#sleepy's final bleat

[archivestarlyht]

oh these meds are kicking my ass :(

[mossygirl333]

Tiramisu/Jello Shots but with a comfort focus rather than smut? Maybe Reader's feelings are hurt by being called stupid and their partner (Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Price, or König, your choice) immediately stops the scene when they realized they went too far/accidentally hit a limit and just comforts them/is extremely apologetic and gives them good aftercare?

AN: I'll try my best!! Honestly I feel like konig would do this bc he's very cocky and just gets super into it and he forgets you aren't into degradation and it just slips out

Bakery Order: Tiramisu- "Oh you're a drunk stupid thing arent you?" + Jello Shots- Aftercare

Konig x f!insecure!reader

TW/CW: smut in the beginning, slight degrading, insecure reader, heavy heavy aftercare, lots and lots of praise, lots of kisses, badly translated German <3

You hiccuped, he felt so big. Slamming into you, huffing in your ear. Weak 'uh uh uh's left your lips, eyes rolled back. The entire bed shook with his fast grinding, desperate to reach a high that was just out of his grasp.

Head swimming, overcome with everything that was you. The tang of your slick was still heavy on his tongue, heady and wanton. The smell of sex settling in his nose, making him breathe harder. Desire coiling up in every fiber of muscle, hands balling up on the side of your head.

"You dirty little slut huh? You drunken whore, letting me fuck you like a fleshlight."

His words finally register in your mind and the pressure in your stomach immediately goes away, eyes staring up at the ceiling as you go quiet.

He pauses, his hand sliding down to your side. "Oh...schatz-" He starts but your lip is already quivering. Your drunken mind making your emotions uncontrollable.

You sniffle, hiccuping pathetically. "Why did you say that to me? I'm not a-"

He starts to panic, guilt coiling in his stomach like some storm. He pulls out quickly, wiping your wet thighs. "Oh no no, schatz, please don't cry...I'm such a Dummkopf." He mumbles. "You aren't a slut. It slipped out.

You bleat, sniffling. "But you said I was!" Your shaky hands go up to your face, the familiar insecurity clawing up into your chest. Settling like some thick sticky oil in your heart. Sharp and sickly, a headache starting to form between glossy eyes.

"No...No...C'mere, come here." He cradles you in his hands, unsure of what to say. Brushing his scarred lips against your sweaty forehead. "You're such a beautiful girl...so beautiful. So worthy of respect and praise...My schatz." Your hiccups stop, sniffles grow quieter. "C'mon, you can say it..."

Your nose bumps up against his chest, your head pressed up against his warm skin. Heavy hands sliding across your waist. You mumble out a tiny, "I'm worthy of respect."

"Good girl, see?" He sits you up, wiping away the slick from your thighs. "It'll be okay. Okay?"

You quietly nod, clinging to him with your face nuzzled into his neck. The smell of sex, alcohol, and soap clung to his beard in the best way possible. Heavy meaty hands sliding you into his lap as he carried you into the bathroom. "Okay." You finally whisper.

He sat you down in the bathtub, turning on warm water. Sliding into the bathtub beside you. "We're gonna get all clean, and you're gonna take a nap, okay?" You feel his rough fingers brush against your tear stained cheeks, washing away the insecurity. Kissing your nose.

"y- yeah...that sounds nice..."

He washes off the sweat and grime from your body, sliding warm soap through your skin. Rough hands massaging into your back and ass, kissing down your spine.

Now fully pliable and melted into him, he wraps you up in a fluffy blanket and hoists you into the bedroom.

Warm clean clothes and a fresh face, you get tucked in. A final kiss being placed on your sleepy eyelids. "Goodnight my...gorgeous sweet girl.."

You drift off, his fingers scratching against your scalp.

[sanjoongie]

ℓα ɠεɱɱε εƭ ℓ'εאƭαรε

🧁First submission for the Dragon Collab hosted by @flurrys-creativity

🧁Pairing: Crystal Dragon! Hwang Hyungjin x Baker’s Daughter! Reader (f)

🧁Genre: fluff, smut, angsty beginning

🧁Trope: s2l

🧁Au: historical au, medieval au, fantasy au, dragon au, baker au

🧁Rating: 18+, MDNI

🧁Word Count: 3,053

🧁Warnings: chubby reader!, oral (f), fingering(f), nipple play, biting, penetrative sex with no barrier

🧁Summary: for a crystal dragon, who's treasure trove is filled with sharp angles and bright jewels, your soft curves and wet tears appeal in a way he never knew they could.

🧁1- La Gemme at l'extase with Hyunjin {fantasy dragon} | 2- ??? with Heeseung {modern dragon} | 3- ??? with San {sci-fi dragon}

There once was a baker’s daughter, a spoiled girl, who lived in a sleepy village at the foot of a mountain. The baker’s daughter was spoiled because her mother died giving birth to her, so her father sought to keep her happy and fed with all the delicacies he could bake. The baker’s daughter grew up and her body matched the happy life she led. She was plump and happy, and in love with the shepard’s son, Jisung.

Often, they could be found together, eating sweets, on the top of a hill, Jisung’s sheep bleating softly as the sun set. They’d whisper their hopes and dreams to each other. That is where our story begins, with you as the baker’s daughter who was about to give her heart to the shepard’s son.

“I’d like to see what’s over the horizon,” Jisung sighed, hand holding his face up.

Your eyes wandered to his chubby cheeks. You wished you could pinch them. “I’d like to get married.”

You gasped as the words left your mouth, and you knew you had been caught. But Jisung was completely oblivious to your feelings.

Jisung sharply dug a finger into your side. “Maybe if you stopped eating so many of your father's pastries, you'd be married by now.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the sudden attack. Shame washed through your body, and your throat tightened with emotion. “Thank you for your insight, Jisung. I think I'll be going now.”

“Wait, Dumplin!” Jisung began to protest as you walked away but you couldn't stop.

The tears started to fall and you needed to get out of here. Your feet carried you out of your village and up through an old goat path. The walking turned to running. Soon, your breath was ragged and tearing through your throat. You fought between sobs to gasp in some air. When you finally collapsed, you realized you had fled to the caves behind your village, in the mountains.

You sniffled, looking around at your bearings. In your need to get away from Jisung and his cruel words, you had fled deep into the mountain. You weren’t sure you had ever explored this deep into the caves, even as a child.

“Stupid Jisung,” You hiccuped. “I'll become the baker and you'll see.”

Your tears were hot and still streaming down your face and neck. You attempted to wipe it up by dabbing at your cheeks with the sleeve of your dress. Your eyes were still blurry with tears when you saw the first flash of brilliant light.

You gasped when you caught the second one. Suddenly, there were crystals throughout the cave you were sitting in, glowing with their individual colors. You clapped in delight, your heartache temporarily forgotten.

Will you stop crying now?

You looked around wildly, but you couldn't see who was speaking to you amidst the glowing of the cave. You had heard of the myth of a dragon living under the mountain, but no one in a few generations had ever seen this dragon.

“I…” Your throat tightened up again. How could Jisung say those words to you? He was your supposed best friend. “I'm fine.”

You heard a resounding crack and then a soft tinkle. You saw a crystal lying on the ground in front of you.

For you. To keep the tears away

“I…” You wiped your tears away from your cheeks, still sniffling. This odd moment of kindness healed your heart a little. “Thank you,” you whispered.

You picked up the crystal, and it shone, glowing softly. It rippled through lovely colors of blues, purples, and pinks. “I will treasure it.”

As I will treasure this moment together

You let Jisung apologize profusely when you go back to the village, but your mind wasn't on your babbling best friend. You kept replaying the smooth-as-molasses voice in your head. What exactly had gone on in the caves?

As your days carried on, your father complained when you kneaded the bread too much. You started over two more times until he dismissed you from his kitchen. You couldn't focus enough even on the temptation of mixing the frosting in order to taste the test, of course. That's when you knew you had to go back to the cave.

With your hair braided neatly, and pulled under a kerchief, you made your way back to the cave in the mountains. You kept one hand trailing along the caves wall until your eyes adjusted and another in the pocket of your apron, where you had stashed a rolling pin. You couldn't come completely unarmed. You weren't that enamored with the voice…

“Hello?” You called out cautiously.

Your eyes had adjusted, so you took your hand off the wall and clutched the crystal you had been given. It still blinked and shone but at shorter instances with longer wait time in your room. But it seemed, as you put one foot in front of the other, the crystal shone brighter and for longer.

“I don't wish to intrude!” You called out again, head swinging back and forth, in search of the kind soul who gave you the crystal. “I just wish to see who gave me this.”

Your crystal began to shimmer, casting waves of light against the cave walls.

You'll scream

You pressed your lips together and swallowed. “I won't.”

Was it a monster who had given you a moment of gentle kindness? If so, was it truly a monster then?

Don't say I didn't warn you

Your hands flew upwards to cover your mouth as a beautiful rainbow pearl scaled dragon stepped into the cavern.

Its lovely pale blue eyes blinked at you as it lowered its head to view you.

There, now you can brag to your friend about having seen the dragon

With a saucy whip of its tail that sang over your head, it turned around to leave.

“Wait, please!”

You called out, hand wrapping around its tail in an attempt to stop it. You cried out when a tail spine sliced open your palm.

The dragon trumpeted in distress. One moment, its entire body filled your peripherals, and then, with a bright, blinding light, there was a handsome man with sharp light blue eyes and shockingly white hair in front of you.

“Humans are so thoughtless,” the man scoffed.

His quick thinking had him ripping a strip of the silken robe he had on. He grabbed your injured hand and wrapped it around your hand. He finished the makeshift bandage with an impromptu knot, making you wince with the tightness of it.

“I didn't mean to impose on you,” You said in a dejected voice.

What kind of impression could you have made on this dragon shifter? You bawled like a baby in your first encounter and then acted like some stone-brained imbecile the next. Jisung was wrong. It wasn't the pastries that made it so you weren't married; it was just the fact that you were you.

Tears fell unbiddingly onto your injured hand. The dragon-shifter’s eyes widened in surprise and immediately his voice turned sweet and soft.

“Nonono, sweetheart, don't cry.” The man cupped your cheeks, and his thumbs banished your tears. “I'm happy you came, truly. I would be fortunate to have a gem as bright as you in my collection.”

You smiled, your face heating up at the compliment. The shifter mirrored your smile, his eyes almost disappearing with joy. “That's much better. Your smile only brightens up your face.”

“What's your name?” You inquired simply.

“Hyunjin. But to you, please call me handsome.”

You giggled nervously. “I would call you beautiful. In either form.”

Hyunjin's eyes flitted flirtatiously from the ground to your face. “Do you really think so?”

“You're more breathtaking than one hundred crystals,” You said in awe.

Hyunjin giggled merrily to himself. The cave lit up with his glee, causing you to clap your hands.

And that's how your budding romance began with the crystal dragon.

Your father wasn't too keen on Hyunjin. The village had been terrified the dragon was here to steal a bride. Until you met him at the field and brought him to the bakery to taste some strudels, hot out of the oven. Your father quizzed him with questions of honor, loyalty and priorities in life.

Hyunjin answered as any dragon would. His loyalty was to his treasure trove. His priority was to always add to it. And his honor was his treasure; if he swore on it, you knew it to be true.

The only thing that truly melted your father's heart was seeing the dragon dote on his only daughter. Hyunjin spoiled you with gifts from his trove. Soon you acquired square cut emerald earrings, a fiery opal necklace, the size of a goose egg. He could tell that Hyunjin simply wanted to make you happy, and that's when he finally gave his blessing.

Hyunjin spent so much time in your village, visiting you, that when your father finally allowed Hyunjin to officially court you, Hyunjin allowed you further into his cave--into his treasure trove. He watched you with curious eyes as you took in the grand crystal gate that he kept his treasures behind.

“You live here?” You asked, tipping your head back to take in the wall and door that towered over you.

“It’ll be your home too,” Hyunjin offered tentatively.

You pressed your lips together, your emotions getting the better of you. “Hyunjin…”

Hyunjin’s haughty expression melted into a soft one. He tentatively reached out, and when your hand met his, he giggled. His fingers curled into yours, and although the gesture was adorable, you felt electricity shoot through your body.

“I want you to be mine,” Hyunjin whispered.

You swallowed hard, your throat getting tight. “Why?”

Hyunjin’s eyes became fiery, and you took a step back. “I know how you view yourself; how the villagers speak of you. They are fools. Your soft curves are what make you beautiful. They don’t understand how it is to live with sharp edges. You’re a gift, in my eyes.”

Your body heats up at Hyunjin’s words. You feel tears again threatening to escape, but you don’t want to upset Hyunjin, so you dash them away and smile happily at the dragon. “I want to be yours with every bone in my body, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin smiled, and your heart skipped a beat. He pulled a key from under his robe, strung across a chain and around his neck. He pulled it off and offered it to you. “This is your key now.”

“Oh…I’m not sure…” You fumbled over what to say. Having a key to Hyunjin’s treasure trove seemed… forward considering…

Hyunjin grabbed your wrist and poured the chain into your palm, closing your fingers over the key. “Please. It will give me peace of mind that you can come here whenever you want.” Hyunjin’s eyes grew sharp at the reminder of the first time you had come across him. “It’ll stop me from going to the village and snatching you back to my cave.”

Your mind raced with the image of Hyunjin in his beautiful dragon form, his talons carefully wrapped around your middle, soaring above the village, kidnapping you from the world you grew up in. You shook your head to come back to reality. “Thank you.”

Something flipped between you and the crystal dragon after Hyunjin gave you the key to his treasure trove. The first hint of it came when Hyunjin had come to visit you while you were working in your father’s bakery. Your father hadn't been feeling good that day, so you had banished him to his favorite chair by the fire and then went to the bakery yourself to make some bread.

By the time Hyunjin had found you, you were in a loose dress, apron and hands covered in flour. Your hair had long given up to the heat of the kitchen and you had sweated enough to perspire through your entire dress.

When you spotted Hyunjin, his jaw was on the floor. You patted your hair with your flour-covered hands. “I probably look a mess, I’m sorry.”

Hyunjin launched himself over the table you had been preparing the bread on and swept you up in his arms. Your body was pressed against his and you felt your face heat up. “Hyunjin?!” You squeaked.

“You look delectable,” Hyunjin said lowly.

Hyunjin caught his tongue between his teeth, and you moaned, eyes zoning into his pretty pink lips. He smoothed his hand over your hair so that he could lean in to speak into your ear. “I can see your nipples through your dress, sweetheart.”

“Oh sourdough,” You cursed.

Hyunjin attempted to hold in his laughter but it came out like a snicker. “Let me give you more reason to sweat?”

You pulled back, bewildered, to look into Hyunjin’s eyes. “But Hyunjin! We aren’t--”

“Dragons mate for life. We don’t do that before being with each other carnally.”

You swallowed as Hyunjin traced the shell of your ear with his tongue. “In the kitchen? What about the bread?”

Hyunjin licked his lips. “I’ve got you sweetheart, don’t worry.”

Hyunjin put you up on the table, in order to push your legs apart and kiss up your thighs. You gasped and moaned as he nipped and sucked and licked along the flesh. He squeezed and griped your thick thighs, moaning himself. “You’re so soft.”

“Isn’t it…”

Whatever self-depreciating comment was about to come out of your mouth was gone because Hyunjin chose that moment to softly kiss your labia. His lips touching the sensitive flesh there made you shiver.

“I’m going to eat you up, sweetheart,” he groaned before plunging his tongue into your pussy.

Your hands dove into his hair, yanking on it harshly. You whined his name, bucking your hips into his thrusting tongue. The messy noises that were coming from between your legs brought even more heat to your neck and chest, embarrassed and turned on at the same time.

“Feeeeels soooo goooood,” you groaned. You tossed your head back in pleasure of the moment, being loved and desired.

Hyunjin began to make noises, as if he was eating the most delicious chocolate cake. “Hyunjin, you can’t sound like--oh god, what are you doing now?”

The dragon had started to slowly suck on your clit, light eyes directly on you. He sucked and sucked until you came for him, breathy moans for his name only. When he came up for air, his face was smeared with your wetness.

“That was only the beginning,” Hyunjin promised, a smile on his face that made your heart skip a beat.

“I think you’re going to get me in a lot of trouble, sir,” you whispered.

“Need to mark you,” Hyunjin breathed out. He stood up and wriggled his hips between your legs. He pushed two fingers into your gushing hole and ate your cries as he stretched you. He curled his fingers inside of you just as his teeth settled on the nape of your neck, biting down on the skin there.

Next he pulled his pants down past his ass, and wrapped his hand around his curved, long cock. “I need to fill you up,” Hyunjin growled.

Your hole was aching, and something inside of you knew that Hyunjin would complete you. “Make me yours, Hyunjin.”

You brought the head of his cock to brush against your entrance. Hyunjin simply rolled his hips and then he was filling you out more than his two fingers had been able to. Your gasps and groans intermingled with the crackling of the fire from your wood stove. In no time at all, Hyunjin had the neck of your dress pulled down so that he could suck on your nipples. He played the tip of his tongue against your stiff peaks, unsatisfied until he was sucking and fucking you.

“Oh god, you’re sucking me in,” Hyunjin gasped. “I don’t know… I’ve got to spill inside of you, sweetheart. Take my love.”

Within moments, the two of you were tipping over the edge. Your cries, deep and high, folded into each other. You felt teeth on your nipple but it just mixed in with the climax you were coming down from. Hyunjin kissed up your chest, along your neck, and then captured your lips. “You were amazing,” He said breathlessly.

“Hyunjin?” You gasped as he continued to stir inside of you.

“Yeah?” The dragon grinned, running a hand through his messy hair from where you had tugged it.

“I think I love you,” You laughed.

Hyunjin’s eyes grew wide, and then his face split with a happy smile, his eyes getting lost in his happiness. “I love you more, sweetheart.”

Your marriage wasn’t far after that. Hyunjin had to have you in every way. He could barely stand letting you sleep in your father’s house any longer. He was sure someone else was going to steal you away, always ready to glare a warning at Jisung.

Although your marriage was a joyous occasion, you still shed tears for the life you let go. You let go of your dreams of being with Jisung. You cried for leaving your first half of your life behind living with your father as a happy child. You cried for the most important moment of your life happening without your mother. You cried for your old sad self who didn’t believe in her own beauty.

Hyunjin didn’t let any of those tears hit the ground, however. His fingers brushed them away and then he played with the first crystal he had gifted you with that hung around your neck still. “I don’t want to see you cry ever again. I’ll do everything in my power to always make you happy. You’re the greatest gem I have in my treasure trove, after all.”

You giggled at Hyunjin being overly corny. You smushed some frosting onto his gorgeous face, the cake your father made for your wedding; the most delicious thing you had ever had the pleasure of eating. “And you’re better than any sweet pastry I’ve ever made.”

Hyunjin glowed brighter than any of his crystals at the compliment. And you promised yourself that you could only hope to make him this happy every day of your lives.

1- La Gemme at l'extase with Hyunjin {fantasy dragon} | 2- ??? with Heeseung {modern dragon} | 3- ??? with San {sci-fi dragon}

[heygerald]

Falling Without A Harness - Chapter 4

AU where Tom Ryder is still an asshole, just not a psychotic one. When he starts being less of an asshole, and more of a person, Parker finds that he isn't so bad. Not that she would tell him that, though.

read the story here: prev / next

Parker doesn't get much sleep. Not necessarily because she's so busy that she doesn't have time, and not definitively because of the sleep disorder she has self-diagnosed off of a sketchy website she found while browsing her symptoms one day.

In truth it's because she thinks too much.

She overthinks what her to-do list for the following week should be; overthinks the plot of her favorite tv series and whether or not they are going to kill off her favorite character in the mid-season finale; overthinks whether she should spend more one-on-one time with her brother while they're both in the same city, able bodied (with his career, there was no guarantee), and with the time to waste on stupid memories. On the really bad nights, Parker overthinks whether or not she made a mistake in purchasing an old, dilapidated bookstore that has drained her bank account over the last couple of years. She worries that her life is going nowhere, that she'll soon have failed at her dream venture, and that when she dies, she'll have no accomplishments to her name.

On those nights, she ends up washing down a handful of melatonin gummies with two boiling cups of sleepy time tea.

It helps, but it also leaves her floating in a state between unconsciousness and squirrely dreams that is hard to shake off in the morning.

Harder still to shake off when her phone lights up the room in the middle of the night, the shrill song of her ringtone bleating through the pitch black of her bedroom shocking her awake in delirious fright.

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get home before the...

Parker swings her hand towards the nightstand in such a rush that she ends up knocking her cellphone onto the ground. It bounces on the hardwood floor—she doesn't even care if it breaks, the damn thing—before skidding underneath her bed. The light from it casts shadows in all directions.

What if I'm late? Gotta big date, gotta get home...

It takes her half crawling out of bed, sheets tangled around her bare legs, elbow braced on the cold floor as she blindly grapples for the device to find it. Colt always made fun of her ringtone—if you're going to pick a song, at least pick a good one, he would taunt while listening to Taylor Swift on replay—and while Parker had adamantly told him where to stick his opinion, at the moment, the song blaring in the middle of the night has her half-prepared to scratch out of her own eardrums in frustration.

The stanza continues: before the morning comes...

She grabs the phone and wrenches it—and herself—back onto the bed. The number isn't saved in her phone, and panic wells in her chest. She's gasping as blood rushes back down to her toes. "Hello?"

"Jesus, finally. I thought you weren't going to fucking answer."

Whether it's the tea, the overdose of melatonin, or the fact that she had just been woken up in the middle of the night, Parker can't seem to make sense of much. The only thing she can think about is how she has a brother who does stupid stuff for money, and has called her from the back of ambulance three times and counting.

Once on her birthday.

"Oh my god," she mutters, a hand already clutching to her chest as she can feel the cavity caving in. Clarity has no place in her spiraling panic. "Oh my god, he's finally dead, isn't he? Oh my god, Colt is dead!"

"What the fuck are you on about?" the voice interrupts her panic with a modicum of disbelief. It sounds familiar, but Parker is far more focused on regulating her breathing before she throws up than placing a voice through her half-broken speaker. The room, pitch black and without anything to see, is spinning. "I'm not even with Colt."

"Fuck," she curses, before recklessly scrabbling with her nightstand. It's a total fucking mess, and in her haste, she knocks a lamp and stack of books onto the ground. The least of her problems if her idiot of a brother is already fucking dead. "Fuck! Where are you? I didn't even know he was on a job right now. Um, what hospital is he at? Wait—shit—I need to find a pen and paper..."

"Parker, Jesus, Colt's fine. Stop spinning out for two seconds. Are you on drugs?"

She blinks, unsure if she just heard what she heard, and slowly withdrawals her hand as she tries to compute what is being said.

"He's... not dead?" she croaks hesitantly.

"He's fine. I mean, well, as far as I know," the voice drones on; it's clearly annoyed now. A scoff. "Why in the hell would you assume that he's dead?"

"Because—it's—" she wipes a hand over her face tiredly, sweeping tufts of hair off her forehead to peer at the clock in the corner. Large, red numbers blink at her showing that she had only been asleep for two and a half hours. Worse still when she makes sense of what she's seeing. "It's two thirty in the morning! Why the fuck would an unknown number be calling me in the middle of the night if it wasn't for Colt?"

"Are you—wait—are seriously his emergency contact?" the voice goads, teasing and judging all in one tone. She hates it. "That's a little pathetic, honestly."

Her left eye twitches. "Who the fuck is this?"

"It's Tom."

Parker doesn't know a Tom, she's never known a Tom in the entirety of her life, and as she struggles to clear her thoughts, the idea that some asshole with a stupid name like Tom would call her out of the blue at this time of night starts to really piss her off.

"Tom who? I don't know a fucking Tom!" she shouts into the receiver.

There's a thump against the wall, a muffled call of "shut the fuck up!" rings out from her roommate's room. Too many things are happening though, and Parker clutches her head between her hands while trying to stay on topic.

"Fucking Tom Ryder, smartass," the voice chides. "Who else?"

And—

Fuck.

Yeah, alright, maybe she did know a Tom, and, yeah, now that she thought about it, he was a raging, grade-A asshole that would call someone up in the middle of the night for no reason other than to ruin the first good sleep she had in a week. All while getting upset at her for her negative response to the impromptu gab-sesh.

You know, in the way that all assholes did.

"Why—?" she starts, before realizing that she is shouting. Parker clears her throat with a glance towards the wall and tries a second time in an angry hiss. "Why the fuck are you calling me at two in the morning, Ryder?"

"I finished the book and I want to talk about it."

The words don't compute for half a second, but when they do, Parker can feel a migraine spiraling behind her eyes. She sort of feels like she's having a seizure before realizing that it's just pure anger spiking in the bottom of her chest.

She's pretty sure this is how someone feels right before committing a violent crime.

"Are you—? I was fucking sleeping!" she hisses. "Good—fucking—bye!"

Hanging up the phone certainly isn't as satisfying as it used to be when flip phones were in fashion, and you could slam the top down to end a conversation. But pressing the big red END button on Tom Ryder does grant her a small moment of satisfaction. Even more so when she imagines the shocked furrow of his eyebrows or the crease of his mouth as he frowns.

Good, she thinks sourly while flopping back onto her pillows with a sharp huff, maybe Tom Ryder could use a few wrinkles in his life.

Her peace lasts all of twenty seconds.

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get home before the morning...

Parker grabs a pillow and smushes it against her face hoping that it will drown out the noise. When it doesn't, she hopes that maybe suffocation will knock her out for a couple hours of sleep. But then there's another thump against the wall and she realizes that if she dies right here and now, the last person she would have ever talked to would be Tom fucking Ryder, and she's not so sure she's okay with that.

So, she removes the pillow to take a deep breath. Then she answers the phone.

"Did you just hang up on me?" he asks incredulously.

"It is two-thirty in the morning, and you want to talk about a book?"

A huff. "Yes. Why else would I ever call you?"

If she was more awake, Parker might have taken offense at the insult. She's much too groggy to do that, though. Besides, almost everything out of his mouth was some sort of judgement. At this point, she didn't think he would be able to speak without being rude.

"Couldn't you have called me during a normal hour?"

"My audition is on Friday," he said, as if that was any sort of excuse for his behavior. "I still have to read the other two books by then."

"Wait, I'm sorry," Parker interjects with a mean laugh, pausing to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Have you been up all-night reading?"

"You could sound a little less judgmental about it," he snarks. "I do read, you know. Bad scripts and the like."

She huffs. Not quite a laugh, but not just an expression either. It's a little hard to take anything serious when she's sleep-deprived and delirious. And, certainly, he can't be serious. That's her justification for giving up, anyway. "Okay, alright, fine. Which book did you finish?"

"Contact."

"That's a good one to start with," Parker murmurs, shifting on her mattress so she can cradle her PillowPet.

It has lost of all of its stuffing, an eye, and any joy it once had, but the penguin was a gift from Colt that she can't convince herself to trash. It mirrors her frown.

"No, not a good one. I didn't understand it at all."

"What didn't you understand?"

"Any of it, all of it. Why the hell did you tell me that Dune was too complicated and then hand me this shit?" he complains. There's something odd in his tone though. Something she can hear creeping through the syllables somewhere between annoyed and confused that reminds her of their conversation weeks prior at Gail's—you don't even sound like yourself, she had said. It's only now that she realizes he hadn't sounded like himself because he was doubting himself, which was the most un-like Tom Ryder thing anyone could ever do. She frowns at the thought as he continues. "It's all about math and pi and something called a transcendental number. I should have just watched Altered Carbon."

Parker sighs. "You're getting yourself all worked up over things that don't matter."

"Don't matter? It's all the book fucking talks about!"

"That's sci-fi," she says. And while it's a piss poor excuse, it's the truth. A moment later and Parker realizes that if he really had never read anything sci-fi before, he likely wouldn't realize the rules of reading it. Sighing, she takes some pity on him to explain, "okay, look. You know when you watch an action film and there's some ridiculous sequence that makes no sense; like when the ground is crumbling beneath their feet and the character jumps at the last second and is totally okay?"

"Like in the Fast and the Furious."

"Literally every single scene in those movies."

"Okay...?"

"Right, well, you watch those scenes and tell yourself not to take them seriously. They exist because it's an action movie, right? It doesn't have to be realistic."

"Sure," he agreed, but she could tell he still wasn't getting the point.

"It's the same thing when you're reading sci-fi. Okay? All the math and theoretical physics and calculations they do—whatever it is—they throw that stuff in there to build up a universe that feels real. The audience doesn't have to understand quantum mechanics to know that Chris Pine can fly a really big spaceship in Star Trek."

"You really have a hard-on for Chris Pine, huh?"

Parker ignored his comment entirely, barreling on. "The point of the book is not that the audience is stupid and needs to take some math classes even if that's how it feels sometimes. The point is that Ellie is a genius that no one else understands or believes in. When she talks about transcendental numbers and you have no idea what she means, that's exactly how the other characters in the book feel. They don't believe her because they don't understand her."

"So, it's... like an attempt to make the audience sympathize with her but also so the author can explain how everything happens."

Parker smiles. "Right."

"That's stupid," he says, and her smile immediately disappears behind a groan. "I just don' think the author needed to spend so much time trying to sound smart."

"It's a book about interstellar travel and the existence of intelligent life," she deadpans. "It's supposed to sound smart."

Tom mulls that over, and while he does so, Parker shifts once more in bed. The red numbers blink at her are only going up, but now that her heart rate has returned to a normal level, she finds it's far from the worst conversation she's had with Tom. Especially since she gets to talk about one of her favorite books.

Even if he is an ass.

"This would have been better as a movie," he finally settles on. It's not a sophisticated opinion by any means, but it certainly is him.

"Actually, it was originally written to be a screenplay. The movie got cancelled, and Sagan adapted it into a book."

"Seriously?"

"Sure," she shrugs. She spares a glance towards her nightstand where a copy of the book lays in tatters from how often she has read it. "Ironic considering the book became so popular that it got a second movie deal a few years later."

"...you're telling me that I could have watched this instead of reading it after all?" he barks. But, well, his tone isn't so annoyed as it sounds impressed. Parker hears the taping of buttons on a remote, before he's yelling. "Jodie Foster! Seriously?"

She can't help it. Parker laughs. "It's not a bad movie, but the book is way better."

"I have to watch this now."

"I have a copy you can borrow if you don't want to rent it."

"It's three dollars. How poor are you, exactly?"

She scoffs, an eye roll that has become habit when talking to the prick even though he can't see it. Snootily, she tells him, "I just rolled my eyes at you, asshole. In case you were wondering."

A harrumph. "I do think I caught something from your bookstore. I've been sick all day. It's disgusting—it's making my mouth all dry and it practically ruined my breakfast. I couldn't even eat my avocado."

"First the cappuccino, and now the avocado. Is there anything you don't blame me for?"

The teasing got the exact reaction she wanted, and as Tom starts complaining on the other end of the line, Parker smothers a laugh into her penguin. "It was a flat white! And—"

"I'm going to hang up on you now," she sing-songed. "And fair warning: if you call me again before eight am, I'm going to post your phone number on Reddit. Gail can eat shit with her lawsuit."

"Don't you fucking—"

Parker finds a lot more satisfaction in hanging up on Tom Ryder the second time, and when the phone screen stays dark, she plops it down onto her nightstand with an amused hum. It's past three am now, something she will be regretting come morning.

Then again, it seemed that Tom Ryder was all about regrets.

Right?

----

"Do you think I'm cool?" Parker ponders two days later, a glance tossed to her brother as she idly tries on a pair of sunglasses that are in the shape of trout. They're overpriced, but she's also incredibly bored, and about five minutes away from throwing a toddler-style meltdown in the middle of the bait and tackle shop.

"Of course you're cool," he says as he models a rash guard that he's been trying on for the last half hour. He twists in the mirror, left and right, before giving himself two thumbs up. There's something dangerous about the way he grins at her. "You have me for a brother, after all. Coolest kid on the block. Always have been, always will be."

"Right. Didn't they call you Shitpants in high school?"

A passing employee coughs into their hand to hide their laugh, and Colt turns a bright red.

"She's totally joking. They didn't call me that, my nickname was something totally different," he calls after the retreating sales associate, always attempting to save face but never quite succeeding. A moment later and he's glaring at his sister. "That was one time, and it was an accident. The potato salad was—"

"Bad," Parker finishes for him with an eyeroll. "Yeah, I know. I've heard the story."

"Then why do you insist on bringing it back up all the time?" he hissed.

There isn't much activity in the oceanfront store beside the pair wandering from aisle to aisle. It's a small shack that they've frequented for years. Colt pretends to be good friends with the owner, and Parker never minds because there's a great lemonade stand right down the block. It's usually the first stop of the day when they decide to hang out on the beach. Just a place to buy ice and snacks before moving on to better things.

Which is good considering there being little to no airflow when sitting inside, and the radio seems to be on a constant loop of Justin Bieber in his pre-puberty phase. It's not so good, however, when they spend more than five minutes inside.

Today, it seems to be the first and final stop given how long they've been there. She feels her bones getting weary from all the pandering her brother has done, and she's starting to suspect that his reasons for picking her up that morning weren't as innocent as he initially claimed.

Deprived of breathable air and sleep, Parker isn't all too enthused when she props the kiosk sunglasses onto her head with a pleading look towards her brother. "Because I'm bored!" she whined, in a way that was far too little-sisterly like for someone her age. Decidedly though she doesn't care when he makes no move to leave. "I thought we were just going to buy some sunscreen before heading towards the point. That's what you said, anyway."

"We are!" he says, arms thrown wide in exasperation. Parker doesn't buy that for a second, however, and her brother folds under her stare. "Just... in a minute. I need a new rash guard. Maybe some new board shorts."

"You don't even surf."

"I... do," he argues, his head bobbing up and down as if trying to convince himself of such a bold statement. "It's just been a couple of—"

"Decades?"

"Years," he corrects her with a glare. "It's like riding a bike. You know. Probably."

"Just with water and waves and the possibility of drowning or death by shark."

"You're not helping."

She shrugs. "I never said I was here to help."

Colt's response is a melodramatic pout, pausing in his nervous shifting to wave a hand in her general direction. "Well, this would be a lot quicker if you just helped."

He punctuates the statement by performing a full spin for her, hands stuck out before realizing that's awkward. To fix that, he props them even more awkwardly on his hips, but it only makes him look like he's a Ken doll pretending to be a real person.

Parker elects to keep that to herself sensing his anxiety was getting dangerously close to his own toddler-style meltdown.

"What do you think of this? Cool? Not cool?" he continues on muttering, head bobbing in every direction as he smooths the material down over his puffed-up chest. It deflates just as quickly as he turns back to her to ask, "pink's cool, right? I'm going for a laidback look, you know. But not too laidback. Somewhere right in the middle."

Parker returns the sunglasses to the rotating stand before plopping onto a stack of buckets. He seems awfully concerned with this particular task all of the sudden, despite spending the last three years avoiding the idea altogether. Every time he was offered a chance to get back out on the water by one of his stunt buddies, he miraculously came up with an excuse not to.

It all feels weird. And when her brother got weird, there was usually a girl involved.

Ah.

"You told Jody you still surf, huh?" she puts two and two together.

His peacocking in the mirror stopped entirely. A wince. Then a smile. Then a wince again in a ball of pent-up nerves. "That's... maybe one of the—she doesn't—you don't have to hang around here while I try these on. Don't you have something better to be doing?"

"If I had literally anything better to be doing, I would be doing it."

"Okay, ouch."

Parker rolled her eyes at her brother's whining. But really, she didn't have anything better to be doing at the moment than hanging around while her brother tried to impress a girl.

Not to mention she liked this girl.

Sighing, she decided to throw him a bone. Because, what else would she be doing? Parker peered at the rack behind him for a moment before pointing to the top. "Try the blue one instead."

Colt glanced down at his chest with a frown. "But... Jody likes pink."

"Yes, but blue will match your eyes better. Make you look tanner."

"And make me harder to see if I start drowning," he huffed. But, after a moment of consideration, stripped off the pink rash guard to pull on the blue one. Always a fucking argument with him, she thought with a bemused eyeroll. Especially when a moment later, "oh, this one does look better..."

She laughed as he spun in the mirror, attempting to get a three-sixty perspective of the potential garment. Only for the moment to be interrupted by a buzzing in her back pocket.

You gotta get up, gotta get out, gotta get gone before...

Her phone's ringtone broke through her relative boredom, and as Colt ran a hand through his hair and squared his shoulders in the mirror, she plucked the device out of her back pocket.

"You really got to change that ringtone," he said half-heartedly.

Parker stuck her tongue out at him and swiveled on her bucket, so she now had a view of the empty beach outside. It wasn't even that early—nine in the morning—but this particular spot was far enough removed from LA that people didn't tend to populate it unless it was a holiday weekend.

Phone pressed to her ear, she answered with a casual, "hello?"

"Was it not possible for you to give me a book from this century to read?"

A smile teased her face, and Parker returned her attention to the sunglass rack at her side just for something to do. Testing on an oversized pair of cat-eye sunglasses, she asked, "who is this?"

"Jesus, just save my fucking contact in your phone, already."

"Why would I do that when you could just stop calling me to talk about books?" she mused, stifling a laugh when there was a load of huffing and cursing from the other end of the line. He deserved it, though. Especially after ruining her sleep the other night and practically giving her a heart attack. "There are reddit forums for that exact purpose, you know. Maybe you could ask the nerds what they think. Go right to the source."

"You're such an asshole."

"Mhm. Takes one to know one, right?"

"Earthlight isn't a movie, is it?" he barreled on. She could tell from his tone that he was annoyed, and selfishly, Parker hoped that she was ruining his morning coffee and avocado toast. "It'd be a short movie."

"No, not a movie. Could be, I guess. You feel like self-funding?"

"You're hilarious," he deadpanned, and through the phone line she could hear the distant whir of a coffee grinder working. Knowing Tom, the thing probably cost more than her car. "Maybe you should quit your little bookstore and go into stand-up comedy. Probably make more money doing that. Granted, you'd have to sacrifice your dignity, but you don't have much to start with, do you?"

Parker tutted, but the overwhelming failure of her bookstore came back to mind full force at the comment, and so rather than keep up the joke, she moved the conversation on. "So, you liked it?"

"Well don't go sounding too smug about it," he chastised. "I liked it better, but still not much. They're both so outdated."

"Too much science for you?"

"This author really fucking loves the technical bullshit just as much as the last one. Pricks, all of them."

"Arthur C. Clarke is a prick?" she snorted. That was definitely a viewpoint she had never heard before. Leave it to Tom to dislike one of the best sci-fi writes in history because he spent too much time writing, well, sci-fi. "That's a hot take. He cowrote 2001 you know."

"A Space Odyssey?" She hummed. There was rattling and banging noises—the image of a hungover Tom stumbling around his kitchen came to mind—before the sound of a milk frother cut across the line. She jerked her phone away from her ear with a wince. Muffled, his voice returned. "Alright, that's not a bad movie. I'll give him that."

"It's only one of the highest-rated films of the genre," she retorted dryly.

More banging continued on the phone and as Parker tried not to let him blow out her eardrum, a hissing sound of its own came from her end of the line. She glanced up at the airshaft above her warily, but, if the sweat pooling on her back was anything to go by, it wasn't working. She glanced around in search of the noise before a rubber pool toy bounced off of the back of her head.

"Hey," the hiss returned. Pool toy in hand, she turned to find her brother waving a hand at her. The blue rash guard had been replaced with a yellow one. Worse still, he was now wearing a matching bucket hat. He gestured to himself as if he hadn't just assaulted her with a whale shaped toy. "What about this?"

She covered the phone speaker with her hand. "What happened to the blue?"

"This one is on sale!"

"Jesus, Colt. No girl has ever been impressed by that logic."

"I—" he started, then paused, and frowned at his sister like she had just burst his bubble. She might have felt bad if she hadn't been brushing off his puppy-dog eyes for the entirety of her life. The lip wobble was a new touch, though. "...is that a no to the bucket hat too?"

Parker responded by chucking the toy back at him. It bounced off his chest with a squeak.

"Yeah, alright..." he muttered, shoulders drooping, as he snatched the hat off of his head. It left his hair sticking up in tufts.

She kept that to herself.

"—are you even listening to me right now?" Tom's voice crackled back to life. If the incredulous lilt of his voice was anything to go by, he was not used to being sidelined for other people nor did he like it. "Who the hell are you talking to?"

"There was a bucket hat situation I had to deal with."

"...are you with Colt right now?"

She laughed. First, at the fact that Tom Ryder equated a bucket hat with her brother. Second because he sounded so disgusted by the fact that she would willingly spend her Sunday morning's helping her brother shop for bucket hats.

"You mean my brother?" she corrected.

"Did you tell him that I'm auditioning for a sci-fi roll? What does he think about it?"

"Why the hell would I tell him I'm talking to you?" she asked, echoing his sentiments from their last phone call. Parker was only teasing though, while she was pretty sure Tom had meant to be mean. Regardless, she moved on as she stood from the bucket to stretch out the kinks in her legs. "A bucket hat is a bad idea, right?"

"Is this seriously more important than what I want to talk about?"

"This may come as a surprise to you, but my world doesn't revolve around things that you want to talk about," she explained exasperatedly. Not necessarily because of what he said, but because she was fairly confident that he actually believed those sentiments. Worse still, she bet no one had ever told him that before. "Particularly not at two in the morning—thanks for that by the way. My roommate is pissed at me for waking her up."

A pause. Then, "you still have a roommate? How old are you?"

"I was serious about posting your phone number online you know," she threatened idly.

Colt disappeared into the changing booth, and Parker slowly started perusing the now abandoned hat rack. Despite her disapproval, she was bored. Plus, it actually had a fairly impressive selection.

Plopping an oversized sunhat atop her head, she ignored his insult to press on more important matters. "But seriously. Bucket hats. They're out of style, right?"

"Bucket hats have never been in style."

"Fashion is all made up anyway."

"That's just what poor people say who can't afford actual fashion."

She tutted, scrunching her nose up. Derisively, she asked, "did Gail tell you that?"

"Alright, that's it. I'm hanging up."

"It was a joke—!"

Joke or not, the dial tone was the only response that she got from Tom. She stared at the phone in her hand for a moment before huffing.

So that's what that feels like, she thought.

Something bright and ugly popped into her line of vision, and Parker glanced in the mirror to find her brother sporting a cheetah print body suit paired with a trucker hat that said Wine Made Me Do It in big, cursive lettering.

"Now, not to step on any middle-aged ladies' toes, but this is fashion," he clapped his hands with a goofy grin on his face. He gestured to the hat with a crooked thumb. "Get it? Two dollars!"

Parker laughed; couldn't not even if she wanted to.

Her brother was so innocent and idiotic and awful that while she once used to be embarrassed in public by him, now she just appreciated the fact that he was, always, unashamedly himself.

"Here, wait," she poked her tongue out of the side of her mouth while angling her camera at him. "Say cheese."

"Asiago," he cooed, making a Blue Steel type face that looked ridiculous when paired with his clothes.

The picture was even better, and Parker felt tears gathering in her eyes as they giggled. The employee from earlier shot them an annoyed look, but he was promptly ignored. If she didn't care about Tom Ryder's opinion, she certainly didn't care about his.

"That was good, right?"

"Oh, definitely. Jody won't know what hit her," she teased. Colt nodded, looking all too smug with himself, despite the fact that she was joking.

This smug version of himself reminded her of someone else that he looked a whole lot like.

An idea struck Parker, and as Colt started putting back the clothes where he found them, she quickly saved Tom's number in her phone before attaching the picture to the contact. Parker hesitated when she saw his name typed out.

Asshole, she typed in big letters. It was funny for half a second, though, before she realized it didn't quite feel right.

She deleted his name. Thought about it. Then replaced it with nothing more than a simple puking face emoji.

"Are you getting that?" Colt asked, drawing her from her reverie, and when she glanced up, she remembered that she was still wearing the ridiculous sunhat. "Because, you know... I'm not so sure that's something a cool person would wear."

Parker shoved her brother towards the cash register with a laugh.

They left the store with a blue rash guard, a pair of sunglasses, and matching bucket hats.

Twenty minutes later they realized they had forgotten to get sunscreen.

---

Paker had heard a lot of stupid and surprising things in her life; things that were so shockingly idiotic that she often wondered if they had been spoken as a joke. Most of the things on that list were quoted from her brother; a man she loved, but that didn't entirely think before he spoke.

When they were kids, he had argued that fish didn't need oxygen to survive. That's why they live under water, dummy, he had said with far too much confidence that she, younger and far less educated, could only blink at him. Then there was the time in his twenties that Colt had brought up the topic of furries at the dinner table in front of their grandparents. They're not, like, really having sex... are they? he had asked while trying to figure out what costume part would go where if they did do the dirty. And of course, there was the infamous baking soda as a cure all for wounds debate, but she tried to block out the sound of his skin literally sizzling as he screamed.

Tom, in the short time that she had known him, had also said some pretty shocking things that wound up on the list. He was, after all, an unapologetic asshole/idiot that didn't care if the world was flat or round so long as it revolved around him.

But out of shocking thing she had ever heard, it was fifteen-year-old California born and bred girl that topped the list.

"I want a job," Melissa proclaimed.

Parker's pen scratched an ugly line across her poor excuse of an accounting notebook as she glanced up wildly, big eyes blinking slow and dumb, as static hummed in between her ears.

"...what?"

"I want to apply for a job," she reiterated.

The bookstore was empty save for a pair of retirees that were slowly perusing her small selection of bird watching books. An oversized fly buzzed overhead, whizzing an uneven path between the two, as an irritable car stuck in traffic laid on the horn outside.

"Like—like here?" Parker asked. There was nothing fun or young or hip about her store. Just dusty bookshelves, a musty smell she could not get rid of no matter how many Bath and Body Works' scent infusers she plugged into the corner, and a ratty reading chair that had a Melissa-sized depression in the middle. She arched a brow. "You want to work... here. In my bookstore."

Melissa rolled her eyes, shrugging. Duh, the gesture said.

"Yeah, sure, obviously," Parker hummed, despite the fact that there was nothing yeah, sure, or obvious about the current conversation. Specifically given that Melissa, on more than occasion, had complained that her store was boring. "Just... why?"

"I need money."

"Suuuuure," she drew out the syllable, wooden stool creaking as she shifted in her seat behind the register. "But wouldn't you prefer to work somewhere a little more, er, fun?"

"This place is plenty fun."

The fly from earlier buzzed between them before smacking into the windowpane. It spiraled to the floor with a depressing zzzz.

Parker raised a second brow.

Melissa, in response, threw her hands up with a huff. "Okay, so, maybe I've been rejected from Jamba Juice and Target already. Which is so, totally crazy."

"That is crazy because I thought Jamba Juice went out of business—"

"And I can get my driver's permit in three months, and I want to get my license as soon as possible. But there's no way that I'm going to have Mom drive me everywhere, so I need to get a car. And to get a car I need to be able to afford a car—which, like, the economy is awful right now if you didn't know—so I need a job. Mom and Dad said they'll match whatever money I can put towards it. And as of today, that is a fat zero."

Woes of teenage girls, Parker thought.

"That's nice of them," she said instead. Not that she envied a teenager in the twenty-first century, but for her sixteenth birthday she had been given a bike. Not even a new one. It had been Colt's old one that he outgrew, and it still had flame stickers and duck tape wrapped all around it. "But, seriously, there has to be at least one other place a kid your age would want to work."

Melissa, having been slowly circling around the center of the room, paused in her ambling to cast Parker a suspicious look. "Do you not want me to work here or something?"

"No, of course I would want you to work here—"

"Great!"

"—but I have no money. Why do you think I'm the only employee here?"

Melissa considered that. "I just always assumed you were a little uptight and didn't like other people messing with your shelves."

"Uptight?" she cried. "Why does everyone keep calling me that?"

But Melissa didn't seem to notice that she had just quoted her celebrity crush, and so she instead turned her attention to the bookstore. She cast a critical eye over everything; though there was no smoke, Parker could smell the wheels turning between her ears, and slumped further onto the counter in preparation for what was to come.

"Don't get me wrong, Park, I love your store," she started. "But it could definitely use some updating."

"Updating?" she deadpanned.

"Some new paint for starters. I think it would be so cute if you painted it, um, maybe a soft blue. Then you could paint the bookshelves in different colors—pastels, definitely—and even some flowers here and there wouldn't hurt."

Parker made a face. Pastels weren't really her thing. "You want to paint the shelves?"

"It's just so brown."

"The natural color of wood, yes."

Melissa rolled her eyes, and with a waft of Vanilla perfume, trotted behind the front desk to examine the string of posters tacked onto the wall. Most of them were salvages from the dollar store, and while Parker thought they gave the store some character, Melissa clearly didn't agree. "These totally need to go too."

"Excuse me—"

"You could still keep them," she huffed half-heartedly. Clearly, she wasn't sold on the idea, but Parker would be damned if she pitched her Jane Austen posters based on the opinion of a teenager. "Just cut them down to a smaller size, put them in some picture frames—you can get them super cheap at the thrift store—and they'll make it look less packrat-like and more eclectic."

Parker glared, an argument on the tip of her tongue.

But, well, when she thought about it, it wasn't such a bad idea. And, well, maybe giving the store a new coat of paint wasn't either. It still looked like it had when she bought it from Larry. She had spent so much money on the loan payment, that she never considered really updating the place—mostly because, duh, she had no money—but paint and some dollar store frames weren't so expensive.

"How do you know all of this?" she asked with a quizzical look.

Melissa smiled, phone waved in hand as she tossed a plait of perfectly curled hair over her shoulder. "I spend a lot of time on Pinterest. What this place needs is a total cottage-core makeover."

"That sounds so made-up."

The girl frowned. "Well, duh. Everything is made up."

Parker opened her mouth, thought it through, and then promptly snapped her mouth shut. When did kids become so philosophical?

"So," said kid leaned onto the front counter with a conniving smile. She was a pretty girl with a clear complexion, bright white teeth beneath blue braces, and a deep closest of cute, but age-appropriate clothing. When she wiggled her eyebrows, Parker couldn't help but notice how well shaped they were. "Can I have a job?"

It was a tempting offer...

She glanced at the balancing worksheet she was doing, scores of numbers and ugly handwriting sprawled across her notebook, before taking a proper look at her empty storefront.

"I'll... have to think about it," she finally hedged.

Melissa's shoulders sank in disappointment.

"I don't have a ton of money right now," she explained, not at all liking how sad she looked. Colt's puppy dog expression had done nothing to prepare her for Melissa Abernathy's professional one. "So, I'll need to look things over first."

"But...?"

A sigh. "Are you free on Sundays?"

"I thought you were closed on Sundays?"

"I am," Parker nodded. "Which means it's about the only day of the week that I could try to paint this place. If you're serious about wanting a job and wanting to help, I'll consider bringing you in on the weekends to start helping me renovate."

A grin broke out on the girl's face, and she started bouncing on her toes. "Really?"

"Just temporarily," Parker threatened with her index finger. She wasn't sure how much was being heard and how much was going over the girl's head, however, and suddenly this was all feeling like a bad idea. "You can help me paint and decorate, and then I'll look at my finances."

"And you'll hire me?"

"If I can afford it, then... yes, we could work something out."

"Yes!"

"Just a few shifts a week!"

"That's perfect."

"And I'm not paying more than minimum wage."

"Totally fair. This rocks!"

"I said if—"

Melissa was already on her phone, texting and typing away as she bounced around. Parker felt a migraine start whirring between her temples, but—well—the kid was so excited that she couldn't feel too miserable about her decision. Tourist traffic was dying down as the season's changed, and she really needed to do something if she still wanted to be in business come the new year.

There was the sound of a camera clicking, and Melissa grinned from her corner of the room. "Oh my god, Park, you're so not going to regret this. We could totally do a beachy palette—blues and greens and, oh, orange—throw some rugs down, add some little details to the bottom of the shelves that you have to look for to see. Like easter egg, stuff. Oh, this is so exciting! I'm going to get Miranda and Abby to come, they have a great eye for detail."

She watched Melissa disappear down the MYSTERY aisle, all the while chatting to whoever she had already gotten on the phone.

Parker steepled her head between her hands with a sigh.

But, well, the enthusiasm was contagious, and after a moment she was laughing to herself. Maybe a fresh coat of paint would cheer her up.

Speaking of, how much did paint cost?

She was in the middle of a google search when her phone started to ring. The caller ID only showed an emoji and a picture of her brother modeling a ridiculous outfit, and she let out a childish snort in response.

A small smile in place, she answered. "Three books in a week. I have to say that I am a little impressed."

"Hm. I'm impressed you finally saved my contact. I was starting to think that basic technology was beyond your skill set."

"Hardy, har, har," she deadpanned, rolling her eyes. Melissa was somewhere in the back of store now, likely scaring off her only customers, and she decided to give up on her accounting for the day. Twisting in her seat so she was watching the street outside, she propped her elbow on her knee. "What did you think of Nemesis?"

He seemed hesitant to answer. "I... liked it."

Parker grinned. "Oh, you did, did you?"

A sound halfway between a groan and a whine. "You're fucking infuriating, you know that?"

"For recommending you good books?"

"You don't have to be so smug about it."

"I'm not smug," she said smugly.

He scoffed, and Parker couldn't help but grin even further. The idea that Tom Ryder, pain in her ass, was admitting that he liked her recommendation was the metaphorical cherry on the top of her cake. Even better, she got to be smug to him about something.

Parker continued on to say, "I guess I'm just happy that I recommended something you like. Especially since I didn't think you liked anything other than looking in a mirror, hair gel, and hot lattes."

"For fuck's sake, it was a flat white, and it was one time."

"Was it?" she teased, enjoying the conversation far more than she should be. This was the asshole that drove her brother insane every day at work, after all. But then again, what Colt didn't know, wouldn't hurt him. "You're just so memorable, I guess. Can't stop thinking about it."

"I would hope I'm memorable," he shot back, a whole lot of huffing and puffing from his side of the line that didn't fit the whole "perfect human being" sort of vibe he tried so desperately hard to give off. A dog barked in the distance. A second, more put-off and annoyed huff argued back. "Putain, calme-toi, Jean Claude."

Parker curled an eyebrow, impressed. "Was that French?"

"Impressed?" he said, taking a page out of her book to sound unnecessarily smug.

Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the window—a stupid smile in place, lip pulled between two teeth, eyes twinkling in a way that didn't suit the sleep-deprived bags beneath them—Parker straightened in her seat. "Hardly. It's an ugly language," she said, overcorrecting just a little by insulting what some considered to be the language of love. Not her best move. "Moreso wondering why you're imposing a foreign language on your dog. Seems cruel."

"He's French," Tom said, certainly rolling his eyes.

"Ooh, a French bulldog? I love those."

Something about the insinuation that Tom Ryder would own a bulldog managed to insult him, and she heard the scorn in his voice when he responded with a scathing, "I would never own a fucking bulldog. They can't breathe and can't run thanks to decades of improper inbreeding. What use are they?"

"...they're cute?"

She heard him mutter something in French, before another bark—as if his dog, the French bastard, was agreeing with whatever complaint he made against her—and Parker was so elegantly reminded of what a pain in the ass he could be.

Chin in hand, she rolled her eyes. "You want to tell me about the book or not?"

There was noise from his side of the line; music in the background kicked up, the sound of dog food being slung into a metal bowl, a faucet running, before things quieted down a bit. "I thought the idea of moon colonization is a little overplayed, plus there's the whole bit about the telepathic organism that is so fucking stupid," he said.

Despite his tone though, somehow Parker just knew that he was only complaining so he had something to complain about. She didn't wonder how she knew that.

"The book is from the eighties. I don't think moon colonization was overplayed when he wrote it," she protested anyway, sipping on her watered-down cold brew as she did so. "And the bit about the organism is fascinating to me. Everyone always writes about ET-style aliens, but I thought it was brilliant of Asimov to create something new."

"Brilliant is what I do. Not writing a short story about a family being separated in space," he grumbled. A moment later, "you're awfully hot on these writers. You've never called me brilliant before." Sore about it, obviously.

"That's not true. I think you're brilliantly self-centered and egotistical."

"Elle pense qu’elle est une comédienne, celle-ci," he muttered, much to her English-speaking chagrin. He switched back to say, "I'm the reason your brother has a career, you know. You could give me a little credit."

"Are you?" she mused, knowing it was a load of horseshit. Self-centered and egotistical horseshit that only further proved her point. "Interesting. I thought he introduced you to Gail."

A moment of silence. "He told you that?"

"We tell each other everything," she said. Though, that wasn't exactly true, was it? "Well, mostly everything, anyway."

"Hm. I could argue that's breaking our nondisclosure agreement. I could probably fire him for it, you know," he threatened, idly, though, and without any real heat to his words. There was the sound of water running in the background, and Parker really hoped that he was spontaneously washing some dishes and not talking to her while in the shower.

"Please. We both know that Colt is the best stunt-man out there. And you only work with the best, right?"

His lack of response proved that she was right; Colt was the best at his job, and he just so happened to look a whole lot like Tom Ryder. Not to mention that Tom's entire career was built around bragging how good he was, how talented the people he worked with were, how he didn't settle for anything but excellence. In fact, Parker was half-sure she could break Ryder's nose and the only backlash Colt would get would be a whole lot of bitching.

Granted, she might get arrested, but at least her brother would be relatively fine.

"When's the audition, anyway?" she asked just to be nosy.

"Tomorrow morning."

Parker raised a brow, idly watching as some idiot failed to parallel park out front. "Cutting it a little close, huh?"

"I'm Tom Ryder," he said, in his typical sense of self-importance that she loathed. Though, this time, Parker didn't loathe it as much as she found it amusing. "I know what I'm doing and don't need your fucking opinion about it."

"Do you have that written on a motivational poster somewhere?"

"No," he said immediately. A little too quickly, in her opinion, and Parker narrowed her eyes with a sneaking suspicion that his house was just plastered with photos of himself. "Whatever. I have to go. Unlike you I don't just have all day to talk."

She scoffed incredulously, reminding him that, "you called me!"

Unsurprisingly, however, he didn't care. "I need to practice some more before the audition. Unless you want me to fail."

"I didn't think Tom Ryder could fail."

"Yeah, well," he hesitated for a moment, all that bravado he'd been displaying moments earlier gone in a flash. Parker wondered if he ever talked to anyone without it, and if he didn't, then what sort of friends he had in his life. He cleared his throat. "It's a big deal. Not just for me, but Colt too. This would be our biggest movie yet. Some extra practice doesn't hurt anyone."

Pride swelled in her chest; her brother had always impressed her with how he built his own career, moving to LA without knowing anyone and not leaving until he accomplished what he wanted. And while she was his biggest fan—number one, as she liked to joke—his success was his alone, not Tom's.

Still, without Tom it may have been less consistent, and without Colt, Tom may have been stuck doing rom coms. Parker kept that to herself.

Instead, she said, almost sensing that he needed to hear it, "yeah, well, I know you don't need it or anything, but—you know—good luck on the audition. I think you'd be really good in a sci-fi film. Despite what Gail seems to think, I might actually want to, er, see that movie. Pirated, of course. I don't go to the theaters for just any asshole."

The sound of water cut off, and for a long moment it was silent. Then, a scoff. "You're right," he said. "I don't need it."

Parker hummed, rolling her eyes, and biting back a smile at his blatant audacity. Gail was right about one thing; there was no one in this world quite like him. Maybe that was a good thing, too.

"Sure. You being Tom Ryder, and all. Guess you're a shoo-in, huh?"

"Well," he cleared his throat, "I do have the blonde hair and blue eyes."

A laugh bubbled up her throat, and she only managed to keep it to herself when the door jingled with the sound of new customers. A pair of teen girls strode inside with sweet, but nonplussed looks on their faces, and mindlessly Parker waved them towards the back where Melissa had disappeared to.

Watching them amble with her phone tucked against her shoulder, she asked, "did you just make a joke? Forget sci-fi, someone should call SNL right now and get you an audition with them."

"You're just as bad as Colt. You know that?"

"And now you're just handing out compliments," she teased. He laughed in response, wasn't quite quick enough to disguise it as a huff or a cough, and Parker bit her lip to keep from smugly grinning like a total idiot. "Just don't forget to send me that agent's fee when you get the part. I accept checks and DutchBros gift cards."

"Jesus Christ, you're pathetic."

"Am I? Because I just so happen to be popular enough to have the one and only Tom Ryder calling me three times in one week."

"Good-fucking-bye, smartass."

The sound of a dial tone came a second later, and when Parker glanced at her screen she was greeted with her own reflection. She didn't mind that he hung up on her. If anything, she almost wished that he had more time to talk. If only because he seemed to be in a rare, friendly mood.

Not because she almost actually liked talking to him. Asshole-ish tendencies notwithstanding.

"What are you smiling about?"

Parker turned to find Melissa and her two friends staring warily at her across the counter. Clearing her throat, she set her phone aside with pink cheeks.

"Er, nothing."

She harrumphed. Teenagers had never seemed so intimidating before, and with a self-conscious smile, Parker smoothed her hair down as subtly as she could.

"Need something?"

"Do you have any John Green books?" one of the girls asked.

Parker nodded, shaking off the conversation to switch into work mode, and smiled a little more genuinely at them all as she stood. "Sure, loads. Come on, I'll show you," she waved them after her, and as they browsed, they filled her in on what paint colors they thought would look best.

Melissa, she mused two hours later with disheveled hair, sweat-tacked curls on her neck, a stack of notes in one hand, and a long email chain of Pinterest posts on her phone, could rule the world one day.

She just needed a car first.

[palesweetscherryblossom]

I can totally imagine Wolf Tomura try to comfort readers, but they are just way too scared. And they cry and shake the whole time and he turns into his half human form to take better care of Reader and try to comfort them. And when Reader falls asleep due to exhaustion he thinks it's the cutest thing ever and thinks that reader finally starts to trust him. And of course Dabi will join his side and they'll snuggle their sleepy baby.

Also Reader is somehow less scared of them in their human form and therefore Tomura tries to stay in his human form when he is around Reader. Just to make them trust him more. And since they obviously are still scared of all of them.

Also Tomura is super protective when he sleeps with reader in his lap or against his chest. And the only one to survive approaching the man is his mate.

Shigaraki is trying, he gets why Reader is terrified of him. Sharp teeth, shaggy blue fur that has crusted on blood, raspy voice.

Normally he would take pride in the fact that he makes people scared but it just makes him sad or cringe whenever you bleat or whine in fear.

So yeah, he does mostly remain in human form. He loves it whenever you attempt to snuggle him for comfort and warmth, he’ll groom your floofy hair and give you kisses.

[sword-is-bored]

Save a Horse…

(Link x Reader)

(Twilight Princess)

(Part 2 here!)

Inspired by @EmilyE_draws on Twitter/ @emily.e.draws on Instagram’s art

(Give her a follow! Commission her! Her art is beautiful)

There was something about this silent man in Orodon. He had saved Hyrule and came back to the sleepy town. Ilia expressed finding him good looking, and (Y/n) knew her sister often interacted with him. She never saw it, until she watched this man ride past on his horse. The lovely Epona, saddled on top was a lean and muscular hero of Hyrule. (Y/n)‘s mouth all but dropped open at the sight. Now she understood.

It was a humid day out, and he worked at the ranch. He had his shirt off, and she could see the tan lines against his figure. (Y/n) found herself silently trailing behind him, staring at his form. His hair was stuck to his neck with sweat, and he looked so slightly tanned on his arms. His chest was getting pink from the hot sun, but hadn’t been tanned up. The tan on his arms made them bulge and look so, so delectable. She hid behind the fence and watched as Link herded goats.

She saw how his thighs and hips worked together to hold on to Epona. (Y/n) found herself wanting to be in between them, feeling the strength herself. His stomach was taught as well, working to keep upright on Epona. He was sweating even more now, and jumped off of Epona to deal with a rather stubborn goat. Said goat began to charge, and (Y/n) watched those arms in action. He flawlessly grabbed the goat by the horns and pushed it off to the side. Glistening in sweat, but still had the worlds greatest poker face. He wiped it away, and (Y/n) had half the mind to help him dry off.

“What’re you up to?” A soft familiar voice asked. (Y/n) turned to see her sister smirking mischievously at her. “I, uh, nothing.” (Y/n) sputtered, her face turning red. She realized she was missing the show and turned back. Link was helping the goat back up and into the barn. Shirtless, sweaty and dirty? Sign her up to be a goat. She can bleat. “This sure looks like nothing.” Ilia said, scooting next to her and staring. “And after all these years of telling you he’s cute, you finally listen.” She mused. (Y/n)’s face turned even redder. “Shut up, you’re ruining the show.” She whispered. “Maybe if you throw him rupees he’ll take his pants off.” Ilia joked. (Y/n) smacked her sister.

The cry from Ilia caused Link to look up and over at the two girls staring. He tilted his head and quickly put the goat away. Link walked over, (Y/n) suddenly feeling incredibly nervous. Ilia and him interacted all the time, she’s never talked to the hero. “Wow, look at you go.” Ilia smiled as Link got closer to the fence. “We were having fun watching.” Link blushed and laughed softly. “Oh, I see.” His voice surprised (Y/n). She blushed and looked away, finding her eyes landing on Epona. Ilia and Link began to chat away and (Y/n) couldn’t help but laugh at her thought. “Save a horse, ride a cowboy. Huh?” She said to herself.

However…

It wasn’t really herself.

Link and Ilia chose that moment to ask (Y/n) an answer, and listen to her opinion. As that left her mouth Link’s face turned a brilliant shade of red. “(Y/n)!” Ilia gasped, laughing as she pushed her sister. (Y/n) wished she could melt into the ground and covered her face. Of course he heard that.

[xhanisai]

"In a world full of worthless lies, Let's leave tomorrow behind"

AO3

Pairing - Adrinette

Prompt - 'I know'

Summary -

Adrien wanted to visit his past self from three weeks ago and throttle him for being so damn naive. He should’ve known. Oh, oh, OH. He should’ve known! This was his Lady they were talking about after all! He got way too full of himself and thought that everything will be a breeze, a piece of cake, a walk in the fucking park. But no. Absolutely not. He is the wielder of bad luck and calamity for crying out loud!

Nothing is ever easy for him.

But nothing is ever easy for her either.

“—y-you know, like moo? Heheh, that’s right! I love MOO. They’re such interesting creatures, those little moos—”

“You mean, cows?” Adrien bleated.

~(x)~

.

.

.

 Supposedly, if there's one thing that Adrien has pride in, it's his ability to finally, finally understand and comprehend his Marinette's complex actions and mannerisms when it comes to him in particular. Especially after their sudden reveal when their superhero masks unveiled themselves to each other after a brutal Akuma battle that night. The fight was so intense that the duo thought that they were genuinely going to die and it was those heightened feelings themselves that caused their masks to automatically dissipate as soon as they held each other tight in a secluded space once they won.

 To say that either of them was shocked at the outcome would be a big fat lie, the two heroes having harboured heavy suspicions over time as they got closer and closer and closer.

 They didn’t let go until daybreak.

 .

Adrien was always the type to observe and read others quietly with utmost patience. His partner mainly if he were to be precise. Be it whilst they're battling the umpteenth Akuma and him witnessing her come up with most craziest and absolutely insane plans just from a bizarre object alone concocted by her Lucky Charms. Or whilst they're in school and she's standing up against injustice no matter the consequences be it against the tyrannical Chloé Bourgeois or her despicable father who always caved into his bratty daughter’s whims with no backbone in sight. Watching Marinette no matter where and when has done nothing but make him fall deeper and deeper in love with her and it's only thanks to Plagg's restraints that he hasn't gone on one knee and slipped a beautiful ring on her finger (yet). But now? Now? Now that he's caught wind of her long-time feelings for him by a sleepy confession from her one night when she was resting her head on his lap as they relaxed on la Tour Eiffel? Now, he believes he understands her fully and can't wait to see even more sides to her he's yet to see. He's so immensely, incredibly in love with Marinette Dupain-Cheng and he's more than happy to give her the initiative to finally confess to him with a more level head so that they can have their happily ever after. But a few pushes here and there wouldn't be a problem, non?

~(x)~

 Adrien wanted to visit his past self from three weeks ago and throttle him for being so damn naive. He should’ve known. Oh, oh, OH. He should’ve known! This was his Lady they were talking about after all! He got way too full of himself and thought that everything will be a breeze, a piece of cake, a walk in the fucking park. But no. Absolutely not. He is the wielder of bad luck and calamity for crying out loud!

 Nothing is ever easy for him.

 But nothing is ever easy for her either.

 “—y-you know, like moo? Heheh, that’s right! I love MOO. They’re such interesting creatures, those little moos—”

 “You mean, cows?” Adrien bleated, ensuring that there wasn’t even an ounce of disappointment on his face or laced within the tone of his voice towards the love of his life and her millionth botched confession to him, trying his best to look as neutral as possible.

 “Th-That’s right! That’s totally what I meant! Cows! Heheheh. You always know what I’m trying to say, Chaton~! Yeah. I really…really do love…cows. Heheh…definitely was what I was trying to say…”

 In fact, he felt like he could almost cry in frustration and bang his head repeatedly against the wall because dammit, she was so, SO close this time but her nerves got in the way once again and sabotaged everything. Judging by the way her eyes were watery (wait why were they watery?) and how her lips wobbled (don’t tell me…), it was crystal clear that the person who felt defeated the most was none other than Marinette herself.

 Oh no.

 .

 And now his heart was breaking because he never liked seeing his Lady cry so without wasting another moment, he enveloped her entire frame with his arms and held her tight against his chest, muffling her startled gasp with the fabric of his shirt. He instinctively tightened his hold when he felt her body tremble and her tears now soaking his clothes. All of his discontent from earlier on vanished and what he prioritised now was to soothe all her pain and sorrows away to the best of his abilities.

 “That’s not what I was trying to say at all!” She wailed brokenly into his chest, tiny fists clutching the fabric of his shirt tight with white knuckles and tears continuing to run down her face. He could only press her tighter against him and rest his head on top of hers solemnly.

 “I know.” He did, he truly really did. However, he knew his partner well enough to know that Marinette wanted to do everything perfectly, starting with telling him her feelings straight out of her mouth (because she knows and understands him just as well and has gathered that he’s aware of their mutual affections, patiently allowing her to set the pace and lead them to the future they want like the selfless boy he is).

 “I’m so sorry…I just can never do anything right for you…” His heart shattered from her bitter whispers and he couldn’t help but pull back a little and cradle her red, splotchy face tenderly, shaking his head with furrowed brows.

 “That’s not true at all!” He left no room for argument, leaning his forehead against hers and continued. “Please stop beating yourself up like that. You’re the person I treasure the most in the world and it’s thanks to you that I am who I am today, Marinette.”

 “I can’t even tell you how I truly feel to your face like a coward! What kind of partner am I if I can’t even let you know how much I lo…lo—” Tears of pure, unadulterated resentment towards herself streamed down her cheeks and Marinette closed her eyes in defeat. She couldn’t bear to face him anymore. “I’m sorry…”

 .

 He kissed her eyelids and then trailed his lips to her forehead after brushing away her fringe with his fingers and then pulled back slightly when her surprised baby blues were visible again, his hands now by his sides.

 “You’re not a coward. And you shouldn’t be apologising either.” He was suddenly riddled with guilt for getting frustrated earlier on, now realising that with every failed confession, her confidence was knocked down over and over and over again. His head got so big after her sleepy confession that night and because of that, it ended up blinding him to the point where it prevented him from seeing how his partner would mask the stinging pain she felt whenever her nervousness took over. 

 ‘Understand her the best, my foot! I couldn’t even tell that her attempts to tell me the truth were hurting her until she cried. I’m the most stupidest, the most selfish partner in the world!’

 “I should be telling you how sorry I am. I thought that giving you hints and being more open about how I feel for you would help give you some assurance. I must have ended up adding extra pressure and stress on you instead—”

 “No!” Her sudden yell would have made his feline ears plaster themselves into his hair had he been suited up but he couldn’t stop the endeared smile that rested on his lips when Marinette flushed with embarrassment and took her hands off his shirt, clutching them against her chest instead. She wasn’t crying anymore. “No. Not at all. You weren’t stressing me out. If anything, all of your hints made me really, really happy.” She was looking at him straight in the eye now, no longer fiddling with her hands and Adrien could have sworn that he was now looking into the depths of her soul. “And you waiting for me to make the first official move so patiently just re-establishes these feelings that I have for you.” 

 Her lips then pursed and she moved her head to the side, only to lightly glare at him from the corner of her eyes.

 “Well, sometimes so patiently.” This time he felt his complexion flare up in red from her matter-of-fact tone and it took him everything to not hide his face with his hands. Oh, she saw through every single one of his polite façade that he plastered on to mask the dissatisfaction he felt every time her confession went wrong lately. Mon Dieu, he felt so, so, so, bad!

 “I really am sorry…” He clasped his larger hands over hers, hoping that she caught just how truly apologetic he was. “Did I hurt you by being such a brat?” He desperately wanted to tell her that his frustrations stemmed from the fact that he just wanted to hold her, kiss her and tell her how much he loves her every day; but this wasn’t about him. Her feelings come first and foremost and no matter how good his intentions are, he refuses to add a looming mountain of expectations on top of her tiny back, even if they were unintentional.

 Marinette was the kind of person who would do anything to please the ones she loved, even at the expense of her own feelings and comfort. Adrien refuses to let their love turn into another burden forced upon her bony shoulders.

 “You didn’t hurt me at all, silly Chaton.” She slipped out one of her hands from his hold and palmed the side of his face. “If our positions were switched, I would have gotten very impatient too.” An impish smirk played on her (very, very kissable) lips and she lightly pinched the cheek she was palming. “Maybe we would have been on our twentieth date by now~”

 He was bright, bright red now.

 “B-B-But I didn’t want to scare you away or make you angry or annoyed if I let my impatience get the better of me and make the first move!” He looked so silly and defenceless (like his alter-ego’s namesake) with his cheek still pinched between her fingers that all traces of self-deprecation and sadness left Marinette’s frame in droves. Judging from the pout he was wearing, he probably was able to read what went through her mind like a psychic. “Don’t make me kiss you again. This time I’ll go for the lips. Then you’ll stop making fun of me.”

 “Do that and you will not get a peep from me about my feelings until we’re ninety-six.” Her grin was borderline devilish as Adrien’s spirit practically left his body.

 “My Lady PLEASE.”

 “If I’m feeling nice, maybe I’ll let you know when we’re ninety-two.”

 “You just want to see me suffer!”

 “No comment~” Before Adrien could get in another word, sinfully soft velvetiness brushed the corner of his lips and suddenly he was facing a blushing Marinette all over again. He didn’t even think to stop the way his fingers touched the area she kissed, his complexion as rouge as hers. “I…I just want to do it first. I want to do it right.” She was now all determination and no longer looking away. “I want to tell you how much you mean to me and I want to kiss you after I’ve succeeded. Just…just give me a little more time to gather the courage to do so. I know I’m asking for a lot. But please.”

 .

 “For you, I’d wait forever, Marinette,” He vowed and brought her hands to his lips, kissing the hardworking knuckles with all the love and devotion he has for this brilliant, wonderful, silly, weird, amazing girl. “I promise.”

 .

 “Even if I take so long that we’re ninety-six by the time I confess?” His Lady sure knew how to strike an emotional whiplash left, right and centre.

 “Even if it takes you a hundred, thousand, million years. I said forever, didn’t I?” But he also knew how to strike one back.

 “...Tomorrow.”

 “Huh?”

 “I…I will try my best to tell you tomorrow.”

 “So soon?” His voice cracked mid-sentence but he didn’t give a flying fuck, focusing on how Marinette’s eyes were watering anew. This time, however, they weren’t tears of anger or frustration towards herself and her inability to voice her feelings.

 “Yes.” She laced their fingers together, baby blues glittering with a resolve that went beyond all the languages and understanding in the universe. “Because I really, really, really want to kiss you.”

 They were tears of resoluteness.

.

.

.

~(x)~

[thepalelfe]

* @betraal ! less cringey nsfw prompts ( accepting ! ) ; [ TRAIL ]:  sender leaves a trail of kisses down receivers stomach + [ ORAL ]: sender goes down on receiver.

his eyes are heavy, drowsiness weaving through every curled strand as moonlight streams through an open window, curtains jostled by the evening breeze as he stirs to consciousness.

astarion is nude to no one's surprise, especially the previously slumbering form next to him, body covered by sheets and a thick duvet which hides them both from the world, for a moment. daemos is characteristically sweltering, and astarion pushes back the blankets with a huff, kicking the remainder with a foot. " darling, you're burning up. " he grumbles against the pillows, face hidden in their feathered comfort, and attempting to wiggle his way out of the sorcerer's grasp. daemos's response to his words is to pull him closer in his sleepy state and the elf groans, turning so they're chest to chest. fully awake now, he scrunches his nose and leans forward, delivering a barrage of gentle kisses to daemos's face until the other wakes, languid and yawning. " finally, i was going to melt. " astarion complains and daemos sends a demure quirk of his lips.

a kiss follows, planted on his cheek before landing on his mouth. the rogue reciprocates the peck, which turns into something deeper as they lay languorous against the bedding which begins to fade in warmth the longer the wind blows. " good evening to you too. " astarion comments breathlessly in between kisses, skin flushing as daemos begins to travel his lips down his chest. " ravenous are we? " he teases, stomach tightening as his beloved sinks lower, lips trailing where a pre existing array of fading hickeys remain.

daemos responds with something astarion doesn't catch, feather light touch nearly incomprehensible till he feels daemos's thick fingers wrap around his still hardening cock. astarion echoes a gasp into their quiet bedroom, propping himself up onto his elbows so he can watch daemos with lidded eyes. " dae. " he calls quietly, which causes the other to peer up at him, blinking and halting their movements. " i want to look at you. " astarion requests as politely as he's able, chest rising and falling with bated breaths.

there's a silent agreement between them, two pairs of eyes remaining locked on each other. daemos is set on driving him to delirium with his onslaught of open mouthed kisses to his hips, tongue trailing after each individual peck, a delightful squeeze of his dick causing astarion to exhale a significant amount of air out of his nose. " you're teasing love. " he remarks as he watches daemos dribble a significant amount of saliva onto his reddening tip.

the vampire was pretty content that he could stay like this forever, maybe even cum untouched if he stared long enough, but daemos seems to have other plans, that expert forked tongue of theirs peeking from behind his pretty lips to take the place of their hand. " gods. " astarion bleats pathetically, legs spreading wider as a welcomed invitation, one which daemos takes easily enough, palm grasping his inner thigh and kneading the skin beneath his fingers. " i think you were just made to have my cock in your mouth love. " the elf chokes out clearly in jest, cheeks dusting a rosey shade of pink when daemos fully takes him down to the hilt, unable to keep his eyes open any longer as colorful dots explode behind his lids. " shit. "

hips stir - craving more, and daemos, ever patient, allows this for some time until it's clear by the irregularity in astarion's movements that he's close, if the quiet chanting befalling his lips wasn't an indicator. " pleaseplea- " the white hot fire shoots up his spine and abdomen, licking every inch of available skin until he whimpers and stops moving altogether. it's silent, save for his rapid breaths and the sound of daemos unsheathing him from their mouth. he and the sheets are both soaked, growing chilly the longer he remains in this position, and as though noticing this, the draconian draws near once more, encircling astarion in a flurry of limbs and heat. the vampire sighs sweetly, shifting back into their embrace, slanted grin placed against his shoulder.

" you've ruined me, my love. i'm going to dream of your talented mouth until the day i turn to ashes. " there's a deep snicker from above him and astarion can't help the silly grin that stays plastered on his lips until he falls back into another dreamless (thankfully) rest.

[valeriianz]

Falling asleep under the stars was something Patroclus knew he would never grow tired of. When the sky was a clear black, no clouds to obscure the twinkling lights above, silent… save for the occasional baa of a sheep and the wind gently tossing the branches of nearby trees.

Patroclus took a deep breath through his nose, his chest rising high and closing his eyes before exhaling softly. He smelled the grass and dirt, his flock around him, lanolin– that sweet, almost metallic smell that was natural to a sheep’s wool. While many found the odor to be off-putting, Patroclus loved it, it comforted him. And it wasn’t rare to see the young man stuffing his face into the thick, coarse mane of his favorites, his voice muffled as he rocked his head back and forth and laughing when the sheep would bleat tiredly at him.

But no one saw Patroclus, that was the life of a shepherd. It was him and his flock– had been for a long time. It had been hard, going out on his own once he became of age, Chiron proclaiming he had taught him everything he knew. But they both knew it was what the young man wanted– independence. It was why he ran away from home as a child, foolish and naïve. At least now he’d found a purpose, a life to live on his own, and being a man alone allowed him the freedom to travel to many lands and cities, becoming that lone visitor once a year into civilization and slowly building a network of trust and good business.

After a dreamless slumber, Patroclus awoke, grabbing his staff and stretching out his sleepy, stiff limbs. He took a head count, circling his flock and calling out to the more adventurous sheep by name, gently encouraging them back to the herd, where they happily rejoined. Each sheep had a name, and Patroclus had formed a bond with all of them. They all had personalities, quirks, but they all moved together, knowing their comfort and safety was in a group rather than individual. Patroclus admired that about them, but nevertheless basked in the leadership role he’d asserted for himself. His sheep trusted him, they followed and obeyed him. They knew he’d protect and feed them, birth them, and take them to new lands.

It was difficult work, especially as the seasons changed or natural predators would keep Patroclus up at night, guarding his sheep and chasing away foxes and coyotes, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Though sometimes… sometimes Patroclus let his thoughts drift, let his mind wander to the mayor’s son in Phthia.

He’d met him as a boy, apprenticing under Chiron. During the springtime when they’d venture out into villages near and cities far, Chiron would teach Patroclus how to shear, how to humanely kill, and how to sell. They’d spend most of their time in the vast city of Phthia, from the bustling downtown with their many shops, to the temples on the outskirts operated by the monks, and finally, Patroclus’ favorite, the cliffs overlooking the sea. The grass was long and lush there, lime green, swaying in the wind which tasted like salt water.

Their first stop was always the mayor, Peleus, for he was their biggest buyer and had the privilege of first pickings among the sheep which Chiron had so heartedly taken care of.

“You look a little young to be a shepherd,” a voice had said.

Patroclus turned and saw a boy around his age, wavy blond hair that barely brushed his boney shoulders, green eyes that contrasted brightly against his pale skin, his white shirt was clean and pants tailored, like the clothing had yet to be broken into.

“Bet I’ve worked more than you.” Patroclus had snapped back. “You look like you haven’t worked a day in your life.”

“Why should I?” The boy had responded coolly. He walked up to Patroclus and took his hands, turning them palm up and studying them.

Patroclus let the boy rub his thumbs into the rough skin. He’d only been 13 at the time, but Chiron was a firm teacher, and Patroclus was a hard worker. He’d been handling tools of the trade for years, the labor rubbing his skin raw and toning his still growing body into something lean and awkward, developing muscles that shouldn’t be there yet.

A curious silence had fallen, Patroclus fascinated how the boy’s white, unblemished skin looked against his own dark flesh. His fingernails were dirty and he desperately needed a wash, but the boy didn’t seem to care.

“Your hands are so calloused. You really are a shepherd?”

Patroclus could only nod, captured by the spark of something in those green eyes.

“Achilles!”

The blond boy dropped his hold on Patroclus’ hands and Patroclus blinked like he’d been released from a trance.

Peleus beckoned the boy– Achilles– over and had him finish business with Chiron, keeping watch while Chiron sheared the sheep that his father had picked out. Not all, but some buyers always insisted on watching Chiron work, out of curiosity or distrust, Patroclus could not say for sure, but the mayor always kept an eye on the shepherd as he worked, even though it could take over an hour.

Patroclus and Achilles would use the time to talk, chat about everything and nothing. And though their initial meeting had been strange, Patroclus found himself always looking forward to the moment, once a year, when he would see Achilles again.

Read the rest on Ao3

[dragonshifter-minecraft]

Chapter 31 - Uphill Climb

[Previous] ~ [Next]

[Word Count: 2276]

[Content Warnings: Brief Description of Injury and Scars]

The sun was rising steadily from over the horizon, the break of dawn gradually returning sunlight to the sleepy lands that had been shrouded by the night not long ago. As it was every day, a flock of sheep was out grazing in their vast field. The farmer had just let them out of their barn, and was setting about his usual chores as they quickly went out to munch on the grass.

He hadn’t been at it for long before he heard the flock bleating noisily, and he glanced out at the fenced-in area to look for what had spooked them. The flock was running from one end of the pasture to the other, and the farmer cautiously peered at the rear of the stampede, expecting to see a wolf or some other predator.

Instead, he witnessed the near-indistinguishable claws of something curl swiftly around one of his sheep, and over the terrified noise it made, he heard the telltale beating of massive wings.

The farmer watched in shock as the sheep that had been caught was lifted into the air by something completely invisible. A few seconds later, it seemed to disappear as well, though he could still hear its fearful bleating as it was carried off towards the wilderness.

Dream hated this. He hated swiping sheep from random fields, especially with no intent of pulling his usual scam – he couldn’t, not after discovering that dragons were apparently going extinct. There was no greater payoff from doing this. In the interest of his own survival, he needed to be able to eat, so he simply stole what he had to.

He couldn’t help but feel as though he’d stooped to the level of genuine dragons, taking whatever they felt like and escaping any consequences due to their size and power.

Though he wasn’t stealing exclusively for himself – George was injured, so Dream had to snatch enough sheep for the both of them. That meant traveling from place to place, hitting farms all over the continent in order to avoid taking more than one sheep from any given pasture. After all, he wasn’t looking to single out a specific town, much less ruin someone’s livelihood.

After flying quite a distance away from the latest field, he touched down in the woods and then began attempting to calm the frightened ovine. His abrupt reduction in size as he returned to his human form did that well enough, and he carefully slipped a lead around its neck before opening the portal home. As expected, it made a nervous sound, pulling back on the leash a bit, but Dream had little issue pulling it through the magical gateway behind him.

With a quick shift back into his dragon form, he grabbed the sheep and flew over to the island with the pen, gently dropping it in alongside several newcomers just like it, before looping around to land in the clearing on the centermost island.

Having spent his whole morning flying around and snatching sheep, he decided to head back inside to rest for a bit.

George barely glanced over as Dream walked in the door, leaning his staff against the wall as he unbuttoned his cloak and removed his mask. Since he’d gotten hurt, the other Dragonshifter had hardly moved from the couch, not even daring to retreat to his bedroom upstairs. In the meanwhile, the slayer was doing the best he could to look after his friend, even to the extent of expanding his garden to grow a few vegetables other than what he needed for spells. And while Dream didn’t know the first thing about genuine farming, the growth spell he used meant he didn’t really have to learn.

That was what allowed him to arrange a baked potato and a sliced-up carrot beside the mutton on George’s plate. It wasn’t a perfectly balanced meal, but it was the best the slayer could think to do, not knowing how to prepare much beyond mutton and all.

Dream finally stood to carry the plate of food to the other Dragonshifter. No words were exchanged – George simply took the plate and began carefully digging in with his fingers, not bothered at all by the heat.

It had been almost a week since the whole debacle had gone down. The white fabric acting as bandages had been changed a couple of times with the slayer’s help, but other than that, George preferred to pass the time by sleeping. Dream encouraged it, figuring the rest would help him heal faster, but it was a slow process overall. He could still hardly move without white-hot pain abruptly shooting through his whole body.

Taking into account George’s injury, alongside the pressing matter of the food shortage, the man in green was feeling overwhelmingly fatigued, both physically and mentally.

As soon as he’d handed off the plate to the other Dragonshifter, Dream wandered back over to the worktable, grabbed a piece of wildewheet bread, and headed upstairs. Stuck inside with nothing to do, he had doubled down on a project he’d started sometime during Sapnap’s visit.

He didn’t bother to close the door to his room as he sat down at his desk, quickly polishing off the bread before pulling out a drawer, retrieving a small tangle of Wildroot. He placed it over his right hand, carefully prying a couple of the small roots apart and gently reshaping them. The bracelet was nearly completed. It already boasted an intricate array of thin pieces that had been braided and woven together, it just needed a few finishing touches. And just like the staff that he and Sapnap had made years prior, it also needed to be imbued with magic and linked to the user.

A small smile appeared on his face, the first in a few days.

Truly, there was nothing better than magic to fill the space when they were stuck inside with nothing to do

The days continued to pass by in a blur. He’d helped George up long enough for him to donate a drop of blood to activate the Wildwood bracelet, but other than that, the other Dragonshifter hardly budged from the sofa. Dream continued attempting to lose himself in his work, growing and gathering whatever food he could get his hands on.

Though the highlight of this time had to be when the slayer began showing George how to use the magic-imbued bracelet.

With far more herbs than he’d ever had as a kid, Dream decided to start the other Dragonshifter on something simple – creating a basic orb of light. The spelldust was easy to produce and imbue into the bracelet, George just needed to insert a Moonglow leaf for fuel and then cast it.

For the time being, the man in green let his friend use his herb bag, simply instructing the other Dragonshifter on what to use.

“George, that’s… that’s a Pereskia,” Dream interjected as he saw the bright pink petal in George’s hand.

“Oh,” the other Dragonshifter hummed confusedly. “What am I meant to use, again?”

“Moonglow,” the slayer repeated, “I should have some in there.”

George stared down into the bag, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Dream leaned forward, pulling out a small jar filled with luminescent periwinkle leaves.

“The purple one, George,” he stated plainly.

“Wait,” the other Dragonshifter looked between the contents of the jar and the soft petal in his hand, “aren’t they both…?”

“What?” Dream blurted, utterly baffled. “Pereskias are pink!”

George didn’t reply, staring at the herbs in utter bewilderment. He was reacting as though the man in green had just grown a second head. Dream was just as puzzled, not understanding where the hang-up was. Sure, they were trimmed in such a way that they barely resembled their original plants, but they were both completely different colors. And despite some of the more rudimentary sketches in the book they used as a guide, whoever had produced it had at least attempted to color in their sketches of plants that were used as ingredients.

Then it hit him.

“Hang on,” he began cautiously, “are you… colorblind?”

The two of them had both learned something new, that day. How George had never realized he was colorblind was beyond Dream, but the other Dragonshifter speculated that it might’ve had something to do with how he was brought up. The slayer wasn’t surprised at all.

After a little more than two weeks had passed since getting shot, George found himself back on his feet more often. His movements were still exceedingly ginger at times, but he was clearly feeling much better than he had been. And as Dream continued to show him new tricks with his Wildwood bracelet, his eagerness to learn began to overshadow his lingering pain. With only a bit of guidance, he crushed up a few plants into spell dust, and imbued a new spell, himself.

Though the man in green did have to stop him from using a Stalicripe instead of an Infernal Bulb. Apparently yellow and orange were two vastly different colors. Who knew?

But with the same attacking light-bolt spell that Dream had on his own staff, George was ecstatic to have some means of defending himself in human form – at least in a way that was typically non-lethal and wouldn’t immediately out him as a Dragonshifter.

A growth spell was next to be added, and George began to help the slayer with the small garden outside. Though he’d admittedly been a tad overeager when it came to the Baffle Caps, and the pair ended up spending a good long while cleaning up the multitude of mushrooms that had sprung up. Dream had wheeze-laughed about the whole incident at length, much to the other Dragonshifter’s chagrin.

Yet true to his word, whenever they had a spare moment, Dream happily took him flying whenever he asked.

The days continued to pass by, and after nearly a month had passed from the initial incident, George was at last able to discard the bandages for good.

“It’s looking a lot better,” the slayer had commented as he helped the other Dragonshifter with the fabric scraps. “It’s definitely not bleeding anymore. Does it still hurt?”

“Not really,” George had replied noncommittally, looking down at his side. The spot was still visibly healing, and would likely be a little raw for a while, but it was a great improvement!

“Well, that’s good,” Dream acknowledged. “Gonna leave a nasty scar, though.”

The other Dragonshifter stiffened a bit at that, his expression betraying the disbelief he felt at that news.

“You’re not serious,” he breathed at last.

“Yeah?” the man in green answered in a puzzled tone. “You got hit by an arrow, one meant for hunting dragons. Just be glad it wasn’t one of the giant crossbow bolts…”

George moaned, burying his face in his hands. He was still shocked at the news, not to mention mad at himself for making it that much worse. He’d been an idiot and shifted back with an arrow still stuck in his side, and now he found out that mark would likely never go away.

“Hey, scars are nothing to be ashamed of,” Dream interjected pointedly. “They show that you’ve lived. You’ve been hurt along the way, and you survived.”

The other Dragonshifter didn’t reply, merely lowering his hands and continuing to look bothered.

“You know,” the slayer added after a moment, “I have a few like that.”

Golden-brown irises met bright green.

“Really?” George sounded surprised.

“Yeah, look—” Dream started, reaching up to pull aside the collar of his tunic. He then pointed to a visible pink crease, right beside his jugular, “This one, a slayer caught me with an arrow. It was at just the wrong angle, so it only grazed me. I was very lucky it didn’t go deeper. Still hurt like hell, though…”

Admittedly, it was a much smaller mark than George’s, but it was still worrying how close it was to being a fatal wound instead of a simple scar. Just like his could have been.

“Do you know who did it?” the other Dragonshifter finally asked.

“…Actually,” the man in green started, nearly laughing, “oddly enough, it might’ve been BadBoyHalo.”

“No—That’s a joke, surely,” George blurted incredulously, eliciting a brief wheeze from Dream.

“I’m dead serious,” he replied. “I’ve run into him and his group before. Skeppy uses these auditory illusion spells to startle whatever dragon they’re all hunting, Antfrost is just scary fast, and Bad is really good with a bow. They’re a great team, but I do not enjoy running into them in dragon form.”

There was a brief lull in the conversation as George processed what he’d just been told. He knew firsthand that Dream was extraordinarily fast and evasive, regardless of what form he was in, but his dragon form especially. The notion that other slayers had been able to not only keep up with him, but actually injure him was a surprise, though not as much so as the fact that Bad had actually shot Dream as well.

“I have plenty of other scars from arrows,” the man in green went on after a bit. “They’re not really worth talking about, though. I’ve gotten careless around slayers, even ambushed by a few. It’s really best not to dwell on it.”

“Right,” George agreed softly. “…When do you think I’ll be able to safely transform again?”

“Mmnh, I’d give it a few days,” Dream responded after some thought. “In the meantime, would you like to go flying?”

The other Dragonshifter snorted, a small grin slowly spreading across his face.

“Like you even have to ask.”

[Author’s Note: Gotta love slow chapters with heavy dialogue! It’s like Part 1 all over again, haha. Seriously though, this chapter had so many little moments and references I’ve wanted to include for so long, I’m just happy to have finally been able to write them down!]

[theoriginalmarke]

MADE UP MONDAY

Many of you don’t know that I used to be a lot taller than I am now, standing about 6′7″ or there about. 

I was a one of those guys that people had to look up to. I always heard “How’s the weather up there?” Or “Do you play basketball?” Or “Can you get that thing off the top shelf for me?”

But then came the accident. A bus full of nuns had run up a hill and was about ready to roll over onto a bus full of baby goats. Leaping into action I climbed the hill, jumped on top of the baby goat bus, and reached up to hold the nun bus in place. 

It took some time to empty the bus full of nuns and the bus full of goats, and that was a lot of weight I was holding up. Rather than let go, I stood my ground.

At first the roof of the goat bus began to crumple, but at some point my body began to crumble too. I refused to give up though. Through the extreme pain I held on. 

Finally, as the road below was filled with goats and nuns mingling, praying, and bleating, I let go and dove to the side as the busses rolled together into a mass of twisted metal at the bottom of the hill.

When I was able to stand again I discovered that I was now one foot shorter than before. All of that weight shortened my body but also made it a foot wider. If you’ve ever squished a spring you can picture it I’m sure.

After I received thanks and kisses from the assembled nuns and grateful goats I climbed into my Rolls. I could no longer reach the pedals so I had to slide it almost all the forward. 

When I got home I had to sell the Rolls so I could afford to buy new clothes because my old wardrobe no longer fit. Then I lost my job as a model for big and tall catalogs, and even my side gig painting ceilings. I had to move out of my swanky penthouse too. 

So now here I am short and broke, but I’m still proud. Unbowed. Holding my head high. A number one, king of the hill. 

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get dressed for my new job. I’ll be working alongside Doc, Sleepy, Sneezy, Grumpy and a couple of other guys. 

I love you, baby. And that’s the truth. MWAH!

Y’all have a great day.

[lambourngb]

If I woke up next to you & new face of failure

both of these are LYW stories, “If I woke up next to you” is the sequel that deals with some elements of season 2 along with a challenge to their relationship...

Alex awoke later, feeling the disorientation of sleeping too long and the grumble of his stomach letting him know that he skipped past the threshold of a pre-dinner nap and into the welcoming embrace of full night. He blinked in the darkness, the bedside alarm clock bright enough to shine the time up on the ceiling. Close to ten o’clock. Rolling backward, he felt the alien-hot presence of Michael, asleep inches away from him.

The brief touch of skin stirred Michael’s resting weight next to him, prompting his arm to snake forward and wrap firmly around Alex’s waist to tug him closer, with a reflexive sleepy kiss on his ear while he continued to snore lightly. 

Gently, Alex drew his fingertips down Michael’s arm, until he found the strong bones of his hands, possessively resting on his chest. There was a brief flash of earlier, that damn picture, as he rubbed his thumb over the fine bones of Michael’s wrist. Should he be ashamed that he wanted to wrap his hands over Michael’s pulse-points, holding them firmly in his palm, branding Michael with his grasp, as if he could overwrite the memory?

In his sleep, Michael made a soft questing noise in his throat at the touch before sighing in boneless surrender as Alex gave in and gripped his wrist more firmly. Still mostly asleep, Michael shifted again under the sheets, making it clear as he closed each gap between them, that he was bare. Between that hotter body temperature and the frequent tossing and turning in bed, it made sleepwear short-lived for both of them even for a brief nap. 

Alex pressed backwards again, more deliberately, feeling Michael’s slowly waking erection firm between his cheeks.  Fever hot skin against skin with just the slide of damp sweat easing the way. The scent of rain wafted off of Michael, filling his lungs, covering the back of Alex’s tongue and more, filling his senses with its familiar weight of home. He half-wished to coax Michael into full consciousness for the food that his stomach growled for lightly, and half-wished for satiating an altogether different hunger. 

He felt adrift now, the spectre of the past taking up space between them in a way that hadn’t happened in such a long time. He felt that old hunger of emptiness inside him, and with it came that need to feel Michael fill those scratched open ravines in his heart, where those years of feeling unloved at home as a child and later a young man, had worn into him deeply like the snow melt did against a mountainside. 

The handprint was out of the question, but there were other options.

**** new face of failure -- this is Michael’s POV of chapter 12- the Caulfield reveal ---CW: for Caulfield, torture, Michael getting ill

Blackness edged in, embroidering around his vision in a narrowing frame as he watched helplessly, before the nausea of what they were doing to her hit him, so suddenly he barely made it to the wastepaper basket under the desk. He retched, his whole body rejecting everything in the moment. Harsh gasps for air ripped from his throat, as he was sick over and over again in the small waste paper trash can until there was nothing left in him. 

Nothing. They treated his mother like she was nothing, but a thing for amusement. For seventy years. As soon as that thought hit, Michael’s lungs locked in place. He was being dragged downward with a sinking swiftness, buried in the mire like an anchor to the shoreline. With a shaking hand, he groped for the mouse to pause the video, before he placed his head down between his knees. In and out, he counted his breaths as he worked through the panic attack that he belatedly recognized.

In and hold for four counts. 

Living with Alex at least gave him these tools to know what to do now. 

Out and hold, count to four. 

Not long after he had moved in, Alex had had a flashback to something while Michael was driving, triggered likely by some blowing trash on the side of the road. He had nearly wrecked the truck trying to figure out what to do and had sat helpless next to Alex, watching as he fought to breathe and counted almost soundlessly under his breath before finally muttering a “I’m fine, you can keep driving,” with his voice thready and ashamed about the incident. Not right then, but hours later they had a fight when Alex had started to downplay what had happened under Michael’s insistence on teaching him what to do next time. 

He remembered wanting to shake Alex, the panic at being caught so flat-footed rushing in his veins, lending his voice an edge that he didn’t mean, “Tell me what I can do to help you — other than not touch you when it happens and keeping the floor clear of tripping hazards, cause that’s the bare fucking minimum that anyone can do. So, there’s got to be something more I can do-”

“Guerin, it’s fine, I can handle it. Besides, there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening-”

“I know that. And I know you don’t like relying on anyone but yourself, but-” It took a moment before the right leverage came to Michael. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I sat around with my thumb up my ass while you were hurting? I’m sure Agent Rollins would find that interesting.” Then he went in for the kill, “Tell me how to support you if- when- you have an episode because it’s something I should know if I’m going to play this role in your life.”

Out maneuvered, Alex had agreed and had reluctantly in a soft voice explained to Michael the ins and outs of panic attacks, and overcoming the psychological messaging with controlled breathing, the check-ins about sight, smell, taste, feel, and sound to help ground him. Michael had never thought he would be using that information for himself, but then he never imagined Alex had documentation of his mother’s torture.

Sight, he could hear Alex’s voice instruct from memory. Michael reluctantly opened his eyes and then had to flinch away from the monitor to focus on something different. There was a stack of hard drives on the desk. Innocuous and something Michael had dismissed as ‘Alex’s work’ but clearly it wasn’t. 

Smell. He could smell his sick, still in the trash can at his feet. Numbly, Michael got up and carried the mess back up the stairs, using the ‘feel’ of the plastic bin to ground himself in the cabin. The stairs creaked under his weight. Sound. Then vaguely he heard a chime, then a louder alarm start to bleat in the quiet house as he returned the bin to the bunker. He didn’t remember washing it out at all, but it was clean now. Finally, taste registered as he took his seat back in front of the paused monitor.

Bitterness flooded his mouth, and not just from the rise of bile. There was no way around the knowledge that Alex had actively hidden this from him.

[multisfabulis]

Only Through Acceptance Will Love Find Us

The Florist of Belleurseul (Chapter 1)

Word Count: 5728

What's this? Another update from me within less than a week? What is this witchcraft?!

I'm joking, of course, but this is, for sure, another update! For those that didn't read the notes for "Land's Trust in Light", you can disregard this but all I'll say is that it is practically unheard of for me to post twice in the same month, much less the course of two weeks, so I'm having a bit of fun with myself.

Anyway, I know I said in the last chapter I wouldn't update this story much because I consider this a backburner project, meaning I wouldn't devote much attention to it unless it was one of the rare occasions I had nothing else to write at the moment. However, I figured that, since I only left everyone a 500 word prologue last time, it'd only be fair to write and post the first chapter so you guys would have something to chew on while waiting for the next chapter. It's after this I'll be putting this story on the backburner to be worked on occasionally, meaning no frequent updates. Have fun with the foreshadowing I put in here!

Read on AO3 | Read on DA | Support me on Ko-fi!

     “Thank you, have a nice day!”

     At that, Venlithea Virthana slid the gold coin into her pocket. She managed to bring in a good sum of money today, despite the encroaching winter. Pride coursed through her at the thought of having sold that many flowers and she had to stop herself from jumping for joy. She instead settled on walking with a bounce to her step as she wondered if things were finally looking up.

     Days like today didn’t happen very often. Some days had only a handful of regulars show up while others none. Then there were days she’d be verbally harassed or even pushed to the ground, which would spill her flowers out on the ground to be trampled upon by unsuspecting or uncaring passersby. Those happened enough times she stopped being bothered by them a long time ago. She was highly thankful today wasn’t like those days.

     She had only one thing left to do before going home and that was to return the book she borrowed from the bookshop. She planned on exchanging the book with the one she regarded as her favorite so she’d have something enjoyable to read for the next few days while her mother was out of town. Gripping her basket tightly in her hands, she set off for the bookshop.

     Venlithea, or Ven as she preferred to be called, has lived in the small, quaint village of Belleurseul all her life. Anyone could mistake it for being a quiet, sleepy town in the middle of nowhere if not for the people. The village sprang to life every time a visitor dropped by and they would deem the occasion as cause to celebrate. She’s had plenty of sleepless nights from the noise these parties brought to her door. It’s partly due to this she’s wanted to leave Belleurseul for years.

     It’s been her and her mother’s dream to go and find a new place for them to live. A place they could truly, truly call home. In order to do that, though, they needed money and lots of it. Her mother was a traveling merchant, which fetched them a nice amount of gold, but her sickly nature’s prevented her from going on many trips. Once she was old enough to, Ven began selling flowers she grew herself as a way to help out. It wasn’t much but it kept them afloat.

     Working as a florist’s been hard. She wasn’t stupid to believe she’d earn tons of money selling flowers, especially in a rural village like Belleurseul. She just didn’t expect the struggles that came with being a flower girl. Better yet, the struggles of her being a flower girl.

     As beautiful as this village was, it wasn’t perfect. Some of the buildings were falling apart, the scent of fermented waste lingered in the air, and she’s known from experience how cruel the people were. They’ve made no secret on how much they dislike, and even fear, things different from them. She and her mother weren’t like them, thus they were outcasts, pariahs.

     She received the brunt of their harsh treatment. She’d hear the rumors and gossip spread about her when she walked into town. Stories of how she was a changeling born from fairies or how she was a witch sent from hell to curse them were just the tip of the iceberg. She knew they were utter nonsense but what point was there in denying them if the villagers continued to tell those tall tales, regardless of how she felt? The way she looked wasn’t her fault yet---

     She fervently shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts. She couldn’t, wouldn’t dwell on painful memories. Today was a good day and musings of the past weren’t going to ruin that for her. She needed to get what she wanted to do done so she could help Mother prepare for her upcoming trip. She hurried off to the bookshop, ignoring the pointed looks people gave her as she passed by.

     Within minutes, she arrived at her destination. The bookshop was a small, one-story building settled on a busy street corner north of the village. It had dark yellow walls that were beginning to flake with age, large windows on either side, a thin, wooden door, and a rusty sign hanging above with the word “Bookshop” carved into it. She’s come to this place ever since she was a child and the owner considered her his favorite customer. She stepped inside, the familiar smell of musty books enveloping her.

     There were stacks of books scattered across the wooden floor. Bookcases that stretched all the way up to the ceiling stood at the back and sunlight streamed in from both the windows. To her left was an old, rickety counter that came up to her chest and behind it was the owner of the bookshop. He was an older man with graying hair and round glasses sitting atop his nose and was reading a book when he noticed her. He grinned warmly at her.

     “Ah, Ven, you’re back!” he said excitedly, putting his book down and walking around the counter. “How’s your day been? Are you returning a book?”

     “That I am--” she fished the book out of her basket and handed it to him-- “and it’s been great, thank you for asking.”

     Fixing his glasses, he squinted his eyes and exclaimed, “You finished this already? It’s only been a day!”

     “What can I say? I’m a fast reader,” she replied with a giggle. “Any new additions for me yet?”

     He let out a hearty laugh. “Not since you asked yesterday but I’ll let you know as soon as I do. Now, go on, take your pick!”

     She practically skipped over to the bookcases in the back. It was a shame she couldn’t borrow more than one book at a time. It wasn’t as if the owner wouldn’t let her, it was just that she’d get too distracted with one she’d forget all about the other. She hated being somewhat of a scatterbrain when it came to books. Still, there was only one she wanted and she was going to have it. Reaching the middle bookcase, she took out the thin, hardcover book.

     “I’ll go with this one.” She held it up to him. “Will that be all right?”

     Taking it from her, he asked, “That one again? Haven’t you read this twice now?”

     “Yes, but it’s just so good,” she replied, playing with her hands. “I consider it my favorite.”

     “Oh, it has to be if you’re saying that! Tell me, what is it you like so much about it?”

     “Oh, uh, well, um…”

     She struggled to come up with an answer. She was a horrible liar but the truth was too embarrassing to reveal. How could she tell him about the deep sense of yearning the book left her with each time she read it? The way her heart hurt when she had to depart from the world that gave her comfort? How it filled the hole inside her by letting her have what she desperately wanted for only a short time? There was no way she could talk about such intimate things with anyone, least of all him.

     “There’s just so many things I like that it’s hard to pick just one,” she answered, hoping it didn’t sound as stilted as it did in her head. She technically wasn’t lying so it might’ve seemed convincing.

     With a guffaw, he put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Tell you what, why don’t you keep that book since you like it so much?”

     “Really?” she asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly take this from you without---”

     “Ven, I can think of no one else better to hand this book to--” he squeezed her shoulder before retracting his hand and grabbing his chin-- “but if you’re so insistent on paying me back, bake me the usual.”

     “Blackberry bread, right?” She grabbed the book from him and opened the door with a smile. “I’ll have it ready for you tomorrow morning!”

     She turned to page one right after exiting the bookshop. Her eyes read over the familiar words just as they had twice before. It was a good thing she’d gotten so used to reading while walking in town, she knew what accidents to expect. With that, she fully immersed herself in her beloved fantasy world.

     Flying down some steps with an unusual grace was easy. Pushing the sign above her up to protect herself from getting soaked, she could do with her eyes closed. She was small and agile enough to carefully dodge people barreling past her. It was when she already reached the third chapter she noticed the soreness in her legs. She decided to take a short rest and sat on the rim of the nearby fountain.

     The noises of the world around her faded away as she continued reading. All she heard now was birdsong and the crunching of snow under her feet. She imagined herself to be in a castle’s courtyard, a wintry wonderland. She could almost feel the bitter cold nipping at her hands and face and she shuddered. Her heart fluttered in her chest upon seeing how close she and the princely beast were to each other. She began to wonder if there was there that wasn’t there before and then---

     Loud bleating tore her out of her imagination. She looked up and saw several fluffy sheep gathering around her. One that seemed to be an older lamb pushed its way through the herd, bleating up at her. A smile broke across her face as she petted its head, giving it scratches behind its ear like she always did. She liked animals; they weren’t judgmental and she loved being affectionate towards them. Pets, strokes, scritches, and kisses were part of the whole package.

     Then it tore out a corner of her page and ate it. She let out an annoyed sigh as she continued scratching the lamb’s ear. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t miffed at the small display of destruction but it was better to forgive and forget. It’s not like the lamb did it maliciously and it was only a corner. She could get over missing a corner of an illustration-less page.

     Now was the time to be getting home. The sheep parted to make way for her and she flipped the page before crossing through the main thoroughfare. However, it was hard for her to focus on reading when there was a commotion going on. She looked up to see a crowd surrounding someone, with loud squeals and all. Ah, so the wayfaring Casanova was back in town.

     Renard Géroux stood in the center with his signature charming smile. His blond hair flowed down to his shoulders in waves, not a stray strand anywhere on his handsomely chiseled face. The sun complemented his dark brown skin and the sheer white of his clothes made him seem as if he were glowing. The most striking thing about him, though, were his icy blue eyes. Eyes that were now locked on hers.

     She felt a shiver run up her spine as he approached her. Everyone was like a giant to her but Renard was truly the embodiment of one. She had to crane her head up to meet his gaze, standing just at his chest. What could he want with her and how quick could she get away?

     “Oh, hello, Thea, how are you today?” he asked, flipping his hair back. “It’s rare to see you outside at this time of day.”

     Closing her book, she fought the urge to huff out a sigh and replied, “Hello, Mr. Géroux. I just got done running an errand I had to do after work so I’m on my way home.”

     “Please, call me Renard,” he said while flashing a smile.

     “Mr.---Renard, I’m in a slight hurry here so please, tell me what it is you want with me.”

     “Since you asked me so nicely, I was wondering if you would like to take a walk with me later today?”

     She hoped he didn’t see her bristle at his suggestion. The many women that huddled around him gave her glares full of daggers. How she wished she could tell them he was all theirs and that she wanted nothing to do with him. It was rather unfortunate she wasn’t a mind-reader.

     “Surely you know of the rumors about me, right?” she asked in an attempt to dissuade him. “Do you really want someone known to be a witch spending time with you? I’d be tarnishing your pristine image.”

     “I tend to not believe in rumors, gossip, and the like. Now--” he wrapped a svelte arm around her shoulders-- “how about that walk?”

     Quickly shaking off his arm, she replied in a deceptively calm voice, “As much as I appreciate the offer, I must decline. I was going to help my mother prepare for her upcoming trip and I planned on relaxing by reading my book.”

     “Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “I hardly think reading some old, dusty tome is better than taking a nice stroll with me.”

     She felt her temper flare up and forced herself to smile. “Some people may agree with you but I find good entertainment in books. Maybe you should try them some time.”

     “What, like this one?” He snatched the book in her hands away. “How can anyone have fun with these?”

     Her eyes widening in panic, she reached up to try grabbing the book from him while practically begging, “Renard, can you please give that back?”

     “How can you even read this?” He carelessly flipped the book open to a random page. “It’s so wordy and long and there’s not even any pictures in it.” Then he threw the book over his shoulder. “You don’t need that.”

     Her heart stopped when she saw it land in a nearby mud puddle. She dove to the ground and fished it out, praying it wasn’t badly damaged. Relief crashed over her upon seeing that it was only mildly wet. If it had gotten soaked, she would’ve been seriously upset and devastated.

     “So how about it?” he asked nonchalantly. God, she really wanted to tell him off but causing a scene was the last thing she needed.

     Instead, she took a deep breath and answered, “I’m simply too busy, Renard. Maybe when I’m free, then I’ll consider it but for now, I’m saying no.”

     Holding the book close to her chest, she turned to go home. All she had to do was see her mother, bake the blackberry bread, and garden. Tending to her flowers always seemed to calm her down.

     “So are you going to end up like your crackpot mother, then?”

     She stopped walking as soon as she heard those words. Her fingers were beginning to hurt from how tight she held her book and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from shouting. She was pissed, for lack of a better term. She could handle the insults hurled her way but her mother was another story.

     Breathing in, she stormed over to him and asked, “What did you say?”

     “You heard me,” he replied, crossing his arms and returning her glare.

     “I thought you said you didn’t believe in rumors.”

     “They’re not rumors if they’re true. I mean, your mother’s always selling these so-called ‘herbal remedies’ and passing them off as medicine, right? Wasn’t it because of one of those strange concoctions her lover died?”

     “You should fact-check your sources because you’re wrong on all accounts. Everyone knows how her lover died and even if they didn’t, that matter is none of their concern. Secondly, my mother’s a traveling merchant who happens to be an herbalist on the side. Herbalism is just another method of practicing medicine and is not something to be considered as witchcraft.”

     “Thea---”

     “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go help my mother prepare.”

     Turning around, she started going back home when she stopped suddenly and looked behind her shoulder. “And another thing. Go to hell, Renard.”

     Then she crossed over the bridge leading to her house. She was almost expecting Renard to grab her and demand she apologize but thankfully didn’t. He needed to be knocked down a peg or two. He shouldn’t have said those kinds of awful things about her mother. He was just like them.

     She couldn’t begin to imagine how hard it was to raise a child all alone. Her mother tried her best to give her everything she needed, despite the struggles. There were nights she’d hear her crying, nights she’d go hungry, yet she faced her with a loving smile every morning. She became a florist to a town open with its prejudice as a way to repay her mother for all she had done for her. She wasn’t a crackpot; she was a hardworking, devoted mother and she loved her.

     Her anger dissipated when she arrived home. It was a small, two-story house that sat on the outskirts of Belleurseul, with amber walls and pine green accents. It had an equally small stable around the back and a water wheel on the side closest to the stream. It may not have looked like much but it was home. She was going to miss this old house when she and Mother moved.

     She walked towards the stable and she saw a woman. She was tall, olive-skinned, and a little on the plump side but it only added to her beauty. Her rich, burgundy hair was tied back into a thick braid and fell past her shoulder as she spread a handful of seed over the ground to feed the chickens. She turned to face her upon hearing footsteps and eyes the color of toasted pecans warmed at the sight of her. This was her adoring mother, Nithenoel Ravavyre.

     Coming out of the stable, she greeted her daughter with a quick hug and kiss before asking, “Hi, sweetheart, how was work today?”

     “Hello, Mother, it was great actually. Here, let me show you.” She took some of the coin she gathered today out of her pocket and presented them to her. “There’s more where those came from.”

     “Oh my…” Mother said under her breath, bringing the handful of coin closer to see them clearly.

     “Today must’ve been my lucky day!”

     “I’ll say!” She closed her fingers over the coins. “Listen, how about we go inside and put those away so we can talk, hmm?”

     The two women climbed up the stone steps leading to the front door. It was a dark, well-made door with a makeshift peephole in the center. Ven was hit with a blast of warmth when Mother opened the door and it felt very nice against the cold. The fireplace must be lit if it was this warm.

     Upon entering, they passed by the narrow staircase that led up to the second floor and cut across the living room. It was small but it was the perfect size for them. The walls were a nice cream color and hanging off them were several paintings Mother had done when she was younger, way before her time. To their right was a light wood cupboard where Ven set down her basket and book and above it was an oval mirror. On the other side was a small, brown sofa and a low table sat in front of it on top of a big, dark blue rug. At the back was the lit fireplace and windows where sunlight was streaming in, a couple chairs were placed in front of the fireplace with a thin blanket hanging on the back of one of them. The next room they went in was the kitchen.

     It was tiny. There were four cabinets above the four counters that stretched from one honeyed wall to the tall pantry. On the opposite side of the counters was a small breakfast nook that served as their dining table with a couple stools sitting under it. A footstool was tucked in the nook’s corner for when Ven needed to fetch something from the cabinets or pantry, which was every day. She couldn’t wait to have a bigger kitchen when they finally moved.

     Mother sat at the nook while she opened one of the counter doors. Inside were linens meant to come out when they had guests over but that wasn’t what she was looking for. She tossed some sheets aside to uncover a mason jar. It was heavy and she set it down on the nook. Unscrewing the top revealed tons of gold inside from years of working and saving up.

     It was what they called their nest egg. They needed some serious money for their dream to become a reality and this was the result of their hard work. They’d have more if times weren’t rough and they didn’t have to dip into their savings but no use in dwelling on those.

     As she was dropping her coin into the jar, Mother asked, “So, any other news to share?”

     “Well, I returned the book I borrowed yesterday and guess what?” She screwed the top back on as Mother looked at her expectantly. “The owner gave me my favorite book for free!”

     “That’s great, honey. I suppose it’s the one you set on the cupboard back there?” She leaned back on the stool to see it. “For free, too?”

     “Well, I have to bake him his blackberry bread but it was his deal, not mine!” she replied, putting the jar back in its spot under the counter. The sheets she tossed aside earlier were thrown over the jar to hide it better.

     Giggling, Mother leaned forward and said, “I know, honey, you don’t have to explain yourself to me. That book’s the one where the beast falls in love with the girl who shows him the true meaning of love, right?”

     “Mm-hmm and it’s all mine!”

     “I’m happy for you, Thea. You know, speaking of, have you found someone you can call your prince yet?”

     She let out a sigh upon hearing the question. It was hard to find and be interested in someone when the whole village seemed to hate her. She had people she’d fancied before but she knew to keep her expectations low and realistic. If she did have a “prince”, they certainly weren’t in Belleurseul.

     “Mother, you know I'm not interested in romance,” she replied, bringing the footstool out of its corner.

     “Not interested or haven’t found anyone yet?” Mother asked.

     “Both!” She set the footstool down in front of a counter and climbed up it. “I don’t see the point of trying to find love here since we’ll be leaving Belleurseul sometime in the future.”

     “What about that Renard fellow? I hear he’s back in town.”

     “Ugh, Mother, don’t even joke about that. That man is an arrogant and pompous jerk who thinks he’s the hottest thing alive. I don’t wanna be anywhere near him.”

     “My, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak so strongly about someone before. Did he do anything to you?”

     “No, it’s just…he makes me uncomfortable.”

     “Uncomfortable?”

     “Yeah. I don’t know how to explain it but--” she held a bundle of sugar in her hands before setting it down beside her-- “he gives me bad vibes. He hasn’t said or done anything to raise any red flags for me but he just gives me a weird feeling.”

     She couldn’t explain it any other way. She could sense there being something off about him since their first meeting years ago. He seemed normal, if a little too forward at times, but she couldn’t shake off the apprehension she felt around him. Maybe it was her dislike of people like him that gave her discomfort. Either way, she knew she didn’t want to be alone in a room with him.

     “Thea, you still have your dagger, right?” Mother asked with an unusually serious expression.

     She stepped down from the footstool and smiled at her. “Don’t worry, Mother, I always keep it with me when I go out. See?” She walked around the nook and lifted her skirt up to reveal the small leather holster strapped to her thigh. “If he tries anything, I’ll make sure to defend myself.”

     “I know you will, hon, I just can’t help worrying about you.” She turned in her seat to cup her cheek. “You’re my only child, Thea. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

     “I’ll be fine, Mother,” she said, laying her hand atop hers to comfort her. “Trust me.”

     Without a word, Mother stood up and kissed her on the forehead. Then she hugged her, her arms wrapped tightly around her tiny body. She returned it in the hopes it’d ease her anxiety. They’ve only really had each other for as long as she could remember; they were each others’ world, in a sense. It’d shatter if something happened to one or the other so she understood her mother’s concern. The best she could offer were words of assurance and those had to be enough.

     Mother pulled away and resumed their conversation from earlier. She was good about alleviating the gloomy atmosphere so she welcomed the change in topic. It shifted back to her lack of interest in love, with Mother expressing that she only wanted her to be happy and her saying that she had a whole lifetime ahead to find love so she wasn’t worried. One of a kind, the words Mother used to describe her. She wondered if she really was so special.

     She stayed in the kitchen to bake while Mother went down into the cellar to make some last-minute elixirs. The cellar was where she worked to create her herbal medicine to sell during her time on the road. She wouldn’t need to travel so far if the villagers believed she wasn’t going to poison them but her reputation was considered to be unsalvageable at this point. Ven was only allowed to tend to the herbs down there because Mother refused to let her help in the synthesizing process. There was a safety risk involved, or so she said.

     Baking was a mindless activity. She didn’t need to read the labels on the measuring cups or fill the spoons to the brim, she’d done this so many times. Kneading the dough let her focus on her hands and work out any energy she may have needed to spend. It gave them food if they had none, it gave her an outlet. The last thing she did was stick the blackberry dough into the fireplace to cook. She watched as the dough expanded into its loaf shape and her mouth was watering at the smell of it. She took the newly-baked bread out and waited for it to cool down before cutting it. One half was for Mother while the other for the bookshop owner.

     Then it was time to pack. They began loading up the wagon with the goods Mother wanted to sell, making sure she had enough oil in her lantern to last her for several days, and stocking her with plenty of food for both her and the horse. Dahlia was a beautiful Clydesdale, large and powerful but sweet as can be, with a chestnut coat, blonde mane, and the most soulful brown eyes. She’s been with them ever since she was a young foal and was used to taking long trips such as these.

     “Well, I think I’m set to go,” Mother said, fastening her hat as she walked up to the wagon. “I’ll be back in a few days so remember to feed the animals and---”

     “Take care of myself, I know, Mother, don’t worry,” she cut off. “Everything will be fine.”

     Letting out a small laugh, she gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Thea.”

     “Love you too.” She returned the hug. “See you soon.”

     Mother climbed up to the seat and took hold of the reins. Ven approached Dahlia to stroke her neck, asking her to keep themselves safe till they were home again. With a cry, the wagon began to move and turned on the road heading out of the village. Mother and Ven waved each other goodbye.

     “Stay safe!”

     “You too!”

     It was late in the afternoon when Mother left. She went over her mental checklist to see what else she needed to do. The animals were fed their lunch, she’d done all her chores for the day, and she took care of the bread for tomorrow. She had the rest of the daylight hours free and she knew exactly how she wanted to spend them. She strode back inside to read her book.

     Before she picked it up, she glanced at the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her as she thought about the rumors the villagers spread of her. She wasn’t a witch or a changeling, that much she knew for sure. But what other explanation was there for how she looked? No one looked like her, no human in the whole world ever looked like her, so why did she? Books held the answers she wanted but those were fantastical and she lived in reality. A reality that couldn’t apply to her.

     Her face seemed normal enough, even if it resembled a fairy’s from an illustration in one of her books. Bright, round eyes, small button nose, rosy cheeks, and full lips were all the defining marks of a fey. Maybe her skin counted as well, since she’s heard it described as being pale as moonlight. Long, snow white locks of hair framed her face in a way that matured her as the rest, although tied back, cascaded down her back like a waterfall to her waist. Then there were her eyes.

     Everything else could be explained away but not her eyes. They were truly a mystery, an impossibility made possible. They were a vivid violet, similar to dark amethyst gems or bellflowers in full bloom. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could determine why she was born with them but that didn’t stop the villagers from making their own interpretations. They weren't quiet about it, either.

     Maybe the reason she loved this book was because she could sympathize with the beast. She understood what it was like to be feared, hated simply for her looks. They were both cursed but his was a spell that could break. Hers was a matter of permanence, something she was stuck with till the day she passed on from this world. Who could love a beast like her?

     She needed to escape. Her emotions were starting to get the best of her and staying in reality any longer would surely cause them to overflow. She gingerly grabbed the book, sat down in one of the chairs by the fireplace, and began to read from where she left off at. This was fine.

     Be patient, she told herself. Just wait a little more and you won’t feel this way ever again. You’ll find your prince. You won’t be lonely anymore. You’ll be loved and accepted, you just need to wait a little longer.

     She hoped that day would come soon.

[vannahfanfics]

A Caring and Doting Family

Category: General Fluff

Fandom: Fairy Tail

Characters: Wendy Marvell, Mirajane Strauss

Hello, everyone! Here’s my story for the Fairy Tail Reverse Big Bang for 2020! I had the pleasure of working with @lucykirkland for this event (here is the art associated with the story) and @reachingforme as my beta. I hope you all enjoy :) Thank you @ftguildevents for hosting!

Wendy squirmed uncomfortably as her belly twisted in tight, uncomfortable knots. Whimpering quietly, she draped herself over the wood of the table and tried not to seem too conspicuous. The young dragon-slayer wasn’t sure what had aggravated her tummy so, but it was not something she wished to bother anyone else with. Thus, she suffered in silence, watching through teary eyes as the guild went about its daily business. 

It was an ordinary day in Fairy Tail, about one in the afternoon. Cana had begun her daily ritual of draining the guild of its alcohol; she eagerly gulped ale straight from the oak barrel. Loke had elected for a jaunt to the human world and was striding about with meek little Aries clinging to the hem of his waistcoat; little tufts of her fluffy fur rolled on the floor from where she had tugged it out.The guild’s Exceeds now batted it around with their little paws. Juvia and Levy avidly discussed a recent article in the weekly mages’ magazine. Natsu and Gray were embroiled in one of their daily scraps, upending tables and chairs as some of the other adults looked on with hoots and hollers. After a few punches and kicks, Erza grabbed them by the collars and hauled them off for a fierce talking-to. Mirajane meandered through the crowd, delivering platters of food and tankards of drinks. Eventually she wandered up to the table where Wendy sat alone wriggling in pain. 

“Wendy?” Mirajane inquired quietly. She set down the plates of food she was about to deliver when she noticed the young girl’s apparent distress. “Are you sick, honey?” Wendy vehemently shook her head, not wishing to bother the pretty model-slash-mage with her stomachache. However, the movement sent her stomach twisting further into pretzel knots, and she whined miserably. Mirajane eased onto the table bench beside her, looking at her with raised eyebrows. 

“... My tummy hurts,” the pigtailed girl admitted finally. Mirajane blinked puzzledly; then, her expression softened, and she reached over to rub soothing circles into the small of Wendy’s back. The blue-haired mage sniffed and buried her face into her forearm, embarrassed to be seen in such a compromised state. How weak was she, to be incapacitated by a mere stomachache? “I’m sorry…” she peeped on instinct.

“Wendy! There’s no need to be sorry,” Mirajane laughed amiably, her long white hair swishing as she rose from the seat. Wendy peered over the curve of her arm to look up at her. “Why don’t you come back to the sick bay?” Mirajane offered kindly. “I know just the treatment for a tummy ache!” Her blue eyes sparkled as she offered a hand to the younger mage. Wendy gazed at the presented hand with a small measure of hesitation. She didn’t want to burden Mirajane with her silly illness. Although, when her insides contorted into another painful position and sent ribbons of pain flaring across her abdomen, Wendy abandoned her pride.

“Okay,” she murmured and took Mirajane’s hand. She slipped off the bench, cringing as her ailing stomach protested loudly to the action. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she clutched at the skin of her stomach as the twisting, contorting pain clawed at her insides. Mirajane tutted soothingly and pulled her flush to her side, drawing an arm around Wendy’s slim shoulders. Simpering, Wendy pushed her forehead against the flesh of Mirajane’s side. She was soft and warm, and Wendy found herself relaxing in her soothing presence. Somehow, the roiling in her stomach settled down just a smidgeon.

Mirajane steered the ailing girl towards the back of the guild where a small room with a bed and medicine supplies lay. Despite the proclivity for Fairy Tail members to end up in all sorts of trouble that resulted in wounds, from small to grievous, it was unoccupied. When Mirajane opened the door, Wendy immediately tore from her side to scamper over to the bed and crawl in. The freshly cleaned sheets smelled of vanilla and lavender; as Wendy inhaled the calming scent, she crooned in gratification. The fabric was soft and silky on her skin, which she now realized was flushed with mild fever. Mirajane chuckled as she strode to the bedside and leaned over to tuck her in.

“Feeling better already?”

“Mhmm. I feel like a pampered princess!” Wendy laughed as Mirajane pushed the sheets and comforter under her body to envelop her in a nice, warm cocoon. Her intestines were still writhing like a beast inside of her, but the pain had lessened some. Mirajane hummed and laid the back of her hand against Wendy’s forehead.

“You have a slight fever,” the woman frowned. She retrieved a glass of water and two fever-reducers. Wendy gulped down the pills, grimacing at the uncomfortable feeling of the smooth tablets against her throat. She coughed a little before settling back down into the bed, squirming uncomfortably at the smoldering pain in her tummy. The mattress dipped as Mirajane eased down onto it; her hand reached out to stroke Wendy’s stomach over the soft down comforter. “Don’t worry, Wendy,” she smiled kindly when the girl pouted uncertainly at her. “I’ll stay with you until you feel better.”

“Are you sure?” Wendy frowned deeply. “I feel bad… You have work to do, Mira.” Mirajane chuckled warmly and shook her head.

“No work is more important than making sure our cute little Wendy is okay!” Wendy blinked, then smiled bashfully. Mirajane is so kind, she thought happily. She snuggled further into the warm, cozy bed, appreciating the way the sheets and blankets enveloped her like a hug. To occupy herself, Mirajane brought her bin of silverware and napkins into the room so she could fold them and replenish the store. The Fairy Tail guild members collectively had insatiable gullets, meaning that the kitchen was constantly under some strain or another. Wendy watched through lidded eyes as Mirajane wrapped the silken black cloths around forks, knives, and spoons and tied red ribbons around them. She dropped them into another empty bin beside her. She was meticulous yet efficient, so very soon she had filled the bin nearly halfway.

In the interim, various members of the guild meandered in and out of the sick bay to see Wendy. Lucy popped by to deliver a warm cup of chamomile tea that she had prepared using Mirajane’s bar equipment. It’s soft floral flavor melted into Wendy’s bones, pulling her into a sense of ease and tranquility. It also made her a little sleepy, so she caught a quick cat nap; when she awoke, her belly pain had dulled considerably, but was still mildly uncomfortable. 

Gajeel and Levy came by to see her. Gajeel got halfway through one of his senseless, raspy original songs before the bookish girl ushered him out bleating about how he was disturbing the sick girl. Levy hopped back in to give Wendy a plush rabbit she had bought at the local antique store. Its threads were frayed and it carried the aroma of mothballs, but it was incredibly soft.Wendy hugged it tightly to her side.

Next came Erza, who brought her a strawberry shortcake. The redhead seemed very pleased when the sugar aggravated Wendy’s upset stomach too much to finish eating it and she was given the opportunity to polish it off. Natsu and Happy stopped in too but didn’t seem to understand Mirajane’s annoyance when they insisted that a nice cut of roasted meat cured all ailments. Gray and Juvia came in also, and Wendy was very entertained by the way Juvia insisted on wrapping her head in a scarf to stave off her fever. Laxus even came to see her, though he grew very flustered about what to say and just sat uncomfortably in a chair for five minutes holding her hand. Wendy found his hesitant caring very charming.

Wendy was very grateful for all the attention she had received over the course of the day, though she was only suffering from a stomach ache. Her guildmates regaled her with silly jokes and funny faces and kind words. By the time the sun was sinking below the horizon to cast a golden glow into the room, her pain had faded into a mild dull throbbing. Mirajane had finished preparing silverware and was now polishing the glassware they used on special occasions to prevent the accumulation of dust.

“Mirajane?” Wendy asked quietly. Sapphire blue eyes locked on her, sparkling and content. Wendy blinked slowly and squirmed in the bed. She wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to ask, now that she thought about it; she had just been compelled to call out to the model. To save face, she sputtered, “Th-thank you for sitting with me.”

“It’s no problem, Wendy!” Mirajane smiled sweetly. Sensing that something troubled the younger girl, she abandoned her current work and turned to face her fully. “Is something on your mind, Wendy?” Meekly, the little girl nodded. “What is it?”

“I just… This kind of feels like how my old guild used to dote on me,” Wendy explained with a small blush. The rest of her guild was familiar now with her origins and were usually careful not to bring up her disheartening past. Though Wendy was exceptionally happy with her home in Fairy Tail, of course she still thought about her old friends- no, family- from time to time. They were the first to embrace her when she became lost in this strange and foreign world. Though they had faded from existence, Wendy still treasured them very much and sometimes descended down the bittersweet road of memory.

Her bottom lip wobbled as she fingered the stitched hem of the comforter. The tears budded again in the corners of her eyes, blooming like little dewdrops before slipping down her cheeks. “O-one time… I ate some bad meat and got food poisoning. It was so awful; I was terribly sick… The whole guild stayed up with me all night, telling me funny stories and bringing me water and medicine and just helping me through it.” Dark stains appeared in the fabric where her tears had soaked through. “I-I’m sorry, Mira. I must sound so ungrateful right now!” she fretted and rubbed at her teary eyes with the heels of her palms.

“No!” Mirajane interrupted quickly. She scooched up the bed to lay on her side beside Wendy, hugging her head and bringing it to her chest. Wendy sniffled as Mirajane tenderly embraced her. “We could never, ever ask you to forget your former family, Wendy,” the woman told her gently. “They are as much a part of you as we are.” The tears continued to roll down Wendy’s cheeks as she whimpered in relief. She wasn’t sure if telling the truth would offend Mirajane, and the last thing Wendy wanted to do was upset the motherly woman that she so looked up to. Mirajane tutted and pressed her cheeks against Wendy’s head, twirling one of her long pigtails around her hand. “We love you, Wendy, no matter what. Frankly, I’m glad that we’re able to give you feelings that remind you of your old guild.”

“Really?” Wendy asked, peering up at her with wide eyes. Mirajane smiled brightly and nodded.

“Yes! That means that we’re doing our job as your new family and taking good care of you! If you feel safe and loved with us, that is all we could ever ask for.” Wendy trilled delightedly and threw her arms around Mirajane’s neck to snuggle happily into her. Mirajane beamed and embraced her tightly. “You are our guild’s treasure. Never, ever forget that.”

“Thank you, Mirajane,” Wendy giggled elatedly. Mirajane pulled back to smile happily  at her.

“Is your stomach hurting anymore?” Wendy perked up and her hands flew to her stomach. Sure enough, the dull pains in her stomach had ceased. Wendy grinned ecstatically at Mirajane.

“No! I’m cured!” she squealed. She threw the covers off herself and jumped up in the bed, flinging her arms triumphantly in the air. Mirajane chuckled good-naturedly as the blue-haired girl did a little happy dance across the mattress. “Thank you for your help, Mira!”

“Of course. Since you’re feeling better, would you like some cookies?” Wendy shrieked in delight and vaulted off the bed to dash out the door, yelling, “Yay! Cookies!” She ran out into the main guild hall and dozens of pairs of eyes fixed on her.

“Hey, everybody!” she cried, cupping her hands to her mouth. “I’m all better and Mira’s making cookies!” she shouted just as Mirajane came strolling out of the room. A chorus of excited shouts and hollers rang through the room. Mirajane clicked her tongue and teasingly leaned over to tickle Wendy’s sides.

“Hey! That was gonna be our secret!” Screaming in laughter, Wendy wriggled away from her and fled to scramble up into Gajeel’s lap. His big, strong arms wrapped around her middle and he regarded her with raised eyebrows.

“Protect me, Gajeel!”

“From Mira? You’re on your own, squirt,” the iron-eater snorted playfully. Wendy giggled and climbed up to sit on his shoulder like a parrot, heels kicking into his back as she watched Mirajane walk behind the bar to begin preparing the cookie dough. After a few seconds, she hopped down to run over.

“Can I help? Can I, Mirajane?”

“Of course. Here, can you get me the flour?” Nodding, Wendy ran to the cabinets to begin looking for the bag of flour. As she pulled it out and brought it over, she paused to look out into the guild hall, drinking in all the friendly faces.

I miss my old home sometimes, she thought, but I’m very grateful to have found such a caring, lively, and amazing new one! Wendy scampered over to Mirajane and climbed up into a chair to deliver the flour. As Mirajane handed her a whisk to stir the dry ingredients, Wendy prepared to add this moment to the plethora of happy memories she had made at Fairy Tail.  

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents.

[battletowered]

Anniversary

Headcanon Drabble in Leon’s “ more severe darkest day au ” verse which I’m reposting and bringing forward to this blog from the archive for the anniversary.

TW: Deals with mourning and major character death.

     Leon shifts, rolling over in bed and throwing his arm over his eyes, the first rays of the sun already coming in through his window and shining on his face. There’s a thump and a pattering sound.

      One.... Two…. Three… Four… Fi--

     There’s a trill, and the feeling of a body colliding with his own, forcing the air out of his lungs for a moment. Leon feels a muzzle nosing at the arm over his face, trying to wriggle under the weight of his arm for snuggles.

     “‘M not awake yet.” he whines, though it seems to have very little effect on the excited pokemon squirming on top of him. He sighs affectionately, giving up on the idea of getting any more sleep this morning, instead prying his eyes open and looking down at the clingy flygon that has come to perch on his chest. Leon doesn’t mind it as much as he probably should. Instead he rubs Flygon’s head while he builds up the energy to get up and be productive this morning.

      He’s got a lot on his plate today, after all, it would be naive of him to think that trying to go back to sleep would make that go away. Besides, if Flygon was awake already, that meant that the rest of his pokemon were soon to be up as well. Even Margo peers at him from where she normally slept on the edge of his bed, as if confirming that point. Flygon seemed to punctuate that point by nuzzling at his face more persistently, and Leon laughed drowsily.

     “Alright, alright, I’m up!”

-_-_-_-

     “No, Goodra, I just finished showering.” Leon ducks a slimy kiss as he works on preparing breakfast for his pokemon. He doesn’t have to cook anything (thank god), but Raihan’s pokemon all had a specialized diet and he couldn’t bring himself to change that for them when they came to live with him.

    Goodra bloops at him playfully, and Leon huffs. It was a game they played every morning, where Leon would shower and try to get ready for the day and she’d try to ruin his dress shirt by snuggling him. He ducks through her wet grasp again as he steps around her, and she follows after him, finally taking notice of her breakfast in his hand.

     Once he’s managed to get everyone fed, he opens the rear door to his home and takes a seat at his patio with a cup of tea to wake himself up. He’s been living here for a while now-- it had been maybe six or seven months since he’d signed the mortgage for this place-- but he didn’t think he’d ever quite get over how pretty the property was. It may not have been quite Postwick, but it felt like home-- several acres of land that were open until they met the forested tree line or the corral fencing he’d spent his first weekend here putting up.

     It wasn’t quite Postwick, but it was close, at least. Plus, he was just outside of Wedgehurst, he really was closer to home than he’d ever been. It might have meant commuting to get to work, but it was worth it if for nothing else than the sense of peace it gave him.

     Well. Most days. Today he can’t quite shake the little pit of dread that’s sitting in his stomach.

     There’s a sleepy bleat, and he turns his head in time to see Lanolin. She bleats again, drowsily, and then bumps her head against his, giving him an expectant look. She seems to know that something’s bothering him, and tries to nip at his hair repeatedly until Leon laughs at her insistence. She seems pleased to have gotten whatever result she wanted, and then went bounding off into the yard to graze.

      One thing is for certain, he’s never lonely here. Not the way he had been in Wyndon. His home is always full-- with pokemon and friends and family. It had been entirely overwhelming at first, but overwhelming in the best way possible. A reminder of how loved he was, and he was grateful.

     At this time normally, he’d already be at the Battle Tower, leaving at the crack of dawn to be on time, but on Amelia’s request, he’d taken the day off. The importance of the date hadn’t been lost on her, he’d noted, but she didn’t force him to talk about it, and he appreciated it.

     Things were starting to feel a little more okay, but that didn’t make it any easier to talk about. He was adjusting, he guessed. Or, at least he was adjusting better than he had been before, because his chest didn’t clench painfully every time that he thought about it, now. It was hard to avoid dealing with those feelings when every morning Raihan’s pokemon lived and worked alongside him.

      Leon is too lost in thought to react fast enough when a pair of wet limbs encircle his shoulders, and he shudders as he feels a wet plop against the crown of his head and a contented blurble.

     Goodra wins.

-_-_-_-

     A fresh change of clothes later, and Leon is finally ready to leave the house. He glances out over the yard again, where most of his extended family of Pokemon have gathered and are now sunbathing or playing. He watches Duraludon and Aegislash play-fight for a moment until Margo nudges him and chuffs.

     He pats her cheek, but stares resolutely out the window. Now that it’s come to actually leaving… he’s dragging his feet. Margo seems to be able to tell, and she nudges him and chuffs again, harder this time. He sighs, but nods, finally.

     “Alright, come on girl. It’s going to be a long ride. You ready?” She watches him for a moment, like she’s trying to figure something out, and then shakes out her shoulders and spreads her wings so that he can climb on her back. Leon has no idea what that was about.

-_-_-_-

      It’s surprising how quiet it is. He guesses it’s because, despite showing up later than he did the year before, he’s still pretty early in the morning. There’s already bouquets and balloons, but no people that he can see, and he kind of appreciates it. The gravestone has been cleaned recently, and the two cypress trees which stand next to it have gotten taller-- they’re already taller than he is.

     He tries not to think too hard about that. It reminds him it’s been two years.

     Instead, he sits, and stays for a while. Margo didn’t want to go into her ball, but since she’s not bothering anyone, he doesn’t mind. He lays against her side, tucked under her wing. The sound of pidove cooing and the distant hubbub of Hammerlocke city are almost soothing, and it fills the silence that Leon isn’t sure how to fill himself. At least this year he has enough of a handle on himself that he can bear to actually spend some time at his best friend’s grave.

     He spends an hour and a half. Some people drop by, though most are Raihan’s family coming to pay respects of their own. He trades condolences with some and shares fond memories with others. It’s nice.

     Before he leaves, Leon remembers that he’s brought something of his own as a gift. He pulls a photograph out of his coat’s pocket, protected by a waterproof acrylic frame. Leon pushes the peg down into the ground next to the stone, and then steps back to appraise the photo. He hopes Raihan would be happy to see it. It’s just a photograph of Leon in his yard, the day that Raihan’s pokemon came to live with him permanently. They look happy. Leon has a lot more that he would have liked to have brought, but he figures the grave keepers wouldn’t appreciate having to step around two dozen acrylic photograph holders when they did their rounds. It’s a shame, the picture of Goodra hugging him hard enough to lift him off the ground that Hop too was really cute. Maybe he can bring that one another time.

     Margo pulls him close to her body as they turn to the exit of the graveyard, tucking him underneath a wing in a way that she hasn’t done since he was young. Leon lets her fuss, because he knows she’s only doing it because she’s worried.

     Leon doesn’t feel as bad as he expected to. Maybe because every time he comes here it reminds him how loved Raihan was, and still is, loved. He likes to think that wherever Raihan is now that he knows that.

-_-_-_-

     It isn’t until the flight home that the grief hits him, and when it does, it hits him so hard that he’s suddenly choking around the thickness in the throat and struggling to see as tears cloud his vision.

     Margo senses his distress and brings the both of them down to rest on the ground. They’re halfway home-- she lands in the first clearing she can find and sends several bug pokemon scrambling for the brush in panic when she does. She bellows over her shoulder in concern. Leon’s grip fails him as she shifts to stand a little taller, and he falls into a heap onto the ground, shaking because he feels like he’s not able to get enough air into his lungs.

     He doesn’t know what’s set it off, but he’s so suddenly overwhelmed with the thought that he was gone and Leon had never made the time to make sure he knew how much he mattered to him. He wishes he could still tell him, but now all he can do is leave gifts as a grave and hope that somehow his message reaches him. He feels sick, his head is pounding like it’s too full and he feels like his ribs are squeezing in on him.

     Margo has to drag him up off the ground, and she wraps her wings around him the way she might for one of her clutches of charmanders and rumbles deep in her chest.

-_-_-_-

     Leon doesn’t make it home until nearly 6pm. After spending 45 minutes crying, Margo had dragged him to one of his favorite bakeries in Wyndon, apparently having realized herself that whenever Leon was feeling down he buried his feelings with sugar. He’s exhausted, and the first thing he did when he arrived home was slump down on his couch.

     He’s awake for all of five minutes before he falls asleep right there, on his own couch.

     When he reawakens, it’s nearly 9 pm and he finds himself surrounded by pokemon. Margo has her snout nuzzled against his hand which has slumped off the edge of the couch, and Flygon has perched on his stomach, curled up like a sleeping purrloin.

     Maybe he’s not okay as he should be, but he’s starting to get there.

[hereisleo]

unsolvable equations

w/ s.mg ft. j.yh

g/ non-idol!au, friendship

a.n/ something that stems from listening to eden’s discography while on the train, peak nostalgia hour

t.w/ none

In the drowsiness of four in the morning, Mingi sat in his chair, hunched over various papers, textbooks and notes. His hand continuously wrote lines upon lines of numbers and symbols. What started as a liked subject in high school had plunged him into the depths of a sophisticated system. He remembered his teacher saying talent was a pursued interest. Here he was awake at four instead of sleeping, he couldn’t stop until he figured out what was waiting for him at the end of the massive equation. The small desk lamp flickered, he knew soon the batteries needed replacing again. He could have bought a new lamp but there was no other light source he would rather work with this late.

The door of his room crack opened and a mop of messy brown hair peeked inside. Mingi sat up and winced, his back cracked after being in the same position for far too long. “Ya, still up?” His roommate and best friend of many years came in. A steaming mug of a mysterious beverage in his hand. “Milk and honey, it’ll help you sleep,” he placed the mug on the desk’s only clear spot, a coaster blocked off part of the wooden surface. It was purposely reserved for instances like tonight. “Thanks, Yunho.” Mingi smiled and sipped the night treat as he watched his best friend fall into his bed. Yunho pointed at the lamp, voice laced with sleepiness, “You’re still using that wretched thing?” Mingi gasped in mock offence and clutched his heart, “Wretched thing? My precious baby?! You’re the one who gave me this loyal babe. How dare you!” Yunho’s chuckles were muffled by the pillow, his cheeks rose adorably.

He noticed throughout the years, Yunho’s facial structure stayed the same. The squishy cheeks he couldn’t seem to shed became what Mingi called ‘Yunho’s health scale’. No sound came from his long-standing roommate and Mingi turned his attention to the compact yet worn lamp. Scratches and tiny dents littering the metal surface were hidden by stickers of countries he had flown to for his work. The wretched lamp ate its batteries faster than Mingi could fill his thick hardbound notebook with numbers. He picked up his pen, a well-loved Pilot Custom Heritage 92 demonstrator fountain pen from his mother, the only one he used upon receiving it. Mathematical equations and numbers were as concrete as it possibly can but Mingi was anything but.

The grey ink sloshed back and forth in the converter. He was once asked, “Why grey ink?” It reminded him of the wooden pencils he started out with, the shade of childhood on paper and the stains on his fingers and hand from the graphite. Before the ink had a chance to bleed onto the paper, a click of tongue and rustling sheets were enough for Mingi to cap his pen. He drained the rest of the milk while it was still warm and headed to bed. He occupied the empty space beside his friend, mathematics could wait. He won’t be seeing his friend for sometime after tonight. He took one last look at the lamp, reminding himself to remove the batteries and pack the device into his bag. The body heat radiating next to him was the last thing Mingi felt as the grips of dreamless sleep overtook him.

The aircraft intercom crackled to life, Mingi recited the pre-flight announcements from rote memory. He straightened his grey suit jacket and made his final round of safety checks. Once he sat down, he inhaled and exhaled methodically. He hated takeoffs and landings, the years in this field still didn’t completely curb his fear of height. He wished his friend was here to hold his hand. Alas, it was a moot thought. Yunho who pursued a career in the entertainment industry was back in Seoul at the company, recording or dancing or both and he who chased after his dream to be a flight attendant was in a flight bound to Spain. He proudly presented the wings he earned the same time Yunho was set to debut. The eventful night was spent in excited screaming and future prospects before it mellowed out to sombre conversations. Two friends lying on the floor, eyes memorising the ceiling of the house they wished to visit more often. How far they had come in their lives.

Mingi closed his eyes and flooded his mind with numbers from his hardbound notebook, fingers writing the continued equations on his thigh. He would transcribe them later. The equation he bred was lauded as innovative by the professors of the university. They did express their concern over the complexity and the possibility of it not being solvable. He knew. He thought of it prior to presenting his rough draft but he wouldn’t settle for second best. Solvable or not, it was his and his alone. Having no closure was closure itself and he needed to know what lay beyond it, disappointing or not. The image of the compact lamp flickering and the mug of milk and honey flashed to the forefront of his mind. Yes, he would be fine.

His fellow flight attendant squeezed his shoulder with a slightly worried smile. The plane had reached a stable altitude. He smiled and told her softly he was fine and thanked her for being concerned. He unbuckled the seatbelt and helped with drinks distribution. Somewhere way at the end of the aircraft, he heard a baby wailing. As usual, he would go up to the parents and ask if it was acceptable for him to help their soothe the baby. Most would be relieved to place their babies in his arms, Mingi understood, there was nothing wrong in wanting a little respite, there was nothing to feel guilty. He gently took the infant into his hold and walked up and down the aisle rocking the babe, mumbling sweet nothings. He didn’t come back to their seat until the baby was fast asleep.

The Spanish sun blazed in winter. Mingi shed his outer coat, leaving him in a simple long sleeve shirt. The green pastures of the highland stretch for miles all around him, flocks of sheep grazed and bleated without a care in the world. He trudged up the dirt path toward the quaint cottage. He couldn’t travel with his friend last time but it didn’t stop Yunho to list all the places he had been all over Spain, Mingi was equipped with chicken scrawl writing and badly drawn structures and maps on the postcards. They made sure none of them was neglected in any way. Two differing personalities yet they knew how to take care of each other without saying a word. Time truly flew without waiting.

Red brick walls greeted him at the end of the path, the metal gates creaked open with a push of his hand. The reclusiveness of the location swept Mingi into a whirlpool of nostalgia. Passing by the abode and around to the spacious back garden, the blue expanse of the Mediterranean Sea in the distance embraced him. The groundskeeper found him drifting off in the hammock, the sun blanketing him in warm rays and the wind brushing through his hair in loving strokes. He deciphered what the keeper told him in accented English, if he had come here years before, he would have blurted out his iconic line from the Australia trip, “I cannot English.” He thanked the keeper and pretended he didn’t almost trip from getting out of the hammock. The sheepish smile on his face and the mirth dancing in the keeper’s eyes were enough for Mingi to know he wasn’t slick. He stayed outside until the sun set below the horizon. The golden hues gilded the area and Mingi imagined if this was the shade that was perpetual for the gods at Mount Olympus, if this was the same sight Yunho witnessed. The Mediterranean Sea shifted into a pool of liquid gold then to abysmal black when the sun spun to the east.

A pack of AA batteries sat ready to use on the wooden desk beside the four-poster king-sized bed. Of course, Yunho knew Mingi would forget the batteries for the lamp, half the world apart and he was still being taken care. The baggage check security confiscated the batteries because he didn’t remove them beforehand. He had been doing this a lot recently, losing himself in reminiscence. The keeper called him down for dinner, classic Spanish dishes graced the table and Mingi was fed until he couldn’t. An amicable conversation of the cottage’s history, the highlands and each other’s lives lingered in his ears. He couldn’t help but to close his eyes from time to time, savouring the Spanish accented English. He was sleepy by the time he returned to his room with a pot of Lady Grey. He drew open the off white curtains and left the windows ajar. The moon was full and bright, it seemed closer than when he was in Seoul.

He should get some sleep before jet lag settled in but he gravitated to the posh wooden desk. If he was his younger self, he would pick the bed, no hesitation. The Mingi now was even surer of himself, the passion simmering under his skin and lighting his eyes were no longer hidden under a pretence of foolishness. He was still the “work smart and my way” Mingi everyone knew yet the refined confidence oozing from his presence turned more heads and the sharp intelligence landed him in the opportunities of his dreams. He placed the batteries into empty slots and flipped the switch. The room was dimly lit by warm white light. The nib of his fountain pen glided across the white pages, spilling grey inks in numbers and symbols from memory. The wind came through the open windows and ruffled the papers. Mingi didn’t sleep until the blue hour descended and the birds said good morning.

The Seoul winter welcomed him home and the summer of Yunho’s affection wrapped him tightly in its embrace. His friend had come to pick him up from the airport, Yunho in his street clothes and Mingi still in his grey uniform. The metro ride to their shared apartment was spent by telling each other the adventures they were up to while apart. His heart warmed at the mention of their shared place being too empty without him. The feeling was mutual when Yunho was on world tours. Occasionally, they would be lucky enough to be on the same flight. Mingi dragged his suitcase into his room and collapsed onto the bed. He felt blanket being draped over his shoulders and a hand patted his head, “Goodnight and sweet dreams.” There was much to do after this. Yunho started to unpack his suitcase, the crunching of plastic bags didn’t bother him. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier and he didn’t know when he gave into the clutches of a well-rested sleep.

February, the coldest month of the year, the last Friday of his time at Seoul National University. He came to the contentment of the unsolvable as the tassels were moved from right to left. The finale of the current chapter had arrived. Mingi ran toward his friends, the seven who he held dearly to his heart, the seven who accepted him for who he was. The winter wind bit his skin and the sun was hidden behind the clouds. The blue-and-black robe swung from his movements and the cap fell off his head. The equations were not meant to be solved. There was no right answer for it. Only the progress mattered. Show the work. He was thrown into the air amidst cheering. At that moment, Mingi knew he had reached his closure. The sunlight broke through the coverings. The equations mutated itself, as cold as these numbers could be they were novel. Life was never meant to be solved.

“Dr Song Mingi!”