#your options are be genuine or lie down in a stupor

[gideonisms]

So let's say you've been procrastinating on an assignment for a week, it was due a while ago, prof accepts late assignments but you've hit a total brick wall and have tried

the power of that last minute adrenaline rush (doesn't work anymore, there are worse things than failing a class)

setting a timer for 20 min increments (managed a total of 20 minutes on the project 💀)

Promising yourself rewards (not working because not watching anything is better than doing the assignment)

Taking breaks instead and coming back to it (just doesn't happen)

sheer willpower. Just do it (again, happened for 20 minutes)

writing each tiny specific step I need to accomplish (didn't make it more bearable)

going to different locations

guilt

annoyance

frustration

What is the next step. Like what else can I even try

[cixteenyne]

Gone For good (2 - Aftermath)

I’m happy this was actually liked! enjoy!

Genre: Angst, Hurt-No Comfort

Prompt: Cheating (continued) Part 1

CELESTIA WELCOMES YOU, DIVINE ONE

It was the type of shock of putting hours of dedication into an exam, just to fail. Nmh, this must be how Noelle felt, yes? 

Well it was fucking unbearable.

 For him, he didn't know how you were holding up. You avoided him at all costs, his cockiness told him that you'd break down at the sight of him, hating that you still loved him. It wasn't true, but he still kept hope.

When he found out you weren't coming back, he quickly put together as to why. It was Keaya after all. Ever the cunning. He didn't know you were still in Mondstat, thought you escaped him through Liyue, or the infamous Inazuma. The tavern became his best friend, but oddly enough, Diluc became scarce. He never spoke a word to Diluc, entering. Drinking. Spacing. Leaving. But never a word, a glance. Nothing, but he would act as if nothing happened if confronted.

He always acted as if nothing happened, as if he didn't just shatter your self esteem, your heart, what you thought were genuine ‘i love you’s. It enraged you. The type of rage of knowing that acceptance just wasn't an option any more, screaming your lungs out sounded better.

So that's what you did. You did it all the time, if your voice got meek from yelling, you'd wait it out, let it heal, and do it all again.

He would probably get so much sick ‘revenge’ out of knowing how much he was getting to you, that the thought of him could cause you to wear yourself out. So his earlier thought wasn't much of a lie, you would break at the sight of him, but not quite in sadness.

You woke up at the same time every night. 4:30AM. The time he would slip into bed, soundless. Cunning. Donning that coy smile he knew you would forgive. How agonizing.

It was because of this that walks became the norm for you. You'd get up. 4:30. Coat. house key. Shoes. Walk. repeat.

It helped, it really did. You'd say hi to vendors setting up shop in the race to set up early. You enjoyed it, it made you happy. Something you couldn't be ever since he did what he did.

Another stranger, wave.

 Blue eyed woman, wave. 

Blondie, nod. 

Sister Victoria, be respectful, nod, wave, fix that posture.

You'd always end up in the pathed woods, 5:44. A cycle. 

Walk. walk faster. Stranger, smile. 

You made a mistake, apologize. 

“Sorry, i wasn't looki-” 

“(name)”.

You felt that same frustration build up in your chest. It felt constricting. Uncomfortable. Really, it did.

You kept walking, walking, he just followed, followed. That stupid serene look on his face, that stupid “were friends” look. You weren't friends, far from it, you couldn't stand his voice, so you ignored him. Couldn't bear to see his face, that smile, so you kept your eyes on the ground.

Until he wouldn't allow it anymore. 

You were pretty much a long way from Mondstat by now. You knew that. 6:21. You didn't care. You just wanted him to go away. You haven't said a word to him since you bumped into him, couldn't he just take the hint,

 What's wrong with him? 

Why does he think he can just waltz into your life again?! 

JUST WHAT WAS HE TRYING TO PU-

“What's got you so worked up”

What.

What?

The question hit you like a brick wall, a smooth surface you couldn't grab or climb over, the frustration bubbled to your throat, 

it felt like hot metal stuck in your throat, but not hot enough to hurt, just enough to make you angrier

You didn't realize in your stupor that you asked that out loud.

So you continued just as he tried to.

“Wel-” 

“What’s-.got me work up?” you asked in an incredulous tone, genuinely stupefied.

“Are you fucking stupid?”

A silent lingered, tense and wary.

He looked at you, such a stupid unaffected look on his face.

“No, I'm not, i was just asking, because i ca-”

You didn't let him finish, he didn't deserve to finish that fucking sentence, he didn't deserve to just stroll up to you as if nothing was wrong.

“Don't fucking finish that sentence you absolute asshole, you don't get to say that you fucking care, you don't! You never did, if you cared so much about what happened to me, we'd still be together prick!” You were out of breath, breathing with so much anger, you didn't grieve anymore. you wouldn't. He didn't deserve your sadness, not even your anger, but you needed this, you couldn't afford to care right now.

He seemed startled, as if he hadn’t expected what you said, as if he expected you to cry and beg him not to do it again. Give him another chance, though, a part of him didn't want the chance, he knew he didn't deserve you. He knew. He just didn't want to admit he had lost you.

But at some point his attention was snapped to you as you began to hiss out with such hate he didn't know you were capable of.

“Or would you still be fucking donna like she's your wife?” You said it as if he were a guilty criminal, which in a sense, he was, he absolutely was. But he also had to think.

Would he?

When he was dating you he had a mindset of ‘knowing he would not get caught”...’wrapped around his finger’, so, if that dating were still going on….- he was frozen as he admitted to himself that-

He would.

You seemed to register his silence as a yes, and no matter how much you hated him, you knew there was a time where his love was real, so genuine, so pure. So wanting.

You hadn't even noticed you began to cry, no sounds, just tears, anger, and realization

The realization that you just weren't ok with letting him go, but hated him to the very core. How could you let go of so many memories, even if for him it was just pretend, for you it was real, so real that you let it get bad, so real that you would sit and let him play house with you for a little longer. And it was a time too long, because now look where you are.

He had hugged you some seconds ago, you wanted to pull away, but you needed this just as much, even if he knew he could never have you again, he could at least have this, this is the least he could have before you left him, forever to be someone else's. gone.

Gone for good.

[1kook]

card swiped (4)

→ jeon jungkook x (f) reader

→ “I’ve known Jungkook was a virgin since he first tried to tell me he wasn’t,” you tell him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows.” GENRE romance (romcom?), eventual smut, teensy angst WARNING mentions of a hand job, talk of virginity OTHER college crushes, volleyball player!jk, student council president!oc, idiots to lovers, besties to lovers, childhood friends au RATING m (18+) bc brief sex ment WC 1.6k

NOTES (!) sorry for taking so long to update </3 school be kicking my ass. anyway here they are! an idiot couple. lmk what u think!!

[ masterlist ] 

In the past, whenever something had bothered you, the first person you ran to was Jungkook. Low grades, fights with your parents, boy drama— as your best friend and number one confidant, Jungkook was always your first choice. He was always willing to lend you a shoulder to cry on, even if that meant staining his white t-shirts with streaks of your mascara. He was always ready to go beat up a mean boy who had hurt your feelings during lunch, even if he’d miss his favorite special. And he was always down for some good old fashion i hate my parents ranting, even if he adored your parents. He was a great listener, an even better best friend, and had rightfully won you over from a very young age. 

That being said, how were you supposed to talk to Jungkook about something that bothered you when that something was him? 

You could easily tell any of your numerous girl friends, those of which would probably understand your predicament better than Jungkook or any man ever could. But after years of vehemently denying any notion of a romantic relationship between the two of you, you get the feeling your call for help will be met with more unimpressed glares than actual assistance. Besides, as much as you bring up Jungkook, none of them really know Jungkook to truly offer you any worthwhile advice. 

Your next option: Kim Taehyung. Now, Kim Taehyung held a similar background as Jungkook (translation: he also went to the same high school as you). He knows both you and Jungkook—frankly, more than you’d like him to—so he would be able to dissect the issue easily and offer trustworthy advice. The problem with Kim Taehyung, however, is that aside from knowing you at your embarrassingly dorky teenage prime, he doesn’t know how to keep a secret. Anything he knows, Jungkook knows. So if you were to, hypothetically, ask Taehyung for advice on Jungkook, well. Chances are, you’d probably get a rather confused text from Jungkook two minutes later. 

Which leaves you with one option— Park Jimin. There’s a reason Park Jimin isn’t your first option, and that reason presents itself now as you glare at him from across the empty room. For as long as you’ve been in university, Jimin has always lingered around the student council meetings, giving everyone he sees the prettiest, meanest stink-eye. You suspect it’s because he waits around for Min Yoongi, your Vice President (which isn’t an issue; Jungkook also frequents student council meetings while waiting for you), and doesn’t really care for anyone else. Your problem with Jimin doesn’t lie there but rather with the fact he’s adamant on taking up space and not lending so much as a finger to help. 

Today he is sitting with his feet on the table, dirty volleyball bag tossed on the floor. He’s watched you for the last fifteen minutes wrestle with the broken copy machine and hasn’t said a word since. He pretends he doesn’t see you struggling, because if he does, he’d be obligated to help you. 

To summarize, Park Jimin may be the fastest libero your university’s volleyball team has seen in years, but he’s a good-for-nothing bum everywhere else. 

And despite all that, he’s your best choice. There’s no one quite as blunt and honest as Park Jimin. There’s no one in this world who truly doesn’t care enough about anyone’s problems to gossip about them as Park Jimin. You plop down beside him, rumpled papers in hand. Without warning, you jump straight into it. “Jungkook is going to take my virginity,” you announce, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. If any of your fellow student council members heard you, you’re certain you’d shrivel up and die. 

Jimin hums. “That’s nice.” His eyes don’t leave his phone, thumb hovering over his screen. It’s a testament to how much he truly does not care. His extended silence plants a seed of doubt in you— was this the right person to tell? you begin to worry. But after a beat, Jimin’s thumb taps against his screen and he says, “Jungkook is a virgin.” 

You clench your jaw. “I know.” 

The thing about Jimin is, with the right wording, you can get him interested in something. Not interested enough to genuinely care, but interested enough to at least listen and offer his own piece of straightforward advice. His thumb comes to a standstill over his phone, eyes momentarily going blank. It’s a minute gesture, one that’s taken you four years of paying attention to catch. Just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. “Really,” Jimin sighs, back to, you now realize, playing CandyCrush on his phone. “You’re gonna let a virgin take your virginity.”

Not a question, but you nod anyway. “Yup.” 

There’s sweat building on the back of your neck, nerves at an all time high, but you’re trying to play it off. Just a little bit more and you know you’ll have caught him. Beside you, Jimin’s jaw twitches. 

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of trying to act calm, Jimin clicks his phone off and turns to you. He’s as intimidating as ever, ash blonde hair pushed back today to reveal his forehead and dark eyes. “You’ve known Jungkook was a virgin this whole time?” he asks, has this calculating look in his eyes that makes you feel like you’re being questioned by an officer of the law and not the shortest person on the volleyball team. 

With a practiced air of nonchalance, you shrug. “I have,” you confess, and it’s the truth. 

While you may have been initially fooled that night two years ago, you weren’t that oblivious. Oh, you knew clear as day that Jeon Jungkook was still a virgin, just as well as you knew that he religiously washed his sheets every weekend or that he had a specific color coded system for his underwear drawer. Jungkook was a fool to try and lie to you, not only because you had found out, but because you had found out that very next morning. 

It had been subtle. The night at the party, you had watched on with a throbbing heartache as some pretty girl led Jungkook up a set of stairs, had barely fought off a wave of emotion when he returned twenty minutes later, his hair a rumpled mess. “Did you… ?” you had mumbled, pressed closely against him by the back door. Your eyes had been glassy, from your emotions and from the drunken stupor you had gotten yourself into while he was away, wondering what he was doing. A sense of jealousy you would never admit to had curled around your heart. His hand had landed on your hip then. He smelled like flowers and vanilla, a smell unlike his own. Your heart clenched, hand mindlessly reaching up to cup his jaw, so drunk and heartbroken, you couldn’t stop yourself from trailing your fingers along his pretty cheekbones. 

Jungkook had graced you with a simple nod, and then, “do you wanna leave now?” 

You’d left, stumbling down Greek road on your way back to his dorm. Jungkook had held your hand the whole way, tucked you into his twin bed, and then promptly knocked out on the floor between his and Taehyung’s beds. The latter was nowhere to be found, wouldn’t appear until the next morning when he’d accidentally step on Jungkook’s ankle and wake both of you up. 

Jungkook had yelped, and your eyes had fluttered open. You remember debating rolling over, checking on him like you wanted to, but Taehyung was already there doing just that. So you had laid still instead, listened as the two boys clattered around the room. They chatted mindlessly, about the party and tomorrow’s practice. Taehyung had been bragging about some girl he’d slept with last night. “What about you?” he had asked, and your breath caught in your throat. “Did you and…”—a pause, the distinct ruffle of fabric—“finally?” 

“What— no,” Jungkook had said, and you felt the bed dip as he sat down on the edge beside you.

Taehyung pushed on with a snort. “Well, did you get lucky at all?”

Jungkook groaned, placed one warm hand on your back soothingly. You tried your best to level out your breathing, relaxed your facial expression as you clung to the sound of his voice. “Just a handjob. Some girl I didn’t even know. Does that count?” You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, felt it beneath your fingertips when you fisted the sheets. 

And that curt admission sat in the back of your mind everyday for two years. 

You turn to Jimin. “I’ve known Jungkook was a virgin since he first tried to tell me he wasn’t,” you tell him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m pretty sure everyone knows.”

Jimin lets out a low whistle. “You’re smarter than I thought,” he grins, this conniving little smile that is a genuine cause for concern. “So you’re letting him think you don’t know?” You nod. Jimin’s smile grows. “My, my. If I had known you were this evil, maybe we would’ve hung out more.” 

You roll your eyes. “I’m not evil,” you insist, flicking him on the nose. Jimin huffs indignantly. “I think what he’s doing is sweet…” you confess, feel your entire body heat up as you recall that wide-eyed look Jungkook had given you just yesterday afternoon, your kiss print fresh on his cheek. “And, well,” you look down at your shoes. “I used to dream about him being my first.” 

Jimin groans. “You two make me sick.”

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[astaroth1357]

"Hi kinda new. I don't know if this is where requests go, but if you haven't done it yet can I request an MC sneaking into the boys beds?" ~irenethehotdog

The MC Sneaks Into the Brothers' Beds While They're Asleep

@irenethehotdog don’t worry, I found ya anyway. 😁 Sooo there was a kind of tender way I could have played this… but then there was a funny way. I hope you're alright that I went with the funny way. 😅 I got two bed requests that are kind of similar-ish but how I’m interpreting them makes them just different enough to warrant two different asks. Here's the first one!

Check out my Masterlist for more!

Warning: Comical nudity? Is that NSFW-ish?

Intro:

Sometimes everybody needs a little comfort, especially in the middle of the night. Any number of things could have drawn the MC out of their bed: bad dreams, nagging thoughts, just general fear of the darkness of Hell that surrounded them, but they decided to try to soothe their unease with the company of their demonic housemates! Wonder how that turned out for them..?

Lucifer

I mean, if you’re feeling a little alone at night, maybe a little scared, it would only be natural to want to seek solace with the strongest person in the nearest vicinity, right? ...Right?

To say it was maybe ill-advised to just climb into bed with Lucifer would be an understatement… Frankly, if the enchantments he had on his door weren’t specifically meant for Mammon then they might have ended up in a very compromised position. But somehow, they managed to infiltrate the demon’s private sanctuary and get right up to his bed.

Now, Lucifer is not a heavy sleeper. Not at all. He’s grown pretty accustomed to waking up at all hours of the night because of his brother’s antics, so he felt the shifting weight on his mattress almost instantly.

They probably weren’t expecting him to suddenly jerk upright and spin towards them, fireball in hand ready to lob at their face... but that’s what they got.

After realizing that it was just the human and not Mammon coming in to take his stuff again, he made them sit down in front of his fireplace while he gave them a looong lecture about personal boundaries and how it’s really not smart to sneak up on demons like that… 

But he was still sympathetic to their sleep-deprived state so he offered them some tea and Devildom sleep remedies in hopes of getting them back to bed. ...Just not his. Back to your bed with you, MC.

Mammon

Mammon was their “babysitter.” Their protector. Their guardian. So why wouldn’t they want to go to him on a difficult night?

Getting into Mammon’s bed was hardly a challenge, sure they had to tiptoe through the garbage heap that made up his bedroom floor but it wasn’t Mission Impossible or anything…

What did catch them off guard was just how… not clothed he felt after they slid in under his covers. Like, pretty much wearing nothing at all. Not even a pair of courtesy boxers. 😓

It was their squeal as they flung themselves out of the bed that actually woke Mammon up. They had him ripping the covers off, ready to leap into action and everything, which definitely didn’t help matters. (Or maybe it did, depending on your point of view 🤷‍♀️).

Both parties pretty much turned into a cursing/blushing mess as he shot them embarrassed, rapid-fire questions while desperately trying to pull on some sweats. Meanwhile the MC stayed plastered up against the wall of his bedroom, answering him in equally defensive shouts.

Eventually, their fuss woke up Lucifer who was quick to send both of them back to their respective beds. The House teased them mercilessly for weeks… How were they supposed to know Mammon slept naked??

Leviathan

Levi might be a… strange choice for bedmate at first glance (he doesn’t really even sleep in bed, but a tub hardly meant for two people). However, there’s a certain level of approachability to him, isn’t there? Considering his own struggles with anxiety, maybe they thought he could relate…?

They tried knocking on his door first, thinking he might have been gaming, but there was no answer. When they walked in and found the otaku actually asleep for once, it seemed like their wishes might have actually been granted!

...But then came the actual trouble of trying to get into bed with Levi to start with. There wasn’t really an easy way to squeeze their body in past his because the tub was so dang narrow…

Any rational person might have just given up on the venture, but not MC. Whatever's possessed them to want to sleep with this awkward shut-in has a pretty good hold on them yet.

Lack of sleep might have been what gave them the bright idea to just try and lay on top of Levi veeerrry sooooftlllly…. Which is how the poor demon woke up to them halfway straddling his waist in the middle of the night.

His remarkably high-pitched scream woke up the whole dang House and the sheer amount of force he used when trying to jerk out of the tub toppled it over… Even after many apologies (and a trip to go buy a new tub), Levi still double locks his door at night to this day… 😓

Satan

Really an odd choice there, not going to lie. They’re well aware of the possibility that they could accidentally wake him and he maaaay not be the best waker (what being Wrath and all) but if it’s irrational worries that got you down, why not go to the most rational person in the House? Sounds like a perfectly logical decision, right?

That might have been what their half-baked disillusions were telling them on the way to Satan's bedroom but actually standing in front of the sleeping man was a whole other story. They felt crazy, genuinely crazy… But they still slipped in under the covers anyway.

Satan stirred almost immediately and turned to face them… but his eyes could hardly keep focus and the look of dopey confusion on his face could have honestly made the perfect screen background. "Huuuuuh…? MC…? What're you doin' 'ere…?"

They kind of had to hold in a laugh while they explained that they just wanted to sleep next to him that night. Satan beamed them an oddly serene smile and just nodded. "Okaaay…" With that he seemed to roll over to go back to sleep… but his mind caught back up with him before his drowsiness did.

"Wait a minute..." Ah shit….

 Like Lucifer, Satan ended up giving them a pretty good lecture on boundaries and the like when he finally snapped out of his stupor. Thankfully he wasn't mad, just a little embarrassed that they had seen him like that. He offered them a good book or two to pass the time if they couldn't sleep, but sent them back to bed all the same.

Asmodeus

Asmo probably doesn’t get people coming into his bed with completely chaste intentions very often, but he’s by far the most emotionally in-tuned demon in the House. If they're after a little sympathy, best just go to Asmo right?

They weren't really sure what to expect when they walked into his room... Does Asmo sleep like a Disney Princess, hair and makeup done perfectly in defiance of all laws of beauty?

Does he sleep like a '60s housewife, with curlers in his hair and leftover chips of mud mask on his face?

Does he sleep like the god of all sex that he is, sculpted chest for the eyes to see and everything underneath laid bare like a honeypot of temptation??

The MC doesn't really get to know, because when they pulled back the covers to climb inside they were met by the sight of someone else's very naked ass taking up the spot where they thought Asmo should be.

They go back to their room willingly, dejected and maybe a little scarred... Apparently they were just too late to the party...

Beelzebub

Okay, everything about Beel screams “Hello! I’m a warm comforting teddy bear!”...aside from the hungry parts. It’s really not hard to see why they’d want to go to him if they’re feeling a little vulnerable.

They didn't worry too much about being quiet when they walked into the twins' room. Belphie could sleep through a rock concert and Beel wasn't too far behind him (as long as he wasn't hungry).

They figured that the tall twin wouldn't mind too much if they just crawled into bed with him… He had make a similar request of them before, it was only fair right?

As they were preparing their tired body for a good night's sleep, they gently pulled the covers back next to Beel but they probably weren't expecting to find so many food wrappers surrounding him… or bags of chips… or packages of cookies… or-

Apparently Beel had yet another sleep-eating run and this time he seemed to have brought the whole kitchen back with him. There was hardly enough room left for Beel anymore, let alone the MC!

Considering their options were to either wedge themselves between a havoc roast and a bag of jerky or just brave one more night on their own, they cut their losses early and went back to their own bed...

Belphegor

They didn’t have to know Belphie since Day One of being there to pick up on how hard he slept. The man was pretty much in a coma for most of the day and that included his nightly rests too. Would he even notice if they… per say… slipped into bed with him to get a little comfort from their nightmares? Surely, he’d stay asleep, right?

When they didn't see his sleeping form in the room he shared with Beel, the MC eventually found Belphie up in the attic room. His little hideaway with a plush-ass bed to boot.

They didn’t bother being quiet at all. They figured that Belphie could have stayed under for anything short of banging pots and pans in his ears so why try to mask their footsteps?

They never expected him to be awake. 😰

The moment they lifted the covers, Belphie struck like some kind of blanket crocodile! He grabbed them by the waist and dragged them into the spot of the bed right under him with a impish grin on his face.

Turns out they weren't the only ones having sleeping problems that night and as they felt the full weight of his worn out body settle in nicely up against theirs they knew that maybe, finally, they'd get a good night's sleep… 🤭

[miraculousandbts]

BTS | AMAs

P.S. The story is in y/n's perspective. Just because I wanted to.

Summary: You get your first big nomination, but you just had to stumble into a very handsome stranger.

Pairing: OT7 X Reader (Platonic)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning: Reader’s train of thought goes crazy every once in a while. I feel like this should be a warning.

I was hugging my manager and jumping in circles with her, as a way of expressing my happiness. Ashley was not only my manager, but also one of my closest friends, always supporting me and believing in me since the start. Both of us were ecstatic with the news, and this was our way of showing it. Aside from jumping, we both were also screaming very loudly. I had never been so thankful for having a house near the forest area without neighbours.

Oh, wait! I never introduced myself; how rude of me. (Yes, I was thinking about the Thea Stilton books...) I'm y/n, a singer and songwriter. I live in LA. Me and Ash were just watching the American Music Awards nominations, and we just couldn't control our excitement when they took my name. This was my first nomination for an award. It wouldn't be that big of a deal for an experienced artist or someone who has been in the industry for long, but I'm still a rookie, debuting only two years ago.

Me and Ashley finally calmed down when a very startled guard came in and told us that we screamed so loud that he saw bats fly away from deep inside the forest. We sheepishly apologised, and decided to go to sleep. I had been recording a song the whole day, while she had been busy with manager duties, so we both were exhausted. I had actually known her for the last four years, and she often stayed over. So often, in fact, that my guest room had become 'Ashley's Room' very quickly.

After bidding each other happy good nights, we both went to bed in our respective rooms, falling asleep speedily.

*****

Taylor was applying my makeup, while I sat in the stiff makeup chair. This had been going on for the past hour, despite me telling her that I wanted light makeup and a simple dress. Instead, she and my stylist Ben decided to go against my wishes for once. Ben had prepared an extravagant dress too fancy even for a royal ball, and I was thankful it wasn't pink or blue or yellow; I absolutely did not want to look like a princess, that just wouldn't be me. Taylor kept on applying a little too much makeup on my face for my liking. She was very talented, so at least I was sure I wouldn't look bad.

Right now, she was working on my eye makeup, expertly putting on eyeliner and...something. I'm not good with this stuff. Taylor's assistant, whose name I always forgot, was painting my nails. I looked at her working. She was a pro at this. She smoothly glided the brush over my nails, effortlessly painting them purple, and then decorating them. She used as less materials as possible, knowing I hated it when even my nails felt heavy; my face was enough.

After two more hours of torture, I was finally ready. I looked breathtaking, but if I had an option, I would still go with something lighter. After another hour of sitting in the limo, we were finally there.

I got out, and there were cameras in my face. All I saw were purple blotches, because the camera men couldn't use their brains enough to shut off the flash. Or maybe those cameras didn't have an option to shut off the flash.

Anyway, I struck a few poses, blew some kisses, and walked ahead. And then I saw Dan. He was a reporter for such gigs, and I often did short interviews with him. He wasn't like the others; he didn't ask about rumours or made new ones, he didn't ask controversial questions to increase their channel's TRP.

I gave him a grin and walked towards him.

"Hey, Dan."

"Y/n! Looking beautiful as always."

"Oh, you flatter me." I kept a hand on my chest.

"Okay, stop with the over dramatics, girlie." You grinned.

He motioned his cameraman to start recording. I tuned out the whole introduction, and focused when he asked me a question, the said question being how was I feeling about being here even though it hadn't been long since my debut. "It's all thanks to my fans. I love making music, and I believe that if you do something with true passion, you will be successful. I guess this is destiny's way of showing me that what I'm doing is right. And not gonna lie, it feels like I've been feeling like I'm on a sugar rush since the nominees were announced, because of the adrenaline."

After some more questions and smiles, I finally went in.

I was too focused on not tripping on my own feet because of the long dress, so the first thing I did after entering was bump into someone. Great! I wasn't even surprised anymore, knowing how I was. "I am so sorry!" I looked up with wide eyes, only to meet kind brown ones. It took me a second to register that he wasn't alone, six other men behind him. They seemed familiar. I could tell they were from east Asia. I glanced at all of them, and then looked at him, apologising again.

"It is okay." He had a cute accent to his English, and I internally smiled, not only because of his accent, but also because he wasn't mad. I must've smiled in relief, because he looked amused. Now that I was looking at him properly, he was handsome, with a capital H. Little round face, pretty eyes, cute boop-able nose. And then he smiled. And then I died. It was the cutest smile I had ever seen!

Thankfully, I wasn't the kind of gal who would stand there checking him out. All of this took me a second, and I excused myself after thanking him.

*****

"Oh, hey!" I heard a smooth deep voice as soon as I sat down. I looked to my side and found one of the friends of the man I had bumped into earlier. I was right, my brain didn't forget. I smiled a small smile. "Hey."

Extending my hand towards him the old fashioned way, introduced myself. "Y/n."

He shook my hand, seemingly unfazed by my apparent childish behaviour. "Kim Namjoon, more commonly known as RM."

That's when it clicked. RM. K-Pop. BTS. My eyes must've widened; I was always terrible at hiding my emotions. "Everything okay?" He brought me out of my stupor. "Uh, yeah. Just, when I stumbled into one of you guys before, you all seemed familiar, I just couldn't place your faces anywhere." I replied honestly. "Oh." He simply leaned back into his chair and nodded.

"So, in which category are you nominated?" He continued.

"Top social artist. You?"

"Same. It'll be a four year streak for us if we win again."

"Ooh, really. Well then, I hope you win."

"Don't you want to win?"

"Coming here already feels like a dream. I don't think I can handle the adrenaline if I do win."

"So basically you want us to win for completely selfish purposes, huh?"

You both laughed at that remark, and continued making small talk for a while. Then he said he had to use the washroom. I hummed in his direction, and as soon as he got up, I saw the guy I had ran into in the chair next to his.

He had noticed Namjoon getting up too, so he was looking on my direction. He grinned at me, and sat in Namjoon's chair. "Hello."

"Hey."

"I am sorry. My English is not that good. Only Namjoon speaks English." He sheepishly rubbed his neck. "Why are you apologising for that?" I was genuinely curious. It was okay to not know perfect English. Even though I was a native English speaker, I still made mistakes. Everyone did. And the said language wasn't even his first language. "At the entrance, I wanted to talk."

"Oh. Well, You should have, I don't judge because of stuff like this." He smiled at that. "I will introduce you to them." He gestured to his band mates who were very engrossed in the show. Before he could do that, I interrupted him. "Hey, sorry. I haven't been in the industry for long, and I've only ever heard your guys' name, so...I only know RM and V? Is that right? So, yeah, I don't know your name."

I cursed at myself internally. Way, to go y/n! So damn awkward. He must've sensed my hesitation, because all he did was offer me his hand. Ooh, the old fashioned way. Good to know I wasn't the only one.

"Suga."

"Y/n." I shook his hand. Namjoon came back at that moment and him and Suga said something to each other in Korean. Wait, Suga? That does not sound right. Oh, right! It must be his stage name.

And then I facepalmed. Literally. I didn't think before my hand met my forehead. I must've made a pretty loud smack, because both of them were now looking at me like I was some weirdo. I sighed and slowly hid my face in my hands. "These kind of things always happen to me..." I mumbled.

I looked up when I heard them chuckling. I pouted, but I knew they could see the relief on my face that they didn't think of me like I was demented. "Don't worry, we've been living with these guys for the past eight years, these kind of things don't faze us anymore." Namjoon gestured to the other guys, who were still oblivious to their surroundings, absorbed in the performances.

I let out a breathy chuckle at the fact that they were so openly dissing their own friends. Namjoon, by now, was seated in the chair in which Suga was previously sitting in.

"So, I refuse to believe that Suga is your real name. And I would rather be literal friends with you guys, rather than two artists who just know each other."

"Yoongi. Min Yoongi." The way he said it reminded me of how Geronimo Stilton introduced himself. 'Why my brain has to go down completely random memory lanes is beyond me...and why am I thinking about a kid's book series?'

Within the next hour, I had been introduced to the other guys, and all of us were conversing about anything and everything. Seokjin was very happy that I was loving his dad jokes, Hoseok was a little too excited about my proposal of shooting a dance cover on one of mine or their songs, Jimin, Taehyung and me got along very well, as we were all the same age, and Jungkook had offered to teach me boxing, after I expressed my wish to learn it.

All in all, I was getting along very well with them. They were fun to be with, and it was absolutely adorable how they sometimes got flustered over their mistakes while talking. After the fun night ended, I congratulated them on their win, and went home, completely exhausted.

*****

"Noona!" Jungkook was the first to notice me. With wide eyes and a happy grin, he came to hug me. I had decided to surprise the boys by coming to Korea. Right now, I was standing in their dance studio. Even after four years, we were still going strong. It felt like now I had four elder brothers, two twins, and a kid. '...that was a terrible reference...god, please tell me what is wrong with me.'

Soon, all the boys came to hug me, though I tried running away to avoid their sweaty hugs, but Jungkook held me at one place, while I tried to squirm away. I should've just waited in their dorm.

"Kookie!" All I got in reply was a mischievous giggle. He really was a baby. Later that day, a collaboration between us was confirmed, and I couldn't have been happier.

Geronimo Stilton and Thea Stilton might be kids’ books, but they’re still the best!! Change my mind, I dare you.

[starlightinhumanform]

The Art of Love: Chapter 9

Fandom: She Ra (2018)

Ship: Glimadora 

Summary: The morning after a very chaotic and impactful night, Glimmer and Adora have to face each other for the first time in daylight. 

Warnings (for this chapter): Mild language, (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: High School AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rivals/Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff

A/N: Not a lot to say about this chapter except that I hope you enjoy! Reblogs and feedback are always appreciated and encouraged! Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3    The Art of Love Masterpost    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Glimmer woke up to the chimes of her phone screaming somewhere and she really didn’t care where it was because she didn’t have any intention of moving to turn it off. It was six AM, soft sunlight was struggling to reach the bottom of Glimmer’s window, and everything around Glimmer was soft. And warm. And now it was moving and Glimmer cracked one eye open, glancing down at the pale arms wrapped around her waist. Oh, right.

Adora made a muffled sound and tried to bury her face away from the alarm, simply digging her nose into Glimmer’s shoulder blade instead.

The reality of the situation hit Glimmer like a two ton truck speeding down a highway and straight into her gut. The domesticity of it all, the way the warmth drifted from Adora’s closely pressed chest on Glimmer’s back, the way the sunlight glanced off Adora’s hands- gold on gold. It made her choke awake; literally, eyes snapping open as she shuddered out a cough that Adora could probably feel through her dreams.

She cleared her throat and shifted to lie on her back, wondering if it would make Adora let go; if anything, Adora’s arms only began squeezing tighter. In this position, it would’ve been natural for Glimmer to stare up at the ceiling but she felt her eyes keep drifting towards Adora. Her face was once more uncreased, relaxed in her own personal pool of early morning light. A sheer veil of blond hair flitted across the bridge of her nose, moving slightly as she breathed. Adora’s arms felt secure as their steady pressure wove its way around Glimmer’s stomach. It felt safe, a lifeline tied around her waist and grounding her to how real everything was. She really couldn’t believe any of the past 12 hours, but the weight across her side and the hands clasped loosely right where she could hesitantly place her own over them- lightly, of course, just in case she needed to remove it any given moment- well, it at least gave her a sensation to cling onto. Something undeniable.

The alarm had given up while waiting for Glimmer’s pining ass to get its shit together but started screaming again to remind her that she actually had things to do. This time, Adora began to stir and Glimmer hurriedly moved her hand from Adoras’ and turned the chimes off for good.

Adora sat up, bleary eyes staring straight ahead. The sudden movement of Adora jerking away jarred Glimmer into a deceptive appearance of alertness. She blinked up at Adora who to continued to where a dazed expression for a few seconds until she seemed to suddenly flicker to life.

“Time to go then?” The coldness of Adora’s tone was early as alien as the scowl stretching across her face.

“Um, yeah I guess so,” Glimmer ran her hands through hair and knew it wasn’t looking the best, managing to be flattened and frizzy at the same time. Sometimes Glimmer reminded herself of a bright pink lollipop that had been left out on the counter. As her hands made their way through the somewhat greasy waves, she let the pads of her fingertips press through to her scalp and held the strands between her knuckles for a second longer than she should have. She hoped the sharp tugging sensation and dull rub of her fingers would help wake her brain up enough to avoid making a complete idiot of herself in front of Adora.

That option flew out the window when Adora turned to look at her, scowl dropping and melting into a soft smile, “Morning.”

“Morning?” The molten quality Adora’s expression would have been startling enough if she hadn’t been wearing its opposite only a second before.

“Sorry about that- I tend to wake up kinda fuzzy and, er, weird,” Adora seemed to read Glimmer’s mind- either that or her expression was just that obvious. Adora was waving her hands around her head to illustrate her point and grinning like an idiot.

“Apparently you also wake up five times more stupid than you usually are,” Glimmer grinned before realizing it could come across as flirting and- nope, nope, nope, we are not doing that. Glimmer flopped backwards onto the highly inviting pillows behind her. Adora smiled at her and Glimmer was sure something inside of her was overheating- maybe some sort of little laptop fan whirring away inside of her just a little too quickly.

Adora feigned over exaggerated offensive, slamming her hand against her chest and letting her mouth drop open, “You say that as if I’m not always stupid??” 

“Oh no, you are. Just especially in the morning and at around two AM.” 

“So…” Adora glanced away with another sudden, jerky movement, “I should probably get going soon if you want me to avoid your mom.”

“Um, yeah right- right, of course,” Glimmer was still internally sleeping. She sat up again but her head was full of cotton.

Adora pulled her phone out of her pocket and Glimmer realized she hadn’t seen Adora use it the entire time. A picture flashed up on the screen as Adora pressed her thumb down to unlock it. It was a selfie and Cat- a frozen moment of Cat cackling into the camera, Adora only a little to the right with her eyes squeezed shut as she laughed. It made Glimmer cringe inside, knowing she could never have that.

Glimmer flicked her eyes away, pretending she hadn’t been staring at Adora’s screen. Little clicks sounded as Adora tapped her thumbs rapidly across the keyboard. It was obvious she was texting someone and Glimmer didn’t want to seem like a creep just watching her.

She pulled out her own phone and stared at the bright images without actually taking in what any of them were. Because how could she? How could she be thinking about anything at all right now as Adora- the girl she had hated for months- sat right next to her like they were nine year olds who had just woken up at a sleepover. And the worst part was, she didn’t hate her anymore- in fact, she kind of liked her. She was funny and smart and kind and pretty... maybe Glimmer had been hypnotized by her, tricked into liking her just as the rest of her school had been, but she welcomed the mesmerization. Glimmer knew, deep down, that she had no chance with Adora even as friends but... Glimmer’s heart was sold even as it broke.

Adora turned and Glimmer’s head flicked up in her direction probably too quickly. She told herself to stop acting like a weirdo and to just behave like normal except this wasn’t normal and she had no idea what was going on. She was torn- but then again, when wasn’t she? If this was going to be her last interaction with Adora this way- this relaxed and beautiful and real and perfect way- she wanted to be able to remember the conversation without cringing. But of course, there was a desperate monstrosity that dragged itself from a place Glimmer had never acknowledged before; because she didn’t want to let this feeling go, didn’t want to let Adora go. The person Adora simply was made Glimmer different; made her a happier version of herself. Adora made Glimmer feel more comfortable in herself- something that very few people had ever accomplished. But it was more than just that; the version of Adora that was sitting next to her was flawed and genuine and so different from what Glimmer saw at school. She had been right- Adora did wear a mask at school but the kindness was real, it was the chips and dents that were hidden. They were chips and dents that Glimmer was beginning to grow highly fond of. She liked to think that this was Her Adora, that Adora only crawled out of her glossy, perfect shell when she was around Glimmer. She knew it was ridiculous and completely unrealistic, but she held on to the notion with a clenched fist.

She breathed in Adora only inches away and it felt like she was breathing in a Van Gogh painting. Adora smelled like sweet grass, swirling stars, warm cream, soft earth. She also smelled like a greasy teenager but Glimmer wasn’t going to admit that while she tried to capture her perfect moment. Her eyes soaked Adora in as she sat there in all her soft, warm, paint covered magnificence. Adora’s hair was far heavier looking than usual as she reached up and tied it back. Her shirt showed the signs of a worn out and overly used article of clothing. Her skin looked oily and her face was framed by clay and contoured by paint. Glimmer wished she wasn’t obsessed with those stupid features in front of her.

Adora was talking and Glimmer forced herself to concentrate on the words- not the moving lips, “Cat’s gonna pick me up down the street in a few minutes. That’s ok, right?”

Glimmer swallowed thickly because in her head a voice was saying No, please don’t go. Please don’t leave. Please- “Yeah sure. That’s fine- do whatever you want.”

Adora nodded slowly like she was mulling over something. Glimmer’s hands fidgeted in her lap as she waited for the other girl to speak, watching with big eyes.

When she finally spoke it was with an anticlimactic, “Hey, I’m going to use the bathroom before your mom comes in, ok?”

Glimmer let her head tilt up and down numbly, lost in her own her own thoughts. The spell was broken; she could no longer watch in a honey-glazed stupor. That would mean getting hurt when Adora left and if there was one thing her brain was good at, it was telling her not to get hurt- even if the walls she built as a result made her feel ripped apart.

Adora got up silently and picked her way through the wreckage of art supplies sprawled across Glimmer’s floor. Glimmer remembered with a grumbling sigh that she still had to finish wiring the model together.

Once Adora had ghosted out of the room and carefully clicked the door shut behind her,Glimmer clambered out of still highly welcoming sheets of her bed. She stretched, hoping the movement would clear the fog out her mind as well as the stiffness of her body. Of course, it did little to improve her situation and she shuffled over to the tangle of wire, muttering all the way over.

She plopped herself down on the ground and got to work. It was easy- the type of mindless, repetitive movement that let Glimmer space out while she worked and she got finished just as Adora slipped back into the room.

Adora walked over to Glimmer, standing close enough for Glimmer to feel her presence in her space without actually seeing her. It was a sort of pressure, pressing from the outside on Glimmer from Adora’s proximity. Or made the pressure was growing from inside? Either way, it made Glimmer grit her teeth and wish Adora would move.

She could feel Adora’s smile encroaching on the edges of her consciousness before she heard it, “That turned out so great!”

Glimmer acknowledged Adora’s voice with a noncommittal grunt. 

“The best part is definitely your paint job,” Adora gave Glimmer’s side a light nudge with her foot and Glimmer didn’t know why the contact made her clench her fists, “This will definitely help you get your grades up!”

“Since when are my grades any of your business?!” Glimmer snapped, immediately regretting the harshness of her voice.

Adora stepped back slightly, voice small when she spoke, “Oh right, sorry.”

Glimmer hung her head. She didn’t know what the hell was going on inside of there, “No, look- I’m sorry.”

“No it’s ok, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Adora- stop!” Glimmer spun around, “Look, I’ve been a bitch to you for long time and I didn’t even have a good reason. Just let me apologize- just once.”

Adora looked down at the ground, gaze shifting across the floor from one side of her feet to the other before finally stopping the movement to look at Glimmer. She gave a timid smile, “Apology accepted then.”

Glimmer nodded as if she were satisfied but the shift in her head was making her uncomfortable. She wondered what Factory Setting switch had been flipped on inside of her, reverting her reactions to Adora to exactly where the had been before... before everything. The feelings of disgust and dislike were so automatic, it made her feel powerless- no control over her most basic thoughts. Glimmer hated it but that just added to quickly rising levels of animosity that writhed in her body.

Adora sat down next to Glimmer, still quiet. She seemed hesitant as she shifted closer to her, then back away again; seemingly afraid to even make eye contact. Glimmer could feel the discomfort edging onto herself and it made her blood boil. She was already feeling weird, she didn’t need Adora adding to that.

“Can I help you?” Glimmer gave a disgruntled sigh, “Is something wrong? Did I do something wrong?”

Why is she acting so strange? Did I do something in my sleep or... say something? If Glimmer was in a cartoon, an over exaggerated sweat drop would have been forming along the edge of her brow.

Adora ran her bottom lip under the edge of her teeth, “I just wanted to say about last night- or, rather, this morning- I know I was acting weird and I’m sorry. I crossed boundaries that I shouldn’t have and I’m sorry and I’m sure I made you uncomfortable.”

Glimmer blinked up from where she had been uselessly fiddling with a some random piece of the model- Does she think I’m mad at her?

“It’s ok- it wasn’t too weird,” Glimmer couldn’t contain the smirk that slid across her face, “You’re kinda funny when you’re loopy.”

Adora blushed pink, “Oh, yeah, um that’s something I do. I probably should have told you that but I didn’t think we would be up so late. I honestly didn’t think I was going to stay the night.”

Glimmer studied the red spreading across Adora’s cheeks, trying to find its cause. Did Adora really think that after all the dumb things Glimmer had done, all the stupid breakdowns she had fallen into in just the past 24 hours- did Adora really think that after all that, Glimmer would really judge her for making some dorky jokes and getting a little clingy? Ok so she had gotten really clingy but it’s not like Glimmer could really complain. Glimmer had never been cooed over and had never been snuggled up against by anyone like the way Adora had simply wrapped and draped herself over Glimmer that early morning. And Glimmer was never going to flirt with her- she was probably never going to flirt with anyone- so she held onto the memory fondly.

She didn’t want Adora to think she disliked the contact and the smirks and the winks; she would’ve loved to encourage it if she could, but that would give her away. She couldn’t seem too eager, couldn’t simply say Oh yes, Adora, I love you hugging me and holding my hands and giving me that smug look that makes my toes curl and heat bubble comfortably my stomach.

So she nodded with the most sagely expression she thought she could muster, “It’s ok, though. I really didn’t mind.”

Shit. Well there goes Glimmer’s plan of Not Acting Like a Desperate Weirdo.

Adora’s brow creased together and Glimmer officiated the fact that she had screwed up. Adora remained silent for at least a minute, rocking her knee back and forth like a pendulum- towards Glimmer, away from Glimmer. Shifting sharply from side to side just like Glimmer’s thoughts- This is horrible, I never should have talked to her swinging all the way to She’s sweet and kind, stop pushing her away. She makes you happy so there’s really nothing to regret, right? Glimmer grimaced into the silence between them, watching Adora from the corner of her eye as they both stubbornly remained lost in thought.

After an eternity of 60 seconds, Adora stood up with a stiffness that didn’t fit her grace and brushed off the front of her shorts without any real purpose in the movement, “Well, I should probably get going now.”

Adora stood standing there for another moment and Glimmer knew from the way she swung her hands back and forth that she was waiting for Glimmer to say something.

Glimmer tapped her finger tips along her thigh, wishing she could reverse time and bring it spinning back to the darkness of four AM where Adora’s laugh ran through her room and through her mind. She wished Adora’s head rested on her lap instead of her sweaty palms that she pressed into her leg. She wished her mind was filled with fuzzy, blissful exhaustion instead of the growing darkness of negativity that was filtering its way through her thoughts.

Glimmer rubbed her eyes and tried to return to the present situation, “Yeah, ok.”

Adora nodded again like she was coming to terms with some grave news; the hateful little voice in Glimmer’s mind slipped past the gates she had spent last night struggling to build and it whispered to her about what an annoyingly strange person Adora was.

Glimmer glared down at the floor as Adora flit her way to the door frame. Again the yearning came rushing in, the wish that she could fight nagging advocate in her head. She set her jaw and spoke with a tone that struck even her as brutally flat, “Hey you- be careful.”

When Glimmer hazarded a glance over at Adora, the girl was smiling at her and it made something Glimmer hadn’t even been aware stop its frantic fluttering around Glimmer’s rib cage and settle finally.

“See you at school?” Adora sounded like she was asking for permission.

Glimmer gave Adora a small smile, “Yeah, see you.”

Adora moved past the door frame but froze suddenly, pausing to turn and look back at Glimmer as her face broke into a beaming grin. She gave a tiny wave before disappearing down the hall in a prancing jog.

Glimmer sighed at the empty space Adora had filled only seconds before. Her room resembled the wreckage of a natural disaster but she couldn’t describe it as anything but empty with Adora missing.

Glimmer looked past her blinds into the gray fog that had moved to fill the sky but as she remembered the last smile Adora had given her, she could swear the sun was still shining.

[craftygoateeprincess]

One Late Night

(Oneshot for now, because @theotherbloodfart is a terrible enabler)

You hated Derry, like everyone else in this shithole. Hated it with the passion of a thousand fiery suns. Yet here you stayed, through all the shit. The apathetic adults, the dissapearances, the murders, the scandals. No matter what you saw you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, and the why of it was no mystery.

“I can never forget you, I love you, and I’ll stay right here in Derry and wait for you to come back if you promise you will,”

A Promise. A pledge. A vow. Come hell or high water you were staying here in Derry, you were waiting for the return of your only friend, and there wasn’t anything that could deter you from that. You would either see him again or you would die, there was no third option, and even if you hated yourself for it, you stayed true to your word.

Anyone else would think you were mad. You had made the promise at eight years old, to someone everyone else just insisted to be your imaginary friend. But imaginary friends didn’t lie in bed with you at night, they didn’t wash your bruises and teach you how to cook your own food. No, your friend was real and you were sure of it, and even if he had forgotten your promise, you never could.

After all, how could you forget the one person who saw your abusive home life for what it really was?

But you were thirty-five now, you weren’t being abused anymore. But unlike the rest of the adults, you had remained free from the apathetic haze that seemed to consume the rest of them. You saw the bodies, the posters, the abandoned playgrounds. All for what it really was and you wondered why no one else was concerned.

Well, alone was unfair, there was one other person. Not quite a friend, but someone whose existence you cared for more than not. Mike Hanlon, the local librarian. He was a nice man, he cared, he saw the bruises and scars and didn’t dismiss them as ‘a father punishing his child’ he saw the pain and suffering in them. In turn, you came to...acknowledge his existence on a genuine level. Years of your home life had led to you being rather apathetic towards people in general, but mike was a good guy and one of the few people in the world you held no ill will towards.

Which is why you were even out this late at night. Mike had a mini fridge at the library where he kept Alchol. So when it was late, and the library was empty, you would get ‘the call’ and the two of you would drown in some cheap corner store wine, god awful stuff but marvelous at making you forget whatever was weighing down your mind, and with your household history and he being so personally invested in the murders about town, you both had a lot to drink away.

And that is how you found yourself here, at two in the god damned morning, stumbling down the sidewalk. You’d feel bad for how dangerous this all was in the morning, when you were nursing a hangover and cursing your bad life choices, for now, you just stumbled about, singing some song you vaguely remember from your childhood but for the life of couldn’t remember the words to when you came to the nervewracking conclusion someone was watching you.

Turning around in a slow, paranoid circle you eyed the darkness suspiciously. But it wasn’t until you had relaxed and turned to start walking again that your eyes finally caught sight of the red balloon, and the clown attached to it, lit dimly by the streetlight in the background. Even in what was admittedly a drunken stupor, you’d done this dance before and were aware enough to be wary, besides, while you liked clowns in general, this clown was creepy.

None of that chubbiness and the friendly grin that you remember him having.

“Out late, are we little one?” he asked, and maybe it was the drink, but you felt like he was patronizing you. So of course, you put on your drunken bravado and shrugged.

“I’m an adult, I live in this shithole town, I reserve the right to prowl around drunk in the wee hours!” He took a step towards you and you took a step back. Your hairs were on end and you instinctively knew this man was trouble, why would a clown be out so long after the carnival had  down for the night.

“Let me guess, born into this town, raised by distant parents. Vowed to leave during your teenage years but never managed to, and now you drown your sorrows in wine and warm bodies?” He was circling you now, like a beast playing with its prey before pouncing. Every alarm bell was ringing off in your head, but you were hypnotized still. Those bright, baby blue eyes with the faint glow, his eyes, they were familliar to you and you couldn’t move if you wanted to under that stare.

“You must think you’re clever, or maybe you’ve just talked to a bunch of the kids around town, but no actually,” you said defiantly, sticking your chin up and matching his pace so you two were now circling one another, no less creepy but it made you feel less vulnerable under that familiar stare. “My parents, well, at least my father was shitty. But I had a very dear friend growing up, and we had a lot of fun. He had to go away but we promised we’d meet again, here, so as much as I hate this town I stay….not that it’s any f your business.”

His hand shot out as fast as a snake striking and his large, gloved hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, so hard you felt it would bruise. Adrenaline started coursing hard enough in your veins that the buzz of the alcohol began to wear off enough for you to attempt to yank your hand back, but his grip was strong and for some reason, you couldn’t form any words or sounds to cry out. Before you knew it you were being backed up against a tree, his other arm pressing into your throat, not quite cutting off your oxygen but definitely making you struggle for breath. The bark was rough and scratchy against your back and it brought a bubble of fear up through the haze your mind was in.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was getting off on your fear, he certainly looked happier when he seemed to sense your fear. But you weren’t breaking yet damnit! Fixing him with a gaze you hoped was more withering than it felt, you attempted to take the wind out of his sails and end this before it began if it was begenning at all.

“There’s nothing you can do to me that others haven’t done before,” god talk about a weak power statement, but it was the truth. He could hit you, rape you, and leave you for dead, it would just be a particularly shitty Tuesday night, and you knew these bastards didn’t like it when their victims knew what was coming….at least, you hoped that was a universal truth.

Despite his rather brutish actions, the clown seemed indifferent to your words. The hand on your wrist loosening as he slid up your sleeve, revealing the daisy chain clinging to your wrist as he seemed to freeze before you.

“If you’re looking for jewelry pal, you’ve come to the wrong woman, that’s the closest thing I have to a valuable, and it’s not something you’ll find to be any worth,” you sneered, even in spite of the danger, you couldn't help but find the image of this clown moonlighting as a mugger and then proceeding to mug the one woman in town who didn’t wear jewelry hilarious.

“Let me make another guess, this is somehow tied to that friend you mentioned?” those blue eyes were on you again and you felt yourself softening, even when you knew you shouldn’t. They were too familliar and held memories not belonging to the clown in front of you, but they worked on you all the same, and biting your lip you nodded.

“There’s something about this town, it’s so easy to forget things that only happened last week, let alone years ago. So whenever I have time, I go and make daisy chains by the railroad tracks, it helps me to remember the good times, why I'm waiting for him,” this wasn’t any f his buisiness, and you wish you could just shut your damn mouth, but you couldn’t. The words bubbling up and spilling out your mouth like word vomit, just spilling out your biggest personal baggage to the would-be clown mugger.

If you needed a sign your life had hit rock bottom, here it was.

“And here I was thinking people drank to forget,” he snarked but his hold on you loosened and you fell away from the tree, trying to steady yourself on your too shaky limbs and eventually just crumbling in a heap on the ground, puffing the hair that had fallen across your face irritably.

“It’s a catch twenty-two. Life in Derry sucks, and while there are some things I need to remember, there's a lot more I want to forget,” you responded, hugging your knees to your chest as you settled your chin atop them, taking in the clown curiously. In the end, you were unharmed, save for some scratch marks on your back, and it’s not like you could identify this guy to the police if you had the mind to go to them about this. Also, more importantly, this was the closest thing to an exciting event that had happened all week. Surprisingly enough he plopped down next to you and the simple gesture was enough to both infuriate and infatuate you with the stranger...though the latter may just be due to the alcohol.

Actually, come to think of it, maybe most or all of this was due to the alcohol.

“What will you do when your friend comes back?” It was an innocent question, and for once you felt he was genuinely curious about your answer. Of course, curiosity or not it did little to ease the predatory air this clown seemed to ooze, but your heart had stopped pounding so hard and the drunken fog of your buzz was returning enough for you to just not give a shit anymore, who were you to cramp on his creepy style when he wasn’t hurting you?

“Marry him?” you suggested with a playful snort, the first genuine smile touching your lips since….gods, when was the last time you’d genuinely smiled, or laughed, or opened up before a fucking thug accosted you? Welp, sign numbero Dos your life was a shitshow, not that you needed it, but it was good if a startling reminder. You looked over to your clown companion expecting to find him rolling his eyes or dismissively ignoring your words, but his eyes were fixed rather intensely on you, you’d even hazard a guess you shocked him with your cavalier declaration.

“The guy was the only decent thing in my life. Between my deadbeat father and actually dead mother, I can honestly say he’s the only person who ever cared for me, maybe even loved me, and I know for certain he’s the only person I could ever love. The two of us went through some of the worst years of my life together, back when i was still capable of giving a shit about people...and believed people gave a shit about each other,” you don’t know why you kept talking, he didn’t even ask for an explanation this time around, but perhaps it wasn’t just him you were explaining your reasons to. Because before this very moment, you had never really thought what you would do on the seemingly mythical day he would return.

But despite how joking the answer had been from your lips, it resonated with a part of you. Of course your friend, as the only positive male influence in your life, had starred in quite a few erotic dreams of yours. But you’d never seriously thought about your feelings, not until this moment, laying under the stars with a mysterious stranger. Sighing you pushed yourself up off the ground, idily dusting the grass from your clothes and giving the clown a little salute.

“Well, that’s quite enough introspection under the stars with strange clowns for one night! I am going to get my ass to bed before someone else tries to finish what you started,” you offered with a grin, the clowns' features had lost their curiosity now, just watching you passively as you got up and prepared to leave, but just as you took your first step away you heard a giggle that could belong to the devil himself.

“A pretty balloon for a pretty stranger? To commemorate our memorable encounter?” his words got you to turn around, and sure enough he had a bright red balloon just clutched in his hand. It was such a simple and, in any other circumstance, friendly gesture. But even as you moved to take it from him, you felt like you were signing a deal with the devil.

“What? You gonna use this to follow me to my house and see if I have anything valuable there?” you asked sarcastically as you looked over admiringly at the balloon, bobbing it against the back of your hand playfully.

“Just the first bit, don’t wander too far Ellie,”

You turned your head back so fast you damn near got whiplash, but nothing was there. No clown, no smooshed grass, no retreating clown. Nothing, as if the whole thing was some drunken hallucination. But the scratch marks on your back and the balloon in your hand told you otherwise. Whoever that clown was, he knew your name and he seemed awfully interested in your feelings about the past.

For the first time that night your stomach twisted from nausea not related to the alchol as you stared into the darkness. Maybe you were overthinking it, or maybe you were right on the money, either way, you knew right then and there you’d be seeing that strange clown again, as soon as you could manage.

Because either Pennywise the Dancing Clown had undergone a growth spurt and major weight loss, or someone who knew him was in Derry, and either one was enough to alight a long lost feeling deep inside you, perhaps more dangerous than your perpetual drunken grief.

Hope

[az-5-elimgarak]

#TeamWillow

Fictober19

Type: Fanfiction

Fandom: Homeland (TV Show)

Prompt #24: Patience... is not something I’m known for

Rating: G, No warnings apply

Characters: Peter Quinn, Willow (seizure response dog)

The story and the tags after the break-line. Lemme know if tagging bugs you. Or if you’d like to be tagged in the future. And thank you. ❤

The first time the mystery object brushes against the bottom of his jeans, it barely registers. Given how easily he gets distracted on an average day, he promptly dismisses it as another one of those sort-of-phantom-but-not-really-because-Andy-says-it-can’t-be sensations his affected side whomps up on occasion.

The truth is, he’s just too tired to look down. Fifteen years of covert operations, life in the shadow of days, weeks, even months of sleepless nights at a time, and he can honestly say he doesn’t remember himself feeling as worn to a frazzle as he does now.

Since he started on Prazosin the nightmares have gradually gone away. Not entirely, of course, but he hasn’t had one render him borderline catatonic in months. He’s been doing better. Not great - he’s not sure it’ll ever be ‘great’, or that it ever was, for that matter - but definitely better. 

It wasn’t until Kim asked him during one of their sessions if his being ‘busy’ - as in ‘How’s it going?’ ‘Um… Busy, I guess’ - was a good thing that he realized, to his utter astonishment, that it was. That amongst hundreds of briefings, debriefings, missions, drinking himself into a near-stupor between missions, he doesn’t remember a single day that was, simply, busy. And that, even though between his job and the neverending succession of therapy, physiotherapy, speech therapy, and every-other-fucking-kind-of-therapy-known-to-man, he sometimes feels thin, like butter scraped over too much bread (to quote Bilbo Baggins),  he wouldn’t trade a single moment of it for the world.

In fact, right now, following a night shift at the Center and a particularly grueling physiotherapy session, he’s going on thirty six hours without sleep. His brain, fretted and discombobulated on a good day, feels like it’s barely holding structural integrity, let alone that of coherent thought. He’d tried to reschedule the interview, even considered giving it up altogether, but, in his condition, passing on an opportunity like this just wasn’t an option.

He struggles to keep his eyes open, not to mention follow the questions that seem incessant - a slow, systematic torture that’s starting to make the infamous 2003 interrogation in an Iraqi prison look more and more like a walk in the park. 

“...currently involved in any illegal activity? Or were in the last year?”

Now this piques his interest. “Anyone ever answer ‘yes’?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Hayes. I know this is…” A bunch of meaningless, bureaucratic crap? “...tiresome. And may seem redundant.” No shit. “But I’m obligated to ask. And, if you’re hoping to be in the program, you need to answer.”

“I was not,” he concedes. Not in the *last* year. So not *really* a lie.

She’s right, he knows, this woman across the table whose name, for the life of him, he cannot recall. He needs this. In fact, he should’ve applied a lot sooner. Not just because having a seizure response dog may, at last, allow him to hold a legitimate driver’s license. And not just because it didn’t help his rehabilitation process when six months of work to improve the range of motion in his left arm went down the crapper following a nasty seizure-induced fall that shattered his left humerus in two places. But because if he doesn’t, one of these days the neighbor recruited to check on him several times a day will be too late. At which point, ironically, having survived being shot, stabbed, and gassed, he’ll finally meet his demise on the kitchen floor, drowned in his own drool.

“...the program is very intense, and, as such, can be quite demanding. Training takes time. Weeks. Months, in some cases. We can’t promise you quick results. But we guarantee that, provided you put in the due time and patience…”

Patience…  is not something I’m known for.  

Hot on the heels of the thought a wave of anxiety follows. He fucked it up. No, not past simple. He HAS BEEN fuckING it up, for as long as he can remember: every chance he was ever given, every iteration of ‘normal’ he ever had. What if…  

Breathe, Kim’s voice whirs in his head. He swallows, counting to three before gradually letting the air funnel out. Then again. And once more. Until the numbness washes away and he’s prickling all over. You haven’t fucked THIS one up. Yet. So… shuddup and fucking BREATHE. 

“...we highly advise those who eventually qualify make the necessary arrangements allowing them to actively participate in the process. Training an SRD is goal- and need-oriented. We can’t just tell a dog what to do when you have a seizure. And, as you probably know, seizures differ in frequency, type, and intensity. Once the training is complete, your SRD should not only be able to warn you of an upcoming seizure, but also provide assistance, or even call for help if necessary. So, obviously, the training cannot be done unless you’re a full participant for the entire duration of the program…”

There’s that same brushing sensation again. Except, this time it’s not against the sleeve of his jeans but lower, on top of his foot. And it’s not so much brushing as it is… stirring?

He looks down, eyes widening in awe. “Um… Miss…” What *was* her name?

“Yes?

“It’s… There’s a p-p-p…” A sure sign of his brain initiating the shutdown process.

“Problem? Look, I know this all sounds quite overwhelming. But I assure you, if you put in the necessary effort—”

“No. No. There’s a p-p-p…” he motions under the table, unable to stop grinning. “P-p.. small dog.”

With some effort, grabbing the side of the chair with his right hand, he shimmies away from the table. The ball of creamy-gold fluff on top of his sneaker stirs again, sleepily rearranging the tangle of chubby paws around his braced ankle.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Judi! Judi! Why is there… I’m sorry, could you give me a minute? Judi! There’s a puppy in the reception room!”

“That’s alright. I don’t mind,” he tries, reassuringly.

“It’s not that, sir. Judi! I’m so sorry, they’re not supposed to be here. They’re not even house trained yet. Oh my God, did it…?”

Finally, the side door opens and, mumbling apologies, Judi - he presumes - rushes in. 

“Willow! My goodness, how’d you get in here, girl? I’m sorry, she’s a bit of a… here, lemme take her. Excuse me… Sir? Could you…? Your foot?”

“Oh. Sure.”

He moves further backwards. His foot, sliding from under the snuggly weight, causes the puppy to roll over with a soft, startled yelp.

The amusedly exasperated “There you are, you mischievous scamp” is followed by an abrupt “No! No! C’mere! Willow, you...! Oh, for God’s sake… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Sir… do you mind?”

Bending down, he awkwardly reaches with his right hand behind his left ankle where what appears to be the feistiest golden retriever in the history of the breed is engaged in an out-and-out battle of ‘catch-me-if-you-can-bitch’ with her irked-out-of-her-mind keeper. 

“Gotcha,” he smirks, deftly hooking his palm under the plush belly and emerging from under the table with a wriggling jumble of ears and limbs. 

Held in front of his smile-dimpled face, a fierce twinkly-brown stare locked with his steely-blue, Willow lets out the tiniest, most defiant squeal of part-bark, part growl, part something-too-adorable-to-not-have-a-name he’s ever heard. 

“Wow. Consider me scared,” he nods, genuinely impressed, tightening his grip as she wiggles harder, earning a narrow-eyed shake of his head. “You just don’t give up, do you?”

Something in his calm, measured tone renders her still for a moment. Moisture-sleek, pitch black nostrils flare. Once. Twice. And then, he feels her go limp in his palm, paws and earls slacking, head cocking puzzlingly to the side. 

He lowers his voice. “That’s more like it. Now: care to say hello like a proper lady?” 

Slowly, he moves his hand to his face until they’re nose to nose where, following a series of cautious sniffs, his gesture of good will is rewarded with a torrent of slobber so generous and enthusiastic, he’s forced to laughingly gather her to his chest instead. 

“There,” he whispers, cradling her in the stiff, motionless fold of his left elbow and soothingly running his newly freed hand from the top of her head to the tip of her shimmering tail. “It’s nice to meet your acquaintance, Miss Willow. I’m Noah,” he adds. 

And, for the first time since he was handed his new identity papers, the name he thought he'd never get used to folds on his tongue just right.

 ______________________

The woman across the desk blinks rapidly, as if trying to decide whether or not he’s joking, and, in case he’s not, which part of the protocol her job is outlined by should’ve prepared her for this.

“Mr Hayes, I’m sorry. But that’s - what you’re asking -  it’s out of the question. It just… doesn’t work like that. We don’t - we can’t… you don’t just choose an SRD. At this age, we don’t even know if they have the ability. And even if we did, pairing an epilepsy dog with a potential candidate is an intricate process. There are factors that—”

“That what? I mean, how compatible do we have to be? It’s not like I’m asking you for her  bone-marrow.”

She exhales in an attempt to regain her composure. “I realize that, sir. But, nevertheless, there are things to consider. Things that our specialists have been trained to take into consideration. I’m sorry. This is— unprecedented. The candidate can’t just walk in and choose a puppy. Which is why we usually…” shooting an accusatory glance in Judi’s direction, “...don’t even let the candidates see the dogs until one is assigned.”

“Fine. But how about a puppy choosing a candidate?” he quips, pointedly scratching behind the ears of the aforementioned puppy snuggled sleepily in the crook of his neck.

“A pu…? Mr Hayes, you can’t be serious.”

Quinn leans back, tilting his head so as to rest his cheek on top of the plush bundle. “Look. I understand. So, say she doesn’t have the… SRD gene, or whatever makes them qualify. Or we don’t… work together. It’s fine. I mean, it happens, right? Even with the “selection process”, it must happen on occasion. What do you do then?”

Finally back on familiar territory, Christie - it *is* Christie, isn’t it? - nods.

“Sir, we’re a private facility. One of the top in the world, as I’m sure you know. Candidates who choose our services are guaranteed a functioning SRD. Of course, like you say, it’s not an exact science, and some pairings don’t stick. Which is another reason why the selection process should be left to people who are qualified to perform it. But, if the pairing is unsuccessful, we offer a client a chance to repeat the process.”

“Which costs you money.”

“Yes. But that’s far from being our main concern. Like I said, the training program is quite demanding. Doing it twice is not in anyone’s best interest.”

Disregarding her last remark, Quinn presses on. “And the dogs? Those who don’t qualify?”

“Well, they are all purebred, so, we offer them up for sale to individuals or elite breeding houses.”

“There you go. I’ll make you a deal. I get Willow, right now—” Christie opens her mouth to protest but he raises a hand to stop her. “Just... hear me out. I get Willow. And, if it doesn’t work out, for whatever reason, I’ll pay for her. And I’ll pay to repeat the program.”

“Sir—”

“I fail to see the downside. I really do.”

“Well, for one, Willow is too young to be trained. Or even tested. It’ll be at least another six weeks.”

Quinn smiles.

It never ceases to strike him with awe how, sometimes, his fretted, disjointed, swiss-cheese of a brain just... snaps back. As if resetting to some kind of safe point, all of the stroke and sarin splintered parts shift and reshuffle, and, suddenly, every word he needs is just where it ought to be.

“Miss, I’ve applied for the program over six months ago, and have been on the waiting list for the past three. I was diagnosed with refractory epilepsy a year ago having tried every combination of anticonvulsants known to modern medicine; and a bunch of experimental ones. I’ve had two, three, sometimes up to five grand-mal seizures a month for almost two years now. I’m pretty damn sure I can wait six weeks.”

 __________________

With Christie excusing herself in order to run the ‘this is highly irregular, sir, it really is, but I’ll see what I can do’ deal by her supervisor, and Judi retreating back to the breeding chambers, the room has grown quiet at last. It’s just the two of them now: Quinn, slumped back in the chair, eyes closed,  and Willow, passed out on his chest, her wispy, feathery breaths tickling the side of his throat.

He feels himself melting away, losing cohesion. He could fall asleep like this, his cheek resting against the velvet of flopped ear, fingers buried deep in the thick of her fur. And, given the bargain he just made, he probably should. 

Whatever it takes, he thinks, his mind skidding down the slope of exhaustion. Whatever it takes. 

Like a pebble skipping across the lake of his memory, he’s suddenly at the Center, chatting with Jessie, last night’s admission: a fourteen-year old turned over to CPS by her case worker following a late night raid the DEA made on her fifth foster home in two years.

“Ok, I can tell you. But it’s like a total spoiler.”

He arched a skeptical brow. “#TeamLannister? A total spoiler?”

“Hey. It’s GoT, alright? Everything’s a spoiler.”

“Fine. Spoil away,” he sighed, tossing her a new set of bed sheets.

She went on to tell him a long, elaborate story of a big battle involving dwarves (or was it just one dwarf), dragons, “dragon-wasting” ballistas, some “BAMF” knight called  - he wants to say James(?) - and, well, a “buttload” of other spoilers of which he understood very little; and remembers even less. Not to mention the fact that he never did get the answer as to what #TeamLannister - printed in block letters across her t-shirt - means.

“Hey, we’re a team now.” He nuzzles the wisp of spikes just above Willow’s ear as she stirs and burrows deeper into his neck. “#TeamQuinn?” A snort. “Ok. #TeamHayes?” A sleepy whimper. “What? #TeamNoah?”

Suddenly, there’s Christie’s voice in his head again. “...provided you put in the due time and patience…”

Patience… is not what I’m known for, he remembers thinking. And he shakes his head, smiling. Not something Peter Quinn was known for. Nor “John”, or “David”, or “Nathan”, or any of them, for that matter. 

Noah Hayes, though? He chuckles. The jury’s still out.

Jolted awake by the bounce of his chest, Willow emerges from under his chin, big, droopy eyes blinking in sleepy daze. 

“Hey you,” he laughs, poking the tip of her nose with the tip of his.

And, as she scrambles higher, curling her head in the crook of his neck with a long, joyful sigh, he just knows: for as long as it takes, wherever this road leads, and whatever the cost - from now on, it’s #TeamWillow.

@valerafan2 @hidingupatreeorsomething @awariasuit @tenar-of-atuan @potter012 @johnlockismyreligion @boisinberryjamarama

[1sagesparrow]

Daring to Dream: The Only Thing I Ever Wanted

What do you want to be when you grow up? “A single mom survivor of domestic abuse,” said no little girl ever. One of the reasons I stayed in my abusive marriage so long is because I’m a dreamer.  I had a huge dream that involved love, laughter, and life built around a family of faith.  A man after God’s own heart who would build a family with me.  I would love him and he would love me and we would love our children.  Whatever we did, our lives would be guided by our faith in the Lord.  There would be years of joy and love and more dreaming along the way. I was naive, not that I could ever have that dream, but that it would be with the first man who said he wanted to be with me.  Just because a man pursues a relationship with you does not mean it is healthy.  

I was naive.  I didn’t understand how devastating a pornography addiction could be to a marriage.  We were still dating the first time I walked in on him masturbating at the computer.  He told me it was only because my very presence aroused him so much that he had to help himself.  I actually felt guilt.  I was naive when I saw how badly he treated his mother, yelling and criticizing her, calling her stupid.  I didn’t understand that it was more than an isolated damaged relationship.  Over the years, I would often recall the first time I saw him verbally tear down his mother as he would tear me down in a similar way.  I was naive when I visited his family home and overheard his father berating his mother and dismissed the thought that the man who said he loved me could ever sound as hateful as his father did.  I was naive to not see how he drank himself into a stupor when something depressing happened in his life, naive to think that this wouldn’t continue into our marriage.   I was naive to think I could love him out of his addiction, depression, anger, and destructive behaviors.  That him simply saying he didn’t want to be like his abusive father meant that he wouldn’t simply because he knew what it was like. 

Habits die hard. I’ve heard it takes thirty days of consistency to start a new behavior pattern or break an old one.  Changing behavior can be very difficult even when you genuinely want to change.  How many of your new year’s resolutions ever make it past January?  Have you ever tried to support someone through their new year’s resolution?  Did those make it to February any easier?  Have you ever assumed that someone in jogging clothes must be a well-seasoned runner, disciplined and making progress? 

Expecting an abusive, controlling person to change because you love them unconditionally is like expecting someone to lose weight because you bought them a pair of jogging shorts. I figuratively bankrupted myself buying him an entire jogging wardrobe.  He was like one of those people who take selfies of their apparent workout, but they’re not sweating and their water bottle hasn’t been opened.  Any time he put on the clothes of loving, Christian husband and father, it was for show.  Just like any well photographed social media post, he made sure the rest of the world saw his best imitation of someone running the Christian race, and could be overly doting to the kids and I in church, gaining ‘likes’ along the way.

Seeing the truth of the masquerade was painful, but it was sometimes less painful to believe the delusion, to hope his latest performance meant he was finally becoming the man he had the potential to be.  So I lied. He has to work over the holidays [on his hobbies].   We can’t come for Christmas [because I’m afraid if I ask again, he’ll get worse]. He just has had a long day; he’s not normally so rude [usually, he’s worse]. He’s a good father [in his own mind]; but he just doesn’t like the baby stage [or any other stage that might inconvenience him]. Yes, the kids love to play with him [until he loses his temper]. I lied to church members.  I lied to my family.  I lied to my own children.  I thought I was building him up like wives in a healthy marriage should, but really I was covering up his sin and enabling him to be abusive by not standing against the abuse sooner.  Abuse is like cancer.  Left untreated, it grows and festers until there are more cancerous cells than healthy cells.  Symptoms are similar.  Chronic fatigue, pain, your normal activities are replaced by the demands of the cancer.  It ends up controlling your life.  At some point, family and friends become concerned.  But when they ask how you’re doing, you lie.  The cancer isn’t that bad.  I can live with this cancer.  I’m confident this cancer won’t kill me.  You think I have cancer?  I couldn’t possibly.  

Eventually something else happens that shakes your world and you decide to get an expert opinion.  Turns out, it is indeed cancer and the only option is surgery.  Getting the cancer out requires a severe no tolerance policy.  Surgery leaves deep, painful scars that can take a long time to heal, especially if you aren’t intentional to let yourself heal.  You still remember the cancer.  It’s impossible to forget.  There’s always a lingering fear it will return to claim your life one day.

But you can’t live your life in fear of the cancer returning and have any kind of quality life.  I had to make a choice.  Do I focus on preventing a reoccurrence of the cancer to the point where I think about nothing else and those thoughts consume my life?  Or do I bravely walk into my new cancer-free life, daring to dream again?  For me, not dreaming is a sign I’m not trusting God to make my life beautiful.  I know his best for me wasn’t abuse.  God is a God who blesses with abundance and I know only he has the power to restore the years taken, years I know I missed opportunities to serve, years I missed the opportunity to be the mom my kids need, one who makes decisions based on God’s will, not the abuser’s will.

I am ready to truly live.  God created me for a purpose.  “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” (Ephesians 2:10).  I’m walking into that new life day by day.  I can’t live in regret of not stepping out sooner or in fear of stepping out at all.  I simply must take a step, like a toddler learning to walk.  There are days I feel like an absolute failure.  There are days I’m still filled with intense fear.  Those days are fewer and further between.  Replacing them are the days filled with a deeper purpose.  Praying before making a decision and being able to have peace, knowing it’s of God.

I am ready to dream again.  If and when God chooses to send a man into my life who will love me and my children as his own, I will cherish him.  Not from any selfish motive to fulfill my dream of love, life and laughter, but rather, I know he would be sent straight from God.  I’ll know it’s him when the same peace I have in choosing God’s will for my life is the answer to my prayers asking for confirmation.  There would also be no other way to explain a man with enough love for me and my children, who would accept us for who we are in spite of the trauma we’ve endured.  

Only God knows if and when he will fulfill that particular dream, but God has stirred up more dreams in my heart and I am thankful for those as they develop.  A dream to advocate for survivors.  A dream to live free for my children and me.  A dream to write, to let God use my voice to help someone else.  I no longer dream naively.  My dreams are founded in a secure hope that rests in the Lord, that if I allow him to lead me, I will walk confidently into my future filled with the good plans he’s prepared for me and the good dreams he will gift me as a blessing. 

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

I dare to dream.

https://1sagesparrow.wordpress.com/2019/10/21/daring-to-dream-the-only-thing-i-ever-wanted/

[thecorpulentbeagle]

P5 Shipping Round Robin: Day 10

I am going to be honest – this slot was technically for Ann x Goro, but we have had two stories with Goro in a row (technically three if you count the PolyThieves one told from his perspective), so I replaced it with Ann x Futaba so readers don’t overdose on Goro Akechi. Also, this story technically has one of the characters from the original pairing, plus we haven’t heard from Futaba in a while!

This was very fun to write, so I hope you all think it’s fun to read!

Here is the fanfiction.net link.

Please enjoy this next part of the P5 Shipping Round Robin Challenge!

P5 Shipping Round Robin Challenge:

Truth and Lies:

Ann x Futaba

-Futaba-

“Hey, Futaba!” Ann exclaimed, standing up suddenly. She had been sitting beside the younger girl, who was feverishly working at her computer. She had some work to do unrelated to the Phantom Thieves, but work to be done nonetheless.

She had gotten pretty far along. Until a certain blonde beauty had entered her world – more specifically, her room.

Apparently, Ann wanted to spend quality time with every member of the Phantom Thieves, and, as she had put it, she was saving the best for last.

Futaba had jokingly suggested that she was merely her last choice, to which Ann strongly denied. Futaba wasn’t quite sure if she believed her, but it made her feel happy regardless.

When the hacker had told Ann her plans for the day, she figured that would either scare the model off, or would cause her to drag Futaba away to do something more “fun”.

Surprisingly, Ann had nodded her acceptance, and had then proceeded to plop herself down on Futaba’s bed, declaring that she would watch the girl work her magic. Heck, maybe she would even learn a thing or two.

It had been quiet, save for the click-clacking of Futaba’s keyboard, for almost an hour. She was making decent progress, and was firmly in the zone.

When Ann had suddenly moved into Futaba’s field of vision, the hacker had jumped, which caused her to input a bit of code incorrectly.

Grumbling slightly as she fixed her error, Futaba mumbled, “Yes, Ann?”

Ann was either ignoring or not noticing the irritation in her voice. She smiled. “We should play a game!”

Futaba quickly saved her work and switched off her screen, sensing that whatever Ann had in mind was something she would not be able to get out off. Raising an eyebrow, she replied, “What kind of game?”

Ann brightened at Futaba’s willingness to go along with what she wanted. “It’s called Two Truths and a Lie. I used to play it with Shiho all the time!” Her expression faltered slightly at the mention of her best friend.

Futaba reached out and brushed her hand against the older girl’s. She knew how Ann felt – it was similar to how she felt about Kana. It was hard to have a best friend that had to suddenly leave your life due to events out of either person’s control.

Ann’s expression shifted back to what it had been. She excitedly grabbed hold of Futaba’s hand and pulled her up so that she was standing in front of the model. Standing inches from the taller, and admittedly, stunning girl made Futaba blush slightly. She cleared her throat and stepped back a little.

“Anyway. What you do is tell someone two things about yourself that are true, and one thing that’s a lie. The other person has to figure out which is a lie!”

Futaba smirked. “Interesting that you thought I’d need an explanation.”

Ann stuttered. “Oh, s-sorry. Did you already know the rules?”

“Nope!”

Ann gasped. “Why you…” Grinning, she raised her hands up to Futaba’s collar and began tickling the other girl.

Futaba couldn’t help it. She was extremely ticklish after all.

She burst out laughing, squirming around as she tried to move her body away from Ann’s hands. Pretty soon, the older girl was laughing as well.

“E-enough!” Futaba grabbed Ann’s wrists and held them down at her sides, breathing heavily. While fun, she couldn’t afford to have Ann take her breath away in more ways than one – she’d asphyxiate that way.

Ann giggled. Sliding her hands down so that Futaba was now holding onto them instead of her wrists, she led the girl over to the bed. She plopped back down, causing Futaba to fall down onto it with a huff.

“So why don’t you start, since you seem to know the rules?” Ann teased, watching with mirth as Futaba sat up and started fixing her hair, which had gone askew during the tickling and subsequent tumble onto the bed.

“Even though I just admitted I’d never played before, it sounds simple enough. So yeah!” Futaba bounced on the bed. “Let’s see…” Futaba thought. What truths should she tell? The Phantom Thieves had already seen deep within her heart, so it was hard to think of anything that the older girl didn’t already know.

Conversely, what lie would Ann believe? Many thought that Ann was a typical ditzy blonde model, but that was far from true. First of all, why did people automatically assume that blonde people (or models for that matter) were stupid? Secondly, Ann was surprisingly sharp.

Of course, she could always say that she had a crush on Ann, and if things didn’t work out, she could say that was the lie. It was tempting, but Futaba didn’t want to play around with her feelings. They were serious, and this was just a harmless little game between friends.

Eventually, Futaba nodded her head. “Okay. I got a couple for ya.” Futaba folded her hands together. “First, I prefer home-cooked meals to instant stir-fry noodles.” She waited for Ann to process this. When the other girl nodded, Futaba continued. “Second, sometimes I sneak extra spices into Akira’s curry while he’s making it.” Futaba grinned at the belly-laugh from Ann. “Finally, I don’t actually need my glasses to see. I just like to wear them for aesthetics.”

Ann nodded her head sagely. “Okay. Let me think about this for a second.” The girl tapped her fingers, her eyes wandering around the room as if it could provide her with clues.

Futaba wasn’t sure if Ann was aware, but since she had not let go of the hacker’s hands the entire time, she was currently tapping her fingers on her hand. Futaba blushed slightly at the contact.

She was genuinely curious if the model would be able to figure out which was the lie, as they all seemed somewhat plausible.

“Alright! I think I’ve got it.” Ann stopped tapping and returned to squeezing the other girl’s hand. Futaba said nothing.

“I think… the last one is a lie.”

Futaba blinked. “Are you sure? Is that your final answer?”

Ann nodded. “Yep!”

Futaba smiled. “Correct.”

“Yes!” Ann fist pumped the air, which caused the mattress to sway.

“How did you figure it out? Curious minds must know!” Futaba demanded, since she was truly wondering how Ann had reasoned it out.

“Well then, I’ll tell you.” Ann wrapped an arm around Futaba’s shoulders. Futaba assumed it was a friendly gesture, but that still didn’t prevent her face from turning the shade of Panther’s outfit.

“I knew the first was true because I’ve seen the way your eyes light up with the Boss’ or Akira’s homemade curry. You like instant food, of course, but you always look really happy when you can eat their cooking.”

Futaba smiled and nodded, but said nothing. Had Ann really been looking at her that closely to notice these things?

Ann squeezed the girl’s shoulders. “The second one was true because I can totally imagine you spiking said curry with all kinds of stuff just to mess with him.” She winked. “I mean, why would some of Akira’s curry be absolutely divine, but others would be horrible? There was some kind of mischief behind the counter if you ask me.”

Futaba giggled.

“Finally,” Ann lifted both of her hands and placed them on either side of Futaba’s glasses frames, which startled the girl. Ever so gently, Ann lifted them off of her face, folded them up, and carefully placed them on Futaba’s desk. “I know that you can’t see well without your glasses. Whenever you don’t have them on, you always squint.” Ann had said all of this in a soothing murmur, and Futaba felt mesmerized by her voice. But then, Ann exclaimed much more loudly, “I mean, I think all these years of staring at a computer monitor really screwed up your sight, Futaba!”

Futaba shook her head, the stupor that had she had been trapped in suddenly vanishing. She reached over and picked up her glasses, sliding them back into place. “I guess that all makes sense. There’s no fooling you, Ann!”

“Of course! I am the master at this game.” Ann flipped one of her pigtails back behind her shoulder in a jokingly-obnoxious manner. “Now I’ll go and see if you can detect the lie.”

Futaba grinned. “I’m all ears.”

Ann cleared her throat. “Okay. First, I dislike carbonated drinks. Second, I’ve kissed a girl.” Futaba openly spluttered at this one. Ann noticed and smiled slyly at her. “Finally, I’ve kissed Ryuji.”

“W-what?” Futaba practically fell off the bed. “Why are two of yours related to kissing?”

“Why were two of yours related to food?”

“Touché. But still… wow…”

Futaba was having a hard time believing this. So the first one was obviously true – it was the most normal option. But the latter options were outrageous, and one of them was true! Unless they were both true, and Ann had thrown them in to startle Futaba from not picking the first one. Her brain felt like it was overheating.

“Huh. I’m gonna need some time to process this one.”

Ann smiled gently. “Take all the time you need.”

Futaba thought. She was going to go with her original assumption that Ann disliked carbonated drinks. Thinking back, she could never recall the older girl drinking one.

That left the kissing options. Ann seemed like the kind of girl who could swing both ways (though in all honesty, all of the members from the Phantom Thieves seemed like they could), so the girl one was not completely off the table. But maybe Futaba just secretly hoped for that one to be real.

The last one seemed… odd. The two were close… but were they close in that way? Futaba got more of a “best friends since childhood” vibe from them rather than romance. It seemed that this was her best bet.

“I have made my decision!” Futaba announced.

“Then let’s get on with it!” Ann prodded.

“I choose… option number three!”

Ann chuckled. “I figured. But you’d be wrong.”

“What? You’ve kissed Ryuji?” Futaba’s eyes bugged out of her head.

Ann nodded. “I sure have. It was for a dare, though, not because I like him like that. I couldn’t pass up the bet though. He was gonna buy me a super deluxe crepe if he lost!”

Futaba briefly wondered what the bet was. But she found that she couldn’t care less at the moment. “So then… you’ve never kissed a girl?”

“Bingo.”

“B-but… um… have you ever wanted to?” Futaba couldn’t help herself. It seemed like the question rose up out of her body before her mouth or brain could filter it.

Ann smiled. “Yes.”

Futaba raised her eyebrows. “R-really? That’s interesting, A—”

Before she could get Ann’s name out of her mouth, she noticed that something was on hers.

Namely, Ann’s mouth.

If Futaba had blushed before, it was nothing compared to what was going on now. She suddenly pushed Ann away by her shoulders, her own heaving with deep breaths.

Ann looked at Futaba with a hurt expression. Unable to meet the younger girl’s eyes, Ann mumbled, “W-was that not okay? I thought that… ya know… maybe… you liked me like that. I-I wasn’t sure, but I went for it and now I feel really bad and now you’re not saying anything and it’s freaking me out and –”

Now it was Futaba’s chance to return the favor. Once she had gotten over the shock of her crush not only liking her back but kissing her, Futaba was able to do what she had always wanted. Placing her lips onto Ann’s, the other girl made a surprised sound, but ultimately fell silent. She kissed the other girl back, wrapping an arm around her waist to bring her closer.

The two pulled apart after a few moments, both breathing heavily and blushing furiously.

Futaba wasn’t able to say anything just yet, but she moved forward to rest her forehead on Ann’s. She looked into the other girl’s eyes, conveying just how strongly she felt.

Ann smiled, looking right back at her. “Well,” she murmured, pecking Futaba on the nose, “Looks like everything I said was true after all.”

Bam! This story practically typed itself. I wish all of them were this easy to write. Sorry RyuAnn fans for that tease – you will get your chance! See you tomorrow!

[lopithecusfanfiction]

A Life So Changed: Chapter Twenty-Six

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Rating: Explicit Word Count: 2185 Alternate: AO3, fanfiction.net Author's Note: N/A

Chapter Twenty-Six:

Oliver arrives at the time that he had indicated. He isn’t even a minute late or early. Bruce is sitting at the end of the dining room table when Oliver walks into the room. It’s a long table and so he had decided to sit on the side that way Oliver could sit across from him and not be miles away. There are flowers and a lit candle in between them.

Oliver looks around the room and then at Bruce’s black button up and slacks. He hums approvingly. “I didn’t realize this was going to be so formal. I would have dressed up myself.” He’s wearing a forest green t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans.

Bruce squirms in his seat. “It’s okay.”

“Are those new?” Oliver asks, indicating to his clothes.

“My other clothes got too small.” Oliver nods in understanding. “Alfred bought them the other day. They don’t hide my stomach anymore but…” he shrugs. “I’m not going out.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. That’s why I suggested we eat here.” Oliver picks up his fork and knife, starting to dig into his steak. Bruce does the same. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“The other day.” Oliver pauses in his eating, setting his utensils down. “I’m not apologizing Oliver.”

“You took Clark’s side which I really shouldn’t be surprised with since he’s Clark.”

Bruce sets his own utensils down, his frustration already starting to rise. “Oliver, I wasn’t taking anyone’s side.”

Oliver shrugs. “And I’m just supposed to believe that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Oliver opens his mouth to say something but then closes it, looking down and at the table. “Oliver?”

“I have to go back to Star City for a few days,” he says, looking up once more.

The statement takes Bruce by surprise. “Why?”

Oliver sighs, starting to eat again. “Business. You know how it is. There’s some things I need to take care of there for Queen Industries that can only be done back home. Plus, the Green Arrow has been missing for a little too long. I figured he should make an appearance.”

“Are you staying there?”

“No,” Oliver says which surprises Bruce again. “Bruce, just because we are arguing doesn’t mean I’m going to break up with you and go back to Star City for good. That’s not how relationships work. There’s going to be arguments and we’ll have to work through them.”

“But you won’t even talk to me, Ollie. You didn’t even answer my previous question.”

Oliver sighs again. “Look, Bruce, you and Clark are best friends. I just… I feel a bit threatened by that.”

“You don’t have to be,” Bruce tells him. Oliver studies him with his lips pursed, thinking. “Ollie?”

“I know,” Oliver says quietly, looking down and at his plate of food. “I’m sorry for the way I acted with Clark. I shouldn’t have. The next time I see him or Superman or whatever, then I’ll apologize to him too.”

Bruce isn’t sure if Oliver means it but he doesn’t want to get into another fight right now so he takes it. Instead he asks, “When do you leave for Star City?”

“Tonight.”

“That’s… sooner than I thought.”

Oliver eyes him. “I know but I need to be back for tomorrow morning.”

“Are you meeting with board members?” Oliver nods, taking a sip of his red wine. Bruce has some sparkling water to substitute the drink with. “They’re going to ask you about me. What are you going to say?”

“What do you want me to say?”

Bruce hesitates. He had told Clark that Oliver is his mate but should he keep the lie up? Clark thinking that is one thing. A whole board of directors thinking it, is completely another thing. One of Oliver’s eyebrows raises as he waits for Bruce’s response. The media has already spun their first date into meaning they’re mates so it wouldn’t be too farfetched to make the board directors believe the same thing, but Bruce isn’t sure that’s what he wants. Still, it’s probably for the best. Biting his lip, Bruce finally responds. “Tell them I’m your mate.”

Oliver’s other eyebrow raises now. “Really?” Bruce nods. “But I haven’t even bitten you yet. Hell, you haven’t even let me knot you.”

“I told you why I haven’t.”

Oliver raises his hands in a placating manner. “I know and I understand. I have no problem with it, I swear. I’m still completely willing to wait. It’s just… it’s going to be a bit hard for the directors to believe me when they haven’t even seen you with a bite mark.”

“Oliver, I haven’t even been out in public for almost a month. No one has seen me with a bite mark.”

“Then wouldn’t it make more sense to tell them that we are thinking about being mates?”

“No,” Bruce says, swallowing thickly. “Because we are mates.” Bruce’s mouth is suddenly dry and so he takes a drink of his sparkling water.

Oliver’s eyes have grown wide. “You… want to be mates?” Bruce nods. “Really?”

Bruce forces a chuckle. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately and I think we should.”

“Well… that’s honestly very surprising.”

“It was the obvious next step, Ollie.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I just thought I would have to wait longer because you’re Batman.” Oliver gives him a cheeky smile and it causes Bruce to smile genuinely back at him. “But you won’t find me saying no to being your mate.”

Bruce nods, smile still in place. “Good.”

*~~~*

Later that night, Bruce is sitting in the lounge, texting Oliver. He’s boarding the plane now and so will have to go soon but Oliver wanted to keep in touch until then. Bruce isn’t sure if Oliver is just worried about their relationship and that is why, or if he’s giddy at Bruce wanting to be his mate. Either way, it’s not long before Oliver tells him that he can’t text anymore and will contact him again when he lands. He ends the text with a heart emoji and Bruce forces himself to send one back.

Bruce sets his phone down on the coffee table and rubs his face with both hands. He’s got more sparkling water but really wishes it was wine or better yet, scotch, so he can drink himself into a stupor and forget the hole he just dug himself. He still doesn’t love Oliver and he’s not sure why he is trying to force himself to be with him. It’s not like him. It’s not like him at all. But he needs to get over Clark. He needs to finally move on. Him pining after someone who doesn’t love him back has gone on long enough. Besides, maybe Tim is right. Maybe Oliver will do him some good and help him move on. Maybe eventually he will love Oliver the way he loves Clark.

With a sigh, Bruce stands up, deciding to go to bed early. He’s tired and wants to try and get some sleep for once. He’s half way across the room when the alarms in the house sound. Bruce freezes. The boys are out on patrol and Alfred has gone out to the twenty-four-hour minimart to pick some things up that Dick had neglected to get during his last grocery run that Alfred had sent him on. So Bruce is currently home alone.

Reaching to his watch, Bruce presses a button on the side of it and shuts the alarm off. Then he goes to the fireplace and picks up the fireplace poker. Once he’s gotten that, he starts to slowly make his way to the entrance of the cave. He doesn’t even get half way there before he hears the click of a gun. Turning around, he sees a man with a ski mask on standing there, pointing a gun at him. “Drop it.”

Bruce weighs his options. Being Batman, he could easily take this guy on but he isn’t currently Batman. Instead he’s a pregnant omega. He’s carry a baby that might or might not be invincible. If he miscalculates due to the extra weight of the baby and moves slower or wrong and then gets shot, he has no way of knowing if the baby will survive that. He can’t take that chance.

With a growl, Bruce lowers the poker to the floor. “Good boy,” the intruder mocks. He then motions to something with his head. Eyes growing wide, Bruce spins around and sees another person standing behind him. Bruce is about to step back away from him but the guy was ready and sticks a needle into his neck. Bruce slaps his hand away and stumbles backwards, hand going to his neck. “What was that?” he asks in alarm, his first thought going to the baby.

“Don’t worry Brucie,” the first guy begins. “It was just a mild sedative.”

Bruce swallows, his vision starting to get blurry and spin. Panic rises in his chest. If they gave him too much of a high dose, then it could harm the baby. “Wh-what do you want?”

The guy laughs manically. “You obviously.”

Bruce stumbles again, trying to stay awake. He needs to get away from them. He reaches out a hand to the wall to steady himself. “Why?”

The other intruder, the one that gave him the sedative, walks up to him and grabs a hold of his shoulder. Bruce tries to shrug him off but only ends up falling to the floor. “You’re going to make us rich, Brucie.”

“Yeah,” he hears the other guy say. “Hopefully your family is the type to pay.” The last thing Bruce hears is the two men laughing before he passes out.

*~~~*

Bruce wakes up with a start, his hands and arms feeling numb. They are above his head and when Bruce looks up groggily, he sees that his wrists are bound with rope to the ceiling. Bruce looks around the room and by the looks of it, he is currently in an abandoned building. Bruce’s throat and mouth are extremely dry and he wishes he had something to drink but he doubts the men that took him will give him anything.

Said men are in front of him, setting up a video camera that is pointing at Bruce. One of them, the one that had the gun earlier, notices Bruce is awake. “Well, hello Brucie.” He walks up to him, knife now in his hand. “How are you feeling?” Bruce spits on his face and the man, who Bruce can finally smell is an alpha, growls at him and presses the knife to his throat. “Why you filthy omega!”

“Hey, Roger, don’t hurt him,” the other guy warns. Taking a sniff of the air, Bruce smells that he is a beta.

“Shut up Michael. I’ll do whatever the fuck I want to this omega scum.” Roger turns an evil grin onto Bruce, bringing the knife up to his cheek. “If I want to hurt him, I’ll hurt him.” He cuts Bruce’s cheek. “If I want to humiliate him, I’ll humiliate him.” He points to the camera. “And,” he continues, his smile turning sultry with an evil sparkle. “If I want to fuck him, I’ll fuck him.” Bruce tries to pull away when Roger presses into him, the knife cutting away his button up, but the ropes restrain him. When his shirt is fully cut open, Roger’s eyes rake over his body. They falter, however, when they reach his stomach. Then, Roger’s smile changes one more time to mischievous. “Well, well, well, would you look it here? Hey, Michael, come look at this, Brucie has been hiding something from the world.”

Michael abandons the camera and walks over, looking at where Roger is pointing. “Holy, shit, the dude is pregnant.”

“That he is, Michael, and guess what that means?” Roger wraps an arm around Michael’s shoulders. “Double the ransom. We take what we initially were going to ask for and double it because now there is a baby involved.”

Michael pushes Roger away. “No way, dude! I didn’t sign on to hurt someone who is pregnant.”

“Are you backing out, Mikey?” Roger asks, pointing the knife at him.

Michael’s eyes dart to the knife and he swallows. He then looks at Bruce briefly and back to Roger. “No, of course, not Roger.”

“Good.” Roger claps his hands together once. “Now, let’s get this show on the road.” He approaches Bruce and grabs a hold of his button up. “We want to make sure we get a good shot of this baby bump of his.”

“Fuck you!” Bruce spits at him, trying once more to get out of the rope.

Roger laughs as Michael brings another syringe up to him. “Oh, I think that’s the last thing you’re going to be thinking about once we’re done with you.” He presses the needle to Bruce’s neck and Bruce flinches away. “Let’s see how you and the baby here handle some fear toxin.” He laughs manically as he injects the serum into Bruce’s neck.

A/N: Thanks for reading!!

[voresmithing]

Day 1: Uncomfortable Situations

[The context for this is a Bit Complex

But in short: AU where Kaz stayed loyal to BB up thru Zanzibar, dragged kicking and screaming back to Foxhound by Snake after BB’s ‘death’ because he had valuable intel, is now locked on Foxhound compound serving out his crimes.]

2000 - Washington - Foxhound

Their conversation, in the sparsely furnished office of Foxhound's X.O., had actually started pretty nostalgic.

Kaz had snarled, insulted, demanded, and Ocelot feigned disappointment in him while curling gloved fingers around his neck. They'd exchanged bruises in places easily concealed. It was a routine established over twenty years ago and not often repeated in the last fifteen, but it still worked, like pounding a fist into a spasming muscle until it relaxed. It was easy, quick, and barely humiliating now that Kaz had finally seen the last thing he might have taken pride in burn.

Or that's how it would usually go. And had been going along just fine until at the tail end of their encounter, with Kaz gasping on his curses, Ocelot had whispered low into his ear that he needed to get himself together or he wouldn't be around to see Big Boss wake up this time.

And that was why, after some threats, yelling, an attempted and failed murder, Kaz was storming down the narrow corridors of Foxhound's admin building at just shy of what would constitute a panicked run on a prosthetic that barely allowed a pained jog.

And it's why, when he hears a concerned and surprised "Kaz?" in a voice permanent with gravel and more familiar than his own, he nearly jumps out of his skin.

It's not even that for a single moment he really thinks Snake, his Snake is behind him, especially not sounding worried -- no.

But old synapses are just so eager to reconnect, firing off a minute dose of the same intoxicating cocktail that had kept him loyally one step behind and one step to the right of the Boss decades past the point of reason.

On most days, Kaz would take the tiny jolt to his pulse, the dusting of endorphins, with a wry smile and a spike of pain between his lungs that was just as addictive as the pleasure.

Today, with Ocelot's promise still clinging to the back of his mind like an oil slick, hearing that name, spoken by that voice, invokes the memory of promise that apparently neither party could be trusted to keep. A different set of synapses connect and Kaz really, really, has to restrain the impulse to pop David in the eye with the tip of his cane.

It helps that David is almost more literate in body language than his own mother tongue, and has been making a special study of the Hell Master in particular. He comes up short in his attempt to catch up with Kaz, stopping just out of reach of any temperamental canings, and slowly lifts both his eyebrows.

"Something happen?"

About half a dozen lies surface automatically. Everything from none of your business to a flippant declaration that he's sort of become a moody prick since being caught embezzling, haven't you heard? -- the former option being almost hysterically cruel in how untrue it was, and the latter being the latest gossip he'd caught two older recruits in shortly before they'd been sent to run laps until sunset.

Really, he's a great liar, and it's not the first fucking time he's needed to string together a sentence to explain away some uncharacteristic behavior when a supposedly dead man has tilted his entire world.

Still, somehow all that comes out is, "I need a drink."

David's eyebrows lift higher, and Kaz can see him contemplating his options. Kaz contemplates what the hell he is doing for about three seconds before deciding to stand beside his autonomous response by refusing to question it now.

David makes his own decisions, and nods down the hall's opposite direction.

Kaz marches past him, jamming down unnecessarily hard on his left leg with every step, all the way to David's room.

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

Fourty minutes later, Kaz feels a bit like the whisky unbalancing his vision has helpfully done something to counter the way his world had flipped the instant Ocelot suggested Snake was alive somewhere, carefully preserved under glass and the Patriot's thumb, waiting to be revived.

He doesn't know how Ocelot would've gotten that information, and wouldn't remotely put it past the man to lie to him about this again if it furthered whatever agendas he's moved onto in the wake of Zanzibar Land's collapse.

But he is miserably cognizant of how much it doesn't matter. Though Kaz had always grasped for whatever guarantees he could get, he'd still once wasted a decade of his life clinging to a memory, hope kept alive by nothing more than a promise from a man he hated. He'd sacrificed his fucking body for it, only to be repaid with a phantom delivered by sleight of hand.

It's not that he believes he can do it again, he just can't imagine doing anything else.

He's feeling almost pragmatic about the whole thing. And if he died in the process of chasing Snake's shadow yet again, then honestly, it'd be about fucking time.

Kaz is a bit surprised to find alcohol still in his glass, and knocks it back, then catches an escaping dribble with the side of his thumb that is moved up to his lips.

He's too damn old to still be such a sloppy drunk.

From where he perches on his trunk, David watches Kaz with a sharp clarity, despite that the kid had been taking a pull on the bottle for every shot Kaz had. No surprise, Kaz hasn't had the option to drink away his state of mind lately, and David is still drowning his demons on the regular. He strongly suspects that David had been hoping Kaz would be a chatty drunk, and thus more willing to shed light on some of the frustrating mysteries that haunted the young man.

It hadn't been working out for the kid so far, and as Kaz gets drunker and says less of relevance, some judgment has started to layer David's voice. "So, are you going to tell me what happened?"

"You're really getting that patronizing tone down pat lately, kid. Maybe you should give something else a try."

"Sure, you try telling me something that sounds like it could be true, and I'll practice sounding like I believe you."

Despite the bite of genuine frustration in David's gruff response, Kaz finds a fond smile springs too easily to his face. "Ohh ho, you get meaner every day. I'm a terrible influence on you."

David clips off a tired little sigh as he lifts the bottle of whiskey -- the same brand they'd shared together some years ago, Kaz is almost sure -- and eyes the much reduced waterline. "I think it's starting to go both ways, maybe I should cut you off."

Kaz doesn't have to feign his offense at this idea, as if he hadn't been drinking himself into embarrassing stupors while David was still a scheme in the back of Cipher's mind. "I may not be as young as I once was, but I think I can handle more than a few shots." He hums and raps his knuckles on the table. "The night is young, David."

"It's not even night yet, actually."

Kaz squints and checks the window, where the sun is only just starting to set, then shrugs. And after a split second more of thought, tugs a deliberately sly smile into place. "Well, maybe I was planning on staying the night."

"Master…"

Kaz tries to be at least more honest with himself than he is with anyone else, and he can admit he feels a certain smug pleasure at the slight widening of David's eyes at the invitation, even if his tone conveys wariness.

"Ha ha…" Kaz directs his attention to the ridiculous novelty glass in his hand when a prick of shame finds him a moment later. "You should watch that, kid. The moments you slip up are always the most revealing."

"Calling you Master? It's a pretty old habit."

David gets to his feet with slow deliberation, and Kaz happens to be at just the right angle to enjoy the younger man's shadow falling over him. "So is thinking of me as someone you you can trust. Someone you respect." As Kaz looks up, he leans back in the uneven folding chair, feels it tip to a different leg as his weight shifts."That's the habit you need to break if you really want to stop thinking of me as good ol' Master Miller."

One of David's hands settles next to Kaz's on the table, and it squeaks under his weight. "So now you're telling me to disrespect you?" This close, Kaz can make out upturn of the corner of David's mouth even with the shadows falling across his face.

Kaz feels his expression matching it, which is objectively worse, and closes his eyes and tries to ask himself if he's really going to do this. "That's... a pretty selective reading." There's a warm puff of breath against his lips, just before it is David's mouth on his, and immediately knows himself and this situation well enough to not have any doubt about where it will go. David is removing his aviators with barely a break in the kiss, and Kaz uses it to complain, "Only hearing what you want is another bad habit you should work on."

"Sounds like I'm already making some headway on that disrespect then."

"Hah. Jesus, I’m a shitty influence."

[im-not-a-what]

What the Deuce, Ch. 3

Title: What the Deuce

Summary: Neal Gold and Lily Vincent don’t start on the right foot when they meet at camp. But friendship blooms, and they discover some odd coincidences about each other’s families. Before they know it, they’ve stumbled on a long-kept secret that will throw the Golds and the Vincents for a monumental loop and into an overdue reunion.

Rating: T

Genre: family, friendship, humor, drama

Chapter: Exposure {1} {2}

AO3 link

Notes: At last, some Rumbelle!

The last week and a half had felt impossibly long.

Neal’s absence wasn’t completely to blame, but it was a factor. His being in another state for camp this year shouldn’t have made much difference—two weeks away from home measured the same for both him and Rumford Gold no matter where they each were. The older Gold justified his restless anxiety with the fact that he couldn’t visit the camp at the drop of a hat (well, he could if he were desperate). He’d not done that since Neal was in sixth grade, when his son had laid out all the valid reasons a boy his age didn’t need and didn’t want his father checking in halfway through sleep-away camp in person. At least the option had been there, regardless.

Instead, Rumford had to ease his worries with routine text messages. He eventually learned to restrain himself to early-evening well wishes rather than sprinkling them throughout the day. “If he’s not answering,” Belle had advised, “that’s probably a good thing. It means he’s busy or having fun with other kids.”

Rumford had half-seriously retorted, “What if he’s not answering because he’s paralyzed?”

“I think you should be more worried that he’s annoyed by all the messages.”

“Point taken.”

Rumford settled for the nightly greeting and a countdown of the days till he picked up Neal. Of course, crossing off the days on the calendar was a guaranteed way to delay the inevitable crawl of time.

All these little torturous details accounted for, the wait for Neal wasn’t the only reason he wanted to drink himself into an oblivious stupor.

Word had gotten out about the engagement. In an irritatingly cozy town like Storybrooke, secrets couldn’t stay buried. Rumford and Belle did their best to work around this. The wedding would be small-scale, reserved for only their closest loved ones, and even they remained mostly, and temporarily, in the dark. A knot in Rumford’s stomach was born from the wild speculation that Neal, one of the handful of people informed about the engagement, might’ve let it slip to his school friends. But no, his boy knew better. Someone else had to be at fault.

Rumford met no success in solving the mystery. Belle insisted it didn’t matter. One thing they did agree on: being outed for the entertainment of their neighbors was mortifying. But Belle wasn’t going to march into the news station and wrangle the information out of Sydney Glass. Well, that made one of them.

In a brilliant (and frustrating) stroke, she intervened in Rumford’s attempt to bang down the door of the newspaper offices—literally. When she couldn’t talk him out of going inside, she warned him that Sydney probably didn’t know the source (the article cited an anonymous tip) and making a scene would earn only more bad press. Rumford barely contained a grimace as he and his fiancée walked in, side by side, discarding any pretense. He bristled at the sight of Regina Mills in Sydney’s office, a glass room sectioned off from the work floor. No article needed to print for everyone to know that the editor-in-chief was under the mayor’s thumb, hopelessly enchanted and intimidated by her.

Judging from the way she leaned on Sydney’s desk, one-handed so the other could perch on her cocked hip, Regina was very intent on him pulling some favor. Could it have to do with Rumford’s engagement? After many years of deals and business arrangements, he and Regina had developed a rapport that had the unspoken, mutual understanding of like-minded people. That took a turn when it became evident to the town that the taciturn pawnbroker and landlord was dating the sweet librarian. Regina started mocking him and throwing Belle passive-aggressive comments.

While he had to wonder if she found out about the engagement and ordered Sydney to run it, Rumford was a little tickled to see her response. She would’ve loved to humiliate him given any opportunity, but in this case, his impending marriage didn’t qualify as “dirt” in her eyes. But maybe he was underestimating her pettiness.

Belle led the way. She knocked on the office door, not at all spooked by Regina’s presence. The two women were hardly on friendly terms. After some tense confrontations over Regina’s unreasonable cuts to library funding, Belle had resolved to take the high road in future. Regina wanted to get a rise out of Belle if not intimidate her into meekness. Belle squared her shoulders and smiled as Regina and Sydney paused their unheard conversation to look at the intruding couple. She took slower steps so her cane-reliant fiancé could keep up. Rumford more than compensated with his far-reaching glare, which hit Sydney long before Belle greeted him.

“Forgive the interruption,” she said, “but we need to talk to Sydney.”

Sydney stuttered a nervous laugh. “Ah, just one moment, if you please. We were—”

“We’re done for now.” Regina spoke with a calm that belied fire. Her attention shot past Belle to Rumford. “I hear congratulations are in order. When’s the joyful occasion?”

“Haven’t decided,” Rumford said through cutting teeth. “You’ll be the first to know.”

A smirk slid over her ruby lips. She swiveled her attention to Belle. “Don’t let him snake his way out of setting a date. He just might slip through your fingers.” The pearly grin that blossomed was as amiable as a Venus flytrap’s jaws.

The lift of Belle’s chest came from all the words she had to hold back. It killed her, Rumford knew, to let Regina have the last word. If she forsook mature restraint and let her sharp tongue loose, he wouldn’t blame her. In fact, he would’ve mentally cheered, maybe even left Sydney alone so he could take Belle home and show his appreciation, or comfort her if Regina managed to retaliate.

Slightly inappropriate thoughts brushed back, Rumford focused a chill eye on Regina as she sauntered past him out the door. She might’ve exited in good spirits; Mr. Glass wouldn’t, and for now, that would have to suffice.

His icy attention shifted to the newspaper editor. Sydney went as stiff as a statue.

“Sydney,” Belle interjected again—a serious declaration, yet far kinder compared to the stare coming from behind her—“I’m sure you know why we’re here.”

The man’s fear thawed enough so he could answer. “Let me first assure you that I thought the announcement had your blessing.”

“Don’t start lying now.” Rumford kept his voice at a low rumble that made Sydney’s bones shudder.

“I-it’s not a lie. It’s a simple misunderstanding. But I’m afraid what’s done is done.”

“That much is right,” Belle said, letting her vexation manifest. “You had no right to share our personal life without our explicit permission!”

“I’m sorry, but it’s called ‘free press’ for a reason.” Sydney dared the smallest smug smile.

“The term protects you from political imprisonment.” Rumford slowly advanced, a predator moving in on his quarry. “Not from the deep displeasure of your exploitive publications.”

“Exploitive? Look who’s—” Sydney stopped himself.

“Yes? Please, continue.”

“I—I didn’t mean—”

Belle closed in, too. Not to attack. Her body shifted a little further between Sydney and Rumford. Her firm stare was a refuge. Barely so. “Who called in the tip?”

“You know I can’t tell you,” Sydney said almost pleadingly. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

“What reputation is that?” Rumford sniped. “As a snoop and pet for Her Royal Highness? Did she put you up to this?”

“No, and that’s all I can say.”

“You could say a bit more than that. With the right incentive.”

“No, I really can’t say who called! I didn’t recognize the voice.”

Rumford laid on as much disgust as a scoff could carry. Belle delivered a disappointed frown that could crush hearts. “Sydney, you wrote an article of interest from an unverifiable source? On the basis of hearsay? Can you imagine now why people don’t hold your newspaper in higher regard? You’re better than that.”

To Rumford’s incredulity, Sydney looked genuinely sheepish. He recovered soon enough, if not with the same unctuous attempts at charm. “I do what I must to keep readers picking up the paper.”

Belle threw up her hands, her composure finally giving way like a worn, overburdened basket. “You have no competition!”

“But I do! Online articles people can find with one Google search! They’re more interested in real celebrities, but they’ll take what they can get in this town. And really, announcing your engagement is hardly the worst news!”

“It’s still private news,” Belle pushed back.

“Well, I’m sorry I ruined the moment. But I did verify the tip. One of my interns noticed the necklace you were wearing. It’s new, and you’ve been hiding whatever’s on it under your clothes. They checked—innocently, as I was told—that it had your ring on it.”

Belle’s hand pressed to her collarbone. It cupped around the barest bump under her blouse.

Rumford stalked up to Sydney’s desk. “You mean to say that one of your goons looked down my fiancee’s shirt?”

Far from being just as appalled, Belle rolled her eyes.

Sydney lurched back all the same. “What do you want me to say, Gold? I’ve apologized! I’ve explained myself!”

“And yet, for some reason, I still want to smash in your skull with this!” Up the cane flew in Rumford’s hand, swinging in the light by the flick of his hand.

Belle grabbed his arm. “Rumford, that’s enough.” She began pulling him away from the desk.

“Answer me this,” Rumford barked, even as his steps reluctantly followed hers, “was the caller male or female?”

“M-Male.” Sydney trembled, maybe a bit from relief that he could throw the snarling dog a scrap of cloth with someone else’s scent.

Rumford was placated enough that Belle could successfully remove him from the building and the premises. She strongly suggested they go for a cool-off walk.

“I don’t want to say I told you so,” she remarked many quiet minutes later as they rounded the corner toward the library.

“Yes, you do,” Rumford said.

“Okay, maybe I do. You get my point, right?”

“At least I know there’s a bloke out there I need to educate in minding his own business.”

“Have you considered that maybe it was Neal? Maybe he was tired of the secrecy but didn’t know how to tell you.”

“I’m not going to assume that. It’s rubbish.”

“We have our reasons for wanting to hold off on the announcement. Whoever did this, maybe they had understandable reasons for wanting it known. Let’s wait to work up a fury when we know the who and why.”

Rumford slowed his walk. “I thought you said you didn’t care who tipped off Glass.”

“I don’t think it should matter.” Belle took advantage of their reduced pace to stop entirely and hold one of Rumford’s hands. “I’m not going to let whoever it was ruin this for us. The best revenge is being too happy to give a damn.”

“Can’t we be happy and want to give the bastard a thrashing?”

“I don’t want to have to marry you in a prison.”

“I’m not going to murder anyone.”

Belle narrowed her eyes. “Assault is still a crime.”

Rumford harrumphed. “When did they add that to the law book?”

“Since the Age of Enlightenment, I’m guessing.” She tilted her head and started to smile.

A burgeoning smile of his own came with a caress down Belle’s shoulder and arm. She leaned into the moving touch. He let the air rest between them, buffeted only by the lightest breeze, before giving his reply. “I am happy. Not about the article, obviously. But I am happy. Happiest I’ve been in a long time. I don’t want that ruined.”

Belle licked her lips. She did that when she was trying to work out a problem. Or was aroused. Rumford safely guessed the former.

“What if we went out of town to get married?”

Rumford’s eyebrows twitched. “You don’t mean Vegas, do you?”

Belle laughed, a welcomed sound. “Somewhere closer, and classier. But just far enough that we won’t have to hear the tittle tattle.”

“Well, once I get Neal from camp, I’ll consider it.”

“Right. We’d have to bring Neal along, right? And your aunts. And Dad.” She pursed her lips. “Hmm, maybe a destination wedding would be tricky.”

“Not impossible. You could still invite your friends.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. But thank you for thinking of them, too.”

Up on her toes, she kissed his cheek. That small gesture had done its fair share of soothing his nerves in the following days under every awkward or cheeky glance from the rest of the town. With each one, Rumford was more inclined to take Belle’s suggestion, even if marrying somewhere else created different complications.

Just wait it out, he told himself. Wait till Neal came home. Then, somehow, things would fall into place.