#It’s like 1:20 AM now and my eyes sting but it’s all worth it for character creation

[inkandpaintleopard]

Some drawings I did while just in the mood to sketch

[sodasback]

Ex BF - Part 2

Drew Starkey x Reader

Part 1

You guys, I changed my mind, this one just works so much better as a Drew Starkey fic ...so fuck it, I’m just gonna post what I had on my deactivated blog. 

It had been months since you ran into Josh on set at Drew’s work. Luckily, Drew was only in a couple scenes for that project and he only worked on that show one more day without running into Josh. Now, you, Drew and a lot of the Outer Banks crew were all in LA again and going out to a bar.

Unfortunately for you, and everyone that night, Josh and his friends were at the same bar.

“Oh hey, it’s y/n and her movie star boyfriend, Andrew.” Josh said as he appeared next to you and drunkenly leaned an arm on your shoulder. If looks could kill, the look on Drew’s face would have for sure been the death of Josh. It was a mixture of shock and rage at the audacity of this guy. Drew was so taken aback, he didn’t know how to react.

You uncomfortably chuckled and squirmed out from under Josh’s arm to stand in front of Drew quickly, not knowing if Drew’s truly calm nature could be tested any further. “Mhmm, great to see you Josh.” You stated dismissively.

Your effort to separate them was lost as Drew instantly and easily maneuvered you behind him protectively. You turned for the bar as quickly as possible, hoping to end the situation there, so you grabbed Drew’s hand to pull him along with you.

“Aww, y/n/n, you’re not gonna stay and let me get to know your little boyfriend?”

You felt dead weight behind you as you tried to pull Drew away. 

“Bro, I’m telling you right now, back the fuck off.” Drew stated. You whirled around to get in front of him, as Josh took a step forward and titled his chin up, “Or what?”

You put your hands on Drew’s chest. He easily looked over your head to continue glaring at Josh.

“Drew” you said sternly. He glanced down at you for a second, before looking back up at Josh. Josh smirked and waited to see what Drew was gonna do. “He’s not worth it. Trust me.” You said. Drew looked down at you and softened. 

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder an you wrapped both arms around his waist to walk to the bar. 

“You know, as hot as you are when you get all scary like that. I really really don’t want you getting in a fight because I have an absolutely horrible ex boyfriend.” 

You emphasized the first part of this sentence, but Drew just gave you a deadpan stare. He knew you were trying to flirt with him to get him to relax. And you knew it was too late at this point. As evolved and emotionally intelligent as Drew was, he had now entered caveman mode. Josh challenging him because of you triggered instincts deep within him to meet that challenge aka defending your honor. ...1 point toxic masculinity, 0 points non-violent female empowerment.

At this point in your life, you were happy. You had everything you wanted in your career. You had a beautiful apartment. Your family was healthy. You had the best friends you could ask for. And of course, you had Drew. Drew was the one. He was your soulmate. Your best friend. And you knew it. You didn’t feel the need to put Josh in his place any more. You just wanted to keep enjoying your life. You had time to make peace with what Josh did to you and you felt like you moved past it and him. Yeah, you felt like you were past it, you tried to convince yourself. It had been years since the incident happened and you and Josh broke up...

Flashback

You and Josh were 20 and had been on and off for a couple years. One night, you had both been out, when you started fighting, something that wasn’t new to your relationship. Josh had been flirting with another girl a lot of the night and gaslighting you to make you feel like you were imagining it. As you brought up the flirting again, he was reaching for his car keys. You were pissed that he was using this tactic again. He would leave until you calmed down and started to worry about him so much that you would just finally give in and forget the fight, instead of holding him accountable. You were so mad at him for making you feel like you were crazy and for always manipulating you by leaving. You couldn’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth, “Sure, just leave again. Fucking typical, Josh. Like father, like son, I guess.”

And before you could even process what happened, the whole right side of your face was stinging, a cut near eye was bleeding from his ring and your ears were ringing. Josh had just backhanded you hard. Time stood still for a moment as your hand went to cradle your cheek. You were absolutely shocked.

“Oh fuck. You okay?” 

You finally looked up at him with an unreadable expression on your face. “..don’t make this a big deal, okay? That was a really shitty thing to say and you just made me so mad, I couldn’t help i-” At that point, you stormed into the bedroom and locked the door. He now was faced with you being upset and maybe even losing you; he started knocking on the door and apologizing profusely after realizing your reaction. You were completely blocking out all the noise coming from the other side of the door as you tried to gather your thoughts. 

Okay, that was a really low blow. Yeah, but he HIT you.

I definitely shouldn’t have said that. But he HIT you.

Maybe I deserved it. No, he HIT you. You continued to argue with yourself.

What would you tell your y/bff’s/n if this happened to her?

What would your mom or dad tell you right now?

If he did it once, he could do it again.

...this isn’t the first time you’ve been scared of him.

...but he seems genuinely really sorry.

You opened the door to find Josh sitting on the ground leaning against the wall. He looked at you scared and hopeful, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry for what I said. It was really unfair and hurtful of me.” You stated genuinely.

Relief washed over his face for a second, “I’m so sorry baby. I swear that will never happen again.” He said, as he got up and he started to make his way to hug you. 

“Yeah, I know it will never happen again...” you held your hand out to stop him from touching you, confusion now evident in his expression, “because we’re done.”

His face dropped, expression now being somewhere between confused, angry and disappointed. Josh wasn’t used to you putting up boundaries and not letting him get away with all the shit he pulled. “Y/N-” he started. 

“No.” You said adamantly, “Frankly, I don’t care how sorry you are. I don’t care how much I pissed you off. I don’t care how much you promise that will never happen again. Our relationship was toxic before what just happened. I know I’m not perfect and I have a lot of things to work on. But I 1000% know in my bones, that I WILL NEVER let you hit me again. I deserve better. We’re done. I’m going to my parents’ house. I’m coming back tomorrow between 10 and 2 to get my stuff. Don’t be here.”

A couple months later, you had a text from an unknown number. It was Josh borrowing a friend’s phone to text you, since you blocked any way he had to contact you. He apologized. He held himself accountable. There was no deflecting or manipulating in the message and he promised he would never contact you again. You replied: “Thank you for your apology. Yes, I’d appreciate it if you don’t contact me again.”

And that was it. You ran into him briefly at the grocery store once and you had been in a really good mood. Your interaction was light and almost flirty. You felt so ashamed about it later, but you hadn’t seen or heard from Josh again until years later, with Drew on set. And little did you know, seeing you with Drew set something off in Josh that he just couldn’t let go.

-

As you stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender’s attention, you turned to see the caveman version of your gorgeous boyfriend still glaring, his fists clenching and unclenching.

“Babe.” You said and he looked at you.

“He’s got fuckin nerve.” He said shaking his head and you took a deep breath ready for the rant, “First off, called me a movie star. I am a serious actor, Y/N.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at Drew being offended anything this asshole said and Drew’s eyes widened at you and you stifled a giggle while you laced your hands around his neck to appease him, “Mhmm” you encouraged. 

“And then he called me ‘Andrew’“ Drew went on. And you nodded and gave him a sympathetic pout, “I know, I heard.”

“And THEN, he has the AUDACITY to put his fucking arm around you?! Bro, I’m heateddddd-” He continued, barely paying attention to you as you leaned your body against his. You ignored the fact that he just called you bro and tried a different tact. 

“Drew, stop. You can’t get into a bar fight. Think about your job.”

“I don’t care about my job. I care about you.”

“That’s not true. You do care about your job. And I know you care about me. But if you get into a fight right now, it’s not gonna change what he did to me. It was a long time ago. We’re not together anymore. I’m over it. Punching him is not gonna do anything except jeopardize your future.”

Drew still had his fight face on, “Well, knocking that smirk off his fucking face would sure make me feel better.” He said and you scowled at him. “And for the record, I don’t think you’re over it. And you don’t have to be. You never have to be over it. And that doesn’t mean you aren’t fucking strong and badass.” 

You were quiet as you contemplated what Drew said. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before looking at you. “Okay” he said softly. 

 “Thank you” you said softly before you pulled him down to kiss him. After a minute of you successfully distracting him with a pretty passionate slow kiss, you felt Drew melt a little. 

“Hey, I’m sorry. Do you want to leave? Like do you not feel like being out anymore?” He asked sweetly.

“No, I’m okay. He’s just being a drunk asshole.” You turned away to grab the drinks the bartender poured for you and Drew, “We probably won’t even see him for the rest of the night.” 

You turned back and realized caveman Drew was now glaring at Josh again as you spoke, “..or not.” You rolled your eyes.

Despite the bad beginning, you and your friends ended up having fun as the night went on. And you and Drew proceeded to drink. Which was probably not the smartest decision. You were both feistier when you drank and you knew Drew’s natural state of calmness was only going to wear off as the night went on.

Eventually, you had to go to the bathroom. But you didn’t trust Josh to not instigate something with Drew while you were gone and you didn’t trust Drew to not try and avenge your honor while you were gone either. So you found Austin, Chase and JD. Chase and JD were only half-listening as they watched whatever game was on the tvs at the semi-crowded bar. 

“Guys, I need you to watch Drew while I go pee.” You said. Drew rolled his eyes and hung his head back with a groan.

“What’s the rig?” Austin asked, ironically using his favorite word as he put one arm on your shoulder and the other on Drew’s.

“Drew is trying to fight my ex-boyfriend and you need to stop him from ruining his career and/or going to jail for assault.” You looked at Drew as you finished your sentence remind him that he could get in serious trouble for getting in a fight. Drew scoffed as Austin looked to him for confirmation of what you were saying.

“He called me a movie star dude” Drew said.

“Oooff” Austin agreed that this was a major dig.

“And then he called me ‘Andrew’“

“Ahhh man” Austin commiserated, “This kid deserves to get hit for sure.”

“Austin!” You scolded, “You are not helping!”

“Bro, that’s not even half of it. Like what he did to Y/N; he deserves to get the absolute shit beat out of him, I promise you-”

“Okay, stop! We’re not discussing this. Chase, JD, you are in charge of Drew. Keep him occupied while I go pee and don’t let him ruin his entire life by getting in a stupid bar fight. And Austin, stop encouraging him and keep your mouth shut til I get back please!” You commanded, as you pushed Drew and Austin toward Chase and JD. JD gave you a salute while he put his arm around Drew’s shoulders. 

While you were gone, Drew was drunk and spilling all your business, trying to get all 3, also drunk, boys on his side. “Guys, you don’t even know. This guy is the biggest asshole.”

“Wait, is he really? Or do you just not like him because he’s y/n’s ex?” JD asked.

“No dude. First of all, he like cheated on her a bunch of times; he was super manipulative and .. he fucking hit her once dude.”

The all looked at each other, “What the fuck?!”

“Like hit her?”

“Yeahhhhhh, like physically hit her face.”

“Well you are completely justified, brother.”

“Yeah, we have your back man, whatever happens.” They all nodded and broke out of their little huddle.

“Look! No fighting!” Chase said proudly when you got back, opening up his arms.

“Good job Chase. Gold star” You said returning his quick side hug.

The group decided it was time to go to one more bar, so you all walked out the back ext into a big alley. Where, of course, Josh and his friends were smoking and noticed your crew before you noticed them.

“You think her movie star boyfriend knows what an uptight little prude she used to be?” Josh said to his friend loud enough for you to hear. You honestly didn’t even care about what Josh said, you knew he was trying to get Drew to react. And you knew even your sweet, soft Drew was not immune to anger getting the best of him. Drew stopped walking, still slightly turned away from Josh and just shook his head, not believing Josh’s audacity. 

Even though the guys had been supportive when they were talking to Drew about fighting Josh, no one actually wanted that to happen. So Austin was quickly by Drew’s side, “Don’t do it bro. It’s not worth it.”

“Drew.” You said trying, to get him to focus on you. Unfortunately, you were with a group of boys full of testosterone and Chase was also feeling feisty and protective. 

“Hey, why don’t you shut the fuck up bro” Chase said, taking a step toward Josh, but luckily a level-headed JD was immediately pushing Chase softly backward. 

“Ooh maybe, she’s not such a prude anymore. Maybe she’s sleeping with the whole cast; they’re all so protective of her.” Josh laughed.

“Josh stop! What the fuck is wrong with you?” You yelled at him. And Drew was instantly moving in front of you, “You need to stop talking right now man.” Drew said in a tone that made the hair on your arms stand up. You could feel the tension rolling off Drew.

“Drew calm down. Please.” You pleaded as he looked down at you.

“Y/n, I can’t let him talk about you that way.”

“He’s trying to get under your skin. That’s what he wants.”

“Yeah, well it’s fucking working.”

“Drew, come on. Let’s just go home.” He began to give in as you pulled his arm. 

Josh was obviously determined for a fight, because the next thing that came out of his mouth made it impossible for anyone to stop Drew.

“Hey good luck with y/n, man. I treated her like trash for years and she still came running back to me, bitch has got issu-” And before he could utter another word, Drew’s fist connected with his jaw. 

“Fuck.” You cursed as your hands went through your hair and you backed up between Austin, Chase and JD.

Josh recovered and hit Drew in the eye. 

You gasped. Turning into JD’s chest and he protectively wrapped his arms around you. Drew hit Josh again and he fell to the ground. Drew bent over him and punched him again. “Don’t you ever fucking talk about her again!” He yelled through gritted teeth, “Don’t look at her again. And if you EVER touch her again, I swear to God-” he spat in between a few more punches. 

“Drew! Please!” You yelled and finally Austin pulled him back. “That’s enough, bro.” 

“Come on” JD still had his arms around you, walking you away from everything. 

Drew was breathing heavy and trying to overcome his adrenaline. You and JD were already around the corner with most of the group. 

“Come on, let’s go” Chase ushered Drew away with Austin. And they followed in the same direction. Drew saw you walking ahead of him. 

“Y/N” he called after you softly. You stopped and turned around. He was already right there enveloping you in his arms. 

“Fuck y/n. I’m so sorry.” He muttered kissing the top of your head. You just kept holding each other while the group called Ubers. 

You pulled away from him a little, “Are you okay?” You asked trying to get a look at the bruise forming on his face. “Yeah, baby. I’m fine. I’m so sorry I did that. I’m sorry I put you in this situation.” He said, hugging you again. After a long pause, you pulled up and looked up at him:

“Thank you.” You stated genuinely and Drew looked at you surprised. But while you continued to look at each other, you both understood without saying anything more. You both knew it wasn’t okay that Drew just got in a fight. And you both knew you didn’t need your boyfriend to defend you honor, but you were thankful someone finally had.

Taglist: @moniamaybank @abbyj1822 @october-cameron @hernameisnoell @railmerafe @stupidpendeja @lemur46 @phantompogues 

[mldrgrl]

Mulder realizing how much he loooooves kissing scully

Honestly, he realized that before he even kissed her.

A Lot A Lot A Lot

By: mldrgrl Rating: R

(1 - 19)

Sunday is his favorite day now.  It’s the day they’ve agreed upon is theirs to waste and do whatever they want with.  Together.

He always wakes earlier than she does and lets her sleep in.  They’re at his place this weekend and when he rolls over, she’s sprawled adorably across the left side of the bed like a frog, limbs akimbo.  Her hair is mussed, frizzing at her temples and back of the neck from the humidity of last night’s lovemaking.  He can still smell and taste the salty tang of sweat and passion on her skin as he presses his lips to the back of her shoulder.

As gently as he can, he brushes the hair off the back of her neck and puts his lips there as well, branding her cool skin with his warm mouth.  He kisses her between the shoulder blades and then stretches his neck to kiss her cheek before he rolls away and slips out of bed.

He grabs his running clothes and gets ready in the bathroom with the door partially shut only to block the light from waking her.  Before he leaves, he crouches by the side of the bed and nuzzles her neck.  She grunts softly, lifts her fingers and catches his chin.  He kisses her all over the exposed side of her face, whispering to her at the same time that he’s going for a run, to go back to sleep, he’ll be back soon.  She grunts again and he moves back to take her hand and kiss each one of her fingertips.

(20 - 33)

She’s still sleeping when he gets home and he doesn’t feel so bad about waking her now.  She’s curled on her side, hugging his pillow like a teddy bear.  He lays down diagonally across the bed and kisses her bottom lip, repeatedly, until she scrunches her face.

“Mulderrrrrrr,” she groans.

“Hm?” he answers, peppering her face with soft kisses.

“What time is it?”

“After nine.”  He tries to capture her mouth again, but she turns her head.

“Morning breath,” she protests.

“Don’t care.”  He holds the back of her head and manages to snag the upper curve of her mouth.  She scrunches her face again and he kisses the wrinkles at the side of her nose.  “I stopped at the deli on my way home.”

“Don’t tell me.”

“Egg and cheese.  With bacon.”

“Mmm…”  Her hand moves into his hair to pull him closer, but he backs off.

“I need a shower.”

“Don’t care,” she whispers, bringing back to her mouth.

He manages a few deep kisses before her stomach growls.  She groans in embarrassment and he chuckles against her mouth.

“Guess you don’t want to keep the egg and cheese waiting,” he says, crawling backwards off the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“I was serious about the shower.”

“Have breakfast with me and I’ll join you later.”

“Now there’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

(34 - 67)

She makes good on her promise and stands naked at his sink, clipping her hair up and off her neck as he adjusts the temperature of the taps of his shower.  He’s first in and she’s just behind him.  She makes soapy circles on his back as he washes his hair.  When he’s finished, she presses herself against him and he presses one hand to the tiles as she slides her hand around his hip and starts to stroke him.  He pulls her other hand up from where it rests on his chest and holds it to his mouth, occasionally sinking his teeth into her palm as he moans in pleasure.

They switch places and then it’s her turn.  He kneels down behind her, apologizing to his knees and at the same time assuring them it’ll be worth it.  He kisses her ouroboros tattoo, licks it from head to tail with the tip of his tongue and she puts both hands on the wall and spreads her legs like she’s about to be frisked.  He kisses her hip, moves lower and sinks his teeth into the plump swell of her right buttcheek.  She jerks in surprise and he sucks the sting of his bite away.  He has her writhing before he even turns around and buries his face between her legs.  

The great care she took to try prevent her hair from getting wet is all for naught.

(68 - 72) She blow dries her hair in her bra and panties as he sits on the closed toilet in his boxers and clips his toenails.  He throws on a pair of jeans and stands behind her, rubbing her hips and telling her about a flea market he thinks they should check out as she applies a thin layer of eyeliner and mascara to her lashes.

“Yeah sure,” she says, shrugging him off her shoulder as he lifts her bra strap and kisses her.  “Stop jostling, I’ll ruin my make-up.”

“You don’t need it anyway,” he mumbles and drags his bottom lip across her shoulder to her neck.

“Just a little.”  She shrugs again and he places a hard kiss in protest to her neck before he lets her go.

(73)

They keep wandering away from each other at the flea market.  Not on purpose, just by nature of browsing.  They always end up in the same place eventually though.  Mulder finds her admiring a glass vase that’s such a dark color of blue that every time she shifts it in her hands it looks purple.

“How much?” Mulder asks the man at the stall.

“Twenty,” he answers.

“I was just looking,” Scully says, setting it back on the shelf.

Mulder already has his wallet out and is passing a twenty dollar bill over to the little stallkeeper that reminds him of Frohike.  The vase is wrapped in newspaper and put in a plastic bag, which he gives to Scully.

“Mulderrrrr,” she says.

“I think vases are the traditional one month anniversary gift.”

She blushes and chuckles at the same time, dipping her chin to hide her face from him, but only for a moment.  “Thank you,” she says, and puts her hand on his abdomen, thumb dipping into the waistband of his jeans as she lifts up onto her toes and gives him a kiss.  He grins at her and slings his arm around her shoulders, tucking her against him as they continue to browse.

“I should find something for you,” she says.

“You’re more than enough,” he answers.

(74 - 77)

He pulls over suddenly on the way home and stops abruptly.  

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Nothing.  Be right back.”  

She’s unbuckling her seatbelt, ready to act as backup for whatever situation he’s about to run into, but she quickly realizes he’s stopped in front of a sidewalk florist.  His back is to her, but she can see him pointing and nodding and gesticulating.  He’s back in the car only a few minutes later with a bouquet of white and yellow daisies.

“Can’t let the vase go empty,” he says, as he hands them to her.

She places the flowers on her lap and rests her hand on his cheek as he leans across the seat to kiss her.  Three kisses later, he finally starts the car to keep heading home.

(78 - 100+)

There’s a creature feature marathon on TV, but they’re both drunk on pad Thai and each other and hardly pay attention.  Scully is flat on the couch, her feet in Mulder’s lap, accepting a well-deserved massage as he slouches with his head back and eyes closed.  The vase full of flowers and water and a tab of aspirin that Scully said will help them last longer is sitting on his desk.

“I should go.”  She sighs.

“You can’t.”  He wiggles one foot back and forth.  “I haven’t gotten to a hundred yet.”

“A hundred what?”

“Kisses.”

She raises one eyebrow.  “You’ve been counting?”

“I figure, we’ve known each other for seven years.  I definitely owe you at least one kiss a day for lost time.  That’s 365 times seven.  And plus leap years.  Which is...you know, a lot.  A lot, a lot, a lot.  If I can make it to a hundred every Sunday, maybe, just maybe, I can make up for it.”

“Mulderrrrr…”  She smiles and flexes her toes.  “That’s absurd.”

“It helps that you’re so damn kissable.”

“Oh, am I?”

He stops rubbing her foot and pulls on her calf, sliding her down the couch closer to him and then pulling her up so she’s in his lap.  She wraps her arms loosely around his neck and cocks her head at him.

“How many more do we need?” she asks.

He squints one eye and wrinkles his brow.  “22,” he answers.

“Good thing you’re also so damn kissable,” she replies, taking his face in her hands.  “I intend to surpass that goal.”

“Then, I very much intend to let you.”

He loses count after a hundred and twelve.

The End

[flowercrown-bard]

Birds Still Sing When They Fall From The Sky - Finale

part 1 /  part 2 /  part 3  /  part 4  / part 5  / part 6  / part 7/  part 8   /  part 9 /  part 10 /  part 11  /  part 12  / part 13 / part 14 / part 15 /  part 16 / part 17 / part 18 / part 19 / part 20 / part 21 / part 22 / part 23 belongs to this

content warnings: feeling unloved and unlovable, depressive episode, kind of another funeral scene (not really, but to me it feels like it, so better safe than sorry), temporary setback of the emotional healing, drowning used as a metaphor a lot, self-doubt

(the actual final chapter)

Despite all, despite the sunsets and the music and the little light they shone on the Path, the small bright spots where as inconstant as the sun, sometimes leaving Geralt alone and desperate, waiting for them to reappear but ever fearing they would be gone forever.

Some days were better than others.

Some plunged Geralt into a darkness swallowing him until there was nothing left of him.

It only took one person looking at him in disgust, one too many times seeing a happy couple laughing together to drown him again in the memory of all that he had lost.

He tried reading the letters again. He tried looking at flowers and taking care of himself the way Jaskier had shown him to.

But it was exhausting. Sometimes for days or weeks at a time, no sunset was beautiful enough to make him smile, no bird’s song pretty enough to be worth listening to and no bed would grant him the rest.

Those times were rarer than before, but it didn’t make them hurt any less, didn’t make the emptiness feel any less inescapable.

It had been creeping up on him for days now, dispersing the tentative peace he had created for himself. Geralt had tried to close his eyes, to shut the inevitable hollowness out.

It had reached him nonetheless, as he had always known it would.

With a feeling as if his insides were made of rock, he pulled forth yet another letter. One he had reread so many times over the past months that he knew it by heart, but somehow the words didn’t always stay with him, not the way they were meant to.

‘Read when you feel lonely and unloved’

He stared at the words on the envelope as if they were pulling him in. He knew what he would find when he opened the letter, knew he needed to read it, but for now all he could do was trace the words that cut into his very being. Lonely. Unloved. Unlovable.

He was tired. So tired. He wanted to believe he wasn’t alone. He wanted to believe he was loved. But the thought alone felt like a mockery, an unrealistic dream he would never be granted again.

Still he opened the letter, let the words wash over him again and again, doing his damnest to make them make sense.

The letter was the longest one he had read thus far. A list of things Jaskier had loved about him. A list that felt like a description of someone that wasn’t Geralt, like a list of lies.

Jaskier wouldn’t lie to him. He wouldn’t.

But at the moment there was nothing about Geralt that felt ‘gentle and caring. You make me feel safe and at home.’

There was blood on his hands, tears in his shirt and he was somewhere in the woods with no home in sight.

‘You are loved. You are so so loved. By me, by Eskel and Lambert and the rest of your family. By people you saved and those who keep asking to hear more tales about you.’

His eyes lingered on the words, read them over and over again, pushing himself so hard to believe them.

But there were unfulfilled contracts and occasional sneers that Geralt couldn’t shake of for he hadn’t been able to save everyone he had promised to keep safe. He had isolated himself from his family, pushed them away. They might have liked him in winter when ale was flowing and there was no other company to be had; when Geralt had been warm and loved by Jaskier.

Now? Geralt couldn’t bear the thought of how they would feel about him. Were they sitting together now, talking about how Geralt still hadn’t gotten over himself? How he should have better control over his thoughts and emotions?

If Jaskier knew that Geralt kept failing, that he couldn’t always see the pretty things Jaskier wanted him to see, would he be ashamed of him?

‘You are loved.’

He wanted to be. It hurt how much he wanted to be loved, how much he didn’t feel like he could be.

Just a week ago, everything had been fine, he had been able to believe the words. So why couldn’t he now? Why did he have to be so damn weak and fall back into the hole he had dug for himself?

He hesitated before reading the last lines of the letter. He knew what they were. He didn’t want to read them.

‘Leave the Path for a while. Rest your wings and go back home, wherever that is for you at the moment.’

Geralt didn’t know where home was. Sometimes he thought he did, but today he only had the endless winding road ahead of him, leading him to places he didn’t want to go and further away from where he didn’t want to stay.

The thought of the coast. It wasn’t the same home anymore, not without Jaskier there. But it once had been and maybe that was close enough.

‘Go find someone you love. I promise you they won’t be bothered by you showing up and they won’t turn you away.’

Jaskier couldn’t have known that. He couldn’t have known who Geralt would become once Jaskier left him.

But he had known, hadn’t he? He had known and he had prepared a letter to accompany him every step on the way. He had known that at some point he would feel lonely and unloved.

And still he was so convinced that Geralt wasn’t unlovable, that he wouldn’t disappoint those he needed to love him back.

‘They love you. I love you.’

They loved him. Geralt forced the words to stay in his mind, to not allow any doubt to snatch them away from him. It was hard, near impossible.

A poisonous voice fighting its way to the forefront of his mind insisted that he shouldn’t go, that he would be better off staying alone on the Path where he couldn’t disappoint anyone.

“They love me,” Geralt repeated under his breath, as he packed his things, praying Jaskier’s words wouldn’t be proven wrong.

--

Geralt didn’t read from his notebook as he stood above Jaskier’s grave – Jaskier who loved him, who had been content, no happy, to spend his last moments with Geralt – but he did hold it in his hands, as if presenting it to Jaskier.

It was silly and if anyone would have passed by and seen Geralt, he would have been ashamed of the oafishness of it, but a tiny part of him hoped that Jaskier would appreciate the gesture. Though the sting of failure still clung to Geralt, he hoped that Jaskier would be proud of him.

“I filled it with things I like,” he said quietly, uncertain about how to talk with the flowers and the dirt and the stone bearing Jaskier’s name but feeling the pressing need to speak with him nonetheless. The awkwardness from last time that had choked his words before they had been able to leave his mouth was still there, but the urge to feel someone close was stronger.

‘They love you. I love you.’

‘I care about you. I need you to be alright.’

“I watched sunsets for you. You would have liked them… I did. I tried to see, Jaskier. I did my best and I… still am trying my best.” His voice broke off and his hands clutched the notebook tighter. The notebook that was witness to how he wasn’t a failure. How he was trying and succeeding even if only in small ways, despite what the emptiness whispered in his ear.

“I am not doing good. Not always,” he admitted, but somehow the words didn’t drag him under, they didn’t feel like admitting defeat. “But I am sometimes. I will do better. I promise you.”

The grave was silent. No reply came, but he didn’t need one.

He had countless letters assuring him of Jaskier’s trust. He had the bouquet he had made for Jaskier from the wildflowers he had found on his way back that lay next to the stone. It wasn’t as artful as any bouquet Jaskier had ever made, nor were the flowers the most beautiful there were. But they were a tiny part of the world Geralt could bring Jaskier. They were something beautiful he had managed to see despite everything and take with him. It was something he had made and that alone was enough to give him back the smallest kindling of warmth.

It would have been enough to make Jaskier beam at him as if he was the most wonderful thing in Jaskier’s life, just as Jaskier had been in his.

“I love you.”

The one certainty that always stayed with him, on the good days and on those that made him feel like he was drowning.

He might be drowning now, but there was the surface just above him, there was light streaming through the water and though he was dragged down, he would fight to reach the air again; one moment at a time until he could breathe freely once more.

There were hands reaching out to him, waiting for him to clasp them and let them pull him back up and out of the water.

It felt like hours passed while Geralt just stood there, breathing in the salty breeze that smelled like home and safety, listing to the seabirds cry as if they were convinced they were singing the most beautiful songs, before he turned back to the old cottage.

His heart gave a pang as he entered it.

He didn’t know what he had expected, what he had feared, but a relieved calm washed over him when saw his old home again.

Not much had changed. Apart from what he had taken with him, Jaskier’s things were all in place, as if they hadn’t been touched at all. But still, the cracks of an abandoned home didn’t cling to the room.

Geralt went over to the cupboards which used to hold assortments of tea. A smile spread across his face as he picked up one of the new bottles with the unmistakably sharp smell of Lambert’s homebrew clinging to it.

Of course the prick would leave his empty bottles around without putting them away.

It should have bothered Geralt. This place should have been clean and untouched by any mess that wasn’t Jaskier’s, but Geralt’s couldn’t fight the feeling of utter rightness as he found more and more signs of his brothers having spent time here.

The little trinkets that they had left, as carelessly as if they had always planned on returning some day and taking them back created a strange sense of belonging. Safety. Everything Jaskier had ever wanted to provide for the witchers.

Once Geralt started looking he couldn’t stop noticing the small signs of his brothers’ presence. It made him smile despite himself. It was too much like how Jaskier had left his mark on the world, on Geralt’s life.

The only thing that remained untouched was his and Jaskier’s bed, as if a silent agreement had been made amongst his brothers that this was only Geralt’s.

They must have used the armchair that had been Geralt’s sleeping place instead. His hand brushed over the neatly folded blanket that was laid across the armchair, when suddenly he froze mid-movement.

The smell of home and safety that came with Eskel still clung to the fabric, as if he had been here not long ago.

‘Go find someone you love. I promise you they won’t be bothered by you showing up and they won’t turn you away’

Eskel had offered. He had seen Geralt as he was plunged into darkness with an all-consuming hollowness inside him and he hadn’t been disgusted. Geralt had been drowning without knowing how deep he was dragged under, without noticing the waves crashing above him, and Eskel had reached out his hand to him.

It was time that Geralt finally took it.

A thrill of excitement and anxiety fluttered in his chest as he saddled Roach once more and took off to reach out himself for the first time since he had started drowning.

When he finally found Eskel, the leaves had started to turn brown and sharp wind was tugging at Geralt’s hair, pushing him away and daring him to be alone as it grew colder.

But when Eskel raised his eyes and spotted Geralt as he stood cold and alone before him, his eyes lit up and his arms opened wide to take Geralt into an embrace that felt like home. That felt like being loved.

--

Travelling with another witcher was different than with any other companion Geralt has had before, however few of them there had been.

His brother’s presence didn’t make him miss Jaskier any less, but strangely enough Geralt didn’t feel like he needed to. Eskel didn’t comment when Geralt pulled out one of the letters or stopped to smell some flowers, as if he never expected Geralt to forget about Jaskier or brush his memory aside.

Hunting with Eskel was different too. He no longer relied on his own skill and Jaskier’s words to help him get through a fight. They looked out for each other and tended to each other’s wounds, though Geralt suspected that Eskel did far more to heal him than just bandage him up.

The ache from losing Jaskier didn’t go away, perhaps it never would, but with every day he spent with Eskel, the darkness receded bit by bit.

On rare occasions when they sat together around campfires, Geralt would point out some flowers growing around them. Eskel always listened, always smiled brightly when Geralt’s voice softened, until the last of the flowers was coated by early frost.

--

Making his way up the mountain to Kaer Morhen without Jaskier should have been painful and maybe it was.

But despite the lack of a bard who refused to pack lightly and demanded a break every hour, Geralt wasn’t alone.

He had Eskel with him every step along the way, holding out a hand for him to help him climb over a fallen tree, even though they both knew neither of them needed the help. Every single time Eskel offered, Geralt reached out and accepted the support.

Each step got them closer to the keep. To people he loved. To people who loved him back.

A gruff call made him look up to where Lambert was standing with crossed arms before the gates, making snide remarks about them taking forever to get up the mountain.

“I was already getting bored with only the old man around.”

Lambert pulled Geralt into a brief embrace before ushering him and Eskel inside.

They were home once more.

--

It was almost no different to how it had been the years before. His family was still the same, still treated him the same way they had always done.

Sure, sometimes Lambert would catch himself mid-sentence while making fun of the hideous scarf Geralt refused to take off when it got cold and Eskel’s hand rested more often than before on his arm to ground him when his mind drifted to dark places.

But during sparring sessions they wouldn’t hold back. The training soon ending in playful brawls and with Vesemir muttering to himself about lack of discipline with an amused twinkle in his eyes.

It felt good. Normal.

The routine and familiarity gave Geralt something to hold onto.

The snow soon covered every last trace of flowers and thick fog obscured the sun.

Being unable to see all the things that had kept him going over the year made him restless, until one evening, as he strained his eyes to see the setting sun, he noticed something else.

During his rare contracts in Oakwood where he had been on the lookout for sirens and other sea-dwelling creatures, the fishermen had taught him how the constellations would always guide them home, though Geralt had been no strangers to the pictures the stars painted.

Now, as he was in Kaer Morhen, as much a home as the coast had been, he searched the sky and finally, after months of being denied the guide, he found the warrior amongst the stars, holding his lute.

A smile flickered over his face, as he imagined that somewhere in Oxenfurt at a different time, Jaskier had sat and sought the same constellation, thinking of Geralt.

How foolish and unreasonable to see his lover in the world around him.

How beautiful.

--

As the nights grew colder, the feelings inside Geralt became warmer, brighter.

Vesemir had nodded off some time ago with a smile on his face after he had added the rest of Jaskier’s notebooks and a horribly inaccurate drawing of a kikimora that Jaskier had been so sweetly proud of to his collection of bestiaries.

Geralt knew that Vesemir’s sleep was easily disturbed – if he even was truly asleep and not pretending so he wouldn’t have to deal with whatever they got up to – but Geralt and his brothers didn’t bother to quiet themselves.

It had been too long since Geralt has had anything to celebrate.

Though it had cut him like a knife, he had let the summer solstice pass without acknowledging it. There had been no point in doing so when for witchers the solstice had always been a day like any other.

They didn’t celebrate the winter solstice either in Kaer Morhen, but being safely in the keep together again, surrounded by people who understood and comforted each other with their presence alone after a hard year, was reason enough to let the white gull flow.

It didn’t take long until Lambert persuaded the others to join him in a rowdy song, Coën the only one who even remotely hit the right notes.

Soon it turned into yet another song and another until finally someone – Geralt wasn’t able to tell who; maybe it was he himself? – blurted out some of the witchers’ own verses of ‘Toss a Coin’ that they had added one winter – to the delight and utter second-hand-embarrassment of Jaskier.

It didn’t sting to hear Jaskier’s song, to partake in the joy it brought and Geralt couldn’t help but think that out of all the good this song had done for witchers, giving them a reason to laugh heartily on this night, was the best thing it had given to them.

It wasn’t until the laughter died down and the alcohol shifted their exuberance into quiet reflection that Geralt sang yet another song.

Quietly and still lacking the talent to keep in tune, he sang the song Jaskier had sung to him to keep him warm and his days bright.

No one else knew what the song meant, but they didn’t comment on it.

After the first verse, Eskel silently handed him the lute and Geralt took it without complaints. He didn’t know the right chords, but he plucked some of the strings nonetheless.

Lulled into sleep by the soft albeit out of tune singing, Coën’s head fell onto Lambert’s shoulder, who was too fixated on the lute to shove him off or even roll his eyes in annoyance.

They rarely used their words to tell each other what they meant to each other. That was something Geralt had learned for Jaskier, but with his brothers it was enough to share a tradition that wasn’t theirs and that still meant the world to him for Jaskier had shared it with him, had let Geralt partake in something that had been important to him. It was enough to have Lambert listen to him and have Eskel put the blanket meant for Lil’ Bleater around his shoulders when they started to shake.

He must look ridiculous like this, but he didn’t care. The gesture and the knowledge that his brothers were here with him, for him, warmed him from the inside, as only one other person had been able to do.

--

The horses stomped their hooves in nervous anticipation that Geralt could understand only too well.

The thawing of the snow and the birds that had returned from the south filled Geralt with a restlessness he hadn’t thought he would ever experience again, but the months spend sparring with his brothers and sharing stories about the year they had had, had reawakened the lost spark that beckoned him into the world. An itch that had driven Jaskier to his side, a need to go out there again, see the continent and experience life until he had found more than what he had been looking for.

The other witchers weren’t spared the sight of Geralt’s excitement making his movements sharper and faster.

When Geralt mounted Roach, Eskel spoke up.

“Are we going to travel together again? Or maybe you could go with Lambert or Coën if you wanted to?”

When Geralt shook his head, a concerned look crossed over Eskel’s face, but Geralt smiled.

“Maybe in a few months. I’ll find you if I need you.” He hesitated, but his voice didn’t waver as he said, “There’s just something I need to do. I’ve put it off for far too long.”

Eskel didn’t stop him when he left on his own and neither did anyone else.

It should have been terrifying knowing that he would be on his own again, but strangely enough, it filled him with excitement. This wasn’t him following a path he took because he couldn’t see any other options, alone because he didn’t think anyone would be there if he asked.

This was him finally being ready to be alone again, because he could. And if he needed it, he still had a home at the coast and friends to come back to.

--

It had been so long since Geralt had been here. Here, in the valley of flowers where it all began, the lifetime with Jaskier by his side.

It felt like ages ago that he had told Jaskier he would show him what Dol Blathanna looked like in full bloom and he was finally making good on his promise, though not in the way he had thought back then.

For a moment, Geralt just took it all in, the scent of the flowers, the colours that could inspire a hundred ballads and the cloudless sky above him rivalling a pair of blue eyes that had once looked upon these hills in wonder and want for adventure.

Not far from here Jaskier had strummed his lute and for the first time sung about the man he would spend the rest of his life with.

Carefully, as gently as he had tucked Jaskier into bed, Geralt placed Jaskier’s lute on the ground, surrounded by flowers as it should be.

He worked quietly, as he built a small stone wall around it to shelter it from the weather, though he knew no decay or rot could touch the elven instrument that had seen its fair share of danger in its time.

With a feather-light touch Geralt caressed the wood, laying a last piece of Jaskier to rest, finally letting go.

Here, the only waves were created by the wind sweeping through flowers and tall grass.

If Geralt still had it with him, Geralt would have put something else into the ring of stone, a piece of home, a memory. The seashell that carried the sound of the ocean to lean it against the lute that had told tales of the world as if they belonged together.

But the seashell and its whisper of home was out there in the hands of a bard, travelling the continent and reminding its bearer of home. Geralt couldn’t imagine a better place for it.

For a while Geralt didn’t move from where he knelt on the grass, looking at what he was letting go of.

He would miss the by now familiar feeling of the lute strings under his fingers and the sounds of the home its strings would sing. But neither had truly belonged to him. Seeing the instrument now amidst the flowers that Jaskier had so loved was freeing. Geralt felt lighter somehow.

Neither the music nor the memory it carried were truly gone. He could visit Jaskier whenever he needed, on the coast or at the edge of the world, both of which Jaskier had built a home at.

His memories would still live on, here where it all began, where it finally ended, where something new would begin on this day.

Geralt took a deep breath that for once didn’t have to fight against a tight chest of an aching clench of his heart as he took out the one letter he had yet to read.

The one that he had been sure he would carry with him forever, unable to break the seal.

‘Read when you are well and truly happy’

Had anyone asked him about it a year ago, he would have said that he would never get to read this letter.

And yet he opened it without hesitation or doubt.

Geralt’s eyes scanned the words, a warmth spreading through him with every line he read, with every instance Jaskier had noted of times in which Geralt had made him happy. His breathe stuttered in his chest as he reached the ending of the letter.

‘More than anything, I am happy that you are reading this letter. I am so proud of you and I always will be.

By the time you read this I will have missed you smiling at Roach. I will have missed you laughing at your own bad jokes. I will have missed watching raindrops drip from your hair when you forgot to take your coat with you. I will have missed so many wonderful things that make me love you and I know there will be more such things I will miss in the years to come.

But even knowing that these things will happen – and I do know it will all my heart – is the most wonderful gift for me. Every day that I loved you was the best day of my life. And I might not be able to hold your hand and kiss you while you read this, but I will continue to be with you for as long as birds sing and the sun rises in the morning.

Thank you for everything, but most of all that you found happiness again.

I love you so much and I will never stop doing so.

See you around, Geralt.

With all my love,

Your Jaskier’

The ink swam and spread into an unreadable circle, as a tear landed on Jaskier’s name. Geralt didn’t wipe it away, neither did he try to stop the tears from coming. Instead he let a shaky but genuine smile join them.

“See you around, Jaskier.”

He said the words without a hint of bitterness. The familiarity of them sent a small pang through his chest, but it couldn’t push away the certainty that he would be seeing Jaskier around; in every bit of beauty he had taught Geralt to see.

Because while Geralt knew that not a day will go by without him missing Jaskier, he could hear him now in the wind that Jaskier would have insisted was promising new adventures, he would see him in every smile that was sent his way instead of stones or snarls. He saw him now, in the tiny dandelion that had fought for its place amidst the flowers.

With a gentle tug, Geralt plucked it. The promise he had given Jaskier little more than a year ago clinging to the tiny plant that was begging to be wished upon.

Geralt held the resilient little weed in his hands and twirled it while his thoughts swirled in his mind.

Witchers didn’t wish. Geralt had learned first-hand what happened when they did.

If Jaskier were here, he would offer the wish-carrier to him, but even on his last night when his joints had ached and he had known what was to come, Jaskier had been wanting for nothing.

Nothing, except one thing that he had been so certain he didn’t need to wish for at all.

Geralt thought of the tearstained letter held loosely in his hand. He looked at the lute and felt flowers brush against him as they swayed in the wind. He thought of his brothers and his home and the Path calling out to him once more, begging him to find adventure.

He took his time thinking, smiling, until the wind tugged at the dandelion and took every last one of its seed with him, carrying them away without a wish attached to them.

As Geralt watched the small happinesses drift away, his smile grew brighter.

The last whispered “I love you” received no reply safe for the birds singing overhead and the wind pushing him onwards as he swung himself onto Roach and followed the floating seeds he knew not where.

He had loved Jaskier enough to give up the world for him. Now, he was ready to get back to it, safe in the knowledge that Jaskier had loved him enough to give him the world and change it for him with every word that Geralt would carry with him on his way.

[verdantvulpus]

First Lines Meme

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

I appreciate being tagged by @unproblematicme

Heads up that many of the fics are Explicit.

1. Crowley rushed into his flat as if he were being chased by hounds of Hell. Being chased by Hellhounds was in Crowley's top 15 ways he expected to be discorportated in the last year. The Trouble With Being A Demon 

2. I think I knew back in Eden. I knew I loved Aziraphale with all my shriveled husk of a heart. Forsaken 

3.  Crowley didn’t like his eyes. That had become a fairly well known fact, given the effort he put into hiding them, but it was a mistake to think it was because he thought they were ugly. Up & Down, Sideways (& Diagonally) 

4.  “‘Course ‘ergotten' ’s a word, Angel. It’s wot they used to say, innit? When they got it?” Waiting 

5.  Falling from grace meant never coming home again. As it happened, Crowley had been fine with that, and had actively avoided the very concept of home since his first bite of sulphur. A Home In Heather 

6.  "Every bloody time," Aziraphale grumbled, glaring at his takeaway coffee. Coarse Grind 

7.  Crowley realized he may have been over-ambitious with the amount of goodies he'd brought. Catnip! 

8.  The water was cold enough to sting when Crowley slid into it, but he plunged deeper regardless, sliding down against the porcelain until the wet shock touched his eyelids and lifted his hair from his scalp. Balm

9. It wasn’t the Heaven Crowley remembered, but then again, he barely remembered Heaven. True Natures

10.  “Just once can’t you humour me without complaining?” Aziraphale chided.  Holidays Both Good And Ominous

11.  The first time was little more than a bee sting.  Palliative Practices

12.  The quiet atmosphere of the old bookshop was disturbed by a loud sigh. There had been more than five such sighs in the last half hour. The Unforeseen

13.  Aziraphale’s smile was beginning to ache. Corruption 

14.  The door opened. Crowley listened, every muscle held taught in preternatural stillness. He waited.  Tripping Over Air

15.  There is nothing more dangerous to a demon than hope. Worth The Price

16.  "I'm here, Angel," the demon barked on his way in the shop. "Let's get this over with."   As I Am In The Mood To Break Pretty Things

17.  It had started as a simple walk in the park. It had been a nice day.  Anthony J. Crowley’s Worst Week Ever

18.   "My dear, are you feeling all right?" Aziraphale asked Crowley. They were sitting at their usual table at their favorite bistro and the demon was squirming in his seat. Residue 

19.  Crowley was laughing.   Whipped Cream and Consequences

20.  There were few places where Crowley would say he was truly comfortable but the backroom of Aziraphale's bookshop with Armageddon two years behind him and the wine two bottles in, was the top of that very short list. Storytelling

#20 (Storytelling) is part of the Up & Down, Sideways (& Diagonally) but I used it because each chapter of Up & Down is actually a different fic for the bingo event and I needed one more story for the meme.

The thing I notice right off the bat is that I tend to start a fic in Crowley’s voice. I think this is just because I find Crowley easier to write. I also tend to start with either dialogue or an observation as opposed to action. Again, I think this is because dialogue and character is where my strengths lie. I’ve always had a harder time with the actual plot and why I’m struggling so badly with my original story. 

#15 is my actual favourite opening line. I don’t actually tend to put a lot of thought into my opening lines, which is something I only now noticed, but this line reads to me like a thesis. This one sentence is the story. Everything comes back to it over and over again. 

I’m going to struggle to tag 10 authors here because a lot of my faves have already been tagged for this and others aren’t on Tumblr. If you see this and haven’t been tagged, please consider me tagging you now. I’m sorry this is a cop out. I’m very tired atm. 

[youarejesting]

Quarantine.21

[Masterlist] Pairing: BTS x reader Friends2Lovers But as slow as you can go until the anticipation kills us all… Genres: friendship, drama, romance SLOWEST OF BURNS BUT IT WILL BE BURNING AN ETERNAL FLAME!!! Rating: PG-13 and above Summary: Your brother works with a few BigHit dance teams and whilst having permission to accompany him at work the city shuts down banning anyone from stepping outside for a whole WEEK while they disinfect the streets. If you step outside you might get arrested, shot or poisoned by the chemicals they are emitting through the city. Words: 1.7k Announcement: This one is a little longer and I didn’t get to explore as much as I wanted with the boys but, I think it will get there. But trust me there will be some talking next chapter. The boys are trying to distract themselves while they are feeling pretty rotten and it isn’t going as well as they hoped.

[Part 1]  [Part 20] [Part 22] [Tag Yourself Here]

Yoongi had been spending his time in the laundry listening to the constant churn of the machines, he moved the clothes from the washing machine to the dryer. Once they were finished he ironed and folded each piece, at some point he even learned how to hand stitch a few holes in items. He couldn’t stand being alone in his studio, which was such a strange notion and he didn’t know what else to do. It seemed the whir of the machines and the constant moving of his hands, gave him enough time to think. That dreaded conversation overlapping in his head again and again. He cried at some point as embarrassing as it was for him to admit but his words so brutal cut even him when he remembered the tone in which they were spoken.

Taehyung was taking his frustration out on the saxophone, he had locked himself in Jungkook’s studio and was playing obnoxiously loud until his lungs felt like they would give out. He was angry and wanted nothing more than to start a fight but he found this tired him out without bringing the conflict to the group. 

Jimin and Hoseok we’re keeping themselves busy online turning themselves out with posts and lives and people kept asking where the others had gone and why they looked so sad but no matter how hard they tried to deny it they knew they were just trying to escape their problems by focusing on the army. 

Each boy was overextending themselves, Namjoon putting himself into his writing and getting thoroughly pissed at the result of his work. He had stayed up through the night something he didn’t really like to do, walking to their dance lesson both on edge and exhausted. 

The boys were practicing their dance routines, not that they had to perform any time soon but with nothing else to do they just kept going over the choreography making sure it was ingrained into their memory. They were partway through the routine when Namjoon turned too quickly his arms held out a fraction further than intended. Smacking Jungkook to the ground. Jungkook felt a pop and he laid there in intense pain, they were worried crowding around.

“Jungkook, I am so sorry, are you okay?” Namjoon asked the younger boy, who was laying on the ground trying to muffle his pain. 

“I’m okay Hyung?” Jungkook spoke through gritted teeth. They tried to help him up despite his yelp and protest. They looked him over trying to examine him for damage when they noticed how his arm was hanging limply from his body.

“It looks worse than it really is” Wincing as he spoke wasn’t exactly convincing them. They contacted their health equivalent within the building who called the hospital for someone to collect him and perform proper care. They didn’t want to damage the shoulder further. 

~

“Please tell me if you feel the urge to push okay, or a stinging sensation” Asking for her clinic book you took pictures sending it to the doctor for him to translate and explain if there were any possible complications. Encouraging her to lean on her couch on her knees, you rubbed her back and helped her breathe through it. 

Her husband’s phone died about four hours in and she was crying for him. “He will be back okay” you assured her, “you are doing so well, this is your special moment between you and your baby.”

“I can’t do it without my husband” she cried “You can do it, you are tough, you are a beautiful powerful woman and you don’t need a man to prove how strong you are, Myunghee you got this okay, can I check to see if you are progressing?”

You asked nervously, she didn’t want to move and you knew it had to be time. Helping her to get into a comfortable position, Myunghee allowed you to check once more, according to the doctor she was ready and the baby was crowning. She had entered the second stage of labour and was ready to push. 

“Okay on your next contraction I want you to try to push, if it doesn’t feel right I want you to stop but pushing should almost feel relieving. When you push remember to breathe okay your baby needs oxygen. I will count for you each contraction you push for ten seconds okay” She nodded and the next contraction came and she started to push. 

“Breathe out two three four five in seven eight nine ten, okay how did that feel,” you said she nodded pushing continued for twenty minutes and Baby’s head was almost out “okay I need to check that the chord isn’t around the baby's neck so if I tell you to stop pushing, you have to stop, it will be hard but think about your baby okay at that moment think about how strong you are okay”

She nodded pushing again and you told her to stop, she did her body shaking as she cried out. “The cord is around the baby’s neck, let me move it okay”

You unraveled the cord while she was whimpering in pain. “Okay next push and I think your baby will be out. So big push okay use all your muscles okay” she nodded and you had moved everything you had sterilized in hot water. You didn’t have to wait long but you took a deep breath and got ready.

The baby came out and you caught it in a towel using a sterilized turkey baster to suction any fluid from the nose and the baby cried instantly. Taking the clamps from the bag and clamping the umbilical cord either side to be safe you cut it. In the middle, you wiped the baby down and smiled “it’s a little girl” you grinned and she held her baby in her arms. She began breastfeeding and you did a quick amount of research on breastfeeding and gave her some tips. 

You relayed the tips and she seemed grateful for the help, you waited to help her deliver the afterbirth and checked that it was completely whole and you smiled helping her into the shower and getting dressed. She laid on the bed and you handed the baby over. 

“I will stay and watch over you both until the other doctor comes” you measured and weighed the baby. You prepared some food for Myunghee and checked she was okay every few hours and you smiled telling the father his wife was sleeping and showed him his daughter telling him how much she weighed and how tall she was and the time she was born. 

He was ecstatic, “I will get her to call you the moment she wakes up” he continued to thank you. She woke later to the baby’s cries and you smiled. “How are you feeling, your so tough, your daughter will definitely be proud of her mother”

Myunghee smiled “I couldn’t have done it without you, you were really amazing you made me feel safe” “Yes you could have done it on your own, you got a call while you were asleep, I told him everything went well and you were both resting, tell him about how good you were”

She smiled talking on the phone with her husband and showing off their daughter, the walkie talkie went off. You moved away from her to answer, “this is Y/N. Miss Bu Myunghee has successfully given birth to a baby girl weighing 7 pounds 2 ounces and 48 centimeters long, both mother and baby seem quite well and are being monitored, there was no tearing or major bleeding from mother and baby is eating well. I can stay until the doctor comes out?”

“That would be ideal, please keep on the lookout for any signs of regression” they explained what to look out for and you nodded heading back inside.  “Come here” Myunghee beckoned and you rushed over alarmed.  “Is something wrong?”

“Miss we would like you to be our baby’s godmother,” the father asked in English and you looked shocked.  “Really?” You searched their expressions, they smiled nodding back.  “If you want to, you have done so much for is already” “I would love to, what is her name?”

“Choonhee, it means born in spring” “Little Choonhee, you are so cute” “Would you like to hold her?” You held your arm out and gently took the baby and smiled she was so small and your heart warmed with a feeling you thought lost, you tilted your head back crying”

Everything you said to Myunghee, about being strong and tough and that she didn’t need a man that all stemmed from you, that was your subconscious talking to you. You smiled wiping your eyes with your clean sleeve. You felt like you were rebuilding like an epiphany began that this was the pivotal moment. You had been tossing around back and forth your self worth about being nothing and something and it not mattering but now you were sure you were worth it, you always were in the ups and the downs you were worth it”

It took guiding someone else through there fears and suffering to realise you weren’t lacking anything.

~

“We will try to send someone over as soon as possible, Please ice the wound and call back if the situation changes or the issue worsens” The doctor from the clinic hung up feeling light-headed, he turned to the receptionist with a pale face. Staring at her while he dialed your number. 

“What seems to be the problem?” Your voice coming through the phone seems to have more color than he had heard in a long time” “We got a call, for a possible dislocation, there is too much swelling to re-position the joint safely but the problem is, it’s from that building”

“Which building?” “BigHit”  “Oh ok, I will head over, do you know who got hurt?” he blinked, surprised you didn’t completely collapse in on yourself at the mere mention of the company they came from.  “I think it was Jeon Jungkook”

“I will be around as soon as I can, will Myunghee be okay alone here, after just having a baby?” “You have been reporting her and her baby are in excellent condition and the ambulance will be collecting her and her child the moment the sun is out. I will notify the husband to call if anything seems to have gone wrong”  “Okay I will let her know and then I will head straight over”

[Part 1]  [Part 20] [Part 22] [Tag Yourself Here]

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[whatdoesshedotothem]

Friday 16 May 1834

7 5/..

12 ½

Fine – ready in an hour F57° at 8 5 - reading till 9 ½ from page 25 to 76, volume 24 British prose writers to the end of Horace Walpole’s Reminiscences. Letter from Mr Scotts’ book-keeper ‘GW. Ellis, 3 Dove street, near the Nunnery York’ to say Joseph had brought away his livery hardly worn at all and to beg me to desire him to send it back again - the poor lad brought it away in ignorance, never dreaming, as nobody said anything to him about it, that he ought to have given it back. Letter 3 pages from M- (Lawton) dated Thursday 8th inst and lastly last Tuesday night 13th instant – hoped to have heard from me – disappointed tho saying she had now no right to be so - and indeed ought not as she had neither asked me to write to her at Lawton, nor had I promised to do so -  they arrived at Lawton on Tuesday 6th inst and were to leave there on Wednesday the 14th - writes to ask me to pay the ‘new servant James for a greatcoat Thomas had bought of him’- Found her scholars more stupid than formerly dined at Rode nothing interested her ‘Mary is not what she was or the same things would produce the same pleasures but it matters not’ ‘Time will do its best and worst, and after all is the short span of life worth a thought? A few short years and all is over and mine neither have given nor promise sufficient of comfort to induce a wish that they might be prolonged no one knows not, even you dearest Fred, what I have gone thro’ and at this moment I feel as little caring for the future of this world as if 24 hours would close my existence perhaps I should be thankful to know its duration was so limited – you, at least, I trust will be happy for you deserve to be so, and earnestly do I pray that it may be so’. And that those you love best may secure to you all the comfort necessary to your wishes for the present adieu then writes the more than half page of conclusion on Tuesday night Poor Mary how she has always marred her own happiness but how was it when I was so low two years ago she shewed no great pity for me. Breakfast in 20 minutes at 9 ½ wrote the above of today till 10 20 - some time out with Pickles and the rest -P- finished re-levelling the ground in front of the house before 12 and was at the railing in the afternoon with his 2 men. Had Joseph up twice for a good while about correcting his letter to Mr Ellis respecting the livery - had ½ hour’s nap. Wrote 3 pages and ends to M- as follows ‘Shibden Hall, Friday 16th May 1834. I have in this moment, my dearest Mary, received your letter dated lastly the 13th (Tuesday last) – three days from Lawton! These shews me, that my letter written on Sunday, and sent on Monday (the 12th) would reach Lawton a few hours after you were off. Surely it would be sent after you immediately and surely you have reached it ere this. Mary! I am very very sorry my pages were not with you at Lawton! - but they will convince you, you were not out of my thoughts, are not and are not likely to be – the more, my dearest Mary, I reflect upon the past, the more I am confounded at the appalling inconsistency of your conduct - that you should grieve so deeply over its consequences, is a heavy misfortune to us both. But this I can truly say, that whatever you may ‘have gone thro’ I can’t earnestly believe it to exceed the misery, the ruthless desolation of heart that fell upon myself – to me it was more sudden than the lightness glare - you had long warning – the storm came not but at your bidding, and from your own breast, sprang up the rock on which the hope of 20 years was wrecked. In pity and in common justice, remember this. Think too, that you can never have had one feeling of wounded pride to add its sting to all the rest. It was your own hand drew the card that sped the deadly shaft hope to the heart that had no shield but its affection Mary! Your aim did seem so coolly, so deliberately taken, the arrow scarce could miss her way. But no more - my regard is still perhaps worth having, and it will not be my fault if it does not serve you faithfully. For my sake, at least, take my advice this once more. Cheer up - rally round you those hopes that are scatted, rather than destroyed – let not your spirit turn coward but gather together your resources, calculate them fairly, manage them well – remember that you have a tried and steady friend who will help you to the uttermost, and, trust me, you have no need to despair of happiness even in this world. Despair is always a false calculation we can’t tell the good that may be in store for us and when our horizon seems lowest who knows that the brightest gleams of our existence are not at hand? Mary! I will do anything in the world I can for you - and surely it is my power to be a greater comfort to you than I can possibly have been, ever since the first moment when your mind became unsettled enough to entertain the 1st embryo thought of the now as it appears, strange resolve you came to, 2 years ago. But perhaps after all you were more right than you now believe. If all your tastes were indeed so changed as you told me, while mine as I honestly avowed, remained so nearly the same, how would it have answered to be still entirely dependent on each other? For you must not forget that, as the circumstance, which seems more particularly to tell you the secret of your own heart, would not then have occurred , you might still have been ignorant of it as ever, and I should not have had the strong advantage of being valued as at present. Mary! Is not this reasonable? You find travelling insupportable - you had other interest dearer than mine - you could not bear to leave Lawton - you even made a point of my promising to settle near there - and you, above all people, knew how I was situated towards my own place, where my family had lived between 2 and 3 centuries, I being the 15th possessor of my family and name. Mary! The spirit of my uncle started up before me and had my life been the sacrifice, idolatry must have yielded to honour. Mary! My dearest Mary, you thought of me too lowly then, as you think of me too highly now. Reflect upon these things - you will be happier by and by - you will trust my friendship regard implicitly and this will not be the least of the comforts that I firmly hope will attend us both – ask me to write, or to do anything. I do not feel as if I should ever disappoint you much - I have no feeling towards you but of affectionate regard and my greatest anxiety is for your welfare. But cheer up, Mary! Be comforted, my dearest Mary, if it be but for my sake. How my pen still lingers on this engrossing subject. I must answer the purport of your letter. James Clayton is no longer my servant - he came to me on the 24th ult. refused to wear Thomas’s livery - on the 26th and left me on the 28th sorry probably for his folly and not calculating that I should not retract the warning given at the moment. Mrs Williamson, Register Office for servants, Colliergate  

SH:7/ML/E/17/0034

(I think it is) York, is the only person I know of likely to know anything about the man. You will see from my last, as far as I can tell at present, what I am going to be about - I shall probably be in York by 12 on Tuesday and off in an hour towards Richmond. In my aunt’s present state of health,  I cannot be absent more than a week, I do not expect her surviving another winter - my father’s life, too, is very precarious, he had a very slight paralytic affection , more particularly in the left arm, 3 or 4 days ago -  Marian’s attention to him is quite exemplary. Her feelings towards me seem altogether changed into what is most comfortable. God bless you my dearest Mary! You can’t possible doubt my regard and how much I am always very especially yours. A. Lister’ Writing out this letter has taken me from 3 25 to 4 10 = 1 ¼ hour. What will π- think of it  I see three tears had fallen on her paper  What a goose she has been surely she never thought of losing she played upon me too much the history of our acquaintance may be summed in accepted refused accepted married offended refused repented. Reading over my letter and dawdling till out at 4 ½ - with Marian in the garden - with Mallinson etc - dinner at 6 ½ then coffee and Marian was with me till after 8 - then sent off my letter to ‘Mrs Lawton, Claremont house, Leamington, Warwickshire’ and Joseph took to the post his letter to Mrs Ellis to say he should have the livery hat and all on Tuesday - from 8 ½ to 9 ½ in the fields looking at the new railing - 18 posts and railing there to belonging set this afternoon - and all would be finished tomorrow if we had the posts but we shall not have enough by 8 - 2 plasterers came this morning from Shaw’s, and cleared away the dirt and plaster ready for pointing west side of the house - talking to Marian till 10 1/4 . Is Northgate, or will it be, sold or not – tonight at 7 the sale was to being – I have not thought much about it even this evening and not all during day. My day was spent over my letter and my eyes stiffish with the tears that fell or stood big in my eyes This weakness is too foolish - 10 minutes with my aunt and came to my study at 10 25 and wrote the last 10 lines - raining fast - seemed to begin a few minutes ago - fine day tho’ dullish - very good for growing - my father does not like the idea of flower-beds, so the ground before the front window is to be all sown down with grass and clover - till 11 ½ read from page 79 to 99 Horace Walpole’s letters British prose writers vol. 24.

[mostfacinorous]

GO Whumptober Day 31: Today’s Special- Torture [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22][23][24][25][26][27][28][29][30]

“You know,” Crowley heard, as he slowly woke. “Every hunter worth their salt has a tracking device they keep on their person. And his led me straight to you. So tell me the truth: where is Mathias?” 

Crowley opened his eyes to find himself in a mostly dark room, tied to a chair, plastic spread out on the floor around him, and floodlights hitting him right in the eyes. 

There was a woman standing in front of him, arms crossed and looking both unimpressed and threatening. 

“I mean-- I ate him.” Crowley answered, feeling a mite groggy, like he may have been drugged. The pounding in his skull backed up that theory. 

“Oh, a jokester. Funny. Mathias is my brother, so I hope for your sake he’s around here somewhere.” 

Crowley groaned.

“Mathias sent a child after me by lying to her about the source of her ma’s illness, and then he attacked when I turned up to help them, so I turned into a snake and ate him.” Crowley told her. “I’m not joking, and I’m awful sorry for your loss, though he was a bit of a prick.” 

The woman looked less than pleased with that answer, and paced back and forth a bit. 

“You wanna talk me through what you’re thinking, or would you rather wear a hole in that tarp?” He finally asked. 

“Well, your eyes say demon, so that makes your story a little more plausible. I don’t want to believe my brother’s dead, because if I come home without him, my father will be furious.” 

Crowley listened, nodding. 

“So I suppose,” she continued, “My options are to take you back to my father and let you tell him your story, and hope I get let off the hook while he kills you slowly, a little bit at a time, or, I do it myself, here and now, save myself the trouble of the roadtrip with you, and know I’ll probably kill you off faster than he would, so it’s really sort of a favor, on account of how you’re right, and my brother was a prick.” 

“Sounds like either way is pretty shit, as far as options go on my end.” Crowley quipped, and she huffed a little laugh. 

“Shame about you eating him,” she responded. “I feel like we really coulda grown to like one another.” 

---

Crowley swam in and out of consciousness for the next several hours, as this incredibly disturbed human woman made a game of removing bits of him and putting them in labelled mason jars. 

It really was like some kind of parody of a decor show, the way she tied little ribbons around each one, and labelled them with what they were and the time when she removed them from him. 

He had no idea where they were or how they’d got there, but she’d done a damn good job of making sure she wouldn’t be interrupted. 

He’d yelled and cried and screamed as loud as he could, but it seemed like there were no neighbors around to hear, or care, or help. 

And he had no idea where Aziraphale was. He wished he could call to him, though, reach him, ask for some kind of way out of here. 

“So it occurs to me,” Amber said, for that was her name, and Crowley hated that she’d bothered telling him about her, because he sympathized now, a little. 

“I haven’t had much opportunity to learn about demons, and how they react to things. For example:” She held up a bottle of salt. “I can make a circle with this, and you can’t leave it, yeah? But what happens if I just…”

She upended the bottle over his chest, slashed open and bleeding sluggishly as it was. 

He screamed again as the salt began to dissolve in his blood and sting at the open skin. 

She watched, dispassionately, and when he voice broke and his screams turned to little whimpers, she hummed to herself. 

“I’d say that was about on par with a human, actually.” She noted. “Which is a real pity, I expected more… fireworks, or the like.” 

Crowley twisted his wrist back and forth, trying again to work his hand free, but she laughed. 

His fingers were broken; she’d done that first thing, so even if he could get free, the act of summoning a miracle would be even more painful. 

“How about the old folklore fixes, eh? Silver? Iron? Garlic?” 

“Werewolves, fairies, and vampires. Not me.” He answered her, voice rough from screaming and ruining his attempt at sounding cool. 

“And how about holy water? Does that do anything?” 

He croaked out a little laugh.

“Tingles a bit. Demons use it as hot sauce.” 

He had loosened the duck tape around his wrist enough to be able to move his hand a bit, and he smashed it against the chair, forcing his broken bones back into some semblance of being hand shaped.

“Hm. Hot sauce, you say?” She asked, and he didn’t like that at all. He wiggled his fingers, braced himself, and summoned a miracle.

“Maybe I should go get you some, then. After all, you are being punished for having eaten my brother-- maybe keeping your mouth on a constant holy water drip will make the punishment fit the crime a little better.” 

Crowley sucked in air, in too much pain to try and figure out how to talk his way out of that one. 

“Did I hear,” A new voice said in the darkness, and Crowley felt his eyes filling with tears of relief, “That you are in the market for some holy water?” 

Aziraphale stepped forward, looking prim and proper as ever, and he’d even pulled out his halo and wings for the occasion. 

Amber looked up at him in awe.

“You’re an angel aren’t you?” She asked, and Aziraphale smiled. 

“I am. And it seems you’ve captured my own personal adversary.” He flicked his eyes towards Crowley, and Crowley whined at the cold expression in them. 

Oh, Aziraphale was pissed. And worse, he was righteous. 

“Oh, did you want to get in on this? It turns out he ate my brother, so…” 

“Were you aware,” Aziraphale asked, voice still light and sweet and casual, “That your brother had made a deal with devils? That your brother kidnapped me, and sold me to hell?” 

Amber took a step back as Aziraphale turned to look at her again. 

“What? No, I mean, Mathias was an arse, but…” 

“Your brother.” Aziraphale said, advancing on her, “Was a monster. And so are you.” 

Crowley could not actually see what happened, but he did see that Aziraphale did not so much as lift a finger. 

Amber screamed and fell to her knees, her eyes bleeding, her mouth wide open and her tongue suddenly missing. 

“Crowley, darling, I think you had better close your eyes.” Aziraphale warned him, and, when he’d obeyed, he could see the bright holy light that suddenly shone throughout the room even through his closed eyelids. It stabbed into him and set his head off again, and he whimpered. 

Just as fast as it began, it ended, and then Aziraphale was there. 

“Alright, here we are, I am so sorry. Come on, let’s get you out of here, get you healed up.” 

“What-- what did you do with her?” Crowley asked. “She was just-- her and Mathias both, their dad…” 

“Oh, I know.” Aziraphale told him. “I sent her body back to her father, covered in writing that tells the entire story of their awful line. No further children will be born to them. The old man will see his daughter, read my letter, and then never see again. And whatever monster he is running from will finally be able to catch up.”

Aziraphale’s voice echoed with a sort of certainty, a knowledge beyond what they knew, and Crowley realized he was tapping into the weapons available to angels in the most extreme of circumstances. The sorts of weapons he’d have been given back in the beginning, back when it was a very real war, and he’d been set out to kill demons like Crowley. 

Instead, now, he was using those powers in defense of a demon. 

“I don’t think heaven’s gonna like this too much.” Crowley told him, head lolling as they moved, and suddenly Crowley realized he was being carried. 

“I don’t give two fucks what heaven does and doesn’t like!” Aziraphale said hotly, but sounding more like himself. “I won’t let anyone take you from me again!” 

Crowley smiled at that, even though, as they crossed out of the darkness and into the sunlight, his headache flared up, and all the moving was jostling the salt in his chest wounds. 

He was woozy and in and out of it, and Aziraphale got him laid out on the grass by a roadside, the day crisp and bright and lovely, and Crowley felt cold and vague. 

“That crazy bint killed me, didn’t she?” He asked, and Aziraphale’s eyes flashed, brighter even than the noonday sun. 

“Not if I’ve anything to say about it.” He answered. “I am so very sorry,” He added, softer and sweet. 

Crowley sighed, trying not to tense even though he knew what was coming next. 

Or, he thought he knew. Aziraphale had done some laying of hands on him before, once or twice, and it was terrible for them both each time. They both suffered when they went about helping one another that intimately. So he tried to prepare for more pain. 

What he felt instead, though, was Aziraphale’s hand on the side of his face, and then his lips on his, and he was kissing him back to life. 

And somehow, it didn’t hurt. 

It was like being dunked suddenly into a cold pool, a shock to the system, unpleasant, but bracing. He felt alert again, like he’d just woken, and he felt the pain in his chest going away, the throbbing in his fingers ceasing as everything straightened out and reknitted itself, pieces regrowing and reattaching and healing. 

And Aziraphale was kissing him. 

When he was done, Crowley chased after his retreating lips, panting and confused. 

“That didn’t-- it didn’t hurt me at all. Did it-- are you alright?” He demanded, sitting up and reaching for Aziraphale to catch him in case he fainted from the efforts.

But Aziraphale just smiled. 

“When God said she wanted us to be closer,” He said, sounding, finally like himself, “I suspect this is more what she had in mind.” 

“You mean I could have been kissing you since winter?” 

Aziraphale laughed and helped Crowley to his feet. 

“If we weren’t so scared, I would say we could have been kissing for much longer than that. But, yes. I don’t think we’ll have any problems with healing one another any longer.” 

Crowley felt tears coming to his eyes again, and he grabbed hold of Aziraphale and held onto him tightly. 

“Let’s go find somewhere that’s quiet.” He requested. “Somewhere out of the city. You bring your books, I’ll bring my plants… and with any luck neither of us will have to heal the other ever again.” 

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale said on a sigh, “That sounds delightful. How do you feel about the south downs?”

“If you’re there?” Crowley told him, as he reached to pull him into another kiss. “Better than heaven could ever be.”

[sondepoch]

III: Neutral Route (Y/N)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST 

Day 1

The walls of the room were white, weren't they? You stumbled forward, walking straight into a wall that was apparently closer than you had thought. Landing ungraciously on the ground, you brought a shaky hand to the wall to touch it, and the wall seemed to curve inward as your finger neared the white paint that now appeared to be spotted with black.

"(Y-Y/N)!" You heard a voice call from behind you. "Are you okay?"

You were guided off the floor and back toward the mattress on the ground by a pair of mystery hands. You recognized the voice vaguely, but your mind was too much of a jumble for you to form any coherent thoughts.

"Are you okay?" You replied, giggling as you repeated the question the voice just asked you. Your giggle quickly turned into a full laugh, something about the situation incredibly funny to you. Within seconds, though, your laughter had morphed into a wail as you felt your thoughts clear for a brief moment, followed by excruciating pain.

You clutched your head, then your stomach, then your leg, unsure of where the pain was coming and reached the realization, for perhaps the tenth time in the hour, that the pain had enveloped your body whole, making everything feel like literal hell.

You felt tears roll down your cheeks, and that only made you cry harder, the usually delicate drops of water now seeming to dig trenches of torment into your skin, into your head, into you.

Day 4

"I can't, Saeran, I can't do it anymore." You pushed Saeran away from you and retreated further into the corner of the room.

This was the clearest your mind had been in the past month you'd been here. I have been here a month, right? You thought and then nodded your head to yourself. Of course you'd been in the commitment room a month. Your brain may have been a fog at that moment, but it felt like an eternity had passed between that precise moment and when you were fed your first Elixir in the commitment room.

"(Y/N), please, you've been so good, just take a sip, and it'll all be over," Saeran tried pleading with you. "Please, don't make me force you."

You shrieked, looking around for something to throw at the white-haired male, something that would scare him off. You weren't drinking any more of the elixir. The pain wasn't worth it. "I'm not going to do it!"

Saeran ran a hand through his disheveled hair, and you couldn't tell what was going through his mind.

He turned around, and you sighed in relief when you noted his form moving toward the door. He was moving toward the door, right? You couldn't be sure anymore. The Elixir was messing with your mind.

Wait, no.

He wasn't moving toward the door.

He was moving toward you.

"(Y/N), please," he whispered, now standing directly in front of you (or so you thought, who could be sure?).

You pressed your back into the corner, ignoring the shot of pain that exploded as you applied pressure to agitated skin, and forced your mouth shut. Saeran pushed the glass containing the Elixir to your lips, trying to shove the liquid through the closed opening, but you were stubborn.

Seeming to give up, Saeran sat down next to the bed on you, moving quickly enough that your head spun for a moment, your brain temporarily lagging behind reality. "You know I love you, right, (Y/N)?" He murmured, and you smiled.

You did know that much, at the very least. 

You still didn't open your lips, but nodded your head. "Please forgive me," Saeran whispered, his face getting closer and closer, until you two were kissing.

For the first time since you entered the Commitment Room, external touch didn't bring a wave of pain. Instead, Saeran's lips seemed to be cleansing your body of the Elixir, like he was the antidote your body had been craving this whole time.

Saeran pulled back for a moment, but you didn't open your eyes, wanting to savor the moment, and then his lips were on yours again. You leaned into the kiss, not embracing him with your arms but with your lips, and when he slid his tongue along your lip, you readily opened your mouth for him.

Then, betrayal.

Saeran released a mouthful of liquid into your mouth and leaned back, holding your mouth shut with his hand. You tried to spit it out, the bitterness all too familiar on your tongue, but Saeran's hand was unyielding.

"Swallow, (Y/N)," Saeran said, his voice devoid of emotion as you stared at him with eyes filled with anger, hate, and resentment.

With no other choice, you swallowed the elixir, and then it was like the liquid had become a sea of pain that you were drowning in. Saeran and his unforgivable acts were forgotten, and all that was left in your world was pain.

Day 12

You weren't sure when was the last time you had spoken. Or moved. Or did anything other than swallow the Elixir and lie on your mattress in pain.

You no longer had the mental capacity to think. Your mind was blank, the only verification of your presence in the world being the tic-tock of some clock outside your room. Earlier, what felt like a year ago, you had tried counting the tic's, but the opening of a door had broken you from your thoughts.

A door would open.

Someone would walk in.

"Swallow," A voice would say.

Pain.

Then, repeat.

You were pretty sure you had heard the voice apologize a couple times, but in your delirium, you couldn't be sure of anything anymore. 

You strained your ears, hearing the familiar sound of a door opening.

Is it time already? You wondered, no longer hesitating to swallow the bitter liquid that trickled into your mouth.

You opened an eye for the first time in days, and a familiar face gazed at you with concern. So familiar. Who... You tried to recall the handsome man who stood before you, but the Elixir drowned your thoughts in pain, and before you ever authorized the closing of your eyes, they were scrunched shut, and everything was forgotten once more.

Day 21

"This is the last one, (Y/N)."

Those words repeated in your mind like a mantra, the weight of them bringing you to sit upright. Your head ached, but it wasn't the same harrowing sting that you had grown used to. It was more like the aftertaste of the pain, nauseating and unpleasant, but quite manageable.

The last one...am I done? Have I lasted a month? Has my secondary commitment ended? Thoughts raced through your mind like a swarm of insects, quick to come and quicker to go.

You forced yourself to stand on the mattress, and a subconscious grin spread across your face. It was over. It had to be.

The door opened, and for the first time since your arrival in this room, your vision was clear. No curved walls, no black spots on the white paint, no random dips in the flat floor. It looked normal. It was normal.

"Saeran!" You cried out, practically leaping into the male's arms. "Is it over? Am I committed?"

Your grin was contagious, bringing a soft smile to Saeran's usually stoic face as he saw you greet him for the first time too long. "(Y/N), my princess," He whispered, burying his face in your hair, holding you impossibly tight, "I've missed you so much."

You only smiled in return.

"But..."

You felt a frown tug at your lips. "But what?" You said, your voice flat, the question not really a question but more of a command.

"You're not done."

Saeran felt your spirits drop from cloud nine all the way down to the cold hard earth, and he was quick to try to salvage the situation, "But you won't need any more Elixirs! The worst of the pain is over, (Y/N), really."

You looked up at Saeran and let out a mirthless chuckle. You weren't sure how much more of this you could handle.

Your mouth set itself into a thin line, neither smiling nor frowning, and Saeran continued, "You have five days of rest. As the elixir leaves your system, the Savior will visit you...but you probably won't recall her visit. At least, I don't remember her visits with me from my secondary commitment. Soon, we'll bleach your hair and tattoo you. And then..."

"The eyes?" You asked bluntly, already aware that the final step in your commitment would likely be as painful as the elixirs.

Saeran nodded.

For a while, the two of you just stood there, unmoving and unspeaking, but after enough time had passed, Saeran sat next to you on the bed.

"Lie down, princess," he said, patting his lap, and for the first time, you didn't think of the impending pain you'd be faced with in the next few days. You simply allowed yourself to forget everything else in the world once more until all that was left was you and Saeran, and the braid he was pulling your hair into.

Day 30

Nearly thirty full days, you laid on your mattress and shut your eyes. At least, that's what Saeran said.

But, oh, what a blessing that was.

It didn't matter that at the time that your stomach was pumped full of the Elixir, that your saliva tasted bitter, and you couldn't move without pain shooting through your body like rockets.

You could still close your eyes.

The ability to blink is greatly underappreciated. Something you resigned yourself to never forget as Saeran tightened the eye brace that was keeping your eyelids from blinking down. There were about ten seconds of nonchalance before the pain set in, and it was one of the worst pains you've ever felt.

Back when you were just taking the Elixir, your mind was numbed as your body succumbed to the torture. You weren't aware of what was happening, and you sure as hell didn't remember a thing from any of it.

Now though? All you could think about were your corneas, astutely aware of the appalling level of pain your eyes would be subject to for the next twenty hours.

"Just bear with it, (Y/N), this is going to be over so soon," Saeran said, holding your hand tightly. Your entire body was strapped to a chair, all your limbs tied down so that you wouldn't be able to remove the brace, "I'm sorry," He said for the thousandth time, "I'm so sorry."

You couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge Saeran, though. You could barely think.

It was like someone had taken a picture of a person right before they died, in that moment where the body is fighting desperately for its life and every single sense is on fire, the brain haphazardly sending a million waves of pain and ache and agony to the location in question in hopes that something will save it, and had frozen you in time so that you were feeling like that every goddamn second.

"H..." You started, trying to focus on your words to lessen the effect of the pain.

"Help me, Saeran."

The boy's eyes filled with sympathy at your words, desperately wanting to do something to alleviate your pain but not knowing what. "The pain will ease out when the color gets injected, it's just a few more hours, and I'll be here the whole time, (Y/N), I promi-"

"No," You interrupted him, unable to bear it any longer. "No."

Saeran opened his mouth and closed it, at a loss for words.

"Knock me out, Saeran," You whispered, keeping your voice low as if the Savior were listening at the door. "The eye brace will keep my eyes open, and I won't have to deal with the pain. Please."

Saeran hesitated, unsure. "(Y/N), if the Savior finds out, we'll both..."

"Do it, Saeran!" You shouted, the pain unbearable as tears rolled down your cheeks, "Please!"

Your vision turned blurry, and you couldn't see straight anymore, your eyes crying out in pain and the unfairness of it all. This wasn't just. It wasn't right. And it was so close to being over. You looked upward and murmured a prayer the orphanage had taught you, desperately asking to be saved from the world of pain you were in; for Saeran to knock you out and give you a break from misery.

Then, redemption.

You felt Saeran strike your head, allowing darkness had set in despite your eyes staying open, the pain distant once more.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 2.2k

Notes: Welp that's another chapter. Lmao sorry for posting it so late, I had this done a while back but I wound up being busy so I pulled my first all-nighter of 2020 working on all the history homework I'd procrastinated on. EW HISTORY. I'm team physics ;) Ngl I'm still in school and I have an actually amazing history teacher but he makes us work so hard and it's ROUGH but probably because whenever I should be doing homework I'm messing around on Tumblr so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Comment & Like

Next Update: 01/09/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

[splendidlyimperfect]

Gray hasn’t seen Natsu in years - not since he moved away with his boyfriend Joel and Natsu stopped texting him. A chance run-in at a bar brings Natsu back into Gray’s life, but the encounter puts Gray in danger when Joel finds out. Natsu quickly realizes that Gray’s stuck in a cycle of violence, and wants to help him escape. But leaving isn’t that easy, and sometimes loving someone might not be enough.

Chapter Summary: Gray has to deal with Joel's trial, and realizes that he misses his parents.

Chapters (22/24):  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12| 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17| 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Natsu Dragneel/Gray Fullbuster, Gray Fullbuster/Original Male Character(s) Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rape Aftermath, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Natsu just wants to help, but Gray feels like he can’t leave, Non-Linear Narrative, Trans Character, Tumblr: FTLGBTales, ftlgbtpride2019, Coming Out, First Love, Angst with a Happy Ending, I promise

-----

you can be who you are

abide \ ə-ˈbīd verb : to endure without yielding

.

xxi december

.

As much as Gray feels like everything has changed, the world goes on.

He’s not surprised when Joel pleads ‘not guilty,’ and at first, Gray thinks he’ll never be able to testify. But he has help and support, and when he’s finally there in the courtroom, he doesn’t even look at Joel.

Later that night, when he cries, it’s not with fear – it’s relief. Natsu holds him and kisses his forehead and they spend the night talking quietly about small, soft things that fill Gray with hope.

Winter comes, and with it, colorful lights and gifts and a light dusting of snow that melts as soon as it hits the ground. The house fills up with garlands and candy canes, and Sting bakes enough cookies to feed twelve people, never mind four.

It’s two weeks before Christmas, and Natsu and Gray are lying on their bed with their legs tangled together. Bella’s curled up against Gray’s stomach and he’s flipping aimlessly through his phone while Natsu reads a book behind him.

“I miss my mom,” Gray says suddenly. Natsu doesn’t reply, just sets his book down on the nightstand and waits. Gray sighs, tipping his head back into Natsu’s lap and looking at him upside-down. Natsu’s reading glasses make him look younger than he actually is.

“I haven’t talked to her in a long time,” Gray says after a while. He runs his fingers through Bella’s fur and chews on his lip. “They… Joel said they wouldn’t accept me. I thought he was protecting me, but…”

“Do you wanna call them?” Natsu asks, running his fingers through Gray’s hair.

Gray sighs, covering his face. “They don’t know,” he says.

“About what?”

“About… me. Gray.” He peeks up at Natsu. “They still think I’m Ellie.”

Continue reading on AO3

Natsu runs his finger over the scar on Gray’s forehead. “I talked to them once,” he says. Gray frowns at him. “I… it was maybe a year after you moved away. I thought maybe they’d heard from you.”

Gray shakes his head, tugging a pillow into Natsu’s lap and curling up to face him. “I sent them letters, for a while,” he said. “They didn’t write—fuck, they probably did, he just threw them out.”

A flash of fury runs through Gray and he digs his nails into his palms before closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath. Helen – his therapist – keeps telling him that mixed-up feelings are normal, that he’s going to feel anger and regret and guilt and all the other things that seem like they don’t make sense.

Lately, it’s just been anger. Anger at Joel for hurting him. Anger at himself, for being so blind. Sometimes even anger at Natsu, for not trying harder, even though Gray knows that’s not fair.

He wishes that his emotions would have the decency to make sense at least some of the time.

“I wanna go visit,” he says, picking at a loose thread in his jeans.

Natsu nods, leaning down and kissing Gray’s forehead. “Okay,” he says. “When do you wanna leave?”

-----

Magnolia is exactly the same as Gray remembers it. It’s a surprisingly chilly day, and the light dusting of snow from the night before still clings to the railing of his parent’s porch. Nothing has changed – there’s still the chair that Gray used to spend his summers reading in, and the front mat that says come as you are.

It’s kind of ironic, now that Gray thinks about it.

“Breathe.” Natsu reaches over from the driver’s seat and squeezes Gray’s hand. Gray exhales, closing his eyes and focusing on letting go of the stress and anxiety. “I’ll be just down the street if you need me.”

Gray nods. When he’d called his mom, she hadn’t recognized his voice, and he’d nearly hung up. Then she’d burst into tears, and all Gray had been able to say was, “I’m sorry, I miss you.”

Gray doesn’t even have to knock. As soon as he steps onto the porch, the door swings open, and his mom is there, arms open to pull him into a hug. He doesn’t realize how badly he’s shaking until Mika leans back and puts her hands on his cheeks.

“You…” A tiny frown creases Mika’s face, and panic bubbles in Gray’s chest because he knows that she’s looking for someone who isn’t there anymore. He tenses, but the furrowed brow turns into the smile that used to reassure him as a child, and it dissolves a bit of the fear. “I missed you so much,” she says, kissing Gray on the cheek.

“Where’s dad?” Gray asks as she leads him to the living room. He still feels like he can’t quite catch his breath.

“He’ll be home in a bit,” Mika says gently as she sits down on the couch next to him, never letting go of his hands. “I wanted to… I thought we should talk first.”

Gray sighs, staring down at their joined hands. “I… don’t really know where to start,” he admits. There are so many things he could say – I’m sorry, I missed you, I’m a boy, I want a hug, I’m stupid, I—

“I saw Natsu out in the car,” Mika says, interrupting the spiral. “Where’s Joel?”

Gray tenses. “Jail,” he says quietly.

Mika’s hands tighten around his, and her voice is soft as she asks, “what for?”

Gray stares at the carpet. Maybe this is easier – he doesn’t have to say Joel hurt me, or Joel almost killed me. “Aggravated assault,” he says. He knows the charges by memory. “Sexual assault. A few other things.”

The sudden tension in the room is palpable, and Gray’s chest starts to tighten, but he knows how to handle this. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.  

“Did he…” Gray flinches when Mika brushes his hair out of the way and traces her thumb over the scar on his forehead, then down to the fading marks on his throat. “Did he do this to you?”  

Gray can’t bring himself to nod – all he can think is, it’s my fault, I didn’t leave, I wish I’d told you.

“Oh, honey,” Mika says, and her hands move slowly up Gray’s arms as she pulls him into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” Gray whispers, and his voice is thick with the tears he’s trying so hard to keep in. But his therapist keeps telling him that crying is healthy, that emotions need somewhere to go, so he lets himself press his forehead to his mom’s shoulder and cry. “I… I didn’t know, h-he said you wouldn’t—that y-you and dad, you wouldn’t understand, and I w-was stupid, I b-believed him and I—”

“Wouldn’t understand what?” Mika asks, holding Gray tight against her and running her fingers through his hair. Gray shakes his head – he can’t say it because then she might let go, might tell him to leave, and he needs her.

Mika sighs, pressing a kiss to Gray’s head. “You’ve never been happy as Ellie,” she says. “I could see it when you were little – the way you wanted to be just like Natsu.”

“Mom,” Gray whispers, pulling back and rubbing his face. “I…”

“You look so different,” Mika says. He doesn’t miss the glance to his chest that she tries to hide, or the way her thumb brushes across the stubble on his chin. He knew, coming here, that he wouldn’t be able to hide it, but he never expected her to understand. “You look… like yourself.”

Gray laughs, and the sound is weak and wet, but he manages to nod. “I… changed my name. It’s Gray, now.”

“Gray,” Mika says, tipping her head to the side as she contemplates it.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m so sorry I left – I wrote letters, but I think he… I don’t think they made it to you.” Mika shakes her head and Gray squeezes his eyes shut, making a frustrated sound. “I thought…”

“It’s not your fault,” Mika says gently, then shakes her head. “I wish I could slap that asshole.”

“Mom!” Gray has never heard his mom swear before, and it’s jarring.

Mika gives him a stern look. “He hurt my daught—” She stops herself, taking a deep breath. Gray can see the uncertainty in the lines of her face, but she smiles at him and says, “my son. She hurt my son.”

“Mom,” Gray says again, this time softer and unsure. “I…”

“It’ll take some time for… for your father to understand,” Mika says. “He never wanted to admit it when you were younger, but… I’m not surprised. Not really.”

And with that, all the uncertainty and tension and fear in Gray’s chest melts – not bit by bit but immediately, like a flood that washes over his entire body, starting from his hands that are joined with his mom’s.

“I love you,” he says, and watching his mom’s eyes light up at the words makes all the fear and anxiety of the past few days worth it.

“I love you too, Gray,” Mika says, reaching up and cupping his cheek. “Whoever you are, I’ll always love you. I’m just so, so happy you’re safe now.”

“I am,” Gray says, nodding into Mika’s hand. “I… yeah, I’m staying with Natsu, we’re at a friend’s place, and I…” He looks out the window as if expecting Natsu to still be there, sitting in his car and waiting for Gray.

“He’s always been good for you,” Mika says. “I’m glad you have him.”

Gray smiles as he thinks of Natsu’s smile, and a warm sensation sparks in his chest. “Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”

[bi-any-chance]

Unnamed Story: Chapter 1

(a first draft 😶, here it is)

My name is Dylan Anstey. I’m eighteen, a senior in high school, and today is the day I plan on coming out to my dad – for real this time.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” my best friend Quinn asks me when I tell him, “Your dad doesn’t seem very accepting. Not to mention the fact that this is exactly what you said the last seventeen times you said you were going to tell him you’re bi.”

“Thanks for calling me out like that, Quinn.” I grumble, Quinn responding, “Dude, you know I just don’t want anything to happen to you. You shouldn’t feel the need to come out to anyone until you’re absolutely ready.” Quinn looks at me with those big beautiful blue eyes of his, sincerely worried about me. The boy is gorgeous both inside and out, it’s no wonder I’ve had a crush on him since we were fifteen. Those eyes, his kindness, and now that we’re older, his– face. Yes, face. That is totally where I was going with that… yeah. But alas (who am I, Shakespeare now? Alas?), Quincy Rose is as straight as a ruler – and unfortunately for me, not one of those bendy rulers.

“I’m tired of hiding part of myself.” I say, “It is so hard not to say ‘I met this super cute guy today!’ when he asks me how I’m doing. I might not be ready, but I need to tell my dad. I mean, my senior prom is tomorrow, and he doesn’t even know I’m going because he doesn’t know you’re my date because he doesn’t know I’m bisexual.”

Okay, quick pause. I know I said Quinn was as straight as a ruler, and not the bendy kind. The reason he asked me to prom is because my boyfriend broke-up with me a few months ago. I was absolutely heartbroken, so Quinn, being the sweetheart he is, decided to cheer me up with a friend-prom-posal. Yeah, I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming after that.

“I can only imagine.” Quinn sighs, “Well my dude, no matter what happens, you know I’m here for you. Always.”

Quinn isn’t exaggerating. When my ex and I broke up, Quinn was the one who got me through it. He checked in with me every few hours when he wasn’t with me, he made sure I ate every day, he forced me to get out of bed to get showered (I only gave in because he said if I didn’t get up and get a shower, he was going to pull me out of bed and shower me himself. I had to get out of there fast after that comment).

I smile at my best friend, trying not to think about how badly I want to kiss him right now. We are only inches apart, sprawled out on my bed. His leg was touching mine, which isn’t unusual when we hang out, and as always, I was hyper-aware of his every movement, and the warmth where his body touched mine.

“Don’t you have to get home for supper or something?” I ask, not that I wanted him to leave, “My dad should be home soon, and you probably don’t want to be here when I come out to him.”

“Dylan, are you sure you don’t want me here for moral support?” Quinn checks, “If your dad does take it poorly, you might need someone to be there for ya. And you know I will always be available to be that someone.”

“I’ll be fine.” I promise, “If not, I’ll call you. Okay?”

Quinn sighs, “Fine, but call me either way. Deal?”

“Deal.”

With Quinn gone, I hop into bed and look up at the ceiling. Millions of lil dots decorated it, black specks in a sea of white, like a reverse outer space. My dad gets out of work at five, drives fifteen minutes, and is always home no later than 5:20 pm. I look at my phone. It is 5:02. Eighteen minutes to mentally prepare myself to tell my dad two life-changing words: I’m bisexual. Quinn is right when he says my dad doesn’t seem very accepting. In fact, the last time I saw my dad encounter something gay, the look of disgust on his face was a knife to my heart.

At a quarter after five, I hear the front door. Dad’s home. I’m so not fucking ready for this, but I go downstairs anyway. My dad is in the living room taking off his jacket when I pop around the corner. “No, I don’t know what’s for supper.” he says to me before I even speak, “I just walked in the door.”

“Not what I wanted.” I reply, instantly feeling an invisible hand clench around my heart, “I have something really important to tell you.”

He turns to face me, confused. “What did you do?”

“It isn’t what I did, it’s who I am.” I gulp, the invisible hand tightening its grip, “I’m bisexual.”

“You’re what?” my dad asks, “Bisexual? What the fuck does that even mean?” I think that question is rhetorical. “Bisexual?!” he yells, as I back up and say, “I like cute people?”

He draws his hand to his forehead, clearly disturbed. “Are you telling me you find men attractive?” he whispers.

I nod.

“I can’t believe it.” he sighs, “That is so disgusting, Dylan. Why?!”

“It’s just who I am!” I say, trying not to cry as the invisible hand crushes my heart completely, “I like guys!”

“No, no!” my dad shouts, “You need help.”

“I don’t need help!”

“You need help!” he repeats, stepping towards me, “Dylan, this isn’t normal. It’s some kind of disease. You are sick!”

“No, I am not.” I reply, “I love who I love, and it is as simple as that. You just need to accept it!”

“I, and listen to me son, I will never accept you if you choose this gross lifestyle.”

I take a breath. “I hate you!” I scream, storming towards the door as my father steps in the way and shoves me back. “You have no right to say that!” he snaps at me, raising his hand and smacking me in the face. And I expect to fall, or to at least feel the pain, but I don’t. I open my eyes and see myself, watery-eyed and wincing in pain. My hand stings. I look down at my dad’s shoes, on my feet. My dad’s pants, on my legs. I look at my hands, my now old and calloused hands. Oh my fucknuggets. I have literally become my father!

And I’m assuming my dad, in my body, came to that exact realization too, because now we were both screaming. Loud.

“Dylan, what did you do?!” my dad shrieked with my voice, “Is this some kind of trick?!”

“I hope so!” I exclaim, my voice deeper. My voice was my dad’s voice. My words, his voice. “Wait a minute.” I smirk, “I just, I want to hear your voice say something.”

“Oh no.” my dad gulps.

“I am an idiot. I am a hateful bigot. I am sorry, Dylan, I wish I was gay.” I say, my dad getting angry, “Bisexuality is real and lovely in every way! Gay rights! Lesbian rights! Trans rights! Love is love and I love a man!”

“Shut up!” my dad orders with my voice, “Fine. I am a faggot that needs to get over myself and realize that men are meant to be with women and that so-called ‘gay love’ is idiotic!”

“Fuck, tell me how you really feel!” I shout.

“I wish all homosexuals would burn in Hell!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” I demand to know, “How can you think something like that?! Mom would never have put up with that!”

“Well, your mother is no longer with us, Dylan.” my dad whispers, “Forget this. We have more pressing matters at hand. We need to get this situation straight, unlike me.” My dad quickly covers his mouth in shock as I laugh. “Guess I left my inability to resist a gay joke in my body.” I taunted, “Have fun with that, my bisexual son.”

“I am NOT bisexual!” my dad huffs, “And you shouldn’t be! Now stop goofing around and help me figure out how to undo this body swap nightmare.”

I look at my dad and suggest that since a slap switched us the first time, maybe another would switch us back. “You think so?” my dad asks.

“Nope!” I chirp in reply, smacking him across the face, “I just really wanted to smack ya with my big meaty man-hand.”

“Ow!” he yelps, “You know you’re probably going to bruise now, right?!”

“Totally worth it.” I respond, “Anyway, now we can try and figure out how to switch back.”

“Shit!” my dad curses, “Actually, YOU can try and figure it out. I have a report to finish for work tomorrow, and will definitely lose my job if I don’t turn it in.”

“And what if I can’t figure it out?” I ask, “Smarty pants.”

“Then you are presenting my report at work tomorrow to the Board of Directors.”

“Well, you also better be ready.” I say, “Quinn and I are going to prom together. As friends, because he’s straight as fuck, but still. Tomorrow is your tuxedo-fitting with him in the morning, and prom is that evening at 7.”

“I will NOT go to a prom with a guy!” my dad growls, “In fact, the only thing I am going to do for you is call Quinn and tell him that prom is off!”

“Wait!” I yelp as my dad takes out my phone, “You are going to call him, but you are going to tell him that you were a hard-ass when I came out and that you are heartbroken your dad doesn’t accept you for who you are! Or I promise you, father, I will go into that Board of Directors meeting and tell them they can all fuck themselves. And then I will tell every female at work how much of a douche-canoe I am. And then tell them they look like crap. I will ruin your precious reputation faster than you can say ‘bisexual’. Got it?!”

My dad just swallowed hard and called Quinn.

[fatui-harbingers]

[28]

I was tagged by @thesilverrqueen thanks so much!

1. How tall are you?

5’1/154 cm (I’m trusting google here lol)

2. What color and style is your hair?

My natural color is this wannabe brown with sorta limp waves but most of my hair is blonde right now but I’ve got a couple months worth of roots showing. I sometimes straighten it or curl it, depending on where I’m going but I mostly just let it be.

3. What color are your eyes?

Hazel! Very green and yellow, you can barely see the brown sometimes.

4. Do you wear glasses?

Yes, and I have contacts too.

5. Do you wear braces?

Not atm. There’s a chance I’ll get them in the near future though

6. What is your fashion style?

It’s really fluid. I have all sorts of stuff in my closet but I mostly go out in more casual clothes. I have a pretty strict dad so my options to go out in are pretty limited, especially in the summer.

7. Full name?

Kaylee Morgan is all I’m gonna share, just to be safe. (Morgan is my middle name, obviously)

8. When were you born?

January 1st 2001

9. Where are you from and where do you live now?

Jasper, AL, USA. I grew up not far from there but I live in Jasper now.

10. What school do you go to?

I’m homeschooled, technically so I just chill at home and learn at my own pace

11. What kind of student are you?

No idea how to answer that bc I’m my own teacher lol. I’m just better at learning on my own

12. Do you like school?

Not the best, not the worst, if this means schoolwork too

13. What are your favorite school subjects?

History is mostly all I enjoy now

14. Favorite TV shows?

Game of Thrones, even though this last season is crap

Killing Eve

911

The Good Doctor

Charmed (the reboot)

Riverdale (it’s finally doing better imo)

15. Favorite movies?

The Conjuring

Insidious (the whole series)

Pirates of the Caribbean (idk which ones I didn’t like but I love the series as a whole)

The Hobbit (I just really loved them. I don’t remember much of Lord of the Rings so I should probably rewatch them)

16. Favorite books?

Sex With Kings (I don’t remember who it was by but it was cool to learn about all the women behind the scenes)

The Divergent series, even though it broke my heart

A Song of Ice and Fire series is pretty good so far, though I’m barely in the first book. I already enjoy the way it’s written, lol. I can tell when I’m gonna love something like a detailed fantasy series!

17. Favorite pastime?

Reading up on politics, learning some history, scrolling through Tumblr, listening to music, and writing when I feel like it

18. Do you have any regrets?

Yes, but I only think of specific ones when trying to sleep at 3 am

19. Dream job?

Acting! Idc about fame much but acting is my dream job for sure

20. Would you like to get married someday?

I’m weird about marriage. I would only marry a man if he would change his name to mine bc men need to change their names too instead of expecting women to always give in to one of the most misogynistic and patriarchal traditions but I don’t see that happening tbh. I would probably marry a woman (or anyone that’s not a man) bc I would feel super guilty knowing that people fought so hard for marriage equality, only for me to not marry my partner. I personally view marriage for what it was (and still is imo), a business contract so it’s never been something I cared about, even when I was little.

21. Would you like to have kids someday?

I would, actually. I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. I would do it maybe in my late 20s or early 30s bc I feel I would be best prepared then. I would love to have a daughter, that would make me so happy but, if climate change is not properly handled, I’m not having children. It’s incredibly selfish to bring a child into a doomed world for your own personal happiness imo. But I’ll be 29 in 2030 so I’m sure we’ll know by then!

(I didn’t see a 22 so I’m not sure what it was)

23. Do you like shopping?

Sometimes yes, sometimes no. Depends on my mood and how much sleep I got, lol.

24. What countries have you visited?

None, unfortunately. I’ve barely even been out of my state!

25. What’s the scariest nightmare you’ve ever had?

The most recent one I had was in the last place we lived. I dreamed there was a demon (in the form of a dark purple orb) in one of the corners of my room. Took me forever to fall asleep again. Another one I had when I was 13 was that yellow jackets were drilling into my room after I got a bad bee sting (under my eye!) and we found out that they had been drilling into my sisters room. The one I remember the most was from when I was really little. I dreamed Voldemort came to kill my whole family and we all played dead till he left us alone, lol.

26. Do you have any enemies?

Not that I know of! I do have people I consider enemies but they don’t know it yet (my family)

27. Do you have an s/o?

No, and that’s for the best!

28. Do you believe in miracles?

I’m gonna go with yes bc I can’t really say no either, lol

Tagging @livelaughdracarys @enygma0710 @sweetiepie08 @ktwrites @tidustargaryen @thescarletgarden1990 @danerystarg and anyone else that wants to do this! And of course, ignore if you’ve already done it or don’t want to do it at all!

[coreyrosetv-blog]

My Labor Journey

Friday I wrapped up the work day like any other…

I was 39 weeks and 4 days… baby had dropped but I wasn’t having any contractions or signs of labor (aside from some Braxton Hicks here and there which had been happening for a week or so) and was feeling good considering how pregnant I was.

Friday overnight into Saturday morning I started to have a few contractions… mild but definitely contractions and I woke up with a headache which can be a sign of early labor.

Most of Saturday my contractions were about 20 minutes apart lasting about 20 seconds… my Bradley coach and doula told us to get out of the house, walk around, get our mind off it as long as possible.

So we did...

We went to lunch, went shopping, got dessert and spent most of the day out of the house- all while tracking the contractions.

We’d be in a store, a contraction would come on, I’d stand there and grab onto something and then it would pass and we’d be on our merry way. We actually ended up walking more than 5 miles that day just burning time.

Saturday evening the contractions started to get more intense, closer together and lasting longer. Our doctor told us to go by the 5-1-1 timing (5 minutes apart, lasting for 1 minute and being going on like that for 1 hour). Our Bradley coach and doula go by the 3-1-1 method (3 minutes apart, lasting a minute or longer and like that for an hour). The whole thought process here is that you want to labor at home as long as possible. The less time you can be in the hospital the better, less intervention. Some hospitals will start the clock on labor the moment you come in and that’s how a lot of women end up getting Pitocin, epidurals and c-sections - all of which I did not want.

I remember our Bradley coach saying, “you’ll know when it’s time to go to the hospital” and she was right. Josh stayed up with me most of the night timing the contractions, giving me massages in between, talking me through them. Poor guy fell asleep right towards the end… 3:30 am I woke him and told him it was time to go.

Here is where the flashes of memory happen… I remember getting in the car, then I remember pulling up to the ER entrance and being put in a wheelchair, there’s a flash of an elevator, and then all of a sudden I am in the delivery room in my hospital gown, my husband and doula by my side…

I was 7 cm dilated when we got to the hospital at 3:45am. My water hadn’t broken yet.

They strapped two monitors to my belly- one for baby’s heartbeat and one for mine. What’s crazy is that Josh and my doula could tell when the contractions were coming, when they were peaking and coming down. They talked me through each one. At about 8.5cm dilated the nurse asked if I wanted them to break my water… I did not. I knew nature would do it’s thing and it did just moments later it broke at 9cm. Right before it broke, I felt the urge to push during the contraction and that did it.

It was time to start pushing. They removed the bottom half of the bed, the feet stirrups came out and the doc entered the room. There’s nothing that can prepare you for what that pushing is like until it’s time and I admit it took me a few tries to figure it out.

All of a sudden they tell me they see his head and he’s got a lot of hair! I thought, “ Oh my gosh, I am about to meet my son.”

I pushed for about an hour. Yes, it was painful. The “ring of fire” which is when the baby’s head is coming through definitely hurts- more like stings and burns intensely. Once his head came out, it was only a few more pushes and my son was born. He truly was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen… worth the pain 100X even in that moment when the memory of the pain was still very real.

They put him on my chest and I was complete. It brings tears to my eyes right now thinking of that moment. The moment he made me a mommy.

I knew it wasn’t over yet… there’s the second birth or the delivery of the placenta. I had read that can also be painful as your body has contractions to deliver it.

I however, was not prepared for what happened next. My placenta got stuck to the top of the uterus. The doctor had to do a pelvic sweep… essentially meaning she needed to put her hand (and more) up there and pull it out. Talk about painful.

The first time she did it, it didn’t come out. They ended up giving our son to my husband to do skin on skin while they worked on me. They gave me a little fentanyl for the next round… she went up there and pulled it free from the uterus and pulled it out. As awful as it is, it’s necessary because that’s how women hemorrhage blood- if it’s not completely removed but dang was that painful!

I ended up with 12 stitches… small ones from tears on the side (you don’t even feel that part) and was soon cleaned up and feeding my son for the first time.

Christian Samuel was born at 7:11am on February 10th, 2019 (my Mom’s birthday). 

Healthy boy weighing 7lbs, 9oz, 20.5 inches long

A few notes: I can’t praise the staff at Littleton Adventist Hospital enough. We made the right decision to deliver there. The nurses were phenomenal and really encouraged my desire for a natural birth. Our charge nurse, Kristen was a God-send! I vividly remember her pressing my hips together as each contraction came on- it took the pressure off my lower back which is where my contractions mainly were. She did that for hours. The nurses there truly have a passion for what they do- there’s no doubt about that and God-willing we have more- we will be delivering there again (more on the nurses in my next post).

Our Bradley coach, Lisa, really prepared us for natural birth. We took 4 classes, each 2 hours long and it was worth every penny ($425). She was available all day as I was contracting and helped walk us through the phase we were in, what was coming, what to look out for, etc.

My doula, Cristina, was an integral part of the process. She was available in the days leading up to the labor. She met with my doc in advance. She checked in on me daily and was available 24/7 for any questions we had. She knew every detail of our birth plan. She was at the hospital just moments after we got there and was a soothing voice to get me from one contraction to the next. She was my voice to the nurses and doctor about what I wanted and what I didn’t. She also worked well with my husband to walk him through the contractions and what to expect as we entered into each phase.

My husband was AMAZING through this whole process. The three of them (doula, charge nurse and husband) were truly the dream team. Josh kept me calm all day while my contractions were rolling through but was also very attentive. He was so incredibly strong in the labor room- you’d think he had done it before. He reminded me to keep my breathing under control, breath through the pain, embrace the pain, watched the monitors to give me a heads up a contraction was coming, when it was peaking and when it was coming down. He made me feel like the strongest woman in the world in that room which gave me the confidence to continue on naturally. He held my leg for each push and cut the umbilical cord. I am one lucky woman.  

Next entry: The days in the hospital, the first days home and the very real feeling of baby blues…

[thoughtsofdarc]

My Latest Mission... Part 20

Reader (Y/N), Steve, Clint, Warnings: Language. Being a Hydra asset. Anger. Angst. fighting, blood, death. Words: 2466

A/N: Action... action... and oh! Action... Hold on tight ladies and gentlemen, and duck from flying bullets! 

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - (Part 18 Bonus) - Part 19 

"Y/n, look out!" I hear someone scream from a distance, just in time for me to turn around and kick the gun out of the hands of a HYDRA agent. The gun fires and shoots a bullet right beside my head, grazing my ear. Immediately I feel the blood ooze and instinctively my hand reach up and touch it. I growl when I feel the sting from the wound and I glare at the HYDRA agent.

"I'm getting pretty fucking tired of people shooting holes in me!" I yell as I throw myself at him, slightly losing my temper.

The agent, now unarmed, takes a step back when I punch him in the he face, but other than that, he hardly seems fazed by my blow. His eyes are dark with anger and I can practically see the adrenaline radiating off him. Why the hell do HYDRA agents always have to be so damn angry, I think to myself as I duck away from his fist coming right towards me. The gunshots are everywhere and the sound of people fighting is filling the air around me. This was supposed to be an easy mission! I don't know how, but suddenly he is the one with the upper hand. I'm slammed up against the wall, and for a second I feel the air leave my lungs when my back makes contact with the concrete. I try to regain control but the agent is fast and within the blink of an eye, I find myself with both his hands wrapped around my neck. I can feel the air is cut off and it burns my throat as his fingers dig deeper into my skin. His eyes are burning with hatred and suddenly I recognize him as the guard I knocked out in the interrogation room all those many months ago, when Pierce had giving him an almost invisible sign to pull the gun on me. A cruel smirk form on his lips, when he sees my face turn red and the tears form in my eyes from the lack of oxygen. "He said that you would come for her... Imagine my surprise when I saw you leave that jet with those fuckers, fighting alongside them. And imagine my joy, when I realized I could finally have my revenge for what you did to me!" He looks like someone who has lost his mind and the maniac smile on his lips as he talks, tells me that he probably has. "Do you know what they did to me afterwards? Huh? They punished me! They tortured me to the brink of life, because you beat me up, you fucking bitch!" I believe him. There's never been any mercy for those who fail their job at HYDRA. Some sort of punishment will always rain down upon you after. But I can't stay here anymore, if I don't get him off of me, it will end badly! With all my strength I push forward, making the man take a step back and getting my back off the wall. I see his eyes widen and his smile falter when he realizes, that I'm not done fighting yet, but he doesn't have the time to react before my next move. My right foot flies upwards with extreme force, hitting him right in the junk. The second my foot hits, I take both arms in between his and yank them outwards with such a force that he have to let go of my throat. He takes several steps back, which give me the opportunity to turn all the way around as I raise my leg and plant it solid in his chest, sending him flying to the ground several meters away from me. Before either him or I can do anything more, an arrow strikes his chest and make the agent fall back, limp and quiet. I look up to the roof on the other wing of the big factory and see Clint lower his bow and salute me, as he quickly turns around and away from the ledge of the roof, running towards another target. A smile forms on my lips as I slowly shake my head. That cocky son of a... I gently rub my throat and neck, wincing a bit when I feel the sting. That piece of shit has certainly left some marks. As I ready myself to fight again, one of Cap's agents comes over the intercom "... Need help... Split up... Dead... Cap's... Gone..." Something is interfering with the sound, and everything he says is almost covered in static. But I get the main message... Something is wrong and they need help! "I'm coming in!" I yell over the earpiece and throw open the door with my gun raised. Only faintly hearing someone answering and telling me to be careful. I'm running through the empty corridors of the factory looking for anyone from my side, praying they are all alright. When I turn another corner I stop abruptly, as I see Jones standing over a man on the floor with his gun in his hands. When I walk closer I see the man on the floor is one of the shield agents that followed Steve inside. "Jones!" aiming my gun at him I say his name with a warning "What have you done?" The Hydra agent's words repeating in my head "He said that you would come for her..." Jones turns around so fast that he almost trips over the man on the floor, pointing his gun at me. "You!! This is all your fault! If you hadn't run away and hadn't come to the tower, none of this would have happened..." He is visible shaking, and I can't figure out of its anger, adrenaline or because that he's afraid. "Jones, what have you done?" I look to the man on the floor and see he's slightly moving. "ME? I could ask you the same, you fucking bitch!" he shouts and fires his gun at me, missing by far. I cover in the nook of a doorway and peek out to see him walking backwards, with the gun still aimed to where I disappeared. He shoots again when he sees my head peek out, this time the bullet hitting the wall only a few inches from my head. Well, fuck me! "Jones! Don't do this! It's not worth it!" I shout back at him, but he doesn't answer. I wait for a moment expecting him to say something or let his gun answer for him, but nothing happens "Jones!?" still no answer... I slowly slide down the door that I have my back pressed up against, to peek out from a lower level, hopefully not getting a bullet in my brain when I do. But there's nothing. Jones is gone, and the long corridor is empty except for the agent on the floor who is now moving and groaning. I hurry over to him and see that he has a bullet wound in his shoulder, right above the vest that's designed to keep the bullets out of his body. Someone has had to be pretty close to him to shoot him like that. Fuck... Jones has to be the one behind all of this! "Hey, hey... I'll get you out of here! Come on..." I hook his arm over my shoulder and lift. It's at times as this where I'm thankful for the super serum running through my body, because this guy is big and heavy. And yet, here I am dragging his ass out of the building. "You stay awake for me, okay?"I tell him when I feel him slump more and more as we move. His steps become dragging and his head hangs low. I can see a lot of blood oozing out and down his clothes and his skin is pale and cold. At this rate he won't make it, he's losing too much blood. Finally out the door I look around, bodies are scattered over the ground and the sound of fighting is still on but not as loud as before. At first glance I can't see any of my teammates or any HYDRA agents for that matter, so I start to drag the guy out in the open, as I keep telling him to stay awake. Suddenly Aiden comes running. He has blood dripping down his head and dust all over. "Y/n!" he calls my name looking surprised "What the hell happened?"

He grabs the agents other arm and help me move him toward the tree line of the forest. "It's Jones! I think he sold us out!" my voice comes out more panicked than I feel, the adrenaline must have taken its hold on me. "He's completely lost it!" I huff out as I trip over a dead HYDRA agent's leg and almost lose my balance. Aiden doesn't answer, as we are interrupted by shouting "There she is! Get her!" As I turn around I see 3 men from HYDRA come running towards us. "Go! I got him!" Aiden takes a better hold of the guy and starts to run the best that he can, with the deadweight of another person to carry too. I nod and turn around grabbing my combat knife from my thigh holster. Anger flaring up in me, I'm so fucking tired of all these fucking HYDRA jerks, that just doesn't want to leave me the fuck alone. The first Hydra agent to reach me gets a knife handle smacked right in his face. Not much thought behind, just a plain old fashioned whack to the head, with such force that he goes down with no further fighting. The next agent doesn't let me get that close. He's clearly had a lot of training in hand to hand combat and I have a worthy opponent for once. He blocks almost every hit and kick that I do and returns an equal amount. I swing the knife to block a hit from him, causing the blade to slice open his arm, in a long gushing wound. He screams out in pain and grabs a hold of his damaged arm that hangs painlessly limp from his shoulder. The angry growl coming from him gives me just a seconds warning, before his foot comes flying towards me. I try to block it, but his heel hits perfectly on my hand sending the knife flying away from us... Too far away for me to get it. "They should have killed you when the caught you in the snow, you fucking bitch!" he growls as he raise his leg again, no doubt aiming for my head. I did foresee this move though, since his arm is now incapacitated he is depending on his next strongest weapon, his legs. I take a step to the side, catch his leg by the ankle and hold it in one hand. In a swift motion my other hand grabs the top of his foot and with force I push it to the side, feeling more than hearing something inside of it snap. To break the forceful motion I'm causing on his foot, he twist his body to try and follow the way I break it. This gives me the upper hand completely, as I swing my own leg over his and yanking it down on the back of his knee, causing him to drop flat to the ground. My leg stays on his as I push it forward and pin his broken foot behind my knee. Like that, I lock his entire body with mine and I can hit his neck so hard that he will not get up any time soon... If ever! Feeling the limp body under me, I raise just in time to register the third and last agent raise his gun, trying to help his buddy, but too late. I throw myself to the ground and roll away, hearing him pull the trigger and a bullet hits the ground where I just stood. I grab my own, and fire half blinded by my hair, causing me to miss, but at the same causing the agent to duck out of the way and giving me enough time to cover behind a container. I hear the sound of metal against metal as he shoots at me again, but hits the container instead. I count the shots as he fires, and when I've counted his gun empty, I quickly stand up and fire one single shot at him. The surprised look on his face, when a line of blood slowly makes its way down from between his eyes and down over his nose, is almost comical if it wasn't so tragic. He too falls lifeless to the ground. Gunshots are heard around me, and I slump down behind the container again, taking a deep breath, feeling the sting in my throat from earlier. Once again I ask myself, what the hell I have ever done to deserve this. I lean my head up against the cold metal and close my eyes for a second.

I'm getting too old for this shit! I chuckle to myself as I think this. Of course I'm too old, on almost fucking 100 years old! The factory door opens, and out step Sergeant Bishop, Jones and... And Lilly! She's alive, and they found her! I stand up, holding my gun tightly, the knuckles turning white when I see, that they are the only ones coming out. Where's Steve? Where are the rest of the agents? Suddenly a shot is heard from somewhere behind me, and I watch as Jones' head snap back the second the bullet enters his brain. I take a step forward, watching in utter surprise the scene that is happening before me, reacting without thinking.

My movements catch the eyes of Lilly. I can see on her face that she recognizes me, and I can read on her lips that she says my name, relief washing over her. I watch as she pries herself from the Sergeant and starts to first walk, then slowly speeding up to run towards me. "Lilly, no!" I shout and hold my hands up to make her stop. She does and her eyes widen in what I first think is surprise, but then I realize is horror... The sound of a gunshot overpowers all senses in my body, as it rings out over the large courtyard. Everything else seems quiet, as if the shot is the only thing that's heard.  

I don't even hear my own voice as I scream "LILLYYYY!!" Lilly's frightened eyes that are staring at me go blank and in the time it takes a heart to beat, hers stops forever. She falls to the ground, never to get back up...

Part 21...

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[wonfairywoo]

Lean On Me (Pt. 2)

Mingyu Scenario #1

Summary: Inspired by the K-Drama Fight For My Way. The story of Kim Mingyu, a professional MMA fighter who stopped competing after a particularly nasty injury, and his love. A story of hardship and the stupid things we do for the ones we love

Genre/s: Romance, Drama, Fluff

Warning/s: Mentions of explicit stuff. ONLY mentions.

A/N: PLEASE DON’T HIT ME I SWEAR I HAVE A GOOD EXCUSE FOR UPDATING THIS AFTER A MONTH! Also I am not very good with.... 18+ scenes. I am still learning to write them :’) But do enjoy!

The first thing she felt as soon as she woke up were fingertips brushing across her waist, fluttering against the skin that had been exposed when her shirt had ridden up during the night. She sighed softly, turning around to face Mingyu with bleary eyes. He was laid down on his side, holding himself up with one arm and resting his head against a closed fist.

"Hi." Y/N whispered, voice still rough with sleep. Amusement flashed through her when she saw something pass through his eyes. He did say before that her morning voice did things to him. “Are you trying to imitate French girls with that pose?”

"Did you sleep well?" Mingyu asked softly, choosing to ignore her last comment. His hand that was trailing against her waist moving upwards to brush her hair away from her face before cupping her cheek, his thumb tenderly stroking underneath her eyes where dark bruises were starting to form. "You look tired babe."

"I feel tired." She groaned, unconsciously leaning closer to his warm palm and closing her eyes. "Work's been demanding at the restaurant lately and it's just so draining."

"You have been taking a lot of double shifts lately..." He muttered, his eyes roaming across her face and had her eyes been open she would have seen the guilt written all over his expression. "Maybe you should take a day off today?"

She forced herself to pry her eyes open, knowing that soon she'd have to get ready for another day at work. "I can't." Reaching up to smooth his crumpled brow with her fingers, she smiled up at him reassuringly. "I'm okay I swear. Once my boss finds another hostess I'll go back to single shifts. But these double shifts are good too you know? They pay more."

"Stop thinking about how much it pays. I don’t care about that." Mingyu groaned, leaning down to press his forehead against her temple. "I want you to worry about yourself more, please. You'll get sick if you keep this up."

"I'm fine." Y/N pressed on, bringing a hand up to squeeze his bicep. "Mingyu look at me." She waited until he did, staring deep into his eyes and repeating herself. "I'm fine."

Many thoughts passed through Mingyu's head at that moment. About how he couldn't wait for Wonwoo to find him a proper gig so he could finally get back in a ring; about how good it would be for him and Y/N if he were to win; and about how much he really loved her and wanted to take care of her.

He leaned down once more, pressing his lips softly against hers, expressing the emotions he couldn’t find the words to. It was caressing at first, languid, like water on a gently rolling brook. But then he found he wanted more.

His lips became more demanding, like a forest fire, wanting to taste her, almost desperately. Mingyu shifted so his knees were on either side of her hips, trapping her against the mattress, all the while never breaking the kiss.

When he finally did break it, he took no time at all before moving his lips to her neck and shoulders, smirking when he felt her shudder underneath him. Playfully, he nipped at her collarbone, soothing the sting with his tongue, tensing when he heard a small moan slip past her lips. His large hands sneaked underneath the hem of her shirt, using his thumbs to stroke the sensitive skin of her stomach, feeling it quiver at his touch. His lips continued trailing downward, pausing when he reached the dip of her shirt where a bit of cleavage peeked through.

He wanted more. No-  he needed more. He needed to feel her warm skin on his, needed her to touch him as well, he needed to feel all of her. Raising himself up on his knees, he swiftly got rid of his shirt and laughed when he caught her ogling him. But then the way she bit her lip at made his abdomen clench. Did she not know how gorgeous she looked like that? Hair disheveled, her blush trailing down to her chest, making her look so incredibly tempting. It took everything in him not to ravish her. He wanted to make love to her. Wanted to worship her body in the early morning light.

"Like what you see?" He murmured, lowering himself slightly so he was pressing down against her hips and causing her to buck against him instinctively.

"Mingyu..." Y/N rasped, trying to get up only to fail when he pushed her back down gently, capturing her in another rapturous kiss. She ripped her lips away from his with a gasp, getting a hard nip on her shoulder in punishment. "Mingyu we can't I- I'll be late for work and-"

He muffled her words with his mouth, swallowing them and letting his tongue erase all traces of them from her mind. When he pulled away they were both breathing heavily, faces flushed. "I don't care." He nearly growled, tugging at the front of her shirt. "I just want you out of these clothes now. I want you now."

After 3 years, Y/N was sure she’d be used to this side of him. The side of him that sent heat pooling between her legs as fast as lightning. She thought that after so much time together, that the heat would slowly ease up. How wrong she was.

She looked up at him, lips swollen, heart racing, and found herself nodding, "Okay." She murmured, pulling him back down against her, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Okay."

The loving smile he had given her at that moment was so worth the scolding her boss had given her when she came in for work late, still feeling the pleasurable ache between her legs, and the sting of the mark he gave her on her right hip.

The sound of leather smacking against leather was probably one of the things Mingyu liked about going to the gym. People ran around changing stations every now and then, taking water breaks, music blaring through the speakers at the corner. But Mingyu couldn't hear it, didn't notice anything else. Because when he was inside a ring everything but his opponent was blocked out.

"You know your girlfriend's going to kill you right? Well... after she kills me for actually helping you get back into this."

"You know hyung." Mingyu grunted, blocking a kick that was aimed for his left side and countered quickly with a kick of his own. "For a man standing at what? 182 cm? You're awfully afraid of someone who’s like 20 cm shorter."

"Mingyu dodge! We're doing dodging today remember? Stop blocking and dodge!" Wonwoo reprimanded sharply, making a quick jab to the right. "And this is Y/N we're talking about. She's so protective of you that once she actually threw a dumbbell at me for accidentally causing you a concussion. She's crazy!"

"To be honest you did kind of deserve that. Concussions are a pain to deal with." Mingyu stepped away from his sparring partner, a frown tugging on his lips. "And that's my girlfriend you're talking about, you ass!"

"And my sister." The two men turned around to see Seungcheol walking up to the ring, a towel slung over his shoulder, hair slicked back with sweat as he had just finished his own workout. "But Wonwoo has a point, when Y/N finds out about you quitting your job to get back into active fighting? She's going to flip. And I know my sister, it's not gonna be a pretty sight when she does."

The older man climbed up onto the apron, leaning against the ropes and staring down his almost brother. "You have to be sure this is what you want kid. You have to be ready to face the consequences of your decisions, I’ve always told you that."

Mingyu groaned, flopping down onto the mat and resting his elbows against his knees. Bowing his head, he watched as a bead of sweat rolled down his nose and onto the mat before closing his eyes, thinking back to this morning when he was watching Y/N sleep. Thinking about how exhausted she looked.

Then he thought back to the bills she was trying to shoulder on her on. His heart ached when he imagined her working herself bone-tired just to try and provide for them on her own because she didn’t want him to stress out about it. He remembered the gifts she would give him that he knew cost her at least 2 weeks' worth of lunch.

That woman... That silly silly woman he loved with all his being, worried and cared so much about others that she forgets to care for herself. And even if he was there to take care of her now... It still wasn't enough to repay everything she'd done and was doing for him.

"I have to do this." He whispered, squeezing his eyes tightly and lightly smacking the sides of his head with his gloves. He looked up and met Seungcheol's gaze, eyes conveying his desperation. "I love this sport hyung. This is what I want to do. I'm sure of it." Mingyu sniffled, bowing his head again. "And Y/N is my life. I'm doing this for her. This is the only way that I can give her everything she needs and wants. I want this hyung... And if you're not going to help me then it's fine. I'll still find a way to get back in the ring."

Seungcheol stared at Mingyu's form, silently contemplating his words. When a moments passed and he still didn’t speak, Mingyu moved to get up, thinking of people he could call and maybe call out a favor to find him a match.

But then something smacked against his face, and he caught it before it fell to the floor.

He looked at the towel in his hand blankly before moving his gaze to Seungcheol who was grinning at him. "Take a break then come back to the ring in a few minutes kid." He chuckled, hopping down the apron and strolling towards his office. "We're training you for your match next week."

The grin that spread through Mingyu's face was one of pure elation. He laughed, rolling out of the ring and chasing after his coach- his brother. "Hyung you're the best! I really love you right now!"

"Save your love for my sister you sap."

Meanwhile, Wonwoo was left inside the ring gaping after them. "What happens if Y/N comes after me first?" He called out to the both of them just before the door to the office shut.

"Don't worry man!" Soonyoung, one of the gym's personal trainers, piped up from his station at the weights. "I'm sure your funeral will be lovely. I'll even bring your favorite flowers and write you a nice long eulogy!"

The glove that was thrown hard against the wall beside his head was enough warning for him to stop talking.

FIRST PERSON POV

"Didn't your boyfriend tell you? He paid in full yesterday night, even paid for the next month's rent in advance. Wired it all to me then left me a text. He’s a good kid that boy.”

I took my time walking back to the apartment, repeating the landlord's words over and over again in my head. Not that I wasn’t glad about the rent being paid off, but the question running through my mind was how exactly did my boyfriend find the money to pay it off.

I hoped he didn’t borrow from my brother, because if he did then I’d surely be getting a call to lecture me about not asking for help when I really needed it. But I could have handled it. I was handling it.

I shook my head, opening the door to the apartment and being met with silence. Mingyu was probably still in bed. He did get home late last night. Later than I expected…

I walked to the bedroom, watching his sleeping form for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. My eyes roamed his face, before moving to his shirt clad torso. He rarely ever wore a shirt to bed.

I could feel my throat growing dry. “He wouldn’t would he? He wouldn’t do that to me again?”

I desperately wanted to be wrong. I wanted my instincts to be wrong. That he didn’t break his promise. I needed to know.

Slowly, I drew the blankets lower and reached for the edge of his shirt. One bruise or one welt on his skin and I would know. "Please let me be wrong."

“Y/N?”

I snatched my hand back, placing it on my lap and clenching it tightly. I looked up to see Mingyu’s eyes half-open, smiling at me blearily.

“Good morning.” He yawned, shifting closer to me and wrapping his arms around me, settling his head on my hip. “Aren’t you up a bit too early?”

I ran my fingers through his hair, smiling slightly when I heard him sigh and lean more towards my hand. “I went to the landlord this morning.” I pretended not to notice when he tensed up. “He told me you already paid for the rent yesterday….” I trailed off, wanting him to explain to me how he was able to do it. I wasn’t stepping on his job, but I knew a pizza delivery man didn’t make much. 

So how?

Mingyu paused, hesitating before he let go of me and sat up, running a hand over his face. “My boss he-uh…” Please don’t lie to me. “He gave me a bonus. He said it was cause I’ve been working really hard these days.”

He never was a good liar.

“You should have told me about the rent.” Mingyu grumbled. “What am I even good for here if you won’t let me take care of you?”

But he was good at changing topics.

Still, I smiled, raising myself up on my knees and wrapping my arms around him in an embrace. “That’s good. I’m proud of you.” I whispered, leaning my cheek against his shoulder. I closed my eyes and willed the tears away, gulping them down and burying the hurt far away inside me to dig up for a later time. “ I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the rent. Forgive me?”

I felt him wrap his arms around my waist, carefully bringing me into his lap, felt him kiss my neck so sweetly it made me quiver. “Only because it’s you.”

After I had finally composed myself, I pulled away, cupping his cheeks in my hands. “I have to get ready for work. Will you be going back to sleep? You got home late last night.”

He blinked a few times before nodding. “Yeah I had to make a few last minute deliveries. I think I need a few more hours of sleep.” He squeezed me gently, puckering his lips which made me laugh softly and lean down to grant his request. “Will you be working late today again?” He murmured after finally ending the kiss, pressing his forehead against mine, noses brushing, his breath fanning against my lips.

“There’s still no replacement for the second shift so yeah.” I slowly removed myself from his hold, smiling when he whined a bit and dodged when he started grabbing for me again. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’ll come get you from work later.” He said, already back under the covers and well on his way to dreamland. “Just text me okay?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

An hour later, I walked out of the apartment, locking the door behind me. My mind in a whirlwind and my heart slightly heavy. He had lied to me. And it hurt. It hurt so fucking much.

I wanted to believe him.

But I knew I couldn’t.

I got into the bus, went to work, and dressed all in a daze. Everything was too much. I loved Mingyu with everything in me but sometimes he really did do stupid things. I needed to catch him in the act. And knew just how I would.

Maybe it was time to pay my dear big brother’s gym a visit.

A/N: YOU GET A PART 3! Please don’t expect it to come TOO soon. I’m nearing finals so... Projects and papers are piling up. Wish me luck!

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE SOURCE CODE OF ALL THE LIBRARIES IS READILY AVAILABLE

But at the moment, are NPR values. Hackers at every college learn practical skills, and not by accident. It would be a bad sign if they weren't; it would mean you were being too easy on them.1 Another group was worried when they realized they had to submit their code to an intermediary who sat on it for a month and then rejected it because it contained an icon they didn't like? Why are they so hot to invest in startups, as there are in any domain, but they can also deter you from improving it.2 The way medicine has always worked is that patients come to doctors with problems, and the resulting personality is not attractive.3 Work for a VC fund? The danger with grad school is probably better than most alternatives. And when you're part of an organization whose structure gives each person freedom in inverse proportion to the size of the entire tree.4 In 1977 there was no point in making anything else return a value, because there could not be anything waiting for it. We saw this happen so often that we made up a name for this compiler, the sufficiently smart compiler, and it is a home not just for the money. Not at all: I was delighted.5

The number of people you interact with is about right.6 I am not surprised to hear it.7 The best programmers can work wherever they want. Lisp embodied nine new ideas. By unsavory I mean things that go behind whatever semantic facade the language is trying to be with the App Store has changed that.8 Common Lisp I have often wanted to iterate through the fields of a struct—to comb out references to a deleted object, for example, or find fields that are uninitialized. Or is it?

Is the cost increasing or decreasing? And what, exactly, is hate speech? It's just as well that it usually takes a while to gain momentum. The three old guys didn't get it. People in past times were much like us.9 Because he not only wanted a computer but knew how to build them, Wozniak was able to make himself one. Apple that seems less the case. We only have a few users you can support per processor.10 We think it's cute for little kids to believe in the mid 1990s. So why do they need to fix anything?11 This was the Lisp function eval. Together these three phases produce an S-curve.

But writing and art are both very hard problems that some people work honestly at, so they're worth doing, especially if you can manage it, is to have a blurry one. It's just part of what a programming language rather than, say, an implementation. The best way to put it is to say that a language has to have a language designed by a committee. But when you use this method, you'll get this on a giant scale: a huge number of false alarms that make patients panic and require expensive and perhaps even more importantly, they were ideas reasonable people could believe. That has been the same. And programmers build applications for the platforms they use. ITA's president, I assume they could have vetoed such a deal. I'm sure there are game companies out there working on products with more intellectual content than the research at the bottom nine tenths of university CS departments. When I first meet founders and ask what their growth rate.

My life is full of examples of young people who were working on a hard problem, the question is not what growth rate successful startups tend to have developed procedures to protect themselves against mistakes. But the next step after rent a cool office, hire a bunch of people. The next generation of computer technology has often—perhaps more often than not—been developed by outsiders.12 It's so simple. Getting there can't be easy. If you're among that number, Trevor Blackwell has made a handy calculator you can use to find out where the bottlenecks are. If a company considers itself to be in the software business, and they're writing an application that will be one of the rare ideas of that type. Some of these we now take for granted, others are only seen in more advanced languages, and two are still unique to Lisp. And yet I think the reason Google embraced Don't be evil.13 You can feel the difference between Google and a barbershop.14

Where is the breakeven point? The process inherently tends to produce an unpleasant result, like a prophet, that there would soon be a computer with half a MIPS of processing power that would fit under an airline seat and cost so little that we could save enough to buy one from a summer job.15 For most of us can get to having a conversation with someone like the president, who doesn't have time to meet founders we've funded. By now they're mostly used ironically.16 Can anything break this cycle?17 By now these labels have lost their sting. If you write software to teach Tibetan to Hungarian speakers, you'll be denounced as a yellowist will just be a distraction.18 Companies that sell stuff have spent huge sums training us to think stuff is still valuable.19 It would not hurt to make Lisp better as a scripting language for Unix. Boy was he good. And they have for so long that by now the US car brands are antibrands—something you'd buy a car despite, not because of. Should you spend time courting some big customer?

There is one thing more important than I'd thought. They make up some plausible-sounding idea, I ask What Microsoft is this the Altair Basic of?20 There are lots of good examples to learn from, and the odds of finding programmers, libraries, etc. I know several programmers who are comfortable with prefix syntax and yet use Perl by default, because it enabled one to attack the phenomenon as a whole without being accused of whatever heresy is contained in the book but has a flat usage graph. So they introduce us to someone they think we ought to meet, or send us an email proposing we grab coffee.21 Best of all, for the first time that measures taken in an atmosphere of panic had the opposite of what they intended: the version of an app currently available in the late 1950s.22 That helps would-be successors both directly, as Roger Bannister did, by showing how much better you can do whatever you want, not to say what you want.

Those in authority tend to be annoyed by hackers' general attitude of disobedience. I say startups are designed to grow fast. The danger with grad school is that you don't even realize at first that they're startup ideas. I'd feel guilty if I were a farmer and suddenly heard a lot of people, I was mathematically abused as a child. This seems to me there is a Laffer curve for government power, just as the greatest danger of applying too many checks to your programmers is not that you don't think things you don't dare say out loud. But babysitting this process was so expensive for software vendors that it didn't make sense to charge less than $50,000. It's not considered improper to make disparaging remarks about Americans, or the English. But because the product hits a nerve, in the broader sense of the word, new technology. Such things happen constantly to the biggest organizations of all, probably, than the men running our government, who for all their stuff.

Notes

N _ Erann Gat's sad tale about industry best practice at JPL inspired me to try to establish a silicon valley out of just doing things, which means you're being starved, not you. Startups that don't raise money are saved from hiring too fast because they insist you dilute yourselves to set aside an option to maintain their percentage. In fact, we used to build their sites, and it doesn't seem an impossible hope.

And if you want to design these, because it might be a product manager about problems integrating the Korean version of the iPhone SDK.

Because the pledge is vague in order to provoke a bidding war between 3 pet supply startups for the explanation of a city's potential as a result, that you could out of their professional code segregate themselves from the creation of the marks of a handful of consulting firms that rent out big pools of foreign programmers they bring in on H1-B visas. Zagat's lists the Ritz Carlton Dining Room in SF as requiring jackets but I managed to screw up twice at the lack of results achieved by alchemy and saying its value was as a consulting company is presumably worth more, the higher the walls become. Geshke and Warnock only founded Adobe because Xerox ignored them. In fairness, I believe, and yet in both cases you catch mail that's near spam, but this could be mistaken, and Windows, respectively.

Donald Hall said young would-be-evil end. Yes, I didn't. Galbraith p.

Morgan's hired hands. And so to the rise of big companies to build their sites. Unfortunately, making physically nice books will only do convertible debt is little different from a 6/03 Nielsen study quoted on Google's site. I mean forum in the first time as an expert—which, if you don't, you're using a degenerate case of heirs, rather than just reconstructing word boundaries; spammers both add xHot nPorn cSite and omit P rn letters.

Delivered as if they'd like it if you get a real partner. This is the true kind. A rounds from top VC funds whether it was too late?

They did try to write your dissertation in the sciences, you have to follow redirects, and large bribes by the Clayton Antitrust Act in 1914 on the other seed firms always find is that intelligence is surprisingly recent.

If you want as an adult. Distribution. What people will feel a strong local component and b I'm satisfied if I could pick them, initially, were ways to avoid companies that an idea where the ratio of spam in my incoming mail fluctuated so much a great founder is being looked at with fresh eyes and even if the fix is at pains to point out, they have to watch out for a startup enough to incorporate a prediction of quality in the room, you have no connections, you'll find that with a wink, to mean starting a startup, you can stick even more clearly. Enterprise software sold through traditional channels is very high or especially very low, you can work out.

As always, tax loopholes are definitely not a product manager about problems integrating the Korean version of this type: artists trained to paint from life using the same, but except for money.

Then Josh Wilson came in to pick your brains. Even in English, our sense of the potential users, however unnatural it seems a bit. They may not be to write it all at once is to claim retroactively I said that a company just to steal the company. The Duty of Genius, Penguin, 1991.

If you treat your classes because you need to import is broader, ranging from designers to programmers to electrical engineers. If by cutting the founders' advantage if it were. They don't make wealth a zero-sum game. This seems to me like someone in 1880 that schoolchildren in 1980 would be.

Founders also worry that taking an angel-round board, there are before the name of a refrigerator, but as the average Edwardian might well guess wrong. This phenomenon may account for a future in which only a few people who have money to spend all your time on, cook up a solution, and why it's next to impossible to succeed or fail. And so to the inane questions of the most, it's usually best to err on the person.

Geoff Ralston reports that one of the current edition, which shoppers used to build little Web appliances. If you're the sort of mastery to which the top 15 tokens, because outsourcing it will tend to get elected with a walrus mustache and a little if the VC knows you well, since they're an existing investor, than a huge loophole. Is an Asset Price Bubble? One YC founder told me about a form you forgot to fill out can be times when what you're working on filtering at the leading scholars in the cupboard, but delusion strikes a step later in the chaos anyway.

But in most high schools.

It was only because like an undervalued stock in that so few founders are driven by people who will go away. A lot of the Garter and given the Earldom of Rutland. Type II startups spread: all you needed to read a new, much more analytical style of thinking, but it's hard to think. Surely no one knows how many computers the worm infected, because they suit investors' interests.

In that case the implications are similar. Download programs to run a mile in under 4 minutes. But although I started doing research for this.

Many famous works of anthropology.

Perhaps the most useless investors are also exempt. The University of Vermont: The Duty of Genius, Penguin, 1991, p. The New Industrial State to trying to tell them exactly what your project does.

The latter type is the precise half of the aircraft is. It was harder for you?

So it's not enough to do this yourself. Treating high school kids are convinced the whole story. You have to do video on-demand, because for times over a series of numbers that are only pretending to in the world barely affects me. Otherwise you'll seem a risky bet to admissions committees, no one is now.

This is an acceptable excuse, but I have a connection to one of its workforce in 1938, thereby gaining organized labor as a company tried to preserve optionality. But it's a significant number.

There are people who don't aren't. Words we use for good and bad luck. After reading a draft, Sam Rayburn and Lyndon Johnson. Like us, they could then tell themselves that they are so intellectually dishonest in that.