#not sure why i decided to do a colored 2 page spread on a night im exhausted orz

[gil-estel]

star wars rebels appreciation week: day 6 — free choice // inktober day 8 — "hike"

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[12:22 pm]

Husband!Taeyong’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He sighed, deciding this would be a good time for a break from boxing up everything you both decided you were going to donate. His brows furrows seeing your name on his screen. Weren’t you in the house with him? Why wouldn’t you just come tell him instead of texting him? ‘You’re not going to believe what I just found!’ He read with a smile.

He heard your hurried steps on the hardwood floor of the hall and soon enough you were standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom with a bright smile and a colorful book in your hands. As you walked closer, Taeyong reached for you grabbing your hips to guide you to stand between his spread thighs. “What did you find, honey?” Taeyong asks, pressing a kiss to your arm.

“My diary! It’s got some entries from our first 2 years together!” You beam.

“Oooh, juicy stuff?” Taeyong asks with a quirked brow.

You clear your throat and crack the journal open, “this is from 5 years ago, ready?” Taeyong nods, but his mind is reeling, you guys didn’t know each other five years ago, what could you have written about him? Your voice interrupts his train of thought, “Today, I went to the cafe with Minho. While Minho and I were waiting for our drinks, the most handsome guy I’ve ever laid eyes on came up and started talking to Minho. I guess they took a class together a while ago. This guy didn’t look at me the whole time, but I think I’m in love. Who would ever believe that I saw a man this handsome in real life and not a magazine? Even though he didn’t look at me, I’m pretty sure I’m going to think about him for the rest of my life. Minho said his name is Taeyong. I’m writing this so I have some happy memory of a handsome guy to return to when I’m sad.”

You look down at your husband, “I guess I was a little dramatic, huh?”

“I don’t even remember that! What else do you have?” Taeyong asks eagerly. He wishes he could go back in time to introduce himself properly, he could have had a whole extra year with you. Ugh!

“This is from four years ago, from that dinner that Minho held. I wrote, oh my literal god! You are never going to believe this! The handsome guy from the cafe was at Minho’s party and he spoke to me! There’s like a whole row of exclamation points here,” both you and Taeyong snort out a laugh before continuing, “his voice was so gentle and his hand was sooooo soft when we shook hands. We made conversation about school and our interests. He told me he likes to make music and make art and I told him I’d love to see his work, talk about thirsty. He had a really cute smile on his face and I swear I saw him blush! He told me he’d like to show me and before the night ended we exchanged numbers. I think there’s a higher possibility of us falling in love now. I hope he’s not actually a creep.”

Taeyong pulls you into his lap as he laughs loudly, “I remember that meeting, thank goodness. I remember that you were really cute and shy. And that Minho can’t cook to save his life. I was really excited to text you after that, but I wanted to be chill.”

“I think I ended up writing that after a week of nothing from you I gave up hope a little. I thought maybe you were like a figment of my imagination or maybe I read into it too much,” you sigh as if you’re reliving the memories while turning through the now warped pages.

For a while, the two of you sit there in comfortable silence reading through your entries. He reads and laughs good-naturedly ay the entry that describes the anxiety before your first date in detail and in drawing. Half the page is a messy scribble of words he can barely read, and the other half is scribbles that he can very well imagine you screaming while you drew. There’s a whole page of scribbles and ‘ahhhhhh’ filling up the whole page after the first date/first kiss which makes him smile softly while pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

He finds himself holding you closer, his arms around your waist tightening as his eyes pore over the words of a three-page long entry that came after your first big fight. You’d tried to skip past this, but he pulled the book out of your hold. ‘Tonight, Taeyong and I got in our first fight and I don’t think my heart has ever hurt this badly. I just don’t understand why he left! All I told him was that I needed some space to think and he took that as me wanting him gone. He just turned on his heel and left! I just wanted like 5 minutes to gather myself! Why would he just leave?’ Taeyong’s thumb sadly runs over the obvious mark of a tear drop.

He remembered this fight, he could remember the reason, but he remembers the aftermath. He remembers all the work that came after so that you two could communicate effectively. He remembers promising to never walk away in the middle of the fight and to never go three days thought talking to you again.

He closes the journal as sets it beside him while pulling you into an embrace, “we’ve made it far haven’t we?”

“Yeah, now I don’t freak out like scared chicken before our dates,” you laugh into his chest.

Taeyong laughs deeply, “I meant our communication, but sure.”

“Taeyong, we’ve been together for like four years, of course we’ve learned to communicate. We’ve learned a lot of things about each other. Each and every thing I learn just makes me love you more.”

He furrows his brows, “you didn’t like it when I bleached my eyebrows.”

“Oh my god, yeah! That wasn’t a good look. I hated that!” You exclaim, standing from his lap to assess the work he’s gotten done. “You’ve done a good job so far,” you nod.

“We’ve done a good job so far,” Taeyong stresses.

“That was cute, but I meant the clothes, honey.”

[solarisfortuneia]

alhaitham x reader. wc: 540. fluff. pt 3. of '—the scribe, in love.' pt. 2.

alhaitham always, always knows when something decides to worm its way into your mind. he can practically see it wiggle around, the gears in your skull turning and the cogs moving as you chew on your fingernail. the air around you almost buzzes with the energy of the idea bouncing in your head.

he watches you carefully throughout the day, one eye on his work and another on you. you keep stealing what he's sure you think are covert glances, and he bites back the urge to make a remark. instead, he decides to wait. 

when you approach him in the evening, two books tucked to your chest, he knows he'll find out soon enough. 

the countdown begins when you bring his head to your lap while he reads. with every page you flip above his head, he mentally marks another number.

three. two. one. 

“alhaitham?” 

there it is. he hums in response, eyes never parting from the words in his page.

“how do you feel about nicknames?”

now that, he did not expect. as he chooses his next words carefully, he carefully studies the glint in your eyes. idly, he wonders why you asked.

"i have no opinions about them," he says, after a few moments of silence. 

"so," you stretch out the 'o' sound, "can i call you my darling?"

"unexpected." he blinks. "but i don't see why not," odd, but a harmless request.

"can i call you sweetheart too, then?" 

"call me whatever you like," he sits up, deciding to get a drink of water. he only just takes a sip when you pipe up next.

"what about calling you my snookums?"

he chokes.  you and your timing. "does that word even exist in the dictionary?" he asks, attempting to nonchalantly distract you. 

goodness knows that if he let even a single moment of weakness show, you'd pick up on it and use the nickname on him for eternity. and if kaveh got wind of it?

the architect would haunt him with it for months.

you sigh, and that's when he knows you're nowhere near done. but you say nothing, so he assumes you're satisfied for the time being.

hours later, night blankets sumeru city, inky sky enveloping all. you've been suspiciously silent about your earlier topic of conversation. 

it is not until the two of you are comfortably settled in bed, your head resting on his outstretched arm as you face his chest, that he sees the gears turn once again. your eyes are soft, and your hand gently strokes his cheek. 

"can i call you hai-hai?" you ask, voice not louder than a breath next to his ear. 

color starts to dance on his cheeks, and he averts his eyes. he opens his mouth in protest, but words die in his throat.

who would've thought the acting grand sage, one who knows so, so many words, in so many languages, would be rendered speechless by a nickname, and such a silly one at that?

you do not wait for a response. a smile slowly spreads across your face and the hand on your face squishes, then pokes his cheek.

"hai-hai it is, then." you press a kiss to his nose. "goodnight, hai-hai."

you'd be the death of him.

[everythingthemoontouches]

Congratulations on 1024 followers. I can tell your sincere about what you do and how you feel about this blog, you really deserve it!

If not sure if this is a valid question worth answering but I recently bought my first tarot deck (like Monday or Sunday) I have not gotten the chance to properly cleanse or charge it with crystals or through smoke but I have used different methods like meditations, cleansing frequency’s, the blowing and knocking method etc and occasionally setting them down to get some sunlight (I also slept with them under my pillow one night and have been shuffling for practice whenever I have the time to do so)

Today I decided to do a 4 card spread in order to connect with my spirit guides (I did do a short cleansing frequency meditation beforehand) and I’m not sure whether or not I actually connected with them. I do believe that I did a good job at the whole process though and I feel rewarded but I’m still not sure so if you could pitch in however you want that would be nice and I would appreciate it! I guess my question is “what do my guides think” or maybe ��Did I receive the right message” “am I on a good regarding tarot)

If you think I should get an intuitive reading or maybe go to someone else, you can just not respond (I am a little bit embarrassed💀) Thank you-jsm🐰👒🍀

Hey there sister 😊

Welcome to the tarot ride ⛵we love it here 💖 firstly, congratulations on your first deck. mine will always be special to me because it lead me here to this community where I feel like I'm doing something worthwhile and helping people out in a way I would have loved to seek guidance when I was younger.

Now for your question about thr cleansing technique - frequency meditations are my favorite way to get the right vibe. I usually feel it in my gut - saying play heart Chakra meditation for this particular reading or some such.

Divination, I believe is a very personal practice and so are intuitive gifts. The exact methodology may vary person to person. Did your cards come pre loved ?

Even if they are the sun is a powerful anti bacterial and has the ability to prevent many diseases in human beings. I don't see why letting it charge under the sun should not get rid of any lingering negative energies if there were any to begin with. The other methods you've described seem more than sufficient.

It's the intention and integrity with which you follow them that counts. I would suggest trying to maintain cleanliness in the area where you do your readings. Personally I know I've become a lot more sloppy than iw as a year ago and I try really hard to keep my surroundings clean.

You mention the sun so I feel that you could be more of a fire based energy. However, are you sure direct sunlight is not bad for the cards laminate? I live in the tropics and leaving things out in the sun can really make the color fade over time.

Tapping the cards on wood seems good enough. The more respectfully you treat your cards the better connection you'd build.

Have you tried a deck interview yet? Those are always so fun way to do and a good way to bond with your deck. These are some I personally used :

1. I said hello and asked the deck to introduce their main energy.

2. I asked how they would wanna work with / through me

3. When I started my insta page I asked my deck who they wanna help through me. I got the 3 of hearts. I knew I needed to be compassionate and talk about pain instead of faking optimism.

4.i asked my deck how they saw me.

5. What kind of approach do your cards have to this relationship between cards and reader?

I used to follow the gem goddess on YouTube and she spoke about just taking a couple of minutes to go through all thr cards and intuitively see what each card means to you before trying to memorize the meanings. Sometimes, memory can gatekeep your intuition. If you're lead by emotion, and how you feel that's probably not soemthing you'd want I guess. If you're more logically inclined there's always lenormand.

Your Spirit guides are your allies. Twhure your people and they chose the role. If you choose to open up a dialogue they will show up. You're obviously not gonna hear it like in the movies at first (OK, maybe you could if the gift is that strong.) - it could be more feeling based. Or knowing based. Like a sleepy thought. If you felt connected, then you probably did. There are no grades here. It's between you and your team.

Googling the signs, symbolism, environments could be a good way to help decipher the message of you felt like everything was random.

There's this theory that the setting in which you met / experienced them in could be related to your Ketu(north node) Nakshatra

As for your conversation with your guides and the ievrall feel, I drew the High priestess. She is revered for her wisdom, practicality and intuitive abilities. You're on a good path

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

[the-tiger-with-a-computer]

Twisted Wonderland NoSleep Au

Heartslabyul Part 2

For now on this Au will be called the NoSleep Au as a reference to the subreddit that helped to inspire this Au. So a quick recap, Yuu has mentioned that something is VERY wrong with their town but refuses to talk about it which worries the others and when they went to see about getting Riddle to remove the collar Cater said that they need to get a apology tart and then the school day officially begins.

Yuu: So, we have potions class first right?

Deuce: Yup.

Ace: Who was the professor again?

*Then the professor walked into the room*

Crewel: Glad to see such fresh new faces in my homeroom. There are some rare hair colors in the bunch, not bad, make sure to take proper care of it. My name is Divus Crewel and I am your potions teacher. Class will begin. I will beat the names of 100 types of medicine and poison into your little brains. We'll cover fungi later, no memorize these so you don't get yourselves poisoned. Dogs will eat anything that they find on the ground. Your training will be strict and I better not see any red marks on your tests.

Deuce: What's a fungi?

Yuu: Any type of spore-producing organism, they also cluster together sometimes.

Deuce: Thanks.

Ace: I'm no good at memorization.

Yuu: I can help you later Ace.

Ace: Thanks Yuu.

*Next up was History, which Yuu was very exited for*

Trein: I am Trien and I am in charge of your history lessons. This is my familiar, Lucius. You will learn about the history of magic that has brought prosperity to the world. Participation in class will affect your grade, not just reports. I will not forgive sleeping in class. Open your textbooks to page 15. We will start with the discovery of magic crystals in the Dwarf's Mines. Magical energy spread throughout the world after this century. We call it the "Beginning of Magic".

Ace: This is boring.

Deuce: Didn't we go to those mines?

Yuu: I think so.

Grim: I want to use magic already.

*Third period was Athletics which Yuu was less exited for. Also this is going to be SO long, what I will do now is just give a general rundown of the class, teacher, and Yuu's thoughts on the class*

The teacher for this class is a man named Vargas. He boasted about how healthy and fit he is and how it is important for wizards to train their muscles and stamina. Fun fact, Yuu might be a great runner but they have no overall strength or stamina whatsoever, so this class proved one of the most challenging classes for Yuu.

After this class Grim tried to run away saying that he wanted to learn magic. It took a while for the group to catch him. During lunch they got into trouble with some other students, but thankfully Yuu was able to defuse the situation. After that the group saw Cater with another student with green hair. That person was Trey, and he explained to Yuu and Grim about the seven dorms and their quirks. When talking about Diasomnia another student by the name of Lillia appeared to talk. It was very surprising but Lillia was very kind, though the students that were with him did not look that way. But when Ace started bad talking about Riddle, Riddle overheard and decided to not remove the collar. Ace then earned a smack on the head from Yuu. After Riddle talked about how rule-breakers should not be forgiven Yuu felt as if something was off. As if there was a darkness overtaking Riddle, after all Yuu could understand where he was coming from, their home had a lot of strange rules that are meant to keep everyone safe. One wrong move could lead to your death, or in Yuu's case, having their left eye completely removed. Then Trey explained how Unique Magic worked and how it's a type of magic that only they can use. Back to the whole tart situation, Cater said that Trey is a baker and that he could help them. Trey was happy to help but asked the group to gather chestnuts for the tart. So it was off to the forest after class.

Ace: So we have to collect a lot of chestnuts. How should we do this?

Yuu: First, we need a basket to hold them, and since chestnuts have thorns we need something to grab them.

Grim: They have thorns? Thanks Yuu, I was about to start picking them.

Deuce: Well, I think there should be what we need in the botanical garden.

Ace: Then let's go take a look.

Deuce: There should be a caretaker, we should split up and look for them.

Ace: I'll go left.

Deuce: I'll go right.

Yuu: Me and Grim can go straight to the back.

Grim: There are many good stuff here. I just might eat some!

Yuu: Grim, don't or else there will be no tuna for you.

Grim: Fine. But it better be good tuna.

Then Yuu felt like they stepped on something.

???: Hey, you got some nerve stepping on someone's tail without saying anything.

Yuu: I'm sorry about that. I was looking for the caretaker.

???: I was in the middle of a nice nap. Then you came and walked all over my tail. This sucks.

Yuu: Again, I'm so sorry.

???: Hang on a moment. Aren't you that herbivore that the mirror said can't use magic? *Snif snif*

Yuu: *Why is he smelling me?*

Leona: You really don't have a speck of magic on you. I don't feel like taking on an opponent that can't resist. But I, Leona, can't just let you walk away after you stepped on my tail. I was having a nice nap, but now I'm pissed.

Yuu: *He's gonna hurt me!*

Then, thankfully, another student came in and told Leona that it was time for his lessons. He also said that if Leona kept being help back, then they were going to be classmates. Leona left, but not without giving Yuu a warning.

*Outside Yuu explained everything to Ace and Deuce.*

Ace: Yuu is right, that was definitely not the caretaker.

Grim: He was wearing a yellow vest.

Yuu: I think that he was from the Savanaclaw dorm.

Deuce: Is it just me, or are there a lot of delinquents at Night Raven Collage?

Yuu: It's not just you, I've noticed it as well.

Ace: Anyway, our chestnut pile is really big. Let's get them back to Trey.

*This is already starting to look a bit long so I will end it here. The next park will take place when the gang get back to Trey. Until next time.*

[thatesqcrush]

After Hours

Bryan Kneef x Reader. NSFW. For holiday bingo: very, very loosely “ugly sweater.” But it’s my bingo, sooo, c’est la vie. Follow-up to “The Trip” and “The Trip, Pt. 2.” Bryan makes good on a promise to reader.

WC: 3010 

**

You were surprised when you and Bryan flew back into Chicago that he did not make immediately good on his promise to fuck you in the office. In fact, it seemed that Bryan was done with you – he was all business in the office, no pleasure. You watched with secret jealousy and longing as he flirted and charmed everyone in the office – with the exception of Diane, of course. You even tried to dress a little nicer in the office, in hopes that he would notice. You tried to even bring up a novice mistake Diane had made in court and it was met with a curt smile and raised brows that screamed ‘are we done here?’

That all changed one late evening in the Firm’s copy center. A partner in your own right, you had your own stockpile of paralegals to call on handle whatever you needed. But it was late – and it was the holidays. Unlike other attorneys, it felt cruel to keep them burning the midnight oil. You had worked for asshole bosses like that when you were a paralegal many moons ago and you always vowed to not do that if you ever became an attorney.

You were fiddling around the printer, nary a soul in sight. The overhead lighting was awfully bright and it was emanating a hum. The monstrous printer was jammed and you could not figure out why it was still jammed even though you had removed the stuck paper. Your heels ached and throbbed from the day and with not even an afterthought, you took them off, leaving your feet bare – but still in stockings.

Your frustration was mounting and you decided to kick the machine, which somehow kickstarted the machine back to life, spitting out an obscene amount of pages as if it were confetti. You hit stop and gathered the paper from the floor. Finding some useable pages, you pumped the air victoriously before going back to your office. You remained sans shoes, enjoying how the floor felt against your feet. You spotted a ‘wet floor��� sign ahead and with a weary sigh, you slipped your heels back on, groaning.

Your heels clacked down the hallway to your office, echoing loudly with each step on the marbled floor. You paused in your step, when you realized despite your dim office and surroundings, that Bryan was in your office. He was leaning against the doorway, waiting with a drink in one hand and a cigar in another.

“Bryan? What are you doing here?” You asked, pushing past him. You stood at your desk, and continued to bind your courtesy copies, so it could be picked up by the messenger in the morning and be hand delivered to court.

Bryan cocked his head and swept his eyes over you, taking in your form. Your shirt was untucked from your pencil skirt, but it was not long enough to hide your form, with shapely and curvy hips and thighs. Bryan had been with his share of women – and men – but there was something about a person with curves that he was always a sucker for. There was something about how a bit softer they were, the way a pair of thicker thighs would feel against his hands as his hips crashed against them – something the way a pair of big tits spilled over his hands as his mouth nipped and sucked on them. He loved watching their tits bounce as they rode him or how his fingers sunk into their luscious hips as he took them from behind.

And ever since you and he fucked at the conference, which basically was almost every night until you both flew home, he could not get you out of his mind. He tried to keep things back to business but even weeks later, there you were still, from work meetings to partner votes.

At one meeting in particular, he sat next to you and he had to will himself to not slip his hand up your dress from under the desk. That then led to the image of you under his desk sucking him off. He ended up having to take matters into his own hands and rub one out that afternoon in his office.

He took notice at how you upped your appearance – skirts that hugged your shapely hips and (in his opinion, ugly) sweaters with a v-neck which showed off the swells of your tits. Your lips were always decorated in some kind of bold color and he could imagine those soft pillowy lips around his cock. The promise in Florida haunted him and he decided to make good on those words.

“I was on a settlement call with Tokyo when I noticed your office lights. I never see you here this late.” Bryan replied, his voice low and gravelly. The smell of the cigar burning – which to you smelled like coffee and surprisingly burnt marshmallow filled the air. The combination of that and his cologne sent your senses into overdrive.

“I am finishing up on some courtesy copies and then heading home.” You replied, continuing to work, avoiding his eyes.

“There’s a hundred paralegals in this place – you should offload that to one of them.” Bryan replied, taking a sip of his drink. He shut the door behind him before sitting down in front of your desk and kicking his legs up.

You shot him a look. “It’s fine – it’s humbling at least. You should always know how to do the mundane tasks – it makes you a better manager when you can relate to your subordinates.”

Bryan rolled his eyes and puffed on his cigar. “Sure, whatever you say.”

“Are you here to just antagonize me or…?” You asked, now placing your hands on your hips. You gave him an unyielding glare to which he responded with a dangerous smile. Your glare softened, feeling very much like prey being hunted. You swallowed hard, feeling your stomach knot up.

“What if it’s or?” Bryan asked, his voice laced with lust. He swung his legs off the desk and placed the drink and cigar on your desk before standing and walking over to you. A sound rumbled from his chest and you froze in your spot as he took place behind you.

Your eyes met his. There was palpable tension and you’d wonder who’d crack first. You got your answer quickly as he pressed himself lewdly against your buttocks; you could feel his hard bulge.

Bryan’s large hands gripped the tops of your arms and he nuzzled your neck, his beard tickling your skin and further heightening the feelings of arousal that were beginning to stir. You let out a soft sigh in response, nearly sinking back into him. 

“Remember what I said in Florida?” Bryan whispered into your ear. He nipped your ear playfully which caused you to shudder. His mouth found the slope of your neck and he sucked a deep mark on your skin, before using his teeth to nip some more. Your eyes fluttered shut..

“Yes.” You half moaned. You could feel your heartbeat and pulse quicken as Bryan soothed the bruised skin with his warm, wet tongue.

Bryan ran his hands down your arms and then to the curves of your hips trailing down until he got to the hem. Your breathing began to quicken in anticipation of what he’d do next. Bryan let out a growl as he pushed up your skirt and discovered you were wearing stockings with peacock feather lace tops which were held up with blush colored garters. Finishing the look was a matching blush pink thong panty.

“My, my… is this for me?” Bryan murmured against your skin. You slowly turned around and looked down, meeting his eyes, which were blown with lust.

“Yes. It’s all for you.” You admitted, averting your eyes briefly.

Bryan stood and faced you, using his index finger to tilt your face to his. “I fucking knew it.” Bryan whispered. “Your daddy’s little slut Y/N.”

“Yes, daddy.” You replied weakly, dizzy with desire.

Bryan pulled you into a kiss. Your mouths mashed against one another’s, your tongues rolling around and exploring each other’s mouths. You could taste the alcohol and cigar smoke and you moaned as he sucked in your bottom lip. You ran your hands through his thick hair and his hands grabbed at your ass, rolling the fat between his fingers.

“Is this what you want?” Bryan asked as he pressed your body closer to his; you could feel his erection against your stomach.

You ran your hands down to his collar and tugged him down. Bryan followed your lead as you hoisted yourself onto your desk, not caring at all that that objects on your desk fell over to the floor. Bryan made quick work of undoing the buttons of your blouse and spreading it open. His hand ran down your sternum before he reached down to the cups of your bra, your breasts popping out. His mouth immediately latched onto a nipple, rolling his tongue over a hardened bud. He used his free hand to pinch and roll your other nipple. Your head lolled at the sensations, your body was warm with increasing desire. He switched his mouth to your other nipple, sucking and nipping harder than he did to the other one, causing you to whine.

“I need to hear it Y/N. Or this all stops.” Bryan growled against your flesh before using his teeth to graze a nipple.

“Yes.” You finally managed to choke the words to describe your assent. “Fuck me.”

Bryan stood straight, his eyes taking in your appearance. Your hair was fanned out on the desk, your tits exposed, and your skirt pushed up to your waist, legs spread. The garter straps were strained along your skin as the elasticity was pushed to its limits. He undid the hooks and then stretched your legs wider. He felt his some primal urge swell deep inside at the very noticeable wet spot on your panties.

He bent down so that he was on his knees; his breath was warm against your soaking cunt, and you were desperate to relieve the aching in between your legs. He cupped your clothed pussy with his palm. “You’re so wet.” Bryan noted, a pleased lilt in his voice. He slipped a finger in and he let out his own groan of satisfaction at how easily it sunk in. Your cunt gripped his finger tightly and you sighed in relief at the feeling of his finger stroke you. 

“Oh fuck,” you groaned, your back arching off the desk at the sensation. Bryan’s tongue lapped one long hard strip from your opening up to your clit, the wet, warm muscle circling your bundle of nerves before his lips closed around it.  You groaned, murmuring Bryan’s name with praise. You grabbed at your own flesh, pinching and tugging on your nipples, as you felt your orgasm begin to build.

Now two fingers pressed at your core, slowly sinking inside, curling them and stroking your sweet spot while his thumb rubbed your clit. You couldn’t think straight, all you could focus on was the orgasm that was bubbling in the pit of your stomach and desperate for release. Your chest was heaving, a light sweat breaking out everywhere.

Bryan worked your orgasm alternating with his mouth and fingers. You were on the edge teetering, just about to let go and fall off. He could feel you clenching around his fingers. Bryan’s hot mouth was back to abusing your clit with such vigor.  

“Oh god, oh god, I am going to cum!” You sobbed. His fingers curled to your g-spot again, and the feeling was even more intense than usual.

“Come for me like a good girl.” Bryan commanded. Your body obediently obeyed. You wailed his name as you fell apart, this orgasm different from any other you had, practically shooting out. Your pussy clenched over his fingers and a warm, wet liquid emanated from your body.

Bryan groaned, as he buried his face against you before sucking your clit once more, coming off with a wet squelch. You lay there shuddering, completely dazed at what just happened. Bryan pulled you up and kissed you hard. His beard was soaked and you could smell and taste yourself on his beard.

“Never made a woman squirt before. That was fucking hot.” Bryan rumbled, as lecherous grin spread over his bearded mouth.

“Is that what it was?” You asked, reaching up to touch his soaked beard in amazement.

Bryan nodded. “I have watched enough porn to know that was definitely that.” You leaned up to kiss Bryan again. He kissed you softly this time as he undid the buckle of his pants. Bryan’s lips remained on yours as he used his hands to push down his pants and boxers, releasing his hard cock. You moved to bend and return the favor, but Bryan shook his head. He waved his index finger around. “On your back, facing me.”

You gave him a curious look but did as told. Your head was to the edge of the desk and watched near upside down as Bryan pumped his cock. The air was erotically charged; seeing his hard cock – knowing you were the reason it was the way it was – made you feel powerful. Some cum wept out and he used that as lubrication as he pumped his cock. You bit your lip once more to stifle a moan as you snaked your own hand down to rub your clitoris.

Bryan ended with his head near your head; his cock sticking up gloriously straight in the air. It gave him a beautiful if upside-down view of your face and breasts. You leaned your head over the edge and he leaned forward into your mouth. Bryan thrusted in and out your mouth, relishing in the feel of your tongue on his erection. His cock felt heavy and delicious, stretching your mouth. Bryan cupped your breasts again as he continued thrusting in and out of your mouth. You sucked the pre-cum that dripped out from the slit in the head of his cock. The salty taste flooded your mouth. Bryan grunted as your tongue, soft and warm, swiveled over his cock. You licked every ridge and meaty vein before you hollowed your cheeks to suck him harder. You spread your legs wantonly and continued to pump your fingers, in and out and in again.

Bryan grunted as he leaned further to cover your hand, guiding you as you pleasured yourself. You slipped your fingers out and Bryan sucked them clean before slipping his thick fingers in, replacing yours. You moaned against his cock once and the vibrations caused Bryan’s hips to jerk in response. Your hands wrapped against the backs of his thighs. You could feel him getting close - the sinewy muscles in his thighs were twitching and trembling. Bryan stumbled backwards, leaving your mouth and aching pussy empty.  

You let out a sound of frustration as Bryan walked over to the other side. You thought he’d might climb the desk and fuck you, but instead, he pulled you down to standing. You felt light-head as the blood rushed back down from your head. He pulled down your panties and he began to stroke himself against your soaked pussy. Over and over he rubbed his cock along your folds and swollen cit. It was rousing and lewd, the filthy act of him using you to get himself off, as if you were his own personal sex doll. You hooked your arms around his neck and began to undulate your hips, rubbing yourself equally on his thick, hard cock. It didn’t take long and Bryan groaned, shuddering against you as he came along your mound and panties in thick, hot, white, creamy ropes.

Bryan took a step back to survey the damage done – there you were, standing with your tits hanging out, your hair askew, and your panties ruined with your release as well as his. Bryan gathered some of his release onto his finger and offered it to you. You sucked in his finger, as if you were mimicking the blow job you had just given him. Your want and desire had grown exponentially and your pussy ached to be filled up and wrecked by his monster cock.

“In due time.” Bryan spoke. “We’ll continue at the New Years party.”

“Excuse me?” You asked. “We’re not…?”

Another grin appeared. Bryan reached and pulled up your panties until they were back on and he rubbed your clothed mound, that was full of his cum and your own messy release.

Bryan stood back and tucked himself. He pressed one last kiss to your lips. “New Year’s. I’ll pick you up at 7.”

You nodded. “Okay.” Seeing your disappointed look, Bryan kissed you once more. “Good girls get rewarded with daddy’s cum. So be good for me. Or else.”

Arousal shot through your body at his promise and threat. “Ok daddy.”

“Good.” Bryan replied with a wink. He turned to leave, with a very certain swag in his walk. You were now alone, in complete disarray of the evening’s events. But you had to admit, having his come in your panties made you feel completely defiled; you could hardly wait for New Year’s Eve.

Soon enough.

TBC.

Tags: @madpanda75 @tropes-and-tales @delia26 @mgarner1227 @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @annabelleb49 @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoolike @thefanficfaerie @theenchantedgalleryofstories @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty @ktiz90 @evee87 @itsjustmyfantasyroom @detective-giggles @rampantmuses @jazzyjoi @caked-crusader @rachelxwayne @prurientpuddlejumper @lv7867 @permanentlydizzy @bisexual-dreamer02 @madamsnape921 @averyhotchner @teamsladsandgents

[fiddlepickdouglas]

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 20 - Just Kids

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, what consequences?, 4.9k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19

All too soon, two very familiar colors filled the back of the van. Alex’s heart immediately submerged into the dark ocean it always went to in despair, knowing they were all screwed this time. He could already see Bobby pulling onto the shoulder - they didn’t need the sound of sirens to tell them what was up. Willie still seemed like he wasn’t all present, and Alex squeezed his fingers and shook his hands to bring him back to the now. They had really hoped it wouldn’t happen. None of the guys could’ve anticipated the alarm, or that Caleb would be in town when they definitely thought he was gone, or that everything would go wrong.

Not knowing didn’t matter, though. Hours later, all five of them sat inside a holding cell at the LAPD, heads bowed as none of them dared to make eye contact with each other. It was early morning by the time all of them had been processed, and they were all varying levels of exhausted. The time passed at a frustratingly slow pace, although there was no way of telling what time it was. Thankfully, they were the only ones in the cell at the time; if there had been other inmates it would’ve sent Alex’s nerves past their threshold. A guard sat just outside a doorway to the rest of the station while another sat directly outside the cell.

Alex was tempted to wrap his arm around Willie’s shoulders, since he remained dissociated, but the eye contact from the officer sitting across from them was too unsettling. He didn’t like the thought that came through his mind - the one that made him feel like an even worse criminal, even though he knew he wasn’t. Stubbornly, Alex fought to push the feeling away, and settled for putting a hand on Willie’s shoulder. There was almost no reaction, but then Alex saw his brown eyes flicker in his direction and that was all the peace he needed.

“It’s my fault, you guys,” Reggie murmured, barely peering up from where his head hung dejectedly. “I was just so caught up in getting back - ”

“It’s not your fault, Reggie,” Bobby interrupted him gently. “He was waiting for us.”

Luke didn’t speak. His eyes couldn’t leave his empty hands. Alex almost couldn’t look at him; it was a sad image.

They had all been so sure that Caleb was finally out of LA, never spoke about their plans at the studio, had been so careful about the way they acted around him - there was no way. There was just no way that he could’ve been so ready to show up just as they were trying to get the master copies of their album out of his hands. And worse, now Alex had dragged Willie into it, and the guilt mounted even higher from there.

A female officer approached the cell with a clipboard, not bothering to look up from the page she had her eyes glued to.

“Bobby Wilson?”

Bobby raised his head at the sound of his name.

“You have an older brother here to pick you up,” she said monotonously. “You’re free to go.”

The door to the cell was opened and Bobby made his way out in slight confusion. He threw a conflicted look back toward Luke.

“Did he say if I was taking anyone with me?”

“He came for Bobby Wilson and Bobby Wilson only.” Her tone shut down any further questions that he had. Looking back apologetically, his shoulders slumped as Luke shook his head.

“Don’t worry about it,” Luke said, although not as assuring as he likely wanted to be. “I’ll be fine.”

Alex watched as Bobby’s eyes lingered for a few seconds on Reggie, who was still hunched forward with his gaze fixed on the concrete floor. It seemed so uncharacteristic for him, but Alex understood he was probably shutting down at the mere thought of returning home. The emotions ran high enough in his home as it was. They hadn’t really been given options as for who got called when they’d been brought to the police department. Finally, Bobby turned and took the car keys and wallet that had been confiscated and disappeared.

Luke moved closer to Reggie and put a hand on his back, and he began muttering something to him. They were just far enough away that Alex couldn’t properly hear what they were saying.

“Sheldon’s gonna be so freaked out when I get home,” Willie spoke suddenly. Alex turned to see him finally looking around the cell, fully aware of his surroundings.

“Hopefully he’ll be okay,” he assured. “They can only hold us for up to twelve hours; that’s what they said.”

Willie looked at him and nodded, eyes once again immediately training themselves onto empty space.

“How are you doing?” Alex asked carefully. Willie didn’t move his eyes, but he appeared to be brought back into focus again.

“I just have all these images running in my mind,” he said. “Things he did. Things I did. He decided to pretend I was dead rather than deal with my existence. It’s like he was already trying to bury me by taking away any connection to my past. Sometimes I wonder what I was like before the accident. What if I deserved this?”

For a minute, Alex merely sat with his jaw agape, as if he’d been slapped upon hearing what Willie was saying.

“Wha- ? No. Willie, that can’t be right,” he started. “You couldn’t possibly deserve any of this, no matter what happened in the past.”

Willie shook his head.

“I was in the foster system, Alex,” he argued. “From the few things I know, I was passed around a little bit. Caleb was someone who took difficult kids; he had a reputation with social services. I wanted him to be the bad guy because I got a taste of something better, but when I look around, Alex? I have no one to call. Not even family.”

It was the first time Alex had seen tears well up in his eyes since the night at the Stratosphere, but he felt that any comfort he wanted to offer wouldn’t be accepted. All he could do was look back at this beautiful boy who deserved far more than he believed, brow furrowed in silent protest. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Willie had a point. There was a possibility that the guys’ dislike of the man had become biased based on Willie’s story, as unintentional as it may have been. Still, Alex refused to believe that it was because Willie was the real menace.

“Look, we may never know the truth,” he started, trying to look at him as directly as he could. “But I’m the one who got you here; I take responsibility for that. And sometimes having someone to call doesn’t mean they’re there for you.”

Willie gave him a look that was mixed, but he mostly read concern. Frankly, Alex wasn’t sure what his own parents’ reaction would be, but he didn’t dare hope for any sort of understanding.

“Reggie Peters?” The same female officer approached the cell again with her clipboard.

Reggie turned away from his conversation with Luke, sucking in a nervous breath.

“Your mother is here to take you home; you’re free to go.”

Pressing his lips together anxiously, Reggie simply bowed his head as he was escorted out the same way Bobby had been. Luke promptly spread himself out along the bench, pulling his beanie over his face.

For a while, Alex let his mind wander as he kept his hand resting on Willie’s shoulder. What Willie had said made him want to reevaluate the whole situation with Caleb. It wasn’t that he thought Willie was as bad as he said he was, but it stood to be examined. He remembered the difference between his short first impression of the man at the diner, and the second time he’d seen him. He even remembered his own reasoning - how it was possible that Caleb could come off as so severe while running a diner but maintain such charisma while serving guests.

A pang of memory also came as Alex had noted he didn’t seem like a straight man and after months of actually working with him there was even greater evidence toward that notion. It had been what made Alex want to trust him in the beginning. Finding an adult figure who offered him a break from being constantly vigilant about the way he naturally felt had been a blessing. Not even Alex could ignore that. However, something still told him that just because they had that in common didn’t make Caleb trustworthy.

“Luke Patterson?” All three boys looked up in surprise when they heard the officer’s voice a third time. Luke clutched his beanie to his chest, confused most of all as he sat up from the bench. Instead of announcing who had come for him, the officer stepped aside as two familiar faces came toward the cell.

Julie Molina and her Aunt Victoria looked at the boys, both with stern expressions.

“Julie?” Luke uttered in surprise, standing up from the bench and slowly moving toward her. 

Folding her arms, Julie had her eyes fixed on Luke with a brand of disappointment that appeared to burn like acid. She flashed the same look toward Alex for a moment and he was duly stung. Luke could make all the sad, pleading puppy faces he wanted, but ultimately was struck dumb by knowing he had no room to speak.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Julie told him, the chastising tone not to be missed. Luke’s face fell and he hung his head, looking back toward Alex with a similar apologetic look as Bobby had given.

Alex caught Victoria also looking at him. It was still stern, but more in telling him she was let down. Why it compounded his already guilty feelings even more, he couldn’t understand. Her expression changed, however, as she looked at Willie next to him, as though she were trying to recall where she recognized him. Immediately forgetting his guilt for a moment, Alex perked up and subtly pointed a finger toward him, mouthing the name “Willie!” to her. She looked at him incredulously, and it was a shame the officer was already escorting them out with Luke, because he was sure she had questions.

“Was that Julie’s mom?” Willie asked. Startled, Alex looked at him and cleared his throat.

“Ah, no, that was her aunt,” he told him. “Her mom is still in the hospital.”

“Oh,” Willie replied, casting he gaze to where they had left with a look of empathy. “That really sucks.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed.

For the second surprise that night (morning? Alex couldn’t tell), and for the fourth time, the female officer returned.

“William Taylor?”

Willie looked at Alex in utter perplexity, and then back at the officer.

“Um…” he began saying. Before he finished, Flynn came around the corner accompanied by a woman both boys assumed was her mother.

“Hey big bro!” she said in a highly exaggerated tone, sending them a gigantic wink with a grin that was very out of place. “Looks like you messed up big time mister!”

Willie could only stare back in shock. Alex was too busy trying not to laugh at her poor acting skills. It was so obvious that she and Willie weren’t family.

“Hey...sis,” Willie said finally, still unsure what was happening just then.

Holding onto the bars and leaning close into the holding cell, Flynn dropped the grin immediately.

“Julie tipped us off and Alex’s parents aren’t coming, so we’re doing you guys a big favor,” she said to them in a low voice, laying on the irritation and topping it off with a tilt of her head and a smile that suggested murder.

Promptly, Willie stood up and was let out of the cell, still looking at Flynn and her mom in bewilderment. Alex sat with his hands folded in uncertainty.

“Him too,” Flynn’s mom nodded toward him. The officer opened the door for him and Alex sighed as he came out, realizing just how high his nerves had really been while sitting there for the past few hours. He could suddenly feel the blood rushing into his fingers again.

As he and Willie followed Flynn and her mom outside, he wasn’t surprised that his parents had opted not to come get him. If he guessed right, his father would’ve refused to go in some backward attempt to show tough love, and his mother would’ve been barred from going herself to show she agreed with the choice. Both he and Willie thanked Flynn’s mom as they sat in the back seat of her van.

Flynn turned around in the passenger seat as they drove off and Alex knew what was coming.

“How many times am I gonna save your ass?” she directed at Willie.

“Language, honey,” her mom warned. Flynn rolled her eyes, but backed down a little.

Willie smiled nervously at her.

“Third time’s a charm?” he offered with little confidence.

“There better not be a third time,” she cautioned. “Seriously, what were you thinking?”

Alex opened his mouth to respond but she put up a hand.

“Actually, save it. Anything I have to say is just what Julie will say to you guys later, and she’s the one who’s really mad at you. Right now, I’ve got permission to skip school and I’m not gonna waste it lecturing you two.”

Sharing a look with Willie, both boys were happy to at least not have to endure Julie’s wrath right that minute. It was only imaginable what Luke was going through at the moment.

“So, how did you know I was there?” Willie asked.

Flynn leaned back into the correct position in her seat and took in a deep breath.

“Julie’s aunt is supposed to be on sabbatical, but apparently she can’t stop doing little bits of work here and there. She’s an investigator. Anyway, I guess she was doing something at ungodly hours on a Sunday night for God knows why, and she was already in the station when Sunset Gets-Caught-Being-Stupid was brought in. I guess she tried to make sure nobody called the Pattersons because she promised Julie she won’t, and she found out there was a fifth kid with no emergency contact so she had Julie call me, and I had to wake up at six-thirty this morning to an angry Julie and while I, for one, don’t care that you were trying to steal something, the way y’all did it was just so dumb, I can’t even stand to look at y’all - ”

“Okay, we get it,” Alex interrupted.

“But the important thing is,” Flynn continued. “We can’t take you guys home. Sorry.”

“Wait, why not?” Alex asked.

“I have one hour before I need to be in the office,” Flynn’s mom told them. “So I’m putting my girl in charge of you two for the day.”

Flynn looked back at them smugly.

“Oh, I’m putting you two to work,” she said, not hiding how much she enjoyed being in a position of power.

Alex could only gesture with his hands in a manner of saying “ah, well,” and sighing in acceptance. This was loads better than dealing with his parents for the time being. And Willie seemed to have finally broken entirely out of the strange trance he’d been in ever since they’d seen Caleb.

“Do we get a nap first?” Willie asked. “‘Cuz we’ve been awake all night.”

Flynn’s eyebrows shot up in realization and she flopped back into her seat again with a sigh.

“That’s fair.”

It was well past noon by the time Alex opened his eyes. They had thanked Mrs. Taylor and then immediately passed out on the living room couch. Barely gaining his bearings, he found Willie still zonked on the opposite arm of the couch. He couldn’t help but admire his sleeping form, so much calmer than any other time he knew. The sunlight streaming in from the blinds glanced perfectly off his cheekbones and highlighted the rich brown tones in his hair. Alex had been struck by how handsome he was from the second they met at the diner, but he’d hardly gotten a moment to properly appreciate how beautiful he was.

Somehow there was something so lonely about him that brought an ache to Alex’s chest. Their conversation from earlier replayed in his mind. Willie really seemed to believe he didn’t belong anywhere when the only thing Alex wanted in the whole world was to keep him tightly in his arms. He really hoped to show Willie how much he meant to him some day. 

“Oh my god, you are so in love with him,” he heard Flynn saying as she stood at the edge of the living room. He was too tired to give a proper response and could only turn to her still wearing a look of fondness. “Oh my god, stop, you are so precious!”

All Alex could do was lightly chuckle in return. Flynn tilted her head adoringly.

“And to think I was there from the beginning,” she reminisced.

Alex had a realization hit.

“I never said thank you, did I?”

She shrugged.

“No. But now you get to pay me back by doing all the chores my mom left for you.”

Heaving a sigh, Alex sank back into the couch and pressed his lips together, already reeling from exhaustion.

“Yep,” he muttered before reaching over and grabbing Willie’s hand, gently shaking it to kindly wake him up.

“Sheldon...stop,” Willie groaned as his tired face pinched together against the light. Alex giggled as he leaned over and tried shaking his shoulder instead.

“Hey, it’s me,” he said in a low voice, watching as Willie’s eyes fluttered open and immediately gazed back into his face. The absolutely enamoured smile that spread from cheek to cheek as he took in Alex’s face framed with his hair hanging down was more than Alex could take, and he felt honest-to-God butterflies in his stomach.

“Hey,” Willie murmured, his voice a pitch lower than usual from being asleep with just the right amount of vocal fry. It took all of Alex’s strength not to smother him right there on the couch.

“I really do hate to break this up, you lovebirds,” Flynn told them. “But it’s time to get to work!” She clapped her hands and the boys clambered off the couch, still sharing admiring looks at each other. She led them through her house, listing off the many things her mom had demanded: cleaning bathrooms, weeding the garden, and mowing the lawn were all there.

“And last but not least,” Flynn was saying as she led them upstairs. She flung the door open to an unfurnished room with bare walls and plastic covering the floor. “Painting!”

Alex saw Willie’s face transform from bleary task mode to shining with joy at the prospect of getting to paint. He wasn’t sure what it was, but everything Willie did was making him fall even further in a way he hadn’t thought possible. They were doing household chores for heaven’s sake. It made him consider doing all the rest of the chores just to let Willie do something he enjoyed. After seeing his reaction to Caleb, Alex thought it would lift his spirits more than anything.

“I say we divide and conquer then?” he suggested, putting a hand on Willie’s shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze. Willie tore his eyes away from the unpainted walls to give Alex a puzzled look.  Before he could ask questions, though, Alex simply looked him directly in the eyes and nodded toward the room before them, insisting he stay and paint without saying a word. He saw Willie’s expression soften and one corner of his mouth turn up in a delighted smirk once he understood the message.

“Okay,” Willie muttered to him, facing the bare walls with newfound glee.

Willie watched Alex head back down the stairs and he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with gratitude. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend as much time with him as possible - looking into that angelic face as he’d woken up had spun his head more than anything else in his life - but it was just the thought of how he was suddenly in Alex’s world and it was so...different. It vaguely reminded him of hanging out with everyone after the show at the Pearl, but it appeared to be so much deeper and so tight-knit. Julie and Flynn and their families went so far as to stick out their necks for the guys when they really had messed up, and it wasn’t even an obligation. Even being made to do housework for people who were still practically strangers to him felt like he was being taken in with open arms. He had the intruding thought that he’d eventually wear out his welcome.

“So, are we painting everything the same?” he asked Flynn, rubbing his hands together. Flynn wagged a finger and smiled with excitement.

“No,” she teased. Going over to a corner, she lifted two cans of paint, handing one of them to him. Looking at the swatch smeared on the top of the lid, Willie smiled to see a lovely teal, and then sunflower yellow on the can in Flynn’s hands.

“Oooh yes, these are some good choices,” he said, rolling up a sleeve with his free hand. All the worried thoughts could be put aside as they began popping the lids off and mixing the paint. “Have you got a hair tie I could borrow?”

“There is something about a boy asking me that question that just feels amazing,” Flynn commented as she briefly headed out to fetch one. Giggling at her remark, Willie lifted the paint mixer and watched the color drip into the can in fascination. There was something familiar about the notion of painting that made him wonder if it was something he’d done often before. Before forgetting. Would putting the brush in his hand unleash some kind of muscle memory or sense of nostalgia for something he didn’t know he had? Flynn returned with the hair tie and handed it to him, and he immediately pulled his hair back into a small bun.

“Alright, so these walls are gonna be the teal green color,” Flynn instructed, pointing toward the walls furthest from the window. “And these over here are gonna be yellow. I’ll start with the yellow and meet you at the corner, sound good?” Willie nodded at her as she moved her paint supplies over to the opposite side of the room, putting her braids up into a ponytail as well.

“Copy that,” Willie replied.

Once the paint was all mixed they got to work, both silently focused on the task at hand. For a while, all that could be heard was the repetitive swipe of brushes against the texture of the wall. There had been no sweeping rush like Willie imagined, but a gentle comfort quickly took over as he watched the color fill the empty space. He heard a loud buzzing outside and for a moment, peeked out the window to see Alex steady at work mowing the lawn below.

“So,” Flynn started, almost making him jump as he turned his attention to her. “It looks like our skater boy likes to paint; do you do art too? I saw your face.”

Chuckling, Willie hadn’t realized he’d gotten himself stuck in a situation that warranted friendly banter. Out of all of Alex’s friends, though, she was the one he’d seen the most, now that he thought about it. Despite how aggressive she had appeared at first, he really enjoyed her energy.

“Yeah, actually I draw. A lot,” he told her.

“Nice!” she nodded. “What kind of stuff do you draw?”

“People...places,” he said thoughtfully as he continued painting. “Memories.”

Flynn kept nodding, her expression becoming more pensive. “Cool.... Memories are interesting. Did you do a lot of cool things when you were little?”

Willie chewed on his tongue for a minute, realizing she still didn’t know. Even now that he’d been away from Caleb for a while and Alex’s reaction had been so kind, sometimes speaking of his amnesia still felt like something that wasn’t allowed. Regardless, it was a pretty important detail.

“I actually don’t know,” he stated. Flynn’s eyebrows knit together in response. “I was in an accident a little over a year ago, and I don’t remember anything - well, I remember a few things, but not a lot. Whatever I can figure out, I try to draw it so it stays with me.”

She gave him a long sympathetic look. Every time it was different; Alex had been a little shocked but then really sweet, Bessie had merely brushed over it like it wasn’t anything crazy, and now Flynn had her big brown eyes staring with such sadness in them. Again, he wondered how much he had really lost along with his memory. It seemed to be a thing everyone else could properly mourn, knowing the difference, but he couldn’t no matter how much he tried.

“That’s really awful,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

Willie only nodded, accepting her words.

“It sucks, but I manage,” he said. They both resumed painting after noticing they had stopped for a moment.

“I mean, you made it here, which is pretty amazing,” Flynn told him. “Well, not here as in we just picked you up from the police station, but you know, you left Vegas and have your sweet job at the record shop.”

He shrugged, trying to be casual. Those thoughts were getting to him today in a way they hadn’t ever before. The ones that said he was still messing everything up anyway. He was just in a different city with a different job. It was great that he’d miraculously found Alex, which had been his entire goal, but now that he’d passed that step in his plan, life went on. And it hadn’t really become so different, now that Caleb had his hands on things again. There were still so many questions about that as well, because he really did wonder if maybe he had made everything out to be worse in his mind. Caleb had been his guardian for three years and Willie was one of numerous kids - he couldn’t be that insidious, could he?

“I said, ‘you’re dripping paint on your shirt!’” Flynn repeated to him, enunciating loudly and snapping him out of his train of thought.

“Oh,” he started, looking down at his now ruined shirt and then continuing to work on the wall. He could live with it.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It’s nothing. I just keep thinking.”

“Uh huh. Whole lot of nothing to think about in there.”

Willie shot her a slightly wounded look. She rolled her eyes.

“Sarcasm, sorry. Looks like you have so much on your mind you can’t even function. So what’s up?”

He looked at her, unsure where to begin. It was great that she seemed easy to trust, because it made him less hesitant about talking, but he didn’t want to turn the painting session into something else. His mouth betrayed him though.

“I just keep thinking that maybe I have everything wrong and I brought all the guys down with me,” he confessed. Flynn didn’t respond, but listened quietly. “I met Alex and it was amazing! And I got it in my head that maybe being here with him would make everything better. But it looks like I’m just a bad influence.”

Flynn had nodded along until that last sentence, to which she tilted her head and squinted.

“Hold up,” she said. “Alex told me Caleb was your guardian, right?”

Willie nodded.

“Who also told Alex you were dead for no good reason?”

He nodded again.

“And you think you’re the bad guy here?” She had set down her brush and placed her hands on her hips.

Taking in a deep breath, Willie prepared to explain.

“Well - ”

Flynn simply held up both hands to shut him up.

“Willie. Buddy. You’re just a kid.”

You’re just a kid.

The words echoed around in his brain for a little bit as he let them settle in. She was right. Somehow he’d lost sight of that.

“You made some mistakes, I get it,” she continued. “But you’re not the bad guy. You’re still figuring things out. Actually, you know what I first thought of you? Well, actually, my first thought was that you were some creep who was trying to get into my friend’s concert, but after that, you know who I saw? A really good guy trying to show someone he cared. And bad people don’t do that.”

For a long time Willie just stared back at her in amazement. Somehow Flynn had managed to completely obliterate any other self-deprecating thought he had. It was the most human he’d felt all day. There was a sticky thud as his brush landed on plastic and he rushed to throw his arms around her.

“Oh!” she cried in surprise, slowly accepting the hug in return and patting his back. Willie squeezed her tightly and then stepped back, chuckling to himself as a small wave of embarrassment hit.

“Julie has good taste in friends,” he told her. “You’re really good at those pep talks.”

Flynn beat her chest with her palm and graciously took the compliment.

“Thank you.”

Willie picked up his brush again and continued working. He almost laughed when he had the thought that while he technically already had a boyfriend, Flynn was his first real friend. He was going to make that count.

[litwitlady]

Date Nights (2/5)

Read on AO3.

‘The library?’ The brick building’s doors slide open, the scent of musty old books assaulting them immediately. Michael smirks at Alex and crosses the threshold, knowing Alex will follow. ‘We could have gone to Maria’s Mexican farmer’s market to get chilaquiles.’

Michael winks back at him. ‘I’ll make you chilaquiles, baby. But first, the library.’

Alex searches through his memories trying to remember the last time he’d set foot in Roswell’s tiny public library. Not a single memory comes to mind. ‘How is this a replacement for date night? Are you going to read something dirty to me? Does this library actually own anything dirty you could read to me?’

Ignoring him, Michael settles at a computer next to the microfiche reader. Alex frowns down at him, an image of Forrest flashing through his mind. ‘Are you researching something?’ He grabs a chair and slides it over, sitting down with a sigh. ‘I can help. At home with my super computer. And your chilaquiles. And my bed close enough to be distracting.’

Still no response from Michael so Alex lets his eyes wander over the stacks and stacks of endless books. A strange guilt settles over him when he thinks about how little he reads these days despite how much he used to love cracking the spine of a new novel. ‘Do you think I should get a library card? I’ve never had one because I like to destroy the books I read. But maybe a library card would get me back into the habit.’

Michael smashes the keyboard in front of him proudly, sliding the monitor towards Alex and pointing to the screen. ‘My items are ready to be checked out.’ The grin that spreads across his face scares Alex because there’s an obvious taunt curled in the corners of his lips. ‘Let’s go to the front desk. You can get a library card and I can pick up my stuff.’

The librarian sets a large stack of books in front of Michael and gives Alex a form to fill out, asking for his driver’s license. He darts his eyes over to Michael’s stack and notices the book on top is about astrophysics. Nothing odd about that so he returns his gaze to the task in front of him.

Once they’re done, Michael pulls him back into the belly of the library. ‘I need to use their copy machine. It’s the cheapest in town seeing as to how it’s free.’

‘Okay, maybe I’ll go search for a book to read.’ He holds up his new library card grinning. ‘I feel like I’m in kindergarten again, but like, in a good way.’

Michael returns his smile and pulls out his phone to take a picture. ‘You’re cute. But you have to come with me first. There’s something I want to show you.’

Alex follows him back to a small room stuffed with the largest copy machine he’s ever seen in his life. ‘Wow. Where did Roswell get this kind of money?’

‘Education grant. Isobel was on the Chaves County Library Board. Pretty sure she wanted this copier for her own nefarious purposes. But maybe that’s just me being a very uncharitable brother.’ He lifts the lid of the copier and flattens one of his books across the surface.

Hopping up onto the small table next to the copier, Alex plays a game on his phone while Michael does whatever it is he’s doing. A comfortable silence settles around them until Michael slides onto the table next to him and shoves a warm sheet of paper in front of his phone.

Alex’s eyes grow wide once the newly copied image on the white, glossy photo paper comes into focus enough for him to recognize the picture of himself. A picture of himself circa the mid-nineties, hair gelled flat and a clip-on tie half-hanging off his collar. ‘What the actual fuck, Michael? Where did you get this?’

Michael grins like he just won the lottery. ‘From this.’ He drops the Roswell Elementary yearbook onto Alex’s lap and nudges him with his shoulder. ‘And there’s lots more where that came from.’ He hands over several more yearbooks, from first grade through eighth. ‘I’m already well-versed in the high school photos, obviously.’

‘But why though?’ He absentmindedly flips through the cheaply published pages, cringing every time a photo of himself flashes by. ‘Some things deserve to be nothing more than a memory. A very, very distant memory.’

‘The best part is the gap between your teeth. It’s adorable and you should have kept it.’ Alex glares at him and sets the yearbooks aside, eyebrows arched in an open question. Michael leans in and kisses the corner of his furiously bent brow. ‘I wanted us to have this moment.’

‘What moment? This moment of extreme embarrassment for baby Alex?’ He holds the photo of himself up, distress creasing his face.

Michael’s grin only grows wider, all his teeth now fully on display. ‘Yes. In the movies Isobel likes to watch, couples always get this moment where they meet each other’s parents and are forced through dozens of photo albums filled with the most embarrassing pictures from their childhoods.’ His grin falters and his voice lowers. ‘Me and you aren’t going to get that moment.’ He locks eyes with Alex and lets the truth in his words hang heavy between them. ‘Not like in the movies, anyway. But I can give us this.’ He raises his hips off the table and pulls something from his back pocket, handing it to Alex.

‘Oh my god.’ It’s another school picture but this time of Michael, curls everywhere and eyes full of fear. ‘How old were you here?’

‘Six. Only a few months after we were found. I didn’t even really speak yet. It took me awhile. Longer than Max or Iz who, according to their own stories, were chatterboxes by the time they started school.’ He takes the two photos from Alex and holds them side-by-side. ‘I thought maybe we could frame them. Create a new history for ourselves. One where we get to be two little boys with so much love waiting for them in the future.’ His voice breaks and Alex wraps his arms around him, hugging him tighter than ever before.

A knock at the door pulls them apart. A woman in pink glasses and a black cardigan wags her finger at them accusingly. Michael gives her a thumbs up. ‘That’s Ms. Doris. Don’t worry. She loves me.’

Alex settles back against the wall and looks at Michael, taking in every inch of his face from his chapped lips to the one rebellious curl refusing to obey. He thinks of a million different things he could say in this moment, but only one of them feels right. ‘I love you so much. I should have said that every day since the first day.’

Tears burn at his eyes and Michael reaches up to wipe them away. ‘I love you too. And we both should have said it every day since the first day.’ He kisses Alex soft and slow, daring Ms. Doris to look back through the window. ‘Now let’s get you a book and go home. I’ll make you chilaquiles while you learn how to read again.’

‘Asshole.’ There’s no animosity in his voice. Only love.

Back in the stacks, Alex decides to blindly choose a mystery novel from the shelves. He glances over at Michael flipping through his book on astrophysics. ‘That wasn’t the first time Miss Doris caught you wrapped around someone in this library, was it?’

Michael smiles down at a colorful chart of the stars. ‘Might have happened off and on for the past fifteen years. I’ve always cleaned up good at the library.’

Alex practically throws himself in Michael’s arms, kissing him squarely on the mouth as they collapse against the creaky metal shelves. ‘You’re such a shit.’

For a minute, they get lost in each other. Forgetting where they are entirely. Happy for the whole world to see them pressed together if it means this is what their life gets to look like from now until forever. But true to her reputation, Ms. Doris soon finds them and shoos them from the stacks, personally escorting them to the check-out desk with a severe frown Alex suspects is permanently etched into the lines of her face. But as he hands his book to the librarian behind the counter, Alex doesn’t miss the barely there smile she gives Michael as she squeezes his elbow and disappears, returning to her patrol.

Michael turns back to him, hand outstretched. ‘Ready?’

‘Ready.’ Alex nods and threads their fingers together. ‘On the way home, let’s stop by the thrift store on Main. They always have a good selection of frames.’

‘Okay, but nothing with aliens. Or the words Live, Laugh, Love.’ Alex snorts as the doors close behind them.

[bangtan-sonyeonddaeng]

Part 4

Summary: Soulmates have different ways of being connected to one another. Sometimes it’s through being able to write on their arms and having it show up on their soulmates. For others it was having their first words spoken to one another permanently tattooed into their skin. You had a unique connection with yours, one that you really hadn’t ever heard of happening before. Whatever song was stuck in your soulmate’s head was also stuck in yours and the same was for them. When Yoongi realizes one of his songs is playing on repeat in your head, he immediately takes to writing songs to communicate with you in hopes it will finally bring you two together.

Genre: Fluff. Just pure tooth rotting, sweet fluff.

Part 1      Part 2      Part 3     Part 5

Yoongi only slept for a few hours before he woke up and immediately started working on a new song for you. This one he wanted to make more light hearted and fun. And to do that he was going to bring up your questionable taste in music and how it was absolute torture some days listening to the songs that were stuck in your head. He laughs to himself as he writes the lyrics and picks an upbeat melody to include with it, hoping you know that this song was meant to be teasing and he wasn’t actually mad at you. As he is writing a song enters his head, letting him know that you must be awake. But he is not too thrilled with your choice this time. 

“Into the unknown? Really?” He sighs but can’t hide the fond smile that spreads across his face. “I’m a little offended you aren’t listening to my song but I mean hey, to each their own.” 

“Who are you talking to hyung?” Yoongi jumps and spins around in his chair to see Taehyung standing behind him. 

“Tae? What are you doing?”

“I came to make sure you had actually gone to sleep but I should have known.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know I slept for a solid 4 hours thank you very much.” Taehyung attempts to stifle a giggle as he is supposed to be scolding his hyung but one escapes him. “How’s the song writing going though?”

“It’s going really well. I had no trouble with this one. The songs are just coming naturally to me now.” 

“That’s great. I’m sure your soulmate loves being able to hear your songs and know that you are thinking about them.” 

“Always. I never stop thinking about them to be honest...” Yoongi trails off as if he is considering something.

“Is everything okay?”

“Can I talk to you about something... and don’t tell the other guys yet please?” Taehyung walks further into the studio sitting on the couch and patting the space next to him. Yoongi gets off his chair and sits next to Taehyung. “Yesterday.. I was reading the replies on my new song and this one stood out to me. I don’t know why. But I couldn’t help but feel maybe this person was my soulmate. But another part of me thinks I am just so soulmate deprived that I am trying to see them in everybody.” 

“Can I see the reply?” Yoongi opens up the fake twitter he made and Taehyung bursts out laughing. “Hyung.. your twitter handle. What the hell.” Taehyung continues laughing much to Yoongi’s annoyance. “’I’m not Min Yoongi’. That’s hilarious.” 

“I panicked trying to think of a quick name to talk to them okay?! Stop teasing me and give me my phone back.”

“No no! I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’ll stop.” Taehyung reads over the reply and furrows his brows. “I mean.. you really have no proof this person is your soulmate. Anyone could have written this comment trying to fool you.” Yoongi sighs.

“That’s what I thought. I knew I was just being crazy. But-”

“Wait a minute I’m not finished. What do you feel, Yoongi? Your gut and your heart will tell you the truth. Do you really feel that this person is your soulmate?”  Yoongi pauses for a moment.. remembering the instant spark he felt when he read your reply and the sense of happiness and calm that washed over him. 

“I do.” 

“Then that’s all you need to know.” Taehyung hands him his phone back with a gentle smile on his face. “But maybe talk to them a little bit more before you jump into this head first. I don’t want to see you end up heartbroken if it turns out this person isn’t your soulmate.” 

“That’s a good idea. Thank you, Tae.” 

“Of course! Now finish up that song and go to bed!” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Taehyung leaves and Yoongi sits back in his chair, putting the finishing touches on his song and posting it to Twitter. He goes to your page and waits to see a reply pop up, and when he does he is not disappointed. 

“I told you all of those songs you were making me listen to were torturing him! Now look what you did. There is a whole song now dedicated to my ‘colorful taste’ in music. I hate you.” You pick a pillow off the bed and throw it at your friend who is laughing hysterically. 

“At least you made an impression on him! You’re welcome!” 

“I am not thanking you for this.” 

“Aw come on y/n. This song wasn’t meant to be mean! It’s very light hearted and fun. He’s fond of you. You can tell it in the way he raps about you. It might have annoyed him at first but now I think he kind of looks forward to it.” 

“Yeah yeah. Well at least now I can have this song stuck in my head now and not the one from Frozen you were blaring this morning.”

“Hey that is a fantastic song. It’s not my fault you have no taste.” You roll your eyes and go to leave a reply underneath.

Sorry. My friend did that to torture you it wasn’t me, I swear. I’d much rather have your music stuck in my head. 

You post it and get out of bed to get ready for the day when your phone goes off. You check the notifications and see a reply from the same account from yesterday.

“Huh.” 

“What is it?” Your friend walks over to you to see what you’re looking at. 

“This same account replied to me yesterday too..” Suddenly your friend starts laughing.

“‘Im not min yoongi’... That’s totally freaking Yoongi who does he think he’s trying to fool.” 

“What are you talking about? That is not Yoongi!” 

“I bet you my life savings that it is.”

“So.. $10?” 

“Shut up you brat!” Your friend tosses the pillow back at you and you both start laughing. “Think about it y/n. He probably felt drawn to you too and panicked making a fake account just so he could talk to you and see if you really were his soulmate.”

“Well why hasn’t he said anything then?”

“Because he isn’t sure if it really is you. He probably is afraid of getting his heart broken if it turns out you aren’t soulmates.” 

“But we are..” You say with a slight pout.

“We know that y/n. But he doesn’t. He’s taking a shot in the dark here.” 

“You’re right.” 

“What did he say back anyway?” 

“He said ‘lol what songs have you been torturing the poor guy with that he had to write a whole song dedicated to it’.”

“Okay I think this is his way of finding out if you really are his soulmate. If you tell him all of the songs I have been playing for you then he’ll know!” You take a deep breath and reply to him. 

Hollaback Girl, Most of the songs from Frozen, I think even a death metal song once. 

Hahahaha poor guy. Maybe you should give him a little break? Must be hard writing lyrics and producing songs with those playing in his head. 

I have been. Lately it’s been his songs stuck in my head except for the little slip up this morning.

What slip up?

My friend set into the unknown as the alarm to wake us up. 

After that you don’t receive another reply, and opt to go about your day as a means of distraction. 

Yoongi drops the phone onto his desk. It’s you. After all this time he finally found you. Only his soulmate would know what song they had stuck in Yoongi’s head this morning. Without even realizing it a few tears have begun rolling down his face. They’re tears of happiness, of relief. Finally fate decided to grant him this one kindness and bring you two together. He doesn’t want to just outright ask you to meet him, there is still a nagging doubt in the back of his mind that maybe this is all just some prank, or a delusion. He knows he has to find a way to slip a meeting place and time into his lyrics. And he knows exactly how he wants to do that. It is with this thought in mind that he finally drifts off to sleep. 

The next morning he calls all the members and asks them to come to his studio. They are all now there sitting on the floor and couch looking at him anxiously. 

“I found my soulmate.” They all audibly gasp at this except for Taehyung who already knew. Yoongi wouldn’t have opened up to him before about it if he wasn’t already certain. 

“What?! Yoongi that’s great!” Hoseok exclaims while clapping his hands excitedly. “How did you find them?” Yoongi begins to explain the first interaction you two had, the feelings he felt. But then when he named the solid proof he now had everyone seemed to breathe out a sigh of relief. 

“Yoongi that’s great. Really you know we are all so incredibly happy for you. When do we get to meet them?” Namjoon asks. 

“See that’s the thing. I know I am probably being ridiculous for still having doubts. But before I officially meet them I want to write a song that would include a possible meeting place and time for us. I have an idea. I know it would be much easier to just fly them out here but.. I want to meet them first so I know. So I can be absolutely certain before I dive into this. It wouldn’t be the first time I thought I found my soulmate and it turned out they weren’t.” Namjoon nods in understanding. 

“So what did you have in mind?” 

You are just about to go to sleep when your phone notifies you that Yoongi has posted yet another song. You open it and bring up the English translation. Your friend stayed the night with you again incase they posted another song, wanting to be there for you and help you figure out the meaning behind everything. You both have it open and are reading the lyrics and you are confused. 

“I don’t understand...” 

“What do you mean?”

“He’s writing these lyrics as if he’s already met his soulmate. He’s talking about how their love flows freely like a river, how they met on a crisp autumn night, how they walked among the cosmos. I... I really thought he was my soulmate but I was just fooling myself.”

“Y/n come on you can’t be that dense.” You tilt your head at your friend in confusion. “He is telling you how he wants to meet you! The first day of autumn is only a few days away. He wants to meet you then.”

“Oh...”

“And the part about the river... Maybe he wants to meet you at one of the Han River Parks.”

“There’s more than one park. How the hell are we supposed to find the one he is talking about? Unless...”

“Unless what?” 

“Cosmos. Those are a type of flowers aren’t they? Is there a specific park that is famous for them?” Your friend quickly turns to the internet to find out. 

“It looks like Guri Hangang Park is famous for the cosmos blooming in September. Many people love to go see the flowers blooming there during that time.” 

“I guess we’re going to Seoul?”

“I guess so.” You take out your phone and reply under the latest song Yoongi has posted.

I’ll see you soon. 

Yoongi reads the words over and over again and his heart is absolutely soaring in his chest. He finally gets to meet you. He was finally able to communicate with his soulmate through his music well enough to be able to meet you. The first day of fall is only a few days away. In just a few days he’s finally going to be able to meet you, his soulmate. The one person he was wanted to meet more than anyone in his life. He’s finally going to be able to hug you, kiss you, hold your hand, take you on dates and just be with you. He clutches a hand over his heart as he feels like it is going to beat out of his chest. 

I’ll be waiting. 

Taglist: @anoesjkaax​​​  @just-call-me-trash-can​ @thestral-balerion​ @xcastielbabyangelface​ @rukinamukami​ @r-e-d-i-s-h​ @heartblackerthancoffee​ @rosita7703​   @jacjacwashere​   @purpletigertaetae​  @woodstockisjustlikealittlekid​  @supernatural-bangtanboys​ 

(for some reason it won’t let me tag some people so if you asked to be added and you’re not on here I’m sorry :( I don’t know what’s up with tumblr.)

[drunk-onsunlight]

Day #3 of Promptmas

Chapter 3: Mind if move in closer?

Summary:

Movie night between Ned, Betty, MJ and Peter and a little of Spidey patrolling NYC

Chapter 1: Beautiful what’s your hurry?

Chapter 2: I’ll hold your hands (they’re just like ice) 

Chapter 3

Concept: Caroling & Watching Christmas movies together

Dialogue: “The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear!” & “I love you but your taste on Christmas music is horrible”

“Peter? Are you listening to me?” Ned told him over the earpiece. Peter was distracted. Thank God he wasn’t swinging, the cold air was hitting his face while he was sitting on a rooftop.

“sorry Ned. I’m just thinking about something”

“and that’s clearly bothering you. What is it? Is Morgan ok?” Peter loved the way his friends bounded with his little sister, they weren’t actually related but the feeling was just the same. And having Ned, Betty and MJ get along with her was pure magic, he felt like he could trust them with big things like the Stark relationship he held with not just Tony but Pepper, Morgan and Happy, even when MJ and Betty didn’t know he is Spider-Man.

“something Pepper said today.  I don’t know what she was talking, well, not what a who”

“a who? Ok, you need to speak clearly, you don’t make any sense, Peter”

"you know Morgan was visiting the apartment, right?" "yeap. What about that?" "well, at some point we were chatting and drinking some hot chocolate and Pepper called, I had the call on speaker and she said something a about "my girlfriend" that she wanted to meet her and should take her to their house for a coffee or a lunch or whatever. But I don't have a girlfriend" "yes, that's a little weird. Did Morgan know about that?" "no! She totally freak out and threat me for keeping secrets from her, then Em told her I was too weird to date someone and that was it" why he was friking out so much about a stupid conversation? He didn't have a girlfriend and he just needed to call Pepper and correct her. That was it "Peter, are you scared that MJ may think you actually have a girlfriend?" Peter sensed the smile on Ned's face without seeing him "what? Of course no. She doesn't have to do anything with this" nop, she wasn't the problem, he was just to anxious to call Pepper and correct her "hum. You sure? I remember you having a massive crush on her back in senior year at high school. Maybe living with her made those feelings show up again" now he was regretting telling Ned about that all those years ago "Ned, that was a long time ago and then, well, you know, Gwen and all of that happened and I don't think I have feelings for MJ or that I want to have a relationship with someone" Gwen was everything he ever dreamed in a girl and his Spider-Man duties messed everything up leaving him with another death on his shoulders alongside Ben's. That's exactly why he tried to protect MJ, she didn't need to be in danger just because she knew his secret identity. Ned never had problems with him being a target for being a FOS, but with Betty, that was other story and the same reason she didn't know either. "I'm just saying Peter. This doesn't have to be about Gwen or even MJ, it's about you totally friking out about something that can be fixed with a call. You need to sleep, all this patrol and the cold are messing with your head. Go get some rest Pete" Ned was right, he needed to sleep and call Pepper to clarify the wrong information. "I'm calling it quits for tonight. It was a slow night after all. Thanks for listening Ned, say hi to Betty for me please" after a short goodbye and a promise for a movie date with Peter and MJ, Ned finished the call and Peter got up from the rooftop. He arrived home at 2am, he was glad they could pay a small apartment with windows on both their rooms and not just one, like others he had visited while looking for a place to move. That made everything easier, MJ never knew when he went out or came back from patrol, and if something was too bad he texted her that he was out early when he probably was recovering in the Avengers facilities. The next day he woke up to MJ humming a pop song, she was in a good mood so probably she already took a tea or a coffee. Peter got 4 full hours of sleep since he arrived from patrol and he considered that a win.

“Mornin’” Peter knew he looked totally wrecked but he felt good, like the Christmas spirit was taking over him.

“Hey, loser. Want some coffee?” Her hair was on a messy bun. All her curls were framing her face, she looked beautiful.

“Yeah. Thanks”

“I was thinking, maybe we could decorate today. Do you have something to do?”

“Aammm, no. I’m free. Jameson haven’t called and I am not offering myself until next Monday, I’m really tired” Ned was right, he needed to rest. Rhino, college, The Bugle… J. J. Jameson and his idea that Spider-Man was a threat but anyway having photos of him on every front page he could, everything was too much right now.

“Have you talked to Ned? He said something about a movie night with Betty the other day when we talked” Yes! The movie night they have agreed last night.

“Yeah. He mentioned something last night. We can decorate the apartment and then invite them for some fun. I think we need it” He knew MJ was stressed too and having Betty and Ned around was a good distraction for everyone.

He took his coffee and then helped MJ doing some scrambled eggs for they breakfast and he went to take a shower. After his shower he changed clothes to some Christmas sweeter that he knew MJ was going to make fun of it. While he was deciding in using his Spider-Man socks or his Christmas tree socks he started playing some carols on his phone. He created a full playlist on his Spotify for this moment.

He went out of his room and found Michelle carrying the boxes with the Christmas decorations. How she managed to hold three boxes at the same time was a mystery. If he didn’t knew he was Spider-Man he could swear that she was Spider-Man, but that was a stupid idea. MJ was strong enough to lift the boxes by herself without superpowers, maybe they weren’t that heavy and he was just making things up.

“Oh, God! Seriously? That one?” Peter knew MJ didn’t like that sweeter. It was a Rudolf one with a big red nose that you pressed and it started playing Christmas carols, May bought it for him two years ago and he loved it.

“I know you secretly love it. Press the nose”

“No!”

“Press the nose. I know you want to” He crossed the living room and got close to her

“No! Stop it” She started to run away from him, sorting boxes while crossing the room

“Press the nose, come on MJ!” he was trying to get to her and they ended up running around the sofa, avoiding the boxes and the coffee table. MJ started laughing when Peter got close to her and tried to grab her arm but she managed to get loose and he ended holding her hand for a few seconds until she kept running away.

“We need to start decorating or Ned and Betty are going to arrive and we haven’t done anything” She was still laughing. Peter loved to make her laugh, it wasn’t an easy task but he loved the challenge.

They spend the morning and past midday decorating a Christmas tree that was basically some fake branches placed like a real Christmas tree, MJ said it reflected her soul. Every Christmas, Peter decorated the branches with bright colors, he hang some toys or pushies and tried to add many colors to it. He said to MJ that it was the perfect representation of the two of them, the black, perfectly placed branches for her and the colorful decorations for him.

MJ placed the stockings on their small fake fireplace along with some holly, then moved to the window and decorated it with led lights and tinsel, she finished the decorations placing the wreath on their front door. Everything looked perfect, now they needed to set their cushions and blankets for their movie night.

Two hours later the apartment looked totally different from the day before. Ned and Betty arrived after MJ and Peter took their lunch. They opened the door and found a very smiley Betty using a pink dress and a huge fluffy coat accompanied with Ned using a Christmas sweeter and jeans.

“Hey Betty!” MJ and Betty always found lots of things to talk about. Betty had managed to make MJ open more about her feelings, her college and even family, Peter was very impressed by Betty and her ability to make MJ talk like her life depended on it. But Ned and Peter were never included in those kinds of conversations.

“Hey Dork” in high school MJ called them losers or dorks, now Peter was the loser and Ned was the dork. MJ and Ned did a little hand shake they made up in high school and she moved back a little so Peter could say hi to their friends while everybody entered the apartment. Ned and Peter did their usual handshake and then Peter kissed Betty’s cheek.

“MJ, the apartment looks amazing” Betty was looking around the living room like she was in the White House and surrounded of the most beautiful Christmas decorations

“It was mostly me so, thank you”

“Hey!! I helped!”

“The tree, right Peter?” Betty knew them too well

“Of course. That masterpiece is my doing” He was very proud of this year results with the decoration of the tree and Ned was looking at it like it was the most beautiful Christmas tree ever

“I love it, Peter” Ned said, always being the supporting friend

“MJ we can make some pizza for the movie night while the boys look for the movies we can watch. Would you like that?” Peter knew that was a key word for “we need to talk without loser and dork listening”

“Yes! I would love to” They moved quickly to the kitchen and started talking right away in whispers.

“That was fast” Ned was looking at Betty with adoring eyes while Peter was looking at MJ moving around the kitchen, totally owning the small space

“Well, we can make the best of our time without them”

“Christmas carols?” they looked at each other on a silent talk they have grown to develop along the years they have meet

Peter showed Ned his playlist full of Christmas carols and they connected a small speaker so they could hear the music through the whole apartment.

“ Jingle bells, jingle bells Jingle all the way Oh, what fun it is to ride In a one horse open sleigh”

The speaker started to sing and soon both of them started to sing along.

“Hey, jingle bells, jingle bells Jingle all the way Oh, what fun it is to ride In a one horse open sleigh”

Ned turned the volume up and stared to sing louder with Peter, making both girls to turn around and look at them. They were singing louder and louder each time the same lines were sung by the speakers on the living room.

“Ned!!!” Peter heard Betty over the loud music and pocked Ned for him to just sing louder

“Ned, Betty is calling you” Peter told Ned close to his ear so he made sure Ned was listening to him. He stopped singing and ran to the kitchen to hug Betty

“I’m here. Do you need anything?” Peter could see how soft Ned was around Betty all the time, it was really nice to see them so happy and comfortable with each other

“Yes. Can you do me a favor? Stop singing, please. I love you but your taste on Christmas music is horrible” Betty was looking at Ned with all the love in the planet but serious enough for Ned to know that she mean it

“Not just that the song is totally awful and the lyric doesn’t make sense but also that you both are terrible singers”

“Aw MJ! But the best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear!”

“Then can you take some singing lessons for next year?” MJ was teasing him, he wasn’t that bad at singing. He knew it

“Just if you sing with me” He had heard MJ singing and she was really good at it, but she never let anyone hear her singing too loudly, just soft whispers. With that comment MJ turned around and kept doing the base for the pizza. Ned said something to Betty’s ear and then gave her a little peck on the cheek and moved away from her.

Peter could see MJ and Betty chatting while Betty was putting some toppings for the pizza, at the same time she was telling Michelle something and they both looked excited over what they were speaking. Well, as excited as MJ could look over Betty’s news. Her face was mostly expressionless but her eyes were shinning, that was all he needed to know she was interested in whatever they were talking.

“Peter?”

“Mmm?”

“Can you stop looking at MJ with those puppy eyes and pay attention to me?” Ned had a mocking tone

“I’m not making “puppy eyes” at MJ”

“Then I’m getting worried if those eyes are for Betty” Ned was having too much fun mocking him “But seriously, I need to tell you something” Peter turned his head to see Ned’s face and found mixed emotions there

“What is it?”

“I need your help for buying Betty’s Christmas present”

“Yeah, of course. Do you know what to buy or you want me to ask her casually what she wants?”

“I know what I’m buying but I need you to go with me and pick it with me”

“Okaaaay… Can I know what is it? It’s like a big thing? Do we need to hire someone to help us take it to your house?” Peter was confused to say the least

“I’m buying an engagement ring” Ned spoke so fast and so quiet that if it wasn’t for Peter superpowers he had totally missed the phrase

“Ned, that’s amazing!” Peter was really happy for them and totally available to help them to be happy together

“It’s not a surprise, but it is a surprise. We have talked about getting married eventually and we have been dating for a long time and living together is just feels right, so I want to make it official” Peter had a small flashback to a few hours ago, how living with someone felt right. Him trying to catch MJ, making breakfast and shopping with Morgan. Some things felt right, so he totally got what Ned was talking about. Not that he was getting married to MJ but they were close enough to understand the feeling

“Tell me when and where and I will be there. I will be happy to help”

“Thanks! I really want to pick the perfect ring for her” now Ned was making puppy eyes at Betty. It was really cute to see them so in love after such a long time.

“Guys! Pizza is almost done so that movies better be ready” Betty was pointing at them with a spatula as a threat

“They will be ready when you both finish that delicious pizza, honey” Ned moved quickly to the bag were he had brought the movies for them to watch. They picked Love Actually, they all loved the movie and it was perfect for the season.

They girls took the two pizzas they made to the coffee table and some plates. Ned ran to the kitchen and grabbed some mugs and the soda from the fridge. Their sofa wasn’t big enough for the four of them so Peter sat on the floor and helped pouring the soda on the four mugs. MJ closed the curtains and turned off the light. When everything was ready Ned sat with Betty lying on the couch with her head on Ned’s lap. Peter knew MJ wasn’t going to make Betty move to a sitting position for her to sit on the sofa with them, so she sat next to Peter on the floor.

Ned took the remote and stared the movie. Soon enough they finished the homemade pizzas and drank the soda. MJ covered herself with a blanket after half the movie and rested her head on the couch, close to Betty’s knees. Peter could see her trying not to fall asleep, he moved to place his empty mug on the coffee table and placed himself closer to MJ than he was before.

Their arms were pressed against each other and he felt MJ laughing softly to something happening on the movie. He wasn’t paying attention anymore, too focused on the heat radiating from MJ while she was tightly wrapped on her blanket. Was she actually cold? While Peter was divagating, MJ placed her head on Peter shoulder and he froze.

He thanked every God, Lord and Supreme master he was taller than MJ now, just for a few centimeters but that small difference made easier for them to keep the posture without hurting MJ’s neck. He tried not to breath too hard to not bother her or make her move, he also pretended not to hear her heart racing while placing his head over hers  and then slowing down as she felt asleep. The movie was coming to an end and he tried to look at Ned.

Betty was asleep on Ned’s lap and he was playing with her hair. They shared a look and decided to wake the girls up so they could all go to sleep. After they woke up, Betty and Ned decided to go home, it wasn’t late after all. MJ and Peter organized the room and lifted everything from the coffee table and took the plates and mugs to the kitchen. Peter was definitely skipping patrol, he wanted to rest a little now that Rhino had disappeared several days ago. He knew he was coming back any minute and he needed to be ready for that.

[ditch-witches]

Insufferable (i) - George MacKay x reader

(PART 2) (PART 3) (PART 4)

requested: yes/no (im so sorry this took so long holy scheisse, there are so many parts too)

Thank you so much to our first Instagram request! @/okay.l0z I had a lot of fun with this and had to channel Ryan and Hannah's angst to help me.

"Hi! I've been reading your fics and I love them so much bc there's hardly any around. I was wondering if you take insta requests and if so can you do one with George and the reader are like enemies to loves and they have really cute moments but then end up fighting all the time and then it escalates and they end up having sEx and then get together or something bc I will THRIVE IF YOU DO!" ... "Is it bad if I want it long ass?"

also I thought about this like,,, a lot,,,

pairing: George MacKay x reader

warnings: slow-burn introduction bAsIcalLy, I think there are swear words?

word count: 2,629

a/n: There are several things to be addressed...

accuracy to George's life is like 0/100 - scratch that, they have the same hair color

think of this as an AU because idk how else to explain it

it's a slow burn. if you need something that isn't, check the next imagine over and give it a reblog.

You put your chin in your hand and furrowed your brows as you listened to the actors in front of you. The bright stage lights kept you at a suffocatingly hot temperature, but at this point, you didn't mind. What your main concern for the scene was simple: your leading actor was George MacKay. You had spent constant, stressful hours trying to convince the director of the show that he was not the choice, yet when it came down to it, what he said went, and you had to deal with the cleaning up. Today was not like any other. An almost two-hour practice, script work, lighting, etc, were all thrown at the actors still attempting to memorize their lines.

But it was this part, in particular, that was becoming the most difficult. Maybe it was because you were the ghostwriter of the script and the director was trampling on all of your ideas and dreams with a man that you could one-hundred-percent deem an enemy. Your lead character, Charlie, had a soft side to him, despite having an overpowering sense of the dangers of the world and a body to match. George wasn't Charlie. George was one of the lost boys from Peter Pan and that's all you could see him as. He needed to grow up and be a pirate with only two motives: breaking the chains of the dystopian government regime keeping him away from his wife and captaining the deadly sea creature infested waters and getting back to his wife in one piece.

But George's motives seemed to be entirely set on getting into his co-star's pants.

His cocky attitude and facade of charm made you want to rip your hair out. Sure, he took his job seriously and had several esteemed colleagues of yours raving about him, but this role wasn't his. It didn't help that you knew him from primary school, of all places, and once he found out, that's all he could bring up around you.

George rolled his sleeves and dragged a hand through his thick, red hair, the veins in his arm becoming rather predominant as he did so. He was damn near playing footsie with the girl in front of him; their flirty gazes bouncing from each other to the crumpled scripts in their hands. You rolled your eyes, feeling as if your team could see the steam rolling off your shoulders. The director was doing nothing, merely smiling giddily at the two tearing the scene to shreds. "Stop," you took the reins, standing up from your position on stage and tossing your script down. You stepped over to the two and the director didn't move an inch. "What are you doing?" You nipped, crossing your arms and stepping between George and his co-star.

He towered over you by miles; you weren't sure if this made him feel the superiority he exuded, but you always made sure to square your shoulders when you talked to him. "What do you mean? We're practicing," he slyly stated, sending a wink over your head to the girl.

You took the script from his hands, flipping a few pages to the scene they were supposed to be working on. He smirked down at you, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he watched you scan the page. His script was well-loved and worn as if it had been in his back pocket repeatedly, flipped through, folded, torn and taped, highlighted and annotated. You tried not to blush at the notes he had taken as if he had actually cared about his role. Notes such as movements and relative emotions were noted as if they were suggestions. You wet your lips, feeling George's easy-going gaze on you the whole time. "... Charlie, we have to get out of here..." You began, your eyes meeting his deep blue ones.

His face fell into a stern expression, his arms crossing heavily with a furrowed brow. "We've only just got here. I'm shipping out tomorrow. There's no way the Republic-" His Scottish accent was surprisingly thick and consistent. He was settling into Charlie.

"I don't care anymore. I'm tired of sitting idly by and watching you throw yourself away for a debt your brother can't repay." You swore you saw an actual feeling of hurt flash behind his eyes.

He chewed the inside of his cheek. "That debt is just as much mine as it is his. You're asking me to uproot and leave him, you know? I can't leave him."

"You'll die. You'll end up like the rest of the mariners haunting their wives for the rest of eternity. You're a slave." George took a few steps to stand in front of you, he was close enough that you could smell his cologne now: a sweet mix of sandalwood with hints of lavender. He smelled like a summer day spent at a cabin in the middle of a meadow. You hated it, but you wanted to bury yourself in his chest and bask in his scent for the remainder of your days.

He rested a hand on your neck, angling your face towards him as he whispered, "Look at me..." You attempted to ignore the beating of your heart in your ears and the sweat that began to spread across your back. "I'm free. I'm choosing this debt because, without it, he would die. He's the last piece of my father I have left."

You reached for his hand, covering it with your own. "What about me, Charlie? I'm here now. I'm flesh and blood in front of you. What about our child?"

"He'll be here when I get back." He pushed away from you, turning his back on you and settling his hands on his hips. "I'm not changing my mind." He looked over his shoulder at you. "Eden, I have to do this." You closed the script with a raised eyebrow, hiding how impressed you were that he actually knew his lines. The emotion he was conveying was nothing like how he had previously let on. You walked towards him and he turned back around. You pressed the script back into his hands and gave him a small glare.

"Practice how you play. I'm done with wasting time," you said more to the group than just him. The rest of the cast members weren't as proficient in hiding their amusement back as you were. The last thing George needed was another inflate to his ego. You went back to your spot, grabbing your clipboard and flipping over a few pages. The group began to gather around you slightly. "I need Eden and Charlie in with wardrobe now, the rest of you keep practicing your lines. I'll want to hear dialogue from Dane and Jack tomorrow. Give me another forty or so minutes and we'll call it?" The director nodded from the first row of seats. The crowd dispersed but George swam against the current of thespians, approaching you again.

He gave you one of his charming smiles. Be professional, you thought. "I was just wondering how that sounded to you?"

You thought for a moment, drawing the clipboard to your chest. "Yeah, it was good. Your accent's a bit dodgy, but the emotion is good. Why don't we see that during actual rehearsals?" You tilted your head at him and he looked at his shoes slightly, tucking his hands in the pockets of his jeans. Was he pretending to be humble?

"I don't know. I guess I like you more as Eden," he jeered, causing you to roll your eyes and he smiled wider.

"You're insufferable," you muttered, walking past him.

He chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll grow on you."

You scoffed slightly. "Go get fitted for suspenders and leave me alone, MacKay."

The next few days were full of constant rehearsals both in costume and script memorization. You had to admit that for some reason this show had you wrapped in a bundle of tension and anxiety. George slowly tore away at your nerves, becoming his own mess of anger and frustration as he picked up more and more on the fact that you weren't going to take his shit. You were serious about this job and you were serious about this play. His humor had diminished as it had gotten closer and closer to opening night and you weren't surprised when he would snap back at you for making an adjustment to his tone or a note on the delivery of a line.

"Stop being such a bitch!" He groaned, tugging at his hair as you crossed your arms.

"Calm down, primadonna! All I'm saying is quit pacing! Charlie isn't pacing! Where in the script does it say he's pacing-"

"THAT'S RIDICULOUS. IT DOESN'T MATTER." He moved to stand in front of you, his teeth gritting slightly. This was what your discussion had grown into, one hissy fit flaring up the other.

"FUCK, YOU'RE RIGHT. I TOTALLY FORGOT YOU WERE THE ONE IN CHARGE, MR. MACKAY. SHOULD I JUST SUCK YOUR DICK RIGHT NOW SINCE WE'RE ALREADY ADDING IN UNNECESSARY ACTION," you would bite back causing him to glare up at the ceiling with his jaw clenching in a sarcastic smile. He wore your patience thinner than tulle. And you were hoping to be doing the same to him.

On the eve of opening night, a storm broke out over the city. You hadn't received word from your ride at all---a man you had been seeing on and off for a while, but still managed to keep him at enough distance that the two of you weren't official. You glared at your watch, deciding to say fuck it and just walk the five or so miles it was to your apartment. Your rain jacket was already soaked, your umbrella proving to be no help whatsoever. But you persevered knowing full-well that if your character, Eden, were in the situation, she wouldn't have batted an eye before dropping him and his lack of communication. As the water soaked into your boots and chilled you rather quickly, you bit your tongue, regretting not waiting for the bus. Cars past you at rushed paces, wanting to get home to their loved ones if the rain worsened---you figured.

Your heart began to pound as a car pulled up beside you, causing you to wrap your hand around the bottle of mace in your coat pocket. The window rolled down, but you kept walking. "Do you need a ride?" Hollered an almost too familiar voice.

You crossed your arms and continued to walk. "No!" You called back.

The car rolled forward and you heard the driver door open. George stepped out slightly, drawing his jacket up to fight against the biting wind. "Come on! Look at this weather!"

"I'm good! Go home, George!"

He tilted his head at you with a deadpan expression. "Don't make me throw you over my shoulder." You furrowed your brows and rolled your eyes, sliding into the passenger seat of his car and taking down your hood. George watched as you did this. He slipped off his jacket. "Here." He pulled his hoodie over his head. "Take your shirt off. You'll get hypothermia."

"Excuse me?" You nipped.

It was his turn to roll his eyes. "I won't look. You're soaked. Take my damn hoodie." You looked out the front window and then let out a huff. You peeled off your upper layer, no longer giving a fuck if George saw you in your bra. You looked over to him while he leaned his arm against his door, his cheek resting against his fist as he held his hoodie out to you. You pulled the garment over your head and couldn't help but snuggle into it. It was oversized and warm, smelling just like George. Your cold skin seemed to sigh against the soft material and you felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes at how content you were. George put the car into drive after he had made sure you were taken care of. You slipped your hands into the long sleeves and fought not to dig your nose into the neckline to breathe him in. His scent was like kryptonite to you and you hated it. "Are you hungry?" He asked, looking at you briefly and flipping the heat more to your side. He smiled almost proudly to himself at the sight of you enjoying his hoodie and the safety of his car.

You quickly braided your hair, attempting to combat the wet feeling of it against your neck. "No, I'm fine thanks."

"Come on. My treat? I've been a dick to you all week."

"Fine..." You mumbled. He found a nook of a restaurant jabbed into a part of London you had yet to explore. The rain had finally let up to a drizzle as the two of you made your way inside the softly lit eatery. The two of you tucked into a booth and ordered almost instantly, you now realizing just how hungry you actually were. "What were you doing in that part of town so late?" You finally asked after they brought out a hot tea for him and topped off your coffee. His large hands cradled the steaming mug in front of him, his nose slightly red from the chilly weather outside.

He chuckled slightly. "I forgot my script in the theatre and---for some reason---couldn't stop thinking about it." You nodded hesitantly. "Why were you walking home?"

You shrugged nonchalantly. "Such beautiful weather we're having. Thought I would take an evening stroll," you joked, causing him to chuckle lightly. George's face seemed to glow slightly under the cozy lights of the restaurant, his hair slightly disheveled and damp from the rain. You now got a full sight of the t-shirt he was wearing that commemorated a football team from the graduating year ahead of yours.

There was a beat of silence between you two. "Why..." George tugged his bottom lip between his teeth, attempting to find the right words. You furrowed your brows. "Why do you hate me so much?" If you weren't looking at him, you would have sworn he was smiling behind his question.

"Seriously?"

He nodded. "Seriously."

"You dated my best friend, Sophie, and broke her heart," you answered bluntly.

George sent you a puzzled expression for half a second before grinning slightly. "Yeah, but I was ten."

"Yeah, but now she's twenty-one and we still talk about it," you quipped, taking a sip of your coffee.

He exhaled. "I was... I was ten..." He furrowed his brows. "She was pretty. Hasn't some other guy broken up with her since me?"

You shrugged again. "No, she has this mindset where if she starts getting the feeling that things aren't working, she cuts out."

"She's been dwelling over me for how many years?" He couldn't fight the grin threatening to creep across his face.

You bit the inside of your cheek in thought. "I guess that would be twelve years." He whistled. "We're good at keeping grudges."

"Well, if I ever run into her, I'll apologize." He added a lump of sugar to his tea. "Is that the only reason?"

You debated ripping him a new one, but the tiredness you felt reflected in his eyes. "It's the kick-off point. Why? Do you wanna be buddies now?" You joked, sticking your spoon in your mouth.

He rested his hand in his chin. "Nah," he pursed his lips in thought. You furrowed your eyebrows at his answer, letting a titter escape your lips. "You're too young for me." You laughed a bit harder.

"Age is just a number, baby," you hummed and he smirked at you, a sparkle in his eye.

Comment if you would like to be tagged in the next part! Let us know what you think!

[cowboyjen68]

cant be bothered to say nothing about current events bro? ur always so politically vocal and youve been REAL QUIEY lately. dont think nobody noticed

 I have been busy privately.. talking to friends of color.. seeing what they need from me as a white person. I don’t have the ability to protest. I can’t risk injury, jail, or covid because I am Lori’s only parent and the sole provider.  

Going on to Tumblr or Facebook and virtue signalling or giving my opinion or talking about any donations I made to local groups that provide resources to people of color. blah blah... as white person.. seems empty and like I am giving myself a big old pat on the back.. Yay me.. 

I have also had some discussions with the non profits boards I am on and how we can best support either the demonstrations or individuals in our community who might be not dealing well with feeling safe. How to best put something on our social media to show support, encourage engagement and even how to be safe if demonstrating. 

ON my personal page I posted this

“Local Friends/Family Planning on Going to the Protests: PLEASE READ THIS!!! 1. Please put a couple of numbers of people NOT going in Sharpie on your skin; if something happens (arrested, hurt) you may not have access to your phone. You are welcome to use my number. I/we will help you, i/We will pick you up, etc. 2. Have a person, again NOT going, as a check in. This is a person you will contact by X time when you are home safely. Talk to this person ahead of time w/where you are going, with whom, & emergency contacts in case you can't call.

.3. Password protect your phone (not touch/face recognition) 4. Go with a buddy. Designate a meeting place ahead of time in case you are separated. 5. Bring water, wear comfortable shoes, wear your face masks, put your hair up. Bring your id. Keep anything important in pockets, not in bags (supplies only in bags, not keys, not id, not money, not your phone, etc) 6. Only take with you items you are a) willing to not get back right away, if ever, and b) can not be seen as any kind of "weapon" 7. Exercise your right to remain silent, ALWAYS. If you're detained but not arrested ask, repeatably: Am I being arrested? Am I free to go? 8. If pepper spray is used DO NOT use water! Water will make it spread. Do not wear contact lens. 9. Document any police misconduct you see; if taking video state the date, time and your location. 10. Stay with the group as much as possible; beware of snatch squads detaining outliers. If you'd like more tips, there are a lot of resources out there, and I am happy to share some more with you or just talk about it; call or text me”.

My ex Jen wrote it and I shared with permission. I also added to make arrangements for pets home alone and weigh your physical and mental abilities before you rush to action. 

Some of us do great on the front line. Others..do better in support or background roles. 

SOO anon.. just because you don’t follow me on all social media do not think me quiet or not engaged. I was organizing protests likely before you were born. BLM and what is going on it not about my opinions. 

I have a lot of younger followers AND everyone of them needs to decide for themselves if they can demonstrate and how they should conduct themselves. Do you want me to say “I hate all cops”  because I won’t. But I hate the way the institution has become a power imbalance where just getting pulled over means you are not sure if the officer will be human or treat you like you are less than him. I don’t like that families have to pay money to write a letter or email or speak to a loved on in jail. I hate that many prisons are a profit centers. I hate that overwhelmingly young black teens are jailed for minor pot charges while their white counterparts rarely spend a night in custody. 

I can’t even begin to imagine what it feels like every time you walk from your house as a person of color and know that you are judged (and negatively) for the color of skin you were born with. NO matter how hard I try I just can’t and when I do try and get anywhere it is over whelming. 

I know lots of people, including maybe you, think I have answers and can share wisdom that can help people make decisions. This movement and the demonstrations are a long time coming. Just like any human can be, I am overwhelmed and saddened. I am unsure how to proceed, what to do exactly so I do what I can. Today I read the BLM website to see what they suggest. I am weighing my need to pay my bills and donate. Weighing  the need and desire  for me to be a good ally to POC and at the same time not make it about me or toot my own horn. And I have no answers. The entire law enforcement machine needs to be shaken empty and rebuilt with a coalition of citizens. I am afraid it won’t. And I hate that too.   

I guess I should be flattered that you “don’t think no one noticed” clearly you did. And I appreciate that you value my opinion and thoughts so much that you reached out to find out why I haven’t spoken. The fact is, I have not been sure what to say. I have been hesitant to speak on actions or opinions that might not follow the wishes of the black leaders of this movement. 

If you are asking if I am a racist.. yeah....probably to some extent. I am not immune to false stereo types or judgement calls based on skin color. The difference is I am self aware enough to call myself out when I do that and think over my internal voice. I used to be one of those A holes that said I was “color blind” until i went to college away from my home town. That is a story for another blog entry. 

[sitontheground]

#WitchesForBLM

So, I know I don't exactly post much, if at all, but in light of recent events in the US the majority of witches on both tumblr and tik tok have decided that on Friday June 5th, we were all going to be casting spells of protection for the protesters as well as hexing and cursing the cops and the white supremacists who oppose them.

While I am not American (I'm from Canada) nor am I a person of color but I have always been one for activism and fighting for the rights of those whose voices aren't heard or are purposefully silenced. I don't post about it because I don't post much of anything at all. This platform, for me, isn't about making my voice heard but appreciating others' work and words. I also don't particularly care for speaking about my craft much because it is something I find very personal and don't much wish to have others peering in on my personal affairs.

And yet, despite my private nature and lack of desire to post about my activism, I have made the decision to share what I did during the full moon to work this cause into my craft.

For any who have questions or complaints about how I did what I did or why, my craft is my own and I just follow what feels right. If you try and do or say anything to me that I feel is in anyway attacking me and my practice I'm just going to block you. You have no place sticking your nose in my work and I'll not thank you for it.

My Full Moon BLM Support Ritual

As a preface, a lot of the ingredients and items I used were already prepared. Most by happenstance as they are things that I typically keep on hand. The only thing I didn't have in my back pocket before I began was one of the sigils I used.

I also meditated facing the south. Facing the direction of the people I wanted to protect.

Ingredients:

Charged water (I used storm water*)

Charged crystal (I used my fluorite point for the reason that it often amplifies my emotions*)

Needle

Black thread

Orange paper**

Purple paper**

Stick of charcoal (for drawing)

Sigil of protection

Sigil to hex the oppressors

Sachet of protection powder***

Music to increase emotion**** (optional, to be played during both halves of the ritual)

Note: both of the sigils that I used will be shown below

I started when I heard whispers from the witchblr community members that I follow about the full moon being used to help the protesters. That day there was a storm where I live so I was already collecting storm water, but I made sure to separate some for the specific intent of using it on the full moon.

Friday night, I gathered my ingredients and created a sigil for protecting the protesters. I am aware that the eclipse would likely have a negative effect on most protection spells, but the spell I used was one that I created and use without the power of the full moon more often than not. The power of the spell comes entirely from a sacrifice I make for it, which I will explain in more detail later.

Take the storm water, the sigil of protection and the protection powder.

Meditate on the sigil to charge it.

Take a pinch of the powder (A Pinch. You don't need more than that!!!) and sprinkle it in the water.

Swirl the water clockwise 3 times to increase the power of the powder while mixing it in (I had the water in a small Mason jar with a lid so I could swirl it in large movements to incorporate the powder properly without spilling)

Take your right index finger and dip it in the water

Drip 3 drops onto the paper with the sigil

Meditate on the sigil again, focusing on the power of the water sinking into the lines of the sigil

Drink the water with the protection powder to cast the spell

Fold the paper with the sigil on it 3 times, being careful not to rip the wet paper, and leave it in a window or outside until daylight.

Note: the protection powder tastes Bad. Really really really bad. This is why a pinch is more than enough. I usually keep something around to wash the taste out of my mouth when everything is all said and done. This time I used hibiscus water, but usually I use tea.

And that's all there is to the first part of the ritual. Really that can be done at anytime for anyone as long as you have a sigil that corresponds with them.

The next part of this was the part where I actually drew upon the power of the moon.

Take the other sigil, the needle and black thread, and the charged crystal.

Meditate with the crystal in your dominant hand and the hexing sigil in your other focusing on the power that the crystal is feeding into you and pushing it out with your intent through the sigil in order to truly focus the energy you're sending out.

Tear the paper with the sigil on it in until it is in small pieces. As you rend it apart, feel the fire of your anger and the anger of all those fighting for this cause and send it out into the world with every tear in the paper.

Using the needle and the black thread, pierce the center of every piece of the paper until they are all strung up.

Bring all of the pieces together on the string and wrap the thread around the 3 times

Tie a knot in the thread.

Wrap the thread and tie the knot 2 more times.

Cut the thread and cast away the bundle of thread and paper however you see fit (burning, burying, tossing in the trash. whatever works for you)

And that’s that on that. I began my work at midnight on the full moon and when I was finished I was exhausted. I had a headache and my hands were shaking and I just wanted to crawl into my bed so much that I almost forgot to ground myself at the end which would have made everything so much worse the next time I woke. If I were to do it again, and I probably will, I’d make sure to give myself some time in between spells, which I did not in this case. In fact, I’d suggest that if you were to attempt something similar to this you should do them completely separately. However, due to that fact that the moon was in Gemini it felt right for me to complete two spells during it.

And now onto the notes.

*In regards to my choices of charged water and crystal, I have to note that I base my practice by what feels right at the moment. I’ve gone into spells with something in my hand that, by the time I get around to using it during the casting process, it no longer feels like the right tool/ingredient to use and I have gone to find what does feel right, or at least what feels best. The use of storm water has to due with how the chaos and anger that comes from the people on the front lines of this movement feels to me like a storm overhead. They were patient and they brewed this storm for centuries, waiting for us to notice it and do something to lessen the blow that it would cause. But eventually, as all storm must, the thunder rang out and the sweeping gales of wind told everyone just what was going on. Storm water, for this particular variation of my protection spell, seemed very appropriate. I used my fluorite point because whenever I’m working a particularly emotional spell, whether it is my emotion or someone else’s, I use this crystal because it amplifies what I’m feeling and it gives that emotion power.

Also this is my fluorite point.

**As most will suspect, the colors of the paper do signify different things, but if you don’t just happen to have colored paper hanging around white paper would work too. Again this was something that I just figured felt right at the time. I used the purple paper for the protection sigil. Purple, to me, is a regal color that signifies wisdom, power and good fortune. I used the orange paper for the hexing sigil because orange is the most infuriating and aggressive color I could think of (psychologically speaking the color orange is the most likely to send a person into a fit of rage). 

***Alright, so for most of the above I have been rather vague when it comes to the protection powder, but that’s because it is a recipe of my own creation that I have reliably used for a couple of years now and I’m proud of it. It was one of the first things I ever did when I started my craft and I haven’t ever felt like something that I should spread to the masses. Now, however, I don’t feel that same hesitation when it comes to giving the recipe so here it is. 

1 part garlic powder

1 part  cumin

2 parts cinnamon

1 park Himalayan pink salt

1 sprig of cedar, dried and crushed as small as you can make it

When I first made this recipe, I didn’t do anything with it besides mix it all together and put it in a small velvet bag that I got with an old pair of headphones. I soon learned that just mixing together a couple of spices doesn’t exactly create a protection spell and thought it a failure. right as I was about to tear the page with the recipe from my spell book, I decided to meditate on it for a while. That night, I took the little bag with the powder into both of my hands and began to meditate. When I came out of it, I realized that 4 hours had passed by and I could feel the energy from the powder in the bag. So, to make long stories short, you have to key this powder to yourself first. Since then, I have used it as a protection for others by using the same powder that I mixed a couple of years ago that has protected me for that long. I take some of that powder and, using the charged water, I key it to the other that I want to protect, and then by drinking the water I am sacrificing the strength of my protection spell in order to cast one on someone else. This is why I didn’t see an issue doing this spell during the eclipse, which I have read can be a force of undoing. I had no issue casting a hex during the eclipse because I wanted to see the undoing of those that I was trying to hex, but the protection spell will not fail because I didn’t pull on the power of the moon.

****Yes, I listen to music while I work. On the night of the full moon, I was listening to Freedom by Beyoncé ft. Kendrick Lamar on repeat during the whole shebang. When I work, I am incredibly focused, so much that even the slightest disturbance to my balance will send the whole spell crashing down at my feet. If I were to work in silence, a single pin drop could cause me to lose focus and the spell could go awry. So, usually I will put on a single song that reflects the work that I am doing. Either that or I go to ambient-mixer.com and find some background sounds that I can customize and put on for myself. I chose the particular song that I did because both artists are POC angd it sends a message that aligns with the intent of both of these spells.

Sigil of Protection

This one I created myself.

Hexing Sigil

This one I did not create myself. The wonderful ceramyn here on tumblr created it, so this is me crediting her work.

[queerchoicesblog]

The Birth of Cherubino (1/2)

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing project continues after a break with a miniseries set back in Vienna, one of the iconic capitals of opera at the time of Mozart. An emerging singer gets the chance to be an understudy in the latest Mozart’s discussed opera Le Nozze di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro), that  premiered at the Burgtheater in Vienna on 1 May 1786, w and play the pants role of the page Cherubino. Preparing for the role doesn’t quite go as planned… .

Tagging: @scottishqueer​

Previous chapter: The Understudy, An Unexpected Turn of Events

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

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So it's decided: two understudies will bring this Cherubino to life. It will have do, I guess. I am surprised by her reaction when we set foot in her husband's studio. The place is the same: velvet armchairs, oil paintings immortalising gorgeous Italian landscapes at the walls, the finely decorated cello at the very centre of the room. Yet the atmosphere is completely different in a way I couldn't foresee. While I head towards my usual spot at the side of the cello, Lia looks...I'd say afraid to walk in: when she eventually decides herself, she does it almost tiptoeing and looking around as if someone might appear anytime and scold her. Usher her away as a naughty child not allowed to be there.

I ask her if she's fine and she shivers looking at me. Her face relaxes in a quick smile and she takes seat at the instrument, muttering a reassurance. I understand that this is "the Maestro's kingdom" but I am surprised that she hardly ever set foot here or so it seems...she mentioned being well versed in music and I don't see any other cello in the house. Unless they have others hidden somewhere behind the closed doors, that is. I don't have it that she might be...banned from the studio! But maybe, seeing how unsure she suddenly looks here... I suggest she familiarises herself with the instrument and most importantly the aria while I warm up my voice in a corner. I think she's grateful of me giving her space and taking the lead. She obliges with a quick smile. Once I am done, I approach her again and check in on her. "I- I think I get this, the melody is not too complicated...and it's not all about music, you'll do most of the work". She briefly meets my eyes then she fixes hers on the music sheets, brows furrowed in concentration. "Whenever you're ready, Miss-". "Constanze" I correct her. We share a quick smile and it looks like she relaxes a little. "Constanze" she repeats in her foreign accent. The way she pronounces it make it sound sweeter, new. I find myself lost in my own thoughts for a moment: it's almost like the sound she crafted created a...new version of me. As if this Constanze bears little resemblance to the one her husband sees, trains and takes any occasion to touch. Funny thought, I smile to myself as I ask her to start playing. I take a deep breath and turns towards her as the ever familiar notes of Cherubino's first aria echo in the studio. I look at her for a moment. A pale fleeting ray of sun caresses her dark hair - as dark as the night - while her face twists in concentration. Eyes on the sheet not to miss a note, her fingers move with unexpected grace over the keyboard. I think back of how her husband plays, with confidence and swagger as if he was taming the instrument to his will, to his creative energy and musical mastery. In case the poor instrument could still doubt who the master was. Lia doesn't play like this. Her fingers touch the keyboard with a gentleness I have hardly ever seen in musicians...maybe only Herr Mozart came close when he played a Serenade to his wife at a party. Lia doesn't play the cello, she...strokes it as if it was a dear friend. Or a revered lover. My train of thoughts almost makes me miss my cue. I notice just in time! "I don't know anymore what I am or what I'm doing Now I'm burning, now I'm made of ice Every woman makes me change color Every woman makes my heart pounding" And then...no words come out of my mouth anymore. I know what follows, God I've been singing this aria night and day in my head for days! But the lines get stuck in my throat and a sudden, violent warmth burn my cheeks. I have to lean to the cello for support. My heart is racing, cutting off my breath. The music stops abruptly: Lia must have noticed because she's standing too now. "Oh Constanze, are you unwell?". "I-I'm just..." I start but I don't really know what to say. What's happening to me? Her lips curl into a concerned expression. "This way, take a seat". She gently leads me towards one of the velvet armchairs by the window. Her touch is soft, just enough to sustain me but it sends shivers down my spine. The same happens as our fingers accidentally brush when she hands me a glass of water. I thank her and try to dismiss my sudden failure. It's nothing, I say: maybe I'm a bit tired, the pressure of the upcoming rehearsals kicking in... "You're pushing yourself too hard, Constanze" she comments, smiling weakly. "I suppose getting the jitters before a performance is normal for you opera singers. But you should take care of your health all the same". "You- you're probably right" I nod, my voice still uncertain. Am I losing it out of the blue? It can't be happening...the rehearsals are just round the corner and I'm the understudy, not to mention a goddamn professional! "No no, don't panic now! I'm sure you'll be alright again in no time...here, take deep breaths: in and out, in and out". I look back at her: can she read my mind or am I that pathetically obvious? The thought makes me instantly nervous: there is a reason why I keep people at distance. Women are blamed and despised for their frailty by both men and other members of the fair sex: I abhor and fear the moment someone might catch a glimpse of it in me. What will they think of me then? I search Lia's eyes bracing myself for the worst: pity, disappointment, paternalism...but I find none. Only patient expectancy, genuine concern. No judgement nor well-hidden amusement. So I find myself mimicking her breathing in and out until I actually calm down a little. She invites me to take another sip of water before regarding me pensively. "I am ready to go back to work" I say in the most convincing tone...that sadly doesn't seem to fool her. She flashes me a quick smile and stands in a swift move, walking back to the cello to recover the music sheets. "Actually, I was thinking you could use a break for the day. The news of the departure of Giorgio so close to rehearsals clearly upset you and I can't blame you for that" she comments, joining me once again. "Why don't you come back tomorrow for practicing? A good night rest might do you good and hopefully by then we will have news of Giorgio". She frames her offer with a gentle smile that fails to calm my pounding heart. I take another sip of water to conceal my state. "If you think it's the best course of action..." I sigh, lowering my eyes. "Let's give it a try, Miss Constanze, what do you say?". When I raise my eyes to meet hers, she's no longer looking at me surprisingly. Her gaze is on the music sheets, she's skimming them with a certain curiosity. She almost startles me when she speaks. "So tell me, who is this Cherubino?" she inquires. "He falls in love with every woman or so he says: is he a...how can I say? Don Juan?". "Oh no" I chuckle, more nervously than first intended. "He's just...confused, I think". "Confused?". "Yes, he can't explain what is happening inside him when he's around women, he's distressed...overwhelmed by the whirl of feelings. Something he has never experienced before, I wager". It takes me a moment to process my own words: it's the first time someone asks me to speak of Cherubino. On my own terms. I have only been asked to sing his lines, give him my voice, never my mind and heart. "A love's victim, then" she suggests, pondering. "But not a tragic one". "If you will". "Are his affections reciprocated?". "Yes. Not all maybe. It's hard to tell" I consider, concentrating on what I know of the plot. "Is it?" she flashes a smile, half-amused but pensive. "Well, you may be right. It's not always an easy reading. And tell me, is his love true?". I try to find an answer but I can find none. "I don't know" I shrug. "Oh? How come?" Lia seems genuinely surprised by my words. "He seems to fall in love with every woman in sight...is it what you'd call love?" I try to articulate. "And anyway he never falls for the right one, apparently". She keeps quiet for a moment, considering my answer. Then she shakes her head, half smiling. "It's so typical, right? Falling for those who aren't meant for us.. Who hasn't endured such sweet torture at least once in their life?". "Why, I haven't, Mrs.". When her eyes falls on me, I am almost embarrassed of my blunt comment. I have never felt that way before, I am known for my outspokenness and witty retorts but now they're useless and...out of place. I open my mouth to make it a bit gentler but Mrs. Melchiorri anticipates me. "Consider yourself lucky, then, Miss Constanze. Many cannot say the same...not even your charming Cherubino, apparently". A nostalgic smile lingers on her lips as she adds: "But allow me to say that sometimes unfavourable circumstances don't mean lack of true heart's affection. They only makes it bittersweet, causing a little ache of the heart. I don't know if it can be the case of your character". Her words linger in the air for a moment before she shakes her hand and ushers them away with a dismissive gesture of her hand. "But look at me, wasting your time with matters like these" she flashes me an apologetic smile, standing. "I will see you tomorrow, then?". I wanted to reassure her she isn't wasting my time at all but words get stuck into my throat and she is already calling Franziska. I take my leave mirroring her smile. The turmoil that took hold of me in the music room keeps raging inside my chest on the ride back to my apartment and through the night. What is this? When my maid spots me, she fails to suppress a gasp: do you feel alright, Madam?, she asks. Should she call the doctor? I didn't realise I looked that bad but no, no doctor. I order a light dinner in my room: maybe Lia is right, some rest will do me good. Maybe I was right, I am just tired and stressed by the upcoming rehearsal. However, nothing seems to help to soothe my anguish. I keep playing with my spoon as the soup gets cold, my mind lost somewhere else, away from my room. Cherubino's lines haunt me: "The very mention of love, of delight, Disturbs me, changes me, and Speaking of love, forces on me A desire I cannot restraint!" Never once I've felt that way in my life, troubled and flustered by such a casual topic of conversation like I was in the company of Mrs. Melchiorri. I don't understand. Yet, when I lie in my bed and eventually surrendered to slumber, a vision forms. I remember hearing once that dreams tell the deepest, hidden wishes of our souls, the ones sometimes we don't dare to speak aloud or admit to ourselves. I have never had reason to trust - or doubt, for the matter - the theory until tonight. When night comes and my eyes close, embracing the darkness, I am transported back in Melchiorri's music room. I hear music: Lia is playing and I am sitting with her at the cello, a quiet companion following every move, every note, adoring. Lia's hands stroke the keyboard with a tenderness and a reverence that ignite a longing inside me. It spreads like a fire, tormenting. When the music comes to an end, I can no longer restraint myself. I take her hands into mine and guide them away from the keyboard to my face. They're soft and cold over my burning cheeks.

[clumsyclifford]

my gift is my song (and this one’s for you)

part 2 of the your song series which is once again dedicated to loml @calumcest helen i hope....this gives u some modicum of joy :’) i wrote it literally at like 1am so if it sucks that would be why 

part 1 on tumblr // part 1 on ao3 // ao3 link for this part

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There are certain invariable facts: London is the capital of England, E flat is the most beautiful key to play in, and Michael is in love with Calum Hood.

-

There are certain invariable facts: London is the capital of England, E flat is the most beautiful key to play in, and Michael is in love with Calum Hood.

He hadn’t meant to be. In fact, he’d tried not to be, because it can be difficult, being in love with your closest (and only) work partner, and it’s bad enough that they’re fucking. This thing he and Calum have is unnamed, and as such unaddressed. They sleep in the same bed most nights, and kiss a lot, and have passionate sex that leaves both of them breathless, but they’re not, like, dating — they're not in love. They can’t be. At this stage in their career, one scandal like that and they’re out of the game forever.

So it’s not like Michael has been seeing Calum casually for a few weeks and is starting to feel something more. It’s more like Michael had watched Calum chew on his lower lip as he worked on lyrics over breakfast one morning, and it had hit him full force.

Michael’s in love with Calum. That’s just one more thing he has to repress and never think about. It’s not like he’s wanting for much, anyway; the realization hasn’t put much of a damper on his life, because Calum’s right there, always, just within arm’s reach, so willing and easy and pliant that Michael thinks it’s too good to be true. Calum is too good to be true, and he’s too gorgeous to be Michael’s, but here they are anyway.

(He’s not Michael’s, not really, Michael has to remind himself regularly. At any point Calum could decide to go get a girlfriend or fuck someone else, and Michael would have to be okay with it.

Calum doesn’t seem like he plans to do that anytime soon, though.)

Michael wakes up and decides today is going to be a no-pants day, because it’s his own fucking house and he can do what he likes. His mum will fuss, probably, but Michael’s also an adult, so her words don’t hold much weight anymore. 

He treads heavily as he takes the stairs, and when he enters the kitchen Calum is already awake, along with the rest of his family. “Morning,” he greets them all. Calum doesn’t acknowledge him; there’s a pen in his hand and he looks close to being done with something, so Michael doesn’t bitch at him for it.

“Get dressed, Mikey,” his mum says.

“Michael,” Michael corrects her, forcefully. Calum’s the only one who calls him Mikey, and that’s only because he’s too much of a little bitch to listen when Michael tells him not to. He ties his bathrobe anyway, as a compromise.

“I’m not having you moping around here all day,” his mum says, which is funny. What’ll she do? Kick him out?

“We’re songwriting,” Michael tells her. He jerks his chin at Calum for emphasis. Calum glances up at Michael’s mum, then at Michael, as if only just realizing there’s a conversation going on above his head.

Michael skids his eyes over the pages Calum’s scribbling on, but he’s a moment too late to read them; Calum picks them up, staring at them as if they’ve unlocked the secret to the universe, and Michael doesn’t hear anything anyone else says after that. Calum looks the way he looks when he’s got a winner, and Michael wants it.

Sure enough, moments later Calum hands the pages off to Michael, wordlessly. Michael takes them and scans the lyrics: it’s a little bit funny, this feeling inside. I’m not one of those who can easily hide.

His heart rate picks up, and he’s not sure why. These words are personal, and sincere, and they feel like —

They feel like how Michael feels, about Calum.

He looks back at Calum, and wants to ask a million things, but his mum’s in here, still fucking talking, so he just says, meekly, “There’s egg on this,” and then immediately leaves the kitchen. He can hear this song, already. God, he can hear it so clearly that Calum might have plagiarized it. Except he can’t have, because Michael would surely remember hearing a song this — well — 

Adoring, Michael’s subconscious provides. 

He sits at the piano and sets the lyrics on the music stand, and when he puts his fingers to the keys (Calum calmly saying, “I better go take a shave, I think,” in the background), the melody appears unbidden. It’s like it’s been sitting under his fingertips for years, just waiting for the right words, and now they’re here, and Michael’s heart is too big for his chest, and his lungs too small, and he plays every note and tentatively sings.

“It’s a little bit funny,” he starts, “this feeling inside. I’m not one of those who can easily hide.” He pauses, takes a breath. “Don’t have much money, but, boy, if I did…I’d buy a big house where we both could live.” 

He can feel these lyrics in his bones. He wants to sing them to Calum, to look in Calum’s eyes and say this is what I’ve felt for you since the day we met in that cafe and sang “Streets of Laredo” too loud to be appropriate, since I kissed you on the roof and you kissed me back, since I’ve fucking known you.

But these aren’t even his words. They’re Calum’s. These aren’t his own thoughts, or feelings.

Something moves in his periphery. “If I was a sculptor,” he continues, and then chuckles a bit at the next line, “but then again…no.” He glances to the side, and Calum’s standing at the doorway, mesmerized. Michael smiles and looks back at the lyrics. “Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show. I know it’s not much, but it’s the best I can do.” He turns his head, slows down a bit, and meets Calum’s eyes. “My gift is my song, and this one’s for you.” For you, he thinks, with his whole heart and soul, and Calum looks spellbound by the music and a little bit scared and a little bit desperate, but there’s no mistaking the amount of love in his gaze as he watches Michael. Even Michael can see it, and he feels it all the way into his fingertips.

He looks back at the words just as Calum cracks a smile, so sudden that the room lights up with it. “So excuse me forgetting, but these things I do; you see I’ve forgotten, if they’re green or they’re blue,” and oh, oh. Sometimes Calum tries to write from Michael’s perspective, but not this one. Calum’s eyes are deep and brown, and Michael’s the one with the blue-green eyes that change colors whenever they fucking feel it, apparently.

“Anyway, the thing is…what I really mean,” Michael goes on, and hides a smile as he sings it. It’s just like Calum to write lyrics like this, so stream-of-consciousness, to say things like anyway and then again, no and try to double back and explain himself. This isn’t just a song; this is a letter, a message, and Michael feels every feeling ever about being the one receiving it.

He reads the next line and almost stutters over it; as it is, he has to tense his jaw so he doesn’t cry. “Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen,” he sings, softly, because this isn’t a line for the world to hear, this is his, his and Calum’s. 

He thinks Calum is still standing in the doorway, but he’s too nervous to look over now, afraid that one glance will make him too misty-eyed to read the words, or make his palms too sweaty to play. He’s overwhelmed with love, and he’s not done with the song just yet.

“And you can tell everybody, this is your song,” Michael goes on, and fuck it — he turns his head again, and Calum is still there, wide-eyed and staring, like he can’t quite believe something. “It may be quite simple, but now that it’s done, I hope you don’t mind, I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words…” He nearly chokes on the next part. “How wonderful life is, while you’re in the world,” he manages, gentle.

He doesn’t deserve these words, but he knows they’re his. And when he looks again at Calum, thoughtlessly playing a final chord, he knows that Calum knows that he knows they’re for him.

He glances around himself when he finishes. He mum and gran are both sat in the room; Michael feels exposed, and he needs to be alone with Calum, like, yesterday.

Calum blinks at him, doe-eyed, then steals out of the room, and Michael swallows thickly and follows after him, footfalls muted by the carpet.

He closes their door behind him. Calum’s standing in the middle of the room like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself.

“You wrote that?” Michael says. Okay, stupid question. He amends, “For me.”

It’s supposed to be a question, but comes out like a statement. Calum nods.

“Did you mean it?”

Calum stares at him. “How could I not mean it, Mikey?”

“Fuck,” Michael says. “That’s, like. A love song.”

“Yeah.”

“A real, proper love song, not some cheesy poppy Daniel you’re a star shit.”

“Yeah,” Calum says, nervous but steady.

“For me,” Michael says again. He’s not sure he can believe it.

“Yeah,” Calum says a third time. “Is that okay?”

“Yes, it’s fucking okay,” Michael says, a little out of breath. “More than okay. But I thought we were — like. I don’t know. Not…that.” He sees Calum flinch, and hurriedly adds, “But I don’t care. I want to be that.”

“You do?” Calum says.

“Fuck, are you kidding me, Cal? I love you. I — I love you more than anyone’s ever loved. I didn’t think I was capable of love until I met you. You make me feel like I’m something more, like I’m something worthwhile, like I’m artwork, when in reality you’re the artwork, and I’m just the lucky bastard who —”

Calum cuts him off with a searing kiss, and Michael startles and then sinks into it. The kiss spreads to every part of him, more than it ever has; he can feel it in his palms and the arches of his feet and his stomach and his chest. He wraps his arms around Calum’s waist and pulls him in, crowding as close as he can. He’s kissed Calum too many times to count, but this one says everything he wasn’t allowed to say before. I love you. I mean it. I love you. I mean it. I love you. I mean it.

Calum pants against Michael’s lips when they break apart, and Michael feels dizzy. “Mine are the sweetest eyes you’ve ever seen?” he can’t help asking. “Really?”

“Fuck off,” Calum grumbles.

“No, it’s cute.” Michael kisses Calum again. “Very romantic. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I haven’t anymore,” Calum says. “It’s yours now. Your Song, you see?”

Michael shakes his head. “Cal, it’s our song,” he says quietly.

“The name of the song is Your Song, you idiot,” Calum says.

Michael shoves his shoulder for ruining the moment, but Calum grabs his sleeve as he stumbles back, and they both collapse onto the bed.

(They don’t leave the bed for a while.)

(Michael could die right now and he’d die a happy man.)

[worldcakecakecake]

The Red Mask

In 18th century Valencia, Spain, thrives the legend of the Red Mask, a character with stories of bravery and heroism that have enchanted Lovino Valenti since he was a young child. On a new business deal, his family moves from Naples and Lovino finds himself wishing for adventure and action away from his duties in this new Spanish city. He is given that chance when he joins a group of masked heroes that fall under the command of the famed Red Mask. He grows a close and fiery relationship with the masked man of his tales and dreams, and without knowing his identity, he lets himself be swayed by his seduction, trust and daringness, to passions surely forbidden when he doesn’t even know his actual name or who he really is.

So, yes, I know I said that The Red Mask will be in hiatus, but after thinking about it, I decided that instead I’m just going to post whatever amount is good for a chapter instead of filling a full draft page. Either way you guys were gonna be kept waiting, but I think this is the option that makes you guys wait less. I hope you enjoy!

                                                              Chapter 2

Lovino had awakened early, unusual for him, but in all honesty, he was excited to be in a new place, a new city, a new country and wanted to enjoy well from his first morning, adjusting and getting to know how the sun shone.

 Perhaps only two servants were working. He left his brother asleep in the bed and he hadn’t heard of nonno yet.  The house was in a delightful silence, his steps adding to this melodious morning, letting himself breathe it all in, trying to control himself from skipping to the breakfast room. He was proud to admit he was happy.

 “Buenos dias!” It had broken the moment he was met with the other, already taking sitting in the table and enjoying from a drink. Lovino froze at the entrance, nervous, fretting, forgetting his words or how to even react.

 “How do you feel?” Antonio smiled in utter calm.

 “What are you doing here?” Lovino found himself asking, his eyes suspicious, locking into the Spanish man as if it could give him some sort of truth.

 “Um…” Antonio gazed about, wondering truly what the problem could be. He looked over himself, to his drink, even patted his hair to make sure he presented himself as he intended. “…having breakfast,” he shrugged.

 Lovino rolled his eyes, then remembering he was to live there and thus it was obvious he would want to have breakfast with them. “Never mind,” he simply uttered, taking seating, blessing that there was already bread and fruits on the table, filling a small presented plate. Lovino continued with his food like he was the only one there, not sparring a word and Antonio would just sit there…staring, taking occasional sips from his drinks, as if waiting for some kind of show.

 “What?” Lovino easily tired of it.

 Antonio shrugged, “was kind of hoping you would give me your good morning as well.”

 “I don’t feel like it.”

 “It’s simple courtesy.”

 “I don’t feel like giving it to you right now,” he took a harsh bite of his bread, loud and messy as to keep it sole in the room.

 Antonio still kept his smile and continued his watch, switching from the other to the decorations on the walls, on the plates, on the table, letting that silence reign. “Maybe tomorrow you’ll give me a good morning,” he hoped.

 Lovino shrugged, “let’s see if I’m in the mood.” He was done, he could pretty much stand and leave by now, but he was used to always spending his mornings with his grandfather and brother, chatting and being granted his duties for the day. It didn’t seem like he should go clean anything, or go to the marketplace, or help his brother with something he couldn’t carry…but he had to be given something. He refused to give another word to this stranger or to stand without having spent the morning with his family, so he joined him on the non-impressive staring, on the same details, colors, admiring, one pretending the other wasn’t there. Graciously they heard other sounds, footsteps, some rushed, stumbling, surely a fall, the other prepared, sure and with clear direction. Lovino could easily tell who with a roll of his eyes.

 Feliciano was the first to reach, still in his night clothes, legs bare but as excited as if he was properly dressed for a party. “Good morning!” He shouted well for the entire house surely.

 “Good morning!” Antonio returned just in earnest, with a glance to Lovino surely hinting at how it should be done. Lovino scuffed and completely turned away.

 “It’s so nice to have someone new for breakfast. Is it all right? Do you like it? If anything I can go make you something!” Feliciano excited.

 “Feli, amore, calm down, no need, we now have cooks that can do just that,” and so Augusto introduced himself to the day, dressed poised and well to deal with business surely.

 “I would still like to make something from time to time,” the younger pouted.

 “And you will have that chance! But for now, let us relax and enjoy our fist morning here, properly.” He sat down and Feliciano followed along, starting instant conversation with all in the table. Antonio joined simply to have a chat, while Lovino remained mostly silent, glaring whenever Feliciano mentioned something too over the top.

 “-and now I am sure that this mansion is in fact, not haunted,” he declared with a deep smile, flowing his knife around as he spread butter on his bread.

 “I told you so,” Augusto commented with his own smile, enjoying his younger grandson’s childness.

 “Honestly, Nonno just mentioned the couple and you suddenly made up this tale and you actually believed it,” Lovino rolled his eyes.

 Feliciano shrugged, “you never know.”

 “I told you they died in Morocco.”

 “Maybe they were really attached to this place.”

 “It is a gorgeous house, I can see why someone would want their spirit to continue on here,” Antonio seemed to defend Feliciano’s absurdity.

 “Exactly!”

 “Well, last night gave you enough proof that not.”

 “I hope you actually go back to your own bed tonight.”

 “Don’t you like sharing the bed with me?” Feliciano pouted.

 “It’s not that I mind, I just think we should enjoy from our chance to have our own space and privacy.”

 “This is really your first time having a home like this?” Antonio wondered.

 Lovino wished that they didn’t inform so openly to a stranger.

 “My boys, yes.”

 “Nonno belonged to a noble family of merchants in Rome, but after he met our Nonna, he eloped and ran away!” Feliciano eyes always glowed this way whenever he told the tale.

 “I confess, yes. She was Greek and from very poor standings. My family heavily disagreed with the match as they didn’t think it would be fruitful for our business. But my love for her was stronger than whatever scorn my family held. So we ran away and settled in Naples where I started building my own trade. We also spent some years in Florence and Venice.”

 “And he had Mamma, then Mamma had us! And we were really happy…even though we never got to meet our Nonna,” Feliciano saddened, Lovino giving in but only slightly, while Augusto seemed like he had been heavily pierced.

 “If…I may ask…what happened?” Antonio wanted to dare.

 “Died in childbirth…” Augusto drank to try and swallow whatever despair, “I had to raise our daughter by myself.”

 “And…where is your daughter?”

 The air became tense, frowning instantly when it had been so joyous.

 “She was killed,” Lovino made the instant blow, wanting to get over it and let it pass before it lingered and made them think about it longer.

 “Oh…that’s…that’s…awful, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have intruded-”

 “If you are to live here, you were bound to find out at some point and I’m sure you will learn more.”

 Antonio still held deep questions but preferred to leave it for a time they could be more comfortable with his presence, perhaps considering him a friend by then. “She must have been a good soul. I am sure it is resting well in heaven with our lord.”

 “Lovino and I think she’s an angel up there,” Feliciano admitted such childish notion, making Lovino want to sink beneath the table. Antonio found it endearing, smiling at Lovino to show how sweet he thought it.

 “But now,” Augusto dropped his cutlery on his plate to signify he was done, “I want my boys to get to know their surroundings and discover everything this city has to offer,” he smiled to them, expectant and excited. “I was hoping you could perhaps offer them some sort of tour, if you do not mind that is, Antonio.”

 “I’ll be glad to!” He sounded truly delighted.

 Feliciano clapped, ready to jump that instant and head off.

 “Nonno, I really think I should help you with-”

 “Oh, Lovino, there is no need! I’m sure your time will come, but for now, enjoy yourself, learn about your new city and then you can properly focus on business… all right?” His grandfather cradled his head sweetly, a gesture that hadn’t changed since his childhood and he hoped shall forever remain, for it did well to calm, remind of love no matter the harsh circumstances…even his age and their partnership in business now.

 “…sì, Nonno.”

 “I leave you to enjoy the day,” he smiled in farewell and left them to their plans.

 Feliciano hurriedly went to change, while Lovino sighed, moving over to wait for Antonio and Feliciano by the main door. He preferred not to spend more silent alone time with the cleric.

  It was a weekday, yet the Italian boys found the city to be as plentiful as if a festival was occurring. It was hard to move themselves between when they walked down small gorgeous streets with sellers offering the most fantastic wares, but when they reached open squares, they could breathe and admire buildings formed with arm and unique craftsmanship. Antonio did well to tell countless of stories, explaining and bringing more knowing to the boys’ mind of the city. Feliciano was already enamored, while Lovino constantly craved for either something to eat or to head back home.

 “And he went alone…to Thailand?!” Feliciano was incredulous.

 “Not completely alone…he did bring Miss Luna Odalis Gutiérrez Martirio!”

 Lovino thought it would have been more exciting if Antonio had not dramatized and sung the name so well, but it had Feliciano clapping.

 “Oh! So, they did runaway together! I hope they’re happy over there!”

 “There’s a rumor that the last message that was sent to the Ibarras spoke of a coming child.”

 Feliciano got even more excited and Lovino rolled his eyes, in its change noticing a stand with gorgeous artistry of stone, in wondrous colors, some shinning with precious jewels. He didn’t care if he stood back alone as he gazed at a particular one, depicting a splendorous harbor. In his distraction, he was unaware of an approaching carriage, running widely and ignorant to the calls of guards. By the time Lovino heard and noticed, he was well on the way, cowered for a coming hit surely. He was pulled to an alluring scent, feeling a strong chest and a comfort he didn’t think he could feel in such crowded streets. In this sudden fear, he lounged and wrapped his arm well around this body, practically cuddling into it as he breathed heavily, watching the carriage continue its rampage throughout the city unaware of what it had almost done.

 “Are you all right?” And Lovino met enchanting green eyes, with a smile and a frame that exhilarated his heart in a way he rather it wasn’t in.

 “I-I..I’m fine!” And he pushed him away, rubbing his suit off as if it could remove the gesture.

 “We’ll be done in a short while, I just want you to see this amazing view, so I’ll need you to stay close.”

 “Fine…fine,” and Lovino followed, keeping his head on the ground now, on Antonio and Feliciano’s footsteps, hoping for no more distractions.

 The walk took a couple of more minutes, elevating high walls and roads until they stood at a good height, the city well-presented around them, close, gorgeous and with a wonderful warming sky to complement. Lovino awed as Feliciano, both coming to the edge, to the hold of the railing as if with it they could take the city into their hands.

 “Oh…it’s spectacular, Antonio!” Feliciano worded the compliments surely Lovino thought as well.

 “I’m very glad you like it,” he smiled, taking Lovino’s side in the leaning.

 “Have you lived here your whole life, Antonio?” It seemed like Feliciano was going to do most of the talking and questioning.

 “I only moved when I was sixteen, so…I’ve lived about fourteen years here.”

 “With you family?”

 “The church is my family.”

 Lovino finally raised with a questioning gaze, half open mouthed that Antonio was eager to hear words from.

 “Oh, that’s very nice! Antonio, you’ve told us many great things about the city and it was all wonderful, but, is there something I can ask about that I hope won’t be too much?”

 “Go ahead.”

 Lovino was terrified he would mention it.

 “I, and I know Lovino too, want to know if you’ve ever seen the Red Mask!” At the famed hero, he came close and whispered.

 “The Red Mask? …You know about him?” Antonio tried to contain large amount of surprise.

 “Of course, we do! We’ve been hearing all the news ever since they started with a sword fighting contest in Salamanca! The Spanish sailors and merchants that visited Nonno would sit me and Lovino down and tell us the stories. We still love those tales dearly!”

 “You do?” Antonio directed it with a smirk to Lovino.

 “Used to…”

 “Don’t lie, Lovi. Just last night you told me one of them.”

 Lovino cringed and tried to sustain himself from shutting Feliciano with a hurting grasp of his ear.

 Antonio chuckled, a heavenly ring to get Lovino smoothed. “No shame! I myself tell the stories to some of the kids in the church and I get as excited with them as if the first time I was seeing him.” Or as he wasn’t him.

 “So you have!” Feliciano raised and Lovino had to grip to contain his own.

 “Well, this is his city, everyone has taken a glimpse at all kinds of actions.”

 “Like which one?” They begged wanting a tale, and Antonio could see that Lovino held that same openness of his ear. Antonio smirked and began one of his most recent adventures.

 “-and thus the ladies were saved. The Red Mask prevented that cart from reaching and dealt with the culprits. I was waiting for the shipment actually and met with the Red Mask himself telling me what happened, along with one of his companions, Neblina, the Mist Mask.” And the two smiled, a story well told. Antonio felt successful.

 “Does he really wear the Red Mask? All in red? Is it true that his eyes are as green as they say?”

 “How about we wait?”

 “For what?” Lovino questioned, showing disappointment for not being able to hear.

 “For you yourselves to meet him.”

 Feliciano glowed and clapped at such a coming chance.

 “Will we…really?” The was the most excitement Antonio could get out of Lovino that moment.

 “Like I said, this is his city, and from what I’ve heard, he’s working on a big rescue right now.” He grew serious, leaning more so to the views, looking, finding the dark palace nestled well, one Feliciano and Lovino could spot with his intense stare.

 “Do you know what about?” Feliciano asked.

 Lovino left his gaze on that palace, imagining it had something to do with it. To prove him so, Antonio pointed at the very place.

 “Keron Montaje.”

 Feliciano instantly gasped and whimpered, moving aside, shaking and tears quickly reaching his eyes. Lovino came to him, embraced, soothed and hummed words of comfort. Antonio hated that he could only but watch, only an extension of his hand ready to help in what the brothers needed.

 “Are you all right?”

 “I-I’m fine, I…I’m fine.” Yet Feliciano’s eyes were still reddened, leaning into his brother’s neck, wanting remain in that shield for now, not at all an assurance to Antonio.

 “Sorry, we just…don’t like hearing that name,” Lovino spoke.

 “I’m very sorry I mentioned it, I didn’t know…”

 “It’s all right, we…don’t like talking about it.” He hoped those words were enough of a warning to not ask any questions.

 “You…you know the Montaje?”

 “Yes…in ways we would prefer not to.” Lovino held Feliciano tight, caressing on, continuing his hums. “…he’s here…isn’t he?”

 Antonio sighed, looking once again to the palace, still hauntingly there. “Yes…I’m afraid.” Antonio held himself well from going on, Feliciano still in his state, not at all liking the glowing person he had recently met reduced to this.

 “Let’s head back now. We need to relax.” The brothers nodded and Antonio followed behind them, his body covering whatever glimpse to the evil place.

  Feliciano’s dinner that night was short, heading straight to bed afterwards, well, Lovino’s.

 After that discovery, Lovino doubted whatever chance at getting Feliciano sleeping in his own room, but understood, and let it, caressing his hair, whispering words of love and mentioning as many times as he needed that he was there, as well as Nonno and even Antonio.

 Two weeks had passed since the event, since they moved and since they found out. Antonio did well to not question despite how highly he wanted to. He continued his work as their guest, offering help in the household, in Feliciano’s teachings, bible readings, even words of advice in the business.

 Three days and Lovino was back into papers, numbers, accords, being an apprentice to his grandfather and learning as much as he could of what would one day be his company. It was hard to concentrate when that single name repeated, raging, sometimes taking it out on papers with complains or numbers that drove him mad. There had to be something that could be done, he could get justice, revenge, finally act and save, but a look to the thrown letters, checks and bills on the ground reminded him that his mind shouldn’t go as wild, shouldn’t endanger, shouldn’t worsen.

 “Lovino…these stories are just that, stories to excite your mind and keep your hopeful. We all need this sort of escapade from our dull, but they should remain as that. Let them do their job to protect, they know well the consequences and have prepared themselves for them, but you should focus on being safe. I’m sure it’s what the great Red Mask would want,” he heard his mother’s past voice in his head, he could almost feel her caress on his shoulders, taking his hair, kissing it, with another tale, another distraction, not these tragedies…not these papers.

 He sighed, noticing the darkness the day had become, dropping everything and decreeing himself done. He was comfortable in his chair, leaning back, stretching, even giving himself space to breathe. He should probably get to bed then…Feliciano was probably waiting for him…or he could surprise and could have gone to his own room. He stood, decided on snatching some frosted cookies from the kitchen while everyone was surely asleep and he thought he had the house pretty much for himself. He took four, successful, no one to spot him, munching happily, sucking his fingers and aweing at the taste, but even that wasn’t enough to distract him from the guarded object.

 It was kept in one of the reading rooms, centered along with all the shelves filled with books of history, art, science, poetry and of course their adventure and fantasy stories. Lovino entered the room, hypnotized by the elegance of the sword that was kept well in place. It was beautiful, crafted by what Lovino used to think were merfolks, using the aquamarine of their seas and smoothened soft stones from their shores, with golds, greens and looking like it could glide well in his hands as he swung and thrusted.

 It belonged to his grandfather…from his days as a soldier back when he was Lovino’s own age. He had proved to be ferocious, powerful, earning a well named place in the ears of all Rome. Smiths had given him this as a gift for his time, shortly before he had retired and settled more on the business. He didn’t like talking about those days much, while all Lovino wanted was to hear about them, hard to not imagine himself be that very proud soldier, earning those medals and recognitions that he doubted he would stop talking about to all.

 His arms were raised, his hands neared to the glass, to the key Augusto for some reason always left there, easily turning, opening and it was there for the air of the night, for Lovino’s touch.

 It wasn’t the first time…the handle was familiar to him, the weight nothing, the length Lovino knew well to guide without hitting a single object. He took the stance he had heard and seen many times, taken for himself as well. He imagined an enemy, going at him with precision, fierce, every swung surely death for whoever was unlucky to be there that instant. It was amazing how quiet he could while doing all this, Antonio wondered by the door, loving how the moonlight shined on him, making it seem like he was an angelic entity of dreams.

 “Incredible…” he found himself uttering, a break, a noticing. Lovino gasped, for a moment dropping the sword, luckily, he caught it with just as much grace, only letting the point fall at the carpet, grimacing and hoping it wouldn’t do anything to leave a noticeable mark. And from that serene glow of beauty, came deadly glares, frozen yet, fearing that any other movement could expose him more.

 “What are you doing here?” Lovino said with just as much edge.

 Antonio only moved forward, ignorant to his question, instead gazing to his final stand and then the enchanting sword that fitted well not only on his hands, but also on his entre persona.

 “Straighten up!” Came a surprising militant voice, power enough to get Lovino to do as commanded, and to Antonio, it came out elegantly placed without a single breath lost.

 Perfect, he kept repeating to himself as he rounded, making sure that it repeated in every part of his body…and it well did.

 “Forward!”

 And Lovino did so, sword well extended, posture immaculate, ready vengeance in his eyes to fight.

 “Very well…” Antonio faced him again, with cocky ease that Lovino didn’t fail to notice. He was standing nonchalant, unafraid of the sword pointed well at him. Lovino had a rather hard temptation to continue the extend and win if a slight drop of blood. He hated that look on his face and wanted it gone with even show of violence if he had to.

 “Now…” and from a hidden scabbard Lovino had never noticed until now, he raised his own sword, thin, small, rusted, not at all like the one of jewels and purest silver he himself held. Antonio was confident, spinning and letting it fly in the air before it faced him just as dangerously.

 “…we fight,” he curtsied and welcomed.

 “Are you serious?” With that ugly thing? Yet he dared hit it against his silver, a powerful strike that got Lovino completely lost on his standing and yet Antonio continued, Lovino turning rather messy as he focused on defending, many times practically falling, his knee hitting the ground more times than he should, eyes side glancing to make sure the furniture was still intact.

 “Are you insane?” He shouted, in his try to halt finding his stance again, the hold of his sword with Antonio’s kept, doing well to not grant any more movements. Antonio was impressed at how Lovino could well force him in his place, while the other’s worried expression was more on the surroundings, looking over to the halls for any that could come.

 “Nonno can wake up!” He growled.

 “So what?”

 “He can’t-he can’t…” he couldn’t tell him either.

 “He can’t know your using his priced possessed military days sword?” Antonio dared smirk.

 “Oh god! Just stop!” And there he was with deadly slashes, Antonio now taking the defense, but how he loved this fury, this fire, knowing, powerful and- oh wait! That was almost his head gone.

 “You are amazing!”

 “Shut up!” He only reigned more, Antonio’s stances and back leans the sole thing keeping him from landing on the ground. It was becoming straining, he stood again, grinding down Lovino’s sword with his own, the spark and force getting him to level back up so their swords could properly clash in battle, high, downward.

 Yes, Lovino was skillful, admirable, promising for so much more…but like many he had weaknesses, clear ones that showed that he was indeed still learning. Antonio took advantage of it, using that breath, an instant new force on his strength, a powerful slash that had the sword flying from Lovino’s grasp. He himself felt to the ground to catch it, saving the room from the loud clang, heavily breathing, defeated, kneeling…yet with so much sun in his hazel eyes that Antonio though it a defeat unlike any he had seen.

 “May I suggest breathing exercises to help keep them more controlled in battle, as well as trying new handle hand positions to make it easier at whatever change and outcome.” His smile was as an unchanging, with no trace of battle or exhaustion, while Lovino was sweating and finding it hard to even stand again.

 Antonio offered a hand to help him up, and Lovino took it without complain, balancing well, yet needing rest, his hold on the sword trembling, but he would not switch to anything when he looked to Antonio, bearing obvious questions and…impression at how a mere cleric could best him in a sword fight. It was a wondered gaze that had Antonio fueling, smiling on and thinking himself surely an object of dreams for Lovino.

 “It’s getting pretty late,” he put his own sword back in its hidden scabbard, “how about we both head to bed. We can make another match some other time.” He turned with a wave, his usual skip and direction…while Lovino was still debating with himself if this had all happened.

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