears torn and bleeding, or favoring one leg more than the others.

“Aw shit....you two get on outta here. I’ll deal with the rest of John’s friends.” Arthur handed the reins over to Javier as he pulled his sawed-off from his holster, pulling the hammers back. “Come and get me, you bastards.” Arthur growled as the wolves charged down the hill.

Arthur aimed at the first wolf and pulled the trigger. A spattering of blood sprinkled the pure white snow as the wolf went down. The others hesitated for a moment, hackles raised, lips pulled back in a menacing snarl. 

“Well?! C’mon then! I ain’t got all day!” Arthur snarled through his teeth at the beasts.

Two more wolves lunged at him, one straight on, the other lunging at his arm. BANG! The shotgun went off again as a second wolf hit the snow in a pool of fresh steaming blood.  A cry ripped from Arthur as the other wolf latched onto his arm “Get the hell offa me!” He yelled as he hit the wolf in the head with the muzzle of the gun. The wolf let go and fell into the snow with a yelp. Arthur quickly reloaded the gun and shot the beast, only stopping to catch his breath after he made sure it stayed down like the others.

“Arthur, are you alright?!” Javier called 

“I’m fine! Just got bit, I’ll live!” Arthur called back as he made his way over to Javier and John. “Lets get outta here and get John back to the others.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Javier exclaimed as he whistled for his and Arthur’s stolen horse before mounting up and looking over his shoulder. “You okay back there John?”

“I-I don’t feel so good…” John answered

“It’s just a dog bite, you’ll be fine.” Arthur grumbled as he mounted his stolen horse.

“Knew a fella who got bit by a dog, he died two days later.” John said.

“Yeah well, that ain’t gonna happen to you. We wouldn’t get lucky enough.” Arthur mumbled the last bit to himself as he tied Reaver’s makeshift reins to the back of his horse’s saddle. “C’mon lets get a move on, we’re losin’ daylight and I’d prefer not to be stuck out here all night.”

“You and me both.” Agreed John.

“Shut up Marston.” Arthur ground out as he spurred his stolen horse forward and back towards Colter.

[samwchster]

( jared padalecki, 30, cismale, he/him ) Well if it isn’t SAM WINCHESTER. Rumor is that they’re a HUMAN from SUPERNATURAL and they found their way to Devil Hills, KS 15 DAYS AGO. They can be a bit SELF-DESTRUCTIVE& REBELLIOUS, but some of that is made up by their tendency to be SELFLESS & COMPASSIONATE. One of their top played songs is NOW AND THEN by ELIZA RICKMAN. Some sights and sounds that embody them are THE SMELL OF OLD BOOKS, A TATTOO ON HIS CHEST, A DEMON-KILLING KNIFE IN HIS POCKET, FINGERS PRESSING ON A SHAPELESS SCAR ON HIS LEFT HAND. Hopefully they pick the right side of things or stay out of the way.

__________________________

Samuel (William) Winchester was born on May 2nd 1983, to Mary Winchester and John Winchester. Being the younger of two (at the time), his brother Dean was only four years old, but had to take on the role of protective older brother sooner than anyone would have expected. On November 2nd, when Sam turned six months, tragedy struck after a demon killed Mary and set the baby’s nursery on fire. Baby Sam escaped thanks to Dean, who carried him outside and John. From that day on, everything changed. Their father, took upon him to avenge the death of his wife and became a hunter (and one of the very best at that). His obsession took a toll on the brothers and while Dean, obediently followed dad’s orders, Sam was always rebellious of his plans, often clashing with him, unable to follow blindly. He was 9 when dad gave him his first gun; only twelve when he started hunting and once he reached the age of 18, he wanted to be normal and live a regular life. After a huge falling out with John, Sam left for college. With an incredible score on the LSAT and a full-ride to Stanford, he didn’t look back. Until a couple years later, when Dean came knocking on his door after their father’s disappearance. 

Everything has been a blur ever since and he stopped counting the years once he realised there was no going back. Death followed him everywhere he went and when demons killed his girlfriend just to ‘keep him on the right track’, he knew there was no going back. He fell through the rabbit hole, followed his desire for revenge like his father did, but even after dad sacrificed himself and even after Dean killed Azazel, the yellow-eyed demon, evil never stopped. 

THE BOY WITH THE DEMON BLOOD;

As if destiny decided to pull a prank on him, he realised there was a much bigger picture and a much more devious plan behind everything. Azazel’s plans for Sam unfolded when he found out the demon had given him his blood as a baby. In time, the demon blood in him started changing him; giving him psychic abilities and darker thoughts. With every action he stepped closer to the edge of a cliff and when he took the final step, he unknowingly freed Lucifer from its cage. With the devil walking the earth, the apocalypse started and angels and demons fought for power over each other. His guilt ate him up and nearly broke the bond he had with his brother, but he managed to atone for his wrongdoings when he became Lucifer’s vessel and held him inside long enough to open his cage. Jumping in with Lucifer inside of him and the idea of being trapped with the devil in its cage for eternity seemed like a small price to pay. 

Nonetheless, fate had him saved - yet again - after the angel Castiel pulled him out of the cage and later on Death, the black horseman itself, gave him his broken and tortured soul back. The mental and psychological damage was permanent though and those mental scars will remain with him forever, no matter how many times his body is put back together. He has died, countless times, he lost his soul, he was tortured for hundreds of years in hell by the devil itself and yet, here he is, still. 

This time, he really thought they were onto something. Finding a way to shut the gates of hell forever seemed too good to be true but thanks to Kevin and his translation of the trials, there was hope. Ever since the first trial, when he killed that hellhound and felt himself change day after day, Sam never thought about quitting. Even after the second trial weakened him beyond belief; even during the third trial, when he could have actually died. He was ready for it and fully at peace with his choice if it meant that everyone could be saved and the world would be at peace. And yet, in true Winchester fashion, things went awry. With Crowley escaping and opening a gate to hell, freeing every demon and every monster in purgatory along with Metatron and his megalomaniac ideas, casting every single angel out of heaven, he feels like he broke the world again. It doesn’t matter how many times people tell him he was doing the right thing, he still knows he failed and now, another apocalypse is upon them.  

Currently, Sam is severely weakened after completing two trials and half of the third. Rest alone seems to be a slow solution that is not agreeing with him, especially because he insists in going out to hunt nonetheless now that every monster seems to be roaming around. He hasn’t seen Castiel in two weeks, but he has heard word of the falling angels and has been trying to reach him -- with no luck so far. Dean has been trying to keep Sam in the Man of Letters bunker and get him to heal, but he’s not been successful so far, so both of them have been taking cases and hunting as much as they can.

PERSONALITY:

More than anything, Sam takes things to heart. He’s the more sensitive out of the two brothers and definitely the one who expresses himself more. When it comes to talking feelings, Sam has no problem admitting his short-comings and blatantly say how he feels. As for asking for help when it comes to solve those problems, now that’s a different story. In his head, he needs to figure things himself, heal himself when he’s hurting and tend to his psychological wounds. It’s mostly because he doesn’t want to burden anyone nor worry them more than necessary, so he’ll deal. Sam is selfless despite having had moments of weakness. As he is now, he is the first to admit that he screwed up pretty bad more than once, but he’s trying his best. He is loyal, caring and loving; so much so that he has trouble letting go of people who have yet to leave his heart despite not being physically in this world anymore. He has a tendency to blame himself if he doesn’t let people know what he feels, for fear that he might lose them before they know they are important to him. Sometimes hidden, the little Sam that idealised something better and the Sam that still hopes and believes is still much alive in him. All and all, he just wants to protect those he loves and save as many people as he can. 

CONNECTIONS:

family-wise, his brother Dean; (maybe even John and Mary now that souls are rampant) and I would die if anyone brings me a Henry Winchester (the real OG let’s be real) and Adam. Give me Bobby, give me Abaddon!!, Crowley and Lucifer (how much torture is enough torture here, poor Sammy); bring Castiel and Gabriel, Donna, Jody, Charlie! and Sully!!! (sam’s imaginary friend from childhood), anyone from the Roadhouse ... bring everyone honestly, Sam has connections to every-single-person in the spn verse but he’s super open to anyone outside of it and all the OC’s; this boy is an easy one to establish things with. gimme all the plots tbh. 

[chocoluckchipz]

Dance with Me, Chaton

                                   Read it on A03, WattPad, FF.net

Written for @ladynoirjuly2019

1. Miraculouses

Adrien pressed his lips into a thin line, his body feeling heavy. Why did he ever think this was a good idea? He pushed the sinking sensation in his chest aside and pressed on. “So, as you can see, it will benefit the company if I explore other career options instead of taking on a CEO role here straight out of school. Having experienced something other than Gabriel for a few years will only make me more capable of helping you here.”

“Out of the question,” Gabriel cut. “You need to know Gabriel inside out to take over, and that’s not attainable by exploring ‘other options’, as you say.”

Adrien pressed on, despite the dread of hopelessness settling in his stomach. “I’ve worked here my whole life and already know the company well. Exploring might give me new ideas and show new approaches to keep us at the top.”

“You’ve been largely out of the work for the university for years, Adrien. A lot has changed and Gabriel’s at the top. We don’t need new ideas and approaches.”

“I beg to differ.” He really was risking his life here. Adrien still persevered. He’s gone this far. He might go all the way. “For now. But you’ve been struggling to maintain that for a few years now, haven’t you? We need new ideas—”

“I am implementing new ideas,” Gabriel snapped. “This summer’s collection—”

“Father, please,” Adrien interrupted. Yup. He’d definitely gone crazy, but someone had to say something. Maybe he’d be even lucky enough to get kicked out of the company for offending his father? “Mme Bourgeois was mocking you when she challenged you to implement sequins, bright feathers, ribbons and bows into your men’s formal wear. Neon coloured sneakers with black formal suits? Ripped formal pants? Do you really not understand what’s going on here?”

Adrien could practically see his father’s eyes filled with anger as he replied. “Ripped pants have been trending for a few years already. It's time formal wear got on it.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“No. I absolutely do not.”

He was mad. Adrien could feel it. Good. Maybe daring to voice his objections would finally make Gabriel pay attention to his son? He didn’t ask for much. He’d been more than a perfect son his whole life, blindly obeying his father’s every whim. The least Gabriel could do now was to grant him the sole wish Adrien refused to back away on: a few years of freedom to do whatever he wanted. His own schedule, his own choice of work, his own life. Was that too much to ask for? If anything, Adrien had earned it. So, he dared to speak again.

“Father, ‘formal’ and ‘ripped’ should not be in the same sentence unless it’s an accident. In all honesty, if you want my opinion, Audrey knew you would never refuse her very public dare, and she used it against you.”

“So, what? It’s a good push for creativity and stepping out of one’s comfort zone.”

“Only in this case, it’s not. She wanted to sink Gabriel for years, and this might just do it.”

“Nonsense.”

“Father, there is a difference between new ideas that work and those that will make you the laughingstock of the entire fashion industry.”

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow, leaning back into his chair. He hummed. “Now, where did I hear those words before, Adrien? Or should I say Ladybug?”

Adrien frowned. “Lady who?”

“Don’t play a fool with me.” Gabriel crossed his arms over his chest, his voice chilling with every word. “I see, you’ve finally learned to express your opinion quite well. Though, in an incredibly rude fashion, and we will discuss it later. Why did you email me then if you can say face to face?”

Adrien’s frown deepened. “Father, I have no idea—”  

Gabriel scoffed. “Was it for practice? Then you should know that if you wanted to remain anonymous, you should use different expressions every time you speak on the matter.”

“Seriously. You are losing me here. What email? Why do I need to email you if I can make an appointment to come here and talk to you?”

“That’s what I’m wondering as well,” Gabriel said, reaching out for his computer mouse. He made a few clicks and added. “Just to refresh your memory.”

Adrien’s phone chimed. He opened his Inbox to find a forwarded message from his father. “From Ladybug?”

“Clever,” Gabriel noted. “I assumed it was a woman at first. Good strategy.”

“I didn’t send this,” Adrien said scanning the text. “I mean I agree with whoever said this—half of your outfits needs to be reworked—but I have nothing to do with this. I’m not Ladybug.”

Gabriel watched him for a split moment before turning away. “So, you’re saying someone in my company, apart from you, thinks my upcoming collection isn’t up to standard?”

“Apparently.” Adrien chuckled. Unexpected turn but he loved it. “Those pieces you’ve created to appease Mme Bourgeois specifically. Like this Ladybug says, ‘Your company is iconic. Your style is legendary. You don’t need to change it, and especially not because of such a ridiculous whim of such a fashion disaster as Audrey Bourgeois.’ I mean she’s right, this Ladybug.”

Adrien smiled to himself. Whoever she was, he’d like to meet her. Or him. Standing up to his father was something he hadn’t had the guts to do for twenty-three years. And even now when he finally tried, he wasn’t sure it was working.

“Weren’t you just now insisting we needed new ideas and strategies?” Gabriel said, relaxing back into his chair. “I say this is it. They might be unconventional for now, but the public takes everything I give them. They’ll eat this too and thank me for it.”

Adrien shook his head, this Ladybug person giving him confidence. If she could do it, so could he. “This is a gamble you know you will lose.”

“There are risks.” Gabriel shrugged. “But reports have been showing a heightened interest in sequins for years and—”

“In girl’s clothing, Father. Little girls. This Ladybug explained it really well. Why can’t you listen?”

Gabriel scowled. “I’m not taking the advice of a coward who couldn’t even come to me personally.”

“So, you can fire them?” Adrien countered. “Father, really? You aren’t that generous, and your employees aren’t that stupid.”

“I can take critique.”

“I’ve been giving you one, and you don’t seem to be taking it. This Ladybug gave you one and you ignore it. Should we combine our forces for you to hear us?”

Gabriel stilled, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips a moment later. “Maybe you should. I’m sure the two of you could convince me of anything, including letting you go to explore other options as you say.”

Adrien quirked an eyebrow, his heart speeding up. Did he just hear his father…?

“Say that again?”

“Find this Ladybug, bring her to me, so I can have a proper conversation with her about the content of her email. In return, you’ll get your freedom.”

The pit of his stomach turned. Adrien dared to ask for freedom, but, in all truth, he did not expect his father to even listen to him. However…

“You want me to find a person for you to fire?”

“Not at all,” Gabriel replied. “Let’s just say I’m not fully convinced by their arguments in their email. I want to hear what else they can tell me.”

Adrien paused, his gaze falling to the floor. So close to what he wanted for most of his life… Yet…

“We’re both adults here, Adrien,” Gabriel said. “We both want something. Why not give it to each other? You’re old enough to work with me, rather than for me, aren’t you?”

Adrien snapped his eyes to Gabriel. He wanted out of here so badly, and here it was. His ticket to freedom. Find this person his Father wanted to talk to and he was free. Still, something at the back of his mind nagged. “You promise you won’t fire them and let me go?”

Gabriel nodded. “Absolutely. How can I fire anyone for expressing their opinion in order to better my company? Who do you take me for?”

Adrien hesitated for just one more moment before pushing that nagging thought away. He deserved this. For absentminded serving for his father for his whole life at his own expense, Adrien deserved a few years to himself. Father promised he won’t fire this person, and judging by their email, Ladybug would be able to easily stand up to Gabriel. Adrien might even be doing them a favour. Really. If they are successful in convincing his father to accept their suggestions, he might even promote them for being a loyal employee.

Standing up, Adrien stretched his arm to his father. “Deal. I’ll find you this Ladybug, and you let me go.”

Gabriel shook his hand with a smile on his lips. “You have until a week before the next show.”

“A month?”

“Of course. If they convince me, and I were to change anything in my collection, I’d need enough time to do that. But you can always back out if you can’t do it in a month.”

Adrien nervously grinned. “I can do it in a month. I was just surprised you are giving me so much time. That’s all.”

Gabriel let Adrien’s hand go. “If you say so. Now if you excuse me, I’ve got some work to do.”

“Same here. Got a Ladybug to catch. Good day, father.”

***

From: chatnoir@miraculous.fr

To: ladybug@miraculous.fr

Subject: Hello stranger

Hello, my brave and genius Ladybug. I’m sure you’re surprised to receive this email, but let me assure you: I’ve come in peace.

Let me introduce myself. My name is Chat Noir. Seeing as you’re Ladybug, a good luck charm, and how there is a cute picture of a misfortunate Black Cat on a wall at a cafe I’m at right now, I’d say that’s a fitting name, wouldn’t you say so?

A little about me. I work in proximity of Gabriel Agreste, and the other day I accidentally came upon your email on his table. The boss printed it for who knows what reason and left it between his papers. Upon reading it, I couldn’t not tell you how greatly I admire you for expressing what so many of us in this company think but scared to voice. Those new implementations M Agreste is enforcing are ridiculous and, as you’ve written, will make him a laughingstock of the fashion world. Nicely said, by the way.

Well, I suppose that’s all I wanted to say. Accept my deepest respect and love, my dear Ladybug, and I hope you continue to be as awesome as you’re now.

Sincerely yours,

Chat Noir

_______________________________________________________________________

Next >

[tunehummed]

THE JONATHAN LARSON PROJECT. — 458 sentences from the 2019 album the jonathan larson project, conceived by jennifer ashley tepper! change pronouns as needed. trigger warning for mentions/discussion of abuse, sexism, homophobia, and oil spills.

GREENE STREET.

‛ i found the sun on a midwinter day. ’

‛ on a backstreet down in soho, there was snow on the ground. ’

‛ instinct told me to get out and search for a day. ’

‛ there goes a chic, chic baby on her way to a coup d’état. ’

‛ there goes a fella like me lookin’ for his day. ’

‛ there goes a boy in his mama’s arms. ’

‛ you can say what you can say. ’

‛ there goes a lover sittin’ and writin’ this song. ’

‛ i’m sittin’ on greene street! ’

‛ and i don’t mean money, honey. ’

‛ watchin’ the world waltz by. ’

‛ laughing the day away. ’

‛ there goes a man with a camera whose sunglasses shade his eyes. ’

‛ there goes a man who seems that he knows a star. ’

‛ there goes a tourist who’s scared to answer me. ’

‛ there goes a dancer too scared to answer me, an artist who winked as she passed by. ’

‛ an artist who winked as she passed by! ’

‛ all these people out in the street, too bad that no one wants to meet. ’

‛ too bad that no one wants to meet. ’

‛ everybody i see walks right by. ’

‛ would someone please look me in the eye? ’

ONE OF THESE DAYS.

‛ another failure, another flop. ’

‛ i should try another hobby, this has gotta stop. ’

‛ i feel like a tightrope walker without the wire. ’

‛ one more disaster, one more dud. ’

‛ it could be worse! at least this time no flood. ’

‛ at least this time no flood. ’

‛ at least this time no flood, though it’s the fourteenth time that i’ve almost caught on fire. ’

‛ though it’s the fourteenth time that i’ve almost caught on fire. ’

‛ maybe it’s luck! what is luck, how could this be luck? ’

‛ no one’s luck could be this bad! ’

‛ maybe it’s fate, maybe it’s time… ’

‛ one of these days i’ll find a way. ’

‛ i’ll make it to the top, leave ‘em all back in the dust. ’

‛ one of these days someone will say, ‘that boy will never stop!’ ’

‛ that day’s gonna be one of these days. ’

‛ don’t understand it, it isn’t fair. ’

‛ every time i try to prove myself results just aren’t there. ’

‛ i feel like a mountain climber without the peak. ’

‛ my sister laughs at me, says i’m odd. ’

‛ my mom and pop think i’m a punishment from god. ’

‛ i get looks from my neighbors that seem to say, ‘there goes that FREAK!’ ’

‛ sometimes i wish - no, i don’t - yes, i do, i wish! ’

‛ i wish that somehow i’d been born dumb. ’

‛ then i feel that something may change. ’

‛ i’ll rise above the throng. ’

‛ they’ll be amazed at who they see. ’

‛ one of these days someone will say, ‘i knew it all along.’ ’

‛ one of these days that’s what will be. ’

‛ god, can it happen today? ’

‛ maybe there’s been a mistake. ’

‛ let’s trade a failure for one minor miracle. ’

‛ i’m gonna be number one! ’

‛ i’m gonna be number one, at least in some one person’s eyes. ’

‛ one of these days someone will say, ‘you are my only one.’ ’

‛ i’m gonna fly, i’m gonna touch the sky. ’

‛ i’m gonna win, i’m gonna sin, i’m gonna never die. ’

‛ gonna glow, gonna flow, gonna click, gonna stick. ’

‛ gonna gain, reach, conquer, gonna make ‘em sick. ’

‛ gonna triumph, prevail, sail, razzle dazzle, glitter gleam. ’

‛ gonna see my face in every house on every screen. ’

‛ i’ll be the hero, i’ll change the world. ’

‛ and maybe in the end i’ll even get the girl! ’

‛ gotta believe it. ’

‛ i can see through the haze. ’

‛ a miracle’s in for a landing, gonna get here, gonna happen one of these days. ’

BREAK OUT THE BOOZE.

‛ the wolf’s at the door and i hear talk of war. ’

‛ somebody break out the booze. ’

‛ let’s grab some hooch. ’

‛ let’s get goopy and smooch. ’

‛ forget all this sob sister news. ’

‛ the world’s gettin’ lousy, so let’s go get drowsy. ’

‛ yes, right here and now-sy. ’

‛ let’s bow-wow these blues. ’

‛ the stars look poetic. the moon’s copacetic. ’

‛ crank up your jalopy and then we’ll get sloppy. ’

‛ we’ll call up our bookie and say to him: ‘cookie, lookie, we’ve nothing to lose.’ ’

‛ the times ain’t so jake, every bum’s on the take. ’

‛ got no cake, got no steak, just this ache in my shoes. ’

‛ the moon’s looking cheesy. your eyes say, ‘i’m easy.’ ’

‛ oh – it’s swell to be alive. ’

‛ oh – it’s the real mccoy! ’

‛ oh – give a yell, we’ll survive. ’

‛ waiter! who needs a mug? give me a bottle or a jug. ’

‛ the government’s awful, so let’s be unlawful. ’

‛ throw out the compass and let’s make a rumpus. ’

‛ this town’s getting screwy, so let’s go kablooey. ’

‛ it’s true if we get boo-hoo-y, we lose. ’

‛ let’s make it strange – hell! let’s get naked, angel. ’

OUT OF MY DREAMS.

‛ out of my dreams. ’

‛ out all night, kisses on the street. ’

‛ sidewalk, dance, september heat. ’

‛ stay in bed, love all day. ’

‛ fire, passion, every single way. ’

‛ go to work, mind on you. anticipating what we’re gonna do. ’

‛ nasty words on the telephone. ’

‛ alarm goes off, i’m in bed alone. ’

‛ you left my life. stay out of my dreams. ’

‛ thursday, friday, 3 am. ’

‛ buses, subways. us versus them. ’

‛ winter chill, skies look dark. ’

‛ monkey business in central park. ’

‛ coffee, cocoa, more whipped cream. ’

‛ vodka, brandy. was it just a dream? ’

‛ window shopping, christmas day. ’

‛ i wake up, all that was yesterday! ’

‛ try to stay busy. hard to stay afloat. ’

‛ will i be sunk by this lump in my throat? ’

‛ can’t think, can’t act, can’t find new roads. ’

‛ think i see you everywhere, my heart explodes. ’

‛ will i ever laugh? will i ever be the same? ’

‛ i’m tossing, i’m turning, i’m calling your name. ’

‛ maybe you’ll come back. that thought makes me weep. ’

‛ the only thing i do is i go back to sleep. ’

‛ stay out of my dreams. get out! ’

VALENTINE’S DAY.

‛ he was a greeting card candy cupid. ’

‛ there was a blizzard, it was twenty below. ’

‛ she was 15, clean, lonely and stupid, and as pure as the virgin snow. ’

‛ he pulled her in from the storm and the fire was warm. she didn’t have the nerve to say no. ’

‛ she didn’t have the nerve to say no. ’

‛ beat her till she’s black and blue and gray. ’

‛ draw a little heart. draw a little arrow. draw a little blood. ’

‛ v-v-v-valentine’s day. ’

‛ red wine, waterford crystal. chocolate kisses and lace. ’

‛ knives and chains and a pistol mounted on a wall, like scars on a face. ’

‛ he said he liked to play rough as he locked the handcuff. she knew it’d be tough to escape. ’

‛ she knew it’d be tough to escape. ’

‛ february winter in her heart. ’

‛ i said i’d show her normal love. she said, ‘too late to start.’ ’

‛ she said, ‘too late to start.’ ’

‛ now her fashion is basically leather. favorite color is basically red. ’

‛ and her passions change like the weather, as she dances from bed to bed to bed. ’

‛ and she feels like a fool, but she likes her men cruel. ’

‛ i doubt she’ll be cool till she’s dead. ’

WHITE MALE WORLD.

‛ bryant gumbel, decaf coffee, french vanilla ultra slim. ’

‛ pert shampoo with extra body, clinique, neutrogena. ’

‛ hey, madonna. ho, madonna, hey. ’

‛ stay-free, yeast-x, estee lauder. ’

‛ estee lauder, revlon, calvin klein’s obsession. ’

‛ advil, ultra-brite, no nonsense. ’

‛ diamonds are forever. ’

‛ it’s just another day. just another day. ’

‛ just another day in the white male world.  ’

‛ salad bar, no! candy bar. ’

‛ yes. candy bar, no! salad bar. ’

‛ diet coke, no! diet rite. ’

‛ cellulite or cancer? ’

‛ yes sir, no sir. ’

‛ holly hunter, melanie griffith, meryl streep. ’

‛ spandex, reeboks. ’

‛ taylor dayne, stairmaster, oprah winfrey. ’

‛ let’s cut down a jungle. ’

‛ let’s go start a war. ’

‛ let’s go rape a co-ed. ’

‛ what a lovely thing to do! ’

‛ let’s drink beer and bust some heads. ’

‛ let’s all vote for jesse helms. ’

‛ let’s string up a faggot and a black guy and a jew. ’

‛ evian water, black lace push-up, billiard table, dirty words. ’

‛ skinny blue jeans, skimpy t-shirt. ’

‛ husband hunting, binge & purge. ’

‛ open your mouth and open your legs and open your purse. now – where’s the trojan? ’

‛ now – where’s the trojan? ’

‛ wait! don’t stop! too late, he’s finished. ’

‛ what if men got pregnant? ’

LA DI DA RAP.

‛ we all should be drinkin’ to abraham lincoln and get stinkin’ drunk in his name. ’

‛ it’s a good thing he’s dead cause he’d cry his eyes red, hang his head if he saw this campaign. ’

‛ singing hey la di la di, hey la di da day. ’

‛ lincoln! here’s mud in your eye. ’

‛ are we past our prime? or is this the time to climb from the slime, make america great. ’

‛ are we so hollow that we blindly follow and swallow whatever they put on our plate? ’

‛ just sing no! ’

‛ to handlers, sound bytes, madison avenue, cynical hollywood, la di da pictures. ’

‛ tabloids, images, wrapped up facts in relation, slim control. ’

‛ la di da you drama la di da de da de la di da. ’

‛ pour some ales for old roger ailes and danny quayle’s his protégé. ’

‛ in ‘96 his looks, his tricks make tricky dick’s crime passe. ’

‛ i’ve had it up to here. ’

‛ here’s mud in your eye! ’

IRON MIKE.

‛ on a starry black night at the base of mount hogan, beyond horsetail creek and anderson bay. ’

‛ from the port of valdez sailed a ship, bound for long beach. ’

‛ over one million barrels of crude stowed away. ’

‛ to the left of the wheel in the bridge of the upper deck under the compass, was he. ’

‛ navigation computer, the captain and fisherman’s friend who could steer perfectly. ’

‛ they called him iron mike. ’

‛ in the dead of the night he steered the way through the darkness. ’

‛ iron mike didn’t see the red light on the reef. ’

‛ he’d been known to throw back one or two. ’

‛ yet no one thought twice when he set autopilot and retired below with the crew. ’

‛ from the two am stillness came the cry of the third mate. ’

‛ someone better go wake up the chief! ’

‛ yet by then it was too late. ’

‛ the starboard tanks had 12 foot gashes cut out by bligh reef. ’

‛ the forget-me-nots cried and the salmon all died and the fisherman wore black armbands. ’

‛ and the spokesmen from exxon said, ‘no major damage,’ though six million gallons remain in the sands. ’

‛ and from rocky point down to mount freemantle, you can still see the black film on the soil. ’

‛ and the echoes rebound throughout prince william sound of half frozen animals, choking in oil. ’

‛ who’s at the helm of this ship of state? ’

‛ we’ve in for some rough navigation. ’

‛ we have the power – the hour is late. ’

‛ gotta get tough and clean up the nation. ’

‛ black rainbows of exxon lightgrade again flowed, like hot fudge in a big apple spill. ’

‛ the detection machine had malfunctioned quite often, repair procedure so hard to enforce. ’

‛ and down on prall’s island, the cleanup begins. ’

‛ and the horror continues till we chart our own course. ’

‛ it’s the dead of the night. ’

‛ we can steer a new way through the darkness. ’

‛ we must see the light for relief. ’

FIND THE KEY.

‛ she’s walking, he’s sitting. ’

‛ he plays a dark c-minor chord. ’

‛ it’s like the keyboard is his heart. ’

‛ he hears the clock, he hugs the cat. ’

‛ he hugs the cat… no. he kicks the cat. ’

‛ he pumps the volume higher. ’

‛ a fire’s just about to start. ’

‛ why can’t, why can’t i? ’

‛ why can’t i, why can’t i find the key? ’

‛ why can’t i find the key? ’

‛ door closes – he freezes. ’

‛ he sees it’s hard to end duets. ’

‛ he lets his fingers feel the way. ’

‛ he loves her, he’s lost her. ’

‛ he’s hearing melancholy strings that sing the things that he can’t say. ’

‛ he can’t imagine what he should have said. ’

‛ it’s all been said and sounds cliché. ’

‛ he’s at the bridge between his head which says, ‘it’s dead,’ and his heart which says, ‘don’t let her get away.’ ’

‛ she’s gone now. he’s singing. ’

‛ he’s singing. he hears no two part harmony. ’

‛ he hears no two part harmony. ’

‛ he looks around – this can’t be real. ’

‛ this can’t be real. ’

‛ depression, a dark progression. ’

‛ why can he only sing it? ’

‛ what will it take to make him feel? ’

‛ and then somehow it ends. ’

HOSING THE FURNITURE.

‛ hello my lucite coffee table. someone spill a little milk on you? ’

‛ tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk, tsk. ’

‛ one – more – twist! that’s better now. ’

‛ silly little me, me, me, me, me, me, me! ’

‛ i’m singing in the living room. ’

‛ what’s the time? fifteen minutes. ’

‛ pour the bleach, put the finishing touches on the dinner. ’

‛ the dog – the dog – the dog. still outside. ’

‛ my nails! my god! a chip! ’

‛ tom likes wonder bread with turkey. ’

‛ tom was preoccupied last night. ’

‛ is it me? is it – ’

‛ do i have enough milk? ’

‛ oh stain stain, down the drain. ’

‛ i can see myself in the coffee table, pretty as i was on my wedding day. ’

‛ pretty as i was on my wedding day. ’

‛ i’m as pretty as the coffee table. we’re so pretty! ’

‛ we’re so pretty! ’

‛ ah! what? you scared me. ’

‛ who were you talking to? ’

‛ who? no one. ’

‛ what’s all this? ’

‛ why are you acting so weird? ’

‛ you know i’m hosing the furniture. ’

‛ and when i hose, i sing to myself. ’

‛ who do you think cleans up? some elf? ’

‛ no sweeping – no mops. in no time it’s wheeeeee! ’

‛ when i’m hosing the furniture i’m free. ’

‛ i’m free – i’m free! ’

‛ now run along and play – i’m concentrating. ’

‛ you know your father likes to come home to that ‘just decorated look’... ’

‛ raindrops are falling on my couch! ’

‛ what’s the time? thirty minutes! ’

‛ martinis, cut the flowers for the dinner. ’

‛ the dog – the dog – the dog. hasn’t been fed. ’

‛ my hair! my god! a gray hair! ’

‛ tom likes onion cocktails. ’

‛ tom nodded off again last night. ’

‛ i get treated like dirt! ’

‛ i can see myself in the drapery. ’

‛ am i pretty as i was on my wedding day? ’

‛ am i pretty as the drapery? are we pretty? ’

‛ are we pretty? ’

‛ don’t you care? ’

‛ do i look mad? my happiness grows! ’

‛ who needs dad when i’ve got the hose! ’

‛ this house is a reflection of me – modern, graceful, easy, simple – synthetic. ’

‛ modern, graceful, easy, simple – synthetic. ’

‛ in everything i see my reflection. ’

‛ do i really look so simply pathetic? ’

‛ what? pull the trigger! ’

‛ soon it’s gonna rain on the bookshelf. ’

‛ what’s the time? 120 minutes. ’

‛ dry turkey, look relaxed for the dinner. ’

‛ the dog – the dog – the dog. the dog died last year! ’

‛ my blouse! my god! a crumb! ’

‛ i can see myself in the television. ’

‛ i was pretty on my wedding day. ’

‛ i was pretty as a television. we were pretty. ’

‛ we were pretty. ’

‛ a minor flood never hurt anyone! ’

‛ sometimes i wish this hose were a gun. ’

‛ just joking – see, i’m laughing. ’

PURA VIDA

‛ we are the people. ’

‛ we are the people who float on the river. ’

‛ we run up to the hill, we run down to the water. ’

‛ birds laugh and the sun, she smiles. ’

‛ and the trees, they dance in the wind. ’

‛ we race against time. ’

‛ we race for pure life. ’

‛ we need the people. ’

‛ we need the people who live on the river. ’

‛ find a pace, find a speed. ’

‛ nowhere to stop in big water. ’

‛ fish fly and the rocks play games and the trees sing out in the wind. ’

‛ sing in harmony. ’

‛ can we endure this race? ’

‛ can this race endure? ’

‛ we need the people who live in the forest. ’

‛ ‘ust there be finish lines? ’

‛ can’t the world drum like the water? ’

‛ the rivers will dry, and the birds will die. ’

‛ and the ghosts of the trees will cry out in the wind. ’

THE TRUTH IS A LIE.

‛ the berlin wall wasn’t destroyed, it was dismantled brick by brick. ’

‛ it was dismantled brick by brick. ’

‛ it was dismantled brick by brick and reconstructed on capitol hill, on the congressional floor. ’

‛ the money spent on one stealth bomber couldn’t wipe out homelessness. ’

‛ george bush never said, ‘read my lips.’ ’

‛ the peace dividend didn’t pay for the war. ’

‛ don’t look out the window. don’t go to the mirror. don’t you know what you will see? ’

‛ don’t you know what you will see? ’

‛ martin luther king and the kennedys were fictional players in a mini-series, just like charles manson and princess grace. ’

‛ bensonhurst was a publicity stunt. ’

‛ aids is a myth, first amendment’s fake. ’

‛ the sun revolves around the earth and the holocaust never took place. ’

‛ the truth is a lie! ’

‛ love does not exist between consenting members of the same sex. ’

‛ two plus two is five. ’

‛ the human body is revolting. ’

‛ we always will thrive. ’

‛ children don’t learn to hate from their parents. they catch it like german measles. ’

‛ they catch it like german measles. ’

‛ the moon is cheese and everyone should own a gun. ’

‛ women ask to be black and blue and pregnant their entire lives. ’

‛ the earth is flat and the white man knows what’s best for everyone. ’

‛ don’t you know what you might see? ’

‛ don’t look at the picture. don’t go to the theater. don’t you know what you will see? ’

RHAPSODY.

‛ i turn a corner, see a rat in the rubble as i try with all my might to put it out of mind. ’

‛ as i try with all my might to put it out of mind. ’

‛ i step on some budweiser glass. a limousine drives by. ’

‛ a rich man turns a corner, sees a rat in the rubble. ’

‛ he raises his smile glass window and reads the wall street journal. ’

‛ sky’s not free. river’s not free. i’m not free. life’s not free. ’

‛ life’s not free in the city. ’

‛ i’m told i too must wear a tie or they’ll fire me from my boring nothing job. ’

‛ i guess a tie is the ornament of establishment. ’

‛ i guess a tie is the ornament of establishment, though it seems to me to be more of a leash than a bow. ’

‛ though it seems to me to be more of a leash than a bow. ’

‛ so many people hounded to the pound. ’

‛ so many people collared to the dollar. ’

‛ okay, freedom is a state of mind. i agree. ’

‛ but i need the elements to remind me why. ’

‛ but i need the elements to remind me why with all this steel and concrete and noise about money. ’

‛ with all this steel and concrete and noise about money. honey, you get tunnel vision. ’

‛ honey, you get tunnel vision. ’

‛ you forget that there’s earth below the subway and beyond the ‘scrapers, there’s sky. ’

‛ i plan a day in the country with you. ’

‛ having gotten home from work last night at 12:30 am. ’

‛ having fallen asleep last night at 3:30 am because i couldn’t shut down my mind. ’

‛ because i couldn’t shut down my mind. ’

‛ the city never sleeps. ’

‛ as the phone rang this morning, your sweet was calling, i looked at that clock. ’

‛ how i hate that damn clock. ’

‛ i excuse myself from our date. ’

‛ see, i had to be back by mid-afternoon. ’

‛ and i know these are lame excuses and i’m so damn sorry. ’

‛ i’m so damn sorry. ’

‛ i know it’s important, but i feel like i’ve gotten my priorities beaten out of me. ’

‛ but i feel like i’ve gotten my priorities beaten out of me. ’

‛ but i feel like i’ve gotten my priorities beaten out of me with a rolled-up new york times. ’

‛ and this leash keeps tanking on my tie. ’

‛ i love ‘rhapsody in blue’ too. it’s just that he was rich when he wrote it. ’

‛ it’s just that he was rich when he wrote it. ’

‛ and only the rats, the roaches, the rubble and the rich men are free in the city. ’

SOS.

‛ this may be my final message. ’

‛ this may be the final bow. ’

‛ i’m sure i don’t know what will happen. ’

‛ i’m sure i don’t know what will happen. does it matter anyhow? ’

‛ does it matter anyhow? ’

‛ i hear footsteps down the hall. ’

‛ don’t know how much they’ll allow. ’

‛ if you’re waiting for the last reel, i think the time is now. ’

‛ i think the time is now. ’

‛ sos, oh, savior! ’

‛ sos, oh, hero! ’

‛ sos, messiah! ’

‛ yes, oh yes, oh! ’

‛ sos, oh jesus! ’

‛ sos, oh buddhal! ’

‛ sos, emmanuel!  ’

‛ this may be my final hour. ’

‛ this may be the dying day. ’

‛ though they never taught me why in school, i think i’m learning how to pray. ’

‛ i think i’m learning how to pray. ’

‛ they are right outside the door. ’

‛ don’t know why they keep on stalling. ’

‛ i know you’ve heard this all before. ’

‛ i know you’ve heard this all before, but it’s the last time that i’m calling. ’

‛ but it’s the last time that i’m calling. ’

‛ sos, almighty! ’

‛ sos, oh yahwah! ’

‛ sos, oh mighty zeus! ’

‛ sos, oh allah! ’

‛ does anybody hear? ’

‛ does anybody hear? answer me now if you do. ’

‛ answer me now if you do. ’

‛ is anybody there? ’

‛ is anybody there? i need you. ’

‛ i need you. ’

‛ this may be the curtain call. ’

‛ does it matter anymore? ’

‛ i asked why. that’s why i say make a try. it’s only a play. ’

‛ that’s why i say make a try. ’

‛ it’s only a play. ’

LOVE HEALS.

‛ like a breath of midnight air. ’

‛ like a lighthouse, like a prayer. ’

‛ like a flicker and the flare the sky reveals. ’

‛ like a walk along the shore that you’ve walked a thousand times before. ’

‛ like the ocean roars, love heals. ’

‛ there are those who shield their heart. ’

‛ those who quit before they start. ’

‛ who’ve frozen up the part of them that feels. ’

‛ in the dark they’ve lost their sight, like a ship without a star in the night. ’

‛ but it’s alright. love heals. ’

‛ love heals when pain’s too much to bear. ’

‛ when you reach out your hand and only the wind is there. ’

‛ when life’s unfair, when things like us are not meant to be. love heals. ’

‛ when you feel so small like a grain of sand, like nothing at all. ’

‛ when you look out at the sea. that’s where love will be. ’

‛ that’s where love will be. ’

‛ that’s where you’ll find me. ’

‛ you’ll find me. ’

‛ so if you fear the storm ahead as you lie awake in bed. ’

‛ no one there to stroke your head and your mind reels. ’

‛ if your face is salty wet and you’re drowning in regret, just don’t forget. ’

‛ don’t forget. ’

‛ don’t forget love heals. ’

‛ love heals. ’

PIANO.

‛ when the world is a constant jumble and a wall or two decides to tumble. ’

‛ when i think i’m at the end of the line. ’

‛ when i think i’m at the end of the line, somehow i get to you in time. ’

‛ somehow i get to you in time. ’

‛ somehow i get through to you in time. ’

‛ oh piano, you saved my soul again. ’

‛ you saved my soul again. ’

‛ oh piano, you saved my soul, amen. ’

‛ you saved my soul, amen. ’

‛ i may not play like a concert man, but i got a song to sing. ’

‛ but i got a song to sing. ’

‛ i may not play like a concert man, but i got soul. ’

‛ but i got soul. ’

‛ piano, save my soul. ’

[cryoculus]

Taste Test

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader Setting: Tokyo, aged up characters, Soulmate AU Possible Triggers: Mentions of Death Word Count: 4,100 Cross-posted from AO3

In your years of pursuing a degree in Biology, you eventually learned along the way that the human being's most crucial sense is their sense of smell. It's heavily linked with a single human's memories since the olfactory bulb and the limbic system are heavily correlated. That alone might make a regular joe assume that smell really is the most powerful sense that a human being can obtain. You believed in that notion for as long as you could remember, too, but that was until last night.

Having slept considerably earlier than you normally would, being woken up at one in the morning didn't aid to your precarious temper at the time. More often than not, the reason for you being so rudely roused at this ungodly hour would be the Golden Ret you kept around your cramped apartment. He's always had a tendency to bark when he hears a car passing by outside, regardless of what time of day it is. However, in this case, your dog was sleeping soundly on the rug you kept at the foot of your bed and the only nuisance to your slumber being that terrible flavor that exploded in your mouth, seemingly out of nowhere.

In hindsight, it wasn't atrocious to the point where you doubled over. You tried flushing out the taste by swallowing your own saliva, but when you've swallowed faster than the time it took for your mouth to produce the sticky liquid, the taste still lingered. With a groan, you padded blindly through the darkness of your room, trying to reach the en-suite.

When you flipped the switch on, the fluorescent light made you flinch for a sliver of a moment. You blinked away the spots in your eyes and stuck your tongue out to check if you happened to forget to swallow the spaghetti you had for dinner. The idea sounded more ridiculous when you realize that there is absolutely nothing in your mouth. When you tried evaluating that twinge of flavor once more, it seemed to have petered out at the slightest -the strong astringent zest being diffused into a weaker taste.

Still, you didn't appreciate that vexing relish, no matter how minimal, so you grabbed a bottle of mouthwash from your display of imported toiletries and poured a hefty amount into your mouth without a spare thought.

You gurgled for the next five minutes, eradicating anything that might've caused this inconvenience, and it seemed to work better than you initially expected. Baring your teeth in front of the mirror, you inspected every crevice for any residue, but your teeth remained the sparkling white they have been before you went to bed. A frown settled on your face, still aghast with that strange endeavor.

However, just before you decided to catch some more Z's, the disgusting taste tormented you once more and you were about to reach out to your good ole' friend, Listerine, out of reflex, but the zing of bitterness was gradually replaced by a familiar taste... Was this apple juice? No, it had a little more spice, but you could definitely taste apples.

"What in the nine hells is going on," you whispered pathetically as you slid your body down to the bathroom floor.

You waited -waited for the flavors to come toppling all over you once more. But seconds, then minutes, then hours passed before slumber came back to claim you in its waiting arms.

"Your soulmate's pret-ty considerate," your co-worker, Oikawa comments dreamily as he opens up the breastplate of the most recent victim of yet another Tokyo car crash. "The first time I tasted something, it was probably just as terrible as yours, but Iwa-chan didn't even bother to rinse it off. I've forgiven him, though~"

You roll your eyes. "I can't believe we're talking about this while we're doing an autopsy."

He shrugs without letting his eyes wander from the body in front of him. "You brought it up. Can you hand me that rib cutter? Thanks."

Your gaze shifts to the girl Oikawa is currently cutting up. You've long gotten over the bothersome sensation that comes along with being around a dead human body (you've been doing post-mortem for years). But this doesn't stop your mind from drifting into the could-have-beens for this poor soul. According to the report passed down to you, her brother was the one driving the vehicle. The brother survived, but this one didn't, unfortunately. What a shame. This kid could have made it as a celebrity with her looks.

You try to recall her name -because you're not very good with names, even if it was written in the report- but it's as if your brain halts all activity for a split second. In the next proceeding moment, you swear that a familiar, steak-flavored snake slithers around your tongue, causing your salivary glands to produce even more. A groan makes its way past your lips and Oikawa's eyes dart to you for a second before continuing to saw away at the withering bones of a dead girl. You force yourself to stay put. Of all the times that your soulmate could have chosen to have that Salisbury steak from that fancy restaurant at Ikebukuro, why did they have to do it now?

"You alright there?" You can hear the budding concern in Oikawa's voice. The ghost of savory gravy haunts your tastebuds, which causes you to squirm even further in your seat. Oikawa is about to put the saw down, but that's until his phone vibrates in the pocket of his trousers. Arching his brow, he removes one of his gloves to check it out. "Huh. Bokuto posted something."

You try your best to pull yourself together to be able to form coherent sentences. "B-Bokuto, as in that comedian-Bokuto?"

"Yeah. Look." He proceeds to show you what's displayed on the screen of his phone. You squint a little to read the caption for his Instagram post.

bokutoe Out for lunch with the boys!

♡ bokutoe, kei_tsukishima, hinatatas, and 67 others like this.

In the picture is the aforementioned Bokuto Koutarou, looking like an owl on steroids as usual, the actor Akaashi Keiji, Bokuto's best friend, with the ever placid look on his face, and lastly is that breakout artist, Kuroo Tetsurou, who isn't even looking at the camera and is just poking at the steak on his plate...

Wait, what?

Before you give another thought to it, Oikawa speaks up. "Weird how Akaashi and Bokuto are in Ikebukuro, don't you think?" he asks as he spares yet another wistful stare at the girl on the autopsy bench. "They must be there to cheer Kuroo up."

"Huh? Why would they have to do that?"

He casts you a look that suggests that he just labeled you as a really dumb person. "Did you seriously forget? This girl-" He gestures vaguely to the body. "-is Kuroo Teruha, Kuroo Tetsurou's little sister."

You try not to let the fact that your soulmate is a hot singer get to your head. The man isn't even aware of your existence. Okay, maybe he somehow is, because when you had oatmeal for breakfast this morning, the faint bitterness of medicine teases your tongue. Out of sheer curiosity, you looked up one of those autobiography blogs about Kuroo (made by his thirteen year-old fangirls, you presume) and that's when you find out that he's allergic to oatmeal. God damn oatmeal.

When you think about it, isn't it a little too much of a stretch for him to take anti-allergy meds because he tasted something he's allergic to? The actual food itself isn't even inside his mouth in the first place, so why the hell...?

But still. If you were going to have a soulmate, you'd never expect it to be someone famous in a million years. Just your luck, your soulmate is a grieving musician, and you only found out that he was your soulmate the night his sister died. The universe really does have interesting ways of bringing people together. However, you're pretty sure you won't be dropping by his house anytime soon, telling him, "Hey, whaddup! It's ya soulmate!" while giving him the jazz hands. You'll try to give him some space and avoid eating oatmeal for the time being.

Work today progresses rather quickly, since you and Oikawa are simply finalizing some details with Teruha's autopsy report. But since it was his turn to be the lead pathologist, he does most of the work and you're only there to offer up better wording for his sentences.

"There," he declares as he places his pen on the table. "Finished."

A small smile plays at your lips. "Well, you wanna get some lunch?"

He shakes his head. "Iwa-chan's the lawyer for their case, remember? He's invited to the funeral today, so we're heading out...right now, actually. Wanna come with?"

You consider it for a moment, but then you remember that Kuroo might be there. Your breath hitches in your throat at the realization. Nope. You're not quite ready for the confrontation stage just yet.

"Ah, I forgot I had plans this afternoon," you reason out rather pathetically and you can see that Oikawa isn't buying your shit at all. But, being the good friend that he is, he only shrugs before placing the reports back in the manila folder. He hands them to you.

"Could you drop this off by Chief Azumane's office? I still have to get ready."

You scowl. "Why are you trying to be fashionable at the funeral of the girl you cut up yesterday?"

He winks. "Why not?"

Chief Azumane's office isn't too far from the forensics department -thank God- so when you swing by to hand him the files, you take your time to engage him in small talk.

Though he has the stature of a bear, the Chief is easily one of the most peaceful people you've met. In critical scenarios, he prefers not to exert violence of any sort as long as criminals in the picture can still be reasoned out with. In TV shows, the policeman who refused to get his hands dirtied would've been a failure but that definitely isn't the case with Chief Azumane.

"So just pop the lasagna in the oven for thirty or-so minutes -depending on how much you're going to cook- then you're good to go," he instructs with a cheery grin.  

"All noted, Chief." You tap at the temple of your head.

He laughs the most lighthearted laugh you've heard all day and proceeds to tell you about that one time Sawamura fell asleep while baking lasagna and almost burned their house down. You're all about hearing Superintendent Sawamura, one of the most uptight officers in the station, almost burn his own house down because he was cooking up some pasta. But then another spectre hauls your attention away from the man in front of you. You feel as if there's some powder on your lips, so you try to lick it away but the sensation wouldn't disappear. A lemony zest balanced with just the right amount of sugar teases your mouth, and wait... You can't put your finger on what this is, but you know you've tasted it before...

"Whoops," the sound of the Chief bumping into his desk as he abruptly stands from his seat breaks you out of your reverie. "I just got a call. There's some thief that needs disciplining in Akiba. As much as I want to continue this conversation, we'll have to save it for later." You don't miss the slightly disappointed ring to his words, as he strides out of his office. But you're so busy trying to recall what food has the taste in your mouth, you don't even notice Chief Azumane leave the room.

Oikawa calls you as you commute back to your apartment.

"You should have come along with uuuus," your friend drawls. "It was a funeral, but their lemon squares are to die for!"

You snap your fingers in conclusion, waking up the elderly man sleeping beside you on the bus. He gives you the stink eye before settling back into his comfortable position. Lemon squares; that's what they're called!

Without thinking, you agree, "I know right?"

"Huh? How do you know?"

You bite your lip. Shit. "U-Um, I heard that they got those lemon squares from the bakery near the park, hahaha. They taste really good!"

Silence. "They were made by Kuroo's mother."

Forgoing all reason, you hang up on him.

It's been a month since you've known about the bond you shared with Kuroo, and since there hasn't been a rockstar knocking at your door for the past month, you draw a conclusion that he's yet to know who keeps on eating ice cream for breakfast. When Oikawa found out, he went into a fit, stating all the health hazards that came along with ingesting that much of a sweet so early in the morning. You really wish to tell him your reasons for your strange breakfast choice, but reluctance overshadows your honesty. Besides, it's not like you're jeopardizing your health on purpose, right? You only do it to excite a reaction from Kuroo because every time you have that delectable treat for breakfast, he counters it with bacon and eggs.

Furthermore, you've pretty much painted a clear picture of his eating habits over the past month. Kuroo likes eating mints. He likes it far too much for your own comfort. Well, it kind of saves you from the burden of buying your own, but you really want to drink a glass of orange juice without feeling like you just brushed your teeth, every now and then. You know that he wakes up far earlier than you do because more often than not, you don't taste your morning breath. Instead, he's already eating his goddamn mints.

As mentioned before, he probably eats breakfast around the time you do. (You like to think that he's waiting to taste the ice cream on his lips before he eats his bacon and eggs, but that seems to much of a pipe dream at the moment.) He drinks a lot of energy drinks, too. From the build of his body, you wouldn't be surprised if he was actually a part-time bodybuilder or even an athlete. Other than that, he's really fond of meat, exotic burgers especially. At least once a day, you can taste a savory beef patty on your tongue, accompanied by some vegetables that you'd normally take out in your burgers, and condiments that you would rather not taste again. You let him know that you don't like it when he eats burgers by rinsing the taste off with some mouthwash, but he doesn't seem to be as lenient as he was during the first night.

Speaking of which, you're now sure that he was drinking that night. Alcohol wasn't something you enjoyed, so you steered clear of it as much as possible. So you were immensely delighted when Kuroo decided not to drink any more intoxicating substances now that he's aware that his soulmate wouldn't appreciate it.

However, you get another bitter round of intoxication that doesn't belong to you the following night.

You've only ever been drunk once, and it was because of a beer that had the lowest alcohol content you've heard of. But you do remember the haze of intoxication bringing about both the happiest moments of your life and the most miserable of your memories. Assuming that Kuroo is experiencing the same thing, he can't really be brimming with glee, since his sister just died a month ago (and you're more than sure that he still blames himself for it). So, when he tries to drink away the sorrow and guilt that still plague his chest, you don't interrupt him via using the mouthwash solution. You let him drink all the alcohol his heart can take, until your own throat burns and your vision starts to swim. You're left wondering how this bond goes way deeper than the phantom flavors that haunt the two of you.  

"You're hiding something from me," Oikawa accuses you.

Not really capable of casting him a sideways glance, since you're focused on trying to cut a Y-shaped incision onto the torso of your newest post-mortem guest, you tell him, "If I was hiding something, what would you think it'll be?"

Silence encompasses the autopsy room, and you shudder for some reason.

"You found out who your soulmate is, didn't you?" he guesses, and surprisingly there's no hint of hostility to his tone. He kind of sounds like a mother that figured out an innocent secret her child has been hiding.

With a bated breath, you finally spare him a look. "It's complicated."

"You met him yet?"

"No...But I know who he is."

Oikawa nods in understanding. "Does he know who you are?"

You place your instruments on the tray beside you and contemplate about your reply for a moment. If Superintendent Sawamura is here, witnessing you purposely delaying an autopsy, he would have whopped your ass. You whisper a silent apology to the dead man on the table before training your eyes on Oikawa's. "I don't think he's ready yet."

His brow arches questioningly. "How ready can one ever be when it comes to their soulmate, honestly?"

You sigh. "You've got a point, but... I don't want to rush him."

Your friend processes your words for a moment, and when the flash of realization sparks in his brown eyes, you immediately pull your focus back to sawing off this man's ribs and getting his internal organs out. Oikawa surprises you once more when he doesn't flail about like a fish out of water, demanding you for answers. He waits patiently, very patiently. Not another word is uttered within the four corners of the room until you've analyzed what you can about the body -he died of head trauma- and stitched it back up.

As you are washing your hands in a nearby sink, you feel a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"Iwa-chan told me he also likes lasagna," Oikawa offers you a sly smile. "Why don't you try...eating some?"

You heave a deep breath before turning off the faucet and drying your hands on your stained lab gown. You turn to him and return his grin. "That just might be a good idea."

Despite Chief Azumane sharing a rushed How-To-Make-Lasagna tutorial a few months ago, you couldn't find it in yourself to cook your own and eat it, knowing that another person at the end of the bond could very well taste your potentially horrible cooking. So, instead of splurging money to gather ingredients for the dish, you utilize the services of an Italian restaurant nearby, instead. You initially intended to drag Oikawa with you, but he apparently had movie night with Iwaizumi. You were very cool with that, but having to eat all this lasagna all by yourself seems like a heavy task, even for a bulk eater, such as yourself.

After saying your thanks for the food, you're about to stick your fork in the dish but that's until you taste the pasta before you can even start eating it. It's the perfect blend of cheese, beef, and tomato sauce and your mouth starts to water even if the food is right in front of you. What the hell? Is Kuroo here?

Your eyes dart around to the rest of the restaurant, whose current occupants considered mostly of families and teenagers on dates. You nearly miss the rockstar if it weren't for his unruly hair and very noticeable outfit. He's wearing a red flannel over a white shirt, paired with loose jeans. He looks like a ranch owner, yet he still manages to look just as dashing as you already know he is.

The two of you are locking eyes from the opposite ends of the room, and your heart is beating off the charts. To make matters worse (or better?), he begins to stand up, carrying an entire platter of lasagna in his arms, and proceeds to walk towards you.

Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

You try to act natural. Well, as natural as one can be while their hot soulmate is walking towards them. When Kuroo finally gets to your table, he showcases a lopsided smile.

"Is this seat taken?" he asks you in a voice that sounds like velvet in your ears.

In the midst of your mild shock, you remember to speak. "Uh, no. D-Do you wanna eat with me?"

His lips stretch into a grin before he slides himself into the seat next to yours. Your face feels warm all of a sudden, and you suddenly remember the high school crush you used to have on Matsukawa. It kind of felt like this, but your heart didn't beat as wildly back then than it is now. Kuroo doesn't chow down, contrary to your expectations of him. Instead, he pulls out a container from his pocket and offers you a mint.

"My name's Tetsurou," he introduces sheepishly. "Thanks for tolerating me."

You stare at the mint in your hand. He always chooses the brand that you're not very fond of but, nonetheless you consume it with a smile, a wave of warmth suddenly pulsing right through you. The spearmint spices up your mouth, and you only discern how much of a terrible idea that was when your eyes drift back to your lasagna.

"You, dolt!" A groan escapes your lips, and the flustered feelings from earlier disappear in a blink of an eye. "How am I supposed to eat now that you made me taste those goddamn mints again?"

He gives you an incredulous look. "You don't like it when I eat mints? Oh, shit. Sorry. Why didn't you let me know?"

For the time that's passed, it's been a mutual agreement for the both of you to resort to mouthwash when one person at the end of the bond consumes something that the other is not very fond of. But with the case of his stupid mints, there's quite a problem to that feat.

"How was I supposed to wash out the taste of mints with menthol mouthwash, genius?" you rebutt with a snarky tone.

"Couldn't you have eaten spoiled food to give me the hint?"

"You're not serious, right?"

He shrugs. "Beggars can't be choosers."

"Oh, so I'm a beggar now?"

"What? No! I'm -ah fuck. Lemme start over," he raises his hands in defense before taking a deep breath. "First off, I wanted to apologize for not looking for you right away. That night -w-when Teruha was hospitalized- I went out drinking and at my first glass, I could already feel something scraping at my tastebuds. That's when I realized. But since I was so...devastated, I couldn't spare the time to find out who you were... If you don't mind me asking, how long have you known?"

You remain silent for a good while, and you can almost see the raw discomfort on his face. With a sigh, you tell him about everything.

He's the one who keeps his silence this time, carefully assessing every word you just told him. He didn't strike you as someone calm and calculating but your assumptions prove otherwise. You expect him to get up and bail out on you. You've known for this long, but didn't even have the guts to face him even if he was just within your reach. If you hadn't come here today, maybe you would have chosen not to meet Kuroo at all.

To your surprise (cough, relief, cough), his mouth curls into a small smile. "Man, I owe you a lot, don't I?"

You shake your head insistingly. "You don't owe me anything, Kuroo. I've been in forensics for as long as I can remember. I've dealt with lots of grieving family members. From all the years that passed, I learned that the best thing one can give them is space."

He freezes. "You're a forensic scientist?"

"Pathologist, actually." You cock your head. "You didn't know?"

He lowers his head and chuckles. "Iwaizumi only told me that I'd meet my soulmate here..."

"Iwaizumi?" you echo with incredulity. If Iwaizumi told him to go here, and Oikawa planted the idea in your head...

Your fist collides with the table and the silverware clinks at the force. A budding flame of childlike rage courses through your veins. Kuroo looks at you with sheer concern and amusement at the same time.

"We were set up!"

[wickedsingularity]

Christmas Miracle [one-shot]

wickedsingularity’s Christmas Stories 2018 Masterlist

Fandom: MCU Pairings/characters: Steve Rogers x reader (but not really), Wanda Maximoff, and all the Avengers post AOU/pre CACW (and @iguess-theyre-mymess starring as Sam Wilson's girlfriend/baking-partner) Words: 3747 Warnings: Angst, fluff, overworked, stress, nagging family, kissing, almost smut

Prompt/summary: When work and Christmas and sleep deprivation just becomes too much… Steve comes home from a mission and sets off a miracle. (Inspired partly by my own life and partly a Norwegian commercial.)

The busiest time of the year was busier than ever. It was also supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year, but with all the rogue HYDRA agents running around it was just stress, stress and more stress. They'd been fairly quiet all year, but now, right before the holidays, they were everywhere. Steve and Natasha had been sent away to deal with the larger of the suddenly active groups, and I was running around at home, working my ass off.

As the IT manager to the Avengers and what was left of SHIELD, I shouldn't be too busy, Tony made sure we had state of the art equipment, and I was pretty damn good at my job if I could say so myself. But it seemed that everything went wrong lately. I barely had time for my usual duties, as I was called here and there to fix the most ridiculous problems. And in the middle of it all, our servers crashed and I tried my best to get it back online as it was vital to Steve and Natasha's mission, even though everyone else felt their buggy printers or out-of-battery-mice was more important.

After a long day of fixing screens that showed everything upside down and saving a hard drive from someone accidentally opening a malicious attachment to an email and fixing the server temporarily and not doing any of the maintenance I was supposed to do, I dragged myself home to an empty apartment. Dry toast was my dinner and the couch was my best friend. That was also where I was reminded of all the other things I had to do at home. The lists were there in front of me on the table after one panicked evening when I decided I needed to write it all down in an orderly fashion. All the Christmas presents I had to buy, I had even figured out what to get everyone. All the baking I had to do. All the cleaning and decorating.

I groaned and reached lazily for the remote and turned the TV on. I don't know what channel it opened on because at that moment I got a text. I touched the fingerprint scanner and saw that it was from my mom. Have you decided what to do for Christmas yet? Your old room is waiting for you!

Another groan and my heart rate sped up. I glanced for a moment further up the thread.

I don't know. I don't know when Steve will be home.

If he can't come, you're welcome to come alone. Though we'd love to see you both!

Have you talked to Steve yet? Your grandparents are eager to see you too!

I hadn't replied to the last two, prompting her to send the current one. Steve's mission was on radio silence and no one knew how long it would take. I contemplated chucking my phone out the window.

Someone bursting into a Christmas song on the TV caught my attention. A family was gathered around their open front door, a group of cheery carollers standing in the driveway. I don't know what movie it was, because I tuned out before the guilt could overwhelm me. Instead, I remembered all the laundry I had to put away and dishes I needed to clean and the windows that needed to be cleaned because I could barely see through them, but I couldn't move from the couch. I just stared blindly at the TV for a long time, my mind going over all the things I had to do in an endless loop until another text dragged me back to reality.

This one was from Wanda. Want to skip work tomorrow and come with me to help me find a present for Vision? He's not easy to shop for.

I was able to reply to this one. I wanted nothing more than to get away from everything for a bit and spend some time with Wanda, maybe even get started on the Christmas presents, but I couldn't. I would have loved to, I need to get some shopping done too, but I'm still swamped with work. Everyone is useless. Laughing emoji.

Wanda's reply was quick. Oh, I'm sorry. Just let me know if you can get away, or if I can do some shopping for you while I'm out. Followed by five hugging emojis.

Thanks, I'll let you know!

A flash of guilt for saying no to Wanda went through me, even though I knew I was being ridiculous. I had just said no to her too many times the last few weeks.

I was done for the day. It was about nine, but I still turned off the TV and got ready for bed. On top of everything, whenever Steve was gone, it took me ages to fall asleep, and when I did sleep, I slept poorly and woke up early. So, I figured, the earlier I got into the bed, the earlier I would sleep and maybe long poor sleep was better than short deep sleep.

A few days later, nothing had changed, except I was now working alone. I had a few people working under me as the IT manager. Good people too. But all of them had applied for time off before Christmas and I'd granted it to all of them, except the one who was out sick. I worked better on my own anyway, it was faster and easier than getting more people involved. It was a flaw I had, one I was very aware of and one I should probably work on right now. It would have taken a lot of weight off my shoulders.

But I just couldn't do it. Not now. I did my best to fix everyone's problems and make sure the makeshift fix on the server didn't buckle under the strain and tried not to think of all the things I never got around to.

I was sleep deprived and stressed. My entire body was a tight knot of muscles, every time I turned my head my neck protested and pain shot through my head, my brain worked a million miles a minute, and my heart rate was probably through the roof and I nearly had a heart attack every time the phone rang or someone called my name in that please help me-tone of voice. I kept thinking about all the things I had to get done at work before Christmas but seemed to never have time for, and all the neglected tasks at home. The holidays were just days away. I decided to force myself out to get presents after work.

But when I got out, I was starving and exhausted, so I went home and would try to find all the presents online. With express shipping, I might get them all in time. And then I could spend a little bit of time every day the rest of the week, getting the apartment ready. I was proud of this idea and felt some of the burden lift from my shoulders.

But all I could find online was one present. Everything else was sold out. I was just about to throw my laptop into the toilet and cancel Christmas when my phone went off. I jumped half a foot off the couch, but my heart nearly exploded when I saw Steve's contact picture grinning up at me. I answered right away.

"Hi, doll." His voice was like a balm for my soul.

"Hi... I miss you." I felt my voice almost break, but I swallowed it down and hoped he didn't notice.

"I miss you too. How is my best girl?"

"Busy. So busy. But it's that time of year. When are you coming home?"

"Couple of days. We're just finishing up now. Did you work out the server glitch?"

"Sort of. It's online for now, but it's only a temporary solution. I suspect HYDRA has something to do with it though, given all the other things happening. But I'm doing my best."

"I believe in you, sweetheart."

"Fingers crossed." I grinned into the phone, trying to sound hopeful, but was glad he couldn't see how my lips twisted into a tight line instead.

We were silent for a few moments. I could hear him breathing at the other end, and I tried to imagine us curled up in bed, him the big spoon, his breath on my neck and his arms tight around me.

"I really miss you," I said.

"Are you okay?" Steve sounded concerned now.

"Yeah," I lied. "I just miss you. It's Christmas after all."

"I'll be home in two days, three tops."

"I can't wait."

"Me neither. Nat is waving me over. I got to go. I love you, okay?"

I felt the lump in my throat. "I love you too, Steven Grant." The line went dead and I dropped the hand holding the phone into my lap. "So much."

Steve hadn't been entirely truthful. He was already on his way home when he called, and he wanted to surprise her. But the call worried him. There had been something in her voice, something that told him she wasn't just busy, something was wrong.

After he had relieved Natasha as pilot, letting her get some sleep, he had called Wanda. If anyone knew if his girl was hiding something, it was the Scarlet Witch.

"She's been working really hard, Steve, everyone is on her tail," Wanda had explained. "According to Maria, her entire staff is gone for the holidays, and she's been doing everything herself. She is everywhere trying to help everyone and everything seems to be buggy. And whenever I see her, she gets paler and stiffer and there's a pained frown on her face. I don't think she's sleeping well either."

It was just as Steve expected. "Have you picked up on any of her thoughts?"

"You know I try not to do that." Wanda had hesitated for a moment. "But I couldn't have even if I wanted to. There are many thoughts in there, bleeding out. I couldn't pick out one from the other, without putting my hands around her head."

Steve pushed the Quinjet a bit faster after he had hung up. The hours flying back went by too slowly for his liking. Even slower was the medical check-up and the debriefing after. He tried to reschedule the debriefing for the next day, or at least a few hours later, but no such luck. By the time he went back to the apartment at the facility, she had gone off to work.

Steve stood still just a few steps inside the door, looking around. Next to the couch stood a basket of laundry that needed to be folded and put away. The dishwasher door was open and the inside was filled to the brim with dirty dishes. There were no Christmas decorations, no sign of anything Christmassy anywhere. Kicking off his boots, he walked further in and saw the handwritten lists and sticky notes on the coffee table. She had made orderly lists, and it made him crack a small smile, it was so typical her. They were sorted into what needed to be done around the house, what presents to buy for everyone, what Christmas decorations were to be put up, and what cookies to bake. Each list had a checkbox for "started" and "finished". The only thing checked off as finished was one of the presents for Tony, with a yellow sticky note next to it saying "online, estimated 23rd". No check marks in the started-columns.

He sighed and went into the bedroom to unpack his bag and take a much-needed shower. As he sat the bag down on the foot of the bed, he noticed that her side of the bed was barely slept in. Instead, her pillow had replaced his, and his was further down as if she'd been holding it while she slept. Steve's heart broke as he just imagined how these weeks had been for her. He knew she didn't sleep well without him, he didn't sleep well without her either. And she'd been so busy and she'd not had time for anything, she hadn't even answered her mother about Christmas judging by the texts Steve himself had gotten with questions about why she hadn't replied.

He set his bag on the floor, that could wait until later. And then he put the pillows back in their rightful place, pulled the covers up as neatly as he could.

"FRIDAY, are the others in and available right now?"

"Welcome home, Captain Rogers. Miss Romanoff is in the shower. Everyone else is in and available."

"Could you ask them to meet me here in half an hour? And could you call in Tony too? Say it's sort of a family emergency."

"Of course, Captain Rogers."

Steve tore off his uniform and went straight into the shower to wash away the grime of the mission. It was the quickest shower he'd taken his whole life. Body barely dry, he pulled on the first clothes he could find and got straight to work on the dishes, getting the machine started and handwashing the rest he could find.

Half an hour almost on the dot, there was a knock on the door. He told FRIDAY to open the door and Vision floated through before it was halfway open. Shortly after him, Wanda, Sam and Rhodey came in. And wet hair blowing behind her, a newly showered Natasha came running inside seconds later.

"What is this about a family emergency?" Rhodey asked.

"My poor girl has been working her ass off and has been running left and right to help everyone else but herself. I haven't been home to help out either. I was hoping we could all help her now. Before she gets home?"

They all nodded to a chorus of "of course".

Steve breathed out a sigh of relief. He would have tried to do it all himself if he had to, but he was glad they all wanted to help. He walked over to the coffee table and the lists there. "Sam, can I ask you to bake some cookies? You don't have to make everything on this list, but at least the ones that take the least time?"

The Falcon nodded and took the list Steve handed over. "I know just the person to help me with this," he said with a grin getting his phone out and walking over to the kitchen to make a call.

"This is a shopping list?" Wanda asked, grabbing one of the lists. "Vision and I can get this."

"Thank you, both of you. I can cross out what she's getting you, and get them myself later," Steve said.

"No, no, we'll look appropriately surprised."

Steve nodded and found his wallet, pulling out a credit card for them. "Rhodey, Nat, could you help me clean and decorate? If Tony shows up, he can help with that too."

"Sure, anything you need," Rhodey replied and Natasha nodded.

Steve looked around at them, and he had never been more grateful for each and every one of them. "Thank you, all of you. I know it's a lot of work and you probably have better things to do this close to Christmas, but I really appreciate this."

"It's no worry, Steve," Sam said, having just hung up and walked over while folding up the baking list. "We've all seen her getting more and more stressed lately. She's family, we're all family."

"This is what family does," Wanda added.

Soon, the apartment was filled with the fresh smell of soap. Dishes and laundry were dealt with, and Tony arrived with a gorgeous, plump spruce. Down the hall, the smell of baking made everyone salivate. Wanda sent pictures when she couldn't find the exact thing on the list and asked Steve for advice about what to get instead.

Decorating was next and everyone came in to help out a bit, while the gingerbread cookies were cooling before frosting, and when Wanda and Vision had finished all the gift shopping and placed them neatly wrapped around and under the tree in the common area.

It had been some long, hard hours, but the place was transformed. Steve had made sure everything was just the way she liked it and he couldn't wait for her to come home to this surprise. He didn't know how to thank everyone, but they assured him it was their pleasure as they left to let him rest for a little bit before she came home.

Steve sat down on the couch and looked around. It was almost perfect, there was just one thing left. He grabbed his phone and dialled a number.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Steve."

"Oh, hi, Steve, dearest! How are you? How is my baby girl?"

"We're good, thank you. I just called to let you know what's happening for Christmas. I'm really sorry, but something has come up at work for both of us. We can't make it."

"Oh, what a shame... It's been so long since we've seen our precious daughter, and there are so many people who are dying to finally meet you."

"I know. We're really sorry. We'll try to take a few days after New Year's if that's okay with you."

"Yes, please do! Have a Merry Christmas both of you and try not to work too hard!"

"We'll try. Merry Christmas to you too, say hi to everyone for us!"

Another day of being pulled in every direction. Another day where I could barely get a moment to spare for what I was supposed to work on, instead I was helping everyone else with silly things, and no closer to a permanent solution on the server glitch. Another day closer to Christmas and nothing was done. And still two days until Steve came home. I didn't even want Christmas anymore.

The halls in the building were quiet. There was a lingering smell of baking, and I felt a stab of guilt at all the baking I had yet to do. Tears pricked at the back of my eyes.

"Well, I can always try again next year," I mumbled to myself as I pressed my hand to the scanner next to the door and it swung open. The apartment was dark, I was sure I had left at least the kitchen light on. I frowned. "FRIDAY, could you please turn on the lights?"

"Of course."

The whole apartment was flooded with light and I gasped. A tree, lights, stars, tinsel, Santas, it was all there. And from the couch, a figure emerged.

"Steve?"

"Hi, doll."

My purse dropped from my hands and I ran across the room and jumped into his arms. He made a sound as if the air was knocked out of him and then chuckled, his arms wrapping around me. But seeing him and feeling him after the past three weeks of hell without him and what he had clearly done for me, just made the damn burst. His name was wrenched from me in a whine before I buried my face in his neck and the tears fell freely from my eyes.

"Oh doll," he said and sat down on the couch with me still wrapped around him. "It's okay." His arms tightened around me, holding me as close as he could. He whispered in my ear, probably all the reassurances he could think of, but he could have been reciting all the numbers in Pi for all I cared. It was his voice and his warmth and the safety I felt around him that I cared about at that moment as all the stress and worries bled out of me. I hadn't wanted Steve to know how hard it had been, but somehow, he always knew, always found out. He could read me without seeing me, just like I could read him.

I don't know how long it was before I calmed down. But when I did, I was starving, and it was the growling of my stomach that had me pulling away from his drenched shirt.

"Don't worry, I've got dinner in the fridge, it just needs warming up," Steve said, his hands cradling my face, thumbs wiping at the wetness below my eyes.

"I thought you said you'd be home in two or three days," I said, frowning. "Not that I'm not happy to see you."

"I wanted to surprise you."

"Well, colour me surprised. How did you manage all this?"

"Everyone helped. All the gifts are bought and wrapped. There are cookies in the jars and boxes on the counter. The place is sparkling clean and festive."

My breath of relief turned into a chuckle and then laughter, and I couldn't stop. Steve's smile grew and grew until he too started laughing. I fell sideways on the couch and off his lap, lying on my back and heaved for my breath.

Steve leaned over, planting a kiss on my cheek and that finally made me stop. "I'm sorry," I said, my voice shaky. "You just came home from a mission and you're probably so tired and you haven't even had time to process it because you had to do all this and I just cry and laugh and I'm just a mess."

"I'm just glad to be home again and I'm happy I could help you get this done." He climbed in between my legs and finally pressed his lips against mine. The last bit of stress rolled off me and I hummed. "Oh, and if anyone in your family asks," he whispered against my lips, "something came up at work for both us," his lips moved down to my neck, "and we can't visit for Christmas."

"Oh, how I love you, Steven Grant Rogers," was all I managed to say.

His lips moved lazily against my neck, finding that spot just below my ear that turned me into putty in his arms. I raised my hips, grinding them against his, feeling the need for him bubble up inside me. But then he pulled back and sat up. "I love you too. But go take a quick shower and I'll warm up dinner. Your stomach is still growling."

I groaned and tried to kick him, but he dodged my legs and was up and by the fridge before I could say "bastard".

Permanent tags: @imamotherfuckingstar-lord @geeksareunique @iguess-theyre-mymess @neeadinghugs @earinafae @mattmurdocksgirl @joulien @imaginesofdreams @brewsthespirit-blog @lemonlime799 @reading-in-moonlight Marvel tags: @feelmyroarrrr @somethingwitty-somethingsweet

Tag lists are open! Just send an ask, DM, reply, reblog or anything you want to let me know!

[enixamyram]

Valentine’s Present

Summary: Alice and Robin share a romantic Valentine moment in bed when Robin gives her present.

  Valentine’s Day was never done better anywhere else in all the realms, than how it was done in the no-longer-quite-so-quaint area of Storybrooke. The most romantic place a normal person could think of wouldn’t match up with how the ex-residence of the Enchanted Forest spent their holiday.

  On the famous Troll Bridge, Snow White and David Nolan were clicking together a pair of matching thin glasses full of an expensive white wine. They had dressed in their old royal clothing from back in the days before the curse was cast, and had spent the evening strolling around town, reliving old memories before ending up in their favourite spot for a homemade picnic dinner. They would need to head back soon and relieve Doc of his babysitting duties, but they didn’t mind their dinner date not going deep into the night like it used to. Nowadays they much more enjoyed family time with their son anyway (and occasionally their daughter and grandchildren when they could make it).

  Not far from the Troll Bridge in town, Ella and Henry were settling down at Granny’s on a double date with Naveen and Tiana, courtesy of Lucy who insisted the four of them deserved a romantic night out better than anyone. It was the old fashioned kind, with romantic music playing in the background and candle light between them with rose petals scattered on the window frames. They had spent the whole evening laughing and sharing in fond memories with one another, until they were the last people left in the diner and Granny was giving them amused looks as she cleaned after everyone else. She couldn’t begrudge them for staying as late as possible. Her own granddaughter, Red, was out with Dorothy tonight and she doubt she’d see her before tomorrow.

  At the top of the clock tower, Zelena was pointing out her world to Chad. She had taken him up early and was telling him stories about every corner of the town that they could see from such a high point. Down bellow, Zelena caught sight of Ashley and Sean as they made their way back home from their own romantic evening. They had spent the evening, with a lot of the other town residence, watching the local fireworks display. Zelena hadn’t bothered to go, but she had still ended up seeing most of them anyway as they reached up high past the other buildings. They had a perfect view from where she and Chad had settled themselves. The sun had long since set and the stars were coming out brighter than ever before. That, along with a clear sky on a warm day, gave them the most perfect romantic setting they could have hoped for. After a moment, Chad wrapped his arms around her from behind and they fell silent, staring up at the beauty of the town they now called home.

  Out on the ocean, Emma and Killian had taken the Jolly Rogers out as far as they could go while still keeping shore within eyesight of the ship. It was a speck in the distance, but a comfortable speck that Emma insisted on having none the less. But her concern for leaving her daughter home alone for the first evening since she was born still didn’t stop her from enjoying the dinner Killian prepared, even if it was a little burnt, as well as the glasses of rum they shared between them. A couple glasses down and it certainly made the whole thing very enjoyable. Meanwhile, just below them, swimming freely in the water, Ariel was guiding Eric along and showing him a world he never would of had the chance to see if not for a little magical help.

  Even those who had lost their loves had found ways to still celebrate the day. Regina, looking after Lucy for the evening, had taken her granddaughter to visit the grave of Robin Hood, her deceased love. They had sat on the grass and Regina had told stories for the whole evening about him, before she took Lucy home to make some treats and stay up late watching corny films (Lucy was allowed to pick and she had chosen Robin Hood in Tights, in Robin’s honor). They had laughed their way into the night before falling asleep together in the middle of the living room, smiles on both their faces.

  All in all, everyone was spending their perfect Valentine’s Day with the person they loved most in a personal and meaningful way. Whether it be going out to celebrate in public in amongst all their friends (like Aurora and Philip or Hansel and Violet) or spending it somewhere private and more intimate (like Aladdin and Jasmine or Mulan and Rapunzel). And even those who had lost their loved one had still found someone to spend it with so they weren’t completely alone (like Rumple did by taking his Valentine’s Day as a chance to finally meet Gideon’s boyfriend). On this day, no one was allowed to be alone in Storybrooke.

  And not being alone was the greatest gift Alice Jones could have asked for.

  Robin’s tongue, however, was definitely a close and pleasant second.

  Alice bit the side of her bottom lip and struggled to resist the urge to moan as Robin pressed against her. She rubbed her body in a purposely slow rhythm that Alice was close to telling her off, the friction sending sparks along Alice’s skin and she gasped when Robin moved from licking her neck, to licking down her collar bone and along her breast. Alice was already breathless and hot, sweat coating both their bodies and yet they still weren’t yet done and she wasn’t sure how much longer she was going to be able to last.

  It felt like they had been at it for hours and maybe they had. Time had passed by in such a blur since they had stumbled into the room and fallen down onto the bed. They had spent the whole day outside, just running around Storybrooke, climbing to the highest points and swimming out to the furthest islands. They had only meant to walk around for a bit and return home for a nice dinner, only every place they went one or both of them had a tale they were eager to share and their little exploration turned into a daylong adventure of trying to outdo one another. It ended when the fireworks began and Robin had innocently kissed Alice under the flashing lights and that innocent kiss had turned into something not so innocent. Somehow they had managed to make it home and up into the bedroom where the lay now.

  “AH-!” Alice shouted when she felt Robin tease her nipple. Her voice was quickly cut off again, however, when Robin suddenly moved up and kissed her, thrusting her tongue into her mouth and kissing deeply as Alice finally met her release. They rode off their climax together, with Alice swinging her legs around to grip Robin’s waist to keep her from escaping and dragging her nails along her back and shoulders, leaving red marks in their wake.

  Robin had an arm so tightly around Alice’s torso, it felt like she was going to crush her ribs, while the other hand gripped onto the sheets by her love’s head and twisted them in her grip. She had managed to keep mostly quiet, right up until she felt Alice’s moan vibrating against her lips. After which she was pushed over the edge and let out a cry, even as her tongue continued to work its way around Alice’s.

  When they felt the last of the rush leaving them, Robin rolled off of Alice and collapsed onto the bed beside her, panting even as she pulled Alice against her. They were both hot and sweaty but neither hesitated to twist around and entwine their limbs around each other, Alice nuzzling her face into the side of Robin’s neck and humming softly. She was so exhausted now, and her limbs felt like they had finally lost all of her strength like there was no muscle or even bone left in them, but in a pleasantly lazy way. She shuffled into a comfortable position, still with her body tangled with Robin’s and shut her eyes, ready to just drop straight off now she was satisfied.

  “Sleepy head…” Robin mumbled sliding down until her nose was touching Alice’s and they were eyelevel, leaving both their heads off the pillows. “You want your Valentine’s present before you drop off?”

  “Hmm?” Alice forced her eyes open and grinned at her. “What? This wasn’t it?”

  “No, this was for me as much as you.” Robin giggled. “I have another present that’s all yours.”

  “Well, I’m not letting go of you, you know.” Alice noted, raising an eyebrow. “So I hope you have it within arm’s reach of the bed.”

  “You’re in luck.” Robin grinned, rolling onto her back. She kept an arm around Alice and pulled her on top of her while one arm reached into in the bag she had dropped beside the bed just before she had jumped on Alice. It took her a few minutes of clumsy fumbling, jogging so much that she and Alice began laughing at the awkwardness of it. Their laughter grew as the struggle stretched, growing worse the longer it took Robin to search blindly through her bag.

  “Want me to get it for you?” Alice grinned.

  “No, just, one second.” Robin finally released Alice and rolled over onto her side, leaving Alice to cuddle up to her back instead. With both arms free, Robin finally found the present after just a few seconds, turning back to hand Alice a palm sized gift wrapped tightly in silver and gold wrapping.

  “What is it?” Alice blinked.

  “Well you have to open it if you want to find out.” Robin laughed.

  Grinning at her, Alice sat up in bed. They were both still hot enough that neither cared when the covers dropped down off their torso’s, and even welcomed the chilly feeling of the slight breeze against their skin. But even with that, Robin immediately moved closer to Alice, sharing their body heat in a more innocent way by wrapping her arms around her in a soft hug, resting her chin on top of Alice’s shoulder, ignoring the way her blonde hair tickled her cheek as she did.

  With Robin holding onto her, Alice unwrapped the present and lift the lid off of the small cardboard box hidden beneath. At first, all she could see was the bright white padding that had been carefully placed to protect the object within from accidental damage. But after a moment, her eyes focused and she realized what it was Robin was giving to her. And it left her absolutely breathless! Even more than the previous activities had.

Being as careful with it as she would a living creature, Alice took hold of a free side of her present and lifted it out of the box, holding it up in front of her between two fingers. While Alice examined the present closely, Robin unconsciously began holding her breath, waiting for her reaction. Every other year during Birthdays, Anniversaries and all other holidays (including Valentine’s), Robin had gone out of her way to buy Alice something expensive and shiny, like the things she never had a chance to be given before back in the Enchanted Forest. She was constantly trying to outdo herself and bring out that same glittering in Alice’s eye that she loved to get whenever she impressed her with the extravagant things she was able to afford. But this year, she had decided to do something a little closer to home, choosing to go along the lines of the first gift she gave her – aka, like that of the bracelet she had made (the one Alice still wore to this day). She just hoped Alice wasn’t disappointed by it.

  “Is this…” Alice looked at her, smiling softly. “A bracelet? Made of feathers?”

  “Yeah.” Robin nodded. “I got the idea from my dad and aunt Regina. He gave her one of his feathers in this big romantic gesture and she still has it in a case on the fireplace. I heard she even shrinks it down to fit in her pocket so she can take it everywhere she goes. But I’m also trying to be my own person – you know, my own version of Robin Hood – so I figured I’d combine my dad’s idea with one of my own.

  “So I took one of my arrows, it was one of my first ones and was kind of falling apart anyway, and I took all the feathers off the end and… Well… Made that.” Robin shrugged, pointing at the bracelet being cradled carefully in between Alice’s palms.

  “Oh, Robin…” Alice whispered. “It’s perfect.”

  “You really like it?”

  “I love it!” Alice beamed, then hesitated as her face fell. “But it makes my gift look like rubbish. All I got you was some flowers.”

  “Alice, when you use your magic to create a whole new plant specie, it is never going to be just ‘some flowers’.” Robin laughed.

  “It wasn’t anything like this though.” Alice mumbled, carefully stroking the feather of the bracelet. “Like, this must have taken you ages to put together.”

  “Just because you finished yours faster than mine, doesn’t mean it means any less.” Robin pecked her softly on the cheek. “It just means you’re wicked talented with magic. And I’m so proud of you for it.”

  Alice blushed, smiling before she twisted around and held the bracelet up. “Help me put it on?”

  Pecking her on the lips, Robin took the bracelet and carefully fastened it around Alice’s wrist, just above where her other bracelet still sat. She hadn’t taken it off since getting it back during the curse and Robin had a feeling the feather bracelet would be copying the same fate. It made Robin proud whenever she caught a glimpse of it, and she was thrilled that Alice liked it so much.

  “You’re going to have to teach me how to make these, one day.” Alice noted.

  “It’s a date.” Robin grinned.

  Alice reached over and wrapped her arms around Robin’s shoulders, leaning towards her and placing a soft kiss on her lips. A soft kiss which quickly turned into something much more just like their previous kisses had. Soon they were right back to how they had started, with their limbs wrapped around each other, hand tangled in each other’s hair, tongues battling for dominance. Only this time, it ended with Alice on top, straddling Robin and taking control for this round.

  Truly, it was a perfect Valentine’s.

[wulfies-corner]

Can Opener

Fandom: iKON/iKONICS

Member/Reader: Jung Chanwoo / Female Reader

Genre/Warnings: Daddy!Chanwoo, Little!Reader, little space, SFW daddy kink, both parties are 98 liners

Summary: Chan Woo wakes up to find (Y/N) crying in the middle of the dorm’s kitchen over a can opener, discovering little space in the process and his possession of a new nickname.

A/N: I’m tired as fuck and this is based on what I went through like 4 hours ago- falling into little space in the middle of the night and crying on the kitchen floor because I wanted soup and I couldn’t figure out how to use my dad’s new can opener. This is really short so forgive me but I really need to go to bed. BY THE WAY, STOP SLEEPING ON MY HUSBAND AND FELLOW 98 LINER CHANWOO

On another note, I’m still kind of new to iKONIC so please forgive me if things are a little weird :V I just really wanted a Daddy!Chanwoo fic and I couldn’t find any so I took it into my own hands - anyways enjoy!

‘Nerf This! Nerf This!’

Chan Woo groaned audibly as he blindly and lazily reached to his nightstand. It was maybe 4 AM, why would his ringtone go off so late at night? When he successfully grabbed the device, he unlocked his phone and squinted at the brightness, reading a text from Dong Hyuk.

“Achievement Unlocked: Found Chan Woo’s Crying Girlfriend in the Kitchen”

‘What?’ Chan Woo thought to himself, shifting around to see that his bed was devoid of someone important: you. It wasn’t often that you slept over at the dorm, but whenever you did, there was never a moment when you left the bed during the night - not even to go to the bathroom. Immediately he threw his phone to the side, scrambling from his bed and out towards the kitchen, meeting eyes with his elder who was standing in the archway to the kitchen. The kitchen light was the only one turned on, blindingly bright and illuminating the living room just outside and half of the hallway leading to the bedrooms. Dong Hyuk approached Chan Woo with a grin, patting the younger on the shoulder heartily.

“Good luck,” was all he said as he yawned and made his way back down the hallway. Chan Woo looked back in confusion, the worry returning when he heard a muffled sob come from the kitchen.

“(Y/N)?” Chan Woo walked in through the archway, turning to see you curled up in the middle of the kitchen floor. He first looked around, noticing that the kitchen counter held a plastic wrap covered ruined (yet not completely open) can of soup and the dirty old-fashioned can opener that Bobby always insisted on keeping. “(Y/N), are you okay?” He made his way to where you were lying down, kneeling before you and rubbing a hand along your back.

“I couldn’t open it,” you sobbed, not bothering to move until Chan Woo helped you sit up. He wiped your tears with his thumb, thankfully helping you stop crying. “The can opener is stupid!!!”

“Why did you need to open up a can of soup at 4 AM?” He asked curiously, still patting your back as you started to crawl on him. He choked back a slew of teasing comments, instead choosing to fully sit down and let you crawl into his lap.

“I was hungry,” you whined. You snuggled against him tighter, still sniffling.

“If you were hungry you could have had bread and jam,” Chan Woo chuckled faintly, hugging you, “and then you wouldn’t have cried,”

“I hate bread and jam,” you explain, sticking your tongue out, “I wanted hot food!”

Chan Woo sighed, still unable to wipe away his smile. You were acting differently than you usually would, and even though he was tired he found it surprisingly endearing. “I can make you something in the morning, or maybe you can steal some of Bobby’s pancakes if you wake up early enough. Come on, let’s go back to bed, okay?”

“But I’m still hungry, daddy,”

Chan Woo’s eyes widen and his smile falters a bit in shock. Did he just hear what he thought he heard? “Did you jus-” “Daddyyyyyyy,” you whine again, hugging him tighter and gripping his shirt. Now he really couldn’t tear a cheeky grin from his face. He didn’t know why- but he loved it.

“I’m only six months older than you, baby,” Chan Woo commented quietly, secretly hoping it wouldn’t stop you.

“Daddy,” you whisper back defiantly, to his contentment. He pressed a kiss to your forehead gently.

“Come on, let’s go to bed and eat in the morning~”

You whined wordlessly in response as Chan Woo moved his arms under your bum, successfully - albeit wobbly - picking you up to carry you back to the bedroom he shared with Yunhyung. He tried to think of the nicknames that he would call you, still a little shocked at your sudden insistence on his.

“Here, babygirl,” he cooed, pushing the door back open gently with his foot, nodding slightly to himself in the affirmation that he liked that nickname for you, moving back to his bed and laying you down gently. “Only a few more hours and then you can have some hot breakfast, okay?” He turned around to close the door, smiling as he lay eyes on you, grasping and pulling on the bottom of your shirt.

You pouted as he joined you, pulling the comforter over your bodies and putting his phone back on the nightstand. “But-” “No buts, okay? Daddy promises that he’ll make you breakfast. Sound good?” Chan Woo turned over to look at the other side of the room briefly, thankful that Yunhyung was a heavy sleeper.

“Sound good,” you replied, yawning.

“Good. Now come here, let’s cuddle,” immediately you moved to snuggle up with Chan Woo again, wrapping your arms around him and intertwining your legs with his. He couldn’t stop grinning- he loved this so much more than being called Oppa. He let himself fall asleep with a giant smile, even in the knowledge that you would wake him in a couple hours’ time demanding that he keep his promise.

In the morning he would search up everything he needed to know, as well as secretly readying sarcastic comebacks and comments if any of the members, especially Dong Hyuk, said anything remotely suspicious in your direction and let them ruin his enjoyment or make you uncomfortable. If he was going to be a daddy now, he was definitely going to make the best out of it.

[porthavenhq]

Welcome to Porthaven, Jo! We can’t wait to meet Ty Lee!

Please look over the acceptance checklist and submit your blog within the next 24 hours. If there is a problem or a prior obligation and you need more time than provided, just message the main and we will gladly extend!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　OUT OF CHARACTER　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Name: Jo Pronouns: She/her, they/them Age: 22 Timezone: EST Activity Level: I’m probably like a 7 or an 8. I don’t have school right now or a summer internship cause of everything going on, so I’m usually pretty free whenever. But usually I’m around at least 2-3 hours every night if not more Triggers: Rape and eating disorders Anything Else: I’ve been lurking on this rp for a little while and am super excited to apply!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　CHARACTER INFORMATION　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Name: Ty Lee Age: June 15, 1999 Gender: Cis Female FC: Minatozaki Sana

Character Biography 

Some people love being part of a big family, but Ty Lee was never one of those people. Six sisters, all of whom looked just like her, meant growing up she had almost no sense of who she was as a person. People who knew her knew her as one of seven, and often talked to her expecting a different sibling. It was exhausting. The only place she had found any solace was gymnastics and acrobatics. None of her sisters participated in it, so if anyone came looking for the sister who did acrobatics it was her, it was something Ty Lee had all to herself. She practically threw herself into the sport, with teachers telling her she would have been good enough to train for the Olympics if she really wanted to. She didn’t. She was much more interested in having normal teenage years, getting to make friends, hopefully a large group of them, than making a name for herself. Still, she always desperate loved the activity, and stuck with her classes up until she ran away.

She found herself clinging to people who seemed to see her as an individual, with little regard to anything else. If they could look at her and see Ty Lee instead of part of a set that was enough. It was easy to fall into a popular crowd in high school, between being pretty and far too trusting she became wrapped up in gossip and lies and friends who didn’t care about her. She was frequently used as part of some scheme to make a friend or a boyfriend jealous, to consider themselves queen bee, all well telling Ty Lee she was the best before turning around and calling her a ditz. The worst of it was that Ty Lee didn’t even recognize the truth of it all until nearly the end of high school. They smiled to her face and didn’t mention her sisters and she blindly trusted them for it. Even when she found out there was a quiet part of her that didn’t care, that so desperately wanted to be liked and wanted to be herself that said it was alright. They could think what they wanted about her as long as it was just for her.

Ty Lee had intended to go to college after high school. It admittedly wasn’t something she was particularly interested in, but it was what she was supposed to do. After one year she knew she absolutely hated it. It was stifling, the only classes she liked were athletic ones that weren’t worth any credits, and she found herself falling back into fake friends who didn’t really care about her. She couldn’t help but dread reliving her high school years just to wind up in a stuffy office job that would absolutely ruin her aura.

Running away had been completely impulsive. She had just gotten the email about her tuition fees for her next semester, and the idea of going back to classes filled Ty Lee with nothing but dread. Her aura was pitch black. She didn’t let herself sit and contemplate, quickly packing up her most important items and all the money she had and taking off. There wasn’t any plan behind it, just the knowledge that she couldn’t stay where she was. Winding up in Porthaven had been a stroke of luck. She had been traveling, taking up odd jobs where she could, and trying to find somewhere that felt like home. She hadn’t even intended to stay in Porthaven long, thinking she’d do a few shows with the troupe and then move on, but something about the vibe just felt right. No one knew about her family, she wasn’t stuck in school and gossip and drama, and she got to do acrobatics, the thing she loved the most, almost every night. Some days she feels lonely, lost and confused about what she’s doing, far away from home and everyone she knows, but most days are the happiest Ty Lee has ever been, and she’s happy to throw herself into Porthaven, let herself be sucked into the community, and maybe actually find a home and life she can properly enjoy.

Headcanons

She likes to flirt frequently but doesn’t have a lot of experience with actual relationships. She’ll go on a casual date or two but won’t go farther than that as she always feels like she’s just being taken out because she’s a pretty face. Ty Lee can be considered a bit of a heart breaker for this though the reputation doesn’t really feel fitting to her.

She’s bisexual with a preference towards women but has less experience than them because she tends to be drawn towards attention, and in terms of relationships that’s always been easier found for her in men.

She’s sent a few letters home. She always feels old fashioned doing it but it’s the only way Ty Lee can feel comfortable contacting her family without worrying about being tracked. She has no intention of going home but she didn’t want everyone to know that she was safe and doing alright.

She matches her outfits to what she thinks her aura is for the day.

She hates being alone but is trying to get better at not falling into awful people just because they provide company and attention. It’s still a work in progress though, and there are days where she will take the company over absolutely anyone over loneliness.

She’s fiercely loyal and gets attached to people fast, with a lot of love to give. This is something that has hurt her in the past, as she became too dedicated to someone who didn’t have the same energy and care for her. Ty Lee knows it’s a trait that can hurt her but isn’t working very hard to change it. She doesn’t want to trade open and easy love and care in order to stop herself from being hurt.

While acrobatics are her passion she takes self defense classes once a week. She’s not worried about needing to defend herself she just likes having a different way to stay in shape.

Though she has no magic Ty Lee is more than capable of defending herself. She’s immensely in shape, more flexible than anyone else she knows, and very fast. She’s not the type to start a physical fight, but would absolutely be able to defend herself if necessary.

Inspiration

I made a pinterest board for her here!

[mysunfreckle]

You said I could request stuff so get ready for a mountain of things!!! ❤️ I am a fan of slowly revealed things but I love love love that selkie Taire, dragon Enj AU and I need to know what the others are please please pretty please??? I need more JBM as well so if you wanna combine the two I mean... I won't complain 😉😊 You're a sweetheart and feel free to give ME prompts bc I have no clue what to write now 😂

[I was so pleased you asked for this! Here you go, ~1.8k of j/b/m ❤️]

Joly likesto travel and they are particularly fond of meeting new people. The merrowsthat inhabit the sea around here are rather old-fashioned though. They only goup the surface when there is a storm on the water and they hardly ever approachthe shore. Joly had to ask his new friend Grantaire if there was any convenientriver he could use to swim further inland. Luckily there was and now Joly ishappily swimming upstream. They like the feeling of freshwater on their skin,even if the salt being rinsed from their hair always makes it stand on end inodd ways. Besides, there are certain things to be found on land that cannot begot from the sea. Today, for instance, Joly is in quest of willow bark. When itcomes to remedies against pain there really is no substitute.

Joly istaking their time though, allowing themself to enjoy the scenery as they swimsteadily against the flow of the river. With only their head just above thewater they look no different from a human out for a swim, at least to a casualobserver. Not that Joly has a particular reason to fear being discovered. Hehas learned from Grantaire that most of the humans around here are open mindedand that those that are not have by now learned to look the other way. In anycase there is no one walking near the river today and Joly swims in unhurriedtranquillity until they follow a bend in the river and spot a gorgeous willowtree. Joyfully they give a strong swish of their tail and swim to the grassybank. The drooping branches of the willow nearly reach the water, casting acool shadow across the rippling stream, but the tree itself is out of Joly’sreach. Admiringly they look up at the elegant braches.

“I’ve neverseen a mermaid so interested in a tree.”

Jolysplashes their tail in surprise. The voice came from above them!

“I’msorry,” they say politely. “I can’t see you at the moment so I don’t know whereto look, but yes I’m very interested in this tree!”

“Why?

“It’svery beautiful for a start,” Joly says pleasantly, peering into the tree. Theyare certain whoever is speaking must be hidden there. “But I’m also hoping tocollect some bark for its medicinal purposes.”

“Hmm…” Thevoice is pleasant, but a little wary. “Well, at least you’re nice about it.” Arustling passes through the leaves of the willow and suddenly Joly sees asshape on one of the sturdier, low hanging branches, that stretches out towardsthe river. A moment ago there was nothing there, but now there is a young womandraped across the branch, hair cascading down just like the willow’s leafytwigs. She is dressed in leaves and her slender arms and legs blend inperfectly against the willow bark.

Joly isdelighted. They have never met a woodsprite before.

“Hello,”the woodsprite smiles and she studies them with large, expressive eyes. “Are you a mermaid?” she asks after amoment. “You don’t look like a merrow…”

“No,” Jolysmiles. “I’m a jiaoren, but I must be closely related to both. My name is Joly.”

“Mine’sMusichetta,” she answers and with an elegant movement she slides off the branchand let’s herself drop down between the roots of her tree.

She israther close now and Joly can clearly see how beautiful she is. “Nice to meetyou,” he smiles.

She smilesback, slowly steps away from her tree towards the water’s edge, and extends asmall hand. Joly takes it in his webbed one and shakes it with another smile.As soon as they let go Musichetta returns to her tree. But she drapes herself acrossthe branch again, looking down on Joly curiously. “What do you need the barkfor?” she asks. “Do you need to cure someone?”

Joly shakestheir head. “At the moment I only want to study it. I’ve heard a lot about itseffectiveness against pain and inflammation.”

“You dothat a lot,” she asks interestedly. “Go around studying healing things?”

“Yes,” Jolysays cheerfully. They’re not really used to being asked this many questions,but they’re more than happy to talk. “It’s one of the reasons why I travel.”

“Where doyou come from then?” she asks with another curious glance at his face.

“The SouthSea by China,” he smiles.

Her eyesspark with delight. “Tell you what,” she says. “I will give you some bark frommy tree if you tell me about your travels.”

To talkabout themself to someone genuinely interested in them seems hardly a trade toJoly, but when they laughingly tell her this Musichetta says:

“Who saysdeals should be disagreeable? I’ve never made a single deal that didn’t pleaseme.”

Joly smilesat the sparkle in her eyes and finds a seat for themself on the river bank. “Whatdo you want to know?” they ask.

It turnsout Musichetta wants to know a great deal. Far too much to tell in oneconversation. So Joly comes back the next day, and the next day, and again acouple of day later. It was never really Joly’s intention to stay in this partof the world, but they are seriously considering it now. It’s not justMusichetta, although Joly has to admit they have quite lost their head overher, this place has a lot to recommend itself. Grantaire is very good companyand he has introduced Joly to a fellow selkie called Éponine. Joly has even meta young vampire called Combeferre, who has a lot of very interesting knowledgeto share. All in all Joly is certainly tempted to stay and when the weeks passand Musichetta’s smiles turn to kisses they decide there really isn’t any otherplace they’d rather travel to than upstream to her tree.

They gothere almost every other day, usually when the sun is at its highest in the skyso Musichetta knows to expect them. Today Joly is running late, so they areswimming fast, fully submerged in the water. They could find their way throughthis river blindly by now and they know they are reaching the bend in whichMusichetta’s tree stands without looking.

Just asJoly is about to surface they hear a voice. Cautiously they peer up through theshimmering of the water’s surface. Musichetta sings to herself sometimes, butthis voice does not belong to her. It sounds unhurried and nonthreateningthough, so Joly slowly lets their head rise above the water. They are greetedwith the familiar view of Musichetta, hanging draped across the lowest branchof her willow, but lying beneath it is a stranger. He is lounging stretched outin the grass, leaning back elegantly on his elbows, and looks up at Musichettawith such a look of admiration that Joly feels a pang of jealousy. Thestranger’s looks do not help them one bit. Had he been scowling he would barelyhave been handsome, but he has as attractive a smile as Joly has ever seen andit is unclear to them whether it is the sun or his good humour that gives sucha glow to his dark brown skin. With very conflicted feelings they swim a littlecloser.

“What afine day,” the merry stranger smiles at Musichetta. “It started with me gettinglost, but what a lovely place to be lost in.” His eyes twinkle. “And whatexcellent company.”

“I’m notquite sure what suits you more, your lounging or your idle flattery,”Musichetta remarks challengingly from her branch.

“You haveseen me lounge,” the stranger smiles. “But you have not even heard my idleflattery. So far I have spoken only the truth.”

Jolybristles slightly at that, especially since Musichetta is clearly rathercharmed by him. They don’t exactly blame her, but it does give them a strangedisgruntled feeling they have never really felt before.

“Really,”the stranger continues. “Between, the sun, the grass and your eyes fixed on meI’m beginning to think myself the luckiest creature in this meadow.”

Musichettalaughs with a slight scoff in her voice. Just the sound of her laugh is enoughto make Joly decide that not even the uncomfortable feelings in their midriffare enough of a reason to give up spending the afternoon with Musichetta. Theygive a splash of their tail to announce their presence and swim to theriverbank.

“Joly!”Musichetta exclaims, sitting up on her branch.

Thestranger turns his head, still smiling, and sees Joly. “Well,” he says with a look of unrestrained admiration. “Ifthis isn’t unequivocal proof of my luck today, I don’t know what else couldpossibly convince me.”

Jiaoren donot blush, but Joly would have if they did. “Hello,” they say, still a littlereserved.

“Joly,darling,” Musichetta chimes. “This is Bossuet.”

“Joly,”they nod.

“Pleasureto meet you,” Bossuet says brightly. “Really.”He looks from Musichetta to Joly and sits up a little straighter. “Oh, I’msorry! Am I interrupting a scheduled meeting?”

“You areactually,” Musichetta says, throwing a glance at Joly.

Bossuetjumps to his feet. “And here I am talking away at you both.” He shakes hishead. “Forgive me.” He laughs at them both by turn and Joly is seriouslywondering if it is even possible to feel resentment towards someone thatradiates so much cheerfulness. They likeBossuet. They hardly know him and they like him.

“I will leavethis lovely meadow to you lovely creatures,” Bossuet sighs. “And take myselfelsewhere.”

Jolyglances at Musichetta, who gives them a look that seems to say: we could keephim?

“You canstay,” they say, lifting themself out of the water to sit on the riverbank.

Bossuetlooks delighted. Musichetta smiles.

“You haveto trade something though,” Joly says, slanting their head playfully andshooting a twinkling look up at Musichetta.

“Oh yes,”she agrees. “We’re very big on trades.”

Bossuetpats the pockets of his colourful suit. It’s a fine suit, but badly cared for, itsrumpled and full of grass stains. “I don’t have a lot to give,” he laughs. “Butask whatever you want, if I have it I’ll give it.”

Joly grins.“Do you know any good stories?”

Bossuetgives him a look that feels warmer than the noon sun. “So many.”

“Are any ofthem about yourself?” Joly smiles.

“Only the tragicallycomedic ones,” Bossuet quips.

“Oh dotell,” Musichetta invites, letting her arms dangle down on either side of herbranch.

“Yes,” Jolysmiles warmly. “Please do.”

[mbtizone]

August Booth/Pinocchio (Once Upon a Time): ENTP

Dominant Extroverted Intuition [Ne]: “I mean, when I start writing, I usually have one idea. And then, in the middle, I may get another idea, and things are different.” August is completely comfortable with changes in perspective. He doesn’t mind the unknown, and sees possibilities, allowing him to effortlessly generates ideas. He tells Henry that he hates when he gets a good idea that slips away from him. August thinks it’s important to have an open mind, and spends a great deal of time trying to get Emma to believe in magic. While in Storybrooke, he remains focused on the big picture and uses his creative way of thinking to get Emma to open herself up to the truth. While August is focused on steering Emma towards her destiny, he does give in to the temptations of life in the Land Without Magic. August likes to travel the world and see new things. He spent an entire year, and implies that once he got bored with his surroundings, he would simply hop on his motorcycle and move on to the next place. August is good at improvising in the moment (coming up with an excuse for snooping around Mr. Gold’s).

Auxiliary Introverted Thinking [Ti]: When August has a mission, he keeps his plans to himself, rarely discussing them aloud. Even though Henry is already a believer, August still opts against revealing himself. Instead, he keeps Henry in the dark, recruiting him for schemes while telling him as little as possible. August is comfortable with modifying his plans when he’s lead to a dead end. August’s logic is internal – he can see beyond “facts” and, even though his life depends on getting Emma to believe, he understands that she needs to discover the truth in her own way. He gets that most people are only able to see whatever is right in front of them, but August’s logical understanding is much more subjective. August enjoys working with his hands and fixing things and seems to comprehend how things work. He mends his bike, installs new locks for Mary Margaret, and even tries to regain the bond he once had with Geppetto by working with Marco (Ti-Fe). August is quick to come to rational conclusions about things. Emma can’t see that his leg is made of wood because she doesn’t want to see it. Her denial is so strong that she’s unable to see what’s right in front of her.

Tertiary Extroverted Feeling [Fe]: Getting Emma to believe is essential for August’s continued survival. Sure, he could just say, “Look, it’s all true. The Enchanted Forest is real. I’m Pinocchio, and I’ll turn into wood if you don’t start believing soon!” But he doesn’t. He understands that different people need to find the truth in their own way. He can’t force Emma to believe. He has to nudge her in a personalized way. August is good at playing on people’s emotions, allowing him to easily use manipulation as a tactic in his schemes. He poses as Mr. Gold’s long lost son in order to get the dagger from him. Although he needs Emma to believe for his own selfish reasons, he never uses that to convince her. Instead, he focuses on how important she is to everyone in town. August is quick to pick up on other people’s emotions – such as when he sees Henry in Granny’s and immediately concludes that he’s upset about Mary Margaret’s arrest. He’s able to relate to him because of their shared goal of getting Emma to believe and uses Henry in his plans. August also uses Neal’s love for Emma to persuade him to let her go so, so she can go on to fulfill her destiny.

Inferior Introverted Sensing [Si]: Emma’s need for concrete evidence and proof is one of August’s biggest hurdles. He knows that Henry relies on information he gets from his book, so August steals it and adds the story of Pinocchio to it to push them in the right direction. He relates to people by discussing his own, similar experiences. Emma’s inability to find evidence to clear Mary Margaret is “a case of writer’s block,” and gives her advice based on his way of remedying it. He tells her that he rereads what he’s already written as opposed to “plowing ahead blindly.” He advises her to go back to the beginning with the perspective that she has now to see if she may find something she previously missed (Ne-Si). August has difficulty learning from his mistakes and tends to repeat the patterns of behavior that have gotten him into trouble in the past. August seems to have an appreciation for the old-fashioned, choosing a typewriter instead of more modern technology for his writing. Instead of just telling Emma that he was the boy who found her when she was an infant, he takes her to the place where it all happened, presumably so she can feel connected to her past, and describes the blanket she was wrapped in in order to give his story merit. August has a sentimental streak, and is very reluctant to part with the pendant that Geppetto used to give him life – even when he’s told it’s the only way to save himself from turning to wood.

Note: I did consider ESTP for August, but my final decision is based on how he goes about getting Emma to believe. He doesn’t try to provide her with sensory evidence. Instead, he tries to get her to open her mind. I don’t think that most ESTPs would talk about “going on faith”/”taking a leap of faith.” He admonishes Emma for needing “evidence for everything.” From my perspective, he’s more of a thought/idea person than a sensory person. He’s a bit more subdued than the stereotypical ENTP.

Enneagram: 7w6 9w8 4w5 Sx/Sp

Quotes:

August: Whatcha working on? Henry: Uh, no time to talk. I got to write it all down before I forget. August: Yeah, I hate it when great ideas slip away from me. Henry: They’re not my ideas. They’re stories from a book that I lost. August: Must be a hell of a book. What’s it about? Henry: Stuff. August: Sounds exciting. Henry: You seem awfully interested in me and my book. August: No, I’m just being neighborly. Henry: What are you doing in Storybrooke? August: I’m a writer. Henry: You can write anywhere. What are you really doing here? August: Stuff. Good luck with the stories.

Emma: You going to come in? I thought you wanted that drink. August: I do, but I didn’t say here. Hop on. Emma: You want me to get on the back of that bike? August: That’s what ‘hop on’ means. Emma: How about if we go somewhere, I drive? August: How about you stop having to control everything and take a leap of faith? You owe me a drink. Hop on. I know a good watering hole. Granny: If you don’t, I will.

well. There’s even a legend. They say that the water from the well is fed by an underground lake, and that lake has magical properties. Emma: Magic? You sound like Henry. August: Smart kid. So, this legend. It says that if you drink the water from the well, something lost will be returned to you. Emma: You know an awful lot about this town for being a stranger. August: And you know very little for being the Sheriff. Emma: How do you know all this? You’ve been here before? August: I know all of this for one very simple reason – I read the plaque. Emma: You actually believe that? August: I’m a writer. I have to have an open mind. Emma: Yeah, but magic? August: Water is a very powerful thing. Cultures as old as time have worshipped it. It flows throughout all lands, connecting the entire world. If anything had mystical properties – if anything had magic – well, I’d say it’d be water. Emma: That’s asking a lot to believe on faith. August: If you need evidence for everything, Emma, you’re going to find yourself stuck in one place for a long time. Emma: Maybe. Or, maybe I’ll just find the truth before anyone else. [He hands her one of the cups.] August: Well, Miss Skeptic, there’s one thing I can tell you for sure that requires no leap of faith, and I know you’ll agree with me. Emma: What’s that? August: It’s good water.

Ruby: You can’t be serious. A whole year without a roof over your head? August: Well, you get used to it. Plus, I had the motorcycle. So, if I didn’t like a place after a while… [Granny calls for Ruby, but Ruby ignores her.] Granny: Ruby? Ruby: I’ve never even been out of Storybrooke. What was your favourite place? August: Nepal. Best people. They have these prayer temples carved into mountains that are overrun with lemurs. Ruby: What’s a lemur? Granny: Ruby! Ruby: Just give me a sec! August: They’re little animals. And they have these eyes that reflect light. So, at night, it looks like they glow.

August: I don’t think that hot chocolate’s going to drink itself. You’re upset about your teacher, aren’t ya? Henry: She didn’t do it. Why can’t anyone see that? August: Because most people just see what’s right in front of them. And I don’t think you’re going to find the answers you want at the bottom of that mug. Henry: Then where? August: That a book in your bag? You know I’m a writer. So, I’m partial to finding my answers in the literary form. Henry: It’s just a book. August: Is it? Henry: Yeah. August: I think we both know that that’s not the case. Can I get a water, please? Henry: What do you know about it? August: I know it’s a book of stories. Henry: Aren’t all books? August: Stories…that really happened. Henry: You think my book is real? August: As real as I am. Henry: How do you know? August: Well, let’s just say that, uh, I’m a believer. And I want to help others see the light. That, my friend, is why I’m here. Henry: But I already believe. August: Oh, I’m not here for you, buddy. I’m here for Emma. Henry: So, you want to get her to believe? Why don’t you just tell her? August: Well, there are some people – like you and me – we can go on faith. But others – like Emma – they need proof. Henry: Last time I tried to find proof, I got trapped in a sinkhole. August: There are less dangerous places to look. [August taps Henry’s book.]

August: What you doing? Emma: Grasping at straws. August: Still trying to find a way to prove your friend’s been framed? Emma: Every time I go down a path I think leads somewhere, it ends up being a dead end. I used to think I had these great instincts… Superpower. Ah, I don’t know. August: It sounds like you got a case of writer’s block. Only without the whole writing part. Emma: Maybe. August: You know, when I get struck by a block, I usually reread what I’ve done, rather than plow ahead blindly. Sometimes, I find there’ll be a little nugget of inspiration left behind. Emma: You mean start over? August: I mean, when I start writing, I usually have one idea. And then, in the middle, I may get another idea, and things are different. Emma: So, your perspective changes. August: Exactly. When you started this investigation, what was it about? Emma: A missing person. Then, it became a murder, and then a cover-up. August: If you knew that then, maybe you would have approached things differently. Where you going? Emma: Scene of the crime. August: I’ll drive. (August follows her.) Emma: No, I’m fine. August: No, you’re not. You haven’t slept in days. And, let’s be honest – it was my idea.

Emma: Hey. I’m sorry. August: For what? Emma: For doubting you. I made a mistake. [She hands him a bag containing the bug from the vase.] August: What’s that? Emma: Evidence. Evidence that proves that I’ve been trusting all the wrong people. I should have listened to you. This bug was from Sidney. August: The newspaper guy? Emma: I should’ve seen it. August: Well, don’t beat yourself up about it, Emma. Sometimes, it’s hard to see what’s right in front of us, but I knew you would. Emma: I’m trying.

August: It’s almost nine. You all set? You know what to do? Henry: Operation Cobra is always ready. I just… August: You just what? Henry: I don’t understand what this has to do with getting Emma to believe. August: Sometimes, other priorities assert themselves. Can you handle a little improvisation? Henry: Yeah. Can you? August: We’re a go.

Henry: How bad was it? August: Getting caught in his office? Not bad. I played it off. Henry: What were you looking for? Did you find it? August: Nope. But I have a feeling it’s going to find me.

Mr. Gold: Oh, my boy. My beautiful boy. Can you truly, truly forgive me? August: I forgive you, Papa. Mr. Gold: You were looking for the knife. August: I thought that if you still had it, it would mean that you hadn’t changed. Mr. Gold: Well, let’s go and find it and see. [The two of them go to a spot in the woods. August begins digging with a shovel.] Mr. Gold: I buried it here shortly after Emma came to town. Things were changing. Didn’t want to take the chance of Regina finding it. August: Of course. Mr. Gold: It should be right about here, son. Here. Look, look. [Mr. Gold picks up the dagger out of the hole, which is wrapped in a cloth. He unwraps the dagger and hands it to August.] Mr. Gold: I want you to take it. Destroy it, the way I know you always wanted to. I found you, and I don’t need it anymore. I chose it once. Now, I choose you. [August takes the dagger and examines it.] August: It’s remarkable. [August holds up the dagger and points it at Mr. Gold.] August: By the power of the darkness, I command thee… Dark One. Mr. Gold: You’re trying to control me? August: I command thee, Dark One! Mr. Gold: You’re not my son. You’re not Baelfire. August: Papa, why would you say that? I’m just trying to use your power to help us. Mr. Gold: Enough! It’s over, Booth. Or whoever you are. My son would never try to use me. And he would know, that this knife cannot harness any magic in this world, because there is no magic in this world. That’s why he chose this place. He didn’t want me… [Mr. Gold grabs the dagger from August.] Mr. Gold: Dabbling. August: So, why bury a useless knife? Mr. Gold: Oh, I wouldn’t say it was useless. It still cuts through flesh rather nicely. It’s about time you start answering some questions, sunshine. Why the theatrics? Why didn’t you just come to me? August: I needed you to work for it. I needed you to want it so bad, you would ignore what your eyes were seeing. Do I even look like him at all? Mr. Gold: How do you know about this knife? August: I hear things. [Mr. Gold points the dagger at August, until he ends up backed up against a tree.] Mr. Gold: No one here knows about this knife. August: No one here remembers. Mr. Gold: And, yet, you do. You’re from there, aren’t you? From my world. August: The fact that you’re asking the question means you know the answer. Mr. Gold: Well, now that that’s settled… [Mr. Gold lunges at August, pinning him against the tree behind him. He holds the dagger to his throat.] Mr. Gold: How about my other question? Who told you about me and the knife? August: A little fairy. Mr. Gold: Why did you want it? If you know who I am, then you know who I am. The chances of you surviving this little encounter are pretty slim. So, why take the risk? August: Because I’ll die anyway. Mr. Gold: What? August: I’m sick. I’m sick, and I need magic. I was going to get the saviour to believe. But that woman… I don’t think I’m going to make it long enough to see that happen. [Mr. Gold removes the dagger from August’s throat.] Mr. Gold: She trusts you – it might be enough. Try again. August: You’re going to let me live? Mr. Gold: You’re going to die either way. This way, at least I might get something out of it.

August: Emma, wait up. Emma: You heard the kid – Operation Cobra calls. August: I didn’t think you believed any of that. Emma: Oh, I don’t. But, sometimes, it’s the only way to get through to Henry. August: You know, a custody battle against Regina isn’t going to accomplish anything. You need to look at the big picture. That’s the only way you’re going to understand what you’re up against. That’s the only way you’ll know how to beat Regina. Emma: Okay, new guy. How’s that? August: Take the day off. Come with me, and I’ll show you. Emma: And where exactly would we be going on this magical mystery tour? August: If I told you, you would never come. Oh, come on. Take a leap of faith. You come with me, and I promise you – you’ll find exactly what you’re looking for.

August: It’s not me slowing us down. It’s her. All she can think about right now is getting custody of her kid. Mr. Gold: Sounds like Sheriff Swan needs a course correction. August: She’s coming to you for legal advice. Mr. Gold: And you want me to steer her toward you? August: I can get her there. To believing. Trust me.

August: You look like you might be shorthanded. Marco: I get by. August: How would you feel about… Taking on an assistant? Marco: I can’t pay you. August: That’s okay. I just feel like fixing things.

August Booth/Pinocchio (Once Upon a Time): ENTP was originally published on MBTI Zone