#rose i am so sorry for my long post about you being the culprit

[theshslpumpkinghost]

Spoilers for DRDT Ch2 Ep15!

(also ch2 ep6 if you haven’t already watched it)

He- wasn’t lying- He did commit a murder of his own- I mean, he never said specifically that he was going to kill Nico, just that he would commit a murder. Ooo foreshadowing ✨

(…how did i not figure this out sooner aaa-)

[demonsigh]

the hunt

rating: lime/mature pairing: male vampire x gender-neutral reader features: touch starvation, safewords, biting, aftercare, cuddling warnings: blood, fear, being chased, dizziness length: 4240 words

Feeling isolated and craving physical intimacy, a college student agrees to be hunted and bitten by a vampire in exchange for a post-meal snuggling session. Based on this prompt submitted to @monsterkinkmeme​​ by @the-color-of-sound-is-space

You were supposed to meet him at 11 PM, in the middle of Bartleby Park. Vampires were nocturnal and uncomfortable in the sun, so the hunt had to take place at night. But did it have to be this late?

It wasn’t as if you were getting tired. You were something of a nocturnal animal yourself nowadays; college tended to do that to people. But the park was pretty creepy this late at night, eerily empty and unnaturally quiet.

You checked your phone again. 11:10 already. He was late. Had he been held up? Or could he have overslept? That thought wrung a quiet chuckle from you — a sound not at all reassuring to hear in the dark silence of the park.

The “he” in question was a vampire named Roland that you’d met on the internet. You were meeting up so he could suck your blood.

For whatever reason, college towns tended to attract vampires. It probably had something to do with the vibrant nightlife, and the bars that never closed, and parties that only ended when the sun rose. Or perhaps it was the rich history of such places, in the old stone buildings and the musty library books. Or maybe it was just the students themselves: curious and open-minded, over-educated and sheltered and a little bit reckless.

In the modern age, most vampires obtained their food in the modern way: in bags, from blood banks or speciality clinics. But there were those who still swore by more natural methods. Many believed that feeding from the source provided physical and mental health benefits. For others, the desire to stalk, and chase, and bite, was simply too strong to resist indulging. Luckily for all, it was not as difficult to find a willing human victim as one might expect.

You discovered a message board that was dedicated to this macabre economy. Vampires would make posts looking for “prey” — humans willing or eager to be bitten. An arrangement would be made for a night of thrilling and dangerous roleplay, where the vampire played the part of the seductive predator, and the human, the helpless victim.

For most of the humans who posted on this forum, being prey was a kink. They enjoyed the thrill of the chase, and the pain of the bite. It was foreplay to them, and the evening inevitably led to sex after their partner’s more pressing appetites were sated.

You became a little obsessed with this message board. You didn’t think you’d mind being bitten; there was something kind of sexy about it. But you weren’t really trying to get laid. What you really wanted was some quality aftercare, a perk that was frequently offered, requested, and discussed on this forum.

College had become something of a lonely experience for you. You hadn’t meant for it to happen, and you weren’t sure where you’d gone wrong. In your freshman year you’d made an effort to be social, starting a number of casual friendships, but none of them really stuck. You were still close to your high school friends, and you talked to them online all the time, but somehow the number of people with whom you had any physical interaction had dwindled down to zero.

It made you lonely in a deep, nagging way. You wanted a hug. You wanted to hold someone’s hand. You daydreamed constantly about these things, setting up elaborate scenarios in your mind that led to someone safe and warm holding you for hours at a time. You felt like these fantasies were reaching a boiling point in your mind. And one night, after drinking several beers by yourself, you made your own post on that message board. You would let someone bite you (hunt optional), in exchange for an evening of snuggling (sex optional).

And that was how you met Roland. He wasn’t the only vampire who replied to your post, but he was the only one who lived within easy walking distance. You agreed to meet at one of the campus cafes and discuss possibilities over coffee.

You recognized him immediately, although you were pretty sure he didn’t recognize you. He was in one of your classes. You frequently spied him from across the lecture hall, tall and good-looking and unapproachable. You’d always thought there was something a little otherworldly about him, but he mostly just looked like another student. You’d had no idea that he wasn’t even human.

And it turned out he wasn’t as intimidating as he looked. He actually seemed pretty nice, even a little bit shy. He’d never fed straight from the skin before — drinking nothing but bagged blood since he was turned — and he wanted to try it at least once. He wasn’t trying to get laid either. Like you, he was much more interested in the aftercare, hoping for something like a cooldown hug once the deed was done. That suited you just fine.

The plan was this: You would meet in Bartleby Park at 11 PM. The exact location didn’t matter, he said; he would come find you. This statement gave you an unexpected thrill. Perhaps the hunting part would be more fun than you’d thought. You would run, and he would chase you. If you screamed, all the better — although this did make a safeword necessary. You chose “cardboard,” the first word that came to your mind, which made him laugh. When he finally caught you, he would bite you on the neck and drink your blood. Then he would take you up to his apartment for first aid and spooning. Simple as that.

Only he wasn’t here yet. It was 11:20 now, and you were still alone. Maybe he was having trouble finding you. Or… was he backing out? That thought stung. You suddenly realized just how much you’d been looking forward to this, and the idea of going home tired and alone made you feel more depressed than ever.

A branch snapped in the trees nearby, and your head whipped toward the sound. Your eyes scanned back and forth across the screen of dark leaves, trying and failing to uncover the culprit.

“Roland?” you whispered. You hadn’t meant to whisper, but suddenly you were having trouble finding your voice. Your phone buzzed in your hand, making you jump. It was a text message from your friend:

“How did it go?”

“He’s late, I’m still waiting,” you typed in response.

“Ok… Text me again in an hour or I’m calling the cops.”

Your friends had basically all agreed that this seemed like a bad idea. You were starting to wonder if they were right. You didn’t know Roland at all… even if you knew where he lived and where he went to school. Even if he was cute and he seemed nice.

And even if Roland was fine, Roland wasn’t here. It was late, and the park was deserted. Who knew what other weirdos were prowling around out here.

You were starting to feel genuinely anxious. Beneath the trees, the park was dark, the shadows unaffected by the dim light of the street lamps. What was the safeword again? Cardboard? That was it, right?

There was a rapid noise in the grass behind you — tff tff tff — like something rushing towards you in long leaps. That was the last straw. You launched into a flat-out run, heart hammering, breath coming in gasps.

A pair of cold, hard arms wrapped around you from behind, jerking you to a stop. You screamed at the top of your lungs, and then, almost in the same breath, shouted, “Cardboard cardboard cardboard,” all in a rush; sure that the word would mean nothing to this person; that you were about to be hurt or worse.

But cardboard was the magic word. The arms disappeared from around your chest, and in a flash he was standing in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough, “are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

And of course it was only Roland, the very person you had agreed to do this with. He was staring into your face, expression distressed, hands gripping your shoulders.

“I’m okay,” you wheezed. “It was just… scarier than I expected.”

He was slowly shaking his head back and forth. He looked appalled. “Fuck, I am so sorry.”

You didn’t understand why he was apologizing like that, until you suddenly became aware of the wetness on your cheeks, and the ragged sound of your breathing. Were you crying? God, how fucking embarrassing.

“I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing tears from your eyes with the backs of your hands. “Jesus.”

“No no,” said Roland, “don’t apologize. I think I overdid it. ...And I was pretty late, that definitely didn’t help.”

He was looking around now, frowning into the dark woods, and rubbing your shoulders absently. You were hyper-aware of his hands. They were like ice but every pass of them over your shoulders sent a rush of warmth through you. You felt extremely relieved that he was here, even though he was the reason you’d been so scared in the first place. You wished he would hug you — the desire for this was almost overwhelming — but you felt too dazed and embarrassed to ask.

His eyes met yours once again, and his hands slipped from your shoulders, finding their way into his pockets instead — the exact opposite of what you wanted.

“Uh…” he said. “Do you wanna just skip this part and go straight back to my place?”

A wobbly laugh escaped you, and you nodded weakly. “Are you still gonna suck my blood?” you asked.

“Do you still want me to?”

“Yeah.”

He smiled at that. It was a small, almost shy smile, but enough to give you a good look at his fangs. They looked shockingly white and sharp in the dark.

He started to walk in the direction of his apartment, then paused; and looking back, expression uncertain, he held his hand out towards you. You hesitated for just one second. Then you placed your hand in his, and his cold fingers closed tightly around yours.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Your heart was racing again. When was the last time you’d held someone’s hand? You never wanted him to let go.

Neither of you spoke. You wondered if he was feeling as nervous as you were. You’d thought that the scary part was over, but what about what came next? How badly would it hurt when he bit you? He’d never bitten anyone before, he said. How would he react to his first taste?

When you tried to picture it, all you could imagine were his lips pressed against your skin; and his hand cupping the back of your neck, holding you still. They were not unpleasant images. You felt your face heat up, and you were suddenly grateful for the darkness and the cold night air.

It was a fairly short walk. His apartment was a big single-room studio: TV and sofa in one corner, bed and bookcase in another. Rounded doorways branched off into a kitchen and a bathroom. There was a large white-curtained window in the west wall, and moonlight poured in through the glass, illuminating the plush carpet. It was cozy and uncluttered. Roland watched you look around, then looked around himself.

“Maybe in the kitchen?” he asked. He caught your eye, then glanced quickly away. “So we don’t get blood on the carpet.”

How practical. You followed him into the kitchen, forcing yourself to take even breaths as you went. Vampires were supposed to have excellent hearing. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating?

“Want some water?” he asked, opening a cupboard as he spoke. You peered over his shoulder, tickled to see that the only dishes he seemed to own were drinking glasses; no bowls or plates in sight. What would he need a plate for, after all?

He moved around you to fill the glass with water from the sink. He seemed to be avoiding eye-contact, and you wondered again if he was nervous. Somehow the thought made you feel more at ease. Boldly, you opened his refrigerator to examine the contents. Blood bags, and nothing else. Lots of them. Stacks upon stacks, in neat little rows. You couldn’t quite believe it, even though it was exactly what you’d expected to find.

You didn’t know what kind of face you were making, but you were afraid it wasn’t good. You turned toward Roland and found him watching you, expression careful; glass of water forgotten in one hand.

“Yeah…” he said.

“Nothing for me?” you asked, grinning, attempting to break the sudden tension.

He grinned back sheepishly. Then he pulled a little juice box out of the pocket of his jacket. It was the kind of thing they gave you after donating blood. You both began to laugh, and a warm, giddy feeling spread through you.

Roland moved closer and patted one of the countertops. “Hop up here?” he asked. You obliged, although it was more of a scramble than a hop. Roland began pulling more small items from the pockets of his jacket, and setting them on the counter next to you: single-use alcohol wipes; a few band-aids; a little roll of gauze, and a roll of medical tape. It became clear to you that he really had intended to bite you in the park, and he had come prepared.

He was standing very close now, almost pressed against your bent knees. You longed to close the distance. You didn’t move. Roland’s movements also grew slower, more hesitant. Stalling.

“Are you nervous?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“Why?”

He looked you right in the eye, finally. His expression was serious.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“I don’t think it’ll be that bad,” you replied, although you weren’t sure whether you actually believed that.

He frowned, and his eyes travelled down to your neck. He was biting his lip, and his fangs stood out starkly against his skin.

He handed you the glass of water. You drank it. Then you took his hand and gently pulled him closer, spreading your knees wider so he could stand between them. He swallowed visibly.

“I’m nervous too,” you told him.

“I know,” he said, in a hoarse almost-whisper. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Safeword?”

“You can just tell me.”

You were both almost-whispering now, leaning in closer and closer. It felt an awful lot like you were about to share your first kiss.

With one hand, he pulled the collar of your shirt away from your neck, while his other hand slid up to cup the back of your neck. Your heart was hammering with excitement and fear, and his cold fingers felt good against your flushed skin. He lowered his face against your neck, and almost before you knew it his fangs were piercing the skin, creating thin twin wounds that ached immediately. You gasped and grasped handfuls of the fabric of his jacket. Honestly his teeth didn’t hurt much more than a needle, but somehow the reality of it stunned you. He was really going to drink your blood. In that moment, for the first time, you really believed that Roland was something other than human.

His lips closed over the wound. His mouth was wet and unexpectedly hot, and his tongue moved rhythmically against your aching skin as he sucked and swallowed your blood. He made a low sound deep in his throat — the type of contented groan that a good bite of food might inspire. You had to hold your breath to keep from responding in kind.

This was erotic. You couldn’t help thinking of it that way. Your grip on his jacket tightened, and you forced yourself not to squeeze your knees more tightly around his waist. You wondered if he felt it too. Was this exciting him at all? Or was this just a meal to him?

You couldn’t have said how long this went on — it was probably minutes, though it felt longer — but eventually he stopped drinking and pulled away. Somehow a piece of gauze was already in his hand; he pressed it to your neck, holding it firmly against the bite. You stared at each other, both breathing unevenly. His cheeks, so colorless before, were now flushed.

He cleared his throat and licked blood off his lips.

“Are you okay,” he asked, voice rough.

“I’m ok,” you said, although you actually felt a little dizzy. You felt around for the juice box. “Was that enough?”

He nodded his head and grabbed the juice box, pressing it into your reaching hand. He seemed a little dazed. He tore open one of the alcohol wipes, and while you drank your juice he disinfected the bite marks. You hissed at the stinging pain, and he grimaced in sympathy. Then he taped a fresh strip of gauze over the bite.

“It didn’t hurt that bad,” you reported between sips.

“Good,” he said. But he was starting to look unhappy again, frowning as he watched you sip your juice. Your heart sank a little in your chest. Maybe he hadn’t enjoyed this as much as you had.

“Are you ok?” you asked him.

He didn’t respond at first. And then he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against him. You bit back a huff of surprise. He was no longer cold — drinking your blood had warmed his whole body.

“What is it?” you whispered.

He heaved an enormous sigh next to your ear. “You just looked so scared in the park,” he said. You could feel the vibration of his voice against your chest. “I feel really bad.”

You didn’t feel bad. One of his large hands was pressed against your back, warm and reassuring, and the other was cupped around the back of your head. Your chest was pressed flush against his, and he was warm and solid and worried about you. You gave up trying to resist the urge to touch him. You put your arms around him, and squeezed your knees tighter against his waist, pulling him even closer to you. You let your head fall forward to rest against his neck, but as soon as you closed your eyes, the room began to whirl around you.

“Um,” you gasped. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Oh,” he said, a little catch of surprise in his voice. He pulled away. “Um. Let me, uh...”

Carefully, he slipped his hand under your knees, and gathered you up into his arms. You threw your own arms around his neck, shamelessly clinging to him as he carried you out of the kitchen with no apparent effort. He paused in the doorway and looked down at you.

“The bed or the couch?” he asked.

“The bed,” you said against his chest, hoping that this was not too bold. He didn’t seem to think so. He carried you across the room, careful not to jostle you, and gently laid you down on top of the comforter.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

You nodded your head. You were quite cold, actually; another effect of the blood loss.

Roland stood and went over to a small closet, where he retrieved a stack of thick, warm-colored blankets. He shook them out and draped them over you in layers, and their warm weight made you feel better almost immediately.

“Thank you,” you said.

“No problem,” he replied. He stood by the side of the bed, unmoving. He seemed to be struggling for words. “Um… Do you still want to…”

“Yes,” you said emphatically, and you peeled back the blankets to make space for him.

He looked self-conscious, but he didn’t hesitate. He crawled under the blankets, and carefully pulled you into his arms, settling your head against his shoulder. His body was still warm with your blood, and you pressed into him eagerly.

“Is this ok?” he asked.

“It’s perfect,” you said. You placed your hand flat on his chest, then sighed happily, which made him laugh. He laid his hand over yours, curling his fingers around it.

That was almost too much. Your chest felt fit to burst with it. You kept waiting to wake up, sure that you must have dreamt this whole thing. You still couldn’t believe he’d drunk your blood. His teeth had been inside of you. And as much as that weirded you out, it kind of turned you on too.

You suddenly remembered that you were supposed to text your friends back. You shifted around, and Roland loosed his hold on you to let you pull your phone out of your pocket.

“I’m letting my friends know you didn’t murder me,” you explained as you typed. You’d meant it as a joke, but you regretted the words as soon as they were out of your mouth. “I’m sorry,” you hurried to say, turning in his arms to face him, and wincing at the pain in your neck. “I didn’t really think you would…”

He shook his head before you could say anything else. “It’s ok. Biting someone…” He ran a hand through his hair as he thought. “Well, it’s an inherently violent act. Some people get carried away. Your friends weren’t wrong to be worried.”

“I feel safe with you though,” you said.

“Oh. Good.” He ducked his head, and his cheeks turned the pinkest they’d been all night. Your heartbeat stuttered in your chest. He was really adorable… You hadn’t expect that, watching him from afar. You pulled closer to him, putting your arms around him and laying your head against his chest. He tucked the blankets more snugly around your shoulders.

“This is really nice,” you said.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“How did you like biting me?” You forced the words out before you could lose your nerve. You hoped you weren’t making it awkward, but you had to know.

Roland didn’t answer at first. Then he let out a breath, and slid one of his hands over his face. “Not gonna lie,” he said. “It was way better than drinking bagged blood.”

“Oh, good!” you said, laughing. “I’m glad. I was worried you didn’t like it.”

“I definitely liked it…” he said, still covering his face. “You taste amazing.”

You felt your face turn bright red. There was a double-entendre in there somewhere, although you guessed it was unintentional. I’d like to taste you next, you thought wildly, and once again, you found yourself wondering if you were the only one whose mind had wandered into the gutter tonight.

He seemed to sense your sudden discomfort, if not its source, because he uncovered his face and said, “I’m sorry, that was a super weird thing to say.”

You shook your head against his chest. “I liked it too,” you admitted. “When you bit me.” Then, still more softly: “I wouldn’t mind if you did it again sometime.”

You heard him swallow. “I’d like that.”

You lapsed into a warm silence, untroubled and comfortable, and you basked in his presence like a cat in sunlight. You were aware of every part of him that was pressed against you: his chest rising and falling beneath you, and his hands pressed against your back, and his legs tangled with yours beneath the blankets, chaste but intimate, and ripe with potential.

You definitely wanted to kiss him. You opened your mouth to float the idea, but you were overcome by an enormous yawn. You suddenly realized you had no idea what time it was. It felt really late, but maybe you were just tired out from all the excitement.

“Was I falling asleep?” you asked.

“A little,” he admitted.

“I should probably get home,” you said, but then made no move to get up. You heaved a huge sigh. “I don’t wanna go yet though,” you complained, “I’m so cozy.”

“Do you wanna stay here?”

You lifted your head to look him in the eye. “Stay the night?”

“We don’t have to do anything weird,” he said, turning pink again. You stared at each other for a moment. Then he gently pushed your head back down to his chest, so that you weren’t looking at him when he said, “I don’t wanna let you go yet.”

“Are you sure?” you asked. As if you weren’t already convinced. “I won’t throw off your day? I mean your night?”

You felt him shrug. “I was just gonna do homework.”

That drew a surprised laugh out of you. You’d almost forgotten that Roland wasn’t just your weird vampire hookup. He was your classmate too.

“Do you know that we’re in the same class?” you asked, playfully accusing.

“Yeah,” he admitted, with a bit of a laugh in his voice. “I recognized you when we got coffee.”

That surprised you. “I thought I was the only one,” you said.

“I noticed you sitting in back sometimes.” His hand was still resting against the side of your head, and his fingers moved absently through strands of your hair. “I thought you looked cool.”

“Good,” you said, which made him laugh. You grinned against his chest. “I want to stay. Can I?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft, and he wrapped his arms more tightly around you.

[harryspet]

ahh i love your writing and your dark!peter fics are the best, could we get a darkfic of peter bullying/harassing the reader and then things escalate if you know what i mean ??

rude boy | peter parker

[Warnings] dark peter parker x reader, bully peter, verbal/physical harassment, noncon/dubcon, fingering, public sex, mentions of intercourse/oral sex, peter being a jerk, fish sticks

A/N: I combined your ask with another bully peter request I got! I’ll post that asks right after this. Hope you like this!

In which Peter can’t make up his mind about whether he loves or hates you. 

word count: almost 3k

Your gaze fell down to your lap as he entered the classroom. Everyone else’s seemed to lift, admiring their classmate who famously saved the world several times. It was safe to say that the fame had gone to his head. You nervously played with the ends of your skirt as you waited for the commotion in the room to die down and for the class to start. 

That didn’t happen because an unfamiliar person slid onto the stool beside you and you lifted your head to see Peter. He gave you a bored look as he looked you over, “What’s up, fish sticks?”

Your eyes shut tightly as you winced at the name. He knew it got under your skin and loved to watch you squirm. He nudged your arm, “Hmm?” 

Everyone remembered that time in fifth grade, on the trip to the aquarium, where you threw up your packed lunch on one of the employees. Your mom had packed you fish sticks and, as you sat through one of their fun presentations, one of the presenters picked you to come up to the stage. You were shy, even back then, and as he asked you something you learned that day, you completely lost your lunch on his shoes. This all led to one of your classmates shouting, “She barfed up her fish sticks!” and laughter ensued. 

Even Peter seemed to think it was still funny, “You’re not my partner, Peter,” You said, not meeting his eyes. 

“Now I am,” Your heart skipped a beat as you heard him, “I can’t work with Ned anymore, he sucks at cooking and I need a good grade in this class.”

You looked back at Peter’s normal seat to see your family and consumer science partner sitting with Ned. You liked her and she always did her fair share of the work. You were sure the opposite would be true for Peter. 

Peter faked a smile at you, “So what are we cooking today? Fish sticks?”

You took a deep breath, your hands tapping nervously at the table, “You could try looking at the board,” You felt him scoot his stool closer to you, his body leaning over the counter. 

“I think I’ll just look at you instead,” Your breathing hitched in your throat as he leaned into your ear. Just as he did, your teacher entered the room. You thought she was a good teacher, she graded easily, and Peter must’ve been a complete idiot to not be doing well. Clearly, this wasn’t his subject of expertise. 

The room was set so each station had its own oven, stove, and appliances. This unit was all about cooking and today you were making dessert. Your teacher gave you a list of instructions before adding that you should all make sure you’re following safety protocols. 

You stood up from your stool, mostly just to get some space from Peter and walked over to grab an apron. 

The assignment went much worse than you expected. Peter refused to even lift a spoon or even wear an apron. He sat by as you did all the work, only offering to lick the spoon clean when you were finished with it. The times he got off his butt were to walk over to Ned’s table to chat with him. 

“You’re good at this,” Peter said, as you poured the batter into a cake tin. You were a little out of breath from running around to grab supplies, “You should come over and make me a sandwich sometime.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek, trying to keep yourself from responding. 

As soon as you got your cake into the oven, you took a deep breath, taking a look at the clock to see if you were going to finish on time, “Can you chill? You’re stressing me out.”

You rested your hands against the counter, “I’m …” Your voice raised only for a moment before you lowered it, “I’m stressing you out?”

Peter noticed your frustration and smirked, “Awe, I’m joking fish sticks. You’re doing great,” He winked. 

Maybe you could talk to the teacher, tell her that you and Peter were not a good fit together. She’d ask you why you didn’t want to be partners and then you would have to tell her … and facing Peter after that would be a nightmare. You shook your head at the thought and convinced yourself you could go the rest of the semester doing the work all by yourself. 

+

You were going to get into a good school, especially with the number of clubs you were a part of and the one that you created yourself. A book club because you loved reading and school was lacking one. There were four members in total including you and your friend Jess. If you wanted your club to seem serious on college applications then you needed more members. 

Jess had the idea of hanging up banners and flyers during the free period and, of course, you were all in. 

You went around the school with a ladder the janitor lent you and hung up your homemade posters. You were hanging a large banner towards the front of the school when the bell suddenly rang, ending the free period. 

“Just a few more inches to the left,” Jess instructed you and you slowly moved the poster to the position she wanted before Jess reached up to hand you the tape. 

There was something about you that Peter couldn’t quite wrap his head around. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to you. It was something about the snooty, preppy way you dressed that he a distaste for but turned him on to you at the same time. You were so intelligent but corruptible still. It was quite frustrating knowing you’d only see him as a nuisance. 

He watched the back of your legs, your skirt slightly rose as you taped up your poster. He thought about those baby pink panties you were probably wearing. 

You were admiring your work when suddenly the ladder shook and, for a moment you thought you might fall back until you barely caught yourself. A sharp shriek left your lips and the hall went silent until everyone was staring at you and then chuckling. You felt your cheeks warm as you quickly stepped down the ladder. 

You looked around the culprit and found Peter walking backward in the other direction. He smiled, “See you at book club, fish sticks!”

Your hands formed a fist at your side as you gave Jess an incredulous look. 

“Sorry,” She apologized, but you were already marching away. 

+

Two weeks later, you were in a crowded subway car heading to school. Some soft pop song was playing in your headphones and you were swaying your head slightly to the music. Your eyes traveled around as you people watched.

You had done this route every day but you found yourself getting nervous now when you thought about school. Peter had seemed to take a special liking to you and wouldn’t leave you alone. He made you do all his work in family and consumer sciences and he’d make sure to shout something embarrassing at you when you saw him in the hall. 

A few days ago you were heading to your lunch table with your tray when he walked up to you, “Sit with me today,” He had told you, eyes more serious than you had ever seen them. 

“Why?” You asked.

“Because I said so,” He continued and you raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think I can take any more fish stick jokes,” Anger settled over his features and it scared you, “No, but thank you.”

Any day before this, you would’ve said yes just because of how much he scared you. He was a superhero and what were you? Nothing. And everyone saw you that way. You were just tired of him torturing you. 

You should’ve trusted your instincts because as you walked around him, you lost your balance, and tripped over his outstretched foot. The cafeteria went quiet and you moaned in pain as you pulled yourself up. Your spaghetti was now staining your bright colored sweater.

Peter leaned down, “Forgive me for trying to be nice to you, Y/N,” He held out his hand for you to take and, you only stared at him, before standing up yourself. Jess rushed over, napkins in hand, but you were already running from the cafeteria, tears stinging your eyes. 

You shook your head as you tried to stop thinking about it. As if you had unconsciously summoned the devil, you felt a hand on your waist. You jumped, of course, and thought some middle-aged man would be standing behind you but it was even worse. 

“Turn back around,” He spoke huskily in your ear and you shook your head. His arm wrapped around you, his hand wrapping around your throat as he pulled you back into him, “Don’t struggle. Wouldn’t want to make a scene, right?”

How long had he been watching you? How long had he been following you?

Your eyes darted around, looking for anyone who had noticed what was happening to you but you saw no one. Everyone so packed together and clearly focused on whatever was going on in their busy lives. Peter’s other arm wrapped around you, under your arm, and settled on your stomach. 

You started to shake your head as his fingers trailed against the top of your skirt but his grip on your throat tightened, “What color panties are you wearing?” He whispered in your ear, “Hmmm?”

It was clearly rhetorical because, with every word you spoke, his grip tightened. You had to keep still in order to breathe. His hand slid between your skin and the waistband of your pastel skirt and he felt between your legs. A small whimper left your lips as his fingers rubbed your sex through your panties. 

His nose pressed into your hair and he took in your scent as he began rubbing circles against the fabric of your underwear. 

Peter had to see for himself if you were really what he wanted and he was tired of hiding his attraction. The confusion and tension in his mind had finally stopped. He was going to have you.

You had rarely even touched your private parts yourself so, the feeling rising in your core, felt completely foreign. A second later, he was dipping his fingers in the fabric of your panties. Your face completely warmed and you couldn't help how your body flinched at the sensation. 

“You’re mine from now on, to do whatever I please,” You ran from the feeling, from the pleasure, for as long as you could but Peter’s fingers worked like magic. Your chest heaved up and down as your breathing became more erratic. You were nearing something and that scared you even more. Peter held you steady and kept you from going anywhere and you were forced to face whatever he had unleashed inside you. 

“There you go, that’s it, Y/N,” It was a giant explosion deep inside you, and Peter moved his hand around your neck to cover your mouth as you orgasm. 

You were shaking as his fingers still played with that sensitive bulb in your panties. When he finally released you, you felt more disgusted at yourself for feeling such pleasure. 

Peter turned you around and you were so dizzy that you couldn’t even push him away as he slammed his lips against yours. Anyone around you would’ve saw it as annoying PDA by a couple of teenagers but, really, a predator had just sunk its teeth into its prey.

+

You sat with Peter at lunch from the day forward. You decided it was better than him humiliating you in front of the entire student body. 

You weren’t sure what exactly you were to him. He seemed to want a personal punching bag as well as the intimacy you could provide. He’d tease you constantly, especially in front of his friends, but he’d want to make you cum right after being the jerk he was. 

He’d invite himself over to your house so you could help him with a school project or rather have you do it for him. Then he would … use his tongue against your private parts and make you lay with him for hours. 

One weekend, while you were walking home from a late-night study session at Jess’s house, a figure landed right in front of you. You hated how he loved to make his entrances by scaring you. Completely clad in his red and blue suit, Peter looked you up and down, “Why are you out walking so late?”

You took a cautious step back, “My apartment is three blocks away.”

“I’m aware and that doesn’t answer my question.”

“Can I at least have the weekends to myself, Peter?”

Peter cocked his head to the side and you wished very much to see whatever devilish look was. As he took a step forward, you took another backward, which caused him to laugh, “I’m offended, Y/N. I’m just a friendly neighborhood spider-man trying to help a poor, lost girl find her way home. There are sickos out this late.”

“Peter-”

Peter suddenly raised his hand and you saw a web shoot out into the distance. Before you could follow where it led, Peter’s arms were around you, and you were flying with him in the air. You squeezed him for dear life, your lungs unleashing every scream within you, as your stomach rose and fell with the swinging motion. 

When you finally landed on your feet, you were standing on the fire escape just outside your bedroom. You lost your balance but Peter was there to catch you again. Peter pulled off his masks and you saw his tired face and messy hair beneath it. 

He smiled at you, “Gonna puke, fish sticks?”

You tried to pull away from him, anger boiling up inside of you, “I-I hate you! I hate you, Peter!”

Tears were streaming down your cheeks and you were punching at his chest. It had no real effect on him and he simply grabbed your hands and held them in place. He pulled your hands down and pulled your forward, kissing you hard. 

You seemed to calm as his soft lips moved against yours. You hated it but it did. Your hands calmed and he let them go. Peter’s brown eyes narrowed into yours when he finally pulled away. He grabbed your face then, “I’m sorry to hear that, Y/N,” He wiped a tear away from your face, “But I don’t think I can let you go just yet.”

He kissed you again and you started to move your lips against his. It was easier that way. You stayed there for a long time, your lips on his, as your tears began to dry. He wasn’t going to leave you be so you thought you might as well enjoy it. The most popular boy in school, in New York, wanted you. Shouldn’t that make you feel good?

Peter moved to open your window, “Peter … my parents.”

“I’ll be quiet,” Peter insisted as he slipped inside. You did the same and you watched as Peter slowly shut it back. 

You moved over to the bed, taking off your backpack, and preparing for what Peter usually wanted to do. You looked up, surprised when you saw he was taking off the suit … all the way. 

“Peter, I’ve never-”

He shushed you, “I haven’t either,” That surprised you to hear. He approached you on the bed, only wearing his boxers, and your eyes raked in his exquisite physique. A lot has changed for him in the last few years, “But I’m sure I can figure it out.”

He kneeled down by your feet and took his time removing your shoes and then your socks. He wanted to take his time admiring you and this made you feel like a piece of art, “Why me?” You asked hesitantly.

“I have this awareness of my surroundings, like something in the back of my mind,” You weren’t expecting an honest answer but Peter’s eyes were completely earnest, “When I’m around you, it goes haywire and when I don’t have it, I’m vulnerable. I hate that.”

“So you do this to me b-because you hate me?”

Peter stood up, leaning forward as he pushed you down towards the bed. You slowly moved back towards your headboard as Peter crawled on top of you, “Not anymore. I like feeling certain things … when my defenses are down.”

His face was hovering above yours now, his fingers trailing over the waistband of your underwear. He started to pull them down and you stared with wide eyes because he didn’t even look away from you.

“Oh,” was all that left your mouth as he spread your legs. Everything about him confused you but it was useless to argue with him. You reached up to touch his shoulder which surprised him, to say the least. You touched the skin there and then the hardness of his chest. 

Peter tossed your underwear to the side, positioning himself between your legs. His eyes darkened as he looked at you and, suddenly, he was pinning your hands above your head. He kissed you as he used his other hand to pull down his boxers, letting his member spring free. He rubbed its tip against your sensitive bulb, trailing it up and down to tease you. 

When he finally entered you, it was slow and patient despite the hungry look in his eyes. He watched as you winced and moaned in pain as he stretched you for the first time. He’d bury himself deep inside of you for the rest of his life if he could. He’d make you tighten around him as he gave you orgasm after orgasm. 

“You make me feel human again, Y/N,” Peter grunted into your ear. After all, he had lived through and what he was meant to go through now, he’d use you to bring him down to earth. You were a toy, a tool, but maybe you could learn to enjoy the closeness. The intimacy.

Human. 

Peter both desired and despised the feeling. 

+

I hope you enjoyed this! Please be sure to like, reblog and let me know what you think! Check out my harryspetrequests tag for more of my requests and my master list for more dark peter fics!

[musehyacinthus]

Shoot Your Shot: Part 1

This is my first published work in over a decade, and I'm so excited to share it with everyone! Dash is my oldest and most treasured oc, and I'm so happy that I finally have the confidence to allow everyone else a peek into her life. This was originally supposed to be a short one shot, but is now going to be a 2(?) part series. I will hopefully be posting more work in the future that explores more of her background, as well as introducing some of my other oc's.

It was June, and the air was warm and sticky, which wasn’t ideal; the humidity made Dash’s hair all frizzy, and it always seemed to happen on a day when she wanted to make meringue.

This morning in particular, her eyes snapped open, bolting upright in her bed with a gasp. She had been having the most amazing dream, in which she was about to take a bite of the biggest, most beautiful lemon meringue pie she had ever seen. However, just as the fork reached her mouth, she woke up, returning to the sad reality where she did not have a mouth watering dessert in front of her. She smacked her lips, trying to recall what the pie had tasted like, but it was already gone. Tragic.

It was then that it dawned on her that she had the ingredients to bring that beautiful pie to life in the kitchen. In an instant, she rushed to her bedroom window. Maybe, if she was lucky, the weather would be on her side today. She pried open the window, a warm, thick breeze blowing against her skin. She groaned. No good; meringue wouldn’t peak in the humidity. No matter how good at baking someone is, they’re no match for mother nature. Pursing her lips, she pulled the latch shut, deciding to settle for banana bread muffins instead.

A couple of hours later, the muffins were nestled in her bag as she hopped off the trolley that crossed the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Thanks!” Dash chirped to the driver, exchanging waves with the man before she bounced away, not noticing the large, gray clouds looming on the horizon.

She clicked her tongue rhythmically as she walked, matching the beat to her steps and scanning the docks for her friend, Twitchy. The purpose of her trip had been to return a book he lent her, but he was nowhere to be seen.

A group of four other teenagers had gathered nearby at the edge of the docks, crouching in a large circle on the ground. Curious, she inched forward, craning her neck to see what was going on.

As she approached, she could see they were surrounding a long piece of brown string that was tied in a circle, surrounding a cluster of marbles.

Her heart skipped a beat. She was fantastic at marbles! She always kept her own pouch on her in case of a marble emergency, which happened more often than one might think.

Now that she was closer, Dash knew the kids to be Newsies like herself from her other visits to the borough. Among the group was a short, round faced girl with glasses and hundreds of freckles who Dash remembered was named Abigail. Her curly, brown hair was pulled back into two braids, her eyebrows knit with frustration as she gazed down at the ring. There was also a pale, skinny boy with sandy, blond hair and brown eyes that Dash didn’t recognize, and a tall boy with broad shoulders and dark hair standing just behind Abigail and watching the game intently. The way he hovered over her, he seemed almost like a bodyguard. What was his name again? Something with a chuh sound…. Chuck? No. Chatter! That was it! She remembered now, she found it funny the first time she learned it because Chatter really didn’t say very much at all. He was a friendly enough guy, but he seemed to like observing and listening more than he liked talking. He and Abigail seemed to always be around one another when Dash saw them, their significant height difference almost comical. Finally, Dash’s eyes rested on the figure closest to her with their back turned. Their brown cap was pulled down low on their face as they knelt on the ground, but she could recognize those bright red suspenders anywhere. He was at an angle where she could just see that was holding a red shooter in his hand, weaving it through his fingertips thoughtfully.

Dash’s feelings toward Spot were… mixed; she could never stop herself from riling him up, and the two would often butt heads due to their wildly different personalities. Spot took himself so seriously, and for the life of her, she couldn’t understand why. It frustrated her that he tried to make himself seem so high and mighty, and she knew the kids in Brooklyn respected him, but as far as she could tell, he was just… some guy. The way he constantly tried to have the attention of those around him was so silly, and just made him come off as a bit of a show off.

She hadn’t seen him do anything particularly intimidating, but the Newsies back in Manhattan would often go on and on about how nervous he made them. She just failed to see any real reason for their apprehension. Then again, she really hadn’t been living in New York all that long; his reputation had been around for a good while. Maybe they all knew something she didn’t.

In any case, as far as she was concerned, he was just a kid who wanted attention. That was fine, of course, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to tease him. It was fun to challenge him, and she found herself getting extremely competitive in his presence. Of course he wasn’t going to back down from a challenge.

Dash would come to Brooklyn every once in a while to exchange books with Twitchy, who she knew was pretty close with Spot. He never seemed to show any signs of being intimidated either, and was an even bigger culprit than she was when it came to pushing Spot’s buttons. He would go to great lengths to make him look silly, like the time he filled Spot’s pockets with bread crumbs and got the neighborhood pigeons to follow him around all day. There was also a time when he dressed up in the same clothes as Spot, and had bribed the other Brooklyn kids with candy to pretend that he was the real Spot for an entire day.

Dash watched as the boy she hadn’t recognized leaned forward, closing one eye and taking a deep breath. He flicked his thumb, his yellow shooter zipping forward and smacking into another large, purple marble. Both marbles rolled over the string, coming to a rest on the other side. The boy whooped with delight, and Abigail let out a cry of astonishment.

“That was a cheap shot, Sonny!” Abigail crossed her arms in front of her chest, staring daggers at the boy. “You know I just got that marble yesterday!”

“It ain’t my fault I got good aim!” Sonny grinned, shrugging and walking over to claim the purple shooter for himself. “Sorry, toots.”

Dash thought Sonny didn’t look all that sorry.

Abigail huffed, sitting back and crossing her legs.

“Fine, whatever. Your turn, Spot.”

Spot, who had been silent the entire time, was already leaning down to shoot his own red marble. He extended his arm, appearing as still as a statue as he aimed the little glass ball toward the center.

At that moment, an idea popped into Dash’s brain. Slowly, without making a sound, she crept up behind him, biting her lip to keep herself from giggling and giving herself away. Finally, just as Spot started to release the shooter, Dash exclaimed “HI, SPOT!”

The boy let out a rather undignified yelp and his hand jerked, the marble rolling into the ring and bouncing gently on one of the mibs. It hardly budged, and Spot’s shooter halted beside it. The other three Brooklyn newsies broke out into laughter, and Spot’s shoulders tensed, turning his head slowly to glare up at Dash.

Dash just smiled, waving down at him.

“Didn’t you hear me? I said hi.”

Spot grunted and rose to his feet, his hazel eyes narrowing at Dash. Despite his intense stare, her expression remained unchanged.

“I heard ya, I heard ya.” He grumbled, glancing her up and down. “You messed me up, y’know.”

“Golly, did I do that?” she feigned surprise, her eyebrows raising. “Whoopsie daisies. Can I play?”

“We’re in the middle of a game.”

“Actually, it’s just endin’!” Sonny chimed in from behind him with a smile. Spot glanced back and shot Sonny a look, who quickly clammed up.

“Aw, that’s okay.” Dash shrugged, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “It’s no big deal, Spot’s just afraid that I’ll beat him at his own game.” she looked back to Spot, and she swore she saw his eye twitch.

“No. I am not.” He replied firmly.

“Are too.”

“Am. Not.”

“Are tooooo.”

“NO, I am-” Spot’s voice had grown higher pitched in the heat of the moment, but he quickly paused, giving a sideways glance at his Newsies who were all staring at them. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat, his voice now sounding much lower than it had a moment ago.

“Fine.” He said cooly.  “Fine, you wanna play? We’ll play. Clear the ring, Sonny.”

In a matter of moments, the ring was reset, thirteen mibs resting in the center in a cross. Dash fished her sack of marbles out from her bag, a little blue pouch that her father had fashioned for her out of some spare fabric. She had about a dozen shooters she had collected over the years, but there was a very special one she wanted to use for this occasion.

She rummaged around in the pouch for a moment before pulling up a shooter that was minty green and blue with little white swirls. Sonny whistled, leaning in to look at it.

“That’s real pretty.” He mused. Dash beamed, tossing it up in the air once and catching it.

“Thanks! It’s the first marble I ever won back when I was younger.”

Abigail raised an eyebrow. “You sure ya wanna use that thing, then? Seems pretty special to be usin’ in a game. Don’t wanna end up like me and have it taken from ya.” She glared pointedly at Sonny, who only grinned back at her innocently with large, doe like eyes.

Dash nodded. “Oh, yeah! This guy is my go-to shooter, he’s real lucky!” She held it up proudly, admiring the way the colorful swirls glistened in the light. “I’ve never lost a match with him!”

Spot was also staring at the marble, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Huh. Oh, well, it’s your funeral, girlie.” He stretched his arms over his head, shifting his gaze back to her. “You better say your goodbyes now, ‘cause that thing’s gonna be in my pocket real soon.”

Dash stuck out her tongue at him. She wasn’t nervous; her lucky shooter had never failed her before, and this game would be no different.

The two knelt on opposite ends of the circle, and the others sat off to the side as spectators. Spot motioned his hand toward her.

“Ladies first.”

Dash positioned herself in front of the ring with her shooter. Without any delay, she flung her marble forward, grinning at the satisfying clack it made as it smacked into one of the mibs, sending two of them rolling out of the ring. Dash whooped loudly, and Spot continued to watched in silence with a serious expression.

“Nice!” Abigail grinned.

Her shooter was still within the circle, which meant she was able to shoot her marble again from the inside the ring. She hummed, hopping to the other side and returning to her knees to the left of Spot. As she reached for her shooter, her shoulder briefly brushed against his. Spot jumped as if he had been shocked, scowling and moving a few inches to his right. Dash barely even noticed him, focused on finding the right angle to shoot her marble. She flicked it once more and the marble struck another mib, but it didn’t have as much force as the first hit. It rolled a few inches and stopped just before reaching the edge. Dash shrugged, flopping backward onto her behind. “Oh well. Your turn.”

Spot nodded, adjusting his cap. Dash saw him glance over at the other kids for a fleeting second, then returned his gaze to the marbles. He cracked his knuckles loudly, which Dash found rather unnecessary, and flexed his hands at his sides. He scooped up his red shooter, assuming the position. His eyebrows knit together and he bit his lip.

This was ridiculous; the longer she waited for him to make his move, the more restless she felt. She drummed her hands on her lap as she waited. After what felt like centuries, she couldn’t take it anymore.

“Can’t you go any faster?” She huffed.

“I’m focusin’.”

“Focus faster!” she urged.

Spot’s jaw clenched, still not looking at Dash. He exhaled, finally releasing his marble. It hit two mibs at once, sending them flying out of the circle in opposite directions. Sonny cheered loudly and Abigail nodded with approval while Chatter clapped politely beside her. The marble stopped right where it hit its mark, meaning it was still in play.

Spot grinned, clearly pleased with himself as he turned his attention back to Dash. She clapped, nodding slowly.

“That was great, yeah! Hey, at this rate, maybe we’ll have a winner by Thanksgiving!” she teased. Abigail let out a cough that Dash could have sworn was a laugh.

Spot’s grin snapped back to a scowl, squinting hard at her. Dash smiled back. Sometimes it was just too easy.

Spot closed his eyes briefly, regaining his composure. When he opened his eyes again, the look in his eyes had changed.

“Oh, I ain’t movin’ fast enough for ya?” he asked, stretching out his arms and making a big show of moving into shooting position once more. Slowly, he leaned forward, maintaining eye contact with her the entire time. “That’s no problem. I can go faster.”

He set his eyes on Dash’s lucky shooter, and before she could even process what was happening, he shot his red marble straight for it.

Dash’s eyes widened in horror, and she gasped as the shooter crashed into her minty blue sphere, causing it to roll right out of the ring.

Her heart sank, realizing what he had just done. She looked up at him in dismay and was met with a smug smile.

“Oh, would ya look at that? Seems like ya lucky marble ain’t so lucky no more.” He snickered. “Oopsie daisies.”

The other Brooklyn kids appeared stunned at what their leader had done, exchanging nervous glances with one another. Sure, he had joked about taking the marble, but it didn’t seem like they thought he would actually take it.

“Spot…” Abigail started, but Spot ignored her, plucking the shooter from the ground and rolling it across his palm as he stood.

“You were right, Abby. She shoulda listened to your advice, don’t’cha think?”

For a minute, Dash was speechless. Did that really just happen? Was he being serious right now?

Her shock quickly turned to rage. She rose and stormed up to him, lunging toward the marble.

“No! That’s not fair, you can’t-”

“What exactly ain’t fair here?” Spot interrupted, snatching it away and holding her prized shooter high in the air. “I ain’t no cheater, ask anyone here! I won this here marble fair and square!” He looked over at the others for confirmation, daring any of them to argue. “You all saw it, right? No rules broken, yeah?”

Reluctantly, the three nodded in agreement, which only fueled Dash’s anger. She grunted and jumped toward his raised hand in an attempt to grab it, but he stepped back, barking out a laugh.

“Better luck next time, short stuff!”

Dash grunted, jumping up and down as she tried snatch her marble. “Oh, that’s rich, coming from you! You’re barely three inches taller than me at most!”

“Still, it’s three inches you ain’t got!” he snickered. “I’m playin’ the game the way it’s s’posed to be played! When ya shoot your opponent’s marble outta the ring, you claim it! That’s the rule!”

They danced around one another, Dash hopping up toward his hand and Spot pulling away at the very last second. Dash could feel her cheeks burning. She grit her teeth and let out a loud groan. “Why are you being such a jerk?!” She exclaimed, taking another swing just as he jumped out of the way.  “You only shot at my marble to be mean!”

“I’m the jerk?” He scoffed, side stepping when she tried to snatch it again. “You’ve been pickin’ on me this whole time! ”

“Was not!”

“Were too!”

“WAS NOT!”

“WERE TOO!”

“Hey, now,” Chatter spoke up for the first time, stepping forward. His voice was deep and soft. “Maybe we should all calm down…”

But Dash didn’t want to calm down. She was fuming, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Logically, she knew she shouldn’t be getting so worked up over a silly, little marble, but she couldn’t control it; she was livid! How dare he take something from her that he knew was special to her! How dare he hold it over her head and taunt her with it! The way he smirked down at her made her stomach bubble with anger. She wasn’t going to let him get away with this.

She lunged once more, but this time, she wasn’t aiming at his hand.

She reached for his head, plucking off the brown cap from his head in one quick swipe and scurrying backward with a triumphant “HA!”

Spot blinked in surprise, his free hand instinctively moving toward his head. His caramel hair was now in disarray, falling in wisps across his face.

“Ha ha. Very funny, girlie, give it back.”

“No.”

“Seriously? Dash, c’mon.”

Dash was already scooping up her bag of belongings and throwing it over her shoulder, a wild grin on her face. It was juvenile, sure, but it was the only thing she could think to do in the heat of the moment. She offered him a quick salute, then bolted from the scene of the crime, leaving a flabbergasted Spot behind her.

She was already halfway down the block before she heard an enraged bellow behind her:

“DAAAAASH!”

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

End of Part 1

[auroracalisto]

poisoned words

soooo i totally have fallen in love with this character and it sucks that there are like five fanfics.  so on a caffeine fueled go-about, i created this.  also, i’m trying something different.  anytime there is a time skip or a time jump, i’ll include a gif.  i don’t know, i just want to see what it looks like!  hope you guys enjoy.  also can anyone tell me if they like my posts with more gifs or with less?  does it interrupt the flow of reading?  this post is an experiment of sorts so pleease, be sure to let me know. 

pairing: marcus pierce/cain x reader

word count: 2464 words and i am not sorry about it, either

warning:  uh, you’re totally poisoned in this.  and marcus is a BITCH but he comes around because you need some stability in your life, don’t you?  i think there might be a couple cuss words?  uhhhhh

“Shut.  Up,” Ella grinned as she stared you down.  

You just rolled your eyes, looking away from her as you leaned against the table.  Your arms were crossed over your chest.  “It’s not a big deal.  And I don’t want to hear you talking about it, either.  Got it?”

She just smiled at you, bouncing in her spot.  She was ecstatic to realize that her best friend was practically in love with their boss.  

“Are you going to tell him?  I think you should.  You never know unless you say something—“

“—I’m not going to say anything, Ella.  And please, don’t say anything, either.” Ella giggled and shook her head.  “I won’t.  I promise.”

She handed you a couple of files and waved you away.  “Go on.  Shoo.  I have work to do, and so do you.”

You rolled your eyes, again, and took the files before you took them over to Detective Decker.  

She looked at you with a hesitant smile.  “[Your name].  Am I glad that you’re here.  Look, I have to ask you something—”

Lucifer popped up beside of her with a grin.  “You’ve got to go undercover.”

Chloe shot Lucifer a look before she gave you an apologetic smile.  “Yeah, uh, I can explain.  Lucifer and I have canvassed the area.  You are just gonna have to be under the same roof with the Lieutenant for a couple of days until we can figure out who the killer is.”

You stared at her for a moment, sitting the files you held on top of her desk.  “What?  Uh, no one else can do it?”

“No,” Chloe said.  “I am so sorry.  And I’ll owe you big time.  But Lucifer and I will be out in a van the entire time.  So, you won’t have to worry about anything, okay?”

You sighed and ran a hand through your hair, hesitantly nodded.  “Alright.  What case is this?  The cul-de-sac poisons?”  

Chloe nodded and pulled out a file, beginning to explain what was going on. Whoever it was happened to be very skilled.  To the point that this case was on its second week and they still had no idea who had been killing people in the neighborhood.  

Fast forward a couple of hours, you were sitting on the sofa in your newly rented condo, Lieutenant Pierce sitting across from you.  

It was quiet, for just a minute, before he spoke up.  

“Have you done many sting operations?”

You looked at him and raised an eyebrow.  “This your idea of small talk?”  You couldn’t help the blush that formed on your cheeks.  “Yeah.  When Chloe can’t, I usually step in to help.”

He nodded but didn’t say anything else.  

Around other people, it was far simpler to talk to the man.  But now that you were in front of him, alone, you felt like you couldn’t breathe.  Your heart practically clenched in your chest.  

None of this was going to go well.  

Five minutes of nearly total silence went by before there was a knock at the front door.  

“I’ll get it,” you quickly said, jumping up from your spot on the couch and rushing to the front door. 

A young woman stood there, holding a basket of muffins.  She had a kind smile on her face; the kind of smile that would make your heart melt when you saw it.

“Oh, hi,” you smiled, tilting your head.  “Um, can I help you...?”

She smiled.  “Hello!  It’s so nice to meet you, my name is Neveah,” she grinned, holding out the basket to you.  “I noticed that you and your husband were moving in and I just wanted to bring you a welcome gift.  They’re homemade.  I hope you don’t mind!”

You just smiled and reached out to take the basket.  “Thank you so much.  I really appreciate it.  My name is—my name is [Your nickname].  My husband is—”

“Marc,” Marcus said from beside of you, forcing a smile to the girl standing in front of you.  

Neveah pursed her lips when she saw him, but it soon returned to the smile she originally had.  “Well, I just wanted to give you guys a warm welcome to the neighborhood!  I’ll be seeing you around!”  Neveah waved and smiled once more before she left.  

Marcus moved to shut the door and lock it behind of her, while you took the muffin basket to the kitchen.  

You stared at it, debating for a moment.  They did smell amazing.  But you had to be careful.  You were on a sting operation for a string of poisons.  It probably wasn’t in your best interest to eat anything that was given to you.  

Marcus came into the kitchen and rose an eyebrow.  “What?”

“Mm,” you tore your eyes away from one of the muffins and you gave him a soft smile.  “Nothing.  We should probably just throw these away,” you shrugged.  “I, uh,” your eyes glanced towards the clock and you finally noticed the time.  “God, why did she come over so late?”  

You shook your head and sighed.  “I’m gonna go and take a shower...”

About an hour later, you came out of the bathroom with your pajamas on and a towel around your head.  You were, in other words, ready for bed and exhausted, to say the least.  

But you decided to go to the kitchen and find something to eat before you went to bed.  

You couldn’t find Marcus.  And you debated on eating a muffin or not before you finally just grabbed one that looked the best and took a hesitant bite out of it.  The muffin had a funny taste and you immediately sat it down.  You swallowed thickly, picking up another muffin and sniffing at it to see what it smelled like.  It had a similar smell to what you were tasting.  

“Shit,” you breathed out.  “Uh, guys?” you spoke into the walkie-talkie, hoping that Chloe and Lucifer were listening in on you.  “I think I figured out how they’re being poisoned.”

“What?” Chloe quickly replied through the walkie-talkie.  “What are you talking about?  [Your name], what did you do?”

“I took a bite out of a muffin.  I, uh, I’m fine, though, so don’t worry.  But whoever gave them to me definitely is our culprit—"

“Neveah,” Marcus said as he came into the kitchen.  “Wait, what did you say you did?”  

Marcus took one look at the muffin and he frowned.  “I thought you said we shouldn’t eat them.”

You sat the walkie-talkie down and grabbed the basket, throwing the rest of them away in the trash.  As soon as you were by the trashcan, a wave of nausea ran through you.  You reached up and pressed a hand against the wall, the back of your other hand pressing against your mouth.   “[Your name]?”

“I’m fine,” you frowned, calming yourself down.  You lowered your hand and were able to take your other off of the wall.  “I’m going to go and lay down…”  You took a couple steps forward.  However, you didn’t make it very far before you collapsed to the floor.  

When you came to, blinding lights took over your vision.  

You groaned, forcing yourself to sit up.  Pain ran through your body and a voice ushered you to lay back down.  

Chloe was in the room with you.  That was her talking to you.  

“We got the culprit.  It was that girl you talked to.  I don’t know how she knew you guys were cops, but… the good news is, she’ll be behind bars for life.”

You groaned softly and raised your hand up to your eyes, shieling them from the light.  

“Where am I?”

“The hospital,” Chloe said.  

“The Lieutenant…”

“Called for backup and for an ambulance.  Had he not caught you, you probably would have had a pretty serious head injury…”

You raised your arm, forcing yourself to look over and see the blonde.  “Really?”

She just smiled.  “Yes, really.  I am so glad you’re okay.  No more sting operations in my place, okay?  And no more muffins.”

“Agreed,” you groaned, taking in a deep breath.  “No more muffins.”

Nearly a week after you were poisoned, you had returned to work.  Ella had been worried sick about you, even though she had visited you every single day. Pierce had yet to say anything to you.  He just sent you these sad looks throughout the day.  Lucifer kept hitting you on the back, right where your muscles hurt the most.  But that was typical; nothing new, there.  

But, after a week of somewhat normalcy, you decided that you needed to talk to Pierce.  A part of you truly just needed to talk to him.  After your brief visit with death, the feelings you were having before the sting operation needed to be on the table.  

You walked up to his office and hesitantly knocked, wanting to chicken out.  If he said nothing, you would never tell him anything.  

“Come in.”

You felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach, but you opened the door and walked in anyway.  

“What can I do for you, [Your last name]?”

You pursed your lips before you walked further into the room, walking to the front of his desk.  “I… I need to talk to you about something.”

He looked up from his papers, just long enough to see how nervous you were.  

“No,” he quickly said.  

“No…?”

“I know what you’re going to ask.  And the answer is no.”

You stared him down for a moment.  The disbelief was written all over your face and you took a slight step back.  

“You’re not even letting me speak.  Lieutenant, please, I just need to get this off of my chest—”

“No, you need to keep it to yourself.  It will not happen, [Your last name].  I realized this when you nearly died from eating a damn muffin.  I will not subject myself to losing you after you did something so stupid.  If you did that, what more could you do?”  He stared you down, his eyes locking with yours as he spoke.  “Besides.  I am not relationship material.  It wouldn’t work out.”

“I didn’t thi—”

“—think?”  

He interrupted you.  

“You didn’t think, hm?  Isn’t that the problem, [Your name]?”

“I…  I just…”  

You looked away from Pierce and quickly left his office, not once looking back to see the look of pure regret that Marcus withheld from you.  

You rushed over to your desk and grabbed your coat and your bag, just leaving. You couldn’t be in that building any longer than you truly needed to be.  

Ella had messaged you probably about 100 times in the past three days.  She had sent memes, worried text messages, and text messages about how when she saw you again, she was literally going to beat you up.  Lucifer had sent one. And that was a lot, coming from him, especially because he genuinely seemed concerned.  Chloe had sent a couple as well, checking up on you.  No one knew what happened to you, except for yourself and Marcus.  But he hadn’t said a word.  

You should have saw it coming.  He acted like he didn’t need anyone.  Maybe that was true.  

You sighed as the sunlight peeked through your curtains.  You moved your arm above your eyes. You had to go to work, sometime.  But you didn’t know if today would be that day.  You just couldn’t.  

A buzz came from your phone as you finally forced yourself to sit up.  

Lieutenant Come open your door.

You why should i

Lieutenant Please.

With a groan, you hauled yourself out of the bed.  You looked at your appearance.  Disheveled everything.  Bedhead, bed clothes, dark circles under your eyes because although you had been mostly in bed the past couple of days, you couldn’t exactly sleep.  

You walked downstairs, trudging over to your front door.  

You didn’t even check the peephole to see if he was actually there before you opened it, revealing the Lieutenant.  

He frowned at the sight of you and he cleared his throat.  “How are you?  Are you okay, [Your last name]?”

You stared at him for a moment before the urge to roll your eyes came to you. “I’m gonna have to ask you to leave—”

“No,” he quickly said.  “No, I…” He frowned and watched you as he spoke. “I’m sorry, [Your name].  I think it’s time that I explain some things to you.  You… deserve to know why I acted the way I did.”

The thought of kicking him off your doorstep ran through your mind, but instead, you moved out of the way and let him in.  

“I’m sorry,” he said, frowning as you led him into the living room so the two of you could sit down and talk.  “I really am.  I just…”

The things he began to explain to you were unimaginable.  Angels, demons, God, they were all real.  And to ice the cake, Marcus looked at you and told you about his own upbringings.  He was Cain.  

And although this should have scared you.  Although this should have sent you running.  You only frowned at him.  

“So, you totally broke my heart in the middle of the precinct because you were afraid, I’d be scared of you?”

“No,” he frowned.  “I don’t want to see you die, just like everything else around me has.”

“Yeah, but,” you breathed out.  “What if there is a way for you to become mortal?  Or… or if there’s a way for me to become immortal?  Marcus, Cain—yeah, I’m gonna stick with Marcus for now—what if you lived?  For just a little bit longer?”

“And why would I do that?” he frowned at you.  

“I was hoping you would do it for me,” you weakly said.  “But I understand if you wouldn’t.  I’m not exactly the relationship type, huh?”

“[Your name]…”

Marcus let out a soft sigh before he closed his eyes.  “I am not promising anything.”

“I don’t expect you to.”

“If you die, I will never forgive myself.”

“I wouldn’t die by your hands, would I?”

“Absolutely not,” he immediately spoke, staring you down.  

“I mean, hey, you really hurt me, I gotta offend you somehow—”

“Alright, that’s not really fair, I was doing it for a good reason.”

You rolled your eyes and wiped away a couple of tears that had escaped earlier in your conversation.  “Yeah.  Whatever.”

“[Your name]…”

You looked up at Marcus with a frown, only to realize that he had moved to be right in front of you.  Without warning, Marcus, or Cain, leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours.  What he should have done, to begin with.  

[lady-divine-writes]

Serendipity (Rated PG13)

Summary: Aziraphale’s best friend Tracy sets him up on a blind date, but the man who shows up isn’t what he expects. (4351 words)

Notes: Written for the @ineffable-valentines prompt ‘perfect date’ and inspired by a post I saw @miraworos reblog on tumblr, which happened to be the exact premise of a story I had written a long time ago for another fandom. So I brushed it off, re-sculpted it, and voila. I hope y'all like it

Read on AO3.

“So … how’re the crepes treating you? Are they everything you dreamed they’d be?”

“Oh my yes! They’re absolute Heaven!”

“They should be. This place is famous for them.”

“Good, because they’re my favorite.”

“I know. That’s why I brought you here. More wine?”

“That depends … are you trying to get me drunk?” Playful blue eyes, twinkling above cheeks darkening from baby pink to dusty rose, meet seductive liquid gold.

Lush lips split into a devilish grin. “Maybe.”

Those blue eyes dip down to those inviting lips and linger there, lost in a daydream of mouths meeting, tongues sweeping, kisses traveling, caressing pale skin … “Well, at least you’re honest about it.”

Wine pours. Glasses clink and the robust red sipped. Fingers snap, and like magic, another bottle of wine appears.

“Now,” the devilish lips ask, “where was I?”

“You heard something in your walls?”

“Oh yes. For days I’m hearing scritch-scritch-scritch, and the pattering of tiny feet on my marble floors morning and night, like little ghosts wearing tap shoes puttering about my flat.”

“Ooo! That’s spooky!”

Subtle shrug. “Don’t bother me. I like spooky. Big spooky fan me. So I look and look. but I can’t find where it’s coming from. And I mean, I look everywhere …”

Aziraphale covers his mouth and giggles, blown away by how drawn in he’s become to this story. Reuben is such a dynamic storyteller. Aziraphale feels like he’s there with him, searching his house for the mysterious scratching that’s plagued him day and night, shivers as his description of them runs its nails delightfully up his spine. For good or bad, Aziraphale is invested now, even though the events of this tale are over and resolved. Reuben pauses his story; chuckles shyly, too; while Aziraphale waits patiently to hear the rest of the saga.

“To make a long story short, I take apart the entire wall unit, and finally I find the culprit – the cutest family of white rats I have ever seen! Momma had made a nest in the insulation and had babies! Five of them! I couldn’t believe it!”

“Oh no!” The tips of a mouth turn down as those shivers make a return trip. “I don’t personally fancy rats. What did you do?”

“The only thing I could do.” Reuben takes a sip of his wine – a 2014 Bogle Petite Sirah. It sounded so scrummy when Reuben ordered it, Aziraphale couldn’t help himself. He had to have a glass, too. And Reuben was not wrong. Its dense blueberry and blackberry flavors compliment the crepes exquisitely. The alcohol doesn’t overwhelm the palette, but it’s racy enough to bring color to Aziraphale’s cheeks. “I adopted her. Named her Rogue.”

“You adopted wild rats!?”

“Turns out - not wild. After a little investigating, I found out that momma rat had belonged to a neighbor who moved out a week ago. They couldn’t bring the rat with them, or they didn’t want to, so they set her loose in the garden downstairs. She ended up getting back in somehow.” Reuben runs his index finger around the rim of his glass. “It may sound bonkers but I admire Rogue. I really do. Abandoned by the family she thought would love and take care of her, she fights and struggles to find a safe place to have her brood, which ends up being the place she was cast out from. I couldn’t just put her on the street.” He sighs, a fond but sad smile crossing his lips. “Reminds me a bit of my mum, to tell you the truth - the unforgiving life she had raising me and my sisters after our father left …”

Aziraphale gasps, that confession wrapping around his heart and giving it a solid tug. He could listen to Reuben talk all night. But he’s not just a great storyteller. He happens to be sweet, funny, attractive (God is he attractive! But, of course, Aziraphale has always been a sucker for hazel eyes like his, with flecks of gold that brighten the irises when the alcohol flows or the lighting is right). And as if that wasn’t enough, he works at one of the most successful (and philanthropic) firms in the city. But he doesn’t wear his wealth on his sleeve, doesn’t flaunt it like a selling point. His shirt is vintage, the wine he ordered costs $20 a bottle, and he came here on the tube. Personality, modesty, good looks, environmentally conscious, a stable career … Aziraphale sighs. In his opinion, Reuben is close to the perfect guy, and this blind date is going swimmingly!

Too bad it isn’t his.

“Oh Reuben …” Lorelei – Reuben’s date – blots her eyes with her napkin. She reaches across the table to touch his hand. Reuben’s eyes flick towards the touch and he smiles brighter.

Oh yeah, Aziraphale thinks, raising his glass and finishing the last of his Sirah. They’re having a fabulous night.

Aziraphale pulls out his pocket watch and checks the time. 

9:45.

He’s been sitting at the table next to theirs for over an hour, waiting for his own Reuben to appear. Aziraphale figured out thirty minutes ago that his blind date wasn’t coming. He’s gotten no texts, no calls, no apologies, no explanation why. Reuben and Lorelei might have a glowing future together, but his date for the evening is definitely a bust. The wait staff knows it, too. Every time the waitress stops by, offering to refill his water glass, it’s with a sympathetic smile. She’s long since stopped asking him if he wants to pack up what’s left of his crepes to go.

What’s left.

That’s a joke.

It’s pretty much the whole order.

He lost his appetite a long time ago.

Aziraphale reaches for his cell phone but stops with his hand on his pocket. He’s not going to be that guy. He’s not going to send another text. He’s not going to give this man an easy out, refuses to give him the benefit of the doubt and say, “Well, I guess you got caught up. Text me back and we can reschedule for another time.”

Aziraphale is done.

He just wishes he knew why.

Why doesn’t dating work out for him?

He’s not a bad guy, if he does say so himself. He’s reasonably attractive (at least, he’s always thought so). He owns his own small business, even if it doesn’t necessarily turn a profit, but money isn’t something he needs to worry about anyway. He’s doing what he loves, therefore he’s living the dream.

He’s not asking for much. He’s not looking for the perfect man, just a nice one. One who might share some of his interests like theater, food, music, wine, food, books … food. But on the whole, he wants to find a man who wants to spend time with him, get to know him, who maybe isn’t ashamed of doing cutesy, romantic things, like hold the door open for him, pull his chair out for him, offer him half his desert the way Reuben did with Lorelei.

Reuben.

Aziraphale peeks back over at the happy couple.

As Reuben stares into Lorelei’s eyes and signals for the check, Aziraphale knows that he needs to face facts and be done with this. His roommate Tracy has, yet again, succeeded in finding him a date that’s not interested in actually dating.

Where does she even find these guys?

More to the point, why hasn’t he learned to say no to her?

Unfortunately, he won’t get to gripe to her about it until Monday when she comes back from some spiritualist retreat she went on with their friend Anathema, so Aziraphale has a long, lonely weekend of reading Oscar Wilde and drinking (Irish) cocoa to look forward to until then.

Aziraphale takes one last sip of the lukewarm water in his overfilled glass and decides to ask for the check. He feels awful. He may have ordered a full meal but he’s barely touched it. Plus, even though he’s done his best to be as polite as possible, he has wasted over an hour of their time occupying a table that could have been made available to other paying customers on this busy Friday night.

He prays he has a forgettable face. On the off chance he ever comes in here again, he wouldn’t want them spitting in his food.

He looks around the dining room in search of his waitress – a lovely young red-head with freckles across the bridge of her nose and a permanent pout. He doesn’t see her, but spots a man rushing towards his table – a tall, remarkably handsome man dressed all in black and wearing designer sunglasses (indoors!); cheeks flushed as if he’s been running in the cold; a warm, inviting smile aimed his way.

“Hey there, handsome. Sorry I’m so late,” the man says, pulling out a chair, spinning it around, and straddling it across from Aziraphale in a move that makes Aziraphale’s breath catch. “I wish I could say I was stuck behind a seven car pile-up or something, but I really have no exciting excuse. Not that the M25 isn’t a bitch at this hour, but I didn’t take it so, again, no excuse.”

The man smiles at Aziraphale, waiting for him to laugh at his joke. Aziraphale looks suspiciously back, turning his head left and right, searching for an explanation.

“I … I’m sorry,” he says, addressing the man, mostly through side-eye glances. “Are you are you … looking for me?”

“Yes.” The man extends an arm across the table. “I’m your date for the evening. I’m Tracy’s friend Gabriel.”

“You?” Aziraphale raises an eyebrow. “You’re Gabriel?”

The man’s smile becomes wider in a tense sort of way. “Yes, I am.”

Aziraphale looks left and right again, obviously skeptical.

The man folds his hand on the table and sighs.

“Look, Aziraphale, I know I was supposed to be here at a quarter to nine, and I know you’ve probably called and texted a hundred times. I’m really, really sorry.” He looks down at his thumbs, fidgeting as he speaks. “I know this is going to sound lame, but I got caught up at work, and then my car ran empty. I wanted to call you, but I left my phone at the office.” The man sighs again, deeper, the air leaving his body causing him to flatten a bit. “This has been a pretty shite day, all things considered, and I was really looking forward to this date tonight. I would like the opportunity to make it up to you.” The man looks at Aziraphale from behind dark lenses, a sincere expression of regret on his face, eyes peeking over the frames pleading for a second chance.

Hazel eyes, with so many gold flecks crowding in they practically shine.

“Will you let me try?”

Aziraphale is stunned to silence. He doesn’t quite believe that Gabriel ever intended on showing up at all. But then, why is he here? Did some other plans he made fall through? Did he feel guilty about blowing Aziraphale off and turn around at the last minute? Aziraphale knows he has every right to leave - stand up, say goodbye, and go on his merry way. But Gabriel did show up – the first of three blind dates to even bother – so maybe Aziraphale should give him a chance.

He’s mulling it over when he catches sight of the man staring at him, a flirty smile on his lips that Aziraphale can’t help find alluring.

“Please?” the man mouths, the hands he’d folded on the table finding their way up to his chin to aid in his begging. “Please?”

Aziraphale rolls his eyes to pry his gaze away from the man’s mouth. “Alright. It sounds like you had a hard day. I can’t fault you for that.” The man looks relieved. His smile turns slightly impish, and Aziraphale finds himself giggling without meaning to. “Why don’t we have a nibble and get to know one another?”

Gabriel smacks his hand on the table in triumph. “Great!” he says, reclining back on the chair like a large snake relaxing in the sun. “Thank you! I promise, you won’t regret it!”

A hint of a smirk twists Aziraphale’s mouth at the corners as his waitress makes a sudden and unexpected appearance. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, my dear. You have a bit of time to make up for.”

***

“So my mate rings me up, and he’s screaming …” Gabriel gestures with his hands as he gets more into the story he’s telling, and Aziraphale watches, utterly captivated. If Aziraphale thought Reuben was a good storyteller, it’s only because he hadn’t met this man yet. “He’s straight yelling, “They’re everywhere! They’re everywhere! And it’s bloodcurdling, ya know? Like straight out of a horror movie. And I’m trying to pretend I have no idea what he’s talking about …” He pauses to catch his breath in the middle of a laugh while Aziraphale, already in tears, pictures Gabriel sitting at home, listening to his friend Ligur yelling while trying to make out like he has no idea what the man is on about. “And I’m just like, “Calm down, buddy.” But at home, I’m biting my fist trying not to blow my cover. And the next thing I know - bzzt.”

Aziraphale sobers slightly, his eyebrows shooting up. “Bzzt? What does that mean? Bzzt?”

“Bzzt as in the line goes dead. And on my end, the world might as well’ve stopped spinning because I knew what happened.”

“And what did happen?” Aziraphale asks, on the edge of his seat.

“They’d destroyed it! The rats! Those furry little buggers, they managed to knock out the phone system! And not just in my neck of the woods, but the whole of London!”

Aziraphale’s eyes go wide. “That was you!?”

Gabriel points to himself proudly. “That was me! All because …”

“All because you fed a rat!?”

“All because I fed a rat!” Gabriel guffaws so loudly, other diners turn their way to make sure he’s not choking.

“I remember that day!” Aziraphale says, but not too upset since he’s not all that fond of his cell phone. Necessary evil in his opinion. Tracy made him get it so he could field calls from potential suitors. But Tracy, who spends hours on the phone talking to her fiance, was livid!

It gives Aziraphale no small measure of satisfaction to say he now knows the man who inconvenienced her.

“I didn’t know its whole family lived in the building! Extendeds and all! I thought it was just one rat!”

“And what happened to them?”

“Exterminator, I guess,” Gabriel says with a hint of regret in his voice. “Rats are smart, though. Resilient, too. I’m hoping they got away.”

His story brings to Aziraphale’s mind Reuben’s story about the rat in his walls. He looks towards the table where he and his date were sitting, but a new couple has taken their place.

Huh, he thinks. Wonder when they left?

Aziraphale, having ordered a second glass of wine, takes a healthy sip, but the buzz he gets from the alcohol is nothing compared to the one he already has from this date with Gabriel.

“I have to say,” Aziraphale says as the laughter dies down, “I was a little wary about being set up. I mean, you hear so many stories. Best case scenario, you find your soulmate. Worst case, you wind up in the boot of someone’s car. But this is going so well!”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is,” Gabriel agrees, becoming suddenly quiet.

“I’ve never met a real live Pied Piper before!”

Gabriel laughs, but it’s not like before - not as effervescent and carefree. Aziraphale looks down at the empty plates on the table, at the stray pieces of crepes and deviled eggs they’d ended up splitting, not a single full bite left. As it turned out, they both ordered really well. Aziraphale didn’t think it was possible for two things to be so compatible.

He was wrong, pleasantly so.

“I know you had a rotten day but thank you for showing up. This was probably the most perfect blind date ever.” Aziraphale watches Gabriel, concerned that his attention seems to be slipping away.

Before he gets to comment, Gabriel beats him to it.

“Aziraphale, I have a confession to make.”

Aziraphale feels the butterflies that have been dancing in his stomach during dinner drop dead, as if hit by a sudden frost.

“Yes, Gabriel?”

“I …”

“Crowley! Hey! Fancy seeing you here, ya old bastard!”

Aziraphale’s attention pulls to the left, to a man with white hair and dark eyes heading their way. No, Aziraphale amends. He’s going to go past them, to a table on their right since neither of them are named Crowley. Aziraphale peeks at the handful of tables there, but no one seems to notice the man calling over their heads.

No one named Crowley is responding to his call.

He is sort of making a scene. Maybe this Crowley is trying to ignore him?

But the man coming their way seems completely focused on Gabriel.

Aziraphale looks to Gabriel, staring down at his plate and concentrating on it, as if praying this man, whoever he is, will pass them by.

Who could it be to him to elicit such a reaction, especially when it’s obvious he’s got the wrong man?

“Gabriel?” Aziraphale says, worried that perhaps something they ate soured his stomach. “Is there something the matter?”

Gabriel closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Aziraphale, I …”

“Crowley!” The man comes right up to their table and claps a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, hard enough to make him flinch. “How long has it been, huh? Two months? Three?”

Gabriel sighs. He turns to the man looming over him and smiles the strained smile of a man about to commit a murder. “Hastur! Buddy! What a pleasant surprise!”

“Yeah.” The man chuckles. “You look like it is.”

“I thought you were vacationing down under.”

“Well, I’m back now. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” he asks, taking no time cutting to the chase.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel … no, Crowley … says, doing everything in his power to avoid the full intensity of Aziraphale’s confused gaze, “I’d like to introduce you to Hastur. He’s … uh … an old friend of mine from school. Hastur, this is Aziraphale. He’s my … date for the evening.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Hastur says, extending a hand. Aziraphale takes it and gives it a shake. It’s cold from the outdoors but not unpleasant. Hastur, on the whole, isn’t being impolite. He’s just oblivious.

As is Aziraphale.

“I’ve been tellin’ this asshat for years now he needs to get off his high horse and start dating again. Nice to see he finally took my advice.”

“Yeah, well, now that I have, why don’t you make yourself scarce so Aziraphale and I can continue?” Crowley grumbles, shooting Hastur several venom-filled glares.

“A’right, a’right,” he says, putting his hands up in defense, “don’t mind me. Just headin’ to the bar anyhow. Ring me up later, Crowley. We’ll go out for a few. Maybe your friend can come with us.”

“Will do.”

“You gentlemen have a nice night.” He bumps Crowley with his hip, winks at Aziraphale, then turns on his heel and heads for the bar.

The silence he leaves behind at Aziraphale and Crowley’s table is so thick, it could suffocate a wild boar.

Aziraphale clears his throat first. “So …”

Crowley follows, a bit softer. “So …”

“Tell me the truth,” Aziraphale says, too emotionally charged to keep frustration from cracking his voice.

“And if you don’t like what you hear?” Crowley looks at Aziraphale’s hands worrying his napkin, as if he’s longing to reach across the table and take one. “Are you going to leave?”

“I’m going to leave anyway. I just want to know who I’m calling the cops on when I get outside.”

“Don’t do that. I’m harmless. I promise.”

“Who are you?”

“Well … as you probably already know, my name isn’t Gabriel,” he says, finally removing his glasses and setting them aside. “It’s Crowley. Anthony Crowley. And I wasn’t your blind date. I’m not the man your friend set you up with.”

Aziraphale moves the napkin to his lap and smooths it, giving himself something other than Crowley to look at.

“To tell you the truth, I had a feeling,” he confesses. “I mean, you don’t seem like the type of man my friend would usually set me up with.”

“What kind of men does she usually set you up with?”

Aziraphale chuckles. “I don’t know. They don’t tend to show up.” Crowley growls, shakes his head in disgust. Aziraphale is flattered by his reaction. But he has to ask, “I don’t understand why? Why did you do this?”

“I stopped in for a drink and I saw you sitting at this table, waiting for your date.” Crowley grins. “I have to admit, I thought you were a looker, so I kept looking. I heard you talking to the waitress, making jokes. You sounded like a nice guy. You told her how your friend set you up, how excited you were. Then I heard you calling, saw you texting, and waiting and waiting and …"

“And you took pity on me,” Aziraphale says, embarrassment wearing a pit in his stomach.

“No, I was angry! I was angry that some dumb fuck got the chance to have a date with such a great seeming guy like you and he bailed. Opportunities like that don’t come by all the time and he threw his away. But I saw an opportunity and I took it. And no matter what you think about me now, I’m glad I did. Because you’re great. You’re really great. And I hope that you’ll forgive me and let me take you out on a real first date.”

The table becomes quiet again - Crowley watching Aziraphale, Aziraphale looking at his lap. The whole restaurant seems to have gone silent, as if everyone around them who has listened to them laugh and talk and watched them share their meal is waiting to see what Aziraphale is going to say. From somewhere off toward the kitchen door, Crowley thinks he sees a few of the waitresses peeking around a corner, watching their table a little too intensely.

“What else was a lie?” Aziraphale asks. “Everything you said over dinner, was any of that true?”

“All of it,” Crowley says. “Everything I said about living in Mayfair, owning a Bentley, taking a permanent gap year, working as a nanny for kicks, being an obnoxious trust fund baby, tormenting my friends with a rat army … here … wait …” Crowley opens his jacket and reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He touches the screen, swipes it a few times, then hands it to Aziraphale. ��Take a look. Granted I’ve only had this since the recent iPhone hit the bricks, but I’ve got a few pictures on it that should back me up. My Bentley, my flat, a few of my plants …” Crowley ticks photos off as Aziraphale flips through them. “There should even be one or two of the rats. Ligur sent them to me before he ran screaming.” Crowley snickers in such an off-handed way, Aziraphale can’t help believing him. And speak of the devil, next photo up is of a work station covered in black rats rooting through the works and apparently sending London skidding back to the dark ages.  

Maybe Aziraphale just wants to believe him, but as far as he’s concerned, Crowley is telling the truth.

“I … I don’t know,” Aziraphale says, handing the phone back.

“What?” Crowley asks, his expression of newly kindled hope falling off his face. “What don’t you know?”

“Yes, you’re telling the truth, but …”

“But …”

“I don’t know anything about you. Not really.”

“Fair enough,” Crowley says, slipping his phone back in his pocket. “But can I ask you a question?”

“I guess.”

“What did you know about Gabriel before you showed up here to meet him?”

“Well, I …” Aziraphale sits there with his mouth open, expecting words to come out that don’t exist, because he didn’t know anything about Gabriel. Not even what he looked like. Tracy told him that she showed Gabriel a picture of him, and that Gabriel would know him when he saw him. But other than that, all he had was Tracy’s assurance that they would work well together. In reality, Gabriel could have stopped by at some point, caught Aziraphale waiting for him, didn’t like what he saw, then turned around and left, and Aziraphale would have never known.

But Crowley on the other hand - Aziraphale has been talking to Crowley all through dinner. Provided he’s telling the truth, Aziraphale knows more about him than he does his best friend, and they used to room together.

“Okay,” he concedes. “You’ve got me. Alright, Crowley. Sure. I would love to go on a real first date with you.”

Crowley reaches his hand across the table and Aziraphale takes it, suddenly recalling the look in Reuben’s eye before he signaled for the check.

Crowley has a similar look.

He raises his hand for the check.

But after not seeing her for most of their meal, their waitress walks over and puts two glass flutes down. Then she pours each man a glass of champagne from a bottle Aziraphale is certain costs more than their meal.

“Uh, waitress?” Crowley calls to the woman before she can walk away.

“Yes, sir?”

“What’s this?” he asks, perplexed by the sudden appearance of alcohol.

“It’s champagne,” she says, as if that isn’t apparent. “The house special.”

“But we didn’t order champagne” Aziraphale points out.

“I know,” she says with a wink. “It’s on the house. Enjoy it. Take all the time you need …”

[dimpled-gukkie]

Click

Moodboard by @i-am-today-we-will-survive  

A/n: I’ve been working on this for over a month and was debating whether I should post the first part and make it a series or to finish the whole thing first but I thought you guys deserved to at least read something I wrote. Anyways, thank you @euphoriajjkook , @i-am-today-we-will-survive , and @delboyanddier​ for helping me write this and giving me your feedback. Hopefully you’ll continue to do so on the next part ❤️

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader ft. Sassy Park Jimin & Kim Namjoon

Genre: College AU/ S2L

Warnings: Explicit language strewn throughout, brief mentions of anxiety 

Word Count: 10.6k

Summary: Writing is something you have always loved to do. It’s what got you into the London Arts Academy Study Abroad program in the first place. Lately though you can’t help but feel like your creativity has run dry so you turn to this new foreign city to make you fall back in love with your passion. Turns out writing isn’t the only thing you’re passionate about. 

An airport is the greatest place on earth to people watch. It’s a point of conjunction for all walks of life to meet, small interactions twisting lives together, entangling their timelines for short moments. Anything can happen at an airport, a place where time doesn’t seem to really exist. Though the people rushing past you with sweat trickling down their faces would probably like to argue that statement if only they had the time. 

For those who don’t have connecting flights however, the airport can be a bit like a time machine. You don’t need to worry about the current time, only the time of the place you’re going. Glancing down at your phone screen you still have an hour before your plane even boards. Sighing, because an hour here feels like an eternity, you pack up your things and head over to the over-priced coffee shop located conveniently after the security checkpoint. Nothing like loosing braincells by waiting an hour to get an invasive pat down and spending a whole $7 on watered down coffee beans to recharge. 

The man in front of you huffs angrily, his shoes still untied signaling he just came from security and in his haste to get away from the checkpoint he couldn’t even be bothered to do a menial task. You continue watching his behavior, there’s really nothing else to do at this point, noting the way he taps his watch in time with his shoe. You wonder if this is a passive aggressive way of telling both the person in front of him as well as the baristas to hurry up or if he just has a song in his head. Judging by his red ears its probably the former. 

Noting down his characteristics in the notes on your phone, a deep voice sounds from behind you, “You a spy or something?” Turning around, you’re greeted with a boy around your own age, long dark brown hair messily strewn under a black newsboy cap. He grins at you, the corners of his mouth pulling into an odd rectangular shape, his dark almond eyes scrunching as his cheeks push them upwards. 

“Huh?” You ask dumbly, half struck by his beauty and half confused by his question. 

“Hey man,” The boy taps the annoyed man on his shoulder. The man whips around like a wild dog, practically snarling at someone disrupting his order but the boy seems undeterred, the mischievous glint in his eyes brightening. “Just thought you should know a spy is watching you.” Your eyes widen as he points his gaze at you a few times, silently telling the man that you’re the culprit and you put your hands out in an innocent manner. The boy glances down at you and smirks a little, amused by your expression. 

“I-I- no I’m not. I was just uhh…” How do you explain you were taking notes on a guy to use for a character in your novel? As you struggle to come up with an explanation, the man’s gaze suddenly turns worried and he looks to the boy behind you once more who nods in justification to his words. 

“I promise I’ll get him the money. I- I just need more time.” The man says hurriedly before dashing away, tripping on his untied laces in his hurry. Your gaze falls on the boy behind you, his body folded in half in his laughter and you can only gape at him. 

“Wha- what just happened? I’m not a spy!” He pops up then, gaze suddenly serious and mouth set in a straight line. 

“That’s something a spy would say.” He raises a thick eyebrow up and you roll your eyes at him. 

“That’s also something that a not-spy would say.” 

“Touche. But do you think we should tell someone about that dude? He seemed suspicious.” The boy asks, his hand moving up to play with his earring in thought. 

“I’m sure it’s fine. I just hope he’s not on my plane.” You turn around and order, expecting that to be the end of your conversation with the strange boy but are completely surprised when he tacks his order onto your own before handing his card over. 

When the cashier asks for his name he turns to you saying, “Taehyung” in what you suppose to be his way of introduction. “So spy-“ 

“Y/n.” You interrupt him. 

“Can’t you just play along?” He whines before sighing. “Fine Y/n, why were you taking notes on him anyways? If you’re not a spy after all.” 

Your cheeks bloom roses the same way they do every time you have to explain that you’re an aspiring novelist and softly you mumble, “I was taking notes for a character in my novel.” Somehow the boy, Taehyung, heard you and his mouth cracks open into that distinct boxy grin. 

“You’re an author!” He asks, his excitement startling you. You were used to the disappointed tsks, the familiar scoldings of your passion not being a real job. To be met with such enthusiasm is simply shocking and caused the clusters of roses on your cheeks to bloom even further. “That’s so cool, I wish I was good at words. I’m a photographer.” His eyes twinkle slightly when he declares his profession, pride taking shape in his stance as his broad shoulders push back to reveal the toned chest beneath his striped long-sleeve. You can’t help but smile back at him, his cheerful personality infectious and his passion for his passion beautiful. 

The barista calls Taehyung’s name and you follow him to retrieve your drinks, giving him thanks for buying you one and half expecting him to walk off. Except Taehyung doesn’t and he motions for you to sit down at a nearby table like he wants to continue your conversation. “So what do you like to photograph?” You ask, not one to like sitting in silence with a complete stranger. Though Taehyung is so warm, he’s beginning to feel less like a stranger and more like a friend with each smile he gives you. 

“Have you ever heard of abstract impressionism?” You nod your head and he gives you a quick smile. “Well basically around post-impressionism photography was also growing quite popular and artists began using photographs to take pictures of their subjects to later recreate in a studio setting, which began the link between art and photography. So I do the opposite, you could say. I focus on emotions, colors, and movements like Monet and Degas but in photographs rather than with paint.” 

“Can I see some?” You ask, not quite grasping what he’s telling you. Grinning widely, he nods, shuffling his camera out of his bag to pull up a few photos on the screen. The first photo he shows you has a cluster of monarch butterflies, their wings misshapen as they’re caught in movement. Their wings look similar to passing buildings when you drive down the freeway at a fast speed, blurs of colors and white lights, their wings caught in a rapid flutter. You can’t help the small gasp that escapes your mouth, starstruck by the complex simplicity of the photograph. You never thought you’d say a blurry photo was beautiful but somehow Taehyung did it. “That’s really beautiful Taehyung.” You say softly, still entranced in the picture and following the movement of the butterflies’ wings. 

“Thanks.” He says quietly, a small voice on him already so out of character that you look up. His cheeks are a dusty red, a small smile dimpling them. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something more but your phone obnoxiously buzzes and you smile sheepishly at him before checking it. 

You nearly drop your phone onto the ground in your haste to stand up, your bags clanging loudly against your table and drawing the attention of nearby people. “I’m really sorry Taehyung but I have to go. My flight is boarding right now and…” Looking around frantically you check the signs of the gates, sighing in defeat when you realize yours is at the other end of the airport. “My gate is on the other end of the airport. Anyways I really have to get going. It was nice talking to you!” You yell, beginning your long sprint through the terminal. You feel bad for laughing at those people hurrying through the airport earlier. How did the hour pass by so quickly? Heavy footsteps join yours and you turn your head to the side, nearly knocking into someone as Taehyung runs next to you. 

“My flight is boarding too!” He huffs and if you weren’t so stressed you’d laugh. What are the odds that both your flights are boarding at the same time? As you sprint through the airport, Taehyung staying by your side even as you weave through the crowds of people, you can’t help but fantasize you both having the same flight. It’d be nice to carry on your conversation with Taehyung, get to know more about him and his passion for art. Maybe even snag his number if you’re lucky. You can’t deny that he’s handsome, even as he pants next to you, his hair begin to stick to his forehead as sweat accumulates under his hat. But fate usually doesn’t play in your favor so you don’t put much hope to your thoughts. With your luck he’s probably on the plane next to yours and the luckiest you’ll get is to wave at him through the window. To your surprise though Taehyung pulls to a stop at your gate and you both pause to look at each other before it clicks. He’s on your flight. What’s next? His seat being next to yours? 

Good things really do come to an end as you wave at Taehyung seated a few rows in front of you. You guess your timer had run out, your good luck ran dry, and you can’t help but pout in your seat, momentarily forgetting that you’re afraid of flying. It only seems to click when the stewardesses are making their final rounds to secure the cabin that the fear sets in, wrapping its sharp claws around your throat and making it hard to breathe. You tap your foot anxiously to the fast beating of your heart, clasping your hands tightly in your lap as a way to ground yourself. Your eyes water and a blur of dark hair catches your attention and you smile slightly at Taehyung, who’s risen up in his seat to glance back at you. Through your watery vision that you hastily blink away, you can make out the concerned draw of his eyebrows and his hand waving at one of the stewardesses to catch their attention. In a minute he’s standing at your row with a sheepish smile on his face, large hands wrapped around a black duffel bag.

”Excuse me sir, but would you mind switching seats with this young man? His girlfriend is pregnant and has major flight anxiety.” She gestures to you but you’re too busy trying to take deep breaths to say anything. “And you’d be trading a middle seat for a window.” Only then does the middle-aged man begin to move, grumbling to himself while he gathers his things. Taehyung immediately shuffles in and places a warm hand on your own comfortingly, only saying something once he’s successfully shoved his duffel bag into the small compartment under his seat. 

“Hi,” He says softly. “thought you could use some company.” He makes no move to mention his hand now laced into your own and neither do you. You smile weakly at him in response, squeezing his hand tightly in a silent thanks. The bouncing of your leg increases as the plane roars to life and you pull your conjoined hands into your lap, using Taehyung’s arm like a makeshift seatbelt. “It’s gonna be okay.” He tells you, his thumb rubbing soothingly across your knuckles. He squeezes your hand once to get you to look at him and your body relaxes slightly at the certainty in his eyes. “Say it with me, we’ll be okay.” 

“We’ll be okay.” You mumble, looking out the window as the plane gets taxied to the runway. Your gaze snaps back to Taehyung when he places a pair of headphones over your ears, a soothing symphony already playing. The volume is loud enough that you can barely hear the engine rumbling, can only feel the vibrations as the plane hurdles down the runway before leaping into the sky. Only when the seatbelt sign flicks off does Taehyung pull the headphones off your ears, smiling widely at you as the tenseness in your body fades away. Taking off and landing were the worst parts. 

“See what did I tell you? I knew we’d be ok-“ Your hand lands over his mouth before he can complete his sentence, eyes already scanning for some sort of wood to knock on. 

“Shhh! Don’t jinx it.” You exclaim, knocking on Taehyung’s wooden phone case. Taehyung’s mouth moves under your palm, his eyes creasing as he lets out a muffled laugh and you pull your hand away with a glare. “Don’t laugh.” You pout, which only makes Taehyung smile even wider. 

“You’re so cute Y/n.” He coos, trapping your face between his large hands. Your mind immediately drifts to the idiot sandwich meme and you slap his hands away. Taehyung talks to you until your eyes grow heavy and you blink sleepily at him, trying your hardest to stay awake.  You don’t want him to think he’s boring you to sleep but the stress of riding on a plane and your anxiety took a toll on you, your energy depleted despite the coffee you ingested earlier. “You tired?” Taehyung asks quietly, smiling softly at you. Nodding you mumble your apologies but he just shakes them off. “It’s alright love. I’ll wake you up when we land okay?” He says, leaning down to take a book out of his bag. ‘Impressionism in its truest form’ it says. You smile when he puts on his glasses on making him look infinitely softer. You blink a few more times while staring at him until your eyes refuse to reopen and you drift off to sleep. 

When you awake it’s to a voice mumbling lowly in your ear and you groan shifting closer into your pillow. The voice laughs and your pillow vibrates and you sleepily open your eyes. Why is your pillow moving? You glance up to see Taehyung smiling down at you and you scramble away from him, cheeks warm from the realization that you were cuddled up to him in your sleep. “I-I’m sorry.” You stutter, eyebrows drawing closed as he smiles brightly at you. “What?” 

“Nothing. You’re just cute when you’re flustered.” 

“Stop.” You whine, pushing on his chest. He giggles at you. “Are you always such a flirt?” 

“Do you want me to flirt with you?” He asks, pressing his chin into his palm as he leans in closer to you. You open and close your mouth trying to come up with a snarky remark but his close proximity has you fumbling. 

“I-I don’t- Leave me alone.” You huff, crossing your arms and turning away to look out the window. To both your relief and panic the ground gets closer and closer as the plane begins its descent. With a startled gasp, you clutch onto Taehyung wrapping your arms around his own as you shut your eyes. Taehyung places his hand on your knee to give you more access to his arm, squeezing it a few times in reassurance. You keep your eyes closed until the plane stops bouncing as it hits the runway, the engines silencing. You peel your eyes open glancing to Taehyung who smiles down at you. 

“See, I told you it was gonna be okay.” 

“Yeah I guess you weren’t wrong.” You say. He keeps his hand on your knee even after you release his arm from your grip. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing in London?” 

“Oh! I’m doing a foreign exchange with an art university here.” 

“That wouldn’t happen to be the London Arts Academy program would it?” Your eyes widen as your mind begins to process what this means. 

“You’re part of it too?” You ask and Taehyung nods excitedly, his eyes sparkling. 

“Guess I’ll get to see more of you huh love?” 

When you step outside of the airport, the sky is overcast and painting the city in a soft white light. Taehyung stands by your side, tucking his hand into your own as you both get swallowed by the amount of tourists in the area. You’re thankful for his continuous support towards you even though you both are practically strangers.

“So what do you plan to write while you’re here?” Taehyung asks, pulling you towards the bus stop your university directed you to upon your arrival. 

“I-I don’t know.” You mumble ashamedly, causing Taehyung to frown. Before you looked so happy when mentioning your passion, eyes bright like the sun, and just like that very sun your glow is now obstructed by your uncertainty and woefully dim. 

“That’s alright. I mean I’m sure you’ll find some inspiration here. We’re in a brand new city after all.” Taehyung holds out his free hand, gesturing to city around you. He almost smacks a man in the face and you struggle to hold back a giggle. 

“I hope so.” You say softly. You can’t help but feel a little guilty to have taken this spot of such a prestigious program only to have no ideas. Well you do have ideas you just hate them. They’re bland and boring, some done a few times. There’s nothing that makes you excited, nothing making you itch to have your fingers on the keys, to spill your plot onto a page. It’s like all your creativity has been drained from you. 

“Come with me.” Taehyung says suddenly and you turned to him confused. “I have some places in mind I wanna scope out to take photos of. Maybe they’ll bring you inspiration too!” Taehyung’s eyes twinkle like the flickering light a few feet away. 

“If you’re sure.” You’d hate to intrude.

“Wouldn’t be offering if I wasn’t.” A bus rumbles towards you, breaks squeaking as it pulls to a stop. 

“Comforting.” You say causing Taehyung to chuckle. The driver steps out and loads your bags into the vehicle, huffing at the weight of your bags. 

“Women am I right? Constantly overpacking their luggage.” Taehyung says to the driver, smirking at you as you scoff and hit his arm. 

“Actually it was your bag that was the heaviest.” The driver says matter-of-factly, and you fold in on yourself in laughter. Taehyung turns to you with a slight blush, tangling his hand in his long dark hair as he smiles shyly. 

“Serves you right.” You grin, heading inside the large charter. Taehyung is quick on your heels, sitting in the seat in front of you. “Tired of me already?” You tease, tilting your head to the empty seat beside you. 

“Actually can’t get enough of you. Just thought you could use a moment of separation before you’re stuck with me for the next two months.” Taehyung says unabashedly. 

You lean forward, pressing your elbows into your knees. “That so?” 

Your grin widens as Taehyung inches closer, resting his chin on the top of the seat. “Yes I’m afraid.” 

“Damn I wish my girlfriend was on this trip with me.” An unfamiliar voice says from the front of the bus. You and Taehyung both turn to the voice with wide eyes, having forgotten that it’s not just you two in this program. “Hi I’m Jimin.” The boy smiles, eyes scrunching due to the plumpness of his cheeks as he gives a small wave. 

“I’m Namjoon.” The boy beside Jimin says, hunching over slightly as his tall frame seems to be struggling in the bus. They both move towards you and take a seat in the row behind you. Well initially Namjoon tries to sit next you before Jimin pushes him away, mumbling something about letting lovers be. You blush at the comment but don’t say anything, not wanting to draw attention in hopes Taehyung hadn’t heard. “What do you guys do?” 

“I’m a photographer. I specialize in impressionistic photography.” Like before Taehyung stands tall when he mentions his passion, something you can’t help but admire him for. 

“Ahh cool! You like impressionism too?” Jimin exclaims, reaching across you to give Taehyung a high five. “I’m a painter, but I also like making little cartoon animals sometimes. Like this little guy!” Jimin shows you his phone, smiling proudly at the little yellow hooded dog waving at you from the screen. “His name is Chimmy after his daddy.” 

Namjoon groans from beside him, placing a hand over his face exasperatedly. “Please never refer to yourself as daddy again.” 

“Do you need a snickers bar Joonie? You’re not yourself when you’re hungry, instead you’re a HATER.” Jimin throws a snickers bar at Namjoon causing the tall boy to roll his eyes. 

“I get that being dramatic comes with being an artist but could you tone it down a little? I’m tired.” 

“Ahh yes, another late night at the studio?” Jimin teases before turning back to you and Taehyung who were watching the scene with wide eyes. “My boy Joonie here is a musician. Writes some sad ass lyrics, but they’re actually pretty deep. I’m still waiting for my own song though, which I deserve for putting up with him for the last 12 years as his best friend.” 

“You put up with me?” Namjoon sounds offended, but the way he dramatically places his hand over his heart says differently. You giggle at their interaction and that brings their attention back to you. “What do you do again?” Namjoon asks, seemingly forgetting you never told them in the first place. 

“I’m a writer.” You say softly, cheeks tinged a dusty pink. You know you should be proud to say it, especially when met with such creative minds yet you can’t help it. You’ve been faced with too much disappointment about your passion in the past. 

“Cool! Maybe we could work together sometime? I need help with the lyrics for my new song.” Namjoon smiles, dimples pressing into his cheeks. 

“Oh! Okay.” You say, startled by Taehyung coming to sit beside you. You realize then that the bus is beginning to fill up with other students, the volume gradually becoming greater as people begin to interact with each other and make new friends. You can’t help but feel like you made the right choice as you all dig into the bag of skittles Jimin brought along with him, joking around and trying to toss them into each other’s mouths. 

When you pull up to the school, your jaw drops at the beautiful architecture, something very unlike your university at home. The building vaguely resembles a castle and you can’t help but feel like you stepped back into time as you walk inside the building, trudging your suitcase behind you. You look over at Taehyung and you can picture him as a prince, probably one of the most sought after too for his ethereal looks and kind personality. Maybe you should write something about a prince? Jimin bumps into you from behind and you let the idea die, disheartened by the squire in front of you. “Sorry uhh…Wait did we not ask for your names?” Jimin says. 

“Oh I guess not. I’m Y/n, this is Taehyung.” 

“I feel like a jerk.” Jimin pouts and you can’t resist the urge to ruffle his hair like you would to a sad child. 

“It’s alright. You were just excited.” 

“Like a puppy.” Taehyung says and you gasp. 

“Like your drawing! Jimin you really are the same as chimmy.” You exclaim and he laughs, cheeks a soft pink. 

“You might as well call me puppy.” Jimin jokes but much to his dismay you and Taehyung take a liking to it. 

“Alright puppy.” You both say in unison before looking at each other and giggling. Jimin rolls his eyes, less than enthused by your teasing. His lips form a plush pout and his eyes round making him resemble an upset puppy. Taehyung reaches forward and pinches one of Jimin’s bread-like cheeks between his fingers which makes the other man pout further after swatting his hand away. 

“What did I do to deserve this?” Jimin whines and Namjoon just places an apologetic hand on his shoulder. 

“It’s the curse of being so cute Jiminie.” Jimin screams loudly in annoyance before storming off to his room which only makes the three of you giggle. 

“What floor are you two on?” Namjoon asks, following in the direction Jimin went. 

“Two.” You and Taehyung say in unison once again, causing you both to look at each other. What a coincidence. 

“Ahh, Jimin and I are on four. Want to meet back down here in an hour to go get some food? Orientation is tomorrow so we have the whole night off.” You and Taehyung nod and Namjoon waves before leaving the two of you alone again. 

“They seem cool.” Taehyung says, leading the way towards the second floor. He offers to take your backpack for you but you refuse. 

“Yeah they do. I think we have a good group.” You say. Taehyung nods in agreement before turning back to you with a wide smile. 

“You’re mine though. My ride or die, my plus one, my best bud.” 

“Partner in crime?” You tease and Taehyung laughs. 

“That too.” Taehyung pulls to a stop in the middle of the hallway and for the first time an awkward silence forms between the two of you. Taehyung fiddles with the keys in his hand, bouncing back and forth on his heels for a little bit. It almost feels like he doesn’t want you to leave. Two minutes pass of the two of you staring at one another, waiting for the other to say something before Taehyung speaks up. “Well I’ll see you in an hour?” 

“Yeah.” You say softly, hoping to hide your disappointment. You’ve grown rather fond of the brunette with the boxy smile. Taking out your own key from your pocket you continue down the hallway, actually paying attention to the room numbers this time. “Did I pass it?” You mumble to yourself, jumping slightly when Taehyung asks you if you need any help. You thought he had already gone inside. “Yeah I can’t find 222.” Taehyung steps outside to help you look only to turn to you with a large grin. 

“Love, I think I found it.” You hurry towards him, having to blink a few times to make sure what you’re seeing is right. Your door is the one right across from Taehyung’s. You’re starting to think these are less of a coincidence and more of fate shoving the idea of romance down your throat. But turning towards Taehyung you decide you don’t mind all that much. Maybe you should write a story about lost lovers? “As much as I love you staring at me and admiring my handsomeness, you gotta unpack at some point.” Taehyung laughs and you turn away with a blush. Scratch that idea, romance is dead anyways. 

“R-right. I’ll just umm go then. See you in an hour?” Taehyung checks his watch. 

“Make that 50 minutes.” He grins, waving to you as you duck into your room to hide your embarrassment. 

Someone knocks at your door right on the hour and fixing your hair one last time you open it to reveal a smiling Taehyung. He’s removed the news cap in place for a beanie, his hair even more fussed than when you first saw him in line at the airport and yet he looks ungodly attractive. He’s swapped his long sleeve for a black thrasher hoodie but still wears the same black pants from before. “You changed.” He says quietly, scanning your figure. You fidget under his piercing eyes, pulling and twisting the drawstrings of your own oversized hoodie. 

“Yeah, I felt gross after the flight. Plus it’s kinda cold outside.” 

“You could’ve borrowed mine if you were cold.” Taehyung says matter-of-factly. 

“Well I didn’t know that. Or know that you’d be wearing one. But I’ll keep it in mind for the future.” You tell him, locking your door before you both head back to the main floor to meet Jimin and Namjoon. When you arrive they’re already bickering, something about Jimin stealing Namjoon’s favorite shirt. 

“Hey guys!” Jimin chirps, moving over to meet you at the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t you like my shirt.” 

“First off, that’s mine. Secondly, the audacity. This kid.” Namjoon says, nodding towards Jimin. 

“Fuck you Namjoon. Just because I’m small does not mean I’m a child. Besides if this was yours then why was it in my suitcase packed with my clothes?“

“Hmm I don’t know… maybe because you STOLE it.” 

“How are you two the most chaotic people I know already and I’m friends with Taehyung?” You say. 

“It’s how we roll baby.” Jimin says and you all collectively gag. “I hate you all. I can’t believe you got into this program.” 

“Yeah same. They really lowered their standards if they let you in.” Namjoon quips, only to be smacked on the back of the head by Jimin. Jimin’s eyes are now a dark coal and you wonder if you’ve all gone too far as his eyes flicker with anger. “Ahh, calm down Jiminie. You know I love you.” Jimin smiles brightly, appeased by Namjoon’s praise. You’ll have to remember that compliments make him feel better. 

“Yeah sorry puppy. We didn’t mean to make you upset.” You say and Jimin only smiles, waving his hand to dismiss your comment. 

“It’s alright. I wasn’t really mad anyways. well not at you at least.” 

“Do you wanna go eat now?” Taehyung asks and you all nod enthusiastically. 

“What should we get?’ You ask, the four of you wandering off campus to look at local restaurants. 

“I’m thinking like a british staple. I’ve been dying to try out my british accent in Britain.” Namjoon says, already heading towards a local fish and chips shop. 

“If we’re getting fish and chips then you have to order. For all of us. And we get to be over there.” Jimin points to a bench ten feet away. “I don’t want to be associated with you when you offend the masses with that awful accent.” Namjoon rolls his eyes at Jimin’s remark but heads to the ordering window anyways. 

“We should help him.” You say, stepping to follow Namjoon only for Jimin to stop you with a hand on your wrist. 

“We will. Just after he orders.”

“You play dirty Park Jimin.” He grins at you wickedly, sending you a quick wink. 

“I know.” 

When Jimin assures you that Namjoon has in fact ordered you pull out a wad of cash, attempting to hand the cost of your order to him. “No need.” Namjoon smiles, his dimples presenting themselves. “On the house because the guy liked my accent. Besides we’re friends anyways, I don’t mind covering once in a while.” 

“Well thanks man. I can buy coffee tomorrow for everyone before orientation.” Taehyung  smiles. 

“I can cover pastries or something for breakfast!” You say and Taehyung pulls you into his side. 

“Looks like we can go together.” 

“Eww can you keep the coupley stuff to yourselves. It’s only cute when you’re part of it.” Jimin groans, fake gagging to show his distaste. 

“Oh we’re- we’re not together. We just met like today.” You say hurriedly, worried Taehyung would be offended at the misunderstanding. You’re so worried you miss the way his smile droops a little, his eyes losing their sparkle. Taehyung retracts his arm from around you and the four of you stand in awkward silence. 

“Oh my bad, Sorry, you guys just have such good chemistry.” Jimin says, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. 

“No big deal. But yeah we just sort of clicked huh love?” You don’t bother to correct Taehyung for the nickname, not wanting to make anything more awkward. Or maybe it’s just because you like it. His affection, his smile, his nickname for you, just him. 

“We did. You know after we cleared up that I’m not a spy.” You don’t get a chance to further elaborate on your sentence because a bell is rung at the pick-up window and you all get too focused on inhaling your dinner, tired and hungry from the long flight. Within ten minutes your plates are picked clean, and you pat your food baby affectionately. “Well guys, looks like I’m expecting.” You giggle, rubbing your food baby for extra emphasis. 

“Me too! Joonie be ready to be an uncle to Chimmy.” Jimin pulls up his shirt to reveal his tone torso, one that makes you internally gasp because you weren’t expecting someone so cute to have abs, and turns to the side to show off his barely bloated stomach. 

“Congratulations!” Taehyung yells, causing a few passerby to turn their heads towards you and Jimin to lower his shirt with slightly pink-tinged cheeks. “I expect an invite to the shower. And a plus one for Y/n.” 

“Why do you assume I’m not invited?” You ask Taehyung, brows pulled together and bottom lip jutted. 

“I change my mind. Y/n you’re invited, Taehyung you can be her plus one.” You cheer through your laughter, folding in on yourself when you look up at Taehyung’s pouting face. Serves him right. 

“You hear that Tae? You’re my plus one.” 

“Yeah yeah whatever.” 

It’s been a week since the program has started and you and Taehyung are inseparable. The only time you can be seen without each other is when you have class and even then Taehyung drops you off and picks you up at the door. You’ve grown fond of his boisterous laugh and deep voice, entranced by the way his mind works. He flows so easily through topics, one second questioning the inner workings of the universe to the next asking why dolphins haven’t adapted gills if whales once had legs. It’s one of those rare moments on sunday morning where you’re alone and you can’t help but wish for the boxy-smiled boy to be beside you. Like he’s called by your thoughts a knock sounds at your door and you hurry out of bed to throw it open. Taehyung immediately walks inside before plopping onto your bed, watching as you make your way back to him. “Let’s go somewhere.” He says, wrapping his arms around you to bring you into a hug. You’ve learned this past week that Taehyung is very physical when it comes to affection but you don’t mind. 

“Where to?” You ask, running your fingers through his hair. It really was as soft as it looked. He hums against your stomach and places his chin on it to look up at you with a grin. 

“It’s a surprise!” He says excitedly. 

“At least tell me how I’m supposed to dress then?” You say. 

“Whatever you wear you’ll look beautiful in.”

“Not helpful.” You huff and turn back towards your closet to hide the roses in your cheeks.

“You try and give someone a compliment and they-“

“Fine. Thank you Tae.” You grumble, shoving aside your clothes to look for something. You pick out a pair of shorts and your favorite long-sleeved shirt, stepping into your bathroom to change. When you come out Taehyung has your polaroid camera in his hands, making funny faces as he snaps several pictures of himself. 

“You wasting all my film?” You laugh, enjoying the slight blush on his cheeks. 

“I-umm…” Taehyung fumbles over his words, the sound of your camera printing the cutting over him. When the films are fully developed you flip through them, giggling to yourself as his poses get more and more ridiculous. You pause on the last photo, his pointer finger pushing lightly into his plush bottom lip, shifting it to the right and showing his white teeth. His head is cocked to the left, long brown hair soft as it passes over his eyebrow and frames around his eyes, He looks cute. “Why do you keep staring at that one?” Taehyung asks, shifting nervously behind you. You turn back to him, a little out of it from observing his features so deeply. He’d be perfect character in a mythological universe. His beauty rivaling Aphrodite herself. “I know I look ugly in that one, stop looking!” Taehyung laughs, attempting to snatch the photo out of your hand. 

“Kim Taehyung don’t you dare say you’re ugly.” You scold, turning to him with a hard gaze. “You are anything but ugly.” 

“Yeah whatever.” Taehyung says, and you roll your eyes. 

“You try and give someone a compliment and they-“ You tease, quoting Taehyung from earlier which only makes him yell. 

“Hey! Using my words against me is not very nice.” He whines, lips pulling into a soft pout. “What are you doing?” His brows furrow as he watches you place the image in the back of your phone before sealing it in your case again, turning it over so his picture faces you through the clear case. 

“There. So now everyone can see how cute you are.” You smile proudly at him and he giggles at your determination, before turning and grabbing your camera again from your desk. He points it at you and you cock your head to the side confused. Why does he want to take a picture of you?

“It’s only fair.” He smiles making you grin back at him before the camera flashes. He shakes the film aggressively in an urge to make it develop faster and you lean into his shoulder as you watch it develop, wondering what it’ll look like. You’ll never be as photogenic as Taehyung but you hope you look at least somewhat decent, somewhat attractive to the man standing beside you. “Look at that.” Taehyung says, peeling his phone out of his case to place the polaroid in the back so it’s visible like his in yours. “What did I tell you?” He asks, eyes not leaving the photo. “Beautiful.” He says softly, finger trailing along the photo. 

Taehyung’s hand is in yours when you pull up to the bakery, your other hand stuffed in your pocket to keep it safe in the chill of the air. The bells rings softly above you as you follow Taehyung inside, the smell of freshly baked cookies wafting through the air. Your stomach growls lowly and you hide your face in Taehyung’s arm, his laughter ringing out through the quiet shop. A woman appears from behind the back and wipes her hands on the white apron tied around her waist. “Hi, how can I help you?” She smiles. 

“We’re here for that cake decorating class.” Taehyung says, causing the woman’s eyes to widen. 

“Oh right! Hold on one minute, I’ll bring the supplies out and you can settle down at one of the tables.” She rushes off and Taehyung shrugs off his cardigan, placing it on the seat next to him. 

“Why cake decorating?” You ask him, taking a seat directly across from him. 

“Why not?” 

“This inspires you?” You mumble, looking at the woman who rushes around while whispering to herself frantically. 

“There’s more ways to be inspired than just seeing something Y/n.” Taehyung says softly and you holt a little. It’s been so long since he’s last called you by your name. You hate it. 

“Why Y/n?” You ask and Taehyung furrows his brows. 

“I don’t know why your parents named you that.” 

“No, not that. Why not love?” You ask and Taehyung blushes a little. 

“Namjoon said I shouldn’t call you love anymore because you might not be comfortable with it if you have a boyfriend or something.” 

“Don’t listen to Namjoon anymore.” You tell him, thankful that your conversation is cut short by the woman returning. You miss the way Taehyung smirks. 

The woman goes through a quick demo of all the tools and techniques before disappearing into the back mumbling something about a wedding cake. You almost want to make her a cup of tea or something to ease her stress. She’s clearly very busy. Taehyung and you fall into an easy silence as you draw on the cakes with your colored icing. You’ve stuck to a more cool palette of blues and greens meanwhile Taehyung is making every color under the sun. Streaks of pink mix with a deep blue, intercepted by a streak of fluorescent yellow. “Taehyung what are you making?” You laugh, moving to stand up and get a better look. 

“A masterpiece.” He says distractedly, not lifting up his head from the cake. He seems to be having a lot more fun with his than you are so you decide to borrow from his technique and start smearing the colors around to look like streaks of paint. Though you can’t bring yourself to stray from the color palette you’ve created in fear of making brown. By the time you’re done and add a yellow dotted circle around the top your cake looks completely different. Gone are the semi-descent flowers, in their place are swirls that rival Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Well, not really but hey you can pretend. 

Taehyung finishes not long after you and turns to show you his piece excitedly. An abstract face seems so come out of the icing, its strong nose centered between two blue eyes. “That’s cool Tae.” You fight the urge to swipe a dollop of frosting from it and plop it into your mouth. 

“Lemme see yours!” Turning your own cake towards him, you watch almost anxiously as he takes in your work. “Pretty.” He says affirmatively. “Lowkey wanna just take a bite out of it.” He tells you making you giggle. 

“Do it.” Whipping out your camera, you catch a picture of him just as he takes a large chunk out of the cake and fold in on yourself in laughter. 

“You do it too!” He says though a mouthful of cake and you shake your head. 

“I don’t want to ruin it.” You whine and he rolls your eyes, coming to stand next to you with his own cake in hand. 

“Then take a bite out of mine.” Blushing you take a tentative bite out of his cake, heart thumping against your chest from the fear of him smashing it in your face and also from you taking a bite of something Taehyung’s lips have touched. Why do you sound like a middle schooler with their first crush? Maybe you should write a story about puppy love if you’re getting so worked up about an inadvertent kiss. You make the mistake of looking up at Taehyung as you take a bite and almost choke at the intense look in his eyes. Their normal milk chocolate hue is now dark and you quickly turn away, wiping some of the icing on the corner of your mouth and cheek. Like in a trance Taehyung reaches a hand out and swipes the frosting with his thumb before sucking it off with his tongue. Nope, this is much too R-rated for a puppy love story especially with the way he’s looking like he wants to devour you.

You can’t get the look in Taehyung’s eyes out of your head when you leave the shop even though he has gone back to normal. Nothing about Taehyung is sultry anymore. You can’t help but wonder if you perhaps imagined it in the first place. It was so out of character for Taehyung, maybe you were only seeing what you wanted. Because if you were being honest, nothing sounds better than knowing Taehyung wanted you. That this man who seemed more like a god than a human picked you out of all the people. Someone so quiet and boring, who liked to spend their days sat in front of a computer and making stories out of their head. That someone so bright and lively like Taehyung, enriched with the colors of life, would find you and your monochrome world enrapturing. 

“Where to now Tae?” You ask, readjusting the bag that holds your cakes in your hand. Taehyung notices your discomfort and takes the bag from you. 

“I wanted to go take some pictures.”

“Let’s drop the cake off back at the dorms though. It’ll get gross if we carry it outside all day.” 

You and Taehyung walk hand in hand back to the dorms, stopping by Jimin and Namjoon’s rooms on the way. Knocking on Jimin’s door, you’re greeted by the sight of a sleepy Jimin, his hair tousled and his eyes slowly blinking as he rubs the sleep away. “Yeah?” He croaks, voice raspy. 

“Just wanted to see what you guys were up to. Plus we have cake!” You say which immediately makes Jimin perk up. 

“Cake?” He says excitedly, salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs. You chuckle and rub his hair. 

“Yes puppy. You want some?” He nods, running across the hall to wake up Namjoon who was apparently also still asleep. 

“You guys do know it’s like one pm right? What were you guys doing last night?” Taehyung asks as you look around for any cutlery and plates in Jimin’s room. 

“We were playing Overwatch with our friend Jungkook from back home. He wouldn’t let us go to sleep until we won.” Namjoon says, stifling a yawn. 

“Wow you guys must suck then.” You snicker, earning a half-hearted middle finger from Jimin. “Puppy do you have any like forks and plates?” 

“I have chopsticks?” Jimin pulls four sets of chopsticks from seemingly out of nowhere. 

“Did you pull chopsticks out your ass or something? Where did they come from?” Taehyung asks.

“If they were from his ass they’d be broken.” Namjoon laughs, taking a pair from Jimin’s hand, sanding the chopsticks quickly before taking a chunk out of your cake. 

“Do-do I want to know?” You ask and Namjoon shrugs. 

“No, probably not.” Jimin unsheathes his before taking a bite for himself and moaning at the sugary goodness. 

“I wish I could live off cake.” 

“Why aren’t you eating my cake?” Taehyung whines at Namjoon and Jimin who are crowded around yours. 

“Scientific fact that what looks better, tastes better.” Jimin shrugs, moving to take another large bite. 

“It’s alright Tae, I’ll eat your cake.” Taking a rather large bite you grin at him, earning yourself a large grin back. “Want some?” You ask, holding out a piece of cake between your chopsticks. You swear you see the same look as before flicker in Taehyung’s eyes as he wraps his lips around the chopsticks but you turn away quickly with a blush to avoid your mind going elsewhere. Taehyung only sees you as a friend and you’ll have to accept that. 

The sun has dipped behind the horizon when you and Taehyung finally make it back outside after a ‘family’ dinner with Jimin and Namjoon. Both you and Taehyung have bright smiles painted on your faces, eyes bright and sparkling from Jimin’s secret Apple Ale stash. You tuck your arm into the crook of Taehyung’s as you both carry on down the street, admiring the London sky as you pretend the street lamps are stars. You look over at Taehyung in his big hoodie and black beanie, swaying slightly as you loose your focus to his beauty. Painted in the soft yellow lights, Taehyung looks like an angel sent down from heaven. Your own guardian angel sent down from above to watch over you and show you all the good in the world. You wonder if perhaps a cynical main character and their doting guardian angel would be worth writing. If you could write about Taehyung maybe they would be. You laugh to yourself, watching as Taehyung bends down to call a nearby pigeon. Maybe you should just write a biography about Taehyung since you’re so smitten. Your breath hitches, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by your feelings for a boy you’ve only known a week and you take a few steps back like separating yourself from him will distance you from your feelings. It’s useless because even as he has his back turned to you, you can’t find anything more beautiful than the boy in front of you in this entire city. Damn you and your hopeless romantic heart. It’s been a week and you’ve written nothing, wanting to spend every second basking in Taehyung’s attention. What kind of writer even are you? 

Taehyung turns to you finally realizing you’re not beside him with his eyebrows drawn together in concern. When he notices your glassy eyes he immediately cups your face in his large hands. You try and shake them off as your chest shakes but he simply shushes you, placing sloppy kisses on your forehead as a way to soothe you. “What’s wrong love?” 

“Nothing. It’s stupid.” You murmur, looking up at the sky as a way to avoid his imploring eyes. 

“Nothing you feel is stupid. Talk to me.” 

“I-I just…” You take a moment to collect your thoughts and find your voice. “why am I here? I haven’t written anything this whole week, none of my ideas are good enough. Namjoon’s already almost done with his first song on his mixtape, Jimin’s finished two paintings for his collection. You’ve already found inspiration and what do I have? I have an empty word document on my laptop that’ll probably never be filled.” Taehyung is silent after your speech, his eyes searching for something in yours but you’re not sure what. 

“What inspires you?” He asks suddenly and you push his hands away. 

“Taehyung were you listening? I have none.” 

“No, not what inspires you to write but you as a person. As y/n. What’s your motivation?” He pushes, grabbing your hands back to hold between his own. 

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t really have any motivation. I just do it because I like it.” 

He takes a step closer and lets go of your hand to put it on your cheek instead. “No motivation huh?” He asks and you hold your breath. It almost seems like he’s going to kiss you and you can’t help but look down at his pink lips, looking soft and pretty. Almost like they’re waiting for you to kiss them. They curve into a smirk and you look back into Taehyung’s eyes to see the same look from earlier flickering in them. “I bet I could find you some.” He chuckles before pressing his lips onto your own. Although you suspected kissing you was his intention you can’t help but freeze for a second before it finally clicks and you melt into his arms, throwing your arms around his neck while his own settle on your waist to pull you closer. When you part your breathing is labored and his lips are slightly swollen, making you press a quick peck to them in pride that you’re the one who made them that way. 

“Did you like it?” He asks wryly and you nod your head. “That means you’re gonna do it again right?” You can’t help the giggle tumbling out of your throat as you bury your head in Taehyung’s sweatshirt. 

“Yes dufus, I’m gonna do it again.” You reach up to press a soft kiss to his lips but he pulls back making you frown. 

“Does this mean I get to be your boyfriend?” He grins cheekily and you blush. 

“If you want to be.” 

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t want to be love.” He says softly, pressing a kiss to your nose in lieu of booping it with his finger. “But kisses are for motivation only. If you can’t find motivation for yourself, I’ll be yours.” He grins and you pull him closer for a hug. 

“Thanks Tae.” 

“Anytime love.” He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your head. “Now come on, I’ve got an empty SD card waiting to be filled and a whole night to get you inspired.” He pulls away and you whine at the loss of his warmth, crawling into his side so he throws his arm around your waist as you walk. 

“Where to?” You ask, free hand clutching onto a hot chocolate to fight the cold in the air. 

“I got a place in mind.” 

Taehyung walks with you along the Thames River, humming happily as he snaps pictures of the moonlight reflecting on the water. You stand quietly beside him as he stops to take pictures of bright red buses and telephone booths. You even run past the camera as it takes a time lapse, becoming lost in the sea of people it captures. “So what’re you gonna do with the photos?” You ask Taehyung, swinging your hands together. 

“When we get back to the dorm, I’ll upload them to my computer and overlap them on photoshop. The time lapse one is gonna take a while but I think the end result will be really cool.” Taehyung stops suddenly, eyes wide with excitement and you look around you curious as to what caught his attention mid-sentence. 

“Love, we need to go on that carousel.” He doesn’t wait for your reply, hastily dragging you towards the brightly colored ride that plays a soft classical tune as it rotates. 

“Tae aren’t we too old for this?” 

“Age is just a number love. Who’s to say we’re too young or too old to enjoy things anyways? Besides maybe this could inspire you.” 

“I’m trusting you.” You tell him, trying not to focus on the weird looks people are giving you as Taehyung clambers onto the ride and sits on a tiger. He pats the horse next to him happily. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” You tell him and he only laughs. 

“Say ‘Tae is the best boyfriend ever’.” He giggles, pointing the camera in your direction. You roll your eyes but say it nonetheless, grinning at his happy smile. He turns around then, pointing the camera out towards the city, getting lost amidst trying to capture the perfect shot. You wiggle your phone out of your pocket and take a secret photo of your own: your large boyfriend sprawled across a plastic tiger meant for a child with a camera pressed firmly to his face and the tip of his tongue pinned between the corner of his lips in concentration. You smile softly at the photo before saving it as your lock screen and tucking the phone back into your pocket. 

The ride finally comes to a stop and Taehyung helps you down from your horse, arms wrapped tightly around you in a back hug as you walk back onto the streets, his camera slung lazily over his shoulder. “Did you have fun?” He asks and you nod, leaning your head back into him. 

“Yeah.” 

“Any inspiration?” 

“Unless you want me to write about a killer clown then no.” 

“I take you on a cute date and all you get from it is a killer clown. That hurts love.” Taehyung fake pouts when you turn around to face him and you press a soft kiss to his lips to pacify him. He grins immediately, chasing after your lips again. 

A slightly heated makeout session later that resulted in a stranger yelling ‘get some!’ at the two of you leads you both on your way back to the dorm, heart warm but hands very very cold. You squeeze onto Taehyung’s hand harder as your other clutches the pocket of your jacket and Taehyung turns his head at you. “What’s wrong?” 

“My hand’s cold.” 

“Your hand is always cold.” He says, cutting you off to continue speaking when you open your mouth. “I know, I know. Poor circulation.” 

“If I were Jimin I’d flip you off right now.” You say causing him to laugh heartily before slipping your conjoined hands into the pocket of his hoodie. 

“There. Better?” He asks and you hold back a blush, turning your head away and pretending to focus on a nearby building instead. 

When you finally make it to the dorms you’re blinking slowly, eyes heavy as you sway slightly in exhaustion. Taehyung still has your hand and his in his pocket and he’s reluctant to let go even though you can see the tiredness reflected in his own eyes. “We should go to bed. We have class in the morning.” 

“We should.” Taehyung says and you both just stare at each other for a minute before he finally relents and gives your hand a final squeeze. “I miss you already.” He whines as you bring your hand back to your side. 

“You’ll see me in the morning.” You smile softy. 

“I know but that’s so far away.” You lean up to place a soft kiss onto his lips, a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. 

“Goodnight Taehyung.” 

“Goodnight love.” He smiles watching as you enter you dorm and close the door. 

The next morning Taehyung arrives at your dorm bright and early, a smile plastered on his face and two coffees in his hand. “One coffee for my wonderful girlfriend.” 

“Tae you didn’t have to.” You say softly, pecking his soft cheek gratefully. 

“I know but as your boyfriend it’s my job to spoil you. Besides, maybe in your story you can write about a handsome boyfriend who brings his girlfriend coffee every morning.” He winks, taking your hand in his own as he leads you downstairs into the main hall to wait for Jimin and Namjoon. 

“Are you asking to be one my characters Kim Taehyung?” 

“I do think I’m quite main character worthy.” He grins and you laugh, shoving his shoulder slightly. 

“If anyone deserves to be a character it’s me.” Jimin announces, doing a slow spin for you to take in his outfit. 

“A talented artist and model, traveling the city of Paris alone in a quest to find inspiration.”  

Namjoon coughs loudly muttering ‘amateur’ under his breath. 

“Did I ask?” Jimin says to Namjoon, scowling at the older boy. “But really have you seen me? If I wasn’t the reincarnation of Van Gogh, you’d see me strutting down the Paris runway and making it my bitch. I mean look at this ass, it was meant for fame.” 

“Okay Kim K, no need to be defensive. But I think a much better story would be about a boy struggling to find himself, trying to use others to define who he is as a person until realizing that his character is who defines him, not materialistic things or other people.” 

“How dare you make fun of me for wanting to be a character and then suggesting yourself as one. You’re many things Kim Namjoon, but I never took you for a hypocrite.” Jimin sniffles loudly, looking up into the lights above to try and bring tears to his eyes. 

“With all that fake crying maybe you should be a YouTuber instead.” Namjoon says, causing you all to break out into a fit of giggles. Jimin flops dramatically onto the ground, clutching his heart while rolling along the floor. 

“Betrayed by my own best friend!” He yells as he writhes. 

“You done?” Namjoon asks, utterly unimpressed with Jimin’s antics. 

“Hang on, one more minute.” Jimin says before letting out a loud groan and rolling around some more. Jimin finally picks himself up off the floor and makes grabby hands at your coffee. “Please, I’m exhausted from all that work.” 

“You just rolled around on the floor.” Namjoon says and Jimin flips him off. 

“Do you hear something guys? It’s almost like the ghost of Namjoon is speaking to me.” 

“You can’t say I’m dead to you and then respond to what I’m saying.” 

“Sometimes I still hear his voice…” Jimin drowns on. “But seriously I do need some coffee.” 

“Here you can have some of mine.” Taehyung says, pushing his cup into Jimin’s hand when he reaches for yours instead. 

“Oh okay.” Jimin’s gaze flicks between the two of you. “Why’re you being weird about sharing stuff now?” 

“I’m not! Just another guy drinking out of my girlfriend’s drink seems…weird.” 

“I already knew you two were dating dumbass.” Jimin rolls his eyes, taking a large slurp from Taehyung’s cup before slinging an arm around the taller’s shoulder. “But if it makes you uncomfortable I’ll leach off you now.” 

Friday night Jimin whisks you away from a whining Taehyung, claiming you both need some separation as he drags you to his own room and locks the door. “Is there a reason you’re holding me hostage from my boyfriend?” You tease, flopping down onto Jimin’s bed. 

“I have tea and Namjoon doesn’t give me the reactions I want.” 

“Ouch, you only want me for my dramatics.” You gripe. Jimin rolls his eyes at you before pushing you over on the bed so he can sit down next to you. 

“Don’t act like you don’t play favorites.” Jimin says, causing you to sit up and almost knock into his shoulder with your own. 

“How dare you!” You gasp and Jimin snickers. 

“Oh Tae, let’s go eat. Tae I’m cold, come hug me. Taehyung I’m bored let’s makeout.” Jimin drawls on, making you slap his shoulder. 

“I’ve never said that.” 

“Maybe not to me, no.” Jimin waggles his eyebrows. 

“You’re the worst.” 

“I think you mean best.” He corrects and you flip him off. 

“Aww look at you, you’re taking after me! I feel so honored to be your biggest influence.” 

“Bold of you to assume you’re an influence at all.” 

“Every time you try to be mean to me, it’s like a puppy trying to growl. You’re just so cute it’s not scary at all.” Jimin chides, pinching your cheeks between his fingers. You slap them away annoyedly with a huff. 

“So what was the tea?” You ask, trying to change the topic of conversation.

“Oh right! Wait a sec, I need to make popcorn.” Jimin hastily gets up and throws a bag in the microwave, impatiently tapping his foot against the floor while he waits for the two minutes for it to pop. When the timer finishes Jimin immediately takes the bag and throws it at you disregarding you juggling the hot bag. 

“Okay so the tea is your boyfriend is a rat and ate all my cookies.” You blink a few times at Jimin to fully process his words. 

“I’m sorry what?” 

“And as his supervisor, the debt now falls onto you. I request two packs of oreo cookies mega stuffed because we all know the cream is the best part. Thank you for coming to my ted talk, you may now rejoin your boyfriend who’s currently harassing me for stealing away your attention.” Jimin concludes, clapping his hands together before ushering you out of his room while his phone buzzes continuously in the corner. 

“Now if you don’t mind, I’m about to watch the titanic and cry my eyes out before bed to clear my body of toxins. I’ll see you tomorrow!” Jimin waves before closing the door. 

When you arrive back downstairs, Taehyung immediately pulls you in for a hug, resting his chin on your head. “What was that about?” Taehyung asks as he maneuvers you to lay on his bed so he can cuddle you. 

“Apparently you owe Jimin two packs of oreos?” 

“I literally ate like two cookies.” Taehyung groans, tucking his face into your neck. 

“Well Persephone, looks like you have a debt to pay.” 

Part 2 coming soon!

[thestudyfeels]

How To NOT Be Depressed.

(Or If You Prefer — How to Be Substantially Happy About Life.) 

WARNING: This is one rollercoaster ride of a post. Proceed with extreme caution. For some, the staggering levels of insight may induce true purpose and re-establish their warrior spirit. For others, side effects may include grammatically incorrect hate or aloof eyerolls. We advise exiting if the said group includes you, for we're very tired of cleaning vomit off the seats.

Step aboard at your own risk.

If you’re one of the brave souls who stayed back to join us, I congratulate you for even I am scared of how crazy this post truly is. Alrighty then, kick back and relax folks, today we’re having a mature, adult conversation. Merely another cheery afternoon spent talking about life and its realities. Not too bad, eh?

Before we begin, spoiler alert! For those of you already turned off by the mention of 'depression’ and packing their bunnies to leave, sit tight. This ISN'T really about depression. This is about HAPPINESS. No clickbait. That got your attention, right butterfly? Nice, now stay.

A welcoming, maybe demanding A/N: Do me a favor and read this in one go. Maybe even plug in those headphones and listen to the songs dedicated to each part as you read. It's long, you have the new Riverdale episode to catch up on, but don't hop away just yet because (I had a couple moments writing this, alright) it's life changing. You'll prolly cry a few tears of realization, nod all nod-able body parts in agreement, beat your chest at random instants 'cause the hype’s too real, and perhaps, if it isn’t too much to hope for, finally go change your life for the better. In case you've forgotten, this'll remind you that there’s always hope, that you're a born conqueror, and you were made to THRIVE, not survive. Convinced? Kay, roll the cams.

   To clarify first-hand, no, I'm not depressed although I’ve experienced mild depression for a period before. Glad to say I'm out of it but I still struggle with tackling what I'm about to detail next.

Insert bitter voice, it’s this: My life is nowhere near I want it to be. Though I know vaguely what I wanna do, I haven't yet figured out how the hell I’m supposed to get there, or how my dream life is to be sketched out. It’s all a blurry mess. Which, to put it bluntly, hurts. I HATE feeling powerless and worthless, roaming about aimlessly.

There are many such moments where I hit the brakes to wonder why I’m not living THE Life already. There have been several times when I curl up and cry a frickin’ Amazon. There are horrible nights where I'm shaking with emotions, but they won't release, leaving me choked. (…not in that way, you hoes. Um, just ruined the dramatic mood with a lame dirty joke, sorry.)

   They say talking helps and that's why I figured I'd drop in. But perhaps more importantly, I wanted to hang because no matter how unfocused the lens may seem at my future, I don't consider myself a dopey loser incapable of the crazy dreams or wild bucket lists I fantasize about– and I thought I'd skip along to remind you that neither should you. (Or maybe I just came to sniff the new appetizers, who knows?)

PS: I also broke a sweat listing six ways to get outta depression– alternatively, to be more of a conqueror– because y'all are always pestering me with asks that go “how do I conquer omg send supplies” (Like, imagine a conqueror saying that! Oh, the crime, the atrocity!)

So yes, you're welcome. Have a feast with this litness.  

The main reason behind people being so frightfully sad, I’ve found, is a huge lack of fulfillment. We don't do what we love, for either— [ 1 ] we aren’t living life the way we want to (since we keep doing things we feel we're supposed to do) OR [ 2 ] because Mama, Papa and Mrs. Carter next door feel that struggling is the only way, and project their traditional beliefs onto us. Either way, whether or not we consciously realize this, subconsciously, we're all hurting because of it. Badly.

That lingering feeling of emptiness never seems to leave. You feel drained every night when you drop into bed, not because you gave it your all, but because you couldn't. And so, we do the next best thing. Drugs. Maybe not literally, but figuratively. We numb out this subconscious pain by binge watching Netflix shows. We deaden ourselves to that discomfort by reading smut in the bathroom or by playing dumb video games all day. We try (and fail) to extinguish this feeling of not ‘being enough’ by having silly flings or fake friendships.

And ultimately, we NUMB ourselves out to LIFE for we can't bear to live the way we're living. There's a reason why “How to Stop Procrastinating” posts are so popular (they’re a blogger’s most foolproof way of paying the month’s rent, and yes, even I'm guilty of a couple). We’re constantly having FOMO and tuning into others' highlights on social media– completely missing out on our own lives in the process. We fail to realize that the culprit is lack of genuine purpose more than zero self-control (or maybe it’s both, but that’s a tale for another day).

[On a side note, obviously I did generalize a bit– video games can be a passion for you, watching shows a way of winding down. But for most, they’re only DISTRACTIONS, just another way of ignoring the calls of life by hanging up the phone.]

   And here's the bitter truth about depression: The longer you wait to start living authentically, the more you start tuning out the inner cries wanting change, the faster your dreams start to ebb away, and the more you'll want to become insignificant. And to me, that's the scariest part of this journey to my dream life.

Nothing frightens me more than knowing that the moment I stop pushing, the very moment I give in to distractions and fears, my goals will stop manifesting themselves and I'll be stuck in this small town with its small people eternally. And THAT, I'm certain, won't be any more fun than working your way through a soggy ham sandwich, ironic as soggy is what life has become. (Yes, I have a thing against soggy sandwiches. They were a kid's worst lunch nightmare.)

   If you relate, and I’m sure you do (it’s probably why you stopped scrolling through cheesy fanfic for ten minutes to read this, I know you amigo) — here are six ways to NOT be depressed. Or more accurately, to gift wrap yourself some sweet ol’ happiness.

You're a Samurai and the Following Be Your Katanas —

Hol’ up. The second you reach the End Card, I want you to drop your Cheerios and implement at least THREE of these six strategies. Just follow the Takeaways, I've made this really simple. And as a rule, one of them has to be this one. (Look, don't whine. If you wanna climb outta that dark hole, you gotta put in some effort. So pop that booty, and let’s get down to business!)

Here’s the most truthful, though cheesy thing I’ll ever say: I would be nowhere I am today without this blog. If not for it, I would most likely be weeping in a dug-out hole somewhere, drowning in my salty little pond of tears and chiming every loser’s favorite words (“there's no point”). Creating this blog gave me a definite purpose – putting out fiery content, dipping myself deep into my newly found passion for writing and influencing, and connecting with other conquerors on the platform.  

I meet a lot of folks, whether at Sad School, Mouldy Mall, or Boring Bus stop, who always seem to be in a state of death-inducing boredom. When asked about their favorite thing to do, they’ll mumble “sleep” or “food” like Siri narrating your cat’s evening routine. And then you see adults, dragging through life mindlessly. Utterly clueless, floating like a piece of driftwood in an ocean bubbling with life. My sympathy quota gets overdosed everytime I think about it.

   To spell it out, find something to do. Anything! Learn a language, try some ballet, take pictures of your neighbor's rose garden, make an art piece and show it to your mom, stitch buttons onto shirts for fun, heck, make an entire shirt out of buttons, take a break from reading smut to write your own, frutify your farts, WHATEVER, just get up and move.

And here’s why – nay, not to keep you engaged or make you feel less worthless, not that bullcrap. It’s to put in gear the journey of figuring out what is the shite that you love doing. Too often we get stuck thinking about what our oh-so-great passion is. Get this, passion is energy. A spark for something. A magical fortune cookie which, when cracked, seems to explain everything, gives you the very reason for being alive. You can only feel that fire, that wild love, when you actually do it. So get cracking is all I’ll say!

Takeaway:

Attempt something. Nah, scratch that, imagine you’re in a sweet shop with shelves lined with free samples and try everything. Pick up that Polaroid cam, take that dreaded history course, buy that children’s cooking kit– in short, start working. Pull out all the stops, get curious, and get creative. In the process, if you promise to try hard enough, you WILL (money back guarantee) find out what makes your little heart burst with mad happiness and would willingly do for free, if needed, because you really are that crazy about it. And that, my dear, will be your oh-so-great-indeed passion. Have no doubt, you’ll never be “bored” again.

Real talk, having a dream is a big deal. And unfortunately, I’ve witnessed, rarely anyone has one to begin with. They’re either more dead than the cheap skeleton I bought for Halloween or believe they have a dream, but in reality, it belongs to mom, dad, or Uncle Sammy. Listen, doing something for someone you love (my Uncle Sammy used to supply me with cold cash whenever he came around, loved that guy) is great! YET, if you’re willing to throw away your life to fulfill others’ expectations, convincing yourself it's because they love you, even when YOUR lonely heart craves bigger things than just a marketing job, then you, my friend? Are the biggest fool. Don’t get offended, we both know it, this girl needn't ramble.

Recently, my relatives were over (nope, sadly not Uncle Sammy) and my cousin and I had a chat about life (correct, I grab every opportunity to do so). It wasn't very exciting I must say, he kept staring off into the distance (I wonder why), but what he SAID is what I'll talk about. After I’d gushed about my dreams, he asked skeptically if being an influencer would still be an ambition two years from now when I graduate. I raised my eyebrows, mock hurt, like eff you son, I ain’t giving up on my dreams! But that question got me thinking.

Life is wild. Unpredictable. An unexpected call, a single person, a random BLOG POST (cough) – can turn your life upside down, sometimes in the affirmative, other times not. This variability of life isn’t uncommon, and everyone experiences some part of it– unpaid student loans, failing startups, talent and art going unnoticed in industries dominated by wealth and connections, you name it. If all of that doesn’t make you run for the Himalayas and abandon any dreams, throw in a quick side dish of dysfunctionale famiglia with a sprinkle of self-image issues.

It ain’t easy, darling. The world is one cruel headmistress; it loves slapping awake the daydreamers and wishful thinkers. That hasn't ever actually stopped the dropouts and class clowns from building castles in the air though. And the common blueprint you notice they follow? Let me introduce you to…  Madness. Obsession. Maniacal obsession, to say. (Yes, I'm done playing with my words.)

   I struggled writing this point. A pestering voice in my head kept mumbling – They'll go back to doing the same sad shit anyway. Um, does anyone even read your posts? Lol, call yourself an influencer, hun. Hesitation started creeping in. Then the irony of the situation struck me. I laughed, shook my head and got back to typing.

We ran out of juicy gossip weeks ago, so here’s your tea served cold: insecurities and self doubt WILL get in the way. That whiny voice was just a mild version of what you face when you go all in. Fear traps you in its cage, and those who prattled behind your back now progress to talking shit in your face. Criticism and self doubt resurfaces, so unless your defenses are strong, you'll be crushed. Destroyed REAL quick.

When hell breaks loose (oh honey, and it WILL), your self defense comprising of maniacal obsession must be well learnt. Let them attack, mock, heck, drag you away from the desk and hurl you at the top of a damn mountain, but you better STILL hike back down, show them the middle finger, and continue working. That's how bulletproof you've gotta be. That's how madly do you have to love your dreams. And if you really think this will be a cake walk or want to continue complaining about Stuart being born with a silver spoon, hop off the train already. Your destination isn't on the tour list.

Look, my dreams terrify me. But they certainly make me feel more alive than complying with what every parent said about getting good grades and holding together a roof on my head. My ambitions set me free, give me a reason to fucking live. And yet, every now and then, something makes me question them. A fear engulfs me, some doubter proclaims I suck, someone I love is so blinded they can't see my vision. And that's okay. My defenses are way stronger. The next day rolls round, and you'll find me hustling again, thriving again. All because I know that even if no one reads my posts (the worst case scenario, I know y'all love me lol), someday in the future, someone will. I know that even if I’m not an influencer yet, if just one reader becomes a conqueror because of my words, it would be a win. A big win. I'd have done my job. All because I’m wildly, yes maniacally, obsessed with my dreams.

So hey, cousin? This influencer thing? This will be my dream long after I've graduated. Till the day I die, and maybe even then I'll rise from my grave to give a dead pal a lively pep talk. My watchtower has just been upgraded, so thank u, next.

Takeaway: 

“General, we've arrived!” Finally! Position those cannons, Martha, let’s talk them through the defenses. All aboard? AHOY MATEY! (wait, that was one for the pirates). Step one, dare to create a dream in your mind’s eye. The bigger, the crazier, and the scarier, the better. Doesn’t matter how impossible it is, don’t care how many voice their opinion against it, just imagine, keep a million possibilities in mind.

Once you see the life you truly want (you’ll know, everything will seem to zing)— have a sip. Become OBSESSED for that life. Thirst after that vision, itch to manifest it, and pine for the satisfaction that’ll come to your soul once it’s made a reality. Fall madly in love with the process and how magical it feel when you do it. And THEN, bellow a loud war cry and charge headfirst into battle, shields held high at all the criticisms. We conquerors never cared much for them anyway.

(play ♬) Picture this: forehead stamped with beads of sweat. Calloused hands working their fingers to the bone and eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. Conjure an image where powerful beats are pulsing hard in your ears, synced with your own elevated heartbeats, and you’re thriving. Performing. Winning. Guess the secret to that? Preparation. Champions prepare. You can’t throw anything to the winds or rely on ‘luck’ or chance to conquer.

Tough days are in everyone’s calendar, be it your extra cheerful neighbor, Sally, or lone wolf classmate, Derrick. We’ve all found ourselves sulking over an awful situation, scooping into mint ice cream to forget mistakes, errands, and ghosting exes. Yet guess what? The solution isn’t the proclaimed “be positive!” or “It all happens for a reason, don’t you worry” - the key is coming up with a method to dodge the discouraging effect these hiccups have on us.   

So every bad day, I bring out a mason jar containing a knot of chits and one secret letter which is, on most days, kept hidden on the top shelf of my cupboard. I make myself comfortable on the bed, read all my bits of paper carefully, including the letter addressed to yours truly, close my eyes, and mentally fight back whatever’s bringing me down.

A short while later, I get up, now a warrior, and go slay the rest of the day like it was my last one on this planet. That jar is my jar. A Conqueror’s jar. One look at those powerful reminders, and I’m grounded once again, the beast within me now unleashed to kill.

Takeaway:

Honey, go get yourself a jar. Along with some papyrus and ink. Then start jotting down. Document past victories, future visions, fears that mean zilch to the person you’re about to become, batty goals you’ve still gotta chase, reminders that the majority will never understand what it is you’re tryna do here, and how that’s perfectly alright 'cause you'll find your conquerors, your squad one day. Create your victory jar. And then go knock ‘em down dead. Bad days stand no chance against you. You’re a winner, a fucking rebel. Go take what’s yours.

Y’know, I’m perfectly aware that many muggles reading this will whine that dealing with depression ain’t no piece o’ pie and it’s hella hard to get up and take the crown when you feel like a pile of dino dung.

Stop it. Get some help. (See what I did? Like Michael- ok ok, calm thyself.) For real though, and I’m tired of repeating this with my kitten stamped microphone (but I’ll keep at it ‘cause it’s that significant) – whining is WORTHLESS. It saps up precious energy that could be used to make life a scrumptious smoothie. (Loothie? As in life + smoothie? Right, yes, I’m shutting up.)

And even THEN, we find denizens complaining about slow WiFis and thin crust pizzas and how the market’s down and the government’s incompetent. Because blabbering makes us feel important. Heard. But keeping yo’ trap shut and actually doing stuff? Hustling for your dreams when nobody’s watching? Actually walking the talk? C’mon, Emma, don't be naive, ain’t nobody getting recognition for that.

Trust me, I get it. The world is yet to become a feminist, turns out your boyfriend was cheating on you while you were looking up wedding dresses, mommy’s a drunk loser, and idiots are being voted into office. It’s a lot to handle. But thanks to our immense and ever increasing population (we folks really love our rumpy pumpy, can you tell) — there will surely be one chum, facing exactly the same misfortunes as you, but still turning up at every party and bulk-spamming his friends with puppy pictures while you sit and wail. (One Moaning Myrtle is enough, thank you very much.)

Look, I’m not undermining your worries or obstacles. I’m only reminding that you have the marvelous choice of positivity. To CHOOSE hope and a better future when others won't. To FIND (and it's always possible) something to look forward to even when the to-do’s a big snore. To KNOW, deep inside, that you're a magnificent conqueror, no matter what mess you’re in at the moment, and that the world dances to your rhythm. Realise that it's up to you to let yourself be happy. At any moment, you have the very say-so to get up and start rocking. Dumbledore said it himself, “It is our choices, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” So choose better, and you’ll unconsciously do better as well. And yes, that being said, this is the last HP reference, don't fret. Be positive instead. (Edit: Ha, look at these quips, the girl's all grown up now.)

Takeaway: 

Your new occupation is to be a sunflower. If you think back, you'll probably recall Miss Honey rattling on about phototropic movement in AP biology. No? Me neither. Point is, sunflowers always face the sun. Put them ANYWHERE, hide them in the dungeons, throw them in a trash bag and shoot it off to the moon, they’ll still turn around and face the sun. No matter what. And taking inspo from that, you too can stop scripting creative soliloquies for being depressed. Happiness is YOUR right, YOUR priority, don't let anyone take it away from you or diminish its importance. DON’T let sadness ruin your vibe, do what you've gotta do to protect yourself. Track happiness in yo’ journal, set 84 reminders on your phone, and tattoo “Long as you’re beaming up at the sun, all the shadows will be left behind” on your boobs. Do whatever, just don’t turn the corners of your mouth down. You’re so pretty this way.

The other day, I was doing the deathly Plié Alternative Heel Lifts (these names, I swear) and my legs felt dead. Gone. Put to sleep like the Wicked Witch of the East. Now obviously, the timer wasn’t not even halfway done yet, but my cheeks were already flushing red like dear Santa, and NOT because I was high on choco chip cookies. I sighed, and at that point, I was so over giving up. All this while, I’d been whining and protesting because my muscles felt sore, but in that moment, I made up my mind. I bit my lip and kept going. On and on. Keep pulsing, you got it, don't stop, was the mantra I kept chanting.

   Won’t sugarcoat it, I honestly hadn’t died this much since that time Miss Honey buried me alive with trig assignments. My legs were now basically Play-doh and I was shaking, fighting for balance. A few seconds in though, something crazy happened. My legs went numb. My grumbling mind quietened and the pain vanished. That evening, I had the upper hand, not my physical perceptions of myself. I was powerful. Flawless. (Hey Santa, do you even lift bro?) Real talk, I was in the Zone, bitches.

I’m not sure if that was the result of excessive pain or because Wonder Woman’s spirit possessed ma bod, but staying loyal to my love for metaphors, I’ll use the experience to explain what I’m tryna get at here.

   Look, here’s the real deal — if all of the greats gave up the second things got frowny, we probably would have no one to worship. Nix role models, nix inspirations, none to stalk on Insta - we’d all be bumbling about like Sad from the even sadder Emoji movie (no shade, emojis be lit).

And that'd be very sad (pun definitely intended). Hence, cue some tangible ways to boosting your grit, so that you can be your own superhero:

1) Get yo’self a goddamn motto,

2) Know your “Why,”

3) Repeat the cycle till it’s in your blood. Btw, Shawn, if you here, I’m still a single pringl—HEY PAL I SEE YOU, DON'T SCROLL.

Seriously, don't brush these prime steps aside. We're always going for the advanced modes, and deeming these basic levels a waste of time. Well guess what, compadre, YOUR LIFE IS A GODDAMN WASTE O’ TIME IF YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR BASICS RIGHT. Excuse my outburst, but listen. You can’t do a hundred bicep curls on your first workout if you haven't lifted anything more than a crisps packet. Likewise, if you simply jump into Life one day, and decide “ok, here it is, 12 habits to build, sleep schedule to fix, man to ask out, let's go,” you ain't getting nowhere, chum. Start small. Take baby steps. It's clearly not as fun (definitely negates the bragging on Facebook part of it) but it'll stick. You’ll create a consistency that not even Grandma's cake batter can achieve.

1. Talking mottos — For context, a motto that I always mutter (my mom thinks I'm cursing, oh what a bad child) every time I spill milk while making coffee is “Do more. Give more. BE more.” Not only does it help me stay right on track for the rest of the day but it helps me clean up my mess, figuratively and otherwise, or I’d just be sitting in a puddle of spilt milk, cursing adulting for real this time and with more laundry to do.

2. Why you need the Big Why — Owning up, I’m guilty of attempting to learn Welsh for less than 48 hours because I hadn't a single reason to speak the language. A similar thing happened with half of my 2018 resolutions, which had a bunch of rubbish like “Floss daily”, something my eyes got trained to skip because, um, who the hell flosses every day?

Lame humor aside, I still workout almost daily because I have my Why straight. 1) I want to feel good about my body and get closer to the confident badass I envision my future self to be, 2) I simply HAVE to sustain my health to live to build my legacy and fulfill my dreams of opening a bakery at 90 and 3) Because I’m an influencer, and want to walk my talk and be the inspiration people need. Those are the reasons as to why I turn up to my yoga mat everyday, shut my jabbering mind, and keep on pulsing. This “Why” strategy applies to everything. Wanna get outta depression? Why? Wanna lose 20 pounds? Why? Wanna listen to your dentist’s desperate pleadings and floss already? WHY EH? Unless you know your intentions, you’ll give up at the first chance you get to not act on your goals. And watch out, because there'll be a LOT of those.

For me, leaving a legacy behind means more than having a slice of cake or missing a workout because there’s a fun movie playing. Find what's important to YOU, make it your why, and go marry your goals.

3. And then, Repeat — Bear in mind, if you're not living your best life yet, there are NO weekends. NO work-shy days. No weak days, no pick-me-up days, no eat-candy-do-nothing days. Everyday is a damn Monday. EVERYDAY is life or death. Every holy day you wake up is a chance to push your limits, challenge your mindset, and see how far you can go. And every 24 hours, when the cycle starts again, it’s your mission to race to build a stronger, wiser and crazier you.

And who knows, perhaps one day, you and I will just be casually sipping tea in our dream home, laughing at how the milk is still being spilt but knowing, proudly, fiercely, that we’ve come so far, even though there’s still more left to do, more to give and so much more to be.

Takeaway: 

Quit quitting. You're, guaranteed, 20x stronger than you think. I doubted I could go through with the workout, it seemed beyond my present physical capabilities. But I did, because I treated it as life or death. Understand this, the second you start making excuses, for being depressed, for taking an unnecessary day off - you give away your power. You are a very powerful being. You're limitless, capable of everything.

I'm not throwing these words around to make you feel cute, I actually mean AND believe them. There’s so much that's been done already— the iconic four minute mile by Roger Bannister, invention of the light bulb, cars, toothpaste and other junk, people who lost both legs and climbed Mt. Everest, we sent a man to moon in frickin’ 1969 (50 YEARS ago), some ran a 26 mile marathon with zero training, love and hope is still strong in this world, oh let's also add coffee and motivational music— and YOU think you can't finish a workout or get outta depression or meet your idols or marry the man of your dreams or become the artist you wanna be? Ridiculous. Don't give away your power that easily, this ain't no charity shop.

(play ♬) Having personally dealt with unwelcome yet familiar feelings of emptiness quite often, I’ve now reached a point where each bad day is simply a reminder of how long my journey ahead is, and just how badly I want to reach my destination.

We finally near the end of this novel of a post (thanks for sticking around, bud), and my best advice would be this: Rather than wallowing in self pity and throwing one-man parties because your life is so awfully dreadful, know that even when life throws you to the floor, long as you can look up, long as you can read an entire book about defeating depression (cough)– you can GET UP too. Let those emotions of sorrow and frustration blaze up into a roaring, crackling fire that doesn’t consume you, but instead, urges you, fuels you.

Lately, no matter how much shit I go through, how many arguments I tumble into, or how barren my dreams look sometimes, I don’t break down. And no, it wasn't always like this. I never even had aspirations to name two years ago. Six months back, it had become a night routine to cry. Not anymore.

Now, every setback and every failure only pushes me to be stronger and give more than I ever gave. The day I made the decision to Conquer (truly, madly, deeply, with all of my heart) was also the day I said a big, loud ‘fuck you’ to every resistance that was to cross my path. I had finally understood that life was nothing but a battle of WILLS, that it was all in or nothing, and I made up my mind once and for all to NEVER give in to depression, or to society, or to anyone who tells me I cannot make it.

I had conquered depression. There was no looking back now.

Takeaway: 

Here’s something no one will tell you: the key to bringing depression to its knees is seeing it positively. Pretend that it's a friend continuously sending strong, aggressive signals urging you to be happy. And what do you do when a caring friend throws some holy light? You listen, push past your ego, and follow accordingly.

And if that parallel seems unconvincing, here's another one (sup, DJ Khaled. This post is turning musical, sorry): it's scared of you. Depression is scared shit of you. Y'know how bullies are, right? Majorly insecure, self-loathing too perhaps, hardly fans of self love, and always trying to numb all that subconscious pain by inflicting pain on others. Depression has the same instruction manual. Your fears and doubts are your (pathetic) bullies, and depression is the big ol’ crony who does the dirty work for 'em.

Whenever you decide shit this is it, I'm going for it, they go paranoid and try stopping you because they've seen no better. And if they succeed, BOOM, you're depressed, paralyzed, your qualms reigning over you again. Don't let them in. I'll say it a thousand times if I gotta because I want (HAVE) to see you conquer – you're so much stronger than you think you are. You can do so much more than you think. It's all in your head! Don't just sit there, click away, and go back to living a sad life. You’re better than that. DO better than that. You’re meant to freaking CONQUER, straight-up dominate, my pal. Pay heed to that voice craving freedom. You got this. And you better know it.

One thing’s fixed like the (beloved by all) proportionality constants in Physics, you will come across depressing mornings and sluggish evenings even in the future. I assure you. Lots o’ bad hair days in the calendar, sis. But here's what you’ll do: you'll deactivate the miserable thoughts, keep a cool head, remind yourself that this is yet another test (better, rap your new mantra) and USE that hurt, pain, and anger to create a fervor and passion that wreaks havoc on its obstacles and drives you to accomplish EVERYTHING you've ever wanted to do. The easy choice would be to just give up, bellyache about the situation, and want sympathy for your worries. Yet, what you'll never do is… exactly that.

Rule 1) NEVER give up. Stand your ground. Have faith in your strength. Know that you'll have your way soon enough anyway. Rule 2) NEVER complain. All it does is drain your energy, that precious fire you could to high jump your way into the clouds. Makes you a pathetic wimp too, definitely not something you want on a warrior’s resume. Lastly, Rule 3) NEVER seek validation. From anyone. It sure feels nice to be acknowledged and encouraged, but grasp this— this is your journey. YOUR life and YOUR vision. Validation won't get you anywhere, for there'll never be enough of it.

Cuz Marty, if you're tryna bring something new, different, and authentic into this world – you'll most likely be hated on badly, before you'll be loved madly (hi, me a rapper). Learn to invite hate instead—IMPORTANT: hate from others, not yourself. Sounds counterintuitive, but this is the real tea: hate is good. It means you're standing up for something, refusing to fit like a puzzle piece in society, and being UNAPOLOGETICALLY yourself. And it’s certainly a sign that you’re on the right path if you can ignore that hate and stick your tongue out at it.  

Yet another reason to never seek validation is simply this: you have to fight for yourself. In order to meet your own expectations, reach the doorstep of the best version of you, and transform this world, you'll have to go wildly IN. Toil and hammer away. Shut out all the haters and non-believers, listening only to your gut. Importantly, learn to accept the rejection slips, validating yourself not with what Molly says about it being okay, but with the reminder that your time is coming soon. Depend on yourself. Validation will NEVER be enough.

I get it, it's a lot of homework, but perhaps you already realize that it’s THIS work that'll change your life forever. Not “how to not procrastinate, Jesus take the wheel” or “HELLO, life's a mess so here are ten things to do (you won't believe number four!)”. Clickbaits don't work, stop believing that a fancy planner is going to be your savior. There is no rule to making your life a masterpiece. You'll have to get to know yourself and your dreams (journaling, meditation, silent pondering), build the work ethics and the mentality needed (lots of work in this one, yet no strict framework to go about it) and GET GOING.

AND with that firework, I'll begin to slip away now. Again, I won’t say it’s easy, that’s cock and bull. Life’s no fairytale. You will never feel ready to start bringing your dreams to fruition. But, my darling (I’m being so nice yo, follow me), you must. You must force yourself to work for the future you want till it becomes a habit, an obsession. The world badly needs heroes; confident people who can stand for themselves so that others can stare at first, maybe even hate a little, but then follow because they seem unstoppable and are, truthfully, having the most fun at life. YOU'RE one of them. No validation, just plain facts.

You see, conquering is a LOT of blood and sweat (K-pop, anyone? BTS? Lmao, this is me tryna clickbait y'all to read). Even getting up will seem huge when you're just starting out, and this is one long road, dear pal. Still then, I have enough faith in you to hope you don't give into your fears, I hope you willingly chase discomfort, and I hope you find the courage to do all that you want to do, while that heart's still beating.

I hope you conquer. I'll do too, and I'd really like to see some familiar faces during the ride.

Peace, amigo.

A loud ass A/N: And now, we come the most important part of this post. WAKE UP Luke, stop snoring, and take some notes. Remember kids, I won't accept anything but an A.

   If you couldn’t identify yourself throughout this post and currently are scoffing like um woman, that's not really why I'm depressed, hang in there a sec. Yes, you can stop singing It Ain’t Me now. You've a very nice voice by the way.

I'm not a doctor, and I don't have enough exposure to know why so many earthlings are depressed today. HOWEVER, by talking to many, following their stories, watching and reading stuff – I do know with firm conviction that a majority suffers from severe unfulfillment. Don't believe me? A study shows 85% of the working class worldwide hate their jobs. Do you realize what that actually means? EIGHTY-FIVE PERCENT of the THREE BILLION PEOPLE employed today, hate being employed in the first place! They do it for prime survival, to sustain themselves. And that's just jobs. I won't scare you, but 50% (yes, HALF, you heard that right) of students HATE going to school. Kids waste SEVEN hours of their life every day going somewhere they dislike, doing something they hate. Who's singing now?

People find themselves trapped in golden handcuffs, taking the paycheck despite the passionless job. They push aside the art and business they love, to become a slave of good ol’ cash. Several surround themselves with negativity and get frustrated when unable to escape the choking (no, not THAT kind again, hello someone pour holy water over this post) atmosphere. An innumerable are forced into taking up courses that they don't care about under parental pressure. The reasons are endless, and I don't think I'll amuse myself listing all the sad excuses.

This has always been the story. Hundreds of influencers have preached the same words I’m tryna put into your head here and you’ll yourself say you’ve heard this a million times. YET, you’re dissatisfied. YET, you feel like crap everyday, feeding yourself the same lie that the next day will be better, that you’ll get up tomorrow– while you let life beat the shit out of you.

That’s why, all of my words, everything you’ve read today - all of that boils down to just one single question. A difficult but necessary choice. Will you let this happen to YOU? Will you, seriously, even after this wild ride together, go back to doing nothing and being nothing? Will you, for real, continue deceiving yourself, sacrifice your happiness for the sake of pleasing everyone else, and remain a statistic on a website?

   (play ♬) If you’re not sure of your answer, read: Look, making you feel guilty is not my intention, because that’s not how this works. I need you to understand instead. Guilt wears off, it’s only understanding that brings about change. So, just for old times’ sake, I’ll rant a bit more (ik, just can’t seem to leave y’all).

You’re so, so young right now. More than half of your life is yet to be experienced. None of this probably makes much impact right now but it will the day you die. Remember, on your deathbed, you won't EVER look back and say, “Damn, wish I'd spent more time at the office. Saved up just one more dollar. Could’ve got that promotion before Amy.” Nay, it won’t even be on the calendar. That day, one foot in the grave, you'll reflect and wonder why the heck you didn’t let yourself be happier. Why you took up that lacklustre, soul-sucking architect job when all you've ever wanted to do is keep laughing. Why you didn't ask your crush out, why you were so afraid to walk up to that audition, because dammit, you could’ve been running your own comedy show by now. Why you dragged around a karaoke machine all this time instead of singing your own song. Why you couldn’t love yourself. Why you submitted. Why.

And the moment you realize that you hadn't lived a life for you, you’ll be crushed. Broken. The arthritis in your grannie joints won't even compare and neither will the mild dissatisfaction you’re feeling right now. Those whys will haunt you, they'll terrorize you, break you. It'll hurt tremendously to know that there isn't a single thing in your long life that you could call completely your own.

 With every death today so many dreams are left unachieved, crazy things left unchecked on the bucket list, and unique potential left unexpressed.

DON'T let that be you. Please. I'm still a mess myself, struggling to reach class on time and studying subjects that aren't exactly fun, when all I want to do is create content (read: fireworks) that is at a level of insanity, influence folks to do better, hold crazy world tours and meet-and-greets to give hugs, and get an adorable puppy so I can create a dogstagram (yes, I'm that mom). Sure, I could declare it's too hard, hang onto small-minded and negative people who whine endlessly, and follow the crowd, getting lost in it, with ease.

But I won’t because I can’t take the burden of those regrets. That painful unrest and discontent that nothing could cure, not drugs, alcohol, buddies, not even true love. For then I’d be just another drone, my controller in the hands of society, forcing me to see the world through its eyes. I can’t give in because I’m scared, terrified even, of wasting away this one life doing the bidding of others- folks who won't even notice when I’m gone.

It’s easy to be depressed and crib your entire life. It’s easy to think you’re worthless and that trying is pointless since nothing ever goes your way.

But perhaps, if you rise, if you simply DECIDE to have the audacity to fight for what you believe in, if you work and focus on becoming better, things will go your way. Life will bend to you, in awe, at your incredible relentlessness. Life will take one look at you, wonder who the fuck is this person? How the fuck are they so incapable of giving up? And back right away. And then perhaps, life will be such a blast for you that depression would become the past you never had.

   I know you can get there, conqueror. It’s time you knew it too.

🌚🌝 Further reading? 🌝🌚

Last Post :— How To Get Back Into The Creative Process – For you, if you're in a creative rut. Get outta it and go create magic!

5 Reasons Why You're Unhappy — To help you identify & cut out CURRENT sources of sadness so that you can spice up yo’ life with some happiness instead. Definitely recommend reading AND implementing.

The Bubble Trap & How To Get Out Of It — One of my classics. Everyone is in one of these 'bubbles’ till they consciously do something about it; that's just how it is. Are you still in one? (Someone teach me marketing, lmao.)

The 5 Biggest Regrets of The Dying (from Greatist) — I LOVED reading this. Pretty much all you need to cut the crap and do meaningful stuff. Read it, memorize it, work it.

++ Want to request a blog post? Leave your request in my ask box! I'll get back to you with a reply, along with the average time I'll need to birth that magical idea.

Thanks for dropping by! It was a pleasure to have you around. If you wish to stick for a bit, I'd suggest picking one of the related posts mentioned above.

If you wanna check out my blog, here's a little something about me (y'all know I love the attention). What do I write about? Three arenas I dominate, Work, Lifestyle and Life, they are, my mate! Take your pick!

I post new blog posts bi-weekly, and my wins, & journal entries throughout the week, so follow me if you're into conquering life, leaving a legacy and being the baddest badass you can possibly be. I'll be your side pal, cheering you along.✨

And that was it, it's a wrap! Martha, shut the cams, Henry, pause the audio, and Nandita, I know you're pretending to be deaf, but Mom's yelling something about doing the dishes. Better skip along.

And you, fellow conqueror? Keep slaying life, doing the work and making it count. I hope you're well, stay strong and go conquer life. ✧

I'm sending you so much love, see you soon.

— Nandini 💌 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

[until-theend-oftheline]

Rose Gold

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Kobik is kinda a warning in herself but just fluff.    

Word Count: 2000ish

Square Filled: Teacher AU for @marvelfluffbingo

A/N: This is written for @carryonmyswansong challenge and my prompt was You are my child’s teacher trope.

Betaed by: the amazing @sebs-potato - thank you so much for your help Ida!

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

Bucky had been more than a little worried about taking Kobik to school the first time six months ago, but out of all the scenarios he had pictured in his head, he had never once seen this coming. The worst thing of all was that Sam Wilson of course had to witness his misfortune.  

Kobik loved her new school and it had been great for her. Even if there had been a few incidents like floating chairs (with kids still sitting on them) and a swimming pool suddenly appearing in the hallway, she was doing great.

Her teacher was beyond amazing. Each time Bucky had been summoned to her school over one of the said incidents, she had been smiling and laughing. She saw Kobik like a kid. A special kid, but not a danger or nuisance. If the other kids tried to make Kobik use her powers Y/N was always quick to step in and explain why they couldn’t ask that of her. She was firm but gentle and kind hearted. She was just the teacher that Kobik needed, but more than that, Bucky was absolutely smitten with her.

Of course Sam had picked up on that a few months in when he and Steve had come with Bucky to collect his six year old, superpowered trouble maker. Had it only been Sam’s teasing, then it would have been a hell of a lot easier, but of course Steve and Kobik had overheard the birdbrain. The two of them didn’t tease, they offered advice. Much to Bucky’s frustration neither of them were very helpful.

“Have you tried to talk to her?” Steve asked as the three men and little girl headed for the park. It was a cool autumn day, but the sun was shining and the leaves made the world glow in a million colors. Normally Bucky would love a day like this, but at the moment, given the misery his two so called friends were putting him through, he hoped it would start pouring . At least that he give him an excuse to flee back to the Tower to hide in apartment he shared with Kobik.

“He barely talk to us Steve,” Sam smirked, “I’m not sure he can form coherent sentences in front of a woman.”

Bucky glared at Sam, but before he could say anything the little girl came to his defense.

“He can too. He talk to her all the time. Why don’t you ask her out Buckaroo?” Kobik looked up at him with big hopeful eyes and Bucky’s heart sank. She liked Y/N, he knew that. The kid deserved a family and Bucky wasn’t sure he could ever give her that. Kobik didn’t see him the way everyone else did. She didn’t judge him for his past and even if Y/N didn’t appear to either, there was a huge difference between teaching an ex brainwashed assassins’ kid and going out with one. Even if she did say yes, Bucky came with a shitton of bagage and Y/N deserved better than that.

“It’s not that simple, kiddo,” Bucky sighed, giving his adopted daughter a small sad smile, causing her to frown.

“I still think you should ask her out.” Steve gave Bucky’s shoulder a friendly slap and to Bucky’s surprise Sam nodded.

“It couldn’t hurt to ask. It might be awkward for a few days if she says no, but she seems  cool. It’ll be fine. And hey, she might be crazy enough to say yes.” Sam couldn’t help but tease a little even if Bucky could see he was being sincere. Sam and Bucky might be torturing each other every chance they got, but underneath the foolishness they respected and cared for each other. Bucky had no doubt in his mind Sam wanted what was best for him, just like Steve did.

“I could just change things a little so she is already my mommy,” Kobik offered, causing Bucky to stop in his tracks and blink. It wasn’t the first time Kobik had offered to change reality for him and he suspected it wouldn’t be the last. That wasn’t what threw him, it was her choice of words. If Kobik wanted him to ask Y/N out because she wanted her to be her mom, then the little girl viewed Bucky as her dad.

He saw Kobik as his kid, of course he did, but she never called him anything but Bucky or some variation thereof. She had never once referred to him as Dad or Daddy, so naturally her words threw Bucky a little. It wasn’t until she spoke again, looking up at him with those big innocent eyes of hers, that he managed to collect himself.

“Do you want that, Bucko? I can do it right now,” she offered again.

“Kobik.” Bucky knelt down in front of her so he was eye level with the little girl. “We talked about this remember?”

“Right. Sorry.” She hung her head a little and Bucky quickly pulled her against him for a hug. He buried his face in her neck to hide the tears that had threatened to spill with her previous words and smiled as he felt her small arms close around his neck.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad, Buckaroo,” she whispered and Bucky gave her a small squeeze before drawing back to look at her. He gave one of her pigtails a gentle tug as he smiled.

“You didn’t. I’m very proud of you,” Bucky assured her causing Kobik to beam with happiness.

Bucky wasn’t sure what had happened between then and now other than a few months had past. There had been a few pitiful attempts of asking Y/N out, but everytime he had chickened out last minute. He could have sworn the last time he had seen disappointment in her eyes, but Bucky wasn’t sure that wasn’t just wishful thinking.

Right now he wished he had grown a pair, because that would probably have spared him of the humiliation of this moment. He wasn’t sure exactly the reason for his misfortune, but he was sure who the culprit was. Bucky also knew her well enough to know she would only use her powers on him to make him happy. So whatever the entire reason was for Kobik’s little power display Bucky wasn’t convinced it didn’t have something to do with Y/N. Bucky groaned walking through the main area as Sam was on the floor laughing his ass off, while Steve and Clint stared at him slack jawed.

Bucky didn’t say a word, he just groaned much like an angry bear as he passed Sam on his way out of the Tower. He pulled on a jacket to cover up his now pink arm as he rushed towards Kobik’s school, where he was of course greeted by a very happy little girl.

Bucky picked up Kobik as she ran to him and let her hug him tight. He closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy the embrace, like always he was reminded there was no need to be angry with her. No matter how unfortunate her little power displays were at times, she never once used her powers to hurt anyone. She only used them when she thought it would make other people happy, or when she got excited about something causing her to literally float on air.  

“Kobik.” Bucky tried to sound stern with her after he let her back on her feet. He knelt down in front of the little girl as he took of his jacket, his arm showing as he was only wearing a t-shirt underneath. “What’s this?”

“Oh my…” Y/N’s voice sounded behind Bucky before Kobik had a chance to answer and he quickly turned his head to see her biting her lip, averting her eyes from his as she shifted on her feet.

“I’m so sorry. She was asking me a bunch of questions earlier. I didn’t see any harm in answering,” she rambled, causing Bucky to frown as he fought to catch up.

“Her favorite jewelry is rose gold,” Kobik said proudly, making Bucky’s eyes widen as Y/N giggled, kneeling down next to him in front of Kobik.

“Bucky is not a necklace, sweetie.” She bit her lip, trying to hold in her laughter as Bucky lost his fight. He laughed, tugging Kobik’s pigtail, before growing serious.

“Kobik. We talked about this remember? What can’t we do?” he asked, and the little girls smile fell as she looked to the ground.

“Use our powers on others,” she answered, making Bucky smile a little.

“Especially?” he pushed, and a small pout appeared on her face.

“Especially not when they don’t know I am doing it. I’m sorry, Bucko. I just thought since you’ve been trying to ask miss Y/N out that if your arm was her favorite color she might ask you instead since…” she rambled, before Bucky managed to shush her.

His cheeks were almost the same color as his arm now, and he didn’t dare look over at Y/N next to him. He should have just waited to talk to Kobik until she got home, he scolded himself.

“I’ll turn it back,” she promised and within a second his arm was back to it’s normal black and gold color.

“I’m sorry.” Kobik threw her arms around Bucky’s neck, and he hugged her on instinct. “Please don’t be mad at me, Buckaroo.”

“I’m not, Kobik. It’s okay. Just try and remember okay?” Bucky said softly as he ran a hand up and down her back soothingly.

“I will,” she promised as she pulled back, “can I go play with the others now?”

Bucky nodded, and got up as she ran away. He shifted awkwardly on his feet, painfully aware of Y/N’s presence next to him. She had heard everything and he had no idea what to say to her now. Should he apologize? Or try and ask her out again? Or maybe pretend as if nothing had happened?

“Bucky.” Her voice was soft and Bucky felt a jolt of electricity through his body as she laid her hand on his arm. “Please look at me.”

He turned around to face her, but it took him a few moments to gather to the courage to look into her eyes. He felt as if the wind was knocked from his lungs when he did. Her eyes were shining brightly as she smiled at him and Bucky swore in his long life he had never seen anything or anymore more beautiful than her.

“Yes,” she said causing Bucky to blink, wondering if he had said something without even realizing.

“Sorry?” he asked, and he wanted to kick himself with how stupid he sounded. Y/N didn’t seem to mind though. She just laughed, biting her lip, making Bucky want to lean in and kiss her.

“I figured since you had trouble asking, according to that daughter of yours, I’d spare you having to keep trying.” She smiled and Bucky swore his heart stopped for a second.

“So yes. I’ll go out with you,” she giggled, giving his right arm a small squeeze.

“Yeah. I’d love that,” Bucky managed to stammer, before squeezing his eyes shut, scolding himself as she laughed.

“You’re doing better than you think.” She smiled reassuringly when Bucky reopened his eyes. “How does Friday sound?”

“Perfect. It sounds perfect,” Bucky muttered, trying to prevent himself from doing a small happy dance as she started to back away.

“I better get back to the kids. My phone number is on Bik’s call sheet,” she reminded him with a radiant smile.

“I’ll call you,” Bucky called after her, as she turned around making her spin back towards him sending him a wink.

“I’ll look forward to it, Bucky,” she insisted before disappearing into one of the classrooms and Bucky was finally free to pump his fist in the air as he turned around heading back home. A pink arm was sure as hell worth this outcome, even if Sam had seen it. Bucky owed Kobik the biggest ice cream on Manhattan he decided, and she was going to get it when he picked her this afternoon.

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Sebastian Stan/Bucky Barnes Tag Team

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[walkingphotos]

Today’s Walking Photos: Heyyyyyyy, didja miss me?! I’m so sorry. But see, this past Thursday through Sunday was the 32nd annual Waterfront Blues Festival – the 11th one that I’ve worked (volunteered, but worked) as a keyboard tech at the main stage. This year was a bit unique because in addition to my crew member duties, I was fortunate enough to wind up with four actual gigs playing at the festival, with three different bands. This added to the challenge of keeping up with the Walking Photos last week, because the days leading up to Thursday got pretty filled up with rehearsals, pre-festival gigs and all manner of other preparations. But at least I don’t come to you empty-handed – here’s a collection of iPhone images, all from my crazy-busy but massively rewarding long weekend. Below are comments on each image from top to bottom.

Here’s the festival logo printed directly onto the sidewalk near one of the stages. I believe this is one of many new things that were tried this year as the festival enters a new era of leadership and strategy, and I thought these were pretty cool.

On Day 1 of the festival, the 4th of July, I rose at 4:00 AM and arrived at the festival grounds at 5:30 AM in order to help facilitate a local news station’s live TV interview with rising star Sarah Grace (she was a semifinalist on TV’s “The Voice”), who played a set at the festival later that day. Because no crews were present at that hour and none of the sound equipment was in operation, I needed to bring the gear necessary to let her play and sing for the camera. While I have my own issues with the reality-show genre, particularly when it comes to music performance, Sarah herself immediately won me over. She was genuine and poised, remarkably comfortable and accommodating in the interview context, and she certainly can sing and play. I also enjoyed chatting with her dad, a super nice guy who is also her tour manager when he’s not at home being a firefighter.

Here’s my view from the stage when I was playing my second set of Day 1, with the Fenix Rising Band. At this particular festival stage they keep a very large wooden dance floor set up and it’s a popular destination all day for those who like to move to the music. Our set was a lot of fun.

One of my favorite things about working my stage at the festival is getting to watch and hear musicians whom I deeply respect, some of whom are personal heroes to me. One such musician is keyboardist Jim Pugh, seen here with fellow keyboardist Joe Heinemann as they play with the Curtis Salgado Band. Jim is digging into a Hammond organ solo as he works the Leslie speaker with his left hand. This guy is not only a stellar player on both organ and piano, but he has a sense of humor that aligns perfectly with mine. I’m honored that we get to chat occasionally, and I always leave those talks with a goofy grin on my face. Rather than resting on his laurels after touring with Robert Cray, Etta James and countless others, Jim’s currently running a nonprofit record label, Little Village Foundation, that is bringing some seriously worthwhile music to a wider audience.

My view from the North Stage of the festival, minutes before my set with Lisa Mann And Her Really Good Band. Everything looks so peaceful and perfect and ready, doesn’t it?

But then this happened. During the set, I broke a key on the Hammond B-3 organ. Given that most of these beasts are upwards of 60 years old, this kind of thing is not terribly unusual – but take it from me as a first-timer, it’s pretty startling to have it happen to you. It happened about midway through the set, so I had to keep it together and work my way around it until we were done. Fortunately there’s a second manual (keyboard) on the B-3, so I was able to move down there and just use the one.

Voilà! Broken key fixed! Interestingly, since the flipside of my musician identity is festival keyboard tech, it fell to me to repair the key I had broken. It turns out that if completely replacing the key is not a practical option (it requires taking apart the organ, which only qualified technicians should do), a quick and surprisingly durable solution is to super-glue the key back together. So someone ran to find said glue, and then I and another crew member performed the surgery. (I’d done it twice before, but on those occasions I wasn’t the ham-fisted culprit!) I’m happy to report that as of the festival’s end on Sunday night, the repair had held and all was well. PHEW.

Me with some of my friends on the crew, enjoying the waning hours of Day 2. That’s me, drum tech Wes, crew head Coach (Jim), whipsmart crew member Rebecca, and stage manager Jeff. I’d put my life in the hands of these folks. They’re the goldurn best.

The other cool thing about working the festival is when local friends of mine come to play on “my” stage. Day 3 brought Bay Area singer extraordinaire Marina Crouse to the stage, and she was backed up by a heavy-hitting band of standout Portland players who are all buddies of mine. In the photo you see Dave Fleschner on organ, bandleader Marina Crouse, guitarist/vocalist Ben Rice, bassist Melanie Owen and drummer/mad genius Dave Melyan. My friend Melissa Buchanan also sang backup vocals on that set but wasn’t onstage when I took this shot. A great bunch of musicians who worked hard and delivered a killer set.

During the very last set of the weekend by New Orleans’ Trombone Shorty, I took this shot of the Willamette River as seen from backstage. A flotilla of boats comes every year to anchor between the two largest stages and enjoy the music. The boats, the river, the Hawthorne Bridge and the lights of the city’s east side always make for a picturesque nighttime view.

So that’s it, another Waterfront Blues Festival is in the books. It was a unique experience this year for various reasons, but still worthwhile and immensely enjoyable. Did I mention that the whole purpose of the festival is to raise money and collect non-perishable food for the hungry? Yep, so it’s a pretty great thing all around. And by the way, click here to see Waterfront Blues Festival images I’ve posted here over the years – there are a few!

Thanks for looking; I’ll be back to good ol’ fashioned regular Walking Photos tomorrow.

[terramythos]

My reread commentary on October Daye #8, "The Winter Long" or "more shit goes down in this book than the first 7 combined, holy shit".

I apologize to anyone who reads these cause I literally hit the length limit on this post and had to pare it down lmao 

-Good start: Under the Acknowledgements section: "Everything I have done with October's world to this point has been for the sake of getting here". Sooo basically the first 7 books? Setup for this one. We're in for a Ride.

I want to emphasize some of the best meta foreshadowing I've seen:

FOR REFERENCE, Rosemary and Rue is the title of book 1. It's also the only book whose opening Shakespeare quote (from Hamlet) doesn't really match the title. If you know your Shakespeare, you probably would have caught that and figured out that it was from The Winter's Tale instead. Plenty of conclusions you can draw just from that. Since then the series has been chock full of hidden identities, and this book has two BIG ones coming into play. Foreshadowing was here from the very fucking beginning, and it is some next level shit. Very well done.

-If you skipped book 1 you are SO fucked, btw.

- we're going to great lengths to describe Sylvester's physical appearance. Gee I wonder why. I'm sure it's not relevant

- yes Sylvester has FOX COLORED HAIR and YELLOW EYES and his magic smells like DAFFODILS and DOGWOOD FLOWERS. He is Toby's LEIGE and FATHER FIGURE.

Me on a first read: oh it's just beginning book exposition, they all do this

Me on a second read: god fucking damn it

- toby: I should have known Sylvester would never disappoint me.

Me: oh sweetie. Oh honey.

- "He smelled like smoke and rotten oranges.

This man wasn't Sylvester Torquill."

Anyone who read book 1: OHSHIT.AVI

Welcome back, Simon! You know, Sylvester's evil twin? You know, the big bad (so far) of the series? The the one responsible for turning Toby into a fish for 14 years?

-Yet he seems kinda... off, huh? Comments about how he didnt know the spell would last 14 years, how he hates to upset October's mom, of all people? Whatever could he mean? :)))

-New toby power: spell reflection? Hell yeah? Also spell BREAKING, but to be fair she did do that one other time. In, you guessed it, book 1.

- "When I tried to picture Sylvester's face, I kept seeing Simon's instead" ow oof

- Simon calling Amandine "Amy", which we've established is an affectionate nickname (it being what, you know, THE LUIDAEG calls her). Why would Simon, of all people, call her that?

... oh.

-That sure explains a LOT, huh? That sure was set up... this whole time, huh?

-Little "fuck you" lines like "I didn't know Sylvester had a niece" in book 2. Talking about January. Well, uh, he has several actually! You're one of them!

-Explanation for why Sylvester had any inclination to be October's mentor... eventually becoming her liege and father figure... even giving her the Changeling's Choice (something family is supposed to do). It seems mighty convenient that a random noble was involved in the life of a changeling to such an extent. BUT, if he was her uncle, and knew his brother wouldn't step up? Well...

-This isn't even the biggest reveal of the book. Like, we're only a handful of chapters in and this bomb gets dropped.

-Sylvester, every 10 minutes: oh boy I cant wait to see my brother so I can like, completely eviscerate him!

Everyone else: uh,

- Tybalt: and here I thought I was going to have to ask Sylvester for his blessing. Now I technically have to ask SIMON?

Toby: uwotm8

Tybalt: oh god uhh I'm joking yeah uhh I'm just trying to distract you from all this stress :)) yeah (nailed it!)!

-And now we begin the "wow Sylvester is actually not a great person" slide. It's been hinted at that he's pretty unstable and has shitty priorities regarding people he cares about. But Toby glossed over a lot of it because she adored him. Welp.

- It's also an interesting aside that Etienne was kind of a dick to Toby for a reason in the earlier books. He legit thought she had been knighted because she was family, not that she had earned the post. And after the last few books he clearly knows now that that's not the case and they've actually become friends. That's interesting hidden character development.

- ok so The Gang finds out that Simon was telling the truth when he said turning Toby into a fish for 14 years was to save her. Because he had actually been hired to KILL her and didn't want to do it. So it was a loophole-- everyone thought she was dead, and then (as established in book 1) pretty much everyone forgot she existed until the spell broke.

-BUT Simon is bound by a geas (where have we seen that before) and cannot divulge his employer's name. But who had such a grudge against Toby and/or her mom to order a hit on her AND forcibly bind everyone to secrecy?

-who knows? Not toby. So they go to The Luidaeg to maybe get a lead, and she establishes right away that she is ALSO bound under a geas and can't say who did it. So we play some 20 questions, and then...

ULTRA DISTRESSING LUIDAEG LORE :((((

-additional: another month name just came into play. August. Toby's half sister, missing for a century. WHAT IS WITH THE MONTH NAMES

- "please don't mistake villainy for evil." That's an.. interesting quote re:Simon.

- Simon's way of protecting toby from the impending threat is "well maybe you turn into a tree for a few centuries but like. You're safe, right? Why are you mad?"

- The Luidaeg: *is straight up dead*

Toby: hey tybalt remember that time in book 2 when I Resurrected the Dead

Tybalt: yeah, it was fucking terrifying and I didnt speak to you for 6 months

Toby: *finger guns* guess whaaaaaat

-The Luidaeg: *says just. A bunch of Lore*

Toby: Luidaeg dont you dare drop that cryptic shit on me then pass out

Luidaeg: nap time

-"If you so much as whisper the first word of a transformation spell, I'll have your larynx in my hand before the second word can form." DAMN, Tybalt.

-Simon: I am VERY sorry for my bullshit earlier. I can't tell you who my employer is, but I CAN give you this BOUQUET of ICE COLD ROSES. Ice cold, like winter. Winter Roses, if you will. Yeah. Uh have a nice life, bye!

Everyone: well this sure is a mystery

-Simon is definitely a morally grey character. Has done really awful shit, is built up as a major villain... but turns out he had relatively little control over his actions. He does the wrong thing a lot but it's usually not for a truly evil end? If the context is to be believed he got stuck in the geas contract with Unnamed Employer to save his daughter, which explains the bad shit he did that we know of. Which then inadvertently kicked off like the whole series. He seems to genuinely care about Toby in a warped way? It would be so easy to write him off as an evil stepdad or whatever and there's plenty of canon to support that stance (she's an illegitimate CHANGELING child) but he seems like he wants to just be her dad. I hope we explore his character more, is what I'm saying.

-And not to keep rambling about it but Toby is an established unreliable narrator and a horrible (initial) judge of character. So it's not like this is an asspull or off base at all.

Twist of the fucking century here.

-You know... the character who set off the events of the series? The character who was murdered in book 1 and bound October to a geas forcing her to find the culprit or die? Evening fucking Winterrose?

-There were hints, most very subtle unlike the other big twists, but probably the biggest one is SHE NEVER SHOWS UP AS A NIGHT HAUNT. And they're in the story quite a bit, and they ALWAYS feature killed off characters. Except Evening.

-My favorite hints were the ones just piled in book 1. Comments like "no one knows who Evening really is" said with zero self awareness. Because we are actually about to find out who she is... 7 goddamn books later.

-dead meme but "surprise, bitch. Bet you thought you saw the last of me."

-God she's so awful lol

-Toby thinking Quentin died then calling him THE SON SHE NEVER HAD is a BIG OOF right to the HEART. ;-;

-The book also points out that The Luidaeg through the series has ALWAYS referred to Evening in present tense. Even though she "died" in book 1.

-The Luidaeg ALSO never refers to her as Evening. It's always "The Winterrose". You know, a title. Which we have heavily emphasized is something the Firstborn use in place of their true names.

*jazz hands* Surprise!

-We also (finally) have a canon explanation for the... rather remarkable coincidence that Quentin, the fucking Crown Prince (from TORONTO), is in San Francisco at all. It was always weird he got sent to Shadowed Hills, and it's been commented on multiple times... Evening arranged it, of course! For reasons we don't quite know. But as the Daoine Sidhe Firstborn, her descendants couldn't exactly say no. Even though they didn't know who she really was.

-We really are falling all over Firstborn in this series? It sure is.. an odd coincidence, huh?

We got:

The Luidaeg: Roane/Selkie

Amandine: Dochas Sidhe

Acacia: Blodynbryd

Evening: Daoine Sidhe

Blind Michael: ... uh actually I don't think we ever learn what race he's Firstborn of. All his "children" are kidnapping victims forcibly twisted into monsters. Well, except for Luna, but we only know the Blodynbryd side.

But it's weird that for being so rare that we've run into 5 of them in 8 books. There's gotta be a reason for it.. but what?

-Luna starts the series as Toby's Surrogate Mom and is now just straight up an enemy huh

-I made this observation in my book 1 notes, but I find it very interesting that all of Toby's initial friends and allies... aren't by this point. Whereas her current allies are either former enemies or people she initially disliked or distrusted.

Starter allies: Sylvester? Was lying to her the whole time. Luna? Pretty much tried to sacrifice her (+above). Evening? Uhh this whole damn book. Devin? Tried to kill her for personal gain. Lily/Connor? Both killed off for real.

Current allies: Tybalt? Literal former enemy turned lover. Quentin? Kind of a snotty, vaguely racist kid she whips into shape. The Luidaeg? Extremely powerful witch who Toby assumes is True Neutral and wouldn't hesitate to kill her. May? Literal personal walking death omen.

It's just a cool reversal. There's so much really excellent character development in this series and I love it.

-Simon still is a pretty major bastard but.. less outright mustache twirling evil than we were led to believe up to this book. You learn his Backstory and while it really doesn't justify his actions it does...explain them.

-Blink and you miss it Lore: August is missing because she entered a contract with the Luidaeg. She's holding the candle from book 3 :)))

I'm starting to realize I stan The Luidaeg so hard I just have to take a picture every time she shows up and does stuff lmfao. (Best character).

-But... nothing like your inconceivably ancient and powerful aunt suddenly owing you a life debt, I guess???

-Toby. You know, just an ordinary weak changeling who has somehow managed to KILL A FIRSTBORN and RAISE THE DEAD. yikes.

I'm just putting this here cause it's funny as shit. Tybalt really is just... a cat

This book: I heard you like distressing Luidaeg lore??

Me: oh thanks I don't need to feel things

-God Evening is awful. Like, if you didn't know that already, see above.

-It says something about The Luidaeg that despite all that shit their Firstborn did to her she ends up becoming such good friends with Quentin, a Daoine Sidhe?

-BIG LORE with The Luidaeg talking to Maeve??? And Maeve "responding" kind of? This series damn well better explore what the fuck happened to those three it's been built up all series

-Omg the showdown with Evening and The Luidaeg. And Toby managing to break free and realize she deserves so much more than Evening-- all without magic. And Simon showing up for a last minute redemption trying to hit Evening with elf shot? I mean he gets shot in the process, but...

-We now have like, 3 or 4 characters just... asleep indefinitely thanks to elf shot. that's gonna be a Thing isnt it. Rayseline, Evening, Simon, Arden's brother...

WE DID IT BOYS

-This is the last full one I've already read. Most of my reactions in 9-12 are gonna be new. So.

[introvert-celeste]

Rose, Pearl, and Pink Diamond

Okay, I think this’ll be my final big theory post before the special airs. I apologize in advance if it gets a garbled or redundant, as I’m just going to put all of my thoughts on the matter of Pink’s shattering and Rose and Pearl’s involvement. There’s a lot to this, and it’s probably the longest theory post I’ve ever made, but here’s a very brief summary for your convenience. 

My final consensus is that: Pearl offed Pink Diamond somehow, Rose was incapable of shattering Pink herself (whether for moral reasons or reasons concerning her origin), Pearl wants to tell Steven and has been trying to for months but she just can’t (probably Rose’s doing), and Garnet may or may not know what happened, and signs have been pointing in both directions.

First, I wanna talk about something that I haven’t seen anyone mention yet:

When it becomes clear that Steven is actually going to follow through with his plan to turn himself in, Pearl covers her mouth. While this is obviously an upsetting moment for all of the CGs, it’s been established that Pearl covering her mouth is a notable gesture, acting as a clue that she’s hiding something and incapable of voicing it.

I bring this up because it makes me wonder: in the face of all the carnage caused by the war, did Rose consider giving herself to Homeworld before the fighting went any further? As her “sole confidante, for words she could share with no one else,” I imagine a situation:

Rose voices her plan to Pearl.

Pearl is naturally against it, and suggests another option: shattering Pink Diamond, to let Homeworld know that the Crystal Gems will not back down.

Rose, as we know, is against shattering. I also have a theory related to this that I will get to later.

Pearl offers to do it for her, no matter the cost.

Rose tells her absolutely not. She knows how Pearl is like, and she doesn’t want her to sacrifice herself like this.

Pearl desperately expresses that Rose can’t turn herself in. She’s too important.

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!”

“No!”

“Why won’t you let me do this for you, Rose?!”

What if the argument between Pearl and Steven didn’t parallel just any disagreement between Rose and Pearl, but the argument that led to Pink Diamond’s shattering? My thought is that Pearl disobeyed Rose’s wishes, stole her sword, infiltrated Pink’s ranks, took out her Pearl and shapeshifted into her uniform, called to Pink to step outside her palanquin, transformed into Rose (so that the Crystal Gems will speak of what Rose, their leader, did for them, not Pearl), and shattered her, or destroyed her physical form, or whatever.

This puts even greater weight to the statement she made in Rose’s Scabbard: “Everything I ever did, I did for her.”

But this all brings up another conundrum. Besides the moral implications of shattering--ending the life of an otherwise immortal, or seemingly so, being--why did Rose have such an aversion to it, to the point of putting her entire cause at risk and dragging out the war for so long?

My theory, which I’ve stated before, is that Rose was made specifically to protect Pink Diamond. With her healing powers and her powerful shield, she’s too unique for her existence in this way to have been solely by chance. Her tears can heal any injury, no matter how severe (as long as the gem isn’t shattered). She can bring freshly dead organics back to life, for crying out loud! And her shield is powerful enough to block the combined energy attack from three Diamonds!

Shattering Pink would go against the very thing she was made to do, it goes against her base programming, and as we’ve seen with Pearl, that’s a very difficult thing to separate oneself from. She knew that she couldn’t do it, even if she wanted to. Maybe that’s why she said what she did in Greg the Babysitter:

“When a Gem is made, it's for a reason. They burst out of the ground already knowing what they're supposed to be, and then... that's what they are. Forever.”

Rose clung to the idea that, no matter what she did, she was still shackled to her origin as Pink’s protector, her healer. Perhaps she even felt that she wasn’t worthy to lead the Crystal Gems, or that she was less than her cause because of her limitations, thus feeling like she couldn’t relate to either the humans or her fellow rebels. But I’m just spitballing here.

We still have no clue how Pink was shattered, if she that was even what happened, because in every rendition of that moment (both verbally and visibly), it has included Rose’s sword, which as we all know, was specifically made to not shatter gems. What I want to talk about for my final point is what happened afterward.

Why is Pearl physically incapable of speaking about it?

First, I want to point out that every time Rose shattering Pink Diamond is mentioned around Pearl, she covers her mouth.

Instead of looking at Steven in concern when Eyeball confirms Pink’s demise like the other CGs, she covers her mouth, stares at the ground, and starts shaking.

She does this as Steven says angrily, “Does this have anything to do with Pink Diamond? I already know mom shattered her, so what is it about this that you can't tell me?”

And then she continues to do this as he accuses her and Garnet of lying to him and expresses that he deserves to know the truth. (Sorry, I have zero photo editing skills).

The next instance was in I Am My Mom, the one I mentioned at the beginning of this post. Steven claimed that he was Rose Quartz, and that he was turning himself in for what she did (as well as what he did, however unknowing he had been when he gave Peridot that list in Marble Madness). Then, he said something that  would surely have a profound effect on Pearl, if she did indeed shatter Pink Diamond:

“I get it now. I'm the only one who can stop what she started. I can stop all of it!”

He turned himself in because he felt responsible for Pink Diamond’s shattering and the other Diamonds’ rage because of it, because her death was attributed to Rose Quartz. If Pearl was the true culprit, I can’t imagine how guilty she must have felt seeing Steven be taken away for what she did, and how helpless she felt not being able to tell him the truth.

Then, most recently and most obviously, she did this in Gemcation, just as the truth was right on the tip of her tongue.

“Steven, I'm sure you have a lot of questions you'd like answers to, like about the Diamonds, for instance. There are things that are impossible for me to explain. But I want to. I-- [Covers mouth] Steven, I--”

I rehash all of this to set up for my next theory: what if Rose ordered Pearl to keep quiet about what happened, and then proceeded to take the blame herself?

This can mean one of two things: Pearl belonged to Rose, or Pearl had formed such an attachment to Rose that her programming took over.

I really don’t think that Rose would have willingly received a Pearl, as someone who preaches about uniqueness and non-conformity and freedom, but if she had been Pink’s right hand gem, I doubt she would have had a choice in the matter. Pearl obviously had an owner at some point, since Pearls are “made to order servants.” They aren’t mass-produced and sold like items at a store, with gems choosing which one they like best. They’re made with a specific gem in mind.

The other option, however, seems more likely for multiple reasons. Aesthetically speaking, Pearl just doesn’t look like she was made for Rose, because she isn’t the right color and doesn’t have the right gem placement, if that’s even a consideration in production. And as stated before, owning a Pearl would have gone against Rose’s entire philosophy, if she had been given a choice. What we know for sure is that Pearl was very attached to Rose, and took on an inferiority complex that is much akin to a servant--or a knight--to her liege. It wouldn’t surprise me if Rose took advantage of that in order to protect Pearl from the inevitable backlash. Though they both would have been punished if caught, Rose would have received the worst imaginable fate, instead of Pearl.

My final point is, thankfully, short, but worth mentioning: does Garnet know what really happened? There’s only two instances that may point to her knowledge of the situation:

In Steven’s Dream, when Steven was yelling at Pearl and she covered her mouth, Garnet stated: “Please, you're making Pearl very upset.” Pearl didn’t react in a way that would seem “very upset,” by Pearl standards, but Garnet knew that what Steven was saying would have a deep effect on her, and she might have known that Pearl was unable to defend herself.

The next instance was in I Am My Mom, when Steven said that he could stop what Rose started, Garnet replied: “You're wrong! Steven, get down here!” It’s a bit of a stretch, but she could have been saying that he was wrong in assuming that Rose shattered Pink Diamond.

However, if she did know what really happened, why couldn’t she have just told him herself? She doesn’t have the same limitations that a Pearl would have, so I doubt that Rose had the power to keep Garnet from speaking, as well, though she most certainly would keep it a secret from others out of respect for Rose and Pearl. Plus, she already affirmed that Rose shattered Pink Diamond twice, at the end of Bubbled and in her story in Your Mother and Mine, unless she had been lying.

But that comes back to the point: why hasn’t she told him? It would have saved so much trouble. Though it’s also possible that she only knows that something happened that was different from what she was told, and it involved both Rose and Pearl, but she didn’t want to pry for answers. It wouldn’t change the fact that Pink was gone and that they had to suffer the consequences.

[legobiwan]

A week or two ago, this post was going around. The TCW plot generator CRACK ideas were WONDERFUL and RIDICULOUS and WEIRD and for some reason I felt compelled to challenge myself to write one. 

I am almost as sorry for subjecting you guys to this as I am for subjecting myself to writing it. But a challenge is a challenge, even if it is stupidly self-imposed. 

So without further adooodoo----

“Jar Jar Binks is a baker and Eeth Koth is a scientist. They are facing an intimate encounter with a tentacle-limbed life form on Chandrila. Optional plot: They are falling in or out of love.“

———————————————————————————————————

It was a pity, really.

Eeth Koth, stone-faced scientist of Iridonia, a planet known for raising disciplined minds capable of tolerating the greatest physical suffering…

…had been reduced to this.

Oh, sure it had begun as a mere dalliance. A hidden peck outside the ‘fresher. A taste in the alley outside his lab.

Perhaps even a stolen bite in a back closet after lunch.

It hadn’t been enough, though, the casual exchange flowering into something beyond the Iridonian’s steely control.

“But yousa liked my buns before!” came the plaintive cry of the culprit, his dealer in dopamine, his co-conspirator in comfort.

Once a week had soon become once a day, and then even more, two, even three times in an afternoon. It was an obsession, an addiction, and his scientist brain chastised him for the irrationality of it all, even as he dreamed of the next time, of the future, long and hazy in its optimism.

The ballads of Alderaan were now as clear as solutions, the poetry of the Snivvians replete with meaning.

Eeth Koth had fallen in love.

With Jar Jar Binks…

…’s baking.

The Gungan himself was beyond intolerable, tripping over his own feet (and accidentally letting loose a few extra pastries which Eeth carefully pocketed), wandering into what should have been high-security areas (where he was always happy to sell his wares), and announcing his presence in the research facility’s cantina with an unmistakable bleat (oh, but how would Eeth have known he even existed, if not for those commanding, albeit warbling tones?)

Still, it was time to put an end to this. Especially as the Gungan had started to interpret Eeth’s passion for his baking as…passion for something else.

Baked goods had started to appear outside of Eeth’s lab. A tray of cream horns. A pile of breadsticks. A quick perusal of Gungan culture on the holonet proved his worst suspicions.

Binks was pursuing Koth in the Gungan tradition.

Which apparently involved a lot of chasing. Something to do with their ancestors’ flight to the sea millions of years ago.

The  day a crate of dough balls - one million of them , to be precise - had appeared in his lab, Eeeth knew something had to be done.

And so he did what every proud member of the Iridonian race would do.

He requested a transfer to investigate the biological attack on Hanna City on Chandrilla.

For a few short weeks, everything was back to normal. Eeth took readings, scraped residue from the remains of buildings, and willed himself to forget the whole baked goods debacle on Coruscant. Near the end of his third week on assignment, he traveled to the shoreline, to the edge of the Silver Sea.

Which was not looking so silver anymore.

The normally iridescent body of water had turned pale and dull, undulating in wide, grotesque waves. Curiosity won out over self-preservation, and Eeth inched forward, poking a gloved finger into the mass.

He was not prepared for it to reach up with long, sinewy limbs and…

And…

His cheek was wet, a trail of slime running from his eye to the base of his neck.

The sea, whatever strange being it had transformed into - had caressed his cheek.

It was incredible.

And dangerous, he reminded himself sternly.

But like all scientists, Eeth housed the embers of childlike wonder at something new inside of him, and this was an extraordinary display of evolution. To encounter a creature that evidenced this level of sentience warranted much further investigation and he should get a team and -

“Aaaaa!”

A starchy limb encircled his leg, worming its way up his inner thigh and past his belt buckle and suddenly Eeth was not feeling so enthusiastic about scientific research, batting away the offending arm. But just as he did, another on his left tried again, and a third trying to…

“Damn this thing and its lascivious advances!” he yells, and that’s when he hears it. All the fight goes out of him and Eeth just groans and takes one hand to his forehead, only to wrench it back to his waist as the sentient pastry makes another pass at him.

“Yoo-hoo! Mista Koooth!” a voice sings, its source wading towards him through the sticky, glutinous mass.

“Jar Jar! What are you doing here! This a restricted area, there’s been a biological attack and - “

“Mista Koooooth! I knooooow!”

Eeth stilled.

“What? Jar Jar you didn’t - “

He wouldn’t.  Right? Eeth’s heart trilled. There was infatuation, and then there was biological warfare via baked goods for unrequited lust and not even the displaced Gungan would go so far -

“Mista Koth!” Jar Jar waved a finger as another tentacle rose from the mass of dough wrapped itself around Eeth’s waist.

“Jar Jar - get back you damned thing!” The tentacles were multiplying, encircling the scientist in a warm embrace. Eeth pulled and pushed, but there was no give and he was stuck with a salacious biscuit while Jar Jar stood beaming at him and so help him if he got free -

“JAR JAR WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?”

“A Giant Amorphous Bantha Breakfast Biscuit!”

“What?”

“Mista Koth, yousa don’t knows the Giant Amorphous Bantha Breakfast Biscuit? It was on the holo shows.”

Oh no. He did know what they were, they had showed up in several research journals. The amazing self-perpetuating breakfast food that devoured its chef. A feat of biology. And now it was here on Chandrila, and Eeth Koth, respected scientist, master of his craft - he was going to be eaten by a sentient, tentacled, horny kriffing pastry.

Something warm grabbed at his chest. Eeth yelped, heat racing to his cheeks.

“Jar Jar! Tell me you have the sauce.”

The only thing capable of halting the growth of the Giant Amorphous Bantha Breakfast Biscuit was blue sauce, which, was the only condiment served with the Giant Amorphous Bantha Breakfast Biscuit.

It was also probably the only mandatory condiment in the entire galaxy.

The Gungan fished through his pockets, loose change, a few spoons, and even a jar of insects falling into the swelling mass. Eeth shut his eyes, imagining what his colleagues might say at his funeral, or worse, what awful headlines the holonet reporters would come up with.

Dead by Dough.

Pulverized by a Pastry.

Lascivious Lattice Leaves Lab Scientist Leavened.

“Here we are!”

With a sweeping motion, the Gungan spilled the sauce on surface, blue creeping into the pores of the dough. The mass came to a halt, emitting a loud hiss as the entire thing deflated, sinking into the water without further incident.

Eeth stood and brushed himself off - powder and crumbs fell from the folds of his clothing and he can feel the granules of dough in his shoes, down his shirt, and his pants. It is like sand - rough, coarse and getting everywhere.

He coughed to cover his embarrassment.

“What yousa think of that, Mista Koth?”

Eeth fixed the Gungan with a glare.

“Jar Jar. No more pastries.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Not evens a bun?”

“Not even a bun.”

“But yousa liked my buns before!”

Eeth sighed and trudged towards the shore, leaving a bewildered Jar Jar in his wake.

——-

Back at the compound, Eeth locked the door to his quarters. The smell of dough and yeast had followed him for weeks, and not even the strongest cologne could rid the offending odor from his senses. After the incident, he quickly wrapped up his investigation on Chandrila, returning to Coruscant with a tersely-worded report and a number of strong words for his more inquisitive colleagues.

He glanced behind his shoulder, making certain that he was alone. Eeth entered a code on a nearby panel, and a door clicked open. He reached into the secret closet, napkin around his hand.

A satisfying crunch echoed in the chamber and the scientist moaned in pleasure.

One of the advantages of being a senior researcher was the ability to sneak field samples back from investigation sites.

Even if they were tentacled Gungan desserts.  

[druidicart]

It’s... Ariel!

Who: Ariel and Art

Where: In the astral plane above Beacon Hills

Rated: PG

What: Art astral projects in hopes of speaking with his father, but instead meets Ariel Hale. Ariel puts the pieces together and comes up with a theory on who they are to each other. Also: Art cries a lot, and Ariel has messages for everyone.

Art sat in the middle of his room, hands resting neatly on his lap as the scent of sandalwood permeated the air. It took a lot longer to ground himself than usual because his mind was in so many different places, but he knew he needed to talk to his father and soon. There was so much he needed to ask Arthur Senior, not only about what to do with the Horsemen and the Nemeton, but on what to do with girls. He’d missed out on that conversation with his dad and he was so lost, he felt like it was worth it to try and make it through the astral plane and find him. He’d never done something like this, before. From what he read, he needed to hold a piece of rose quartz in his left hand and some malachite in the other and think of the blood in his veins. It should, theoretically, direct him to his closest blood relative should the projection work. Art took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. By the time he counted to thirty, he felt weightless and when he looked down, he could see his body sitting below him. The world around him flowed into itself in a maze of colors until they blended together so much, the world became black as night. He was vaguely aware of some trees below him, but it was the inky expanse of the sky that held his attention—that, and the feeling that he wasn’t alone. He searched around him until he saw the culprit: a young woman he didn’t recognize floating with him above the trees. She wasn’t his father at all and he frowned. “H-hello?” he called out, testing his voice. “Who are you?”

 Ariel absentmindedly kept watch over Beacon Hills whenever she could, there was so much that she had learned over everything that had happened post-her death and so much that she wanted to say to her friends, but as she continued her journey through the town, an unfamiliar voice caught her attention and she jumped back from where she had been hovering, a little yelp escaping past her throat. "Oh, sorry about that, didn't actually notice you there, although if I had, obviously I would have not screamed of course." She says with a snort and grin. "I'm Ariel Hale, and you are? Wait, are you a Ghost too? Hopefully not, you look rather young to die, although I guess I can't say much.." She mumbles and looks down at herself for a moment before sticking her hand out for him to shake, a bright smile still on her lips.

 Art shook his head, dumbfounded. He hadn't expected her to be so friendly, even though she looked like it. Since she wasn't the person he came to see, his mind immediately thought she was some kind of ghoulish monster or the astral plane... police. Art had no idea how any of it worked. "No, I... I'm not dead. I thought I would test out a theory I read in an old druid journal and came to talk to someone, but I don't see him." He swallowed thickly and tried to find signs of her being a ghost. He didn't know what it would look like. She seemed normal aside from the floating. "Are you a spirit? Did... did you die?"

 Ariel tilts her head to the side as though observing him due to the fact that he seemed to have gotten lost in his thoughts and the werewolf was still confused as to who this person was. "Well, that's always good to hear, you never know when you'll kick the bucket when it comes to Beacon Hills." The blonde states with a scrunch of her nose. "Oh, you're a Druid? Cool! Who were you looking for? Maybe I've seen or heard of him, I've met a lot of people here and spend time with my brother often, not that it's information that you probably care about or anything, but it makes me happy to say!" Ariel responds with a laugh, but it quickly dies down at the next question as she fiddles with her ring and nods. "Yeah, I died in December..saving Lydia from a guy that was influenced by Famine. My dad, Peter later on killed him but..that part isn't as much of a surprise but yeah..I'm a Beacon Hills native, I was a Werewolf here because it runs in the Hale genes and all."

 Art thought that if he wasn't going to see his father, at least he found someone very helpful. "Yeah, I'm a Druid. I'm looking for my dad... he um... has sandy hair and big nose and he died when I was 11 and I'm not sure if he um... hangs around here. I don't know where ghosts go and all that. My name is Art Murphy. It's short for Arthur. My dad's name is also Arthur Murphy. I'm sorry about... you know," he shrugged a little to show he meant her death, but instead of answering his question, she gave him a million more. "That means you've died recently. Famine... he's still in Beacon Hills and Lydia... she just... lost her mom." He wondered if she came by here, too, but the thought was cut off entirely when she mentioned that Peter was her father. "You're a Hale," he said as if it wasn't already obvious. He couldn't sense her lycanthropy like he could when he was in the corporeal plane, but he was glad she told him. "I've heard of you. Peter stopped coming to the shop for a while and my mom said he was in mourning. That was you..." he stared, dumbfounded. From what he knew, Peter didn't care about anyone, and yet he'd been shaken by his daughter's death. "I can still see his sadness sometimes. Even after he became an alpha."

 Ariel frowns a little as she shakes her head. "Sorry, I haven't actually heard of him yet, but if I do..well I actually don't know how to contact you, but I may be able to give hints if possible with my own ways and then you can contact him again, but how did you test out your theory? Using what kind of druid spell because it seems as though you were asking for a blood relative and that's not me, I don't think of course." She muses and shakes her head. "You're adorable though! And it's..not exactly okay, but er, I've been alright up here I guess, I know what's been going on around Town, I've kind of been watching over it and I wish I was there to hug Lydia a thousand times and tell her how sorry I was and that despite what she may think, she does not deserve this pain, or tell Talia that I am so proud of her, and that I'm sorry for all of our arguments because it was awkward the last time we saw each other before I..but anyways, there is so much that I want to say to so many people." Ariel admits as she licks her lips. "That would be correct, I'm Peter's oldest." Bright blue eyes stared down at the other's as she points. "If I didn't think any better, I'd say that you actually look a little...like..my dad, did you say that he stopped going to a shop that your mom works at?" She questions as eyes slowly widen at a realisation that wasn't impossible, but still something that was hard to take in. "You can?" She asks as eyes tear up a bit and she clears her throat for the tight knot feeling to go away. "Want to know the worst part? I didn't want to go." Ariel admits with a nervous laugh. "I mean, I've accepted death since I was a kid, but that doesn't make it any less scary but..I just wanted to save my friend, she deserves life and happiness."

 Art sighed and looked out over the treetops. "I was supposed to meet a blood relative. I used crystals to get here instead of herbs and herbs are more my forte. I probably messed up. I should only have as long as it takes the incense to burn up." He looked at Ariel again. "Do You want me to tell that to Lydia and Talia? I can if you want... Let them know. They need a lot of good news right now." When she looked at him with such scrutiny, he wanted to look away, but couldn't. It was important to him that he not back down. "I don't look like him" he said immediately. "We own a soup shop but he always came to get herbs from us. Not soup. Always business. But I can see emotions as color although not now." Art squinted. Ariel appeared so clear. "But he gets hit with sadness every so often and I thought it was from the fire. He refuses to say. Most people do. I can only guess it was because of you. I know what you mean about death. In Beacon Hills, death is everywhere, figuratively and literally. Many of us have accepted it but... We still have that drive to fight. It's weird." He wanted to hug her which was strange because he didn't know her and he only hugged Rosie and his mom.

 Ariel furrows her eyebrows slightly as she nervously chews on her lip, wondering what else could have gone wrong for her to appear, but the same thought kept on wandering around and she didn't know how to tell him, nor did she know if he would want to accept it since it was Peter that they were talking about here. "You could have messed up..but er, there's also other..reasons why a blood relative could have been called and oops, I'm..here." Ariel whispers in a calm tone. "Please? Tell Lydia that despite what happened, I am so proud of her too and if you can, tell my dad and Derek that I love and miss them." She adds, taking in a shaky breath at the thought of her family as she pulls a strand of blonde hair away from her face. "I'm sorry, I've never had much of a filter.." She quickly apologises, even though it was true. "Always business." She repeats although her tone sounds more questioning than anything else. "It could still be from the fire too, I just..I feel terrible that he would still be upset, but I also can't blame him for being sad, it's only been months..but I hope he knows that this wasn't anyone's fault but famine's." She explains, making a face. "Exactly, hopefully none of you guys do pass or I'm not gonna be happy because you guys deserve way better than this." She responds in a somewhat firm, but incredibly caring, tone. "Has your mom and my dad..always been close?" Ariel can't help but ask, shutting her eyes for a moment before peeking with one eye open because of how cringey the question really was when she thought about the reasoning behind it.

 Art thought about it for a moment. "The Hales and my family are really old Beacon Hills families. There's every chance we have a common ancestor," Art stated. While he thought his father was closest, perhaps his father wasn't available. Ariel said she watched over the town, after all. He nodded at her requests, repeating them in his head so he wouldn't forget. He thought it must be so hard for her to watch people in silence. It was the least he could do. "Peter doesn't talk about himself so I'm not sure who he blames, but hearing from you... Maybe I'll be able to find something out about him." He just hoped Peter believed in not harming the messenger. He shot her a confused look when she asked about their parents. "Not really. She used to check her reflection whenever he came by but she does that with the Sheriff too. Now that Peter is an alpha, she's been distant. She doesn't trust alphas. He walked me home the other night and my mom threw a fit, but she stayed outside talking to him for a long time." He remembered feeling his mother's sadness when she came in that night and it confused him. It was the same sadness he felt when Rosie spoke about Jake. But no. Art shook his head. She was upset Art came home with an alpha. That was all.

 Ariel chews nervously on her bottom lip as she thinks about it, wanting to believe that there was a good and reasonable explanation behind this that didn't involve one that made her feel grossed out, not because of the person in front of her being a relative, but her dad still finding ways to charm women. "I mean, you aren't wrong, but unless you were asking for a recent relative, I don't understand why else I would be chosen out of any other possible relative..not that I don't like seeing you or anything! You're absolutely adorable and it's nice to not be wandering around, lonely after so long so to temporarily see someone here is nice." She admits with a warm grin on her lips. "Yeah..he doesn't talk much about himself or his family, everything about him is personal and the only way that I could really figure out what was going on with him emotionally wise, was when it was already too late." The werewolf says as she sits herself down, although she was still casually floating around where she had been standing beforehand. "If there's anything that you want to know, I'm more than happy to help out and answer as best that I can." Ariel offers as she swallows hard and thinks about what he was saying, continuing to connect the dots. "Blood relative..I'm here, your mum and my dad.." She whispers with furrowed eyebrows as eyes scan the other, realising that they kind of looked alike, maybe if she had brown hair, there would be more similarity but the eyes and the nose. "You don't think..I mean, considering my dad it's not uncommon and oh god, I'm sorry, you may not believe it, but I kind of do? And if I have another.." Pausing at that, tears appear in her eyes as she squeals and hides her face for a moment. "Sorry, it would just be..really cool, but I can't get my hopes up, it's really nice to meet you though, Art."

 "I can come back... If I found you once before, who is to say I can't find you again. I’ve never done this before and I'm surprised it worked this well." What she wad implying was starting to dawn on him and he refused to believe it. Peter couldn't be... But that would mean he was named for someone else entirely. The logic certainly pointed in that direction. Art shook his head furiously. "You're nice Ariel. It's weird how much I like you immediately but I can't... My dad is Arthur Sr and I'm Arthur Jr. That's how it is. I... I'm an only child." He couldn't think about this. Not now. It made sense as to why his mother never let them stay in the same room for very long. Why would she keep it a secret? She robbed him of a very different life. Before he knew it, he was crying. He sniffed and rubbed his nose with his sleeve. "I'm sorry. For so long it's been me and my mom. I would have loved to have a big sister to help me like I need help now."

 Ariel nods her head at his words, a warm smile starting to appear upon her lips. "Yeah, that is very true and I would like that, thank you." She muses, although the smile quickly falters when she notices that he is starting to realise what she is trying to imply here. "Trust me..the thought of my dad having been with yet another person grosses me out so, it ain't all rainbows and sunshine, but another sibling..that's incredible." Ariel admits the last words with a small laugh. "I don't think it's all that weird, not that I'm saying that I expect people to like me immediately or anything! Oh gosh, no, but I like being nice with people and I can only hope that they do like me." She explains with a small shrug. "I personally always knew about my half-siblings so..I can understand where it would be frustrating and confusin-oh no." She whispers the last part when she sees the tears and her immediate reaction is to wrap her arms around him in an embrace. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I really didn't mean to make you cry, and I'm also sorry for not asking if I could hug you, I usually do, but I feel so bad now and I would have loved to have spent time with another younger brother."

"It takes me a long time to warm up to someone, but I felt so calm with you right from the start," Art admitted, his voice shaking from the revelation. If anything, that had to be a sign. Art believed there were no coincidences after all. He was meant to meet Ariel here for a reason. "If... if this is true, this means my family just got a lot bigger." He hadn't expected to become a part of the largest werewolf family in Beacon Hills. It was a bit too much. He was just trying to hold himself together when he felt her arms around him. Hugs always made things worse and soon his was full on crying. He loved his father, the man who raised him. And didn't want him to think that Art didn't appreciate him now that this new life was a possibility. He sank into her shoulder, his shoulders shaking with sobs. "D-don't... don't be sorry," he tried to say, but it was unintelligible. "I came here to see my dad and I still want to see him. I miss him but... but now it feels like he's really gone." he had no idea what his life would be like from here on out, but his first step was to talk to his mother. He held onto Ariel for another moment, trying to calm his breathing.

Ariel blinks as shoulders relax a bit. "I felt the same way, although I like to see the good in people so, I tend to warm up to them quite easily, but the moment that they try to harm me or my friends, then that's a side of me that you don't want to see." Ariel explains before shrugging her shoulders. "Yeah..there's more and more Hales each day." She jokes although sometimes it was true..like right now with her finding out that she had another half-sibling. "I just wish that I had known of you whilst I was still alive, but I'm glad to have met you now." She beams. Once he starts crying more, tears well up in Ariel's own eyes as she rubs his back comfortingly. "I really do wish that I could have been of more help, Art and if you ever want to talk, I am one spell away, always just..keeping watch of this place."

 Art nodded, swiping at his eyes. It felt good to cry. It unleashed a lot of built up stress because what he felt was overwhelming him. "I'm glad I met you, too. I'm sorry I'm not very good company right now. I need to talk to my mom. But... Ariel." He pulled away so he could look at her. "If you can watch over the whole town... if you ever happen across a soup shop near old Main. It's... it's called Soupernatural. That's where my mom and I work. It would be nice to know... that you were looking out for us there." He got his bearings a moment and pointed in the right direction of the shop. "I can only stay as long as the incense is burning and it doesn't burn for long. I might start fading soon... but I'll come back. I'll tell the others what you said and I can bring back messages... unless you happen to see their reactions anyway." He sniffed. His head didn't hurt out here as a spirit, but he knew he'd have a headache once he returned to his body. "Doesn't it get lonely up here? Do not a lot of people stay behind to watch over the town?"

 Ariel smiles warmly down at him as she waves a hand around awkwardly. "Oh shh, that is not true at all, you are perfect company because I..don't get a lot of it anyways so, you also don't have much to go up against." She jokes with a light laugh before clearing her throat. "Sorry, but anywho, yeah, I would love to go and look out for the both of you guys there, that's an amazing shop name, by the way." Ariel muses and stands up a bit more, frowning slightly since she knew that he would be leaving soon, her hopes high though at the thought of him getting to come back again. "I figured that it didn't, but please don't be a stranger. Thank you so much for doing that, and don't worry, I will go and check up on them when you go in hopes to see their reactions because thinking of them makes me happy so hopefully I make them happy too." She responds in a sweet tone, sniffling a bit too. "It does and there are some people here, yes, you can say that I have some..unfinished business, I tend to stay more to myself and get lost in my thoughts, even check up on the lab, I was a Bio-Engineer so leave it to me to still think about work even whilst dead." Ariel states with a snort. "But I do hang out with my brother a bit, he's fully passed on but we can still communicate, it's hard to explain."

 Art was glad that Ariel would look out for him. Even though he wasn't sure what she could do, he was glad that her presence would be there. And he secretly hoped she would haunt his mother, but he doubted she would. He got a good vibe from her. When she complimented the shop name, he responded immediately with the response he always did: "Thanks. My dad named it." But as soon as the words were out, his face fell and his throat seized up in another shuddering sob. He needed to learn how to control himself. It was easier to concentrate on Ariel and her need to make people happy. Just being in her proximity was soothing. He knew he would be in a much worse state if it weren't for her. "Lydia and the others could use all the happiness they can get. It'll be nice to help you spread some of it around. I'm glad you have someone else to talk to here." The fact that she was a Bio-Engineer piqued his interest. He liked trying to combine the science side of medicine that Aurora knew with the holistic side he was used to. He thought maybe he could pick her brain about some of the active ingredients in various herbs and right when he opened his mouth to ask her, the world began to fade in and out of view. "Ariel!" he cried out, reaching for her. "I think I'm going back!"

Ariel always wanted to help out in any way that she could so to simply watch over Art and his mother gave her a little task to do and it was a comforting one for probably not only Art, but also for Ariel too because it meant that she could get to know her half-brother from afar, even if he could come back so that the two could chat. The moment that he mentions his dad, her eyes widen as she hides her face. "Oh god, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you cry..again." Ariel muses and scrunches up her nose slightly, guilt washing over her once more, walking back closer to gently wipe off any excess tears that would be on his face after having released sobs yet again. "That is very true, they deserve so much happiness and love. It's what I always did back when I was alive, I would spread positivity despite how the town often was, in wrecks, but someone had to keep their spirits high...hah pun." She mumbles with a snort, raising her eyebrows a bit when she sees him open his mouth to say something but soon he's fading away and a frown etches itself upon her lips. "It's okay! I'll see you again! Remember that you can always come back, Art. I'll be here!"

[clefaiiiry]

posting this here now because it was too late to post it yesterday lol

Title: Ties

Fandom: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Diamond & Pearl & Platinum | Pokemon Diamond Pearl Platinum Versions

Word Count: 1,530

Characters: Shirona | Cynthia, Jupiter (Pokemon), Mars (Pokemon), Saturn (Pokemon), Akagi | Cyrus (Mentioned), Hikari | Dawn (Mentioned), Charon (mentioned)

Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Child, Abuse Post Spear Pillar, Trans Male Character, Trans Saturn, I guess it's implied but yeah no he's trans in this

AO3 Version

News of what happened at the Spear Pillar spread like wildfire. The CEO of the region’s biggest energy supplier attempted to summon ancient deities of time and space to destroy the universe, and was just barely stopped by the teenage Champion before both disappeared through a wormhole.

“No,” Cynthia explained for the millionth time, “that is not an exaggeration. That’s really what happened.”

Obviously there was an outcry for those responsible to see justice. But given that the status of the main culprit was currently unknown, there wasn’t much Cynthia could do to calm the growing unrest in the people of Sinnoh.

She should’ve known that an early retirement was too much to hope for.

Interpol had called in everyone who was present at the Spear Pillar for questioning. This included Cynthia herself, but the consensus was that no one had any idea how to even start going about recovering Dawn and Cyrus.

Without enough evidence to pin blame directly onto the Galactic commanders, they were released, but only with the agreement that they would send in reports to Interpol every week.

When Cynthia finally found them, the forth one (Charon was it?) had already made his grand exit. Mars was complaining loudly in the lobby, not caring who heard her.

“It’s not like we need that coward anyway! I say good riddance!”

Jupiter sighed and rubbed her temples. “I’m not gonna act like I’m gonna miss the old coot but you’d think he’d at least drop in his letter of resignation or something.”

“You three look like you’ve had the worst week of your lives,” Cynthia said as she approached. Mars and Jupiter looked up at her simultaneously.

“Oh, it’s totally in the top five,” Mars said, rubbing her face.

Saturn hadn’t said a word since she’d first spotted them, though his eyes followed the conversation with the rapt attention.

Cynthia let out a deep sigh and clasped her hands together.

“C’mon kids, dinners on me,” she said with a grin.

All three commanders stared at her blankly before Jupiter finally spoke, “You’re not even that much older than us.”

“How old do you think I am?”

“Like,” Mars scratched her head. “I dunno, twenty-one?”

Cynthia smirked. “I’m thirty.”

“See? Not that much older,” Jupiter huffed.

“Yeah, you’re not a grandma yet,” Mars piped up.

Seemingly unfazed, Cynthia shrugged and gestured towards the exit. “You guys want food or not?”

“Um...” Mars fussed with the hem of her dress for a moment, unable to make eye contact. “Can I go back to my apartment and get changed first?”

Even the simple act of changing out of their uniforms did wonders for their moods, as if the weight had melted from their shoulders. They could think about the future of Team Galactic and the repercussions of their past actions some other time. Right now, they were just a group of young adults trying to enjoy their evening.

And considering how tacky they looked in their uniforms, Cynthia was thankful that their casual wear wasn’t too harsh on the eyes.

“I would kill for something super gross and bathing in grease,” Mars announced for the whole world to hear.

“Can’t you eat something healthy for once?” Jupiter scolded.

“I’m sorry, did you say, ‘eat something boring?’ No thanks.” Mars stuck her tongue out.

Without much difficulty, Cynthia managed to lead them to a relatively empty diner. They took up a booth in the corner, as far away from the other customers as possible.

Not that it mattered since Mars shouted every word that came out of her mouth. Subtlety was not one of her strong points, Cynthia figured.

“Holy crap!” Mars said through a mouthful of burger. “This is so good! Why haven’t we been here before?!”

Cynthia laughed. “To be fair, this place hasn't been open for too long.”

Mars groaned dramatically. “We totally should’ve had staff lunch here,” she whined.

“You know we never would’ve gotten it approved,” Saturn muttered, poking at his food as if it were some alien creature. Jupiter watched him for a minute before leaning over and muttering something Cynthia didn’t quite catch.

Saturn shook his head in response.

“You’ve gotta eat something.” Jupiter’s voice held nothing but genuine concern.

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled.

“Then you won’t miss these.” Mars leaned across the table and took a handful of fries from his plate.

The speed of which he went to smack her hand could rival a Ninjask. “Back. Off.”

“But if you’re not gonna eat them, why can’t I?”

Saturn thought for a moment, then, while keeping eye contact with Mars, shoved a handful of fries in his mouth. Mars let out a sound that was utterly heart-breaking.

“How could you do this to me?” she cried, though the way she stuffed the other half of her burger into her mouth really ruined the effect.

As Saturn laughed, relief eased its way into Jupiter’s expression.

Cynthia cleared her throat, suddenly aware of how out of place she was. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she started, testing the waters, “what are you plans... name-wise? Are you just gonna keep using your code names or-?”

Tension stiffened Saturn’s frame. “I am not using my old name. Never again.”

Cynthia recoiled as if she’d been hit. “Can I ask-”

“No, you can’t,” Saturn spat.

Mars seemed a tad taken aback by his hostility, but quickly recovered. “Your old name was totally lame anyway. We’ll come up with a better one!”

“Until then,” Jupiter chipped in, placing a hand on his shoulder, “we’ll just keep calling you Saturn.”

“I still think you should call yourself Stanley,” Mars said, the task of holding back giggles being truly monumental.

“I’m not calling myself Stanley.” Saturn huffed and went back to picking at his food.

“Trevor? Goes well with Toxicroak.”

“How does it-” Saturn shook his head. “Does anyone else have any ideas?”

“I like Trevor.” Jupiter grinned.

“Whose side are you on?!”

Despite Jupiter’s protests, Cynthia insisted on paying.

“I’m owed a few favours anyway, don’t worry about it,” the ex-Champion said.

“You’ve already done way more for us than we deserve.”

“It’s not about deserve, it’s about need.” There was an oddly comfortable beat of silence before Cynthia continued, “Besides, I feel like you’ve been through a lot.”

The laugh Jupiter let out held no humour. “That’s an understatement.”

Mars and Saturn walked on ahead, their Pokémon trailing behind them. If Cynthia didn’t know any better, it would’ve been easy to mistake them for a normal pair of friends, teasing and joking as Purugly and Toxicroak chirped along at their feet.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Cynthia said, “do you have any younger siblings?”

A small cloud of breath rose from Jupiter as she frowned. “No. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just- don’t take this the wrong way -you handle those two pretty well.”

“I just worry,” Jupiter said. She brushed a few stray strands of hair behind her ear, letting out a long sigh. “Seems like none of us had a great upbringing, so I just... do what I can.”

With a scoff, Cynthia said, “You’re the mom friend.”

“Please, I’m not that old.” Jupiter smiled, though the action seemed to take far more energy than she could afford. “They’re like my stupid little brother and sister. Annoying, but I gotta keep them in check, you know?” She held out her arms. “Welcome to Team Galactic. We’re a big, weird family but we’re way better than what you’ve got at home.”

Jupiter rubbed her arms, staring down at her feet as she walked.

“For all the shitty things he ended up doing in the end, Ma- Cyrus still did a lot for them.” She gestured to Mars and Saturn, who were still blissfully unaware of the other conversation. “Got them out of some pretty shitty situations. Sure, it was all for his own gain at the end of it, but-” Jupiter shook her head. “Fuck...”

Something about her words caught Cynthia completely off guard. She was suddenly taken back years, back to the summers she spent in Sunnyshore City. How she spent her days bonding over myths and old textbooks with that weird kid everyone told her to avoid. How he would sometimes show up with bruises that he would dismiss. How he would flinch if she yelled too loud. She didn’t find it hard to believe that the same kid would go on to help others out of similar situations.

Cynthia smiled. It was small, but warm and real. “For what it’s worth, I think he cared in his own way.”

“How would you know-”

“You guys have a company nap room,” Cynthia said with a complete deadpan, “If you still think he didn’t care about you at all, then you have vastly underestimated him.”

Jupiter didn’t respond, but the look on her face told Cynthia all she needed to know.

“It’s Julia, by the way.”

“What?”

“My real name.” Jupiter smiled. “Feels weird using it after all this time.”

“Julia.” Cynthia tested the name on her tongue. “Suits you.”

Julia glanced away, the tips of her ears turning slightly red. “Yeah, I guess so...”

[ek-do-teen]

Patriarchy, Rhea & Female Friendships

With the ubiquitous lines doing frequent rounds –

“Roses are red, Violet are blue, Let’s smash the patriarchy, me & you”

I have been brought to think about the whole concept of patriarchy. Whose side I am on, is a subject for some other day but how the angle of patriarchy has been plucked & tried to be perfectly placed by the influencers masked in the charade of Rhea’s well wishers is astonishing as well as alarming for me. With lack of arguments to put forward to by the accused party, the whole scenario has been changed to be looked from the angle of plight of the grieving women in the hands of the roaches called men. A specific picture that have been doing the rounds on the internet is specifically gruesome. Asking questions on Media trial is one thing, linking it to patriarchy is another, it’s a case of desperate juxtaposition, wrongly done

Patriarchy is one of the pertinent evils of the society, which sadly I have grown up living, linking it to such superficial issues is a mockery of the whole act. There are a whole lot of wrong doings in the coverage of this case- media trial, evasion of privacy, capitalizing on heard mentality, paid PR/media, politicization of one of the most independent body – journalism; however, I fail to see patriarchy playing a role here. In the death of Sunanda Pushkar, Sridevi, their then male partners had to go through a similar plight. One can argue, it might not have been that intense, because of course Gandhi didn’t know at that time, money can buy the 3 monkeys he propagated us to become – dumb, deaf and blind. Media might have not called them ‘vish – balak’ because of the sheer money which those parties would have thrown at them. Maybe their PR media was playing strong than Rhea’s (Satish Maneshinde- take note)

Patriarchy is a sad state of the society today. Despite seeing such sorry state of gender defined roles back at my home, I was always optimistic & hopeful. Neither my parents nor in the society I grew up in, I saw any difference in how I am being treated with respect to my brother. However, as you grow, you become more aware or maybe society starts to unleash its dark side, but I have been sloshed with idea of dichotomy of gender and its bias in the society.

As a female, if you are not working in your hometown, have you been subjected to questions like – ‘So what are your plans for marriage?’ ‘Do you have a boyfriend? Oh, where is he working?...Oh, haha I didn’t mean the company, which location?’

Let me know how many bouys would have been subjected to SAME questions!

Have you been to house warming parties of your married friends/colleagues/relatives; out of husband and wife whom have you seen organizing stuff- home/food/dinner, majorly. And out of the couple, who is most likely to be seen enjoying a game of poker with 2 finger pour whiskey with just 2 cubes of ice. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t wish to paint a sorry figure for species of our gender but despite the money, waiter/waitresses roaming around, a 5 star venue, it is always a responsibility of the wife/sister to overlook arrangements in such gatherings while the brat is, well brat.

In organizations which are sales oriented, have you seen the targets of ‘to be mothers’ change? As a recruitment consultant, one thing I can tell you for sure is women after returning from maternity are more likely to change jobs, even if the organization is one of the well known conglomerate. Why would organization want that, they have just invested 6 months paid leave on an employee, why wouldn’t they want to ensure longevity of that employee. Because it is easy to abide by the laws, rather than uproot the mentality and make it a fair playground for both the genders to fight on.

Is equal pay a misnomer? It is closer home than one can imagine. You don’t even have to go through the laborious reports of EY, Aon Hewitt, just enquire a few of your colleagues and you would be saddened by the stark reality of it. (If you doubt the veracity of my statement here, I reiterate I am a recruitment consultant)

The gender defined bifurcation is so stark in the capitalist world, that you have to turn blind sometimes to not be agitated by the treatment you are subjected to in your face. Thus you end up sharing few laughs on the ‘that time of the month’ joke, not drinking in a office party full of boys, pushing your butt extra hard to have your opinions on the table or being a part of the campaign – ‘men will be men’. You also have to stretch beyond the normal office hours to prove your ambition and reinstate you are in there for a longer time otherwise people might mistake you for a gold digger.

Growing up in a teachers’ only household (my maternal/paternal grandmother/aunt all have been teachers), I was time and again ‘advised’ to be a teacher as it helps to maintain a ‘work- life’ balance. Despite honoring that profession and having a natural knack for it, I didn’t pursue it ever because of the way it was always pitched to me. I naturally grew rebellious to teaching as a profession. (Ya, I take my previous words on my wonder parents back)

My name on my passport, 10th class certificate and all the essential documents was always maintained as ‘Stuti’ because well! Patriarchy is so engrained, one fails to notice in the day to day happenings. What is more agitating for me is men, who have been wonderful boys at one time, get shaped up at the helms of the society and mould themselves up as what is expected out of them from gender defined roles. I am talking about men whom I am in close contact with and have seen them growing.

My dear male friend once said to me- ‘Despite you both working (me and my partner), you have to be extra cautious about your home’. HOME, is a place made not bought. I would fail to take care of a space myself when the other person has nill emotions attached to it.

I have so much to say that I might be easily categorized as a naysayer rather than a human with an objective mindset. But then isn’t female with an objective mindset an oxymoron anyways. It takes patience, effort and tons of unlayering in your mind to stand for yourself and see through the lens not placed by your male boss/mom/in laws/SOCIETY. And after doing it, we are labelled as ‘emotional fools’. Impulsive word is just invented for females even though most of the culprits in ‘murder in the fit of rage’, ‘drunk driving’ would be well- males! But, hello- who tend to be emotional bitches in the house! I don’t recall any women who have given up in the face of adversity and have faced the man saying – ‘What do we do now?’. I can vouch for the emotional strength of women than men and THERE IS A DIFFERENCE between emotionally strong and being emotionally guarded. Men are latter. Being aware of patriarchy has also made me reverent of the all the female friendships I have in my life. We have been made to be jealous of our own gender, made to believe ‘aurat hi aurat ki dushman’ when it is the society at large we should be fighting against. No one can be as benevolent as a mother yet roaring at your ex the other second, if it is not for your ff. There is an unmatched comfort, well I am not denying you don’t need your fair share of male friends (you obvio need free labour when you are shifting your house next).  BUT, nothing beats crying your heart out and smashing real patriarchy issues, planning to be turning lesbians with your female bf when you crib about your partner/bf/husband.

Well I bid adieu now, it has been a long emotional post. I blame it on my hormones.