#yes hair does change colors in the summertime

[emo-batboy]

Lately, I’ve been thinking about Battinson who actually has naturally curly, dirty blond hair that he got from his parents. Picture this:

Bruce whose hair is a kaleidoscope of golden blond and strawberry blond and dirty blond that can’t be tamed when it’s humid out because it’s too wavy and curly and voluminous all at once

Bruce who looks so bright and cheerful with his soft facial structure and crazy hair that cannot be replicated because it’s so uniquely Bruce

Bruce who is a spitting image of his mother’s gorgeous natural color and his father’s wild mane

Bruce who absolutely destroys his natural hair because it reminds him too much of his parents

Bruce who tries desperately to avoid the gut-wrenching comments from those stupid rich people who thought they can bring up his parents just because they used to be friends

Bruce who feels physically ill whenever he hears “Oh you look just like your parents.” “They should have been here to see you.” “You’re a spitting image.”

Bruce who religiously dyes his hair a boring brown and straightens the shit out of it until it’s damaged beyond belief by the age of 18 but at least he doesn’t hear those stupid remarks anymore

Bruce who forgets to wash it sometimes but doesn’t care because his hair is his least favorite thing about his appearance

Bruce who gels the ever-loving fuck out of it to avoid it getting it in his eyes, but he also hates getting haircuts so it gets way too long and happens anyway

Bruce who gets greasepaint in it all the time, wears hats and hoods whenever appropriate, just can’t stop messing with it but hates bringing attention to the thing so he has to glue his hands to his side in public

Bruce who is a stranger to everyone and himself, especially his hair

Bruce who mourns it like he’s still mourning his parents

Now imagine:

Bruce who is going through the aftermath of the Riddler case and the floods

Bruce who only just realized that vengeance is not the answer

Bruce who wants to become Hope but doesn’t know how yet

Bruce who decides that he can’t hide himself behind a cowl all the time now so he chooses to develop a better public image

Bruce who realizes this requires a public appearance as well

Bruce who is way too busy saving the city to keep up his hair dye routine so he forgets to touch up his roots a couple of times

Bruce who is advised to stop gelling his hair back so much because it makes him look less approachable

Bruce who feels so awkward and vulnerable when his hair isn’t hidden behind a hat or some product or his cowl but he goes through the motions because he wants to try his best to be the hero Gotham needs right now

Bruce who walks into Mayor Real’s office one morning, hair sticking up all over the place after stopping no less than 10 muggings the night before, his natural dirty blond in full effect and strikingly…warm

“Did you dye your hair?” Real asks. Bruce pauses. “Uh, no. I stopped dying it a few weeks ago.” “I didn’t know your hair was blond.” He braces for the comments, but she doesn’t mention his parents. Instead, she just smiles. “It suits you.”

Bruce who genuinely doesn’t know how to handle the simple compliment so he just awkwardly shuffles around it and into their discussion on infrastructure

Bruce who stands outside of her office for five minutes after their meeting because he hasn’t stopped thinking about the mortifying reality that his natural hair is visible again

Bruce who also can’t stop thinking about how she said it. It suits him.

Bruce whose natural hair suits him?

Bruce who finally gets the time to dye it again after two months of nonstop work but when he thinks about what Real said…he decides against it. For now

Bruce who starts getting used to seeing his dirty blond hair in the mirror again, even expects it. visualizes it

Bruce who knows when it’s getting too dirty because the small peaks of gold disappear so he starts washing it more regularly

Bruce who watches the volume come back and doesn’t hate it

Bruce who sees the rat’s nest in the morning of golden brown and random reds and even a streak of chestnut and doesn’t immediately reach for gel and a straightener anymore. Instead, he just runs a hand through it and thinks ‘to hell with it, it’s fine like this’

Bruce who gains favor from the public along with a new look, a fresher one

Bruce who becomes a familiar face on TV as the soft-spoken billionaire with the dirty blond hair that never looks right but it’s personable

Bruce who shakes hands and holds babies and hugs kids and the most compliments he gets are for his hair

Bruce who always has just a few strands of hair sticking up in the most random direction but he just swats it away (in another wild direction) and that’s that

Bruce who stops caring so much about being clean-shaven and now sports a bit of stubble because he just likes it that way

Bruce whose hair gets naturally much lighter in the summertime because he’s outside so much now and so his golden roots bleed into a rich strawberry blond

Bruce who has so many unflattering photos from the press of his hair actually looking like a rat’s nest, like seriously how does it look That Bad (Alfred thinks it’s hilarious)

Bruce who gets haircuts regularly now and always asks if they can use as little product as possible because “I don’t like when it’s sticky” but he always likes when it’s just a bit long too

Bruce who tugs on his hair, not to push it away but to fidget with it during meetings, making it even crazier

Bruce who can be recognized from the back by his crazy swirl of hair

Bruce who’s been sporting this new hair for a year now, the summer has passed and his hair is comfortably golden brown again (emphasis on the golden) and it’s bittersweet because he actually finds that he misses the striking blond streaks in July

But it’s all worth it when he notices his curls are finally coming back in the front

Bruce who looks like a completely different person than before and he’s so so happy

[elusiiev]

The Brainrot is Consuming me.

anyway earlier me an my friends were discussing what kinda clothes the main cast of omor would wear bc.... yk half of the cast is in fucking npc ass attire, and we went back and forth about it a lot and now i feel obligated to share this with other people to see if they might agree with my headcanons

mari - for mari i feel like she's very much a cardigan girly, sundresses all the time, probably like sweetheart and square necklines on a lot of her shirts, and she consistently puts lots of time into her appearance, more so for her own pleasure than anything else. however if she doesnt get to change out of pajamas she'd probably get a little upset and feel unproductive as a result - idk she just seems very schedule oriented and i feel her clothing style and habits would match that. she 100% irons clothes, if somethings wrinkly shes not wearing it, and she'd lean into the academia aesthetic. she also gives summer vibes to me, but that might just be because the main canon images of her are during summertime - also lots of purples and yellows, purples her fav color and yellow is the complementary color, plus a color associated with bright light and summertime

hero - he'd probably have a more basic style of fashion, but still look very cute in it. like big sweatshirts, long coats, button ups, wide leg jeans, collared shirts, clean shoes, all in all a very clean look. he prob has some of mari's jackets in his closet that he wears pretty frequently. also he would always wear earrings BECAUSE I SAID SO I THINK ITS AWESOME he might also be a bit into academia fashion, but less over-the-top "i'm the top professor of this college" look and more just autumnal tones and mildly professional attire. also i feel like hero would iron some of kel's clothes if he noticed they were very wrinkled, which might result in hero running out of time to iron clothes for himself, in which he just switches his outfit last minute. this is hyperspecific but but but but but yes

kel - this man does not know fashion, all his tips are from hero, which hero got from mari. his wardrobe probably consists of graphic tees he found funny or pretty, hand-me-downs from hero, and plain shirts and jeans, probably with a couple rips in them from him being reckless. also he always wears some sort of brace, either on his arm or leg he is consistently getting hurt in some minor way /j dirty converses real!! also probably some pen/pencil marks on articles of clothing from getting bored and deciding to doodle randomly on them. also bracelets from random fundraisers or from crafts with the rest of the gang

aubrey - shes actually kinda hard for me to figure out, but i ffeel like aubrey would be wearing a lot of graphic tshirts and tank tops, but like those ones with extra detail yk the ones the grunge ones yeah those, and like huge cargo pants or wide leg jeans, chains hanging from pockets, necklaces and bracelets, and generally ripped things. so kinda punk but also still very fem and not very out there in terms of fashion styles . however this would only be half the time, this half is when she's really feeling like putting in effort to look nice, probably being like "im gonna be like mari today" and spending a good chunk of time putting together an outfit and such. the other half she's fucking done with it and throws on whatever shirt she can find and some pants, tosses her hair a little bit and throws on eyeliner and is out the door, somehow looking gorgeous still. like that effortlessly pretty look even when theres nothing outstanding abt the outfit

basil - grandma ass /j he probably thrifts constantly and the antique store is one of his fav places, so it seeps into how he dresses. lots of sweatshirts with intricate embroidered or sewn in designs, coats, lots of browns and greens, and very worn things. probably wears some traditionally feminine things he finds too jsut because he thought they were nice, again think grandmacore /j he's a very green and wiggly boy, lots of layers in his outfits, and is pretty rarely seen with short sleeve shirts. also collared shirts, messenger bags, pins, custom patches, and friendship bracelets. his clothing represents who he is and can tell a lot about him for the most part, basically story telling through what he wears since he has so many accessories that come from different places. also lots of floral patterns because he's he's the flower boy the little man the flower guy . in summary cottagecore mori kei esque things

sunny - his ass is not putting together outfits /j ok so i feel like sunny is the type to save his energy for other things, i feel like socializing might be a bit draining for him but he loves his friends, so he kind of switches up how he uses his energy to accommodate. but sometimes he'd probably wanna be like mari and put himself otgether, so he probably goes shopping with her and has cute clthes, his outfits just end up being very simple with a graphic tshirt and maybe an oversized jacket. HE ALWAYS WEARS SHORTS!!!! he dislikes the feel of pants and preferred shorts, even if he's cold. if he'd cold he just kinda balls up and puts a jacket around his legs. anyway i feel like he's probably being restricted a lot by his preferences (i hc he has autism and this is one of the ways it impacts him) so he's not the most fashionable person

OK THATS IT this took too long to write it took like maybe 30 minutes ummmmfehrhfweifu im obsessed with this game its taking over my every thought i needed to express this my brains going crazy bhhuu8ewifihbweifuweifok

[thegetoufather]

SUMMERTIME SWEETNESS • ICHIGO KUROSAKI

ichigo kurosaki x f!reader

warnings: smut, 18+/minors and ageless blogs DNI, AGED UP ICHIGO (20+), modern au, established relationship, tooth rotting fluff, car sex, cream pie, minor exhibitionist vibes (?)

w/c: 2.4k

a/n: finally fucked around and wrote for my new baby. this is my submission to @134340am SUNDRESS SZN collab! be sure to check out the rest of the lovely fics here! also i know ichigos birthday was the 15th of july. yes this is late bc his birthday is everyday to me. none of the characterization in this fic would be possible without the lovely @karikarasuno who lets me scream about bleach in the dms on the daily

It’s hard to say when exactly when the sky shifts to sunset — it felt like mere minutes ago that it was was blue with soft white clouds swirled in, and now, as sun begins to dip in the horizons, the edges of the clouds glow amber, the day slowly fading away as the end credits of Howl’s Moving Castle play on the laptop in front of you. Ichigo’s head rests on your lap, smiling softly as your nails softly rake against his scalp as you watch the sky change in front of you.

“It matches your dress,” he murmurs, playing with the hem. 

“What does?”

He turns to face you, pinching a bit of the fabric off your thighs before tilting his head slightly back to the horizon. “It's the same pretty mango color.”

“Really? I think it matches your hair more.”

You can feel Ichigo still beneath your hand, a tell tale sign that his pleasant mood is starting to sour. “Oh, don’t ruin the moment,” he grumbles.

“What? It does.”

He sits up now, scowl plastered on his features. It just makes you giggle as you smooth out his hair, but it does nothing to settle the expression that seems to be his default.

“You shouldn't have gotten up, you're just blending in with the sky now,” you tease.

“Shut up. I can’t even compliment you without you teasing.”

“Why would I? You’re my cute little tangerine.”

“God, somehow that's worse than being called a delinquent because of my hair.” 

“I got more nicknames if you like.” Your grin widens as your boyfriend's displeasure sets deeper into his features, sticking your tongue out tease him further. 

“Don’t.” 

You stick your hand back into the picnic basket, fishing out a chocolate covered strawberry and holding it out with expectant eyes. “Peace offering?”

“Only if you feed me,” the scowl leaves his face, lips turning ever so slightly in a smirk that makes your stomach flip because it's reserved only for you. You put the fruit in his mouth, wiping the juice that spills down his chin when he takes a bite. It’s adorable how he focuses on the flavors melting on his tongue, brow unfurrowing as he indulges in his favorite dessert. Ichigo pulls you into a kiss after he swallows, smiling against you when you let out a surprised gasp. It’s sweet and slow, the bitter taste of dark chocolate sneaking in as he slips his tongue into your mouth. 

“Easy there, tiger.” You say when you pull back. 

“I thought we were quitting it with the orange jokes.”

“We are, doesn’t mean you weren’t being bold in public.”

“There’s barely anyone here. And I can’t help it when you look this pretty.” He takes a moment to run his hand over the length of your dress, fingers trailing from the hem sitting on your knee, smoothing up the corset top to fiddle with the bow sitting atop the thick straps. “When did you get this?”

“I bought it for Yoruichi’s bridal shower, but I thought I’d debut it for the birthday boy's picnic.” 

“Well, he thanks you for it.” His hand returns to the resting spot had claimed during your movie, the soft skin of your thigh that the slit of your dress gives him access to. He gives the muscle a soft squeeze, leaning in for another kiss before your hand pushes against the dip of his pecs. 

“What has gotten into you?”

“What? A guy can’t kiss his girlfriend?”

“Well, not my guy because he usually isn’t into PDA.”

“You know what they say, new year, new me.” 

 “Oh, shut up.” You roll your eyes at him while he makes a move to kiss your cheek, faux annoyance turning into laughter when his hair starts to tickle you.

“You can kiss me more when we go back home,” you offer as he starts to peck at your jaw.

“Mmm, yeah, trading barely there PDA into kissing in front of my surprise party?”

“What?”

Ichigo pulls back to face you, knowing look in his brown eyes as you try to play innocent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scoff,  “There’s no surprise party.” 

“Right, so Renji asking me how long our picnic was supposed to last didn't mean anything, and Uryu yelling at him about subtlety was in reference to nothing in particular.”

You freeze, Ichigo quirking a brow as he waits for you to confess. “Oh, I’m gonna kill him.”

“You would think the fact that he’s failed to keep my birthday party a secret every year since college would be a sign that you shouldn’t have asked him.”

“Yeah, but you know he wants to do something for you and never understands that you hate parties.”

“So ambushing me is better?”

“Well, it never ends up being an ambush does it?” He laughs at the pout that sits on your face, taking your cheeks in his hands so you face him. 

“You know what my favorite part of my birthday is every year?”

“What?”

“The date that gets me out of the house while Renji makes a mess of our apartment.” 

“Now you’re just trying to make me feel better.”

“I’m serious. Last year, when we took edibles and went to the aquarium — I had so much fun. How else do you think I didn’t yell when Ikkaku smashed a cupcake in my face?”

“The edible.”

“Let me love you, woman,” he huffs. You giggle and pull out another strawberry to placate him even though you know you don’t need it. 

You don’t have to let Ichigo tell you how much he loves you because he’s constantly showing it with his actions, always buying the light roast Nespresso pods though he prefers his coffee dark and bitter, putting up with all your teasing and poking and you kick him sometimes when you're asleep. He’s been showing you since that first date — that warm feeling you got at the end of the night when he kissed you just growing with every day you’ve been with him. It makes you feel grounded, secure, content in the silence that sits between you as you feed him strawberries at sunset. Your response to his complaining is simply the same smile that stretches your lips every time you see time, telling him to be quiet as you set another strawberry on his tongue.

“When are they expecting us?” He asks.

“In about half an hour.”

“Mmm, we better get home then, I’m going to need all that extra time to practice my surprised face.”

You roll your eyes at him as you start to put the food away, Ichigo promptly offering you his hand to help you stand up so he can fold away the blanket. He doesn’t let go of you, lacing your fingers with his as he holds the folded fabric with his free arm. You walk in the park hand in hand, passing by some new parents with a stroller taking a breath of fresh air and an old couple feeding the ducks by the pond — and you find yourself making a birthday wish on his day — that you get to experience those seasons of life with him too. He kisses the back of your hand when you get to the car, letting you go to pop open the trunk and put the blanket away.

“I can take the basket too,” he offers. 

“No worries, I got this.” You walk in front of him, bending over at the waist to set the basket away. The breeze starts to get stronger, lifting up the fabric of your skirt till you feel Ichigo’s strong hands yank it back into place.

“Careful!” You exclaim when you stand back up. “You’re going to tear my dress.”

“What the fuck was that?” He hisses.

“What was what, other than you nearly ripping my sundress because of the wind.”

“You’re really going to play this game?” 

“What game, Ichigo, we have to go home.”

He’s exasperated, but still rounds to the passenger side to open your door for you. You close the door and wait for him to enter, watching him carefully as the driver's side shuts with a slam. 

“What if someone saw?” He’s staring through the windshield as he asks the question, white knuckled grip on the steering wheel as the car comes to life. 

“I think they would tell you you owed me a new dress.” 

“God, fuck, why do I even —.” The rest of his complaints dissolve into mutters, continuing under his breath as he rests his arm behind your seat headrest as he reverses. He stops eventually, letting Mac Miller fill the car instead as you head over to your apartment building. You two don’t speak a single word till you pull into the parking garage of your apartment, Ichigo’s jaw clenched as he puts the car in park.

“Alright, so Renji just texted asking if we are on our way so I figured we could scare him by just showing up at the door now.” You make a move to reach for the door handle only to be met by the sharp click of the door lock. 

“Everything okay?” You look over at him waiting for an explanation, only to have him coolly turn his head towards you. 

“Are you done playing dumb?”

“Playing dumb about what, Ichi?”

“Oh, you aren’t done. You know what, get over here.” 

“No. Are you kidding, we have a party to get to.” You unlock the door only for him to press the lock button again, smirk playing upon his lips at your indignation.

“I think you’re forgetting something here,” he says, authority creeping into his tone.

“And what’s that?”

“That I’m the birthday boy, so I get what I want.” He leans closer, hand coming down to unbuckle your seatbelt. “So, get over here, now.”

The authority in his tone gives you goosebumps, obeying him wordlessly as you hop over the console. He pushes the seat back to accomodate you, pulling your hips closer to him and leaning you back against the wheel. He holds eye contact with you as he raises your skirt, hot brown gaze making you feel like you're on fire while he exposes your core.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, fingers running through the lace waistband. “Why’d you work so hard to hide these from me baby?” His fingertips glide across, pressing into the bareskin of your mound exposed by the crotchless black lace panties. 

“Wanted something on your birthday to be a surprise,” you breathe, keening into his touch as he dips closer to your folds. 

“Mmm, too bad the wind gave you away.” Ichigo leans forward to kiss your jaw, your breath catching in your lungs as he moves down the column of your neck.

“You should have waited to see the rest of it.”

“The rest of it?”

“This came with a pair of thigh highs.”

“Fuuuuccckk.” It’s low and guttural, vibrating against the skin of your neck and making your eyes shut. The sound of metal clinking causes them to flutter open, you finding Ichigo fumbling with his belt as he pushes his jeans and boxers down. 

“Ichigo, wait, the party —”

“Renji still thinks we’re on the way right? We got time baby, I’ll make time.” He raises you up on your knees, two fingers parting your folds easily to play with the slick that gathered between them. The contact makes you heady, your hands lacing in his hair to steady yourself as he continues rubbing circles around your entrance. And then he kisses you, sloppy and desperate, tongue pushing into your mouth as he presses his fingers into your dripping hole. He’s scissoring them lazily, breathing heavy while his forehead rests against yours as you rock into the motion.

“Don’t even have to work hard to stretch you out, huh? How long have you been waiting for me, baby?”

“All, all day, Ichi, wanted you so bad,” you whine.

“I’m here now, be good for me, yeah?” He slips out his fingers, weeping tip positioned at your entrance in replacement. You take the initiative to sink down, a strangled moan leaving the both of you when he starts to stretch you out. It burns more than usual because you are less prepped, but it’s delicious, Ichigo’s thumb rolling against your clit softly to soothe you on your way down. 

“Easy, easy, baby,” he croons, “Don’t hurt yourself, ‘m not going anywhere.”

The praise makes you whimper, helps you push yourself till you’re finally flush with his hips. He finds your face again while he waits for you to adjust, kissing you softly while his hands find their way to the underside of your thighs.

“Ready to move?” He asks against your lips.

You nod as you rise up on shaky knees, leaving only the tip inside you before you slide back down his length again. He helps you set the pace, strong arms supporting you as you bounce in his lap. 

“Feel so fucking good, so good for me. Youre the best gift I’ve ever gotten, fuck.” The praises keep falling off his tongue, seeping into your skin and making you moan and pulse around him. He takes that as an opportunity to press on your clit again, circles getting more firm as you arch into his chest.

“Not gonna last long if you keep gripping me like that, baby, need ya to cum for me, kay? Be good and cum for me.”

“Wanna be good, wanna be good.” You’re slurring the words as your nails dig into his shoulders, shattering around him when he bites your earlobe playfully. He fucks you through it, catching sight of the creamy ring you’ve left on his cock when he looks at where your bodies are joined. Ichigo spills in you with a groan of your name, making you whimper as he fills you up. 

He falls on your shoulder as you both catch your breaths, kissing the junction between your shoulder and collarbone as he pulls out. You’re on cloud nine, head fuzzy as you come down, brought back to reality when you start to feel the cum trickle down. 

“I-Ichi—”

“Shhhhhhh,” Ichigo whispers against your temple, fingers finding their way back to your spent core. He smiles when you gasp when he slips himself back in, fingering his cum back in you with his arm holding you close to your waist.

“Gonna need you to keep all this in for me, okay? We have a party to get to.”

thx for reading! plz don’t recc this on tiktok.

© all rights reserved THEGETOUFATHER 2022. please do not copy, modify or repost my work.

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[sunnyoldbear]

I’m no artist but all I think about is Luca so here are my headcanons for them when they’re older!

Luca:

As I said in a previous post, he gets a bit thicker as he grows since his whole family is on the thicker side and he’s very skinny.

His tail gets longer as he gets older and he’s like a little kitty with it. When he’s in the water, he sleeps on his stomach with it curled completely around him. He also wraps his tail around Alberto and Giulia at times if there’s ever a time where it’s raining or something when they’re in the surface.

He’s the shortest of the trio and he hates that with every fiber of his being. Neither of them let him forget it.

He loves space more than the movie lets on, and that’s saying something. He has read almost every book he can find on it and he rambles about it every day.

He is still pretty clumsy and his arms always have a few bruises or scrapes on them. He likes putting colorful bandaids on his cuts because he likes the colors.

He loves helping Giulia’s mom with painting! Not just modeling for her, but just painting with her or learning. It reminds him of Alberto. He’s not… good at it, but he loves it.

Oh he loves dogs. He’s still a little scared of cats after Machiavelli, but Nerone is his baby and he would do anything for that little pup.

Has a massive sweet tooth!

As expected, he loves learning about Vespas and how they work and everything. He does his research and writes letters to Alberto about the best books to read about Vespas to ensure they buy or make the very best one.

He’s always moving, just can’t sit still. He’s always bouncing his knee or kicking his legs or drumming his fingers. He just can’t help it. (He’s neurodivergent yes, but this is the 50s so…)

Still has very fishy sayings that no one but him, his family, and Alberto understand.

Can ramble for hours about the sea and how he can relate it to space. He still loves water and tends to list the names of his goatfish under his breath when he’s stressed to calm himself down. He still misses wrangling them, but he is so happy that he’s free.

Spends hours working on his handwriting because he doesn’t like how messy it is. He wants it to be perfect.

He’s very self conscious about most human things he does. The only thing he isn’t self conscious about is his swimming abilities, but he hides it pretty well. He’s most self conscious about his intelligence, or lack thereof. He’s meant to be at Giulia’s level of intelligence but since he was raised in the ocean, he knows next to nothing and so he has to work extra hard to get good grades. He stresses a lot about it and sobs if he gets a bad grade.

He’s a surprisingly good cook. It just relaxes him.

He loves flowers and learned how to make flower crowns.

He also loves collecting seashells he finds because it reminds him of home.

Like many agree, he is terrified of bugs, but he could never hurt one.

He’s very emotional, but that’s canon so.

His letters to Alberto are typically very long and full of emotions and things about his day, as well as random things. He doesn’t mind Alberto’s shorter letters, and he saves them in a box under his bed.

Every time he sees Alberto again he practically tackles him in a hug. The first time, both of them fell straight to the floor and were bruised for days.

He loves stuffed animals. Since it’s not “manly” to keep them, he gets them “for Giulia” and then puts them on his bed. (Modern day, he wouldn’t give a damn and just get them for himself)

Gets flustered super easily, as we see in canon. Be it an innocent romantic comment or a nice compliment, he goes super red and embarrassed, stumbling over his words.

Still says “silenzio Bruno” before he does anything he’s nervous to. Some kids at school are confused about it but he’s more confused at their confusion. How do they not know what a Bruno is? Isn’t it a human thing?

Loves to annotate his books. Associates certain books/book quotes with the people he loves and will give them those books or repeat the quote to them.

Though Genova is much more accepting than Portorosso, he is still bullied pretty badly when Giulia isn’t around, and sometimes even when she is. He pretends nothing happens or that it doesn’t bother him, but it does. It bothers him so, so much. Alberto can see right through him with ease and is there to remind him that everything is okay and he’s still loved. It helps, but not as much as Alberto thinks it does.

Even with the bullying, Luca loves school so, so much. That being said, he loves summer and being in Portorosso more.

Does that “look me in the eyes. You know I love you right?” thing he and his mother do to everyone he loves.

Alberto:

There is nothing he loves more than harassing Giulia. Being her brother, he loves to tease her, but will fight anyone who does the same.

Once decked Ercole. Got in trouble but Massimo secretly gave him a high five.

Cleaned up the island and erased the tallies he made for his father. He put some of Giulia’s fairy lights in there and has a few extra pillows, books in every corner and drawings all across the tower. He still has a lot of his human artifacts, but most of them are gone since he needs money for a Vespa.

His new tally board has “Reunion” scrawled at the top and its for waiting for his sister and best friend to return home.

Loves being a lifeguard.

Is super close to Machiavelli now and even adopted a stray to be his friend. Or uh… more than a friend, considering the big litter the cat soon fathered.

Alberto named all the kittens after fish.

He always draws things for Luca and eagerly waits his arrival.

Also has a massive sweet tooth, bigger than Luca’s.

Stores Luca’s letters away under his bed.

He and Massimo made Giulia’s hideout a proper treehouse and it’s now a study spot.

Has tons of books about Vespas. Massimo taught him to read and write.

He’s more self confident about his “human expertise” since he does it his own way.

One of the messiest eaters I swear to god-

Doesn’t care much about space, but he’ll listen to Luca ramble about it for hours without complaint.

Doesn’t really have anything he’s super interested in other than Vespas like how Luca likes space, but I might change my mind about that.

Loves watermelon!

His recklessness causes him to have as many bruises and scrapes as Luca’s clumsiness does, but he doesn’t care about putting bandaids on.

Alberto’s letters are pretty short but great!

Definitely bottles things up until he can’t anymore but he’s trying to get better.

Part of him feels guilty about catching and eating fish, but it’s hinted seamonsters eat fish so I’m accepting that as canon and saying he feels slightly less guilty about it. Definitely enjoys pasta more.

Loves the snow, especially when it means snowball fights. (Definitely throws them as hard as he can at Ercole. Son of a bitch deserves it.)

Oh yeah, he swears now. He’s heard a few swears around while making deliveries around the year and catches on. He makes a few of his own, too.

He just makes up words of his own as well as phrases. He doesn’t just convince Luca to say them. He convinces Massimo & Giulia as well as Luca’s fam. It’s a big, fun inside joke.

Loves turning into a sea monster and acting silly to make the kids around town smile.

Honestly he just loves being a sea monster. It’s great to be him. He feels free. It’s not as good a feeling as being on a Vespa, but it’s something.

He stares longingly at every Vespa he sees.

He probably named that girl cat Vespa or some variation of now that I think of it.

Giulia:

I see a lot of headcanons of her with glasses and I gotta say I love it! So, glasses Giulia!!!

Tallest of the three! Alberto hates her for it but she loves it.

She actually takes after her father more than she does her mother, contrary to popular belief.

Though she loves space, after her meeting with the boys, she’s thinking of marine biology. She stays up late every night researching everything aquatic. She constantly asks the boys about sea things and visits in that diver suit whenever she can.

She bullies Alberto as often as he bullies her. Their play fights look so aggressive that people think they’re actually trying to kill each other.

She’s constantly torn between chopping off all her hair or letting it grow out. She settles on leaving it medium length and tie it up.

A very yellow person! It’s everywhere. She loves it so much! The color of happiness, baby.

She’s the first to call Alberto part of the family, saying in a letter that her school wants to meet her brother. She got a letter from Massimo saying Alberto sobbed upon reading it.

Loves to paint with her mom but thinks bike riding is better. She loves that bike.

Harasses Alberto to put a sidecar on his Vespa for her. (Inspired by a drawing by aishimation on Instagram!)

Though she adore her mother, she’s a daddy’s girl and loves him so much.

Can and will punch anyone who calls her brother and her best friend a monster straight in the jaw

Hates her school uniform

Will also pour water all over Alberto just to piss him off

Summertime? I think you mean “training for the Portorosso Cup and also attack Alberto and Luca with a hose for a few months”

She loves to dance

Wants to get tattoos when she’s older

Very much a feminist and doesn’t care how much trouble she gets in for voicing what she knows is right

---

More on the way probably. These dumb gay Italian fish and their ginger friend is all I think about dhdhjdhdvdh

[draconic-ichor]

In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 22: Reservoir House Call

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, body horror

Summary: Moraue needs Heisenberg’s help.

Feedback appreciated, 18+

Movement tripped the alarms, something deep in the factory stirred the sensors. Heisenberg and Juniper entered the control room. He sat in the chair, looking over the cameras.

“What the fuck it that?!” Juniper pointed to one of the screens. Heisenberg turned to look where her finger led.

Down on the lowest reaches of the factory, where water from the reservoir flowed through the factory a large shape lumbered out.

It was a mass of fat and eyes, pulling free of the water with multiple legs.

“Aw Christ…” Heisenberg sat back in his chair rubbing the bridge of his nose, “it’s Moreau.”

 

“That’s Moreau??” Juniper said in disbelief.

By the time they made it down to the lowest level, Moreau had changed back into his more humanoid form, coughing near the edge of the waterway.

“H-Hello Juniper.” The man croaked. Seeing him now, without his usual coverings was a sight to behold. His back was covered with bulbous, pulsing growths. Damn, some looked to be monstrous eyes. A vestigial aquatic tail poked out from the mass, moving on its own accord. It looked painful, forcing the man into a hunchback.

“H-Hello.” Juniper managed.

“Yea Yea, fish.” Heisenberg stomped up, “What do you want, I’m busy.”

Moreau seemed to worry his hands, glancing down, “Brother…I���I need your help.”

“I fucking know that, what is it?” Heisenberg interjected, annoyed.

His tone made the other flinch a bit, “My television…i-it broke. I can’t f-fix it.”

Heisenberg signed, thinking over the situation. “I’ll come fix it.” He finally spoke.

Moreau’s face lit up with hope, shuffling his feet a bit. He turned towards Juniper, “You’ll come too?”

“Sure.” She nodded tentatively, hearing Heisenberg groan behind her.

“I can take you over!” The man gestured to the water excitedly.

Juniper felt a shiver, remembering what emerged from the water, until Heisenberg cut in again. “Thanks but…uh…fuck that.” He waved his hand, “Well take our own way.”

Slightly dejected, Moraue nodded, “I’ll meet you there.”

“Mhm.” Heisenberg shrugged tightly. Before anyone would speak again the fish man turned and jumped back into the waterway.

~

“Is that a purse?” Juniper asked amused. They walked towards the Reservoir, the ground muddy from the melted snow.

“It’s a tool bag.” Heisenberg answered through gritted teeth. He pulled the bag closer, it was letter and hung around his shoulder at hip level.

“It looks like a purse.” Juniper snickered, earning a growl of annoyance from Heisenberg.

As they drew nearer, past the town, the ground grew more sodden. The air slowly began to gain a certain smell, like the rotting of waterlogged plants. Juniper wrinkled her nose.

They walked through a narrow passage between a cliff face, Heisenberg holding back a bramble patch for Juniper to safely squeeze through.

She could see the windmills now, old and groaning as they slowly turned. Most of the land surrounding them had long since been lost to the rising water. The roofs of houses and other debris could be seen floating on top of the murky water.

“This is it.” Heisenberg announced, “The beautiful Reservoir, perfect place to cool off in the summertime. Just watch out for the fish!” His voice mimicked an old radio announcer as he split his face into a cheeky smile.

Juniper brushed him away, walking towards the edge to look into the swirling water.

“Be careful, buttercup.” Heisenberg came up behind her, “Won’t be able to fish you out if you sink in that.”

She felt a little shiver run down her spine.

She stepped away from the water, “So where does Moreau live?”

Heisenberg gestured for her to follow, easing his tool bag more comfortably on his shoulder. They entered the closest of the windmills. The old wooden mechanism slowly turned and groaned as they took stairs deeper into the underground. They came to a lift, resembling ones in the factory, but this one was wooden.

They rode it down into what looked to be an old mine. Juniper’s eyes caught the glittering flecks of crystals embedded into the rocky ceiling.

Going deeper still, with the far off shuffling of Lycans in abandoned mining shafts, they finally came to a metal door.

It bore the crest of Miranda.

“Don’t touch anything.” Heisenberg warned, “I don’t want you getting any diseases.”

Before Juniper could scold him he knocked at the door.

They heard mumbling and the scraping of feet across the wooden floors before the door opened. Moreau was a mixture of joy and apprehension, greeting them inside.

His ‘house’ was one of the mine shafts that had been converted into a living space. There were wooden floors and walls, and some furniture about. It was definitely sparse, save for some shelves with old books and storage containers.

Everything looked to be heavily damaged by water and the goo that Moraue would produce, not to mention the off colored stains that Juniper didn’t want to ask about.

It smelled about as one would expect, given the circumstances.

“I’m sorry…about the mess.” Moraue picked up a pile of old magazines, their covers warped and faded.

“It’s alright.” Juniper tried to sooth.

“So where is the tv?” Heisenberg asked with disgruntlement.

“Oh!” The twisted man exclaimed, “It’s right over here.” He padded around a corner into another small room. An old television set was staked on a crate, some soft things and boxes of films close by. This room looked to be the space he spent most of his time.

“Thank you, Heis-Heisenberg.” Moraue stammered.

“Yea, yea.” Heisenberg strode forward, kneeling down behind the machine. He placed the bag of tools beside him, pulling out a screwdriver.

Juniper wandered back to the entertainment room, Moreau curiously following her.

Heisenberg, busy with his task, took no mind of them. He wanted to finish this job as quickly as possible.

Getting all the screws loose he was able to free the back panel. It came away with an odd sucking sound, goo oozing out with it. The slimy substance hit Heisenberg’s boots as the television gave small sparks.

“Fucking hell!” Heisenberg grimaced at his boots, shaking the panel free of the muck.

“The TV is full of your green shit slime!” Heisenberg yelled into the next room. He heard more apologies from the room over. Grumbling, he began to clean out the inside of the box.

Juniper walked along the wall, looking at various  things that were hung alone it. Most of it was old gushing memorabilia but a few worn picture frames peaked her interest.

One photo in particular stood out. It was faded, the edges being ate up with mold. But she could still make out a man, stocky with jet black hair. He stood proudly in front of a clinic. She squinted her eyes to read the sign in the photo: Moreau’s Clinic.

“Sal?” Juniper turned, pointing to the photo, “Is this you?”

Moreau came closer, looking to where her finger led. His wide mouth parted in a smile as he spoke, “Oh yes!”

“Were you a doctor?” Juniper turned back towards the photo. Looking now she could see the shadows of his features hidden away under all the twisted flesh.

He nodded, “Yes, I took over the clinic. It was my Father’s. I helped people…before…before all..”

His voice trailed off, but Juniper understood.

He shook his head a bit, his smile returning, “But I help Mother Miranda now! I try to make her proud of me.”

Juniper gave him a small smile, knowing that nothing she said would sway his devotion.

“Heisenberg said you were sick.” Moraue looked up at her, his good eye full of worry.

Feeling her stomach she answered, “I went through a lot recently, but I’m feeling much better now.”

“Mother’s gifts hurt sometimes.” He tried to sooth, “But it’s worth it, she wants us to be strong.”

She tried to nod, her gut turning a bit at the memories.

“You are Heisenberg’s helper?”Moreau tried to change the subject.

Heisenberg’s voice sounded from the other room, “She’s my wife!” He corrected.

Moreau gave a small ‘oh’. Juniper’s cheeks bloomed with a rosy blush.

“I’m trying to teach him some manners.” She whispered mischievously, earning a warbling chuckle from Moreau.

“I heard that!” Heisenberg yelled again making the two snicker harder.

~

It was a good few hours before Heisenberg was able to get the inside of the machine clean and in working order once more. He had to use his powers with electricity to rewire some parts, replacing one of the tube bulbs and showering it with a plethora of curses for good measure during the whole ordeal.

Juniper kept Moraue occupied and out of Heisenberg’s hair. He had convinced her to look at his collection of finishing lures. Given his simple speech patterns and twisted visage one would think him very dim; but he was surprisingly intelligent and talkative with certain topics. Fishing was one of those topics, Juniper discovered.

The sound of boots tore them from their conversations, Moraue closing the old wooden tackle box to look up.

“Well I got it working again…but damn your slime mess is really fucking it up.” Heisenberg announced, holding his tool bag.

Moreau took Juniper’s hand excitedly, “Would you want to see one of my movies?”

“No, no.” Heisenberg interjected.

“One movie?” Juniper looked at him with big puppy eyes, “Just to make sure it’s working properly.”

The two looked at Heisenberg expectantly. After a long moment Heisenberg pinched the bridge of his nose and cursed, “Jesus fuck…Fine!”

As Moreau excitedly went through his box of films Heisenberg pressed, “Only one.”

“Thank you.” Juniper whispered, hugging Heisenberg softly.

Rolling his eyes, Heisenberg hisses, “I don’t know why you humor him.”

“Because it’s a nice thing to do.” Juniper snapped under her breath, “Don’t be so mean.”

When he didn’t speak she gave a little huff, wandering closer to the crouched Moreau.

The man was sifting carefully though the films, mumbling things to himself.

Juniper made a sound of surprise pointing into the box, “You have ‘The Secret Garden’?”

Moreau nodded, pulling that film free. It was the 1949 version, in black and white.

“I used to love that book.” Juniper spoke excitedly, “Can we watch that one?”

Moreau, just overjoyed to have company, instantly agreed.

Heisenberg leaned against the far wall, watching them set up the television. Moreau apologized profusely for not having proper seating, while Juniper shrugged and sat on the floor.

He smiled as the two became quiet when the movie started, walking quietly up to sit besides Juniper. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer as he settled in.

The movie wasn’t his cup of tea, liking westerns or thrillers more himself, but the quiet was nice. Even if the place was damp and smelled.

[ssevruss]

muse    questions.

what    is    your    character’s    favourite    physical    activity ?     foraging for ingredients in the forest.  something about the solitude, mapping his path, hand-deep in weeds && mud, ripping things from the earth he knows will be useful is something he really likes. he likes the search, and the reward, and just being out in nature. 

what    is    your    character’s    favourite    season ?     winter.  winter is somewhat nostalgic to him, he likes the bite of the wind and the way everything is always bathed in a sort of blue light. that, or autumn -- rainy days, scarves, but not coats. the leaves changing, halloween. 

what    is    your    character’s    least    favourite    season ?     summer. it’s hot, and sweaty, and he wears a lot of black to the sun seems drawn to him specifically. he also doesn’t like going home during the summer seasons much, at least not being alone in his house. 

is    your    character    a    morning    person,    night    owl,    or    something    else    entirely ?     he’s a night owl, though honestly he’d stay up forever if his body would allow him to. the night seems to spark creativity for severus, its when he can get the most done. sometimes he doesn’t sleep at all, works on personal projects until his daytime responsibilities require his attention. 

a    stranger    makes    a    crude    comment    to    your    character.    how    do    they    react ?     a tilt of the head almost in challenge, a cocking of an eyebrow, though he will rarely say anything back. the look alone is enough to tell the other that what they’ve said was not taken well, and not amusing. 

what    is    your    character’s    favourite    beverage ?     peppermint tea sweetened with honey.

does    your    character    know    how    to    swim ?     yes !  he used to swim in lakes as a boy ( though, not the ones near his house, they were full of oil, all sorts of litter && other things that would probably kill you ), and lucius’ pool if he was at his house during the summertime. 

it’s    the    first    day    of    truly    good    weather    that    your    character    has    seen    this    year.    what    do    they    do ?     take a walk. he’ll just go out and enjoy the weather, the temperature. 

what    was    your    character’s    last    pleasant    dream ?      his last pleasant dream was a lucid dream, and was of being back along the rolling hills on the outskirts of malfoy manor, a child again, sat by the lake. there were wizards fishing, no doubt talking about their lives && their wealth, house-elf annoyance && something of superiority, but severus didn’t pay them much mind. the sun felt hot on his hair && his clothing, and his knees to his chest in grass that tickled his bare ankles && reached about his waist when sitting down, he hadn’t a care in the world.  there was no sense of impending doom, no thoughts of home, or war -- just peace, the sounds of the wind. 

what    is    your    character’s    worst    fear ?     while his boggart takes the form of father dearest or voldemort, severus’ true worst fear is an eternity of loneliness. despite what he will say about his solitude ( which he really does enjoy, in moderation, )  severus is very, very lonely, and always has been. though on a level he’s somewhat accepted this, the idea of it being this way until he dies is terrifying.  a boggart can’t replicate that very well. 

what    is    your    character’s    favorite    color    to    wear ?     black. 

from    your    point    of    view,    what    is    your    character’s    worst    flaw ?      severus’ biggest flaw, in my opinion, is his inability to put grudges aside. they will always creep back up on him, at some point, turn happy feelings to rage && beckon him to self-destruct.  we see this in the way he loathes harry for looking so much like his father, for sabotaging remus’ job due to a feeling of betrayal --- which is what it comes down to, in the end. betrayal, grudges, and the inability to let them die. 

   that, or his temper. severus has an awful temper, he is very easily set off into full-blown rages, and often times just sits with it constantly simmering, the lid on the pot to his feelings always rattling. he is perpetually bitter, always prepared to be angry about something.

from    your    point    of    view,    what    is    your    character’s    greatest    strength ?     bravery. in the face of most horrible things, severus always has it in him to be brave. he knows what is expected of him, and he knows what he must do, and no matter how difficult or simple the task appointed, he will brave whatever outcome is awaiting action, and he will act.  

is    your    character    an    introvert    or    an    extrovert ?     introvert. 

what    method    of    transportation    does    your    character    use ?     apparation, usually, or floo -- though he vaguely knows how to operate a muggle car. 

how    does    your    character    feel    about    sex ?     severus has a low sex drive. it isn’t something he thinking about very often, though that isn’t to say it isn’t something he wants. he does, just rarely.  he thinks positively of it when he does think about it. 

has    your    character    ever    deliberately    set    out    to    emotionally    hurt    someone ?    on many, many occasions. 

[elsanna-shenanigans]

June Contest Submission #5: Heat Waves

Words: ca. 5,500 Setting: mAU Lemon: yes CW: drinking, irresponsible summertime behavior, Elsa x other people content (notably Hans, Honeymaren and Kristoff)

“What are you doing here?”

Her sister looks equally startled as Elsa feels. She’s leaning on a kitchen counter with a box of ice cream in one of her hands and a spoon in the other, frozen halfway to her mouth.

“Eating ice cream?” She answers with a question in her voice, offering Elsa a meek smile. “Are you gonna berate me for eating sweets so early or what? Hi, by the way.”

She puts her spoon in her mouth right after that and her smile grows bolder, smug even, almost exactly like their little brother whenever he purposely defies their mother. Elsa’s caught off guard for a moment–first by the fact that Anna is there and second by how much she has not changed at all, from the tips of her red pigtail braids to the jean shorts she’s had since she was fifteen.

“No, I mean– what are you doing here?” Elsa repeats, turning her gaze away from her sister’s thighs and to the floor, which comes to her much harder than she would like to, accompanied by a wave of embarrassment. “In the house. Weren’t you supposed to be on some,” she stops and forces herself to keep the exasperation out of her voice as best as she can, “life-changing trip?”

She fails spectacularly, but Anna either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind.

“That was the plan, yeah,” she answers as she kicks off and starts in Elsa’s direction. Elsa has to fight the urge to take a step back. “But then they started talking about that huge heatwave coming in, so you know…”

No, Elsa doesn’t know. There’s definitely not enough information provided for her to know anything and her mind is in a haze of panic, but Anna now braces her hand on her hip and sends her this you know how it be expression. “So you’re gonna be here the whole Summer?” she blurts out instead of asking for the explanation she doesn’t truly care about.

“Well– yeah? Maybe we’re gonna go somewhere a little later, but for now it seems it’s just you and me.” Her smile and cheerful tone clearly betray that she understood Elsa’s question in a completely different light than it was meant. “And there’s no way I’d go down South with mom and Olaf.”

Elsa curses in her head. Some heads up about this whole… situation would have been nice.

“At least not when I knew that you were coming back home.”

***

The next day is just a blur of trying to avoid Anna and Anna actively making it harder. Elsa blames the first few hours after her arrival on ‘being tired after the flight’ (which she spent sleeping) and ‘needing to unpack’ (which she doesn’t really, but she still goes through with that in case Anna tries to factcheck her later.)

She spends most of the afternoon locked in her room, lying face down on her bed and trying to block the entire world out.

Anna is here. She can hear her going about her day downstairs, watching TV louder than necessary, playing some music that she’d never heard her play before (is a year really enough to completely shift a person’s music taste?), even going outside to water the backyard.

And knocking. She knocks on her door a few times, asking if she’s okay, if she’s hungry, thirsty, if she needs anything at all, but Elsa just refuses every time.

Just her luck that Anna has to be there.

She emerges briefly in the evening to go to the bathroom, then dodges Anna with some pizza (‘thanks, I’m not hungry,’ she saysas her stomach rumbles) and slithers off into her room for a restless night of shameful thoughts.

Anna’s thighs in those damned shorts are the star of the show.

***

The next day she runs out of most viable excuses to stay in her room (other than outright saying she’d rather be in her room than out where Anna is), so she ignores the kitchen radio yelling about the hot, hot weather outside and decides to go to town.

Alone.

She makes a stop at the first Starbucks she sees and orders a caramel frappuccino and the biggest sandwich they offer. She’s tired as hell and starving, so both disappear within minutes and she finds herself with no real reason to stay in the air conditioned parlor. She makes a mental note to maybe bring her laptop the next day.

For a few hours she just roams around the city without any real destination, going in and out of various shops just to escape the afternoon heat.

By evening her feet are dead and she yearns for nothing else than to just go home and shower for two hours, but home was where Anna most likely is now.

As if to confirm, her phone buzzes and she takes it out to see the unread messages count jump from 53 to 54. She hits the icon and then goes to the only name with the little blue dot next to it, trying to ignore the I’m the worst sister in the world thought stabbing at the back of her mind.

‘Hey, coming back soon? I’m about to order food, any wishes?’

Shit shit shit. She clearly plans to spend the evening together, like normal siblings, and Elsa can’t have any of that.

She quickly looks around for some sort of excuse, and her eyes fall on a bright neon on the other side of the street.

For the first time in over a year, she writes an answer to her sister’s text message, trying not to think too much about the possible disappointment she’s causing her.

***

The club is loud. There’s a lot of people in, especially for a Monday night, but the more commotion and deep bass the better. It helps Elsa ease her shoulders a little and clear her mind as she glides across the floor straight for the bar.

She waits in line for a few minutes before she can order some basic bitch drink. There’s a free bar stool that she quickly decides to claim as her own. It’s not exactly ‘her world’. She’s not a party girl at heart, and she’s not one to dance a whole night away, but when faced with option A, dance and option B, be anywhere near Anna, the choice seems pretty obvious. The bartender hands her the drink and she sips on it slowly, swaying to the electronic music and trying to ignore her own thoughts.

She’s into her second cocktail when two girls slam into the bar to her right and start making out wildly, a blonde and a redhead around her age, just her fucking luck. She quickly downs the ridiculously sweet drink and decides it’s time to move on to hard liquor. It’s Monday, and the neon-colored chart behind the bar informs her that it’s a 4 for $5 on tequila special, so she calls the bartender over and just points to the sign. He nods, slams four shot glasses in front of her and she slides five bucks over.

She downs the first shot and tries not to make a face, then in a mix of generosity and bravery with just a hint of nihilism she pulls on the shirt of the blonde girl who’s currently invading her personal space.

They break away from each other reluctantly and the girl shoots her an almost angry, questioning glare. She has striking green eyes that switch from Elsa’s face to her hand when Elsa points to two of her remaining shots. That clicks quickly and both girls grab a glass each, the redhead grinning wildly and the blonde smiling sweetly as the three of them raise the shots in cheers.

Elsa downs her second shot and this time she can’t stop the grimace (Jesus, that has to be the worst tequila she’s ever had and she spent the past two years living on campus, for fuck’s sake) but her furrowed brows quickly shoot up in surprise when the blonde leans in to clash her lips with Elsa’s.

It’s unexpected, that’s for sure. Elsa’s frozen in her spot as the girl’s tongue splits her mouth open and slips in, uninvited but oddly welcome as it slowly slithers over her teeth. She tastes like that awful tequila with a hint of pina colada and pulls away far too soon for Elsa’s liking.

Before she can protest–either against the pulling away or the kissing her in the first place–the blonde moves aside just enough to let her redhead partner (?) through and Elsa’s taken hold of again. The redhead is rougher, more dominant, her curly hair tickles the bridge of Elsa’s nose and the force of her kiss pulls Elsa right out of her seat and against the bar.

“That’s a thanks,” the girl says when she pulls away and brushes her thumb over Elsa’s definitely bruised lips. She turns to her girlfriend (?) and does some non-verbal communication shenanigans before grabbing Elsa’s wrist. “Come with us.”

Elsa didn’t plan to dance. She didn’t exactly plan on making out with two nameless girls either. But when the blonde’s tongue dances with hers, when the redhead’s teeth nip at her lower lip–for those brief moments Elsa does not think about Anna at all.

***

There’s 7 new unread messages and 3 unanswered phone calls by the time she makes it home. She’s exhausted and drunk and… she doesn’t even know what to put the last thing as. Violated? She consented to everything (she thinks? She was drunk), but the entire thing was not on her agenda to begin with.

But then as soon as she opens the front door and slips in, then looks into the living room to see the TV still droning on in the background and Anna sprawled passed out on the couch in only a t-shirt and some underwear she wishes she was back with those two strange girls in the club.

She takes a cautious step inside, the cool wood a blessing against her bare feet. She makes it a whole of two paces in before it cracks, and immediately Anna stirs.

“Elsa?” she asks in a sleepy voice, sitting up to see better, but it’s lighter in the living room than it is in the corridor so she can’t see Elsa’s face (or her blush when Elsa notices Anna’s loose t-shirt slide off her shoulder.)

“It’s me,” Elsa assures her hurriedly, silently begging she stays on the couch. “I’m uh… I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Anna grumbles something in response but it’s drowned out by the TV, and Elsa doesn’t stay to talk things through. She takes the stairs in strides and dashes for her room, where she’s safe and alone.

The door to Anna’s bedroom slams shut shortly after and the mix of shame and guilt keeps Elsa up for hours.

***

It’s barely morning when she sneaks out again, fully intent on grabbing breakfast and coffee in the same Starbucks as before. She’s not slept much (has she even slept at all?) and the hangover is slowly starting to manifest, so her frappuccino comes with two extra shots of espresso.

The laptop idea from yesterday was abandoned when she got up and realized she’d have to haul it everywhere for the whole day. So she sits in the air conditioned parlor (it’s like 10am and outside it’s already over 30°C) browsing through YouTube videos on her phone and tuning out the rest of the world for a few hours, too tired to function beyond simple entertainment.

Anna texts her a few times and she ignores every message, but she can’t really ignore the nagging vision of her sister with messy hair and that loose t-shirt slipping off her left shoulder. No matter how many puppy and kitten videos she pretends to watch.

When the gazes of the baristas become a little too unbearable, she packs up and leaves with nowhere to go.

***

In the evening she finds herself wandering into a different night club with her shoulders red from the scorching sun.

She doesn’t spend much time admiring the decor; her mind is set on a simple objective–get smashed. She’s not decided on exactly which way she means it yet.

The answer clarifies itself in the form of a young man.

“Hans,” he says, even though she’s not exactly that interested in knowing his name or giving him hers. He looks at her throw another shot with a hopeful glint in his eye, not unlike a scavenger bird staring at a dying animal. “You dance?”

She’s had four shots of straight vodka by now and she does not give a single shit about dancing, really, but she takes his hand and lets herself be dragged to the floor. He attempts to beat around the bush for a grand total of half a song before he pulls her closer and hunches over her, catching her lips in a sloppy kiss.

It’s… different. Not that Elsa’s not kissed men before, no–but this time she somehow at the same time really wants this guy, this Hans person that she hopes to never see again after tonight to take his hands off her ass and to take that fire burning in her chest for the one girl she really can’t have and extinguish, if only for a few hours.

So when Hans grinds into her and she can feel just how eager he is to help her with the predicament he knows nothing about, Elsa moves along and deepens their kiss.

The club bathroom is nasty and crowded, and the stall feels like it’s about to fall apart behind her back as she holds onto his neck and digs her nails into his skin. He grunts into her ear in a borderline animalistic way and she closes her eyes as his body goes rigid against her and she fights off a wave of shame-fueled nausea with a climax.

When she opens her eyes again, his hair gripped between her fingers has the most frighteningly familiar hue.

***

“I was worried about you,” is the simple statement welcoming her back home. Anna is sitting cross-legged in the dark living room, the Netflix logo frozen on the tv behind her.

She’s wearing that damned loose t-shirt again and apparently made a nest of blankets and pillows on the floor. The room is filled with the soft hum of the fan blowing right onto her back.

Elsa shrugs and mumbles something that she herself doesn’t even understand. She hopes that Anna can’t see her smudged mascara, or the state of her dress.

***

She falls into a routine over the next few days. Wake up way too early, ignore the heatwave alert on her phone, sneak out before Anna can intercept her, have breakfast at the usual Starbucks, wander around the city until her legs can’t take it anymore and she’s exhausted most options for air conditioned cover. When evening comes and brings barely any respite from the scorching sun, find a club, bar or pub and hunt for human contact. Come back home way too late. Wake up way too early. Ignore the heatwave alert.

She wipes the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand as she sips on a slushie. It’s Saturday, and the forecasts everywhere are screaming for people to stay home unless they really need to get out. Which Elsa absolutely does, because as far as she’s aware Anna is heeding the warnings like a sane person should.

She sips the slushie again and lingers on that thought. A sane person. She definitely doesn’t qualify as one, sitting outside in what barely even counts as shade while the biggest heatwave of two decades rolls over the city. It’s so hot she can see the air move in literal waves and the streets reflect the sky like mirrors. A city-scape mirage.

Her phone beeps quietly and she swipes Anna’s message away.

***

She winds up at a gay club for that night, and in the rainbow-colored lights instantly finds a girl that catches her eye.

The attraction is mutual and electric, and soon she’s making out with her in the backseat of an Uber on the way to the girl’s place. It’s a nice change–she’s been hooking up with guys for the last few days, and honestly she was slowly getting fed up with rough lips and scruffed chins. The girl is soft as petals and sweet as honey.

Honeymaren happens to be her name. Fitting, Elsa’s fried mind notes as her hand travels under the girl’s shirt despite the Uber driver’s scornful gaze in the rearview mirror.

They get off in a part of the city she’s never been in before and Honeymaren (‘just Ren is fine!’) leads her into the elevator and onto the 14th floor. She slams Elsa against the door as they kiss like two bitches in heat, Ren fumbling to fit the key in the lock next to Elsa’s ass.

When she finally manages to open the door they all but fall into the apartment and they break apart for long enough for Elsa’s love of the evening to lead her into the bedroom, shushing her on the way.

“I don’t wanna wake my brother,” she whispers and Elsa’s stomach sinks, because brother is dangerously close to sister and that makes her spiral into thoughts she’s here to run away from.

As soon as they’re in Honeymaren’s bedroom Elsa reaches for her and locks their lips again, intent on focusing all of her attention on this absolutely stunning woman in front of her, and not the one on her family pictures.

They make it to the bed and clothes start flying, lips start wandering, teeth start sinking. Muffled moans fill the room when Elsa finds herself between a pair of silky thighs and a pillow finds itself on Honeymaren’s face.

One much louder moan later Elsa is flipped onto her back harshly and her mouth is filled with a foreign tongue again as Honeymaren’s fingers find purchase below her abdomen, making Elsa’s legs go numb with skilled, precise strokes.

She nears her peak as Ren starts whispering in her ear, her voice guiding her senses and hopes of maybe, finally, finding someone who she could forget about her sick desires with.

She comes with a wish for this girl to break this damned curse.

When she opens her eyes, Honeymaren’s smile is so alike Anna’s.

***

She’s back home in an hour.

For a moment, panic grips her chest when she doesn’t hear Anna complain about her late arrival–but she soon finds her curled up in the nest, the tv turned off for once and the AC and fan both blasting at her. She’s barely dressed at this point (if Elsa thought that loose t-shirt was bad then the tank top is just pure torture) and uncovered, but she’s sleeping soundly and Elsa has no plans whatsoever to wake her up.

She creeps over quietly and sits down on the couch just next to Anna’s nest. In the dawning light, she can barely make out the freckles on her nose, and some of those on her shoulders. They’re lightly tanned (unlike Elsa’s own aggressively red) and oh-so-inviting in that freaking tank top, but she dares not even think about touching her. Her lips are parted, hands curled up just in front of her porcelain doll face.

Elsa watches her until her vision blurs with tears before fading to black.

***

“You really should stay home tonight,” Anna says in the morning when Elsa wakes up to the smell of real breakfast and pain in her neck. “They’re saying today’s the worst in terms of the heat.”

Elsa looks down at the toast and eggs Anna set in front of her and feels guilt battle hunger in her gut. “I have to go,” she mumbles as she reaches for the fork, and she’s not sure Anna could even hear her.

When she looks up though, she’s met with a glistening stare.

“Do you really hate spending time with me that much?” Anna asks in a small voice, and Elsa can tell she’s been waiting to ask this question for a while.

Still, she’s taken aback for a moment. “N-no,” she manages out after a very awkward pause. “I just have a date.”

Anna huffs. “A date?”

“Yeah.” And it’s not even a lie. She does have a date, she just needs to confirm it. “I uh, I met him at a bar a few days ago.”

Anna gives her an odd look, but she doesn’t say anything else.

***

Kristoff is… nice.

That’s pretty much all she can say about him. He’s a nice guy, and that much was clear the moment he asked her for her number instead of fucking her in the bar bathroom.

And the place he chose for their date is nice too. The food’s nice, the decor’s nice, the music, staff, hell even the other customers are all nice.

But nice is not something her tired mind can deal with now.

“Sorry, do you think we could ask for the receipt?” she interrupts him while he’s telling her about his dog. “I think I wanna go for a walk.”

He flushes, taken off-guard. “Y-yeah, sure,” he answers, waving at the waiter. “But, a walk? In this weather?”

“Or we can go to your place,” she offers, the little bit of hope slipping into her voice because she needs him and she needs him now. “If that’s okay with you?”

He’s flushed even deeper when he nods.

***

His place is also fucking nice.

He’s just a normal guy, and she wonders how the hell did she managed to pick up one like that on her weird alcohol-sex bender. He offers her some wine (which she accepts gladly) and snacks (which she refuses politely), introduces her to his dog. Shows her around the place and then lets her choose the movie to watch, and when they settle down on the couch he asks her if it would be okay to put his arm around her.

She doesn’t follow the plot of the movie, instead she’s focused on the feeling of his huge hand on her sunburnt shoulder. It’s so far removed from anything Anna that the sliver of hope is back there. There is virtually nothing about Kristoff that could make her think of her sister (except for the fact that she’s now thinking about how much he isn’t like her.)

But her stomach churns. She turns in his embrace to look up at him, observes his face. He’s handsome, in a very… manly way. And he’s a good man. She’s learned that much from listening him talk, and the millions of pictures on his walls.

She puts her face on his cleanly shaven cheek to get his attention.

“What?” he asks her with genuine confusion, taking the one extra second to pause the movie before that.

That’s probably when it hits her. Or more precisely, that one freaking gesture of pausing the movie is what cements it. He’s a good, domestic man who came up to her awkwardly at a bar, introduced himself complete with a handshake and asked her for her number when she was already slammed enough that she’d jump on him with no questions asked.

He’s a long term kind of person, and that’s not what she needs.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, and she genuinely is sorry for both him and herself. “Could you take me home?”

It’s the right thing to do, but she still turns away and closes her eyes, not wanting to look at his reaction.

“Right.” He clears his throat. “Right, um– sure. Just let me grab my keys.”

When she opens her eyes again to look at him, his eyes glisten just like Anna’s in the morning.

***

She’s back home much earlier than usual, and Anna is just stepping out of the bathroom.

“Elsa!” she squeaks in shock when she sees her, and fixes the towel around her chest. “I didn’t– how was your date?”

Elsa’s brain is short circuiting. “It was okay,” she answers mechanically, turning her gaze towards the floor, but the image of Anna in nothing but a pink towel is etched into her eyeballs. “W-we decided to end early.”

That’s the lamest way to say ‘it didn’t work out (because he’s a better person than I could hope to be)’ she could come up with, but she doesn’t have a single brain cell to spare on this now.

“Oh,” Anna sounds genuinely sad. Elsa’s still not looking at her, but she can hear her make her way down the stairs. “Well, um… I was just about to order some food and watch a movie, so if you wanna–”

The image of herself being as cordial as Kristoff and asking Anna if it would be okay for her to hold her while they watch a romantic comedy invades her completely out of the blue.

“No, thanks,” she blurts out and interrupts her. “I’m uh– I’m gonna go lie down.”

Anna finally makes it to the bottom and Elsa makes a move to push past her.

“Lie down?” She grabs Elsa’s wrist before she can even take one step up. “It’s 7 p.m.”

Elsa tries to softly twist out of her grip. “Well, I’m tired, so if you–”

“Bullshit.”

Elsa does a double-take and finally looks at Anna’s face again. She looks angry, with a hint of accusation, and this in turn makes Elsa angry.

“Let me go, Anna.”

“Not until you talk to me,” she’s trying to sound serious, but there’s a desperate undertone in her voice.

“Anna–”

“Please, Elsa, you’ve been acting so wei–”

“–let go.”

“Why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking of you!” She yanks her wrist free and runs up the stairs, leaving Anna with what has to be the weirdest statement to analyze.

It’s only once she’s in her room, safe and alone, that she realizes what exactly she’s just said and breaks down in tears.

***

She doesn’t sleep at all that night.

***

The next day she’s out before Anna wakes up again.

She has breakfast at the Starbucks, focusing on anything that’s not the previous evening. But the weather warnings on the radio are jumping from ‘extreme heat’ to ‘massive storm coming’ like crazy, and it only serves to spike her anxiety levels further.

At around noon she has a slushie in her spot, the heat beating down on her head enough to burn away any semblance of a coherent thought.

She watches the heat waves dance over the mirror asphalt, and like a desert oasis all she can see is Anna.

***

She finds herself at a bar before she even knows it.

“Hey,” a soft voice says to her while she’s on her third vodka/tonic. “Come home with me?”

Bold, she has to give her that. She looks up at the girl and, unsurprisingly, all she sees is Anna.

“Are you okay?” she asks after a moment with furrowed brows, and Elsa realizes she didn’t give her any answer yet. A cool hand ends up on her forehead. “Jesus, you’re hot as hell.”

***

They’re walking in silence.

“Are you feeling better?” Anna asks suddenly, giving her hand a soft squeeze. She’s insisted on holding her since they left the bar, despite Elsa’s admittedly very weak protests.

“Yeah.”

“I think you might have had a mild heat stroke,” Anna muses, pushing a bottle of Sprite into Elsa’s free hand again. “Really, you should have just stayed home today.”

Elsa takes a sip, cringing at the idea. “You know I couldn’t.”

Anna huffs. “Because?”

“Because–”

“Yeah?”

“Because of what I said?”

“Oh, that,” Anna pretends to suddenly remember. “I’m not even sure what exactly that was supposed to mean. I mean, I have a hunch. Nothing solid though.”

If her nose and cheeks weren’t sunburnt, Elsa would definitely turn very pale now.

“But I can tell you were hurt.”

“I–”

“No, wait. Let me say this.” She stops walking, so Elsa has to stop too. “I was mad at you. Well, more precisely, I thought you were mad at me cause you kept ignoring me for like a year, and then I was mad at you cause we were both here and you still kept ignoring me in person.”

Not really knowing what else to do, Elsa nodded.

“And I’m sorry I pushed you like that yesterday, I just… I was hurt and I wanted some sort of answer.”

She squeezes her hand again.

“But the way you said that… the expression on your face, Elsa, I–”

A thunder sounds in the distance, interrupting whatever Anna wants to say.

“I’m sorry,” Elsa mumbles, looking down at their interlocked hands.

When she feels Anna’s fingers at the side of her face, she fights the instinct to move away. “I’m not gonna say ‘don’t be’.” Anna smiles as she fixes Elsa’s hair out of her face. “But I think I understand.”

They stare at each other in silence until the first drop of rain falls on Anna’s forehead.

“Finally!” she groans out.

The first drop is followed by a second right on the tip of Elsa’s nose, and a third on Anna’s shoulder, fourth on Elsa’s chest and a fifth on their hands.

***

They make it home just before the storm breaks out for good, and a huge lightning bolt illuminates the entire hallway.

“Did you see that?” Elsa asks, then turns away from the window to look at Anna. “…what are you doing?”

“Taking my clothes off?”

She’s glad that it’s dark again, cause she’s sure that she just color-matched her entire non-burnt skin to her shoulders. “I can see that, but why?”

Instead of an answer, she receives an order. “Undress.”

“What?”

“To your underwear, Elsa.”

She chances a look at Anna and yes, just as she said, she’s standing there in just a bra and panties. With her heart beating in her throat, Elsa slides the straps of her dress off her shoulders and lets it fall to the floor.

“Good. Now come with me.”

She pulls her back outside, but to the backyard this time, where they’re still safely hidden from the world. The rain is now beating down in heavy drops like a literal waterfall from the sky, with the clouds above them lighting up with distant lightning.

“God, I needed this.”

It’s dark as hell in the entire neighborhood, and Elsa has a passing thought that the power might be out– but then Anna’s hand is gripping her forearm again to pull her closer.

“What are you doing?” she asks again, louder this time to get over the sound of rain.

Anna doesn’t answer right away; instead, she moves in closer, right until their bare chests are almost touching, and at this point in the night Elsa’s brain just decides to shut down all defenses.

“Your shoulders are scorched,” is the thing Anna decides to go with. She runs her finger softly along the crook of Elsa’s neck, then down her collarbone. “Does the rain feel nice?”

It does. It’s cold, and it’s soothing, and it’s all that’s been missing for the past week and Elsa is not sure she’s thinking about the rain anymore as Anna’s cool finger continues down her chest.

“I missed you so much,” Anna whispers, and it sounds just like the rain around them. “I wish we had a chance to…”

She trails off and looks down on her hand on Elsa’s chest.

“…talk things through sooner. Would have saved your poor skin some pain.”

She leans in to place a soft kiss on Elsa’s shoulder, and it feels as soothing as the raindrops.

“I can’t stop thinking of you either.”

It’s quiet, and the rain is loud, and Anna is talking into her shoulder but Elsa can hear what she says and even though her mind is screaming at her not to interpret it in any weird way she is, so when Anna’s lips continue up her neck, then jaw, and then finally find purchase on Elsa’s own lips, her kiss is like water on her parched tongue.

And at this moment it doesn’t matter if anyone looks outside (and should they do it, why would they look at anything else than the glorious display of lights in the sky?), it doesn’t matter that they’re standing in the freezing downpour with their bare feet in the mud, it doesn’t matter that this is what Elsa’s been trying to run away from for over a year.

All that matters is Anna, all she feels is Anna, all she hears is Anna, all she sees, her eyes open or closed is Anna and all she ever wants in life is Anna.

They break away and when Elsa opens her eyes, it’s still Anna. The heat waves mirage has gone down the drains with the pouring rain but it’s still Anna.

“I–” she finds herself wanting to say four billion things at once but with no idea how to say them.

But she’s shushed and pulled in once again and all of those run-on thoughts just turn to Anna.

[lovemesomesurveys]

Over 1,000 questions survey part 1 by 3llen your name: first name? Stephanie. middle name? -- last name? -- do you like it? Yeah, I like my full name. would you change it? Nah. if so, to what? -- were you named after anyone? No. if so, who? --

your birth: in which season were you born? Summertime. Blehhh. in which month were you born? July. what was the date of your birth? July 28th. what was the time of your birth? Around 430PM. in which city were you born? A city in California. were you born in a hospital? Yes. were you born early or late? My mom went for a routine checkup, or so she thought, but the doctors were like, uh we need to do this now.  if so, by how many weeks or months? I think just a few days. do you have birthday traditions? Just that I have a nice birthday dinner of my choosing and dessert. if so, what are they? ^^^ did you have a cake for your last birthday? Yes. if so, who made it? It was store bought. did you have a party on your last birthday? No, I just celebrated with my parents and brother at home. if so, where was it? -- have you ever had a surprise party? Nope. have you ever had a themed party? Yeah, my childhood parties were themed. do you know anyone with the same birthday? Yes. if so, who? This girl I went to school with. how old will you be this year? I turned 32. have you had your birthday yet this year? Well, yeah. if so, what did you do? I already told you. if not, do you have plans? -- your looks: are you male or female? I am a female. are you happy with that? Yeah. natural hair color? Dark brown. do you like it? No. I was dyeing it for the past few years, but I haven’t dyed it since February of last year. I also cut my hair super short so my hair is completely my natural hair color now. I’ll dye again when it grows out more. is it naturally curly? No. is it naturally wavy? Yes. is it naturally straight? No. do you dye your hair? Yep.  if so, what color is it right now? Like I said, it’s currently my natural color because it was really overgrown as it was and I chopped off all my hair to a pixie cut so whatever remained was cut off. if not, would you consider it? -- do you straighten it often? It’s been years since I’ve straightened it. do you ever use curlers? No. how long is it right now? I have a pixie cut going on. do you need a haircut? Noo. I’m growing it out. how often do you get it cut? I was getting it trimmed a few times a year when I would get my hair colored. I last cut it a few months ago and won’t be cutting it again for a long time. can your braid your own hair? Yeah. Just a simple braid, though. what kind of shampoo do you use? Dove. what other hair products do you use? I just use shampoo and conditioner currently. how's your hair at this exact moment? Short. natural eye color? Brown. do you like it? Meh, I wish I had blue or green eyes. would you change it? Yes. if so, to what? See a couple questions up. do your eyes change colors? No. do other people call them pretty? I’ve been told that before, but not much. how's your vision? Shitty, hence the glasses. do you have glasses? Yeppp. if so, how often do you wear them? I have to wear them all the time. if not, do you wish you did? -- do you wear contacts? Nope. if yes, are they clear or colored? -- if colored, which color? -- do you have long eye lashes? No. do you have thick eyebrows? Yes. do you wax your eyebrows? No, I tweeze them.  do you pluck your eyebrows? Yes. do you have freckles? I do. if so, how many? Uh, I’m not going to count them. if not, are you glad? -- do you have thin lips? Yes. do you have straight teeth? Mostly. if so, did you have braces? Nope. if not, are you okay with them? I’m fine with them. do you wish your teeth were whiter? Yes. have you ever had a cavity? I’ve had several, unfortunately. when did you last go to the dentist? It’s been years... what color is your skin? Pale color. are you happy with that? No. does your skin burn easily? If I spend a few hours in the sun I’ll likely get a little burned. do you usually use sun screen? Yes. have you ever used a tanning bed? No, I have no interest in that. do you have any gross moles? No. do you have any scars? I have numerous scars. if so, from what? Surgeries, mostly. do you have any bruises? I don’t think so. if so, from what? -- do you have any cuts? No. if so, from what? -- are your nails painted? No. if so, what color? -- are you wearing make-up? Nope. how tall are you? About 5′4. are you okay with your height? I wish I were a little taller. if not, how tall do you want to be? A few inches taller. are you underweight or overweight? I’m underweight. if underweight, are you glad? No, not at all. It’s caused/causing me health related issues. if overweight, are you trying to change it? -- if neither, what do you consider yourself? -- do people tell you that you're beautiful? Not often.

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

Sunflower - Harry Styles AU (Volume 6)

The year is 1977 and it’s officially summertime. Y/N is spending it with her family at the Malibu Breeze Hotel, where she meets, aspiring musician, Harry Styles. The two clash in the beginning, but soon realize they may just need each other in the end. Find out just how life changing one summer can be in Sunflower, a Harry Styles AU.

   Here is part 6 of Sunflower. Hope you enjoy it!

Vol. 1 Vol. 2   Vol. 3  Vol. 4 Vol. 5 

Word Count: 1.9K

“Oh, this is so wonderful, honey,” My mother exclaimed as she twirled by hair around the curler. “William is such a gentleman and this could bring on great things for you.”

“It’s only dinner, mother,” I sighed.

“Yes, yes, I know, but I really think he might have an eye on you,” she smiled.

I rolled my eyes. It didn’t take long before both of my parents found out about me having dinner with William later. The dinner I never said yes to, might I add. Of course, they didn’t know that and I probably should have told them, told William that I wasn’t interested, but the words wouldn’t leave my mouth. I could tell my parents, especially my father, were ecstatic about me hanging out with William and his friends.

My father because he thought it would help me make up my mind regarding Boston and because it would put in a good word for him with his boss. My mother because she could already picture a wedding with grandchildren running amuck down the line. I wanted neither of those things, at least not right now and not with William.

As my mother continued doing my hair and makeup that she insisted on doing once finding out the news, my thoughts wandered to Harry. He had looked so miserable, so annoyed and angry today. It really felt as if we were making progress and he was being less like how he was before, but today proved that it’s still the same.

Maybe he was just embarrassed with me being there. Seeing him having to wait on William and his friends… on me. Jasper never said anything to me, mostly because he was too busy sailing the boat. Rehearsals would be after the dinner, I wondered if either of them would say anything to me or bring up the events of the day.

Part of me hoped for a yes while the other was perfectly okay with them not uttering a word.

“There we are,” she smiled. “You look absolutely beautiful, Y/N, just gorgeous. William is going to be floored when he sees you.”

Mother moved out of the way, letting me be in full view of the mirror. My eyes widened as I looked at the reflection in the mirror. A reflection I didn’t recognize as me, not in a bad way though. I had never really been one to worry about makeup, mostly out of laziness and feeling like it was just something society made women feel like they needed in order to get a man and for cosmetic companies to make money.

But seeing myself in just a bit of blush, lipstick, eye shadow, and mascara, it was like my confidence level rose about four levels. And my hair was pulled back with a few strands of curled hair framing my face.

“Wow,” I uttered.

“See, I told you just adding a little bit to your face can make the most amazing changes,” she smiled. “Now, for your dress. I have the perfect one for you.”

My mother rummaged around through her closet for a few moments before pulling out this beautiful sunflower yellow dress. It was a halter top with a sweetheart neckline that flowed out just above the knee.

“Try it on,” she smiled.

I took the dress from her going into the bathroom to change into the dress. Once it was on, I tied the long ribbon around my neck and looked at myself in the mirror. The dress fit me perfectly and the color matched perfectly with my skin. I found myself smiling as I looked at myself in the mirror trying different angles to make sure everything did look alright.

Being all dressed up for once in my life made me feel special, beautiful even, but my heart sank knowing that all of this was happening for the wrong person.

**

Arriving at the Dining Hall for dinner with William was weird, awkward, and stressful. I wanted it to be over before I had even started. However, if having dinner with William wasn’t already bad enough, Harry and his band… the hotel house band was scheduled to perform. I nearly dropped my glass when I saw Harry and Mitch making their way towards the stage.

“Interesting, hopefully that one is a better singer than a waiter,” William joked.

I looked at him.

“Oh, um, the one there, I think he’s name is Barry… he was on the wait staff on the boat today,” William answered.

“I know and he’s name is Harry,” I told him.

“Eh, doesn’t matter,” he shrugged.

My hand gripped onto the menu a little too tight causing a small crease to start forming.

“Good evening and welcome back to another evening here at The Malibu Breeze Hotel. We hope you’ve had a lovely day and we thank you for spending the rest of your night here with us,” Harry said into the microphone.

The opening notes of the first song started playing as I looked over at the stage. Harry’s eyes were closed while he took a deep breath, something I noticed him doing every time before he opened his mouth to sing. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice because he does it so discreetly, but I did. I always do.

“Speaking of our day out at sea,” William started. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Um… I mean… I guess. I’m not really a boat person,” I told him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” he said. “Perhaps we could stay on land next time,” he laughed.

Mentally, I rolled my eyes, physically I gave a small nod and a smile.

The rest of the dinner went exactly how I thought it would. William talking about Boston, himself, his dad, shoving food in his mouth, etc. And just when I thought our little date was over and I could finally get out of there, William stood up from the table walking over to my side.

“Join me for a dance?” He asked, holding his hand out towards me.

“Um, actually, it’s getting pretty late, I should probably get going,” I told him. “I have plans, remember?”

“Oh come on, just one dance. Besides what’s wrong if you’re a little late anyway, you’re with me,” he smirked.

I had the urge to smack him right then and there, but I saw my parents at their table out of the corner of my eye. Even though they weren’t looking in that exact moment, I knew they had been staring throughout the night. I sighed going against my better judgement and what I wanted by saying yes.

I placed my hand in his and he practically pulled me to the dance floor. I gulped feeling Harry’s gaze on us when we got there. I didn’t dare look at him, afraid of what I might see. William wrapped his arm around my waist and held my hand with his other one. William’s face sat near my ear and I could feel his warm breath against my skin. A shiver ran down my spine, but not in a good way.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered into my ear.

His hands were slowly inching their way down from my waist. He knew what he was doing, placing his hands ever so subtly on me. I stood there frozen, my body willing to push him away, but nothing would move.

“How about you forget about those plans of yours and we head back to my room?” He asked. “So we could have a little more privacy to get to know one another. I could show you some more information about Boston, too.”

“Um, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I told him. “In fact, I should uh… be going now anyway. Excuse me.”

Not sure how, but I finally was able to maneuver myself out of his arms and out of the dining hall. I needed to get out of there, but I wasn’t sure where I would go. It was too early to head to the cabin for rehearsals and if I went back to my room, Marianne might be there and ask me about tonight. So, I took off my shoes and went out to the beach instead.

I found an empty beach chair that was still left out in the sand. I sighed sitting down, letting my head fall into my hands. I wanted the night to be over with and I knew first thing in the morning I would have to tell my parents that whatever they wanted me to have with William was never going to happen.

My hands rubbed at the side of my neck almost as if I was trying to wipe away his words and the remnants of his breath. I heard someone walking up behind me. I could stand up, ready to run, thinking it was William. But it wasn’t, it was Harry standing there, still wearing his suit with his hands in his pockets.

“W-What are you doing here?” I asked him.

“Are you okay?” He asked. “Did he-”

“I’m fine,” I said, shaking my head. “So um… you saw-”

“The two of you dancing? Yeah, it’s kinda hard not to when you were on my dance floor,” he said, kicking at the sand.

I sighed, “Look, I don’t get you or what’s up with you. Why do you always do this? You act like an ass to me, and then you’re fine and it’s like we’re finally moving past that and then today, you treated me like you didn’t even know me.”

“Me?” He asked. “Y/N, you’re the one staying at the big fancy ass hotel with your Daddy and his money. You’re the one who gets to be Daddy’s little girl by day and sneaks around playing in some band at night. You’re the one playing two sides here, not me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it!” I told him. “I told you this isn’t a fucking game for me! I’m serious about being in this band because it means something to me and because you mean something to me.”

“Oh really? Cause you could’ve fooled me when his hands were all over you and he was whispering in your ear,” he snapped.

“I pushed him away and left when he did that! I don’t want him,” I snapped back. “I never wanted him and I sure as hell didn’t want to go to dinner with him.”

“Then what do you want Y/N?” Harry asked. “What do you want, right here and right now, what do you want?”

I closed the remaining distance between the two of us. Sand covered my feet and my shoes felt heavy in my hands. My heart raced a mile a minute and my stomach felt like it was in knots, but I didn’t care. For the first time in my life someone asked me what I wanted for myself and because of that, I had to be completely honest.

“You,” I whispered. “I want you. I want the band… I want the music… I want all of it, but mostly… I just want you.”

I stared up at him, his eyes glistening as the moonlight lit up his face. His previously slicked back hair was now blowing freely in the breeze. I waited what seemed like forever for him to say something, but he never did.

He simply took my face in his hands and pressed his warm lips against mine while the waves crashed along the shore behind us.

**

Soo... word count wise this update was a little shorter. I thought about making it a bit longer, but I kinda like where it ended. But this does make me want to ask, do y’all prefer the longer updates 2k-3k word counts or shorter ones like 1k-1.5k? 

Let me know! :) 

[cheolbooluvr]

get to know me!! tag game <3

thank you khione @wonwoonlight for the tag!! <33 i am awful at doing these even tho i want to, i just start them and then always forget to finish and post them lol kjfaksdasl

tagging @lovingyu04 @gyukult @hoshblr @minghaofilm @trashlord-007 and anyone and everyone who would like to do this :)

What day is your birthday?

august 11 :)

What is your favorite color?

pink, blue, green and yellow <3

What’s your lucky number?

1,8,11 (for obvious reasons)

Do you have any pets?

no i wish :( but i do have stray cats that wander into my backyard!

How tall are you?

165cm

How many pairs of shoes do you own?

a lot more than i can count off the top of my head

Favorite song?

hmm i don't have a single favorite song, but the ones that have been on repeat: go away - omar apollo, summertime - ha:tfelt, sss - svt, say something - twice, tear drop - sf9 !!

Favorite movie?

oh...i have many, but i'll name three: our times, how to lose a guy in 10 days, princess mononoke

Who would be your ideal partner?

hm, someone i can be myself around; someone who is open to trying new things w me and being adventurous, but also being okay w just staying at home; someone who my family also loves...i could go on for days tbh

Do you want children?

i do :[ i have the WORST baby fever, if you wanna read abt it, lemme plug this fic LOL

Have you ever got in trouble with the law?

yeah, for p1r4t1ng a sh0w :] #outlaw

Baths or showers?

i used to love baths, but i love showers now and just standing there, the water hitting me, and pretending i'm being rained on in the middle of a dramatic movie

What color socks are you wearing?

invisible color

What type of music do you like?

lots of kpop, krnb, and bedroom pop :))

How many pillows do you sleep with?

......i have 6 on my bed (but i technically only use 2)

What position do you usually sleep in?

on my side (semi-fetal), or on my back w my legs in 4 shape, arms above my head LOL

What you don’t like when you are sleeping?

when it's too hot! i cannot stand when it's too hot. otherwise, i'm a pretty easy sleeper if i'm on a comfy bed w good pillows

What do you typically have for breakfast?

bold of you to assume i eat breakfast....but if i do, it's usually hot pockets or costco croissants :]

Have you ever tried archery?

yes!! once at my school, they had it, and it was super fun!

Favorite fruit?

i love all melons, cherries, nectarines, cuties/tangerines, mangos, dragon fruit...i just really love fruit!!

Favorite swear word?

fuck or shit - i have a potty mouth i'm so sorry

Do you have any scars?

i do, mostly acne scars, but also random scars from many things

Are you a good liar?

i think so...? good enough to get past my tiger mom, so that has to say smth, right?

What is your personality type?

enfp!!!!!

What is your favorite type of girls?

hot girls, kind girls, idk as long as we vibe, i like most of them

Are you an innie or an outie?

innie :o

Left or right handed

right handed

Favorite food?

probably mashed potatoes or hot pockets

Favorite foreign food?

sushi :[

Are you a clean or messy person?

messy, but not dirty!!!! i just have a lot of shit

Most used phrase?

uhhh either the curse words above, or "HELP" but it changes, i go thru phases w phrases aha ;P

How long does it take for you to get ready?

it depends on where i'm going, but 30mins average if i'm trying to look nice?

Do you talk to yourself?

all the damn time! i literally have podcasts w myself lmfao

Do you sing to yourself?

yes i like to pretend that i can sing

Are you a good singer?

see above answer

Biggest Fear?

death & failure, not being loved :']

Are you a gossip?

yeah i'm honestly rly nosy, but i do know my boundaries most of the time

Do you like long or short hair?

SHORT - once i cut my hair short, i realized that this is me, the real me, long hair me feels like a complete fraud

Favorite school subject

hmm, english probably

Extrovert or Introvert?

extrovert, but i do need my alone time a lot of the time. ppl irritate tf outta me and sometimes i need them to just...not

What makes you nervous?

not being qualified enough for something, being a fraud, imposter syndrome type stuff

Who was your first real crush?

i'm gonna go w a celebrity crush and i'm gonna say it was dwayne the rock johnson in the scorpion king LMFAO

How many piercings do you have?

2

How fast can you run?

not fast at all

What color is your hair?

pink like seungkwan hitorijanai/your choice concept photo eras

What color are your eyes?

poopy brown, or to be more poetic, just...brown

What makes you angry?

incompetent mfs who can't do their job, ppl who steal artwork/creative work, ppl who don't know their boundaries...there's a lot

Do you like your own name?

yes :]

Do you want a boy a girl for a child?

i used to rly want 2 girls. then i thot bc i wanted 2 girls so badly, the universe would give me 2 boys instead, but now i'm okay w whatever, i just want babies :D

What are your strengths?

umm good question *cue imposter syndrome*

What are your weaknesses?

i have imposter syndrome

Color of your bedspread?

hwite

Color of your room?

white and grey

[melyaliz]

Remember me pt 6

Master List

Fandom: My Hero Academia 

Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki x OC 

Notes: No idea what to say sooooo.... Enjoy? 

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive​

Connect with me! AO3 / Instagram / Pinterest

DONATE or REQUEST

-0-0-0-0-0--Bakugou--0-0-0-0-0-

During the last of their three-day stint, Kirishima had joined Bakugou to finish up a few things in their office away from home. After spending the morning in briefings both heroes were grabbing some lunch before heading back to the hotel.  

  The 100-degree weather that had graced the October sky had finally broken and many of the employees of the large building were outside enjoying their lunch in the shade. Just glad to get out of the cramped offices to enjoy some pleasant weather. 

  One of them was the Starbucks girl. 

  “Dude, isn’t that band you like?” Kirishima asked elbowing his best friend in the side, making Bakugou grunt with annoyance. 

He had noticed her when she had come out. Holding a bag and talking to that same guy she had done the presentation with. Today she was dressed in a cute leopard print skirt and a black band tee. The words Gojira sprawled across the front, below it was a black and white image of a large whale leaping up from an ocean. 

  “Yeah” was the simple response as he dug into his chicken burger.  

  “So do you need me to go over and say hi or are you going to actually go over there and talk to her?” Kirishima asked nonchalantly as he took a bite of his food. “Or are you just going to keep checking her out like you have been all week?” 

  Bakugou coughed slightly, eyes wide as a rush of anger came over him. First off, there was no possible way he could have been checking at her all week seeing most of the week he had been miles away dealing with earthquake relief. And second, he was NOT checking her out! 

  “I don’t need your help asking a girl out!” he snapped before grabbing his plate standing up. Sometimes Kirishima’s pushy personality was so annoying. Walking over to the table the young woman was sitting at he sat down

  “Nice shirt” 

  “Do you like Gojira?” she lit up as he spoke to her as she put her phone away. That was a good sign. 

  “Yes.” 

  “Have you seen them in concert?” 

  “Yes.” 

  She nodded, “Me too, it was probably one of the best. It was Knotfest and some guy broke his nose in the mosh pit.” she paused stumbling over her words slightly before looking at him, obviously unsure what the Japanese word would be.

  “Moshpit,” he said nodding 

  “Oh ok, it was a lot of fun.” 

  “You don’t look like the kind of girl to like Metal,” Bakugou said studying her. While he had only seen her around a few times she always seemed very put together. Dressed in bright colors normally very girly looking with her purple ombre and perfect makeup.  She chuckled awkwardly, putting some hair behind her ear. 

  “I don’t listen to it on the regular but the best concerts I have been to are Metal ones. What bands do you like?” 

  “The classes are a good go-to, Metallica, Iron Maiden, even Slayer, but I like Meshugah and Lamb of God too,” he said sandwich forgotten. At the time he hadn’t noticed it but he found talking to her so easy. Her questions always open-ended, giving him a reason to tell her about himself. Something later on he learned to really appreciate. She had a way of really listening to people and asking just the right questions to get what information she wanted. 

  “Oh Lamb of God is insane. They aren’t really as heavy but I have a soft spot for Mastodon.” 

  “Their drummer is pretty good.”

  “Do you play drums?” she asked, cocking her head to one side, catching his comment. 

  “No, I just like songs with good drummers.” 

  “I’m here for a good drum solo” she nodded, “I always wanted to play but I’m also super uncoordinated.” 

  “It’s not that hard,” Bakugou said picking up his sandwich again taking a bite as if he was making some sort of point. 

  “How are you enjoying San Diego?” she asked following his social que and taking a bite of her salad. 

  “Well, I spent most of it in a pit.” 

  “Oh true, well at least you have a few days off, anything planned?” 

   He shook his head trying not to think about the fact that she had noticed him around too. Well, they did have that conversation two days ago at Starbucks.

  “Well I recommend trying a California Burrito or any Mexican because you are here. Beaches are pretty, OH! Actually you and your friend should go to Hodad's, it's kind of a San Diego staple. What do you like to do?” her words coming out in a rush of excitement.  

  He shrugged, “I mostly work and train at home.”

  “There are some nice hikes by the beaches.”

  “You like the beach?” 

  “Yeah why?” she blinked, confused by the sharp question. Trying to think why he would be asking her that. 

  “You keep bringing it up.”

  She giggled shrugging, “The ocean cleanses you. It’s calming. And I’m sure you need to relax after saving the world.”

  “I’m not saving the world just your border.” 

  “Well, it's some people’s worlds you are saving.”   

  “I guess” he shrugged unsure what to say. She was right of course. That was his job. To save people’s lives and in a way their worlds. 

  Another lull and she poked at her salad taking a few bites. It was then he realized he didn’t know her name. Assuming it wasn’t Grape. But he had no idea how to ask.

  “Ground Zero,” she said slowly, “Do you prefer that, or your name?” 

  “You can call me Bakugou.” 

  “Thank you” she paused for a moment, “You can call me Olive.” 

  “I thought it was Grape,” Bakugou said, deciding now that he knew it wasn’t Grape, he could poke a bit of fun at her name and their last encounter. However Olive seemed unphased. 

  “Oh yeah!” she burst out laughing shaking her head, “It’s kind of a joke between me and the Starbucks barista. Every time I go in she comes up with a new food name for me.” 

  “That’s stupid, why not just use your name?” 

  “ Why else does anyone do anything? Because it makes us laugh.” 

     -0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

  Olive had fallen asleep hours ago but Bakugou couldn’t seem to drift off. With her body curled up next to his was just too much. After everything they had been through, knowing how much farther they had to go. All he wanted to do was pull her to him. Kiss her. Feel her around him. Remind her how much he loved her. How he could make her feel. Show her just how much he loved her. 

  It was like his body on was on fire having her that close. 

  He couldn’t take it. 

  Getting up he slowly disappeared from the bedroom going into the personal gym that was on the far right end of the hallway. If he couldn’t sleep at least he could work out. Starting with a low run on the treadmill he placed his headphones in letting the music pound through his ears. Angel of Death by Slayer blasted in his ears as he took to a fast run letting his feet rush forward. Pushing, fighting through whatever burning frustration that was trying to consume him.  

  Control, he just wanted something he could control. 

  He was lifting weights when he felt her presence. Turning he saw her standing in the doorway watching him rubbing her eyes. Arms wrapped around herself, her dark hair messy from sleep. It made his heart skip at the sight. Like some stupid highschool girl. 

  “Why are you up?” she asked blinking owlishly at him.

  “Couldn’t sleep, just go back to bed.” 

  Guilt was written all over her face. She was biting her top lip studying him unsure what to do. He had seen that look before. The one where she was trying to decide to just leave it or force him to open up to her. 

  Letting out a long sigh he sat up wiping away the sweat from his face. “Just go back to bed, I’ll be right there.” 

  “I… ok” she said, slowly walking back to the bed. 

  After a quick shower, Bakugou went back to the bedroom to find Olive sitting up fighting sleep worry still etching on her features. “Oh stop it” he chastised, rubbing his still wet hair with a towel. Throwing it into the basket he crawled up into the bed next to her. She watched him as he settled in before finally speaking.  

  “How… how do we normally sleep?” she asked, determination in her voice. A force of nature. He knew that voice. She wasn’t a pushy person but she was a fighter. She was stubborn in her convictions and would do whatever she could to fix something. When they would fight he would scream and yell and she would just sit there arms crossed until he was done and then ask what needed to change. What needed to be fixed. 

  “You are basically on top of me” he admits knowing she will know if he is lying. Not that he ever would. He wasn’t a liar, and even if he was he could never lie to her. 

  She giggled at that nodding. “Eliott used to say I would chase him around the bed.” she was too tired to try and cover up his name. Dance around it. 

  “Yeah,” Bakugou nodded, laying down on his side. “I don’t mind.” it was more of an invitation. A prayer. He wanted to feel her in his arms again. Feel her legs tangled up in his. They used to end up in the strangest positions all twisted up so in the morning he wasn’t sure where she would begin and where he would end. 

  Scooting up Olive curled up into his chest. Her soft smell filled him. Sweet and clean like the color pink and summertime at the beach. Sugar covered fruit and cool water.  Gently he ran his callus fingertips over her arm. Enjoying the feeling of her smooth skin and for a moment he forgot she didn’t know him anymore. That it was just another late-night cuddle session that he was being (not so) begrudgingly forced into. 

  Bakugou woke up to his alarm going off. Letting out a soft moan he stretched, feeling his wife’s body cuddle closer to him. Her arm draped over his chest. Looking down he couldn’t help but smile running his fingers through her hair letting the dark black and rainbow colors play as they fell onto her back. 

  She stirred at the sound of his alarm mumbling as she reached out feeling his body under her fingers. Letting out a content sigh she pulled herself closer only to then have her hand move slowly up his torso feeling his taut stomach and abs. 

  Letting out a squeak she jumped away, eyes adjusting as she fully woke up. Blinking at him as if looking at a stranger in her bed. 

  Which, -he painfully reminded himself- he was. 

  “Morning,” he grumbled slowly pulling himself out of bed. She watched him for a moment pulling herself together trying to piece together reality from whatever dream she had been waking from. She had never been a morning person. Lilly had jokingly called her Zombie Olive, warning Bakugou that she wouldn’t be fully coherent until at least 2 hours after she woke up. 

  “Morning Katsuki,” she said hesitantly, “did you sleep ok?”

  “Yeah, you?” 

  “I made a few mistakes,” she smiled at him, jumping out of the bed almost tripping over the sheets that were tangled around her feet. He turned fighting back a smile. 

  She was still there. Slowly but surely cracking open. 

  After doing their morning routines the couple reconvened in the kitchen. Bakugou whipping up some eggs with furikake. 

  “So what are your plans for today?” Olive asked, taking a bite of her food watching him as he plated his own breakfast.

  “Just work, I’ll be back late” 

  she nodded, “I’ll probably call Lilly and then read my books,” she flashed him a toothy grin, “I need to know what ideas I have written and what I need to get back into.” 

  “Good luck with that,” he said “I think it was a Western.” 

  “Oh really?” 

  “You don’t talk too much about your stories but you did tell me that.” 

  “Do you read them?” she asked her face slightly flushed at the thought. While she was fine with strangers reading her slutty stories she had always found it hard to have people she knew read them. It was just kind of weird. Like her stories were a different person, not really Olive. Which was why she used a pen name, Delilah Flint.” 

  “Not really,” he wanted to add that he had the real thing. The woman behind the stories was always up for an adventure to try new things. Why would he want to read about some dirty cowboy plowing his soulmate - or whatever - when he could just do it himself? 

  Not that there was a lot of that going on right now though. 

  -0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

  The office was a bit busier than he remembered. 

  “Morning bro, how’s Olive?” Kirishima asked, holding up some files as Bakugou walked into their agency. Well, it was Bakugou’s agency but Kirishima shared it because they worked well together and figured why not. 

  “Not crying,” Bakugou said, “she seemed excited last night to read her stories since she couldn’t remember them, something about reading them for the first time.” 

  Kirishima chuckled, “Maybe we should have her meet Deku again, start that over again.” 

  Bakugou frowned at the memory. They had met at a UA reunion almost year after Bakugou and Olive had started dating. Olive had been drunk and Deku had found it hilarious to poke fun at Bakugou. Telling the first girl Bakugou had ever been interested in, about Bakugou's very angry childhood. Unfouranity for the previous number one hero he didn’t realize that Olive was a mama bear when it came to the people she loved. And even if they were in the wrong no one spoke poorly about them.

  “Oh by the way.” Kirishima said, handing him some files, “We got statements from the police from the robbers. Apparently that third guy… he only spoke English.”

  “What?” 

  “Yeah, the one who hired them only spoke English. I thought it was weird since…”

  “Olive was the only one who lost her memory?” 

  “Her and the guards but theirs was only for a few moments.” Kirishima paused looking at the files that were slowly starting to smoke in his best friend’s hand. “Hey man… uhhh do you want me to take those?” 

  Bakugou felt a rage wash over him. Was this an attack on Olive? There was no way. How would someone even know she was at the mall? There had been a witness who had told the police she had helped a mother and two kids get out before running back to try to help someone else. But that was it. He had just assumed that she had run into the thieves and since they couldn’t lay their hands on her due to her quirk they used a memory wipe. 

 His phone dinged breaking through his thoughts. Turning he noticed that Kirishima was holding the files waving them, the edges singed slightly.  Glancing down at his phone he noticed it was the very woman he was thinking about. 

  Olive: "Hey do you know what my computer password is?" 

  Bakugou: Doley11 

  Olive: You're the best thank you!!!

  He frowned looking down at the phone then shot back another text realizing something. She didn’t know anything, 

  Bakugou: We have an alarm system in the apartment so don't leave I'll show you how to use it when I get back

  "Ok"

  Bakugou: And the stove can get tricky so call me if you need help. 

  Bakugou: Actually my assistant's name is Kygome. 

  Quickly he texted off his assistant's number 

  Bakugou: If you can't figure something outcall her if you can't reach me 

  Bakugou: But text me first 

  Olive looked down at her phone as the slur of texts came pouring in. From the few days, she had known Katsuki she could tell he was a man of words and less emotions (except for annoyance, he seemed to have that in spades)  but… this was kind of cute. He was worried about her. 

  But also what had she done before to warrant this kind of worry? She was a bit of a dumbass, sure, but also-- he needed to relax. 

  Olive: Thank you, I'm in the computer now and lucky me I still label my password doc the same so I should be good as for everything else I'm tough I got this!

  Settling in she pulled up the document titled “Dragon Dick FINAL” this looked promising. started to read. 

  Meanwhile, Bakugou was working with his team about maybe taking a few days off. The thought of leaving Olive alone not knowing anything starting to get to him. He needed to make sure she was safe first. He could work remotely for a few days. Besides if this guy really was after his wife he needed to make sure he kept her close. 

  He had already failed her once. He wasn’t going to do that again. 

-GET TAGGED-

Master List

Story Tag: @0hmydeku @inumorph @it-jinxed-us @myraticm

[starlingsrps]

leo kelly character dev.

BASIC INFORMATION

full name: leonard harris kelly

reasoning: nope. none at all. he wishes.

nickname(s): leo and you should really only ever call him leo

preferred name(s): leo

birth date: september 2

age: thirty

gender: male

pronouns: he/his

romantic/sexual orientation: heterosexual

nationality: american

ethnicity: caucasian

current location: los angeles, ca

living conditions: look, he's got an obscenely large whiteboard and a bed. the rest is willa's call.

BACKGROUND

birth place: boston, ma

hometown: marblehead, ma

places lived: cambridge, ma; houston, tx; los angeles, ca

social class: upper middle

education level: degrees in astrophysics from MIT; post-grad research at NASA; currently fourth year phd student at caltech in astrophysics

father: martin kelly

mother: elise kelly

sibling(s): charlie, 28; emma, 25

birth order: oldest

children: no; not violently opposed to the idea but also not super anxious for it to happen. he can wait.

pet(s): nah

other important relatives: legions of cousins on both sides

current relationship: just moved in with willa james so it's going great.

OCCUPATION & INCOME

primary source of income: student stipends

secondary source of income: research

content with their job (or lack there of)?: it’s pretty great, as long as he doesn't think about the student loan payments when this is all over.

past job(s): he's taught and he's researched. he has not done much else. like he bussed tables at the yacht club in high school?

spending habits: god, the budget spreadsheet. it lives on google docs and he does look at it while out sometimes.

most valuable possession: all in his noggin but mostly his external hard drive.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

physical strength: decent.

defense: he’s just going to walk away

speed: fast

intelligence: disgusting. he skipped a year and a half of h high school, does the sunday new york times crossword in pen, and has done extensive work at nasa but still cannot be left unsupervised when he's high because he will let a squirrel in the apartment to hang out.

accuracy: dead on but the rat bastard knows how to use physics to his advantage.

agility: nimble af

stamina: boundless

teamwork: bossy. very bossy.

talents: teaching, vision, and spatial reasoning. he fit all of his belongings in a hatchback to move in with willa.

shortcomings: when he's dumb, he's real dumb.

language(s) spoken: english, some mandarin he picked up from his roommate at MIT

drive?: yes and prefers it to most things, even in la. plenty of time to think and listen to podcasts and think.

jump-star a car?: yep

change a flat tire?: yep

ride a bicycle?: yep

swim?: yep

play an instrument?: nope

play chess?: yes but he hates it

braid hair?: nope

tie a tie?: yep

pick a lock?: yep

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

face claim: grant gustin

eye color: brown

hair color: blue

hair type/style: short, longish on top.

glasses/contacts?: glasses 75% of the time, contacts the 25% of the time he feels like it

dominant hand: right

height: 6'0

build: just a bean pole man

exercise habits: pushups help him think and also keep him awake.

skin tone: fair

tattoos: nah

piercings: nope

distinguishing features: he's very limb-y in general and has pretty eyes

usual expression: neutral

clothing style: he's a basic bitch - sweater, jeans, t-shirt. do not make him think any harder than that. he would 100% let willa dress him tbh.

allergies: wicked seasonal allergies

diet: nothing super out of the ordinary but he does skip meals pretty frequently if he's working on something that needs his full attention.

physical ailments: —

PSYCHOLOGY

enneagram type: 5 - the investigator

moral alignment: lawful neutral

temperament: melancholy

mbti: intp

mental conditions/disorders: little stressy, little depressy.

sociability: introvert

emotional stability: p steady

phobia(s): unexplained explosions, drowning

addiction(s): nah

drug use: if leo wants to drive out to joshua tree to get high and camp at every midterm and end of semester, that is his business.

alcohol use: eh, sure.

prone to violence?: nope.

MANNERISMS

speech style: nothing he'd consider extraordinary

accent: nope.

hobbies: reading, puzzles, walking

habits: he has a lot of routines just to make things more efficient but it's all so boring.

nervous ticks: cracking his neck

drives/motivations: professional success, personal satisfaction

fears: mostly drowning

positive traits: confident, analytical, enthusiastic, brilliant, honest.

negative traits: brutally honest, absent-minded, imposter syndrome, prone to dropping horrifying facts about the universe in casual conversation.

sense of humor: dry

do they curse often?: oh yeah

FAVORITES

activity: problem solving and hiking

animal: dogs

beverage: leo is aware of what all of this red bull is doing to his organs. he doesn't really care.

book: pretty much any mystery.

color: red

designer: what does willa think he should wear because he just bought a four pack of hanes t-shirts at target and doesn't know

food: can he eat it while walking? cool give it to him.

flower: he enjoys plants

gem: eh?

holiday: the fourth of july - the kellys are the kind of white people who go to the cape every year for the fourth and he'll haul ass back from california for it without question.

mode of transportation: walking but la is terrible for it so he'll drive HE GUESSES.

movie: disaster movies. all of them. the worse the better. the more tenuous the logic surrounding the physics the better.

musical artist: elton john

song: if he says "rocketman", you'll assume he's being sarcastic but he is not.

scenery: the desert at night. STARS.

scent: sea air and willa.

television show: the x-files

weather: summertime - he's a lizard and soaks up heat and sun.

vacation destination: the cape and joshua tree.

ATTITUDES

greatest dream: he's really hoping to go to work for nasa once he has his phd in hand, as far as professional dreams go. personally, he's plotting out a proposal to willa.

greatest fear: open water

most at ease when: problem solving and sitting quietly..

least at ease when: leo is confident in a way that he is seldom not at ease in any situation. i hate him.

biggest achievement: he has a good reputation in his field and is well respected but he has also perfected the art of the grilled cheese.

biggest regret: nah.

top priorities: willa, career.

[tact-and-impulse]

Shinkane Week Day 3

A 1918 chauffeur/ojousama AU, anyone?

Prompt: Dreams

“Where to?”

“Ousou Institute, please.” His new employer’s granddaughter had good manners, obvious even before she spoke. Her hair was neatly combed, and there wasn’t a wrinkle in her school uniform. Her leather boots were polished and her hands demurely placed in her lap. “Thank you, Kougami-san.”

His gloved hands slid along the steering wheel. “Don’t thank me. I’m only doing my job as your chauffeur.”

Miss Tsunemori was taken aback, and he forced the image of her wide eyes out of his head before he started driving. He could feel her gaze at the back of his head, prickling under his hat.

He didn’t understand why Gino had recommended him for the position. They both grew up in the rowhouses, and of the two of them, Kougami was rougher around the edges. Someone like him was better off as a soldier in the Emperor’s army or a viscount’s bodyguard. Not a driver for a sixteen-year-old girl. However, Tsunemori Aoi seemed to think he would make a good addition to her household. The typhus epidemic of 1914 had taken her son and daughter-in-law; perhaps, her judgment was clouded.

He parked at the black iron gates of the school. Here, girls were educated to be ladylike wives and mothers. An Ousou graduate was the picture of propriety.

He opened the car door for her, and she stepped out. She gave him a pointed look. “Thank you, Kougami-san.” Before he could protest, she quickly added. “My parents raised me to be courteous. So, I’m doing my job.” With a little smile, she entered the school.

Huh. What a strange girl.

***

“You gonna sleep with her?” Sasayama crassly asked. He patted Kougami’s back as he choked on his cigarette.

“The hell? When did I ever say something like that?!”

“Come on, it was a joke.” Sasayama was another chauffeur, for the Kirino family. He was often at odds with Toko, his charge who disliked his rudeness. They were on a smoke break, while waiting for class to finish.

“I’d rather not get fired.” Kougami tapped off the ashy end. “Or executed by Gino.”

“Your employer’s secretary, right? Ha, well, at least your young miss thanks you. Miss Toko always looks at me with such contempt. That’s fine though! As if I could ever be interested in a brat like her.”

The gates opened and the students walked out. Tsunemori was speaking to two other girls, laughing with them. He put out his cigarette and started the car. It wasn’t long before she slid into the back seat. Her face was flushed and Sasayama’s earlier statement echoed in his mind. He wished he could remove his hat to cool off; instead, he fiddled with his gloves.

“Where to?”

“Home, please. Were you smoking?”

“Does it bother you, Miss Tsunemori?”

“Hmm.” She leaned forward in her seat and inhaled. Her face was just over his shoulder, and her proximity startled him. He noticed her scent. Lemon and sugar, like a cold bottle of ramune in summertime. “I don’t mind at all. By the way, can I ask you a question?”

“…Sure.”

“Is it hard to drive a car?”

He smiled. “It takes some practice. Do you want to sit up front?”

“Eh?”

“If you want to find out, you have to see what I’m doing.”

He expected her to politely refuse, but she really did move to the seat beside him. She stared about in obvious fascination, sparing a glance to the back seat for comparison.

“It really is different up here.”

He couldn’t help snickering, and she gave him an indignant expression.

Miss Tsunemori was certainly inquisitive. She asked how he gauged speed and distance, when to turn and when to brake. Then, she apologized for potentially distracting him. He assured her otherwise; he was accustomed to driving and even though she was the most curious girl he’d ever met, he wasn’t bothered at all.

“If you could drive anywhere, where would you go?” She asked.

“Somewhere quiet, like the mountains. What about you?”

She tilted her head. “I haven’t thought about it before.”

“Most young ladies would like to see the ocean.”

“However, I don’t know how to swim. And the ocean is very deep.”

“It’s full of monsters too.”

“Kougami-san!” But she laughed, and the sound was surprisingly endearing.

***

“Oh, no!”

Kougami looked overhead, at the open window. Papers soared upwards, then floated down to the grass around him. Miss Tsunemori’s face soon appeared from above, and the wind ruffled her hair.

“Ah, excuse me, Kougami-san! I’ll come down to get those.”

“It’s alright, I’ll go to you.” He bent to retrieve the sheets. They were faintly yellowed, most likely the loose pages of a book. “Are you in the library?”

“Yes, and thank you so much. I left the window open for fresh air, but maybe, that wasn’t the best idea.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’ll see you in a minute.”

On the stairs, he passed Masaoka, the household’s butler. “Kougami? Where are you going?”

“The library. Miss Tsunemori dropped these outside.”

“Did they fall in the garden? Where’s Kagari?”

“Don’t know.” That was a lie. The young gardener, Kagari, loved card games. He was probably trying to clean out Hinakawa. The poor kid was bound to lose a portion of his footman’s salary.

“Well, I’ll hunt them down.” Masaoka’s gaze searched Kougami, for a long moment. “Tell the young miss that the lady wants to know if she needs a new gown for next month. She’d ask herself, but she’s being examined by Dr. Karanomori.”

“I won’t forget.”

Admittedly, the library was beautiful. The full shelves nearly reached the ceiling, and a pair of cushioned chairs were positioned by the large glass window. Miss Tsunemori had closed it, and she had the book open on a round table, fingers in between the pages to mark the gaps. She smiled when he walked into the sunlit room.

“Could you help me? I’m afraid I’ll lose track if I move.”

Per her instructions, he rightfully replaced the pages, interleaving them as best as he could. The subject of the book didn’t escape him. “You’re interested in the law.” He remarked.

“I met a female legal assistant when I was a little girl. She said she once disguised herself as a boy to be a lawyer for a day in the Meiji era. I thought it was a wonderful story, and I wanted to do the same. To be a lawyer.”

“Unfortunately, that’s still not possible yet.”

“No, but it’s my dream. Was driving cars yours?”

He gave a short laugh. “No. My childhood dream was to be a detective. I wanted to solve crime and arrest evildoers. Keep people safe.”

“And you couldn’t?”

“Money was a limiting factor.”

“I could ask my grandmother to give you a raise.”

“I won’t say no. Or is that your way of saying you don’t need me?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” She reflexively apologized. “I only want to help you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Dreams are just wishful thinking.”

“The future isn’t set in stone. Things can change in your favor.”

“Some things don’t. The four classes were abolished, but society hasn’t progressed.”

“People aren’t passive. We want to improve our situation, maybe not for ourselves, but at least for the next generation.”

“You have a lot of faith in humanity. There are people who would call you naïve.”

“Are you one of them, Kougami-san?”

“No.” He paused. “Kindness has never been my strong point, so you’re admirable in that regard.” Feeling he said too much, he took a step back. “Your grandmother would like to know if you need a new gown for next month.”

“Hm? Oh, for Kaori’s engagement party. I really don’t, Obaa-chan gets too worked up over such things.” She sighed. Once again, she was the noble lady and the stark difference in their statuses was made known.

There was a knock at the door, and the maid, Kunizuka, entered. Stoically, she said. “Excuse me. I need to clean up.”

Kougami followed her lead. “And I need to tune up the car. Have a good afternoon, Miss Tsunemori.” He was already down the hall when her belated voice answered.

“Um, you too…”

***

Her friend’s engagement party occurred on a hot summer night. Miss Tsunemori wore red, and the color suited her well. A silken rose was tucked behind her ear, the perfume lingering in the air. She didn’t ask how she looked, but her hands nervously plucked at her skirt. When they arrived at their destination, she curtsied. “Thank you for driving me. Please don’t feel like you have to stay the entire time.”

“Ah. Take care.”

“I promise.” She straightened her posture and blew out a breath.

“Wait.” He whipped out his handkerchief and held it out to her. “You have too much rouge on your mouth.” The dark shade was like blood.

“Dr. Karanomori said it was about right.”

“I won’t argue if you want to be like her, but I think you should just be yourself.”

She pursed her lips and kissed the cloth before handing it back. “Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

The crimson imprint of her mouth on his handkerchief sparked something within him. Something intense and foreign and not entirely unpleasant. He folded it up and grabbed his cigarettes, lighting one with fervor.

Time dragged on. Noise hovered around the mansion, the lights swaying in the dark. The guests gradually walked out and drove away. Tsunemori was one of the last, and he felt relieved when she emerged. Her rose had wilted, her rouge faded even more. Meanwhile, the heat had caused him to remove his coat and loosen the top buttons of his shirt. “Where to?”

“…oh.” She blinked and hurriedly entered the seat next to him. “Home, please.”

The roads were empty and it was too quiet. “Meet any potential husbands?” He abruptly asked.

“Well, no.” She slowly answered. She seemed distracted but he couldn’t sense a lie. “No one really caught my attention.”

“Your grandmother will be disappointed.”

“I can live with that.”

“Not for long.”

“Are you married?” She retorted.

“No. I’m not exactly charming or wealthy.” He stopped the car in front of the house.

“Those aren’t everything. A good heart is worth more.” Her voice was gentle and he glanced at her. The spark flared. He wanted to rub his thumb against her bottom lip, smear her makeup, find out if her skin was as soft as that rose’s petals.

His gloved fingers dug into his thigh, the pain clarifying. He struggled to maintain a neutral façade. “We’ve arrived. Looks like everyone else is asleep.”

“That’s alright, I’ll just slip in. And please put your clothes back on!” A blush washed over her face, before she primly turned away. He acquiesced and buttoned up. The practical part of him seized control. She was eight years younger than him and his mistress. Delusions were completely unnecessary.

Gino was waiting for them. “Welcome home, Miss Tsunemori.”

“I’m back, Ginoza-san.”

“Did you enjoy yourself at the party?”

“I did, but I am tired. Have a good evening.” She held a hand over her mouth to conceal a yawn. “Good night, Kougami-san.”

“Good night, Miss Tsunemori.” His gaze unconsciously followed her up the staircase until her bedroom door softly shut.

Gino folded his arms. “You’re quite close to the young miss.”

“I drive her every day.”

“Miss Tsunemori is a young lady. Soon, she’ll marry well and have her own family. It’s our job to ensure the purity of her reputation.”

“If you’re so concerned, you can always get rid of me.” He dared.

“If you were anyone else, I wouldn’t hesitate. But I know you well enough and I’ve decided to trust you with her safety. Don’t make me regret that.” Gino curtly said before pushing up his glasses and turning on his heel.

Miss Tsunemori’s safety was imperative, when the rice riots started. The cost of the grain was inflated and people were eager to demonstrate their anger. With her grandmother’s hospitalization for a respiratory illness, Miss Tsunemori was the staff’s sole priority. Even their cook, Sugo, had sharpened every kitchen knife. Kougami had a pistol for his own protection, and he ensured it was ready to be utilized at a moment’s notice.

Ousou Institute was temporarily closed. Miss Tsunemori was disappointed at first, until she settled into her responsibilities. Her shyness gave way to a steady hand and clear gaze. She followed the budgeting with Ginoza, helped Hinakawa overcome an asthma attack, and even bailed Kagari out of a minor debt, squeezing a promise to stick to his limits out of him. Kougami was rather proud of her.

If she allowed him to stay by her side, he would happily be her guard dog.

Cracks appeared in that dream, on a shopping trip. It was supposed to be an ordinary outing, with Miss Tsunemori buying sturdy fabric for their winter clothes. The distant noise intensified, and a low rumble shook the walls of the store.

“Sounds like another riot.” He rushed out to start the car, and the tapping of her boots followed behind.

“Ah!”

He whipped around, to see her holding onto the door frame, feet splayed and knees bent. “Are you hurt?”

“I slipped…wait! W-what are you doing?”

He lifted her into his arms. “My job. I’m taking you home.”

Ignoring the startled voices of the shopkeepers, he carried her to the car. Unfortunately, it was already too late. The mob surged around them, and fists slammed against the windows. The glass didn’t break, but she flinched. Before he could think better of it, he grasped her shoulder.

“You’ll be alright.”

“Mm.” She stiffly nodded. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

“…so am I.”

Police officers joined the fray, and gradually, the street cleared. He continued to drive slowly, taking a detour in case they were being followed. “I’ll help you into the house.”

“Kougami-san!” She protested but he gave her a flat look.

“I insist, Miss Tsunemori.”

She bit her lip but didn’t argue as he opened the door. He took her hand and placed it on his forearm; her touch radiated warmth through his sleeve. They only managed a short distance when Miss Tsunemori became taut.

“Ginoza-san!”

His friend stared at them, his voice like the edge of a blade. “What are you doing?”

***

He wasn’t fired, but he was given unpaid leave for a week. When he returned, he heard Miss Tsunemori’s faint voice behind a door. Upon pressing his ear to it, Masaoka’s voice came through as well.

“Don’t mind Ginoza.” Masaoka chuckled. “He can’t help but compare what happened to his own parents. His mother was a noblewoman, and his father was her family’s butler. They married to the disapproval of nearly everyone they knew, and despite love, they had a poor life. Until her death, he couldn’t make her happy. Ginoza is afraid he’s seeing the same thing over again.”

“He isn’t, because it’s not an illicit love affair.” Miss Tsunemori countered.

“From what I’ve observed, I can agree. What the two of you have is something like fate. But there’s a line between the two of you, one that shouldn’t be crossed for the sake of propriety. All I can say is that if you want to, I won’t stop you as long as you’re prepared to live with the consequences.”

The door abruptly swung open, and Kougami darted to the other side of the hallway, feigning obliviousness. Miss Tsunemori locked eyes with him before remembering herself and finding great interest in her cuffs. Masaoka offered a half-smile. “Ah, Kougami. Welcome back. By the way, the lady wants to speak with you upstairs. She’s in the library.”

“Alright.” A line that shouldn’t be crossed. He did not look back as he went to the old matriarch.

The lady was sitting down, a blanket over her lap. She slightly inclined her head to Kougami. “I wanted to thank you for protecting my granddaughter. She’s all I have left, and you will always have my gratitude.”

“Looking after her has been an honor and a privilege.” And he meant it.

His sincerity induced a smile from the lady before she continued. “That said, I’m not going to live forever. I want to be sure that Akane is taken care of.” Despite her frail appearance, her voice was firm.

“I understand.”

Her marriage was arranged. Tougane Sakuya was the heir to a wealthy business conglomerate and it was supposed to be a well-made match. Kougami researched him, out of concern for his mistress. He did not like what he uncovered and it must have shown on his face.

During the usual drive home, Miss Tsunemori quietly asked. “Kougami-san, what are you thinking?”

“Is that an order?”

“No, it isn’t. You looked into him, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What did you find?”

“He’s a respected businessman. Any upper-class family would love to work with him.”

“I see.” She pressed her lips together.

He added. “Often, good businessmen are cruel. This one seems particularly so. When I asked around, I had the impression that the servants fear him.”

Miss Tsunemori’s eyes were downcast. “If that’s the case, then so would a wife.”

He didn’t say anything to that. He parked outside of the house, promising he’d go to the garage later. He handed her a pistol, the pearl handle worn in comparison to his own gun. “This belonged to my mother. Think of it as a contingency. Use it if you feel like you need to.” He showed her how to load and fire, numbly going through the motions before she exited the vehicle.

She spoke again after she closed the door, her serious face on the other side of his window. “I appreciate your gift, but I won’t kill anyone, Kougami-san. Not even myself.”

“I know.” And he drove off.

***

Miss Tsunemori was being fitted for her wedding attire, and Kougami couldn’t stay in the house.

(He caught a glimpse of her when Kunizuka left the room to fetch something. She looked lovely and somber, in white for mourning and bridal anticipation for another man.)

He aimlessly wandered throughout the city, and there was relative calm for most of the day. As he grudgingly returned, a commotion rose in the adjacent neighborhood. His speculation that it was another riot was soon dissolved.

Police were gathered around the Kirino mansion, and a group filed out, carrying two covered bodies. Kirino and his daughter. The servants were handcuffed, but they were all unfamiliar. Then, where was his friend?

Sasayama had once shared his address, a dingy place among the rowhouses. As Kougami drew closer, he heard muffled screaming. He threw open the door.

A rusty katana split Sasayama’s chest, his face a tortured mess. Blood splattered onto a stranger’s grinning face, and he removed the sword with familiar ease before lunging towards Kougami. Instinct saved him, made him dodge the blow.

His control snapped. He ran after the stranger, into the open street. It was simple enough to squeeze the trigger. As the gunshot echoed and the body fell still, the bystanders’ shock registered and cleared the clouds of his fury and righteous satisfaction. No one would believe him.

He had to run.

He left two notes. One was tucked in the pocket of Gino’s coat, explaining what had happened and apologizing for squandering the chance given to him. The other was left in her writing desk, thanking her for employing him and that he had cherished their brief time together. If she had changed her mind, he would be waiting at midnight in that abandoned dojo on the outskirts of town.

The moon climbed directly overhead. He lit a cigarette and stared at the burning end. He’d go when he finished it. Somehow, it burned faster than he expected and had to be extinguished before it singed his fingertips.

Well, of course, she wouldn’t come. She was dutiful and proper and virtuous.

Movement caught his eye. In the moonlight, a car headed in his direction. It stopped just down the road, and a schoolboy ran out of the driver’s seat. No, wait…

“…Akane?!” He sprinted towards her and caught her shoulders to stop her. “You really did leave?”

She doubled over and held her knees as she gasped for air. “Tougane-san was hiding in my room.”

Rage coursed through him. “Where is he?”

“Probably with the police. I…I used your pistol. I shot him in the shoulder and he ran.”

“You did the right thing.” Unlike him. “What about your grandmother?”

“She’s staying behind, she didn’t want to slow me down. I didn’t want to leave her, but she insisted. Everyone else promised to take care of her and they helped me get out, Ginoza even gave me his old school uniform. I had to cut my hair. Is it too short?” She removed her hat and her hair was cropped close. It was a rather modern haircut.

“It looks good.”

“Huh?! Th-thank you.” She stammered, and his laughter rang out. He ripped off the damn gloves and held out his hand.

“Where to?”

[beckzorz]

A Private Tour (one-shot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Words: 2020 Summary: Captain America and his brooding friend get a private tour of an art museum. As an intern, your only job is to keep a low profile. Oops? A/N: Happy Fluff Friday! Wrote this in a flash and wanted to share :3 For anyone curious, the museum is the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. All the descriptions of the art are sourced from the museum website. Thanks (as always) to my amazing beta reader @kentuckybarnes, who is more patient than any saint <3

“And here we have the 1888 portrait of Isabella Stewart Gardner by John Singer Sargent. After its initial showing, her husband asked it to not be publicly shown again until after his death.”

“Fascinating,” Captain America said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and tilted his head as he peered up at the milky face of the museum’s mastermind. The curator studied him with blatant interest.

You rolled your eyes.

“What?”

You flinched. You’d been invited to accompany the curator on Captain America’s private tour, to shadow her and learn—a high honor for a lowly intern such as yourself. You were just supposed to keep a low profile and pay attention to how the curator conducted the tour.

Of course, you’d blown it now. Captain America’s friend, the dark, brooding fellow trailing at an uneasy distance, was staring at you with raised eyebrows.

“What?” he repeated.

“I didn’t say anything,” you whispered.

“You rolled your eyes,” he whispered back.

“Er…” Your face burned.

He cracked a grin. “I won’t tell.” He winked conspiratorially at you and strolled up beside Captain America, who started to point out some brushwork to the strange man.

Martha, the curator, joined you by the far wall as the two men chatted.

“So, what do you think?” she asked.

“I’m curious why you picked the pieces you did,” you said. “But I guess I have weird taste.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I get why you’d point out the Sargent—it’s a classic. Plus, the whole idea of locking something splendid away for ages does kinda resonate. But a few of the others you picked were pretty obscure.”

“Well, I like to highlight some of the things that speak to me.” Martha tapped her chin. “And you do get some extra autonomy on these private tours. No need to follow a strict script like with the regular tours.”

“Mm.”

You eyed the two guests speculatively. Captain America was still staring up at the Sargent while talking to his friend. His friend, on the other hand, had his head turned towards you and Martha. You raised your eyebrows when he glanced back at you, but he looked away so fast you weren’t sure if he’d even noticed. He was dressed like Captain America in a button-down shirt and jeans, though he had his sleeves rolled down and gloves on as well. His shirt wasn’t quite straining over the muscles of his back, but it was a close call. The black jeans across his butt, on the other hand…

“What’s the other one’s name again?” you asked Martha in a whisper.

“Don’t you recognize him? That’s Bucky Barnes!”

Bucky Barnes definitely looked back at you this time. You ignored his badly disguised smirk.

“I guess I’m not up-to-date on the real world,” you said lightly. “Not that I’m so up-to-date in the art world, either…”

“Ah yes, your penchant for impressionist landscapes.” Martha’s lips twitched with amusement. Captain America turned back to her with a smile, and Martha hurried forward to lead on.

You kept to a reasonable distance. Bucky Barnes stood by the Sargent until you pass by.

“So,” he drawled. “Impressionist landscapes?”

“I’d say they’re classic, but that’s a couple millenia off-base,” you told him.

Bucky grinned. He hooked his fingers in the loops of his snug jeans and kept pace with you as you followed Martha and Steve.

“What about art of people?”

“Eh,” you said with a shrug. “ I see people every day. We’re all works of art, in my opinion. You just have to look at people the right way to see it.”

“So how should I pose?” Bucky stopped short and twisted his legs and torso, raising his arms in a fair facsimile of the composite pose of ancient Egypt. His muscles strained against his shirt, and you stepped back to try and take in the whole picture and not just the stark outline of his abs. His long hair brushed his cheekbones, and his cheeky grin was nothing like the serene profiles depicted in tomb chapels or on palace walls.

He looked… ridiculous.

“A good effort,” you said, trying not to laugh. “But I prefer contrapposto.”

Bucky chuckled, and Steve glanced back at you both with a smile. You blushed and hurried after your boss.

Martha was already telling Steve about the seventeenth century Japanese fold screens by the time you were back in earshot. It was the standard fare, a speech you’d already mostly memorized. You studied the illustrations, wondering vaguely if you’d ever get around to reading more than a synopsis of the source novel.

“Wanna catch me up?” Bucky asked.

You glanced at him, trying to ignore your racing pulse at the sight of his bright blue eyes. “Illustrations from the Tale of Genji,” you said quickly—Martha was almost done with her speech. “Kano Tsunenobu, 1677.”

“Isn’t that the first novel ever written?” Bucky leaned forward and peered at the bottom left corner. His arm brushed your sleeve, and you bit your tongue to keep cool as a whiff of his spicy scent flooded your senses. “What’s it about?”

“It’s about a man named Genji, who was the ideal man. A really talented artist, super attractive, and—” you flushed— “a great lover.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky stood up, still dangerously close. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips as he gazed at you. You were frozen in place, barely able to breathe. There were sweet crinkles around his eyes, and gosh, his lips were pink as anything. He was barely a foot away. You swallowed.

“And so as we move on…”

Martha and Steve were wandering off. You took the opportunity to step back, breaking the spell, and follow your boss. A deep breath took the edge off your sudden hyper-awareness of the man behind you. Then you remembered Bucky had asked a question.

“The book spends a lot of time on his relationships. I guess things haven’t changed much,” you shot back over your shoulder. Your voice sounded normal. You hoped.

“Well, I don’t think that’s true,” Bucky murmured. “But I hope you never change.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

Martha made quick work of the chapel and the long gallery, and now you were all clustered in the Titian room. Martha and Steve made their way to the far wall, but Bucky grabbed your elbow and steered you to a table by a window. You recognized the painting propped in a dark wooden frame.

Giovanni Bellini, Christ Carrying the Cross, about 1505-1510.

“He looks like he’s wearing a backwards baseball hat,” Bucky whispered.

You clapped a hand to your mouth before you laughed out loud. “Shh!” you scolded.

“What?” he said, blinking innocently. Gosh, what eyes! “I’m just sayin’.”

“Well, you’re not wrong, but I’m supposed to be paying attention,” you said. You extricated your arm from his hold and hurried over to where Martha was going over Titian’s Rape of Europa with Steve.

“Crazy to think how much European art developed in a hundred and fifty years,” Steve mused. “This is so different from the Proto-Renaissance stuff. The motion, the colors…”

“It’s fascinating,” Martha agreed.

You blinked. Did Martha realize she was echoing what Steve had said not ten minutes ago?

Maybe. Martha was good at reading a room.

Hopefully she wouldn’t scold you for not paying attention to her tour.

Your eyes slid back to Bucky, who mimed spinning a cap around his head, and you pressed your lips together to keep from smiling. What a goof.

By the time you all headed back downstairs, Bucky had attached himself to your side again.

“So,” he said as you made your way down the stairs, “what’s your deal?”

“I’m interning,” you said. “Summertime gig and all that.”

“Do they pay you?” he asked.

“Uh, no, this is an art museum,” you said, startled.

“So how do you live?”

“Grants, and other paid jobs. I’m a grad student in my spare time.”

“Oh yeah? Art history?”

“Whoa, how did you guess?” you joked.

Bucky leaned in to whisper, “It’s hard to tell, but I’m secretly brilliant.”

You giggled. “You know,” you said, “I believe it.” Your eyes lingered on his smile before you looked away as you reached the bottom of the stairs.

This all had been fun, and Bucky Barnes was definitely the most beautiful person you’d ever seen, but it wasn’t real. Captain America’s private tour was over, and now that it was, you and Martha and the rest of the skeleton crew still left behind could go home.

Except Steve was still talking to Martha.

Well, you weren’t going home yet. You turned back to Bucky with a smile.

“Art is more Steve’s thing, but I had fun,” he said, knocking his shoulder against yours.

“Good!” You smiled brightly at him.

Bucky blinked, a hint of pink coming to his cheeks as he looked at you. The silence held a few seconds too long, and your smile faded slightly. He cleared his throat and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“So what’s your end goal, then?” he asked.

“Make something magical out of other people’s work,” you said promptly. “And…” You glanced hesitantly up at him. Why not tell him your secret dream? You’d never see him again, and his eyes and face were so guileless that you couldn’t imagine any harm would come from telling. “And it’s never gonna happen, but I want to be the one to find the paintings that got stolen from here.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yes,” you confessed. “I always love heist stories, and when I found out someone had done it in a museum, I was so excited. I’ve wanted to figure it out since I was a kid. I minored in criminal justice, even.”

“So… bring the thieves to justice and restore the paintings to their rightful place?”

“Exactly.”

“Sounds fun.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “When do we start?”

“Oh, please.” You laughed.

“No, seriously, when do we start?”

Your mouth dropped open. “You’re not serious,” you said, but he ignored you.

“I suppose we could start with dinner, but we can stick with a good old-fashion briefing room if you prefer,” he said with a wink. Your heart skipped a beat.

“I like dinner,” you said weakly. “Briefing rooms sound boring.”

“God, you have no idea,” he said fervently. He rolled his eyes, but when he was done, all he smiled. “So do you have plans tonight?”

“Well, I was going to just hang out at home, but I guess I need to solve a decades-old mystery with a stranger first,” you teased.

“Having been a decades-old mystery, I think I can offer a unique perspective,” Bucky declared, still smiling. He reached out and squeezed your hand briefly. “I’m glad Steve dragged me along. Never woulda come on my own.”

“Is it too soon to say I’m glad too?”

Bucky’s grin was infectious. “Nope. Besides, I think your boss will be impressed if you can get the paintings home safe.”

“You do know they’ve been missing for almost thirty years, right?” you said.

“After a century, that doesn’t sound so bad.” Bucky glanced behind you at Martha and Steve, but before you could check what they were up to, he grabbed your hand and pulled you around a corner.

“Excuse you!” But your protest was half-hearted. Bucky’s right hand was still linked in yours, his eyes bright and happy, and you couldn’t help but catch your breath at the wonderful sight of him so close. “You know,” you murmured, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw, “you’re a work of art just as you are.”

Bucky’s eyes smoldered as he tugged you closer until your chest brushed his.

“Well,” he said, dropping a kiss on your nose, “maybe for my next pose I’ll try a reclining nude.”

He stifled your laugh with a searing kiss. Warmth burst in your chest, and you hummed happily into his mouth. When he finally pulled back, his lips were swollen but his eyes were gleaming.

“So,” he said, “dinner?”

“Dinner,” you agreed.

[artisticestheticreads]

Summertime Magic

So, I saw the gif below and thought of a brilliant idea. It’s about 90 degrees out here in my neighboorhood so here is a one-shot about a young woman trying to cool down this summer but she sees something that can heat it up even more. 

Something to hold y’all off until I post more of my series for “CONNECTED” and “Beauty and the Panther”.

Pairing: N’Jadaka x Black Thick Reader

Recommended Listening: Summertime Magic by Childish Gambino

~

 LOS ANGELES, CALI, JUNE ‘19

  The weather that day was unbearable to point everyone and anyone can walk outside completely nude and no one bat an eye. In a small one-story rented home, a young African American woman had finished her last yarn loc and finally got to rest. She lied there on her stomach, behind in the air with nothing but her undies and a crop top on. The AC was on full blow mode but the sweat still dripped down her forehead. She was in the middle of watching “Black Mirror” when she heard a car pull up her driveway; honking and blasting Tyler the Creator. “Y/N! I know you ain’t shit blood. Let’s go out”, a female voice said. Y/N looked out her window to see her best friend, Kesha, peeking through. She lifted up her window and said: “girl, it’s too hot to be out right now.” Kesha rolled her eyes and said “c’ mon, please. We can go to the store around the corner and chill at the beach. My ac is on and it is beautiful outchea. Now, get dressed and bring ya ass. You got thirty minutes.” 

   Y/N rolled her eyes and finally took a quick shower, slipped on a yellow short sundress and sandals to show off her bright peach color that matched her coffin-shaped acrylics. She placed a few golden clamps in her hair and was out to the car. “Oooo yes. I am feeling the locs” Kesha complimented as they made their way. “You finished them finally, huh?” Y/N nodded. “Yes, finally. It took all night but finally got it done.” Kesha raked her fingers through her box braids and told her “I may need a touch up in the first two rows. How much you gonna charge me?” Y/N looked at her braids and said “hmm, thirty. Sound good?”

“Yeah, thanks Y/N/N. I have a date next week and I gotta look good.” She looked at Shay and asked: “with you?” Kesha blushed and said “Ricky from down the street.” Y/N’s eyes bugged out. “Ricky?! Sandra’s Ricky?” Kesha raised her finger covering her friend’s mouth.  “Used to be. Ricky dumped her months ago because she got comfortable saying nigga.” Y/N put her arm out her window and looked out. “That’s what happens when niggas date woman o other races. Hoes out here think just because the get black dick in them that is the automatic ‘n-card’. They pulled up into the parking lot of the store before Kesha fixed her gloss and observed her cocoa skin in the mirror; they both got out and walked in. 

   “Exactly. Meet you at the register.” Y/N went to the cooler to observe the drink selection. She caught the reflection of an unknown figure standing behind her.  She made her way to the icee machine, grabbed a large cup and mixed Cherry with Coca Cola flavored. She grabbed a straw, taking it out and sliding her glossy lips around it. She turned around and was startled to see the strange man. “What up, baby? Who told you to look that fine?” Y/N rolled her eyes and said “bwoy, bye. I don’t know who you are and I don’t care.” When she was about to walk away, he grabbed her arm tightly and said “come on. I know your ass ain’t got a man.” 

   All of a sudden, a tall man in a vintage Fresh Prince jersey, black basketball, and Air Force ones stood at 6′2. Broad shoulders, muscular legs, dreads braided back with a nice fade and all, stood behind Y/N. “You aight, baby girl? I was looking for your cute ass.” He gently took her hand in his big one but she did not snatch it back. All she can do was melt into his touch while looking up at him. The stranger looked at the harasser with a brow rose and asked: “ya ain’t tryna be all on my girl, are you?” The man nervously laughed and said “Nah, big man. I didn’t-” The man slid her hand down the woman��s round waist and asked “Princess, is homeboy here giving you problems? Want me to rough his ass up like that last one?” He made his chest bounce when he said it and it made her wonder if anything else can bounce. 

   She shook her head and he said: “Nah, lemme hear that voice I love so much.” She blushed and said “no, it’s okay. Thank you though.” The man took his sucker out his mouth and smiled. He looked back to the guy and wrapped his arm around Y/N’s neck. “C’ mon, baby. Lemme buy yo snacks and let’s get the fuck outta here.” As they walked away, he looked back at the guy and raised his brow.” Y/N placed her snacks on the counter (a snicker, a spicy pickle and a bag of Cheddar Ruffles) with her drink and pulled the money she made from her last client out her bra; the man stopped her. “I got you, don’t trip.” He handed the cashier a twenty, got his change, got Y/N’s bag and held her hand as they walked out. 

    He walked them over to his pine-green Ford Explorer and leaned on it. “What’s ya name,” he asked and she said “Y/N” with her hand out. The man saw the creeper walk out and pulled her closer to him. “I’m N’Jadaka. Homeboy is right behind us. Just start giggling” he whispered and she did so but it was a genuine one because he breath was on her earlobe. The man turned the corner and N’Jadaka slowly let go. “Sorry about that. Nigga was tripping back there. Ya alright” he asked and she smiled sipping her drink. “I’m fine. Thank you for helping me out. I would have sprayed his ass but I left my keys in my homegirl’s car.” N’Jadaka looked back and looked at her, eyes traveling from her feet to her locs. “How long you been growing yours?” She laughed. “Unfortunately, it isn’t mine. They are yarn locs.” 

    His head tilted to the side and he said “oh shit, they look more natural than mine. I like ‘em. You should grow real ones. They fit your cute face.” She blushed and said “thank you. Who does yours?” He shook his head. “Eh, no one out here. I used to go out a barber up north but gas getting expensive.” That’s when he got the idea. “You know how to do dreads and maybe a line-up?” She smiled and said “yeah, let me see. Hold this real quick.” She bent his head down and got on her tippy toes. He placed his right hand her hip as Kesha was about to go to the car but stopped so she can watch. 

   “Hmmm, they look crotched but most likely twisted and locked. Can give you a hot oil treatment and a nice wash. A few are actually locking together which isn’t bad but they can get natted quick. I can charge about, eh, 75 and that’s with the fade, too. You don’t need a fae right now but we definitely gotta get these dreads right, N’Jadaka. I can give you my number and you can make an appointment. I have a few tomorrow but I can squeeze you in for Friday, sounds good.” He took his blow pop out his mouth and said “yeah, we can do that. What time you want me to come?” She took her drink back, sipping it and said “come over at eleven am. It’s gonna take a while.”

  “Cool, I can come after my session at the gym” he handed her his phone to put her number in. She gave back to him and said “there you go. Thanks, again for the help and buying my stuff for me. That was sweet. I can pay you back.” He shook his head and said “don’t worry. It was my pleasure.” He put his cherry sucker back in his mouth as his eyes landed at the car behind her; he smirked. “Someone is waiting for ya, Y/N.”  She turned to see Kesha nosey self watching and once she was caught she slipped in. “Text me so I can save your number, okay?” He nodded as he got int the driver seat and pulled off. 

   “Sooooooo, who was that nice looking brotha” her friend asked. Y/N looked over at Kesha and said: “just a man who help me out.” Kesha smiled rolling her eyes “mhmm, a fine man to add” as she started the car. When they made their way to another location, Y/N’s phone vibrated:

  She smiled to herself as she saved his number. A fine man indeed, she agreed with her friend in thought.

~

Alright, loves. I love this so much btw. But let me know what y’all think and if I should do a chapter two and turn this into a series. I got A BUNCH of good ideas for this.

𝒯𝒜𝒢𝒢𝐸𝒟 𝐿𝒪𝒱𝐸𝒮

@muse-of-mbaku

@im5ftbutmythroat66

@chaneajoyyy

@melanin-samii

@theunsweetenedtruth

@doux-ciel

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@mbakuwife

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@acceptyourselfloveyourself

@madamslayyy

@yoyolovesbucky

[hamlets-ghost-zaddy]

st. jude (the patron of lost causes)

Part 8/8

Donald Malarkey x Reader

A letter arrives in Paris a day after you do.

Constance, having impersonated you to the British mail officer, waves it as a white flag of truce, charging through your newly assigned convalescence hospital ward. “Mail from Austria!” she sings, snapping your eyes up from the young officer you’ve been ordered to keep special watch over, changing out the cold compresses for hot ones over his hollowed eye-sockets. You blink once, twice, pretending the boy’s incomplete face hadn’t morphed into Don’s the longer you looked. Though, you think, I’m grateful for a reason to look away.

Thrust under your nose, you have nowhere else to look but at an envelope scrawled with blue-ink letters, messy and nearly-illegible and absolutely perfect. You savor your name on mailing address, Don’s on the return, lettering too large initially before turning thin and cramped. In your imagination, Don’s warm laughter tickles your ears, his smile sheepish, and he offers weakly: ‘What do you want? I can’t help it if ‘convalescence hospital’ is too long to fit on the envelope!’

Accepting the letter with careful fingers, touching as little of it as possible—perhaps to preserve the sanctity of mail, you so rarely received any, or to preserve the sanctity of his handwriting, the first sample of it you’ve seen—you slide a nail along its lip and draw out the letter inside. Your fingers are shaking; you’re not sure when that started.

“I wish Eugene would write to me,” Constance says to the air above your head.

“Did you ask him to?” you ask, distracted as you recall how to read, your eyes caught and stuck on the first words (“my love”). Sure you’ve misinterpreted the words, sure your mind only conjures what it desperately wants (needs) to read, you begin again. But no. It reads the same.

“Well, no,” Constance prattles, “But the implication was definitely there when I said goodbye to him.”

You’re not listening—how could you possibly with the world held at range, muffled by a shining ring that pierces your ears, bright and yellow but maddeningly loud?—to her, not comprehending the flustered patter of her worries. You’re not doing much of anything: not breathing, not blinking, not moving, all in fear that the letter might disappear, might be spirited away back to him, as if he didn’t mean it and could take it back from five hundred miles away.

“What—?” you finally croak, when you reach the last line of the letter, when Constance has long-since petered into silence, frowning at you in concern. Swallowing past a dry throat, you try again: “What does this mean?”

“What does what mean?” Constance asks, practically.

You read to her: “‘I’m coming to you in Paris, so you’re not allowed to go anywhere. I’m coming home.’”

Paris in July is a riot of color, of life, and the wet heat blanketing the city—making sheets stick at night, your uniform during the day—makes you wonder if Bastogne or Haguenau truly existed. If they happened. The cold, a freeze you thought so deeply seeped into your bones that your blood would never melt, is distant in the joyous jubilation of Paris in summertime, Paris in victory.

But death fills your nostrils, ghosts haunt your sight, and when the long days on duty at the convalescence hospital inch to an end, your muscles are limp, your body is weary, and your soul tired. You appreciate Constance inviting you out to the dance halls, the jazz lounges, and the USO shows with her various beaus, but there’s an unspoken understanding that it’s all a courtesy. You wouldn’t accept, couldn’t accept, not when the war was over but the greatest horror had been saved for the end in that little, damned German town.

You’d come alive, you know as you mark off the calendar hung up in the nurse’s sleeping quarters, when time brought you July 23rd and a train from Austria brought you Don Malarkey. You ignore that line in his letter—that one you and Constance can’t make sense of—because you can’t stand the thought of him coming here, to Paris, only to be ripped again from your arms, bound for the States and Oregon. Bound for a life without you, ocean liner ticket in his back pocket and a suitcase of opportunities in hand. Opportunities that didn’t fit you. So, you ignore it. (Or, you try to, but the minutes before sleep, or as you bathe before a shift, or take a meal break, are too quiet and your brain insists on filling it with thoughts of what if—what if—what if—)

And, on the twenty-seventh, when the morning shift ends, and you hurry for the metro and Gare de l’Est without bothering to change from your nurses’ uniform (as if every slight offering could tempt the clock faster), you wait for energy to surge through your veins, to blossom across you skin and in your chest. But, you only rush faster as if the wind will fill your hollowness.

Those sunken gaps where eyes should be, those skeletal men in the camps where laughter should live, those ghosts where living boys used to stand—

You plunge into the train station’s crowd.

The crush of humanity tosses you in its mad current, and you allow it to drag you along, only breaking for air to squint at the chalkboards announcing arrival times, delays, and departures; only turning on your heel to pace the ruler-measured straight train platforms when you reach one end, hurrying to retrace your sentry path. The great clock in the station’s lobby, luminescent and gold, ticks on. The chalkboards announce a train from Strasbourg—his train—but where—?

Arms are tight around your ribs, a chest is hard against your back, and a laugh is low and warm against your hair.

You kiss him before you see him—the surest way to check he’s real, he’s there, because the war has taught you not to believe your eyes. If you did, you’d suffocate from the weight of the horrors, the depravity—but ah, he’s kissing you, his nose bumping yours in his eagerness to tilt his jaw to match your jaw, to kiss you so your lips will slide and lock into place. As if he kisses you well enough, for long enough, nothing could break him from you, or you from him. You taste the sweetness of coffee with sugar on his mouth, smell the sweetness of fresh showers and fresh laundry, touch the sweetness of his downy soft curls, his sun-taut skin, his double-blessings of double-icons.

When you break away, he kisses your fingers clasped in his, devoting time to kiss each knuckle, the basin of each palm. Then, those earth-brown eyes meet yours and thank God they’re still there, there are no more ghosts than when you last saw them, that light shining past phantoms still flickers in those brown irises, strong and stubborn. “Thank God you’re here, that I’m returned to you,” he whispers, his voice caressing ‘you’ with a tenderness that paints pink onto your cheeks.

You squeeze his hands, words flown from your mind. He doesn’t seem to notice, too busy marveling at your hands in his, your face holding a smile for him. Occasionally, he presses more kisses, soft and vague, to the pads of your fingers, your nose and cheeks, as if to assure himself you still breathed from one second to the next. Finally you muster, “How is it possible that the three weeks since I got your letter felt longer than the whole war?”

His grin, opening like a flower for you, dominates his face. He kisses you again, assuring against your lips: “It’ll be worth it, I promise.” Yet, he pulls away suddenly, your lips chasing his a few inches, askance for more kisses. “But can you lead us to a church? Maybe Notre Dame?”

You restrain yourself until the bridge connecting Paris to its religious heart, the Île de la Cité, and Notre Dame’s graceful spires rise above you like the fragile arms of a ballerina, reaching heavenwards in holy praise. “Don,” you begin shaky, nibbling your lip. “Don, I—” Your voice falters, fails; if you ask the question, you’d have to hear the answer. Do you want that? Do you want to know what he meant when he said he ‘was coming home?’ If he boarded a ship for Eugene, Oregon tomorrow morning; could you stand knowing?

“Yes?” he prompts.

“I—” you try again, sucking in a deep breath, and knowing you have to stand knowing. “I was wondering if you’re going home, to Eugene?”

“Well, uh, of course,” Don replies, stretching out the word, blinking at you. His eyes sweep around—to the neat, pale Parisian townhouses capped with black shingles and dotted with spilling flower boxes, to the men on bicycles and the women with little dogs—and he says, “As much as here is nice, I’m sure, I’m going home.”

“Oh,” is all you muster.

He notices how you deflate, how happiness evaporates from your eyes, and he frowns. “Why? What do you mean ‘oh’?”

“It’s nothing, nothing at all,” you insist, feeling foolish. He meant what he wrote, and meant precisely as he worded it: he’s coming to Paris and then he’s bound for home. You should have expected as much; he has every reason to crave the familiarities of home, to seize them the first instance he can and—

He pulls you to a stop, cradling your face with both hands, his thumbs rubbing away the stray tears that slipped the gate and managed to leak from your eyes. “‘Nothing’ she says while she’s crying,” he teases gently, his mouth quirking, his eyes betraying his worry. They’re not soil now; they’re something more solid, ancient, and buried deeper in the earth. Something unmovable, and maybe that thought prompts you to admit:

“It’s just what you wrote in your letter, that you’re coming home. You’re going home to Oregon soon, and just stopped off here, and of course I’m happy for you, but—”

His laughter interrupts you, confuses you, and before your mouth can pop open in protest, he’s kissing you anew. Gentle at first, but then he’s nibbling your lip, biting it, exploring how your body—flooding with heat and your throat squeaking involuntarily—responds to each new sensation. He delights in your reactions, delights in knowing they’re his doing, and when he breaks from you (you suspect your mouth matches his: red and swollen), he says, “Eugene is the place I call home, but my home…” he shakes his head as if in correction, “My life is you. You battled away the ghosts, you fought back the gray, and revived this.”

He places your hand on his chest. Under your palms, his heart beats, jackrabbit quick.

A pause. Then, he pulls one of his icon necklaces from under his uniform. Checking the image briefly, he pulls it off only to thread over your head. “I know it’s not a ring, but there is a church—” he gestures and you squint up at Notre Dame. You hadn’t noticed you are stopped in the great square in front of her, hadn’t known she witnessed your foolishness “—we exchanged symbolic things, if you know what I mean, and . . .”

And you had fallen in love with him, your spirit and happiness married to him, since a supply tent in Haganau.

You nod, breathing, “Yes, I do,” because you know what he means; you’d swear to it. You kiss him now, and when your forehead rests on his shoulder, you find your fingers turning the new icon around and around. Holding it up to the bright July light, you squint, asking, “Who is it?”

“Anthony of Padua.”

You kiss the icon, kiss Don, and feel as though you could kiss the day itself or kiss Paris in all of its riotous color and wonderment: what you knew you lost hadn’t been found. What you didn’t know to need, had been given generously, abundantly.

Life finds a way.