#This is a sad memory attached to this high energy kids face and hands as he raced away lol

[hopesandcoats]

Memories:❤️

[kangaroo-sniper-imagine]

Mercs who didn’t pay attention to their family trees

-I’m only doing a few mercs, cuz otherwise this would be huge-

Scout and Spy

When Miss Pauling introduced their newest recruit, The Thief, everyone was at least interested with the new blood. They were useful on the field; fast, silent, deadly, quickly able to steal the info case and dashing back to safety in record time. They were closed off at first, like many are in a new environment, but quickly opened up as soon as they were settled in.

The only person who didn’t quite connect with them was Spy (shocker). There was something about the new recruit that stuck him odd, something familiar about them that he couldn’t just put his finger on. The Frenchman’s son felt similarly.

“It’s like I already know ‘em; which is weird ‘cuz I’m dead certain we’ve never met before.”

It wasn’t until several weeks later, as the ten of you all were joined in the rec room, just enjoying each other’s company after a successful match. Jacque sat in the corner with Mick {not to derail but I totally think that they’re secret best friends who roast each other on the field}, both sipping at their drinks and idly talking as Jeremey sat with them, having a loud conversation with Jane from across the room.

Then they heard it. A deep, throaty chortle that was extremely unattractive, coming from across the room, coming from you

Both Jacque and Jeremy froze, the sound too familiar for it to be comfortable, eyes snapping to you, where you were wildly laughing with Travish. The Scotsman was sloshed and laughed along with your, his thundering laughter almost drowning out your own. Almost.

The sniper took a slow sip of his beer as he as well looked upon the commotion. He hummed in thought, and turned to the frozen spy. “Izzit jus’ me,” he drawled, gesturing with is beer can to you, “or do their laugh sound a lot like yours?”

Scout slowly turned to his father, rage in his eyes, but all Spy could do was watch you laugh that awful laugh. His brain slowly connected the evidence, memories of 20+ years ago invaded his mind, a dalliance with a woman who looks shockingly like you, the nose that you share with him and Jeremy, your strange obsession with your appearance, and most damning of all; the shitty laugh that you’ve seem to inherit from Jacque.

With a deep breath, the Frenchman stood up, determined to get out of the room and hide in his abode so he could scream in peace, but the sudden influx of the realization, rather, caused him to faint.

He awoke, what he assumed, several hours later, in a familiar camper bed. In his peripheral, Jacque could see Mick smoking a cigarette and reading a newspaper with one hand, a mug of coffee in the other. Without even looking up to confirm that the Frenchman was awake, the sniper spoke.

“Your kids are right pissed at you, mate.”

Jacque cursed.

Heavy and Soldier

Pauling was ecstatic to introduce more help, probably under the impression that this person to pick up the slack the other leaves so that her evenings won’t be filled with killing and covering up murders and thefts. Some young thing with a thick, almost indiscernible accent who spoke rarely and quietly. You were called the Electrician, for your… odd choice of weaponry.

Your gun was one of your own design, one you were very proud of, that rather than bullets shot out electrical charges, either stunning your opponent to help assist another teammate in a kill or give off a charge so intense it kills. You spent most of your free time in your assigned work shop improving your gun’s design and creating new weapons.

More than once, the team would hear a loud scream and the sound of a loud thud, only to come and find your door blown wide open and you stuck in the adjacent wall, hair shocked to stiffness and a new white streak added to your hair. Needless to say, you kept the team on their toes with your eccentricities. For some reason, your antics made Mikhail exceptionally worried. It was a weird knee jerk reaction he had, something that hadn’t flared up since he was younger, watching over his sisters.

About a month after your arrival, Jane caught you in his raccoon infantry pen, cooing over the animals that flocked to you. It was the first time he saw you smile since you’ve gotten there, and the first time he’s seen you out of your combat gear, now you wore a too large tee shirt and denim shorts, toes in the Arizona sand, scratching the chins of the furry animals. Deciding to try his luck, Jane approached you with a bellowing welcome, startling you, but you greeted him back regardless.

Jane noticed how much you liked watching the raccoons play with each other, but noticed you looked sad too.

“What’s the long face for, private?”

Your face pinched. When you spoke your words were slow, not used to English. “They have… family. I do not.” With a heavy sigh, you tried to elaborate. Jane didn’t mind waiting for you to collect your thoughts or your thick accent. Years of hanging out with Travish and Ludwig extremely sloshed had taught Jane patience in regards to others when they’re trying to speak an unfamiliar language.

“Mother was from… Russia? But father was from Norway, and mother went to there with him. When mother and father… died,” Jane’s heart twinged at the way your face fell, “I do not know how to find mother’s family in Russia, and father had no family in Norway. So I stay in Norway.” A beat of silence passed as you scratched the head of a curious baby raccoon that strayed closed to you. “I stay alone.”

Jane busted out crying, pulling you into a bear hug and vowing to be your surrogate family for as long as you want. He made it his mission to figure out who your family is. The first thing he did was write down the name of your parents, fully planning on hunting down your relatives after some good old fashioned American bonding.

Just as he was about to reunite with you after grabbing a baseball form his room, the American ran into Mikhail, who seemed pissed off

“You touch Sasha?” He accused, one large finger jabbing into the soldier’s chest. Jane couldn’t find it in himself to get mad at the accusation, he was a man on a mission to cheer up a sad kid and no angry Red was gonna stop him.

“No time,Sputnik! There’s a sad private who needs a moral boost and a good old game of catch!”

Rage quickly turned to confusion, then mild understanding. “Electrician is sad?”

Soldier gave a speedrun version of your sad backstory, even going as far to show the names of your parents to the Heavy. The Russian surveyed the sheet and he sighed. “That is not how name of mother is spelled.” He informed.

Jane scoffed. “And how would you know?”

Mikhail threw the American an unimpressed look. “Because family name is mother’s name before marriage.”

There was a second of realization.

“... is it a common last name?”

“... nyet.”

“... you might want to call your mother to confirm something.”

“... Heavy just might.”

—-

The next morning, Mikhail knocked on Jane’s door so early in the morning, the vet wasn’t even awake yet already doing his morning exercises.

The American looked up blearily to the Russian, one hand scratching his buzz cut head.

Mikhail looked grim. “Heavy call mother. Mother says that Electrician’s mother is cousin to her.”

Soldier mulled over the information. “So… your mama’s cousin is Private Zappy’s mama, so that makes us-

“Makes ME second cousin.” Mikhail insisted.

With an air of smugness, Jane flashed his left hand, displaying a wedding band. “Then I’m their second cousin in-law.”

Mikhail grumbled in annoyance and rolled his eyes, complaining in Russian. “Right. Sister Zhanna’s big mistake.”

With a sense of new found energy, Soldier stuck his chin up high and began marching towards your room, seemingly not aware that he was in only a pair of his tighty whiteys.

Mikhail sighed again but followed Jane regardless to tell you the news of your newfound family.

Medic (italics is German cuz lets be honest, who wants to translate all that)

After months of complaining to Pauling, asking for more on field medical help, upper management finally relented and hired a new mercenary, some bright young thing going by The Nurse.

You were studious, and compared to Ludwig you were very tamed. You saw this opportunity as a job to perform and not a way to finally experiment legally on people without getting arrested the way Ludwig does. You took your work seriously, dutifully dressing every wound, handing out pain medication, assisting Ludwig in his surgeries. You certainly helped lessen his work load during battle, helping with minor injuries so that the doctor could focus on his Ubercharge and on more serious injuries.

You two were professional to each other; despite showing you weren’t exactly sadistic you never chastised Ludwig for his somewhat cruel experiments, and you were always respectful to him and everyone else around you, which is something that impressed him (considering how noting the rest of the team is).

One day while experimenting on Heavy, you solemnly standing next to the doctor with your face covered like the good little health professional you were, the Medic fuzzed in German, adding, “I need a bone saw.”

Without him translating, you turned to your side and snatched the instrument off the tray, passing it to the doctor.

After a moment of thought, Ludwig spoke again. “You speak German?”

“Ja, I am from Germany after all.”

The russain’s rib finally took the blade and now was slicing easily. “What a coincidence. Which part?”

“Munich, but I left while I was very young when my family moved.” After another brief pause, you add, “I actually wanted to become a nurse because of Munich.

Ludwig didn’t mention that he, as well, came from the same city, rather, he decided to prod you and learn more. It was so rare to meet someone he could have a conversation in his mother tongue with.

“What in Munich made you want to become a nurse?” Reaching into Heavy’s chest with a scalpel, Ludwig began to sever the arteries attached to the heart.

“The University. My family lived nearby, and seeing the students come and go made me want to join them… actually a relative went there. My family was very proud of him and I wanted to go with him, but, ah, I was only a child.” Without being asked, you held out a silver pan that Ludwig deposited the heart.

The doctor started the timer, watching the mutilated chest cavity, waiting for the oregano to regrow due to his most recent experimental ‘medicine’. “Hmm, which relative?”

“Oh, my father’s brother’s wife’s…. something.” You replied idly, fetching a notebook and pencil to record the time. “Nephew or cousin’s nephew or something. It is a distant relation. Lost his license though.”

“Really? How?”

“He removed someone’s skeleton if you can believe it.”

Ludwig’s fist clenched so hard that the stopwatch broke. Dammit, now he has to start the experiment all over again.

[mangobilorian]

hide ‘n seek | (gen)

Pairing: Toddler! Ahsoka & Plo Koon

Genre: Fluff

Words: 2952 

Summary: “No more questions! Wanna play with Mastha Plo.” She beat tiny fists into his chest. When he had first found her, she had been too shy to even speak. It took her a while to even hold his hand. But now she was pounding her little fists in indignation at a High Council member.

Or: Plo talks to Ahsoka about boundaries, and Mace wonders about the danger level of toddler Togrutas.

As soon as Plo Koon leaves the High Council chamber, he sees a group of younglings anxiously standing. He pays them no mind. After all, they were probably waiting for a glimpse of their favorite Council member. Maybe it’s part of a lesson about the High Council even though there is no teacher present. Whatever the reason is, he does not expect the younglings to ignore Mace or Agen or even Yoda. No, they zeroed in on him .

“M-master Plo?” A young Twi'lek asks, staring up at him. The Nautolan next to her nudges her aside.

“Sorry to disturb you, Master Plo, but we need your help.” The group of five children fidget under his gaze.

“Is that so? Tell me, younglings, why do you need my help?” At this point, the other Council members had stopped, eyeing the spectacle. Mace raised his eyebrow at Plo before heading off to either intimidate Knights or drink tea. Shaak had smiled at the children, but they didn’t even look at her.

“One of our crèche mates keeps asking for you.” The boy says.

“And she cries all the time and won’t stop.” The Twi'lek butts in.

“We tell her she can play with us, but she doesn’t wanna,” a Human girl says. Plo can tell that they have sincere sympathy for their crèche mate, but they’re also on the breaking point of exhaustion, which is understandable. Not being able to console a friend is stressful enough. Having to live with said inconsolable friend is another matter. Plo already has an idea of who the crying girl is…

“Who is this girl, younglings?” The children glance at each other and peer up at him.

“Ahsoka Tano,” they say in unison. Ah. The small Togruta girl Plo had brought to the temple two months prior. She is the youngest in her crèche—her speaking abilities weren’t as mature as everyone else’s yet—and Plo had wondered if she was settling in. It seems like he got his answer.

“Where is she now?”

“The Room of a Thousand Fountains,” the Nautolan says. “We said that you would meet her there.” The Wookie next to him growls in confirmation.

“Will you be able to help her, Master Plo? We just wanna play with Ahsoka without her crying for you….” The children look up at him, hope shining in their eyes. Or was it sleeplessness?

“I will try my best, little ones.” Plo tries to convey a smile, but the anti-ox mask (and his lack of lips) prevents him. Plo is used to kids shying away from him. After all, he was tall, masked, and taloned. Yet, out of concern for their friend, the children sought him out. Plo reaches out to the Force and- yes, there it is. Nervousness and worry but no fear from the younglings. “Hurry along now. Don’t cause any trouble.” He means it half-heartedly. Plo always enjoys it when the little ones start something chaotic. It’s a welcome break from his job on the High Council.

He’s met with a chorus of “Yes, Master Plo,” and the children scurry off. Plo sighs as he watches them and starts the trek to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Despite it being the first time a group of younglings waited for him outside the Council chamber, it wasn’t the first time a youngling did. He chuckles at a memory from a few weeks ago.

Plo had exited the chamber alongside his friends and fellow members. He was brought into a discussion about Wookie architecture—a topic that didn’t particularly interest him, but he wanted to show respect for Master Tyvokka even though it had been years since his death—when something small collided with his legs.

Startled, he looked down to see the tops of white and blue montrals. Shaak, who stood beside him, crouched down to her fellow Togruta’s eye level.

“What are you doing here, child? Shouldn’t you be in your lessons?” The young girl looked at the older Togruta then buried her head further into Plo’s legs. She mumbled something that sounded like his name.

“Master Ti, Master Koon.” The two Council members turned to see a Temple Guard. They gestured at the little girl. “We told her to wait and return to the crѐche, but she started crying for Master Koon.” Shaak stood up.

“Well, Plo, since you’re the one she wants, I’ll be leaving.” She gently rubbed the girl’s shoulder and nodded at Plo before departing.

“Thank you, guards. But I don’t think we’ll be needing your help for now.” The Kel Dor reached down to the little girl and hoisted her in his arms. “Why are you here, Ahsoka?” She averted her eyes, content to play with the folds of his robes. The girl didn’t respond, but Plo was patient. He walked down the hallways, taking the long route to the crѐche.

“Wanna to see you,” Ahsoka mumbled.

“And why, Little ‘Soka, did you want to see me?” She scrunched her face in frustration.

“Missed you.” She kept playing with his robes.

“Why did you-”

“No more questions! Wanna play with Mastha Plo.” She beat tiny fists into his chest. When he had first found her, she had been too shy to even speak. It took her a while to even hold his hand. But now she was pounding her little fists in indignation at a High Council member. Plo sighed with mirth.

“What would you like to play, child?” She bit her lip for a second then her eyes lit up with an idea.

“Tag!” She wigged out of his grasp and ran in the opposite direction of the crèche. Oh Force. Ahsoka giggled down the hallway, and spared one glance behind her to see Plo still standing. She stopped then proceeded to stomp her feet with all the anger of a miffed toddler. So Plo did the only thing he could do. He chased after her.

He had the memory catalogued in both Cutest Ahsoka Moments and Devilish Ahsoka Moments . However, his arrival at the Room of a Thousand Fountains forces him to leave the memory. As he wanders deeper into the room, he reaches out for Ahsoka’s force signature. There, shining like an excitable bubble of energy, sits his Little ‘Soka. Plo follows the beacon, letting the Force flow through him.

Just as he’s about to speak, the Togruta spots him and jumps from her seat on a bench.

“Mastha Plo! They were right,” she grins, showing all her teeth. It reminds Plo of a baby shark—not because Ahsoka looks like one. Rather, she is equally predatory.

“Yes, your crèche mates said you were here. I need to talk to you about something important, Ahsoka.” She peers up at him, and Plo has enough strength to resist swooning.

“Was I bad? I’m sorry, Mastha Plo,” she bows her head in genuine sadness, and Plo’s heart squeezes at the display.

“No, you did nothing wrong, child. But we do need to talk about boundaries.” He sits next to her, and Ahsoka seizes the opportunity to settle into his lap. Such an opportunistic little toddler. Maybe this memory would be filed under Ahsoka Not Respecting Personal Space .

“What are boun-dar-ees?” She asks, spelling out each syllable in the hopes to impress him.

“They’re like limits. Rules.” Ahsoka scowls.

“I don’t like rules,” she huffs. Plo laughs, stroking one of her lekkus. The girl purrs, and Plo stores that tidbit of information in a separate folder containing interesting facts about his little foundling.

“I know, Ahsoka. But there are some you need to follow.” She tries to retort, but Plo places a taloned finger on her lip. “If ‘Mastha Plo’ tells you to follow the rules, would you do it?” She nods eagerly. Plo has the feeling that Ahsoka would do anything for the Kel Dor, and the thought is troubling. If she grows too attached to him, that defeats the whole purpose of taking her away from her family in the first place. “Tell me, Little ‘Soka, do you play with your crèche mates?” The question seems to bother her because she curls tighter into his chest.

“No….”

“Why is that?”

“Because I wanna play with you.” Hmm… the girl is already too attached.

“Ahsoka, you need to play with your friends rather than seek me out.”

“Why?” She’s genuinely confused, and Plo considers how he’ll break the rules down for her.

“Because they’re your family now.” Her eyes shoot up to his goggles.

“Family? But you’re family.” He continues to stroke her lek soothingly.

“That’s right. You play with me because I’m family. So you should play with your friends because they’re family too. The Temple is one big family, Little ‘Soka.” She lights up in realization.

“So I can play with Mastha Ti and Mastha Yoda and Mastha Windu?” Plo has to stop himself from choking. He can easily see you with Shaak, and Yoda teaches all the younglings, so you’d be comfortable around him. But the visual of his little Togruta climbing the robes of esteemed champion Mace Windu is… both horrifying and hysterical. Maybe one day, if Plo is in the mood for mischief, he’d unleash the adorable terror that is Ahsoka Tano on the purple-lightsaber-wielding Master.

“You’d have to ask them first if they want to play. And,” he thinks back to previous encounters, “you can’t skip your lessons to see me. If you miss out on learning, I would be sad which means-”

“No playtime,” she finishes off, frowning.

“Yes, no playtime. So, little one, don’t you have somewhere to be?” Ahsoka shakes her head.

“No class. Now is Mastha Plo time.” The Kel Dor sighs. He could indulge the Togruta in this one instance—as if he hasn’t given in to her charms a million times before—and engage in a game.

“Well then, how does hide and seek sound?” Plo is met with Ahsoka’s blank face. He starts explaining the concept of the game, and the girl catches on quickly. At the end of his explanation, she’s already out of his arms and bouncing on her feet.

“Why don’t you hide first, Little ‘Soka, and I’ll find you?” She nods and dashes away before he can start counting. He places his hands over his goggles—no one could tell when he closes his eyes, but the girl would surely say he’s cheating unless he covered them.

Plo counts to twenty before uncovering his eyes and looks around. All he can see are the fountains and greenery. No sign of his troublesome youngling. He debates using the Force to find her quickly—there are important duties to finish—but he wants to find her on his own. And because the little girl is a Togruta, she’d sense Plo before he could sense her. Plo has to be fast and, more importantly, smart.

He peeks behind a bush then a bench then a fountain. Yet there is no Ahsoka. He sighs loudly—loud enough for other Jedi in the room to look over at the Kel Dor Master. Plo places his hands on his hips.

“I wonder where my Little ‘Soka is. She is very good at hiding.” He exaggerates a hum, placing a finger on the bottom of his mask where his chin would be if he had one. Plo doesn’t lose hope and continues his search for the elusive hunter. Of course, her little giggles absolutely did not give away her proximity to him.

The Kel Dor peeks under a bench, twisting his body to get a good look. With no sign of Ahsoka, he is inclined to give up. Then, out of nowhere, someone launches themselves on his back. Tumbling forward, both Kel Dor and Togruta fall to the floor in laughter.

Jocasta Nu, visiting the Room for a meditation break, shushes Plo with a finger. “Please be quiet and respect the ones meditating, Master Koon.” Plo rolls over so Ahsoka sits on his belly. The Jedi Master raises a hand in acknowledgement.

“We will try our best, Master Nu,” he says before picking Ahsoka up and plopping her down on the bench next to him.

“You’re very good at hiding, Little ‘Soka.” She giggles and pokes his cheek.

“Now is Mastha Plo’s turn to hide!”

“I don’t think-” Plo starts, but the girl is already pushing at his chest.

“Go, go!” She insists.

“Fine. But stay quiet, alright? There are people meditating.” Ahsoka nods, but Plo can tell she does it to hurry the game not out of respect for the other Jedi. Plo stands up and takes the girl’s hands in his much larger ones. “Close your eyes and don’t cheat. No Force powers either.” Ahsoka pouts but obliges him.

Sparing one more glance at the girl, Plo walks away to find a suitable hiding spot. As a tall Kel Dor, there isn’t much in the room that could hide him. Maybe the plants? His orange skin would stick out though. Plo eyes a large plant and considers hiding behind it. But it seems like twenty seconds are up because he hears little hums.

“Going to find Mastha Plo,” Ahsoka sings from far away. She keeps repeating the saying in a jaunty tune. Plo settles down behind the plant, making sure to have part of his face exposed. Just as he moves around to adjust in his seated position, Ahsoka enters his periphery. Her montrals must have registered his movement.

He watches the girl scrutinize her surroundings, ducking below benches and around fountains. It’s cute. Too cute. She even assumes a hunting stance, arms outstretched, head darting back and forth. Her eyes pass over his hiding spot, and Plo holds his breath, but she seems to have missed him. Or so he thinks.

The next moment, Ahsoka leaps at him through the bush. A repeat of their previous entangling occurs, and Ahsoka sits on his stomach once again.

“Found you!” She whispers at a volume too loud for whispering.

“Yes you did. I am very proud of you.” Ahsoka beams down at him, raising her arms in a stretch.

“One more… one more round?” She yawns, eyes already closing.

“How about you take a nap instead?” Ahsoka gives a tiny nod and lays across his whole torso. She closes her eyes and snuggles deeper into his robes.

Plo knows he should get up before she truly sleeps. He has responsibilities, and increased interaction with Ahsoka will only worsen her attachment to him. Favoring his presence over other council members is one thing, but crying out for him, skipping lessons, or even foregoing playtime with her friends is another matter entirely. But the little Togruta doesn’t give up. Even if he does try to sever her attachment, it would only end in her mistrust of the Jedi. She would also cry a lot more, and Plo wants to spare the ears of everyone in the crѐche.

He settles for rubbing gentle circles on her back with one hand and stroking her lekku with another. Plo is careful to not scratch her with his nails—he keeps them sharp for a reason. After a few minutes, he hears little snores. Plo basks in the moment and organizes it under Ahsoka’s Sleepy Times .

The room is warm and pleasant, and Plo starts to succumb to the dreamy energy as well. It’s a far cry from his own chambers (the lack of oxygen there is a big difference), but the calm atmosphere is just enough to push him to sleep. Until the Force presence of Mace Windu wanders into the room and heads straight for him.

“Mace.”

“Plo.” The man stares at Plo and the little girl on his chest. “This is why you haven’t submitted the reports of your last mission?” Plo throws a hand out in mock defeat.

“Would you be able to resist an adorable youngling?”

Mace scowls. “Yes. I definitely could. Now get your Kel Dor ass up and finish those reports.”

“Don’t make me release Ahsoka on you.”

“Me? What could she do to me ?” Mace scoffs, slightly offended at the idea of the youngling being ‘released’ on him.

“She said she would love to play with ‘Mastha Windu’ because you’re her family.”

“Now who told her that?”

“Me.” Plo says with as much cheekiness as he can. Mace sighs.

“Fine. You can submit your reports later. But please return the youngling to the crѐche or else they’ll send temple guards to look for her.” The image of the masked guards running around in search of a troublesome Togruta makes Plo laugh.

“I will return her now, Mace. And I’ll get those reports done.” Mace raises an eyebrow. “Later.” Plo wraps an arm around the girl and uses the other to stand up. Together, Plo and Mace exit the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Plo dutifully carries the sleeping Ahsoka in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. Younglings, Knights, and Masters alike gawk at the sight in the hallways. The great Kel Dor Jedi Master with a sleeping toddler Togruta. Who would have thought?

He eventually reaches the crѐche, and places Ahsoka in her bed. The Twi'lek from before watches him and mouths a silent “Thank you.” As Plo releases her, Ahsoka starts to mumble something. It sounds a lot like his name and the word ‘family’.

The time to end the girl’s attachment to Plo will come eventually. But that time is not today. Plo needs to consider his growing paternal feelings for the little girl as well.

“Sleep tight, Little ‘Soka,” he says. Plo exits the crѐche with Mace at his side, but not before sparing one last glance at his foundling.

[seerofmike]

31 Days of Apex: Day 5 (Family)

relationship: (non-romantic) Bangalore & Mirage & Octane

tags: ptsd (implied), found family, humor

word count: 1.4k

fic summary:  Bangalore looks at them—Octane's teasing and Mirage's stuttering—and she sees her family.

ao3 link

OR

read below

Spending time with the other Legends was not something Anita often did willingly. She was an introvert, and many of the others often described her as 'bossy' and didn't like hanging around her, which was fine. But she did occasionally leave her room to chill with everyone else, because she needed to be reminded every now and then that she was on a dropship with real, living people, and not just the ghosts in her head.

Currently sitting on a couch next to Octane, who was kicking his legs around and rambling about some sort of video game, she leafed through the weapons magazine she'd snagged from a late-night convenience store run the other night, a mission to get some cheap beer and a few snacks. There was nothing too fancy about the magazine, and she was getting thirsty, so she stood up from the couch and tossed the thing aside.

Anita stretched her arms above her head, feeling her back audibly pop and crack as she did so. She winced, and thought about what one of her brothers would say—that she was getting old. Isaiah would probably be the one to say it, being the little shit he was, the spoiled youngest brother of the Williams family—and she would probably clock him on the back of his head for that comment had she been home.

But she wasn’t. She was on the dropship, waiting for another day, another fight, to begin, and her family was far, far away.

(Or dead.)

(No, they're alive. They have to be.)

“Man, sounds like you’re getting old,” Octavio said from beside her, and she scowled at him, though she was glad for the brief distraction from her own thoughts. He looked up from his phone, and mirrored her expression. “What?”

She popped him then, a brief smack from the back of her hand against his mouth and chin, and he recoiled with a sputter and then a laugh.

“Okay, sorry for being honest, amiga. That shit just sounded like it hurt.”

“We talking about Bangalore’s back breaking every time she stands up?” A new voice cut in, and she scowled once again as Elliott leaned over the couch, smiling in that dumbass way of his. He had three older brothers, and was used to making fun of his siblings, so he usually jumped at any opportunity to make fun of her.

She liked returning the favor.

“At least I’m not getting gray hairs, Witt,” she mocked, thinking back to the panicked sputtering she had heard from the men’s room weeks ago—I’m thirty oh my god I’m not old yet what's happening—and his face flushed at her words.

“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered, and Octavio laughed, sitting up properly so he could twist in his seat on the couch and face the other man.

“You have gray hair?!”

“I don’t!” Elliott shouted, before quieting his voice, self-conscious and eyes darting around. “She’s making it up. She’s lying.”

“I bet you dye your hair,” Octavio teased.

“I do not!”

“Sounds like what someone who dyes their hair would say.”

Elliott crossed his arms then, petulant, and Anita was suddenly brought back to family dinners, and the back-and-forth accusations and lies and half-truths, exaggerated to embarrass the subject to the fullest extent. A ruthless exchange—being the only sister and middle child certainly hadn’t helped. These two clowns exemplified that same energy perfectly.

Anita left the room to grab a bottle of water, and when she returned they were still going at it. Octavio was an only child, so she wasn’t sure where he had built up his repertoire of remarks, but his relationship with Lifeline seemed brother-sister like, and those two couldn’t stop taking the piss out of one another, so that was probably where he got it.

Elliott was usually a 50/50 shot. Sometimes he was able to keep up, and other days, he wasn't. It's what made him so fun.

“At least—at least I still have my legs,” Elliott was saying weakly, definitely a day where he wasn't able to match pace with the others.

“Your legs are boring,” Octavio replied without missing a beat. “Can your legs do this?”

He proceeded to pull one right off, and Elliott rolled his eyes at that, as did Anita.

(“Must suck that you can’t eat popcorn,” Zeke told Isaiah, who kept running his tongue over his braces.

“Must suck that you can’t get a girlfriend,” Isaiah said back without much pause.

“Wh—that was uncalled for!”

“Your face is uncalled for,” Isaiah said, Anita and Jackson howling with laughter across from them, and Zeke responded by flicking an unpopped kernel at him.)

“I think having my legs attached to my body is a good thing, actually.”

“You would, wouldn’t you? You’re boring like that.”

Elliott did some more sputtering, which was becoming a common sound on the dropship, and Anita laughed at his expense. His face was getting more and more red, causing the scars over his eye and nose to stick out like a sore thumb. She almost felt bad for him, and because she often played mediator when her brothers were fighting (despite starting a fair few herself), she chided,

“Ah, leave him alone, ‘Zaia.”

It took her about five seconds to realize what she had just said. Octavio’s head had swiveled towards her, eyebrows raised, and Elliott jumped at this chance to take the attention off of himself by asking, “Who’s ‘Zaia’?”

Anita was cool under pressure—it was one of her defining traits, what often got her high marks back at the IMC Military Academy; Level-headed. Cool under pressure. Follows orders to a T. Yet she felt her face heat up, but thanks to her dark complexion, the boys couldn’t tell. She cleared her throat, and said, “Slip of the tongue. Don’t worry about it.”

They both kept staring at her, Octavio still with wide eyes and raised brows, but Elliott’s face was starting to scrunch up into a look she didn’t like—one of realization. They’d touched upon the subject of brothers before, sibling to sibling. He knew about her family, and despite the way he acted, he wasn’t a complete dumbass.

Before he could come to any conclusions, she excused herself, and left the room. Ran a hand through her hair with a sigh, trying not to think about the last time she’d seen her family—Monty, his wife, and their two kids, both military hopefuls. Zeke on his second deployment, and Isaiah about to graduate, top of his class at the academy. Zeke’s girlfriend used to write her letters while she was at her Gridiron post, not too far to not have them delivered, but not very close either.

And Jackson...

(Jackie’s alright.

He’s alright.)

Mom and dad were getting pretty old. Nana had passed away not that long before she’d gotten that mission with Jackie to retrieve the Mercenary Fleet. She wondered how they were handling it.

Anita allowed herself to think about it for a minute. Just one minute of pure, unadulterated feeling. Regret and sadness and longing, on her lonesome in the big ‘ole solar system, and then she swallowed it down, like it had never happened, and lifted her head again. Cool under pressure.

It was harder to not think about them these days. Octavio acted like a spoiled little brat, and sure, Isaiah had never been spoiled (coddled, maybe, but they were a military family, and he eventually got the same treatment as everyone else) but he certainly had the attitude of one. Elliott acted like Zeke—Isaiah’s own personal punching bag, and it didn’t help that he too wasn’t the best at comebacks, but they were both smart where it mattered. Books and gadgets, that’s where they shined.

Her heart gave a pang in her chest, and she felt her eyes burn.

Stop thinking about it, she told herself, in her own special Sergeant Williams voice. Harsh, commanding, with a ‘get the job’ done sort of attitude. Keep it cool.

This was why she hated being around these two clowns in particular. Hated the way they made her feel, hated the memories they brought up, hated that they made her feel soft. She wasn't supposed to be soft. She was supposed to be hard, streamlined and rock-solid. The perfect soldier.

One who missed her family.

[ai-katsuu]

Wonderland Ball (3/4)

Chapters: 1  2  3  4

previous chapter    next chapter

---

At the opposite end of the room, Queen Alice, finally done with greeting her audience members, sighed back on her throne in content. “This is the best outcome of any party Fairy Tale Island has had. I mean you’re amazing, Hatter!” she grinned at her dearest friend. 

“But of course, Alice dear.” he tipped his hat, “Throwing parties are my specialty after all.” 

“I was the one who brought the guests over,” the Cheshire Cat intervened. “Wasn’t easy, you know?” he smiled at the Hatter who only frowned back.

“Oh, yes. Tell me, how did you manage to get the Fearless Seven to come?” Alice excitedly asked him. 

“He transported them here without warning,” a short witch with a grey bun walked into the scene. “I saw the whole thing myself from my room.” she calmly mentioned. 

Alice gasped at the Cheshire Cat, who now had his tail in between his legs, “Is Zeniba telling the truth?” 

“Well, in a sense yes.” he mumbled. 

“He was also rude to Prince Jack’s wife.”

“Yea, called her a servant.”

“You know I don’t fancy you two being here.” the Cheshire Cat frowned at the twins who had just entered. 

“Cheshire, how could you?!” Alice scolded then turned to her friend in the white suit.  “Rabbit, could you call her for me please? I want to apologize on his behalf.” 

“Wife isn’t here, miss. He failed to include her in his transportation spell, just like how the F7 fails to be on time.” he grumbled. 

“You left her behind?” she stared at him. 

“I wouldn’t say left, more like, dis-included?” he looked sideways. “Alice, with all due respect she wasn’t even a princess. He married a commoner.” 

“Your point?” Alice challenged, “Royalty or not that is his family, now both of them will be apart from each other on Christmas Eve. I want you to write an apology letter to this woman and apologize to Prince Jack yourself. That’s an order.”

“Oooh, someones in trouble.” the Mad Hatter grinned. The Cheshire Cat glared at him before bowing at Alice,

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” 

“Your Majesty, Prince Howl is here,” Zeniba smiled, a young blonde man charmingly smiled at her. 

“I’ll take care of this. Hatter, make sure he follows through.” Alice told him before standing up and greeting the wizard. 

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Once midnight had struck, the ball had come to an end, and the others went back to their suite. Exhausted from all the mingling and formalities, the group immediately fell apart when they got to their beds. 

“I think I might have bruised my arm when I threw Peter over the table.” Arthur examined his bicep. 

“Shut it, at least you weren’t chased around by two she-demons who want to put a dress on you.” Hans grumbled. 

“You think Papa sent Jiminy on purpose?” Noki asked.

“Please, I don’t want to think about it.” Kio responded. 

They all awoke the next morning and spent the day in the Wonderland Palace. They had high tea in their suite, played several games, and even got a chance to meet with Queen Alice herself. They were wrapping up the conversation when Alice stood up, 

“Prince Jack, may I speak to you?” 

“Of course, Your Majesty.” 

She pulled him off to the corner of the room and it took Jack by a great surprise when she bowed; not as a greeting but as an apology. “Your Majesty? Please raise your head!” he told her.

“Prince Jack, you have my deepest apologies for how my right hand man treated your wife. I’m sincerely sorry she could not be here. His actions do not reflect Wonderland’s beliefs and morals.” 

“Your Majesty, I am not upset with you. You weren’t the one who said those things after all. Though I would be lying if I said I was not disappointed with how he treated her.” he sadly told her. 

“Apologies are in order from him. Please, allow me to let you and your friends leave early.” she said. And that’s what happened. The Cheshire Cat appeared right beside her and waved his hand, the purple mist covering them as they were transported back to the gates to the White Palace. 

“I will never get used to that.” Briar said, holding her head. 

“Well at least we’re back. That was exhausting, not gonna lie.” Pino said, twisting his back. 

“Do you hear music?” Gwen asked them. The others nodded and followed the sound that echoed through the halls. It led to the doors of the ballroom they saw bright lights that's shone through its cracks. Briar opened them to see a sight that none of them would have expected.

Townspeople, man and woman, kids of different ages, running around, singing, dancing to their heart's content. Elders gave gifts to their grandchildren, grandchildren played around with ribbons that were attached to a large pole, adults ate and drank while watching the band perform. 

Somehow, snow was falling from the ceiling and people of all ages were making Snowmen, sledding, having snowball fights, or creating snow angels. It was full of laughter and fun, a different energy radiating from the Wonderland Ball. 

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

With the kids jingle belling and everyone telling you, be of good cheer!

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

“What is this…?” Snow felt a small smile coming to her lips from the excitement and liveness everyone was exerting. 

“Are these all the people from Golden Goose?” Merlin questioned. 

“Why are they all here?” Hans looked around. 

“Oh, Your Highness'!” Isabella, in a lovely green dress, curtsied to the thirteen princes and princess’ “Welcome back!” she beamed. 

“Isabella, what is all this?” Jack asked her.

“Golden Goose's annual Christmas Eve Party, Miss Audrey had the suggestion of moving it to the palace ballroom so that it would be much bigger! She planned all the songs, the presents, and hosted the whole event.” 

“She did all this?” he looked around at the green and red festive lights. 

“You bet your high privileged ass she did.” Frost floated down to the group. “With my help and Isabella’s, this was all possible through her hard work.” he threw a snowball directly at him. A few sparkles appeared on his eyes before Jack started laughing, but quickly regained his composure. “Oof, tough one.” Frost laughed. 

“Where is Audrey?” Arthur asked. 

Frost smiled, leaning on his staff and gestured to the crowd behind him. 

There'll be parties for hosting, marshmallows for toasting

And caroling out in the snow

They'll be scary ghost stories

And tales of the glories of Christmas's long, long ago!

Amongst the crowd Audrey was singing along with the band, playing with the children and dancing with adults. Her hair was up in a bun, loose hair stands out, and wore a red dress that extended just below her knees. Her see-through heels made it a bit difficult for her to walk, but Isabella made them just for her.  Not a trace of sadness or jealousy was on her face as she sang an unfamiliar song to them. 

“It’s a traditional song from the outside world.” Frost told the group, “She’s been playing a lot of Christmas carols from out there. Honestly much better than the ones they have here.” 

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

There'll be much mistletoeing and hearts will be glowing

When loved ones are near!

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

The crowd applauded as the song ended, as did the group. Frost threw his staff up lightly after clapping, “Well your highness’ I have to help a big red man deliver his presents for Christmas and I’m already on the Naughty list. Probably,” he went to the nearest window and opened it, “later nerds.” the wind started blowing in his direction. 

“Snow Queen said hi by the way.” Jack called out.

“Wait, what?” Frost turned back, “No wait! Just when the conversation was getting interesting!” but was then blown away by the winds. 

The group had decided not to interrupt the party and went back to their rooms, hoping to greet Audrey after. After the party had ended, Audrey made her way to the parlor exhausted and removed her gloves. 

“I didn’t know you could sing. You always refused to.” 

Audrey turned around to see Jack smiling with his arms crossed. “Jack! You’re back!” 

Jack beamed as he welcomed her with open arms as she ran towards him. “I missed you so much, I’m so sorry you got left behind..” he buried his head on her shoulder, trying to make sure he didn’t ruin her hair. 

Audrey shook her hair, “It’s fine. I got to plan this party and meet everyone from Golden Goose. Oh Jack, they’re all so lovely and their traditions every Christmas are amazing!” 

Jack nodded, “I’m glad you enjoyed it, but it’s not okay. You should not have been left behind, that was rude of him to leave you out.” 

Audrey shrugged, “I guess, but at least something good came out of it.”

“Yes, you won’t have to spend Christmas with them next year, don’t worry.”

“What do you mean?” Audrey laughed.

“Spending the evening with commoners is hardly the right way to celebrate Christmas, there should be balls, and elegance.” he told her.

“Well, sure but there’s nothing wrong with their traditions.” Audrey’s smile thinned down. 

“It’s hardly fitting for someone married to nobility. You should be spending it with all of us at these balls.” he raised a brow.

“I’d love to spend it with all of you, but the traditions you just saw are not ‘hardly fitting’, they’re wonderful.” she frowned. 

Jack rolled his eyes, “Audrey please, why spend your holidays in the cold filthy streets when you can spend it warm and cozy in a palace.”

“There is nothing wrong with where they live.” she said now angry, “Their happiest memories are on those streets. And mine are too, wandering around several towns, I’ve seen the joy they all have.” 

“That’s impossible, no one can be truly happy there.” he firmly told her, “I don’t want you to live or be treated like a commoner, you deserve much more than that. For goodness sake, you’re married to a prince!” 

“What’s wrong with being a commoner? They’re the same as you, they just have a different lifestyle!”

 “Commoners don’t have all these riches you see around you. They’re not as well off as we are. We can easily afford anything we want. If we have the money then we can spend it, what’s wrong with that?!”

“Nothing! Nothing is wrong with the lifestyle of a noble but neither is the lifestyle of a commoner! They’re two different things but that doesn’t mean that either status is worth greater or less of value, they all deserve equal treatment!” Audrey stared him down, “Maybe if you actually experienced the life of one you see that we aren’t as pitiful or filthy as you think we are.”

That crossed the line for Jack as he looked at her one more time and stormed out of the parlor. The twelve people who had their ears pressed to the door heard footsteps coming and they quickly hid behind the large curtains. Jack pushed the door open with violence as he marched through the halls. Audrey on the other hand, not realizing the error both of them had made, made her way outside of the parlor and walked the opposite way.

Once the two were out of sight from each other, the twelve princes and princesses came out of the curtains. 

“That can’t be good…” Gwen frowned.

[justkending]

Used to Be Overlooked. Chapter 22.

Summary: Steve Rogers was walking down the streets of Brooklyn after finishing a mission. The goal was just to take some time to clear his mind along the city streets, but when he runs into a gorgeous young lady that looks extremely familiar… How can he go about moving on? Who is she? What does he know her from? Was that memory even from this decade?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (Rosalyn Ember/ Y/N ?)

Word Count: 2500+

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I had started on it a while ago, and never got around to finishing it. Here it is though, and I hope you enjoy!!!

Series Masterlist

Chapter 22:

“Uh, sir,” Edgar spoke up a little over 5 minutes into the transfusion. You were still knocked out cold basically, only awake enough to heard a few words here and there.

“What?” Garrison said harshly as he was laid back in the chair relaxed with his eyes closed.

“Security called. It looks like we’ve been breached,” Edgar said timidly.

Garrison opened one eye peeking over to his assistant. Frustration and annoyance clear in his face. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I have to do everything around here,” he huffed closing his eyes for a second before sitting up in his seat. 

“I’m sorry sir-”

“How much longer on the transfusion?”

“About 8 minutes,” Edgar said quickly calculating it all. 

“How long until we are swarmed?”

“I’m not sure. Security is doing the best they can, but it could be any minute considering-”

“Best they can? Best they can my ass. They might as well be sacks of potatoes guarding my door with the Avengers storming in,” Garrison huffed clicking things on the computer to see if he can quicken the process of the blood transfusion. He quickly changed the screen to the security footage seeing man after man being taken out from the sky, and others through the hallways. Captain America being one of the individuals doing the most harm. They were closing in and there wasn’t time to move. “Fuck. Of course every precaution we took was a bust. Why wouldn’t it be?” he groaned to himself. 

He turned over to you seeing you slumped on the table that was still at a diagonal and let out a long sigh. He turned back to Edgar with an eye that showed he had an idea and was switching to full boss mode.

“I have an plan.”

___

“Tony, what’s the update?” Steve yelled into his earpiece just as another person came around a corner, guns blazing, and quickly started throwing punches after. 

“Still not clear out here. Every time we think we have it clear, they pop up like ants,” Tony answered.

“It seems that they have reinforcements with other tactics, Captain. Different forms of guns that I haven't seen before are being used,” Vision cut in.

“I agree with Wonder boy,” Tony spoke up. “These are not any kinds of guns I’ve seen before, and I used to make them for a living.”

“What kind are we talking?” Steve grunted throwing another man away from him.

“Some weird form of energy is coming out. Almost like lasers. I feel like I’m in a Star Wars movie,” Tony laughed.

“I don’t-” Steve started.

“Don’t worry about it now. I’ll have Friday run a report. I got skimmed by one, and she can analyze the damage it did,” Tony briefed.

“Thanks Stark,” Steve said. 

“Rogers on your left!” Nat called in his ear from the security room. 

Quickly Steve pivoted in his spot catching Wanda take out a guy that was coming up behind him, and quickly making him fall hard and knock out instantly. The fight was still going. There was more men than they figured, and they weren’t letting up easy. 

“Barton? Romanoff? Any update on the room Y/N’s in?” Steve said catching his breath. 

“Still working on it. Looks like there are more cameras than shown. I need to hack into a few more frames before we find- Got it!” Clint shouted. “Room 241. Down the north hall. Take two rights, a left, and then it’s the fourth door on your right.”

“Thanks Barton,” Steve said turning and nodding to Wanda and Bucky to follow. 

“Looks like the shots they are firing with those guns are some form of stun guns. Small voltages, so it would take more to take someone like you out Cap, but us? It’ll feel like a really bad taser,” Tony cut in sharing his new information. “Now, I’m not saying you should volunteer to get hit, but if it happens let me know how it goes.”

Steve rolled his eyes at Tony’s bantered, but thanked him for the new information anyway. Just as they were taking the turn to the hallway where your room was, a new rush of guards appeared from almost every angle.

“Shit,” Bucky muttered turning to assess the new threat.

“Come on. Let’s go!” Steve said getting in stance for another fight. 

“No! We got it from here. You go get your girl!” Bucky said turning to his best friend.

“Not without-”

“Steve, go. We got this. We can handle a few dozen men,” Wanda said with a grin before turning and taking out a few.

“I’m not going to let you-”

“So help me God, Punk. Get your ass to that room before I kick it myself,” Bucky said through gritted teeth. “You’re girl needs you more than us right now.” 

Looking down that hall and back to the guards Wanda had started fighting on, Steve was hesitant. He saw that Bucky was right. 

“Don’t get killed,” Steve said running backwards and pointing at the two.

“Right back at you,” Bucky shouted before turning and knocking a guy out. “Get Y/N to safety! We got your back!”

Steve quickly turned and started sprinting to the door. Only a few new guards stepping in his way, but quickly taken down with his mindset on finding you.

As he approached the door and went to open it, he found it was bolted shout. He looked through a small window pane looking in seeing tons of equipment. It was a lab like you worked in. High tech and in use too. 

As he scanned over it all, he saw just out of the corner of the view you strapped to a metal table with your head hanging and your hair covering your face. You were still in the clothes he last saw you in, but without the jacket or the tank top. 

Anger bubbled in him and he took a few giant steps back before lifting his shield and running straight toward the door. A loud crash erupted as he efficiently busted down the metal double doors. He rolled out from where he fell and quickly got to his feet.

Where he would normally check the area before going further, his mind was only set on you. He rushed over to you and quickly lifted your head from it’s slumped position. 

“Y/N? Hey, Y/N/N. Come on now. Don’t do this,” he said brushing hair out of your face, and placing both hands on each of your cheeks to help steady your limp head. “Y/N, come on doll,” he coaxed hoping you would snap out of it. 

With the little energy you had, you slowly opened your eyes hearing the soft begging of a man. Through the blur, you noticed familiar piercing blue eyes staring you down. Your eyelids were heavy, but they opened and closed to try and deminish the blurriness. 

“St-Steve?” you mumbled not even sure if it got out.

“That’s it. It’s all right sweetheart. We’re going to get you out of here,” he said with a small smile before it fell looking around and down at your spot. “What the hell did they do to you?” he said scanning the wires, and cords attached to you. 

“Steve, you-you have to-” you gulped feeling the dryness in your throat. This was taking so much energy, but you had to warn him. “Get out. Go.” 

“Not without my girl,” he said with a sad smile brushing a thumb over your cheek. “We just need to get-”

“Steve!” you said looking behind him right where you were trying to warn him. The shout came out more in a normal voice compared to your mumble. 

Before he could fully turn around, a shot was taken. An outline of blue hit Steve, and he crumpled to the floor in pain. Grabbing at his abdomen that got hit while he turned, he grimaced through gritted his teeth. 

“Aw, Captain America,” Garrison’s voice came out from the dark in an evil tone. “So, you’re the guy that stole my girl?” 

He came out of the shadows, and Steve turned seeing the tall man. Steve was on the floor still not really fully able to get up after the shot of electricity that hit him hard. 

Garrison was holding a larger gun that was vibrating with energy. He turned it in his hand and examined it proudly. 

“Handy little thing, isn’t it? Made it myself,” he bragged. “Supposed to be used on bigger guys like you, but I’ll be honest. I thought you would be a lot bigger so this may take longer for you to come back from,” he said crouching to Steve’s level who was sending him daggers, but still not able to move. 

“So, Y/N? This is the guy that stole your heart?” He stood up walking to you who had finally got enough energy to hold up your own head. “Not impressed. You really downgraded,” he hummed pushing hair out of your face. You heard Steve grunt from the floor at the motion, and he slowly started to stand. “Oh, maybe you are a big guy. You recovered fast,” Garrison said in a cheeky manner. “At ease soldier. I didn’t call on you yet,” he smirked before shooting Steve once again making him fall hard and yell in pain. 

“Stop,” you groaned. 

“Stop what? Hurting him? Like you hurt me all those years?” Garrison said somehow turning this back to your relationship. 

“That’s not what happened Garrison-”

“Oh, the hell it’s not! You know what it felt like when you ran away? Huh?” he questioned, getting angrier with each word. “Like this,” he turned back to Steve who had made it to a kneeling position, and for a third time shot him in the stomach. 

Steve letting out another yell that made you ache for him. You wanted to take his place right then and there. 

“Garrison, don’t do this. You know this isn’t right. Look at everything,” you whispered a single tear making its way down your face. “This isn’t right.”

“You’re right. It was only going to be right with you by my side, but look what happened,” he said bitterly, and quickly walking back to you. “This is on you Y/N. All of it,” he said harshly grabbing your chin and making you meet his eye line. 

“Let her go!” Steve yelled once again trying to stand up. 

Garrison didn’t move and ignored him only holding you harder.  

“Now,” He turned to the computer and started administering the blue serum in you. It started flowing through your bloodstream in only milliseconds. “I found you. You’re mine again.” You could see the pain and possession overtake his eyes, and fear started creeping into you.

“Y/N-” Steve yelled now going to fully stand. 

“SIT DOWN!” Garrison yelled finally turning back to his competitor, but only to be stopped by the red wisp that were Wanda’s holding him steady. 

“Steve get her. I’ve got him,” Wanda instructed. 

“I’ve got him too.” Bucky said straight faced and walking toward Garrison, who was now stuck, with a look that could kill. 

You watched as they kept Garrison in place and closed your eyes in relief. 

“Y/N. Hey, stay with me,” Steve instructed limping over to you, and plucking the IV out of your arm as gently as possible cutting off the blue serum. “Y/N-”

“I’m ok. I’m ok,” you mumbled out feeling the amount of serum start to take over. Even if it was only in you for the little time right then, it was enough to knock you out again. “Steve-” and like that you were out cold. 

The last thing you remember was Steve unlatching the leather straps, and catching you carrying you bridal style as you went limp in his arms. 

_____ 

“Banner!” Steve yelled caring your body into the plane. Wanda and Bucky close behind with Garrison secured. Everyone else still in the field wrapping up loose ends, and capturing the last of the people on Garrisons team. “Banner!”

“Right here!” Banner shouted coming around a corner. “What happened?” he asked coming closer. 

“He injected something in her. I don’t know what,” Steve answered looking down at you scared that if he looked away you would disappear again. 

“Here, let’s get her on a bed,” Bruce instructed moving the group into the infirmary. 

“We’re going to put him in lock up. I’ll be right back,” Bucky called out walking with Wanda close, and Garrison in cuffs with a glare glued on his face. 

“Don’t take your eyes off the bastard. He’s going to pay for this,” Steve said his voice going cold as he stared at the enemy. “I’ll make sure of it.” 

They had a stare off until Steve turned to get you to help. He would handle the varmint later. All that mattered now was figuring out what was going on with you.

After placing you on the bed, Banner started drawing samples of blood, and running a few test. The nurses checked everything thing else, but Steve noticed the bruises on your cheeks and jaw from where he had grabbed you, and then the puncture wounds from the multiple needles he had injected you with. You should be healing shouldn’t you? Why weren’t you healing?

He called Tony and Sam telling them to go through the lab and grab the serum, and anything else that looked special. Banner and Stark could run test of those things later.

Banner came back in about 30 minutes later with papers in hand and his lab coat on. 

“What is it? What’s in her?” Steve said standing from the chair he hadn’t moved from to turn to Bruce. He placed a hand on yours not wanting to be far from you, and to also have a feeling of you to make sure you didn’t get away again. 

“Well, whatever was injected into her when you showed up wasn’t the first time,” Bruce said flipping through papers. “It looks like there is more in her blood than we suspected.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked wanting the details.

“Well, from the looks of it, the serum that’s running through her is slowing her healing process. Immensely,” he paused coming closer and checking your vitals as he continued to talk. “Her white blood cells are still working faster than most, but not fast enough to clear a wound like normal.”

“How long will it last?”

“Not sure. Could be a few hours. A few days. All depends on how her body responds to it. We just started going over the serum Stark brought in, and I’m not sure how long it will take us to dissect it.”

Steve looked down to your still sleeping figure and squeezed your hand slightly. 

“How long ‘till she wakes up?”

“Probably an hour or so. Maybe a little longer.”

“Good. I’m going to interrogate the meat head that did this to her,” Steve grumbled picking up your hand kissing it, and gently putting it by your side again.

“Steve-”

“No. He has answers I need. He doesn’t get to do what he did to her, and walk away from it. Him sitting in that holding room is too nice for him,” Steve glared at Bruce as he walked to the door. 

“I understand, but just,” Bruce paused looking over at you and then back at Steve. “Don’t do anything too rash. I’m sure Y/N wants some answers too.”

Steve looked at you still seeing tension in you. He took a deep breath realizing he wasn’t the only one hurt from this. You deserved to talk to this ‘Garrison’ man too. So that means no beating him to a pulp before you can.

He let out a long deep breath before turning to Banner. 

“I got it.”

Chapter 23

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If I tagged you and you aren’t normally on my tag list, I thought you would enjoy the story. Fair warning, it is a slow burn so we will get to the bottom of the issue later, but the burn is what makes it soooooo sweet. I’m really excited for this series, and would love your feedback:) Thank you!

If you want removed let me know.

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ @sasuhinamonth || SasuHina Month 2019 || Day Thirty-One: Free Day ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Ghost Among the Ghosts ] [ AO3 Link ]

For as long as Hinata can remember, she’s been able to see them.

Dead people.

Yeah, like that one movie, with that kid? The look on her face when she realized the twist to that one was classic.

But in her case...it’s very much real.

She can’t recall exactly when it started...but an inner inking tells her it had something to do with her mother’s death. Hinata was five when Hanako died a few weeks after giving birth to the younger Hyūga sister Hanabi. Complications with healing after the birth that led to her early downfall.

But for Hinata...her leaving wasn’t quite so early. For weeks afterward, she insisted that Hanako was still there...but that she seemed so sad.

And it was true. No one else could see the woman, this disbelieving Hinata’s tale. But she was indeed ‘haunted’ by her mother’s spirit, which lingered morosely in a need to watch over her daughters. But the plane of the living is not one for the dead...and as much as Hinata enjoyed having her mother around a little longer, it was clear she was suffering. Cold, pale, and partially translucent, she seemed to fade more and more every day.

It was Hinata who helped her cross.

From then on, she became...sensitive to those no longer living, but lingering in the mortal realm. After spending so much time with her mother, they didn’t frighten her. After all, it wasn’t anything like in the movies. They weren’t scary, they were lost people - lost souls - unable to move on.

So, once Hinata graduated high school...she made a decision. In addition to the little flower shop she started with the savings account Hanako had set up for her...she opened a little medium gig on the side, offering help to anyone who had spooky afflictions.

At first, it got her laughed at...but she was quietly determined. The nay-sayers were just too closed off to see the good she intended to do.

And her first case was a doozy.

A young man had come in, a few other customers already bustling about in the flower shop. At first, Hinata didn’t notice anything off - the energy of the other people helped to mask it. But he lingered, clearly wanting a bit of privacy before talking to her. And by then? It was clear as day.

“Hey, uh...do you do memorial bouquets?”

“Yes, of course - we have some that are pre-arranged, or you...can…” Fading out, she blinked. And blinked again. Funny...there hadn’t been anyone standing with him before, but...upon a closer look, she noticed them.

Two people. A man and a woman, each standing just behind and beside the customer in question. Both wore weary, drawn expressions, not seeming to notice her staring. Whoever they were, they were strong attachments, feeding off his energy and seemingly unaware of their surroundings.

“...hello?”

Hinata gave her head a little shake. “...sorry, I...got a little dizzy for a moment. You said you wanted memorial bouquets…?”

“Yeah...I’m in town to visit my parents’ graves, and...wanted something to give them.”

“I see...well, I can have them done for you in about an hour, if you’d...like to come back?” That explained it, then. Those people...they had to be the parents he was talking about. Somehow, they’d ended up attached to him. But how to ask without being...impolite…

“...may I ask you something?”

He glanced up from the catalog he was reading, trying to decide what he wanted.

“Are you feeling...all right? You look awfully tired…”

“Yeah, I...I’m fine. Just had some trouble sleeping last night.”

“...does that happen often? I mean…” She gave a sheepish smile. “You’ve got some pretty serious dark circles going on there.”

For a moment, he almost looked...suspicious. “...often enough. It’s nothing I can get treated for...no meds work, no docs can figure it out.”

“...I see. Well...if it’s any consolation, I...might have an inkling of what’s going on.”

That earned a small, humorless scoff. “Oh really?”

“You...might have seen the small sign under the one for the shop, right…?”

“Something about a medium.”

“Yes.”

“...you telling me I’ve got a ghost problem?”

“I’m telling you you’ve got two,” Hinata replied gently. “And...that’s why you’re not sleeping. You have two people attached to you, and...they’re sapping at your energy in order to remain here.”

...that got him to still. “...two…?”

“...yes. One is a woman with long, dark hair. The other is a man with short, parted hair, also dark. She’s got a heart-shaped face, his is more square, and -”

Having heard enough, he lifted a hand, expression cracking. “...you’re not messing with me?”

“No sir...I’m just concerned. Are...are they…?”

“...my parents. I…” The same hand then ran back through his hair. “...when I was little, I told people I could see them. But they kept ignoring me...and when they didn’t ignore me, they put me on pills...and then it stopped. I couldn’t see them anymore. But...you’re telling me they’re still here…?”

“It seems so. You...lost them when young?”

“...yeah. Car crash. My brother and I went to our aunt’s. Ever since then, I’ve had...nightmares, and’ve always been tired. They’ve tried pill after pill, nothing worked...that must be why…” Suddenly, he looked fervid. “...can you help them...move on?”

“I can try. But first,” Hinata replied, “you’re going to have to tell me more, and...I think that’s something best done sitting down. I close at five. If you’d like...you can come back then. I live above the shop. We can sit, and talk about this more...comfortably.”

“...okay. You really think you can help me? Help...us?”

“I’ll do the best that I can.”

“...thank you. I’m Sasuke, by the way.”

“Hinata. And...you can introduce me to the rest later. For now...I’ll get those flowers ready for you.”

                                                          .oOo.

     OKAY. It's over! SasuHina Month 2019 is officially done. I'm both sad...and relieved. Having two ongoing drabble challenges is a BIT much for me as it turns out. But it was still a lot of fun, and I hope you guys enjoyed it too!      I used the second free day to explore a new verse I've been wanting to try with some other characters, so...this is a bit of a test drive, lol - my family is full of ghost stories, so it's about time I try a hand at creating some of my own! Poor Sasuke is quite literally haunted by his past: the parents he lost. But Hinata, gifted in seeing spirits, is eager to lend a hand.      Another one for the WIP pile xD      Anyway, it's...VERY late, and I'm very tired. Hopefully with SHM over, I can get caught back up, and back on track with my dailies. But, for now...time for bed lol - thanks for reading!

[voemae582]

Marichat May: Kittens

@marichatmay

“Are you okay?” Alya said concerned for her best friends emotional state. It looked like Marinette was on the verge of tears.

“It’s just so sad!” Marinette said with her hands on her cheeks.

Nino had his hand on Alya’s back and awkwardly scratched the back of his head. “I’m sure it’ll be okay.” He tried to comfort Marinette.

The trio was walking home from a movie when suddenly they heard a noise in the alley way. Upon further inspection discovered next to a dumpster was a box of kittens. It struck a chord with Marinette.

“Listen girl, I know you, and I know you want to find them a home, but the best we can do is bring them to the vet or pet store, come on.” Alya said while Nino picked up the box.

“Why would someone leave them!?” Marinette put her hand in the box and softly pet a kitten with her finger and it licked her. “Oh my god. I’ve been chosen.” 

Alya laughed, “No offense Mari, but you can’t even make it to class on time, you don’t have time for a cat. Plus you haven’t asked your parents.”

“Yeah, I guess your right.”

………...….

Chat Noir landed on Marinette’s balcony and pulled out his staff to look at the message Marinette sent him.

Marinette: Chat I need your help, it’s an EMERGENCY.

Chat Noir: I’ll be there as soon as I can!

He knocked on the window and slowly entered the room. He saw her back facing him while she was fiddling with something on her desk. “So what's the problem, Puurincess?”

She turned around holding a box of kittens. “I did something...”

He looked at all the little kittens meowing and stumbling over each. “What did..?”

She put the box down and pointed to one, “This one’s Bastille, and these two are his brothers, Cesar and Andre. Over in the corner is their sister little Belle.”

Chat’s eyes dilated and he was in love. “Little Belle’, our precious babies!” The two of them doted on the small babies for about an hour before realization hit. “W-wait, princess, as much as I love them and would die for our kids, where did you get them? I didn’t know you wanted cats.”

“You see, the thing is...” She told Chat how her and her friends found the kittens and brought them to the animal shelter and went home, but when she got home all she could do was think about was if they don’t get adopted and how they were left in an alley way. Chat Noir must’ve rubbed off on her because she never felt this attached to cats before him. She had ran out of her house took the box back and snuck them into her room. “And that's why I have these kittens.. Basically, I blame you.”

“How admirable and touching...”

“Stop.”

“Well, what do you plan to do with them?”

“I-I don't know, I should’ve just left them but I don’t know, I’m not thinking rationally, they’re just so precious.” She pet Cesar while he slept on her chest. “And I can’t take care of them but I didn’t want them to go to a home that didn’t love them or have them be strays.” Chat nodded and they shared ideas of what to do. “I have to bring them back don’t I?”

“Yeah...” He said in a defeated way, “Honestly I’d take them if I could, but...”

“It’s okay, I understand perfectly.” She gave him a weak smile. “Well it was good while it lasted, being the proud parents and all.” She put them back in the box.

“You know what, Mrs. Chat Noir, allow me to make sure out kittens get back safe.”

“Really? Thanks, I guess you’re the only cat I can handle.” She said as she scratched under his chin.

“And who knows, maybe you’ll have a litter of your own some day.” He chuckled.

…………..

That night in Adrien’s room was chaos. The pet shop was closed already so he had to wait until the next day to bring them in. Meaning they had all night to cause trouble for their foster dad.

“Bastille, Andre is not a scratching post! Belle? Belle where are you? Here kitty, kitty!? Cesar, you’re on top of your sister, she’s too small to do that!” Adrien was running around the room frantic.

Plagg was obviously annoyed floating as high as he could with his cheese. “Why on earth would you bring them here!?”

“Instead on complaining can you give me a hand, Plagg?”

“As far as I’m concerned I’m the closest thing you need to a cat.”

“Jealous?” Adrien smirked.

“W-What!? No!” An embarrassed Plagg flew away.

…………..

The next day a famous Chat Noir visited the animal shelter, “A-and Belle’ likes her milk warm, and make sure Bastille doesn’t bully his brothers, but he’s not mean he just has a lot of energy, Cesar doesn’t do much but he is clumsy so watch him carefully, I think Andre is catching a cold so if you could get him a check up as soon as possible that would be great, and they don’t like sleeping alone! O-oh and make sure-” He was cut off by the owner.

“Monsieur, I assure you, if you, the hero of Paris, vouches for them then I promise you I will personally find the perfect home for all of them to be together in.” She smiled and took the box.

“O-okay, thank you so much.” he looked at the kittens and felt a stab in the heart, “Good luck little guys.” He watched them meow as they were taken from the back and rushed out before he took them back.

…………..

Marinette was laying in bed holding a clearly heart broken Chat Noir.

“D-do you think the owner will remember-”

“Yes, yes, we did the right thing.” She comforted him.

“Do you think they’ll remember the fond memories we had?”

Marinette giggled, “You were the best dad they could ever have in just those few hours.”

“Yeah I was.”

They laughed and talked about the kittens some more before falling asleep.

@marichatmay

[fridays--child]

Skin

Deacon helps Gene relive a past life on her birthday.

Prompt: Sole and Companion(s) take their first photo together. 

Rating: 18+

Also on AO3

It had been a long time since Deacon had gone to a birthday party. Not some little shindig under the old church, shotgunning cheap swill before passing out in the catacombs. An actual party, with music, and dancing, and people dressed up to congratulate the guest of honour on another rotation around the sun. The excitable, rowdy crowd was already three sheets to the wind, bestowing both a blessing and a curse for Deacon as he tried to navigate, undetected, through them. 

The Third Rail was in full swing, heavy smoke and jet haze filling the old subway, softening the near-fluorescent garlands hanging around the joint. With the stampeding crowd already three sheets to the wind, it was easy to camouflage. Deacon mingled, dodging and weaving towards old Whitechapel Charlie, keeping his face down in case anyone sought to recognise him. Galatea’s impressive social reach meant most of the room had met him under one disguise or another. Joe, the trader, seeking out Daisy to trade… stuff. Mike, the DC security guard, all brawn and no brain. Or Morgan, the sad old widower in the Memory Den, whacking off to the memories of his long dead wife. Ouch, that one was a little too.... method. It was awkward trying to keep track of personas.

 Despite the ever present complication of being eternally undercover, it wasn’t a bad show out. Magnolia was serenading the crowd with bright little pre-war ditties, beckoning the crowd to move in time with the music and the swing of her hips. Leaning against the bar, Deacon watched as Hancock spun the birthday girl around, before hoisting her up onto his bony shoulder to the cheer of the crowd. From her heightened position, Galatea scanned the room, twinkling her fingers in a delighted wave which Deacon reciprocated. On the last blaring note, Hancock unceremoniously dumped her on her feet, and she slapped his hand from her waist, giggling as she threw her arms around his neck before making her way to the bar.

 Deacon whistled as his favourite agent approached, motioning for her to twirl in her party dress. She obliged with a roll of her eyes, holding out her hands. Ta-fucking-da.

“Finally, a party you actually have an invite to.”

He laughed, motioning for Charlie. “Oof, icy. Whiskey?” 

“Sunset Sarsaparilla please, Charlie.” Widening her eyes, she lowered her voice, drawling in mock shock. “I’m a teetotaler now Deaks. Was getting a little sloppy in my old age.” 

“And just how old are you now, spinster? Should I call the nursing home?” 

Rolling her eyes, Galatea cheered her drink at Charlie. “Practically geriatric. Twenty-five.” Deacon choked slightly on his own. “Give or take a few centuries.”

 Jesus Christ, she was just a kid. Where was he at twenty-five? Fresh off the bigot train and trying to recreate himself, his first experience in shedding his skin. Shameful heat tainted Deacons cheeks. Galatea tapped on his arm, blissfully unaware, before jumping behind the bar’s counter.

“I have something for you.” Chipped nails push a box across the counter, badly wrapped in copies of the Boston Bugle. Deacon eyed it suspiciously, raising it to his ear with a slight rattle.

“Well jeez. I dunno birthday worked in ye olde times, but aren’t the guests supposed to give the birthday gal presents? Though,” he held out his hand in mock surrender, “totally not complaining if the roles were reversed.” 

Galatea growled in the voice she usually saved for raiders, or the Diamond City security. “Just open it.”

 Inside the box lay a leatherbound camera, small and square with a simple lightbulb attached to the top. Probably old, even before the bombs fell. A thin layer of grease and dirt clung to the crevices in the leather, accumulating over the centuries it had probably lay buried. Some of it clings to his fingers as he traced the words around the lens. Kodak Brownie Flash Six-20.

“Where in the Great Green Jewel did you find this?”

“Preston managed to find some of my old stuff buried in a bunker in Sanctuary. Piper brought a suitcase of it here.”

“Huh.”

 He had lost his last one when the Switchboard went bust. How did she know? Deacon turned the camera over in his hands, flicking the shutter open, before holding it up and snapping a photo of the birthday girl. The flash blows a little too brightly. Galatea blinked rapidly, delicately wiping her watering eyes.

“Jesus Deak, not sure if my retinas are still intact. Remember, not everyone wears sunglasses constantly.”

He grinnned at her sheepishly. “My bad.” She waved away the apology.

“Still don’t know why you’re spoilin’ me, Galatea.”

Her small hands gripped his wrist, vice-like, as she pulled him closer to whisper in his ear. 

“Because, for my birthday, you’re going to help me relive a past life. Deny it all you want, but I’m sure you probably have photos of me from when you were tailing me as Joe the trader, or whatever.” That familiar nervous frequency, sent hertzs of vibration from her fingers on his pulse. The same pulsing energy that radiated from his partner whenever someone suggested something equally stupid and dangerous. “Let’s get some I actually consent to, you voyeur perve. You might even like these more.” 

 Deacon was grateful for the glasses to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks, but his spatial awareness pricked up the eyes on the back of his neck. Galatea’s bronze eyes narrowed just past his shoulders, and she nudged her chin a fraction towards them. “Friends of yours?”

Deacon turned around, casually, as if to watch Magnolia as she took a sip of wine, the band launching into the opening bars of another song. “Brotherhood.” He muttered back to her. “Didn’t know they had legs outside of those metal spacesuits.”

The corner of Galatea’s dark lips twitched. “You should go.” She slipped him her keys, rusty on a Nuka-Girl keyring. “Third floor, remember? I’ll be there later.”

~~~

With most of the old warehouse-turned-apartments’ tenants either at The Third Rail, or passed out in the gutter around it, Deacon was able to make his way to Galatea’s apartment relatively unscathed.  There was one guy, a synth he had helped  liberate eighteen months ago, who eyed him off with hazy recognition. He pointed at him in greeting, feigned excitement as he quickened his pace. “Yo Steve, my man! I’m dyin’ for a piss, I’ll catcha back inside, yeah?” Before he answered, he had darted around the corner, pretending to pull at his jean zipper to take the backstreet.

 Entering the apartment with keys was much easier than the first time he was there, recalling with a twinge of guilt breaking in through her third floor window. All part of the job, of course, scouting out the frozen woman fresh from the vault. He still hadn’t gotten the balls to ask her if she had noticed. He suspected she did.

 Forty-five minutes later, Deacon had managed to get the kettle on, settling into the tatty arm chair when sharp heels clicked up the outside stairs. Galatea pushed once, twice, three times against the sticky door before getting it open and heading into the kitchen.

“Still up? Thanks for the tea.”

Back to her, Deacon held up a book. In Search of Lost Time. “You weren’t kidding about the Proust, huh?”

Galatea plopped a small tray of tea and stale Fancy Lads on the rickety coffee table, stretching out on the adjacent lounge.  “Again, not everyone lies Deacon. Why would I fib about what books I own?”

Deacon wrinkled his nose at her. “Wasn’t he kinda anti-semitic? Kinda strange, I thought you were Jewish.”

“I guess, if I wanted to be.” She shrugged. “I’m half. Papa was a good Irish Catholic boy.”

“Which means…”

“Which means December was always very confusing.”

“Ah, gotcha.” Opening a pack of smokes, Deacon fumbled in his pockets for his lighter. “So.”

Galatea wriggled her eyebrows at him, reaching for the cigarette he'd just lit. “So…?”

“Why are you home so early? Gonna turn into a pumpkin now you’re all old?”

“Mhm, no.” Stretching her small body as long as she can, Galatea popped her heeled feet on the top of the couch, cracking the bones in her neck. Nearly upside down, she looked up at him through dark eyelashes. “It turns out parties aren’t as fun when you’re not off your tits.”

 Taking another lungful of nicotine, she waved the cherry in his general direction.

“Did you like your present?”

Leaning forward, elbows on knees, Deacon pulled the camera from his back under the couch, before shaking it gently at her.

“‘Course, who doesn’t like presents?” The corners of his mouth twist as he peered at her through the viewfinder. She ran her hands down the front of her dress with a laugh.

“Are you going to take my photo before I lose my looks? I’ve already looked like this for nearly two hundred years longer than expected, it probably won’t last much longer.”

Shaking his head at her, he snapped a photo.

 Gravity pulled at the hem of her dress, slipping down to hint at the tops of her stockings. Heading over to her, he borrowed the fabric of her skirt to clear the lens, letting the back of his hands brush against her thigh. Smirking, she leered up at him.

“Are you going to tell me I look nice?” 

Deacon snorted back at her. “What, you fishing? You already know that, braggart.”

His fingers hit cool metal against her skin, hooking around a garter belt ribbon.

“Sheesh, you did dress up. What else have you got hiding under there?”

 The heel of Galatea’s shoe pushed mean against his chest as she pushed him off her, and he captured her nylon covered legs through the frame. Moving him to sit on the couch, Galatea turned her back to him, unwrapping herself as she tugged on the zipper of her dress, sliding it slowly off her shoulders to reveal the sheer, high-necked blouse underneath. Her hands followed the trail of her dress as she pushed it down to her ankle with her legs kept straight, before kicking it to the side as the flash went off again. Deacon wolf whistled, slightly shaky with a laugh, reaching out to run his hands down the mesh and satin are pulled taut and clinging to her body, accentuating the dip of her waist. A strangled sound escaped his throat when he felt the boning underneath.

“Jesus, what’s all this for, baby? You’re more metal and plastic than a Gen 2.”

Rolling her eyes at him, she peaked over her shoulder.

“Structural integrity.”

 Deacon’s freckled hand moved on its own, lower, following the straps of her garter belt up and under her little slip skirt. His breath nearly whistled as it hitched against her neck, feeling the heat radiating from her body. 

“You’re full of surprises. No panties?”

She bit her cheek as he ghosted over the soft hair against her slightly wet folds.

“Didn’t want lines showing through the dress.”

 The familiar feeling of control, of power, rushed through Deacon, and he gathered her wrists behind her back, moving her firmly until Galatea was bent over the couch. Slightly clumsy with one hand, he took a photo of her exposed to him. Dropping the camera to the couch, he shoved her skirt slip up around her ribs, smacking her ass harshly until she hissed at him. He took another fast shot, desperately wishing the flash would encapsulate the shape of his hand print. Still holding her wrists, Deacon discarded the camera, using his spare hand to palm at himself through the tightening denim of his jeans.

 “Shit baby, you look like something outta a pre-war nudey mag. What was it called, uh… Dick’s Brazzers?”

Galatea barked her filthy laugh at him, wiggling beneath her held wrists.

“John Willie’s Bizarre, as if I haven’t seen the copies lying around HQ. Not that I ever was good enough to be featured.”

Her comment woke something equally aroused and confused within him, and he pulled her back to look at him.

“Wait - there’s photos of you, like this, out there?”

She shrugged, laughing at his expression.

“A girl’s got bills. It was fun and a quick way to make a buck.” Adding to his incredulous expression, “Men feel powerful thinking the women in the photos were vulnerable. We had the power of making them believe that.”

Shaking his head at her, brain still not processing the images she’d injected into his mind, he bit her shoulder playfully.

“I’m searching for them. Next time we’re in the Common.”

He ground against her, hand grabbing at her thigh. The other released her hands to gather the slick growing between them. Galatea smirked at him.

“What, between the super mutants and raiders? You’ll be dead before you read the Freedom Trail?”

“Worth it.”

 She must’ve been able to feel how hard he is for her, how he’s always surprised how much she gets him going each time they get it on. He kissed up her pulse, hands guiding her to move against him as he alternated between dipping into her shallowly and running circles around her clit. Her raspy voice vibrated against his mouth.

“Never had a partner, want to get a photo with me?”

Deacon groaned against her neck, shaking his head against her dark hair.

“Galatea, you know that’s not a good idea. I’d have to get a face change after, there’s the whole bruising and recovery thing...”

She pushed her back against him, using a hand on his shoulder to seat him on the couch with a wicked smile.

“Who said anything about your face?”

 Dropping to her knees, she pulled roughly at his jeans, tapping his hip impatiently until he lifte his hips enough to slide them down his thighs.

“Shouldn’t I be doing this to you, birthday girl.” He joked, slightly breathless.

She pulled a face at him, licking her dark lips until a slight shine appeared.

“Only you would make a comment when a girl is about to suck you off. Shut up and let me indulge.”

 Galatea moved slowly, teasingly, as she always did. Putting more effort into her performance than he ever did into his disguises. Barely opening her mouth, she dragged her mouth up and down his shaft, the tip of her tongue tasting the precum he’s already spilt. Letting her breath tickle against the wet her mouth has left, she smirked up at him. He took another photo as she licks at his head, giving him a few shallow bobs of her head before taking him deep in her throat. Swearing, he tangled his hands in the curls of her hair, pricking himself on the pins holding it up. She continued working on him methodically, using her hands on the parts her mouth and throat can’t reach. She pulled away with a shuddering breath, wiping the makeup from her eyes to kiss the tiny, freckle sized B on his hip. 

 Deacon’s breath hitches as images flood his mind. He’s barely older than she is now, hopped up on beer and herb cigarettes, pissing himself laughing as his wife tattoos him with a needle and pen ink. It’s a wonder it didn’t get infected, spending those days drunk in love and cheap alcohol, ekeing out a humble farmer's life. If he forced himself to remember, he was pretty sure the night of the tattoo was also the night they decided to try for kids. To be stupid and optimistic enough to believe creating a human culmination of their love was the logical best choice for their life. A few months and a sea of spilled blood later, it was all that remained of them, of her. The only part of him that remained untouched, a dozen face changes later.

 It unleashed something angry, untamed in him, and he wasn’t sure if he wants to fuck away the memory or lose himself in it. Knotting her hair in his fist, he reached under her armpit, pulling her roughly up against him before bending her back over the threadbare couch. Gripping the flesh of her heart-shaped ass, he pushed into Galatea roughly. She scrambled against him, nails scratching against his stomach through his thin shirt, as he snapped a photo of her stretched around him. He’s already so close, impossibly, balls pulling in tight as his stomach pulls in taught. It’s too soon to have made it good for her, her breathing still a steady rhythm, and he’s nearly apologetic as he pulls ekeingher by the neck to bite at her ear.

“Fuck baby, shit. I-ah- I’m going to cum.”

He pulls out a second too late, the first wave of his orgasm filling her before he paints her thighs with his cum. Sweating against her, he tugs her face against his in an exhausted, shaky kiss.

 Galatea froze against him as his tongue pushed against the seam of her lips, her whole body flinching away from him as he panted against her lips. One of her hands blindly reaches back for him, shoving him away from her.

“Deacon, don’t.”

 Stumbling back two steps, Deacon ran a tired hand over his face, two fingers putting pressure on the inner corner of his eyes. When he opened them again, Galatea was still braced against the couch. Looking over her shoulder at him, she tugged the hem of her slip down. Deacon let out an uneasy laugh.

“Woo, Galatea. Shit. You’re too good. Give me a second baby, to catch my breath. Then I’ll make it up to you.”

She stretched out her back, hands on her hips, as she shook her head at him.

“No, it’s okay.”

 There was an unease between them, not uncommon but surprising. Tentatively, he reached out to her back.

“Gene, I- uh,” Shit. “You okay?”

She nodded, picking up her dress from the floor. 

“How do you want me to…”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve uh, we’ve been drinking.”

Frowning, Deacon ran a hand down her back. His stomach dropped a few inches as she leaned away.

“I thought you said you weren’t drinking?”

Not looking at him, she pulled her shirt tighter against her neck.

“We’ve got an early morning. Des wanted us back at HQ by midday, right?”

Swallowing, he nods.

“And I’ll have to duck in to see Amari, now.” Heading towards the partition that separates her room from the living space, she dumps the dress into the cardboard box acting as a laundry hamper.

“You remember where the spare blankets are, right? It shouldn’t be too cold if you just want to sleep on the couch as is.”

He waved her comment away. “Yeah, sure.”

 He watched as she threw her clothes over the partition, presumably to wrap herself up in the ratty yellow robe she wore whenever she was at home. He clears his throat, awkwardly.

“We good?”

She laughed dryly.

“Yeah, we’re fine Deak. Goodnight.”

“‘Kay. Happy birthday.”

She snorted, and he could nearly imagine the disgusted face she’d pull at him.

“Yeah, sure.”

------

Look, I've been staring at this for nearly a week and it's not getting any better haha. Please accept this humble offering so I can move onto more exciting projects.

Also, John Willie's Bizarre was an actual fetish magazine in the late 40's. There's some gorgeous photos and pictures from it floating around the internet if you're into that. The images he took of his wife, Holly Faram, are particularly stunning. He was also part of a fetish club in my small hometown in the 1920's, which is cool.

[earthlyem]

i just recently finished up my freshman year of college at art school and so now seems like as good a time as any to talk about my experience and feelings about it and maybe lend a hand of advice if you are going into college this year, especially at an art school. because i feel like there is so much important stuff to cover im going to break into up into different parts of the process starting with…

moving

moving out was a big deal for me. growing up i never had a huge urge to move far away from home, i loved where i grew up and i loved the people…but  every college that ever peaked my interest was out of state. and as early as i could process the idea of a further education i would spit out colleges i’d hope to attend every night at the dinner table. and while a young child rambling about dreams of studying in paris to be a fashion designer while eating dinosaur shaped nuggets is easy for a parent to laugh at and then file into the back of their mind, a junior in high school taking college classes for drawing and animation talking about wanting to go to an art school is a little less easy to brush off. so after getting lots love and support from my family, friends, and teachers, and the financial aid of scholarships, I ended up deciding to attend an art school several states away to study visual effects and stop motion animation.

sooner than i could have ever anticipated the time came to move out. i loved this place, it shaped everything that i was, but after some unfortunate events throughout my high school experience i began to associate my beloved home with guilt and sadness. at this point, i was incredibly thankful i had chosen to move far away. with no one from my high school attending, and it being a good 15 hour drive away from my hometown, it felt like the perfect time to start over. be someone new, someone i always strived to be. the problem with that is we can’t run from our past. something i learned all to quickly at my new school. the physical move was easy, i flew down with a couple of suitcases and purchased all my dorm and school supplies the day before I moved in, which while rather stressful, ended up working out. i went in blind, so i was terrified of meeting my roommates. i would be living with three random girls, and with us all being here to pursue careers in art, i couldn’t help but be intimidated. im sure everyone who has, or will attend an art school feels the pressure. we’re used to being of the best, if not the best in our respective fields throughout our whole lives. and piling in a ton of talented people, where now you’re unsure of where you fall is petrifying. but alas there is really no need to fear. art school is about work ethic, not talent. Its about creativity and willingness to be free, experiment, express, the performance aspect is whats taught to you. if you love what you do, your professors will be able to channel that energy and turn your art into something polished and professional. seriously, i’ve seen people come from shaky sketch outlines, to fully rendered detailed pieces over the course of the year with the right ambition. but non the less i was still scared. in hindsight i had no reason to fear, my roommate was an absolute angel and really helped me through the turbulence of my first quarter, and made the craziness of roommate drama tolerable.

the first few weeks i had expected to be this big social clusterfuck and as a social person I was really excited to meet new people. unfortunately the reality was being holdup in the dorm, seeing others hanging out with people they met over the internet, and feeling entirely alone. i felt like there were very defined cliques established in the first week and i didn’t make the cut for any of them. packs of friends, all easy to see as they were almost perfectly divided by aesthetics, would go eat at the cafe together, smoke outside the dorms, go to parties, skateboard around the buildings, go to the parks and beaches….suddenly i didn’t think the social label assigned to me in high school seemed to fit so well. thats the scariest part of moving away, you are stripped of everything you once were to anyone but yourself. all the ways you were defined by the people you grew up with are gone in the eyes of every new person you meet. its intimidating, but it can be the most beautiful thing if you let it be..this is when it really hit me that when moving anywhere, even if its with a few people you do know, you’re given this huge slate to lay down exactly who you want to be, change the way the world sees you… but thats a big task…a lot bigger than i thought. and its hard, its hard to be this great big wonderful  person you feel like you are in your head when you don’t accept and embrace what brought you to that point. that guilt and anger and sadness and embarrassment was burned into me. i didn’t get to just throw it out the airplane window on my way down. it took me nearly the entire first quarter to sort through those memories, those events that ate away at me and altered my path of existence. because its not that the people i went to school with weren’t accepting people, many of us felt out of place at sometime in our life, and with that comes an deep empathy and care for others. i felt like i just couldn’t seem to put myself out there enough, or cross paths with the right people. it was towards the end that i looked up and saw the world i was building around me without even noticing. i had two wonderful roommates who listened to me and danced with me and ate with me and went to class with me, who held me up through all of it. I had amazing neighbors…just seriously the coolest people in the world. They helped me understand so much about myself and always had their door open so I didn’t have to feel alone. no one was isolating me but myself. and those cliques i mentioned, were just people, people like me who felt alone and scared, or were facing their own problems with moving and by labeling them i put up a wall, and excuse not to talk to certain people because i was insecure that i wouldn’t be artsy enough, or nerdy enough, or edgy enough… and i know that sounds cringy but i know so many people who felt exactly the same. with creative minds, comes creative ways of self expression and i guess the take away im trying to get at is that people are so much more than the aesthetic they have or the way they present on their instagram, something I think all of get lost in sometimes. my point is, moving is going to be scary for most, and even if you think you’re this huge mess that’s wearing all their feelings about the process on your sleeve… i bet no one even notices, because they are so far in their own heads feeling the exact same way. take a step back, say hi to the group of kids kicking around a soccer ball outside your building, or ask the people you sit next to in studio to grab lunch at the cafeteria, it seems scary because it looks like they already have groups and their all set they don’t need another, or your afraid it will be awkward… and well it will be. but life goes on, and a couple hard awkward minutes is worth not isolating yourself, or beating yourself up in your head for not being cool enough to fit in somewhere. you aren’t giving so many wonderful people enough credit when your write them off as though they won’t give you the time of day and it took a lot of learning and practice for me to understand that. you can hear advice, and agree with it, and even tell yourself you’ll implement it… but until you make your own mistakes and have your own trails with life advice doesn’t make as much sense, but heck idk maybe it can help.. i know i needed to hear this.  

so attached are some pictures of my dorm room and some stuff from my first quarter :) relax, don’t fear your move, or do either way it’ll end up just fine, and if its not fine, you’ll find the strength to move on from it    

[equalitae]

L i k e  I   W o u l d (III)

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: Angst, lots of swearing (lol)

Song to suggest: Hold Me – Eric Nam

Synopsis: I was doomed from the very moment I met him.

It was a mistake that I didn’t regret, but that I profoundly wanted to undo in the deepest part of my heart. I tried my best to untangle myself out of that mess, but he was right.

No one knew me like he did. No one would love me like him.

Word count:  6,4K

Part 1 -  Part 2 - Part 3

A/N: Well, hello! Welcome, finally, to the last part of LIW!  Before you start reading, i want to profoundly apologize for taking so long in posting it, but i had a writter’s block and i hadn’t been feeling like posting yet  :(

Even so, i fought it and came up with this! I’m really sad to finish it, but excited for you to read it!

  I hope you enjoy a lot and if you do feel free to give it some love!!   Requests are open! Just remember to read the r u l e s before requesting! See you soon! 

equalitae, x.

My room began to feel like a prison for more time than what I could count.

The curtains remained closed and the bare rays of sun that trespassed them were the only source of light that crossed into the loneliness of it. The dishes piled up in the sink, dirty and untouched, probably already reuniting bad smell and bugs. The clothes scattered around the room, also unwashed and forgotten, and I was already running out of shirts to wear.

My day had become a routine that consisted in waking up, eating breakfast, showering, doing homework and finally crying myself to sleep. The winter break was almost finishing, and I wasn’t sure if I would be able to leave the safety of my place to the public eye. I was running out of food and clothes, but I still didn’t feel with energy enough to do the chores and become a whole once again. I was crushed, converted into dust that was being flown away by the wind in a blink of an eye. My ego, hopes and feelings were a complete mess. I felt used and thrown away, but I still thought about the tattooed artist.

My thoughts still revolved around him even when I hadn’t heard from him in quite some time. The days after our last encounter consisted mostly in him constantly visiting my room, relentlessly knocking to my door and begging for my absolution. I spent all those hours sitting on my door frame, quietly sobbing and wondering why things like this happened to me. I felt weak, and every second that passed carved deep into my flesh, causing me an incessant desire to open that door and forgive him.

I wanted to feel him close to me and the way his body heat caused my skin to bristle. I wanted to feel his soft lips, making my heart go nuts and my head cloud. I needed to know he thought about me just by the way his soft eyes stared when he thought I wasn’t looking, even though I could feel his burning gaze on my skin. I wanted to smell like him once I left his place, covered in his essence and presence. His sole existence caused thousands of reactions in me that I couldn’t explain but needed to turn off unless I wanted to leave with my heart more crushed than before.

Byun Baekhyun was a pleasure that felt so good but hurt so bad.

After a few tries, his knocks stopped. The lonely shadow in the door frame wasn’t there and his begs weren’t heard for the longest time. I started to miss his presence, but I knew that if I came back to him, I would be giving up on my pride and what made me myself. He was the one who decided to play with me, he was the one who decided that lying was his best shot; and I was the fool that believed all his words completely unaware that sweet lies were part of his vocabulary.

And now, lying still on the floor covered by clothes, I was looking at ceiling with a million questions and scenarios crawling into my brain like ants looking for sugar. I was unaware of how much time had passed until I barely heard the door being unlocked and set of keys clashing against each other with the movement. I remained still, knowing who was inside my place and not even bothering to check if he had a knife with him.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!”, was all he said. I could feel his anger from meters away with his usually resting eyes burning holes in my body like lasers.

I opened and eye to peek at his shocked expression, before closing it again calmly. He didn’t more nor said anything for the longest time before he walked closer to me with harsh steps. Once he stopped, I opened my mouth to salute him, but I was suddenly being pulled up by an unknown force that carried me in a bridal style, -much to my surprise. I opened my eyes widely and started to protest, but he stepped into the bathroom and threw me into the cubicle, opening the shower in a blink. The cold water hit me instantly, waking me up from my conscious dream, and I quickly snapped my head to him.

“Do Kyungsoo!” I shouted, mad. My pajama was now wet, and it was sticking to me like a second skin. I felt uncomfortable, but I was wide awake now and knew that I had to confront him. Soo stepped back and crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow unbothered as he inspected my appearance.

“Do me a favor and wash yourself up. You smell like death.”

“Hey-”, I protested again, but he raised a finger to stop me.

“Once you are done, we are going to talk.” He closed the door behind me, leaving me by myself freezing under the cold water but aware that if I didn’t hurry, he will come in and drag me out of the bathroom. I sighed loudly and started to strip out of the now ruined outfit I was wearing.

When I had showered, I dried myself up and covered my body with a pink robe, walking silently into my room to find a prepared outfit over my now done bed. I closed the door behind me, and started to dress up with the black skirt and grey sweater he had put together for me. Once I had even put my knee-length socks on and had my hair combed, I left my room with soft steps. The sunlight was covering my whole living room, and I could see the mess I had made over the last few days. Kyungsoo was in the kitchen sink, taking care of the last remaining of unwashed dishes, mumbling something to himself.

I picked up the clothes scattered in the room, not saying a word but aware that he knew I was there. After a few minutes, everything was on the laundry bag and now I could see the khaki carpet under my feet. He reunited the forgotten boxes of fast food I used and threw them into the trashcan with a disgusted expression in his soft features. I felt ashamed, but I helped him with the cleaning; and when we were done after an hour, he looked at me with a disappointed look in his eyes. He pointed to the sofa, asking me silently to take a seat and started talking of what was actually happening. Then, he took my small hand in between his much larger ones and I suddenly felt naked under his burning gaze full of concern and care.

“I’m sorry.” He stated. “I hadn’t take care of you in the last few months and I ignored what was happening without noticing it would hurt you this much.”

I began to shake my head. “You don’t need to be sorry. I was playing with fire, I knew that, but I still got burned.” My voice was really low, mostly caused by my lack of energy, and I with a loud sigh, my head hung low. “I am drained, both mentally and physically. I had given everything I got to him, trying to fit in my head why he would have had done this to me and which were his reasons to approach to me the way he did the first time we met.  I thought he was genuinely interested in me and this could be the relationship I had being waiting for so long.” A low chuckle left my lips, “Just see how everything ended up.”

“He is my friend, Y/N.” Kyungsoo ran a hand threw his, now shaved, head. “Baekhyun has being a friend of mine for the longest time and I didn’t think he would do something like this to you.”

“What about her?”

“Min, you say?” I nodded my head, biting my lip. “She is just someone we saw every few reunions. She met Baekhyun in high school and stayed with him after that. She was sticky, following him and dragging him with her everywhere. They were just kids, so we tried to understand their weird accord.” With a frown, he pouted. “Why don’t you tell me what happened between you two, so I can understand?”

And so, I did. I told Kyungsoo about how I had met him in the elevator, how he had rose my pulse in a mere second and how I was weaken on my knees just with his slow smirk. I told him how our relationship had become closer after the first time his skin touched mine and my mind clouded with dreams. I told him how I had slowly fallen for a red-haired angel that owned every part of me without even asking for it, making me part of him from the very first moment we crossed paths. I was attached to him and breaking our bond felt like I was ripping my heart out of my chest and like I was throwing it on the bare floor with ease. My time with him had being enough to make me naïve and unaware of what was behind that marble-carved sculpture Baekhyun was.

Kyungsoo stayed in silence, nodding every few times to let me know he was listening carefully. He didn’t change his expression throughout the whole story and his caresses on my hand never stopped, only becoming more frequent by the time my voice started to shake. I was losing my composure, falling apart as I remembered the memories that I had saved in the darkest part of my brain, imprinted on me like a tattoo. My body begun to heat up, just as my eyes started to tickle and fill with water. I was angry. Angry at myself for being so stupid. Angry at him for playing with me and then throwing me away like a chewed toy. And angry with the universe for doing this in my face with a big “Told you so” after sending so many mixed signals.

Being the golden boy of the campus had its benefits, but I already understood why. He was a dark angel that crashed just in front of me, showing himself to the world as an incomprehensible and mysterious artist that caught everyone’s eye just by passing by. He had a trap and I had fallen deep into it with no opportunity to liberate myself, doomed to stay in his claws for as much as he wanted me to. The silent cries became louder and the vibrating sound inside my ears was cutting me open, leaving me with nothing else than broken porcelain and dust for me to repair. And I wasn’t sure if I would be able to…

 And that is how, going back to the start, I left the history class once it was over.

Seeing Baekhyun holding some else’s hand and telling her how beautiful she was made my heart reduce like raisin and my chest hurt like a whole bitch. He seemed better now, happier; since the winter break was over, and he apparently had cut all his strings with the past that haunted him. Me, myself, had been dating a guy for some time, and even when it wasn’t anything serious, I still didn’t feel prepared enough.

Once that Kyungsoo had left my apartment the day after he found the mess I was, he had somehow fixed me up, showing me how I was still the same girl I had always been. I felt secure and ready to go out and face all of those who knew that our relationship was over, but once I stepped inside our first class together after weeks of not knowing where he was or what had been of him, all my walls fell showing the little girl that was broken and still trying to glue all the pieces together. Once I saw how he had changed me and how I had “changed” him, the air left my lungs faster than what it took me to fill them up. The safe façade I was portraying wasn’t more than that, a façade. Good enough to convince everyone else around me, but not enough to convince me that I was okay and finally ready to let all those memories go.  

And so, I was immerse in my thoughts that I stood still in front of a tree, admiring at the branches like they were the most precious creation on earth. There were no birds standing on them, meaning the cold was too much for them to even come outside on a clouded day. The soil beneath my feet was wet, covering my shoes on mud and a few strands of grass that I didn’t bother to clean. It was drizzling, a few sprinkles of water falling over me and making the humidity of my hair to turn into a frizz mess. I didn’t care, though, as I raised my face to the sky, so a few droplets of cold water could fall over my face, luckily waking me up from this mess with a special someone by my side on a cold morning. It didn’t, of course, but it was good enough to make my shoulders fall a little and the air return safely to my inner self.

The low steps behind me weren’t heard, neither were noticed the hands that held my waist after that, making me almost fell into the ground out of the surprise. The warmness of a body covered me up as a familiar face entered in my visual field, calming the rapid heart beating I was currently having. The softness of his glowing features was there, as his bright and big smile took my attention for a second. His dark eyes were shining, as he inspected my face like it was unknown for him. His soft hands held me without an effort, as if it was a natural action for him to hold me like this, making my body warm up. I sniffed a little, catching a mild scent of his cologne, recognizing it instantly as I placed my tiny hands on his broad chest.

The pompous material of his long coat tingled in my fingers, as I imaginary-drew slowly on the dark-colored lapels of it. A black turtle neck sweater raised from underneath it, causing a sophisticated look on his muscular figure. I ran my eyes from the tips of my fingers, through his long neck to his pointed chin, his rosy lips, buttoned nose and, finally, his shiny dark eyes. They were behind a pair of golden specs that I clearly knew he didn’t need but used to decorate his already pretty face. Strands of his silky black hair hung right over his eyes, barely touching his shaped eyebrows.

I saw him shifting his feet over the soil, pulling me closer to him as his soft lips touched my skin in graceful kiss on my forehead. I smiled content, holding his coat even harder than before, feeling the small movements, his chest did as he took long breaths of air.

“Where have you been, Y/N?”, his sweet voice said, catching my attention. I blinked, fully aware now, as I enjoyed his presence in front of me.

“I just finished my history class,” I responded, trying to avoid the sour tone in me as I remembered a certain red-haired. “What about you, Xiumin? Are you done now?”

He nodded happily, reminding me of a puppy. “I just finished my last English class, thankfully. I’m free for the rest of the day.”

I smiled knowingly, winking at him as I placed my now warm hands on his nape, playing with the short hairs that were in there. “Does it mean you’re all mine for the day? Hmm?” Xiumin chuckled under his breath, catching the tip of his tongue under his white teeth with amusement. I admired the way his shaped eyes almost disappeared as he smiled, remarking more of his rounded cheeks and true happiness while doing so. I close-smiled too, feeling strangely calmed too.

“It depends on what you have planned to do.”

“Is that a challenge?” His nose almost touched mine, as he got closer to my, probably blushed, face. I raised an eyebrow playfully, following his little game.

Xiumin shrugged, nonchalantly. “Maybe…” As he finished his sentence, his humid lips touched mine in a kiss, as his warmth engulfed me up completely. I kissed him back, almost standing in my tip-toes to reach his lips, but contently accepting the sudden show of affection the black-haired boy was giving me. He sighed happily, pulling me even closer, if that was possible, as if he wanted to merge with me once and for all. I had met him less than a month ago, mostly because Soo obliged me to, but I had enjoyed the time together. We both just had ended difficult “relationships” and weren’t looking for a “serious thing” right now, as if we were just playing around and enjoying what the future might bring for us.

I suddenly felt a strange sensation in the back of my head, so I pulled away from him for a bit, enough for me to catch my breath, and turned my head to see what was happening. I didn’t see anyone, though, since almost everyone was inside to keep their warmth, and Xiumin and I were the dumb enough to stand outside in the cold. The tips of his fingers touched mine, reaching for my hand to hold his, while his pink lips left a soft kiss in my jawline. I directed my eyes to the floor we stepped on, as his body pulled me beside him to the food trucks near the university. He told me about his day and I listened to it carefully, pushing the image of Baekhyun holding someone else out of my mind. The conversations with Xiumin always flowed easily, as if we had everything to talk about but at the same time nothing to share with each other. I knew something was off, something was missing, but I did my best to not follow those thoughts and just force myself to think about someone else other than him.

Xiumin had made his way into my life in an easy way. We both had met when we were too broken to even think properly, and had put each other’s pieces together for long enough that we shared time together often even if we didn’t have anything to do. It felt comfortable, easy to do, and I appreciated that after the constant roller coaster being with Baekhyun was. I liked the steadiness of it, keeping it simple and familiar to the point it felt like a constant thing. He seemed to enjoy it too, looking healthier and better than the first time I had met him, and I felt content I could help someone as good as him beside me.

He was in the middle of telling me a story, when my phone suddenly buzzed with a call of an unknown number. I frowned a bit, as he eyed my phone with a curious expression, as he sipped a gulp of his lemonade. I stood up, holding my finger up in a sign to ask him to wait, and walked far enough to listen to whoever was on the phone.

“Hello?”, I mumbled to the speaker. Someone on the other side of the phone inhaled with force, and coughed a bit. I bit the tip of my tongue, in order to distract myself, as I waited for the other person to finally identify.

“I can’t believe you replaced me already.”

A breath stuck in the back of my throat as I heard him inhale air again. The tips of my fingers started to tickle once again, and I almost dropped my phone

“Baekhyun?”, I mumbled, incredulous.

“Was it easy?”, he responded, avoiding my question even when I knew the answer. I frowned with confusion.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I felt frustrated, angry again with him. I wasn’t a toy for him to play whenever he wanted to, and knowing he was just looking for me because he felt threatened with his position as the one who broke my heart. I had seen him earlier with her, and now he seemed to have seen me with Xiumin, talking to me for the first time in a long time.

“You clearly know about what, Y/N”, he chuckled dryly with no humor at all. I clenched my fists in an unconscious manner, almost hearing my head clicking with several thoughts and ideas related about how bad I wanted to hurt him. About how badly I wanted him to know how much it hurt and how broken you felt once you were left by someone you trusted with every bone in your body.

“What do you want?”

“There are thousands of things I want, sweetheart”, he joked around, playing with my patience. “One billion won, for example.”

“Don’t we all…”, I rolled my eyes. “Stop fucking up with me and just tell me what you want.”

“You.”

I froze in place, opening my eyes as wide as I could. I felt my hands starting to tremble, feeling unsure of how to react. “W-what?”

He sighed with defeat. “I want you, Y/N.” Baekhyun stopped for a moment. “I wanted you before and still want you now. I haven’t stopped wanting you.”

He sounded so done, so… sick. His usually cheerful voice was soft, almost as if he was whispering every single word with a strange sensation of calmness and tiredness unusual in him. It almost made my heart clench. Almost. But I knew that it all was playing pretend and he was just pulling a show for me to fall all over my heels for him once again; believing all the crap that left his mouth, following him as if he was the legendary pied piper the old stories tended to tell.

“Stop it, Baekhyun.”, I barked. “Fucking stop and let me alone. Just get out of my life and live yours as however the hell you might want to.” I was sure I was almost red out of anger. How dared him to give himself the right to annoy me again after it took me so long to get over what he had done to me. I wanted to shout, kick and destroy everything I had in sight, clearly furious at myself for letting him have such a control over me not minding the past.

“You know I can’t, Y/N.” His voice suddenly felt too close, and I had to stop myself from turning around and placing my tired body against the wall. I was drained of whatever emotion I could ever hold on my body, feeling almost empty and ready to shut down. I sighed loudly, sensing a tight knot forming in the middle of my chest, crushing my lungs with ease. I needed to get rid of him, completely forgetting he once existed and made part of my short amount of life. He hadn’t been with me long enough but had managed to destroy me in such little pieces, not even the strongest glue in this world would be able to keep them back together.

“Baekhyun…”, I murmured again, eyes as tight closed as how they let me. The grip on my phone left my fingers almost numb.

The harsh breathing on the phone stopped, as he hung the phone as quickly as possible. I stood there, defeated and breathless, with half of my phone still clinging to the tip of my ear and the other hand hanging motionless from the edge of my blouse. I could see Xiumin still sitting on the table, eating his sandwich distractedly as he read something on his textbook and wrote on his notebook. My own plate of food was right in front of him, untouched and getting cold, but I couldn’t pull myself to go sit and eat it with him. I didn’t feel right anymore, and all I wanted was to go back home and sleep. I pushed myself off the wall and started to walk, before a hand placed itself over my shoulder, stopping any intention I had of going back with the dark-haired boy.

I followed the fingers that pressed the flesh on my shoulder, crashing with a familiar set of tattoos drawn over the skin. The long-sleeved shirt he was wearing was something I had given him a few weeks after we started this chaos. It was a stripped black and red shirt, mostly common but that somehow managed to fit as if it was made just for him. His red hair seemed like if he hadn’t combed it before coming here, and the lilac ovals under his eyes attracted my attention like a beacon. His usual rosy-plump lips were dry and ripped, as if he had bitten them too many times to even consider it healthy. His dark eyes stared at me with an expressionless face, and I could feel my skin burning there where he touched it.

“Come with me”, he ordered. His light tone was covered by a serious sound that came right from the back of his throat. His hand moved from my shoulder and closed itself around my wrist, pulling me a little bit closer to the heat of his body. I couldn’t find what to say, not when I could finally smell his cologne after weeks and feel his warmth after missing it so much it almost cut me open. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he observed me silently, asking in a silent request if I would follow him even when he knew I was badly hurt. My wrist slipped from his touch and I closed my hands in fists both at each side of my body, so I wouldn’t be able to unconsciously pull them up and finally feel the softness of his skin that I have been craving so much to touch.

“Leave me alone, I already asked once.” I responded instead.

He sighed exasperated and ran his fingers through his hair, as if he wanted to tear them out. His eyes closed with force as he spitted his next words one by one.

“Go back there and tell him you need to leave, and come with me.”

I chuckled with no humor at all. I couldn’t believe his words –no, I couldn’t believe him. And even so, I stared at him directly in the eye, looking for answers of questions I hadn’t even formulated yet. Looking for reasons to stay, to listen what he had to say, and just follow what he told me to do. I knew I was reckless and stupid, following him like a dog with the tail in between my legs, but it had been so long, and I just wanted to finish all the hell he put me through, so I would be able to continue with my life as I wanted to. If I left him behind, I would be able to start over where I had left it before his red hair, tattoos and meaningless words craved so deep into my flesh I was almost afraid I could never get completely rid of him.

I walked back to the table, fully aware his burning gaze was still lingering on my back, and placed myself in the empty booth left. Xiumin looked up, instantly smiling in my direction with warmth and a tiny sparkle in behind his dark eyes. I smiled back, crossing my fingers together as I prepared myself to tell him an excuse to leave and follow a certain devil that kept getting in my way. His hand placed itself in the table, caressing my knuckles softly, searching something in my eyes.

“Is everything alright?”, he wondered. “You look a little bit pale.”

I nodded carefully, smiling to reassure him as I took his hand in between mine. “I just had to take that call. Soo just called me, he needed a hand back at home. It’s okay if I leave you here and end the date for the day? I will pay you back, I promise.” As I expected, he smiled widely and nodded cheerfully, not minding if I had to leave him.

“It’s totally fine! I understand.” His soft lips placed themselves on the top of my fingers as a slight kiss. “Send Kyungsoo a hug for me.”

I stood up, and surrounded the table ready to give him a warm hug. He stood up too and engulfed me in between his arms, kissing the top of my head with fondness and ran his fingers over my back, sending small tickles to my spine. As we pulled apart, he nodded in my direction, and waved before sitting back in the table and continuing what he was doing earlier. I let a breath I didn’t know I was containing leave my lungs, stepping outside the small place and spotting Baekhyun right beside the door with a lollypop lazily hanging from his lips. His eyes were closed, and his head was pulled back, both of his hands in his back pockets. I cleared my throat, catching his attention before walking beside him to wherever he wanted to go.

He stopped in one of the design classes, opening the door with a small key that was hidden in his wallet, and left the door open for me to go inside. I inspected the whole class, ignoring his presence, as I visualized the last clothing designs the students were doing. There were some delicate drawings, followed by colors and explosions of imagination and creativity. Drafts were thrown and pasted everywhere, unintentionally decorating the class with their presence and as a form of inspiration for those who didn’t know what to do with those minds of theirs.

“That was pathetic”, he murmured out of the blue. I blinked repeatedly, confused while I concentrated myself back to him.

“What do you mean?”

Baekhyun chuckled, “You and him. It’s pathetic.” He sat himself in the main desk, staring at me with a smirk drawn over his features and both of hands behind him to support his body. I put my hands in my hips, frowning profoundly.

“I don’t see what none of that has to do with you”, I growled. “What I do or not do with someone is my problem, not yours.”

“Of course, it is my problem, sweetheart.” He chuckled. “Specially if it affects me directly.” He jumped back on his feet, walking slowly in my direction, like a lion following his prey with caution, scared it would run away.

“It affects me directly because he is involving himself with you.” Baekhyun’s nose suddenly touched my cheek, running till it caressed the core of my ear. “It affects me directly because he is the one who gets to be with you and he isn’t me.” I opened my eyes widely, and I stared at him with a serious expression. I was beyond pissed.

“What did you want me to do?” I shouted as I pushed his chest with as much force as I could. He barely seemed to notice, not even moving a bit. His face was scrunched, and I knew he was trying really hard to not scream at me. The veins in his neck were pulsing and both of his hands were fists pressed against his sides.

“Did you expect me to wait?” I continued. “You left me, Baekhyun! You never looked back and threw yourself to those girls like candy!”

“I left you because you asked me to!” He shouted back, losing the little sanity he had left. “I was the one all heartbroken when you kept living your life! I needed to distract myself!”

“Dist-distract yourself? Baekhyun, please! You and I both know that it wasn’t just a distraction!”

“Of course, it was! I had to get rid of your smell, rid of your kisses, rid of you!” By now, he was breathing so heavily that I could see his chest move in rapid ways. “I had to find a way to get rid of all of you, so I decided to find someone to replace you.”

“Seems like you did a pretty good job. Your flavor of the month is ten times better than what I ever was to you”

He looked away. “She is not you, Y/N. She wasn’t, isn’t and will never be you.”

“That’s what you said when I found out you were cheating on her with me. When I found you calling her, her memories, and when I found her fighting for you. Aren’t you ashamed Baekhyun? You played with the both us like toys.”

“That’s not true. I wasn’t happy with her. Not as how I was with you. I need you more than I need the air I breathe, Y/N. Don’t you fucking get that?”

His arm extended, taking my hand into his. I looked at him in the eye, searching for answers, something that made me think differently, but I found nothing else than dark holes looking away.

“I-I’m happy, Baekhyun. He makes me happier than you ever did”, slipped from my lips. It was a lie, a sweet lie that not even I believed, I barely knew the guy but Baekhyun didn’t know that, but I had to get away. I had to kick him out of my life, because if I kept him in it, I would’ve end up destroyed. His face hardened as he pressed his lips in a thin line, and his jaw tightened as well.

With a quick move, he took me by the wrists, twirling them with his fingers, barely applying any pressure on my skin. His large delicate fingers caused me a tickle that traveled through my arm, paralyzing me for a light moment. He towered over me, looking me right in the eye without saying a word.

He pulled his grip, dragging me towards him, and searching my eyes with his. I tensed my jaw, unsure of what to do and reluctant to his touch. It wasn’t that I didn’t want it, God knew I did. My body begged for his touch, his attentions and his caresses; but I couldn’t fall like this. I had to be strong and avoid looking weak in front of him.

His eyes softened almost immediately, when my eyes finally crashed with his and he brought his mouth near my hair, his soft lips brushing my ear. I breathed heavily and closed my eyes. Baekhyun knew what he was doing, and he used it against me. This was a fight I was going to lose sooner or later.

“You can lie to me as much as you want, Y/N”, he said softly, assuring that I couldn’t move. “Fuck. You can lie to yourself as much as you want, too. You can believe all the nonsense leaving your lips.”

I shook my head, not knowing what to do. What was he doing?

“You can tell me that you love him more than how you ever loved me”, he continued. “But they’re not more than empty words. We both know that at the end of the day, I’m the one you look for.”

A thread of brown hair appeared in my thoughts, but it was rapidly appeased by a sense of heat running in my arm. Baekhyun’s breath felt even closer and his body positioned behind mine, making my back crash against his hard chest. I felt my knees weaken, but I refused to show it. His fingers trailed to my collarbone, where they softly pulled from the fabric, uncovering my skin.

“He doesn’t know where’s your soft spot is.” Baekhyun whispered again, kissing a path from my collarbone to my neck. There where the heat and the tickles hit me harder every time he kissed me. There where my pulse was running every time he was close, just like now.  

“He doesn’t know where to find your weaknesses, Y/N”, he kept wandering in my neck with the tip of his nose. His hot breath couldn’t help but crash against it. “He doesn’t know where to touch your skin properly. He doesn’t know shit about you, even when he swears knowing you more than me.”

“Baekhyun…”, I finally said, unsure of my words. I couldn’t think clearly, since my mind kept spinning. It was always like this around him, it was like this since the very first moment I saw him. I was just too stupid to see it. Till now.

His hands slipped in mine, caressing them slowly, intertwining his fingers with my fingers. It felt so good. So… right. The ways his hand fitted perfectly with mine, making me feel protected and secure. I didn’t doubt that with Baekhyun I was feeling new things that I had never felt before.

“Don’t talk”, his thumb rubbed my knuckles, barely touching them. “It’s okay if you want me, because I want you too. Stop trying to avoid it, stop thinking. Just let it be.”

He surrounded my body and placed his hands over my waist. His eyes bored into mine, in such a way, that I saw myself drowning in their darkness. Millions of emotions swirled in them, overwhelming me. Unconsciously, I set my arms over his shoulders, caressing his face with the tips of my fingers, fascinated by the beauty of his face.

“He will never love you like I do.”

And when he silently asked for permission to kiss me, I nodded. Baekhyun smirked before crashing his lips against mine in a desperate manner; and someway, somehow, I knew he was right. I wouldn’t be able to find someone who pulled me in such a rollercoaster as Baekhyun did, nor someone who ignited a fire inside me that almost turned my bones into ashes, and my blood completely boil. He turned a spark in me that I’d never felt before, and I was sure no one else would be able to do it either. Somewhere in my subconscious, I had clear he was the one for me; specially when every piece of his body fit perfectly with mine. His lips, his fingers, his chest. Everything seemed like a finally resolved puzzle, and I had let it complete itself without even noticing it. 

And now, there was no way to undo it ever again.

[thedoodlezoo]

I Like You A Latte (Connor Murphy x Reader)

Summary: You work at a coffee shop, and Connor visits every day during your shift.

Words: 1564

Warnings: none

(A/N: Thank you for all the positive feedback on Pastels, my first oneshot! Here’s another for you guys!)

_________________________________

DING!

The little bell attached to the door rang so many times that Saturday morning, it was enough to make you sick. You took a deep breath, plastering on a fake smile for the abundance of cranky and rude customers waiting for their various coffee orders. You didn’t hate working there. You just hated all the people that worked there, and all the people you served, and…yeah, you hated working there.

Even so, sometimes the world would surprise you a little bit at work. It would bring in a cute customer, or a big tip, or a light day. Today was one of those days.

DING!

Sighing, you straightened your posture and smiled. “Hi! Welcome to Affogato, what can I-” you looked up at the customer stopping in your tracks. He was a gorgeous boy, with an aura that screamed mystery. Looking a little closer as he approached the counter, you recognized him as a boy from your homeroom.

Shit, did you just think Connor Murphy was cute?!? Well, I mean, he is, but god, chill!

“Connor Murphy?” You raised an eyebrow, smiling a genuine smile as you eyed him up and down. His long, chestnut brown hair was covered by a beanie, and his button nose was pink from the cold. You could tell he wasn’t in the mood for society today, but from what you’d heard about Connor, that was a constant thing for him. People talked about what a monster Connor Murphy was every single day at school. Of course they did, and it spread like wildfire because it was high school. You heard the stories, but you never really listened. You wanted to discover this kid on your own terms, unbiased. Connor tapped his chipped black painted nails on the counter with a curt nod.

“[Name]?” He made a noise somewhere in between a chuckle and a scoff. “Didn’t expect to see a face like you here.” He shrugged, not thinking anything else of it. “Black, two sugars,” Connor paused for a moment. “…please.” He muttered. Had you been a stranger, he probably wouldn’t have had the courtesy, or maybe he was just in a decent mood, but the gesture was an appreciated one no matter the reason.

You picked up a cup, getting to work. He made small talk as you poured.

“Whatcha up to this weekend?” Connor asked nonchalantly with a sigh. “Partying? Maybe running away to join the circus?” He asked sarcastically as you handed him his coffee. You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“As if I’m capable of doing extraordinary.” You joked. “Nope, just work. Saving up for something cool, like a camera or lava lamp or whatever people spend money on these days.” You straightened your apron. “You?” Connor bounced from one foot to another, finally deciding to take a seat on one of the counter stools.

“Oh, you know, the usual. It’s a toss up between doing nothing and being called a nuisance or doing something and being called a nuisance anyway” He looked into his abyss of a coffee cup. His lips curved into a sad smile. “Sorry, that was….satire.” Connor took out his wallet, fishing out two crisp dollar bills. “Keep the change” He instructed as he stood. Sipping his coffee, he left, and you stood there, lost in thought. No one, in your months of working there, had stopped to have a conversation with the exception of your best friends. You really didn’t know what to think. Who would?

__________________________

_________________

“No, Jared, it was so weird! But like, in a good way…” You trailed off, putting your phone on speaker and placing it on your desk. You were pacing around your room, talking to your problematic fave- the “insanely cool Jared Kleinman”, as he referred to himself.

“What, [name], it’s weird that he came into the coffee shop and ordered a coffee?” Jared pointed out, and you groaned.

“No, it’s weird that he was…I dunno! Everything about him just seems….like…I don’t even know what to think, dude.” You ran a hand through your hair. “It was like, he’s bitter, but chill, but kind and empathetic, but also sarcastic, but also genuine as hell?!?!? I’m sooo confused” You buried your face in your hands. Jared laughed.

“Has the stone cold heart found wuvvvvvv?” He teased. “I gotta say, dude, I didn’t think you were the angsty murderer type!” His laughter grew into hysterics, and you were quick to defend him. You weren’t sure why, though.

“Would you stop, Kleinman? He isn’t gonna shoot up the school or whatever. I bet you Connor’s really sweet.” You challenged. This got his attention.

“What have you even got to bet? Nothing I’d want” Jared sneered

“Gamestop visit with my credit card..” You smirked, and he audibly gasped into the phone.

“Holy shit, for serious? Don’t play with me like that, man” He said in disbelief.

“I’m 100 percent for serious.” You countered.

“Deal. And…if you win?” He asked, almost frightened. The stakes seemed high.

“When I win,” you think for a minute, “you have to become an apprentice park ranger with Evan for the summer.” You grinned.

“No fair, [name]!” he sighs. “You know what? Fine. But only because of the videogames. And you’re gonna lose.” Jared says as-a-matter-of-factly.

________________________________

Connor came in for the next week, ordering the same thing every single day. Even when you weren’t working mornings, Connor managed to come in during your shift. It was as if he knew your schedule, and he always came in later in your shift, when you were thoroughly tired and annoyed. It kind of cheered you up.

Sometimes, he stayed for a while and talk. He’d sit on his same stool, drinking his same coffee, with his name written on his cup in the same handwriting.    

“Hey, doll,” He’d smile his toothy smile. You found his dorky platonic pet names funny. “I brought you a muffin. Maybe…spend your break with me?” Connor would suggest.

Other times, he’d sit in the corner at a table, long legs crossed as he read for hours. You’d keep the coffee coming, and you’d watch him read, and it was, in a way, blissful.

“You know, the man bun really completes the whole ‘hipster teen reading in a coffee shop aesthetic’. It looks good on you, Murphy.” You’d nudge his shoulder, and he’d be too focused to even bat an eye.

Sunday, Sunday was different though. You kept busy during your shift, serving customers with your usual fake smile. The authentic one was reserved for Connor Murphy.

Hours passed, and your giddiness faded into fatigue.Glancing up at the clock, time seemed to pause. You evaluated your surroundings.The smell of coffee grinds, the bustling people, the soft jazz melodically jingling in the background. It seemed hazy and surreal, and you wanted to stop thinking.

You wanted to start being. Being with him. Connor Murphy liked spending time with you. He made you feel special. He made this melancholy, dreadful job something you looked forward to dragging yourself to.

Tick tock. Tick tock.

The clock loomed over you, the noises echoing through your skull. You just wanted it all to be over,

And suddenly, it was. A hand on your shoulder was your signal to leave.

“[Name]? Your shift is over. You’re free to go!” She was excited on your behalf, but your heart sank at the news.

Connor hadn’t come today.

The question was, why? Was he, like, busy? You couldn’t imagine having Connor Murphy having actual plans. All he did was get high and drink coffee. Maybe he didn’t want coffee today. You were upset, and wished it wasn’t such a big deal to you, but you felt as if it was.

You sat at a table, lacking the energy to walk home. Inhaling slowly, more memories of Connor flooded into your mind.

“Hey, how was the circus?” Connor asked, yawning. He usually made comments like this with a straight face. It was as if his smile was implied.

“Not as glamorous as I thought, so I came back.” You shrug with a small smile.

“Who comes back after running away from home?” Connor met your eyes with his own blue and brown ones, and you practically melted.

“I dunno, Murphy. People who are homesick, I guess.” You sigh, sliding him his usual.

You focused on reality again, looking out the window. You were so amused by the normality of the scene, you almost didn’t notice the coffee place in front of you.

“Excuse me?” You looked at the paper cup curiously. It was black with two sugars, making you all the more distressed. “What kind of weird ass joke-” You looked up to find Connor in an Affogato uniform with a goofy grin.

“Hi there, [name]. You want anything?” He smirked. You stood up, wrapping your arms around his neck and getting on your tippy toes.

“Just this” You pressed your lips to his, and Connor reciprocated without hesitation. He pulled you closer by your waist, and after a few seconds, he pulled away breathlessly.

“Check the cup again” Connor whispered in your ear. Curious, you picked it up and turned it over. He had scribbled something on the cup in his mediocre handwriting:

I like you a latte. My number is ***-***-****. Use it ;)

Jared was gonna look great in his apprentice park ranger uniform.

[nookishposts]

Keepers

I decided many years ago not to have children. I love kids and love spending time with other people’s kids. Children’s choirs with those reedy innocent voices never fail to move me to tears. I was a summer camp theatre arts teacher for a number of years, and I am often the first one to get down on the rug with a wee one learning to crawl. The smell of baby, especially a sleepy one nestled against my chest is the breath of heaven. My choice has nothing to do with kids themselves and everything to do with me. I come from a swamp of family health issues: cancer, heart disease, diabetes and far too many incidents of serious mental illness resulting in a lot of suicides. I felt neither prepared nor compelled to parent , especially given the possible inheritances, and because I had so much growing up of my own to do. At 58, I have no regrets about this. My sister also chose not to have kids for her own reasons. So, effectively our parents contributions to the gene pool will die when we do. If I have any regret at all it’s that my Mum didn’t get the pleasure of grand-parenting, but thankfully she fully supports our choices. I have friends and acquaintances in this world who are absolutely awesome parents, raising kids who will definitely make this world a better one. I am delighted to support those efforts in any way they ask.

Part of the mid-life reflection involves considering legacy; I think some of us will admit to wondering what effect our lives have had, if any at all. Will we be remembered or will our brief tenure on the planet quickly disappear into the ether? We are just minute pinpricks on the greater pointillist picture of Time anyway, so what does it matter?

What got me thinking about this was the process of packing to sell a house, stuff in storage for 3 months and then unpacking it at our final destination. We had done what we thought was a major purge before squirrelling things away, but as we unpacked I found myself thinking : why the heck did I keep this? We all seem to retain some momentos of special times in our lives and that’s understandable, but I came across an awful lot of boxes that had not been opened since we moved to Winnipeg in 2009...for 10 years they’ve just been hauled around next to the necessities of pots and pans and winter boots. Why keep them at all? Watching a bit of Marie Kondo with My Beloved, didn’t help, in fact I found her downright annoying which is not usually like me at all. I guess it felt like she challenged things I wasn’t ready to face.

Some of those boxes I know for sure I will never let go of; the one with the Fair Isle sweater my Grandma made for me, my Grandpa’s service medals, and the first piece of jewelry gifted by a family friend when I was born (Does anybody even remember Sarah Coventry bracelets?)

There are boxes pertaining to my former schools and places of work and trips I’ve enjoyed, volunteers gigs that were impactful, bits of inherited china that I don’t imagine I will ever use: I can admire fine bone china tea cups and saucers, but since I have muscley massage and gardening paws (whereas my sister’s hands are slender and delicate despite being hardworking ) I tend to drop things. My klutziness is legendary. Every one who knows me has a story of how graceless they’ve seen me be. Not everyone you know can achieve a paper cut on their tongue licking a Christmas Card envelope. But I digress.

It is dawning on me that in a way, those boxes validate the person I was becoming. High school year books are full of sentimental awe and angst; look at those hairstyles and remember how we were sure we were “all that” and then some. Achingly fond memories of dances and all night conversations, cheering from the stands wearing school colours with great sense of belonging, the first terrifying day of Grade Nine weighed against walking across the graduation stage such a few years later. Same with college and university; who was that passionate being with boundless energy for learning,who slipped so easily and with such ferocious idealism into 30 years of feminist marches and human rights campaigns? What happened to that young woman who in spite of hating airplanes flew by herself all the way to Australia and back looking to answer some big questions? Or the crazy theater student who performed street mime and Shakespeare, dressing from the second-hand store in androgynous suits  carrying a guitar everywhere, hitch-hiking between small -town pubs. Or the one who took a summer to hike the entirety of the Bruce Trail from end to end. It turns out she’s in boxes among the t-shirts and the handbills and the polaroid photos. She in the boxes from the YWCA as Aquatic Director, WUM as a Housing Counsellor, Gomorrah’s as a bookstore employee, The AIDS Network as Director of Volunteers. And in the endless boxes of books; about massage and gardening, and eco-living, and spirituality and cooking and favourite novels by authors whose stories generated both laughter and sense.

But what do I do with it all?

My Beloved and I were laying in bed recently, chatting sleepily as we recounted our day. One of the questions I keep hearing lately in social media is : “What would you do if you weren’t afraid?”  Both of us admitted that we would take only what could fit in a knapsack and travel the World. Which, given that we have spent 11 years looking for the right place to settle down, and have finally found it, is deeply ironic. 

I could not fit all of those boxes into my knapsack. The weight of it would crush me. So why, as an armchair traveller am I holding on to them now? I am not a hoarder by a long stretch. But I suspect I have to a need to prove to myself the existence of my being. People with children see themselves looking back at them through the eyes and hair and mannerisms of their offspring, even those not biologically born to them. Grandchildren increase that evidence exponentially and carry the torch forward casting their light into those generations to come. No boxes required. Perpetuating existence proves itself. The stories will survive.

My task now is to decide if I need to hold onto momentos that prove the moments that made me. When I managed a thrift store, I used to wonder at the treasures that came through the doors when somebody decided to clean out an attic. Wartime photos, first edition books, delicate china and silver engraved with initials, diaries, wedding dresses, inscribed jewelry....the sale of those special pieces helped keep the doors of a food bank open and the kids after school programs running, but sometimes it felt sad to me to be putting a thrift store price on something that had once been so precious to someone else. We are collectors, but we inevitably outgrow those collections and the kids and grandkids may not see the same value in what we’ve saved as we did when we carefully boxed things away. 

Nobody else is going to want keepsakes from my schools, my travels and my jobs, and they are of no practical use to me now except perhaps as kindling for a bonfire on a starry night. Better they be incinerated in a communal act of warmth and light, perhaps with storytelling, than go into a landfill. There are family heirlooms I will eventually find other homes for among my cousins and their kids I suppose, as they aren’t really wholly mine to dispose of.There are lots of other things that will never mean anything to anybody but me. And as long as I can remember to tell the stories, I suppose those will pack nicely into the knapsack as I travel into this next phase of life as a self-sustaining steward of the Planet. When I can no longer remember the stories, the reminders won’t matter anymore anyway. Best they be dispersed now to do whatever good they might for someone else. Or is that an excuse to just hand off the responsibility? I’m not completely sure. 

I am too old to really need the proof that I have lived, and there’s a lot of living yet to do. The accumulation of non-practical stuff needs to stop, and space for new experience needs to be cleared. The garage attached to our home has been converted into a very large workshop space, insulated and heated, with windows and outlets everywhere. The previous owner had amazing tools in there and created amazing things. But we have filled it with boxes. There are 3 giant Tupperware bins of music CDs alone. At least 6 of books. We have more duplicates of tools than we know what to do with. More artwork than we have wall space for. Camping gear that may have reached redundancy now that we live surrounded by woods and 3 minutes from a lake. Things don’t define a person, they never have. But I lulled myself into thinking I needed validation through proof. I have no children or grandchildren to inherit the proof of anything. My ancestors stories will continue through the rest of the family and I can help by  being one of the ones committed to writing them down.  Electronic storage takes up way less space and is more accessible than a box in an attic. It’s an easier inheritance to manage.

Of course there will be those things I will choose to keep simply because they please me. I’ve a collection of small indigenous carvings of animal spirits that give me great joy to handle. I still have my massage table because I can still do that work if called upon. I will likely get rid of most of the linens that supported it as a business, maybe  see if a young masseuse might like some of the books and tools to help set up their own practice. Inevitably, certain things will end up in the bins of a thrift store. The workroom will get emptied and become once more a place of creation; shelves for things we’ve grown and preserved in our gardens, space for my Beloved to set up her loom and spinning wheel. A corner for my desk and a designated spot to see if I can put my money where my mouth is as a writer, to finish a novel and assemble a collection of musings. There needs to be space for Marie Kondo’s idea of “sparking joy” to come from within and take form. Who knows how much travelling we will do, and the various forms that might take. We’ve spent 11 years coming to this place with a very specific way of living in mind and the incredible joy in being here will carry us forward. Joy need not be a collection of inheritances or things amassed; I think I have decided joy can be an acronym for Just Open Yourself. It will not matter if I existed after I am gone, only that I lived in a way that honours the opportunities while I am here now. Those boxes are filled with reminders of amazing past moments, but I hope I am the distillation of those formative gifts, including all of the people and places that challenged me to shed one more layer of shell in order to grow. There is nothing to prove. There’s only what the sum of yesterday can offer today, and if I’m lucky, a series of tomorrows. It all fits in a knapsack.

[kit-kat-draws2798-blog]

Just gonna put this here since I haven't really done much else tbh Lack of inspiration hit me like a brick. Love him pls he's precious- ✦General Information✦ Name: Oliver King Nickname(s): Oli, Ovie, etc Age: 19 years old Gender: Male Species: Otter kemonomimi Preference: Homosexual Height: 5’0 ft (Very smol) ✦Reside✦ Living Location: In a studio apartment near the college he attends ✦RELATIONS✦ (Name): Colleen King (mother) Oliver is pretty close to his mother and likes to hang out her when he has the time. They do puzzles, card games,etc and chat. (Name):Samuel King (Father) Oli has a close relationship with his father, doing some kinds of sports together. They like to swim and go on short hikes. (Name):Livvy King (Little sister) Oli's relationship with his sister is pretty decent, but is a bit hard. They have about a 14 year age gap, so it honestly depends on the situation. They do generally get along though. (Name):Akuma Akuma is Oli's bf and he loves him to pieces despite how dangerous he is. Would do almost anything for him~ (Name):Ace Wellingstone Ace has been Oli’s best friend for a while now, ever since they were children. They have always been very close, and Oli feels like he can tell him anything. However, Oli is completely unaware of Ace’s romantic feelings towards him. Poor bby, he’ll never really be able to be with Oli since he’s in love with Akuma :’D (Name):Dawn Will be added later once this character is more developed (Name):Finian Will be added later once this character is more developed (Name):Raiden Labs Oli and Raiden get along pretty well despite a 5 year age difference. They hang out sometimes at the hideout whenever Raiden isn’t too busy. They like to talk and listen to music together. (Name):Ryan Prescod Oli’s abusive ex boyfriend. He used to mentally and verbally abuse him in the time they were together. This resulted with Oli having some insecurities from his belittling, and has grown to fear him. Just the sight of his face scares Oli. ✦PERSONALITY✦ -Caring: He has a soft spot for helping people, will go out of his way to assist others. -Cheerful: Oliver is a huge optimist and tends to see the good in everything and everyone. -Neat: Loves to keep everything tidy and organized! He gets a bit stressed when things aren’t in order.. -Considerate: He tries his best to be conscious of other people’s feelings/needs, and gets sad when others are upset. -Energetic: Seemingly has unlimited amounts of energy, even after doing a strenuous activity. He doesn’t get tired easily. -Gentle:Hates hurting anyone, tries to be as soft as possible. -Loyal: Is like a dog in this aspect. -Playful: Loves messing around and having some goofy fun. -Sweet: He’s like sugar dear god. -Quiet: Usually like this around strangers or people he doesn’t know very well. He likes to make sure they’re comfortable with something before bringing it up. -Pure: Doesn’t really get adult humor somehow even though he’s 19-- also doesn’t really swear. -Clumsy: He’s not super clumsy, but tends to trip on the stupidest objects all the time (Ex: Falls up the stairs a lot) -Gets distracted pretty easily. Makes him a tad forgetful as well sometimes. -Excitable: Goes for anything he likes-from tv shows to friends- he gets hyped easily. -Insecure: The main reason being because of his Ex, who mentally/emotionally abused him. -Naive: Ties in with him being pure, he’s a bit too trusting and caring. -Soft hearted: Being the overly kind and trusting boy he is, he often gets taken advantage because of it. -Sensitive: Not hugely so, but he does take mean words a bit more to heart than others. -Weak: He’s not very strong and can’t fend for himself very well. ✦LIKES/DISLIKES✦ Likes: -Anything that has to do with water. Particularly swimming. -Cute things/people -Hugs -Animals. Pretty much any of them. -Outdoors -Flowers and plants in general -Bees. They help the plants grow :3 -Pastels -Sweet and salty foods -Soft clothes and items -Watching tv with people he likes -Doodling -Autumn -Hot Chocolate -Baggy clothes and scarves -Rain -Etc Dislikes: -When it’s overly hot or cold -Anything even a little spicy -People getting hurt or upset -Lack of inspiration -Loud noises -BUGS (Especially moths) -Rude or hurtful behavior -etc (He’s pretty positive, so not a lot of things actually bother him) ✦Skills✦ -2D artist (Draws traditionally and digitally. He specializes in a cute cartoony like style, and often paints with watercolor) -Is a really good swimmer. Could’ve gone professional if he wasn’t so into his art. ✦BACKGROUND✦ Childhood: Oliver was born and raised in a city called *insert name*. He lived with his family that consists of his mother, father, and little sister. He had a very normal and happy childhood and has a strong relationship with his family. He was one of those kids you’d probably call a goody two shoes. He didn’t really do anything wrong and spent most of his time either with his family, friends, or finishing up his schoolwork. Despite Oli being a naive child, he was pretty smart and had good grades. Adolescence: Middle school was pretty much all around the same for Oli, nothing really changed for him until freshman year of high school. That time was the one that really shaped him, and not really in a good way. That year he met this boy named Ryan Prescod. He was the captain of the football team, tall, handsome, charismatic. Oli couldn’t help but to completely fall for him. Ryan however, saw an opportunity in this. Oli is the kind of kid that you could manipulate into doing most anything and Ryan liked that. He used warm and loving words to get Oli in the palm of his hands. He saw him as a means to get what he wants, not for a loving relationship. Ryan was really sweet and caring at first, but shortly after they got together, he began to show his true colors. When Ryan didn’t get his way, he’d insult and belittle Oli, to the point it made him actually believe that what he said was true. It was definitely a mentally/emotionally abusive relationship. Hell, he would sometimes beat him a little, but only in spots where the bruises and cuts could be covered up. Ryan even tried to control who he was hanging out with and for how long. This went on for about four months, until others intervened and broke it off. That left Oliver broken for a while, with insecurities that Ryan instilled into him. Oli still acted like he usually did, keeping these things to himself. The last thing he likes to do is worry the people around him. He silently suffered with these fears and insecurities. After all, this happened, Oli got anxious when he started developing even a slight crush. Fearing it might end up like the last relationship, or that he just wouldn’t be good enough. About two years later, in junior year, in his English class, he was paired up with this boy named Akuma. He was infamous around the school for getting into violent fights with other kids and other horrible rumors that liked to float around. Of course, Oli was intimidated at first but was curious to see if he was truly as bad as everyone painted Akuma to be. The two boys would butt heads a little during the time they worked together, but after some time, they got along for the most part. Despite Akuma’s bad reputation, Oli got attached to him and wanted to get to know him more. Akuma was reluctant at first, but let him stick around anyway. They became pretty close after a while, and to Oli’s surprise, started to really like him. He began to panic as soon as he realized this, old memories of his last relationship flooding back onto him like a tidal wave. It took him a bit to calm down and come to terms with his feelings. He realized, based on what he knew of Akuma, that he would most likely never do that. He actually became really sensitive and agitated whenever Oli was even the slight bit injured or when he just looked upset. When Oliver eventually built up the courage, he confessed to Akuma when they were alone. Akuma eventually accepted his feelings and they started dating. They decided to keep it to themselves for a while, eventually gradually telling the people close to them. It was mostly due to the nature of their relationship and their vastly different lifestyles. Adulthood: Currently, Oliver is a nineteen-year-old college student studying art (specifically illustration, a little bit of animation). He lives in a studio apartment near the school but often likes to stay at his bf’s place. Although it is kind of far away from his apartment. He's pretty content on how his life is going so far. ✦ Other Info✦ He has a sun tattoo on the left side of his chest. (I’ll add more as I develop him <3) Note: I will be adding more outfits for him because he needs all the outfits All feminine ofc Also I don't mind adding more relationships for him, I'd prefer kemonomimis tho, as that's the kinda universe he's set in. Also I might redraw this later as I'm not really too happy with it--- ;;v;; Character and art(c) Kit-Kat-Draws Design by @/BurntUniverse Some of the other characters mentioned belong to KoKo-The-Rabbit

[wispyrainbow]

Kris Soyer Reference Sheet

-Basics-

Name(Nickname): Kristina ‘Kris’ Aimee Soyer(Krissy)

Age: 26

Gender: Female

Race: French-Hawaiian

VIT(Very Important Things): Is In a Roller Derby team with Philomena, Participated in a Karate Match and Got 2nd Place, Can get drunk off a certain amount of milkshakes, Can’t get drunk off any alcoholic beverages, Sucks at Cooking Souffles(seriously, she almost burned down the kitchen once)

DOB: 8/23/1992

-Physical Details-

Build/Body Type/Physical Frame: Chubby/Endomorph with a 42G-Cup Size

Height: 5’3”

Weight: 170

Skin: Warm Brown

Hair: Burnt Orange Big Curly Natural Fro Put Up Into a Ponytail That Bunches Around Her Shoulders(Usually Expresses To Match Her Emotions)

Eyes: Baby Blue

Other defining features/extra anatomy: Cat-like Fangs, Permanent Blush Lines, A Round Face, A Button Nose, Plump Lips, A Heart-shaped Beauty Mark on her Left Arm and A Deep Lacerations on Her Right Arm(Covered by Bandage)

Habits: Smiles, Wakes up Early, Motivates Herself, Nail biter, Cracks her knuckles, Hums to herself, Yoga, Takes Pictures with Polaroid, Says Yes to Everything, Ballet, Loses her temper, Bites Lips, Curls hair with Fingers, Takes Notes

Gestures/Mannerisms: Head Tilt, Open Hands, Makes hands-to-face gestures, Bites Fingernails, Swaying, Tugs ears, Rubs hand through Hair, Short Breaths, Plays with either a pen or marker, Hands behind back

Demeanor/Carriage/Gait: Compassionate, Honest, Optimism, Loving, Hard-working, Polite, High-spirited, Cautious, Fickle, Feminine, Walks Fairly on Legs, Ordinary Gait

Voice: Motherly-like, Nearly professional but silly, Speaks with a near topical tone Says slang like 'Couch Potato' and 'Crash'

Style: Normal

Clothing: A Pale Pink Bandana Headband

A Black Choker with A Gold Bell Attached

A Red and Black Off Both Shoulders Hooded(Black Hood with A Cat Face and Ears) Exotic Ribbon Smock Top with A Black Cat Tail Attached and Matching Detachable Short Sleeves

A Black Thickstrap Underneath

Pairs of Transparent, Paracord, and Rubber Bracelets on Both her Wrists

Short Black Fingerless Cat Paw Gloves

A Pair of Cuffed Denim Blue Booty Shorts

Black Distressed Ripped Leggings Underneath

Pink Colored Long Legwarmers that Cover Half of her Lower Legs and Sneakers

Pale Yellow with a White Tongue And Black Loosely Tied Sneakers with Small Cat Pawprints At the Bottom of Her Sneakers

-Personality-

Part One: Basic Info

Loves/Favorites: Her cat Orville(A Fluffy Bi-Color which Has a Light Blue Collar with A Bell Attached Around it’s Neck), Winter, Her friends and family, Heavy Metal and Rock, Baseball, Nature + Camping, Romantic Comedies, Karate, Dancing, Her Camper Van ‘Mighty Flower Power’, 60s clothing, Flower Crowns, Pop Music, Animals, Wrestling and Boxing, Fish, Omurice, Traveling, Polaroid Cameras and Pictures, Beaches, Parties, Sweets, Solar Eclipses, The Ocean, Honey, Legwarmers, Sweet Cinnamon Milk Tea, Swedish Fish, Sleepovers, Games, Romance Books, Mythology Books, Giving Hugs, Being Happy, Spam Musubi, Malasadas, Poi, BDSM Methods and Magazines(Though she refuses to reveal this to her friends and family)

Hates: Rivalries, Despair, Cockroaches(she will go through hell and back to get rid of it, or try and hide from any roaches), Giving up, Jellyfishes, Bullying, Crying, The 3 A’s, Being Late, People who never take responsibilities for their actions, Snobs, Nuts, Being anxious/depressed, Feeling dissatisfaction/disappointment, Feeling unpleasant, Her temper, Her Claustrophobia, Laziness, Pineapples, Two-timers, Being told to calm down, Germs, Horror movies, The heat, Hypocrites

Hobbies: Yoga, Dance, Carving, Baking, Baseball, Origami, Camping, Bicycle riding, Poetry, Knitting, Photography, Karate, Roller Derby

Talents/Skills: Basic First Aid, Sewing, Aerobics, Gains the trust of others, Gardening, Hospitality, Lip reading

Hopes/Dreams: To Find Some Place in Her Heart and Mind to Forgive Her Dad, To Find a More Stable Place to Work than Where's She At and to Move past some less than stellar moments

Fears/Nightmares: Her dad, Losing her friends and family, More acts of emotional and physical abuse being inflicted on the ones she loves and herself, A Cramp, Small Space being A means of her Death

Best Quality: Her kindness

Greatest Flaw: Her own Fierce Temper

Character Strengths: Her Optimism, Her Kidness, Supportive, Patient, Her Vitality, Technical Pacifism, Humility, Mercy/Forgiveness

And the coinciding weaknesses: Naive, Non-violent, Pacifist, Soft-hearted, Quick-tempered, Absent-minded, Disturbed, Cannot Keep a Secret, Guilt Complex, Guilty Pleasure

Quirks: Sneezes when nervous/anxious, Hears voices/sounds at times, Terrible Liar, Feels like she’s too needy, Claustrophobic, Does everything twice, Always trying to be positive, Do-gooder, Photographer

One thing she is and one thing she is not: Sweet but not exactly innocent/pure

What she wants (ex: move towards) and doesn’t want (ex: move away from, avoid): Just wants everyone and herself to be happy but wants to avoid confrontation

Part Two: In-depth Analysis

How does the character picture herself: A needy, pathetic optimist who wants to pretend I’m someone I believe I can never be whose temper is uncontrolled which can and will hurt someone I love

How do others see her: A nice girl who cares about others but whose temper needs to be grounded and kept under

Five adjectives that she would use to describe herself: Motivated, Responsible, Finicky, Overemotional, Soft

Five adjectives that others would use to describe her: Upbeat, Committed, Goody two shoes, Wet Blanket, Unchanging

Most Value Possession: Her Headband Bandanna Scarf she received from Dylan when they were kids

Darkest Secret/Treasured Memory: Her father emotionally and mentally abused her as a child and up to her teen years(Secret) and Befriending her friends and being part of a group(Treasured Memory)

Proud Accomplishment/Greatest Failure: Graduating Medical School To Become a Full-Time Nurse(Accomplishment) and Accidentally allowing her dad to injure Parker during one of his abusive states(Failure)

Is she motivated by possibility or necessity: She is a mixed case, seeing it as possible to complete stuff with clean motivation while also believing it to be a necessity in order to thrive on, though only if its something legal and healthy

Current Motivation: Just a need to get by and move on

How does she view the future and/or the past: She view the future as an improvement over everything else and the past as just plain disgusting

What is her philosophy on life and death: Life is something you shouldn't waste by believing that nothing matters and that death, while scary, is something to allow as a sorta of closure

What kind of energy level do they usually have: A inclination of positivism and optimism

How does she show and/or handle: love, affection, grief, pain, anger, sadness, conflict, change, loss: A stammering mess(love), Affectionate and total sweetheart(affection), Goes through a BSOD before fulling letting it out(grief), Shock, confusion and generally broken(pain), A destructive and furious wave that refuses to calm down(anger), Mourning and just a general mess(sadness), Generally trying to avoid any sort(conflict), Accepting despite it all(change), Monotonic and silent with chances of mumbling to herself(loss)

Does she have a temper: Oh YES

How does she respond to the surrounding world, the ‘unfamiliar,’ and other people in general: Generally ok(the surrounding world), Tries to approach in order to get a better understanding(the 'unfamiliar'), Friendly around others but isn't afraid to generally snap if they get on her bad side(people in general)

Polite or rude: Polite all around except if annoyed

Stingy or generous: Generous

What kind of ‘public’ face does she display: A sweet and optimistic outlook

Leader or a follower: A general mix of both

More happy by themselves or in a group: Happy in a group

Does she have any addictions/dependencies/fixations/fetishes/ or other strange behavior: Chewing Coffee Beans, BDSM and Aftercare, Spanking, Yaoi books, Shibari and Safeword

What is her sexual preference/experience/values: Doesn't mind any biological sex, gender or gender identity, Is ok with anything to satisfy her partner, Just wants to make whoever she's with happy

-History/Background-

Setting: Modern living with her friends(Dylan, Terry, and Philomena) in a town called NewDugWood

Occupation: Works 9-5 (sometimes works the night shift) as a nurse at the Peniko Hospital in the busy city parts of NewDugWood

Educational background/other learning experiences: All Years of Pre-K, Elementary, Middle and High School and 4 years of Medical School

Intelligence Level: College Level

Short Term Goals: To make as many friends as possible and to enjoy her life in general

Long Term Goals: To forgive her dad(though that proves impossible at the moment) and to find some form of happiness

Family: Kalia Alana-Soyer-Mother(her inspiration and basic muse), Ace Soyer-Father(angry at him for past abuse, is trying to forgive but can't), Noelani Alana-Kuku Wahine/Grandmother(Loves Spending time with, learned a lot from), Akamu Alana-Tutu Kane/Grandfather+(Misses Greatly, Another Muse for her as well and loved spending time with), Aison Callas-Soyer-Stepfather(loves him, looks up more to him than Ace), Parker Soyer-Younger Brother(Tolerates but loves regardless), Winry Callas-Soyer-Stepsister(Loves and cares about, basically admirer for her)-regardless of her father, they do love each other and are trying to find someway to forgive Ace

Friends: Dylan Akiyama-Childhood Friend(generally cares about him, worries about his health), Terry Mayfair-Childhood Friend(a bit awkward around him but is friendly nonetheless), Philomena Weber-Childhood Friend/Sister from another Mother(hangs out with and generally jokes with), Haruka Wilson-Young Girl Currently Being Taken Care of By Ms. Penny (Loves her and plays pretend with her at any moment), Shawny-Friend(respects but warns him against hurting Dylan), Montague+(trusted more than anyone knew, mourns him still), Bonnie Turner-Best Friend(Known since medical school, a tight trust with her), Iris-Android(tries to teach forms of humanity to,loves)

-Combat-

Physical Strength: Advanced strength and Acrofatic

Coordination/Reflexes: Lands on her Feet Quite Well(similar to a cat)

Fighting Style: Karate/Some Forms of Yoga

Unusual Abilities/Powers: About 6-7 on her abilities and a Bakeneko(other stories)

Weapons/Other Gear: Pair of Duel Clawed Arm Gauntlets/Arm Cannons