#i like thinking about stuff i love like a warm breeze and new tender leaves and the golden light of the late afternoon

[keygen]

I literally can't sit in the lounge because every time I do there's this guy who just loudly complains about every single thing he hates nonstop uninterrupted and that couldn't be me.

[cocoa-rococo]

Hello fellow Rayman author :) I keep wanting to write some Rayman and Globox friendship fluff but can never come up with the scenario required to properly do so. Maybe you'd like to take that up. I also love the idea of a Rayman 2 AU, where Globox just earned the power that was meant for Rayman by accidentally eating his silver lum :D But that feels like a bigger project.

(holy shit, THE levy120? aka one of the best rayman fanfic authors of all time? i re-read your stuff constantly, my dude, it's an honor.)

first off, oh man, that au sounds so cool! i already got a lot of rayman fics in the work already (the price of lightning-bolt inspiration bursts at midnight, i suppose), but that sounds like a ton of fun with a lot of potential.

secondly, i am ALWAYS down for writing friendship fluff. these two are so delightful to work with, so i hope this suffices!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

"Okay, a little higher! Good! Now, left, left, leftleftleftleftleft too far! A little more to the right, aaand… perfect!"

The summers in the Glade of Dreams were a time of plenty, with blooming flowers, flourishing greenery, and the trees all but bending under the weight of the produce they bore. Berries clustered together on the vine, little jewels in the daylight awaiting the brief harvest of those passing through. The weather was flawless for a few hours of picking berries; bright skies, warm sun, and cool breezes that passed through the shadows of the jungle canopy.

It was well known, however, that the most tender and delicious fruit waited at the very top of the trees, where the sun was strong but speckled through the leaves. Succulent and ripe, they surrendered easily to teeth and burst with flavor on the tongue. The only trick was learning how to get up there. Alas, it was a trick few knew. They contented themselves, then, to wait for the load to get too heavy on the branches and fall to the floor, where they were turned into pies, tarts, juices, and other treats.

Rayman was one of the lucky few who did know the ways up. To do that, however, he needed an assistant to help him climb and a friend to share the spoils with.

"Hey, Rayman?" Globox said, trying to both hold the thingamajig's feet steady and shuffle to the perfect picking spot. "I don't wanna be rude or anything, but do you think maybe we could hurry this up a little? My face feels squished."

"It's just for a little longer!" the limbless promised, swaying on Globox's lip, floating hands straining to reach for the closest branch to start the trek up. "Once I get up there, I'll drop the berries down, then you can catch them in the baskets."

The thought of food put the frog's complaints to rest as he straightened. "Can I eat the first one?"

"Sure, if you want. You have to take the skin off, first, though."

An attempted grab at the branch resulted in a miss. He had to readjust.

"Rayman?"

"Yeah?"

"What's so special about these berries, anyway? I mean, can't we just wait until it falls?"

"They're not just any berries, Globox, they're — oh, maybe move forward a little more — thanks — they're whiplicks!"

"Lick-whip-what?"

"Whiplicks!" The floating hand strained up again, fingertips grazing the bark. Rayman wobbled on his perch, hands out, and centered himself. "Need to get higher — Ly told me about them. They only grow once every few years, and the perfect time to harvest them is right before midsummer."

Globox grappled his sneakers in a new hold. "Huh. Are they any good?"

"I don't know, I've never had them. But supposedly, once you peel the hard part away, the insides taste like melted chocolate."

"Oooooh! Scrummy!"

"Yeah, it sounds neat, and —" Rayman stopped. The floating hands returned to his sides as he turned back to the frog with a raised brow. "Wait, what?"

"What is it?"

"What did you just say?"

"Uh," Globox blinked, one eye after the other. "Scrummy? Why, did I say something wrong?"

"What? No," Rayman shook his head, face scrunched in confusion. "It's just that — Globox, is that even a real word?"

"Sure it is! I read it myself!"

Confusion slid into suspicion. "… Where?"

"In a dictionary."

"Which one?"

"Oh. I don't know, any one. Is there even more than one kind of dictionary?"

"Maybe? But in any case, I'm almost positive that's not a word."

"Scrummy's a real word!"

Rayman's suspicion melted in the presence of their usual banter, and a smile crept onto his face. He shook his head with a laugh. "No, it's not!"

"Yes it is!"

"Alright then, smart guy, where in the dictionary does it say that?"

"Under the 'S', where it always is!"

"Since when?!"

"Since forever, probably!" Ahhh, there it was; Globox's smile in kind. That's what confirmed it in Rayman's head that he knew they were teasing. "And the way I learned it, you wanna know? Lila's getting to be real big — you know her, the one who makes you read those stories with all the nice pictures?"

"Yeah, I remember her. Nice kid."

"Well recently, she's been reading words, real words, all by herself! And she likes it a lot. So me and Uglette got her a few easy books to go through, and when she doesn't know what a word means, we look it up together!"

Looking back, Rayman could confirm that yes, his heart might have melted at the image of Globox being a loving father, but that still didn't mean he was wrong about this being an illegitimate string of letters. "Alright, fine. If you really did look it up, what does it mean?"

"Oh, that's easy. It means tasty! Delicious! You know, when you eat something good. It rhymes with 'yummy', after all."

"Then what not say that?"

"What, yummy?"

"Yeah!"

"Gosh, I dunno. Why does anyone say anything?"

… Huh. Why do people say anything, really? Ly could probably find some truth in that, if he remembered to repeat it to her.

"I guess," Globox shrugged, making Rayman sway on his feet, as he smiled once more, "maybe it's to make it sound more appetizing?"

"Globox, no offense, but that's the least appetizing word I've ever heard — scrummy? Seriously?"

"What's wrong with scrummy?"

"It doesn't even sound like a word anymore!"

"Yeah, because you keep repeating it!"

"Me?!" Rayman's cheeks burned from grinning so much. "You're *the one who keeps saying it! And anyway, what *isn't wrong with it? It sounds exactly like another, even better word, doesn't sound appealing at all, and doesn't even feel like an actual —"

"Hey, Rayman?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we talk about this a little later? My arms are getting tired."

It was then that the limbless realized he was still balanced atop his friend, with no fruit to show for his efforts.

"Oh," he blinked, large grin shriveling into a sheepish half-smile. "Sorry! Maybe… I can try jumping up instead? Count of three!"

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When the sun fell and evening arose, and the berries were reached, picked, washed, peeled, and taste-tested for chocolatey perfection — and found to be true — Globox brought Rayman to his house and had Lila show him a certain term in the 'S' section of the dictionary. Rayman studied it with a shrewd eye, burned red, and admitted, in the face of the blue frog's triumph, that perhaps he needed to read a little more. Lila was all too happy to assist in the matter.

Father, daughter, and thingamajig sat in a circle, the youngest reading aloud to them as best she could between bites of — as they all agreed — positively scrummy whiplick berries.

[muertawrites]

Fireside (Zuko x Reader)

Word Count: 1,775

Author’s Note: I am so deeply sorry this took so long to post. I don’t know what happened but after Thanksgiving the creative part of my brain completely shut down and all I could do was lay in bed and play video games. But it’s back now so 🎉🎉🎉 happy new year to all of us! 

I got this request a WHILE ago and had written something else for it but after reconsidering, I totally hated it, so this is the rewrite for some cozy, wintery goodness. I also love this idea because I’m constantly cold - my feet and hands are always freezing and even in summer I’ll wear sweaters and hoodies because aircon can get pretty chilly when you have the body temp of your average vampire. 

Now for a little update: in the new year, I’ll be focusing more on original works than fanfiction. I’m still going to finish Two Halves, and I’ll still write fanfiction (because it’s still super fun) but I have so many ideas for original works that are taking over my brain that it seems only fitting to shift that direction. If you’re on my subscriber list and would like to only receive alerts for fanfic, let me know and I’ll add you to a separate list. 

I hope you’re all having a wonderful holiday, taking time to relax and spend time with loved ones, and generally just glad to have survived this shithole of a year. Here’s hoping that 2021 goes better - 2020 set the bar pretty low so it shouldn’t be too hard. 🥂

Snow was a rare occurrence in the Fire Nation. Summers typically scorched, followed by peaceful autumns and mild winters; a little rainfall was all one typically expected during the colder months in the Imperial City. 

This year, however, was much different. The mountains that bordered the villages and towns throughout the island were white capped under gray skies; streets were slickened by thick layers of ice that settled between cobblestones and creased the panes of windows; bracing breezes swept through landscapes unaccustomed to such unforgiving weather, carrying flurries of snow that bit at cheeks and cloaked the world in a dull ivory veil. Winter came to the Fire Nation seeking a cruel, unwarranted vengeance.

You woke in the middle of the night to find the fire beside your bed had died, leaving your borrowed room in a state of bitter, slicing cold. It wasn't the first time the Firelord’s palace had left you uncomfortably chilled since your arrival for his New Year’s celebrations, as the building was never meant to withstand this type of climate - sweeping ceilings, open breezeways, and tall windows with thin shutters ensured that the cold had its way. Being from the Northern Earth Kingdom, used to sturdy wooden lodges with massive fire pits that could burn an entire tree trunk with one lighting, this strange change of the typical season made you ache for home. 

Knowing there were no matches beside the hearth (given the sheer amount of fire benders that resided in the palace), you gathered up your courage and begrudgingly rolled from your mattress, taking the blankets with and wrapping them tightly around yourself. The walls around you creaked, shifting under the push of moaning winds, as you slipped into the hallway in search of your host. 

You were thankful that Zuko decided to keep his personal wing of the palace confined to a space that was mostly enclosed; the only breezeways in this part of the sprawling estate surrounded its courtyards and gardens, and were blocked by sets of heavy wood doors that shielded the inner parts of the building from being overcome by the elements. As you walked, traipsing through the corridor under your mound of blankets like some sort of shadowy, death-bringing phantom, you passed one of the windows that overlooked the gardens, and found it frosted under heavy white tufts of snow; puffy, clumped flakes whirled down from the sky, falling haphazardly as they escaped the grip of the whipping wind. Even in the relative warmth of the palace, your body shivered thinking of how frigid the air outside must be. 

Because of the abnormal cold, Zuko moved his mattress out of his bedroom and into his sitting room, where a large, decorative fireplace stood nestled into the far wall. You approached his sleeping form with gentle, quiet steps, being careful not to startle him; you lay a hand on his shoulder and he jolted awake, drawing a sharp breath in as he twisted to face you, blinking blearily to make out your features in the dark. 

“What are you doing?” he muttered. 

“I'm cold,” you whispered in response. “My fire went out.” 

Zuko sighed, fixing you with an irked, exhausted expression. 

“Seriously?” he groaned. “This is the third time this week.” 

“It's not my fault nobody has any friggin matches in this place,” you quipped. “And besides, why bring a servant all the way up here when I have one of the world’s greatest fire benders down the hall?”

Zuko huffed, then rolled back over in an attempt to shove you off. 

“There should be more blankets in your closet,” he grumbled. 

“I'm wearing all of them,” you retorted. 

You stood above him, waiting, but got no response. Shivering, and with an exasperated sigh, you pulled back the blankets around him, shuffling between them and nestling into his back; he snapped his head around once more, eyeing you suspiciously. 

“... Isn’t this a little uncomfortable?” he wondered. 

“Not really,” you replied. “We used to do this all the time when we were teenagers.” 

“We haven't done this since we were teenagers.”

You hummed, recalling your time together during the war. Even on the hottest days, your body was cold, your fingers always reasonably corpselike to anyone who happened to touch them - Zuko was one of those unfortunate people, and the lack of circulation in your limbs came as quite a worry to him. Throughout the day, he would take one of your hands in his, heating his palm until your skin took on a more lively temperature. When he noticed how much you layered at night when the air became cooler, he started sleeping nearer to you, eventually curling up around you to keep you warm. After the war, when he got into the habit of visiting you around the winter holidays, you still found yourself seeking him for warmth, tucking your hands into the sleeves of his robes or curling his palm around your icy fingers, finding sanctuary in the way he heated his skin to appease you. While it was true you hadn't slept together since you were younger, you hadn't ever needed to - desperate times called for desperate measures. 

“I should have remembered that you get so grumpy when you're tired,” you teased him, rubbing your feet against his; he hissed, but didn't pull away. 

“You're freezing,” he commented. “I should have remembered you're dead on the inside.” 

You giggled, sighing happily as the familiar heat of his skin warming like a furnace chased the chill from your toes. You slid your feet up along his ankles, causing him to shiver; his body tensed for a moment, then eased into your touch, quickly finding comfort in its familiarity. 

“Aang used to assume we were a couple because of this,” Zuko mumbled. “He still does.” 

“You're just a good friend,” you replied. You nuzzled your face into the broad, solid expanse of his back, breathing in his scent of scorched wood and sea salt. He felt like home. “Good friends don't let their friends freeze to death.” 

Zuko chuckled, taking hold of your hands that lay on his waist and cupping them within his own; he held your knuckles up to his mouth and huffed warm, smokey air onto them, heating them until they no longer felt cold. He tucked them beneath the fabric of his tunic, keeping them tepid between the fabric of his undershirt. 

“Uncle says the same thing,” he mused. “He says we treat each other like lovers, whether we realize it or not.” 

“My neighbors have asked me what my husband does that takes him away for so long out of the year...” you commented, eliciting another breathy laugh from your companion. “But I think I'd know if you were in love with me.” 

Zuko rolled over, turning to face you; his arm latched at your waist, his chest almost pressed to you and your noses grazing each other in the small space of his mattress. You blushed, the color blending with the soft, balmy glow of the low hearth behind him. 

“What makes you think I'm not in love with you?” he wondered. 

You paused, watching the flames flicker over the angular features of his face. Though he was silhouetted, and so close he seemed to envelop all of you, you could make out a tender gleam in his eye; could feel the flutter in his chest as he split it open, tentatively revealing his heart to you. 

“... I'd like to think you would have mentioned it,” you answered after a moment, “but I know you better than that.” 

Zuko grinned; you watched the curve of his cheek as it swelled with the action. 

“I might have mentioned it,” he murmured, his voice lilting with a gentle mirth. “Just not to you.”

“Of course not,” you teased. You mirrored his smile, easing into him as his foot began to stroke against your ankle once more. “Either way, I know you don't love me.” 

“And why is that?” Zuko whispered. 

“Well… you never write to me about anything exciting,” you replied. “You always seem so content to write to me about your thoughts, or what plays you've seen recently, or your conversations with Iroh. You never tell me about the impressive, world-altering Firelord stuff or your incredible exploits as a warrior.” 

Zuko smirked, raising a hand to brush some hair away from your face. His fingers were calloused and lukewarm, tracing over your temple with consideration and care. 

“Why else?” 

“You've never tried to kiss me,” you noted, “or touch me like a lover. You never try to push our boundaries past anything that's comfortable for us. Even right now - I'm laying in your bed, but you refuse to touch me in a way you're unsure of.” 

“Then you don't love me, either,” Zuko added. His body had gravitated flush to yours, your legs braided together under the pile of blankets you'd buried him in. “You only want to sleep with me when you're cold. You could just as easily call a servant for help.” 

“And you only want to keep me warm out of obligation,” you agreed. “It wouldn’t make you look very good if I died of hypothermia on your watch.” 

For a long moment, Zuko gazed at you. You basked in his silence, the easiness of his form so close to yours, the native feeling of his arm around your waist and his breath tickling your cheeks. The fire snapped quietly in its hearth, its flames rising and falling in time with his inhales and exhales. 

“I’ve missed this,” Zuko admitted in a whisper. “Laying with you. I wish we could do it more often.” 

“I’ve missed it, too,” you affirm. “I always used to sleep better with you.” 

“And that’s it?” Zuko teased. 

“That’s it,” you giggled back. 

He chanced a kiss to your forehead, pressing his lips between your brows and letting them linger there, savoring the coolness of your skin. You shut your eyes, giving yourself entirely to his touch. 

“In the new year… do you think we could be lovers?” he asked as he pulled away. 

“... I think your uncle is right,” you murmured. “I think we already are.” 

With a faint, bashful smile, Zuko pulled you closer (if the act were even possible), hugging you tightly to him; you held him close, pressing the whole of your body to his and soaking in his steady, comforting warmth. As the wind howled outside, shaking the flimsy wooden eaves of the feeble shelter around you, you fell asleep in the heat of his fireside, safe in the knowledge that his arms held you. 

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[sun-flower-children]

Felix with MC that has wings

A/N: Yes @demon-paradise​ I totally can write that :) awww thank you so much :’))) I might have changed some details on accident so I’m sorry in advance but yeah not too much based on canon.

When you first entered the world you were how you were at the convention. Wearing your handmade, but still well crafted, Sunstone Order Knight uniform and in a very much basic human form. When you were surprised by the feeling of a sobbing crying form you still had a normal human silhouette. When you met Anisa and Sage in the fire-lit office you still looked the same. You continued to look the same while you lived in their “secret” headwaters and learned about the world around you as well as how to defend yourself. 

Felix mentioned how he could sense the magic flowing through you and that it also felt relatively knew. You told him all you could about the convention with the glowing from inside a glass box. You don't remember quite touching it but you felt leaving the place you were at to be in the place you are now. You were trying to just not randomly let out bits of magic and not turn anyone so Felix taught you breathing excessive and other techniques to help you with control and letting gout the amount that you intend.

After touching Rime’s magical book that Felix unearthed from the depths of the study’s couch you had felt a strange stirring and a wave of tingles, kind of similar to those one would get when listening to asmr but all over the body, then immediately feeling a sharp pain in your back. The initial shock left you in almost a coma state and you woke up on your bed. You were laying on your stomach and felt an unnatural amount of weight on your back pushing down into the mattress. Experimentally stretching your arms out and feeling grossed out by the slime like liquid that was covering the bed on both sides of you. You felt a little bubble of panic popping inside of your stomach and starting breathing in slowly to calm yourself down. You focused of the soft feathery feeling that’s tickling the back of your knees. ‘That doesn’t feel so bad’ you think to yourself.

Bringing your arms in at a 90 degree angle, preparing to push yourself up, and surprisingly feel that you couldn’t. There was too much weight for you to push yourself so easily. You open your eyes a look toward the window and see that the sun had just started pushing against the horizon. Your eyes wander towards the floor-length mirror on the opposite side of the room and see that your shape on the bed wasn’t what you expected it to be. you could make out the bump for your head but then there was a giant and lengthy curve before seeing the subtle shapes of your feet.

Now abandoning the calm breathing technique you start to panic. Without thinking you flung yourself off the bed and onto the floor. The weight crushing you and pushing you to the floor. You slide yourself, shaking and struggling, reaching for the nearest chair to push yourself upwards. Arms shaking from being bed ridden for a while and creaking under all the pressure. ‘How long was I on the bed’ you think once again to yourself. Finally bringing yourself high enough to bringing your knee off the floor and immediately crumbled again, your head hitting the edge of the chair. Your groan was loud and cut through the silence that you didn’t quite realized was so deafening until now.

Enough time had passed where you were struggling to get on your knees that now the sunlight was peaking over the bottom of the window sill. Your knees gradually warmed up and were ready to bring you into the vertical position you have been working towards. when looking at your feet you was long feathers sweeping the floor and tickling your toes once in a while. Breathing hard, sweating and shaking with pain and also from being used so quickly after not moving for so long. Your back ached and you could truly stand already trying to stay in decent posture only to fall backwards and feeling the flames of pain searing up your back. Tears flowing of the sides of your face and you angrily cried in frustration. You could stand as long as you hunched over so that the weight on your back wasn’t dragging you down as much.

Looking into the mirror you saw the wings that were now behind you. The weight that you could feel pulling tender skin down and stretching it in every which a way as you moved. You were too tired to feel the shock you would have otherwise, delirious with the pain. Giving up on standing you flung yourself to the wall space by the mirror and leaned against the nearby bookshelf. The sounds of footsteps could be heard. But lighter smaller ones, not those of soldiers or even a large cat man. Too weak to properly defend yourself from whatever it maybe your curled up into a ball, arms over your head. Your new wings instinctively moving to circled around you like a shield.

The door opened and someone walked in. “(Y/N)?” a soft voice called out.

‘Felix’ you thought, recognizing the voice but not moving. Instead you made a noise that was meant to be “here” but instead came out as more of a painful groan.

He moved towards you and could hear him in the space in-front of you.

“Barista, are you...” he pauses,”...let’s get you back into the bed.” still in the same tone of voice he used before. You made a weak noise in defiance, not wanting to go through the hassle of moving again. After the faint noise of Felix muttering something under his breath that wasn’t in the speaking language, you felt some of the weight lifted and almost thought that the wings had come off. you look up seeing a rather disheveled Felix; his glasses skewed and off center. He held both your arms and led you slowly back to the bed. You were wearing someone bed gown but the back was either cut or ripped open because you could feel the cold breeze much more easily on your back.

In the new mornings light you noticed that you wings were the same color as you hair but a but darker and much more silky and shiny looking. “Like one of those L’oreeel commercials.” stumbles out off your mouth. Felix stops and looks at you, probably confused but you aren’t looking at him, before bringing you to sit down on the bed. You leaned down slowly to lay back down again, this time on your side. The wings moving out to make a more comfortable position. Felix sat down and began to explain.

Most of the information was lost on you as you kept fading in and out of focus. But you understood that the magic book reacted to you being not of this world and having magic in a way that wasn’t at all anticipated.The wings somehow had to do with some history thingy that may or may not have happened before and maybe something else happened but you didn’t catch it. Some more things happened. Something else about Sage panicking in the corner when it happened and Anisa freaking out and yelling at Felix and something else. Guards maybe have came. Did he just say that they made you pretend you were a doll in the Earth stuff room when the guards came in looking for a leaf gremlin? That’s not right.

“And that about sums up what happened during the week you were, uh, developing a new, uh...” Felix looks at your new wings and the open flesh on your back,” wings.” He sighs a deep sigh. “(Y/N) are you hungry?” That would make sense since you haven't been able to eat in a while but you didn’t feel hungry. You wanted to move and change clothes. Maybe take a shower because the slime has gotten into weird places.

The next few weeks was basically you trying to relearn how to move. You learned that you have to lift your wings with your back muscles to make it easier to walk around normally. The giant baths now became very useful with all the extra space being very accommodating of your wings. The best you had ever felt during this entire period was when the four of you went outside, not long after you showered, and you opened your wings to the fullest. Really stretching them and fluffing them out. Hearing the awes of the people around you admiring your wings.

Later that day Felix and you had a little dinner date, if you will, on one of the higher balconies. He explained that your back had started to grow two lumps and slower grew. The way he described all the slime coating your wings reminded you of that one scene from the Matrix. You accidentally said that thought out loud which then resulted in you explained what the 2009 world was like, explaining technology, then getting into the movie itself. The entire time you were explaining to him about Earth he was looking at you, nodding and asking more specific questions every once in a while.

Once the group had gotten more used to your wings and making sure that they were healthy, everything began to lighten up. Sage would make cat vs bird jokes, Anisa would try to come up with ways to make life more comfortable, which then ended with you moving to another room with a bigger door ( it was closer to Felix’s so you didn’t complain).

The first time you tried to fly, he was so worried and had his spells ready to catch you ( which did help the first few times). Eventually you got it; not being able to go for long amounts of time but could glide. Everyday working out with Sage to get those wing muscles going so that you could launch yourself vertically from the ground.

Felix thinks its so cute when your wings also react with you, though he will never tell you. The way the puffed up, to make you look bigger, when he was around his father. Or when he would kiss you your wings would relax and touch the floor. When you are really excited they would do a ton of tiny flaps. Felix would love to clean your wings for you. They are massive and it does take a lot of time but this is something that he wants to do for you because he feels like it’s partially his fault.

Felix loved you wings. Hey thought they were so beautiful and made you a literal angel in his eyes. The way they shined in the sun was almost like how you would brighten his day with your laugh. If the two of you were sitting close he would either pet your wing(s) or even closer so you wings circle the two of you. The little privacy bubble was always welcome but also made him feel like it was more intimate. At some point you would hug him and the wings would then engulf the two of you; makes him feel so safe, wanted and loved. You quickly caught on to this and made sure to do it more often. Felix will sometime get overwhelmed in public and you would use your wings as dividers and creating a safer space away from whatever stimulated him. On warmer days you would create a cool breeze by gently flapping your wings. When people try to catch you for your wings he goes full ape shit on them because how dare they try to touch and harm his dear barista, his dear angel (Y/N)

“Your wings are beautiful (Y/N) “ he would say randomly one day.

“ Aww thank you Felix. I’m so happy you like them” you said while smiling at him.

Felix looked away, trying to hide his blush, and brought his book up closer to his face. He was tempted to look at you when he heard you softly giggle but restrained himself from doing so. The rest of the afternoon would be spent stealing secret looks from each other and smiling yourselves when one sees the other doing something cute.

A/N: I might make another lil’ story, a kind of part 2, depends how well this one does :)

MASTERLIST  < for more :D

[storyofmychoices]

First Impressions

[Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley Masterlist]

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley (OC) Other Characters (mentioned): Jackie Varma, Unnamed MC Book: Open Heart (Book 1, Chapter 1) Word Count: <1,400

Prompts: polaroid @choicesaprilchallenge2021; for anon who asked “First impression of each other? Was it love at first sight?” For Bryce x Olivia [Short answer: yes!]

Synopsis: Bryce and Olivia meet for the first time in the Edenbrook locker room on the first day of their intern year. Neither of them expected to feel what they felt about someone they didn’t even know yet.

Her smiling face stared back up at her from her new hospital ID badge. “Doctor Olivia Hadley”, she traced the first word with her finger, still in disbelief. It didn’t feel real. She was a doctor. All of her hard work and dedication had finally gotten her where she wanted to be: helping people. She had dreamed of being a doctor her entire life. Edenbrook was a big step up from diagnosing and treating her bears and dolls as a child. 

She was a doctor. She had made it! A little squeal slipped from her lips; her hand quickly clapped over her mouth, hoping no one had heard it. 

Her embarrassing slip seemed to go unnoticed. Two doctors in their underwear bickered while talking to another doctor who had just arrived; her scrubs were already soiled from triaging a patient on the way in. 

Olivia's gaze settled on the male doctor who stood almost proudly in his boxers, no modesty or shame. His confidence was overwhelming. Her heart fluttered as her she took him in.

His laughter was infectious. It melted through her nerves and worries. Something about it was calming. Behind the boisterous cock-sure tone, there was a genuine joy in its melody. His brown eyes glowed with a beautiful fire. It was a rare sight to see. 

The muscular doctor argued cheekily with a gorgeous female doctor. A pang of disappointment filled her as she listened to their spirited teasing Olivia wondered if they were a couple already or if they were on their way to it. She wasn't sure why she cared. She wasn’t there to engage in a fling; she was there because her life’s purpose had always been to help and to heal. She reminded herself that she didn’t even know his name, so how could she already feel for someone she hadn’t met. She thought herself better than falling for a party boy. Sure, he looked like his stomach and chest had been carved from caramel-colored marble and every inch of it was real and not photoshopped. She knew that meant nothing; although, her whole body warmed at the thought.   

Olivia took a deep, focused breath, turning back to her locker. He was so out of her league; there wasn’t even any use fantasizing about it (even though she could already tell it would be a fantastic fantasy).

She took a polaroid photo of herself as a child wearing a lab coat, dressed as a doctor for Halloween, and tacked it up to remind her how far she had come. If that little girl could see her now; a soft smile grew on her face at the memory and all those memories she had made on her journey to get here.

The playful bantering of the three doctors seemed to die down. She could hear the two female doctors' conversations fading as they left the locker room. She tossed her hair behind her shoulders and readjusted her lab coat. Taking one last look in her little mirror, she shut her locker quietly, hoping to slip out unnoticed. 

“Hi.” His cool voice greeted her, as the still shirtless doctor leaned casually against the lockers. He gave her his most charming grin. If this were a cheesy romantic comedy, his teeth would have been sure to sparkle.

Olivia shook her head, trying to remember what words were as his gaze drew her deeper. “Uh, hi.” 

“I'm Bryce.” He smirked, stepping closer and offering her his hand. 

She swallowed hard, reluctantly accepting his gesture.  “Liv. Olivia. I’m a pediatric intern. Pleased to meet you.”

He turned her hand in his own, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. Her skin was soft and inviting. He didn’t want to let go. His voice was smooth and sultry, “the pleasure is all mine.” 

She pulled her hand back, trying to hold in her slight scoff. She had heard him use that same line on one of the other doctors just a few minutes earlier. She cleared her throat. Weakly, she asked, “do you mind putting a shirt on?”

He raised his brow questioningly but threw his surgical scrubs on. “Better?”

“Immensely,” she rolled her eyes, unamused. 

“I aim to please,” he winked, moving closer once more. His gaze settled on hers as if he had something more to say, but no words came.  

The fire in his eyes drew her in like a moth to a flame. She had thought seeing him clothed would break the illusion and free her from his pull; but, she was caught in his gaze like she assumed so many others had probably been, completely enraptured by his beauty. For a moment, she forgot why she was there and the promise she had made to herself and her parents: no first-day flings. A blissful warmth washed over her as his smile widened. She wondered what he was thinking and if he felt the same odd stillness and warmth that she did standing there with him. It was peaceful, a quiet hope-filled moment with a whispered promise of something she couldn’t quite understand. Her eyes closed as her smile grew too wide, breaking the spell. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Olivia took a step back. "I should—" Her fingers pointed over her shoulder to leave, but her feet stood still. 

As if coming out of a trance himself, he shook his head letting the locker room shift back into focus. He noticed for the first time that all of the other interns had since left. "Me too." 

"We don't want to be late," Olivia lied; everything in her wanted nothing more than to stay in his warm glow. 

"Right." He agreed, turning back to his own locker and shoving his stuff in swiftly. He had planned to be the first surgical intern at the meeting to make a good first impression, but here he was still there with her. He wasn't sure how much time had passed or how he so easily let it slip away from him. "See you later, Liv?"

"I hope so," Olivia admitted softly, attempting to temper her smile. She was certain she looked like a bushing schoolgirl with a new crush.

"Until then."

Something about the quiet doctor pulled him into her. He first noticed her when her little squeal drew his focus momentarily. She was so happy to be there; it was endearing. He had seen her sneak a peek of his features earlier when he and Jackie were talking to the hopeful diagnostic intern. Her blushing cheeks were adorable. He had to know her name and why he couldn’t stop thinking about her, even when there were two stunning female doctors shirtless in front of him. 

As she moved to organize her locker, he snuck behind it. His heart beat a little faster as she tossed her hair back behind her shoulders, readjusting her lab coat. He waited patiently for her to notice him; but she didn’t. Not until she shut the locker. 

He cringed at himself at his cheesy hello and the awkward start to their conversation. She didn't seem to care for his state of undress. He was taken aback when she had asked him to put a shirt on, but he complied not wanting to let her go yet.

He drifted closer to her without thinking. He hadn't intended to stay like this, trapped in her gaze; however, there was something about the tenderness of her eyes that kept him there. It was comforting, like the warm breeze off the cool ocean on a hot summer day. Home wasn't a concept he had much faith in lately, but if he had to label it with one word, that's what this moment felt like, what she felt like—home. He laughed at himself for even thinking such a thought. 

She was just a beautiful woman with kind eyes. What made her so different? He tried to ignore the feeling, but it only grew the longer they stayed there. He didn't want the moment to end, but he knew it had to. He was grateful when she pulled away first, reminding them both they had somewhere they needed to be. 

Bryce watched her walk away, hoping for a reason he didn't yet understand, that he would see the pediatric intern again, and sooner rather than later. There was something about her that he needed more of.

Perma tags: @lilyoffandoms ; @raleighcarrera ; @mfackenthal ; @the-soot-sprite ; @virtuallytakenby ; @zeniamiii ; @whimsicallywayward15; ; @xjustin-ethansgirliex ; @caseyvalentineramsey; @trappedinfanfiction; @anotherbeingsworld​ ;  @tyrils-star ; @arnikki-2406 ; @princess-geek ;  @katrinegrey​ ; @lucy-268​ ; @schnitzelbutterfingers​ ; @gardeningourmet​

Bryce //  Open Heart Tags:  @thearianam​  ; @burnsoslow​ ; @mvalentine​  ; @rookie-ramsey​ ; @missmiimiie​;; @jamespotterthefirst​ ; @adrianadmirer​ ; @bitchloveskcbaseball​ ; @nyastarlight​ ; @doriansapprentice​ ; @brycesgirl​; @bratzlahela​; @ofpixelsandscribbles​;  @superharriet​ ; @loveellamae

[tipsydipsydo]

Touched [M]

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Gender of the Reader: female

Word Count: 2.2k

Rating: 18+

Genre: Fluff; Smut

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff; Full Body Massage; Petnames; Praising; Body-Worshipping; Nipple Play; Fingering; Mentions of pubic Hair; kinda tantric orgasm (?); Yoongi is awfully sweet and adorable! 🤧💕

A/N: I wrote this here for my sweet Darling Sibi @borathae​ who had an incredible awful week and I just thought about how to make a little bit up for this shitty week. I love you and I hope you like it, Baby~ 🙈💖

Summary: This week was just so awful and shitty, every muscle in your body hurts and you're absolutely exhausted from this horror week. But Yoongi has an Idea to relax you and make you feel so loved in a way, that couldn't make thousands of compliments.

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「© tipsydipsydo」

This following story is my intellectual property and belongs only to my blog tipsydipsydo.tumblr.com!

I’ll not accept any kind of reposting, stealing or using/editing my work!

That includes reposting my content on other social media platforms too, even when you link me as the original author.

Thank you.

"Just relax. And if you don't want something, please just tell me.", Yoongi whispers in your ear as he lays you down on your stomach on the big king size bed. You just nod exhausted and worn out, really don’t want anything more than relaxation and rest.

This week had just been terrible and exhausting. You don't know why, but Mother Nature thought this week is a good week to let the temperatures reach 40°C. Exactly in the week where you no longer have lectures and therefore you have to work a 40 hours week in your side job. Not that it's bad, no. You work at a photographer and you study photography, so it couldn't be that bad... wrong. It is already shit if you have to renovate in blazing sun without shade a barn (for photo shootings etc). You are studying photography, not trained as a craftsman! Now you regret having applied with your craft skills.

Yoongi already said the last few days, you should finally quit and find a better part-time job, with a boss who also appreciates your photographic skills. But you need this Job, your Boss pays you well. Only you would like to do more often the things you have applied for and no other stupid work.

Especially when this man, who call you your boss, is sitting in his air-conditioned office and you had to work outside your ass off in this unbearable heat?!

But now this cruel week is finally over and you should not get upset even more with it. You’re finally at home, with Yoongi.

You close your eyes, inhale deeply the smell of the Ylang Ylang oil, which the Oil Burner on the windowsill lets spread throughout the room. A slight smile plays around your lips, Yoongi has remembered which kind of scents you like so much in the summer months. In your bedroom it’s pleasantly cool, the approaching night brings the first fresh breeze through the wide-open terrace door to you, caresses your naked skin tenderly. The sinking sun bathes the entire room in a soft red-orange tone.

It is incredibly comfortable to lie on the bed just in panties, between all the big soft pillows and blankets.

Your Boyfriend is up with something for you, something that is relaxing, sensual, tender. You admit, these last few weeks, you couldn't really be there for each other. Too much work, too many other things had just taken too much time. And the fact that he also spoils you now, only made your guilty conscience towards him grow even more. 

The mattress sinks down a little, you felt him shift his weight and sit in front of your head.

He seems to rub oil or something else between his hands before bending over and stroking with his warm and big hands over your shoulders to the swell of your butt cheeks. You sigh softly at this loving touch, enjoy this single touch already so much.

His hands glide again and again in full strokes with gentle pressure over your back and then begin to massage you gently. Your breaths get deeper, undreamt-of tension gradually eases and you enjoy every single caress from him.

Circling, he lets his fingertips wander over your back, scratching lovingly with his fingernails delicately over it, which gives you tingling goose bumps.

Every patch of skin is getting pampered by him and leaves pure relaxation and deep inner peace. You no longer think, you just feel and and

gratefully accept his tender touches and this deep calm as a sensual and confidential gift from him.

Finally, he straightens himself up again and goes to the height of your hip and kneels above you, but lets his hands lie on your lower all the time, thereby not interrupting this physical and mental contact with each other.

His hands exert completely different pressure on your body through this altered Position, which is a completely different experience.

Yoongi really always knows what is good for you, even if you have never said those things before. He likes to massage you, let all his love and appreciation flow into you through these touches.

Things he would never have gotten over his lips otherwise, so that you feel downright adored.

Yoongi had always been a quiet man who had a hard time getting feelings across his lips and yet he is so incredibly soulful that he constantly tries to express all his love differently. And it is precisely through these touches that he can convey it much better than with any words.

For what he feels for you and shows you through these gestures, there are simply no words.

You groan softly and muted as his lips touch your neck and shoulders. Every single feather-light kiss leaves an exciting tingling on your skin, which made your pleasurable sigh slightly tremble.

You gulp a little, a lustful feeling shoots through your nerves and bales in my stomach, which slowly pulls into your lower abdomen.

His tender kisses and nibbles on your skin excite you. It is not a hot and craving desire, it’s a permanent subliminal and sensual pleasure that goes through your entire body and reaches, occupies all nerves and fibers.

His body slides backwards, his hands wander over your butt. It was just a gentle stroke over it and yet it aroused you even more. He continues this loving, slow treatment on your legs, massages and kisses every conceivable place. Even the soles of your feet and toes were kneaded with calm pressure. Your body is completely relaxed and yet you feel pleasure. Lust that let you otherwise expectantly tense. It is new and exciting to experience it like this.

His fingers are back up on your thighs and each of your two butt cheeks is now nestled in his palms.

From your coming sigh your excitement can now be heard, which makes him hum contentedly. There was still the thin stuff of Panties between you, but that doesn't stop your excitement for more. Rather, you feel your nascent moisture between

your legs just even more. At some point, his hands glide once more over your entire back, over your arms and hands, which you have placed at a laterally bent angle next to your head.

"Please turn around, Darling.", he breathes into your ear. A little sluggishly and slowly you turn on your back and notice how some blush rises on your cheeks. Your Breasts are bare.  Even though Yoongi is your Boyfriend, it was often unusual for you to show yourself so naked, so vulnerable.

He spoils you now just as tenderly as it has done before with your back. Massages and rubs your scalp, temples and stroke all over your body in long strokes.

Every now and then a fresh breeze pulls over your body, brings the Lust in your blood more into action and makes your nipples hard. You you’re feeling warm, even quite hot. Yoongi feels your Lust now downright, nevertheless he spoils you slowly further, which became a sensual tormenting. He bypasses your erogenous zones, cancels them until the end of the extensive Massage.

Kissing every accessible spot of my skin and you feel as valued as you haven’t felt for a long time. You are tough and don’t get overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted easily, you want to show that you, as a woman, can be strong and independent. But you are also just a normal person, you struggles sometimes too, you also need from time to time a shoulder to lean on.

Yoongi gives you exactly this shoulder to lean on. He is solid as a rock and catches you when you fall. You are not alone in this cruel world. Yoongi is with you.

A light sweat film lies on your skin and you bite down on your lower lip softly, trying to hide your moaning away. Your breath is still deep, but it trembles a little with excitement and arousal.

Every Pore begins to tingle longingly, all over your body, from the hairline to your toes. From your feet, his hands glide in a fluid motion across your shins and the insides of your thighs. Caressing strokes, no more than a breath of wind over your Vulva.

You sigh tremblingly, automatically open your thighs a little more and your fingers run through your hair, which is spread like a fan around your head.

His touches give you immense trust in him. You present to him your soul. Your wishes, dreams, ideas, but also your fears and insecurities. He accepts you, he accepts you the way you are.

Touch you almost reverently, as if you were something so precious that is not worthy his touch. This realization of being valued and on an equal level with him, with him as a man, almost brings tears to your eyes. He shows you the respect that every woman would have deserved.

His fingertips dances across your Vulva up to your stomach and draw blurred lines that find themselves somewhere invisible.

They keep sliding back up and finally, they find your breasts. Finally. You wanted to be touched by Yoongi there so badly.

His fingertips drawing a spiral that circles ever tighter and ultimately reaches your nipples.

Carefully he caresses them and gently breathes his hot breath on them. Your body trembles.

Your folds were swollen and wet with Lust. This sensual game arouses you completely. How badly would you be touched there by him, caressed... Suddenly, his warm lips closes around your right nipple and caress it with light sucking, touching it with the tip of his tongue.

Your body is completely relaxed and yet it seems to you that everything in you is contracting with longing for him.

He plays the same game on your other nipple and you put your head in the back of your neck with your eyes closed. You whole body is so hot... A soft lustful moan escapes your open lips.

"You are so beautiful... you’ll ever be.", Yoongi whispered softly. His voice is also shaky and... there is a certain awe in his deep harsh voice. Another gasp comes out of your throat, his deep voice makes your hot, aroused body tingling. Makes my body pulsate. His lips touch your chin and kiss a trail down between your breasts across your stomach to your hot center.

Just before your Panties he stops and hooks his thumbs under the waistband on each side. Slowly he takes off the last piece of clothing before he lies next to you in a sideway position and lets his one Hand slip between your thighs.

You gasp for air and open your thighs a little more. His fingertips glide through the soft curls of your pubic hair, tugging gently on it to make you mewl. Moving lower to your folds before dipping with two of his fingers between them.

Gently he caresses them, playing gently with your entrance, while you quietly gasp out my Lust. Yoongi kisses your shoulder and your neck, in the Moment he finds your Clit that finally wanted to be found.

Your hip bucks up, you just bring out a strangled moan. You trust him so much, want to be able to open yourself completely up to him and let yourself fall, in the conscience of being caught by him again. He feels this intimate emotion in you, this desire to be completely his.

He whispers barely audible words into your ear, tells you what he loves about you and puts  after each compliment a kiss under it. His fingers rubs over your pearl, carefully and sensually. Taking his time for you.

Again and again, two of his fingers sinks deep into you, then he stimulates all over again only your clit. A long, lustful game begins.

Your pelvis rises towards him, you reward his actions with soft, breathless moans and the search of your lips for his own. Your thighs fall apart to the side, open your folds open even more up for him and the idea that it sees you so open, bare and so vulnerable turns you incredibly on.

It’s the last time when his fingertips circles around your pearl, until you tremble and cramp with the fulfillment of your Lust. Feelings and emotions rain down on you, which could never have been properly described with words. Only your facial expressions can show approximately what fulfilled pleasure you are feeling right now.

Tenderly Yoongi kisses you and wispers a breathy "I love you" into your ear, before you look into his dark brown eyes and find nothing but love, honor and respect, which applies only to you alone.

[beware-of-you-98]

Hey I saw your prompt list thing and almost died, could you write something one day about prompt 3, Emily reassuring jj. I didn’t realise how much I needed that in my life until I saw that.

“You’re not hurting me, you’re not heavy. I’ve got you, love.”

tw: mentions of ptsd, anxiety, violence

It happens in a matter of seconds.

One moment, Emily has her head on JJ’s lap, content with the warmth she provides and how easily her fingers glides through her hair. Dull nails lightly scrap against her scalp and she leans further into the feeling. The lamp on the table beside them gives off a muted golden glow, making even the room feel warm even if both of them are in sweaters and sweatpants.

The next, the room goes black from a sudden and spontaneous power outage.

Emily’s eyes fly open and look up, not because of the sudden loss of light, but because of the soft, surprised gasp that escapes the blonde’s lips. Her fingers still in place, her body rigid and tense from her nerves. Her eyes are glazed, wide with panic as they dart frantically around the room.

The brunette sits herself upright beside her wife immediately, forcing herself to keep her hands at her side—she knows better than to reach out for JJ without consent (it always does more harm than good, so she stays put even if it pains her to do so). “JJ?”

Blue eyes dart quickly around the room, a sliver of pink tongue darts from her mouth to wet her lips as her heart beats increase. Her chest is starting to rise and fall rapidly, her body is already wracking with horrible tremors and she can’t find herself focusing on anything but the smell of mildew and gunpowder, blood and sweat. She squeezes her eyes shut, placing her hands firmly over her eara because all she can fucking hear is the grunt of pain that comes from her friend every time their captor finds some new way to torture him...

“JJ, can I touch you?”

Emily’s voice is muffled by the noises JJ knows, knows, aren’t there but she can hear them so vividly: the clanking of chains, the clamboring of boots against a concrete floor, water dripping, the strong, crackled zap of electricity as it shoots out between the two metal rods crudely attached to the car battery. The realistic memories are so real they throw any sense of rationality she has out the fucking window.

And her body, god, her body hurts. Her side spazms (whether it’s voluntary or not, she can’t focus enough to tell), the skin feels hot and... Her stomach coils harshly as she gags— god she can swear she smells her own flesh burning.

Her breathing hiccups, her throat constricts painfully as tears squeeze from her eyes. Through the haze, she just barely hears Emily repeat her question and gives a single, jerky nod. Her hands clasp tightly into the older woman’s, the soft clicking of their wedding bands hitting together offering her some semblance of balance, something that tethers her to reality. Emily’s thumb rubs slow, soft moving circles on the backs of her hands, distracting her from the awful memories. “What can I do to help?”

It takes a lot of effort for JJ to swallow, and even so, it hurts like she’s trying to get down a ball of lead from her throat. She opens and closes her mouth, unsure of how to respond, can’t even think clearly enough to form a rational response. Her eyes squeeze shut once more, a soft, scared whimper crawling its way from her chest. “It hurts,” she croaks through tears as if it’s enough to encompass everything she’s feeling. Her tone is clipped and sharp, laced heavily with the frustration she feels at herself, at being unable to decipher what’s real and what’s all just in her head.

Emily’s fingers squeeze her own firmly. “I know,” she whispers soothingly. “I know.”

JJ nods numbly, stiffly. The validation makes her relax ever so slightly and makes her feel less insane. She forces herself to focus on Emily, on every part of her (her voice, her proximity, the feeling of her breath just ghosting over her cheek, her scent), and slowly the memories feel less intense.

She leans tiredly into the older woman’s frame, using her steady heartbeats to count with in her own head.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, and repeat.

Slowly, her breaths start to sync up to the rhythm and she’s left trembling in her wife’s arms.

Emily’s warmth is a jarring contrast from the cold visions, her body soft and gentle, so unlike the hard concrete ground and oh-so-real echoed pains of her past torments. “Where are you?”

A thick, hard swallow echoes into the room as JJ’s breath hitches. “Home,” she timidly responds, the end of her voice rising as if she’s unsure. The more rational part of her mind screams at her— where else would she be?

But everything feels so real. If she weren’t pressed up against the older woman, she swears the room feels cold, that she’s back in that warehouse hanging from rusted metal chains that dig into her wrist.

“That’s right,” Emily confirms gently. “You’re in DC in our home,” she clarifies just as softly.

“You’re real?” It comes out so soft, so timidly that she barely hears it. But JJ’s looking at her warily, as if she’s unsure of even that.

There’s a gentle pressure on the blonde’s wrist as the brunette moves her hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’m real. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

The room is silent for a brief moment, JJ’s shaking, steadying breaths filling the room with some noise. Her nails dig into the back of Emily’s hands as she stuffs her head firmly into the crook of her neck in attempts to control the tremors that wrack her small body. “Sing to me?” she finally croaks.

The older woman barely reacts to the request, moving her hand to stroke through long strands of blonde. She nudges her wife’s head with the side of her nose, her lips brushing against her forehead softly as she softly starts to sing. She wants to give JJ as many points of contact as possible, if only to reassure her that she’s real and that she’s not in danger. “Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn how to fly...”

Emily’s voice is soft and light, soothing JJ’s nerves significantly, especially at the choice of song. No one else but her wife would have picked that song. It reminds her what’s real, tethers her back to reality. The brunette’s chest rumbles steadily from her voice below the blonde’s cheek and she nuzzles further into it. Each passing verse Emily sings makes JJ feel lighter, safer.

(Tired, she adds to herself, eyelids feeling heavy. It’s been a while since she’s had an attack this bad.)

She blinks harshly when Emily sings the last line of the song, accurately aware of the sharp, cool breeze that blows across her body. Her head lifts and she blinks again in confusion when she accesses her surroundings: the cool grass tickles her ankles, the sounds of cicadas and crickets rings out and the moon shines brightly above them, casting them in a cool blue glow.

The older woman presses a lingering kiss to her wife’s temple. “I didn’t want you to feel like you were trapped,” is the quiet explination she offers and JJ accepts it with a simple nod. She crawls from the brunette’s lap and lays her head up on her thighs, staring up at the stars. Her heart rate is practically back to normal, and while her hands still tremble, she feels relaxed as Emily begins to run her fingers once more though her hair once more.

“There’s Orion,” she murmurs softly, her own line of sight up at the night sky littered in stars. She lifts a hand from JJ’s hair to point in the direction of the constellation.

The blonde hums softly, eyes following her wife’s finger before they dart off to the side. She licks her lips, pointing slightly off to the side of the brightest star in the sky. ”Big Dipper,” she murmurs before chewing her bottom lip in between her teeth.

Her eyes burn with tears, stomach coiling with guilt. Emily didn’t ask for this— she shouldn’t have had to deal with anxiety and panic attacks that weren’t her own. JJ knows it’s just as draining on her as it is on herself. She feels awful. She had ruined one of the few nights they had off all over a power outage. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that,” Emily chides softy, returning both her hands to her wife’s hair. “Don’t do that to yourself. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

JJ sniffs harshly, shaking her head once. “I do,” she insists on a broken whisper. “I just— I don’t...”

She’s cut off by one of the softest kisses Emily has ever given her, gently cupping her face between her palms. The blonde shivers at the contact, tears spilling at the overwhelming feeling of love she feels pouring out of her wife at the gesture. A soft sob leaves her mouth and Emily’s thumb gently strokes her cheek, pressing their foreheads together firmly.

“Don’t ever apologize for something that’s out of your control,” the brunette murmurs soothingly.

“I ruined the night,” JJ croaks timidly.

Emily’s eyes meet her’s, their fingers tangling together naturally. “You could never.” She presses a tender kiss to her cheek. “I rather you be okay over anything. That’s what matters to me. Your safety and well-being matters to me.”

The blonde’s breath shudders out as their palms press flush together. “I’ve got you,” Emily murmurs genuinely. “Through sickness and in health. I will walk beside you through whatever our lives may bring,” she recites with a soft smile, brushing the few tears from her wife’s face.

JJ’s shoulders slump at her wife’s words, her own hand coming up to curl at the hair at the base of the brunette’s neck. “I love you,” she murmurs thickly. “I love you so much.”

Their kiss is soft, but full of so much love and passion it makes them both dizzy. Emily gently grips her wife’s hip, propping herself up on her elbow in the grass. It feels so much like their kiss that sealed together their union, full of the promise of forever.

“Can we stay out here?” JJ asks through kisses, pulling back to press a few along Emily’s jawline, so unwilling to pull her mouth away from her wife but her need for oxygen becoming to much to ignore. She really doesn’t care what they do for the rest of the night— all she wants to do is spend it in the arms of the love of her life. But spending that time cuddled in the grass of their backyard while staring up at the stars sounded too perfect.

Emily presses a small kiss to her nose. “Anything for you.”

[thanekrios]

The way fall smells

SUMMARY: Tommy always loved the distinctive scent of fall. After a day patrolling with Joel, he remembers why.

The leaves had grown old and begun falling, laying carpets of warm hues on every trail surrounding Jackson. Tommy took a deep breath, taking in the unique sharpness in the air that came with the last months of the year.

It had been a good day. They had patrolled until noon, everything clear – no signs of Hunters or infected– and after checking in, left for the rest of the day to hunt and walk, to talk and have a snack under the orange light of the late afternoon just like they did when they were young.

Joel was having a good day too; Tommy could see it. For the whole afternoon, his shoulders had been relaxed, arms resting at his sides; every now and then, he stopped to take in the shushing of the leaves or the landscape. He was at peace.

Over the course of two years, Tommy had seen how his brother’s sharp edges had begun to dull and a smile would come to him easier than a frown. He talked more, about Sarah and Tess and sometimes even about himself; he hummed around Tommy, sang around Ellie. For a long time, Joel’s hatred for everything was like an all-consuming fire. But Tommy knew that as catastrophic as fires could be, they could also restore – he had seen it with grasslands, entire fields cleansed by the flames, making way for new vegetation to thrive. And now, he had seen it with Joel.

“We should head back.” Joel said as he got up and brushed breadcrumbs off his jacket. “We don’t want it getting too late.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed as they began walking in Jackson’s direction. “Got any plans for tonight?”

“Watchin’ a movie with Ellie.”

‘You’re both welcome to join us for dinner if you like.”

Tommy made a pause and considered his words.

Whenever they had them over, it wasn’t just dinner. It was a series of stories from any period of their lives. The brothers grew more excited with each anecdote, Maria would bid them goodnight long after their plates had been cleared; and as their laughter turned loud like thunderclaps, Ellie began knocking down every miserable object in her proximity as she became overexcited while shouting No fucking way! Then came the guitars. More laughter and clatter. And before they knew it, Maria was walking out the door for an early patrol.

So, Tommy added:

“Before your movie.”

“Thanks, but we don’t wanna interrupt Maria’s sleep two nights in a row.” Joel’s eyes ran across the golden foliage, the corners of his mouth curving.

“Well, I’m sure Ellie would appreciate some leftovers.” Tommy found himself smiling as well. “I can leave’em by the porch.”

“Usual place?”

“Usual place,” he confirmed.

“Appreciate it.”

They walked in silence for a while, enjoying the brittle sound of falling leaves and with each step, they walked into memories.

Tommy loved fall.

He first became enchanted with it as a child. He craved the crunching of a dry leaf under his booted feet, having a hot drink when his lips were chapped, listening to Joel play soft melodies as the sun set fire to the clouds. But above all, he looked forward to the unmistakable scent of summer’s perishing.

Tommy knew he came across as simple, devoid of imagination. Even before the outbreak people had assumed there wasn't much to him, that he never dreamt of anything other than a job in construction, blindly following Joel’s steps. He knew why it was easy to believe he had chosen an uncomplicated life rather than having settled for it. He didn’t make any effort to correct anyone. His dreams had been his own. Truth was, Tommy had wanted to be a storyteller in his youth.

During his childhood, he imagined the playful winds that came with fall were whispering stories, travelling through the rattling orange and yellow leafed trees, there for anyone who was willing to listen. Tommy imagined, to escape the empty rooms, the absent parents. He opened his mind and closed his eyes to craft tales of floating homes in the sky and flying whales and homemade dinners.

Fall shaped each story and realm that sprang in his heart and imagination. He didn’t speak of any of them, for whenever he had attempted to put it into words, the intricacy of each story, the vibrance of every world, the heartbreak experienced by each character became colorless.  

"All imagination and zero talent," he confessed to Joel in his early teens.

Joel, who wasn't the wordy type either, comforted him the only way he knew how: by handing him his treasured guitar.

"You can tell stories with this, too."

By trading words for melodies, Tommy had compromised. If that was to be the only way to set his stories out into the world, it was enough.

Joel stopped and took in a deep breath, catching Tommy’s attention. His older brother let out a pleased sigh:

“I like the way it smells.” He didn’t need to say more, Tommy knew what he meant, but he continued, “Y’know, fall.”

He took in the words and allowed them to travel the usual road, back into his heart. 

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed. He buried his hands deep in his jacket pockets and filled his lungs with fresh air. He had heard that many times before but never from Joel. “Y’know, Sarah used to say the same thing.”

Something softened in Joel’s eyes, the look on his face echoing the one Tommy had seen on him countless times, whenever he had braided Sarah’s hair with so much care and tenderness it made it difficult to think of him as anything other than a loving father.

“Did she now?”

Tommy nodded:

“She said she liked the way fall smelled and then, uh, asked me what the smell was.”

“What did ya say?”

“I dunno, somethin’ dumb, like dust from a dirt road or somethin’.”

“That…that’s pretty accurate. Why’d you say it’s dumb? Was Sarah disappointed or somethin’?” Joel asked after a moment.

Tommy quirked a brow:

“Sarah? Our Sarah? That girl didn’t act disappointed a day in her life.”

“Yeah” Joel agreed in a whisper.

“But she asked me again the year after that. And then the one after that. And it kinda became a game we played. I gave her the thickest answers and she took’em. Then she started havin’ answers of her own.”

“Oh, yeah? What’d she say?”

“Well, a bunch of stuff. Good stuff. I think one time she said, uh, sharpened pencil. Yeah, that was it. Sharpened pencil. She also came up with…”

In recent years, Tommy had become an active forgetter, a problem that had triggered countless arguments with Maria. But those moments with Sarah, he remembered better than entire years.

“Apples, yeah. Refreshin’ and sweet and sour. There was, uh, wet soil after rain and hot hay dryin’ in the sun.”

“That’s…that’s a good one” Joel chuckled before kneeling to tie his shoelace. Tommy was certain his brother was only pretending to do it to shield his face. Then, as he stood up, he held his gaze. His smile was wide, eyes gleaming. “What else?”

Tommy didn’t have to think too hard. He knew just the one.

It had been a late afternoon, two days before the outbreak. Orange tinted the town as if the moment already belonged to a memory. Sarah had a plan; she would go to Tannhaus Watches & Jewellery to get Joel’s birthday present and he would go to the bakery next to it and place an order for a cake.

“Divide and conquer!” Sarah had repeated on their way to town.

The breeze carried the earthy sweet scent of the piles of leaves, tickling his nose. For once, he had decided, he would ask the question first:

“What does fall smell like?”

It had taken her but a few seconds to whip up an answer, taking Tommy by surprise:

“Fall smells like you, Uncle Tommy.”

Tommy’s words had died in his throat. He looked down, speechless still, and rested his eyes on her smile, equal parts sweet and smug. The realization of never having felt more loved dawned on him—it was a similar sensation to floating downstream. He felt weightless.  Tommy remembered how when Sarah was little, they spent most of their time lying on golden grass, looking for shapes in the clouds or loudly singing along in his car. Sometimes they sat on the porch and drank extra sweet hot cocoa and he told her – in his own convoluted way – the stories he had told himself as a child to feel less alone. Tommy had reminded her, through his stories and his terrible mac and cheese dinners, that he would always be there for her – just like Joel had been for him.

“Alright. You win, sweetheart,” he said when he meant to say Thank you, I love you too.

Sarah had wrapped her skinny arms around his waist. She would never do that again.

They made their way down the street, their sneakers brushing against the asphalt, the musky fragrance of wisterias faint in the air.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to win but I’m glad I did.” And she had meant I love you more.

Jackson peered through the trees, lights dotted across the county. The temperature had dropped, the chill bit at Tommy’s ears, pink shading his cheeks. A big lump had formed in his throat — there was no way he would be able to speak without his voice breaking. It didn’t matter, he wanted to share it with Joel. The words poured out of his lips as tears ran down his cheeks. He stopped. He half laughed; half cried. Then explained, in vivid detail, how Sarah had made him feel. He apologized. Hell, he didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. Talking about Sarah? Crying? He had grown so used to getting burned whenever he had brought her up, it was still easy to forget just how much Joel had changed.

After Sarah’s death, for the first part of the nightmarish years they spent together, barely scraping by, surviving at the cost of their own humanity, he dreamt of her almost every night. Waking up in sobs, the light dissolving into grey shadows. Joel had refused to look at him, splintering Tommy’s heart. They never spoke of the past. They never spoke of her. They took. They survived. And their hollowness deepened with every wretched day.

Time moved forward; the changing of the seasons serving as the last remaining proof of it. He found comfort in the breeze that came as the year was about to end, revisiting memories and his old stories. Sometimes, as he patrolled, he ventured back into his worlds and again greeted the heroes of his childhood. He knew that there was no room for dreams or stories and his heart ached as he gave them up all over again. And then, he watched how the seams of Joel’s humanity continued ripping one after the other. He had believed he would never get his brother back. But now, Joel’s eyes glistened, a combination of longing and joy. He told him there wasn’t a thing to be sorry for. He listened and placed a hand on his little brother’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Joel said softly once Tommy hung his head and fell quiet.

Tommy nodded, letting out a trembling vaporous exhalation.  

“I’ve always wanted to tell you about that,” Tommy said as the knot in his throat loosened and he looked back up at Joel “I just didn’t know how.”

“I’m glad you finally did.” Joel gave Tommy’s shoulder a little squeeze before letting go.

Tommy watched him walk ahead, his silhouette against the sinking sun. He couldn’t see it, but he knew Joel was smiling. He was smiling too. The wind blew. It smelled like fall. It smelled like home. 

[alj4890]

Delicate

(Ethan Ramsey x Olivia Nevarkis) (Olivia Nevarkis x Drake Walker) in a Choices The Royal Romance/Open Heart Crackship Series

A/N This is the finale to this miniseries. Thanks so much for indulging me in this crackship of mine. Hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did imagining it💗

@jooous​ ​ ​ @krsnlove​ ​ @nomadics-stuff​ ​   @twinkleallnight​ ​ @motorcitymademadame​ ​

Masterlist

Part 6

December 30th, Cordonia's Royal Palace...

Tomorrow night’s event might be the first ball in the history of Drake's years in Cordonia to actually cause a certain excitement. He usually put up with the pomp and traditions to simply be with those he cared about. For years it was to support Liam, then going meant he could hang out with Riley, Hana, and Maxwell.

And then there were his activities down in secret for a year with Olivia.

He knew she would be arriving soon. Her absence from Cordonia had been one he felt more acutely than any other. His failure in telling her how he felt about her, his inability to have a civil conversation, even his voicemail had kept him fixated on this date.

He intended for this new year to involve a new relationship with Olivia. He simply needed to find a moment alone with her.

Which as he entered the drawing room Riley and Liam used frequently for their closest friends, he realized that was going to be more difficult than he originally thought. All their friends had come home for the ball.

"I can't believe they gave us that ridiculous moniker." Thomas shook his head.

"The press isn't always known for their intelligence." Liam said, fighting a smile.

"Thomanda." Amanda laughed just saying it. "It sounds like some weird foot fungus cream."

"The press have had five years to come up with anything better than that." Thomas wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders. "They should have combined our last names. Brunt is more tolerable than Thomanda."

Maxwell rolled off the couch laughing. "We now have to come up with crazy couple names for all of us."

"We were given Riam." Riley replied. "Personally I prefer Liley, but Riam stuck."

"Naxwell or Madia." Amanda said between giggles while pointing at Maxwell and Nadia. "That's your couple name."

"Naxwell sounds like a snack cake or cookie." Riley added with a chuckle.

"We are sweet." Maxwell responded, cuddling Nadia close.

Hana sighed at seeing them all so happy together. "What would mine and Rashad's be?"

"Rashana?" Riley offered.

"Oh I like that so much better than what I thought." Amanda laughed. "I at first thought Hahad."

The group burst into laughter while more couple names were bandied about.

"So what do we dub Olivia and Ethan?" Liam asked.

"Ethalivia?" Hana offered.

"Olithan?" Maxwell added.

"Oooh! Olithan!" Riley exclaimed. "Sounds like a sea monster. Olivia will love it!"

Drake tried to ignore what was being said as he joined them.

Maxwell noticed his frown and immediately changed the subject.

"Hey," he said over the lingering chuckles. "What's everyone's resolutions going to be?"

"Get married." Rashad grinned at Hana.

"That's your plans for next week." Maxwell winked at them. "What are you going to resolve to do this new year?"

"Spend time with my husband." Hana replied with a slight blush.

"I think more time with our significant others is what we will all resolve to do." Liam added.

Drake bit back a bitter retort. At least they knew they would have their significant others. He was praying for a chance to talk to his.

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

Olivia stood in front of the mirror one last time to check her reflection. It was strange to see the same old features once more in the all too familiar guest room when she felt so changed. Stepping off the plane and seeing Cordonia's capital didn't affect her like it once did. Somewhere, somehow, she had moved on past the pride of her title and country.

She still loved her home, but she now knew she was capable of so much more than merely being the Duchess of Lythikos. She wondered if the changes would be visible to anyone else. If no one noticed it, she at least had proved it to herself.

Her gaze left her reflection to focus on Ethan finishing dressing. Her lips curved at the red shirt he had pulled on with his black slacks.

She wondered if he knew he had chosen to wear her house colors.

He glanced up and noticed her staring.

"Is this the wrong thing to wear to dinner tonight?" He asked.

"No." She walked over to him.

Ethan paused in buttoning his shirt when she looped her arms around his neck.

"What made you choose this shirt?" She asked, threading her fingers in his hair.

His lips curved as they brushed her cheek. "Thomas told me about ways we men can show our support for our noble ladies." He tugged her closer. "I thought I should start out as I intend to for my fiancée."

Olivia cupped his cheek with her left hand, her eyes darting toward the sparkling proof that she was marrying the man that held her. Their lips met in a tender kiss that made her want to forget about joining anyone else and simply stay here alone with him.

"Shouldn't we hurry?" Ethan asked when she began to toy with the buttons of his shirt.

His hands moved along her back, searching for her zipper.

"We should." She pressed another kiss to his lips before easing back.

Her smile was warm as she admired him. "Red is a good color on you."

"As long as you approve." He finished buttoning his shirt.

Olivia handed him his tie he had set out earlier.

He looped it around her waist and used it to pull her close.

"Doctor?" She chided. "You have a king and queen waiting to welcome you."

"I think you know who I think deserves my attention." He leaned his forehead against hers. "Are we telling everyone tonight?"

"About our engagement?" Olivia asked.

Ethan nodded. "I want you to have all the excitement and whatever they do here to celebrate when a duchess gets engaged."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't need a ball, Ethan."

Her heart softened once more when he whispered he wanted to give her everything she deserved.

"We can tell them," her breath hitched when she felt his mouth against that special spot under her ear, "if you want to."

"I want to." He muttered against her skin. "I want everyone to know we are together." He lifted his head and smiled at her. "I want them to see how proud I am that you chose me to marry."

"Ethan." Her frown firmed. "Don't you dare make me emotional right now when I'm about to see everyone."

He chuckled as he let her go. "Very well, duchess. I'll behave."

She hmphed while returning to the mirror to retouch her lipstick.

Once they were both deemed presentable, they left their chambers and gathered Naveen to take downstairs.

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

While the buzz of conversations filled the room, Drake escaped to the wet bar.

"Would you mind pouring me a glass of the Pinot Noir?" Regina asked, joining him.

"Yes mam."

She cleared her throat. "Sir Drake, I--"

"Just Drake, mam." He reminded her.

She smiled at his insistence she not use any honorific. "Drake, is something wrong?"

He handed her a wine glass. "No mam." He poured the wine for her. "Why do you ask?"

"You seem a touch distracted."

"I do?"

She chuckled. "Yes. Usually by this time you would have called a halt to all the talk of weddings and romantic, as you call it, nonsense."

A hint of a smile appeared on his face. "I guess I've been tuning them out tonight."

"I see." She patted his arm. "I'll leave you to your thoughts then."

He straightened up when Olivia stepped into the room, flanked by Ethan and the other doctor Drake had yet to meet.

The older of the two men had a friendly smile on his face that disappeared when he saw Regina.

"Gin?" Delight flooded his surprised facial expression. "Is it really you?"

Everyone looked back and forth between the Queen Mother and Naveen.

"Did he just call Regina, Gin?" Riley whispered.

"I've never heard anyone call her that." Liam whispered back.

Regina had her hand pressed to her heart. "Naveen! You're the Dr. Banerji Lady Olivia talked about?!"

Naveen met her in the middle of the room, his hands taking hers.

"What is going on?" Olivia whispered.

"I haven't got a clue." Ethan whispered back. "Naveen did a fellowship here when he was fresh out of medical school. Maybe, the two met during that time."

"It seems they did more than meet." Olivia pointed out.

"After all these years," Naveen said, "You are still just as beautiful as when we met."

Regina's blush and almost girlish laughter made everyone eager to hear more.

"We both know that is not true." Regina replied with an elegant wave of dismissal.

Naveen's smile grew when he felt her squeeze his hand.

Remembering their audience, the two let go of one another.

"You two know each other?" Riley asked, loving their flustered states.

"We met when I first came to Cordonia." Naveen explained. His gaze softened on the Queen Mother. "I didn't know my way around and had gotten horribly lost when a lovely young woman pulled up in a convertible and took pity on me."

"In a convertible, huh?" Maxwell was already imagining a young Regina with her blonde hair blowing in the breeze as she pulled over to help a young, handsome doctor. "Then what happened?"

Regina's blush grew. "I offered to drive him back to the house he had rented and one thing led to another and we--"

"I begged her to be my tour guide during my stay." Naveen explained to keep her from having to reveal too much. "It ended up being the best summer of my life."

She shook her head while smiling. "It was the last time I was ever able to be free to do and act as I wanted."

"What happened, mam, that changed all that?" Hana asked. "

"My first official social season began that fall. Adelaide was being courted by Godfrey and my parents insisted I do all I could to put our family in the best light possible so that an arrangement could be made between the two." A brief sadness passed over her. "Once that started, I was sent from one house party to the next then began a tour through Europe on diplomatic endeavors. Before I knew it, two years had gone by and Naveen had left Cordonia by the time I returned."

The older doctor grimaced. "I had been accepted to Edenbrook and was unable to find Gin to tell her."

Ethan quietly studied Naveen, wondering if this was why his mentor had never married.

"Well, now you two can catch up," Nadia encouraged. "Without worry of having to part."

Regina didn't bother to hide her happiness at that thought. "I would love that."

"So would I." Naveen added.

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

Once all the introductions were made, the group fell into smaller ones to talk.

Keeping mostly to himself on the other side of the room, Drake couldn't take his eyes off Olivia. She seemed so different than the last time she had been in Cordonia. Not just in appearance, but there was something else there he couldn't quite identify.

She had left her hair down in loose curls. He couldn't recall when he had seen her do that here. He had once heard her say that her hair down could be used against her if an enemy were to attack.

She must have lost that worry.

Olivia almost appeared more approachable. Her smirk didn't hold the same bite it used to. She listened without too much sarcasm to the conversations going on around her.

She looks soft.

Drake took another gulp of his drink. Where had that thought come from? Olivia Nevarkis was many things, but soft? Impossible.

He noticed that Ethan remained close to her. The little touches going on between them irritated Drake. Ethan would occasionally touch her back when turning to say something to her. Olivia would respond in kind. He would brush a lock of hair over her shoulder. She would place her hand on his arm when pointing out something.

All innocent, yet all given with hidden meanings.

The smiles they shared. The heated glances. The--

A sparkle on Olivia's hand caught his attention.

No, it can't be--

"I have an announcement." Olivia raised her voice. "I wanted you all to be the first ones to know."

Drake felt his insides go numb as if his body knew the pain that was about to happen and wanted to try and spare him.

"Ethan asked me to marry him." Olivia looked up at her doctor. Her smile, so unlike any in Cordonia had seen, was tender and full of affection. "And I said, yes."

Everyone spoke at once their delight and rushed to hug and congratulate the couple.

All that is except Drake.

His empty glass slipped through his fingers and thudded softly on the floor.

Did she listen to my message? Did she decide to not give me a chance to apologize in person? Why would she choose him without first seeing what we could have?

Maxwell slipped away from the laughter and teasing of Team Olithan. Swiping up his friend's glass, he placed an arm along Drake's shoulders and led him back to the bar.

"She didn't give me a chance." He muttered to Maxwell. "I told her I wanted to try and she instead picks that doctor. She didn't bother to even say she didn't want me."

Maxwell poured him a strong one and handed it off. "I know." He sighed softly. "I'm sorry, Drake."

Drake downed the contents, poured another, then after it was gone he drank one more that was filled to the brim. "Don't be." He slammed the empty glass down. "If you have to feel sorry for anyone, feel it for Ramsey." He jerked his chin toward the couple. "He's the one stuck with her."

"Drake, I think you should still try to talk--"

"No thanks." Drake snapped. "What’s left to say?" He shrugged. "I dodged a bullet."

Maxwell gave up arguing. He didn't know what to do as Drake became angrier.

"Better go give my congratulations." He grumbled while making his way across the room.

"We'll announce your engagement at the ball." Liam told the couple. He pressed a kiss to Olivia's cheek and shook Ethan's hand. "May you both find the same happiness I found with Riley."

"I need details!" Riley exclaimed "When and where did this happen? How did you propose?"

Olivia chuckled. "Ethan asked me at his father's home when we went to spend Christmas there."

"How sweet!" Hana exclaimed. "We can start planning your wedding while we are all together."

Olivia's friends began to talk over one another to give possible opinions of wedding venues and dates for the ceremony.

Only Ethan noticed the tension forming in Olivia's body. He soon saw the reason for it approaching.

"Congratulations." Drake said.

"Thank you." Ethan answered when Olivia instinctively stepped closer to his side. "I'm still surprised she said yes." He smiled down at her.

"You shouldn't be." Olivia told him.

"Liv's right, Ramsey. You shouldn't be surprised. Give yourself another day or two and you'll see why." Drake drawled. "The only thing nobles aspire to around here is marriage."

"Drake." Liam admonished.

"What? Isn't that all that was thumped into your heads as children? Even Hana admitted to being trained from a little girl on up on how to catch a husband." He continued.

Hana's cheeks burned as she averted her eyes from everyone.

"Of course, Olivia wasn't so fortunate when it came to knowing how to catch a husband, was she?" Drake smirked at her. "Her mother died before she could begin the training. Guess it was a good thing she went ahead and married you off to a terrorist, huh?"

"That's enough." Ethan warned. "You're intoxicated and should go to your room and sleep it off."

"Is that your medical opinion, Doc?" Drake narrowed his eyes at him. "Or is it you're worried I'll say something to embarrass you and your --"

"Excuse us." Olivia wrapped her fingers around Drake's arm, making sure to dig her nails into the tender flesh under his arm. "Walker and I need to clear something up."

She yanked him towards a door that led out into a small courtyard.

He wrenched his arm from her once they reached a nearby fountain.

"What in the hell was that?" She snapped.

"What?" He taunted when she merely glared at him. "Couldn't take the truth, Libby? Or are you worried that your doc can't?"

"In there," she hissed, "is the man who actually defended you to me after our last fight."

"Did he?" Drake folded his arms. "How endearing."

"Ethan is the man I want." She stated. "Whether you can accept that or not is your problem. It is not going to be mine!" Her narrowed eyes held his own. "I personally don't know if you and I can be friends after everything that has happened. I was going to try and at least be pleasant around you, but your little act in there has made it impossible."

"Who cares?" He muttered. "You didn't care about how I would feel after I ripped my heart out and laid it at your feet just so that you could waltz back home with your new love."

"You already knew my choice!" She shouted. "You saw how much he meant to me in Boston. I told you there was nothing between me and you and yet you stand here and show the world once again what a jackass you are." Her breathing was accelerated as she tried to calm down. "This is why you and I never had a chance. There's too much resentment from years of the two of us fighting."

"There wouldn't be if you had given me a chance." He told her. "Some time to try and be what you wanted. Instead you accept the first marriage proposal you ever got."

"I ACCEPTED BECAUSE I AM IN LOVE WITH ETHAN!" She raised a trembling hand to her head, completely frustrated with his refusal to give up. "He makes me feel a way I never thought possible."

"I don't want to hear about your sex life." Drake snapped.

"I'm not talking about that!" She shoved Drake away from her. "I'm talking about how he makes me feel as if I am the most important person in the world. He actually respects me. Cares about my opinions--"

"Clearly a glutton for punishment." Drake drily remarked.

Olivia gave up trying to explain. Using moves she hadn't had to in her months away, she swept Drake's legs out from under him, sending him tumbling backwards into the water fountain.

His head shot up, coughing and sputtering water out of his mouth and nose. "What the hell was that?!"

"That is the end of this discussion." She stated in a monotone voice. "I'm marrying Ethan. I'm going to have my own happily ever after. I expect you to keep your distance from now on. We might share the same group of friends, but you and I are nothing." Her green eyes flashed a warning. "We aren't friends, acquaintances, or even enemies." She stepped away from him. "Because I respect my enemies, but you, I can't even find the energy to be disgusted with you right now."

"Olivia, wait--" he tried to get out of the fountain and chase after her. "I--"

She walked back inside and quietly shut the door, as if he hadn't been speaking at all.

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

The next few months flew by. Hana and Rashad's wedding was deemed the perfect way to start a new year. Cordonia's research hospital had it's ribbon cutting ceremony a week later with both the press and nobles exclaiming over the state of the art facility. Under Naveen, Ethan, and Olivia's management, patients were being treated by some of the best physicians from around the world.

Word soon spread and numerous medical journals did pieces on the findings and styles of treatments given there. In every interview, Ethan gave Olivia the credit for everything that they were accomplishing, reminding the world that it had been her idea in the first place to create such a hospital.

She didn't think she could love him more than she already did until he did that, once more helping heal her Nevarkis reputation. It had been a long time since she had wished for a knight in shining armor to come along and fight for her, and here he was, fighting along the battlefields of the press that she had always felt at a loss over.

While Olivia balanced her duchess duties and those at the hospital, she planned her wedding. Ethan, no matter how exhausted he was, would stay up late giving his opinion on the party size and location. The two became even closer to one another as they discussed their life together, the possibility of children, and the roles they were playing in both the medical society and the nobility.

They decided on an intimate ceremony in one of Lythikos's oldest chapels. Liam was to conduct it, with Olivia requesting Amanda as her matron of honor and a very pregnant Riley and Hana as bridesmaids. The two mothers' to be cried together over the sweetness of it all from the moment they were asked until Ethan kissed his bride.

Ethan asked Naveen to be his best man and Thomas as a groomsman. He and the director had only grown closer in friendship as the ladies they were committed to spent so much time together. Thomas was helping him learn how to balance his future duties of Duke of Lythikos along with his chosen career. He reassured him that he could indeed have it all and be content.

Needing one more groomsman, Ethan left that choice to Olivia. Maxwell volunteered, to help take the pressure off of her, and was soon fitted for a new tux.

Drake never received an invitation.

He had tried to apologize. He even cornered her before she left the palace for Lythikos and managed to sound sincere, but it was no use. She was done with having him in her life. There was no anger. No sadness. Nothing. Just like she had told him.

He knew it was his own fault. All of it was. Somehow he had ruined what could have ended up being the best thing in his life. Seeing how Olivia was in love and knowing it could have been him on the receiving end, it hurt worse than any insult she could ever give.

He should be happy he wasn't invited to the ceremony. It was a mercy, whether she meant it as such or not. Seeing her dressed as a bride and saying her vows to another man would have been beyond his ability to calmly accept.

So he did what anyone would do the day of their love's wedding to another.

He left Cordonia for America.

Drake decided he would stay away for an indefinite period of time. Liam had Riley by his side so he wouldn't feel guilty over abandoning him. All of their friends were happily settled with their significant others. He was finally free to see what his life could be without nobles and putting Liam first.

A few years went by. During this time, babies were born. Drake had sent handmade rocking horses to Hana and Riley when he received the news of their sons' births. He next was picking wedding gifts for Maxwell and Nadia and then, to his great shock, one to Regina and Naveen. More babies were born, including word of Olivia and Ethan having a daughter.

That text from Maxwell had left him feeling a loss be hadn't thought of.

Drake decided to test the waters and start dating again. He thought this would be a chance to see what he really wanted from a potential spouse. Nothing too serious ever came from these attempts, but they did help slowly ease his heartache.

He would get the occasional visit from those he had left back in Cordonia. Phone calls and texts were a normal, everyday occurrence. Then one day, Savannah found out she was pregnant again and asked him to come for a nice long visit to Ramsford.

The moment he stepped off the plane and caught the hint of apple blossoms in the air, he knew this would always be home. He closed his eyes and simply let the feeling wash over him that this was where he was meant to be, where he was always meant to be.

He decided to stop and see Liam and Riley on his way to Ramsford. The couple were with their children at Valtoria along with some of their other friends.

Including Olivia and Ethan.

When Drake stepped out of the car, he could hear the laughter and squeals of young children playing out back. He went down a gravel path lined with lilies, only stopping at the sight before him.

Children, five years old and under, were chasing each other all over an area that would put most playgrounds to shame. Slides, climbing walls, bridges, jungle gyms, everything a child could want covered two acres of land.

He was able to identify most of the children without much thought. He had received tons of pictures through Christmas cards and texts, but he didn't need them to know who belonged to whom.

Liam's two sons with their golden hair shining in the sunlight were easily picked out. The little princes were soon joined by a boy that could only belong to Hana.

He then noticed two little girls that looked exactly like their mothers once had so many years ago. The dark haired one was clearly Thomas and Amanda's. And just like her mother had done at her age, the little girl was playing with another who had the richest set of red hair Drake had ever seen.

The three year old looked like she had been fashioned in Olivia's very image. Even her green eyes could narrow in an all too familiar irritation when the boys' rough housing got too close to where she was playing.

And just like her mother, her smile blossomed when she saw her father walking over.

Ethan leaned down to pick her up. His own smile was bright as he spoke to his daughter.

Whatever was said had the little girl eagerly nodding her agreement.

"Drake?"

He turned to see Olivia staring at him in surprise.

"Hey, Liv." He greeted.

"What are you doing here?"

"Savannah asked me to come for a visit." He explained.

"Ah." She placed her hand on her baby bump when another kick happened. "How have you been?"

"Good." He motioned toward her belly. "Boy or girl?"

"We don't know." She smiled down at her stomach. "Just like with Erin, Ethan and I decided we want to be surprised."

"Congratulations." He said sincerely. "I know you always wanted a family." He looked back toward where her little girl was. "Looks like you and Ethan know what you're doing."

"I think we do." She finally smiled at him.

"I'm happy for you." He managed to say and realized that it was true. If he couldn't be the one she ended up with, at least she had gotten what she wanted most out of life.

"Thank you." She stepped around him and continued toward the play area.

Ethan had been watching for her and began to make his way over to help her down the slope safely. She paused, knowing he would only worry if she tried to go down it on her own.

"Drake?"

"Yes, Olivia?"

"It's good to see you again." She smiled once more at him then went on and took her husband's arm.

Drake watched as Ethan tenderly brushed a kiss to her temple. The two laughed at their daughter having had enough of the boys' antics and chasing after them to give them a piece of of her mind.

As he stood there alone, he realized that though there was a faint echo of what could have been, he was finally able to watch them without it hurting.

[lemonietrinket]

Cosiest Place on Earth ||| Kun x Reader

Summary: Where Kun is relaxing in peace, and a certain someone decides its a prime time to ‘annoy’ him  Genres: Sickly sweet fluff, plus some humour Warnings: Tiny bit of scary but it’s not actually anything scary (if that make sense) Word count: 1259 Song: Heart Flutter - W24 AN: an edit of an old piece revamped to—hopefully—a much higher standard. reading the original wasnt.... painful but it wasnt exactly fun either :/ im so sorry guys for subjecting you to my writing back then

gender neutral reader

~~~

The night was oddly still, a starless sky beckoning darkness across the thin face of the moon, an icy wind trickling through the smallest gap in the window behind a set of closed curtains, encouraging them to breathe in the shadows. Despite this, Kun was soaking up the peace.

He loved his groupmates, he really did. They were extremely talented, funny and, on the whole, easy to get along with people. They were annoying sometimes yes, but they mostly did as they were told, and after hearing from other leaders at the award shows, he realised he could have had it a whole lot worse. However, the thing they were best at was reminding him of how precious some true quiet really was.

And so, as soon as they all became preoccupied with some new racing game he hadn’t been paying enough attention to remember the name of, he leapt at the chance. Cut to now, and Kun was curled up in his bed, buried neatly under three blankets to combat the cold that had defeated the radiator. He had shuffled himself into the corner of his bed, as close to the hushed lamp as he could get without the bulb blinding him from the gap in the very top of the shade, and bundled the covers beneath his feet to keep in as much warmth as possible. Book in hand, his eyes trickled across the page, occasionally having to jump back as soon as he caught his thoughts scattering. 

He wasn’t used to the silence and it showed. As much as he relished in a small period of it, he couldn’t ignore the gnaw of unprovoked concern. His life and the ones of those around him were so hectic that as soon as that chaos stopped it felt like something had gone wrong.

He had been about to sigh when a creak from the door stopped him mid breath. Leaning to get a clearer look, hands slipping the bookmark between the pages as he went, he felt his eyes widen as an abnormal fear etched itself inside his stomach. 

Between the gap approached a figure from the dark. It had pointed head and disproportionately long arms, with strangely hackled shoulders and no face to speak of. It approached so uneasily, and Kun was already glancing at the window so as to be ready if he needed to make an escape, until the creature’s foot reached the light’s boundary. 

He recognised that leg. 

“Y/N…!” he groaned, flopping back into the cushions behind his back and shoving his book to the side.

You came to a halt proudly in the light, staring at him confusedly from where you’d tightened the hood of your stolen jumper around your face. “What?”

“You scared me, love…!” 

“Huh?” You looked down at the layers you had put on to try and fight the cold before turning back to take in just how dark the rest of the room. You couldn’t help but giggle as you continued to make your way to your boyfriend, “Oh, I’m sorry…!”

He scoffed, watching as you came to the side of the bed. “Pssh, no you’re not.” 

“I am!” you whined, beginning to clamber across the mattress. Your destination? The cosiest place on earth.

Kun shook his head as he carefully began to lift the blankets up for you to join, chuckling as you finally reached him and immediately burrowed into his side while he tucked the blankets around you. “Cold?”

“Nope, wearing hoodies like this is just part of my new fashion statement,” you sassed, waiting for him to wrap his arm around you before you linked your cold legs with his, much to his dismay.

He yelped at the contact, kicking the blankets around your feet even more. “You are so lucky that I’m such a good boyfriend.”

You just laughed, nestling your nose further into his neck and releasing your hands from your sweater paws. Unfortunately for him they weren’t much warmer, and he practically shrieked as you clutched at his jumped beneath the covers.

“Jesus, Y/N—!”

“Are you though?” you slyly enquired. “A good boyfriend?”

“You think I’m not?”

You hummed. “Well, last time I checked good boyfriends can tell the difference between a cryptid and the best thing that has ever happened to them.”

His laughter was soft and rich, and it thrummed by your ear—immediately coaxing your smile into a full blown grin. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, huh?” he murmured, gentle hand easing your hood open and off to free your hair from its confines, just so he could ease it between his fingertips. “You’d better keep it down when you say that, I don’t think it would end well if the other’s found out.” 

You snickered, pressing a chaste kiss to his neck before settling back down again. Kun knew you could hear how his heart skipped a beat at you and how precious you were, and he didn’t care a single bit. Pulling the covers further up so you would be warm enough, he traced his thumb across your temple, smiling as your eyes closed happily. The two of you dipped into a momentary quiet—not an uncommon occurrence between the two of you, as comfortable silence really was its own blessing—but it wasn’t long before you spoke up coyly. 

“Kun?”

“Yes, love?”

“Would you still love me if I was a cryptid?”

His love-swarmed gaze didn’t change. “Of course I would,” he said, “but please don’t go out there and get yourself turned into one. And if you are one, well… you better tell me if you are, yeah?”

You chuckled, though he noticed the ease of tiredness in your voice. “I would tell you, baby, and I’m not, I promise.”

“Sounds like something a cryptid would say,” he whispered, smile simpering upon his lips at your sleepy one. You were too adorable for him to fully comprehend in words. “Would you like some music?”

You hummed a no, and so he reached for his book from where he had discarded it by his thigh, careful to not disturb you. “I’ll read again, if that’s ok?”

He had expected a little backlash perhaps, since it would mean you wouldn’t be able to have a hand stroking your arm—the shock, the horror! Kun had to admit, then, that he was surprised when you managed to work up the rest of your energy to ask, “Read to me?”

Opening the book as best he could with one hand and placing the bookmark on the bedside table, his heart swelled at your words.

“Of course,” he replied, planting a kiss to your crown, before he turned back to the paper, words much clearer to him now. 

“Hundreds of fireflies drifted over the pool of water held back by the sluice gate, their hot glow reflected in the water like a shower of sparks. I closed my eyes and steeped myself in that long-ago darkness. I heard the wind with unusual clarity. A light breeze swept past me, leaving strangely brilliant trails in the dark. I opened my eyes to find the darkness of the summer night a few degrees deeper than it had been. I twisted open the lid of the jar and took out the firefly...”

With the warmth long seeped throughout your body, cradled in the arms of the man you knew would love you through thick and thin, it wasn’t long before the words dissipated into the air, as his tender voice lulled you into sleep.

~~~

an: book excerpt is in italics and is not mine! its from a book called Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami that i really recommend you read, if you are ok with very strong themes. i studied it for my english literature coursework and i didnt hate it once! even through all that rereading and stuff so.. yeah :))

if you enjoy please leave a comment or reblog with hashtags or drop something in my asks i dont mind sksksk they really help me keep want to write! 

Masterlist

[windup-dragoon]

I wanna hear more on the kind of parents Kiri and her princely husband would be 👀 -slides back into the Lurking Abyss-

AAAAAAAAA Thank you for humoring me. ;;;; This is actually one of my favorite topics between these dorks??? Because family stuff melts my rotten little heart. ;u; Yo this is going to be hella long though so sorry about that. 

The News: 

Childbearing definitely was never big on Kiri’s to-do list in life. Always busy running off into danger and going on adventures, who has time to raise kids? The thought of being a mother in any aspect never really crossed her mind, besides maybe adopting stray animals and affectionately referring to them as her children. 

But with Hien in her life, her thoughts on this change. Seeing Hien interact with the kids that she helped in Revenant’s Toll, the way he spoke and laughed with them ends up melting a bit of her heart. He has such a way with children, even newborns around Doma when he’s out having social hours with his countrymen and women. Eventually Kiri surprises Hien by telling him she wants to have kids. With him. All of the negatives she used to see in having children become just another challenge for her to overcome, with Hien at her side, she can do anything. 

It isn’t until after their official marriage that they finally achieve this goal. Kiri, while in Eorzea doing whatever it is she does, has stomach troubles and is a little alarmed by everything that’s happening. She doesn’t typically get sick, unless she’s in Ishgard for extended weeks in which she will develop a terrible cold, so these symptoms have her visiting healers of any sort or maybe even reaching out to friends for advice. 

When she’s given the official news, she’s immediately stunned. Of course she’s aware of how children are made and all that jazz, but it didn’t occur to her that it would be so sudden. Kind of an ‘oh that’s right, that’s something that we did’ moment. At first she’s too shocked to say anything, or even move; the nurse who delivered the news worries Kiri wasn’t expecting to be pregnant. But it isn’t that the news is bad. Her mind is racing, her heart pounding while her stomach continues to feel queasy. After the initial shock, Kiri fully accepts her condition with a big, goofy ass grin. 

She returns to Doma to tell Hien the news as immediately as she can, after of course settling whatever task she was in the middle of accomplishing in Eorzea. All of Doma is gathered for a festival when she returns, one that runs late into the night with fireworks shot off from the Dairyu Moon Gates and over the One River. It’s here that she tells Hien. She pulls him away from his merriment of drinking with friends and socializing, in between loud bursts of colored fire over head; Kiri tells him he’s going to be a father. 

Pregnancy: 

They’re both new to this whole situation. Neither really having much experience besides common sense and what they’ve been told by those who know about the pregnancy. Hien and Kiri decide to keep it quiet for the time being, the only ones outside of caretakers and themselves are the Scions who Kiri felt she had to tell immediately and some of their Eorzean friends who would otherwise try to recruit Kiri for more shenanigans. Hien is very affectionate during this time, never too far from Kiri if he can help it or enlists Yugiri and Az’hala to help keep tabs on his adventuring wife should he be called away to the Alliance or any of his other responsibilities. 

At night they stay up and talk things over, to help calm each others nerves or any fears they might have as time passes. Kiri is relatively relaxed throughout the whole pregnancy, although she does have moments where she wishes Lynawyb could be with her. She wonders if Lynawyb would have been excited to be a grandmother, Eyriwolk would have made a fantastic grandpa. During these times, Hien also makes mention that he too wishes Mina and Kaien could be with them. And don’t you dare for a moment think they don’t try to send word to Gosetsu. Gosetsu is more apart of their family than anyone knows. 

Hien often speaks to Kiri’s tummy, even in the earliest stages when she hasn’t even begun to show. She finds it amusing and usually wakes up to him speaking in Doman to her tummy. She quickly begins to recognize certain phrases like good morning. 

When they finally announce it to all of Doma, mainly due to Kiri beginning to show signs, it’s a huge celebration. Their friends from Eorzea are invited to attend the festivities, even members of the Alliance are extended an invite. 

After many requests from Sadu to come visit, Kiri and Hien eventually travel out to the Steppes. Sadu, believing she’ll get to fight with Kiri, is dumbstruck when she realizes what’s up. But instead of throwing a tantrum or getting upset, Sadu is very supportive of Kiri and asks that she visits more so she can help. Kiri briefly wonders who Sadu thinks her child will be the reincarnation of. Magnai dismisses the entire interaction as boring, pretty typical of Magnai, while Cirina, much like Sadu, is excited and supportive. Both Sadu and Cirina offer medicines and herbal teas for Kiri to try that their tribes often use themselves. 

It’s Time!: 

As it draws closer to her delivery date, Hien is an absolute wreck. Nervous beyond belief and struggling to keep Kiri in one place. But she’s just as antsy as he is and tires of sitting in bed all day. Some of the elders encourage Kiri to walk around, but she ends up wandering. Yugiri and Az’hala both stick to her like flies, not so much worried about Kiri as they are with Hien. The poor guy. But again, they’re both new to this and have no idea what to expect next. 

I haven’t decided where Kiri ends up giving birth to Hanami. I thought it’d be funny if she was visiting the Steppes when it happened, Sadu’s tribe and Cirina both helping while Hien tries not to pass out. Magnai scoffs but he would probably faint too. 

Actually being parents: 

Now that Hana is born and all of Doma is buzzing with excitement, both Kiri and Hien are over the moon with happiness. They both share the burdens of waking up in the middle of the night to hold a crying Hana, never asking the servants to do it instead. They’re both completely in love with this little bundle. Without question, it’s a tiresome job, but Kiri is rarely without a warm smile these days and Hien is always beaming from ear to ear. He’s very proud of what they created together. 

When Hana gets older, Hien takes to telling her stories at night. He uses funny voices and puts on a whole drama for his daughter who claps and giggles in response. Kiri and Hana spend a lot of time together outside, usually occupying the garden, feeding any ducks or koi in the pond and watching the blossoms open and fall in the breeze. As a mother, Kiri is very soft and tender to Hana, some of her Eorzean friends might not even recognize her. The gruff, accented voice she once had has kind of fallen away, but her laughter remains the same. And her love of jokes. 

If Hien leaves for an Alliance meeting, upon return Hana is always the first to greet him. It starts off as little sandals clapping against the stone, then a little giggling girl jumps at her father. Hien drops everything just to scoop her up in his arms and raise her up high. She’ll ask if he brought her back anything, namely sweets, and of course he does. While Kiri remains in contact with her Eorzean friends and allies, Scions included, she doesn’t partake in adventures quite as frequently as she used to. She stays with Hana and Hien in Doma; and when Hana is a non-stop talking toddler, Kiri and Hien are expecting again. 

Hana and Hien frequently speak in Doman to one another, even in Kiri’s presence just to tease her. 

Occasionally Kiri will take Hana to Eorzea with Isho as their escort; Hana quickly falls in love with traveling and wants to explore the world just as Kiri does. Hana loves meeting with Tataru and Krile, having tea together and gossiping. While in Isghard, Hana and Count Edmont talk for hours over more tea and hard little biscuits. Kiri has always explained to Hana that although her friends are not related by blood, every one of them feel like family to her and she hopes Hana will experience the joys of having such an extensive family. 

Kiri and Hien end up having four kids in total. Hanami is the oldest and only daughter. (Unless I change my mind :V) 

Thancred, Urianger, and Y’shtola have bets on how many children Kiri and Hien will have. So far Y’shtola is winning. Urianger secretly wonders if Hien and Kiri are trying to create an army. Ryne would absolutely love to meet Hanami some day! Alphinaud and Alisaie are still in shock that Kiri even had children to begin with, but also treat Hanami as another part of their little family. 

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 7/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774  

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

It was the tempting smell of coffee that roused Rey from her slumber.

It took her a second to realize where she was and why there was a dog curled up against her sleeping bag. Stretching her neck and shoulders, she unraveled her hair and looked up at Leia. She had placed two steaming mugs of coffee on the tiny kitchen table.

“Mind if I take a quick shower before I leave?I don’t know when I’ll get another chance on the road...”

With Leia’s approval she found herself in the minuscule bathroom, where she washed her hair as economically as possible. Not a drop of water wasted—after all, she wouldn’t want to freeload off of a kind woman evidently already on a budget.

Afterwards, she checked to make sure that she left nothing behind (oil? Check. Water? Check. Music? Check. Phone? Charged up and ready to go. BB8? BB8...? Rey looked over to see her taking care of business in a nearby alley. She ran back  soon enough with her tail wagging happily. Leia paused to hug the dog one last time and Rey could have sworn her eyes were glistening. Rey waited for them a few meters away, standing by the doorway as she gave them time to say goodbye. After plenty of hugs and scratches, Leia put a slim red leather collar around the dog’s neck. Attached to it with tiny hooks, a small metal plaque engraved with the words “Please Call Luke Skywalker 909-667-5721”.

She then handed Rey a piece of paper with Luke’s address in San Francisco. She had also written his phone number, even though the collar ostensibly took care of that. Rey entered the number into her contacts anyway and put the paper away in the glove box.

Rey opened the car door and gently ushered the dog into the back seat.

“BB8, in the car! Come on, in! Inside, let’s go! That’s right, good dog!”

BB8 had jumped into the car with puppy-like enthusiasm, rediscovering her blanket and her basket of toys. Rey gave her a pat to assure her that everything was fine before closing the door. It was time to leave.

Rey approached Leia, who was wiping away a tear with the back of her hand.

“You sure you’ll be okay without BB8?”

“I’ll still have Artoo, even if he doesn’t do much besides eat and nap. We’ll be fine,”

Rey realized she was taking about the cat. She conceded, smiling.

“Look, thanks for everything Leia...the road is a lot less frightening with BB8 by my side. I promise to take care of her,”

“Be careful out there. Send me an update now and then.”

“I will, promise.”

Leia opened her arms and Rey hugged her tightly—it was a little awkward at first but it transformed into a warm embrace. Rey felt a particular tenderness in this gesture, it was the hug of someone who hadn’t hugged anyone in a very long time.

Rey looked up suddenly, breaking the hug.

“I’m an idiot, I forgot to buy a GPS!” She exclaimed, realizing she didn’t know which direction she would be driving in.

She put her hands on her face in exasperation, chastising herself for being so distracted and trying not to let the panic take over.

“Right, no use in beating myself up, I didn’t have enough money left to buy a new one anyway. I’ll have to find a state map. It’ll be all vintage, like the car.”

Luckily, she didn’t have an exact itinerary. She knew that she wanted to get to Yellowstone, which would take a while. The park wasn’t merely a stop, it was as large as Yorkshire and equally difficult to miss.

She looked up a petrol station on Google maps, ironically so that she could buy a physical map for her journey. She turned the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled to a start.

Rey waved one last time to Leia through the open car window, who looked lonelier than ever standing alone out on the porch of her little cottage.

The car emitted a cloud of dust as it left the trailer park and started a long journey. BB8 scratched at the back seat nervously, worried that Leia had disappeared from view. Rey extended a hand to pet her reassuringly.

“Everything will be fine good girl, we’re going home now,” she said gently.

The weather was gorgeous that third-of-July morning, as Rey took I-25 toward Cheyenne, Wyoming. With the breeze in her hair and a smile on her lips, her whole being felt lighter. It seemed like she was looking at the world through new eyes, reveling in an optimism that she hadn’t felt in weeks.

She basked in the beauty of the land, the winding plains dotted with crimson outcroppings, the glistening skyscrapers which formed the city’s spine and slowly gave way to the mountains in the west, whose snowy peaks overlooked a red and white prairie speckled with farms.

As she bypassed the city, she spotted the a few buffalo roaming peacefully on a nature reserve. She also saw camels, two deer on a ridge, and what appeared to be antelopes (or whatever those pale deer like creatures with tiny horns were called).  

A biker on a Harley Davidson sped past her, hair flying and engine roaring in equal measure. In the distance, a freight train of unimaginable length whistled by. Everything was new to her, every sound, every color. She was glad to leave Denver behind. She was tired of the crowd, and the fumes, the noise and the pollution.

BB8 was still lamenting her fate in the back seat, whining now and then. Rey felt her heart constrict. How could she get across that they were going home to see Luke? Preoccupied with these thoughts, she completely missed the exit to Wyoming, which was supposed to be the second leg of their road trip.

In hindsight she would look back on this moment and regret not registering the symbolism of it all.

Around 9 AM she skirted Cheyenne and began the 400 kilometer trek, due west, to the park. It slowly dawned on Rey that she was finally alone with her thoughts—something which hadn’t happened since she left London, since the breakup.

Before, she had purposefully kept busy in order to stop thinking. All action, all the time, running full speed ahead. First she had cursed Finn to hell and back, then she had cried a river on Jessica’s shoulder, taken that flight, wallowed in that hotel room, confronted Ben Solo, met Rose, attended that concert, wandered those museums...it was time to slow down.

Facing eight hours of transit, alone amidst the steel and asphalt with no one but a dog (who was finally calm) for company, Rey let her thoughts run free.

She did not try to repress them, she did not try to smother them.  She was no longer afraid of her unconscious, no longer afraid of regrets, remorse and tears. She would have to bring Finn's stuff back: his clothes, his records, his films and his books.

She did not seen Poe coming, waltzing into her life narrative. Or did she? Had she always seen this coming? Finn and Poe met in high school. They had been on the same football team. They had essentially been friends for forever. When Rey entered Finn’s life, it had been through a hypocritical turn to dating apps. They had bonded over a mutual love for Terry Pratchett novels and Poe had even become her older brother of sorts. Poe had no bitterness, no animosity toward her, there was just a unique brotherhood between the two men that seemed to make Finn happy. Should she have seen it coming, then? In his eyes? In his nonsensical rambles whenever he got drunk? And how could she have ignored the signs all these years, of the feelings Poe had harbored for the man who had been part of his life for so long?

She had finished her degree in graphic design, and right after getting her diploma, she had moved out of Jessica’s to start living with her brand new boyfriend. He was an engineer who was three years older than her and already making a living.

Rey considered that she had never been alone. Before moving in with her ex-future-husband she had lived with Jessica  for most of her adult life. What was she afraid of? Being abandoned again? Getting bored? Wasting away? Was she always going to live in the shadow of others? Didn’t she have any ambitions or goals for herself?

This trip was a first, after all. The first time she did anything alone, the first time no one took her hand, the first time she was ever truly free. Still on the highway, her eyes widened at a passing sign: “Smallest town in America, Bufford, WY. Population : 1". Behind it, a little shack, boarded up with wooden planks and metal sheets.

Beyond, rolling plains, dry and arid masses tinted with yellow and ochre, and not a single tree. On the highway drove an endless parade of monstrous chrome-plated trucks, cars hauling camping trailers, and bikers wearing bandannas instead of helmets. And all the fauna of this strange landscape seemed to ignore the ever-present six-by-four posters lining the highway. Not the one touting MacRoy and associates Laramie attorneys, nor the other claiming “God exists, call 1-800-FOR-TRUTH”.

BB8’s groaning derailed Rey’s bitter train of thought, and she glanced at the back seat. The dog was rolling around restlessly and yes, Rey thought now was a good time to take a break. It would be too early for lunch but at least BB could stretch her legs. Rey kept an eye out for the next exit, or the next petrol station. She used her turn signal to get off the highway at Elk Mountain, a rural outpost sleeping under the desert dust like a cat lounging in the sun.

It was almost a ghost town. A few rusted pickups, a red-brick general store that could have come straight out of the Buffalo Bill era, and half a dozen wooden shacks, in true American spirit. They looked like they couldn’t even stand the first winds of a storm. There must be storms here at some point, she thought, in the winter at least.

How did these people live? Effectively two hours away from the nearest civilization, at that? Rey shrugged. She wouldn’t want to question anyone, if there existed anyone here, that is. Rey parked her car (yes, it was hers now, for the time being) on the side of the road. She opened the door for BB8, who was clamoring to escape. But Rey had predicted this, and she blocked the door with her body as she leashed the dog before letting her out.

She would have preferred to let BB8 roam, but she couldn’t risk it. What if BB ran away across the desert to join Leia Skywalker in Denver?  What if she chased after grasshoppers onto the highway, and subsequently fell prey to one of those gleaming trucks on the highway? She would flattened like a pancake.  Both of them had to tame each other in a way, and that would take time.  Meanwhile, Rey filled the dog's bowl with water and let her drink up. She covered up all the supplies in the car to avoid theft and locked the door.

They took a short walk. BB8 began sniffing at everything on the ground, tail bouncing and ears perking, until she paused to relive herself against the tire of an old truck.  Rey looked around, expecting the owner to come up, a rifle in one hand and a cowboy hat in the other, threatening to shoot both of them.

But no, everything was silent, or as silent as it could be amidst the ceaseless chirping of the cicadas.

Eventually, the heat was overwhelming and the arid wind left Rey parched. Time to go back.

Gingerly walking back to the car, Rey hesitated. It had to be fifty degrees Celsius inside, the car was a suffocating metal monstrosity whose only upside was relative speed. She could feel the sweat drops running down her body.

Yet another hour's drive took her to Sainclair, a city huddled around a monstrous refinery, whose black, smoking towers rose to the sky like Isengard in Lord of the Rings.

"The whole bloody city must live in this factory," Rey thought, as she made herself comfortable inside Penny's Diner, a chrome-clad  hole-in-the-wall with a decidedly vintage feel to it.

[mommydragon-of-all]

A touch of warmth

Second piece of the “Longing” series. 

      He found himself staring at the main tower again. To his defense, a crow flew by him in that direction, and his eyes just remained lingering on the empty terrace. 

The Inquisitor was busy. Has been for a long while now, or so it felt. Three days have passed since he got barricaded in his quarters, dealing with piled up “very important business”. Two and half days since Soren got banned from there by Josephine - which wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, but her stern tone was. By the guards’ apologetic looks he didn’t need to question them how serious she was still.

So here he was now, at the top of the closest tower, working on a special arrow. No, it was not a steel arrow with a long rope… not this time. 

           ~Keep reading~

Soren decided it was everyone’s best interest not to sneak in. The guards’, Josie’s, the other ends of those businesses, and his Vhenan’s, judging by the resigned sigh he gave when his ambassador demanded Soren out. He could probably do without the distraction of having his lover around, to get progress with something so boring, even if Soren usually could offer great help with certain things. And His best interest was Soren's best interest too. It was that simple. 

It didn’t mean that a little boost wouldn’t be beneficial though, like a small pouch of chocolate. He just had to get the composition of this arrow head right. Yes, he supposed he could just simply attach it to a normal arrow and break it on the wall above the terrace, landing the little package on the floor, but that lacked class so dearly.

              He stood up with the latest version in hand and picked up the longbow he borrowed. Nocking the arrow he aimed at the battlements on the other side of his tower top, and released it, noting the weight and the arch. The bulky arrowhead hit the stone with a dull thud and stuck snugly. Soren smirked in triumph, nodding to himself. He was busy patting himself on the back mentally… when it started to slowly give, the material stretching under the weight of the shaft and test pouch, bending down, like the smirk on the elf’s face.

The viscous mass proved to be sticky enough though, he noted when he retrieved the arrow. A good portion of it refused to leave the stone, stretching long before finally snapping in two. “Interesting”, Soren murmured, returning to his little workspace. There were quite a few marks and sticky patches on that wall already. He’s been busy for a while now. He didn’t bother trying to scratch them down, even if he suspected that Aline would have a few choice words when she cleaned here. She always gets some extra coin from Soren for all the mess he makes, and she was used to worse, cleaning the top of the mage tower, or, Soren's watchtower as people called it for some reason… maybe because he spent so much time up here? 

Soren decided to give this mixture “another shot”, pun absolutely intended, the silly thought bringing his lopsided smirk back. It seemed to have great potential, given a bit more time to dry before use. He stuck a good chunk of the stuff on two other arrowheads, and put them down to dry a bit. With nothing to do, his eyes wandered back to the main tower.

              A sigh escaped his chest, for the umpteenth time today, followed by a small grimace. He shouldn't be this pathetic. He was used to being pushed aside for better or more important things to do, used to being sidelined, neglected even, by people he loved and thus probably hung on too much. He was exhausting to keep up with, he was told often, the excitement of novelty wearing off and leaving fatigue in its place. His devotion resulted in his services and presence upon call being taken for granted, which led to even more neglect. Not to mention that below all the fun and generosity he was quite a work cut out for anyone who cared to get closer, and other things to spend time on soon started to be more appealing to them. Not that Soren could blame anyone but himself for it, yet it still hurt more than he cared to admit.

But this was different, and it painted him even more laughable. He wasn’t neglected or pushed aside by his lover’s free choice even. That would probably justify at least a bit of his dejection. No, his Love was busy and he couldn't help it, he was doing his best to fulfill his duties, making the world a better place, and Soren understood it. He really did. He was proud too, doing his best to support. It wasn’t a big deal and it wasn't going to go on for months or something, without a moment to spare for Them. But Soren’s heart didn't think, it just felt. Stupid, stupid organ.

His hearth burned for the man more than he could have ever imagined possible, and thus it also ached for him impossibly so. Being apart felt like finally having a home but unable to return to it. A restlessness settled into his bones.

It's been only a few days and he was already this miserable! He was being ridiculous, but he couldn't help it. When he stopped moving for just a moment, the distress caught up with him.               

Leaning on the battlements he started to rub his hands together, rolling down some stray bits of sticky substances in various stages of drying. The purple stuff looked nice, he mused, a color favored by his dear. Sadly that composition proved to be a complete failure two tries ago.

He rarely went gloveless, for his senses had become too keen, and accidental touches often bothered him. If by chance he cracked a nose or something he didn't want to know how the muckspout's skin felt like, thank you very much. Even worse would be the scraps and bruises he would get from his weapons or moving around bare handed. He preferred reaching his destination as quickly as possible, even if it meant climbing and jumping, and that involved his hands too. But he was alone here, his tinkering always needed his deft fingers unhindered, and dealing with stuff like this was more practical bare handed. Cleaning leather was harder than cleaning hands.

But soon there was no more clinging bits to fiddle with and checking the arrow heads proved that they weren't quite ready yet either. Bracing on the battlement he gazed down, counting in his head how many magical artefacts he had on him that needed more tinkering, and if he could have any part done in the short time the arrowheads still needed to dry for. It was barely worth starting on any, he grimaced. Then he made the mistake of glancing up again.

         He saw a shadow move behind the tall windows of the Inquisitor’s quarters. His breath caught, eyes widening a fraction, then… nothing happened. The terrace door remained tightly shut. He felt a pang in his heart, a weird beat, pumping out something cold. ‘No, stay strong, you hopeless idiot!’ he scolded himself, shaking his head, eyes closing tight.

Suddenly, a bright light seeped through his closed eyelids, a warmth engulfing him softly. The sun broke through the looming clouds and bathed the towers of Skyhold in a golden flood, painting brilliant colors on the intricate windows of the main tower and licking the top of the mage tower, warming Soren’s exposed skin gently. He didn't even realize the cold soaking into his hands. How strange. His altered body running on a bit higher temperature than what was considered normal usually ensured his skin newer getting cold, at least not from mildly chilled air. At any rate, the golden blanket felt really nice right now.

It reminded Soren of another golden blanket, a warmth from another source. It brought a smile on his face, sweet and tender. With closed eyes, he could almost see a familiar hand sliding onto his own. It didn't matter that his own skin was ever the warmer, his lover’s touch always felt like molten gold. He could almost feel his lover standing close behind him, embracing him. A light breeze tickling his neck made him shiver.

He huffed, ‘he really was being pathe-….’

            Soren’s eyes snapped open, sharp, an ear twitching back, body already turning with it, hands ready. He relaxed in the next second though, snorting at himself. He was so lost in his own head that he got alarmed by movement, in the heart of Skyhold. The person climbing the stairs towards the room below him obviously wasn't even trying to sneak, there was nothing suspicious about their movements. Even if they wore soft shoes, their steps were too carefree. A young man most likely, Soren thought with an inclined head: soft clothes yet decent weight, heavier on the soles, long stride with a bit of spring, big foot… Soren waited curiously, leaning against the stone bricks as the person crossed the room and started to climb the ladder.

The heavy hatch opened slowly, pushed up carefully as if not to startle the rogue up there. Nobody wanted a flying dagger in their face. Soren smirked. The guy seemed to know his way around honed reflexes, but he didn't know the extended reach of Soren’s senses. Not a mage then. They were used to Soren seemingly notice *everything* they did in that tower - and rubbing it in at any chance for fun.

        A dark mop of hair poked up from under the hatch, followed by a similarly dark pair of eyes. He jolted when they met Sorens watching gaze. Soren found it kind of amusing. With the obvious care the man took to be quiet and slow he should have expected to be observed. Soren flashed an easy grin at him.

“Hey there. Can I help you... Eladio?”

The young human was even more surprised now, being called by his name. He was a relatively new helping hand of the healers that Soren met briefly two times total, and have newer spoken with. He learned his name from one of the nurses, and that he was originally from Antiva. It was a curious detail, and Soren usually poked his nose in everyone's business within the first week at least, from generals to the last chambermaid. He fully intended to fish Eladio’s story out of him too, but… he was quite distracted lately, keeping his nose in one particular honey jar most of the time. Oh well, no time like the present.

“Master Elan sent me, sir, she told me I would find you here.” the young human started quietly, climbing out on top carefully. Soren waved him off with a laugh.

“Oh come now, don't call me sir, it makes me feel old.” 

Eladio reddened and nodded, looking down, visibly not knowing how to carry himself. He was barely younger by a couple years than himself, Soren guessed, around twenty or so, and yet how much difference their life experiences put between them. The other acted quite boyish beside Soren, and it indeed made him feel older than his years.

         “So, what does our dear apothecary want me for?” Soren helped him out with a softer tone. “Is this about some missing Dragonthorn, perhaps? Wouldn't know anything about that!"

“I don't believe so, sir…” Eladio started, uncertain how to take that blatant self-incrimination. Soren narrowed his eyes at him. “...um, Soren.” To the answering satisfied smile he continued, a bit braver:

“I assume it is about the Crystal Grace flowers.”

Oh. “What about them?” Soren arched a brow, playing the ignorant, poorly so. “They found their way onto the Inquisitor’s desk, apparently, and master Elan isn’t happy about it. At all.” Eladio tried to hide a smile.

“Did they, now?” Soren asked, not bothering to stop his wide spreading grin. The doorman played the secret delivery boy well, hiding the bouquet under his cape, just as Soren believed he would.

But then a realization hit Soren like a bull. “Wait a minute! What was the apothecary doing up there? Why was she needed?” He strode up to the young human and  almost grabbed him by the shirt to shake the urgent information right out of him, forgetting all about not startling the skittish boy with his boisterous ways. 

“She - she m-mixed her own blend of e-energy tea I recall” he spluttered with wide eyes, bending backwards. But Soren was out of his face as instantly as he got there.

“You sure nothing else?” the elf threw back above his shoulder as he walked back to the battlements, snatching his long gloves from his belt and pulling them on.

“I think so…” Eladio hesitated.

“Newer mind, I’ll ask her myself.” He picked up the longbow and an arrow, turning back towards the confused human, nocking it. “Just one thing first…”

The errand boy yelped and jumped aside, but he relaxed a bit when the bow didn't follow his movement. The arrow hit the stone wall with a dull thud and it just… stuck there. Soren watched it with narrowed eyes, as if daring it to bulge. It did not. The elf went to check on it closely, and the human tentatively followed, curious about the strange thing. Soren pulled at the arrow, pushed it to a few directions, but it barely gave. That clearly satisfied him. As he turned to go back to his previous position, Eladio gingerly poked at the grey substance sticking the arrow to the stone, wondering what use the assassin had for such an arrow.

He got his answer right away as he turned around in time to see Soren tying a small pouch to the other arrow then filling it with some dark brown bits from a napkin. “Chocolate.” Soren grinned, winking at him. With a final tug at the cord he nocked the weird arrow and turned towards the main tower, pulling the string back all the way with surprising ease, and aimed high, up to the Inquisitors balcony. Eladio suddenly understood why master Elan sent him straight here after she accidentally found the stolen flowers. He bit his lip, trying to suppress a grin, eyes sparkling with mirth.

           Soren took a moment to calculate and aim carefully. He wasn’t that good with a bow, much less while compensating for added weight, but his target was big enough, the wall behind the broad balcony allowed a large margin of error. A large margin that he managed to completely miss a few weeks before. Oh, the snickering spread like wildfire in Skyhold, after the flunked release resulted in an arrow with a pretty lewd note attached to it falling gracelessly into the laps of a few soldiers, almost literally. Well, at least they had a good time, and if it was on Soren’s expense, he newer minded that.

While some of his old mentors would bang their heads - or rather, Soren’s head- into this very stone wall for that pathetic shot, the young rogue didn’t spare it much thought. He preferred up close and personal in everything, especially fighting. He had no patience for long ranged weapons or traps, so he only learned the minimum he needed on rare occasions, and let it rust. Lately he found reason to oil his ranged skills a bit though, as like with many other knowledge and skill developed for assassination, like knowing many secrets of the body, he found a way to use it for bringing pleasure too. For such things, he had all the patience in the world. He found it was also much worth it, to boot.

The arrow flew in a wide arc across the distance, hitting the wall behind the balcony and sticking there, nice and firm. Perhaps a bit higher than Soren intended, but it was well within reach. A fairy decent shot, Soren nodded to himself, satisfied with his work.

“Ok, let’s go. I have questions for Elan.” he announced, putting the bow on his back. He had to return that thing, and he might as well drop by on the way to the gardens.

            As he waited for the other to climb down carefully, he looked back to the terrace and his enhanced vision picked up on that shadow appearing again, but this time it got closer, the colorful glass tilting… and there he was, poking his head out the door, looking around. Searching for the source of the thud, no doubt. He found it shortly, staying still for a long moment. Soren’s grin hurt his face. There was something adorable about it, that he couldn’t explain. Perhaps it was the apparent momentary confusion upon seeing yet another of Soren’s inventive presents. It was exhilarating, seeing his surprise … impact. Pun absolutely intended, as per usual.

The Inquisitor opened the door wider, stepping out, but instead of trying to reach up to the small package, he got closer to the railing, looking down, searching. It didn't take long to Spot Soren’s bright red head under the golden sunlight, as he stood upon the mage tower, his usual spot. Soren gave a playful fancy bow, throwing a kiss with a grand gesture at the end, grin shining brighter than the sun. 

Then he oh so casually stepped into the open hatch and dropped down, exiting his impromptu stage with roguish class. He only wished he could see his lover's face in reaction to that, but he supposed he was somewhat used to Soren’s stunts by now. Unlike Eladio, who yelped and jumped back when Soren suddenly dropped down the ladder, boots on either side of it pressed just enough to turn the fall into a slide.

“So…” Soren started, patting the boy’s shoulder, completely disregarding his bewilderment. “... how did you end up in our merry little horde?”

          Soren listened to the life story he was coaxing out bit by bit on the way down a little distractedly, thinking back at the figure on the terrace. He was going to see him soon, talk with him, embrace him... Until then, the ghost of a lingering touch stayed with him.

[broomsticksareoverrated]

Hidden things

She's not atypical. Not like her brother, or Caleb, or Sam or Chloe. She doesn't have superhero like abilities, she's not special. 

Well. Joan knows she's special, obviously, in the sense that she's always telling her patients that everyone is, atypical or not. But Joan isn't special. 

Sometimes she catches glimpses, when Sam isn't paying attention. A moment shared over a glass of wine, curled up on a sofa with A Sound of Music. Blue eyes cast a sideways glance, and she catches the gentle smile on Sam's lips that her friend probably isn't even aware of. Joan's heart jolts in her chest, the fluttering in the pit of her stomach achingly familiar, though the memories are tinged with far too much betrayal to stay pleasant. 

When Sam starts to notice her reluctance to spend any real time together, the soft hand on her shoulder almost burns. When she begins to think there might actually be something between them - the tender gazes feel too frequent, and there's no way that Sam can fall asleep ten minutes into the new Star Trek movie, red hair tickling Joan's cheek - she recites every poor decision, every mistake, every lie and betrayal of her own in the past eighteen months, as though that has the power to kill the ache that plagues her chest. 

Chloe catches on quickly. She knows the moment Chloe can hear the itemized list of her failings, because she pretends she needs help wine shopping for their board game night, and drags her to the supermarket, leaving Sam in an apron in the kitchen, hair tied in a high ponytail, still fighting with the hand whisk. 

"What on Earth are you doing?" She asks in between rows of bottles and tin cans full of cheap beer. Joan keeps her eyes on the shelf in front of her.

"What do you mean?" She replies. She doesn't trust herself to meet Chloe's eyes.

"I thought we were past all this. Not everything is your fault, you know. You must know that."

"Chloe, I can't always help my thoughts." Chloe scoffs.

"Of course I know that Joan. But I know the difference between a genuine thought that pops into existance out of nowhere, and actively punishing yourself. I've been listening to your thoughts for far longer than I should, remember?" Joan knows this is the wrong place for this conversation, someone could overhear them, but there's no way she can bring this back to Sam's house-

"Sam? This is...about Sam? What about her?" Joan wishes she had learned how to control her thoughts around Chloe by now, because she knows her brain is still so impossibly scrambed when it comes to the time traveller. She hears Chloe's intake of breath, and the exhale that sounds more like laughter.

"I don't know." Chloe says aloud, a grin in her voice. "Seems pretty clear cut to me. You like her, and you're afraid of what that might mean. You don't think you deserve love in any form, and you still aren't quite over everything that's passed between the two of you. You feel guilty." Joan exhales, and turns towards the telepath, excuses already on her tongue, but Chlor just shrugs. "Sorry. You're just so easy to hear now, I have to keep turning you down constantly."

"Well, I don't think- I mean, it isn't like- Yes. I suppose you're right." Joan replies, resigned. "I'm sorry Chloe. I never meant for you to have to deal with my - my everything." She hates that she can't be angry with Chloe, hates that she can't ignore feeling this way, hates that she can't quite get the nagging voice in her head to stop sounding so like her mother-

"Okay, that's quite enough of that." Chloe says decisively. A dark arm reaches forward and plucks a bottle of white from under Joan's gaze. "We're going to buy two bottles of this stuff, and the chocolate chips that Sam requested - god that guilty attraction thing you do when I say her name has got to stop - and we're going to finish baking cookies, play Settlers of Catan and have an honest to gods girls night in, or so help me I will psychoanalyze you in the middle of this supermarket."

Joan doesn't know how to respond to a Chloe that is more than prepared to tell her off like that, but she knows her pathetic guilt and apologies aren't going unnoticed, if the bar of very dark chocolate Chloe hands her in the car is anything to go by. She should have tried to make friends years ago.

"Probably, yeah." Chloe says with a laugh. "But you got me now. No self flagellation when I'm here, got it?" She can't fight her smile, nor keep the amusement out of her voice, and she's not entirely sure that she wants to.

"Got it."

That doesn't mean fighting the weeks of negative reinforcement is easy. Joan can't quite relax the way that she wants to - Sam will laugh, or shout excitedly, or place a hand on Joan's shoulder as she goes to refill her wine glass, and her heart will burst in her chest before her head can catch up with all the ways she has, and will continue to, disappoint her friend. Then she remembers Chloe, and frantically tries to focus on the game in front of her. Not exactly fighting the self loathing, but repression has always been a more immediate solution for Joan, she's self aware enough to know.

When Sam asks quietly if Joan can stay the night, she wishes for the first time that she has Chloe's ability. Not genuinely, she dreads to think of all the information she'd learn that she shouldn't, and doesn't, want to know. But she wishes she could tell Sam's motivations for wanting her there. And it's not like Chloe will give her anything.

"No, I won't." The brunette whispers when Sam disappears to the bathroom. "This dance the two of you do is none of my business, and I'm certainly not going to help you spy on each other."

"No, I'd never ask you to." She says, but she knows her thoughts are elsewhere, knows Chloe knows that she's said too much, because they don't talk about the elephant in the room for the rest of the night. Even when Sam asks her why she's distracted, Joan finds she doesn't have much she can say. She finishes a bottle of wine to herself that night, and falls asleep in Sam's spare room with hope in her heart and regret on her tongue.

Sam's touches become more frequent, linger longer. They spend more and more time one on one. Joan doesn't stop listing every reason why they could never work, but she develops counter arguments to herself. She draws up a pros and cons list, stored on the inside of the cereal cupboard with boxes of wheatabix and a loaf of bread - she never has people over so it's safe from prying eyes. She updates the list as time passes; Sam expressed genuine fear of relationships when Mark left, Darwin likes me almost as much as Sam, We cannot talk about the possibility of aliens, She called me babe in the office accidentally - that last one has her still blushing when she thinks about it a week later. Like everything she does, Joan takes to obsessing over this list; it's so balanced that every entry gets a score for weighting, and it's still fairly even. She wonders if Sam does something similar; Joan knows she's taking this too far, and she's still far more impulsive than Sam.

Or maybe Sam isn't interested. Joan tries not to think about that, ignores the heartache that feels more like resignation than true sadness, and focuses on the twice a week dinner at Sam's. It crosses her mind that they probably shouldn't spend quite so much time together, they've become such a feature in each others lives.

It isn't until Sam lends Joan a dress to go to a ball of sorts - an evening spent wining and dining with the people invested in the success of their branch of the AM - that something finally clicks in her mind. They're already going to the ball together; it seemed prudent given that Sam still rarely drives if she has the choice, but Joan knocks on her door five minutes late, a hastily decided upon bouquet of red carnations, lavender and irises in the center. Her palms sweat; she hates the pause before the impact of a decision, the uncertainty in the moment. She dries her hands on her black slacks. When Sam opens the door, her face splits open in wonder, and she leans forward to kiss Joan's cheek. It's all she can do to stay standing, a hot flush spreading across her cheeks. She hands the flowers to Sam, who accepts them with a warm smile.

"I'll have to find somewhere to put these before we go, come in!" Joan does. It takes her a minute to realise that Sam doesn't actually own a vase, and the thought has her heart racing. If she's never received flowers before, is she going to know what Joan means? Sam leaves the jug with the flowers on her coffee table, the blue in the middle the brightest colour in the room, and joins her in the hallway.

"Sorry about that." She says, almost breathless. "I suppose I'll have to get a vase, won't I?" She smiles up at Joan, before glancing away, cheeks pink.

"Yes, sorry, I didn't think- that is, I didn't know you wouldn't have one." Sam takes her arm as they leave the house.

"Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?" Her heart in her throat, and her tongue made of lead, it takes her a second to form a reasonable answer.

"It felt like I should." She replies finally. The tip of her tongue burns with the weight behind her words, and she hopes Sam can tell.

The ball is good, Joan supposes. Outside of explaining a new research concept or two to the suits from DC, the pairs keeps to their own band of representatives and, mostly, to each other. Music drifts through the air like a warm breeze, and she's more than a little tipsy where she'd caught a glimpse of Ellie and prepared for a conversation, but the vice director keeps her distance. 

"Have I told you how nice you look?" she asks quietly, her eyes still on the room at large. 

"You have." Sam replies. "But I'm not going to tell you off if you want to again." She can hear the smile in Sam's voice, and it relaxes her. 

"You look wonderful, Sam." It doesn't feel like enough to describe the dryness of her throat when she looks at Sam in the simple green and black dress. She wonders if they look like a couple. 

"You look very nice too, Joan." Sam turns towards her, and lifts a hand to smooth out the open collar of her white shirt. "You should dress up more often." 

"The suit isn't too much?" She asks, hand twisting into her trouser pockets. It had been sitting in her wardrobe, untouched since the last AM ball she attended, half a decade ago. 

"Oh the contrary," Sam's voice lowers, like she's sharing a secret. "I think you look rather dashing." She winks a bright blue eye. Joan swears she's forgotten how to breathe. Sam's gaze is soft, and she looks at Joan like... 

"Sam, I-" 

Like Joan's her whole world. 

But Sam silences her, and leads them out of the busy room, onto a balcony. They aren't alone, but it's significantly more private. Her gut twists, and her hands are once again slick with sweat, but Sam is smiling, and though she fidgets as much as Joan does, she doesn't flicker and she doesn't leave. 

"How long have you known?" She asks instead. They lean against the marble rail that looks over the extensive hotel gardens, dotted with lanterns in flowerbeds and handing from trees. 

"How long have you?" she counters. It's not meant to be an accusation, she doesn't blame Sam for not being able to do what she was too afraid of. 

"After Mark-" Sam begins. Joan winces; she seems to recognize the poor beginning, and tries again. "When we started working together, everything got so comfortable so quickly. I didn't know how... I didn't want to rock the boat." 

"No, me either." Joan admits. "I'm still not sure how far we should take this." Se feels Sam's gaze flicker for a moment from her eyes, sees the red head swallow thickly. 

"Pretend." She says, playing with her fingertips. "Pretend for a second that we don't have a rocky history, that Mark never fit into the equation, that I was never your patient. Pretend that this is just you, and me, and whatever weird attraction has been sitting between us for months. How far would you take this?" It's the most she's ever heard Sam say without the threat of a trip hanging over her head, and Joan finds she doesn't have the capacity for lying right now. She reaches a hand to brush a red curl away from Sam's cheek, and runs her thumb across the soft skin at her neck. 

"As far as I could." she whispers, afraid her voice will break and betray her at the last minute. Sam's eyes flicker down for a second to her lips. Her chest feels so full it hurts, but there are no more nerves, theres no guilt right now. Her thoughts are quiet. Joan lowers her head, and kisses Sam. 

The night comes, several days later, where Joan is plagued with guilt once more. Her lungs fill with the feeling, she's sure she could drown in it, and be done with the never ending cycle of her thoughts. Instead of letting herself succumb to the tidal wave, Joan picks up her phone, and calls Sam. Because Sam is special enough to more than make up for Joan's inadequacy. And when her demons start on her for that, too - she shouldn't be depending on another person to fight them off, after all - she shrugs, makes them both another hot chocolate and they watch another film. They don't have to fight everything all at once; they have all the time in the world. 

[holylulusworld]

Broken memories - Part 1

Summary: Dean breaks up with Y/N. After she loses her memory of the whole last year he tries to take the chance to get her back. What happens when her memory comes back?

Pairing: former Dean x Reader, Dean x Reader, Sam, Castiel, an unnamed doctor

Warnings: language, angst, cheating (mentioned), break-up (mentioned), heartbreak, arguments, violence, sad reader, retrograde amnesia, betrayal, lies, smut, vaginal sex (unprotected), oral (female receiving), fluff, injured reader

Broken memories Masterlist

  “I found someone new,” he said. That was one year ago. No further explanation. Only that with her his hard life is easier.

You always thought you make his life easier. With a partner who is able to understand what being a hunter means, life should be easier.

You still remember that morning. Waking up next to Dean you smiled. The night before he was tender, more than tender. Normally he was rough after a hunt. Thinking about it now you should’ve been suspicious.

The smile faded slowly when Dean didn’t smile back. He sat up and said he needs to talk to you. His tone…you knew something’s off right away…and then those words left his lips.

Your feet carried you half-naked out of his room towards yours. Desperate and torn you packed your stuff while Sam tried to make you talk to him.

“Ask your brother,” was all you said.

Sam asked his brother and gave him a black eye, followed by a bloody nose.

You still have contact with Sam and Castiel.

Cas is always worried about you. Checking on you every time he can sneak out. Sam is the same. You met him last week. He never talks about Dean as you asked him not to mention him.

Shaking the hurting memories away you smile at the bartender. The next case is solved and you try to relax. It’s hard to relax with those memories haunting you almost every night.

Five years and he gave you the boot for a younger and ‘funnier’ version of yourself. She was able to have fun. No package, no scars on her soul, easy to be funny, happy whatever...

Scolding yourself you leave the bar. The gentle breeze makes you shiver.

Crossing the street you answer your phone. Sam is calling again. He wants to meet up with you in your motel. Smiling you talk to him until the car hits you.

 -----

Four hours later…          

“Y/N? Y/N?” Castiel asks worriedly.

“Castiel? What happened? Why am I in a hospital? The last thing I remember was that Dean and I cleaned out the vamps nest…but I didn’t get hurt.”

“Vamps nest? That was over a year ago, Y/N.” Sam stammers panicked.

“One year ago? But that’s impossible. We came back to the motel and drove home. It was a rough hunt…then nothing. What happened?”

Exchanging a look with Castiel Sam doesn’t know what to say. Is it possible you forgot the whole last year?

“I’ll get the doctor. Castiel can you try to fix her?” Sam asks.

“I can try.”

Tapping his fingers to your forehead Castiel heals your injuries.

“Can you remember now?” He asks.

“No, all I remember is driving back to the bunker and then Dean…ahem…we had…sex. I must’ve fallen asleep after that and that’s it. Nothing else.”

“Ms. Y/N/N? You can’t remember anything from the last year?” The doctor asks.

“No. Nothing. I tried to remember but I failed. Why can’t I remember?”

“Sometimes our mind tries to protect us. Did something happen within the last year?” The doctor asks Sam.

Swallowing hard he tries to find his voice. Should he tell you about the break-up in your condition? Dean regretted letting you go, but he knew he could never win you over again.

“No, nothing happened.” Dean rasps.

“Dean? What are you doing here?” Sam grunts.

“She’s my girl after all, Sammy.”

“I called him, Sam,” Castiel admits. “I told him about her condition so he can explain to her what happened last year.”

“Now you are scaring me,” you whine. “Did something happen? What did happen?”

Sobbing you look at Dean, Sam and then at Castiel. Castiel can sense your fear and desperation.

“Nothing happened, Y/N.” Castiel lies.

Inhaling sharply Sam stare at Castiel in disbelieve. “Cas?” He whispers.

“We can’t tell her. Not in her weak condition.” Castiel whispers in Sam’s ear.

“Well, when can I bring my girl home?” Dean asks.

“She should stay for a few more days. Maybe she remembers in a few days.” The doctor says before leaving the room.

“Good, we should let Y/N rest a bit,” Dean says smiling before kissing your forehead softly.”

----

“What was that, Dean?” Sam grunts.

“Nothing. I got a second chance and I took it.”

“Dean, she will remember sooner or later. Do you really want her to hate you even more?”

“What if she never remembers? We could be happy again,” Dean snaps back.

“You could have been happy the last year too, Dean. You decided to break up with her for a random chick.”

“I broke up with Lindsey a few weeks later and you know that!”

“Really? That’s your excuse? You broke up with Y/N, fucked a random slut for weeks and then you decided you want her back!”

“But she never answered my calls…I miss her!”

“I don’t care! You won’t hurt her again Dean.”

“Sam, maybe we should play along for a few days. Y/N will remember soon. Until then we shouldn’t make her life harder,” Castiel suggests.

“Cas, she will hate all of us! We can’t do this to her!”

“We can, if you play along too,” Dean says.

“No way, never!” Sam yells now.

“Then I’ve got no other choice,” Castiel says tapping Sam’s forehead.

Feeling dizzy Sam looks around the hospital floor. Rubbing his forehead he tries to remember why he feels so angry.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

“Yeah. We should pack Y/N stuff. Your girlfriend needs her clothes. We shouldn’t have agreed to let her hunt alone this time,” Sam mutters walking ahead.

“Why are you helping me, Cas?” Dean whispers.

“Y/N and you are meant to be. You messed up, now I have to fix what you broke, Dean. I’m not doing this for you; I’m doing this for Y/N and the future. Don’t think I’m on your side. I’m not. I rather would’ve given Y/N her memories back. I hate betraying her.”

“I won’t mess up this time Castiel, I swear I’ll make her happy,” Dean stammers.

“If not I’ll kill you and make it look like an accident,” Castiel warns completely serious.

----

Four weeks later…

You still don't remember what happened last year. There's something in Dean's eyes…guilt? Shame? You can't quite put a finger on it but you know that Cas and Dean are hiding something from you.

Sam changed his behavior, in the hospital room you had the feeling he wanted to tell you something but now he seems calm and relaxed…too calm.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

"Yeah. Just tried to focus to help my brain as the doctor suggested. But nothing seems to work." Sighing you look up at Dean.

“How about watching a movie?”

“Sure.”

After you could leave the hospital Dean never tried to touch you, except a quick kiss he keeps his distance. Telling yourself it's nothing you follow him into his room.

Why can’t you shove the nagging feeling away? The feeling that something bad happened within the last year?

An arm slung around your shoulders Dean holds you tight against his warm body. Smiling he hates himself for hurting you. He can only hope you never remember what he did last year.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too Dean.”

“When I almost lost you I…please never leave me, Y/N,” Dean begs and you wonder. You never left him…why is he thinking you would leave him?

"I won't leave you, Dean. Never."

Humming he holds you even tighter. Giggling you feel his cock hardening against your knee.

“Are you turned on, Winchester?”

“Sorry…having you so close makes me feel ‘happy’.”

“Hmm…maybe we should make you even happier?”

"Uh…I…maybe we should wait a bit longer, to let you recover…"

“No, I want you. I feel like I haven’t had sex for a year or so…I want you, D’…now.”

“Fuck it,” Dean mutters.

Flipping you over he starts kissing your roughly. God, he almost eats you alive. His tongue is demanding, invading your mouth he dominates your tongue. Rough hands start roaming your body, they seem to be everywhere at once.

Moaning you let him unbuttoning your flannel (well his) to reveal your body to him. Sitting up you shove his shirt upwards. Tossing the flannel and his shirt aside he groans at the side of your bare chest.

"What? You know my breasts, Dean." You giggle. Unbuckling his belt you wonder. Dean is looking at you as if he hasn't seen you naked for a while.

Shoving one hand into his pants you start stroking his cock. Dean’s eyes are closed and a low moan leaves his sinful mouth.

“Let me make you feel good. Tonight is all about you,” he rasps and you freeze. Those are the same words he used that night. The last night you remember.

“Make me feel good D’,” you whimper.

His hands pushing you down. Dean is hovering over you to kiss down your neck. You are busy stroking his back and wrapping your legs around his waist. Slowly grinding against him you enjoy the friction.

Chuckling Dean starts kissing down your chest. Sucking your nipples into his mouth he bucks his hips against your core.

“More, Dean. I want more.”

Obeying he kisses down your body until he stops in front of your mound. For a moment he hesitates. What if you remember and hate him for lying?

Shaking the thoughts away he drags your panties down. Your legs fall open for him and this time he doesn’t hesitate. Diving in Dean starts licking through your wet folds. His thick and long tongue circles around your clit before he wraps his plump lip around your little nub.

Sucking and biting he makes you scream in pleasure. Dean is relentless, not stopping he eats you out like an animal. Tugging at his hair you fall over the edge. His lips won’t stop pleasuring you, still kissing and sucking at your clit Dean brings you through your high.

“God, you’re so good at making me fall apart,” you say laughing.

“Yeah, still know how to make you sing,” Dean rasps and you wonder.

“Come up here and make me sing some more,” is your answer.

His clothes fly somewhere on the floor before his back at you. Wrapping your legs back around his waist he enters you with one swift motion.

Watching Dean’s face you see adoration but there’s more…guilt…again? Why should he feel guilty? Maybe you imagine things?

Dean’s arms move around your back, pressing your body to his he starts moving. Slow and even he thrusts into you. He’s making love to you, without a doubt.

Kissing you softly he holds you tight. Your arms are slung around his back and your hips move in sync with his.

“Dean…harder!” You order and he obeys.

Pounding into you he doesn't take his eyes off you. Biting your lower lip you hold tight onto Dean. Brushing over the secret spot inside of you he makes your walls flutter. The coal is about to snap when you start feeling a bit dizzy.

Your nails bite into his back while Dean gets even faster. Fucking into you with quick and hard thrusts he pushes you over the edge. Screaming his name you still move with him. His green eyes are filled with tears. Right when he comes inside of you an imagine pops up into your mind.

Dean … he tells you he found someone else. Gasping you try to focus…you see your tears…you feel the heartbreak…you left…Sam called…the car hit you…the driver…it was the girl he left you for…

Letting the tears fall you stare up at Dean, seeing the tears he knows…he knows right away.

“You lied…Castiel lied…you broke up with me for her…she tried…the car…it was her…you lied…Why did you lie?”

Not answering Dean starts shaking. His arms tighten around you, not letting you go he presses his body against yours.

“I…please I missed you. I need you, Y/N.”

“No, you left me for her. Let go of me! Get off me!”

“I can’t…I can’t let you go.”

“I’ll go…let go off me!”

“CAS!” Dean yells.

Popping up next to the bed Castiel turns crimson. Covering his eyes he doesn’t know what to do.

"Cas…she remembers. She wants to leave. Please, Cas…"

Sighing Castiel taps your forehead to let you forget the last year again. This time you won’t be able to remember.

"I could help you with that. Your guilt, on the other hand, is your problem, Dean…" Castiel says leaving the room. He can’t let you go...

The future of the world depends on you and Dean...no one else will be able to stop what will come...

Part II

Forever Tags

@donnaintx, @screechingartisancashbailiff, @fallen-wolf22 , @curly-haired-disaster, @sister-winchesters99, @mogaruke, @the-is13, @helloitsmeamie203, @strayrosesbloom , @thewinchesterco , @hobby27, @kittycatlover18,   @gh0stgurl , @marvelfansworld , @sandlee44, @hawaiianohana15, @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt​, @katpatrova17​, @notyourtypicalrose , @heyitscam99, @onethingthatkeepsmealive, @natura1phenomenon​, @flamencodiva

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags

@spnfamily-thewinchesters​, @love-my-not-natural-babies​, @supernatural-bellawinchester​, @butifulsoul125​, @lyinginthegingerlocks​, @mirandaaustin93​, @hawaiianohana15​, @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester, @20gayneen

[fredheads]

i’m only good at being bad, bad

read on ao3

a/n: believe it or not i'm not trying to "justify" gladys' actions or make her "likeable" or help people understand her i just like reading women ranting about how much they hate their husbands sometimes and i thought other people might! gladys loves being bad, bitches!

inspired by @fredsythe

Gladys Jones was a woman without morals, and she liked it that way.

Morals did little for her but slow her down. Once you got smart enough, you didn’t need anyone else’s judgement on right and wrong, and God knew she’d had enough of other people’s judgement for a lifetime. Gladys wrote her own rules and lived by her own code. Hers. No one else had a say: not this town, not the law, not her dipshit of a husband. Not anymore.

Fred Andrews had morals, that was true. He was one of the good ones - one of the very, very few good ones. She’d known him since they were kids and she still marvelled at his stubborn commitment to good. She was glad she’d made him Jellybean’s godfather. On the off chance that anything happened to wipe her out early, Jellybean would grow up nice and sweet and normal. That was a big If, though. Gladys had no intention of dipping out early.

Gladys owned this fucking town.

The gold rays of the early-evening sun hit her skin as she coasts along the outskirts of Riverdale in Reggie Mantle’s borrowed car. It was a nice piece of machinery - purred under her thighs like a happy kitten. The new car smell was still on it. She flips her shades down, shakes her hair out in the breeze from the open window. Her arm dangles out the driver’s side as she holds the wheel with one hand, warm from the sun.

She’d sworn once that she’d never come back. She’d sworn it again after she’d walked out on her drunk of a husband, packed the family car, and laughed all the way to Ohio. She’d hated the whole stinking town since she was in middle school, and yet, here she was. Chances are everyone here had a similar story: dreams of leaving that fell through. Riverdale was a place you were born dying to get away from.

Gladys had said fuck that. Gladys had made this shithole work for her. It was about time she’d got what it owed her.

While everyone else scurried around the streets of her hometown like rats in a maze, Gladys had been laying her traps. A thread here, a thread there, child’s play, really, but she was careful. No mistakes. One day soon, she’d blow the fuse.

The fact that she was taking the whole town down with her was a kind of poetic justice. After all the time she’d suffered at its hands she’d be the one to suck it dry. Honestly, the stupid place was begging for it. Riverdale had sat there like a ripe peach after the Clifford Blossom fiasco, caving in from the inside. Waiting for someone smart enough to come along and turn water into gold.

Waiting for her.

If all went according to plan, the leeching of Riverdale would set her and her daughter up for life. Jughead too, if he wanted it - she’d leave him something regardless and let him take it or leave it. She loved the kid to bits, no matter how much of a pain in the ass he’d turned out to be. But she had a feeling about him, and her feelings were rarely wrong. He was too deep in his father’s pretty stories. Too righteous, too moralistic to let her get away with her due. Gladys didn’t have time to grovel at a teenager’s feet. When he was older, maybe he’d understand. For now, it was her and J.B. It was better that way.

The house on Elm Street was a nice idea, but it would never last. She knew that now. Gladys had done her time playing Suburban Dreamhouse. FP hadn’t known a good thing when he had it, so now, here they were. He had it coming, as they say in showbiz. He only had himself to blame.

Her lowlife husband was never born to be a criminal. A drunk, maybe, a lazy pickpocket, but not a criminal. FP hated the place too, but didn’t have the foresight to think outside of the city limits, had lowly little small-town aspirations - a house on the nice side of town, a 9-5 job. Since they were kids, he’d pinned all his misery on the south end of town, the fact that he was born on the wrong side of the tracks. FP wanted to cross the tracks and settle down and that was it.

She’d thought it was cute, once. She’d thought a lot of things about her husband were cute. She’d been soft on him, and that was her downfall, she supposes. The moment he’d walked into the Whyte Wyrm in his letterman jacket, sticking out like a billboard, and she’d given the idiot a cursory once-over and thought to herself, almost incidentally: he’s cute.

And then he wasn’t cute. And then he was very, very far from cute, and then he was so repulsive she hated the sight of him. Sometimes, lately, a nagging affection came back like a disease, the most fleeting of fondness for his messy morning hair or his earnest attempt at wooing her again - but she shut those thoughts down as soon as they arrived. Gladys was made of sterner stuff now, and she had FP to thank for her thick skin. She was done with his drinking, lying, cheating ass, and she was done for good.

Even in these rare moments of tenderness, there was no guilt. None. FP would take the fall for all of it, and be too stupid to realize what was happening until she was long gone. That made her happy. FP had coasted through their life together for too long, thinking he could do whatever the hell he wanted and get away without punishment. It was high time for some karmic payback.

Gladys Jones could play God.

Fred Andrews had morals, but he was no sheep: he decided right from wrong and he upheld it. Gladys was just as staunchly wedded to being a bad guy: she was deep in her badness and she loved it. FP was weaker stuff - he waffled from one to the other and still expected to be praised. Still expected to come out on top.

But FP had never been a winner. Gladys was the winner. At least she had been up until she married him.

She runs through the plan again, all her moving pieces. Diligence, that was what she taught her daughter. Be diligent, but have fun with it. Be whatever the hell you wanted to be, but be smart about it.

FP was stupid. Had always been stupid, and after a while, he’d dragged her down into his stupidity with him. Gladys Cohen had been in charge of her own future. Gladys Jones was a stupid woman with the same deadbeat husband waiting at home for her that every other stupid woman had. Innocent women who had made one miscalculation and ended up married to shit. Her mother had been in that position once. Hell, so had his. There were a lot more good women than there were good men in the world.

He’d trapped her into a life she’d never wanted, and then he’d whined that it was her fault. After she’d done nothing but bend to his every whim the entire time they were married, always cleaning up his messes and wiping his hands clean.

FP had wanted a house, so she’d played housewife. Then they’d lost the house, because FP had lost his job, and she’d packed and stored and sold everything they owned that didn’t fit in a crappy little double-wide a stone’s throw from where they’d grown up on the shit side of town. And still, he whined. Still, everything was unfair to him, everything was someone else’s fault. Fred’s. His father’s. Her’s.

She’d thought maybe it would be the kick he needed. Landing on his ass in the trailer park he’d grown up in would force him to look long and hard in the mirror, maybe pull his act together enough to fix things with Fred. Or else they’d lean on one another, maybe rob a liquor store or two outside of town, fuck in the getaway car, like in the old days. But instead, he’d slumped into booze, spending days in a slack-jawed stupor in front of the TV. Forgetting about Jughead’s science fair. Forgetting to pick up Jellybean from a sleepover. Forgetting everything, in fact, except that night’s football scores.

Then causing scene after scene in public. Passing out on the front lawn. Starting fights and breaking dishes. Crying whiskey breath against her neck at night, asking over and over for forgiveness. Refusing to go to the A.A meetings. Scaring their children half to death. Whining when she asked for the simplest of courtesies like she was some nagging housewife that had to learn her place. Coming home later and later until he stopped bothering to come home at all.

And the whole time the sex was horrific. And she looked like the fool.

Well, Gladys Jones held grudges.

Then she’d learned from Archie in Toledo that FP and Fred were on speaking terms again. That her husband had a job again, was going to meetings, was working on himself. It had sounded too good to be true. Sure enough, she’d come home and found out he was fucking a cult-deranged Alice Cooper on their marriage sheets.

So. He had it coming.

A shotgun to the head would be too good for him. No. She had to watch him unwind. She’d designed this game, and she’d designed it to hurt. Hurt him the way he’d hurt her with his insolence, his brain-numbing stupidity. Time and time again she’d almost caved, convinced herself that she could forgive him, but this was the final nail in the coffin. This one was punishable by death.

If it was Fred, it would have been different. She, FP, and Fred had always had an arrangement that worked. But Alice, in addition to being a slap in the face, was Gladys’ own sloppy seconds. God, it made her fingers itch. And yet she had no doubt that they both disparaged her, had decided that she was to blame. Probably talked shit about her, curled up in her mother’s bedsheets, on a trashy trailer-park mattress. Both of them not knowing how good they’d almost had it.

She parks the car across two spots and gets out, the engine still humming. Her high-heeled boots snap like gunshots on the concrete steps as she lets herself into the diner.

“Slice of cherry pie, Pop.” He leaves a strawberry milkshake on the counter as he moves to get her pie, bound for a table near the window, and she eyes it as she slaps a few bills on the counter. It’s the same rush she got in high school after pinching money out of the tip jar at the Wyrm - it wasn’t her money to worry about. She could order whatever the hell she wanted.

Her eye lands on an occupied booth across the diner as she nibbles on the cherry she’d pinched off the milkshake. With a decisive toss of her head, she saunters up to the dark-haired students.

She dangles the keys at Reggie Mantle. “Brought your car back.” He reaches for the keys and she pulls them away. “I still need a ride home.”

He just nods. A little scared of her, but mostly respectful - and that was how she wanted it. She wasn’t interested in terrorizing kids, just teaching them who was boss. Teaching them what was possible. Pop drops off her pie and she stabs it with the fork.

Self-respect, that was what FP was lacking. Alice Cooper had even less, by the sound of it. She’d have put him through this anyway, but it just gave her that little extra push to make him suffer. Once it all went south, FP’s stupid ass would have a decision to make. He could go cry to Alice and land on his ass. Or he could go seek comfort from anyone else and end up the same way. No favours for FP Jones. Not ever again. Oh, it was going to be fun. She was having fun already.

Gladys spears a mouthful of her pie and grins. It was good. Best pie in town.

Or maybe everything tasted good when your husband was about to get what was coming to him.