#like can you imagine if t/ang didn’t speak up

[hismentor]

am i back to thinking about how swk had no one else to blame for the samadhi fire and decided to punch down by attempting to attack macaque ?

perhaps

[supraveng]

Moving On (3/?)

part 2

Summary: you have to confront your past….what could go wrong

Characters:  Sam Winchester x reader, former Bucky Barnes x reader, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Steve Rogers, Thor Odinson, Bruce Banner, Kevin Tran, Dick Roman, Maria Hill, Nick Fury

Word Count: 2508

A/N:  sorry for the delay on part 3, (work has been crazy)....hoping to post the next chapter next week

does not follow any MCU story line; attempting an MCU/SPN crossover; let me know if you want to be tagged in the next chapters

@iamwarrenspeace   

@mythandmagik    @lieswithoutfairytales   @bbmommy0902  @hailmary-yramliah  @jessyballet  @paryl @tcc-gizmachine @vicmc624​

You were in a daze and barely remembered getting back to your room, you heard Sam talking but you couldn’t grasp anything other than Thor telling you about your pregnancy.  Something that you would never expect to happen and you were certainly not ready for.  

“Sweetheart? Are you ok?” Sam looked at you worryingly.  

“Yea, uh, I um, I’m ok” you nodded “I am in need of a shower and uh, yea.”  Looking up at Sam, you saw the biggest smile on his face 

“I can tell you are worried, and I know this wasn’t your plan, but I’m so happy right now I can’t help it. We’re having another baby!” he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a comforting hug.  

“I love you so much, Sam” just a hug from him helped your anxious thoughts to quiet down for a few moments.  “Wanna join me in the shower?” you winked as you turned and headed towards the bathroom.

Making your way back to the common room, after a very long and rejuvenating shower, you tried your best to focus on what to do next.  Your head is spinning, as excited as you are about having another child, this wasn’t planned and kind of throws everything out of whack.  

You huff as you plop down on the couch next to Kevin, watching Morgan and Joy have a tea party in the middle of the room with all of their favorite animals.  

“So Kev, we are probably heading home tomorrow, so if there is anything you want to see while in NY, now is your chance” you tell him knowing he’s been enjoying this trip as much as you have.  

“Oh, I thought we’d be here longer, I was hoping to catch a show, but I haven’t been able to find affordable tickets, so maybe next time” he shrugs in response.

“Don’t be silly, I’m sure i can have Tony pull some strings and get you tickets for tonight, or we could move your return flight home, whichever you prefer really. Anything for Kevin Tran, world’s best nanny” you smile at him and see the small blush on his cheeks from the praise.  

“I’m serious, whatever you need, just say the word, you have no idea how relieved I am when she’s with you, because I know you take such good care of her, I don’t worry for a minute, you Kevin, are a Godsend if there ever was one”

You could tell Kevin was a bit taken back, but he rarely took a compliment well so you simply squeezed his hand and offered a sincere smile before being interrupted by Sam as he joined the girls on the floor for tea.   

“What do my girls say to a picnic then maybe a trip to the park?”   

"That sounds like a great plan, but I have an appointment with Maria after lunch so I can't make it to the park, I'm sorry sweetie" you tell them as you go to join them for tea.  

"Well, we could picnic here and maybe play down at the lake, I'm sure Tony has a kayak or canoe I can take the girls on." Sam tells you as you adjust the flower crown on his head so it  doesn't fall in his eyes.  

"Are you sure you want to take care of 2 kids by yourself? I gave Kevin the rest of the day off"

"Of course, and I need the practice" he winks as he starts to tickle the girls.  "Ok, then I will get our lunch ready while you help the girls out of these beautiful gowns and into some play clothes''

 Lunch was an event, although both girls were always well behaved, they had a tendency to make a mess, or get distracted and try to follow the butterfly that came by for a visit.  By the time you were done, you were rushing to meet Maria in time, knowing that being late was not an option.   

You knew what needed to be done but not sure how she would take the info about Roman getting away, hopefully the few of his lackeys that were picked up would get you some important info.  

By the time you made it back to the compound you were mentally exhausted, and apparently your clan had a good day as they were spread out in the common room watching The Little Mermaid.  You had to laugh at how engrossed in the movie the adults in the room seemed to be, and was Steve singing along...no, you had to be imagining that.  

Finding a seat next to Nat, you looked around fondly at your two families combining so nicely.  

“So how did she take it?” Natasha whispered without taking her eyes off the screen.  

You hadn’t told anyone what your full intention of today’s meeting was, as far as everyone knew, you were going over the mission report and strategizing the next steps, but Nat always knew everything….now that you were having two kids, you really needed to figure out how to do that.  

“Well, she’s not thrilled but understands, Furry asked if he had to buy me a farm….whatever that means” you responded shaking your head.  

She snickered and simply responded with “Clint”, you hadn’t even thought of that, “ah, well, Sam Winchester is not the Mr. Mom type, so this is my only option”    

“And are you ok with that?” she asks, finally turning and looking at you. 

“Honestly, I can’t imagine anything better” you sigh as you look over at Joy napping on Sam’s chest.  

“Good, you deserve all the happiness in the world” she gives you a small hug.  “And Tony’s throwing a dinner tonight, since you are leaving tomorrow, so be prepared”  

You roll your eyes in jest, knowing Tony would probably do something like that, “well, in that case, I’m going to try and take a nap before dinner”.   

Getting up you make your way to Sam and bend over to place a small kiss on his head, “I’m going to try and grab a nap, do you two want to join me?” you whisper in his ear, not wanting to interrupt anyone’s movie time…..and now I’m certain Steve is singing along ang actually knows all the songs.  

He smiles and nods, following behind you and into the room you are staying in

Sam got Joy settled in her crib before turning back to me, pulling me into a much needed hug.  “How do you always know when I need you?” you mumbled into his chest.  

“That’s my job” he smiled down at you “so I take it the meeting didn’t go well?”  

"It went as well as could be expected, I'm just trying to wrap my head around the time frame I gave them. Two weeks is a bit short to transition my cases to someone else and pack up my apartment but, the sooner the better I suppose" you are rambling as Sam put Joy in her crib and is now sitting on the bed watching you. 

"You are relocating?  Are you moving back to NY? I didn't realize that was an option when you made this trip…..does this have anything to do with Bucky?" he barely whispers with a worried look on his face. 

"What? Sam, no, none of this has to do with Bucky" you aren't sure why he thought that and look at him confused.  

"I…..I remember how broken hearted you were when we met, if you still love him, I would like to know…..I deserve to know since you are the mother of my children" you had never seen Sam so distressed in your life.  

He was the most confident man you had ever met, the lawyer that owned the courtroom as soon as he walked in.  You couldn't believe that he would ever be concerned with someone you used to date. 

"Oh Sam" you hold his face in your hands as you settle in his lap. "There is nothing left between Bucky and I, he was a part of my past, and might be a friend in the future,  but you are the only man I have ever truly loved with my entire being" looking into his eyes you see some relief so you lean in and kiss him softly but passionately. 

"The meeting was my resignation, or retirement as SHIELD prefers to call it. I'm leaving DC so we can all be together in Kansas all the time."  

He looks at you shocked "you quit? You love your job, I didn't think you would ever leave."  

You smile at him "I do, I love my job, but my family,  you, our kids are so much more important than any job could ever be" 

"Our kids" he whispers as you runs his hand over your stomach "we're having another baby and our family will all be under one roof….this has been an incredible day" he looks at you lovingly before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you as close to him as possible. 

"I'm sorry I didn't explain that before I left, but you know how exhausted I was the first time, there's no way I could continue this case on Roman being pregnant. Speaking of, do you think we could change the wedding date?  If we stick with our current plan, I'll be a whale walking down the aisle" you grimace at the thought of waddling in a wedding dress. 

He chuckles at you before kissing you, "whatever you want is fine by me"  

"Do you think your mom would be ok with us planning something small in the next month or so, before I start showing?" 

He laughs at your excitement to move things along so quickly "mom would love it, she works well under pressure"  

"Ok, let's try to rest before your princess wakes up" Sam and you snuggle into the bed wrapped up in each other's arms.  

It felt like you had just closed your eyes when you suddenly felt the bed shift.  Opening your eyes slowly, you came face to face with beautiful hazel eyes, had it not been for the giggles and tiny hands patting your cheek, you might have thought you were looking at Sam.  

“Joy sweetie” you whisper “how did you get out of your crib?” pulling her down to snuggle with you a bit longer.  

“Tevin hep me out” she giggles again before getting up and climbing over you to sit on Sam’s torso.  He didn’t move, but you could tell by his breathing that he was awake, and most likely ready to strike on Joy at any moment.  

It’s one of the things you love when you are all under one roof.  Not living in the same state is hard, and you both worked really hard to make things as normal as possible for Joy, but seeing them together, simple little things like this made your heart swell.  

She adored her dad, and had no idea it wasn’t normal for you to all be in the same house, but that would soon change.  Before you were too lost in your thoughts, Joy was squealing while Sam was tickling her, the fake sleep surprise attack never failed. 

Looking at them you laughed and attempted to get out of the bed, but you heard Sam whisper “let’s get mommy” and before you knew it, you were being tickled and attacked by both of them.  

By the time the three of you made it to dinner, everyone was there and of course Tony had everything catered and a full staff serving, and of course he needed to make a toast to make sure everyone knew it was an official ‘family’ dinner. 

 Clinking his glass he raised it in the air and everyone followed suit, you were about to grab the wine glass but quickly changed to the water in front of you.  

“To an ever expanding family, salut” Tony cheered as everyone followed suit and took a drink.  The table was full of laughter and chatter from everyone, even Morgan and Joy were chatting away as the best of friends. 

“So Sam” Bruce turned toward Sam “how did you propose to Y/N?” for some reason, that question got most of the tables attention and everyone was looking at the two of you.  

“Well, which time?” Sam asked with a smirk.   

You knew that this would come to bite you in the ass one day, but you had hoped it was with Sam’s family, not yours.  

“Wait…..you proposed more than once?” Steve asked, you could tell he was trying to seem like it was an innocent question, but he was really trying to understand the person you had become since you left NY.  

“Three times to be exact” Sam said with more confidence than you had expected.  You shook your head knowing everyone expected an explanation and you were about to speak when Sam squeezed your hand under the table. 

“Well, the first time was when we found out that our little Joy was on the way.  However, in Y/N defense, we were only together 3 or 4 months at that point, so it probably felt a bit rushed.   The second was about 15 minutes after Joy was born and it was a very emotional day for all of us.  The successful proposal was just a few months ago, and we went on a little road trip, and I proposed at the same chapel where her parents were married” Sam turned to you fondly and placed a sweet kiss on your cheek.  

“Wow, you are even more difficult than Pepper, I never realized that before” Tony smirked as he lifted his glass.  

“Very funny, Tony.   In my defense, the first two were spur of the moment emotional proposals and not thought through.  I didn’t refuse, but knew that you needed to really think things out before taking such a big step” you tried to explain your reasoning, but not sure if it was for yourself or everyone else. 

“They may have been spur of the moment, but they were most definitely thought through” Sam replies with a smug look while still eating and assisting your daughter with her meal.  

You looked up at him a bit confused and was about to ask more when he continued by bringing your hand to his lips and gently kissing your knuckles.  

“I bought that ring after our 3rd date, I just had to convince you that I wanted you for who you are and not what you have given to me since we met.”  

You were shocked, you had no idea he knew for that long that he wanted this life with you, it had all felt it just happened and you went with it.  You were actually speechless at this point and could see the glint in his eyes as you processed what he said.   Leaning in, you kissed him gently and looked into those amazing hazel eye, this is where you always belonged. 

[fanfictionfansmiction]

Waiting For You

This is a long one you guys! A Fred Weasley Reader Insert I hope you enjoy. As I’ve started writing I’m beginning to see a lot of them follow the same patterns so please do send in requests so I can write something a bit different :) If you want a part two I would be more than happy to oblige

Word Count: 3597

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I sat down at my desk once more. Clearing away the papers and notes the never-ending week had collected. The small lamp cast a heavenly glow scattered through the leaves of my plants. Quietly I opened my draw pulling out my notebook filled with letters I would never send. Turning to the next empty page I intended to spill every last moment into. The movement of the pen ales the headache growing deep in my mind and I lose myself entirely in the act of it. Not particularly caring for the words I write. Just knowing that all day I waited keeping them safe for this moment finally letting them free. Outside of my bedroom I hear him move, speaking to someone I assume to be George or one of his other siblings. Animated and joyous. The thought brings a smile to my lips. They laugh together over something small I imagine.  

Finally finished with my letter I close the notebook placing it back in its spot. I settle myself turning off the light as I go to join my friends. George opens his arms wide offering me a hug which Angelina joins in. They tell us of their most recent trip and of how warm Greece was this time of year.

“And we have a little surprise.” George says wiggling his eyebrows gleefully. Angelina breaks into a dazzling smile showing me and Fred her left hand where a sweet diamond ring sits on her finger. Now I envelope the two of them into a hug which Fred joins us. Squeezing all of us together.

“Knew you could do it mate.” Fred says clapping his brother on the back giving George a proud look.  

“Let me see the ring Ang.” I say holding my hand to her which she eagerly abides placing her hand dramatically into mine. I see the love in her face when she gazes at George as I look at the ring.  

“Yes, Angelina we must see the ring!” Fred adds in a comical tone standing next to me taking in the engagement ring.

“It’s beautiful, you did well George.”

“Did you ever doubt me?” He adds planting a kiss on Angelina’s cheek.

“Never.” She responds.

Me and Fred send each other a look which says god this is grossly adorable. Angelina and George are in their own little bubble just staring at each other.  

“I think this calls for champagne don’t you Fred.” I say.

“Absolutely couldn’t think of a more appropriate occasion! We’ll just pop to the Muggle shop and get some.” Fred adds grabbing my hand and my bag as we make a swift exit out of the front door. The cold night doesn’t mask the strange look taking over Fred's face. I’m not sure why but he looks sad.

“Did you know he was going to propose?” I ask him.  

For a moment he doesn’t respond but he does look down at me leaving a pregnant pause between the two of us.

“I didn’t know he when he was going to do it but I had an idea it would be soon. I actually helped him pick out the ring a few months ago.” he looks away, “I can see that look on your face don’t worry I am happy for them. It’s just strange. It’s very grown up of him.” he looks back at me and continues without any probing, “It’s stupid but me and George always moved at the same pace. I feel like I’m falling behind a little. Do you ever feel like maybe there’s something wrong with us?” he asks.

“Because we aren’t engaged?”  

“Well more because we’re single, you know Ron and Hermione have moved in together. Harry and Ginny are only not engaged because they want to wait but they’re practically married. They’re all younger than us. It’s like everyone we know has found someone they want to be with. But here we are buying celebratory champagne for a happy couple.” He says turning the corner to walk down the next street.

“I don’t think that’s wrong of us Fred. If you worried about not being lovable.” I look up at him, “Then you don’t need to worry, I haven’t met someone who didn’t love you.” I’m thankful for the dark as I feel a blush grow on my cheeks.

“Are you keeping count.” He laughs leaving another pause before continuing, “You don’t have anything to worry about it either. You are extremely lovable.”  

Even though it’s cold out tonight I begin to sweat under my jumper. Thankfully we approach the shop so the conversation of love disperses into the wind.

“Now how happy would you say we are for the happy couple, £7.50 happy or £20 happy?” I ask holding up the two bottles. Fred pretends to read the labels before choosing the cheaper bottle.

“I love them both but I don’t love them enough to spend £20 on sparkling wine. Did you want some snacks while we’re here?” He asks.

“Yeah, I’ll just grab some stuff on the way to the till.”  

With an armful of appropriate snacks and drinks we wander back to the house. Opening up the bag of cheese puffs to eat on the walk.

“When was the last time you went on a date?” Fred asks out of nowhere.

“Oh, uh it was a month ago with that muggle who worked as a chef.”

“You went on a few dates with him didn’t you. He was alright. Why didn’t it go any further?” He asks tentatively.  

“Well, he just didn’t feel right. He was constantly talking about himself and just didn’t do it for me sexually to be honest.” I say popping a cheese puff into my mouth. This causes Fred to laugh so loud I’m worried we’re disturbing people who live in the houses we pass.

“Poor guy, since we’re being honest, I did hate that twat.” This time I laugh and whack his chest. “What he was always judging me and he laughed when he saw me making breakfast! Also, the way he looked at you made my skin crawl.” He adds.

“How did he look at me?” I shriek with laughter.

“Like he was always thinking about sex. By the sounds of it he was always thinking about having bad sex with you. And that moustache only made it worse.”

“What about you how long has it been for you?” I ask.

“What since I had bad sex or had a date?” he responds with a laugh, “It’s been a long time, I just haven’t found anyone I’m interested in spending time with.”

“You don’t have to tell me about the sex the ladies you bring home aren’t quiet.” I add.

“You little perv.” Fred laughs.  

When we get back into the house, we hear music playing from the living room where George and Angelina are dancing together. Holding each other close with content smiles playing on their lips mouthing the words to an old muggle song that plays on our record player. For a moment me and Fred just stand there watching them. I can’t tell you what he’s thinking but I know what’s running through my mind. The longing to be held in such a loving way. To have someone look at you like that and to look at someone like that. Looking up at Fred I see that he is now looking at me. Something tugs inside my chest. He places a hand on the small of my back and for just a second I think he’s going to ask me to dance with him, the image of that intimacy brings a blush to my face. Instead, he guides me into the kitchen where we drop the snacks on the counter. While I source our second-hand champagne flutes, last used on the opening of the joke shop, Fred pops the sparkling wine. We pour out four glasses in silence.

George and Angelina walk into the kitchen taking a glass each. George lifts his glass toward us and we do the same, then he tips it toward Angelina who intertwines her arm with his.  

“To love.” George says.

“To love.” Angelina mirrors.  

Fred and I look to each other, with a cheeky grin on his face he links his arm with mine. With his skin touching mine a strange feeling once again tugs inside me as we drink.

We finish off the two bottles of sparkling wine, with the aid of the bubbles and the alcohol I do end up dancing with Fred. He takes my hand and rests another on the small of my back which still burning from the last time his hand rested there. I was so close I could smell his apple shampoo and his aftershave. Sometime late in the night George and Angelina went back to their home but me and Fred kept dancing. My head leant against his chest with just his cotton t shirt keeping me from his skin but I still could hear his heart thud. His hands made their way up the back of my shirt so he explored my bare skin. Drawing his fingers to follow my spine. I didn’t stop him. When I looked up at him, he was once again looking at me. In a way I’d never seen him look before. My hands slid up to secure themselves around his neck and his still danced under my shirt.

We stopped dancing. Minutes passed and we just stood there. Hearts racing and bodies pressed together. Slightly breathless and definitely reddening. The last song on the record played out so we no longer had music it was just the two of us holding each other with the song of our hearts beating. Fred slowly brought his face down to mine so our noses brushed against each other. My eyes fluttered closed. Just as we were about to kiss the home phone rang. My eyes opened and the spell had broken. With the shrill ring of the phone dragging us out of the moment Fred and I looked at each other again. Not with the yearning that there was before but with confusion. I was the first to step away making it to the phone just before it rang out.  

It was someone Fred had given his number to on a night out. I passed the phone to him walking back to my room like dog with its tail between his legs. When I close the door, I press my forehead against it panting. I can hear him talk on the phone for a few minutes when he hangs up, I assume he’ll go to bed but what I didn’t expect was for him to walk up to my door and to just stand there. His shadow dancing with mine. Once again, I hear him breathing. I feel his name at the tip of my tongue and I almost let myself say it.  

Instead, he says mine.

In a breath I open my door. He is waiting for me with lips parted. I’m unsure of what he’s going to do and I think he is too. Like something completely out of his control brought him to my door.  

“How was she?” I ask.

But he doesn’t answer. He steps toward me closing the space between us again. His hands find their way to my face and he leaves them there. Searching my face for an answer to a question he has yet to ask. But I feel it. Deep inside me I hear the question and I know the answer. I place my hand on his cheek too his face hot. This time I bring my face up to his letting our noses brush together for a moment. This is all it takes for him to kiss me. Fiery with the taste of champagne still on his lips. His hands explore me in the way they had only began to do a moment ago. Mine begin to do the same to him. My hands running up his shirt to feel his chest and his heart beating beneath it. Before I know what happening we’re both shirtless and I’m perched on my dresser while he kisses every inch of bare skin.  

We both lose any control we had earlier in the night after we’ve made our way to the bed still panting and touching one another. I learn why the ladies he brings home always make so much noise and I’m so thankful I didn’t keep dating the muggle.  

After we just lay there in bed staring up at the ceiling. I turn my head to look at Fred who once more is still looking at me. As ridiculous as it sounds considering what we’ve just done I feel very aware that I’m naked next to Fred. A shyness takes over me and I have to resist sitting up and getting under the covers. Fred sensing my mood change leans over his side of the bed picking up his t-shirt that lay on the floor and gives it to me to wear. After I’ve put it on, he suggests we get under the duvet considering how cold it gets at night in this house. I don’t ask him if he wants to go back to his bed and he doesn’t offer. I lay my head on his bare chest and his hand draws circles along my back once more.

I fall into sleep easily next to Fred who’s steady breathing I eventually match.  

The morning sun lights up my room and I lie in Fred’s arms recounting the night before. Already panicked about how to talk to him now. This wasn’t some guy I was dating and I wasn’t some girl he brought back from a club. We live together.  

He shifts stretching and yawning opening his eyes. He smiles in a way that makes me want to not worry about what’ll happen because of last night. He tugs me closer into his chest and plants a kiss onto the top of my head. I melt into his touch and sigh contently.

“So that was...” I trail off already annoyed that I started the conversation.  

“Really good.” He answers.

“Yes, I have to agree with you there.”  

We just lay there together for a while both now aware of the closeness and the familiarity of it all. I don’t prompt him for more conversation about what had happened last night out of fear that he’ll dismiss it as a onetime thing. Well aware that the feeling tugging inside my chest wasn’t anything new. Knowing that a few steps away from me in my desk are letters all addressed to Fred telling all him all the things I couldn’t say. If this didn’t even mean anything to him how could I live in this house with him without breaking my heart every time I see him or think about him.

“Would you want to go on a date with me?” He asks me.

I turn my head to look up at him from his chest and he looks nervous. Biting his lip and playing with his hair with his free hand.

“Yes. Absolutely let's do that.” I answer.

Then my alarm goes off signalling I have work in an hour and a half. I sigh and peel myself away from Fred with frustrated look.

“I have to get ready.”  

“I knew it was coming don’t worry, I have some shop manager stuff to do today anyway so it’s for the best. I mean I never thought I’d be able to leave you naked in bed.” He jokes.

“You’ve thought about me naked.” I blush as I stand up from the bed wrapping myself in a dressing gown.

“Well, we’ve known each other a long time and you are the most beautiful girl I’ve met so yes. And if I hadn’t, I probably would’ve just gone to sleep last night instead of just waiting for you to open the door. And to be honest -“ He gets cut off by the house phone ringing. He groans pulling on his boxers and plodding out of the room over to the house phone.  

I follow him out in need of a cup of coffee. I mime to him to ask he wants one which he does so I go into the kitchen to boil the kettle.

“Oh Hayley, I didn’t expect you to call again.” I hear him say until the kettle drowns it out.

After the coffee is made Fred makes his way into the kitchen with a guilty look on his face. He kisses me thanking me for the drink insisting that he’ll make breakfast while I shower and get dressed for work. After I’m dressed, I make my way to the kitchen, where Fred looks proudly at the plate, he’s dished up with a glass of orange juice and a rose from the neighbour's garden complementing the chocolate sauce smiley face he’s drawn over my pancake.  

“Why that muggle ever laughed at your culinary skills I’ll never know.” I joke sliding into my seat next to Fred.

“About other people...” he starts, “So Hayley the girl from last night phoned again and she asked me if...”

“If?”

“If I wanted to go on a date with her.”

“And do you?”

Fred shakes his head, “No I don’t which I did tell her but it brings me to something I did want to talk to you about.”

“What’s that?” I ask taking a bite of my pancakes.

“I know last night, before we,” he gestures between the two of us, “which by the way was incredible, we talked about the both of us being single and I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I didn’t sleep with you because I’m scared about being alone. I did it because it felt right. Whatever this is between us it feels right to me.”  

“It feels right to me too.” I add holding his hand in mine.

“Great, so how do you feel about a date tonight?”

“Tonight, works perfectly for me.” I say smiling at him but my second alarm goes off to let me know I have to leave for work so I kiss Fred before I go.

The work days go quickly which I’m thankful for. On the entire walk back to the house I’m smiling like a love sick teenager. When I arrive home, Fred hasn’t yet made it back from work so I draw myself a bath to relax. While I’m relaxing in the lavender scented bath, I hear Fred call to let me know he’s home. I unlock the bathroom door and shout back to him. He opens the door peaking his head in like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to look.  

“How was work?” I ask him.

“Agonising.” he answers in a strained tone.

“Why?” I laugh.

“Well, I spent all day thinking about you obviously.” he walks into the bathroom leaning down to kiss me.

“So, what’s the plan for our date tonight?” I ask.

“That’s a surprise.” He says kissing me again.  

After I’ve finished getting ready, I find myself standing outside Fred’s door feeling once again overcome with shyness. I’d spent the entire day not thinking about what it all meant between me and Fred, I was focused on how it felt last being with him and letting every desire I have for him take over. It was all instinct and I’m not particularly good on acting on it. What if he doesn’t like the dress I’m wearing. Or what if we start dating and it all ends terribly leaving me without all my friends. Or what if-

“See it’s very unnerving standing outside someone’s door isn’t it.” I hear Fred say from inside his room.

“How does it feel for you being on the other side of it?” I respond.

“Still pretty nerve wracking.” He laughs still not opening the door.

“Fred.” I say and he says my name back to me. “We aren’t making a mistake, are we?” I ask.

“Mistake?” he says swinging open the door with fear taking over his eyes, “Why would we be making a mistake.” He asks looking down at me.

“Well, if we start dating it's not the same as starting out with someone from the first date. I know you better than I know anyone. I mean we live together Fred. Where are we starting from? What are we to each other?”

He takes my hand and leads me further into his room so there’s not much space between us, “We are two people who have always cared for each other. You are one of my dearest friends and I think that’s what dating is right? That’s why I never make it onto a date because why would I when I have someone like you, someone I trust with everything. Every time I’d bring a girl home and it got to the talking, I wasn’t interested in it because I would always keep thinking of you. About something that would make you laugh.  So, it may make it all a bit more complicated because I think about you all the time as it is but I want to do this. I can’t tell you where we’re starting because I don’t know where we stand but I’m willing to figure it out if you are.”  

“Okay Freddie. We can figure it out together.”  

He breathes a sigh of relief pulling me in for a hug, squeezing me tight.  

[angelasscribbles]

20 Questions

Thanks so much for the tag @karahalloway!

Nickname: Angie, Ang, gela, and if you’re my ex-husband psycho bitch from hell (said with affection, believe it or not lol)

Zodiac Sign: Aries (the best sign lol)

Height: 5’7

Last Movie I saw: Either Serenity or Cruella, I am behind on my movie watching

Last thing I Googled: political fixer (You’ll understand when the next chapter of Complicated drops, lol, my reason is the same as Kara’s….it’s all about the fan fiction!)

Favorite Musician: singular, not a band? Billy Joel

Song Stuck in my head: Two of them currently: Savage Love by Jason Derulo and Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish

Other Blogs: https://angela-harrison.com/and also, like @karahalloway I haven’t updated since before I started writing fan fiction.

Blogs Following:tons of them, mostly TRR related at the moment

Sleep Patterns: hahaha. Bed somewhere between 1 and 4 am, awake whenever the toddler decides I’m awake. My sleep is trash. I have stupid trouble falling asleep, but once I’m asleep I can sleep forever, if only my kids would let me……

Lucky Numbers: 10

What am I wearing: currently? Yoga pants and a t-shirt.

What would I do if capitalism didn’t exist: spend all day writing most likely

Dream Trip: Ireland.

Favourite Food: Potatoes any way you cook them and Mexican food, or I guess, more properly, Tex-Mex.

Instruments I play: none

Languages I speak: English and sarcasm hahaha. I understand some Spanish, french Italian and Latin. I speak a little Spanish. Muy, muy poco.

Favourite Songs: Code of Silence and The Stranger by Billy Joel, Against the Wind by Bob Seger, Believer by Imagine Dragons.

Random facts about me: Edgar Allen Poe is my favorite Poet and Alone by him is my favorite Poem. I have a lot of kids. Baseball is my favorite sport. Football is up there. Texas Rangers and Dallas Cowboys fan. I cut my teeth on sci-fi/fantasy books. I love horror and all my unpublished short stories are horror. My other blog is full of flash fiction. I love the outdoors. I went through a phase, as a teenager, where I was addicted to reading books about soldiers in Vietnam. (I was obsessed, wrote a paper in college about it, got an A), I live on a farm, I can ride a horse. I lived in a hippie commune when I was four. I’m a bit of an amateur photographer. I was a theater kid and did community theater as an adult.

Tagging @burnsoslow @nestledonthaveone@gkittylove99 @secretaryunpaid @queenrileyrose and anyone else that wants t play!

[la-luna-es-hermosa]

EXO Reaction to a Filipino Idol

Note: Bruh I think I have overdone this reaction. This reaction is made from a request by an anon! I am so excited to finally receive an ask! But yes I did make this reaction extra special because of my hiatus. Sorry for not being active anymore because I have been addicted to osu and other rhythm games (Arcaea and Superstar SM). I have also been in a new fandom (in my profile picture) I know I gotta stay loyal for my boy Jongin but I just can’t. For this blog, I will still accept requests, still active, but I will be more active in @kuwurapikaaa​ ! If you want hunter x hunter, the arcana, jjba and A3! content, check that blog up too! I am finishing drafts there as well - MeiQI

Junmyeon

You guys met at one of the designer parties he attends to. Despite being in the same industry, you guys haven’t really faced each other. He was probably too busy tending to his members.

In that moment, he finally had enough courage or time to actually talk to you. He really liked how you guys shared many struggles, from trainee days and even today. “I really understood your struggles back then. Adjusting to a new country and lifestyle is really hard.” He said to you as he patted your shoulders.

Junmyeon would give out flowers every promotion you had. Even if your group didn’t win, you always get a bouquet from him. Your members started assuming that he has a liking on you.

Your family started to notice his actions as well. “Are you sure that Junmyeon isn’t courting you?” Your concerned father asked. He loves his unica hija (lit. unique daughter, in context: only daughter) too much to just let her go with a mere guy. He has to know more about Junmyeon before letting his child date him.

It seemed like everyone around you are just beating around the bush because of his actions around you. But all that was worth it as he went to your parents and asked them if he can court you. “Mr. and Mrs. (Surname), I like your daughter (Name). Can I court her?” He asked them. - The parents did not even question it since Suho is such a sweetheart

Junmyeon also started exploring more about the Philippines, knowing that his beautiful girlfriend is from the country. He would firstly look up at pieces of art made by Filipino artists (with the likes of Fernando Amorsolo and Juan Luna), it would be a bonus if you’re interested in art as well. Most of your conversations would end up being about you guy’s cultures and how the painters showed the message they want to put out there.

He would also end up being really curious about the language as well. I can see him trying to learning the language just for you. “Sobrang mahal kita, ikaw ang aking mundo” He says with a cute bashful smile. It still sounded different because of his Korean accent. You found it quite endearing that he will go through all this lengths to impress you and show how much he loves you.

Minseok

For Xiumin... hmm... it’s hard because I can’t really picture Xiumin with a Filipino girl or a foreigner in general. It’s not that he doesn’t like Foreigners, but I am very unsure about it. Like Kyungsoo, he is really into girls that are more traditional.

Like everyone else, Minseok would be really interested in your culture. The delicious food, the language you spoke. He would always listen to the way your voice shifted when you speak to him and to your parents. “Ma okay lang ako... nag-iingat naman po kami ni Minseok.” You spoke to your worried mother over the phone.

Although I can see him trying to actually learn Tagalog just for you. He would learn it in secret until he was fluent enough to tell you that “(Y/N) ikaw lamang ang aking mamahalin” and write you a whole essay on why he loves you just in Tagalog.

In music shows, like Junmyeon, he will send you lots of flowers because that is exactly where you guys met at. Every time your group had a comeback that was around the same time as his, he will always look at you and got the courage to sneak in his phone number.

Minseok texts you a lot, telling you if you got his flowers or if your parents approved of him. - Of course your parents approved of him, even saying that you grew up too fast as you now have a boyfriend. 

You guys haven’t had the time to be together due to his military enlistement, but as soon as he can hold his phone again, you were the one of the first people he messaged. “Sorry I haven’t talked to you” He said.

But out of all the EXO members, he gave you the sweetest confession at a park at night. “I want to say that I enjoy your company and I am thinking about my future with you.” He said to you as his hands cupped your face.

Yixing

I remember the time he said PhiliPENIS, this man right here lol. Anyway, jokes aside I think Yixing would be really interested in your culture. It is a bonus point that both of you are foreigners and are in the same industry. Like Suho, Yixing met you in one of those luxury parties hosted by fashion labels.

You immediately caught his eyes, the look you were wearing really suited you. The colors were beautiful, just like you. When the cameras aren’t rolling, this is where he would move. He would DM you via instagram and that is where you guys will start to talk. It went from simple “how are you?”, to the more complicated topics. You were his home, the place he would go to if he’s stress.

It would definitely be a bonus if you like doing music. You would be singing many of his demos so that he can really see if he did a great job. His source of inspiration is you as he stays late at night to compose something for him.

Even if you’re an idol, your relationship would still be long distance as he is in China and you’re in Korea, promoting with your group. (With some sneaky flights to China), “I miss you Yixing...” You smiled at him as you looked at the screen, Yixing is working hard in the studio.

“I miss you too... I wish I can hug you.” He said to you, his eyes somber as he looked at the screen of his phone, seated at his studio, working on a new song. Every time you guys kissed, hugged or touched each other, it felt more electrifying as you have never met him often.

Since he had always been a dancer, I can see him trying to learn Cariñosa (I had a dream like this aaaa), he would be really curious at the many dances the Philippines offered.

(Note: I have to cut the reaction for Yixing because I might get political and I don’t wanna get in jail anytime soon lol)

Baekhyun

I feel Baekhyun would be a bit more safer with a Filipino girl (given what happened to his ex-girlfriend). I can see him being with one as he was the one who came up with the Phixo name in the first place.

He would protect you so much to the point that he will not reveal you guys are together. With what happened to Taeyeon and to think that you are a Filipino idol, which means you are certainly the pride of your country. He would rather reveal you at the right time. (When will that be at this rate)

You met him at a music show while promoting his solo stuff. He really enjoyed your group’s performance as well. You became immediately his favorite member for your talent and eye-catching looks. He knew you already since debut and thought you were really pretty, but it took to another level when he saw you personally.

His jaw dropped at your looks, you were unique unlike any other idols. With his social skills, he didn’t hesitate to talk to you backstage and that is where you guys really took off.

I can see you and him are variety idols. - Reminds me of Heechul and Momo. You guys would always come up with the stupidest jokes. Bonus points if you are a gamer as well. You guys would always fight at the latest RPG games out there. “I beat your ass!” You said to him while laughing at his loss in the game.

Baekhyun would also sing songs for you (like Kyungsoo and Chanyeol). He would sing all your favorite songs in Tagalog just for you!!!! I am fangirling in the inside as I imagine Baekhyun singing songs to make you sleep aaaa He would also try to explore your culture as he would try out your favorite food as well. 

“Wow this thing tastes delicious!” Baekhyun remarked as he poured the soup over the rice. A smile formed in your face as he eagerly ate the food. You looked at him, lovingly observing him. You were glad he really enjoyed the food you made.

In later years, when he finally think that you will be the one that he truly wants to be with forever, he will choose to settle in the Philippines as the media and paparazzi there is not as crazy as the ones in Korea.

Chanyeol

For Chanyeol, I think you guys met through MC-ing, You guys were partnered up to MC a music show. Since your cute bickering in the music show aired on TV, your fans started shipping the two of you. It ended up with you guys talking more to each other backstage. Recommending songs and telling your problems to each other were the most topics of you guys’ conversations.

He ends up giving his number as you guys message each other more and more often. He was the first one to fall for you. Falling for the first time your eyes laid on his. You fell for him in no time, enjoying his company.

Because of you, he would listen to Filipino music. Particularly, I can see Chanyeol liking old Filipino bands such as Silent Sanctuary, Eraserheads, Parokya Ni Edgar, and Orange & Lemons. He would always sing their songs to you every time you guys meet. You guys would even have Karaoke nights where you just sing songs. “I heard Filipinos are good singers.” He told you as he handed out the mic.

You laughed as you started singing. - Obviously you would be a good singer as you debuted in an idol group and is a known kontesera (a woman who participated in many singing contests). He was charmed by how captivating your voice was.

You became the topic of many songs by Chanyeol. Your eyes, your loving words, your everything. - He loved every single part of it. Hell he can even dedicate a whole album just for how much he loves you and how you are an important part of his life.

You went to the Philippines to have your vacation. As you were enjoying your family’s company, suddenly you heard a familiar voice. You stood up from your couch and looked down at the window. “(Name)! This one’s for you!” Your eyes widened as you saw that it was Chanyeol.

Chanyeol started strumming his guitar. The view looked amazing, the stars twinkled, he looked ethereal as he looked up to meet your eyes.Your parents peeked with you as their heard his voice. “Uso pa ba ang harana?” He started singing the song with his low voice. He was singing Harana by Parokya Ni Edgar. 

Kyungsoo

People would be rather shocked as Kyungsoo is the type of guy to date a traditional Korean girl. But I can also see him truly appreciating a Filipina girl. He firstly found you quite weird because he

It was you who made the first move. Your group is promoting your comeback at the same time EXO was. You hesitantly sneaked your phone number into his sandwich. You watched him open it, as you thought he was going to throw the paper away, he didn’t. He kept it in his pocket and went along.

With his sweet voice, like Chanyeol, he always sang many Tagalog songs with you. (I remember the time when they sang ‘Hawak Kamay’ in the dream concert). Your parents would’ve approved of him quite fast, being such a good, well mannered man. He is the dream son-in-law for every parent 

Kyungsoo had always been so protective of you because of you being Filipino, you had a lot of supporters since rookie days. Your kababayan would be really dismayed if there was bad news about you. He wouldn’t like you to lose your career. (Even more if you’re supporting your family)

“After boiling the tamarind, what comes next?” Kyungsoo asked you as he was chopping the spareribs in the battered cutting board. He always does this. He makes random food from your childhood. One day it was adobo, the other day it was caldereta, now it’s sinigang na baboy.

You smiled at him as you spoke a reply, “The ribs.” You clung to him as you wrapped your hands underneath his apron. Wrapping him in a tight embrace.

Jongin

In the Filipino side of the fandom, affectionately called “Phixos” by Baekhyun, Jongin has been called a Filipino. It was because of his looks (his charming eyes, his tanned skin) and his frequent visits to Cebu. Some fans even jokingly say that Jongin would settle with a Filipino girl or along those lines.

It wouldn’t be a shock for the Filipino fandom that Jongin chose a Filipino girl. It would be something that they would even celebrate, the fact that Jongin dated a kababayan. (Fellow Filipino)

You guys met in a photoshoot of a local magazine. He was impressed with your modeling skills, despite you being a rookie in it. Of course, you were intimidated with him as he is the Gucci ambassador. Right after the rather sexy photoshoot, you guys gave each other numbers. You guys started DM-ing each other via Instagram.

Jongin would be just as interested in learning Tagalog than English. In your very long conversations, he would always talk to you in Taglish (Tagalog and English) so that you are more comfortable talking to him. Rather than him talking in long paragraphs of Korean text. He finds it amazing that you speak more than two languages.

Your leader would joke about you being awake at ungodly hours listening to Jongin’s honey voice as he tries to sing when you can’t sleep. Or sometimes it would be his heavily accented English or Filipino. You wouldn’t say anything, but everyone already knows. As soon as your magazine gets through publication, everyone would start shipping you guys together. Searching the deepest depths of the internet for ship-able moments for the two of you.

“I’ve been to Cebu two times last year.” He said to you, smiling as he showed some polaroids from his Cebu trip. Your handsome boyfriend was seated on the couch. You were just chilling in your own apartment.

“You’ve been to Cebu two times in one year?! I haven’t even been to that place ever!” Your eyes were wide with shock, you almost dropped the popcorn you were munching on. How can someone travel twice to a foreign country? - You thought to yourself.

Sehun

It was love at first sight for the maknae. As soon as he saw you passing by on a music show, he cannot take his eyes off you, following all of your available SNS. His eyes were glued at you as he sneaked his number on an Inkigayo sandwich. He was also your secret fanboy, cheering and supporting you while you perform. Sehun always congratulates you on every comeback/release, messaging you on Kakaotalk on how are you doing that time or saying that he’s happy for you.

As soon as you received his number, you cannot imagine that out of all people, it was Sehun from EXO who gave you his phone number. It was like a dream come true. After emptying out your schedule, you immediately called Sehun. - From there, you guys started talking and having feelings developed.

He started being more curious about Filipino culture all because of you. He started researching it in his free time. - I can see Sehun date a foreigner, so I think the culture is not really a hurdle for him. 

Surprisingly, you were the one who made the first move. Not Sehun. You confessed to him very confidently. But since the cultural difference, he hasn’t met your parents. As soon as your schedules were empty, you guys went to the Philippines to find your parents and introduce him to them.

Sehun was standing nervously in front of your house’s gate. It was his first time visiting your family. He was shaking to the point that he cannot even move. You looked at him in the eye and asked him, “Is anything wrong?” you asked as you pat his shoulders, calming him down.

“No, nothing.” He said as he shook his head as he held the bouquet tightly in his hands. Then you saw your mother that opened the gate. - They were more than glad that they get to meet your precious Sehun.

“Why didn’t you tell me that your boyfriend is this gwapo?” Your mom asked you as you laughed. Then, you entered the house with huge smiles on your faces.

[bunnyhanasong]

Lost and Found

Main ship: pharmercy

Side ships: n/a

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, reunion

Synopsis: Dr. Angela Ziegler has spent years focusing solely on her work and saving lives. When a familiar face comes to her in the worst way imagined, the level-headed doctor is left battling logic and emotion in a way she never wished to experience.

Note: This is a short story that I wrote for my creative writing course last semester that I have edited to contain Pharah and Mercy as opposed to my original characters I submitted it with. As I was writing it, I noticed how much inspiration I had taken from Pharmercy with the doctorxsoldier trope, so I thought I would edit it and post as a fan fic since I'm rather fond of it and got a very good mark on it. So, Mr. O if you're reading this; yes this short story was basically gay Overwatch fan fiction lmao. For now this is just a oneshot, though I have thought about expanding the story in the future. Feedback, comments, and suggestions for future pieces in this universe are very much appreciated and will motivate me to write again for this!

Content warnings: canon typical violence, medical talk, military talk, PTSD, traumatic injuries, takes place in a hospital

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Incoming trauma, IED blast with three major casualties; one DOA, two in critical condition.

Angela groaned as her pager beeped angrily at her, the words highlighting the screen causing her to shoot up from her bunk. The on-call room was dark and there were at least two other pagers beeping away, trying to get their owners up to meet the trauma. The bottom bunk she had been occupying for less than 45 minutes, though not exactly the pinnacle of comfort, was warm and inviting in that moment. Still, she pushed herself up and made to leave, trying to pull her blonde hair into a haphazard bun as she followed the other doctors out into the hallway.

The doctor and nurse in front of Angela were chattering in what she knew was Arabic, though her minimal knowledge in the language rendered eavesdropping nearly impossible. Angela was from Switzerland originally, so she only spoke German and English, the latter being thanks to school. She had chosen to learn English throughout high school and university, which came in handy since that was the tongue she spoke predominantly here. She was the head doctor of a Swiss medical aid team, sent to a military base outside of Cairo, Egypt to help their short-staffed trauma centre. None of her team knew Arabic, save for a few phrases, so they were relying on each other and their English knowledge to get them through the mission. As the head doctor and the most fluent English speaker, Angela was the one who received the most information from the Military doctors.

“Dr. Ziegler,” an accented voice brought Angela’s attention to the nurses’ station across the trauma bay. She made her way to the nurse who had said her name, a kind, stout Egyptian woman by the name of Salma. She had been the friendliest nurse by far and welcomed the Swiss doctors warmly. Coming to stand by the triage desk, Angela asked the nurse for more information on what had occurred.

“Our military had sent a team to patrol a territory not far from the base where reports had been made of criminal activity. I guess they stepped too close to unmapped land, an IED mine went off before anyone could react. We lost one immediately, the other two are on the bus in critical condition; ETA 10 minutes.”

Angela nodded along with her words, feeling her stomach sink at the fact that they lost a patient already. She shook off the thought though, no sense in getting emotional now; she would just need to focus on keeping the remaining two alive. She had already seen her fair share of explosion aftermath in her two weeks on base already, which was a terrifying wake up call for the woman. Still, as a doctor she had learned quickly that one must separate feelings from work, otherwise the emotional impact of the job would have put her out of commission years ago. She kept this in mind as she left the nurses’ station, passing a group of Egyptian staff barking orders in Arabic and making her way to a familiar redheaded woman.

“Ange!” the younger doctor greeted Angela in German with a sign of relief, “We have no idea where to even start with this. Do you have any more information on the trauma?”

Amelia Schmidt, 35-year-old and a cardio surgeon by trade, though here she had switched from daily open heart surgeries to more frequent traumas and millions of sutures. She had been Angela’s closest friend since they started working at the same hospital almost about eight years prior. She was certainly a spunky person, always ready to jump into action and meet the problem head on. Being in Egypt was changing that for Amelia though, she felt very out of her element and was finding herself relying on Angela a lot more than usual. The language barrier was certainly difficult, not to mention the culture shock, and Amelia finally felt the overwhelming weight of her profession full force. Still, she never lost her spirit and still kept Angela and the others optimistic, her jovial attitude making nightshifts and long days a bit more bearable.

“Two casualties incoming, both soldiers. Landmine went off and they must have got the front of the blast. Jump in where you can and keep an eye on the younger doctors with us in case translation becomes a problem. If you need help with Arabic, let Salma know like always.”

Amelia nodded at her friend’s words, “Okay.”

Angela didn’t have time to ask her friend how things had been while she had taken a short nap, because the doors to the trauma bay crashed open. There was a lot of shouting in multiple languages as Dr. Ziegler tried to direct her staff in German while the local doctors did the same in their language. She ran up to the medic pushing a gurney, asking in her heavily accented English what they were looking at.

The paramedic looked slightly confused but thankfully answered the blonde woman in English after a moment’s pause, “Private Ahmed Abassi, age 23. GCS 8, responds to pressure but currently nonverbal and only semi-conscious. He was thrown by the explosion and has a suspected rib fracture and shoulder dislocation. Abdomen seems stiff, we assume some internal bleeding but could not get a portable ultrasound in the field.”

Angela nodded as they wheeled into a trauma room, stopping so she could pull on a pair of gloves. She worked with the nurses who had come to help, doing a secondary scan of the patient’s body. She identified some shrapnel that caused superficial wounds but her main concern was the distention of his abdomen and the apparent pain response the young soldier had to it. He was barely conscious but groaned in pain as she palpated the area, apologizing to him gently in Arabic as she continued to check his chest and torso for injuries. Though her words were jumbled and she stuttered more than she liked, Angela still made sure to speak to her patient calmly through her exam, just in case he was more aware than they thought. She asked a nurse to get the portable ultrasound and x-ray so they could check for internal injuries, which was her greatest concern in that moment. As she was monitoring his vitals and reassessing his condition on the coma scale chart, one of her younger doctors ran into the room.

“Dr. Ziegler,” the young man asked in a slightly overwhelmed tone, “Dr. Khan is asking for your help in trauma one.”

Angela nodded and turned to a nurse she knew spoke English, “I will be back to check on Private Abassi in a bit, please get those blood tests and the type-and-cross orders ASAP.”

She followed the resident out into the hall and found Dr. Khan standing outside the trauma room in question. The Egyptian doctor was the head trauma surgeon there and was very no-nonsense. She was tall and slightly intimidating, years of military training apparent in her posture and demeanour. Still, she had been friendly and helpful to the visiting doctors, which Angela was thankful for. She didn’t even have a chance to ask what was wrong before the other woman spoke in a terse voice.

“Female in her early thirties. She is awake and noncompliant. Traumatic trans-radial amputation and other assumed injuries we cannot diagnose due to her adamance to leave. She needs to be examined and we need to operate but we first need to assess her mental state.”

Angela was a bit taken aback by the sudden information dump, “And you need me because...?”

“Your friend said you worked in psychology before switching to surgery, yes?”

Ah, so she wanted a psych consult. Angela had done a minor is psychology and worked as a psychiatrist for a couple years before deciding she much rather preferred the surgical side of her profession. It had been years since she had done a proper psych consult, but her knowledge of the workup and proper patient care had not escaped her.

“I did. Do you need me to do a workup now? Shouldn’t her physical injuries take priority?”

Dr. Khan shook her head, “We have reasons to believe this is a Post-Traumatic Stress attack. She took the biggest force of the explosion; witnesses say she threw herself towards it to protect her younger soldiers. She is a security chief, so we know she has seen a lot of battle already, and was held captive by enemy forces for a fortnight last year.”

“And unknown people touching her while she is in shock may cause her to become violent or prone to self-injury,” Angela concluded, nodding. She gestured for the trauma surgeon to take her to see the patient, following behind her into the room. It had been a while since she had done a proper psych evaluation, but she was hopeful that this would be simple and not include any communication barriers.

There was a large amount of hospital personnel in the room, surrounding a figure clad in a tattered military uniform. There was a group of nurses trying to dress the soldier’s arm, which had been amputated, probably by shrapnel, just below the elbow. That needed to be assessed and closed properly, but surgery was not an option until a proper workup was done. To do a workup though, they first needed to calm the patient so she would be compliant; which was already proving to be an issue. The soldier was thrashing in the nurses’ hold, trying to escape their grasp and the IV in her remaining arm.

Jumping into action, Angela waved away two security personnel who were trying to restraint the soldier’s wrist and ankles, “You are only making this worse by restraining her. Please refrain from touching the patient.”

Making her way towards the bed, she glanced back at Doctor Khan, “Patient name?”

She looked down at the patient and didn’t even hear Khan’s response. It wasn’t necessary; she new exactly who this was. If her name badge on her uniform, somehow still intact, wasn’t identifiable enough, the eye of Horus tattoo under her right eye gave away her identity. The patient’s terrified dark eyes met hers and Angela knew that there was recognition under the layers of shock and drug-induced haze.

“F-fareeha?” Angela murmured, shocked, and took a seat in the chair pulled up beside the hospital bed. She had already tuned out all the background noise of the room, focusing completely on the woman in front of her. She was trying very hard to separate emotions from the situation, but now that she knew who the patient was it was becoming increasingly difficult. Still, she had a job to do and that was the priority in this moment.

Returning her focus to the task at hand, Angela spoke softly to the injured soldier in front of her. She had obviously recognized the blonde doctor by now and was staring at her in confusion, as if she could not understand why Angela was in front of her. The way she looked at her was reassuring though, since she seemed responsive despite her injuries and apparent blood loss. Angela took a glance at the monitor for a moment to check her vitals, saw her heart rate and blood pressure were concerningly high, and took a moment to attempt to soothe the patient’s nerves.

“Fareeha, I need you to stay still, okay?” Angela tried again to reassume her doctor tone as she spoke to the soldier, “You need to let us take care of you. Take a deep breath for me, alright?”

The Egyptian woman tried to speak but she was having trouble, whether that be due to focusing issues or her pain. The other hospital staff were speaking loudly and it was clearly distracting the patient. She was trying to even her breathing like Angela asked, but too deep of an inhale caused her breathing to hitch and her whole body to flinch, which made her assume she had sustained some broken ribs. Fareeha fumbled around on the bed until she caught Angela’s hand with her remaining one, looking up at the doctor with tear-filled eyes. The blonde didn’t pull her hand away, sensing that she needed comfort in this moment, and just hushed her gently.

“Focus on me, alright? Can you understand me?” she had been speaking English the whole time, since she knew Fareeha knew it as well. It was easier than attempting to speak her rusty Arabic, which probably wouldn’t be understandable anyway considering how much her voice wavered. After a pause, Fareeha nodded shakily, wincing as her body disagreed with the movement.

“Good, stay still,” Angela was still holding her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “You’re safe, Fareeha. You had an accident out in the field but we’re going to get you through this.”

Angela was trying her best to stay calm herself, speaking softly and keeping the patient’s focus on her. She knew she was letting her emotions get the better of her but she couldn’t help it. Not when Fareeha had such a tight grip on her hand and her eyes held so many questions and so much pain. Still, she knew the most important thing was to keep Fareeha distracted so her heart rate stayed down, wanting to avoid any more panic. She could see the nurses still trying to staunch the flow of blood from Fareeha’s amputation, silently praying that the patient stayed unaware of that aspect of her injury for the time being.

“M-my… my t-team?” the soldier’s voice was raspy and she spoke through gritted teeth but to Angela it was a relief to hear, “Are… t-they o…okay?”

That question made Angela hesitate, glancing back anxiously at Dr. Khan. She didn’t know how to respond to that, since she was not aware of how Ahmed’s condition was faring and did not even know the name of the soldier who had been killed by the blast. Fareeha squeezed her hand, trying to catch her attention again, and Angela sighed. Of course it was just like Fareeha to only care about her team when faced with life threatening injuries herself, ever the selfless hero she was.

“Private Abassi is in surgery right now, Chief Amari,” Khan supplied quickly, “Your other members are either back at base or in the waiting room.”

Angela did not want to lie to Fareeha but knew they could not tell her the truth about the deceased. It would not be fair to distress her like that, not now, and it would certainly ruin things after they had finally gotten her calm. The doctor just nodded along with the attending surgeon’s words, making eye contact with Fareeha.

“Fareeha, you need surgery,” though the extent of her injuries was not yet known, it was obvious she would need to be anesthetized to have her traumatic amputation corrected and cleaned up. She was unsure if the patient had even registered that she was missing her hand and forearm, most likely due to shock or the concern for her team she seemed to hold over her own health.

“Surgery?”

Angela hummed in affirmation, frowning at the way the younger woman sounded so confused, “Can you let the other doctors look you over? I promise you are safe; we just need to make sure you’re not bleeding internally or have any fractures we missed.”

It took a little more coaxing and Angela promising to stay right beside her before the younger woman agreed. The Swiss doctor held her hand the whole time, spoke to her gently in English and broken Arabic, hoping to calm her nerves. The doctor’s shaky attempt at speaking her mother tongue made Fareeha smile despite her pain, a familiar and warm sight that soothed Angela’s own anxieties. When Doctor Khan confirmed that Fareeha had suffered major bruising and a few rib fractures, as well as a concussion, she ordered some scans to make sure there was no bleeding or injury they had missed.

The other staff members were still bustling around, ordering scans and cleaning up the space. Angela had stepped away to speak to the attending doctor, explaining how she knew Fareeha and what steps they had to take now. The soldier in question was slumped back into the uncomfortable neck brace she was stuck in, still trying to crane her neck to see the only familiar face she knew in the room.

“Angie?”

The nickname Angela had not been called in years made her jump, sure Amelia called her “Ange” sometimes but that was different. There was a mixture of fondness and fear in Fareeha’s voice as she called out to the blonde doctor, who had been speaking to Khan in a hushed tone across the room. Turning her attention back to the patient who called for her, Fareeha’s dark eyes searching for reassurance before the unfamiliar nurses wheeled her to the operating theatre.

Angela walked back to her side, not even thinking as she reached out to brush matted dark hair off Fareeha’s face, “You’ll be alright, Fareehali.”

The affectionate nickname surprised the younger woman, “W-will you be here… when it’s d-done?”

Angela nodded, “Of course. I promise.” The fear and uncertainty was clear on her face and it broke Angela’s heart, seeing this strong soldier so scared. She held onto Fareeha’s hand for a little longer, promising her that the surgery would be over before she knew it and Fareeha was in good hands.

When she was reassured that there would be a familiar face there when she woke up, the solider let the staff members wheel her down the hallway. Angela was left in the hall by herself, dumbfounded by the situation she had just been thrown into. She went back to the trauma bay in a daze, worry eating away at her stomach as she slouched heavily against a wall.

“Ange?” Amelia’s cheerful voice drew her out of her thoughts, “You okay?”

Angela shrugged, already feeling the dull ache of a migraine throbbing in her skull, “Patient’s gone to surgery.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow, “You’re not operating? You have privileges here and usually you never pass up the chance to operate.”

The older woman had taken a seat in a chair, her head falling into her hands as she felt her body weighed down with the emotions she had tried to fight off. She stayed quiet for a moment as she tried to collect herself, feeling her friend’s concerned stare drilling into her. Angela didn’t raise her head to look at Amelia and her reply was muffled.

“Can’t operate. Not on her.”

“Who?”

Angela sighed, “The security chief with the traumatic amputation. She’s… uh… she’s my ex-girlfriend.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first thing Fareeha was aware of when she woke up was the scent of disinfectant, which was so strong it felt like a hit to the face. The second thing she noticed was that her left arm was numb, and a quick glance down explained why. Her elbow was wrapped in a tight layer of bandages, but the rest of her lower arm was gone, an empty space on the bed where it should be. She recalled one of the nurses mentioning something about a traumatic amputation, but it had disappeared from her mind in a haze of adrenaline and pain medication. She was not too sure about much that had happened in the trauma room, to be honest; everything fuzzy with the weight of anesthetic. Now, though, the reality was hitting her; she was missing her left arm and might never fight again.

She felt a weight on her other arm and turned her head, much too fast which made her wince, and saw a familiar figure beside her. Angela Ziegler was there in all her glory, slumped over in a visitor’s chair that had been pulled as close to the bed as possible. She was fast asleep, her hand clutching tightly to Fareeha’s remaining one as if she would disappear if Angela let go. She was still clad in her beige scrubs, her rumpled white coat having been discarded over the back of the chair, and her hair was a mess, tumbling over her shoulders as if it had fallen from its haphazard knot. Despite her clear exhaustion and disheveled state, Fareeha would never be over how beautiful the Swiss woman was, and she felt her heart clench painfully as she remembered how bittersweet this reunion was.

Their breakup was not exactly a bad one; there had not been any ill feelings or fights. It was mostly a mutual decision out of necessity rather than falling out of love. Fareeha had been an exchange student in Switzerland back in her second year of University. She soon met Angela, a quiet and calculated med student well on her way to her degree. They quickly became friends and improved their English together as a means of communication. Like so many cliché love stories, their friendship grew closer until it was more than that. They dated for a while, Fareeha staying in Switzerland longer than her exchange had been for, and they were happy. Thing were good and Angela even made solid plans to visit her girlfriend the next summer in Egypt when she undoubtably would have to go home.

When Fareeha went back to Egypt, they made long distance work for a while and it was still okay. It was when the Egyptian woman told her girlfriend she would be joining the army that Angela knew things wouldn’t work out, not then anyway. They were too far apart and she needed to focus on her career, Fareeha’s military service would leave her plagued by fear for her partner’s safety and distract her from the hospital. Fareeha proposed a break, understanding Angela’s point of view but knew the older woman would never stop her from doing what she wanted. Angela had let her go without a fight and they parted ways, though there had been many tears on both sides and a long skype call of apologies and regrets.

They had stayed in touch at first, friendly and civil, but soon grew apart. Mostly due to Fareeha’s training and deployments, which prohibited her from using her phone often. Eventually their correspondence lulled until it stopped all together. It had been maybe three years since they last spoke by then and Fareeha was completely overwhelmed by the doctor’s presence. The fact that she was here though, since she must she have had work to be doing, was reassuring. It made her feel safe to have Angela here, especially since her mind threatened to swallow her in a whirlwind of memories and trauma. Though it didn’t stop the panic completely, Angela being there was enough to keep her from falling deep into her head in that moment.

The effects of the anesthetic were wearing off, though she still felt groggy from the IV of what she assumed was morphine. She certainly wasn’t complaining about the drugs though, since she knew her pain would have been almost blinding without the steady flow of pain relief into her bloodstream. Now that her head was clearer, Fareeha tried her hardest to distract herself from the overwhelming numbness she felt on her left side. She felt as though maybe the fact that she had had a traumatic amputation hadn’t sunk in completely beforehand, but now that the pain was breaking through her hazy mind, she felt the panic over the topic rising.

Thinking about it only made it worse, Fareeha noted, but she couldn’t stop herself. Left in the silent and bland hospital room to her own devices, her head was filled with memories from the accident as they all flooded back. The yell of shock that left her friend Noor as she realized too late that she stepped on an unmarked mine. The way she had thrown herself to grab her friend but had been too late to stop the damage. The force of the explosion that sent them all flying backwards. It all came back in a rush, overwhelming her beyond belief.

Her head was aching, she had a concussion if she remembered correctly, and she just wanted to go back to sleep. Sleep would surely bring nightmares now, though, and the solider was not sure how much more panic she could handle at that point. Fareeha tried to focus her mind on Angela instead, observing her sleeping form languidly in an attempt to keep herself calm. She gave the doctor’s hand a gentle squeeze, more as reassurance for herself than anything, and it caused the other woman to stir.

“Fareehali?” the nickname was mumbled and tired, followed by a string of words in German that Fareeha was unable to place properly. It had been too long since she head or spoke in Swiss-German, her third language, and she was too out of it to recognize what the doctor said. Hearing her voice was reassuring though, even though the sleepily mumbled words pricked at her heart more than she would like to admit; mind flooded with memories of their past. This time she wasn’t waking up in their shared bed next to the beautiful doctor, who was too tired to speak in anything but her mother tongue but still greeted Fareeha good morning with gentle kisses and a strong hug. This time she was injured and in the hospital, Angela was her doctor and they had been broken up for over half a decade. Thing were bittersweet, she sighed to herself, and this was certainly not how she imagined their reunion.

“Hi, Angie,” Fareeha replied as the blonde lifted her head, her grip on the other woman’s hand not faltering for a moment. It took a little while for Angela to wake up properly, her unruly hair sticking to sleep-flushed cheeks as she lifted her free hand to rub at her eye. After a moment though, she seemed to jump back into doctor mode.

“How’s your pain?” she questioned, glancing over at the machine beside the bed to check Fareeha’s vital signs. Fareeha couldn’t help but smile weakly at the focused look on her face, thinking she looked downright adorable when she was fussing over her like this. Perhaps an inappropriate thought for a soldier being treated for traumatic injuries, Fareeha would just blame her gay brain winning over logic for that though.

Fareeha shrugged weakly, “Can’t feel my arm,” she nodded pointedly to the bandaged stump that was propped up on a pillow as if it wasn’t obvious. She tilted her head back into the pillows and winced a little, “Head hurts.”

Angela frowned at that, reaching up to absentmindedly smooth her messy dark hair down, “I’m sorry, Fareeha.”

“Nothing anyone could do.”

“you… threw yourself in front of the explosion?”

Fareeha flinched but nodded all the same, “Not my finest idea. It seemed like the right thing to do though; I had to protect those kids. Dumbasses, the lot of them, but at the end of the day they’re good soldiers.”

Angela shook her head, “You could have died, Fareeha.”

“I could die any day, Angie. That’s how this line of work goes.”

“But…” Angela’s eyes were full of pain as she stared at her, “I can’t lose you… not again, Fareehali.”

That confession had Fareeha pausing, taken aback by the statement. It had been three years since they last spoke, six since they broke up, yet by that admission it sounded like Angela hadn’t let her go completely. Maybe she had not let Angela go either, still, that was a loaded statement and the solider was unsure of how to reply.

“Angela…” Fareeha spoke gently, though her tone was guarded, “It’s been so long.”

The blonde scoffed, blue eyes holding a challenging edge to their stare, “And? That doesn’t mean anything… I miss you, Fareeha. When I saw you in the trauma bay earlier, it was like my worst fear being realized before my eyes. If you had died down there or in surgery, I don’t know if I could have handled it.”

The Egyptian woman felt her heart sink as tears welled in Angela’s eyes. She hated seeing her in pain, hated that she couldn’t fix it immediately. The older woman had always been so strong, so calculated and sure of herself, so to see her now close to tears and almost shaking; it made Fareeha want to cry as well.

“I’m sorry,” Fareeha’s voice was barely above a whisper, “I didn’t want to leave you… I didn’t want to scare you like this.”

“I know…” Angela mumbled, hiding behind her curtain of blonde hair. She laughed at her own emotional behaviour and swiped at the tears on her cheeks, “This is so unprofessional of me.”

“Angie… how long have you been in Egypt?”

Angela looked at her with a sheepish smile, “Two weeks. We’re here for a couple months, unless something severe happens.”

Fareeha nodded, “Did you… think about contacting me?”

“I did, actually,” Angela laughed a little, “I contacted your mother. I wasn’t sure if you still had the same phone number so I found Ana though the trauma centre’s records, she works here sometimes, yeah?”

“Not as often as she used to but yeah. I haven’t talked to her in a while to be honest.”

“Fareeha!” Angela shook her head, “Call your mother for once, dumbass. She misses you.”

“I know”

The doctor sighed and observed her for a moment, “I… miss you.”

“Angie,” Fareeha sighed, watching her with pain in her eyes.

“I do.”

“I know” Fareeha said again, “I miss you too.”

Angela was holding onto her hand again, silent tears streaking down her cheeks. Fareeha tugged on her hand until she took the hint, slouching down so the soldier could wrap her arm around her. Angela melted against her strong body, trying to be careful and avoid straining her injuries. It felt safe like this, something neither woman had felt properly in years; the familiarity and warmth that came with the desperate embrace. This was the comfort both had missed so dearly, something the doctor had let go of out of fear of the unknown. Yet here they were six years later, the only reassurance they found from the unknown being in each other’s arms.

“Promise me,” Angela mumbled into her shoulder, “That you won’t scare me like this again. I can’t lose you, not after all this.”

“Angela, you couldn’t handle the distance last time…”

“I don’t care,” the Swiss woman wore her stress and exhaustion on her face as she lifted her head, “I’ll do whatever it takes this time. I’ll stay here if I have to, transfer all my work here. I can’t leave you, Fareeha, certainly not like this.”

“I-” Fareeha took a shaky breath, “You mean that?”

“Whatever it takes,” Angela’s tone was serious and firm, a sure nod punctuating her tearful words. Fareeha knew she wasn’t lying and she knew from experience that Angela never broke her promises. She also knew that the blonde was the most stubborn, head-strong woman she had the pleasure of meeting.

“Okay.”

“O-okay?”

“I promise,” Fareeha concluded as she held tightly onto the woman who had truthfully never stopped being the object of her affection, “I won’t leave you again.”

That admission made Angela burst into tears again, holding tightly to the younger woman as her whole body shook with a mixture of relief and emotion. Fareeha just held her as best she could, pressing a cautious kiss to the Swiss woman’s forehead, apologizing so quietly it was almost inaudible. It was an apology for a lot of things, leaving her; scaring her; not being there to protect and love Angela for all those years. Angela just scoffed and told her to shut up, returning her affection with a gentle kiss on the lips that held six years of pain, regret, and love.

Even though the future was terrifying and their reunion was as bittersweet as reunions go, none of that seemed to matter in that moment. All that mattered was the promise of safety and comfort they had found in each other all those years ago, a promise that felt stronger than any war, IED, or distance that threatened to separate them again.

[theory-talestelltalesss]

Chez

Pairing: Y/N, Taehyung, Jungkook

Characters: Rest of BTS

Genre: fluff, angst, vague smut

Summary: 

An old artist visits his collection of paintings at a world-renowned museum in Paris. He becomes nostalgic of the past after hearing news about the very woman who served as inspiration in his golden years. She was starving for any type of solace, even brittle and fleeting when she met him-- a penniless tour guide who was in love and only had eyes for Paris itself. Pieces of memories, both awaited to be remembered and desired to be forgotten, come flooding in his mind as he viewed every brushstroke he made in his career. Throughout the years, the museum received letters and donations, but one in particular always stirred his mind.  

Chez /ʃeɪ; shā; shey/:

Origin French

Preposition

Chez means to be at a particular location (chez moi --- at my place or home), or refers to a particular state of mind of someone or a collection of people (chez les français — among the French). Yet still, it could be used to describe an artist’s body of work (chez Van Gogh).

“Life was the most beautiful then.” An old man sadly smiled at a painting, branches of his hazel eyes dilated his pupils, absorbing every wavelength of light that refracted through his lenses. The painting was placed in between two others that were brighter and more saturated with glazing golden frames, but none of those things distracted the old man’s gaze, only having sight for the one before him as if it was the only one in the world.

Nostalgic sighs relieved themselves from the old man’s lungs when memories piled up one after another in his mind. His tired wrinkled eyes traced the swipes of what once brushed the canvas before him, spraying a hazy memory that gradually formed a more opaque image in his mind as he viewed every corner, every shape, and every color. The museum was almost empty now. Closing time was near but the dim room, only having spotlights for the paintings, isolated itself from the time that continued on in the outside world.

Triggered by a memory, the old man took out his icy hands from the warmth of his pockets to observe the lines of his palms that forged themselves over the years, remembering someone in the past telling him that one line connecting and separating from the rest were different fates of his life. ‘Could one of those fates been a happier one?’ His mind mulled over as another sigh released itself from his chest. 

The old man’s eyes refocused in between his fingers and unto his snow-covered boots, realizing that winter came once again. Winter had a special place in his heart, but like all things, it never lasted. Spring would come knocking, and then summer, fall, and winter again. When the next season comes, the next month, the next week, the next day, they all will be nothing but a memory too, and further away from where he wanted to be. 

He eventually shuffled over and sat at a bench nearby, reminding himself that his legs didn’t work the way they used to, justifying a part of himself that wished he wasn’t in the present. But he was distracted from reliving the past once more when a voice invaded his ears louder and louder. A tour guide marched in with a crowd of tourists at his tail, eventually coming to a stop near his vicinity.

“Whoa! It’s The Madeleine!” The tourists started taking pictures of the painting, hovering their cameras over the crowd to get the perfect frame.

“Now some of you may know this painting over here. This is made by the famous artist you might know as Cof. He worked under this pseudonym for all his career and never revealed his real name.” The tour guide spoke eloquently but swiftly about the piece, not a single pause in his pace even when he confidently switched from English to Spanish and back again. 

“Was he the one who disappeared in the news many years ago?” A voice in the crowd shouted out anonymously.

“Yes, yes, that was him! His pieces are priced around 10 to 20 million dollars partly because of his story that influenced his amazing art. But this painting, The Madeleine, went up in value the most and is priced around 60 million dollars.” The tour guide brushed to the side, giving the painting ample space for the crowd to take pictures.

“Who’s The Madeleine?” A little girl in the crowd asked with her hand up, eyes large as a doe, grappling her mother’s skirt before she carried her in her arms.

“That’s the question, mon ange. Cof kept her identity a secret. One of the reasons why it’s the most talked about and most valuable painting in his career.”

“So why is it so valuable?” Another voice in the crowd asked.

“You will see that it embodies everything French and it’s now almost a symbol of France. If Italy has Mona Lisa and the Netherlands has the Girl With The Pearl Earring, then France now has The Madeleine. If you think about it, the identity of all these girls in these famous paintings are all mysterious to the public.” The tourists looked at each other curiously, pondering over the words the tour guide just stated, some eventually agreeing with him in the end.

“Now here, you can see her half clothed between the bed sheets looking out the window of Paris at night, embracing the romantic reputation of the city. Over to her right at the side table are some madeleines, and of course is a desert authentic to France.” The tour guide pointed to parts of the picture he talked about, and the old man’s eyes followed through a small crevice within the crowd.

“And as you can see here on the bed railing is a white towel with a red border, which was actually a mass-produced kitchen towel at that time. Every place had them, restaurants, hotels, wherever! But more interestingly, this painting itself was painted on one of those towels.” Ooh’s and ahh’s buttered themselves in the air that made the lips of the old man shyly curve at their corners as he looked back at the lines of his palms. 

“Now because of this, some say that the artist captured a raw and on-the-spot moment of the woman in the picture when the only thing he had nearby was a towel. Scholars say this wasn’t arranged or posed for the purpose of painting this scene, but it was a genuine moment between the artist and the French woman in the picture.” His finger pointed up at the ceiling as he finished his last sentence, priding himself on the masterpiece that hung on the wall in front of his clients.

“Everything you said was correct except for something in that last part.” The old man croaked from the back that had the guide as well as the tourists jolt their heads in his direction. Slowly from his seat, he rose carefully with a grunt, bending his body away from any feeling of pain or discomfort from his joints. 

“Actually, that woman is American.” He nodded at the painting, softly smiling at it as he put his hands back in his pockets when he finally found a stable stance. “...Very very dear.” 

“E-excuse me, Sir. Where did you get that information?” The tour guide moved to the left to get a good view of the old man between several heads as he gripped a binder full of information about the museum paintings, restraining himself from flipping it before getting an answer.

“Oh sorry about that.” He chuckled to the ground, his melancholy eyes sparkled in thought. “This museum...might not remember me anymore.” When the old man swiped his fingers across his eyebrow, scratching his palm with the stubble of his jaw and feeling the loose skin that hung from his cheeks, he recalled that his face surely changed from the last time he visited. “Do you remember me, Namjoon hyung?”

The tour guide stuttered after a few moments of squinting and widening his eyes at the old man and only then did he slowly utter a name he had not used in years. “T-T-Taehyung-ah?” The tour guide was finally able to utter, almost forgetting he had clients before him.

“Bonjour.” Speaking French for the first time, Namjoon confirmed Taehyung’s identity, and only then did his brain click to recognize his voice that preserved its velvet and deep characteristic he didn’t realize he so longed to hear. As Namjoon observed more of his appearance, Taehyung took off his hat to put himself more into light, showing his familiar yet different features. The lines on his face introduced the life of a protagonist that carved difficult paths throughout the years, and are extended by the white and silver strands of hair that Namjoon remembered were once brilliant blonde like the sun. A roadmap etched on every inch of his skin, telling the world he lived, loved, lost, suffered, and grieved.

“You’ve grown into an old man.” Namjoon’s voice quivered as he looked at Taehyung, taking in the effect of the years that had been done to his body, but couldn’t even begin to imagine what the years did to his heart.

“So did you.” Taehyung chuckled as he shrugged his shoulders, holding his eye contact with Namjoon as if time stood still under their feet. 

“I didn’t expect you to visit again.” 

“I’m sure nobody did but...something reminded me of it again, friend.” Friend. A word Namjoon heard from several people plenty of times, but when it came out from Taehyung’s lips, it came with a ton of weights dumped on his chest.

“What reminded you of it?”

“Her.” A pause in their conversation held before Namjoon could ask another question he wanted to ask Taehyung all these years.

“Does this mean this painting is...?”

“Yes, that’s her. In fact...all of my works here were inspired by her.” He looked around the room, scanning each one briefly as the spirits of the past flashed before his eyes. “Every part, every stroke, every line, was a manifestation of her.” 

For him, she was the only one who didn’t change with the seasons. She was the only constant thought in his mind.

Clearing his throat, Namjoon kept his eyes on Taehyung’s before he hesitantly spoke to the crowd. “Everybody, you’re the luckiest group of people in the world right now...and you might get your answer, mon ange,” said Namjoon, giving a glance to the little girl sucking on her fingers.

 “I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Kim Taehyung. My past coworker and one of my good ol’ friends. But more importantly…” Namjoon awaited for a signal from Taehyung which he provided with a light nod. “...the artist who painted every piece in this room. You all know him by his other name -- Cof.” 

Quiet gasps all around the room chorused in unison as the crowd stared at Taehyung in awe before taking out their cameras to take a shot of the famous painter. Images of uncomfortable poses froze themselves on their screens, and with a single click, his senescence was delivered to the world that would soon contrast images of his youth he so desired to steal back-- the youth the world remembered last.

“My Madeleine.” Taehyung smiled as he rested his chin on the crook of your neck while he wrapped his arms around your abdomen, startling you from your morning daze in the middle of counting down how many days you had left at the edge of the bed. You snuggled your head to the side, grazing your cheek against his soft golden hair as you admired the pink morning skies and the roofs of Paris through your window. “What do you want to do today, Mad?” His voice course and raspy from his sleep, clearing it up slightly, had you feeling the vibration on your shoulder. “Mmm…wanna get some madeleines and coffee down the street and we’ll go from there?” You mumbled against his head as you pecked his unruly hair, never faltering to smell like coffee even when he hasn’t had any. “How’s that sound, Cof?” Mad and Cof, short for Madeleine and Coffee, the accustomed nicknames you gave to each other from both your obsessions towards your favorite food and drink. “Sounds amazing.” He closed his eyes and planted several kisses up your shoulders, letting the blanket fall from his bare shoulders as he did it. The ice cold metal of his necklace tingled your skin as it sandwiched between the warmth of both your bodies. As the final kiss touched the back of your ear, you felt a smile grow before he mumbled his words against you. “Next year when you come back, I bet you’ll still smell like madeleines.” A satisfying shiver traveled down your spine from the rustic voice he still had yet to fix. Two years it had been. Two years of fooling around with a man who you could only see once a year, every winter to be precise. Sometimes you thought it was the most irresponsible and destructive thing you could do to yourself. Other times you thought it was the best thing in the world. You got yourself drunk on the feeling of spending time with someone in the most romantic city in the world, and a boy who was the perfect one to do it with. He had the inexpressible ability to erase any and every problem you ever had in the back of your mind as soon as he took you in his hold. No matter how you saw it, you couldn’t resist his unexplainable allure and your irrational desire for him once your foot plants on Parisian soil. “What makes you think I’ll come back next year?” You half-jokingly teased as you grazed your hands against his arm wrapped around you, closing your eyes at the feeling of his lips and losing sight of the dust falling in and out of the dim rays of the sunrise you were observing a moment ago. “You always come back…” He whispered as he switched to peck at your other shoulder, not caring if he pressed one on your strap. “Besides, your family would be pretty sad if you don’t come.” You slowly opened your eyes and realized that he was right. Every year, your family in Paris expected you to come spend winter break with them. What they didn’t know was that you also found another reason to come back every year – him. Not only would your aunts, uncles, and cousins be sad if you didn’t come, but most of all, your father would miss you terribly. Growing up without him most of your life was one of his biggest regrets he could never make right. Ever since your parents’ divorce, you craved your father’s presence at moments when you thought you needed him the most and only at winter break could you see him to make up for lost time. You could never imagine skipping a year to see him again. “That’s true, but what if…” You reached back and touched the nape of his neck, locks of his hair caught in between your fingers, pulling him closer to you to let a kiss land on his red and flushed nose from the winter cold that seeped through a centimeter crack from the window. “…I meet someone else along the way?” You couldn’t help but test him even if he distracted you from your sullen mood. It was on your mind for a couple of days, per usual every time it was almost time to go home. He chuckled at your challenge, not showing a faze of worry, but instead, planted his lips on yours, pushing your hair back to your ears and gently cupping your jaw with both his hands. “If that happens, Mad…” He gave your shoulder a light push until you slowly felt your back against the bedsheets, keeping his lips on yours. “I don’t think I would still want to stop seeing you…so…” He breathed in between the part of your empty but still famished lips as his hands found their way within the warmth of yours, tangling some of your hair between them. After he pulled back to look at you, you opened your eyelids again to finally catch the sight of his beautiful face since he woke up. His half-lidded eyes slightly hid behind strands of his tousled hair and his scowled lips traced wet from your kisses as they whispered with a pant of sweet breath that fanned your face. “Come back.” 

“One coffee please, uh- Americano.” You heard the person in front of you order as you waited in line for your turn. The earthy smell of warm coffee lingered in the air, intermittently interrupted by the gush of icy wind that rushed in from time to time from the entrance of the shop as people covered in snow walked in.

“Uh yes, three Madeleine’s please, the ones covered in chocolate, and umm…a cup of black tea please?” You told the cashier in front of you wearing an apron struck with powdered sugar. “Is that for here or to go, madam?” “To go.” The cashier yelled to some employees at the back to try to overlap the sea of conversations in the coffee shop to take your order. “Heh, you never change.” Hoseok chuckled behind you as he gleamed a heart-shaped smile when you looked back at him. Hoseok was your closest cousin in your family in Paris. He lived in the city his whole life and never even had the desire to venture out. He was closest to your age and naturally, became the closest cousin you had. “At this point, you should be worried if I don’t order madeleines.” You cheekily replied before giving the cashier your card. “Cous, I wouldn’t be surprised if you get diabetes someday.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder as he looked up at the menu, still trying to decide what he wanted to get. “If that ever happens, I’ll say it was worth it.” A tight lipped smile formed on your face, refusing to back down from any of his playful attacks. “If that ever happens, I will say I told you so.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head before the cashier prompted the next customer in line. “Ah ye- can I have one croissant and a caramel iced coffee please?” “Huh? Iced coffee? We’re in the middle of the winter, cous!” You tried to continue the light banter, even though you already knew for a fact that Hoseok never liked his coffee warm. “If I get a cold, I’ll still say it was worth it.” He mockingly copied you, manipulating his words into yucky syllables before he gave the cashier his card. You leaned against the counter after both of you moved to the side where customers picked up their coffee, ready to check your names on the cups as soon as they come out. 

“Sooo…cous…how are you?” Hoseok dragged out his words with a cumbersome tone, almost cracking in the middle of the question that uncovered his prudent approach.

“I’ve been with you the past few days, cous.” You pretended not to know what he meant and wished for him to play along, but truthfully, you wanted him to press on, internally begging for him to get you out of denying your own feelings. It had been a few days since your arrival in the city and you knew this conversation was going to happen even before you stepped foot on the plane. Apparently, this is the time Hoseok picked, finally having time alone with you. “No, Cous. How are you?” He warily continued, keeping a still watch on any subtle changes in your expression. This is one of those times you wished Hoseok didn’t have the trait to be eerily observant. “Mmm…” You hummed to find the right words but more so to keep a lump in your throat at ease before proceeding to your next words. “I’ve been better, cous…hope it gets easier sooner than later.” “Welllll, good thing it’s the holidays, you got time to spend it with family and get out of there for a while.” “Yeah it helps a bit, being away from home…” You scratched a particular part of the counter just to evade Hoseok’s eyes, keeping him from seeing how heartbroken you were even though you already knew nothing escaped him. “Jin hyung, Adora, and I, of course, should be able to cheer you up.” He flipped his fingers at your chin, gleaming his contagious smile in hopes that you will catch it too, but to no avail. Instead, you formed a strong pout that told him his strategy to cheer you up was not working. So he faced the counter with you before he looked to the ground as he spoke seriously, clearly catching the fact that you didn’t want to meet his eyes.

“Remember when I didn’t want to let go of Jimin? If I was successful, I never would’ve met the love of my life, Yoongi.” He chuckled to his feet with hands in his favorite flamboyant bomber jacket which you jokingly repeated as an embodiment of his personality. “Just think…this may simply be one bump away to finding the one. Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.” Your lip lifted at one side, unsuccessfully forming a smile that told Hoseok that you didn’t believe in the words he just said. He caressed your head as you both waited for your orders in silence, hoping that they would come soon before you want to bury yourself in your toxic turmoil, hurling into a hurricane of self-blaming and what-ifs. No matter what Hoseok said to keep you optimistic, you couldn’t help but think…what if Jungkook was the one?

The only words that came out of your mouth to reply to Hoseok, but mostly to appease yourself, was, “Maybe cous…hopefully the next one will be the one.” You burned one particular coffee cup with your eyes after the barista slid it across the counter, flashing back at a time Jungkook told you purposely under the stars that you were the one for him. He took your hand in his as he traced over a line on your palm and said that because of that one line, your lives were always connected to each other, from your past lives to the next. You thought it was overly stupid but also overly sweet as he had a thing or two for being “star-crossed” with you, priding himself that no matter the circumstance, you both always made everything work. You now realized that your dumb “star-crossed lovers” agenda had come into full completion; star-crossed lovers were never meant to be together.

The barista called out a name and only then did the wholesome yell pull you to full consciousness, reading the name ‘Taehyung’ written hastily with a sharpie on the cup you were staring at for the past minute. “One Americano for Taehyung!” Hoseok turned his head in a snap at the direction of the man walking over to get his coffee. He did an adorable nudge of his head as he looked at the man walking by in a hazel wool coat and newsboy hat. 

“Taehyung-ah?” The man turned back his head and paused midway of tearing up a sweetener, spilling some outside the rim. He instantly landed his eyes on your cousin before his thick brows perked up from behind his glasses and his ears moved back in glee. “Hoseok hyung?!” A smile instantly formed on his face-- the type of smile that reflected years of friendship and memories, whether good or bad, that undeniably formed an unforgettable cherished bond. “What up buddy? Ehehe-hey!” Hoseok took a step towards him before his hand met Taehyung’s, along with a press of both his cheeks against each of his to greet in the French way– La bise.

“How’ve you been, Tae?” An obvious delight in his tone as he looked at the tall man he had not seen in a long time. “Good good, just getting some coffee before starting the day.” He lifted his coffee up along with a charming lift of his eyebrows, spilling some from its rim before turning back to grab its lid to finally cover it. “Ah! Still a coffee addict I see. Still an Americano?” Hoseok never stopped being observant of people’s behaviors, no matter how big or small. One day he would surprise you by recalling something particular about you, no matter how insignificant, thinking that he wasn’t paying attention. Anyone who had ever met Hoseok learned quickly that he was the type of person who talked to you as if you were the only person who mattered at that moment. He was unfairly gifted with a natural intuition to read people, something that you wanted for yourself. He could tell you what you would do next before you could even pick a fortune cookie. Hence, this is one of the reasons why you loved him dearly and why he was always the perfect older brother you never had. “Haha, as always.” Taehyung giggled as he grabbed a napkin and cleaned up the drops from the spill that smeared the sharpie of his name. “Oh- this is my cousin. She’s visiting for the winter holidays.” “How do you do?” You greeted before you instinctively pulled out your hand for a handshake, only to realize that Taehyung leaned in to kiss your cheek and stopped halfway because of your gesture. He then gave your hand a firm handshake as he looked at you with sparkling eyes, infatuated with the fact that they were as hazel as his coat. 

“Good! You’re American?” Taehyung guessed as Hoseok played along with a rollicking ‘how’d-you-know?’ and a back throw of his head, teasing the fact that you busted your cover. “She visits every year for the holidays though, so she should know more about French manners than most. Not to mention her dad is from here.” Hoseok added as he rustled the top of your head which looked like a dog getting a good rub after returning a stick. “And we still gotta work on that accent, La Petite.” La Petite, meaning ‘little one’ because that was what you were to Hoseok -- the little sister he never had. “It’s pretty good compared to the tourists I toured around who spoke some french.” “Oh yeah! Taehyung-ah is a tour guide here. He knows everything about the city.” Hoseok smiled coyly at you as he languidly bent his body, preparing for his next sentence. “He’s in love with the city of love.” He ended with a laugh to brush off the mushy thing he just said but the only thing Taehyung did was look at his coffee cup with a shy simper. 

“Well, I would offer to show you around but it seems like you got a local here to do that for you.” Grasping Hoseok by the shoulder as he looked at the side of his face in adoration. “Hoseok? Show me around?” You laughed when Hoseok suggestively looked at you, knowing well what you’re going to say next. “The only places he toured me around are the clubs and dance floors.” “Well I can’t say I’m surprised. Hoseok was quite the dancer if I remember correctly back in our college days.” He said before taking a quick sip of his coffee. “Hey! Don’t tell me you didn’t have a good time last night! Even after that-” “Of course I did!” You sliced Hoseok’s words to spare your first impression for Taehyung, not wanting him to know that you chugged a pint of Mojito last night and danced around like a stiff fool. “Here, give me a call if you want.” Taehyung said after he searched for his business card in his coat pocket and you clutched it between your fingers, partially covering the cursive font with your thumb. “You can tag along and you can bring Hoseok hyung.” He gave him a nudge at the arm as Hoseok rolled his eyes with a scoff. “Speaking of tours, I have to go to work! Very nice to meet you.” He nodded at your direction with another raise of his coffee. “And Hoseok hyung, let’s catch up sometime you dance bug!” A smile formed on Hoseok’s face after he felt Taehyung’s playful pat on his back before they said their goodbyes. 

After getting your orders, you and Hoseok sat by the window with a view of the glacial streets benevolently decorated with snow. The warm fresh smell of madeleines met your nostrils after opening its container that had your feet wagging from the stool from excitement. Hoseok couldn’t help but make a confused smile at your reaction in between a sip of his iced coffee.

“I don’t know why I even try if this is what makes you happy right away.” He said across from you as he pointed at your pastry, still holding the coffee in between his fingers by the lid. “I should just get a bunch of these and put it under your nose every time I see that pout you gave me a while ago.” He moved his pointed finger to flick it under your nose that made you throw your head back playfully to reject his teasing gesture.

“You know maybe that could work.” You retorted before you took your first bite, eyes popping when the first distinct level of sweetness touched your tongue. “Nothing like it back home.”

“Speaking of home, you should go on that tour some time before you leave.” 

“Hobi, you know I was just being polite. I’d be miserable if I go on that tour.” You retaliated as you felt that familiar stinging sensation in your chest every time you were reminded of him.

“Why not? Just because you-know-who is gone doesn’t mean you should not see the city.” He replied as he took a bite of his croissant, deflating its form as his teeth sunk down, releasing a heap of warmth from its core. “I think it would be good for you, you know, get some closure.”

Closure. One thing you wanted but at the same time didn’t want. Did you really want to close this chapter of your life? Is it even possible to close it all the way? After all, what choice did you have? All these years of being with who you thought was the one, it was this year when Jungkook was supposed to come with you to meet your family in Paris; to finally meet your father. France was the one place you saved under your belt until you finally knew that you truly loved him. A tour was a great way to explore the city of love, symbolically solidifying your love for him and his for you, but all was wasted when that love proved to be what you thought was everything else but feeble.

“I feel like that would just be a masochistic move don’t you think?” You leaned back in your seat, suspicious of Hoseok’s casual suggestion.

“Mmm...I prefer the term ‘cathartic.’” He cutely propped his head to the side, a gesture incongruent with the words he just said. Hoseok’s typical sunshine behavior sometimes did not match the context of the situation. “Plus, Taehyungie I heard was pretty good.” “How do you know?” The change in temperature on your palm satisfied you when you wrapped your hands around your paper cup before blowing on it to take a comfortable sip.

“Taehyungie was a good friend of mine. He knows the streets inside and out because he used to live out there.”

“Out there?”

“Yeah, he used to live in the streets. He was homeless.”

A backflush of your tea poured unto your cup along with an extension of your neck to prevent a spill as soon as you heard your cousin. “Homeless?! How did he manage to live?!” You exclaimed with a muffled voice caused by the napkin you placed in front of your lips to wipe your carelessness away.

“If you have two eyes, there’s no doubt you’d think Taehyung is good-looking.” He stopped midway of buttering his croissant before he shot up his eyes at you and your rosy cheeks became totally exposed to his view. He couldn’t help but chuckle at your flushed state and continued. “No one’s really resisted his charms before and I guess he used that to his advantage. He used to model for street artists in Paris in exchange for food and a place to stay. He doesn’t have any family.”

“That’s actually...pretty sad...but also pretty impressive.” Recalling back to when you met Taehyung, you never would’ve known this was the kind of past he had to deal with. He seemed totally...normal.

“Yeah, well, he had to do what he had to do and he didn’t have anything, Cous. Penniless.” He swiped his knife to emphasize his words as the melted butter clinged to its edges. “If there’s anyone who I would say would be a good tour guide, it would be him. Plus, I know you were just holding off on seeing these places because you wanted to see them with you-know-who, so why should that butthead stop you this time?” 

Delightfully getting lost and weaving through the nooks and crannies of the city, having Jungkook’s fingers intertwined with yours as your laughters dissolved within each other’s was one of the things you both anticipated for a very long time. Every year that you had the urge to go sightseeing with Jin and Adora, you would let Hoseok instead take you to the bars and clubs. Being in love while being in the city of love were both yours and Jungkook’s dream, a milestone coupled with meeting your dad. However, now that he’s gone, there’s no point in holding yourself anymore, which finally led you to say, ‘I’ll go.’  

“Yeah?” Hoseok paused in the middle of a bite to make sure he heard you right.

“No person should rob me of seeing this wonderful place, right?”

“Right. Good.” Hoseok patted a napkin on his lips studded with crumbs, keeping a still eye on you like he always did when conversations felt sensitive. “Would you be okay by yourself? Want me to come with?”

“No, I want to do this by myself.” The surface of your tea rippled in ripples when a whiff escaped between your voice that answered your cousin. You then take a huge sip to down your decision.

[gxthicwxrm]

Angels Can Be Demonic Too. Prt. One.

Requested By: @lovelykhaleesiii who wanted some Michael imagines. I hope you enjoy and are satisfied lol.

Word Count: 1,688 words.

Fandom: American Horror Story

Pairing: Michael Langdon x Reader

Enjoy!!!

__________________________________________

His hands slide down my ribs. Tracing each curved bone, sending goosebumps over each cell, setting fire throughout my veins. A kiss presses against my shoulder blade. Michael nuzzles his nose into the crook of my neck, wrapping his strong arms around my waist. Holding me against his warm and bare body, he slowly kisses up my neck. Unfortunately, he stops with one final kiss behind my ear.

“I know you're awake, princess. Turn around, please.” He whispers softly. I giggle quietly before turning in his arms. He smiles at me softly. He kisses my nose and rests his forehead against my own. I reach up to run my fingers through his long locks as they lay across the pillow. I snuggle myself into the crook of his neck. He pulls me closer and holds me against his chest.

Moments like this I can’t help but bathe in the peacefulness of his loving side. Everyone normally sees the aggressive, snarky, cocky outside demeanor and goes off running. But, I didn't. He never shown me his mean streak, directly. I’ve seen it towards others, but never towards me. He always have been cocky with me, as that will always be who Michael is but he had a more gentle approach to me and everyone knew it. His hand rubbing up my neck to my hair snaps me out of my thoughts. I kiss his smooth skin softly before quickly pushing him off the side onto his back. I straddle his thin waist and place my hands on his bare chest. He smiles evilly as his hands slide up my thighs, up to my hips. I roll my hips slightly as I lean down to kiss him.

Our lips move in sync as he gets up and flips us til I am on my back with his hips in between my thighs. Before we could go any further, a knock interrupted us. He looks at my apologetically then kisses me before putting on his ruthless, uncaring face as he slides out of bed. He pulls on his boxers and joggers before covering his torso in a navy blue t-shirt. He walks over to the door as I pull up the covers to conceal my bare body. He opens the door to reveal Mallory. Immediately, a pang of jealousy hits me hard. What does she want?

“May I ask what you are doing knocking on my door?” He asks. She says something I wasn’t able to hear.  He nods and says that we will be done soon. She nods then he closes the door, walking back to the bed. He lays beside me and pulls me slow.

“I’m sorry she interrupted us, love. But, they needs us down there for dinner. You need to eat. O get ready babe,” He says softly, his loving and caring look is back. I nod and sit up, with the sheet wrapped around my body.

“Take off that thing. It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before, beautiful.” He laughs softly. I blush and slowly let the fabric fall off my frame. He smirks and gets off the bed following me to the wardrobe. He opens it for me and grabs his clothing as well as my owe. Handing me a black Victorian style dress as well as my lace-up boots. I pull on my dress and wait for Michael to put on his outfit so he can lace up the dress for me.  He obliges but not before tracing up my spine and kissing my shoulder softly. I smile as I turn around facing him.

“ I love you, Michael,” I say as his hands wrap around my waist. I giggle and kiss his cheek. He leans in, kissing me hard. I pull away then move to put on my boots. I stand up and kiss him again.

“Okay, we have to get down there, baby.” Michael says pulling away before intertwining our hands together. I nod and walk with him towards the door. He opens the door for me, not letting go of my hand.  We walk down to the staircase and walk down to meet the others. I convinced him, finally, after hours of begging to go down and join the Halloween ball with the others. Halloween being my favorite holiday. I see the others dressed elegantly, as always. Music play quietly in the room. Everyone chatters except Michael and I. I look at the bookcases along the wall. Michael, understanding my love for literature, stands a few quick steps away from me. He lets me observe all the book spines and covers, while still being close enough to let me be blanketed with his presents but not suffocating. My fingers graze novels of  wizardry and spells, history books of Wicca wars, law of witchery and the Seven Wonders.

I knew what Michael was. An angel. But also the Antichrist. I knew his past with the witches, the warlocks, and his plan for the world. I knew it all. I was not a helper or assist him in the demolition and taking over of the world. I was simply his lover for many years.  He also warned me to not eat the apples that randomly appeared out the outpost. I oblige, obviously. I watch Ms. Mead and Ms. Venable with the apples. Everyone cheers. I tug on Michael’s arm. Something feels really off. I want out. I give him a look that screams my worries. His mask falls down quick enough for me to get a glimpse at him worried for me. We silently walk back to the room. Only Ms. Mead notices.

I rush us towards the room. I practically jogging down the halls, pulling him behind by his wrist. Once we are in the room, safely behind the door, I tell him.

“Something is wrong. Something bad will happen, I can feel it. It’s not the apples. It worse than that. It will be terrible. I don’t know what it is but I swear if something happens to you, I’ll-” I cut myself off as a sob rips threw me. I hadn't noticed I was starting to tear up. He wraps his arm around me and makes me sit on the bed. I curl in his arms as he begins to speak.

“Nothing will happen to me. I have this all planned out. You know this, my Angel. We both will be fine and stroll out of here on top of the wreckage. I love you. Nothing will happen to me. I promise. I’m your Antichrist, I won’t go anywhere as long as I rule that heart of yours,” He says in a calming voice with a bright smile. I snake arms around his waist and put my head on his shoulder. He rubs the top of my head then kisses my temple. I let his words comfort me as we wait for Venable and Ms. Mead come to us.

After 15 minutes, they walk in. Ms. Venable exclaims how Michael is done and outed, among the other things. Michael laugh as she says how she is the boss now. Suddenly, a gun is pulled expectantly. Even thought knowing the fact that they would try to terminate Michael, my stomach still turns at the thought and possibly. I try to fight the ill feeling I have resting in my stomach but it’s strong as minutes pass. Michael moves the gun in Ms. Mead’s hands to face Ms. Venable. A shot is fired. She goes down.

“I was so loyal to her,” Ms. Mead says after questioning how she could do such a thing. Michael explains it all. I move from my stop by the desk, across the room to Michael. I place my hand on his back, kissing his cheek. Thankful for his safety and accuracy, I pull him closely which he returns. He begins to re-introduce who I am to his mother figure. I smile as she thanks me for loving her beautiful blonde boy. I nod, welcoming her. I turn to face Michael. He leans down, his lips met mine. I smile as we pull away. I see his happiness swimming in his beautiful eyes He leans his forehead against mine and smiles back. We close our eyes and rest in the happiness.

“I love you so much, my Ang-”

It hits me before the boom of it does. Piercing pain shots threw me before the ringing in my ears deafens me, before the gunpowder burns my nose, before a scream jumps out my throat. My knees hit the ground by the time the sound of the gun shot wraps around my head and in my ears. My whole body hits the floor when Michael yells out. I look over to see him rushing to Ms. Venable who was holding the gun. Ms. Mead is at my side. She screams something that doesn’t get Michael’s attention. She keeps yelling to him. He finally turns and comes to my other side. Before he grabs my face, I see her. Throat already bruised where he strangled her until her neck snapped. Beside him, blood pools. This wasn’t planned. Michael grabs my face, making me look at him. Finally, my hearing faintly comes back.

“Y/N, Please. Stay awake, Angel. Don’t do this to me, baby. Y/N, NO! Keep your eyes open. Y/N!” He says, panic in his voice. My eye are almost unbearable to keep open.

“I l-love you...so much...too My Handsome….D-demonic...Angel,” I gasp out as I try to keep my eyes open. I look to Ms. Mead

“Ke-Keep him...him safe...for me..pl-please..,” I say He kept his word. He is safe.

“Y/N No, Don’t fucking talk like that. I love you! Please!” He says wailing.

 I can’t respond as darkness takes over me. I will be okay for him. I will fight for my Angel.

[our-smooty]

Flowerbeds and Fertile Soil: Chapter 8

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens, )Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer

Tags:  Kidfic, Mpreg kind of, they can choose to present however so idk, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), OCs Galor, parenting, using your snake form to avoid confrontation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, if I missed a tag lemme know

Summary: They could do anything, go anywhere, all without the worry of Above or Bellow making a fuss. Even so, they mostly kept to their little patch of Eden, their cottage and garden and the simple life they’d carved out among the locals. Aziraphale opened a book shop in town, where he only occasionally sold any books (and the ones he did sell, were all modern and stocked specifically for that purpose). Crowley focused his attentions on the garden, and if he occasionally helped their elderly neighbour with her disobedient willow tree, then that was a secret no one needed to know. Lately, however, they had both been feeling rather restless, unbeknownst to each other. Aziraphale tried reorganizing his store, changing the way he tied his bowtie and even ate pizza –something he considered to be far too messy for him personally. Crowley had branched out into birdwatching, and then car maintenance (the human way), and even reading. Nothing scratched the itch for either of them.

Ao3 Link

“Was it something I said?” Newt asked as soon as Crowley had cleared the dining room. Everyone had gone quiet around the table, even the girls who had been previously chattering happily. Aziraphale shook his head with a small sigh. Though the paella still looked delicious, he’d lost his appetite.

“No, not really. How were you to know that he’s been so very… sensitive about the issue of our baby,” he said, hoping to assuage any guilt the young man might have. 

“I thought something felt off when I mentioned it to him,” Anathema chimed in, looking only slightly less guilt than Newton

“I should have warned you he’s been a tad flighty, it’s my fault my dears.” Aziraphale waffled for a minute because he wasn’t sure how much Crowley would approve of him sharing. Probably nothing, but that didn’t seem like it was going to be possible in these circumstance. “Crowley wasn’t fully on board to, er, start a family initially. But then our situation improved, and he changed his mind only I’m not so sure we went about things the right way.”

Not for the first time, Aziraphale wished he’d insisted they talk about things more thoroughly before getting carried away. It wasn’t that he was doubting that Crowley wanted to have a baby with him, not really, but more that the demon was still harbouring some anxieties about what that actually meant. Even though God Herself had told them they would be safe, and their child fine, Crowley always had been full of questions and anxieties. Aziraphale had had a few moments of panic of his own, so he couldn’t imagine what kind of things Crowley was cooking up in his own mind.

“Crowley is very private. And for some reason he’s got it in his head that this whole matter is extremely personal. He won’t even talk to me about most things, I’m afraid,” he explained, trying the phrase things in a way that would cause the least amount of damage if Crowley were to overhear. “He’s been lying about the morning sickness and dizzy spells. He seems to think I don’t notice”

Anathema nodded along, still eating from her plate. Annabella and Charlotte had begun playing with their food more than eating it, though they remained reasonably quiet. “Doesn’t surprise me. It took him how many thousand years to confess he was madly in love with you?”

Aziraphale blushed. Over 6000 years, and at least 4000 of those he had also been aware of his feelings for the demon (more likely he’d felt that way from the beginning and not admitted it to himself until that first dinner they’d had--oysters at Patroneous’). They’d probably spoken more about their feelings in the past 10 years than the entire 6000. And even then they often left things unsaid out of pure habit. Perhaps that was exactly what Crowley was doing now, and really it was Aziraphale causing the problem by expecting something different. 

“I thought he trusted me,” he said quietly, staring down at the table. Suddenly he realized that he was essentially complaining about his relationship issues much more than either human probably wanted to hear about. “Terribly sorry, forget I said anything. I’ll speak with him later, I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

Anathema raised an eyebrow, clearly not ready to let this die. Newt seemed to pick up on her energy and slowly began clearing the empty dishes away. The girls took this to mean they were excused and quickly scampered away to their bedrooms, eager to get back to their toys. 

“Listen, Aziraphale. I’m not going to pretend to know half of what you two have going on,” Anathema started, her voice matter-of-fact, “and honestly I don’t have that much relationship advice to give, since I always knew I’d end up with Newt eventually from Anges’ book. But I do know you need to talk to each other. All the love in the world isn’t going to keep a relationship going if you don’t talk about things.”

This was the reason why Aziraphale loved humans. They could be so honest and willing to help, even when they didn’t have to be. “Thank you, my dear girl. You’re right of course, we’ve fallen into some very bad habits that are in need of addressing.”

Aziraphale stood to help Newt with the dishes, but he was waved off. “Why don’t you go see how he's doing out there? It’s been a while and we do have a dishwasher.” Aziraphale was doubtful of the machine's ability to stand up to Newton's general inability to use technology, but he was also grateful for the excuse to go check on Crowley.

“Thank you. I’m sorry again for making a bit of a scene. The food was delightful as always, Anathema,” he said. Anathema smiled and got up herself, most likely to check on the suspiciously quiet children. 

Outside, the weather was much the same as it had been when they arrived--warm with just a hint of autumn chilliness in the air. The trees were all still green for the most part, though a few had started to yellow at the edges. Aziraphale was looking forward to the fall because that was when all of his favourite cafes started serving exciting flavours of coffee and cocoa. He shut the front door quietly behind him and made his way to the Bently, still sitting quietly in the driveway. 

“Crowley?” he called. The tint on the windows made it impossible to see into the seats so he had to open the doors to check inside. It was empty, which was only a little surprising; Crowley was a restless being and Aziraphale had expected he would go for a walk instead of hanging around the car. There was nothing to be done for it then, and he would just have to wait until the demon came back of his own accord. 

“I do hope he isn’t gone too long…” Aziraphale murmured to himself. In the meantime, it couldn’t hurt to do one last check to make sure all the girl’s toys and sleepover items had been returned and weren’t hiding in the backseat or trunk. They didn’t want another incident where they got all the way home, only to discover a precious toy or favourite pair of shoes still tucked away. When he’d confirmed there was nothing in the backseat he popped the boot and went to check there.

“My word!” he gasped. Upon opening the boot he was greeted by several feet of black and red scales. “Crowley, what the devil are you doing in the car boot?”

Crowley’s body shifted, scales sliding against each other with a whisper-soft sound. Eventually, his head appeared to stare unblinkingly at Aziraphale. It was impossible for him to parse the snake’s facial expressions since there really weren’t any, and Aziraphale sighed again. It felt like he’d been doing that more than usual recently. 

“Dearest,” he reached out to caress the space between Crowley’s eyes, “are you alright? I have to say finding you hear, like this, is a shock.” Crowley’s head swayed up and down and he bumped his snoot against the angel’s hand, asking for more pets. “Is shifting like this safe for the baby? Not that I don’t trust your judgement.”

Realizing that Crowley couldn’t speak in this form and that he didn’t seem to want to change back, Aziraphale switched gears. “One boop for yes, two for no?” Crowley nudged his nose against Aziraphale’s hand once.

“Very good love. Now, are you alright?” One boop. “And is this safe for the baby.” Another single boop, a little more hesitant this time. “I trust your judgement, Crowley. Do you mind if I stay with you, or do you want me to leave?” Crowley gave him a Look, probably because there was no way to answer that question with their current system. Aziraphale internally cursed; he was so bad at this.

“Do you need some more time to yourself? I won’t be mad if you do,” he said, running his hands along the reddish scales that framed the snake’s eyes. Crowley nosed his face into the touch but didn’t give an answer. “I promise I won’t be angry if you want to be alone for a bit Crowley.”

Instead of answering, Crowley drew back and unfurled himself, slithering out of the trunk into his regular human shape. Aziraphale took a step back to give him space to finish the transformation, busying himself with shutting the boot after all of Crowley’s tail had cleared it.

“I dunno,” Crowley said finally, staring down at the pavement. “You didn’t give me one for that.”

Another internal reprimand. “Apologies, I’ll remember to next time.”

“Can I get a hug?” Crowley asked quietly. He was shuffling his feet and generally looked miserable. Aziraphale didn’t hesitate to scoop him up in his arms.

“You needn’t ask, lovely.” Crowley felt small in his grasp, his height not making up for the fact he was skinny as a twig. “I think we need to have a little chat later though, don’t you?”

“'Bout what?” The question was muffled and a tad whiney. “Nothing to talk about, just fancied a nap.”

“Crowley we both know that isn’t true. I thought you might want to discuss it at home though, where you’d be more comfortable.” There was no answer of course. Aziraphale hadn’t expected this to be easy. Personally, this was incredibly uncomfortable already, but trying to muddle through for Crowley’s sake. This didn’t come naturally to him, all this talking about their feelings, not after 6000 years of hiding. It seemed to him that even though they'd spent the last 10 years together, they really hadn't made much progress.

Crowley stayed silent, burrowing his face deep into the threadbare fabric of Aziraphale’s coat. The angel hummed tunelessly and shifted them from side to side slowly and rhythmically. This, at least, was familiar. This quiet sort of comfort was what he did best, and was often what Crowley asked for. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to get them any close to talking things through. 

“Listen, I know that this whole situation is very strange and that you were uneasy with things from the get-go. I don’t blame you for feeling, unsure, about everything, I just want you to know that.” He was babbling, as he often did when he didn’t know exactly what to say. And as usual it seemed he’d stuck his foot in his mouth because Crowley tensed and pulled his head back, eyes hard and mouth grim. 

“I’m not bloody unsure,” he snapped, ready for a fight. Aziraphale could see Crowley getting himself worked up, could see this going much the same as that night two months ago if he didn’t fix things. Only he wasn’t sure how to do that, without knowing what Crowley was thinking. 

“Sorry, I--Crowley I just want to help! I-I want you to talk to me, so I can help you,” he pleaded, trying to push all his love and devotion and worry at the other. “Please, just talk to me.”

Crowley struggled in Aziraphale’s arms and wrenched himself free. “I don’t want your help! I don’t want you hovering, a-and fussing! I hate people making a big deal out of this!” He paced along the side of the Bently, his stride long and irate. “It was supposed to be no big deal, yeah? It’s not a big deal, humans do it all the time!”

Aziraphale watched him, afraid to say anything else since he’d messed things up so seriously once again. He felt like he was missing pieces, like he was on a completely different track at all times. If things kept up like this, he wasn’t sure how they were going to make it through.

“I don’t like being treated like an invalid Aziraphale. I hate their pity, and yours too. I just want everything to go back to normal.” Crowley was winding down. Sometimes that happened, he’d run out of steam and out of words and then pop off to his flat for a few days. Leaving Aziraphale to think over and over and over what he could have done better.

“Of course you’re not--I didn’t mean to suggest--I only worry. It’s hard to see you suffering especially when you won’t let me do anything about it and I--”

“I don’t want you to worry about me!” Crowley growled, back on the offensive. “I hate feeling like you--like anyone needs to watch out for me.” Hands wrapped around each other, strangling fingers as the twisted back and forth. “It’s the worst thing, you know. Making you worried about me.”

Trying very, very hard not to reach out and comfort Crowley, Aziraphale mirrored the wringing action of his hands. He couldn’t help it, really, the compulsion to reach out and touch and make things better. But if what Crowley was saying was true, then that was exactly the issue. “You not talking to me makes me worry more!”

Crowley physically recoiled, like Aziraphale had hit him. The angel watched as the carefully constructed walls and barriers behind Crowley’s eyes began to topple faster than he could rebuild them. “This’s stupid. We should have never--”

“Don’t say that!” Aziraphale shouted, his own emotions getting the better of him. “I-I can’t hear you say this was a mistake, that our baby was a mistake. It’ll break me, Crowley, please.” 

“Fuck Aziraphale,” Crowley said, taking a sudden sharp breath, “I wasn’t--I don’t think it was a mistake! I was going to say we shouldn’t have come here, stayed for dinner. Do you really think I don’t--that I don’t want it?”

And once again, Aziraphale had stuck his foot in his mouth and jumped to conclusions. He’d made everything worse for Crowley and opened up another pit between them, all because he couldn’t bloody think things through. If one could discorporate from regret, Aziraphale would have been long gone. 

“Well I… You seem so miserable, and you won’t talk to me. I just thought you might wish things hadn’t gotten so complicated.” Apologize, you idiot, he told himself. Another old habit he needed to break. “I’m sorry for assuming things. This’s why I wanted to--why we need to talk more.”

The few seconds of silence before Crowley answered felt like years. He took a shaky breath like he needed to and wasn’t just pretending at being a human. Sometime during the argument, his hands had come to wrap around his waist and hips, like he was shielding himself from the harsh words between them. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, he’d wanted to wait until they were home and they could sit down amongst their things and talk about this civilly. They could have even ordered in, gotten out some of the fresh fruit juice Aziraphale had taken to stocking up on, and made an evening of it. An evening that they could have remembered fondly, the point where they finally bloody talked instead of bumbling through things. 

“I wanna go home,” Crowley said in response, refusing to make eye contact. “I’ll be in the car, say bye for me yeah?” He was quick to turn around and climb into the drivers seat, slamming the door behind him (though not too hard, ever since it burned Crowley had be extra careful with the Bently). Aziraphale, frozen by the sudden dismissal, could do nothing but watch. 

It took him a few seconds to get moving. When he did it was almost automatic. He went up to the door, inside the house, and thanked Anathema and Newt for dinner. Said goodbye to the girls and to Alfred, told them Crowley said goodbye too, all with his usual smile. Aziraphale assured everyone that he and Crowley were fine, and that the demon had begun to feel unwell again so they’d better be off.

All of those goodbyes took much less time than usual, and he used the excuse of Crowley’s discomfort as a crutch to speed them along even further. In total it only took 15 minutes before he was back outside, standing at the passenger side door of the Bently. He didn’t even think of trying the driver's side. No matter how upset Crowley was, he wouldn’t let someone else drive his car. So Aziraphale waited a moment, until the Bently rumbled to life, then opened the door. 

Normally Crowley would rib him about taking so long to say goodbye, but not this time. They were both silent as he entered the car. It made Aziraphale extremely nervous, so much so he began to toy with the fraying edges of his waistcoat, endangering their structural integrity. Of course, he could miracle it back into perfect condition, but then it wouldn’t exactly be the same jacket he’d bought over 150 years ago. So halfway through the drive, he had to force his hands to be still by tucking them between his thighs.

Crowley’s face as impassive as he drove. Aziraphale tried not to glance over too much, but he couldn’t help it. Was Crowley angry? Was he upset? When they got home, what was going to happen? Aziraphale’s heart was pounding with anxiety by the time they pulled into the cottage drive, his entire being vibrating with it. Crowley still looked about the same. 

“S-so,” Aziraphale started. He was about to begin babbling, all the words he’d kept inside for the past few hours were going to come out in a big messy puddle and probably make things worse. But he couldn’t--he didn’t know how to do this. “I, ah, what I mean to say is--”

“M’tired,” Crowley mumbled, hands still poised on the steering wheel. “And I’m feeling a little, uh, my stomach’s all twisted, like a spring and I don’t wanna be sick all over the Bently so if we could go inside…”

“Of course! Let me--I mean, I’ll get the door and then make us a cuppa?” Much to his relief Crowley nodded and finally, finally looked over at him. 

“Did Book Girl give you that tea she was talking about?” Aziraphale was surprised, enough so that he didn’t say anything about the nickname.

“She did, would you like to try some? It smells of peppermint to me.” He hadn’t expected Crowley to want to have anything to do with the things Anathema had given them, nevermind ask about them so soon. But that was good, wasn’t it? Unless he was feeling so awful he was willing to try anything, which in that case Aziraphale felt worse for not noticing. 

“Yeah, and some crackers maybe? If you don’t mind,” Crowley added, fidgeting restlessly. “We could, well you could read but I might watch some telly?”

“Sounds lovely dear, I’ll put the kettle on.” He wanted to ask if Crowley needed help getting out of the car, but he had enough sense to know that would probably start another argument. So instead he gave Crowley’s shoulder a squeeze, then got out of the car to go do as he’d been asked. At the very least it gave him something to do, opening the front door with his key the human way, bustling about the kitchen to prepare the tea, spreading the crackers and a few slices of apple with cheese from the garden around a plate. He could hear Crowley come in not long after him and settle down in their living room, followed shortly by the intro to Great British Bake Off. 

“Here we are!” Aziraphale announced, balancing two cups of tea and the plate of nibbles as he hurried to the sofa. One cup found its home in front of Crowley, who was staring resolutely at the telly, and the other stayed with Aziraphale. The plate he put between them so they could both enjoy the snacks. Crowley mumbled his thanks and sniffed cautiously at the drink, but he took a sip and didn’t wince, so Aziraphale hoped it was alright. 

Again silence settled over them. It wasn’t the companionable silence they often shared while having a snack and enjoying each other's company in the late afternoon. It was a silence of absence, of things left unsaid. It was as bad as in the car.

“Thanks,” Crowley said suddenly, much more clearly this time. “For the tea and the crackers. They help, sort of.”

“Happy to hear it. I don’t mind, you know. Whatever you want I’ll bring it to you,” Aziraphale assured him with a soft smile. The desire to move the plate and scoop the other up and hold him tight. “I’ll wait until you ask though, if that makes it better? I guess I do--I have been hovering something dreadful.”

“You have,” Crowley agreed, taking the tiniest nibble of apple, grimacing and setting it back down. “I could’ve been a bit better about saying something though, I guess. I just, you know what it’s like, down there. I’m not used to… this. Needing help.”

This time Aziraphale did move the plate and shuffle over so he was close enough to lean against Crowley’s side. Crowley leaned into him too and it made the tight coil in Aziraphale’s chest relax slightly. 

“I’m not used to playing things by ear. I may have gotten a little swept up in everything and gone overboard with my attentions. I’m sorry for making you feel uncomfortable, but I need you to tell me these things Crowley. I’m not a mind reader.”

Crowley sighed and put his empty teacup down before snuggling into Aziraphale’s side even more. The angel lifted his arm so Crowley could tuck his head into his shoulder. “You could if you wanted. I wouldn’t mind.”

“What, read your mind? I would never invade your privacy like that!” Aziraphale exclaimed. The idea was off-putting, using his Angelic influence on Crowley in that way. 

“You’re too good for me angel,” Crowley replied with a hollow chuckle. “I’ll uh, try to say something next time.”

“And I’ll try to hover less. But Crowley?” Crowley made a noise to indicate he was listening, but Aziraphale hesitated. He wanted to tell Crowley that the demon deserved good things, that he deserved to be treated kindly. But that was probably too much for the current moment, so he held his tongue. Instead, he said, “You know I love you, right?”

Crowley cuddled closer. He always did, his snakish instinct to get closer to Aziraphale’s heat often overriding his unconscious mind. “Yeah. Love you too angel.”

The silence that followed was much warmer and more comfortable than the previous ones. Much more like their usual dichotomy. Aziraphale leaned forward a little bit to snag another cracker, which he pressed to Crowley’s lips. 

“A few more, then I maybe I can read to you? Or you can watch your shows while I read by myself.” This newly found peace after such a stressful afternoon was tentative, and Aziraphale was worried about breaking it by being overbearing again.

Crowley, however, just hummed in agreement and took the cracker. Between dainty nibbles he asked, “Can we finish this episode, then maybe you can read something? This is the one with the durian and it’s hilarious. Unless you want to do something else, that’s fine.”

Would they spend the next however long Crowley was going to be pregnant walking on eggshells? What about after the baby came? “No, no, that sounds good to me love. As I said, all you have to do is ask and I’ll give you anything.”

“‘Kay,” Crowley answered, holding his hand out for another cracker, which Aziraphale immediately provided. They’d have to go out to the shops and stock up on some more at this rate. Maybe he could find a bakery nearby that made some fresh that Crowley might like better than the dry store-bought ones. “Can you get rid of the apples? They uh, they’re making me feel sick.”

In a blink the apples and the cheese (just to be safe) were gone and only the crackers remained. Crowley leaned up and placed a messy kiss on Aziraphale’s jawline in thanks, then turned back to his show. Aziraphale gave him a little squeeze around the shoulders, then settled in with the book he kept on the side table for moments like these. Things were comfortable again, and they’d talked a little. More progress could be made tomorrow, or the next day. After all, there wasn’t really any rush.

[mybukz]

Pride Month Fiction: The Checkered Shirt of Benny Khoo and the Salmon Sampin of Adam Tan by Kok Fuk Hoe

Finally, I got to know Mr Benny. The one Ms Sophia praised over and over during my interview.

It was the first day of school. Teachers and students were coming in and out from the staffroom but I couldn’t be bothered. Things were piling up on my plate. However, I was eager to find out about Mr Benny. Ms Sophia, the human resource manager, had told me about him while explaining my contract—apparently Mr Benny was the only teacher offered a permanent position before the six-month probation. He seemed to possess some supreme teaching methods that wowed his students—he managed to nail a place in this distinguished school in just two months!

This morning I was thrilled—his name plate sat on the table behind mine. I was sure when he came in, he would notice someone new. Even more so when I was sitting right behind him, back to back.

I felt the chair behind me lean against mine. I smiled and got ready to expect some welcome, maybe a grin and motivation. But nothing happened. I stood up and turned around.

“Hi, I am Adam. Nice to know you. I am the new teacher.” I proffered my hand to the back of his head.

He was eating yoghurt and looking at his laptop screen. I reached out for his shoulder. He stiffened, frowned and darted a glance at my hand. He didn’t seem to like talking to me. But darn it, I had expected him to talk to me.

I withdrew my hand; I had been too forward. Then he got up. He went to the fridge and came back with another yoghurt. I stood looking like an idiot.

Then he turned around, looked at me, and shook my hand, limply. “Nice to know you too, and…Welcome to the school.”

I smiled a thanks despite the rudeness. “I teach English as a Second Language for the Year 8 classes. How about you?”

“Year 9. English as a First Language.” Benny remained straight-faced as he stuck one earphone into an ear.

His etiquette fazed me. “Ms Sophia kept mentioning your name during my interview. You must be a very famous teacher.”

“Nah, they’re just exaggerating. You just do what you have to do.”

His replies were short and he didn’t care to talk more. His eyes kept going back to his screen; he wanted to continue watching ice hockey. I quickly ended our conversation and turned back to my desk. I felt cheated by Ms Sophia’s description. This Mr Benny was worse than his yoghurt. At least yoghurt tasted sour— he was just plain cold.

*

It wasn’t hard to glean more about Mr Benny since we worked in the same department and shared the same staffroom. Except for his gravelly Canadian accent (I loved it!), I found out he was just weird.

Benny usually clocked in fifteen minutes later than me. He would have a cup of black coffee—those paper cup instant coffee from 7-Eleven—and some sandwich made of wheat bread. His breakfast routine had to be accompanied by watching his favourite ice hockey show. Finishing his food, he would pump two drops of sanitiser to clean his hand. He never joined anyone for lunch; he brought some delicate-looking meals in a jar, or some steamed corn, or some purplish salad, and of course, there was this cleaning his hand with sanitiser after his meals.

I had never seen him go to a toilet. All he did was teach in the classroom or sit in his cubicle watching ice hockey or sometimes marking exercise books. Mr Benny didn’t talk much to anyone. He would skip reliefs or after-school meetings. And the strangest thing? No one dared talk about this to him. Not even the Head of Secondary.

I couldn’t hide my curiosity about this Chinese Canadian guy. As soon as I adapted to the school, I started asking around about him.

“Why is Benny never joining us for lunch? It is free though.”

“I guess he can’t adapt to Malaysian food. He is an ang mo lah! The foreigners’ stomach can’t hold our curry and spices,” Mr Loke answered. He had straggly hair, taught mathematics.

“But he has been here for seven years and his wife is Malaysian. He should be able to adapt to the food here. It’s not like the school is cooking spicy food all the time. He can eat Chinese food. He is a Chinese after all. Come on,” Mr Goh chimed in, while serving a spoonful of chap chye into his mouth. He was artistic, taught arts and craft.

“He is a C-A-N-A-D-I-A-N, Mr Goh. It is more atas or high-class to be identified that way,” Mr Loke scoffed, failing to hide his sarcasm.

“I guess his wife prepares his food then?”

“Oh yes. His wife worked in this school last time but she resigned after they married. She is a nyonya,” Mr Loke continued to tell me more.

I frowned, I couldn’t understand how Benny’s life worked. “But Peranakan food is made up of tonnes of local spices and is mostly spicy and pungent in smell. So how did he survive the marriage?”

“Adui, Adam, you single people won’t understand this. You will do everything if you are in love. And obviously in his case, his wife loves him more than he does. And come to think of it, it actually saves a lot of time to prep him an overnight oat rather than cooking a decent meal. No one loves cooking these days. Not even my wife,” Mr Goh continued chewing the school food.

Mr Loke ranted, “His wife is the one who chased after him last time. I can’t deny that when I first knew Benny, his Canadian accent really attracted me but well, I am a man. But Jesus, I had no fucking idea that he is so lazy. He skips meetings and events, and he doesn’t even care about his homeroom. Handsome guy is pretty useless, huh?”

“But why the school likes him so much?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he is an ang mo?”

Or maybe it was because of his Canadian accent.

Or maybe Benny looked extremely hot for an Asian: only five feet tall, slim, inimitable foreign accent. God, he looked hot in Doc Martens leather boots. Could Asians carry it off with leather?

Or maybe Benny was hot because he didn’t give a fuck about anything in the school. I guessed you’d look cool when everyone was busy pleasing the students, parents and management and you decided not to follow the trend. Instead you just acted like a real man. And real man takes risks. And Benny was a real man.

Or maybe he fucked Ms Sophia? Was Ms Sophia his wife? Because it would make sense since Ms Sophia was always raving about him being an awesome teacher and whatnot. Or maybe Ms Kelly, our Head of Department. Or Ms Vijay, the Head of Secondary.

I didn’t know the answers.

*

A week before the midterm-cum-Raya holidays, I decided to put on a black baju Melayu. I matched it with a salmon sampin, and completed my look with a songkok. I looked like a real Malay whenever I put on the costumes because of my skin colour.

I am a Chinese as you can tell from my name, Adam Tan. However, my dark skin is not a result of sunburn or sun tan. I inherited this beautiful skin colour from my Chinese and Indonesian Chinese ancestors. We are the Chinese Peranakan, or the baba nyonya, an ethnic group fast disappearing because people no longer cross cultures.

It is confusing and sometimes, shocking, to not know how to respond to an entity that doesn’t truly belong to anyone and anywhere. Just like Benny—he was Chinese Canadian but he didn’t know how to speak Chinese like Mr Loke and Mr Goh. He married a Malaysian but had problems eating Malaysian food. And the most confusing thing was, he spoke good English. Asians don’t speak good English, they say.

Thus, everyone liked to stay the same because it was easier that way. Even in the workplace. Except Benny, of course.

Everyone was at the lounge, laughing, taking pictures and chit-chatting away. There was no food; it was still five days away before our Muslim colleagues stopped observing fasting and celebrated the Raya celebration.

As usual, Benny was never keen to join in the fun. He didn’t care about celebrations. I was surprised he put an appearance now. He had put on his usual checkered shirt—this time, in black and white—and leather boots. I ignored him and turned my back to him.

Someone patted my shoulder. I turned around and was taken aback to find Benny talking to me. To little old Adam.

“Hey Adam, you look exceptionally sharp today.” I was still in shock, I couldn’t process his words suddenly.

“Oh yeah. Thank you. Have you tried wearing such a costume? It is comfortable.” I smiled, awkwardly, like a little child.

“No. I never wore them before.”

“You should try one day. It is—”

“Hey Adam, I need a favour from you.”

I knew it. He was up to no good. He talked to me simply because he needed something.

“How can I help you?” My face had changed from awkward to looking flustered.

He looked hesitant for a moment. “My car broke down this morning and I couldn’t go back today.”

“You want me to send you back?” I was one step close to exploding if the answer was yes.

“No. Can I stay at your place before my wife picks me up this evening? I heard that you are living somewhere around Puchong. I stay in Puchong. You don’t have to send me back.”

My anger diminished. At least he knew it would be a bad idea for me to send him back. He was never part of us, and he never wanted it, I guess.

*

I had just entered my room when Benny knocked on my door.

“Do you need anything? If not, let me change myself before I—”

Benny pressed his lips onto mine. They were soft and moist. I kissed him back, like a hungry beast, devouring his saliva, tongue, and lips. My cock in my pants was filling up with blood.

But I pulled back. “What the fuck is this, Benny?” I was huffing and puffing from the kiss.

“I knew you like me.” The sentence sounded racy in his ang mo accent.

“How did you know?”

“I just know.” He looked down. “Are those stains from your cum? Imagining me fucking you every night?” He sneered. “You do, don’t you?”

Benny hoisted me with strong hands and threw me onto the bed. Why was this happening? But, fuck, was I going to savour this moment. I licked my lips as Benny’s body—and his dick—hunkered over me.

Benny tore at the buttons from his shirt, and hurled his clothes to the floor. This was the first time I saw his body—lean and fit. His nipples were big and dark, and there was hair all the way down from his belly button to the place I wanted to visit the most. Sexy.

He straddled my lithe body, and unravelled my tight sampin. He leaned down and I savoured his kiss, and breathed in his body odour. I wasted no time fumbling at his belt—I wanted to taste his dick.

Soon, my sampin was flung to the floor. And in no time, my baju Melayu, sampin, and undies, along with his shirts and pants, decorated the floor. I felt masculinity suffuse me—the tight stomach squashing me, the hard pecs, the nipples, the big balls. I reached down to grip him—his dick was huge. What a contradiction from his slender body—was that why he attracted us? I was dying to suck his dick, like a hungry baby craving for tits.

I moaned, breathed heavily, my body arched up, twitching—his fingers were caressing my nipples, pulling them, twisting them. I stroked my dick while his thick shaft stayed in my mouth. He thrust his dick against my mouth. When he drew it out, I licked the purplish head. Was I tasting my saliva or his pre-cum? At this rate I didn’t care—my pre-cum had doused my dick, I couldn’t wait to have Benny in me.

Benny flipped me over. He was ready with a condom. He must have come prepared with it in his pants pocket. He rolled it over his cock with skill. (And practice?) He held my legs up in the air. I begged him to shove it in. I needed pounding. Hard.

I moaned louder. I couldn’t stop crying out his name. I had never felt anything this intense. Not since becoming a teacher, a job that drained my energy having to man up all the time in front of the classroom. Now, I wanted to be punished. I wanted to be conquered. My body longed to be controlled and Benny was doing a great job. (I nearly giggled—as good a job as his teaching.)

I moaned every time Benny pounded into me and slapped my butt and uttered nasty words. Slut. Horny dog. Slave, Benny my master. I begged for more. This was my primal self. I needed an alpha male (with a sexy Canadian accent) to take charge, especially in bed. As if agreeing to submit, my dick rose higher, grew harder. Its hole overflowed every time Benny’s gigantic dick locked fiercely and tightly into my asshole. I didn’t mind dying under such circumstances. I was blessed to be pounded by such a huge dick—more so as its owner was skilled.

It seemed surreal when we both reached orgasm together. We huffed and gasped for air, surfacing for consciousness after shooting loads of cum. Benny didn’t pull his dick out; he remained inside, lying on top of me. I hugged and kissed him, feeling his heartbeat synchronising with mine. Between the layer of his sweat and my cum, I knew I wanted him.

“Why this?” I asked. “Why now?”

“You looked sexy in your sampin today. And I just wanted to fuck you. I love exotic creatures.” Benny grinned.

“Wow, I am offended, Benny. My sampin is short because I am single. Those who are married will wear their sampin below the knees. I don’t mean to look sexy.” And with mock offense, “I am not some exotic creature.”

“Well, that’s why I am attracted to you, little Adam. You look cute whenever you are annoyed.”

Benny kissed my lips. I knew we were alike—misfit, eccentric, offbeat. We didn’t really belong anywhere, or maybe the universe had yet to categorise people like us since we could be anything and everything we wanted to be. Benny didn’t give a shit about anything and I too didn’t give a shit about everything.

And this meant one thing: Benny wouldn’t give a shit about our status after this evening.

*

It was the first day of school after the holidays. I arrived at 5.30a.m. as usual, and it was dark.

I walked down the corridor. I saw the staffroom was already lit up. Someone had come in earlier.

I walked towards the staffroom. Two silhouettes were framed behind the glass door. I held my breath and slowed my footsteps. I didn’t want to alert these figures.

I leaned nearer to the door, squinted into the half-lit room. To my horror, I made out Benny humping someone at the lounge.

Damn it, I knew it. He didn’t give a fuck about anything. He would fuck anything. I clenched my fist. Who was that under him?

I couldn’t see; the lounge was not in the light. All I could make out was Benny’s top half.

I stood on tiptoes, and stretched my neck to see if a girl or boy. It was all shadows but I could spy Benny’s dick moving in and out between the legs.

But wait, where were Benny’s legs? He was standing, wasn’t he?

Benny turned around and locked eyes with me. They were dark and hollow. He smirked and the lights went off.

* This is Kok Fuk Hoe’s first attempt at writing erotica. He welcomes any comments from readers. He will answer any questions.

[tyblackthorn]

qoaad snippets shared so far

warning: long post from oldest to newest

Mark knocked, and a harried-looking Simon Lewis opened the door.  

------------------

“I can’t do this.” Helen tried to keep her voice steady, but it was nearly impossible. She hoped the strain would be covered by the sound of the waves crashing below them, but Aline knew her too well. She could sense when Helen was upset, even when she was trying hard not to show it. “Baby.” Aline moved closer, wrapping her arms around Helen, brushing her lips softly with her own. “You can. You can do anything.” Helen relaxed into her wife’s arms. When she’d first met Aline she’d thought the other girl was taller than she was, but she’d realized later it was the way Aline held herself, arrow-straight. The Consul, her mother, held herself the same way, and with the same pride — not that either of them was arrogant, but the word seemed a shade closer to what Helen imagined than simple confidence. She remembered the first love note Aline had ever written her. The curves of your lips rewrite history. The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. Later, she’d found out it was an Oscar Wilde quote, and had said to Aline, smiling, You’ve got a lot of nerve. Aline had looked back at her steadily. “I know. I do.” They both had, always, and it had stood them in good stead. But this — “This is different,” Helen said. “They don’t want me here –“ “They do want you here.” “They barely know me,” Helen said. “That’s worse.”

------------------

Fear prickled up and down Emma’s arms like goosebumps. Since she was twelve, she had been terrified of the ocean: she had always believed her parents had died in it, dragged below the surface by Raziel knew what, choked to death on bitter seawater. The surge and crash of waves, the imagined black velvet of the ocean’s depths, had filled her nightmares. Even when she found out her parents had been murdered on dry land by Malcolm Fade, their bodies thrown into the sea after death, the fear remained. She reached for it now, welcomed it in. She could feel it filling the empty spaces, the hollows left by grief. She glanced back down at the sea. The surging whirlpool below, the waves slamming like dark blue walls against sheer needles of stone, looked like a painting of a maelstrom, a photograph of a hellscape taken from a safe distance. The wind screamed in Emma’s ears like a warning. Another wave hurled itself against the cliffs, sending up an explosion of spray. Emma smiled grimly into the wind and salt, and jumped.

------------------

Kit glanced around, wondering if the growing number of people was bothering Ty. He hated crowds. Magnus and Alec were standing with their kids near the Consul; they were with a beautiful black-haired girl with eyebrows just like Alec’s and a boy — well, he was probably in his twenties — with untidy brown hair. The boy gave Kit a considering look that seemed to say you look familiar. Several people had done the same. Kit guessed it was because he looked like Jace, if Jace had suffered a sudden and unexpected height, muscle and overall hotness reduction.

------------------

Isabelle shook her head, then bent down and unclipped a chain from one ankle. She held it out to Emma. “This is blessed iron. Poisonous to faeries. Wear it and you can pack a hell of a kick.” “Thanks.” Emma took the chain and wrapped it twice around her wrist, fastening it tightly. “Do I have anything iron?” Simon looked around wildly, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal figure of an archer. “This is my D&D character, Lord Montgomery —” “Oh my God,” said Isabelle.

------------------

Emma had been halfway up the stairs on the way to Cristina’s room when she had seen Mark, leaning against the wall on the landing and looking dejected. “Dru won’t let me in to talk to her,” he said. “I am worried. It is like a faerie to grieve alone, but not, I understand, like a Shadowhunter.” Emma hesitated. She was about to say that it wasn’t unlike Dru to lock herself in her room alone, but Dru had looked more than a little upset when she’d left the kitchen. “Keep trying,” she advised. “Sometimes you have to knock for twenty minutes or so. Or you could offer to watch a horror movie with her.” Mark looked glum. “I do not think I would enjoy a horror movie.” “You never know,” Emma said. He turned to head back up the stairs, and hesitated. “I am worried about you and Jules as well,” he said, more quietly. “I do not like the Inquisitor, or the idea of you being questioned by him. He reminds me of the King of Unseelie.” Emma was startled. “He does?” “They give me the same feeling,” Mark said. “I cannot explain it, but —“ A door opened on the landing overhead: it was Cristina’s. She stepped out, glancing down. “Emma? I wondered if you were —“ She stopped when she saw Mark, and she and Mark stared at each other in a way that made Emma feel as if she had disappeared completely. “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Cristina said, but she was still looking at Mark, and he was looking back as if their gazes were hopelessly tied together. Mark had shaken himself, as if he were casting off cobwebs or dreams. “It is all right — I must go speak with Drusilla.” He had bounded up the stairs and out of sight, disappearing around the bend in the corridor. Cristina had snapped out of it and invited Emma in, and now it was as if the moment with Mark had never happened, though Emma was itching to ask about it. “Mark will need you,” she said again, and Cristina twisted her hands in her lap. “Mark,” she said, and paused. “I don’t know what Mark is thinking. If he is angry at me.” “Why would he be angry at you?” “Because of Kieran,” she said. “They did not end things well, and now Kieran is at the Scholomance, and far away, which was my doing.” “You didn’t break him up with Kieran,” Emma protested. “If anything, you helped keep them together longer. Remember — hot faerie threesome.” Cristina dropped her face into her hands. “Mrfuffhfhsh,” she said. “What?” “I said,” Cristina repeated, lifting her face, “that Kieran sent me a note.” “He did? How? When?” “This morning. In an acorn.” Cristina passed a small piece of paper to Emma. “It isn’t very illuminating.”

Lady of Roses,

Though the Scholomance is cold, and Diego is boring, I am still grateful that you found enough value in my life to save it. You are as kind as you are beautiful. My thoughts are with you.

Kieran

“Why did he send you this?” Emma handed the note back to Cristina, shaking her head. “It’s weird. He’s so weird!” “I think he just wanted to thank me for the escape plan,” Cristina protested. “That’s all.” “Faeries don’t like thanking people,” said Emma. “This is a romantic note.” Cristina blushed. “It’s just the way faeries talk. It doesn’t mean anything.” “When it comes to faeries,” Emma said darkly, “everything means something.

------------------

Faerie magic was quiet, Kit thought. There was no noise, no tumult, no flashing warlock lights. In between one breath and another, Mark, Kieran and Cristina simply disappeared.

------------------

“You hated the Shadow Market in London,” Kit said. “It really bothered you. The noises, and the crowd —“ Ty’s gaze flicked down to Kit. “I’ll wear my headphones. I’ll be all right.” “…and I don’t know if we should go again so soon,” Kit added. “What if Helen and Aline get suspicious?” Ty’s gaze darkened. “Julian told me once,” he said, “that when people keep coming up with reasons not do something, it’s because they don’t want to do it. Do you not want to do this?” Ty’s voice sounded tight. The thrumming wire again, sharp with tension. Under the cotton of his shirt, his too-thin shoulders had tightened as well. The neck of his shirt was loose, the delicate line of his collarbones just visible. Kit felt a rush of tenderness toward Ty, mixed with near-panic. In other circumstances, he thought, he would just have lied. But he couldn’t lie to Ty.

------------------

A ghost, Kit thought. Like Jessamine. He looked around wildly: surely there would be more ghosts here, their dead feet leaving no traces on the grass? But he only saw the Blackthorns, clinging together, Emma and Cristina side by side, and Julian with Tavvy in his arms, as the smoke rose up and around them. Half-reluctantly he glanced back: the young man with the dark hair had moved to kneel beside Robert Lightwood’s pyre. He was closer to the flames than any human could have gotten, and they seemed to eddy within the outline of his body, lighting his eyes with fiery tears. Parabatai, Kit thought, suddenly. In the slump of the young man’s shoulders, in his outstretched hands, in the longing stamped on his face, he saw Emma and Julian, he saw Alec as he spoke about Jace; he knew he was looking at the ghost of Robert Lightwood’s parabatai. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did.

------------------

“You have changed, son of thorns,” said the Queen.

------------------

“Please. I’ve taught at Shadowhunter Academy. I —” Catarina began to cough, her shoulders shaking. Her eyes widened in alarm. Cristina slid out of bed, alarmed. “Are you all right —?” But Catarina had vanished. There wasn’t even a swirl of air to show where her Projection had been. Cristina hastily threw on her clothes: jeans, an old t-shirt. She wished with all her heart that Emma was here, that they could talk about last night, that Emma could give her advice and a shoulder to cry on. But she wasn’t. Cristina touched her necklace, whispered a quick prayer to the Angel, and headed down the hall to Mark’s room. He’d been up as late as she was, so there was a high possibility he was still sleeping. She knocked on the door hesitantly and then harder; finally Mark threw it open, yawning and stark naked. “Híjole!” Cristina shrieked, and pulled her t-shirt collar up over her face.”Put your pants on!” “Sorry,” he he called, ducking behind the door. “At least you’ve already seen it all.”

------------------

The pyres were still burning as the procession turned and headed back toward the city. It was customary for the smoke to rise all night, and for families to gather in Angel Square to mourn among others. Not that Emma thought it was likely the Blackthorns would do that. They would remain in their house, closeted in with each other: they had been too much apart all their lives to want comfort from other Shadowhunters who they barely knew. She had trailed away from the rest of the group, too raw to want to try to talk to Julian again in front of his family. Besides, he was holding Tavvy, who was cried out and almost asleep. “Emma,” said a voice beside her. She turned and saw Jem Carstairs.

------------------

“They fear your influence,” said Gwyn. “They know others listen to you. You are very persuasive, Diana, and startlingly wise.” She made a face at him. “Flatterer.” “I am not flattering you.” He stood up. “I am afraid for you. Horace Dearborn may not be a dictator yet, but he yearns to be one. His first move will to be to eliminate all who stand against him. He will move to extinguish the brightest lights first, those who illuminate the pathway for others.” Diana shivered. “You are cynical, Gwyn.” “It is possible I do not always see the best in people,” he said, “as I hunt down the souls of slain warriors on the battlefield.” She raised her eyebrows. “Are you making a joke?” “Maybe.” He looked puzzled. “I think I might have. Was it funny?” 

------------------

Tavvy was running over to see what was happening, and Jaime was asking if Dru still had the knife he’d given her, and she couldn’t help smiling, her first real smile since Livvy. Jaime came back, Dru thought. Finally, someone didn’t leave — they came back instead.

------------------

That’s why I did all this,” Ty said. “I want you with me in any way you can be.”

------------------

Something struck Cristina’s back; she screamed as her feet left the ground. A harpy had sunk its claws into the back of her gear jacket and was lifting her into the air. She thought of stories about how eagles flew high into the sky with their prey and then released them, letting their bodies smash open on the earth below. The ground was already receding below her with terrifying speed. With a scream of fear and anger, she slashed up and backward with her sword, slicing the harpy’s claws off at the joint. The demon shrieked and Cristina tumbled through the air, her sword falling out of her hand, reaching out as if she could catch on to something to slow her fall — she saw Mark’s pale, terrified face turned up toward her harpies surrounding him in a dark cloud — Something reached out to seize her out of the sky. She gasped as a hand caught her elbow, and she was yanked sideways to land awkwardly atop something warm and alive. A flying horse.

------------------

In the reflection of the window glass, Kit saw the bedroom door open and Ty come in. He was still wearing his mourning clothes, though he’d taken off the jacket and was just in a black long-sleeve T-shirt. And Kit knew it was too late to run, that he cared about these people now, and specifically Ty. “I’m glad you’re here.” Ty sat down on the bed and started unlacing his shoes. “I wanted to talk to you.” The door was still slightly open and Kit could hear voices coming from the kitchen downstairs. Helen’s, Dru’s, Emma’s, Julian’s. Diana had gone back to her own house. Apparently she lived in a weapons store or something like that. She’d gone back to get some kind of tool she thought could fish the splinters out of Julian’s bleeding hands. Ty’s hands were fine, but he’d been wearing gloves. Kit had seen Julian’s when he’d gone to rinse them out at the sink, and they’d looked like shrapnel had blown into his palms. Emma had stood nearby looking worried, but Julian had said he didn’t want an iratze, that it would just heal the skin closed over the bits of wood. His voice had sounded so flat, Kit had barely recognized it. “I know how this is going to sound,” Kit said, turning so his back was against the cold glass. Ty was hunched over, and Kit caught the gleam of gold at his neck. “But you’re not acting the way I expected.” Ty kicked his boots off. “Because I climbed up the pyre?” “No, that was kind of actually the most expected thing you did,” said Kit. “I just…” “I did it to get this,” Ty said, and put his hand to his throat. Kit recognized the gold chain and the slim disk of metal attached to it: Livvy’s locket, the one he’d helped her put on before the Council meeting. He vividly remembered her holding her hair aside as he fastened the clasp, and the smell of her perfume. His stomach lurched. “Livvy’s necklace,” he said. “I mean, I guess that makes sense. I just thought you would…” “Cry?” Ty didn’t look angry, but the intensity in his gray eyes had deepened. He was still holding the pendant. “Everybody is supposed to cry. But that’s because they accept that Livvy is dead. But I don’t. I don’t accept it.” “What?” “I’m going to get her back,” said Ty. 

------------------

“Julian, remember what Dane said, that you were the kind of guy who would have a girl for a parabatai?” She knelt up on the bed, raising her chin to look him directly in the eye. “That’s what I always loved about you, even before I was in love with you. You never thought for a second about it diminishing you to have a girl as your warrior partner, you never acted as if I was anything less than your complete equal. You never for a moment made me feel like I had to be weak for you to be strong.”

[goddessofthundathighs]

808’s & Heartbreak: The Story of Ivy and Erik Chapter 4: Redemption, Pt. 1

Ivy’s Heart   Introducing Bernadette   The Apology (1)   The Apology (2)

A/N: This chapter is cute & fluffy as hell. No freak nastiness.. yet.. I was asked about a sub-chapter detailing Taj’s date with Thicc Daddy, but idk.. we’ll see how that goes..

Song Inspiration: Beyoncé- Love Drought

“Nine times out of ten, I'm in my feelings
But ten times out of nine, I'm only human

Tell me, what did I do wrong?
Feel like that question has been posed
I'm movin' on
I'll always be committed, I been focused
I always paid attention, been devoted
Tell me, what did I do wrong?”

IVY’S POV

In the weeks since Erik’s return, I’ve found myself replaying that last night over & again in my mind. “Just leave!” He had never been cold to me. He always told me that I was his light. The calm in the storm that was his life.

“SO WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU LEAVE ME?!” I shouted to no one in particular. A knock on my door pulled me out of my sulking.

“Package for Ivy Kennedy,” called the woman from the other side of the door.

“Thank you,” I responded, signing for the medium sized box. I didn’t even have to check the sender. Everyday for the last three weeks I received a new gift. A replacement Ivy leaf bracelet with matching earrings, a green Chanel classic flap bag, roses, candy, you name it, I got it. But today’s gift took the cake. I opened the box and screamed. It was the green Versace Greek platform sandals that I had been eying for months.

“How did he even –“ my thoughts trailed off as I read the note in the box.

“You’ve always been my green Goddess. These looked like they were your style.”

–E. S.

I couldn’t fight the smile that crept across my lips. Even after two years, he remembers. Erik always was one to memorize the little things.

I figured I’d go to the office today. I’d been working from home for the last 3 weeks, not wanting to risk a chance encounter with a certain charming prince. “Dr. Kennedy!” My assistant Andrea called.

“Here’s your coffee and you have a call waiting from a young woman named Shuri Udaku.”

My face fell. Shuri was Erik’s younger cousin and a scientific prodigy. I had taken her under my wing while we were dating and she never ceased to amaze me. Though I dreaded the call because I knew Erik would somehow come up, I missed her playful banter and allowed Andrea to patch the call through.

“Hi Shuri,” I said casually.

“Hello, Dr. Kennedy.” His deep voice sent shockwaves to my core.

“Erik, my assistant told me Shuri wanted to speak with me,” I tried to keep my tone even.

“She does. She’s been working on enhancements to an experiment here in the states and was wondering if she could borrow a few of the chemicals in your lab,” he explained.

“And what exactly does that have to do with you?” I asked.

“She’d asked me to come pick them up,” he responded quietly.

“If you don’t want to see me, it’s fine we’ll send someone el–“,

“No,” I interrupted. “It’s fine. I’ll be here until 3.”

ERIK’S POV

I was more than surprised she wanted to see me. Ivy could be stubborn and I was more than prepared for her to draw this out another 2 years just to get her point across.

“So what exactly am I supposed to be getting, Shuri?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

“See if she has any Love Potion #9,” she retorted, doubling over with laughter.

“Real funny, lil nigga,” he sneered.

“I know it was, Big Nigga. Seriously though see if she has any hyaluronic acid, titanium, and agar, oh and Taj is waiting for you downstairs.”

“Thanks cuz, I owe you one.”

“Just don’t let her go this time, eh?” she said back.

“Taj Mahal, what’s up?”

“Don’t push it, Stevens,” she responded, limping in my direction.

“I see M’Baku still out here breaking your back,” I said laughing. If looks could kill, I’d be dead, but she soon returned the laugh.

“Do you really wanna talk about how great that Jabari dick is?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “Nah.” I responded in disgust.

“So what’s the plan, T? I can just walk up in her office demanding that she listen to me. I tried that shit already & got ghosted for 3 weeks.”

“She didn’t ghost you, idiot. She types messages to you everyday, she just doesn’t send them. Every single thing you’ve sent her is on proud display around her house. She hasn’t taken off the earrings and bracelet since she got them. She misses you just as much as you miss her, she’s just prideful.”

I must’ve looked like a deer in headlights at her confession because she giggled before continuing. “Just go to her E. Both of y’all keep dancing around each other and you’re only hurting yourselves. Yes, LA is a big city, eventually y’all are gonna have to see each other.”

She was right. Being in the same city with her without communication was torture. I needed my girl.

I sat nervously in her office waiting for her to finish her meeting. When she walked in, my heart stopped. She was dressed in her lab coat and a black bodycon dress that stopped just below her knees. True to Taj’s word she was wearing the Ivy leaf bracelet and earrings and black red bottom heels. Her curly hair framed her face perfectly and to my surprise, she had a pair of gold wire-rimmed glasses similar to mine. My chest swelled with pride. This was my girl. She made a move to speak, but I interrupted. I had to get this off my chest.

IVY’S POV

“I found my daddy with panther claws in his chest.” he stated suddenly. Nigga, what? I thought to myself before he continued.

“When I was eight, I found my dad murdered in our apartment. He had panther claws in his chest. Turns out, the guy that killed him was my uncle T’Chaka, who was the king of Wakanda and Black Panther then. I had no idea that I was royalty and I had so much anger and resentment built up against them that I decided to get revenge. When I left you, I went to Wakanda and challenged T’Challa for the throne. I won and was king for all of 48 hours before he came back and kicked my ass.”

I chuckled.

“Long story short, even after all my bullshit, they accepted me. T’Challa even gave me a job as his trusted advisor, but I told him I wanted to work in the states. Imagine my surprise when I found out that the LA branch of the Wakandan Outreach Center was about 15 minutes away from my favorite chemist.”

My eyes rolled and I had to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep from smiling. Grams was right. He came back for me. As happy as I was, I couldn’t give in that easily. I still wanted to make him beg.

“I thought you needed chemicals, Stevens,” I said, leaning against my desk. He stood up and my breath hitched.

“What I need, is for you to stop acting like you don’t miss me.” He stepped closer.

“What I need is for you to stop ignoring me.” His right arm snaked around my waist and pulled me flush against his scars and his third leg. He tucked his left index finger under my chin, tilting it upward, forcing me to look into his hooded eyes.

“What I need is for you to wrap those thighs around my head and let Daddy show you how sorry I am for abandoning you.”

THE DAM BROKE.

TAG LIST: @hearteyes-for-killmonger @thehomierobbstark @wakanda-inspired @siriuslycollins @sicksadgen @wifeyofnjadaka @panthergoddessbast @amethyst1993 @princessstevens @ange-sensuel @another-imaginesblog @youreadthatright @allhailnjadaka @eriknutinthispoosy @muse-of-mbaku @blackpantherismyish @thehonorablekingerik @tgigoldie @bartierbakarimobisson

[vincent-marie]

A Look Back on TREASURE PLANET

So recently I rewatched TREASURE PLANET for the first time in about fifteen years and… I'm not gonna lie, it's still my personal favorite of the 2D Disney animated features from the early to mid-2000s.

Let's be real. Of the 2D features Disney released around that time period, TREASURE PLANET is one of the more solid films. ATLANTIS: THE LOST EMPIRE had some interesting ideas and some really nice design work and animation, but it really needed to be at least two hours long if it wanted to flesh out the characters and the world-building without requiring supplementary material (like a special edition of Disney Adventure magazine). Hardly anybody remembers BROTHER BEAR was even a thing, and the less said about HOME ON THE RANGE, the better. (Seriously, that movie wasn't even worth the Steve Buscemi cameo.)

The only other film of that era that has really held up was LILO AND STITCH, and I'll admit it's probably a better film than TREASURE PLANET. It took more risks in terms of character, setting and originality, and emotionally it leaves more of an impact. (That scene when Nani sings to Lilo makes me cry like a baby every time.) My only problem with it is it always felt like two entirely different movies collided with each other and it never felt like they really meshed well. Otherwise, I agree with most fans that it’s a good film.

Also, of course, there was the excellent THE EMPEROR’S NEW GROOVE, which was just such a huge departure from Disney’s normal schtick and trying something more Tex Avery-esque, only for it to be a perfect storm instead of a total crash and burn. That is much to be proud of.

Going back to TREASURE PLANET, I can understand that most folks walk away saying it’s an "okay" film. I, however, am not one of those people. I've had a real soft spot for this movie ever since I saw it, but now I appreciate this film for additional reasons.

Namely, the animation and effects work. Holy crap, is this movie gorgeous! It's like watching Don Bluth's ANASTASIA, except I don't have to feel guilty about historical inaccuracies. (Now it’s just scientific inaccuracies, but STAR WARS gets away with that all the time.)

Directors John Musker and Ron Clements had apparently wanted to do a sci-fi retelling of "Treasure Island" since before they started working on THE LITTLE MERMAID. With that in mind I do feel like this movie would have fared better with critics back in the early 90s during the Disney Renaissance. However at that time they would not have had such elaborate and detailed CG effects within arm's reach. There's something I really enjoy about the use of 3D backdrops so that they may do sweeping camera movements, and that's not even getting into the lighting effects to establish atmosphere.

What's more, there are a lot of subtleties to the character animation that I never appreciated until now. You could just pick one character and focus on him or her during the whole movie and find a lot of fun little quirks in their dialogue or walk cycles.

Admittedly, much of this film’s appeal probably depends on how much of an animation fan you are. In my case I was watching John Silver’s animation and I suspected that Glen Keane was probably in charge of animating him (as there are moments when Silver looks so much like Ratigan). Those suspicions were confirmed during the end credits and I was delightfully geeking out about it.

It’s also easy to see where this film might not have had a lot of mass appeal. Most of the focus on the story is on Jim Hawkins and his daddy issues, which by the early 2000s was already a cliche of a character arc. And it’s not helped by the fact that Jim himself is... well, kind of on the bland side as a protagonist. There’s not a lot about him that makes him any more or less interesting than any other teenage male lead. But for what it is I think the movie did fine at establishing and building the relationship between Jim and Silver, which does have its warm and comforting moments. For both of them.

And at least the film is straightforward with its plot and characters and it’s not a structural mess like HERCULES, a previous venture by Musker and Clements.

Something I’ve noticed over the years is that TREASURE PLANET has a little bit of a cult following. I distinctly remember this one time when I was taking a storyboard class in college; we were assigned to do a “Master Study” assignment by recreating the key story frames in our favorite scene in a favorite animated movie. One of my classmates picked the scene when Jim is brought home to the inn by the police and embarrasses his mother. I recall being so impressed, and even a little envious, that she got the character design style down to a T. (If you’re wondering what movie/scene I picked for my Master Study, I picked the Big Ben scene from THE GREAT MOUSE DETECTIVE.)

Then, of course, some friends and I suspect that TREASURE PLANET might have fared better if it had been released a bit later, more towards the height of the Steampunk craze. It’s not quite what I would call “Steampunk”, as it takes place in a sort of alternate universe version of the 18th century and not the Gothic era, and most of their transport is solar-powered and not steam-based. Nevertheless it’s easy to see how fans of Steampunk could find it appealing, with its mostly earth-tone color pallet to evoke the painted illustrations of the classic novel it was based on. Also that combination of a pre-20th century aesthetic with out-of-this-world science fiction elements is pretty much, in my opinion, what makes Steampunk so much fun to play around with. Also, a robot made out of copper. End of story.

In terms of why this film didn’t do so well when it was released, I suspect what stunted its success was the marketing. I could be wrong, as I was actually living in Honduras at the time of the film’s release, but we got some TV stations from Denver, Colorado. I remember a lot of the TV spots spent most of their time highlighting the goofy comic relief moments with Morph, and there was a real emphasis on the presence of B.E.N., even though he's in less than one-third of the movie. In other words, the film's success might have been partially sabotaged by a marketing team that seemed to think if you don’t take your film seriously at all that will somehow draw in the crowd.

Although speaking of the comic relief characters, I actually don’t mind them that much. I always thought Morph had a lot of cute, funny moments that weren’t too obnoxious. As for B.E.N., I kind of have mixed feelings for him. On one hand, the directing team made better use of Martin Short’s improvisational skills than PEBBLE AND THE PENGUIN or WE’RE BACK! ever did. But on the other hand, does B.E.N. have to be so loud and shouty? However, while B.E.N. is a real screw-up, he’s not so much to the point where I want to see him get smashed with a sledgehammer. He’s generally likable, not at all loathsome, and just annoying enough, but not TOO annoying.

However while we’re still on the subject of B.E.N., I’d just like to add that the CG animation on him is really nice. Making him 3D gives him a sort of sense of solidity compared to his hand-drawn humanoid compadres, and to top it off his animation isn’t at all stiff or feels like the CG is holding him back. There is some really expressive squashing and stretching going on with his dialogue. It’s so subtle in places that you’d probably miss it if you’re not looking for it. A lot of CG animation studios at the time like Pixar and Dreamworks had not quite mastered squashing and stretching themselves, so kudos to Disney for pulling it off so well.

Now if I may indulge a little on why I remember this film fondly, my favorite characters were always Dr. Doppler and Captain Amelia. They are both fun and engaging on their own, but together they are weirdly adorable. Granted, I've always thought them getting together at the end was a bit rushed, but I still totally buy it.

(What I don't buy is that they'd be so eager to have kids after Doppler showed such annoyance and revulsion towards that toddler alien girl at the beginning. I get that the creators wanted some visual shorthand to indicate that they're an official couple, but they could have just been wearing wedding rings or throw in a little more of them dancing together.)

Part of the reason I love these characters on their own is the casting. I was already familiar with Emma Thompson from Ang Lee's adaptation of SENSE AND SENSIBILITY, and her character of Eleanor Dashwood was very quiet and reserved. You can imagine my disbelief and delight hearing her play an assertive, witty badass as Amelia. (As if I didn't already think Amelia’s design was cool.)

As for David Hyde Pierce, I had only occasionally watched FRASIER growing up, but when I saw this movie I was familiar with him through some other memorable voice acting roles, particularly that excellent Season 8 episode of THE SIMPSONS, “Brother From Another Series.” In other words, I already knew him to be funny, snarky and charismatic.

While I'm on about the casting, I feel like there's a totally wasted opportunity to have these two characters in a room together, say, before the black hole scene, exchanging witty banter to show how compatible they are in a casual setting. It’s a shame that Emma and David didn’t record their dialogue together, because with her being an accomplished writer and with his skills at improvisation, there could have been some good verbal combat by way of “Much Ado About Nothing-Meets-Frasier.”

But looking back, I remember I immediately loved Captain Amelia just on principal. As a kid I never really gravitated that much to any of the Disney princesses. I can’t really describe why, but it was mostly how they were marketed as just looking pretty and (arguably) kind of passive in their own stories. Not to mention how when Disney Princess became a brand, they really amped up the girly cutesy-ness to their preexisting images. Not to say there’s anything inherently wrong with cute or feminine things, but it really made me feel like a weirdo who somehow wasn’t fit to be called a girl.

Captain Amelia, on the other hand, had her own style of femininity by wearing a classy, more masculine captain’s uniform along with thigh-high high-heeled boots (that she has no problem running in). She had a no-nonsense attitude, she was focused and cool-headed in a stressful situation, she was downright snarky and took crap from no one. In other words, she was the type of woman I wanted to be when I grew up, and to this day she is my favorite Disney Lady, bar none.

And while I’m at it, I’m just going to add that I’ve always found Dr. Doppler more attractive than your standard Disney prince. Besides his character design looking like a canine version of Roger from 101 DALMATIONS, he just always seemed like he’d be fun to get a coffee with.

Well, that’s about all I really want to talk about regarding TREASURE PLANET. It’s a shame it’s not remembered by more people as it does have some really good elements to it, but in some regards I can kind of see why it wasn’t a huge critical success. If you haven’t seen it already I recommend checking it out as it’s a pretty solid standalone film that doesn’t need supplementary material and covers all the bases with the plot and some fun character moments here and there. If you’re an animation fan I cannot stress enough how you really need to watch it, or even rewatch it, because, again, the animation and effects work is just a real feast for the eyes.

[docholligay]

Eclipse, Pharmercy

YEESH. So this is where I’ve been all day, trying to hammer this concept into submission BUT HERE WE ARE. I really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you do too, and forgive me that it’s a little more Mercy than Pharah, but THERE’S LOTS OF GAY FEELINGS. 2600 words. All of the OW verse is here.   You can find me on patreon or my ko-fi! Comments welcomed

20%

It was nothing, at first. Just a small bite out of the sun, barely cutting off its light. Most people would barely notice it, if they didn’t know that they were meant to be looking.

“The United Nations has us under watch, Dr. Ziegler.” Jack looked up at her with a note of desperation in his eyes. “There’s a bunch of trumped-up charges of human rights offenses, or something. I don’t even know what they’re talking about, I don’t know if they do either.”

I don’t know how trumped-up I think those charges are. She thought over her time in Overwatch, her stomach twisting at the compromises she had made with herself, the way she was not sure what pursuing justice meant any more.

Mercy looked over to where Reyes’ desk used to be, sharing an oversize office with Morrison. They had been so close. It was painful to see them now, barely speaking, and when they did, it came in rushed and dark tones.

“Well,” Tracer chirped up behind her, “if there’s nothing to find–”

“Can it, Tracer. Your goddamn father is the reason this happened in the first place!” Jack’s anger raged, and Mercy puzzled at it. Things must be so much worse than they seemed, if Jack sacrificed his cool demeanor, his idea of what it meant to be a leader, to snap at a new recruit who had done nothing but be injured in the line of duty.

Tracer’s eyes narrowed, hurt and shame and anger and defensiveness mixing in her dark brown eyes into a single bright emotion. “Might ‘ave done us all a bit of good if someone had bothered to tell ‘im what tin the bloody ‘ell ‘appened to me, right?!”

“You’re out of line, Oxton!”

“Oh what the ‘ell else is new and exciting in the world?!”

“Stop, please!”

They both turned to Mercy, surprised by the pain in her voice, and the room darkened just a bit more.

60%

Dim. She might have thought it was just cloudy, but for the lack of patchwork, no bright spots on the grass where the clouds parted, just a single greying of the world in the quieting light.

“Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes, founding members of Overwatch were killed Sunday in an explosion–”

Mercy flipped off the TV. It did them no good to hear what they had known, and known again, and to never let it leave their minds. The heaviness in her chest grew darker, sitting as smog over the valley, crushing and suffocating.

They all stared grimly at each other, the final field agents of a struggling agency that barely hung onto relevance.

Tracer pushed out her chair, and stood up, wiping away the tears from her eyes.

“We’ll carry on,” She spoke confidently, and every head turned to watch her, “for the both of them. For what they meant it to be. We’ll do it proper.”

It did not feel that way, sitting in a quiet room with only the sound of their losses between them, a sniffle in the silence, a gruff chin held firm against the pain, the gentle twisting fidget of people longing to escape the trap of their own suffering.

The brass had said little. Overwatch was an intricate net, they had said, but nets did not just catch when you fell–they snared, too, and a trap you set for another pay catch your own leg.

Mercy had felt herself struggling against it, more.

“We’ll do it!” Tracer banged her hands against the table, “we will!”

She believed it, her eyes told Mercy all she needed to know, and Mercy wondered if she could not see the dimming of the sky or if she simply thought she could fight back the darkness with the strength of her own belief.

80%

It was strange now, a darkness that seemed unnatural, no wind or cloud to support its existence, as if a haze had fallen over all the world, and Mercy reached out her hand.

“Winston!” Mercy called to him down the hallway, moving quickly to catch up. These last few weeks had been difficult, but there had been a certain joy in Mercy getting to work with him, in getting a second chance in all the ways she felt she had failed Tracer the first time, before she knew her, before she cared for her beyond her general care for all of humanity.

Winston turned to face her, a look of anger and despair on his face.

“Oh,” She gently touched his elbow, “Is something wrong? Is Lena not doing so well, I thought–”

“I handed in my resignation. I’m taking Lena home.” He looked at her, apologetic, and then looked at the ground, unable to meet her gaze.

“Home?”

“I bought an old warehouse in London, to have it made for me, and–I was going to surprise Lena, she’s always wanted me to have a place there, but now–now we’re just going to go. It’s not finished, but it’s enough.”

Mercy shook her head. Her team, her friends, dropping off one by one, and the growing loneliness in her soul rose in waves she had not yet felt since those lonely days of medical school.

“I–”

“Angela, they were going to send her away,” He could not look at her, still, and his voice dripped with pain. “To some facility. They don’t think she’ll get better. They won’t give her time.”

They wouldn’t do that. She was disabled in the line of duty. This happened in the line of duty. She’s done nothing but serve.

But Winston’s face did not lie.

The green of the grass turned grey in the shadow of the moon, pinks and oranges at the edges, as if the sun were setting instead of being swallowed.

Totality

Black. Just black. There were stars, some said, but Mercy could not see them, could not find the tiny points of light against the darkness that had fallen over everything.

“Dr. Ziegler.” The woman looked at her sternly, as if she were disciplining a toddler. “What do you have to say of Overwatch’s conduct in the past 30 years? Of their methods?”

I want to say that I do not know what to say. I want to say we thought we were doing good. I want to say the your foot can be so easily snared, and I want to say that I understand why I am here.

“The methods that were being used are not always the best. Overwatch was successful where others have been failing.” She cleared her throat. ‘They were allowed until it was peaceful and too hard to let them do it.”

I want to say I have the misfortune of surviving, of being the one to answer, of being the one left.

“And, Dr. Ziegler, what do you think about Overwatch now?”

Mercy looked over the assembly, at all the eyes peering at her, and she imagined all the people who might be in the audience, looking on her in shame. Her parents, who taught her justice, justice shall you pursue. Yael, who told her they were the same. Ana, who told her the field would give her the chance to live her values. All the children of the world who had trusted her and all she tried to do. They looked on her and they found her wanting. They looked on her and they did not see righteousness.

I want to say Overwatch should be shut down. I want to say we should have been shut down years ago.

“I think we did what we thought was the best.”

She reached out in the dark, and for a moment, there was only nothing, and the cool of the grass beneath her hand.

80%

In the dark, on the grass, the false night began to again turn grey, and it seemed the world was new born under Mercy’s eyes, as a warm hand slipped around hers.

Respected Dr. Ziegler,

It felt nice, to be respected. To feel she was worthy of respect. The years after Overwatch were disbanded had been long and painful, and oh so lonely. Winston and Tracer wrote, from time to time, though Tracer forgot sometimes that she had meant to, and her letters began with nothing but apologies.

It had been Mercy’s fault, too, their growing apart. Mercy had been found not guilty of any crime in Overwatch, but the shame stuck with her,the idea that perhaps she had deserved to be charged.

But Harvard found her useful, and Harvard wanted her to teach, and in teaching she could find the blood to mark her doorway, to have the shame of her past pass her over, and to move forward to something new.

The sense of possibility was nerve wracking in itself.

She sighed in a determined huff and looked in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, and there was a glob of praline pecan ice cream on her kitten t-shirt, with its sunglassed cat declaring that you had to be kitten her. She hardly looked like a professor of Harvard medicine.

But maybe, she thought, it was time to stop hiding in the shadows. Maybe it was time to start being useful, time to reclaim what a good thing a Ziegler could be. To make her family proud. And maybe that started with the first step.

She went to the Banana Republic website. Pencil skirt and new blouse might be more appropriate for her first day.

Maybe there would be her future, waiting in a city thousands of miles away.

She gripped back tightly as the greys brightened, and color began to sweep over the land.

60%

Light began to crawl over the grass and the trees again, and Mercy began to see herself in the bright of the sun, the grey crawling off of her, the gold of her hair learning to shine again.

She was supposed to be grading papers. She was supposed to be meeting with a student. She was supposed to be doing a dozen other things, but nothing mattered so much as the woman in front of her right now. It was a joy to see Tracer again. It was delightful to know WInston was so close. This woman was something else entirely, a word she did not know in any of the four languages she spoke.

“Fareeha, this is Angela Ziegler. Ang, this is Fareeha Amari. Looked me up on account of my work with the Slipstream. We’ve been working together on a Helix project or two.”

Mercy extended her hand, mouth open slightly. “I imagine it is pronounced closer to, Fareeha.” It poured off her tongue delicately as her outstretched hand was met.

Tracer rolled her eyes and picked up a French fry.

Her eyebrow arched in appreciation, and Mercy longed to rest in the dark shadows of her eyes. “You speak Arabic?”

“Oh no,” Mercy gave a girlish giggle, and Tracer’s face turned to a boyish grin as she watched Mercy’s face, “But it is fascinating, and so beautiful, some of the greatest poets of history wrote in Arabic, ‘when I sink my eye into your eyes, I catch a glimpse of a deep dawn, and I see ancient yesterday,” She suddenly realized she was still holding Pharah’s hand, and let go, stopping herself.

Tracer smiled smugly and tucker hands underneath her chin. “She says this sort of thing to me all the time.”

She looked at her hand, safely anchored by her beloved, as the light grew bright once more.

20%

It was nothing, now. Just a small bite out of the sun, barely cutting off its light. Most people would barely notice it, if they didn’t know that they were meant to be looking.

Pharah generally said exactly what she meant, and Mercy loved that about her. Sometimes she did not say things that she meant to say, but that was a problem to be solved later, and Mercy at least found herself glad that every word that did come from Pharah’s lips was at least true, and there was an assurance that came from that.

Which was why she was so shocked, on this cool morning, fall steadily turning to winter.

“I do not wish to be casual.”

As the world around them died, they were blooming oh so brightly.

Mercy looked at her, wondering if this was all a cruel joke, if Pharah had finally decided to be cavalier with her feelings, to tease her and the depth she had. Someone like Pharah could never want someone like her, not like this.

And yet, hadn’t she just last night told Mercy she loved her? That she would never be a poet, but she would try to show Mercy every day?

Mercy was so lost in her thoughts, that she quite forgot she had left Pharah without an answer, sitting in her bed in her white undershirt, the dark black of her hair set against it like a glorious watercolor line, the finest art Mercy knew.

“I understand if you have other…engagements. If you do not want to–”

Mercy nearly leapt across the bed, and kissed her deeply, drawing deep from her as if she could make the two of them one.

She pulled away from Pharah gracelessly and shook her head. “I was never being casual.”

Pharah kissed her again, her hands bringing the warmth of the sun, burning with the heat of life, across her back.

Light

The sun was bright, shining down on everything, lighting the green of the grass and the yellows of the bushes of flowers, bringing all of the land to life, and Mercy with it.

There was nothing to be nervous about, and yet, she was. Standing in front of the mirror, her dress delicate and lace and oh so beautiful, imagining the chuppah covered in flowers that Pharah had proudly constructed for her, because she remembered that Mercy had said, once, when they had attended a wedding together, that she had wanted one. Because Pharah was the kind of woman who remembered.

She was nervous, but the nervousness of getting on a roller coaster, the excitement for all that was to come, the knowing that she was safe, at the end of the day.

She would walk in front of all of their friends, and all of the family they had yet found, and Pharah would take her hand, beautiful and perfect in her blue suit, and they would pledge to be together, and it was such a beautiful vision that Mercy scarcely felt it belonged to her, the it might just be something in the mist, far off, even now.

Pharah might shed a tear when she walked down the aisle, and everyone would smile, knowing her to be so strong, but capable of such tenderness.

Everyone expected Mercy would sob, including Mercy herself, and she delicately touched at the handkerchiefs she had tucked within the edge of her bouquet. She had been sure to ask for waterproof makeup.

There was a knock, too hard and too loud and just right, at her door.

“Are you ready?” Reinhardt’s voice boomed reassuringly as he opened the door.

“I am the most ready I have been for anything in my life.”

“It is strange, how everyone has,” Pharah gestured at the crowd, “whipped up over something that lasted less than an hour.”

Mercy leaned on Pharah’s shoulder. “Are you not happy we were coming here to see?”

Pharah drew her arm around her. “I am happy to go anywhere you are. It was only an observation. The sun always comes back, you know.”

The light of the sun beaming on Mercy with all of its strength, safely held in the rich and safe darkness of Pharah’s eyes, not the cold of a shadow but the warmth of the earth, nurturing and good, and Mercy let herself be held in them.

“Yes. I am so happy it does.”

[caepaecaesurae]

> Cae and Sugary : Be highbloods.

Yesterday at 1:38 PM caepaecaesurae: My sympathies and/or congratulations on their return.

Yesterday at 3:11 PM sugary-empress: Sun is being a big jerk as per usual!~ I missed Mickey~ sugary-empress: )(e gives me a good kind of attention~ caepaecaesurae: To be fair, Sun platonically hates you wvith decent reason, and Mickey adores anything potentially harmful to him. sugary-empress: True!~

(( Cae Mopes(1) a Bit(2) on the dashboard about his reputation ))

Yesterday at 8:42 PM sugary-empress: You're really good and relatable~ caepaecaesurae: I sincerely sympathise wvith slightly too many of your daily wvoes. caepaecaesurae: Did I evwer tell you about the time Sparks nearly killed me?  It wvas a wvhile ago and didn't make the rounds.  Probably before you and I met. sugary-empress: I don't believe you did~ caepaecaesurae: I'm stuck thinking about it again, so I could do it out loud if you liked. Or I could ask you about your night, and wvhatevwer's of most interest to you. Not a trap question, both are equally fine. sugary-empress: I'm trying to p)(rase my interest in your fin in a way t)(at isn't a little off-putting and failing, but just know I tried~ Tell me about Sparks nearly krilling you, sugarfins~ caepaecaesurae: WVe all lovwe gossip, and it's not in line wvith my current relationship wvith him, so it's potentially interesting. Once upon a time, I wvas the ghost of the Orphaner, and hadn't remembered my other life yet.  I wvas unpleasant, but not evwil, and hungered to livwe again. Sparks wvas learning his powvers, I suggested he might be able to raise the dead, and vwolunteered as his first experimental subject.  He asked for help wvinning his game in return, and I accepted. caepaecaesurae: This might be taken as an example of me "manipulating" him.  I think I tried to let it be his idea. caepaecaesurae: Anywvays, there I wvas, on a meteor full of wvrigglers determined to take on an empire ruled by a competent Alternian adult.  There wvere no less than six frighteningly powverful psychics on our side, off the top of my head, and our enemy wvas knowvn to use mind control to steal the abilities of her enemies. I decided that the three seperate instances of Sollux Captor wvould not look kindly on the existance of psychic control collars, but it wvould be nice to be able to stop them wvithout killing them in an emergency. Sparks sawv the Orphaner Dualscar fabricating control collars. WVithout havwing informed anyone. sugary-empress: Yea)(, yep, u)( )(u)(, t)(at'd do it~ caepaecaesurae: He elected to come speak wvith me loudly on this subject. caepaecaesurae: I may havwe left a dent in the wvall, wvith unrequested assistance. .. WVe sorted it out. In the end, people they trusted more than me wvere to hold the collars. sugary-empress: You're so fucking c)(arasmatic and good at being useful~ And lucky, I suppose~ caepaecaesurae: I wvish luck played less part in it. caepaecaesurae: .. Thank you. There wvere a fewv close calls, around then. sugary-empress: Are t)(ey a lot fart)(er apart now?~ caepaecaesurae: .. You knowv, they are, nowv that you mention it. Three or four in a twvo-perigee period, and it's slowved dowvn to that many in the swveeps since then. caepaecaesurae: Perhaps I should be thicker-skinned about the death threats. sugary-empress: Good!~ First of all, becod you desurf good fins, and second of all, becod I'm feeling out my potential future, lmao~ Not t)(at you were ever as bad as M-E~ ... No?~ No, dear, t)(ose are distressing and you can be distressed by t)(em~ caepaecaesurae: Heh.  I'm likely a somewvhat abbrevwiated vwersion of the path ahead, aye.. There's the angry period wvhere no one trusts you.  The less angry period, wvhere most people don't but one or twvo do. The Hesitant period, wvhere you are dubiously tolerated and evwerything is uncomfortable, but you're still allowved to do things. ..and I'm still feeling out wvhat comes after that. sugary-empress: Ideally, Normal Life ™, I'd imagine~ caepaecaesurae: I think there's a fewv more steps.  Either that, or occasional backslides. sugary-empress: Babe, you can't distract me from you saying you need to get over actual t)(reats against your life~ caepaecaesurae: ...But aye.  Sometimes it feels like it's in sight. That's a shame. I told you they're infrequent. sugary-empress: 38( caepaecaesurae: Some incidents aren't evwen death threats, just curiously vwiolent. sugary-empress: A)(, yes, "curious"~ caepaecaesurae: There wvas a girl, once, vwisiting the timeline.  Fond of Arlequin. caepaecaesurae: She wvas here wvhen he and I made our peace, and he lost his hand. She didn't bother looking into the situation, to see that it wvas a judgement he asked for.  Decided to come talk to me about it, wvith a blade. I spent a good wveek recovwering from that one. Sparks tried to institute a "No revwenge maiming" rule. I told the girl I'd only forgivwe her if she did to herself wvhat she did to me. She did, so wve wvent on a fewv barbeques later and actually made up. sugary-empress: T)(ose kindsa rules get followed strictly all t)(e time, and are never )(otbloodedly broken!~ )(mm~ caepaecaesurae: I really adore the pictures she took of wvhat she did.  Technically no rules wvere broken. caepaecaesurae: I think I'vwe been moping a bit.  You're sure that's a normal response? sugary-empress: Moping?~ caepaecaesurae: Aye.  After threats or "incidents". sugary-empress: Yes, dear, moping is normal~ You can try to just do w)(at I do and not feel bad emotions, but I don't sink it's )(ealt)(y for you people~ caepaecaesurae: ..I'm sorry, hearing that advwice from you in particular is making me smile a bit. I can't really object to your point though. sugary-empress: Look, you don't need to call me out like t)(is, w)(en I've done nofin wrong~ caepaecaesurae: There is a unique benefit, I think, to hearing advwice from a source that wvould nevwer wvillingly say it if it wvere not true. And that's beautiful. sugary-empress: )(ee)(ee~ I suppose you're correct~ caepaecaesurae: Thank you for being yourself. sugary-empress: It's just aboat all I can be, sweetfins~ caepaecaesurae: WVe can all be so many things. caepaecaesurae: Sorry, I think I keep deflecting.  I'll think about the moping issue more. sugary-empress: I sink I'm different, t)(en~ I can only be one person, going one fin~ You sure do, my dear~ Force of )(abit, I'm sure~ caepaecaesurae: I think convwersational habits like that might be part of wvhy people find me insincere, and get bent out of shape.  Damn if they aren't hard to drop though. sugary-empress: Give it anotter few decades, love, I'm sure it'll fade if you make an effort~ caepaecaesurae: Ideally. It almost feels sometimes like the communication...thing, has been getting wvorse. sugary-empress: Since w)(en?~ W)(at variables )(ave c)(anged?~ caepaecaesurae: I suppose the most obvwious marker wvould be since the psiionic arrivwed, but it wvas before then I think. There wvas at least a half swveep wvhere things wvere fine, maybe twvo... ..I wvant to say ovwer the past half swveep or so, if I had to nail it dowvn. Maybe the last full swveep. He's returned and started being rather pointed about...things he has full right to be pointed about. It comes up in convwersations not invwolvwing him at all, though. sugary-empress: )(ey, idiot, I sink your Psii is a maaajor stressor in your life~ T)(ere are otters, but especially )(im~ )(e raised your baseline stress up )(ig)(er, and kept you on edge~ Is t)(ere any way of getting rid of )(im?~ caepaecaesurae: ...and wvhen I am uneasy, I default to my Alternian response, wvhich is to not emote and hide wvhether I care about things. Mmn.  Honestly I'd rather not get rid of him, I'd rather he wvas happy somewvhere.  WVe wvere friends once. sugary-empress: )(e could be )(appy away from you~ You won't be friends again~ caepaecaesurae: A man can dream. And unfortunately, all of my quadrants are either his family or his ex.  Or, in one case, my alternate in a wvorld wvhere our roles wvere swvapped. WVhich is a unique and horrific twvist. sugary-empress: I don't know if your social circle can sustain you bot)(, and )(e may )(ave t)(e )(istory, but you've got your silver tongue~ You'll win t)(is, deliberately or not, w)(en people need to c)(oose~ caepaecaesurae: Eesh. He's convwinced of exactly that, evwen though I'm trying to make space for us both. sugary-empress: You'll need to try really fucking )(ard, and ensure t)(ere are c)(ances for )(IM to try wit)(out feeling like )(e's being pulled by your strings~ If anyone could manage, it could be you, but I don't sink anyone can~ caepaecaesurae: hm. Chances for him to try wvhat, exactly? It's ass-backwvards that I might havwe to manipulate him into believwing he's not being manipulated, but if needs must. sugary-empress: To fill t)(e space you're leaving~ Dearest, isn't t)(at t)(e most essential manipulation of all?~ You must )(ave practice, even if you usually use it to cover up ot)(er mac)(inations instead of independently~ caepaecaesurae: One doesn't normally use the handle of a fork on its owvn, no. ... He took a journey wvith my moirail, recently.  Apparently he wvas in good spirits after. I don't knowv if it helped, but at least he felt better. sugary-empress: )(im feeling better is good, so long as, again, it doesn't feel like )(e's being lulled into complacency~ caepaecaesurae: He's still just as bitey, either wvay.

sugary-empress: ((I'm just imagining him finding out about this conversation, he'd lose his fucking mind "Look, he's PLOTTING with an EMPRESS")) caepaecaesurae: (( it is uniquely hilarious, and I've started sharing select quotes from this with the mun as we speak )) (( I don't think psii will find out, but cae does have a mundane computer now, so, if he ever hacked him. ))

caepaecaesurae: He somewvhat threatened to vwisit in person to relate a story I wvas hoping he'd relate online. I'm still not entirely comfortable wvith sharing a face to face convwersation just yet. sugary-empress: I understand w)(y, dear~ T)(is sounds roug)(~ caepaecaesurae: I really hope this doesn't end wvith a murder attempt.  I think the legal angle wvould not be to his favwor, but I don't knowv for certain. ... Pardon for complaining.  I don't knowv too many trolls sympathetic to ah, the morally indefensible side of this. I mean, I'vwe changed as much as I can, I still don't havwe much right to complain that he's still angry. sugary-empress: I )(ope so too, you're important~ Sorry I'm pretty pet name )(eavy tonig)(t, btw~ You (almost) never need to apologise for complaining to me, sweetness~ I just wis)( I )(ad like, a one step perfect solution to toss at you~ Well, you've got rig)(t to complain, just no rig)(t to expect an especially sympat)(etic audience~ caepaecaesurae: One step perfect solutions are a wvonderful thought, and so terribly rare.  They're wvorth wvistfully longing after though. caepaecaesurae: Heh.  The sympathetic audience is appreciated. I don't mind the pet names.  I havwe an easy time falling into them myself. caepaecaesurae: There are some things wve didn't talk about particularly, after the fusion incident.  Either because wve didn't need to, or because wve likely should just nevwer do so.  WVe still shouldn't, but I remember them sometimes. sugary-empress: Yea)(~ T)(at's an underw)(elming response, but, yea)(~ It's quite late, cupcake, I otter sleep~ caepaecaesurae: A fair and wvise response. It's late here as wvell.  Pardon the philosophical meandering. Rest wvell. sugary-empress: I like t)(e meandering!~ Good day~ caepaecaesurae: It's an acquired taste, but I'm glad you enjoy it too.

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Life in the Present Tense: “Like” by A. E. Stallings

NOVEMBER 25, 2018

IN THE SEPTEMBER 2012 issue of Poetry magazine, the Canadian poet and classicist A. E. Stallings reflected on living in Athens, where she moved with her husband in 1999. “The one thing people will ask you here,” she writes, “if you are, as I am, clearly a foreigner, is: Are you here permanently? Are you planning to go back?” Nearly 20 years after her move, Stallings continues to live and work in Greece, where the immediacy of contemporary Athens collides with ongoing meditations on motherhood, mythology, politics, and poetry. In Like, her latest collection from Farrar, Straus and Giroux, Stallings presents a diverse quiver of poems — arranged in alphabetical order — polished and sharpened by her typically innovative use of traditional verse forms, poised vocabulary, and a playful dexterous teasing-out of simile and metaphor.

While the alphabetical arrangement of the collection creates a kind of echoing, it also reveals Stallings’s distinct threads and themes. Prominent among them is her interest in writing about all-encompassing, everyday parenting. Recalling what the inside-cover calls Stallings’s “archaeology of the domestic,” which grows and changes with her children, as in “Ultrasound,” from Hapax (2006), these poems continue in the spirit of her previous collection Olives (2012), written “smack in the middle of life, marriage and kids,” as she says to one interviewer, “and [which] I hope is full in the way that my life is currently very full.”

Certain poems in Like exist as an extended meditation on the objects of domestic routine — a pair of scissors, a cast iron skillet, a wooden children’s toy, “[n]odding its wooden head” to the mechanical horse-and-dancer of Elizabeth Bishop’s “Cirque d’Hiver.” Don’t miss the “genuine horsehair,” either, rounding out “The Last Carousel,” which showcases the poet’s wit and metaphorical precision. The iron skillet, accidentally cleansed of its “black and lustrous skin” becomes “vulnerable and porous / As a hero stripped of his arms,” while her poem about pencils scratches steadily toward a blunt and darkly comic close, surrendering itself to Time, that “other implement / That sharpens and grows shorter.”

Elsewhere, Stallings plays the role of archivist, recording the minutiae of urban Athens — a city of “folding chairs” and “broken windowpane[s],” “ill-made potholed modern road[s]” and the occasional whiff of tear gas lingering behind after a protest — alongside snapshots of domestic life: pruning the garden, delousing her daughter (“How pediculous!”), searching on her hands and knees for “[s]ome vital Lego brick or puzzle piece.” Not least due to her standing as a classicist and translator, it struck me how related Stallings’s Greece feels to the world of Homer’s Odyssey. The supernatural notwithstanding, the setting of Homer’s epic “feels entirely realistic, even mundane,” writes Emily Wilson in the introduction to her new translation, “a world where a mother packs a wholesome lunch of bread and cheese for her daughter, where there is a particular joy in taking a hot bath, where men listen to music and play checkers, and lively, pretty girls have fun playing ball games together.”

Where Stallings writes specifically about her children, she joins a formidable group of contemporary poets (on my side of the Atlantic, at least) engaged in exploring the same fullness of life she attributes to her time in Athens. Stallings’s poems chime with recent work by Fiona Benson, Liz Berry (whose poem “The Republic of Motherhood” was recently awarded the Forward Prize for Best Single Poem), and Sinéad Morrissey, especially the title poem of her 2017 collection, On Balance, which rebuts the wished-for ordinariness of Larkin’s “Born Yesterday,” written for the infant Sally Amis. What Stallings’s poetry shares with these writers might be something like awareness, a quality of self-reflection that accompanies the world renewed by parenthood. Anne Stevenson seems to touch upon this in the final stanza of her “Poem for a Daughter.” “A woman’s life is her own,” she writes, “until it is taken away / by a first, particular cry”:

Then she is not alone but part of the premises of everything there is: a time, a tribe, a war. When we belong to the world we become what we are.

I think it’s this feeling “part of the premises / of everything there is,” that governs much of Stallings’s poetry, including “Lost and Found,” the longest poem in the new collection, a kind of Chaucerian dream-vision in which the poet, following an argument with her son, is guided through a cratered moonscape by Mnemosyne, the classical goddess of memory, to the place “[w]here everything misplaced on earth accrues, / And here all things are gathered that you lose.” It isn’t only objects that end up here but an entire imaginative spectrum of the irretrievable, from the rooms to which we can’t return and the insomniac’s lost hours of sleep, to “the letters / We meant to write and didn’t” and “the frayed, lost threads / Of conversations […] we’d thought we’d spun / Only to find they’d somehow come undone.” On waking, the world is business as usual: hurried school-runs, packed lunches, paperwork, and bills. And yet, to borrow a phrase from Stevenson again, the poet resolves “[t]o live in the sublunary, the swift, / Deep present.” Stallings attends to the moment and the momentary, even as they pass to “[t]he light on my children’s hair, my face in the glass / Neither old nor young; but bare, intelligent.”

Thinking about Stallings as a poet who writes so unapologetically about her life as a parent, I’m reminded of an article by Ange Mlinko, published in the September issue of Poetry back in 2009. In it, Mlinko expresses her suspicion toward what she refers to as “mommy poems,” suggesting them to be, on the one hand, “intense, but also kind of boring” and on the other a frustrating instance of the commodification of contemporary poetry, and of motherhood in general. I found myself wondering what Mlinko might have to say about Stallings’s poems, especially given that Mlinko is thanked in the acknowledgments. In the case of Like, I expect she would approve. “I don’t want to read anthologies of mother poems,” she writes, though “I am always interested in what individual poets write about their children, in context with all the other things they write about.”

As an academic, an expatriate, and a North American mother of two, Stallings is careful to balance her experience of motherhood with the realities of the European refugee crisis, in which Greece plays a significant and complicated role. “I’m grateful tonight / Our listing bed isn’t a raft,” begins one poem, “Precariously adrift / As we dodge the coast guard light,” “That we didn’t buy cheap life jackets,” that “we don’t scan the sky for a mark, // Any mark, that demarcates a shore / As the dinghy starts taking on water.” Later on, the sequence “Refugee Fugue” stands out as one of the collection’s most successful moments, the poem transfiguring itself through different forms and voices like Shakespeare’s Ariel, who’s singing echoes softly through the poem:           

A fathom deep, the body lies, beyond all help and harms, Unfathomable, unfathomable, the news repeats, like charms, Forgetting that “to fathom” is to hold within your arms.

The sequence ends with a found poem of “Useful Phrases in Arabic, Farsi/Dari, and Greek,” constructed from a “Guide to Volunteering” distributed in Athens in March 2016. Somewhere near the middle, the poem introduces its anonymous dramatis personae — “Refugee / Volunteer / Foreigner / Friend” — though we are left to write the conversations that exist between the gaps ourselves:

I don’t understand I don’t speak Arabic / Farsi Slowly Come here You’re safe Are you wet / cold? […] How many people? Sorry Stay calm One line, please Next person

The poem reminds me of certain passages from Human Flow (2017), Ai Weiwei’s massive documentary exploring the extent of the global refugee crisis, and his recent installation Law of the Journey (2017), on display last year at the Trade Fair Palace in Prague, a 230-foot-long black life raft, suspended from the ceiling, crowded by 258 inflatable faceless figures.

Like Ai Weiwei, Stallings seems to understand the inherent connection between displacement and anonymity. It’s an idea that surfaces several times in the collection, as in “Alice, Bewildered,” taking an episode from Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking-Glass as its starting point, in which Alice wanders into “the wood where things escape their names.” On entering this new environment, Alice temporarily loses grasp of her identity, suddenly “un-twinned from the likeness in the glass.” The scene in Carroll’s novel is short: Alice briefly forgets her name — and the names of everything surrounding her — but remembers who she is on exiting the wood. In Stallings’s poem, she never recovers, the poem ending before she has time to “reclaim / The syllables that meant herself,” disintegrating into babble, half riddle, half tongue-twister:

Yet in the dark ellipsis she can tell, She’s certain, that her name begins with “L” – Liza, Lacie? Alias, alas, A lass alike alone and at a loss.

Alice’s displacement here is permanent or, at the very least, indefinite, returning us to the question posed to Stallings, time and again, during her time in Greece: “Are you here permanently? Are you planning to go back?”

Toward the end of that article in Poetry magazine, Stallings refers to a Greek proverb which, for her, articulates the uncertainty of her status as a full-time resident in Greece: “[N]othing is more permanent than the temporary.” The proverb returns in the collection’s opening poem, a villanelle concerning her family’s indefinite period abroad: “Just for a couple of years, we said, a dozen years back.” Here, it acts as a kind of refrain, but the proverb reaches out across the rest of the collection, too, coloring the other poems, which so often turn to a consideration of the temporary and the permanent. It’s understandable how this might come to be the overwhelming preoccupation of the classicist; it’s certainly a steady presence in the work of Alice Oswald (“Dunt: a poem for a dried up river” springs to mind). What’s clear in Like, however, is the way Stallings embraces the inevitable falling-away of things — of language, cities, people, civilizations — not as a way of reevaluating the past, but as a means of focusing on the fullness of life in the present tense, on the stuff that’s here now but might not be for long.

As for the poet, the act of writing comes to serve as a kind of solidification, a way of preserving the present before it slips away entirely. “I felt the moment pass / Right through me,” writes Stallings in the final stanza of “Lost and Found”:           

               currency as it was spent, That bright, loose change, like falling leaves, that mass Of decadent gold leaf, now turning brown – I could not keep it; I could write it down.

¤

Rowland Bagnall is a freelance writer and poet. He studied English Literature at St. John’s College, Oxford, and completed an MPhil in American Literature at the University of Cambridge.

Source: https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/life-in-the-present-tense-like-by-a-e-stallings/