#i was soaking wet through the ENTIRE journey because of this. every street i needed to walk through was flooded

[magistralucis]

@love-and-pigeons!

Out on the peninsula on the lake path.

[maddpopcorn]

It’s Okay || pjm

Pairing: Maine Coon!Hybrid!Jimin x Male!Reader

Request:  hiii can i request a jimin x male reader fic? maybe an angst/comfort hybrid au where jimin is a homeless hybrid who escaped from his abuser owner and is now trying to survive in the streets. the reader would find him and try to help him, but since jimin is scared and doesn’t trust humans, it’s a bit harder than he expected.. (i’d prefer a series but you can make it a one-shot or drabble or whatev boils your noodles lol) thank you in advance and have a nice day!

Summary: When walking down your normal road, you spy a long, fluffy tail. And when it connects to a bruised and bloodied up hybrid who immediately hisses at you, you find yourself trying everything in your power to bring him home….even if you have to suffer a couple of scratches along the way.

Warnings: Angst, lots of angst, burning of the skin with cigarettes, mentions of starving from neglect/punishment, punching, slight mentions blood and cleaning the wound, night terrors

A/N: Wow, you were my first request! I am so sorry it took long. However, I enjoyed writing this piece a lot so I hope you enjoy it, too! If people like this so much, perhaps I could make a second part (I already have one hybrid series I’m planning on making so it might be too much to make this into a series :)) Also, forgive me if there are any mistakes!

Jimin hates being a hybrid. No, scratch that. He despises it. He despises himself. Because of his nature, he’s immediately treated with little to no respect by most humans in society. He’s treated like he’s some type of scum on the bottom of their shoes.

Which isn’t true at all but who will ever listen to him, right? He is just a mangy good for nothing hybrid, after all.

He despises humans. After all of this time observing them, after experiencing them first hand, he has deemed them greedy, selfish and just evil.

They are all evil.

Without his permission, tears well up in his eyes, and he hastily wipes them away out of habit in fear of being caught. He blinks and then dryly chuckles, looking down at his burnt scars that dotted his arms. Who is going to burn their cigarettes into his now dry and cracked skin? Who is going to punch their frustrations out on him again?

No one, right?

He escaped them.

He escaped them.

.

Sighing in relief and with a smile, you wave bye to the last customer that walks out of the coffee shop. Immediately, your smile drops.

“Holy hell, today was busier than a fucking highway,” you groan, shoulders drooping dramatically. You let the broom slide in your hand until only the tips of your fingers are barely holding it up.

“Yeah, why do these people need all of this coffee on a Friday afternoon anyway?” Yoongi complains, dropping his head on the counter, his recently dyed mint hair covering his eyes. “It’s like they’re addicted or something. Damn.”

“Takes one to know one, Yoongles,” you tease, holding the broom properly again and resuming sweeping.

Huffing at your joke, he stretches, popping several bones in the process (that you may or may not be worried about).“Yeah but unlike them, I know my limits.”

“Hah, funniest joke of the year. Yeah, right, dude.”

He reels back like he has touched fire and gasps. “Wha-excuse me, mister but I know my limits.”

“No, you really don’t.” 

“Ye-”

“Yoongi-” you stop sweeping, putting your hand on your hip. “-you drank 5 cups of coffee in one sitting during exam week. And then, the next week, you kept chugging energy drinks like they were nothing so you could finish your ‘precious song’.” One by one, you start listing off all the times he has drank too much coffee and energy drinks. His body deflates with each jab at his pride until he’s crumbling in on himself.

It’s a hot minute before any of you say anything, quietly cleaning up the shop so that you could finally go home.

“Fuck off, pretty boy,” he finally says, middle finger in the air and face heating up. 

You bark out a laugh. “So you finally admit that I’m pretty, huh? Jin owes me $5.”

“You fucking-”

.

“Don’t forget, 8 o’clock tonight, my apartment. Don’t be late like last time, brat,” Yoongi scolds, adjusting his glasses. You throw your hands up, a cheeky smirk on your face.

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You wave bye to your coworker as you exit the coffee shop. Humming to yourself, you begin your journey on your normal path to home. Mentally checking off your to-do list before you have to get ready for the annual hangout you and your friends have every week, you spot in the corner of your eye a fluffy, blonde blob. You turn your head, fully stopping and squinting.

“What the fuck?” you mutter to yourself, creeping up on the blob. It grows until it stops at a…

“Holy shit!” You yell, quickly slapping your hand over your mouth in disbelief.

A hybrid. A cat hybrid, to be specific, is laying on the dirty and wet ground of the alley way. His eyes are closed, and you timidly squat down near him to examine him. Matted blonde hair sticks to his face with what you can only assume is sweat and dirt which is also smudging across his face. His lips are forming a pout and he moves a bit, making you jump back in surprise. When he stays still after, you continue your examination. His skin looks dry and his cheeks are sunken in. Trailing your eyes down his form, you notice how worn and ragged his clothes truly are. And how big they look on him. Your eyebrows furrow at his state. Someone did a beating on this poor guy.

He whimpers in his sleep and without thinking, you do something stupid. Something incredibly stupid.

You reach your hand out towards him, to pet him or give him comfort, not really controlling your urges to get close. And that’s when you instantly regret it. His eyes snap open, and you yelp in pain as his claws swipe into your skin. Recoiling back, you immediately grasp your now bleeding arm, eyes glued to it. Three deep scratches litter your arm and blood starts to come to the surface.

Even if you’re the one that got scratched, you apologize.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, letting out a shuddering breath. “I should’ve given you your space. I’m sorry.”

“Leave me alone!” He hisses, shuffling far away from you. Growling, his entire body shakes as flashes upon flashes come back to him. Pupils reducing to slits and ears flattening against his head, he swipes at you again, 

You mentally slap yourself in the face. Of course he would scratch you. You invaded his personal space and reminded him of his abusers. You scared him. You back up, giving the hybrid one last glance, guilt racking every bone in your body for scaring the hybrid before you walk away. 

He doesn’t meet your eyes.

-

You rush home, your makeshift bandage from the napkins in your pocket soaked in blood. He got you deep. But it wasn’t his fault. It was yours.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you repeat to yourself. “How could you be so fucking stupid?”

Someone holds the door open for you as you slide past them, muttering a quick thanks.

“Hi, Mrs. Hags. Bye, Mrs. Hags,” you yell out to the landlady, rushing past people into the elevator of your complex.

“Bye, dearie,” she calls out. “Odd fellow, he is. Isn’t that right, Mr. Whiskers?”

Her cat only yawns in response and she immediately coos, getting right back to her knitting.

Stomping your foot impatiently, you give an awkward smile to the other tenants present in the elevator. They smile back, weird looks on their faces as they realize you’re holding your bleeding arm and you silently wish that the elevator would hurry the hell up. Sighing in relief as the elevators dings, you squeeze through the opening doors.

“Odd fellow,” One whispers out.

“Yeah, very odd,” Another whispers back.

Fumbling with your keys to your door, you curse in frustration as you drop them. Picking them up, you unlock your door after what seemed like forever. Finally, practically throwing open your door, you race to your bathroom, not caring as your door slams behind you. Dropping everything, you quickly get the first aid kit out.

“Fuck,” you hiss in pain as the alcohol seeps into your wound. Tears fall from your eyes from the burning sensation. “Ah, I’m melting, I’m melting…fuck, I’m dumb.”

After 10 minutes of grueling pain, you look at your newly bandaged arm. That was so stupid of you. How could you just invade his space like that? As you focus on your arm, dumb thoughts running through your head, your phone rings, snapping you out of your thoughts. Fishing it out of your pocket, you groan again when you realize it’s Yoongi. You still had time to get there, two hours really, so why was he calling you?

“Hello?” 

“Y/N, wanted to let you know that Joon got the stomach bug so the hangout is cancelled. Hobi and I are taking care of him.”

You can hear groans of pain in the background and Hoseok teasing. “Quit being a baby, Joonie. It’s a mere stomach bug.”

“Feels like I’m dying, Hobi,” he groans dramatically.

“Sounds like you have a handful, Yoongles,” you chuckle, putting up the alcohol and first aid kit.

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

“Okay, thanks for telling me. I hope Joon gets better. I have some stuff to do so I have to go.”

“Yeah, right. Bye, Y/N-Namjoon, did you just hit me with a pillow?”

You can hear Namjoon yelling “Cuddles, now!” before Yoongi hangs up, eliciting a belly laugh out of you. How Yoongi and Hoseok put up with their boyfriend, you have no clue but more power to them. Staring back at your arm, you nod as you come up with a plan to win the hybrid over. Or at least apologize to him. You roll up your other sleeve, making your way over to your kitchen. You’ve got work to do.

-

It’s a couple of hours later when Jimin finally retreats from his hidey hole to see a brown paper bag with a note attached to it. An amazing smell wafts through the air that makes his stomach growl in hunger. He slowly crawls forward, tail swishing in curiosity, and snatches the note from the bag.

I’m sorry about today. Please enjoy your dinner.

P.S, I hear Maine Coons like this fish, assuming you are one. Enjoy :)

-Y/N (The guy who is really sorry about invading your personal space)

He hisses in disgust, shifting backward from the paper bag. The note flies from his grasp and lands in a puddle, immediately getting soaked from the dirty water. What if you poisoned it? Or laced it with something? Are you working for…her? Are you going to take him back? It’s not like he’s never had the wonderful pleasure of starving before. She would make sure of that. He can deal with it. He has done it plenty of times, one more can’t hurt…right?

He sits there, just glaring holes at the bag as rain drops hit him, trying so hard to ignore everything. The smell, the wonderful smell. He clenches his teeth so hard he’s afraid he’ll break them as another sharp pain shoots through his stomach, accompanied by a familiar grumbling. He tries to ignore it. He tries to focus on something else. Perhaps the way his bones are shivering from the rain will do? No, that makes it worse. Makes him want whatever is in the bag even more. It seems warm. Warm enough to make him warm. He wants it. He needs it. So much.

Ignore it.

Ignore it.

Ignore. It.

But, a guy can only take so much.

The smell surrounding him in mockery and the nagging pain finally makes Jimin grab the bag, fishing out the food and digging in, without sparing it a second glance. He’ll worry about the consequences later.

He almost moans from the taste he thought he had forgotten long ago. The fish is still warm, kept in a container that keeps the temperature insulated and whatever soup you got (or made, he can care less) goes perfectly with it.

In a matter of minutes, the fish is finished, and Jimin is gulping down the remaining soup. He pulls back, licking his lips and sighs in satisfaction. His stomach is warm from the soup. He’s not shivering that much from the rain anymore. He actually feels…cozy and it’s incredibly weird to him. Something foreign almost. He places the bowl back into the bag and crawls back into his hiding place. Curling up, yawning, he thinks of you and quietly mumbles a thank you before falling fast asleep.

-

It is a couple of days later when you return, bandage wrapped around your arm. Jimin growls in annoyance and begrudgingly relief. You seem..okay from his scratch.

Stupid human can’t follow a stupid task.

“I come bearing a peace offering,” you smile, holding out two bags.

Jimin’s eyes study the bags and then trail up your hand and to your arm. Annoyingly, in his opinion, guilt racks up. You notice his eyes glued to your arm and you wave your hand.

“Don’t worry about. My friend Jin said it would be fine.”

You lock eyes for a mere second before he’s immediately spitting back, “Like I care.”

He averts his eyes, letting out a loud huff. You sit down, slowly sliding one bag towards him. He views the action from the corner of his eyes. What are you doing? He turns his head just a bit to get a better view and his eyes widen.

“What are you doing?” he practically screeches as you pull out your lunch for the day.

“Taking my lunch break. What else?” you tease, waving the take out container in your hand. “Would you care to join me?”

“No.”

You shrug your shoulders and open your container. “Suit yourself, buddy.”

You begin eating and Jimin rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and looking away. Again, he repeats the same mantra from last time.

Ignore it.

His stomach rumbles and if you heard it, you make no move to comment and instead, continue to happily eat. 

“Wow, this chicken is to die for. Compliments to the chef,” you groan, giving a chef’s kiss. “Sure you don’t want any?”

He knows what your game is. You’re just trying to rile him up to eat the food so that you can do whatever you want with him. No, not this time. It won’t work. After you leave, he’ll throw the food away. He is sure of it.

“I am positive I don’t want your shitty food,” he snaps.

You wince, putting a hand to your chest. “Ouch buddy, that hurt.”

“Not your fucking buddy either,” he growls in annoyance.

“Just slash at my feelings, why don’t yah?”

“Gladly.”

That is his last and final word. You finish your lunch, taking one glance at the hybrid and leave. Jimin sits there and makes a move to throw out the food. He hesitantly reaches out but backs away. His eyebrows furrow at his dilemma. On one hand, should he waste food like that? That would be wrong of him. On another, did you poison the food this time? Can he really trust that you didn’t?

He lasts a total of five minutes before he’s digging into the food. Maybe, just maybe, you’re a decent human. Just maybe.

-

It takes you weeks to earn the still nameless hybrid’s trust. Even then, it was only a small amount. At least you could sit closer together and talk about random things. That’s why it surprises you when he meekly asks if he can go with you this time.

You widen your eyes at his request. “What?” 

“When you leave, can I go with you? Y/N, please?” His ears are flattened against his head and his tail is curled around his waist.

“I don’t even know your name-”

“Jimin. It’s um, Jimin.” He blurts out. He clears his throat, face flushed, eyes looking at every thing but you.

“Jimin…” you whisper, the name so foreign on your tongue. “Pretty name. What made you want to come with me?”

“I…” he didn’t expect that question. “I don’t know. You just seem…comforting, I guess? I don’t know, it was stupid. I’m sorry-”

You cut him off. “Shh, it’s not stupid. I’m glad that I seem comforting to you. My answer is yes, you can come home with me.”

His eyes widen and it’s the first time you have ever seen him smile that wide before. You hope you’ll see that smile even more in the future.

-

“And this is your room!” You gesture with your arm. “I had to quickly clean it since I honestly didn’t think you would come with me so forgive me if it’s still a bit dusty.” You walk in but he doesn’t follow. You turn around towards him, cocking your head. “Jimin?”

Jimin can’t say anything. This is all for him? But, he didn’t do anything to deserve it. He didn’t please you. He didn’t let you use him as a personal punching bag for your frustrations. This is a trick. It has to be. No one is this kind to a stranger, especially a hybrid. A hybrid who hurt you. For fuck’s sake, he scratched you. Yeah, he wanted to come home with you and yeah, he did say you were comforting but he expected that you would make him share the same room or something. He didn’t know what to expect. Just not this.

“Jimin?” Your soothing voice lures him out of his mess he calls his thoughts.

“I-I can’t accept this room, Y/N.”

You must’ve pulled a face or something because Jimin is immediately tense, ready to dash right back out on to the streets.

“Why?” is the only thing you ask.

“What?”

“Why can’t you accept the room?”

He wraps his arms around himself, his tail joining them. “Never had this before. This much kindness thrown at me. Expected to..pay you in return.”

“It’s yours now, Jimin. No payment needed.”

“Why are you so kind to me?”

His question throws you off-guard and it takes you a minute to answer. You brush the lint off of his comforter. “Because you deserve it. I can only assume you’ve been through hell and back. Why not live the rest of your life peacefully?”

“Thank you.”

With that, you smile and leave him be in his new room. A couple of hours later, he joins you for dinner. Whatever you made smells heavenly. Quietly sitting down, he watches as you put the pot on the table in between you two. The bowls are already set and you serve him first before serving yourself. He mutters a “thank you”.

“Dig in, Jimin. I hope you’ll like it. New recipe I’m trying out,” you hum, taking a spoon full of the stew and blowing on it. He waits until you take a bite first. You smile in satisfaction as the spicy fish stew came out perfectly. Just the right amount of spice. He should’ve known better, really. You never wanted to hurt him in the first place but old habits die hard and he finds himself gauging your reaction to the food. You didn’t trick him before, you didn’t poison him at all, so why should this meal be different? Maybe it’s because he’s on your turf now. He waits and when he deems the food is safe enough to eat since you aren’t spasming out of control from poison or getting sleepy from a sedative, he digs in.

Wow.

You’re an amazing cook.

It doesn’t take Jimin even 5 minutes to finish his bowl and your heart aches just a little at the mere thought of him being hungry ever again. 

“Must’ve been good?” You tease light-heartedly. Jimin nods, licking his lips clean. “Want a second bowl?”

His eyes widen at the aspect and you only take his bowl to fill it up again. Jimin wastes no time finishing the second one. He feels all warm, fuzzy even and he looks down at his stomach in confusion. This is a familiar feeling. A feeling he had on the day you two met. It takes him a good solid minute, weighing the pros and cons of asking you if you had made that soup. Would you think it was weird if he told you he had remembered the fuzzy feeling? Would you think it was weird if he told you that that was the only time he had ever felt close to home? Finally, he concludes that either way, he needs to know because he cannot stand the stupid curiosity that’s nagging him.

“I..I have a question,” Jimin mumbles.

You nod, gulping down the remaining water from your cup. “Shoot.”

He looks around the room as he hesitantly asks, “Did, did you..you know, that soup..”

“Soup? What soup?”

“You know, that soup.”

“I’m not following, Jiminie?”

His face heats up at your nickname for him but you don’t seem to realize that you even said it in the first place. He finally blurts out, “The one that you gave me the first time we met! Did you cook it?”

“Oh.” 

“I just,” he continues. “It was the only time I ever felt..I don’t know. Nevermind- it’s stupid.”

“Yes.”

“What?” Did you actually think it was-

“Yes, I made it. I wanted you to have a homemade meal. And I was apologizing to you so I thought it would be a bit more..special I guess.”

“Thank you..”

You both clean the dishes, wash up and head to bed. Jimin is finally alone to just process everything. This could be a home for him. He lays down, relishing in the softness of the bed. He wraps himself with the comforter. It smells so nice and it feels so warm and so..homey. Yawning, he doesn’t notice the smile creeping up on his face as he closes his eyes, sleep taking over.

-

A couple of weeks have passed and having Jimin around is such a delight. Not having to come home to an empty apartment feels so much better. He helps you clean, he accompanies you when you’re watching something on the tv. He lets you ramble about your day at the coffee shop. It takes Jimin a while to grow used to being here. And not everything is so pleasant. Countless of times, Jimin has woken up from night terrors, from flashbacks of that place. And this time isn’t any different.

It’s around 4 in the morning when Jimin wakes up, his eyes flying open from the nightmare. Gasping for air, he looks around. Everything seems so hazy, so dark. All he can remember is him screaming for you.

Oh no, oh no, oh no. You’re not going to give him away, right? Right?

You weren’t anywhere in sight and he could feel himself panicking. He rapidly jumps up, trying to find the light switch or the curtains or something to give light. To give him hope that you hadn’t sneakily sold him back to her. He trips over something and reaches out his hand, grasping a cloth and pulling it down with him. Moon light floods the room and he curls up, sobbing and shaking. His heart is racing and he silently begs for you to appear.

You jolt awake at the loud “thunk” coming from somewhere in your apartment. You jump up, grabbing your baseball bat and tip toe out of your room. Hearing whimpers from Jimin’s room, you drop the bat and rush in.

“Jimin, oh my god, are you okay?” you ask alarmed, freeing him. He’s shaking all over, eyes closed and arms wrapped around himself.

“Please tell me I’m not there again. I don’t wanna go back. Please, please please..” He repeatedly mumbles. “I’m a good boy. I’ll be a better boy, I promise. Please, just don’t take me there.”

Without thinking, you wrap your arms around him, rocking him back and forth. “I promise on everything holy that I will never leave you. I will never let you go back there, Jimin.”

He sobs into your shoulder, gripping tightly at your t-shirt. His tail wraps around you, and you stroke his head.

“Shh, I’ve got you. You’re here, you’re home. It’s okay, you’re safe. I promise,” you whisper. After a long time, Jimin grounds himself and he pulls back to see you, worry filling your eyes and tears at the brim of them.

“Y/N,” he mumbles, diving right back into your arms. You only rub his back in soothing motions.

That was the first night ever that he had asked you to stay in his room.

-

The next morning while you’re making a delicious breakfast for the both of you, he stalks into the kitchen. You hum a little at his presence, asking him if he is okay. He hums in agreement and stares at you. You, already used to him just staring at you, studying your movements, continue cooking. He walks up behind you, ears pinned back, arms opening up.

He back hugs you.

You’re startled for a moment and it makes him hesitate to tighten his grip but when you don’t move away, just slightly humming as you continue to cook, he smiles, ever so slightly, tautening his hold.

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me,” he murmurs into your back, so quietly that you have a hard time hearing him. But you hear him. He buries his head into your back, inhaling your comforting scent. “Thank you.”

That’s when you realize that the future for the both of you would be much brighter from here on.

[kiirokero]

My Hope (JHS)

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Angst, Lil bit of Fluff, Mutual Pining, (old?)Best Friends to lovers

Word Count: 2,870

Summary:  You were only trying to forget the love you knew you could never have, but now you were trapped in a hell. You’ve had enough and you find yourself at the doorstep of the one who you truly loved, soaking wet and broken.

Warnings: Mentions of a domestic abusive relationship, verbal, emotional, light physical abuse (bruising), manipulation, gaslighting (kinda?), yelling, degradation (and not the smexy kind), light panicking, abusive isolation, just a lot of horrible shit. 

Note: PLEASE don’t read if the warning topics are triggering for you.

     Cold. That's all I could feel right now. My hands like icicles as the unforgiving frost of the city bit at the tips of my ears and nose. Was I really doing the right thing? My legs aching as I continued my journey to the only place I could turn to. He said he'd change. He always said that. Every time. Maybe this time will be different. How many times has it been? 5? 10? I've lost count, but I was stuck.

     1... 2... 3... I counted my steps to keep my mind off of the situation that plagued it. It was his fault, right? It wasn't mine? Would he have acted like that if it was anybody else? He's always been jealous. Insecure. Reassurance a constant sound coming from my vocal cords, only because I didn’t want to do the alternative. 

     18... 19... 20... Am I walking too slow? I should be there by now. Am I lost? Will I succumb to the cold in an alleyway all by myself? My feet like the stone statues that stood in the middle of the city. Their empty stares the only thing to keep me company. The patter of rain the only music filling my ears. Lonely. I was always so lonely. Even when the arms of the person I falsely gave my heart to were wrapped around my ever dying body.

     50... 51... 52... What happened to me? I used to be so happy. My smile a genuine painting on my face rather than a mask constantly in my hand. I used to have friends, family; I used to have him...A piece of me was taken away with every hateful word spat at me. I was no better than the cold stone men. The fire in my soul reduced to a pathetic ember. My glowing skin diminished into scratchy leather. My will to keep going now nothing more than a scrap of paper. Burnt. Torn. Crumpled.

     87... 88... 89... I had to do it. I couldn't take it anymore. My life had been ripped away from me. He trapped me in a hellscape with false promises of love. Lured me in with a chance to forget. To forget about him. Happiness... I wanted it back. I want my friends back. I wanted my family back. My hobbies, my freedom, him.

I wanted Hoseok back.

     "Who was that?" My boyfriend, Hajoon, snapped as I closed the door. "The new neighbor..." I faltered. Hajoon just scoffed and stood up. Walking towards me as my heart rate spiked. Not again. "Oh really? And what did he want?" He taunted, annoyance written all over his face. "H-he just wanted to introduce himself..." I stuttered. "Why are you stuttering? I swear you'd never survive without me. You're so pathetic." He huffed as he harshly grabbed my chin, making me look at him. "Don't talk to him again, got it?" I nodded and he let go. "You love me and you'd never leave me. Right Y/N?" He questioned. "Right... I'd never leave you..."

     "Hobi! How's the tour going!" I exclaimed, happy to get a call from my best friend. "Y/N! It's going well! It's been a blast performing and meeting Army's." He chirped. Hajoon was out, meaning that I could talk to Hoseok without worry. Hajoon never liked Hoseok. Whenever I would mention my beloved best friend, he would get angry. He would yell and me tell me I shouldn't talk to him. I didn't listen though, Hoseok has been with me through everything. I could never drop him. Never. "Why haven't you been visiting more, Y/N? We miss you!" Hoseok asked, a hint of sadness laced in his voice. "Ah, I would but... Hajoon doesn't like when I go out without him..." I hesitated. "Y/n... Hajoon doesn't own you. You can do things without his approval. You're an adult, okay?" Hoseok stated. "I know, but..." I froze as I heard the door open.

     "I-I gotta go, I'll talk to you when I can..." I panicked, hanging up the phone before Hoseok could say anything. "Y/n? Who are you talking to?" Hajoon called out. "M-my mom!" I called back, tears stinging my eyes but I refused to let them fall. "She just wanted to check up on me..." I quickly deleted my call history, leaving a call from my mom earlier today at the top. I knew that if Hajoon didn't believe me, he'd look at my call history. The last time I lied about who I was talking to, he yelled at me for hours. Hajoon walked into our shared bedroom staring coldly at me. "What did you guys talk about?" He asked. "She was just asking how my life is... telling me how they are..." I mumbled. "What did you say?" He commanded me to tell him. "I- I said I was fine..." Hajoon nodded, satisfied, and laid down on the bed, beckoning me into his arms.

     I complied, curling up next to him, my head in his chest. He knew what he was doing was wrong. He knew how he was treating me was wrong. He feared getting caught. Scared I'd run away. Slipping from his grasp. He was insecure. He needed someone to control in order to feel that he had power. Why did it have to be me? "I love you." He mumbled. I hesitated, not wanting to say those sacred words, but my mind when back to what happened every time I didn't say it back. 'I give you everything, yet you're so ungrateful?' 'You just take and take, don't you?' 'You'd have nothing without me!' 'You need me.'

"I- I love you too..."

     "Where the hell we're you?!" I winced at the sound of my yelling boyfriend. "I was out with friends... I told you last night that they wanted to go see a movie with me..." I mumbled. Fear and anxiety already coursing through my body. "And I thought I told you that I didn't want you to go?!" He screamed. Hoseok's words ran through my mind 'You're an adult'. That's the only reason I could pick myself up and go out. "I..." I stumbled out, "I'm an adult... I can make my own decisions..." The room was silent. I looked up to see Hajoon looking at me with an unreadable expression.

     "Oh, really?" He said in a monotone manner, scaring me even more. He wasn't yelling anymore, but I could tell he was mad, he was really mad. He started stepping towards me, causing me to back up, hitting my back against the empty living room wall. "Really?" He said again, this time in a more spiteful tone. He harshly grabbed my wrist, squeezing it tight. I cried out at the sudden pain. "You're an adult? You don't act like it. You're like a child leeching off of me, ungratefully taking everything from me, yet you want to say you're an adult?!" My eyes were watering and my heart rammed against my ribcage, I could hear the sound in my ears. "You made me quit my job... So I wouldn't have my own money..." I whispered. But he heard it, and he squeezed my wrist even tighter. "I do this because I love you." He stated. But I've had it, I've had enough. "No! No, you don't! You don't love me! This isn't love!"

     I struggled in his grip, managing to get free as I bolted for the door. I had to get out of there. I burst the door open and ran down the street. Ignoring the yells that came from behind me. I just kept running and running. Rain roughly hitting my face, mixing with the salty tears slipping from my eyes.

     I looked down at my bruising wrist, the sight not new to me. The bruise was like a bracelet to me now. An accessory I would wear to remind me I made him mad, and he went too far. I curled my knees against my chest, cold and wet, shivering in front of my best friend's door. I took my phone out of my pocket. 9 pm. When I got home it was 7, was I really running for that long?

     Hoseok's place was a 30-minute drive from mine, but walking/running was a different story. The twists and turns of the city streets adding on extra time to my commute. I didn't want to call him. It was Sunday night. Every Sunday night, Hoseok would go to BigHit's dance studio and practice more by himself, starting at 6 and ending at 8. Then the long drive back home. That was his Sunday routine. I didn't want to bother him. His dancing was important to him, and he loved it. I didn't want to ruin his night by interrupting him. I didn't want to be a bother.

     Irrational fears ran through my head, torturing me. Did I have any right to be here? Would he be mad at me? Why would he be mad at me? Please don't be mad at me. I can't handle it. I can't handle the yelling, the screaming. I can't handle the hate, the fake love. I couldn't handle being trapped. A dying bird in a rusty cage. I wanted freedom, craved it. Tonight, I finally got it. Now I just needed the warm, comforting arms and the smooth voice of my best friend to tell me everything is going to be okay.

     "Y-Y/n?" I looked up at the sound of my name and saw a worried-looking Hoseok, still dressed in workout clothes and a duffle bag in hand. As soon as I saw his face, tears spilled out of my eyes, "Hobi?" I hiccuped. He wasted no time rushing to me, kneeling in front of me, holding me close. "Y/n, you're soaking wet! What happened?" I couldn't answer him as I choked out tears. Hoseok could tell I was too hysterical to give him an answer, so he picked me up and walked inside his apartment.

     "Hey, hey, it's okay. I need you to calm down, Y/n. Can you do that for me?" Hoseok comforted me as brought me to the bathroom and sat me on the side of the tub. I nodded my head and Hoseok ran me through a breathing exercise. It didn’t calm me down entirely, but at least I could speak now. Hoseok kneeled in front of me and held one of my hands as the other one worked on wiping my tears away. "I'm sorry..." I whispered. "No, Y/n, I don't what to hear any of that. You have nothing to be sorry for." Hoseok stated, "But, what happened?"

     "Hajoon... Hajoon happened." I said, his name like tar in my mouth. Hoseok's face contorted in disgust. "I knew it..." He whispered to himself. I could see the mental battle he was having in his head plastered on his face. It read guilt and regret. He stood up and walked out of the bathroom. He soon returned with a black hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, handing them to me. "Go ahead and change, I don't want my sunshine to get sick." My heart skipped a beat at the old nickname he always used for me.

     Sunshine. He's been calling me that since forever. But when I got in a relationship with Hajoon, he stopped out of respect, since sunshine sounded so loving to Hajoon. I forgot just how much I missed it. Hajoon was never that loving to me, Hoseok treated me better than him from the start. Loving Hoseok scared me. He had a dream. He was a star and I was a nobody compared to him. I was scared I wasn't good enough for him. So when the puppy love between me and Hajoon started, I took it as an opportunity to keep me from impeding Hoseok and his dream. But it backfired, it backfired so badly.

     I stepped out of the bathroom, walking to the living room that seemed like a distant memory now. I remembered when I would practically spend days straight at Hoseok's house, even if he had work, it was my second home until Hajoon ripped that away from me. He told me that it was unfaithful to spend so much time at Hoseok’s, and not wanting to hurt his feelings, I listened to him. I was so stupid. Hoseok walked out the kitchen, dressed in lounge clothes, leftover takeout in hand as he motioned for me to sit down. I complied silently. We said nothing to each other, but we didn't have to. We didn't need to fill the silence with conversation just yet. We just needed each other.

     Hoseok set the food down on the table in front of us and sat down, grabbing pieces of food with a pair of chopsticks and feeding me. The loving gesture almost made me sob. After he deemed I was fed well, he wrapped his arms securely around me, holding me tight. Afraid that if he were to let go, someone would take me away from him again. "You can talk when you're ready." He whispered to me, petting my hair lovingly. I did just that. I talked and talked. Going on and on about how Hajoon would treat me, how he would yell and scream, how he would lash out than apologize afterward, promising to change. I told him how he didn't like me hanging out with my friends or visiting family. If I went out, he had to go with me. If I was on the phone, he had to know who was on the other side. If he told me he loved me, I had to say it back, or things wouldn't be pretty. "How long has this been going on?" Hoseok asked. "A couple months after we got together... It started out small, but then it spiraled. Before I knew it, I was trapped in a loveless relationship, too scared to run." I shivered as I sunk into Hoseok's arms even more.

"I'm so sorry, I should've been there," Hoseok whispered.

"It's okay Hobi, just... hold me."

"Why didn't you call me? You shouldn't have walked all the way over here."

"I knew you were practicing."

"Y/n," He breathed, "I'd drop anything for you."

"I know how important your job is to you Hobi..."

"You're more important."

     Silence engulfed us again, Hoseok gently rocking me back and forth. Loving Hoseok was scary, but I wouldn't hold myself back anymore. I wouldn't dance around the issue. I couldn't deny what my heart wanted and what it wanted all along. Last time I did, Hajoon reduced me to a scrap of myself. 

      Hajoon would hug me, but they weren’t like Hoseok’s. Hajoon would hold me, but it wasn’t like Hoseok. Hajoon said he loved me, but he wasn’t Hoseok. He was never Hoseok. He could never be Hoseok. 

"I didn't love him." I sniffled. "I never did. He wasn't the person I wanted, Hobi."

"Who did you want...?" Hoseok hesitated.

"I wanted my hope..." I choked out, tears threatening to fall again.

      Hoseok held me tighter. A stray tear fell on the top of my head, telling me he needed to hear that. That single tear told me so much. He regretted not being there for me through this. He felt like it was his fault. If only he knew, things would be different. If only he told me he loved me, this would've never happened.

"Why didn't you come to me sooner?" Hoseok croaked out, sniffling.

"I was just scared of what he would to do me..." I winced.

"Did he hurt you?" Hoseok asked.

I stayed silent. He pulled away to look me in the eye, his own tears glistening under the light.

"Sunshine. Did he hurt you?" He pressed.

I couldn't resist him whenever he called me that, so I just silently nodded.

"Where?"

     I showed him my wrist. The purple splotches wrapping around it reminding me of the invisible handcuffs Hajoon had me in for so long. "He's disgusting..." He scoffed, gently taking my wrist in his hands, examining the deep bruises. I unconsciously flinched, earning a look of sadness from Hoseok, more tears falling from his face. "Was this the first time?" I shook my head, causing Hoseok to take a deep breath. "Tomorrow, we'll go get your things and bring them here. I'll deal with him." I looked up at the man in front of me. Instead of his somber look, his face showed a mad one. Hoseok was always scary when mad. The aura that radiated off of him was a threatening one. "I don't want to go back there, Hobi..." I mumbled. Hoseok slowly put a hand on my cheek and stroked my cheekbone with his thumb. His moves were slow and gentle, not wanting to scare me. "Don't worry, he won't be there when we go."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"He'll be rotting in a cell."

"...Jail?"

"He committed a crime, Y/n," He stated.

"...Thank you Hobi. I missed you..."

"I missed you too, sunshine. I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you..."

"I love you..." I squeezed him tighter.

"I love you too, sunshine."

[mxndoscyarika]

Red Sunsets (Javier Peña x Chinese!reader) | Chapter 9: Agridulce

Author’s note: This was an interesting yet challenging chapter to write! I haven’t written full-on smut since....ever? But I wanted to have this chapter be a major step in the story, and also give you guys some sort of idea as to where in the timeline the series fits. PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS before you start! This is mostly smut, so I’ve kept it all under the keep reading tag. I hope you guys like it!

Summary: Family fights, grudges, and determination. Those three things defined your journey as you navigated through the workings of the DEA. Getting in was hard, and catching Escobar was even harder. You joined Javier Peña and Steve Murphy in the hunt for Escobar, forming bonds and life lessons along the way.

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Red Sunsets masterlist

Warning(s): gun violence, blood mention, character death (mention), smut (unprotected sex, oral...yeah I think that’s p much it? The overarching categories? This chapter is 3k words and 2.5k words are for the smut lol, buckle up!)

Javi’s apartment was quiet as you set down your things, your badges scattered amongst the open folders on the dining table. Every movement felt empty, numb.

The tip was a fake. Even worse, it was a trap. A deadly trap.

It had seemed real. Javi brought it in sometime in the afternoon, and it seemed like everything was falling into place. You’d done some digging and there was enough evidence to suggest that Escobar would be at the address. So, you brought it to Carrillo, who was more than ready to head in.

The plan had been to take him at night, when the streets were empty and Escobar was less likely to be prepared.  Javi was going to stay behind in case one of the sicarios recognized him from his meeting with the informant. Steve was staying behind as well per the colonel’s request. Out of the trio, only you were going to go anywhere near the action, and even then you were told to wait until the Search Bloc arrived at the building.

It all went to hell. Escobar and his men painted the street red with the Search Bloc’s blood, setting fires and blowing up vehicles. And most hauntingly, he killed Carrillo.

The colonel���s last words to you were through the radio, nearly unintelligible from the gunfire. He’d ordered you to turn around, to go back to the station. He told you it was a trap, and that he would finish the mission himself.

He was wrong. When the last round was shot and Escobar slipped back into the shadows, Carrillo was dead. It was a message to Columbia's government and the DEA: you had your fancy weapons and tricks, but so did he.

You were lucky. Although you were meant to lag behind as backup, you could’ve easily been caught in the ambush.

As if he could sense your thoughts, Javi spoke. “I’m sorry.”

Frowning, you asked, “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Because I was the one who got the tip,” he said, reaching for your hands. They were trembling, so different from his usual steadiness. “And it led them into a death trap. It was going to lead you into a death trap.”

“Hey,” you said softly, holding his face in your hands. Looking him in the eyes, you continued, “You did what you thought was best. It looked real, even to me. None of us could tell that it was a fake.”

Sighing, he closed the distance between you. The feeling of his lips against yours was the realest thing you’d felt the entire night. He slipped  his tongue between the seam of your lips as he deepened the kiss, arms pinning you against him. The heat radiating off of him warmed you to the core. You could tell that he needed it just as much as you, if not more.

“I almost lost you,” he whispered, voice quaking. “If you’d gone there—”

“But I’m here,” you interrupted, reuniting your lips for just a moment. “I’m here. I’m safe. We’re safe.”

“You’re here.” Javi reached for the buttons of your blouse as he kissed you. “I need-I need to feel you, mi amor.”

“Then touch me,” you said, shrugging off your shirt and placing it next to you on the table. “I’m all yours.”

Your pants were the next item of clothing to be discarded, as were your panties and bra. Javi made quick work of them, his touch gentle and well-practiced. Then, his mouth was upon you.

He gently laid you back on the table before kissing his way down your chest, stopping at your breasts to lave at your peaked nipples. His hands caressed your body, leaving trails of heat down your torso. You wrapped your bare legs around his waist to keep him pressed against you. Already, you could feel his growing arousal rubbing against your core.

When he was satisfied with his work on your tits, he continued his journey south. You watched as he knelt down and draped your legs over his shoulders. You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin as he kissed your inner thighs.

The first touch of his tongue against your core had your head falling back on the hard table. It was no secret that women loved him, but now you knew exactly how he earned his reputation. He was attentive and thorough, somehow knowing which spots you liked the most.

You fell apart quickly, hands tangled in Javi’s hair as he savored your sweetness. Pleasure radiated through your body as he slipped his tongue inside you, searching for more. But as much as you loved seeing him kneel for you, you wanted him inside you.

Before you knew it, you were back in the bedroom, straddling Javi’s legs as he undressed. His hands were reaching for his belt when you stopped him.

“Wait. Let me,” you said softly, gently pushing him onto his back. Straddling his hips, you leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Let me take care of you.”

The lamp on his nightstand outlined your body in a soft glow, accentuating everything that he loved about you. Part of him whispered that he was dreaming, that you were a figment of his imagination. What if everything was a dream, and you were actually in a bodybag alongside Carrillo? He watched you closely as you traced your fingertips down his chest.

“I’m real,” you murmured, sliding lower to leave a trail of kisses down his stomach. You felt his breathing hitch as you neared his belt, his large hands resting on your forearms. “This is real, Javi.” You pulled lightly at his belt buckle. “May I…?”

“Please,” he whispered.

You undid his belt and tugged his pants down his legs, noting his lack of underwear when his erection sprung out. He was big; thicker than you’d imagined, and long. It was a miracle that his fitted jeans never bursted at the seams. Javi sat up for a moment to help you take them off, bunching them up and tossing them to the side before lying back down.

Now that he was completely unclothed, you could focus on making him feel good. You looked up at him from between his legs as you ran a finger down his hard length. He was hot to the touch, and his small gasp brought a smile to your face.

A low groan reached your ears when you touched your lips to his cock, sucking gently. You felt him twitch against your mouth as you licked a thick stripe up to his leaking tip. There already was a glistening pool gathering under his cock, another shining pearl gathering at the slit.

You moaned as his salty taste hit your tongue, the head of his cock slipping past your lips. The vibrations made Javi buck his hips up into you, pushing more of his length into your mouth. All you could do was wrap your hand around the remainder and hollow out your cheeks.

Heat pooled between your legs as his large hands came to rest against the back of your head and guide you up and down his cock. A mixture of your saliva and his precum dripped down his shaft from the corners of your mouth, providing the perfect lubrication for your hand to slowly pump him.

You knew Javi was close when he threw his head back against the pillows, his breaths turning more shallow. In the dim lighting, you could see a thin sheen of sweat on his skin, giving him a glow that you never thought you’d see for yourself.

Pulling your mouth off of him, you whispered, “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

Sucking at the base of his cock, you started pumping his full length with your hand. You felt yourself clench around nothing as your love moaned and twitched in your hand, the evidence of your arousal dripping down your inner thighs. But as much as you wanted him inside you, you wanted to take care of him first.

A strangled cry ripped out from Javi as he came, spurts of white painting his stomach and coating your hand. You smiled as you licked up a stray drop and continued pumping him in your fist, the wet sounds of his cum filling the room.

“Wait, wait,” he gasped, grasping at your hand. You obliged, lifting your head so you could see him better. Panting, he looked at you and said, “Let me taste you. Please, hermosa.”

Smirking lightly, you moved up to kiss him deeply, the taste of him still on your tongue. You felt him hum softly at the taste, slipping his tongue inside you. As you shifted to straddle him again, his seed smeared across your lower belly and his slick cock rubbed through your folds, making you gasp.

You moaned as Javi’s hands gripped your hips, sliding you along his thick member. The tip caught against your clit, and for a moment you wondered how he was going to fit inside you. “I thought you were gonna let me be in charge.”

His teeth grazed the sensitive skin of your neck as you keened and ground yourself harder against him. “Tonight isn’t about me, hermosa. It’s about us. Together.”

You kissed him once more before letting him roll you over onto your back. You spread your legs for him as he moved to lay on his stomach, his mouth mere inches from your soaked lips.

The press of his fingers sliding in made your eyes flutter closed, your back arching as Javi curled his digits against your walls. No one had filled you so well with their fingers before, but you supposed Javi was always an exception. He’d only inserted two of his digits, and you were already clamping down on him.

“Please, Javi,” you pleaded, lifting your hips for more friction. His fingers curled deep and hard inside you and his thumb pressed against your clit, but it wasn’t enough to bring you over the edge. Not yet, at least. “Please move.”

“As you wish, hermosa,” he answered, voice like velvet.

Pressure built up slowly as his fingers sped up their ministrations, his thumb tracing circles on your clit. Your breathing grew more shallow as the pads of his fingers rubbed against the sensitive spot inside you, causing more of your slick to seep out between your swollen lips. You sighed as he started kissing the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, his moustache rubbing against your skin.

You let out a whine as you came around his fingers, shuddering and gripping his hair. Golden pleasure washed over you as he coaxed you through your orgasm, his fingers sliding almost all the way out before plunging back into you.

When he smirked at you and wrapped his lips around your clit, you knew you were done for.

You weren’t sure how long he’d spent tasting you, the minutes blending into a cloud of ecstasy. As soon as you came down from one orgasm, Javi was already bringing you back up. The vibrations from his moans and words of encouragement filled you with warmth as well as pleasure. It was one thing to make the other person feel good; it was another to be pleasured by giving.

“Javi, I want…” You broke off with a whine as his tongue circled your throbbing clit. “I want you inside me. Please, Javi.”

Javi lifted his mouth from you, lips shining with your juices. But even so, his fingers didn’t stop. “How do you want me, mi amor?”

Your chest rose and fell quickly as his fingers dragged you closer to your next release. Nevertheless, you answered breathily, “I want to ride you, Javi.”

“Alright,” he whispered, giving your clit one last suck before pulling out his fingers. The mattress dipped as he laid back down, his hard cock resting against his stomach.

Positioning yourself over him, you let him press the head of his cock into your tight cavern. First you felt pressure, but then he slipped in. Your mouth fell open as he slowly sank into you, stretching your walls to their limit. Even with the help of your previous climaxes, there was some resistance. The pressure in your lower belly grew as he just kept going, sinking deeper and deeper until he was fully seated inside you.

Panting, you looked down at where your bodies connected. He fit perfectly, and every pulse of your cunt around him nearly sent both of you over the edge.

“Are you okay, mi amor?” he rasped, hands massaging the juncture between your thighs and hips.

You swirled your hips playfully, drawing a hiss from the man under you. It seemed that your little interlude hadn’t made him any less sensitive. You leaned in and kissed him once, “I’m okay.”

The first thrust was more of a devastating grind, your hips shifting at just the right angle for him to slide impossibly deeper into you. Whimpers escaped your lips as you clenched uncontrollably around him, feeling every twitch and throb of his member. You knew he must’ve been soaked in a mixture of your juices already, and you hadn’t even come yet.

“Fuck,” Javi breathed, guiding you up until only his tip remained inside you. Then, he brought you back down onto his cock, lifting his hips to meet you halfway. “You feel so good.”

“More,” you moaned, alternating between bouncing and swirling your hips. Sparks of pleasure shot through you every time he brushed past the sensitive spot inside you, bringing you closer and closer to what you both wanted. What you both needed.

As your movements began stuttering, Javi brought his hand down to rub fast circles over your clit, making you tighten around him. Your pearl shined with your nectar as he applied a little more pressure, turning your gasps into whimpers.

“Yes!” you groaned, angling your hips so he could have easier access. The combination of his cock, voice, and rough pad of his finger was too much for you to take. With a cry, your hips quivered around him as you came, gushing around his cock.

Feeling you milking his cock sent Javi over the edge, his mind going blank as he grunted and thrust into you one last time. You let out a whimper as you felt his hot seed fill what little space was left inside you, the thick spurts hitting your cervix.

You came down from your highs together, panting and sticky from exertion. No amount of  imagination could’ve prepared you for him.

You sighed contentedly as Javi’s lips wrapped around your nipple, his hand giving attention to your other breast as he licked and sucked at your sensitive skin. The feeling of his tongue made you whimper and clench around his softening cock.

Javi grunted softly and lifted his head to kiss you deeply. His spent cock slipped out of you gently, resting against his stomach. Already, you missed the fullness of having him inside you.

“Come here, mi amor,” he urged gently, scooting himself forward so he could lay down a little further from the headboard. His hands rested on the backs of your thighs and coaxed you forward until you were kneeling over his face. A shudder ran through your body when he kissed the soft flesh of your inner thighs, lapping up the trails of cum. Of his cum.

“Are you sure?” you asked, gripping the headboard for some stability as his lips moved closer and closer to your pussy. Your core throbbed at the thought of him cleaning you up, of bearing down on his face with his tongue inside you.

“I’m sure,” he answered, letting out a languid moan when he ran the tip of his tongue along your slit. Your lips glistened with cum, creamy white mixing with your clear essence. “Use me, hermosa. I’m all yours.”

Slowly, you  lowered yourself onto his mouth, careful to not cover his nose. You weren’t about to suffocate the love of your life in bed. Rocking your hips slightly, you let him get settled in.

Then, the show began.

You weren’t sure how you could’ve lived without his touch. Every movement was tailored to bring you pleasure, his soft lips grazing your sensitive clit before mouthing your wet folds and coaxing out your sweet cream. Your grip on the headboard tightened as his tongue slipped inside you, searching for more. Whining, you bounced lightly on his tongue as if it were his cock, clenching around what you could.

“Oh fuck,” you sobbed, shuddering as you felt the hot pressure build up again. The hands that gripped your ass cheeks pulled your hips forward, allowing Javi to drive his tongue further into you. His moustache rubbed against your skin, providing some friction on your clit as he devoured you.

“You’re so good,” he groaned, lapping at your swollen clit. His hands held you in place as you approached your orgasm, his fingers pressing hard enough to leave marks.

The wet sound of slurping filled the room as Javi grunted and latched onto your pussy, allowing you to gush into his mouth. You tried to lift away, but his grip kept you within reach of his tongue.

“Fuck,” you cried, your orgasm approaching quickly. Your hips bucked against his mouth as the wave crashed over you, your walls tightening around nothing. The vibrations from Javi against your clit only prolonged your release, your juices smearing over him.

Your legs shook from your release as you moved off of him, revealing his face soaked in your cum. He looked at you with a blissful smile as you laid down next to him, your chest rising and falling. “How did I do?”

Laughing breathily, you replied, “I’m gonna need you to do that every night from now on.”

Licking his lips, he said, “All you have to do is ask.”

You watched as he walked over to the bathroom, admiring his ass. Some would say there wasn’t much to look at, but you would stare at it all day if you could.

Javi returned shortly with a damp cloth, using it to wipe you down. He paid extra attention to the area between your legs, making you gasp and smack lightly at his hand. “Qué travieso.”

He simply laughed and returned to the bathroom before climbing back into bed. Neither of you bothered with clothes as you slid under the covers and snuggled close.

“I love you,” you murmured, pressing your lips to his forehead.

“I love you too,” he replied, pulling you into his arms. It had been a long time since he’d said those words, and part of him wished that it was under better circumstances, but it felt right and real. His eyes burned as you tucked yourself under his chin. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Translations:

“Qué travieso.” Naughty.

Tagging:

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[renzu-valra]

Mindless/Soulless  ;  Obsessive/Possessive (#12)

Characters: Nozaki/Nobushige  ♦  Region: Ishgard  ♦  Time: Present Hosted by: @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​ Warnings: mind-break, blood, mild mention of body horror; non-canon compliant

I had a purpose. A reason for being here—now; drenched in sweat and cold frost. There had been a reason why I ran through the bitter storm and dark unfamiliar streets. Something I had been searching for. Something important.

But the moment I turned my gaze upwards into that second story window, my purpose had filtered away like treated water. My legs lost their balance and my knees hit the ground hard. All that rage and anger which led me here in the first place had been cleansed from my mind, and all that remained was a blank space. A vast, white void where my thoughts used to spiral out of control. I couldn’t think anymore—nor ration these turn of events. For in the closed window of what seemed to be a manse, I saw my entire life flash before my eyes.

And I could not bear it.

I saw my brother.

For years, I had thought about what I would do if I found him again; what it would be like. What I would do and say…how I’d run to greet him and with that one embrace, all the sins I had committed until that point would be expunged from my back. But now that it was finally happening, I couldn’t do anything at all but stare.

He was running a comb through his wetted hair…slowly and with care. Just as I would do for him when we were young. With him seated atop my lap as I wove a damaged comb through his hair gently so as to not tug on any knots. His hair had grown much longer since then. And the comb he used now was of far better quality. Every time he brushed his straight hair down, I felt more of my consciousness slip away.

My ambitions and fears, returning to dust. And then, his neatly tucked night-robe slackened over his collarbone as he set his comb down onto the vanity afore him and made to tie his hair up in a loose ponytail. The white of his silk gown nearly matched the tone of his skin—his smooth, unblemished skin. He appeared as if an angel. A winged goddess of the sky. Even when he rose to stand, his full frame now in view, I felt unworthy. I was but an ant, and he, the radiant sun.

Don’t go. Don’t go.

As he walked away from the window and my image of him began to wane, I pleaded silently for him to stay. My legs knew they could yet run—run to him and force a reunion—but it was as if my brain had willingly severed the connection binding my limbs to my will. I was kept hanging on a thread as he vanished from my sight. Hanging, and so desperately wanting. Wanting, for the noose to tighten.

Like a shotgun pushed against my head, the trigger seconds from being squeezed, he appeared before my eyes once again. A book held affectionately in his slender hands. Forgo the cold and my sub-temperature body. I was at peace. And soon, I would meet my end. As he reclaimed his seat by the window, his thumb making to turn the cover over…as his fingers trailed atop the paper inside…I heard it. The sound of a trigger popping. Bang.

His thin white gown clung tautly against his curved figure, soaking up the remnants of water post bath. The tails of his robe decorated with ornate lace befitting a queen. Nothing like the rags we had worn as children. Everything like what I envisioned him wearing whenever I laid eyes on him after a day riddled with strife and woe. He was beautiful, and I could stare forever at the way his untucked bangs curled and slid against his scaled cheeks. With each flip of the page, I found something new—something old—about him to admire. I had once protested against him wearing his hair up until I realized I could better see his smile. I had wanted him to stay wholly dependent a while longer, until I saw that the first thing he walked towards was me. I had urged against teaching him vocabulary, until I heard him call for me with his fragile, sincere voice. I had fought and fought and fought against his freedom—his separation from me—until this moment. When I was faced with how absolutely transcendent he had become.

Was I finally freed? Forgiven for all my grievances? Was it all worth it?

Bang.

 ----

 Of course I had known. For all my life…you have been a part of it. Though we have both went our own ways and been changed during the journey, I would never have been able to forget you. My dear, older brother.

I let you watch whilst I feigned innocent ignorance to your presence. I needn’t sight to know you were there—gazing through mine window entranced. For a moment longer, I thought. For this small moment more, let us enjoy a tranquil reprieve. Let us forget the truths of our damaged worlds and become sheltered in a temporary lie. For his sake. My brother’s—the one who gave up everything and more for me.

I would smile, as my fingers traced the braille of the page I dedicated to memory knowing that this too was a lie. I was not able to read with my eyes anymore, unlike when I was a child still in his care. My lips curving upwards in a sweet fashion only because I knew he was enjoying this time. That surely, he felt at peace in watching another one of my many acts for him. I wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. For him to know that he was safe…and that he would always feel this soothing bliss whenever he returned home to me.

However, this time…I was resolved to put an end to this fabricated fairy-tale. And I hoped that when I did…he would still be mine.

A voice rang out from below. One of the attendants serving at this manse. A woman’s voice, calling out into the front gardens. Demanding that the man laying half-prostrate with his head turned up leave at once. Nothing unreasonable, given the late hour…however…I lowered my head and closed my eyes in knowing farewell. It was time. Time to end this charade. To say goodbye to who I once was, once and for all. And to wish all the best to the me yet to come.

The once certain voice that resonated from the room underneath mine cried out again. This time in horror and desperation. Her screams broken and airy—begging for anyone to help her…until her voice called out no more. A pity, yes…but there would be no one person put to blame for her unfortunate suffering. She had simply been at the wrong place at the most inopportune of times. Mourning her would come later. For now, I had to prepare.

So that when he pushed through my door, he would be made to understand.

His footsteps were already roaring through the long corridors of this stone manor—climbing the stairs in rapid pace as if even gravity couldn’t halt his ascent. Mindlessly, he would barge through each door along the way, having forgotten which room he spied on from below…but fortunately enough, they were kept unoccupied.

When at last he reached the wooden door which served as meager barricade between him and I…

I…

----

 Failure. Failure. Failure. I failed him. I failed him. I’m a failure.

He was—he was; he was…

That fractured bliss which had been shot through my skull only mere moments prior had ricocheted in my brain and sent bits of metallic shells shooting through my synapses. Each one becoming a word—a phrase. A torrent of impossible guilt.

It’s not—it’s not. It can’t be. It’s not possible. It can’t be.

Hurt. Wounded. Sliced—wounded. His arm, his arm, his arm.

All that blind fury had instantly subsided; all my control surrendered.

His skin—white, white, pure white. Purple? Black? A purple-black—torn apart and nearly skinless.

An animal? Monster. Beast. Man. Claw marks. Who to blame? What hurt; hurt; had hurt my brother?

Me. I did. It was all me. I did this. I. Did. This. I did. I didn’t stop them. Couldn’t stop them. Hadn’t stopped them. My brother—my little brother—had the skin of his left arm from his wrist to his elbow peeled off and and and—his chest was marked by a horrible scar. I was a failure, I was, and I couldn’t deny it anymore. I failed, I failed, I failed—

 ----

 I…

I slowly pulled my robe back over my arms and tied it around my waist. Covering myself in beautiful white silks once more before I stepped towards my ailing brother.

I…realized that I too needed this. I needed to witness my brother’s collapse to know that…I had done the right thing.

Wrapping my arms around his shaking self, I was soon brought to my knees as his weight crumbled down atop of me.

“There, there…”

I lovingly caressed him as he squeezed me so tightly he might as well have broken my spine. But surely he came to that same realization too, as his grip waned into more incessant trembling. My fingers stroked through his short, unkempt hair as I held him against myself. His warm hands soaked with the fresh blood of the woman lying dead in the foyer. Staining my white gown in his black-red.

“Big brother…I’m here. You’re home...”

Our horns pressed up against each other, nuzzling in a reminiscent manner. This scene, although set in the present…was no different than it had been in our past. My dear brother…returning home to me after a traumatic affair which struck his very core. Falling onto me in the absence of his mind. Crying pathetically as he clung to me in desperate need of my pure, untarnished love. Whilst the latter was no longer true…what mattered was that he still saw me as such. I was not broken, so long as I viewed myself through his eyes. I was still his god.

And while I yet drew breath, I would never let him go.

[ravenbrenna09]

Jij Verliest Teaser - Press Start

As mentioned previously, here is my teaser for Jij Verliest, my story about Twitch Streamer Robbe. I’m pretty bad about giving opening comments for stuff like this, but all of the information regarding Jij Verliest will be linked below if you want to check out the information there. 

While I originally had the idea for this ages ago, I was unsure if I was going to actually write it because the rest of the story will be in Robbe’s POV. But, when I decided that I wanted to do a teaser, I felt like this was the only way that I could genuinely do it without giving you pieces that I’ve already written. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this teaser and I can’t wait to show you this incredible journey that we’re going to go on. 

Announcement

AO3

...

Dinsdag 17:45

There was a little bar down the street from the apartment complex that the group of them always seemed to find their way to at the end of the week. There wasn’t anything fancy about it, no pounding music or neon lights, and only a handful of signatures drinks that changed with each month and a menu full of delicious food. There were a handful of televisions on the walls and older pictures that had to have been taken eighty years ago. There was a jukebox that was shoved in the corner that would play every song imaginable, recycling through each genre with a high frequency. The bar was family-run and operated, passed down from father-to-son and then father-to-daughter, and had managed to retain the homely vibe that had been since it had originally opened years ago. 

Eagerly stepping out of the harsh summer sun, Sander Driesen pushed back the strands of his hair that had stuck to his forehead. Even as the sudden burst of air-conditioning cooled his entire body, the stickiness of the sweat from his walk still pinned his black shirt to his skin. Thankfully, he had chosen to wear his sneakers instead of his Doc Martens, or else he would’ve been dying. 

Behind the bar, the afternoon bartender, and the owner, Lilly, barely glanced up from her job counting down the drawer to glance over at him with one raised eyebrow at his attire. Yeah, he thought, a black t-shirt and black denim jeans and a leather jacket firmly in his grasp (which he only wore at work because his boss liked to keep the tattoo parlor on the verge of an ice age) was probably not the best idea for making the trek to the bar. But, Sander had forgotten his metro card in the apartment this morning… so he was forced to walk the entire way or wait for Senne and likely get put to work in the meantime.

The extra money would’ve been nice and Sander loved what he did. But, he had spent the majority of the afternoon working on a rather large dragonfly piece on a girl’s shoulder. And, it was a detailed and intricate design that had been designed by her mother and she wanted it to come out perfect. Sander understood the need (he had a quote on his rib that his mother used to say) and so, he knew that the task required his full attention, or else he feared that he would ruin the sentimental tattoo. 

But, Sander had managed to complete it with only a few minutes over his shift. When the girl had seen it with the help of well-placed mirrors. At the sight of it, the girl had started tearing up and tackled Sander on the spot, thanking him unintelligibly into his shoulder. But, the amount of effort that it took to complete the tattoo with the meticulous focus that it required like one of Sander’s favorite pieces. And, he was in desperate need of a glass of ice-cold beer and relaxing night out with his friends.

Even if he had to walk in the summer heat to get there. 

Smiling weakly at Lilly, he raised his hand and extended his pinky upward. As she counted the rest of the money, Lilly nodded her head in his direction as he headed to the back of the bar to one of the bar tables that stood there. His table of choice stood near the jukebox and it was the one that they tried to get whenever they could manage it. Nearly collapsing in one of it’s four unmatched chairs, Sander let out a sigh, hanging the leather jacket in his hand on the back of it. His skin was flushed and burning beneath his clothes and outside of them. 

“You’re here early.”

As she walked up to the table, Lilly placed a coaster against the table before setting the glass of beer on top of it. Sander grinned over at her appreciatively before taking a sip of the cool drink… and then took a large one as a comforting chill flashed through his body. Lilly tilted her head to the side, her dusty brown ponytail bobbing as she did so. The woman was tall and slender, barely looking a day over thirty despite nearing her fiftieth birthday. Every time that Sander came into the bar, Lilly would always treat him like her son and Sander always welcomed the easy affection.  

Sander shrugged his shoulders. “I walked really fast to get out of the sun.”

“I can tell,” Lilly spoke, materializing a wet rag out of nowhere. She pressed the damp towel against his forehead. The rag was cool to the touch like it had just been submerged in a bucket of ice-cold water. A slight moan slipped past Sander’s lips as he curled like a cat in the direction of the cool rag. The woman let out a laugh, practically half a snort. “Here, you can have it. I have more rags behind the bar.”

Sander eagerly swiped it from her hands, wiping the sweat off his arm covered in tattoos before moving to the other which was completely bare. “Thanks, Lil.”

The front door let out a ring signaling that there was a new person had entered the bar on the sunny Tuesday afternoon. “I’ll be right there!” she called as she briefly took the towel back. She folded it in her hands before placing it against the back of Sander’s neck. Sander let out a groan of thanks, placing his head against the cool wood of the desk, relishing the cold chill of the table in comparison to his flushed forehead. “That should help you cool off a little bit faster. Let me know if it needs to be sprayed with cold water again.” 

“Thank you.”

Lilly chuckled, moving away from him and patting his shoulder. 

Despite the low hum of the televisions, each of which likely had a different station on, Sander could hear the woman talking to someone about what they wanted and the patron’s quiet voice. With each passing second that he spent in the bar, Sander could feel the flush on his body, the by-product from the heat and his walk, and further amplified by his darker aesthetic, return slowly back to the temperature around him. Lilly always kept the bar cool, going lower whenever she expected there to be more people to be in the enclosed space at night, and Sander had never been more thankful for her planning than he was now. 

Without warning, the jukebox kicked on. Because it was almost an arm’s length away, he could pinpoint the metallic hum above the commotion of the bar, the brief pause of energy kicking through the machine, waking it up, and roaring it to life. The hum continued on, the interface of the machine trying to figure out what song to play, and then, finally, the opening chords began to play. The music, the notes, the lyrics washed over him like a tidal wave, crashing over him and wrapping him in a blanket of security, even as his body continued to return down to a normal temperature.

David Bowie. 

Rebel, Rebel.

On instinct, his body reacted to the song. He sat up from the table and tilted his head back, letting the chorus wash over him. Rebel, Rebel was one of his favorite songs and David Bowie was his all-time favorite artist so he really couldn’t help himself. His foot tapped against the metal bar of the stool, he drummed his fingers against the edge of the table, and hummed the lyrics under his breath. If it had just been him and Lilly, he might’ve stood on the stools and belted out the lyrics, but she would give him a nasty look if he tried it with customers around. 

Humming out the chorus, Sander opened his eyes. His body had almost completely returned to normal temperature now. The wet rag that Lilly had given him was only succeeding in getting the collar of his shirt soaking wet. Removing the towel, he reached out to grab his beer, the condensation on the chill glass making his fingertips slip a little, as he carefully tried to catch a drink. 

But, as he’s putting the slick glass of beer back down against the coaster, as the main chorus of Rebel, Rebel ripped through his body like an electric shock, he caught sight of the man at the bar and Sander was certain that the breath was ripped out of his lungs.

The man was leaning against the counter, a half-drunk glass of beer in front of him. His brown hair was short but curled naturally at the tips and he had wide brown eyes that were focused on Lilly, listening to her talk with apt attention. His smile tugged up the corners of his lips, a pair of dimples popping up. Even with such a marginal distance between them, Sander could pinpoint the freckles on his cheeks, his artistic eye naturally finding a pattern to them. Lilly said something that ripped a lovely giggle out of him, shaking his head as he took a drink of his beer. 

Fuck, Sander thought, swallowing. He’s beautiful. 

In fact, Sander was certain that he had never seen a man, or anyone, look as beautiful as he did right now. He was sure that no one else in his life could ever possibly compare. If he had his camera, the one that Senne and Amber had gotten him for his birthday in April, he would’ve taken a picture, or two, or twenty, enough to memorize him, to look back on his beauty, to this moment. But, Sander already knew that none of them could ever possibly compare to the real thing, to the man standing there, leaning against the counter, looking like a beautiful angel that had just descended onto the earth. 

Sander felt something stir in his stomach as the man glanced at his watch before taking the final drink of his beer. Lilly said something, probably offering him a drink, but the man shook his head, pulling his wallet out of his pocket to pay. He was going to leave, walk out the door to the bar, and Sander would likely never see him again. Sander needed to meet him, to open his mouth to introduce himself, maybe get out a line or two to make an impression that would allow them to see each other again. He didn’t care that Lilly was there, that she would likely tease him about it the moment that he was gone, but it didn’t matter because he could take the teasing.

All that mattered was that he introduced himself before he walked out the door.

Gripping onto his glass, Sander took the towel off his neck and took another sip of his beer. Then, he shifted in his seat, moving to get up, to walk over to the bar, trying to find something memorable to say. But, the front door opened, the bell sounded throughout the bar, and Sander turned to see a man walking into the bar with a duffle bag over his shoulder. The beautiful man turned, taking a step to the door, and the new one met him halfway, grinning down at him, “Here’s where you went off to.” 

“Sorry,” the beautiful man managed before the new one ducked down to press a kiss against his lips. It was a quick and fleeting kiss, but Sander felt something stab into his chest and that the seconds dragged on. Trying his best to not seem disappointed, he shifted back into his seat and simply took another drink to stop himself from going over there. However, he couldn’t turn his head away, his eyes trained on the smaller of the two. “I know that you and Leon have an important trial coming up. I didn’t want to get you in trouble if I heard critical details about your strategy.” 

“It’s okay,” the man spoke, grinning down at him. Then, he nodded towards the door, reaching out to take the beautiful boy’s hand. “Come on. We’ve got to get home to your mom’s place for your party or else Jens might wring my neck in for stealing you away from all your friends celebrating.” 

“I certainly wouldn’t mind it,” the smaller one remarked. His boyfriend grinned down at him. “He knows how much I don’t like surprise parties.” But, still, he turned towards Lilly, smiling over at her. “Thanks for the beer and the talk. I hope everything goes well with your daughter’s schooling. I’m sure she’ll do great.”

The bartender smiled over at them, already cleaning the glass of beer that he had used. “Anything for the road for you two?”

“No, we’re good. Thank you though. We aren’t going far,” his boyfriend spoke. Wrapping an arm around the beautiful man’s shoulder, he tugged him in the direction of the door, pushing it open with his duffle bag. Lilly sent them a “good day”, but it was muffled as Sander found his eyes trained on the beautiful man with his bright grin that was pointed at his boyfriend. The man easily fell into his embrace, wrapping an arm around him, and let himself be dragged out of the bar. 

The door of the bar slammed shut, triggering the bell again, and Rebel, Rebel abruptly ended to his right, shifting to a sad song that made Sander want to shovel quarters in the machine until he found a song that would summon the man back again. “Are you feeling any better?” Lilly questioned, taking the empty glass from his fingertips and replacing it with a full glass. 

The answer was no, but his body temperature had returned to normal.

In fact, with the guy out of the bar and out of sight, dragged away by his boyfriend, and Sander didn’t even get the chance to put a name to a face that was that beautiful, he felt strangely cold. Despite the summer heat outside and the warm burst of hot air that had flooded when the door had opened, his body shivered almost violently and his stomach churned. The two of them had looked happy and in love… besides, maybe it was for the best that Sander didn’t get his name. 

“Yes, I am,” Sander spoke, realizing that he hadn’t responded to Lilly’s question. “My body temperature has now completely returned to normal.” Lilly chuckled. Sander wanted to put the beautiful guy and his boyfriend out of his mind, move on because he knew that he would never see them again. But, somehow, his mouth was opening and he was asking, “Who was that guy?” 

“I don’t know,” Lilly remarked, reaching out to grab the towel from the table. Sander hid his disappointment by taking a drink of his new beer. “He had just come in to have a drink while waiting for his boyfriend to get off work. Apparently, he works at a law firm near here.” She paused, raising an eyebrow. “Why?” 

“Just curious,” Sander remarked, grinning over at her. “Generally, the only people who come in here are regulars.” 

Lilly rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder before moving back to the bar again. As she moved to continue counting the drawer, Sander glanced at the clock that was nestled between two pictures. It was past 18:00 now which meant that Lilly’s relief would be here any minute. And, his mind reminded him, his roommates would be here any minute now. 

The door opened, the bell rung, and Sander looked, hoping it was the beautiful man once again. But, it was Noor, dressed in a long-sleeve, blue velvet dress that went to her mid-thigh. As the door slammed close, she grinned over at Lilly before moving to Sander. She threw her arms around his neck in a hug before pushing herself up on the seat beside him. “Hey, how was your day? I came in to get a late lunch with you, but Emilie said that you were really busy with a customer. Did you get her piece done?”

“Yeah,” Sander replied. “I finally managed to get it done. Where’s Senne? Wasn’t he picking you up today?”

“Yeah, he’s still a little behind me,” Noor remarked, smiling over at him. “He ran into someone that he knew on our walk here and stopped to talk to them because it had been a while. But, it’s too hot outside and I wanted to get inside.” Noor gestured in the direction of Sander’s black outfit. “Something that I’m sure that you know a lot about.” 

“While this is my normal aesthetic, you know that I would be wearing shorts if my boss didn’t require us to wear jeans,” Sander remarked. Noor smirked over at him, shaking her head. “When are you coming in to get that tattoo that you wanted to honor your grandma? You know that I will do it if you come in.”

“Well, you aren’t working on weekends lately and I do have my own job, you know?” Noor remarked, raising an eyebrow. Sander nodded his head. She had a point. His boss had stopped scheduling him on weekends as of late. “And, you’re the only one in that tattoo shop that I would trust to do something this important to me.” Noor squinted her eyes, looking at him with a curious expression “Are you okay?”

“Hmm?”

“I don’t know,” Noor spoke. “You seem a bit off.”

The image of the beautiful man, the one whose name that he didn’t get the chance to know, flashed in his mind and his stomach gave a painful squeeze. But, Sander nodded his head to ease Noor’s worry, smiling over at his best friend and saying, “Yeah, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m always going to worry about you.”

“Yeah, Sander,” Senne spoke, appearing to his left. The brunet had two glasses of beer balancing in one hand and Noor’s favorite drink in the other. The girl took her drink with a thankful smile and Senne practically thrust one of the beer glasses in Sander’s. Now that he wasn’t doing a balancing act, he wrapped an arm around his neck and placed a kiss against Sander’s cheek. “How was work?”

“Good. You?” Sander questioned as Senne moved to sit in one of the remaining chairs. As Senne launched into a tale about what happened at work, Sander tried his best to listen. However, his mind kept conjuring images of the beautiful man against the bar. What if Sander had talked to him before he left? What if his boyfriend never showed? What if he was there to see him? Internally shaking the thought from his head, there was no use in trying to imagine another time where things were a little bit different.

It was highly likely that Sander would never see him again.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 2)

Rain beats against the side of the lighthouse, it comes down in sheets as Zuko yanks her inside. “Zuko, no!” She calls, her voice is oddly desperate and she can’t say why it is so. “I need to go back out there.”

Zuko flinches. “For what?” He asks. She can see the concern etched on his face. She pries herself from his grasp.

“I--” She starts. “There’s someone out there.”

“Since when do you care?” He asks, “even if you do care, what do you think you can do for them?”

He is right, she knows he is, every logical part of her knows it. The ship is too distant for her to do anything but reach an arm out and roar with the wind only to have her words swept away by the storm and pulled out to sea. But the feeling, that nagging desire, isn’t of logic. It is something far less rational, something rooted wholly in instinct and yearning.

“This is about Sokka isn’t it?” He persists, he is gripping her shoulders again, trying to keep her from leaving the house again. She tries to shake his grip off. “You’ve got to stop this! He’s gone, Azula.”

“It’s not about him.” She says as the wind howls against the window and rattles the door in its frame. But it is about him, deep down she knows. Why else would it matter?

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” His eyes widened. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re trying to…”

“No!” She argues quickly. “I’m not. I don’t want to die, because he isn’t dead. Even if he was, I wouldn’t…”

“Then why are you doing this?” He gestures to the door.

“Because I saw a ship, it was…”

“There’s no one out there!” He shouts

“There is! There was...” She insists with an almost frantic gesture to the window. The wind throws the door open, her already sopping hair whips in her face and clings to her cheeks and forehead.

“Shit!” Zuko shouts before throwing himself at the door. “Help me with this.” He huffs.

With haste, Azula adds her weight. Even with the two of them leaning as heavily as they can against the door, it still threatens to bang open. “Zuzu,” she says through gritted teeth. “I told you that we needed to get a new door.”

“With what money?” He replies, voice just as strained. “Last I checked dad, spent that fund on his drinking habit.”

Azula frowns. It had been her job to keep him from doing that. Her job, because he is more inclined to listen to her than Zuko. At her own failure her body slackens. It is just enough leeway for the wind to burst the door open.

A dull ache is the last thing she registers as her body is thrown to the floor. Zuko toppled over her. She isn’t awake long enough to tell if he is also out cold. Hurricane waters rush to wet the entry room.

She wonders if dad would have wanted this. If he would change things if he’d known just how much pressure he has put upon them. If he’d known that he would be drunk in a sailor’s bar while his daughter lie sprawled on the floor with her forehead bloodied, storm kicking up a merciless howl just outside.

.oOo.

Lightning illuminates the interior of the Deep Dubloon Saloon, it is the only light to be had now that the storm has raged enough to throw power out. It’s winds shake the entire foundation of the building, not that it has a sturdy structure to begin with.

Ozai sits with a wooden tankard in his hand. He hasn’t seen a storm like this since the one that stole his wife from him. He stares unseeingly into the nearly empty mug. He almost laughs aloud, it is a storm like this that has him sitting upon the bar stool he inhabits. And it would seem that the ocean seeks to remind him of exactly why he is there.

“Help me with these, will ye?” Requests Khozen. His long silver hair is tangled by rain water and harsh wind. He pants as he chucks another sandbag outside and curses the weathermen for their short sight and lack of warning.

Ozai has known Khozen for many years. The man had been a pirate of sorts, he still has a parrot on his shoulder, though the creature is now safely secured away from the storm in a cage behind the bar. Next to it is a tank housing his iguana.

Ozai downs the rest of his drink and makes his way towards Khozen’s emergency supply of sandbags. He sees no point in it, the sandbags can only do so much for a building that is as ill prepared and rickety as the Deep Dubloon.

If Zuko and Azula could see the state of the bar… He knows that they have been wishing on stars for it to be blown to splinters. From the looks of it, they will have their wish.

“This be a mighty storm.” Khozen grumbles. “I’d hate to be at sea now.” His eyes go wide as he recalls that his ship is probably being thrashed mercilessly against the docks, sails ripping, boards splintering, perhaps a bolt of lightning has set it aflame. “The mightiest I’ve seen in…”

“Nearly a decade.” Ozai finishes as he hoists a sandbag atop the one he’d just laid down. “You’re lucky that your bar isn’t as close to the harbor as some of them.” He is lucky that his favorite bar is that much safer.

Rain pelts him mercilessly as he carries out his task. His eyes journey down the road and closer to the ocean. The lighthouse is a glow, but he can barely see its beacon through such a thick curtain of rainfall and mist. He has the decency to consider, for the first time, that he should be there. He wonders how his children are faring against the storm. His stomach lolls like those waves at the though that a storm could claim two more that he holds dear.

“C’mon yee big ass, we don’t got time fer starin’ at the sea, not when she’s a brewin’.”

A brewin’ is only scratching the surface. Palm trees bend nearly to the floor, shutters slam against windows or tear off entirely, water rushes to fill streets ready to was cars away, and lawn decor, umbrellas, and lawn chairs sail through the air as though they weigh nothing at all. He can hear from the inside, the buzzing drone of the battery powered weather radio.

He can do nothing now, an attempt to reach the siblings would be certain death. Were he any manner of good father, he would have done it anyhow. But he had been a poor husband and he is a worse father.

He picks up another sandbag and tosses it onto the pile.

.oOo.

Azula’s head throbs. There is a wetness on her face, a wetness all over. Her hair and clothes are soaked through and through. She jerks at the sound of a loud bang. She pulls herself up. The door is slamming in and out in the hands of a wind that is emitting a high pitched scream. Thunder roars, a battle cry, a warning that it is going to seal lives away again, just as it had all those years ago. Once again she and her family are on the frontlines.

She jolts again; Zuzu! At first she doesn’t think that he is moving. That he isn’t going to. She calls out to him but her words are lost beneath the unceasing torrent of raindrops, wind gusts, and thunder.

It doesn’t matter to terribly because he stirs and sits himself up, eyeing her with a measure of horror before coming to her side. They both shudder. “You almost went out there.” He mentions, nearly too quiet to be heard.

One door to the head and a nap later she fully processes the weight of what she’d almost done and she shudders all over again. “Sorry.” She mumbles. She isn’t sure to whom the apology is for, herself or Zuko.

He pulls her into a tight hug. He hasn’t hugged her in years. He holds her firmly and strokes her hair. Lightning briefly halos their silhouettes as the rain floods in.

“We have to do something about that door, Zuzu.” She comments. It highlights her point by slamming back against the wall, the bang echos with a roll of thunder.

“How?” He frowns.

Azula stands and looks about the room. She points to the sofa. “We’ll just rearrange the furniture.���

“Father isn’t going to like that.”

“Father should be here if he cares that much.” She shrugs. “Besides, we can move it, knock it over, and blame it on the storm.” She pauses. “We’ll probably have it back in place by the time he gets home.”

“You’re right.” Zuko agrees.

As she moves towards the sofa, she steals a glance out the window, at the furious ocean. Ribbons of lightning decorate the sky in faster intervals and rain slides off roofs, pushed by the wind, they fall heavier on the ground gathering in large puddles on sand and on the docs. In a particularly powerful finger of lightning, she sees it again, the ship. She can barely make it out before it plunges back into the water until only its sails are seen.

The power surges back on, flickering softly before plunging back into darkness. Azula backs away from the window and tries to put it out of her mind. Though images of Sokka’s smile play back in her mind as she heaves furniture. Interspersed between them are flashes of his face, but waterlogged by the ocean, barnacles and kelps clinging to it while fish work between eye sockets. Azula doubles her attention on securing the lighthouse.

For their efforts they have a sofa, a bookshelf, and a small table to hold the door shut as the hurricane batters the tabby walls of the lighthouse. Feeling entirely drained, Azula drops herself onto the remaining available sofa. Zuko is close behind. They sit in silence listening to the ruthless onslaught of rain and the roaring crash of the waves against the cliffside. She finds herself grateful that their lighthouse is perched upon a cliff high enough that the water can't reach them. Still, in the back of her mind, she fears that a particularly powerful strand of lighting may blast their seemingly sturdy perch into the restless tides below. She doesn’t know much about the tides, but she does know that they won’t hesitate to bash her bloody against the rocks as they tear her apart.

She thinks of the ship, overtaken and at their mercy. She clutches the sunstone starfish pendant that hangs upon her neck. She hasn’t taken it off since he’d given it to her.

“I doesn’t look like there’s too much damage.” Azula notes. The lighthouse is designed to withstand. The townsfolk are quite fond of reminding everyone that, “when the ocean takes the town, Sea Candle Lighthouse will remain.” She supposes that she should be glad that her home is allegedly secure.

“Yeah, we can worry about the flooding after the storm.” Zuko agrees.

She lays her head back and observes the spiraling staircase that lead to the uppermost part of the lighthouse. Sometimes she and Zuzu grab sleeping bags and sleep there were they can stare at the stars and the ocean. Tonight they will remain on the couch, content to ignore the storm as much as they can. Though night won’t fall for another six hours at least.

“Is your head okay?” Zuko asks.

Azula touches the knot on her head. “Yeah, I think so. Your’s?”

“I didn’t hit my head. But my elbows are bruised.”

She lights up a few candles and thinks of the stormy days when their mother had read them stories. Those days had been so brief.

“I hope father is enjoying his drinks.” Zuko scowls.

She understands his resentment and hatred. But Azula can’t bring herself to share it; frankly she feels pity for the man. Perhaps even empathy--Sokka was supposed to have returned months ago. He has been declared dead by law. Lost at sea. She doesn’t believe it, not quite. They haven’t searched long enough to say so, they haven’t found wreckage. But people at school look at her the same way the fishermen and dock workers looked at Ozai after Ursa’s death.

“Let’s talk about something else, Zuzu.”

[noahreids]

Beauty in the Aftermath (CS FF) | 13/14

Summary: Confronted with the sudden appearance of her birth parents, Emma, in a moment of panic, runs. She flees the diner, Storybrooke, the country. She finds herself a day later in the Dublin, Ireland Airport terminal wondering what the hell she has gotten herself into. With some fear, a little determination and a considerable amount of faking it along the way, she sets off on a trip she never planned on taking but needed more than she ever knew. She finds herself, she finds a Brit adrift on his own journey and finds out what home really means.

Rated: M (Sexual content & some Irish whiskey along the way).

Also on: AO3 | FFN Tumblr: [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 ] Art!: Cover | Ch.1 | Ch.3 | Ch.5 | Ch.7 | Ch.9 | Ch.14

A/N: I hope everyone had a lovely holiday season (and happy, happy New Year!) Thanks for your patience with the last chapter and the two week break. We are back with the penultimate chapter, hang in there! And just thanks for being awesome amazing people. I appreciate the heck out of each and every one of you. xo

Always thanks to @shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work (go read her wonderful story!), @imagnifika for finding the heart of the story with her art, @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. The content everyone is bringing is truly amazing.

And now what will Emma do?

Chapter 13

Night has crept over the city, aided by the thick ashen clouds and the light mist of rain slowly dampening everything it touches. The light from the streetlamps diffuse golden on the wet cobblestone streets, guiding tourists and locals alike to the overcrowded pubs and restaurants, casting spotlights on those pulling on their cigarettes and laughing with friends.

Emma doesn’t register any of it, faceless people, and nameless places, all passing in a blur. She glances around but her mind is too preoccupied with conjuring up negative scenarios, each one worse than the one before.

Maybe it was his plan to disappear all along.

He’d had enough of her mess.

Or worse yet, something has happened to him and she’s been too selfish, thinking only of herself. Should she check the hospitals?

She feels her heart pound, getting itself stuck somewhere in her throat and when she does try to gasp for breath, she freezes again at the sound of her own frantic sob, clamping her hand over her mouth. Her eyes dart around, hoping no one has taken notice and when she sees no adverse reactions, she forces herself to take a measured breath through her nose, and then another.

While she manages to keep breathing, it doesn’t stop the traitorous hot tears from continuing to escape from the corners of her eyes, rolling silently down her cheeks.

Her knees clutch tighter at her pack between her legs, as if holding onto that will somehow help her hold herself together. Crazy, but it works, or it works sufficiently enough to make her feel like she won’t shatter right then and there. When her tears begin to abate, she weakly drops her hand to her lap and sucks in a stuttered breath.

As the cooling, damp air reaches her lungs, she closes her eyes and takes a few more calming pulls. She feels the mist against her face, feels the moisture soak into her clothes and the goosebumps that spread across her skin.

For one blissful moment, her terrible thoughts fade and she sees his smile. She sees all the times Killian reached back for her, pulling her through the people, always patient, always waiting.

And she ran away.

She wipes angrily at another stray tear and forces her eyes open.

She has no idea how long she’s been sitting on the bench, or where she is, or where to look first or--

Her pulse quickens and she forces her feet to push up from the ground, lifting her from the bench, a sudden need to do something because if she doesn’t get up from that bench she might never find the strength to. She hoists her bag onto her back and groans at the weight, and it’s a weight she’s not entirely sure is just from the pack on her shoulders but she doesn’t dwell on it, at least not right away.

For now, she is determined to find a street name and a starting point, hostels. She’ll check all of them.

She fumbles for her phone and with shaky fingers, cold fingers and pulls up a google search. How many could there possibly be?

Fifty according to hostels dot com.

Fifty according to hostelworld dot com.

At least forty-five in her guidebook.

And while many overlap, some don’t, so where does that leave her? She’s too tired to do the math but without any other plan, she sets off towards the closest red dot on her map, her steps slow but determined.

xo

Her head falls lower and her heart drops further in her chest every time there is no man with dark messy hair in the lobbies she searches. Each confused look from front desk clerks and each time there is no account of a tall man with a British accent her hope shrinks. There is no sign of him anywhere.

She’s walked for hours, until most places were full up and closed, or quiet for the night. She walked until her clothes are soaked through and her back aches.

Some clerks are too busy or too tired to care, some clearly think she is crazy, while others who get a better look at her red rimmed eyes and hesitant questions do take more time to really think before shaking their heads.

A few offer suggestions of where she might look and promise to call if they do see him -- she hesitates on what to call him. Boyfriend seemed silly, friend isn’t enough, other words tie her stomach in knots and yet --

“He’s just -- mine. My Killian,” she whispers to yet another sad ‘no’ but before she can step away from the counter, the older gentleman at the desk covers her chilled hand with his.

“Why don’t you sit down and warm up a little?”

Emma eyes the front door, knowing only rain and darkness await her. And the overwhelming feeling she is no closer to finding Killian that she had been at the start begins to creep back in. For all she knows, they’ve been going in opposite directions, or he could be fast asleep somewhere warm, or on a bus travelling further away from her as the seconds tick by.

A shiver racks her body.

“I’ll fetch you some tea and you can just rest a moment. If he hasn’t been in yet, I’m sure he’ll be by soon. You wouldn’t want to miss him and I can imagine how frantically he must be looking for you.”

A weathered hand squeezes hers.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll be but a moment. I promise.”

Emma spots an overstuffed chair in the corner, faded red plaid material, a thick blanket draped across the back. She can see herself curling up in it and sleeping for days, sleeping until this nightmare is over.

“Have a seat.”

Emma finally relents, her pack a burden she can no longer hold up. She drags her wet sneakered feet to the corner of the room, and unceremoniously dumps her bag on the floor but hesitates before sitting down.

“Don’t worry about your wet clothes, it’s only water afterall.”

She turns to find the man watching her patiently before leaving her with a wink.

It’s only another beat before she finally collapses into the chair, feeling swallowed up by the plush material. She feels small and alone. She kicks her shoes off and draws her feet up, resting her forehead against her knees.

It’s only when she hears the tea cup settle on the coffee table beside her that she looks up.

He’s brought her tea and a slice of coffee cake and she could very well cry at the kindness.

“Just remember, while there is tea, there is hope.”

She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know if she can find the right words and she doesn’t know how much hope she has left. The man seems to sense that, so his next move seems more cautious. He hesitates but finally moves slowly to reach into his back pocket and produces a postcard. He holds it close while he searches for his words.

“I think some might think the act of writing love letters is silly or outdated but I still think it’s the best way to say something we might be afraid of saying out loud. Perhaps while you wait for your young man to show up, you can write him a note?”

Emma blinks at him, wondering how he could know her so well. How he could have found exactly what she needed.

She reaches out for the postcard and holds it to her heart long after the man has retreated back to his perch behind the desk. She closes her eyes and knows, if her heart could press the words onto the card, what they would be, she just needs to take that next step and write them herself.

She takes a moment to test them in her mind, to feel the sureness of them before opening her eyes and reaching into her pack. It’s while she is searching for her pen that her fingers brush against the envelope tucked deep inside her bag.

And somehow, for some reason, this time she doesn’t feel the swift paralyzing panic. This time it whispers of hope, of finding lost things, which is something she could really cling to right now, and so she doesn’t push it further down into her pack. No, this time she grips it hard with both hands and abruptly tugs it loose.

It falls into her lap, while her pen flies out, sliding across the floor, taking a lone white sock and a hair tie along for the ride. She scrambles to pick them up, shoving the items back in her bag but keeps the envelope and pen close.

She huffs out a breath and lays the envelope flat on her lap, along with the postcard, her emotions warring on what she wants to attempt first. She knows the words she wants to write, feels them, wishes she could could say them to him right now and yet, her hand trembles when she picks up the pen. So she tucks the card between her and the chair and flips the envelope over. And as she did when she first received the package, she draws her fingers across her handwritten name, trying to imagine the woman with the hopeful eyes write it out as carefully as can be, knowing her daughter was going to see it one day. She wonders if the woman herself had drawn a finger over the cursive. She wonders if there is a resemblance to her own writing.

She looks at each letter carefully. Maybe the letter m, perhaps the a.

She shakes her head at her wandering thoughts and reaches a trembling hand out for her tea, savouring the rich flavour as it warms her from the inside out. Her breathing comes easier after another sip and she thinks for a moment that the old man might be right, maybe there is a little bit of hope infused in every cup of tea.

She rests the cup back in the saucer, and with determination finally flips the envelope over, fingers slowly and carefully breaking the seal. There is a part of her that knows that she won’t find all the answers or the peace she is looking for inside that envelope, probably far from it. But if two people, who claim to be her parents, can find her after all this time, want to find her. Maybe there is hope for her yet.

Instead of hesitating any further, Emma lifts the envelope high and dumps the contents onto her lap.

Legal documents, handwritten letters, newspaper clippings, and pictures, dozens of pictures, scatter across her lap. Emma carefully moves the papers around, catching a few words here; confidential adoption, dozens of Dear Emmas, but it’s the pictures that give her pause.

She recognizes the same couple in all of them, it seems to be a timeline of their life, from their adolescent years to some as recent as they looked in the diner that day.

Emma gasps as a small picture slips from the others.

She only has a handful of pictures of herself as a child, never staying with a family long enough to fill an album, uninterested in keeping many mementoes of those years. She certainly had no pictures of herself as a baby.

But.

But one thing has stayed with her all these years, a blanket. A carefully knit, wool, baby blanket, white as snow, a purple ribbon around the edges, the simply trimming, along with her name stitched across the top.

The same blanket she is looking at in an old weathered picture, wrapped tightly around a crying baby.

Impossible.

And yet she is looking at it with her own eyes. Looking at herself.

She fumbles through the papers, frantically searching for an explanation.

She finds it in the form of the most recent ‘Dear Emma’.

Emma’s eyes blur with tears as she tries to read, tries to understand an insane story of two young people falling in love against their parents’ wishes, of finding out they were pregnant and only wanting to give their daughter her best chance. A deceitful father promising to find the perfect family for their newborn, a family that promised to visit and send pictures and let them see at least a glimpse of their daughter growing up. Only to have been lying all along, selling the baby to the highest desperate bidders.

Emma can’t begin to understand the impossible story, the heartbreak, all those words on the pages but she does keep coming back to a certain few.

We never stopped looking for you.

We never stopped loving you.

We always had hope we would find you again.

Her chest tightens. It’s all so much, maybe too much? And she is not sure if she wants to jump in with both feet and brave the unknown, or stuff it all back in the envelope and pretend like she never read any of it.

Killian would know what to do, she thinks. He would take her hand and tell her how strong and brave and capable she is. He would believe in her when she can’t find it in herself to do it.

Are they angry she hasn’t answered them? No, I’m sure they would understand, she remembers him telling her.

What if they don’t like me? Impossible, he would press into her skin, whispered words against her forehead, calming her worries and racing heart.

She looks down at the spread of papers in her lap and a thought so strong comes to her, nearly knocking the breath from her lungs. It’s not the why, or the heartbreaking story of how she was pulled away from her parents, it’s not the proof in the pictures either. It’s that, these two people never gave up, that they deemed her, Emma Swan, important enough to look for, to hope for, to love. That she was never really alone.

Her emotions bubble back up at that thought, and she thinks, she’s not alone now. That Killian is out there, she just needs to find him, to not give up, because she lo--

She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes until she see stars.

Think, Emma.

Her mind races through where she’s already been, she thinks of the hostels she hasn’t checked yet.

She could call, she could try and retrace her steps once more, she could put an ad on Craigslist. Her heart picks up at the possibilities, and she feels a little foolish having not gone through her options earlier, ruled purely by her heart and panic.

But first…

She pulls the postcard out again, more determined than ever and takes in the photograph on the front. The card carries a standard beautiful shot of the Cliffs of Moher but there’s a text overlay, relaying an assortment of random facts about Ireland.

84,421 square kilometres.

4,726,000 people.

5,500,000 sheep.

Emma finds a brief moment to smile, thinking back to the sheep and flips the card over, her words flowing with surprising ease.

How many miles have we traveled?

How many people and places have we seen?

How many stories will remain with us when this is through?

I’m not sure, save for one.

I love you. I do, I do.

She drops the pen and leans her head back against the chair, eyes on her messy handwriting. She presses a kiss to her fingers and then brings them to her words.

“Emma!”

--

Thanks for reading!

Who do you think is there? 

One more to go!! xoxo

[feral-anarchy]

Untitled

I have no idea how to title things. But here is a short story I made about Runaan first meeting Tinker. Its sad and angst so be warned. Warning also, its unedited so there will be mistakes and typos.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Please! I don’t understand, why won’t you just speak to me? Please stop walking away and just SPEAK to me!”

Runaan ran after Misah, calling after her as she continued to walk briskly away from him and into the woods. The direction she was headed pointed towards the local MoonShadow village which has been their home village for their entire lives.

“No, Runaan.” Misah grit through her teeth far too quietly for Runaan to hear. She wore a pained expression on her face as she continued to walk ever after away from the pleading assassin.

“I don’t understand- why won’t you just TELL me what is wrong? Cannot we not speak to each other? Can we not confide? We used to Misah- MISAH!”

Runaan was now running to catch up, striding with long legs that were used to sprinting at random times as was needed. His muscles not even needing to work hard to propel his body forward in order to catch up. Yet Misah picked up her pace in retaliation until they were both out right running.

The assassin was of course faster and could have easily caught up with the female moonshadow elf who he was calling relentlessly, pain and confusion etched into every word, but he held back, not knowing what would happen if he were to spring forward.

“I- I just can’t Runaan- Stop following me!” Words laced with anger and pain flew back to hit Runaan right in the heart. What did she mean?

“Earlier today we were just fine! What changed? Why have you decided this? Why can I not be a part of this decision? Please I love you!”

At this Misah did pause in her running, slowing down to a brisk walk again and allowed Runaan to catch up. He quickly caught her wrist in his strong hand and halted her forward movement.

He was confused and angry and hurt and he wanted answers.

“Misah..” He started, looking down into her beautiful turquoise eyes not unlike his own. “Misah I-” But she cut him off before he could begin, fearing that if she allowed him to speak she could not say what needed to be said.

“Runaan, I can’t!” She snipped at him, effectively silencing him again as he had moved to speak once more.

“I cannot do this anymore, it is terrifying! The emotional stress I feel when you go off on missions- What would I ever tell our children if we had any what happened to their father if you were killed on one of your mission!?” Sniffling Misah broke their locked gazes, turning away from him but allowing him to still keep her wrist locked in a tight almost painful grip.

“..What. I- I mean I understa…” His words faded from his lips as full understanding dawned on him. It was because he was an assassin, it was because of the risks, the threat of death and the stress he was putting on his lover. Runaan’s shoulders relaxed and he looked nowhere in particular with half lidded eyes.

“But.. Why now? We have been joined together for seven human years Misah.. Why now are you just telling me this? Have you..” He swallowed the dry lump in his throat before continuing. “Have you been carrying the stress of this all this time?” His heart clenched at the thought of causing her so much pain for any amount of time unknowingly.

“I was alright with it.. At first. Of course I was just so infatuated with you.” Misah half chuckled as she recalled their earliest memories together. “But the mission you went on last year, I thought I could get past it but I just.. I could have lost you and then I could have been alone.”

She turned back to Runaan, tears streaming down her milky cheeks. Above them the sky darkened, large weighted clouds drifted overhead in preparation of the heavy rain they were about to deposit onto the ground.

Runaan recalled that mission, he had almost not made it back. A team of six was sent into the human kingdoms to regain a lost child who had been stolen near the border, her family murdered by the humans and their belongings strewn across the thicket they were found in.

When they finally caught up to the murderous bandits it was to late. They had butchered the child for her magical parts to sell for dark magic to the highest bidder. No doubt they had ended her innocent life only hours before his team had shown up.

Runaan will never forgive himself for not getting their in time, he knew he had needed to rush his team onward but he was lax and took the same precautions he always did when crossing the border, which cost precious time. And there ended up being very little need for those precautions as they were more of a formality, a guide he followed when entering into the human lands.

Somehow the bandits had known they were coming after them, or they had prepared to defend themselves in the event that they were followed.

It had been a suicide mission and Runaan had almost not made it back. He lost three of his team on that day, he himself had needed over a week to recover.

Runaan was snapped out of thoughts as words floated to him on a whisper.

Misah was talking again but Runaan need not hear anymore. He stepped back, releasing Misah’s wrist from his grasp and allowed his training as a hardened assassin to take charge.

Rain started drizzling on them and the surrounding forever, the sound like a orchestra of noise all around. The droplets pounding onto the canopy of leaves above to drop down onto the bushes and grass, puddling here or there and wetting the homes of ground dwelling animals.

Runaan’s turquoise eyes were cold and hard, not in anger, but in fear that he would break down, his heart shattering with understanding of their situation.  

The female MoonShadow sniffed, regaining herself and gathering her courage once more.

“I guess this is it then. This is goodbye.” Her strangled words were hard to hear at the wind began to whip up as the storm grew.

It took a moment for Runaan to answer but when he did he sounded as calm and composed as ever, as if he was speaking to someone else about the local market running out of cheese again for the third time.

“Yes.. Goodbye Misah, it has been wonderful with you in my life, but I understand you must go.”

Nodding Misah agreed.

As she turned and started to walk away the downpour from the rain became painful, as if being stung by bees were the droplets hit. Before getting too far and before her voice could be lost within the winds she turned back to Runaan, looking at her now ex lover of several years, the one whom she had assumed to spend her entire life with, to raise children, to make a home and yet here they are now, ending it all.

“Runaan.. I still love you, and I always will.” She turned away from him for the final time, walking towards the lights of the MoonShadow village, away from her current life to start on a new journey all her own.

Runaan stood in the shooting rain, not feeling the sting of the freezing droplets. “I know..” he finally muttered, allowing the tears to finally break free and fall, mixing with the rain.

He stood there in the middle of the dark forest, for how long he did not know or really even care. His beautiful white hair now a wet and tangled mess from having been stirred by the poetic weather. His clothes were so soaked through he might as well have been swimming in a lake. His feet sloshed as he trudged back into the village, the lights all too bright for him at the moment and so he kept to the shadows.

The rain had finally started to let up as he made his way through the streets, cursing and laughing at the way the universe seemed to add that extra bit of drama to his life currently.

Dawn would not be here for another four or five hours and Runaan could not bare the idea of going back home, of returning to all his memories of the life he had been living up until this point.

Nearing his destination he paused, assessing his current ensemble and deciding he really didnt matter. Although he did try to wring himself out a little in respect for the establishment he was about to enter.

Opening the heavy door and slipping in, Runaan was greeted by semi-loud noise, not unlike a calm human bar within the human kingdoms except here in Xadia the noise level was kept at a lower octave as elves tended to have more keen hearing.

He ignored the bar goers and they in turn ignored him. He had chosen a bar he did not frequent often if at all. He was not really a drinker and did not often visit bars save for when friends or family had special occasions, like when his best friend announced his wife’s pregnancy with their first child. They were so excited and it was certainly cause for celebration, they told him they did not care if it was a boy or girl, but that the child was healthy.

Although his friend’s wife did confide in Runaan, telling him she already knew the sex of the child and the name she had chosen.

The next celebration he attended was when baby Rayla was born and he had gotten so inebriated he couldnt walk straight, It had not been a great morning for him the next day.

Now he sat himself at the unfamiliar bar and ordered a drink. The bar keep thankfully not giving him much of a look to his disheveled and dripping appearance and simply serving him his request, a good bar keep indeed.

Runaan was halfway through his third drink, and having not really had any food the whole night, he was beginning to feel a little toasty from the alcohol, when a whistle derailed his train of inner thoughts.

“Wow! Don’t you look the sight!” Chirped a joyful sounding voice. Great, just what he needed, someone being all chipper around him and trying to converse.

“Please, I just would like to be alone right now.” Runaan grunted low. Hoping just his gristly appearance would thwart anyone coming up to him were shattered. He had no patience for anyone right now. He turned away from the person, refusing to even look at them.

However the person was not dissuaded by his grumble and the sound of the barstool next to him scraped loudly against the floor. The person sat themselves down next to Runaan and waved to the bartender.

“You look like youve been through something, here, let me order you a drink” Kindness, joy, a warm feeling that felt like a hug flowed from the mouth of this stranger and reverberated through Runaan’s chest. Annoyance ticked Runaan’s eyelid and he sighed inwardly. This pest wasnt going to go away easily. Perhaps he was just drunk and did not understand the very obvious hints Runaan was throwing at him to go away.

It occured to the hurt MoonShadow that the stranger was talking he idly tuned in.

“So as I was saying I was told theres this beautiful spot to watch the sunrise and I was wondering if You know about it? Haha, im not real great at this small talk but you just looked so sad over here and I thought you could use a friend and -Oh thank you Mr. bartender- Anyways, Like I was saying you just looked so sad and Im new around here so I thought you would know about it and perhaps-”

Runaan had had enough, he spun on the barstool to face his annoying companion, to tell him to shove off and that he was in no mood, his heart hurt and his head was beginning to too, but his words caught in his throat and his breath left him as he finally took a look at his unwelcome companion.

He was a SunFire elf for sure, not very common in the MoonShadow village so he must have been either traveling or moving to live here. He had mentioned he was new around here so it must be the latter.

He wore a scarf loosely wrapped around his neck and the markings on his cheeks had little flicks around the circular pattern, perhaps he had MoonShadow blood in him as well? Half breeds were not common but not unheard of.

The elf paused in his ramblings when Runaan spun on him. His face softened as he looked him up and down, and all over. His lips drew back into a soft smile and his eyes alighted with an emotion Runaan was not ready to even try interpreting.

“Hey.. There you are.” The stranger soothed, smiling at the shocked looking MoonShadow who only gaped at him.

“My name’s Tinker, It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

[justanotherloveaffair]

All That You Can’t Leave Behind [Part 4/14]

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, T’Challa x Reader

Warnings: Language, smut (NSFW)

Word Count: 2,451

Summary: Reader and T’Challa meet to talk business, but the evening seems more like a date…

Author’s Note: These chapters are getting longer and longer, lol.

Part 1   Part 2    Part 3

Your name: Submit (what is this?) 

When you find out a King is going to pay you a visit, certain imagery comes to mind. Certain expectations. Royal clothing. Servants, maybe. Surely a trailing crowd of flashing cameras.

What showed up at your door was a normal looking, albeit abnormally attractive, casually dressed man wearing a long-sleeved black shirt and grey slacks. You stood for a moment in the doorway looking at each other while you tried to hide your appreciation of his upper body, as well as your total surprise at him dressed so differently than how you’d seen him in person and in every photo you’d saved.

“I see you put on some clothes for me,” T’Challa said with a wide, brazen smile and your eyebrows lifted in surprise.

You reached out and smacked his arm. “Hey,” you squeaked, admonishing both him and yourself for letting him catch you off guard. You were trying to queue up a snappy response but he had knocked you off your game in the first ten seconds. “I thought we agreed to forget about that.” You replied with as much mock disapproval as you could muster while you reached down to grab your purse.

When you turned back to the door, T’Challa looked at you as if he were picturing you naked that very second and replied smoothly, “I don’t recall such an agreement. And there are some things a man doesn’t forget.” Not missing a beat, he held out his arm. “Shall we?”

*

The destination was a ramen bar in mid-town. When he mentioned it as you exited the building together, you knew Steve had divulged to him your favourite place, because there were too many damn ramen bars on even one block for it to have been a coincidence.

The journey was loud, busy, rainy, wet and jammed with early-season tourists out on a Friday night. Your umbrellas dodged and weaved around each other’s and he impressively kept pace as you negotiated the space around people exiting subways, crowds milling about street performers, tourists and NYC-natives alike staring at phones while they walked. The typical shit one learns to deal with in Manhattan.

Twenty minutes later, you acknowledged with a nod and a smile the presence of a busker who often played his saxophone just outside of Totto Ramen and you continued to the front door. Once inside, you scanned for an empty table and hurriedly pulled your companion over to the first one you saw. This was NYC and you had to be quick, especially in the theatre district on a Friday.

As you settled in, tucking your wet umbrellas away, T’Challa seemed taken in by nearly everything around him. It was a look you were used to seeing when your family members came to visit – charmed, and a little overwhelmed.

“I imagine this is very different to Wakanda,” you said while offering him a plastic menu, filled with pictures of slightly different looking bowls of noodles. His eyes glazed over slightly at the number of choices.

“Very much, and I am relying on you to help me, entle.”

A moment later a young woman came by for your order and you confidently took the reins to order a bowl of shoyu ramen for him, your usual bowl of tsukemen, and, what the hell, two Sapporos. The beers came first, and the dark, steaming bowls of ramen not long after.

You learn a lot about a person when you eat ramen together, and not just how good they are with chopsticks (T’Challa was terrible). You learned he wasn’t afraid of trying new things. He ate the pork, the bamboo shoots, the egg. He eagerly tried the tsukemen when you offered. You learned he could laugh at his awkward chopstick holding. He treated the waitress with respect, and to you, he acted like a man on his first date, sweet and attentive to everything you said. You hadn’t talked about anything related to the reason Steve gave you and you were beginning to think it had been entirely made up. Was this…. a date?

When the check came, you quickly grabbed it, folding some bills you’d pre-pulled from your wallet and handed it back to the waitress before there was any chance for protest. You shot a defiant smile at T’Challa who pursed his lips at you in pretend anger and you gave up your seats for the long line of people waiting.

He bent down to say a “thank you” into your ear so he could be heard over the noisy diners. You felt his hand ever so gently guiding you forward, at the small of your back. It was that familiar, ownership-showing kind of boyfriend touch that even Steve didn’t use when you went out and damn, you liked it, a lot. It gave you that light feeling of butterflies, and the adrenaline-rush thought that anything could happen.

As you headed outside, the night seemed full of possibilities.

*

You followed his lead. It was thankfully less crowded now, and you walked slower and without your umbrellas. You felt the absence of his hand, missing his fingertips that were no longer grazing your back. For a full block you dared yourself to reach out and touch him, pull his hand to yours. But you didn’t.

You noticed you were getting somewhat closer to your area of town. You had been walking in companionable silence until he said, sighing, “I suppose we should talk about the business Steve told you about.”

A part of you deflated a little that this wasn’t an elaborate date Steve had set you up on, but a means to an end, for the good of Wakanda.  You smiled to yourself. “I suppose we should.”

“How about we talk in here?” He stopped at the entrance of an inviting-looking, dimly lit wine bar with red painted windows. You weren’t about to say no to sharing this intimate space with him, so you nodded and followed him inside.

It was his turn to surprise you as you looked over the wine list, seated at a tiny high-table near the street-facing window. He obviously knew his way around the menu, especially the French reds and when you questioned him, he said “there are some things you need to know when you’re a King, and wine is one of them.” You realized it had been nearly a whole night you’d been out with him and this was one of the first times his official title had come up. He’d been, and continued to be, so disarmingly down to earth.

You let him order for you this time, and as the waitress wrote down two orders of cabernet franc he winked at you and promised, “It’s full-bodied, you’ll like it.”

Turns out the wine, and his confidence that you would enjoy it, were both hitting their target with perfect precision.

Finally, after you got a few sips in, T’Challa began “the pitch.” What followed were a lot of details and unnecessary backstory that you’d already forgotten as he marched on through a series of names and words you barely understood like “Vibranium” and “Dora Milaje.” You kept nodding and smiling and a few full minutes after your mind went numb he finally slowed down and noticed your confusion.

“I am sorry, let me simplify. We need your help to find the source of some faulty programming with the utmost discretion. Can you help?”

The programmer in you said there was no problem you couldn’t solve. The nervous girl who was slightly starting to fall for someone she just met realized this was going to be big trouble.

*

You gathered from the rest of the conversation much of the details had already been planned based on you saying yes. (That Steve. He knew you too well.) Officially this trip of yours was unofficial official business. You would be looking for a needle in a haystack of code, so to speak, and not their own code, which would be unreadable to you, but outside, non-Wakandan intelligence software. T’Challa promised people who knew more about it than him would give you your briefing.

What you had to decide, by the time you reached the bottom of that glass of wine, was how soon you could come.

You exhaled while mentally running through your schedule for the next two weeks to make the snap decision that he needed. “I need… a day? Is that okay?”

The furrow in his brow disappeared as a look of relief washed over him. “Yes. I will make the arrangements for Sunday.” Your hand was then enveloped by his fingers, gently slipping beneath yours while his thumb rested, warm and heavy, on your wrist. “I know this is a lot to ask, and I am grateful, Y/N.”

His silky touch made your mouth go dry and a familiar warm thudding began in your body. This, combined with two glasses of wine made you crave the cool air outside. You were actually grateful when the bill came.

The wine bar wasn’t far from your home. As you started walking in the quiet evening air, he once again took hold of your fingers, to pull your small hand into his bigger grasp. Considering how we’d met, you were taken aback by how intimate and exciting this tiny act was.

When you felt calm enough to speak, you casually asked his plans for the next day and you learned there was a Wakandan Embassy right here in New York, where he planned to do some work before Sunday. When you asked how long the flight was to Wakanda, so you could prepare for the trip he smiled as if you’d made a joke and you felt silly and stupid without knowing why.

“Only pack what you can’t do without. You will be well taken care in Wakanda, entle.”

You had somehow gotten right to your door when he said that final word. He turned to face you, your hand still in his and you were dying to know how this night would end.

“Thank you for this evening. You were – are, wonderful company and I look forward to much more of it.” You soaked up his words, your eyes riveted to his full lips that were so close and inviting.

You felt your whole body deflate when he let go of your hand and said with a note of finality, “I wish you a good night.”

A half second after he started to withdraw from the porch step you picked up his hand, pulled him towards you and his arms opened instinctively for you to step into them. Your lips met with a crash, spurred by your hunger that he almost seemed surprised by. You hummed when his mouth began to move with yours. Your hand dropped his and cupped the back of his head. The kiss deepened with his tongue lightly teasing yours, bringing another groan to your lips. You felt yourself enveloped completely in his arms. This being your second kiss, it struck you again how passionate he was and how fully he gave himself in the moment. You wanted this to continue and pulled him against you as your hand went into your bag for your keys.

He broke away from you then, breathing heavily. “Y/N, I….” His hand closed into a fist and he pulled your hand away from him. “I can’t stay, I’m sorry.” He pressed his forehead to yours and looked at you apologetically. “Please don’t misunderstand. I promise, there will be another time.”

He was so earnest that you couldn’t help but smile and feel a little guilty. This wasn’t even a date, after all and you were already trying to drag him into your house.

“No apology needed T’Challa.”

He kissed you again, sweetly pressing your lips together before saying goodnight.

Your heart felt heavy as you took the elevator up alone. When you got inside, there were texts from Steve waiting for you and in your aroused and frustrated state you were grateful when he offered to come over.

Twenty minutes later when his imposing figure stood in your door frame, he looked like he knew exactly what had happened and said with a knowing smile, “He stiff you at the door?” You nodded and let out a laugh as Steve hoisted you up, your legs locking around his narrow waist, and he walked back towards your bedroom. You were thankful for your open and easy friendship with Steve where you held nothing back from each other. No boundaries, no questions, no games.

Steve dropped you down on your bed and peeled off his shirt while you hurried out of your clothes. As he laid his naked body down over you his fingers went straight to your core where they slipped easily up and down your folds. “Ooh, he got you going, huh?” His eyes glittered in the dark and yours rolled backwards while you groaned, “You have no fucking idea.”

Steve laughed and muttered, “that teasing bastard,” while his finger slipped in to your instantly responding body. He found no need to prepare you further and you readied yourself, opening your legs for him to settle between. His cock found little resistance and you pulled him down into you, moaning your approval while he filled you. You sank your hands into his long blonde hair and he bent to suck and kiss your neck, moving his hips at just the right angle to hit you deeply at the end of each thrust. He lifted himself up on straightened arms to concentrate his power in his bucking hips that began slapping against yours harder and harder. “Just… like… that…” you soon started to cry. Your fingers dug into his wrists, the nails biting down into his skin hard in response to an onslaught of thrusts. “Fuuuu-cckkkk” you cried, your voice competing with the sound of the headboard repeatedly smacking the wall. Steve began to mutter encouragements for you to come, and not long after that you stilled completely, entirely, selfishly focused on your orgasm and making it last as long as possible. Soon after his cries joined yours, his rapid movements slowed to languid, exhausted thrusts as the final sparks of pleasure dissipated from your sweating bodies.

You half-crawled over him after he fell onto his back and one arm came around to pull you close under his chin. “Grateful for you, Steve.” You whispered tiredly.

A soft chuckle fell from his lips, and he turned to kiss your temple. “Love you too, Y/N.”

[yourservingwench]

I have been working on my book like a fiend.  Like some little witch nestled away, brewing her magic.  Which doesn’t leave much time for very nearly anything at all.

That being said, I was thinking about dogs the other day.  About what they mean for adventure and for life.  I was thinking about my first dog growing up, Kiley.  She never cared much for me.  Like any little girl, I was a bother to her.

But I remember when she ran away, how many nights I woke up dreaming we had found her in the bushes up the street.  The one with the soft maple-shaped leaves.  Purple flowers with their yellow centers.  The same bushes that I used to hide in on the days I wanted getting gone.

Then there’s  Copper, who breaks through the fence and chases men and only men.  We have to put a padlock on the gate, or else I’m told that animal control will come to take her.  I won’t let them.  I never leave her side.

In the winter, when it rains, she goes in the garage.  My mother does not want her smelly shape inside the house, with all that curled gold fur.  I sit in the garage with her and cry because it isn’t fair.  We both eat dog food.  It is wet and gray and my father puts out sleeping bags for us to rest on.  I still remember how the dog food tastes, the kiblets crunching chalky in my mouth.

When Copper dies, I miss days of school.  I remember a dramatic sobbing in the shower.  I remember making my father drive back to the shelter to reclaim her body.  Screaming at him.  Adolescent rage.  She should be buried here, like all the rest.  Like rows of hamsters.  Like Kiley never got to.

My father does.  He makes the drive.  Argues with the animal control officer at the front and drives around the back.  Scoops up her hardening cold body from the cooler, and brings her back to me.  I kept my promise.  I told her that I’d never let them have her.

We bury her.  I make the most beautiful bouquet that you have ever seen, and toss her hot pink collar in the grave.

When I load Maizee in the car, with her harness and her pack, we are setting out for more adventure.  I know that she is older now, a year or two past ten.  I think about our time in the Sequoias.  How many ticks I pulled off her body.  Driving down the canyon, the itch on my stomach, lifting up my shirt to see the army of their parasitic bodies on my belly.  Looking back into the review mirror, to where she scratches at her skin.  On the side of the road, for an hour with tweezers, plucking at her fur.

Death Valley.  Where she pants with heat from the backseat.  Where we run through the desert, hot paws hot toes burning in the sand.

Utah.  Bryce Canyon.  Running up the mountainsides at dusk and dawn.  The view, beside her.  Angel Falls entire canyons spreading out before our eyes.

Exploring the Grand Canyon.  All the places where the dogs are not supposed to go.  Chasing moose and running through the grass.

Look at all of this adventure we have had.

Now this.  Her, a year or two past ten.  Me, a few long years past that.  Embarking on adventure.

I wish I could tell you how we sleep, together in my one-man tent.  How she curls up right beside my head, how we both wake at every sound inside of night.  How, when I am crying with the memories I need to flush, she lifts a ginger paw and places it upon my arm.

When she gets the limp, on that last night and after all those miles, I cry because I know I’ll be alone come morning.  That I’ll have to bring her back to safety.  Massaging feet, rubbing salve into the worn-down pads, soaking them in salt water cooked on a small camp stove, I know that it will get no better.  Worse, I know I’ve hurt her, in a way.  Over-estimated her capacities.  My grief was bigger than my life, and so I thought that she was also.

The journey through my grief was always something I would have to do alone.  I knew that, even after leaving her with my brother.  Even after carrying on.  Even while watching the waist high grasses all around me for a sense of movement.  Still rustles.  I do not have her nose or ears.  I listen, but I lack the keenness.

When I make it home; when I finish my journey and I spit in the face of all that baggage that I carried, she was waiting.  Yelping for me, frantic.  Her little limp threatening her pace.  She doesn’t let it stop her, though.  The way a dog moves, with love.

I will say that there is one steady in my life that has brought me through the pain of aging.  A good dog.  A lot of good dogs.  Even when I have to make the go alone, there was always knowledge of the things I would get back to.

If you do not have a dog to take with you on your travels, then I am sorry.  There is no better friend.  All you humans are a bit too loud at times, but dogs, there is something quiet in the way they lick at faces.  There is something in their love.

    Something about Dogs I have been working on my book like a fiend.  Like some little witch nestled away, brewing her magic. 

[enjolraswould]

Chapter 1+2 of “Death Is A Miserable Business”

Read on AO3 or under the cut. Enjoy!

The year is 1961 and Cosette Fauchelevent is on a mission to find her missing father, Jean Valjean. A series of mysterious deaths that may be linked to his disappearance lead her to team up with Inspector Javert, a detective who seems oddly determined to locate Valjean himself. Death itself is lurking around every corner, and if Cosette wants to avoid coming under suspicion herself, she's going to have to face a few of her own demons. -- This is more or less a crossover between Les Miserables and Ray Bradbury's "Death Is A Lonely Business," with a few things changed and a few surprises along the way. If you've ever wanted to read a pseudo-noir tragicomedy where Cosette and Javert are buddy cops, well, here you go.

Chapter 1

-

Paris, France, in the early days of the fifth Republic, was something of an enigma. According to the newspapers, this was a new day for the nation, and the nation was stronger than ever. And indeed, the City of Lights hadn’t seemed quite so bright, nor so lively, since that brilliant time over 50 years past, when the world gathered in Paris to celebrate her beauty, her progress, and her indomitable spirit. So glittering was she now that barely a night passed where the stars could be clearly seen beyond her glow, so full of life was she now that the echoes of the past seemed to quiet in observance of a louder, more promising future.

Yet underneath the music that poured from nightclubs and theaters and apartments was still the steady, languid turning of the Seine. Late at night, with the laughter gone to bed, the last running metro cars rumbled beneath the city and rattled the walls and the ribcages inside the walls with their sleeplessness. And the echoes that were so silent in the day found their voices deep in the alleyways and empty parks of the predawn hours, singly softly only to those still wandering, asking how the streets could be so dark with so many lights.

It was one of these whispering nights, rocketing through the emptiness below even emptier streets in a metro thundering towards the emptiest place of all, home, that I met the Devil.

I had been late at the library and, lamenting the lost time, had begun working on assembling my next lead on the metro, my books and papers spread about me on the seat. No one else was aboard, just myself and my thoughts in the anemic light flickering above. So absorbed was I in my work that I didn’t notice the man who entered the car until he was already seated behind me.

I would not have noticed him except for his mumbling, and even at this I did not turn around to look at him. Anyone who rides the metro knows that to look at a stranger only encourages strangeness. I kept my eyes down on my papers, though I could feel his breath close behind me, crying messily and without rhythm. My attempts to ignore him, however, did little to discourage him.

“Oh,” he sobbed, and I felt his hands grab the back of my seat. Despite myself, I closed my eyes, so better to not hear him.

“Oh, God,” he moaned louder, and even my skin seemed to pull away from him as he leaned closer behind me, something brushing the back of my neck, the tip of my ear.

“Listen,” he cried, and it was a plea issued from the very bottom of a grave.

The metro swung around a turn, sending my books sliding as the lights above shuddered, dimmed, and threatened to burn out entirely. I heard my papers scatter but could not move to gather them, could only hunch blindly forward as the wine-soaked voice behind me gasped, “Death!”

Another turn sent my books thudding to the floor. The rails below screeched but did little to cover the stranger’s voice so close beside my ear, as I heard him again cry, “Death!”

And suddenly all noise, all movement, ceased. The metro had arrived at its next station. For a moment the air hung completely still as the vibrations of the train petered out into idleness. And then he whispered:

“Death… is a miserable business.”

He whispered it so sadly that his very words dripped with sorrow. To my horror, I felt something wet splash against my neck and swim down underneath my shirt collar. Tears? Perhaps. I could not make myself turn to face him. I stayed curled into myself, waiting, praying.

I heard him stand, then, and lean closer. So dearly did he want to be heard, so urgent was his message. And so frightened was I that when his voice abruptly rang in my other ear, I almost began to sob myself.

“Death!” he shouted, and at my responding yelp, he lowered his voice once more to a murmur, “Is a miserable business.”

And trembling, I listened to his footsteps fade as he shuffled from the metro, heading out into the sparkling night somewhere above.

Only when the train began to move again was I able to jerk upright, to rush to the window in order to try and catch a glimpse of the stranger. But it was too late; we had already entered the next tunnel. Whether my tormentor was flesh and blood or a ghost conjured by my own fears, there was no way to tell. I was already journeying into the emptiness again, this time most assuredly alone.

And alone was, at that moment, something I did not want to be.

“You shouldn’t,” I told myself as I gathered my fallen books, “You don’t need a drink. You promised Papa you wouldn’t drink.” But…

-

Chapter 2

-

I had a drink anyway.

I knew of a little run-down, wood paneled, pre-war pub a few blocks out of my way, midway between home and the Seine, and this is where I headed, if only because even if it was empty except for the bartender, at least it would be more populated than home. Which it was, empty except for the bartender, distracted by his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.

“One double vodka, please.”

The request shocked me, though I was the one who had said it. I didn’t even particularly want a double vodka. What I really wanted to do was call Marius, half a world but really only a thousand kilometers away in Venice. I wanted to call him and say that I was alright. But I definitely wasn’t alright, because I was ordering a double vodka. And why? Nothing happened.

Nothing happened except… the world’s emptiest train and a stranger’s desperate sad voice dripping tears down the back of my shirt, and both were likely to creep into my bed with me that night.

Not that this was terribly unusual. Most nights now I was accompanied in the loneliest possible way, by thoughts of Marius away and Papa gone and everyone so scattered and far…

So I drank the double vodka.

“Jesus, lady,” the bartender cursed, reaching for the glass I’d slammed back onto the table just a little too loudly, “Take it easy. You don’t need it that bad.”

“I don’t need it at all,” I coughed, wincing through the burn, “At least now I know I don’t like vodka.”

“You’ve never had vodka?”

“I’ve never had anything more than wine.”

The bartender whistled lowly, cleaning the glass carefully and shelving it again. “Well, I’m honored, but what’s the occasion?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied, leaning against the bar, “But I feel terrible. I think something bad is going to happen but I don’t know what or to who.”

“We all feel like that, these days,” the bartender shrugged, then paused to glance at me through the corner of his eye, like he was seeing me for the first time, “Wait, aren’t you the young lady whose father went missing a few months ago?”

It was a common enough question. Ever since Papa had vanished, and ever since Marius and I had begun our search, most of Paris knew me as the girl with the missing father. But I shook my head noncommittally. I couldn’t write every strange feeling off as being part of Papa’s disappearance.

“This isn’t about my father being missing. There’s something bad coming, getting closer all the time. Something is going to happen.”

The bartender looked nervously from me to the door, then absently began wiping down the bar.

“Probably the weather, then. Big storm coming tonight. You ought to go home and stay away from double vodka,” he advised. Neither of us looked at each other as I dropped my money on the bar and gathered my books once again, and I left the bar feeling somehow worse that I had when I went in.

Sometime the winter before, an old police boat had been dumped in the Seine. No one would admit to who had done it; the police insisted they weren’t responsible, but who else could it have been? In any case, the wreck still floundered there, rocking in the sluggish flow of the river. The newspapers had done a merciless job of mocking it, a few small-time politicians had referenced it in their speeches for one reason or another, and then the weather had grown warmer and more important issues had captured the city’s imaginations, and ultimately nothing was done to remove the old boat from its final resting place. Sometimes a few brave children would wade out to it and play on its tilted deck and duck underneath to peer from the submerged portholes, but otherwise the wreck had become just another part of the landscape.

What possessed me to wander towards the Seine that night instead of straight home, I cannot say. One would assume that after the encounter on the train and the unpleasant drink, I would be eager to return to someplace familiar. Yet my footsteps turned me towards the river, and I found myself leaning against the wall above the water and gazing down towards that once controversial boat.

Now, long after midnight with the lights of the city glowing all around, the water took on a curious sort of life, all faintly shimmering waves and shivers. In comparison, the wreck itself was dark and still, a foreign body lodged unwelcomingly in the serene forward motion of the river. Yet not entirely still; it rocked softly in that motion, steadily, as though breathing in its sleep.

Despite myself, I stayed a moment, watching the shipwreck breathe. Underneath the silver shine of full moonlight and dusty golden glitter of more human lights around me, the water was still somehow black as anything, blacker even than the shadow of the police boat. The night rather abruptly felt whole, and wholly focused on this river and the boat within the river.

Perhaps a different vessel further along the river moved, or perhaps it was the wind. But as I moved to turn away and head back into the night, the water suddenly swelled darkly around the wreck. It rocked, roughly, once before settling back into its tired old motion, but something was changed.

My heart pounded once, twice. I leaned over the wall once again, straining to see into the dark. Something was behind one of the portholes, half-submerged; a motion, or a paleness that wasn’t there before. A reflection, I thought, or something like a ghost.

A face. A face, just behind the window, too shadowed to recognize. Disbelieving, I leaned further over the wall, half praying that the river would again surge against the boat, push the shape… closer? To be seen? Or further in, away from sight, so that I may not see?

But as the boat rocked, the shape fell forward. The face pressed itself against the glass, a familiar photograph in negative, empty-eyed and emotionless as a marble bust tossed carelessly into water to be weathered, smoothed, erased…

And it sank once again.

Somehow, my first and only thought was of the stranger on the metro, his words leaping and echoing like stones skipped across the surface of the Seine, dropping finally with great reaching ripples: “Death… is a miserable business.”

It couldn’t be.

But there it- he- was. A dead man, tapping at the window of the police boat.

Worst of all, I knew who he was.

This I contemplated, rather coldly, to myself as more and more lights around me turned on and people began to come running. I had woken them with my screaming.

[guksthighs]

Umbrella

Pairing: RAP MONSTER X READER

Summary: It’s raining and Namjoon has forgotten his umbrella, like always.

Genre: fluff

Length: 1.6k

A/N: H A P P Y  B I R T H D A Y  N A M J O O N!!!

The threat of a storm had been looming over the dorms, dark clouds lay on the horizon and there was no wind stirring up the dead leaves outside. You knew the boys had gone to the studio today, and when you heard the door slam shut followed by the sound of laughter and shouts, you sat up from your bed and slipped on your slippers before shuffling into the hallway.

Your eyebrows raised in amusement as you looked at the boys, umbrellas wet and shaking their heads like a pack of wild dogs and moving to the side to see if you could see your tall dimpled boyfriend you let out a sigh when it turned out he hadn't come home.

Although the rain was not a surprise, the boys still complained and without thinking you walked into the kitchen, calling over your shoulder, "who wants a hot drink?"

Filling the kettle, you turned to watch the door where the boys skidded in to sit at the table, Taehyung beamed at you and you laughed as Jeongguk fell over, slipping on his wet socks, causing a miniature pileup in the entrance.

"Ah you're really a blessing Y/N," Jin had walked in to grab the cups from the top shelves, laying them out to make your task easier and he noticed your slight frown, placing a finger in between your eyebrows to rid you of it, "Namjoon had to stay for a bit to sort out something with the song, stop worrying."

Almost as soon as the words had left his mouth there was a clap of thunder, and a small shriek left your lips but even with the boys teasing you and Hoseok who had reacted in a similar fashion, your mind turned to Namjoon worried he would be caught in the downpour.

"Ahh Namjoon forgot his umbrella," Yoongi's comment made you look up from your thoughts and now it was your turn to skid across the floors to the entrance where you found Namjoon's bright yellow umbrella.

"He always forgets it and then comes back soaked to the bone," Jimin laughed, looking up as Jin placed the finished hot drinks on the table. The idea of your boyfriend having to brave the weather after a long day at work made you want to cry, so without any thought to your own health you pulled on a pair of trainers over your fluffy socks, pulled on your jacket and grabbed Namjoon's umbrella determined to save him from the rain.

"I'm just going out!" Pulling the hood over your bed hair, and suddenly wishing for the warmth of your bed and Namjoon's tight embrace but instead, you were having to go out into the cold wet night to fetch him.

"Don't get ill as well," Jin called after you, but you'd already slammed the door shut and let out a light gasp at the sheer downpour you were about to brave, but you knew Namjoon would probably do the same for you, or he'd just send a taxi.

It was only when you had made it down the road you realised you were still in your pyjamas; Namjoon's navy jumper and a pair of large sweatpants but it was too late as you clutched the umbrella listening to the sound of the rain hitting it.

The umbrella felt frail in your hands, as it was tugged by the wind and multiple times almost coaxed away from your firm grasp, but you continued to walk slowly in the direction of the studio your mind focused completely on Namjoon.

It was true he never remembered an umbrella, you still remembered the first day you had met him, a rainy day after school where you had spotted his hair plastered to his forehead and clutching paper to his chest in a desperate attempt to keep it dry. You had been overcome with a sense of confidence as you offered him a space under your large umbrella, the same one you were holding now and had giggled when he nodded so much he seemed like a bobble head toy.

It rained every day that week, and finally, you bought Namjoon an umbrella, and you couldn't help yourself from smiling because he had managed not to lose it, only consistently forget it.

You had always admired Namjoon; his sense of balance and after sharing an umbrella for that week you began to school together, which led to you learning Namjoon was not only an amazing listener but his advice, when followed, always seemed to make amends to your problem.

"Joonie," you muttered, shaking your head as you found yourself near the studio but just as you spotted the street it was on, the wind whipped up and took the umbrella with it. Your body froze as you watched the yellow umbrella fly down the street, and it felt like all the memories that had been formed under that umbrella had been snatched with it.

The umbrella had been blown in the opposite direction to the studio but you found yourself running after it, your clothing instantly soaked through but your feet had a mind of their own until you a sneeze ripped through your body. It was hard to turn away from that old umbrella, now mangled on the opposite side of the road and sprint towards the studio, but the way you were trembling was starting to worry you.

Your mind was so enveloped in sadness and the feeling of idiocy that came with turning up to the studio with no umbrella to keep your boyfriend dry that you weren't looking where you were running until you ran into a chest and suddenly the rain had stopped.

"Y/N?" You looked up, a pale pink umbrella shielding your body from the rain with your boyfriend holding onto the handle with his lips downturned as he took in the state you were currently in, before offering you a hand and pulling you into his chest for a hug.

You couldn't help the sigh that left your mouth at the heat he was providing you, and without knowing what was happen tears began to roll down your face as you looked up at him, "Joonie, I lost our umbrella. I lost it and all of the memories we made under it."

He began to walk, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as he rubbed soothing circles into your bicep, "you know that's not true. And if so, let's make some more memories under this one." You looked up at him, tears still rolling down your face and he paused to plant a kiss on your cheek, "I love you; umbrella or no umbrella."

The journey back seemed to take seconds, NAmjoon was rambling about his day in an attempt to distract you from the cold that was now seeping into your bones along with the damp now covering your entire frame along with the occasional shiver, "so then Hoseok tried to tell me that he thought his vocals wouldn't work and we both know he was being modest. But Y/N, this boy would not let me record him and when he finally agreed I ended up having to stay later to edit it in and I'm not saying it's his fault. But I so am."

You let out a laugh, before finally taking in your surroundings. You had finally made it back to the dorms and as you walked in you found your body was even more exhausted than you had realised, after all, you were about to go to sleep before the boys had woken you up.

"Come on baby, we need to get you changed." Namjoon held your hand and dragged you through the hallway, calling out to the boys for someone to make two hot chocolates and as sneeze after sneeze racked through your body you caught the attention of Jin and Taehyung whose head's popped around different doors.

"You truly are a match made in heaven, always forgetting an umbrella," Hoseok laughed, but your body was slowly becoming numb as the cold continued to freeze you, and Namjoon noticing this continued to drag you into his room.

"I'm cold Joon," your teeth were chattering and he felt hurt seeing you like this, completely vulnerable and he quickly pulled out your favourite items of his clothing and passed them to you turning as you got changed.

You smiled to yourself at the fact that he was always such a gentleman, and you got changed as fast as possible, throwing the wet clothes on his back and laughing as he groaned with each wet slap of them landing on him.

The second you had finished, now completely dressed in items of his clothing, wrapping your arms around his back you pulled him onto the bed so you could finally cuddle with Namjoon, the reward you had been waiting for all along.

His hand instantly began to run through your wet hair, and as you took in his features you couldn't help but let a massive smile spread across your face, but then the memory of your lost umbrella made your smile fade, "I'm sorry."

Namjoon instantly knew what you were talking about as he pulled you closer and began to place light kisses on your face, "Who said I need an umbrella to remember how much I love you? I love you no matter what, rain or shine baby."

"I love you too, and please remember your umbrella next time," you couldn't stop yourself from smiling and as Namjoon pulled the duvet over your forms, you felt yourself drifiting asleep surrounded by the warmth of his body.

You were both fast asleep by the time Jin had finished your hot chocolates, as he slowly pushed the door open and smiled at the scene in front of him, "they really are a couple destined for each other."

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[jugandbettsdetectiveagency]

I have this mighty need to see my headcanon realized of Juggie in a Serpent jacket riding a bike with Betty in hot pants behind him and I need Betty to be doing naughty things to him while he's trying hard not to crash into something or stop and take her right there - please, please, please with cherries on top, just thinking about it is making me combust, I'm sure your writing will destroy me (in a good way)

First of all this is not a safe way to ride a motorcycle, kids. They were wearing helmets in the first draft of this but this is fiction and there’s nothing sexy about a helmet, especially one that obstructs mouths. So yeah, willing suspension of disbelief and all that. Oh, also the move that Betty pulls here is inspired by a scene in Grease 2 which, while a terrible movie, is pretty great. And shout out to the gals on the Bughead group chat for pointing out that there was a lack of, um, reciprocation from Betty in the fics that they’d read - Juggie deserves a little attention too so that’s what you’re getting.Warning: Bughead smut is literally all that awaits you below. Slight au I guess because everything is good with Serpent!Juggie.

“Don’t you think that’s a little impractical to be wearing on the back of a motorcycle?” Jughead smirked, leaning against the bike as he watched Betty emerge from behind her front door. She smiled sweetly, mischief flitting across her green eyes before he could catch it, grey low-tops bounding down the Cooper’s porch steps.

Her hair fell about her face in free, golden waves, shoulders covered in a dark denim jacket, and loose fitting white shirt underneath. But what he couldn’t tear his eyes away from was the flowing, crimson skirt billowing around her thighs as she moved - more specifically the length of it, or lack thereof.

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, widening her eyes in false innocence as she reached him, fingers coming up to play with the zipper on his Serpent’s jacket. His hands crept down her sides, pulling her closer by the backs of her smooth, tanned thighs as the pads of his fingers came to rest there, drifting over the skin with light, teasing brushes. She shivered in his embrace, biting her lower lip in anticipation. Jughead followed the dusty blush that made it’s way over her cheeks, down her neck, across her chest, with eager eyes, fingers digging tighter into her skin. “It seems just right to me.”

It seemed that he’d gotten playful Betty today; a welcome gift, he thought as he leant forwards to capture her lips in a languid kiss. The laziness of the movement matched the pace of their summer days, spent wrapped around one another without rush or obligation as they explored the town that had become something entirely new over the past few months. Their skin was permanently warm and flushed with the high sun, eyes glazed and distant as they got high on the taste of each other’s lips, on a new found freedom.

Betty’s fingers roamed over Jughead’s back, nails clutching at the snake embroidered across his broad shoulder blades. It would never be entirely welcome, but it had become familiar. Betty couldn’t deny the shift she’d seen in her boyfriend’s demeanour - the purposeful way he walked, the lightness in his shoulders, the bags beneath his eyes lessening in their depth over time. He felt protected for the first time in years, and try as she might she couldn’t bring herself to resent it.

“Your mom is gonna see us,” Jughead murmured against her lips as he pulled back an inch, running his tongue teasingly across her swollen mouth. A sigh escaped her, eyelids fluttering open to stare at his amused features.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” she shrugged, completely unconcerned with anything other than the feeling of his hands inching higher. She locked her arms around his neck, to steady herself if nothing more. “Where are we going today?” she asked, forehead coming to rest against his, dark curls tickling her cheek.

“It’s a surprise.” He smiled at her eye roll.

“You always say that,” she chastised, pushing out her lower lip in an adorable pout. He couldn’t resist pulling it between his teeth, breathing in her gasp.

“Maybe I enjoy surprising you,” he replied as Betty blushed, body rolling into his. “Come on.” He stood, catching her as she stumbled back a few unsteady steps, pressing his lips together to suppress a laugh. She narrowed her eyes at him, knowing that he relished the reactions her body had because of his touch. But she’d learnt that two could most definitely play at that game.

Jughead held out his hand to her from where he already sat, perched on the edge of the seat. She took it, eyes locking purposefully with his as she strode closer before swinging her leg over the vehicle. Her arms wound round his waist, fisting in the light material of his t-shirt, bare knees clenching on either side of his hips. Betty shuffled forwards, making sure there was not an inch of space between his back and her front. Jughead raised an eyebrow even though she wouldn’t see, tilting his head over his shoulder minutely.

“Comfortable, Betts?” he asked, amused by her antics. She squirmed once more, chest pushing purposefully between his shoulders.

“Good to go,” she replied casually. He grinned, shaking his head briefly before revving the engine and speeding down the street.

The uncertainty of the bike had terrified Betty at first, knuckles turning as white as her face as she clung to Jughead for dear life during their journeys. But it had been weeks, months even, since they’d begun these private excursions, and Betty now felt nothing but freedom as the wind whipped across her exposed skin.

She peered round them excitedly as they headed towards the town’s border, signs of suburban life becoming more and more distant as they flew past. The land flattened out, filling with flowers instead of picket fences as they raced closer to their destination. She knew how much Jughead loved to ride, that it gave him control like nothing else he’d experienced. The vehicle responded to his every touch, to every small tilt and dip of his body - he played it like a master. As much as Betty liked to see Jughead in control, she also liked to see him relinquish it.

The open road made her feel as if they were the only two left in the world as she flattened her palms against his stomach, hair whipping behind her. She bit her lip coyly as she felt the muscles there flex beneath her wandering fingertips, drawing small circles over the fabric. She could feel his voice vibrate through his body as he no doubt called her name in question, but she couldn’t hear him over the whirring of the engine and the wind in her ears. The sensation went straight to fuel the growing warmth between her thighs, making her tilt her hips in an effort to find some friction against the rough denim of his jeans.

Her hands crept lower, flushed cheeks hidden against his shoulder, pushing the material out of the way to drag her nails over the ridges of his abdomen, so much more pronounced than anyone but her knew. Her fingers danced across the lean expanse before moving to brush down the sparse trail of dark hair disappearing below the waistband of his jeans. A shudder coursed through his body, Betty grinning as she stretched to look over his shoulder, relishing in the way he was white-knuckling the handlebars. He was clinging to composure, every slip feeding her desire to push him further to towards the edge. The tips of her fingers dipped below his belt, their path swerving slightly with the movement, before she withdrew her hand, resting in on the inside of his thigh instead.

Her leg came up, wrapping it over his lap and letting her heel push against the inside seam of his pants. Jughead could feel her heart pounding in a frenzied rhythm against his back, out of time with his own but just as forceful. He was certain he could feel every drop of blood flowing through his veins, flooding southwards, as she delicately massaged his inner thigh, nails catching on the seam now and then, sneaking higher and higher with every motion, still too far from where he needed her. He was hard before he’d even had time to blink, the lack of cover around them sending appreciative tingles throughout his entire body as she dared to take them further. He shifted, trying to relieve some of the pressure between his legs. His movements caused her legs to tighten round him, hips rolling forwards as a rush of wetness soaked her panties. Jughead felt her hum around a moan, the feeling only causing his member to strain uncomfortably against the suffocating zipper of his pants.

She brushed the bulge, finally, with the briefest of touches. Jughead couldn’t stop his hips from bucking into her hand, aching for something to release the tension. The bike wobbled precariously as the heel of her palm was suddenly giving him everything he needed. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to refocus on the tarmac stretching before them. He was completely at her mercy, coil tightening in the pit of his stomach as she worked her hands across his lap. Jughead could feel the desperation rising, wanting to push closer, pull away, remove the the thick layers of fabric between his skin and hers, all at once. His legs were quivering in anticipation, teeth digging into his lower lip as he tried to focus on everything but her persistent fingers, dragging him towards release.

Jughead started as he felt her head ducking beneath his outstretched arm, lifting it in confusion. Betty gripped his shoulder, anchoring herself to him as she pushed her weight around until she was firmly planted on his lap. She locked her ankles at the small of his back, her dark, lust blown pupils meeting his and finding nothing but want etched there. His reactions had made her bold, forgetting the speed at which the ground was racing past them. She was driven only by the ache pulsating between her dampened thighs, her wanton desire to feel the hardness between Jughead’s legs pressing into her core taking full control of her body.

Betty ducked her head to his neck, brushing along the tight tendons there with her nose before peppering kisses across the smooth skin. She felt the bike swerve once more as she grazed her teeth against his pulse point, licking over the spot with her soft tongue before latching her mouth onto the skin and sucking. She smiled against him as she felt his hard-on twitch beneath her, hips grinding down in automatic response. The groan rolling up his throat vibrated against her lips as she continued her sweet torture, circling relentlessly, picking up speed with every passing second.

Jughead hit a dip in the road, sending Betty bouncing against his lap. He felt her moan against him, hot breath fanning over the saliva she’d left along with another mark, a purple bruise for him to run his fingers over in absent memory in the rare moments she wasn’t with him. The action had her thrusting wildly, unable to control the rocking of her hips through the adrenaline. Jughead caught sight of a turn up ahead, making the quick decision to swerve off course before the inevitable spring snapped and he released a sticky mess in his boxers that would make the rest of the day far less pleasant than this.

“Jug, what-” Betty pulled away from him to glance round at the sudden change in direction. They were on a secluded side road, nothing but dirt tracks and the shade of nearby trees.

“That wasn’t fair, Betts,” he growled, as he parked, kicking up the stand and planting his feet firmly on the floor. She shivered at the gravel in his voice, eyes dark as he gripped her thighs, pulling her against him. She let out a soft mewl, loud in the relative silence surrounding them. “It was stupid, dangerous even,” he murmured into the elegant slope of her neck as she tilted her head to expose more of her skin to him.

“I appear to be getting a taste for danger,” she whined, back hitting the handlebars as Jughead anchored her firmly, one arm winding round her waist. She watched, enthralled as his hand slipped up her thigh, disappearing beneath the wrinkled fabric. Her breath hitched as his thumb came into contact with the lace of her panties. He dropped his forehead to her collarbone, strangled grunt escaping his lips.

“God, you’re so wet,” he groaned, fingers pushing the obstructing fabric to the side so he could slip inside of her silken heat. His neglected erection gave a pitiful throb as her walls clenched around the digits, a string of hushed profanities spilling from her lips as he thrust them slowly. He smiled into her neck - he’d been utterly taken aback by the filth that had come from her mouth as they starting exploring the physical side of their relationship more, but that hadn’t stopped it from adding to his ever growing arousal.

“Faster, Juggie,” she breathed, using his shoulders as leverage to propel herself closer, crying out unhindered as his thumb came up to circle her swollen bundle of nerves. She was dripping down his fingers, head thrown back and full lips parted, as she completely let go. He clenched his stomach muscles, enamoured by the sight before him, one that he knew would come back to haunt his dirtiest of dreams for many nights to come. His teeth found the hardened peak of her nipple through the thin fabric of her shirt and closed round it gently. She tensed, thighs quivering, walls clenching, as she came, his name falling from her mouth around a gasp, hand clutching at his wrist.

Betty pulled his persistent hand out of her underwear when the aftershocks became too much, raising his fingers to her plump lips and encasing them in her hot mouth, sucking gently around a moan. Jughead swore he could see stars. His free hand clutched at her hip as she swirled her tongue around his fingers, pulling every last taste of herself from his skin.

“Betty… if you don’t touch me right now I swear-” he threatened, breaking off as she released his fingers with a wet pop.

“What, Jug? What will you swear?” she asked menacingly, still breathless. Just like that she was gone, cold air rushing to the places her warm body had once occupied.

“Hey!” he began to complain before he felt her demanding hands pull at his shirt, lifting him from his seat only to shove him back against the side. She pressed herself flat against him, leaving a bruising kiss against his lips before moving to whisper in his ear.

“Good things come to those who wait,” she rasped, voice still hoarse from her moans. Jughead’s hips bucked of their own accord, chasing her body as her palms smoothed up the length of his thighs. His eyes flicked across her face, every nerve ending on high alert for her next move. His heart nearly gave out as she dropped to her knees, hands clutching at the soft leather behind him as she unbuckled his belt, pulling his pants and boxers down in quick succession.

Jughead hissed his member sprung free, cold air hitting the heated flesh. Betty ran her hands against the grain of his leg hair, coming up to rest her palms on his protruding hip bones. She leant in, kissing close to his base, her breath causing him to jump at the delicate contact. His whole body was screaming at him to move as he fought all his instincts, desperate to stay still and let Betty keep control.

Gentle fingers circled the base of his dick, pink tongue coming out to wet her lips in anticipation as a sticky liquid beaded at the head. She darted forwards, swiping it away with the tip of her tongue. Jughead choked on air, eyes rolling back into his head, fingers digging into the sponge of the seat so hard he thought he might pierce through. Before he could catch his next breath her full mouth had wrapped around him, sliding down his shaft with ease. His hand shot out, reflexively weaving into her hair, sunlight turning it into a golden waterfall.

Betty hummed as she sucked in her cheeks, pulling back with a delicious slowness. Jughead’s knees felt weak, resting his full weight against the bike as it tipped beneath the strain. He couldn’t feel anything other than the scorching heat around his dick, the tight wetness as she took him back in again and again. Her tongue flattened out, running along the thick vein on the underside. There were too many sensations to focus on at once - the vibrations of her sinful moans, the way she swirled her tongue around the groove under his swollen head, her small hands twisting down the length, the sudden constricting of her throat as his hips thrust upwards against his will.

Betty clutched at his sides, nails leaving tiny indents in his overheated skin. She picked up her speed, Jughead’s hand aiding her in finding a rhythm.

“Fuck, Betts. You have to… I’m gonna…” he forced out between clenched teeth, tugging on her hair in warning. One of her hands slipped to cup his ass, digging into the soft flesh there, holding him against her face. The other dipped lower, palm cradling his balls as they tightened into his body, Jughead fighting his impending release. She sucked in once more, and he felt the barest graze of her teeth against his shaft and that was it.

His mouth dropped open in a silent shout, fingers digging tighter into her hair as he pulsed into her mouth, Betty pulling back slightly to catch it all. He looked down, past his heaving chest, as she let him go with an audible pop, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, lips lifted in a menacing smirk. She leant into him, the brush of her skirt making his overly sensitive dick twitch weakly, placing her throat by his ear as she swallowed with an audible gulp. Jughead groaned, flush on his cheeks deepening to match the scarlet of her skirt. Betty looked at him, letting free an innocent giggle that was completely out of place on her dark, swollen lips, hair mussed from his desperate hands, completing her look of sinful dishevelment.

“Surprise,” she whispered, tucking her lower lip beneath her teeth. Jughead let out an exhausted laugh, casting his eyes skywards as him mind tried to catch up with the events of the afternoon.

“Definitely letting you plan all the surprises from now on,” he mumbled, forehead resting against hers. She grinned, pressing her mouth to his, laughing at the way he scrunched up his nose as he tasted himself on her lips.

“Sounds good to me.”

[orderuponthe99prettygrimmdiaries]

#PLLGameOver

@sleepinthegardn: Today closes the chapter on a very significant part of my life. A chapter I had never imagined or even dreamt of having written. When I left collage I thought I was headed to NYC (hopefully for some jobs on stage) Little did I know life was actually taking me to Rosewood, Pennsylvania. Where they insisted I would need to do high school for about 6 more years. Life (for reasons that will continue to reveal themselves to me ) made me a Pretty Little Liar. For 8 years. For around 10,000 hours of my life it asked me to be Spencer Hastings. It took me to days where I couldn’t stop laughing, and nights when I wished I could have been sleeping in bed, instead of running in the wet and cold for the umpteenth take at 5AM but somehow we made it through and we had fun even then. Every moment with this cast and crew, in this town, every breath I took with Spencer, every text, dead body, new suspect, terrifying scream, new relationship and “kisses, A” taught me something extraordinary. It taught me patience, and how to approach my craft, how to direct, produce, it taught me about collaboration, experimentation, risk, friendship, family, empathy, sacrifice and above all LOVE. Being Spencer Hastings in this crazy world is something I still don’t quite understand, but I know it was a rare and beautiful gift. A gift that will continue to give for the rest of my days on this Earth. And I wanted to say THANK YOU to all of the people who gave it to me. To all of the people who believed in me and made it possible, to my friends and family who loved me through it and above all to YOU, the fans, who watched, who tweeted, and posted, who theorized, swooned and screamed. We got a lot out of this experience, but I would have been nothing without you. Thank you and I love you all very much. (I love you too, Spencer, you weirdo). Enjoy tonight. I know I will. #pllendgame #spencerhastings

Troian’s Farewells 

@lucyhale: Tomorrow 😭 #pllendgame

@lucyhale: I can almost remember the day about 8 years ago that we took this photo. Little did we know, our lives were about to change drastically. For me to be speechless says a lot, but I'm finding it hard to find the words to express my gratitude to every single person that made this show a success. Sometimes simple is better and I just want to say ...I will miss you Pretty Little Liars. Thanks to@imarleneking --She knows what she did ❤️ , the whole cast, hardworking crew, producers and writers and all of YOU. You became part of the family. And to Aria-- you became a part of me in a way, but I'll always keep you close ❤️

@lucyhale: I'm gonna be posting A LOT of pll stuff today so I'm apologizing in advance 🤸🏻‍♀️

@lucyhale: group "shhh" for the last episode 😭😭😭

@sashapieterse27: Today is the day. My friends. My forever #pllfamily . In this bittersweet moment (and always), I am forever grateful for these 8 years. There are no words to describe this incredible journey, but I'll do my best. We have truly created an impeccable love story thanks to the wonderful and one of a kind @imarleneking and our amazing cast and crew. I am so ridiculously grateful to each and every one of them. To our amazing fans I am most definitely forever grateful. You guys have been so loyal and passionate! You have made every second possible, worth it, gratifying, touching, and especially memorable. We truly shot every season, episode, scene, and second for you. You will always have a place in my heart. When we cried you cried, when we laughed you laughed, when we were scared you were scared, when we were mad you were mad, and when we loved you loved. We are always in sync and we always will be. Thank you for entrusting us with your time for 8 years. Let us celebrate all the fun and growth we've shared. I love love love you all more than you could ever know. Congratulations @imarleneking @sleepinthegardn @lucyhale @ashleybenson @shaymitchell @janelparrish @tylerjblackburn @ianmharding @keeoone @theandreaparker @vrayskull #lauraleighton @thehmc @niapeeples #chadlowe #nolannorth #lesleyfera @tamminsursok @brantdaugherty @brendanrobinson @codychristian @julianmorris #jimabele @huwcollins #lindsayshaw @torreydevitto #drewvanacker #brycejohnson @yanigellman #romamafia @diegoboneta #shanecoffey #lulubrud #annebethgish @chloebridges #ryanguzman #kararoyster #jimtitus and the many many many more amazing cast members who created magic. And congratulations & amen to @lisacochranpll & our entire crew and production team who made every day possible. We shared every day, every fraturday, every joy of birthdays, housewarmings, weddings, new baby's, etc. and we shared sadness as well. I am blessed to know all of you. You are forever family. It still hurts my soul to not see you every day. Another big thank you to @freeform of course! I could go on forever! But, I will leave it as pure love. Rosewood forever lives on and this is not goodbye. Love always, Sash

@sashapieterse27: Yesterday marked the end of a major chapter in my life. 

As I’m sure a few of you know, the TV show Pretty Little Liars had it’s very last finale last night. I woke up feeling sick with a huge knot in my stomach! It’s so surreal that there will be no more live “previously on Pretty Little Liars” and no more “Shhh’s” at the end of that now very iconic song. But as I joined my PLL family to watch the finale, I was hit by this wave of absolute joy. It dawned on me that this is an end to an era. A very important era, but even more importantly it was a time to celebrate. To embrace the incredibly wonderful time we all shared together and to soak in every bit of joy it had brought me and others. PLL…playing Alison has been such a crucial part of my childhood and now adulthood. From starting and graduating high school, getting my drivers license, buying my first home, getting engaged to my best friend, and now wedding planning, what a trip! I just want to thank you. I wish I could give all of you a huge hug! You have seen me grow and you have grown with me. Thank you for always sticking by me, for never giving up on me or Alison. As I enter this new chapter of my life, I hope you will continue with me. There’s so many new fun adventures I’m about to journey through and I would be so honored if you all ride along with me. My blog @sashaingoodtaste is definitely one of those adventures. Sasha in Good Taste doesn’t just stop at this blog, there’s so many more things in store (very soon) that I can’t wait to show you! Creating and entertaining is such a passion of mine and having you share that alongside me, means the absolute world to me! We. are. family. and Rosewood will forever live on! I wholeheartedly ADORE YOU! Love, Sasha…-A #prettylittleliars #pllfamily #emisonfamily #emison #emisonisendgame #sashaingoodtaste

Sasha’s Live Tweets

@ashleybenson: #bts of us watching fan videos made by all of you during our very last scene we filmed

@ashleybenson: ❤️

A post shared by Ashley Benson (@ashleybenson) on Jun 27, 2017 at 3:08pm PDT

@ashleybenson: I LOVE YOU GUYS. Thank you for coming on this journey with me and the rest of the cast for the last seven years. Without all of you watching every week none of this would've been possible. Pll was an such amazing experience and I am so lucky I got to work with the BEST cast and crew who I am now lucky enough to call family. Hope you enjoy the last episode ever of PLL ❤️

@shaymitchell: One of the hardest scenes I think for all of us to shoot- the last scene of this incredible journey... #PrettyLittleLiars #PLLGameOver #notadryeye

@shaymitchell: The streets of Rosewood will always feel like home. I will hold each of these girls close to my heart always, as I will Emily. She changed me as a person and I will never be able to say thank you enough. Thanks to the cast, crew, and of course, the fans. The little show that could kept chugging along because of all of you and I am forever grateful for the impact you all have made in my life the last 7 years. So tonight, as we say our final farewell to Rosewood, I say the biggest thanks to all of you. 💋 #PrettyLittleLiars #PLLGameOver 😥

@janelparrish: It's here. The end. Join us in watching our beautiful series finale written and directed by our fearless leader and show runner, the brilliant@imarleneking. To her, I say...thank you. Thank you for this journey...thank you for my @prettylittleliars family...thank you for Mona. Thank you for 7 years. And to the fans...thank YOU. We wouldn't be here without you. Tonight truly is for all of you. Thanks for being our #pllarmy for all these years. And never stop! To these ladies...I'll miss working alongside such beautiful and powerful women. You are all fearless warriors, my sisters✊🏻 To All of our cast and crew...my heart loves you all so much it hurts. Words don't even do this justice. I love all of you. Thank you. Enjoy our finale tonight. Xo bitches, -J

@janelparrish: Goodbye. I love you.

@janelparrish: Shout out to whoever made this. I adore it. I'll miss the many faces of Mona...which Mona was your favorite?

@ianmharding: This is the actual bar in Vancouver where we shot the infamous "Aria meets Ezra" scene. I snapped this with a disposable camera because I couldn't afford a phone with a camera. Also, Lucy is noticeably absent in all of these because I didn't want to look like an amateur and ask for a picture of the two of us. #pll

@ianmharding: Another pic from the pilot. Troian, Torrey, Julian and myself all went to Sushi one night and this is the photo I managed to grab in between sips of sake and bites Julian's favorite: Uni rolls. #pll

@ianmharding: Another one from the archives. This is the result of Ezra's "bravery on the rooftop" #pll

@ianmharding: This picture was taken in between takes of the noir episode and pretty much sums up how I want to remember my experience on PLL: looking classy while having the most hilarious time of my life. Thank you to all who have made the show what it is. I'm forever grateful. Enjoy tonight! #pll

@keeoone: As we all say goodbye to@prettylittleliars tomorrow, let's take the time to honor these powerful women that brought all of us together. ALL of us. Including YOU reading this. You're a vital part of why the show was created and why it went so far. We did it for you. Everything. Each of you held these moments and shared them with us through social media, at viewing parties, with a friend or family member...I can never express in words how truly extraordinary that is. Thank you.

@keeoone: My first day on set of @prettylittleliars - now I am watching the final minutes of the show.

@keeoone: Troian 🖤 outstanding work in that finale and always. You brought to life the answers the pll world was waiting for. 🖤 (Photo of the back of Troian's head, Alex Drake in the foreground and Spencer Hastings in the background)

@tylerjblackburn: DAD @keeoone #PLLGameOver

A post shared by Tyler Blackburn (@tylerjblackburn) on Jun 27, 2017 at 4:58pm PDT

@tylerjblackburn: Emotional 😩💔 #PLLGameOver (rg: @daily.tyler)

@vrayskull: Thank you to all of the amazing@prettylittleliars fans for watching this show about extraordinary women. I've loved every second of my #Pll time. Thank you @imarleneking and the incredible cast and crew for setting a loving, silly, welcoming tone each and every day. I'll miss playing this 3 part person and it is with a heart of gratitude that I say goodbye, bitches. #cecedrake#charlottedelaurentis #charles #ceceisa#ceceischarles #hn#cecehitalisonwitharock

@torreydevitto: The first time we ever met Melissa Hastings. Can't believe it was 7 years ago and I can't believe tonight we all say goodbye to PLL for good. What a ride, what a journey. It's been an honor to be a part of this show! Hope you all get the answers you were looking for .... 😈 #pll

@torreydevitto: Baby Hastings. 💕I'll never forget incredible bits of the conversation from this night ... 💓 #Repost@ianmharding

@torreydevitto: And I finally got to wear the black hoodie. It wouldn't have felt right to end Melissa without a black hoodie appearance even if it wasn't...really... her... But in all seriousness , thank you to this woman @imarleneking . What you have created marvels me. You are a force to be reckoned with and I am grateful you chose me to fill Melissa Hastings shoes. And thank you to all the wonderful PLL fans who have loved to hate and be completely confused by Melissa's motives since day one. Hope you're all satisfied ! I know I am 😜

@julianmorris: #pll #vsc

@julianmorris: So proud of this one. ❤️ since day one.

@drewvanacker: not in the finale, sorry, but love the #pll family forever

A post shared by Tammin Sursok (@tamminsursok) on Jun 27, 2017 at 10:16pm PDT

@tamminsursok: Goodbye Jenna. She is immortal my darlings.

@brantdaugherty: In honor of the #PLLseries finale tonight, here's an actual baby photo of me from my first episode as Noel Kahn. From party-throwing jock to headless murderer... You came a long way, Noel. 

@brendanrobinson: Tonight's the night!! Happy #PrettyLittleLiars Finale!! Thank you to all of our devoted fans for supporting us for 7 incredible seasons! Hope you guys enjoy tonight!! #PLL#pllendgame #pllforever #greatful#bestfans

@brendanrobinson: We #partied late into the night, #PLL style!! Love you guys to death @sashapieterse27 @huwcollins​ @theandreaparker @kylebown​ @empirepix @hudsonsheaffer27 #prettylittleliars #pllendgame #pllfamily #pllfinale

@huwcollins: It's not my pig, and it's not my farm, BUT it was my distinct privilege to be part of this crazy PLL ride. I am forever thankful to @imarleneking & @lisacochranpll for allowing me to bring the eponymous Rollins to life, I made great memories and even greater friends along the way, and encountered the most wonderful fans on the planet. Farewell PLL, you'll be missed. #prettylittleliars #pllendgame

@huwcollins: 😢❤️ #pll

@theandreaparker: Goodbyes are hard ...#PLLGameOver #PLL #PLLEndGame#MaryDrake #Spencer 💔

@theandreaparker: Fitting end to a fantastic night. I love my girls 💕#PLLGameOver

A post shared by Andrea Parker (@theandreaparker) on Jun 28, 2017 at 9:34pm PDT

@theandreaparker: My series wrap on#PLL...words cannot express what these girls, this show and all of you have meant to me - I love you ♥️💋🙌🏼#PLLFamilyForever #MaryDrake #MrsD

@niapeeples: Our girls are getting married!!@shaymitchell @sashapieterse27@theandreaparker #pllgameover #pll #emison

Behind The Scenes w/ Nia Peeples Part 1 | Part 2 

Lesley Fera’s Live Tweets

@lfera23: Oh, how I'm going to miss these wine-toting moms! @LauraLeighton@H_Combs #PLLGAmeOver

Lesley Fera’s Photoset

Laura Leighton’s Live Tweets 

@thehmc: It was a honor to watch all of these sweet girls grow into lovely ladies. I hope you guys enjoy the finale as much as we did making it. Thank you again to the undying fandom and all your ships. #pllendgame #pllmemorylane #pllfamily #pllgameover

@thehmc: Get ready. It's gonna be a wild ride. And I like everyone else am gonna miss this. #pllendgame #pllmemorylane #pllgameover

@H_Combs: This was like the 2nd and 3rd time we met ever. Clearly we had a tough time working together. It was rough I tell you. #PLL #PLLForever

@thehmc: Hopefully discussing the prenup. #ezriawedding #pllfinale

@thehmc: No caption needed. Just Lucy's face. @lucyhale #ezriawedding #pllfinale

Holly Marie Combs’ Photoset

@ichadlowe: Time to say goodbye! Thank you #pllArmy You are the best, most devoted fans ever! #PLLFinale

@ichadlowe: Behind the scenes of the #PLLFinale

@claireholt: My very first job in the USA 🙌. Loved working on this show. Congrats to the #PLL cast and crew on 7 A-mazing seasons (see what I did there?) 😉

@imarleneking: This was the most difficult scene to write/shoot in the finale. We are one sleep away from the end. #PLLfinale#pllmemorylane

@imarleneking: Thank you to our worldwide PLL family. We made it for7 years because of you! ❤❤

@imarleneking: It's hard to wrap my brain around the ending to this incredible journey we have taken together. PLL fans are truly the most passionate and loyal people in the world. #pllmemorylane#PLLfinale

@imarleneking: I cannot thank these beautiful souls enough for their camaraderie, ideas, dedication, passion, talent and kindness. This was the last day in our PLL Writer's Room. #Sadfaces #happypeople #prettylittleliars

Marlene’s Farewells

[zealoptics]

Hakuba Peace and Powder: The Middle Path Project

Words by Ian Wood / Photos by Jordan Ingmire

Close your eyes... 

Imagine a future without the winters we know and love. Visualize standing in the lift line as rain pours from the sky, where dry snowflakes once softly fell. Picture chair lifts sitting idle, high above barren ground, as water streams down the hillside. It’s mid February and the resorts based in lower elevations haven’t even opened. Powder days are few and far between. When the snow does show up, it's sloppy and wet as you search the forecast every week, hoping and praying for colder temperatures. Now open your eyes and realize that this future I speak of is already happening. This was the story for us in Washington State, USA in the winter season of 2014-15. Many resorts never opened, and most were shut down by the end of February. I could count the total dry powder days on one hand.

This was the first season of filming for The Middle Path Project, a series designed to open our eyes as to how we affect the environment of this world around us and how to be more aware of our impact as individuals. How do our adventures as snow enthusiasts negatively affect the season we hold so dear to our heart, and how do our every day actions affect the eco system?  Most all of our plans were based in Washington or British Columbia, Canada for that winter. We tried to stick it out as long as we could in hopes that a typical season would show up, but it never did. Days upon days, I sat staring out of my mountain house window, watching the rain pour from the sky. Our resort was about 1,000 vertical feet too low. The warm temperatures were giving the mountain peaks snow, but the lower half of the mountain was only getting rain. Needless to say, this was a reality check in our dream land. The lack of winter and the warm temperatures only drove the obvious need for awareness deeper into my mind.

Feeling incomplete after our first season filming for the project, we were determined to accomplish a second season. The list of issues to speak about is endless, so topics relating to our snowboard travels were bountiful. We needed to be more flexible and prepared for a winter like the previous one. In our minds the place with the most consistent snowfall season after season was Japan. Every January for years on end we heard the tales of 3 foot storms and waste deep powder, for what seemed to be for a month straight. Not one of us had ever been there, and we hadn’t flown anywhere the entire season before. We had learned that this form of travel has the harshest effect on the world. Who knew that burning jet fuel could have such a negative impact? With this project we wanted to be real and take on day to day issues, knowing that millions of people fly every day. Weighing out our desires, and the consequences of those desires, is the key to the Middle Path Project. With a little more research, we discovered that if we each planted 25 trees we could easily offset our carbon footprint created from the burning of the jet fuel. The dream was suddenly becoming a reality and through the adventure, I knew there would be great lessons learned, and a heightened awareness to be shared.

Living a lifestyle not based on monetary gains makes month long trips across the world a bit tricky. It takes a real LIFE pro to get that balance dialed. The experienced crew aligned for the adventure ahead. Sean, Mark, Tyler, Jordan, Ryan and myself decided to go in early February. Our hopes were in favor of a nice base being established, to form pillows and spines. With fear in our minds from the season before, we also wanted to cover our ass and make sure we had something to work with. Mother Nature once again was not complying with our self made list of dreams and desires. Japanuary had not arrived and once again we were faced with our plans being disrupted by a lack of winter. We had all of our eggs in one basket: Hakuba. Through all of our connections of friends that had traveled there and what we had seen from edits already produced, this was the destination we were set on. In our minds the North Island just didn’t have the terrain we yearned for. Steep lines, spines, flutes, pillows, chutes; all of these things were talked about in this one location. The North was getting the snow but we weren’t looking to plow through waist deep powder down hills barely steep enough to slash. We wanted to be scared and holding on to a wild ride.

It wasn't an easy choice to pull the trigger on going to Japan. Hearing labels of worst season in decades had our minds churning. Up until the week we were supposed to take off, we were still discussing pulling out. We'd heard rumors that brought back nightmares of the season prior. Chairs not spinning, snow not coming, pillows not formed, and face shots not happening. It was a dangerous choice in retrospect, but something pulled Sean, the videographer, and I to make the commitment. It took some convincing to get the guys to invest their hard earned money into what looked like a terrible decision, but fortunately they trusted in our intuition. We boarded the plane and took off to the land of the rising sun.

I set out on a personal journey to make as little impact on Japan as I could. By committing to collect my trash for the whole trip, I could reflect on the garbage trail I left behind in the places I visit. I was determined to bring home what couldn’t be recycled and in turn have less of an impact on someone else’s homeland. We are all just visitors to this planet as a whole, so this appears to be a universal approach that should wisely be applied to how each of us live.

Trash was one of the first issues that really connected with my vision for a better way. How insane it is that a species so advanced in some technologies, still creates materials that aren’t biodegradable. Instead they dig big holes in the ground and bury this non-compostable material, leaving it for a future generation to deal with. All the while that it lays buried, these toxic products leach chemicals into our soil and our waterways. That is how we do it in the US. Out of sight, out of mind seems to be the strategy. We wrap our extraordinary little plastic bins with magical plastic bags to stick all of our plastic garbage in. Then a waste management magician comes and takes it all away, eliminating the need to ever be concerned about the ramifications or the impact of this constant and never-ending flow of toxic waste.  How convenient!

Getting from the airport in Tokyo to our destination was no small task. Language barriers, missed busses and long strolls through roads had us on a journey from the beginning. After searching by braille through the darkness of night, the crew finally got settled in Hakuba. We found ourselves in a room situated at the bottom of Happo-one. The 6 of us were anxious to learn the bus system and how to get to and from the 10 resorts situated in and around town. Japan must have felt us making a conscious effort because she laid out the white carpet. Just days before we showed up it had begun to snow. The base areas were barren right before we arrived and it seemed to be another winter that wasn’t going to show. The story was very similar to ours the year before. Snowing up high and raining at the bottom. This provided a very unique recipe for interesting adventures. The high alpine had a very dense, stable snow pack. It would snow a bit most every day and then the sun would show its face for safe adventures in the new snow. Low terrain had very low snow coverage so some of the runs down to the road got pretty hairy on the way out. We picked our way around town and took in which resorts were best for each particular day. We found Cortina and Tsugaika were best on stormy days, in the trees with low visibility. Goryu and Happo-one held the rock star big mountain terrain to race to on sunny powder days.

Our minds were blown away by the terrain and the scale of the Japanese Alps. Every corner we turned or peak we summited revealed another oasis. We connected with local legends Shin Biyajima, Kenji Kato, Endo, and Die-Go. They opened their hearts and exposed us to some of the hidden gems tucked away in the Zen-filled alpine. Spine arms that went from mountain top to valley floor, each arm had what seemed to be hundreds of smaller spine arms that branched off from them. 

Chutes, pillows, all of our dreams were tucked in the nooks and crannies of Hakuba’s backcountry.

We didn’t only come to Japan for great shred, but also to soak in another cultural influence on the planet. Were the people here more ecologically aware than our people? What kind of systems were in place in Hakuba for trash, recycling and reuse? The first thing that caught my eye was the amount of packaging in each and every store. Sometimes things were wrapped 3 times in one package. The amount of plastic used was shocking. Walking through Lawson convenient store, it was tough to find anything not thoroughly wrapped in plastic. We share this problem in my home country, due to a lack of awareness of what ends up happening with all of those plastic materials. Our Oceans carry the frightening results of this neglectful manner of dealing with our non-biodegradable waste. As I walked the streets and visited the local resorts, I did encounter a much more advanced recycling system: bottle cap recycling and several bins for all sorts of materials. That was very inspiring to see! The PET program for single use plastic bottles was also advanced. After taking a visit to the local incinerator, we got a deeper look into the systems of the city. We observed the separating of reusable materials, the process of incinerating, and how a different culture views its trash as well as waste management. I did sense a similar disconnection to the process, much like I feel here in the states.

What the Middle Path Project originally set out to do was look deeper into cause and effect. Through this knowledge we can begin to change and create a closer connection with the karmic results of our actions. Regardless of how we treat our trash, there is no where to throw it away. It will always be a part of the system. So instead we should look into how to stop creating “trash”; especially the kind that does not readily decompose. All of our negative impact affects the ecosystem, and you can see the toxic effect of man in every system. From ocean acidification, deforestation, soil degradation, air pollution to climate change. It is all one big system that in the end will affect our winters for the coming generations... and even our own.

The trip came to an end and I was sitting with a mountain of trash. I sorted through every piece, recycled what I could, and sent paper products to the incinerator. The rest I brought home to the US to put into our plastic recycling programs and our own landfill. Why do we have the right to visit other people’s homes and leave our trash? Why do we have the right to do it in our own homes? The generations to come will eventually have to deal with our destructive unconscious decisions. Through our experiences in Hakuba, Japan we were able to learn and grow. Curiosity of how other people do things sparked many ideas of how we can strive to do them better. We rode spines, mingled with Serow’s, jumped down pillows, got scared, ate ramen, onsened as much as we could, drank sake, and most importantly gained awareness. Hakuba treated us with great hospitality and it will always have a special place in our hearts. With a bag full of trash, I awkwardly hopped onto my flight home.

In our minds we have created imaginary boundaries that separate us in too many ways. States, countries, religions, beliefs, ethnicities, these delusions exist in fragile agreements that we unconsciously fabricate as truth. When we start talking about the preservation of this planet, those lines immediately disappear. Air, Water, Pollution, Contamination; these things don’t abide to such man-made hallucinations. If the people where I live unconsciously destroy “their” land, air, and waterways, it destroys a significant part of the one planet we share. It’s time to unite as one species, and begin to share in the caring for the one being that sustains the very things necessary for a happy, healthy life. What on Earth would we do without her?

Thank You Hakuba. 

Peace and Powder, 

The Middle Path Project

See more of Ian Wood’s snowflake-filled snowboarding adventures here or on his Instagram @eanwood.