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dokoni-mo · 4 years ago

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She Truly Was || Muzan Kibustsuji x F!Reader

Summary: Enmu helps Muzan remember you.

SFW // Fluff with small amounts of Angst

Word Count: 4626

WARNINGS: *slight Mugen Train spoilers*, slight mentions of implied sexual activity, obsessive(?) behavior, Muzan is soft for one person only, some angst, mentions of injury, mentions of blood, I also barely proofread this lol

A/N: I've had this in my head for a while and decided to write it down. This is largely just a compilation of scenarios I made in my head to fall asleep at night when I was stressing over exams and stuff, all loosely thrown together with a plot. This is my first time writing for demon slayer, so please be patient! I also am basing a lot of my info about the characters on s1 of the anime, some of the manga, and the wiki. I apologize if something isn't accurate. tldr; I just think he's neat.

Despite having lived through thousands of years with hundreds of stormy nights in the midst, Muzan Kibutsuji never learned to appreciate them.

Something about nights like those in Japan just never sat right with the demon. It wasn't that they were too dreary, not at all. Life as a demon was plenty dreary. On the other hand, it wasn't that they were to lively either. No one ever went out on stormy nights; demon or not. Perhaps it was just because the rain was another reminder of the singularity that was being a demon. The poignant pitter patter just seemed to have a way of whispering to whoever heard it, telling them the most unpleasant yet quiet truths of their lives.

After Muzan's bloody meeting with the lower moons, he had told Enmu his task Muzan had planned for the pitiful, weaker demon. Although he had doubts that Enmu could hear him over the sound of the weaker demon's screams of pain from the blood he gave, Muzan was pleasantly surprised when Enmu understood the orders the first time around. Seeing as though it would cause trouble if the lower moon started to go around bragging about his newfound power and job, Muzan decided it would be best to keep a crimson eye on the demon.

This is what led to the scene before Muzan now.

Muzan had taken Enmu back to one of his many properties scattered across Japan, this one being tucked away in a lush, quiet forest in the middle of seemingly nowhere. The lower moon had not said a word throughout the entire journey there, and still refused to say anything now. Most likely out of fear.

Although it had been a long day of wrangling the lesser worms he called pawns (or "moons" if he was generous), Muzan did not want to show any weakness towards Enmu by resting. To busy himself, Muzan decided to do the tedious work the humans have him do in the job he took to please his human wife.

That insufferable woman.

With his bowler hat placed on his desk, Muzan had taken a seat in his large, leather chair, ordering Enmu to stand at the edge of the desk and face the opposite way. And, for extra edge, he was not to say or do anything.

It had been about two hours since then. The room was filled with only the sounds of Muzan's writing and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Although he ordered it to be that way, Muzan was already sick of it.

Peering his red eyes up from the papers scrawled below him, Muzan fixated his bone-chilling gaze upon the back of Enmu's head. Muzan could see the corners of the lower moon's mouth turned upwards as he faced the wall, presenting himself with an expression of dumb content.

Freak.

Enmu was definately a curious specimen. So eager to die, yet so eager to please Muzan. The demon lord would have been confused if he were not who he was.

Perhaps it was his own boredom setting in, perhaps it was because he wanted to feed his already gargantuan ego, or perhaps it was just because he was tired, Muzan decided to speak up.

"Tell me," Muzan said, his deep, smooth voice making Enmu perk up slightly, "Why is it that are you so loyal to me?"

Enmu took this as an opportunity to finally move, but not without some caution. The lower demon only turned his neck towards Muzan, along with a tilt of his shoulder. Muzan noted the disobedience of orders, but decided to let it slide this time.

The rain must have told him to be generous that night.

"Why, Master Kibustsuji," Enmu said, a faint blush adorning his cheeks, "It is because I am so delighted to be in your presence, and have my power be of service to you."

The demon lord felt his jaw clench at this, his red eyes peering up at the lower moon from under his abyssal lashes. Although Enmu had an... odd, way of putting things, Muzan always did like it when someone stroked his ego, even if all they ever said was the same banter over and over again. He was nearly perfection, afterall.

Muzan sat quietly and pondered Enmu's response for a second, before formulating his own.

"Your power, as you put it," Muzan said, his voice firm, "What is it?"

Enmu's grin widened, "Dream Manipulation, Master. I can enter, manipulate, or control anyone's dreams however I want to. I can use it to kill from the inside, eating a person spirit first and body second. I can also put people to sleep."

Muzan wasn't necessarily impressed by this, but he wasn't disappointed either. An ordinary power, really. Nothing that could ever rival his own.

However...

Muzan's gaze flickered down to the surface of his desk. A flicker of a long lost yet not forgotten feeling bubbled deep inside of his being. A mere spark of light, really, a piece of warmth he felt from long ago, lost to the wayside by the vestiges of time.

It was something Muzan thought he would never experience again.

Dream manipulation, huh?

It might be worth a try.

Muzan looked back up to Enmu, sharpening his gaze, "Tell me, are you able to give... pleasant dreams?"

Enmu was surprised to hear this come from Muzan to say the absolute least. He took this as another opportunity to disobey orders and turn to Muzan again, this time fully and whole-heartedly. The lower moon looked right into those blood red eyes, looking for any sign of a rare flicker of humor or joking.

Muzan's gaze was serious, poised as ever.

Muzan was being for real.

Taking a pause to swallow, Enmu allowed his soft smirk to return to his gray, pale face.

"Why," the lower moon retorted, "I can, Master, yes."

Muzan eyed the lesser demon for a good second at his response.

This move was risky. It could damage his image. Yet, if he was to do this with any of his pawns, he would do it with Enmu. Enmu seemed to have no intent on harming Muzan or his image in any way; he was far too loyal for that.

Besides, if someone were to question the might of Muzan, he could just prove them wrong.

Muzan leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other and lacing his fingers together, wrapping them around his knee. His icy gaze still on Enmu, he spoke again.

"I wish to see a pleasant dream."

Muzan nearly rolled his eyes when he saw just how wide Enmu's grin had gotten and just how flushed his face got.

It was repulsive.

But, if it meant what Muzan thought it would mean...

It was worth stomaching.

After a breif moment used to compose himself, Enmu's smile faded to normal again. He pulled up the sleeves to his coat.

"I will give you a dream where you will experience the happiest days of your life over again, Master Kibutsuji," the lower moon stated, "Is this to your liking or would you prefer something else?"

"No," Muzan stated flatly, "That is fine."

Perfect, even.

Enmu smiled widely one last time, holding out his arm and pointing it at the demon lord.

"Sweet dreams, my lord." Was the last thing Muzan heard before falling into a deep, deep sleep.

"Muzan..."

Despite his blood demon art being so much weaker than his, Muzan wasn't quite ready for just how Enmu put him into a dream like that. Muzan's headache had grown ten-fold now, and he could feel that his face was scrunched.

"Muzan..."

Slowly but surely regaining his full consciousness, Muzan could first feel that he was in different clothes than what he had been wearing before. These ones were lighter, softer, and much more airy than his normal suit. Squinting open his crimson eyes, he saw that he was in what appeared to be a long, dark, flowing kimono.

The second thing Muzan could feel was that it was rather cool where he was, and that he appeared to be lying on the ground. Sifting his weight slowly, he could then feel that his head was lain upon what felt like two soft, plush pillows firmly squished together.

The third thing, however, took him a little longer to discern quite that it was. At first, he thought it was a pair of chopsticks running across his scalp over and over again. Upon, further thought, however, Muzan was further snapped back into awareness.

Those were not chopsticks.

Those were fingers.

All too familiar fingers.

"Muzan..!"

Muzan felt a stir deep down inside of him. He recognized this feeling, this touch, this warmth. It had been so, so long since he had felt like this. How long was it again? It had to be an eternity ago. An eternity wrapped within all time time in the world.

Muzan was speechless. Muzan couldn't move. Muzan was struck from deep within, and nothing in the world could ever compare to its blow.

"Muzan!"

Although the calling of the demon's lord name had been going on for some time now, he was just now able to respond.

Tilting his chin upwards towards the voice's source, Muzan nearly fell to bits right then and there. If he was someone else, he would have wept deep, earnest tears at the very sight of the being above him. For everything and nothing surrounded him as he studied the bright, radiant face above him, and nothing else seemed to exist other than that smile.

Other than her.

Her.

Oh, her, her, her.

His beloved. His sun, moon and stars. The ground beneath his feet and the air around him. His joy and love, his woes and sorrow. His fears and excitement. His warmth and his cold.

You.

You were really here.

"I was wondering if you were ever gonna wake up," you said, a faint laugh behind your voice, "You were out for so long!"

This scene was all too familiar to Muzan. He had replayed it in his head countless times, as if it were the only record left in the world.

He knew what this day was, and he knew all of your lines.

How could he ever forget?

Every moment he had ever spent with you had been a blessing.

Right now, his head was cradled in your lap, your soft, delicate fingers combing through his hair oh so gently as he had slept. It was deep into the night, and ordinarily Muzan would not be sleeping at this time. However, your touch was just so relaxing to him.

Everything about you was.

Today, you and him had spent the night wandering through the garden of your home together, chatting about anything and everything. It was only about two months into your relationship with Muzan. Muzan had first come to your home with the intention of eating everyone within the residence, but once he saw your face, watched you, saw your heart, your spirit, your you, he just couldn't.

He just...

couldn't.

You were human, yes.

But Muzan didn't care.

He was in love with you.

Muzan had yet to tell you the truth about him, however.

But that could come later.

"Muzan, are you alright?" He heard your voice echo again, snapping him out of his trance. He saw your face painted with worry, making his own features soften.

His darling angel. If only you knew just how much it pained him to see you with anything other than a smile.

Muzan reached his hand upwards, steadily maneuvering his fingers to brush your hair behind your ear and cup your warm cheek. He was shocked at how real you felt, shocked at just how similar it felt to all those years ago.

Perhaps Muzan had to give Enmu a reward.

The demon lord caressed your cheek gingerly with his cold, calloused thumb, savoring in just how warm your flesh was compared to his. For the first time in what felt like eons, Muzan felt a smile adorn his handsome features. Not one put on just to appease the humans around him, but genuine. The type of smile only you got to see.

Only you.

"I'm more than alright, my darling." He responded, his voice soft and warm, without the normal venom he gives to his subordinates. A voice reserved restrictively for you.

Finally, you let a soft grin come over your heavenly face again, making all seven of Muzan's hearts swell.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up," you said, "But it's about to be dawn soon. I don't want you to get a burn, so let's go in the house again, okay?"

Ah yes, the lie Muzan told you. He, of course, couldn't be with you in the sunlight (as much as he wanted to). So he had told you that he had a rare disorder that made him extra prone to sunburns and heatstroke.

Just something to keep you safe from the truth.

His soft smile still adorning his features, Muzan gave you a nod as he slid his head off of your lap. Since you were on your knees, you were quicker to stand than him. Brushing off your kimono quickly, you offered one of your hands to Muzan to help him stand, of which he gladly took. He had long since forgotted just how perfectly your hand fit into his, along with how radiant your kimono made you look.

Once he was back on his feet, Muzan couldn't help but to hold your arms, holding you a few feet away from him to simply admire you for a moment, his crimson eyes doing laps around your face and body.

You were perfect to him.

Every single thing about you was without flaw in his eyes. Not one curve of your body was too shallow or too wide. Not one strand of your hair was misplaced or without poise. Not one feature on your face took away from your radiant beauty. And you had not one bad bone inside of your body.

Muzan was never one to believe in angels.

However, if anyone in any part of the world were to tell him that you were one of them, straight from the heavens themselves,

He would believe them.

As soon as Muzan stepped through the door, his hand in your own, the scene before him changed in one giant, peaceful flash of white light.

Before him now was no longer the house that he had shared with you all those years ago. Now, in its place, was a beautiful, lush springtime garden, all dredged under the cover of the night. It was not devoid of light, however. There were a few lanterns afloat in the water of the stream, as well as some within the structure of the small bridge that went over top of it. Flowers adorned every nook and cranny of the space, and the occasional insect or bird would make a brief appearance.

A small slice of paradise, just for you and Muzan Kibutsuji.

Fearing that you were no longer by his side, Muzan turned his head. His fears were quickly subsided when he saw you there next to him. Your delicate hands were placed on the railing of the bridge, and your eyes were fixated on the calm water below, almost as if it were a window into the heavens above. There was a small smile plastered on your face, and the delicate lights illuminated each of your features so perfectly.

Muzan knew this night.

This was the night he told you the truth.

The truth about him, about his "condition", about where he went for days on end, about why he couldn't walk with you in the sun, about everything.

This was the one night Muzan had ever felt fear.

"Is it really true, Muzan?" You asked, your gaze still fixated on the water below, "Are you really a demon?"

Muzan felt his lips part in small surprise. Even though he had replayed this night time and time again in his mind, it felt as if this were all happening for the first time over again.

Enmu really was good at this.

Muzan wet his lips before responding, setting his gaze on your precious, beautiful face and refusing to move it, "Yes, my love. It is true. I would not lie to you about this, I..."

A pause to collect this thoughts, before he could continue, "I kept it from you to protect you, (Y/N). I did not want any harm to come to you. My darling, I... I love you. My love for you knows no bounds. You are the stars that shine at night, and you are the shining moon above. Each time I look upon you, all I can stand to think of is how deep my love for you runs. I... I need you, (Y/N). I do not wish for you to be frightened of me, my angel. I would never, not ever harm you, nor let any harm come to you."

You still weren't looking at Muzan, yet your smile had yet to falter. Muzan felt a bubble of nervousness in his gut. Although he knew your response to his words already, even thinking of this moment never failed to make his stomach churn. He hoped his words to you were enough. He doubted that he had ever said anything more truthful in his entire life.

After a long pause of silence between the two of you, you closed your eyes and widened your smile. Then, you opened your eyes again, finally turning to face your lover. You looked Muzan right in the eyes, seemingly unfazed that you were standing so dangerously close to the most powerful being alive.

You were so brave.

Your heart was so big.

Muzan felt so overwhelmed.

"Muzan," you said, your cheeks dusting a light pink.

What you said next to him, Muzan could never get out of his head, never forget. No matter how much he tried, he would never not ever forget your words in that moment.

Within that one short, simple phrase, the king of demons fell in love all over again.

"I've always known."

Another flash within his crimson eyes, and the scene had changed again. Nighttime again, of course, but this time within the confines of the bedroom you and Muzan shared. Both you and Muzan were nude, sans the blanket that covered the lower half of your forms. Muzan was on his back, one strong arm wrapped around you, the other cradling the back of his head. Your legs were intertwined with his, and your hair and hands were sprawled out on top of his lean, muscular chest.

Muzan knew this night as well.

It was his most loved night with you, but also his most dreaded.

How cruel fate was.

Stroking your back with the tips of his fingers, Muzan stared up at the ceiling above the two of you. Your body was flush against his, and as warm as ever. He wondered to himself if he was making you cold. If he was, you didn't seem to mind.

After a long period of savoring the silence between you and him, you softly snorted out a cute, soft giggle. This made Muzan angle his chin downward to look at the top of your head.

"What is it?" He questioned.

You giggled again, tilting your head up to look at him. Smiling, you turned your body to lay on top of the demon king, your breasts smushing against his own. Instinctively, Muzan laid his hands on your hips, rubbing small circles into them as he held you in place.

"I just find it funny that even though you profess to have so much stamina, you get tired after only two rounds." You explained to him, a playful mischievousness in your tone and eyes.

Muzan breathed out a smile, reaching up a clawed hand to brush your hair out of your face.

"As I recall it, you were the one complaining it was too much." He quipped back.

You snorted, "As if that ever stopped you before."

The demon let out a soft chuckle, leaning forward to give you a kiss on the forehead. Muzan couldn't remember ever laughing so genuinely before you came along. You truly were the light of his life. You filled his days with the sunlight he had long since forgotten, as well with the warmth no other demon could ever have.

He loved you.

He loved you he loved you he loved you.

And he still did.

He watched as you dropped your gaze to his chest, running your fingers along the flesh.

"Muzan..." you said, your voice more serious than before, "I've been thinking a lot lately..."

The demon king hummed, brushing more hair from your face.

"What has been on your mind, my love?" He asked.

You paused for a second before continuing on. Muzan could practically see the gears turning in your head.

"Well, I... I'm not getting any younger, you know, and I've been thinking. I... I really love you, Muzan. You're the only person I can imagine myself being with for the rest of my life. The other day, I was in town, and I saw the cutest family ever with a husband and a wife and two adorable little children, and it made me think..."

You looked up at him again, giving him a soft smile.

"What if we were to have a family of our own?"

Muzan could feel the same sense of joy, love, and pride in his chest as he did this same moment all those years ago. In this moment, he had never felt closer to you before, nor could you recall ever looking more beautiful.

He wanted nothing more than to be a family with you for the rest of eternity.

"Darling, you know what that would mean, correct?" He questioned you. He had told you long before that demons could only have offspring with other demons, for a demon baby would eat its human mother from the inside and kill her. It was gruesome, and had originally made you cringe at the thought. Muzan had thought your reaction was quite cute.

"Yes, yes, I know," you answered, "and I'd be ready for it. Even if I'm a demon, and even if I can never go out in the sun again or live normally ever again, I'd be happy knowing I got to be with you and our baby for the rest of time."

Muzan gave you a smile in return, his long, white fangs flashing in the light of the night. Leaning forward, he kissed you upon your soft, warms lips, gently pulling you closer to him.

This was one of the thousands of reasons why he loved you.

You were always so sweet, so kind and optimistic. He would admit, he did have a soft spot for you and you alone. But he didn't care. You were worth it. You were worth every single piece of money on planet earth. You were worth the sun the moon and the stars, and all the planets here and beyond. You were worth any injury, any heartache, and any trial or tribulation in the world.

The king of the demons unquestionably, unfathomably, undeniably, adored you.

Pulling gently away from the kiss, Muzan looked deep into your eyes, right past your pupils and looked right into your soul, your very being.

"I would want nothing more, my sunlight."

If Muzan could turn back the hands of time, he would have kept you here with him for the rest of everything and beyond.

For he did not know then that was the last kiss you and him would share.

Another flash, and Muzan was no longer greeted with a visage of the past. Much to his dismay, the demon was now greeted with the sight of his office, with a smiling Enmu creepily watching him from across his desk.

What a fucking freakshow.

Taking in a breath of air through his nose, Muzan sat up tall in his chair again, rubbing the bridge of his nose with this thumb and pointer finger.

You were gone again. You were again nothing up a memory, a whisper of a time from the past.

Muzan could hardly bare it.

He had felt you, held you near him.

And just as fast as you came back, you were gone again.

This was a pain almost too hard to bear.

How long was he asleep for? Muzan really didn't care how long it was.

No amount of time with you was enough.

"Did you have the pleasant dream you wished for, Master?" Enmu asked the demon king. The lesser moon was lucky Muzan was in a somewhat good mood that day.

"Yes." Muzan replied simply, closing his eyes to rub them with his thumb, "Excellent work."

Enmu's smile widened at this, his cheeks turning pink again.

"Why, thank you, Master." He responded, his excitement prevalent in his voice.

Enmu really was a special one.

After composing himself again, Muzan scooted his chair forward up to his desk, fixing his gaze back onto his work sprawled out below.

Muzan just wanted to be alone again after that. He had been alone for years now, but he wanted Enmu out of the room. Although he could have easily ordered it to be so, he again did not want to show any weakness to the lower moon.

Christ on a bike. Muzan was so fucking stubborn.

He remembered all the times you nagged him for it.

Oh, what he would give to have you nag him one last time.

After a long bout of silence, the lesser demon decided to speak up again. He turned his head over his shoulder again to Muzan, trying to sound as naieve and innocent as possible.

"Master," Enmu said, "Where is she now?"

Muzan stopped his movements and glared up at Enmu with a venomous glare. How dare he even refer to you. You were so far above him, how dare Enmu even think to invoke your name.

Though Muzan wanted to kill the other demon right on the spot, he decided against it. He still wanted to see how Enmu would do on his mission. Also, Muzan had to admit that he did feel lighter and more generous after his dream with you. And he supposed it was fair that Enmu had his questions.

Feeling nice, Muzan decided to entertain Enmu's question.

Shifting his gaze back to the papers below, Muzan replied.

"Gone." he said, "The night she asked about a family was the last night I saw her alive. The next day, a group of slayers found her and our house. They knew who she was and that she was human, but killed her anyway. All in attempt to get to me. I found her in a pool of her own blood, limp and cold. The slayers died that same night."

Enmu's smile faded at this, his face taking on a look of shock. Closing his lips into a tight line, Enmu looked away, out of a quiet unconscious respect. Everything made so much more sense to Enmu now. Why the demon king was the way he was, his hatred for slayers, his cold-hearted, murderous nature.

It all clicked into place.

"I... I am sorry for your loss, Master." He said, his voice quieter than normal, "She seemed like a lovely woman."

Muzan peered up at the back of Enmu's head. Through his thick, black lashes.

"Yes..." Muzan said.

"She truly was."

#demon slayer #kny fanfic #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba muzan #kimestsu no yaiba #demon slayer x y/n #demon slayer x you #demon slayer x reader #muzan kibutsuji #muzan kibutsuji x reader

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joheun-saram · 4 years ago

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Whenever, Wherever (jhs)

Summary- Hoseok is a time traveller but that’s not the strangest thing that has happened to him. The strangest thing is when he meets a girl he’s never seen and she tells him he’s her best friend.

word count- 6.7k

pairing- timetraveler!Hoseok x Reader

rating- R

genre- angst, fluff, smut

warnings- car accident, mention of parental death, mention of miscarriage, major character death, description of gun shot wound (but not gory), explicit smut (unprotected lovey dovey sex), hoseok pukes a lot (soz babe ily)

a.n- Ahhh I finally finished my Secret Santa fic for @thebtswritersclub! I’m so excited to reveal that I’m indeed @baepsaetan‘s secret santa 🎅🏼Day did you guess I was your ss? Did you like me subtly asking you questions about this during our sprints? hehehe! Happy new year, love! 💕

For people who can guess, this was inspired by the Doctor, River relationship and is loosely based on the Time Traveller’s Wife (eventhough I straight up have never seen the movie and literally only read the wiki page 🥴)

A huge thank you to Bella @hobisbeautifulass for beta reading for me! I’m sorry I made you cry at work!

As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask! 💌

The day his mother passed away was when Hoseok discovered his gift.

Stranded by himself in a large suburban park in the middle of the night, there was an eeriness surrounding the dark expanse of road. There were no cars, no streetlights, and no solace to be found on the edge of the wooded trail he stood before. His heart was still racing, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he remembered seeing the blinding lights of the trailer in front of him just moments ago, his mother’s voice ricocheting through his head. He didn’t understand how he got here, and how the loud honks and screeches of tires had fallen to give way to this deafening silence.In the distance, he hears footsteps. The crackle of crushed leaves echoing in the air as he sees a man with dark hair, dressed in a large black sweater and a pair of blue ripped jeans, step forward. In the eight years he had lived thus far he had never been as terrified. The man lifted his arm as if to reach out towards him, and Hoseok closed his eyes tight, wishing he could run away.

Before he knew what happened, he was lying in his bed under his warm, colorful duvet. He rubbed his eyes, his heart still pounding and feeling an overwhelming urge to vomit. He thought it was a dream till his father entered with a tear-streaked face to let him know about his mother’s fatal accident.

That was the first time he time traveled, but it wouldn’t be the last. He didn’t know why he could do it. He didn’t know how he could control it. All he knew was that he was drawn to certain places, certain times. It was never when he wanted, like the first time when he wished he could go back to a few hours and not be greedy for ice cream so his mother would not have to drive him. Or the time he wished he could go back to tell his grandmother he loved her. Or the time in university where he wished he had never got caught cheating and lost his scholarship.

For being a time-traveler Hoseok’s life was full of regrets but the one thing he would never regret was meeting her.

-----------

For most people time is linear. There is the past, the present, and the future. But for Hoseok, time is a tangled mess, a convoluted web of events that he can only watch unfold. Never having the power to control where he ends up, Hoseok felt helpless, like his life was a punchline for the universe. All through his life, he would wind up at weird places at weird times. He would never know how long he would be there before being zapped back to whenever he came from.

Hoseok was twenty-five, he was single, he was a music producer, but most of all, he was tired. Lately, his time jumps were too frequent, going from happening once a year or so to once every few weeks. He would find himself in odd places at odd times, sometimes it was a quaint suburban street at dawn, other times a posh private school at midnight. All to stay there for seconds before zapping in his bed, as usual, his entire day lost, nausea bitting at his throat.

“Hoseok? Oh my god! It’s really you!” The new barista at his favorite coffee shop squealed when he made it to the front of the line, jarring him from his thoughts as he aimlessly scrolled through his Instagram, trying to decipher if he missed out on anything important. He looked at her, dressed cutely in a yellow sundress with the establishment's blue and gold apron on her waist. Her hair was loose around her face, her smile brilliant, as she looked at him with excitement. She was beautiful and it took Hoseok a few moments to stop himself from his shameless ogling.

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?” he asked, confused. He would have remembered if he ever saw her. She looked pretty unforgettable. Maybe she was one of Yoongi's friends, although something tells him Yoongi would find her sunshine persona offputting.

“Yeah! You’re my best friend!” She pointed at him, as his mouth dropped. Okay, so she was crazy. Great...

“Uh…” Hoseok didn't really know how to answer that, so he decided to follow his gut and just ignore her comment. “I’m sorry. Can I just order?”

“Vanilla latte, no whip, half sugar coming right up!” She beamed as she wrote on the cup, leaving him dumbfounded.

“How did you…?”

“Told you! You’re my best friend!” She pranced away to make his drink, as he stood there confused. When she returned, she handed him a drink and Hoseok could do nothing more than smile half-heartedly as he walked away. Did he have a stalker?

He decided not to visit that coffee shop again. Better not give this crazy person any more ideas.

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

Hoseok stood in someone's home, someone's living room, dark other than the moonlight that filtered through the windows. It was a modest room, resembling one of those he would see on television. In the center of the room, there was a bright yellow rug flanked on three sides by a couch set facing a television hooked to the wall above a fireplace. It seemed cozy, somewhere he would have liked to live.

He had no idea where he was and he cursed his gift once again. This was getting ridiculous. This was the first time he had appeared inside someone's home. He shook his head as he looked at the clock placed on one of the small tables next to the big couch.

3 am. Great. He was trespassing in the middle of the night.

He decided to escape before the owners caught wind of him. As he made his way towards the door, a family portrait caught his eye. It hung right next to the front door, framed by a beautiful gold frame.

His mouth dropped. It was him. He looked a little older, the lines next to his eyes a little deeper as he sat smiling on a grassy field, his arms around a beautiful woman in a yellow sundress holding a small infant wrapped in green blankets.

He felt his heartbeat pick up. He knew her. It was the random barista girl. The one who insisted she knew him. What the fuck?

Before Hoseok could spiral any further he heard a noise behind him. Turning he saw her, dressed in flannel pajamas, walking down the stairs. She looked around her mid-thirties, nothing like the chipper twenty-something he'd seen last week.

He stood there blinking at her as she came closer, awe on her features that quickly morphed into sorrow. She touched his face gently as if in disbelief that he was there as her eyes glistened in the moonlight.

"Hobi?" She spoke, her voice was hoarse as a tear slipped down her cheek. Hoseok didn't know why but he felt his heart lurch at her tears. He had no idea who she was but he felt this innate pull towards her. He wanted to hold her, wipe her tears, and most fucked up of all, he wanted to kiss her.

"I- who are you?" He asked softly, his hand coming to hold hers as if he couldn't help himself, leaning slightly into her touch.

"We haven't met yet?" Her voice was wet with tears as she sniffled, moving closer to him. She hugged him, wrapping her arms around him tightly as if to feel if he was really there. He stood silently as she squeezed him close, and wrapped his arms around her when she started sobbing into his chest. He held her tight as she cried, his eyes brimming with sympathetic tears.

"I missed you so much Hoseok," she said as she looked up at him. He had never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. Before he could think, he was leaning down to capture her lips with his own, his heart in his throat. She tasted like strawberries and mint, and he felt his head turn into a haze. Before he could deepen the kiss, he felt the familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach. He pulled apart as he saw her fade slowly, trying his hardest to hold on to her as she did the same.

All too soon, the familiar sight of his bedroom materialized as he stood there alone, her last words ringing in his head.

"No! Please! It's too soon!"

He didn't know when he started crying, but soon he was kneeling on his floor sobbing for a girl he didn't even know the name of.

-----------

Hoseok didn't know when he fell asleep, but he woke up on the floor of his bedroom, his face puffy and back sore. Without a second thought, he rose from his position, grabbed his keys, and bolted out of his apartment. He had to find her.

It took him six days to meet her again. Six days of anxiety, amped up from the coffees he chugged as he visited the coffee shop at different hours. He couldn't even describe her properly, every time he went to the cashier to tell them how she looked they gave him an odd look. Maybe it was because by the third day he looked like a deranged stalker, describing her height and her build to anyone who worked there. He was surprised they hadn't banned him yet.

On the sixth day, she waltzed in and sat across from him, not a care in the world. Her smile was wide, a juxtaposition to the sad, older version of her he was fixated on. She wore a polka-dotted dress which hitched up a little as she crossed her legs. Hoseok was speechless as he almost choked on his coffee.

"You told me to meet you earlier but honestly, I just wanted to annoy you a little." She giggled, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, her eyes lit with mirth, and the stress of finding her hit him like a ton of bricks. Hoseok jumped out of his seat, his arms around her shaking as he tried to control his breathing. His mind was fuzzy, he had no reason to react this way, but he couldn't help himself. He didn't know her but he missed her. His heart was beating a mile a minute as he held her tighter.

"What took you so long?" He asked his voice a little hoarse from not speaking all day, his breath coming out in puffs against her neck. She hummed a little apology as her hand reached his hair, stroking his scalp in a way that made him instantly relax. He melted into her, her sweet floral scent a balm to his anxious nerves.

"Do you even know my name yet?" She spoke, her voice light and airy, as he finally let go of her. He cleared his throat in embarrassment, the tips of his ears turning as red as the beanie atop his head. He settled back in his chair awkwardly staring at her, fiddling with the string of his sweatpants that laid on his thigh. He looked up at her smiling face, as she put her hand on top of his. "It's Y/N. It's nice to finally meet you, Hoseok."

Her words were simple but their effect was anything but. Hoseok felt like everything in his world made sense, that all those times he had puked after a shitty trip down the stitch of time was worth it. Her hand was so soft, skin so perfectly smooth as her thumb stroked his hand, that Hoseok had a hard time finding words to express how he was feeling.

He looked at her shyly, not knowing where his nerves were coming from, as he smiled, meeting her warm eyes.

"It's nice to finally meet you too, Y/N."

----------

Hoseok sighed in annoyance as he walked down the path of the familiar suburban neighborhood. The sun shone brightly, and all he wanted to do was to be zapped out of here so he could end up in bed next to his girlfriend. It had been barely thirty seconds since he saw her, her soft skin molded against his as she slept next to him, her hair tickling his nose as he spooned her. He missed her already. This wasn't fair. Why did he have to walk around this stupid cul-de-sac when he could be wrapped in her warmth?

Ever since the coffee shop, things with her had progressed extremely fast. He couldn't help himself. He never felt as close to someone as instantly before. Granted, he knew they were going to get married and have a beautiful child together, but that didn't mean he knew how fast he was going to fall for her.

The day he first learned her name, he couldn't wipe the giddy smile off his face. She was different than any other woman he had met. She was outgoing and optimistic, and brave. Much braver than him. While he stuttered to ask her for her number, she leaned across the table grabbed his phone, unlocking it as if by magic, and added her phone number in. While he wrote and rewrote eighteen different texts, pacing in his living room, she beat him to it with a casual "Stop overthinking, dummy. It's only me!"

How could he stop overthinking? It was her. His dream girl gift-wrapped and sent to him by fate. He never thought his gift would be good for anything, but she was here and all his previous suffering finally made sense.

As he walked along the sidewalk, biding his time, he approached a bus stop. It was cute, and definitely not from his decade. A janky blue bus stopped, and out she walked, making Hoseok miss his step and almost trip. She was dressed in a school uniform, a crisp white shirt with a plaid skirt, a cute flower-shaped backpack on her shoulders, and her hands full of college pamphlets. Hoseok couldn't help the smile that overtook his features. He wanted to run up to her but he realized even if she was his girlfriend now, it was still a crime to approach a minor. His gift was so stupid.

He stood there, averting his stare and looking at his shoes instead, as she walked closer to him. He promised himself not to be a creep and try to talk to her but her voice makes him break his resolve.

"Ew. Can you not get a hint? Get away from me, you creep!" she yelled and Hoseok's head snapped up. He felt his face flare with rage as he watched a kid around her age try to put his arm around her as she tried to shove him off. The kid was relentless, throwing cheesy pickup lines her way as she continuously rejected him. He wanted to beat that little shit to a pulp.

Clearing his throat, he approached the two. "Dude, she said no. Get off her," he spoke through gritted teeth.

"What's it to you, old man?" The boy rolled his eyes, his hand still wrapped around her as she pleaded at Hoseok with her eyes. Hoseok wasn't old! He wasn't even thirty yet! He hated this kid.

"It's not nice to forego consent, kid," he sneered, schooling his face into the coldest expression he could muster. It seemed to have worked because one look at Hoseok's face and the future sex offender had his hand to himself before he walked off with a huff. Hoseok glared at him as he disappeared in the opposite direction. Good riddance.

"Thank you so much!" Her voice was higher than it was now, a little spring to it that only comes from innocence as she looked at him with round eyes. "You're like my own personal superhero!"

Hoseok felt awkward. He never wanted to talk to her here. Running his hands through his hair, he smiled at her, throwing an awkward "Any time!" as he rushed away. The feeling in his gut was back and he had never been happier to want to throw up. The afternoon sun faded as he stood in his own room, blinded and running to where he knew his trash can was.

As he vomited into the plastic can, he felt a hand rub soothingly down his back. She handed him a water bottle when he sat up next to the bin, his head aching.

"Welcome back, babe. When did you go this time?" She giggled at her own joke. God, Hoseok loved that laugh.

----------

Hoseok was nervous. He hadn't been this nervous in a really long time. Surrounded by all his friends dressed in custom tuxedos, he fidgeted with his bowtie, and scrutinizing his reflection in the mirror he fixed the lapels of the blood-red jacket he was wearing. Who convinced him this gaudy suit was perfect for the occasion? Oh yeah, his bride.

Jung Hoseok thought he'd accomplish a lot of things by the time he was thirty-one. He thought he would have signed to a major label as an in-house producer (he did), he thought he would be living in a beautifully decorated apartment downtown (he does), he thought he would have a cute little dog to welcome him home (Mickey is adorable, in case you were wondering), but he never thought he would be waiting at the end of the aisle for someone who would want to share their life with him.

Ever since she came into his life, Hoseok felt like it was filled with sunshine. She brightened every aspect of it. The first time he kissed her, really kissed her, it felt like happiness was resonating through his entire skeleton - like she was the one thing missing in his world. The first time he told her he loved her he almost threw up from the nerves knotting in his stomach.

He promised himself he wouldn't cry, but he couldn't help himself as she walked in. She had foregone the usual white gown, quoting something about the patriarchy, as she walked towards him in a dress, equally as red as his suit.

Her smile was wide and he was in awe of her beauty. He sniffled through his vows and she winked at him through hers, a simple gesture that made him chuckle and relaxed the emotions brewing in him. She could always do that with the simplest of things, be it a touch or a look. He kissed her with passion as their friends and family cheered. He hoped she didn't mind how much he was blubbering. He promised himself he wouldn't cry.

Their wedding was one of the best moments of his entire life. Dancing to cheesy music, cheek to cheek, the couple in red stood out amongst others in black. Hoseok was so in love that he didn't even mind when at the end of the night he felt the familiar buzz in his ears. He was slightly upset that he abandoned his new wife on his wedding night, but is it abandonment when the hotel lobby fades into what he knows now is his future home?

He saw her there, sitting on the couch, a frown on her face as she seemingly stared into space, dressed in a set of comfy pajamas and he couldn't control himself. Whispering her name so as not to startle her, he moved towards her when she smiled up at him. Sitting next to her on the couch, he pulled her to him with a grin. She giggled as she settles herself on his lap, running her hands over his jacket, before soothingly scratching his scalp. Hoseok couldn't help but lean into her touch, a goofy grin on his face. He was sickeningly in love.

"If it isn't my handsome new husband. I've been waiting for my wedding night for years." She joked as she pulled his face to hers, kissing him deeply. Hoseok's heart lurched in his chest as a little whine escaped him. She isn't surprised in the least to see him there, and why would she be? In the past five years, Hoseok has visited so many different versions of her. In a way, it's part of how he fell in love with her. She may only be thirty-one to him, but he'd seen her at every stage of her life.

As she deepened their kiss, his hands went around her waist squeezing her tight as she ground on him gently. He remembers the different versions of her as he feels his blood rush through his body, each touch sparking electricity under his skin. He remembered when he first laid eyes on her in that small cafe, his nerves on their first date, her tears when he proposed, the first time he had her under him after she invited him for a movie. But he also remembered her at six playing in the sandbox in the park, sixteen and humming to pop songs while she walked home, thirty-six as she cried in his arms, seventy when she looked frayed and weak but still beautiful. He had seen all of her life, moments that he was lucky enough to be brought to more often as he fell more in love with her. He had visited her hundreds of times, and he couldn't wait to do that for the rest of his life.

He kissed down her neck, leaving little bites that he soothed with his tongue as she undressed him, his jacket somewhere on the floor, his shirt mostly buttoned. She moaned as he cupped her breasts, a beautifully airy noise that set his heart on fire.

Soon the two were breathless and naked as he hovered above her on the couch. She arched into him as he entered her, her little whines encouraging him. He latched his lips on her hard nipples, nipping them how he knows she loves. She fit him so perfectly, always so perfect for him. His wife, his soulmate, his Y/N.

"I love you, wife," he whispered and placed his forehead on hers, his hips thrusting into her heat, as he relished the connection between them. He kissed her deep, almost overwhelmed by how perfectly their lips slotted together. He could kiss her forever.

"I love you, husband," she whispered into his mouth, and his pace increased, a hand coming down to rub at her clit. She writhed under him as he pushes her off the edge. Her legs shaking around him, her heels poking into his back, as he savored the way her walls pulled him in. He was panting when he came, filling her up and babbling a chant of her name.

He pecked her face about a thousand times as they both laid on the couch boneless and giggling. When he, inevitably, ends up back on his bedroom floor, he saw her smirking at his naked body on the floor, dressed in his t-shirt, her hair still wet from her shower. She squatted next to him.

"And where is your suit?" she chided, her lips lifting, even when she tries to pretend she's mad.

"We'll get it back in a few years." Hoseok shrugged as he pulled her into a kiss, missing her body next to him already.

----------

The bar Hoseok sat at is loud, too loud for the conversation Yoongi keeps trying to have with him, and that's precisely why he chose it. Next to their table is a bachelorette party, a gaggle of women dressed in feather boas and plastic tiaras, sloshing drinks on themselves as they excitedly laugh. It's an odd contrast to the way he's feeling, the atmosphere on his own table somber.

"So what? You're going to leave your wife at home and get wasted here? Is that what you do now, Hobi?" Yoongi scolded his friend but Hoseok was already too far gone, having had a few bottles of beers before even inviting Yoongi out. He knew he was an asshole, he didn't need Yoongi to remind him, but he needed to escape.

His once happy marriage was becoming tumultuous, and, no it wasn't because they didn't love each other anymore, but quite the opposite. The past two years had really shown him that even if they were fighting and yelling, they still loved each other. Even when they were mad they crawled into bed together at the end of the day and held each other, not being able to sleep otherwise.

Their marriage started off great. There were cuddles in the kitchen, dance parties in the living room, vacations in Rome, and a night where they both sat next to each other on the floor by the bathroom holding hands as they waited with a little blue stick. They made love on that floor when it showed two lines, but that wasn't a surprise - Hoseok had seen his child in that photo the first time he kissed her.

The surprise was when she woke him up in the middle of the night, thirteen weeks into the pregnancy clutching her stomach, tears running down her face. He had never felt as scared as he did at that moment, breaking all the traffic laws he could get away with to get her to the emergency room. He held her hand through the ultrasound, through the exam where she winced, and through the doctor solemnly telling them they had had a miscarriage. He didn't let himself cry in front of her, always wanting to be brave, but he sobbed when she slept, knowing that he had a child but gaining little solace from the fact as he mourned.

The second time the two lines showed up, they were careful. He waited on her hand and foot, working from home, ensuring she got the proper nutrients. The result was another trip to the emergency room and another night of tears holding each other. By the fourth time, they stopped being surprised, just two zombies driving calmly to the hospital, before returning home. She went to the bedroom, while Hoseok drank himself into a stupor, before asking Yoongi to meet him here.

Hoseok knew he had a child, but he felt hopeless, drowning in the undercurrent of hurt and apathy. He loved his wife, loved her more than anything in the world but he couldn't bear to look at her tonight, couldn't bear to convince her once again that he had seen their child. Maybe they adopted he thought bitterly as he switched from beer to shots.

He walked home in a drunken haze despite Yoongi's worried insistence that he take a cab. Somewhere during his walk, he had started crying, tears painting his face and sending shivers down his body as they cooled in the evening chill. He wished he could fix it for her, she was always so brave, always so supportive of his stupid ideas and moods. Every time they had a fight, she was the first to apologize, a smile on her face as she cracked a joke and tickled him till all his worries were forgotten.

Drowning in self-pity, he barely noticed the buzz in his ears as he entered his house. Stumbling into the living room he saw her sitting on the couch with a cup of tea. He stared at her as he realized he was in the future, her hair greying, and her skin wrinkled. He didn't know how to react, but the tears returned as he rushed to her falling on his knees as he held onto her legs.

"I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry." He apologized again and again. He didn't care that this version of her wasn't the one that needed to hear him, but he felt like a terrible husband, a terrible partner, as he kissed her knees. She stroked his hair and shushed him with a soft smile.

"What happened, Hobi?" she asked, her voice gentle, and he felt all his walls come down as he told her things he was sure already knew. He felt exhausted, every cell in his body aching. He laid on the couch, head in her lap as she listened to him, consoling him with the wisdom of a life lived.

After he had fallen silent, sober, and unable to convey any more emotions, she spoke.

"Hobi. You have to be nicer to yourself. You were the perfect husband. The perfect soulmate." Her words were meant to be soothing, but as soon as he heard them he felt like ice was running through his veins. He sat up immediately, looking at her with wide eyes.

"Were?"

"I shouldn't have said anything..." She looked guilty, hurt crossing across her features, as she ran her hands up and down his arms.

"No! Y/N... I die?" His voice was small, almost timid towards the end of the sentence, as he held her hands to ground himself.

"I'm sorry, baby." Her eyes glistened as she cupped one of his cheeks, looking at him sadly.

"When?"

"I'm not telling you. You'll go insane." She was firm in her resolution, her tone taking cadence that she always used with him when declaring the end of a conversation. But Hoseok couldn't help himself. He was going to die, he was going to leave her. He felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

"I'm already going insane! You have to tell me. What if I can stop it? We can be together. I don't want to leave you!" He pleaded, his eyes wide in panic.

"Hobi... You've never left me. You visit so often." She spoke with a small smile, seemingly reminiscing.

"Please! Please or else I'll go every day knowing it's my last with you. I - I can't do that. Please." He was almost whining at his point and he didn't care how desperate he sounded. He just wanted to know how much time he had with her. He was so stupid, how could he leave to get drunk while she waited for him at home. He didn't deserve the way this version of her was looking at him with such love.

"I barely even remember when it happened." He knew she was lying, could see it from the way her gaze averted his. Hesitantly she continued. "I'll... I'll just tell you. It's the day after you see yourself for the first time."

"See myself?" He repeated, his brain running through his memories. He would have remembered if he saw himself. It would be hard to forget, but he came up empty, tears of frustration lining his eyes as he ran his hand through his hair.

"That's all you told me. That you saw yourself and you felt bad for not being able to give yourself advice."

"I won't ever leave you. I promise. I'll come back. As much as I can." He kissed her at that, repeatedly, her lips soft under his. She knew he couldn't control his ability, but she smiled at him anyway, agreeing with his promise, telling him she'll see him soon, even if she had no idea if that was true.

When he was transported back to his room, he couldn't help himself from heaving on the floor, the contents of his stomach painting the hardwood. As always, she rushed to him, wiping his tears and walking him to the bathroom. She helped him change, before cleaning up after him, despite his protests, as she glared at him every time he tried to sit up from the bed.

When she returned from putting the cleaning supplies away, she shut the door to their bedroom, and there, on the hook behind it, hung his wedding suit, the crimson a bright splash of color amongst the white. She followed his eyes, giggling a little.

"You already made up for being an ass, don't worry," she joked, fingers poking at his side to tickle him gently.

Hoseok had missed her laugh. Missed it so much. He cut her off before she could say anything else, whispering apologies against her lips. He was never going to leave her.

---------

He was in a park, the trees throwing looming shadows under the moonlight as he walked around. He recognized this park, it was the one near her childhood home. She had taken him there during their first Christmas together, and he still remembered the silly grin on her face as she showed him the sandbox where she used to spend all her days as a kid, making sandcastles. He smiled at the memory. It was the first time in a while that his time travels hadn't taken him straight to her and he missed not being able to see which part of her life he was visiting.

He walked about reminiscing about his day. It was his daughter's third birthday and he felt a little bad leaving his wife to clean up the mess. He couldn't believe Soojin was three already. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through photographs as he waltzed down memory lane. He smiled softly at the photo from the day she was born. She was so tiny then, her little, pink heart-shaped lips in a pout as she stretched, her eyes almost disappearing beneath her chubby cheeks.

He kept his eyes glued to his phone, looking at photo after photo. There was one of her covered in mushed peas and he remembered how long it took him to get the mess out of the living room rug. There was one of her dressed as spiderman who she had declared her favorite recently after watching the cartoon on Netflix, doing the signature web-shooting pose. There was one of holding on to her mom as she walked for the first time. Hoseok's heart felt full, and he couldn't wait to get back home.

He decided to keep up with the tradition of seeing his wife every time he skipped through time and started walking towards her house, deciding to take the shortcut she had shown him. Humming a little, he placed his hands in his pockets as he strolled along, thinking about the delicious cake he had custom ordered for the party. He could probably eat the whole thing. Would it taste as good after it's been in the fridge?

His musings came to a quick stop however as he looked into the distance, just at the exit of the wooded path. There, dressed in a yellow sweatshirt with a giant dog on the front and jeans that didn't quite reach the ankles, was an eight-year-old boy. He walked closer and his heart stopped as he saw himself for the first time. He was crying, sniffling in the air, and as Hoseok approached his younger self, he vanished into the air.

He felt the air leave his lungs as he stumbled in his steps, falling on to the ground.

"That's all you told me. That you saw yourself and you felt bad for not being able to give yourself advice."

No. It's too soon. He couldn't collect his thoughts as they rushed through his head barely leaving a trace. When he had that conversation four years ago he thought he had more time. Soojin was just three years old. He thought he would have years, that he would see graduations and intimidate boyfriends, and walk her down the aisle. It's too soon.

He could feel himself hyperventilating, his breaths short and his ears echoing with his heartbeat, as he tried to collect himself. He looked at his hands shaking in his lap and his eyes focused on his outfit. How could he have forgotten what the man in his memory was wearing? He put on these ripped jeans this morning, the same jeans that haunted him for the first sixteen years of his life. How could he have not realized that he was the creepy old man he had nightmares about as a kid?

Trying to control his breathing, he started to formulate a plan. He didn't want Y/N to know, he didn't want her to go through the emotions he was going through right now, because she would go through so much worse when he was gone. He sat in the park and let himself cry, hoping that he wouldn't have to leave soon because leaving meant saying goodbye and he was not ready yet. It's too soon.

---------

Hoseok awoke with a sinking feeling in his heart and a lump in his throat. It was the day he had been dreading since before he learned her name. He hated that he didn't have enough time. Enough time to hold her, enough time to watch his daughter grow up, enough time to build a bigger family.

He found the other side of the bed empty and standing up with a groan, he moved to the room next door. He stroked his daughter's cheek a tear spilling out his eye that he quickly wiped. Bending down, he kissed her little cheek, sniffing her calming scent.

"Daddy loves you, baby. Daddy will always love you. Please be good for your mommy okay?"

She only moved a little at his words, sighing before continuing to snooze. Hoseok ran his hands over his face, his heartbeat accelerating. He looked at the mirror in the corner and practiced his smile a few times. He had to be brave. He had to be brave for her, for both of them.

He walked into the kitchen, schooling his expression into one of bliss, as he saw her standing in her underwear and one of his t-shirts, and his heart felt hollow. He loved her so much. He hated that he had to leave this way, but that was his fate from the beginning, wasn't it? Their whole relationship, everything, started from and led to this moment. Padding over to her, he put his arms around her squeezing her tight, his chest molding perfectly to her back as it always did.

She giggled as she leaned into him, softly caressing his arms and making him nuzzle further into her neck. He took in her delicate scent and tried to control his breathing. He could not break.

"Someone's cuddly this morning," she commented, turning around with a grin.

"I just love you, that's all."

She cooed as he brought his lips to hers. What he intended to be a gently good morning kiss, turned into so much more as he lost control of his emotions. He kissed her like he would forget her taste, but it wasn't him who would be dwelling on this moment for years to come.

When the two broke apart, he cupped her cheek as he felt the familiar buzz in his ears.

"You know I love you more than anything in the world right?" He whispered before he started to see his kitchen fade away.

Her voice echoed as he was teleported into a dark room, momentarily blinded.

"Aww, I love you too, my Hobi!"

He fumbled around a little and then he heard it - a loud gunshot, shattering his eardrums. The sound hurt more than the sudden sharp pain in his chest, he thought, as he gasped for air, stumbling to the ground. The lights in the room turned on then and he saw the younger version of his father in law, demanding something, his voice inaudible.

She never told him details about this moment, but kind of fitting that it was in the hands of her father. He never did like Hoseok much anyway. His breaths felt shallow as he chuckled at the irony. Or was it justice? Karma? He didn't know. Nevermind, his chest hurt far more than his eardrums. Fuck, being shot is a bitch.

He felt the nauseous pull for the last time as he dropped into his bedroom. The last thing he saw was his wife rushing over to him. Oh, she was so beautiful, he was so lucky she chose him.

For being a time-traveler Hoseok’s life was full of regrets but the one thing he would never regret was meeting her, even if that was the reason he lost her.

—

I hope you liked this super sad angst piece, for more fics of mine check out my masterlist

#thebtswritersclub #houseofddaeng #jhope angst #hoseok angst #hoseok fanfic #hoseok smut #hoseok fluff #jhope fluff #jhope imagines #jhope smut #jhope x reader #bts fic #bts fanfiction #btsnoonanet #purplearmynet #hoseok x reader

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thethoughtsfromthreeam · 5 years ago

Text

A Helping Hand

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Warnings: Smut

A/N: I don’t know why I’m taking so long in writing for Pedro’s softest characters - Catfish and Marcus Pike. Still working on the next chapter of Sunshine, so hopefully I’ll have it ready for you for Thursday!

Reminder: I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit. I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags: @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer, @beskars , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder, @lavenderl3mons , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale

—***—

“Francisco! Get out of there! Did you even wash your hands!?” You threw the towel at him as he scurried away from the bowls of cookie dough set out on the island. He was laughing as he shoved another chunk into his mouth. He could eat this shit forever; it was so good.

“But you know I love it so much.” He mumbled as he chewed, his smile getting bigger. God, he loved Baking Sunday, it was his favorite day of the week. The house always smelled good, you always baked tasty shit, and something about you in that waist apron did a number on him. Yeah, these were good days.

Last night he had gone out with the guys for a few beers and when he said he was heading home early, they all started ragging on him. It was all in good fun, they knew about Sundays and knew that they were going to reap the rewards, too. But even if they were being dicks, he didn’t care, he wasn’t going to wake up late on baking day. He leaned up against the far counter, looking at you as he swallowed, already planning on his next covert theft operation for more.

He might have the brain of a military tactician, but you weren’t no slouch yourself. You were ready.

“Hey Cat?”

“Yeah mijita?”

“You see that bowl the table?” He nodded. “Go open it for me.”

He pushed himself off the counter and sauntered over, thinking he was going to get his taste even sooner than he thought. But when he opened it, it was filled to the brim with chocolate chip cookie dough – his favorite. He could feel his mouth watering at the sight.

“Now that’s yours, so keep your fingers out of my bowls.” You smiled while pointing at him and he groaned in pleasure. You must have made it last night when he was out, which made the most sense because if he was annoying now with his little sneak attacks, he would have climbed you like a tree to get this whole big ass bowl. He walked around the island and yanked open the utensil drawer and pulled out a spoon.

“Oh, now you’re going to get a spoon? You’re a dick, Cat.” There was no malice in your words, and you said them with a laugh. As he walked behind you, he laid a sloppy kiss on the back of your neck as a thank you. Your smile got bigger, a little shiver running down your spine. God, he always managed to turn you on in the littlest of ways.

Frankie sat at the table, eat his prize as you stood at the island, almost zen-like, as you rolled out the different doughs into small balls. The calming familiarity of your movements, combined with the sunlight filling the kitchen, made for a moment of peace you found practically nowhere else but in Frankie’s arms at night. Here was your heaven and you reveled in it.

When you two had saw the house, the cozy craftsman cottage was perfect in every way except the kitchen. But given it had everything else you both wanted, you felt you could compromise and work with what you had. Six months after you and Frankie had moved in, you went away for a weekend with your best friend and came home to a completely renovated kitchen. The boys came and helped him get it done and you cried so hard, he was worried that you were upset at first. Of course, he learned later than night after everyone left how thankful you really were.

As you walked through the familiar routine of Baking Sunday, you hummed a small tune to yourself. One of Frankie’s bigger splurges had been on the professional level oven, letting you bake three or four batches of cookies at once. Soon the mounds of raw dough were turned into warm and gooey cookies laying on the cooling racks.

You began to knead out the dough for the week’s bread when your phone pinged at you. You looked over and saw it was a message from Benny, asking for a couple of loaves of your bread. You smiled.

“Cat, baby, can you get me two more bowls from that cabinet?” You pointed with your toe. Then your phone pinged again, and you saw it was from Tom. “You better make that six bowls.”

“Why so many?” Frankie grunted as he squatted down and began pulling out what you needed.

“Benny and Tom both just texted wanting bread and I’m going to say that Pope and Will are going to text soon, too. Might as well be prepared.

“Well, will my favorite baker need a helping hand?” He brought over the bowls and set them on the counter, giving you a kiss on the temple. You smiled and nodded. Together, you got the bowls prepped and seven loaves of bread ready to rise. As you worked, you saw the texts from the other two and smiled while shaking your head.

“Maybe you should start a group chat so they can send you their orders all at once instead of whenever the mood strikes them.” Frankie covered the last bowl and placed it on the counter under the sunny window. You could have proved them faster in the warming tray of the oven, but you liked giving them the full hour to rise so you could get your workspace cleaned up.

“Mm, maybe.” You hummed as you started the dishwasher and began to wipe down the counters. You weren’t a messy baker, but you hated a dirty space to work in. When the kitchen was cleaned and ready to go, you glanced at the clock and saw you still had half an hour left. Frankie was turned away from you and you could see his back muscles moving under his shirt as he dried the last of the trays. God, you loved his back.

Without hesitation, you walked up to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades before nestling your cheek there. You could feel the warmth of his skin through the cotton against your cheek and you sighed contently. Frankie put the last of the trays on the counter and toss the towel in the dish rack before turning around in your arms.

“Hey.”

He leaned against the counter and wrapped his arms around you as you leaned further into him, head resting on his chest. There were times in his life that he felt he would never have moments or days like this again and here he was, experiencing them regularly. He was thrilled to his toes and he bent his head to kiss the top of yours before resting his chin on the spot. The hazy sun of the summer afternoon filtered through the windows, creating a cocoon, where time stopped, and the world centered only on the two of you. Here the silence was comfortable, and you were surrounded by the smell of yeast and sugar and Frankie. This was as close to heaven as you two would ever get without dying.

As the magical aura of the moment surrounded you, you tipped your head up and propped your chin on his chest to look at him. This man had you wrapped around his finger, although he was likely to say the same thing about you. His soft curls rested on his forehead, free of the worry frown it sometimes held. The scruff along his jawline had hints of gray, as did his hair, but you loved it. It gave him a soft look that fit him so well.

As you continued to drink him in, he smiled at you and his dimple appeared. God, that was so sexy to you and you couldn’t stop yourself from raising up on your tiptoes to place a gentle kiss on it. It deepened as he grinned at your touch. He expected you to kiss him on the lips next, but you instead placed a small kiss on his jaw, letting his beard tickle your lips and face.

You positioned another kiss on the other side of his face, then another on his chin, and a final one on his nose. You pulled back and he smiled at you, his eyes sparkling with love and a little lust. He bent his head to capture your lips, but he was gentle about it. He followed up with a series of pecks against your lips, ones that always made you weak in the knees and he knew it. You moved your hands from his back to the front of his shirt, gripping the soften cotton.

Under your fingers, you heard his heart beginning to beat faster and you knew yours was matching his pace. He kissed you again, harder this time and you respond in kind before pulling back to look at him. The glimmer of lust in his eyes was brighter and his eyes were darker, the soft brown nearly black.

Letting go of his shirt, you pushed yourself out of his arms and stepped back. His arms dropped to his sides and you could see his chest rising as his breaths grew heavier. His eyes were glued to your chest, where your pebbled nipples stood in stark contrast against your thin tee shirt. For all his bravado in many other things, it never failed to surprise Frankie that you were so turned on by him, that your moans, whimpers, and screams were his doing.

You give him a flirty smile as you turned to walk around the kitchen island, letting your fingertips glide along the cool marble, and you walked over to the kitchen table. Leaning against it, you crossed your arms under your breasts, pushing them up and from where you stood, you could see a bulge forming in Frankie’s pants.

“Cat, baby?” The coyness of your smile was matched by your tone of voice.

“Yeah mijita?” His voice had taken on a raspy edge to it, sending a little shiver across your skin.

“Come here, I want to show you something.” You didn’t need to tell him twice and Frankie practically leapt over the island to stand in front of you. You laughed at his grin, akin to a little boy at Christmas time. You moved to sit on the table, letting your legs naturally fall open as you placed your hands on the table behind you. Frankie wedged himself between your thighs and you sighed as you felt your jean skirt bunch up at the top of your thighs. The warm air of the kitchen felt almost cool against the heat of your core.

“Mijita, you are killing me softly over here.” He slightly bent down so his hands were flat against the tabletop and his lips level with your own. You shimmed forward a bit so that the part of you most aching for him could feel his hardness and in return so he could feel how much he turned you on. Frankie groaned at the contact and he rolled his hips to rub up against you. You lolled your head forward to rest it against his, noses touching gently. Despite being warm, you body broke out in goosebumps as pleasure gentle coursed through your body.

After a few more rolls of his hips, Frank angled his face to kiss you, tongue darting out to lick along your lower lip. You sighed as you opened to him and as your tongues began to dance against each other, you could taste the sugar and chocolate of the cookie dough. You kissed passionately until you moved away, needing to take a breath. His plush lips tried to chase you, but you tilted your head and instead he found purchase along your beck, just under your ear.

As you drew a ragged breath, your pleasure crowding out the air in your lungs, you moan when you feel him drag his lips down your neck in those soft kisses that you so adored from him. Your nipples had grown harder and your core wetter with each touch of his skin against yours and you moved your hands from the table to his wrists, needing to feel him to anchor yourself.

“Cat.” His name came out on a sigh and as he continued to kiss down your neck, Frankie was certain he was going to lose it if you said his name again. He instead focused on covering your neck with kisses and he was grateful that you were wearing a v-neck shirt so that he could continue down into your cleavage, where he dipped his tongue between your breasts. He could taste the faint saltiness of your skin, sweat from bread making.

You moved your hands to draw up your shirt, but he stops you, his warm palms almost too hot against your wrists. He lifted his head so he could look you in the eyes – the brown in the them completely gone by now – and his teasing smile seeming almost predatory. He was plotting something, and you grinned back, letting yourself fall back on your palms. You knew he could see your breasts thrusted towards him and you bit back a smile when you heard the growl deep in his chest.

“Patience mijita.” He pulled back, taking you in – a slight sheen of sweat now covering your body and he could see the crotch of your pink panties nearly soaked through. His smile grew wider when he saw it and his mouth watered, wanting to taste everything you had to offer. He stood back and drew himself up to his fill height and you shivered in want.

Before you could admire him fully, he dropped to his knees, placing those blazing hot hands on your calves. You sat up and reached behind you to untie your apron, but he squeezed your leg.

“Stop.” It was a command, but it was soft, and you stopped, an eyebrow raised. “Leave it on.”

“Oh?” Now both eyebrows were raised and you face was split with a shit-eating grin. You could see the blush creeping into his cheeks. Your voice had a rasp to it that sent shivers down to Frankie’s toes, making them curl inside his boots. But he shrugged as you put your hands back onto the tabletop, eager to see what he has planned.

He slowly let his hands drag up your legs until they rested on your thighs, the heat practically scorching the sensitive skin there. You widened your legs, hoping to encourage him higher, but then he took his hands off you and you groaned at the lost of them. But you were moaning again when you saw him push the apron up and you reached your hand out to hold the bunched-up fabric in your hand, out of his way. He smiled.

He brought his hand up to the waistband of your skirt and popped open the button. You helped by shifting your hips so he could drag the worn denim over your hips and down your legs. Without the fabric around your hips, he brought up his hands and placed them against your inner thighs. He pressed and your legs went wider.

You dropped your head back and let out a breathy moan as you felt Frankie’s tongue slide up the cloth of your panty-covered slit. The extra pressure on your clit made your hips jerk and you could feel his smile against you. He did it again and then a third time and by now your panties were so soaked, they clung to your core.

He continued to pleasure you with his tongue, the once smooth fabric feeling rough against your sensitive clit. Suddenly he stopped, and you whimpered, knowing you were so close to your climax. You opened your eyes and looked down at him, noticing that he was watching you with lust-filled lust orbs. Frankie raised his hands to your hips again and tugged at your panties. Dropping the apron, you pushed up on your arms to give you leverage to raise your pelvis and he swiftly dragged the cloth down your legs.

The minute they landed on the ground, Frankie dove under the apron and back between your legs, licking furiously at your clit and the sudden rush of pleasure sent your whole-body vibrating. You body bowed forward and your hands, seemingly on their own, yanked at the fabric to grab onto his head.

The fine hairs of his head felt like silk against your skin, almost as silky as his tongue on you. As you began to shiver from the building of your climax, he moved a hand from your thigh and sunk two fingers into your core, you wet heat surrounding him. The soft fabric of the apron brushed against his neck and ears and added with the other sensations, his cock throbbed painfully.

“Oh god, Cat!” His name ripped from your throat on a sob as you raced towards your orgasm, almost scared of how strong the waves of pleasure were that rolled through you. He pumped his hand a few more times as he sucked on the very part of your anatomy that screamed for attention and you screamed as the tension inside of you broke. Frankie could feel your walls clench around his fingers, almost painfully, and he lapped up everything you gave him. Your hips jerked violently as your aftershocks rolled through you in quick succession.

After what seemed like forever, you untangled your fingers from his hair and pushed him away; the sensitivity you felt was almost painful. He rocked back on his heels and looked up at you, so incredibly turned on by the flush that colored your skin and god, that keening scream you gave when you came just sent a thousand watts of pleasure to his cock. He was so hard, and he wanted nothing more than bury himself so deep inside of you that he felt nothing else in this world.

He spent years chasing highs – the military, his helicopter, even the coke. But none seemed parallel to how he felt with you and Frankie was certain he could bed you every day until he died, and he still wouldn’t get enough of you. He stood on shaky legs, every heaving pant out of your mouth making his skin feel tighter and hotter.

You head, which had been hanging down, rolled to the side and then backwards so that you were looking up at him. God, this man was so beautiful to you and watching the lust on his face as he stood there just looking at you was intoxicating. No man had ever made you feel so wanton and hedonistic as him.

You reached out an arm to drag your hand across the bulge in his pants and the heat of his erection felt scorching through his jeans. His hips jerked at your touch and you could hear the hiss of his breath as he sucked inwards.

“Where do you want your cock, Cat?” You raised your eyebrow at him, and he groaned. You were the girl next door especially with that damned apron on, but god, your mouth was something out of his most deprave fantasies. And you knew it. “What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?”

He groaned at the pun as he moved forward. You grabbed the front of his shirt to bring him close and he slightly stumbled against you, that heavy erection pressed up where you wanted him most. But you were always a generous soul.

“What do you want, Cat? Do you want me to suck your cock or do you want to fuck my pussy?” He moaned through gritted teeth. God, you weren’t playing fair.

“Pussy. I want to fuck you so bad.” His eyes were closed now as he was willing everything in him not to come just yet, he had to feel you surrounding him. He wanted to feel the wet heat that haunted his dreams. He didn’t need to tell you twice as your hands made quick work of his belt and then his pants. You reached inside his boxers and you pulled out his erection.

You let your hand ghost over his cock and Frankie grabbed your wrist, the grip almost painful. You drew back and again, propped yourself onto the tabletop, pulling up the apron and widened your thighs in silent invitation. He took it eagerly and notched his head against you. You looked into each other’s eyes as he slowly filled you, your walls stretching almost deliciously.

When he bottomed out, you both paused for a moment and you bowed your heads towards each other so your lips could brush against each other. Frankie wrapped his arms around you, drawing you closer to him so that you were flush from chest to crotch. You brought your hands to his upper

You rolled your hips against him, flexing against his thick cock. He took the hint and pulled back before plunging back into you. You groaned at the sensation; the sound captured by his lips. Soon his easy thrusts began to pick up steam and you pulled away from him to catch your breath, which he robbed you of with every movement of his hips.

Soon you could feel your pleasure building from gentle laps to cresting waves and you knew he felt it too because his hips began to lose their steady rhythm. You tightened your thighs at his waist and your arms at his shoulders.

“Cat. Make me come, I want to feel you.” The words came out on a breathy moan and he buried his face into your neck, nodding in response. He dropped a hand between your bodies and brushed his fingers against your clit. Your moaned. “Yes, like that, baby.”

“Fuck, mijita, you’re killing me.” He ground out the words as he began to thrust faster, his fingers matching pace with his cock. “I fucking love you, you know that?”

“Yes!” The waved broke and your orgasm washed over you, curling your toes. As you bowed into him, your fingers clutched his arms even harder and you both knew your nails were going to leave marks. “Cat, I love you so much, oh god!”

Like before, your aftershocks tore through your words stutter through you. You could feel Frankie stiffening as he came, his groan deep and guttural. As the last of your orgasm petered out, you dropped your head to his shoulder, and he did the same to you. Your heavy breaths mixed together between you.

After several long minutes, Frankie felt like sensation was coming back to his body and he slowly withdrew from you, even as your thighs tightened against the loss. He kissed you gently on the forehead after he pulled away from you, before walking over and grabbing a paper towel.

After gently wetting it, he came back over to clean you up and you pressed gentle kisses to his temple and cheek as he did so. He returned to wash his hands after slipping his cock back inside his pants. You sat a few minutes longer to let sensation return to your legs before sliding off the table to put your panties and skirt back on.

Frankie came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder. You laid your hands on his forearms and bumped your head against his. You stood like that for only a moment before the timer pinged at you, causing you both to jump at the shrill sound in the quiet kitchen. You laughed.

“Hey Cat?”

“Yeah mijita?”

“Care to give me a helping hand?”

“Always.”

#francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #fanfic #triple frontier

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desiraypark · 4 years ago

Text

An Old Friend

Characters: Adam Sackler x Original Character (Black Female/Femme) OC: Katrina “Trina” Santos - described as petite (particularly short, not necessarily thin) and having been quiet and introverted when they were young. Storytelling purpose: Adam thinks he’s about to turn her out and toss her around like a dodgeball. Content: Chile. Take a wild guess. Licky-licky; pokey-pokey; sucky-sucky. Additional CW: Dirty talk; a tad bit of name-calling; Adam shoves that spray can down OC’s throat and OC guzzles that Reddi Whip. Author’s Note: I still haven’t actually watched a full episode of Girls lol. YouTube clips and Girls Wiki have been my friends. Word Count: 2,829

Adam stood outside of the bar, took a deep breath, and walked in. He maneuvered through a small group that was just standing in the middle of the floor for some fucking reason, and sat down. The bartender was way on the other end. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” he said. Adam nodded his acknowledgement, and used the time to think about what he wanted. “Adam?” a little voice called to him. He looked in the direction it came from--two seats to his left. A vaguely familiar girl with curly hair and gold hoop earrings that complemented her gold eyeglasses smiled at him. “Trina...Santos...” Adam blinked and shook his head a little, trying to adjust his vision. The last time he saw Katrina Santos...well, it was in a cap and gown. But before then, she always wore hoodies, jeans, Jordans and round, black eyeglasses. She rarely wore makeup or even jewelry. And she definitely didn’t talk much.

Now, she was sitting at the bar with her hair out, gold jewelry placed wherever jewelry could go--wearing red lipstick, that contour or highlight shit that girls wore now, and had a set of jugs partially on display. “No fucking way,” he said. “Trina?!” He slid over to the empty seat beside her and gave her a hug. “How are you?” “I’m doing fine,” she replied. She looked down at her half-empty pint glass. “Well, kinda.” She got a good look at his face. He still looked the same, yet so different at the same time. His hair was longer and his body bulkier.

“You still live in Brooklyn?” he asked. “No. Harlem now.” Her head tilted a little. She suddenly remembered that Adam had a drinking problem in high school. She cleared her throat, not daring to question him.

“I’ve seen you on TV a few times. I’ve heard about you being on the stage. I’m glad you stuck with theatre. You were so good in school.” “What’ll you have?” the bartender asked. Adam’s head shot up in his direction and he gave the decision deep thought. He felt Trina’s eyes on him, too. “Club soda with lime.” The bartender nodded and fixed up his drink. “So, what are you doing now? Are you still a shy poet?” Trina scoffed and chuckled. “Still shy. A poet sometimes.” The bartender handed Adam his drink. “I work as a reading specialist now. At an elementary school,” Trina added. “That doesn’t surprise me,” Adam said. He took a sip of his drink. Trina felt butterflies in her stomach. She didn’t expect Adam to remember things about her. “So, what brought you here?” he asked. Trina looked down at her watch. “I’m supposed to be on a date. But I guess I missed the new rule where only one person actually shows up at the meetup spot.” “Wow. Did you call him?” “Of course. Called, text. No response.” “Damn. What a dick,” Adam said.

Trina finished off her drink, then held up her hand. “It is what it is. C’est la vie; que sera, sera. All that stuff.” Adam twirled the straw in his club soda.

“So, what’s been going on with you?” she asked. Adam looked back at her. “Oh, working. I’m rehearsing for a play right now. Off-Broadway...” “That’s great,” Trina said warmly. “But what I meant was...what’s got you ready to fall off the wagon?” Suddenly, there was silence between them. Beyond them was the chatter of strangers, the sound of liquid being sucked through straws, and easy listening music. Adam looked down at the bubbles in his drink. “My girlfriend broke up with me.” Trina rubbed Adam’s arm. “I’m sorry to hear that...” “I’m fine. It was understandable. Might even say it was karma.” “Oh?” “Yeah...”

He looked up at Trina’s empathetic face. “But let’s talk about something else. What time was your date supposed to be here?” She looked down at her watch again. “An hour ago. But I’ll be honest, I was more so hoping to get laid than to make a connection. So, no broken heart tonight. Just a dry puss.” Adam chuckled and shifted in his seat. “I’m sorry, that was so vulgar,” Trina said, laughing to herself. “No, I get it.” Lust filled Adam’s eyes. Trina caught them, and cleared her throat. “It just sucks that I got all dressed up for nothing,” she said. Adam used her statement as an excuse to give her another once over. She hadn’t gotten any taller since high school. The only difference between then and now, was that then, she was short and relatively thin. Now, she was short and had a little...umph. “Wanna grab something to eat? Keep the night from being a total waste?” he asked. Trina gave her watch another glance. “Sure. Why not?” Adam paid for both of their drinks, and they walked toward the door. He held the door open and Trina turned around just in time to catch him looking at her ass. He met her eyes with haste. “You remember Vinny’s?” he asked. Trina smirked. “Of course.” She started walking and Adam’s long legs quickly pulled him to her left side, protecting her from the street they were actually yards away from. Their shoes hitting the pavement were the only sounds they heard. Finally, Trina looked up at Adam. “Do you live nearby?” she asked. “Yeah...two blocks away...” Trina nodded. Adam could sense the tension that suddenly fell over her. He put his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet, then noticed her little feet. Red-painted toes in gold, high-heeled sandals. He looked back up at their path, and suddenly, she stopped walking. Adam stopped, too. “Do you wanna fuck?” she asked. Adam smirked, took her hand, and led her in the opposite direction. Trina giggled as he led her through people, around a corner, and down a couple of blocks until they reached his building. Still not letting go of her hand, he unlocked his door, pulled her inside, and held her face in his hands. Then, he devoured her mouth. “It’s dark in here,” she whispered. Next thing she knew, she was being pulled into a bedroom. Adam flicked on the light and started kissing her again. “I say some crazy shit in bed sometimes,” he said, pulling just centimeters away from her mouth. “I do some crazy shit. Sometimes.” “You do?” he asked. He nudged her against his door, making it slam shut, then reached under her dress to pull her panties down. “I do.” Adam beamed like a kid in a candy store, and as the panties went down, he went down with them--falling to his knees. When Trina stepped out of her panties, he wasted no time covering her clit with his lips. “Oh!” she cried, grabbing his door knob. Adam tapped on her calf and she widened the distance between her legs. She watched his head movements as she felt the tip of his tongue exploring her clit. He looked up at her--the light from his ceiling managing to hit his face just enough to reveal his dilated pupils and the many moles and freckles on his face. She ran her fingers through his hair. “You look so good with your face in my pussy,” she said. Adam’s dick twitched and he pulled his mouth away to say, “Fuck.” Using his thumbs, he spread her lips open to get complete access to her pussy--already glistening. Then, he dove back in--flicking her clit with his the point of his tongue. He sucked and licked it, and spread her juices on his mustache. Her moans resonated throughout the room, and suddenly, he pulled away again and shoved two of his fingers inside of her. “Fuck!” she shouted. Her knees wobbled from the shock and force of the sensation, but Adam pushed his free hand against her belly--nearly adhering her to the door. “I’m gonna make you come all over my fingers, and then I’m gonna stretch this little cunt open with my cock,” he said, massaging her velvety walls with his big fingers. “Please, Adam. I fuckin’ need it so bad...” “I don’t know whose been in this pussy since I last saw you, but I’m gonna make you forget they fucking existed...” Trina squeezed the doorknob and scratched at the wood of his door, unable to escape his hold. He pulled his fingers out, sucked them, then jammed them back in, making Trina squeal and back her ass into the door--desperate for some relief. He splayed his fingers across her abdomen, holding her down even more, and pressed the fingers in her pussy in deeper--as deep as they could go.

Then, he curled them upward--rubbing the roof of her pussy with moderate “come hither” strokes and not taking his eyes off her face for a second. Trina grabbed his hair and pressed her fingers into his scalp. Soon, her eyes started to roll back, and Adam grinned. Her grip on his scalp tightened and her mouth dropped, but no sound came out. Adam felt her pussy tighten around his fingers, and suddenly, liquid gushed out of her and all over his hand. “Fuck yeah,” he said, gritting his teeth. He kept pumping into her. “Give me some more. Give me some fucking more...”

He stuck a third finger inside and rubbed against her spot again. “Ahhhh!” Trina cried out, flailing about and squirting all over the place.

“Fuck, Adam, fuck! Stop, stop!” Adam pulled his fingers out and sat back on his knees, watching Trina grip his doorknob and gasp for air. He watched like it was a movie. When she seemed to be calming down, he stood up, kicked off his shoes and undid his pants. Trina looked up at him and pressed her back against the door. She tugged at the skirt of her dress and pulled it over her head, revealing a lacy bra that matched the panties on the floor. Then, she dipped her hand between her thighs, collected some of her cum, and stuck four wet fingers into her mouth. “Fuck,” Adam grumbled. He took wide steps to his nightstand, opened the drawer, and pulled out a condom. Then, he sat on the side of his bed and pulled his pants and boxers down, revealing a hard, veiny, and mouth-watering dick. Trina joined him on the bed, lifted her leg, and reached for the fastener on her shoe. “Keep them on,” he demanded.

He kicked his pants and boxers away, and Trina put her foot back down. She lied back on the bed and teased her nipples. While getting glances back at her, Adam opened the condom wrapper, tossed it onto the nightstand, and slid the latex sheath over his length. Then, he got on top of her, pushed her legs open, knelt between them, and lined himself up at her entrance. “Give me that dick, Adam,” she mumbled, gyrating her hips under him. Adam pressed about an inch of himself inside, getting a good feel of her wetness. Then, with one swift motion, he buried all of himself inside, causing her to strain out a moan and grip the sheets. “What a fucking slut you turned out to be,” he said. “So hungry for some dick in you.” He pushed her legs back and got a good look at the limbs--the calves; the band over her ankles; the gold stiletto sandals in the air, then he drilled deep inside of her--moaning just as she was in reaction to her slick walls. “You like my pussy, Adam?” she asked. His dick twitched inside of her. “Yeah, I fuckin’ like it...” “Does it feel good?” “Fuck yeah, it feels good. You like my cock in you?” “Yes, baby. It feels so good in me,” Trina moaned. “And you’re taking it so well, too. Look at you...” he mumbled.

Trina grabbed her breasts and began massaging them. “Move your hands,” he said. “I wanna see those pretty tits bouncing.” “I wanna play with them,” she said, refusing to remove her hands. Adam yanked his dick out and smacked the side of her thigh. “Get on your hands and knees.” Trina pouted and flipped over, resting on her hands and knees as told. Adam pushed her further down on the bed and smacked her ass cheek. He realigned at her entrance and pushed deep into her. Then, he wrapped his arm around her belly and pulled her up, making the back of her body flush with his front. He fucked up into her slow and deep. “When I tell you to do something, you’d better fucking do it,” he whispered in her ear. He gave the lobe a little bite and snapped into her one hard time. “Understood?” Trina didn’t answer. Suddenly, she felt a hand moving up her neck and grabbing her jaw. He gave it a squeeze. “Understood?” “Yes,” Trina answered breathlessly. Adam pushed her back down on the bed, grabbed her wrists with one hand and held them back as he picked up his pace--thrusting into her and seemingly finding a new spot to probe and explore with each stroke. The mental stimulation that came with having her hands behind her back, and the physical stimulation of her walls being stroked--it all made her clench down on his dick without thought. Her pussy didn’t want to let Adam’s dick go. “Are you trying to make me come?” Adam asked, with a hint of “I dare you to say yes” in his voice. Trina turned her head to the side. “Are you about to come?” she asked playfully. “No,” Adam answered sternly. He began to fuck her harder.

“Hey, you shut the fuck up, you little tease,” he added, a delayed reaction to her slyness. Trina giggled and squeezed on his dick again. “Just come, Adam. Just come. You know you want to.” Adam was quiet as he pounded into her a few more times. “Fuck it!” he said to himself. He pulled his dick out and yanked off the condom. Trina sat on her butt and watched him tug on his dick. Then, she moved his hand away, wrapped her lips around the head, and sucked him off. She stroked his length and covered it with puddles and strings of saliva, giving him no choice but to grab her head and push it down, making her gag. “That’s right. Choke on that shit.” She looked up at him with watery eyes. Her lipstick had smeared onto the side of her mouth. “You look beautiful like this. Wish I had a fucking camera so I could take a picture of you.” He pulled her head back, then pushed it back down.

Garrrrrm! her stuffed mouth said. “No, I wish I had a fucking Polaroid camera. I’d take a picture of you like this and jerk off to it whenever my cock gets fucking hard. Shoot my cum on the fucking picture.” He released his grip on her head, and let her keep working on her own.

Trina slathered his dick up with her hot saliva and massaged his balls. Then, she began to stroke him as she sucked, slurping and tugging as he moaned and groaned over her. “I’m about to come right down your fucking throat. You ready for it?” “Mm-hmm,” Trina moaned. She sucked and stroked him harder and faster, until suddenly, she felt his load squirt into her mouth, and she swallowed it down. Adam moaned and whimpered, and fucked into her mouth with shallow strokes, riding out his orgasm. As he came down from his high, he quickly realized that Trina was still sucking him. “Shit, stop Trina,” he mumbled. Trina looked up at him with dilated pupils and a mouth still stuffed with dick. She hollowed her cheeks out and sucked him at a rapid pace--putting her neck to work. “Trina, fuck!” he said.

His knees began to shake, but Trina kept sucking. She rested her hands on his thighs and slurpslurpgarmgarm’d the sensitive meat. She laughed to herself as Adam’s moans went from baritone to alto. As he reached out and grabbed his mattress to soften his imminent fall, Trina maneuvered in whatever necessary direction to keep his dick in her mouth. When he finally made his way down, she hovered over his crotch with her ass in the air, and sucked and sucked and sucked--even as he did the hokey-pokey with his legs and growled like a tiger.

Finally, she gave the poor guy some relief, pulled her mouth away, gave his dick a slap. Then, she tossed a leg over him and hovered over his red face. His eyes were glistening and wide.

“Should have just let me play with my nipples, Adam.” He laughed between the breaths he was trying catch. Then his eyes fell down to her breasts. He gripped and kneaded them a little, then lifted his head to draw one of her nipples into his mouth.

#adam sackler smut #an old friend

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archonssun · 4 years ago

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Proposal HCs

This is so cute!!!!! As soon as I saw this, I realized I’ve never really figured Nyx’s character out, so I must apologize in advance if he seems ... strange. But I will still try! I won’t get better if I only write for characters I’m comfortable with!

Proposal HCs

WC: 1720

Prompto Argentum

(Note: this will take place in the first five years after Noct is taken by the Crystal)

You and Prompto have been together for about four years after you two literally ran into each other in the Citadel lobby.

He had just started his Crownsguard training, and you were an assistant to one of the King’s council members.

You were carrying papers that were stacked pretty high, and he was so nervous about training that he didn’t see you walking towards him. When y’all collided, you were fine, but your papers flew everywhere. And I mean everywhere. They were still finding papers a few months later.

As soon as you hit each other, Prompto was snapped out of his daze and his beautiful blue eyes were wide with fear. He’d already fucked up, and he hadn’t even started!

He was quick to try and help you gather the papers, and it was when he looked you in the eyes that he accidently asked you out. Even years later, you would tease him: “How do you accidently ask someone out?” “It just slipped, okay?!”

Coming back to present, he was really nervous. It had happened during a pretty peaceful day about a year after Noct disappeared. You two were just chilling in Hammerhead, waiting for your next hunt. You were inside Takka’s old diner, sitting in one of the few remaining booths.

Prompto’s arm was around your shoulders, keeping you close against him, and you had rested your head against his shoulder. As he watched you fall asleep, he knew that he wanted to marry you.

The thought was surprising, to say the least, and he immediately tensed up, which woke you up.

“What’s wrong, Prom?”

“It’s nothing, (N/n). Get some rest, ‘kay?”

He sat on that thought for almost another five years before he actually asked.

This time it was after a hunt. The daemons had been getting stronger over the past couple years, and this was the first night he thought he wouldn’t come back alive. And as soon as he saw you in Hammerhead, waiting for him, he almost broke down.

You two had been intimate before, but that night was ... something else. Prompto was frantic, almost like he wasn’t sure he was still here with you. (You wouldn’t know what had happened on that hunt until a few years later). And it was rough. Not like he was never rough during sex; he’d get that way sometimes, more often than not after a taxing hunt. But that time he was sloppy, and afterwards he was more cuddly than usual.

That’s when it slipped.

“(Y/n),” Prompto mumbled into your shoulder, your back flush with his chest as his lips ghosted across your skin. His arms around you tightened as his nose nuzzled into your hair. You hummed, consciousness quickly fading. You were nearly asleep when he spoke up.

“Marry me.”

That got you awake, and you shot up, bringing him with you. You turned to face him, to maybe find some sort of sign that he had been joking or not. But he hadn’t been; his eyes were focused on you, and you were quickly falling into them.

“(Y/n)?” Prompto frowned. You realized you hadn’t said anything, and shook yourself.

“You’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious,” he retorted, his frown deepening slightly. “I want to marry you. I’ve known for years, but I never--”

“Yes.” His ocean eyes were wide as saucers as you took his face in your hands. You brought your face before his, your lips barely touching “Of course I’ll marry you, Prompto.”

“Gods, I love you,” he groaned, capturing your lips in a tender kiss.

Ignis Scientia

Ignis would probably be the most romantic when he asks you, to be honest. (He’d also be kind of like Kunikida from Bungou Stray Dogs (at least, I think so) in the fact that he’d only ask you after a certain amount of time has passed.)

When he asks, you two had been together for six years, knowing him when he was a teenager. It surprised Noct when he found out his future advisor had a significant other. The poor boy was speechless when he first met you. You were a snarky little spitfire that rivalled Ignis at every turn, even in cooking, and the crown prince had difficulty deciding who he was more scared of enjoyed having over to cook.

You got along with the prince right from the start, and you rarely treated him as royalty, which he appreciated.

The day you met Gladiolus Amicitia was the day Noctis swore off every trying to spar with you. For having no formal training, you kicked ass. Gladio’s, to be specific. And Ignis was just watching with a smirk, like he knew what was going to happen.

N e ways, you joined the boys on their journey after they had reached Lestallum to meet up with Iris. You had gotten out with the young Amicitia, and during your travels to Lestallum, you regaled her with the stories of you kicking her brother's ass (yes, it happened more than once)

Ignis was loathe to let you come with, but after he had watched you tear into a man that had gotten too close to Iris, his was miraculously fine with it (in actuality, he knew you’d kick his ass if he tried to talk you out of it, and he decided that letting you come with would lead to less broken bones for the bros, specifically him tho)

When he asked, you were in Altissia (Cliche? Yes. Romantic? Fuck yes)

Y’all were to help with evacuating the city the next day, and they all thought that you all deserved a little breather before then. So you and Iggy went walking around the city. (okay, he doesn’t really ask you, per se, but you’ll see what I mean...)

“(Y/n),” Ignis called, and you turned (e/c) hues to him. You were smiling broadly, which caused him to smile in return. “How was tonight, love?”

“It was perfect, Iggy,” you cooed, hugging his arm and resting your head on his bicep. Your eyes turned to face forward, and Ignis reached into his pocket. His touch was featherlight as he slipped the ring onto your finger.

At the feel of cold metal on your hand, you looked down and your heart nearly stopped. He had placed a beautiful band on your ring finger. It was carved to match Ignis’s daggers, complete with an emerald gem flanked by two smaller and paler green jewels.

“Ignis--”

“I love you, (Y/n),” he interrupted, and you cocked an eyebrow. He exhaled a quick breath before coming to stand in front of you and taking your hands in his. “I had planned to do this when we had gotten back to Insomnia, but then the Empire overtook the city and I thought you lost to me.

“I was so, so happy when I learned you were with Iris, and that you were alive and well,” he continued. With each word, his voice grew smaller and his eyes strayed from yours to gaze at the ground. After a pause, he met your eyes once more and gave you a delicate smile. “So, allow me to ask: would you marry me, (Y/n)?”

The tears fell from your eyes before you could stop them, but you were quick to wipe them away and give the man your brightest smile.

“Yes. Yes, Ignis, I’ll marry you,” you sputtered, wrapping your arms around the man that had stolen your heart oh so long ago. “It’s always been yes.”

Nyx Ulric

(Okay, here’s where I hit a bit of trouble. I tried to research what Nyx’s personality was like, and I think I found something? But I’m not sure, and so I’m going to be using a lot of artistic liberty with this one, along with some things I found on the FFXV Fandom Wiki (yeah, I know you can’t always trust it, but it was the only lead I got after researching for half an hour😑). Okay, obligatory warning over. Enjoy 😋)

You and Nyx were from the same area of Galahd. You grew up with him and Libertus, had even fought with them when your homeland was occupied by the Empire.

You were just a year younger than the fearless man, and it was known that wherever one of you was, the other couldn’t be far behind. And that was pretty accurate, actually. After his sister died, you were always at his side; both to reassure him that you were safe (cuz at that point he thought of you like another sister) and to keep an eye on him (he’d get pretty reckless sometimes *cough* saving Libertus from Cerberus *cough*)

It was only when you both joined the Kingsglaive that his feelings for you changed. Not that it surprised him, really, but what did surprise him was how little time had passed between him realizing his feelings and him knowing he wanted to marry you. Seriously, it was like a month, tops.

After that, it only took him four months to work up the courage to ask you.

In Galahd, they had different marriage customs, and that included asking for one’s hand in marriage. And each custom differed depending on the area one lived in Galahd. For him to ask you, he’d have to have something made for you; something with the symbol of his family on it. In this case, he had decided on a metal cuff in the shape of a Galahdian Coeurl -- the symbol of his family. The Coeurl’s one visible eye was a pale, almost icy blue to match his own, and it would coeurlurl around your wrist to bite its own tail.

You groaned as you rolled onto Nyx’s chest. You did not want to get up and go to work, especially after your and Nyx’s escapade last night. (E/c) eyes travelled down to your wrist, a soft smile reaching your lips as they were met with the bangle carved into a Coeurl. You felt the man below you stir, and you lifted your head to meet his gaze.

“Morning, Nyx,” you cooed, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. You watched with a laugh as his face scrunched in disgust. The man sent you a glare, and you laughed more, almost wheezing when Nyx’s lips latched onto your throat.

“Morning, (N/n),” he groaned, nipping lightly at the skin. Your eyes went wide and you started to smack his back.

“Nyx! Don’t do that there! Everyone’ll see ‘em!” you hissed. Even though you had told him no, you were still disappointed when he retreated, but not for long. Nyx placed quick, light kisses all over your face with a smile until you had devolved into a giggling mess.

“C’mon, babe. We gotta get ready for work.”

You groaned before throwing a pillow at your fiancé.

--------

tagging @blackstrawberrynightmare cuz they requested this beautiful fluff😘

#nyx ulric #ffxv x reader #prompto argentum #ignis scientia #request time

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grimelords · 5 years ago

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The hits just don’t stop coming!

My May playlist is finished and it’s only almost one month late! Everything you want and nothing you don’t from Nicki Minaj, the band that did the OC theme song and Italian Adele. What more could you ask for!

Listen here!

Curious - Amerie: Amerie, who sang the world's greatest song 1 Thing and unfortunately never had any other good songs, surprise released a 22 minute album called 4AM Mulholland and a companion EP that was 20 minutes long called After 4AM last year. I don't know why she didn't just release one normal length album but anyway, because she's Amerie people weren't exactly eagerly awaiting a surprise release album from her so it came and went pretty quickly. This song though is really very good and sets a really nice midnight smoky tone that the whole rest of the album/EP unfortunately fails to really live up to. I also found out in my research that Amerie is also apparently a semi-influential book vlogger 'BookTuber' and last year edited a book of YA short stories where other BookTubers 'reimagined fairy tales from the oft-misunderstood villains' points of view. She's got heaps going on.

Vipers Follow You - Amon Tobin: Amon Tobin has lost his damn mind yet again. His last album was 8 years ago and it sounded like a hardware test for a new kind of million dollar sound system. Every single type of sound and frequency was crammed into it and it felt like a sound sculture that could physically attack you rather than an album that you listened to for fun. Now his new album sounds like the direct opposite. There's no drums on it at all and it's all stripped back thick and smooth acoustic-modelled textures and it's very nice. This song is a good example of the album feel overall: not exactly ambient or laid-back, but definite night music from a guy who has gone all the way from chillout trip-hop to walls of hydraulic noise over his career and it's always such a thrill to hear people pushing forward in their sound 9 albums in.

Do The Panic - Phantom Planet: Phantom Planet who famously did the theme song for The OC have reformed and released their first new song in ten years. This isn't that song but there was a bunch of people in the comments on the Stereogum article about it saying they were and underrated band and their 2008 album Raise The Dead has bangers and guess what: they were right!

Roman Holiday - Nicki Minaj: Roman Holiday reentered the billboard charts last month because it became relevant again via people putting it in memes where they would play a sped up version of the song over sped up videos of.. anything really. It's not a very good meme but I thank god for it because otherwise I would never have learned that it's a very good song. I also think there's a very interesting lesson to be learned here about Nicki Minaj because she premiered this song at the 2012 Grammys before Roman Reloaded came out with an elaborate Exorcist routine and everyone hated this extremely weird song and extremely weird performance so it was scrapped as the first single and they put out Starships instead. Nicki Minaj seem to me like an artist that has always struggled to ride the line between pop marketability and doing their own unique thing in much the same way as Eminem, and just like Eminem she's eventually settled in to a very safe and marketable version of herself. Roman Holiday is a glimpse of the Nicki That Could Have been that just starts singing Come All Ye Faithful in the middle of a song and does the chorus in an extremely dodgy British accent. There's a good bit on the wiki for this song that quotes Jessica Hooper's Spin review that says "the pop tracks are a paying of the piper and the too-perfect, Dr. Luke-produced songs are her penance for sneaking deranged yodeling ode 'Roman Holiday' in there." More deranged yodelling odes please Nicki!

Cousins - Vampire Weekend: I've never gotten into Vampire Weekend for an unknown reason. I like every song I've heard of theirs I've just never properly sat down and listened to an album and appreciated it until Father Of The Bride this year. I have however always loved Cousins. It’s got a completely deranged riff, the drums sound like their going to catch fire and it ends with chiming bells. It’s completely off the rails and I think the video is one of my favourites ever for just simply matching the tone of the song and the performance.

Lost Your Number - Nu Shooz: On the episode of R U Talkin' R.E.M Re: Me? with Ezra Koenig they were talking about grunge and the early 90s and how music that had 'authenticity' suddently became so popular. Scott's reasoning was that by the late 80s pop music had become so incredibly vaccuous and bad that people were yearning for anything with meaning. He said 'pop was so bad, stuff like Nu Shooz' and I immediately remembered how fucking good Nu Shooz are and paused the podcast to listen to them instead. This is an absolutely great song because the lyrics never rise above linear storytelling. 'I lost your number' is not a metaphor for lost contact or leaving someone or anything like that. This whole song is about trying to call someone but you've lost the piece of paper that you wrote their phone number on. She even describes the paper like maybe you the listener have seen it around somewhere, I absolutey love it.

Paper Trail$ - Joey Bada$$: Joey Bada$$ is a goon but he has good songs sometimes. If he wasn't a famous rapper he would be working full time in reddit arguments where people rank members of the Wu-Tang Clan. He's one of these 'real hip hop' 'lyrical miracle' guys and he even goes so far as to rework C.R.E.A.M in this song to say cash RUINS everything around me :O but this beat is nice as hell and I woke up with the bit where says 'shit is really real out here' repeating in my head.

Julien - Carly Rae Jepsen: I'm really loving this new Carly Rae album. It's not as heavy on hits as Emotion obviously but it's more even overall and has a lot more to dig into I think. I just keep listening to it. This song especially is so nice because it's a great example of how you only need two chords to get something extremely funky going.

Rock Non Stop - Cassius: Cassius finally have another great song! The nearly two minute choral intro is such genius because of how suddenly and forcefully it drops you into the middle of the most boneheaded dance song I've heard in a long time. Two different silly voices going back and forth with each other saying 'rock non stop' and 'gimme the good time', who could ask for anything more?

Just as I was about to publish this I saw the news that Phillipe Zdar died which is so sad! Just as they started releasing fantastic new music! So now this song is tinged with that sort of sadness which is unfair because it’s such a fun and silly piece of music, it doesn’t deserve to hold that kind of weight.

DOLO 5 - Dolo Percussion: This Dolo Percussion album absolutely astounded me. No melody! Just drums! For an hour and a half! It's a complete world of its own and you can get totally lost in the depths of it. Every song has a completely unique palette and it never ever feels boring like percussion focused music sometimes can, it's constantly evolving in every track and never settles into anything for too long. Things just come and go so naturally it feels like actually trying to figure out the structure of these songs would be impossible. There's a few moments where there's a hint of a bassline or melody in a some of the later songs and it completely shakes you up, like seeing sunlight again after years of absolutely thriving in the dark.

Song About An Angel - Sunny Day Real Estate: The way he sings 'running behind' in this is maybe one of my favourite pieces of vocal performance ever. He just shouted himself apart. Also the Genius description of this song is one of the best emo sentences I’ve ever seen: "The song is believed to be a conversation between a guy and an angel (possibly a girl)."

This Life - Vampire Weekend: The R U Talkin' R.E.M. Re: Me? episode with Ezra really put this album into a lot more context for me, because he's talking about being influenced by The Grateful Dead - not musically exactly but in the mindset and the idea of being in a guitar band and making guitar music in 2019 which is an interesting thing to think about. Anyway this has such a Dead feel to it and I'm really interested to see what they do live because as I've heard they're really mixing up their reputation of being a band that sounds exactly like the album and really going for it instead and doing absolutely anything which is a lot more fun.

The Past Is A Grotesque Animal - of Montreal: I've been getting heavily into Hissing Fauna Are You The Destroyer? this month and it's just so incredible. This song especially as the centrepiece of this whole album is amazing. The mindset is so intriguing to me: absolutely going though it in the worst way possible, getting divorced and everything like that but also somehow managing to keep it twee. The sorts of things that influenced this album would turn any normal person to heavier or stranger music but somehow he manages to believe so hard in the power of twee indie pop that he pushed it to the limit and create a masterpiece.

The Cascades - Janice Scroggins: You know that tweet about riding the bus and looking out the window and pretending the music you're listening to is the soundtrack to the movie about you riding the bus? That's me except with Scott Joplin rags and pretending i'm in a silent film where I embarrass myself in front of a society lady.

The Governor - Nicolas Jaar: I think i’ve probably already had this song on a playlist like three times so I’m going to stop talking about it but here’s my favourite thing this time: It could have just ended and been fine but instead it goes to saxophone hell and that’s what makes this a 10/10 song.

The Less I Know The Better - Tame Impala: My peabrain moment this month was suddenly developing a huge obsession with this song for some reason. Have you guys heard of this band ‘Tame Impala’? I really feel like they might blow up! One of my favourite things about this song is that the top youtube comment for a long time was ‘this is like the cuck anthem’. They’re right!

New Town - Life Without Buildings: Life Without Buildings feels like indie rock from another dimension. This came out in 2000 and for some reason I can't reconcile that fact with how it sounds. It sounds like it should have come out at least 5 years later. I cannot imagine this style of vocal ever working so effectively but somehow it just does. I'm hanging on absolutely every word and feeling it so intensely when in reality she sounds like something went wrong with the recording. I just love it.

Bang Bang Bang - Mark Ronson And The Business Intl: This is a hugely underrated song and this era of Mark Ronson seems to have been totally forgotten which is unfortunate. This song, Bad Romance by Lady Gaga and OMG by Usher all came out around the same time in my memory and I remember feeling very optimistic for the direction pop seemed to be heading in. Bombastic and unique and unafraid to be structurally different but then it turned out it wasn’t really a trend at all, it was just three great songs. So who knows.

Back To The Trees - Adele H: I suddenly remembered this song I completely fell in love with last year and remembered as a moderate hit only to find that it has <1000 listens on spotify and 300 on youtube. Simply not good enough, please listen to this song! Support my friend and yours Adele H: ‘The Italian Adelian’

Out There - Studio: What’s so good about Studio is it’s technically an electronic duo but it has the feeling of a jam jam band. Their wiki article is obviously written by their management but it also describes them as an ‘afrobeat-dub-disco-indie-pop adventure’ which is very true. It’s an adventure! It just keeps moving on and on through fifty flavours of groove!

Shut Up Kiss Me - Angel Olsen: This really is maybe the best love song ever written! Because it's about standing firm and not giving up on love! Stop pretending I'm not there when it's clear I'm not going anywhere / If I'm out of sight then take another look around!

Through This Town - Mia Dyson: If you ever need an optimistic song to lay down on the floor to then here's one.

Cry Flames - Rustie: I'm on my usual shit about how good Glass Swords was and how that it's a tragedy that this never coalesced into a major movement like it should have. This is such a good sound that just kind of disappeared because vaporwave and everything overlapped with the boring parts of it and the anime chillout version became popular instead. Sad!

Real Truth (feat. Tkay Maidza) - J-E-T-S, Machinedrum and Jimmy Edgar: I love this beat so much. The sort of beat that sounds like it's playing out of a droid that got shot with a lazer and is malfunctioning.

Aute Cuture - Rosalia: me putting these lyrics through google translate: oh my god she’s right this IS on fire

Self-Immolate - King Gizzard And The Lizard Wizard: King Gizz are a metal band now and they're writing the very best kind of metal songs - sci-fi about burning to death in the skies of Venus that's also a climate change parable.

Magic Arrow - Timber Timbre: Timber Timbre feel underrated to me. I never see anyone talking about them but they're one of the most consistently great bands around, I absolutely love them. There's so much space in this song, this whole style of minimal production is underutilised. It feels like if Wicked Game by Chris Isaak was about an 18th century cult leader instead which I think we can all agree is a much improved song.

Kim's Caravan - Courtney Barnett: I love this style of songwriting where you just sit on an extremely heavy bassline the whole time and have no chorus, which affords you the freedom to just get bigger and bigger and smaller as you wish. The Drones cover of River Of Tears works like this too and I think it's just masterful.

When The Movie's Over - Twin Shadow: My belief is Confess is front to back one of the greatest pop albums ever written. Please, please listen to it and be moved.

listen here

#playlists

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rowanlagrange-blog · 5 years ago

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Tulpa

Do you ever get hooked on an idea? So wrapped up in something you heard that you can’t push it out of your head, like a catchy pop song you hear on the radio for just a moment. This kind of hyperfocusing can lead you to some weird places. Like binge watching youtube videos about how clams reproduce or reading articles about how whales sleep without drowning. Maybe it’s just me, insomnia can make you do weird things, but I seem to get caught up in these tangents quite often. My most recent obsession, why almost every kid has an imaginary friend as a child. It’s such a weird shared instinct we all have to create our own companions. A documentary about imaginary friends association with child development led me to an article about adults with imaginary friends which led me to a forum discussion about tulpa. From my intense reading, of the tulpa wiki page, it seems like tulpa are an imaginary friend with a catch, you can actually “will them into existence”. This isn’t some Jedi mind trick either any guy on the street can do it.

I searched around online a little longer, read something called the book of the dead, then got tired. So I laid down in bed and stared across the room. Opposite of my bed is a massive window that overlooks a 30 foot drop and some lovely scenery. In the morning I like to stand there and watch the ripples on my neighbors pond. I even put an end table next to the window for my morning newspapers and coffee cups to pile up on. As I lay there unable to sleep an image crept into my head. It was from a scary story I read once, a dog on its hind legs wearing a black robe and a skull as a mask. It always made me smile, I mean come on it looks like a reject Pokémon. I grew so bored that I made him do a little dance in front of the window. Lo and behold, the miracle drug I needed all along. No melatonin, no counting sheep, no therapy just this dog thing dancing in my head. I passed out and slept like a baby. This would continue for the next four months. Every night I would lay in my bed and watch my tulpa dance. It was pretty nice having something there with me at night. My therapist once told me loneliness could be the cause of my insomnia. I ignored her at the time but now it seems like she might have been right. I even gave him a name, Spot. I know not very original but it was my labradoodles name when I was a kid.

Flash forward to about five nights ago. I get home, jump into bed, and start watching Spot dance. He twirled and swayed around in front of my window. His black fur danced in the air as he frolicked about. I watched him for maybe ten minutes before I began to drift off. The warm comfort of my memory foam mattress pulled me in. The room grew black as my eyelids fluttered shut, then I heard it. “Did my dance please you, father?” My blood curdled and I shot up in bed. Spot was standing at my feet gazing at me. I tried to force him to stop but I couldn’t. “You wish to see more” he asked. The color drained from my face. I dove under the covers and began reciting a prayer my mother used to say with me at night. When I came out he was gone, I didn’t sleep well that night.

I laid in bed, not moving a muscle, until the sun was well in the sky. I went and got my newspaper and coffee in the morning. The headline that day was something about a terrorist attack in Europe. Not really the kind of thing I look for in the news. I watched my reflection in the window that morning. I stood in the same spot Spot had last night. Except surely he didn’t, Spot wasn’t real. I just hallucinated him speaking like that, or maybe it was sleep paralysis, or a vivid dream but definitely not real. I threw the newspaper down on the end table and readied myself for work.

That night I decided not to watch Spot dance. I guess I thought a night or two off would help calm my nerves. I laid in bed wrestling with myself trying to find sleep. Even after months of restful nights insomnia was still a bitch. Around 2 in the morning he spoke again. “It’s continued on the next page” Spot bellowed. My eyes burst open but I dare not move. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He was taller now, when I first imagined him he was three foot flat but now he had to be at least seven. “The story, it is continued on the next page, Father” he echoed. His voice, it hadn’t been like that last night, it was more childlike, now it was powerful. “Father, I cannot turn the page myself, please do it for me” he asked. I closed my eyes tight and began reciting the prayer again. The more I focused on those words the less present he seemed. After a half hour of praying the dog away, he was completely gone.

Another restless night gave way to another agonizing day. I leaned against my window that morning. No newspaper just coffee with an energy drink mixed in. I was fixated on my stack of newspapers. They sat a foot tall on top of the end table. They were still undisturbed from yesterday when I threw the newest paper on top. When I got home from work that night I went immediately to bed. I laid there watching the sun go down through my window. It was serene, truly worth every penny I didn’t have to spend on this overpriced house. As I fell away into peace he shattered my tranquility once more. “Why do you hate me Father?” Spot sighed. I slowly rose up, I had never imagined Spot while the sun was still up. Now in its light I could see his mask was no longer the bleach white plastic looking thing I had given him. It has been replaced with a cracked yellowing bulls skull. His silky fur that twirled with him when he danced was matted and growing mold. He had sprung gnarly brown fangs from his twisted jaws. “You brought me into this world just to ignore me is that it” he wondered. When Spot spoke his jaw flapped from its hiding place under the skull like a bird's wings. He put a finger on top of the newspaper he was looking at. It began to move with his hand but then suddenly his hand just fell through the stack. That wasn’t right though Spot didn’t have hands or fingers, I gave him paws. I stared at him for hours reciting the prayer in my head, but nothing ever happened. I guess at some point I finally did pass out. I awoke the next evening at dusk. I clambered out of bed and landed on the shaggy floor. Looking down at my feet I could see my hardwood floors had been covered in black dog hair. I shuffled out to get a cup of coffee but a howling in my room drew right back. “Why do you hate me Father?” Spot whimpered. I was frozen in my doorway. Spot picked up the top newspaper, he got a few inches off the stack before it fell through his hand. “I wish to see the next page Father” Spot sobbed. My breaths were short and sharp. My vision began to strain and turn white. “Why did you create me if you’re just going to ignore me?” Spot howled. Right then and there I made the worst mistake of my life. “I don’t know,” I replied. Spots shining yellow eyes darted towards me. He swiped the newspaper from the top of the stack once more. This time he turned to the second page. “Hate is the cocaine of emotions, so addictive” Spot began. ”And like cocaine it destroys whatever it touches” Spot cackled. “I may be born of hate but I won’t let that be all I am, I will cut it out” Spot whispered. Spot then jumped out the window and ran off into the night. I don’t know what Spot meant by what he said but I do know that I created a monster bent on cutting out hate. I can hear him scratching at the walls below my window. I think he’s come back to cut me out, whatever that entails.

#horror #story #short story #creepy #writing

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roswellroamer · 5 years ago

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Day 11. February 9, 2020. Invercargill to Te Anau. 182 km.

We had a leisurely morning allowing to finish yesterday's blog and pack up after an enjoyable 3 night's stay in the apartment. Left around 9:30 dissuaded from attending the street race by the morning rains. We loaded and rode to find the Burt Munro statue by Queens Park. We had turned around just short of it on foot yesterday and got some good/silly shots with our bikes feigning a racing victory versus Burt in his now famous modified 1920 Indian Scout.

After checking off the last "must do" item in In'Gill we headed once again along the scenic southern route through Riverton and Orepuki. The cafe at the latter made such an impression the previous day that we again stopped there. This time for mushroom eggs benedict and blueberry wheat germ hot cakes. 👍 Back in the saddle we aimed for Tuatapere amidst innumerable sheep farms as we turned from the foamy and roiling sea with it's accompanying & unnerving 40mph+ gusts. They required near constant attention to maintain position within the left hand lane, often reversing lean angle on a moment's notice as the road ducked behind a small hill and the vortex/eddy forces instantaneous weight shifts to avoid being blown to one side and then the next. Reminiscent as I said previously of Patagonia. We are in the "Roaring 40's" with regards to latitude and notoriety of wind strength. The ever changing Fiordland weather then obliged us a shift towards blue skies as we turned north at Tuatapere onto unexplored roads at least as far as we were concerned. Saw loads of "HayHenge" stacks of hay wrapped in plastic as if to invite speculation on the etiology of the rows and stacks of waterproofed bales often exactingly placed about the Southland and Fiordland. A brown sign beckoned a turn from the route to explore the Clifden suspension bridge. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clifden_Suspension_Bridge

Aside from this still being the longest suspension bridge in NZ and dating from 1899, something pretty cool happened there today. I pulled up near the bridge and saw what appeared to be a couple of bikes parked on the bridge. As I neared the bridge I saw that there were a couple of Triumph's before the bridge and a couple of Rocket 3's on the bridge. I struck up a conversation with the 6 NZ folks riding the 4 bikes and it turns out that two of the guys were on Rocket 3 TFC's! 8 of the 750 sold worldwide were sold in NZ. One there was number 100 something and the other number 500 something. I just took delivery of #446 two days before my departure for NZ. It was fun talking with them about their new bikes which had endured the torrential rains and loads of dirt heading from the North Island to Burt Munro however had been cleaned immaculately since. The one guy gave me his email and I've since sent him a link to this blog. A local woman told me that the Waiau river flowing under the bridge was excellent for fishing at least according to her son. She was also a bit enamored by the TFC display. The Waiau River and lake Manapouri provided beautiful scenery and an interesting if not controversial hydroelectric history. New Zealand's largest hydroelectric plant there is capable of generating 850MW of power but has also depleted river flow dramatically and stirred controversy. The engineering marvel at one time generated something like 80% of NZ power. The tunnels that divert the water now on demand to Doubtful Sound utilize a 750' drop to generate so much power via tunnels 10km long through rock to do so. Impressive. Also note that the Waiau river was used for some key Lord of the Rings scenes towards the end of the first film of the trilogy as the river Anduin. NZ voted down the proposal to rename the river to Anduin in 2009.

We stopped by lake Manapouri in the little town of Manapouri for a view and a Coke Zero and a mince and cheese pie. Serene. Warm. Scenic. I could've sat there for another hour or more. But we remounted and headed the 25' around to Lake Te Anau and it's eponymous town. The bright sunny and warm day that emerged from the solemn and somewhat harsh Invercargill was a stark but welcome contrast. Loads of tour companies and souvenir shops were sprinkled between the lake shore road and the town's main drag. This is something of a jumping off point for trampers and folks looking to enjoy the scenic lake and all there is to offer in this pristine section of NZ. The lake itself is the largest freshwater lake by volume in the whole of Australasia and is the largest on the South Island. Volume is huge due to the enormous depth of the lake going to 1,368' deep putting much of the lake bed hundreds of feet below sea level. One of the topographical features that made this area one used in a number of scenes in Lord of the Rings are the 3 inland fiords (south, middle and north) on the western side of the lake. The only inland fiords in NZ. The area is a world heritage site, with 99% of the well over 4,000 square miles of the Fiordland National Park not ever coming into contact with human presence. This is how NZ looked before it was settled. Covered in trees and dramatic. Found the hotel I booked and was very pleased. It was a convent nearly a hundred years ago and converted into a special B&B type lodging. The confessional has been re-engineered into a dumb waiter in the lobby. Mark the owner is very hospitable and interesting. He owns the museum of language in Paris and also the DC-3 that we rode by on the tarmac at Manapouri airport. He informed me that I had reserved the "homestead" which turns out to be an entire house with 3 bedrooms, full kitchen, dining room, living room, etc. Sweet! Big, old, charming and a view of the mountains across the lake. Mark persuaded us to commit to his Greek chef's planned Hungarian dinner of goulash and also explained the myriad of touristic options. When we had stopped at lake Manapouri I had inquired at the docks regarding a boat trip to Doubtful Sound. More remote than the very popular and now for us canceled Milford Sound boat trip (due to the aforementioned road wash out) the agent informed me that all excursions for tomorrow were fully booked. However, Mark suggested at our Te Anau Lodge that the float plane excursion was a great way to see the Doubtful Sound as we as explore the many waterfalls and lakes of the Fiordland NP. I said yes right away and Ted was also in. A quick call revealed 2 open seats on the 6PM flight. Kismet in our favor today. After unloading our stuff we headed to the lake shore where it isn't difficult to spot Ivan's plane, the only float plane on the lake. We head to Bailiez cafe for some adult refreshments and soak in the beauty of the town, the screams the passers by at an outdoor high top table. At the appointed time we stroll back to the dock and find 3 folks from just outside Madrid (Spain, not New Mexico) also on our flight. We have a brief safety talk then climb into the six seater. Everyone has a window seat and headset communications make it easy to talk over the propeller/engine sounds. We taxi into the lake and as we gather speed watch a waterski boat make some much needed course corrections... the skier gave us a wave as we released from the light chop and soared overhead, about a hundred meters off our port (my) side. Pictures don't really do justice to the hidden lakes (13 of them, all super deep carved by glaciers), waterfalls, tree avalanches that take 400 years to repopulate, mountain tops and fiords. I put a couple here anyway. Lots of incredible views. Doubtful Sound info here: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doubtful_Sound

Our forty minute plane ride was so worth it. To see Doubtful without aerial assistance requires a cruise ship or seagoing trip or from here the journey involves a boat to a bus, over a mountain then down to another boat. About an 8 hour minimum to explore. On the way back we passed by Browne Lake and the largest waterfall in NZ at 2,742 feet tall, Browne Falls. But the falls are more of a water slide as it covers over 3,700 horizontal feet. This last issue prevents the falls from competing with Angel Falls, the tallest waterfall in the world. We got loads of pics of course and a lifetime memory of this stunning and pristine place. A brief ride back the the old homestead (😆) and we went right to dinner. A cherry yogurt like appetizer was tasty followed by an unconventional that was accompanied by a barley salad in place of the usual noodles. But very good it was. Dessert was homemade carmel "Hokey Pokey" ice cream and a poppyseed pastry. Conversations with a couple Oregonian women, a Danish couple and an Australian couple as well as wine which was included with the dinner experience. Great day and night!

#newzealand #teanau #motoadventure #advrider #fiordland #rocket3tfc #triumph

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somerandomwriter1234 · 6 years ago

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GMW Fanfic - Farkle and Smackle: The Best Friend Ever

Summary: In this tale, Farkle and Smackle find themselves looking back at their long friendship; from when they meet as young kids through their current young adult years. And it results in the two making an important realization of what they are to each other.

-Long ago in the past: a little boy named Farkle was walking onto the home plate of an outdoor kickball field wearing black sunglasses and a very large jersey shirt that went down to his feet. A ball was rolled towards him by another young boy. Farkle attempted to kick the ball but stepped on his giant jersey and fell down. Many boys that were around Farkle began to laugh including a very tall boy near him named Derrick.

Derrick: Man Minkus. That is such a stupid outfit you're wearing.

Farkle: But you said wearing this would make me look cool.

Derrick: Yeah, last week when it was cool. Now it's just stupid.

-Many of the boys began to laugh as Farkle stood up.

Farkle: Can I try kicking again?

Derrick: Naw. Get off the field. We don't need any stupid people out here.

-An upset Farkle walked away from the field. He then walked over to a bench where a little girl was sitting.

Farkle: Hi there. Hey. You go to Einstein Academy right? Smackle, right?

Smackle: Isadora Smackle actually. And yeah. I started there in kindergarten last year. And you're Farkle Minkus. We competed in that 4-6 year old science competition last year. Unless the aliens that abducted me last night altered my memories.

Farkle: Uh… okay. Can I sit on this bench next to you? No one else wants me to hang out with them.

Smackle: Why not?

Farkle: Because I can't be cool like anyone. I try to dress up, and talk, and do all the stuff the cool kids do. But none of them like me.

Smackle: Well I think you're cool. I liked your science project you made for last year's competition. Of course don't expect too much praise from me since we are academic rivals. Ooo. Did you see my science project involving a lamp being powered by pink kittens from Taiwan?

Farkle: Um… I didn't. You know… you're a little strange.

Smackle: Yeah. That's why no one sits with me either. Are you gonna get up and leave me too now?

Farkle: No. I'm cool with hanging out with somebody who is a little bit strange.

Smackle: Would you still hang out with me if I was very strange?

Farkle: Smackle, you have the strangest mind in all of existence.

-In the present: an adult Farkle and Smackle were standing in front of a group of children in the before and after care auditorium.

Smackle: But it makes perfect sense that the seven dwarves Snow White met: were actually aliens from another planet.

Farkle: But the planet: FANBOY!?

Smackle: Well of course. All of those other names people have been told over the years were just their aliases. The seven dwarves' real names are: Trekkie, Whovian, Ringer, Potter Head, Tributes, and of course… Marvel and DC. With their supreme overlord back home of course being "King Star Wars".

Farkle: Why do you do this Smackle? Why?

Smackle: Not important. What is important is that we get back to the part of the story where the evil Queen locates the dwarves' hidden spaceship and proceeds to blow it apart.

Farkle: Ah! It's gonna blow!

-In the past: a young Farkle was standing near a computer that was shaking in the middle of an elementary school auditorium where a science fair was occurring. The computer then had a few sparks come out of it and then all of the lights in the building went off.

Farkle: Aww no.

-An older teacher stood up and spoke loudly to everyone.

Older Teacher: It's okay. Just a minor power surge. The custodian just told me that this has happened before and he'll have the power back up in no time. Just remember students: next time you're connecting twenty plugs through extension cords to one outlet… let a teacher know first.

-Farkle began to hang his head low as Derrick walked over to Farkle.

Derrick: Man Minkus. First you're pathetic at trying to be cool. Then you're pathetic at just trying to be stupid you.

-Farkle turned his head away from Derrick and then quickly went over to sit in a corner by himself. From nearby Smackle quickly rushed over to Farkle and sat next to him.

Smackle: Sorry your experiment didn't work.

Farkle: Ugg. I can't do anything right. I'm so stupid.

Smackle: You're not stupid Farkle. You're just really different. And sometimes it's hard to figure out how to be your best in your own way when you're the only one doing things your own way.

Farkle: Yeah… I guess you're right.

Smackle: Just be like me Farkle. Well… don't be just like me. Because then you'd have a chance of beating me in these science fair competitions from friendly rival. However you should do one thing I've learned. Stop trying to be cool and be exactly like other people, and instead just help others in your own way.

Farkle: Hmm. That's… actually good advice. You got any more?

Smackle: Yeah! Prince Charming actually knew who Snow White was because his body and mind had been combined with the Prince Charming of Earth 2 during the events of the Flashpoint Zero Crisis Hour on Infinite Realities event.

-In the present: an adult Farkle and Smackle were standing in front of a group of children in the before and after care auditorium.

Farkle: Where the heck did that all come from?

Smackle: Online wiki's. And you know they never lie.

Farkle: Smackle. We were seconds away from a simple fairy tale ending where the prince meets the princess and then they get married and live happily ever after. Why must you always change the endings of every story I try to tell with your own insane tales!?

Smackle: Well maybe your endings happened pre-Crisis. But they're not in continuity anymore.

Farkle: SMACKLE! WILL YOU JUST… I… I need to walk away and think for a bit.

-Farkle then began to walk towards the door to outside.

Smackle: Wait, Farkle! You're going home early!? You'll be right back soon, right?

-Farkle looked back at Smackle and called out to her very loudly.

Farkle: No Smackle. This time I'm gonna be gone for… quite a while.

-Farkle then walked out of the building. Smackle stood looking slightly shocked.

Smackle: Is… is he mad at me?

Farkle: Ugg. I am feeling so mad right now.

-In the past: in a large living room, a teenage Farkle was laying down on a couch. He had a pillow behind his head and a blanket covering most of his body. Farkle looked up at the ceiling as he had a very sick look on his face.

Farkle: I hate being sick…. especially today. Well… mom and dad are gone now. And here I am. Laying here all alone, feeling so sick and exhausted. What is someone like me in this condition supposed to do?

-Farkle's spoken thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a teenage Smackle walking into the living room with a plate and glass of water.

Smackle: What you're going to do is stay on the couch as I give you this medicine along with this glass of water.

-Farkle looked at Smackle with a very surprised look on his face.

Farkle: Smackle!? What are you doing here?

Smackle: I called earlier and your mom told me that you were gonna be here alone for five hours. Soon after that, I told her that I would love to help take care of you during that time. She seemed cool with it, and so now here I am.

Farkle: But… what about your exams?

Smackle: I'll just take them during the makeup day. Which you will as well.

Farkle: But I'm not getting any better right now. In fact, I may never be in school again if this fever of mine keeps getting worse.

Smackle: Believe me Farkle. You will be better by the time the makeup day comes.

Farkle: And what makes you so sure of yourself?

-Smackle then held the glass of water she was holding closer to Farkle's face.

Smackle: Because I've got water and medicine here. Now drink up!

Farkle: But I'm still feeling…

Smackle: Now!

-Farkle quickly swallowed the medicine and water that Smackle had given him.

Farkle: Gee. You didn't have to shove it down my throat.

-Smackle then held a plate with toast on it closer to Farkle's face.

Smackle: I've got toast. It's buttery. Now eat it!

-Farkle then quickly ate the toast. As Farkle swallowed the last of his food, Smackle sat in a chair next to Farkle. Farkle then cleared his throat and looked right at Smackle.

Farkle: Smackle. What is up with you right now!? You're shouting demands at me to eat food and drink water.

Smackle: Is it wrong to ask a friend to do something to make his life better?

Farkle: Well… no.

Smackle: Farkle, there are so many people in this world who know how to live a healthy and good lifestyle. Yet they shut their mouths so often and continue to allow other people around them to live their lives however they feel like. Well I'm not gonna be like that.

Farkle: Wow. That's pretty deep.

Smackle: Thank you.

Farkle: So… wanna check out what cartoons are on cable right now?

Smackle: Sounds cool.

-Farkle then grabbed a remote near him and turned on the TV. Farkle and Smackle then began to watch the TV. However as they watched, Farkle's eyes began to turn to look at Smackle. After a moment of looking at her, Farkle then spoke up.

Farkle: Smackle.

Smackle: Yeah?

Farkle: I'm glad I sat down next to that strange little girl I met on that bench all those years ago.

Smackle: Me too. By the way, if we can't find anything good to watch on TV, I can always read you my Star Wars fanfiction where my little ponies join the Jedi order.

Maya: Smackle, are you sure you're all right?

-In the present - in the before and after care auditorium: Smackle and her friend Maya, along with one of their students: Grace were all sitting at a table together.

Smackle: I know I tell stories different than him but… did I cross a line today?

Maya: Smackle, you were being yourself. If Farkle had a problem with you just being you, he would've walked away years ago.

Grace: Yeah. Besides, you're really fun Miss Smackle.

Smackle: Aww. Thanks Grace.

Maya: Hey Grace. Since you're the only student in here now, let's go outside where all of the other kids are.

Grace: Okay.

-Maya and Grace then got up and walked out of the room. Smackle remained where she was and sighed. Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening nearby. Smackle turned her head and saw Farkle walking back into the building towards her. Smackle then got up and walked over to Farkle. The two both stopped once they were right in front of the other.

Smackle: Farkle. Listen. I've been thinking and… I just wanna say I'm sorry that I changed the ending to that fairy tale story on you. I didn't think it would make you…

-Farkle then held a hand up for a quick moment and then spoke.

Farkle: No. I'm glad that you are always you Smackle. And I'm glad you wanted to change the end of that silly little fairy tale. Because we probably shouldn't tell these kids the story of a prince and princess that meet up and just super quickly fall in love. Because that's not how love works. It takes time to grow. And it takes time to recognize it.

Smackle: Farkle, what are you saying?

Farkle: I should never let some crazy… quirks in a person's personality keep me from seeing what's most important about them. Smackle… I've been unfair to you.

Smackle: Huh? How?

-Farkle then had his hands grab Smackle's as the two looked right at each other.

Farkle: I let my frustrations over the ridiculous crazy little things you do keep me from seeing what is most important about you. Which is that you are the kindest, most patient, and most loving person I know. Smackle, you're the best friend ever. And I don't wanna walk away from you like I did ever again. In fact… I want to do the complete opposite of that.

-Farkle then suddenly pulled out of his pocket a small box and then got down on one knee. Farkle then immediately opened the box showing inside was a diamond ring. Smackle's eyes got huge as she saw what was happening and then fell down onto her own knees as she kept looking right at Farkle.

Farkle: Isadora Smackle… will you marry me?

-Smackle remained still as she had a look of uncertainty on her face. She was completely quiet for several moments, and then finally… she spoke.

Smackle: You were wrong about just one thing. Farkle… you're the best friend ever. And I will.

Farkle: You will what?

Smackle: What you just asked. It's a yes. Yes, Farkle… I will marry you!

THE END

#girl meets world #girl meets world fanfiction #smarkle #farkle #smackle #farkle and smackle #farkle x smackle

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everly-kindred · 6 years ago

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Everly’s Diary - Entry #2

Synopsis: Eve enjoys the chaos and wonderment of the winter holidays, and the wait for her Hogwarts letter continues!

Words: 1,360

Date: 27th of December, 2025

Dear Diary,

It’s been a few days since nearly all the holiday celebrations have been… well, celebrated. Now we simply await the new year! I’m saddened to say that my Hogwarts letter has not yet arrived, but mum and dad say I have nothing to worry about. I certainly hope they’re right, though my cousin did once say I might not get in since my family isn’t ‘pure-blood,’ whatever that means. But then my uncle scolded him and said that ‘no one has given a rats tail about blood purity since the nineties,’ so, who knows.

Things have gotten crazy since my birthday. So many things to celebrate, after all! Of course, I know it’s all separate, but my brain kinda mashes everything together as one big winter celebration that lasts about a week between all the family members I have to see. There’s the Winter Solstice, otherwise known as Yule, which is more so recognized on my dad’s side, while my mum’s side prefers Christmas. Either way, the traditions, while amazing, have put me in a perpetual state of sleepiness.

I guess I’ll start with the things we did at my dads. For Yule, we got our Yule Log which we had carved from an oak tree and burned with runestones for light, warmth, and happiness in the dark days ahead - Kaunaz, Peorth, and Wunjo. After the Yule Log was lit, we did a candlelight walk with several witches and wizards my mum and dad are friends with.

In this celebration, we both greet and say farewell to the darkest day of the year, and know that from here on out, we will be gradually granted more sunlight. When the sun had gone down, we lit a pathway through a forest nearby with candles and lanterns. Everyone gathered around a bonfire and sang a song, which, I wish I could remember the words to. I should have written it down right after, truthfully. It reminded me very much of the kind of song a phoenix would sing - rebirth, and light in the dark. With everyone singing it all together, it was quite haunting but also filled me with an odd sort of hope. I'll ask my parents what the song was tomorrow, I think.

We then walked the lit pathway with our own lanterns and candles in hand, in complete silence. The world around us seemed an endless black oblivion, with only tiny flames to follow. I nearly slipped once or twice, too. It was, like I said, dark, but on top of that, it was also quite muddy.

When we got home, we all had a dinner of soups, bread, and roasted vegetables, and I did a tarot reading with a Yule-specific spread I had gotten from a book my mother gave me. It was designed after a Christmas tree, with five questions for me to answer. The first was called ‘the star’ and asked me what my life had looked like the past year. For this, I drew the Empress in reverse. Based off of what the book that came with my tarot deck had to say, this means that I’ve felt like something has been lacking in my life, and I am unsatisfied. It suggests that I take a step back from things that lack creativity and look to myself to see what I am craving.

Next was ‘the branches’, which asks me what I appreciate most about myself. For this, I drew the one of coins, which suggests that I appreciate inspiration and positivity, and am willing to work hard to achieve these things. After that was ‘the needles’ which ask me what my greatest weaknesses are. For this, I had drawn the nine of swords, which says that I torment myself with my own thoughts, which means that ultimately, my own anxieties are my greatest enemies.

Following that is ‘the pinecones’ which asks how I can make positive changes for my future. At this I pulled the knight of coins, which tells me to apply determination and perseverance in the future, to maintain my goals and push through any trials I may face. Lastly, for ‘the trunk,’ I am asked what I should pay attention to, to keep me moving in a good direction. For this, I ironically enough pulled the Emperor in reverse. This warns me that someone with authority over me may abuse my ‘good nature’ and that I should be cautious of manipulation. I can’t think of anyone I know who is like that, but I’ll be sure to keep an eye out…

After my Yule reading, my dad and I made ‘witch balls’ which are glass ornaments that you decorate. Muggles believe that the ornaments by themselves will be enough to ward away negativity, but dad put a few charms on them. ‘Just in case,’ he said. I filled mine with some pine needles, cinnamon, hazelnut, powdered ginger, citrine, and garnet, and then painted a star on the outside with gold paint. I decided against hanging it on the tree and instead hung it in my window.

At that point, it had gotten quite late, so I went to bed and had very peculiar dreams. I dreamed as though I were but a few inches tall, and climbed on my windowsill. I used a candle like it were a broomstick, and flew into the sky. I had an old-timey nightcap on like the kind my grandpa wears, and I used it as a sort of bag to collect the stars from out of the night sky. It was a pleasant dream, really.

The next day, I had gone to my mum’s house for Christmas. I had a very long debate with her about how Santa is probably just a really old wizard who borrowed the Philosopher's stone, and how he probably uses floo powder and apparition to get everywhere with his red velvet bag that has obviously been enchanted with an extension charm and featherlight. Mum laughed and says it’s impossible, but sometimes I hear about Christmas miracles that make me think otherwise.

When we got home, I helped my mom make gingerbread ornaments to hang on the tree. Mine didn’t turn out quite as nice as hers had - I was particularly messy with the icing. By the time we had finished, mum and my stepdad’s family had arrived, and it was time for dinner on Christmas Eve.

I ate enough to make me sick. Mostly mashed potatoes, but I also had a great deal of chicken pot pie, and this baked fruit my mom makes - yams, prunes, and apples with brown sugar. Then, we opened presents. I didn’t get a whole lot this year, which is fine, honestly. I’d had such an amazing birthday, after all. Though I did get this stuffed fox with snowflakes printed on its velvetine fur, and it’s probably my favourite present so far.

Only one other thing happened that night, something I haven’t fully wrapped my head around. If I were a muggle, I’m sure it would have been quite frightening. While I was trying, and quite frankly failing, to fall asleep, I heard a clattering in the living room. I thought for sure that my theory about Ole’ St. Nicholas had been correct, but when I poked my head around the corner, I saw someone of transparent silver, who seemed to be the saddest creature I’d ever seen. She looked and sounded like a woman, and drifted around the Christmas tree. It seemed like she was trying to put out the candles that were hung from it.

I sat there watching her for a long time, all wrapped up and hidden in my blanket with my fox in my arms. But eventually, I drifted to sleep, and by the time I had woken up not more than an hour later, she was gone. I’m not sure I’ll ever see her again or know her story, but according to mum, ghosts are common in our world, and all muggles really fear is ‘that of the unknown.’

I’ve written quite a bit, and that’s about everything that happened, so I suppose I’ll stop for the night. I’ve managed to stay up late, again, but luckily, I can sleep in. See you next time, in 2026 perhaps?

Sleep well! - Everly

About the Character: Everly Rosemary Kindred is an imaginative Hufflepuff attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She keeps up with her magical journey through a series of diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings, all documented for future reflection. Her diary is a small glimpse into her enchanted life, and her adventure into the wizarding world and all its splendors. If you’d like more information about Eve, visit her wiki page.

About the Author: My name is Elowen! I am a 21-year-old Hufflepuff & Pukwudgie from Louisville, Kentucky. This page is my creative journey into the magical world, through the lenses of Second Life. Here I post diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings all from my character’s perspective. If you’d like more information about me, visit my Flickr!

Outfit Credits:

Hair - TRUTH / Beatrix

Fox - EF: Spirit Animals: Winter - Fox

Nightgown - hazy . dreamer baby . M 9

Necklace #1 - .Atomic. {Unicorn Horn} Necklace

Necklace #2 - Kibitz - Magical moon and star necklace - copper

#harry potter #diary #witch #hufflepuff #magic #mischief managed #secondlife #second life #hogwarts #witchy

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thethoughtsfromthreeam · 4 years ago

Text

Monument Woman

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OC (Rosemary Carter)

Warnings: A bit of angst

A/N: Sort of trucking along, now into chapter 4, which gets us into the meat of this whole story, so I guess this sorta qualifies as a slow burn? Not sure. Anyway, enjoy!

Tag List:

@zeldasayer , @beskars , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder , @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale , @ahopelessromanticwritersworld , @lilkermit14 [please message me to be added or subtracted]

Part 2 – Well, It’s Valuable for Starters

Coral Gables Restaurant sits right on the banks of the Kalamazoo River, serving as the perfect backdrop to any lunch or dinner date. It was Robert’s favorite place to eat and the whole staff knew him. So, lunch dates for the two history buffs could last hours and no one would say anything to them.

Long after the lunch plates had been taken away, Robert nursed his beer and Rosemary leaned back in her chair, letting the early summer sun warm her skin. As she sat there with her eyes closed, Robert let himself just watched her. She was tall with a brunette pixie cut – the only hair style he’s ever seen her sport – and he noted there was greyer hair than when they first met and finer lines on the youthful face.

She took up a lot of space with her personality and that’s what he loved best about her. Of all the people Robert called his friends, none were close to him like she was. When he met her not long after she started at the museum and it was an almost instant rapport.

He never had children of his own, never even gotten married. But something about Rosemary drew him to her and he felt this love for her like he hadn’t ever felt for anyone else in his nearly seventy-two years. When the doctor gave him the prognosis, he realized the sadness that had washed over him wasn’t about his death but the fact that he had someone he was leaving behind. It both hurt and consoled him. He wasn’t going to be alone.

“Rosie.” His voice was soft, but she still heard him and opened her eyes. He smiled at her and she sat up and nodded, pulling her chair closer so she was more comfortable to chat. The waitress appeared with refills for Rosemary’s lemonade and another beer for Robert. They stayed quiet until she left. When they were alone again, she raised her eyebrow and gestured for him to continue.

“If there are things in those boxes that you can sell for the museum, go for it. There are a few I want the museum to have and one item it needs to take.”

“Well, I doubt I’ll take anything that will cause me extra work, but we can draw up the deed of gift on the other items as normal. I already have my eye on a few things, which are probably among what you are already giving us.” He nodded. “What’s the item you want us to take for sure?”

“The Cornucopia.” Her eyebrow raised in confusion at the comment. “It’s a priceless art piece, a friend of mine valued it at three-quarters of a million dollars. On the low end of things.”

“WHAT?” Rosemary’s jaw dropped. Holy shit.

“I know, I was surprised it valued so high as well. I bought it at an antique shop in Chicago years ago and given how valuable it is, I want the museum to have it.”

“Uh, hell yeah!” Rosemary’s eyes began to gleam with glee and Robert laughed. He knew she was thinking of Fred and he was pleased he could help her get a leg up on the man. While Breyers had never been anything but courteous towards the storeowner, there was an underlying hostility to the curator’s words and actions. Something about the greedy curator never sat well with Robert and he shared in Rosemary’s dislike of him.

“When we head back to the house after lunch, we’ll talk more.” The two sat back and grinned at each other.

---***---

“But, ma’am. . . Ma’am. . .” Agent Horacio paused, the murderous look on their face not even showing up in their voice. “Ma’am, I get what you are saying. I’m asking you to set up a meeting with me to go over the case. Yes, we reopened it. Yes, we’re working on it. Now if you would just. . .”

The ever-patient voice of the agent faded into the background as Carmichael skirted the table with a handful of photos, a small smirk on her face. She walked up next to Pike as they filled the evidence board with the last of the pictures from the case files. A second and third board were set up on the other side of the room, allowing the team to make further critical connections to the cases they had so recently linked together.

They worked quietly for a bit, Carmichael subtly shooting glances at Pike, whose brow was furrowed in concentration. Finally, her curiosity got the better of her and she turned to look at her partner.

“Okay, spill. How did the date go with Lucy in Accounting?” Her voice dropped to a whisper belying the eager look on her face. Pike grimaced at the question as he pressed on the last of the push pins.

“There was no date. She stood me up.” Her loud gasp caused a few of their team to look their way, but she ignored them, giving Pike a look to continue. “I called twice, and she never answered. Never even showed up to the date itself. I don’t think I can go back to Bobby’s anymore. Lindsey is starting to feel sorry for me.”

“Hell, I feel sorry for you, Pike. That’s the third date you’ve been stood up on in, what? Two months?” Carmichael’s voice softened. The poor man was having a rough time of it, what with Lisbon breaking his heart, his divorce before that, three failed short-term relationships after he came to D.C., and now this series of no-show dates over the last year. She frowned and laid a hand on his wrist, which had stilled on the last pin as his words died on his tongue.

He didn’t look at her and she could feel him stiffen underneath her touch. He pushed down his growing frustration at the situation and turned to smile at her, the grin not coming close to reaching his eyes. His shoulders squared up as if to say the conversation was done. She had known the man for six years and just wanted him to be happy, but for the moment, she gave him a small smile to help him with his charade.

“It’s okay Carmichael, maybe I’m just not meant for a relationship.” His voice sounded almost sad at the tone and she bowed her head.

“I don’t think that’s true, Marcus.”

“Yeah, well the universe is working hard to tell me that I’m meant to be single. I should be listening instead of fighting it.” He sighed and turned away, walking out of the room before anyone could comment on the large frown that had formed on his face. She looked after him, a defeated look in her eyes. No one loved as hard and as loyal as him, he deserved the world. She knew that the right person for him was out there, but she couldn’t understand why Pike hadn’t crossed paths with his soulmate yet.

She turned back to the board, picking up the marker to begin labeling the photos they had posted. While she wrote, she silently prayed to the universe that her partner’s heart found its home sooner rather than later.

-*-

Pike looked at himself in the mirror, droplets of water still on his skin and the strands of hair framing his face were damp. Splashing water on his face helped cool down his skin, but Carmichael’s words of sympathy had stung, even if she meant well, and he had to leave the room before he got upset even more. As he leaned against the sink, he bowed his head and took a few deep breaths. The small moment of zen from earlier in the day had faded and the headache had returned.

It was known that the agent wore his heart on his sleeve, that he was loyal and generous to a fault. Most of his colleagues loved him for it and it inspired loyalty from those who worked under him. But none of that seemed to translate into anything romantically successful. At this point, he was certain that he was a running joke throughout D.C. and that women agreed to a date to see how long he’d wait at his favorite diner for someone to show up.

Last night, Lindsey comped his dinner because she just couldn’t take the defeated slump to the man’s shoulders one more time. She even went home and hugged her wife, hoping a little of her joviality would seep into her bones. If Pike knew that, he would have bitterly laughed at the idea that he can help other people love harder, he just couldn’t get people to love him back.

After letting the dark thoughts swirl through his brain for a little longer, he stood up straight and glanced into the mirror. He wiped his face one more time and straightened his tie. Without looking back at his reflection, Marcus Pike vowed to himself that he wasn’t going to let anyone in anymore. He was here to catch art thieves and that’s what he was going to do.

He just prayed the yearning in his heart heard the declaration, too.

---***---

Rosemary huffed as she staggered up the walkway to the front door of the museum with the heavy box in her arms. She cursed herself for thinking that she could carry such an awkward and heavy load by herself, but she was a stubborn mule and was determined to get it all done in one trip. She sighed when she reached the top of the short staircase.

She reached out and kicked the frame of the door into the building knowing that their long-time volunteer, Bob, was at the front desk. There was something about him that grated against Rosemary and if truth be told, he was a bad volunteer, but he was the only reliable one and so she had to put up with him and his nonsense.

She realized with a start that she’d been standing there for several minutes, and no one had come to the door. She peeped through the glass and saw Bob sitting there, looking her way. Grimacing as she shifted the box, she kicked the door again, harder this time.

And he still didn’t move.

With a low growl, Rosemary shifted around and pressed her butt against the handicap button on the wall and with a sigh of relief, she walked through the now open door. While the June day wasn’t particularly hot, the sun was still warm and the physical activity overheated her. The cool air of the lobby felt like kisses of heaven on her skin and she slightly closed her eyes at the sensation. When she opened them, she looked directly at the man in front of her.

“Bob, did you see me kicking the door?”

“Yep.”

“So why didn’t you come open it for me, you clearly saw my hands were full.”

“Kicking is rude.” The man’s rheumy eyes stared at her and it took two deep breaths to ensure Rosemary wasn’t going to start screaming. She gave him a tightened smile instead and she walked over to the elevator. “Rosemary, the elevator is for handicap people, you’re not handicapped.”

“Bob, the elevator is for everyone. Goodbye!” She entered the small space and leaned against the wall. We need him, we need him, we need him, she chanted to herself, nothing convincing her that it was true. The ride to the third floor was a short one, but the heavy box made it seem longer. When the doors opened, she took a left down to the staff offices and her workspace.

She did her best to carefully set the box down on the bench, but she grimaced as she heard rattling inside. When it didn’t sound like anything broke, she heaved a sigh of relief. She turned her head as she heard footsteps from the hallway and within moments, Helen enter the room.

“How did it go?” She had a small smile on her face, coming closer to the work bench

“Not bad, I took one big box of stuff – good stuff, too.” The curator grinned and Helen grinned back, curiosity all over her face.

“Nothing ugly?”

“God no. As my grams liked to say, ‘God don’t like ugly.’” She lifted the lid off the box and suddenly Rosemary screamed, scaring Helen and causing her to scream, too. The latter jumped back towards the door, unsure of what was happening. The sounds of the two women yelling echoed in the room until the scream Rosemary let out evolved into a laugh, tinged with adrenaline. “FUCKING ROBERT!”

“WHAT? WHAT? WHAT?” Helen was now on edge and creeping back closer to the work bench, still wary. Rosemary reached into the box and lifted out the stuff monkey she passed over earlier. Helen recoiled at the sight.

“I thought you said you didn’t bring back anything ugly!”

“I didn’t! He must have put it in here after I told him it was worthy of the dumpster.” The laughter continued as she looked at the stuffed animal. Finally, she sighed and set the monkey down on the bench.

“You’re not putting it in the collections are you?” The director still looked at the item with wariness. It was truly ugly with its almost realistic eyes. She shuttered before looking away.

“No, but I’m going to keep it, though. He’d probably make a better watch dog than Banana.” Looking around, Rosemary turned to her boss. “Speaking of which, where is that dog of mine?”

“He’s in your office, conked out on the couch and snoring away.”

“See?! I need the monkey now. My own dog, of whom I am his whole world, didn’t even come hither at my screams. I am abandoned and unloved.” Rosemary ended her dramatic comment on a sigh, her hand against her forehead. The two women began to laugh again.

“By the way, please for the love of all that is holy, find someone to replace Bob at the front desk. He watched me kick the door to get in and refused to get up.”

“Did he say why?”

“Yeah, ‘kicking is rude.’” Rosemary mimicked the old man’s gravelly voice and rolled her eyes. Helen patted her shoulder and said she’d chat with Bob about it, but the curator didn’t have much faith in the forth-coming conversation. The director left the room and Rosemary dove back into the box to pull out the rest of her treasures.

---***---

“Here is the paperwork on the history of The Cornucopia. Please promise me that you’ll list this as a restricted item.” Robert sat down, a file folder in his hand. “I know better than to make outrageous demands, but I want it in the paperwork that this item cannot be loaned out, it cannot be displayed, and it is to remain the collections for the rest of the museum’s existence. I don’t even want it announced that you have the piece.”

He took a breath and Rosemary’s eyebrows furrowed. He hadn’t been kidding when he said he had restrictions on the item. He continued.

“The piece is valuable; I don’t want the museum becoming a target for it. I’m giving it to you because I know you’ll protect it.” Rosemary nodded as she thumbed through the file, skimming the history of the sculpture. She looked up at him.

“Let me write up the deeds for you and we’ll note everything you want me to list in terms of restrictions.” She got up and went to her computer set up on the table. For the next hour, she sat asking Robert questions and filling out the forms, using the printer to create physical copies. After she was done, she sat back.

“We’ll take good care of it. I promise.”

---***---

The next day, Rosemary sat at her desk, imputing the new collection pieces into PastPerfect, transcribing notes she had scribbled in her binder. Most of the pieces she had taken were worth it; besides the map, she took a few pieces of pottery from a celebrated local artist, a couple of prints that dated back to the Fort’s early years, seven quilts, and several history books. And of course, The Cornucopia.

She pulled the file out for the sculpture and sat back in her chair. After opening the folder, she began to read the files she had skimmed earlier. The more she read the appraiser’s history more her eyebrows crawled up her forehead.

The Cornucopia was created for Russian Tsar Nicolas II by renown Ukrainian artists Artem Chumak. The bronze sculpture was inlaid with rubies, sapphires, yellow diamonds, jade, pearls, and opals, most mined from around the Russian Empire. Ukraine historically has been known as the breadbasket of Russia and the piece was commissioned by the Ukrainian government as a gift to Nicolas upon his marriage to Princess Alexandra of Hess. It’s value at the time of creation was $250,000 USD.

It is known that Dowager Empress Maria took the piece, along with several other valuable items after the fall of the Empire and she sold it to the Grand Duke of Luxembourg in 1920, who in turn loaned it to the country’s National Museum of History and Art the following year. The museum returned it to the family during World War II to protect it from the advancing German army. It was again loaned to the museum for another twenty years before the family chose to cease ownership.

The piece was then sold via Sotheby’s Auction House in 1965 to a private collector in the U.S. and has remained in private ownership since then. Because of its history and the materials used, the value of The Cornucopia is approximately $750,000 for insurance purposes, but on the auction block, could fetch upwards to . . .

“Three million dollars?!” Rosemary shrieked, her feet dropping to the floor as she sat up. She looked at the sculpture sitting on her worktable and her face broke out in a grin. Oh, ho ho ho, she really got the leg up on Fred Breyers this time. This was the best gift that Robert could have ever given her.

#Agent Marcus Pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal x reader #fanfic #the mentalist

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fight-me-wyatt · 7 years ago

Text

Richie Tozier ~ Detention

Request/Prompt: "Ok so, for the prompt list u posted, can u somehow combine "i'm gonna marry her one day" (this wasn't on the list but it's so cute to me for some reason???) "don't be an ass" and "you're such a bitch" with 16/17 year old Richie? Like just overall super fluffy ?? Idk I'm just in the mood for sum fluffy richie... Love your writing by the way! ❤❤❤" from @evelxn-cruz on tumblr.

Ship: Richie Tozier x fem!reader

Summary: Richie gets the reader into detention, so she gets revenge by putting him into detention.

Type: fluff.... But not super fluffy, I'm super sorry to the person who requested!

Warning: Only warning would be swearing, I think.

Word count: 2971 (including A/Ns)

Hope you enjoy it. Let me know!

This isn't great, and it's quite different to what I usually do, and it's not very fluffy I don't think sorry!!! Let me know if you want another, more fluffy, one! Seriously just tell me to get my shit together lol.

Also, I know the teachers I'm using are from the elementary school in Derry, but let's pretend they're high school teachers as well lol. And idk the janitors name (I couldn't find it on the wiki) so I called him Jimmy and I didn't know of the shopkeepers name so I called him Mr. Davidson (no reason, just two random names I picked).

Not my gif, gif credit goes to @imultifandomstuff

Y/N POV

Richie fucking trashmouth tozier. That son of a bitch. How dare he think he can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. I swear to god that god damned boy was going to be the death of me.

I stormed out of detention, earning a warning glare from Mrs. Casey, who had been marking papers for the last three hours that I had spent in the stuffy classroom.

I strode out of the school, passing only the janitor, Jimmy. I smiled and nodded to him.

We were on a first name basis because of the amount of time I spent in detention, which usually involved helping Jimmy. I did have a reputation of getting into trouble for the things I did. I had become infamous throughout the school, most known for the buckets and buckets of off milk I had tipped throughout the principal and staffs offices. It was worth the weekend I spent cleaning with Jimmy, who kept giggling as he watched me scrub with a surgeons mask over my nose and mouth.

This time however, was not something of my doing. I had just spent three hours writing out the dictionary because Richard Tozier had taken it upon himself to proclaim his "undying love" to me.

He did this by blowing up thousands of balloons and spreading them all around the school, each with a compliment, gushing about me, using my full name.

"Y/F/N, YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE QUEEN" read one.

"Y/L/N WONT BE YOUR LAST NAME FOREVER, SOMEDAY IT'LL BE MINE" read another.

This wasn't all he did though, oh no.

He had also spray painted the words "Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N is the most beautiful person I have ever seen." In big, bright letters across the lockers.

The school staff thought very lowly of the loving declarations, and because Richie had somehow managed to evade all suspicion (God knows how, we had been dating for nearly a year), the blame fell on me.

Not surprisingly, as I was known to have an ego 'as big as her tits' as Richie had once described.

The very few who did believe me when I said it wasn't me who had done this, told me that if I suffered the consequences, the person who obviously loves me so much would also be suffering to know they put me in detention.

I know for a fact Richie has no remorse and is definitely not suffering. He's probably even planning his next big plan.

As I pushed open the squeaky doors to the great outdoors, I took a big deep breath in of the sweet, sweet air of freedom.

I jogged down the steps, my doc martens hitting the steps rhythmically. I shrugged and pulled the collar of my leather jacket out, so that it rested more comfortably.

I heard a wolf whistle, and I snapped my head towards the loud, sharp sound, to see the guilty culprit leaning against the brick wall with a cigarette in his hand. Stan the man sat on the wall beside him, shrugging an apology to me.

I narrowed my eyes at him and shook my head. I walked slowly over to him, crossing my arms.

"You, Richie, are a dickhead." I said, laughing slightly.

I stole his cigarette from between his fingers and took a drag. Stan laughed and jumped down from the wall.

"Well," he said, slapping Richie on the back, "good luck, buddy" he chuckled, "see you later, Y/N/N" he strode off with hands in his pockets.

"DON’T THINK THAT I DON’T KNOW THAT YOU WERE THE ONE WHO HELPED HIM PULL THIS OFF, STANLEY, YOU BETTER SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN." I called after him, laughing as he turned and blew me a kiss jokingly.

I turned back to Richie as he tried to grab his cigarette back from me. Pulling it away from him and out of his reach teasingly, I looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"So,uh, Richie. I have to be honest with you..." I paused, biting my lip and he looked at me with alarm, suddenly nervous, "today... someone" I took a deep breath before continuing, "someone declared their love to me. And wow. Seems like you've got big competition. If you're not careful, this mysterious anonymous admirer will steal me away from you ." I shrugged, taking a drag.

His mouth dropped open and gave me a gentle shove.

"You're such a bitch! I was seriously worried about what you were going to say!" He shook his head and wrapped his arms around me, connecting our lips slowly.

"You have to admit though, it was fucking impressive, right? I bet all the teachers and students are jealous now. I could have anyone I wanted..." he frowned, pretending to think about who he would choose.

I laughed and shoved him.

"Oh, don't be an ass, rich. They're all obviously wanting me, not you" I smirked and winked.

We both laughed, starting off down the street. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him stealing glances at me. I slid my fingers through his and swung our entwined hands between us.

As we walked, Richie told me in great detail of how he managed to pull his master plan off.

I giggled as he gestured wildly with one hand and cockily told me the extreme lengths he went to, to pull off his "prank of the century", as he called it.

We reached my house in what seemed like no time at all. Being with Richie did that; made time go faster. He seemed to soak up all of my time and attention whenever I was with him, and I would never even realise until later on. Not that I was mad when I did realise, how could I be when it was Richie? That jackass always did something or other that should piss me off but instead just makes me grin and shake my head.

We stopped at my front door and turned to each other. He grabbed both of my hands and smiled.

"I really do love you, Y/N/N." He grins and winks before continuing, "and I mean that fucking body, hot damn!" He wolf whistles and smirks, kissing my cheek.

I pull away, teasingly as I laugh at him.

"And here I was thinking we were having a moment... Maybe we could have another.." I whispered, leaning in so our lips were mere millimeters away from each other, before turning my head to whisper in his ear, "but I don't think you deserve one" I pulled back, a smirk on my face as I opened the door and stepped inside.

I slowly turned back, almost as if he was an afterthought.

"Oh, and Richie? Karma's a bitch, and she's on her way... But I may get to you before she does, so watch your back, Tozier." I smiled sweetly, and closed the door on Richie's gobsmacked face, with admiration in his eyes.

That night, all through cooking and eating dinner, my mind was swamped with ideas on how to get my revenge. As I helped my dad do the cleaning up, a plan formulated in my mind and I was gonna have fun with it.

I turned in for an 'early night', much to my parents delight and snuck out my bedroom window with my pocket money in the deep pockets of my warmest jacket.

I speed walked to the corner store close to our family home, wanting to get started.

The bell trilled and I sighed, glad to be in the warmth. I grabbed a basket and searched the isles for my weapons.

I guess I looked a tad weird going up to the counter with over 100 golf balls, over 200 plastic cups, and about 50 bottles of dish soap. And of course a can of spray paint.

Mr. Davidson looked at me with raised eyebrows. He knew the family, and my notorious pranking history, so as he rung everything up, I smiled sweetly.

"So, Mr. Davidson, how's the family? Good? Now, listen, I need you to do me a huge favour. It's easy though. All you need to do is to not say anything about seeing me tonight or that I brought any of this stuff? Okay? Think you can do that for me?" I grinned, trying to look convincing.

He looked apprehensive about it, so I slid him an extra $5 that I had been saving for an emergency. He simply nodded and told me my large total.

I grumbled but dug out the cash and passed it to him in coins.

I picked up my bags awkwardly and nodded goodbye to him.

"See ya later Mr. Davidson!" I called behind me.

"It was nice not seeing you, Miss Y/L/N" he called out, a smile clear in his voice.

I grinned and waved behind me, the bell once again ringing as I left.

I reached the school what seemed like hours later. I grinned and used the key I had 'borrowed' from good ole' Jimmy to get in through a side door. He had passed a comment to me about losing it, but I knew that he knew I had it. I think the old fellow has a soft spot for me and my pranks.

Once inside I tied my hair up and got to work. I started by filling plastic cups with dish soup and put them in awkward places; on top of lockers, on tops of doors, random places on the floor that were destined to be stepped on and spilt. I struggled to carefully pick my way through the full cups without tipping them when it was just me. Imagine what the hundreds of people during the day would do.

Next, I dipped the golf balls in the soap and spread them out. Some in lockers I knew the codes for, some in random plastic cups, some just on the floor.

Soon, the somewhat narrow main hall of the school was a mine field, ready for someone to detonate my strategically placed bombs and slip over.

To top it off, I started to pour the remainder dish-washing soap over the clear ground before abruptly stopping.

"Crap." I whispered, despite no one else being around.

I dropped the bottle I was holding and picked up my red spray paint can, shaking it.

“Definitely should've done this first." I scolded myself.

Carefully and painfully slowly, I made my way through the minefield of my own creation, trying to not trigger any bombs too early.

Miraculously, I managed to get to the lockers that faced the main entrance at the T-intersection at the end of the hall without spilling any slippery soap.

I shook the can once more, before painting the lockers in big, bold, easy-to-read words.

I stepped back slightly, narrowly missing a golf ball and looked over my artwork. I frowned in thought, then crouched down to add a few extra words. I stood up and smiled.

Happy with myself, I made my way back to my abandoned bottles. I finished off my job by spreading the last of the soap in the bottles all over the squeaky clean floor, so it was a slippery, sticky mess (much like the situations I frequently managed to get myself into).

I laughed evilly to myself, clapping my hands in achievement as I looked over my beautiful creation one more time, the red letters standing out to me.

Quickly, I picked up the waste products from my master plan and set off for home, not before locking up.

I yawned as I hauled myself silently through the window of my bedroom. I chucked the empty bottles and can into my wardrobe, wincing at the slight noise they made as they landed. I kicked off my boots and fell into bed, not bothering to get changed. I was so tired, I had barely glanced at the clock, that read 2:19am, before falling into a deep sleep.

That same clock woke me up with a drilling urgency at 7am. Groaning into the pillow, I reached blindly for the murderer of my sleep. As I pulled myself up into an upright position, I managed to stop the blaring. I grinned sleepily, remembering the night and my own brilliance. The smell of waffles wafted through to my room and in a rush I got ready for school and ate lightening fast before heading on my way.

I reached school, with a grin on my face. I pushed open the entrance doors to be greeted with beautiful, beautiful chaos. Perfect.

Everywhere, teachers and students alike were slipping, sliding, tripping and falling in the hallway of soap. It worked better than I ever could have imagined. I looked around, smirking at the detonating bombs causing people to fall with a comic-like 'splat!'. And those words on the lockers stood out more than ever, perfectly framed by people sliding to the floor in front of them.

"RICHIE TOZIER, I THINK IM SLIPPING AND FALLING FOR YOU." They read.

And in smaller writing beneath it was: "I THINK STAN URIS PUSHED ME THOUGH."

I moved out of the doorway and to the side so any newcomers could get the full experience. And as I reread the red words with a sense of proudness, the men of the hour walked through the doors.

Both Richie and Stan's mouths fell open - with sheer amazement, I'm assuming - and they looked from the chaos, to the words, to each other and back again. They burst into laughter, the type of laughter that makes you hold your stomach because it starts to hurt. Once they were able to bring down the cackling to small giggles, they wiped the tears from their eyes and scanned the squealing and squawking crowd of people for me, and just as they spotted me and started to walk over to me, Mrs. Douglas spotted them. Somehow, she got through the minefield, only skidding a few times, using students as support, and reached the two alarmed boys. From my position I couldn't hear what was being said but she seemed angry. I wonder why. And the boys looked sheepish, unable to get a word in edgewise to tell her it wasn't actually them. Hello? Karma? Is that you? Oh good! Perfect timing.

Mrs. Douglas dragged both Stan and Richie by their elbows towards the detention room. Except the minefield was between them and said room.

With Mrs. Douglas refusing to let go off the boys, they managed to all fall victim to my slip 'n' slide a grand total of 12 times. That's gotta be a record for the short distance they had to go.

Just before they disappeared into the room, Richie turned back and locked eyes with me. We grinned at each other, across the war torn zone of the hallway, staring at the other as if we were right in front of each other.

"Well played." He mouthed at me from across the hall.

I blew him a kiss and winked as he gave me the middle finger and got pulled into the room.

Stan and Richie were sentenced to writing a minimum three page essay on what had happened, why they were in trouble, and any other information they could give on the prank in total silence. At least that's what they told me afterwards when they emerged from their prison to where I waited for them with a cigarette. What I didn't know was the specifics of what happened during detention.

So, I didn't know that ten minutes in; Stan had one sentence and Richie had a blank piece of paper.

I didn't know that Richie had turned to Stan, fiddling with his pencil, deep in thought.

I didn't know that when Richie turned to Stan, he said, "i'm gonna marry her one day."

I didn't know that he meant it wholeheartedly.

I didn't know that Mrs. Douglas had immediately shushed him.

And I didn't know that Stan had simply smirked and replied, "I know, Richie."

A/N: I'm really sorry about this lol it's super bad. Please let me know ways to improve! I'm super sorry there's not many cute fluffy couple moments. I tried something different and I'm not sure if I like it or not! Let me know if you do or don't and why!

828 notes · View notes

mosylufanfic · 7 years ago

Note

Prompt: something involving Cisco and Caitlin vs. either Ammunet or Warden Wolfe? please?

I started this last weekend and hoped to have it done within a few days, but it just kept getting longer and longer and longer . . . until I looked up and it was 8k words and your very long week was almost at an end. Hope this helps anyway.

Also, I wrote this entire thing before I went to check the Flash wiki for something and remembered that Warden Wolfe died at the end of "True Colors." Ooops. But let's all assume that this is the reality where he somehow escaped, and go on our merry way.

Cisco on the Inside

On the other side of the bulletproof glass, against the dour grey walls of the Iron Heights visiting room, Caitlin stood out like a sunbeam in her light summer dress and yellow blazer. She looked like she should be having brunch or something, not visiting a prison.

But damn, he was glad she was here.

Cisco picked up the handset and felt his whole body relax when her voice said, "Hey," in his ear.

"Hey," he said.

"How are you?" Her anxious eyes scanned his face and chest, presumably looking for gaping wounds.

"It hasn't been my best couple of days ever," he admitted. "But would you believe it hasn't been my worst, either?"

She made a face. "Really, how is it?"

"Food's bad, wardrobe's pretty dismal." He plucked at his orange jumpsuit. "But other than that, it's actually sort of okay. I figure I can hang in here for awhile."

She bit her lip. "That's good. Because the preliminary hearing's not set yet."

"What's taking so long?"

"I don't know," she said. "I can't believe you're even in there. I can't believe you couldn't make bail."

"That'll teach me to blow my savings on a fixer-upper Corvette off Craigslist."

"Don't make jokes. This is awful."

"Well, I mean, I did build the cold gun for Snart. And he did do a lot of crime with it. And none of his gang are around anymore, so I guess someone had to be the fall guy."

"You weren't an accomplice, you were coerced!" she said fiercely.

"We'll get it all cleared up in front of the judge," he said.

She fiddled nervously with the silver crescent moon pendant she wore and glanced over her shoulder at the guard standing against the back wall. “Are they treating you okay?”

He shrugged. "Nobody’s beaten me up yet.”

She looked horrified.

“Kidding! It’s fine. I've been able to stay off the warden's radar, so that's a good thing. Right?"

She worried the crescent moon again. "Right. Yes. Just - just keep your head down, okay?" She lowered her voice. "Don't use your P-O-W-E-R-S - "

"Shhh," he hissed as one of the guards on her side looked over at her. "Christalive, Caitlin, they're not toddlers. They can spell!"

"I'm just saying," she mumbled, cupping her hand over her mouth as if she thought they might be able to read lips, too. It was about as subtle as a brick to the head. "Don't use them."

He scowled at her. "Fine," he said. "I won't. I'll keep my nose clean and my head down and I'm gonna have a totally uneventful stay in Iron Heights."

"You promise?"

"Cross my heart and hope to - "

"No," she cut him off. "Anything but that."

"I promise," he said instead. He ran his finger along the steel-wrapped cord that connected the handset to the wall. "So, uh. How's everybody? How are you?"

"Not great," she said. "But we're not the ones in prison. We - "

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he winced. "Time's up," said a guard's voice.

Cisco wanted to slap that hand off his shoulder, but he'd just promised that he'd behave himself. Instead, he twisted around. "I thought we got half an hour."

The guard shrugged. "Warden says your time is up."

He gritted his teeth, then turned back to Caitlin. "So, I gotta go," he said.

"Now," the guard said and took the handset out of his hand and hung it up.

"Jesus," he hissed between his teeth, but he got to his feet. Caitlin was watching through the glass, her eyes wide. Come back, he mouthed.

She nodded. He let the guard shove him toward the door to the rest of the prison, but as he went through it, he looked over his shoulder again.

She was still watching him, face pale, fingers wrapped around the crescent moon pendant.

The door shut between them.

One of the worst things about being in prison was the unbelievable boredom. The inmates were told when to sleep and when to wake up and when to shower and when to eat and when to go outside and when to come in and how long to do all of those things. But within that structure, there was very little to actually occupy his mind. No machines to fix, no music to listen to, a severely limited choice of TV.

In the yard, he saw one of the other D-Block guys sitting at the picnic table, reading a book. He tapped him on the shoulder, and a guard barked, "No touching!"

Cisco yanked his hands back, holding them up, until the guard looked away. He'd forgotten about that rule.

The reader hadn't looked up. But he said, "What."

"Just, uh, wanted to know if I could borrow that when you were done."

Without looking up, he asked, "What'll you give me for it?" in a way that didn't suggest please was what he was looking for.

Cisco recalculated very, very swiftly. "Actually, you know what, I think I've read it. So never mind."

The reader grunted and turned a page.

He fiddled with the cuffs of his jumpsuit and asked another D-Block inmate, "So, when is our library day again?" They got an hour in the prison library once a week.

"Friday, but you're not missing anything. They won't give us anything good. No Playboy, no Guns & Ammo. Not even nasty lady-porn books. Just fucking Martha Stewart and cat mysteries and shit."

"You dissin' on Martha?" a third guy growled, and Cisco pretended he wanted to go use the hand weights because even on his third day, he could tell when someone felt like fighting.

Barry had filled him in on a lot of how prison worked, from his dad's experiences and his own time in there, but Cisco was also a lifetime watcher-of-currents, and he knew how to avoid sharks.

Or if he couldn't avoid them, at least he knew how to swim alongside them so peacefully that they didn't think about eating him.

He nodded at the other guy doing curls. His name was Brixton and they'd sat at the same table for dinner the night before.

"Hey, man," Brixton said under the noise of the scuffle on the other side of the yard, and the guards rushing in to break it up. "How's the tat?"

Cisco rolled his shoulder a little and rubbed his chest through the jumpsuit. "Still sore. Little itchy." Two days before getting arrested and put in prison was probably about the worst time to get your very first tattoo, but he hadn't exactly had a choice in the matter.

"You wanna take care of those." Brixton pointed at a star inked just below his elbow. "When I got that one, it got infected."

"Eeesh," Cisco said. "Looks okay now, though."

"My lady put witch hazel on it until it healed up. Worked like a dream."

"You think they'll give me witch hazel in the infirmary?"

"That's a dream too," Brixton said, picking out his weights. He did a few curls with a weight the size of Cisco's head, as the yard went quiet again after the fighters had been taken away. "Saw you got a visitor today."

"Yep," Cisco said, picking up one of the available weights, testing it in his hand. He glanced around, set it down, and picked up the next largest size before settling in for his first set of bicep curls.

"She was fine. Was that your lady?"

“Don’t have a lady.” The pang he felt at saying it was starting to dull. It had been three months since he and Cynthia had called it quits, after he’d turned down Breacher’s job offer in the spring. "The woman who visited - she’s just a friend."

Brixton smirked. "Can't seal the deal?"

"Never tried. Like I said, friends." He started doing curls, counting out the Fibonacci sequence in his head.

He snorted. "Sure, whatever."

Cisco gritted his teeth, focusing on his counting. Was he on the five set, or the eight set?

"Those buttoned-up types always get me," Brixton said dreamily. "Makes you wonder what she'll do when you rip off those buttons. You think she's a screamer? Ahhhh, even if she's not, I could make it happen."

Cisco lost count and switched arms. "You remember the part where she's my friend?"

"Relax, man, I'm just speculating."

"You're talking about her like she's a piece of meat."

"You telling me how to talk now?"

He dropped the weight to the cement yard with a clang and stood. "I'm telling you to talk more respectfully about a human woman, is what I'm telling you."

Brixton dropped his weight too, with a much louder clang, and unfolded himself to a much greater height than Cisco. "Say that again."

Cisco stepped to him, clenching his jaw. "Shut your face. About my friend."

Brixton punched him. Or he tried, anyway. Cisco ducked and tackled him around the waist. it was like running into a slab of meat. And then it was like the slab of meat picked him up and flicked him four feet away.

He landed on his ass, skidding across the cement in a way that promised road rash later on, when his adrenaline had burned off. He looked up to see Brixton charging, and he instinctively flung out his arm and threw a blast.

As Brixton reeled backward and guards charged in, he said, "Oh, shit."

Warden Wolfe sat across the table, stone-faced and silent. Behind Cisco’s shoulders, the guards stood with the same expressions.

Cisco sat in the middle, sore from the fight, his head hanging. "Look," he said, picking at his thumbnail. "Uh, I'm sorry. And I won't do it again."

"Prison regulations state that metas cannot be held in the general population.” Warden Wolfe flipped through the file in front of him. “You didn't disclose your meta status upon arrest."

"I didn't think it was relevant!"

Wolfe gave him a hard look.

Cisco swallowed. "I mean, it didn't have anything to do with what I was arrested for. Sir."

"Failure to disclose meta status is a misdemeanor."

"Oh, that's not bad. That's, like, community service? I'll build houses or something."

If possible, the warden's face went harder.

"Come on, it doesn't have to be a thing. Sir. I swear I'll stay away from that guy, I won't use them again - "

"Them?"

"It," Cisco said hastily. "It, singular. I just have the one. Just one meta ability."

Wolfe eyed him coldly. "One or five or fifty, it doesn't matter. Prison regulations state that metas are to be held in the meta wing." He jerked his chin at the guards, who grabbed Cisco by each elbow and pulled him to his feet.

“Wait,” Cisco said. “What about - do I get visitors?”

“Warden’s discretion,” Wolfe said, making a note in his file.

Caitlin turned away from the prison door, pulling out her phone. “He’s been in the meta wing since last night,” she growled to the person on the other end of the line. “I hope you’re happy.” She listened for a moment, and said, “No, I wasn’t able to see him. They said maybe tomorrow. Give me a moment.”

She walked around the corner to where her car was parked, as close to the prison's north wall as permitted. She stood looking up at the high walls, the barbed wire, the merciless guard towers. “Please be okay,” she whispered, twisting her moon necklace in her fingers.

Cisco regretted ever complaining about boredom in gen-pop. Shit, gen-pop had been a never-ending pachanga compared to the meta wing. Their food got delivered to them on trays and they got half an hour of yard time a day, each of them with a guard looming over them and power-dampening cuffs on their wrists. Otherwise, they were confined to their cells. No library privileges or weight room time.

“Warden’s discretion,” was the only answer he ever got when he asked about visiting hours. But from the little sneers and snorts that he heard from the other cells, he gathered that hardly anybody got to see their visitors.

When he found himself doing push-ups in his cell to pass the time, he understood how dudes got so jacked in prison.

It was a different set of guards in the meta wing, too. The gen-pop guards were okay. Still prison guards, obviously, so it wasn't like they were anybody's best friend. But they could be friendly and they would call you by your last name, at least.

The meta-wing guards were harder-faced, and called everyone "inmate," and spoke mostly in orders. When Cisco asked a question or made some comment, all he got was a one-word answer or a flick of the eyes in response.

If they responded at all.

It was a full day before he saw Warden Wolfe again, and when he did, he jumped up from his cot so fast, he got dizzy. "Hey!" he yelled through the bars. "Hey, Warden! Did I get any visitors? Hey! It was visiting day, did I get a visitor?"

"Yes," Wolfe said.

"Why didn't I see her, then? I get a half an hour on visiting day, up to four hours a month."

"That's gen-pop," the warden said. "You're in meta wing. Visitors are at my discretion only."

"I want to see my visitor," Cisco said. "I want to see her next time she comes. And I want to get a library book or something, I'm bored as hell."

Wolfe turned his back and left the meta wing.

Nothing daunted, Cisco kept it up whenever he saw a guard, or the warden, asking to see his visitor, asking for something to read or write or do, asking for more time in the yard or a chance to go the weight room.

The way the cells were arranged, he couldn't really see and barely even talk to the other metas confined with him. He did see them in the yard, during their half hour. Mostly they all kept to themselves, but one day, one of them gestured at him. "Mijo, come here."

Her name was Fabiana Duarte. She was plump and middle-aged, with streaks of grey in her black hair and comfortably wrinkly skin a shade or two darker than his. She gave off the general air of a daycare teacher.

He was kind of sure she was the one who'd stolen thousands and thousands of dollars by lifting people's bank cards and reading their minds for the PINs.

But she looked like one of his aunties and her dampener cuffs were brightly lit, and their guards were sharing a cigarette in the shade, so he went.

She started to put her hand on his arm but a guard barked "No touching" and they stepped back from each other.

"Mira," she said. "I'm going to give you a hint for your own good. Knock it off with the asking for stuff."

It was pretty sweet of her to try and save him from himself, but he said, "No, no way. That's all, like, basic stuff. It's my right as a U.S. citizen to - "

She snorted. "You're not a U.S. citizen anymore. You're an inmate of the Iron Heights meta wing."

"Well, we should still have rights. Like, to more exercise than walking around this yard, or to get stuff from the library, or - "

Thoroughly exasperated now, she said, "Are you stupid or do you just like pain?"

He blinked at her. "What do you mean?"

A bell rang, and all the guards started gathering up their charges.

"Hey, hey," Cisco said in a low voice as their guards started toward them. "What do you mean, Fabiana?"

She let out a grunt of exasperation. "Just behave yourself. And shut up."

Yeah, just like his aunties.

He ignored Fabiana's warning, and kept asking for anything and everything he could think of, top of the list being his visiting hours.

"She's here, I know she came," he said."She promised she'd come every day. I want to see her, okay? I just want to see her."

He couldn't see the occupants of the other cells, but he could hear them, letting out groans as he wheedled and pestered. Even occasionally a bellow of "Shut the fuck up!"

It was hard to blame them. He was annoying himself, even. But he kept it up, stubbornly, using the time he lay staring at the ceiling to think up new and ever-more-obnoxious ways of pestering the prison hierarchy.

The third evening of his stay in meta wing, Wolfe came after dinner..

Cisco sat up on his cot. This was unusual. Wolfe had a schedule and he stuck to it. Instead of speaking to the guards or looking in on any of the other metas, Wolfe walked directly to his cell and stood there, just outside the bars. His arms were crossed and his face unreadable.

"Hey, Warden," Cisco chirped. "Any news on my asks there? How about visiting day? Tomorrow's visiting day. My friend'll be here. I wanna see her. Am I going to see her?"

"You're going to stop asking for things, inmate," Wolfe said.

"Uh, no, I'm not because these aren't that big of a deal, honestly. Seeing my friend and getting something to read and getting a little fresh air, why is that such a big deal? I think it's very reasonable, don't you?"

The warden nodded once, his face as blank and hard as ever.

Then the pain hit.

It was like all the muscles in his body had suddenly decided to play tug-of-war with all the other muscles. He felt like pork in the process of being pulled, like he was being put through a blender and then run through again.

Then it was over, and he collapsed, gasping, against the wall.

The warden watched him with shark eyes. Flat and cold. "There won't be any more requests, Inmate."

"Wha - what was - what did - "

The hellish pain hit him again, like his skin being peeled away and his bones being hammered into dust from the inside.

Someone was screaming, very far away.

Then it was gone again, and the wall was there, hard and cold, but cold was good because he felt like he'd been lit on fire and holy Moses, what kind of hell-spawned meta power was that?

"I said, there won't be any more requests, inmate," Wolfe said again. "Will there?"

"Nnnnnooo," Cisco mumbled through trembling lips. His throat felt raw. He wondered why.

"I didn't hear you."

At the words, he tensed up, anticipating what came next. If anything that made it worse. He writhed helplessly on his cot, fingers digging into the blankets as his body tried to tear itself apart at the molecular level.

As it subsided, he figured out who'd been screaming.

It had been him.

"Will there be any more requests, inmate?"

"No!" he shrieked, a high thin noise. "No, no, no, no, no - "

"That's what I thought," Wolfe said, and left.

Cisco wheezed against the agonized twitching of his muscles, feeling cold sweat run down his face and spine and collect in the bend of his joints. Whimpers escaped his abused throat and he was helpless to stop them.

Every little pain and nagging stiffness he'd had before had been ratcheted up to eleven. The occasional soreness in his shoulder from breaching, the knee that he'd twisted last year and still sometimes got stiff, even his bruised tailbone from Brixton tossing him across the prison yard, were all magnified to horrific proportions.

His tattoo beat like a drum against his heart.

When he tried to lay down, his stomach revolted, and it was dumb luck that he managed to vomit up the bland prison fare over the side of his cot onto the floor. When there was nothing left but thin, acid bile, he collapsed, face buried in his pillow.

From a few cells over, Fabiana called out, "You alive in there, fool?"

He made some kind of high-pitched keening noise in response.

"I tried to tell you," she said. "He's been holding off on you - "

"And us," another voice grumbled.

" - because you're a short-termer and he didn't want you getting out and blabbing." She snorted. "But you just had to be that annoying, didn't you?"

With a herculean effort, he pushed himself up far enough to pull his face from the pillow. It was smudged with sweat and tears and snot and drool and bile and even a little blood. It took him two tries to flip it over, and then he collapsed again. He groaned as random muscles twitched in the memory of pain.

"Yeah," the second voice said. "He's probably learned his lesson."

With his face buried in the cool, coarse material of his pillowcase, Cisco mouthed, Gotcha, you rat bastard, just before he passed out.

One week ago

Silence fell in the cortex as Joe finished telling them about the meta who'd come to him, secretly, and told a story of torture and punishment in the meta wing of Iron Heights.

"What kind of horrible power is that?" Caitlin breathed.

"What kind of sick fuck uses it?" Cisco added.

"You guys, this is on us," Barry said.

"We didn't know this was going on," Caitlin objected.

"That doesn't matter. We arrested them, we put them in there, and now Wolfe is hurting them. Because he can."

"Why didn't he do anything when you were in there?" Iris asked.

"Didn't want to damage the merchandise, probably," Barry said. "But now he's not selling them to Amunet Black, so he can do whatever he wants."

"What do we do?" Cisco said. "Can we bust in there? Prison break?"

"We put them in there for a reason," Iris said. "They don't deserve what Wolfe is doing to them, but they can’t just be let go, either. Some of them are dangerous."

"We need to remove Wolfe," Joe said. "Legally. He needs to be convicted in a court of law and imprisoned."

"That'll be hard to prove," Caitlin said. "There's no injury site, their description is very nebulous, and we've never encountered him as a meta."

"He's smart," Joe said. “Only using it on people that most of society doesn’t care about, who aren’t going to tell and who might not be believed if they do.”

Iris frowned over the report. "What exactly is he doing to them?"

"It's hard to say from the testimony offered," Caitlin said. "They didn't report an entry or exit burn, so it's not electrical in nature. He could be stimulating the pain centers of their brain. It could even be a kind of bio-kinesis, where he can temporarily control their muscles."

Cisco shuddered. "Gross."

Barry's eyes narrowed. "Hard to prove what he's doing, hard to prove it's even him unless we can actually record the dark matter activity."

Cisco reached over for his tablet. "Well, I've got something that might help. You know that dark-matter scanner of yours, Caitlin? I've been tinkering with it so we can wear a small version out into the field and detect the kind of surges that accompany meta powers.."

Her eyes lit. "Pair that with a biometric scanner so you can cross-reference the pain reaction with the dark-matter surge, and that's proof he's causing it. Yes, that could work!"

"No," Barry said. "It won't."

Cisco scowled. "Hey, my tech always works."

"I know, but we can't get it to any of the metas on the inside. Everything that comes to any of the prisoners from the outside is thoroughly searched. Even if it did get past that, nothing would be safe from theft or guard searches unless it was implanted under the skin. And even if we could somehow manage that, who would agree to intentionally provoking Wolfe into using his powers on them, unless we gave them some kind of immunity or amnesty?"

"What are you saying?" Joe said, frowning.

"We need to send somebody in."

Now

Cisco spent most of the day after Wolfe's visit trying to find a comfortable position for his sore carcass. He was stiff all over, like someone had poured cement into his clothes. Sometimes he could doze, but mostly he stared at the wall or the ceiling.

He'd gotten the proof of Wolfe's torture. Now he just needed to make sure it got back to Star Labs, and then they could get him out before they arrested Wolfe.

Please get me out of here, he thought.

He tugged painfully at the buttons on his jumpsuit, and slid his fingers under the orange cloth. Pressing on his chest through his cheap prison undershirt, he could feel the three little hard spots under his skin. Biometric scanner, dark matter sensor, wireless transmitter. He chanted them like a prayer.

They'd painted that tattoo on him to explain any redness or swelling from insertion. It was henna, though, and it would start to fade soon. If anybody noticed, they'd know something was up.

After he got the proof, before he got out safely - this was the most dangerous part of the sting.

He heard his meal trays clang onto the floor and left them where they lay. His stomach hurt too much to get it to accept food. But when yard time came, he dragged himself to a sitting position, and then to his feet, and then forced himself to take slow, stumbling steps toward his cell door. With his guard at his back, he made his way to the yard. All the other meta inmates and their guards followed at his pace, complaining that they were losing out on yard time.

The sun blazed down, beating on his shoulders and the top of his head. He let it bake him as he took a slow, shambling lap around the yard, coaxing his body to move and wincing as it fought back. He'd become the opposite of Barry, he thought sardonically. Slowest Man Alive.

He made it halfway around, and then just leaned against the north wall. Caitlin had sworn to him she would be there every day, parked just on the other side of that specific wall. With the dampener cuffs on, there was no way to tell if she was there right now, but he pictured her there, waiting for the signal from the device in his chest.

Please let the transmitter work.

Please let the range perform like it did in tests.

Please just get me out of here.

Too soon, the bell rang and they led him back inside. When he got back to his cell, he dropped into his cot and was asleep almost before the lock on his cell door engaged.

He dreamed that Wolfe came back and hurt him until his heart shorted out like a bad connection.

He dreamed that Wolfe somehow knew about the sensors and had them cut out while he watched with that non-expression and Cisco screamed.

He dreamed that Wolfe didn't know about the sensors, but that they shorted out anyway from whatever Wolfe did to him.

He dreamed that he'd somehow been forgotten, and he spent the rest of his life in the meta wing of Iron Heights prison, alone and hurting and desperate for an escape that never came.

When he woke, sweating and shivering and hoarse from shouting, someone from one of the other cells said, "Bad dream?"

"Uh-huh," he mumbled. He couldn't tell who it was.

"Yeah, I got those too, after the first time." There was a creak as if his faceless, anonymous comfort had rolled over in his cot. "You get used to them."

When he woke again, it was morning. He didn't know that by the sunlight or the clock, neither of which were present in the meta wing. He knew because when he opened his eyes, the tray that had just clanged onto the floor had a blob of scrambled eggs and a triangle of toast on it.

He considered it. Although the soreness had eased up some, he felt wobbly and weak even though he was still lying down. Probably because he hadn't eaten a thing yesterday. He had to get some calories in him, even shitty prison calories.

He managed to choke down about half of the cardboard-tasting eggs before they came back for the tray, and that helped him get to the shower when that time came. The hot(ish) water helped more. He tugged his fingers through his wet hair, wincing. Crappy lowest-bidder shampoo - he didn't want to think about what it looked like.

Remembering his dream, he peered down at the tattoo high on his chest, cleaning it carefully and gently. The sun with its squiggly rays was only about three inches across and done in simple reddish-black lines. The swelling and redness had mostly gone down over the past few days. It hurt, but everything hurt.

He shifted a little so his arm blocked his motions from the rest of the shower room. He ran his fingers around the edge of the sun and felt three tiny, hard bumps under the skin, evenly spaced around the perimeter.

Biometric scanner. Dark matter sensor. Wireless transmitter.

Yep. Still there.

After showers came the long, dull stretch until lunch. He lay dozing on his cot, trying to escape his aches and pains. They weren't as bad as yesterday, but he also wasn't about to go out and run a marathon.

A shoe scuffed outside his cell. He rolled over to see who it was, then flinched backward. The warden stood on the other side of the bars.

His stomach churned. He hadn't seen Wolfe since two nights before, and the memory of pain jittered through his body.

"Inmate," Wolfe said. "On your feet."

So you can hit me with that power again? Watch me fall on the floor instead of writhing on this bed? It all ran through his mind, but his tongue wouldn't let it out.

"I said get up."

Cisco swung his legs over the edge of the cot and hauled himself to a standing position. He winced as he straightened up, and some flicker of expression crossed Wolfe's face for a split second.

Like satisfaction.

Or pleasure.

Distantly, he noted that there was a guard behind Wolfe. What kind of a sign was that? He hadn't noticed any guard the other night. Would Wolfe whammy him again if there was a witness?

Of course, he hadn't had any trouble doing it in front of the other metas.

Wolfe unlocked the cell door, and Cisco took a step back. But the warden didn't come in. Instead, he said, "Come out here, inmate."

It wasn't yard time. Visiting day had been yesterday. But Caitlin had promised to come every day whether it was visiting day or not. Maybe Wolfe had decided that he could see her today.

Maybe Santa Claus existed.

(His brain whispered, Maybe you're going home.)

"Come out here. I won't say it again."

Cisco stepped out of the cell. A pair of dampener cuffs wrapped around his wrists and clicked closed. A hard hand nudged his shoulder - not Wolfe's. The guard. Wolfe, as always, stood and watched.

Cisco crossed the meta wing. Possibilities waterfalled through his brain. Some horrifying, some wonderful. None of them felt entirely real.

The door to meta wing shut behind them, and Wolfe stopped. Turned.

Cisco had to tip his chin up to look Wolfe in the eye. There was a camera up in the corner. There were always cameras in the hallways, in the gen-pop halls, in the yard and the weight room and the dining hall and the commissary.

The only place without cameras in Iron Heights, besides the showers, was the meta wing.

The eye of the camera felt like the only thing between him and . . . something. He didn't know what.

"You're being released," Wolfe said.

It took the words a moment to sink in. He said, "I - what?"

"The charges have been dropped. There's no reason to hold you here anymore."

He blinked a few times. "Oh."

The warden stared at him with those flat shark eyes. Cisco stared back for a split second, and then looked down, hunching his shoulders.

When he looked up again, that flicker of satisfaction, or pleasure, was just leaving Wolfe's face.

He glanced at the guard over Cisco's shoulder. "Take him to discharge." He turned away, down another corridor, and the guard gave Cisco a nudge in the small of the back.

He stumbled forward, caught himself, and started walking, the guard right on his heels. The corridor seemed to stretch out forever

Occasionally the guard said, "Right" or "Left" or made him stop while he badged through a door. The walking went on forever, and Cisco wondered how deep in the bowels of Iron Heights the meta wing actually was. How thick the walls were. How impossible it would be to get any kind of signal through it.

His stomach trembled.

Was he seriously leaving? Or was this something else Wolfe was doing to him? Or maybe the paperwork was through, the charges really were dropped, but all his cowering hadn't fooled Wolfe into thinking he didn't need to worry about Cisco. Maybe he was supposed to suffer a mysterious accident on his way through these endless corridors. Maybe they were going in circles.

He counted cameras, checked live lights, calculated blind spots, and held his breath until he was through each and every one of them.

They stopped in front of one last badge reader next to one last door. Unlike the others, this one actually had a window, a skinny pane of glass with wires cross-crossed through it. Through the glass, he could see the room where he'd gotten signed in to Iron Heights - what, a week ago? Was that it?

Amazing how long seven days could feel.

He thought, Maybe I really am leaving.

Behind him, the guard said in a low voice, "You're going to tell them something."

"Tell who? What?" Open the door already. Open it and let me out.

The guard's breath stirred the hair at Cisco's temple. "Warden never touched you," he said.

He stared at the window, focusing on the wires embedded in the glass. "What?"

"The warden," the guard repeated. "Never touched you, did he? Never laid a finger on you."

". . . no?"

"So that's what you're going to say," the guard said. "The warden never touched you."

"Say to who?"

"Say it. The warden never touched you. Did he?"

". . . no," Cisco said.

"No, what, inmate?"

"No, the warden never touched me."

"Good," the guard said. "You're going to say that whenever anybody asks. Or that ginger who visited you is going get a visit from us."

He went stiff. "No. Please."

"Skinny thing, isn't she? Breakable, those skinny chicks."

"Don't hurt her. I'll say anything you tell me to say. To anybody you tell me to say it to. Just don't hurt her."

"You don't have to lie, inmate. Nobody's asking you to lie. Just tell the truth. The warden never touched you."

Cisco shook his head hard. "No, he never did. Never laid a finger on me."

"That's right," the guard said, and opened the door.

Cisco walked through.

It seemed like being released from prison should be a triumphal thing. Trumpets, choruses of angels, et cetera. Instead, it turned out to be more paperwork, under the apathetic eye of one of the regular prison guards. The one who had threatened him had left - back to terrorize more metas, presumably.

He had to turn in his orange jumpsuit and everything issued to him by the prison. After a search of his naked body to ensure that he wasn't smuggling anything out - he stared at the wall and thought about sunlight and Big Belly Burger and his own bed - he did get his own clothes back, the ones he'd been arrested in.

They smelled institutional, like they'd been run through the prison laundry along with a hundred other guys' clothes and cheap, harsh laundry detergent. He put them on anyway and decided that when he got home, they were going in the trash can.

He filled out forms that attested he'd gotten his clothes back, his wallet, his phone. The latter was dead, of course. It had been sitting in a box for a week, running the battery down.

He signed everything they told him to sign, his hand shaking a little.

The release officer shook his hand and said, "Someone's waiting for you. Lucky. Not everyone gets that." He badged Cisco through the last door.

Caitlin was in the waiting room, clutching her purse to her stomach. When she saw him, her face lit up, and then he was in her arms.

He shut his eyes and soaked in the feel of her. The familiar smell of her shampoo and the iron-band tightness of her hug, like always when she'd been distressed for a long time, and how soft she was against him.

Getting released was slowly starting to feel real.

But she was also here, in the prison. He couldn't stop thinking about the guard who'd mused about her breakability, just a few walls away.

"Get out," he muttered against her ear. "Out, out, out."

"Yes," she whispered, and pulled away. He grabbed her hand, unwilling to not be touching her.

"Is that everything?" she asked the release officer.

"Yes, ma'am, you're free to go."

"Good." She pushed open the last door and the sunlight hit Cisco like a hammer. He flinched away from it, and from the vastness outside the door. No walls. Outside felt way too big.

She squeezed his hand - he hadn't realized he'd tightened his grip - and said brightly, "I'm parked right over there. Close. Let's go. Everybody's waiting. They want to see you."

They crossed the parking lot. Still no walls, so big. Cisco felt like a bug on a tabletop, waiting for someone to smash him. Them.

"Faster," he said, trying to lengthen his stride, but he was still just a little too sore to go any faster than he was. She made soothing noises.

They got in the car - he had to let go of her hand - and the enclosure of the vehicle around him felt safe, even as she pulled out and drove through the gates.

She hit a button for speakerphone and when the call was answered, said. "We're out. We're driving away."

The reply sounded brisk and official. "Copy that, ma'am."

She ended the call. He reached out and took her hand again. She held it and drove one-handed, her face tense.

The road to the prison was long and empty, but a few minutes later, two cars roared by them, going the other way.

Caitlin turned a corner into a convenience store and parked next to a plain white panel van. They hopped out and immediately the back door of the van popped open to reveal one of CCPD's mobile command units inside, and Iris and Joe.

Joe helped him up into the van and Iris hugged him hard. "How are you?" she asked.

"Eh," Cisco said, hugging her back. "I'm out, so."

Joe looped his arm around Cisco's shoulders and pulled him in for his own hug. "It's almost over, son." He reached behind him for a pair of headphones. "You want to listen in on the big moment?"

Cisco had thought he would, picturing this in his cell all those dull hours. Warden Wolfe, you're under arrest for torture and abuse. You're going to jail forever, you sick fuck.

But he shook his head. Suddenly the idea of hearing Wolfe's voice again made him want to heave.

Joe nodded and put the headphones on his own head, turning to some screens.

"I'm sorry it took so long," Caitlin said.

He scootched over next to her, and as if she knew what he needed, she slipped her arm around his waist. He leaned into her body, ignoring the way Iris's brow quirked up.

He hadn't realized it until her first hug, but the week undercover in the prison had left him touch-starved. Having hands on him - kind hands, that didn't want him to move or stop or turn, that didn't shove or nudge like they were trying to get a farm animal to change direction - felt like a big bottle of cold water after crossing the desert.

"I was worried you didn't get the last data drop," he said, reaching out to touch her moon necklace. "I spent my entire yard time yesterday just hanging out on the north wall."

"Oh, I got it," she said grimly. "And it sealed the warrant on Wolfe."

"But regulations state that releases have to happen in the morning," Iris added, "and we couldn't push that without tipping him off. Otherwise we would have had you out last night."

"That's okay," he said. "I wasn't in great shape yesterday and besides, he left me alone."

She gave him a quick, concerned look, and he shook his head. "Just the aftereffects. Soreness."

Caitlin grabbed her purse, dug in it for a moment, and handed him two ibuprofen. "Enough for now?"

"Yeah," he said, swallowing them and drinking deeply from the bottle of water she gave him next.

She pulled a tablet over and tapped a few buttons, lips pursed. She reached up and took off the moon necklace, touching two stones. The tablet beeped and the screen filled with data from the biometric scanner, transmitted to the necklace and then uplinked to Star Labs servers.

He looked down at his own scanned body on the screen. "See?" he said to Caitlin. "All there."

"Full checkup later," she told him. "No arguments."

"Wasn't gonna," he said.

Joe let out a triumphant grunt, and they turned toward him. "They got him, Dad?" Iris asked.

"In custody," he reported. "Being transported to Central."

The last knot of tension in Cisco's chest snapped, and he sagged where he stood, letting Caitlin's arm hold him up for a moment.

This was no guarantee of anything. He might escape; he might get off. They might be hearing a lot more of Gregory Wolfe. But for right now, he wasn't hurting or killing any more metas under his care at Iron Heights, and that was enough for Cisco.

A moment later, a knock sounded on the back panel, and Iris leaned over to open it. Barry climbed inside, flushed with victory. "Got 'im," he said. "It's over. We did it."

“Cisco did it,” Caitlin said.

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah. You did it, man.” He stretched out his long arms and pulled Cisco in for a hug.

Cisco hugged him back, but pushed away after a moment. "Hey, Bare?"

"Mmmm?" Barry was peeling his cowl up off his face. His hair stuck out all crazy.

Cisco steeled himself. "Don't ask me to do something like that ever again."

Barry's face scrunched up a little. "Hey, man, I'm sorry, I know it must have been rough. But it had to be you. Wolfe and the guards knew me and Iris, and Caitlin doesn't have any powers anymore, so she wouldn't have gotten put in the meta wing."

"I know," he said. "I know all that. I'm glad Wolfe is going down and I'm glad I did that. But I'm still saying, don't ever ask me to do that again."

Barry's mouth opened and closed a few times, and finally he nodded. "Okay," he said in a subdued voice. "Never again."

"Good." Cisco brushed his hair behind his ears, suddenly self-conscious. But that had been running through his mind in all those hours staring at the ceiling, too. "So, uh, what now?" He looked at Joe. "You need my statement or whatever?"

"Not right away," Joe said, looking at him keenly. "Lot of stuff for the cops to do first."

"Good," Caitlin said. "That means there's time for a full checkup back at Star Labs."

Barry offered to run them back, but Cisco wanted to test out his breaches, after a week of exposure to power dampeners. They felt a little sputtery at first, but Caitlin put her hand on his back and the breach spewed open, the same as it always had. They jumped through to the comfort and familiarity of Star Labs.

She checked everything she could think of, and he let her, smiling a little as she fussed. When she checked his back, she frowned. "There's some bruising."

"Yep," he said. "Not from the warden. From when I had to get caught using my powers so I'd get transferred into the meta wing."

She eyed him. "You don't bruise in response to your powers."

"I do in response to another prisoner trying to kick my ass."

"Cisco! You were in a prison fight?"

"It's fine!" he assured her. "Funny story, actually. First night at dinner, I run into this guy I went to high school with, Andy Brixton. We were in a bunch of AP classes and the GSA together. Anyway, he agreed to scuffle up with me in the yard so I had an excuse to use my powers out in the open."

"Cisco - "

"I know you had fun being extremely unsubtle and trying to tip the guard off during your visit, but the warden wasn't noticing me. It's okay. Andy didn't hurt me, not really. He's always been a good guy." He thought of what he'd vibed when he'd managed to touch Andy's shoulder. "One who made some bad choices in life, maybe. But a good guy."

She shook her head. "Prison fight," she muttered.

"It worked," Cisco said. "I saw what I needed to see in gen-pop and then got transferred into the meta wing and got right on Wolfe's shit list. Three birds, one stone."

"How was he in the general population?"

"All the guys I talked to said he was a stickler for rules but otherwise ignored them. I guess he just wanted to hurt metas."

"That says something about him, doesn't it?" she said.

"Nothing good."

She had to numb his skin with cream before she took out the sensors, but when she had, that was the work of a few moments with scalpel and forceps.

"Biometric scanner," she said, dropping the tiny device into a sterile dish with a clang. "Dark matter sensor - " clang "- and wireless transmitter." She smiled at him. "All out."

"Yay," he said. "Officially not a cyborg anymore."

She cleaned the small wounds, put a stitch in each of them, and taped sterile gauze over his chest. She stripped off her gloves, but instead of telling him he was clear, she pulled a chair over. “How are you really?" she asked.

"I'll be better after some Big Belly Burger," he said. "The food was seriously shitty. And such small portions!"

"You lost seven pounds in there," she said absently. "So yes, Big Belly Burger it is. But I mean you. No jokes, please. How are you doing?"

He met her eyes and found he had to look away. He picked at a fray in his cords and said slowly, "I keep waiting to wake up again."

"Again?"

"I had bad dreams last night. Being out - it feels like a good dream that's about to turn bad."

He reached out for his hand and she let him take it. He held it, feeling the softness and warmth of her skin, her thumb rubbing soothingly over his knuckles.

"It's not a dream," she said. "You're out, and you're staying out. And in case nobody else says it, going in was the bravest thing I've ever seen you do."

"I went to prison," he said. "People do it every day."

"You went to a place where someone was going to hurt you. Where you had to make someone hurt you. And then you had to wait on us, until we could retrieve you. And you had to do all of that without your powers. I can't imagine the number of times you daydreamed about breaching out."

"Like, thousands."

"But you went. And you let him hurt you. And you stayed." She squeezed his hand. "I've always known you were one of the bravest men I knew. This just confirms that."

He swallowed. "Thanks."

She smiled and squeezed his hand again before letting it go. "If you want to go home right now, there's a protective detail waiting for the word to go to your apartment."

His stomach sank. "Shit."

"What?"

"You'll need one too. A protective detail. One of Wolfe's pet meta-wing guards - he threatened you. Right before they released me."

She drew in her breath and let it out.

"Nothing concrete," he said quickly. "All very plausible-deniability. But he was talking about how if I blabbed, they'd have to pay you a visit and stuff. Their boss getting arrested had probably got them mad enough for . . . stuff."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Okay? Caitlin, I know it doesn't sound like much, but these were bad dudes, they - "

"I know," she said. "I'll ask Joe for protective detail. Or maybe I can stay over at your place tonight and share yours."

He squinted at her. "You're taking this well." Almost too well. "Caitlin, this is -"

"Scary," she said, and her voice shook. "Serious. I know. I get it. But I always knew it was a possibility I'd be targeted, being your contact on the outside. None of us thought Warden Wolfe would be happy about getting arrested. So, yes, I've been prepared for the idea pretty much since we came up with this sting." Her mouth worked. "Alongside being scared for you."

"But you agreed to be my contact anyway."

"Of course I did. We needed the data to take to the judge and get a warrant."

"Barry could have run by the prison every day," Cisco argued. "You didn't have to be my visitor."

"I wanted to. Even though we only got to see each other once. I wanted you to know I was coming, every day. I didn't want you to be all alone in there."

He studied her a moment, then smiled. "I wasn't."

This time, she took his hand. He held it and they leaned together.

It was good to be home.

FINIS

#Cisco Ramon #Caitlin Snow #killervibe #fanfiction #mosylufanfic lives up to her damn name #really just a smidge of killervibe #it's a mostly Cisco story #torture #whump #suffering #things that Hedgi likes #the flash #hedgiwithapen

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jafreitag · 3 years ago

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Grateful Dead Monthly: Lindley Meadows (Golden Gate Park) – San Francisco, CA 9/28/75

On Sunday, September 28, 1975, the Grateful Dead played a concert at Golden Gate Park’s Lindley Meadows in San Francisco, California.

Lindley Meadows

From the Wiki: “In the 1860s, San Franciscans began to feel the need for a spacious public park similar to [NYC’s] Central Park. Golden Gate Park was carved out of unpromising sand and shore dunes that were known as the Outside Lands, in an unincorporated area west of San Francisco’s then-current borders.” Frederick Law Olmsted was the driver. He was the guy who conceptualized Central Park, and later Jackson and Washington Parks in Chicago, as well as the whole shebang for Chi’s 1893 Columbian Exposition and most of the nearby U of C campus. Olmstead “proposed a plan for a park using native species suited for San Francisco’s dry climate; however, the proposal was rejected in favor of a Central Park-style park needing extensive irrigation.” Nice try, man.

The park got a Commissioner in 1871, and the San Francisco Recreation and Parks Department began overseeing its development. Between then and now, it’s been basically urban green space. Per the Wiki, GGP is roughly the same shape as Central Park, but twenty-percent bigger. It’s bounded by the Pacific Ocean on the West and the Haight on the East. And it’s the third most-visited park in the United States, after Central Park and the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C.

So Lindley Meadows?

See the oval on the left side of that sat pic? It’s Golden Gate Park Polo Field. Apparently, Lindley Meadows is the green area that sits just above its northeast corner. Guys, I’ve never been to California, much less SF. I’m not a super-traveled person, so some of these venue write-ups seem poser-y. They’re not intended to be. Apologies for the lack of local knowledge, and feel free to add anything like that below the line.

The Dead played exactly four shows in 1975. On 3/25, they played a benefit for San Francisco Students Need Athletics, Culture, and Kicks (SF SNACK) with the Doobies, the Starship, Santana, Dylan & Baez, and Neil Young. The band’s set was comprised of the Blues for Allah material that everybody pretends to dig (but nobody really does). I’m not familiar with that show. On 6/17, they played at Winterland, and the setlist was also BFA-forward. I’m not familiar with that show, either, but, according to the Grateful Dead of the Day blog, it gets attention nowadays. On 8/13, they played at the Great American Music Hall – that’s One from the Vault, and we’ve covered it before. Finally, on 9/28, they played at Lindley Meadows. Single set show, which clocks in at just under two hours. A lot of BFA material, but a lot of well-toured and well-beloved chestnuts, too.

Photo credit: Alvan Meyerowitz

In a 2008 post about this show, the Grateful Dead Listening Guide blog makes two points. First, there’s an absolutely epic audience recording. To wit: “[T]his is one of the audience tapes that historically was said to have been recorded by the band (Phil Lesh in particular) from the stage itself … It is absolutely one of the very best of the best AUDs. But Phil didn’t tape it. Phil didn’t make any tapes.”

GDLB continues, and this is great:

“[B]efore this century [meaning the ’00s], if you weren’t in the most enshrined trading circles, you couldn’t find a complete copy of this AUD to save your life (and the real deal master itself only just went into circulation in May 2008). When you might have run into this recording (I was lucky enough to score 45 minutes of the show on cassette about 12 years ago), there was no way you could accept that it was an AUD at all. Clearly Phil and the band had to have had a hand in making this tape, right? It just sounded WAY too good. And there was the fact that there were a painful amount of right channel dropouts throughout the tape which allowed you to appreciate the quality, but never really left you wanting to listen to the tape again because of the pain involved in those dropouts.

Then the SBD came on the scene, sounding super duper. Someone digitized the AUD (a multi-gen version) and spent the time patching the dropouts with the left channel – palatable now, the AUD was a dizzying drink from the fountain of audience magic. Well friends, that was nothing…

I’m not going to attempt to document the story of taper Bob Menke here on these pages. Let’s just say that BadBob (his own moniker) bleeds the history of Grateful Dead taping and collecting. He’s one of those fellows whose name lands in the inner circle when playing the dart game of Dead tapers. ‘Nuff said. Menke’s story has been one of clouded half truths, misunderstandings, and mystery in the eyes of tape collectors. Over the last number of years, the real Bob Menke has made his way into the digital scene, so a lot of the mystery has faded. But, it sure did fuel the fires that made this particular tape one of such grand story telling. This is one to tell the grandkids about, to be sure.

So Menke recently digitally transferred his master, and the MOTB crew [dunno] finished it off with heroic editing (glad I didn’t face this task). And now we have this AUD for the ages, in its most beautiful glory.

The recording is so good, it makes the AUD vs. SBD debate seem silly. It’s a little unfair, like bringing an NBA all star off the bench at a junior high basketball game. So much so, that it’s fair for a SBD supporter to cry foul – ‘Oh, well, 09/28/75! You can’t talk to me about that show. That’s not fair.’ Regardless, when you want to know what it might have sounded like pressed up against the stage for this hallmark Dead show in the year after they retired (you may never see them again), this is it my friends. Cripplingly good.”

There’s a link to the Menke AUD below, but on to the second point. Apparently, the band was “high” – as in, their performance was chemically enhanced by LSD. Again, GDLG:

“Then there’s the well enough substantiated story that the band was higher than kites for this show. While it has always been very well understood that this band played under the influence of LSD many many many times, there are some shows that come to mind when Deadheads talk about shows where the band was ‘known’ to have been chemically altered for sure: 08/27/72, 05/11/78, and 09/28/75 among them. So, this places an extra special sparkle to re-living the day’s concert when listening.

Also, there is the fact that a baby was born during the show [check banter after Slipknot!], with the band and stage announcers doing their best to help.”

Acid, a baby, and no deaths? It’s like a good time Altamont. Right, Jerry?

GDOTD offers some listening notes:

“It opens with a sharp and focused Help On The Way before heading into a moody Slipknot!, which rages in the latter half. Rather than transitioning into Franklin’s at that point, as they had during the two other times they had paired those songs, the Slipknot! ends, and they launch into a smoking The Music Never Stopped. On that tune, Donna adds lovely backing vocals, as she does throughout the afternoon.”

More GDOTD:

“[A]fter a bit of banter, they finally hit the Franklin’s Tower, playing in mind-meld form throughout with Phil throwing down and the entire band contributing to a seismic jam after the ‘listen to the music play’ line. Then, Bobby announces that they will be playing a cowboy tune, before rolling into Big River, throughout which Keith serves up some incredible fills. After It Must Have Been The Roses, a marvelous Truckin’ takes off and eventually steers into a blistering jam … [T]he boys slow things up just a notch, Phil rains down a series of bombs, and Jerry streaks around before ceding the stage to the drummers. The Drums themselves are transcendent, but the Stronger Than Dirt that follows is face melting. What’s more, the transition into Not Fade Away is rapturous as the drummers drive on the change, but the rest of the guys resist, teasing out the last of the Stronger Than Dirt theme while slowly falling to the inevitable momentum of NFA. And what a Not Fade Away it turns out to be with serious, imaginative jamming all the way through to the Going Down The Road Feeling Bad, which is itself resplendent. Then One More Saturday Night caps the show in rocking, high-energy fashion.”

That’s cool, but there are listening notes, and then there’s our guy. Without further ado, here’s everyone’s favorite. The master of zero disasters, the king of schwing, the 88’s tickler, the Peloton’s boss, the cherry on top, the sun behind that one annoying cloud, the reason that outside cats come back home, the guy who rolled his eyes at all those Dos Equis commercials b/c #beentheredonethat, the Ig influencer behind @31daysofdead, and the better half of this gotdam thing. Man/myth/legend is just a trope until you meet him in person. He’s handsome; he’s erudite. He’s a man beyond description and, in his rare spare time, a member of Jehovah’s favorite choir. He’ll break it down, fo’realize. Ladies and Gentlemen, LN Grateful Deaditor, ECM…

“Hey now, kids! Today we’ve got some ‘Hiatus Dead’ for you. As most of you know, Hiatus Dead refers to that period of time between 10/20/74 (Winterland) and 6/3/76 (Portland, OR) when the Grateful Dead took some time off from touring. During this period, the band played only four shows, all of them in 1975. The show JF and I are featuring in this month’s edition of Grateful Dead Monthly – September 28, 1975 – is the last of those 4 shows and it would be the last show for over 8 months. This show is unique for a lot of other reasons too. First, it was a free show in Lindley Meadows in Golden Gate Park at a time when that kind of thing didn’t happen anymore like it did back in the 60’s. Another thing the band hadn’t done in a long while was play a show while they were tripping. Legend has it that they revisited that part of their past as well on this day. Although this has never been confirmed, it sure makes for a good story and at least seems plausible given the overall strangeness and looseness of the music compared with their very tight performance at the Great American Music Hall just a month prior on August 13th. In addition, unlike most GD shows where the band is virtually mute, here there is a lot of funny and odd stage banter – Bobby’s joke about getting around to all the old favorites that they can remember, the calls for a doctor to attend to the woman in the audience that was going into labor and Phil clarifying for the crowd that Truckin’ is NOT pronounced Truck-ing.

Another factor making this show unique is the weather which was unseasonably chilly for September. With temperatures down in the 50’s, it felt more like November than September which brings us to another unique aspect about this show – the band’s attire. Instead of Bobby wearing his signature Lacoste polo shirt and cutoff shorts, on this day he is wearing a Pendelton jacket with bell-bottoms. And, Garcia is rocking a leather jacket with Puma sneakers(!) While we are talking about attire, let’s also talk about instruments. This was allegedly the debut of Jerry’s new guitar, Travis Bean. It’s the guitar that he would use until 9/28/77 when he started playing his Doug Irwin Wolf again. Keith plays an electric Fender Rhodes the entire show. These two instruments certainly influenced the sound of the band that day.

Which brings us to the MUSIC…

The Grateful Dead played one set which clocked in at approximately 1 hour and 45 minutes. They opened with Help>Slipknot. It’s the third one ever but just the second with lyrics. Jerry botches the last verse. It happens. Slipknot! is the third one but the first not going into Franklin’s Tower. It is played slowly, but deliberately, and they pull off the complex arrangement with flying colors. However, things come to a rather abrupt end when they call a halt because Jerry apparently breaks a string – he is audibly absent in the closing riffs. This is the point when the woman is having a baby too.

Once everything on stage is ironed out and a doctor is located for the woman in labor, the band launches into the Music Never Stopped. It is only the second performance and is a mere 6 minutes. Donna crushes her verse. This early version has only a few bars of the drifty mid-jam section and then charges right into the ending jam which only hints at the potential that it would soon become. Once the song concludes there are more stage announcements. A doctor has been located and now there are pleas for a stretcher.

“Oh, man. That’s weird. A stretcher?”

They Love Each Other is up next – perhaps inspired by the woman having the baby(?). Either way, it’s the first in over 1½ years and the first without the bridge section. This performance has a unique sound and tempo that is played somewhere in between the peppy versions from the 1973-74 era and the slower versions from the 1976 and later era. It is almost reggae-like. Jerry gives it a sensitive reading – sweet and subdued in its expressiveness. Afterwards Phil comes to the microphone to tell the father of the newborn child that his help is needed (Help on the Way?). That’s when Bobby comes to the microphone to assure the fans who are calling out requests that ‘we will get around to all the old favorites that we can remember.’ Cheers and laughter ensue to which Bobby responds, ‘you wouldn’t be laughing if you knew what that meant.’

Bobby cameltoe, ftw.

With the the band launches into a spirited version of one of their oldest songs from their first album – Beat it on Down the Line. Maybe this was a musical message to the father of the newborn baby to get moving and help his wife(?) Weir’s old buddy and bandmate from Kingfish, Mattew Kelly joins on harmonica. His playing is faint, but present, and adds a nice counterpoint to Jerry’s guitar.

The band completes the piece of their musical triptych that is missing due to the equipment and baby interruptions by playing a stand-alone Franklin’s Tower from a cold start. It is the third version ever and it is exquisite. The drums are groovin’ and Jerry’s on fire especially after the ‘if you get confused, listen to the music play’ line. Great call and response at the end. This is the song that made it onto the abbreviated version [featuring one song from every year] of the box-set 30 Trips Around the Sun that appears on Spotify.

There are more calls from the audience for songs – apparently somebody is calling for Truckin’ but Phil does not like the way the fan is pronouncing it. ‘Did I hear someone say TRUCK-ING? That’s not how you say it. You don’t say TRUCK-ING. But anyway, we’re not gonna play that now. We’re gonna play something else.’ Weir then comes to the microphone to announce that ‘Billy would like to make a small point to the fact that we’re playing a cowboy tune.’ That leads into rootin-tootin’ version of Big River which has nice solos from Jerry and Keith.

A letter-perfect reading of It Must Have Been The Roses follows. Jerry’s voice is at its pure, sweet unaffected peak. Excellent vocal harmonies from Jerry and Donna. Keith’s work on the electric piano provides the perfect accompaniment.

Phil returns to his Truck-ING banter which signals that the band is now ready to play it. Weir warns the crowd that he’s not going to remember the words, and he makes good on his promise by not only forgetting most of them, but also forgetting to sing part of the second verse at all. No worries. The jam that follows is fantastic thanks in large part to all the tight material the band had been playing over the past year when they were rehearsing and recording Blues for Allah. There is some heated controversy among fans about the jam that comes out of Truckin’. Some have said that it is The Eleven. In fact, the 30 Trips box set refers to it that way. I don’t hear it but it’s an exciting jam for sure! To me, it sounds more like a King Solomon’s/Stronger Than Dirt groove which is what the band segues into following Drums. This is the fourth and final King Solomon’s. It’s definitely the loosest.There are a few rough spots at first it recovers and maintains a solid groove.

There is a loose transition into Not Fade Away. The lead in is funky and rockin.’ Garcia peels off a slide-flavored, acid-drenched solo which is the start of a long, spacey transition to GDTRFB which is also funky with some amazing energy. Saturday Night caps the show in rocking, high-energy fashion. a hoarse-sounding Phil bids the audience farewell, ‘Let’s have another party like this again sometime.’ And with that, the band slipped back into hibernation mode and would not perform again for another eight months.”

As Ed mentioned, this show is part of the massive 30 Trips Around the Sun box set.

And it’s still on the Live Music Archive. Transport to the soundboard recording HERE, a matrix recording HERE, and Menke’s audience recording HERE. According to Menke,

“It was an overcast day and we got there early. About 8:30 in the morning. That is how we ended up about 10-15 feet from the stage. The mics were mounted on broom sticks (handheld) and they were split about 20 feet apart. The upfront vocals I believe are the product of a small (relative to PA speakers) speaker on the floor of the stage next to the right PA column. The vocals seem to be blasting from that speaker. Another very intersting point is the fact that the Jefferson Starship opened and their sound from the same PA absolutely sucked. Nothing approaching the clarity and sound quality the Dead got from the same system.”

There you go.

More soon.

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elevenhoursinfront-blog · 7 years ago

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12th December 2017

I had the worst nights sleep going. In fact, I can't even call it a sleep. I was just laying there. I'm ridiculously overtired today so I can see what's going to happen here, so can Steve.

We got up around 0800. We had to be out before 1000 for checkout so we needed to get our arses in gear.

We had our breakfast which was lovely, as per normal. We got showered and made the most out of our delightful bathrooms. We checked out and we were on the way!

Byron Bay – here we come!

Byron Bay has quite a reputation. All the backpackers that I've met have said that this tiny little town is their favourite. It is quite literally tiny but it has a very chilled vibe. It's pretty hippy, or so there's loads of wanna-be hipsters. It's full of surfer dudes and girls with floral dresses and dark round sunglasses.

We were driving along the motorway when the sign came up 'WELCOME TO NEW SOUTH WALES'. How amazing?! New South Wales has a different time zone to Queensland so within an hours drive, we lost ourselves an hour. I was excited though, this meant the day and the sunlight would last a lot longer. We'd also be able to sleep in a little bit better.

Our phone time changed automatically which I always find weird. How does my phone know that I've just crossed a boarder? I mean, obviously with it's navigation, location and data. But, like, how?

We drove through the main town after road works took us off the road we wanted. We were driving for an extra half an hour trying to get onto the main road that was blocked off. I was getting very stressed. Google Maps didn't know about the diversion – how rude, and kept taking me to the road block. Stupid phone!

Steve eventually got us round and into the main town that was very small. Extremely busy mind you. There was nowhere to park so we drove on and parked up. There was a lighthouse walk I wanted to do so we found where it started and drove down to find free parking. The parking at the main car park was about $4 an hour. How expensive can you get?! There's no way I'm paying that.

We found a place with 4 hours free parking a few blocks away. We ended up parking and I ended up having a bit of a mental breakdown due to lack of sleep, unnecessary road works, a stress head boyfriend when he's driving and well, I don't need any more reasons really. I couldn't stop crying and I just needed to go to sleep. You know when you're desperate to sleep, you'd fall asleep the second your head hits that pillow.

Steve tried to comfort me and he had a look at what campsites we could stay in. We weren't really looking in advance any more, we didn't need too. Our apps 'Wiki Camps' and 'Spaceships' were our lifesavers and did all the hard work for us. We were ringing the ones in the vicinity to see who was the cheapest. First one was $69 a night! WHAT?! THAT'S DAY LIGHT ROBBERY! I was so angry that I left a comment explaining their price and that it was day light robbery. A bit harsh as I hadn't even gone there to see if it was worth the money but come on – we're paying $35 a night for our camper van alone!

Second one was $50 unpowered... I was getting fed up! The third was the same. No way was we paying that.

Steve found a campsite 20 minutes drive away from Byron which was $30 powered. Perfect!

I told Steve that I didn't want to waste another day so we'd quickly do the walk and then go to the campsite. Well, boy was I wrong when I said the world 'quickly'.

The sites along the way were absolutely stunning. We walked down a path, detouring, to see the local beach. The water was perfect. A clear bright blue. It wasn't hugely packed but it was. It was no Bondi Beach but for Byron, it was popular.

We walked back up the steps to the main road to continue, or should I say, begin our walk. I realised after about 20 minutes walking that we could've parked the van much closer and start the walk closer. Never mind. Walking is good for you!

I was taking picture after picture because it was just so beautiful. The views were incredible. We came up to another beach (same beach, different area) and had a walk around that. We climbed over the rocks and sat down to watch the surfers. I reckon Steve could watch them all day long. I get bored because they sit on their boards for ages before picking the 'right' wave.

We went up to a lookout point which I believe was called Captain Cook's lookout – I could be wrong though. The view was unreal. We could see into the water it was that clear.

We left after about 10 minutes of watching and walked back onto the track. We had been gone around an hour now and we weren't really on the track to the lighthouse yet.

We continued walking and I was getting more and more tired. The views weren't disappointing and it was definitely worth it.

We eventually got to 'The Most Easterly Point of Australia' after a huge climb of rocks, stairs and everything else. Steve and I were dripping in sweat. I had more stairs to go. A year of travelling means a year of being slobs, sort of. Our fitness levels weren't even at 1. Steve started making a point of moving quicker and started doing step ups on each step we came across. I was laughing at him. He said I needed to do it too and I told him that he was on drugs. He ended up with a soaked T-Shirt, aching legs and he was well out of breath. Who's the real winner here?

Finally – the lighthouse! It was beautiful. It was bright white in colour. You could see the tip of the lighthouse just above the trees. We had a few more flights of stairs before we were actually there but this was good enough.

We finally made in alongside the lighthouse. It had the number '1901' on the door so I presume that's a date of importance. It looked so well kept considering. It was surrounded by the most beautiful waters that were so blue, even blue wasn't the best word to describe it!

We were invited in by an elderly woman who was telling me off for not wearing a hat. She said I was far too fair to not be wearing one in this sun! She was right but I wanted the sun to bleach my hair... Oops.

We went inside and there was a little museum in the main room. It had all things lighthouse/byron bay kept inside, all ancient. My favourite things were the news articles. They were so blunt and to the point. You had family members named like everyone knew who they were. At that time, they probably did. I stood and read them all.

We started getting talking to a lovely elderly lady. There were about 4 members of 'staff' there - all retired people volunteering at the lighthouse. After speaking with her, she asked if we wanted to go up to the top. Wow! I'd never been inside a lighthouse properly, let alone a working one.

We queued up with 5 others and went upstairs. The lady told some stories about the lighthouse before we got to see the incredible views. It was worth the wait though – the water! I just couldn't believe it. Steve and I took loads of photos and videos before going back downstairs. We signed our names in the book and made our way out.

Steve managed to find a little cafe joined to the lighthouse and he bought a coffee. He bought me a milkshake because they're my favourite and I was miserable and tired (as always).

We continued our walk in hope that we were almost finished. I was exhausted. We're a good 4 hours into the walk and my poor feet didn't want to do any more.

According to Google Maps, we had about half an hour more until we got back to the van. I had to keep telling myself “I can do this!”.

We got back to the van and I was desperate to just fall asleep, then and there. We drove the 20 minutes out of town to a place called Skennars Head. It had the cheapest camp site going so there was no way I was staying in Byron and paying $60 to sleep, in my own van!

We got to the campsite and checked in. It was $30 for powered. Or so, we thought. We couldn't find the power plug and we had to ring reception to ask where it was. We were really hoping they hadn't checked us in as unpowered so we had to pay more. It might not be the bargain we thought.

Reception said it was hidden underneath the water pole and when we checked, there it was. Phew. It really is a bargain spot!

We got ourselves showered, ready to make dinner. I was starving. The toilets and showers were really nice here. I reckon my favourite. The only reason I prefer them to the Gold Coast ones are because they play the radio 24/7 in there. What a dream! We haven't been able to listen to the radio since, well, forever.

Steve and I cooked a vegetable medley. We had broccoli, peppers, onions and carrots all fried in a paprika seasoning with cashew nuts. We had a bottle of Fifth Leg Sav Blanc too. Delightful.

We sat in our chairs at the table playing cards and drinking all night whilst the sun set. These are the evenings I'm going to miss the most I'm sure.

When it got dark and it was time for us to go to bed, the nosiest birds came out to play. It was like listening to Monkey's have an argument. Then countless amounts of planes flew over our campsite really low – really loud. The crickets decided to join in too with their constant noises! I recorded them all and sent them on the group chat! Do these creatures know how tired we are and do it on purpose?!

Either way, we fell asleep within moments. It was a lot later than we thought. The sun set later, obviously as we were in a different time zone. It was amazing. It was so much cooler at night, we needed the duvet again. Amazing! We decided no alarm tomorrow and a chill beach day at Bryon. I think we need something like that. With the price of this campsite too, we may as well stay one more night.

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