#one bar is ¥1430

[babygray-dam]

Gintama Valentine chocolates, Yorozuya ver. (ruby strawberry) and Shinsengumi ver. (dark nuts).

[gravid-transluna]

Two Birthdays: Part One

words: 1430

content: masturbation, birth denial, fpreg

A birthday is a special day. Her friend’s twenty-first should have been Mari’s only focus. However, Mari had been distracted the entire day as they spent time at the resort’s expansive pool and spa. It hadn’t been so bad at first. Her friend’s mom, Noemi, was nearly a week overdue with her second child, and though she had started the day in modest clothes—a maternity sundress draping her huge, full swell, navel protruding starkly, pressing downward from her middle—, the afternoon sun had continued to shine down on them, forcing Noemi to shed her dress, pulling it up her belly and over her head.

Mari’s face had flushed and she’d turned away, ashamed and furious at herself for her own thoughts, but she’d already seen the nakedness of Noemi’s belly, taut at the seams and painfully overdue, hanging low over her hips and melting into her otherwise small, slim frame. Sweat had shimmered, bright, on the stretched, striped skin. A dark linea nigra ran down her middle to her navel. Her belly button was hard and round like a stone. Underneath, she only wore a white two-piece bikini, and her breasts, once small and subtle, hung swollen in her top, nipples and areolae visible.

Mari’s heart wouldn’t stop fluttering every time Noemi lifted her slender hands to cup her swell, or when she rose from the sunbathing to reapply sunscreen and Mari saw her from the back; though she still tried to step with her usual grace and poise, her gait was wide, baby obviously dropped between her narrow hips, reducing her to a waddle.

It was a very uncomfortable day to be a lesbian with a fetish that especially appealed on an older woman.

This wasn’t the worst of it, though.

Mari first noticed it when Noemi reached across the table for her drink.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“Of course!” Mari squeaked.

Then Noemi’s face changed. Her reaching hand flew to her belly, and Mari followed it to see visible tensing, muscles clenched on either side, misshapen around her huge baby.

“Oh!” she said. There was something in her face now. Surprise, but also a slight urgency.

“Ms. Noemi?” Mari asked. “Are—are you okay?”

“Mm,” Noemi said, and took her glass. “I’m fine. Thank you, Mari.”

This happened multiple times throughout the day, and every time she saw that mound tense then sag, muscles relaxing, Mari’s pussy pounded badly, pulsing.

She stayed in the shade, sipping nothing but cold water with ice while her friend and the others ordered drinks at the pool bar.

After about another hour of this, Mari couldn’t take it. She left and walked to the restrooms and found a stall. Inside it she immediately yanked her bikini bottom down her legs and pressed her fingers to her clit. Her pussy throbbed for release, dripping and clenching. She began to masturbate standing over the toilet, imagining closing her lips around one of Noemi’s stiff, milk-heavy nipples.

Fuck, she thought. Fuck, fuck. Her pussy began to pulsate under her slick fingers. Her thighs shook as she came.

“Shit,” Mari said aloud, then she wiped herself down and pulled her bikini bottom back up and exited the stall, washing the slick from her hands in the sink.

Suddenly the restroom door was flung open. Mari jumped guiltily, then her eyes widened in shock as Noemi raced past her, not even noticing her at the sink, bowed over her low belly, a hand clamped to her crotch. She ran into the handicap stall and slammed the door shut. It was quiet for a moment. Then—

“Ohhhhhh.”

A muted, breathless moan and a loud splashing sound.

Mari stood frozen. She heard a small gasping from the other side of the stall door, and approached hesitantly. She rapped a timid knuckle on the door and the gasps stopped.

“U-um, Ms. Noemi? Are you okay?”

There was silence. Then, “Yes, just some Braxton Hicks contractions. I’m sorry if I startled you, Mari.”

Noemi’s voice sounded strained, so uncharacteristic of her usually soft, modulated tone.

Mari hesitated. “Are you sure? Do you need any help?”

More silence. The stall door unlocked from the inside. Mari pushed it open and her heart thumped in her chest at the sight inside.

Noemi was standing over the toilet, thighs wide apart, knees slightly bent. Her bikini bottom and legs were soaked with fluids. Her belly, somehow, appeared to hang even lower, navel pointed almost to the floor now with weight and fullness. Her face was sweaty, cheeks flushed, short dark hair clinging damply to her forehead.

“Oh my god, Ms. Noemi,” Mari said. “Your water broke, didn’t it?”

Noemi’s face tightened and she pressed her lips together, nodding and closing her eyes. She clutched reflexively at the orb between her thighs as it flexed, hardening, muscles like iron. Her brow wrinkled and she grunted as though she couldn’t stand the pressure anymore.

“Mari,” she gasped. “I need you to step out, please. I’m—I think I need to—relieve myself.”

Mari shook her head. “I think it’s the baby! Are you feeling like pushing?”

“Ughh.” Noemi’s eyes were squeezed shut. “Yes. I need to push.”

“Oh my—“ Mari trailed off. “We’ve gotta call you an ambulance.”

Suddenly the contraction released Noemi. Her belly slackened. She collapsed onto the toilet seat, thighs spread wide to accommodate her massive stomach. She panted, chest heaving.

“No,” she said. “It will ruin the party.”

“But—“

“Please.” Noemi’s eyes softened, and Mari perceived her desperation clearly. “You’re one of my daughter’s more mature friends.  I don’t want to embarrass her or cause a scene, and I need your help.”

Mari gulped. “What can I do?”

Noemi sighed. “Thank you. I just need to last until the party is over.”

The restroom door opened and someone walked in.

“Ms. Noemi? Are you in there?” The voice was a little slurred, tipsy from afternoon drinking.

Noemi composed herself and raised her voice. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“O-o-okay. Haven’t popped yet, have you?”

Noemi managed a weak laugh. “Holding it in.”

For now, Mari thought.

They waited until they heard the door close. Then Noemi said, “Could you—I need you to—” was she—blushing? “I can’t go back out covered in my waters.”

“O-oh,” Mari said, and she was suddenly aware of the distinct odor coming off of Noemi, the scent of her fluids, fecund and thick, the musk of a woman close to birthing. Noemi stood as Mari grabbed a wad of toilet paper and began to dab her formerly lean thighs, thickened over the course of her pregnancy.

“And–” She was really blushing now, Mari marveled. “I’d do it myself but–I can no longer reach around my stomach.”

Happy to. Mari drew her fingers around Noemi’s hips, noting the slight intake of breath as her thumbs brushed swollen underbelly. She hooked her bikini bottom and exposed her fleshy pregnancy pussy, damp and swampy, and the odor was stronger now. Mari breathed.

Then, “you have to close your legs.”

“Mm, trying.” Noemi struggled, the baby lodged in her pelvis making it almost impossible to pinch her knees shut. Her eyes widened. “Oh no…”

Her belly hitched and went hard. Her knees immediately buckled, thighs wide again.

“I need to push,” she said. She groaned as she began to bear down. The sides of her belly sucked in with the force of her pushing.

“No! Ms. Noemi, you have to hold it in, remember?” Mari said.

“Hnnnnfgh,” Noemi groaned. She tried to resist. “Hooh-hooh, god. I need to push.”

Mari, not knowing how to help, planted her palms on Noemi’s belly and rubbed the hot, furious skin. It burned under her palms, fevered. She could feel the desperate convulsions of Noemi’s strong internal muscles as they worked to expel her baby against her efforts.

“Oh,” Noemi grunted.

“Sorry!”

“No! No–ouugh–please. Don’t stop.” 

Noemi closed her eyes and raised her chin, swaying back and forth as Mari stroked the tight, oblong surface. Experimentally, she flicked her thumb across Noemi’s bulging navel, and Noemi shivered.

The contraction ended, leaving Noemi worn and restless, her baby’s head burrowed deeper into her birth canal, fuller even, than she’d been before her labor. Mari removed her hands from Noemi’s belly, and Noemi appeared embarrassed, almost bashful.

“I wish–hah–you didn’t have to see me like this, much less care for me in such a compromising–ugh–condition. Modesty is hard enough to maintain when it comes to pregnancy.”

“You’re beautiful,” Mari said honestly.

Startled and disarmed, Noemi looked at her. It could have been the heat flush, or she could have been blushing again.

[cottonlemonade]

How You Met (and other stuff)

word count: 1430 || avg. reading time: 6 mins.

pairing: post-time skip Daichi x chubby!Reader

genre: angst, a dash of fluff, smut - it has it all, happy ending I’d say (or very happy ending ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))

warnings: mdni, nsfw, getting stabbed (no actual description, just… it’s happening quite casually)

> so how you met was a bit wild

> Daichi had a blind date

> a friend from work had talked him into it and Daichi made the grave mistake of telling his mom about it when she called demanding her weekly update on his life

> upon hearing her only son had a date she immediately made an appointment with her fortune teller and was delighted to tell Daichi that it was predicted he would meet his wife on the day of his date

> Daichi highly doubted that that would be the case but humored his mom

> after the blind date he met his friend for a drink, very sure that while the set up had been nice enough, she seemed more interested in his looks and badge than his personality

> as he brainstormed with his friend how he would let his mom know that she would have to wait a bit longer for her grandkids he heard someone shout “Watch out!” and got pushed out of the way

> a young woman around his age had shoved him off his stool

> confused he looked you up and down then noticed the knife sticking out of your thigh and his eyes widened

> a man dressed in black hurried out of the bar and Daichi was torn between staying with you or running after him, but his friend was already in pursuit, calling for backup

> “Don’t move.”, Daichi said, offering his steady hand to your shaking one

> What were you thinking!? Guilt washed over him that a civilian got hurt because someone tried to harm him

> while you waited for an ambulance he tried to distract you

> apparently you had also just been on a blind date tonight but the guy, upon seeing that you weren’t slim and leggy, had just turned around and left without even saying Hello

> somehow that just made Daichi even angrier because when he the adrenaline had subsided a little he had not been able to stop staring at you

> not only were you brave and selfless by protecting a complete stranger (although he was saving a severe scolding followed by a long lecture on self-preservation for later) but you were also - in his opinion - just absolutely stunning and joking around mere minutes after literally being stabbed in your … very plush thigh (Daichi shook his head to keep his thoughts straight)

> using strong liquor the bartender kindly provided he poured some over the wound, making sure to leave the knife in, marveling once again at your strength that you hardly even winced

> Daichi joined you in the back of the ambulance and actually visited you every day until your release, bringing you flowers and good food, every time staying just a little bit longer so he could talk to you

> when you were allowed to go home he offered to drive you and as you said Goodbye at your door, he finally worked up the courage to ask you out

_________________

Two Months Later

When you had first suggested it, Daichi was all for the idea. The incident at the bar still lay heavily on his mind and whenever he closed his eyes he could still feel your blood running through his hands where he had used napkins to stop the bleeding.

As far as he could tell, you carried nothing but a scar on your upper thigh from it. You still limped on occasion when you two took a longer walk in the park or when you came home from work, having had to run to catch your bus, but besides that you seemed perfectly fine. Although once or twice shortly afterwards, you had bolted up in the middle of night drenched in sweat, calling his name. In those nights he wanted to cry or break something for you having been in danger in the first place.

And then he would hold you tight until the morning and tell you that you were safe, that he would protect you.

So, saying that you wanted to learn to defend yourself properly sent a rush through his body. Of course he immediately agreed and booked the studio he usually trained at for his next evening off.

“So the first thing you need to know is how to stand.”, Daichi said, taking position next to you.

You nodded.

“Since you are right handed, you would keep your left foot forward, and your right foot would be at an angle. - Just like that, perfect.” He put his hand on your shoulder, guiding you a little forward. “Don’t stand too straight, you gotta slouch a bit. - Exactly, you’re a natural.” He kissed your cheek and went on, “Now, you lead with your right, so you will want to jab with your left, keeping your right for your power punch.”

He demonstrated and lightly punched the air, watching as you followed his example.

As the night went on, you eventually switched to training with pads. He had you punch his hands in alternating patterns, correcting your stance, encouraging you, reminding you to move. Sweat was running down your back and your arms were glistening, you were getting tired.

You started to pant and the throbbing in your thigh was killing you, but you didn’t want to stop.

Daichi straightened himself when he saw your leg shaking.

“Stop.”, he told you, “You are in pain.” It wasn’t a question and he looked at you disapprovingly.

“No, I’m fine, let’s keep going.”, you said, raising your hands for another set of jabs.

“y/n.”, Daichi’s tone was stern, “When did it start hurting?”

“I don’t know.”, you said truthfully. You had been wrapped up too much in the training to pay attention.

Your boyfriend shook his head and took off the pads, nodding towards a bench in the corner.

With pursed lips to conceal a groan you sat down and stretched your leg. Daichi knelt in front of you and carefully took off your gym shorts to have a look at the scar.

“You need to be more careful.”, he scolded, gently massaging your leg with his warm hands, having you close your eyes in sweet relief.

After a while he asked quietly: “Have you been lying to me…?”

Your eyes shot open in shock. “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t been able to sleep over this past week. Are you sleeping well?”

“Of course I am.”

“Then why your sudden interest in kickboxing?”

You avoided his eyes. For what seemed like an eternity, none of you said a word, both trying to focus on anything but the tension his implication had left behind.

Letting out a deep breath, he leaned his forehead against yours. “I am so sorry.”

“There is no reason for you to be sorry…” Tears began to fill your eyes.

“I should have seen him coming, I should have been the one protecting you, that’s my job, I shouldn’t have-”

You cut him off with a kiss, cupping his cheeks to pull him closer. He breathed heavily, kneeling between your legs, running his hands up your thighs, closing the gap between your bodies.

Guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist, he lifted you up like it was nothing, keeping his lips firmly pressed against yours. The cold concrete of the wall against your back made you gasp, letting him deepen the kiss.

You felt him hard against the thin fabric of your panties and held tight to his hair.

The only sound for a long time in the empty studio was your heavy breathing.

“Hold on.”, he whispered against you and you tightened your arms and legs around him.

Supporting you with one hand on your ass, he pulled your panties to the side and relieved his now painfully hard cock from his sweat pants.

His thrusts were slow at first. Deep and sensual. He kissed your neck and breasts, getting rougher by the second.

He felt hungrier now, increasing the pace, leaving you grabbing his shoulders in sensitive pleasure.

All the anger, all the fear, frustration and hatred he had felt since the attack were breaking free and the powerlessness that controlled his thoughts was washed away.

You called out his name over and over, letting it echo through the studio.

His kisses at your neck had become bites, alternating between teeth and lips.

For a while he held you there, pressed against the wall, twitching in his arms, tears running down your cheeks from the intense climax.

“You are my everything.”, he said softly in your ear, kissing your jaw, then cheek, then finally your lips.

✨ @briokayama ✨

[lostfirefly]

You’ve Got The Same Dream as Me (Ch. 3)

Hello, kiddos! The idea for this fanfic came to me from a dream (again) I had about a month ago. Тhe main characters were Tom Cruise and Henry Cavill (don't ask me why), but with a light hand they have been replaced (sorry, guys). The main action of the dream took place somewhere in the sands. Аlthough this fanfic will feature Sir Crocodile and our beloved Buggy, the action shifts to the desert. No marines, ships etc. Sorry, not sorry :) The devil fruit's abilities are preserved. Catch the Mummy and Indiana Jones vibes :) I have no idea how many chapters there will be. Different titles and names from the original source material will be used to emphasise the general OP's vibe.

Since English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :) 

And thank you to my dear @yujo-nishimura and @laurasoretta for believing in me :)

Description: Catherine, a librarian who is searching for the trail of her sister who went missing on an expedition. Notes in books and diaries lead her to Cairo. There she finds a retailer from an artifact shop who, in exchange for selling her a map and equipment, insists that Catherine take her along. They get into a little (or maybe a big) adventure.. 

Warnings: 12+, I think. As always, no smut, angst, violence. Adventures and fun only. Buggy x OC, Sir Crocodile x OC.

Words: 1430 (sorry, not sorry)

The title is taken from «You've Got the Same Dream as Me» (Sonya Belousova & Giona Ostinelli) (One Piece, Netflix)

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Rika and Catherine held their way to a small bar. 

"Is this man of yours reliable? Can he be trusted?" Catherine could hardly contain her excitement.

"I wouldn't trust a clown like him one hundred per cent, but yes, I can vouch for him", Rika said, scratching her left arm.

"I don't trust you much either, but you probably know the local best, so I don't have a choice".

"I'm sure I do", Rika laughed. "God, you say the strangest things sometimes.

"Okay, well, you have to explain one thing to me. Why we're going to a bar when it's not even noon?".

"Other days we would go to his circus tent. But at eleven o'clock on Wednesday morning this man can be only here", Rika pointed to the bar sign. 

“Don't be like Tangerine and Drink at Arlong's”? Catherine squinted, putting a hand to her forehead, shielding herself from the sun, she read the bar’s title. "What idiotic names these places have". 

The girls entered the bar. Inside, there were massive wooden tables and chairs, the floor was scuffed. Yes, it had clearly seen better days. The air smelled of alcohol and tobacco.

"Why are there pictures of people who look like fish on the walls?" Catherine whispered, nudging Rika lightly in the shoulder.

"Because this bar is run by Arlong, damn it. Once upon a time it belonged to someone else, I honestly don't know who. But the last owner owed Arlong money, so-- The owner was never seen again, and the bar had new owners". 

"But why are they fish?" Catherine whispered again. 

"You've never heard of fish people?" Rika asked in surprise.

"Fish people? No, there aren't any in my country", Catherine shook her head negatively. 

"God, you live a boring life there. Wait a second..."

Rika suddenly stopped a man passing by with a tray. Honestly, he looked more like a squid or an octopus with the human body. 

"Hey, Ernie. Have you seen our mutual friend? He should be here by now", Rika asked, taking two whiskey glasses from the fishmonger's tray.

"He's over there by the bar top. How did you not notice him right away", the squid replied with a grin. 

"Thank you, sweetie, you can go now", Rika nudged Ernie lightly in the back and turned to Catherine. "He's here, just as I thought. Please, Catherine, honey, do me a favour. Just don't stare at his nose, or he'll freak out and we won't get anything out of him".

Catherine shrugged, not fully understanding the last comment. 

"Buggy, mate! You don't change! It's good to see you in good health", Rika said cheerfully as she approached the blue-haired man.

"And hello to you, my cookie", the man turned round in his chair towards the girls. 

Catherine could barely contain her surprise. He was a tall man with blue hair that was covered by a striped bandana. His face was covered with makeup. Lipstick smeared around his mouth, drawn crossed white bones and blue lines near his green eyes adorned the man's face. But the first thing that caught her eye was his red nose. 

"Now I understood why she asked about the circus. Damn, he looks like a clown", the thought flashed through Catherine's mind.

"Please tell me that glass is for me. You owe me one after your loss in our drunken roulette game last month", said Buggy, pointing to the drink.

"Don't remind me of that night, please", Rika rolled her eyes and placed one glass in the clown's hands. 

"Come on, it wasn't that bad. You even went home with a cute cook", he replied with a laugh.

"You're a jerk", Rika replied with a chuckle, sipping her whiskey. 

"I think we figured that out a long time ago. So.. Wait...", Buggy glanced at Catherine, "who's that with you? Is that for me, too? Well, look, Rika, my biscuit, you certainly lost last time, but this is too generous".

"Gross", Catherine cursed out loud.

"What did you just say, cotton candy?" Catherine could hear the irritation in Buggy's voice.

"I said tha….", she didn't finish the sentence. 

"Okay, okay, guys, calm down. We got off on the wrong foot", Rika took Catherine by the shoulder and sat her down at the bar to Buggy’s right. "Buggy, this is Catherine. Catherine, this is Buggy. And I'm not going to ask you to make up on pinky toes. Now let's have a drink to lighten the mood". 

When the waiter brought everyone a glass of whiskey, Rika sat down on Buggy's left. They began to whisper about something. Catherine leaned slightly over the counter to get a better look at his big red nose. 

After a couple of seconds, noticing her interested look in his side-eye, Buggy stood up abruptly and walked away. 

"Could you please not stare? I told you!", said Rika with irritation in her voice. 

"I di…, I didn't... I've never seen anything like it. Is it real?"

"What? His nose? Yes, so what? Do you have a problem with that?" Rika sipped her whiskey, giving Catherine an angry look.

"What? No, I don't. He’s… He's cute. Even with that nose", Catherine blushed a little. 

The girls sat alone for a few minutes, until finally Buggy came back and plumped down on a chair. 

"Hey, fishy, let's have some more whisky! A bottle!" he said, making a characteristic gesture with his hand.

"Look, Buggy", Catherine mumbled, "I'm sorry if I offended you… by staring.. staring at your nose". 

"Baby, I'm Buggy the Genius Jester, you can't offend me", he said with a laugh, "So, Rika, my dear pie, what brings you to me? I'm sure it wasn't just a drink".

Rika cleared her throat.

"Listen, we need to get to the Sabaody Desert. You've been there a few times before, you know the way". 

"Why do you need to go there?" asked Buggy, opening a bottle of whiskey. 

"I'm looking for my sister", Catherine said loudly, she was very surprised at how loud she sounded. 

"And? What do you want from me? Find some young boys or grandfathers, I don't care who will take you there", he sipped the whiskey from the neck of the bottle. 

"But you know those places better than anyone in this town", Rika replied, putting her hand on his shoulder. 

Irritation came over Catherine. She seemed to be wasting her time with meaningless conversations.

"Look, I was told you're the coolest guy in this town", she made air quotes, "And you can be trusted. But the way I see it, you're just a drunken piece of shit". 

She jumped up from her chair. 

"Catherine, calm down and sit", Rika hissed.

"No, let's leave and find someone else. I don't want to waste my time talking to a grown man who painted himself to look like a clown".

"She's so boring, why did you bring her? She's ruining my buzz!", Buggy looked at Rika with surprise, pointing the neck of the bottle at Catherine.

"Don't you dare point that slobber bottle at me, you jerk!" she slapped his arm. 

"Sorry, your highness", he bowed royally. 

Rika threw an angry look at Catherine.

"I said sit down!" she drilled her with her eyes.

"Shit.. Are you sure that jackass is the best and can help us?" Catherine asked with surprise in her voice, pointing at Buggy.

"Baby, I'm the best at everything", he said, running his hand down Catherine's neck.

"Alright, lovebirds, that’s enough", Rika slapped her hands on the table, "Cathie, show him what you showed me". 

Catherine growled and quickly pulled diaries, maps, notes out of her bag and placed them on the table.

"See?" Rika smiled. 

"Fuck me! What's that? You think this is... Coordinates?" Buggy grabbed the diary and started flipping through it. "I wonder... Very interesting. You're not so simple, pumpkin", he reached out and started running his hand through Сatherine's hair. She yanked back.

"There's what you love so much, my dear clown. Treasure! Don't tell me looking at those cards didn't make you think of it", Rika whispered in his ear. 

"I can pay you to take us there. And if there's really something in there. I don't know.. gold or diamonds or women or whatever you want to find, you can have it. Please!" Catherine looked at him with pleading in her eyes.

"Of course, you'll pay, my cotton candy, I wouldn't get out of my chair for free", Buggy glanced at Catherine. She suddenly felt goosebumps run down her spine. "Well, when do we start?"

[ms-erin-kallus]

I Can’t Destroy What Isn’t There

Chapter 8

AO3 link ~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/44541196/chapters/122272963

Agent Kallus woke groggily and rubbed hard at his tired hazel eyes as he slowly looked around into the unknown darkness that surrounded him. The meteorite that sat above him had long faded into nothing more than a simple stone, and so left the only light afforded him to come from the small chrono at his bedside. 

Panic quickly set in as he realized that he was in <em>his</em> bed before he shot up and scanned the room with sudden focus. How did I get here, he thought as he racked his brain for memories that wouldn’t come.

Wait, who put me into these clothes?

At the foot of his bed sat bottles of water, a few small foil packets, and a couple of protein bars. There was also a note, stay off of it for a few days, please.

He stared at it for a few confused seconds before he finally managed to bring himself to look at his bedside chrono, 1430.

At least it’s not too late in the day, he thought before the date made his eyes go wide in shock. It had been a full rotation and a half. His mind began to reel with excuses for his unauthorized absence; that was, until he remembered that no one had probably even noticed, or cared that he was gone. There would be no surprise either way. 

A tangle of hair caught in his fingers as he tried to run them through the disheveled mess on his head and he could only sigh before he carefully moved to sit on the edge of his bed. The deep ache in his leg felt substantially better than it had before as he carefully kneaded his fingers deep into the muscle. 

As he placed his feet onto the cold floor, his toes stretched back and forth as he tried to recall and categorize his last memories into some semblance of a memory of what might have happened prior. 

Ambush. Bahryn. Orrelios.

Family.

His face fell forward and he stared blankly at a wall that offered no answers before he managed to clumsily push himself up to standing.

Before he could realize what was happening, a bright blue light suddenly filled the room as an electrical current came hurtling toward him.

R3 unexpectedly charged up to him from the dark corner by his door, “what does the note say, stupid human?”

“What the hell?” Kallus yelled as he threw himself back into the corner behind him to avoid the droid’s rage. “You are definitely her droid,” he scoffed loudly when he realized who his attacker was. He gingerly scooted back to the edge of the bed and glared at an annoyed R3 before pain suddenly shot down to his toes and reminded him of his real problem.

“What are you even doing here anyway, don’t you have someone else to torture?”

“Yes.”

Kallus placed his feet on the floor again and the droid increased the current and pointed it directly at him. “Okay, okay, the cold feels good on my feet,” he conceded with his hands up at his sides in surrender, “calm down.”

Definitely her droid.

“Seriously. Why are you here?”

“I don’t know why she cares about you after everything you’ve put her through, or how she can overlook that you’re going to get her killed, but she told me to keep an eye on you because she had to go back to Lothal before you woke up,” R3 beeped.

Kallus shook his head, “back?”

“You don’t remember? Probably best. She’s too good for you and I despise you,” R3 beeped at him in a way that Kallus knew was hate filled sarcasm. “She dragged you to medical because you were seriously hurt and wouldn’t go on your own.” They backed up and took one of the packets from the table, “I will give you two every eight hours and monitor your progress.”

“How long do you plan on staying here?” Kallus almost yelled in literal horror. The few minutes they had been together were already too many. Entire rotations would end with either the angry little machine in the compactor or a very annoyed Kallus back in medical, or a corpse floating through space.

“The medical droid said to keep you off of your feet for at least three rotations. It has been one and a half. So, I’m here for another one and a half rotations.”

“You are absolutely not going to sit here and babysit m-,” Kallus started before the room lit up a bright blue again.

“I absolutely am.”

Kallus sighed hard as he realized that he had no choice. The droid was as stubborn as he was and had obviously been programmed to accommodate the fact, “where is Rhoan now? It would be nice-”

“Like I said, she’s on planet, not far enough away from you in my opinion. Her work here is done so she had to go back this morning.”

Dammit, he thought as he opened the packet. “What is this?”

“I’m hoping fatal, but they’re probably just painkillers.”

“You don’t have to be such an asshole,” Kallus retorted harshly as he tried to determine how to get a restraining bolt inconspicuously delivered to his room.

The droid just sat silently.

Kallus tore open the packet. “Maybe I’ll have to tell her?”

“Do it. Who do you think she’ll believe, the dangerous Imp or her faithful little droid? The droid that she loves.”

Kallus narrowed his eyes and glared at the machine with a jealousy he didn’t expect. “Sure, a droid can understand complex human emotions?”

“Probably better than you can.”

Kallus breathed in slowly to keep himself from reinjury while attempting to break the hateful and angery machine in front of him. Rhoan may have been able to put the things he had done in the past but he knew that she would end his future if he did anything to her protective little companion. “Fine. My datapad is in the drawer at the end of the bed. Will you get it for me since I’m apparently bedridden,” he asked nicely out of feigned defeat. 

Kallus watched the droid turn away before he quickly and quietly stood up.

The R3 unit turned and threw the datapad at him on sight as it rolled over, arm aglow again.

“Stop,” he yelled as he put his hands out in front of him. “You can’t shock me because I might reinjure myself and th-,” he protested.

The current surged twice before R3 warned him, “that’s your problem, not mine. I can stay here for weeks if that’s what you really want.”

“That is the last thing I want.”

“Then, sit down,” the droid threatened as it rolled over to the dark corner from where it came. “Find something stupid humans do and leave me alone.”

~

Kallus did find something to do; he researched Geonosis.

I never asked questions.

The next two rotations were spent relentlessly digging through anything and everything he could get his hands on regarding the planet and what could have happened to cause its population to completely disappear. He had a feeling that he couldn’t shake, and much to his horror, it was for good reason.

He had initially hoped that perhaps it had been a planet wide exodus due to some sort of mass extinction event. They already lived underground due to prior events that caused the surface to become uninhabitable; perhaps something new had happened that drove them completely off world. Something he somehow had never heard about. Or, possibly, it was a full-scale re-colonization. The Empire had a habit of confiscating entire planets to bleed dry their natural resources if said resources were of value, or even simply if its location was beneficial. 

But, he knew deep down that the Empire wouldn’t waste those kinds of funds, not on civilians.

He also knew neither scenario was correct.

Judging by what he had found, along with what he had seen in orbit around the planet, the population had basically been enslaved to build some sort of Imperial project. Whatever the project was, it was massive and a pretty well-kept secret.

He felt sick. Apparently, once they were of no use, they were simply eradicated. It was the only plausible explanation. It was genocide. It was one hundred million souls gone without hesitation.

By association, it was his fault.

Kallus wiped any traces of his investigation from his datapad and tossed it to the foot of his bed. Everything that he had been trained and conditioned to believe throughout his entire career was authoritarianism, plain and simple. He couldn’t believe that he was too stupid to never see it for what it was.

The ISB’s brainwashing techniques were impressively and terrifyingly effective.

~

The small green machine that had spent their time slowly tormenting him was gone when Kallus woke on the third rotation of his droid mandated medical leave. The small red light, the one that he knew was some sort of warning beacon, was replaced by darkness and his newly found freedom. 

Things could’ve gone much worse, R3 mostly left him alone unless it was time for medication or food. Unfortunately, the one thing he wasn’t allowed to do was shower. They were afraid he would slip and fall, and Kallus would never admit it out loud, but he was too. The refresher alone was a difficult task at first. 

An encrypted message of physical therapy stretches was sent to him before he even woke up from his procedure. The need for encryption was puzzling but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless. Most of that night was a blur of fuzzy or straight up missing memories, so he was sure there was a good reason for it that he just couldn’t put together.

The painkillers prescribed didn’t help any. He didn’t even know how he got back to the dome from the star destroyer he was on.

Though he was sure that his absence had gone unnoticed, it was time for him to at least make some sort of appearance before he could disappear into his office until summoned for some sort of task or mission that he couldn’t just delegate to a subordinate. 

The residual emotions from his cold reception lingered in his mind with their claws dug deep and refused to let go. That was assuming they ever even would.

It felt like they were a parsec away as he walked as nondescriptly as he could to the communal showers at the end of the hall before someone could notice his still unsure gait. Empathy was hard to find in the military, but gossip was not. A few sideways glances quickly reminded him of that adage.

He could’ve spent the entire cycle under the hot water that relaxed his sore and tired muscles as he tried diligently to work the knots from his shoulders and relieve the strain on his knee. A sudden thought jarred through his mind and he immediately turned the water off and grabbed a towel. 

A few minutes later he stood in front of an empty cooler while seriously considering leaving the base to go to a market and find fresh fruit. He would have done it too, but his datapad chirped something about a stowaway rebel and a defected droid that included a report that he needed to read and a search party that needed to be formed to look into the matter.

That overachiever will probably thank me, he thought as he immediately forwarded the message and transferred the assignment to Lieutenant Lyste. Aside from the menial task, he didn’t want much to do with any of their targeted missions or operations, and knew he wouldn’t for awhile.

However, the correspondence was a sign that people were aware that he was available again and so his fruit fiasco was put on an unwanted hold. A caf and one of the better-quality protein bars would have to suffice.

~ 

Kallus hummed mindlessly to himself as the lift began its descent into the depths of the dome. The reverberations went all the way down into his chest as he tapped out an erratic rhythm on the side of the cup he held. There was an ease about him that he rarely felt and it was a welcomed respite from the recent hell that he found himself, and her, thrust into. 

Small echoes carried down the hallway with each step and he let them fall in line with the rhythm of his fingers. He almost let himself make up the lyrics to a verse but remembered that he had a reputation to uphold and ‘the singing ISB Agent’ didn’t carry the same bravado of his typical character.

However, the second he rounded the corner and made eye contact, a suffocating tension filled the air with an almost choking heaviness and uneasy warning.

It was more than obvious that the woman standing at the counter with her back to Kallus felt it because she took a small, obvious step backward the instant Rhoan’s gaze hardened. Their transaction continued in a loud whisper until R3 came out from behind the counter to pull a dysfunctional droid back into her work area, and did so without acknowledging him at all. 

The woman’s face immediately fell to the floor when she turned and saw one of the last people she thought she would see there before she scurried away silently into the safety of wherever it was she was going.

“Okay then,” he mumbled to himself as he looked up to a face he didn’t expect. He cleared his throat quietly before he set his offering on the counter, “I assumed that you probably didn’t eat.”

Rhoan sat silent, but he could see that her mind was racing as she tried her best to decide her next words or her best course of action; he assumed it was most likely both. 

Kallus felt his throat go dry.

The hinged door of the counter slammed loudly before Rhoan grabbed his hand and began to literally drag him toward the farthest wall of her work area.

“What is going-” he started but the look on her face when she turned back to him stopped him from finishing. “Rhoan, I can’t move that quickly yet,” he pleaded.

She didn’t stop but she did slow substantially as they came around the last row of shelving and toward a small door at the end of it. It hissed open quickly and she practically shoved him into it before she put her fingers up to her lips.

Be quiet.

The door closed behind her and Kallus was left standing alone in what appeared to be a small utility closet. What felt like an eternity later, she finally reappeared with a small micro ion pulse mine and activated it. His eyebrow raised at the suspicious move as a soft, blue glow illuminated the concern on her face. 

For a long, few seconds the only sound between them was the soft hum of the apparatus at their side, “Rhoan?” he asked carefully.

She began to say something but no words came. Her mouth closed and she thought hard before she finally spoke.

“You can’t be here.”

She shook her head mostly to herself, “the droids didn’t record but if there was a malfunction in any of them,” her whisper trailed off as she looked at the floor in contemplation of possibilities that he didn’t know what were.

“What is going on? You are beginning to seriously worry me,” he asked with quiet concern, unsure as to whether or not he could speak normally as the smell of the grease on her clothes blended subtly with the faint scent of the Imperial issue shampoo in her hair. It was a unique mix, but then, she was as well. He liked that about her, that he never knew what he was about to get. Except this time was an exception.

“What do you remember from that night? When you went to medical.” she snapped as his stomach immediately fell to the floor with the force of a seismic charge. “All of it. Everything. Tell me.”

“I, um,” he looked at her and she cocked her head to the side as if to tell him to both hurry and also be as thorough as he could. “I remember the hallway, kind of.”

I remember that you wanted to run from me.

“And after the hallway?” she asked, ignoring her own demand of everything.

“Not much. There was a needle.” He let out a nervous laugh that she disregarded.

“This part is important,” she reiterated with raised eyebrows, “do you remember anything you said?”

Kallus could barely breathe through the thick suddenly stagnant air, what did you do?

“I don’t,” he wasn’t sure what to say. Apparently he remembered less than he thought and her behavior wasn’t helping his memory in the slightest. “I feel like I-”

“You said some stupid shit, Kallus,” she told him with a quiet waver in her voice.

 Call me Alex.

The sound of stretching leather reverberated through the brutal silence.

She looked back down at the ground, “you really don’t remember anything,” 

“Feel free to let me in on the mystery,” he said, his temper beginning to rise out of confused desperation. If he put either of them in danger then she was wasting time. He would need to run damage control as soon and quickly as was possible. 

“You said something,” she took in a long breath and nodded slightly as if summoning the courage to keep looking at him, “something that bordered on sedition.” 

Her last word echoed loudly through his mind.

“You said you hated the Empire.” Rhoan’s brow furrowed and she looked at the device on the counter, “they have executed people for much less, and considering I didn’t go straight to command with this, it looks like complicity on my part.”

She was right. He had just spent almost two days learning about how they carried out the literal extermination of a species for no good reason. Killing one ISB Commander gone rogue would be nothing. A lieutenant on an outer rim planet that heard some words would easily be less.

“Look, I didn’t think that anyone was going to come looking for me out there, and I was just still upset about it. I was heavily sedated and emotional,” he said carefully. It wasn’t a complete lie; he was actually pretty pissed about the cold reception upon his return.

“I guess that makes sense.” She looked down to her side, “You’ve been nothing but a good and loyal agent of the ISB. I knew better than to think that way of you.”

“You’re also a loyal and outstanding servant to the Empire, which begs the question, are you going to inform anyone anyway," he asked cautiously, his heart pounded in his ears so hard he could barely hear what he said to her. Command could know whatever they wanted as long as it didn’t include her.  

“I can’t now. Not without incriminating myself,” she said with an abrupt tinge of hostility.

He could tell that she was angry with herself for that, for not only risking her career but possibly her life. He was angry with himself for putting her in such a situation. Again.

“Fixing this is all contingent on one thing.” She looked him dead in the eye, “this infatuation of yours has to stop. There is no reciprocity and you need to accept that already,” she said pointedly. “This is the third time that you have put me in a precarious situation. Two of them could’ve gotten me killed. One still may.”

She was stern in the delivery of her verdict, her resolve unrelenting, and it shattered him into a million invisible pieces held loosely only by a fleeting hope. 

“Rhoan, I-“

The low hum of the device went silent and the cold, blue light went dark when she reached over and turned it off, “no, you need to go now.”

 Please don’t. 

She looked down as she reached over and opened the door. 

There was the sudden sound of wheels racing away; R3 had obviously been listening in. 

When he didn’t move, she looked out subtly to let him know that it was, in fact, time for him to leave her.

He looked down at her, desperate for eye contact, for her to see that she was making a mistake. “You don’t want to do this. I know you don’t.” 

He felt her anxiety skyrocket as her body instantly went stiff, but still she didn’t look away from the door. “I have to,” there was a graveness in her voice that caught him off guard and he was finally forced to come to the realization that there was nothing left for him there anymore. There was nothing in the Empire and certainly nothing in that closet.

His shoulders fell at her words and he reluctantly turned away from the only decent thing that had happened to him in as long as he could remember. Even if it was merely infatuation, it gave him something to look forward to that wasn’t saturated in war. And yet, once again, war was all he had, except now it was in two theaters instead of one.

“Alright,” he said quietly as he began to walk out. 

He had given her no reason to trust him but every reason to fear him.

The door quickly whirred shut behind him and like that, he was alone. Again. 

He walked to the end of the row of shelves and looked back one last time before he scolded himself. “What did you really expect?”

Deep inside of him he knew that to protect her from the impending wrath of the Empire that would eventually fall over him was to forget that she ever existed. It was the only way that he couldn’t risk putting her in danger again.

Her nonexistence was his new reality.

With that, his head fell and he slowly made his way back to the lift, giving her time to change a mind that he knew was already set. 

Disappointment is built on false hope.

Unlike before, every step he took down the suddenly long hallway sounded like a seismic charge in his ears. His feet dragged heavily as if the floor had become a thick swamp that he could only try to free himself from. He knew total escape itself would be impossible no matter how hard he tried.

175…174 the lift chimed in front of him with every level it passed. Kallus could barely wait to get to his office where he could try to decompress some.

And most likely break something.

That wasn’t going to happen.

Konstantine’s voice unexpectedly grated against his ears.

“Ah, Agent Kallus, just who I was looking for,”   

[seltzerizfriend]

Logs for August 22 & 23

I'm combining these two and not putting that much effort in because I can barely generate enough joules of energy to not fall asleep sitting up.

August 22: Got in a good workout in the morning and studied for three hours for my precalc exam. However, I got a little more tired (mentally more so than physically) towards the evening and wasn't able to do as much studying as I wanted.

Breakfast (0950):

Oatmeal, 258 cals

Lunch (1410):

Deviled eggs, 185 cals

Buckwheat with relish, 194 cals (honestly if you haven't tried buckwheat yet its a great safe food and I highly recommend it because its low in cals (155 for a cup), filling, and nutritious. unfortunately it can be pretty expensive and difficult to find in the usa in my experience)

Sausage, 180 cals

Yogurt, 90 cals

Total: 622 cals

Snack? (1430):

Despite having a rather substantial meal, I was still hungry 20 minutes after eating and I decided to have a bit more food since I was still under and I hadn't eaten that much for a few days beforehand. Unfortunately, I did not stop to wait another 20 minutes after eating my first snack and right away started eating to satiety. This could be counted as a b*nge, but when I b*nge I usually premeditate it more or I completely lose control, and none of those things happened here so I am not counting it as one despite going over my cals for the day.

Bagel, 246 cals

Cream cheese, 100 cals

Chicken nuggets, 475 cals

Condiments, 83 cals

Protein bars, 420 cals

Milk, 163 cals

Total: 1487 cals

Dinner (2050):

Raspberries, 10 cals

Day total: 2377 cals

Exercise

45 minutes of various bodyweight exercises, 201 cals

Net total: 2176

August 23:

I had my precalculus exam in the morning, I don't think I did great but I think I passed. After that, I practiced my driving for a bit. I was planning to go for a walk, practice my languages, and go to karate, but I started having horrendous period cramps even with medication and was unable to do any physical activity so I just laid in a hot bath for 3 hours instead.

Breakfast (0800):

Oatmeal, 258 cals

Oat milk, 45 cals (i'm a big milk fan, but it does have quite a bit of calories even if its fat free (and i can't really stomach the taste and texture of fat free milk in the first place) and this delivers the texture without the calories. unfortunately its not as sweet as cow milk because that has lactose, a sugar, and this was unsweetened. but still it was pretty good and i can definitely get used to it)

Total: 303 cals

Lunch (1245):

Crab casserole, 295 cals

Banana, 121 cals

Total: 416 cals

Dinner (1915):

Egg salad, 316 cals

Seaweed salad, 15 cals

Lettuce, 4 cals (i am a guy who eats lettuce raw and plain and have been told that this is a red flag)

Banana, 121 cals

Total: 456 cals

Net total: 1175 cals

[traipseartist]

The dregs of October 11th, October 12th - Paris, Rome, Naples, Bed

After bon vivanting around Paris, Aneyn was kind enough to take me out for another round of drinks and dinner--this time a little closer to home. We trekked to a bar or two in the Marais hopeful but pragmatic about the nature of Paris on a Friday night and eventually settled in at a place called The Cambridge Club (truly adorable coming from my Oxford-grad host). The vibe was perfectly gloomy and the drinks fabulously twee.

Then after flirting with the blonde, beach-haired server, we paid our dues and made our way to a new spot called Piccote.

We ordered with eyes to functional dishes and received some unique takes on certain French classics. I am still wishing I could summon our cheese course back into existence. Then, sleepy eyed from the week, wandered home, sneaking some mango and chocolate ice cream from a late night spot that sold empanadas (?) on our way back.

Back in Aneyn's flat, I mentally prepared myself for the early morning tomorrow, repacked my suitcase, and watched Aneyn's stockinged feet bob along to a Beatles' song while hanging off the side of a loveseat huddled in a corner of her studio. She read me the history of Grace O'Malley (lady pirate, Irish, general bad-ass) and her piratical career. I am thankful to have good friends after all this time and after all.

I am sometimes reluctant to count travel days because the airport, especially, eats my soul. (I promise, one day, I will post a long and unoriginal kvetch about airports. I am currently fighting that impulse.) But I don't think you get to traverse three major cities in a day and write it off, so I report in despite this being a hobby I do for fun.

I took the metro to O'rly after bidding Aneyn and her lovely Parisian flat adieu. I decided at some point in the packing process to only pack a duffle (that has straps to easily wear it as a backpack) and an incidentally matching backpack (which I wear on my front like a nervous tourist or that weird kid you went to middle school with) because in my experience navigating airports and the metro with wheeled luggage--especially subway systems that existed before escalators were common--is harrowing. It also has the added bonus of giving a mobility that people with rolly-bags do not have. I am almost always able to rush down the stairs to catch a train. I always make it through passport control first. I can snake down stairwells while everyone waits cow-eyed for the elevator. Usually it's worth the cost of carrying literally everything I'm traveling with for X days on my back. But sometimes...

Well, let's just say Europe was definitely built for skinny people and tiny bags. And not the wonky, lateral disaster that is Marisa the Mobile-Luggage-Sandwich.

But we hobbled through security, ate airport quiche (that had no right to be of the quality it was), nodded off on an easyJet full of giggling French humans sneaking away for the weekend, and loped through FCO on a mission to meet Rose, who had landed about an hour earlier from her 12 hour slingshot via SFO.

We needed to be in Naples by 2100, and it was only 1430... How much of Rome could we squeeze in?

Turns out... Some!

We scuttled to Roma Termini via the airport's train hub and (for a small fee) left our bags with very audible humans who urged us on. From there we bumbled across the touristic landscape, locking eyes with old buildings--famous and unfamous.

Rose and I chatter about recent life events while stepping around slow moving tourists and tiny merchants trying to hawk everything from external batteries to tiny, water-spitting fans. Catching up, we wove our way to an early dinner at Osteria Da Fortuna.

The energy inside the little restaurant was minorly riotous. Humans slipping in and out and by and through. The menu was too long for a place that had a woman hand cranking penne by the host stand... You were getting the pasta--why else were you here?

I had a glass of rosé rosato that made me mourn America and after some deep breathing (to fit in more pasta) we slipped out and bolted back to the train station to meet our insistent Neopolitan Airbnb host that was getting increasingly nervous that he didn't have a solid arrival time from us yet.

We bought tickets for the next train (accidentally for the following Saturday... Oops), pulled our luggage back from the jaws of the bagliagi deposito, and waddled with earnest fury to the platform that would send us at breakneck speeds hundreds of kilometers south to Napoli.

After a little confusion we hopped from Garibaldi station down to the local metro and bobbed and weaved around teenagers, small barking dogs, and the dark mysteries of late-night Naples. Winding our way through the Centro Antico like rats in a maze, we dove out of the way of speeding Vespas and ducked under hanging laundry in the tight and high-walled streets of the ancient city.

Our host, tired of waiting to hand us keys, sent a cryptic video of the path to his Nona's house from the front gate of our rented apartment and I sat whistling a tune while Rose disappeared to go negotiate with a non-English speaking grandmother.

After sleuthing to figure out which of the dozens of units was ours off of the main courtyard, we whispered to four separate locking mechanisms. Climbing up another flight and a half of stairs and into beds firm enough to put bounced change in ceiling plaster, we beelined it for bed.

Tomorrow, Napoli in daylight. Capri from the water.

[adventurebeforedementia]

Full on celebration

After arriving in Edinburgh, we had a chance for some sightseeing before the wedding celebrations began. So we visited the Scots Monument, watched a local band including piper, entertain the crowds in Princes Street and visited the National Gallery before meeting the family for dinner.

The following day we caught up with the brothers and their families again to visit the underground vaults. These candle lit passages in the Old Town, dating back to the 1700s, are considered to be the most haunted places on earth. The tour took us under the South Bridge where the poor and homeless lived, a witches’ coven gathered and crime was rife. I didn’t want to spend too much time down there and wouldn’t have gone near the place without a guide with a good torch!

It was finally time to start the wedding celebrations at the spectacular Borthwick Castle - one of Scotland’s best preserved fortifications dating back to 1430. But before we could relax and celebrate John and Stephanie’s wedding, we had to go to war with the other guests at the Highland Games in the walled gardens. We were divided into three clans and after we had added our war paint, we went into battle.

Our first challenge was to toss the caber. No mean feat, a long telegraph pole rested on your shoulder which you are expected to toss so that it lands on its end and falls forward. I’m proud to say we both took on the task and successfully delivered even though mine landed on the row of bunting completely flattening the Scottish flags and poles! A guest commented: “Typical English, trying to scupper the Scottish Highland games!”

Then it was onto tossing the log on a piece of rope backwards over your head and clearing a metal bar. Every time we successfully achieved this, the bar was moved higher and I was terrified one of us would be knocked unconscious.

Throwing the wellie and the haggis, learning a Scottish reel - a major cardiac workout - and trying to get a musical note out of the bagpipes completed the two hour games. Our reward - a barbecue - and the whole event proved a real ice-breaker allowing us to meet the other guests before the big day.

The wedding itself was stunning. Guests were welcomed to the castle by a piper who also played a key role in the ceremony earning a traditional dram of whisky from the bride for his efforts.

The ceremony took place at the top of the tower accessed by many flights of spiral stairs. Negotiating these steps in high heels proved almost as challenging as the games. Stephanie looked radiant and John every bit the smart clansman in his specially made Innes clan tartan kilt for the occasion. After dinner and speeches, Stephanie and John’s favourite band entertained the guests until midnight.

No sooner had we left than we were back again at the castle for the third day and the final farewell Scottish brunch. This was a chance to catch up with new friends and say goodbye to Alex’s brother John and his family as they prepared to return to the States.

We spent our final day in Scotland with Alex’s oldest brother, Michael and his daughter. We went to Crieff to visit the family’s home town. The brothers had grown up here and we saw their old family home and primary school before taking a tour of Morrison’s Academy independent school where all three won scholarships to attend; another trip down memory lane 55 years on. There was also time to walk to the top of The Knock for a fabulous view across the town to the mountains beyond.

After saying goodbye, we left Edinburgh and are now pitched up in Maryport Marina in the Lake District for the final leg of this amazing journey.

[smediumsmeatbae]

You Only Hear What You Want

PAIRING: Ransom Drysdale × Reader SUMMARY: Ransom is at a party with his girlfriend and spots you.  WARNINGS: Ransom trying to get into your pants, flirting, Ransom’s cheating ass, swearing, drinking, a bit of angst WORDS: 1430 A/N:  This (not) drunk drabble is from @the-ce-horniest-book-club with the prompt: “No, no, see, I think if you're committed to somebody, you don't allow yourself to find perfection in someone else.” To be fair, I was a bit drunk when I asked for the prompt list so hopefully that counts? This is my first fic writing for our favorite bad boy in a sweater and I have to say I loved writing him! His POV was so much fun.  You do not have my permission to post this anywhere else. As always, likes/reblogs/comments are appreciated

--------****--------

The scotch that Ransom sipped from the glass didn't seem to be enough to keep his mind occupied. He was at a work party his grandfather was hosting for his newest book. Harlan had insisted that Ransom come, so he could mingle with publishing insiders and try to make some contacts. Harlan was forever trying to get Ransom to “make something of his life”, but as far as Ransom was concerned, he was. He did what he wanted, he fucked who he wanted, he had all the best clothes, cars, and houses. Why would he want to work when he already had everything he needed? That’s what Harlan didn't get about Ransom. He liked to claim that he knew his grandson so well, that Ransom reminded him so much of himself when he was Ransom’s age. If that were true, then he would stop trying to make him go to these asinine parties and just let him be.   

He declined the invitation, initially. Ransome told Harlan that he would rather be dead than go to one of his awful parties. But then both Harlan and his mother threatened to cut him off for good and while death seemed like a good alternative to the party, he could never stand to be poor. So with a fake as hell smile plastered to his face, he changed his mind and said he would love to go to the party, on the condition that he was allowed to bring his newest girlfriend. 

Candy’s (or was it Cindy?) laughter pulled him back to the boring conversation they were having at this equally boring party. She was some young, blonde, undergrad, sorority thing he had picked up at a bar about a month or so ago and just kind of stuck around. She was nice enough, he guessed, and she was good in bed. But she was vapid and her laugh was like razor blades to his brain. He sighed out a huff as his free hand lingered on the small of her back. He wasn't paying attention to a word but at least she felt good against him, for the moment at least. 

His eyes started to scan the room, looking for something, anything, to distract him from the soul crushing conversation he was having to endure. He was about to give up, take the girl and get the hell out of there. After all he had spent enough time mingling and the scotch wasn't doing shit anymore. He stopped, however,  when he spotted you. 

Ransom had never seen you at one of these tedious events before, that alone caught his attention. Usually the same exact people always came to these things. But you, you were fresh, you were new. Maybe... maybe you hadn’t yet heard about him and his proclivity to “pump and dump” women, as he had been so crudely described. (Not that it wasn't true, but whatever.) He looked you over and he couldn't help but salivate just a bit; you were slightly curvy with long legs that seemed to go on forever. This was accentuated by the coral colored dress that had a slit that went halfway up your thigh. You had ample perky breasts he could see himself motor boating. Your chocolate colored eyes seemed to hold some kind of secret as you chatted casually with people and your sun kissed skin looked delicious enough for him to eat.  

Without a word, Ransom left Cindy (maybe Susan?) with her current conversation, giggling like an idiot. She called out to Ransom and asked him for another cran-vodka, which he decided to ignore. If luck was with him that night, he wasn't leaving with her anyway.  He stalked toward you, silently maneuvering through the crowd. For how broad he was, he always took pride with how well he moved. He wasn't bumbling around like other guys his size. It took only mere seconds for him to be beside you and immediately he had his arm around your waist, his mouth close to your ear. 

“Can I get you a drink?” Ransom’s voice low.

****

Your body froze as you felt a foreign arm surround you, interrupting your conversation with a coworker. You had just started at Blood Like Wine two months ago as a copy editor and this was the first event that you had been invited to by your boss so you could get to know the upper management in a more relaxed setting. It was something you had been looking forward to, until some creep muttered in your ear about a drink. 

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” You replied curtly, swirling your almost full wine glass at him to signal so.  “C’mon, babe. Lemme get you something better than that house wine. Trust me, it’s not that good.”  “Look…” You started, not really feeling like being chatted up. 

Looking up at his crystal blue eyes, your sentence stopped. You couldn’t help but feel the butterflies in your stomach as you took a good look at him. He was gorgeous. Tall and muscular, with a small waist, and built chest and arms. You could tell he loved working out his upper half. He smiled at you cooly, eyes twinkling back with a seductive charm you felt like he had used on many women before you and after you. You were smitten, you had to admit, and you couldn't place exactly where you knew him from but he looked oddly familiar. 

You had no idea how, but Ransom, as he had introduced himself, had led you to a more secluded area of the party, chatting and shamelessly flirting with you. He was standing dangerously close to you, hands squeezing and releasing your hip. His other arm above you, tall body towering over your frame. He was talking to you about different countries he visited, art that he loved, music he was obsessed with. In turn, you told him about how you had come to be at the publishing company, how lilies were your favorite flower, and how you wanted to travel the world one day. 

"Maybe I'll take you with me next time; be your own personal tour guide." He smirked that confident smile again as a blush crept up your cheeks. 

It was so easy to talk to him. He made it that way with his easy laugh, his cologne that smelled like cedar mixed with musk, and his perfect lips. They were like pillows, pillows that you could see yourself kissing. You leaned towards Ransom. Reading you, he moved towards you as well, cupping your cheek. Your hand found purchase wrapped around his forearm. He was so close, you could smell the scotch on his breath. Your heart was slamming through your chest.

"Ransom!" You heard someone call out. 

You could feel Ransom's body tense up as he pulled away from you. 

“Ho-oooooney, where have you been?” A blond haired young woman with a baby pink dress suction cupped herself to Ransom, pulling on his neck and nuzzling herself into him. “You left me an hour ago to get drinks and you never came back.” “I’ve been right here, Princess.”  He smiled down at her.  “Can we go? I have class in the morning.” “Sure thing, just give me one minute. Go up to the front and I’ll meet you there.” He gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek and watched her leave before he turned back to you. “Sorry about that.” He muttered. “Think you can wait about 30 minutes while I drive her home? She lives just down the street at the college.”  “I don't think I can, Ransom.” You shook your head, collecting yourself. “You have a girlfriend. That’s not something I’m into.” “Oh… her? She’s not really my girlfriend. She’s more of a friend with benefits type of situation.” “She doesn’t seem to think so.” You crossed your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling sick to your stomach. “C’mon don’t be like that, baby.” Ransom cooed as he leaned back towards you. “I really like you and would like to get to know you better, if you’d just let me.”   “I think if you're committed to somebody, you don't allow yourself to find perfection in someone else.” You told him flatly, trying not to let the disappointment show in your voice. 

You didn’t care about his rebuttal, and didn’t want to stick around to hear more of his lies. You handed him your drink and brushed past him, walking out of the party and into the cool night air. You had enough mingling for the night. 

--------****--------

TAGS: 

@angrythingstarlight

@cheeseburgersstuff

[kvngjoong]

update (kinda?)

Hi guys, I know it's been over a year since I last posted anything whatsoever (an unintentional break due to the real world) but as I’ve just finished my post-grad studies, I have more time on my hands and writing is becoming a possibility once again. 

I'm not sure how many people do actually know but I used to write under the URL xiuminsm (maybe around 2014/15?) and heonseoks (until 2018) before I deleted my account due to some issues with others on the site. But I have a record of everything I’ve written since starting out with the Kpop Writing Community, even some from when I was in the One Direction fandom around 2012! Since it’s been almost 10 years since I started writing I wanted some opinions on what I should do with my old writing. My proposals are:

- I repost them with minimal changes (grammar, quality of life updates, spelling, me being bad with proof reading) when I get a chance to, reserving my time for new works; this means they will probably be very different to what I write now - I rewrite my old works completely (probably not majorly adjusting the length, but updating to my new writing style and probably making them way less cringe) to post here; this means I won’t be posting much else, bar some fics I already have done (onto this later) - I don’t post them and they remain a mystery (the ones I don’t mind being up how they already are can be found on my AO3, xuhei); this means I can work on all new stuff and everything else goes into the void 

Since I don’t follow Kpop as much as I used to, I don’t know much about new groups and only really follow my prev mains (exo, ateez, skz, day6, mamamoo and dreamcatcher) so I’m basically an old person in the community. I won’t be writing for anyone other than them and bts cause it’s impossible to learn everyone new. 

if you are wondering what I’m doing in the meantime, it’s league of legends. unfortunately that hell hole of a game has taken me hostage and whilst my mmr sits at gold, my rank stays at bronze. So if you want to play with me some time pls add me, i'm ZAAY on EUW (same for valorant, but I'm v bad at that). also can hmu on discord, urbeano#1430 so we can chat. don’t rat me out for writing a yasuo fan fiction. 

My WIPs are >> here << there’s some updating I need to do on that since it’s a bit old and some new fics are coming and some will be moved in priority. I’m not going to sweat like I used to over posting because ultimately I have a full time job in healthcare and with COVID it's pretty hectic, but I miss writing and joining the Warhammer community has enriched me with a lot of lore and likewise a lot of ideas. 

ty all so much for continuing to follow/support this dormant channel - let me know what you think!!

[afoolandathief]

Hello! Good Sunday to you! Day 16 is for Caz: what does he think of other vampires in general? Does he know many? Is he close to any other vampire? (Is his family still alive, for that matter? Is any of them a vampire, did he get bitten to become one?)

Hello, and happy Sunday!

Caz’s relationship with other vampires range between distant friendships, begrudging partnerships, or bitter exes. He tells Jade, after one frustrating interaction with one, to never date a vampire.

Caz was bitten in approximately 1430 in Transylvania, and — as he would put it — was either too cowardly or too stubborn to allow his blood to be drained or die in the attack. His one brother died in the attack, and the rest of his siblings had died or presumably died before this. His parents also presumably died sometime after; although Caz keeps his door unlocked whenever he’s home, in case his mother’s ghost somehow finds him.

There’s only about four known vampires in all of the Las Vegas area, and most like it that way. Food sources are limited, and generally a vampire doesn’t want to create more competition. Caz is a social person, and has had vampire companions in the past, but vampires usually keep to themselves; so he sees the others less frequently than, say, Lila, or the other bar patrons.

Caz has a complicated past with the vampire Valfierno (still trying to decide if I want to keep that name and allude to him being the possibly-fictional conman and art thief), where they’ve clearly worked together in the past but don’t really like one another.

It’s also hinted he at least had a fling with Tala, who is specifically a manananggal (“Jade, never underestimate the power of a woman who can separate her body in two.”); and he’s friends with another vampire, Temo. Then there’s his ex, Annette.

The thing is, vampires can get “stuck” in a certain era they’ve lived through (“Good thing that’s never happened to me,” Caz says, adjusting his pinstriped suit.); and Annette is stuck in a time-frame that Jade finds so entirely ridiculous, that, when she does meet her, she does not allow Caz to live it down.

[beautyslave17]

Produced Houses

. Is It Worth Making A Top Quality Build?

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Content

How The Property Improvement As Well As Repair Solutions In London Job.

Rj Repair Services.

Beginning Your Project.

Tiny Orangery Conservatories And Also Glass Conservatories.

This did not take place and also at 1920 on 13th Jun he mentioned he reimbursed the cash but would certainly take two days to clear, something my financial institution educated me would only take about two hours max as was a financial institution transfer. Having sent out messages today giving more opportunity to reimbursement I left adverse comments on Facebook. He has actually ultimately taken the page down, not the actions of a person that is genuine. I understand he made use of to trade as WBA Cleaning as well as Maintenance according to his invoice he sent. Please do not make use of NewLook building services Ltd based in Chesterfield.

Are orangeries warm in winter?

No - orangeries are not cold in winter, in fact they are very warm. Orangery roofs are highly thermally efficient, meaning that orangeries are warm and comfortable, whatever the time of year. building contractors local are as warm as any other room in your home – even in winter.

However, every sector has its cowboys and also plainly the structure trade is an industry. You'll be functioning closely with the builder of your new house for a minimum of six months, and you want to ensure you know with that you're. agreeing to work. The exhilaration of beginning construction on your new house might make you wish to hurry with this procedure, yet take your time; it's certainly worth it. Double check that the building contractors you want are actively constructing in those areas. If you're moving to a McMansion in Arizona, it won't be useful to fall in love with a builder that just constructs little residences in Alaska.

The very first tip-off is if they asked to be paid in cash, or cash-in-hand all with a pledge on no BARREL to be paid. There are, usually, a minimum of 100,000 grievances each year about them. They wreck points for completely trusted contractors, as well as for all the discuss them, they're in the minority-- it simply happens to be a minority that gets a great deal of promotion. When builders have an excess of finished new buildings, there is commonly higher inspiration to market.

If you are an accredited building contractor or tradesperson in NSW, you require to get residence building payment cover for each house structure job over $20,000 including GST. If you fail to show you have relevant site-based experience in a wide range of structure construction job, we can not accept your application. This includes dealing successfully with sub-contractors, customers and also others. As soon as you recognize what licence kind you want, and also you have actually examined you have the right credentials as well as experience, you can get a permit or certificate.

Just How The Residential Property Improvement As Well As Repair Solutions In London Work.

If you pick among these uninhabited brand-new residences, switching over out specific attributes for upgraded variations is often a straightforward procedure, as well as the home builder might agree to include a few of these upgrades as a reward. Don't depend on the builder to tell you when that factor has actually been gotten to. Instead, appoint Thame builder to check out the work and confirm that what you are paying for deserves the cash, and is full to constructing codes. Structure agreements are written by specialists accustomed to building terms and trade techniques. As well as it's likely that individuals who have put together the file you are informed is there to secure you, was, or is, a builder or market expert.

What is the difference between an orangery and a sun room?

The most striking difference between sunrooms, conservatories, and orangeries are: Orangeries are supported by solid brick-built pillars, low-level walls and/or an insulated internal pelmet. Orangeries tend to feature bright & airy roof lanterns, although these can be added to conservatories too.

While you don't want a home builder that purposely takes a long time to finish a task, neither do you want a builder who is eager to do the job quickly, or that regularly knocks off early during the task. Making your Certificateor Diplomain building as well as building and construction must not gobble every one of your time and savings.

Rj Repair Providers.

Are orangeries warmer than conservatories?

Orangeries tend to be a little warmer than conservatories because they have brick walls which can be insulated to keep in the warmth. Because of the brick walls, the heat will have a harder time escaping. The cold will also have a harder time getting in thanks to the insulated walls.

Sign-up to our newsletter and keep up to day with everything home building/ layout associated including information from your much-loved neighborhood home building contractors. If you are a person that holds a structure or swimming pool building licence or certificate, you are needed to do Continuing Specialist Development. Your permit will certainly be automatically suspended if you do not adhere to an order by a court or the NSW Civil or Administrative Tribunal to pay money for a building case.

Do glass box extensions need foundations?

The principal of a glass room does mean the base required is fairly flexible as you do not actually require foundations as you would for a conservatory or brick built extension but only require concrete pads where the support legs are situated.

Most rogue builders do not bring insurance, either, which once again could function to your detriment if an accident took place. Cowboy contractors are merely rogue investors, of course, usually with little or no knowledge of structure, so you wind up with a messed up work-- that's if it's ended up in all. Experience as a Proprietor Building contractor, or as the owner of a Proprietor Building Contractor Authorization, is not appropriate to satisfy the functional experience needs to get a permit or certificate as a contractor. From this moment forward, Checkatrade worked to assist display the best tradespeople from around the UK and has continued to do so since.

Beginning Your Project.

These internet sites hold the information of countless home builders and structure business. Home builders' scores on these sites are based upon the responses from clients, so the much better the task done by the home builder, the greater the ranking. Keep an eye out for boards on building sites in your area, yet always do your own research study also.

Do conservatories need foundations?

Like other new extensions, conservatories must have foundations in place. Foundations are necessary for transmitting the building's weight safely to the ground. Without adequate foundations, the structural integrity of a conservatory is severely affected.

As the day progressed we heard nothing and also I started to try to call. Ultimately he addressed and reiterated his purpose to do the job. When he fell short to do so or even allow us know as it was obtaining later wouldn't show up we realised something was incorrect. The following day after countless efforts through message and also calls,, he eventually agreed to refund the money after 1430.

Small Orangery Conservatories And Also Glass Conservatories.

Let The Sunlight In! Everything You Needed To Know Regarding Sunrooms

They are cowboy builders.They took our deposit worth ₤ 5000 as well as vanished. We took care of to track them down and also found they own one more registered business called NewLook plastics Limited.

Does an orangery add value to your home?

An orangery can increase the value of your property by almost as much as adding a traditional extension. On average, an orangery will cost upwards of £20,000, but it can be cheaper, depending on the size, style, features, and materials you choose.

Newly Constructed Houses.

Information regarding general building work permits and certifications. lately conducted a study finding that possibly 2.5 m people have had a conflict with their building contractor or designer in the past 3 years. does not claim the number of individuals it checked so, if you read my current short article The dangers of studies, you must understand to take the number with a pinch of salt.

It's a help, as well, if the builders and participants of some profession group-- although check that too, given that cowboy structure companies have been known to fake membership. Ultimately, never ever pay in money, as well as absolutely never ahead of time-- you need to only spend for work that's been finished. The very best thing is to learn to identify the cowboy home builders early, so you can transform them away-- it saves a great deal of difficulty later.

Anybody building a brand-new residence needs to sign a contract, as well as while the builder states it is "typical documentation", to lots of people, it's anything however. Besides the late shipment of the ownership a number of other malpractices are complained versus the building contractors.

Inspect online for testimonials as well as get comments from individuals that have actually used the home builders prior to. We reserved WBA building as well as building based in Cheltenham using Facebook search, to provide and also fit a garden bar at expense of ₤ 550. The Thursday beforehand he got in touch with to state as the climate was poor he would not be able to execute the job. Nevertheless, on the Saturday we called him as well as said as the weather condition looked great would he be concerning finish the work. This he stated he would as well as would certainly call 30 minutes in advance so we really did not have to wait in.

Also, the warranty solution has actually been really fast when required.

Beazer Houses - Exceptional experience with the sales group and also the constructionOmar E.

Exceptional experience with the sales group and the construction manager cooperating with me on all queries.

Victoria was currently the biggest market in the country for new detached residences as well as the state has actually uploaded a near-record variety of beginnings in 2017/18.

They don't feedback as well as we could not acquire anyone to help accessibility services.

Brain was our sale's rep. He was excellent in assisting us seal the deal.

It needs to be a fulfilling experience that arms you with important knowledge and also establishes a straight path to your job advancement. A degree from an Australian university (in building, construction, building task management, building management, used scientific research, amount surveying, or building and construction business economics). The level must require the applicant "to undertake the equivalent of 4 years' full time research and also a required job placement".

[swervavery]

Chocoholic | Daniel Seavey

Pairing: Daniel Seavey x Reader

Summary: An alternate universe where you crave the food that your soulmate eats. The more one eats, the more the other will crave it.

Warning(s): None

Word Count: 1430

A/N: I really liked the idea for this imagine, but I’m not sure how I feel about the finished product. Please let me know what you think, any kind of feedback is highly appreciated.

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

I get off the phone with my friend and turn on the TV, glad to finally hear about something other than her impatience to meet her soulmate and get them to stop eating shrimp. Apparently, this is the third time her soulmate has eaten it this week, which wouldn’t be a big problem, if it wasn’t for her shellfish allergy. It must suck to crave something you literally cannot eat. Luckily for me, my soulmate doesn’t have any weird food habits. I do find myself craving apple juice quite often, but that is about it.

I get up from the couch to have another chocolate chip cookie. While on my period I usually resort to ice cream as my comfort food, but lately I’ve gained an obsession with chocolate. This week has been especially bad, and I have eaten every single piece of chocolate in my house. I am now on the second to last cookie, and I groan as I realize I’m going to have to leave the house and get more chocolate. I have been living on the couch for the past two days and I know that I look like a mess. The thought of having to shower and make myself look somewhat acceptable triggers another groan to leave my throat. What one does for chocolate.

Daniel’s P.O.V.

We are finally finishing up in the studio after a long day of recording, and I’m packing up my stuff when Jonah suggests we order take-away pizza to bring back home with us. We all agree and settle into the car while Jonah is on the phone. The drive to the pizza-place takes almost ten minutes, and we’ll have to wait at least another fifteen before our pizzas are done. Corbyn spots a grocery store further down the street and asks me to go with him to get us something to drink. I agree, and we head over to the store. Inside, we walk towards the sodas, but I stop short at the sight of the chocolate isle. I’m pulled towards it, my feet moving like they’ve got minds of their own. I have had an insane craving for chocolate the past three days, and it has been annoying the hell out of me, because I hate chocolate. Yet here I am, looking at all the colorful bars, not wanting but seriously needing it.

Y/N’s P.O.V

I push open the door to the grocery store close by my house. I had showered, put on pants, and “fixed” my hair, aka made it look slightly less like a bird’s nest. Even though I didn’t really want to leave my couch, I really wanted chocolate. Walking through the mostly empty store I make my way to the candy section. My stomach cramps up, and I hardly notice the other person standing in the isle, only focusing on getting my chocolate and going home to my couch and Netflix.

My hand instinctively reaches towards a bar of plain milk chocolate, and I am surprised when instead of getting hold of the chocolate, my hand crashes into another. I look up to see a tall, blonde boy with eyes so startlingly blue I almost gasp out loud. We look at each other for just a second too long, making the air around us thick with awkwardness. He clears his throat, and I avert my gaze, suddenly finding the floor remarkably interesting.

I glance up at the boy again, opening my mouth, hoping my brain can come up with something to defeat the awkward silence. Thankfully, I’ve been in a lot of social encounters, and my brain naturally comes up with witty, intelligent comments, fitting the situation I’m in. A couple of hours after the interaction. For now, all that comes out of my mouth is a low “umm” sound. The boy in front of me simultaneously starts with an “ehh,” and I see redness cover his cheeks, no doubt matching mine. He moves his head and hands in a weird little gesture, and I interpret it as a silent offer of the chocolate. I smile slightly, grab the bar off the shelf, and automatically tell him “thanks”.

I contemplate turning around and leave, but something is holding me back. “You’re a chocoholic too?” I ask the blonde, mentally applauding myself for managing to form a coherent sentence. He shakes his head, something between a smile and a grimace forming on his face. “Not really, I’ve just been craving it lately.” I nod my head in understanding, before responding, “I usually prefer ice cream, but I’ve recently been getting more into chocolate.”

Daniel’s P.O.V.

Another awkward silence settles between us, but I can’t bring myself to end the conversation, if you could call it that. Suddenly, Corbyn comes around the corner, calling out to me, “Dan, I’ve got the drinks! Should I get you some apple juice as well?” I don’t know if I want to hug him or yell at him for the interruption. “Yeah, that would be great, thanks.” The cute girl in front of me lets out a tiny laugh, and I glance back at her as she says, “That’s so weird, I don’t love apple juice, yet I somehow always crave it.”

Studying her standing there, bar of chocolate in hand, something inside my brain clicks. “You don’t think…” She looks at me quizzically, not understanding where I’m going with the conversation. “That, like, you and I are…” Her eyes widen and her mouth opens slightly as she catches on to my thoughts. I quickly realize how weird and creepy I must seem to her, and mutter out, “never mind, of course not, that’s just stupid….” I turn around and walk away, embarrassment flooding through my body.

Y/N’s P.O.V

I hastily walk after him, softly calling out “hey” as I grab his arm. He turns around, and for a second I’m speechless once again, but my head clears enough for me to tell him, “I never caught your name”. He looks both hesitant and relieved at the same time, staring at me with his captivating blue eyes, “It’s Daniel.” I hold out my hand for him to shake while introducing myself, and once our hands touch I feel a chill run up my arm and spread through my whole body. “Well, Daniel, I don’t know if we’re soulmates, but I think you’re cute and I’d love to hang out sometime.” He takes a moment to react, and then he quickly pulls his hand away, fumbling around in his pockets. “Y-yeah, for sure, sounds great! Just let me, umm”. Daniel pulls out his phone, and I get my own, opening the contacts app and handing it over to him. I type my number in his phone and he types his, then we swap phones again. Silence enfolds us again, but this time it feels less awkward. There is an electricity in the air, fueled by the knowledge of what we might be to each other.

Our moment is once again broken by Daniel’s friend, who yells “Daniel, stop flirting and let’s go!” Warmth spreads over my face, and Daniel takes a small step backwards towards the entrance. “It was nice to meet you Y/N”, he says, slowly walking towards the doors. “You too Daniel”, I tell him, watching him reunite with his friend who smirks and mutters something to Daniel, earning himself a punch in the arm. I smile to myself and walk to the register to pay for my chocolate.

I’m finally back in my couch, remote in hand and scrolling through Netflix while munching on chocolate. I consider finding a new movie or series to watch, but

decide against it. Instead I pull up Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and re-watch old episodes of my favorite comedy-cop show. My phone beeps, indicating a new message. Reaching over to the table, I pull it up and see a notification for a new message from cute grocery-store-guy. I smile as I open Daniel’s message, the TV and chocolate forgotten. It was really nice to meet you today, Y/N. I have to work this week, but what do you say I take you out to lunch or dinner on Saturday?  I’m about to respond, when three bubbles pop up, showing Daniel is writing another message. Also, I don’t know if we’re soulmates, but I actually can’t stand chocolate, so maybe you could stop eating it, just in case?  I chuckle to myself and settle in for an evening of chatting with Daniel, no longer needing chocolate to distract me from my period cramps.

[ccnqueror]

d. Friday, 3rd July.

l. Malfoy Manor.

w. 1430 words.

tw. swearing, blood, murder.

There was only one rule in the Malfoy family. It hadn’t always been this way, of course; a certain little boy needed quite a few of them, growing up. But they fell away as he aged, either by lack of necessity or lack of temptation – there was, after all, little use for a rule that nobody wanted to break. And so, only the one remained; a single, fragile little rule that had become more tradition than anything else, even despite how much both Malfoys wanted to break it.

But it remained: Friday was family dinner night, and skipping it meant no dinner at all. For all his complaints, though, Ducky had never missed a single one – until now.

Abraxas dabbed absently at the corner of his lips, smiling. Perhaps he would burst into the boy’s room and read aloud whatever embarrassing poetry he was writing about his girlfriend – never mind the fact that she was a Gryffindor. The half-blooded part, Abraxas could forget. But Gryffindor? If Bertha Jorkins ever moved in and changed the aesthetic of the Manor, Abraxas was going to have a heart attack.

“Bring that up to his room,” he ordered, gesturing to the untouched plate beside him. “Don’t let him eat it, though – he knows the rules. Just throw It at him.” He paused. “Extra points if you get it in his hair.”

The elf scurried away, whimpering; Ducky was not going to take that sitting down, after all. Abraxas chuckled, lips against the wine glass. Good, he thought, it’s been far too quiet today. His wife once said, ‘a quiet Ducky is a dangerous Ducky’, and Abraxas was inclined to agree. Their son had always been temperamental, and he made his upsets known – for Ducky to be silent meant either something was terribly wrong, or he was up to something.

“I wonder,” the patriarch mused aloud, “which is it, today?”

He smacked his lips. Never mind that – there was a far more pressing matter, here. His wine glass was empty.

Abraxas stood up. He’d call an elf, ordinarily, but, well, it was probably getting ready to run for its life. A twisted smile spread across his face. That was his evening plans made: get drunk and watch his idiot son kill the house-elf. Perhaps he’d call Ava and they could bet on the outcome.

The house-elf, of course, was Abraxas’ pick.

His shoes clacked against the flagstone steps to the cellar. Abraxas steadied himself against the wall, slightly tipsy, his absent whistles swallowed by the empty corridor. The iron-barred door creaked as he swung it open jovially, humming still, musing aloud what wines to pair with the image of a lifetime –

He tripped.

“Oh fu­ –!”

Thud.

An unfamiliar set of eyes stared up at him, wide open and glassy.

Dead.

There were stab wounds all over. The face, the torso, the arms; each of them were covered in dry blood, and even the pool on the ground was starting to congeal. Some of the wounds were deeper than others, some shallow, some revealed the stark-white bone underneath – was it an animalistic rage that fuelled this murder, or the desperate attacks of someone driven by fear?

Panic clutched him. There was half a knife wedged deep in the rib of this corpse, the handle end having broken off. Where was it? With the murderer? Where had the murderer gone?

Upstairs?

He scrambled to his feet, mind whirling. Who was this man? A robber? Someone who had followed Ducky home from the train station, someone come to mug him, someone who was in the house somewhere –

There was whispering from the dark corner of the room. Abraxas rounded on it.

“Who’s there?” He called threateningly, wand in hand. “How did you get in here?”

A choked sob filled the air.

“Lumos.”

The large shape in the corner of the room flared into colour – red, white, black. The figure was hunched over, heaving as it cried softly; one arm lay over its head, its face pressed into the top of the knees. Abraxas squinted. There, matted and tangled, was a pale tuft of white-blond hair.

“Ducky,” he gasped, breathlessly gripped with panic. “Lucius.”

He hurried over, tugging gently at the boy’s forearm. He unravelled himself, lifting his head: streaks of tears marked their way through the red splattered on his face. Lucius was a mess. His clothes were askew, ripped in some areas, stained in others. His hand was covered in it, long enough to have crystallised into rough pellets on his skin.

Abraxas trembled. “What happened?”

Lucius did not look at him. The two pinpricks of his light grey eyes shone through the blood on his face. He was staring at the body, saying, “I did it. I killed him.”

His father sucked in a breath. Abraxas ran a hand through his son’s hair. “Did he attack you?”

“He wasn’t supposed to,” the boy confessed. “I had him tied up.”

“You brought him here?”

He began to cry again. “I wanted to make you proud. I wanted to make them proud.”

Abraxas’ stomach fell. “Them.” He rubbed a dirty hand on his forehead. “You’re joining.”

Lucius curled into himself once more. “They won’t take me. Not after this. Not after how badly I botched it.” He rubbed at his eyes, already puffy, starting to colour purple. “I screwed up, dad. I screwed up.”

The older Malfoy pulled at his son’s forearms once more, trying to see his face. “What do you mean? What happened?”

There was a whimper. Lucius looked down.

The other half the knife was sticking out of his hip.

“Oh Merlin,” said Abraxas. “We need to take you to Mungos –”

“I can’t,” Lucius squeaked. “I need to deliver it by tonight.”

Abraxas made a sound. He reached out. “Let – let me try to fix this. Let me –”

“I thought I was going to die.” Lucius slumped. “I was calling you. I needed you. I thought he was going to kill me. I thought –”

“Fuck.” Abraxas wrapped his hands around the boy’s head. “I’m sorry. I’m here now.”

Lucius placed his forehead on his father’s shoulder. “I really thought I was going to die. And I – I – I was so scared.”

“It’s alright. You’re safe now.” He pressed his lips against his son’s hair. “I’ve got you.”

“Do you think anyone would come? To the funeral?”

Abraxas hissed. “Let’s not talk about that. Let’s get you upstairs.”

“No,” said Lucius, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Ducky –”

“No one will be there. No one will come. Just you, Aunty Ava, the boys. No one else. Not – not for me.”

Abraxas pulled him up. “No,” he said, “people will be there. People will remember you –”

“You were right.” He pushed himself away from his father, leaning heavily on the wall. “What you said to me last month. On my birthday. ‘Here, there was a Malfoy, and he had a mediocre little life –’”

“I didn’t mean it,” said his father softly. “It’s not true.”

“But it is!”

“Ducky –”

“Look!” He kicked at something on the floor. Half a wand rolled over the flagstones. “Look what he did to me! That muggle – that fucking muggle snapped my wand. He snapped my wand and tried to kill me and he very nearly succeeded!”

Abraxas squeezed his eyes shut. This had happened while he was eating dinner. “We need to get you upstairs. We can fix this –”

“—and what does it matter if you do? If this happens again next time –”

“—I will be there next time!” He gripped his son’s shoulders. “I swear it.”

“So you can watch me fuck up again?” Lucius pulled away once more. “I know what you think. I know you’ve always thought of me as a failure and this – this is just more proof that I am.”

“But you didn’t fail, son.” Abraxas grabbed the boy’s face. “Listen to me. No, no – listen. You didn’t fail. That muggle is dead. Whatever else happened doesn’t matter. He’s dead. You killed him. You survived him. And you’re going to do it again. And again. And again. You’re a Malfoy. You hear me? You’re a Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy. You’ll outlive them all. And you’ll carve your name into the history books. Here, there was a Malfoy, and he paved his way through the war. And he killed. And he lived. And he made his family fucking proud.”

[lantern-inthenight]

Playing the Vocals (series)

Chapter Three: Power and Control

Pairing: Josh x fem!Reader Word Count: 1430 Warnings: Language, pettiness A/N: Alright y’all, it’s here already!! I’m on a roll with this one, so hopefully I’ll have Chapter 4 up soon (cause that’s where things get turned up to 11 hehe) Also, get ready to stan Miss motherfucking Michaels. Eternal thanks to @sparrowof-thedawn for proofreading this for me <3

Summary: Josh and Reader are competing vocalists at a music college. They are each trying to win a competition as soloists, but their advisor tells them they can only win as a duo. They begrudgingly become partners, but find that they may have bitten off more than they can chew.

You actually looked forward to practice that Friday. Your short conversation with Josh had given you hope that you might actually be able to get along. You almost felt a kinship with him, even if that kinship was founded only on your shared tastes in music. But still, talking to him had been kind of pleasant.

It was nice while it lasted.

“See, this-- this right here is why I can’t stand you!”

Your shout echoed through the music room, and was bounced back to you with an equally-scathing insult from Josh.

“Well, at least I’m not a control freak!”

Miss Michaels sat at the piano looking tired. You and Josh were in the ninth or tenth round of a shouting match that started five minutes ago. You stood several feet apart, your shared copy of the day’s song (“Almost Paradise” by Mike Reno and Ann Wilson) laying abandoned by the wayside.

“Are you sure about that, asshole?” You shot back, prompting a white-hot glare from Josh. Miss Michaels stood up, exasperated.

“Alright, you two, stop it now.”

But you and Josh were oblivious to her interruption. You got right up in his face, which was slowly turning red to match your own.

“You’re the one that just had to sing louder even though the harmony is supposed to be obvious in that part of the song! But no! You just couldn’t let me have it!”

“Why the hell would I? The harmony should never be louder than the melody!”

“Well, that one is!”

Josh opened his mouth with an angry reply, but your argument was stopped dead in its tracks by a sharp, ear-splitting whistle. You both turned to find your instructor standing next to the piano with a small, metal whistle perched between her lips.

“Jesus,” Josh hissed, as you each placed hands over your ears. Michaels lowered the whistle and clasped her hands in front of her, looking unimpressed.

“When I ask you to be silent, you will listen respectfully. Is that clear?”

You and Josh glared at one another before nodding with matching frowns.

“Aren’t those made for dogs?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Miss Michaels replied matter-of-factly. “But I find they work rather well for students, too.”

You and Josh could do nothing but stand there, looking indignant.

“Quarreling like children is not going to win you this grant,” Miss Michaels chastised.. You looked at the floor guiltily, unwilling to look at Josh. The heat radiating off him spoke for itself.

“We’ve already determined your voices are more than compatible. But the two of you need to learn to complement each other and recognize each other’s strengths,” Michaels continued, walking up to you. “...instead of constantly competing. Because that will get you nowhere. Is that clear?”

You and Josh made similar disgruntled noises of admission. Miss Michaels reached for the whistle in her pocket, pulling enthusiastic “Yes ma’am”s from both of you.

“We’ll meet again Monday,” she declared, turning back to the piano. “Take this weekend to... gather yourselves,” she instructed, frowning at you both over her glasses.

“And next week, you will both receive lessons on power balance and control issues.”

With that, she was off. You stood there, mouth open. Josh folded his arms and sighed. When you looked up at him, he looked like he wanted to say something. But you didn’t give him the chance. You turned on your heel and left, fighting tears of frustration.

This was a massive mistake.

…

Upon leaving the rehearsal, you had called Emily to vent. She listened patiently as you ranted about the day’s events. When you were done yelling into the receiver at no one in particular, she gave you a half-hearted encouragement. But the best thing she could offer was to get you drunk, which you readily accepted.

So the following evening, you put on your tightest skirt, paired with a flowy blouse that you left unbuttoned a little further than it should have been. Emily and your other friends whistled at you when you got in their car, which made you blush. But you were secretly proud of yourself.

It was a glee that left you the moment you walked into the house party to see Josh laughing with a bunch of his friends in the living room.

Emily noticed you glaring, and followed your gaze to the opponent on the couch.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, dude, I didn’t know Matt invited him.”

“It’s fine,” you replied, shrugging. “Let’s just drink, okay?”

“Fine by me.” Emily grinned. She led you to the kitchen, where a makeshift bar had been set up. Every surface was covered in plastic cups, mixers, and various bottles of alcohol. You elected to mix some Fresca with the first kind of vodka you could find, handing a cup to Emily before making one for yourself.

You managed to dance for about an hour without event, effectively ignoring the presence of Josh and his brothers. But after several drinks, Emily’s wild side had come out to play. She ended up wrapped around one of Matt’s friends on the armchair, leaving you to your own devices.

...

You were sitting on the landing of the staircase, looking out over the party and mourning the emptiness of your cup. You were zoned out enough to not realize that Josh was approaching until he was right in front of you.

“Hey,” he greeted, looking a bit nervous. You felt a small sting of sympathy, which wrestled with the pang of annoyance that came at the sight of his face.

“Hi.”

“My brothers are completely wasted, whereas I am only a little wasted,” he explained. “Do you mind if I join you?”

You answered with a nod, and fidgeted with the hem of your skirt as he sat down next to you. It was a narrow staircase, and the sides of your knees brushed. You ignored it, and chose to continue people watching.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” he began. You looked at him sideways, a little surprised. Was he actually trying to be nice? What happened to the asshole you were used to dealing with?

“I just figured I’d take the lead since you missed your cue,” he added, causing you to roll your eyes.

There he is.

“I wouldn’t have missed my cue if I didn’t have to be staring at your stupid face,” you snapped. Josh gave you a smirk, that goddamned smirk.

“Staring at my face a lot, mama?”

Previously, you would have been flustered at the unwanted pet name. But the vodka in your bloodstream willed you to face him directly with eyebrows raised.

“No. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Josh scoffed, shaking his head.

“Please,” you continued, feeling braver. “As if I didn’t notice you staring my ass during my solo. Is that why you forgot the lyrics in that line?”

Josh was silent, and you felt a wave of triumph. You had gotten him.

“That’s what I thought.”

You moved to stand up, but Josh spoke up.

“You watch me, too.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve seen you staring at me, too,” Josh reiterated, looking at you with his chin lifted. You shrunk into yourself a little, turning red in the face.

“Well, yeah, you… have a… commanding presence,” you offered, struggling to find words that you wouldn’t regret.

“Oh, yeah?” He looked smug, and you wanted to punch him. So you stood your ground.

“Yeah.”

“Is it really so hard for you to admit you’re into me?”

The fucking nerve of him. You were speechless. When you scoffed and rolled your eyes, he spoke again.

“Fine, I’ll go first. I think you’re an incredible singer, and you’re insanely attractive.”

Wait, what?

You had to look at him, unsure if he was playing a cruel prank. But there was no lie behind the brown of his eyes. The tiniest bit of heat rose to your cheeks, and you couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or something else.

“You’re attractive, too,” you admitted. Josh almost smiled. You should have left it there, but the vodka wasn’t done with you yet. The words were out of your mouth before your brain had vetted them.

“If you weren’t such an asshole.”

Josh’s almost-smile fell into a frown. His annoyance, you could handle. What was worse...he looked hurt. And it was your fault.

“Thanks,” he replied darkly, before getting up and walking downstairs. Leaving you alone on the landing to contemplate your mistake. You couldn’t help but be a little angry at yourself.

Monday rehearsal was going to suck.

End note: AHHH What did y’all think?? Please reblog with your opinions or comment below! What do you think will happen in Chapter 4?

Taglist: @kissthesun-fightthefire, @lover--leaver, @myownparadise96, @satans-helper, @songbirdkisses, @bluewillowmom, @sweetkiszkadreams,  @mountainofthesunn, @turntonightfirelight

[balancingdiet]

Visitor

Detective Conan & Magic Kaito Characters: Kaito/Shinichi & Ran Words: 1430 ish Required Fic: Tabula Rasa  Extra: (1) (2) (3) (4)

In the midst of cleaning Shinichi’s mailbox, a visitor arrives.

Kaito sighed, flipping the cloth in half before going for the last scrub.

Without fail, Shinichi would demand Kaito to clean his mailbox whenever his doves—mainly Tamago—did their business on it, but for the first time, Shinichi wasn’t by his side, with arms crossed and observing eyes watching his every movement. It was currently still office hours and Shinichi wasn’t back home, but under the scorching sun and scattered clouds, Kaito decided to take the initiative and clean the mailbox earlier. He could procrastinate and wait to be dragged out later by Shinichi after he knocked off from work (which was usually what Kaito had done), but today he had to go to Jii’s bar to go through the plan for an upcoming heist; there were lots of tricks involved, and Kaito guessed the preparation might also drag overnight.

In fact, Kaito was already late for the meeting, and he shouldn't even bother with this literal shit—

“Excuse me?”

Kaito turned towards the voice.

His eyes widened.

Ao—?

Kaito pressed the cloth hard on the mailbox, almost enough to make a dent.

He fully turned instead, leaving the cloth on the mailbox as his hands swung by his body, looking weightless and free. That was what he always showed to everyone, but to him, more often than not, his hands felt like they were near a fire. Close enough to feel the heat, but not enough to burn.

Just like the night of—

“Ah,” Kaito heaved out a sigh and mustered a smile at Mouri Ran, who was standing before him with a piece of paper in her hand. “Can I help you?”

Ran smiled back.

And seeing that, an ache spread across Kaito’s chest, like a nail being struck against his heart with every beat.

But his face never falter to that pain.

(He wondered if his dad was proud at how he had mastered the poker-face.)

Ran showed him the paper. “I’m wondering if you know where exactly is this address?”

Kaito glimpsed at it (not like he really had to figure out what was written) before pointing at Shinichi’s house. “It’s this one.”

Ran bit her lower lip and glanced at the front door. “Do you know the person who lives here?”

Kaito wished he could laugh at the question. “Yeah, Kudo Shinichi.”

Ran nodded, as if Kaito had passed a test he didn’t know existed. But when her gaze drifted curiously between him and the mailbox, Kaito cleared his throat. “I’m his neighbour, I live there.” He pointed to his house.

“I see.” Ran’s voice was levelled, neither suspicious or kind.

“Anyway, are you looking for him?” Kaito asked, diverting her attention away from him.

Ran looked awkward at first, but she nodded her head in the end.

“He’s out though, most likely returning in the evening.”

“Hm.” Ran caressed the corners of the paper, lips pursed thin and tight. She let out a sigh later before raising her head to show him a smile again.

This time, Kaito had to look away, and he pretended he did so to pick up the cloth from the mailbox.

He could still relive short moments, and worse come to worst, stab himself if he couldn’t; but if he had to see another second of that smile—that smile that reminded him of what he had taken away from this earth—he supposed he might need to die.

He knew his heart well enough to know.

“Anyway, thank you,” Ran said after a short bow, but from Kaito’s sidelong glances, she showed no signs of leaving.

“Is there something wrong?” Kaito asked, his eyes still lowered at the mailbox.

Ran rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “... May I ask you to keep my appearance here a secret?”

Kaito finally found the energy to face Ran. He kept silent, hoping it would prompt her to continue.

“I, um... The thing is... we had a fight. And, well, I got angry at him and we haven’t spoken since.” Ran stared at the ground, her eyes and lips drooped simultaneously. “In fact, I haven’t decided what I want to do yet, so... I— I just don’t want him to know I’ve been here. That’s all.”

“Oh.” Kaito stroked his chin. “Did he cheat on you?”

“Ah, no!” Ran shook her head, her face and neck growing red. “We’re not— I mean... I’m... his friend. Just his friend. So it doesn’t matter if he has a girlfriend or what, but um— that’s not the point. Anyway, our fight has nothing to do with cheating.”

While staring at Ran’s frantic mode the entire time, Kaito decided to forgo the entire plan of teases he had prepared in his head. Besides, if he wanted to tease, the target should be Shinichi anyway—

But Kaito had already teased Shinichi before, back then when he came to retrieve the stolen mail from his house. He remembered asking if the mail was Ran’s love letter, and the cold respond from Shinichi’s voice and face was enough for Kaito to know he should never do that again.

And not just for that reason; Kaito supposed he owed Shinichi a favour when Kaito’s panic attack spiralled out of his control that particular night...

But in that case, should he also count the first night when Shinichi saved him from dying? And also how he didn’t send him to the police at his weakest moment? And what about the times when Shinichi did very unnecessary things, like visiting the hospital to see his performance, when Kaito actually brought it up as a joke...?

Shinichi sure had done a lot of things.

Kaito briefly shook his head, brushing away the thoughts and saving them for later.

“You don't have to explain anymore, I’m just throwing random guesses anyway,” Kaito said, in a way it was relevant to the truth. Shinichi never told him, but it was roughly simple to guess what their fight could be about.

(And it was a fight Kaito wished he had the privilege to go through.)

His words and the smile plastered on his face seemed enough to relax Ran and ease her out of her awkwardness and embarrassment. “So, can you keep this a secret?” she asked again.

“Sure, I promise.”

“Thank you.” Ran bowed. She then took a step back, preparing for a turn.

“Wait.”

She did.

“Time... doesn’t heal all wounds,” Kaito muttered.

Ran blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Time doesn’t heal all wounds,” Kaito repeated, his voice stronger this time. “It’s what we do and the choices we make that lessens or distracts the pain.”

Ran gaped, but her eyes did more work of showing her mute surprise. And what followed after the silence was that little, slow understanding that seeped its way into her features.

“About the fight you had with him,” Kaito continued. “You said you haven’t figured out what to do, but I think you do know, and that’s why you came at the wrong timing; because you know what you should do, and you’re hesitant to do it.”

Ran let out a breath that mixed between a sigh and a laugh. “You think I should do it?”

“That’s how you can lessen your pain.”

“... Because time doesn’t heal all wounds.” Ran's eyes flickered to Shinichi’s front door, and Kaito caught her lower lip quivering.

“As for Shinichi,” Kaito began, easily guessing what Ran was thinking. “I think only if he knows you forgive him, then it will lessen his pain.”

“Does he...” Ran swallowed. “Is he in pain all these while?”

“I don't think I can answer for him.”

Ran nodded, seeming to agree. Then, to his mild surprise, she turned and looked into Kaito’s eyes.

“I hope you are okay too,” she said, holding her gaze.

Kaito couldn’t help but laugh, and it wasn’t entirely acting as his usual defence mechanism. “Do I look like I’m not?”

Ran parted her lips, but in the end she retracted her original words after a shake of her head. “Anyway, thank you, your words mean a lot to me.”

Dear Diary, What should I do?

“... It’s nothing.”

“It means something,” Ran affirmed. She then tugged onto her handbag, gave the house one last glance, before looking back at Kaito. “I’ll get going now. Thank you once again.”

With that, Ran turned and left.

Kaito waited, and waited a long while more, until he was sure he was far and safe enough to walk towards the same direction as where Ran had gone, for the train station to reach Jii’s bar.

Aside from planning, he might also need a pint or two tonight.