#this has been in my drafts since December if you can’t tell

[prettylittleflowerfairy]

I love Christmas

I’m just a Christmas girlie I love the decorations and the lights and the cozy vibe and the smell of Christmas pudding boiling and I getting gifts and watching Christmas movies and baking and the summer weather I love it so much.

[sugurusdiscordmoderator]

Captain Levi part 3

a/n: this has been in my drafts since christmas and I hit 100 followers today so I decided to finish it. smooches xoxo love you guys. Not proof read and I’m half asleep bc I’ve done so much writing today lmao, sorry if this doesn’t live up to your expectations!

part 1 • part 2

The evening of the winter party comes faster than anticipated.

In the week leading up, Hange, Petra, and Captain Levi took turns accompanying you to town in order to book vendors and buy decor.

The word was spreading around the scouts and everyone seemed very excited for a chance to celebrate some.

Levi and you hadn’t hooked up again but had a few lingering touches and looks that made your stomach heat up. By the middle of the week, you had to relieve yourself after being around him so much.

By Thursday it was time to head back to the castle to finish cleaning and to set up decor. Levi, Hange, Petra, and a few volunteers from your squad accompanied you. The crisp December air chilled your bones riding your horse there, wishing you opted for an extra jacket over your scouts uniform.

The ride seems to go slow, and Levi opts not to speak a whole lot given your two closest friends are there and neither of them know of your relations. Well, they know that you along with the rest of the female scouts find him mysterious and beautiful.

Petra talks about the dress options she has and how she’s going with Eld and Gunther because she felt bad saying no to either. Hange says they’re going to fly solo so they can hit on anyone they want. You hear Levi “tch” and let out a slight chuckle at Hange’s words, the closest he’s come to laughing at one of her jokes yet.

“Are you taking a date y/n?” Petra tilts her head at you as you dreaded this question.

“Yeah, actually Captain and I are going together,” you say quietly. Hange’s jaw drops practically to the floor and Petra asks, “Wait like-?” And points between the two of you.

“Yes.” Levi responds this time, and you notice the tops of his ears have turned pink. He is a few paces ahead of you three, and he refuses to turn around to face you. Hange and Petra fall silent at his answer with awkward silence following.

Few words are spoken for the time remaining of the ride there.

As you arrive to the castle, you see the cart waiting outside with all of your decorations you sent ahead of time.

“Wow, these are going to look great, I’m so excited!” You can’t hold back, everything you picked out looks so good together. Your three companions all smile back at you, happy that you’re happy.

“Give us jobs, where should we start?” Hange asks, getting off their horse and tying it up.

“Hm.. let’s see.” You think for a second, sizing up your helpers and the jobs that need done.

“Hange, you’re the tallest here so you can hang up the wreaths. Petra, I’m going to let you deal with the decorations inside in the foyer and hallways, and Levi and I can work on the great hall and then help put finishing touches on everything. We’ll split the volunteers between you two Hange and Petra.”

It’s almost if all three of them read your mind and smirk at you for assigning yourself with Captain Levi. You blush looking down at your notebook ignoring them as you organize the decorations for which group they need to go to.

Hange walks past you with a ladder making smooching noises only loud enough so you can hear, and you shout whisper at her “Hange! Enough!” You pass some wreaths to the volunteer lingering behind them and and send them to decorate the outside of the castle.

You, Levi and some other volunteers head into the main hall, and you give directions. You tell them where the tables should go, which table cloths they get, demonstrate the centerpiece arrangement, and place candles in all the windows. By the end of the day everything looks magical, the sun glows orange as it begins to set on the horizon while you all put the finishing touches up. The volunteers make their way back to base with Petra and Hange leading them, leaving you and Levi to perfect every last detail, and he was the best person for that job. As you make your way around the hall putting table numbers, place cards, and menus, you hum a little tune of an old song your grandmother used to sing you as a kid. You tend to do it subconsciously when you're focused, but then you hear a whistling of the same tune. Levi has his back turned to you, hanging up garland around the window ledges, with a lovely whistle adding to the melody. You look up to him and stop humming, causing him to turn to you, "Why'd you stop?" he asks plainly.

"Sorry I just didn't realize anyone else knew that song, you sounded lovely." You set down your pile of papers and walk to where he is, helping with the last window. He gazes off, not wanting to make eye contact while talking about his teenage years. "My friend, Isabelle. She would sing it to some of the kids we would help in the underground, when they had no food or parents."

Then you remember, the back story of Levi's first few months in the scouts. He lost the two people he came from the underground with, one of them must have been Isabelle. After a few seconds of silence Levi begins to apologize, "Sorry I didn't mean to make it awkward-" You cut him off by abruptly hugging him from behind, nuzzling your head against his and resting on his shoulder. "It's okay." You whisper so only he could hear, although no one else was there to hear you two. You feel him relax in your arms after a few moments, obvious that he is not big on physical affection and has not been hugged a lot. He wraps his hands over top of yours and lets you hold him for a few minutes, "Thank you, y/n," he whispers.

The intimate moment comes to an end when Levi shifts in your arms, gently placing them back at your sides, leaning in to kiss your forehead. He returns to finishing up the details like nothing happened, and you both finish your tasks, riding back to base for the evening.

As you're in the stalls tying your horses up, Levi breaks the silence, "You make a really good leader you know?" The comment catches you off guard, very rarely does Levi compliment anyone, even with the complex relationship you two have. You smile at him, "thank you, but not as good of a leader as you captain." You finish with a wink and watch as he blushes and turns to head to the sleeping quarters. He walks you to your door in silence, giving you a soft kiss on the lips before turning to walk to his room. "Goodnight, Levi" you softly call after him. "Goodnight L/N" he responds without turning around to look at you. You're not sure why this evening has been so awkward but you hope you find out before the party tomorrow.

-

The base was buzzing on Friday morning, you heard Erwin gave everyone a half day to prepare for the party this evening so they can look their best, plus with the winter break coming soon everyone couldn't wait to have a good time. You sit at breakfast with squad Levi although he is not there. You answer countless questions about tonight's party and listen to Oluo ramble on about something you couldn't care less about. After finishing your meal you head to talk to Commander Erwin, but stop in your tracks when you hear a conversation from his office with the door open.

"Levi, I don't know what to tell you. Superior's can't be in a relationship with their subordinates in any fashion."

"Erwin, promote her already, she doesn't need to be on my squad, she's more than capable and then we'd be equals." You can almost hear Levi rolling his eyes and sassing his commander.

"Listen, because were friends, I will pretend like this conversation never happened and you two can keep what's going on a secret. Until something else gets figured out. Understood, Captain?"

"Understood, sir."

Signaling the end of their conversation, you rush back down the hallway , trying to pretend you were just going for a stroll when Levi walks out into the hall. You don't turn around but continue walking, thoughts racing, not noticing Commandant Shadis coming out of the dining hall and running right into him. Your eyes grow wide and you spew out apologies of "I'm so sorry sir, I wasn't paying attention, please," As you reach down to help pick up the papers you knocked out of his hand. Shadis was never too happy of a guy but seeing you in borderline hysterics had him feeling a little sympathy. You stand back up to see Captain Levi looking at you with an eyebrow raised, and hear Shadis make a quiet comment to him, "Keep an eye on this one, she's rather clumsy." Your stomach drops even further at his words, not even daring to make eye contact with Levi, and rushing to your room.

The combined events of this morning and being stressed about the party this evening sends you into a panic attack, tears stream down your face as you sit on your bed staring at the dress hanging in your closet. You and Levi hadn't even talked about what you were yet and he was already asking Erwin to take you off his squad? And there is no way you'd get promoted if Commandant Shadis thought you were a clumsy mess. There is a soft knock at your door, but you don't bother to get up to get it. If it's an emergency you'll find out sooner or later. But your door creaks open softly, revealing a worried looking Levi. Seeing your state he rushes over beside you on the bed, sitting himself behind you and wrapping his arms around you. "Shhhh, it's okay, shhh," he gently tries to calm down your shaking body, setting down the glass of water he got you on your night stand. He kisses the back of your head and rubs circles into the soft skin of your biceps to sooth you. "You don't have to tell me anything, I don't need to know what's wrong, I just wanted to help." Your cries begin to die down as you take deep breaths laying your head up against the side of Levi's.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, he stands up and moves to your window, opening it for you. "The fresh air and the sound of birds may help," he offers sheepishly. You nod, taking a sip of the fresh glass of water from him. Levi returns back beside you, stroking your hair as you wipe the remaining tears and snot from your face with the handkerchief he handed you.

“Isabelle was like my little sister. She used to have panic attacks from the things we saw down there.” He says, catching you off guard. You sniffle and nod your head. “You remind me of her…not in like a sister way but in your courage and kindness.” He smiles with the last part, as you finally bring yourself to make eye contact with him.

“What time do you want to head to the party tonight?” Just like that, the soft Levi is gone and closed off. Your voice cracks, trying your best to keep up with the whiplash of his emotions. “I should probably get there a half hour or so before everyone else.” You say trying your best to sound like an enthusiastic party planner. “I’ll go with you, I’m your date after all.” He smiles down at you before kissing your forehead “I’ll be in my room if you need me.” And just like that Levi is gone before you can understand the feelings between the two of you.

-

You do your best to remain calm that afternoon, taking a long shower and letting your hair dry in curlers, putting more makeup than you usually wear on. You take special care of the forest green gown you and Petra picked out, which accentuates your small waist and large chest. You put on the finishing touches while Hange and Petra bust in your room to fawn over your beauty. Petra wears a lovely dark purple velvet dress and Hange a suit that suits them very well. You give them both a kiss on the cheek before rushing to Captain Levi’s room to let him know you’re ready.

He meets you at the door and ushers you out to your private carriage that he arranged since you two were leaving earlier than the others. The last light of day is creeping through and you see his cheeks flushed a shade of pink.

“You look incredibly amazing. I’m sorry but I’m kind of speechless.”

“You look pretty handsome yourself,” you say bashfully, trying not to bite your lip so you don’t mess up your lipstick. After a few minutes, you speak up again.

“Levi, I want to know more about you.”

“I- what?”

“I just get these glimpses like you randomly bringing up Isabelle and I do care, I really do, but I want to be able to put your puzzle pieces together,” you sigh, “you can be such an enigma.” You finish with a sarcastic eye roll and a small smile.

“No- nobody’s asked me that since Erwin took me from the underground.” His tone sounds sincere but almost sad.

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. I just want to get to know you more.” You hold his hand and lean your head onto his shoulder, being careful to not mess up your hair.

“Well- short story I guess. My mother was amazing but got handed a shitty deal in life. She worked in a brothel in the underground and died from disease when I was 8… I never knew my dad… this guy named Kenny who I hardly knew took me in and trained me to be a killer. I stole from the rich and took for the poor. I had two best friends Farlan and Isabelle. They died on our first scouting mission when we made it above ground.”

You lift your head from his shoulder and stare him in the eyes, “I’m so sorry.” He looks away, and doesn’t respond for a little. “Don’t pity me or anything now. I don’t tell anyone that shit for a reason.” You can’t tell if he’s joking or not and just smile and squeeze his hand.

As you arrive the castle glows from the candles and lights luminating it against the newly settled in dusk. You gasp, “oh my god it looks even better than I imagined!” With that Levi helps down from the carriage, and holds your arm properly as he walks you inside like a gentleman. You instantly go to work, talking with the musicians and caterer and bartenders. Levi sets out the name cards at the table that you finalized who was sitting at what tables yesterday. The first carriage arrives in no time, with all the leadership and higher ups. Erwin, Shadis, Pixis, Zachary, and a few of the higher ranking captains with other squads in the scouts make their entrance. They take their turns greeting you, bowing as you curtsy and giving your hand a gentle kiss, and they shake Levi’s hand. To most, it would seem that it was just a supporting captain helping his team member, but Erwin winks at Levi and whispers something in his ear, to which he blushes and adjusts his tie.

You make your way over to the bar, helping yourself to a glass of wine to release some nerves now that the party is in progress. Carriage after carriage arrive of the scouts and their dates, most of them enter the castle with mouths agape, flabbergasted by the beautiful decor you worked so hard on. You don’t greet everyone at the door but make your way to your table at the very front. Levi sits talking to Miche as you set your wine glass down and attempt to join the conversation. Levi subconsciously wraps an arm around your waist before you clear your throat. Miche raises an eyebrow between the two of you and you decide it may be best if you’re not in this conversation. Walking back towards the main entrance you wait for Petra and Hange, you got them at a table as close to you as you could but since they are technically without rank they were with most of the general population.

Soon enough all the guests have arrived and Erwin makes a brief toast to the courageous scouts and all those that could not make it home for the holidays this year as they made the ultimate sacrifice. You always tend to tear up around the topics, having watched someone your fellow cadets lose their lives on the battlefield. After the sad part of the speech, Erwin turns his attention to you, making you stand up and thanking you for planning the party. As the toast ends you cheers your white wine glass against Levi’s red wine glass. You are reminded of the first time you were intimate and the wine you shared. As if he read your mind, Levi takes a swig and winks at you. You feel heat in your core and know that you need to suppress it for the evening.

After dinner, drinks are flowing and the music is lively. Most of the men no longer wearing their suit jackets. Levi has his sleeves rolled up just to see some of his forearm and he loosened his tie a bit from his neck. Not that he dances, he just had enough drinks that his body was warmed up. You have about 3 glasses of wine in and are making eyes at him from your spot on the dancefloor.

He mouths to you “meet me upstairs,” before he gets up and heads to the main staircase just out of the great hall doorway. You wait just enough time so it isn’t suspicious before following his steps.

When you make it to the top of the stairs you feel Levi before you see or hear him. He pulls you into a random room which looked to be an old office or study, pressing himself up against your backside, caressing your face from your cheek the whole way down your neck and arm, sending shivers down your spine. “Sweetheart, have you been trying to tease me tonight?” Levi has the slight smell of alcohol on his breath, enough to be tipsy but not to raise concern.

He takes a hold of your jaw, turning your face to kiss him. His lips are addicting, you’re unable to stop once his tongue enters your mouth and a flame inside you has been ignited. You pull slightly on his tie as he pushes you up against an old wooden desk that looks not too study. He nudges your legs for you to sit on the desk while his lips find your ear lobe, neck, collar bone, and down to your beautiful cleavage, leaving kisses all over the exposed part of your chest. He doesn’t dare leave any hickies because after all he doesn’t want to give you a bad look with the higher ups if he wants you promoted! You reach down to hike up your long gown, allowing Levi access to between your legs. He takes this opportunity to kneel down, face close to your wetness, to ask “Do you want this hun?” To which all you can do is whimper before he moves your panties to the side to find your glistening cunt. He doesn’t waste any time, knowing people will wonder where you and he are soon. He dives into your pussy tongue first like a starved man, licking a strip from your hole up to your clit and circling it. His tongue is magical, making you whimper and moan like a mess just for him. When he feels you’re sufficiently prepped, he stands back up, allowing you to unbutton his pants and free his hard cock from its confines. You spit on your hand to rub his tip, getting him warmed up.

“Such a naughty girl,” he groans, taking in the sight of you with your pussy out stroking his cock in your formal wear. With that you’re begging him to put it in, and he adjusts you on the desk so he can angle into you perfectly.

He lines himself up looking you in the eyes, pupils blown out with lust and hairy disheveled from you running your hands through it. “Please,” you whimper and with that he pushes into your tight folds. He wastes no time picking up speed, but being careful not to be too mean to you so your hair and makeup don’t get messed up. You can’t help but moan each time his cock perfectly angles to fill you the whole way up and he is not much better, groaning and muttering filthy, sensual, words to you. The sounds of skin slapping and moans could sure be heard in the hallway outside the room, you just hoped nobody would be upstairs with you.

“You’re thinking about getting caught aren’t you baby?” He looks at the door and back into your eyes, his pace unrelenting. “You want someone to walk into you getting your shit rocked by your captain? See how good you are at pleasing me and the way you submit to me?”

Your body answers for you, clenching around his length and rolling your eyes back. “Yes, please,” you moan out, knowing he expects an answer from you.

“Mmhmm, good girl. Such a perfect girl for me. Have to make sure nobody else gets you.”

This is the first time you’ve heard some jealousy from Levi, but your brain does not have the capacity to think about it. His low sultry voice is enough to get you close to the edge. Just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, Levi pops one of your titties free from your dress and sucks on your nipple as he thrusts harshly into you. Your moans are enough to get him close, “baby where do you want it?” He asks, and in your cock drunk state all you can answer is “inside, insideeee, insidee,” through breathless moans. Watching Levi about to come undone sends your orgasm shock waving through you, whorish high pitched noises escaping as your nails dig into his exposed forearms. He follows shortly after feeling your pussy beg for his seed, irregular shallow thrusts as his rests his forehead against yours, hips stuttering. You both remain still for a few seconds, allowing each other to come down from your highs. Levi pulls your panties back over your cum filled puffy cunt. “It better still be in there when we get back tonight.” He whispers in your ear, helping you off the desk and adjusting your dress before he tucks his now soft penis back into his pants. You both fix each other to make it seem like you didn’t just fuck at a work function.

Too caught up in post orgasm infatuation with each other, you forget to walk down the stairs separately, and are met at the bottom with a conversation between Erwin, Petra, and Hange.

They all grow quiet as you approach, you figure they must be talking about the two of you as you head back into the main hall to finish off the night. A few more glasses of wine later, you are on the last carriage back with a bunch of other drunk scouts. Levi stopped drinking a while ago, helping you up and sitting you on his lap to make room for all the people cramming in. You doze off on the ride back as he plays with your hair and comforts you, it’s not like anyone can see him touching you in the dark anyways!!

When you get back to base he carries your drunk ass bridal style to his bedroom, washes your face and dresses you in some spare clothes of his. You blabber on about how handsome and sweet and caring your boyfriend is. All Levi can do is smirk and wait to talk to you about this in the morning. You make it so hard for him to keep you a secret.

-

another authors note: sorry guys but I'm sooo over this story now that its not the holidays so this will the the last part but definitely will be writing more Levi stuff in the future!

[the-al-chemist]

Unusual writer asks: BTS on the Hexley Saga!

[ellie-e-marcovitz ☺️]

Thanks for asking! 💛 Choosing just one scene from the entirety of THS is impossible, so I’m going with the prologue AND the epilogue for the sake of completeness! (They go hand in hand anyway…)

Unusual Writers Asks are Here!

Prologue - November, 1981

It started with the fireworks.

And so it begins, 5 words down, 500,000 to go. Though these are the first words of the Saga, they weren’t the first that were written; the prologue was actually the last chapter I wrote for Mystery at Hogwarts! In fact, I didn’t write this chapter until I’d written the first drafts for the first four instalments of the Saga and gone back and rewritten the whole of MaH (literally, scrapped most of it because it was rubbish and started over). Once I had done that, I felt like I needed a framing device, and so this scene was added.

“Where are you going?”

A small voice called out through the darkness. Jacob turned around, and saw the outline of a small girl sitting on the windowsill, her face illuminated by the flashes that still came from the sky outside.

Here is our first glimpse of our protagonist. This was another reason I wanted a Jacob perspective prologue, as well as setting the scene, it meant that Artemis was introduced in the story through the eyes of someone else. Having Artemis visually described for the first time in another character’s deep 3rd person narration seemed much more organic than having her describe herself that way, especially as she is a character that doesn’t take much interest in her own appearance.

Since the day she had been born the two of them had been so close that they could tell what the other was thinking.

Oop, foreshadowing.

“Will there be a Niffler in the story, or a dragon?”

More foreshadowing, this time it gets meta.

“Please don’t cry, Missy, you’re making this harder than it already is,” said Jacob, and he walked out of the house before his sister could start to cry or scream. He couldn’t change his mind now.

The front door clicked shut behind him, and he walked down the pale grey steps to the pavement outside the house. Turning back, he saw that Artemis’ little damp face was pressed against the windowpane, her breath fogging up the glass. Jacob pressed his fingers to his lips, and raised his hand to her, before he turned away and walked down Lovelace Crescent, past the terraced houses, and paused at the corner of the road.

Not so much foreshadowing as backshadowing - these are the same words Jacob says to Artemis after she finds and loses him again in PotV. Her reaction this time is different, though, showing how much she has developed in the time he was missing. The path Jacob takes through Hexley family’s house is also echoed in PotV, as Artemis takes the exact same route and pauses at the exact same places as she prepares to leave to spend the summer with the Weasleys, symbolising how she is now following in Jacob’s footsteps. She even apparates away from the same place, though she does so via side-along apparation with Bill. Again, this is deliberate, showing how Bill has started to take Jacob’s role in Artemis’ life, though whereas Jacob left Artemis behind, Bill is taking her with him.

Epilogue - December, 1999

Below the cut, bc spoilers, obv.

It was almost midnight.

As soon as I wrote the prologue, I knew exactly what I wanted for my epilogue - the whole Saga bookended by two scenes that each reflected the other. The countdown to the millennium seemed like an ideal time; 18 years after the prologue so long enough for someone to grow from an infant to an adult in the time in between, and at the end of an era with the promise of a new start. And fireworks. Artemis loves fireworks.

“Did you find your rowan tree alright?”

“Yeah.”

“How was it?”

“Peaceful.”

Rowan’s birthday in my canon was placed on NYE because of this epilogue, so that she would be remembered right until the very end. I can’t remember when I decided on Artemis’ tradition of visiting the tree at sundown each year (it might have been at the same time as deciding on Rowan’s birthday, it might have come later), but the idea of her returning to a tree annually just to be with Rowan for a little while was inspired by the bench in the botanic garden on midsummer’s day in The Amber Spyglass by Philip Pullman (from whom I expect to receive a lawsuit any day now).

Artemis swallowed hard as she turned away from the boy who looked like Tonks and saw George Weasley setting up the fireworks by himself.

Canon compliance is tough. This hurt me.

Someone asked for the time, and Artemis’ eyes immediately went to her ankle, despite her having not worn a watch on it for years.

I couldn’t not reference the watch. Artemis has come so far and has cut ties with her family by this point, but still her heart pulls towards the history she once had.

Artemis felt a soft pressure on her right cheek, and turned to see Charlie at her side, a small smile playing on his freckled face.

“Happy New Year,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on the darkened horizon, where more fireworks had started to appear in the distance, some sooner, some later, as other groups of wizards, witches, and Muggles waved goodbye to the previous century and ushered in the new one.

Again, I couldn’t not put this small detail in. I think the majority of my readers have at some point asked me if/when these two will ever get together, and so this little kiss on the cheek is for the Charlie/Artemis shippers. It’s friendly, but if you wanted it to hint at something more, you can read more into it (I know lots of people did). Avid fans of His Dark Materials will pick up on the fact that pattern of the prose in the second paragraph mimics that of the ending of the Amber Spyglass, which is a final nod to the the story that has inspired my writing and my soul more than any other (aside from HP, which is a given).

All alone now, Artemis watched the fireworks and listened to the crackles and whizzes and bangs that were the only noises echoing through the January night. The grass at her feet was damp, the air around her was cold and laced with the scents of pine trees and gunpowder, and her lips still tasted faintly of sloe gin. Her fingers tingled, and her toes were numb, and her pulse coursed through her veins as her heart continued to beat in her chest, reminding her how very alive she was in this moment. Not that she needed the reminder. Right now, standing on Stoatshead Hill at the start of a new year, a new century, a new millennium, she felt more alive and more free than ever.

I didn’t want an “all was well” ending for Artemis. I’m all for nuclear families with 2.5 children born nicely in wedlock with the person you fell in love with as a teen, but that’s not the ending my wild child wanted or deserved. She deserved this: to have her found family around her and have the strength and confidence in them to tell them that she is happy for them to leave her for a little while, in contrast to the prologue in which she begged Jacob to stay. She deserves this moment to just be herself, without the expectations of anyone else around her - and she gets that. The pine, the marzipan/sloe gin, and the gunpowder are all the scents that one would smell in Amortentia if they loved Artemis. She is surrounded only by the very essence of herself in this moment. Everything from “the grass” in this paragraph to “the end” a few later came to me on a run and I stopped to write it all down because I couldn’t bear to forget even a word of it.

And as the last firework disappeared into the night sky, so did Artemis Hexley.

It started with the fireworks, it ended with them, too.

[historyherstory]

“Do you know what day it is?”

I grew up hearing this question. For years, every December 7th, my paternal grandfather would ask, “Do you know what day it is?”

He was born on December 9th, 1918. He was days away from turning 23 when Pearl Harbor was bombed. He, like countless thousands of his generation, served (many entering service immediately, others after they fulfilled other obligations to work or family). He joined the millions of Americans who served in World War II.

In many ways, he was one of the lucky ones. He ultimately became a 1st Sergeant. He told me once that they wanted to send him to OCS but he refused because he didn’t want to leave the men with whom he had trained and served for so long. When I asked him about it, it would have been around 2003. Even that many years after, he could tell me stories about the men he served with - their names, their personalities, and many, stories about their families. 

He put me in his dress uniform once. I remember the weight of the wool and how hot it was. I was a preteen at that point, but already taller than he was. I could barely close the jacket, he was so slender. His draft card says he was 5′7 and 130 lbs. I remember the chevrons (but I didn’t know what they were at the time). I remember his hat. 

He was, in many ways, an old man among so many teenagers who served in WWII. He passed in 2007. I wish I had more time, I wish I had the chance to ask educated questions, to retain more of the information he had to share.

But every December 7th, I think of him: “Do you know what day it is?”

December 7th, 1941, a day which will live in infamy.

My paternal grandmother’s brother is buried overseas in Manilla. He died in Luzon, on March 28th of 1945. He turned 22 just 3 weeks earlier. More and more, I think that I need to try to get my father and some of his brothers to the Philippines while they are still young and healthy enough to make the trip. I think of my great uncle with increasing frequency. Growing up, I never heard of him. There had been a rift in the family: his draft card lists no next of kin. I’m not sure what the falling out was over, or when it happened, but I’m told that he only occasionally spoke with his mother (my great grandmother). She was the one who was notified via telegram of his death (and I don’t know how, when he listed no next of kin, unless he had a change of heart later and informed someone of how to contact his mother?) If you know history, you will recognize that the battle of Luzon was largely over by mid February. It’s my understanding that he was KIA while clearing out a city, even though the battle was “through”. Some part of me feels uneasy with this fact: a member of our family that has been gone from us for far too long. I think sometimes that it might bring a sense of closure to be able to help my older relatives go to visit him. It feels like an unfinished story.

My maternal grandfather served in the Merchant Marines. He passed away in 2001. Shortly after his death I remember a call my grandmother received: it was someone? from a veteran’s association saying he was eligible for some form of honor. I can’t remember what it was (I was too young), but my grandmother hung up on him. The Merchant Marines were denied veteran’s benefits until the late 80s, despite being an essential part of the war effort (and many thousands of them losing their lives in the process, especially in the early 1940s in the Atlantic). Even into the 90s, 00s, and 2010s, history has been utterly negligent in recognizing the service and sacrifice of these men (often writing them out of the picture entirely). He passed in 2001, and my great uncle on my mother’s side, who served along with him, passed in 2016.

It seems strange, then, to sit here as December 7th closes in. It has been 16 years since since I heard my grandfather ask “Do you know what day it is?” My father is also aging. His recall isn’t so keen anymore. He used to ask this same thing, but I suspect today, he won’t. It will be my mother or I texting him “Do you know what day it is?” to jostle the memory loose.

I was only a child when I knew these men. The sense of loss, of their memories, of their stories, grows more acute the older I get. I wish that I had been old enough to really understand what they were telling me.

And so today is a day for remembrance. Remembering the stories of men and women, some cut short by acts of violence and war, some long with lives well lived, who were forever impacted by the events of that day.  (And no conversation about WW2 and the memories of it are complete without acknowledging that while for so many Americans, Pearl Harbor is a catalyst for so many of our memories and our family stories, for so many people the world wide through there are memories and family histories whose wartime tragedies began far, far earlier in so many places around the world and the untold suffering they experienced should never be forgotten.) 

Maybe this is my attempt to make those memories more concrete, by putting them into words and sharing them this way.

[5sosfanfictioncatalogue]

Fics Including Luke’s Family Masterlist

Arcadia (ao3) - paperstorm michael/luke E, 100k

Summary: Crisp, thin air. The rough scrape of blades on ice. The jumbled, unintelligible echo of male voices, ringing off the rafters and bouncing through the empty seats. The familiar smell, sweaty equipment and rubber flooring and Zamboni fluid. Luke’s taken to closing his eyes sometimes, cutting off his primary sense, and just absorbing the noise and the scent and the feel of cool air on his cheeks. That way, regardless of where he is, an arena still feels like home. Or, an AU in which Luke is a small-town hockey superstar who gets drafted to the Montreal Canadiens, Ashton is the bubbly team Captain, Calum is a defenceman with a bad habit of settling on-ice conflicts with his fists, and Michael is the NHL's first openly gay player.

Chimney Heart (ao3) - rollercoastar michael/luke T, 4k

Summary: A low moan escaped Luke’s lips as Michael started to play with his lip ring, pushing Luke as close to him as possible. ‘’Okay, enough’’ Ben laughed, ‘’I think you left our Lukey boy all hot and bothered’’. Luke blushed furiously as Michael let out a laugh, ‘’this is nowhere near as bothered as he can get’’.

Or, Luke and Michael spend Christmas eve at the Clifford's playing board games, and Christmas day being teased and asked about their sex life by Ben and Jack.

Comment, Like, Subscribe My Heart (ao3) - thesoulsailor michael/luke N/R, 54k

Summary: It didn’t take more than the first three videos and Michael was hopelessly endeared. Luke was funny in an unintentional way and his words and stories were simply intriguing. The vlogs were a lot barer, broadcasted Luke’s life right into Michael’s bedroom. It felt weird, almost as if he and the blonde boy were friends, the way Michael learned Luke’s quirks and character, little things like the fact that Luke preferred soda over coffee. And Luke was not wearing make-up in some of them. or Youtube!AU in which Luke is a non-binary beauty guru, Michael is the lead singer of Ashton's cover band and Calum thinks gender roles are overrated anyways.

Don't Blink (ao3) - paperstorm michael/luke E, 20k

Summary: Suddenly Luke’s skin is itchy underneath and his clothes don’t feel right. He’s sweaty and uncomfortable with how good it feels having Michael pressed up against him. It isn’t supposed to feel like this. Luke doesn’t know why he never realized that until just now. This thing they do, where they’re always in each other’s space, always touching, always wrapped around each other – it’s how Luke should be with a girl. Not his best friend.

flowers in your hair (boys can't be pretty) (ao3) - prettyluke (parting_ways) luke/ashton, michael/calum N/R, 71k

Summary: Ashton has been in love with the pretty boy next door since he was seven. Luke has called Ashton home since he was five. They grew up with the daisy field behind their houses, but nobody told them that they couldn't love anywhere else.

if we make it through december (ao3) - allsassnoclass (brightblackholes) luke/ashton T, 28k

Summary: “I didn’t tell them,” he blurts. Ashton falls silent on the other end of the line. “My family. I didn’t tell them about the breakup. And I know that I should’ve and I swear I will, but Gram asked about you today and it’s probably her last Christmas with us and you know how much she loves you. I couldn’t do it. It’d break her heart, and I can’t do that to her. Not right now. So if you-- I mean. What I’m trying to say is that you’re still invited to Christmas, if you want. You don’t have to, I can make an excuse for you, and I swear I’ll tell them after the holidays, but I thought maybe… maybe you’d want to see them one last time.”

In Memoriam (ao3) - paperstorm michael/luke E, 59k

Summary: An accident during a performance ends for Luke in blood and total retrograde amnesia; rendering his mind an empty slate that doesn’t know as much as his own first name. His band is left to help him reassemble the scattered pieces of his life, to coax his memories back, and to deal with the fallout when the most important thing is the one thing Luke can’t remember.

let me go (ao3) - lukeisababe michael/calum, luke/ashton T, 7k

Summary: “Oh my god.” Calum says quietly from where he's sat at the small table for two in their kitchen. Michael turns around from where he's standing in front of the stove, making scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast, to see Calum with an honest to god newspaper in his hands. Michael wasn't even aware that they still subscribed to it.

“What's up?” He asks as he goes back to cooking, finishing up the last few pieces of bacon before he splits the food up on two plates, but Calum doesn't reply as he's too busy reading whatever headline there is for today. “Cal?”

“They've found a body. That Hemmings kid.”

or: the one where luke went missing three years ago and his body has just been found. michael is a ghost whisperer who helps luke moving on to the other side by putting the guilty one in jail.

Long Time, No See (ao3) - ConfusedPython michael/luke, calum/ashton T, 23k

Summary: Michael hears a song on the radio, catches a radio interview where 5 Seconds of Summer talks about their new single (Beside You). And the names and voices are familiar. Then someone knocks at the door and maybe Michael's luck isn't so bad after all.

Mockingbird (ao3) - thesoulsailor michael/luke E, 43k

Summary: It was then that Michael realised two things. First off the boy on the ground was gorgeous. All fair skin and scrawny limbs, golden hair styled into a faux hawk and mesmerising eyes, coloured a clear, sharp blue. He was breath-taking in a subtle way that didn't call for attention. Secondly the boy on the ground wore a yellow band around his upper arm, three black spots explaining why he wasn't fighting back. He couldn't. The boy was beautiful. The boy was blind.

or Luke is blind, Michael is new and everything after they meet is nothing one of them would've ever expected.

no body, no crime (ao3) - jbhmalum luke/ashton, luke/calum, michael/calum M, 11k

Summary: the no body, no crime songfic no one asked for

Rest (ao3) - ShyyyVictoria ot4 M, 14k

Summary: Luke is taken from a rest area after being tricked into helping a 'hurt' man. Then is sold to three guys for who knows what. He should have listened to his brother when he told him he was to innocent and gullible to trust people so blindly.

the dream that you wish will come true (ao3) - prettyluke (parting_ways) luke/ashton G, 17k

Summary: Luke didn't think he would ever escape the malice of his stepmother and stepbrothers, and Ashton didn't think he would ever find a boy he could love.

Tidal Wave - @ashtcnirwin (elivigar) luke/ashton E, 127k

Summary: “We talked about it before we went over to fetch you,” Ashton starts, “and Michael talked it over with Liz, and we decided that you shouldn’t live on your own for the time being.”

“You decided that I shouldn’t live on my own,” Luke repeats. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m an adult who can make his own decisions.”

Ashton smiles, but it’s thin and void of humour. “You’re staying with me for a while, Luke.”

A story about figuring out how to handle the difficulties life throws at you, on your own and with the help of loved ones.

where the angels sing (ao3) - fermentedpotato michael/luke, calum/ashton N/R, 79k

Summary: The thing was: he kept seeing on TV and in ads on the sides of websites that told him to embrace your differences and that being different is okay! But those sentiments only rang true for his sexuality and his hair colour and his eyebrow piercing because once people found out about his cystic fibrosis they treated him differently. He was always alienated in some way and it always sucked.

or the one where Michael's illness gets in the way of almost everything and Luke takes a long time to open up

you've got a heart as loud as lions (ao3) - bisexual_jace M, 2k

Summary: “Are you gay?” It’s his father who asks, finally saying something. Luke looks at him sharply but his dad’s face is just as warm and intent, ready for whatever Luke has to say. Luke knows then, with certainty, that his family won’t ever judge him or condemn him for what he is. Stupid, again, to think otherwise.

“Yeah.” Luke confesses quietly.

The one where the Hemmings brothers walk in on Luke and Michael making out.

[newlyy]

.

When I saw that post a few days ago about “does your family have a curse” I was immediately like yeah, my dads side has mental illness. My dads brother (Uncle T) hasn’t really ever held a job. He lives alone in a very big very old house. He doesn’t talk to much of anyone. He doesn’t have a lot of money. He married my aunt (Aunt K, the woman I was close-ish to, who sent me postcards regularly), but they divorced decades ago and my parents always said that she divorced him not because she no longer loved him, but because he was a liability she couldn’t take on. So my aunt and uncle stayed very close, neither ever remarried or had kids, they saw each other regularly. She was the only person he saw, really. And then in December of last year, she committed suicide. And to simplify a more complex situation, she left him in a financial bind based on her not properly drafting a provision of her will that would have provided him something and therefore the provision being disregarded. So he lost his only friend, the woman he still loved, and now is probably going to lose the house he’s lived in—that he lived in with her—for decades. I saw him today for the first time since I was a kid and he just breaks your heart, really. He’s very down, he’s in a bad place mentally and financially. He’s slightly odd, just socially, I think he’s been alone for too long. He’s earnest, he’s not trying to guilt trip anyone, he’s just being honest. But he kept talking about how Aunt K was his only friend, how seeing her gave him something to look forward to. He blames himself for her death, says that she was determined towards the end, but maybe there had been a time a year or two before, when she started to get into a funk, that he could have done more, as he said, held her hand, been there all the time, like a husband.

He showed my mom and me old photos of her, old photos of everyone in our family, really, and old postcards she had sent him (I have my own pile of postcards she’d sent me). you can tell how lonely he is, he would’ve talked for hours if we’d let him. And that’s another thing that makes him come off as “odd;” he just talks and talks and talks when most people would say “sorry, I’ve been yapping your ear off” and he kind of knows that, he kept saying sorry I just don’t have anyone to talk to, but he couldn’t help himself, he just kept talking about everything and anything. It made me want to cry talking to him today. You should see the house he lives in, it’s gorgeous. A very old very beautiful house and so many rooms with all of this antique, beautiful furniture that are mostly unused and then, in the midst of this beautiful house, he has a room upstairs where he sleeps on an old couch, despite having I think at least four queen size beds in his house. He’s an eccentric character, but he’s just sad. I know he views his life as a waste and I hate that. I want to help him, but I really can’t. And part of my feelings about him are that he reminds me so much of my dad. He lives a block away from my apartment and he said he would come over to say hello and, again, bear in mind that I hadn’t seen this man since I was young, and I just saw a guy walking outside and I knew from the way he walked that he was related to my dad. I never thought of my dad having a signature walk, but there it was on this man I couldn’t even make out. He looks like my dad, too, but an alternative universe version, a version that didn’t have my mom or his children to help him. And that makes me so sad. My desire to save him is the desire to save my dad. I know my dad and I know my brother and I know me and I know that part of ourselves that we all have that, if we don’t push back against it, if we don’t have someone to help us out of it, leads us to just freeze. To start doing the bare minimum of living. I recognize that in my uncle. And he also reminds me of my brother, who is also somewhat antisocial and unemployed and aimless. I look at uncle T and I worry that I’m looking at my future brother and I don’t want my brother to rot in an old house, surrounded by my parents’ old furniture when they die. It’s nice to go back to my dads hometown and see these relatives again, but I’m also feeling a weight and today made me so sad.

Went to take some more boxes up to my new apartment and met with my family that lives up there again, including my uncle this time, who’s the ex-husband of my aunt, the one who recently killed herself. Lots of feelings around that and around family history and family “curses,” and I want to write more about it later but I’m just processing.

[r0zyp0zy0zy]

Heeled Punishment

Masterlist

I have a head cannon that Tanaka has a foot fetish, so here we are. This has been sitting in my drafts since before December

Words: 3170+

Warnings: shoe humping, mutual masturbation, blindfold, restraints, foot worship, tiny bit of CBT, some name calling, Ryu calls reader ‘Mistress’, reader has a high heel collection

Ft. Tanaka Ryunosuke x FEM!reader

Summary: Tanaka can’t help himself when he’s left alone with your high heel collection, but karma’s a bitch and so are you

Tanaka Ryunosuke had an itch. It was an itch that needed to be scratched. It was like having a scab that you knew you shouldn't pick at in fear of infection, but having such a lack of impulse control that you just do it anyway. He was, originally, planning on telling you about his itch; only he was so deathly embarrassed of it that he put it off for so long. So long in fact, that you had just moved in together and he hadn't told you.

You were perfect in his eyes— beautiful, kind, trustworthy, and most importantly, you were into him as much as he was into you.

And that was why he didn't want to tell you that whenever he was alone, your shoe collection haunted him. Several pairs of stilettos were showcased on shelves in your shared room, varying in height and style. Tanaka was pretty sure you already knew about his thing for your feet; from the massages he gave when your feet were sore, to how flustered he got while playing footsies. But there was something about those stilettos sitting neatly on the shelf that really got to him— and when you wore a pair he was sure you could see his erection.

The day had come where Tanaka had finally succumb to his urges, and when you left to go out with your friend he snagged his favourite pair of shoes off of your shelf. They were tall, sleek, and black, with a lace up front. He dragged a finger down the shoe, shivering at how nice it felt to actually touch a pair. As much as he wanted to raw-dog it, he put a condom on because if he got an infection from fucking a shoe he would never hear the end of it.

Tanaka used lotion to lube up, and he slowly pushed his cock between the pair of shoes. He squished them tighter as he slowly rutted his hips forwards and back, the unfamiliar sensation sent a shiver through his body and he groaned. He swore under his breath when he thought about you wearing the shoes he was fucking, standing above him as he pathetically humped your stilettos.

"Ryu!" You yelled out, "my friend got a call about a family emergency so they had to cancel last minute." It was silent. "Ryu?" You hung up your coat and walked down the hall to your shared bedroom.

You froze once you opened the door to your room. The last thing you expected was for Tanaka fucking Ryunosuke to be humping your favourite pair of stiletto heels. You dropped your bag with a thud, finally catching your boyfriend's attention.

His eyes widened in horror, halting his movements, and opened and closed his mouth a few times before nervously saying, "I can explain?"

"Ryunosuke," you folded your arms across your chest, "care to explain why you're fucking my shoes?" You weren't gonna lie, you didn't really care that he had a thing for shoes or whatever, but the look of pure humiliation on your boyfriend's face made it clear that he intended on keeping it a secret.

"I- um... it's exactly what it looks like..." Tanaka's face was red hot with embarrassment. His dick was still between the two shoes, and you had to give it to him that he at least had the thought to put on a condom.

"Good thing you put on a rubber to make sure you didn't soil my favourite pair of shoes." You leaned down to look at him with your hands on your hips. "But you still stained them with whatever the hell you used as lube. You'll be cleaning them later."

Tanaka was still frozen in place as you stepped towards him, dick still shamefully hard.

"Get on the fucking bed."

The man snapped out of his trance and scrambled up to sit on the bed. He scooted backwards, mentally preparing for whatever you were gonna do. He watched you pull a blindfold from the dresser drawer and he gulped nervously.

"I'm putting this on you. Colour?" You stepped towards him.

"Green," he whispered. His vision blacked out when you tied the blindfold over his head.

"Don't move, give me five," you said. He listened to you walk out the door and all he could hear now was the frantic beating of his heart.

He was in deep shit.

The click-clacking of your heels was the first thing he picked up on as you made your way back to the bedroom. He felt his cock twitch.

"Scooch forwards a little," you said.

Ryu did as he was told, sucking in a breath once he felt the familiar sensation of cuffs chaining his hands together behind his back. He jumped a little when he felt you remove the condom that was wrapped around him.

"Y-Y/n..." his hips bucked upwards slightly.

"What was that?" You said, slapping his thigh with a riding crop.

"Eek, sorry mistress!" Ryu corrected himself.

"That's what I thought," you hummed.

Tanaka gulped as he felt something leather buckle around his neck, and his heart fluttered once he realized that it was a collar. You tightened it so it sat snugly, not too loose and not too tight.

"Green," he said automatically.

He heard the click of metal, and all of a sudden he was yanked blindly forward. Your breath danced on his lips.

"Down," you commanded, yanking once again on the leash you were holding.

Tanaka stumbled to the ground, blindly trying to figure out where to face. The blindfold was torn from his face, and he blinked a few times before looking up at you.

"Ryunosuke," you said, looking him dead in the eyes. "Do you see the shoes I'm wearing?"

"Yes mistress," Tanaka gulped, eyeing the shoes that he had fucked just moments ago.

"Do you know which ones they are?" You pressed, pulling on his leash so it was a little difficult for him to breathe.

"Y-your favourite ones, mistress," he answered.

"That's right," you hummed. "And you made a mess of them, you dirty bitch."

Tanaka stared dumbly at you for a moment, his pre dripping onto the carpet.

"Lean back," you shoved him so his back was resting on the side of the bed, ass on the floor. "After I'm done with you, you're scrubbing off your filth with a toothbrush," you sneered.

"Yes mistress."

"Spread your legs a bit," you ordered.

He complied, and you took a step closer. Ryu's eyes were glazed with lust as he watched you stare at him for a moment. You took one heeled foot and carefully rubbed the outsole on the head of his cock. Ryu bit his lip and jerked up a little. You pulled away.

"Don't move," you frowned.

"Yes mistress," he froze.

You continued to rub the outsole on his cock, trailing down to playfully nudge his balls. Ryu whimpered as you squished a little harder. Pre cum oozed out of his slit as he struggled not to move. In one sudden movement, you gingerly pressed on his balls.

"Ah- ow," Tanaka jumped.

"The fuck did I say about not moving?" You spat. You lifted your riding crop and brought it down dangerously close to his dick.

"I'm sorry mistress!" Ryu pleaded.

"I don't want to hear it," you said. "Get on the bed on your hands and knees."

Ryu struggled onto the bed, knees planted down and slightly spread. He shivered once he felt your crop creep down his back.

"Ah!" Ryu cried as you whacked his ass with the riding crop. He cried out again when you attacked his thighs, going down to whip the soles of his feet. "Fuck," he whined.

His heart rate picked up once he realized the crop was resting against his balls, and he braced himself for impact. You lightly tapped his balls with it, gradually hitting them harder.

"Please mistress," Ryu whimpered into the pillows. "I promise, I'm sorry!"

"I don't think you are," you argued. You yanked his chain back so he was looking at you. "Dirty pervert."

You loosened his chain and he went back to burying his face in the sheets. You whipped his balls a few more times until Ryu was arching into your touch.

"You're still hard. Are you really getting off from this?" You teased.

"Yes," he whimpered quietly. "Mistress."

"Masochistic slut," you jeered, whipping him with more force.

You awed at the amount of precum dripping onto the comforter as you watched his cock jump.

"Get on your ass," you demanded, yanking his chain.

"Y-yes mistress," Ryu flipped himself over.

You spread his legs, and grinned evilly at his cock. You sat down in front of him and used one heeled foot to press his dick against his stomach. You continued up and down his cock, altering the pressure you were using. You squished his head against his stomach, and he threw his head back and groaned.

"Fuck, hurts," Ryu mumbled.

You continued your assault on his cock, pressing harder. You rubbed up and down, causing more pre to leak out of his slit.

"Mistress," he whimpered. "Please may I cum? Please?"

"Tch," you scoffed, "you really think you deserve to cum?"

"Please mistress! I'm sorry!" Ryu cried. His body was shaking.

"If you really wanna cum, you gotta do all the work," you stood up from the bed. "Go on."

Ryu looked lost, "m-my hands..."

"So?" You shrugged. "You didn't use them earlier."

Ryu attempted to hump his pillow, and whined unsatisfactorily.

"Poor slut can't get off," you mocked. "If you're so desperate than why don't you come here and fuckin hump my shoes like you've wanted from the beginning."

Ryu struggled off the bed and kneeled before you, "thank you mistress."

He rutted his hips until he was able to slot his cock between your ankles, making the shiny material of your heels slick with precum. You watched with a bored expression as your boyfriend looked up at you with desperate eyes.

"You better make it snappy before my legs get tired," you huffed, inspecting your nails. "I think in about five minutes I'm going to have a nice relaxing bath... and maybe a foot massage."

Tanaka whined and quickened his thrusts, desperate to come as quickly as he could so he wouldn't be denied orgasm and potentially have to wear a chastity cage. He looked up at you with hearts in his eyes, and he wanted to rub his hands up and down your legs. He pressed kisses to your soft skin desperately.

"...and after that," you continued, "I think I'll use that special face mask, and then put on a pretty set of lingerie for myself." Your eyebrows raised slightly when Ryu started panting harder. "Be quiet, I'm trying to think, pet."

Tanaka keened at the nickname, and immediately apologized, "sorry mistress."

You hummed and continued calculating your train of thought. "And then I'll get out my favourite toy and play with myself, perhaps while having a shoulder massage." You moaned at the thought.

Ryu bit his lip as he struggled to keep in his noises, his ruts becoming sloppy and uncoordinated as he reached closer to his peak.

"Two more minutes," you sighed. "Just get it over with, already."

"Y-yes mistress," Ryu stuttered, his legs staring to shake.

"Now that I think about it, I'm getting tired of standing in the same spot for so long..." you complained. "I think I'm gonna go run a bath for myself now."

"No!" Ryu wailed impulsively. His eyes widened and he immediately slammed his mouth shut. "I-I mean—"

"Pet." You said sternly. "Did you just talk back? Do you not care about how I feel? First my shoes, and now this?" You glared at the man below you. "You're getting the fucking cock cage, bitch."

"Y-yes mistress," Tanaka whined, not wanting to make things worse for himself.

He watched as you walked to grab a box from under your bed, pulling out the sleek black plastic cage that he had grown used to. You yanked on his leash and tied it to the bottom bedpost, chaining him to the spot.

"Stay," was all you said as you walked out the bedroom door, returning shortly with an ice cube.

Tanaka cringed at the thought of you forcing him to go flaccid, and hissed through his teeth as you placed the already melting ice on his balls. You glided the ice up and down his shaft, pressing it against his glans for a few seconds before trailing it back down. You stopped once he was mostly soft.

You carefully slid the cage on, using his excess pre as lube. You locked it into place and secured the key around your neck. "I'll get the longer chain so you can run me my bath."

You took out a chain about two feet long, and unclipped the five inch chain connecting his wrists to replace it. "Hands in front," you demanded before chaining his wrists again.

"Wh-what soaps would you like, mistress?" Tanaka asked as you pulled him upright. He felt his cock twitch slightly in the cage it was in, desperate to be free. You tugged him forward on his leash and he was sure that precum escaped from his cage.

"Hm, my favourite one. You know it," you hummed. You unclipped his leash once you entered the bathroom, and let him make up your bath as you peeled your clothes off your body.

You sat yourself in the warm water once the tub was filled, and watched as Ryu picked up your clothes to put them in the hamper. He stopped to look at your panties, but didn't take any action to bring them to his face.

You stuck your feet from out of the bath and signalled for your boyfriend to come forward. "I'm feeling some peach scented lotion for my foot massage."

"Yes mistress," he said quietly, almost sounding nervous. Tanaka sucked in a breath after he got onto his knees and squirted the lotion on his hand. He carefully used his thumbs to rub the arch of your foot, gulping when you sighed contently.

"Mmm that feels so good," you moaned.

Ryu felt precum drip from his cage onto the floor, and he tried to regulate his breathing. He moved on to your other foot before massaging each foot with both his hands. You continued to moan lewdly, and even though Tanaka knew that you were overplaying it on purpose, he couldn't help but feel so turned on. He watched as you applied your face mask, your head leaning back to rest.

After what felt like ages, you took off your mask and shooed Ryu off your feet. He stood up, knees aching from the thin bath mat, and unplugged the bathtub for you. He stood awkwardly as you used a towel to dry yourself off, face flushed a dark pink as he admired your naked body. You put on a babydoll lingerie top, ditching the panties because you were going to use your vibrator anyways.

Tanaka trailed after you back into the bedroom, halting when you turned to him. "All that is gonna be too hard on my back..." you trailed off, referencing his accessories. You took off his cuffs, and got on your knees to unlock his cock cage. He whimpered in embarrassment at his already hard dick, turning his face away so he couldn't see your reaction to the pre drooling from his slit.

"Tsk, tsk," you shook your head. "Someone just can't help themselves."

"M'sorry, mistress," Ryu mumbled.

"Sit with your back against the headboard," you ordered, crawling onto the bed after Tanaka. You felt his hard cock on your back and you chuckled lowly.

Rynosuke's breathing quickened. After being deprived of your touch for so long, the sensation of your back on his cock made him feel dizzy. His dick throbbed as he watched you play with your breasts, your hand trailing down to play with your pussy. Ryu's stomach lurched when you turned on your vibrator and pressed it to your clit, wanting so bad to be able to touch you.

Your head lolled on Tanaka's shoulder, fully using him as a backrest. The young man almost couldn't handle the constant rubbing but he grit his teeth and sucked in a breath.

"Fuck," he mumbled quietly. Your noises were beautiful.

"Shit, Ryu," you sighed, body beginning to shake. He whimpered helplessly, bucking his hips up every so often to make friction against his cock.

You let out a long moan and your legs shook, alerting Tanaka that you were getting close. Taking the vibe off of you for a moment, you shifted so you were beside Ryu, one leg draped over his thigh.

"Go ahead and touch yourself, baby," you instructed him breathlessly, returning the vibrator to your aching clit.

Ryu whined when he finally wrapped his hand around his twitching cock, drooling with precum. He watched as your legs tensed and relaxed as you chased your orgasm, eyeing the jiggle of your breasts when your body shook.

"'M so close," Tanaka whimpered. "Feels so good."

You moaned and arched your back, opening your mouth to let out a soft cry. Tanaka had to force his hand off his cock so he wouldn't cum,  making his eyes water. He wanted to cum so bad. Little whimpers and moans slipped from his lips as he painstakingly rubbed the head of his cock, pulling his hand away when he felt too close.

"Fuck, cum for me Ryu," you moaned breathlessly. "Go ahead and cum, baby."

A rumbling groan erupted from Tanaka's throat, his eyes rolling back as he finally let himself go. His vision was white, but he could feel hot ropes of cum painting his abdomen as his body shook. It felt like he was cumming for way too long, but it felt too good to care. He heard you come down from your orgasm beside him, and he moaned when he felt your hand on his bicep.

"F-ffuck," was all he could say. He opened his eyes but couldn't see straight, eyes crossing from pleasure. "Fuuck."

Ryu finally removed his hand from his aching cock, which was twitching in the puddle of cum he created. It took a few moments before he was able to catch his breath and look you in the eyes.

"You ok, baby?" You cooed. "That looked intense."

Tanaka could only nod his head, breaths shaking. He hummed appreciatively when you wiped up his cum, only really coming-to when you kissed him.

"D-damn," Tanaka sighed shakily. "That was good."

"So, heels, huh?"

[1kook]

skirt chasers — drabble iv

THIS IS A SKIRT CHASERS DRABBLE - FIND THE OTHERS HERE ! SUMMARY Jungkook was a man. A skirt chaser. He could only withstand so much torture before he broke, and seeing your gorgeous, smooth legs on display after so many weeks of starvation awoke an ancient being inside of him. WARNINGS JK POV!!!, attempted solo masturbation, k*ssing, jk’s extensive knowledge of pornos, grinding, cunnilingus, face sitting, spit kink, light choking, praise kink, self nipple play, a love for boobies, unprotected sex, use of the pull out method, i love u kink, its kinda hinted tht oc has a somnophilia kink? not rlly but tagging just in case -_- RATING m (18+) WC 6.3k this can't even classified as a drabble anymore wtf 

NOTES i have had this in my drafts since may 3. it is december 21. everyone point n laugh. anyway i very much love stimbo sc jk and i think he’s very cool so here’s a whopping 6k of the inner mechanisms of his big nerdy, college hottie brain <3

He doesn’t notice you’ve drifted off until he’s three solid paragraphs into his semester-long research paper. “Babe, can you toss me my charger it’s over…” 

 Jungkook swears he’s gonna take every single one of those stupid skirts and burn them to ashes. They had done their duty well, had given him the girlfriend of his dreams, but now they were just pushing their luck. What was once the epitome of a cute and sweet girlfriend, has now become the bane of Jungkook’s existence. He loathed them, he hated them, he could go twenty million decades without ever seeing them again because the torture they inflicted upon him was borderline inhumane. 

 Holy fuck, he knew you were gorgeous— hello, he was your boyfriend, thinking you were gorgeous was very high on the list of requirements you searched for in someone of his position —but he’s absolutely positive that you’re probably the sexiest woman he’s ever seen in all his twenty-two years. And Jungkook’s seen a lot of porn. Like, a lot. 

He can’t help himself. Before Jungkook knows it, he’s rolling his desk chair over to where you’re sprawled across his bed, skin so soft where it presses against his pillow, lips so plush, and he’s pretty sure there’s a tiny, tiny droplet of drool begging to escape from between your puckered lips. Normally, he’d tease you to hell and back for this, knows how flustered you become when he catches you off guard, but today he lets it slide in favor of focusing on something else about your dozing form. 

It’s the soft curve of your hips from where you lay on your side, smooth legs tucked close to you, and that goddamn pleated skirt giving you absolutely no protection from the eyes of the world around you. Luckily, he made sure to lock the door to his room when you came over today. And he’s almost positive Taehyung isn’t home anyway. So there’s no potential roommate to see you here, cuddled against Jungkook’s teddy bear, blue lace panties tucked between your folds. 

They were his favorite. 

Adorable and soft, and he knows that particular style— the cheeky kind —is your preferred style, because it’s the one he sees almost every time the two of you fuck. Seamless, because you hate when they tug against your skin, and baby blue simply because it was your favorite color. He can’t recall the last time they had been so exposed like this. 

God, how many times had this same situation occurred? You dropping by to encourage him to do his homework, before eventually falling asleep and leaving him to his own devices. A lot of times, Jungkook guesses, because each and every time you wake up and nab one of his protein bars from the stash by his bed. Jungkook’s gone through four boxes in the last month. 

But how many times had this happened with you in a skirt? Never. This was a rarity. 

As the year progressed and yours and Jungkook’s relationship reached new levels of intimacy and adoration, Jungkook is sad to say the skirts had begun appearing less and less. It was winter and, unlike the furnace that was Jungkook’s body, he’s pretty sure you were a cold-blooded reptilian at this point, always leeching off of him for warmth. So since you couldn’t stand the cold, the skirts slowly faded into the background, replaced by Jungkook’s second favorite: the leggings. 

He was no complainer, Jungkook respected your decisions! He wasn’t going to pressure you into wearing those cute tiny skirts he loved so much just because it fueled some PornHub-esque fantasy in his brain, especially not as a harsh winter descended upon you and the days became colder. He would not risk a sick girlfriend in the name of a horndog daydream. 

But holy mother of pearl, Jungkook was a man. A skirt chaser. He could only withstand so much torture before he broke, and seeing your gorgeous, smooth legs on display after so many weeks of starvation awoke an ancient being inside of him. 

Sure he’d seen them every time you guys fucked— duh. But this was not the same. It was different, seeing the tender skin of your inner thigh when he knew you weren’t trying to, your skirt stuck between you and the bed as you shifted about. It was different, knowing he could so easily have you, just flip up the skirt and tug your underwear to the side, not having to worry about fighting your leggings or skinny jeans down your legs. It was different and it was good, so painstakingly good, to have you in the skirt, but the worst part was Jungkook couldn’t even do anything because you were fucking sleeping. 

He’d subconsciously pictured you like this for weeks, sprawled out on his sheets in the flimsiest clothing and ready for him to just slide right in, but Jungkook was a good boy—you’d told him as much just last week when he’d paid the bus fare for that ragtag group of teenagers, smiling up at him like he was your entire world. Was he sometimes a little too mean, a little too wild? Yes. But at his core, Jungkook lived for your praise. He couldn’t just stomp on that title you’d so lovingly bestowed upon him, a title he’d worked hard for since! 

Furthermore, even if Jungkook wasn’t a good boy, to touch you in your sleep just seemed wrong. You’d mentioned in passing once that you wouldn’t mind as long as it was him (“I’m yours,” you had purred at some party, hand crawling down his abdomen, “your doll, remember?”), but Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to when you were so vulnerable and just… not there. It wouldn’t feel right to use your body when you weren’t awake, and no amount of encouragement from you would change his mind. 

So he does what all good boys do and prepares himself for a quick, self-administered handfuck. 

Sue him, his girlfriend was hot!

It’d been a little over two weeks since the last time the two of you had fucked, and it was mostly his fault; clinicals and research papers had practically consumed what little free time he had in his schedule. And if Jungkook remembers correctly, he wouldn’t be that lucky this upcoming week either. Something tells him your period was approaching. 

Jungkook doesn’t know what type of sorcery you’ve done to him, but in the time you’ve been dating, it’s become increasingly more and more difficult to nut without you. Whether that be fucking you, listening to your voice, or just imagining your pretty face in his head, you held a monopoly over Jungkook’s libido, one that he feared you’d never let go. 

He had years stacked on years of browsing PornHub and Brazzers, can recall experiencing some of the craziest orgasms of his life while watching some girl get fucked. All things come to an end. Ever since he started dating you, not even his favorite video could make him hard anymore. Oh, how the great have fallen. 

But with your blue panties before him, his cock hardens by the minute, nearly doubles in size when you move about and sigh a heavenly sound. Frankly, he doesn’t feel bad jerking one off to the thought of you. You were his girlfriend! He knows that you know that you’re the main character of all his right-handed adventures, and you’re not going to be mad at him for jerking off to you now. In fact, Jungkook imagines you’d be mad if he’d woken you up just for some frenzied quickie. This way, he’s blowing off some steam and you’re getting an extra ten minutes of napping. Everyone wins. 

He’s barely tugged himself out of the confines of his sweats when a soft mumble of his name has his soul leaving his body. “Kook?” 

“Baby,” he exhales, immediately tucking himself back into his underwear before moving closer towards you. You roll onto your back, skirt useless as fuck, he thinks, as it sprawls around your waist. “What’s up?” he murmurs, voice gentle, a hand carding through the nape of your neck because that’s how you always wake him up. Jungkook would be a liar to say it wasn’t one of the best feelings in the world. 

You say something, but it’s a mess of gibberish and too quiet for him to understand, before turning on your side again and shuffling closer to him. Jungkook smiles, runs the tips of his fingers over your cheek, before moving to caress your back, massaging some feeling back into your muscles. Some more mumbled words, but this time he deciphers them as something along the lines of “c’mere.” 

He chuckles, ducking down to kiss your cheek. “Don’t wanna interrupt your nap, baby,” he hums. “Go back to sleep.” 

You whine in protest, suddenly catching his hand in yours. “Please,” you sigh, eyes fluttering open, but they’re unfocused as you gaze at him. Jungkook clenches his teeth. Technically he should be working on that twelve page research paper, and even just trying to jerk off right now would have been a huge setback. Crawling into bed with you, where you’re so sinfully laid out for him to take, would completely offset his plans until tomorrow. He had to be a responsible student here. 

“I really gotta finish my paper…” he says, trying to let you down as gently as possible, flashing you an apologetic gaze. He thinks he has it in the bag, and your extended silence almost has him rolling back to his desk, when you suddenly snap into action. 

“But what about your dick,” you murmur, and Jungkook chokes. 

“My what—?” he splutters, voice a little too high. 

You say nothing, craning your neck to release a series of cracks, soft huffs leaving your lips. Jungkook’s on edge the whole time, eyes following the movement of your neck, the hypnotizing expanse of skin that bares itself to him. “Saw your hand down your pants,” you say, eyes blinking open, and though they’re droopy with sleep, at least you can hold them open this time. 

Jungkook laughs nervously, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck in embarrassment. “You saw that?” A soft hum. He wants to die. “Ah, baby, don’t worry about it. Know you’re tired, so just nap,” he sighs, caressing the back of your head once again, and he thinks he’s finally convinced you so he lets his guard down. 

You moan softly, and he’s almost entirely sure it’s one of those waking up types of sounds, the ones you make when you’re stretching around the bed in the morning. “Want your cock.” 

Jungkook swears he’ll die, right here, right now. 

He groans, lowers his head to rest on the mattress. “Jesus, fuck, baby,” he huffs, has to count to ten to will the stirring of his slowly hardening cock away for the second time that day. “Don’t say stuff like that when you’re half asleep, please.”

You ignore him, the hand that had been wrapped around his wrist tugging him closer. You barely succeed, muscles still so weak, but Jungkook humors you and rolls his chair right beside your head, where he ducks down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Noooo,” you whine when he draws away too quickly. 

A laugh blossoms in his chest, and Jungkook proceeds to rain down a series of kisses on your pretty face before he can stop himself. You melt under his touch, his affection, and Jungkook adores the way your body is so soft and pliant like this, back arching towards him after he places a hand on your waist. 

“Come here,” you urge, voice a quiet plea. So soft, so needy. 

Jungkook malfunctions for just a second before he’s clambering over you on the bed, manhandling your body until you're both on your sides, facing each other, with you pressed tightly to his chest. Even with your hands brushing up and down his back in the way that sends every nerve in Jungkook’s body tingling, and your leg thrown over his hip, some stupid part of him convinces himself you’re just cold, trying to warm up after walking around campus in that tiny little skirt all day. He cuddles you as best as he can. 

And even with his dick twitching in his pants and his caveman instincts yelling at him to thrust up into your inviting core, Jungkook remains as professional as someone in a relationship can be when in bed with their lover. He’s so stuck on his self-control that he almost doesn’t hear the snort you muffle against his neck. 

“What are you doing?” you laugh, reaching up to pinch his cheek. Jungkook blinks, eyes wide like a doe caught in headlights. “Are we gonna fuck or what?”

He chokes. He doesn’t even try to muffle his reaction like other times, because the way you’re looking at him and the heel you press against the back of his thigh preoccupies his thoughts instead. Your hands are still tracing along his back, melting him with your dainty touches. “Baby?” you question after he’s been silent too long, distracted by the way you use that hooked leg to tug your bodies closer. 

“You… you’re still asleep,” Jungkook says, though it’s definitely a question. 

You scoff, a smile curling around your features. “Mm, definitely not asleep,” you tease, and shift to push him onto his back, wiggling on top of him until those baby blue panties are pressed against his quickly hardening member. “Why? Wanted to touch me when I was asleep?” you continue, and Jungkook’s eyes nearly burst out of their sockets. 

“No!” he exclaims, hands clutching your hips in alarm. He can tell he surprises you, because your eyes go wide for a brief second. “Never…” he mumbles afterwards, looking away from your imploring gaze. “Only like you when you’re awake.” 

You sigh, pressing a sweet kiss to his cheek that makes his heart flood with adoration for you. “You’re a good boy, Jungkook,” you say back, just as quietly. “A blueprint for the perfect man.” Another kiss, this time against the corner of his mouth that makes Jungkook’s hands twitch against your sides. 

A soft moan tears itself from his throat, fingers digging into your hips as you slowly roll them against him. The heat emanating from your core seeps past the thin barrier of his sweatpants, makes his cock twitch in his boxers. He knows how it feels inside of you, has your body memorized like the back of his hand. But it’s in moments like these that he finds himself aching for you, desperate to feel the fluttering walls of your pussy, the pitiful whimpers that fall from your kiss swollen lips. And, well. The skirt makes it all too easy.  

He places two hands on the backs of your thighs, runs them up until he’s pushing your skirt up over your waist. You pull away from his lips with a sneaky little smile, pointer finger stroking down the side of his face lazily. “Mm?” you tease, leaving a coy little peck against his mouth. “Now you wanna touch?” Jungkook rolls his eyes, snaps his teeth at your wandering finger when you draw it too close to his mouth. The giggle you let out is so damn precious, makes him want to put you in a glass case and never let anyone else touch you. Coincidentally, it also makes him want to rail you into the mattress until you cry. 

“I’ll fucking ruin you, doll,” he settles on murmuring, subtly pushing you down against him. A soft giggle. Jungkook knows it’s your favorite nickname, even if you won’t admit it. He's the only one allowed to call you it, something about his intentions being pure or whatever, he’s not really sure. Anyway, you’re still so cute and soft on top of him, blinking slowly and prettily, so he’s dragging it out a bit, hoping you’ll become more alert in a few more minutes. 

As sleepy as you may be, you never miss out on a chance to rile him up. “As if, doll,” you retort, his nickname for you rolling off your tongue seamlessly. It sounds heavenly, sparks this weird emotion in him that he never considered before. Him, a doll? No way. But there’s something about the sweet lilt of your voice, the starry-eyed gaze you level him with, that has him throwing all reservations aside. Put him on a shelf and call him Barbie, because he would be anything you wanted him to be. 

Anyway, Jungkook’s sappy thoughts last all of two seconds before he’s rolling you over, successfully trapping you beneath his body. “Oh, so scary,” you feign, hands fluttering to clutch at your chest. 

He glides his hands down your body, let’s them trail over your hip and down the side of your thigh. “Don’t get sassy with me,” he warns, thumb peeking beneath the hem of your skirt. Jungkook really wants to burn the piece of fabric this time, because after all that time it spent torturing him with its halfhearted attempts at covering you, it chooses now to do it properly. 

Hands are thrown around his shoulders, the overwhelming scent of your perfume and body wash tickling his nose when you pull him in for another kiss. “Or what?” you purr, irises swirling with lust. “Gonna use your manly man strength to hold me down?” 

He shushes you with a kiss, slow and languid just how you like. Your taste is familiar, feels like coming home, so Jungkook can’t be blamed for getting too carried away. It starts gentle— it always does. But then a tiny mewl gets stuck in your throat, the following moan swallowed by his tongue, and Jungkook nearly loses it. He nips at your bottom lip, waits patiently for you to open up for him, and when you do he wastes no time diving in. Your tongue against his is slick and wet, makes the most lewd sound. Your little sharp intakes of air fill the gaps, shuddery breaths that Jungkook takes as a good sign. 

He strikes while the iron is still hot. 

It’s amidst your lazy kissing that he secures his hands around your waist, two reassuring squeezes thrown your way before he’s abruptly rolling onto his back again. “Kook!” you squeal, clutching at the front of his shirt. A pouty frown paints your face, sleepy eyes narrowing him with a rather unimpressed look, tainted with the barest hints of confusion. 

Jungkook grins, reaching back to yank his pillow out from beneath his head. “On my face,” he commands suddenly, and you snort. 

“What?” you ask a little incredulously, leaning back to level him with an even more lost expression. “Since when do we do that?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Since I decided twenty seconds ago,” he answers rather bluntly. You still don’t look too convinced. It’s not a position the two of you have ever tried. You’re a little on the sappy side, always like to look at his face while you fuck, hold his cheeks in your palms, kiss him sweetly. On the one hand, Jungkook totally gets it; he’ll proudly admit that the sight of your orgasming face paired with your fantastic tits have done him many favors these past few months. 

However, Jungkook is a lover of head. Giving or receiving, it’s very high on his list of sexual acts and whoever invented oral deserved all the praise in the world. Not only did you look drop dead gorgeous with his cock in your mouth— tears trailing down your cheeks, drool clinging to the corners of your lips —but you also looked absolutely sexy receiving it. 

Kinda. 

Probably. 

Okay, so maybe Jungkook can’t really say, considering he always has a hard time catching a glimpse of your face when he’s down there licking and slurping your clit like a madman. Which is what leads him to this exact moment, an experiment weeks in the making. Jungkook has a theory that needs to be tested. “Please ride the fuck out of my face,” he tries, hoping the polite tone will win you over. 

He’s met with an eye roll. Still, you’re kinder than you let on. “Okay,” you give in, and Jungkook will remember your heroism for the rest of his life. “But only because being on top is empowering.” He just barely contains an over-enthusiastic fist pump into the air, settling on a rather modest smile that has you leaning down to kiss him again. You reach for the zipper on the side of your skirt. “Just let me—“

“The skirt stays on,” he says quickly, hand on your wrist to stop you from removing his most favorite article of clothing. 

“Baby,” you say, giving him a rather serious look. “It’ll cover your face.”

“It won’t,” he urges, reaching for the buttons on your blouse instead. Jungkook has had one too many encounters with tops like these, and has long since learned not to tear them apart like a crazed psycho. As much as he loves the sound of your buttons scattering across his bedroom floor, he can’t say he’s too fond of the scolding he inevitably gets afterwards. Anyway, the shirt comes off and so does your bra, leaving your tits in his face, tiny skirt on your hips. “Get up here,” he murmurs, ushering you up his body until your knees are pressing into the mattress right above his shoulders. 

If it was up to Jungkook, he would have just grabbed your hips and shoved his face against your pussy. Luckily, it’s not, and your common sense shines through just in time. “One sec,” you say, and then finally, finally, the blue panties come off. 

And then it’s just Jungkook and your glistening pussy. 

“Holy fuck,” he groans, taking the opportunity to wrap his arms around your thighs. You squeak when he pulls you closer, hand instinctively reaching for the front of your skirt to hold away from his face. The view from here is heavenly, just your swollen clit, gorgeous tits, and shy face. 

The muscles in your thighs are a little stiff. Or maybe you’re just nervous. Jungkook isn’t sure, all he knows is that it takes one encouraging tug for you to finally sit on his face. He doesn’t even register the surprised gasp that leaves your throat because he’s too busy tasting your pussy from an all new position. And it’s absolutely amazing. 

Something about the position, having you carefully poised above him, does something to Jungkook. He likes to think he knows your body inside and out, knows what makes you melt and what makes you scream. He knows just how to lap at your cunt until you’re cumming, and how many fingers it takes for you to really feel it. But it’s like having you in this position changes all of that, rearranges all the tidbits of information Jungkook has spent months collecting. 

(Jungkook is a meticulous man; he’s got a near perfect GPA right now that was the direct result of his carefully crafted note-taking techniques. Whether or not he abused the power of his perfectionist learning abilities to master the mechanisms of his girlfriend’s libido was no one's business but his own.) 

One kitten lick against your swollen pearl makes you buck forward, clit brushing against his nose. Jungkook can’t remember you ever doing that on the first lick. “O- oh my—,” you cry, all airy and whiny. Your hand is pressed to the wall behind his bed, the other bunching the front of your skirt just above your mound. He’s rather happy to learn that, just as he’d hypothesized, this position does give him a better view of you. 

He’s graced with the sight of your face, twisted up in pleasure. It’s the stereotypical eyes squeezed shut, lip caught between your teeth look. But there’s something different about it knowing that he’s gotten this reaction out of you with his mouth alone. 

Jungkook quickly repositions you over him, tugging you back until his tongue is lined up with the front of your slit. You’re so warm down here, make him feel like he’s drowning with your heady scent alone. Tentatively, he lets his tongue dip between your folds, the very tip nudging your swollen clit. A moan tears itself from your throat, the hand that had been flush against the wall suddenly jumping forward to bury itself in his hair. “Oh- oh, fuck,” you shiver, hips jolting forward once more. 

You taste good on his tongue, the arousal that coats your lips is sticky and sweet. When he laps his tongue along your folds, quivering hole to stiffened bud, you let out a sob that resonates deeply within Jungkook. And also Jungkook’s cock, which stirs beneath his trousers in excitement. What was once the focus of his mission, a quick handfuck to sedate himself before finishing his research paper, has long since been forgotten. It’s for the greater good, he tells himself, blinking up at you from between your thighs. 

Eye contact lasts for exactly three seconds before you’re looking away bashfully, the fist clutching at your skirt trembling against your tummy. You’re so fucking pretty, Jungkook’s heart can’t take it. 

And so he sets out on a mission to make you cum as soon as possible, abandoning his slow kitten licks in favor of suctioning his lips around your clit. “Kook,” you wail, tugging at his hair. Whether you do it purposely or not, Jungkook is a little shocked by how good the pain feels. It’s not an emotion he can ponder long, because then you’re using that same grip in his hair to tilt his head backwards, jerkily moving over him. 

It’s rough and sudden, the buck against his face, but Jungkook loves it. The drag of your pussy against his lips, the wet glide of your juices smearing across his chin and Cupid’s bow. It all feels so good, and the fact Jungkook is getting a front row seat to the absolutely torn look on your face is just the cherry on top. 

Jungkook has seen you make a lot of faces. He’s seen you shiver and drool as he nails you into your bed. He’s seen you sniffle and sob as he slowly fucks you in a rose petal filled bubble bath (a six month anniversary special planned by yours truly). He’s even seen your mirrored reflection fall apart as you bounced away on his lap in front of a mirror. 

He’s never seen you like this before. 

Needy and desperate, moaning his name softly, practically humping his face in your greed. Tiny skirt clutched against your waist, tits bouncing as you hurriedly grind against him. He has half the mind to burn this scene into his eyelids for the rest of his life. 

He’s given up on doing anything with his tongue, simply sticking it out for you to do as you wish. Normally, he’s not a huge fan of letting you do things yourself. After all, Jungkook was your boyfriend. Making you cum was his job. But you’re moving so fast, so frantic, in your mission to cum. So Jungkook sits back and lets you go to town on his mouth as a series of moans spill from your lips. 

And then something unforgivable happens. 

Jungkook will admit it: he’s staring at you almost a little too dreamily, heart eyes and all. He thinks you’re fucking hot, taste like heaven and have these absolutely delicious boobs bouncing up and down. He’s a little distracted by your glorious figure that he doesn’t notice one crucial bit of information. 

Your hand. 

The desperate need to cum has your muscles weakening, thighs moving at a latent pace, and, much to Jungkook’s horror, hands trembling. It’s your own pleasure that lets the unimaginable happen: your skirt flutters down. Your grip on it loosens and before Jungkook knows it, the sight of your pretty face and nice tits are gone, snatched away before his very eyes. Even your wet cunt is impossible to see, his world suddenly shrouded in darkness. 

Leave it to Jungkook to foil his own horny plan with, well, his horniness. If only he wasn’t so hopelessly in love with the image of you in skirts. Maybe then he could bask in the beauty that was you riding his face. 

He acts fast, reaching for the material before he can miss out on anything. But the angle is weird, and without Jungkook’s hands holding your hips, you’re left weakly rolling forward instead. And he’s not the only one frustrated with this turn of events, your face quickly returning to its normal composed form as you level him with a frown. “Everything okay?” you pant. 

Everything was not okay, but Jungkook isn’t sure how to tell you that without ruining this delicate moment. So he tries to show you with actions instead, releasing the skirt he’s got in his fist and letting it flutter over his face again. You giggle. “I told you so.” 

It takes more willpower than he’d like to admit to pull away from your wet folds, pulling off with a lewd sound that has you biting your lip as you gaze down at him. “I told you so,” he mimics, a little mean but you don’t take it to heart. “Hold your skirt up.” 

You hum, the grip on his hair loosening as you push away his dark locks instead. “Mmmm,” you hum. “No.”

“No?” he repeats, actually really scandalized. Okay, so he’s a little spoiled when it comes to you— it’s not his fault! You made him like this, conditioned him to think that you would always give into his every whim because you were just so sweet and considerate and wanted him to be happy. And Jungkook also wants you to be happy, and in his opinion, being happy right now means having him fuck your pretty brains out for ever getting sassy with him. 

“I don’t listen to men,” you tease, followed by a cute little nod, skin still a little warm from your looming orgasm. Jungkook takes advantage of your tiny moment of weakness, and strikes like a viper.

A girlish squeal leaves your lips, hands stretching outwards as he knocks you backwards onto the mattress. “Jungkook,” you gasp, sprawled out artfully, beautifully, over his sheets now. He doesn’t waste a second longer, crawling over your body until you’re a shivering mess beneath him. 

Hand against your throat, the other blindly reaching for the front of his sweatpants. “What is it, doll?” he drawls meanly, reveling in the way your eyes roll back when his newly-freed cock lands against your slit. A choked gasp leaves your throat, lashes fluttering wildly until Jungkook loosens his grip. 

You’ve done a nice job riling yourself up, lips squelching wet and loose when he runs the tip of his cock along them. Your knees are pulled up for him, spread perfectly for him to fit between. You’re so good for him, Jungkook feels a little bad for how hard he’s going to fuck you now. 

The sympathy doesn’t last long.  

Once upon a time, you had been the epitome of a cute and sweet girlfriend. Had picked him up from class, encouraged him to do his homework, wore these cute little skirts around campus. Deep down inside, Jungkook knew everyone else was jealous of him— you were just so pretty and cute, a girl straight out of everyone’s dreams. 

Until he sunk his horny claws into you. Jungkook will be the first to admit he spends a little too much time browsing porn sites— he’s a man, cut him some slack —which had never caused him any problems before. Even when the two of you were just friends (pining ones at that), you had never seemed even remotely affected by his extensive pornographical knowledge. It was a known fact among your friend group that Jungkook’s best friend was his right hand. 

But then, of course, you started dating Jungkook and it was like a save file of all his horniest fantasies was downloaded directly into your brain. Which leads him to this. 

“Spit in my mouth,” you shiver, got these huge, watery eyes pointed his way. His cock twitches. 

There’s a little groan that tears itself from his throat when he leans forward, cock sliding along your folds, to grasp your chin between his fingers. “Open,” he commands, and you do. Your lower lip quivers, tongue pressed against it as you wait for Jungkook to spit down your mouth. He can’t say he regrets letting you peek through his porn stash, not when it leads to this, you whimpering at the hot glob of saliva he shoots down your throat. “Filthy,” he pants, memorizing the movement of your throat when you swallow like the good girl you are. 

Before he can write another twelve sonnets about that dazed look on your face, he’s roughly grabbing at your thigh. You whine, limbs so pliant beneath his touch, letting him hike your knee over his forearm as he tugs you closer. “Fuck,” he groans, reaching down to align himself with your quivering hole. You’re still so wet, make the most lewd sound when he sinks into you. Not that Jungkook really hears it, the sound of your strained moans practically drowning everything else out. 

“Fuck,” you cry, one hand clutching at his forearm, the other toying with your breast. It’s a magnificent sight, and Jungkook is suddenly feeling a little cocky when he realizes he’s the only one who gets to see this. It’s this presumptuous nature that fuels the first round of thrusts into your cunt, fast and full. He makes sure you feel every inch of him, tip to base, as he pistons his hips forward. “J— Jungkook,” you pant, back arching beneath him. 

You take it so well, walls sucking him in every time he draws back out. “I’ve got you, doll,” he moans, hiking your leg further over his shoulder. Every roll of his hips has your tits bouncing back and forth, lower lip as well with the dopey, open-mouthed look you got on for him. And the damned skirt that got him here, fucking you with a punishing pace, sits perfectly around your waist. He has half the mind to take it off for you, briefly wonders if it hurts, but just looking at it reminds him of about thirty-seven pornos he’s seen. So it stays on, works alongside your lovestruck face to actively rewrite all those pornos anew with you starring in them instead. 

It sure helps when you start your usual mindless babbling. “I love you,” you gasp, face screwed up in pleasure. “I- I love you so much.” 

He’s contemplating doing a study on you and your weird mid-fuck confessions. You do this a lot, and while Jungkook doesn’t mind, it sure does leave him curious. “Love you too, baby,” he says anyway, repositioning his arms so he can hold your waist with both hands. 

“Really?” you ask, voice so whiny, eyes brimming with tears. From emotion or your need to cum, Jungkooks not sure. (Hence the need for a study!) 

Another brutal thrust that has you moaning loudly. “Really,” he reassures you, glancing down to watch his cock sink into your hole as he picks up the pace. Your arms are practically limbless, and his stomach is beginning to feel tight. The end was soon. “Love your pretty little face.”

Another whine, your fingers pulling at your pebbled nipples. “M- My pretty face?” you whimper, blink these long lashes up at him. They make Jungkook go a little mad, bring on a wave of jackhammer thrusts that cut your moans into choppy little cries instead. 

“Prettiest girl I know,” he groans, not once stopping the movement of his hips. You’re quivering like a leaf beneath him, your entire body locking up as Jungkook guides you toward orgasm. “A fucking doll, baby— so beautiful for me,” he praises. 

It’s exactly what you want to hear— secretly, Jungkook hypothesizes that you’re a little bit of an attention whore —crying out when he slows to a grind against you. Each roll of his hips has him rubbing over your swollen bud, leaves you trembling until you’re eventually unraveling beneath him. “Oh- Oh, fuck— Jungkook—“ you sob, writhing beneath him as you cream his cock. 

Your tits look amazing, nipples stiff from your arousal and all the attention you’d been giving them. Your features soften, gasps framed by your pillowy lips. As Jungkook has said before, your pretty face was the most dangerous weapon. 

He manages a few more pistons of his hips, mostly for reputation sake, before he’s eventually pulling out. His right hand, once the sole hero of his solo sessions, makes a valiant return now as he jacks himself off over you. It takes a few harsh pulls of his cock until he’s spurting his jizz over you, painting your tummy and your tits in white ribbons of cum. You flinch, a tiny whimper leaving your throat at the mess he makes. “Fuck,” he groans one last time. 

When it’s over, you have the audacity to shyly pull down the front of your skirt. As if your tits aren’t out and about, but Jungkook pretends he doesn’t see it. Instead, he channels his energy into peppering your face in kisses. “Best girl,” he praises, even though he knows you hate the nickname. “My beautiful feminist queen.” 

A pinch against his cheek. It hurts like hell, but he endures it for now, still very much in love with your performance today. “Get me a towel,” you huffily ask, uncomfortable with the jizz sticking to your tummy, as if he didn’t spit in your mouth a few minutes ago. 

His research paper is waiting for him at his desk, the materials he’d spent weeks collecting waiting to be typed up. But his girlfriend is so soft and sleepy, asking him to stay for another nap. 

There was never a choice.

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[jenxwp]

‘A Necessary Evil’ NZ script

Hey guys! We are finally up to the last episode of the Destiny-Quest-Necessary Evil arc, and boy, are we going out with a bang. Until I started reading through this script I didn’t realise how this story must have evolved! There are so many differences, so this post is going to be long.. #sorrynotsorry. 

No, honestly… clear your calendar for the day and grab a coffee because we are going for a ride.. but if you stick with me it will be WELL worth it. 🤯

So first off, a little bit about this script. This one is special to me because it was used on-set in New Zealand and I don’t have many like that. How do I know? The two ring binding on the left is the main give-away along with the fax detailing. The script has seen better days, but considering its 25 years old and been around New Zealand and made its way across the seas to Australia- I think it’s going good!

Who is Russell? Well that’s a mystery I have been trying to work out for many years. I have spoken to people who worked on set and it is still an enigma. 

At the top of each page you can see that the document was faxed from LA through to New Zealand on November 8th 1996. I have covered up the number- not sure if it’s still active, but I don’t know international numbers and better safe than sorry!

Interestingly, the shooting schedule for this episode was from November 26th to December 5th with 8 shooting days allocated. Whether this changed because of Lucy’s accident I am not sure, but these are the dates I have on my season 2 main unit production schedule. With this script, I am not sure if it is a final copy because it is annotated ‘2nd draft’. Scripts will go through many versions before the final, but I would have thought because the writers are in LA, only the final would have gone to NZ. But then again the script is dated November 22nd.. which is weeks AFTER it was faxed. Ok there is some voodoo shit going on here. AND if shooting was to begin on the 26th, SURELY it was finalised by the 22nd… but then again.. *I* am a last minute kinda gal so I can’t really judge.. and... Argh! Help! If anyone has a ‘shooting draft’ for this episode, please give me a shout-out- we can compare!

I have digressed. Alright, first up- the teaser. It is so different to what we end up with on screen:

Interestingly, instead of having the dialogue between Gabrielle and Ephiny regarding the ‘Amazon parades’, we have some friendly banter between Xena and Gabrielle about sleeping in late and sleeping in trees. It’s good light-hearted fun.

In the script, Velasca has a lot more meaty dialogue. Which to be honest, I am glad they reduced. Statements like “gift from the gods… to MAKE A GOD” is so much more powerful compared to what is written above. That’s my opinion, but it’s so interesting to read what was originally intended. There was also much more emphasis on Xena being injured in this initial battle which is brought up many times in this script.

The next scene after the intro is also so different to what we saw! I am just going to leave this here...

I have mixed feelings about this. I do feel like the conversation with Xena and Gabrielle is forced, and to be honest, what we got on screen was more genuine. Those two can convey more in one look than 5 pages of dialogue.

Moving on.. Callisto and her pet rat in the Labyrinth of the Gods!

Hear me out. I am glad this changed. I am one of those ones that enjoys Hercules. Let me make clear that I don’t like Sorbo… but I grew up watching the action back-2-back and I will still watch it on occasion. Xena is 10000% times better than Hercules, but I just love the entire WORLD that they create- X:WP, H:TLJ, and Young Hercules. So I like the seamless continuity.

This next one is interesting because this replaces the scene where the Amazons ‘offer’ up Ephiny at night time. I do like the original…

Next up is a bit more of an explanation why they are going in a hole to retrieve Callisto.. continuity.. heh 😄

BUT. I don’t like the implication that Gabrielle would leave Xena? I know it was in jest but I really just don’t think given the circumstances they would joke about that. Or am I being overly analytical?

Down into Callisto’s tomb…

I just wish we saw Xena break off a stalagmite… meanwhile we have Gabrielle and a rabbit up top.

(gifs from @aphroditexwp​)

‘Nuff said.

Next up we have a real change from the screen. In the script, Velasca destroys a temple to Demeter, not Artemis.

Artemis makes sense… goddess of the Amazons. Lets stick with the latter shall we?

Now this bit is good. In this script, the manner in which Xena tells the story of Cirra to the villagers and Callisto’s reaction is very different to what we see. Callisto is much more involved.

I would like to have seen how this played out. I greatly admire Hudson’s acting of Callisto because she is such a loose cannon. You never know how it will be portrayed. But that look she gives in the episode- that almost robotic moment; it just makes the scene for me and we would NEVER have got that with this dialogue. So is it greedy of me to want both?

So the scene in the ‘mountain arena’ (as I am going to dub it) isn’t too different, but since Callisto gets blown into pieces I feel it is worth visiting:

Following on from this, we also have SUCH a different campfire scene:

I have reservations about how good a ‘general’ Callisto would have been. I think she was much more impulsive and wouldn’t have sat around discussing tactics. She definitely wouldn’t have discussed things on the same level as Xena. I know these differences are dealt with in the scene but I really just don’t see it. I would love to know what others think of this because maybe I am bias… NOTHING could be beat the campfire scene between Gabrielle and Callisto.

I wasn’t going to include this next snippet because I know this post is already very long but… Chariot!!

Alright. Here we are. The penultimate fight. Buckle up. THIS IS SO DIFFERENT. Lets read:

… so XENA is the one on the rope bridge telling GABRIELLE to cut the ropes! AND SHE DOES! I am just shook.

Okay, final scene back in the Amazon village:

What do you prefer? The Wizard of Oz version or the ‘Less-Wizardy’?

I do really like the imagery of Velasca and Callisto imprisoned like flies in amber, but I am unsure if CGI at the time would have done it justice. The gutteral screams and laughs really get you in the feels in that closing scene. But from what I remember, I think there was intentions to have Velasca resurrected from the lava like Callisto was at some point. At least it was left open and I would have loved her return. Imagine if she came back after the 25-year time jump with no understanding of ANYTHING between Season 2 and Season 6. That would have been fun.

Alrighty guys, if you’re still with me, THANK YOU. Its been an epic one. You deserve a stiff drink.

Until next time xo

[verecunda]

WIP Meme

Tagged by @nocompromise-noregrets. Thankee, m’dear! I do like the gist of this one. It seems most therapeutic. XD

List the titles/filenames/descriptions of your WIPs and tell us a little bit about them/wail about them/beg for inspiration/whatever you want! Then tag some people for a no-obligation mutual wailing/cheering/complaining session!

Well, I’ve got two exchange assignments on the go (Chocolate Box and My Slashy Valentine), so I can’t really talk about them. Progress on both is rather... ahahahaha. XD As for the others...

Caranthir/Haleth - Yule

OH GOD IT WON’T END. WHY WON’T IT END?? I started writing it near the start of December and it’s still going. The original spark for this idea was just a short little exchange - Haleth explaining to Caranthir about the midwinter customs of the Haladin: lighting fires to encourage to sun to come back out of the dark, and getting a bit defensive, saying basically, “No doubt you think that sounds very twee.” To which Caranthir has a very vivid memory of the terror that gripped everyone at the Darkening of Valinor, and tells her in no uncertain terms that he thinks their customs are very reasonable. (Do the Elves of Middle-earth even know the nature of the sun and the moon at this point? They can probably guess Yavanna managed to salvage something from the Trees, but the Noldor were long gone before they were crafted.) Anyway, it kind of snowballed, and there’s been Yuletide feasting and dancing and heartfelt talks about family and loss etc, and at the last check-in they both had one too many and now they’ve Done It, and now they’re both wondering what might happen if she gets pregnant? could she get pregnant? can Eldar and Edain breed together? what would be the political ramifications if she got pregnant? (My H & C appear to be terminally practical like that!)

I just... I just wanted to write something short and fluffy and Christmassy, but now we’re halfway through January and I’ve still not finished the first draft. Just wait, I’ll end up posting this thing in like mid-July or something, because the fucker just WON’T END. 😫

Wherein the Worship of the Whole World Lies

(When in doubt, grub up a random Shakespeare quote for a title.) This is actually the first Angbang fic I started writing, back in *checks* October, but I’ve not actually made much progress beyond the halfway point. Mostly because from there it’s pretty much fierce dirtybadwrong smut, and my smut muse has apparently taken a sabbatical. (Which bodes well for my MSV assignment, which may well call for some sexytiems. >.>)

I have quite a few other Sauron-centric/Angbang pieces floating about my head: Melkor’s (not so) triumphant return to Angband, a possible follow-up to Beguiled by One, and a wee something about the crafting of Annatar. But since I’ve not written a word of them yet, they’re still nice mental images that aren’t giving me any trouble. :P

Legolas/Gimli - post-LOTR, Hobbit

A very exciting working title, I know. XD I wrote the beginning of this one last year, but I’m turning my attention back to it. Originally the idea was pretty simply: after LOTR, Legolas and Gimli go back to see their kin, and everyone is Scandalised™ by their relationship. Decidedly movie!verse, since I really want to have Gimli and Tauriel hitting it off right away, and Legolas being like “oh god, this is going to end so badly for me.” XD

But as I was thinking about it, I could see there was potential to explore lots of more emotional themes. Like Legolas seeing the damage done to Mirkwood during the battles there, and having a real heart to heart with his father about love and his place in the world etc. Then there’s the fact that Gimli will surely have to grieve for the death of Dáin, and he’ll also have to pass on the news about the loss of Balin and co. in Moria. I was throwing some ideas about with my sister the other day, and we agreed it would probably make for a better story if Legolas and Gimli aren’t an item at the beginning after all, but that all these other things help lead them to realise their true feelings.The idea is pretty irresistible, but… uh… there’s a lot of ground to cover, and it’ll almost certainly run into at least a few chapters, which… THIS IS WHY I ONLY WRITE ONE-SHOTS. I CANNOT DO PLOTS, I DO NOT DO PLOT, WHAT IS PLOT????

So, yeah, if anyone wants to hold my hand through this one, I’ll be very grateful indeed. X’D

That’s all for fanfiction. As far as original fiction goes:

Heartwood Abbey

The gothic ghost story thingy. Still redrafting this damn thing, though to be quite honest, I’ve not so much as glanced at it since before Christmas. >.> But I’d like to get it finally done and move on. My family keep going, “You should try to get it published!” which… lol, no. The entire thing is made of cliché and Easter eggs. That was always the point. I’ve had fun with it, it’s made me much more confident about my ability to see a story through to the end, and I’d like to make it the best I can before I draw a line under it. But just… lol, no.

The Votadini novel

Still in the research and planning stage for this one really, but I think I’ve got all the major plot threads sorted out. (Though that’ll undoubtedly change the minute I start writing in earnest. XD) As the title suggests, it’ll centre around the Votadini tribe of East Lothian and their place in that oh-so-volatile northern frontier of Roman Britain. I can’t help but feel there must have been quite a lot of times when their leaders felt that they were walking a very tricky tightrope, especially when war flared up between the Romans and the more northerly tribes. I’ve got a good idea of the main characters and all the various conflicts - but I still have no idea if that brooding Damnonii king actually has any bearing on things, or if he belongs in another story. Hopefully he’ll let me know soon. XD

I tag: @bryndeavour, @themalhambird, @di-daydreamer, @imakemywings, and anyone else who needs to scream a bit about their WIPs. :D

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Kiro’s Inspiration Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 灵感之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

An early birthday gift to the embodiment of sunshine, @moondusks​ :>

[ This date was released in CN on 7 December 2020 ]

A pleasantly warm and light breeze lifts the muslin curtains, bringing with it the fresh atmosphere of early winter.

Lemon yellow sunlight filters lazily through the trees, casting shadows on the window and carrying the scent of peppermint.

It’s an incomparably ordinary, and incomparably comfortable afternoon.

It’s very suitable for heading out and casting aside one’s cares - laying down on a grass patch, basking in the warm sunlight.

Or perhaps taking a stroll along the street, and sitting down in a cafe one has been longing to visit.

That’s what Kiro and I originally planned to do. 

However, the cruel reality is...

MC: Why does this proposal have to be done by next week ahhhh--

Kiro: Why can’t I write this song properly--

MC: Why do people need to be exploited by work--

Kiro: [sighs] And why are people constrained by inspiration--

Because of a sudden program, I have no choice but to work overtime.

And Kiro, who is about to record a new album, has remained dissatisfied towards the title track.

Due to the pressures of reality, we have to give up our original plans of having a fulfilling and happy date.

The both of us are working overtime at home.

Kiro: [groans] Farewell, my rosy weekend. Goodbye, my donuts and soup dumplings which have vanished into thin air.

MC: And brown sugar milk coffee, taro pies, and lava cakes...

Even though we sing the same tune, complaining dejectedly about not being able to go out, the both of us work non-stop on our tasks.

I can hear the crisp sound of Kiro tapping his pen rhythmically against the music stand. Occasionally, his soft humming can also be heard.

Seeing him working hard and struggling with himself, the corners of my lips lift upwards.

Even though we’re unable to head outside to do something interesting, it isn’t a bad thing to be together at home like this, channelling effort into our differing goals.

In some way, this should also count as a type of date.

I smile, adjusting my posture on the bean bag so that it’s more comfortable for typing, then continue immersing myself in the battle against the program proposal.

-

The proposal I’m working on is extremely urgent, and has to be settled by next week. 

Not only that, but this sudden program has an importance accompanied by a non-proportional preparation timing.

And during such a period of high stress, the goddess of inspiration, who typically shows concern for me, has gone on a faraway vacation, and has  completely vanished.

I have trouble writing. When I completely lose my train of thought, I exchange helpless glances with the few words on the screen.

In the end, I give up and pause the hands which have been maltreating the keyboard, preparing to pour myself a glass of water, and attempt to change my mood.

Lifting my head, I subconsciously glance in Kiro’s direction.

The curtains separate the room from sunlight, casting Kiro in a faint shadow as he leans against the window while composing a song.

Busy writing the new song, he hasn’t had time to maintain the state of his hair. 

Finding stray hairs a hindrance as they block his vision, Kiro holds a rubber band in his mouth, combing his hair to the back, and ties it into a small ponytail.

Those azure eyes stare at the music score in concentration. They are as clear and bright as always, but lack the flash of light he usually has when inspiration strikes.

Reference materials and abandoned drafts are scattered all over, which seem to isolate him on a higher platform which I’m unable to reach.

Completely engrossed in creating his work, even his languid sitting posture exudes a cold and lonely feeling for some reason.

For a moment, I feel slightly dazed.

Kiro: Let me guess. Is Miss Chips lacking inspiration, and having trouble writing the proposal?

Kiro suddenly removes his earplugs, turning his head to look at me. 

He shows me a brilliant smile, and the room is once again filled with sunlight.

MC: How did you know? 

He stands up as well, stretching himself, turning back into the him that I’m most familiar with.

It’s as though the him of just a few seconds ago was simply an illusion surfacing from work-induced stress.

Kiro: Hmm... since just now, the sound of your keyboard has been intermittent, unlike how smooth it usually is.

While he speaks, Kiro walks to the snack cabinet and rifles through it carefully, as though he’s a small squirrel searching for a pine cone from the hole of a tree in winter.

Kiro: So I thought - Miss Chips is probably just like me, entering a bottleneck at work.

He splits the low-fat and sugar-free healthy snack into half, placing it into my hand.

Kiro: A little reward for the hardworking you. Now, do you feel more motivated?

MC: It sounds quite embarrassing... but I don’t think I can work any harder.

I munch on the snack which gives me absolutely no happiness, saying this with a sullen expression.

MC: The presentation is next week, but I still have no idea how to go about writing the proposal. Right now, I just want to turn into an ostrich and curl up into a ball, avoiding the presentation meeting in a few days... and also avoiding my unmotivated self.

I turn the laptop towards him, letting him see the lonely and piteous 235 words in the document.

MC: I even want to knock on my brain forcefully, checking to see if new ideas will appear.

Kiro: Hmm... I see...

Kiro curls his finger, tapping it gently against my forehead. He leans closer to my ear and asks a question.

Kiro: Nice to meet you, Miss Chips’ inspiration. May I know if you’re at home?

Following his action, I close my eyes and sense it carefully.

After a short silence, I furrow my brows and lift my head, looking at him bitterly.

MC: Hello, the user you’re calling is not in service...

Kiro reaches out to rub the area between my eyebrows, smoothening out the creases on my face.

After ensuring that I’m no longer a “bun”, he sighs, laying down next to me.

[Note] Chinese buns (包子 - “bao zi”)  look like this i.e. they look like wrinkles:

Kiro: [sighs] Actually, I’m the same as you. There’s a song I especially wish to write, and I really like the concept and composition. I want to try writing a song on understanding and interpreting the theme of “love” from my own perspective.

He pauses, lifting his fringe with a wry smile. After give it a forceful rub, he causes his originally tidy hairstyle to become fuzzy.

Kiro: But no matter how I change it, I’m not satisfied. I keep feeling as though something is missing from the music. There’s no soul.

I untie the string, using a hand to smoothen his hair, helping him tie it up properly again.

MC: Whether it’s “My Treasure” or the song we wrote together last Christmas, aren’t they very incredible? They’re tender and sweet - it’s as though they can be sung into the hearts of every listener, enabling them to recollect the best memories.

Kiro: That won’t do.

Kiro flips over and sits up, his eyes serious.

Kiro: Those songs write about us. They write about you. I have several thousand ways to write about how adorable you are, but I don’t know which timbre I should use to face myself.

Not realising how potent his words are in causing one to blush, Kiro sighs once again after speaking, laying back down.

Kiro: [sighs] Looks like this time, we’ve both chosen subjects which are very difficult for us.

-

Kiro: Since we’ve both sunk into a major crisis--

Kiro: Want to try Kiro’s special, secret recipe and see if it can sort out our thinking?

Kiro shoots me a wink.

MC: Sure. Do I need to do anything?

Kiro: At this stage, all you have to do is sit here.

While Kiro speaks, he picks up the abandoned drafts he had casually thrown on the floor earlier, using them to enclose us within a square frame.

Kiro: This is the thinking box that we’re trying to escape from.

He sets down the final sheet of paper, completing this “box”, his tone light.

Kiro: Right now, we’re both locked in it.

MC: In that case, will the superhero help me break this box, so we can have a breakthrough together?

Kiro: Nope. 

Kiro steps out of the square frame made out of drafts, reaching out to seize Cello, who is sleeping soundly on the cat climbing shelf. Then, he places it in my arms.

Cello: Meow?

Kiro nods in satisfaction, then jogs over to the kitchen, bringing over some fruits.

Under the confused gaze of both me and Cello, he makes several trips in and out, bringing over soft cushions, comfortable blankets, and two cups of sugar-free hot chocolate.

Finally, Kiro shifts another bean bag over, and sits down beside me.

Kiro: I’m incredibly sorry to tell you that even a superhero can’t find a way to jump out of this box.

Somewhat pleased with himself, he takes me into his arms with one hand, letting me lean on him.

Kiro: But at the very least, I can keep you company in this box. And together, we can see what exactly in this box has left us so bewildered that we’re unable to get out even after such a long time. 

As he speaks, he tousles Cello’s fuzzy head, and it releases a comfortable meow.

Kiro: We can also decorate it a little, so the box is more comfortable. 

MC: Pfft...

I can’t help but laugh. The sense of dejectedness due to work earlier seems to be cleared up with his actions.

I reach out, pointing at a corner of the ceiling in a joking manner. 

MC: See that? Over there, there’s an MC who just can’t write a proposal, and she’s currently curled up and for waiting for mushrooms to sprout on her... I don’t know how to deal with it.

Kiro nods in understanding, pointing at a corner of the room.

Kiro: Ladies and gentlemen, look here. Here is a Kiro whose inspiration is stuck, and is currently drawing circles. 

MC: When you put it like that, it sounds pretty cute...

While he speaks, I more or less understand why Kiro went to such trouble to do this.

Kiro: That’s right. To me, whether it’s that ostrich-like MC, or that MC who has mushrooms growing on her, I want to hug all of them properly.

Kiro: And then tell her solemnly - that you’re already very amazing. Even if you don’t think you’re good enough, I still like you very much.

Kiro: Just as much as a little bear in winter liking the warm blue sky and green grass.

As he speaks, he tightens his grip on my hand, leaning his chin on top of my head.

Surrounding me are soft blankets and cushions. In my arms is a cat which has gone back to sleep.

Behind me, Kiro’s body temperature and scent encase me tenderly, making me feel so contented that I want to release a joyful sound together with Cello.

I close my eyes in happiness, nuzzling the crook of Kiro’s neck.

The things that were bothering me just a second ago, weighing me down with stress and emotions and leaving me unable to breathe, vanish like smoke and disperse like clouds.

It’s as though I’ve awakened from an incredibly long nightmare, discovering that sunlight is illuminating my surroundings, and that a cup of hot chocolate is waiting at the bedside.

MC: Kiro, why do you always know of such ingenious methods?

I lift my head to look at him, gazing at that blue colour which seeps into one’s heart, and the golden colour traced by sunlight.

Our foreheads lean against each other, and he smiles as he responds.

Kiro: You were the one who taught me these things. Why are you asking me instead?

MC: Me? 

Kiro: Last time, there were numerous occasions when I felt I couldn’t create works that were good enough, and I’d start to doubt myself. I’d lock myself in a corner, and start having internal fights with myself. 

Along with his words, it’s as though I see the Kiro I was barely acquainted with back then, and how he had endured several days and nights of work.

He had locked himself up in a room, helpless and frantic, not leaving any space for himself to breathe. 

Kiro: But during those times, you were always by my side. You told me that no matter how I was, you’d like me all the same. 

As he speaks, he taps on my laptop. 

Kiro: Actually, it’s the same today. 

Kiro: Don’t just look at how I appear now. Actually, I’m in a terrible state. 

Kiro: On one hand, I’m forcing myself to finish this work quickly. On the other hand, I’m so irritated and annoyed at myself, who lacks creativity. 

Kiro: There were many times when I wanted to just give up. 

Kiro: But...

He lifts a strand of my hair, twirling it around his fingertip. In the end, he pulls it to his lips, giving it a gentle kiss.

Kiro: Each time I heard your intermittent yet continuous typing sounds, I’d tell myself that next to me, you’re still working hard. 

Kiro: My Miss Chips is also feeling perplexed, but she’s still persevering in work. 

Kiro: So I told myself - how could I give up before you did?

Kiro: I must definitely persevere a little longer, so you see how dashing I am. 

Kiro relates this softly at my ear. His tone, which harbours a smile, sounds as though he’s depicting a treasure.

I indulge myself in his arms, greedily enjoying the present tranquility and warm atmosphere for a while longer.

I always feel that Kiro is a star whenever I go off course. He always illuminates the pathway, pointing the way forward for me. 

Actually, without even realising it, it’s because we’ve seen each others’ light that we could press on.

Encouraging each other, and feeling the way forward in the darkness. 

Until we break through the predicament together.

MC: Thank you, my superhero. I think I’ve regained the ability to fight a little more.

A soft chuckle brushes my ear. Then, a warm and gentle touch is planted on my lower jaw. 

Reminiscent of the whiskers of a kitten brushing past, spreading into a plain of sweetness.

Kiro: At your service anytime, my Miss Chips.

-

With that, Kiro and I sit in the “box” together, resuming our work. 

He lays on the ground, scribbling and drawing on the music sheet, while I hug the laptop to myself, working hard to squeeze out a proposal.

The typing sounds on the laptop remain intermittent as before, but no longer have the sense of repression and frustration from earlier.

With his presence, I actually manage to complete a draft of the proposal without realising it. 

It isn’t excellent, and there are many areas which require editing. Nevertheless, I’ve already tided over the most difficult period.

I move my neck and shoulders, then shift a little closer to Kiro.

Same as before, Kiro is wholly absorbed in the music sheet in his hands.

Even though I can’t tell his current progress, based on his expression and posture, he should be the same as me, breaking free from the lowest point of production.

I observe him quietly for a long time. In the end, my playfulness triumphs, and I think of pulling a tiny prank on him.

Lifting Kiro’s right hand, I burrow into his arms. 

MC: Surprise~

Probably not expecting me to do this, Kiro is left dumbfounded. However, he subconsciously props himself up and hugs me. 

Kiro: Miss Chips?

MC: A little reward for the hardworking musician.

Saying this, I tilt my head upwards and give him a light peck on the chin.

My sudden attack and the closing of distance between us enables me to successfully capture the faint redness on Kiro’s face.

Kiro: ...mm, how’s your proposal doing?

MC: At the moment, there are positive prospects.

Just like this, I wrap my arms around his neck, tousling his soft, golden coloured hair.

Because of my action, the ponytail is now in disarray.

I simply hook my fingers underneath Kiro’s rubber band, untying it, feeling the softness of his hair in between my fingers.

MC: How’s your song doing?

Kiro: At the moment, there are positive prospects.

He mimics my words, inserting one earplug into my ear.

A somewhat rough demo occupies my hearing.

I close my eyes, immersed in the music he has given to me. My fingers twirl the wire of the earpiece, tracing the rhythm.

Kiro: Although it isn’t done yet, the overall main key won’t change.

It’s a somewhat slow tune.

It's quiet, and even brings with it a heavy and melancholic melody. It’s reminiscent of a self-reflection, and also like a careful recount.

Kiro: Even though this tune is a little sombre, I still wrote it. 

Kiro: Because I know you’d definitely say that you like such songs too.

MC: Of course.

I say this with certainty. He smiles and lowers his head, the tips of our noses gently touching.

MC: Kiro, I came across a saying once.

MC: The process of writing a song is actually a writer’s conversation with himself.

MC: Although I don’t know what you said to yourself, if this melody is your answer, I like it very much.

Our drifting breaths channel a temperature slightly higher than the sunlight.

MC: Including these slightly heavy portions - I like them very much.

Saying this, I crinkle my eyes, humming along with the melody from the earpiece.

Kiro releases a sigh, hugging me tightly.

Kiro: [sighs] Why does this song become so sweet when you hum it? 

Before I can respond, Kiro continues. 

Kiro: [laughs] It must be because MC is a jar of honey.

He nods with force, seeming to be very satisfied with this answer. Then, it’s as though something occurs to him, and he plants a kiss on my forehead. 

Kiro: See? It’s very sweet.

MC: What...

I laugh, pretending to push at his chest.

MC: Looks like I have to stay a little further away from you next time, so you won’t become overweight.

Kiro: Hehe, it’s already too late! My feelings come in large portions, so it’s too late to say that.

Kiro presses me against the woollen blanket, embracing me with even more strength than before.

Kiro: Miss Chips has already been firmly held onto by me.

Kiro: I’ll leave a stamp.

While he says this, he nibbles the side of my neck half-jokingly, and half-declaratory.

He doesn’t use strength, but the electric-like sensation makes me forget how to breathe for a moment. 

The charmingly tepid air leaves my cheeks burning crimson.

Kiro’s hug is tight, yet very careful. It’s as though he’s embracing the one and only treasure in the entire world. 

MC: It’s not like I can really run away...

Not minding my soft mumbling, another kiss descends on the shell of my ear, as though seeking a confirmation.

His breaths lift up strands of stray hair near my ear. They brush against my earlobe, as scorching as his lips.

Kiro: MC, I’m actually timid and a little childish.

Kiro buries his head in my shoulder, speaking softly.

Kiro: When it comes to things I don’t like, I’ll always think of hiding them and locking them up. I won’t see them, and I won’t let other people see them.

Kiro: But if it’s you...

I secretly take a few deep breaths, cradling his face a little stiffly yet carefully, tilting my head upwards. 

MC: Thank you for trusting me.

Kiro: ...

Kiro’s eyes widen slightly, and his lips part and close. It’s as though he wants to say something, but returns to a blank.

At the end of a short silence, Kiro speaks solemnly. 

Kiro: I’ll definitely finish this song. 

He lowers his voice slightly. Even though this sentence is as light as a feather, I know that he’s as serious as making a vow. 

Kiro: I’ll definitely finish this song, and sing various versions of myself to you in the future.

Kiro: Even the parts which are heavier, and the parts I’m unwilling to face myself.

MC: Mm. I’ll definitely listen earnestly.

Following the trail of his spine, I stroke his back lightly, giving him my promise.

Kiro: I know. 

Kiro: It’s precisely because no matter what melody it is, you’ll definitely sing it into a song akin to honey.

Kiro: Which is why I have such courage. 

I no longer speak, only giving him a serious nod.

Both his breathing and heart beats can be heard, regular and steady.

Kiro: Since we’ve reached an agreement, should I leave another stamp?

Kiro’s voice is once again light-hearted, even carrying with it a twinge of slyness. 

MC: Wait! The most important thing now should be noting down the hard-earned inspiration before it goes away!

I grip several music sheets at the side, pressing them against his chest, attempting to flee from his arms.

MC: Get to work quickly!

Kiro: Why are you like this?

Kiro pouts, showing me his signature, puppy-eyed expression of dejection.

MC: I won’t be duped by your gaze again. I’m going to become a merciless supervisor, so you can finish your work before the deadline!

Seeing that his plan has been foiled, Kiro simply gives up “pretending”. With a smile, he grips my struggling wrist, pressing it to the side. 

MC: Where’s your professionalism? Could it...

A prolonged kiss seals up the words I haven’t spoken.

Kiro: It’s exactly because of my professionalism that I can say with certainty...

Kiro smiles, his sapphire-like eyes radiating an azure colour even more eye-catching than the clear skies of winter.

Perhaps he hasn’t realised it himself, but he looks at me with the most burning and clear gaze, sticking out the tip of his tongue. Like a dragonfly flitting across water, he wets his lower lip.

Kiro: Before my inspiration vanishes, there’s still time to act coquettishly with my favourite Miss Chips.

-

Phone calls: First // Second

[annabethy]

here we mark the price of freedom

in which Percy and Annabeth meet in World War II, and they learn that freedom comes at a price,, percabeth 10k

December 22, 1941

Percy is sitting on the ground outside, watching as other soldiers surrounding him mess around. It is rather cold outside, but the people around him have smiles on their faces, and it warms his heart from the icy fear that he has felt for the past few weeks.

A pack of food is in his hands, but he makes no move to eat it. He doesn’t think that he could eat even if he tried — maybe everyone else could dismiss the things going on, the things that they would soon have to face, but he couldn’t. They were here for a reason, after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. This war was not going to be smooth sailing, and though he doesn’t know how it’s going to go, he knows he’s not going to like how this ends.

He’s going to come out broken or dead. He doesn’t know which one is the better option.

Percy glances back towards the barracks, contemplating heading inside for the night. He is so tired that he could curl up on the ground and fall asleep like that, but he can hear the noise and complaints from here, and he decides against it.

It’s hours spent like that, staring off into the sky, before the sun begins to settle slightly. The wind blows here in the Pacific theater, and he is well aware that he needs to head inside soon before he gets in trouble for stepping out of line. Nightfall is the prime time for attack, but he stays anyways. Just a little bit longer.

Percy finally rips open the military dinner, and the packet of M&Ms that falls out brings him a memory of his mother. She was probably worried sick, not knowing where he was anymore. He thumbs the wrapper, giving himself a chance to miss her, before he settles it beside him and decides to eat his dinner. He chews in silence, only a few stray people still out in the winter air, just thinking. It was all he ever did anymore, thinking. He wishes he could shut off his brain sometimes, like the other soldiers were able to do.

He blinks in surprise as someone slides onto the log next to him. He doesn’t make immediate eye contact, in fear of who this person was, if they were here to purposely torment him, to make his eyes fill with fury.

Instead, when he shoots a glance their way, he sees a head of blonde hair. He still doesn’t make direct eye contact, and that is when this person hangs their head into his vision, looking up at him with a smirk.

“Hello?” the girl says, a teasing tone to his voice. “Anyone home?”

Percy gives her a scolding look, but he’s so confused that it doesn’t have much effect other than making the girl laugh out loud. He decides he likes her laugh, so smooth and melodic, a laugh he can get used to.

“Are you okay?” she asks. She rips open a pack identical to Percy’s and pulls out her own food, choosing to nibble on the edge of a soft granola bar.

“Are you?” is all he can say, still blinking at her with curiosity. “Why are you over here?”

She looks around before glancing back at him and shrugging in mock neutrality. “Am I not allowed to be over here, or something?”

“I— do I know you?”

“You’re great at making friends. Has anyone told you that?”

“Now you’re making fun of me.”

“Only a little bit,” she agrees. Percy looks her in the eyes, and his breath catches on her striking grey eyes. She’s beautiful, and Percy begins to wonder why she was here, in such a dangerous mess. “You looked like you could use company.”

“So you’re giving me pity,” he says.

“If you want to call it that, then sure. I didn’t want to be alone either, though.”

“A match made in heaven, then,” Percy says. “Now do you want to tell me what you really wanted?”

“Well,” she starts, waving around her granola bar. Her hair is in her face, blowing in the wind. Her clothes are a little baggy and dirty, but he can’t blame her. He doesn’t look any better. “I had to eat dinner, and I saw you over here by yourself and thought, ‘why don’t I eat with him?’”

“You were supposed to eat before sundown.”

“I could say the same for you, Percy.”

Percy starts, an unfamiliar bubbling in his stomach. “You know my name,” he states.

“Everyone here knows your name,” she answers. “You’re very well known. From the way this conversation is going, I can’t imagine why.”

Percy can’t help the slight grin. “Well, now you’re just not giving me a chance. You caught me off guard is all.”

“Off guard is apparently when you look best,” she says, leaning forwards to whisper in his ear. When she speaks, he can feel her hot breath on his ear. “People think you’re attractive. All the girls in my barracks won’t shut up about it.”

“I had no idea I was such a popular soldier.”

“You have to give them a break, though,” she says, munching down on another bite of her food. “Chances are that a good portion of us are going to be dead once this war ends. We all just want to live while we still can.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

The sun has settled more now, and she is with the moonlight shining down on her, illuminating her golden curls. Percy has to swallow before he can speak. “Are you just trying to live while you still can?”

“Of course,” she says. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Talking to me?”

“Yes, but…” She gestures broadly to the distance around them. “That’s why I’m here. I’m going to die eventually, but I’m not afraid of death, so… I want to live. Do something with my life. Maybe save a few lives while I’m at it. Really get the chance to live, you know?”

“I get that,” Percy says.

“Is that why you’re here?”

“God, no,” Percy breathes. “I was drafted.”

“Oh,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s life, I guess. When has this country ever been fair?”

“That’s not talk I’d ever hear come from an American soldier.”

“Yeah, well, this soldier life isn’t exactly the most entertaining.” He snorts. “I think you may be the first real conversation I’ve had since I’ve left.”

“That’s depressing,” she says, setting her food to the ground. She picks up his packet of M&Ms, and her jaw falls open. “Of course you’d get the good candy.”

Percy is oddly endeared by her as she twirls it between her fingers, grey eyes analyzing every detail of the wrapper. “You can have it,” he finds himself saying.

Her eyes meet his and a flash of thanks passes over them. She positions her fingers on the paper to rip them open, but she pauses. “Are you sure you don’t want them?”

“I’m sure,” he says. Eating them now would probably make him sad anyways as he remembered his mom. It’s worth it when she tears it open and pops one in her mouth, a soft smile taking over her face.

“It tastes like back home,” she explains. “My brother and I used to take turns trying to steal bits of chocolate from a bakery.”

“Where are you from?” he asks.

“San Francisco,” she says.

Percy has never been, but there’s something about this girl that makes him wish he had.

“How about you?”

“New York,” he says. “Just another boring city.”

“Boring?” She raises an eyebrow. “You, Percy Jackson, are anything but boring.”

It takes him a moment, but he realizes that he still doesn’t know her name. She’s breathtaking, especially now that he can barely see anything except the shadows of her face, and he desperately needs to know her name. He wants to feel her name on his tongue, rolling over the letters, feel how it sounded in his throat, in his own ears.

“I hardly think it’s fair that you seem to know everything about me,” he says. “Why don’t you tell me a little bit more about yourself?”

“I’m not all that interesting. You’re much nicer to discuss.”

Percy leans forwards. “Come on. Humor me.”

She smiles, and his heart skips a beat. “I’m Annabeth.”

It starts like this.

Read more on AO3

[broadstbroskis]

five times you shared a bed with your best friend plus one time you didn’t | matthew tkachuk

lol so @slimskjei-dy requested the prompt 16. We’ve been sharing a bed since we were little so why is this weird now? from a list i put out a couple days ago to write blurbs for and this spiraled out of control, so here’s nearly 4k.

one

The Tkachuk’s move into the house next door to your family the summer before you start preschool and at the ripe age of three, you are too young to have any idea what going with your mom to drop off “welcome to the neighborhood” brownies is going to mean for your future.

Really, it likely has more to do with the fact that “welcome to the neighborhood” brownies turned into a glass of “welcome to the neighborhood” wine between your mom and Chantal Tkachuk, which turned into a bottle of wine while you and Matthew played in the backyard with Brady’s chubby little baby legs trying his hardest to keep up. 

By the time Keith arrived home from a midday skate session, with your dad awkwardly following behind, babbling about how your mom had just planned on dropping something off quickly but was still missing, their friendship was basically cemented. Chantal and your mom did everything together. And your dads’ friendship didn’t take long to form after that. 

Which meant you and Matty were right there with them.

But neither of you cared. You’d settled quickly into a friendship, just like your parents had, where you’d play hockey with him and he’d begrudgingly play soccer with you, and you both pretended you had no idea what Brady was talking about when he ran to tattle that you were ganging up on him and not letting him play.

There’s countless pictures of the two of you growing up, getting into all kinds of trouble, but then also, of the quieter moments too. Sitting too close to the TV watching movies, eagerly waiting by the door for Keith to come home from a road trip with souvenirs, the naps curled up around each other in one of your beds. 

“The quietest twenty minutes of the day.” Keith continues to joke, anytime one of those pictures resurfaces.

two

You wince at the sound of glass crashing behind you and decide the best course of action is to keep moving forward with your mission to find Matthew. Whichever hockey bro of Matthew’s house this is can take care of that; it’s not your job.

Besides, the room is spinning from the cheap beer and booze you’d been drinking all night since the two of you arrived at this party, and you’re pretty sure it’s a bad idea to go near glass.

You find Matthew in the kitchen, with a few of his St. Louis hockey bros, a couple of them guys that you’re still friends with even after he’d left to go join the NTDP, as well as a few faces you don’t recognize. You slip up into their circle, sliding under Matty’s arm when it lifts to wrap around your shoulders, grateful for the solid body to lean against.

The room is really starting to spin.

“You okay?” He asks, ignoring whoever’s speaking.

“I don’t think I can go home tonight.” You admit.

He laughs. “Text your mom and tell her you’re staying with me. Big Walt and Chantal are at a tourney with Brady and Taryn; nobody’s home.”

“You don’t think she knows your parents aren’t home?” You scoff, but you’re already pulling out your phone and carefully drafting the text, making sure to avoid any spelling errors that might give your drunkenness away.

“Yeah, but she can’t prove what she hasn’t seen.” Matty winks at you and you roll your eyes.

“Is that what you told your mom after you left her a three minute voicemail at 3am last month?” You chirp at him, smiling at the instant laughter from the friends around you and accepting a fist bump from Luke Kunin.

That line of chirping continues for a few minutes, until Matty manages to turn it around on one of the boys, and then it dissolves into a free for all before they’re all just laughing at each other.

By the time the giggling ends, you’re about three seconds away from falling asleep on Matt’s shoulder, and it’s his nudge that wakes you. “You ready?” You nod, joining him in making goodbyes to your friends, and then following him out the door to begin the walk back toward your houses.

The fresh air does some good to sober you up and you feel marginally less dizzy by the time you and Matt make it to his room. He throws you a t-shirt to change into and you fall into bed after changing, waiting for him to join you, eyes shutting the second you feel the bed settle beside you.

three

The night before Matty’s due to leave for Buffalo for the draft, your phone buzzes with a text from him. You’re expecting more of the same that you’ve been exchanging all day with him-in various group chats with your friends, at a barbeque with both your families, when the two of you were chatting with Brady while you hid in the far corner with the beers you snuck while Taryn and your sister were off doing their thing.

It’s not. Let me in the text says, so you shove the blankets down and make your way downstairs to open the door for him.

“Shh.” You tell him. “They’re all asleep.”

“It’s 3am, of course they are!” He whispers back.

“Well so was I until you woke me up!” You start walking back toward your room, knowing he’ll follow.

Matthew doesn’t speak again until the two of you are in your room, the door is closed, and he’s lying on his side to face you in your bed. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“You can’t possibly be nervous.” You whisper back, knowing he’s talking about the draft. He shrugs and you reach your hand out to shove his shoulder down, allowing it to rest there. “Matty.” He blinks at you a few times as you think of what to say next. “You’re gonna go somewhere and you’re going to be great. One of these teams is going to love you enough to draft you and everyone after them is going to be mad they didn’t have the chance to and almost everyone before them is going to be mad they didn’t end up picking you and you’re going to go off to whatever city does and forget all about me back here.”

Matthew wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him so you move your hand from the top of his shoulder around to rub at the blade gently. “First of all, that’ll never happen. You’re stuck with me forever.”

You nod seriously. “Somebody’s got to put up with you.”

He pokes you in the side for that one and you have to bite your lip to keep in the squeal of laughter. “Second of all, almost? Almost everyone is going to me mad they didn’t pick me?”

“Leafs got first pick to get Auston! I just don’t think they’re going to regret that!” He pokes you again and you don’t manage to hide the squeal this time. “Matty! Everyone’s sleeping!”

“You should be nicer to me.” He tells you, once you settle down.

“I should be nicer to you? You wake me up at 3am to talk you off the ledge and I should be nicer to you?”

He nods, pulling you even closer to bury his face in your hair. “Always.”

You laugh, the sound muffled into his chest now. “Are we all good now?”

“Hmm?” He says, sounding sleepy already.

“Never mind.” You tell him, rubbing his back again. “Good night, Matty.”

“G’night.”

four

Calgary is a thousand times more incredible than you’d ever imagined. You’d been teasing Matty about being stuck in a frozen wasteland, sending him snaps from sunny gamedays at Mizzou and laughing anytime you get one in return with snow in the picture.

There’s snow on the ground when you arrive in December, fresh out of finals, and still feeling both the mental exhaustion from your exams and the hangover from a day of binge drinking with your friends immediately after they’d ended. You’ll never fly hungover again; the next time you do this, you’ll leave yourself a day of rest between exams and flying up to visit your best friend, since you know you won’t stop drinking earlier.

College is making you smarter already!

Matthew actually laughs when he meets you in the pick up lane, like puts his head on the steering wheel and has to hold off on driving. He gets honked at by the car behind him. “Your laugh is making my headache worse.” You whine.

“So I take it you don’t want the bottle of wine I bought for us to split tonight?”

You look over at him suspiciously. “What kind of wine?”

He laughs again, but softer this time. “Atta girl.”

It’s a red blend, a favorite of the two of you, but a much nicer one than you’ve ever bought before. You let out a low whistle as Matthew places the order for dinner. “Suddenly you’ve got some cash flow and Barefoot’s too good?”

“Hell yeah! Wait until you see what kind of vodka I got for us for Saturday.”

You perk up. “What’s on Saturday?”

“Party with the team before my parents come in.”

You laugh, accepting the glass of wine he pours for you. “You don’t think Big Walt would want to come to the party?”

Matty gives you a look. “I know that’s exactly what would happen and that’s why I told them to come Sunday.”

“Smart thinking.” You admit.

“See, who needs college?” He teases, which settles the two of you into your familiar teasing and banter while you wait for the food to arrive. 

It isn’t too long after dinner and Netflix that you and Matthew are heading to bed, pressing yourself as close as you can to suck up as much warmth that he’s radiating. “Fuck, your feet are cold.” Matty mutters as you giggle and press your toes into his calf.

“Haven’t you missed me?” You sling your leg over his for maximal toe digging, laughing when he jumps.

“I guess.” He says, but his tone says Absolutely.

five

“So what are your plans for after graduation?”Ashley, Sean Monahan’s girlfriend (and soon-to-be fiancee if Matty was to be believed) looks at you during a stoppage of play late in the third.

“God, don’t remind me.” You groan. You’d wrapped the fall semester of your senior year a couple days ago and then taken off to Calgary in what had become your annual post-finals trip. It’d be the last one you ever took, with your final semester of college looming over your head. 

Ashley grins. She’d become a close friend of yours over all your trips to visit Matthew, even flying down to St. Louis last season when the Flames were in town and spending a weekend with some of the other girls visiting you at school afterwards. “Just come hang out up here forever.”

You burst into laughter. “And live where?”

She gives you a look, like it’s the most obvious thing ever. “With Matt?”

“Oh my god, you’re serious.” It takes a full minute for you to recover. Play has resumed, there’s a minor scrum on the ice in front of the two of you but you barely even notice, too shocked by Ashley’s words.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because why would I ever?”

“Because you already do.” She says, with more patience than you’ve possessed in your entire life combined, and then laughs at the look on your face. “YN, what you two have is so special! To fall in love with your best friend at age three and still feel that way is amazing! If Sean and I can look at each the way you and Matt do after twenty years, we could only be so lucky.”

“We’re not in love.” You deny. “Matty and I-we’re just-we’re not.”

Ashley bites her lip, but doesn’t push it any further. “Alright.” She agrees, and thankfully, the game ends there, so you’re able to just gather your things with her and make your way down toward the family room to meet the boys.

But you can’t get her words out of your head as you and Matthew arrive back to his place and start getting ready to go to bed. You move around each other with a practiced ease, handing him the toothpaste before he even asks for it and accepting the oversized sweatshirt he passes to you, somehow knowing that you’re extra chilly tonight. 

Lying next to him in bed, the same way you have for nearly twenty years, suddenly feels suffocating. You roll onto your side, hoping for some room to breath, but now it just feels awkward; this isn’t how you sleep.

You sit up, ditching the sweatshirt. Maybe you’re just too warm. Lying back and pulling the covers back up does nothing to solve that problem, and actually, you’re shivering, so you sit back up and yank the sweatshirt back on.

“Could you settle down?” Matty mumbles, pulling you into his side the second that you’re flat again. His arm rests on your waist, thumb in the dip of your hip, a position it’s been in many times, but suddenly you think you’re having trouble breathing. You open your mouth to tell him this, but he presses a kiss to your temple and says, “Relax, just sleep.”

You don’t sleep a wink the entire night.

plus one

“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Dylan, a good friend of both yours and Matthew’s, is usually one of the most upbeat people you know, so the sound of disappointment coming throughout your phone actually makes you wince. “YN?”

“I just-” You hesitate. You’d have to leave right now in order to get to St. Louis in time to make the Skills Competitions, and even then you might be pushing it, and things were still weird for you with Matty, as evidenced by how things were between the two of you when he came home for his short Christmas break. And things were weird. Everyone noticed- your families, your friends, Matthew. The two of you had spoken only once since, in the group chat where Matthew had texted an invite to your group chat to come home for the weekend for the All Star Weekend and you’d noncommittally responded wow that’d be awesome. “I’m super busy.” You finish lamely.

Dylan sighs. “Look, YN, I don’t know what the fuck is going on between you and Matt and I don’t really care. It’s not my business. But I know he’d really want you there no matter what’s going on and I know you’ll regret not going if you don’t.”

You close your eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. He’s right. “I’ll see you in a few hours, Dyl.”

“Hell yeah,” Dylan cheers.

By the time you make it to St. Louis, you have to race to meet your friends in your seats and the cheer they send up is poorly timed, but it does make you smile. “Shitty seats.” You accept the bottle of Bud Light someone passes you.

Dylan laughs and points up to the giant platform next to you guys. “He’s going to be shooting from there in a while.”

“Alright.” You nod. “I guess this is acceptable then.”

It’s a good while before Matty and the rest of the guys participating in the Shooting Stars event start making their way up, but it’s nice to catch up with your other friends while you wait. If you got a big cheer when you rolled in, the one that goes up when Matthew walks by is deafening (and boostered by the friends of Brady’s that are sitting right behind you guys). The two of them look over at you guys, grinning already, and you see it in Matthew’s face when he spots you, the smirk softening a little and his eyes locking on you.

You’d read about moments where time stands still but it’d never actually happened to you until now. It’s like the crowd doesn’t exist around you, like you don’t actually need to breathe. The only thing that matters is the moment in time when your eyes meet Matty’s. 

And that moment’s broken by Brady shoving him forward. 

As you watch Matthew throughout the entirety of the last event, you know you’re screwed. You’ll get through this weekend, go back to school, and get over these thoughts by the time summer comes. Everything will be back to normal by the time you see Matty again.

In the meantime, you do your best to avoid him once the Skills Competition ends and you join everyone at the after party on the rooftop bar of the hotel. It’s easier than you think it would be to do. When Matty’s talking with some of your local friends, you find yourself catching up with both sets of your parents. When he starts making his way toward your parents, you excuse yourself to the bathroom. You see him make a beeline towards the bar, so you dart off in the opposite direction, where Brady is talking with a couple of his Atlantic Division teammates and push yourself in between the height of him and Auston Matthews, which seems like a safe spot to hide.

“YN!” Auston grins, throwing his hands up in the air, in a drunken greeting that you’d love to be more lowkey.

You reach up and grab them, yanking them down. “Listen, I know it’s been a while since we’ve last hung out and all, and I know from the way you talk and dress and everything about you that this is a hard thing for you to comprehend, but I’m really going to need some subtlety from you.” Next to him, Mitch and Freddie burst into laughter. “Down low, boo. Down low.”

Auston is laughing as well and you remember that while the times you’ve spent with him have been few and far between, unable to visit Matthew as frequently during his time with the NTDP as you have been in Calgary, they’ve certainly been memorable...so moments like this are unshocking to him, to say the least.

They don’t even faze Brady, who’d grown up with both you and Matthew, and is merely looking at you with an entirely too familiar smirk and a raised brow. “What’s the subtlety for, YN?”

“Fuck off, Brady.” You flip your middle finger up at him quickly but it’s just enough time for the entire group of hockey players around you to pounce. You really should have known better.

“I knew something was up!” Auston grins.

“Nothing’s up.” You deny, very poorly.

“Really?” Brady grins. “‘Cause Matt’s like right there.” He points. “On his way here. So I guess if nothing’s wrong, you can-” He starts immediately laughing when you shove your way out of them.

You think you manage to lose your best friend by pushing through a large group of players and family from the Metro and Central divisions and throwing yourself out the door to the outdoor patio, which is mostly empty, despite the unseasonably warm winter St. Louis has been experiencing. You can see Brady, Auston, and Quinn laughing together through the glass door, but Matty’s nowhere to be found, and you sit down on the closest bench, taking a minute to just breathe.

“You gotta tell me what I did.” The voice scares you, but it shouldn’t, because you really should have known better than to think that Matty wouldn’t be able to find you.

When you look over at Matty on the bench beside you, you can’t think of another time he’s looked this devastated. Maybe that semi-final loss in World Juniors? Maybe? It’s all over his face and you can’t just leave him like this any longer. “It’s not you.” You tell him, holding back tears. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it!” Matthew says, frustratedly.

“You can’t fix it!” You sniffle, trying to scoot away from him, to give yourself some distance, and feeling the tears start to fall when he closes that space again. “You can’t go back and stop Ashley from making me realize that I’m in love with you, okay? So you can’t fix this and I just-I need some time, Matty! Okay? I need some time!”

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” He breathes, like he’s only just recovered the ability to talk, which, he might have, and you tilt your head to meet his eyes, which puts you in a perfect position considering he’s already leaning toward you.

Matthew fumbles for a second, his hand reaching for your cheek and catching your ear instead with you turning, but he recovers quickly, stroking gently down the side of your face. You gasp, the kiss entirely unexpected, and Matty takes the opportunity to tug on your lip gently before pulling away and you let out a whimper at the loss of contact.

He smirks.

“Don’t be smug.” You shove at his shoulder.

“Don’t be stupid.” He repeats, pulling you closer. “How could you ever think I wouldn’t be in love with you?”

“I didn’t want to ruin us.” You tell him softly. “But I am willing to concede I was wrong.”

Matty grins. “Sure were. Can do this anytime I want now.” He kisses you again, leaving you just as breathless as before.

You suppose, at some point, that’ll start to wear off, but as the two of you trade lazy kisses on the rooftop, you can’t imagine that point ever coming. This is perfection, this is the piece of your relationship you didn’t even know was missing coming together, this is-

-Brady knocking on the window?

What?

You blink again, realizing where you’re at. Still on the rooftop bench, with your arm wrapped around Matty’s neck, your legs draped over his lap, and your face tucked into his shoulder. Matthew’s arms are wrapped around your waist, holding you close, and his head rests on top of yours. Somehow still asleep through all the banging Brady’s been doing. 

“Matty.” You poke him awake.

“What?” He groans, sitting up.

“Brady.” Matthew looks over at the window, where Brady is still gesturing that it’s time to leave, with a very smug grin on his face.  Matthew lifts one hand off your waist to flip his brother off, allowing you to climb off. 

“You couldn’t have answered any of the texts we sent you?” Brady asks, once you step inside, but he doesn’t sound annoyed at all, still looking between the two of you with the biggest grin on his face.

Matthew shrugs. “Must have fallen asleep.”

“Bullshit.”

“You just saw us!”

Brady rolls his eyes, knowingly. “Just kiss her already.”

Matty grins. “Gladly.” And then he’s pressing a heated kiss against your lips, looping his arm around your waist, and it’s all you can do to grip his arm with one hand to keep yourself standing and flip off the crowd around you with your other as whoever’s left at this after party burst into applause and wolf-whistles.

[omniswords]

Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 15

new year, new chapter c: it's been a while since i've worked on Chronicles—December Mood dips are Not Delicious, plus i started streaming regularly, which has been fun! ((i’m omnistruck on Twitch if you want to check it out 🥰) but rest assured i intend to see it through to the end. i hope you've been well <3 take care, and enjoy!

From: itsdjbubbles

My dude, if your stage presence is anything like this flyer, y’all are absolutely gonna kill it at La Tortue.

Well. Luka doesn’t know about that.

It’s not like Kitty Section is totally obscure. They’ve had a stage in Paris’s annual pop-up music festival or more than one occasion. And sometimes Juleka’s tagged along to street corners with him so they could duet in hopes of more than just pocket change. And, of course, there was that whole music contest with Bob Ross and XY, but that had only ended in fiasco: their music was stolen, Rose’s vocals ripped right off the track. Luka argued up and down over the phone until he was red in the face, nearly biked down to the studio and let them have it, but he could hardly prove it. And he cared too much about it jeopardizing Juleka’s happiness to follow through.

Total corporate bullshit. He didn’t know how Jagged Stone did it. When he said so at dinner the night he gave up, his Ma only tousled his hair and said, “You’re my boy, aren’t you?”

Sometimes he thinks that’s the strongest, bravest, he’s ever been. That all his audacity peaked years ago, and he’s only gotten worse since then.

Bubbles isn’t corporate bullshit. Luka feels like he’d be able to figure out something like that from conversation alone. But their talks have been friendly—and more than that, supportive. He’s even shown a few messages to the band, just to check that he wasn’t losing his mind. And he saw how their faces softened in approval, or lit up with excitement. Even Juleka’s.

Besides, Bubbles makes music. And when he samples something, he actually credits it. He knows how to play the game. And it feels like they’re on the same side of the board.

Bubbles has that stage presence; the fact that he only needs that one shadowy picture on his profile is more than enough of an indicator. And Bubbles has a reputation that precedes him. So even if they’re on the same side of the board, it feels like Bubbles is always just a couple of steps ahead.

At least his bandmates are on the same side, and at the same step. All it took was a casual mention, during a late-night band practice, of “the bakery he keeps getting their snacks from” being all in on getting them even more exposure. They didn’t exactly do a good job of hiding their excitement, but he wouldn’t have wanted them to, anyway. Even Juleka, after practice ended, had to admit, “You did good.” And then, with perhaps a bit more snark, “Maybe she’s the one trying to impress you. “

“Stop,” Luka said with a roll of his eyes, but he couldn’t help thinking about it once the partition between their beds was up. There was no way Marinette Dupain-Cheng was trying to impress him.

…Was there?

By now, nearly a day later, Luka’s still asking himself that. Still hemming and hawing like they have more than just two weeks to get their act together. Pacing below deck with his phone in his hand, thinking about pear tarts and pretty faces instead of going to see them in person, and staring at Marinette’s phone numbers until he thinks he’s accidentally memorized both of them.

He doesn’t recognize the pattern or the area code of one of them, so he can only assume that it's an American number. But he still hasn’t mucked up the courage to text or even save the French one in his phone. Why does he need to be scared in the first place? It’s a phone number, and this is strictly business, and everything between them has been strictly business.

Well. Nearly everything. Nearly strictly.

He thinks.

Okay. Okay. All he has to do is say… what? Hi? Who just starts texting someone for the first time with “Hi?” But he can’t go writing a whole essay either, even though at least now he has the power to edit his words instead of just saying them and hoping for the best.

This is harder than it needs to be. And yeah, maybe he’s just making it harder than it needs to be, but it’s not like his brain and the shake in his hands are giving him much of a choice in the matter.

Luka switches back over to his message thread with Bubbles and shoots off a quick reply—flatterer—because maybe answering something easy will make the hard stuff more tolerable. He finds himself looking toward his guitar as though it might lend him strength… well, what the hell. It couldn’t hurt. He plays a doodle or two, idle notes, and catches himself before his fingers can drift toward the beginning of the ocean-blue song. At this point, it’s neither perfect nor good, and he can’t tell if it’s personal dissatisfaction or the numbers that the latest draft has been doing online.

Both. It’s probably both.

Messaging Marinette ends up being just as hard after his attempts at centering as it was before—because as it turns out, the whole music-giving-him-unbridled-confidence thing really only works while he’s playing it. So now he’s left still staring at the blank NEW MESSAGE screen, the cursor blinking almost tauntingly at him because of course it is. Because somehow, he can write a note telling a girl her eyes are pretty and survive long enough to see her smile about it, but he can’t send that same girl a text. It’s not like he can even see her reaction this time, anyway; that just gives him even more of an advantage.

Okay. Okay. He can actually do this. Maybe. He thinks—no, no, he has to.

With a deep breath that he holds longer than he releases, Luka opens a new message.

To: Marinette hey. it’s luka.

And like an idiot, he hits SEND before he’s even put the rest of his message together. So now he has to make a mad dash to come up with something so he doesn’t seem like a total creep for messaging her out of the blue.

For fuck’s sake. This is exactly why he writes his messages in the notes first.

To: Marinette sorry, hit send before i could finish. anyway, just wanted to tell you the band is cool with the postcard idea. i can pay you next time i come to the bakery, if that’s cool.

To: Marinette anyway, it’s really cool of you to offer your help like this. sorry if i didn’t say so yesterday, it’s kind of been... a wild time.

Luka locks his phone before he can agonize too much over what he’s sent, stuffs it away and starts pacing again. It’s not a frantic, shaky thing; no, he’s learned to keep the shakes on the inside until no one’s around to see them. He jumps when his back pocket vibrates, and he nearly drops his phone trying to fish it out. It’s only Bubbles, and he can’t tell whether he’s relieved or disappointed until his phone buzzes again. Twice. And this time, it actually is from Marinette.

From: itsdjbubbles Sorry, I was getting some stuff ready for my next project. Listen, I’m just saying. Don’t sell yourself short as this stuff. Paris is gonna hear you up there, and it’s gonna lose its collective fucking mind.

From: Marinette hi luka ☺️ no worries, i do that too sometimes. here’s the mockup for the postcard. let me know what your band thinks, i’ll do some tweaks and send it to print. sound good?

Luka balks, both at the tone of the message and at the picture she sent. It looks almost exactly like the flyer, same color scheme and everything. The only difference seems to be in the composition, which makes sense; she’s got more of the eye for this stuff, even for someone who only “dabbles.”

To: Marinette wow, this is... thank you? that was fast. and this is really well put-together. i think they’re gonna love it.

you really weren’t kidding, huh.

Luka finds himself sinking onto his bed and staring at the message thread instead of actually doing something productive. And strangely, he’s fine with that. The more time passes, the less scary it is to see her typing back, again and again and again.

From: Marinette course i wasn’t kidding. “help” is practically my middle name to the people who matter.

and i mean, there’s only a little bit of time until your show, right? so, gotta get movin.

anyway, i gotta run. my friend needs help for his summer class and i promised i’d go visit today.

Keep me posted about your band!

♥️

There is far too much in that message for Luka to need to process. “People who matter?” “Keep me posted?” The literal heart emoji at the end? He reads their messages over and over, mostly to confirm that this really, actually just happened, but he’s not going to push his luck. Maybe she just talks to everyone like that, and more importantly, the two of them haven’t been much more than a series of transactions anyway.

A... lot of transactions.

That she’s been doing a lot of giving for.

Luka tries and at least sort of succeeds at shaking the thought from his mind; he can’t read hers, and he shouldn’t try to. He sends her one last text—cool, have a good one—and switches back to Bubbles before he can worry if his words were too casual.

To: itsdjbubbles Thanks for the vote of confidence. I guess you’re not the only one? the bakery I go to, they’re offering to help too.

or, I mean, CBG is offering to help.

Bubbles’s reply doesn’t come until a few hours later. It’s presumably after that project work he mentioned, and definitely after Luka’s had some time to play out the rest of the shakes before he goes busking. His phone buzzes with the notification just as he’s about to leave, and what Bubbles has to say makes his stomach churn and his blood run both hot and cold.

From: itsdjbubbles wait. wait wait wait. hold on i just scrolled your posts.

CBG is *Marinette Dupain-Cheng?*

ohhhhhhh my dude you are in for it now.

[ahiddenpath]

End of Year Thoughts/New Year Thoughts

2021 feels lost to me in a way that...  Honestly, I think no other year has before.  It feel baffling to try to look back, and difficult to look forward.  I very much doubt I’m alone in this uncomfortable sensation, lol!  

Read on for some old year/new year thoughts.

I remember 2020, watching the death count rise, feeling shocked, afraid, mourning the numbers.  I don’t remember when I grew numb to it.  Point is, 2020 isn’t a blank in my mind, although what I do remember is...  Scary?  Awful?  Like, it was Bad Times, but-

I, uh, I don’t really remember 2021?????  It’s December?  It must have happened?  Uh, yikes.  I can tell you a few things:

I got together with friends for a getaway in August- we met at an isolated beach house, one of three buildings on a peninsula.  It was wonderful to see them, but kind of a weird vacation, lol!  Not much to do, and it was a bajillion degrees in mosquito hell.

I had a tough time at work- I covered for a direct coworker for about six weeks total for covid reasons (he lost school and daycare due to outbreaks or had to quarantine himself several times).  I basically covered a maternity leave, lol, except it was broken up, unpredictable, and the work was never scaled down to accommodate for someone being out.  Basically, it was a rough year at work, and I will unfortunately have to look for a new place soon.  It’s not making sense to stay where I am.

Um, I must have done some writing?  That feels like so long ago...  Was this the year I brought back Four Years?  Yes, it looks like I raised it from the dead in January 2021.  I published Ladybug House this year, and I posted a few chapters of Tri: Integrity Lens, too.  This is actually...  A lot of updates!  Wow.  Of course, I’ve been working on Puits d’Amour in the background, too.  I think I did some drawing, too?  Definitely a few Four Years profiles.  I still need to do Mimi and Matt.  Am I doing Hana?

Man, I just can’t tell you much about 2021.  I should look ahead, but...  I don’t really know...  What to expect in 2022.  It sounds like I want a new job.  As far as things I know for sure, I want to feel more healthy.  My health was a mess from mid November on.  Did I tell you guys about it?  My back started convulsing during my period in mid November, and it threw my back out for the week that I was supposed to be off and playing.  I spent it in pain instead, and I couldn’t get any medical help- everyone said they were full up and tried to direct me to another kind of doctor.  Honestly, it was scary and frustrating.  It made me feel like I’m on my own for medical needs, so, uh...  I had best take care of my body.

So my biggest goal is to... try to be healthier.  I’ve gained weight since the pandemic started, I haven’t been exercising or eating well lately, and I physically feel the impact.  I feel intimidated, though, because I need to job hunt, and that’s always been awful.  

Hmm...  I think, as the pandemic drags on...  The weight of it increases.  I don’t go out just for the heck of it anymore, because there’s a risk there.  Someone said to me that the only thing we leave the house for these days is work, and like-  Oh.  Oh.  Shit, dude.  You’re right.  The strain, the fatigue, the internalized anxiety and tension has to be common.

So...  Take care of myself.  That’s it, that’s the goal.  Eat the foods that are good for the body.  Exercise.  Sleep.  Rest.  Fill my cup- which means creating.  I don’t care how much I create, just that doing so helps take care of me.  I’d like to read a few books on my list, too, starting with Fire and Hemlock by Diana Wynne Jones.

As for what, I’ve been working on Puits d’Amour every day!  Currently, there is at least a first draft for 12 updates, and I’ve done a ton of editing on the first three.  At two updates per month, that will take me through half the year- but it isn’t ready yet.  I’ll be editing and drawing for it in January, and I hope to publish in February.  I haven’t thought beyond that, although I have been thinking of working on a fantasy story starring Koushiro and Yamato, set in The Elder Scrolls universe...  Maybe for Nanowrimo 2022?  My goal would be to strip it to its key components and write it all in November, but boy howdy, have I said that before and been extremely wrong.

I haven’t touched tarot in months.  I should do year end and new year spreads!  Maybe I’ll share those.

I hope you’re all doing well.  Good health and happiness to you in the new year, my friends.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Have you seen the post going around about the zoom class with one guy and his full streamer setup vs the guy whose just in the middle of the woods? I know you have a prompt list rn but I’m just saying there’s a sternclay fic in there somewhere...

It is! Here you go!

Life is better with order. Or, at the very least, with some attempt at patterns, organization, or consistency. 

Which is why Stern has carefully arranged his desk, his chair, and his equipment in the background. Streaming as a hobby and a side hustle means he has some (okay, a lot) of practice making his digital self look just right. He needs to make a good impression on the first day of the semester.

Unlike some people. 

“Holy shit man, are you in the woods?” Duck, the guy in a “Monongahela National Forest” shirt, grins as he asks this of another student whose screen consists of a forest clearing, a log, and the name “Barclay.”

“Yeah. Hang on, lemme finish getting the phone balanced.”

“Dude, that’s like, way better than my background” this comes from Jake, in front of a poorly rendered half-pipe. 

“Can’t really take credit for it, just where I ended up.” Barclay sits down, and Stern gets his first look at a man so tall he barely fits in the frame, with a short, coppery beard and an honest-to-god man-bun.

Damn west coast schools. 

“How is your battery going to last long enough for class?” Stern leans back in his chair, certain Barclay will have “battery trouble” halfway through as an excuse to cut out early.

Barclay smiles, lifting up a small green and black rectangle, “solar battery. Not everyone needs fancy gadgets for school.” He aims a pointed stare at Sterns set-up. 

“It’s important to have the right equipment.”

“Whatever you say, man.” He lifts a cup of iced coffee into the frame, sipping it through a straw. It’s the picture of relaxation, as if nothing is wrong in the world. As if this is all totally normal. 

Stern wants to reach through the  screen and slap some sense into him. Preferably while he’s shirtless.

He chalks that thought up to not having gotten laid since last December and pulls up his note taking software as Professor Chicane enters the room.

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

Private Chat 9/20/20

Duck (he/him): I timed it, we’re already at ten minutes of arguing.

Indrid (he/him): I know Ned enjoys their demonstrating the different modes of rhetoric, but this is a bit extreme.

Duck: To be fair, Joe does seem kinda uptight.

Indrid: Yes, but Barclay should know by now that zeroing in on him during our practice debates only results in this.

Duck: Yeah. Oh shit, are they for real wrapping up you think?

Indrid: We can only hope. Skype me tonight?

Duck: Of course, sugar.

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

What is Joseph’s problem? He’s got a set-up that would make a pro-vlogger jealous, what looks to be a well-lit apartment with some houseplants and the kind of coffee-cups that are weirdly lacking in personality. His clothes are immaculate, his hair slicked back as if he;s in a business meeting rather than an online class in the midst of a chaotic world. So why is he acting like everything is terrible? And why is he always arguing with Barclay, when there are plenty of other people in the class to disagree with?

“Now” Mr. Chicane’s voice booms through the tiny speaker on his phone, “if you all had a chance to read over the instructions, we will begin the first mock debate. Do we have any volunteers?”

He and Joe raise their hands at the same time. Mr. Chicane raises an eyebrow.

“While I appreciate your eagerness, gentlemen, I would like two other volunteers this time.”

That’s fine by him. It’s not like he likes listening to Joseph get all wound up and passionate, making everyone on the call sit up and take notice of him. It’s not as if he enjoys being the center of his focus. 

Nope, not at all.

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

Private chat 10/11/20

Jake (he/him): Dudes, did you see who got paired up on the final project?

Aubrey (she/her): Chicane must be getting them back for all the times they’ve hijacked discussions. 

Duck (he/him): Man, for their sake I hope it works out.

Indrid (he/him): This is going to be a disaster.

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

“Are you out of your mind!” Stern is talking before Barclay’s video is fully on. 

“Nope. And you don’t have to yell, my speaker works just fine.”

“You’re outside, for all I know there’s a ton of ambient noise.”

Barclay, phone obviously in his hand as he walks through the trees, groans.

“And don’t try to derail this; how can you possibly suggest I come out there so we can do the project in person? We’re supposed to be limiting travel and gatherings.”

“Look, Joseph, we both agree that trying to generate our own cryptid hoax is the best way to demonstrate all the techniques Ned wants us too, right?”

“Yes” he hides his answer behind the rim of his coffee mug. 

“We’ll do a way better job if we work in the same space. And if it makes you feel any better, I haven’t had any human contact in three weeks; all quarantined up, unlike whatever you’ve been doing in the city.”

He sets the mug down with a thunk, “I haven’t been out in a month. And before that was only for one grocery run and a hospital visit.”

“Uhhh-”

“I cut my hand cooking. So. Yeah.”

Literal crickets chirp, courtesy of Barclay’s end of the line, as the silence stretches on.

“If it helps, it’s real easy to stay isolated here, and I’ve still got utilities and everything.”

“And you’re not subsisting only on MREs or granola or something?”

A deep chuckle, the kind that makes his skin prickle, “Nope. That much I can promise.”

Stern glances around the studio apartment, clean and empty. 

“What’s your address?”

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

Look, all Stern is going to say is that he’s seen and read plenty of stories that start with a cabin in the woods and none of them end well. Which is why he’s still sitting in his car, parked beside a beat-up Subaru, rather than knocking on the door. 

Breathe in, five counts. Out for four. Repeat four times. 

Waiting for him on the door is a note.

Joseph,

Key under mat, make yourself at home. 

Barclay. 

He brings in his bags (a matching set of three, a gift from his aunt last year), placing them in the tiny guest room. It’s not much more than a bed, a dresser, and a tiny table. But there’s a heating unit below the window looking out into the woods, which is pretty pleasant. He’ll be keeping the blinds closed at night, though; he hates the thought of something being able to look in. 

Stern’s busy evaluating the laundry closet when the front door opens. 

“Hey, glad you found the place okay.”

Barclay stands in the doorway, a basket full of fruit in one hand. He’s remarkably kempt for a man living in the woods and that, combined with the deep voice being even richer in person and the fact Stern has to actually look up to meet his eyes, has him stumbling for words. 

“Your directions were very thorough. Thank you. Um. I put my things in there, should I, um-”

“I can give you the grand tour.” The taller man sets the basket on the dining table, notices Sterns puzzled expression “there’s a piece of property about a mile thataway that has orchards they don’t really use. They let me come and pick whenever i want, less for them to clean up.”

Barclay keeps up a steady monologue as he shows him the cabin. The lower level is the living room and dining area, a kitchen which leads onto the back deck, Sterns room, and a bathroom. As the cabin is A-frame, the upstairs is Barclay’s room, all dark wood and pine colored plaid. It’s as Barclay is telling him about the woodpecker that sometimes nests in the eaves that he realizes why he’s talking so much.

He’s nervous. 

Neither of their nerves improve when he gets to his last point of order. 

“Uh, so, the bathroom downstairs is only a half-bath.”

“So...if I want to shower, which I do, I have to come up here.”

“Yeah.” Barclay scratches the back of his neck, “sorry. I don’t, like, sleep naked or anything so we should be fine.”

“Disappointing.” Stern sighs, only to sail past sarcastic and land face first in sincere. 

Barclay blushes, then shrugs, “Trust me, after the first night, you’ll see why.”

Stern does. He’s warm as long as he’s in bed, but the moment he ventures into the bathroom in the middle of the night he’s cocooned in cold. 

The morning brings cinnamon and coffee on the draft coming under the door. He plods into the kitchen in search of caffeine, finds Barclay in an pron, the counter covered in trays of dough. 

“Morning!”

“Morning. Coffee-”

“Right there, sugar and stuff’s in the cabinet above it, cream and such is in the fridge.”

Blessedly, there’s heavy cream to be found, and soon he’s sipping from an enamel mug emblazoned with a UFO made of veggies. 

“Is this all for your job?” Barclay mentioned he was a cook during an icebreaker. 

“Yep. Way it works is I bust my ass baking once or twice a day, and Thacker, who works with Mama at the Lodge in town, comes and takes them over there. Normally I’d just be there but, well, y’know.”

“Everything is on fire? Figuratively, I mean.”

“Sometimes literally too, but yeah.”

As he’s turning to grab his clothes and head showerward, Barclay adds, “You a scone man, coffecake man, or a cinnamon roll man?”

“Coffeecake?” It comes out hesitant. 

“There’s no right answer, man.” Barclay sounds amused, “what do you want?”

“Cake, definitely.”

“Cool. I’ll save you a slice.”

Once he’s showered and on the wi-fi, his day runs like normal; one lecture, reading, a research paper, his initial half of their project, and working either his copy-editing or transcription job in between, and planning his next stream. Barclay comes and goes, stops now and then to see if he needs anything, leaves a sandwich in front of him around dinner time. Then it’s time to crawl under the covers and dream of a less-stressful world. 

The next day, just before one, Barclay taps him on the shoulder. 

“Ready for class?”

“Yes…” He gestures to his laptop and notebook. 

“C’mon, join me out here, it’s way nicer, and we can share the phone.”

“Barclay, it’s  a nonsensical way to attend class, just stay in here with me! Even this set-up has to be better than the woods.”

“This set up. You mean my house?” All the friendliness leaves hi voice. 

“Yes. Look, I agreed to come out because you’re right, if we want to ace this thing that’s worth sixty percent of our grade, this is the place to do it; I don’t have to go along with the whole self-sufficient woodsman aesthetic while I’m here. “

“Yeah, I’d say you’re pretty far from self-sufficient. See you in class.” 

Stern stews through the entire session, but where he’d usually find something Barclay says to latch onto, he instead gnaws on himself. Why didn’t he just go with him? Why snap at someone who’s been nothing but nice since he got here?

Whatever the answer, how can he fix it?

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

Barclay tromps back through the twilight, done with his second class of the day. If Joseph is in the main house, he plans to ignore him until tomorrow morning. That all goes out the window with the clank of dishes from the kitchen. 

Peering in reveals the other man bent over, pulling a casserole from the oven. He waits to announce his presence until Joseph is out of the danger zone, enjoying the view as he does. 

“Smells good.”

Blue eyes flick over to him as Joseph opens drawers, “it’s mostly cheese and chips, so I’m not surprised.”

“Servers are in that one.”

“Thank you. Nacho pie?” He scoops some into a bowl, holding it out. 

“Sure. Uh, look, Joseph I-”

Joseph holds up the server, “Wait. Before you apologize I, um, I wanted to say I’m sorry for my comments. And for being so...me-ish.” He sighs, staring at the utensil in his grip, “I’ve always been a little bit tense, tried to be polite and effective and friendly in spite of it. The last six months made that harder to do. I don’t love it when I can’t be organized, when normal systems go out of place. But that’s no excuse for being rude to you, even before you invited me here. You’re just so...you’re always so calm and relaxed, like nothing was wrong and I just honed in on that way more than made sense. I’m sorry.”

“If it makes you feel better, I kinda did the same thing. You’re always so put together, it looked like you had this organized life in the midst of this whole shitstorm. I feel lik everything is slipping away, like my world is just this cabin. I mean, I assumed you were seeing friends in the city, while I haven’t seen Mama in person since April. So” he sets the bowl down, rests his hand on Joseph’s shoulder, “I’m sorry too.”

Joseph laughs, softly, “turns out we both had failures of imagination, huh?”

“Yeah” he runs a hand over Joseph's back, “now come on, this dinner’s not gonna eat itself.”

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

“You sure you don’t wanna wear the bigfoot costume?”

“Positive. Besides, it suits you.” Joseph finishes styling the fur on the head of the costume to look more realistic, “I just hope we get this done before that storm comes in; as mush as the rain would add to the mood of the scene, that’ll be hell to dry and you’ll be miserable. So, go lurk over there while I finish up getting the camera settings where they need to be.”

“Yes sir” Barclay pops the head on, leaves crunching as moves to his appointed tree. He smiles as he watches Joseph fiddle with the camera; things have been so much better between them these last two weeks. They trade off cooking dinner, study side by side, and watch movies or play games in the warmth of the heater. They have a similar sense of humor and taste in books, and are tidy to boot.   Joseph’s even come with him to listen to lectures in the woods, the pair sharing a thermos of coffee under the astonished gaze of their classmates. There’s just one problem. 

Barclay’s buried crush is now blooming in every direction. Animated, argumentative Joseph was attractive. Joseph, in all his moods and mannerisms, is devastatingly enchanting. He’s come close to telling him this, but the other man is his guest and also only here for another two and a half weeks, so a confession is setting himself up for heartbreak at worst and awkwardness at best. 

He almost blew it last night when they were washing dishes (Joseph scrubs, Barclay dries and puts away). 

“Last one.”

“Thanks, blue eyes.”

“What was that?”

“Uh, blue eyes? Like a, uh, a nickname?”

Joseph laughs, “Sounds like something from a Raymond Chandler book. I like it.”

On the plus side, if Joseph thinks it’s just a nickname and not a pet name, maybe Barclay can keep using it.

“Are you ready?’

He sticks up a hairy thumb and calls, “you know it, blue eyes.”

That same laugh as Joseph takes up his position. Maybe it’s the weird film over the costume’s eyes, but Barclay swears he sees a blush.

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

Stern trawls through the search results. Their video is getting some traction, with two cryptid hunter sites claiming it’s credible footage. He’s making note of how the information spread, which threads lead to belief and which to doubt, when Barclay calls from upstairs. 

“Joseph? Little help?”

The other man is in the bathroom, and when Stern knocks he says, “Think the pilot light on the water heater went out again, all I’m getting is cold water. Can you go relight it?”

“Sure.” He gets to the stairs then, stops, “where’s the key to that closet?”

“Huh? Oh, shit, right, hang on” Barclay says at the same time as Stern’s “don’t worry, I can find it.” 

Which is why the instant he turns back into the bedroom is the same instant Barclay steps out of the bathroom, blue towel around his waist. 

Any blood that doesn’t head south goes instantly to Stern’s cheeks. 

“You okay there, blue-eyes?”

“It’s completely unfair how good you look without a shirt.”

He clamps a hand over his mouth.

“Idn’t ean to ay at out oud” The mumbled explanation makes Barclay smirk. 

“You like this, should see what’s under the towel.”

The unusually bold statement from Barclay kindles his own confidence.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, big guy.”

“Who says I won’t.” Barclay sits down on the edge of the bed, nonchalant and leaning back on his hands, “got plenty of time to make good on them.”

“We literally don’t. I go back in a week and two days.”

Barclay toys with the lint on the towel, “you could stay. Through break, through next semester, for however long you wanted.”

“Do you mean that?”

A shy nod, “I like having you around, Joseph. Even beyond the huge fucking crush I have on you I...everything is a little better when you’re around.”

“I, um, I guess it could work. We know next semester is online too, and so is work, so…” there must be variables missing, something he’s not seeing, some reason this is too good to be true.

“You want some space away from shirtless me to think about it?”

“That’d be great.”

Barclay stands, hesitates, then plants a quick kiss on his forehead, “take all the time you need, blue eyes.”

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

Private Chat log 1/11/2021

Barclay (he/him): Did you see the look on Duck’s face when we turned up in frame together. 

Joseph (he/him): Yes. Pretty sure Aubrey yelled something about him needing to pay up. I wonder what the bet was. 

Barclay (he/him): Whatever it was, pretty sure I came out the biggest winner. 

Stern snorts, trying not to blush on camera, and leans over to kiss his boyfriend on the cheek.