#i have never forgotten and i never will i want my plums

[holylulusworld]

The dishwasher

Summary: His fingers are dirty…

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x GF!Reader

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, teasing, we stan his lil belly

Square filled for @avengers-assemble-bingo “Bucky Barnes Birthday bingo event": Square 3: Staring contest

Card No: 4B009

Square filled for @buckyboybingo: Square 13: Free space

Square filled for @fandom-free-bingo: "Half-Baked Edition": Square 6: Licking lips

“Babe, I’m home. I got the plums you wanted,” you gasp, seeing your man standing in the kitchen. He’s looking a little broody today, and you wonder what’s running through his head.

Bucky holds a book in his metal hand while, to your horror, he eats the leftovers of the lasagna you made with his flesh hand. The sauce ends up on his shirt, the kitchen counter, and the floor you just mopped.

You huff. You love watching your man being comfortable enough to eat food with his hand, and even that he got a little belly now, that he has a real home—but you hate that he gets himself, his clothes, and your kitchen dirty. – Again.

He looks at the ruined shirt and the floor before taking another bite. Bucky goes back to eating while reading as you try not to be too turned on by his rugged, chiseled appearance. Damn, his perfect jawline and firm muscles.

Even with a little more belly, he looks perfect. Maybe even more handsome. The dress shirt is hugging his muscular frame in all the right places. The buttons are undone, teasing a glimpse of his chest and a dusting of dark hair.

Licking your lips, you watch him take another bite. His lips part, revealing his skilled tongue.

“Doll,” he finally says, eyes drifting toward you standing in the door frame. “I didn’t hear you coming.” It’s a lie, you know it. Bucky simply wanted you to watch him eat because he knows it turns you on.

He gives you a smoldering look, making you whine. “Buck, what the hell,” you huff, instead of giving in to the things swirling in your mind. “You are dirty!”

“I know,” he purrs and gives you an irresistible smirk. “How about you come over here, and I’ll get you dirty too?”

You glance at his hands, humming as you imagine letting him finger-fuck you again.

“No—” Your answer surprises Bucky. He furrows his brows because so far, you have never said no to him. “I know what you did with your metal hand, and your other hand is stained with lasagna.”

He chuckles at your comment. “I can wash my hands. No problem, doll.”

“Not the metal one,” you huff. “I don’t want to know if there is still some blood, dirt, or food stuck in your metal fingers. You won’t get anywhere near me with your dirty fingers, sir.”

“Sir, huh?” Bucky grins before shoving the rest of the lasagna into his mouth. “I will come back to you and her.” He dips his head to look at your crotch. “How about I carry the bags inside, and you can slip into something comfortable?”

“I won’t let you touch me with your dirty fingers,” you coo while walking past your boyfriend. You glance over your shoulder, admiring the way the dress shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. “Eat up, baby. I got dessert for you.”

“Dessert,” he hums, eyes following your every move. Bucky looks at his hands, frowning deeply. “Let’s get you clean then…”

After cleaning the floor and taking off his dirty clothes, Bucky removed his metal arm and put it into the dishwasher to get it clean, but the machine doesn’t want to work.

“Stop making a fuss,” Bucky grumbles under his breath. He glares at the dishwasher, having a little one-sided staring contest with the machine. “I want you to do your job.”

Slamming the door shut, he presses the button again, waiting for the dishwasher to do its job.

He smirks as the dishwasher finally starts to work. “I’ll be right back.”

“Buck? Baby?” You look around the kitchen. Bucky must’ve cleaned the floor and kitchen island, but the man himself is nowhere to be found. “I was joking, you know.”

Looking at the dishwasher, you sigh. Bucky must’ve forgotten to shut it off. “Alright, let’s see if he used it right this time.” You chuckle while opening the door. You slide the rack out, screaming in terror as Bucky’s metal arm lies in the rack.

“Doll? Y/N? What happened?” Bucky runs into the kitchen, looking for the source of your distress. “What’s wrong?” He searches for an intruder.

“Your arm…” You point at the dishwasher, still a little shaken. “Why is your arm in the dishwasher, Bucky? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“You wanted me to clean my hands,” he shrugs and steps toward the dishwasher. Bucky pecks your cheek before getting the arm out of the dishwasher to put it back on.

“You’re crazy,” you giggle when he wraps his arms around your waistline to kiss your neck. It makes you happy that Bucky feels safe and comfortable enough in your shared home to take his metal arm off without thinking twice. “But I love you.”

“I love you too, baby doll.” He nuzzles your neck, sighing happily as you wrap your arms around him.

[thehydraethereal]

FRIGHTENING NEW WORLD

WE DRANK LOYALTY IN VINES...

...BUT YOURS TURNED TO BLOOD IN MY MOUTH.

⇀ word count: 1.1 K

⇀ pairings: dark! Sam Wilson x reader | dark! Bucky Barnes x reader (implied) | Joaquin Torres x reader | ✶✶✶

⇀ warnings: dark dark dark content, 18+ MDNI | violence; power imbalance; phsychological horror; blood: restraints; threats; mentions of rape; mentions of domestic violence; mentions of forced infertility; dacryphilia; swear words, my work is dark and triggering. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

⇀ author's note: i've finished this in ONE sitting, wow. I loved CABNW and this occured in my mind as soon as I finished watching it. Reblogs, comments, and more REQUESTS are appreciated. BUCKY BARNES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST |

⇁ tags: my soul sister @highonmarvel xxx | If you want to be added to my taglist, let me know. I love you all so so much! Thank you for reading!

Oaxaca, Mexico

You had never believed that the sun might shine over you again, but here you were, strolling peacefully through the bustling market, a woven basket nestled in the crook of your arm, its handle tangled in your fingers. Your gaze lingered on the ripe, sun-kissed fruit— apricots, blushing peaches, nectarines, and ruby-red strawberries—while the air swelled with their honeyed fragrance, laced with the mellow sweetness of…plums.

Even after almost one year, the scent rose stripes of terror up your spine, and whenever you saw their blue–burgundy color, the broken ribs, the slaps, the punches, even his gaze flooded your mind altogether.

The anxiety attacks were fewer, shorter and less frightening every week, but your previous life still lingered in the back of your head. The wounds were long healed, but small scars were visible here and there—up your arms towards your shoulders, on your thighs, littlest ones on the crook of your neck and up your jaw and one people were…not able to see. After he took your freedom, broke your will, terrorized you even of your own shadow, he took your right and your ability of…ever having a family of your own. Your pained gaze often fell upon children around your house, in the village and it was like his reminder that said ‘I did this to you. You’ll never have one of your own.’, and it always made you turn your head away from them nauseously.

You never thought you'd be able to flee James Barnes, you thought it was impossible and it truly was. But some divine force must have helped you gain the bravery you never knew was inside you, and guided you all the way here, in this forgotten speck on the map.

The bells of the wide church —the only major social point in the town, situated right next to the market— rang loudly, in an oddly comforting way and you inhaled deeply as you adjusted the long skirts of your summer dress.

A loud explosion interrupted your beautiful life, and you fell on the road. Dust, mud and pulp of crushed, rotten fruit from the ground stained your new dress and you let out a broken sob when you also saw blood on your palms. Small cuts lingered on the raw skin, and you struggled to get up. The freshly bought fruit were long forgotten in the dirt as you looked disorientated around and your teary eyes caught a pair of coal black ones.

Your heart leapt out of your ribcage when you remembered the face. Sam Wilson, a shadow from your past, was James’ best friend. His eyes glinted when he recognized you. He was like a falcon—you never doubted his superhero name—and you were most afraid to hide away from him back then when you ran.

You never got the chance to see the smirk that planted on his face because of how swift you turned your head away, somehow pleading to the divine force to help you again and make him forget your features. But a man about your age already got his orders about you.

Joaquin Torres furrowed his brows in confusion when he heard Captain America's orders.

"So let me get this straight— you want me to gather all the bad guys and jus' throw them in the cars myself, man? Are-are you sure 'bout this?", the young man asked, looking around him.

"Do you think you can handle them?", came the voice from the other side of the phone to which Joaquin nodded vigorously to himself, then replied affirmatively and maybe too excitedly.

"Good, we'll meet at the agreed location in short time. I—", finished the older man, looking at the tiny, cozy cottage before his eyes, "—have some business to take care of."

You were stuffing clothing items in a bag with one hand and with the other you were looking through the bedside cabinet for your passport and cash. Tears ran down your face ever since you arrived home from the market and you simply couldn't stop them, despite the will to do so.

You zipped up the bag and you pulled on a pair of clean shorts and a large tee with leafy hands and then you climbed down the stairs. Regret, anger, fear, all these ate at you.

"It's good to see you again, honeybee!"

You almost stumbled across the last stair when the words hit you. Your lungs were rejecting the oxygen as more tears fell when your eyes caught the ones you knew so well.

His hands were carelessly caressing the chair before him, his gaze sticked on your trembling figure.

"You know, I really hoped to catch a glimpse of the pretty sight standing in front of me now earlier, it would've spared my pal of much suffering."

"Suffering?", you whispered, finding the voice under all the bitterness in your throat. "H-he suffered? He was the one t-that suffered?"

"Oh, and how he did. He refused to eat the week you left, he barely slept for months, he spent millions on men, private detectives, all types of shit just to find you. I also highly doubt he fucked since you decided to disappear into thin air."

Your face contorted into a disgusted grimace as you took a small step back.

"Honeybee—", Sam growled as he started approaching you, "—I'd reallyyy like to give you a nice, lil' chance to get the fuck outta this house and go back with me, but I'm afraid you lost that right looong ago."

You couldn't even resist when his rough, confident grip fell over your freshly healed wrists, and when you felt your back pressed into his broad, sculpted chest, a whimper escaped your lips.

Sam bent you on the counter and your face fell into the flowers you picked from your garden in the morning and you tried to block everything, simply not wanting to believe this was happening. You really believed you would be free and at peace, protected and joyful for the rest of your life. How pathetic and far away those hopes sounded. Scratchy plastic secured your hands together as Sam grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you up against him again. He knocked the door open with his foot and started pulling you out of your comforting shelter.

"Sam, I am begging you, don't t-take me back to him, pleaseeee.", you started crying as he forced you outside your home. "You can't d-do this t-to me, Sam, you can't! Y-you were my...my friend, too."

Sam slapped his palm across your mouth to muffle the screams, or maybe to stop the words that made him feel so guilty from coming. "I am James' friend, not yours. My loyalty is his, and everything you've done hurt him. Now it's jus' fair you suffer too, ain't it?". These words hurt more than anything he did until now. Sam knew what Bucky did, he had seen the bruises, he had heard the cries, yet he had done nothing against it. And maybe that unsettled you, but now? Now he was forcing you into the wolf's fangs, and it felt completely different.

Your lost eyes caught one of your neighbors, Ms. Solís , at the window. Another whimper escaped you pleadingly, directed to her, but she did not dare to do anything. Nobody ever did.

Your knees buckled under your own weight, and you collapsed in the dust despite Sam's grip. You heard him scowl and his hand came to the back of your shirt. He gripped it and pulled you up against his body again. You sobbed and you tried to elbow him but Sam was swifter. He caught your tied limbs and grasped. "Fuckin' walk, bitch. Bucky would want to teach you to behave first, but I don't mind starting myself right now, you hear me?". The threat made you cry harder and when Sam gripped your arms even harsher you nodded weakly. What Sam was doing to you felt like a short training considering what would wait for you back in New York.

A black SUV was parked there, behind some wide Madrone bushes. Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might just burst right there. You hoped that, if you were to be honest.

"S-sam, just know th-that if you're taking me back....he'll k-kill me—", you tried calling Sam's mercy out one last time. He just turned his head away, letting your words fall into the abyss of desperation and nothingness.

A younger man peeked from behind the vehicle. His smile dropped when he saw your trembling form. His eyes darted from the blood on your chin to your restrained and bruised arms. Hair was cascading over your face and your lower lip trembled as you fought with yourself to stop the sobs and whimpers. Joaquin thought you were so beautiful. So, why were you here in this state?

"Whoa, man, what's happening? What did she do?" Joaquin started, coming closer to you with raised hands, showing you you don't have to be afraid of him. You still flinched when his caring hands came in contact with your pained limbs.

"Leave her as she is, Joaquin...", said Sam and you looked desperately at the man your age. He furrowed his brows and looked at his superior. "B-but—"

"You wanna be the next Falcon, don't you?" Sam asked, patting the younger man on the shoulder.

"Yes, of course I do!"

"Then—", Sam started again, looking into the boys' eyes, "—you gotta learn to close your eyes at certain things. These are the stories media don't care about, you hear me? The majority of people get saved, everybody's happy, but you should know there are...collateral victims. And she's one of 'em. Now, buddy, if you really wanna be an Avenger...put her in the car."

Joaquin took a big step back, accidentally bumping into you. He quickly caught you, preventing your body from falling again, and then looked back at Sam, which raised his brows and his hands, as if he was giving Joaquin an offer he couldn't refuse. And Joaquin didn't refuse it.

He opened the car door and he tried to carefully place you in the backseat. " 'm sorry, so sorry...", he mumbled as he gave you the pill Sam told him to. "This'll help ya sleep, okay?"

"P-please, please help me—', you cried, looking into his regretful eyes as he forced the drug past your lips.

"Shh, shhh...you'll be jus' fine, 'kay? Be good now, please—".

You knew you will be anything but fine. Sam and Joaquin both entered the car and as Joaquin was starting it, Sam dialed a number and put the phone on speaker.

"Buck, I think I've found somethin' that's yours, buddy. And you'll be really thrilled to see it...", Sam laughed, smirking at you in the reviewing mirror.

The quietness that followed the sentence was short, but dense.

"Hello, doll...", came the voice from the other side of the phone, and its maliciousness and calmness made your whole body shiver. He knew you were there. He was sure of it somehow. You felt his presence right there, in Sam's deeds, in the dark sky, in your rapid, choked sobs, in your heavy lids.

That fucking nickname wrote right then, right there the end of your world and marked the beginning of the Frightening New World.

[gladiatorcunt]

- APOLLO REACHES FOR THE SEA | V.

under my skin’s an intrinsic shrine

cw: kinktober prompt (s) - scent & food play, canon typical obsessive behavior, anankin & reader are both 20, reader has a pussy, more suggestive, friends to lovers, drunk-ish sex, unprotected sex, implied angst of the series’s canon events, aotc!era but pre actual aotc events, dead dove do not eat

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“Ani, watch out! You’re going to spill the plums!” You giggle, ushering him in the quarters you share with your Master Shaak Ti.

It’s late at night, a rare day without missions as you both get closer to knighthood. So Anakin had casually suggested swiping some food from the food stalls in the city and having a sleepover, just like old times. You’d known each other since he had come to the temple 12 years ago, and you can admit that you’ve been missing the hours you used to waste away laughing and dreaming of your futures as Jedi Masters. You had bonded over wanting to help people and become powerful enough to stop tragedy from happening, he’s whispered things to you that he fears Obi-Wan Kenobi would flay him alive for.

He’s the only one that knows anything about your family, what you ran to the Jedi Order from. You’re not allowed to have personal belongings from that time of your life, but you slipped a good luck charm in the folds of Anakin’s tunic on your 14th birthday and pecked his lips before darting off to your sparring session with your Master.

Perhaps it’s a panic response, clinging to these brief silver linings when you can sense his force signature darkening. Anakin does what you wish you could, deep down, how can you judge his heart when it’s other half aches in your chest?

“You think too little of me, Scyva.” Ani grins, balancing the tray in the crook of his arm as he follows you to your room.

Scyva, because that’s what an edgy prepubescent you had insisted on if he was going to call you a name derived from the Old Gods. In truth, it made you terribly shy that he wanted to call you Aivela, that he still does after he gives you the bare minimum of saying the name you wanted first.

“Well,” he had ‘hmph’ed back then, “Then I’ll be Izax, because that’s Scyva’s husband.”

So simple, so assured, like it was the most obvious declaration in the world to make. Playing house with forces beyond your understanding in their clothes.

Your cheeks warm as you recall the memory, you close your door hoping that Masters Shaak Ti and Obi-Wan will be delayed more than you thought.

Anakin had also managed to finesse a couple of cups of Jawa Juice from Dex’s Diner, “Master’s a good friend of his, but he won’t rat us out.”

Both of those cups are gone and empty within minutes, the pair of you doped up on the sizzling connection between you. This unbreakable bond that formed all those years ago, it’s like all your pains and troubles fade away when you’re near Anakin. He’s told you the same, with an imploring look in his doe eyes, begging you without words to understand what that must mean. Why you two are so clearly meant for each other.

He’s the chosen one, he teased you when you were 15 and had lost round after round to him in training, the force wouldn’t want it’s son to be without a chosen one of his own.

You were 16 and learning how to swim together, you had forgotten how but Anakin held you up in the water like he had been doing it all his life. You pecked his lips again then too, that’s all you ever did, the farthest you went. To do more would be to open up durasteel gates that would flood Coruscant in sparks and wet wires.

You shrug off the outer layers of your tunic, plopping down on your bed and sighing, “I could never think more of you if I tried, Ani.”

Give Anakin Skywalker a pearl and he’ll turn it into a Greater Krayt Dragon.

His seemingly stuck grin widens and he clamors onto the bed to lie right beside you, “Yeah? Typical of my biggest fan.”

Your arms brush together and a sudden jolt of fire burns down your throat.

You roll your eyes, picking up a plum and biting into it, ignoring the bob of Anakin’s adam’s apple and the flash of arousal in the force.

You don’t know why, but you make eye contact as you finish the piece of fruit, making an extra effort to lick some of the purplish-red juice off your bottom lip.

Anakin shuffles closer and reaches out to rub away what you missed with his thumb. Your breath hitches, the air in the room is shifting to something you can’t even say you didn’t anticipate or secretly wish for. Ani’s always so warm, every part of him, and the comfort his coarse finger tip brings to your often bitten lip lights a candle in your soul.

Neither of you say anything as he brings his other closer to your hip, his fingers ghosting along the curve like he’s afraid to touch you, that you’ll disappear if he lets himself buy into the delusion that he can have something so sacred. Anakin Skywalker doesn’t buy, he gets bought, but every teasing moment over the years does some serious damage to a 20 year old guy’s psyche. Maybe you should think of it like sparring, you can’t improve without throwing yourself into the fray.

The kiss he plants on you isn’t anywhere close to one of your previous “friendly” pecks, it’s ravenous. He’s enthusiastic, moving to sink his thumbs into the divots under your jaw so he can tilt your head up. He moans into it too, heady and smug with every caress of your lips and every wet pop signaling you pulling away to breathe or change your position.

“Fuck, you taste so good, Aivela.” Anakin hisses, eagerly yanking the rest of your robes off in between more kisses and briefly separating to toss them unceremoniously on the floor.

You moan, sliding your hands up his bare back and pulling at hair that’s not quite long enough to tug like you want to, “So do you, Ani, force-”

He cuts you off by snaking his tongue in your mouth, cleaning your teeth from the dark mess of the plum juice, which only stains you both even further. His arousal in the force grows and you can feel his dick twitch against your hip, the bond tells you that he loves being messy with you, that it feels right to be this real and uninhibited with each other. To be this raw.

“You ruin me, you know that? I’m trying so hard to be perfect. For you, for Obi-Wan, for the council, for my mom.”

It’s easy at this moment, with this boy, to be damningly honest. “ You’re already perfect to me, Ani, there’s nothing about you I would change.”

You’ll always love the 9 year old boy who became your first friend, and you became his, every version of him after that only fleshes him out and waters the underestimated sapling into a massive tree with nonflammable roots.

Anakin shudders when you say he’s perfect, the feeling of being indulged and complimented by a friend who he’s spent countless nights jerking off to, muffling his whines and groans into his pillow so Obi-Wan doesn’t suspect anything. But knowing his master, he probably already knows and is discussing it with your master right now.

You pick up on his train of thought, “You don’t have to be so paranoid, Ani. You don’t know for sure that anything bad is going to happen.”

He nods and shrugs it off, storing that opportunity to spiral away for later. You exclaim in surprise as he dives in to kiss you again. The kisses are hotter now, heavy and sloppy with intention. Anakin waves a hand around trying to find the tray of plums without breaking away from you, he eventually fumbles onto it and yanks it to push into your hip.

You pull back in confusion, but Anakin smiles and pushes you to fall on your back with his hand splayed out across your chest.

He takes a plum and bites off half of it, leaning down to share it with you as he crushes the other half above your body, honing in on the squelching sound and passing you bits of the plum from his tongue to yours.

“I’ve had dreams of a goddess of love on a lonely planet in the future, a god too, and they look just. like. you.” He draws back and punctuates each word with a swipe of his tongue through the plum juice on your ribs.

You hear more than see the sniff he takes of your skin, deep lung fulls of the fruity hints in your natural musk. He humps into the mattress and his cock twitches, your belly clenches when he flicks droplets of sweat off of you, the pink in his bunny tongue winking up at you in the low light.

You relax against your pillows and run a hand over his hair as he busies himself with drinking the plum juice off your body like body shots. You bask in his pulsing force signature and the tantalizing sight of your best friend Ani humping his gorgeous cock on the chub gathered on your lower stomach.

You feed him more plums, moaning as he slurps at your fingers and sucks them clean, wrapping his lips around them down to the knuckle. A bright yellow thank you rings out in the force. He’s messy on purpose, letting bits fall out of his mouth onto your tummy, just so he can take another hit off your skin and clean the juice up. He licks long flat stripes up your soft stomach, making sure you're watching as he moans and swallows down every drop.

Anakin’s pupils are twin black holes, and he actually smiles when the teasing gets to be too much to handle and you send out your desire for him to move downwards into the force. His teeth are almost sharp in this lightning, your breaths are shallow and he scrapes them over the top of your mound.

“Smells amazing.” He moans and tries to press a kiss to each little hair he finds. “ ‘s gonna be way better than some fuckin’ plums. Love you so much, Scyva, Nahut..”

Goddess of sorrow, you don’t know how you bring him to his knees.

God of apathy, hated by all but the other part of you, there’s something dark unfurling in you too.

Your half heart skips a beat. It’s probably just the Jawa Juice, you reason, even though Anakin jumps out of speeders more often than not and is so damn reckless he can handle a cup of fermented grains. You yourself feel buzzed, pleasantly tipsy in a way that only enhances the sensation of physical touch.

“You trust me?” Ani asks, long fingers poised to slip into your hole, he won’t give in until you learn to use your words.

No more beating around bush, instead more busting the fuck through that thing.

“You’re the only one I trust.”

The force flares around you, endlessly pleased.

He returns to sucking the juice off your skin as he dips two of his fingers inside at once. Sue him for being impatient, but he’s getting everything he’s ever wanted right now. By what the force is telling him, so are you. You gasp at the little sting, but you let your legs go lax against the sheets, spreading yourself wider for him.

Anakin takes a second to gawk in awe at the view, your wet hole clinging to his fingers as he slowly pumps them deeper into you. You’re both so glad he didn’t beg Dex for more Jawa Juice, there’s no way you can run from this memory forever. He picks up his dry humping, whimpering as his precum falls on your favorite blanket.

He tosses his head back to stare into your eyes and grinds against your tummy like his dick is where his fingers are. You’re nodding, making the cutest little hiccups and tensing your thighs, resisting the urge to squeeze them around his arm. Anakin chuckles as he feeds you the other two fingers, imagine how wide your entrance would stretch around his entire fist.

Your pussy flutters around his fingers and he hunches his back to be able to kiss your clit hello, taking a whiff of that too before suckling. You keen and he takes his mouth off of you, massaging your slick into his golden skin.

He moans and drives his tip further into your plush curves, circling his thumb on your clit until you both tumble over the edge. It’s not a mind shattering orgasm for either of you, too little stimulation and too pliant from the booze, but that’s okay. That won’t be the only time you’ll cum tonight, and this time it’ll feel so good the force rebuilds itself around the two of you, Anakin will do his very best to blame going in raw on intoxication.

That’s what you’ll blame for clawing at his ass and hooking your heels into his back to keep all of him inside of you, like the force itself won’t let him pull out to sleep. You’ll figure out what to do in the morning. But for now, Anakin is grabbing your hand and leading you into the fresher.

The plum tray clatters to the floor.

[witchingwithscissors]

No one asked…

but I’m thinking about how Agatha Harkness saw Rio Vidal for the first time in 1690s Salem and immediately fell to pieces.

We’re talking colonial Massachusetts.

✨Puritan hellscape✨

Everyone’s named Mercy or Deliverance or Goody Something and they think dancing is heresy and color is a sin.

1690s townsperson or something be like: A pox on her palette! God made beige, and she mocketh Him with plum and peacock, THE SLOVENLY WITCH!

Agatha’s been raised under starched linen and shame, laced into stays so tight she can’t even breathe properly, living under the icy glare of a coven that calls itself enlightened while still fearing her and don’t even get me started on her—

TOO LATE

Agatha’s mother didn’t want her.

She didn’t just think it. She said it. Wished her child had never been born—right to their face.

So Agatha doesn’t feel like she belongs anywhere. She just survives. She endures because no one ever taught her how to be wanted.

But then Rio Vidal shows up.

Pause.

Rio Vidal/Lady Death is played by a Puerto Rican actress, so yeah—buckle up, babe, we’re going there. I don’t read the comics, and if she’s different there, that’s cute for her. But I’m not talking about comic book Rio. I’m spiraling over Agatha All Along Rio. That’s the one ruining my life.

This witch.

Cool? Cool.

Okay, so according to the internet, Agatha was put on trial for practicing dark magic in 1693—which would’ve made her around 18 at the time.

So let’s say that’s roughly when they met.

In SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS, USA.

That’s not just historically inaccurate, it’s cosmically disruptive. Puerto Rican migration to the US didn’t really begin until the late 1800s, and even then it was mostly to big, populated places like New York—not dusty, Puritan, white-knuckled colonial Massachusetts.

What I’m saying is, there should NOT have been a tan-skinned woman with long dark hair and green dresses, speaking Spanish like spun sugar and thunderclaps, strolling through a damn witch trial town in 1690-whatever.

People like Rio weren’t seen. Weren’t recorded. Weren’t supposed to be there. But there she was. In the middle of Salem.

Glowing? Maybe.

Smirking? Most likely.

Real? Undeniably.

And Agatha saw her. REALLY saw her.

And I know she just disintegrated.

She opened her mouth intending to say something charming and mysterious and instead blurted out, “Do you like herbs?” while glowing like a cursed lantern and trying not to float off the ground.

Because Agatha knew.

Maybe not consciously. But somewhere deep in her bones she recognized Rio for what she was.

Death.

The end of the line.

A cosmic being who walked the Earth quietly, unseen, only felt at the edge of breath.

Most people look through her. She’s not supposed to be noticed. She blends in because she HAS to.

But Agatha noticed.

Agatha stared at those big brown eyes and full lips.

Agatha FLIRTED. Or at least tried to.

She brushed Rio’s hand and had the audacity to say, “Oh. That’s new.”

Because it WAS.

No one touches Death like that.

No one calls Death pretty. Or beautiful. Or kind.

No one yells ‘¡VÁMONOS!’ at a group of slow-ass villagers and then winks like it’s foreplay. Rio probably just stood there, a little stunned that Agatha’s pronunciation had improved, then smiled to herself and touched the bruise on her neck where Agatha bit her the night before.

And it wasn’t just lust.

Rio taught her things like Spanish. Ancient stories. Spells that hadn’t been spoken in centuries. The quiet rules of the universe whispered under wool blankets while Agatha traced symbols on her stomach just to make her giggle. And Rio laughed. For the first time in eons.

Or maybe… ever?

Death, laughing. Because of a witch.

They were weird.

Chaotic.

Probably too much at times.

Agatha carved secret sigils into candlesticks, quiet spells to make Rio stay a little longer. Rio hummed forgotten lullabies and brought her tea without being asked, like it was instinct. They loved each other—softly, stubbornly—two misfits clinging to something that felt like home.

Every Mary and Abigail in the village became background noise.

Every word from her mother became weightless.

Agatha wanted Rio.

And Rio—who had always kept herself separate, who had never been touched without fear—STAYED.

She knew there would be consequences. That loving a human would change her. Cost her. But Agatha made her wonder. Made her believe… maybe even Death wasn’t meant to walk alone.

And so she gave her everything she could. Love. Respect. A child. A home. A future.

✨A CHOICE✨

Anyway. Sorry. I blacked out. What were we talking about?

[echo-goes-mmm]

Poker (Oneshot)

My Writing Masterpost

Warnings: implied forced prostitution, off screen murder, drugs mentions

Jack Fish was late.

Damien tapped his zippo twice on the table. He lit up, inhaling deep.

The bar was non-smoking, but exceptions were made at 2 am. Exceptions were always made for him, because he was boss and the family was doing very well. Aside from a few thorns in his side.

Like Jack Fish.

“He’ll be here, boss,” said Lorenzo from his left. “I swear.”

Damien hummed.

The cig wasn’t particularly satisfying, and he put it out. No point in stinking up Chip’s bar if he wasn’t enjoying it.

“Time, Ed?”

The man to his right glanced at his watch. “Two thirty.”

Damien gritted his teeth.

“If he isn’t here in fifteen minutes, find him and shoot him.”

“Yessir.”

___________________

The door opened, and the three men looked up from their cards.

Jack Fish swaggered into the bar, a pretty little thing on his arm.

“I didn’t say you could bring a plus one,” Damien drawled. He tapped his lighter on the table.

“Aw, he won’t say nothing,” grinned Fish. His teeth were yellow. “Right, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart smiled weakly, and the dim light made his split lip look like a smear and his bruises dark as plum.

“Fine.”

It wasn’t, but Fish didn’t need to know what kind of trouble he was in just yet. Ed checked the time again.

“Want a drink?” Damien offered, gesturing to Chip wiping down the bar.

“Just a beer,” he said, plopping into a chair.

It was the last one left at the table, and Jack didn’t pull another one over for his rent boy. Ass.

The prostitute ended up sitting at his feet. It would be cute if he was a puppy, but he was no dog. Just had been kicked like one.

“What kind?” Chip asked, exasperated. “We have-”

“Doesn’t matter,” shrugged Fish. He turned to Damien. “So about the docks-”

“Deal the cards, Izzy,” interrupted Damien. Lorenzo shuffled the deck, and Fish deflated. 

“Buy in starts at a hundred,” Ed informed Jack.

It was going to be a long night.

___________________

Three games and five beers in, and Jack Fish was out of money and more nervous than a cat at the vet.

“Chip, a lemon drop martini if you would.” Izzy Lorenzo and Ed looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes.

Jack laughed nervously. “Never thought you were a cocktail man,” he said.

Damien let the comment hang in the air. 

“Why’s that?” he said, casually picking out a cigarette from the case. Chip placed the frosty martini glass in front of him.

Fish eyed him as he lit up. “Nothing,” he said. “Nevermind.”

Ed raised, tossing another bill into the pile.

Jack shifted. He glanced at his cards. He wanted to win, convinced that he could impress Damien if he did.

He was a dead man the moment he agreed to the meeting.

“Well?” said Lorenzo. 

Jack’s face split into a smug grin. “I’ll bet my boy. Why not?”

Damien was not impressed.

___________________

Smoke swirled around the bar, and Emile couldn’t help but cough. Mr. Fish kicked him underneath the table, his brogues catching his already bruised rib.

Emile winced, but kept quiet.

Damien fucking Kelly was less than two feet away, and it was his smoke he was coughing at.

Emile didn’t feel like getting shot tonight. Today? Hard to know.

“What are you doing with my girls?” Kelly asked, breaking the silence.

“...What?” Mr. Fish said.

“The girls on 51st. What do you think you’re doing?” He sounded angry. They were so dead.

Emile covered his mouth with his hands, hoping Kelly had forgotten he was here.

“I thought we were here to talk business-”

“We are. My business.”

They argued, and Mr. Fish kept digging a deeper hole. Tears pricked at the corners of Emile’s eyes.

Two of the men stood, pulling pistols. 

They escorted Mr. Fish out back. There was a gunshot, and Emile let out a sob.

The last chair scraped back against the hardwood.

Damien Kelly, the scariest man in the city, stared down at him. 

“I won’t tell-”

“Get up.”

Emile stood up, shaking. “I’ll do anything,” he offered weakly. “Any service you want, anytime-”

Kelly shoved him by the shoulder, towards the bar. “I know. Sit.”

Emile sat at the bar. 

“Have a drink,” Kelly said.

The man at the bar, Chip maybe, placed a full glass of something in front of him.

Kelly left for a moment, and Emile didn’t really have a choice, did he?

The cocktail was sweet and fizzy, and barely tasted like vodka.

He stared down at the empty glass. 

“Who won the game?” he asked Chip, quiet.

Chip knew what he meant immediately. “Mr. Kelly.”

Emile asked for another drink.

___________________

The car ride was silent.

Mr. Kelly had a driver, and Emile wondered where they were going. The car weaved through downtown, the yellow streetlights reflecting off the shiny windows of the ritzy apartment lobbies and hotels.

They stopped at a tall, dark building, all glass and steel and a doorman.

He didn’t acknowledge them, even as Mr. Kelly handed him a wad of bills that Emile was pretty sure added up into the triple digits.

The button on the elevator had a ridiculously high number on it, and Emile wished he was drunk enough to not care.

___________________

The escort was a tiny thing, and Damien was sure he could span the boy’s waist with his hands.

“You use drugs to get that skinny or it is just having sleep for dinner that does it?” he said flippantly, sitting heavy on his couch.

“W-what?” the boy said, trembling.

Bad start.

“Drugs,” Damien repeated anyway. He cocked his head. “Heroin?” he guessed.

“No, I- I just can’t afford much food.”

Damn.

Damien lit a cig, and the boy looked away, wincing. 

He put out the light. He probably shouldn’t be smoking anyway. It was just hard as hell to quit.

Damien eyed the stack of takeout menus on his side table.

“Pizza?” he offered.

The kid’s head snapped towards him. A pause.

“You can get pizza at this hour?” he said, only half joking, because his eyes were as wide as saucers.

“You can get anything in this city with enough cash.”

Bad joke. The rent boy knew that already. He was an anything.

___________________

The pizza was hot and greasy, with pepperoni and mushrooms and parmesan.

It was perfect, but the offer of food and a bottled lemonade from the fridge made him even more uneasy.

Emile wiped the grease off on the tiny pair of shorts he was wearing (at Mr. Fish orders).

Mr. Kelly lounged on the couch.

“Aren’t you-” started Emile. 

“Aren’t I what?”

“Aren’t you going to fuck me?” he asked, feeling pathetic and stupid. 

“You want that?” Kelly said, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

Emile sat dumbfounded.

“But you won poker.”

“And? Do you want that?”

A pause.

“N-no.”

“Good.”

Kelly’s head fell back against the couch. “Shower’s down the hall,” he said. “Clean up and take a nap or something.”

Emile decided to push his luck. “Then what?”

“D’you mean, then what? Don’t you have a shit apartment to go to?”

Emile debated with himself. “I lived with Mr. Fish,” he admitted. “He- he didn’t let me keep any money-”

___________________

“Well shit, kid. What’s your name?”

Kelly stood from the couch, grabbing the second-to-last slice of pizza.

Damn him. His future, sober self, was going to be so annoyed. But he was a sucker for cute boys with a sob story.

“Emile.”

“House rules. No one comes in, you don’t tell anyone where you’re staying, and keep takeout orders to a limit of four a week.”

“Wh- what?”

God, he was tired. Curse Jack Fish for being a tardy ass.

“Just go shower.”

___________________

The boy kept after himself, but he didn’t leave. Even when Damien pressed wads of hundreds into his palms, or told him to clean the kitchen though it wasn’t dirty.

Damien found out that he didn’t really mind the company after all.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @phoenixpromptsandstuff

[luvstiorra]

introducing: stiorra's hogwarts reality ⟢

˚　.　　. 　 ˚　. . ✦　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　.  　˚　* ✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　

STIORRA LEFAYE, heir of the infamous morgana lefaye; whose purple eyes shine like starlight and porcelain skin reflects the moon, her midnight hair veils her in a cloak of mystery as she glides through the castle halls.

she, the silent and hawk-eyed sorceress who knows your secrets even before you do. the potions prodigy, who can speak a thousand languages, who will live a hundred lives, she who is destined for greatness-- or for madness.

˚　　✦　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　 . ✦　˚　　.   　˚　　　* ✦　　　.　　.　　

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

⟢ THE LIFE OF A LEFAYE

"lovely-eyed. death-touched. witch."

born and raised deep in the norwegian forests by my parents alongside my brothers, i learned a sacred and ancient way of magical life before starting my formal education at fourteen through the prestigious durmstrang institute. inheriting a gift from my mother, i can understand any language-- known or long forgotten. deciphering runes, reading books so archaic dust eternally clings to the pages, even talking to animals is second nature for me.

at eighteen, i'm a fourth year student at durmstrang. to my peers, i'm a quiet and hard to read dreamer. but to those who know me deeper like viktor krum, my closest friend and sole confidant, i'm a fiery and ambitious witch determined to live up to my predecessor's former power and glory.

when a scarlet-eyed raven bearing the durmstrang crest landed beside me, carrying a scroll informing me about the a revival of an ancient tournament of magic and courage, i knew it was how my name would first grace the pages of wizarding history.

　*　　　 .　☾　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　,　　　　✩　　　　. 　　　　 　　*

　. 　 ˚　.　　 *　　. 　 ˚　.　˚　　. 　 　.　　. 　 　.　.　*　　˚　. 　 

⟢ HER SECRETS

"she looked pale, mysterious, like a lily, drowned, under water."

little is known about me, my reputation shrouded in mystery and allure. it's all calculated, of course. people see precisely what i want them to. no more, no less. first impressions are everything; there's only one shot at getting to know the true stiorra lefaye. one small misstep will earn you a scathing side-eye to let you know you've completely blown it.

succeed, however, and you'll find i'll be your most devoted companion. i'm loyal with a ferocity, you will have no weaknesses when i've got your back. tell me your every wish, and i'll tell you mine. pour out your soul to me, i'll pick it up and hold it tight.

my secrets are yours. my knowledge from endless nights studying forgotten (and, let's face it, forbidden) magic. abstract prophetic dreams. my fear of open water and what lurks within. my childhood dreams that, deep down, i still pray to manifest. maybe i'll even give you my prized potion recipes, but for that we'd need the unbreaking vow swearing you to secrecy.

when it comes to academics, i'm top of the class. composed, gifted, untouchable. in practical exams i'll give my magic extra potency and decorative flair. in theoreticals, my answers are so detailed i bring up arguments and nuances the professor never even dreamed of. i doubt anyone can threaten me in any subject, but if someone manages to, i won't stop until i am securely ahead once again.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　.　　　　　　 ✦　　　.　　

˚　.　　. 　 ˚　. . ✦　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　.  　˚　* ✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　

⟢ HER AURA

"she has a dark, vintage soul where black butterflies dance and wild orchids grow."

when you think of stiorra (which you will often), think:

⟡ a quiet morning in a cold, empty, yet oddly comforting house. a draft blowing through the cracked windows. a vintage porcelain teacup filled with warm coffee. sitting on the dusty velvet sofa curled under cashmere blankets, looking through the fogged glass at a valley surrounded by a forest of towering evergreen trees.

⟡ a golden cauldron bubbling ominously. the potion inside shimmering and shining, steam dancing above it in vibrant shades. the scent of plum and herbs fills the room and draws you in.

⟡ handwritten notes on yellowing parchment. neat and swirling letters in jewel toned ink spell out secrets or sweet nothings.

⟡ the sound of clicking heels as i walk through the corridors-- effortlessly, confidently. a quick smile, a neatly manicured hand briefly brushing past your own as a subtle yet affectionate greeting.

⟡ reading by candlelight in the late hours of the night, so absorbed in the timeworn texts i forget to check the time. by the time i look up, the sun peeks through the mountains. there's a faint purple showing under my eyes as i dress for breakfast.

　*　　　 .　☾　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　,　　　　✩　　　　. 　　　　 　　　

[ragingbookdragon]

There Is Always A Reason

Lindir of Rivendell x Reader

Word Count: 1.2K Warnings: Nothing, except sappiness maybe

Author's Note: Oh hey, I made a gay elf :) -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Relationships of the same sex amongst elves wasn’t uncommon, but it also wasn’t as occurring as the opposite sex ones. The elves had noticed with more or less speculation that it was the humans who had a lack of more understanding when it came to relationships, but then again, if humans didn’t marry and produce heirs, their race would die out—for elves, copulation wasn’t necessarily a major issue as most only ever had two or three heirs. That being said, the elves welcomed love amongst their race, never shied away from the men and women amongst themselves having relationships or attraction to the same sex.

It was, exactly that that brought him to Rivendell from Lórien. A chance at seeing the attendant of Lord Elrond while he was on guard duty for Lady Galadriel, had set his soul aflame with desire. Of course, he had to get leave from the Lady of Light herself, who saw right through his excuses with a hidden, amused smile, knowing he was a youngling, trying to impress a new love.

I just think, perhaps having a messenger between Mirkwood to Rivendell to Lórien is a thoughtful idea, My Lady.

Yes, like the messenger we already have…doing the exact description you have described.

Oh…right…yes, that messenger. I had forgotten that we already had a messenger. You know, Lady Galadriel, perhaps it would be—oh who am I trying to fib? My Lady, I want to see Lindir. That’s why I want to go. I just…want to see him again.

I know.

You know?

I know.

Right…I often forget you can see far beyond our eyes.

I do need a message taken to Rivendell. This, to my dearest Arwen, a letter for only her eyes. And this one for Elrond. Make sure they get them.

I—yes, My Lady! Thank you, My Lady!

And that was how he’d managed to get back to Rivendell, somehow ending up training some of Elrond’s soldiers as well—he hadn’t become part of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn’s personal guard without skill. It was thorough and hard work, the elves of Rivendell hadn’t seen training like this for decades, perhaps centuries at least. With the threat of Sauron gone (mostly), what battle was there to fight except for the rare orc skirmish? He knew that Lord Elrond’s men enjoyed the challenge, he also knew they absolutely hated how ragged he ran them, pushing them to even the most extremes that their race could handle. It was only three days before half the group was begging for a day of relief, and he, seeing a chance at even speaking to Lindir, agreed.

He found Lindir underneath a plum tree, singing quietly to himself as he scribbled in his notebook. It was…a breathtaking sight, to see the beams of the evening sun haloing around Lindir’s crown, the soft look on his face half shadowed, brown eyes a stunning copper, gold flecks reflecting orange in the rays. He looked beautiful. And it was the weight of his stare that caught Lindir’s attention, hair standing on the back of his neck as startled and embarrassed eyes meet lovesick ones; Lindir, in a rush, snapped the notebook shut, snapping his mouth closed and stared at him while his cheeks turned crimson.

He fumbled with the words to come out of his mouth before he settled on, “I sincerely apologize, Lindir. I meant not to disturb you.”

Lindir swallowed thickly and shook his head. “No, I was not aware that someone was here. Forgive me for not noticing your presence before, my Lord.”

“Don’t call me ‘Lord’.” He laughed, walking over to take a seat on the bench a few feet from him. “I’m simply a soldier.”

“Of high regard,” Lindir retorted. “Your father was Lord Celeborn’s right hand. You were raised in fashion similar to them.”

“Perhaps,” he said, shrugging his soldiers. “But I am no one’s lord. I am simply a soldier, as I said.”

“A good one.”

“Oh? You think so?”

Lindir cleared his throat, face hot. “I mean that I have simply seen your training as of late.”

“So, you’ve been watching?”

“Observing.”

“You could do more than observe, Lindir.”

At that, Lindir laughed in a rather surprised fashion. “I am not a fighter.”

“Oh, everyone is a fighter for something,” he replied, taking the chance to get closer to him by shifting from the bench to sit next to Lindir under the tree. “There is always something that will drive a person to pick up a weapon. Love, greed, pride, rage, grief. There is always a reason.”

“What of you?” he asked, tipping his head to the side. “What do you fight for?”

He paused, thinking deeply about Lindir’s question before he murmured, “Being a soldier is all I have ever known. It is what my father did, and it is what I was raised to do.”

“Haven’t you ever wished to do something else?”

His gaze met Lindir’s, and he said softly, “I have always wished to be someone’s one and only.”

Lindir’s cheeks tinged red again, but a rather enchanted look came over his face. “Is that so?”

“Mhm. I sometimes think about laying down my duty and going with my lover across the land. Just the two of us. Traveling, experiencing things we have never seen or done before.” He smiled. “I eventually want to settle down by the water. A small cabin. Just big enough for us. With everything we need.”

“And your one and only…” Lindir started. “Has she decided to go with you?”

He blinked, looked over at Lindir, saw the hesitation in the elf’s gaze before he chuckled under his breath and replied, “Actually, he has yet to decide anything.” Lindir’s eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. “Most likely because I have yet to court him,” he added, scratching his jaw.

“This elf…at least an elf, I assume? Where is he?”

“Oh, he is in Rivendell. I managed to get leave from Lórien to come here just to see him.”

“Truly?”

“Well, Lady Galadriel sent me with messages for her family, but in all, I am here to court him.”

“Who is it?” Lindir asked. “Is it one of the soldiers you are training?” he seemed to think to himself. “That would make much sense if it were.”

He sighed fondly at the melodist before he rose and plucked a soft, pink, plum blossom from the branch of the tree, bent down and gently placed it behind Lindir’s ear, unable to help but trace the elf’s soft cheek as he pulled back.

“It is, in fact, not one of the soldiers I am training, but someone of much more esteemed company.” He smiled warmly at the look of pure shock on Lindir’s face that quickly changed into a giddy, almost flustered look. “I should retire for the evening though. I know training tomorrow will be much more difficult.” As he walked off, he paused, turned, and asked, “Lindir, would you like to accompany me on a ride tomorrow evening? Just the two of us?”

Lindir’s heart pounded in his chest, and he nodded his head, the corners of his lips rising into a smile. “Yes, I—I would love to.”

He smiled, nodded once, and replied, “Then I shall find you tomorrow evening. Until then, Lindir.”

[blizzardstarx]

THINKIJG. OF CASSIDY IN SERVSNT OF EVIL. AJD IN MY YARD FIRE AU UHM.

“I ran into a fair maiden with a hair of deep green. Her smile and her voice, to me, were sent from up above. Something moved in my chest; you might even call it love. / But we know all good things must come to an end, it is my queen's orders, that girl must repent. I will grant your wishes, if that's all I live for, so then tell me, my sun, just what causes these rains to pour?”

The fic I wrote of my au, had Garrett be in the placement of Micheala(the whole "plum hair" I gave him, etc etc. visiting the kingdom of the Aftons) & Banica(Gluttony side/the main part for Garrett). And in Evillious Chronicles lore, Allen (I bet) got that "love at first sight" stuff.

The base for Cassidy in Yard Fire is Allen/Nemesis (Vanessa is small half of Rillian & very much more Nemesis).

So, yeah. Ik bit weird. But ages are 👍 (Cassidy is like round 15 or smth. Same with Garrett. Evillious Chronicles has Rillian be QUEEN at 14. So like. Yeah).

Tbh I kinda make memes inside of my head about this yk? "Cassidy's crush was his rebellious stage too"(e.i: going back to the fact that Garreth (his name in the au), basically disabled William?? He ate his hand,, just the fingers but yk. <- where his whole Banica era started👍💥). Cassidy was there for the meeting between William & Garreth, and just.

For most of his years, he's believed that his father can do no harm and nothing bad. Tho, yes he was suspicious about him. But he never asked, and never thought about it again. He's always forgotten (middle child along with CC). So he doesn't think his questions are important.

If he is ever remembered by his father, he's more like a servant then a son. Which he got used to. So seeing his father being accused and then fucking BITTEN, by like. Another boy his age, HIS AGE.

Garreth about to rule his family kingdom, but his wish that he wanted to fulfill was to destroy evil by all means(and I mean that: he is like. In his Banica era- so. Yeag 👍💥).

It's not rlly like..a love at first sight or a crush now that I'm thinking of it. It's more like. Admiration, and wanting to be like Garreth yk?

He does also like. Plan the execution when William gets well (Cassidy is mad about it. Hoped his father got sick. Never Happened. He Angy). But it doesn't really happen as intended??? Garreth gets lured into the kingdom again, and just gets. Slaughtered/stabbed like Ceaser.

And then when Mike gets word of it, it's already days later of the "execution" (William still calls that an execution) of his brother (-figure. Just thought I'd say, that in Yard Fire; Mike & Garrett are related but very much see each other as siblings.. Abby was 1 when this was happening). And Vanessa already ran away, with Cassidy also running away(he ran away the moment he just did what he did. Vanessa was already planning to leave and decided to do it at the same time Garreth died so that was suspicious to Mike).

One post I did say, was on how when Mike first meets Vanessa he tries to kill her..but yk. She lives another day; cuz Mike saw himself in her. A lonely girl, with no one else (or so they thought. Cassidy is trying to find Vanessa. But like. Kinda short story; he gets mistaken for a bear (by a delusional person) when he was so close to reaching the Schmidts & Simmons (Vanessa)'s house. But. Yeah- bro gets mistaken for a bear and then just fucking. Killed)

Ough sorry for talking about this au outta the blue- and having it be. Like. So long I just. 👍 Yard Fire <3 (if you haven't seen the drawings I can tag you in it! It's also basically the 'masterpost' of Yard Fire!)

GARRETH WHAT. DID WHAT TO WILLIAM??? HOLY SHIT

And omg your Yard Fire AU is so interesting!!! I've seen a few drawings but feel free to tag me in them!!

[rainbowsuitcase]

Fanfic Rec Friday #9

Finding the Forgotten by thestarskeepfalling - Seokjin x Yoongi, 80 486 words, E - Unhealthy Relationship With OC, Hurt/Comfort, Falling in Love

It took Seokjin a long time to realize he was lost. With millions of adoring fans, a wildly successful soloist career, and a long-term boyfriend, it was easy for him to mistake crowds for friendship and convenience for love.

Then, a surprise visit from his brother and a heart wrenching realization push him to run away from it all. He follows his brother back home, finding the family, and the happiness, he was looking for all along.

Operation: Yoonkook by thesameflatfish - Hoseok x Jimin, 9 105 words, G - College AU

Jimin wants to avoid falling in love in college, but a plan to set Yoongi and Jungkook up puts him in close proximity with Jung Hoseok, who Jimin can’t seem to stop having feelings for.

when poppies bloom by @floweringash - Seokjin x Jungkook, 15 302 words, M - Pistil Verse, Injury Recovery, Sharing a Bed

It’s not every day that Seokjin returns from hunting to find a corpse on his way.

Or rather, an unconscious, injured Stamen who takes up too much space in his house.

(Never) Call Me Baepsae by mangust_d - Jimin x Jungkook, 13 742 words, E - Office AU, Enemies to Lovers, Dom/Sub

Jimin has given everything to the corporate life – his passions, his sanity, even the active sex life he once possessed. To make matters worse, the company’s golden rookie Jungkook tramples all of his hard work and sacrifices under toothy grins and effortless excellence.

Where He Belongs by ArianneMaya - Hoseok x Namjoon, 7 597 words, E - Alpha x Beta, First Time Knotting

Beta Hoseok's body isn't made to take an alpha's knot, and Namjoon is too much of a gentlewolf to pressure him on the matter.

Why is it, then, that Hoseok can't stop thinking about it?

Wanna bet? by Nisaki - Seokjin x Taehyung, 5 735 words, E - Porn With Plot, Lingerie, Feminization

In which Taehyung has to play Seokjin's wife for a bet and they both like it way too much.

say my name (lock it with your lips) by dagusts - Namjoon x Taehyung, 17 596 words, E - Arranged Marriage, Major Character Injury, Angst, idiots in Love

A season between war and love is all it takes for Taehyung to realize some things. Realize that love cannot be requited if it is not spoken.

plum blossoms in the snow by ladypajara - Namjoon x Jimin, 63K, E - Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Angst and Fluff and Smut

Perpetually disillusioned with love Jimin is roped into helping Namjoon — his romance novel editor and very much straight friend — launch a new LGBT+ focused imprint at his publishing house after a misunderstanding leads Namjoon’s boss to believe they are boyfriends.

Shifting Business by mangust_d - Seokjin x Yoongi, 8K, M - Cat Yoongi, Bickering, Sexual Tension

Seokjin is sure that Min Yoongi is harbouring an illicit cat in his home. Only the truth is much more magical than that.

You Wished, I Waited by Hpgirl4ever - Yoongi x Taehyung, 56K, E - Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Courting, Angst with a Happy Ending

It's uncommon for betas to court omegas, and even more uncommon for omegas to court anyone at all. Yoongi and Taehyung were never the biggest fans of tradition.

[sim-ply-lilacs]

Tired from the hard work on the farm, Josef slept on as Bea readied herself for bed. It seemed as though the fact that Josef was sleeping in his clothes on top of the bed didn't disturb his rest at all, if his soft snores were anything to go by.

Well, such things might not matter to him, but they certainly mattered to Bea. It was a cold night. Their relationship may have been frigid in some matters, but an icicle for a husband certainly wouldn't do.

...besides, with her mother already a-bed, Bea wanted help with the laces of her corset.

"Josef," she whispered, her breath fogging before her in the pale light of the bedroom. The fire flagged and flickered like a waning ghost, the stoking of it having been forgotten during the buzz of the day. She'd have to build it up before they slept, she thought.

"Josef," she repeated, raising her voice so that she might be heard through layers of dreams. "Dear, you have to wake up. It's too cold to sleep atop the bed tonight. Come and help me with my laces, and then let's go to bed, properly."

Josef rose with a start. Running a hand through his hair, he blinked the sleep from his eyes with rapid, fluttering eyelashes. "Bea?" he asked, "Have I been asleep long?"

"Not too long. Less than an hour or so," she said with a small smile. "I'd have let you sleep, but I was afraid you'd wake up without a few toes."

"Ah, we would not want that, would we?" Josef chuckled. He rose to his feet and crossed over to Bea.

"Thank you for waking me, my dear," he said with a kiss to her cheek. "If I had known having a wife would mean also having someone to remind me to not be foolish, I would have married long ago. You spoil me, you know."

Bea pulled back. Her hand dropped to her side. "Is-is that the only reason you wanted me to be your wife? To-to kiss sometimes, and to live together, and to lecture you sweetly about keeping your shoes off the bed? Because I can do that, I can, it's only...oh, I'm afraid I'm making quite the fool of myself!"

"Bea," Josef intoned in a soft, sad little voice, "do not call yourself a fool. You are so very intelligent and do not deserve these words you speak over yourself. Tell me, what is the matter?"

She hemmed and hawed for a moment, worried about what Josef might say. He might think her coarse or immodest, might realize he'd made a great mistake in marrying her. But if she never spoke up, if she never had the courage to speak, how could she go on? "Screw my courage to the sticking place," Bea thought.

All at once, she blurted out, "Do you not wish to be with me? As husband and wife?"

"What?" he sputtered.

Bea was sure she was blushing as dark red as a plum, "If you don't want to, please, let us never speak of this again, but if you do, then, well, why haven't you?"

"Oh, Bea, of course I want to," Josef stepped forward to reassure her. "I-I only wanted to be sure that you wanted to before I, ahem, broached the subject. I have heard tell that most young ladies are not instructed as to what marriage will bring and, well...I had no wish to 'frighten you off', so to say. But that," he swore, meaning and desire intermingled in his eyes, "is the only reason why."

"Bea, when I asked to be your husband," Josef caressed Bea's cheek, "I meant in every way that you will have me."

Beatrice leaned into his touch, eyelids fluttering. Oh, to be assured of a lover's affections! To be wanted! Bea knew in her heart that she couldn't be happier anywhere. Not in a grand mansion married to a railroad magnate on West 57th Street in New York or as the countess of some grand estate in England, but here, looking silly in her corset and shift on a hardscrabble piece of land in Brindleton Bay opposite the poor Prussian father she'd married.

She couldn't help it, she grasped her hands in his. "You should know," Bea began, "that we ladies know a lot more than you think. And we are not so afraid of our husbands. Otherwise, I would not feel so free to do this." With that, Bea gripped her husband in a searing kiss. One of his hands went around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The other tangled in her hair. This was unlike any kiss the young couple had ever shared before; this was the type of kiss meant to be shared behind closed doors in the honeysuckle sweetness of a blooming marriage. Bea thought these might be one of her favorite kinds of kisses there were. Especially if they always precipitated what came after.

For propriety's sake, no more can be said about that night other than this: Bea and Josef never did get around to tending to the fire that evening, but neither were they cold when, in the wee hours of the morning, they finally drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.

Prev ~ Next ~ Beginning

[purplebass]

This is a Valentine's Day story, even though I never mention that it's VD, so you can completely think it's any other day of the year. I just wanted to post this today :)

Lucie craves ice cream in the middle of the night.

Rating: T Words: 1,700

Lucie opened her eyes to the dark room. She wasn’t sure of the time, but it must have been late, or at least later than the last time she had checked the grandfather clock on the mantel. She turned to the other side and sighed. 

“Lucie,” said her husband.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” she wondered quietly.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Jesse muttered. “You’ve been tossing and turning ever since we retired for the night. Is everything alright?”

“I can’t sleep, but this you already know,” she replied. “And I’m fine, don’t you worry,” she searched for his hand under the sheet, and squeezed it. 

“Then what is it? Are you worried?”

Lucie grinned in the dark, even though he couldn’t see her. “I’m just famished.”

“Ah,” he replied in acknowledgement. It wasn’t the first time this happened, and it wouldn’t be the last for a while. “Do you crave something in particular?”

“Ice cream,” she confessed. “With chocolate and honey. And vanilla?”

“Yes?”

“No, wait. No vanilla. Chocolate and honey will do,” she decided, and without further ado, she got off the bed and put her slippers on. 

Jesse turned on the lamp on his side, and she heard the shuffling of the quilt behind her. “Wouldn't it be better if I got it for you?” he tilted his head to the side, “in bed?”

“I need to stretch my legs. I haven’t moved much this week,” she glared at him as she put on her nightgown.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he protested. “It was Brother Enoch’s advice.”

“Advice means that it’s my choice whether to follow it or not,” she shrugged. “Ah, my back hurts from sitting too long. And my legs too.”

“I know, but it’s for your own good,” he put her arm under his and they exited their room. “You said that you were exhausted and a little out of breath. You need to take it easy.”

“It’s awful,” she sighed. “Thank the angel I can still write in this condition! Though I’m slower and likely behind on my deadline.”

“The deadline is not important right now,” Jesse said. “Your health is.”

“And ice cream with chocolate and honey,” she added. “If there’s any left from dinner.”

“Ice cream definitely helps,” he giggled. “I asked Bridget to ward off your father from eating a second cup. She assured me she would guard the refrigerator if need be.”

“You are an angel,” she squeezed his arm. “And quite thoughtful. Am I starting to get predictable? I only asked for ice cream once. What if I wanted something that it’s hard to find in the winter season like plums?”

“If it ever comes to that, I’ll see what I can do.”

And Lucie believed him. 

Throughout the last eight months, she had the weirdest cravings. Some things she desired were easy to find in London. It was a big city, after all, with numerous markets. It was a crossroads for products from different parts of the globe. You could find just anything if you knew where to look – or that was what Jesse told her. 

They sat down at the kitchen table and Lucie was eager to find that Bridget had kept her promise. Not only had she left ice cream, she had left enough for two. 

“You should grab a spoon, Jesse,” she encouraged him. “Help yourself.”

“No, thanks,” he said. “You know that I can’t eat before bed because I get heartburn.”

“I thought the herbal tea you started drinking after dinner was helping, though,” she said. “At least that’s what you told me.”

“Did I? I must have forgotten,” he nodded and crossed his arms on his chest. 

She raised an eyebrow and finished the last of her ice cream. “Ah! This was delicious,” she looked upwards in awe. “Too bad you didn’t want it. You don’t know what you’ve missed.”

“Feeling better?”

“I’m –” she closed her eyes briefly, and suppressed a shudder as she felt the pressure under her stomach. “By the angel, this was intense.”

Jesse had already scooted closer to her, his hand pressed gently behind her back. “A contraction?” he asked calmly, but she saw his eyes widen in alert. 

“Alas. I’m fine,” she sighed, and touched her belly instinctively. “But now I need to run to the bathroom.”

Jesse couldn’t help but chuckle.

In the end, Jesse had to use the restroom as well, and Lucie told him she would try to sleep because exhaustion was finally getting to her. She assured him she didn’t need help walking back to their room, and he went about his business. 

She yawned on her way back, the only thing she wanted to see was her bed. She knew that eating ice cream would probably help her sleep. But then, once she entered her room and her glance fell on the writing machine on the desk, she remembered something important.

Her back still hurt, and she needed to sit down. Instead of sitting down on the mattress, though, she sat on the chair behind her desk, and started to type. 

“Lucie,” she heard a voice calling her, a light touch on her shoulders. “Lucie.”

She raised her head from the typewriter. “Uhm?”

“You fell asleep on the machine.”

“Did I?” wiping drool off her mouth. She had written a few sentences, the last one behind made only of g’s. “I hadn’t realized it.”

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he whispered, and Lucie let him help her this time.

Lucie sat at her desk the following morning, with two pillows propped behind her aching back. She felt energized and had a goal in mind. She wasn’t sure she would make it, but she could try. 

Eating ice cream in the middle of the night had helped her get a good night’s sleep, at least. Once she settled into bed in a comforting position – lying on her side, a fluffy cushion under her arm – and her husband kissed her cheek, everything dulled out in a matter of minutes.

When she woke up, someone had already opened the curtains, and light shined through the high windows. She found the other side of the bed empty. Unlike her, who was forced to rest most of the days because her due date was approaching, Jesse had matters to attend to with her papa. 

Soon, Jesse himself would become a dad, and she would become a mom. Sometimes she had to see her big belly to remind herself that there was a little life growing inside of her. Or glance at her hand to see the Blackthorn family ring that Jesse had given to her few years prior. 

Her vision became blurry and she had to stop typing. 

“Lucie,” a sweet voice interrupted her thoughts. 

“I thought you were out,” she said, blinking her tears away.

“I was out,” he came closer and leaned on the side of the desk next to her. “Your father canceled this afternoon’s appointments, which means I don’t have any more work to do.”  

“He probably just wanted to spend the day with mam,” she chuckled. 

“Well, can you blame a man who wants to have lunch with his wife?”

“Not at all, no,” she grinned. “So, you want to have lunch with me, huh? I’m afraid I can’t go out, darling.”

“That’s why we are staying in. Would you do me the honor?” 

“Yes, but first –” she paused, and gave him a couple of pages. “This is for you.”

Jesse frowned at the sheets of paper. “Something new you’ve written?”

She nodded eagerly. “It doesn’t have an ending, but it’s intentional.”

“How so?”

“Read it and you’ll find out.”

“Now?”

“Not now, silly,” she chuckled. “Your pregnant wife is famished and she’s waiting for you to take her to lunch or she’s going to be really annoying and emotional.”

He rolled his eyes at her with a smile. “Come on, love.”

They ate in the drawing room, which Jesse, with Tessa’s help, turned into a dining room for the occasion. Bridget usually followed a schedule when it came to lunch and dinner, but today she made an exception for them. She prepared one of Lucie’s favorites for dessert, bread and butter pudding. Jesse also gifted her a box of chocolate and it made her happy.  

Afterward, they lounged on the couch by the fire. Lucie enjoyed the warmth of the room and Jesse’s company as he read the pages she gave him a few hours ago.  

“Thank you for today,” Lucie said suddenly. 

“Wait,” he demanded. “I still haven’t finished.”

Lucie put her hands on her stomach and waited, a small grin on her face. “Sure.”

“This story feels autobiographical,” he glanced at her. “Is it?”

She blushed. “It is. I just found myself thinking about the future, and it scared me. This new phase of my life makes me anxious. At the same time, I’m really excited about it.”

“It is normal, being scared,” he grinned. “We don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, but that’s how life works. It makes sense that the ending of this story is open. It isn’t done, and we are going to write the rest together. And we’ll have to face new challenges we haven’t experienced before. We may trip and fall, but no one is born a master. Making mistakes will be part of the journey and it will strengthen us.”

“You totally get it,” she nodded, feeling the tears ready to fall again. “That’s what I was aiming for, trying to give myself strength and not letting my fears get a hold on me.”

“Oh, Lucie,” he cupped her face. “I’m also scared, but I know we will support each other and we will make it.”

“Hearing you say it makes me feel better,” she said. “There’s something I want to happen in the story right now. To continue the story with a playful memory.” 

“Are you going to let me try one of the pralines I gave to you?”

“Later,” she said. “Can you kiss me? You know, in exchange for the chocolate.”

Jesse sighed. “I was going to kiss you anyway,” he muttered.

Lucie kissed him first. 

[nutty1005]

Ask not where he came from, ask not where he belonged. For where his heart desires, he will be there regardless

Original Article: https://weibo.com/ttarticle/p/show?id=2309404914117688558033 Original Author: 夏威夷美令达人秀

If I had to use a word to describe him, I would not be able to think of it, but I could think of two poems.

“The pine has ambitions without disdain; the bamboo has principles that does not bend; the plum has a fragrance that is not arrogant.”

“One’s ambitions should become even more firm as one grows older, one’s will should become even more steadfast in the face of adversity.”

Looking at the entire situation from the beginning till the end, this was the quality he made me feel throughout.

He is not an otherworldly sage, nor is he a worldly commoner. The things he did for his friends were things he deemed as reasonable.

Willing to pay any price for a friend, willing to give it all for love, and later on he was even willing to do so for people unrelated to him.

I really wanted to ask a question, what were you thinking when you called home to your family to ask for money for her mother’s medical fees, was it more painful than losing your legs?

What is light – it is something that could nourish anyone, and shine into all the unreachable dark corners. But light is also something that everyone habitually takes for granted everyday after sunrise.

People would think of him in the dark endless rain, so he was always the person who would be injured, he was the one who faced the mines, he was the one handled the stolen hat, he was the one who rushed to block the robbers while yelling for the others to escape, he was the one who sat and watched as someone else stole his life, he was the one who was tossed from his wheelchair – it seemed like everything was him.

Halfway through watching, questions flashed through my mind more than once – was it really necessary to do this for them? It seemed that everyone gave him very little in return. He was physical injured from his back to his legs, to his heart, but he would still comfort others with a smile on his face.

He might have forgotten his pain after comforting others, but the news of not being able to serve as a soldier would be the place where he left tears of his lifetime at. His father’s death, teammates, friends, lovers, it was hard to believe that after suffering so many blows, he still had not turned to the dark side, he still insisted on himself and insisted on his inner thoughts, he adapted to everything by being deeply loyal and knowing how to distinguish the right from wrong.

He lived in the compound like his buddies, his living conditions were just as difficult as ordinary people at that time, he was also influenced by society, but in the end only Chunsheng remained unchanged. Everything else had changed, Hongjun’s desires had grown little by little, and Guohua’s personality had also began to change because of love and the social changes.

Sometimes when I thought about their names, Chen Hongjun (TN: Hong = grand, Jun = soldier), I would think his family wanted him to take the hard and simple road, but he ended up arrogant from his selfishness and over sensitivity, and every step he took was wrong starting from the first. Such a path probably meant that he had never realized the true meaning of his name and went astray.

Ye Guohua (TN: Guo = country, Hua = gorgeous) was such a grand name but his youth was only obsessed about small love and romance, immersed in the comfortable life given by his family. As he became 30 or 40 years old and recalled his past when he was young, he might realize that he never had any lofty aspirations, with an innocence born from stubbornness and cowardliness because of a wealthy family. Such a wealthy environment gave birth the innocence and straightforwardness in the siblings’ personality, which made them incompatible with common life.

Chunsheng (TN: Chun = spring, Sheng = growth), what is Chunsheng, “the wild fires could not burn it all, they would grow again as spring breeze blows”.

He had experienced many joys and sorrows in his life, and he had suffered many blows, shedding a lifetime of tears. There might never be a time more desperate than losing everything when he is in his early twenties. The dream of his lifetime, a past lover, brothers who he grew up with, and a confused future.

But after these tears had finished flowing, he would still chose to start from the beginning as before. In the few decades of time, no matter what happened to his future business, the first thing that comes to his mind was always to stand from the perspective of others, and to take responsibility and comfort them. Even when he heard that he might be permanently disabled, he was only in a daze for a short time, and then he told Xiaomei that he had heard it. To be honest, Xiao Zhan’s acting skills at the doorway is one of the most brilliant in my opinion. Not only It was in line with Chunsheng’s personality, and one could see his attitude when he knew the result for the first time.

Chunsheng was not a person who constantly accumulates all the negative emotions, and he would not talk about the same thing repeatedly. It felt too painful when he rode the train as he retired from the army, when he saw his sister, and when he saw his dead father’s photographs. But people are forward looking, and so was he. He was a little shocked at the doorway, and then he was dazed for a while, calmed down, and stopped feeling sad for himself.

So when he was faced with the teasing from few friends about him as a “disabled person” looking for a job, he just laughed at himself, and I could understand his heart immediately.

Xiao Zhan’s acting skills were also really amazing. He was being ridiculed by others, and yet he was still the big brother who protected everyone since he was a child. If he displayed any unhappiness, it would not fit Chunsheng’s personality; if he looked happy, he would seem mindless.

Hence with a little self-deprecating embarrassment, audiences can sympathize with his situation immediately, and the inconsiderate ridicule between buddies and the insult of an enemy also made him determined to fight against his fate.

Later on, as life got on track, and he continued living bit by bit in gains and losses. The perfect, imperfect, sad and excited, every bit and drop was the crystallization of his own work.

I saw someone asking why the Xiao Chunsheng and his sister were still able to maintain their marriages. Even if Chunsheng’s father is suffering from mental illness, he still taught the two of them to be bold, to place the country first, to always look at the overall situation, to be responsible, and to be loyal. Audiences could see the quality of the these two siblings at a glance and know that they could maintain their marriages very well.

Both Qi Tian and Hongling told Chunsheng, you are very idealistic, you are too idealistic, there is no one like you in the world.

However, I had always felt that Chunsheng was the most practical person, being able to do things that met his inner standards in reality was his idealism.

For a childhood friend who had been together almost every day, if there was a person who would be hurt in Hongjun’s conflict with the others, his thought was very direct, that person would be himself.

And when Guohua was about to be injured by a landmine, he knew Guohua’s character too realistically, Guohua’s weakness and helplessness would even cause him to do some other things that may cause him to lose his life, if it was his other friends who stepped on the landmine, he might have done back to seek help, but he knew that unrealistic fantasies will cost both their lives.

When Qi Tian injured others because of the medical equipment, he knew that avoidance and sophistry would not be a solution, so the first thing he did was to take responsibility immediately, so that the harm to others and himself could be minimized.

Chunsheng is idealistic, but that is an idealism built on realistic actions.

As a fan for so many years, I feel that Xiao Zhan is also an idealist who is shaped by real actions. Yes, every character will have its own quality in it, but most people are either idealistic or practical. In entertainment circle, people who are too realistic can make people intuitively feel that they are too eager for quick success, while people who are too idealistic cannot survive and blend in with the general pan-entertainment.

After four years, I could feel that his reality was not unrealistic or a fantasy throughout. This might be much clearer to me than other fans. He probably would still reply to everyone’s work before the end of each night. But no matter what happens, he would always be positive and encouraging optimism. In the past few years of the pandemic, who could encourage themselves, those around them, and everyone every day?

Slowly watching until the end of Where Dreams Begin / The Youth Memories, it reminded me of the first time I saw Xiao Zhan’s works. At that time, I was not familiar with him, but his whole person exuded a personable temperament. Under his still very inexperienced acting skills, I could not take my eyes away from that face and demeanor. At that time, he had a very handsome face. Perhaps he had not figured out what his acting career would look like in the future. At that time, he was still a very inconspicuous new star, maybe I paid attention to him because of his face or for other reasons.

But no matter under what circumstances, I never thought that after so many years, in the present, suddenly after so many years, I went from going crazy while working new fan to an anything-goes relaxed old fan.

My footsteps were to follow him and look forward bit by bit, never wanting to stay in the past, and my Weibo also rarely recalled the past. He had not gone to the point of recounting the past and recalling the glorious years. He is still pondering, discovering, and exploring the most suitable way of his own style while at the peak, and he will change to someone different from last year and the year before.

A few days ago Xiao Zhan was asked a question himself, about what had changed in the past few years, he smiled and said that his age had changed.

In the four or five years since he became famous, it can be said that he had always been one of the most talked about artist in China, and even “one of” is not necessary. Looking at his choices at each stage and the situation of each drama, those of us of the same age should have one of the same feelings, when seeking enjoyment, we would feel anxious, we would think about the future, we would recall our youth, and we would occasionally feel emotional late at night, but these depended on our ordinary and simple emotions when we were not clear about our lives.

He is already in a state where he could choose anything freely for his future, and he could even choose to not do anything. There would not be anxiety like ours at all, but instead he seemed to be more elusive and diligent than before. I could see his changes every time and I believe that he is more strict with himself than anyone else, even for after many years, I have never seen him complacent. Every time we meet on screen, it would be like seeing him for the first time. He managed his physique very strictly, he handles lines with ease within one or two years, and almost no one has mentioned the matter of lines anymore.

Most of the superficial acting skills that Chinese people like to judge are smoothly and silently performing micro-expressions + crying scenes. Watching his crying scenes for so many years change bit by bit, starting from taking on the burden of “The Untamed”, and then broadcasting of “Ace Troops”, the enigmatic Gu Yiye, to Xiao Chunsheng’s ups and downs in the decades of changing times.

They were all about the pain of losing a family member, when it was his Shijie he would cry out in pain, when his mother left him in Douluo Continent he would cry bitterly, and when Chunsheng knowing his father had left he would cry silently.

From the beginning when the three of them ate together as teenagers, to the recent reunion of the three of them as middle aged men eating hot pot, he no longer had the urge to be their big brother, the unfamiliar and subtle embarrassment of mature friends who have not seen each other for a long time, the natural acting skills, the movement of the wine glass, he had been completely reborn.

The sense of justice he portrayed when he was in customs in his early twenties was completely different from the sense of justice during equipment incident in the later period. He had captured the ability to cross time and space in his portrayal, and the ability to change the characteristics of age and location of his character at the fastest speed.

I could not evaluate how much he had improved, but at least I know I had almost changed nothing from the time I first met him to now. The pandemic has affected me for three years, and it seems that I had excusably stopped moving forward for three years. Xiao Zhan had stopped nothing in these three years, when in fact, he had more reasons to relax and stop himself than anyone else.

But no matter those who pay attention to him or not, they all like to look at this mountain and its height, wondering what is on the other side of the mountain, and they all think it is the Himalayas. When he was not famous, people would want him to be famous and have more choices. After he had become popular, people would want him to be more popular than others. Even if he had become the most popular, he would be given endless demands. I think even if he reached the even higher requirements again, there will be more waiting for him, not to mention he stayed four years at the top, maybe he would be expected to stay there for eight years, ten years, or even ten thousand years. If Qin Shihuang debuted, people would expect him to write a hundred improvement measures, and they would beat down his invasion tactics of the Six Kingdoms as worthless and nonsense.

As a person who started to get in touch with this profession without a professional background, not even in his youth, no one could perform and think for him, he could only explore and change himself bit by bit, and for him, he had never stopped changing for a single moment, more than 70 performances of stage plays, filming dramas for several months at a time. We never had to worry about whether he was coasting along, no need to worry about his physical status he would show when he appears on screen, he would always be doing his favorite job with a high degree of professionalism in every moment. In fact, he could even not fumble or change and do absolutely nothing, and no one would dare to say that he is unsuccessful.

He knows what he wants, what to do, and what he should do, better than anyone else.

In the past few years, he gradually calmed down more than anyone else. I thought of the 19th episode where Chunsheng’s legs were injured, when the patient next to him told him that Guohua had stolen his military achievements. I sighed when I watched it and that hurt a little.

All of his glorious colors had been stolen, possessed, and damaged, and that was by someone as close as a brother, plus the pain of physical ruin, what kind of expression should he have when he heard the news?

Chunsheng is bright, open-minded and loyal, should he smile indifferently like his usual personality, and show that he did not care at all, or pile up all of his grievances and burst into tears?

What I saw was that he was slightly stunned in disbelief at first, then with a little bit of shock, then he lowered his head and pondered for a while, and quickly returned to the original expression of pretending to be indifferent. After everyone dispersed, he was alone in tears and pain, thinking about his experiences, thinking that he might not be able to do what he loved most in the future, thinking that even if Guohua apologized to him, he had to comfort him instead, and let him live a good life as a soldier.

This was one of my favorite performances in all of Xiao Zhan’s dramas. He did not need words, exaggerated gestures and expressions, or any narration to express his sadness and sorrow.

After that, he still had to reopen his own wounds to comfort those who never empathized with him. It was the biggest change in life, yet afterwards everyone seemed to forget about it, and only he remembered it, and therefore his career choice was related to this experience, affecting him to want to help more people instead.

Oh Chunsheng, oh Xiao Zhan!

Who else would remember it except you, remembering the way you came here, remembering the pain you suffered, and when your legs are healed, you still needed to be successful, to start a business and to have even greater achievements.

But I still remember it.

Using a paragraph.

“We chased the dreams in our hearts together. We tried to hold the sun in the palm of our hands. I can’t remember how many winds and waves we have crossed. I am your oars and you are my wings. We remember each other’s youthful appearance, our faces full of pride. It’s you, and the youth behind you is all you.”

[impressivelackof]

Diary of Dr. Charlene Wood—June 3rd, 1979.

8 pm

I haven’t left the house in a week.

The night air is not a comfort. It is arid. Devoid of life. The shadows are as deep as regret.

The Houston sunlight burns through my eyelids. I haven’t been able to sleep. Mother screams into the couch cushions day and night. She waits by the door for father who she has forgotten has died. Or, maybe, she really believes he will come back. If he does so, what would he find here? Two women going mad. His daughter, quietly, in the restroom, stabbing a safety pin into her thigh. Staring at her blank expression in the medicine cabinet mirror.

His wife, bellowing out her despair at all hours of the day. A tornado siren for a disaster that, once it touched down, never lifted off the ground again.

I took the pills inside of myself and soon the noise was just a distant thundercloud on another horizon. Too far away to matter. I told my favorite stuffed animals about the world. Did you know that octopuses have three hearts? One heart can stop and start again later. Isn’t that strange? Isn’t that neat? I would like to have three hearts. One heart for father, one for mother, and one just for me.

One heart just for me.

It is 2 am. Mother has been going in and out of the bathroom. I can hear the tap running, shutting off. Her vague murmurs and cries.

She is banging on the door. She is screaming at me saying I’m the reason he’s gone she—

August 14th, 1979. 5:45 am

I am on a greyhound, headed to New York. It has been 2 months since that awful night. I spent a few days in a hospital bed with missing, broken nails. My throat was bruised. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t stop crying. The officers came and said things to me but I don’t remember everything. Memory is funny that way. I could fill in the gaps with what I think happened, and my brain would decide that that is real, and store it as truth.

I had no legal guardian except mother who was now in custody. I spent a couple weeks in a group home before running away. I was 17, and had just been accepted to NYU. The acceptance letter sat against my chest under my jackets like a cherished love letter.

Everything I owned was still there, in the home that had been a holding cell. Not even a true prison; an in between space of gray walls and corners full of piss and vomit. Misery.

My stuffies are probably still tucked into the bed, waiting for me to return. Gathering dust. But I will never return.

Mother is in a state hospital. If the medication works, she may get transferred to a minimum security facility. But she will never be free again.

This pains me, even as I still feel the phantom pain of her maniacal grip on my neck.

The trip is long, arduous. I have no money to eat. People on the bus feel sorry for me. They buy me things. A sandwich, a coffee. Someone asks if I have family where I’m headed. No, I answer. I don’t answer anymore questions. I am too tired.

The bus moves slowly across state lines, stopping at rest stops where fields of grass sing against the plum ripening sky, stars springing against the flesh of the night. I want to sink my teeth into it and bite. Feel the nectar burst against my tongue, drip down my chin. I want to cry, standing helpless and alone in the field as cars whizz by the interstate. Someone calls out for me, Time’s up! Let’s get movin’!

Time’s up. Let’s get moving.

[dionysiospsychas-photography]

DOWNTOWN ALLEYS PHOTO WALK

… Hello photogs and photography admirers, and a good midsummer to you. Here in Vancouver, the spring blooms of the cherry, plum, and magnolias trees have been bursting and some are still flashing. And we've had nice breezes, so it's been pleasant, so far. That is until the burning lamp in the sky has its season and bores a hole in our foreheads. But, that's just my feeling. I do have a ball cap, a high SPF sunscreen for my delicate skin, and a water bottle to fill with ice, so that should be adequate. However, I haven't read the latest in climate apocalypse tips and tricks.

Still, it will be nice to siesta under the shade of a tree, with the sunbeams filtering thru the ample leaves and marking the grass and pavement with swaying dapples of light. Yeah, that's pretty cool.

Okay, let's get to something grittier and cooler. This photo walk was part of the Capture Photography Festival 2024 events; my third time participating. And this year, I wanted to lead photogs thru some of my favourite alleys in Downtown Vancouver.

I decided on this route for a couple of reasons. Firstly, experiencing and sharing photography as a group was apt for the festival. Photography is an extraordinary way to view the world about us — to observe it, examine it, appreciate it — and share our point of views with others. Secondly, alleys really are cool! Alleys are great subjects for photography, because — unlike the "public", alluring street side — they are public spaces where we can view the "private" side of houses and shops, which are practical, unpretentious, and style is secondary. These rear spaces can be coolly disorganized, patched up, and justifiably messy. Altho they don't include "beautiful" things, they offer interesting things and scenes to capture with our cameras. So, I expected that we would converse, share what we see and find, and show each other something we've never seen before.

And our photo walk was all that and a lot of fun. Well… the sky was clear blue and so the Sun beamed down on us, but it was a breezy, pleasant morning. Never mind me and my clear-sky phobia. And you'll see in the photos below, there was cool shadow play and glinting surfaces.

The photogs were enthusiastic, positive, and enjoyed exploring the built-up, canyon-like alleys. And they were clean too! Revisiting these alleys for the nth time was still photographically fun for me. And it felt that the photo-cats found them fascinating. Some went ahead and explored around corners or lingered behind I bet because of some curious object, as photo-cats do. They also shared about the things they found interesting like neatly organized piping, overlapping building facades, multi-layered paint, vegetation growing out of surprising spots, hilarious signs, colour fields, decades of bricklaying, and satisfactorily weathered and grimy surfaces. And that was intriguing to others who then attempted to make their own photo.

There were also alluring people for those who liked to photograph seemingly interesting-looking people. Anyway…

It was inspiring to see the photogs go at it. That's why it's good to go out exploring and photographing with friends. I totally recommend it. And I think that the photos below show their particular perspective and distinctive styling of wonderful things and scenes un-noticed or forgotten. And… that's why photography is so cool.

We caught up with our regulars and got to know newcomers, their motivations for photographing, and their art projects.

Above, the second attempt at a group photo with the fun cats. Thank you much again to (back row, L to R) Anne, John, Don, Colin, Brooke, Diane, Chris, James, Carol, (front row, L to R) Jaiden, Sharon, and Grace for joining our walk and a fun morning photographing. So reader, view their cool photos below, and click on the pic to see a larger version.

Photo by Brooke McAllister @brookabrooke

Photo by Brooke McAllister @brookabrooke

Photos (left) Ice Castles and (right) Urban Blend by Carol How @carol_how

Photo Urban Legends by Carol How @carol_how

Photo Graffiti Wall by Chris Cook @cdcook_photography

Photo Girl, Walking by Chris Cook @cdcook_photography

Photos (left) Quadrant by Chris Cook @cdcook_photography and (right) The 515 by Colin Trigg @funktionalphotog

Photo Forbidden Places by Colin Trigg @funktionalphotog

Photo Yes, That Would Be a Hard NO by Colin Trigg @funktionalphotog

Photos by your photo walk host Dionysios @thephotogeniccity

Photo by your photo walk host again Dionysios @thephotogeniccity

Photo by Diane @ diane.km

Photos by Diane @ diane.km

Photos by Don Janus @donsprojects

Photo by Don Janus @donsprojects

Photo Urban Windows by Grace Tse @abstureal

Photo Pop Goes the Color by Grace Tse @abstureal

Photo The Secret Life of Pungence by Grace Tse @abstureal

Photos by Jaiden Su @kinnieey

Photos by James Houston @ jameshouston.arts

Photos (left) by James Houston @ jameshouston.arts and (right) by John Macmillan @ mac1054

Photos by John Macmillan @ mac1054

Photo by Sharon Wish @ bluechameleon

Photo by Sharon Wish @ bluechameleon

Photo by Sharon Wish @ bluechameleon

Lastly, the first attempt at a group photo with some lost photo cats.

Play closing theme song...

There is pleasure in photographing with others, as we converse about this, that and photography, share about the interesting things we observe, and inspire each other. So, to join us on our fun photo walks, please subscribe to my newsletter to receive the event announcements.

It is my hope that these photo walk experiences will inspire you to keep exploring your city and natural locales. So, from your friendly photo walk guide, thank you for reading, et à la prochaine!

So, how about you; do you like to explore alleys? Send me an email and tell me what you think.

DP, 2024-05-05

Are you getting value out of the photo walks and the blog? If so, you can help support these by telling your friends or thru Buy Me a Coffee. Think of it as a tip jar and an easy way to say thanks. Thank you for your support, I sincerely appreciate it! Merci beacoup!

[talesofealdancynedom]

Tales of Ealden Cynedom: 24. The Small Apothocary (4/5)

Tale 43:The Small Apothecary (chapter 4 - The Plum Trees 4/5 ) part 8. Stories of Dreams

The next day, Qilin sleep; unable to adjust to the time-zone change. He reluctantly got up, to start his work. Firstly, he asked various people what elixirs they might need. Qilin knew the local doctor required remedies to naga venom, flu symptoms, and bone repair; And others wanted light viles and water clensing; Things the traditional village lacked. So, next it was time to gather. Even if no recipe called for it, Qilin looked for specialties. Some mid-day golden dew, from the ruffled Dok Cahmpa was right there; beaming light the light of dawn. Good for pain, and only found in Doi Veng. These were the yellow flowers he dreamed of. But for the final request, he was comissioned sugar plum jam for sleep.

Qilin walked to the ever blossoming orchard; Various cherry, plum, and orange fruit fey, were planted neatly together; A fluffy arching crown of plush purple and pink. They sweetly whispered above a pool of lucky carp. But the enchanted fish no gave scales of fortune; they rejected every coin. Even the frosted plums forbid Qilin from having a single pome. With a despondent sigh, and empty basket, Qilin realized he needed a witch. For his recipes, the fey had to consent to being picked. Their gifts have different properties if taken without asking. Qilin preferred asking. He considered it violent, to steal pieces of fey.

Having lost, Qilin’s left the orchard in search of Aurum. It was his lucky day; He saw golden silks glow from the corner of his eye. Aurum was riding his familiar off the butte top. Qilin gasped, and ran after him. He had completely forgotten Aurum was showing him the water temple today.

The walk was silent between Qilin and Aurum. Qilin’s thoughts were busied by finally being able to perform traditions from his people. Also, the consuming frustration at current barriers to his craft. Meanwhile, Aurum shuddered at the thought of his neglectful mother being there; He was equally irational in the moment. Ironically, Aurum’s mother came to Doi Veng for the same reason as Qilin. However, money had corrupted her, and she succumb to depression while destroying Doi Veng. She was the very reason they fey acted so cold. For this reason, she now tended the temple and retired from magic.

At the temple, the walls crumbled as nature grew through them. But inside, there was a hall with carved jade walls. There was a set of bells, large gong, and trough of chalk, before a powdery wood floor. Light shone through the gaps of the pillars, and holes above the red beams. Pixies were sleeping about the ledges, that wafted of rose and sandalwood. Their honey would be perfect for making hex incense. Qilin was overwhelmed as he looked above, and walked closer to the chalk.

“How does this work?” Qilin inquired. He bumped into Aurm who was kneeling. Qilin decided to join him. The sound of a steam silently echoed, and Qilin felt himself merge with the moment. His previous thoughts now smothered. His face bright. Then, Aurum’s deep breaths ceased. He had never met someone of the Eastlands, who didn’t know how to give gratitude.

“Well?” Qilin smiled.

“Um, you grab the chalk in your palms, then slam your hands while bowing, and gently interlace your fingers behind your neck. Then reflect on what satisfies your being in that moment,” Aurum said, his head tilted. “Then meditate on the phrase ‘I am greatful for...” He demonstrated. The thud of the bow, and puff of chalk, nearly made Qilin second guess the ritual. He performed it perfectly, powdering white into his black hair. Soon, a singing bowl rang through the room. They sat up as one, in a state of serenity.

“What are you grateful for, Lin?” Aurum grinned. His own father would always ask the same. You can tell a lot about a person from what they appriciate.

“Having the opportunity to live here with my family. You?” Qilin smirked. Aurum stalled, and looked into the brushed bell brass before him.

“To see the colour yellow.” He said calmly. He gently got up, and left to the courtyard. Qilin tip-toes in suit. They sat in the shade of the clensing gingko, growing into the a wall. Crossed legs, well poised, silent, and resting.

The novelty of meditation, wore off quickly for Qilin. His mind wondered back to the rejection of the plums. He fidgeted with the urge to ask Aurum for aid, while unsure if disturbing meditation was allowed. He had meditated little in his life, aside from breathing exercises in school programs. Despite reading the teachings within the poetry of water. Qilin opened his eyes, and turned to Aurum. Tears were streaming down Aurum’s face, as his steady breath trembled. It came from the chest, no matter how hard he tried to use his stomach.

“Why are you crying?” Qilin whispered.

“It does not matter why I am sad. I get sad sometimes, then it goes away. I concentrate only on emptiness.” Aurum sighed, melting into his posture.

“Then how do you process emptiness? How do you let go?”

“Maybe I cry, because I am sad that I have let go. Purhaps right now, it is time to greave.” Aurum said, opening his eyes. His mother was adjacent, and smiling slightly. She wore orchid, with shimmering lotus trim.

“I’m bad at letting go.” Qilin shrugged. “Like, I can’t let go of those stupid sugar plums. This place was supposed to be....perfect.” He petered out. Aurum nodded, having already assumed as much. Aurum’s mother readjusted.

“I’m going now. Those are great thoughts to practice sitting with, Lin. Thoughts that when overcome, make you one with nothingness. Letting go, requires wisdom of what we cannot control. The world will not end because the fey are hesitant, and we feel strongly.” Aurum said, walking away. He seldom took his own medicine, despite his effort. To Qilin, those words made him go red from frustration.

Aurum didn’t fully embrace a single thing he touted most days. He had only been practising for a few years. It can take a lifetime to act on such beliefs. Aurum may need two lifetimes; He had a lot of issues: Feeling incompetent for being coddled, traumatized for being imprisoned, and hard feelings towards his parents for their mistakes. He knew being in the moment would prevent looking back, and alternatively the now is not always pleasant. Like Qilin, Aurum also struggled to sustain his meditation. Aurum radiated a dark presence as he rode back to the village. Like he would block out the sun for anything that dared to near him. That stupid boy was summoning Aurum’s pain with all those questions. Testing his ability to remain present. The flaw of the ways of water, is that human hearts are responsive, thus creating desire and hate. People seek opposites, and fulfillment. They are not like fey. The flow of all things, is inconsistent with humanity’s stubbornness.

Aurum spent three hours coaxing the trees to give up a few plums to help Qilin.

“I don’t believe he is a greedy wizard. He is not from my family. I think he is like our village’s people. He wants simplicity, and your charity, to aid us all. What If I ask you for plums? As your mage who adores you, am I worthy? Am I able to receive your gifts to help the forest?”

“We will trust you for now, mage. But if this boy misuses our gifts, we will gladly have the more mobile fey scare him off.” The orchard threatened. It was so unlike them. Fey catastrophizing? Often, the childlike neutral nature of fey, made them the best teachers of embracing each moment’s wonder and joy. But like people, they know fear and desire. Nothing is immune. Aurum was only able to procure half the ingredients Qilin needed.

“Can you give him more? I want to sleep.” A familiar voice called into the trees. Kugu was feeding rice cakes to the lucky carp, while listlessly humming a lullaby to endear them. She wore her same printed pastel clothes. The trees dropped more flowers and fruit. Aurum’s gaze lingered on Kugu’s forlorn face. He snapped out of it when she thanked them.

Aurum walked over to crouch next to Kugu; The garden was empty in the afternoon. All they heard was birds and fey whipers.

“Thanks.” Aurum smiled.

“I just want a regular sleep cycle.”

“No, I mean for going outside so we can smile with you. You even helped Qilin,” Aurum said, looking at his reflection in the pool. “Honestly I’m sick of only seeing you stare at the wall, each time I sneak in to rid the goblins from your yard.”

“I don’t need pity.” Kugu scoffed.

“Maybe you need tea? I’ve heard good things about tea. I’d love to make some for you some time.” Aurum tensed. Kugu laughed a little. The carp gave them scales.

“Maybe after you give that apothecary his ingredients, and my father overcomes his worry. He should go to the temple too,” Kugu growled. “I like to think it’s working for me. I hope magic can cure me. I should’ve never studied in the city.”

“Should is a toxic word. Like always and never. Best advice my nanny ever gave me.” Aurum said, examining the orange scales. He got up to leave, and waved goodbye. Kugu tried to smile back. Even lost in his glow, she couldn’t do it quite yet.

Qilin nearly feinted at the basket of goods; He could start brewing this very night. There was an encouraging note from his mother. Qilin read it while setting up. The plum jam needed to be brewed under a full moon, all night; Qilin would need to multitask to stay awake. As the sun set, he got to work cutting and grinding. Sugar plum, frosted orange peel, and starlit sugar cane. He had brewing flasks, vials of every material, and all the tools and stoves he needed; Including a pot to make smoked fish rice, as he missed dinner.

After a night’s work, the jam had turned white. To test, he put a spoonful on a plate; It froze the entire table. The plums hadn’t fully consented to sharing their gifts. The elixir could be used in small does to cool food or make ice, so it wasn’t a full loss. But Qilin was deeply disappointed. Not only did he fail brewing for the first time in a year, but the fey didn’t like him. As dawn came, Qilin staggered back to the temple, and feel asleep while meditating until midday; When he could make the golden dew. He was given a singing bowl for the very task. If had a fierly lusture from the dragon forged bell brass. However, Qilin’s confidence was shattered. He lost his posture. Having awoken, his breathing was uneven, but still deep. Like a gasping fish.

“Why are you crying?” Kugu asked. Silence.

“Well, I cry for failing to get a degree, and believing for a moment such things mattered when places like this exist.” She continued. Qilin looked up to see her undone hair and calm face. She wore a silver satin sabok skirt, that glimmered like the moon. She looked nice today. Their eyes met. Qilin’s tears soaked his dirty emerald wrapped pants and sash; He wore only the pants of his dirty wizarding robes.

“You don’t have to share.” Kugu shrugged.

“I cry, because today my mind reminds me I can fail.” Qilin admitted.

“The plums hate everyone. You’re not special,” Kugu snorted. “Well, they like me I guess; Enough to give the other half of your ingredients when I requested your potion.”

“Thanks. Now tell me your secrets. The fey here are resistant to friendship.” Qilin grined.

“I would have ascended to the next spiritual plane, if I knew the ways of fey.” Kugu rolled her eyes.

“Well, me and Aurum know the ways of fey, and I assure you we’re both currently incompetent.”

“He offered to let me watch him burn himself on a stove; To make tea to warm me. Something about it having special properties.”

“Probably something my mom said.”

“I think I said yes, even though I have trouble bonding with people. But with that workaholic, whose smile and misguided mind; He makes me weak. It feels like he’s always there for me. But I can’t get myself to-”

“bonding and getting attention? Just crawl into his window uninvited! I got a week’s detention for that, and I wasn’t even the one naked. The guy didn’t return my textbook, and I had a test the next day. You’ll never forget a moment like that. That’s the secret to bonding with someone.” Quilin suggested. Kugu finally managed a smile.

<---PREVIOUS

NEXT --->

[bypeau]

elijah could see that craig was obviously happy, just like anyone else with eyes—he just couldn't wrap his head around miles being the reason. every girl on campus would have stood in line for hours in the pouring rain for a shot at being on craig's arm, but he'd chosen... miles? it didn't make sense to elijah. his friend wasn't gay, had never been gay, and elijah still didn't believe that he was actually gay! there had to be something else going on, a way to explain how his friend had gone from the beloved captain of the football team to batting for a different one altogether. elijah wanted to leave the locker room, forget about showering and head home where he was safe from miles' quick wit and sharp tongue—but his feet stood firm on the floor. perhaps he didn't love the idea of walking home with his nuts sticking to his thigh, or perhaps there was something else... perhaps he thought an hour or two alone with miles would help him get to the bottom of the explanation he was in search of. "keep saying it, miles. maybe one day you'll convince someone other than yourself," elijah snorted. he ran a loose hand through his tousled hair, brown and feathery and soft to the touch. looking at himself in the mirror, it made little sense to him why miles appeared to be repulsed by him—he was an attractive guy, a hell of a lot more handsome than craig. there was no reason why miles shouldn't have been infatuated with him, just like he was with craig. elijah didn't allow himself linger on that thought for long, however, because it sounded gay as fuck. "i mean, yeah? but what's the point of washing something that i'm just gonna sweat through tomorrow?" he replied with a shrug. "seriously, dude?! don't be gross, of course i wash my pants... sometimes." it served elijah no purpose to verbally spar with miles, nor did it do him any justice. he already wasn't the smartest guy around, but miles weston made him look—and feel—like a plum fool.

"whatever, bro. i don't need to hear your daily words of affirmation," elijah scoffed. "and... for the record, craig chose you." he would never let it be forgotten that craig had plucked miles from obscurity, that he had forced the rest of the team to standby while they did whatever gay dudes did. the worst part, however, was how flagrantly they put their relationship on display! "i didn't say that it was because you were gay, bro. you've just got that look in your eye," elijah explained. "we had an old teammate that liked to sniff our dirty socks 'n shit—and he was straight! he's engaged to a girl now, so it isn't because you're a homo, i can just tell that you're a perv." as elijah took a seat at one of the benches, his entire body succumbed to a dull, familiar ache. it was normal to feel pain after a rigorous practice, but coach had done a real number on them that afternoon—suicides, drills, the works. "what the hell do you even want to know? i think we both know that we have, like, nothing in common," elijah declared, rubbing at the back of his neck as his voice filled with grovel. his ears perked up as miles remarked upon his current condition, and he felt the slight movement in his bones. "i'm fine. it was just a rough practice. coach was pissed 'cause one of the guys left early to be with their girlfriends, and he took it out on all of us," elijah explained. "what?! no, dude—leave me alone about the damn jersey!" he paused for a moment, considering miles' offer. the thought of miles, of all people, giving him a massage made him sick to his stomach—but he was really hurting, and miles' hands looked soft, agile, and tempting. besides, it wasn't like anyone would ever find out... right? "if i say yes to this massage, you aren't gonna try to make it a happy ending, will you?" he asked, peering up at the smaller boy. "'cause, in case you haven't figured it out yet, i'm not gay—and that sounds pretty damn gay."

being forced to step foot in a college locker room had to have been miles' own personal circle of hell. just the mere thought had his stomach twisting in knots; actually being there with his boyfriend's supposed best friend was even worse. it wasn't that miles had anything against elijah . . . he just couldn't wrap his head around the thought that his sweet, doting boyfriend could befriend someone so unwilling to accept that he was happy. yes, miles wasn't the most conventional choice, but only elijah had seemed to think twice about it. everyone else just accepted them as was. "i am not a pervert, elijah. i'm more than happy with craig," he reminded him. perhaps it was elijah's intention to get under his skin, to make him freak out . . . but the curly-haired male was dead-set on staying calm and collected! his face went sour as the rancid, sweat-slick jersey was tossed his way. he might have been trying to play it cool, but there was a stirring between his thighs — which only made him press them together even tighter. the last thing he needed was to soak himself through his shorts that already left little to the imagination! "yes, you do! you sweat in it, don't you? please tell me you at least wash your little football pants . . . " miles replied in disbelief. he shook his head, more out of concern than judgement. craig was the same way, and it was a wonder either boy wasn't riddled with jock itch! perhaps that was how miles could win elijah over. maybe he needed someone to pick up his slack too. he certainly never imagined he'd be the football team's laundromat, but if it won him favor with the most important person in craig's life, it was worth it. "i could bag any guy i so choose, and i chose craig. don't flatter yourself," miles retorted. he sighed softly, face resting in the palm of his hand for a moment. his eyes rolled at the boy's remarks. if he was going to be slightly homophobic, the least he could do was make it interesting . . . but then again, miles had never prided footballers with being the most intelligent cookies in the jar. "here we go again. just 'cause i'm gay i must want to sniff every guy i've ever encountered's dirty feet or jockstraps. can you come up with something new? i mean seriously, dude . . ." miles shot back. it was hard not to notice the pain that came over the boy's face. it was that natural instinct that caused the tiny male to stand on his two feet. silently, he cursed himself for being so nice, but he wouldn't have wanted it any other way — lest he all alone. "i won't bitch. contrary to what you think, elijah, i'd actually like to get to know you," miles offered up meekly. "are you okay? seriously . . . you look like you're in pain. and from the smell of your jersey, it doesn't exactly seem like you're taking care of yourself." miles didn't know what he was getting himself into, and he didn't even know why he was letting the words flow from his mouth — but he couldn't stop himself. "look, if y'want, i can wash your jersey for you. i already do craig's, so what's one more?" he started. "and if it's your neck hurting, i can try to help . . . my mom's a massage therapist, so i've learned a thing or two. craig's always having a neckache or his feet hurt. he says i'm the best, and he's not just saying that 'cause he loves me."