#i love drawing lots of curling and waving lines and tendrils

[katkalis-the-horror-fanartist]

Well, since you're open to requests...I'd REEAALLYY love to see 42 doppel in your style. Thank you in advance!

So damn mysterious, this one...

I'm honestly SUPER unsure on any sure fan design for his doppelganger too.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

You Can Be The Boss

Summary- 2.2k Mob!Steve x You x Mob!Bucky. Business Deals are done in the club most nights over liquor, drugs and you. Tonight is just like any other. You leave the stage to join your men while they deal with an ongoing issue.  Warnings- Sexual themes, smut, weapon use, drug use, threats, swears. This is an 18+ Only Blog. Written for @donutloverxo​ 4k Challenge. 

A/N- I would love to write more for this trio. Lyrics in the beginning and title taken by Lana Del Rey’s You Can Be The Boss. 

Owned Sinfully Sweet Masterlist

You can be the boss, daddy You can be the boss Bad to the bone, sick as a dog You know that I like, like you a lot Don't let it stop...

The cold steel of the pole easily slicked along your heated thighs as you spun around it, your head tipping back as the rush of the club's sultry lights turned into blurs will you easily landed on your toes. 

Of course eager men awaited at the edge of the landing, wanting a mere glance of interest from you as you worked your curves under the stage lights. Sensuous sways back and forth as the unforgiving lights created beads of sweat to roll down your back and past your bare flexing shoulder blades. 

They flashed dollar bills like you should be crawling to them, pursing your lips in a pout and begging them to stuff your panties and bra with the filth. Little did they know you were here out of sheer joy. Hooking your leg once more and pulling yourself up, a siren at her craft as you contorted your body to the pole, defying gravity with your spins. 

Casually you danced across to the end, the crowd parting easily as you eased from the stage, hungry starved men still hovered, but never quite reached out to graze you, although if you gave them the go ahead they would swarm like hungry Jackals. 

Starving blood thirsty jackals. But you were a lioness and your men ruled here, waiting for you like devils at the end of your walk, they would easily kill any that came near you. 

Your gaze lifted to them, Steve lounging back against his seat, cigar laced between his fingers as drifts of smoke curled around gold ring clad fingers, up around his face where tendrils of smoke caught in his hair before dissipating. The smoke couldn't curb the hungry blue eyes that watched you in your glittery sparse outfit making its way towards him. 

Next to him sat your other companion, in his hand expensive crystal swaying amber color liquor pooled at the bottom of the glass, the liquor would make his lips intoxicating, darts of his tongue catching the droplets and curling wickedly in greeting when he caught sight of you, Bucky was unashamed at the way he shifted in his seat, patting his thick thigh for you to perch on. 

Easing into his lap, your arm locked around his neck so fingers could run through the short crisps at the back of his head, manicured nails making him groan appreciative with a tilt of his head catching your mouth with his. 

Just as you knew it tasted of rich dirty money, your tongue lapping through the brandy and coke lacing his mouth while he took you apart. A hand grasping your ass and flexing the muscle, sure to show those hungry bystanders that you were theirs. 

Steve nearby tilted his head back to inhale his cigar and let it swirl above him before sticking the smokey cigar in a nearby ashtray. You glanced up at him from where you were nipping on Bucky's lip and he reached to pick up a tiny pill and held it up for you. Bucky yanked you away, muttering in your ear. 

“Stick that tongue out Doll.” Which you obediently did and Steve stuck the pill on your tongue, and you let it roll on your tongue for Steve before tipping your head back to swallow, meanwhile Steve’s thumb traced your lip, winking at you. 

“Such a good girl.” He praised while Bucky lifted you off his lap so you could go to Steve, his arm circling around your waist while you settled in against his chest, turning now to the guest at your table. Your eyes roamed him up and down before tilting your head to kiss Steve’s cheek, purring at him. 

“Say hi to the Chief of Police Doll.” Bucky leaned forward with a smirk, his hand possessively on your thigh dangling over Steve’s lap. You were still nuzzling Steve’s cheek before turning to your guest and swirling your fingers at him with a small grin. 

“Pretty isn't she, our Doll?” Steve trailed fingers along your collarbone and dipped into your cleavage, the chief’s eyes following with a lust filled drugged haze. Steve's hand went to your throat, his thumb stroking along your pulse as the cold rings of his bit into your skin. On instinct you purred again, tilting your head to him so he could kiss you slowly, this kiss was different from Bucky’s. More demanding, drawing out little mewls of need and his hand pressed against your hip to rock you in his lap till you settled your ass cheeks against his hard on. 

“Do you want to try her out?” Bucky cocked his head with his signature grin, his hand sweeping up your thigh to cup your mound under your dress, stroking his fingers through your panties. You tilted your head back while Steve nipped at your neck before he tilted back to watch you rotate your hips to meet Bucky's fingers. “She’s excellent, aren't you baby?” Bucky asked and you whimpered in response, pulling at your bottom lip as Bucky dipped beyond your panties stroking your folds. 

The Chief stuttered from across the table, his eyes wide in shock at seeing the Mobsters offering you up to him. “I-I can’t, she is yours and I wouldn’t ever want to cross that line.” 

Steve patted your ass. “Go on Doll.” He insisted and you moved to a stand, hooded eyes roaming the Chief as you made your way beyond the table, your fingers trailing his shoulder while giving a pout to luscious red lips. 

“Am I not pretty enough Sir?” 

He sputtered again, holding his hands up and looking warily over at Steve and Bucky, who both were watching intently, waiting. 

“No Dear, your stunning.” He tried to assure you while going back to Bucky and Steve. “I can't, she's your girl.” He said firmly and you leaned in close, running your nose over the shell of his ear, whispering softly in his ear. His fear dripped like a poison in the air, feeding your men from across the table while they admired you working. 

“You really think refusing their gift will save you Chief?” You bit on his lobe before pulling away, Bucky holding out his hand to tug you back into his lap. Steve glowered with a snarl, reaching in his suit to pull out his glock and set it on the table in front of him before picking up his cigar and dragging from it. 

“You refuse our gift, yet you feel like you can just take our warehouse in a raid?” Steve snapped out and you arched a brow at the Chief who was breaking out in a sweat. 

“I warned you ahead of time that the precinct was getting interested over that location.” The Chief tried defending himself, his hand slamming down on the table in agitation at the situation. 

You tutted while Bucky shook his head, pulling out his own blade from his suit, letting it dance in his hand lazily. “And we told you to handle it Chief. You have been paid well by us, we don’t fuck with your men, they stay away from us. Yet now we're out of a warehouse with all its goods. Not good business.” 

“Not good business indeed.” Steve said darkly and the Chief turned red in anger at their accusations. 

“I keep most of your shit under the radar, I warn you every time there is an upcoming bust in your area. I can't control everything, SHIT. I have people I work for. If i'm caught, I can do some real time.” 

Steve now just looked amused at the Chief, you stroked Bucky's cheek while the blade spun faster in his hold. 

“You think that matters to us?” Steve scoffed and Bucky flicked his wrist so that the blade flew across the table and planted in the man's shoulder before he could escape, making him gasp in surprise while Steve pushed to a stand, grabbing the glock and shoving it in the Chiefs gaping mouth, the barrel snapping against his teeth and pushing to the back of his throat, making him squeal in fear and pain, his hands going from trying to pull out the deeply embedded knife to around the barrel shoved in his mouth while Steve clicked the safety off, making his eyes grow wider and cross eyed looking down at the weapon. 

Bucky tapped your thigh to have you stand, and he moved to approach the Chief after you lifted yourself from his lap, his hand grasping the knife and twisting. Blood curled up from the wound to tinge the air with a copper hot scent. 

“This is your last warning Chief, get this shit under control. Or you will be sporting another hole in your head, got it?” Bucky hissed while yanking out the knife, making the man sink in his seat with a pained groan, sweat and tears mixing on his face. He tried mumbling out a yes, slurred around Steve’s glock. 

“Yossss” he gagged out and Steve yanked the gun from his mouth. “YES! Yes, I promise.” 

Steve settled back down while Bucky wiped his blood stained knife against the Chief’s shirt. You slid in the booth next to Steve, your hand stroking along the inside of his thigh and palming his erection that was now raging, throbbing as you squeezed lightly, making him give you a warning look. 

You couldn't help but get turned on watching them work though, licking your lips hungrily and he grasped your chin, looking at you sternly. “Behave Doll.” 

Turning back to the Chief while Bucky sat down next to you and loped his arm over your shoulder and tucking his knife back inside his suit, Steve waved his hand. “I think we're done here, be sure to think about what we said when you go back to your family tonight.” 

The Chief fisted a nearby napkin against his shoulder to stop the blood and he grunted in pain as he got up from the table to stumble away, get out of the club as fast as possible. Bucky pulled out his phone and placed a quick call. “I want you to send a nice gift to Chief Baron’s wife, make sure to leave a nice note from Barnes and Rogers in it specifically for her and her husband.” He shoved his phone away, knowing that the gift would be an excellent reminder that the Chief’s family wasn't safe either, further incentive for him to take care of business. 

Steve reached under the table to stroke you once more as Bucky had before, leaning into you to kiss on your neck, leaving a nice sting that would blossom darker later. “Fuck you are so hot when you are working.” Steve praised while sliding a thick finger in you, the rings cold in your heat, hard metal following gentle come hither strokes that had you gasping. Bucky tilted your head to kiss you while Steve continued fingering you, adding another to scissor you open. 

“Got all wet didn't she? She loves being teased in front of others.” Bucky smirked as his tongue trailed over your mouth, chuckling darkly at the needy mewl of acknowledgment you gave them. 

“Cause she's a little slut.” Steve stated, pulling his fingers out to show your arousal dripping down his fingers and shoved them in his mouth. 

Bucky yanked you into his lap, pulling your dress up around your hips and shoved your panties aside while he pulled out his cock, making you sink onto it with a cry, he fucked into you while the music in the club picked up. Dancers mingled on the stage before their table, but Steve lounged back. The last of his cigar picked up from the ash tray and relight it while he watched you ride Bucky next to him. 

His finger crooked at one of the passing waitresses who ignored the two of you professionally. You grabbed the back of Bucky's head and started arching faster while he thrusted into you with demanding grunts, pulling down on your hips harder. “Have our car pulled around for us.” He instructed and a final cry of Bucky's name had you coming on his cock and sagging forward while he finished, leaving you dripping around him. Hiding your smile against Bucky's shoulder till he eased you to sit up again, his hands cupping your face as you gave him a blissed out smile as that little pill started to take effect. 

You couldn’t help the rush the drug and orgasm gave you, spiraling through your system in the most addictive way that made you want and crave more from them, your eyes glassy in pleasure while your body hummed happily, flexing around Bucky’s cock still filling you.  

“Starting to kick in, isn't it?” He asked, referring to what Steve had given you earlier and you nodded, tilting forward to lick over his lips with a hum of satisfaction. 

“Good, cause she started something she needs to finish in the car.” Steve chuckled while moving to a stand, holding his hand out to you. You grasped it while moving to a stand, easing off Bucky’s softening cock. He tucked himself away as Steve led you from the club and out into the night, the cool fresh air rejuvenating your senses when you inhaled deeply. 

Steve opened the door for you and you slipped into the back of the limo, he followed behind. Bucky wasn't long as he climbed in and shut the door behind him. 

“On the floor Doll, you got some work to do with that mouth, going to smear that lipstick all over with my cock and leave you ruined.” Steve demanded while the limo pulled away, the tent in his slacks evident. 

Your tongue trailed along your dark red lips as you sunk to the floor, sliding your hands up Steve's thick thighs. 

Anticipation quivered up your spine as his hand cupped around your mouth when your hands rested on his belt. 

“Make sure you get me off Doll before we get home or else.” 

You knew well what ‘Or Else’ meant, with a nod you unbuckled his belt, ready to reaffirm your place as Steve and Bucky’s Doll. 

[calpops]

falling facade | c.h.

part six: falling feelings

part one: falling flowers | part two: falling freedom | part three: falling fears | part four: falling failures | part five: falling fame

5k words

Copyright © 2020 calpops. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format (translations included).

<< >>

“What’s this?”

Calum’s attention swiftly turned from cleaning his house and getting it ready for his parents arrival to Arden. She stood in the kitchen, facing the fridge with a timid hand outreached to the door. He knew exactly what caught her attention and prompted the question. He bit back a smirk as he left the throw blanket he was folding in favor of sidling up to her, hip pressing into the cabinets and a nonchalant hand finding the cool marble of the countertops. Her fingers lingered on familiar paper and she turned to face him with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your own work,” Calum teased and let his smirk come back full force.

She let out a small giggle through her interrogation and shook her head. “Okay wise guy. Why is it on display on your fridge door?”

The paper placemat Arden had quickly drawn Calum in in red crayon and sharp lines laid under a magnet on the face of his fridge. He had fished it out of his wallet the night before, not having forgotten it in the folds but keeping it around in an attempt to remind himself of what was real. Their time at the diner was the first of many escapes. It was a comfort to know something honest and authentic stayed with him when he was forced to lie through his teeth; to fabricate stories during interviews, to pose for social media and paparazzi. It was of him and drawn by her in a moment that no one else got to share. It was theirs and theirs alone.

“Because I’m still waiting for a painting to put on the wall. I thought that’d be a good place holder and reminder,” he said and shot a pointed look at the blank living room wall; the empty space above the fireplace begging for life of lively colors and loose waves created by Arden’s hands. It was front and center. A place Calum would be able to see it from almost any position in the living area of his home. He continued in a teasing tone, “you should really get to it.”

Their conversation on the beach about the Clifford house hallway once being lined with Arden’s art only to be replaced by band accolades hadn’t escaped Calum. His request of a painting reminiscent of sunset on the beach wouldn’t go forgotten or be replaced. Arden nodded, the motion was slow and her gaze was indecisive, fingers abandoning the placemat to curl at her sides. A forced shrug lifted her shoulders.

“You know painting is just a hobby for me, right? They’re nothing special,” she said, her voice became meek and her eyes averted his gaze.

Calum was picking up on subtle queues. Her usual ability to hold eye contact faltered when anything about her life was in question. The strength of her words felt weak and weary as if there was a weight crushing her; taking away her usual eloquent articulation and animation. Calum eyed her for a moment, took a peek at the drawing on the fridge and turned back to her.

“Just a hobby,” he replied to the first half of her statement. “That you enjoy and are really good at.”

She smirked, finally looked directly at him once more and raised an eyebrow in challenge. “I also enjoy dancing while I clean and singing in the shower but I assure you I have no rhythm and am not the Clifford sibling blessed with vocal abilities. Sometimes we just do things; whether we’re good at them or not.”  

Calum didn’t know if he had the ability to challenge her further, to push her and make the strength in her voice falter again. So he changed the subject and took her mind away from replaced paintings and feelings of inadequacy and back to lighthearted teasing tones that lifted weight off the reality they were living. Just like moments in the car where their situation became a joke, Calum changed gears in hopes it would make her smile and quip back at him.

“So you won’t be singing at our wedding then,” he said with an over dramatic sigh and side eye; found that his plan rewarded him with a smile and a laugh.

“No, I’ll save that for you,” she replied and twisted the ring that Calum was becoming accustomed to seeing on her finger. The diamond was still much too gaudy and unlike her but it felt familiar and Calum was unable to picture her without it. “If you’re lucky maybe I’ll show you my dancing on our honeymoon.”

Now Calum’s cheeks were warm and tinting with a blush that spoke of the implications her words held; watched as she skipped away from him with a sarcastic laugh following her to the living room where she finished folding the abandoned throw blanket. Calum didn’t have a comeback or rebuttal though his thoughts were filled and alarm bells tried their best to ring through the haze. He shook himself, tried to blow those thoughts away and nearly jumped at the sudden knock on the door. For a moment he feared it was their parents arriving early, interrupting their plan to work out what details they would and would not share with them during their suspected inquisition. But he rationalized and realized it was Michael, he was to arrive early to be in on the details. He wasn’t sure if Michael’s arrival was better or worse.  

***

Calum’s arm found its way around Arden’s shoulder in an all too natural sense. It fit a little too perfectly, was a little too easy and normal. Eyes were on them, parents and siblings; eyes that questioned and eyes that knew but had inklings of wonder clouding them. Michael had agreed to keep up the charade though he made a point that he wouldn’t like it and they both owed him big time. Calum’s arm around Arden was all part of the act but Calum could tell Michael was pondering why it was so easy for them to pull off. He could also see the doubt in his sister’s frown and hoped the panic wasn’t so clearly written on his face. He knew he wasn’t standing with his usual confidence, posture a bit slumped and weight bearing into the cabinet behind him. But Arden eased into his side and loosely held his hand; helped to settle the nerves that simmered and sparked with their families arrival.

“What’s this?” His sister Mali asked, repeating Arden’s earlier words verbatim, touching the same place mat secured to the fridge in the same exact way.

A small grin captured the corners of Calum’s mouth. There were a lot of things he felt he wasn’t prepared to answer or could have thought out more, but Arden’s art wasn’t among them. He knew exactly what to say.

“Arden drew it. On our first date,” he offered and felt the shift of Arden moving to look up at him.

“First date?” She wondered aloud, eyes meeting and holding gazes as she arched her eyebrow in question and amusement.

“At the diner,” Calum began and blew out a breath, hand gliding down her arm as he got lost in the role; caught up in a new game where control really did land in their own hands. He offered truths veiled with something more and something less. He shifted his gaze back to Mali who was eyeing them both; sizing them and their story up. “She told me to sit still and hid it from me until it was done. I’m keeping it up until she gives me a real painting.”

Mali nodded but her eyes squinted and lips pursed for a moment. She took a few seconds to accept the truth and offer a smile before wandering off in search of Duke; past their parents congregated in the dining area. Calum let out a deep breath, all the nerves that felt on the edge of exploding calmed at his sister’s acceptance. Neither Calum or Arden moved from their position, his arm still held her close and her hand didn’t drop from its hold. If asked by Michael later it would be out of necessity. If Calum was honest with himself it’d be a source of comfort.

“Here I thought our first date was the wedding,” Arden whispered, nose twitching as she blushed a timid pink. She stayed quiet so no one else could hear her words but her eyes were wide and told Calum truths no one else would understand. “Your way we got engaged before we even started dating.”

She let out a small giggle and the sound was enough to collide with Calum’s nerves and make the slight alteration of the truth come to life and feel real. Maybe their first date was the wedding, maybe it was an escape in a run down diner, maybe it was a night under the stars during a dying party where inhibitions roamed free. Maybe they hadn’t been on a date at all. What Calum knew was whether the scenarios were real or fake there was something building within him that he couldn’t control or deny.

“We didn’t need to date before we got engaged,” Calum whispered back, eyes averting to the dining room for a split second to ensure their privacy. Their parents still lingered and made small talk; Michael did his best to act as the host. “It was love at first sight, right?”

Arden shook her head, tendrils of hair fell into her face that Calum felt comfortable enough to push back behind her ear this time. She bit her lip and pushed away from the counter their backs were pressed against; Calum worrying for a moment she was also pushing away from him, but she stayed under his arm and her hand firmly held his.

“I’ve known you most my life. I don’t think we fell in love when we were six.”

“Love at second first sight then,” he amended with a laugh; wondering if there might be some validity to that statement.

During their time in the face of the facade Calum often found himself thinking of the first night he had seen Arden again. The house party was ingrained in his memory and the subtleties of her under moonlight stayed with him in vivid flashes and familiar words. He hadn’t known it upon second first sight, not in that split second when their eyes met across the yard and she offered a recognized head nod, but it started to become apparent with backs pressed to the siding, drinks gone empty and pouty lips begging for a favor.

Calum let Arden lead him into the dining area where they were met with an unexpected outcome. Mali’s slight doubt and questioning was drowned out by the belief of their parents. The stories they fed them seemed to win them over; made them excited at the prospect of their children finding each other and falling in love. Though it was quick and unprecedented—with phone calls and circumstances that felt nothing short of suspicious—their parents were blinded by what they assumed was their children’s happiness. Happy. Proud. Excited. All of those words floated around them in a barrage of parental chatter. Calum felt the shift in Arden before he saw it; the way she stiffened against his side, her hold loosening on his hand and the shift of weight from one foot to the other and back again in a rhythmic sway of uncertainty. He wondered if it was anxiety, if the situation wasn’t okay, if there was underlying guilt brimming to the surface.

They made it through dinner, most of the time was spent in a haze that passed over Calum’s thoughts as he drifted from checking the rigid posture that captured Arden and the beaming smiles that their parents graced them with. Every intone of excitement, every near teary eyed admission of pride and pitch of happiness in their voices had Arden lurching. It was minimal and went past the others but Calum caught the subtleties; the slight twitch of her arm or the purse of her lips, the downcast gazes of shiny eyes. His own nerves had calmed but he worried for Arden. It was her want to keep up the charade but he had to wonder if her mind was changing and what that meant for the rest of the visit.

It wasn’t until after dinner when the dishes were done and everyone had split up into smaller groups that Calum sensed something was completely amiss. Arden was in the living room with Mali and her mom—he’d heard her voice just moments ago—but when he rounded the corner she was gone. Before he could ask, before he could even form the thought to ask, Mali was answering for him.

“She took Duke out,” Mali said as she stood and gestured to the sliding glass doors that lead to the backyard. Calum was quick to head over but his sister stopped him short with a low murmur and hand on his wrist. “I know management has a hand in this.”

Calum knew his surprise showed; jaw slackening and an air of disbelief leaving him at the unexpected cornering. Mali could read Calum like a book and they’d never been ones to keep secrets. She was a bit more comfortable reaching and pushing for answers than Calum was but knew when to let up. Her touch fell and she nodded out the door.

“But I know you’re doing what you think is best.”

Calum swallowed down a lump in his throat and exited the house with Mali’s parting words ringing through his mind. The yard was empty, the sun was setting low on the horizon and casting glimmering specks of light against the water in the pool. It reminded him of the sunset dancing along the beach. Of Arden in the water and his towel. Of moments that were too real to be part of the farce. She was nowhere in sight and the usual jingle of the tags on Duke's collar couldn’t be heard. He figured she must have gone to the front yard or up the street to give the old dog a good stretch and walk after dinner. He rounded the side of the house and stopped short. She sat in a familiar position; back pressed to the siding and face turned to the sky. Duke was settled in her lap and nosing his concern into her stomach. Her hands slowly pet him and Calum came to see the glint of a fallen tear tracking down her cheek.

“Arden,” he said her name softly, his own worries etched into his voice. He didn’t want to startle her but she turned to him quickly and wiped at the tear, tried to pretend it wasn’t there or that he hadn’t seen it. She was making to get up but Calum settled down beside her and she stilled. “What’s going on?”

She sighed and he heard the brokenness of her breath. The fracture between the inhale and exhale. “Pretending is just a lot harder than I thought.”

Calum’s chest tightened and his fingers curled into his palms at her response. Her voice was shaky and her hazel eyes were distant. He didn’t understand what she meant. It all seemed to be going well—their parents weren’t as probing as they thought they’d be, they weren’t disappointed in their rash decision or the way they painted the engagement; with glints of the truth and softened edges of drunken escapades.

“Why? They’re all okay with it. Happy even,” Calum offered in an attempt to soothe whatever was bothering her.

Pretending for their parents had been her idea; a request so as not to disappoint her parents with a drunken story and fake relationship. They curated pieces of the truth together and kept to their guns. It was working. But she was cracking and Calum didn’t know why.

“Did you hear them?” She asked and shook her head as Duke nuzzled in even closer, feeling her distress and wanting to offer comfort as well. “They said they’re happy… and proud. The only thing they can be proud of me for is something that’s not even real.”

Calum blanched at that statement. He felt the wind knock out of him and suddenly all the subtleties of Arden at the table began to make sense. It was his turn to shake his head, not able to grasp why she would feel that way. But the shine of her eyes and the bite of her lip spoke volumes of the sorrows she was feeling.

“They didn’t say that’s all they have to be proud of,” Calum reasoned, knowing her parents and the love and pride they had for both of their children and all of their accomplishments.

“I know,” she seemingly agreed and let out another breath. “But they didn’t say they were proud of anything else. Because there’s nothing else.”

“That’s not true,” Calum denied and knew he shouldn’t tell her her feelings were wrong or invalid but they sounded like intrusive thoughts and self doubt; something he’d struggled with himself and would’ve liked to have someone to put them into a new perspective. “You went to university, you travelled, made amazing art—there’s plenty more than us for them to be proud of.”

Arden didn’t say anything for a moment, content to take comfort in the affection Duke was showing her. Calum saw the wavering of her jaw and contemplation cut across her face. She took another few seconds to pull her thoughts together before turning to look him full on, familiar eye contact bringing her fully back to him. He preferred when their gazes didn’t break—liked the strength he could find in hazel even when the subject was delicate and breakable.

“Michael never told you why I really came to visit, did he?” She inquired and Calum realized he hadn’t even asked.

He was too caught up in getting to know her and playing the game that he forgot it all started with a visit. He forgot she had been dodgy in answering that first night at the party. He was sure there was more reasoning than missing Michael for her sudden appearance in a place she so vehemently avoided and seemingly despised.

“No,” Calum answered. “I didn’t ask either. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

Her shoulders slumped as if the weight of the story was bearing down on her at the prospect of telling the truth. Eye contact was steady as she opened up and revealed pieces of her past Calum had only been left to wonder about.

“I was supposed to be figuring things out here. Trying to get my life together and make decisions. Michael was trying to help.”

Calum nodded his understanding. There was a time when he had decisions he needed to make too; two paths unwound at the same time and no right or wrong answer had seemingly been in sight. He’d done the same, sought out his family and then listened to what was inside of him. It took time and then it was sudden, the band was the path he followed and it was a choice he had never regretted. He wanted Arden to follow a path like that too, to wherever she was seeking and find whatever she wanted in life.

“I get it. I know how difficult that can be,” he said and watched as a look of disbelief cut across her features and settled in the way she stared blankly back at him.

“How would you know?” She asked and though the question may have seemed accusatory or like he could never understand, her tone verged on begging to know if he really did and how it was possible. “You had the band. Isn’t that what you always wanted? Didn’t you just… know?”

Calum let out a small and almost sarcastic laugh and quieted when he realized Arden was serious. He realized she didn’t know the choices he faced. They weren’t exactly close during their teenage years; the formation and come up of the band had divided their worlds even more so. It was hard to think of those times, after the weeks Calum had spent with her and all the bits and pieces of their pasts coming back it pained him to think they had been so close yet so very distant from each other for years.

“I had the band and I had football. I had to choose,” he explained and caught her attention as he noted the arch of her eyebrow and the stall of her hand petting Duke.

“But you had options,” she mumbled. “Either would have been something to be proud of.”

“Neither had that certainty, the band might not have succeeded, my football career could have burnt out before it really began. I had to make a choice and then I had to take a chance.”

A breeze passed between them as Arden contemplated his honesty. The situations weren’t carbon copies of each other but they were similar enough Calum felt empathy rattling his ribcage and putting a pang of pain through his heart. The crumple of her face and the stray tear she didn’t bother to brush away left Calum breathless and wanting to reach out. He was hyper aware of everything; their parents in the house, Michael, alarm bells ringing so clearly in his mind, but drowned them out in favor of following his initial instinct. The pad of his thumb was gentle across her cheek, she didn’t say anything, didn’t flinch or question the action. His hand and heart fell as she slightly pulled away and abandoned his gaze to stare up at the night sky. She shifted and settled, sighed once more and geared up to voice her thoughts and struggles by sinking into the comfort Duke provided.

“I wish I had something more solid, something I want. All I have is half a degree and no fucking idea what I want to do with my life. I dropped out of university and travelled to ‘find myself’ but really just ran away. I have nothing that I’m good at.”

Calum was about to interject and remind her of paintings that once hung in the hallway and a place mat posted on the fridge. Her hand finding its way to his knee stopped the words from coming out and he had to wonder if that was her intention. One breath and it was gone.

“At least, nothing that I’m so passionate about that I know it’s what I want,” she said in one fell swoop and surprised Calum. “I don’t have a dream that I'm chasing. If anything I’m only trying to move out of someone’s shadow and doing a bang up job of it. Now I’m caught behind two and stuck in lies that will never end. That’s nothing to be proud of.”

Calum’s throat tightened at the unexpected honesty and turn the night had taken. Only minutes before they were surrounded by family and mindless small talk—or so Calum thought. It was about the engagement and the band and in that moment Calum realized anything to do with Arden outside of their situation hadn’t been brought up. He couldn’t imagine feeling casted into the shadows. His heart ached for her and the struggles she felt she was facing alone.

“I’m sorry for asking you to pretend with our families,” she added, head shaking slightly. “That wasn’t fair. I should just toughen up and tell them the truth. And don’t worry, I’ll tell them it’s my fault and I asked you to go along with it. You shouldn’t have to take the fall for my lies.”

She made to move as if to get up but Calum was quick to stop her; just a light touch and slight shift stalling her intent and bringing them closer. Duke was in her arms but found his way to the ground and stalked off back into the house. A belated moment and skipped heart beat gathered courage for Calum and helped words come out that he had been thinking for weeks. Words that settled in the back of his throat and burned sugary sweet.

“What if it’s not all pretend?”

“What?” Arden was quick to respond and panic—the fear that captured her eyes was unsettling. “Calum, what do you mean?”

She was poised and waiting for his answer as his mind went into chaos. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face everything that came with his own truth but the words came out too soon to stop them. His thoughts were tangled now, fleeting visions of real moments dancing around his mind.

“That we’ve been real… with each other. All those moments away from it all. Those were real. Weren’t they?”

They were real to him—and so were the feelings that followed and defined those moments. The alarm bells rang in full force as she tilted her head and the minimal distance between them felt craterous and minuscule all at once. Peaches invaded his senses and the taste of sugar was just a breath away but it was blown away by approaching footsteps. Arden moved away on instinct and Calum wondered if alarm bells rang in her mind as well. She settled back on the grass just in time for Michael to round the corner and come into view with his arms crossed and a ghost of a smirk disappearing from his face. Calum and Arden both looked up at him in silence and waited for him to speak first.

“Everyone was wondering where you guys wandered off to,” he began and then shot a pointed look at his sister. “Mum and Joy are talking about wedding dresses. Told them I’d find you, they thought you wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“Right, thanks for the heads up,” Arden said around a sigh and began to stand.

She shot Calum a glance as Michael began to lead her back to the house. Calum was quick to get up and follow her into the conversation of possible bridal styles and centerpieces. Duke had found his way to his usual perch on the couch and perked up when Calum and Arden walked in. Calum took up Arden’s side as she broke into the discussion by clearing her throat to announce her presence. The mothers turned to look at her; eyes alight with wedding wonder and idle chit chat being broken.

“I don’t know how to say this,” Arden began and Calum’s stomach sank as he realized the truth was verging on her lips. His hand reached out for hers, in solidarity, to show that he would stand beside her no matter what she decided. They could weather the storm better together than stranded and alone.  “But Calum and I aren’t getting married.”

Instant regret flooded Arden��s eyes as the room fell silent and shock hung thick within the air. She tensed against his side and turned to look at him with a pleading expression that Calum could only interpret as reversing the statement and making the visible disappointment and heartache vanish from the room. He hoped it was what she wanted.

“Not yet, anyway. We rushed the engagement, clearly. We don’t want to rush the wedding too. We want to enjoy some time together without the pressure of planning. We’ll let you guys know when we’re ready for that,” Calum jumped in smoothly as he watched the panic disperse from Arden’s eyes and felt the appreciative squeeze of his hand—a signal and a thank you that reassured him his hope was correct.

Everyone simmered at his explanation; they called Arden’s statement complete theatrics and not a funny joke though they were laughing, Calum guessed it was more so in relief than in good jest. Michael was the only one who didn’t wear a reaction so clearly on his face, just an arch of a questioning eyebrow at the initial honesty of Arden he hadn’t been privy to. Calum knew some explaining to Michael was due—and that Mali wouldn’t be so easily satiated with the on the fly explanation he had come up with.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur of nerves that kept both Calum and Arden on their toes. They tried their bests to remember the odds and ends of what had already been said. Mali pulled Calum aside for a moment as the night was dying down and a bite of fear coursed through him as he knew her suspicions were sharp and came with merit.

“I still don’t know what’s really going on,” she began and offered a sympathetic smile that helped to calm his nerves. “But I can tell there’s something real there. Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see either of you ending up hurt. Especially not by each other.”

Calum took her words for all they were worth but only slightly nodded to show he had been listening. He still couldn’t manage to give her the answers she was seeking but the nod acted as much more than a method to show he was listening. He understood. He confirmed. He agreed. The last thing he wanted was for this entire situation to end with hurting hearts.

The hole of lies and half truths they were falling into was being dug deeper and deeper; no landing was in sight. He swept the room as everyone prepared to leave or settle in for the night and his stare landed back on Arden who hadn’t peeled her eyes away from him since his saving moment. It took one look to realize that falling was okay, as long as it was with her. As long as it was real. Calum had started to speak his truth to her and now he could only hope that all of the falling feelings that consumed him were somewhere within her as well.

<< >>

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[jinxvrse]

SALT CIRCLES

— in which the jinx dorm has a little infestation problem

characters / the jinx ensemble, han seoyeon

words / 4.1k

warnings / none — if i missed any please let me know!

“My friend is coming over soon, she knows what to do.” Yue had finally put her phone down for perhaps the first time in the last thirty five minutes.

“How odd,” Blue commented, Yue pretended not to hear it.

“So before whoever that is comes over can we go over what exactly is happening again because I’m having some trouble really understanding this whole thing.” Jiyoon’s anger was visible in her voice, fists bunched with a face nearly a redder shade than her ginger hair.

Rosie just swallowed the heavy lump in her throat, mostly scared that that thing was going to appear over her head again and swipe her into whatever land it came from.

“Isn’t it simple? Roro summoned a demon and now our lives could possibly be endangered.” Miran’s smile told Rosie everything she needed to know about her thoughts on the situation, her happy-go-lucky tone was the bigger tell despite her grim words.

Miran was most certainly excited about the prospect of something supernatural going on in their dorm, no matter how dangerous the idea of it was. She was always a fanatic for this type of stuff so it was no surprise to Rosie or any of the others that she couldn’t care less about the ‘could possibly kill us all’ aspect of this.

“It's actually not that simple but I don’t know the acute details of what Rosie did.” Yue spoke up, her voice still as monotone as ever.

“Oh and how do you know so much about all this freaky stuff? In fact it was your ‘thing’ she was using to get it to come here in the first place.” Jiyoon was surely irritated but back talking to Yue was something many people were too afraid to do.

The other girls bit their cheeks upon the interaction, the atmosphere of the room proving far too tense for the five of them. They watched in anticipation for Yue’s next moves, wondering if she’d stay calm this time or match Jiyoon’s anger, maybe more.

“Don’t misplace your anger with me, Kim Jiyoon.” Yue’s voice never changed, although anyone could note the venom sitting behind her words. “Believe me, I know a lot more than you do and you should just trust me and my friend on this one.”

The room eased a little without the threat of a potential fight happening right there in their living room but the situation at hand was far too distracting for them to completely calm down. With Blue curled up in a corner, Rosie and Miran attached to each other by the hip and Yue and Jiyoon standing far from each other in different corners of their room a painfully long silence would be overtaking the group before the mystery friend would come and deal with the issue.

It would be another thirty five minutes before Yue’s friend buzzed into their apartment. Each girl was eager to see who this person was, sitting on the very edge of their seats to see who would walk through the door. However, it was their surprise when a woman roughly the same age as them appeared behind Yue and not some wizened old crone who knew years of ‘demonology’ there to fight the demon away.

“This is Han Seoyeon,” Yue nearly shoved the girl inside the apartment, “and she is going to solve all our problems.” The rest of them greeted her with awkward and unenthusiastic waves.

Seoyeon had bright red hair, almost redder than the t-shirt Rosie had on. Both her arms were decorated with tattoos, some in colour and some just linework, but she was illustrated like a high school desk with drawings of crystals and flowers. One tattoo stood out the most to Rosie, a detailed bright purple amethyst drawn on Seoyeon’s left arm, just looking at it calmed her down almost to a point where she worried no more about the imminent threat living under her bed.

“What does Seoyeon do?” Blue put on a smile for the girl, trying her best not to appear antsy for their house guest.

Seoyeon returned Blue’s smile with one of her own, her pearly white teeth grinning back at the girl. “Officially I’m a bartender at a place in Hongdae, unofficially I’m a witch.”

Jiyoon let out a pained laugh, clamping her hand to her mouth out of feigned politeness. “I’m sorry, you want me to believe that witches are real?”

“And you’ll believe a spirit’s living in your house? I’m used to skeptics but it’s especially funny coming from someone who appears to be haunted from the energy I’m feeling here.” Seoyeon’s smile never faltered, there was a specific confidence that she emanated and it definitely inspired Rosie in ways she never thought she could feel.

“What? Do you need to see it in action to believe it?” Seoyeon found a seat at one of the dining table chairs, taking it as though it were her throne with her legs crossed and a hand coming to lean against her chin.

“You, Jiyoon, are feeling anxious above all but you’re hiding it behind anger because what if this thing really does kill you and you can’t protect Yoonsung and Jiah, your little siblings, right?” A smirk painted her pretty face when she saw Jiyoon contort in confusion.

“H-How do you know their names?” Jiyoon could barely utter out her sentence, this was probably the first time any of them had seen her lost for words in years.

“I’m a psychic, not a powerful one but I can find out a few things about someone if I focus hard enough.” The redhead tapped at her forehead, signalling a third eye. Rosie might actually believe one would appear in a matter of seconds but her forehead remained eye-free.

Miran let out a light giggle at seeing Jiyoon so dumbstruck, immediately pulling herself together with a serious expression once she caught Jiyoon staring her down.

“Now will you let me do my job?” Seoyeon stood up again, her head held high and her eyes scanning the room around her.

The girls had no qualms about anything she had to say anymore, they had just about seen and heard everything they needed to believe they were in this predicament and there was no reason to not let her carry out her investigation. Despite this they were still seemingly surprised when they watched as Seoyeon started to do her thing.

Little tendrils of pink and green fluttered through Seoyeon’s fingers, the distinct smell of burnt sugar surrounding the girls and filling up the room. The feeling was light on her palms, like fire without the heat, ticklish against the smooth skin. She watched as the girls’ eyes followed the magic jumping from her fingerprints.

Her fingers ran through the walls of the dorm living room, tattoos and veins glowing the same bright pink and green colour, each line fading and reappearing with her heartbeat as she walked. It left Rosie in awe, she never thought magic could really be real, not until seeing everything she had witnessed in the last twenty four hours.

She glanced over to look at her other members, their faces not nearly as shocked as her own. She could get behind Miran not being entirely surprised, seeing as she was always a believer and lived in her own little land, but the other two were more grounded in real life than they were. Rosie remembered how skeptical Jiyoon was of her story when she told her earlier that night or how Blue laughed thinking it was a joke. Maybe Yue’s insistence finally made them believe her but would they have done so without the older girl’s slightly threatening presence?

“The good news is it’s not a malevolent spirit, just a tricky one.” All the girls sighed in relief upon hearing Seoyeon’s words.

“What’s the bad?” Blue questioned, hands massaging her temples like this was all some bad dream.

Seoyeon exhaled deeply, there’s no way things could possibly get worse for them, right? “It’s not leaving for a while, it’s screaming at me that it loves this place too much.”

“So we just have to deal with a literal demon living with us?” Jiyoon groaned, barely hiding her annoyance from the other girls.

Blue simply laughed, the exhaustion was getting to her. Anyone could see so with her dark circles and slouched stance, after all she had been up for so many hours doing this and that around the dorm in an attempt to fix the problem herself. Seeing how her laughter continued on creepily in the background maybe she was going hysterical with everything going on.

“There are ways to force the spirit back to wherever it came from but I am definitely not powerful enough to do that, many aren’t.” Seoyeon casts her eyes over to Yue, lazily staring at her for a second before diverting her gaze elsewhere.

“I am so going to have to move out.” Jiyoon mumbled, the disbelief settling behind her eyes.

“Well for the time being why don’t you just give ‘em a name, treat it like a nice lodger and it’ll leave eventually.” She seemed so nonchalant as she talked, like this was an everyday occurrence in Seoul or whatever witch land she came from.

“That’s all I can do for you but before I go I have to ask, how exactly did you bring this spirit here?”

Everyone’s eyes fell on Rosie, the stares causing her to recoil back into her seat on the sofa. Their stares spoke a thousand words to Rosie and it only made her feel more reluctant to actually say anything, she’d much rather run back to the safety of her bed and pretend this was one hell of a dream.

“I saw this one video on TikTok that said if you’re lonely summon this spirit to be your friend for a couple hours,” Rosie hung her head low as she spoke, avoiding the likely judgemental stares from her group mates. “It was stupid I know and I didn’t even believe it would work but...I had to try it.”

She raised her head slightly, catching a glimpse of Seoyeon with a hand to her chest, a warm smile on her face. She wasn’t outright stating it but Rosie could feel her sympathy radiating off of her like sunbeams, she’s glad Yue called her over because at least someone in that house would try to understand why she would do something like that.

“I found a bunch of witchy stuff in Yue’s room and got to work.” She shot a apologetic glance in the Chinese girl’s direction, “if you want the details, I was using this diamond necklace of mine as a pendulum to communicate with the spirit and I must’ve let it into the house as we talked because the diamond was swinging all on it’s own like crazy.”

Rosie recalled the memories of last night, she was the only one in the dorms, the other four all doing things that didn’t seem to involve her. It was the third time that week, she was just tired of being left out and the feeling of loneliness had been boiling in her blood for far too long.

Jiyoon already had a best friend and the last time they’d had a genuine conversation outside of the practice room must have been months ago. Yue and Miran had become awfully close in the last few months, often leaving the others out of their shared world, and Blue had been out doing god knows what with someone she was never going to text back. Heck, even her own brother was barely responding to her texts, probably off somewhere getting high and pretending she didn’t know about his problem.

There was no need to wiggle her way into places she wasn’t wanted so she decided she'd find someone else to talk to, despite how extreme the solution she came to must’ve seemed to others.

Even if the spell hadn’t worked, there would have always been that thought settling in the back of her mind hoping that it did so that maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with knowing the fact that no one wanted her. A fact that had become as clear as day when she watched each of her members frown in disappointment at what she’d done when they had finally come home to a teary-eyed Rosie, an oddly humanoid shadow standing behind her to confirm her story.

“Well who hasn’t accidentally summoned a spirit in their youth?” Rosie hadn’t realised a silence had formed since her last words until Seoyeon cleared her throat, the lopsided smile still on her face. “Next time I’d recommend you use salt circles, it’ll protect you a little better.”

Yue rubbed her eyes, chuckling softly at Seoyeon’s joke. She flashed a smile at her friend before retiring to her room, the rest of the girls could chat with her or show her out because, quite frankly, she was tired and just wanted to go to bed.

Closing the door behind her, Yue sighed at finally being alone, flopping onto her bed and closing her eyes. Images of Seoyeon’s magic raced through her mind, the sight of the pink and green was oddly addicting, pulling Yue up from the bed and staring into her hands in front of her.

Each vein began to run an icy blue, backlit behind her pale skin. Tiny translucent wisps prickled all around her body, congregating within her palms like an ice that burned through her veins, taking over her entire body in a wave of cold fire.

She winced upon the feeling, not because it hurt, it was more of a tension within her hands, made her eyes itch, that was all. No, the problem was that she liked it, all of it, the feeling of power in her hands, like she could do anything. She could do anything but that’s what got her here in the first place, running to Seoyeon for help because she wanted to hide all of it.

Even though she promised herself she wouldn’t practice anymore, she was always a little bit curious as to how much magic she could gather all on her own. Yue was admittedly a little rusty, mostly due to the blockage that had built up within herself from the years she had abstained from all of this. It took her several minutes to get the candles to burst aflame but it made her feel...something, something that excited her just a little bit too much.

She stared into the flame of the candle closest to her, it flickered violently with just her gaze, the red wax dripping fast into the plate it stood on.

The minute she heard the click of her bedroom door opening she turned around, the candles had blown out immediately with the whip of her head. Darkness cloaked the room again leaving Yue and her visitor alone with just the sliver of light from the window to illuminate them.

She identified the other as Seoyeon from the shine of her red hair, “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Smells like pine in here.” The witch simply chuckled, crossing her arms and leaning the door closed with her back. Yue’s grateful it was her, god knows what she would’ve done if any of her group members had come in instead. Seoyeon’s intuition probably caught her practicing through the walls, she’s smart enough to see through them after all, her eye was always working overtime when they were kids.

“You know you could’ve done that in seconds, no need to call me over here in the middle of the night.” Yue rolled her eyes, it was just like Seoyeon to bring that up. It had been a long time since they’d interacted like this and she was still doubtful as ever to her own power.

“You know why I don’t do that anymore.” Yue responded through gritted teeth, “and besides, you did do that in seconds, you’ve grown a lot since I last saw you.”

“Seokyung’s better than me, but you were always the best out of all of us.” Seoyeon walked over to Miran’s bed, sat right at the edge facing Yue. “It’s clear Jiyoon wants the spirit out, Blue too.” She chuckled, “I don’t think the other two really want that though.”

There was a beat of silence following Seoyeon’s words, neither of them really wanting to address the rather big elephant in the room at that very moment.

“You could help them, Yue, you know that.” Seoyeon spoke in Mandarin, her accent still the same as when they were kids, hearing it warmed her heart.

Yue didn’t respond, her lips pressed into a thin line and her eyes boring into the witch’s. If she wasn’t going to say anything then Seoyeon was simply going to have to press harder.

“Listen, I know what happened was bad but you can relieve your group mates of the thing that’s stressing them out, not me, not anyone else, you.” The smell of burnt sugar began to fall into the room once again, combating the fresh pine of Yue’s magic. “There’s a full moon in two days, you gotta do what you do best!”

Seoyeon knows she can’t force Yue into doing anything, being her friend for over a decade told her that, but she can at least get her to try. Maybe if she could get Yue to open herself up to her own abilities, they could repair what was left of their fragmented friendship.

Yue’s eyes never left Seoyeon, she wanted to believe her, she really did. However, all she could remember was the flames, the haunting memory of the heat coming into dangerously close contact with her as they spread. The thick, black smoke circling the house, the deafening cries of her friend, the silent tears that fell as she watched it all burn.

“Stop, Seoyeon. I just can’t! Is that not enough for you?” Yue cried out, her voice just a decibel below a scream anyone could’ve heard.

Seoyeon knows she’s struck a chord in Yue, hanging her head low. She remembers the fire too. She remembers her heart dropping to her stomach when she saw Yue standing outside in shock, the sickening feeling of relief when she caught her father dragging her mother and sister out of the pile of ash that she called her home.

They tried to move past it, all those years they’d spent with each other far away from Luoyang. Seoyeon knows she’s moved on but maybe Yue hadn’t, that’s why she refused to even talk about what happened since they had left, why Seoyeon could feel that the other hadn’t practiced in so long.

It made her mad, if she could get over losing her home, her family, over something she didn’t even do then Yue could at least try and fix her own problems without running to her and then throwing it back in her face. She threw a hand to the amethyst on her arm, pressing over the tattoo lightly to calm herself, however, it was no use as the anger seething through her caused her to speak without thinking.

“And you call yourself a witch.” She muttered under her breath.

“I don’t!” The flames lit up again, burning dangerously high above their wicks, “Now shut up or get the fuck out of my house.”

Seoyeon waved off the younger girl’s anger, calming down the candles with the flick of her hand. She walked over to the bedroom door but before she would leave she turned to face Yue again, her bright red hair shining around her like a halo.

“You can’t fool me Yue, I’m a damn psychic.” Was all she said before leaving the room, leaving the door irritatingly ajar.

The dancer heard Seoyeon’s goodbyes to the girls through the door, a guttural sigh leaving her mouth when she heard the front done close. She got up from her seat on her bed, feeling all her bones crack upon the stretch, but as she walked towards the door she caught something upon the handle.

Staring back at her was a burned in sigil carved in the wood, each line a very familiar mark that had been seared into her brain from the moment she could see. It was for protection, something to ensure nothing bad could enter the room, Seoyeon must have etched it there on purpose.

“Typical.” She muttered, eyes trained to the mark on the door. She hadn’t seen or made one of those in years, all in hopes that her supernatural past wouldn’t follow her into her new life. Yue supposed she should thank Seoyeon for thinking about her even when she was yelling at her to leave.

“Hey, are you okay? You seemed off earlier.” Yue’s eyes broke contact with the door upon Miran’s sudden entrance, a small smile painted on the girl’s face.

She cleared her throat, grumbling a bit in an attempt to clear her mind of the negative energy surrounding it. She walks back to her bed and pats at the spot beside her, inviting Miran to join her on the blanket.

“I’m okay, just stressed. Y’know, idol shit.” Her laugh is uneasy but Miran’s presence is hardly threatening to her.

Miran frowned, clearly unhappy with the answer as she shuffled closer to her roommate, head resting on the older girl’s shoulder.

Yue noticed how quick she often was to figure out something’s wrong. Maybe it was because they had become inseparable in the last few months that Miran was always able to sniff out sad feelings, or maybe she was an empath that had snuck her way into her life on purpose. Yue goes back and forth on her theories when it comes to this stuff but there’s one thing she knows for sure and it’s that Miran would always be there.

“Just bad memories resurfacing is all, nothing to worry about.” She threw a smile Miran’s way and rested her head against the pillow, the other girl joining and curling up to her in a tiny ball on the bed.

“You can talk to me you know, I might not be able to solve all of it but I can help you speak through it and that might help.” Miran looked up at Yue, eyes wide and full of sincerity.

She knows Miran only wants what’s best for her, she’d never have offered if she didn’t. Still, there’s a stain on her heart that stops her from being fully honest with her, there were far too many things Yue hadn’t fully accepted for her to even begin to think about telling anybody else about them.

“Is this about Seoyeon and the demon? Is there something I should know? I won’t judge you if there is, it’s just that there’s obviously something happening and you seem to have way more answers then you’re letting on to and I’d hate for this to get between us as a group.”

Miran would not stop talking, her words were barely permeating through Yue’s brain as she gazed off into the distance behind her. She’s sure she’s seeing things when she spots the shadowed form on Seokyung on Miran’s bed, just to be sure she blinked and shook her head but when she opened her eyes again she’s still there, staring back at her.

Yue tried to shake off the visions, pinning it to her sleep deprivation but the sight of her former friend haunts her, leaving a sick taste in her mouth. She tried listening to Miran to distract her but it was no use as the image of Seokyung began to burn, flames lighting up the bedroom, flickering around her skin and burning away her features.

“Just shut up, Miran!” Her eyes widened once she had been brought back to reality, the flames withering away as she realised what she had just said to the younger girl.

Miran stayed silent, swallowing the lump forming in her throat and pushing back the slowly growing feelings of regret. The sight of her looking so hurt made Yue want to crawl into a corner and die, like she’d just wounded a puppy.

“Shit, Miran I’m sorry, I just need a moment alone.” She didn’t want to hurt her best friend anymore but just looking at her made her insides freeze up, “please?”

She didn’t say anything, instead removing her arms from Yue and walking out of the room. Once she heard the door click shut Yue slapped her face into her hands, trying her best to erase every bad memory from the last twenty four hours. Seokyung’s appearance had to be the spirit playing it’s tricks on her, what else could it have been?

Fuck, this demon was going to be way harder to live with then she thought it would be.

[fourrarri]

He’d never thought himself much good at giving gifts. At least not the traditional way. A general non-interest in materialism and a fondness for practicality that grew with his age having made a habit for him of gift giving at random to address a need rather than wait for any specific occasion. Not something that anyone ever seemed to mind but had always caused him a prickle of disquiet in him when it came to birthdays, or christmas. Anytime he was left floundering for gift ideas really. Especially when the occasion for gift giving was someone near & dear to his heart & well within means to buy whatever they wanted much less needed.

Still, he’d always loved a challenge, and Lance. . . Well, the hitman was nothing if not that no? And so much more besides, as he’d been delighted to find in the time he’d gotten to know the man thus far. Knowledge he’d put to proper use making the birthday boy’s gifts over the last month. Gifts that not only fullfilled Joel’s fondness for practicality but that he hoped would meet the other’s fondness for aesthetic beauty as well. 

But perhaps above all, he hoped they’d translate how much he appreciated what Lance had been willing to share of himself with him. His openess. His history. How very genuine he always was in any response he gave him. Joel wanted to honor that. Show him somehow beyond words that he’d heard him, that he cared. That he was glad to know him. Who he’d been, was now, and if Lance was keen, who he’d become.

“I uhh--, made each of your gifts myself. Well, mostly. I didn’t actually make the packaging on these first two, just what’s inside em.”

The first of the gifts was a bottled set of massage oils. Each one had a color scheme of preserved blossoms to indicate the essential oil he’d picked for fragrance. Flowers that he’d picked himself either having found them while hiking or from various flowershops. The florals he’d then dyed, dried, arranged, glued, and set inside each bottle before adding the oils. 

It was no secret that Lance not only enjoyed attention, but absolutely thrived on it. Had made it clear on a handful of occasions that he was not above demanding it, loudly. Or turning into a complete bratling when it wasn’t given to him for longer than he had patience to wait. Lance also liked to touch, to be touched. And if Joel had thought to indulge himself his fondness for ‘taking care’ whilst gifting the man something that encouraged lavish amounts of pampering and focus all on him, well. He rather doubted the other would have issue with it.

“These are massage oils infused with aloe and other essential oils for skin care and fragrance. Should come in handy the next time the sun toasts ya a bit more than you meant. Or when you’re feeling neglected.”

The second wasn’t any less playful or indulgent. They were at a glance a bit of an inside joke, one that only a very small handful of people would probaly ‘get’ if what Lance had told him was anything to go by for how many people knew how he really made money. The gift was a set of lip balms he’d made with a mix of beeswax, shea butter, vaseline, and jojoba oil. Each one had been carefully colored with a combination of powder made out of the leftover blossoms, and food coloring to add tint to them along with their protective and restorative properties. 

The set itself was shaded from translucent to various nudes that ranged from natural pink to warmer spice hues. When adding the tint, he had paused, idly wondering if the addition of color to the balms would be too feminine a detail for Lance’s taste. A thought that had gone as fast as it’d come when he recalled the man’s new habit of painting his nails. How much value he placed in his appearence, how little he placed in social norms, how he was seemingly content to enjoy what he liked and not question it beyond that. How very fond he was of Lance for it.

His favorite part of this particualr gift however, was that the case for each one was a hollowed out, reforged, and repurposed rifle cartridge. This detail had probably been what’d taken the most work on his part but in the end he was more than pleased with the results, was certain Lance would be to, as evident in the smile curving his lips as he spoke.

“All that drinking and sunshine dries out your lips chéri. These should help with that, keep you kissable. Some of them are tinted to if you’re feeling flirty.”

The last was the only gift that he’d actually bothered to wrap. To hide. He’d wrapped it meticulously, kept the corners pristine. The paper was ocean blue, patterned with metallic designs. Tied with gold ribbon, topped in an immaculate bow. Inside was a simple white box, and below the lid, buried within more blue, delicate tissue paper was a driftwood picture frame. The frame scaled perfectly for the sketch portraying a memory Lance had described to him in detail from his childhood and coupled with his recall for the one picture Lance had, that he’d shown him upon asking. A picture of him in his boyhood and his mother.

The sketch had taken the whole day. Had been born from a deep rooted desire to somehow give Lance something of that day beyond what he held in his memory. To replicate the warmth he’d had in his tone when he’d spoken of Marianna, described her for him, how she’d been more of a mama to him than the one who’d actually given him life for the most part. 

A fact that the man himself had seemed content with upon it’s revealing but had cracked open something hot and hurting inside his throat, in his chest. Something that felt like tears. Was tears. Tears he’d furiously blinked away, turned his face & hid when Lance seemed to nearly notice. Had fallen free once home and he’d contemplated how his friend had learned to normalize loneliness. Normalize family being something you acted out for company and performed rather than actually had. Normalize not having any pictures of them in your home for everything family photos were meant to be and never had been for him. 

He hadn’t thought about it. Simply grabbed his sketch book, sat on the chaise in the corner of his living room, just beside the french doors that led out to his porch. The same ones that allowed sunlight in enough to warm him as he worked.

He’d let his hand skate across the page, pencil loose in his fingers, slowly, slowly, the shape of child Lance, the details of Marianna he’d given him coming to life. The profile of her face was hidden, back to the viewer’s sight as she turned, scanned the ocean debris at her feet, the tumble of soft sand in the churning wave line. Smile lingering at the corner of her lips. A peek of profile through her hair but only details, not her whole face. Curls tumbling down her back, the wind catching them, lifting a few stray tendrils. Pointing, reaching, directing a grinning Lance to another sea treasure she’d spotted for him to bring back home.

He wasn’t sure how many hours he’d spent on it; shading in her shadow on the sand, working to capture the gentle folds of of her sundress, capturing every detail Lance had told him about her. All he knew for certain was that it had been early noon when he’d started, and when he’d finally stopped the sun had already gone down. 

He didn’t color it. Knew he wouldn’t have to explain to Lance why. How sometimes the best and worst memories looked better in black and white? In the crisp shadows of grayscale, how if you tried to bring back too much you could lose it all? That a memory was its own breed of ghost? How he knew beyoind a doubt he could never capture the blue of the ocean, the warm shade of her eyes, the soft highlights of her hair. Like trying to pin down the wind. Same as capturing her visage without a picture, he didn’t dare attempt bringing the life of color to this memory. Didn’t want to trespass any further than he potentially had.

The smile from before fades, breath catching in his throat enough it hurts to swallow around. Makes him work to force words around his words, his feelings, how little room they leave for anything else.

“Really not good at telling people about how I feel about them when it really counts. Always preffered to show them instead so---.” the words trail off, and he reaches out a hand for the last gift, pushes it within Lance’s reach as his heart begins to hammer away at the cage his ribs suddenly are.

“Not sure if it’s anything like you remember but I wanted to do something for you. Something special. And this wouldn’t leave me alone till I finished it. Ended up drawing it the same day you told me about it. Really hope I didn’t fuck up.” He elects not to tell Lance he means in general, not just the sketch itself. 

“You mean----, a lot to me Lance. I don’t even have words for it and I have a few languages to choose from. Hasn’t helped. But I wanted you to know, wanted to show you. Anyways, happy birthday.”

       💸 ║ ❛   ————— It always overwhelms him a bit, all these feelings towards Joel and how observing he actually is. Definitely not a man he’s ever met before. And Lance had men before that showed interest in him, tried to promise him the world but in the end the motives were completely focused on the MONEY and lifestyle of the rich and famous. And it’s not like Lance never understood, money and luxury are things he himself enjoys the most as well. But that thought just always runs around his mind; people wouldn’t give a damn about someone like him if he didn’t have all the money, the cars and the big mansion. JOEL is a different kind of man though. Lance managed to convince himself that even if there wasn’t all this money and luxury, Joel would still be there. But most importantly, Joel IS actually here, between all these nice things and in the end all he cares about is putting the smile on Lance’s face. 

          Lance examines all the gifts while Joel goes off explaining the details. He does listen to what he has to say very carefully but his mind is telling him things. What is it that Joel sees in him that makes him so sure he’s deserving of these things. It only makes Lance notice that he’s only good at accepting gifts as long as he knows the person didn’t really put any effort into it. But all the effort Joel put into it, Lance doesn’t wanna ruin the good moment. Ruin it with his bad thoughts punishing him for feeling grateful for something he doesn’t quite deserve. He is pretty good at shutting his mind off if things make him too vulnerable, so that’s his solution.

          A bright smile forms on his lips while looking at all these nice things. Suddenly it just feels so warm inside him, almost pressuring as if there’s something he just has to let out. It’s just a feeling of genuine HAPPINESS that Joel manages to break free, and usually that feeling is archived once he’s had a few shots. No alcohol this time, there’s no need for it. Not even his mind is running to it. Blue eyes wander from all these beautiful gifts to Joel, only for a short moment though. He’s desperately trying to form a sentence in his head to not seem like a child who’s got all the presents it wished for. But talking, expressing himself is hard when he tries to not get over that spot of vulnerability. 

          ❝   Qué digo, qué digo.. Thank you, amorcito, honestly. I really don’t know what to say.   ❞  And just as he tries to fight his brain to throw out ANY WORDS, there is another gift coming. Joel seems much more nervous about it, much more emotional. Lance doesn’t wonder too long after he eventually unwrapped it and now examines this personal work. It just causes him to feel a lot of emotions, they just hit him like lightning, yet he’s QUIET for a moment. While there’s still this burst of happiness, there’s also an ache in his heart that’s not easy to handle. A picture like that doesn’t exist but when he looks at it it feels like there’s something real about it. Lance never had a picture of MARIANNA, but if he did he wouldn’t hide it away like he does with the picture of his own mother. Marianna deserves much more than what he’s able to give her. And the fact that Joel actually took the time to awake the memories in his heart does cause him to get very emotional about it. Things like that make him cry like a baby when he’s alone, so he’s really fighting some tears. He doesn’t wanna cry on his birthday.

         ❝   I can’t believe you did that. Man, soy demasiado emocional para esto. This is a lot. I love it.   ❞   At least he got out a little bit before his emotions make his eyes all watery. Still, he fights hard not to cry over it. So the best way to hide that is to simply throw his arms around the other man’s shoulders. The hug holds on for a moment until Lance interrupts it to place a kiss on Joel’s lips.    ❝   Merci, chérie.   ❞

[the--highlanders]

for the drabble game, situation 17 (because I'm predictable dklsjnb) and sentence 2, or situation 6 and sentence 28? :3 <3

“I just want to let you know that I love you. A lot. Never forget that.” 

on ao3.

“Can I see him?”

The nurse bobbed back and forth before him, dithering as if their size alone did not block his view of the door entirely. They towered over him, tall and solidly built, but the tendrils that ringed their face were twitching in alarm, waving back and forth as he tried to peer past them to catch a glimpse of the Doctor.

“I’m sorry, sir,” they were saying with the practised patience of someone who had given the same explanation a thousand times to a thousand different people. “He’s still in a fragile state. We can’t allow him to be disturbed just yet.”

Disturbed. Like he was just some interloper, come to bother the Doctor. Like he had not been the one to carry him into the hospital, cradling him in his arms, Victoria rushing ahead to push open the doors and snap at the reception staff to call for help. “I want tae see him, I’ve – I’ve got tae see him.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” the nurse said, as infuriatingly patient as before. “I simply can’t allow it.”

“Please.”

“I can’t. Unless...” The nurse’s tentacles paused in their waving, twitching in place. “Are you family?”

Wordlessly, Jamie reached inside his shirt, tugging out the chain that hung around his neck to hold it out towards the nurse in triumph. The silver of the ring that hung from it glinted in the cold, white light of the hospital, almost making him blink with the brightness of it. “Is this good enough for ye?”

“O – oh.”The nurse looked as if they wanted to ask for something more, papers or tablets or whatever ridiculous system they used to document such things on this planet, but something in Jamie’s eyes must have made them decide against it. Instead they stepped aside, flicking one hand towards the door. “Go right ahead, Mister – er -” They floundered, mind visibly ticking over. “Sir.”

It was kind of them, Jamie thought, to be letting him inside. “Not sir,” he said gently. “Jamie.”

Stepping into the doorway, he hesitated. He had stormed his way through from the reception to the Doctor’s ward – but for what? To see him lying battered and bruised in a hospital bed? To sit and hold his hand until he fell asleep over him and dreamt of how small he had looked when he had collapsed, his limbs all bent at odd angles? Could he really stomach seeing him like this?

“He still needs quiet,” the nurse was saying. “And time. I’m not sure how long it will take for him to wake up.”

“Alright.” He held his hand out to grip the door handle, but did not turn it. “Can I – can I touch him?”

“Gently. No sudden movements.”

“Alright.” Scrunching his eyes shut to brace himself, he turned the handle and stepped inside.

Closing the door to lean against it, he dared to squint out at the room before him. It was not so bad as he had feared, he supposed. The walls were painted a soft blue, and the vase beside the bed held a spray of yellow flowers. There was a low bookshelf against one wall, curtains rather than shutters over the windows to the corridor outside, and the chair in the corner was comfortably upholstered. It could almost have been called homely, he supposed, were it not for the bed itself, clothed in starched white sheets and netted in by a web of softly beeping machines. No amount of homey touches could take away from the horror of that, of seeing the Doctor curled beneath the covers, frighteningly small against a mattress designed for a far larger species.

Stepping closer, Jamie reached out to bump his fingertips against the bars at the end of the bed. He pulled his hands back as soon as he felt the shock of cold metal, looking around as if alarms might start blaring at any moment, but the quiet was unbroken. The machines kept on murmuring away, burbling out the ups and downs of the charts that snaked their way across their screens. Gripping the bars more tightly, Jamie leant forwards to examine the machines, trying to make out what they might be measuring. One of them was clearly monitoring the Doctor’s heartbeats – he had seen the same lines before, on machines hooked up to himself after he had taken one too many risks. The lines on this one were doubled, one for each heart – and wasn’t it terribly lucky, that this had happened on a planet where people knew what to do with two hearts?

Sidling around the bed, he drew the chair up to perch on the edge of it. It was as comfortable as it looked, and somehow that only made him feel worse. There was something permanent about the way the room was furnished, the threat that the Doctor would be staying here a long time woven into the very fabric of it. The Doctor had snuffled a little at the sound of the chair legs scraping against the tiled floor, but he did not wake, nor did he move. It was odd, Jamie thought, to see him sleeping so peacefully. He had always been such a restless sleeper, as busy at night as he was during the day, shuffling around the bed and snoring and occasionally muttering to himself in some incomprehensible language. To see him so still was unnerving.

He lifted one corner of the sheets, just enough to reveal the Doctor’s hand, and drew it out into the open tentatively. The Doctor gave another mumble, but his fingers did not so much as twitch.

“Hello,” Jamie said. “Erm -” What did he think he was doing, talking to someone who would not hear him?

“You’re gonnae wake up soon,” he carried on awkwardly. If talking to the Doctor felt silly, then saying something so confident felt even sillier. Like he was saying it for the benefit of a small child rather than himself. “You’re gonnae get better, aye?”

A Dhia, he hoped the Doctor really could not hear him. It would be awfully embarrassing for him to wake up and remember everything.

“Ye shouldn’t have done that, ye know,” he added, sternness creeping into his voice. That was something he wished the Doctor could hear – and that he knew he would say again, one he was recovered enough to take it. “Ye can’t just go around throwin’ yourself in front of things like that. That’s my job.” He squeezed the Doctor’s hand just a little too tight, and let go hurriedly. “I don’t know what I can do for ye if I can’t protect ye. You’ve got tae let me help ye.”

There was no use replaying the moment it had happened in his mind, he told himself. No use imagining the Doctor shoving him out of the way to take the full impact of the blast himself, the split second in which Jamie had seen him lit up with the flash of it before he crumpled to the ground. The acrid energy-weapon tang that had drowned out his normal honey smell, seeping out of his clothes and hair and skin. But when he turned the Doctor’s hand over, he found his palm bandaged, the skin around its edges still reddened from where he had thrown his arms up to shield himself. Well, he had no choice but to think about it now.

To wish that their places had been reversed.

Was that selfish of him? To wish that he was the one unconscious in a hospital bed, and the Doctor the one left to wait for him?

Maybe it wasn’t. The Doctor would surely be much more rational about the whole thing than he was. Or so he wished he could believe.

“Victoria’s been worried sick,” he carried on. “She pretends she’s not, but she is. They’re lucky she’s good at puttin’ a brave face on things, else they’d be out of tissues by now.”

They should be going home, she had told him. They should have been back at the TARDIS by now, setting off on some other adventure. Not stuck here, waiting for the Doctor to come round again. But the Doctor had made a slight miscalculation, and Jamie had been paying just a fraction less attention than he should have been, and now they all had to live with it. Victoria had not said that last part out loud, and he knew she never would – but surely it was there at the back of her mind.

“Ye know what the worst thing is,” he said flatly. “That they never even caught Wilkins. He’s gone, sure, we chased him off – but he’ll just go on tae the next place through that portal he made, an’ he closed it behind him so we couldnae see where he went. Nothin’ we did will have made any difference. It was all for nothin’, ye endin’ up like this.”

Maybe he should have thrown his knife, he thought. Or better yet, taken some sort of gun of his own, before they had left the city. If he had just thought a little more about it, then maybe he might have struck first. Wounded Wilkins before he could fire back. The Doctor would have disapproved, of course – but then, he would never have known what might have happened. Better to have him a little offended than lying in a hospital bed.

But it was not just the Doctor’s injuries on his conscience, he thought with a pang. The Doctor might have gotten the timing wrong, but it had been his own slowness that had allowed Wilkins to escape. He had run to the Doctor’s side as he collapsed, and only looked up again just as the hateful little man was vanishing through his portal, and all the evidence of his wrongdoing with him. They could have brought him back to the city, put him on trial for his experiments, called on someone to come and take care of him. As it was, he had only moved on to do the same thing somewhere else. All the destruction he could dream up next time – that was all Jamie’s fault, too.

He wondered if the Doctor ever felt the same way. He wondered how he bore it.

“I just want ye tae know -” Drawing in an unsteady breath, he scrubbed his hand over his face. His eyes were blurring with tears, and he rubbed at them until they stung. “I just wanted tae tell ye that I love ye. A lot, ye know? Don’t forget that.” He squeezed the Doctor’s hand one last time, then shoved the chair backwards to stand up. “I’ll be back. I”ll come an’ see ye tonight, aye? An’ tomorrow. Maybe I’ll bring Victoria, if she wants tae come.”

Opening the door, he threw another glance up at the machines. This ought to be the moment when the Doctor revealed that he had been awake all along, he thought. They would have a teary reunion, and Victoria would arrive, and the three of them would bundle together, and he would be able to breathe again. But the graphs were as even as ever, and the Doctor still slept soundly. He had rolled over a little, drawing his hand back into the safety of the covers, looking quite unwilling to open his eyes.

Well, then. No use waiting around and dwelling on it in here.

Jamie stepped through the door and closed it behind him with a click.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Luckenbach, Texas

A/N: Back at it with the Play The Hand You’re Dealt event, this time with Ryan Brenner, and darn did it feel good to write him again. This one actually felt really good to write. It takes place pretty far on down the road for you and Ryan so you have a lot to get through before you get here, but this is a little look at where you’re headed together. Also, 4th of July is just fun. All of it. 

(if you want to know more about Luckenbach, Texas, population 3, click here.) 

Word Count: 1,856

Prompt from: @thesumofmychoices - Ryan, fluff, Ryan’s POV & Celebration or Holiday (omg that’s a crazy story about your dog!) 

Ryan stopped a few feet from where you sat, watching as you talked animatedly to Georgie and Layla. Her hair’s gettin’... he felt his cheeks lift as his lips parted in a smile. The humidity had wreaked havoc on your curls, pulling frizzy tendrils out from the braid around the crown of your head. You raked your fingertips over it in a halfhearted attempt to corral the strays, but let your arms drop back to your lap as you laughed, hair completely unchanged. No use. He knew it just as well as you did. Condensation ran down the plastic cups Ryan carried, pooling between his fingers and dripping onto the dry, brown dirt, but he stayed rooted in place for a beat or two longer as you threw your head back in another laugh, giving Georgie a playful shove. Get ‘im. 

Grin widening, he laughed to himself and resumed walking toward the three of you. Georgie slung his arms one at a time around you and Layla drawing you both into a tight hug. Layla flipped her long yellow hair over her shoulder before rising on her toes to plant a kiss to Georgie’s round cheek, burnt bright red from the day in the sun, his bowler nearly toppling from his head as she took him by surprise. They’re havin’ fun. Sweat licked at the back of his neck where the unruly ends of his hair stuck out from beneath the canvas hat he wore, but the warmth in his chest had nothing to do with the summer heat. Looking around, he saw that the same was true of everyone gathered - music and laughter filled the night as the mouthwatering smells of sugary confections and grilled meats wafted from the snack stand attached to the general store. I’m glad we did this.

The sky was just starting to fade from blue to purple, lightening a shade before the thick, black night came to swallow it up. Fireflies hovered in patterns and formations through the warm air, their bioluminescent signals adding to the golden glow of the lights strung across the square. The pluck of guitar and banjo strings from the stage to the left mixed with the boot stomps emanating from the open doors of the dance hall as people gathered in clusters or strolled here and there. Flags, banners, pinwheels and bunting decorated the stage and various small buildings, stars and stripes in bold Americana colors. Kids darted by hopped up on funnel cakes and clutching sparklers, their eyes wide in awe of the flickering pyrotechnics that their parents only let them play with this one night of the year. He stepped to the side to avoid a collision with a sticky-fingered boy, a popsicle in each hand and his sister chasing after him. Woah. Taking care not to slosh the contents of the cups he carried onto the troublemakers’ heads, he trained his eyes on the level of liquid as it splashed in small waves and finally steadied back out. 

“That was a close one, Brenner.” 

He looked up in time to see your fingers curling around one of the cups that he held, just below his own. Your pointer finger slid over his pinky to trace the lines that were inked between his knuckles, teeth digging into the corner of your fire-engine red bottom lip as you gave him a crooked smile that made the sparklers and fireflies seem dim. Handing you your beverage he bit back a groan, letting it out as a throaty laugh instead. Tease. “Yeah, but did you see that save?”

You scrunched your nose at him as you smiled and reached up to push a sweaty clump of his hair back behind his ears. Ryan tilted his head into your touch, eyes falling closed as your fingertips grazed the bottom of his earlobe, but opening again as your hand fell down to clasp his empty one. “I did. That was some fancy footwork there, I’m impressed.” Your laugh brightened your eyes as it tumbled from your open mouth, your thin fingers squeezing his rough palm. “You been holdin’ out on me, Ryan?” You shifted your eyes and took a sip of your beer.

Never have, never will. It was no secret that while music and rhythm seemed to flow in his veins, Ryan Brenner was not a very good dancer. “Nah,” he shook his head, and slowly, so that you had plenty of time to react, lifted your joined hands to turn you under his arm. Your surprised gasp of his name hit him in the chest as a few drops of cold beer splashed onto his forearm and soaked into the hem of his white tee. You leaned into him and he felt the last shakes of your laughter leave your lungs. He dropped your hand so he could press his to the small of your back, fingers grazing your skin under the bottom of your navy blue tank top. I love this woman. “You know I save all my best moves for you, Junebug.” He kissed your forehead, the wispy little rebellious frizz along your hairline tickling his lips. 

Humming contentedly, you wrapped your free arm around his waist and looked up at him, chin tucked into the crook of his shoulder. “Yeah, you do.” You licked your lips as he took a swig from the red cup. “I’m lucky like that.”   

Ryan’s fingers flexed to push you even closer to his side, but before he could continue the pointless conversation of which of you were luckier, Georgie called over, his raucous tone cutting through the ambient sound easily. “Hey you two comin’ back anytime soon or you just gonna stand there all night?” 

He looked up to see his friend waving his arm from the rock wall surrounding the big Cedar Elm where the four of you had been sitting enjoying the music after your set. You laughed again, turning your face into his chest before meeting his eyes once more. Ryan trailed his fingers up your back until his palm reached the center of your shoulder blades. He took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the scent of your floral shampoo mixed with dirt, sweat, and the sweet coconut smell of the sunscreen you’d slathered on all day. Still got a tan though, and I see some new freckles. His cheek twitched to the side pulling his lips along with it, and he leaned in to drag the tip of his nose over the bridge of yours and down to the crest of your cheek where the sun had painted new speckles on your skin. He kissed them, and you smiled under the bristles of his beard as he dropped his lips down to capture yours. Love her so damn much. 

Three and a half years had gone by, but it hadn’t taken Ryan that long to realize that you were right for him in a million ways that he hadn’t even considered. You’d taught him how to stand still and spend more time thinking about where he was now instead of where he was headed next. But you’d also showed him how easily you could pick up and head back to the road when it was time, how you’d completely accepted his wandering ways. He’d let you into every part of his life, all the secrets that he kept close to his heart like the treasures that you knew he kept hidden safely in a zippered inner pocket of his big canvas coat that he wore in the winter time- an arrowhead, a clover, others things he’d collected that no one else knew existed aside from the people who he’d gotten the items from. A penny, a guitar pick, an old zippo lighter. You’d fit into his family as though you’d been there all along, both on the road and back home; in that zippered pocket, and at Aunt Holly’s table. 

She fits here, too. He’d had the thought earlier in the night, standing between you and Georgie on the small wooden stage. The three of you had played a set of eight songs together while Layla joined the small crowd that lingered nearby- mostly songs that he’d been playing for years, ones that he’d played with Cowboy and Virginia, way back before he’d even met the bright eyed button nosed fiddler to his left. But then you’d also played the song that you’d helped him write back on your apartment floor in front of the fireplace, and it felt just as right as the other songs. Ryan and Georgie hadn’t been back to Luckenbach for the Fourth of July festival in the nearly five years since Cowboy had been gone. It felt right to come back this year with you, with Georgie bringing Layla. Next year Ginny and Henry’ll come too, he’ll be old enough, he’ll get a kick outta the tractor parade in town. The thought of the six of you being there together lightened his heart.  

“Brenner? You hear me or-” Georgie called again as Ryan finally broke the kiss, eyes locked on yours as he brought his hand up, fingers tracing the freckles he’d just kissed. 

“Keep your pants on, Georgie,” Ryan called, tearing his eyes from you to turn towards the other man. “I’m kissin’ my girl an’ takin’ my time.” He’d lowered his voice, no longer shouting for the entertainment of everyone around, speaking only for you to hear. Dipping his head back down, he caught another quick kiss, enjoying the way you sighed into it and how you gathered a fistful of his tee. Never gets old, never will. 

“Ryan,” slightly out of breath, you whispered his name through a grin that only got brighter as the sky darkened. Shaking your head you asked, “What was that for?” 

Ryan swallowed and narrowed his eyes. It hadn’t taken him three and a half years to know that you were it for him, but it was moments like this that reinforced that fact; moments that made him sure that you were all he wanted, all he’d ever want. He blinked and lowered his hand from your face, reaching for your free hand. Smiling, he took another swing of his beer. “Nothin’,” he tugged your hand and started walking back towards Georgie and Layla as a guitarist wearing a harmonica neckstrap stepped up to take the mic next. “Let’s get over there’n rescue Layla.” You laughed and Ryan pressed his lips together to try to keep from joining you. “Poor girl, he’s probably talkin’ her ear off or somethin’, you know how he-” 

You cut him off, rising to your toes to kiss him quickly. “I love you, Ryan.”

There weren’t any fireworks planned in Luckenbach. Might be able to see ‘em from Fredricksburg if it’s a clear night, Georgie had explained to you and Layla earlier in the day. It was the Fourth of July, but it was also just another night in the heart of Texas. It was a night of music and festive celebration, good food, good people and good feelings. Who needs fireworks?

.

.

.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @thesumofmychoices @songtoyou @traeumerinwitzhelden @gollyderek @obscurilicious @malionnes @with1love1anu @beautifuldesastre​ @luminex3​ 

if you would like to be added or removed from the tags, please let me know! (and if you have let me know and I haven’t changed it please tell me again because I am a well intentioned albeit forgetful fool)  Thanks for reading! 

[starman-john-tracy]

Radiation Poisoning | Chapter Three

by @starman-john-tracy and @asteria-star

In which John Tracy gets exposed to uranium and nearly dies, The Hood is evil, and Star generally freaks out a lot.

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Four]

“Inter-national Rescue.” The Villain tilts his head, shiny in his spacesuit, and John gets the feeling that he’s being sized up, like a predator judging its prey, “Well well well, who’d have known there was another one of you, and up in space no less. I thought the little blond one was flying the rocket so you must be…” The man trails off and John seals his lips into a tight, white line. If the Hood doesn’t know about Thunderbird Five, then he’d far rather keep it that way. “You’re not a stray like my Tanusha though, are you? Could it be… another of Jeff’s boys?” Cat-like slit eyes narrow, scanning John up and down where he’s sprawled under his heel. One hand reaches down and closes around the front of the spaceman’s sash, dragging John upright, unsteady and disorientated as he’s reeled in to be examined.

“You don’t look quite as much like him as the others... but it’s there.” The Hood teeth glint in a smile like a shark, “Perhaps you take after your mother, hmm?” It’s a cruel thing to say to a man who’s lost both parents, one to an avalanche and one to the unknown. John’s shoulders go stiff with tension and the Hood’s smile grows wider, aware he’s hit a nerve. “Well then, let’s give those charming brothers of yours a rescue, shall we?”

“I won’t let you take the uranium.” John protests, but The Hood is slithering a hand up the side of John’s throat, lingering awfully over his vulnerable pulse point in a way that makes John shiver. “I… hey, what are you doing?” There’s a small spike of panic in his voice now, and he struggles against the vice grip the man’s got on his sash. The creeping fingers meet the seal of John’s helmet and John freezes, wide eyed, in the split second before as he realises what The Hood is about to do. “Wait don…!”

John breathes out hard, forcing the air from his lungs so that it won’t get a chance to expand inside him. He squeezes his eyes protectively shut as the wandering, probing, fingers slide under the thick rubber seal around his neck, breaching his helmet.

John thrashes in the man’s grip, his heart pounding, as the perfect nitrogen-oxygen of his tank begins rushing out and the vacuum starts rushing in. He coughs, soundless and awful, and he can feel his lungs starting to swell. The world begins to slide into blurred, flashes of impression and smeared colours. The hand shoved inside his helmet cups his cheek and rough, gloved fingers pat his skin lightly: a mockery of comfort.

“Lovely.” The Hood comments, though John hears him as if from the end of a long tunnel, busy as he is trying not to breathe out his lungs. “If only your blasted Father could see you now, hmm? No wonder they’ve been hiding you from me.” There’s almost a laugh. “You’re a clever boy,” The Hood acquiesces, “But I already have all the uranium I could possibly need.” He watches John struggle for a moment, with an unsettlingly pleased look on his face. “My associate is loading up our shuttle as we speak. What remains here is obviously damaged, and useless to me.” A heavy heel stamps down on one of the canisters, splitting John’s perfect welding clean open and splattering dangerous green across the metal floor.

“What a delight you are, Tracy.” He comments, as John’s struggles become weaker, “I am so glad to make the acquaintance of another of Jeff’s boy’s. Who’d have known I was one short, all this time?” He adds, and the hand slides away from his cheek, fingers curling instead under the hard metal edge of his helmet. John’s chokes, gasping, as the air from his tank rushes to try and compensate for the void inside his helmet. His cheeks are wet with tears. “It’s almost a shame that the number will be back down to four shortly.” And the Hood rips the helmet from his head, tossing the young man aside like a rag doll. John hits the rack of canisters, sending them scattering across the floor, and he cries out, breathless, at the impact. The radiation dial at his wrist is blood-red.

The Hood takes a step backward, then another, leaving John’s little room and making his way back to where he and his minion had blown their way in, with John’s helmet still clutched firmly in his hand. The astronaut reaches feebly after him, but the press of a panel slams a bulkhead down between them, the rip of wiring disabling its functionality as The Hood, as quickly as he’d appeared, vanishes from sight, discarding John’s helmet uselessly the other side of the door.

It doesn’t factor into The Hood’s estimations, but the Oxygen scrubbers onboard kick into overdrive now that the canister chamber has got a proper seal, whirring hard to try and drag out the vacuum inside and fill it sluggishly with a O2 mix. John presses his forehead hard against the metal floor and just tries to breathe, the thin air making his head spin, the radiation seeping into his pores.

***

Star’s running, gasping on the canned air from her suit so badly she’s almost sure it’s run out, and she’s just not noticed, that any second now she’s gonna stop breathing all together and never start again. Gravity’s back. She doesn’t know why or how, the only thing she can think of is someone else is on the station.

There’s a sound of voices- no, a voice, and it’s not John’s. She’s hearing through his radio, too close to her ear, making her shiver even though it’s not as cold anymore. There’s a bang, Star hears it in tinny reproduction the same time as it rattles through the floor beneath her feet.

“John?” Star calls again, low and quiet, just in case this other person can hear. She’s coming up on the wreckage they’d first come through, the little store room she’d left John to entertain himself in. With a sudden, sickly pounding in her chest, Star gets the feeling she’s about to meet the aforementioned ‘boss’.

She can hear the voice, hear footsteps, somewhere off to the side, just out of sight, like scrambling in the walls, but her curiosity was never given the opportunity to run away with her. She rounds the corner and sees the door that had been open blocked, and John’s helmet resting on her -which was arguably the wrong- side of the door.

Screw whoever else is there to hear, Star’s banging on the metal, yelling his name, between one breath and the next.

***

John shoves a palm down hard against the floor, trying to get some kind of purchase against the textured metal to push himself upright. He takes a long, ragged breath of too thin air and jumps as someone slams a fist down hard on the door that’s protecting him from the vacuum beyond. Green-blue eyes look up, startled to find, not The Hood, but the familiar, comforting face of Star on the other side, her hands pressed flat against the window, trying to get his attention. Without really thinking about it John raises a shaky hand in a dumb little wave.

“I’m… ok?” He manages, though without his helmet radio Star doesn’t have a chance of hearing him. “Ow.” The exclamation doesn’t seem to quite sum up the thick, awful burning that’s going on inside his ribcage, or how his head is pounding in time to his heart, his sinuses tight and his temples throbbing. There’s just not quite enough air in here, though it’s improving fast. The Hood hadn’t done anything too severe to him, but it had felt like touch and go for a moment there. John’s a little surprised to be alive, if he’s honest, though he doesn’t dwell on that for long. “The Hood…?” He tries to ask, though his mouth is so dry it doesn’t come out as much more than a whisper. He runs a trembling hand backward through mussed ginger hair. “I… oh...” He catches sight of the red flashing warning at his wrist, eyes widening.

That’s… that’s too much radiation. He draws in another ragged breath, thick with trepidation more than vacuum now. Oh hell. Right, ok John. You’ve gotta get out of here. Gotta move now.

There’s a struggle as John tries to climb unsteadily to his feet. He makes it the whole of three wobbly steps toward the door before his knees give out, unused to the gravity and the abuse and the eight or so greys of nuclear radiation that are eating away at his cells. He pitches forward, catching himself only barely against the door before he slides down, gasping, the other side of the glass to Star. The hand raises again, pressing against it, though it’s not clear how that helps him.

It doesn’t, really.

Somewhere on the space station, there’s a dull roar of engines: The Hood and his minion are making their escape.

Star taps on the glass, trying to get John’s eyes to focus on her instead of the big load of nothing he seemed to have drifted off into. She can’t hear him, but she saw the word okay formed by his lips, and for that she kind of wants to hit something. The word okay doesn’t deserve to even be in the same room as this situation, let alone to come from his lips. Blue-green eyes finally come to land on her, and Star holds up his helmet, so he can see.

“I’m going to open the door,” she tells him with big, rounded words, hoping he’ll be able to read them on her lips. “You have to put this on when I do.”

John knows there’s nothing worse than having a barrier, physical or otherwise, between you and a person in need of rescue. All the more so when it’s a person you care about. He offers Star a shaky smile, in some vague attempt to be reassuring, but it comes out more pained than anything, so he’s not sure it does a very good job. His head tips back, exhausted, and his fingers slide down the glass to rest, limply in his lap.

“Mmm…?” He tries to process what Star is telling him. She’s going to… open the door? That’s good… that’s… oh, his helmet. He’s gonna need his helmet...

Slithering tendrils of claustrophobia are curling in the spaceman’s chest. John’s aware, on a logical, sensible level, that there’s no way the walls could be closing in on him, but the space just seems to be getting smaller and smaller and there’s nowhere to go. The air smells metallic, ancient and recycled. It hits him like the scent of old blood.

The ship is determined to trip Star up, a loose piece of panelling catching the heel of her boot when she goes to take a step back, leaving her stumbling back a handful of uneven steps until she can see the door in its entirety. The control panel is gone, that much she can tell, not that she thought she’d have been able to do much with that anyway. A spaceship was a little more hightech than her usual target for robbery. Manual release. There has to be a manual release of some kind; all kinds of bad things happen when there isn’t… she hopes radioactive locker isn’t the one situation where a backup isn’t top priority.

Breathing is getting harder. His airways feel acidic. John huffs out an exhale, short with the need to suck air in again, to get good Oxygen circulating in his irradiated blood cells. His exposed face and neck and even his scalp have begun to feel hot and raw, like the beginnings of a bad sunburn.

Star sees it, a heavy looking crank nearly hidden by debris. But it's there. John seems to be drifting again, and Star feels a little guilty banging on the wall by his head to get his attention.

John looks up weakly at the sound, his head loose and wobbly, blinking lots as he tries his best to focus on her, trying to understand the plan. The radiation detector bleeps urgently at his wrist, the readings a deadly, terrifying crimson. He doesn’t seem to notice though, he’s preoccupied with trying to support himself, ready for the door to fall away.

“I’m opening it,” she mouths to him, holding up ten fingers in what she hopes he understands is a countdown. She can’t do anything else to help him but get the door open, so she does.

John exhales heavily, pushing the air forcefully from his abused lungs in preparation for another rough exposure to vacuum. He nods once, short and sharp.

Do it.

The door opens, not all the way, just enough for John to fall limply through in his defence, it does look like he’s trying to help, but in the end it’s Star scrambling over, hooking her hands under his arms to drag him back into the main room, easing the helmet back onto his head and sealing it a little too roughly. And then she’s gone.

Star almost doesn’t want to close the door behind them, purely to never have to be out of arm’s reach of John again.

The door clangs shut, rattling the entire crumbling ship, separating them from the toxic waste within. Star can’t help but notice the twitch towards orange her radiation sensor makes when she slides to her knees beside John. Not that it matters, she’s not going anywhere.

She’s got the spaceman up against her chest, hoping being closer to upright might help the painful gasping he’s got going on, arms wrapped around his narrow chest, back of his head resting against her shoulder. She can see her hands, clasped around in front of him, see them shaking, but she almost can’t feel them through the lightning terror racing through her body.

“I’m so sorry,” She sobs, helmet pressed to John’s in an attempt to rest her forehead on his tangled hair, rocking the two of them somewhat neurotically, the entire world tunnelling down to them and them alone. Then she catches herself. “John, are you okay? Talk to me, are you alright tell me what… tell me what to do out here. What can I do?”

John crumples against her as the door between them suddenly vanishes, little hands under his arm pits dragging him out across the floor. He’s vaguely aware of his helmet being shoved on over his head and the click as it’s clipped into place but the fresh bloom of oxygen that hits his system is what he really feels, the impact like the first breath of a man whose been deep sea diving, who desperately needs to come up for air. Star’s gone, but then she’s back again in what feels like less than a heartbeat.

There’s a whirling twist in elevation as John gets propped upright, his head lolling weakly against Star’s collarbone and the borosilicate glass of his helmet rapping against hers as she holds him to her. There’s a small sob across the radio in his ear, closely followed by another, then another. John’s head is pounding and John squeezes his eyes shut, his mouth a tight white line as nausea curls unpleasantly in his stomach.

“The uranium?” He manages after a long moment, his stupid priorities still firmly on the safety of the rolling blue marble far, far below them, despite the fact his cells have been perhaps irreparably irradiated, “The Hood…” His voice is thinner and weaker than Star’s ever heard it, and he makes a limp, heavy weight across her knees and up against her chest, evidently with no power of his own to do anything about it. “Five?” He suggests, dragging in a ragged gasp of a breath, “H-Home?”

Star starts laughing. She can’t help it, an almost hysterical bark that trails off into the words, “Don’t worry about your stupid uranium. I beat up his evil henchman and took it off his shuttle. It didn’t sound like they went looking for it.”

The Hood… So that’s who the voice belonged to. The big and scary ‘boss’. She’s going to kill him.

The dark room is blurring around them when Star looks up, unable to wipe the hot residue of tears from her eyes. The way they’d come is still sitting there, waiting ominously to spit them out into the great unknown, and Star still has John’s extra grapple packs strapped to her chest.

Thunderbird Five. She can do that.

“Okay, John, I need you up.” She really would rather not make him do anything, but even with John’s bony frame, their size difference is just too big to go dragging him around without a little of his help “Just a little minute, then we’ll be back in your favourite zero G.”

Star feels worse than the Hood, forcing him to move. His face is already grey and twisted the way it always is on those first few days back in gravity, when it takes most of John’s dwindling energy to keep his stomach firmly where it belongs. There isn’t another choice, though, and she knows it. John needs to be in decontamination, then he needs o2, then he needs Virgil, then he needs- Star runs it all off through her head, gently rubbing John’s chest in apology and forcing him to move.

Star’s laughing and the sound of it, tinny and crackly in his ear, blooms a warmth in John’s chest that has nothing to do with the radiation damage there. He smiles back at her, a bit loopy, finding her joy or relief or whatever this is that’s making her smile completely infectious. A blue-clad hand bumps uselessly against her helmet as if he meant to wipe her cheeks for her, but he forgot the three-inch thick glass separating them. Somehow, it’s almost worse than the bulkhead door.

She tells him how she hid the uranium from the madman and John’s mouth shapes a warm little;

“Oh,” though the word barely makes it out. He presses his reddened face in toward her shoulder with a soft groan, unable, for the moment, to vocalise just how relieved and grateful and proud he is of her. John can’t help how lethargic and heavy he is, his fingers slack and curling by his sides. He manages to bump his thumb, just a little against one of her knees in an attempt to convey some of the feelings to her.

“I… Ah!” There’s a short, sharp noise of pain from the spaceman as Star struggles to get him upright. He’s so damn heavy, sprawling and useless in the endeavour. There’s no chance of him piloting the Exosuit back to Five under his own power. Not like this. He’s all knees and elbows and his balance is atrocious, his head swimming with vertigo and his legs weak beneath him. “M… so tired…” He tries to get his feet as solidly on the floor as he can, tries to clamp down on the rolling nausea in his stomach, but he’s fighting a losing battle. “S-Star!” He gasps, fingers curling and desperate, “W-wait, wait, jus’ a… second. Let me… nngh...”

John squeezes his dry eyes tightly shut and tries to breathe heavily through his nose. One solid mantra becomes the only thing going through his head:

Don’t throw up in your helmet. Don’t throw up in your helmet. Don’t throw up in your...

The air feels sharp and prickly in John’s abused lungs. He’s unaware, as of yet, of the damage the radiation has done to him, but he finds himself curling an arm protectively around his midriff almost on instinct. A sharp, piercing sensation has started in his side, around his stomach.

John takes another long, deep breath, the edges of it ragged and shaky over the Comms.

Star has decided she is the worst person alive -on and off earth- when she has to haul John upright. He goes grey and moans low in his throat and begs her to let him stop for a moment, and she just… Star just braces him against her side, arms around him, and takes as much of his weight as she possibly can.

“It’s alright, baby,” she tells him softly, wanting to stay quiet but unable to keep her motormouth from getting away with her a little. “You’re gonna be fine, I’ve got you, just keep breathing, don’t worry about anything else.”

She wants to stop. She doesn’t want to move him, to go out into the void keeping them from the relative safety of Thunderbird 5 but… she can’t help him there. She can’t even let him take his helmet off.

“Five.” He agrees again breathlessly, trying to pull himself out of it. “I’ll… do what I… can…” Time isn’t on his side here, and he’s becoming increasingly aware of it. He can hardly just give up and leave Star trapped out here alone, after all.

“You don’t need to do anything,” she assures him. “Once we get back to the hole in the wall, I’ve got it.”

“My… brothers?” Their Comm system should be able to reach Tracy Island from any position in Low Earth Orbit. John can’t concentrate long enough to find his own wrist right now though. Instead, unreliable feet take a half-step toward the vicious maw, and the blank, open expanse of space beyond it. The stars out there don’t twinkle like they do down on Earth. There’re no layers of atmosphere out here for the light to scintillate through.

Five is a tiny dot out there somewhere amongst them.

She seems impossibly far away.

“Comms haven’t been working since we got here, John, not anything long distance,” Star murmurs, starting towards the way out. “Didn’t work trying to call in, and didn’t work when I just tried to call EOS… but I’ll get them for you. I’ll get you your brothers.”

Star is right about one thing, John is significantly easier to manage once they get to zero G. Aside from the terror of slipping, which Star doesn’t let herself acknowledge, getting to Thunderbird Five is almost no trouble at all.

[symbrock-darling]

Hiya! I’ve read your drabbles and short little fics and I loved them! I was wondering if you could write a Drabble about Eddie and Venom meet the Avengers, or if not, could you point me in the direction of fics like that? Thanks!!

I couldn’t think of a better time to share this fic @mydoggoesnom requested so long ago than now, now that Avengers: Endgame’s trailer has finally dropped (finally). I didn’t tackle Eddie and Venom meeting all of the Avengers, but I thought Eddie might do well if he met another San Fran local. Enjoy!

Rating: T

Word Count: ~1700

Title: See You Around

Eddie was enjoying a beer at the bar after a very, very long day tracking down leads, uncovering a corrupt official and then having to deal with his enhanced bodyguard – a guy who’d done everything he could to be a pain in the ass and generally give both he and Venom a run for their money. They’d won and after turning them into the authorities, it was well into the evening. Venom was dozing at the back of Eddie’s mind as he drank, and seemed wildly content to recuperate while Eddie watched the news.

As always these days, the news was filled with villains and heroes and anything anyone could scrounge up about the Avengers. But in San Francisco, he was interested to find that not only had they made the news since someone managed to catch a small clip of them as they’d streaked away in a black, glossy blur, but also that they hadn’t been the only ones active today either. Turned out Ant-Man had been busy too. The reports were unclear about what exactly had happened, but there he was, big as a house. And here Eddie thought he and Venom lacked subtlety.

A dark-haired man groaned in relief as he settled beside Eddie in the only seat left in the bar, and he watched the guy smile and flag down the bartender. A moment later a beer appeared before him, and the look of utter delight that crossed his face matched the one Eddie had given not too long ago.

“Long day at the office?”

“The worst,” the stranger said dramatically before he paused and amended, “Well, maybe not the worst. But it was long, let me tell you.”

“I hear you, pal. I had a long one myself. I’m Eddie.”

“Scott." 

Scott glanced up at the news where it had just cycled back to the Ant-Man story. He smirked and nodded at it. "Crazy huh?”

“Yeah, news is pretty insane these days,” Eddie agreed. “Avengers, size-changing men, superpowers, aliens. What’s next?”

“You want to know what I heard today? About what he was fighting?” Scott said, nodding toward the TV where Ant-Man was still the center of attention. Scott leaned closer. “Shape-changer. That thing could turn into practically anything. There?” Scott waggled a finger at the screen where helicopter footage caught Ant-Man stumbling back from something impossible to see from the angle. “It turned into an elephant. An elephant!”

“Eh, that’s nothing. That guy,” Eddie uncurled his index finger where it was wrapped around his bottle to point at the TV which had cycled back to Venom. “Dealt with a firestarter today.” Eddie mimicked the way the firestarter had produced flames from his hands earlier, complete with sound effects. “Fire everywhere.”

“Ugh, fire’s the worst, especially here in California. If firestarters want to play somewhere, the least they could do is have the decency to go somewhere that’s not going to burn everything? It’s not like Ant-Man and whoever that is on the screen are carrying around tons of water.” Scott made a contemplative face. “Can that guy do that?”

“What? Him? Venom?” Eddie laughed at the thought. “No, I don’t think so. Just super strength. Durability. Tentacles. At least, that’s what I hear.”

Scott’s eyes widened and he leaned toward Eddie, voice dropping. “That’s Venom? And tentacles? That thing’s a genuine tentacle monster?” He covered his mouth and the amused, horrified smile growing there. “Things really are crazy these days, aren’t they?”

Eddie opened his mouth, thought better of it, then said, “Maybe they’re more like tendrils?”

“Maybe. Seems like semantics though,” Scott said with a chuckle before he took a sip of his beer. “Wonder what it’s like to be that guy? Tentacles, dear lord.”

“I hear they’re pretty useful,” Eddie replied casually. “I mean, in comparison to Ant-Man who’s always stumbling around because of his size and everything, can’t be too bad. Venom’s versatile and fast.”

Scott waved a hand. “It’s only because of Ant-man’s size that he’s so slow. Can you imagine being that big? That’s a lot of mass to move around. Not to mention there’re buildings and people – man, so many people, they’re like, everywhere. Must be tough for him.”

"They’re always in the way,” Eddie added with a chuckle of his own. “Even when they’re told to leave. At least, that’s how it seems when I watch the news.”

“Right?” A wide smile crossed Scott’s lips. “But, I mean, come on. It’s not like Ant-Man’s not trying. It’s hard – it looks hard, I mean – being that size. Better when he’s smaller. Like, honestly.”

“Ant-Man can get smaller?” Eddie paused, listening to himself. “Guess that’s why he’s called Ant-Man.”

“Yeah, and he’s way faster. And stronger.”

“Can’t be stronger than Venom,” Eddie couldn’t help but say with a grin. “You have to see that guy. He’s intense.”

Scott made a face. “Seems kind of wild to me. From what I’ve heard, there are even rumors that he eats people. Can you believe that?”

Eddie made a face and smiled while he sipped the last of his beer. Yes, he could, in fact, believe it.

“Who knows?” Eddie said instead. “And if it is true, no one’s perfect. He only eats bad guys, from what I hear. Like, really bad guys. I mean with Ant-Man I’ve heard the civil damages alone are stacking, especially since he learned how to get big.”

Scott sniffed. “Didn’t learn anything. And like I said earlier, being big’s hard – got to be hard, I mean. And draining. And it’s not like he’s had a lot of special training or lots of money or anything like that. Maybe he’s just, I don’t know, an average joe making it all up as he’s going, doing the best he can? Bet Venom can’t say anything like that. Bet he’s got money out the wazoo.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if he was just as average,” Eddie sighed, wishing he had money out the wazoo. “Just some Joe too. Can’t all be Starks, you know?”

“Or Pyms,” Scott added drawing from his bottle again. “I’m glad you get it, Eddie. No one else I know really just gets it. Well, except for my daughter.”

“That’s sweet,” Eddie said.

Scott smiled. “Yeah, it is.”

“You know what I think?” said the guy on the other side of Eddie, and they both glanced the eavesdropper’s way. “I think they’re both idiots. They make more of a mess trying to save people than actually doing any real good. Sure, someone’s alive, but can you think of all the money it’s going to take to rebuild everything they destroy afterward? Because I can, and let me tell you, it’s not cheap. They should think before they act.”

After the day Eddie had had and all the people they’d saved – who admittedly had been terrified by them, but also relieved and thankful – the last thing he wanted to do was listen to this guy.

“So, these heroes should just let people die?” he asked.

“Money’s more important than saving lives?” Scott added, a hard look in his eyes. “Those guys are putting their lives on the line to keep people safe.”

“That’s what the police are for,” the naysayer said. “They should just leave it to the professionals.”

“And if the professionals can’t get there in time?” Eddie reasoned, trying to control his anger as he thought about Drake. “What if the professionals aren’t able to get through the red tape and actually do something about it?”

“I’m not saying there aren’t problems with the system,” the guy said. “Just that we shouldn’t have vigilantes breaking everything and deciding what’s right, then leaving before they can be held accountable.”

“Tell that to the people they save,” both he and Scott said at the same time. They eyed each other, but Eddie looked back when the guy harrumphed, grabbed his drink and moved to the other end of the bar where another spot had opened up.

“What an asshole,” Scott said.

“No kidding,” Eddie said. “Let him put on a suit and see what he does.”

“Right?”

They both laughed, but in the wake of the exchange something nudged at Eddie’s mind, and suddenly he couldn’t help but look – really look – at Scott. He looked tired, but then most people here did so it didn’t mean that much. What was interesting however were the bruise marks on his hands and palms. The purple smear just visible under the collar of his shirt on his shoulder. A place the Ant-Man on the screen had fallen on when he’d been shoved to the ground.

Now that there was a pause in the conversation, he noticed that Scott was looking at him too, eyes subtly searching. The reporter in Eddie wondered just how right his growing suspicions were, even as Scott’s brow pinched slightly too.

Eddie, Venom said, breaking through his thoughts, the alien’s voice thick and tired as if he���d just risen out of his doze. Are you done? You said one beer, and it’s been two. Let’s go home. We need to sleep.

Uh, right. Yeah, Eddie said telepathically before he gave his head a tiny shake. They had been here a while, and he had promised his symbiote that he wouldn’t be long. And maybe, this once, he wouldn’t let his inner reporter out. Let’s go, then.

Venom curled within him, radiating contentment at the news that they were finally going home. After flagging down the bartender and settling up, he stood.

“Well, it’s been fun, Scott, but I’ve got someone who wants me home. You know how it is.” Eddie patted Scott’s shoulder as he passed by. “See you around.”

“See you around.”

Scott lifted his beer and smiled before returning his attention back to the news where his lips curled ever so slightly at the sight of Ant-Man on the screen. Despite what Eddie might suspect, there was no point in digging.

And so he walked out of the bar and resolved that if they as Venom ever did run into Ant-Man one day, he’d invite him out for another beer.

[greyias]

FIC: By the Guidance of Stars - Chapter 8

Title: By the Guidance of Stars Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T (this chapter) Genre: Angst, H/C, Romance, Humor Synopsis: The Coalition tries to heal in the aftermath of the Battle of Yavin 4, but not every wound is physical. A series of missing scenes set during the end of Shadow of Revan. Warnings: See Chapter 1. Author’s Note: Last of the previously posted chapters, although this version has been revised to adjust for canon and some other things that bugged me.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Crossposted to AO3

As twilight gave way to night, the oppressive humidity eased into a slightly uncomfortable mugginess, but the breeze atop the crumbling platform chased through the open crevices in Theron’s jacket, making him almost cold. It was absolutely wonderful, and he didn’t know why anyone ever came down from this place if this was the alternative to drowning in their own sweat in the main camp. Of course, his reasons for extending his stay up on the high vantage point might have been more than just escaping the uncomfortable jungle swelter. Everyone would be departing Yavin tomorrow and going their separate ways. The moment his head hit the pillow, tomorrow would come, and with it, farewells.

Until then, he had the night.

Theron had no idea what was going on with him. His chest felt light, like it might float away and take the rest of his body with it at any moment. It was almost like being drunk, without having to take shots from any of the flasks traveling around camp. He would have suspected someone had snuck something in the evening meal, except none of it had started until he had gotten up onto the platform. Part of him wanted to run far, far away until this temporary madness passed, and the other part of him just wanted to sweep his companion off her feet and just disappear into her embrace until the stars went cold, any onlookers be damned. Neither of those options made any logical sense, so instead he flopped down at the edge of the platform and let his legs dangle over the precipice. The feeling of nothingness meeting his feet and staring at the several hundred foot drop into the jungle below set his heart pumping and he leaned forward to try and find the bottom.

Apparently that was one step too far, because the action gained a startled shout. “What are you doing?”

He tossed a look back at the fretting Jedi. “Sitting. It’s fun.”

“What if you fall?”

He shot her a boyish grin. “Then you’ll catch me.”

She huffed and crossed her arms. “With what? The Force?”

“I’ll let you figure out the details if it comes to that.”

“You have an awful lot of faith in my abilities to prevent you from doing something stupid.”

“You haven’t let me down yet.”

The sigh she let out was exasperated, but even in the darkness he could make out the corners of her lips twitching as she tried to repress a smile. “Why do you make a habit of being so reckless?”

“Because it’s fun.” He pat the open space next to him in invitation. “It’s a nice view. Why don’t you come over here and see?” 

She crossed her arms, canting her hip at an angle. “And what if I fall?”

He met her stubborn irritation with a warm smile. “Then I’ll catch you.”

Grey shuffled forward a few steps, possibly without thinking about it, because she stopped with a sudden jerk and stared at him suspiciously. “And what if we both fall?”

“Well, then,” he leaned back on one palm, craning his neck so he could watch her every reaction in the starlight, “at least we’d be falling together. I’m sure between the two of us we’d figure something out.”

“You are impossible,” she muttered, but slid in next to him. 

Gingerly she extended one leg off the edge, fist curled into what was probably a white knuckled grip under those gloves. He took pity on her, and extended his hand. She eyed it for a moment, before grasping it firmly and flinging the other leg off the edge dramatically. Her nod to him was defiant, even as her fingers formed a vice around his hand.

“See? Isn’t this nice?” he asked.

“It would be nicer with a railing.”

“That’d take out half the fun.” He lightly kicked her foot with his, earning a glare. “You don’t get an adrenaline rush if you know you can’t fall.”

“You don’t get enough of those while on the clock?”

“Do you?” he challenged.

In his mind’s eye, Theron could still see her blades twirling in a blur on on Tython. Could still feel the adrenaline pumping through his own veins as she risked her own life again and again with no hesitation. On Manaan. Rakata. Rishi. As innocent and proper an exterior she liked to present to the world, there was something wild and dangerous and irresistible lurking underneath that sweet facade. Someone a lot like himself. Just waiting for the right moment to burst forth.

“A Jedi doesn’t seek—“

He put a finger to her lips to stop the expected tirade, and leaned in a little closer. “I didn’t ask about a Jedi—I asked about you.” 

She frowned, leaning back just enough so his finger slipped down from her lips to rest against her chin. “Do you really think there’s a difference?”

Theron didn’t break her gaze, and just nodded ever so slightly with a soft hum of agreement. There was much more to her than the perfect little Jedi she kept trying to pretend to be. Too many layers and mysteries underneath the surface, and he wanted to peel back each one until she was laid bare before him. In every sense and meaning of the phrase.

Her fingers were still wrapped around his one hand like an anchor, and she let out a small huff as she glanced away. “We were talking about you, not me.”

“If you say so,” he said softly, and slowly leaned back into his own space.

The uncertain expression that flashed across her face was just as confusing as the strange fever that had overtaken him since he’d climbed up onto this platform. If he looked too deeply into any of this he’d probably descend into madness, or whatever the next step was after his current stage of mania. Her fingers loosened their death grip, and he let his hand drop back to the ground. She stared at it, lips pursed together as if she was trying to puzzle something out.

“I don’t always understand you,” she said after a moment. “You say one thing, but do another. Yet I don’t ever get the sense that you’re being dishonest with either.”

“Are you talking about anything in particular, or just in general?”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I’m not making sense.”

“I haven’t really felt like I’ve been making much sense either,” he admitted quietly.

“Like dangling off the edge of a two-hundred foot drop for no reason?”

“I told you the reason,” he said lightly, “that it’s fun.”

“You probably find explosions fun too,” she said sourly.

“It depends on how close I am to the explosion.”

“What frightens me is I don’t think you’re joking.”

“As I said,” he sat up, leaning ever so slightly to peek over the edge, pretending to teeter a little just because he was kind of an ass, “a little danger never hurt anyone.”

“And a little caution doesn’t hurt anything either.” Her hand immediately grabbed onto his arm, pulling him back. A thrill shot through him both at the renewed contact and the protective gesture.

“I suppose we could meet somewhere in the middle.” He inched back from the edge a few inches and some of the tension relaxed out of her frame. “If you’d like.”

“Perhaps.” She edged closer to him and the precipice, hand anchored around his arm as she pressed against him. “But I draw the line at explosions.”

“Oh, come on,” his breath puffed across her skin as he leaned in closer, “you love explosions, and you know it.”

He couldn’t see her roll her eyes, but he heard the exasperated breath she let out before her lips brushed chastely against his for the first time since Rishi. Her hand was still clamped down tight on his arm, as if holding on for dear life. He felt her tongue flick between his lips, a delicate tease that he obliged as he deepened the kiss. A wave of heat crashed over him, and if he wasn’t careful he could easily drown. 

It was just a small taste, but enough to light a deep, yearning hunger inside of Theron. Just like on Rishi, it reminded him of the exhilarating jolt coursing through his veins when space diving on Ruuria. Volcano boarding on Mima II. Base jumping off the Bubble Cliffs on Qiaxx. It was just as or even more intoxicating than every thrill he’d ever chased, and he wondered if every inch of her was just as much of a rush as this.

He eventually had to come up for air and broke away, her tiny moan of disappointment doing wonders for his ego. He leaned his forehead against hers, relishing in both the warmth of her skin and the soft tickle of her bangs. A soft tendril of breeze wrapped around them both, and he let his eyes drift shut as he tried to lean into this moment just as he had when they’d been watching the stars above. Wanting to make it last as long as humanly possible.

“I wanted to do that since you first stepped foot on Yavin,” he admitted quietly after several long moments.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well, we were a little busy,” he said. “And we weren’t exactly alone.”

“This isn’t exactly a private space,” she pointed out.

“I know,” he breathed. “I just… wanted to do that one more time.”

“Only once?”

He opened his eyes to see hers meeting his. They sparkled with a mischievous glint that he was pretty sure would have earned her quite the lecture back in her Padawan days.

“More than once.” And more than just that, but the five million warnings from all of her nosy crewmates were echoing in his ears, and despite his better judgement, he heeded them. No one could ever accuse him of not listening after this, because damn if he didn’t want to pursue whatever this thing was to the very end. “Way more.”

“How many?” Her eyes crinkled as a bright smile lit up her face.

More than the number of stars in the sky, was the truth, but aloud he said, “I don’t know if you can count that high.”

“I’ll have you know, I’ve learned a lot of numbers.” She caught his laugh in another kiss, and when she broke away, her eyes were still glittering. “See, that’s two.”

“And here I just thought you were just a pretty face that knew a thing or two about swinging around a lightsaber.”

“Nope. I’m very talented.”

“At just about everything that I can see.” And because he could, Theron brushed his lips against hers once more.

“And that’s three,” she murmured, “although I’m tempted to not count it.”

“I have to switch things up every now and then, otherwise you’ll get bored.”

“If there’s one thing I haven’t been since I met you, it’s bored.”

“I must be doing something right then.”

“You are.”

She grabbed the collar of his jacket and yanked him to her, pulling him in for another kiss. She sucked in his bottom lip and ran her tongue over the indentation of his recently healed skin. It had been swollen, split, and sore their first kiss, and her enthusiasm then had been dampened by his injured state. Now she was like an explorer slowly mapping out a new star system, almost as if she was trying to commit everything to memory.

That prompted a too deep thought about the next day’s impending departure, so he surged forward and deepened the kiss—turning it into something so Theron surged forward, deepening the kiss into something so breathless and wild he didn’t have time to think about anything else.

“Has anyone ever told you,” her words were quiet as she broke away, hardly a whisper on the air, “that you can be very distracting?”

“A time or two,” he said quietly. “What am I distracting you from?”

“Everything.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

She shook her head ever so slightly, possibly without even realizing it. “I know what I’m supposed to say…”

“I’ve never been big on rules.” He brushed away the bangs that fell into her face, obscuring the stormy emotion beginning to brew in her eyes. “I find them too constricting.”

“I used to find the rules comforting. Everything in its place, and if you just followed them well enough, everything would turn out okay.”

“Used to?”

Her eyes dropped down to the ground then, expression falling as she shook her head. “I don’t believe that anymore.”

A hard lump settled in Theron’s throat as he looked at the dim expression, making it hard to swallow. All the sparkle and mischief had faded from her eyes, leaving a cold empty expanse as she stared unseeing down at the ground.  Something in his chest tightened and he found himself picking up her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze, unsure of what else to do. She blinked, as if summoned back to the here and now from wherever she had gone.

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head lightly, as if trying to chase something away. “I think I broke the mood.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently, giving her hand another squeeze. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“We were having a good time, I… I let my mind wander.”

“No, I wasn’t thinking about what I was saying.”

“How are you supposed to know?” She laughed, but it was the choked desperate laughter of someone trying to hold on to their control.

“I feel like I should, or at least, not keep doing this to you.”

“It’s not just you. This just keeps happening. With everyone,” she whispered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should be better than this.”

“Do you want me to go?”

She shook her head quickly, giving the hand holding hers a tight, almost bone-breaking squeeze.

“I thought I was done with this. After Rishi… Master Orgus said he healed these scars left by… that should have fixed it. Shouldn’t it?” 

From the quiet desperation in Grey’s voice, he had a feeling the question was more rhetorical than something he could really answer. Not that the jumble of words made a lot of sense to him. Wasn’t… Orgus Din her final master before her knighting? Hadn’t he been killed near the beginning of her career as a Jedi? To Theron’s knowledge she had never even visited Rishi before being lured there by him and Lana. And he hadn’t a clue what scars her former Master was supposed to have healed.

“I thought,” he said carefully, “that he had passed away a long time ago.”

“He… visited me while we were on Rishi.”

 Theron almost asked about how exactly a dead man could just drop in for a chat and quick spiritual healing session, but if their encounters with Revan had taught him anything, it was that the Force was… weird. And complicated. And probably something he really didn’t want to think on too deeply because things like this just hurt his brain. Apparently even the boundaries of life and death were just mere technicalities to the Jedi like the one sitting next to him. Except Grey didn’t exactly look like the strong confident Jedi at the moment, more like a lost child looking for her parents. He could tolerate a few minutes of bizarre Force talk, if it helped ease that somehow.

“I’m sorry, I know this is strange.”

“No stranger than a half-zombie, half-ghost ancestor.”

The breath she exhaled was almost a wry laugh, but not quite. “That was a new one for me too.”

“At least we’re forging new territory together, eh?” He gave her hand a brief squeeze.

The corner of her mouth twitched up, nearly into a sad smile. “I suppose so.”

“So, was that the personal business you went to take care of before you headed to Torch’s Island?”

She nodded, giving him a sad smile. “He came to visit me one last time. I think he knew we weren’t going to succeed here on Yavin, and he wanted to try and help me one last time.”

“Masters are like that,” he agreed, his own thoughts briefly centering on Ngani Zho. “They just want what’s best for their Padawans.”

“He still called me that,” her eyes glittered with tears, “even as a ghost I was still his Padawan.”

“So is this whole Force ghost thing… common?” he asked uncertainly. 

She shook her head. “When a Jedi passes, they’re supposed to become one with the Force. Usually they don’t stick around for long conversations.”

“I guess Master Orgus felt the need to make an exception,” Theron said carefully.

“You could say that,” she smiled shakily. “He always did have to do things his own way. Even death.”

He nodded mutely, unsure of what he could say exactly. The only thing that came to mind were questions that he had promised not to ask, and even if it was a stupid promise, he still wanted to keep it. It was so easy to break things, but he wanted to try and keep his word to her intact. The reason why that was important was still vague and distant, but his gut said it was, and Theron always listened to his gut.

“You surprise me,” she said quietly, “you ask questions, but never the big one.”

“I promised you I wasn’t going to pry,” he reminded her. “I don’t want to be someone who breaks promises to you.”

“I don’t know what I’ve done to earn that.” He felt her other hand fold over his, enveloping it in a cocoon of gloved warmth. It was at that moment, he realized that he had never actually touched her with his bare fingers, that there had always been some sort of barrier between them. “It’s more than I deserve, but I’m grateful for it nonetheless.”

He didn’t have the proper elocution to properly unpack that statement and address it fully, but he felt the need to try, as inadequate as his own words were. “On Rishi. You came for me.”

Her lost expression softened as she met his eyes, but he was crap at decoding his own emotions, much less those of others. “Of course I did.”

“You didn’t have to.” His chest felt like someone was cleaving it in two, but he didn’t break his gaze, determined to try and at least attempt to finish his poor explanation. “I’m not used to that.”

“I will never leave you behind.”

The statement was uttered quietly, but so fiercely determined there was no doubt that she meant it. He swallowed, that lump still firmly lodged in his throat. The whole faith in others thing wasn’t usually in his repertoire, as it was a lot easier to glide on the default mode of skepticism. Everyone eventually moved on their own way, and logic said that nothing would be different this time. The determined look in her eye said exactly where logic could go, and Theron decided to side with the clear winner in this fight.

“I think I believe you,” he finally said, “which is kind of a first for me.”

“It won’t be the last,” she promised, wrapping her fingers around his tightly. “So get used to it.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said quietly, prompting a tiny sad smile.

“I wish I could be a brighter, stronger person for you. For everyone really, but you… make me want to be more.”

“I’m good with the person sitting with me right now,” he said. “You don’t need to be anything more than that.”

“You don’t need a fearless monster slayer? Someone who can look into the void and laugh?”

He shook his head. “That person doesn’t sound very fun.”

“She could be, if I tried.” Grey glanced down. “Maybe if I tried harder, I’d get there. And then hearing his voice again last night after all these years… it would have been fine.”

Theron pursed his lips together, feeling that hole in his chest starting to open up again. Here was the person in the rain last night, trying desperately to hide under armored plating and lightsabers. Not wanting to scare her off back under the thin Jedi veneer, he just ran his thumb along one of the elaborate pieces of metalwork on her glove, wishing that he could feel every groove in it directly instead of through the leather of his own gloves.

“You can ask,” she said brokenly, “if you want.”

Of course he wanted to — but this wasn’t about him. Not really. He just wanted to do the right thing here. Whatever that was. 

When he finally looked up, he saw the unshed tears in her eyes, and felt that small, infinitesimal hole in his chest begin to widen into a gaping wound. “Do you want me to ask?”

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I just don’t want to feel this way any more.”

“How do you feel?” he asked instead.

“Lost.” She bit her lip, looking away. “Like I’m back there again, even though I’m here. Like if I sleep too deeply, I won’t wake up as me.”

The nausea Theron had felt earlier after overhearing Scourge and Kira bubbled back up, filling the gaping hole with bile and a white, hot bubbling rage.

“I can’t wake up like that again,” she said so quietly he almost couldn’t hear. “Watching myself from afar, my body not my own. Screaming so loud but still unable to stop my hand. Have you ever been trapped in your own mind?”

“No,” he said hoarsely, trying to push the urge to vomit far back down. “I can’t even imagine… it sounds terrible.”

“I was so naive. I believed that anyone could be redeemed. Even him.”

There was such venom spat out in that single word, it only could have been reserved for something as unnatural as the ancient being that had been awakened the night before.

“I thought that there was always some small speck of light that could be brought out from even the darkest corner. I just had to trust in the Force, and it would guide me as it always does. It guided me… into darkness.” She swallowed, throat bobbing with the motion as she stared out at the shadowed landscape beyond. Almost as if she was expecting Vitiate to materialize from the darkness. “Just following the rules doesn’t work when someone ignores that they ever existed. It can’t protect anyone from that kind of evil.”

Theron thought of the fallen Jedi that she had chased after the six month gap in her file, and the dark ops leading up to that gap. Had they… stormed the Emperor’s Fortress, determined to capture him and bring him back to the light? How the hell did the Council think that would ever work? Capturing a supposedly immortal dark being and just force him to accept everything good and pure? That hot bubbling rage threatened to take him over.

“How old were you?”

“Twenty-two.”

He barely suppressed a curse. Sending a Knight, just barely two years into her career, to face down the almost literal embodiment of the Dark Side was just too much. Even with an entire team of dark ops Jedi. Even if they had sent her with the entire damn Republic army at her back it was too much. It would have been too much to ask even a wise and experienced Jedi Master like Ngani Zho and Orgus Din had been.

“They should never have asked you to do that.”

She blinked at him, surprised. “I volunteered.”

Of course she did. The moment he had brought his suspicions up with her regarding Darok, she had jumped on the chance to help him out. It was like she was incapable of just standing by if something bad was happening and had to try and fix it herself. That wasn’t the trait of a dedicated Jedi — it was the trait of someone with way too much to prove. He would know.

“I was never supposed to have innocent blood on my hands,” she whispered, “my lightsabers were never meant to be used for murder. No matter how much I wanted to stop, my hands wouldn’t listen to me. All I could hear was his laughter, his voice, telling me to give in. That he would make it all go away if I just gave over that last piece to him. Do you know what I did?”

Theron shook his head mutely.

“I hid. In the deepest corner of my mind, I hid. From him. From what he was making me do. I hid from everything. I was a coward.”

Theron wanted to pull her to him, tell her that she wasn’t, but he felt rooted to the spot. Somehow in defeating the demon from his past, they’d awakened hers. Pulling her back into what sounded like a living, waking nightmare. All he could do was squeeze his fingers around hers.

“In the end, I couldn’t even save myself.” Her voice was quiet, defeated. “Master Orgus’s spirit came from the Force and he found me, he was the one who broke the Emperor’s control over me. Everyone acts like I did something heroic and should be celebrated for breaking his control, when it was never even me to begin with.”

Here was the real truth, the real person he’d been seeking out that hid under that mask of the prefect Jedi. In her own way, the brave hero that everyone kept pinning their hopes on was just as broken as him. Struggling to live up to impossible standards and expectations. And just as lost and flawed and alone.

It took Theron a little while to find his voice, and when he spoke, it was rougher than he would have liked. “You still faced him down later, after all that?”

“Someone had to,” she said quietly, “and they all believed that I could. He was going to consume everything, all life. He was going to consume the Force. It was crying out. And even if it had abandoned me, I… couldn’t abandon it. Or everyone else. I couldn’t wait for the end to come without doing something. And no one else thought they could do it.”

“You didn’t either,” he pointed out softly.

She shook her head, like the fact that charging in to the demon’s lair was nothing noteworthy. Not too mention that she had done so after the kind of violation she’d been subjected to, and risked it happening again without any assurance. That would have been nearly impossible for anyone, and Theron had his doubts he would have been able to do it, even with literally the lives of every living thing in the galaxy on the line.

“When I was a child,” she said quietly, “I would pick up sticks in the forest and pretend they were my lightsabers. I only ever dreamed of being a Jedi, ever since my mother told me about her days as a Knight. I just wanted to be like her.”

That hadn’t been in her file. Actually, there hadn’t been much in it other than basic liner notes prior to her arrival on Tython. But she’d had a family once it seemed—and apparently a mother that she loved very much. There was a distant twang of jealousy, but it was swiftly carried away as he saw the wet tracks streaking down her face.

“I think she would be proud,” he said.

“She’s never visited me,” the confession came out broken, “not like Master Orgus. I wonder if… she wished I could have been stronger. More like her. She never had to throw away a bloodstained lightsaber. After Vitiate made me…” Her voice cracked and she had to swallow back the emotion that nearly dragged her under. “After I escaped, all I could see on mine was the blood, no matter how much I cleaned them.”

He knew absolutely nothing about Force ghosts or the woman in question, but from the reverent way Grey spoke of her, she had left quite an impression on her daughter. He wondered if that heavy, duty-filled legacy was one that had ever been truly intended to be passed on. He was far from an expert when it came to maternal figures and their intentions, but something in his gut told him that was probably not the case. 

“Master Satele, I think she knew,” Grey continued, filling in the silence, “when she gave me the new hilts. She told me that a Jedi needed to have faith in the weapons she wielded, faith in the Force. She helped me construct the new blades before I left Tython.”

Theron let his gaze drop, eyes tracing the path he was making as he marked each divot and design in the gauntlets on her gloves. For everything he still held against his mother, apparently he still had a few things to learn about her. Satele had reached out to a scared, vulnerable Knight, and helped her find confidence again instead of delivering any sort of platitude or lecture. He thought back to their argument earlier that day, trying to fit this new piece of the puzzle into his previous assumptions. It didn’t quite match up, like the sharp edges of his preconceptions needed to be shaved down.

“I made a vow that I would never let these be turned to serve darkness. I couldn’t let something of Master Satele’s become tainted like I had let mine.” Grey’s free hand traced some of the patterns in the hilts clipped to her belt. “I let her keep my old ones. She promised she’d make sure they were never used like that again.”

“I didn’t know about that, earlier,” he said, struggling to swallow past that ever present lump. “I would never have even mentioned it…”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” She finally looked up from her lightsabers, pulling his gaze up from the patterns he was tracing as well. “You’ve done me no harm.”

Seeing her trying to console him, with the wet tracks still glistening on her cheeks was too much for him to take. Heedless of whoever might be able to see, he reached out and grabbed her, crushing her against his chest as if that could somehow fix anything. Her arms stilled for a moment as if this was something that hadn’t ever occurred before and she had no idea what to do, before suddenly curling around him, fingers digging deep trenches into the leather of his jacket like drowning victim clutching to a lifeline.

“Master Orgus said he couldn’t come back anymore.” Her face was buried in his jacket, voice muffled by the leather. “He was the only thing that brought me back last time. I… I can’t be trapped like that again. I can’t.”

“It’s okay,” Theron murmured, tightening his arms around her small shivering frame. “He’s left. He’s not here.”

“No one’s saying anything, but they’re all terrified. Even Scourge. I didn’t finish the job last time, and now he’s back.” The shivering intensified to an actual tremble, and it felt like someone was shoving a vibroblade right through Theron’s chest. “I have to kill him, but he’s already dead. But he’s not alive either.”

 The enormity of the task that had been assigned to her, by fate, or the Force, or whatever seemed to loom just off into the shadows of the night. The blame for Vitiate’s return at this moment in time, if not the assault and chaos on the Republic all the way three hundred years ago, lay squarely at Revan’s feet. It was the baggage of Theron’s own family, not hers. In a way, the responsibility for all of this should have laid at his feet. Perhaps if fate had twisted differently—if their places had been switched and he’d been born with all the powers of the Force that she wielded—it would have. Would he have been able to break away like her, or would he have wound up as twisted and broken as the rest of the members of her strike team?

Because Revan, for all his power and gifts in the Force, had cracked under the constant torture he’d been subjected to over the course of three hundred years. His psyche torn in two; one half twisted into something dark, monstrous, and almost unrecognizable from the Jedi he’d once been. Someone willing to commit mass genocide. Willing to upend everything if it meant he could get revenge against the one who had taken everything from him. Even Revan’s attempts to connect with what remained of his family had been tainted into something sick and twisted.

Theron couldn’t help but wonder if those same weaknesses ran through his blood in the way that the Force never had. It probably would never not sting, not grate on him a little when the Force peeked its head around to meddle in his life after the way it had abandoned him when he was young — but as he looked at the connections he shared with Grey, it was hard to completely deny that maybe it had somehow set something in motion.

Maybe they were both just meant to finish what Revan had started nearly three hundred years ago. Or maybe it was even more than that.

He had no idea how he was supposed to deal with any of this, Force-blind Jedi washout that he was. The task that lay before her was beyond his capabilities, but if they failed at stopping Vitiate, nothing would ultimately matter anyway. Even if Theron hadn’t been assigned as the task force’s liaison for the SIS, he would have busted down Marcus Trant’s door and camped out in his office until he’d gotten it. Whatever had happened prior to now was out of his hands, he couldn’t change any of their yesterdays, no matter how much he wanted to at the moment. But tomorrow wasn’t set yet, and he could still do something about that.

She had answered every one of his calls, even when he made her go through ridiculous lengths to find out it was him. The woman had stormed an entire fortress just for him. She was more than just his partner on this one job, she was his friend. Possibly the best one he had ever had. Maybe if he was really careful, did enough research, and did his job well enough, she’d never have to hear the voice of her tormentor ever again.

“What if I fall?” she asked brokenly, clinging to him tightly as they teetered on the edge of the platform with nothing but the inky night below.

“You won’t.” He tightened his grip around her quaking shoulders, as if he could shield her from the night. “You’re not going to fall.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m going to catch you.” He pressed a kiss onto the top of her head, before glaring off into the night as if in challenge to the darkness just beyond them.

[dat-town]

love black, lips red

Characters: Hades!Yoongi & Persephone!You

Setting: greek mythology au

Genre: angsty

Warnings: implied sexual content (+ one line about animal sacrifices)

Summary: “I wanted darkness… I wanted him.” sequel to bed warm, hearts cold

Words: 2k

I couldn’t resist because I live for the angst. Also I’m blown away by the love bwhc got. I hope the sequel doesn’t disappoint. Happy birthday to our lovely genius, Min Yoongi! ♥

To this very day, you still remember the pain when you were ripped out of Yoongi’s loving arms. You remember your father’s rage, you remember it all too well. You still ache, heart bleeding black love as you stare out of the marble window. The Sun, shining blindingly bright and delightful, hurts your half-lidded eyes so you look away because there are no blinds or curtains that can shield you now, no salvation from this torture, a prison you know too well. You miss the vast darkness of calamity dearly, the calmness and the silence. You miss the way the stone floor felt cold under your bare feet, the silk of the sheets and you miss, oh you long for the heart made of anger and solitude that only beats for you.

"Shush, my child, it's for your own good," Demeter tells you in a light voice, fake smile blemishing his motherly features. She comes every morning to see you in a suite of a diamond palace you can't escape. Brushing your hair, she tells you stories of misguided innocent souls. Then she braids your soft locks and tucks flowers behind your ear. She doesn't care that it hurts, that your heart is breaking into smaller and smaller pieces with every inhale you take outside of the kingdom of death.

It is supposed to hurt. They claim it happens like this, that it’s a sign that you are healing, transforming back into the obedient daughter you were meant to be in the first place. They keep telling you the distance is the cure to get rid of your false thoughts. They believe that the God of Underneath brainwashed and manipulated you but they are wrong, so wrong. They knew nothing about you. Yet they call you Kore fondly like you were a child and you loathe its implications, the pet name of a maiden. So every night, before sleep claims you and sprinkles bittersweet dreams over your eyelids, you close your eyes and remember.

You remember the softness of his touches on your delicate skin that treated you like glass and porcelain. The hands that gripped you firmly like you were his, the sharp white teeth that marked you, the kisses that left bloodstains behind and you never loved anything more than being under his control and knowing that you had the same disarming effect on him. The glint in his eyes was pride as you sat on your throne beside him. It was made of dried roses, tendrils curling around the metal and it smelled like nothing on Earth. Just like Yoongi who was made of blood and bones and something dark that you loved deeply, madly. No matter how many sunsets passed he was engraved in your skin and that immortal, still-beating heart you had.

No matter how much your parents tried, how much they threatened or begged, they couldn’t erase the other god’s touch off you. Never, you swore because it was the mercy in eternity: you had all the time in the world and for Yoongi you would have waited centuries.

“Please forgive her. She didn’t know what she was doing…” Demeter murmurs, shedding the blood of innocent animals on an altar built for the God of Thunder. You scoff.

She of the Grain, the loving, worrying mother you once knew is now your prison’s guard, always keeping an eye on you and praying for your impure soul. Like you were somebody who should be saved from doom.

However, you wanted nothing more than those black cells, the burn of iron on your touch and the screams echoing in your ears. The power you found and had there, in that damned place itself, might have intoxicated you but you wanted it back. You wanted the life you chose over the one that was assigned to you.

“I don’t need your prayers,” you snapped at your mother grabbing at your dark clothes you refused to change to the colour of rebirth. Yoongi had gotten these gilded robes only for you and called you Queen, called you love when the night black dress matching your souls fit perfectly on your curves. His touch burnt through the layers but you enjoyed its warmth, bathed in the flames itching closer as his cool lips touched your throat.

“Zeus won’t forgive this disobedience if you don’t beg for it,” your mother warns you harshly, teeth gritting and you launch yourself onto the small altar of the room shoving its decorations away.

“I don’t care,” you cried frustrated, fingers crashing a rose in your fist until nothing but damaged petals paint your skin red. Lighting strikes outside, flashing angry white over your skin, shaking the walls, signalling that Zeus was indeed listening. “What’s the worst he could do? Kill me? Death sounds a lot better than this prison. Or will he exile me? Then why did he bring me back in the first place? Don’t you see, ma? I don’t belong here.”

Ever since you were a little child, growing up among gods and goddesses of harvest and prosperity, you knew you were different. You were the error in the perfect system, the mistake of an unwavering structure, the flap of the butterfly’s wing that could cause a hurricane on the other hemisphere of Earth. Oh, Chaos, the father of everything, would have been so proud of you. You craved finality of things instead of this boring infinity. You fancied destroying more than creating and that, that made you feel sick. Because what was wrong with you?

“Nothing,” Yoongi would have whispered into the seam of your lips. Loving and kind, sweet like death is for the tortured souls. “There's nothing wrong with you.”

And beside him, you really didn’t have to pretend nothing at all. You could be yourself, you could be angry, you could be at your worst and Yoongi loved then too. He loved your flaws, your mundane needs and naive wishes.

But Goddess of Harvest is relentless. Despite your resistance, she still thinks you aren’t a lost cause but you are, at least for her and the purposes she wants, you are beyond help. It isn’t until the cherry trees bloom that she has to realize that every action had a consequence. Just because she is a goddess and Zeus is the head of gods, they are not allowed to do anything without atonement. Nobody can go against the sacred rules of the world. One cannot just claim something that belongs to the Underworld because the darkness will reclaim it back. And Yoongi wanted you back.

It starts with blackouts, disgust of food and then you can’t make the flowers bloom anymore. Greenery dies under your footsteps and Demeter, she is horrified. She keeps you hidden in your room fearing the havoc your downfall might bring but this act angers the people even more. The farmers think their corns lose their value because you aren’t there to relive them. They have no idea of your new powers of destruction, the way you suck life out of any living thing you touch. It should terrify you yet you only laugh because the humans whom your mother tried so hard to please now despise her and do not make more ritual offerings for her altar. She blames you and pleads to Zeus to do something, anything but they are both helpless. Ancient laws like this can't be played out.

It takes a while for them to understand that you aren’t from around here anymore, that they can’t keep you here, can't make you bring spring for them. Your heart and soul, they draw you back to the Underworld, to your king.

"The leaves are falling and the nature is dying," Demeter watches the colourful leaves swirling around in the wind and the grief in her voice is familiar. It's regret and surrender, the recognition that she lost.

"Don't worry, mother. I will come back when it's time. But I will come on my two feet and I will be welcomed like a queen and not a kidnapped daughter," you tell her standing up and this time, the doorknob doesn't resist. The door's wings part in front of you and you follow the darkest ray of sunshine to the edge of mortal world.

You greet the Styx like you greet a lover, lips touching the surface of the deadly water and murmuring confessions. However, before you could cross the river, hands from your dreams grab on your waist pulling you back. You fit perfectly onto the wide chest you lean against and gasp at the sensation of chapped lips pressed to the underside of your jaw. It takes your breath away, suffocating you in the best way possible.

“Little bird… you came back,” a raw sigh escapes Yoongi, its exhale fanning over your neck dressing you in goosebumps as you relish in the feeling of his arms caressing your middle keeping you close like he never wanted to let you go. Not ever again.

“I will always come back to you,” the promise slips your mouth like the light always finds its way in the darkest tunnels and the waves crash onto the rocky shore. It almost hurts how true these words are, how unalterable they are. It may have been the seeds of pomegranate, the taste of Underworld that overpowered the will of higher deities and brought you back. It might have been for the unwritten rules nobody could break yet you would have crawl your way back here anyway.

“Have you been searching for me?” you turn around in Yoongi's embrace to face him and the yearning so clear in his onyx eyes catches you off guard.

“I looked everywhere. I turned the world upside down. I wanted to break down the walls of Olympus to get to you but they didn’t let me. They kept you locked away from me,” he admits and your heart shares his misery.

“I'm here now,” you whisper like a secret and standing on your tiptoes you kiss the God of Dead on the mouth. It feels like the first gulp of water after thirst or the first inhale of fresh oxygen after drowning, it tastes sweet like spring and bitter like the blood that rushes in your veins. It’s everything you’ve missed and more so you let yourself get lost in him.

You may spend half the year up on the surface, watching as the first snowdrops peep out of the frozen ground and heat scorches through the fields on hot summer days. But you are back in the realm of darkness during wine harvest and when the temperature drops below zero. You take spring with you and give it to Yoongi as you make love. You breathe life in him and plant love into the scratches on his back that your nails leave. You bring new hopes and kiss him like it's a first, eager and hungry. With swollen and split lips you swear you can taste his devotion on your tongue.

“I missed you,” he groans into the juncture of your throat every single time and draws colourful flowers all over your body with his mouth, tongue lapping over the bruises and marks you wear proudly as accessories adorning the canvas of your figure. And you will remember it, his whispered words, how it felt murmured into your skin, the pleasure and pain, all of it when eventually you will have to leave again. So that you will never forget.

And after six lunar months spent missing him, when you come back and he traces a finger on your naked waist as you lie naked on his bed, your bed, in his arms, you finally, finally feel at home.

[a-splash-of-stucky]

A Messed Up Place | Epilogue

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary: A wedding and a surprise

Warnings: flooffy goodness :’)

“Professional” Notes: The last ever AMUP update is being posted on Bucky’s birthday — I feel like that’s appropriate, somehow. Also, this was supposed to be a short and sweet epilogue but whOOPS 4k words happened somehow. Self-discipline? Don’t know what that is, never heard of it. #noregrets

“Emotional” Notes: I’m sobbing, I’m screaming, I’m hysterical, I’m not ready for this gAAHHHH!!!!

I’m feeling like a bundle of raw emotions rn. A Messed Up Place has been a labour of love ever since October 12th, 2017, my 19th birthday and the day I posted the AMUP Prologue. Now, nearly 5 months later, it’s coming to its official end. Thank you to everyone who’s stuck with me throughout this journey — your reblogs, comments and reactions have truly meant the world to me. To share this story with you, to see all the love that has come out of it, to have had this story bring me closer to some of my faves…there are no words to describe how I’m feeling. Honestly. Thank you so much, all of you.

Also, I’m sorry I broke your hearts and made you cry — I hope it was worth it all in the end.

AMUP Masterlist

“My point is, I’ve known Tony for a long time,” says Rhodey. He pauses and cocks his head to the side, before barking out a short, dry laugh. “Actually, now that I think about it, it hasn’t been that long year-wise, but man, with the amount of sh—I mean…stuff he’s gotten himself into, it sure does feel a lot longer.”

As Rhodey takes a sip of his champagne, he catches Bucky’s gaze out of the corner of his eye and  gives an almost imperceptible quirk of his eyebrows. Bucky flashes him an easy smile and gives him a subtle thumbs-up, showing his thanks for the quick save.

Steph’s at the age where she just adores repeating basically every word that she hears. The last thing Bucky needs is for the word ‘shit’ to be added to her repertoire of favourites, alongside ‘laun-de-reee’, ‘no’ and ‘cat dick’.

Though, with a room full of adults in various stages of tipsiness, not adding a swear word to Steph’s vocabulary is proving easier said than done. There have been a few too many close-calls tonight. Why did Bucky ever think that letting Steph stay for the reception was a good idea? Her sleep schedule’s going to be fucked up for the next week.

Bucky pauses, registering his train of thought. God, he’s such a dad.

“I remember when Tony was an insufferable know-it-all,” Rhodey continues, his voice drawing Bucky back to the present. “Oh wait — he still is an insufferable know-it-all.”

That pulls a chuckle out of Bucky and causes a titter of laughter to ripple through the room. Tony gives his best man an affronted look.

“Yeah, but I guess back in the day, he was a hundred times worse,” Rhodey amends, once the audience has settled again. “I mean, c’mon! He was schooling all of his professors in MIT! Gave a lecture of his own, at one point — after hijacking the lectern in true Tony fashion, of course.”

“I’ve watched him as he lived the life of a CEO playboy. I’ve seen him learn what responsibility is. I’ve seen him at the lowest of his low points and the peak of his high points. And I thought I’d seen all the parts of him there ever was to see — until he met you, Pepper.”

The customary wave of ‘aww’s’ sweep through the room. Bucky watches as Pepper — in an uncustomary public display of affection — scoots her chair closer to Tony’s and rests her cheek on his shoulder. Pepper’s strawberry blonde hair has started to fall out of her bun, curled tendrils hanging loosely around her face. Her cheeks have a rosy glow to them that match the happy glimmer in her eyes. She looks relaxed and in love and more at peace than she’s ever been — just like her new husband.

“You bring out a whole different side of him, Pep,” Rhodey says, the fondness evident in his tone. “He’ll deny this to his grave, I know, but you make him soft at heart. You’re good for him and hopefully — he’ll be good to you. May the both of you live a long life, have a healthy marriage and please, for the love of god, don’t let any of your kids get their hands on Tony’s suits. To the both of you,” he declares, raising his champagne flute with a grin on his face. Amidst waves of laughter, Bucky catches the toast being echoed by the rest of the wedding guests.

Bucky pushes off from the wall he’s been leaning on and walks back to the centre of the dance floor. He takes the mic off Rhodey as their paths cross, murmuring a quiet ‘well done’ as they brush shoulders. That’s the last speech of what has been an eventful night, filled with tears (of the happy sort), lots of laughter and two separate occasions of Tony nearly setting Pepper’s dress on fire.

But besides those instances of near-catastrophe, the whole affair has been rather low-key and chilled. It’s clear that Pepper’s done most of the wedding planning. The entire event is being held in the back gardens of the compound. An enormous marquee has been set up, with fairy lights, lanterns and all manner of flowers strung from the ceiling. There’s a dance floor on one end and tables taking up the rest of the space. Everything is pastel coloured and tastefully decorated.

It’s nice. Really nice.

“So, that marks the end of all the speeches we have lined up for tonight,” Bucky says, addressing the assembled crowd. He’s the MC of the reception, tasked with the trying job of facilitating seamless transitions between the nights’ entertainment.

Bucky’s really glad that his work is almost done.

“I’d just like to say a quick thank you, on behalf of our newly married couple, to everyone that’s made this event what it was. And to Tony and Pepper — I’m sure you’re sick of hearing this, by this point, but congratulations,” Bucky says sincerely, flashing the two of them a warm smile. Pepper returns the gesture and Tony nods his head in acknowledgement.

Just then, Bucky hears the tap-tap-tap of patent-leather shoes darting across the floor. He beams when he catches sight of his daughter rushing towards him at full speed, arms outstretched, fine blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders and chocolate cake smeared on her chin.

Typical, he sighs internally. Well, at least there’s no chocolate on her white dress.

As Stephanie runs to his side, Bucky crouches down to welcome her with open arms. He hoists her up in one smooth motion, perching her on his waist. She enthusiastically wraps her arms around his neck and flashes him a toothy grin.

“Hello gorgeous,” Bucky murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. Bucky spots you sitting beside Pepper and arches an eyebrow in your direction, before looking pointedly at Steph; a silent what’s she up to?

You shrug exaggeratedly, hands raised and palms facing outward. How the hell do I know?

“Daddy,” Steph whines, patting Bucky on the cheek to get his attention, “Wanna go dancing again.”

Bucky’s heart might just have melted a little. He ducks his head closer, “Almost done here, gorgeous, then we can go dancing again, okay?” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of Steph’s ear with each word. He smiles when she giggles and pushes his face away with her pudgy hands; his baby’s always had ticklish ears.

Steph leans back and puts her palm on his cheek, schooling her features into a more solemn expression. “Daddy, I haff something ‘portant to tell you,” she says seriously.

“Oh?” Bucky asks, arching an eyebrow in amusement. “Okay, but is there something you want to say to Tony and Pepper first, gorgeous?”

Stephanie seems to think about it for a minute, brows drawing together and lips pursing as if she’s sucked on a lemon. When it clicks, she claps her hands excitedly as an exuberant grin spreads across her face.

“Yeah!” she cries, making grabby hands for the mic, “I gotta say something!”

Bucky chuckles, holding the mic closer to her mouth. “Go ahead, sweetheart,” he says.

Steph twists around so that she’s beaming brightly at the crowd of expectant faces. As the one and only flower girl in attendance, over the course of the night, Steph seems to have won over the hearts of everyone present.

Who can blame them, really?

Bucky catches sight of you, sitting in between Wanda and Pepper, watching your daughter with a bemused smile on your face. You’ve got your chin propped up on one hand, a glass of water poised at your lips. You meet Bucky’s gaze and flash him a cheeky wink, just as you take a sip.

“Ev’body? I’m gonna be a biiiiiig sistah!” Steph announces proudly.

What?

It’s lucky that Bucky’s eyes are trained on you, because your reaction to Steph’s revelation is priceless. You choke on your mouthful of water and burst into a coughing fit. Wanda turns towards you to thump your back, whilst simultaneously shooting Bucky an is this for real? expression. Pepper and Tony have bolted upright, their haze of marital bliss disrupted by the commotion. Natasha and Sam look like they’ve gone into shock, and everyone else’s gaze is focused on Stephanie, who is seemingly unaware of what she’s just done.

A stunned hush descends over the room.

“Uhm,” Bucky mutters weakly. He clears his throat and shifts Stephanie on his hip. “Uhh—gorgeous…I think you had something else you wanted to say to Tony and Pepper, right?” he asks. “Remember? You were practicing it this morning?”

Stephanie cocks her head to the side and narrows her eyes. “Oh! Oh, con…gra…chu…lay…shuns?” she says slowly, carefully enunciating each syllable.

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, his voice strained. “Yeah, um…why don’t you go sit back down with Aunty Nat, gorgeous, and let Daddy finish this off?” he suggests. Steph nods agreeably. Bucky sets her down and watches as she toddles off towards the head table, where Natasha is holding a hand out for her. Bucky runs his metal hand through his hair and takes a shaky breath.

“Okay, well…um,” he starts, “I—guess there’s not much more for me to say. Congratulations, Tony and Pepper. May you have a good marriage and all that.”

He’s pretty sure his words fall on deaf ears. As Bucky hands the mic back to the DJ hovering at the back of the dance floor, he spies you hurriedly weaving through the tables and slipping out of the marquee via one of the side flaps. Sam shoots Bucky a pointed look and jerks his head in your direction; a clear go after her, dude. Steph seems to be well-occupied by Natasha for the moment, and so, silently praying that his daughter isn’t going to start spouting out more secrets, Bucky quickly dashes after you.

When he steps outside, Bucky discovers that the twilight hour has come and gone. As his eyes adjust to the darkness, Bucky spins around in a circle, trying to find you. He spots you sitting on the concrete steps leading into the main building, your elbows on your knees, hands clasped in front of you and forehead pressed against your wrists. He sighs, slowly walking towards you, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his crisp white shirt as he goes. Bucky plops himself down a couple of steps below you, body angled in your direction.

“She’s only three,” you say weakly, not bothering to lift your head up to acknowledge him. “What did I expect? Ugh, our daughter is terrible at keeping secrets.”

Bucky’s heart does an excited little flutter. “So she was serious?” he croaks out.

You drop your hands. Your mascara’s smudged underneath your eyes and most of your lipstick has rubbed off, this late in the day. But, you’ve still got a smile on your face and to Bucky, you look as beautiful as ever.

“I found out a few days ago,” you admit quietly, “Realised that my period was late and took a test.” You laugh softly, “Got the shock of my life when I saw it was positive.”

Bucky inhales sharply.

“I thought it’d be a nice to have Steph tell you the news,” you continue, eyes flicking up briefly to meet his. “I’ve been practicing it with her and—,” you break off with a groan, burying your face in your hands. “Fuck, why did I ever think that was a good idea? Now everyone knows that I’m pregnant and I wanted to tell you first in private before—and, and now—,”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bucky interjects, pushing himself onto his knees and catching your wrists in his hands. He pulls them to his chest, ignoring your weak protests, leaving you unable to hide your face from him. When you tilt your chin upwards, Bucky sees the glimmer of unshed tears in your eyes. The watery smile on your lips tells him that they’re not tears of sadness, though. In this moment, Bucky feels like there’s a gurgling pressure behind his sternum, a bubbling spring of emotions itching to spew free.

“For real, princess?” he asks quietly, barely able to contain himself.

You laugh breathlessly, the corners of your eyes crinkling with joy. “Yeah, honey. Really.”

Bucky swallows, then leans in close until his forehead is resting against yours, until his nose brushes your cheek and your breath ghosts over his face. You slip a hand out of his grip and curl it around the back of his neck, fingers combing through his ponytail.

“Tell me again, sweetheart,” Bucky says, voice hoarse, thick with tears. With your palm pressed to his chest, he has no doubt that you can feel the mad thumping of his heart. “I need to hear you say it.”

Your hand on the back of his neck tightens its grip. “I’m pregnant,” you whisper.

Bucky lets out a half-sob, body surging forward to crash his lips against yours. Inside his chest, he feels the dam burst, allowing a tsunami wave of emotions to course through his system. The kiss is heated and sweet and meaningful, all that same time. His brain is spinning, his body is floating, his heart is soaring, his soul is singing. He’s overcome with feelings and he just—he can’t put any of them into words.

“Sweetheart,” he says breathlessly, brokenly. It’s the only word his brain can think of right now. Fuck—he has so many things to tell you. I can’t believe it, he wants to say. I’m terrified, maybe. I’m so fucking happy. I love you so much. “I—oh my god—,”

“I know,” you say fervently, meeting his lips for another urgent kiss, “I know.”

And perhaps, he just doesn’t need to say anything. Maybe you’ve heard all those unsaid words anyway. Maybe, after all this time, you just know.

“Again,” Bucky demands, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other arm encircling your waist. He darts in for another kiss — fuck he never wants to stop kissing you, ever — as he leans forward, forcing you to brace your elbows against the step above the one you’re sitting on. “Tell me again,” he begs, gently nipping your bottom lip as he pulls back to look at you.

He takes in your kiss-bitten lips, your darkened eyes and your messy hair. You curl your fingers into the lapels of his jacket, just as your lips curl into a private smile, for his eyes only. “I’m pregnant,” you repeat, your voice quiet, sincere.

Bucky drops down again, brushing his lips against yours. “I love you so much,” he says, in between kisses, “So fucking much, you know that?”.

“Love you too,” you reply, throwing your arms over his shoulders to hold him close.

Where words fail, actions speak.

Bucky pours every ounce of love surging through his body into every press of his lips, desperately hoping that each kiss is enough to telegraph the extent of his emotions. Words are not enough, actions are not enough — he wants you to know how he’s feeling so bad. His world is shaken by this news — for better, for worse, who knows?

The only certainty he’s holding onto right now is you.

Bucky blankets your body with his, moulding his body to yours and wishing he could do the same to your souls. He kisses you and tastes the salt of your tears, the mint on your tongue. He feels the hammering of your heart, hears your barely-audible sighs and greedily drinks in the exultant joy radiating out of every fibre of your being.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky breathes, cradling the back of your neck with his flesh hand and pulling your mouth closer, kissing your lips like you’re the oxygen that Bucky has been starving for. And maybe that is what you are, Bucky thinks desperately, a fleeting thought in his dizzy mind. Maybe you’ve been his oxygen all this while. Because it’d certainly felt like an agonisingly slow death, enduring all those months without you.

The two of you lose time like that, sprawled out on the steps, tangled in each others arms, rucking up your fancy clothes. You trade kisses and soft touches, murmured promises and meaningful stares. There’s a simmering heat in his belly that Bucky could turn into something more if he stoked the fire and gave it some attention, but for now — this is enough.

From somewhere on his left, someone clears their throat obnoxiously.

Bucky startles, quickly rolling off you as he reaches for the knife strapped to his left calf. When he sees who it is, he allows his posture to relax, although a hot rush of embarrassment does race through his veins.

“If we’d walked out a second later, I’m fairly certain we’d’ve stumbled across you two defiling our porch steps,” Tony remarks dryly.

Pepper gently elbows him in the side. “Tony!” she chastises, “Be nice.”

“Sorry, darling,” Tony says quickly. Bucky doesn’t miss the dopey look he shoots in her direction.

Seriously. Were you and Bucky ever this bad?

Bucky glances down at the gold ring welded onto his metal ring finger, casts his mind back to a warm summer’s day on the beach, sun on his face, sand between his toes, his arms around your waist and thinks no — the two of you were worse.

“Anyway,” Tony drawls, “I must say, your daughter sure does have a knack for dramatic timing.”

“He did learn from the best,” Pepper comments sarcastically, giving him the side-eye. Tony squawks in protest.

“Tony—Pepper, I’m so, so sorry,” you say quickly, sitting up and brushing you skirt back into place. “I—I really didn’t mean to steal your thunder, or anything like that, I swear, it was—,”

Pepper holds a hand up to silence you, a benevolent smile on her lips. “No harm done, Y/N,” she says reassuringly, “Really, we mean it. Yes, it was quite the shock, but—that just makes the night more memorable, no? We’re not mad, honestly.”

Tony snorts. “Speak for yourself,” he grumbles. “Sorry, sorry,” he adds hastily, when Pepper narrows her eyes into a murderous glare. Turning his focus back to the two of you, he clears his throat and says, “Congratulations, and all that good stuff, I suppose.”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “Yes, congratulations, you two,” she says emphatically. “And technically, it is past midnight, so you didn’t really steal our thunder.”

You make a sound that is a cross between a laugh and a groan. “I’m never going to forgive her for this,” you mutter darkly, “There goes her Stark tablet privileges for the week!”

“You say that, but you know she’ll just do something to make you forgive her in the next day,” Bucky points out. “Kid’s got us wrapped around her finger.”

With a resigned, full-bodied sigh, you slump against Bucky’s side. “It’s the thought that counts,” you say morosely.

“Well, I think we’ll leave you two to rejoice in peace,” Tony says decisively, pivoting on his heel and striding back to the party. “Just don’t traumatise any of our guests when they come out here!” he calls over his shoulder.

“Tony,” Pepper says, in a voice that is both fond and exasperated. To the two of you, she adds, “Seriously, no offence taken. I’ll make sure that Nat’s keeping an eye on Stephanie.”

“Thank you, Pepper,” Bucky says, as Pepper glides off towards her husband, her periwinkle blue wedding dress swishing with each step.

The two of you sit in silence, watching as Tony and Pepper slip back into the marquee, hand-in-hand. When the coast is clear, you peel yourself away from Bucky’s side and climb into his lap. Bucky chuckles in surprise, but plants his feet flat on the step below, allowing you to straddle his thighs.

You pay no attention to the fact that your skirt has bunched up in your lap, nor to the fact that someone from the reception could stumble out and see you two at any second. Bucky rests his hands on your waist and tips his head back to look at you, awestruck by the reality of the situation and the enormity of this new adventure.

“How the hell are we gonna manage with two little ones?” he asks quietly, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your hipbones. “We can barely get by with just Steph!”

You throw your head back and laugh, drawing Bucky’s attention to the elegant column of your neck. Compelled, he leans forward and presses a kiss to the hollow of your throat, letting his lips linger for a while. You hum softly, looping your arms over his shoulders and scooting forward a little, so that your chest is pressed against his.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” you murmur, “Things always seem to have a way of working out.”

When your lips finally meet, the kiss is tender — languid and lazy, like a sluggish breeze on a sweltering hot day. Bucky’s arms tighten around you, the fingers of his flesh hand tangling in your hair, his metal hand tracing patterns across the skin of your bare back. He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip and swallows your breathy sigh. You mouth opens so easily for him and before long, he finds you rolling your hips against his in slow, sinuous motions.

Bucky’s mouths a trail of wet kisses across your jaw and down your neck, coming to a stop above your pulse point. He feels your thrumming heartbeat against his lips, seemingly beating in time with his own heart.

“D’you think it’s okay if we ask Nat and Sam to take Steph for the night?” he asks, only half-joking, “Y’know. For celebration purposes.”

He feels the rumble of your laughter vibrate through his chest. “Bucky,” you giggle.

“What?”

“No,” you say. Bucky’s fairly certain he heard your eyes rolling, that time.

“Aw—c’mon, honey—,”

“No,” you repeat firmly. Before he can protest further, you cup Bucky’s jaw in your hands, tilting his head back until he meets your eyes.

Your hair is disheveled, falling around your face in messy strands. There’s a gleaming brightness in your eyes that makes the marquee lights behind you seem pale in comparison. You brush your thumb across Bucky’s stubbled jaw, an absentminded smile playing on your lips. “Not tonight, at least,” you tell him.

Bucky swallows, reaches his flesh hand up to catch your wrist. He turns his face to the side and presses his lips to the heel of your palm, registers your sharp intake of breath. “I’m gonna hold you to that promise,” he murmurs.

You huff out a laugh and lean forward, nosing a path down his cheek. Bucky turns his head and finds your mouth again, pressing his lips against yours in slow, unhurried movements.

“Tell me again,” Bucky whispers, as his flesh hand comes to rest on top of your belly.

You rest your hands on top of his, before swallowing audibly. You hold his gaze, your eyes bright with sudden tears, a pure and hopeful smile on your lips.

“I’m pregnant, sweetheart. We’re gonna have another baby.”

Bucky thinks he’ll never be as happy as he is right now, sitting on some concrete steps with you in his arms, stealing kisses from your lips whilst the sounds of laughter and upbeat music float across the gardens.

Bucky’s glad he stands corrected a few months later, on Steph’s fourth birthday, when he sees the look of delight on his baby’s face as she sets eyes on her unicorn-themed birthday cake. They’re surrounded by their super-family, a collection of opened presents and shredded wrapping paper littering the floor of the common room. Stephanie manages to get pink frosting all over her face, making Bucky laugh until his cheeks are sore. You try to keep the smile from spreading across your face, but it’s a futile effort when you have a daughter as sweet as Steph.

You have a hand resting protectively on top of your burgeoning belly, and the sight only serves to make Bucky’s heart swell a little more.

Bucky’s glad he stands corrected a few months after that, as he cradles his son in his arms, gently rocking him back and forth as he makes his way over to your side of the bed. You take him from Bucky, cooing softly as you stroke your knuckle over his chubby cheeks. Steph, perched on your other side, peers at the baby curiously, as if trying to decide what to make of her little brother. Warily, tentatively, she brushes her index finger over his pudgy fist, gasping in surprise when he wraps his little fingers around it and holds on tight.

“I think I could love him,” she whispers.

Bucky’s glad he stands corrected a few years down the line, as the two of you bring in the last of the boxes and set them on the kitchen counter. The house is a mess, the kids are wreaking their usual havoc and the last thing he wants to do is walk up a flight of stairs to check on them. Both of you are gross and sweaty, but Bucky loops his arms around you and pulls you close nonetheless, planting an enthusiastic kiss on your lips. Moving in has been stressful and exciting, to say the least, but Bucky is eager to start writing this new chapter in your lives. He can’t wait to fill these walls with memories and make this house a place to call home.

Unable to fight the grin spreading across his face, Bucky picks you up and swings you around in a circle. “Welcome home, sweetheart,” he breathes.

Bucky loses track of how many times he stands corrected, as the years go by. Day after day, he smiles until his cheeks hurt and laughs until his sides ache. The years are filled with birthdays and babies, missions and milestones, ups and downs. He watches his children go to school, grow up, get married, have lives — take on the world like they were made of gold dust and vibranium.

“What a life, huh sweetheart?” Bucky asks softly, as another chapter comes to its end.

Time has a funny way of slipping by in the blink of an eye, he’s noticed. Many things have changed over the years, but the one faithful, unshakeable constant he’s held onto is his love for you.

Bucky thinks of this as the two of you lie tangled up on the sofa, your body slotted between Bucky’s legs, your cheek pressed to his chest and his chin resting on top of your head.

“Yeah, honey. What a life,” you murmur, as you slip your fingers underneath the hem of his t-shirt, splaying them across the small of his back. “A crazy, wild, tumultuous, messy life.”

You pause to pull away from him, sitting up a little and craning your head back to look into his eyes. “But worth it all?” you ask.

Bucky grins, feels that joyous fluttering in his heart as he leans forward and presses a kiss to your lips. “Yeah, my gorgeous. It’s all been worth it.”

End A/N: Am I bawling my eyes out? You betcha :’)))

[justrenta]

Wedge haircut 2016

To fix up individual curls that are acting up, wrap a few pieces around a 3/4 inch rod iron. The best way to style this look is to use a lightweight curl product (I love sweetheart curls by L’Oréal) and diffuse with a blow dryer. With a round face, keep the front length longer than the jawline to draw the eye more up and down, and for longer face shapes, the jawline would be a perfect length. I would recommend this haircut for all face shapes. This look is nice for any curly or wavy hair because if hair is extremely thick it may get too voluminous. This short wedge haircut is for someone who wants to enhance their natural wave with a stylish haircut while keeping their regimen nice and easy. It also draws her profile up for a more flattering silhouette. Going shorter in the back and longer in the front creates major volume and movement through the back and keeps “safe” length around her face. The bold color and angled haircut enhance the wave by drawing your eye to the individual tendrils. I apply thicker highlights than I would on straight hair because curls tend to naturally blend colors together. There is surely an approach for every face shape and hair type – even for wild curls! Revamp your look with these fabulous and very in-demand short wedge haircuts! Wedges have a wide range of styles – you can go for soft and gentle layers for a feminine aura or a super short and spiky style for a funky vibe. This is a popular cut for women with fine and thin hair that needs a bulky twist or simply someone wanting to have a taste of the short hair lifestyle. All of these make up a usual wedge and can naturally enhance the density of your mane without needing too much weight! You’ll find lots of gradual layers, stacking techniques, short A-line or asymmetrical shapes, choppy cuts, blunt or wispy bangs, tapered backs. Although short wedge hairstyles are not for everyone, many women will find these haircuts refreshing. Olympic Dorothy Hamill really made this look popular. The wedge haircut is a voluminous retro-style short layered bob for women with fine & straight hair that became popular in the 1970’s.

[royal-writer]

Memories 2

ooOF the more I write these the more I realize I am a Terrible Mother... But like 99% of these things are stuff I’ve already written/played into Ess’ lore when I was designing her the first month or so so??? it’s not like it’s really news...

Essätha leaned over the edge of the counter with a playful grin. She offered a wink with her light chestnut eyes; extending a hand across the distance of the bar. The very tips of her fingers brushed the side of the lady’s hand while a curious hum echoed in her throat.

“What time do you get off?” she sang quietly.

The barmaid turned a searching gaze upon her. She had rather pleasant eyes; a curious dark green and lips slightly pursed. Very kissable. A lovely dark skintone that nearly matched the color of her hair with pointed ears sticking out.

“In less than an hour, sweetheart,” the barmaid coolly responded. She didn’t bother to remove her hand from Essie’s touch.

She whistled softly, speaking with a purr, “Were you planning on rushing straight home?”

The young lass lowered her gaze. She looked Essätha over with a slow smile creeping over her features.

“I think I can spare a wee bit of time…”

Just the response she was hoping for.

Pulling back her hand, Essätha leaned away from the bar top. The maiden slowly pulled her hand back to grab something under the bar, and stepped away. Her eyes, however, continued to remain locked on Essie’s as she swayed her hips with each step.

Essie passed her a dangerously flirty smile. Fangs peeked out from her lips as she ran her tongue across her lower lip.

Blushing, the barmaid turned her gaze away shyly.

With a smug little grin, Essie plopped her elbow up on the bar. She placed her chin upon her hand and watched with growing delight. At least her evening was going to prove eventful.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Oh, gross! You didn’t really kiss him, did you?”

“Uh, yeah, I did. He didn’t even know how to do it; he slobbered on me like a dog.”

“Oh, that’s disgusting,” Essätha laughed, clutching her chest. “Poor you!”

A sour complexion, the tiefling crossed her arms. She rolled her eyes; the disturbing jet-black coloring reflecting little to no lot.

“It kept him from reporting to the guard that I stole his damn family antiques and sold it.”

Still giggling, Essie covered her mouth with her hand. What a dummy! Exchanging a simple kiss for an heirloom. She wouldn’t give up what little she had that reminded her of her mom for all the money in the world.

“What did he say he was going to tell his family about the missing relic?” Ess’ finally managed to snicker.

“Psst, don’t know, don’t care,” the dark red lady stated with a wave of her hand. “It’s not my problem.”

“Oooh Solace, you heartless witch.”

“Coming from the local snake witch? I’ve heard worse.”

The two burst into a fit of giggles.

“Is that where you got this new outfit from?” Essätha asked with awe, gesturing to the soft, pink, frilly blouse and new slacks. She had a brand new choker and earrings, and if she wasn’t mistaken, that hue of makeup wasn’t one she’d had before.

“Noooo,” Solace drew out with smugness. “I got this out of that bitch Clara’s Winfelds wardrobe. She recently got a delivery of a shitload of new clothes from another region. I figured she wouldn’t miss some of her old stuff.”

“And you got me nothing? You sly bitch.”

“You wouldn’t fit in any of it anyway!” Solace stated, placing an offended hand to her chest. “You’re thinner than a twig.”

Essie crossed her arms. “I’m not as lucky sneaking food, you know.”

“I’ll grab some grub if you can get us some a place to safely settle for the night and scrounge up a new bedroll for me? Mine was confiscated a few days ago. Got caught in the abandoned warehouse in the shopping district.”

“Oh, that’ll be easy.”

“I’m sure it will be for a snake. Less conspicuous than a 6-foot serpent around the stalls.”

A red hue burned in Essätha’s cheeks as she puffed them out. Reaching out, she shoved at her confident with a loud hiss.

“You sssuck.”

Solace gave a proud raise of her eyebrows. She attempted a hiss; the sound gruntled nonsense.

“Your yuan-ti is still terrible,” Essie joked, giving a sad smile.

“Why- what did I say?”

“Out of all that, the only word that was actually a word was ‘bite’.”

“Well-” Solace attempted to mock the same hissing sound as before- “me then.”

“Now you’re just saying bullshit again,” the yuan-ti remarked with amusement.

“Well fuck you and your hissing language, you large noodle.”

Howling laughter escaped them both. A few people in the nearest area cried out to ‘keep it down’, but they were too busy, sprawled over each other, lost in laughter to care. Tears in their eyes, hands clutching their aching chests.

A single raven, irritated by the noise as well, flew by with an irritated cry.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Stars exploded in front of Essätha’s eyes. She gasped, fingers clawed desperately for freedom at the hands around her throat.

Her head came lurching painfully forward, only to come crashing back down.

Blood was running from the back of her head to her wet hair.

She couldn’t breath. The body on her chest was too heavy; the hands around her neck firm. The thumbs pressed into her esophagus roughly, blocking the remains of her airflow.

A convulsion ran through her. Tears in her eyes, she grabbed for anything, anything at all.

“I’ll finally be rid of your nuisances,” the man laughed; a horrifying, mad sound. “Your crimes won’t taunt me further. I’ll finally be free of you. Finally.”

Her fingers trembled, snatching at his face. Her fingernails dug into his cheek weakly, but he only throttled her further.

“Quit touching me you disgusting vermin.”

Panic roared into Essätha’s ears. Or maybe that was just the lack of oxygen getting to her. She tried looking around, hoping someone would hear this. Praying someone would help.

The setting sun’s rays barely trickled into the collapsing building’s boarded windows. No one outside was going to hear her. She was going to die her.

Wheezing painfully, she tried slapping his face, to no avail.

This was it. This was where she ran herself into the end of the road. Her felonies had built up not in the court of law, but it raged a fire in captain of the guard. He couldn’t put up with another day of chasing her. It no longer mattered to him that the justice system saw her petty offenses as just another slap on the wrist, or another beating, nights in jail.

She wasn’t worth the time or thought to the courts. A nuisance, but not a mastermind felon.

Another convulsion ran through her and she felt her body growing limp.

Her arm dropped, hitting something sharp and hard.

Eyes rolling up, she gripped her fingers as tightly as she could against the rough surface.

A piece of stone from the decaying building’s walls.

Flinging her arm with what strength remained within her, the piece of cobblestone hit the guardman directly in the temple of his head.

He fell off of her with a startled cry of pain.

Air suddenly filled Essätha’s lungs in a rush. She gagged. It hurt to breathe now. Damn near unbearable. Her chest shook and heaved as she released a shaky, half-whispered sob. Tears collected in the corners of her eyes slipped past and dropped to the floor whilst she rolled to her side.

The captain lay on his side. A hand to his bloody temple; a pained grimace.

Fear drove her to action.

If she didn’t attack first, he was going to come for her again.

She crawled on top of him as he slapped and shoved at her. Cursing with bloody hands smearing across her clothes and face.

The heavy stone in her hand came down with a furious, broken cry.

Blood splattered on the floor in ever direction.

Essätha found her rhythm; bringing the rock down again and again. Her hoarse, painful weeping making her already raw and aching body throb with more pain.

She finally dropped the stone. Looking down at the mangled, shattered skull lacking a face. Pieces of his brain flecked the floor and as she looked down slowly with horror, the realization struck her. Blood and brain matter; flayed pieces of skin and bone fragments were stuck to her face, in her hair, on her clothes.

She’d only just barely leaned away from him when she vomited on the floor. It stung her throat even worse.

What had she done?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Her own blood and vomit as well as the captain’s still covered her from head to toe in dappled stains of brown. It left dirt sticking to her frame, and curious bugs flying around her filthy form.

She darted free from cover, making a beeline for the treeline.

Brush rustled and came back to smack her in the fact. Essätha spat and hissed unpleasantly in a croaked, harsh whisper. Her voice was barely with her. It felt like she’d swallowed shattered glass.

With her own stomping and movement, she hadn’t even heard the man until they’d nearly collided.

“You!” he barked furiously.

Jumping back, Essie brought up her hands defensively; her wrists moving, arms drawing an image in her mind without thinking. Barely uttered words escaped her as the man reached for her.

This time, he jumped back, alarmed at the fireworks of lights that disoriented his retinas.

She brought up her knee between his legs. Lucky for her, this was only a scout without chainmail but merely a leather holster.

He whimpered and fell down.

She fled further into the trees. No point in waiting for him to recover.

Another man came running from a different direction. Essätha gave a quiet murmur and curled her hand; wisps of smoke moving along her digits in tendrils

.

He froze instantly as a phantom-like mage hand appeared before him. It jabbed at his eyes and he cursed, throwing his sword out wildly as he charged forward.

The blade came up, drawing a line against Essie’s shoulder that bubbled up with blood as it kissed her skin.

Side-stepping, her hand twisted; a black-ish violet shadow coiling around her hand and up her arm. The mage-hand suddenly flickered. It evaporated mostly only to reform; a thicker, more defined ghastly shape of a skeletal hand.

It strangled the man in a mimicked motion of Essie’s tightly gripped hand.

He shook with alarm, trying to grab the hand but finding it impossible to do. The whites; or more like reds from being previously poked, eyes turned to look at her as the chill touch drained him of life.

He moved closer and Essie squeezed her hand into a tighter fist, flinching.

His eyes rolled back into his head as he fell, dead. Blisters and decayed skin wrapped around his neck.

Oh gods, she hadn’t meant to. She just wanted him to stop, all she wanted was for them to stop and leave her alone!

With fangs sinking into her lip to prevent herself from crying, Essätha took to the woods. Crashing wildly through the growth and shrubs. Pushing her way further and further away from Miamooragyte, the only place she’d ever known.

Sharp, agonizing pain hit her shoulder and she wailed faintly, turning her head to see the arrow embedded in her.

Where had it come from? Her heart was beating like thunder in her chest as she darted her gaze around for signs of the attacker.

A cry of alarm, followed by a thud.

From the shadows, a familiar figure began to approach her swiftly, hands raised.

“Sssolace?” Essätha rasped.

“Ess’!” the tiefling cried out with shock, dashing to her.

The arms that wrapped around her intensely were arguably, the most painful and blissful she’d ever felt.

“Oh by Shar’s name Ess’, are you alright?” Solace asked, pulling away to look her over. “I’d heard the guards were looking for you. They were saying that you’d killed Lionel. Is it true?”

Numbly, Essätha only gave a nod of her head.

“Oh Essie,” the tiefling breathed, her eyes watering. “Are you okay?”

Slowly, Essätha shook her head. Her lips wobbled, and a tired whimper escaped her. Her chest rose and fell quickly as she tried to resist the urge to cry.

“It’s okay, Ess’,” her ally soothed, bringing her in for a hug as she held her head. “It’s okay, Ess’, it’s okay.”

Tears trickled slowly down her face. It didn’t matter if she said she didn’t mean to. It didn’t matter what she said at all. No one was going to listen to her; a yuan-ti, a monster. No one wanted to hear what she had to say. Some had been tolerant enough to let her live, but now…

She exhaled in a rush as the arrow was suddenly pulled from her shoulder.

“That looks like it’s pretty deep,” the tiefling murmured. She stepped back, looking her over for a moment before giving an ‘aha’.

A packback dropped from her shoulders. She dug through it briefly before pulling out a large green cape with golden trim hand-sewn in a whimsical pattern along the edges.

“Just hold still,” Solace warned, stepping forward.

Biting her lip, Essätha look away as her acquaintance began wrapping the length of the cape along her like a sling, tightening it around the wound and knotting it off.

“There,” that should help for a while, until you can get some help.”

Essie looked back to the tiefling’s abyssal dark eyes.

“I… can’t stay,” she croaked in a whisper.

Sadness entered Solace’s gaze.

“I know, Ess’. I’ll try leading them off you. You go, okay?”

As she continued, Solace took hold of her hands, “Get as far away from here as you can. Go find your place in the world.”

“But… you?”

“Oh, I’ll be fine!” Solace assured her with a laugh. “I never liked this hellhole anyway. I’ll be leaving too… Maybe we’ll run into each other again some day.”

A sniffle escaped the yuan-ti. Her aching chest felt even heavier now.

“Now don’t go getting soggy eyes,” Solace choked, tearing up herself now. “It’ll be fine.”

Essätha took a step forward. Her forehead rested against the tiefling’s shoulder as she dipped her head.

Solace wrapped her arms around her softly. Essie went instinctively to return the gesture with further tears running down her splotchy face.

“I’ll miss… you,” Essie hardly managed to speak.

“You too, Ess’. You’ve been the only family I’ve had,” Solace stated, rubbing her back before yanking herself back, eyes shining with tears.

“Now get out of here.”

Releasing each other, Essätha turned. She hesitated, looking back over her shoulder.

Solace gave a gesture with her hand. “Go; I got this. Go find an adventure that leads you to somewhere, maybe someone, special.”

In a single lifeless display, Essie gave a sharp nod of her head. It hurt to do so. Stupid idea.

Her boots thudded against the hard earth as she took off. Behind her, shouting and cursing began to fade into her ears but it was too far to identify.

She broke into an opening, staring up to see a few of the larger, more grand buildings of Miamooragyte standing like pillars reaching to the sky.

Sadness, anger, hurt. She glared, conflicted.

Another cry in the woods, this time closer.

Spooked, she darted back into the wilds. The very last sight she’d glimpse to her hometown fading behind her.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Can I buy you a drink?”

She looked up through half-lidded, seductive eyes. Twirling her finger around the rim of her currently empty glass, Essätha raised an eyebrow up to the gentleman.

“You sure can,” she purred, looking him up and down.

Embarrassed, he rubbed the back of his head as he said, “S-Sorry I- I thought you’d been staring at me from across the bar-”

“Oh, I was.”

His face turned beet red.

Reaching across to the stool next to her, Essie patted the empty seat.

“Care to share your time with that drink?” she offered, an enticing aura of charm oozing from her.

Jaw dropping down, the lad instantly dropped to his ass on the indicated stool. He was practically drooling just staring at her.

In the back of her mind, the words played over and over again from a time and place she still tried to out-run.

No one truly wanted her. No one truly could want what she was; who she was. A person could easily be fooled by a gorgeous smile and confidence; softened eyes and teasing glances. But no one would ever care enough to get beyond the facade layer. No one wanted to know more than what they wanted to see.

And she was fine with that.

… Right?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Ye’ yuan-ti bitch! Ye’ plac a curse on these lands if ye’ stay ‘ere!”

The man spat on her as she lay in the mud, cringing away from him.

Her hand flexed, but she resisted the urge to fight back. For now.

“Filthy little cultist, all ye’ lot is! Stay away from ‘ere; I don’t allow ye’ type in me tavern or near me girls or ‘maids or servants, ye’ hear! Now get out here, before I decide to mount ye’ head as a warning on top of my bar.”

Horrified, Essätha scrambled backwards before the man’s boot could strike her. She found her footing and scrambled up, darting down the nearest road.

“Don’t ye’ ever show ye’ face ‘round here again!” The man roared after her, spitting mad and face red.

He didn’t need to worry. She had no intentions on returning there again.

This was no place for her.

No place would ever be for her very long.

[writingismyhappytime]

You Make Me So Mad

Vinny Mauro x reader

Warnings: language, smut

A/N: I hate myself because I’m terrible at drabbles.

“You make me so mad!” You hiss, feeling Vinny’s fingers wrap around your wrists as he shoves you back into the wall, his body pressing against yours as his lips land on your neck. “You’re so arrogant!”

“You’re incredibly irritating,” he responds, his knee slipping between yours. He nips at your throat, and you huff, finally wrenching your hands out of his and shoving at his shoulders, sending him back a few steps. You don’t miss the narrowing of his dark eyes, or the slight flicker of confusion in them; you never push him away.

“I’m so mad at you!” You spit at him before your fingers curl into the front of his t shirt, dragging him back into a rough kiss. Your tongue takes control, dominating the kiss as his hands slip to your waist and finally your ass, squeezing roughly and pulling your hips flat against his.

He moans as you tug at his bottom lip with your teeth, your fingers burying in his dark hair. His hands are already slipping up beneath your shirt, and he rips it off of you as you pull away for air. Your eyes close as his lips return to your neck, placing little nips here and there in all the right places.

You groan as you feel him move your bra straps from your shoulders, and finally it disappearing all together. His hands roam to cup your breasts, flicking your stiffening nipples. Your back presses once more against the wall as he begins to kiss lower, reaching the swell of your breasts before taking one between his talented lips. 

“Don’t think I’m not still pissed,” you groan, letting your head fall back against the wall. You feel him snort, a rush of air against your bare chest before he straightens, his dark eyes catching yours as he presses his hands on either side of your head.

“You never stay angry at me,” he murmurs softly, his eyes drawing down your naked chest, causing goosebumps to rise along your flesh. He leans forward to kiss you as one hand trails down your shoulder, between your breasts and lightly against your stomach. You hold your breath as they tease the button on your jeans, tracing the hem back and forth.

You feel your button open, and then your jeans are slipping down your body, pooling at your feet as you hastily step out of them. Your fingers curl once more into his hair, nails raking against his scalp. He groans immediately, his fingers flexing against your hips at the action — you know how much he loves it.

You kiss him deeply, pressing your body eagerly into his; the wall is rough against your back, but you hardly notice as his fingers slink their way into your pink panties, eliciting a whine out of you immediately as his fingers rub against your clit. Your nails dig into his shoulders, hips pressing into his hand eagerly.

“Mmm, someone is already so wet,” Vinny breathes against your lips, a smirk on his own as he feathers kisses across your jaw. “So angry and yet so needy, (Y/N).”

“Fuck you, Vinny,” you groan, his finger teasing your wet folds. His thumb keeps circling your clit, causing warm tendrils to crawl up your body from your lower half. He chuckles, teeth tugging on your ear as he roughly flicks your nipple, squeezing and molding your breast into his palm as his fingers continue to taunt your heat.

It’s not long until you’re writhing against the wall, a ball of electricity in your stomach that makes it impossible to hold still. He knows your body too well, and he knows how much you enjoy angry sex.

At some point, both of you sink to the ground, giving you time to strip Vinny down and crawl over him.

You’re so wet, you’re already throbbing as you hover over him, your knees on either side of his hips as you kiss him heatedly. His hands are roaming your back, finding your ass and squeezing harshly until you groan, your stomach clenching.

You suck on his neck, making sure to leave an angry mark behind with your teeth and tongue before working your way down. You kiss across his collarbone, down to his chest, leaving a wet trail as your eyes flick up, seeing his are dilated with lust. He wants you, his cock is pressing up against your thighs, brushing against your heat and making the both of you moan.

You just want to fuck, forget about teasing him any longer.

You press your hands against his shoulder, nipping at his jaw as you reach his ear.

“Are you gonna fuck me, Vinny, or am I going to have to do it myself?” You whisper, abruptly feeling his nails dig into your hips at the comment.

He doesn’t even bother to respond, just jerks, positioning you above him. He hastily lines himself up beneath you, the head of his cock brushing against your heat, your juices quickly covering him. You moan as you lean your head back, feeling him prod at your heat.

You gasp as he abruptly pulls you down, your body closing around him as he roughly thrusts upward to the hilt. He pauses for only a moment, giving you a short second to adjust to him being inside of you before he begins rolling his hips, urging yours to move.

You press your fingers deeply into his, your head tilting forward so you can gaze into his dark eyes.

“Still mad?” He asks, feeling your hot muscles squeezing him as you thrust downward, meeting him each time, your breasts bouncing in front of his face.

You only manage a nod, earning a smirk from him before he lifted his hips, slamming forcefully into you and making you gasp, drawing your nails down his slim chest. He sets a rough pace, and you lean forward, your forehead pressing against his shoulder, creating a much better angle for your fucking.

You’re mad at him, especially since he won’t apologize. He’s wrong, and he knows it; you don’t want to keep screaming at him, you want him to admit it, to say how sorry he is! Alas — Vinny has never been the apologizing type, and you much prefer this sort of make up then just petty words.

You’re all gasps and moans, able to hear your bodies meeting, his grunts when you grind down onto him. There’s no sweet words, no tender caresses — you’re purely fucking the frustration out of each other, your bodies working out all the anger and irritation, the annoyance.

“Fuck!” Vinny grunts, his fingers flexing around your hips as he brings them down into his. You’re so tight and hot, squeezing him at all the right moments. He’s not going to let you get the best of him, you’re not going to win this argument!

You bite your lip as you lean up, feeling your lower half throbbing already; the angle is making you shudder, especially when his cock brushes against your clit. You don’t want to cum, not yet despite how good it feels. You don’t want Vinny to think he can win, that fucking you until you’re screaming is going to make you not pissed off at him.

It’s going to take a lot more than that.

You feel his hands creep up your sides, finally closing over your breasts as you ride him. He squeezes the plentiful mounds, tugging harshly on your nipples until you whine, your hands rising to close over his and hold them there. Fuck, it feels good! You love it when he does that!

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans as your muscles squeeze him again, a hum of pleasure leaving your lips as he pinches your breasts, leaving angry little red marks on your skin. He’s panting already with the effort, his dilated eyes on your body as you fuck him.

He can’ take it!

He reaches up, curling his hand around the back of your neck and bringing your body down over his. His lips catch yours, demanding and forceful as his tongue parts them. You moan as he rolls, forcing you beneath him. You wind your legs around his waist, clinging to him with breathless gasps as he begins fucking you into the carpet, his teeth on you neck.

Your arms tighten around his shoulders, feeling yourself throb as his pace becomes relentless, ramming into you over and over and until your eyes want to roll back. You dig your teeth into his shoulder with a whimper, his fingers tugging on your hair as your nails rake down his spine, causing a primal groan to wrench out of his throat.

“Fuck, (Y/N)!”

Ha!,

He jerks on your hair, forcing your head back. His eyes glitter as he stares down at you, dark and determined. He pulls on your arms, wrapping your wrists in his palm and pinning them above your head. You feel an immediate thrill, especially as he curls one thigh upwards into the curve of his arm, giving him more room,

Your back arches off the floor immediately as he slides deeply into you, a loud cry leaving your swollen lips. You writhe beneath him as he grinds his hips into yours, sweat glistening on his pale skin; his eyes never leave your face, darkening at the look of pleasure on your face.

“You can’t be mad forever,” he breathes, your sharp breathe and tight body telling him you’re on the verge of cumming. “Come on, baby!”

You can’t even respond, your throat is tight, eyes squeezed shut. You’re past the point of speaking, your body is wound so tightly, you feel like you’re going to break! Your fingers curl tightly as he pounds you into the carpet, hitting that special spot until it’s absolutely too much!

You feel a sudden wave of pleasure, electricity sparking through your body as you cry out his name into the echoing room. His mouth covers yours, tongue delving inside and tasting every inch as you go rigid beneath him, walls clamping around his cock.

Your toes curl as you cum, washing his cock with your juices, head falling back into the soft carpet. He groans, and with a few more thrusts, empties himself inside of you. You shudder beneath him, your walls quivering around him, feeling the added warmth. Your legs are shaking, nearly numb from the angle, and your fingers tingle from his tight grip.

You’re both panting, his face buried against your neck. You feel a soft kiss against your shoulder before he shuffles, letting go of you and propping himself on his elbows above you.

“Still mad?” he asks in a whisper, gently kissing along your jaw, and you mutely shake your head, hair clinging to your skin.

“No.” You say breathlessly, feeling nothing more than exhaustion.

Vinny grins triumphantly.

He knew he could win you over.

Tags: @imaginemiw

[5hfanfiction]

Wanting You Forever (8)

Wanting You Forever (8)

A/N: Hello everyone and apologies for my absence, I had to finish my semester and then my computer decided to stop working. Thank you to the wonderful people who reached out to inquire about the future of this story, which is indeed alive and well. There will be more updates, that much can be assured. This chapter features a lot of romance and passion, relative to what is planned for the next installment. I wanted to kind of build the girls’ feelings and understanding for each other on more than a sexual level, but there will be smut at the beginning of the next chapter, so no worries you little horndogs. I want to send a special thanks to everyone who has followed this story from its inception. Your support means more to me than you could ever imagine. Enjoy!

“I cannot believe we just did that, Mani. What are Lee and Lauren going to think when they see these?”

Normani’s hand froze, still trapped inside her very full shopping bag.

“Mila, they are going to love these. We are intelligent, sexy, soulful women, and they won’t be able to resist us. Trust me?”

Camila glanced at her friend, too pleased that the sails of their friendship were sailing proudly once more.

“I always have.”

The corners of her mouth perked up into a subtle but radiant smile, her mind a hazy wonderland of love with Lauren as her guide. Her smooth fingers traced the lace of her white bikini skirt, the rough material a sharp contrast to her vanilla-scented skin. Her frame, as salacious and enchanting as it was, never radiated sexual confidence; that only emerged whenever that raven-colored hair would raise in her direction, smoldering green eyes eviscerating the feeble tenderness characteristic of her body and substituting a sexual prowess few women can possess. She opened a bottle of lotion, the thick creamy substance pooling in her palm, placating the heat emanating from her skin. Her hands roamed over the curves of her body, starting with her forearms. The sweet moisture enveloped her body, her mind, and her soul; and for a moment, she imagined Lauren’s fingers dancing above her own.

An ethereal film entombed her natural silk, the subtle glow complementing her fluorescent longing for her lover. One glance at the reflective glass and Camila herself agreed that she looked decadent, or at least she would be perceived as such on this night. Her slightly curled locks were reprieved in a gentle ponytail; intricately placed tendrils of hair left free to flow with the supple wind. This style, on others would perhaps be deemed imperfect, those same heavenly tendrils perceived as neglected souls. But on Camila, these flaws, these imperfections were defining characteristics of her perfection, at least through dark green eyes. The way she rubbed her lips together after applying lipstick, the facial expressions that she adorned when she applied eyeliner, even the ever-so-slight deviations in the palate of her teeth were palatable, even endearing. There was something majestic about her features, particularly when their presence wasn’t shrouded under mountains of beauty alterations, each layer of makeup imbruing the more prepossessing one that resided at its base. The hue of her eyes the same as so many, yet her brown pools gave way to a rapturous torrent unlike any other. The nature of Lauren’s eyes predominated public perception, though Camila’s could not only breathe new life into those trapped in her gaze, but each blink was a resuscitation, a feeble and effortless notion on her part though one that would imprison the surveyor in her gaze.

She offered a blink to the mirror before scaling her lotion-slick fingers across the valley of her breasts, their perkiness subdued by her cream-colored shirt, the V-neck design certain to wither Lauren’s self-control. Her fingers then danced the happy trail from her belly button to the edge of her loosely-tied bikini skirt, tickling the sensitive skin of her abdomen.

The flatness she felt now would someday be anything but, her skin swollen as she harbored the fruit of their love. The thought brought a faint smile to her lips. Any thought about a future with Lauren was enough to transform her being, enough to transport her mind to the dock of romance, their relationship the only vessel to call it home. A piece of her wondered if Lauren held such strong notions about their future, or if she was the only captain aboard the vessel charting a course through the endless sea of possibilities; love the only current and admiration the only wind by which they would sail. She knew that Lauren loved her, took solace in the undeniable fact that Lauren had always loved her, but what was underneath the hardened façade that was Lauren’s default? The older girl wasn’t callous but rather reserved, keeping her truest emotions guarded behind a fortress that Camila attempted to erode to little avail.

But tonight was about dismantling those barriers, erecting structures together as a couple on a path to future happiness. Tonight, she would pour more of her heart and soul into their connection, rectify her reservations and re-emerge replete with nascent confidence for their relationship. There stood the possibility of gaining little, of continuing in this addictive physical exploration that left both bodies trembling; but Camila was willing to take that risk if the reward was Lauren Jauregui, a woman’s whose heart would unknowingly be forever docked at her harbor.

*******

An aggressive string of vibrations impeded Lauren’s concentration, the robust logging in her hands impaling the sandy beach beneath her feet. The sun had just begun its descent behind the horizon, a jaunty array of clouds a welcomed reprieve from the terse Brazilian heat. She fished in her pocket for the source of interruption and complemented her successful catch with a hearty grunt of annoyance. One look at the sender’s name and another grunt resounded through the peaceful breeze, this one an amalgamation of emotions as opposed to general annoyance. Lucy.

Ambivalence. That was her current state once she processed the initial message, a simple “Can we talk?” a stark contrast to the message’s underlying notion. The next, a trivial “please?” furthered her ambiguous pocket of emotions. The penultimate message, “Lauren…” all the more nebulous. Her emotions found a small piece of resolution with the closing message “I’m fine…and I won’t keep you long…but I just…thought we should talk.” A ping-pong match ensued in Lauren’s mind, her thoughts bouncing off her paddle of judgement in such a manner that she froze and contemplated unlocking her phone and placing a call to her former lover. One side of the court was the concerned and considerate Lauren; even though Lucy said she was fine, the possibility that she wasn’t was too scary a thought for Lauren to explicitly ignore. There were times, though rare, when Lucy would dismiss her emotions or her current situation in a notable effort to placate Lauren, to prevent the Latina from suffering from intense worry. Even rarer but more concerning were times when Lucy would intentionally downplay negative realities, though the underlying intentions were unbeknownst to Lauren. Somewhere in her mind, she believed that it was adverse attempt for Lucy to draw attention to herself, to make certain that Lauren would expend energy to decipher and remedy her sources of adverse feelings. Even more concerning was the sheer amount of time and energy Lauren exerted tending to these manifestations from Lucy.

Alternatively, the other side of the court was focused on dismissing these messages altogether, of briefly replying and returning to her preparation for her first Valentine’s Day with her new girlfriend. She envisioned an angry Camila, the smaller Latina waving her tiny ineffectual fists and hurling threads of Spanish in her direction. But she also knew that Camila would instruct her to follow her instincts, to comply with the magnetic pull of her conscious. Lauren considered the fact that Lucy would not have consciously contacted her on such a day unless it was urgent, and there was always the possibility that something was awry, even if said details were omitted from the messages at which she stared.

The battle of emotions ceased with the concerned side of the field emerging victorious. Her fingers glided over the keypad as she unlocked her phone and anxiously tapped on the name perched above the messages. A speedy heartbeat reverberated throughout her frame, but she realized that her trepidation was outweighed by the tense breathing emanating from the other line. Seconds passed as both women teetered on the edge of the bridge of boldness, yet neither were enthusiastic about crossing that boundary. But Lucy had initiated contact; she had been the one to harness enough courage to go down this path, so Lauren figured it was her turn to meet her at the crossroads of this impending conversation.

“Hello?”

The sound of a sigh ran down Lauren’s ear, Lucy undoubtedly nervous now that she was hearing what used to be her favorite voice.

“Hi, Lauren. Thanks for responding to my message.”

“um…yea…of course. Are you…ok?”

Though Lauren now found such happiness in Camila’s arms and solace in her kiss, there was a deep tinge in her core about how her relationship with Lucy ended. In a foreign country and with the international day of love on the horizon, their bond was finally broken, the comfort of friends and family completely unavailable. There was no cushion for the blow, the only human in Lucy’s corner was her college friend with whom she now stayed. The sound of a throat clearing cut Lauren from her revelry, that segment of her mind still whirling with a strong buzz.

“I’m fine…not really because no one is really fine after a break-up, but I’ll be ok. Thanks for asking.”

Lauren plopped down on the cool sand next to the neglected pile of firewood.

“So…what did you walk to talk about?”

She trailed her index finger in a curved line through the soft segment of beach on which she sat. The urgency behind her words were laced with legitimate compassion. She, too, was bothered somewhat by their denouncement though her desire to portray strength overwhelmed her intention to portray guilt, guilt over her role in what led to their demise.

“Well, I thought about what you said the other day…about me needing to let you go. I know that we kind of made peace with this the day I left, but I’ve some time to process everything…”

Lauren’s lungs stood still as she anxiously awaited Lucy’s next words, her fingers still tracing curved lines in the sand. She allowed Lucy the opportunity to gather her thoughts, her journey through this conversation one of caution and consideration albeit genuine.

“…and I know you better than you think I do, Lauren. I wanted to do this now, on today of all days because I do think that we had something special, a bond that used to transcend the one usually shared by lovers. We were friends first, that was our foundation. Today, while you’re celebrating Valentine’s Day with someone else, I want you to take comfort in the fact that I do want you to be free. Continue to be the beautiful and wonderful person you always have been, and please, share that part of you with Camila or whoever you end up with. I know you well enough to know that you tend to be reserved and even under your public image, you still care about what people think. Or maybe I should say that you used to care about what I thought. With that said, I know you don’t need a permission slip to be with her, and that’s not what this is all about, but don’t be scared Lauren. We broke up, and we’re both painfully aware of that. That gives you the green light to be with her, but I just want you to know that I’ve made my peace with it, because Camila, like you, is a beautiful person. I can now embrace that she is better for you than I ever could have been. That is probably the only reason why I’m not in a fit of tears right now. If you take anything from what I say today, please remember not to lose sight of your happiness. Always, always put that first.”

Lauren made a trivial attempt to stifle the sniffle that was begging to escape. This wasn’t a permission slip, this wasn’t a declaration of unresolved tension, this was a genuine display of compassion and affection, from a position of friendship and not one of former lovers, Lucy’s voice the ring of truth Lauren didn’t even know she needed to hear.

“Lucy, I don’t know what to say…”

“Don’t say anything, Lauren. Just listen. Valentine’s Day is about love, right? If not, then I’ve been doing this wrong all this time…”

A true smile stretched across Lauren’s lips as she joined Lucy in a gentle laugh, a relaxing warmth spreading through her body before Lucy continued her train of thought.

“But I want you to enjoy this day, Lauren. You deserve it. I’m ok with everything if it means that you’re happy. I’ll always care for you, even if our relationship only mends into friendship. That would be enough for me.”

Lauren’s fingers ceased their artwork, the curved lines meeting back where they first took form.

“I appreciate that, Lucy. I really do. Are you sure you’re going to be ok?”

“Yes, Lauren, I’ll be fine. I’m heading back to the States in a few hours, but I felt that these things were better said sooner rather than later…I have to go, but I’m glad we had a chance to talk. Bye, Lauren.”

A loud click was all Lauren heard, her response falling on nonexistent ears.

“Bye, Lucy…”

Her reserve withered, her voice trailing off into a land of passivity.

“…and thank you.”

Lauren gently placed her phone by her side as she gazed at the shape piercing the sand, the trenches made by her fingers seemingly violent vicissitudes in the plush pillow of beige. The surf cascaded towards her, offering the illusion that she was simultaneously still but moving, journeying mentally yet physically catatonic. She stood and gathered the firewood sitting at her feet. As her heels dug into the earth and her toes wiggled in the scratchy coolness, her green orbs snapped the final images of the heart she drew before it disappeared under the deafening silence of the ocean waves, taking with it the final remnants of her former love.

********

“Do you think this looks alright? I look ok, right?”

Camila turned her torso towards the mirror while jutting her rear towards her youngest bandmate, the latter girl in the process of adjusting her green dress that left little to the imagination.

“Yes, girl you look hot, but I want to know who you’re all dolled up for. Are you going out or something?”

Camila bent down to re-tie the upper straps of her sandals, her rear obstructing Dinah’s view of the mirror.

“No, I’m not really going out.”

“No? You got all dressed up in your sexy clothes, went shopping all day with Mani, and spent forever in front of the mirror just to sit here and read about the history of bananas?”

A feigned expression of offense was offered to the Tongan, though Camila thoroughly enjoyed the characteristic tone of their banter.

“I am not going to sit here and read all night. If you must know…I have plans, but you don’t need to know about them.”

“Whatever, did you at least have the decency to buy something for me when you and Mani went on your shopping spree?”

The taller girl ebulliently skipped over to Camila’s shopping bags, wasting no time in violating the smaller girl’s privacy by hastily reaching inside. Manicured brows arched in confusion and disbelief, an indisputable item apparently resting adjacent to an ambiguously unfamiliar one. An audible gasp tore through the room once her soft eyes revealed the true identity of the contents residing in Camila’s bag.

“Camila, what the hell?! Where did you get those from?”

Camila rushed over to Dinah, snatching the precious cargo from her grasp. A violent tug towards her frame left the younger girl staggering, her balance briefly disrupted by Camila’s abrupt show of force.

“Mani and I went to a place earlier today, no big deal. Just don’t say anything to Lauren or Ally.”

“And those are related to your…plans for this evening?”

“For part of the evening, yes, but it’s really not what you think. Just…be quiet about these ok?”

Dinah pranced behind Camila, placing her dexterous phalanges on the latter girl’s shoulders, her strength effectively rescinding Camila from her position before the mirror.

“I will…if you tell me the name of the person who gets to enjoy those precious gifts with you.”

Camila huffed as she regarded her much taller friend, whose manicured fingers were reapplying a new albeit unrequited film of lipstick. The obtuse lavender glaze gently glossed over her sculpted lips, her light eyes trailing from her work to her smaller friend, one perfectly arched brow raising at Camila’s silence.

A sense of dread originated somewhere in the pit of her stomach; she knew the inquisitive and characteristically boisterous singer seldom left sensitive topics unaddressed, particularly once the path of discussion had been broached. The option to disclose her burgeoning relationship with their bandmate, breaking through the fortress behind which she and Lauren had acted on their feelings, fighting for each other in a war against the world, few allies present to trudge through the unrelenting dearth of challenges pitted against their love. Dinah’s immaturity often manifested as an endearing sophomoric behavior, often constituting a source of amusement for the youngest member’s fellow singers. However, there were times when her naïveté bolstered her sense of loyalty. Dinah’s unwavering innocence and carefree attitude was an often domineering affectation, a veil that only fell in times of war, times when her armor was the appropriate apparel, times when her role as an ally superseded her role as an airy teenaged celebrity. But there were other times when this same innocence was lost, confounded in a sea of trees through which Dinah often couldn’t see the forest. Emotions were high, tensions higher after the swell of leaks and sleazy tabloid articles, the crumbs of their shattered world scattered about for the rest of society to feast. She never knew it until now, never felt the lump at the base of her throat or the tears now threatening to escape, streaks of her makeup potentially flowing down her tanned cheeks. Normani had walked away, left a fragile and broken Camila at the base of the forest, the task of repairing the pieces a task for the younger alone. But now as Camila’s brown orbs gently closed behind their lids, she saw Dinah sauntering through the same forest, joining Normani in their quest for the place beyond the pines, a place devoid of any semblance of Camila Cabello. What once felt final now felt temporary, her relationship with Normani finding new life, and the piece of Camila that was an empty hole left by her friends was now being replenished. The only way to grow the seeds of her friendships was to provide the requisite resources: communication, trust, commitment.

The other option was to continue to dismiss Dinah’s incessant badgering, to submit to the verbal barrage of questions or endure further interrogation. Camila slowly sat at the end of the ivory ottoman, her soft toes anxiously dancing in the plush carpet. As much as she desired allies, as much as she longed for harmony to resonate throughout the group, her body began to ache for one person; the faster she left this conversation the sooner she would be wrapped in Lauren’s arms, staring into her favorite pair of eyes.

Fully committing to the latter option, Camila’s toes continued to play with the soft strands of carpet taking refuge in the separating crevices. She offered one more glance to her friend, unsurprised to find the other girl basking at her with a curious gaze.

“Can we just change the subject? I swear I’ll tell you later. Promise”

A flash of blonde hair was all she saw as the taller girl attempted one of her iconic hair flips, the gesture accompanied by a light-hearted sigh, the white flag of surrender only set aside for the time being.

“I will hold you to that. Anyway, I can’t wait to go to Club Monaco tonight! I’ve heard wonderful things…and you know Brazilian guys are just gorgeous. And that Portuguese tongue girl…did Shawn ever speak Portuguese when you guys were getting hot and heavy?”

A blush graced Camila’s cheeks as she thought about the intimate moments she shared with her former boyfriend. She remembered Shawn as a gentle and considerate lover, offering Camila a visceral introduction to the world of physical passion. Each intimate moment with Shawn was a stepping stone, another chapter of knowledge for Camila to shelve in her library of love. Even now, she was grateful, appreciative for those times when her mind would down the halls towards images of Lauren, sandy brown hair and boyish fishes evaporating into midnight-green eyes bursting with lust. She was grateful that he never broached the subject, never mentioned that she drifted to a distant place during their closest moments. Her mind failed her although her body continued in the race for a climax, at least that was the appellation appointed by Camila. With Shawn, intimacy had defined boundaries, visible destinations marked by a pleasurable finish line. With Lauren, there were no boundaries, the journey towards pleasure much more salient than any such destination.

“Well?”

“Oh..uh…no, he never did.”

“Well, you missed out on something there, Mila. I look hot tonight and I am on the prowl for some Brazilian lovin’!”

“That sounds like some plan, Dinah.”

“Yeah, and it may not even be as freaky as the things that you have planned for this evening…apparently.”

A strong caramel finger glided under the hooks of Camila’s shopping bag, scooping up the plastic material like it contained hazardous materials.

“Leave me alone, Dinah! Ugh…will you just get out of here please? And tell my parents I’m going to meet you the club if you see them?”

“I will…but they’re probably going to be busy with plans of their own tonight.”

The Tongan bellowed an endless of string of high-pitched moans, her imitation of the Cabello parents’ sexual activities the final straw for the Cuban.

“Okay…time to leave.”

Her playful annoyance gave birth to an abrupt surge of strength, the smaller girl bulldozing her friend’s feet through the soft carpet, thin tracks marking a line from the mirror to the bedroom’s entrance, though Dinah’s attempt to emulate never faltered. Incessant moans grew louder, her typically angelic voice dimmed behind the haughty wooden door.

Camila’s hand trailed down the smooth contour of the door, coming to rest along the bulbous knob upon which she offered a gentle pat, accompanied by a tender smile. Oh Dinah.

She pranced to her haunt upon the mirror, procuring and perfecting her look once more. She smirked at her outfit, hoping that Lauren would at least wait until after dinner rather than skip ahead to the dessert. A seductive wink was offered to her reflection, the final stamp of approval before the evening could commence.

“Make me yours, Lauren.”

********

The sun had just begun its descent behind the horizon, supple clouds fading into the abyss. A small hull of seagulls chirped as they glided through the breeze, peacefully landing along the foamy patches of salt water. Somewhere behind the cream-colored tent, the waves crashed upon the shore, the rhythmic rise and lull a natural apothecary for Lauren’s nerves.

Emerald eyes scanned the heavenly display: an intimate silk tent pitched off from the surf, the sheer material along the slit of the entrance flapping softly in the zephyr; lanterns dangling delicately from its roost; a runway of candles illuminating an idle path along the sand, Camila’s aisle to their sanctuary; a small, white table rooted atop a wooden platform, creamy silk handkerchiefs stuffed with shiny utensils resting in the laps of decadent bamboo chairs; a transparent vase the sole centerpiece of the dining table, replete with a solitary red rose in full bloom. A dugout rested near the base of the tent, a small cluster of firewood its only occupants. Lauren’s footprints in the sand led to a secluded cove, the map towards what she hoped to be their ultimate oasis of love, the location where they could finally embark on their romantic journey.

The boulevard of romance began at the villa’s rear where Lauren had ordered the formation of a platform leading down towards the beach. She sprinkled love offerings on the light wooden planks, sweet little nothings that would fill Camila’s heart. The gesture, though simple, would guide the path towards their tent, preparing Camila’s mind, body, and soul for the adventure that rested ahead, her presence the lone admission to all of Lauren’s heart.

A cascade of orange commandeered the sky, and though it was the color Lauren disliked most, the glow it could cast on Camila’s tanned skin harnessed the power to transform her perception of the citrusy hue. She licked the corners of her lips, the salty ocean breeze peppering her with mist. Her fingers rushed through her raven-colored locks, smoothing the anterior layers and readjusting her perfect bun to rest along the long layers that hung freely along her shoulders.

Everything was white or cream-colored, her choice of clothing no different. White gladiator sandals entombed her ivory feet in a comfortable chamber, creamy knee-length shorts hovered above her smooth legs, taut abs peeking out under the rim of her matching halter top, enticing supple breasts teasing and taunting below the tight valley of her cleavage. Dark aviator shades dominated the landscape of her gorgeous face, striking green orbs obscured behind the lenses. She listened to peaceful hum of the ocean, the intoxicated and bubbly atmosphere giving way to a sober ambience that would serve as the backdrop for their evening.

She scanned the terrace once last time: the perfect sunset, the perfect setting, the palace she built for her one and only. All that was missing was her queen.

*****

The evening air brushed upon Camila’s smooth features, her loose brown locks fluttering softly to the gentle beat of the ocean waves. Her angelic feet sank into the cool sand beneath her soles, stopping at the base of a hardened platform. She pondered the structure for several seconds, her eyes scanning the wooden planks, settling on chalky striations sprinkled along the surface. Somewhere, in the distance, the sun kissed the world goodbye, a formidable sunset firmly rooted along the horizon. The orange tint complemented the citrusy glow from the votive candles, the chubby pillars forming the border of a perfect heart, the confines of which held Lauren’s first love offering:

‘The steps you take tonight are the first of a wonderful journey. No roadmaps, no directions, only the two us with one destination in sight…love. Your journey begins now’

Her heart swelled as a warmth washed over her body. A furnace surged deep within her, fueled by Lauren’s words. She did little to restrain the effervescent smile breaking across her gentle features, even less to ameliorate the wave of utter happiness that propelled her feet towards the wooden steps. A hand cascaded over her chest, resting on the heated skin coating her heart. Few knew that it was Lauren who was a hopeless romantic, that the older Cuban went above and beyond for the women who claimed her heart, venturing to the moon only to return with a galaxy of endless love, Camila the only astronaut privy to this voyage. A switch flipped somewhere in Camila’s mind, as her memories of Lauren’s attempt to woe Lucy were vapid; that world a benign assortment of black and white whereas her own with Lauren was vivacious, a variegated palate of multifarious discoveries. It encouraged a sense of appreciation at the realization that this was different, that Lauren’s perspective on this relationship was unrivaled, that the singer was making an effort to supplant Camila as her one and only.

A scintillating glow protruded the next landing, peppering the midpoint in her descent with another string of candles, the resultant heart radiating in the low light. Her feet reacted with a graceful sprint, only faltering at the base of another of Lauren’s love offerings.

‘I want to get lost in your eyes that I love so much, lose myself in your smile, and stray from the path when you look at me…your kiss is the only thing that can bring me back to life. Take those steps to bring me back to you.’

Those same enchanting eyes glossed over as they wavered over Lauren’s handwriting. A deep sigh broke her perfect lips at the other girl’s gesture. How had she managed to find someone who was so perfect, who knew her so well? Her eyes shared the hue of millions, though to Lauren, they were distinctive, unrepeated, unseen and devoid of a home on the manifold of color. They were a beacon of life, the impetus for the air that inflated Lauren’s lungs, each breath synched with a blink of chestnut eyes. Her smile was Lauren’s food and drink, the sole sustenance of existence. Something ordinary, to Camila, was something exceptional to Lauren, something that should not only be noticed but appreciated in all its glory.

A smaller settlement of candles basked in the evening wind, the penultimate stop on the journey to the beach. Camila glanced down at the writing that lined the walls of this shimmering heart and clasped her hand to her mouth in a feeble attempt to stifle a gasp.

‘Get lost in me Camila, let me be your knight in shining armor…all you have to do is agree to be my queen.’

Her extraordinary brown eyes peered up to find a vase of pink roses blushing back at her, the dusty color a deep symbol of admiration. Her journey along the wooden planks had come to an end, a candle-lined fissure within the sand snaking up to a dimly lit tent, the flaps at the opening still dancing idly in the wind. She gazed out at an intimate table adjacent to the silky hut, though her eyes ceased their surveying when they came to rest upon her silhouette.

Perfect lips parted, her mouth parched from the sudden dryness and salty breeze but her body froze at the sight of her lover, her limbs arrested and held prisoner by the other girl’s presence. Lauren was leaning over the dinner table, hands fiddling with her tattered lighter as she attempted to spark life into the remaining set of candles. Cursing under her breath at the rich sea breeze, the energy of which robbed the candles of their flames, the older girl felt a set of eyes boring into her back. A smile graced her lips, the need to identify the spectator deemed unnecessary. She could only imagine Camila’s tanned skin tucked under layers of decadent white, the silky feel of her lips as they met in a passionate tango, the intoxicating aroma of her luscious hair as her own fingers gently traced along her scalp, and the look in her eyes as she devoured the image of the object of her affection. It was enough to spur Lauren to quickly turn her heels in the sand and gaze at her lover, but she settled on the graceful option, slowing shifting her position to rest her back along the edge of the table.

The vividness of her imagination paled in comparison to the visceral display set before her eyes. A regal being, a majestic work of art in human form was right in front of her, gazing at her like she was the Eighth Wonder of the world. Lauren felt herself go numb, her limbs paralyzed by the alluring vision. Camila’s visage was the most stunning image on which Lauren had ever laid eyes. Her beauty was literally captivating, and Lauren fought to stave off tears, trinkets of wetness filled with love and adoration. She had never seen anything so stunning; it was as if she had been blind her entire life, deep brown eyes granting her the gift of sight.

Her green eyes combed over Camila’s outfit, swallowing the creamy silk that was her legs, devouring the sublime valley separating her supple breasts, inhaling the juicy curves of her perfect lips. Gravity took Lauren’s mouth, her slender jaw falling agape as she drank in the stunning view of the woman she wanted for so long, the one woman for whom she pined and imaged, the one woman she couldn’t believe was on a journey through the sand leading right toward her. Nothing in that moment could have prepared her for the image. The gentle ocean breeze did little to shake her from her catatonic state, the simple image of Camila Cabello the strongest tranquilizer. Her feet felt firmly planted beneath the sand; she stood there like a tree in winter, waiting for signs of spring to bring new life in the form of leaves. The lighter fell from her hands, its neglected body landing in a patch of sand adjacent to Lauren’s feet.

It was as if each step the brunette made brought breath to her body, brought a new beat to her heart, brought fresh tears to her eyes. It warmed her, though a piece of her felt scared; she had never known a feeling as strong as this, a love as deep and transparent as the one she shared with the beauty before her. She prided herself on braving the harsh and unforgiving land of the unknown, and with Camila by her side, she felt invincible. But somewhere, deep within her being, she feared there she would falter, that she would fail her precious love, do something to leave her stranded on the island of love they built away from the world. She had a record of making mistakes, of disappointing those closest to her: her close circle of friends, some of her family members, but namely, the chief of the disappointment tribe was Lucy. Lauren couldn’t live with herself if Camila was somehow disappointed in her; angry, frustrated, upset, she could live with, but disappointment? As Camila’s feet met the cold, damp sand for the first time, Lauren vowed to do everything in power to give Camila the world, to fight to make the other girl happy despite the rigors of reality. She had found the one for whom she never knew she had been searching, and she wasn’t about to let her go.

Camila’s dainty feet ceased in their journey a few feet from a still captivated Lauren. Mouth still agape, body still frozen with her hand in the position of clutching the lighter, eyes still watering with tears of joy and love, Lauren willed herself to move, to say something, anything to break free from Camila’s spell. Camila herself had stopped moving in part because of Lauren’s outfit, but mostly because of Lauren’s presence. The Cuban had erected a tent and a very lively fire pit, all set in the foreground of a flawless dinner display. Her hair was loose and slightly curled, so soft that Camila aptly nicknamed them ‘silky strands of Lauren’. Her favorite softness, and the sight upon which her eyes now loomed, was Lauren’s lips. So plush, so smooth, so powerful, like warm pillows upon which her own could rest. They regarded each other as sheer perfection, as angels lost on their way home from Heaven. So lost they were in the rapturous nature of their lover, neither moved to speak or initiate the evening’s festivities, both girls too content to devour the other with their eyes.

Camila regained her sense of self first, shifting on her feet slightly, the action causing her rear to subtly protrude into Lauren’s line of sight.

“You look beautiful, Lauren.”

Lauren wasn’t sure if she was even still alive, Camila’s voice falling on deaf ears.

“Lauren, are you ok?”

Camila’s smile was so faint but it was the jolt Lauren needed to return to reality. Her voice was unfamiliar and laden with an amalgamation of lust, love, and astonishment. She blinked as her lips moved, all ability to move drained from her body but she internally reached for the reigns and pulled herself to speak.

“Wow…Camila…I-I…I don’t know what to say…just…wow.”

A faint blush toasted Camila’s tanned cheeks, her head swaying bashfully as she registered Lauren’s incapacity to form a coherent sentence. Lauren’s realized the shift in Camila’s frame, hoping she hadn’t already destroyed the evening’s tenor.

“I’m sorry…” Lauren briskly closed the gap between them “…did I say something wrong? You hate all of this…” she gestured towards the tent and the dinner table without facing to look at the displays behind her “…don’t you? I knew it! I knew I should have-”

Camila brought a single vanilla-scented finger to Lauren’s lips, killing her rambling with one simple action.

“It’s beautiful. I love it. It’s just…no one has ever looked at me the way that you just did.”

Lauren returned Camila’s previous blush, deciding to refrain from getting caught in the net of her thoughts and rather explore the ocean of love with Camila tonight. As beautiful as Camila was, she found it odd that no one had looked at her with such deep passion and love before now, but she reveled in the fact that she was the first, the first and last one to be Camila’s knight in shining armor.

“I find that hard to believe…” her usual raspy voice made scratchier by the damp ocean air “…you are beautiful Camila, in every way.”

She tucked her fingers under Camila’s chin, desperate to feel her silky skin beneath her own. Their eyes locked onto tantalizing targets, green ones burning through brown ones. Camila thanked the Gods for delivering such a soul, someone who looked at her like she had all the answers in life, that she was the answer to life itself.

Her eyes reluctantly broke from Lauren’s gaze to once again pan the landscape of Lauren’s work. The fire burned brightly under the horizon, the orange tint now evaporated into a deeper, angrier, more visceral shade of red. Flecks of blue pricked the sky, poking through the stubborn patch of clouds that huddled throughout the sky. The entire scene was inconceivable: the love offerings, the intimate fire, the dinner that smelled delectable, the silky tent, and a certain love-struck Cuban singer who looked ready, willing, and eager to fall deeper in love.

“You did all of this…for me?”

Lauren released her gaze and turned to join Camila in basking at her creation.

“No, my girlfriend will be here any minute so it looks like you may have to leave soon. Thanks for dropping by, Camz.”

The comment earned Lauren a playful swat to her upper arm, which Lauren shielded by ducking, her boisterous laugh harmonizing with Camila’s less cacophonic one.

“Hey, first and last joke of the evening. Don’t kill me before it’s over.”

“Like I would ever do that.”

Their laughter calmed and Lauren took the opportunity to slowly join their hands, fingers instinctively intertwining as soon as they made contact.

“But yes, I did this for you. I really hope you like it. I-I want you to have a nice evening, Camila.”

Camila gaped at their linked fingers, glowing in the feeling of skin-to-skin contact. This feels right. Her lips curled into a fruitful smile, eyes canting up to gaze at the owner of the warm fingers she now felt. They lost themselves once more at the lustful gaze of the other woman, the object of their desires riling so many unrequited feelings, feelings they tried but failed to bury. Lauren’s eyes darted to Camila’s lips, retreating back to her brown eyes with a pointed message. Damn she’s so perfect. Camila turned to face Lauren, wetting her plump lips before planting the tips of her toes in the sand, her lips meeting Lauren’s for the first time that night.

It was as if they had reached the edge of the earth: strong arms wrapped around Camila’s frame as her own entombed Lauren’s neck in a gentle embrace, the mist swaying off the surf wrapping them in a protective layer as they jumped off the edge in each other’s arms. Somewhere in the distance, the waves crashed upon a sandy cove, the battering along the beach an appropriate symphony to the dueling of their tongues. Bathed in the orange glow from the horizon, their lips parted after several minutes of appreciation, the crackling of the fire a peaceful reminder of Lauren’s planned festivities.

An audible whine escaped Camila’s lips, to which Lauren responded with a brief peck, reveling in the manner their lips clung to each other with a loud smack, as if they themselves couldn’t bear to part.

“Camila, would you like to have dinner with me?”

A glint filled Camila’s eyes as she kept her arms glued around Lauren’s neck.

“No, I wish I could but my girlfriend will be here to get me soon, I don’t think she would like it if she saw me in such a compromising position.”

Lauren’s mouth went agape once more, this time for an entirely different reason. Ugh, and she’s clever too. She nuzzled her face in Camila’s neck, offering gentle kisses to her canvas.

“I don’t know…” she went on, teasingly, her voice muffled by Camila’s soft skin “…I may have to fight her for you.”

She pulled back and pecked Camila’s lips one last time, peppering her knuckles with similar kisses.

“So, dinner? With me?”

Camila sighed heavily, her love for the other girl too much to bear at times.

“I would love that.”

Lauren kissed her once more before interlacing their fingers and leading Camila over to the dinner table, the latter girl drawing hearts on Lauren’s back as she trailed behind. The motion brought a smile to Lauren’s lips as she pulled Camila’s chair out from the table, waiting for her love to take her seat.

Lauren swiftly removed the lids from their respective dinner trays to reveal two hearty steaks sitting next to a puddle of mashed potatoes and sweet grilled bananas. Thanks Lee. She fished a bottle of red wine from a cooler hidden beneath the table, filling their glasses before joining a mesmerized Camila. They dined in peace, segments of light conversation supplemented by cracks from the firewood and sways of the ocean breeze. Loud clanks resonated throughout the atmosphere are they rested their utensils back on their plates, bellies full with food and drink. Lauren cast her eyes towards Camila who was just finishing a laugh at one of Lauren’s jokes.

“Hey, I’m telling you, after that I made sure to wear the special underwear at meet-and-greets. That one guy was probably totally freaked out.”

Camila wiped the tears of laughter trickling out the corners of her eyes.

“I don’t know about that. He probably thought he was lucky. Heck, he is lucky for having the opportunity to rub up against the incredibly hot Lauren Jauregui.”

“I don’t think he thought my erection was hot when he accidentally brushed against it. Damn Dinah Jane for jutting her ass out at the last minute, otherwise we never would have been that close. I mean, the guy was standing right there and she had to push him right in front of me.”

Camila continued laughing, much to Lauren’s dismay, but the beauty melted under the velvety richness of her voice.

“Hey, will you walk with me for a bit? I have this spot that I think you would really like.”

“Wow, Jauregui. A fabulous dinner on the beach under the stars, and now you want to take a walk in the sand? How could I resist?”

The two joined hands as they descended the dinner platform, toes sinking into the beige gravel along the shore. Camila’s bikini skirt came to life in the wind as they slowly made their way toward the cove. The waves continued to crash, the violent albeit intimate meeting of the water and sand brought a sense of calm perfection to the lovers. The sun had bid the earth adieu, the stars taking home along the moonlight. A coolness wrapped around them as they began their trek, though Lauren’s thumb gently ran over Camila’s hand, leaving behind a trail of warmth. Lauren spotted the beginnings of the cove, the one she scouted along the beach for the perfect and most intimate setting. She craned her neck to view her love, thumb still working its magic on smooth tanned skin.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy, Camila.”

The younger met Lauren’s gaze, eyes locking onto her favorite green color, even if they were hidden in the darkness of night.

“And I don’t just mean in a physical relationship with someone, I mean in any aspect of my life. I’ve been through so much and I was never certain that I would have someone there to see me through that, you know? I always wondered, back when I was sitting in my childhood bedroom in Miami if I was ever going to find true happiness, if I was ever going to find someone to share the best of parts of myself with. I wasn’t even sure if I had any ‘best parts’ but I knew that I wanted someone special by my side. And once I found them, I was going to make sure that I never let them go.”

Camila fought back tears as they rounded a sandy corner, entering Lauren’s cove with their fingers still entwined. She barely noticed the façade of their new setting: the beach here was more peaceful, a perfect wide strip of light sand tucked behind a valley of rocks. The waves washed along a rocky formation of a new fire pit, no doubt of Lauren’s creation, complete with a beach towel and another small cooler stocked with water and wine. She blinked twice when she took in the scenery and the ambiance that Lauren had set; it was so cozy, so intimate, so them that she brought her hand to cover her increasingly erratic heartbeat. She had dreams of this very spot, of an oasis segregated from the rest of the world, of her little parcel of earth upon which she and Lauren could live surrounded by happiness. How did Lauren manage to intercept her thoughts and design this very setting, she didn’t know, but when she turned to face her with a look of pure admiration dripping from her features, she found the Latina matching her look with the same ardor.

“Oh my god, it’s beautiful!”

“Yes…” Lauren leaned closer to Camila’s awe-struck face “…she is”

Once again, Lauren remained caught in the net of her thoughts, though this time they managed to seep from her orifice and into the heady air wrapped around them. She hadn’t intended to say that aloud, but around Camila she was vulnerable, and her mind often found itself unable to react properly. She really is beautiful.

“Oh Lauren. Thank you so much, for all of this.”

Camila pecked Lauren on the lips, the older girl hoping to deepen the kiss before realizing that her earlier love confession remained unfinished.

“You’re welcome. Would you like to sit down?”

She gestured towards the beach towel she had strewn about earlier and reached for a bottle of water and she helped Camila sit. Once they were seated, Lauren gulped half of the water bottle, thinking back to how Camila did so in the record studio in Los Angeles, the day she told her that she didn’t want to be with her. She couldn’t believe how wrong she was.

“Camila…”

The brunette peered lovingly at Lauren as she listened to the waves rut along the beach, waiting to hear the other girl’s raspy albeit soothing voice.

“…I didn’t know what my life would become. I wasn’t ready to accept myself, wasn’t ready to love that part of myself and I now realize that if I didn’t accept myself, then no one else was going to love that part of me either. When I joined the group, I was just a fleeting soul and being a part of something gave me structure, which you know I love. It was the best thing that ever happened to me. I had someone help construct my image, which involved me being a badass with a rebellious streak and I was fine with that, because we each played our part. I finally fit somewhere, and I had four beautiful women to love me for me, for my talents, not for what was expected of me. I felt beautiful for the first time. I still struggle with that.”

Camila inched closer to Lauren as she saw the other girl’s eyes turn glossy. Whatever this was, Lauren needed to get it out, to expel it from the depths within her, to make it possible to free without harboring such a sad ugliness that she was currently describing.

“Lauren, how could you ever think that you weren’t beautiful?”

“Because Camila…” she lowered her head to prevent from looking at Camila. She didn’t want to know what the other Cuban was presently thinking, for fear of judgement.

“…I’m not like you. I wasn’t always strong like you are. I was born like this…” she pointed to her lap, tears falling from her eyes, voice riddled with anger as she glanced at her crotch.

“…and I hated that for so, so long. You were the first person I ever fell for. The very first person whose smile made me laugh, whose voice made me happy, who could make me experience so many emotions that I didn’t even know I had. But I was scared. I was terrified because you were so beautiful Camila. No one questioned you, and from the outside, it seemed like you weren’t questioning yourself. I couldn’t do anything about my feelings for you because I couldn’t even handle my feelings about myself.”

Camila waited for Lauren to continue, though she was content to begin her interlude at Lauren’s prolonged silence.

“Lauren, listen to me. I did question myself, maybe not about that, but I questioned my feelings for women for a long time. I knew I was different even before we met on the X Factor. I had always liked girls but never felt like I could act on them, not to mention that I felt so much responsibility with being a role model for Sofi. I couldn’t handle myself if I let her down since she looks up to me. But now, with you, I realize that I wouldn’t be disappointing her if I were to come out, I would be empowering her, encouraging her to follow her heart, wherever that may take her. But I too was lost and confused and unwilling to explore, discover, and embrace that part of myself.”

Lauren tentatively looked into Camila’s eyes, her frame softening once she found peaceful pools of brown.

“You were?” Her voice was light and frothy, choked by tears.

“I was, believe me.”

Camila laid her hand upon Lauren knee, enveloping her hand in a cozy embrace.

“It’s just, after meeting you guys, I knew I could have friends but who was ever going to love me, sexually. People back home were all happy to be with me until they got close to me and found out that I have a…a…you know. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I shunned my feelings for you and you didn’t even seem interested in girls…or whatever you would call me.”

“Lauren, you are a woman. Don’t ever let anyone, not even myself tell you otherwise. You are who and what you believe you are. Please don’t let one thing deter you from that. You are beautiful in more ways than one, not just physically.”

“Yea?”

“Yes. You are one of the kindest and most compassionate people I have ever met. You hid it under this rough interior, but I know that’s to protect the ones you care the most about. You wear your heart on your sleeve and you aren’t afraid to stand up for what you believe in, even if the backlash from that is going to be difficult. You are so smart without even trying and you really invest yourself in causes that you’re concerned about. Like I said, you’re not afraid to put yourself out there and that is something that a lot of people aren’t willing to do. You are so talented, that is one of my favorite things about you. You can paint, you can write, you can dance, you can sing, obviously…”

The two shared a light laugh before Camila continued.

“…you construct beautiful works of art so effortlessly and it just makes me fall more in love with your mind. Everything you do has a deep purpose, a strong sense of meaning. Like your tattoos. What others may view as sexy symbols of ‘badass Lauren’ I see thoughtfulness. You’re not just ‘marking up your body’ like your family has suggested, but your representing people or entities that mean so much to you. And believe it or not, you’re also strong. I can only imagine what you went through before I met you, but you’re resilient. Just look at where you are in your life right now, Lauren. You’re successful with a platform that can touch millions of people, many of whom may be looking for their pillar of inspiration. Why can’t that be you?”

Lauren beamed as she watched Camila speak, words leaving her mind only to be replaced by strong incessant tugging at her heartstrings. Here she was pouring out her heart and soul to this incredible woman and she wasn’t running away, wasn’t leaving her in this sandy cove to drown in her own sorrow. Camila was…fighting…for her, doing something that no one else had ever done.

“You’re funny, Lauren. You make all of us laugh with your witty sense of humor, and you can sense that we need that even when we can’t say it out loud. That means you’re intuitive Lauren; you take the time to really know people and you always remember the best in them. Like when you said that Lucy and Shawn deserved better from us, that we should give them a chance to make us happy. You really put your heart into everything you do, almost like you have no regrets, and I can’t imagine a Lauren Jauregui that isn’t that way.”

It took Lauren several minutes before she could reveal more of herself, but she wanted to enter into this relationship with everything out in the open.

“You know, I never told anyone this, but not too long after I started seeing Lucy, I thought about getting it removed.”

Camila gasped, hand still concentrated on Lauren’s knee. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing; Lauren was mentioning removing the most intimate part of herself, and to Camila, that was heartbreaking and utterly unacceptable.

“What?! Are you serious?”

“Yes. I even called a doctor to ask about the surgery. I’ll never forget the first time I had sex, it wasn’t with Lucy, it was another friend of ours from high school and I remember her being so…turned off by off that we stopped soon after we started. She got weird after that and never spoke to me again. I hated myself, not just because I had a terrible first time but because I had lost yet another friend over my condition. It took some time but I figured that maybe that first time was bad because I didn’t have feelings for her. So you can imagine how excited I was when I started dating Lucy. I thought ‘this is going to feel right, I’ll finally be able to not just feel the kind of pleasure that people always talk about, but I’ll be able to give someone that pleasure as well’. Well, that wasn’t necessarily true. It wasn’t as weird as my first time, but Lucy was still uncomfortable. I found myself falling in love with a girl that I couldn’t please, and I didn’t feel sexy around her. We both agreed that she needed some time to get used to the idea of having sex with me, so we waited…and waited…and waited. I went back to a really ugly place inside of me because my girlfriend couldn’t stand my body, which meant that I couldn’t stand my body.”

Camila gave a gentle reassuring squeeze to Lauren’s hand.

“I called about the procedure and was going to meet with the doctor when Lucy said she felt more comfortable. We worked it out but I got the sense that she too wished that I was normal.”

Lauren finished her bottle of water before she sighed, willing herself to continue.

“I still think about having it removed and just becoming a normal female, even now that you seem ok with it.”

Camila gave her signature kiss to Lauren’s lips, doing whatever she could to ensure to her mate that she was undeniable attracted to her.

“Is it something that you really want to do?”

Their eyes connected as their conversation continued to turn into serious territory.

“Honestly, I don’t know. You seem to really like it, more than anyone else ever has. I don’t want to take that away from you.”

Camila gave a hearty laugh as Lauren smiled, a tentative respite in the current tenor of their dialogue.

“Well, I can’t argue with that. But let me tell you something Lauren. I would love you even if you didn’t have this…”

Her hands inched closer to Lauren’s patient crotch, coming to rest on her upper thigh.

“…I would love you no matter what your body looks like. When I fell in love with you, I fell for your mind, your soul, your spirit. I fell for your personality, for your outlook on life and love. I fell for everything that is you, and that includes but is not limited to your body, Lauren. I’ve never been this in love before, but one thing that I know will sustain a lasting relationship is not the physical stuff. Our bodies change all the time, but who you are, that person I’ve fallen so deeply, madly, and head over heels in love with will always be there. And she can always show me she loves me, with any part of her body. But…you know what I do love about your body? About this part of you?”

Lauren offered her a firm shake of her head, curious to ascertain Camila’s logic behind this that had plagued her mind for so long.

“I love that you can make love to me in a way that no other woman can. I love how you can be gentle and passionate in way that no man will ever understand. I love how you could impregnate me some day with your sperm, not sperm that we have to get from someone else. The baby that will grow inside of me will really be ours. We made him or her through our love, with our bodies, with you being inside me, not someone else. One of my favorite parts about sex with you Lauren is that when you enter me, it’s really you, as you were born, as you were made to be on this planet. Your penis is literally an extension of you, which is why I love it so much. If you choose to remove it, I will support you, but you would be sacrificing so much if you did. I can’t answer the question for you, but is it worth it to you?”

Lauren felt tears prick her eyes once more at Camila’s words. It dawned on her that she could have a family of her own someday, a family that she could form with her lover, the future mother of her children. She wasn’t sure she wanted one someday, had never been sure she was ever worthy of a family, but here Camila sat, genuine smile breaking her gorgeous features, voice bursting with love and nothing else, practically telling Lauren she would be the vessel for the ultimate product of their love, a love Lauren never dreamed she would experience. In others’ eyes she saw distrust, an unwillingness to swim further into the sea of love. In Camila’s eyes she saw the exact antithesis, wandering brown eyes wondering why Lauren had yet to jump.

“I’ve never felt this way before, Camila. You’re so amazing, and I’m so in love with you. Any day that you wake up and I can’t see your face shouldn’t exist. Any time you laugh and someone else is the cause should never happen. Anyone who tries to be your everything should be that for someone else, because I want to be your everything Camila…if you’ll have me.”

“I love you so much, Lauren.” Her voice was barely audible above the thrashing of the ocean in the distance, but Lauren heard it loud and clear.

“I love you too, Camila.”

“Yes…I’ll have you. On one condition.”

Lauren raised a questioning brow.

“Anything, name it Camila.”

“I have to be your everything”

The heat of the sun could never match the warmth that swelled through Lauren’s chest, the glow from their hearts too radiant with which to compete. A deep and passion kiss was enough response to Camila’s condition, though Lauren ameliorated any chance of misinterpretation. She gathered Camila’s tiny palm in hers, kissing each finger reminiscent of the way Camila did that day in Los Angeles, placing the heated palm above her heart.

“You always have been.”