#wrote the rest on the plane home :D

[dirty-bosmer]

Forgotten: Treacle

Here with my first and probably only @tes-summer-fest contribution of the year. I've been pretty busy this summer, but I'm happy to have participated at least once :)

Written for @atypicalacademic, who inspired me to continue Scar-Tail's story past his canon quest line. You were so right. He deserves happiness 🥲

summary: Scar-Tail, the wind calls, and the Hist remembers even if you refuse to. On the night you breached your shell, the Shadow blotted out the sky. It was to be your shroud for all your days, first to last, a gift you’ve disgracefully abandoned, and though you may run, the cold loving embrace of fate forever skitters in your wake.

Stop for only a breath. Look down, find it bloody, here, returned to you, blackened flesh under its claws, scrabbling at your heels.

warnings: non-graphic mentions of death and dissolution

Ao3 link: here

Scar-Tail doesn’t speak his name anymore, not even in his native tongue. He wonders, if enough time passes, will he ever forget its rhythm or will it quake within him always like a second bloodbeat? Some days he feels it trapped behind his teeth— the sibilant shape of it, the phantom weight of it, the gathering swell in the hollow pocket of his throat. The Hist still speaks it in his sleep where formless figures call him by the name his brother called him, and even in dreams the name is doused in venom. Even in dreams, the only ones who speak it want him dead.

The knife that sleeps beneath his pillow isn’t there when he reaches, but he feels it like the ghost itch of an amputated limb. His magelight flares. The looming darkness in the corner is revealed as merely shadow. Still he sleeps with the candle burning, for even shadow he is hesitant to trust these days as he was one once not very long ago, remembers that the darkness wears a sinuous smile, and he knows where it hides its teeth. 

Two days, and he’s on the road again, a stranger bound to Nirn by a will and only a will. Rootless, unmoored, his body has become a foreign thing— spines ground down as the face sculptor recommended and belly fattened on unfamiliar foods. In Bruma, he discovered a taste for mead, and he likes it too much. The sweet amber color, the heady wave of its warmth. ‘Like drinking liquid sun,’ he told the barkeep, and it earned a laugh and another round on the house. These days he gets drunk on the smallest kindnesses. These days, he no longer feels like something trapped inside a jar.

If Ocheeva could see him like this, she’d recoil, wouldn’t recognize him. If Ocheeva could see him like this—

Citrine eyes in a face of jade scales. The memory sears sharp, but one day the fleshwork will heal the brand. He scratches at it, picks at it like an old scab, and strews the roadsides in eggshell and pale, stringy yolk as he births himself from the detritus of the life clinging to his heels.

Every new city demands that he is less of his past self, so he chokes it down and rolls new names on his tongue, hoping to forget the bitter taste of the Hist— Maheelus. Tanaka. Vetra-Mahei. Sings-in-Silver— but the sap runs through him like iron through a vein, and though Scar-Tail is fading, if the wind asked his name, what could he tell her? What could he offer if only breath?

—

Wake up one morning and find yourself dissolved beside the shadow left behind when Magnus pulled all darkness from the sky. When you leave the bed, you leave your old body too, a ghost peeled out from the pool that once was your lungs, and you wrangle its waters down a new stream, shape its banks to hold a new life. Touch the mirror. Touch your bare-faced spirit. Ask if it’s the same at the root now that you’ve stripped its branches clean. Become a new shape. Wear a new face that strangers wave to in the streets without fear, for you are a Saxhleel made of grafts. Look, all rough burls sanded down. Every scale is now smooth to the touch. 

Yet the Hist still reads your scars, the ones you thought the magic had healed over, knows you bleed black sap when cut open. You are ku-vastei, cannot be gentled, will never be talcum soft, and when the Hist sees the man you’ve stuffed your soul inside of, it knows his smile required so many knives to be carved. 

—

Salt crusts on his scales as the sea mist dries. “Haul,” the shipmaster says, and Scar-Tail does. He’s been in this town too long but the pay is good and the work is hard, and he’s come to find comfort in the foreign smell of human sweat. In the evening, his shift over, he wanders Taneth’s harbors for the breeze. There, Abrim finds him, always does. He guides Scar-Tail down to the taverns where the rest of his crew sits drinking away their gold, and Scar-Tail follows, drawn to his side like some heat-seeking whelp. Inside, he sits facing the door.

The torchlight throws dizzy shapes on the wall. The tavern churns, and all around him is a froth of people as thick as the head on his ale. He won’t feel the buzz until the fourth beer if he feels it at all, but even without it, he’s content here. Here in the briny stew of the seaport with the salt smell and the raucous laughter, the human heat wrapped around his shoulder. Willing himself to weightlessness, he lets Abrim rock him side to side in the rhythm of shanties he never had the chance to learn the words of. Even when he tries, the melodies don't fit in his mouth, but Abrim’s smile is reassuring. Abrim is gilded in the torch flame. Every part of him is a different shade of brown such that Scar-Tail needs only look at him in flickering light to feel he’s travelled all of Tamriel’s woods, seen every kind of tree there is.

—

Two weeks, and new callouses have formed on the pads of his palms. He relishes the rope burn, the way the thick braids abrade compared to the slender wires of a garrote wrapped tight around each fist. Staring at the old knots on his knuckles, he thinks, this is honest work. This is good work, and at night the only part of it that follows him to sleep is the vision of a stained shirt, gleaming skin in the sunlight, the sweat rolling off like beads of oil. 

Abrim’s ship is packed and set to leave Taneth, and the next time Scar-Tail sees him, he knows it will be the last. The thought floods him with a new kind of fear. It sloshes cold in his chest, clings thick to every branch of his lungs. He thinks, this must feel like drowning.  

But the evening air is dry and spiced in sunset reds. Scar-Tail breathes, regains his footing on solid land. At the taverns, Abrim is as he always is, and he is warm in color, deep in scent, rich in sea-spun stories that fill Scar-Tail with as much envy as they do wonder for the sailors and storm-weavers that long ago swam these waters. Scar-Tail wonders if the villains in these tales were star-made as he was, if their cradles were lined in rot like his nest was with razors. If born on a different day under the light of a different constellation, would they have been heroes? Would they have lived on forever in the hearts of men?

The tavern roar grows muffled at his ears as the crashing waves lull him into dream. He imagines himself a new life, resplendent in the awe of those who survive him, those who love him enough to sing his name to strangers too. In this life, his hands are bloodless. In this dream, he’s never held a knife. Could he have it one day? Can he live a small legend, erase enough of who he once was to one day hear his name spoken with full use of the tongue?

The wondering is ripe, ripe enough to overwhelm him. In the ale’s reflection, he sees the palimpsest he’s become. The pitted wound that is Scar-Tail forms a craggy mantle beneath his skin, and there is little give when he presses, the tissue tough beneath. He is still there no matter how hard he’s scraped, Scar-Tail, full of pride, a mutinous tremor through the din. Though it reaches him as only whisper, that name is wreathed in wire, and the recurved fang of its echo sinks deeper with every twist. 

What will it take to strangle this voice that has stitched its dying breath inside his ears? When he hears it, he feels like a missing person, like a part of him has ceased to exist. A sickness rises inside him; he tastes himself decaying. For all the poisons he’s swallowed, now immune to, it’s the acrid tang of dissolution that sends him rushing into the night to spew his dinner into the sea. 

Scar-Tail retches, turned over in a bout of vertigo. Abrim walks over and pats him on the back. “Uta-’mei, what’s wrong?” he says. “Can’t handle the drink? Come, let’s get you home.” 

Scar-Tail coughs. “What did you call me?”

“I’ll explain it another night.”

“When?”

Abrim’s smile is a sliver of opal in the sandstone. “The next time,” he says, “Come on now. Stay close to me.”

And even if Scar-Tail never learns what Abrim meant, he knows that this name fits better than any he’s given himself before. He likes the feel of it, Uta-’mei, the liquor kick of it rising beneath the sour spit in his mouth, and decides that if he dies tomorrow with no one else to speak it, his ghost will scratch it into his own headstone before he completely disappears.

—

Wake up one morning and find the world you lived in gone to dust. You lay shipwrecked, bare to the bone, alone in the silver light of dawn. New flesh will have to be sculpted onto your frame, but you’ve paid someone do it before. You’ll do it again. This time, even your shadow has left you. ‘Good riddance,’ you say. You will have to remake that too.

The sand of your past life clings to your soles, chafes between every toe. You count the grains knowing it will be the last time its coarse edges erode you. Soon, you will bathe in cleaner waters, be free of it, be glistening, yolk-filled and new. Now that you’re here, and he’s gone—

No, now that he’s here, and you’re gone—

Scar-Tail, the wind calls, and the Hist remembers even if you refuse to. On the night you breached your shell, the Shadow blotted out the sky. It was to be your shroud for all your days, first to last, a gift you’ve disgracefully abandoned and though you run, the cold loving embrace of fate forever skitters in your wake.

Stop for only a breath. Look down, find it bloody, here, returned to you, blackened flesh under its claws, scrabbling at your heels.

Sweet child, the wind calls, have no fear. This shade was to preserve you from the blinding harshness of the day that will turn your eyes to water in your skull. Sweet child, look at you, so lost now. Look, curled up, all fetal, how your own reflection cows you. This shade was to serve you as much as you were to serve the god who wove it, and even with your claws clipped and your teeth hidden behind hand-carved grinning lips, your bones retain their shape, always will until you break them. Raise a hand. Press it to the foamy shoreline to obscure the rippling image beneath. Find each finger whittled to such a sharp point that your touch will forever bear the risk of drawing blood.

—

The shop windows taunt him from his periphery, but he will pass one hundred more if that’s what it takes to prove his presence. His footfalls are heavy, yet he persists, learns how to walk again, how to exert his body upon the world if only to feel it press up against his feet. 

But it is enough to be above ground, free to float like a loosed leaf, released from the mire he was hatched into. The wind tugs on the knobs that are left of his spines, and if Scar-Tail lives, it is not in name but in this ever-changing shape, this new boundary layer surrounding each limb. And he chooses to live here. Here where the sun bakes the earth and the water pulls all moisture from his lips. Here, tasting the salt in the air, the sunshine golden-sweet, like mead. Drunk on its light, he chokes, spills past the brim, and when he laughs it’s because the first breath he ever took was smothered in darkness; all light he’d drank before had been drawn in through gasps. 

One hand in the ocean, the water moves freely through his fingers. He couldn’t divert it, couldn’t destroy it if he tried. To his reflection, he offers the jagged slash of his smile, and he doesn’t care what gnarled image stares back. He says, “Name me. Call me by the sigh that leaves your lips when I’m within you. I shred myself apart to stand before you here, reborn, and did I tell you how it hurt, to push air out of these new lungs?”

The sun sets over the Abecean, bleeds a burnt orange that reminds him of the light that lived in Teinaava’s eyes when they were young. It is by some secret alchemy that a longing still brews for the brother who asked for his heart ripped clean from his chest. Yet he still feels it, yes, love for the brother who believes him now dead, who believes Scar-Tail had been the one to betray him. He will feel it always, he thinks. It’s the gift he’s given himself, to love unbidden, to love when no one wants it, to thirst for life in great bursts that swell within him like sap bubbling out of a wounded tree.

He cannot quell it, not even if he tried. It will ooze from him in the next life too. 

Tomorrow, he will travel north to meet Abrim in Sentinel, or maybe he will cross the deserts and find another town to welcome him home, but when he leaves Taneth, he will shed his last skin, and he considers the last person to speak his name was a woman who had been hired to kill him. When she offered up his heart, what did his brother feel in return? Joy to have fed him back to the soil? Relief to return him to the root?

He hopes so.

[scuttle-buttle]

Co-Pilots

Nobody asked for this. I have the flu. I needed something nice to focus on and apparently this was it. Blame @lorna-d-m my partner in crime :) also kudos to winniemaywebber and sagesolscitcewrites because i def read all their stuff and was vibing it and the pet names and stuff sooo hard

Rated: 18+

Word Count: approx. 3k

Tags: MMF, fluff and reassurance, mentions of wartime ptsd, body confidence issues, mentions of having children, PiV sex, female receiving oral, male receiving oral, voyeurism, no stated use of contraception

A/N: Croz is referred to as Crosby, Harry, and Bing in this (so as not to confuse). And idk what rank Rosie is by this point so were just going with Major

✈️

The bright lights blinded you the first time you walked through New York City; tonight was no different. Flashes of neon whites, golds, blues, reds, lit up your path as you entered the lobby to the Ritz hotel. Your husband had made arrangements for you to meet him in the city much as he had a near 2 years ago during the height of the war. You wanted to meet him at the airport. Crosby insisted he find you at the hotel. And now, with Hitler defeated, he was on his way home. For good. 

His phone call had startled you. Usually, you wrote him weekly, sometimes more if you felt lonesome. Harry’s letters were less frequent, but no less loving. Little Steve kept you more than busy most days, back home safe terrorizing your mother and father while you got some rest and relaxation with your Bing in the big city. The toddler was a shining light in your dark days. He had the same dark curls, the same downturned eyes as his father. A piece of your love that was yours no matter what the war brought - or took.

You’d nearly lost your footing when you heard his voice, gruff and mellow, across the line. Darlin’ it's me, he'd said, I'm coming home but I've got some business to finish in the city, meet me there. I'm bringing Rosie, you remember him yeah? Said he'll take us dancing at the best jazz spots. I love you Mrs. Crosby. See you soon.

Now you wait in the lobby for your love and his friend.

Minutes tick by as you wait. Maybe the plane was late? Maybe they had to meet somewhere after landing to debrief? Maybe there was a problem with the engine? Just as your maybes started to drown out the chatter and bustle around you a voice rang out.

“Well ho-ly mackerel, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes Mrs. Crosby.”

The sight of your husband had you dashing into his waiting arms. Tears streamed down your face as you kissed him senseless over and over and over. Crosby couldn’t contain his laughter at your reaction, nor did he bother hiding it when he wiped his eyes dry. 

“I’ve missed you so much Bing.”

His forehead rested on yours. “God how I’ve missed you too, Darlin’.” 

Over his shoulder you notice a taller man, stylish moustache and curls neatly gelled into place, attempting to avert his eyes and give your reunion privacy. You were struck by how attractive he was. “Bing?”

“Oh!” Harry takes a step back. “Darlin’ this is Robert Rosenthal - or Rosie as us boys like to call him.”

Rosie gives a toothy smile and holds out his hand for a firm shake; “so nice to meet you, Mrs. Crosby. Croz here has told me all about you.”

Giving your husband a raised eyebrow, you ask “all good things I hope?”

Both men chuckle. “Only the best, ma’am.” 

The three of you settled into your rooms before deciding that a celebration was in order. Rosie commandeered the evening, promising only the best jazz New York had to offer. Drinks flowed, the band jived, and couples danced the night away. 

Night after night, Rosie took you somewhere new. You’d split your time whirling the dancefloor between both your husband and his pilot friend, never satisfied until your feet ached. Harry claimed all the slow dances, nestled up close to your body. But Rosie? He got the fast-paced, jumping, hip swaying swing that Crosby claimed he couldn’t keep up with. Two left feet, he’d claim. Each morning after you slept in the plush, luxurious Ritz bed until lunchtime while they attended to their military duties. 

Friday rolled around. It had been a week of this routine. You should’ve been exhausted, you should’ve wanted to slow down - after all you were no spring chicken anymore. Yet, something about being in the arms of your husband and Rosie as you swayed to Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman, and Glen Miller felt so right. 

When the barkeep yelled for “last call” you knew it was time to retire for the evening.

“Say, why don’t you come have a nightcap in our room, Rosie? Crosby asked.

The three of you settle into the living room of the suite assigned to you and your husband. Bing plops into an armchair with a satisfied huff. You join Rosenthal on the loveseat, a respectable distance inbetween. A bottle of whisky sits open on the fireplace mantle. Conversation comes and goes as the trio fall from the high of the night. It’s easy. Almost makes the boys forget the horrors they endured in Europe. 

Around 1am the conversation begins to lull as you finish regaling the group with a story of the shenanigans you and your girlfriends would get up to during university days. “-You think you boys were bad flying all around in your skivvies, but it was nothing compared to us girls that night!” Laughter filled the room until all had let it trickle to a close; the silence was warm like the fireplace embers. Robert sat enraptured by your story, by your beauty, by the thought of you under that blue dress and all your curves. He knew he shouldn’t have noticed…..he was just a man after all. And with the things he’d seen? Could you really blame him?

“How long’s it been Rosie?” The question broke the man’s gaze from you and directed it towards Crosby. He didn’t know it was so obvious. 

Rosie was about to stumble out an answer, an apology for looking at you like that, he doesn’t know, when Croz interrupts again. “When’s the last time you felt the touch of a good woman, Rosie?” Harry waits for an answer. Rosenthal can feel his face heat; he runs his fingers through his hair mussing the curls out of place. This confident Crosby was much bolder than the one he’d met when he first shipped out to the 100th. “Before the war?” There is no judgment in his eyes, no disdain or hesitation towards his comrade as he asks. Rosie shakes his head in affirmation. His glass clinks against the table as he sets it down, whisky unfinished.

Crosby sighs. “Too long.”

“Too damn long…” Rosie agrees in a mumble. 

You sit and watch the boys in rapt attention before meeting Bing's chocolatey eyes. Rosenthal is a good man, a great one from what your husband’s letters proved, and he deserves kindness and softness after all he’s been through. They both do. A delicate hand moves to rest on Rosie’s knee where he sits next to you. His brow furrows. The Major flits his gaze between you and your husband.

In all seriousness Crosby says “It’s alright, I don’t mind.” He tilts his head forward in permission, a silent go ahead. 

The navigator noticed how Rosie looked at you all night, how you returned the glances like a game of chicken. Each admiring but neither willing to do anything about it. How the two of you danced around the club without a care in the world at his insistence. He hadn’t seen Rosie smile like that in ages. He knew you hadn’t laughed like that since before he announced he was heading to the front. You definitely were reveling in the attention of both men tonight. This was never something you had discussed with your husband; somehow you just knew each other well enough even after so long apart to know that it was okay. It was something you both wanted.

Your fingers drifted higher on Rosie’s thigh; not enough to be indecent, but enough to get the message across. His larger palm came to rest atop yours, stopping the movement. “You uh- you’re okay with this?” the Brooklyn native questioned. 

Without hesitation you reassure “I am.” 

In a measured, almost odd approach Rosenthal shifts towards you. His lips hover over your cheek for a moment before the softest kiss brushes your skin. The whiskers of his mustache tickle. You can’t help the grin that threatens to break. He continues to kiss along your cheek, once, twice, thrice, each getting closer to your waiting lips. Finally, his chapped lips meet yours. This kiss is awkward at first as he gathers his bearing, quickly finding a rhythm as if no time had passed since he last kissed a pretty dame.

Crosby sunk deeper into his chair as he watched. He could feel the tell-tale sign of his slacks becoming tighter as he watched his best girl and his best friend. “She loves it when you kiss her neck,” he instructed with that smirk of his. Rosie dragged his lips to your throat. “Little lower-” again he shifted “-right there.” A moan slipped from your parted lips as your body warred with the directions from your husband and the attentions from your lover. 

The room felt stifling. Rosie’s coat, your dress, his shirt, your stockings, his trousers, your brassiere - each fluttered off to the floor one by one. Even Bing had lost his button down. 

The Major guided you onto your back along the couch, trailing open mouthed kisses down your sternum, along your breasts. A moment of clarity passed your mind that your body was different now than the last time you had been made love to, whether by your husband or not, since the baby. Your breasts weren't as pert, your stomach was softer than it used to be. Lips pursed, you let out a small sigh. 

“What’s wrong darlin’?” Bing asked. The navigator leaned towards you, brushing a strand of fallen hair from your face. “You know I can read you better than any map.” Rosie stopped and rested his chin on your abdomen to look up. 

“We can stop,” Rosie offered.

“No, It’s silly…” you tried to brush off.

Both men came to your defense immediately. Looking between the two you finally settle on your husband’s face. “It’s just that… since the last time we saw each other I’m different. My body changed and- I don’t know. I want it to be enough for you. For you both,” you add with a look to Rosie.

Crosby drops from the chair to his knees before you. “My pretty girl.” He kisses you slowly. “We’ve all changed.” From below Rosie adds nothing is the same. “You are still the most beautiful, most incredible, woman I’ve ever seen. Gosh - you’re my wife. Mrs. Crosby! I would fight to the ends of the earth to come home to you.” Softer he adds “I did fight to come home to you… and to bring this flak-happy bastard along too,” he laughed, nudging his elbow at his mate. “Now be a good girl and let us treat you right.” At your nod Rosie resumes his ascent down your waiting body. 

With a flourish your panties are gone, your dripping center exposed to his hungry stare. “What does she like, Croz? Because I'm not stopping until she comes begging all over my tongue.” He licks a deep stripe along your slit. “Sweet as sugar, babydoll.” Gone is the man unsure of himself, and in place is a god amongst men who knows exactly what he wants. It’s all you can do to hold on as Rosie devours you at your husband’s suggestions. Fingers dig into the cushions, tangle into his curls as you writhe under him. 

Rosie puts in his best effort to undo you; your husband saunters up to your face, his pants long forgotten. Cock stiff and ready, dripping with need, he runs the tip of his thumb against your bottom lip. Your teeth nibble at the pad.  “Think you can take me too, darlin’?” A whimpered please is all that comes out.

A cacophony of moans fills the air as your senses are assaulted - Rosie latched to your pussy like a lifeline and your Crosby’s cock deep inside your mouth. “That’s it darlin’, just like that. I bet you missed me, huh? I can tell you did, sweet girl. Fuck I missed you….” 

You gave him everything you had as you licked and sucked at his length. You could have sworn it was bigger than you remembered. He could tell by the look in your eyes you were getting closer, hell he was too. Lord knew he didn’t want to finish like some schoolboy in your lovely mouth. Crosby pulled himself out and you gasped for air. Cheeks flushed and sweat dripping down your temple he turned to his partner. “Use your fingers Rose, drives her wild when you crook them up inside her ‘n don't be afraid to get rough - give her a nip.” He punctuated the end of his command with a nip of his own to your throat. Rosie did exactly as instructed, sending you careening further to the edge and hips bucking.

“Oh- please Rosie- oh god don’t stop-” tumbles out as you start to fall. You swear you feel him humming against your clit as his fingers burn pleasure into your skin.

“That’s it darlin’, just let go for him. Being such a good girl for us,” croons your Bing.

When it all gets too much you gently push him from you. He goes gracefully, dropping chaste kisses to your thighs and hips. Despite feeling like a bowl of jello you remember your purpose tonight - to give Rosie a proper homecoming. 

Sitting up you demand he rid himself of his trousers. 

He grins. “Yes ma’am.” 

Just as Rosie goes to cover your body again you place your hand on his broad chest, pushing until he is in a sitting position. You quickly seat yourself over his lap, his length resting against you. Grinding down, he grunts. “Let me take care of you Rosie, it’s okay.” Kissing his temple, the corner of his mouth, his Adam's apple, you repeat “I want to take care of you dear, let me.”

With another roll of your hips he enters you. He feels different than your husband, but no less wonderful. Rosie’s hands land firmly on your hips as you rock above him. He knows he won't last long, you feel too good. “God Croz how do you do it? She’s so- ugh fuck” he grunts, head tossed back as you squeeze his length. 

“I know, Rose, I know. Just like heaven.” Your husband rubs your back as you move.

Rosenthal buries his face in the crook of your neck, his whimpers muffled so that only you can hear. There are no words for him to describe this feeling: the feeling of being comforted, the feeling of warmth, the feeling of home inside you, even if just for tonight. He almost feels a tear spring to his eyes. Circling your arms around his shoulders you remind him that you’ve got him, that he’s safe, that you're here. You pick up the pace as you ride him, bringing him closer and closer to his fate. His pelvis bucks up to meet yours with every roll.

“Honey I- I’m getting real close.”

You seal your lips on his; “I’ve got you, Rosie. I want you to come for me dear.”

With a deep groan he lifts you off his cock, his spend covering your stomachs and lap in a sticky mess. You hold him as he comes down from his high. 

“That was wonderful, thank you…just, thank you.” You kiss him once more; he knows he doesn’t have to thank you for anything, but he does because he’s Rosie. He carefully cleans you of his come with his discarded undershirt.

Crosby drops his lips to the crown of your head, beginning to pull the pins out of your carefully styled hair. “Come here, Darlin’.” He helps to lift you from his colleagues’ lap. “I wanna make love to my wife.” 

In seconds you’re on the floor under Crosby, his cock already buried to the hilt within you. Neither of you move as you both enjoy the feel of each other reunited as husband and wife. Whispered streams of I love you and I missed you and fuck you feel so good tumble from your lips, barely an inch apart. Harry would never need a map to know the curves, the sensitive spots, the constellations of beauty marks on your body - he knew it better in his memory than any map he could chart.

Besides you on the couch Rosie has slumped over to lay down, his arm hanging off towards you. Every breath of your husband’s puffs against your neck, every tickle of hair from across his chest reminds you that he’s here and he’s alive and he’s yours. Emotion overwhelmed you; “Bing, love please, I need you.”

Crosby hitches your thigh up and around his hip; “I’m here Darlin’.” With that he starts to thrust within your walls. His lithe body moves with a power you had nearly forgotten. Each roll of his hips he pounds into you harder, faster, with abandon; his dog tags cool against your breasts where they hung. Harry was a gentle man, but held so much emotion inside. He could let go with you. 

Your next orgasm was building, hotter and faster than the first. Nails raking down your husband’s back, you reached out your other to grab hold of Rosie’s outstretched palm. The slap of skin echoed around the room, mixed with the crackle of the fire and the sound of heaving breaths. 

An inferno raged within you. Every touch, every movement atop you sent sparks down every nerve ending. You didn’t know where you stopped and your husband began. “Fuck Bing mmmm- Harry please-” The rug beneath you rubbed your back raw but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as long as he kept going.

Crosby had his thumb rubbing quick circles on your clit in an instant. “Tell me you’re close, I need you to come Darlin’.” You couldn’t catch your breath so you nodded the best you could while squeezing the life out of Rosie’s fingers.  

Another snap of his hips and you’re gone, obliterated. Everything felt euphoric and white-hot. Crosby follows suit, his release filling you and your name on his tongue. Bruises will surely linger on your thighs. 

There you lay, tangled in the afterglow, your loving husband above you stroking his knuckles against your side and your new lover’s hand in yours. No words needed to be spoken. The moment you shared would be seared into your mind forever playing on repeat. God forbid another crisis happened that would ship your boys out and away from you - yet if it did you would hold on to tonight like a talisman. It had been a long four years, and longer so for them. But the war was won, with spoils a plenty. 

Finally. 

Lips meeting your Bing’s sweat-slicked forehead, your grip on Rosenthal tightens. “Welcome home my boys, welcome home.”  

Tags: @sagesolsticewrites @winniemaywebber @sailorscuttle @thirstyvampyr @hellfirequinnie @lorna-d-m

[spctrsgf]

mi luz

based off of this comment i wrote on tiktok: “he looks like he could use a hug and a shoulder to cry on.”

word count: 2.2k

warnings: nonspidey!reader, language, hurt to comfort fic (miguel needs a break. like a sabbatical or something)

a/n: ngl, i'm not too happy with how this turned out, probably because i wrote it all on a plane and it's not beta read, but i need more soft miguel fics in my life!!!

He’s tired.

He’s tired and he’s missing you. The boring, monotonous walls of his office harshly remind him of his place, the jubilant orange glow of his monitors tell him of just how much more work he’s got left before he can finally retire to your world.

Lyla, lounging atop one of his screens, watches him and his glossed over eyes, knowing exactly what the lazy flick of his fingers meant. She sighs, glitching over to bring one of his screens forward. “Miguel!” She yells, scaring the poor man out of his thoughts and momentarily extending his claws. “Lyla, what the fu- what the hell?” He growls, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“No kids are here, you don’t have to keep it PG.”

“Whatever.”

“Look, you got work to do, and if you don’t finish it soon, it'll be too late to get in some quality time with this lovely human,” she shoves the digitized photo of you up and into his face. “Before your next mission.”

He sighs, knowing she was right.

“Daydreaming about it isn’t gonna get you there any quicker,” she flickers to be right in front of his face, slapping a hand onto his nose as if she could actually touch him. “GET YOUR SHIT DONE.”

“Fine, fine! Get out of my face.” He grumbles the second sentence, swatting her away and strolling back up to his screens. His eyes catch on your photo, and he reaches to enlarge it in front of him, but—

“No,” Lyla dissipates the photo before he can even get to it, face twisted in disappointment. “No. Not until you finish working.”

“Hey! Who’s the boss here?” 

“Me. Now work.” Lyla glitches out of view with a triumphant huff.

He huffs dramatically, pouting as he pulls himself together. He lets his emotions drop from his face and slides into his stoic mask, resuming the work on his screen. It’s hypnotizing as soon as he gets into it; Lyla must’ve done something to keep him focused, he supposes. She always does have a trick up her sleeve.

In what feels like no time at all, he’s done with his work. With a final, defiant tap to close down his screens, he spins on his heel, ready to leave and go home. Ready to hop in through your window— as much as you hate when he does that— and rest his head atop yours, caging you into where you’re surely stirring something on the stove.

But as he turns, he’s face to face with none other than Hobart Brown. A look to the left reveals his partners in crime; and Miguel knows he’s in for a ride. At least a ten minute detour, as it always is with the four of them. 

“What?” His hands come to rest on his hips naturally, trying to become bigger to them as if it would make the next words out of their mouth more blunt and less angering. “We have a slight problem—” Gwen starts, before Pav butts in.

“It's not slight. It’s a pretty big deal!”

“Mate,” Hobie huffs. “That’s not helpful.”

“I’m trying my best!”

"Yeah, and that's going great-"

“Okay, stop it, all of you,” Miguel interrupts before they can go down the rabbit hole, trying to keep his already strung thin patience steady. “What’s going on?”

“There’s another fight going on.” Hobie gives the answer blunt, to Miguel’s satisfaction.

“Cafeteria?”

“Main hall. Sector D.”

The huff that erupts from his lips draws a colorful picture of his current emotions as he hops off of his elevated platform. “I’ll fix it.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Miles brings himself to stand in front of the man. “We’re not gonna hurt anyone, right?”

“I can’t make any promises.” He brushes past the kid, dismissing him with a shake of the head. 

“Miguel. Don’t take your anger out on them–” Gwen tries, but all it gets is his recoil and daunting stalk towards her.

“I will do whatever the–” the swear word is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down. “I will do whatever is needed, but violence is not my first course of action.”

“Please be nice to everyone,” Pav says, peeking over Gwen’s shoulder. “It’s been a long week for all of us too.”

Miguel sighs and brushes past them, saying nothing. He brushes off their words in silent agreement. He didn’t really want to hurt anyone either. 

By the time he reaches where he'd been informed the fight was, there was a mosh pit encircling the brawl, a mass of blue and red and spidermen. He approaches from behind, the tide parting for him as each person registers his presence.

When he meets the pearl in the oyster, the hotheaded spiderman hasn’t noticed him quite yet. He’s got the other spidey— one of the many spiderwomen— beneath him, gnarly fist raised to land another punch. Miguel sighs, grabs the back of the man’s elbow, and dragssss him off.

“Everyone get away now.” His tone squeezes the air out of the room and leaves no room for discussion, not that anyone would dare to object. The spidermen flee the scene before he can even finish his sentence, and by the time he’s turned back to the perpetrators of it all, they’re gone too.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, murmuring a low cálmate under his breath as he moves to regain his bearings. “Lyla,” he waves the said woman near.  “Find those spidermen and remind me to get to them when I come back.” She sputters to focus in front of him, dipping her head in an obliged nod before sputtering off again to wherever she found herself needed. 

Miguel shakes and unclenches the fist he’s made with his free hand and stalks back to his office, rubbing the palm of his hand where his claws had taken purchase amidst anger. 

Sometimes, he regrets putting himself in charge of all of this… shit.

But… he’s the only one who can do it. No one had the vigor, the dedication, the understanding of why and what had to be done to keep the multiverses in line and make sure what happened to him never happened again. 

It’s tiring. It takes his nights and his days and chips at his brain until he’s sure there’s nothing left in the expanse of his head. For someone who appears naturally angry, he’s quite good at keeping all the real anger in.

The downside of this: he bottles it all up. But the bottle isn’t big enough, doesn’t last forever, cracks at the seams, and then shatters in a explosion of tears. It enjoys crumpling him into the floor, loves the way his hands shiver in the cold breeze, shakes him to the core and, for all his confidence, makes him doubt.

Lyla’s only seen him like this once, when he couldn’t get away and instead had to sequester himself into his office, not quite getting to hardwiring her nosy personnel to do something else. 

No, he doesn’t rely on her, as he normally would with other problems. He doesn’t trust her, he doesn’t even trust himself with post breakdown Miguel, no. 

He goes to you.

You. The lovely, kind person he’s had the great privilege of calling his. His love, his support, his everything, or better yet; mi luz. My light. The light at the end of the tunnel, at the end of the world, when he feels like the walls are caving in and there’s really nowhere else to go and nothing more to lose.

You calm him, like you always do. Effortlessly caring, eternally so. Never afraid to give, to let him take and take until he’s stuffed whole. You know little things about him, take the time to learn them. Like where to get his favorite empanadas— much better than the ones in the spidey cafeteria— and that he loves when you press your fingers into his shoulder blades. He loves your massages.

He loves you.

Tapping insistently at the shitty gadget on his wrist, he mindlessly pulls up the coordinates for your dimension. Second nature. He’s walked himself into some obscure corner of the building, but he isn’t processing such mundane things at the moment. He can feel himself slipping, the mask fracturing. He can’t be left alone right now.

You.

The portal is up now, flashing and glitching in an assortment of colors, beckoning him in with its delectable light, like a halo. Miguel wastes no time giving in, diving into the portal and tucking himself tight like a torpedo.

Multiverses zoom by as he glides through hexagons and hexagons, thousands of people in each. Worlds that he keeps steady, safe, perfect. Normally, he’d stop to smell the flowers, observe and appreciate the sereneness of every special home in front of him. Pride himself in the fact that there was a special home for someone to come home to. 

But not this time. No, this time he keeps his eyes screwed shut, he wouldn’t, couldn’t get distracted by the novelty. The bottle is cracking now, cracking into long and sharp spikes aching to slice across his chest. He’s so close, all he could get himself to do was focus on his breaths. In and out, in and out, in and out—

The abrupt warning of your multiverse approaching pinches his wrist, reminding him that this whole mess was very much real. He stumbles into your living room with a not so quiet thud, startling you. You drop the spoon you were stirring something with— smells like some sort of sauce, yum— and whip your head towards him.

He’s got his arms wrapped around you before you can even process that it's him, burying himself in your neck and inhaling the calm scent of you, a mix of your perfume and your detergent, so very you. 

“Miguel.” You sigh into his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his waist as the initial shock of his intrusion wears off. 

He slumps into you, only trusting himself to let out a low grumble of your name. 

“What’s going— oh,” your brain puts two and two together. “Oh, Miguel, shh. It’s okay, I got you.”

And he breaks. Because he knows you mean it. He knows you have him. You always do.

The tears are bubbling over the rims of his eyes and splashing down his cheeks, his hands are twisted up in your loose shirt. He’s sure his claws have made an entrance too. One of your hands reaches to turn off the stove, the other rubbing incandescent patterns into his back. 

You were always so careful. Never leave the stove on, Miggy. Don’t wanna burn the food. He loves that about you.

“Hey,” your voice wisps in through the fog of his mental breakdown, of the end of the world. “Hey. It’s me. Just me. Your absolute favorite person on this planet.”

“Multiverse.” He manages through sob induced hiccups. 

“Multiverse,” You smile, breathing out a soft laugh as you toil him in closer. “Breathe, my love. I have you. Nobody is here but me, and I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

He nods, lets himself weigh more onto you.

“That’s it, I got you,” you coax. “Get it out of your system.”

He gives all the tears he has to give. He’s sandwiching you between the counter and his stature, but you don’t seem to mind. Your spilling words, mindlessly, talking until he’s done and ready to attach himself to them, the soft baritone of your voice.

And it takes time, but he gets there. He’s in the tunnel, the walls are caving in, he’s believing he's given all he has to give, but you’re there, and you’re telling him no, no you have not. You don’t get to lose, because you have SO much more life to live.

His light.

The tunnel lets up, opens up the walls, lets him bathe in you, in the way your arms are still hooked tight around his waist and you’re going on about how there was a new episode of your favorite show that he had to watch. 

And of course he would watch it.

He’d do anything for you, anything you asked whenever you wanted. And he knows, in turn, that there wasn’t a damn thing in this god forsaken reality that would stop you from doing the same for him.

You tell him as much. To his face, into his hair, with the dance of your fingers on his back, in the way you guide him to the couch, when you place down some food and a cup of water— you just cried out your backup supply— and again when you place yourself down next to him.

“I’m so beyond lucky to have you.” He murmurs to you, some fifteen minutes into the episode of your show, something about this dude with a metal helmet and a green baby? He can’t recall the name.

You turn, a smile gracing your features. “You deserve me. You deserve everything the multiverse has to offer and more. Dunno what I’d do without you.”

“You’d have one less person bothering you.”

“Ah, yes,” you laugh, swatting his cheek. “Like you’re such a nuisance.”

He laughs, actually laughs. It’s nice.

You tilt your head onto the girth of his shoulder, snuggling in tight as your attention is again sucked into the screen.

He smiles dazedly at you, finally feeling at peace.

Mi luz. My light.

is anyone else still obsessed with him or is that just me

[buppypilled]

Buppy's Sims Lore: Straud IV

Lore for my rendition of the Straud IV family--Vladislaus Straud and his partner Maryam :D ~ 1.7k words, barely revised

Vlad observed the silent “town”, gazed upon the expansive graveyard on the large hill in his manor. The manor was built by those who resided eternally on this hill. Some, though, still walk on this plane eternally as he does. He doesn’t know how long it has been since he left on his pilgrimage, a young man, freshly 21, who swore he would find the new world. He doesn’t remember how long it has been since he was attacked by a creature he could not recognize, something that looked so human but clearly was not. He doesn’t remember how long it has been since he became that same beast, tearing apart those who came with him, cutting their dreams short. He knows it had been a while, but he has not aged with the world around him, and he hasn’t kept track in a long time.

He has stayed, growing crueler and angrier with time. His brows set deep in their furrow, his frown seeming to grow with each day’s pass. He gazes over Midnight Hollow from his manor. A tiny place, still growing as his offspring—creatures of the night he himself produced—continued to create others and build their own spaces. He silently observed from his space above the others, watching them create, his attention was caught by tiny figures making their way to his manor.

His eyes are wide, shining with recognition. He would never forget those robes, the white and gold easily stood out in the seemingly eternal darkness of Midnight Hollow.

A priestess, no, a saint. Vladislaus was well acquainted with her. The lips he had kissed on many an evening in his village of origin, a nineteen-year-old then. A miracle worker who was given the statuses of saint and priestess quickly in their home. His gaze softens as he remembers their rendezvous on late evenings—she was a woman of God; he couldn’t possibly be seen causing her stumble in the light of the day. He recalls their late-night picnics, and nights alone in her quarters, making the most of the few hours they could have together, before he must scramble back to his home, as to not ruin her position.

He sighs, in the evening he left, he told her if he never wrote, he was probably dead. He’s always been frail, but he knows him dying was the point. The nun next to her now didn’t want him ruining her. Oh, how he hated that woman for doing so, for causing his beloved to weep that night.

But his beloved hadn’t changed. Perhaps a little older, but her face was still so soft; he was grateful his state now came with enhanced vision for this moment to see her. He figured something so beloved by God himself would always look young, he was right it seems. Her eyes were still large, full of love for everything the world had, though underneath were dark bags. He wonders how long she had been searching. She was so beautiful, a foil to the foul nun besides her. While his beloved Maryam still seemed so soft, her pale companion was very obviously aged, Straud observed. Her frown seemed deeper than when he saw her last, her brows set in a furrow deeper than even his. He could tell she was complaining, insisting the woman beside her let things go. But he knows what she is searching for: closure. And he knows she will not give up.

He wished he could have written her, but he felt too much shame. He did not want to know what she would think of him now. He didn’t want to see her fear, or her disgust, at the monster he had become. But it seemed he could not continue to avoid her, no matter how much he longed to do so forever. But he did feel immense guilt knowing she probably spent this entire time searching for him, probably hoping to formally lay him to rest back at home, in their graveyard, or perhaps stay with him forever if he wasn’t dead. Or learn he had found another woman and started a family. Anything, absolutely anything, so she can finally forget him. At least that’s what he assumes.

He cringed when they made it up the long, winding path to his manor door. He could smell their blood from the office he watched from. Holy people have such an overpowering scent. She smelled so sweet.

Vladislaus Straud has never seemed to fear anybody, but he did seem to fear her. He didn’t want his servants to answer the door, he was hoping she was just leave, assuming the slowly constructed manor to be long abandoned. But it seemed she had better sense. She could see people skittering inside, he mentally cursed the servants for lacking any understanding of stealth. He could see her leaning, presumably looking in through the stained glass.

He sighed, mentally kicking himself when a hiss passed from his lips involuntarily. He couldn’t hide for long, he figured he could get his servants, vampiric offspring, to go upstairs and be silent. Hoping that would satiate her, so he didn’t have to approach in a corporeal form, so he wouldn’t have to see her beautiful face twist with fear or worse, disgust.

He used a form he preferred for travel, a cloud of mist, he opened the door a small amount, this form isn’t very strong. He regretted it immediately, when the wind whipped the insatiable scent of holy blood to his nose. He couldn’t stop himself once they walked in.

He didn’t feel much remorse when he sank his fangs into the nun, he hated her deeply. She hated him just as much. She would take his Saint away, murmuring for his beloved to not,” occupy herself with such an unholy man”, as he would,” lead her astray”, Whatever that meant, anyway. He drained the accursed nun, ignoring the violent scratching and burn of a tiny vial of holy water she attempted to fling into his eyes. He assumed she died then, when she went limp, even paler than before. He didn’t care too much, he was occupied by the Priestess.

A part of him screamed to stop, trying desperately to pull the reigns back when his teeth sunk into her soft flesh. Despite his frenzied state, his vicious devouring of her blood, he still took note of the way her face twisted into a look he had never seen. It seemed foreign to her: absolute horror and disgust. Despite being lost to his primal urge to feast, something in him responded to it, he felt a tear begin to gather in his eye. He didn’t know he could still weep.

Even now, she gave the love only a saint could give. She choked, yet still gently pet him, weakly embraced him in a way that softly cooed, “I’ve missed you”, despite her slowly loosing strength, at least it did in his muddled mind.

He came to in that embrace. He felt a deep panic grip his soul, he knew what he had to do. He couldn’t possibly live if she, somebody more deserving of life, died that day. The servants watched as he frantically lifted her smaller form, a feat considering his need for a cane more often than not despite being such a powerful vampire and rushed her to the crypt.

He raced through the hall, placing her in his ornate coffin. He immediately demanded somebody make one for her, even more ornate than his own. The servants immediately got to it, nobody wanted to invoke his wrath.

He didn’t leave her the entire time. He hoped his attempt to turn her worked. He had the servants bury the nun that accompanied her. No coffin, merely toss her into the dirt, “If she rises again, hopefully she suffocates.”, he added when the servants questioned. He was too occupied with his lover to provide anymore words after.

He isn’t seen for a days, servants only know he is alive by the haunting melody of the organ ringing out from the crypt. He wouldn’t leave, he would have feasts brough to him, so he wouldn’t have to leave her. He worried she’d never return.

He sat silently, they had moved her to the coffin he had made for her. He was beginning to believe he had cut her life short, taken away her dreams as he had many others. He stared at his organ, at the stone bricks of the crypt. He counted the cracks, the webs, the ornate detailing of his cane. He was resigned to rotting there, with her, refusing to eat, refusing to rest, he was prepared to go out into the burning sun, to disappear and go straight to hell; he knows even in death he wouldn’t see such a pure woman again. But it would be retribution for him taking her from this plane.

He stood when he heard the coffin creak, he nearly fell whipping around. He heard a hiss, she slowly slid out from the coffin. Her once pristine robes had a deep stain of blood from where he bit before. Her eyes dark, searching. Even like this, she was beautiful to him. Her fangs bared, she staggered, searching for food. He immediately called for blood.

He felt it was an insult to give her pig’s blood, but he didn’t wish to make her drain anybody. He knew if she was conscious of her actions, she wouldn’t want to do such a thing. He’s sure if she knew what she drank now, she’d be distressed.

When she finally comes to her senses, he is holding her. He sighs when she returns his embrace, hearing her whisper how she thought he died, responding every time with a soft, “I know, I’m sorry.” It seemed she couldn’t remember what happened, or maybe she did, she was just choosing to ignore it for now, or pretending so she can get away later. He didn’t care, she’s here. He still apologized, she still quietly accepted. He insisted her companion ran away. She seemed to believe it. He couldn’t care less now.

“This isn’t a large place. It is what I found for us.”, he said softly, gripping her tight, “It can be made better with you here. We can be together here now.”, he added, hoping she can ignore the bell ringing in the graveyard.

[afeelgoodblog]

#034 - These are the Top 7 Best News of Last Week - April 4, 2022

🧑‍🤝‍🧑- Hi, this is Erica and I hope you had a great weekend. Let's read some good things that happened in the last 7 days!

1. House passes bill to cap cost of insulin at $35 a month

The House passed a bill capping the cost of insulin at $35 a month in a move that could impact diabetics around the country. McBath, Rep. Daniel Kildee and Rep. Joseph Morelle, co-sponsored the Affordable Insulin Now Act in the House.

“Why is it that a child born with this disease must spend around $6,000 a year for life on a drug that has been around for over a century?” said McBath.

- People should not have to pay the equivalent of buying an XBox every day for the rest of their lives just so they don't die from diabetic shock.

2. Sacred land returned to Native tribe in Virginia. More than 460 acres of land will be reacquisitioned

Tribal land in Virginia was returned to the Rappahannock Tribe during a celebration hosted by the Department of the Interior Friday.

Interior Secretary Deb Haaland joined the Rappahannock Tribe, Chesapeake Conservancy and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in honor of the tribe's historic reacquisition of roughly 465 acres at Fones Cliffs.

3. All 42 children who were reported missing on school trip were found

42 children were reported missing on Monday during a school trip in Nahal Og near the Dead Sea. All were located and are in good condition, rescue forces announced at 8:30 p.m.

At 9:00 p.m. police reported that 18 children had been rescued, 21 were located by a drone and rescue forces were making their way to them on foot, and three others were located and made contact with a search helicopter.

-The buddy system is flawless!

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation :)

4. EU wants to force fashion firms to make clothes more durable and recyclable

The European Commission is calling for an end to fast fashion by 2030, as it announced a vast expansion of eco-design rules that could in future apply to any product, starting with textiles.

The EU executive also wants large companies to disclose how much unsold stock they send to landfill, as part of a wide-ranging plan to crack down on throwaway culture.

5. It's a girl: Super rare Sumatran rhino born in captive-breeding center

Indonesia has reported the birth of a Sumatran rhinoceros in a captive-breeding program targeted to save the critically endangered species from extinction. The new calf is the first child of captive rhino Rosa at the Way Kambas Sumatran Rhino Sanctuary, and Andatu, a male who was himself born at the sanctuary in 2012.

This new captive birth of a Sumatran rhino has rekindled hopes among experts and officials for more newborns in the future.

6. Airbus flew its A380 on 100% sustainable aviation fuel made from used cooking oil

As per a statement on Airbus’ website, the first A380 flight fueled by 100% Sustainable Aviation Fuel (SAF) took place on Friday. Airbus’ A380 test plane took off from Blagnac Airport in Toulouse, France at 08:43 on March 25th, according to the firm.

It was used in 1 of its 4 engines for a 3 hour flight.

7. Kids wrote pleas to help unwanted shelter pups find homes. It worked.

Second-grade students at St. Michael's Episcopal School in Richmond, as part of a class project, wrote persuasive letters to help get animals at Richmond Animal Care and Control adopted.

They took the project very seriously and wrote carefully crafted letters that used descriptive words they learned in class to persuade potential adopters.

. . .

That's it for this week. Until next week, You can follow me on twitter . Also, I have a newsletter :)

Subscribe here to receive a collection of wholesome news every week in your inbox :D

[dokifluffs]

Dada’s Home | Kenma, Iwaizumi

Pairings: Kenma X Reader (female), Iwaizumi X Reader (female) 

Genre: softest haikyuu domestic fluff omg 

Author’s Note: get fed BUT also, kenma’s isn’t really him coming home from somewhere unlike the other’s so- 

Dada’s Home | Ushijima, Tsukishima // Dada’s Home | Oikawa, Atsumu 

Warnings! All post time skip! Spoilers to manga end for Iwa! and also they have kids 

Kenma:

Confetti and a bright fanfare sounded into his headset as he yawned as bright light graphics strobed into his eyes 

Kenma let out a deep sigh as he leaned back into his game chair, thankful he figured out the ideal design for Bouncing Ball to sell

He read through the comments, quietly reading out the donations and comments from his viewers for his twenty four hour charity event 

so many told him to sleep with a mix of others with the same typical comments about saying hi to wherever they were from 

“Uh,” he squeezed his eyes shut before rubbing them back open as he reached to the side for his glasses. “Thanks onigiriman45 for the $100 donation, that’s very generous of you. He wrote: ‘It looks like there’s a little someone behind you trying to join your stream, also great games man, been watching you since the beginning, keep it up. I love watching after a long day,” he read 

“Ah, thanks for watching man, really appreciate it,” he smiled. 

“Little someone?” He turned in his seat as he looked back, the back area of his gaming room dark with LEDs strung up, lining the corners of the vast room 

you were fast asleep on the couch bed set in here for the nights you didn’t want to sleep alone in bed but you were cuddled into the blanket which covered your face 

but there his sub was right 

there was a little someone who sat on the bed who sat up with a little drool on her chin as she looked tiredly to her dad 

“Aw, D/N,” he didn’t miss a beat as he slipped off his cat headphones as he shuffled from his seat. “what’re you doing up, kitten?” he lifted her up just the slightest bit above his head as he stretched himself out 

“You need to sleep,” he said ironically as he sat her on his forearm as he made his way back, sure to leave you undisturbed

“Actually wait,” he paused as he stepped out of frame with his daughter in arm, the sound of the door sounding onto the stream 

there was a pause on the stream as a few new viewers joined the stream, asking where he went and whatnot

more donations and subs and gifts being given 

“Alrighty,” Kenma stepped into frame as he sat down, putting his headphones back on 

He scrolled up a bit through the comments, adjusting a strand of hair that had fallen into his face before his chat blew up once again 

“It seems you all noticed that I have a guest joining me,” he smiled as he glanced down to his baby girl cuddled against his chest in her carrier 

“Alright, let’s keep this train going,” he clicked to the next game, preparing the next hour or so for among us games 

The chat adored this new side of the Kodzuken 

his little girl leaned into him as he sat leaned back in his chair, easily playing the game whether he was doing tasks or pretending to be the impostor 

he every now and then looked down, adoring her sleepy little face, cheek pressed against his shirt, her small hands clinging onto him 

“good luck kiss,” he whispered, pecking her a small kiss to her cheek or beanie before he started the next game

Iwaizumi: 

He hauled his luggage through the door in a swift motion as he stepped in, his entire body exhausted and jet lagged yet to his surprise, he found the kitchen lights on while the living room lights were dimmed

He let out a low groan as he stretched, loosening his stiff muscles after a twelve-hour plane ride and then an hour and a half shuttle/ taxi ride home

But this was what he had to do as a trainer for the Japanese olympic team

The house was still and quiet with the lights on, giving him the illusion that you were awake but as he walked quietly over the carpeted floor

And there you two were

The stars of his life

You slept comfortably, fast asleep wearing one of his hoodies, laid on your back

On top of you, your baby girl as she laid on her tummy, cheek pressed on your stomach with your hands resting on top of her lower half

With her little mouth agape, her chubby cheeks squished on your stomach, she looked so precious to iwaizumi, his heart melted seeing her after so long

Her dark hair that matched his own was growing out, still very short but it was getting there

He knelt down beside the couch, resting his chin on his arm, tilting his head to the side to take a closer look at her

She was so small

He reached up with his other hand, nuzzling her plush, rosy cheek with the back of his index finger, the entire room silent

But being this close, he could hear her little breaths as she slept on you, as still as a log

Seeing her sleeping this close, it occurred to him he hadn’t seen her like this ever since she was born

He could remember that night so vividly as it it was only about a couple weeks ago

Yet a few months had already passed

A natural smile pulled on his lips, a rosy blush tinting his cheeks as he leaned even closer, his nose inches away from his

He closed the distance, rubbing his nose to hers, waking her from her sleep

But instead of normal cries from a child, her eyes slowly peeked open, a yawn escaping her as her hands closed around the fabric of the hoodie of his you wore

“Hey, baby,” his voice was low from his own sleepiness, the familiar sound even waking you too

His baby girl’s eyes pulled into thin lines as she smiled, cooing seeing her dad

“Sorry for waking you,” he knelt closer to you, pressing soft kisses to your cheek, mumbling repeatedly how much he missed the two of you into your skin

You brushed your fingers through his hair at the back of his neck, smiling as he pecked repeated small kisses to your lips

But as he did this, there were clear objections

“Don’t worry, dada’s gonna show you some love too,” he scooped his little girl into his hold, supporting her with his arm beneath her, the other resting on her back as he peppered small kisses all over her face, amusing her

“Let’s go up and sleep, hm?’ He glanced back to you as your daughter’s gaze was locked on her father’s, one small hand over her mouth, the other holding onto his shoulder

“Okay,” you let out a deep breath, your voice barely audible as he pulled you up, carrying his daughter securely in his arm

You couldn’t have asked for a better life than this one with Hajime. “Welcome home,” you snaked your hand around his waist as the two of you went up, leaving behind the dark ground level

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!

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[deathbyjoong]

ATEEZ Honeymoon HCs

Summary: I wrote a few thousand words on what I thought a honeymoon would be like with each member of ATEEZ. I hope you all enjoy ✨

Many many thanks to @bfyunho​ for beta-ing and generally being my favorite person 💕

Warnings: fluff and smut. 18+ ONLY!

Seonghwa

Y’all already KNOW that a honeymoon with Seonghwa is just gonna be two weeks of him exercising his duality

Constant love-making? Absolutely. But also! Lots of interesting things to do and many opportunities to make memories

Where’s he gonna do that? A large resort suite all to yourselves in Mediterranean ItalyIt’s warm, sensual, fun, perfect--everything you ever wanted

Days spent wandering the town, swimming, finding museums and restaurants

Seonghwa insists on taking selfies at every single location--he wants to know every single one of these moments long after his memory has failed him

Sunbathing on a private sailboat on the Amalfi Coast, soaking in the vitamin D 

The ship’s captain finds a beautiful, unoccupied spot in a shallow cove, and drops anchor

He then heads into the cabin of the boat to give you and your husband some privacy

Seonghwa sits on a lounge chair behind you, rubbing sunscreen on your shoulders

He’s letting his hands move just as slowly and sensually across your skin as he wants, taking his time in listening to your breath hitch in your throat

Eventually ducking his head down to press his lips to a spot on your neck he hasn’t covered yet, while his thumbs still rub circles on your shoulders

Giving all his attention to that one area, biting lightly then sucking the skin to soothe it

You lean your head back, giving him all the access he could want, and a soft sigh escapes your parted lips

His hair tickles your shoulder, but Seonghwa doesn’t linger long before he’s turning you to face him so he can kiss you properly

He’s got the ties of your swimsuit undone in seconds, and you throw your legs over Seonghwa’s hips as soon as it’s off

You grind yourself on him, abusing his swim shorts in your pursuit of a little friction

Hwa grips you by the waist, firmly but not enough to hurt. Just enough to get you close--enough to help you rise and fall on him

Something occurs to you, and you break the kiss to breathlessly murmur in his ear

“You need sunscreen, too. You’re gonna burn.”

Hwa chuckles, dangerously low, flashing his teeth as he reaches down with one hand and picks up the bottle he’d set on the deck

“My wife is so considerate,” he coos, handing it to you

You take it, rolling your eyes. But Seonghwa’s arms tighten around you once more, and you’re brought close to the tent in his shorts again

“Will you put some on me too, then?” He looks up at you with puppy dog eyes that are completely betrayed by his pupils, blown wide

You squeeze some of the lotion into your hands and let the bottle fall down as you spread it over his shoulders

You’re consumed by his kiss again, gripping his shoulders, arms, neck, wherever you can reach

His skin rubs slick against yours because of the sunscreen, and all you can taste is the salt on Seonghwa’s lips as he does away with his shorts and finally pushes into you

It doesn’t take more than ten minutes of soft moans, grinding, and his mouth against your neck for you to come, head thrown back and facing the sun

Your husband isn’t long after, burying his face in the crook of your shoulder as he loses himself in you

When you’ve come down from your high, Seonghwa stands slowly and pulls you with him

“Let’s go swimming.”

You spend the rest of the afternoon wading in the shallow waters of the cove, soaking in the sun and kicking up the white sand with your toes

When the sun starts to slide down the sky, setting everything aglow with orange and gold, Seonghwa stands behind you and holds his lips to the back of your head

His arms are around you, and your joined form sways gently with the waves until the sun falls away completely

When you get back to the resort, you both shower off and Seonghwa presents you with a beautiful dress to wear to dinner

He wines and dines you every single night, even making an effort to learn some Italian to more easily place your orders and interact with locals

And each night, he lifts his glass and toasts, “To you, Mrs. Park.”

Hongjoong

It took exactly zero convincing for you to get Hongjoong to agree to Paris

He loved the idea right away, because it’s a city known for its art and fashion

You reserve a penthouse room in the heart of Paris, with floor to ceiling windows and sheer white curtains

The two of you arrive in Paris decked out in the most impeccable airport fashion, ready to paint the city red

Unfortunately, the jet lag hits you both a little harder than expected

So you spend the rest of the first day sleeping and eating in bed, to the backdrop of sultry French soul music playing over the radio

The next morning, you wake up just as the sun is beginning to peek over the rooftops

It sends gold rays through the blue light of the morning

You slept with the windows cracked, and the soft breeze blows through the curtains

He’s sleeping next to you, and you curl up against him, perfectly content to get a few more minutes of sleep

His t-shirt smells like him--like home-- and you smile to yourself

But something less wholesome is going on his head

Hongjoong’s eyebrows tilt and his lips part as he whimpers in his sleep

It’s an expression you recognize, although he’s only ever made it while he’s very much awake

Usually as you take him, nails grazing down his stomach, watching his head fall back against the pillows

You have to wonder if that’s what he’s dreaming about, but you’re not about to sit by and let the dream version of you have all the fun

Throwing a leg over his hips, you rest your hands on Joong’s chest and slowly kiss his neck

He moans softly, eyes opening as he wakes

His hands find your hips, pulling you against the growing hardness in his sweatpants, and there’s a sheepish smirk on his face

“Sounded like a good dream,” you whisper against his lips

Hongjoong smiles in the dim light, his eyes flicking to your mouth

“It was,” he replies

His hand is creeping up your back, fingers purposely snagging on your t-shirt

“But nothing compared to this, and nothing compared to you,” he says, and kisses you firmly

You’re not usually one for morning sex, but this lazy love is exquisite in its own way

It’s all slow touches and kisses that are soft but not lacking in passion

Hongjoong shifts to be on top of you and your noses bump, causing both of you to giggle a bit

Joong hides his face in your neck, but takes the opportunity to place a few kisses there

The pair of you take your time in climbing the mountain, but you reach the peak at the same time, hands clasped and legs tangled

You tilt your head a little to watch his face as he comes because the sight of him, and the sounds he’s making, are nothing short of gorgeous

Following an equally slow comedown, you shower off together and clamber back into bed for another couple hours of sleep

When you’re both a bit more rested, you set out on foot to explore the city

Munching on croissants with Hongjoong at an outdoor cafe, and sipping espressos before setting off again

You stop at a small flower stand, and Joong buys you a handful of roses

As you walk on, he has his hands in his pockets, and you loop your arm through his

The content smile playing on his lips gives you a high, and you bask in the moment

The following day, you drive to the Musee du Louvre, and stay until closing time

Joong looks at the art, and you look at him, admiring your own masterpiece

You’re thankful you ended up here because it gives you a perfect, constant view of his profile, from his starry eyes to the tip of his nose to his lovely mouth

He catches you staring at him, and blushes while trying to suppress a smile

You do another day trip to the palace and gardens at Versailles, holding hands as you stroll through the ornate, golden halls and endless paths adorned by flowers

And, of course, it’s not a trip to Paris, or a trip with Hongjoong, if there isn’t shopping for clothes at some point

You pick outfits out for each other in the city’s best boutiques de vetements, from sleek luxury retailers to some of the more underrated shops in the art district

The two of you end up having to buy another suitcase for all the clothes you bring back, but this turn of events is shocking to no one

It’s the most fun you could have on a vacation, and your only consolation for having to go home at the end of the week is getting to start the best adventure of all

Being married to your best friend

Yunho

You’ve always wanted to visit Austria

What better occasion than your honeymoon to spend a week in Salzburg?

It’s all wonderful-- the music, scenery, history, and dancing!

It’s a series of beautiful moments from the very start of your trip

You and Yunho watch Harry Potter together on the plane there, sharing earbuds and mouthing the spells together

At one point, Yunho moves the armrest so the two of you can comfortably hold hands

You doze off together, heads resting against each other, and are only awoken by the captain announcing that you’ve landed

You were worried about jet lag, but your Energizer bunny husband has an abundance of contagious excitement

You drop your bags at the hotel, change clothes, and immediately set off on your first adventure

It’s a sunny, breezy day and the sweet aroma of flowers on balconies is everywhere

You’re strolling hand in hand down a cobblestone road in the historic district of the town when you and Yunho hear the music at the same time

You’re drawn like magnets to the sound of a small band playing on the sidewalk

Yunho pulls you in for a dance, just like you knew he would, one grasping yours and the other pulling you close by the waist

As he swings you in circles, you think to yourself, this is why you married him

His carefree nature, spontaneity, and the joy his spirit radiates

And the laughter in your ears that’s just as much music as the instruments being played on the corner of the street

Though you don’t know the steps, and you’re pretty sure Yunho is making them up on the spot, you never once stumble over each other

He ends the dance by twirling you around, tickled pink at how much fun you’re both having

Next, you find a little outdoor cafe, and insist on feeding him yourself

Yunho is blushing and acting like he thinks it’s ridiculous, but when you finally give up, he picks up the fork and hands it back to you with a sheepish smile

You giggle and scoop up a piece of the chocolate cake you’re sharing, watching his cheeks turn pink as he accepts it

By the time the cake is finished, you’ve got a bit of chocolate icing on the corner of your mouth

Instead of just pointing it out to you, Yunho becomes Yunhoe

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he reaches across the little table and swipes his thumb across your lip

You thought he was just being cute, until he brings his hand back to his mouth and sucks the icing off his thumb

As you watch with a smirk, Yunho gives you a look that makes it clear he’s doing the math in his head of how quickly you can get back to the hotel room

He throws a handful of Euros on the table (more than the bill would’ve been) and grabs your hand

Twenty minutes later, you stumble backwards out of the elevator, arms thrown around Yunho’s shoulders

His mouth is hot over yours, and you have to laugh at yourself for not even making it one day before jumping each other

But hey-- what are honeymoons for, right?

He breaks your kiss only to swipe the key card at the room door, but his lips are right back on yours as soon as he can

Yunho picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, and blindly pushes the door open behind you

You’re not sure whose idea it was, or if either of you even thought about it, but you end up bent over the balcony railing, your lower half shielded from pedestrians below only by flower boxes

Yunho’s got one hand around your waist, and the other hand braced on the railing

He’s groaning softly between kisses against the side of your neck, thrusting into you from behind

At one point his hand drifts from your waist to press into your clit, causing your head to fall back against his shoulder

Yunho puts a hand over your mouth to stifle the moans that you can’t keep in

You come shortly after with a muffled cry into his palm, and Yunho bites into your shoulder as gently as he can to muffle his own noise when he comes a moment later

You take a few moments to come down before Yunho walks you inside to clean off

You collapse onto the bed together for a much-needed nap, dozing off peacefully in your favorite place in the world-- your husband’s arms

Yeosang

You had to reason with Yeosang just a little to get him to agree to go to Greece for your honeymoon

But once he realized why you picked it out of all places, he came around

It offers food, sunshine, fresh air, and many adventures in a place made for exploring

Getting excited on the plane ride in, giggling with each other and looking out the window at the islands like a couple of excited kids

You go searching for the best views in Santorini, climbing through the endless maze of steps between white and blue buildings

So many selfies--Yeosang smiling shyly with his cheek pressed to the side of your head

After a while, he really starts to relax and have fun, and his smiles in your pictures get wider and wider

One day is devoted entirely to walking through the market in town, buying random food items just because they smell good and holding them out for the other to try

At one point Yeosang slips away while you’re not paying attention

Trying not to panic, you look around, feeling like a child who’s lost their mom at a supermarket

Just as you’re starting to lose your breath, Yeosang catches you by the waist

You knew it was him just by his touch, but you still look to his face for the reassurance that he’s there

There’s a glint in his eye that implies he’s amused by your concern at losing him, but he tells you it’s okay, and shows you where he went:

A bright bouquet of flowers no doubt native to the island is bursting from his hands in marvelous yellows, pinks, and whites

You recognize Asphodels, but the rest are beautiful, nameless mysteries

They almost get crushed between your bodies as you throw your arms around Sangie and kiss him in full public view

No one seems to mind it though-- it appears as though love is in the air on this day, carried by the light sea breeze and lit by the sun

Yeosang smiles into the kiss before reminding you to be careful of your flowers

You take them from him with a grin, but when you’re on your way home, the smile turns into a pout

“Sang?” “Yeah?” “My feet hurt.”

Yeosang fakes a dramatic sigh, but it’s not another second before he’s crouching in front of you, holding his arms out behind him

You gleefully climb on, and Yeosang carries you the rest of the short walk to your AirBnB

He’ll never say it out loud, but his favorite thing in the world is feeling your arms around his shoulders

Just like on your wedding day, just like now, just like he wants every day for the rest of his life

Another day, the two of you are hiking through some of the more rural parts of Santorini, and happen upon a beautiful wild olive grove near a cliff face

You come back the next morning with a blanket and some snacks, and spend the entire day in the shade

Admiring him as you sit by the seaside, because he looks so stunning among the greens and blues and yellows

Again--SO. MANY. SELFIES

It’s not your fault he looks that good

Maybe he looks a little too good

Maybe you make a mess of your picnic blanket after grabbing your husband and pulling him on top of you

Once Yeosang looks around and ascertains that there’s absolutely no one around, he’s all game

His hands are bunching the skirt up around your hips, his mouth greedy and searching your neck for any spot that’ll make you whimper when he sucks into it

Your spot in paradise turns into rapture as his fingers meet your core, massaging you until you start to dig your nails into his shoulder

You’ve got one hand on his bicep and the other in his hair when he takes you in one smooth motion, finding his rhythm like he never dropped it in the first place

You come apart beneath him, and beneath the softly rustling leaves of the olive trees

The two of you fall asleep shortly after, completely relaxed in each other’s arms

Holding hands on your walks through the town at night, underneath the twinkle lights

You’ve married your best friend, and this is the best beginning to your lives together that you could ever imagine

Happiness settles around you like a light blanket, and you hope it stays forever

San

Don’t ask me why, but a glass igloo hotel in Iceland seems perfect

It’s cozy but not too small, and it’s the picture of quiet luxury

The glass walls and ceiling give you a beautiful view of the wide Icelandic sky, which is clear as crystal after a fresh snowfall

There’s a fireplace against one wall, with a fuzzy rug in front of it and many, many pillows

You spend the first evening snuggled up there with San, sipping hot chocolate and talking about every random thing you can think of

He keeps finding reasons to say “my wife”, getting all giggly every time he does

After you fall asleep, another storm rolls through, dropping an extra foot of powdery snow all around you

You and San are oblivious, however, because you’re both fast asleep under several layers of blankets

Safe and warm in your little nest, you nuzzle your face into San’s neck, and he tightens his arms around you in his sleep

Because being with you, and keeping you close, comes as naturally to him as breathing

When you wake up, you see the wonderland outside and it’s not even a discussion-- you and Sannie are outside as fast as you can put on your clothes

You play in the snow together, and his adorable laugh echoes around you every time he beans you with a snowball

Chasing each other around like little kids, giggling and kicking up the snow

San catches you by the waist and spins you around, making sure to never drop you

You wrestle around a bit but eventually end up making snow angels together

When you stand up to admire your outlines in the snow, San pulls you close and presses his face into your hair

Putting an arm around his waist, you brush some of the snow off his jacket

He catches your hand, and holds it to his chest, where you can feel his heart pounding

“Never forget that this beats for you, okay?”

You almost cry, but opt to pull San to you and press kisses all over his face instead

He just giggles and accepts every single peck on his quickly-heating cheeks

Later that day, you make your way to the hot springs nearby, running as fast as you can to the water’s edge after dropping your coats

It’s a rush to the senses, slipping into the hot spring and away from the frigid air

San is behind you, gripping your hand tightly

You find a ledge that’s been carved into the rock underwater, and make yourselves comfortable on it

San leans back, eyes closed, and you can see the puffs of his breath coming slower and slower as he fully relaxes

You lean back against his arm, enjoying the feeling of his skin and the soft water pooling around you

You end up throwing your legs over his thighs and curling into his side

His arm goes around your shoulders, and you feel every bit of worry leave your body

You’re heavy with relaxation, but you feel lighter than ever

That evening, you’re watching a movie and sipping spiked hot chocolate when a flash of green lights up the igloo

Gasping, you stand up to stare skywards, mouth open

San turns off the movie and moves next to you, taking your hand and squeezing it lightly

You watch the Northern Lights in silence as they ripple across the sky in vivid purples, blues, and greens

A few minutes into the show, you glance over at San to see his eyes glittering with all the colors

He looks so beautiful, holding entire galaxies, and he doesn’t even realize it

When the lights begin to fade down, you reach over and pull San to you

He knew what you wanted from the first millisecond of touch

He responds in kind, tugging you as close to him as he can and making quick work of both your shirts

Chests pressed together and breathing ragged, you let yourselves fall back onto the rug

Arms and legs tangle as you make love beneath the glass ceiling, and the auroras begin to flicker again, making everything that much more beautiful

Falling asleep in each others’ arms, not only for the warmth, but because you love him more than anything in the world

Mingi

Madagascar!

It’s a lesser known honeymoon destination, with fewer people than some of the more popular spots in Europe or the Caribbean

You have your own bungalow on the beach, with room service twice a day and spa services as well

Getting massages and face masks with Mingi? Yes. Doing so in matching fluffy white robes? Double yes.

Going on a safari adventure to see the lemurs!

You and Mingi pile into the backseat of an open-air Jeep and a driver takes you around one of the wildlife refuges

You two have the time of your lives looking at all the animals, grabbing each other and pointing when you see a new one

He’s smiling so big the entire time, and his happiness is contagious

You both sleep in late every day just because you can--no alarms, just birds twittering and sunlight filtering through the blinds

Waking up in each other’s arms, nestled under a layer of soft blankets

All you have to do is open your eyes, and Mingi is right there, sleeping soundly with the corners of his mouth turned up

His hair is tousled and he looks so peaceful

That is, until you try to get up to make breakfast, and he refuses to let you get out of bed

He doesn’t even wake up; just throws one arm around you and hugs you tight, humming in his sleep with a little pout on his lips

You can’t help but smile, and relent to his cute charm

An hour or so later, when both of you wake up, Mingi kisses you all over your face

It’s the best way to say “good morning” in his opinion, and you’re pretty sure he’s right

Another day, you do a guided hike through Amber Mountain National Park

There are even more lemurs, and many other animals

The air is so clean you can’t even believe it, and peace seeps into you with each step further into the lush, green wilderness

You stop to swim in an emerald pool at the foot of a small waterfall, and your guide steps away to give you a moment of privacy

You get close to Mingi, resting your hands on his shoulders and pressing your forehead to his

The water flows softly around you, but Mingi is your rock--steadfast and comfortable to you always

He kisses you sweetly, and you feel any tension he might have had leaving his body with each deep inhale

Your favorite moment from the trip, however, has to be your journey to the Avenue of the Baobabs

The Baobab trees have long been a legendary symbol of the African wilds, but seeing them up close in reality is its own level of breathtaking

Nothing could have prepared you for just how massive the Baobabs are, towering above the horizon as you approach in your tour Jeep

You’re dropped off at the beginning of the path that winds through hundreds of the giant trees, and told to meet back there in a couple of hours

Mingi pulls you down the trail excitedly, telling you that if he had to be a tree, he would be one of these

You snap your favorite photo ever that afternoon

It’s a picture of Mingi, grinning widely, hugging a Baobab (or trying to, since that particular tree had a diameter of about fifteen feet)

He looks so happy, almost childlike, and the joy just radiates off of him

That picture gets framed the second you return from your trip, and it’s also the lockscreen on your phone

Although your days are spent visiting every destination on the island, your evenings are a much-needed quiet time to recharge

You and Mingi snuggle up for a movie some nights, and other nights you drink on the porch and listen to the sounds of the jungle

Sometimes you get distracted from the movie or the scenery, and kiss Mingi a whole bunch instead

He’s more than willing to pull you close, and even carry you off, when you whisper something sinful in his ear

But no matter what you get up to, his love and sweetness are in every touch

Whether you’re out and about, or enjoying a quiet moment to yourselves, his arm is around you always, and you never have to ask twice for extra kisses

Wooyoung

A beach resort in Turks and Caicos seems like the perfect place to go with Wooyoung

Hear me out-- it’s got music and tourists that are just as loud as he is

Crystal clear, bright blue waters greet you as the two of you hitch a ride from the airport

All the windows in the cab are down, because it’s sunny and just the right kind of warm

Salty sea air fills your lungs and the wind breezes through your hair

You’re given complementary rum punch when you check in, and it’s the perfect start to your trip

You and Wooyoung drop your bags off at the room and immediately change into your swimsuits

The resort backs right up to the beach, so you run out in your sandals, hand in hand as you make a beeline toward the water

The sand is hot beneath your feet, but you don’t even notice because you’re so excited and the water! is so! blue!

You crash into the surf seconds later, the warm water swirling around your legs

You wade through the water until you’re chest deep, then kick up your feet and float on your back

There are no breakers, nor boats allowed, in the calm waters of the bay, so you float in the soft blue for a little bit, content to just let the tide wash you back to shore in whatever timeline it sees fit

You reach out at the line between sea and sky, meeting the skin of Wooyoung’s arm

He’s still standing, staring in wonder at the paradise around you, but he takes your hand without thinking

He’s your anchor, letting you float without drifting away

You spend the next several hours going back and forth between the sea and the sand, finding beach chairs to lounge on while you lay in the sun

As the sun starts to fall in the sky, you decide to head back to the room to shower off and get dressed for a fancy dinner

You’re minding your business, rinsing the shampoo out of your hair, when the bathroom door opens and Wooyoung pokes his face inside

“Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all. It’ll save water,” you respond, smiling

Woo sheds his swimshorts and joins you, slipping in as fast as he can to keep the steam inside the glass door of the shower

You massage shampoo into his hair, enjoying his little hums of appreciation

He rinses it out while you wash your body, and you stand behind him as he washes off too

His back is to you and you openly stare at the water running down his back

You feel heavy, relaxed, from spending all day in the sun, but there’s one thing that could make this afternoon even better

Once all the soap is off of him, you step forward and kiss the spot between his shoulder blades

Never a stranger to your unspoken wishes, Wooyoung leans his head back as you kiss your way up to his shoulder

When you can’t reach any more, he turns and kisses you, hard

He’s got one hand snaked around your waist and the other holding your face to his

Your arms are around his shoulders in a heartbeat, and he backs you against the tile

It’s cold, but the warm water is still running between your bodies, giving you shivers

Wooyoung breaks the kiss only to kneel in front of you, throwing your leg over his shoulder

He brings you to the edge with his mouth, then stands again, keeping your leg hitched over his hip

When he fucks you, you’re worried that people are going to see the scratches on his shoulders the next day at the beach

But eventually, you can’t be bothered to think about it, and you lose yourself in his touch instead

You come apart shortly after, chests heaving and skin pressed to wet skin

A little while later, you’re toasting one another over dinner

The restaurant offers many amazing local delicacies, and Wooyoung insists on hand-feeding you at least half of them throughout your trip

There’s live music every night at the resort’s restaurant & bar, and Wooyoung doesn’t think twice about pulling you with him to the dancefloor

You’re not overly confident in your dancing skills, but Woo pulls you close and shows you some simple steps as other couples join around you

After a couple of songs, you’re able to get into the groove of the funky music that the island loves so much

Wooyoung’s smile is all you need to know you’re moving the right way, and you dance to a few more songs before going back to the bar counter for more fruity drinks

The two of you continue to get tipsy, then walk to the beach and make out in the sand like a couple of teenagers

You’re both giggling between kisses, digging your toes into the sand, and existing purely in the moment

Everything is sweet, from the taste of pineapple on his tongue to the heady aroma of plumeria blooms in the trees

Every day is a beach day in this place. You’ve never had this much fun, splashing and playing in the water, laughing nonstop

One afternoon, Wooyoung is passed out on a beach chair under an umbrella, lulled to sleep by the day’s warmth and the sounds of the ocean

After taking a picture of him to giggle at later, you get an idea

The air is fragrant with the sweet smell of the thousands of flowering bushes that are planted throughout the resort’s grounds

Nobody would miss a few of those flowers, would they? If you were to, say, pluck some and decorate your husband with them?

You slip away from the chairs and your sleeping Woo to gather a few blooms from the nearest row of landscaping, returning with sweet-smelling handfuls of them

You giggle to yourself, putting the flowers all around Wooyoung’s head like a little halo of yellows, whites, and pinks

He doesn’t even notice them until he wakes up, gets back in the water, and sees a bunch of petals in the surf around him

You laugh and take photos of all of it

Being on a catamaran at sunset, sitting side by side with your head on his shoulder

The sky is painted in vivid oranges and reds, and Woo’s hand rests on your thigh, his breathing slow and even next to you

The wind is a bit cool on your wet skin, but the sun still delivers warmth, and you inhale the smell of saltwater on Wooyoung’s skin

He turns his face slightly to kiss the top of your head, and you smile knowing that his love for you comes without him even having to think about it

As the boat smoothly cuts through the water, you feel completely at peace

You’re exactly where you’re meant to be, and it’s hard to think about your life turning out any other way than this moment, with this man

Jongho

Buenos Aires, Argentina

Incredible local food, soccer matches, constant music, breathtaking city scenery--it’s a neotropical dream

First of all, Jongho is amazing to travel with

Being the eldest of his family, he’s well-prepared with a bag full of snacks, meds, toiletries, headphones, and neck pillows for both of you

He looks so cute on the flight, snuggled up in his complimentary blanket and neck pillow

He’s pouting in his sleep and you take several photos just because

When you get to the hotel room, he bravely offers to carry your luggage up the stairs for you

But he makes you wait at the bottom of the stairs so that he can come back and scoop you into his arms

Because he insists on carrying you bridal-style at every opportunity, starting with your arrival to the room

It’s a suite on the second floor, with its own balcony overlooking the main walkway below

You can look out over shops and restaurants and bars, all the nightlife in one place

You change out of your airport clothes, then venture out to grab some drinks and go shopping-- the boys had bullied Jongho into promising that he’d bring back gifts

The two of you are buzzing by the time night falls, but your feet are sore from walking and you’re exhausted from the flight

So you grab some food to-go from one of the restaurants and take it back to the room

You chow through dinner with the balcony doors open, allowing the music and chatter of the streets to carry in on the soft, warm breeze

Going into food comas immediately after eating, you and Jongho pass out on top of the covers, facing each other with hands clasped in the middle

You wake up to brilliant sunlight and Jongho’s arm thrown over you

He’s your life-size teddy bear, and you snuggle closer to him for warmth and comfort

When you both get up and around, you surprise Jongho with tickets to this year’s Superclasico-- only the biggest soccer match in Buenos Aires!

Jongho tries to play it cool, but you can tell he’s absolutely giddy at getting to attend a sports game while he’s here

He loves soccer, after all, and he can’t stop smiling the entire way to the stadium

He practically drags you by the hand to your seats, which are so close to the field that you can hear the footballers yelling to each other

Jongho doesn’t sit down a single time during the game, shouting excitedly in Korean even though he doesn’t know anything about these teams or who to root for

He’s just glad to be there, and it’s an absolutely fantastic match

On your short walk home, he’s got so much energy from being amped up by the game that he stops you on the sidewalk and tells you to get on his back

You blush profusely, but who are you to say no? Besides, you love seeing him be this carefree

The two of you stick out like a sore thumb in the streets of Argentina since you’re giggling like crazy and he’s singing to you in a language that definitely isn’t local

You indulge in some amazing street food before going back to the hotel and getting ready for the evening

He got tickets to a theater show, and it gives you an opportunity to get all dressed up

Your husband looks so handsome in his casual suit, and when you walk out in your dress, he’s holding roses

The show is wonderful, and you’re both part of the standing ovation it receives

You throw off your shoes when you get home, but there’s so much excitement outside that the night is hardly over

Standing on your balcony, listening to singing in the streets and bars below, with Jongho’s arms around you from behind

This man clearly did his research before coming here, because he actually knows some of the songs in Spanish and you bet your ass he serenades you as musicians pass by below

There are fireworks some nights for no apparent reason other than that the city exists to be a technicolor celebration of life

There is no better place to start this marriage, and no better person to be married to

[what-the-stories-have-foretold]

May I request Akai Shuichi with the song “with me” by sum 41? (Congrats on 300 btw!!)

Thank you 😊

Home

Akai Shuichi x gn!reader

My Navigation is here.

Warnings: emotional (but the happy kind), Akai picks reader up, but he's a sniper so he is physically pretty strong

Note: This is more or less a continuation of everyting I wrote concerning Akai leaving/wanting or waiting to return to the reader

Stepping out of the plane and breathing in the fresh air was what really hit him with reality. After a sigh to calm his nerves, he walked down to get his suitcase. He nearly laughed at himself, nervous and buzzing from fear and excitement alike. Mary would probably not even believe him, if he told her he was feeling that way.

The streets were empty. Spring had laid itself over that Sunday morning, with the cherry blossom trees already showing small, pink buds.

You might still be asleep, he thought, but with the way nature looked around town, he was sure you´d already be awake, eating breakfast or reading a book.

Suddenly, breath got stuck in his throat.

Or maybe, maybe you were taking a walk in the early hours of the day, letting warm rays hit your skin, smiling upwards, towards the morning sun. When you opened your eyes again, you looked directly at him.

He was frozen. Never in his life had he ever been frozen. For a moment he was even scared, unsure of how you´d react. Shock was painting your features, that much he could see - But then a smile grew on your lips and your eyes glistened with tears he knew he´d be brushing away for the rest of the day, holding you tightly in his arms while listening to you talk about what he had missed and ramble about whatever new things you were enamoured with. The thought nearly made him tear up as well and he dropped his suitcase to catch your running form in his arms and spinning you around, laughing, before holding you tightly and pressing kisses on your skin, face nuzzled in the crook of your neck, as you ran your fingers through his hair. Your breath was now calm, and you softly swayed with him. No words were exchanged, because he was finally back, and anything other could wait.

[onyxheartbeat]

Dear HIM/Ville Valo fans,

this is a long post but I must discuss this.

________

I came across this interview of Kat Von D from a few days ago. Before I get into my thoughts, below is a passage from her old book “Go Big or Go Home” which you may or may not have read. She wrote about Ville:

________

“I only knew his music, and I loved it on first listen. It was dark and it was beautiful. It was metal and it was poetry. It was love loaded into a gun, and I wondered about the man behind the songs.  Two years later, our paths crossed, and like the majority of the connections I’ve made in life, tattooing brought us together. Through our first tattoo sessions, we began to get to know each other. For the next few years, I just thought of him as my friend from overseas, and that was all. Then, after knowing him for six years, something changed. It could have been the wine, the music, or the moon. Most likely it was just perfect timing. Just one kiss, and he changed my world. We were both sad back then, and lost. I was depressed, having finally ended a marriage that had been doomed from the beginning. I was also dealing with the pressures of filming a television show, which was totally new to me - and drinking my way blindly through it all. His story mirrored mine, and he had been feeling just as low. We had been waiting for something to happen, for someone or something to come along and save us from ourselves. And when it suddenly seemed that that someone was each other, it took us both by surprise. We shared darkness, and doing that bought light back into our somber worlds: for once, we didn’t feel alone.He’s the reason why I wanted to write music to begin with - and learn to sing. I remember the exact moment I made up my mind about making music. It was something I felt I needed to do, not for any reason other than a way to respond to him. It didn’t matter if the songs I’d write never saw the light of day, as long as he was able to listen to my music, my message to him. He had told me to look for a package at my door step, prefacing the delivery of the contents, his new album, saying, “These are all of the things that are easier sung than said.”I knew what he meant, but never imagined that each song would be filled with direct messages to me. I put the album on, and the music rushed out of the speakers and filled my house. His voice rang all around, making it’s way to the core of my heart with every word he sang. As cryptic as those lyrics may have been for anyone else, I knew exactly what each word meant and recognized every event and place he referred to. The songs were so beautiful, I just wished so badly that he could have said everything out loud just once to me. How should I respond to something like this? Where do I even start?The first time I saw him after I got sober, he was in town working on music. We sat in my office at the shop until the late hours of the night, talking and catching up about everything - music, home, art and work. Did we talk about love? No. We constantly danced around our past instead. What happened to us? I couldn’t find the courage to ask because I was scared of the answer I already knew. We decided to draw, with pencils and paper in front of us, we sat at opposite ends of the table. He pulled my three-minute timer from one of the nearby shelves, and placed it at the center of the table. He suggested we draw each other, and I was game. With a flip of the hourglass, the grains of sand moved from one vessel to the other, and we began.Sketching these timed portraits forced us to stare at each other, making it practically impossible to focus on the drawing itself. I had almost forgotten how beautiful his face was. He has a combination of eyes, lips, and a darkness to his looks that makes him look almost otherworldly. With him, I felt like I was at the center of an orderly, tranquil, magnificent universe. For those short three minutes, there were no questions about life or purpose. It was as if we never needed any more from each other than this.Like all people, I’ve suffered from love sickness and tasted the pain of love. The theatrical director of my mind, the one who staged all these versions of him and my life with him, seemed to be unaffected by reason. I was finding myself constantly day dreaming of the past.His eyes, his hands, his crooked smile - I’d ruminate over his features. Things he said. Things he did. Things he wrote. Things he drew. Things he sang. Over and over again, I’d sift through these images and memories as if they somehow contained the answer to my prayers. But I was living with a long-age memory of him; living so far away from the present moment.If we had spoken about what we were or what we thought we were, back when we got sober, I wouldn’t have been so confused, wandering what if, and writing the rest of our story in my mind. What did I expect? For him to magically not hear about me being in a relationship? And to not be bothered by it? If only he would have asked….. I would have….. If we could have only talked….. then things would be….. if we allowed ourselves to transform our fears of being open, vulnerable, then, I’d convince myself, we would be together. I realized that none of that mattered now. If I wanted to be free of this unrequited longing, I would have to make peace with the past and finally let it go. There was no way around it. But did I want to be free of it? - and him?I listened to one of his songs the other day. Out of all the songs he wrote on that album, this one was the most direct. He sings my name in the chorus. By the time the song is over, I’ve felt a range of emotions - I’m sad but happy, frustrated but calm. He sings about how I alone bring him to a place of stillness and peace within when we are together. What a victorious feeling - to enter into a place with him where no one else has been. To be able to bring goodness to and draw it out of someone. Those sweet thoughts were interrupted by  an e-mail from him. Impeccable timing as always. It’s just a short note, letting me now he’s somewhere out there, thinking of me. He ends the message by calling me “Star Face” - his pet name for me from long ago that no one else uses. At that moment, I loathe him for it. I loathe him because I love him. Sometimes it feels like it would be so much easier to walk away from this if he’d just tell me that he hates me, that he wants nothing to do with me. But instead he calls me “Star Face.” There is no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s not letting go, either.‘Ultimately, it is the desire, not the desired, that we love.’The silver plane hurtled over Newfoundland, over the Labrador sea. Someone told me I might see the northern lights as I fly east and north, but I wouldn’t have noticed as I was deep in writing the letter that I had already mentally composed long before I decided to make this trip to see him over New Year’s Day. I didn’t have to edit myself this time, I knew exactly what the letter would say.I reread the note to myself before sealing the envelope. Then I drew out the first letter of his name in pencil on the front. What a beautiful letter it was, probably my favorite out of the entire alphabet. A letter I was so used to writing myself. With ease the swirls and curves of each arch seemed to flow from my heart, my mind’s eye, drawn in and through my arms to my hands, releasing themselves onto the pale ivory paper envelope. My plane landed soon after.I had missed this country, I had missed him, too. I wondered how time had treated him ,for it had been a few years since I had last seen him. I wondered if I still had the ability to quiet his heart when he was feeling manic. He always said I had a way of doing that when I was near. And I wondered if he even needed me in that way anymore.When we met up, he looked just as beautiful as the day we saw each other for the first time, almost ten years before. And as if no time had passed, we started right where we left off - hours flew by in the comfort of each other’s presence. Talking. Catching up.He asked if I was getting sleepy, and my attempt at concealing the tiredness was transparent. I looked at the clock; maybe it was the jet lag or the clock hands pointing to midnight, but I knew it was time to say good-bye. Reluctantly, we both stood up and tried our best to part ways. As good as it felt to be near him again, I gave him the letter I had written letting him know that I was letting the nation of us go. He took the sealed envelope, and then I watched him walk away for what I assumed would be the last time.My heart didn’t belong locked up in a tower across the ocean from my home. It belonged in my chest, beating, living, feeling, sometimes hurting, but always loving. I deserved to be free, and understanding and needing that more than a dream, I was finally able to let him go.”

_________

Now, let me start by saying, I’ve never understood this and I still don’t. I’ve had that passage saved in my drafts for years because I keep almost anything pertaining to Ville. 

I’ve been a HIM fan since I was about 15 years old, and have followed Ville’s life and work closely. The friendship between them was always apparent to HIM fans in those days, because we saw her in photos with the band often. I used to watch Miami Ink and LA Ink as regularly as pretty much anyone in those days, and I remember when this particular passage of her book was brought to light, the HIM fan base read it and we all had our thoughts. We were all aware of Screamworks being written about Kat (it’s obvious in the lyrics of the album) even though Ville never specifically said Kat’s name when asked about it in interviews.

I remember being baffled back when we as HIM fans discovered this passage from the book. I couldn’t imagine not making that relationship work if it was true love. I’m a bit biased because I adore Ville and he’s like a dream to me, but I just couldn’t understand it. It seemed like she took the relationship for granted or she didn’t love him enough to make it work; but I digress. I get it; love and relationships are complex.

Still, flash forward to this recent interview (the screenshot), she says it was unrequited love, and I’m still not understanding it. Why release all the songs now? Why didn’t she make it work if it was true love? Who is she trying to say was the one not reciprocating (as the word “unrequited” suggests) in the relationship? I don’t understand any of it. More than anything, I’ve had so many questions that I wish I could ask Ville about it all because he only spoke briefly about it all, and it was always rather cryptic. 

I’m only writing this as a HIM fan, and because I love Ville and his lyrics on Screamworks so, so much (it’s an extremely underrated album in the HIM discography, in my opinion) so I’m letting any fellow HIM lovers know she wrote an album in response to it, in case you’re interested. I haven’t followed Kat or her work in many years, so I don’t know what to make of all this, but it’s always been extremely apparent to me when listening to Screamworks that a lot of heart went into it and even pain, not that his lyrics on other albums aren’t like that too, but I felt it more on Screamworks. I feel that Ville was the one who was truly heartbroken.

You all probably know from following my blog that I’m obsessed with love and unrequited love. Any romantic stories, bittersweet letters, heartbreak, longing etc. is just my favorite thing in the world so please excuse the long post, haha.

[poobletoods]

oh boy here I go rambling about a psychonauts but it’s taz balance au

Alright here’s what we got so far

Also in all of this instead of D&D-style magic it’s psychic powers

A giant mass of living water (known as the Deluge) destroys the home plane of the Psychonauts, who were studying the psitanium that had been discovered on their planet and was thought to be the source of psychic powers

they flee to another plane on an interplanar jet and work towards defeating the Deluge with the help of the last remaining piece of psitanium

Lucrecia Mux kept records of the Psychonauts’ discoveries and adventures in her journals (the lonely journal keeper)

Ford Cruller was the “captain” of the jet, kinda the leader of the whole expedition and the one who brought its members together (the broken one)

While Ford handled recruiting people, Otto Mentallis was the one behind most of the tech they used on the mission (the dreamer)

Bob Zanotto was an expert in psychic botany and helped the group when they were getting acclimated to new planets, also acted as a mediator whenever there were disagreements (the peacemaker)

Helmut Fullbear was basically a psychic bard, he boosted morale and was loved by the whole crew (the lover)

Compton Boole has a psychic connection to animals, could talk to them and gather information (undecided on his title)

Before she was recruited Cassie O’Pia wrote a book on her psychic experiences that caught otto’s attention, he thought she would be a helpful addition to the team (the collaborator)

Over the course of the century, Bob and Helmut fell in love and got married, and Ford and Lucrecia started dating

One of the seven also found a way to communicate with the Deluge, and figured out that it was being controlled by a human man who simply went by “Nick” and was basically just an asshole

At the end of every year, the Deluge reaches them again and destroys the planet where they’re staying

After 100 years they decide to split the psitanium up amongst themselves and make items that contain its power, then hide them across the planet

This keeps the Deluge away, but in the process of hiding them Helmut is lost, and the group is heartbroken, especially Bob

To keep them safe, Lucrecia erases the rest of the seven’s memories of the 100-year journey and the psitanium objects

After erasing their memories, Ford’s mind was almost completely shattered, and Lucrecia made him her assistant at (BoB but for this au) to keep an eye on him and make sure he was safe

Bob Zanotto does what Barry did with cloning himself and getting his body back whenever he died (using some of otto’s old tech), but instead of being a lich he’s a brain in a hamster ball

He encounters the main 3 every so often and tries to warn them about what’s happening

Otto is dropped in some city where he remakes all the gadgets the Psychonauts had on their adventure because they’re still in his mind to some degree

Cassie becomes fairly well-known author in this world

Compton works with animals

When Lucy realizes the Deluge is approaching again, she finds Otto, Cassie, and Compton, and sends them out to get the objects under a cover story

Somewhere along the way when Otto, Cassie, and Compton are finding the objects, they come across Helmut’s body (they don’t know who it is obviously) and find his brain in some kind of device nearby that they take with them (I don’t think they even know there’s a brain in it)

Raz replaces Angus, but also Lili shows up later and they have two kid detectives working with them now

Sasha and Milla replace Carey and Killian

Hollis replaces Kravitz and instead of falling in love with one of the main three they just help her with something or make a deal with her and she lets them off the hook

Sam and Dogen replace Mavis and Mookie

Linda replaces Noelle as a brain in a robot

Loboto replaces Lucas

[liltaz-asatreat]

17 for the writer ask game thingy?

From this ask game here! <- Feel free to send some in!! :D

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

Okay, so I basically wrote down all of the notes I have for The Man Who Became The Hunger in this ask here, so I'm just gonna talk about the Julia Survives Ravens Roost AU! :D

So, that first link that has the information about The Man Who Became the Hunger also has information about the Julia fic further down, and in that one, I talk about Julia possibly meeting Lich Barry before the Wonderland mission. Then this ask talks about Julia’s relationship with Leon and the story behind my decision to make her Fighter then multiclass into artificing after Petals to the Metal. I don’t think I’ve made any other posts going in depth talking about it, so some new stuff!!

(I almost wrote down everything I have planned so far that is definitely going to end up in the text, and I can’t give all my secrets away, plus I realized that wasn’t the prompt lol :3 )

I’m not sure of what things are and are not going to end up being in the text, but some details that I do want to point out is that whenever Magnus used to talk about his past or tries to think about it, he would get this far away look in his eyes and just stay silent for a while before someone brought him back to the present, and that happened less and less the more time he spends on Faerun, but since meeting Merle and Taako again and then getting on with the rest of the adventure, Julia notices he starts getting that far away look more often again, and that it happens to Merle, Taako, and Davenport too.

Also, Julia had two childhood best friends whom, during the Relic Wars, Kalen had sent out with a couple of other people to find the Oculus, and she never heard from them again. I had names for them, but I guess I didn’t save them, so now I have to pick new names lol But one of them is a tiefling girl and the other one is a dwarven boy. I don’t have an idea of how exactly they died, but I do know that they did die, and Julia’s never going to know what happened to them. I do know they never actually got a hold of the Oculus though.

Julia’s mother died when she was a kid, and Steven never really dated anyone else, but they were really close to the other people in the Craftsmen Corridor, so while it was just the two of them, Julia grew up with a lot of people which is going to make turning down the Chalice’s offer to stop Kalen and save her dad and her town a lot harder. I’m also going to keep the characters I made up that are residents in Ravens Roost that I either referenced or wrote about in other fics the same.

I still don’t know what the Chalice is going to offer Magnus. It might also be saving Ravens Roost because he did grow close to the people living there and that’s the last place he felt like he was home, plus it would mean a lot to Julia, but I don’t know if I necessarily want to give them the same offer. I don’t know what else I’d offer Magnus though, so we’ll see.

Maurcretia is canon, and the reason Lucretia and Maureen stopped talking is because they had an argument about the ethics of erasing someone’s entire life from their friends and family the first time someone in the Bureau dies, and people started asking questions and Lucretia decided that erasing them had to become a thing. This is definitely probably not going to show up in the story except Maureen does ask Julia to tell Lucretia that she’s sorry and she loves her before she leaves with Kravitz.

Magnus, Merle, and Taako all speak a version of Common that only exists in their plane, and Julia only knew that Magnus spoke it which he remembers he knows it from where he grew up, but not much past that. Tres horny bois found out they all speak it at some point when Julia’s not there, so when they’re fighting Trent the treant in Petals to the Metal, and Merle tells Magnus to chop Trent, he says it in their version of Common, which is how Julia finds out that they speak it too. Everyone says they know it from their home town. No one has the capability of making the connection that they are all from the same place.

I can’t think of any other details right now that aren’t exclusively going to end up happening in the text, but I know that a lot of my ideas that I have now and in the future are going to end up getting written because this fic is basically my play box that I’m eventually going to let people watch me play in lmao I know I need to get the campaign part of the fic written first, but I’m debating whether or not I want to continue it after Story and Song and whether it’s going to be in the same fic or if I’m just going to make it a series on AO3 lol

Edit: I forgot, Lucretia tells them that there’s only 6 relics instead of 7 because that way when they collect the animus bell, they think that’s the last one and that Taako’s argument for going through with breaking into Lucretia’s vault about how they were out of a job actually makes sense. While I was listening the through the podcast the first time around, I was mentally screaming at them that just because Griffin said it was the last arc didn’t mean that there wasn’t still a seventh object and that while I agreed that they needed to figure out what was in the vault, saying they were out of a job wasn’t a valid argument alsdkhgdlhg

It still really bothers me, so I fixed it lmao

[barnes-dameron]

i just read your mando x reader with hypothermia and i absolutely loved it!! it is one of my favorite tropes 😩 can i request a steve x reader with hypothermia? bc after reading that one and absolutely loving it, all i want is your take on how steve would react! i love you and your writing so much!! thank you 🥰🥰

Warming Up

*not my gif

Steve Rogers x reader

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: So sorry this took so long. I wrote a good portion of it, and then 75% of it got deleted! I haven’t written anything in the Marvel universe in awhile, so this was a nice surprise. Pre-endgame, pre-infinity war, pre-Civil War. Gender neutral reader

***

Steve trod towards the Quinjet through the deep snow. The cold biting at his cheeks turning them to a rose pink, and his pants from the knees down were soaked. It was a simple mission in Northern Canada, during the time of the year where the snow was heavy and the wind was harsh. He told you to stay in the jet so at least you could stay warm. As he approached the quinjet, Steve’s heart began to pick up despite the cold when he saw that the light in the quinjet was off.

Steve began to sprint across the wintery landscape, kicking up snow as he ran towards the quinjet. Why was it not running? Why is there no sound? Why is the light in the cockpit off? He hurriedly opened up the hatch, the interior of the jet setting a chill down his spine; not from the cold but the thought of you silently suffering in this freezing temperature. It was enough to cause Steve to panic.

He opened the hatch to the Quinjet, and ran up the ramp, surprised to feel how cold it was; almost as cold as it was outside. The interior was dark, the only source of light coming from the windshield in the cockpit. Steve looked around and could not see the shape of your body in the haul. Treading carefully, he made his way to the cockpit. 

Steve hated the cold. He couldn’t remember much from his years being preserved in frozen ice, but the mere memory of his plane going down was enough for him to loathe it. He did remember shivering, the frigid air enveloping him, and his body systems shutting down causing him to sleep and wake up decades later. It was torture for him to be trapped. He thought that was how he would die, and he wouldn’t wish that on anyone...especially not you. 

Steve entered the cockpit, and finding you in the pilot’s seat, his heart dropping at the sight. You were curled up, huddled in the chair. Your skin was a paler color than usual, your body was shivering, goosebumps covered your skin, and your teeth clattered softly behind your frozen lips. Steve reached out a hand, pressing it to your cheek, and immediately retracting it after the brief contact. You were ice cold. Biting the inside of his cheek, Steve touched you again, placing two fingers on your inner wrist. He concentrated on finding your pulse, but it was weak barely even there. 

Quickly, Steve dragged you off of the chair and settled you on the floor. The window must’ve been the source; the cold air was seeping in. He noted that in his mind, making sure to let Tony know. Steve positioned your side to rest on his chest as he settled down on the floor next to you. He positioned your knees to press against your chest, while encircling your own arms around him. He then wrapped his arms around your figure, pressing you into his warmth. He placed your head to rest in the crook of his neck so the warmth of his breath could began to warm your face. 

As Steve held you in his arms on the Quinjet floor, his thoughts began to bombard him one by one. Why did he take so long on this mission? It was hardly a mission, mostly reconnaissance. He was supposed to scope out the area to see if the target of a potential threat were to show, but he didn’t. Steve could’ve left his post early, and it wouldn’t have made a difference. You wouldn’t be cold, and the both of you would be far away from here. Why didn’t he learn how to manage the Quinjet? Or just learn the basics for that matter? Whenever the Avengers went out on a mission, it was usually Tony or Sam piloting or handling the general maintenance and mechanics of the aircraft. His only experience was back in the 40′s, and he crashed that one. If he knew these things, he could’ve gotten the system working by now, filling the haul with heat and flying you back home. However, the only person who knew anything about the Quinjet was in his arms. 

It was all those reasons that Steve felt so helpless at this moment. Being a hero or even portrayed as a hero means that people automatically assume that he has no fear, and in truth, he didn’t have much to fear, except right now. The mere thought of losing you caused Steve’s head to pound with anxiety. And seeing you like this, frozen and fragile on the brink of death, it was enough to make his blood run cold even though the temperature outside failed to do so already. 

He didn’t know how long he stayed on that floor, praying for you to be okay and wake up from your slumber, willing all the heat from his body to leave him and go to you. Steve himself was beginning to doze off until he felt a shift in movement from between his arms. 

“S-S-t-t-eve?” you whispered, your teeth still chattering as you did so. 

Steve looked down to your face. Your eyes were barely open, but he could the pools of color beneath the eyelids. Hope surged within him as well as a burst of energy. 

“Hey,” he cooed, rubbing his hands over your arms. “Hey, it’s me. What happened here?” 

“I-I-I d-d-don’t-t-t k-know,” you stuttered out, snuggling closer to his warmth. “I-I-I f-fell asleep-p w-w-waiting-g f-for y-you.”

Steve nodded, then rested his head on top of yours. 

“Can you move at all?” he asked. 

“I-I c-can m-move m-my f-f-fingers,” you answered, holding up a weak hand and wiggling them before his eyes. “B-but n-not-t m-my arm-s or l-legs.” 

Steve nodded again, looking around the cockpit, his eyes settling on a black trunk in the corner. He unwrapped his arms from around you and began to shuffle away, towards the trunk. 

“I’ll be right back,” he said, making sure you wouldn’t fall over. 

You stayed put as he made his way to the box, opening it to find contents of an emergency kit inside. He ruffled through the various objects, only picking up what he needed. Steve withdrew a flashlight, a thermal blanket, a tool kit, and a small portable heater that didn’t need to be plugged into anything. He returned to his spot beside you, wrapping you in the blanket and turning on the heater, directing it so the heat hits you. Steve resumed to his previous position, giving you all the warmth you need to feel normal. 

Steve didn’t measure the time passing by using a clock, but more so with your little achievements. After some time, you were able to move your limbs so that they were spread out instead of close to your body. After more time, you were able to move them around with full range of motion. Then after a while, you were able to speak without your teeth chattering. Every little thing brought joy to Steve as he saw light returning to your eyes, and color to your face. 

When you were ready, you got up, grabbed the tool kit, and went to fix what was broken on the jet. Steve trailed behind you, and stayed close to you the whole time. Feeding you tools when you asked for them, watching over your shoulder both to learn from you and admire how smart you are. It didn’t take long for the jet to come back to life; the lights flickering on, the engine beginning to hum, and the heat once again warming the interior. Smiling at your accomplishment, Steve helped you get to the cockpit, your limbs still a little weak and stiff, and settled you in the pilot’s seat. He watched you attentively as you brought the jet into the air and set the coordinates to the Avengers compound. 

“Let’s get away from this Godforsaken place,” you sighed heavily. 

“Please,” Steve responded, settling in the passenger’s seat somewhat besides yours. It was quiet in the Quinjet as you flew the craft back home. The events that occurred began to settle and weigh on Steve. He could’ve lost you. He remembered the slow pulse of your heart rate. If he would’ve placed his fingers on your wrist and felt nothing, he didn’t know what he would do... with you or himself. Steve looked up to see your profile outlined from the gradual returning light, your eyes shining with life, and he smiled. “I’m sorry.” 

He watched as you turned your head back to look at him, confusion traced in your eyes as you furrowed your brows at him. 

“For what?” you asked. 

“It’s my fault that you nearly froze to death,” he began, reverting his eyes a bit towards his lap. “It’s my fault that-”

“Was it your fault that the Quinjet powered down?” you questioned, your tone shifting to a more serious one, causing Steve to look up and meet your gaze. 

“No,” he answered softly. 

You gave him a lopsided smile, causing his heart to skip a beat. 

“Then it wasn’t your fault, Steve,” you replied. “Just because you’re Captain America doesn’t mean you have to carry all the world’s burdens.” 

“I was just so scared,” Steve revealed. “You were so cold, I thought I might’ve lost you. If I did, I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself.” 

“But I’m okay,” you reassured, giving him another smile. “Your love warmed me up.” 

Steve let out a little chuckle before turning his gaze to the window. It was not often that he got shy or bashful, but you always knew how to make him feel that way. Steve felt heat rise to his cheeks, knowing that his face was probably pink by know, but he didn’t care. The rest of the ride was ridden in a comfortable silence, leaving the events that transpired in the cold. The only thing that matter was love’s warmth that was present within the jet. 

***

Taglist:  @tangledlove27 @absurdthirst @caswinchester2000 @16boyfriends-and-me @notabotiswear

[plaidbooks]

Hard Hits and Fatherly Advice - “The Big Leagues” baseball AU (part 1)

(Moodboard by the ever lovely @witches-unruly-heart )

A/N: Oh boy is this a long one. It’s mostly dialogue, so hopefully it reads quickly.  Anyways, this picks up basically right after the last chapter. I hope you all enjoy, and as always, feel free to send any questions about baseball terms!

(After feedback of liking shorter chapters, I split this one in two. Part 2 is out tomorrow)

Tags: light angst with a happy ending (in the next part), nightmares (in the next part), head injuries, near death experiences

Words: 2672

Taglist: @witches-unruly-heart  @beccabarba @thatesqcrush @itsjustmyfantasyroom @permanentlydizzy  @ben-c-group-therapy @infiniteoddball @glowingmess @whimsicallymad @lv7867  @storiesofsvu @cycat4077 @alwaysachorusgirl @glimmerglittergirl @joanofarkansass    @redlipstickandblacktea  @averyhotchner  @mrsrafaelbarba @detective-giggles @crowleysqueenofhell @dreamlover31  @reading--mermaid @caracalwithchips @berniesilvas​

Though Sonny was upset about not winning a ring in the World Series—as was the rest of the Mets clubhouse—the misery was short lived. You both only waited until February before you were married, and he got a ring much more valuable. It was a decently sized ceremony, in only because you both had big families. And true to your words, you were still on birth control. You both agreed that during the All-Star Break, that’s when you’d try for kids. But until then, you were enjoying each other as husband and wife.

The few months before Sonny would have to report to Florida were the happiest of either of your lives. You still wrote articles, and Sonny still did his workouts and training. Outside of that, though, you spent your time together. It’s like you couldn’t get enough of each other, couldn’t learn enough about each other, even though you’ve been together for five years now.

You went on trips—both in the city and out—rearranged the loft, laughed together, cried together, did everything together. It was like you were both trying to shove a year’s worth of quality time together within the two months he was home.

But soon enough, Sonny packed his bags, gave you a passionate kiss, then got on a plane to report to Spring Training. You talked to him every night, asked how his day was. He was incredibly excited for this season, working harder than ever. You understood why; this was the last season in Shea Stadium, before the Mets moved to Citi Field, and ol’ Shea would be demolished.

 ***********************

“And you’re sure they want to interview me?” you asked your boss. Your phone was shaking in your grip, your nerves going everywhere.

“They do! This is a big step for you; you won’t be working just the Mets anymore. If you get this hosting job with ESPN, you’re going to rocket to the top!” she replied.

You swallowed; this was a huge opportunity. But the Mets were your team, your home. Though, you could always do this interview now, make a final decision later. If you were picked up by ESPN, would you still be around home, though? Would you have to move, live away from Sonny? And you wouldn’t be working strictly within the baseball season anymore; they could have you do any sport they wanted. Were you really ready for this?

“So? Are you in?” your boss asked, and you realized you’ve been silent for minutes now.

You cleared your throat. “Y—yeah! When and where’s the interview?”

“It’ll be during Opening Day, in the SNY booth. You’ll be off for the night for it, of course.”

During the game? But Sonny was set to start, and you wanted to watch your new husband out on the mound. “Okay…yeah, okay. I can do that,” you replied, albeit a little less enthusiastically.

“Great! I’ll let them know to expect you!” She went quiet for a moment, before saying, “listen, I know this is scary, that it’s a lot of change. But this will be good for you. Trust me.”

 ***********************

You were fidgeting in your chair, dressed in your most professional outfit. The interview with the ESPN exec was…odd, to say the least. It wasn’t like a normal interview; no, he wanted to see you in action. So, after introducing yourselves, he turned his chair to look out at the field, inviting you to do the same. He asked you questions—everything from technical questions about a player to more general questions about the sport.

The game started, and Sonny Carisi took the mound. The ESPN exec smiled, motioning to him.

“I heard you two got married in the off season,” he commented.

You unconsciously ran your thumb over your ring. “We did, yeah.”

“So, I assume you know everything about his form and pitching style?”

Your eyes traveled to Sonny; the SNY booth was on the second level, so he looked very small down on the field. You watched him start his windup, pitch, get a called strike, and you smiled. “I do. But I knew his form before we were married. I remember first hearing his name when he was tearing up Triple A.”

“Yes, I’ve read your articles from that time. You were very prolific, and I think you’ve only gotten better with experience.”

You were flattered with the praise, giving him a smile and a thanks.

 *******************

You weren’t sure how long this interview was supposed to go. It was the top of the fourth, and you never really loosened up around the man. But the questions seemed easy enough, and you were hoping you were doing well, whether you took the job or not.

As Sonny took the mound again, you leaned slightly forward to watch. The first pitch he threw, however, was crushed. The ball flew off the bat, and the whole world stuttered to a stop as it went right up the middle. In the blink of an eye, Sonny went from the end of his windup to flat on his back, the batter crouched on the ground with his head in his hands, and a group of trainers and coaches rushing to Sonny’s body.

***

Sonny was focused; it was the start of the fourth, and he was having a great game. Duca gave him a slider, but Sonny shook it off. Duca tried curve, shook off again. Fastball, right across the numbers? Sonny nodded before setting. He gripped the ball, as he had so many times before, and he threw. He knew as soon as he let go that he missed his target, that it was lower than he wanted it. He just hoped Pujols wouldn’t hit it out.

Sonny heard the crack of the bat hitting the ball. His glove moved of its own accord, going to block his face—from what, he did not know. There was pain, then nothing.

***

The ball hitting Sonny in the head replayed over and over again in your mind as you stared at his lifeless body. Move, your mind yelled to your legs. MOVE!

You felt your mouth move as you turned—muttering out a soft “excuse me”—before you were bolting out the door of the booth, racing to the locker room, the field, you weren’t sure, nor did you care. You needed to get to Sonny; that’s all you knew. You thundered down the stairs to the ground level. You could now hear the crowd cheering, and you felt the briefest touch of relief; Sonny was up, getting off the field. He had to be. Right?

You pushed past anyone and everyone who was in front of you, desperate to get to him. You were panting, your legs burning by the time you made it to the locker room door, but you didn’t feel it. The security guard asked for your id, and you ripped it off your shirt, throwing it at them as you pushed into the locker room.

You heard the crunch of the cleats on the floor before Sonny was on the stairs, four trainers guiding him. He had a dazed look in his eyes, his legs wobbly as they helped him to a bench. He had a huge bump on the right side of his head, his skin already discolored with a nasty bruise.

“Sonny, babe, are you okay?” you asked with bated breath, trying to catch his eye between the trainers hovering over him.

His glassy eyes glanced around until he found you. “D—dizzy,” he mumbled. Then his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed forward. The trainers caught him, laying him gently onto the bench while one went to call for the paramedics.

 **********************

While Sonny was in the recovery room, you tracked down his doctor, determined to make sure your husband was going to be okay. He had regained consciousness in the ambulance, but barely. His eyes couldn’t focus on anything, flitting around the cabin. You tried talking to him, reassuring him, but his words were slurred, and he eventually passed out again.

“Mr. Carisi suffered a massive concussion and hemorrhaging; he’s lucky to be alive,” the doctor said after you found him. “A few inches to the left, and he would’ve died instantly.”

You tried to swallow past the lump in your throat. “But he’s going to be okay, right?”

“Oh yes; he was very lucky. He should recover fully, as long as nothing unexpected happens,” he replied. “Head injuries can be tricky.”

You nodded. “Does that mean he can play baseball again?” You knew that Sonny would want to know, that he’d want to make sure he could still play.

The doctor gave you a hard look, judging why you were prioritizing a game over your husband’s health. “Will he play again? Yes, I believe so. But not any time soon.”

“How long?” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. Maybe you were becoming more like Sonny than you thought.

He seemed to think about it for a moment. “Maybe 6-8 months, if he follows the physical therapy correctly.”

Your stomach dropped. “O—okay…. Do me a favor and let me tell him, please?”

“Of course. But I suggest not telling him anything too shocking when he first wakes up; he’s going to be disorientated.”

 *****************

After speaking with the doctor, you retreated to Sonny’s room. He was still out, a bandage wrapped around his head, holding an ice pack to the spot he was hit. You sat next to him, taking his warm, limp hand in yours, threading your fingers through his. As time went by, you flipped on the TV. But the first thing you saw was a replay of Sonny getting hit, and you quickly turned it off, feeling sick to your stomach. It had looked…so bad. And it was; he was incredibly lucky to not be paralyzed, brain dead, or worse.

You wanted him to sleep as long as it took for his body to heal. But you also wanted him to wake up so that you could make sure he was okay. Though, you were dreading the inevitable talk about baseball, and you didn’t want to see the hurt in his eyes when you told him how long he was out for.

Eventually, Sonny slowly stirred. His eyelids fluttered, his breathing picking up. You had made sure to dim the lights so that his eyes wouldn’t get strained. He flexed his hand in your hold before giving you a light squeeze, which you returned. Once he finally opened his eyes, they focused onto you, his gaze still cloudy from medication.

“H—hey doll,” he breathed, voice raspy.

You quickly poured him a glass of water, holding it to his lips. “Hey, Peanut Butter Cup.”

He smiled at you, the action causing him to dribble water all over his chest. You put the glass down, reaching for napkins. “Sor—sorry,” he muttered as you patted him dry.

“Don’t be; you’re still on heavy medication—”

“I meant for getting injured. Making you worry.”

You gave him a soft smile, tossing the wet napkins on the table. You offered him more water, but he shook his head. “It’s okay, Sonny. I’m just…I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Yeah…. What—what happened? Last thing I remember is…” he closed his eyes in pain as he thought.

“Don’t hurt yourself, love—”

“I was pitching,” he muttered, opening his eyes to look at you. “We were playing St. Louis on Opening Day…. I threw a fastball to Pujols; I knew I could make him chase up high—”

“He hit a comebacker, Sonny. Caught you right in the head,” you said softly.

Gently, he brought his free hand up to the side of his head, gingerly feeling the bandages. “I—I only remember throwing the pitch, then opening my eyes to the trainers and coaches leaning over me. Then nothing until right now.”

You nodded. “They helped you off the field. I made it to the locker room before you did. You passed out shortly afterwards.”

“But I’m okay?” he asked with big eyes, filled with trepidation and worry.

You tried to give him a reassuring smile. “You got hit pretty good. But you’ll be okay; I know you will be.” Like hell were you going to tell him about how close his brush with death really was. The thought made you slightly queasy.

“And I can get back out there, right? Pitch again?” His voice was filled with hope…and fear. When you didn’t answer right away, the fear took over. “I’ll be able to pitch again, right doll?”

You gripped his hand. “You will, yes. But Sonny, my love…your season is over.”

You didn’t think he could look more devastated than if you told him his whole family had died. Tears filled his eyes, and he looked away, pulling his hand from you and trying to wipe away the tears before they fell.

“You’re going to take this time to heal, babe. Then you’ll come back next season and kick some ass—”

“This is the last sea—season in Shea…. I’m never going to pitch in my home again…” he muttered, hiccupping.

Your heart broke for him, and you wanted nothing more than to somehow fix this. But there was nothing you—or anyone—could do. Head injuries could always take a turn for the worst; there was no fast tracking this recovery.

“This was already going to be your last season there. So, we start taking care of you, start working towards your healing. That way, you can pitch again for your team, your second family,” you said gently.

You found a clean, dry napkin, and handed it to him. He wiped his eyes, then turned to look at you, opening his mouth to say something. But then his eyes flicked over your shoulder, and you turned to find the doctor there.

“Is it true, Doc? Am I done for the season?” Sonny asked, voice desperate. It’s not that he didn’t believe you; he just didn’t want to believe the news.

He nodded. “Yes; you’ll be off for the next 6-8 months at minimum. You’re very lucky to be alive, Mr. Carisi.”

“I am? Was it that bad?” he asked, looking between you and the doctor.

The doctor also glanced at you, silently wondering why you told him the fact his season was over, but nothing else. “Why, yes, it was. You had a massive concussion and severe hemorrhaging. You avoided death by a few inches.”

You looked into your lap in resignation, eyes burning from unshed tears. Sonny saw the motion and turned to look at you.

“Did you know this?” he asked, voice hushed. You nodded, unable to look at him, and he sat there, dumbfounded, his mouth dropping slightly open.

The doctor did his checks, then left you both once again, sitting in silence.

“I—I can fight this, make it back before the postseason—”

“Sonny, no you can’t. Please. You need to think about yourself right now, your health. Not your team. Think about your own life—”

“But baseball is my life!” he yelled, exasperated. He looked to you, eyes pleading, and you gave him the same look back.

“Please, Sonny. Think about when we have kids. You want to be healthy for them, don’t you?” you asked.

He flinched as he thought about it, eyes scanning his bed. “Y—yeah…I do.”

“Then please take care of yourself. Pushing yourself can only hurt you in the long run.” You took his hand once more, bending down until he was looking at you. “Please, take care of yourself. For me? For our future family?”

You could see the fight drain out of him; it was one of the hardest things you’ve watched…and you hated that you caused it. But he nodded slightly. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll take it easy, heal from this 100% before I come back. For you. For our future children.”

[milkacchan]

Request for anon: Okay but ...enji and Rei's grandchild going to their mothers native country for awhile and then having to deal

I made this angst and evil mom so :D

• first- this doesn't happen when you're a child

• you're 15- not good timing

• I never wrote a backstory for todo being a single father- so let's say it was a failed engagement.

• the mother had you, decided she was unhappy, and walked out

• Shouto was young and dumb and they 'rushed' in as she said later

• She wanted nothing to do with you- not really

• after she got her partial custody she just left

• went back home

• and his parents helped pick up the pieces bc he was absolutely torn- he loved her

• and he hated that he knew you'd struggle with her abandonment

• the years pass and you do struggle

• you're smothered in love and praise and reassurance

• and one day- out of the blue, Shouto receives the news that now, your mother wants you to visit for a few months

• He's unsure why and he doesnt trust her at all

• and he fights it and fights it but the law forces him- you must go.

• You're bummed out and terrified.

• you've never met this woman- never talked to her- never seen her

• and you're going to the states for 2 months?

• Enjis livid. As is rei, but theres nothing they could do about it. They could only help you get ready- walk you to your gate before you left

• in the days leading up to the departure, everyone stayed in the same house. Watched movies- lived carefree until the day came

• and Enji has to force himself to look at you when you depart.

• your eyes are watering, you look nervous and you can't speak

• he hugs you tight, whispering in you ear reassurances that you hold onto the rest of the trip, that you repeat over and over on the plane

• Shoutos kisses your forehead gently, on the verge of tears himself, assuring you that he'll be there for you if you need it and he'll be there if anything goes wrong

• Rei does the same, holding you gently and running her fingers through your hair, telling you how much she'll miss you

• The days following are horrible

• The house is quiet. Enji feels weird not having you around

• it's weird not having you be annoying

• or dance around and help them cook

• mans is deadass will his phone 25/8

• ringtone LOUD

• Family groupchat???

• Family groupchat.

• so they can keep tabs and what not

• and by week one, they're tired of not having you there

• Enji is doing his best to keep himself busy, cleaning the shit out of everything

• cooking

• reading

• and Rei helps with the cooking

• she does laundry

• also reads

• same as enji- she does everything possible to keep herself busy

• Calls every night

• Going into explicit detail of everything that happened that day

• and that seems to be fine but Enji and Rei still dont trust them

• and one day they get a call from you

• and when they answer they can hear you crying on the other side

• Shit went sideways

• She wanted money and figured the best way to do that was to have you over

• she said she waited this long bc she wanted you to be normal

• Enjis internally freaking out, reis on the phone with Shouto, telling him everything

• They devise a plan to come get you

• It'd be hard but they're literally on the flight that leaves in two hours

• Enji makes some calls and you stay with an old friend of his where you are

• Needless to say- they're never letting that happen again

• they later win the legal case pressed against them :)

[typingtess]

NCIS: Los Angeles Season Twelve Rewatch:  “A Fait Accompli”

The basics:  The team tries to take down a criminal organization.  Deeks goes home while Callen goes to Anna.

Written by: R. Matt Klafter and Kyle Harimoto.  Klafter co-wrote “Smokescreen” part two with Harimoto.  Kyle Harimoto wrote “Omni”, “Merry Evasion”, “Chernoff, K”, “Command and Control” (episode 150), “Granger, O.”, “Ghost Gun”, “Kulinda”, “767”, “Se Murio El Payaso”, “Assets”/“Liabilities”, “Venganza”, “Superhuman”, “One of Us", "Let Fate Decide" (season 11 premiere), "Decoy", "Answers" and “Watch Over Me”.  He co-wrote “Three Hearts”, “Leipei”, “Humbug”, both ends of the “Matryoshka” two-parter, “Smokescreen” part two (with Klafter), "Searching" and “Cash Flow”.  

Directed by:  Eric Pot directed “Resurrection”, “Windfall”, “Traitor”, “Internal Affairs”, “Home is Where the Heart Is”, “Forasteira”, “Reentry”, “Hit List”, "The One Who Got Away", "Kill Beale Vol 1" and “Fortune Favors the Bold”.  

Guest stars of note:  Back from the last episode:  Erik Palladino as CIA Officer Vostanik Sabatino, Allen Theosky Rowe as Jimmy Fang and Godwin Asamoah Obeng as Musa Okoye.  Also back from earlier in season 12 are Kayla Smith as Kamran "Kam" Hanna and Duncan Campbell as NCIS Special Agent Castor.  Gerald McRaney joins season 12 as Retired Navy Admiral Hollace Kilbride.  Other guest stars:  Johnny Jay Lee as Young Callen, Alyssa Jirrels as Jocelyn, Alina Brown as Angela Brown, David Carpenter as Clyde, Donna Feldman as Kendra and Kelemete Misipeka as Simi Latu

Our heroes:  The team adds a Deeks, Callen loses an Anna.

What important things did we learn about:

Callen:  Left behind a peaceful life to learn about his family and his name. Sam:   Never wanted to be the measuring stick for Aiden and Kam’s successes. Kensi:    Planning to drive to Georgia to see Deeks graduate and drive the two of them home. Deeks: Graduated FLETC. Eric:   The artist formerly known as NCIS’s Technical Operator. Nell:   Absent. Fatima:  Primetime soap actress back in the day. Roundtree:  Tackling a homeless man to save the man’s life. Hetty:  Would not let anyone else tell Deeks he was joining NCIS.

What not so important things did we learn about:

Callen:  Not quite left at the altar but close. Sam:   Skipping drinks with the Admiral to finish up paperwork. Kensi:   Advises the new kids on the team to rest when they can. Deeks:  Sore ribs, bruised ego but an NCIS Investigator. Eric:   Harmonized greetings with Kensi to Kilbride. Nell:   Absent. Fatima:  Porsche driver. Roundtree:   Thought Fatima’s acting was fine. Hetty:  Probably gave Deeks the worst plane flight of his life.

Who's down with OTP:  Kensi and Deeks get to work together.  Callen and Anna have issues.

Who's down with BrOTP:  No Callen and Sam time today.  Sam and Kilbride have a mutual admiration thing going.  Kensi and Sabatino played well.  Fatima and Roundtree are becoming quick buddies.  

Any pressing need for a cranky retired Admiral?   He’s here!

Who is running the team this week?  A cranky retired Admiral doing a favor for Hetty.

Fashion review:   Kensi, Roundtree and Fatima start the episode in the clothes they were wearing in “Love Kills”.   Callen is in a red plaid button down shirt.  Black tee and jacket for Sam.  Grey sweater and green leather jacket for Kensi.  Deeks is in his FLETC gear (complete with bandages on his ribs) and then bright white tee and a blue zip hoodie in LA.  Fatima has a red and black turtleneck black floral print with a black cardigan.  Green tee and black denim jacket for Roundtree.  

Music:  This is like a season one episode – four songs.  “Punch Bag” by Yonaka is playing when Rountree is running after the van.  “Kai Tangata” by Alien Weaponry is playing behind Kensi and Deeks in the scrap yard.  “Cracking Up in Heare” by Richard Mead is playing in the jewelry store.  Quiet Riot’s “Cum on Feel The Noise” ends our time with Sabatino in this two-parter.

Any notable cut scene:   No.

Quote:  Kilbride:  “I didn't think you worked here anymore, Beale.” Eric:  “Oh, I don't. Uh, well, not exactly. - Mm. Um, uh, temporarily, yes, I do. Uh, I'm a technical consultant while we're beta testing Kaleidoscope.  But, uh, you can call me the Technical Operator Formerly Known as...” Kilbride:  “It was a statement, not a question.”

Anything else:    Previouslys are all about Jimmy Fang and Kensi and Sabatino being shot at the warehouse.  Kensi and Sabatino can’t see who is even shooting at them.  Kensi can’t get a good look and Sabatino is staying put because “this bun ain’t bulletproof.”  The men shooting jump in the their van and drive right out of the warehouse – not even opening the garage door.

As the van is racing down an alleyway, Fatima and Roundtree are standing where the alley turns onto the street.  They see a homeless man walk near the path of the van.  Roundtree races to save the man while Fatima fires her weapon into the van’s grill.  Fatima has to duck as the van driver was very willing to run her over to get to the street.  Kensi and Sabatino arrive – the van getting away was not the plan.

Kensi is giving orders as they walk back into the office.  Fang is part of the Chinese Triad according to Eric so they have to ID the men with him.  Fatima and Roundtree want to know what went wrong.  Kensi doesn’t have an answer while Sabatino is back at his hotel updating Langley.  While it looks like it was going to be a long night, Sam texts Kensi with orders to send everyone home.  Roundtree wants to work but Kensi tells him when you get a chance to rest on this job, do it.

The following morning, Sam is working on his phone in the couch area when Admiral Kilbride strolls in.  With all the enemies of the US trying to hack military communications, the Admiral is stunned Sam is “twittergramming” away.  Sam was texting his daughter.  The Admiral asks of the younger generation of Hannas.  Aiden will be the family’s first military aviator in the family and Kam is going to Annapolis.  The Admiral is rightly impressed, Sam is proud and grateful.

The Admiral tells Sam that being a Hanna child comes with some pressures.  Sam agrees but he and Michelle never wanted to be the measuring stick of his children – he wanted them to find their own way.  Sam asks about the Admiral’s son, an attorney – at least he was years ago.  The Admiral quickly changes the subject to being in Los Angeles – Hetty asked him to check in.  Sam asks about Hetty, whose mission “hit a snag” but is not in immediate danger.  Both Sam and the Admiral look uncomfortable.

As Sam is about to give the Admiral a sitrep, the Admiral assures Sam he’s up to speed.  He wants to know why Fang was in the warehouse.  Sam thinks the warehouse is connected to the counterfeit money.  Kilbride is interested in who turned NCIS onto the case.  Sam mentions a CIA agent the team dealt with in the past.  The Admiral uses Sabatino’s full name to prove NCIS’s familiarity with the CIA Agent.   The CIA working a case in the US is not good news to the Admiral but Sam promises Sabatino is more watching NCIS than working with NCIS.  Kilbride wants to know the connection between Fang and Daniel Lao.  Lao is with the FBI in DC.  For his final question, Kilbride asks about Callen who is off on personal business.

Sitting in his apartment, Callen is chasing down Anna’s work group, the SC-5.  He wants to surprise his girlfriend, he tells someone on the phone.  In a flashback, college Callen has really impressed his girlfriend’s father – he’s crazy about Callen.  Callen explains he has a talent for listening to people talk and making them feel comfortable so they keep talking.  The young woman is impressed – Callen has a job offer with a company in Chicago.

As she works on her weapons in the armory, Kensi gets a call from Deeks – “hey recruit.”  In Georgia, Deeks is wrapping up his ribs.  He’s hurt and Kensi can hear it.  The good news is Kensi is driving to FLETC to attend his graduation and they are driving back.  They are negotiating the amount of time Deeks has to be quiet every 100 miles – Kensi is thinking 10 minutes.  Deeks is worried about the safety issues and earns himself 15-minutes of silence.  Kensi is called to Ops and the two share “I love yous”.

After mocking the “free trade” coffee that was watered by the tears of snowflakes, the Admiral is greeted in stereo by an arriving Kensi and Eric.  Eric tries to explain his work situation to the Admiral and that goes as you’d expect.  Eric has a photo of a broken bracelet found at the crime scene.  Kensi recognizes the piece belonging to a specific a Hollywood jeweler.

With footage from the crime scene, Eric ID’s a man leaving through a different door during the shoot out – Musa Okoye.  Okoye is an aerospace engineer for Delta Seven Industries and a Nigerian national.  A lot of the military’s missile technology is from Delta Seven Industries and Okoye works on technology for intercepting missiles.  The Admiral wants Kensi to take the CIA observer to the jewelry place, he and Sam are going to Delta Seven Industries.  With Roundtree and Fatima, Eric is tasked with finding Okoye.

Watching TV in the armory, Roundtree is stunned – Fatima was a young adult soap star.  Fatima is with Roundtree as her character says her tag line - “Bye bitch” – and slaps her romantic rival.  The program ran five seasons.  Roundtree is surprised Fatima quit acting – she was good.  “it wasn’t for me,” she answers coolly.  Wondering if the team knows, Fatima reminds Roundtree that the team has every intel source known to mankind – they know.  Eric texts Roundtree – he found Musa Okoye’s home.  As they leave, Roundtree drops a “bye bitch” which earns a laughing double snap of Fatima’s fingers.

Sam and Kilbride go to the home of Ronald Lewis.  After Sam introduces himself and the Admiral goes out of his way not to, Lewis compliments Kilbride on his suit.  The Admiral wants Lewis to pay more attention to Sam. When Lewis is told that Okoye may have stolen military secrets, he finds that hard to believe.  His company runs extensive security analysis.  And Lewis is surprised by it being Okoye – “he’s not that guy.”  Okoye is brilliant hard working and never a problem.  The Admiral asks about Okoye’s friends at work – he really doesn’t have any.

Sam wants to know how hard it would be to steal classified files.  Explaining that all projects are segmented among the different teams to stop people from stealing classified material, Lewis does believe if someone is smart enough and driven enough, they could do it.  Sam asks what happens if that person is brilliant.

On the phone again with Kensi, Deeks is packing up his gear.  He was on track to graduate with his class and now he’s been pulled from the program – he’s washed out.  Deeks has no idea what’s going on.  Kensi tells Deeks she loves him – he’s flying home.  Sabatino arrives and asks about “lover boy”.  Kensi’s eyebrow lift is stellar.

Leaving Lewis’s home, Sam hears from Eric.  Okoye has been talking to an Angela Brown, a former Delta Seven Industries staffer.  The speak every day.  Sam wants Agent Castor to bring Brown to the boat shed.

Sharing a coffee on a bench, Sabatino is pro-Hollywood.  Not LA, just Hollywood.  He’s recording again – a musician.  Kensi is genuinely impressed.  He started with a band in the East Village.  The band wound up in LA, played some shows on the Strip and then everyone got real jobs.  Their music was rap music meets heavy metal – a music mix unfamiliar to  Kensi.  She does think that his hair “nubbin or nipple” has something to do with the bad.  Kensi sees a customer go into the jewelry store – she’s going too.  Singing, Sabatino is right behind her.

Fatima and Roundtree arrive at Okoye’s in a Porsche – which blows Roundtree away.  She doesn’t even like to drive.  Fatima has a better relationship with the guys in the motor pool.  A text comes in from Eric – they have a warrant to enter the house.  That’s good but unneeded since the door is open.  Fatima and Roundtree check the place – it’s empty.  So is the safe in the bedroom closet.   Roundtree notices a dust spot where Okoye’s computer would be.  If he has his computer and passport, Okoye is likely on the run.  Roundtree asks Eric to look at cameras in the area.

Kensi and Sabatino enter the jewelry store.  The saleswoman asks if Kensi and Sabatino are there to pick up a piece for their kid.   Kendra the saleswoman doesn’t think the pieces are age appropriate for Kensi and Sabatino.   Kensi breaks out the badge and shows the bracelet to Kendra.  She sold it, it was a custom piece.  When she doesn’t share the buyer’s name, Kensi promises to shut the place down and Sabatino includes throwing in an investigation to see if the store has been charging sale tax. That’s gets some cooperation.  Simi Latu bought the piece.

When Kensi calls in Latu’s name, Eric can’t find Latu but finds common ground with Sabatino and their love of Big Foot documentaries.  Kensi is not amused.  Latu is associated with a group that has done time for murder and he has their location.

Sam questions Angela Brown with Kilbride.  She’s cooperative answering questions about “Musa”, who is a friend of hers and her husband’s.  When told that Okoye may have stolen military secrets, Brown can’t believe that.  He eats with her family once a week – he is almost family.  Calling him shy, kind, sweet and honest – he doesn’t steal.  Sam asks about Okoye’s outside of work interests.  Brown tells him that Okoye has a few friends from Nigeria – they meet from time to time.  They talk about home, eat food from Nigeria.  “They seem nice.”  She’s worried that Okoye is in danger.

There are no security cameras at Okoye’s home or at his neighbors.  Finding a bluetooth keyboard, Fatima sees it is hooked up to the TV.  They can search is browser history through the set.  Roundtree is impressed. Maybe when they’re done, they can watch some more of her old show.  That’s fine with Fatima, she could use the residuals.  When Roundtree asks about residuals, she admits the Porsche isn’t from the NCIS motor pool.

At a scrap yard, Kensi and Sabatino are looking for Latu.  Two large men are working out.  When Kensi asks for Simi Latu, the men move toward them.  A huge Chevy pickup on tires five-foot tall suspension and tires pulls up with yet another large man inside.  Finally, a man larger than all the others walks up – he’s Simi Latu.  The largest man is offend that Kensi has her hand on her gun and by the “little ponytailed man” who is wielding a wrench.

Kensi asks the men to raise their hand if they’ve gone to jail.  Nobody raises their hand.  Kensi doesn’t believe them.  Offering a trade, Kensi thinks she can pick at out least one of the men whose gone to jail.  If she’s right, Latu has to talk.  Latu wants to know what he gets if she’s wrong.  Kensi has faith in Latu and his men.  One of them has gone to jail.  Latu likes Kensi.  When she starts to look at the men, Latu sends them away – they’ve all done time.  Kensi knows that.

Alone with Latu, Sabatino asks about the bracelet.  Latu claims it was stolen.  When Sabatino objects – Latu calls him Duran Duran – Kensi brings up Jimmy Fang.  Latu plays dumb.  Saying that Fang was paying Latu is counterfeit bills, law enforcement can talk to Latu and his men when they are caught passing bogus bills.  Latu is furious.  He wants Fang to go down.  Latu’s nephew works as a bodyguard from Fang.  Now Latu knows who stole his bracelet.  The nephew’s big skill is being a ghost.  

Both Roundtree and Fatima are freezing in Okoye’s house.  When Roundtree tries to lower the thermostat, it is set for 74.  Checking out the HVAC system, Okoye is in the little AC shed – he’s dead with a gunshot wound to the head.

As Sam is sending Brown home with Agent Castor, he gets the news about Okoye and shares it with her.

Kensi and Sabatino are staking out a music/electronics store Fang frequents.  Sabatino asks if Eric is really rich. Kensi confirms he is.  They watch Fang and an accomplice move boxes from the store.  They think he could have millions with him.

The Admiral thinks the fake bills were for buying the stolen military secrets.  By killing Okoye, Fang now has the secrets and the money.  Kensi and Sabatino start following Fang.  Sam and the Admiral are about to leave when Eric pops up on the boat shed screen.  The Nigerians Okoye would meet are all clean.  One, however, has a brother who is also a member of Boko Haram.   One person knew all of Okoye’s associates – Ron Lewis, Okoye’s boss.

Lewis is downtown – Kensi and Sabatino are following Fang who is also going downtown.  Fang doesn’t have the stolen military secrets, Lewis does.  This is an exchange meeting.  Sabatino didn’t like Lewis.  When Kensi points out that Sabatino never met Lewis, Sabatino says he went to USC and nobody likes people who go to USC.  

Eric sends Fatima and Roundtree to the meet as well.  With her Porsche, they are speeding to the meet.

Kensi and Sabatino follow Fang to a parking structure.  Lewis is on the roof.  Kensi arrives and this is a nice roof parking lot – lots of pretty big buildings in the background.  Kensi announces “federal agents” and because insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome, the outcome is shooting ensues.

Fang takes Latu’s nephew hostage.  The nephew is then shot as Fang shoots at Kensi.   Sabatino hides with Lewis.   With an even bigger gun, Fang murders a Jeep but is taken out when Sabatino shoots him in the foot on the other side of Fang’s SUV.  Fang and “Trojan boy” Lewis are under arrest.

Using Okoye’s computer terminal, Lewis downloaded all of Delta Seven Industries’ missile technology.  They don’t need the proof – Lewis confessed, then wet himself.  Okoye was the scapegoat.

Fang and the Triad were moving the money but Sabatino is no closer to knowing who made the money than when he got to LA.  While the Secret Service usually looks into counterfeit money, if it is being used for terrorism, it is on the CIA’s radar.  He’s off to another place he’s not supposed to be.  Kensi and Sabatino sing “Cum on Feel the Noise” to end the crime scene.

Sam arrives in the office.  Kilbride is in the aquarium office upstairs – the only private place to make a call.  He notes that Hetty’s fingerprints are all over the office.  The Admiral is staying at the Chateau Marmont, a place he stayed way back in the 1980’s.  He offers to buy Sam a drink but Sam has paperwork to do.  Kilbride wishes Callen luck in his personal matter before departing.

At a motel north of LA, Callen arrived with the engagement ring.  He flashes back to breaking up with his college girlfriend.  She’s crying, heartbroken he’s leaving her behind.  He gets into a limo and announces he’s ready.  Hetty says Jocelyn is his chance for a nice, peaceful life.  Callen is having none of it.  He wants to know his past and his real name.  Warning him of a lonely existence, the two ride away.

A sad Deeks walks into the office with a not so sad Kensi.  Hetty wants to see him in her office – the one with creepy doll heads.  Hetty pops up on the screen, causing Deeks to want to change his underwear.  While bombs are blowing up around her, Hetty wants Deeks to open her top drawer.  His new NCIS badge is there.  Kensi was in on the surprise.  Deeks thinks what Hetty did was savage, inhumane, messed-up and greatest trick anyone ever pulled on him.  Strangers at FLETC were never giving Deeks that badge.  Hetty is throwing a party for Deeks Saturday.

Deeks wants to party now – his badge is 12-years in the making.  Kensi explains that Callen is out of town.  Deeks doesn’t care, he’s not that close to Callen – he can barely pronounce his name.  A near-tears Kensi is proud of Deeks.  Deeks is proud too.  Kensi pulls him in for a hug and touches his bruised ribs.  Kensi thinks that is what happens when you lie to your wife.

Callen talks to the manager of the motel where Anna was staying.  Or where she wasn’t staying.  Nobody from Rebuild USA has been to that town.  Callen is stunned.

Sam is at his desk when Kam calls.  She’s returning to LA the following weekend with news for her father.  When Kam hangs up, she’s grabbed from behind and dragged away, dropping her phone in the struggle.

What head canon can be formed from here:  Deeks is NCIS.  The Admiral starts hanging around more.  Fatima was a young television star and still gets checks from time to time for her work.

There are holes in the story. Okoye is innocent at the end but he’s at the warehouse where Jimmy Fang is shooting at Kensi and Sabatino.  Deeks is told he washed out when he actually gets his badge.

Episode number:  This is episode nine of season 12 – we’re at the midway point.  It is episode 271.

[discojupiters]

Another Lonely Night in New York

Casually uploading Bee Gees fanfic as if I haven't had this account for almost five years and I'm just now using it to post stuff because I am upset at the lack of Bee Gees fanfic that exists and I need to change that also cuz I haven't posted on any form of social media in literal ages and I just really want an excuse to post classic rock shitposts and whatnot. :D

Ao3 link to the fanfic if you'd prefer to read it there

Another Lonely Night in New York

Robin/Fluff

The rain had been predominantly worse at night than it had been in the morning. Dense raindrops splattered onto Robin's hotel room window as he sat near the window, flinching every now and then at the speed at which the pellets of rain struck the window. The weather had been like this for almost the entirety of Robin's stay in Manhattan, which made it difficult for him to see many of sights that he originally intended to see. He stayed for nearly 4 days straight cooped up in his hotel room and if he forced himself to stay in there a minute longer, he was about to go mentally insane; he had to get out and go outside for a stroll. Despite the brutal showers and the absence of an umbrella, he put on his coat and made his way down to the lobby and out the door. He knew not where his first stop would be nor how long he'd be out, all he knew was that he needed fresh air, whether the air was battling fierce weather or not. Robin trekked out east in hopes to find something worthy of his time.

Robin had originally desired to head to New York in order to find inspiration for new music for his solo album that he was working on. After the Bee Gees decided to take a break for a bit following the release of Living Eyes, Robin found himself in a great opportunity to release more solo albums and expand his talent as a songwriter. His intentions were unfortunately tampered with as the climate in New York at this time was not the best. Little to no inspiration had crossed through his mind for the entirety of his trip and he only had one more day before he needed to be back in London to begin recording sessions.

Robin's mind was as blank as a fresh piece of paper as he strolled through the streets of midtown Manhattan. Bright and colorful lights guided him to Times Square in what felt like no time. Robin had only prayed that something in those lively, radiant billboards and lights would make a light bulb go off in his head and give him enough material to write a perfect song.

The rain showed no signs of stopping any time soon, and it wasn't until now that Robin realized how foolish he looked sopping wet with his hair sticking to his face and neck while everyone else were as dry as bones under their umbrellas. Robin reached for the hood of his coat to hide his drenched hair only to notice he brought the coat without a hood instead of the other one he had in his room that did have a hood. He thought for a moment about heading back to the hotel to spare the rest of his embarrassment but he kept walking, tenacious to find even the smallest bit of inspiration for a new song.

The stop at a crosswalk was the first break Robin had given his legs in God knows how long the amount of time he had been walking for. They ached almost enough for Robin's knees to buckle and give out on him. He could feel people staring at him, businessmen coming home late from their office jobs, young fools in love heading to various restaurants and clubs downtown, rebellious teens on their way to their secret hideouts. All these people nice and dry under their umbrellas while they stared at the lonely freak in New York who couldn't have even bothered to bring the correct coat in order to save his head from the rainfall.

'Another lonely night in New York'

Eagerly waiting for the crosswalk light to flash white, at this point he couldn't wait until it was time to go back home to London. This trip had been nothing but disappointing to him. No benefits to his song writing or even his own well being what so ever. The only thing he'd catch from this trip now would be a cold from the rainwater coating his entire body, making his pants stick to his legs, seeping into his sneakers and making his socks damp, that he'd have to deal with once he got back home. On the bright side if he did catch a cold then he would be able to delay the recording sessions until his voice got better which would give him more time to write some more material for the album.

'The city of dreams just keeps on getting me down'

In the midst of all the dismay washing over him, he almost didn't notice that the rain had suddenly begun to repel him. He could still see the rain in front of him, yet none of it was touching him anymore. Puzzled, he looked above his head to see what had happened, but all he spotted was a black, dome shaped piece of nylon; the canopy of an umbrella above his head. The misty scent of perfume filled his nostrils. He glanced over to the right of him to find a woman holding the umbrella over his head for him. Her resting face was nonchalant as she peered across the street, also waiting for the crosswalk light to turn white, but she gave a coy smile to Robin when she noticed him staring at her.

Robin wanted to speak up, wanted to thank the winsome young lady for sharing her umbrella with him, but the words wouldn't come to him. As the crosswalk light finally changed, everyone made their way across the street. New Yorkers were fast walkers, it was strenuous to keep up with the woman. Her strut was self-assured, even in the six inch stilettos that she wore; it was like she injected confidence into her veins every morning. Robin was mesmerized by her. He was still thinking about the smile she gave him when they were on the other side of the crosswalk, trying his best to hide a cheeky, daydreaming smile.

As the walk with the woman continued, Robin couldn't help but wonder: Was he going to be following this woman around until she reached her destination? Did they both have the same destination? Robin didn't even know where he would end up, he wracked his brain wondering if this woman was gonna lead him somewhere or if she was just doing a quick favor and wanted him to leave now. The woman hadn't spoke the whole time. Her nonchalant expression turned into a gentle smile yet she refused to look at Robin anymore than that one glance she shot at him when he noticed her.

Robin and the woman were now exiting Times Square, the high-spirited lights merely staining the background now as the woman continued to head for the subway. Robin knew right then and there that it was time for him to head back, as much as he adored this woman, he couldn't take a chance. He didn't know her and God forbid he let himself get killed tonight all because he had love fogging up his brain just for a woman who did a single kind deed for him. Again, Robin's mouth couldn't open to say a goodbye. It was like his throat was frozen every time he was near this woman. After an extensive fight to make the words come out, he gave up and instead stayed put in his spot on the sidewalk, waiting for the woman to notice and hopefully say goodbye first. After the woman reached a few paces noticing Robin had left her side, she worriedly glanced around, holding onto her hair to make sure the rain didn't touch it. She glimpsed behind her to find Robin slowly sauntering backwards in order to give her the indication that he was leaving. She relaxed her arms as her gloved hands waved goodbye to Robin, granting him the same kittenish smile she had given him earlier that night. Robin waved back and finally turned around to make his way back to the hotel.

Robin tried hard not to glance back every few seconds to get one last look at the woman, but failed miserably; he couldn't help it. After fully losing sight of the woman, he ran back to his hotel. He was grateful that she helped him, yet suddenly glum now that he was aware that he may never see that woman again. He didn't know anything about her, not her name, not her voice, not her story, but that didn't stop him from falling head over heels for her. He knew that feeling wouldn't last long, it would probably be gone by the time he'd step foot on the plane back to London, but it was a nice thought to occupy his mind with for the time being. It fascinated him at times that he could be so in love with a woman that he knew absolutely nothing about all because she noticed him and did something good for him.

'Cause my baby's no longer around and my feelings can never be found'

Robin made it back to the hotel, tracking puddles of the water all the way up to his room. The first thing he did upon entering his room was remove all of his drenched clothes and head for the shower. Once he dried himself off, he frantically searched the room for a pencil and paper, heading to his window when he finally had one. Before he could even write down a single lyric, he found her. The woman who had helped him. She was making her way down the street of the hotel as if she had been walking in circles this entire time. Was she actually trying to reach a certain destination? Or was she just out and about looking for men to swoon over her through her acts of kindness? It didn't matter to Robin, because at least he got to take one last look at her that night. That was all he needed for inspiration. If that woman was enough to give a songwriter with writer's block inspiration for a new song, than in Robin's book that woman was enough to make the world go 'round. Robin wrote down lyrics as swiftly as they came to him.

'Another lonely night in New York, and my sorry eyes are looking out on the world'