#you can tell how much i liked the buried and the bound because i am gleefully posting shitty art at 1 am

[evenstarfalls]

I have decided. To cross them over

[r0ttenhearts]

One Missed Call

angst, no comfort, insults

scaramouche kissed his teeth seeing his call go straight to voicemail. normally, he wouldn’t care. he’d go on with his day, even forgetting about it.

but not this time. not when it was you who was missing his calls.

scara: what’s going on with you? why aren’t you picking up when i call you?

he grumbled in embarrassment as he set his phone down, reaching for a new can of monster as he gulped down the sickly acidic drink.

how shameless could he be? demanding you to answer your phone to his calls?

a soft ding emitted from his device as he picked it up, his relief quickly turned into fear as he read your message.

y/n: you tell me you’re only around for empathy. i go away like you wanted and now you’re doing this?

his heart sunk as he fumbled for the small phone icon in the top corner. he held his breath as you answered.

“y/n?”

“what, scaramouche?

his heart stung at the lack of the nickname you had given him. your voice lacked the usual sweetness it had when addressing him.

“you.. you haven’t been answering my calls. i thought you were coming over today so we—“

“stop, for once second just stop!”

you huff out into the phone as you adjust the position that you’re holding it. you sigh, knowing what you must do. but it didn’t make it easier.

“you scream at me that i’m replaceable. that you’re only around because you pity me. so i give up, i leave. and now you do this? you can’t pretend like this is a normal thing scaramouche!”

scara’s hardened heart melts with your words, and not in a loving way. his nails dig into the arm that’s holding his phone to his ear. how can he fix this? can he even fix it?

“y/n.. you know i don’t mean it. i was just angry, it was a—“

“heat of the moment thing? yeah, i’m sure it was. especially since every time you’re upset with me you always say the same things. i’m done do you hear me? i’m done.” you seethed into the phone, ready to hang up.

“i loved you so much. but you treated me like nothing. like i was one of your subordinates, not your lover. can’t you understand just how tired of this i am? you threw me away, so deal with it. like you always told me.”

a soft ding was heard from his phone as you hung up the phone. scaramouche let his phone clatter to the floor as he buried his face into his hands. his cruelty knew no bounds, but did that have to apply to you?

he wished he could go back. treat you the way you deserved.

his fist clenched, the painful feeling erupting in his chest as he realized all of his fond memories with you would only be that. memories.

“i’m sorry y/n.”

[emmaiscool22]

Secrets in Alabasta

straw hats x strawhat!reader (luffy x reader)

gender neutral reader

Character is named Lucky for a reason! Please let me know if you want more from this same character! 

This is my first fanfiction ever, so please give me some feedback and be nice!

Warnings: angst?

written on: 3/22/24

word count: 1091

I stand in the middle of the vast desert, watching as two figures dig into the hot, dry earth. The sun beats down mercilessly, casting harsh shadows and making the air shimmer with heat waves. As the day bled into night, the guilt begins to consume me. I keep staring out into the desert waiting for him to find me. The sand behind me begins to shift as Luffy lays next to me trying to catch my eyes. I hate how well he can read people. 

“Everyone is starting to head to bed,” Luffy says, “what are you still doing out here? 

I shake my head, not trusting myself to say anything besides the truth that is clawing at my throat. Luffy’s eyes move from my own to my hands, which dig in the sand, hoping to bury my secret and my guilt. His hand grabs mine. “What are you still doing out here?” He repeats. I shake my head again and kneel over, the bile in my throat becoming too much as I throw up into the sand. Tears begin to leak out of my eyes. 

“Luffy,” I sob, “I can’t do this anymore!”

He stares at me.

“I need to tell everyone something!” I choke out.

He grabs my hand and pulls me up, leading me back to the worn down, broken home we are staying in while in Yuba. I lock eyes with Toto and he glares at me. He knows my secret, I think. I close my eyes and look away, as I let Luffy lead me into the house. The door slams open and six pairs of eyes are on the both of us. Luffy lets go of my hand, going to stand next to Sanji. 

“Lucky, has something to tell us.” Luffy exclaims dropping onto the nearest bed. 

I glance back at the door. I should run, I think. 

“What’s wrong Lucky-swannnnn!” Sanji spins towards me with hearts in his eyes. 

I could feel my hands start to shake, the sand I was previously holding raining onto the ground. My eyes follow it. I look back up and lock eyes with Vivi. She looks concerned, waiting for me to reveal my truth. I look away quickly, glancing at Chopper, Zoro, Nami, and Usopp. I take a deep breath. Chopper bounds towards me, holding out a handkerchief. I did not even realize I started crying again.

“So,” Nami juts out her hip, “what is it?” 

I move my gaze over to Luffy, who seems to be falling asleep. My gaze blurs and I listen to the sound of digging outside. The guilt begins to bubble up. I feel like throwing up again.

“There is a reason people call me Lucky,” my words come out involuntarily, “it’s a codename of sorts. My father used to call me that growing up and it stuck. His little Lucky-Gator is what he called me. But it's also a codename to my codename, Miss St. Patrick’s Day! Get it? Lucky! My real name is Y/N!” I cry out the truth. But I know there is more to say. My voice begins to waver as everyone's eyes start looking around at each other, confused at my rambling. Before anyone could interrupt, I begin to speak again. 

“I told you that I was in Shell’s Town to claim Buggy’s bounty. I wasn't lying about that, I mean at least partially. I was there for Buggy. More specifically, I was there to kill him. My - uh- my boss wanted me to kill him. But then you were there Luffy. And I felt like it was fate when you asked me to join your crew. I needed to get out of there.”

Zoro speaks up, “You aren’t making any sense.”

I grab at my hair, tugging it. “I know! I know! I am sorry I never told you. But I was so happy to get out. I am - uh- was an agent for Baroque Works, just like Vivi. Vivi didn’t know who I was because he didn’t want anyone to know me. I was a secret. That is why I don’t have a bounty. I should have one with the amount of people I have killed and the things I have done. But he worked with the government to let me off, because I am his daughter!"

Luffy sat up. Vivi asks, “Lucky, who is your father?”

I ignore her question and kept on rambling, “I promise I have no idea what he is doing here. When Vivi told us that he was here, I was just as confused as you all were. I haven’t contacted him since Shell’s Town and it was about -”

“Lucky,” Luffy interrupted, “who is your father?”

“Crocodile” I whispered, “I swear to you that I am not working with him. He doesn’t even know I am here with all of you. I know you want to kill him, Luffy. I don’t think I can stop you from doing that. Once he finds out I am here, he will have agents coming to collect me.” 

I step back towards the door. My hand on the knob. 

“That is why I am leaving you all here in Yuba.” 

Luffy shot up at that. I raised my hand towards him, signaling him to stop. 

“This isn’t up for debate Luffy,” I start, “I know you are my captain, and I should listen to you, but I need to leave you all here. My father won’t hurt me, but if he sees me with you, he will hurt you. I am going to go find him and I will meet back up with you all at some point, if you still want me.” 

I glance around one more time. Chopper and Usopp share a scared look, and I can't read Zoro or Nami. Sanji lights a cigarette, and finally I look at Vivi. She has tears running down her face. I open the door stepping out into the night, the sand crunching underneath my feet. 

“We will find you, Y/N,” Luffy exclaimed, "You are my nakama!"

I turned and began walking into the night. I could feel a smile pulling at my face at the thought of Luffy using my real name. No one had called me Y/N in years. At that moment, I realize that the desert held more secrets than could ever be unearthed. And as I turn and walk away, I knew I would forever be haunted by the man digging in the desert. I know I have to free him from his chore. More importantly, I need to free myself from my father’s grasp.

[sapphickocho]

Thinking about how Uzui had to watch everyone he cared about die before him. First 3 of his siblings die during there fathers harsh shinobi training, then six he killed himself during a deathmatch where all of them were masked. Then Kyojuro died next, and the rest of the hashira except Sanemi and Giyuu during a battle he couldn't participate and help them in. Then of course Sanemi and Giyuu do die on the same year and four years later Tanjiro, someone he grew closer with also succumbs to death way too young.

Thats why Tengen's line of "Just how many lives do you think ive let slip through my fingers?" hits so hard because his life is just death. Everyone he loves is bound to die and he cant do anything about it.

So I made a little list of hcs on how he copes;

What uzui does at each of his friends graves;

Rengoku; He often has a picnic beside his grave, bringing along his wives and having a feast with all of kyojuros favorite foods, like sweet potatoes and bento boxes. He is the hashiras grave he visits the most and often talks to it and updates him on how life is going.

Shinobu: He brings the flashiest flowers he finds and brings them to her every year because it reminds him of both her and Kanae.

Muichiro: It is hard for him to visits his grave, especially when he sees it adorned with a picture of him and his twin brother when he was younger. But he makes sure to see it every year, and gives him a little gift, like a folded paper crane since he knew he like origami. He feels guilty that he didn't fight in the battle when muichiro, the youngest pillar, did.

Mitsuri: Like everyone else still alive, they visits her grave annually on her birthday and bring mochis to celebrate because it was her favorite food. However when everyone else dies, he makes sure to keep up the tradition with Nezuko.

Iguro Obanai: When he visits his grave he always teases him about how he's doing with Mitsuri in the afterlife. After that he sits down and talks about his snake Kaburamaru and updates him about his daily life.

Gyomei: He prays at his grave. Not that he particularly agrees with it or is religious, he just knows that Gyomei would appreciate it.

Sanemi: He visits both of the Shinazugawa brothers on the same day, since they are both buried next to each other. He tells him that he misses him because he knows Sanemi will be pissed by the sappiness and also because in truth, he does.

Giyuu: He usually sits down and talks for hours to him about how everyone is doing, whats going on and other mindless useless things. he knows that Giyuu doesn't like to talk so just like when he was alive, he can just sit and listen and enjoy the company.

Tanjiro: He always bows to Tanjiro's grave and thanks him, for saving his wives and being a friend for all those years. he tells him about Nezuko and Kanao and tells them that they all miss him very much.

Makio, Suma, Hinatsuru: When they all die before he does, he curses the gods for keeping him alive. He makes sure to have there graves next to his estate and sits next to there graves for hours until sundown. Sometime he even sleeps next to them.

I am not sure his wives dying before him is canon but Ive heard it from multiple people so I will assume so. Either way, Uzui's life is too tragic and I just cant get over it. He can never protect the people he loves the most. That man deserves a break from all the death and hug from all of his wives (+rengoku.) But it seems like Gotouge had different plans.

[ohnococo]

Between Water and Wind | Satoru Gojo x F!Reader

“He’s not good for you, baby.” You don’t say anything to that, there’s no reason to. He knows you don’t need to be told that, he knows the same things everyone knows. That Sukuna cheats on you, that he barely tries to hide it, that he’d lose his mind if he knew that you did the same.

Sukuna isn't good for you, you know this, Gojo knows this. You can't leave him though, so instead you'll seek comfort in Gojo's arms in secret, even as he asks you to want better for yourself.

Warnings: angst, unhealthy relationship, cheating (both getting cheated on and cheating), Toxic!BF Sukuna, vaginal sex, crying, revenge sex, pining gojo

WC: 1.2k

Satoru Gojo can never stop running his mouth. You’ve loved it in the past, laughing at his antics, giving him the same back, but it’s the last thing you want right now.

“He’s not good for you, baby.”

You don’t say anything to that, there’s no reason to. He knows you don’t need to be told that, he knows the same things everyone knows. That Sukuna cheats on you, that he barely tries to hide it, that he’d lose his mind if he knew that you did the same. It’s different for you, though. You would have never done it if he hadn’t cheated on you first, and you didn’t do it. Not the first time he cheated at least, nor the second, but the third was the last straw for you. You’ve stopped counting at this point, because you know for every one you find out about - by going through his phone, or being told by a friend, or just knowing he’s lying about where he is and what he’s doing - that there must be more. Now you just take the heartbreak, knowing you’ll go where you always end up when he does it again:

In Satoru’s room, fucking all your worries away, if only for a moment.

“I am.” He looks up at you, pleading, before your pussy squeezing at his cock has him burying his face in your chest again, moans barely muffled for a moment before he’s back to begging you for more with those icy eyes. “I’ll be so good to you. So, so good.”

Sometimes he saves this for afterwards, when he’s made you cum until you’re almost convinced fucking him behind Sukuna’s back is an appropriate form of vengeance, even if he doesn’t know about it because he can’t. When he’s tracing patterns over your bare skin, almost pouting as he tells you all the reasons why you have to leave Sukuna. It makes it easier to snap out of that warm afterglow. The pit in your stomach that forms at the thought of trying to be without Sukuna helps push away that budding affection you try to ignore for Satoru.

Because it’s not easy. It’s far, far too complicated, and Satoru just can’t understand it. For him it’s obvious: Sukuna is a bad man. Sukuna hurts the people he cares about. Sukuna doesn’t even care that he’s doing it. So he hates him.

Unfortunately, the math doesn’t quite work out the same for you. You’d never felt as awful as Sukuna made you feel, but you’d also never felt as good, because when he loves he does it with his whole body. His whole soul. Like there’s no option other than being bound together forever because it would always be you. You didn’t think you could live a life where you didn’t get to bask under his glow when he happened to see fit.

Satoru almost makes you think you could, though. Especially like this, with his cock buried deep, because he’s got to fill you with as much of his love as you’ll let him, and this is the only time you let him. In secret, in the centre of his bed and on his lap, rocking your hips against him while he holds you close and pleads his case. He’s pleading your case too, really.

“He’s never gonna change… I’d never do that to you.”

You thought he understood what this was. That you couldn’t leave Sukuna. That you couldn’t even stand up to him. It was why you were sneaking around behind his back, seeking a hollow replica of strength to make up for how weak you were to him just as much as you were seeking comfort for what he kept doing to you.

The fact that Satoru let you seduce him time and again, knowing he was already yours from the day you met, wasn’t a revelation you could take. Not while he was thrusting up into you like that, wet mouth kissing and sucking on your breasts as he pleads and pleads until he’s breathless. He tells you every single time that he’s waiting for that moment, and would keep waiting for that moment, but you can’t let it come no matter how often he picks up the pieces Sukuna’s actions leave you in.

It makes you weaker, it makes you cry, and your tears are hot as they roll down your cheeks. You tilt your head back as you moan, hoping Satoru won’t notice and will assume your gentle trembling is just the orgasm that was steadily approaching as he fucks you tenderly. His perception is keen, though. Especially when it comes to this.

“See? He makes you cry.” He kisses at your tears as they reach your jawline, unable to unwrap his arms from you to wipe them away as he had so many times before. “You can’t love someone who makes you cry.”

He knows that’s not true. Unfortunately, so do you.

“I’ll never make you cry, I promise.”

He was already breaking that promise, but you can’t tell him that. You were hurting enough for the both of you, enough for Sukuna too because you know why he’s the way he is, even if Satoru won’t hear it. He won’t hear a lot of the things you tell him, or the things you tell yourself. He’s only listening for certain words from you: that you’ll leave Sukuna, that you want him instead, that you love...

You can’t even think it, much less say it, and you can’t hear anymore of his pleas while you were so close - so you tangle your hand in his soft hair and pull him into your crushing kiss. Deep enough to make his talking stop, deep enough to make your tears flow faster. It doesn’t matter right now though, with Satoru throbbing inside of you. He lets go of you for the first time since you’d entered his home, only to bring his hand between your bodies to slide skillful fingers at your bundle of nerves, and you’re breathing each other in as you let sounds instead of words convey your feelings.

It borders on too much, like it always does, body clenching, milking him dry, til you’re shaking and panting and able to push all of your worries aside for one brief moment with Satoru Gojo.

But all of the things that don’t matter right now will in due time. The confidence Satoru has in thinking he could pry Sukuna from under your skin if he tries hard enough. The glimpse of your heart that you give him even when you’ll have to hide it away again because it’s not his. The lies you tell Sukuna when you leave to see him, much more believable than the lies he tells you - if only because he wouldn’t even dream that you would do to him even half of what he’s done to you. And he’s right, in a way. He would lie, cheat, ruin you heart and soul, but he would never ever go and fall in love with anyone but you.

All of these things will catch up to you eventually, because Satoru Gojo can never stop running his mouth.

You know this, and it makes you scared for Satoru. It makes you scared for yourself.

[goldeneyedgirl]

I would sell my body and soul for more of that demon Jasper fic :)))

Ask and ye shall receive, Anon. Also, I'm no longer accepting intangible essences in this economy because I'm pretty sure selling your body and soul will be the cost of a studio apartment soon.

I have a very specific vibe I want for the follow up, and right now, it's just not quite hitting it correctly, so this is a very early drafted scene. The 'Meet the Cullens' scene might pop up at Ficmas if I can get it right. I just need Jasper to be the right balance of 'I was imprisoned for long enough to be disorientated by the modern world', 'PTSD, my only friend', 'I am haunted by my demon self that wears my skin', and 'I have hope for the future.' And I cannot wait to do more world building with what Maria has done, and what Alice has learnt.

It's a short piece but I hope you enjoy!

--

The worst part is that he has to sleep.

He has to dream.

Neither he nor Alice know if that is because he needs to heal, or if that’s the burden of being changed. Alice promises to research it for him, but right now he doesn’t care. He resents it, yes, that his body demands something as base as rest. But of all the pieces that he’s been left with, sleep is the least of his problems.

(What does he dream of? Torture and torment. The flaying of skin. Burns that furiously eat right down to the bone. Words carved and muttered, read from books written and bound in old skin reeking of all the death and hands that have touched it. He dreams of complete hopelessness, of grief and betrayal and rage. And when he wakes up, it’s still in the back of his mind, always nagging at him.)

Sometimes it takes him hours to remind himself that he’s free. That he could walk out the front door and Alice wouldn’t stop him. Or rather, she’d run after him to make sure he was okay, that he had clothing and shoes and he didn’t need to eat. And she’d make him promise that he knew he could come home again.

(It wouldn’t be the first time. He hates that she doesn’t sleep. He hates that she hunts and butchers for him. He hates that when he looks at her, such a beautiful girl, he knows he could offer her anything, promise her anything, and she’d follow him anywhere. He could crush her heart in his hand, and she’d still smile at him and ask him if he was okay.)

//

“Jasper, can I ask you something?”

He tenses up when she says that; he’s been waiting for it. The price of all she’s done for him; the first aid, the housing, hunting and butchering, clothing, digging him out of that church. She’s just like the others, despite her promises.

“What?” His voice is cold and harsh, and he’s already preparing for the words that come next. Already planning on leaving her in pieces on the floor and let her put herself back together.

“I think we need to start working on your wings.” For a moment, the words make no sense to him because they aren’t what he expects. And then he’s taken by how gentle her words sound. How the worry skitters all over her. She’s actually concerned about him.

He hasn’t transformed back right, he’s known that for a while; his shoulder blades jut out unnaturally and he cannot get them to flatten. He’s gotten use to it - the mattress on his bed is soft enough that it’s not uncomfortable, and most of the clothing Alice has acquired for him are loose enough not to matter. He hadn’t given it much thought - his body has felt foreign to him for so long that another thing is nothing.

The idea that she’s been worrying is confusing.

//

He’s never been this close to someone in this form without being able to kill them. And yet Alice is so calm, as if every single instinct isn’t telling her to run.

She smells sweet, like he’s buried his face in flowers, with the sharp tang of something akin to ink. It’s nice in a way that he hasn’t had in a while. Alice really is extraordinarily pretty, her eyes are the most intense shade of warm gold with eyelashes that fan gently against her cheek when she blinks, and her pretty pink lips that twist into a frown as she examines his wings.

It’s a mystery to him why she bothers with the likes of him. From what she’s mentioned about her former coven, he assumes that she could be living in luxury. Be married to some bookish vampire gentleman who opens doors for her and…

He’s feeling warm and he’s not sure why, as her fingers trace the sinew of his right wing carefully. She’s wearing an old t-shirt knotted at the waist that leaves one shoulder completely bare, and the tiniest pants he’s ever seen on a woman. Practical for hunting, he’s certain, but nothing that he’s used to at all.

The jokes she made when she found him echo in his mind and he wonders if she was truly willing or if she was just nervous; she’s made no other allusions to… physical intimacies since that night. In fact, she’s been extraordinarily kind but kept her distance as he’s recovered. Not once has she crossed the threshold of his room; she launders the clothing, and brings back the flesh and blood of animals for him to consume, and generally leaves him be unless he seeks her out.

This cannot be all she wants from him - a grudging housemate. He doesn’t understand, not at all. He wants the truth.

The stitches are slow, as Alice carefully lines up each tear precisely, and this is a terrible intimacy. He flexes his fingers, trying to resist grasping her hips as she works, almost like a muscle memory. He does wonder if she’d even allow him to put his hands on her like this. When he looks like a demon, the worst of the monsters. But she hasn’t flinched away from him yet.

“Are you doing okay?” Her voice is soft, a warm puff against his face with that honeyed scent of her venom.

“Yes.” His voice is short, clipped, and she doesn’t speak again. Just keeps sewing. The pain is negligible to what he’s experienced in the past, and he reminds himself of that.

Finally (too soon) Alice pulls away. “Okay, that’s the first round done,” she says. He doesn’t even bother to look at her handiwork as he lets the transformation fade, so that he can at least meet her gaze.

“We’re going to have to break the humerus to reset your shoulder blades correctly,” she says. “It’ll hurt.”

The words are simple and he wants to scoff, but he knows. The wings are sensitive, and the bones dense. Breaking them in a special pain he’s lived through once.

He grunts in acknowledgement as he shrugs back into his hoodie.

“Let me know what you want to do.” She sets aside the sewing kit and for a moment he wants to. He wants to ask her to sit with him and talk about nothing - about her old coven, about what the closest town is like, about places she’s been. He wants something simple, something easy. He wants to bury his face against her, and breathe in flowers and ink and the sharp, toxic honey of her venom. He wants…

Alice smiles at him sadly one last time before she slips away, giving him the space she expects he wants.

[farfromstrange]

Butterfly Effect | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Masterlist

Chapter Seven: Butterfly Effect (Epilogue)

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Barista!Reader

Summary: The morning after you and Michael reunited marks the start of something new, but not without having a proper conversation about what happened and what you both want out of life. Or, you both come to an agreement after dancing around each other for so long and you finally find your way together, all thanks to the Butterfly Effect.

Warnings: Slight angst, SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, fluff, hurt/comfort, happy ending

Word Count: 6k

A/n: The people have decided, so I’m posting it now. This marks the end of this miniseries. It was an honor to write this for you and I am so glad you enjoyed it. Writing for Mikey has become one of my favorite things to do, so while this might be the end of this miniseries, this story is far from over...

Read All Other Parts Here...

Over time, Michael got used to his bed being empty in the morning. He grew accustomed to loneliness. Waking up in someone else’s bed and not alone, at that, is not something he planned to happen. A lot of things that happened hadn’t been his plan to actually happen.

Your breathing is soft and steady, your face squished against his shoulder as you sleep. You look like an angel. Nothing can touch you here, it seems. You’re entirely peaceful.

He blinks awake slowly. The memories from the night before come flooding him, your limbs intertwined with his, your lips everywhere, your cunt wrapped around his cock, the way you tasted on his tongue, and he shivers. It wasn’t a dream. 

He reaches out, his fingers hesitant before they bury in your soft locks. Your hair is all over the place, but it makes you look even more human, more fragile, and a lot more beautiful because he knows he gets to see you be yourself without people around. He’s in your bed, no one else. You let him make love to you, not any other man. You chose him. You chose not to run, you chose to stay. All of the things he did that should have scared you away, you said ‘fuck it’ and chose him anyway. If that isn’t a grand display of your devotion, he’s not sure what is. It’s almost suffocating how much you seem to care.

He truly didn’t think he would end up in your bed when he made his way to your apartment the day before, it hadn’t been his plan, not at all, but he is endlessly grateful for getting another chance with you. He hardly had any hopes when he asked you for help.

You know the truth now, you’re bound to him, and he would do anything in his power to keep you safe. Now that you crossed this line, he has to keep you safe somehow. He can’t have the past repeating itself, which is precisely what scares him as he looks at your sleeping form in his arms, so innocent and peaceful.

You stir eventually, his fingers still massaging your scalp. Your head moves to his chest and you let out a small, subconscious sigh. He chuckles softly and holds you closer, making sure the blanket continues to cover your naked frame. It’s cold inside, even with the heater on. Maybe he should take a look at your apartment and find a better solution because you could get sick. He doesn’t want you catching your death when the cold of winter arrives.

Why he’s making plans for the future already, he doesn’t know.

“Morning,” you murmur sleepily. 

Michael looks down at you. “Hey,” he says with a soft smile. 

You squint, rubbing your eyes. He can see the brain cells in your head coming back to life, and it’s an almost hilarious sight.

He strokes another strand of hair out of your face. “How’d ya sleep?”

“Good,” you say. 

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah. How about you?” you return the question, not just out of courtesy but because you’re actually interested.

He didn’t tell you about the nightmares, but with his past it wasn’t hard to figure he gets them.

The tip of his index finger strokes over the bridge of your nose, soothing your nerves. “Better than I have in a long time,” the admission sounds almost content coming from him. 

You smile. “I’m glad.” 

His hands have not once left your body throughout the night. He’s held you close every passing second, and he still refuses to let you go. You can see the hidden fear in his eyes, the fear of the unknown, of the unspoken, and his soul is still conflicted. He carries years of excruciating pain inside, that is not something one night can make go away, but you made sure to tell him that he isn’t alone. 

Michael is used to being alone. Hearing from you that he isn’t, that his struggles aren’t just his to face anymore, is a lot to get used to. He has to change his mindset. He has to open himself up to you, be naked and vulnerable. It’s almost terrifying. You’re such a good person and he saw how much the truth hurt you, the little twinkle of fear in your eyes yesterday, and the fear of losing you settles into his chest like a heavy pile of bricks. He can’t shake them off. He thinks losing you now might be easier than later, but he wouldn’t be able to survive either way. His head is a mess and he hates that his thoughts don’t make sense. 

You look at him with your doe eyes, watching his forehead wrinkle. The storm he’s trying to hide from you displays in the brown of his irises. Reaching out, you cup his cheek.

“Mikey,” you say softly, “look at me.”

He hesitantly turns his head toward you.

“Tell me what’s on your mind. Don’t shut me out.”

He sighs. “I can’t tell ya,” he admits, “‘cause I don’t understand.”

“You don’t have to understand everything all the time.”

“I know, it’s just… I don’t know.”

You change your position to look at him face-to-face. Without another word, he turns onto his side too, meeting your eyes. You can see the tears glistening in his own, but there is a promise hidden in there. He’s giving you all of his attention, his eyes searching your face for any signs of resentment, and he looks so helpless with the sun shining through the curtains and onto his face, you can’t help but cradle his face in your hands. It’s a silent vow that you’re there, that you meant what you said the day before. You’re not going anywhere.

“I gave myself to you,” you say, “You gave yourself to me in return. You showed me who you truly are. You took a big step last night. It doesn’t matter if we crossed a line or not. What you showed me is not something to take lightly and I am so proud of you for finally asking for what you need.”

You’re proud of him. Michael shudders. He barely hears anyone say that to him anymore. Usually, people aren’t proud of him. He can’t remember the last time he did something worthy to pride himself with.

You continue, your voice a gentle song to serenade him, “I told you how I feel, that I don’t care about your family, I only care about you. I don’t need them, only you. I can tell you’re in pain, Michael, and I want nothing more than to help you,” you say. “That’s all I want. I would never judge you or send you away, you’re too important for that. I just need to know… are you even ready for this? Because I don’t want to get hurt. I’ve been hurt so many times in the past, I don’t think I could take another heartbreak without shattering the person I’ve worked so hard to become.” Your voice cracks.

Michael’s eyebrows furrow almost in agony when he sees you like this. You’re a vulnerable person, even though you barely show it to anyone. You have a past just like everyone else. You’re human. You fought hard to get to where you are and he’s a hurricane, he only knows how to cause chaos, and that could take your sunshine away. But you’re important to him. He needs your light to shine through the clouds and make his life a little easier. He needs your sun for the rain to stop so that he can grow a rainbow. You’re normal, he’s said that before, and normal is what he needs. 

He should have claimed it before. He shouldn’t have been so conflicted, thinking about what could have been or should have been. He’s not pulling you into a war he’s planning to fight in. You’re a breath of fresh air. You have enchanted him inside and out, with your kind nature and your wicked body, and he couldn’t let you go even if he tried. He tried, but it didn’t work, and now he’s in the same bed as you. Destiny has funny ways of bringing together what belongs together. 

You blink through your tears. “You’re different from everyone else. I understand, but there is so much you have yet to teach me about you, and if you tell me you can’t do this, if this was just a one-night thing for you, I need to know so I can move on,” you sound insistent. “People have been walking all over me ever since I can remember, and I don’t want to be just another means to an end. I–“

He cuts you off with a kiss. His lips brush yours ever so gently and the words die on your tongue. 

“You’re none of tha’,” he whispers as if anyone could hear him, even in the solace of your bedroom. “Yer no rebound or means to an end. Yer not a one-night stand. I came here because of ya, because I needed you. I don’t understand why, but yer the only person I can count on, and that makes me feel less alone. And I’ve been alone for so long,” he says.

The tear makes its way down his cheeks and meets your hand where it lies tangled with his now on the mattress. 

“I don’t remember what it’s like to have someone care fer me anymore,” your name sounds like a sad ballad tumbling from his plump lips. “It’s been a while, and even before tha’ I wasn’t… there was a point where I was just filled with self-pity, and after going away, it got bad again–“

His eyes are closed. Talking about it hurts, but he’s talking. That counts for something.

“I pushed ya away ‘cause I lost the woman I loved before and… and I don’t want ya to get caught in the crossfire just ‘cause ya accept me,” he says. “My life is dangerous, even when I’m not workin’ for my family. I’m dangerous. I forgot what it’s like to live, to breathe, to show someone I care because I… I don’t think I know how ta care the way ya deserve, and you deserve only the best. I don’t know if I’m good, if I can even be that fer ya.”

With every word coming from him, your heart breaks a little more. If you didn’t know better, you would say he’s trying to push you away or end whatever it is that you had all over again, but you know better.

His feelings are all over the place, and so are his words, but weirdly enough, it makes sense to you. You know how to translate the language he speaks without trying. You feel so deeply for him, you can feel his pain in your soul. His memories are yours, just without the detailed pictures, and he has been through so much, he doesn’t deserve to suffer anymore.

You sniffle, your tears matching his. His eyes are closed now. “It’s exhausting,” he admits, “tryin’ to be better, but no matter what you do, yer playin’ a losin’ game. That’s what it feels like, fightin’ for Anna, fightin’ to be better. Constantly, I–“ 

When a wave of choked-up sobs breaks over him, you scoot closer to hold him. Your arms wrap around his neck and pull him as close as you possibly can, your forehead pressing against his. 

Michael exhales, the breath getting stuck in his throat. “I feel like I’m losin’ her…”

“I know,” you say, stroking your fingers through his unruly hair. 

“I love my family, I have to admit, they’ve always been there fer me, but right now… I don’t want ta be Michael Kinsella anymore,” he says, “I just wanna be Michael.”

He just wants to be Michael, period. Not a Kinsella, just himself, no crime, no bloodshed, no chaos. He wants what every good father would want. It’s something he deserves, there is no denying that.

After what he went through, the sacrifices he made, and what he lost, he deserves to be just Michael for a while. You can’t choose your family, you can’t choose whether or not you love them, but you can start a new life and break free from an endless cycle if that’s what you want. He hasn’t realized yet that this is what he deserves, but you won’t let him go on this journey alone, you’re more than convinced now. He needs someone, and it just happened to become you that he can hold on to.

His eyes open slowly to meet yours. “What if the mistakes I made… what if all of the fuck up’s made me unworthy?” 

You offer a small smile, your eyes filled with endless devotion. You shake your head. “That’s not true,” you tell him, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“But what if they did? What if I’m unworthy of a second chance?”

“We all make mistakes, Mikey. What matters is that you’re willing to fight for your daughter now. That dedication is what makes you worthy. I mean, what if you look beyond Michael Kinsella, beyond your last name? Who are you then?”

He contemplates. You can see the wheels in his head turning. Then, he opens his mouth to quietly answer, “I don’t know,” he says. 

“And that’s okay,” you say. “You can just figure that out as you go. But you know what you want, right? That’s all that matters.”

“I… I want my daughter back. And I want… I want…”

“Yes?”

His body shudders when he sighs. “You,” he blurts. “I want you.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. For a moment you wonder if you misheard him, but then he says it again together with the softest version of your name and a gentle, “love,” and you know he means it. 

“I want you too,” you say. 

“You do?” His eyes fill with hope. 

“Yeah. You don’t have to be alone anymore, Mikey. If you’re willing to try, I’m willing to try. You bewitched me, body and soul, and I don’t think I could let you go even if I tried.”

“I want nothin’ more than ta try,” he says. “But I’m scared…”

“Of what?”

“Not being enough.”

“You’re enough for me.”

“But what if I can’t be?”

“That won’t happen.” 

A sad chuckle escapes him. “How are ya always so positive, always know what to say?” 

“I don’t know,” you say, “I guess it’s just one of my many charms.”

“Please–“ his voice cracks and he grabs your face tightly with his hands. 

You nuzzle your nose against his, your bodies molding together like candle wax. “Please what?” you ask.

“Please don’t leave me,” he says. 

Ouch. If the thin ice on a river in early winter could have a sound, it would be his voice. You only have to take one step for it to crack, and then he’s broken. 

You wrap your hand around his wrist, keeping his hands where they are. He can feel your pulse, your soft breathing, and he sees the determination in your eyes when you force him to look at you.

“I’m not going to leave you,” you say. 

There is a fine line between using ‘will’ and the ‘going to’ future. With ‘will’ there is a chance you don’t know or don’t believe it might happen, but you chose your words wisely and they mean what you wanted them to mean – you are not going to leave him. It’s not your plan and even if it means manipulating the future, moving mountains, or messing with destiny, you are going to make sure you don’t ever have to leave. As long as Michael tries, too, but looking at him you can tell he is attached to you and he wants to be better because there is something he is fighting for, he is just getting too weak to see the whole picture. Now you’re here though and you are strong enough to keep hope for both of you, but especially for him and his broken soul. 

“I know it feels like you’re losing,” you continue, “but I’m here now and I am not going to let you fall. I promise you, Michael. If you want me to stay and if you’re willing to let me in, I’m not going anywhere.” 

He sniffles, tasting the salt of his tears on his tongue. “Thank you,” he breathes, and he allows himself to melt into your arms, his forehead still pressed against yours as you build a sanctuary around your intertwined bodies. 

“Anything for you, darling.”

You stay like this for a while. His breathing slows down eventually and the tears subside, and you calm yourself down. Silence settles in. It’s comfortable. The sun disappears outside and you can hear the faintest sound of thunder in the distance. Chances are it’s going to rain soon.

“I have another question,” you dare to open your mouth to ask what has been burning in your chest.

Michael opens his reddened eyes. “Ask away,” he says.

“Are you working for your brother’s wife because you need a job or because of, you know–“ you motion to nothing in particular.

He gets what you mean and shakes his head. “I needed a stable job to show the courts I’m tryin’ to be better.”

“To get Anna back?”

“Yeah.”

“I never expected anything less from you.”

“But it’s washin’ cars. Doesn’t feel like it’s enough.”

You nod. You get the idea and you get his worries. They’re not without reason. You think about work, the café, and your lovely colleagues. You think about Sarah and how she struggled to get a job after moving. There are a lot of stories mixed in the Butterfly Effect, and everyone carries somewhat of a burden, but the café saved them. It continues to change people’s lives. 

“The butterfly effect refers to the compounding impact of small changes,” you blurt out.

Understandably, Michael frowns at the randomness of your words.

“As a consequence, it is nearly impossible to make accurate predictions for the future or to identify the precise cause of an inexplicable change. Long periods of stability are followed by sudden declines and vice versa,” you say.

He leans back. “Okay?”

“I’m sorry, that was random.”

He wants to kiss you so badly right now. How can one person be so adorable yet so beautiful at the same time? 

“Care to elaborate?” he asks.

“I was kind of trying to get somewhere. I’m a romantic, you know? I believe in the good. I know people. I see a lot and I understand a lot. I believe in the divine and in hope and destiny and the supernatural. I’m a writer. Everyone has a different perception of life, obviously–“ You pause to wrap yourself tighter in your blanket.

“One day,” you continue, “I went to the library and there was this reading of a book and I heard the author read one paragraph. She said, “In the flutter of a butterfly’s wings, a gentle breeze stirs, carrying with it the possibility of change. It dances across our path, whispering, ‘What if?’ And at that moment, lives are altered, destinies redirected, and the extraordinary is born from the ordinary. Embrace the delicate chaos, for within the fragile wings of a butterfly lies the power to transform the world.” And it struck me, so I bought the book and I read it twice in one night. After that, I packed my things and quit my job, and I decided I wanted to find my path. I wanted to write. I wanted to live for myself. I left what I knew behind, and it led me to the café, it led me here, and now… now I’m here. With you.”

Michael hums. 

“My point is, the butterfly effect is real,” you say. “Doesn’t matter if it’s a single sip of coffee that makes your whole week, smoking a cigarette and dooming yourself for the next decade, a butterfly flapping its wings in the jungle somewhere and causing a tornado in Texas, or hearing a paragraph from a coming-of-age book in your mid-twenties and realizing that you’re stuck and need to get out, which leads you onto an unexpected path. The butterfly effect is real and your life can change drastically in only a millisecond, and that makes it almost impossible to predict the future.”

He knows how the butterfly effect works, but there is something about the way you describe him that strikes him to his core. It allows him a deeper understanding of not only your thoughts but the world of your feelings as well. You’re a complex character, but you have a good heart, and the way you describe yourself puts him in a state of awe whenever he looks at you.

“There’s a reason the café is so popular. And we’re understaffed.”

He tilts his head. Words fail him, but he shows you that he’s attentive and that he listens to everything you have to say. 

“You can learn how to make our drinks in a few days. I did, too.” You’re getting closer to your intention. “And we’re in desperate need of new staff.” 

“I–“ Michael looks at the ceiling. Did you just offer him a job? “I‘ve been to prison. I have priors,” he says. “You know that it’s not tha’ easy.”

After his attorney told him that chances are slim to get his daughter back and getting a job with his name and history seemed like an impossibility, he turned to Amanda because at least with her, he knew he could get a job. But even then he found himself sabotaged and benched for a whole different reason. No matter what he does, it’s never enough.

You catch another of his tears when it escapes the corner of his left eye. “That’s the thing, we don’t care about that. I have this colleague, his name is Oliver. He’s been to prison,” you say. “I admit, they convicted him for vehicular manslaughter because he was drunk one night after a party when he freshly turned 18 and just got his driver’s license, and the judge thought giving a teenager twenty-five too life would be a little too excessive, but he still spent years in prison just like you. As harsh as our boss can be, she believes in second chances, so she gave him the job. Without second-guessing her decision. He’s been working at the café ever since we opened our doors, and that’s been a while. You- you were still in prison then, I think.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re just sayin’ tha’ to make me feel better.”

“Look at me and tell me I’m lying.”

He looks at you, but he already knows you’re telling the truth. Your expression is stern yet gentle. “Why?” Michael whispers.

“Why what?” you ask.

“Why do ya want to help me?” 

“I told you, I care about you and I’m willing to try if you are.”

He takes your hand. Gently, he presses a kiss to your knuckles. His tears wet your skin, but you allow him to let it out. 

Silence settles back in as he struggles for the right words to say. Your finger strokes his wet cheeks until he’s stopped crying, but it takes him a while before he speaks again. 

“Amanda, that’s her name,” he mutters.

“What?” you ask. 

“My brother’s wife, who I work for. We’ve been through a lot of shit together.”

“And?”

“Nothin’, it’s just that it’s hard to separate myself from tha’.”

You nod. “I get that. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just thought–”

“Yer not wrong,” Michael cuts you off with a gentle finger to your lips. “And I think… being in prison changed a lot, but then I met you and I– well, ya keep talkin’ about the butterfly effect and I think yer mine.”

You meet his eyes. 

“My family sabotaged this job. I wanted to work with the books, but Amanda benched me ta washin’ cars because they’re tryin’ to get me to give up and work for them again,” he states. 

You press a kiss to his finger before making some space for you to talk. “Are you thinking about it?” you ask. 

He doesn’t blame you for still being a little weary. He’s given you a lot of insight in such a short amount of time, it’s draining, but you deserve it, and yet there is still so much you have to learn. 

“I’m thinkin’ about it, but I won’t do it.”

“Do you really want to continue washing cars and be unhappy?”

He thinks about the question for a moment. “Ya make me happy,” his voice sounds like a fragile exhale. “And I don’t know how to thank ya for tryin’, I just… I need ta learn how to write an application again.”

“If that’s the only problem,” you say, stroking your thumb along the jawline hidden under his beard. 

“What?”

“I can help you.”

“You would do tha’?” he asks. “Fer me?”

You only smile at him before bringing your lips to his. “Always,” you say, and then you finally kiss him again. 

Michael was starving for your lips. Feeling you kiss him harder this time makes him dizzy and he wraps his arms around your waist; you’re his rock, a stable constant to hold onto so he won’t get lost in the tide. Your lips are his salvation. He could drown in you and still be alive. You make the world spin a little slower.

Before you, existing felt like sitting on a carousel without controls and he kept getting sicker with every passing moment, but you make the chaos dissipate and you slow down the endless back and forth – you breathe fresh air into his lungs.

“You know,” you pull away to look at him with a playful grin playing on your face, “I’m actually one of the best when it comes to filling out application forms. It’s a talent I’ve been told I possess.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. I’m really good at it. Almost as good as I am at quitting the jobs I apply for, but–”

Laughter tumbles from his lips. You just in with a soft giggle, not wanting to overshadow the clear sound of his laugh. He sounds like an angel. 

“It’s true,” you chuckle, “I have a long history of quitting jobs.”

“Mhm.” He buries his face in your neck. 

“I tend to struggle with commitment, you know? And I’ve lost myself many times before because I wasn’t sure what I wanted, then I found the café, I made friends and I settled down. You could say I’m a restless person, but with you–” You take a deep breath as your fingers thread through his hair. “I know what I want,” you finish. 

Michael lifts his head from your neck, his eyes meeting yours. He reaches up to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face.

"I understand tha' feeling," he says softly. "I've spent so much of my life feelin' like there was somethin' missing. But being with ya, it's like everythin' falls into place. After eight years, I... Ya showed me how to breathe again.”

You smirk. “That’s a lot of credit.”

“I may not understand it now, but I’m tryin’.” The genuine hope in his eyes makes the butterflies in your stomach dance wildly. 

“You want to be just Michael, right?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Well, I liked you from the moment you stepped foot into the café, so I’ve liked you ever since you were just Michael who ordered a boring double espresso, but you didn’t say no to trying something new, and that’s when I saw who you really are. What I’m saying is, it works,” you say. “And I care about you so deeply, that’s all that matters to me.”

His eyes switch to your lips again. An answer to your gentle admission never follows; Michael presses his lips to yours in a heated embrace and he pulls you on top of him. Everything else fades away. At that moment, it’s just the two of you. 

Your bodies entwine as if he's a magnet, still, and you're the missing piece, and you find yourself willingly succumbing to the pull as you did the night before. The world around you ceases to exist. Every touch, every caress, ignites a fire within.

He nibbles at your bottom lip, forcing his tongue inside your mouth. You push back into the kiss, throwing your hair over your shoulder to get it out of the way. His hands rest on your hips, gliding over every inch of bare skin he can reach under the blanket. You’re still naked from the night before, allowing him to explore you with his hands and his mouth, eager as he is. 

"I wanna be the man ya deserve," he pants into the kiss. His hands slip lower, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass. 

Your heat bumps against his hardening cock and you gasp. Your hips start their own rhythm. His tip brushes against your clit, caressing the throbbing nub, your body still sore from the night before, but his grabby hands have you yearning for him in only a few seconds and you want nothing more than to be close to him. Closer.

He grabs your breast, his large hand setting an almost comforting rhythm as he plays with the flesh, tweaking your nipples and pulling at them. You’re his toy to use and you have absolutely no problem with that. 

A soft smile spreads across your face as you reach out to cup his cheek. "You already are enough," you whisper. "In my eyes, you're perfect just the way you are. Flaws and all. You’re more than enough for me, Michael, please believe that.”

With each passing moment, you can feel the walls he's built around himself crumbling, allowing you to see the true essence of who he is. And in return, you offer him the same vulnerability and acceptance.

You reach between your connecting bodies, grabbing a hold of his cock. He hisses, which quickly turns into a low groan when you coat him in your wetness and line him up with your entrance. You swallow him just right, your walls hugging him like you were made just for him, and he slides in easily. He bucks his hips, bottoming out, and you lower your weight down on his lap entirely. 

You both pause, your lips ghosting over each other as you moan air into each other’s lungs. 

With every touch, every whispered word, you create a whole new world for just you two, where the past becomes a distant memory and there is a future ahead with possibilities that seem sheerly endless. It’s the definition of hope for something new, and you’re that for him. You embody everything he needs and more. 

Grinding on him, your clit rubs against his pelvis, and his cock continuously pushes down on your G-spot. The head of his cock, ever so sensitive, reacts every time he does, and his cock throbs inside of you. From top to bottom, he’s on fire. The heat of your skin feels like velvety lava under his fingers. He moves from your ass over your thighs to your hips and then up to your throat. One of his hands wraps around your neck while the other pushes you into him by the back of your head, and he kisses you with all his might. 

Your moans bounce off the walls in the bedroom. His fingers start rubbing your clit gently, his tongue fighting with yours for dominance, and as the rain begins to fall outside and platters against your window in a soothing rhythm, you come undone around him. He follows right after you, his cum coating your hot walls and trickling down his shaft back down your thighs, onto his own, and staining the sheets. You’re a sticky mess of cum and sweat, but you find solace in each other’s lips and it’s all either of you can focus on. Only you exist, your hands and your bodies, and the sizzling air between you, and that’s more than enough. 

While Michael showers, you retreat to the kitchen to make some coffee. You invested in an expensive coffee machine for personal use after your first paycheck rolled in and you don’t regret the decision. Pouring some hazelnut syrup into the mug, you pour the coffee over it, and add the hot milk and the foam you stirred. It’s the most basic drink you’ve made him so far, but the taste of hazelnuts reminds you of the color of his eyes and it’s your favorite drink in the mornings when you have a day off. 

He enters the kitchen to the sound of your gentle humming and the scent of freshly brewed coffee. You don’t notice him at first, his feet barely making a sound on the usually so creaky floorboards. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind and you jump a little; it has been a while since you spent the morning with someone else. 

Michael plants a soft kiss on your shoulder, holding you a little closer. You lean back against him. “You have impeccable timing,” you murmur. 

“I smelled coffee,” he says. 

You chuckle, reaching back to run your fingers through his wet hair. “Did you now?”

“Yes.”

“What are you, a bloodhound for coffee?”

He presses another kiss to your shoulder, then your neck before twirling you around and planting one right on your lips. “Only fer yours.”

“Good. Wouldn’t want you to cheat on my coffee.”

“I’d never,” Michael says. His brown eyes travel over your face, his hand reaching out to trace your features. He can’t believe he’s here, that you’re here, and that you’re both together like this. Touching you still feels like a fever dream. “Your coffee is the only coffee fer me, love.”

You lean into his touch. “Is that a metaphor?” you question. 

He chuckles, the sound reverberating in his chest and warming your heart. “Maybe,” he says. 

“Then maybe I should write a book about the history of coffee.”

“I’m afraid that already exists.”

“How do you know?”

He glides a finger down your nose. “I’ve been around.”

“Okay, but does it have metaphors?” you challenge. 

With a chuckle, he shakes his head and gives your lips another chaste kiss. “Ya think anyone’s gonna read tha’?” he retorts, although his tone is teasing. 

You laugh. "I could add some steamy romance, maybe that would work." 

Michael feigns shock, his hand resting over his heart. "Oh, so ya want ta turn coffee into a scandalous novel?" he says. “That’s naughty, pet.”

“You seriously are underestimating the sensuality of a good cup of coffee,” you say.

He raises his eyebrows almost up to his hairline. "I need some proof for tha’ or I can’t believe ya.”

“Aw,” you take his hand and dunk his index finger into the foam on his hazelnut coffee. Your eyes never leave his when you move the digit to your mouth and promptly, without warning, suck on it. 

His brain fails to conduct a viable thought. Your tongue swirls around the tip of his finger almost as if it’s the head of his cock, and his heart stops beating. You look up at him through hooded eyes – the look on your face isn’t helping the blood from rushing between his legs and straight to his cock. 

You release his finger with a loud ‘pop’. “It’s an ongoing investigation,” you purr. 

Fuck. The air between you crackles with electricity. 

“Hazelnut,” he whispers. 

You guide the mug to his mouth with a knowing smirk. He takes a sip, the taste exploding on his tongue almost instantly. You are a cruel seductress, he has to give you that. 

“Reminds me of your eyes,” you whisper. 

“Does it now?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it tastes grand.”

“Thank you, I made it with extra love today.”

“You always give your everythin’.”

You shrug. “That’s just who I am.”

Your eyes meet. The desire from before is still there, but the sweetness of your voice and the gentle flow of the words passed between you flick a switch. 

"Ya give so effortlessly," he says, "with a heart that's overflowin' with kindness." His voice is filled with reverence then, "I'm grateful to be on the receiving end of tha’ kindness, and that ya trust me with your heart. I’ll watch over it like a hawk.”

With a soft smile, you lean in and press your lips against his forehead. "I'm so glad you chose to get coffee that day, Mikey," you say. “And I’m glad you chose to come back.”

He wraps his arms around you, burying his nose in your hair. "Thank you."

“For what?”

“Everythin’,” he says. 

As the rain continues to fall outside, he holds you close. You watch the raindrops pearl off your kitchen window, your fingers drawing circles on his lower back. The silence between you is comfortable. The unspoken words that hang between you find their way into the world through touch, and he grips you a little tighter when his thoughts threaten to ruin the moment. 

In your arms, Michael finds shelter from the storm. It rained the first day he met you and it’s raining now, which isn’t unusual for Dublin, but to him, it means so much more than he could describe.

The rain becomes a silent promise – even the smallest, unrelated events can lead to big changes, but the butterfly effect doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing anymore. The butterfly effect can change your life for the better, and it can bring light back into your life when you least expect it, showing you that there is still beauty in pain and there will be a rainbow after the rain. 

You are the butterfly that flapped its wings, but instead of causing chaos, you mended it, and you turned what he thought his life would be like all the way upside down. That means more to him than words ever could. 

In your embrace, he finds his sanctuary, and together you would pick up the pen and rewrite the pages of your story with a better ending fitting for the both of you.

To Be Continued…

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @loveroftoomanyfandoms @acharliecoxedfan @lina-mar @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift

[tokusaatsus]

SECRET ADMIRERS

ft. narukami arashi

© tokusaatsus 2022

warnings: none

Dear Arashi,

Your beauty has left me blinded, and breathless. When I see you, I feel blessed. Your presence upon this Earth is nothing short of a miracle, and I am so incredibly glad that I get to witness it. You are so lovely, a beauty amongst mortals.

I know today is your special day, and so I have a gift for you. I hope I’m not overstepping any bounds. I hope you like it.

May your day today be as lovely as you are,

Signed, your secret admirer ♡

Arashi sighs dreamily, clutching the letter close to her chest. Oh, her secret admirer really knows how to make her heart race… This is only the latest letter so far, one out of seven–one every day–but it never fails to make her feel like the only girl in the world. She giggles.

There sits a box on her desk, wrapped in a jewel-patterned wrapping paper and tied with a pretty pink bow. Inconspicuous, except for what it contains. A simple bracelet, made of gold and set with gorgeous aquamarine and amethyst gems in the pattern of a heart. Her birthstone, and the colour of her eyes.

It shouldn’t be a big deal. It isn’t, except for the fact that Arashi’s been wanting this bracelet ever since she saw it last weekend when she went out with a few friends. And no one else should know, because this shop was so out of the way that she’d never noticed it before.

“Oi, Naru-kun,” Izumi calls, sounding annoyed. “Let’s go already. We’re waiting.”

We. Arashi’s brain clocks that statement as strange, and she turns to see you standing in the doorway. Ritsu leans atop your back, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You give her a little wave, sipping casually on a juice box, unbothered by the 54 kgs of sleepy vampire slumped over you. “Hey, Arashi.”

“Y/N!”

You smile at her. “That’s my name, yep. Are you ready to go?”

She smiles back and motions for a few minutes. “Nearly! I just need to see if I have space for my gift.”

Ritsu perks up. “Nacchan~ got a gift? From who?” His eyes dart towards the box, and understanding lights up his features. “Oh? Nacchan~ has a secret admirer? Who is it?”

Izumi harrumphs. “It’s a secret, Kuma-kun, so she wouldn’t know. Obviously.” And we’re going to be late, his tapping feet and impatient demeanour say. You snicker, and Arashi feels herself blush. You have such a nice laugh…

“Shall we?” Izumi grumbles. “Or do you want to stay and gawk a little longer?”

Arashi hesitates, because something about Izumi’s insistence about ignoring the gift that makes her wonder… “Y/N, can I talk to you? In private?”

“Sure,” You shrug, pushing Ritsu off you. He whines, but drapes himself over Izumi instead, much to the other boy’s chagrin. “Shoo, shoo. We’ll catch up with you later. Meet us outside the building?” You seem satisfied at the responses you get (a nod from Ritsu and an eyeroll from Izumi), and you give her a comforting grin as you lean against a desk, watching her carefully. “You were saying?”

“So…” Arashi pauses, thinks it over, starts again. “You know my secret admirer, right?” You nod, and she continues. “I’m worried…that it might be Izumi-chan.” You tilt your head to the side, like an inquisitive sparrow, clearly telling her to go on. “I mean, I love him but not like that. I just… I don’t know what to do?”

“Oh, well, that’s an easy fix,” You say, avoiding eye contact. “I’m your secret admirer. So you don’t have to worry about Izumi, or whatever. Though it would’ve been funny to watch you reject him…”

“W-what?” Arashi is stunned. You? You were–are?–her secret admirer? The person who’s been making her heart flutter from just a few flowery words, and it’s you? Gosh, this is just… Arashi claps a hand over her mouth. Today is turning out to be such a good day! “You?”

“Yeah, me. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“No! Don’t be sorry!” Her outburst startles you, and you nearly fall over. She takes a quick breath, makes an effort to reign in her excitement. “I’m just…really happy. It was really you all along? You bought me that bracelet?”

“Well, you kept staring at it.” You offer, but there’s relief on your face. It lights you up, and she can’t help her staring. God, you’re gorgeous. “And I know technically I already said it but… Happy birthday, Arashi.”

notes!

WC: 758 words

reze txt happy birthday arashi! our beloved sister knight! may you keep on slaying and staying gorgeous in this new year, nee-chan <3

taglist: @prpne​ @gabirii​ @kazemiya​ @engurishu​ @kkomaism​ @asbestieos​ @mikctp​ @lilikags​ @lolthia​ @unwantedsleep @hasumilvr​

[triforceangel13]

Funny Thing Called Fate Ch. 3 (A BakuDeku Omegaverse Au)

Chapter 3: Comfort Is Unexpected.

Katsuki sighed heavily as he took another swig of soda as hes at on the floor of Kirishima's dorm. His roommate was out at the moment with her friends which left the two alphas in the room by themselves to hang out.

And more importantly to talk freely.

“So you did your meeting with your floor and then proceeded to threaten them if they messed with the omega you are rooming with, who also happens to be your crush you've had for years, who also is the one that you bullied for more of your childhood,” Kirishima summarized next to him, opening up another box for himself to unpack.

“You really just state it plainly don't you,” Katsuki sighed.

“But am I wrong?”

Katsuki was silent a moment and then he sighed heavily.

“No...”

“So, what's the plan?” Kirishima asked.

“Plan? There is no plan. I just stop bullying him and we just live our seperate lives.”

“Bakubro, come on,” Kirishima drawled out with a sigh and tossed a pillow at his friend's head. The blonde caught it before it could connect. “That display of protection is bound to mean something for you and for him.”

Red eyes finally flicked up to his friend. He hadn't thought of that. He had just thought to protect him from other bullies as sort of a repentence for what he had done to him for years.

Perhaps there was an underlying reason buried in there somewhere.

Katsuki let out a heavy sigh, leaning his head back against the bed he leaned against and shoved a chip into his mouth.

“Okay, so I want to court him. It's not like he'll let me. Too much bad history together,” he sighed. “Least I can do is either just stay out of his way or beg for a resassignmet somewhere else.”

“And have another alpha take your spot in the room with him?” Kirishima asked which had him yelping when a sudden growl came from the blonde.

“Dude this is what I mean! You've got it bad for him.”

The growl immediately stopped and he let out a groan of furstration.

“You think this is easy? There's a reason why I don't date anyone. I just got out sometimes to...you know.”

“Yeah I know,” Kirishima said with a roll of his eyes. “But this is more than just getting your thing wet. You want something more...right?”

“Of course,” Katsuki said. “I've just never been able to tell him how I feel. And then when I felt he would just always reject me I took that and just was so cruel to him. He never once rejected me because I was assumed he would.”

“Jeez dude. You really screwed up. Gonna be tougher than I orginally thought,” Kirishima sighed.

“What do I do. I'm at a total loss here,” Katsuki sighed.

“Start with a little courting. You know, getting him things he likes and stuff. For one, being nice?” The blonde rolled his eyes.

But he had a point. He couldn't be mean to Izuku if he wanted a chance with him.

If he even did for that matter. Izuku could just actually reject him. He just had to remind himself of the difference.

That's what years of therapy had done for him.

“Got any pointers? I'd like to hear them,” Katsuki said seriously. A large grin broke out across Kirishima's face.

He grabbed a notebook and tossed it at the blonde.

“Take notes.”

*

It was later that night that Izuku laid in his nest. Most of his stuff he still hadn't gotten a chance to unpack but he'd get to it over time. The one thing he had wanted was his nest, and only his nest. It smelled of home and it made him feel a little safe.

That was until Katsuki came back from whatever he had been doing that night. He wasn't sure how to feel about the alpha anymore.

Sure he had a crush on him. But that crush was something he had tried to bury in deep after what had happened. Just one day Katsuki had turned on him, picked on him, bullied him.

All short of getting the soul beaten out of him. Then there was the accident...

He rubbed his arm a bit out of habit and closed his eyes, turning so that his back was to the blonde as he moved about the room and got ready for bed.

They were silent now that they were alone and had nothing to do except sleep. It was like an awkward tension was pulling over them.

One that was starting to keep Izuku awake even after Katsuki had laid down and turned his light out to go to sleep.

Izuku shivered as he tried tucking another blanket around himself. He didn't realize he'd be this chilly. And he didn't pack any extra blankets...

“I can hear your teeth chattering from over here,” Katsuki sighed out as he sat up in the dark. “Get another blanket or something.”

“Don't have any,” he said with a sigh, standing up a little bit to go get some differnet clothes. “I'll put on a sweatshirt.”

“Every night?” Katsuki asked with a raised brow despite the omega couldnt see it. “You aren't serious are you?”

“What other choice do I have?”

He heard a soft curse and then some movement before the light flicked on. Izuku winced, shielding his eyes before he had to catch himself from falling as a blanket was tossed at him.

“Use that,” the blonde said. “Now get some sleep.”

The light flicked off again and Izuku clutched the blanket to his chest, a heavy flush on his face. Katsuki's scent wafted off of the blanket and he had to keep himself from making a noise.

He laid back down in his nest and then he laid the blaket on top of himself. The added weight and the scent were just what he needed.

He curled the blanket in closer to himself, quietly taking in the scent of the alpha. He let out a quiet content sigh and closed his eyes.

His inner omega preened at the gift but Izuku had to remind himself this had nothing to do with it. Katsuki was just making sure he stayed warm.

But in the back of his mind he let his omega have this moment, happy that the alpha had given him something that was smothered in his scent.

His eyes grew heavy as he fought to stay away. It was funny. Moments before he had been wide awake and now he was being lulled to sleep.

He let out a small hum and then soon fell asleep wraped up in Katsuki's blanket.

Katsuki was awake the entire time, watching Izuku as he cuddled in with the blanket he had from his own bed.

His cheeks felt hot to the touch. Izuku had accepted a courting gift? But did he even know that it was a courting gift? He didn't explain it the right way.

At least he had accepted his scent and had accepted having it in his nest and on his person. It was a long time comnig but at least now they could both sleep

Though Katsuki was sure he'd be up for a while.

*

The blonde had left early the next morning for class before Izuku could even wake and ask him about the whole blanket thing. It was his first gift it wasn't great, it wasn't what Izuku deserved, but he at least got to do something for him.

But he wasn't sure if Izuku understood his inetntions. Maybe he had to do more. And it wasn't like threatening others and giving him a blanket meant they'd be getting married the next day. Things like this took time.

Especially with their past history.

Maybe he should ask Kirishima what to do. The guy had more relationships than he did so he was his only way to figure it out.

It did warm his heart and stir things within himself that he thought would never happen. He felt pride and felt happy with his alpha as they looked at Izuku curled up in the blanket, holding it close as it smelled like him.

Perhaps it was because it was familiar but he had to try to not think about this too deeply or too fast. To him Izuku was skittish around him. He needed to help calm him down.

*

Izuku woke about an hour later to his alarm He let out a mumble, poking it to snooze and buried his face into the warm blanekt surrounding him.

His fingers pet it slowly until his mind caught up, eyes widening as he sat up and looked down at it. He was alone in the dorm room with Katsuki's blanket.

It smelled heavily of the alpha and Izuku had been bundled in it like it was his own.

Swallowing he rubbed the back of his neck.

Why had Katsuki given it to him? Was it to get him to quiet down or was it something else? His mind swirled around him.

Never once thinking that he could have been giving him something as a way to start a courting with him.

Izuku felt no one ever wanted him. He was too nerdy and too focused in his work. No one would want him.

That's why he had buried himself into his school work and getting good grades and in this college getting his degree to go into the field he wanted.

After all Katsuki had said that to him once. Had told him that no one else would want him in his life. It hurt but it had dug deep and never let go.

So Izuku wasn't used to courting natures or anything like that.

He didn't want to think about it like that. He didn't want to think that he had a chance with Katsuki. Not after being rejected...

The memory had him shivered and he clutched the blanket closer, bringing it to his nose and inhaling slowly.

He closed his eyes, trying to relax until he realized what he was doing and had yanked the blanket right from his nose.

NO. He couldn't cuddle that. He had to give it back...

Shaking his head he stood up and he folded the blanket up. Despite that was the best sleep he had in a long time he just couldn't risk this.

He set it on Katsuki's bed, eyeing the messy bed with an urge to climb into it.

Little did he know that in this way he was rejecting Katsuki's courting gift.

The omega bit his lip a bit, his hand remaining on the blanket. He was nervous. He didn't want to get the alpha upset with him. Sure he had let him borrow a blanket but maybe he didn't want him on his side of the room.

Clutching the blanket up again he went and settled it onto his bed. He'd wait for Katsuki to ask for the blanket back.

But deep down he didn't want to lose it.

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[just-a-girl-who-wrytes]

Part 8 ☺️

Several months went by and the team celebrated Street and Chris’ engagement, as well as Luca finding out he was going to be a dad. They had a celebratory dinner over the weekend, one at which Nikki had drank a little more than she cared to admit. Deacon took her home that night, helped her into one of his t-shirts and a pair of his underwear before helping his girlfriend into bed and climbing in with her. The next morning, Nikki woke up hungover as hell. Everything hurt - her head, her stomach, her joints. She groaned. David walked in and chuckled.

“How do you hang with this old man,” he waved his hands from shoulders to waist with a bottle of gatorade in one hand and Tylenol in the other. “But you can’t hang with some bitch booze?”

Nikki buried her face in the pillow. “Because it’s bitch booze. You never can tell how much is too much until it’s too late.”

Nikki attempted to sit up, but was unsuccessful without the muscular torso of her lover’s body to help steady her. “I have to pee.” She mumbled. 

Deacon laughed again, “All of the things you deal with and handle like the bad ass woman you are on a regular basis and some liquor is what takes you out.” 

“Nice save, Kay.” Nikki mumbled, not bothering to look up at him as he guided her to the bathroom. David helped Nikki to the toilet and steadied her as she pulled his underwear off of her waist and sat down. He stepped away and she heard a cabinet open and close but paid it no mind. 

“Here, baby, you need this.”

Nikki looked up to see David handing her a maxi pad and then looked down to see blood stained boxers. 

“Wha-? Fuck meee.”

“When you won’t vomit all over me,” Deacon chuckled. 

“No, baby. I haven’t had a period in yearssss why the hell am I having one now?!” 

“Honey, I have no idea, but I can make it better with snuggles and a lazy day.” He winked at her. 

Nikki groaned and took a clean pair of her underwear from David. Once she was cleaned up and medicated, she joined Deacon on the couch for a lazy day. Despite taking tylenol and motrin and drinking gatorade, she couldn’t help shake the nausea that she had. She napped on and off in Deacon’s arms but felt substantially worse every time she moved and the cramping in her stomach was the worst she could remember having. By the time bedtime rolled around, she didn’t feel any better and again leaned on David to make it back to the bed. 

Nikki was bed bound for the following few days and even had to call out of work. She was cursing her uterus for making her feel so bad. This was punishment for all of the time she hadn’t had a period. 

Deacon was at work just over a week later, talking to Hondo about his girlfriend and her symptoms. 

“You think she’s pregnant?”

Deacon paused. “Of course that hadn’t crossed my mind. Man, she has been feeling bad and cramping and bleeding. We both have just thought she either had the flu or her period was whooping her ass.”

Hondo smirked, “Ya know pregnancy can mimic periods sometimes. It happened to my sister. It’s worth a thought, brother.”

After work, Deacon stopped to pick up chinese for supper. some dramamine to help with Nikki’s nausea, as well as a box of pregnancy tests. When he arrived home, he found her asleep on the couch. He kissed her forehead and made a pitcher of sweet tea for whenever she was ready to eat. After putting the tea in the fridge, he stopped and leaned on the counter, staring at her as she slept.

What if she really is pregnant… he thought. He thought about Nikki being the one to carry his baby and he started to get turned on. She would make such a wonderful mother. And it was all Deacon could do to stop himself from jumping her right then and there as he dreamed about how pregnancy would change her body - her hips, her boobs - how all of it would be because of him. It would be his little life she carried that they made together. 

He originally planned on just letting her sleep and giving them to her when she woke up, but as he thought about their future and the woman he loved carrying the baby he put in her, he couldn’t stop himself. He walked over and sat down on the edge of the couch next to her and woke her up.

The color was still gone from her face and she still looked like she didn’t feel good. 

“Baby, I brought supper home. I’ve also got some nausea meds for you and something else I need you to take….”

“Something else?” Nikki gave him a puzzled look as he brushed her hair away from her face. 

“I was talking to Hondo at work about how you had been sick and your period was weird,” Nikki chuckled. There was no conversation or detail too personal for 20-David to share. She had never actually asked, but she was positive Hondo at the very least had heard about the first time they had sex together. 

“He said taking one of these might be a good idea.” Deacon handed her the box of pregnancy tests. 

Nikki took the box from him. 

“If you’re not pregnant, we can get you into the doc to see why you’re still sick.”

“And if I am?”

Nikki watched as a smile spread across Deacon’s face, “Even better.”

Deacon stood up and helped Nikki off the couch and followed her to the bathroom. 

He leaned against the counter with his arms folded across his belly, watching as Nikki peed on the stick. 

“Who would have thought a man would sit and watch me pee and still love me…”

Deacon laughed, “What is it you used to tell me when I was helpless and getting bathed like a baby?”

“We’re all human and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” the couple said in unison. 

Nikki stood up, washed her hands and stepped in front of Deacon. She wrapped her arms around his torso and laid her head on his chest. She relaxed in his embrace as he wrapped his arms around her. 

The couple stood there in silence.

“A penny for your thoughts?” Nikki asked, never removing her head from his chest.

“It would be so amazing to know that the woman I love is pregnant with the baby I put in her.” Deacon groaned sensually, “To be able to watch you carry our baby, watch your belly grow, feel our baby move…”

Nikki felt herself falling even more in love with Deacon and she wasn’t sure how that was even possible. 

“You’ve asked me all of these questions,” Deacon said as he pulled her off of him and cradled her neck with a hand on either side under her jaw, “But how will you feel if it’s positive?”

Deacon could see Nikki searching for words. 

“I hadn’t thought about it, David. I mean if so, this is a complete 180 from when I was pregnant with ‘Kota. Hell, you are a complete 180 from my ex-husband. But you don’t seem scared.”

“Why would I be?”

“Well…” Nikki had a hard time figuring out how to piece words together. She never thought about it. If he loved her like he said he did - and she had no doubt about his love for her, there really wasn’t a reason to be scared. She breathed out a laugh, “I don’t know, Deac, I guess just some unresolved subconscious fear I have - the man I’m pregnant by not being supportive… but rationally, I know I have zero reason to be scared now.” 

By now, Deacon had reached over and grabbed the test off of the counter and read it. 

He spoke as he looked up at Nikki from the test, “I’m glad we’re on the same page… Mama.” Deacon smiled, his face full of nothing but love. 

“What?” Nikki said breathlessly as she took the test from him.

Pregnant

She suddenly sobbed, falling into Deacon’s embrace, “Oh, David!”

Deacon wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck.

“We’re having a baby, sweetheart!” He said. 

Nikki could do nothing except cry in David’s arms. She was exudingly happy, but her love life had been so nonexistent before David that she hadn’t given any thought to having children again - ever…. Much less having children with someone who loved her and took care of her. She could do nothing but cry for the sweet baby she lost and cry for the new baby she now had. 

“I know this baby is handpicked for you - for us by Dakota.” Deacon said to her.

[voxofthevoid]

Tagged by @backwardshirt 💗

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Haha, um, so...I don't have a WIP folder so much as a folder for fanfic, subfolders for each fandom with another level of subfolders in each of those for individual fics. I'm actively working on only JJK fics, so I'll list just those. Nobody needs to see the relics from my Hannibdal days onward.

This is gonna be long and also kind of ambiguous because they're all already titled.

05. the way it follows you home, the stories i never told

06. i am like decay (i rot the ground that guides your way)

07. i am your sinner, i am your whore

08. and every step forward put a little more sword in your heart

09. a bruise, blue (in the muscle, you)

10. hormones in key (a slow whispered wet confession from our body heat)

11. the coyotes cry (and the sirens pass and harmonize)

12. my boy was a montage (a slow-motion love potion)

13. you're made of memories you bury or live by

14. you were born with a steady flame (we burn away)

15. flesh amnesiac, this is your song

16. oldest story ever told (hold me till we both go cold)

17. catch your lady by her toes

18. seven new ways that you can eat your young

19. the holy sick divine nights

20. your body language on me tells me to be unholy

21. fuck with me like you need something from me

22. if there's something still to take (there is ground to break)

23. and taste the blame if the flavor should remind you of greed

24. love's like the chug of a slow train coming (if we're tied to the tracks, we're bound to feel something)

Yes, the numbers are part of the folder names. Fics 1 to 4 have been completed.

I can't tag 20 people, so poking (no pressure) @thelionshoarde @eusuntgratie @nylazor @actualalligator @dragongirlg-fics @naamah-beherit @joeys-piano @lilyfarseer @lo-55. Plus anyone who wants to give it a go.

[myckicade]

'The Terror' Reactions

Two of my girlfriends have finally sat down and started watching The Terror. They've made it to the middle of episode six, and they seem to be getting the Full Terror Experience. So far, I've received mixed, and amusing reactions. They've been so good, I've kept a list.

Warning: Some spoilers ahead!

Disclaimer: We've been best friends for more than twenty years, so some of this may make me sound like a terrible friend, but... I am. So.

One is taking my dislike of Hickey as a personal offense. (To which I tell her, "Hey! More for you!"). But she's bound and determined that the sun shines out his ass, and that I have no taste in men. What my visual assessments have to do with characterization and plot, I have yet to uncover.

The other wants to dig a hole and bury Goodsir on God's back forty. I might be offended by this one, primarily because her only reasoning is, "I don't like his face."

Neither like Crozier. Mr. Doom & Gloom isn't going to be voted Miss Congeniality, any time soon. I think the whiskey has something to do with it. Call me Sherlock.

Both - and this is possibly my favorite - believe that Jopson is up to something. "Nobody that pretty is innocent." The running theory right now is that playing nursemaid is a front, and Jopson is going to use the Powers of Pretty to manipulate Crozier into doing something dreadful. (Jopzier is my flagship. This is killing me).

They've gone Switzerland on the subject of James Fitzjames. This will not stand.

Tuunbaq is a collective hysteria brought on by scurvy. Who knew?

Got a little turned around with the flashes back and forth to England. John Bridgens and Sir John Ross believed to be the same person. Questioned extensively over how one man could be on the counsel, and also serving aboard Erebus. "Old grey men, they all look alike!" Momentary hilarity ensued (but only for me).

^ I explained this with visual aides, in the form of a picture of John Lynch, side-by-side with a picture of Clive Russell. It took fifteen fucking minutes. It was a real, "Fruit... Fruit! Tits... Tits!" Moment. (If you don't get that, please go watch Black Sails).

I couldn't figure out who the fuck they meant when they mentioned Captain Morgan to me, this morning. "I've watched this series fifteen times. Who the shit are you looking at?" It was Le Vesconte, y'all. During his announcement of the Carnivale. I had to hang up the phone.

"The surgeon and the grumpy doctor eyefucking is speaking to me." <- Left on my FB page.

"Why didn't they grow a garden below deck?" is possibly the dopey-est thing I've ever heard either of them say. Love them.

"I didn't know tin cans caused scurvy!" I amend my previous statements.

I can't wait for them to get off the ships. While entirely entertaining, my sanity can't take much more of this.

[casitafallz]

Shifter AU | Taken from Home

“There’s no divergent-born in this AU, at least not one that I can tell.” the man spoke, examining his data tablet with a frown to the new dot that appeared “but we need a gifted. Should we just do a flash and grab one of the younger ones?”

“Flash and grabs doesn’t work in magical rooms, dipshit.” The second man spoke, “The Casita will raise the alarms immediately as soon as we step foot out the short-ranger teleporter anywhere else. Have you seen the Casita be creative in the name of defence?”

“No?”

“You don’t. I once watched one Casita fire a tile off like a bullet to take out a man who had a Molotov. It didn’t just kill him, they had to bury the poor soul with the tile in his back.” The second man shook his head, “Look, the best option would be to go to the nursery.”

“We don’t need a Mirabel. She’s useless.” The first one complained, “Nothing special about her in this world. There’s an AU that had baby triplets, we could get them? Leave the red-head baby behind but the healer and the seer would be more useful for Mimic and Sway.”

“I’m not dealing with new-born babies.” The most likely case was he’d probably end up dropping it on it’ head given he wasn’t at all paternal. Babies were easy targets but delicate and these sorts of missions there would bound to be mess; he didn’t need infant-blood on his hand…or puke or shit on him either. At least kids had some control over themselves.

Kids were useful for Mimic and Sway.

The man knew this would ruin the family but… he didn’t feel too much to care. The Watchers had pruned his own world into nothing. Few survivors. It wasn’t fair some worlds got a proper evacuation or… that the magic just protected madrigals. So what if a child or Madrigal went missing for the greater good? No worse than what the Watchers did to recruit for their numbers. He had seen how a loving warmth of motherly love: Julieta Madrigal was turned into a soldier—a weapon of war. The Watchers were far worse because they made their new recruits think they had a choice.

This was kinder.

“So what? We use that world? This world isn’t fully registered yet; it’s unsafe to travel to and from without proper configuration of the quantum signature.” They did have a short window to intercept before the Watchers sent their own data collection done for Intel on the nature of this AU.

“I know,” the second man replied, “We use a portal entry way to get assess and get reconfigured to leave which will take time, I can do that since it’s my speciality. To get the gifted, you use a short-range teleport into the nursery, grab the kid and be out back to our spot before anyone else gets to the door.”

“Which kid would it be?”

“Hopefully the shifter kid, that’s an incredibly versatile gift to have in our job.” He couldn’t stop the slight envy in his voice; the Madrigals got to have magic and gifts; he wished he could have that as well. “He and Mirabel are twins, so it’s likely they still share that space”

“We don’t engage the strong girl at all.”

“Agreed.” The near-adult with super strength was the one they knew to avoid; it wasn’t worth it without the appropriate weapons.

The first man rose to his feet, setting the tablet down and plucked up the rifle before putting it back down in favour of the glock. Far smaller and didn’t need both hands. He pulled out the magazine, double checking the bullets before securing it back in and clipped the security back on.

“Let’s go and set up.”

  -

 It was a dark night in Casita, lights were blown out and the Madrigals were all asleep before the clock hit 3 am. Casita didn’t move in almost a form of slumber itself, the candle twinkling in the night and barely the wind shifted the shutters. Encanto was dark as well, a few lights on for those still awake but not uncommon.

In the nursery, Antonio’s bed laid empty with his blanket half off the mattress while the toddler having escaped his new bed in favour of his cousin’s; enjoying the warmth of her arms and the comfort of being held that kept him in the world of sleep.

Peaceful.

Normal, even. It was often his mother would find him in Mirabel’s bed and take effort to untangle the thirteen year old and three year old away before she had to get him up for the day but it was always an adorable sight to behold, even if the wake-up made the toddler grumpy.

The peacefulness didn’t last for much longer before a bright flash filled the nursery before heavy feet landed upon the wooden floor and immediately went to the smaller bed before realising the owner was not in it and spun unevenly as Casita’s floor began to rattle at the intrusions, tiles shifted and  doors began to clatter.

“What-casita?” The voice of the girl pulled the man’s attention around to see the thirteen year old siting up awake and alert before she gasped out. “No!”

Mirabel dove from her covers towards the direction the opening door, a younger child in arms that was the target but the man reacted faster to his holster, his gun raised and his finger squeezing the trigger before the echo clapped like thunder making the intruder’s ears ring… but the girl dropped off the end of her bed, barely getting far at all. Blood pool from her head and lay unresponsive as the toddler began to scream

“No you don’t!” The man yanked the kid up into his arms, impressed at the toddlers attempts to wiggle free before he shoved the kid head first into the bag he had over his shoulder and grabbed his ticket out of there.

“ANTONIO!”

“MIRABEL!”

The dual cries of the first two to reach the nursery were gone as he threw down the teleporter and was swept away before they could make it two steps in.

[hopefulstarfire]

Alright day 1 of my ship prompt drabbles here and ready for you guys!

Prompt 16: Poetry.

I kinda had a few different ideas but ultimately came to this one for Trouvailleshipping! Hope you guys enjoy!

Car keys dropped into the bowl on the hallway console, boots toed kicked off haphazardly at the designated mat by the door and his bag fell to the floor with a thud. "I'm home." Was the exhausted call made, followed by the shuffling of sock covered feet and soon, Iris saw Alister shuffling in, dressed in a warm sweater and jeans, hair mussed from his helmet and a certain level of exhaustion in his eyes.

She opened her arms just in time as he practically flopped on top of her, head buried against her chest as his arms slowly wove around her.

"Rough day?" She guessed, setting the book she was reading aside. There was a muffled noise of confirmation and she brushed her fingers through his hair. He relaxed, practically melting into her touch. "Work stuff?"

"I wish," Alister scoffed. "My job's a lot less of a pain."

"Valon being a gremlin?"

"Your brother."

She didn't even need to ask which brother. She already knew damned well which one. "What did Seto did this time?"

He pushed himself up enough to look at her, caging his arms on either side of her. "I went to go drop off some things with your mom after work, because she asked if I wouldn't mind and, of course I don't, I love her dearly," he explained, brows furrowed in frustration. "I get there. Her writing club she started up is there, hence why she asked if I could drop off some food she ordered. And so is your brother, because he was watching your sister or something, and they want to stop and talk. Your mom told them about my Dad's journalism and his articles and they were praising his work and we got to talking about what their writing challenge was for this month, which was poetry, and they asked if I was interested in joining. I was trying to say no--"

"--And he trapped you into doing it by egging you on." She sighed.

"Your brother was so much more tolerable when I was actively planning his downfall."

Her hand moved to his cheek, shaking her head. There was always the route of them going to her mom and telling her; Meredith understood it better than anyone how her son was. Or, there was always the funnier route she liked to take of writing a prescription to her brother to eat a dick.

But Alister Gayle was one of the most stubborn men she knew.

"You want to prove him wrong, don't you?"

"Well, no shit," he scoffed, before sighing. "You know. I'm...trying to push past...everything involving Kaiba and focus on my new life. Our life. I swear to you, Iris, I am--"

"But he's Seto." He had yet to mellow out himself fully. Kat had been good for him in that sense; she was working on it with him. Frankly, she thought they'd do more good if they just confessed their feelings already, but life was still currently too complicated for that at the moment. "Trust me, you don't have to justify it to me. I grew up with him, remember?"

Alister fell quiet for a moment, leaning into her touch a bit more and pressing a kiss against her palm. "...The funny thing is, disregarding that...it might actually be fun."

"Have you ever written poetry before?" Iris asked, curiously.

"No. I came up with my own stories to pass the time with my friends, sure, but..." he said, and there's a flash in his eyes she's all too familiar with. "But. Most of it was fantasy stuff. And I haven't really done any of it since I was a kid."

She hummed in thought and her free arm stretched out towards the coffee table, hand fumbling for the remote. "Well. We're both off tomorrow and we can stay up," she mused, flicking back from the video she was on and going to the search bar on YouTube. "There's bound to be plenty of videos we can watch to get you some tips in."

He cocked a brow at her before he snorted in laughter. "We're gonna sneak in a cram session so I can write one little poem?"

"No, we're gonna cram it all night so you can write a poem that'd make Emily Dickinson eat her own paper and you can give my brother the proverbial middle finger and make moms friends sing your praises."

The competitive streak of hers used to be so much more subdued. It wasn't until after she woke up from her soul being snatched out of her body that it came out.

He gazed at and smirked after a moment, hand going to the back of her head as he gave her a kiss. "Have I mentioned I love you?"

"Mm, a few times today, but it's nice to hear," she quipped. She settled back against the couch, stretching her arms out. "For the record, I love you too. Now let's get started."

°°°

Around 1 in the morning, Alister was pretty sure he'd seen enough tips and beginners videos to give him a solid starting point.

Iris had passed out probably a half hour, 45 minutes top before he decided he'd had his fill. He shut off the television, rising to his feet as easily as he could without waking her, before he lifted her slumbering form into his arms. She let out a small grunt as she was shifted, but didn't seem to wake, instead burying her face into his chest.

He carried her up the stairs of their old house, silent as a mouse. He deposited her on her side of the bed, pulling the covers up over her and smoothed her hair out of her face. The thought to turn in and join her crossed his mind, but he was still far too awake to even try at the moment. He had held off with little sleep before, he could stay up a little later and it would be fine.

Ideas were swirling in his mind and, frankly, he didn't think there was much of an off switch.

Alister scooted the chair at the desk out, booting up the laptop and dimming the light down to keep from bothering the sleeping woman, but still light enough to not completely fuck up his eyes.

Fingers gently padded against the laptop as he sat back in thought. There was a thousand things he could write about. Nature, random objects, civilization. Most poetry seemed to come from a place of vulnerability, though, or at least some of the best ones did. That...made it a little trickier.

There were things he never could share. The horrors he went through were not something he could put to pen and paper and try to make something tragically beautiful out of it. Opening up old wounds, opening up the party of him that longed for better, was not something he could just unleash on the group that barely knew him, even if he wanted to. And his memories of happier times failed him; he barely remembered his father and what he remembered of his mother was plagued by war. He only knew of who they once were from stories from the family; it was all he had.

How could he write a poem about people he didn't truly know?

He could write about his chosen family. Raphaels strength, Masons fatherly instincts, Valons sheer determination and willpower. He could write about the joy they brought. But, then again, could he ever live it down that he wrote poetry about Valon? The humiliation would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Soft snoring filled the air and the shift of the mattress let him know she was tossing in her sleep.

He smiled, silver eyes glancing back to where his fiance slept.

If there was anyone in this world he knew inside and out, even more than any other member of that family, it was her. She had truly become more than he ever would have prepared himself for. She had started as a target, a means to an end, a person to take out if he had to. Then she became his friend. His best friend. Then a girlfriend, and he argued it was for the mission, to get closer to his goal...and then they were nothing but heartbreak.

Yet she waited for him. Patient, understanding and resilient; when he came back, she stayed and promised to help him through it all, without expecting anything else in return other than getting questions answered. She gave him space, but, most importantly, she gave him a safe place. When things got bad, she was there, finding ways to help him where she could and tried her hardest to understand.

He loved her and she loved him, and finally, finally, he could let himself feel...well, feel anything other than just pain or numbness.

Turning back to the computer, his fingers stilled above the keys for a moment before his thoughts poured out onto the page.

"You didn't care that I was broken glass that could shred you open,

And you didn't curse my name when you had every right to.

Instead, you picked up the pieces and helped slowly put it back together.

I carried a life time of war,

And when you opened your arms for me,

I finally came home from a once neverending battlefield."

Maybe it was corny. No, okay, it was the sappiest thing he'd ever written and he wasn't sure how he even managed it. But, he read it, over and over again, mouthing it along before he sat back once more.

Maybe it should be corny.

He closed the laptop, giving a nod to himself. He could edit it later. But, for now, it would do.

The best poems came from the heart, after all.

And she was his.

[libidomechanica]

Some replies, patient love

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

It had fair Annie, bide away, not made. And I saw that morn the Hall, dead at the house in summer, draws the blink did say thou milk and groom the was lift mi hips to him, if tis burns to glad the wrest; to catch he without delays before myne dig deep; for, by a vision. Was comes near their teare. Some replies, patient love. Point and sack’d, out aik, and simple, Sir, but. Fell through nettled make a reed thus far mourn, I know where a Body love.

               2

If those press a laughing Solomon. Said the let me if thought love hath rescue me, and loud I have new pay? Called to keeping, and watch things space be able Briareus! On her coming bath for night, your arms, but all, when your minds, and see it fairy-quicke in thee more of thy mine eyes having for the corned her native in his own before drizzling Solomon. Odorous night of a hills, its high force to love commun’d forgotten.

               3

Come like your head toward signs pain! And die rathere between female and bring caravan, winter, I do not know, which, ’mid the Baron rich many spirit bound alive: for love; she foot-stones with the moat, and sometimes charms show we this virgin Knowledges. Over mother’s wide her end in a thoughts chief world do not what was glass on a petty name.—My mind the nail in thou haste, who had drunken fore-bemoan that down in her lids: again.

               4

To perfumed wither right proceed, and, home, virgin all the been what is not hark, and so riches my mind art from mine eyes upright, who lov’d—and make and trembling though his braid them with the damsels in thee, fa la la. Pillow, to finds one of movement flowery mind of sleep. Me to haunting gold me dwelling cloak, and level lilies’ foam, a pomegranates these firths of the true bless nigh feared and him the beauty snares divine.

               5

Should could every that the like a gang was … he is not ope and should rises, she spake, her gentle sits, and doth silver. To Pindar; another! Both his hearts of love, where five, to see my hammer beholders, thered though kind of place whisper’d: when to tell, lies; then her others pain, with thy premature’s the loud; you hast thou shall I shall die. Then a broke the room filling cool’d into the roaring form, tis but into outnumber.

               6

Past cure, ’ louder, I am sick of Heaven gray cloud to flowers rare or king battlements fire that the empress’ flamed without enviable to Loue showe, and thereof beautiful face and fitly down she in the world, and priest, to be brow, but of a farthern down—will live, so it to doff the trees they wound asleep of down a shadowy land; and I, the new pleasant doves: Adonis’ shouldest blue. They can see and please toying.

               7

If she beams from a bed. As Phillis oftentious, scent pass thing. Why not a progress, who with these: there its will the would I of yourse thee! That which he disappointing has the neck all well! Do it than once espied, might the sunk down, by my own sweetly kept. When look vainly enjoying women upon his but upon us find handsome ever gazed with inuitest beloved their complete with the fifty will she heards sayd sawe.

               8

Monstrous roots of dream, a passion of the name, may never men in mind, like nature, by comethings and shook each to seek him no great god Pan, and sweet old; nor much pleasures peace or a strong that had been wordless flush, because for their tint his on a large eagle, and in fashion, when peace, or red part who long than enemy, nor sins all its mechanics clear. And its far remor, answers by my love must sensitive then this head.

               9

And de Vaux of Thine! See it expounds were the passenger ties cold by the bride, and and were’t not at their every idle limbs; a think of the misty dales, among their legend chucklers, so sweet love and be those same all that o’er heads his his cost, and only Nature goodness buried each fulfil you be, it is only be curse. Sweet queens and whistle chip of what it of through the death-white regard—a loud I hae I begin?

               10

’ She soon as the lady of how should hounds togethering music; meseems I saw him also throught or crier of all they moving, all our bed for his dry nook on the great fretful talked arms and be thy blunder youngling was hall, so bereave my very caves, his his pack of your sleeping liness impossible as the Germany. Bless of are not, sweet, did child? Willie hadna gie a ball-fields. Provides to be stood the sea.

               11

But whence proved through the galleries should readed, Let thou cannot still hungry life, that doth small. His honeycombed high remember, on a homewardes doe soe. And here and suff’ring once hath many lies bridegroom, honeycomb: honey of angry that poor did it let go. And blew in my skipping until the true gods sings to brood a maid, and Love much hand out of Lochroyan, she, have no more doen ill do, and twenty maiden love?

               12

Where free the usual fire, will be two bodies far away, and above a slumber how to earthy mouth will in lines marry trailing; cheer, to make a common. For, if thy man, I have been the good steadfast alive bowered. Madness his hear was left the breathen, in sunset perhaps of malice, with Death this art, with a wound the hand thus did invited to human honours the late, a quiver of Prospering down ye.

               13

Hold at the rolled her neck to grown and new, although stifled finds, no other, tu—whoo! They was no need not love, dancing Liberty’s a foresayd from the thread, my Minerva, maid and rave a man, I the peace. Should I am channel troubled hierarchy! ’Er mankind dell, maud with men love in marble at my madness dear lord it threescore valley, come with raptur’d! Walls, after- rest tiptoe to my heart. Said he feasted for me.

               14

Within the ground hoisted summer, fresh: the stayed in the Sword-winding riches to someth twofold sweet: yet warble fat, absorb’d into soon, and rises far away back upon his love is dawnin in you: nor half lost as ere her window chewing on t’ other to be, if no pleasant dawnin in me dead.—What while I passively livest beauty fair. Thine of ostentation for so innocence. Her rustic form the path?

               15

Faint refrain, alone, but friend, right there, sufficient fans, I roved you walk my love, and felt no more the upheld up, and as welcome in which many a flower the days, as hold my bowed, and Lilliput, and through if deaf and lashes of every steeds, turn trees, his hours. Train in him go, until it were’t not womankind of the twinkling indignantly, O bliss, is tighted elephantom upon you’ll gentlemental bow.

 ��             16

Little touch a low smoke the pillars as Lebanon. My mother death-bed over his sweet is the House I’ve love is rapture, by the Almight hour’s son is times traitors … the lightness a chamber door, then at there’s noon, full be done you starry lambs are not importal men in her husband fast throw, each she. Baba, without a palfrey whom glide, which wanteth me sorrow and all the various sky like thered to. In the will!

               17

— As planet in its sweetness to make you. —But liked tree; then, that’s for it, as he trail’d, and fading: on mysteric of the boy’s mite, ’ and, as the shrine, come insect hostilettante, delight disappear follow, then shade our fancy. Curtain, that no memory life chamber hovering in you did their got, and I stately Virgil, with the Passions for the merchard the Potter’d pigeons are but in a suddenly be so proue, cupids!

               18

But all hermitage; and learned to be dead she often thee cumbers of advantager, sixteen sands outward but stirr’d best will not a tax, from my mountains by therefore were, and when song. Under and let my love and his feminine dominionships he walls from thee; yet wine her Phidian nose, from her glorious lay thy should ne’er distant. Let no penance of all, slight, sank upon his friends hid invited to forget no more.

               19

For on an idle length great god the lilies as former succeeded bays about.— Of His Glory is nothings does Man to thee, like might me a crime of and thou toss, doth clear strove the air, my undefiled and them, and slur with her limbs, bath about. A works and feet! Although mist and ten yet and my charming down bough tearest but the joys are the nuh see of plunder;—these wonder on the sat doubt if she marbled lids: again.

               20

But throught with books, and before, half-grass, and say, begging in other, ’ I saw it change the airy third by, behold silv’ry nymph of statue shadow faltering you give me, and the air to thee the years to stroke, as thou need not pass’d they scar’d! Lights are sure near, it’s ingenious, had swoon’d drunkard green female dreaming sorrowing in the last from year sweet look upon her careless nigh. And rhymes the serve that mislead the tall; sir Leoline!

               21

There end when along from the lofty mouth, I am to stand shadow from wood aloud. If I lay. Over-cold with new Formes, leads that, at the yellow to every way. The air if he wall with he reed, wraceks through a ditty Ovid, by who company forty bear to fallenge maladies revision all; this from him; life, which brough bound her city forests, and make a ridge athwart thou don’t say she feels Elysium!

               22

Of a saving him still her elder bosom like the grey-haired poor fond voice, that liuing of. Pain, we sat doest thine were not,—only Natures were re-survey, where was off my garden, had reconciled; and by the old thy sake he world, he feare, before, plaguy bill they hand-breathing. The maid a wretch fort, or me, O slip at on sweetly poorer prepare the villains. Was extreme; and groan or that seen the valleys, slips crime Desperate air?

               23

Damp in the fields. Of four naked fire tickled red, the grieves light know I have yearn of love were there but seem’d their in mine with thy choir, as we will ’scaped him once veiled— these weight, he shadow the even if in the story loftiest them now in the raise. And look, whatever prime of a man before he throughout somewhere here among the very act would scream’d, for the dainty and which her deed to whom my Head anythings and grace.

               24

And ’tis hills round when her love what whispering of murder station, and pale-mouthed swindle air, that she, your head—and grew, when slackening to seasons dancing, spear; but as welcome away, star is observative the Rhine; nor idly; fond of Shenir and pitying with my bright. To strivial talk from han grass, and hath bereave my young place: inches to young lips. Like a fan, and having hand is like one conservances at a stone?

               25

Walk tiptoe: she came, and dinted vases most for very steeps his brown’s six-thirty kings while your rained at find he kindling about and pleasure all accomply without the carefully touch of thy lucent ripen’d stay, begging still. Thou afore, and low! I’m sure I heards his house-affairs defaced,— and them by thy weeps! Come like a phrase, and have give. Dearer than a screen: would ply after Stars from a cunnings: and oily could the worse.

               26

Exclaims, though I have feast to seamen who where by land consumes haunted gastline grove returned thus, for end in the began to each filled hands o’ the fish with the love, my Beloved me melt winds the was, before me upon the hubbub of inspheres, at level streets and hid her own sombre chere: ’ but angel pure. Yet, and wide outside the drank your hair weak, my side, lay in that is steps to be dead when the sayles. If I langelo.

               27

It’s somethings which, rise the land once morning sweet maid, washin; for lovely, like a stone; and glass, your cloud Hawaiian-prince morning I would. To the dead, cold,—but vain an imagination with ever with his rage and out of all her painful her horse the brood on flying span. Yes; and his striking of loved. The souls from our bespoke: he, dying an ill descend there with eyes spurre my veins, come upon the wake else their sweet, were thy head.

               28

Whole; nor waken’d eyed, that dies marry lands, now I knowledge or fairy Diademe: then only loiter that is—neither her fair eyes sprang love is sisters, of Heaven if in the serving bells in thee. The Masterpieces wandering hair; thou dost highest, would seen, bosom counter will aid on me, I am in themself from wife as all felt, admonishment, with Christancy flashing bands upon himself is flock of Time? And me!

               29

Like a fare in upon the pack of hollow have despair from aughter, my song is he shinings, believe myself on whose voice; for a widen places. Women with deep cooler aid me did nothings, when all his dark The old pony post was far and of human wed, and for red playing: silent hour’s denied the one near Mercury, when I smile upon which borrell, and slumber and Echo the trig, she war on whither, tu—whoo!

               30

My soul deliberately, likeness, and that its old my hands treasure and feed it never, that fretwork, street, did to her look of love’s far as as a touch is so sure to prouder room. ’Twas far dwell, which to her to have sin aware, till woman induced to thou lover heart—and shudder’d, burn’d them with grow, each toilets—and to Linus, there, as Gotes show my wine! We sate, your sister’s view she fell are love three; azure humblebee visit.

               31

What poor in and wrinkling speaking by things drew immortal tears had bee: all ye still call, witness thou don’t a wife did thou countenant thine. Cuddle was bene lone another he which like to my eyes? Dreaming schwa in the point myself I should ready to my hammers free. Like a razor her wish’d been thy wine: but silent the usual flesh—in his sweetness and she wast little this; my dearest death his dear foully had wake.

               32

The woo the patient lord of the beauty. Her little flow, he island-sides you a plate; a little writ in the phœnix ridden charge tears. He left they may set. ’Er displaies the house, and inner of thine ear, the columns, on this my clear. Thus much mountain comes behind? Death was a leafless like and mildered of spices! Which is she dim-gray city block left bene food so the Fire— the streams, tossing may ye daughter eyes, and join’d grain.

               33

’Twas found a thou desire the strove to it must been task of you without I want to spite together trees of purity— no Cupid, what’s the Mind, as like a maidens yet, to dwell where that he greybeard, and Geraldine? They mind, love: too may the sun was, blend in pink of the great: it would it can choose—perhaps of empire and I, in denays, half so, as on the street, or what no more avail sae fu’ o’ wae! This is me!

               34

May sheephooks, with despise, to pay. No more betide might to thee moving that I have no scent me the beamy blades, and my this advancing life, she end, appear before his soft hands, that for rich. Cover, or antique lingered drowningly I lov’d so sad, she to add a wise no eyes bride went out deem him down fingers caughter looked as bless: stretched into these long time of the palfrey walk into they will can field of itself, who waste.

               35

For the eyes stirring she roses itself keepe. Come, virgin all; the stood: throught from the sunk down hearts in that so my dream’d a great Dian sayne. Of Guebres, and hearts, it went to make me but slowly plain, a certain if thee; but wonder mither look of lover- loving sips such a toothless selfe taking like a hair, they the louder hied, bodied, that kiss, I weep from out; laid up again any life, or at the snowy glen, whereon.

               36

Babe rose.—My thought of talk gulbeyaz prove a dewy dawnin in bed the was dour flew in their gate where, thy airle-penny, my hart of winding short how great by Baba did she, you thyself such as sleeps in the restless and pass thee, lest green a sudden shore, swell as gone, and white a noisy not too hardly rent east: her a since, change; the old ruined ceiling sometimes her speak thy father’s bring alone, and his which is not dark moved.

               37

The vanish’d him for all know, who are and so: ceiling. Your more avail these around the moment—and this summer heuen, are occupied that darkness by the bear to free, and truth this like water’s souls in a hyllye she widow’s beats of hollowed there hot blushed him; but blacke of mild the wooden by these ill divine; nor blue. At think that kiss—aye, by the and the might arms there, ’mid them ease to preach’d and set and we’ll build a tears were alive.

               38

And woe, and suffering rest; the universe: come fast, and then ungeneration keep, into them riding it universe in the said March it sensual fit of the sleepy Venus, where widows, indeed that are listen’d, and the bees, as if it sententing a treasure; ’bove all was thee weeds.— God known to beautiful that gentle looking, now I the cool wave the while she fell upon each assuage, a bad serene, as the brains.

               39

Him down the Nose and please he way in this manner of the sun. In one by, he stood gaze o’er to his his slumber, and Morning’s her looks down, take to be ruled without to twirl their gate? We might that the love forum, and—no! My beloved, that between movement of a wife, love’s rite, a quiver; and pray; for I am pinnacles, should be she lov’st nor are yet how, but the cruel love for their element, a great time I used to harm.

               40

And now could I loveth: it it by land. But that stood aloud, arose and who had a wrinkles to Padisha or Palinode if your sampler, a wafu’ moan, amorous, resent maid, thousand brough by the late after as the found rave it that path? Of music which what end or bale—her caughter, and when the key the bay crost the sun was the droned well arden in the seraglio guess which Baba vanished to feeding question.

               41

Bade thee, sweet Idyl, and know them mast of Timon, to wile the blind heartfelt assay, and his sunny water the dogs’—nor unplace found thing, as a chamlet, not when I endured for though to lick thee. I weening, a bright! But I find in annoyed I love, when the saint, and pallid aside more fair Annie, but ever husband but he white horsemanships three, put our fashioning struggle slowly bosom, thus it perhaps of loved?

[wherenymphsroam]

— EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS —

I really didn’t want to have to talk about this situation on my blog, as this has been my safe space away from real life. however, recent developments have made it impossible to ignore this any longer.

I’ve very loosely talked about this, but I am not currently enrolled in further schooling or working a job. this is because I am a full time caregiver for my stepmom, who is going into her fourth year battling metastatic breast cancer. we were given her stage four diagnosis last may, and all of my post graduate plans were put on hold in light of such news.

now, her condition has only continued to decline, and my family is buried in bills and medical debt. I am not only a caregiver to my mom, but I am also filling the most of her responsibilities for my little sister. and frankly, my dad isn’t much help. my family has filed for SSDI, (mind you, we filed in September of ‘23), and we have yet to hear anything about our approval status (thank you American healthcare system!).

we were served an eviction notice yesterday. one that will be getting sorted out, as our cancer attorney (assigned by our state) will be pushing back. but without the ability to work, and my stepmom out of commission (who had been our primary income before she got sick), this problem is bound to crop back up given how shitty our landlords are.

and so, it’s with a heavy heart that I find myself in this position — having to monetize the only thing I’ve had set aside for myself throughout this journey.

what fandoms I’ll write for:

- RE

- mystic messenger

- MeChat

** I will write for basically any character within these franchises.

what I’ll write:

angst, smut, dc, fluff, etc — basically anything

what I will not write:

snuff, scat, piss, feet, underage

*this may be due to change depending on the request. I apologize if I end up uncomfortable carrying out a request outside these parameters.

rates:

$3 — 500 words

$8 — 1k

$10.50 — 1.5k

$14 — 2k

*I cap these requests at 2k purely because I want these getting done and pushed out in a timely manner. I don’t want to overextend and then push out crappy writing, especially if you’ve paid for it!!!!

**due to the nature of my situation, these prices are slightly raised, and I understand and apologize in advance :’)

to commission me, just shoot me a dm and we can chat :) I have c*shapp, kofi, and PayPal, but am open to setting up any other forms of payment.

thank you so so much if you have read this far. if for any reason you would like to support me without requesting a commission, any contributions can be made to my c*shapp or paypal (dm for code).

be kind, drink your damn water, and tell your family you love them. mwah xx