#snow is not concerned about whether or not she believed him. of course she did! hes snow!

[watchingwisteria]

listen there really was just something about how in the book, snow’s 3-page descent from hesitant lover boy to deluded mfer happens entirely in his mind. lucy gray gives him no indication whatsoever that she suspects him, that she’s going to leave or betray him. he’s just sitting quietly in the cabin waiting for her to return when that seed of calculated suspicion, which he has needed to survive the capitol, takes a hold of him and chokes the life out of any goodness left inside him. it really drives home your terror as a reader that “oh my god did he kill her? did she escape? what happened to her? why would he even think that?” in a way that when the movie had to adjust for visualization it lost some of that holy shit this guy has lost it emphasis.

[siiinfully]

continued from this with @isles-of-man

Jorah opens his eyes, hand quickly grasping at a hand before he properly looks at his guest inside his chambers. “khaleesi” he utters, the name he had called her from the very start of their long journey together still sits on his tongue. He let’s go off her hand gently, realizing that she had been touching his marred skin with a gentle hand. It surprises him as he’s not had the touch of anyone to his skin and had never expected her to dare after his near fatal illness.

He sits up in his bed, allowing her touch as she may with a curious gaze. Jorah had only seen her earlier in the day with Jon Snow as he returned to her and be by her side. A thankful smile as she did so but a heartache in seeing her with yet another man. Of course, he was not privy to judge her. He loved her still in silence.

“I’m fine, I come from Bear Island and I’m used to the cold. However, I know you must not” he chided gently at her lack of a coat to bed even in the night as she came to see him. “Lay in my bed. I’ll tend to the fire and warm us both” he tells her, putting more wood to the slow-burning fire as he walks only in pants that he is thankful he wears to bed.

“What bothers you, my queen?” he asked, curious about the reasons she came to his chambers at the late hour. Jorah stands again, walks to his bed, and with a brief hesitation sits beside her.

+++

“The fires keep me warm enough,” she replied. “And I have my furs.” Her fingers continue to move along his skin as if mesmerized by the scars left; a foolish gesture, considering the high risk of infection, but it didn’t deter her. Daenerys blinked at his invitation to share his bed, though seeing him in nothing but his pants brought a slight spark of feminine interest.

One that lingered even as the conversation steered to a more serious topic, one that she had been mulling over since the offer to have her journey to the North was placed. “There is very little that does not bother me,” she finally admitted. “But I suppose the biggest concern now is whether the rest of the North will rally to my cause. It was because of my brother that the Starks lost most of their family…because of him that the cursed war was fought in the first place.”

She knew what her presence there, along with her dragons, would look like. That she was attempting to conquer them after they had declared themselves independent from the crown. However, she did intend on honoring their independence in exchange for their allegiance to her. Getting them to believe in her and her desire for peace was another matter entirely.

Another sigh escaped her, and she looked over to stare wistfully at the flames. “Do you ever wish that you could go back in time? I do. Before…everything.” Well, not everything. If there was something she wouldn’t exchange for all the time in the world, it was her dragons.

[royalsofhistory]

Can you pls talk about king Alexander I of Yugoslavia & his wife mignon.

Does he was loyal to her? Did they had a loving marriage?.

I tried so hard to find some info but it's so hard!😭

Hi! Of course, I’ll try to, to the best of my knowledge.

I’m not entirely convinced whether the match was one of true love or not, but I do believe the two had respect for one another.

Alexander had fallen in love with Tatiana, Tsar Nicholas II’s second daughter, when he was a child, and he intended on marrying her, but his marital aspirations came crumbling when the Romanovs were slaughtered by the Bolsheviks. To quote Hannah Pakula, “he never fell in love again”. Mignon, too, had declared she was never going to marry amidst the marriage events of her siblings. In spite of Alexander’s heartbreak, he still expressed his wish for “practical matters, such as the consolidation of his dynasty”.

However, the idea of a marriage between Mignon and Alexander came through the auspices of Romanian politician, Take Ionescu, who supported Balkan unity. He spoke to Mignon about the “lonely young man, an orphan with a mentally unstable brother, a poor rich king in an empty palace, who was looking for a queen to brighten his life and give him a family”, which intrigued the ever so kindhearted Romanian princess.

The following passages are cited from Hannah Pakula’s book:

[…] Alexander vas invited to Sinaia for the Christmas holidays, "the time of all the year," according to the Princess, "when it must be most sad to be alone without family." A week or so after New Year's, Mignon took her suitor through the snow-covered forests on a tour of Castle Peles. They were gone some time. When they returned, she was leading him by the hand. The King of Yugoslavia spoke no English. "Mother, we have arranged it," said Mignon, who burst into tears and ran quickly out of the room.

Queen Marie was concerned. Although she knew Alexander had an excellent personal reputation and that the alliance would be extremely popular both countries, he was, in her words, "an outsider of unsure race." Shy, communicative, the King of Yugoslavia volunteered nothing about himself. Marie could not understand how her daughter could have accepted him so readily without knowing him better […]. The Princess herself seemed to have no anxieties, announcing her new status with pride to everyone around and insisting upon telegraphing government officials herself.

I interpret Mignon’s eagerness to become engaged with Alexander as a show of her empathetic nature, but also of attraction. Upon their marriage celebrations, Alexander purchased an incredibly exquisite but expensive set of jewels for his soon-to-be wife.

Now… I haven’t found much information about their actual marriage. It’s a rather vague subject. However, I think it was an agreeable one, but not exclusively loving. His mother-in-law described Alexander as “capricious”, and Mignon as “having developed a dependency on other women”. Please note that it was believed that Mignon was romantically interested in women and she allegedly had an affair with a former classmate from Heathfield School, Rosemary Cresswell, also a lady-in-waiting to her, after her husband's death. In terms of Alexander’s loyalty, there was an incident involving his sister-in-law, Elisabeth, which took place soon after Peter’s birth. Elisabeth was being very flirtatious towards Alexander, a fact which greatly bothered Mignon, but it was never mentioned if it was mutual. I haven’t read about any other cases of “infidelity”.

The only reaction on Mignon’s part after Alexander’s death that I was able to find was the following, noted by Marie of Romania: “She was extremely calm and wonderfully dignified, but her hands were shaking”.

I wish I could further elaborate, but I only possess so much information on the subject you’ve mentioned.

Unfortunately, as you’ve mentioned, resources (especially primary resources, like their diaries which have yet to be published, if they ever will be) on them are rather limited. However, I’ve managed to gather a few, though I’m afraid they might not be very accessible, since they’re not all available in English, but here they are nevertheless:

English language sources:

• The many works of Stephen Graham on King Alexander of Yugoslavia, such as Alexander of Yugoslavia: The Story of the King who was Murdered at Marseilles. You can read it here. Also, Alexander of Yugoslavia: The Strong Man of the Balkans, which you can read here.

• The website of the Royal Family of Serbia, that you can access here.

• The Last Romantic: A Biography of Queen Marie of Romania by Hannah Pakula. You can read it here.

• And of course, The story of my life by Queen Marie of Romania. Her memoirs are always very insightful and useful. You can read them here.

Romanian language sources:

• Mignon. Principesa României, Regina Iugoslaviei by Diana Mandache. It’s a very solid piece of work on Mignon, though, unfortunately, the biography has yet to be digitalised and translated into English.

• A ten page article on Mignon also written by Diana Mandache and published by the Romanian National Museum of History Journal that you can read here. It’s in Romanian, but you can use Google Translate to read it, if you’ve got the patience.

Serbian language sources:

• Marija Karađorđević - Kraljica Majka by Danica and Srđan Čolović.

• Marija Karađorđević: Kraljica Plem by Vojislava Latković.

Hope this helps :D

[munchkinfox-the-deviant-fox]

Anhedonia Chapter 2

CW: None

Chpt 1 Prt 2<- Masterlist -> Chpt 3

Regretful Obligations & Petty Spites

Barbatos would never find him here. Lucifer’s expression as the waitress’s short and full skirt bounced as she roller skated away only further proved the validity of his theory. And every time her eyes peered back over her shoulder at the two of them, Lucifer’s countenance grew even more thunderous behind the stoic, stern expression.

Diavolo’s smile grew. It was just a smidgen of a fraction, but Lucifer noticed—he always noticed—and it only made his smile grow even more.

“Lord Diavolo, this is… an interesting choice of meeting location.”

“Of course! I had heard this little cafe had opened up and it was based on some human restaurant idea! It’s so unique, in a funny-kind of way. Humans come up with the most interesting things!”

The most minute narrowing of eyes, red and brilliant like blood against pure, untainted snow, was enough to tell him exactly how much Lucifer believed him.

“And the choice of location, of course, has nothing to do with Barbatos.”

“Of course not! So! I’m interested in how our exchange students are doing.”

The sigh Lucifer wanted to exhale remained locked behind tight lips.

“Solomon is performing as expected; his work is meticulous and thorough. More importantly, he has not made any attempts at making more pacts, though I anticipate that streak of behavior will not last long… Considering his frequent presence in the Devildom, there had been no issues concerning socialization. Simeon seems to be adjusting fairly well and is helping guide Luke. There have been three reported instances of demons targeting Luke, but I have ensured that would not be a recurrence. Studies are doing well across the board.”

Lucifer did not look up from his papers, flipping between different pages as he read.

Lucifer wasn’t one to hide his thoughts or skirt around a topic of conversation, so the fact that he was tickled Diavolo with delight.

The waitress skid to a halt before them, a tray of food balanced expertly. Diavolo smiled and thanked her for the food, and the prince could only hide the chuckle as the waitress leaned over—a bit more so than she realistically needed to—to set Lucifer’s food up, the display much more…bountiful than what Diavolo received. Yet Lucifer’s eyes didn’t even waiver from his work.

The woman was quite obviously put out, but she forced a smile, “I hope you both enjoy your meal. I’ll swing by in a bit and see how you’re coming along–”

“That’s not necessary. I will let you know when we need you,” Lucifer said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Embarrassment colored her cheeks and she didn’t say a word as she rolled away.

Diavolo’s brow quirked, his teeth peeking out between the curl of amusement that was his lips, “Lucifer, I think you hurt the poor girl’s feelings~”

He snorted, flipping yet another page, “Yes, I assure you that was the point. It is best to squash any thoughts they might be having. It saves me a much greater headache in the future.” At last carmine eyes looked up, absent of any of the enjoyment his counterpart was displaying.

“Hmm, yes well…” Diavolo leaned forward, the beaming smile leaving Lucifer to roll his eyes, “Interesting that you’re avoiding talking about the most fascinating… component of my program. I heard a rather fun rumor that Mammon has entered into a pact! His first one at that!— By the unholy legions of hell, this burger is delicious!” Diavolo moaned in the most lascivious manner possible.

Lucifer’s incensed hiss warmed Diavolo’s heart, whether due to his comment or to his behavior, it didn’t matter.

“As in Mammon-typical fashion, he was conned into the pact. However, there is nothing to be concerned about; I am taking measures to correct the mistake.”

Diavolo raised an eyebrow, tilting his head in an invitation for more detail.

“I will have a civil discussion with the human and command her to dissolve the pact. I believe she fears me enough that she will not put up any resistance.”

Diavolo frowned, looking over the unusually animated countenance of his best friend, “Lucifer… I know you wish to protect your brother, but don’t be so hasty.” The Morning Star’s narrowing eyes did not escape Diavolo’s notice, “This is a good thing. It’s unfortunate that it was Mammon, but this is an opportunity to possibly strengthen the ties between Humans and Demons. Let things lie as they are and we’ll see how this plays out. On another matter, were you able to discern how a human, unknowing of our worlds, wound up as your chosen candidate?” That concerned Diavolo far more than any pacts this human could possibly make.

“I have thoroughly investigated every possibility and I have deduced 2 likelihoods: either Ms. Rhen comes from a bloodline of witches that has since died out or at the least forgotten their origins, or the original list of candidates was flawed in its selection.”

The babble of restaurant goers, the knives and forks clattering against ceramic were nothing compared to the tension that sprung into existence, the ease which the prince enjoyed flaunting dissolving into something humorless.

And then it was gone. As if the bubble of rigid stress hadn’t existed in the first place, Diavolo’s smile in place in the span of a blink.

“Well, it was Barbatos who actually made up the initial list of adequate candidates after a number of suggestions from Solomon… Are you suggesting Barbatos made a mistake?” Even just teasing the idea was too much of a crude joke.

“No. However, it would not be wholly surprising if the sorcerer had a hand in some way to manipulate the situation to his preferences,” Lucifer stated.

“Hmm, well I will share what you found with Barbatos and I will have him look into it further. For now though, you absolutely need to try your food! That way you can decide whether Beelzebub should come here or not!”

Lucifer sighed, Diavolo’s expression brimming with excitement as he took another bite.

It was unnerving that something so unexpected occurred at the culmination of all his hard work, at the commencement of his still delicate dream…

But if Diavolo was honest, he was excited to see what was to come.

Why, oh why, had she agreed to go out on a Friday night?

The print of textbooks and hand-written lines of notes blurred into incomprehensible nonsense, having read the same line for… the sixth time? Rhen huffed a stream of air, pulling her head up, a page sticking to her forehead, before she let it thump back against the desk-supported literature.

Melancholy, and its ever-present weight, filled the space beneath her sternum, settling just a bit lower into her abdomen.

Rhen sat up fully this time, her head fully tilted as she stretched and twisted her achy spine. The pads of her fingers pressed and smoothed against her eyelids before, slumping forward once again, she just let her face fall into her hands, elbows braced on her knees.

She should just text Solomon and tell him she couldn’t make it. Working on her homework was a futile task but getting up and walking any further than the fluff of her bed was monumentally impossible.

It was pointless to question why she was so tired. Hell, tired had pretty much become her default since long before she had come to the Devildom, but this was more. This was the exhaustion that ate away at her, bit by bit unraveling her seams, the void that had started so small, just a tiny break in the thread, growing larger and larger, bit by bit. Even reading, learning about all of these fantastical things, things she had fantasized about, things she loved, could only be a momentary fix. Rhen wanted to study, to write all of the fascinating little things she learned in her notebook, but that tear made it impossible to focus, impossible to find the energy.

She wanted to do so many things!

She wanted to sleep.

Rhen’s shoulders tensed, growing taught as her head shot up.

Had she taken her meds?

Her eyes swiveled from one nothing to another, organizing through the moments of her day.

Fuck!

Welp, that explained it.

Man, she really needed to actually organize her pills into her organizer. The constant night of the Devildom did enough to fuck with her sense of time.

The upbeat humming emanating from her bed petered out, “Hey, are ya done? Ye’re gonna make me late for my gig! I really don’t understand how ya can be sooo interested in all that homework.”

Rhen moved her shoulders in the most noncommittal shrug, face down and arms laid out across the desk, “Well, considering I am getting the chance to study magic and its history that isn’t rewritten by dumbass human bias, I’d say it’s actually really fun and interesting to learn about. But my brain is fried, so I’m done studying. I think I’m just gonna mindlessly binge Deviltube videos so–”

“What?!” Mammon jolted up,

“What, what?”

“Y’re tellin’ me that, after all that planning we did, y’er just gonna flake on me?! Nu uh! Absolutely not!”

“Tch, why do you care if I go meet up with Purgatory dorm peeps?”

Mammon huffed, arms crossed, “Yuh know that Lucifer is waitin’ in ambush for me! If I’m not leavin’ under the guise of babysittin’ yuh, then Lucifer will string me up! Y’er my ticket outta here and I ain’t gonna let cha ruin my modeling gig! So get yer butt up!”

Rhen watched, blinking as Mammon bore an incendiary gaze into her soul. Honestly, it was like watching a pissed off bird fluffing up his feathers to try and appear intimidating. Even his scowl—was it supposed to be a snarl??—looked more like pouty, puffed up cheeks.

She gave another slow blink before—rather dramatically—huffing a big, long sigh.

Did she want to go and socialize? Fuck no.

Did the little iggling picking at her feelings make her feel guilty for being a nuisance? Unfortunately.

“Alright, fine. Remind me of what the plan was again.”

“Hey! Seriously?! Why do we have to do it again?!”

“Because, Mammon, I may be new here, but I can already tell that if Lucifer smells even a hint of fuckery, he’ll be on our asses. Or should I say your ass because I’m just the clueless human who was only doing what her babysitter was telling her,” Rhen said, her words coated by a faux sweet hum, eyes and lips turning down to emphasize the peak picture of innocence she could exude.

Mammon growled and huffed, his eyes glaring and full of irate retribution as he used his elbows to partially push himself up from his sprawled position on Rhen's bed, “What happened to the nice, agreeable human, huh?”

From her desk, Rhen spun in her spinny chair, leaving the sprawled notes of her homework unfinished for future-Rhen to grouse over, “Congrats, Mammon, you’ve been promoted to Friendship Level 3. Perks include: me not pretending to like you anymore, 40 % more honesty, and 50% more savage responses.”

“HUH?! What kind of perks are those?!”

Rhen grinned, unabashed, so very contradictory to the shrug she gave him, “You’re the one who insisted on making the pact, Kazooie.”

“Tch, not even 3 days and lookit ya!” Mammon’s lip jutted out with a scowl, “And what the hell kinda name is that?”

Rhen snickered, amused at her own joke—he really did give off ‘bird’ energy—but quirked a brow as Mammon gave a snort of air and rolled off the mattress in a single smooth motion, sauntering and standing with his hip cocked to the side, “Since yer so stubborn… We’re gonna leave the House together and if Lucifer asks, I’m showin’ ya around town since ye’re buggin’ me so much. Once we get tuh town, y’re gonna stay with Simeon and the Chihuahua until I get back. There, ya happy?”

“Peachy keen!”

“Then quit dawdlin’! How long is it gonna take for ya to get changed outta yer jammies?”

The degree of her quirked eyebrow increased, her chin tilting up, “First off: ‘jammies’??? Secondly, I am ready. So let’s go.”

 Mammon blinked, slow and despondent, “Wow. I’m not as much of a fashion snob as Asmo, but even I’m a bit horrified at your outfit.”

Rhen walked past him, turning around outside her door, the number of fucks she gave so obvious through her dead-ass stare, “Ouch. My feelings. They’re so hurt. Are we going?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

The city lights were comforting beyond anything Rhen could describe. The soft ASMR chatter of city life, the ambiance of night held back by the soft lights that lined along the streets. Excitement lit across her body, stealing breath from her chest as a smile lit the human’s face with genuine excitement.

Mammon had abandoned her the moment his foot stepped on the first brick on the cobblestone city block, but she decided to take her time and stroll the streets before heading to meet Solomon. It wasn’t like she was going to get the opportunity to actually enjoy being alone ever again: either it was depression-isolation in her room or Mammon was tacked to her back.

The swell of Depression creeped its sickly long fingers over the edge of the Box of Bullshit she worked to keep it in.

Nope. Not today, Satan.

Rhene snorted. Oh how ironic that saying was now.

Walking down the street, she peeked at the shops and vendors that littered the way, restaurants and little clothing shops… She could almost mistake it for the human world if the store names weren’t so obviously… well, demonic in nature. Café Lament? AkuDonalds? Madam Scream’s?

As interesting as everything was, she couldn’t help but keep glancing at the wandering pedestrians, them watching her just as unwaveringly.

Actually…

Huh. Since having come to the Devildom, everyone was so human-looking. Was that how everyone really looked?

Fuck, now she was really curious! Maybe she could bribe Mammon into showing her! Was that rude technically? Either way, he’d probs go for it since, ya know, the whole Avatar-of-Greed-thing. But it made sense that demons didn’t look like humans, so what then? They were cloaking themselves in magic? We were in hell, Devildom, so it wasn’t some Superunnatural show depiction where demons and angels possessed human vessels: they wouldn’t need to do that here.

Was it because of the exchange program? Protect the innocent human from the mind breaking horrors’ visage? Then what about the angels? Were they human-like or were they the wheels of fire, multitudes of eyes, and a kabajillion wings?

There was so much she didn’t know…

All of human mythology… What was truth and what was fiction?

It burned; her ignorance, it burned her. Especially when Solomon treated her like a child. When Lucifer’s contempt shone so clearly in his eyes, as if she were an idiot who couldn’t do the simplest of things.

Why had she agreed to get together with Solomon?

Rhen stopped, rubbing at the spot where her brow and nose bridge met. But soft orange light colored the world around her, drawing her eye, Café Lament’s sign a warmth and comfort from the cool blue din of the ever present moon, like nestling in front of the fireplace in the middle of a winter night, no light but the glow crackling before you.

She sighed, craning her neck and cracking the vertebrae.

Right, because she wanted to meet the angels.

Because hiding away would keep her from learning; from exploring this world that had accidentally been opened to her.

She would be an idiot if she didn’t take the one chance she was given.

Besides, there was a part of her that really wanted to make Lucifer eat his shitty opinion of her naivety.

A sharp pain blossomed over the back of her neck and Rhen startled, her hand swinging up to whatever it was. Pulling her hand back, a bit of red stained her hand and she could feel something trickling down along her skin.

She was bleeding?

A snicker immediately pulled her eyes to the two figures strolling lackadaisically away from her. The sharp grin of too sharp teeth, the burning of eyes lit in the dark. Then they were gone, around the curving corner of the road.

Right. There was that too.

Adrenaline now in her system, the silent threat acknowledged, Rhen hurried into the shop, glancing over her shoulder, paranoia telling her she was still a little rabbit in the sights of a predator. She couldn’t even look at the menu too long, ordering whatever jumble of words that first caught her eye. She waited for her order, focusing on calming her adrenaline induced heartbeat.

Actually, maybe it wasn’t too late to just turn around and go back to the House of Lamentation.

“Rhen,” Solomon called.

Fuck, there was no turning back now.

My mood went right down the shitter as Solomon’s simple smile peaked above the booth walls. But she smiled and held her hand up in a casual wave.

Well, she was here now. This could be fun! Right?

Asmodeus couldn’t have been happier when he caught Mammon and the little human making their way out of the house. It was compulsive, wanting to follow them and it was honestly so~ easy. It was just a shame that he didn’t have the time to go and change into a cute stealth outfit. Either way, Mammon was oblivious as always and no human would notice him unless he wanted them too. It wasn’t too much later that Mammon abandoned the human and she wandered around. It shouldn’t have been a surprise considering how scummy and unreliable Mammon was, but what was she doing? Did she… Was she not worried? Even as she looked into shop windows and just strolled about, every demon’s eyes were on her at one point or another.

How arrogant.

She tricks one demon into a pact and she thinks she’s untouchable… Ha!

It was starting to get boring and Asmodeus almost just gave up and left. He had hoped to catch her and Mammon doing something… well, scandalous! Aside from his brother abandoning his duty (which of course he was going to tell Lucifer about) this turned out to be a lot more boring than he anticipated. Hmm, there was a sale over at Majolish that he could definitely take advantage of and he’d been wanting to browse some new eye-shadow color… Asmo was ready to turn and leave, turning away from the human standing outside of Café Lament, not moving on but not going in, but the human she finally entered and it was through the windows did Asmo see an oh-so familiar head of white hair beckon to her.

Oh!

Were she and Solomon… on a date?!?

It was simple: the hum of words over his compact mirror and through the lens of the mirror he could make out bits of the restaurant reflected from the glass window. It took some positioning before Solomon came into view, along with Simeon and the little Chihuahua. Asmodeus pursed his lips, disappointed in the lack of gossip.

He watched introductions, but the human had his full attention as he caught her expression and she talked with Simeon, and the little thoughts gnawing at the back of his mind grew bigger and consumed more of his heart: this little human… Who did she think she was?! It was tricky looking through the small lens of the mirror, but it was so obvious!

She liked Simeon.

Her relaxed posture, the easy smile that hadn’t dropped since she’d seen him, but it was her eyes, they were… He couldn’t describe it, but her eyes were the same eyes his fans and followers batted at him. She was smitten and it enraged him.

How did this little, disgusting human immediately fall smitten with Simeon, but didn’t even hesitate to ignore him! HIM! The most beautiful being in all the realms, the Avatar of Lust: adored and desired by all!

It was abominable!

He was not going to let this insult stand!

Canceling the spell, he ensured his hair and lip gloss were on point before snapping shut the mirror and waltzing straight in.

He played it perfectly: stroll in, chat with the cashier about what he should order, flirt with him as he makes the drink, blow a kiss, spin around and—

“Oh! Solomon, Rheny, what a surprise! And Simeon and the precious Chihuahua~ How cute, all of the exchange students getting together!”

“Ah, hello Asmodeus.”

“Excuse me, I AM NOT A CHIHUAHUA!

“Out shopping?”

He’s careful not to pay too much attention to the human, leaning in and giving Solomon a kiss on his cheek, “Of course! I was going to head to The Fall tomorrow and nothing I have will work! Oh! Solomon, you should totally come with me! We always have so much fun~ And you could show Simeon around as well!”

Solomon smiles and turns to Rhen, “What do you think? It’d be fun to give you the experience of the Devildon’s nightlife.”

Rhen ignored Asmo, eyes focused on the sorcerer as she smiled, something soft and kind that worked to hide the discomfort that crawled through her body. “Oh, that’s okay. That’s kind of you, but I’m not really a big club person.”

“Oh? You don’t want to try something new? You are in a completely new and different realm after all; don’t you want to be adventurous?”

Asmo watched as the girl sat back, her cheeks pink with laughter as the sweatshirt sleeve that overtook her hands came up and covered her mouth, “Well, when you put it that way… But seriously, I should stay home and do some studying.”

Solomon’s eyes shined with mischief, “Hmm, are you going to stay at the House of Lamentation and practice your Curses on Mammon?”

It was subtle, the sharp edge that coated her sweet smile, “Hahaha, that’s so funny, Solomon~ If only I’d be that lucky, to suddenly be able to do magic. Since you’re such a great sorcerer, why don’t you let me practice some hexes on you?”

Solomon laughed, brushing off the comment.

Asmo blinked. She… couldn’t use magic? That was news to him. Interesting…

“Don’t say that, Rhen! It’s okay that you’re just a normal human. I swear, I’ll protect you from all of these demons. I’ll stick by your side no matter what!” Luke declared, his glare leveled heavily at the demon hanging off of the sorcerer.

“Aww, that’s so sweet~” Asmo cooed, reaching over and pinching Luke’s cheek. The little angel hissed and squabbled, trying to push away the demon.

Rhen smiled, eyes closing as she took a drink from her straw, “Thanks, Luke. You’re really sweet.”

Simeon laughed, a comforting hand resting on the young angel, before he looked up to Asmo, “I appreciate the invitation, Asmodeus; however, Luke and I have plans tomorrow.”

The demon pursed pink lips, “Aw~ That’s a shame. Well, I should be off! Call me later, ‘kay, Solomon? Bye Simeon, bye Chihuahua.”

And off he was, the swoosh of the door announcing his exit.

Asmo hummed, his steps light and whimsical.

Was the human burning with rage? Embarrassment? Was she absolutely envious because he didn’t invite her? The thought of her upset and complaining to Solomon, begging him to bring her tomorrow, warmed his dark, cute little soul.

Oh, he couldn’t wait for breakfast tomorrow…

Lucifer wanted to do nothing more than toss the multiple, diligently organized piles of paper into the warm and enticing fire. Instead his gaze lingered over to where the dwindling reserve of Demonus was tucked away into the back corner of his desk drawer.

He really shouldn’t. It was late and having a drink would do nothing to help speed up his work.

Yet his hand already had the drawer open and his fingers slipping around the neck of the bottle.

No, one drink wouldn’t do any harm; he wasn’t some infant demon who couldn’t hold their liquor. In fact, a drink would be just enough to help him relax and then he would finish his work before sleeping.

Too many things were nagging at his attention and testing his patience, and his brothers adding to his work load only further tested him.

Leviathan had continued to be in a foul mood since the human had made her pact: snapping at the others (even towards him, though Levi was quick to squeak out an apology), his hold on his human form easily dispelled at the smallest inconvenience… It had boiled over when Mammon and him had been squabbling over whichever petty thing and, by all outside appearances, the human politely asked him to not insult Mammon. Leviathan had overreacted by any reasonable means, but since then he had insistently secluded himself to his chambers, the only sign of life being the fact that he continued to turn in assignments for his online classes.

Beelzebub was continuing to pout about his restricted schedule. Since their houseguest’s arrival, Lucifer had made it clear that he was forbidden from leaving his room for his midnight snacks. Lucifer loved his brother, but Beel’s ability to maintain control over his sin was dubious and Lucifer could not entertain any risk. If the right set of circumstances occurred and Beelzebub went on one of his hunger rampages, the human would be too close for Lucifer to intercede and ensure the human’s safety. So that meant Beelzebub had to endure some limitations. Truthfully he was being a bit overdramatic. A year was nothing.

Then there was Asmodeus. His late night parade of lovers through the house had increased in frequency and Lucifer had to scold him after Mammon had caught one of them freely wandering the house, no doubt looking for something of value that they felt they were, quite mistakenly, entitled to. It wasn’t until he witnessed Asmodeus at breakfast, playing things up to an exaggerated degree, eyes darting to the human, did he realize she was somehow tied into the fifth born’s exaggerated behavior.

Satan, at least, has surprised him. He had expected Satan to take the opportunity to learn more about the human world from the girl, question and investigate in that way he loved so much. At the very least he had expected Satan to interact with the girl because he knew it would irritate the eldest.

Then again, perhaps that was what Satan wanted him to think as he was plotting his next scheme in the shadows, waiting for his opportune moment to strike…

Lucifer sighed, tension and unease keeping Lucifer’s shoulders taught. 

Every disturbance in his life by some means or another led right back to their houseguest.

Yet, for all the exasperating minutiae of his brothers, Mammon had not been among the malefactors. In fact, his attention had been entirely enrapt around the polite human with the fake smile. Part of him worried: was she mistreating Mammon now that she had a means of control over him? Yet Mammon’s streak of good behavior had taken some stress from Lucifer’s shoulders.

So all he could do was keep an eye out. He had no choice but to acquiesce to Lord Diavolo’s request.

But that did not mean he would not remain on guard. The human woman was… She was quiet and kind, but it was as if her countenance was just a layer overtop of her true intentions, just slightly off center.

By all intents and purposes she appeared to have a rather… strange soul. Most human souls emitted energy on a smaller range on the frequency scale, leading souls to lean towards a particular color of emission. Of course it was not always uniform, there were numerous factors that could influence the color, or saturation, or luminosity of a soul after all: health, emotion, the nature and tendencies of the being were amongst the largest influences. Yet, in all his years of existence he had never seen a soul shine a dull gray, like the refraction of light through water, but… lackluster and muddied.

He did not enjoy feeling as if he was missing something important, something obvious. It set him on edge. She set him on edge.

Taking a sip, Lucifer ran his fingers through his graying hair.

Lucifer wasn’t an optimist, but was it too much to hope Mammon and Rhen would keep each other busy and out of trouble?

[samwpmarleau]

[20/20] ASOIAF power couples → Alys Karstark × Sigorn of Thenn

“[Sigorn] was bred and trained to give orders, not to take them,” Jon said. “Do not confuse the Thenns with free folk. Magnar means lord in the Old Tongue, I am told, but Styr was closer to a god to his people, and his son is cut from the same skin.”

[...]

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. “My lady. Are you ready?”

“Yes. Oh, yes.”

“You’re not scared?”

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. “Let him be scared of me.”

The Magnar of Thenn stood waiting by the fire, clad as if for battle, in fur and leather and bronze scales, a bronze sword at his hip. His receding hair made him look older than his years, but as he turned to watch his bride approach, Jon could see the boy in him. His eyes were big as walnuts, though whether it was the fire, the priestess, or the woman that had put the fear in him Jon could not say. Alys was more right than she knew. [...]

The Magnar all but ripped the maiden’s cloak from Alys’s shoulders, but when he fastened her bride’s cloak about her he was almost tender. As he leaned down to kiss her cheek, their breath mingled. The flames roared once again.

[...]

The fish course was next, but as the pike was being boned, Lady Alys dragged the Magnar up onto the floor. From the way he moved it was plain that Sigorn had never danced before, but he had drunk enough mulled wine so that it did not seem to matter.

[...]

“Sigorn leads two hundred Thenns,” Jon pointed out, “and Lady Alys believes Karhold will open its gates to her. Two of your men have already sworn her their service and confirmed all she had to say concerning the plans your father made with Ramsay Snow. You have close kin at Karhold, I am told. A word from you could save their lives. Yield the castle. Lady Alys will pardon the women who betrayed her and allow the men to take the black.”

[ronoken]

The Case of the Shattered Window

Did you like Encyclopedia Brown growing up? Or now? Well, here’s my version of it.

The Case of the Shattered Window

 Nothing much happened in the small town of Billsburg. At least, that’s what the adults would tell you. From the outside, the town seemed completely ordinary. From the hot summers filled with the sounds of children playing in the streets outside and splashing down at the public pool, to the chilly, snow-filled winters that blanketed the roads and cancelled school, Billsburg seemed like the most unimportant, mundane little burg that anyone could ask for.

The children of Billsburg knew otherwise. For you see, living on an unassuming cul-de-sac in a two-story brick home was a trio that had become legends to anyone under the age of eighteen. They were the Frye sisters, and if the town was normal, the Frye sisters were anything but.

Now, that’s not to say that they didn’t behave like ordinary girls. They bickered and fought with each other and went to school and played with their friends like most girls their age. However, when trouble reared its ugly head, you could count on the Frye sisters to take center stage. When a kid in the neighborhood had a problem, the Frye sisters were the ones everyone went to. Each sister had their own special talent, and when they worked together, there was practically nothing they couldn’t accomplish.

The oldest, Lilian, was your standard pretty blonde middle schooler. While at first glance she might have appeared like a wisp of a thing, she was the muscle of the group, and did not put up with her sisters (or anyone else for that matter) getting bullied. Everyone, even the rough and tumble teens of Billsburg knew that it wasn’t worth it to get into it with Lilian. Not unless you wanted a black eye, that is.

The middle Frye sister, Elanor, was known for her ability to persuade anyone to do practically anything. Under her long, messy brown hair was a set of wide eyes and a disarming smile, but those weren’t her biggest weapons. She was a talker, and she knew exactly what to say to get people to do what she wanted. While this concerned her parents to some degree, it had served to help Elanor and her sisters to get into and out of trouble more times than anyone could count.

The youngest, Gwendolyn, was where the trio went from impressive to legendary among the children of Billsburg. The tiny, usually messy redhead could be found digging for worms, playing in leaves, and doing everything she could to get herself dirty when playing, but when a mystery needed to be solved, there were few people out there who could match her sharp, deductive mind. She was the sleuth of the group, and even if it didn’t seem like she was paying attention, you’d better believe that there was nothing that got by her keen gaze.

So, when a child needed help, and when it was the kind of help that adults are unable or unwilling to provide, that child knew that they could turn to the Frye sisters. For a fee, of course. It was Elanor that handled the books, and while all three sisters were happy to lend their services where they could, they admitted it was nice to collect a dollar a job.

One such job arrived on a normal, June day in the form of a sweaty young man standing at the Frye family door. Lilian opened the front screen to reveal Tommy Lawson from one street over. He was covered in grass stains and looked like he was about to cry.

“I need to hire you,” he said as he wiped some sweat from his forehead. Whether it was because they were bored or they had heard him, the other two Frye sisters appeared behind Lilian and took in the sight of their messy neighbor.

“Well, we’re always up for a new job. So, what happened to you?” Elanor asked.

“I was mowing Mrs. Wilkinson’s yard down the street,” Tommy said as he pointed down the lane. “It’s part of my new business.”

“Business?” Elanor perked up. “What business?”

Tommy dug into his pocket and pulled out a business card. It read

TOMMY LAWSON: LANDSCAPE SERVICES

“You’ll get plenty of work in this neighborhood,” said Gwen. “Have you tried Mr. Linkletter down the street? He can’t mow with that bad back of his.”

“I won’t be getting much of any business now,” Tommy sighed. “Not after what happened with Mrs. Wilkinson.”

All three girls asked at once. “What happened?”

“Well,” Tommy started, “I had spoken with Mrs. Wilkinson about handling her yard, and she was fine with it. I charged her ten bucks for the front and back, and she threw in a bottle of pop since it’s so hot out.”

“That’s not too bad,” Lilian said.

“Anyway, I had just gotten done with the front and went around to the back shed to get her gas can to refill her mower when I heard Mrs. Wilkinson shout for me. When I came back around to the front, her bay window was shattered. Mrs. Wilkinson said I must have hit a rock and smashed it, but I didn’t! Her window was fine when I went around back.”

“That’s rough,” Lilian said.

Tommy nodded. “Mrs. Wilkinson told me to go home and that she was going to make my dad pay for the window, but I wasn’t the one who threw the rock.”

“You think someone smashed it on purpose?” Gwen asked.

“I sure do,” Tommy said. “I was back there for a good few minutes. Someone had time to throw a rock and book it out of there, easy.”

“So, who do you think threw the rock?”

“Well,” Tommy said, thinking about it for a moment. “Mrs. Wilkinson told me I could mow her yard because the other kid she hired was doing an awful job. I think she’s the one who smashed the window.”

“She?” Elanor asked.

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “Sally Parker.”

“Parker,” Lilian growled. She cracked her knuckles as her face darkened with anger. “Well, that explains everything.”

Sally Parker was known by most parents in the neighborhood as the most perfect little angel this side of Heaven. The local children, however, knew her to be quite the devil in disguise. Anytime there was mischief, you could bet your last penny that Sally Parker had something to do with it.

Lilian started marching past Tommy to go give Sally a talking to, but Gwen grabbed her arm. “Wait. We can’t just go over there and beat her up, Lils.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me.” Lilian pulled her arm free and started walking again.

“We need proof that Sally broke the window,” Gwen said. “If we can get that, then Tommy’s dad won’t have to pay for the damage and Tommy won’t lose a customer.”

Lilian thought about this and then put her hands in her pockets. “Fine,” she grumbled.

“Speaking of clients,” Elanor said with a smile as she scooted in front of Tommy. “We would be happy to take your case, provided you can pay?”

Tommy nodded. “If we can prove Sally did it, then Mrs. Wilkinson will pay me, and then I can pay you. Does that work?”

Elanor sighed. “Yeah. Gotta admit, this feels a lot like a charity case…”

“Oh, stuff it, Lanes. Tommy’s a friend,” Gwen said. “Come on, Tommy. Let’s go talk to Sally and get to the bottom of this.”

Sally lived several streets over in a tidy house with light blue siding. Gwen knocked on the door while the others stood close behind.

After a few moments, the door opened and there stood Sally Parker. She was tall, as in a full head taller than even Lilian. She towered over the group and sneered at them with her hands on her hips. She also had curly black hair that she wore short. Gwen suspected it was because Sally thought it made her look mature. Sally claimed that she had gone through a growth spurt, but a lot of the neighborhood kids suspected she had just been held back a year.

“Well, well, look who it is,” Sally said in a voice that was both sweet and sarcastic all at once. “The three little pigs and the big, bad, doof. What do you losers want?”

“You know why we’re here!” Tommy said angrily. He started to advance, but Lilian put her hand on his shoulder. She was itching to give Sally a piece of her mind for a number of reasons, but at the moment, this was Gwen’s show.

“No, I really don’t,” Sally said with a bored expression. “I’m honestly surprised to see you here. I haven’t even been out today.”

“Really?” Gwen asked. “Tommy here thinks you smashed Mrs. Wilkinson’s window earlier while he was helping her out. Do you know anything about that?”

“Excuse me?” Sally asked in an irritated tone. “You wanna accuse me of something, jerk?” She balled her hand into a fist and made to move on Tommy, but one look from Lilian made her stop. Lilian was the only kid in the neighborhood who had ever stood up to Sally. It had been a disagreement the summer before about a bike; Lilian had bought it with her chore money and Sally decided it belonged to her, instead. One quick punch from Lilian put the matter, and Sally, down for good.

“Were you at Mrs. Wilkinson’s earlier today?” Gwen asked.

“I told you,” Sally huffed. “I was inside all day. I couldn’t have seen this loser mowing her lawn; I was busy watching TV. There’s a reality show marathon about tiny houses and I’ve been positively glued to it. Go bug someone else, jerks.”

Sally stood aside to prove her point. Behind her was the living room, and on the television was a show focusing on what appeared to be very small homes.

“Huh,” Tommy said. “I could have sworn that it was her.”

Elanor patted Tommy on the shoulder as Sally started to close her door, but before she could, Gwen put her foot out and blocked her. “Before you go back to your show,” Gwen said, “I was curious, is your mom home?”

“What do you wanna know that for?” Sally asked.

“Well,” Gwen said, “it’s like this. You’re either going to come with us and admit to Mrs. Wilkinson that you smashed her window to make Tommy look bad so she would hire you back, or we tell your mother you not only smashed the window, but you tried to lie your way out of it. Now, which is it going to be?”

 HOW DID GWEN KNOW SALLY WAS LYING? FLIP TO PAGE...

Oh yeah, this is a post.

LOOK IN THE COMMENTS FOR THE ANSWER!

[random1amfics]

Demon Tyrant of France (2)

Lila had a great week. The class was wrapped around her finger and that baker's girl can't do anything about it as Adrien seemed to be keeping her in line with that promise. Poor girl was desperate to do anything for her crush. Today, she will spin some tales of how Marinette was really mean to her offer of friendship and maybe get her so call 'friends' to punish her bad behaviour by destroying the girl's phone for her awful texts. As she skipped to the school, she didn't notice the tense air the other students seemed to have. She saw Alya, her ticket to increasing her fame, arguing with her boyfriend, Nino. He could be useful when she needs music for a party.

"I don't care if this Demon Tyrant person is powerful. We don't need another Chloe Bourgeois in our class. I am not going to stand for her tormenting us."

"Babe, listen, the Demon Tyrant will mostly ignore us because according to her, we are just mere insects. As long as we don't provoke her or anger her, we will be fine. The only thing I am worried about is whether or not you would get into trouble, you did some bad things to her recently and I really hope she is feeling generous."

"I couldn't have done things to someone I have never heard of until today."

"Oh, she had been in our class for the past 2 years. Apparently, she and a friend of hers had a bet on who can be kind for the longest. The bet was over last night. Chloe sent us about it last night."

"I never read what Miss Bully says."

"Excuse me," Lila cuts in, "What are you talking about? Who is the Demon Tyrant? She sounds bad."

"I will tell you on the way. Classes are about to start. But whatever you do, under any circumstances, do not, I mean, absolutely DO NOT talk to her unless she permits it."

The more Lila hears about the Demon Tyrant, the more she begins to envy the power she has over the school. Lila wondered which of her classmates was the Demon Tyrant. Could be Chloe but she can't be it, she had not been nice to their classmates at all. The one with the Roller Skates? She seemed to fit the Demon Tyrant name with the pink hair and roller skates but sometimes she didn't act nice. The Pink Blondie? She acts so nice and sickeningly sweet that she wouldn't be surprised if it was a facade.

She walked into the classroom, as confidently as she can to impress the so-called Demon Tyrant. Whoever she is, might want connections to spread her sphere of influence and they can rule together.

Lila and Alya saw Marinette with a complete makeover wearing a golden 'crown' that looked legit, looking down on the class like they were peasants from her high seat in the back. Their mouths hung open as Kim and a few others came, bearing offerings which they presented to her.

Lila gritted her teeth. Of course, that goody-two-shoes were the Demon Tyrant who ruled the school. At least now it will be easier to take all her friends away. She plastered a concerned face.

"Marinette, what are you doing? Demanding things from your friends? Friends shouldn’t expect things from their friends like that, especially something as expensive as that crown.” “First of all, Rossi, don’t call me by my name, I only allow certain people to call me that and you are not on that small list. Second of all, I didn’t ask for anything from them. They are called gifts. It was rather hypothetical of you to tell me not to expect free stuff from ‘friends’ when just last week, you basically demanded free pastries from the bakery. And lastly, this diadem ”-she gestured towards it-“is actually mine. I paid for it full price with my hard-earned money. I have a receipt if you don’t believe me. Since you are still new, I shall let it pass this time. But you will not speak to me unless necessary or with my permission.” Marinette said with a cold, icy voice.

“I can’t believe you are so mean to me. I just want to be friends and I am so worried about you when you are dressed like that.” Lila faked a few tears to sell the act. It’s perfect. She didn’t have to try so hard now that Marinette is doing a nice job by herself.

“I believe I have told you not to speak to me. Another word to me and I will make you deeply regret it.”

Alya spoke up, not liking Marinette’s new attitude, “Girl, Lila was just looking out for you. Don’t brush off her concerns and stop being so mean. I will admit I am worried about this new look too.”

“Cesaire, I will give you the same warning as Rossi there. You aren’t allowed to speak to me unless I say otherwise. Why should I change based on some people’s opinion of me? I am not mean, I am indifferent and cold to people. Haven’t you heard I am the Demon Tyrant? It’s part of the package. Life isn’t a fairytale and they all live happily ever after. Lila should be used to hearing cold, hurtful truths. After all, the famous deal with them all the time.” Marinette said with a bored expression on her face, already deeming this a waste of her breath.

Lila burst into tears and Alya was the only one to comfort her as the others were frozen in their seats and made no moves. Terrified for the backlash of helping the 2 girls. Even Nino, who loved Alya very much but prayed to every deity he knew to grant his headstrong, stubborn, justice-seeking girlfriend some common sense. She was playing with fire now and she was going to get burned badly.

Lila sobbed loudly, ”But I am not lying.”

“Marinette! Stop this at once. You can drop the act now. I don't know what you are trying to prove. Being a better Chloe? And we are best friends, we don’t need permission to speak to each other. Lila doesn’t lie. How could you say those things? Just because you are jealous, doesn’t mean you should do it. She is very sensitive.”

The Demon Tyrant grinned. It instinctively made everyone move away from her and Alya, who took a step back.

“Oh. Alya. Alya. Alya.” The first name means that the reporter had poked the Demon too much and now, she was annoyed. The Tyrant walked down, towards the two girls.

“You poor naive girl. With your strong sense of Justice and morals. I thought that we could have actually been friends. But you chose the wrong side when the time came. You should have listened to your boyfriend’s warnings when you had a chance. Let’s hope this one will get through to you. When I started this year of college, I had put up the perfect act of a sweet, kind and selfless girl all for a bet. You saw Chloe bullying that girl whom you protected and befriended. I remember many of our classmates pulled you aside to warn you of my true nature to spare you the heartache when the time came. I also told you one myself. That girl back then was not me at all and I tried to ease you into understanding that. But you were too excitable. You immediately put yourself into the category of ‘my best friend’ even though that title already belongs to my dear thief. You saw the various pictures of Gabriel’s design with Adrien as the model on my wall and decided that I have to get together with him when my heart had already been stolen by another. (Chloe fist-bumped the air. It was confirmed that her ship had sailed.) When Lila Rossi came with her grand stories, you chose to believe her over me. I will usually not admit something like this because I am too proud but it hurt when you went to her instead of me. The point is that you never stopped and listened, just going on ahead. Because if you did, you would have known that I was never your best friend. That I was never jealous of Lila over Adrien because I don’t even like him. That Marinette Dupain-Cheng isn’t even my real name and she doesn’t exist. And the lying. I haven’t accused her of anything like that. I am just calling her out for assuming the worst of me.”

The Demon Tyrant’s voice was like snow. Soft and melted easily. And so very very Cold. So much of it will knock one’s breath out. The room felt colder after the speech.

Alya stood as still as an ice statue, face-to-face with the Demon Tyrant. Her eyes averted as the blue eyes were so piercing like it could tear her soul to pieces. Lila had stopped her fake crying, thinking about who exactly had she declared an enemy of. She didn’t know if she wanted an answer or not.

“Cesaire, Rossi, I have many connections before I was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I have even more now. With a word from me and your careers will be destroyed before they even take off. If you have common sense, you will stay out of my way.”

“Is that a threat?” Lila asked.

The Tyrant lets out a laugh and meets their eyes, “No. It’s a promise.” She turned around and walked back to her seat like a regal Empress after giving out an execution order.

[daenqyu]

heather | kaminari denki

— gif isn’t mine !! credits go to @misakachan

pairing: kaminari x fem!reader | platonic!kirishima x fem!reader

genre: LOTS of angst, some comfort(?)

summary: kaminari had been oblivious to your feelings for years now, and at first it was okay, you didn’t mind hiding them. until you noticed the way he looked at her and suddenly, it wasn’t okay anymore.

warnings: swearing

word count: 5.6k

a/n: this is my first time writing and posting for a bnha character so i really hope you guys like it <3 i usually don’t write angst, but i couldn’t stop thinking about this and decided to write it down and i’m very happy with how it turned out.

« i still remember third of december

me in your sweater, you said it looked better

on me, than it did you, only if you knew

how much i liked you »

YOUR whole body trembled thanks to the coldness surrounding you, the snow decorating the floor and trees being a clear sign that winter had already begun in japan. you hugged your arms in a poor attempt to provide yourself some kind of heath, only to be met with the feeling of your cold hands. out of all the days you could’ve forgotten your jacket, it had to be on one of the coldest days of december. profanities fell from your lips as you tried your best to endure the pain until the bus came, but you were sure you would pass out by then. or maybe you were exaggerating.

the bus stop wasn’t that far away from your house, maybe if you ran you could get your jacket and get back on time to catch the bus. you checked your phone to see the time, a groan leaving your lips as you realized that was going to be practically impossible. if you left now, by the time you came back the bus would be long gone. dammit, why do i have to forget everything?

“well well, look who we have here.” your ears perked up as soon as you heard the male’s voice, a small smile making its way to your lips.

kaminari made his way over to you, both hands on his pockets as he returned the smile, making the butterflies in your stomach go crazy. the smile didn't falter until he took note of your current state. his eyes widened with concern and his hands worked fast to take his jacket off.

“denki, what are you doing?” confusion was evident on your face, but that didn’t stop the blonde from wrapping you up in the warm material.

you blushed from the sudden proximity, his face just inches away as he finished zipping up the piece of clothing. it didn’t take long before his cologne filled your nostrils and you basked in the comfort it gave you; it smelled like home. kaminari’s smile returned to his face when he saw your body visibly relax at the newfound heath, even though goosebumps began to form on his skin by the sudden change of temperature. he could handle being cold for a few hours.

“there, now you won’t die of hypothermia.”

“but what about you?”

he shrugged, tilting his head to the side before answering, “it’s fine, it looks better on you anyways.”

you knew he probably meant it in a friendly way, but you couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat at the compliment. suddenly you felt all warm inside, and it wasn’t because of the jacket. but rather the effect your best friend had on you.

right.

the smile slowly disappeared from your face, replaced with a hurt expression instead.

that’s all we are.

realization dawned upon you quickly and you scolded yourself for almost believing something so irrational and overall stupid. but as he nudged your arm with his elbow and started talking to you about a new video game that had come out that exact same day, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he did so, you allowed yourself to hold on to that fantasy a little longer. after all, dreaming didn’t hurt anyone right?

and so, you spent the whole ride to school envisioning an universe in which kaminari returned your feelings for him. an universe in which he loved you just as much as you loved him and you didn’t have to worry about anything, because at least you had him. an universe in which you didn’t have to overthink every little thing he did, wondering whether or not he actually meant it or if he was being his usual flirty self. an universe in which you were able to call him yours.

when school ended and you found yourself at the bus station once again, with kaminari next to you, you began to take off the jacket, having it worn all day and deciding it was time to give it back. but kaminari’s hands stopped you, hovering on top of yours, before you could finish unzipping it. you looked at him questioningly, trying your best to ignore the erratic beating of your heart and the electricity you felt right where your hands were touching.

“you can keep it.” his words confused you even more.

“what? no. it’s your jacket, you’ll get cold and besides it’s-”

“oh please don’t act like you don’t love wearing my clothes.” his tone was teasing, yet knowingly eyes scanned your face and you looked away, a hint of blush across your cheeks.

“whatever, but don’t expect to get it back.” kaminari laughed, his hands leaving your own and you had to hold back from taking it and interlacing your fingers together.

as you parted ways, walking in opposite directions to head back to your houses after a long day at school, you hugged yourself for the second time that day. this time, actually being able to feel warm. both inside and out.

—

« but I watch your eyes

as she walks by

what a sight for sore eyes

brighter than the blue sky

she’s got you mesmerized

while I die »

YOU and kaminari told each other everything, well at least most things. so it didn’t surprise you when he started rambling about yet another girl. don’t get me wrong, you loved him to death, but you had to admit that the boy could be quite unlucky with the ladies, much to own your luck that is. but this time was different and you both knew it. you noticed it in the way he smiled whenever he talked about her, how he was able to light up from just hearing her name, and most importantly, the way he looked at her. and you immediately knew. because it was the same way you looked at him.

she was your classmate and friend, and you could totally understand why kaminari was so smitten with her. she was funny, smart, caring, beautiful; in other words everything you weren’t. and while it’s true you knew it was bad to be envious of people, specially your friends, you simply couldn’t not wish to be her. i mean come on, not only did she have an awesome quirk you had no chance of competing against, she also had the boy you loved wrapped around her finger and she wasn’t even aware of it.

“and then when he was about to- denki, are you even listening?” he wasn’t, but you didn’t want to admit that.

“hm? oh sorry! what were you saying?” his pretty amber eyes looked at you for only a split second, before going back to admire the dark purpled haired girl.

jirou stood a few feet away from you guys, talking and laughing with sero and mina. you could feel your heart slowly breaking as you saw kaminari’s lips curl into a small smile when she briefly looked at him, waving at him in the process. and of course you didn’t miss the way she blushed.

“ah it’s nothing important anyways.”

“hey y/n, do you think i should ask jirou out?”

oh.

you were pretty certain you stopped breathing once your brain registered his words. how could he be so oblivious?! you had been friends since fucking middle school and you were supposed to believe that he never once noticed how hopelessly in love you were with him? did you not show it enough? were you that bad at displaying your love for people? or was he just ridiculously dumb? you desperately hoped it was the latter, because deep down a part of you still believed that there was a possibility for you two. that an us could be possible if you just showed him how serious you were about him.

but the rational part of you was screaming at you to stop being so damn stupid, to finally open your eyes and realize kaminari didn’t and would never reciprocate your feelings. that you were hoping for the impossible to happen, that you were preparing yourself for absolute heartbreak if you thought for a second he would choose you over her. and while you wanted nothing more than to yell at him for being so dense, for not seeing that you were right there, you simply couldn’t. so you went with the safer option.

“y-yeah, you should. i’m sure she’ll say yes.” you were able to muster a smile, and despite the lump in your throat, you feel happiness surge through you as he turns around and gives you a big smile.

“you think so? but what if she says no?”

“any girl would be lucky to have you, denki. you’re sweet, cool, and funny. what more could a girl ask for?” you were only half joking, but of course he didn’t notice.

“well if you say it like that it just sounds like you have a crush on me.” he winked at you and you swore you were about to pass out. not only because of the wink, but because of his sudden implication. (which was a fact)

“you wish,” you snort to make it seem more real, and it seems to work because kaminari’s now pouting at you. “now go get em’ tiger.”

“please don’t say that again.”

“wow okay, cold.”

he stood up, taking a deep breath before walking over to jirou, starting off with a joke as he leaned down on her desk and, as much as she tried to stifle it, a loud laugh escaped her. apparently kaminari’s charm didn’t only work on you. but oh how you wished it did because that way you would be the one getting asked out right now, not her. quite frankly, you would give anything to have him look at you the way he was looking at her right now, as if she was some mystical creature. or better yet, as if he was under some kind of love spell that made him unable to look at anyone else like that.

from the other corner of the classroom, a certain red haired guy looked at you with pity in his eyes, but also concern. he made his way to you, sitting down in kaminari’s previous spot. you sent him a, clearly fake, smile when you noticed it was none other than kirishima, one of your best friends. but he saw right through that.

“hey,” his voice was soft and low, he didn’t exactly want the whole class to know about what was going on. “are you okay?”

you gulped, but still nodded. “of course, why wouldn’t i be?” another fake smile.

“don’t give me that bullshit y/n. you don’t need to lie to me.” that was all you needed to hear before dropping the act, your smile quickly being replaced with a frown and kirishima’s heart hurt for you.

“this sucks,” you say under your breath, looking away towards their direction only to see kaminari playing with one of jirou’s earphone jacks, which obviously made the pain in your chest worsen. “i just want him to look at me the same way he looks at her,” tears began to sting at the corners of your eyes. “is that too much to ask for?” you asked no one in particular as you looked up to kirishima.

“it’s not, but you’ll be okay,” without thinking it twice, he hugged you and you didn’t fight back, instead welcoming the warmth his chest provided you and resting your head against one of his shoulders. “you know he doesn’t know y/n, if he did i’m sure things would be different.”

“i know, but it’s fine. i just want him to be happy.”

even if it’s not with me.

but you don’t say that, preferring to just stay on kirishima’s arms a little longer while trying to ignore the two love birds giggling behind you, your heart breaking more and more each time you heard kaminari’s sweet words. because they weren’t for you, they were for her.

—

« why would you ever kiss me?

i’m not even half as pretty

you gave her your sweater

it’s just polyester

but you like her better

wish i were heather »

HIDING your emotions was something you mastered pretty well by now. you spent years keeping your feelings for kaminari to yourself and you didn’t mind at all; you had come to terms with the fact that this crush was probably one sided a long time ago. so, why did you suddenly felt the need to tell him? it never bothered you, but now, after having to see him every day making heart eyes at her and hear him talk about how cool she was, you thought maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. you just wanted him to have the option; he deserved to know right? or maybe you were just hoping that he would choose you over her. just like you would choose him over anyone in a heartbeat.

but to be honest, you didn’t know what you would do with yourself if he didn’t. if he chose her over you while knowing you loved him too. what if she meant more to him than you did? what if he thought you were outright weird and things became awkward? what if your friendship wasn’t as special as you thought it was? you shook your head, hands coming up to your temples to try and get rid of some of the tension. no, that couldn’t be. you knew he loved you...at least as a friend.

it had been 2 months already since kaminari and jirou started talking. they weren’t oficial yet, but you accidentally overheard her conversation with yaoyorozu a few days ago and heard her complaining about how she wished he finally made a move on her. that somehow relieved you because at least they hadn’t gotten physical yet, but at the same time you wondered if you were being a bad friend by thinking that. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help it. i mean you liked the boy for fucks sake, it was understandable that you weren’t exactly hoping for them to pounce on each other.

“where’s denki?” kirishima asked as he caught up with you in the hallway, both of you making your way to the new dorms.

“don’t know, he left before i could even ask him.” you tried your best to sound neutral, but you knew you didn’t do a good job when you heard kirishima sighing. however, much to your liking, he stayed quiet and didn’t say anything about it, changing the topic to today’s events.

you were grateful to have him; he was the only one who knew about your crush on kaminari and the only one who was able to take your mind off things even for just a little while. soon enough you found yourself laughing by his side as he talked about bakugou’s weird antics and how hot-headed he could be at times, which you had experienced firsthand.

“he was all like ‘hey shitty hair, if you’re not gonna do a good work then fuck off!’ like man calm down, i didn’t even do anything.” you giggled at his accurate impersonation of the angry blonde. shaking your head as you looked up, noticing you were already at the dorms building.

you squinted your eyes when you saw two people standing right in front of the main entrance, but couldn’t make out their faces thanks to the long distance. yet the closer you got, the better you could see them. and once your eyes focused on the couple completely, everything stopped.

it was them.

they were kissing.

right in front of you.

his arms were wrapped around her waist, holding her close to him as if he never wanted to let her go, and her own were wrapped around his neck, caressing his soft blonde hair which you loved to ruffle whenever he laid down on your lap.

they looked so beautiful, straight out of a cheesy romcom movie. the sun was beginning to set and its rays reflected on their skin perfectly, making them look golden. and in that precise moment you realized just how beautiful jirou was and how much she complimented kaminari in every sense of the word. could it be that they were made for each other?

before you knew it, a single tear rolled down your cheek, and you weakly smiled at kirishima when he opened his mouth to try and comfort you, yet no words seemed to come out. because he knew that no matter what he said, the damage was already done. the couple hadn’t even noticed you two, too immersed in their own little world as they giggled and made their way inside, all while holding each other’s hands.

“they make a good couple, don’t they?” you fixed your eyes on your shoes, holding back the sobs that desperately wanted to escape you.

“y/n…” kirishima’s tone was sad, mostly because he didn’t know what to do, but also because he understood perfectly the pain you were going through. he had been experiencing it for a while now.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, kiri.” you sent him another smile, but right when you started walking towards the entrance he managed to see the tears falling down your cheeks as you bit down on your lower lip.

and somehow, that kiss proved to you that you could never beat her, that she had won over kaminari’s heart. something you could never do.

—

« watch as she stands with her holding your hand

put your arm 'round her shoulder, 

now I'm getting colder

but how could I hate her? 

she’s such an angel

but then again, kinda wish she were dead »

PEOPLE often say one’s happiness shouldn’t relay on others and you had always been a firm believer of that, knowing that people were unpredictable and that they could change at any moment given. so it was only reasonable that you made yourself happy, without needing to depend on other people, yet that didn’t really add up with your current situation. it made you look like a hypocrite.

ever since jirou and kaminari started dating, you had been spending less and less time together. the only time you could have him all to yourself was when you occasionally paired up during training and even then you didn’t really talk much. you were happy everything had worked out for them, and you loved to see kaminari happy, but it hurt you. it hurt so much, to the point that sometimes it was hard to get out of bed. 

you missed your best friend. and you knew it was selfish, but did it even matter at this point? did he he notice how you talked less and less? how you barely smiled anymore? of course he didn’t. he was too busy looking at her anyways, too busy going on dates and learning how to play the guitar just for her. his girlfriend. 

and as much as you wanted to hate them both, you didn’t have it in you. why would you? because they were happy and in love? you weren’t that desperate. but sometimes, as you watched her throw her head back while she laughed at something kaminari said, you wished he had never met her. you wished you never came to UA in the first place, that way they wouldn’t have met and you would probably still have your best friend by your side. no. even if he hadn’t met her, you knew he would never go for a girl like you.

these past few months had been hell for you, you barely left your room unless it was for school, your eating habits couldn’t have gotten any worse, and you weren’t getting any sleep, too busy crying your eyes out as you wondered what the hell you did wrong. and you knew what you were doing wasn’t healthy, but a part of you wished that something really bad happened to you just so kaminari would pay attention to you again. but he didn’t.

today was one of those days, you didn’t feel like getting up your bed just to watch a dumb movie with your classmates, and possible have to witness jirou and kaminari being all lovey dovey right in front of you. the thought alone was enough to make you roll your eyes, scoffing at how much the pair loved PDA. 

“come on y/n! it’ll be so fun.” kirishima was currently trying to convince you to go watch a movie with the rest of class 1-A in the common room, but as expected you denied his invitation. “even bakugou is going!” 

“then you’ll be more than fine without me.” 

“i’ll miss you tho.” he gave you puppy eyes and you groaned, placing your pillow over your face.

“since when are you so cheesy?”

“stop trying to change the subject,” a frustrated sigh left his lips, and you lowered your pillow to look at him. he was sitting down on the floor with his legs crossed, a frown evident on his face. “i know you don’t wanna talk about it, but you can’t keep on like this y/n.” you flinched slightly at his serious tone.

“i know,” this time it was you who sighed, weighing your options in your head. you knew kirishima was right and he was trying his best to make you feel better, so the least you could do was make him some company. “okay fine,” his head turned in your direction, looking at you hopefully. “i’ll go, but it better be a good movie.” 

“yes! you won’t regret it, i promise. and if at some point you wanna leave, then we’ll leave, but you have to at least try.” your heart swelled at his consideration; he was too sweet to you and you didn’t deserve it at all.

“you don’t have to do that, kiri.”

“but i want to. i know it’s not easy, so i’m proud of you for doing this.” his words made a lump appear in your throat. maybe you were being overly sensitive, but hearing him say that meant a lot.

it wasn’t long before the clock striked 9PM and everyone started making their way to the common room, chatting happily as they sat down and got everything ready for the night. you watched as people started to take a seat, whether it was on the couches or on the floor, and you started to get a bit anxious when you noticed kaminari walking down the stairs, but jirou was nowhere to be seen. thankfully.

as much as you tried to not let him have an effect on you, your heart still skipped a beat whenever you saw him. it was truly inevitable, but what you hated the most was knowing you had no effect on him whatsoever. 

before you could look away and hide from his view, kaminari spotted you. he sent you a big smile, waving his hand before walking over to where you stood. ok, calm down act normal. it’s just denki. you tried to calm yourself down, but your breath hitched in your throat when you suddenly felt his arms engulf you in a tight hug, your arms slowly coming up to his neck to return the gesture. you would be lying if you said you hadn’t miss this feeling. the feeling of being home again. 

but it ended way too fast for your liking.

“hey you! we haven’t hung out in a while, i miss you.” 

because you’re too busy with your girlfriend, asshole. 

“yeah sorry about that, i’ve been kinda busy i guess.” your tone was off and he noticed, but he brushed it off. maybe she’s tired.

“then what are you doing tomorrow? we can go to the mall or wherever you want to.” your head quickly shot up, looking at him with nothing but hope in your eyes.

“really?”

“of course! we need to have some bestie time.” the wink he sent you was playful, but your lips still curved into a smile from hearing him saying he wanted to spend time with you.

“then maybe we can go to this new-”

“hey babe i saved you a seat,” out of the blue, jirou appeared right next to kaminari, slipping her hand into his. and your heart clenched when you noticed he held it back tightly. “oh, hi y/n!” she sent you a warm, genuine smile, and you felt so bad for wanting her to feel your pain. 

“hi jirou.” 

“i was just telling y/n about how we should hang out.” you frowned at him, is he inviting her? 

“oh? where did you plan on going?” 

“i told her she should pick.”

“well that sounds even more fun, any ideas?”

“actually i just remembered i got some homework to finish.” it was a lie, but you didn’t have it in you to third wheel on what was supposed to be a date with your best friend.

“what?” kaminari asked you, not understanding you sudden change in attitude.

“yeah, maybe next time tho.” he wanted to ask what was wrong, but as he opened his mouth to do so, you saw kirishima walking towards the common room with bakugou and took that as your cue to leave the awkward encounter. 

“well that was weird.” he mumbled to himself and jirou looked at him questioningly, wondering what he meant.

“hm? what was that babe?” the blonde shook his head, convincing himself he was probably overthinking things. he placed his arm around his girlfriend’s shoulder before walking over to one of the couches. to be more precise, the couch in front of yours. 

you sat beside kirishima, your leg bouncing up and down anxiously as you waited for iida to finally play the goddamn movie so you had something else to pay attention to instead of them. kirishima quickly noticed the unusual movement and was about to ask you what was wrong, but once he saw where your gaze was locked on, it didn’t take him long to put two and two together. 

he knew better than to ask you in front of everyone if you were okay, so he just gave your knee a light squeeze, which you highly appreciated and let him know so by smiling at him. after a few minutes that felt like eternity, iida played the movie and told everyone to not make any unnecessary noises and be considerate of your classmates which made you scoff slightly. 

twenty minutes into the movie and everything was going great so far. you had actually managed to get immersed in the plot and found yourself leaning your head against kirishima’s shoulder to get a better view, but also because the effect of not having a stable sleeping schedule was dawning on you. however, just when you thought you were about to fall asleep on your friend’s comfortable shoulder, you heard some giggles. you opened your eyes slowly, frowning when you saw kaminari leaving small kisses on jirou’s neck. your heart felt like it was being stabbed for the hundredth time and you tried to ignore them and just focus on the tv screen. you really tried to remain calm, to keep up your act just as you had done all this months, but you lost it when you heard those three damn words leave his lips.

“i love you.”

it was low, barely even audible, but you heard it. you heard it loud and clear. and just like that, with your heart losing every last bit of hope it had, you stood up from your seat abruptly, making everyone look at you, before making your way upstairs without saying another word. all of your classmates looked between them, not only confused, but also concerned. 

“oi shitty hair,” bakugou spoke from his place next to kirishima, who looked at him with an eyebrow raised. “go check up on her.” he muttered and kirishima only nodded before walking upstairs to follow you.

bakugou’s words worried kaminari even more, was there something going on with you that he didn’t know about? was that why you were acting so weird earlier? no way, you told him everything. you were best friends after all...right? and with that question on his mind, he couldn’t focus on the movie or his girlfriend anymore.

you walked towards your room silently, even though you wanted nothing more than to scream and fight someone. you wanted, no, needed to let all of your pent up frustration out. you had been patient enough, putting his happiness before your own for years now, and while you knew it wasn’t his fault at all, you wanted to be mad at him about something. you wanted him to understand that this wasn’t fair, that you could be good for him if he gave you the chance, that you wouldn’t be a waste of his time, but the only thing that was coming out of you were tears.

angry tears stained your face as they furiously ran down your cheeks, reminding you of all the sleepless nights you spent alone, crying your heart out to no one but yourself. you stood in front of your room, hand reaching out to the door’s knob to open it and spend yet another night wondering why the hell you weren’t enough. but a hand stopped you.

kirishima’s grip on your forearm was gentle, but firm enough to let you know he wasn’t going anywhere, and somehow, his touch made you want to cry even more. you tried to push him away, telling him that you were perfectly fine, yet your bloodshot eyes told a whole different story. and as much as you kicked and screamed, kirishima knew the last thing you needed was to be alone.

“let go!” seeing that holding your arms had no effect on you whatsoever, he tried a different approach. his strong arms hugged you to his chest, and, as much as you wanted to deny it, you found comfort in them. “i said let me go, kirishima.” 

“no. y/n listen to me. you need to stop bottling all your feelings up, nothing good will come out of that,” you finally started to relax, breathing heavily as you listened to his words. “it doesn’t matter if you talk, cry, or scream, but you need to voice out how you feel. if it’s not to him, then tell me. i’m always ready to listen.” his voice was so gentle, so soft, yet it held so much emotion and honesty. 

more tears fell down your cheeks as you gripped kirishima’s shirt tightly against your fingers, your face hiding comfortably on his chest. 

“i can’t take this anymore kiri,” you started talking and kirishima was quick to hug you a little tighter, one of his hands rubbing small circles on the small of your back. “i miss him so much, i miss my best friend. and i want him to be happy, i really do, but why must his happiness cause me so much pain?” a sob racked through your whole body after hearing yourself say those words, the ones you never thought you’d voice out to someone. “at first it was fine and i didn’t mind that much, but now? we barely even talk anymore, and when we do it’s always small talk. and we used to talk for hours about everything and anything, we would never get bored when we were together. now it’s like i don’t even exist to him except for when he seems to have some time to spare. did our friendship meant shit to him? because fuck i wasted years of my life loving someone who can’t even notice how much i’ve been struggling.” 

by this point your tears had stained kirishima’s shirt almost completely, but he couldn’t give less of a fuck about that. all that mattered was you and only you. the only thought on his mind was how he was gonna make you feel better. so he held you in his arms a little longer, hoping that somehow his actions could express everything he felt. his free hand came up to caress your hair while he shushed you softly, rocking you two back and forth. 

that’s how the night ended. 

you, with your heart broken in a million pieces, longing for the person who made you feel this way. because you knew you would always love him, maybe even more than you loved yourself. you knew that no matter how much you tried to hate him, you could never even get close to feeling anything but pure adoration for the boy. and if having him in your life implied having to handle all this heartache and hurt, then maybe you could endure it. because for him it was all worth it. 

and a certain redhead with all his feelings caught in his throat. he wanted nothing more than to scream at you for not noticing he understood completely how you felt, way more than you imagined, yet he knew that you would always only have eyes for him. but perhaps that was okay. if the only way to be close to you was comforting you because you loved a guy who was too dense to see what he had in front of him, then so be it. in the end it was all worth it for you.

[keingleichgewicht]

WERE YOU KIDDING ABOUT THE ASK GAME if not i dont have any specific lyrics in mind but i always thought the lyrics to the mill were so cool and maybe you could get some thoughts out of them? :0

YEAH GOD OKAY LET’S TALK ABOUT THE MILL. LET’S TALK ABOUT UHHHHHHHHH [THROWS DARTBOARD]

this line. this MIGHT go on for a while so i will............  readmore

so the mill feels kind of notably different to the rest of the pafl songs, which tend to be unusually literal for lyric, either straightforward retellings of events (punch it, punk!) or character piece monologues set to plot visuals (strike 3) or both (all of them, but for instance particularly comfort zone, which is just dmitry’s horrible manifesto until it gets hijacked by a death sentence in the second verse.) the mill is a lot more like what we expect from poetry these days, which is to say it’s heavy on imagery, low on clarity, and fucking confusing!

I’ll draw a circle in the sand, drive myself around the bend in a desperate attempt to hold on to your battered hand Rocked to sleep beneath the snow, she is bathed in youthful glow ‘Strong enough to let it go,’ he says, but darling, I don’t know

a lot of the mill is about circles. this is in the name: a mill is something which turns. a waterwheel is a circle, a grindstone is a circle. it’s even in the melody: the chorus is a cyclic, pentatonic four-note riff that keeps going up and down and up its own ladder, chasing its own tail, not really reaching resolution. and then it’s also in, you know, the story:

the meat grinder!!!! everyone’s favorite fucking hellhole!!!! it is only semi-explicitly identified in the song but that’s because it’s a concept from the source material - both tarkovsky’s stalker and roadside picnic feature the meat-grinder, as a location nicknamed thus by stalkers because it is even more fucking deadly than the rest of the zone, all of which is already ridiculously fucking deadly, and if you’ve seen the movie:

it is more or less instantly recognizable in the mill as well. so here we have a circle! here we have a mill (the title has about seventy double meanings but this is certainly one of them,) and as it turns out, this mill at least will absolutely kill you. and horribly too. interestingly though, in roadside picnic (the book) the meat-grinder is not a tunnel, and it’s not round - it’s just a nondescript patch of ground which will wring you out like a dishcloth and kill you extremely dead if you walk into it. on the other hand what we have in the book in terms of circles is the golden ball, which is the equivalent of the movie’s the room, which is, well,

in short both stories ultimately hinge upon the idea that there is a something in the zone which can give you your heart’s desire. anything you want. everything you want. whatever you want. it is infinitely powerful; it is infinitely capable. the catch is that it will only give you what you want. the catch is that giving you what you want is not the same as giving you what you are asking for. the other catch is that in both cases you have to get through the meat-grinder first.

(so, by the way, what the fuck, right? does pafl’s zone have a wish-granting factory? is it also behind the grinder? where were the original trio going when they got themselves fucked up? and did they get there?)

but the point is: the golden ball, the wish-granting factory, is also a circle. it’s just sort of a sphere. it’s a big round fuckin yellow thing. you know, sorta like:

which is THE ONLY TIME yellow is used in occam’s razor not counting the full-colour shots, and it drives me CRAZY, but it is also me going full conspiracy board so let’s not even worry about it. THE POINT IS.

the circle is the death-machine and the wish-machine. neither of these things are really.... very good. the circle, or at least the arc, is also very closely associated with death:

(розовая дуга предрассветного, ‘rose arc of pre-dawn’. if i’ve fucked up that nominative please feel free to stone me to death!) 

in the gdoc notes to message lost ferry briefly refers to the dawn as if it were a good thing, the dawn of hope, which is a usage that sort of agrees with the desolate and deathless hope of strike 3′s ‘everything will pass / a day will come,’ but on the other hand it really is very closely associated with dying. nikolai bites it; nikita bites it; sergei and olga left significant chunks of themselves behind. and the thing about ‘this too shall pass’ is that it’s always true, as is ‘everything ends’, but of course that’s ‘cause the thing that ends might be you. and as we know

dawn is an ending. so that seems concerning!

i think the circle, the arc, the bolt falling back to the ground, is not a good thing. i am getting a little conspiracy board here in general but forgive me, i cannot make you a wholesome answer, my wit’s diseased. i think the circle is an enclosed space. it’s an unbroken cycle. it’s the grindstone. it’s the mill. it’s about what pafl’s always been about: about being trapped, about having no chances, about being bordered upon. the circle’s the geometric figure of equidistance from a given point, and you can walk on it forever, and nothing will ever change; you will never get closer, you will never get further away, you will never get out! the sun rises, the sun sets, and you are no closer to anything you wanted. it’s worth noting that anya’s borderline city, the zone-edge port town she complains is trying to crush all her dreams, her mill

is a circle. (a cog in a machine! a grind-wheel! a cage!)

and yura, whose dreams have already been burned out of him, who starts the series already resigned to never getting out of here, calls it ‘this dire deja-vu’, i am specifically resisting putting the accent marks back onto that, which is to say, it’s a repetition that haunts him. it’s going round and round and getting nowhere.

so if we bring it back around: drawing a line in the sand, as the phrase is generally used, means setting a border, means saying this far and no further. often it’s yourself you’re setting the border for. you hit some divide you can’t abide crossing so you say this stops here, it may be too early or too late, but i say it stops here. so logically: drawing a circle in the sand means you’ve locked yourself in completely.

I’ll draw a circle in the sand, drive myself around the bend in a desperate attempt to hold your battered hand

the whole first half of this song, i think, is olga promising to grind herself down in a hundred ways if it means she won’t be left alone. how hard can it be to never let it overflow? she may feel lower than the low, she may wish she could just disappear out here, into the postindustrial rust, but though it gets harder all the time she will keep pretending. she isn’t going to burden sergei, or indeed anyone, with her problems, her fears, her scars. she is hurt, but she’s used to it, she’s gotten used to being haunted long ago. she keeps her bad eye covered. she stays within her circle she has drawn. she keeps going round and round. she will take the smallest sliver of human connection and be happy, she promises she will be happy, she promises she won’t ask for more, she will take just the ‘hello.’

but you knooooow it’s not true. you know it’s grinding her down, that she’ll be milled to nothing pretty soon, and really she knows it too.

i am perhaps seventy percent sure that this line is a reference to the windmills of your mind by michel legrande, which features such lines as

Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind

which on one hand seems sort of obscure to be a purposeful reference but on the other hand would be a hell of a coincidence if it wasn’t, wouldn’t it. either way it characterizes circles ambiguously, but definitely unsettlingly. going around in circles is chasing infinity, but what in god’s name would you do with it if you caught it? what are you even hoping to accomplish? and: 

the second half of this song is bitterer, sharper - staring down the mouth of the meat-grinder she’s a little more willing to admit to herself that this is going nowhere. she is running out of cages to keep herself in. she is very tired. it’s easy to say why don’t you leave it all behind, it’s easy to say, she’s strong enough to let it go, it’s easy to say, too strong to die. it is a lot harder to actually live.

this is also where the flashbacks admit to us how badly hurt they really were - sergei with his whole side in shreds, she still hides her eye but at least we get to see it’s bleeding. this moral compass is forever misaligned, she says, so there is damage, and it is lasting. and she can’t settle for hello, she can’t live like this, she needs someone by her side. the trouble is whether she can believe she has any hope of getting that

as for who ‘her’ is, or the ‘she’ of ‘she is bathed in youthful glow’, i figure there’s two possibilities: either it’s nadya, who haunts olga too, because nikita’s abandonment of nadya represents exactly what she most fears for herself, or it’s olga’s younger, unbroken, binocular self - both of whom were so young, and so easily hurt, and are now unfindable.

and then there’s this conclusion: ‘the sun will rise, until then / i’ll be waiting for you on the other side.’ which maybe is a sort of hope after all? she’s reached no real conclusions in the zone - she knows there must be hope but she can only barely believe in it - she thinks she is destined to self-destruct. but on the other hand she still has that, a version of sergei’s own ‘a day will come’

you may be hurt, but if you can hold yourself together, you can hope for a dawn someday. an ending. a change. but the trouble’s that there’s more than one kind of ending. and there’s more than one meaning for other side. there are cages, and then there are cages. and you know what else looks like a tunnel, a circle?

staring down the barrel of the gun.

[kmomof4]

Oh, Shit!

It’s here, y’all!!!! Only took a week!!! I am very excited to share this fic with all of you, even if I’m wanting to run and hide at the same time! This fic was spawned by a tweet that @stahlop shared on the CSMM discord last Tuesday. 

In college, a friend set me up on a blind date. I wasn't in a great mood because I had received a traffic ticket a few hours before. My day got worse when my blind date turned out to be the cop who gave me the ticket.

After a bit of discussion with the ladies on discord, I started writing. I do believe this is the filthiest thing I’ve ever written and I hope you all enjoy!

HUGE internet hugs and ALL the love and thanks to @hollyethecurious @karlyfr13s and @justanother-unluckysoul for their beta services. I am a very boring and repetitive writer on my own and without their INVALUABLE input, this would have been about as entertaining as plowing your way through waist deep snow in a blizzard.

Ao3 link

Rating: E

Words: Just shy of 4900

Tags: Blind Date, Smut

Tag list: Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @jennjenn615 @kingofmyheart1426-blog @profdanglaisstuff @branlovestowrite @thisonesatellite @ultraluckycatnd @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @let-it-raines @shireness-says @kymbersmith-90 @darkcolinodonorgasm @bethacaciakay @searchingwardrobes @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @aprilqueen84 @qualitycoffeethings @superchocovian @artistic-writer @donteattheappleshook @doodlelolly0910 @seriouslyhooked @tiganasummertree @lfh1226-linda @xsajx @klynn-stormz @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @zaharadessert @elizabeethan @xhookswenchx @gingerpolyglot @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @sailtoafarawayland @justanother-unluckysoul @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @the-darkdragonfly @batana54

Adding a couple of other folks from discord who were excited about this one. Let me know if you’d like to be added to the regular list.

@purplehawkcaptain @holdingoutforapiratehero 

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

Emma Swan lifted the glass of white wine to her lips as she looked out the window of the restaurant to the streets of Boston below. She wasn’t in the best mood to be going on a blind date, but she’d promised her best friend, Mary Margaret, that she’d still come even after the day she’d had.

She’d lost a big skip with a hefty payday because she’d been stopped for speeding in the middle of chasing him down. So the last thing she wanted to do tonight was make idle small talk with some random guy who was friends with M’s fiance, David, who had also made the reservation. She took another sip of her wine and turned toward the front of the restaurant as the maitre d approached. The man behind him cut quite a figure in the black suit he wore. He was tall and raven haired with dark scruff lining his jaw, and it took Emma a moment to recognize him.

Oh, shit…

~*~*~

Killian Jones walked into the swanky hotel restaurant and approached the maitre d.

“Reservation for two under the name Nolan,” he informed the man.

“Yes, sir,” he replied. “Your table is ready. Right this way, please.”

Killian followed behind the man as he led him toward the back of the room, where a blonde goddess sat alone holding a glass of white wine while looking out the window. She turned toward them and Killian stopped in his tracks.

Oh, shit…

~*~*~

3 hours earlier

Emma looked in her rearview mirror when she heard the siren. Flashing blue lights filled her vision.

Oh, shit!

She pulled over and watched as her mark sped away, slamming her hand on her steering wheel in annoyance. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she tried to plaster a winning smile on her face. Dressed the way she was in her best honey trap dress, it was always possible that she’d be able to talk her way out of a ticket.

She looked in the rearview again and caught her breath as the sexiest cop she’d ever laid eyes on got out of the cruiser and made his way toward her bug. He was sex on legs. Tall and lean with artfully mussed black hair and scruff lining his jaw, she snapped her mouth closed and swallowed heavily.

“Do you know why I stopped you, ma’am?”

Emma batted her eyelashes at him innocently.

“No, I don’t, officer.”

He raised an eyebrow at her and the corner of his very full, very soft looking lips raised with it. She nearly needed to fan herself.

“You were going nearly 20 miles an hour above the speed limit back there.”

“Oh, really?” she asked, feigning surprise. “I had no idea! I’m so sorry, officer. I will be sure to never do it again.”

“Mmhmm.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “May I see your license and registration, please?”

“Oh, of course,” she agreed, lifting the hem of her dress up her thigh to where she kept her identification and a few bills in a thigh holster when she was working. She took her time getting her license out, hopefully giving him an eyeful. The man’s stunning blue eyes were darkened with lust when she turned back to him and handed him her information.

“Thank you, Miss… Swan,” he said, looking at her license. “I’ll be right back.”

She watched him walk away, appreciating the view as he approached his own vehicle, before her own desire turned into anger.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit!” she hollered, slamming her hand on the steering wheel with each curse. She looked in her rearview again and saw him looking right at her. His intense stare told her that he had seen her outburst and that she hadn’t fooled him a bit with her little innocent act. She blew out a frustrated breath and waited for him to return, struggling to bring her libido under control.

Several minutes later, he returned. As he handed back her documents, Emma screwed up her courage.

“Listen,” she began, “I really am sorry for speeding so much back there, and for the little act earlier.”

His eyebrow raised again. “Really,” he deadpanned.

Indignation flooded her cheeks with heat as she took a deep breath before continuing.

“Yes, really. See, I was chasing a skip…”

“Your reasons don’t really concern me, Miss Swan,” he said, handing her the citation.

She huffed in annoyance as she took the ticket from him. Their fingers brushed briefly and Emma could feel the shock all the way down to her toes.

“Is this really necessary?” She wasn’t above begging.

“I’m afraid it is.”

With his heated gaze on her, she looked at the citation and gasped in shock. “$350,” she shrieked, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Watch your language, miss. I could add another hundred for disrespecting a police officer.”

Emma’s eyes got wide and she had to swallow her retort. She tossed the offensive piece of paper to the passenger seat and turned a sickly sweet fake smile on the man.

“Am I free to go now, sir?” she grit out with as much sarcasm as she could muster.

“Yes, ma’am.” He raised his eyebrow at her again and smirked while running his tongue over his bottom lip. If she wasn’t so pissed, she’d be really turned on by his actions. “I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

She wanted to tell him to piss off, but she also didn’t want to antagonize him. So she just rolled her eyes and turned the car on. When she pulled into traffic, she looked into the rearview mirror one last time and saw that he still stood on the side of the road looking at her car with a roguish smirk on his face, like he wouldn’t be opposed to pulling her over again... and maybe frisking her. And if she wasn’t so angry, she had to admit, she wouldn’t mind it either.

~*~*~

Oh, shit…

Killian couldn’t move. Couldn’t bring himself to put one foot in front of the other. The woman he was meeting, at his best friend David’s behest, was the angel he had ticketed earlier this evening.

Just looking at her again, a smirk spread across his face and he could feel his slacks tightening. He couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t very pleased about this turn of events, but he imagined that she wasn’t terribly happy to see him.

~*~*~

Oh, shit…

It was him. The cop that ticketed her a few hours ago. A flush blossomed across her face and spread down her chest- whether from arousal or indignation, she wasn’t sure. She took a deep breath, her chest rising. His eyes followed the action and darkened with desire before he subtly adjusted himself. Her own smirk ticked up the corner of her lips to match his. This was gonna be fun...

~*~*~

Killian resumed walking toward the table, inserting a slight swagger in his gait. When he reached the table, he held his hand out for her and raised it to his lips when she placed her own hand in his.

“A pleasure to see you again, Miss Swan,” he murmured, brushing his lips across her knuckles.

Raising her eyebrow at him, she snarked, “So now you’re gonna be a gentleman?”

“I’m always a gentleman, Swan,” he said, releasing her hand and sitting down across from her.

“Coulda fooled me,” she replied, rolling her eyes at him. He couldn’t help the genuine grin spreading across his face at her action. “I don’t think a gentleman would have given me a $350 ticket when I was just trying to do my job.” She raised her eyebrow at him again.

“Your job?” he asked. “And what might that be?”

“Well, I tried to tell you and you cut me off.” She could feel her anger at him rising again. “Not exactly gentlemanly behavior, you know.”

He felt his cheeks flame in embarrassment but nodded in acknowledgement of her assertion and motioned for her to continue.

“What? No ‘I’m sorry, Swan, you’re right’? No begging me for forgiveness?”

He smirked at her again. “I don’t beg.”

She pursed her lips and he was about to have a serious problem in his pants if she didn’t let up soon.

“Mmhmmm, we’ll see about that,” she murmured. Her eyes had darkened to a deep jade and she ran her tongue along her bottom lip. Yep, definite problem… He adjusted himself again, trying in vain to get comfortable.

“What do you do for a living, Emma? May I call you Emma?”

She rolled her eyes again. Every time she did that, her sex appeal increased ten fold and so did the tension below his belt.

“Might as well,” she exasperated, “since this is supposed to be a date. I’m a bail bonds person,” she continued, “and I was chasing my latest skip. He left his mother on the hook for his bond and she’s about to lose her house if I don’t bring him in.”

“I see,” he frowned. “I can’t do anything about the ticket itself. It’s already in the system. But perhaps we can team up and get him back behind bars without you endangering yourself and others.” He raised his eyebrow at her and was pleased to see her eyes darken further with a come hither look within.

“I don’t think I’d be opposed to that,” she flirted back, her bedroom eyes making it nearly impossible for him to think straight. If he didn’t have her tonight, he was going to lose his ever lovin’ mind.

The flirting between them continued back and forth over the course of the evening as they discussed their proposed partnership to bring in her skip, exchanged light and teasing touches, and swapped stories about David and Mary Margaret.

Killian was nearly driven mad with desire, much like he had been earlier when he ticketed her, between her sultry looks and the way her lips wrapped around her fork as she ate. She stared at him over the candle-lit table as she drew the fork out of her mouth in such an erotic way that he wished she was taking him into her mouth instead. He could just imagine her pink lips wrapped around him, sucking him down, which was not helping him bring his libido under control, at all.

~*~*~

Emma watched him from under her lashes as she ate, doing her best to keep her own breathing under control as she watched him squirm. She knew exactly what she was doing to him; the only problem was, watching him was turning her on too. The way he was looking at her now, he looked like he’d rather be dining on her, rather than the excellent steak on his plate.

His eyes bored into hers, his blue irises nearly swallowed by black, his jaw slack. She chewed and swallowed, never breaking the heated stare between them.

He swallowed heavily. “You wanna get outta here?”

“Yeah,” she agreed, wiping her lips and standing as he pulled out his wallet and tossed a couple hundred dollar bills on the table. He grabbed her hand and all but pulled her out of the restaurant into the lobby and towards the reservation desk.

“Do you mind? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to wait long enough to get back to one of our places.”

She shook her head, seeing the logic in the plan. Her heart rate was already galloping a mile a minute, but when he drew her into his side and his arm snaked around her while his fingers drew nonsense along her waistline, it increased even more.

Once they were on their way up to the room, he captured her lips and caged her in at the back of the elevator, his hands running along her sides and setting her on fire. She pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around him, burying her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. Their tongues battled for dominance as he pulled her leg up over his hip and ground his hardness exactly where she needed him.

~*~*~

Killian swallowed her wanton moan as the ding of the elevator signaled their arrival on their floor. He reluctantly pulled away and touched his forehead to hers as she tried to compose herself before the doors opened. His desire for her threatened to drown him and he didn’t know how he was gonna make it to their room before ravishing her completely.

The doors opened and he grabbed her hand again as they exited the elevator. Moments later, they arrived at their door. Plastering herself to his back, her arms wrapping around his front, she writhed against him as he waited for the lock on the door to disengage. She cupped him through his pants just as he opened the door.

He covered her hand with his own, prompting her to giggle, as they fumbled into the room. There was no time to look around at the fancy amenities the hotel offered, not when he had a bloody goddess in his arms. He spun around in her embrace and caged her against the closed door.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he growled, prompting another giggle from her.

“Promise?”

“Yes, indeed, Swan,” he murmured before his lips latched onto her neck and sucked hard on her pulse point.

~*~*~

Emma’s head fell back against the door, granting him more access as white hot pleasure spiraled through her and centered in her throbbing core. She reached down and cupped him again, his length and thickness filling her small hand, before undoing his belt and pants.

She pushed his boxer briefs down his hips freeing his cock, then wrapped her hand around him and started stroking him up and down, up and down, up and down. His lips released her and he lowered his forehead to her own, a broken groan erupting from his throat as she continued her ministrations. Having him like putty in her hands was a heady feeling and she couldn’t bite back the smirk at the wicked thought that suddenly entered her mind.

She pushed away from the door, never halting the movement of her hand, forcing him to step backward into the room toward the king sized bed. She caught his sapphire gaze just as his lips crashed to hers again. They continued to shuffle toward the bed as his lips tried to devour hers, his pants falling all the way to his ankles. It was a wonder he didn’t get tangled up in them, pulling them both to the floor. They came to an abrupt halt when his legs hit the edge of the bed and tumbled onto it. He never released her as they fell and she laughed out loud when she landed on his chest.

She looked down at him and was struck by the wonder and awe she saw in his eyes. A sentiment that should make her want to run as far and as fast as possible. She didn’t know where these feelings were coming from but she knew she didn’t want to run from them either. Looking in his eyes, she saw a tender care within them that made her feel safer than she ever had, with any man. She was always very careful to keep her heart behind heavily fortified walls, but being here now, with him, she could feel those walls crashing down, leaving her totally exposed. The awed surprise and devotion she saw in his own cerulean depths told her with absolute certainty that he would catch her when she fell.

She lowered herself to him, much more slowly this time, and gently touched his lips with her own. His hands buried themselves in her hair as their tongues caressed one another, moans and soft gasps coming from them both. Her own hands started working down the buttons on his white dress shirt and stroking the soft chest hair that was exposed as she went. Finding the zipper at the back of the dress, he lowered it as his fingers stroked the exposed skin, kindling an inferno within her.

Once the zipper was down, she raised up again as he pulled the straps of her gown down her arms exposing her breasts to his sight. His eyes darkened impossibly further as he lifted his head and latched onto a pink nipple, teeth nipping and tongue laving as he held her tightly to him. A contented sigh left her as he released her and turned his attention to its twin. The inferno was dying down, replaced with glowing white hot embers, whose warmth filled her all the way through her extremities.

“You taste absolutely divine, my Swan,” he murmured, still showering her breasts with attention. She keened in pleasure before opening her eyes and pushing his jacket and shirt off, exposing his entire chest to her exploring fingers. They danced along his ribs and she couldn’t help her delighted grin when she found a spot just below them that caused him to jump, halting his worship.

“Ahh,” she breathed, “a bit ticklish are we?” She didn’t give him a chance to answer before she grasped his length again and began pumping him in earnest. His eyes rolled in his head as she stroked him from root to tip, swiping her thumb across the head that leaked precum at each pass. Releasing him for a moment, she shimmied out of her gown, leaving it to pool on the floor around her feet before she climbed fully on the bed with him.

Their eyes met, his blue completely swallowed by black, before she began leaving open mouth kisses down his torso, never breaking the spell woven between them in their transfixed gazes. She placed a kiss with a swirl of her tongue on his hip bone, his length rubbing against her cheek. Turning, she placed a kiss to the tip before taking him into her mouth. Their gazes remained locked as she took him as deep as she could before coming back up to start all over again.

“You look so good with my cock in your mouth, love,” he moaned, “Just like I imagined. Just like that, Swan. Yes. So good.”

She went to work on him in earnest, her wicked thought from earlier flicking back through her mind. She bobbed her head up and down his shaft, her tongue swirling about the head before she took him in again. When he bumped the back of her throat, she cupped his balls in her hand and swallowed around him before releasing him with a pop. The groan coming out of him was positively wrecked and she couldn’t help the smug smirk spreading across her face as she looked back up at him.

“You are a wicked vixen, Swan,” he choked out. It took him a moment to match her smirk with one of his own.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” she cheeked, before swallowing him down again.

~*~*~

He fell back down on the bed and grabbed the bedspread with both fists, determined to let her have her way with him and not just hold on to her head for dear life as he took his pleasure in her mouth.

She licked and laved and he thought he might die from the exquisite torture of holding himself back as he bumped the back of her throat again and his balls drew up ready to explode down her throat. She released him with a pop again and this time his groan was more of pain than pleasure. He blew out an exasperated breath and caught her eye again. The green orbs danced with mischief and his own narrowed in speculation.

“Just what are you up to, Swan?” he asked, in between heaving breaths.

“You’ll see,” she replied before sucking him down again.

This time he didn’t hold back. He grabbed her hair and began pumping into her mouth, nearly desperate in his need. He could feel his balls drawing up again and was about to release her of his own accord, when she pulled completely off of him once again, wringing a wretched moan from the depths of his soul out of him.

“What do you want, Swan,” he groaned in agony. “I’ll give you anything if you’ll stop teasing me.”

He looked at her gorgeous face, her cheeks flushed, her pupils dilated, her lips parted, red, and swollen. She was just as aroused, but wasn’t to the edge of desperation like he was. His eyes widened as he suddenly guessed her purpose.

She grinned like the cat that caught the canary. “I’ll let you come,” she began, taking him in hand again and stroking up and down, “if you’ll pay my ticket.”

“Gods, woman,” he croaked, “Yes, anything. Just please, let me come,” he begged.

She lowered her head, taking him down one more time and he sighed in relief as he felt her mouth envelope him. That relief was short-lived however as she slowly stroked and swallowed him down. He thrust himself into her mouth and in seemingly no time at all, the tide of ecstasy overwhelmed him as he exploded down her throat. Thick jets of his seed burst from him so furiously after all her teasing that he struggled to remain conscious.

She swallowed every drop before releasing him and licking her lips. The erotic picture she painted roused him enough to grab her by the shoulders and surge upward, crushing his lips to hers. His tongue stroked the seam of her lips, tasting himself before she opened to him, her tongue matching his stroke for stroke. They finally broke away and he touched his forehead to her own, panting for breath.

“You are a minx, Emma Swan,” he confessed.

She smiled, a more genuine one this time before she pecked him on the lips. When she pulled back, he grabbed her.

“Uh, uh, uh, Swan,” he cajoled, drawing her close and kissing her gently. “A gentleman never leaves a lady wanting.”

“And you did say that you’re always a gentleman,” she agreed. He lowered her down to the mattress and looked his fill as his hands traced her curves from her jaw, over her shoulders, down her side and brushing the side of her breast, over her hip and down her long legs.

“You are exquisite, Emma.” His gaze captured her own again and as much as it had been teasing just a few minutes ago, now they were filled with a longing desire that matched his own.

He captured her lips again as his hands continued his exploration. Finally touching her scorching center, he dipped one finger into her depths, drawing it through her drenched folds then raising it to his mouth where he sucked it clean.

“You taste delicious as well,” he purred. Killian moved down her torso, leaving tender kisses and light teasing touches in his wake until she was nearly vibrating in anticipation. Looking back up at the gorgeous woman on the bed with him, a genuine smile broke over his face as he maneuvered himself between her spread legs and inhaled deeply. “And your scent,” he hummed in appreciation before diving in like a man starved. He licked a long stripe through her sodden folds and followed it up with his fingers as she writhed above him. Deciding to torture her a bit as she had him, turnabout is fair play after all, he pulled back and placed a hard and dirty kiss to her throbbing clit. A groan of complaint flew from her lips as his fingers withdrew.

“What the hell, Jones? This is not being a gentleman.” She lifted her head and scowled at him, apparently most displeased with his reciprocation.

“Getting a bit of revenge does not negate my gentlemanly qualities,” he cheeked at her irritation. “Don’t worry, Swan,” he assured her, “As I said before, a gentleman never leaves a lady wanting.” Waggling his eyebrows at her, he placed an arm across her torso, holding her still. He turned and gently bit down on the inside of her thigh before soothing it with his tongue. A tortured moan from Emma, her fists gripping the bedspread, prompted a kiss to her other thigh before he turned his attention to her core again. Lapping at her folds, her juices bathing his tongue, he plunged two fingers into her depths, curling them just right before he wrapped his lips around her clit and sent her flying over the edge. Her cries were music to his ears as her hips bucked against his face. Bringing her down gently, he rested his head on her hip, watching her face as the aftershocks flowed through her.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful as you when you come, Swan,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her hip bone.

She looked down at him, slightly dazed. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Jones,” she declared. “You did promise to pay my ticket.”

“I did, indeed, Swan,” he conceded. “And as a man of my word,” he put his right hand upon his naked chest, “I will do so.” He surged toward her, capturing her lips and rolling them until she rested on top of him. “Once I’m done with you,” he whispered, pressing kisses along her jaw.

She moaned as he rolled them again, working his way down her jaw to her collarbone and chest before his lips wrapped around her nipple, teasing it to a hard peak before turning his attention to the other.

“So responsive to me,” he murmured against her skin. He felt her grab his hair and tug relentlessly until he released her with a pop and let her draw himself up until he was staring down into veridian orbs that he could easily drown in.

“I need you inside me, please,” she begged, drawing him down into a bruising kiss.

“As you wish,” he cooed against her swollen lips. He looked down at her again as he lined himself up at her entrance. “Do we need anything?”

She shook her head. “I’m clean, I’ve got it covered, and I trust you,” she assured him, arching her back until he barely slipped inside her. His heart soared at her words as he thrust home, sheathing himself within her depths in one stroke.

Killian lowered his forehead to hers, glorying in the words she’d just spoken and in her tight warmth surrounding him. His lips gently stroked her own as he began to move within her. Moving languidly, deliberately, stoking the fire between them, he slowly made love to her. Moans and gasps of pleasure spurred him on, grinding against her every time their hips met. He could stay buried within her, holding her close to his heart, all night, every night. For the rest of his life.

Emma’s legs wrapped around his hips urging him deeper as her walls fluttered around his length. He increased his pace, pushing her higher and higher until their cries of mutual pleasure joined together in an age-old chorus of completion.

Killian shuddered above her as his release pumped into her depths. His hips stilled and he had to steel himself for what he might find when he opened his eyes. David had warned him that his date tended toward being closed off, holding people at arm's length, but that if he gave her a chance, he really thought Killian could find happiness and eventually love with her. And after the evening he had spent with her, he was ready to hand her his heart on a silver platter. She was brilliant, feisty, gorgeous, could hold her own in any situation, brave, strong, his match in every way. But he was so afraid that when he looked into her eyes, he’d see nothing but a citadel hiding, protecting her heart, after getting exactly what she wanted out of him. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

Eyes as green as the verdant forests he’d vacationed in as a lad stared back at him full of hope and trust, tinged with fear. Wanting nothing more than to erase that fear, he cupped her face in his hands and softly pressed his lips to hers, trying desperately to convey his own hope, trust, devotion, and yes, even love for her into his kiss.

When they broke for air he wanted to tell her everything. Everything in his heart. But before he could, she placed her finger on his lips and shushed him.

“Not tonight,” she said, removing her finger and kissing him again softly. She turned in his arms and snuggled back into his embrace. He held her tighter, burying his nose in her golden mane before he let sleep overtake him.

~*~*~

Killian struggled to open his eyes as the old fashioned, jarring ring of a landline telephone sounded from the floor next to his side of the bed. Emma still slept soundly in his arms and he groaned as he turned over and scooted over to the edge, his hand fumbling around on the floor until it closed over a cell phone. He fell back, eyes shut and answered.

“Hello?”

“Killian?” Mary Margaret asked, barely containing her squeal. “What are you doing answering Emma’s phone?”

Killian’s eyes flew open.

Oh, shit!

[katnissmellarkkk]

Chapter Four

“Dang it!” I bellow eight days later, as my body gives way and topples over, having used too great of force to yank a now dead primrose from the ground.

Yesterday morning I had come outside to discover the yellow evening primroses, the flowers Peeta had planted upon his arrival back in Twelve, had all but died.

And I didn’t even notice. I’ve been so distracted with everything else going on in my life—namely Peeta and his blonde companion—that I entirely forgot about the flowers. The flowers that my sister was named for. The flowers meant to represent her when she was no longer alive to represent herself.

The idea that I could forget the plant, that I let myself lag on the simple duty of keeping them alive and watered and healthy, felt as if I had let my little sister down all over again. It felt as if I’d failed Prim a second time.

And it’s more than I can handle. I can’t even endure the thought. The very implication that I am, in any way, dishonoring my sister’s memory is entirely unbearable. Even if it is just me implying it, inside my head.

But in any case, it looks like the primroses are too far gone and I don’t have even a chance at resurrecting them back to life. I took too long to notice their wilting, I was too caught up in other things, that I let the plants die and now there’s no going back.

For a split second I consider returning one of my mother’s many calls to ask for gardening advice. She has always had a green thumb and been able to grow whatever she set her mind to. I never had any of those skills. I was a hunter by nature, not a nurturer.

No, that was Prim. The soft and gentle one, who loved animals, who could heal any wound she could identify, who could garden and grow herbs just as well as our mother.

And I miss her so much. I miss my little sister so very much that I almost breakdown into tears right then and there, right in front of the dead primrose bush outside my house.

“Katniss?” I hear someone call in the distance. I recognize the voice instantly.

And rapidly get up and make a beeline towards my front door.

Unfortunately he’s determined to catch me. After eight solid days of evasion, Peeta is dead set on catching me at any given opportunity before him.

It’s almost funny how once upon a time it was him who wished to avoid me. It was him who craved distance between us, who acted icy and detached at every encounter, whether forced or by chance.

Now it’s him trying to force an encounter between us, trying desperately to make up for hurting me, trying to still be a part of my life, even after I pronounced our relationship finished.

The bread he left on my doorstep—that I immediately tossed in the garbage—is proof of that. The cheesebuns he left on my counter who met their demise to a flock of birds on my back porch is proof of that. The cookies he baked and passed through Greasy Sae when I went to trade at the new, rebuilt Hob is glaring proof of his efforts.

I did actually eat those but I made sure to do it in private, where Peeta would never know if his token was accepted or not.

Because I don’t want him to think we’re okay. I don’t want Peeta to believe me and him can still be friends, with Bailey Robyn, the uptight, controlling blonde still lingering over his every move.

Okay, maybe I’m being a bit overdramatic. Bailey isn’t residing over Peeta’s every action. She probably doesn’t even know he’s made all these treats for me. And she surely wasn’t sitting by his side in the corner of Greasy Sae’s booth when our eyes briefly met before I stubbornly stormed out.

But I feel like she is. I feel her presence overcast in every one of Peeta’s actions, in every deed he partakes in, in every moment I run into him. Maybe it’s only inside my head but it’s enough reason for me to avoid Peeta. It’s enough reason that I wish to stand by my words eight days ago and cut him directly out of my life. With a chainsaw if necessary, I wish to cut the invisible cord that has tied me and him together for so long now.

“Katniss!” Peeta calls again, his arms grasping my waist just in time to prevent my escape into the house.

“Go away,” I mutter under my breath, ire and ache still seeping off me even after a week separating this moment here with our last interaction.

“Why are you upset?” He asks, a little breathless now from the race to my front door. But even tired, concern still manages to leak into his tone. His blue eyes still show anxiety for my well-being.

And it’s still not enough to thaw me.

“You know why,” I say rigidly, pulling my front door open and shoving his hands away from me.

“No, no, I mean,” he quickly tries to correct his question. “I meant, what’s happened out here that has you upset?”

I audibly huff, my eyes about as warm as a popsicle in a snowstorm. The last thing I want to do is stand here and recount just about anything to Peeta, especially in regards to the way I’m currently feeling.

Especially after the last time we spoke about our feelings, when I chose to let him in and allowed him to see the vulnerable parts of me that I never trust anyone with.

Only for him to turn around and side with Bailey over me.

But knowing how persistent Peeta can be when properly determined—his intensity to train like a Career, Brutus’ murder and him warning District Thirteen about Snow’s incoming attack all fly to the top of that list—I merely gesture widely to my backyard, where the dead flowers lie.

It only takes Peeta a moment to click it all together, to his credit. Though I’m hesitant to even offer him that right now.

“I’ll replant them,” he instantly offers, like a dog begging to fetch his owner a carcass bone.

“Don’t bother,” I say, about as rude and uninviting as humanly possible. “It’s not your responsibility.”

I’m just stepping into the house when Peeta’s hand shoves on the door, hard enough to keep it open. For a split second, I contemplate putting all my strength behind it and slamming his fingers in the door. But even as mad as I am—even as wounded as I am—I won’t physically harm Peeta.

After all, he already lost his leg once about I tied it in a tourniquet. I may have saved his life but I also cost him half a limb and that thought alone stops me from nearly taking his fingers off too.

“Katniss, I want to,” he pleads and his eyes are so big and blue and I feel my heart involuntarily melt a bit upon at the sight. “I want to replant them.”

I release an unconscious breath, for the first time in over a week not completely hostile towards the boy with the bread, who in my eyes, completely turned his back on me. Or so it feels. “I’ll just end up killing them again, Peeta. I’m serious. Don’t even bother.”

“Then I’ll tend to them,” Peeta throws out, getting more and more desperate the more I refuse, it seems.

I’m about to brush off his offer once again when another voice joins us. “Oh, let him do it, sweetheart. The boy needs a hobby besides baking,” Haymitch chimes in, standing at the bottom of my porch, looking drunk as ever.

“You love that baking is his only hobby,” I shoot back at the paunchy, old man.

“Well, not anymore. Since you two started fighting he’s been making me fat. I need a break.”

I’m about to come back with another comment, probably one to suggest Haymitch doesn’t have to eat everything Peeta brings, when we’re joined by a third presence.

Of course, she has to join us. Bailey can’t seem to let Peeta go anywhere without her nowadays.

“What’s going on?” She murmurs, looking around at all our tense body language. Well, at mine and Peeta’s tense body language. Haymitch is currently sitting on the bottom step of my porch now, as relaxed as Buttercup is in the window.

Peeta opens his mouth to respond but then shuts it again, glancing back at me. I don’t know if it’s the fact that he doesn’t wish to discuss his offer to help me with his girlfriend or if it’s the fact that he clearly knows I dislike the notion of Bailey in my business, but either way I’m a little pleased when he closes his mouth and adverts eye contact away from the blonde.

Instead it’s my drunken mentor who elaborates. “The girl’s flowers died. Your boyfriend just wants to replant them.”

To my utter astonishment, Bailey seems amendable to the idea. “The flowers for your sister?” She inquires, looking right at me. I shoot her a quizzical—and perhaps slightly unfriendly—look out of the corner of my eye but she continues on anyway. “Peeta, you should help her plant them again. Especially since you let them die-“

But I’ve heard enough from her—and everyone else here, for that matter—and I turn to Peeta, my hand still holding the doorknob tightly, ready to slam it shut. “Fine,” I cave, my tone anything but grateful. “Go ahead and replant the primroses. If that’s going to help you, then go for it.”

I don’t wait to hear a response from any of the parties now camped out on my property. Instead I shove Peeta’s fingers off my door—first time I’ve touched him in eight days—and throw it shut with such a force I feel the walls in my entryway shake.

“She’s always been a spitfire,” I hear Haymitch mumble as three sets of footsteps make their way further from my porch.

I barely catch Peeta’s response. If I hadn’t been standing by the door, unintentionally listening to hear what they may be saying, I would have missed it altogether.

“That’s the best thing about her.”

/

It’s just mere hours later before I’m disturbed once again. This time not by a crew of three but by one solo intruder.

“Sweetheart?” Haymitch barks, evidently not too keen on the fact that I decided to turn every light in my house off after returning home from the Hob.

“Go away,” I mumble out, knowing well and clear that he can��t hear me from upstairs. I’m in my bedroom, lying in the safety of my own bed, in my own private sanctuary, where I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone at any cost.

Of course, it only takes a few minutes of bumping into things and cursing for Haymitch to track me down. “Girl, it’s six at night?” He says incredulously.

“So?” I snap, as he turns my light on, effectively blinding me.

“Did you just forget about dinner tonight?” He asks, his voice neither kind nor hostile. In all honesty, he just sounds puzzled.

“Why are you in my room, Haymitch?” I murmur, rubbing my eyes until they adjust to the beaming brightness and pulling myself upwards now. Off his dismissive glance, I let out a deep sigh. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Of course, we’re not really talking about me skipping a meal. I highly doubt Haymitch truly cares if I miss dinner by my own accord. He surely wasn’t too interested in my meal intake when he brought me home from the Capitol and dropped me off on my doorstep.

No, we’re referring to the weekly dinners me, Peeta and Haymitch have at the old man’s pig sty. The same dinners I’ve brought Delly along to, that Haymitch is constantly passing out drunk during, that Bailey has been crashing nonstop since arriving here in Twelve.

When I came home from trading at the Hob tonight, I decided I was done with those dinners. I don’t need to subject myself to bossy Bailey any longer, and my resolve to keep Peeta out of my life as much as humanly possible is still strong. Despite the fact that I agreed to let him plant the primroses in my garden again and tend to their growth, I still don’t wish for us to be friends. I still don’t want to subject myself any further to him and Bailey’s exhibits.

And I figured no one would mind my absence anyways. At least not for a few dinners. I knew eventually Haymitch would try to push me to come back and Peeta would probably ask me very sweetly to join again, but I didn’t think the first night I skipped would be a huge production.

And okay, maybe there is a small part of me who deep down hopes if I refuse to come, Bailey may be disinvited in order to make me feel welcome again. It’s a long shot and not one I’d consciously admit to counting on, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small, minuscule part of me wishing for that to happen just the same.

Haymitch glances at me suspiciously now. “You’re always hungry, kid.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the most enthusiastic eater I know.”

Okay, he is blatantly confused apparently. His drunken goggles are blurring his perspective of reality, it would seem.

In any case, I flop backwards on my bed and roll away, hoping if I ignore my mentor long enough he’ll just evaporate into thin air.

But for some reason, Haymitch is weirdly dogged tonight. “Come on,” he urges, shaking my shoulder a bit too roughly. “I know the boy always says you’re just like me, but this little display is over the top, Katniss.”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you even want me at those dinners, Haymitch? You have Peeta and Bailey there.” I can’t stop myself from throwing the extra emphasis on Bailey, as immature as it may be.

However, the old man isn’t interested in dignifying me with a response. “And Delly. And Johanna. And Annie Cresta.”

That catches me completely off-guard. “What?”

In the time since the war ended and I returned to Twelve—or rather, was exiled to Twelve—no one from the other districts have visited. I have barely seen anyone I know in the last few months, outside Haymitch, Peeta and Delly.

“Some of which are anxious to see you at dinner,” he adds, gesturing for me to get up.

I shoot him a mordant glance. “Johanna’s anxious to see me?”

“I said some. Meaning Delly and Annie,” he clarifies. Off my still hesitant expression, he reaches down and tugs on my wrist, trying to get me out of bed.

“Fine!” I exclaim, feeling strangely embarrassed now as I realize that our roles are suddenly being reversed. I’m the one who always forced him out of bed, who made him come to meals, who fought with him to hurry up and get moving.

In the end, I don’t bother cleaning myself up or trying to appear presentable. Johanna and Annie won’t care and Peeta doesn’t get to care anymore.

And it wouldn’t matter anyway. Even if Effie Trinket or my entire prep team were here, I’d never stand a chance of looking anything but plain next to Bailey.

It’s not that I care that she’s so blatantly pretty. It’s just that her looks are one more thing about her presence to be bothered by, and that list is getting long and extensive. Even after her apparent approval of Peeta gardening my primroses, even after no negative interactions in eight days, I still sense hostility with her. And I still can’t stare at her without feeling my stomach churn.

Because every time she’s around, I know I’m about to be the odd one out. For whatever reason, outside of Delly, the people I care for, hold a deep affinity for Bailey Robyn.

And it bothers me above anything I can express. It bothers me beyond words, beyond measure, beyond any sense of feeling.

“Look who I found,” Haymitch announces as we enter through the threshold of his filthy residence.

“Katniss!” Annie exclaims and tosses her arms around my neck, despite the fact that we’ve never been too close. I can’t even remember the last time we had a conversation in person. The only true communication between me and Annie is the letters she sends, the ones filled with details of her life in Four and Finnick’s son. The ones I rarely respond to, but always read just the same.

Still, despite the fact that Annie might as well be a glorified stranger to me, I return the embrace, instinctively at first and then, simply because I want to. Because no one besides Peeta has given me any sort of affection in months and I miss it. Now that Peeta has put conditions on our relationship, I am hungry for any physical touch at all.

It shocks me to realize, in that moment, just how completely starved I am, for closeness.

I hug Annie for far longer than I think anyone watching anticipated but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems to welcome it too.

Then again, her husband died and left her with seemingly no family at all to help raise their baby. So perhaps she’s just as desperate for a human touch—I suppose besides her son—as I am.

I don’t receive the same welcome from Johanna, unsurprisingly, but as soon as me and Annie break apart, she shoots me a satirical glance and pulls on a piece of my hair.

“Ow!” I exclaim, my thick brows furrowing in confusion. “What was that for?”

“It was sticking up,” she explains with a shrug and then smirks. “Did you just roll out of bed and come here?”

“Did you?” Her outfit is just denim pants and a low cut t-shirt. Not that different from my attire.

“Yes. And I’m not ashamed of it.” She runs a hand over her hair which has grown out to about length with her shoulders. “But I know how to use a hairbrush, at least.”

I roll my eyes as she nudges me. “This is dinner,” Haymitch deadpans as he makes his way to the table. “Not a Capitol Beauty Contest.”

Jo examines the unwashed table as we follow the grumpy man’s lead. As of right now, the table is completely void of substance. “Doesn’t dinner imply food?” She asks and Annie laughs lightly, suggesting she was thinking along the same lines.

“Haymitch doesn’t believe in cooking himself,” I retort, earning a look from the old man. “He’s waiting for Peeta to arrive with food.”

“You’re more than welcome to provide the meal, sweetheart.”

“And what are you providing?”

“The residence the meal is served at.”

“And what a residence it is!” Exclaims a completely different voice, a higher pitched soprano.

And like clockwork, three blonde heads round the corner of the dining room, abruptly joining the party.

Delly looks as enthusiastic to be walking with Peeta and Bailey as I am to be in their company right now. Which she further evidences by hurrying to the seat at my right.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a grin,” Haymitch remarks as he pulls out a bottle of white liquor and pours it into a half-clean glass.

“Wonder why that is,” I murmur out loud before thinking better of it. After all, Haymitch seems to care for Bailey more than me nowadays. I should probably not stir the pot before the food is even presented before me.

But he doesn’t reply back. Even if he did, I doubt I’d notice anyway.

Because, in the flash of a second, the attention of the room is completely shifted.

I knew Bailey was coming with Peeta. She’s practically glued to his hip at all times of day, almost as if she’s afraid to let him out of her sight. But it would seem that Haymitch did not inform Johanna or Annie about Peeta’s new relationship, effectively catching them both by surprise at the additional dinner guest.

And there’s little room for doubt to anyone with eyes that they’re together. Their hands are practically singed as one, in an airtight grasp, her manicured nails intertwined with his long fingers.

For a split second I wonder if that’s what my hand looked like inside Peeta’s last week. I wonder if this is what Bailey saw before her, when she caught us roaming through town at the crack of dawn.

“Barley?” Johanna says in a shocked voice.

It takes a moment for her comment to compute in my brain. “Bailey,” I correct, trying to be helpful. Though I’m unsure where she even managed to get the name Barley at all. Especially if Haymitch didn’t warn her about the girl Peeta was bringing and I strongly suspect he didn’t.

Jo looks at me like I’m insane for the amendment before turning back to Bailey and Peeta. “You’re dating Bailey Barley?” She say incredulously.

Bailey Barley? Is that a nickname? Now I’m the one who’s completely lost at sea, feeling like there was a good chunk of time I somehow missed.

Bailey’s blue eyes stare into Jo’s now, not exactly friendly but not as belligerent as I’ve seen her before. As I saw her last week.

I don’t know nor do I understand what they’re silently communicating, but I do comprehend one thing without a doubt.

Johanna knows Bailey. Somehow, someway, Johanna knows Bailey even more than I do.

Peeta doesn’t seem too confused though. He doesn’t even seem fazed by the exchange at all. Instead he drops Bailey’s hand—not soon enough, in my opinion—and moves to set some kind of meat and potato meal down on the table.

“Where did you get the meat?” I ask abruptly, recognizing it as deer. I just shot my first in a long time only the other day. How on Earth did Peeta get deer meat around the same time I did.

“I traded a cake for it. At the Hob,” he explains nonchalantly, avoiding my bewildered eyes now.

I just stare at him for a second, debating on even further commenting.

The Hob is where I traded the deer after killing it. Peeta literally baked a cake and traded it for meat, just because I wouldn’t speak to him.

He literally traded a cake so I could eat the meat that I hunted myself.

Something about that scenario vindicates me slightly. And I have to wonder if I’ve become sadistic with time and solitude.

My attention though is pulled back to Johanna and Bailey now. “What’re you doing in Twelve?”

Bailey takes her seat, between Haymitch and Peeta, with grace. “Peeta and I met in the Capitol,” she states simply. “I decided to come here and spend some more time with him. Get to know him a little better.”

As if to punctuate her words, she places one dainty hand on top of Peeta’s and gives it a squeeze.

I can’t even fight my eye roll.

“I see,” Jo murmurs, casting a sideway glance at me, none too subtle. “Well, it looks like you did... that.”

Delly snickers into her water glass and I don’t miss the way Bailey shoots her an irritated glance. Peeta seemingly does though. Haymitch is already too tipsy to care if an actual fight breaks out among us, his white liquor kicking in quick.

Annie on the other hand, who I’ve always believed to often be oblivious to all those around her, decidedly cuts the tension here. “Well, I’m hungry. Peeta, pass me a plate.”

And just like that, we’re having one of the most awkward meals I’ve ever had to endure.

Read More On AO3

[fanfictionfansmiction]

I Found Your Ring

This is a Mako x Reader, its my first time writing this character so please go easy on me! I finished watching the Legend of Korra recently and the characters are great so if anyone has any LoK requests please do send them my way. So to summarise Mako embarrassed himself in front of you the day before and he runs into you again but this time with a your ring. 

Word Count: 1792

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“Oh, come on Mako you’re being dramatic!” Asami laughs at her ex-boyfriends’ reaction while draping her arm over Korra’s broad shoulders. Who also fails to hide her amusement behind the pink dusting her cheeks. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” She said while swirling her free hand along Korra’s forearm.

“Oh, trust me when I say it was bad.” Bolin interjects booming with laughter only to be wacked in the arm by his older brother who was sat beside him with his head in his hands. Bolin rubs the spot but continued to laugh along with the girls.

“Well think of it this way, you were a complete asshole to me at first and I still dated you!” Korra offered while looking up at her girlfriend encouraging her to help.

“Yeah, and I ran you over, but you still went on a date with me! What’s more embarrassing than sloppy motor skills?” Asami added stifling a giggle. A small lift of his head and everyone could see just how red Mako had gotten over this little situation which was surprising. Mako hadn’t really shown any interest in dating since the whole love triangle. Bolin was starting to worry about his big brother, working all those extra hours and keeping his distance from anyone who showed any interest. But this was different. Bolin couldn’t believe how much of a bumbling mess he had gotten into not only forgetting how to produce sentences but spilling his drink all down his new shirt.

“Poor Mako is going to die alone.” Wu added dramatically draping himself over the two brothers attempting to get a laugh out of Mako.

“He’s right.” Mako added in a small tone, seemingly out of character.

The group fell silent looking at each other in a way that suggested they should have taken it more seriously than they initially did. But it was still pretty funny. Mako brought his head all the way up taking in the concern of his friends who are close enough to be family. Just as he was about to suggest maybe he had taken it a little too seriously Opal made her way in from cold shaking the snow off her brown hair.

“Does anyone know who this belongs to?” Opal asks lifting up a gold ring with a small ruby. Just as they were about to say no in unison Mako realises that the ring is rather familiar. He shoots a quick look to Bolin who is far too distracted by his cold girlfriend to pay any attention to a ring but Korra notices the look on Mako’s face.

“Is it her ring?” Korra asks leaning back into Asami’s arms.

“Weirdly enough I think it is.” Mako said with hope in his eyes.

“Perfect you can make up for making a complete fool of yourself by returning her property! And maybe then she’ll believe that you are an adequate paramour.” Wu adds gleefully. Mako can’t help but roll his eyes at his comment.

“He’s right Mako, who knows maybe it could be romantic.” Asami adds.

He decides that they’re right and that he should probably return the ring either way. A little more excited by the fact that he’ll be able to see you again than he’d like to admit. A wave of hope crashes through him. It hadn’t really concerned him that he seemed to be the only single person he knew but his life had started to get a little lonelier in these past months. There seemed to be things he wished to do with someone he cared for in different ways. He longed for someone who would care for him and someone who he could care for. He saw the softness that grew in Korra anytime she thought of Asami and he envied it. Mako craved the tenderness he felt to be missing.

“I’m going to see if she’s at the same bar tonight. I’ll probably be back in the next few hours.” Mako said. As he walked out of the apartment, he heard them ‘oooohh’ at him, he couldn’t help the redness from growing up his neck.

It was a short walk through republic city to the small bar squashed between a tea shop and a trinket shop, the warm light illuminates the snow that falls lightly. Taking a small breath in Mako makes his way into building the noise from the chatter surrounding him. Taking small tentative steps, he approaches the bar trying to remind himself he has no reason to be so nervous all he’s doing is return lost property. Focusing so intensely on calming down he begins to frown, creasing his forehead and becoming tight lipped. Just as he opens his mouth to ask the bar tender if he had seen you someone taps him on the shoulder. He turns quickly to see you stood there with a blush creeping its way up your neck. There’s a playful look in your eye which causes Mako to smile releasing all the tension that he was holding in his face.

“I’ll buy you a drink as long as you’re careful with it.” You laugh tilting your head before ordering you both a drink.

“Oh, well that’s very generous of you.” Mako speaks mirroring your body language.

“What brings you back?” You ask with a small smile on your lips.

“The company is definitely a plus and so is the service! I always get what I order and I… um…” he stumbles over his words mentally whacking himself.

“That is always a plus.”

Mako flushes bright red and tuns to the barman asking for another drink. Which only causes you to laugh again, a sound which Mako is growing to love. He feels you brush your hand against his arm.

“This might be a strange thing to ask but were you ever part of a pro bending team?” You ask.

“What gave me away?”

“Your brother came back here yesterday after you left, and he was really chatty. Told me all about you.”

This stops Mako in his tracks flushing an even more aggressive shade of red. Resting his head in his hands he says something, but you cannot quite hear him, so you edge a little closer. Asking him to repeat himself.

“I said did he ask to borrow your ring?”

Now it is your turn to flush red, “Yes, he said he wanted to find something for his girlfriend in a similar style. He said that he’d bring it back to me today in this bar so that’s why I was here. To be honest I was surprised you were in here.”

“He did what?”

“He was really insistent on me waiting here tonight. I am happy to see you though, I like Bolin, but I don’t think I could take anymore talk about your accomplishments on the force. They are impressive Mako don’t get me wrong but also it felt like your brother was doing a job interview on your behalf.” You cackle.

“You know my name? That seems unfair I don’t know yours.” He replies.

You say your name and he repeats it in a low tone that fills you with warmth. As he turns to face the bar you could almost swear, he says it again.

“Can I have it?” You say drawing his attention back to you. He looks confused but takes the silence that has fallen over you to take in your face, your kind eyes and your growing smile. “My ring?”

“Oh of course that’s why I’m here.” Mako responds holding out his hand where the ring sits on the top of his finger where it had been since he recognised it as yours. He had unknowingly been twisting and fiddling with it all evening. “It’s a lovely ring.” He breathes your name again sliding the ring onto your finger. It is so intimate you’re glad when his warm hands linger.

“Thank you it was my Mother’s. I like your scarf Mako it suits you.” You say keeping his hands close to yours.

“It was my Father’s.” He responds keeping inching closer to you.

Moments pass and neither of you speak but it feels oddly comfortable. You hope that he doesn’t move away from you because he has a warmth radiating from him which draws you closer. The seconds pass slower than you are used to, and you can’t stop yourself from really looking at him. He is the only thing you can focus on in this busy room. You admire the shadow his eyelashes cast on his cheek it takes everything in you to not touch him and looking into his eyes it seems as though he’s holding back a similar desire. You can see him inching closer to you so your lips are almost touching, and you can taste the heat radiating off him. Just as you go to crash into each other Mako hears a familiar voice that breaks the spell that seemed to fall over the two of you.

“I’m sure they’re still here!” Bolin booms talking to Opal over the crowd. Makos forehead rests on your bare shoulder. The contact sending a spark throughout you, you can feel Makos face heating up.

“Bolin over here.” You wave him over keeping Mako’s head on your shoulder. Bolin spots you and for a moment he seems confused not sure how his brother couldn’t find you in the bar only to then see his brothers head resting on you. Bolin’s face pales deciding whether to go talk to the two of you or to run out of the establishment and pretend it was all a dream. He was a top-notch actor of course. Before he makes the call, Opal drags him out waving at you moving ‘sorry’.

“He’s gone Mako.” You whisper in his ear. Mako looks up at you with soft eyes. Again, he says your name in a soft tone.

“Would you want to go on a date with me? I promise my brother won’t interrupt.” He asks lifting his face up to meet yours once again.

“I’d love to.”

He brushes a stray hair away from your face banishing the shy feeling that grows within him, he places a ghost of a kiss on your lips. Suddenly worried he has been too forward with you. Only to have the worried melt away when he sees the small smile growing on your face. You rest your forehead against his only able to resist kissing him again for a few moments. It feels as though you have found something else entirely this evening. As though the two of you were bound to have a moment like this. Something inside you tells you that you will keep having these intimate moments together.  

[twdmusicboxmystery]

TWD 11x05: Out of the Ashes - Details

Okay, let's talk details of 11x05.

 ***As always, spoilers abound below for 11x05. Don’t read until you’ve watched!***

We start with Aaron's dream. First of all, there's the full moon. Remember that Still had a full moon at the beginning, and every time we saw Beta on the outside, such as singing or walking with walkers, it often showed a full moon. In Beta's case, it's probably because his nickname as a singer was Half Moon, but he also had a lot of Beth symbolism around him. I think it’s likely that the reason they gave the name Half Moon was to indicate Beth symbolism.

 Then, Aaron says to Gracie, "we’re almost home." Part of the home theme, and also kind of showed me that this was a dream. There's absolutely no reason why Aaron would randomly be outside the walls with Gracie at night. I don't have a whole lot more to add to the scene than what I said yesterday. I do believe it's a foreshadow of something happening with Gracie, but it also may be a foreshadow of other things that are coming, including stuff with Beth.

This is kind of a funny detail, but I have to say that I love the Jerry bit at the beginning. We see him tiptoeing over people, trying not to wake them on his way to the bathroom. So, we have an entire sequence that can be summed up as, "Jerry pees.” ;D

The next thing we saw was the Commonwealth video. The really cheesy one with Lance Hornsby that we saw in the trailer. Some of the symbols we saw in that video were interesting. Such as a bunny cake (rabbit theme), someone playing a guitar (Beth played a guitar in 5x09), 

ice cream (both Eugene and Stephanie talked about ice cream and it became sort of a Bethyl theme, especially because there were so much Bethyl symbolism around them during those conversations; also, Daryl had his “I never” about frozen yogurt in Still). We see a plaque that says, "The Great War,” (probably a reference to World War I, but also part of the Revolution/War theme).

There was also a blond, Beth-lookalike nurse in blue scrubs.  👀

I also noticed that the Commonwealth badge looks a lot like the UK flag. Not so much in its shape or design, but rather the colors. It's got the same red and blue shades as the United Kingdom flag. Remember that we saw the UK flag around Juliet Ormonde's character in the world beyond. So, we think it's a symbol of the war to come with the CRM.

When Yumiko goes into the bakery looking for her brother, there's a song playing called “Three Speed Girl.” It was just the three that caught my attention. (Look up lyrics). They all a lot of apples in the bakery. Not real apples but glass, decorative ones. Not only Apple theory, but specifically what apples represent.

I've theorized before that the apples could represent separation between loved ones. For example, in 6x14, we see Michonne and Rick wake up together in the room and they both eat an apple. I came to believe that was a foreshadow of Rick leaving in S9 and two of them being separated. @frangipanilove, however, explained it differently. She says that rather than them being separated, she thinks apples represent them coming back together. As then, a reunion after the separation.

I know that sounds like the opposite of what I explained, but really all amounts to the same thing. The kind of separation that I mentioned is what we see with Rick and Michonne being separated, Beth and Daryl being separated, perhaps even Carol and Zeke being separated (if he does, in fact, get a death fake out). And that's always going to result in a reunion down the road. So if we explain as a separation, it will always lead to a reunion. And if we explain as a reunion, it in order for reunion to take place, there must've been a separation first. See what I mean? You can explain it either way.

So, the apples make total sense in the scene. Yumiko has been separated from her brother for a long time. She said it's been years because the two of them were somewhat estranged, even before the apocalypse happened. And now, in this episode, we see a reunion. So, I think were spot on about the Apple symbolism.

As for Beth, we didn't actually see her eat an apple. I think that would've been too on-the-nose. But, given the Snow White symbolism, or template of her arm falling, remember that Snow White ate an apple, which was poisonous, just before we fell she fell and we saw her arm. So, if TWD is using the apple to represent separation, we didn't actually see Beth eat one, but her arm falling like that represents the Snow White template, and right after that, we see her separation from Daryl and the rest of TF. I think it lines up rather well.

When Eugene and Stephonie are walking around, we see a white horse drawing a mail truck. It's a combination of several very potent symbols. We talked about white horses before and how they represent Beth, and life. Then there's the mail or Communication theme. We've seen so many mailboxes on the show, and this was a horse drawing a mail truck. I’ll talk more about the mailbox theme in a few days. Just keep this in mind for now. They're very purposeful symbols and they do represent specific things in the show.

I also noticed that Stephonie is wearing red rimmed glasses. Remember how last week I talked about how Norman was wearing some funky glasses on TTD? Sorry to keep teasing but this is another thing I’ll post about later in the week. I was going to anyway, so seeing the glasses here jumped out at me. For now, just notice that Stephonie is wearing these and they’re red.

When Stephonie decides to help them talk on the radio, they go into the train station. Of course, there are no actual trains running, but the train is a very potent symbol. It's actually being used more as a civic building, and the group tries to be innocuous, though it's obvious they're up to something. Stephonie and Eugene walked calmly through the building while Princess and Zeke take up positions down in the common lobby area. Meanwhile, Mercer is watching them.

Princess tries to head him off and we have a humorous moment where she tries to flirt with him, and tells him he has beautiful eyelashes. It is not exactly the same thing as the eye theme, but I could almost see them going for the eye theme, but twisting it for the sake of humor, because, well, it's Princess. So, she goes with beautiful eyelashes.

 Eugene does manage to get on the radio with Rosita, who tells him the Whisper War is over. They only talk for a moment or two before they lose the feed. Once again, I think that was very purposeful on Commonwealth's part. I think they allowed him to connect with Rosita, but only for a short time before interrupting the feed and bursting into arrest him.

Meanwhile, back in Alexandria, I noticed that Judith asks, "Is he gone?" I sat and thought about this line for a little bit. Obviously, it's the “gone” theme. Usually, the way TWD always uses someone being "gone" to mean that they have disappeared for short time but will return. Very often they are presumed dead. That's why Daryl's, "she's just gone" about Beth is so important. Also, her line to him, "you're going to miss me so bad when I'm gone."

 In this case, I don't think either Judith or Rosita suspect that Eugene is actually dead. She just means did they lose him on the radio feed. And here's something that occurred to me what was thinking about this. It's actually very common when someone loses communication with someone else via radio or walkie-talkie to use the phrase, "get them back." So, something like, "see if you can get them back," or, "I'll get them back." In that context, it just means to raise them on the radio again and reestablish a connection so they can communicate.

The reason this is interesting is that Daryl has said this more than once about Beth or people who were kidnapped. In 5x06 when he was with Carol, he was talking about Beth and said they would observe Grady and then do whatever they needed to do to get her back. I know they also said something similar about Sasha when she was taken by the saviors, and Sasha had massive parallels to Beth during her death arc. So, that had never occurred to me before, but it's almost like they specifically took that line about “getting them back” from radio lingo and are applying it to Beth.

When talking about whether to go to Hilltop, Aaron mentioned that he didn't want to abandon ship. So, a water/ship reference, but it's also close to something Abraham said in 5x05 about going down with the ship.

When they get out Hilltop, I noticed that we have a shot of the water tower, which is now burnt. When they start questioning Keith, he says that Alpha is dead, and someone says that all that does is prove that “he has eyes.” Earlier in Alexandria, Aaron said, “Eyes open.” I know these are really small potatoes references, but there were a LOT of eye mentions in this episode.

A couple of things where Negan and Maggie are concerned. When they get to this house, the cars out front are really interesting. There's a red car out front, which reminded me a lot of the red car that was seen during the filming of the missing 17 days in season five. There are also just a lot of cars with doors or hatchbacks open, which represent the door being opened in 5x09, when Beth disappeared. The hatchback being open can represent the trunk being open. So, just kind of some interesting symbols.

I also thought it was cool that Judith is teaching other kids how to fight.

I think that’s it for Details. Anything I missed?

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

merry christmas, ya filthy animal

Hi guys! This is my contribution for @hockeynetwork holiday gift exchange, it’s 2.5k of sweet Tito fluff for @dreamypeaches and I hope you all like it. As always, I read all the tags and love love hearing your feedback, so hop into my inbox and reblog if you like it! 

word count: 2.5k+

Everyone has a favorite movie. Some go for a childhood classic like Cinderella, some find an indie documentary from a film class in college, some inherit their parents’ love for the Princess Bride or Casablanca. Not you. For you, there was no movie that could hold a candle to Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. You had watched it for the first time maybe around 7 or 8 years old, and had been hooked ever since, and even Donald Trump’s five-second cameo couldn’t taint the love you had for it. But your favorite part, other than the large cheese pizza and stretch limousine, was the end. The Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, Kevin and his mom finally reuniting after she moved heaven and earth to get back to her son by Christmas. 

It wasn’t your first Christmas in New York City, but it was the first one where it really felt like it was your city, like you belonged to it. And it was your first Christmas with Tito. You had started dating earlier in the year, just as the team was starting to make the big push for playoffs and two months or so before he left to Montréal for the summer. It was strange while he was there, not just because he was hundreds of miles away and in a whole different country, but because the two of you had only been exclusive for a few months and were set to be separated for three. You flew up for Canada Day and met his parents, and he came back for a week in August, but the interim was filled with more FaceTime calls and lonely nights than either of you would care to admit. 

But summer was long over, the leaves had fallen from all the London planes, and the temperature had started to drop below freezing even in the day. The cold weather wasn’t always great; you didn’t love having to scrape the ice off of your windshield or trudge through the slush when it was too early for the snow to stick to the ground, but you wouldn’t change it for the world. One thing that winter changed was date plans. Unless you hit it at just the right time, coffee in the morning was more prone to freeze your fingers off than warm you up, having dinner outside — normally one of your favorite things to do together — was all-but banned after November, and you could only walk around Central Park so many times. And it wasn’t for lack of trying; you knew for a fact that Anthony had spent hours on plane rides trying to figure out what was open, flipping in between Google and the weather app. He was making an effort, though, and that’s what mattered. 

Which is why you weren’t particularly surprised when he showed up at your apartment door on Christmas Eve, twelve hours after he asked you if you had plans that night. You didn’t and it wasn’t a game day, so he told you to dress warm and be ready by 8. You were waiting by the door five minutes early. He greeted you with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, closing the door behind you. “Did you already eat? I know it’s pretty late already but I think I saw a few food trucks by where we’re going if you’re still hungry.”

You nodded your head. “Anthony. It’s 8 at night. ‘Course I’ve already eaten.”

He ducked his head in embarrassment, the slightest pink appearing on his cheeks. “Should have figured.”

“It’s fine,” you said, slipping your hand into his and smiling. “You going to tell me where we’re going, though?”

“Wouldn’t be a surprise if I did,” he said. 

You should have known by the duffel bag in the backseat what his plans were, but some thirty minutes later and he was pulling into a parking lot off of West 49th, shouldering the bag and looking over to you with a grin. “What’s a Christmas in New York without ice skating at Rockefeller Center?” 

You rolled your eyes, trying desperately to keep in a laugh. “You don’t think it’s a bit unfair? You’re paid buckets of money to balance on knife shoes and the last time I went ice skating was,” you tried to remember, “two years ago? Three?” 

Tito shrugged, taking your hand as you walked out the door of the parking lot. “What’s life without a little risk?” Whether the Harry Potter quote was intentional or not, you weren’t sure. 

“Fair,” you conceded. “You’ll have to look out for me, though.” He promised he would, handing his card over to the cashier, who in turn passed you your skates. Anthony led you over to a bench, grabbing a bag of roasted chestnuts from a street vendor before sitting down. You ate a few before tying your skates, swinging one up on his thigh for inspection. “Do these past muster, inspector?”

Anthony took one look at them before undoing your knot, adjusting your foot in his lap while rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “You didn’t tie them tight enough, you could break an ankle in these, babe, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?” You shook your head; he pulled you up to a standing position, leading you over to the gate to get onto the ice. “Don’t feel bad if you’ve got to hang onto the side for a little bit, it doesn’t look like the zamboni’s been over it in awhile so the ice is probably pretty chippy.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “I’m not completely hopeless, Anthony. I’m no professional,” you half-slipped while taking your first step onto the ice, clinging to the railing, “clearly, but I’m an adult and I can handle myself.” 

He held his hands up in surrender, gliding backwards on the ice before stopping. “I know you can.” The two of you skated for about an hour before taking a break, sipping cups of piping hot apple cider while sitting on a bench off to the side of the rink. “There’s always that one person who feels the need to go in the center and show off, huh?” Tito mused, glancing towards center ice, where a woman was indeed in the middle of a spin so quick and intricate you had no clue how she didn’t throw up from the sheer centrifugal force of it all. 

“Says the professional hockey player,” you quipped. 

“I’d go insane if I tried to do anything like that,” Anthony responded, drinking the last of his cider before dropping the cup into the recycling bin. “Just about the only thing hockey players and figure skaters have in common is our ability to skate in a straight line.”

You laughed, squeezing his arm. “Have a little more faith in yourself than that, Anthony.” 

“Mhm,” he said, noncommittally like he didn’t quite believe you. “You ready to get going, or do you think you’ve got more in you?” 

You looked down at your watch; it was 9:30; the rink didn’t close for another hour and plenty of people were still milling about. “I think I’ve got a little gas left in the tank.” 

Sounds good,” he said, taking your hand and doing an extremely admirable job of not laughing at your attempts to hobble over to the ice on your skates. “One of these days I’m going to get you to go backwards,” he said as he stepped on, gliding back easily before coming to a quick stop. 

“I’ve just stopped having to hold onto your hands like a five-year-old, Beau,” you said, rolling your eyes as you took a moment to find your balance on the slippery ice. In your defense, he had been right about the lack of resurfacing on the ice; the skate attendant said the zamboni only came around once a day, shortly before opening, and the lack of smooth ice couldn’t have done you any favors. But you were determined to prove yourself, to show him and everyone else in Rockefeller Center that you were a fully grown and capable adult who could skate for a few feet without needing assistance. Which you did, for approximately two minutes, trailing ten or fifteen feet behind Anthony as he skated backwards, executing poorly-attempted jumps and spins for no reason other than your amusement. You were doing fine, until the toe pick of your skate caught in a chip in the ice and you tumbled down, down to the ice before Anthony could skate over and catch you,. Down, trying to break your fall with your hands. Pain radiated up your left wrist, the cold of the ice already beginning to melt into your jeans. 

“Oh my God,” Anthony said, kneeling in front of you as several passers-by looked over in concern. “You okay? That looked like a pretty bad fall.” 

You nodded, trying to push yourself up to a standing position, but the second you put pressure on your hand, you let out a sharp shriek. “Fuck,” you said, moving to rub your wrist. Not a good idea; the pain only got worse when you touched it. 

His brow only furrowed more. “If you put your wrist out to break the fall, you could have broken it or something. We should go to the hospital.”

You shook your head. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Tito,” you said as the two of you skated off the ice, your wrist hanging limply by your side as you bent down to try and untie the skate laces. He looked up at your face, seeing you biting your lip with tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as you tried to pull them. 

“Hurts to pull?” You knew it was no use trying to lie to him, so you nodded. He pushed the sleeve of your jacket up as gently as he could after untying your skates, handling your hand and wrist with as little pressure as he could. “Not exactly how I thought I’d be kneeling in front of you,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. You knew he had only said it to distract you, try to get your mind off of the inordinate amounts of pain you were in, but the words still made your heart skip a beat. His fingers moved feather-light over your skin, keeping an eye on your facial expressions as he felt. “Hurts to close your hand?” You tried; you nodded. “Hurts to turn your wrist?” A second nod. “Has it gotten worse or better since you fell?”

“Worse,” you managed to squeak out. 

He bit his tongue in concentration. “Shit. Yeah, we should go to the hospital.” You knew it was no use to argue, even as you weakly kept telling him it was probably just a sprain that would heal on its own as he herded you into the car, looking up the waiting times of Manhattan emergency rooms. “The ER wait at Lenox Hill is twenty minutes, it’s like two miles away,” he said, puting the car into reverse and backing out of the parking lot. Of course, two miles in New York City on Christmas Eve really meant fifteen minutes, and by the time he parked at the hospital and you were walking into the ER, it was just past 11. And of course, an ER wait time of “twenty minutes” the day before Christmas meant that, as a relatively low-priority case, you weren’t seen for well over forty. “I feel terrible about this,” Anthony said, slumping back in the chair to the side as you sat on the exam table. 

“Not your fault,” you said emphatically. “Could have happened to anyone. Literally anyone, Tito,” you looked over at him; he still looked guilty. “It could have just as easily been you, if you’d hit the chip at the wrong angle or there was some kind of slippery patch you weren’t expecting. And,” you added as he opened his mouth, “you were too far away to catch me.” Your expression softened. “I know you would have if you could have, but I’m sure it’s not hurt too bad and I don’t want you to keep beating yourself up over it. I’ll be okay.” 

The nurse practitioner chose that moment to poke her head through the curtain, calling your name. You nodded. She flipped open your chart. “I’m Emily, I’ll be taking care of you tonight. It says here you’ve got a wrist injury?” You nodded, explaining what had happened. She pulled a pair of gloves on, fingers moving over your wrist. “With what I’m seeing and how you’re rating your pain, I think we’re probably looking at a bad sprain or a break, but we’ll have to get an X-ray to confirm.” Fifteen minutes later, you were in and out of the radiology suite, and Emily was looking at the images on a tablet. She leaned over the table, pointing to the images on the screen. “Okay, so what you’ve got is called a Colles’ fracture, it’s a break in the radius and they’re actually super common, by far the most common type of wrist break we see. Yours isn’t too bad, so I’d say it can come off in six weeks or so.” She left for a minute to get the casting supplies. Ten minutes later, your entire lower arm was covered in cotton and fiberglass wrap tape. You wiggled your fingers towards your boyfriend. “I think purple’s really my color, don’t you?” you said, nodding towards your cast. 

You saw him crack a smile, his first since the accident. “It’s beautiful, babe.” Fifteen minutes and more than your fair share of paperwork later, you had handed over your insurance information and gotten the okay to leave, with strict instructions to keep the cast dry and call if you had any problems. 

“I think this definitely wins as the most interesting date I’ve ever been on,” you said as the two of you crossed the parking lot. 

“I’ll have you agree with you on that one,” Anthony replied. “I’m glad it wasn’t anything more serious, though. I would have felt even worse.”

You nodded. “You and me both.” Anthony looked down at his watch as he held your good hand, smiling when he saw the time. “What is it?” you asked curiously. 

“Guess there was too much going on in there to keep track of time. It’s 1:37 AM.” 

The painkillers they had given you had kept the pain in your wrist to a dull ache, but all was forgotten as you realized what it meant, what it being past midnight meant, and you couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across your face. “It’s Christmas?” you said, almost like a question. Nothing could extinguish your love for the holiday: not the freezing cold air nipping at your nose or the apple cider that was so hot it burnt your tongue or the fact that you went out for a night with your boyfriend and came back with a broken wrist. You had him, and that was enough. 

Tito laughed, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips as he unlocked the car. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

[gallavictorious]

Outsider POV Gallavich Fic: Captive Look

For a while there this spring, I was mildly obsessed with the CO in 10x03: you know, the good-looking guy who seems so completely unfazed by finding two armed inmates stabbing an old man, and then for whatever reason doesn't report it? (He can't have; Ian's parole wouldn't have happened so soon after something like that.) I also really dig his beard... Anyway, IMDB identifies him as Raymond and I've had this short little piece about him and his interactions with two certain dumbasses sitting almost finished in my draft doc for months and months and months, so... you're welcome? 2882 words, to help pass the time until the new episode!

You can read it below or on AO3.

---

It's half past eight on a Thursday when Raymond catches sight of them across the bar at South Side Social. He’s there to celebrate his baby sister’s birthday, familial obligation overriding personal preference, but after an hour of politely chatting with her increasingly wasted college friends over obnoxiously rustic-only-because-it’s-trendy food, he’s ready for a break. Catching Tina’s eye, he mimes lightening a cigarette; she raises an eyebrow at him and smirks. She’s a clever kid, his sister – the first in their family to go to college – and she knows him only too well. Knows, for instance, that he gave up smoking years and years ago.

Offering her a rueful grin, he gets up and gets out and spends the next few minutes breathing in Chicago’s poisonous evening air. It’s December, but unusually warm for the season, and somewhere underneath the dusty stink of exhaust fumes and concrete there’s a faint trace of melting snow.

On the way back to the table Raymond stops at the bar to order another beer, and that’s when he spots them, just three feet away. Two men in their mid-twenties, casually dressed and apparently in the middle of a not-very-serious argument, complete with waving hands and mock-scoffs. It takes a moment for the vague feeling of familiarity to click into actual recognition, and when it's does it's not so much their faces as the way they pause to look at each other.

It's not the sort of look you see a lot, especially not in prison.

So, well, he’ll be damned. It’s Milkovich and Gallagher. Cellmates, lovers, and occasionally a goddamn pain in his ass. Released, as improbable as it sounded, within days of each other less than half a year ago, and now laughing over drinks in a half-way decent restaurant in downtown Chicago. It’s not the sort of place he’d expected to find them in – but then again, there’d been a lot of unexpected things about that pair.

Not them hooking up, necessarily, not once they’d ended up sharing a cell; trading sexual favors for protection (whether voluntarily or not) was common enough. Frowned upon in theory, of course, but in practice –

Well. You didn’t have to like it, but it was what it was. Idealism didn’t survive long at Beckham. Raymond himself had never harbored any grand notions about the redemptive potential of his work, but he’d seen his fair share of fresh-faced new CO:s have their illusions crushed after a week or two caught between the often violent offenders who despised them, the indifferent malice of many seasoned CO:s, and the stifling drudgery of the American penal system in general. Not Raymond, though: he did his job, did it well, and went home and didn't spend waste moment of thought on it. You did what you needed to do to pay the bills; no need to dwell on it.

So no, Gallager getting in bed, quite literally, with Milkovich hadn’t been a surprise. The nature of their relationship, though...

Sure, it wasn’t unheard of for inmates to fall for one another, or for established couples to end up in prison together. Didn’t happen a lot, and actual homosexuality was still more likely to get you beat up than laid, but yeah, it did happen. What, in Raymond’s experience, never happened was having to people look at each other the way Milkovich and Gallagher sometimes did, whenever they thought no one else was watching: there was a kind of wonder to it, both staring at the other like they’ve been handed a goddamn gift and couldn’t quite believe their luck.

Particularly on Milkovich’s face the look was baffling.

Ever since the young man arrived at Beckamn he'd moved down the gray corridors and among the yellow-clad crowds like a man born to it. Raymond supposed he was; his father Terry had spent much of his adult life in the very same prison, as had a great many brothers, cousins and assorted associates. Though Raymond didn't know any details, and didn't really care to know them, he'd bet dollars to donuts that Mickey Milkovich's criminal career had had both an early start and a sense of inevitability to it. Various stints in juvie, followed by a real prison sentence for... attempted murder, wasn't it?... followed by a widely publicized jailbreak and an eventual and far less publicized return to Beckman.

Milkovich was tough enough to make others back down when he had to but smart enough not to start any unnecessary fights, not with the other inmates and not with the ones set to watch over them. Knew how to work the system, too: how to get things in, get things done, which guards could be bribed. Raymond didn't play that game himself, but he wasn't getting paid enough not to turn a blind eye when others do. And Milkovich had been pretty smooth about it, especially since his return; careful not to cause a stir.

Gallagher, on the other hand... He'd been the kind of inmate Raymond would've been seriously worried for, had he been inclined to worry and had Milkovich not been there to watch his back and show him the ropes. Not because Gallagher struck Raymond as even remotely helpless, but he so very obviously did not belong in prison, and so very obviously did not really have a clue about what was what in here. The nastier inmates would have eaten him alive long before he'd had the chance to navigate the intricacies of prison politics and find the friends needed for protection. He'd have ended up someone's bitch, or ended up in the infirmary, or dead.

But he'd ended up with Milkovich, and as unlikely as it had seemed at the time, that had worked out. (There were moments when Raymond wondered about that, wondered about them: apart from the looks, there were little touches, too, casual things that spoke of a familiarity far beyond what they could possibly have developed in their short time in a shared cell.)

That wasn't to say that their relationship had been all rainbows and lollipops, and it sure as hell hadn't been fun for everybody. They’d driven half the cellblock insane sometimes, as well as occasionally one another. Other prisoners had complained about their bickering and their fucking (though never officially complained, because you didn't, not unless you wanted to go looking for your teeth in the shower drain), and Raymond recalled vividly the time when not one but both of them had gotten roped into Chester Russom’s endless quest to spend the rest of his life behind bars –

He'd been passing by the infirmary when he'd heard the screaming and come running. Hadn't been surprised, exactly, to find what he found, but that didn't lessen the urge to smack both Milkovich and Gallagher on the head for being so damned stupid.

Neither of them had seemed particularly concerned about getting caught stabbing another inmate. In fact, they'd fallen over themselves to take the blame, which Raymond might have taken as an unselfish attempt to save the other – if he'd been a complete idiot and if the two of them hadn't been sniping at each other all the way from the infirmary, to the point where he felt like his head would explode.

“Imma murder you two if you don't stop talking,” he said, glaring at them as they sat chained outside the small office. Thankfully, they did stop, looking neither at him nor at each other.

Raymond waited for a moment, deliberating.

“What did Chester promise you?” he eventually asked. Gallagher might have agreed to help the old man out of the goodness of his heart, but Milkovich sure as hell hadn't.

Neither man answered. They were studiously avoiding looking at each other.

“You're not going anywhere until you tell me,” Raymond warned them. “If I have to leave your sorry asses chained to this bench all night that's no skin off my back.”

“We needed a break,” Gallagher offered eventually, reluctantly. Milkovich gave a little snort at that, but – wisely – kept his mouth shut. “So we thought that if one of us got sent to solitary... “ He trailed off, shrugging half-heartedly.

Oh, for the love of God - ! “Why did both of you have to stab him if the goal was to get one of you to solitary?”

Again, there was a protracted silence, and somewhere in it – in their earlier insistence that each of them had been the first to stick the shiv into Chester – Raymond could just about make out the shape of it.

“You are both idiots,” he said, moving to uncuff them from the bench, making a decision. “Come on, let's go.”

“Wait,” Gallagher said, not rising. “You're not reporting us? What about solitary?””

“You don't get a damn reward for stabbing someone, so no, you're not going into solitary, you're going straight back to your cell – where you will hand over all contraband you've hidden there.”

“Now, wait a minute – “ Milkovich began, but he faltered when Raymond fixed him with a hard stare.

Raymond had no illusions about intimidating this particular inmate, but Milkovich really did know how this worked; knew better than to ever be friendly with a guard, not even the ones he bribed – but knew when not to push too.

He had kept their hands cuffed for the walk back to the cell, which was policy, but was him making a point too. While there were extenuating circumstances – primarily the fact that Chester had asked them to stab him – by all rights they should be going down for this, and Raymond wasn’t one hundred percent sure why he wasn't letting them. Save himself the paperwork? Yeah, sure. Why not? As good a reason as any.

“Now, am I going to have to search the cell or will you give it up voluntarily?” he asked once they'd made it to the cell. “You make me look, I won't be too careful with your shit.”

A lot of the guards would be deliberately careless when they tossd a cell, either to prove a point or just for the hell of it. Raymond usually didn't bother with that sort of power trip bullshit, but he was prepared to make an exception if these morons proved stupid enough to give him any more trouble. He was already cutting them considerable slack here, and neither of them have the brains to appreciate it.

They had shared a look, and then Milkovich gave an imperceptible nod. Without a word they set to bring forth an array of cigarettes and foodstuff, little things that would have been commonplace and unremarkable in the real world but was made precious by its scarcity on the inside.

Raymond wasn't naive enough to believe they actually gave him everything they'd got in there, but enough of it to inconvenience them, which would have to do. He grabbed the the items, then fixed them both with a firm look.

“Either of you cause me any more trouble, I'm taking your books,” – he pointed to Gallager, then to Milkovich – “and your pens and paper. You think you have it bad now? Imagine sharing a cell and having nothing else to occupy you.”

He had hoped to God he wouldn't have to make good on his threat, though. The other prisoners would probably riot if they have to put up with more of ´bickering from these two.

“I catch either of you with a shiv again, you'll be fucking sorry,” he continued. “Talk it out, or agree not to talk, or whatever. Split the cell into his and his, I don't give a damn. But sort your shit out.”

Maybe they had, maybe they hadn't; the point became moot just a few weeks later, when Gallagher was released. Milkovich had soon followed him – and how exactly that had happened, Raymond still didn't know, because there was no way in hell anyone actually thought releasing that one back into society was a great move – and that had been that. For now, at least; he fully expected to see Milkovich again. Guy like that wasn't going to quit, and sooner or later he'd get caught and find himself back behind bars. Rinse repeat, until he got himself killed or locked away for good.

Only now here Milkovich is, but in front of a bar rather than behind them, and with Gallagher right by his side, laughing like they'd never stabbed a man just to get away from each other.

Raymond hesitates. There's some small part of him that actually wants to step up and say hello, and that throws him a little. He's got a rule about never getting emotionally invested in the fates of the inmates; that way lies nothing but heartbreak, because most of those who find themselves at Beckman will find themselves there again and again, for longer and longer. Don't abuse the prisoners, but don't care too much either: it's been Raymond's private policy for the past five years, and it's worked out so far.

Except now he's actually considering chatting with a couple of convicts, just 'cause he really is a little bit curious about how this unlikely pair is doing.

But nah. Forget it. His rule aside, it'd be pretty uncool to intrude on their evening out. They're free men now – kind of – and having a CO check up on them can't be high on their list of wants. But before he can move away, they both look his way; sees him. Recognizes him, too, from the way they freeze.

Okay. Call it fate, then. “Hello,” Raymond says, going for neutral good and a little nod; I come in peace.

A beat. Milkovich is eyeing him with a wariness he doesn't bother to conceal and it's Gallagher who speaks first:

“Officer Reese,” he says, managing a polite smile. “Hi.”

Raymond notices the way they glance down at the beers they technically shouldn't be having.

“I'm not your PO,” he assures them. “I don't give a damn if you drink. Might want to take it easy, though,” he can’t help but add. “Getting shitfaced is a quick way to get into trouble.”

Milkovich opens his mouth, but after a quick glare from Gallagher he closes it again. Probably for the best; Raymond can’t imagine him playing even remotely nice now that he doesn’t have to.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your evening,” he says. “Looks like you’re doing all right.”

“Yeah, yeah, we've got jobs and... “ Gallagher pauses to glance at Milkovich again, as if asking his permission. Milkovich rolls his eyes but says nothing, and Gallagher turns his gaze back to Raymond. There's a real smile on his face now, small, but filled with something akin to disbelieving delight: “We got married. Couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh, wow. Congratulations.” Raymond isn’t quite sure what surprises him more: the fact of their marriage, or the fact that he is genuinely happy for them. Maybe he’s getting soft in his old age… Or maybe it’s just that there’s so very few happy endings for those who find themselves at Beckman, whether as inmates or as guards, that they need to be treasured whenever you find them.

“Ian!” someone calls across the room, and Gallagher turns his head to look at a blonde woman gesturing wildly. “Where are those drinks?”

“Shit,” Gallagher mutters. “Better get this to Tami before she has a fit.”

Another smile, and Gallagher is gone. Milkovich, however, lingers, seemingly debating whether to say something more. Curious against his will, Raymond does his best to look approachable. Evidently, it works, because Milkovich clears his throat:

“You’d reported us when we stabbed that old fucker in the infirmary, Ian wouldn’t have gotten his release.” He pauses, looking uncomfortable, then forces out: “Appreciate it.”

Raymond merely nods. Maybe he should say something about being glad taking a chance on them had paid off, that he is glad to see them doing well – but he’s pretty sure Milkovich wouldn’t much appreciate the sentiment.

“Your boy doesn’t belong in prison,” he says instead.

Milkovich face immediately collapses into a scowl. “Well, I didn't fucking put him there,” he growls.

But Raymond isn’t intimated; just hold his gaze. “Gonna keep him out of trouble then?” Gonna stay out of trouble, he doesn’t ask, but Milkovich isn’t stupid, so he'll hear it all the same.

Milkovich still glares, but something in his eyes seem to soften ever so slightly. “You betcha. Won’t have anything on us ever again,” he promises ambiguously, with a cocky grin and one eyebrow raised.

When he walks away, swagger in every step, he is every bit the unrepentant gangster – but Raymond keeps his eyes on him and sees the way he relaxes as soon as he stops next to Gallagher. Reaches out to touch him lightly on the arm, catching his eye. That same wondering smile on both of their faces.

Raymond thinks that maybe he won't actually see either of them again.

He is glad of it.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas

Gif credit @rainbow-motors

Dean Winchester x Reader 

Words: 1518

Summary: Alone on a hunt for the holidays, 19-year-old Dean calls up his childhood friend. 

Notes: I’ve been obsessed with Young Jensen content and I found this gif (Thanks to the creator!) and I really wanted to write something for a younger Dean. Call me lazy, but I didn’t want to include the hunt itself in this one. I thought writing the moments before and after would be cute, so enjoy! (Bit of a mess, but I hope you like it)

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

-

“Hey Sammy, it’s me,” Dean started the voicemail grimly. It was the third one he’d left for his younger brother, “I know you’re not happy with me and that’s why you won’t take my calls, but dammit man, I’ll be back as soon as I can. It’s just another hunt Sam. I’ll be back before you can say Hanukkah.” He thought for a moment before finishing. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.” 

He ended the message and tossed his phone on the motel bed with a huff. He knew Sam was pissed about him going on a hunt alone, especially over Christmas, but he didn’t think the silent treatment was going to last this long. Dad gave him an order and he wasn’t going to let him down. 

Dean sat down in front of a pile of books and sighed. He hated the research parts of hunts. He just wanted to kill the son-of-a-bitch. Unfortunately, he wasn’t totally sure what this particular son-of-a-bitch was. Over the course of seven years, 15 kids have gone missing right around Christmas time. No notes, no bodies, nothing. If his dad had any theories, he certainly hadn’t shared them. So research time it was. 

About three hours and two illegally obtained beers later, he had a couple of theories ready. It didn’t seem like a spirit or vampires, and without heartless bodies, it wasn’t a werewolf. Since the disappearances always happened around the holidays, he figured that the creature might have Pagan roots. Either that, or it could be a Grinch of a witch somewhere. Whatever it was, it was sure putting a dent in his holiday. 

Maybe that’s why he dialed the number. Sure, his dad told him he needed to do this on his own, but if it really was some Pagan entity, he wasn’t really sure he could take it on by himself- not that he would ever tell his father that. As far as his dad was concerned, Dean could handle anything that the dark world threw at him. But right now, looking at the Christmas lights through the frosty motel window, he wanted a friend. 

“Jack Frost, can’t say I was expecting a call from you.” Your amused voice made Dean smile. You had the phone wedged between your shoulder and your ear as you painted your toenails Christmas Tree green. Just because you were a badass hunter didn’t mean you couldn’t be festive. 

“Hey Y/N,” Dean chuckled, pushing away from the book covered table and cracking open another beer, “how’ve things been on your side of the Midwest?” 

“Oh, you know, vengeful spirit here, vampire there, nothing too exciting.” You twisted the top back on the polish and hopped off the bathroom counter, being careful when you walked so you didn’t get any polish on the carpet. “Mom’s been off with the twins, trying to give them a little bit of a normal Christmas up in Oregon.” 

“Why aren’t you with them?” Dean wondered. Your family wasn’t like his family. You and your mom somehow made it work. You weren’t usually separated, at least not for long. 

“I had a hunch that someone else was going to be needing me this year.” Dean let out a long, frustrated groan.

“Sam called you, didn’t he?” 

“Sammy boy was worried that you’d have a lonely Christmas so he asked me to hang around in case you needed some help.” You shrugged.

“Hang around? What do you mean hang around?” 

“Come to room 114 and find out Dean-o.” With a smirk, you hung up and waited at the foot of your bed, flipping through channels on the television. You settled on a channel that was playing The Year Without a Santa Claus. 

When you heard the knock on the door you walked on your heels to open it. Dean gave you an annoyed glare, but you could tell he was happy to see you. He barreled passed you, nearly knocking you off balance. 

“Watch the feet!” You whined, pointing at your newly painted toes. Dean rolled his eyes. 

“You painted your toenails?” He scoffed. “What are you? 13?” 

“Don’t be a Scrooge, they look nice.” You had long been able to handle Dean’s snarkiness. 

Your mother had run into John Winchester back in 1990 on a spirit case. Dean was 11, you were 10 and Sam and the twins were about 7. While your parents took down the ghost, you and Dean had to babysit. While he was obnoxious at first, the two of you got along pretty well. You bonded over being the oldest siblings, constantly having to look out for your kid brothers, worrying whether or not your parents would come home, remembering the parent that you’d lost, for Dean, it was his mother to a demon, for you it was your dad to a werewolf. 

After that, John and your mom would sometimes meet up if only to have you and Dean look after the younger kids. You even ended up going to the same high school for a while. Dean was probably the closest thing you had in your monster-hunting world to a best friend. And you, not that he would ever say it, were the closest thing he’d ever had to a crush. 

“I think I may have a lead on what we’re looking for here.” You informed, tossing him your journal. Astonished, Dean scanned the page. 

“How did you-”

“I’ve been researching gods in my free time.” 

“You are such a nerd.” Dean scoffed, taking a closer look at something you wrote. 

“Yeah well this nerd has saved your ass more than a fair share so shut it, Winchester.” You smirked, snatching back your journal. “Based on the case files of the missing kids, I have an idea of who we might be dealing with. Gryla is from Icelandic folklore and she, uh, eats naughty children.” 

“And here I complained about the coal.” Dean grimaced. 

“If we don’t figure out where she is, these kids become Christmas dinner.” While you dove into more research, Dean looked over your shoulder at the TV. 

“Are those puppets?” 

You scrambled to turn off the TV, but Dean stole the remote. 

“It’s a Christmas classic.” You reasoned, feeling yourself turn red. “I watched it with the twins all the time when we were kids.” 

“I think it’s adorable.” He leaned ever so closer to you without realizing it. Like a magnet pulling you together, you found yourself inching closer and closer until-

“Are we going to hunt this thing or not?” You suddenly exclaimed, backing away quickly. He was just kidding around. Dean was always pretty flirty. It was just part of your friendship. He didn’t feel that way about you- the way you felt about him. 

-

You burst through your motel room door, half carrying Dean in with you. In a panicked rush, you sat him down on the bed and scrambled to find your first aid kit. 

“At least we beat the damn thing, right?” Dean smirked before wincing at the pain. His wound wasn’t life threatening, but it sure hurt like a bitch. 

“This is going to hurt.” You warned, turning on the radio to drown out any pained sounds that Dean made. As you cleaned the wound, his eyes were locked on you. You tried not to notice. It was the pain that was making him look at you like that. You covered the wound with a bandage and put a fair distance between the two of you. You hoped he couldn’t see how much you were shaking. 

“Everything okay?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah, yeah everything’s fine, Dean.” You lied, laughing nervously. “I just got kinda freaked out when I saw her attack you.” 

“You sure that’s all that’s bothering you?”

“I thought you were going to die, Dean, I think that’s a sufficient reason to be a little jittery.” Dean got up from his place on the bed and walked towards you. 

“We’ve known each other for how long, Y/N? I can tell when you’re not telling me the whole story.” 

You ignored him, electing to listen to the Christmas music coming from the radio instead. It was one of your favorites. You mouthed the words to yourself. 

“Through the years, we all will be together. If the fates allow.” 

“Fate hasn’t exactly been our friend.” You scoffed. 

“Huh?”

“The song. It says ‘if the fates allow’. Fate doesn’t seem to like us this year.” 

“I don’t believe in all that.” Dean said, shaking his head. “And if I did, it looks like ‘fate’ has had it out for me for the past fifteen years.” 

“Fair enough.” You crossed your arms over your chest, watching snow start to fall outside the window. Neither of you said anything. You both just watched the white flecks tumble down to the earth. You turned around and found him standing right behind you. It didn’t startle you. It felt like he was meant to be close to you. You breathed in slowly before whispering. “Merry Christmas Dean.” 

“Merry Christmas.” 

You didn’t need any mistletoe for what came next.