#and like. it's so fucking elusive i keep forgetting my points the second i make them

[elytrafemme]

at the worst part of essay writing btw (not done putting in quotes or finishing the essay but already at word limit meaning regardless of what i write i am going to have to trim it down anyway aueuehghg)

[leejenowrld]

mfal yn got pissed off so bad (not bcz jeno) and jeno helping her like “are u still mad? then come sit on my face, i will make you forget about it” UGHGHVHV do you get what i mean omg i so terrible at explaining but up to you to write it hehe

as you stand there, frustration bubbling up, your voice rises with each word as you moan about something jeno's done. but he's not focusing or taking you seriously. arms crossed in silence, he gazes up at you with lust in his eyes, his tongue prodding against the side of his cheek.

jeno says, "you're still mad?" with humor in his voice. then, his tone darkens, and without breaking eye contact with you, he leans back against the sofa and lays his head down. "then come and sit on my face, i'll make you forget all about it." his voice rumbles with desire, his eyes smoldering with lust as he gazes up at you.

you're lost for words, but before you know it, you're moving to him. as you lean over him, he chuckles and raises your skirt, pulling down your lace panties. the second you're sat on his face, you feel his warm breath against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. he grips your thighs and cages you on either side of his face, sensing your anger and desire, igniting a primal urge between you.

his hands grip your thighs tightly, keeping you in place as you grind against his mouth, seeking the pleasure only he can provide. his tongue explores every inch of your folds, his skilled movements driving you wild with desire.

as he begins to eat you out, his tongue explores every inch of your folds with expert precision. you can't help but moan softly, the sensation overwhelming as he delves deeper, his movements slow and deliberate. "i'm so fucking mad – oh – oh fuck jeno – FUCK!!!" you whimper, your voice a mix of anger and pleasure.

his lips and tongue work in perfect harmony, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. each flick of his tongue sends sparks flying, driving you closer to the edge. "yes, just like that," you growl, your fingers tangling in his hair as you press yourself closer to his mouth.

you can feel the tension building within you, the need for release growing with each passing moment. "please, don't stop," you demand, the desperation evident in your voice as you chase the elusive peak of pleasure.

jeno responds with a growl of approval, his movements becoming more fervent as he redoubles his efforts to please you. his hands grip your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he devours you with an insatiable hunger.

you can feel the heat building within you, the pressure reaching its breaking point. "i'm close," you gasp, the words tumbling from your lips in a breathless rush.

with a final, desperate push, you topple over the edge, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as you ride out your orgasm. "jeno!" you cry out, your voice echoing in the room as pleasure washes over you in relentless waves.

he doesn't stop, his ministrations only intensifying as he continues to bring you to new heights of pleasure. "again," you demand, your voice barely a whisper as you chase your release once more.

and he obliges, his tongue relentless as it drives you to the brink again and again. "i forgive you," you gasp between moans, the words spilling from your lips in a fervent confession of desire.

with a satisfied sigh, you collapse against him, trembling, your body still buzzing with the aftershocks of your release. jeno looks up at you with a smug grin, his eyes filled with triumph and satisfaction as he pulls you close, knowing that he has succeeded in his mission to make you forgive him, even if only for a moment.

[ursbearhug]

I'm gonna bite somebody.

It's upsetting me how everybody will be say shit like "well, people don't owe you their time and attention just because we have smartphones on us 24/7 bla bla bla", clealry missing my point when I complain about people being unreachable.

You know what's the difference between your boss expecting you to be under your phone 24/7 just in case you need to pull extra hours and cover for somebody and me desperately wanting to talk to my friend for over 15 months now? No?

Look, I very rarely expect people to respond to me immediately. Heck, more often than not I'm positively suprised when they manage to respond to me the same day if not the same week. For the most part, I'm not dealing with shit so important that people absolutely HAVE to respond to me immediately. I care about my friends and their well being. I care about keeping my friendships in pristine condition. I cannot do either when our only way of keeping in touch is in that unreliable, technologically inept, metal piece of shit.

Normally, I'd playing it cool and be like "well my galaxy brain uwu take is..." but I'm gonna be completely frank and upfront and say that I'm fucking pissed off and tried. I don't have strength in me to pretend I care, when reality is I was through trying back in June. 3 different messages, across 3 different platforms and 7 unanswered phone calls. What else can I fucking do? Send a pigeon? Message in a bottle? Smoke signals?

My dear friendship is sliping through my fingers because clearly, I'm the only one giving a shit.

And there still will be bitches telling me how entitled I act. How much more space and time can one fucking need? I'm a minority on this, but it's not like I ever give a fuck, but I'm really done with the "sometimes people are not in the mental headspace to talk" nonsense bit. Because it's lifting all of the blame for failed communication from the person refusing to communicate. If I was told "hey, I'm gonna go fuck off for 15 months, do you mind not talking to me at all during that time, kthxbye" there would be no conversation to be held. But no. I'm supposed to figure out, which out of 60 minutes in 24 hours in 7 days in 4 weeks in 12 months am I allowed to talked to somebody? Or the reason for their elusive period? Miss me with that nonsense. Healthy headspace or not, you're fixing a lot of issues and making it transparent when you simply communicate your need to withdraw and recollect, or tell somebody you're busy, or fuck it, even tell somebody they stink and you're not interested in keeping in touch with them anymore. But then again, no. Why would anyone do that? # mental health awerness week, free out-of-jail card, I'm not gonna communicate or establish any boundaries, I'll just politely fuck off, you figure out the rest. I'm not playing that game.

And I know exactly how it is when out of sight means out of mind. If you're prone to forgetting shit, maybe counteract, instead of letting more and more things slip through?

It takes exactly 10 seconds responding to any given messege in any given way and going back to your emo catatonia (and I would know) but nobody's going to do that. Being bothered is just not in the cards when being mysterious and unattainable is the top priority.

She could have at least made an effort to let me know she's alive, but I guess even that is asking for too much.

All these satellites and computers just to perfect the ability to talk to oneself.

[golden-barnes]

Operation get Mr Bucky and Momma together

Paring: Beefy and Teacher! Bucky x milf! reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't play favorites but Amaya is definitely his favorite, especially because her mom is hot.. Cue a 6-year-old trying to get Bucky to be her dad. {wc: 2.2k}

Warning: a bit of bucky being insecure but not that much, Karen parent being annoying, bucky is a fool but amaya is gonna fixed it.

a/n: I've been sitting on this for months but I had to step back from this account bc of everything. thankfully I finished this before my electricity went puff but not my best job. pls have mercy bc I'm rusty.

Part 2

Bucky knew there weren’t many male first-grade teachers. But honestly, it was his dream job. He was teaching the country's future and helping them become better people.

Also, 6-year-olds love him, especially with his fantasy land classroom he forced Steve to help decorate. Bucky loved being a teacher, and he loved his kids. Relatively easy to get up every day at 6 am when you love your job. 

That being said, he knows he shouldn’t have a favorite student. So it’s basically written in the teacher’s rule book. 

But Amaya was undoubtedly his favorite of his unruly kids. She was very spirited. Amaya loved helping out her classmates and talking to them. She was just the best student he had ever had.

She is amusing. Every day she comes to him with a story about her mom. Unfortunately, Bucky hadn't met her yet because she was busy with work. Still, he interacted with Amaya’s second contact, Natasha. 

At this point, Bucky feels like he knows her. How she likes tulips. Her favorite color is pink, which is Amaya’s favorite, but that’s a funny coincidence. He knows that Amaya and her mom go to the museum every week on the day they have special events for kids. Amaya’s favorite exhibit is the one about mythical creatures. 

“Momma likes the one with the paintings. She likes the one with the man who gives the girl a flower.” Amaya tells Bucky. Amaya always goes to Bucky’s desk after finishing her classwork because if she doesn’t, she distracts her classmates. Or give her classmates the answers, so this is the only way to keep her entertained. She always takes this time to draw something for Bucky to hang on his wall of drawings.

“Oh, Mister Bucky! Momma is going to come to pick me up today.” Bucky cursed mentally, completely forgetting today was parent-teacher conference. 

Talking to 6-year-olds was a lot easier than talking to adults. Especially when you are telling parents that their kids are having problems. The worst part of the job, honestly. If Bucky could just teach his kids, send letters to the parents, and never interact with them, he would. 

“Going to meet the elusive Miss (Y/N)?” Steve, his best friend, asked. Because of budget cuts, Steve was currently the art teacher for the entire school. Did he like it? Probably not having the kindergarteners put glitter in his hair, but he enjoyed a challenge. 

“Apparently,” Bucky mumbled, opening his lunch. Just a ham and cheese sandwich because he was running late.

“She finally showing up to a conference?” Sam asked, heating up his lunch. Sam was the history teacher for the 4th and 5th graders. He was also a pain in Bucky’s ass, but he decided not to think about it and focused on his incoming stomach ache. 

Fuck, now Bucky had to clean his classroom and prepare everything. What if one of those Karen parents shows up and starts complaining about stupid things? About how his classroom is Lord of the Rings theme and how that's bad for kids? Maybe about how he’s a male teacher? He is already spiraling.

“Oh, you are talking about Amaya’s mom? I met her when I was Amaya’s kindergarten teacher. She’s really nice and - “ Wanda started talking but was interrupted by her twin brother Pietro, the gym teacher. 

“She is also smoking hot. Like ultimate Milf in this whole school. ” He comments, which makes Bucky feel even worse because how will he talk with a pretty girl? He hasn’t done that since college. 

Wanda rolled her eyes at her brother and sat down next to Steve to eat her lunch.

“You’ll be great though, Barnes. She’s really nice, and you are a great teacher, so you won’t have any problems with her.” Wanda reassures her coworker. Bucky takes a deep breath and takes another bite off his sandwich. 

“And I still  believe my son should be seated in the front.” Mrs. Robinson complained, which she had been doing for the past hour and a half. Going past the hour dialogue they are supposed to be having. But since Amaya’s mom is running late.

“Mrs. Robinson, I understand, but some kids in the classroom require specific accommodations. Because of that, the entire front row is taken. So I can’t sit Tommy in the front. “ Bucky explained for the 10th time. Mrs. Robinson just rolled her eyes and huffed. 

Before she could complain again, someone knocked on the door. A woman in formal and professional clothing stepped into the classroom. Amaya popped into the classroom with the brightest smile.

“Mister Bucky! I brought Momma!” She screamed excitedly. Amaya’s mom tried to quiet her, but from Bucky’s experience, Amaya is impossible to corral. 

“Well, Mrs. Robinson, my 4 o'clock is here.” Bucky said nervously, trying to politely kick out Mrs. Robinson and her big-ass attitude. 

“We could discuss this further in another parent-teacher conference.” It took everything for Bucky not to roll his eyes. Fucking self-observed parents think their children are the only ones that matter, Bucky thinks to himself.

“Sorry for my tardiness; I got held up at work.” Amaya’s mom apologizes. Woah, she really is pretty, Bucky thinks.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. (Y/L/N).” Bucky says, trying to catch his breath. 

“Please call me (Y/N).” She smiled sweetly at Bucky. Bucky gulped.

“Let me get to the point; Amaya is a fantastic student. One of the best. She is above her group’s reading level. She writes pretty clearly for her age. No complaints from me; whatever you are doing at home is workin’.” Bucky explained, (Y/N) smiling at her daughter, who was too entertained with Bucky’s snowball on his desk. 

“Thank you, but I can’t take that much credit. Maya absolutely adores you.” Bucky blushes at her praise. 

“She’s a good kid; it’s easy to teach kids like her.” Bucky praised Amaya, who was surprisingly quiet. Which would scare Bucky because if there’s one thing he learned from teaching first graders is that quiet means trouble. But he dismissed it because she wouldn’t do anything wild with her mom right next to her.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes, for everything. With getting a new job and having to provide for my family, you’ve literally given me so much peace.” (Y/N) leaned in closer. 

“If I am being honest, I was worried about ‘Maya’s performance at school. “ She whispered, but Bucky gave her a reassuring smile. 

“Amaya, could you please give these papers to Mr. Rogers?” Amaya nodded and grabbed the papers Bucky had handed her. Then, Bucky sent a text to Steve telling him to keep Amaya out of his classroom to talk to her mom.

“I haven’t noticed a difference in her behavior if that makes you feel any better,” Bucky reassured her. She sighed.

“I am worried about her. Ever since she was born, her dad has been in and out of her life. Now he has disappeared for good. Amaya has been acting like it doesn’t bother her, but no first grader should hide their feelings.” She confesses. Bucky wants to do two things. 1) kick Amaya’s father for being a piece of shit and abandoning such a precious child and her mom. And 2) himself for getting excited by hearing that (Y/N) is single. He can already hear his mother chastising him.

“I’m so sorry to hear that (Y/N).” Bucky said earnestly. She just shook her head.

“It’s okay. Any advice for me?” She said in a joking tone, trying to alleviate the tension. Bucky lets out a nervous chuckle. 

“Just keep being there. In my experience, being present and making the child feel like they have a support system is the best way to help them during this difficult time.” Bucky smiled at her. 

“Thank you. See you on Monday?” (Y/N) said, getting up from her chair.

“Yes. Definitely.” Bucky felt his heart beating at a faster pace. 

This school year was definitely going to be interesting. So Bucky thinks, watching Y/N walking out of his classroom.

What Bucky doesn’t know is that Amaya plans to make life more enjoyable. She was supposed to be sleeping, but she heard Auntie Tasha’s voice and decided to say hi.

“Nat, you could’ve warned me, you know!” (Y/N) explained. Natasha laughed, handing her best friend a glass of wine. 

“He is hot, isn't he?” Natasha grins. Amaya looked at her mom, who had a goofy smile. She has never seen her mom with a smile like that. 

“Ridiculously hot. And his eyes? Nat, his eyes are just so gray. I almost spilled my entire life story right there and then.” (Y/N) groans. Natasha just laughs.

“It should be illegal to have a first-grade teacher look that hot.” (Y/N) added, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“Just wait till you see him in casual Fridays. That man looks excellent in a Henley. “ Natasha joked, but that seemed to disturb (Y/N) even more. “Look out ‘Maya you might have a new daddy.” 

What auntie Tasha said made Amaya think. Mister Bucky was her favorite teacher, and she wished her momma would be happy. Them together would mean that she would have Mister Bucky around forever, and Momma would be happy and have a goofy smile like that forever. 

That’s when Operation get Mr. Bucky and Momma together was born. 

Every day after finishing her classwork, Amaya would go to Bucky’s desk and talk to him. Most of the things she said were little seeds to push him to get close to her mom.

Today was different; Amaya’s patience was thinning. A week passed, and every day when her mom would pick her up, she saw the googly eyes her mom and Mister Bucky were giving each other. It’s time for the big guns, Amaya thought.

“Mister Bucky, do you have a dad?” Buck was shocked at Amaya’s question. 

“Yes, I do.” Amaya sighed dramatically after hearing Bucky’s answer. 

“I don’t… I wish I knew what that was like.” Bucky’s heart broke hearing that. Amaya had her head down, but Bucky couldn’t see her smirk. 

“You will one day. I promise.” Bucky knew he shouldn’t say that but wanted to uplift her and give her hope.

“Hey, Mister Bucky, maybe you could be my dad!” Amaya said, doing a complete 180 in her demeanor. Bucky almost spits out his coffee, and he starts to cough. But unfortunately, he fell right into Amaya’s trap.

“I don’t know about that, Amaya,” Amaya smirks. 

“But Mister Bucky, momma already likes you. You would be a great dad.” Was it embarrassing for Bucky that his 6-year-old student was trying to hook him up with her mom? Maybe but hearing that said mom liked him did give him a bit of an ego. 

“Really?” Amaya nodded enthusiastically. 

“She said that she really likes your eyes.” Amaya admitted. Bucky knew he shouldn’t be asking these questions. If Sam knew, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. 

“Is there anything else she said?” Bucky asked, acting casually as if a 6-year-old was gonna read his body language. However, Amaya is too smart for her own good. 

“I heard her telling Auntie Jen that she liked it when you wear red shirts.” Bucky made a note to buy more red shirts after school. 

“Is your mom going to pick you up today?” Bucky asked; Amaya nodded. 

“She said we were going to the mall today,” Amaya explained. She could feel her plan working, but who knows? Grown-ups were weird.

Bucky’s heart needs to catch a break. That being said, seeing (Y/N) every afternoon, his poor heart won't be getting any. Especially when she came in with her lawyer suits. It was like a punch in the gut. 

But what really hit him like a punch in the gut was what Amaya said when her mom came to pick her up.

She grabbed Bucky’s hand and pulled him towards her mom, who was waiting outside the classroom. 

“Momma, Bucky said he would be my daddy.” Amaya said with the biggest grin. Bucky choked on his own saliva and started coughing. While (Y/N) just started laughing. 

“Did he now?” (Y/N) asked her daughter, that was excited that her plan “worked.” 

“I- uhm. I didn’t say that she took it out of context. But, I mean- I” Bucky’s ramble was interrupted by (Y/N).

“It’s okay, Mr. Barnes. I know how Amaya can be. Don’t worry.” Bucky sighed out of relief. 

“Mommaaaaa…” Amaya whined; her mom just rolled her eyes. 

“Yes, ‘Maya?” (Y/N) asked in a snarky tone. Amaya signaled to her to lean down. Amaya whispered something to her. (Y/N) giggled with her daughter. 

“Mr. Barnes, would you like to go out for coffee someday?” (Y/N) asked, Amaya still giggling behind her mom. 

“I would love to.” Bucky said, which caused Amaya to do a little victory dance in the back. As if nobody could see her. (Y/N) turned around and laughed at her daughter’s antics. She pulled something out of her jacket, a piece of paper.

“I have to go, Mr. Barnes. Sorry for my little troublemaker.”She said, handing him the piece of paper with her personal phone number. Bucky was confused.

“What is this for?” Bucky asked, utterly confused about what this meant. 

“For whenever you would like to get that cup of coffee.” She told him, grabbing Amaya’s hand and walking towards his card. 

Bucky felt his cheeks heat up. He might admit that Amaya was his favorite student, even if she played matchmaker. 

He looked down at the card. Oh, he is gonna call.  

[hansensgirl]

salvatore. | vi.

series summary. | Bucky Barnes doesn’t believe in love anymore. Especially after the tragic, unknown death of his wife, Natasha. He thinks it’s stupid and a waste of time and- oh my. Hello there, you. There you were, with your notebooks and your novels, writing your heart away. He’s hellbent on saving you from this nasty world, his elusive neighbor that has him under the stupid spell of love. You soon find yourself trapped in a tragic love story with Bluebeard, not Prince Charming.

warnings. | NONCON/DUBCON, dark themes, manipulation, gaslighting, arguments, toxic relationships (reader and steve), cheating, nightmares, violent behaviour? (no actual hitting), spying, voyeurism, stalking, use of cameras, angst, fluff, soft!dark!bucky, protectiveness, obsessiveness, creepy bucky, perversion, + more. 18+, MINORS DNI.

word count. | 2.5k

pairings. | Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Steve Rogers.

a/n. | i know i haven’t updated in a while i’m really sorry!! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog!

“Doll, please calm down. You’re scaring me,” Steve begged, sitting on the bed. “How can I calm down, Steve? Huh? You only just came back, and now you’re going away again,” you spat, crossing your arms. Your stance was almost adorable, but Steve knew that if he made a comment, he’d just push you further away. He couldn’t let that happen. “Why can’t you ask for a vacation, Stevie? We haven’t done anything romantic since my birthday, and that was six months ago.” You turned your back to Steve, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry, Doll, but I have to go save the world,”  he solemnly told you. His voice carried a faux sadness that shouldn’t even be there in the first place. “Bullshit, you have so many more people to do it. Sam, Wanda, Tony—don’t lie, Steve. Why are you going to Sydney? There’s no way you have to travel to another continent to mess up some sort of drug deal. Isn’t that what the police are for?” you questioned him.

Tears stung your eyes. They were ones of anger, but you couldn’t lie. In the midst of them, were sad ones ready to leak, too. Steve stayed silent. “For fucks sake, Steve, you can’t even give me an answer?” you asked in disbelief. You gasped as the tears began to fall. “I knew it, I knew it the whole time,” you whispered under your breath. “Knew what?” he asked, walking up to you. You backed up into the corner of the room.

“That you’re cheating on me,” you mumbled quietly. “What? Baby– no, listen.” He paused to take a deep breath, meant to calm his nerves down. “I don’t want to hear anything, Steve. I know about you and Natasha. All those trips? Those text messages? God, the only person I feel bad for is myself. How could I be so blind to it all?” you shook your head as you spoke. You walked around Steve’s strong figure and headed towards the door. “Where are you going?” He called out, following you behind.

“For some fresh air, I can’t handle this,” you yelled back, but Steve only sped his steps up. “You’re not leaving me, Doll,” he growled, stepping in front of you. “I never said I was, but now you’re tempting me,” you snapped back. “You’re not leaving me, Doll. You never can.” Steve gripped your shoulders tightly, and you winced in pain. “Even if you did, I’ll go to the ends of the Earth to get you back.”

Your eyes shot open. Gasping, you struggled to catch your breath. Your heart pumped like no tomorrow. Each time your chest raised to the highest point, you felt like you had a heart attack. You fell back onto your pillow, and you couldn't care enough about the slightly painful thud that came with it. Nightmares were never pleasant. Though they give amazing writing inspiration, they still were not nice.

Unfortunately, your nights seemed to be filled with them. Every time you fell asleep for the past week, you’d wake up in a panicky mode. At that point, you were okay with settling for a weird dream that resembled surrealistic art. Who wouldn’t want to have a Dali-inspired dream? You rubbed your eyes roughly and could feel the exhaustion in your every movement.

Your phone rang loudly. The sound made you jump in shock, and you reached to your bedside table for it. The screen read Bucky’s name, and you sighed. You answered the phone and brought it to your ear. “Hey, Bucky,” you croaked tiredly. He laughed, and you could hear the exhaustion in his voice. But the sound of tiredness differed from yours. “Did I wake you up?” he asked, and you moaned. “No, I just woke up,” you told him. “Why would you wake up at one in the morning, Doll?” he asked.

“Nightmare,” you breathlessly told him. You could swear on the daisy that began to bloom two weeks ago that you started to feel a weight being lifted off your shoulders. “Talk to me, Doll. Was it bad?” he questioned. “Yeah, it was worse than the previous ones.” You hadn’t even realized that you just spilled your secret. “You’ve been getting them for the past few nights? Doll– I’m so sorry, but you know you can always talk to me, right?”

His words were more reassuring than anything Steve ever said. “I know, it’s just… The nightmares—they’re very personal. You might not understand how scary they are. Plus, I don’t want to bother you,” you sheepishly admitted to him. He sighed heavily. “I understand, Doll, but you can never bother me, okay? I’m the one who’s supposed to feel that way, not you,” he chuckled, just to ease the tension.

“Now, I’m gonna be there in the next twenty minutes. Do you think you can sort yourself out by then?” he asked, and you started to stutter. “Uhm, sure, yeah, sure,” you agreed obediently. “Good girl, I’ll be there in a few.” And with that, he hung up. Your eyeballs bulged out of their sockets at those two words he uttered. Steve never said anything like that. He’d always just nod, even if you couldn't see it.  You simply wrapped yourself in one of your most favourite blankets because changing seemed pointless to you.

There was no way he was not in pyjamas… right?

You turned the lamp on next to you before you could convince yourself that your chair was a monster. Your back was cold but also covered in sweat. You hated that feeling, and your mother always had the best way to describe it. “It’s like heating something in the microwave but failing nonetheless. The outside of it is warm, but the inside is still cold.” She’d tell you as she’d wipe down your back with a towel.

That was before everything went downhill. Before you turned thirteen and before she married him.

You sighed and got out of bed, willing yourself to put the kettle on. Maybe you’ll make some hot chocolate, or perhaps some tea… In your mind, twenty minutes always seemed like a long time. It sounded as though you could get quite a lot done in a third of an hour. The reality always felt like getting ice water poured on you as a method for waking up.

Unless your life was significantly put together, those one thousand and two hundred seconds are equivalent to five minutes. The ceramic lid for the jar clinked as you set it down on the counter. You grabbed two chamomile tea bags and closed the pot with a ‘ping!’. You grabbed two cups from the cupboard and then groaned loudly when you realized that you hadn’t turned the kettle on.

With a flick of your finger, you turned it on and leaned onto the counter. You sighed pretty loudly. Your head fell into the cup that your hands made, and you closed your eyes. You didn’t have a headache, and your eyes didn’t hurt either; you were just exhausted. You sighed once again, and the kettle clicked, telling you the water was done boiling.

Timing was everything, as always. And sometimes “timing” is just a coincidence, just like how Bucky rang the doorbell as soon as the water stopped boiling. You rubbed your eyes and walked to the door slowly, not caring that he may have been standing out there for thirty seconds too long. You opened it—not all the way—but wide enough for him to catch a glimpse of your tired form. “Hi,” he greeted, letting himself in.

Bucky looked around your home as if he was waiting for someone to round the corner with a knife and shotgun. “Nice place,” he said with an awkward smile on his face. “Thanks, even though our homes are formatted the same way,” you chuckled. He nodded, and then a few seconds after, he let out a forced laugh. You looked up at him and gave him a meek grin, and then went back to making the tea.

“I’m so glad I have two bags of chamomile left. It’s like the universe has decided to bless me again,” you breathlessly said. “What was the blessing before?” he curiously asked. “You.” You poured the hot water inside the cups, and then the bags of tea followed. “Honey or sugar?” you asked, and he pointed at the sugar. You passed it to him wordlessly, and the only sounds that filled the room were from your lungs and cups of tea.

“So… Do you want to talk about it?” he asked after a few more wordless moments. “S- sure, thank you once again! You’re so kind,” you sighed as you brought the cup of tea to your mouth. Bucky copied your movements, but just a bit slower. “It was about my ex,” you admitted once you set your cup down. Bucky struggled to keep his eyes from popping out of their sockets at your mention of him.

“It was so similar to an argument we had a few months before I broke up with him… The only difference was that he wasn’t as… terrifying. And yet he still scared me,” you solemnly spoke. Bucky stretched a hand across the counter and placed it on your shoulder. He pleasantly squeezed it a bit, and you were tempted to lean into his touch.

But you just can’t, because Steve is in the back of your mind, taunting you.

“What really happened in the dream?” he asked, and you took another sip of tea. “Well… We were fighting. He had to go away for a while, even though he just came back. He’d always do that; it’s what helped destroy our relationship. He valued his job over me, and also, someone else,” you sadly recounted. Bucky listened in carefully, because he wanted to help out his best girl in any way possible.

“I caught him in his lies because his excuses became so… Inexplicable. I always had that nagging feeling that he was cheating on me with his friend, his coworker. That argument confirmed everything. I couldn’t handle it all being true, so I tried to leave for a walk,” you paused to take a shaky breath. “He got angry and stopped me, and then he threatened me,” you bluntly finished.

Bucky was so glad that his hand was no longer resting on your shoulder because Goddamn was his fist clenched tightly. You brought the cup of tea up to your mouth, and Bucky just watched you as you diverted your eyes away from him. Once you set the cup down, Bucky grabbed your hands. In contrast, his were extremely hot, and yet the flesh one was dry. Yours were a bit cold, but they were soft and a bit dewy. You looked up at him, only to lock eyes.

“It’s just a dream, doll, okay? And it’s in the past, it won’t happen again, our minds can be crazy sometimes, so try not to worry about it,” he whispered lowly, bringing both of your hands up to his mouth. He pressed a kiss on both sets of your knuckles. You nodded softly, and you leaned down to press a kiss on his flesh knuckles in return. You smiled against his skin, even though it was bruised and slightly red. You wanted to ignore the weird feeling of his metal arm against your sweaty skin, but you couldn’t help it.

“Can- Can I do the thing to your metal hand?” you asked him, hopeful that he would say yes. Bucky nodded, with a slight smile on his face, of course. You closed your eyes and puckered your lips just a bit, pecking the metal. His breathing hitched, unbearably so. It was something he would always catch himself doing whenever he’d think about you or whenever he was simply just in your presence. You opened up eyes and looked back up at him, and you could see the way his eyes glazed over.

He let go of your hands abruptly, allowing them to fall onto the marble countertop. His fingers slotted themselves against your cheeks, and he grabbed your face gently. Bucky pulled you close to him, and he smashed his lips against yours. The kiss was messy, but it was full of passion. You kept your lips locked against his, and your fingers carded through his long hair. There was no other movement apart from the way Bucky kept trying to pull you closer and closer.

It was almost like he wanted to merge bodies, minds, and souls with you.

A few more seconds passed, and Bucky eventually pulled away. He rested his forehead against yours, and you exhaled a shaky breath. “Steve… His name is Steve, and I hate him,” you admitted to him, and Bucky kissed your nose. “And I hate him too, doll,” Bucky said before parting ways from you. There was a bit of tea left in his cup, but you had finished all of yours. “Get some rest, okay? Or just close your eyes for a bit. You need it,” he advised, and you nodded. “Thank you, Bucky. I really appreciate you being there for me,” you expressed to him.

“Anything for you, doll, now go tuck yourself in,” he urged once again before walking past you to the door. You placed the cups in the sink, and neither of you looked back at each other. You heard the door shut with a loud echo, and you sighed heavily. Maybe you were going to listen to him. Sleeping in isn’t that bad after all.

Bucky always believed that being vulnerable was stupid. He also believed that opening up was stupid. But, to be fair, he believed that anything involving emotions was stupid. But when it comes to you, he felt the opposite. Maybe vulnerability was good. Perhaps it was exactly where you needed to be for him to finally be able to love you.

And it was then when he realized that he hadn’t been loving you properly. He hadn’t been loving you the way he wanted to love Natasha, and that just ended up with her six feet deep with flowers growing above her body. He needed you, but you clearly needed him more than anything else. Bucky was desperate for you at times, of course, but you matter more to him than anything else.

Bucky looked down at his desk, staring at the single plane ticket that would take him all the way across the state of New York. He hadn’t been there in over a year, and that was when he first learned of Natasha’s promiscuity. Philandering around with his best friend, fucking said best friend in the most memorable locations he had taken her.

He honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if he found out that the reason why Natasha showed up to the wedding venue late was that she was too busy lifting up that poofy white gown for Steve. He thought that by emptying out Pandora’s box when she passed, everything would be okay. That he’d be able to move on without a care, and he wouldn’t have to shed any more tears for her. Bucky won’t. He promised himself he wouldn't.

He just had a few loose ends to wrap up before he made you his. That was all.

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Please please please, may i please request a prussia/reader drabble (oneshot?? what ever is easier for you honestly) for the prompt: “Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.”?? thank you so much and i love your writings <3

Hello, Lovely~ Wanted to thank you for your patience. Couldn't quite get the perfect scene in mind till about 1:14 am this morning. Hope you enjoy, and thank you for the request!

In a world that never seemed to rest, tranquility had become an elusive mistress, an antiquated ideal that was valuable for its rarity alone. There were many who would never find such a thing, or would be cursed with just a brief glimpse before it slipped away once more, never to return.

Tranquility was a gift, and you had been blessed in multitudes.

A light breeze was rustling the pines towering above you, scents of the nearby stream, forget-me-nots, and the wisps of smoke from the campfire dancing with it.

So tucked away from everything, you couldn't hear any engines, noisy neighbors, or- most fortunately- the impatient pings from your cell demanding your attention. 

It was quiet, as quiet as Nature could be when one is sitting near a babbling brook, their swing squeaking on hinges decades older than themselves, birds of all ages serenading the small patches of sunlight reaching the forest floor.

Your foot trailed along the ground beneath you, a path carving in the soil from the steady back-and-forth of the old wooden swing, your head resting comfortably against Gil's chest.

He had one arm loosely draped on the back of the swing, the other extended as he read his paperback, folded over itself to spare himself a little freedom.

You shifted slightly, just a little, and he instinctively followed, adjusting the blanket across your legs and shifting his own to accommodate your new position, all without once removing his attention from the page.

It was approaching midday, and while you had both agreed on a short hike to visit some waterfall or other, you were finding you had no desire to leave just yet, perfectly content and cozy as you were.

You let yourself relax further, eyes closing as you rested your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady refrain of his heartbeat. 

The familiar, unconscious dance of fingers against your upper arm made you smile, his decision to shift his free arm almost as reflexive as your decision to open your palm and rest it directly over his heart.

In a time not so long ago, the very thought of being alone in the same room as him would have been laughable, and now you were alone together in some ancient hunting cabin, leagues away from civilization, and completely at peace.

It struck you in that moment just how ingrained he was into your life, your sphere, your thoughts. You never could have anticipated this level of intimacy, and the unexpected epiphany of just how vulnerable that made you left you reeling.

"It kind of scares me sometimes," the words slipped out in a sigh, a wisp of a murmur that faded as easily as woodsmoke. They hadn't even been loud enough to disturb a trio of hares near the truck, and when several moments passed, you were beginning to hope Gil hadn't heard them at all.

It was more a rumbling than a fully coherent query that finally answered you, his eyes still firmly affixed to the Greek text before him. "What's that?"

Without fully lifting your head, you shifted your angle, giving you the chance to study his features- the small indents on his nose from wearing his glasses so much the past week, the single, nearly invisible freckle just by his left eye, the patch of chapped skin on his lower lip, the intoxicating and inexplicable gradients of indigoes and crimsons in his irises.

He hid nothing from you, every perceived flaw and weakness completely at your mercy. And to know that he could see through all of your own barriers, knew you in-and-out more than you perhaps knew yourself-

But there was trust there, and something so strong that- even years after first naming it, after first defining it, exploring it, embracing it- still left you breathless, still rendered you speechless.

For a moment, it did exactly that, overwhelming you in a wave of emotion so strong that you could scarcely think in the face of it. 

But it was a familiar feeling, one so commonplace that you simply sighed again, letting it settle over you like an additional blanket, warmth settling in your veins as you relaxed once more.

"It scares me sometimes how in love I am with you." You traced a pattern with your finger against his shirt, eyes focused on the lupine family enjoying vegetable scraps from the night before. "It scares me how vulnerable you make me feel."

But no. Scared wouldn't be quite the right word for how this vulnerability made you feel. Intimidated, perhaps? 

Irregardless, it was such a good feeling, so freeing to be so fully exposed to someone, to know they saw the worst of you and still-

He was resting his head against your own, silence patiently resting between you, the quiet of the forest yet again remaining undisturbed. He had even ceased powering the swing, apart from a small movement with his toes that was likely from his muscle spasms than anything else. You let yourself relax fully, because no matter how suddenly and aggressively this wave of realization had swept you away in its riptide, he would always keep you safe, always anchor you in the face of whatever storms may come.

"You know it's a two-way street, right?"

As if further testament to his knowing you, the words went straight to the core of it all, exposing his own vulnerability to you, proving just how much he had placed his faith in you.

What a perilous place to be, putting so much faith and trust and hope and care and control in someone else's hands, wholeheartedly believing that they will never bring you any harm, that-

"You're not going to leave me, right?"

The question was so sudden, so unexpected, that you took yourself by surprise, not accounting for the deep, tired exhale of the man so gently holding you. "How could you even ask that?"

You started to try taking it back, wishing for all the world you could keep your thoughts more thoroughly reined in, but he was plowing ahead, the arm that had been resting on the swing coming around you, fingers slipping in between your own. "Do you really think I could leave you?"

By all accounts, yes. Yes he could. 

His claim to immortality was shaky at best, and there was no guarantee that he wouldn't get bored of you, that someone pushing near 1,000 would wake up one morning and realise that-

"Where the Hell is all of this coming from anyway?"

You gave it a half a moment of thought, and soon found yourself melting in defeat. "I wish I had an answer, but I honestly have no idea."

He resumed his earlier motion, putting the swing back into a steady glide. When he spoke again, it was as if he were reaching across centuries, finding just the right words out of billions to try to comfort you. "To quote some book I read in some teahouse somewhere quite a long ass time ago: 'Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own.'" Here he paused, a good six seconds of silence as he rooted himself once more to the present, voice lowering to a whisper. "Leaving you? Losing you? It would be like losing a part of myself, like losing the best parts of myself."

He paused again, a seriousness that was only just familiar to you making an appearance, a depth to his words that made your toes curl. "I was lost for centuries, Schatz, never realizing or accepting just how alone I was, how fucked up I was. I waited for you for ages, and didn't even know how badly I needed you until I finally met you. It was like everything I had done, everything I had gone through, suddenly made sense. You were- are- the very thing I was fighting so hard for."

For claiming to have not a hint of romance in him, he still always seemed to have the perfect strategy for disarming you, for charming you, for leaving you even more infatuated with him than you were mere minutes before.

But this pedestal that he had carved for you, these expectations- 

"I'm only human, Gil."

"I know," he murmured.

"I could still get sick-"

"I know," he sighed.

"Or hurt-"

"I know," he growled.

"Or di-"

"I know!"

His exasperation was so unexpected that you swore the whole world had frozen around you, as if the tranquility of the forest had finally been disturbed. 

But no- 

Everything was still exactly as should be; it was only your surprise that had affected your perception. 

In actuality, his interjection had been scarcely more than a rasp, so damaging to you alone as it cut straight through to your soul, piercing through what little armor you still had against him.

He squeezed your hand, an apology conveyed simply through touch, an armistice accepted and strengthened through reciprocation. "'Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own,'" came the quiet refrain, each syllable accented through the dance of his thumb against your palm, each syllable a soft breath that tickled your scalp. You expected him to stop there, his point well made, but soon enough he was murmuring again, words nearly a hum. "'In pain and sickness they would still be dear.'"

You couldn't place the words- who knew if a copy of that book even existed anymore- but it didn't matter. They were exactly what you had needed, the balm for a restiveness that you hadn't even known was plaguing you till a few moments ago. And what's more, you never knew Gilbert to exaggerate, not when it came to matters of the heart. He knew no other option than complete sincerity, maddening some days, endearing most others.

Thoughts shifting, comfort once more reestablished, you shifted slightly, turning your attention to the few clouds you could see through the canopy. "Every atom, huh?"

There was a huff of a laugh, an accentuated exhale that highlighted his exasperation, but the amusement in his reply was tempered by fondness, highlighted with a small kiss above your ear. "Every proton, neutron, electron... Every single quark, if you need me to get technical," he finished in a whisper, slowly, gently, reassuringly, practically an embrace on its own.

You melted against him, giving his hand a small squeeze of gratitude, thoroughly reminded now of exactly why it was okay to share your vulnerabilities, how lucky you were to have found him, to be found, to trust and fall and grow together.

Tranquility eventually, quietly, made her reappearance, bringing with her the blessing of the midday sun.

Thanks for reading!

[exovapor]

The Adventure - TMNT Bitches:  Chapter 6

(Reminder, this story has been I the works since early July so any recent changes aren't in here...but I promise to make it up to my two loves not present)

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CHAPTER 6:   Crossing Paths

·         It is here! It is FINALLY HERE!  Valerie can barely contain her excitement as she drives through the semi-familiar streets of the city she hates, except for one weekend out of the year, Dragon Con weekend!

·         It is Thursday, the official start of Dragon Con, or ‘con’ or ‘DC’, as it’s fans often referred to it as.  Dragon Con is the largest comic book/sci-fi/fantasy/horror/cosplay convention on the east coast and it happens every Labor Day weekend in Atlanta, GA.  

·         DC is always a cause for excitement for Valerie; however, this year is extra special!  Not only is she going to con, which is always the highlight of her year, but this time she is meeting up with some VERY special ladies that have helped her explore the fandom world of TMNT and who have become very close, dear, cherished friends.  

·         While everyone from their close knit group couldn’t make it this year, Lucy living in the UK and Kyla having prior commitments, she is still going to get to finally meet and hug the extraordinary talented fandom writers Holly, Kassie, and Kari!  Life just can’t be better!  

·         Well…maybe it could if TMNT actually existed…but…she couldn’t complain too much because these special ladies can bring the guys to life almost like no other person can!

·         Valerie’s tummy twists and tumbles as she pulls into the familiar parking deck just one block away from one of the main hotels to host the convention, the Marriott of Atlanta.  Valerie is antsy and anxious!  

·         She just wants to park, grab her suitcases and rush in to the hotel to join the other three women, whom have flown and driven into Atlanta from other parts of the US, and start their 4 day long party!  

·         As she rounds through the parking deck she’s not finding any available spots on the first few levels, looks like it’s going to be another crowded year at con!  As she driving up into the open air of the top level, she’s hoping to find one spot left or she’ll have to drive further away and she really hates navigating Atlanta’s one-way streets.  She may be from Georgia, but she detests Atlanta’s crazy crowded maze with a passion.  

·         Valerie is so focused on finding that one elusive empty parking spot that she isn’t fully aware of her surroundings.  As she rounds the corner of one row of cars, and angles to turn up the next aisle, her heart drops to her feet and she slams on the breaks in her SUV trying not to flatten the four MORONS standing in the middle of the driving lane.  

·         Cussing like a sailor, laying down on the horn, and hoping to all that is holy that the silver, 4,000lb, vehicle will stop in time to not kill the guys playing some form of LARP game in the middle of the parking deck.

·         Her ire flares like a campfire doused with kerosene!  

·         She was riding a high of anticipated fun bit now is jerked down to earth with a body-slam!  What the HELL are these guys thinking??

·         Sure, pretty much all types come out at con, the gamers, the goths, the cosplayers, the kinks, the through and through nerds/geeks, and even the LARPers…but JEEZ GUYS…don’t do it in the middle of the roadway!

·         Four sets of shocked eyes stare back at her from the middle of the lane.  And they just stand there…not moving!  She throws her hands up in the air and says out loud in the car, “What?!!  Don’t just stare at me like that!  Fucking move!”.  

·         Valerie starts shooing them out of the way with hand signals and they slowly back out of the way.  If she weren’t in such a tizzy and pissed off, at nearly being indicted for vehicular man-slaughter, she may have noticed and admired the handsome quartet.  After all, most LARPers don’t have bodies like these...muscles busting clothes at the seams and height on all of them; no, most LARPers looked like mommy still did their laundry for them and feed them too many Hot Pockets.

·         As she pulls up next to them, she lets down her window and growls out in her southern-ass-whoopin’-accent, “What the HELL do you think you are doing?  You idiots, stay out of the road!”.  Two sets of baby blue eyes, a set of emerald green, and a set of amber-green hazel stare at her dumbfounded and silent.  She doesn’t give the stunned group enough time to respond before she rolls up her window and drives on up the aisle and parks half-way up.

·         She sits in her front seat fuming, trying desperately to regain her composure.  She talks to herself, a normal thing out of habit, “Val, let it go.  Just let it go.  Forget about it, you are about to meet your wonder ladies in person and y’all are about to bring Atlanta to it’s knees over the next four days.  Ommmmmm…..(yoga centering…zen baby zen)…let it go.”.

·         Finally, feeling SLIGHTLY less murderous, she steps out of her truck and moves to the back and lifts the hatch to retrieve her suitcase.  She has most of her costumes and items packed in bags and her rolling suitcase; however, the katanas for her Leonardo costume would not fit in any of the bags, so she slings the holster, with the twin sheathed blades crisscrossed, onto her back.  She straps her green turtle-shell backpack onto the extended handle of her rolling suitcase, she locks up her truck and starts rolling her suitcase down the aisle head towards the parking deck staircase.

·         As she gets close to the end of the car aisle, she can see the LARPing quartet still standing where she left them.  ‘Ugh, morons’, she thinks to herself.

·         As she walks past, the quiet conversation they were having suddenly stops and they all stare at her with mild confusion, amusement, and interest.  Valerie isn’t one to accept blatant staring.  She doesn’t like to be ‘seen’.  She is the wall-flower type, the one who likes to stand in the back.  She’s the Observer, not the Observee…so she becomes irked by their stares and stops and faces them, “WHAT?!!”, she asks staring challengingly back at them.

·         No answer comes from the quiet group, just four sets of eyes staring at her in…what is that? Shock?  Amusement? Their expressions are such a mixture that she can’t quite pin-point the expressions playing across their handsome faces.  

·         So she stands there, with the blue tendrils from the hilts of her katanas whipping in the wind, staring back at them.  

·         One set of eyes stares with more intensity than the others.  They are discerningly more intense; like they are searching, evaluating, noting qualities and vulnerabilities.  It makes her uneasy.  However, she isn’t one to show a predator weakness, no matter what they threaten her with, so she stares back just as intently, refusing to turn her back on them.

·         In staring, Valerie becomes acutely aware of their size.  These guys are all tall, two of them VERY tall, and all of them are well built.  Actually, one of them is a fucking monster.  Forget eating his Wheaties for breakfast; that red haired one looks like he ate the whole damn Wheaties truck, tires and all! This would not turn out well if they decided attacking the alone girl in the parking deck was more fun than LARPing in the parking deck.  

·         Valerie wants to get to the safety of the crowds below, but she doesn’t feel safe retreating into a closed stairwell with these guys fixated on her presence.

·         ‘Maybe yelling at them earlier wasn’t the best idea, me and my temper…shit!  What are they talking about and WHY does that one keep staring at me so hard?  Jeez, dude, get your own life and stop trying the stare me out of mine’, she thinks to herself.  

·         The staring match goes on for an uncomfortably long time, finally they start to move backward as a group, putting more space between her and them.  

·         Just as Valerie is starting to consider how fast she can out run all four of them, another car, searching for its own elusive parking spot, comes rolling through the driving lane.  Thankful for the distraction, the active presence of witnesses, and a reason to move on, Valerie leaves the LARPing group watching her rolling her suitcase towards the stairwell.

@turtle-babe83 @tmntspidergirl @nittleboo @kokokatsworld @the-second-circle-of-shell

[xhanisai]

Without you, what is the point?

AO3 / FFN

Summary: The relief was instantaneously doused with ice cold water, freezing Ladybug from head to toe as Noir asked the question that has been eating him away since he woke up. "I want the truth, and the truth only..."

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"Who the hell was that white monster?"

( One second Ladybug and him were fighting a brutal akuma; a malevolent, broken person whose powers enabled you to experience the most traumatising memory the person closest to you have suffered (an absolute insane method to enforce empathy), the next second, he was...Here.)

A/N: Was inspired by this post on tumblr to write this up and the delicious angst monster inside me rose like a motherfucker, ready to wreck havoc. Now suffer :))))) (Takes place after the episode: Ladybug. So, canon divergent.) "Even if I cry, even if I smile, even if I hate, I'll live my life with love" Samurai Heart (Some like it hot!) - SPYAIR ~(x)~ . . . 'What...what is this!?' 

Chat Noir's knees buckled before he could comprehend, collapsing to the surface he was perched on, eyes wide open and lips parted in absolute horror. Icy, sharp shivers ricocheted through his veins, his entire body shivering as he frantically observed the dystopian element around him and choked. One second Ladybug and him were fighting a brutal akuma; a malevolent, broken person whose powers enabled you to experience the most traumatising memory the person closest to you have suffered (an absolute insane method to enforce empathy), the next second, he was... Here. The remains of Paris and its monuments floated like motionless corpses in the deadly sea, his paralysed body stuck to a stray beam belonging to the Eiffel Tower like glue. The moon was absolutely shattered and split into halves up above, answering his questions on why the sea level was so high but generating more worries about how the satellite managed to get into that state in the first place. Most importantly, he knows with all of his heart and soul that the person that he considers the closest to him was his Lady...so what on earth did she experience? And when!? What the hell happened to their beloved home??? "YOU'RE BREAKING MORE THAN MY HEART NOW, MARINETTE!" Noir took a double take, leaping to his feet by muscle memory and whipping out his baton in combat mode, ready to protect Marinette at all costs from the angry voice, only to pause and his body to become paralysed once more. His mind speeding faster than the speed of sound as the dread that rooted itself in his stomach started to build up and spread out like a plague, muscles twitching with the fight or flight response. "Ma...Marinette? This is...Marinette's memory?" His lips trembled as he murmured to himself, vaulting away from the area with his weapon and hastening towards the sound of the horribly familiar voice. The cogs were starting to click in his mind but the more he saw of the destroyed city, the more apprehension gnawed on the base of his skull, his brain screaming to get the girl to safety no matter the costs. His heart pummelling his chest as the jitters inside pressured bile to build up in his tight throat. By the time he reached the area, Chat Noir felt like his soul left his body, shackling his frame on a lone, abandoned pillar as his face blanched with terror and gutted him. "Give me a hug...MARINETTE!" Chat Noir couldn't do anything but blink as the stark, white...imposter attacked, his Lady (his princesse) scrambling to her feet in order to dodge the infinite amounts of ancient destruction that was headed her way. Alabaster discs of elimination barely grazing the surface of her suit... Blinding power surges of eradication decaying the area she was momentarily stranded in mid-run... Omnipotent beams of slaughter swallowing everything it touched... All the poor blonde could do was gape inaudibly, every attack his doppelganger threw and every aghast expression Ladybug made, branded to his brain mercilessly until all he could see... ...Was black. ~(x)~ "Chat Noir! Chat! CHAT NOIR!"

A voice... "Chat, please wake up! CHAT!"

Her voice... Before the girl cradling him on her lap could breathe, Chat's eyes snapped open and the boy exhaled sharply, shooting up into a standing position and scanning his surroundings like a cornered, frightened animal. His ears, both human and feline, were deaf to Ladybug's queries as blood roared in the drums, almost didn't feel her hands clasping his forearms as he whipped his head around back and forth. The odd silent rooftop they were stranded on allowed him to scour the city, proving that Paris was still intact. The moon up ahead was still whole and luminous in the night sky- perhaps brighter than it usually was. No akuma around- most likely defeated by Ladybug solidarity. And... And, there wasn't a white cat in sight, much to his relief... "Chat, breathe." Finally, the teen clad in black acknowledged his Lady, the girl now cupping his cheeks, fingers digging through his blonde tresses and eyes both soft and wary. "You're safe now. I'm here." She added, knotting her digits into his strands with a sigh. Thankfully, the hero visibly relaxed, pupils no longer constricted to mere, dangerous slits and his erratic heartbeat was now simply an echo in his aching chest. He allowed himself to lose control then, pulling Ladybug into his arms despite her squeaks and hiding his face in the crook of her neck, the shock and confusion from the event that just transpired mere seconds ago like a nightmare ravaging through his flesh. The hair on the back of his neck stood up on its ends and his sentient tail wrapped around them both like a ribbon, bringing them closer and closer. Chat didn't even note the soft purr that escaped his body, a defense mechanism that he was usually absolutely embarrassed about. Ladybug let out a softer sigh this time, body losing tension as her lashes fluttered shut and she inhaled his familiar, fresh scent to keep her grounded. His soothing purrs contributed to the break down of intensity. She felt goosebumps rise under her suit as his claws tentatively combed through her twin tails, tangling up with her raven locks and his soft lips parted open and shut against her neck, his breathing still coming out fast and unsteady. Despite her attempting to make him feel safe, she in turn felt like it was him trying to protect her, the anxiety and questions that she tried to push away flaring inside her body like a bomb. Yet, the way his figure perfectly curled around hers like a weighted blanket and the way his strong, toned arms pressed her against his chest, his heart beat drumming against her heart, allowed Ladybug to drop all her guard and simply indulge herself in his warmth. A selfish luxury that she tried her best locking away in the deepest crevices of her heart and swallowing the key. However, just one raw touch from her partner, one moment of weakness and the Pandora's box was opened, a waterfall of emotions and feelings seeping out of her pores with relief. . The relief was instantaneously doused with ice cold water, freezing Ladybug from head to toe as Noir asked the question that has been eating him away since he woke up. "I want the truth, and the truth only..." . "Who the hell was that white monster?" His face remained hidden under her jaw, his arms locked around her torso so that she couldn't escape. Not this time. He felt the way her form tensed up again, her breathing quickening and her lashes brushing against his suit wildly as she blinked her eyes open in shock. 'No...no! He couldn't have...he SHOULDN'T have seen THAT.' Ladybug screamed internally, panic welling up in her throat, causing all words to die on the tip of her tongue and replace it with a weight, her eyes quick to water with anguish. She shook her head, digging her fingers into his shoulders, physically begging him to let it go. "Y-You..." She sniffed, looking away to the side, guilt plastered all over her face and unable to meet the heated glare her partner directed when he pulled his head away to confront her. His arms remained an iron cage, one his Lady could break out of if she really wanted to but she remained limp in his hold. "You should forget about that..." She answered weakly, still avoiding eye contact. "Nothing good will come out of knowing-" Anger ripped through his body and Chat Noir's jaw clicked from the intense way his teeth grounded themselves against each other, his tail snapping against the floor with outright rage and his eyes as venomous as a predator's. "I'm not going to repeat myself again, Marinette." His steely hiss was a sudden, harsh blow against her screaming heart, the girl's eyes widening as she faced the pissed off boy, lips parted in a gape. "Who the fuck was that!? And when?? When did THAT happen!?" She shook her head again, prepared to counter back and deny everything he said no matter how foolish it was, only for her world to spin as he instantly swept her up, bridal style and took off with outstanding speed. The force of his enhanced power boost against the rooftop caused an explosion of cracks in the concrete and slates, his body like a bullet as he manoeuvred from rooftops to streets and lamps with leaps, twists and turns. The cargo in his arms doing nothing to hinder his speed and strength as the elusive black cat darted to his destination like a shadow ninja and almost invisible to the naked eye. Ladybug couldn't do much but keep her face pressed against his throat, her arms around his neck like a vice, her heart still clenching and unclenching under her ribs at the sudden revelation. He knew now... He knew who she was! She tried so hard to keep it a secret, so hard to protect him! Yet, just like everything else in her life, it blew up in her face! Tears streamed down her cheeks without permission, her mind anticipating a sudden visit from a disappointed Bunnyx who would undoubtedly berate her for destroying the future again and causing her partner's ultimate demise once more. What the hell did Maître Fu even see in her anyways??? The right thing to do now was take away her miraculous here and there and never let her come across her Chaton again! Not after knowing the pain that she will bring to him in the future. She would give up everything in the world if it meant that her partner could live a happy, safe future. Even if it's without her by his side. Suddenly, Ladybug felt her surroundings halt to a slow but steady stop. Experience with running at inhuman speeds allowed both heroes to polish off their sprints and landings- otherwise the heroine would have definitely been shot out of his arms the minute he braked. She tensed as her body was brought back to its bearings, her ears now hyper-aware of his thrumming heartbeat and her feverish face sensitive from her tears and Chat's body heat. With tenderness, a juxtaposition from his momentary frustrations earlier on, Chat Noir deposited Ladybug on her feet, his eyes hidden under his fringe and his frown breaking her heart into two. He kept his distance, perhaps a metre or so away from her, leaning against what she recognised as the railings of her humble abode's balcony. The teen girl swallowed, the sight of her home cementing the fact that her partner unquestionably knew who she was under the mask. And he absorbed the idea as naturally as breathing. As if it was no surprise that the girl behind the impenetrable mask was none other than herself. No questions, no double takes, like he knew all along... Tikki, despite Ladybug's lack of willingness, unravelled the transformation on her own, her charge frozen on the spot completely as if she was stark naked, hugging her body to herself. "T-Tikki!?" Marinette rasped, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed with slight betrayal. The little Goddess only sighed and delivered a comforting smile, stroking the teen's cheek. "You need to tell him everything. Don't worry anymore. I...I think it's time." "It's...It's time...? You- you don't know that! What if it's not!? What if Bunnyx pops out of nowhere right now and says otherwise!? What if another disaster happens!? What if-" "Marinette. Please. Trust me and talk to him." The kwami directed Marinette's chin to her partner who was yet to move a muscle, eyes still shadowed by his unruly locks and knuckles whitening under his suit from the tight grip on the railings. The French-Chinese couldn't help but shiver. Why couldn't things just be swept under the rug for now? Why couldn't things go her way for once in her life? "You don't need to be so tense." Chat's sudden words sent a jolt down Dupain-Cheng's spine, arms now folded behind her back as she nervously bounced from one leg to the other, bottom lip worried by her teeth. "I'm sorry for blowing up on you like that. That was such a dick move of me." He tilted his chin up, eyes now visible and gleaming with such melancholy that Marinette wanted to do nothing but envelope his sad little face into her arms and soothe his pain away. "I just...I need to know, Marinette. What did I see? What did you go through?" A beat of silence went by, sombre greens gazing into empty blues. The wind was almost silent and the arrondissement was asleep for the night, giving the two more privacy than they could ask for. Taking a gamble, Chat pushed away from the railings, approaching the girl hesitantly and decreasing the distance between them both. "This isn't something that can be forgotten or unspoken about forever, Princesse." His eyes were pleading, faux ears drooped against his blonde hair and tail slack against the floor. The glow of the moon and fairy lights made the scenario quite dreamlike and hazy but the feel of his clawed fingers entangling with hers indicated that everything was very much real. "I...I'd rather hear it from you than try to piece it together by myself. I don't want to jump to the wrong conclusions and I don't want anymore misunderstandings between us...no more...no more secrets, please." His eyes bored into her very being, heightening her nerves but at the same time, she wanted the very dams that were holding her back to finally break and bestow everything her partner deserved. She decided to take Tikki's advice, the little ladybug in question hidden away to give the pair some confidentiality. "Before I do," Marinette began quietly, rubbing a circle on the back of Chat's hand and peering to the side momentarily below her lashes and then back at him again. She bit her bottom lip, debating internally whether she should go with what she had in mind or not. "Can you promise me one thing?" "Anything." The boy replied without a beat, face intent and serious. Marinette nodded, as if to reassure herself first, squeezing his hand and her heart skipping a few beats when he squeezed back with much gusto. "Promise me that you'll still fight by my side, no matter what." "W-What? I mean, obviously I will! I told you many times, it's me and you against the world-" "Promise me!" The designer demanded, her face ambitious despite the way Chat almost jumped out of his skin. Her eyes were now pained and stormy but it was also determined and raw. The windows to her soul. "Yes...I...I promise." He squeezed her hand tighter and then grasped the other one with his spare hand, bringing both of them to his lips so that he can deliver a chaste kiss against the knuckles, his emerald crescents never leaving her gaze. He also smiled sadly, ears lowered in submission, knowing that what he will hear from now would make or break him. Letting out a shuddering exhale, a breath she didn't know she was holding, Marinette beckoned him to follow her to the back of her balcony so that the two could sit down against the wall. Originally, she was attempting to sit by his side, only for him to grab her waist and settle her on his lap, resting his forehead against her shoulder from behind and interlocking his hands with hers. If her silly partner pursued to make the same move a long time ago, before the events that occurred after Bunnyx pleaded her to save the future, Marinette would have pushed him away with jest and reprimand him for his lack of personal space. Now? Now she craved for every source and warmth from him. Now she indulged in every touch and smile he gave. Now she relished the way his heart beat in sync with hers and fit perfectly with her body. "Whenever you're ready," Chat prompted, the heat of his form setting fire in the pits of her stomach yet alleviating all the heart ache and suffering she endured for the past lonely, long months. She stared up at the night sky, leaning her head back against his shoulder, her blues then peering to the side at the golden strands that took over her vision as the hero remained with his face hidden. She played with his fingers and began to recall everything to him. ~(x)~ "...No..." His first word after she recited the entire event was no more than a breath. The boy was on his knees, sitting parallel to Marinette now as he couldn't stand being able to freely touch her, knowing what exactly he was capable of. "Chat?" Fear exploded in the girl's chest, her heart swelling with apprehension as she watched Chat tremble and eye his hands with indescribable hate. "...Chat Noir?" Regret was evident on her face, the loud, pessimistic persona inside slapping her for not keeping her mouth shut. "...I...I..." Immediately, the images of Marinette's memories that he stumbled across earlier on barrelled into his mind without grace, stabbing his brain with all the harsh truths and the utter devastation that he caused with one hand. The miraculous on his horrendous finger suddenly looked vile and disgusting, weighting the digit like a burden. A miraculous with a power like this does not deserve to exist- no. A monster like him does not deserve to exist. "I can't do this." The boy didn't dare to look at his partner, swift to twist the ring off his finger but was met with a strong lunge and wail from his companion before his detransformation could settle. "No! You promised!" Marinette cried, face hidden into his now, cotton shirt and shaking her head over and over again, repeating her words. The ring merely laid a few feet away from them, Plagg unable to eject himself from the jewel as the miraculous itself was rejected by the boy. "Marinette- how...how could you want me after all of that!?" His hands were on her shoulders, trying to push the distraught girl away but she remained persistent, latching on his shirt and refusing to see his face, his identity. "I destroyed the world! I-I-I destroyed our home! Our friends! Our family! You!" His words trailed into a sob and his voice cracked, tears cascading down his eyes. "I don't care...you promised! You're not allowed to break them! I won't let you!" Marinette's arms interlocked around his torso like an iron cage, body shaking with pure heartbreak. "You promised...you promised..." She chanted like a mantra, his shirt now saturated with her tears. Yet, Adrien couldn't help but be overwhelmed with not only her affection, but also his for her. Finding out that his Princesse and his Lady were one in the same was like a priceless wish granted by the most benevolent of Gods. Of course the girl he loved turned out to be his other half, his partner, his life. Of course the girl he loved turned out to be sweetness incarnate, a bundle of selflessness, his everything. But now knowing that he turned the very same person into a gaping corpse under the sea in an alternative timeline? "You deserve better...so much better..." Adrien whimpered out, ceasing his struggles to get out of her hold and giving in to his selfish desires, cradling Marinette against him with his arms. "You deserve someone who would never, ever have the power to hurt you. You deserve someone who can make you happy. Someone who you won't fuck up everything for you-" "Shut up! I don't want anyone else! I want you!" As if to emphasise her point, she headbutted his chest, earning a surprised grunt from him whilst her nails dug into his skin through the cloth. "And if you leave without the ring tonight, then I will no longer be Ladybug..." Her muffled threat was like a slap across the model's face, the boy pulled away indignantly, grasping her shoulders so that he could see her face. Marinette on the other hand, kept her eyes stubbornly closed, fingers still grasping on his shirt so that there was still very little distance between them. "Don't be stupid Marinette! Dieu, you are the most smartest girl out there- you shouldn't be spouting such ridiculous bullshit! Paris needs YOU. You're the only one who can do the damn job right-" "And Paris needs you too!" The bitterness and heat in her face then subsided, her shoulders slouching as Marinette hung her head low, exhaustion weighing on her soul. "I'm the one who messed up...I'm the one who caused the future..." "I'm the one who destroyed it! I don't see how any of this is your fault Marinette!" "But it is, Chat! I fixed it by undoing the stupid mistake that started all of it! But now, now? Everything...everything is ruined again! You're leaving me...alone..." Adrien felt his heart shatter at the way his love curled in to herself, her slender digits slipping away from his shirt to cover her face, her knees tucked against her forehead and her broken whimpers ransacking her body. Guilt, self-loathing and self-hate devastated his body to the point where he was choking on his sobs, his grip only tightening on her shoulders as his body shook with tears. He did this. He turned her into this. He's nothing but despicable, atrocious, monstrous- "Marinette! Adrien! Watch out!" Tikki's alarmed cries snapped the two out of their state, the former feeling the breath knocked out of her lungs at the sudden revelation of who exactly her partner was. The feeling was then replaced with ten times more pressure when she allowed her eyes to rest on his figure, more than enough evidence that the boy truly was her other half. Her body froze. Agreste on the other hand gaped at the fluttering akuma butterfly that made way towards them, grabbing Marinette instinctively against his chest and spinning them around so that his back was facing the detestable creature. "Adrien!?" Mari gasped against his shoulder but the boy only replied by pressing her closer against him, one hand cradling her neck whilst the other clutching the fabric on her back, a defeated smile resting on his lips. "No matter what, no matter the circumstances, you cannot be akumatised. If me alone managed to do what I did in the future, then the world would be absolutely doomed if you were to be under Le Papillon's control." His never ending tears kept falling, dripping into her hair as he inhaled her sweet, vanilla scent like a soldier going to war. As if this was the last time he was going to see her. "You. Idiot. STUPID!" Marinette tore herself away from him, slapping her hands against his dumb face and bringing it towards hers aggressively, a tiny part of her inside cackling at his bewildered expression. "Neither of us will get akumatised! Not now, not ever!" With that said and done, gaining a hopeful glimpse from her Chaton's eyes, Marinette slammed her lips against his, swallowing down his gasps as she attempted to give him the most passionate, meaningful, desperate kiss she could ever muster. All her feelings, her thoughts and wishes were poured into this one, singular, press of lips. Her soft, chapped pair bruised clumsily against his confused but sweet pair. Their inexperience and befuddled emotions made the kiss sloppy and painful, teeth clicking against each other and noses knocking with one another from time to time, the exhales from their noses causing their faces to tickle uncomfortably. The upcoming akuma was soon pushed to the back of their heads as the pair relaxed, Adrien tilted his head to a slight angle, reciprocating the kiss with more instinct and capturing her bottom lip, feeling Marinette shudder under his touch as his experimentally traced the seams of her lips with his tongue. She in turn pulled on his upper lip, slipping her hands away from his face and trailing them down his shoulders, resting them there and letting her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. Their hearts pounded in sync, what seemed like years of unrequited pining turned into heat and more under their skin, swallowing each other's sighs and gasps. Their selfish desires, their yearning wishes, all granted into this collection of intimate kisses that only stole their breaths away over and over again. "Adrien, mon Adrien," Marinette couldn't stop the sweet little whisper that left her lips, brushing his. Her already rouge tinted cheeks simply reddened in full force as the boy gazed at her with so much love and so much admiration, it hurt. His response was to kiss her again, boldly slipping his tongue fully into her mouth as he pushed her down to the ground, one hand tearing off the ribbons in her hair so that they can comb through the silky tendrils and the other clutching her upper back, their legs entangled in a way that one wouldn't know where they started and where they ended. Marinette never felt such heat, such passion, such love in her life, ever. She let herself go, pushing away all logical thoughts and queries as she let herself sink into this wonderful feeling. Her mind rebooted every second, every moment as the duo explored each other's mouths and lips, noting down the silky feel of the flesh and the sensitive points. Adrien felt his heart swell to the point where he couldn't breathe. If being able to kiss Marinette like this forever was possible, he'd have definitely stayed like that. "Stay, Adrien. Stay..." Cheng breathed out, slowing down the kiss to a lazy, softer pace. Her request halted the boy in his movements, his lips which were puckered against her cheek tightened into a grimace. This time, Marinette cupped his cheeks with more softness and sweetness, her lips curling up into a timid, rosy smile. The strawberry complexion in her cheeks brought out the blue in her eyes, making them glitter under the moonlight. Slowly, Adrien took one of her hands off his cheek with his own, never breaking eye contact as he rubbed circles in her finger-bones and then applied sweet, feather kisses along the appendage. He let out an exhale, his lips carrying a bittersweet smile as he tilted his head to the side. He searched for any doubts, any distrust in her eyes but all he saw, much to his ecstatic boyish joy, was her never-ending love for him. Her doubtless trust in him. Like they were soulmates. "Are you...are you sure? That you want me? Even though I'm...me?" He wasn't used to such raw, positive emotions directed towards him. He has been abandoned, neglected and scorned at for so long in his life that the idea that such an incredible, wonderful girl wanted him of all people was unimaginable! Yet, this was his reality. And she kissed him...she kissed him like that. Like they were made for each other. Though, this in turn got him thinking about something else, confusion now printed on his face. His heart scowled, threatening him at gunpoint if he dared to ask the burning question. "Wouldn't...wouldn't you prefer to have the boy you like as your partner?" His question was met with a mischievous smile, an attractive raised brow. Marinette simply tugged his face closer to hers so that their noses shared a gentle kiss, her smirk widening. "Bold of you to assume that he already isn't." For the umpteenth time, Adrien found himself rendered speechless by his Lady, the redness in his cheeks blooming by ten folds as the puzzles and bridges started to connect in his mind. Albeit it took a while but in his defense, the hot kiss which should have been evident enough of Marinette's feelings for him, turned his brain to mush. "M-M-Me? All this time...I was my own rival???" His look of awe and shock then switched to deadpan and annoyance. Adrien groaned, shoving his face into Marinette's hair and wrapping his arms around her body. "I've been cockblocking myself..." "So have I," Mari stroked his hair, eyes closed with contentment and body completely knackered from the roller-coaster of emotions she's gone through. "I tried to set you up with Nino." His tone was dry and beyond done. The boy was so done with life. "And I fixed that by setting him up with my best friend~" "I rejected you for you and got M. Dupain akumatised-" He then shot up, incredulity plastered on his face, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. "Wait a minute. Wa-aaaaait a minute." Marinette gulped under his scrutinising glare. "What was with the whole 'I'm in love with you Chat Noir' thing???" "Let's just say that I come up with the most dumb things on the spot when I think someone's connecting the dots to my secret identity..." "No no no, you are not getting off THAT easily-" "Ehem," The pair paused with their bickering, spotting Tikki who was watching them with an amused smile whilst one of her hands kept the akuma restrained by the antennae. "Maybe get rid of this first before you both get too deep into the flirting?" The little Goddess kept in a shit-eating grin as both teens bursted with red, fumbling to their feet and awkwardly looking at anywhere else but at each other. They couldn't believe they forgot about the akuma entirely! Not wanting to waste anymore time, Marinette transformed into Ladybug, quickly purifying the butterfly and watching it fly away with a soft smile resting on her lips. She wasn't blind to the wonder and astonishment Adrien had on his face, as he took in the entire scene with much pleasure. Ladybug sunk down, picking up the ring that Adrien threw away, rolling the jewel in her palm and then clenching it tight in her fist. She then faced the boy again, the latter looking away as fear still lingered on his body. He bit his lip, peering at her fist below his lashes and rubbing his arm self-consciously. "Adrien?" Ladybug rested her free hand on his, bringing it to her heart, smile never leaving her face. "Will you?" The model's face exploded with red. "H-Huh...?" "Will you be my Chat Noir again? Please?" She spread his hand, stroking the finger that was usually adorned by the powerful mantle. Mimicking his alter-ego's actions, she brought his fingers to her lips, kissing the calloused tips and trailing her soft, kiss-bruised mouth down the palm till it reached the inside of his wrist. She placed an open mouthed kiss, eating up the way he jumped slightly at the sensitivity. "I do! I-I-I mean!" He gulped, embarrassed by his ultra eager response, trying not to jump the girl into another kiss. It's not his fault that this felt like a marriage proposal. "If...if you think it's the right thing...me being Chat..." "You being my Chaton will always be the right thing, Adrien." His Lady smiled so wonderfully, slipping the ring on his finger in a manner that caused his heart to expand and explode on the spot. But then, then, she kissed him again. A saccharine, soft press of lips, the two teens grinning too much for it to be a proper kiss but they didn't care. It felt perfect. It felt amazing. It felt like right. "So is anyone gonna tell me what the fuck just happened???" The heroine and boy parted with a surprise, darting their eyes to the confused dark kwami who darted his head between them both frantically in return. His acidic green eyes then widened and his jaw dropped. "Don't tell me..." "I MISSED THE REVEAL!? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...." . . . ~(x)~ A/N: 6PM me - "Oooo I'm going to make this super angsty and short so that I can do my homework later on!" 10 hours later... 4AM, sleep deprived me - "Hahahah...no UwU" I'm not proofreading till tomorrow. I'm gonna do my homework now. Bye hoes.

[tardytothepardy]

Fruits Basket - Vol. 20

I want to try to break the book into three main chunks. The last time I did that, it was easier to write about. So uh, the first chunk has to do with Tohru and her feelings about Kyo, and Kagura's reaction, the second chunk is Akito and Ren's past being revealed (it's totally a mess but it's to be expected), and the third chunk is about things unraveling.

Ok cool let's do it. (The picture was at the end of one of the chapters, I just liked it a lot idk) (also tumblr needs to increase the character limit for the alt text, it's only 200 characters, which goes by quick. twitter has like,, 420, which is more manageable)

Tohru came to Kazuma's house to visit Izusu, and Kagura came to confront Tohru about something. What possibly could it be (as if I didn't say so in the beginning)? Kagura was talking about it a bit with Kazuma, and he said he just hopes that Tohru's feelings don't come from a place of pity (which is a mild "oof" point for Kagura, because that's mostly why she loved Kyo), because Kyo has had to deal with people either flat out hating him, or being nice to him out of a sense of pity. Even Kazuma admitted (earlier in the series. I don't remember when but I remember reading it) that part of the reason he took in Kyo as a child was because he was making it up for how he treated his grandfather, the previous Cat. Over time, those feelings fell away, in favor of genuinely caring for Kyo's wellbeing, but Kazuma doesn't seem to be the one who would forget about stuff like that. (Also it turns out that the previous Cat's partner basically stayed with him out of a sense of pity, as well)

It turns out that Izusu and Tohru were talking about the same thing, and Tohru worried if her feelings for Kyo were selfish, because she wanted nothing to take Kyo away from her, not the curse, not the Sohma family, nothing. Kagura then bust into the room, smacked Tohru across the fucking room it seems, and said, "Then fucking tell him that!!" (direct quote, 100%) Izusu yelled at Kagura for hitting Tohru, asking what right she had for doing that, but given Kagura's nature, it doesn't seem completely out of nowhere. She just got pretty emotional in that moment.

For Tohru, it seemed to knock the right screw loose for her, and she thought back to when she was talking about her father to Kyo, and if he said really anything against what she was talking about, she apparently would've just zipped her lips and pretended she hadn't said anything, and moved on, but he didn't. Which is pretty nice of him to do, honestly. Anyway, when she came to again (because she got knocked out from Kagura's emotion-packed slap), Kyo was sitting there, because Kazuma had called him, ("Hey dude so there was a smackdown here and Tohru got knocked out lmao" is how I'm imagining the call. kjdhkfgjh can you imagine Kazuma saying "lmao" I can't) but Kyo didn't ask about the fight (which was a Wise Lesson from Shishou™), another nice thing for him to do, though in my opinion it would be a pretty easy thing to explain.

Ok, so now onto the second chunk, which kinda has some of the stuff in the third chunk later on but whatever. Story flow, it's pristine today.

It starts with some of the,, maids? or something that are in the Sohma house (they never get names so far as I can tell, and I don't really know what to call them, but at one point someone referred to one of them as a maid, I think? Idk.) talking about Ren, and wondering why Akito still let Ren wander around freely like she does. Another said that Akito can only do so much, because apparently there is a crowd of people in the house that are "Ren-followers", and if she had Ren be completely contained within an area, there's a chance that those followers might start some shit, which would be a headache to deal with. One of the maids said that Akito has been sick (or holed up in her room) for too long, and the rest of the Juunishi are doing nothing to help, which does not help with Ren, who spouts out stuff about how the Juunishi doesn't really care about Akito at all. The maids seem to have a particular thing against Ren, because they view her as an unsuitable woman who somehow managed to become partners with Akira, the previous God, I think, but also the father of Akito.

Speaking of Akito, she has a box. That same box that Ren tried to use Izusu to get back. Something about that box has to do with Akira, and it seems important to both Akito and Ren, though honestly at this point Akito is probably just holding onto it out of spite for Ren, I wouldn't be surprised (I, too, am a petty bitch. I understand the mindset). She asked Kureno if he has any idea what is in it, and when he says he doesn't, she simply says, "Father."

Now we jump over to Ren and Shigure, who are also talking about about that elusive box. Apparently Shigure was tasked to get the box, but obviously he didn't succeed. He said (thought? He didn't say it aloud, it was one of those thoughts thing--- anyway) that he didn't really care, he didn't even want to touch that box, much less even look at it, it was no loss to him. Out loud, he says that it would be inappropriate for him to hold it, and Ren agrees, saying that only she can have it, just like how only she could have Akira, when he was alive. Are you already sensing where this is heading? Well, I'll say it anyway.

Flash back to Kureno, he's thinking about Akira, from when he was younger and Akira was still alive. He remembers Akira as very beautiful, in a fleeting way. Akira was sickly, all the time, and sad. Everyone knew that he wouldn't live for very long. But since he was the head of the house, of the family, it was imperative that he find a partner and produce an heir. That person was Ren, who was one of his care-takers. The rest of the staff (or something??) didn't like that she was going to be with Akira, it seemed unsuitable, but she was the only candidate. She was the only person who recognized how lonely he was, is what Akira said as a defense when people objected. And so, they were married. The older members of the family despised it, the younger thought it was the beginning of a new change, a new era. Ren said (because this section is flipping between Kureno and Ren) that it was only them two (haha grammar): Akira and Ren, they were all who mattered. She was everything to Akira. So when she had Akito, well, that muddled things. Because now there was another person that Akira loved: his own fuckin child. That's right. Ren got jealous of her own child because Akira loved his very own daughter. That's,, that's something. Shortly after that, Ren decided that Akito would be raised as a boy. Or maybe it was while she was still pregnant. At any rate, she said it was because it would be unsuitable for the head of the family to be a woman, but we all know the real reason: it's so that Akira wouldn't be loving another girl, even though that other girl was his daughter. Jfc Ren is a handful. From Kureno's memory, it seems like even as a kid, Shigure recognized that.

Back to Shigure and Ren, Shigure says that he feels sorry for Ren, probably thanks to all that upset she has. She says the same, that the Juunishi have had to deal with the abuse that Akito has dealt to them simply because of that "bond", and that there's no way that anyone could honestly love Akito. Shigure also comments that sometimes he thinks that if Akito had been raised as a woman, she'd look exactly like Ren, which instantly pisses Ren off. She just starts screaming about "Who do you have to thank for Akito being born! I'm the reason that (insert angry comment about how she's the only reason why x happened)". I'm kinda glad she isn't in the series much, this is exhausting. I know she's in the book later, and maybe a bit more in the next few, but jeez. It's a lot.

Anyway, let's end the chapter with Momiji having his curse be broken. The end is near (for the Juunishi, not this post lmao).

The second that the curse breaks, Akito knows it (that's probably the bond. I doubt it's some kinda "we'll be friends forever uwu" kinda thing, it's just kinda an awareness of each other, or maybe just God's awareness of everyone) and races towards Momiji, begging him to not leave. Now that the curse is broken, Momiji is confused as to how those thoughts he had prior for Akito were even there, now that he sees Akito clinging onto him, whimpering and panicked. Momiji waves her away, saying that he'll keep it a secret, and that Akito should go rest, wasn't she feeling sick earlier?

We pan over to the school, where Haru is asking Yuki if he's noticed anything off about Momiji. Haru can't place it, but something seems off, maybe not. Kyo ends up running into Momiji walking down a hallway, and asks him about it (he overheard the others talking about it), and Momiji just out and says it: his curse broke. He said he imagines that Tohru would be happier about it if it were Kyo's curse that broke, and that he (Momiji) lost. (I guess he lost in some unspoken one-sided competition of "getting" Tohru, because y'know she's not her own person who is capable of deciding these things for herself or anything)

Later, Momiji goes back to the main Sohma estate, to apologize to Akito for how he acted yesterday, but also to say that he won't be staying there any longer. Akito takes it like a champ, slapping Momiji across the face and insulting him, saying that he's a traitor, he has nowhere else to go, his family either doesn't remember him or hates him, he'll never be happy! and Momiji's just like, "Yeah lol I already feel lonely", that he can't be with the person he loves, and he no longer has that One Thing that previously connected him to most of the other people he's close with, and that there's no going back. He does say though, that it's not Akito's decision or place to say whether Momiji will ever be happy or not, because he might not be happy now, that does not mean that he won't ever be happy in the future. He then asks Akito how long she will stay at the house, thinking that eventually, everyone will come back to her, that no one will be happy without her. What if it's actually her that is most afraid-- Akito isn't down for an analysis, she just tells Momiji to leave.

Let's now go down memory lane, down a nice and happy time, especially for Akito and Ren: Akira's death and it's after effects. Happy times. (apparently i was wrong, the thing i said was the third chunk that wove in nicely with the second was just the second chunk, i think this is the actual third chunk)

Akito is thinking back (on a rainy morning, extra points for setting the mood) on her relationship with her parents. With Akira, it was nice, he always was kind and caring, telling Akito that she is what everyone has been waiting for, and that she thought she was the one Akira loved the most. With Ren, however, she was always cruel, from the start. She always glared at Akito, she was always mean. Akito hates her. We're brought back to the day Akira died, where Ren bursts into the room, asking why she wasn't notified sooner, why Akira had to die alone. One of the attendants said his condition worsened too quickly to call Ren close by, but also that Akira hadn't died alone; he died with Akito by his side. The attendant said that Akira's will had been passed onto Akito, she was now the head of the family. Ren was angered at that, there's no reason for Akito to still be around now! She only tolerated her child being around because Akira liked her, but now that Akira is gone, there is no one to love or care about Akito. Akito said that wasn't true, that all of the Juunishi will love her, because of their bond. (Which is basically what Akira said. He put most of that stuff into her head, and she doubled down on it whenever Ren said anything against it, which might as well be every single time they were around each other)

Back to the present, Kureno comes in the room to talk about something, but Akito interrupts him, saying that she was happy when Yuki was born, as the Rat. It was mostly just something she used to prove Ren wrong, and she used it as long as she could (much to the deterioration of Yuki's mental health). She thought back, over the years, to all the bad things that had happened, how she tried so hard to keep everyone close, and how all of them had, one by one, come to "betray" (cough cough, try to live their own lives, cough cough) her. After Shigure and Yuki left to their present residence, Ren said that they had given up on Akito. When Akito again mentioned their bond (which, really, now that I think about it, has basically been the singular thing straining to keep everything under control. Akito's sole sense of identity was being God, she's never had anything else.), Ren waved it away, then challenged that if any of the Juunishi can go out into the world, experience it in all it's freaky magical ways, and not be taken in by it, and instead return to Akito, then she will have been proved wrong, Akito's claims this whole time will have been correct. If they failed to, however, Ren said that Akito would have to give up the Sohma name. But Akito believed it, she truly believed she was right, that nothing big enough would come between her and the rest of the Juunishi (Tohru has entered the chat). She had to believe it, she just had to. But now, it's evident, between how Haru reacted upon learning about Izusu, Momiji's demeanor after the curse broke, the general way that the rest of the Juunishi float away from Akito, that it isn't true, and with that, she has nothing to hope for.

Upon this realization, Ren bursts into the room, knee-length hair floating around her, eyes crazed, knife in hand, demanding for Akira. Demanding for that box, and whatever contents were inside. In response, Akito fuggin yeeted it at Ren, she didn't give a shit. It flashed back to right before Akira died, and he soothed Akito by saying that, despite dying, he will always be with her. He wanted for Ren to be happy. He wasn't upset that he was dying so soon, he knew that he was just a man who was going to die, but he was happy that he was able to have a child, and to have had that child with Ren, and since that child was special, it was proof that their relationship was a special one. Back to the present, Ren scrambles to the box, tears it open hungrily to find,,, nothing. The box was empty. It'd always been empty, said to have held Akira's soul, but it was mostly just something to help Akito with Akira's passing. Suddenly, Akito grabbed the knife that fell from Ren's hand, poised to stab Ren but then--

Hiro's curse broke. Ren can thank that bond she always scoffed at for saving her life. But hey, now Hiro can hold his baby sister, which is nice. Yay for family moments.

Boo for Akito, because it's just really grinding in that the curse is quickly falling apart, and there's absolutely nothing that she can do about it. Ren taunts Akito, asking if she was trying to kill her. The attendants blow up, one yelling at Ren for making such a scene, taking a knife with her, and another scolds the first for giving Akito that box in the first place, it's stupid! The first attendant said that Akito knew from the start that it was empty, common sense would say that much! (idk man it could've held one last letter from Akira to Akito, a letter wouldn't affect the weight of the box significantly, it's not common sense)

Akito leaves the room, and Kureno follows. Akito says that it was both common sense but also not, that there wasn't anything in the box. She wanted to believe there was a chance that something was in that box, some kind of invisible energy that would help her. But even after opening it, seeing that it was empty, she still held onto it, knowing there wasn't anything. And that was her common sense, that's what she thought. She'd never been given any other way of thinking, of living, so why and how should anyone expect differently? Kureno says that she can start learning now, that that was what he wanted to talk about earlier, that she can't stay here, she'll never be able to move on, to which Akito cuts him off with "Fuggin now, bitch?? You're saying that now?? That doesn't help me! It would have helped in the beginning! But not fucking now!" (which btw is true. i doubt akito was even allowed to go to a public school, that she was schooled within the estate. i really believe that she's never really been outside of the the properties that the Sohma family owns) Then she stabs Kureno, with that knife she's been holding all this time. She reasons with it saying that Kureno's "halfway kindness" has been killing her this whole time, that it can't be fixed by Kureno saying that maybe Akito should go touch some grass. As Akito is running from the scene (more like haggardly stumbling), she continues thinking that it's Kureno's fault, it's not on her, until she remembers what Yuki was saying at the New Year's gathering about blame. It doesn't really fix anything, it just momentarily makes you think that you're not in the wrong. *record scratch* What if it's Akito's fault, then? All of this? What if it's her fault? What if it's the fault of the person who made everyone change? What if it's Tohru's fault?? (dun dun dunnnn)

Meanwhile, back at the other Sohma house (Shigure's house?) Tohru has some confessing to do. Before that though, Kyo has some confessing to do, though not about the same thing. He tells Tohru that he knew her mom before she died, and that he was the reason she died. He tells her that they met when he was really young, and how they had kinda become friends (in that way that people become friends by talking often, but Kyo never told Kyoko his name, because he had some weird thing about having a name so similar). That all fell apart the day that Tohru went missing. He promised that he would find her and rescue her, but after finding that Yuki had done it (the evidence was The Hat), he lashed out, and never talked to Kyoko again. Years later, when he was at the crosswalk, who was beside him but Kyoko, who he recognized instantly. He wasn't sure what to do, whether to say something to her or hold back. He was totally able to grab her arm, get her out of harm's way, but he didn't, he was too scared. (plus yaknow the whole cat thing) He beats himself up about, still to this day. He does the same with his own mom's death. It was his fault that his mom killed herself, she couldn't stand having such a monster as a child. It was too much for her, and she couldn't take any longer. (It wasn't. I won't say that his mom wasn't put under strain for having Kyo, for knowing that he wasn't human, that he turned into a weird monster if his bracelet was taken off, but from what we've seen of his dad, it was probably at least 85-90% his dad's fault. He was too caught up in the politics of the Sohma family, ashamed of the fact that Kyo was the Cat, the worst out of them, that he couldn't even salvage having one of the good freaks to have as a child of his, and he took it all out on his wife and later his son.)

And the book ends on that cheery note. (Why do I say stuff like that why I am I like this)

[misterewrites]

The Fallen’s Redemption (Welcome to the Underground!)

Hey everyone! E here with the newest chapter! sorry it took a while to get out, been a wild month but it looks like everything's calming down so hopefully everything comes out more consistently. I hope you are all well and enjoying the story. Feel free to share, comment and all that jazz. I'm trying to promote myself more. Feels weird. haha that's it for me. Stay safe, wear your mask, wash your hands, vaccinate if you can and take care of your love ones. Have a great week! E out!

If you like an easier way to read the story or even find out what the heck’s going on you can read the whole thing right here!

 --> https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/74835963

It was truly impressive how one moment could shift without warning. How the highest and lowest point in a singular instant in time could reverse and just keep going.

Archie wished for once in his life it went in his favor.

The mercenary knew Oliver and Abigail had succeeded when the room settled: crooked walls straightened, the hallways were no longer elongated stretches of void and he could hear Abigail’s voice from the other room.

The demon knew it too as it bruised skin failed to heal quickly, the smoke curled off its body longer and longer as Archie sunk holy arrow after holy arrow into its form. Its muscles seemed to deflect as Fen rained blow after brutal blow upon it. It was actually pretty disturbing if Archie was going to be honest but he knew better to give pity to a demon.

Archie loosen the arrow notched in his bow but kept a wary eye on their foe. It was time to leave. This demon was trapped in this prison for a reason and Archie was suspecting at the very least it was indestructible. Attempting to destroy it would be pointless and a weakened unkillable demon was still a threat.

Archie paused, unsure how to properly convey his message to the berserk Fen. He inched closer, practically stomping to make sure Fen didn’t whirl around in surprise and attack.

He tapped the paladin’s shoulder gently but Fen paid no him no mind. He cleared his throat but Fen just kept swinging away. Archie snarled, gripping Fen’s shoulder tightly and forcing him to turn.

“What!” Fen glared “Can’t you see I’m busy destroying this demon?”

‘You are serious?’ Archie let his annoyance slip onto his face. He was about pull the paladin away when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

The demon, even beaten and in pain, was deceptively quick. It’s elongated arm shot out, aiming for a weak point in the armor.

Archie did not like Fen. Archie thought Fen was unnecessarily combative and stand offish. Fen was a pain to work with and had never once played on a team.

But Archie couldn’t deny who he was.

That’s why he joined the King’s Guard when he lived on the surface.

He acted without thinking, pulling Fen away with as much strength as he could. The claws cut into Fen’s arm but drew little blood. Most of the blood the demon managed to spill came from Archie.

-----

It was impossible to tell who acted quicker: Abigail, Oliver or even Fen.

The trio as acted one for the first time in the short while they knew each other: Oliver said nothing, opting to gesture with a middle finger towards the demon. It let out a pained shriek, reeling backwards as golden musical notes surrounded its head and a dissonance screech thundering in its ears. Fen swung backward, cracking the demon in the jaw and sent it sprawling towards the floor. Abigail raced forward, diving for Archibald's falling form.

For a lanky guy, he was heavier than Abigail was expecting. She barely managed to stop him from hitting the floor with a splat but found herself pinned under him as a result.

“Oh boy Archie” Abigail groaned, struggling to lift the mercenary “You got some weight on you.”

Archie gave a weak smile, his gaze unfocused and distant.

Abigail turned to call for Oliver but the bard was already there, carefully eyeing the wound.

“It’s not too bad” Oliver murmured to himself. He rolled his sleeves up, staining one red with the blood dripping from his hand “But we got to act fast. He’s going to bleed out we don’t get him fixed up.”

“Can you?” Abagail asked, trying her best to keep her voice calm.

Oliver didn’t answer. Instead he held a hand over the open wound, closing his eyes while muttering something under his breath.

The golden musical notes appeared once more and hovered over Archibald. A calming melody began to play as Oliver’s magic took hold. Oliver winced as his own wound knitted itself back together: pinkish skin reforming and sealed where he stabbed himself with the dagger. Archibald’s started to but something went wrong: A malicious energy poured from the wound, hungry and vicious. Oliver’s magic wavered and shimmered out of exist but the wound remained.

Oliver’s face paled, his lips curling into a snarl.

“Oh hell no!”

Oliver rose his hand once again, beads of sweat forming on his forehead as his magic reformed but once again the strange energy appeared and seemed to actively block the bard’s attempts to heal.

Oliver’s eyes grew manic “I am not letting someone else die! Curse or no curse.”

“Curse?” Abigail whispered as a chill ran down her spine “He’s been cursed.”

“A fucking demonic curse.” Oliver explained, frantically digging through his pack “Obviously my magic isn’t enough to break it.”

Abigail nodded numbly “We need holy magic.”

“Which we don’t have.” Oliver responded grimly “You have any thread?”

“Thread?”

“I’m going to try to stitch him up. I’m hoping the curse is only focused on magical cures.”

“R-right.” Abigail’s hand moved on their own, reaching for her pack while she desperately tried to remember where she kept the thread. It wasn’t the easiest thing with one hand but the other was wrapped tightly around Archie’s body. Definitely not the smartest choice but she refused to let go of him.

Abigail’s hand shook as the nerves started to eat at her.

“Talk to me farm girl.” Oliver sounded far off “You need to stay focus.

She took a calming breath “Right. Right. Calm. Are you sure threads would work?”

“No” Oliver admitted “But I’m hoping they last long enough for us to get him to the capital. He needs a real cleric or paladin” he glared openly Fen’s back as the paladin continued his cruel attack on the demon “and we’re going to need every second. Dragging him out the house, up the slope and down the tunnel is going to be a challenge but we have to try.”

The air grew thick with tension, the only sounds were Abigail’s panicked search and thuds of Fen’s assault

“Die demon die!” Fen growled with a righteous fever “I will send you back from whence your came!”

Crunch, squish, crunch, squish, crunch. The repetitive noise of Fen’s wasted efforts.

Oliver tried to keep calm. Oliver tried to focus on the task hand. Oliver wanted nothing more than silence.

Oliver always had a poor control over his mouth.

“WOULD YOU SHUT UP!?”

Abigail stood, shocked at the rage and fury that filled Oliver’s shout.

Fen caught it too. He paused, turning away from his prey and eyed Oliver’s distastefully.

“You dare…?” Fen began, angrily stomping closer to the pair.

“You fucking right I dare!” Oliver shot to his feet, hands clenched to fists “You are joke and worse, not even a funny one. Just a pathetic washed out paladin who doesn’t even realize why his God abandoned him!”

Fen held Oliver’s lute in a deathly grip “I am warning you bard if you push me further….”

“You’ll what?” Oliver roared. He closed the distance and even Fen couldn’t help but take a step back “You���ll attack me? A fellow human? Not very holy of you.”

“I….”

“What’s the point of killing monsters...” Oliver screamed, gesturing to the bleeding Archibald and fearful Abigail “...if there’s no one left to save when you’re done! What’s the point of punishing the wicked if good people have to die for it?”

Fen felt sick as realization washed over him. Young Archibald had gotten severely injured but he been so caught up in his fury he hadn’t realized what occurred.

“I….” Fen began weakly but Oliver wasn’t finished.

“Don’t.” Oliver spoke with an aura of finality “You made your choice. You chose your anger over your duty. If you regret the outcome, you should’ve thought about the choice more carefully. Abigail, thread.”

Abigail nodded and began searching for the elusive thread. Oliver turned away from the stunned paladin and pulled out a fine needle.

“Come on solider boy.” He spoke with a firm tone “You’re not dying on me. If you want to get paid, you’ll keep your breathing steady.”

Fen couldn’t hear what the others were saying. The guilt started to build in the pit of his stomach as his arms grew weak.

How could he fall so far? How could he forget his oath to the Solius, the god who saved his life and gave it meaning? How could he allow his anger, his bitterness poison his intention?

This god hadn’t abandoned him, he had abandoned his god.

He still remembered the quiet pride he shone with when he was anointed a paladin. A nobody from a town that no longer existed finally someone. A higher purpose.

The path to redemption is made by self sacrifice.

He thought it meant punishing the wicked creatures and enemies of Solius, giving his life to endless battle.

He closed his eyes in shame, unable to deny the truth of his failure any longer.

Fen’s eyes flinched as a light seemed to shine from nowhere. He opened his eyes expecting to find the irritating bard using his magic to annoy him further.

Instead he found a beautiful soft light emitting from his hands: an open palm and the weaponized lute glowed with an unearthly beauty.

He glanced towards the other but if they had seen the light, they made no indication of it. He could see the desperation in their actions: Abigail unspooling as much thread she could muster while Oliver threaded the needle in preparation for some makeshift surgery.

Fen looked at his hands once again and realized what Solius hadn’t left him. Not really. He always had been with the paladin but he was too blinded by resentment to notice. Now Solius was silently offering him the choice free of judgment.

What path will you choose: of peace or of war?

Fen was a warrior through and through. He was no healer, having never trained in such arts. He knew the path he chose when he swore himself to the god of redemption. A righteous blade on the mortal plane.

“Hey Archie” Abigail croaked, her voice hoarse with fear “It’ll be okay. Oliver’s just gonna shove a needle into your body.”

Archibald rolled his eyes sarcastically as if saying ‘oh fun’

Oliver pulled the thread to ensure it wouldn’t come loose “Sorry I don’t have medicine or anything to numb the pain or even proper experience but hey, what better way to learn new skills huh?”

Archibald shook his head in disbelief.

“I’ll do my best.” Oliver promised with a surprising amount of sincerity “Hopefully it will be enough.”

“Bard.”

Oliver let out a frustrated groan “Seriously?! Now? Can’t you see that I’m about to perform…”

“Allow me.”

Oliver turned to Fen, surprised to see his lute placed carefully on the floor and the paladin’s hands open in peaceful surrender.

“Can you do it?”

“I believe so.”

Oliver moved, allowing Fen room to work. Fen took a deep breath and gently placed his hands onto the open wound. Archibald flinched but stayed as still as he could manage.

The malicious curse crept forth.

“Solius, lend me your power to save this life. It is not yet time.”

Abigail let out a gasp as a gentle light began to cover Fen’s hands. The curse stretched and thinned under the glow of holy magic, shrinking and shrinking before vanishing completely. Archibald relaxed as his wound began to close, skin stitching itself back together until no trace of the injury remained.

Fen let out a tired sigh “The path to redemption is made through self sacrifice.”

“Don’t start.” Oliver warned “Help me lift him up.”

Oliver spared a quick glance for the demon but it wisely chosen to retreat deeper into the house rather purse a one sided fight. Better live with a pain that would heal slowly than face the group’s wrath.

“I got him” Abigail spoke up quickly “I can do it.”

“Well you heard the lady.”

-----

“There’s no sign of your beasts bard.”

“Not entirely true.” Oliver replied. He took note of the gnashed, clawed marks left upon the exterior of the house when they left.

Aside from the various scratch marks left all over the floor and outside of the walls, there was no sign of the mysterious creatures that chased them down the tunnel.

“That’s a lucky break” Oliver breathed in relief.

Archibald flipped off Oliver.

“Relatively.” Oliver corrected “How you feeling solider boy?”

Archibald shot him a glance that screamed ‘you seriously asking me that?’

“Force of habit. Sorry. Not sorry.”

The group stood at the mouth of the tunnel. With Fen’s help, they managed to get Archibald to the top with little trouble.

Abigail slowly approached the paladin “What will you do now?”

Fen paused, taking a moment to answer.

“I am not sure.” he admitted truthfully “As much as I despise your bard, he has given me much to think about.”

“I have that effect on people.” Oliver beamed with pride.

Abigail jabbed her elbow into his side.

“Rude.”

Fen gave a light chuckle “Thank you bard. I still hate you though.”

Oliver gave a noncommittal shrugged “I hate you too but you don’t have to like someone to learn something from them.”

“I am not giving you that one.”

“Yeah that tracks.”

Fen turned to Archibald “Will you be alright? I can accompany you to Haven’s Nest if you wish.”

Archibald waved him off and gestured to Abigail with a flexing motion.

“Thanks!” Abigail smiled brightly.

Fen grinned “I understand and I apologize for my lack of….everything. I will work on that.”

Archibald nodded in understanding.

“Goodbye” Fen turned towards the path to West End “Abigail, Archibald take care. Bard I hope I never see you again.”

“Same here paladork!”

-----

Abigail understood why Oliver chose the unexplored tunnel when they had been chased by the strange creatures: With Abigail carrying Archibald, it had taken the group an hour to reach the city gate. At full sprint it would’ve taken at least 20 minutes to reach but there was no way the group could’ve ran that length without the risk of tripping.

The city gate wasn’t too much different than the walls that surrounded Abigail’s hometown: Instead towering walls designed to be too tall to climb, it was a thick metal door built in the path of the tunnel mouth. There were a pair of guards stationed on their side of the wall, lazy and distracted.

“What happened to him?” one of the guards gestured to Archibald.

“A bad time. Gate closed?”

The other guard shook his head “Nah. We heard a commotion down the tunnel so we decided to shut it in case.”

Oliver nodded “Good call. Let us in?”

“Oi, I ask the questions. What’s your business in the capital?”

Abigail began to open her mouth but Oliver cut her off “Bard competition. They’re my roadies.”

“What’s a roadie?” One guard asked dumbly.

“My help. I’m a pretty big deal.”

The guards sneered “Sure big deal. Sing us something.”

Oliver looked at his fingernails “You can hear me sing at the competition. I don’t do free shows.”

“Fucking bards” the guard murmured under his breath as he knocked on the door with a booming thud.

Abigail could the creaking and groaning of clogs and springs and chains moving in unison. The door began to lift inch by inch. Abigail couldn’t help but lean forward, hoping to soak in her first experience at an underground city. However, instead of whatever she had been expecting, she found herself staring at a large circular cavern.

There were a few people about deep in conversion as well a handful of guards scattered around. Merchants calling in different tongues hoping to make a sale for their wares. On the far end was an identical metal door that no doubt led to the actual city. To either side the cavern walls that were covered with nonsensical graffiti: Phrases in various languages, different images in varying art styles.

“Processing?” Abigail asked with a tone of certainty.

“Yep. It’ll be a few minutes.” Oliver answered while he looked about.

Abigail shifted Archibald so he could be more comfortable “Did you want to sit?”

Archibald shook his head.

“Alright but if you get tired let me know.”

A thumbs up in response.

“Oliver….” Abigail whirled around only to find the bard scribbling some strange symbol among the mess of whatever what was on the wall “OLIVER!”

Oliver paid no mind to her, opting to finish whatever he was doing and making his way back to the other two.

Abigail rose an eyebrow “What was that about?”

“I like doodling. I get bored easily.”

“I was talking to Archie for like a second.”

“Bored.” Oliver repeated unhelpfully “Besides they magically clean the walls every night. Come on let’s get in line.”

True to Oliver’s word, it hadn’t taken long to get through the processing: The same questions asked by the guards in front, a quick magical scan from the cleric to ensure nothing demonic was entering, a search to see if anyone was carrying anything illegal. A few minutes had passed and the trio was waved through.

Archibald regained enough strength to walk on his own albeit slowly. The group was among a handful other people eagerly waiting for the gate to open when a guard had given them some strange item. It looked like two thin marshmallows.

“What is this about?” Abigail asked only to find Oliver and Archibald place the strange item into their ears. Having no choice, Abigail followed suit.

The gate slowly opened, pulling to the side instead upwards.

Abigail leaned forward, catching her first glimpse of Haven’s Nest.

[nvalentino]

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 {𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬} • 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐨

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is my way of putting the story of two against the world into my own style and fixing things that bug me about the game. This is in no way meant to diminish the writer’s work, but everyone has different taste. 

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2k+

Movies have always been my escape. A way to distance me from a crumbling economy and stressful days at work- something simple. There’s nothing quite like mindlessly inhaling popcorn in the dark, alone with no one to judge you. All the while staring at an enormous silver screen for two hours straight. I love that it’s a world away from my own. 

My town’s movie theatre isn’t much, but she’s got character. Sat on the corner two run-down cross streets, her paint- peeled walls crawling with thick vines and the crooked marquee sign whose lights don’t work has almost become a second home. So when I heard she was hosting an all-night crime movie marathon, I’ve never bought a ticket faster in my life.

When I show up to the theatre, there’s a line wrapped around the block and they’re all dressed as mobsters, Femme Fatales, wise guys... these are my people. I look up at the marquee, which reads: ‘FILM MARATHON: ALL NIGHT GANGSTERS.’ 

My heart nearly jumps from my chest. I’d been waiting all week for this, for my break. I finally reach the front of the line, and I’m greeted by Murray, the owner of the place. I think he’s been hunched behind that ticket booth since Bogart ruled the box office. 

“What’s a looker like yourself doing here alone on a Friday evening?” It’s always the same. No matter how many times it seems I show up in his lobby- Murray always forgets me. It’s lovely to know I’m so memorable. 

“Are you ever alone when you have the characters on screen?” I keep my tone light and teasing. Can’t be cruel to Murray- bit like roundhouse kicking a puppy.

“You look familiar, you a regular here?” Ah, there it is. Scratch my previous statement, I’m at least a little important. Guess all those hours spent in front of him’s paying off.

“That I am.” I rest an arm on the counter, an even smile on my face. Murray leans closer, getting a better look at me. I’m all too used to all his antics by now, and smiling is the easiest way to get alone.

“And your name is?” Can’t have everything in life, I suppose, and, as lovable as he is, he hasn’t been all there for the better part of a decade. 

“Murray, it’s me, {Y/N}.”

“Oh, right,” he smiles, straightening back to look me over. “Why didn’t you say so? You know my eyes ain’t what they used to be.” I have to hold back a laugh, but it’s easily covered with a large grin. “I didn’t take you for a fan of gangster movies.”

This time, an amused scoff passes my lips. Resting my hip against the counter I feign an offended look, “It’s like you don’t even know me anymore, Murray. I love gangster movies.” 

“So do I, kid. The slick-talking, the high drama, the whirlwind romances.” A wistful look crosses his eyes, like that of a family member flicking through family photo albums reminiscing about the old days- then his face clears up. “Speaking of romance, where’s your date?”

Talk about beating a dead horse. I nearly always turn up alone to the movies- no matter how much I’d like to have someone to bring. But I come the same way each time- all by myself. “I just told you. I fly solo. I don’t need a wingman. Besides, why bring a date when you have the company of the beautiful people on the big screen.”

A look of concern washes over Murray’s face- something much unlike anything I’ve seen on him before like he was deep in thought. “Fair enough. A movie star will be your date tonight, then.”

“Exactly,” I laugh. “Now, can you let me in?”

“Can you show me your ticket?”

I reach into my pocket, eager to get inside so I can buy a box of popcorn and soda. But my pocket’s empty. Oh, god no. I reach into my other pocket. And to my absolute shock, there’s nothing inside but lint and a cracked phone. Instantaneously, I’m checking everywhere: coat pockets, shirt pockets, back pockets- each and every one of them like the last: empty. My heart sinks- I lost the ticket. Only me. I nervously read my surroundings. A line of impatient movie-goers behind me, an elderly ticket-take in front of me, and a sign in big bold letters that hangs above him. Tonight’s showing: Sold Out.

“Your ticket, please?”

“Oh, god, Murray- I-I can’t find it,” my hands glide over every pocket again- desperately trying to find some trace of the ticket.

I feel a lump burning in my throat and a wet gloss beginning to coat my eyes. If losing my ticket wasn’t bad enough- feeling the burning stares of the long line behind me is tipping my scale. “I’m sorry, dear. I’m not sure what I can do. We’re all sold out.”

My eyes fall to my feet as murmurs sound from behind me, doing my best to hold back the disappointment and embarrassment boiling over. “Right. My fault.” My cheeks feel hot, my entire body’s burning. I can’t believe it. A week’s worth on excitement drained out of me in a matter of seconds.

Just as I take a step away from the counter- Murray calls my name. “Hold on. Maybe there’s something I can do.” I turn around, and Murray looks at me with a sceptic’s eye. “You really want a date with a movie star tonight, do you?”

“Yes. Please, I can’t tell you how long I’ve been looking forward to this.” My pride’s the last thing on my mind, focusing solely on pleading with the man in front of me.

He reads my expression, seeming to gaze straight through me, and then he straightens out his vest. “You’re positive?”

“Murray, I’ve never been more positive about anything in my life.” Okay, drama queen- dial it back a bit.

“Very well.”

“One of my customers cancelled their reservation last minute. And they were very important. From Hollywood. You can take their place if you’d like.” And with those words, my face is overtaken with joy.

“Wow, Murray, thank you so much.”

Murray retrieves a golden ticket stub from the booth, and it sparkles underneath the glow of the marquee. He rips the stub in two and hands me the other end. Something in his eyes sparkles like he knows something that I don’t. “Choose your adventure wisely, kid. It’s almost showtime.”

For a moment, I’m captivated by the ticket- the grumbling line behind me forgotten. Admit One has never felt so... special. I stride past Murray, toward the doors to the lobby, the sweet smell of salted buttered popcorn pulling me inside.

But when I waltz inside, everything about the rundown movie theatre is different. The sticky floors have been replaced by slick velvet carpeting. A grand staircase sits where the pinball machine used to be. Thick red curtains have replaced the shredded B-Movie posters. And the people around me are dressed like they’re from a ball in the 1920′s. This room alone could buy all the places I’ve ever lived. This isn’t my theatre. The dimensions aren’t even correct. I’m either hallucinating or this is all a dream. Either way, I’m spooked. I’ve got to get out of here.

I pivot back to the door and yank at the handle. But it won’t budge. I can feel my heart bursting from my chest. Everything feels so real- there’s no way I’m dreaming. I wrap both hands around the handle this time, clutching the ironclad door. But it’s completely seals shut. Okay. Don’t Panic. There has to be an explanation. For why... for how... for how I’ve been magically transported to a movie palace from the early twentieth century. Just hearing myself think that makes me light-headed. This can’t be real.

I turn around once again, and in my delirium, I see a sharply dressed man eyeing me from amongst the crowd. His angelic smile looks like it’s worth a million bucks, and his eyes are like none I’ve ever seen in person. The colour of honeyed whiskey and unbelievably sharp. This only happens in the movies. He only exists in the movies. One of the crime flicks about the Roaring Twenties. But I can’t place exactly which one. With a sly wink, he confidently turns away from me and moves through the crowd.

Intrigued, and left with little other options, I follow him. But he’s elusive. I walk faster, but the faster I walk- the further away he seems to be. He reaches for an expansive, gold-plated door. And before I can even call out to him, he’s on the other side of it. Oh, come on.

I hurry my pace, clumsily weaving my way between the other guests until I reach the door myself. Without so much as a thought, I pull the door open and step into a buzzing room packed with boozy patrons dancing to the boisterous symphonies of Broadway jazz. I watch in amazement as women in sequin flapper dresses do the Charleston with men suited up in black tuxedos. Unless I’m mistaken, I’d say I’ve just stepped foot in a rowdy speakeasy from the jazz age.

Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. I pinch myself. Ouch. Not dreaming. I turn my attention to the crowded bar, its customers getting tipsy on saccharine highballs. If there’s one thing I need right now, it’s a glass of something strong. I move swiftly to the stool studded counter.

“What’ll it be?” The bartender, a bow-tie clad man whose greying hair is slicked back from his forehead, asks.

“Oh- uh, what are my options?” He points to a chalkboard behind him, which has the names of several drinks etched into its surface. Fuck. I should’ve paid more attention to the drinks featured in all the movies I watch because I have no idea what any of these mean. 

“She’ll have a Gin Rickey with a dash of syrup.” The words come from behind me, saving my breath. “And I’ll be having an Old Fashioned, old-timer.”

The mystery man pulls a glistening silver case from his jacket pocket as the bartender begins synthesizing our drinks. He flips open the case revealing a handful of perfectly rolled cigarettes inside. How do you talk to a man from an entire century ago? Especially one so... gorgeous. Don’t reference memes. Easier said than done.

“Care for a smoke?” He flashes that five-star smile at me again as he retrieves a matchbook from his coat. I shake my head- mind racing. Don’t mess up, don’t mess up, down mess up...

“Where am I?” Way to go- not crazy at all. Definitely, something a completely normal and functioning human being would ask. 

“You don’t know where you are?”

You’ve fucked up- own it, but try and keep your stupid contained. You’re supposed to be wooing him- not scaring him off. “Not exactly.”

The man ignites a match, the flicker of a flame painting his face in moving shadows as he lights the cigarette. He returns his silver case and the matchbook to his jacket pocket. “You tell me your name and I’ll tell you where you are.”

“{Y/N}.” So far so good. My mind is still reeling- eyes combing over every inch of the room- trying to find a sign, anything, to prove that this is all real. “I’m dreaming. Aren’t I?” The sudden sensation of being spun around takes over my body.

“If this is a dream, I don’t ever want to wake up.” I feel my cheeks warm at the words, at least one of us is articulated. “The names Nicky. Nicky Valentino.” Nicky brings my wrist to his lips, pressing a kiss to the top of my hand. I swear I can feel my soul departing

“Charming as you may be, I’m not from here-” my already jumbled sentence gets interrupted by the bartender. He places the candied, kaleidoscopic drinks before us. Nicky slips the man two bills, then looks at me with those mischievous hazel eyes.

“Cheers.”

I hesitatingly clink my glass with his and place the cold drink to my bottom lip. I take one sip and my mouth contorts with the overwhelming taste of tart. “Right- so as I was saying.” My tongue feels dry, tight as I glance around the room once more. Think, think. 

“Doesn’t take a wisehead to know you ain’t from New York.” Even with my own tense posture, all his words hold a lilt of teasing.

“Yeah. But I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.” What do you even say? ‘Hey, I’m not just out of state, I’m out of century.’ I don’t know how that’d go over, but I’m imagining not well.

“Of course you’re supposed to be here,” it’s a good thing I’m not standing because the look on his face is enough to buckle my knees. “You’re the person of my dreams, and this is my dream, right?” His honeyed and soft words do loosen my shoulders- but I can’t help my tangled mind.

“Okay. How can I explain this... I’m not even from your...” Right words, right words. “Your... dimension” Could be better. 

“So, like from upstate?” I have to hold back a scoff- he’s a total dork. Nicky coyly grins to himself, expression morphing into one I’ve only ever seen on a silver screen. “Can you pinch me? ‘Cause now I know I’m dreamin’.“

The tightness in my shoulders dissipates as I laugh at the remark. If there’s one thing he’s exceptional at- it’s being annoyingly charismatic. “I’m still not sure I can explain this right. Do you like going to the movies?”

“Yeah. I like the ones about wise guys, car chases, and the ride or die sidekicks.” Fitting.

“W-well... it’s- it’s... it’s like everything became a... a movie for me.” How in the world do you word this? “You’re like a-”

“A movie star?” I nod, and he considers this like it isn’t the slightest bit absurd. He exhales a thin stream of smoke from his lips then chases it with a sip of the Old Fashioned. “Listen, if it’s a movie, you gotta know some things. This movie is fast, it’s dangerous. Until about five minutes ago, all I wanted was the entire world and I wanted it all to myself.”

“And now?”

“Now I still want the world. But I want it for two.” Between the alcohol and the compliments, my head is spinning in the best way possible. Nicky was right: if this is a dream, then keep the damn lights off.

“That’s very poetic of you, F. Scott.” Everything about him is magnetic, drawing me closer with each word. I can’t help myself but lean in.

“You forgot my name already? It’s Nicky.”

Lord, he’s definitely a dork. “No it’s- never mind.” Nicky places his hand into the pocket inside his coat and pulls out a thin black jewellery case.

“I want you to have something.” He cracks open the case, and inside sits a breathtaking diamond bracelet with enough shimmering carats to blind me. It’s excessive. It’s perfect.

“Nicky, what is this?” I train my eyes on him, trying my best to get a read on him, but he’s impossible. 

“Do me a favour. Just try it on.”

“I can’t... I’ve only just met you. And-” 

My argument is cut short with a raise of his eyebrows, “I’m a movie star, right? So why not play the part. You can’t take it off soon as you finish your drink.” I let my eyes fall back to the case, combing over the bracelet.

“I may never finish my drink.” The words tumble past my lips with little thought- nearly catching myself off guard with the brashness.

“I’m counting on it.” I watch as Nicky removes the bracelet from the case, fingertips brushing my skin as he cuffs it delicately around my wrist.

“So, what’s your game, Nicky?”

“My game?” He seems confused by the inquiry, but I can’t think of a reasonable time someone would fork over something so expensive to a total stranger.

“Yeah. What do you want from me?” Nicky stares at the strand of diamonds that fits perfectly around my wrist. I suddenly feel off- like I’d overstepped an unspoken boundary. “It’s a fair question considering five minutes after meeting me you’re giving me diamonds. Usually, guys wait to the third date for that.”

“I’m setting my price.”

“Your price?” Baffled by the words, my eyebrows knit together, “your price for what?”

“Leaving it all behind.” Shoulders dripping, I scan over his face. He’s just as unreadable as before. What does it mean? Leaving it all behind. Nicky only offers a warm smile, like he can read mind and in his eyes, I catch a glint of sincerity behind the bravado. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have somewhere to be.”

“You’re kidding?” I scoff.

“We’ll be in touch. I guarantee it.” I can’t even protest, Nicky gets up from his stool and walks away. 

“No, Nicky- you’re not- you can’t leave me with this bracelet!” My protest is futile, falling to deaf ears. He’s already a third the way to a far door. “Nicky!” But he either can’t hear me or doesn’t want to hear me. “Damn it!” Once again, Nicky eludes me as he finesses his way between guys and dames.

This time, I’m not letting him get away from me. I leap out of my seat, and the barstool nearly crashes to the floor as I hurry after him. I knock into a couple in the throes of a drunken kiss, interrupting what would have been a perfect moment. I collect my footing and peer ahead. Nicky is more than halfway now.

I’m a foot from the couple before a hand circles my wrist, spinning me on my heel to find a man already a few drinks deep. “Where you goin’, sugar?” His breath reeks. 

“I-I... gotta,” his fingers are curled into the bracelet. “Let me...” I wrench myself free from him, stumbling back into another drunken couple standing behind me, “go.”

As Nicky’s hand wraps around the door handle, I take off, leaving the man and couples in my rearview. Just as I get within spitting distance, he pushes the door open. I reach out for him, grabbing a hold of his wrist before he can take another step. Feeling my grip, Nicky spins around to face me. The door slams shut behind him. A brash grin enveloping his face.

“You’ve done good, kid.”

“What do you mean? Was this some kind of test?”

“If it was, how do you think you did?”

“I’m not sure the type of person who wants to test me is the kind of person I want to be around.” Nicky lays his eyes on my hand, which is still tightly gripping his wrist.

“You sure about that, toots?” Instantly, my skin goes hot from embarrassment. I quickly retract my hand from his. He’s so frustratingly sauve.

“I’m- I’m sure.”

“Hold on, I didn’t say you should let go.”

“You didn’t need to.” Nicky inches closer to me, interlocking his fingers with mine.

“{Y/N}, I was only teasing. I don’t want you to let go.” He grasps my hand as if letting go would mean he’d lose a part of himself, a lifeline. “In my world, the less people you keep close, the less chance you have at getting hurt. But... you’re not from my world, right? So maybe there’s room for an exception.”

I squeeze his hand tighter, our hands clasped together in an unspoken devotion. I look up into Nicky’s eager eyes, and then at his lips before asking, “you want me to be your exception?”

“That’s right.” Nicky lets go of my hand and turns away from me. “Follow me.” He pushes the door open, enthusiastically walking into another sizable group of strangers outside. As I follow Nicky out of the room, he’s gone from sight. And so is everyone else. 

I’m back in the movie theatre lobby- my movie theatre. The place is completely empty, and an eerie quiet has set over the room. I pace a few steps until I’m smack dab in the centre of the room. And now that I’m back to my world, I’m already longing for the adventure promised by the other. And my hand’s feeling awfully empty. So is my wrist. The bracelet. Fuck. I’ve had the damn thing for forty seconds and it’s already been nicked.

“Is someone going to explain all this to me? What the hell is going on?” Then, a hand taps me on the shoulder. “Whoa!” I yelp, startled at the other presence in the room. “Murray! Jesus, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

“What’d ya think, kid?”

“The movie. What’d ya think about my movie?”

“Murray! You knew about all- all this?”

“I know what goes on in my theatre.” Murray momentarily looks down and polishes a brass button on his coat. “I’ve been showing movies for the better part of my life, and I know when I see a movie star. You, my friend, are a movie star. The question is: are you ready for your close-up?”

“What... what do you mean?” Everything is hitting me at once. That really wasn’t a dream.

Murray inhales with pride as he observes his theatre. “There are many theatres in this joint, all playing crime films from the great American eras. You’ve been fortunate enough to see the trailer for one, but did it suit you?” He places a hand on my shoulder, and we walk to the entrance of the first theatre. “Is the ostentatious world of Gatsby’s New York, of raucous speakeasies and illegal rum-running in the roaring twenties your adventure?”

He turns to look at me, kind eyes shining with expectancy. My heart rate jumps at the question, giddy for the prospect of adventure but anxious for the consequences. No movie is perfect. “I can just... be a part of it?”

“For now.”

“What about this world? The real world?”

“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to escape. Besides, who’s to say what’s real and what’s not.” Murray smiled a wistful and weathered smile. Like what I pictured a clock would smile, full of known and unknown. “What’d you say, kid?”

 He’s right, I’d be fooling myself if I said otherwise. I want this- I think I’ve always wanted something like this. With a calming breath and a final look around the theatre, I nod. “Yes.”

“Very good, your co-stars are waiting inside.” Murray steps aside, gesturing to the door. “Enter whenever you feel ready.” 

“No time like the present.” I take another deep gulp of air, trying to silence my screaming heart rate. I’m not dreaming. This is real.

“But remember, this is a cinema: once the movie begins, there’s no rewind button.” Thanks, no pressure. I’m nervous, to say the least- but this is what I’m supposed to be doing. I proceed into the movie theatre entrance, its double doors awaiting my arrival. I push open the doors and walk into my starring role.

Lights. Camera. Action. Two Against the World.

[clumsyclifford]

bella i’m just SAYING if you felt like writing boyfriend jalex in LA like they are rn why are they there just vibing together why is alex there i’m hella emo just saying i wouldn’t be MAD about it 😘

well PAIGE you may have been ONTO something here. alex is in LA because he loves his boy next question

read it here on ao3

-

Death By Hug is not a bad way to go, Jack thinks. It certainly beats Death By Loneliness.

The longer he and Alex stand here, the more Jack wonders if they really are going to die here, holding onto each other like Alex is a soldier returning from war and Jack is his lover who's been writing constantly to the front lines. Or something. It's also possible Jack has watched too many war movies lately.

"We gotta move," Alex finally mumbles. They’re at the gate and people are stepping around them.

"We don't have to."

"Well, I can't kiss you with a mask on."

That is a very good point. Jack squeezes Alex one last time and finally steps back.

Los Angeles looks good on Alex.

-

Supposedly, Alex is here to write. It's not like that's a lie; they are going to take advantage of Alex's presence and log as many studio hours as possible, but that still leaves a lot of early mornings and late nights unaccounted for. Well. For Jack it does. He knows Alex has been dying to get back in the studio, to put words to music in a way that sounds less like a kid messing around on his dad's guitar and more like a professional musician making demos. But if Jack has to pull Alex from the studio by force, he will. 

He will do his best. He is definitely not stronger than Alex but he will try.

For now, though, they have the evening to themselves.

Even with a suitcase, Alex looks right at home in Jack's place. "I'm gonna put my stuff in your room," he tells Jack, and Jack just nods.

"I'm gonna have some cereal," he decides, because he's in the mood for cereal and it is his right as a grown-ass man to eat cereal at all hours. Alex just laughs as he heads towards Jack's room, and Jack grins.

He heads for the kitchen and spends a minute deliberating over what cereal to have before yielding to the eternal power of Fruity Pebbles. They’re practically calling his name. Jack’s strong, but not that strong.

As he’s pouring the cereal into a cup, arms snake around his waist, squeezing tight.

“Hello, cereal boy,” says Alex, tucking his chin into Jack’s shoulder. “Mm, Fruity Pebbles for dinner. You’re the master of health.”

“Yes I am,” Jack says. “This is how they do it in L.A., Al.”

“Who exactly is ‘they’?”

“Me and Bree.”

Alex laughs. “Man, L.A. has really changed.”

“Maybe you should spend more time here.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Alex says. “Next global pandemic I’ll be sure to quarantine here with you.”

Jack shakes his head, smiling a little. “That’s all I want to hear. Do you want some cereal?”

“I was thinking we could order a pizza.”

“Oh, pizza,” Jack says, hesitating with his cup of cereal in hand. “Pizza sounds good.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I can have both.”

“You’re the weirdest person ever,” Alex says as Jack sets the cup down and turns around, forcing Alex to loosen his grip. The moment hits Jack full-force; it hadn’t really sunk in until now, but Alex is here. Here. In Los Angeles. With Jack.

Alex is here.

“I’m so fucking happy you’re here,” Jack says. Alex’s smile grows, the way it always does following any kind of emotion from Jack. It’s been weeks since Jack has seen that smile in person, weeks since Jack has seen Alex in person, and he’d forgotten how good it feels to be the reason for it.

FaceTime is good, but nothing is as good as the real thing.

“Well, I’m really fucking happy to be here,” Alex says, pulling Jack closer with the hands around his waist. “I’ve missed you.”

“Yes,” Jack says. “Same. Me too. I feel like I’m going to wake up any second.”

“What, and this will all be a dream?”

“Yes,” Jack says emphatically. It could be. He’s had similar dreams. Granted, he’s never eating Fruity Pebbles in any of them, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. 

“Me being here?” Alex asks, sliding his hands up Jack’s sides and chest to come to rest on his shoulders. “Or the whole pandemic?”

“I wish I could wake up and have the pandemic be a dream,” Jack huffs. “Or nightmare. Worst nightmare of my entire life.” He’s gotten a little bit off-track, but to be fair, Alex is being very distracting, what with the brushing noses and hands under the collar of his shirt and everything. Jack has yet to build up an immunity to Alex Gaskarth. This is something he has in common with the entire rest of the world.

Alex kisses him. Jack stops thinking about whatever it was he was thinking about. The important thing is that Alex is here and it’s not a dream, and Jack has Fruity Pebbles and his boyfriend and potentially pizza on the way and several hours of nothing at all, to occupy themselves however they choose. The possibilities are endless.

“Doesn’t feel like a dream to me,” Alex says sweetly, pulling back.

“You’re so mean,” Jack says. “Are you saying I’m not your dream guy?”

He gets an eyeroll for his troubles, but then Alex agrees to order the pizza, leaving Jack to eat his cereal in peace instead of having to deal with phones and Other People. Normally he’s a fan of Other People, but tonight it’s all Alex. 

(As far as Jack is concerned, as long as Alex is here, every night is all Alex.)

-

The pizza arrives as they’re half an hour into rewatching the first episode of The Mandalorian. This is the first and last time they pause until Alex yawns, and Jack realizes that midnight in L.A. is three in the morning in Maryland.

“Bedtime,” he declares. If Alex weren’t as nocturnal as he is, he probably wouldn’t have even made it to midnight. As it is, he drags his feet every step from the living room couch to Jack’s bedroom, including his detours to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Jack cleans up a little in the meantime, breaking down the pizza box to dispose of it and rinsing all the dishes for easier cleanup in the morning. The responsible thing would be to wash them now, but Jack can’t find any reason to be responsible. It’s his own home. He’ll wash dishes when he chooses.

By the time he’s turned all the apartment lights off and shuffled into his room, Alex is curled up under the blanket. His eyes are closed like he’s asleep but he’s breathing like he’s awake. Jack putters around, quietly putting on his own pajamas and brushing his teeth, before he, too, climbs into bed.

As predicted, Alex turns over. “Wh’time are we waking up?” he slurs.

Jack reaches blindly for his phone, plugged in on the side table. “Dunno. What time are we going to the studio?”

“Ten?”

Jack sets an alarm for nine, though it’s more for Alex’s sake than his own. “Okay. Done.”

“Love you,” Alex mumbles, burrowing into Jack’s chest. Jack smiles — he has his own stupid Alex smile for when Alex is being lovably, adorably, uniquely Alex — and pulls the blankets up over him. 

“Love you,” he hums, pressing a kiss into Alex’s hair. The quiet moment swells around them both. Jack falls asleep fast. He’s holding Alex close in his dreams, too, like even his subconscious can’t come up with anything better than this.

-

It’s hour nine in the studio, and Jack is ready to call it.

They’ve gotten a lot done. It feels good to be back, or as “back” as this is, back in the studio, back to writing music. Alex has obviously been overflowing with ideas from being cooped up at his farm in Baltimore, which has led to an extremely productive studio day. Hardly half an hour has passed without someone picking up a guitar. 

For the first eight hours, Jack is totally invested. This is his lifeblood, too, and by now he probably has a hundred separate voice notes of guitar riffs and chord progressions that he hadn’t wanted to forget. Getting those off of his phone and into real recordings is a big sigh of relief. 

Also, he and Alex are really good together.

This has been pretty reliably true throughout their career, but somehow it never fails to give Jack a thrill. Watching Alex’s eyes light up as Jack plays through Lead Guitar Part #37; his rapid “waitwaitwait play that again” as he pulls out his phone to scroll through lyrics jotted down in transient moments of thought; the spark that catches when somehow Alex has the perfect line to sing over this four-note riff that’s been echoing around Jack’s empty apartment for weeks. It feels a little like fate every time. Alex can drive a lyrical stake through an elusive melody like no other.

The progress today has been sufficient, so Jack thinks now is a good time to bow out, before they run out of steam. Quit while they’re ahead. There’s always tomorrow and the next day. Nine hours is a respectable studio day, and if today is any indication, they could have a song or two tomorrow at this rate.

It’s just, Jack wants to go home. He’s not going to say it — at least not yet — because Alex is still operating at full capacity. But he’s thinking it. If anyone asks, he won’t hesitate.

When Alex glances over, Jack is pretty sure it’s written all over his face.

“You okay, JB?” Alex says. His eyes soften around the edges when he smiles. It’s completely unfair. Just like Jack to have the most irresistible boyfriend on the planet. Perfect for being in love with, but extremely difficult for saying no to.

“Tired,” Jack says, biting his lip. The guitar he’s holding has been idling on his lap for about twenty minutes, ignored by Jack, who’s been on Instagram instead. Finally he sets it aside. “Just think I’m done for today.” As a compromise, he adds, “If you guys have another half hour, I don’t mind.”

“No, that’s okay,” Alex says. He glances at Zakk, who’s fucking with the levels or something. “Yeah? You think? Good for today?”

“Yeah,” Zakk says. He tilts his head bizarrely to flash a grin at Jack. “Man, it feels good to be back here with you guys.”

“Dude, don’t even start,” Jack says. “I think if I had spent another day alone at my place I would’ve probably, I don’t know, started trying to learn Korean or something.”

“Why fucking Korean?”

“Exactly.” Jack points at him, then at Alex, who jumps out of the rolly chair he’s been occupying and grabs Jack’s finger. Jack shakes his head, smiling, as Alex laces their fingers together and ducks down to kiss his forehead. “Is that a yes, we can call it?”

“I can call it,” Alex says. “Cervini?”

“Yeah,” Zakk says. “Let’s call it.”

And that’s that for the day.

-

The stupid TikTok they’d made on the way to the studio has, predictably, blown up. 

Jack can’t stop watching it; it’s a little bit cringey but that’s the point, and also, Alex looks insanely good in the red flannel and that yellow beanie. Maybe their merch is designed specifically to look good on Alex. Probably. Not that that’s difficult. Basically everything looks good on Alex.

“Stop watching it, oh my God,” Alex says, crawling into bed on top of Jack and flattening him against the mattress. Jack makes varying noises of protest as Alex pries his phone out of his hand, turns it off, and tosses it aside, forcing Jack’s attention instead to Alex’s face.

If he looks good onscreen, it’s nothing compared to real life.

“Lose some weight,” Jack grunts, shifting to tip them both onto their sides. They’re forehead-to-forehead, one of Alex’s arms trapped under Jack’s side and the other slung over his waist. “You’re not twenty-one anymore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you complaining?” Alex licks Jack’s cheek, and Jack’s protest of Alex, gross! is lost in Alex’s laugh. “Sorry. That was gross. I’ve just missed you.”

“Weird fuckin’ way of showing it,” Jack says, grinning. “I thought we kinda did this yesterday. We spent the entire day together. And I’ve missed you too.” He hesitates. “You could just stay here, you know.”

Except he couldn’t, and they both know that. Alex has a farm to tend to. He’ll be here as long as they’ve got time in the studio but then he’ll be gone, back to Baltimore. Growing up sucks sometimes. It means Jack has to be mature about Alex having a life of his own. If he expects Alex to respect his decision to stay in L.A., then Jack has to respect Alex’s decision to stay in Maryland. Which he does. He does.

But he also misses his boyfriend a hell of a lot. These days it’s worse than ever. They’ve never really been apart this long. 

“Come on,” Alex says, smile flickering. “Don’t.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Jack says. He sighs. “I take it back. I don’t want you to stay anyway. I don’t even want you in L.A. at all. Who invited you here? What are you doing in my house?”

Alex laughs. He extracts his arm from underneath Jack and runs his hand through Jack’s hair, slotting their legs together. “Cheapest listing on Airbnb. I was told there would be free sexual services?”

“Uh, I don’t know about free,” Jack says. He smirks and steals a kiss off Alex’s lips. “You can repay me by doing household chores.”

“Then it’s just fucking prostitution.”

“That,” says Jack, “is true.” Alex scratches lightly against the side of his face, and the kiss he draws Jack into is so sweet that Jack contemplates never ever breaking it. This is all he needs in life, just Alex — anywhere, but especially here. Jack has never found his apartment to be bleak, but now that he knows how vibrant it can be, how warm and lively when inhabited by Alex, he suspects it will feel grim when he’s alone again.

Thinking about the future gets dangerous. He’d much rather stay in the now. Alex is still kissing him, drawing Jack nearer in such a familiar way that when Jack closes his eyes he can almost hear the rumbling of the tour bus and the low murmurs of conversation happening outside their bunk. They’ve found themselves in this position too many times to count over the years, using the excuse of a small bunk to press together like they didn’t do exactly the same in two-person hotel room beds. It’s been too long since Jack has had anyone to cling to in bed. Comfort settles like a talisman in his chest.

They’re not twenty-one anymore, but sometimes it still feels like they could be. It was easier for the years to blur together when they were spent largely chasing their way across the globe. These days, the contrast between then and now feels blindingly stark. It’s nice to sink into something this familiar. Almost like Alex is pulling him back in time, too.

Or maybe like Alex is pulling the past into the present. Jack doesn’t feel twenty-one. He feels thirty-two and still in love with Alex. Eleven years from now, he’ll probably feel just the same. The way that Alex kisses him, holding him close, has nothing to do with how old they are. It’s only familiar because nothing has changed; Alex loved him then and Alex loves him now. 

Their love grows, but it never wavers.

Alex doesn’t pull away so much as just tilt his head until they’re not kissing anymore, tucking his face into Jack’s chest. “I’m tired,” he announces. Jack could basically have guessed that. It’s only eleven, but in Maryland time it’s two in the morning. 

“I know,” says Jack. “That’s why we’re in bed. To sleep.”

“Really, you want to sleep now?” Alex sounds surprised. “It’s not even midnight.”

“I am capable of having a responsible sleep schedule sometimes, you know.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Jack I know.”

You haven’t been around for a while, Jack doesn’t say. “Shut up, you bully. I take care of myself.” He makes a face. “Also I want to sleep when you do. I don’t think that’s a crime.”

“I’d love that,” Alex says. His words come out muffled. “I love you. Have I told you today that I love you?”

“No,” Jack says, smiling.

“Liar. I’m sure I did. But I’m telling you again. I love you.” Somehow Alex’s grip on Jack becomes even tighter. Prying him off is going to be a difficult task, if Jack can muster up the willpower to do it. It won’t be easy. This is probably Jack’s favorite position to be in, tangled up with Alex. It doesn’t hurt to hear Alex repeating, “I love you, you’re my favorite, I’m so happy I’m here,” quietly, almost as if to himself.

“You need to put on your pajamas,” Jack says. 

“I don’t wanna,” Alex whines. “I can sleep like this. Tour life. Too busy for pajamas.”

“So rock ‘n’ roll,” Jack says dryly.

“Yes. Exactly. I’m too cool for school.”

“Yeah. Really badass of you to fall asleep in a flannel.” Jack kisses Alex’s shoulder over the plaid pattern. “Which, may I say, looks very good on you.”

Alex hums contentedly. “See, that’s why I love you. Ego boost.”

“You are the most lead singer to ever lead singer. Jesus Christ.”

“Damn right I am, baby! Own it. I gotta own it.”

“Everything you say just dates you more. You sound so old.”

“You’re exactly as old as I am, old man,” Alex says, trying and failing to kick Jack even though Jack has both of his legs trapped.

“Old men put pajamas on before sleeping,” Jack informs him. “The buttons on this thing will be so uncomfortable to sleep in.”

“Yeah, but consider this,” says Alex, in the tone of someone about to make an extremely good point. “I don’t care and I’m tired.”

Jack sighs. “Seriously, you really wanna sleep in your clothes?”

“Yes,” Alex says. He buries his face in Jack’s neck, softly humming. When he speaks, Jack’s skin buzzes. “Please? Just tonight? I’m sleepy. Being a grown-up is for losers.”

Jack smiles to himself. “You’re such a lazy boy.”

“Yes. I am a lazy boy. This sounds like you agreeing.”

“I can’t stop you, can I?”

“Nope,” Alex says cheerfully. “But you can support me.”

“I support you all the time. I am literally the lead guitarist of your band. How much more supportive can I get.”

Alex laughs. It’s a tired laugh, on the brink of falling asleep, and Jack likes that he’s managed to make it happen at all. “It’s our band.”

“Comrade.”

Alex snorts. “Comrade.” He kisses Jack’s neck. “I’m gonna fall asleep right here, if that’s cool.”

“Get under the covers at least,” Jack says. It takes a little bit of bitching and moaning, but eventually Alex concedes, unsticking himself from Jack like it’s a physical burden to do so and crawling under the blanket with Jack.

“Oh,” Alex says, fishing around on the mattress underneath him. He pulls out Jack’s phone. “This is yours.”

Jack plugs in his phone and sets the same alarm he used yesterday. Loudly announcing that “boy is asleep” cuts out the lights. In the dark and quiet of the room, Jack hugs Alex as close as he possibly can, pressing his nose into Alex’s neck. It’s easy when Alex is making the same effort. Jack wonders if Alex feels the same as he does, like he has to engrave this memory in his mind, the way he’d never gotten a chance to when lockdown first set in. It had never occurred to him, before, that they’d be separated. That there might once come a time when Jack would want to hug Alex and Alex wouldn’t be there to hug.

Now, the threat of knowing that their clock is already ticking down is enough to make him want to burn this sensation forever into his skin and bones.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispers with a tight squeeze. “Did I tell you today that I love you?”

There’s a sleepy hum in response. “You tell me you love me every second of every day,” Alex murmurs. “But I never get tired of hearing it.”

Jack smiles. He breathes his own I-love-yous, softly enough that it’s almost white noise, and before Alex falls asleep he tilts his head towards Jack. His eyes are closed, so Jack closes the gap and brushes their lips together. 

Alex falls asleep soon after. Jack likes that, that neither of them have had the last word. The gentleness of the kiss soaks through his body and he drifts off with a smile, warm and content.

[shayprose]

On Sobriety, my Quiet Place, and the Sliver

It’s difficult to wrap my mind around where I am now. Not the physical — my body is in Somerville, MA. That’s easy. I’m talking about the bits in between where my body is and where my mind drifts; the emotional and the spiritual, the elusive two states that are hardest to describe.

I’m sober, you see, and with that comes the immensity of where I was. You can’t think of one without the other, and the shoe that drops on the other side of sobriety is — well, it’s a topic that sells sad artists a lot of albums. The little golden medallion I carry around with me to signify that I’ve made it through a year of “recovery” is so heavy in my pocket because of its significance. It’s a little metallic tomb full of memories made manifest of a very, very dark time.

But if I’m practicing radical honesty, then it — “it” — is actually the pinnacle of so many other things, so many other memories, all interwoven into one point. The threads of a long life of good things and bad things, all culminating in the reason I carry that medallion around with me, despite its heft.

It all started when the quiet place I used to go to, deep inside myself, the safe place with all of its carefully hewn comforts, where pleasant memories and dreams were the wallpaper and the rosewood floors, was destroyed in a 9-alarm fire called addiction. And I miss it there, so, so much.

This thought dump is rambling already, but bear with me. I suppose the nature of what I’m saying is the rambling point I’m trying to make: so much of my days now are made up of trying to grapple onto the thoughts that started spiraling around me like a hurricane when I let myself black out every night. Rambling is par for the course.

Right before I tipped over the edge, after a night (or an afternoon) of drinking, I remember thinking every so often, “Self, you’re really fucking up, my dude,” and having the actual sensation that my mind was melting. It was a vibration that ran through my face, surged through my brain, and then ricocheted down into my outer extremities. A few times, that shockwave made me panic and I filled up my Google search with things like, “Effects of alcoholism on the brain,” and “Can I lose my mind from alcohol?”

Scary stuff, right? I think the scariest thing, though, is that after a while, I stopped Googling those things. It didn’t really matter anymore, after all — neurodegeneration was, according to my 2 a.m. panic-laden internet searching, impossible to reverse, so fuck it, right? Black out, self. Go for it. Let it all fall away, and if you remember anything from the night before, well, try harder to forget next time. The recipe can always be tweaked, after all! Don’t stop at three shots after your four martinis. Add a fourth, and chase it with a Truly. Add a beer if it’s a work night — they fill you up so you don’t have to eat dinner.

The quiet place was still accessible in those early days of my downward spiral, to some degree, fragmented though it was. And then, it wasn’t.

The most painful part of my shredded humanity, I think, was when I tried one day to make the journey to my quiet place, through meditation and soft music, and I stumbled over the corpses of the things that I sacrificed for him. There was Dignity, her face bruised and slapped around, still beautiful in death. Over there was Desire, who held all of my dreams on his back, now reduced to a crumpled-up heap on the floor, barely recognizable anymore. The hardest body to see was Hope, whose glowing effulgence used to be the light that powered my quiet place, her soft illumination the fuel for all the pretty candles that lit up the darkness. Her light was snuffed out completely in death.

And so, my light was dimmed in life.

When I finally waded through the mistakes and the tragedies, I arrived at a place I called home for so many years, the place inside myself I built through all of my childhood traumas, to find the windows shattered, the garden ransacked, the curtains torn. Every square inch of my safe haven was hollowed out. In November, 2019, the last time I tried to go there before I let it go completely, I remember thinking, “You did your best, and it wasn’t good enough. You’re free.”

I had woken up at 3 a.m. to make sure he was safe, and when I saw that he wasn’t, I drowned the terror in half a handle of gin. The next morning, when I got to work, I started packing my desk because I didn’t want anyone else to have to deal with it. A few cigarettes, a few pills, a few coffees later, I unpacked my desk, went to a few meetings, and then purposefully forgot the way back to my quiet place.

In therapy, I learned that something like my “quiet place” is a very real trauma response folks can develop. My therapist explained that I was wise beyond my years to have taken so much pain in my childhood and translated it into a lighthouse, where I could always go if I needed to escape. “It’s healthy,” he said, “to know that you are safe inside yourself. What changed?”

What indeed. Before I started writing this, I took a trip through the pages of this old tumblr and remembered where I used to be then, emotionally and spiritually, and the difference seems to be that back then, when I thought I was giving myself wholly to whatever mission I was on, I still held back just enough to keep the quiet place alive. A sliver of my mind was always tethering me to safety, and I think I knew that. I took comfort in that. It was me remembering to spare some energy to keep my own lights on. Good job, me.

There’s no sense in trying to rationalize addiction, and that’s not what I was doing when I flipped through these pages — people spend their entire careers trying to decipher the origins of that disease, and I’m not going to crack the code by rereading a young adult’s foibles. However, I do think there’s something important in the work of sifting through the examples I’ve left behind for myself. To maybe see where the path I walked so carefully through life became so twisted.

The sliver I mentioned before, the place in my mind that tethered me to safety, took a risk. He reached out a hand to someone who said they needed me, and in a state of perfect trust, I allowed him to free fall. After all, who’s wouldn’t after hearing these things?

“I will always love you. It’s just you and me now. Don’t worry; I got you.”

A running leap over a cliff, and then

“This terrible thing is part of me. I understand if you want to leave, but I can’t stop crying. Do you want to leave me?”

eyes closed,

“It’s not your turn right now — I love him, too — but someday, I’ll give you what you need. I love you.”

I let myself fall.

“I tried to kill myself — it was all set up, and I was ready. But your face is what stopped me. I didn’t because of you. I need you.”

I knew I shouldn’t have jumped, but

“I promise I’m trying to get better. Therapy just doesn’t work for me; meetings just don’t work for me. But I’ll do it for you.”

if I could help someone, someone who needed me,

“I told you I’m working on it. If you don’t believe me, then you are hurting me, and hurting me will just lead me back to the darkness. Don’t hurt me.”

then who cares if I get hurt.

“They don’t love you like I do. Let’s go get breakfast, and I’ll teach you how to take care of yourself.”

I fell. That sliver, that tether, fell farther and farther, until I couldn’t see him anymore. He was weighed down by all of the affirmations, all the promises of love and safety, all the hollow words. And the cruelest:

“This is a risk for me, too, but that’s why it’s so important that we do this together; no one else understands.”

Without that tether, without the quiet place, I was numb. And I liked being numb. I kept adjusting the recipe to be number longer, and that was how I lived.

So much of AA is about putting yourself into the shoes of your peers who are going through the same thing. Everyone has a story like mine. They might not think about it the way I do, with personification and magic, but their stories all have a similar energy to them, which is accompanied by a familiar far-away look in their eyes. Every story also has something that ties us all together —

— when all of us felt a spark. A tiny mote of light that flickers behind our eyes and tells us that there’s another path, less twisty and less dark, where we can take a deep breath, if we’ll just follow it. A moment when the free fall stops, even for a second.

Mine came when I woke up next to him one morning, the day after I sobbed my way home on a bus from NYC. We had gotten too drunk at a bottomless brunch, and we went to another bar (probably at my pressuring). I spilled a martini, I fell off my stool, we left, and then the memory becomes hazier. We fucked in our hotel room? We ran through Manhattan to the bus terminal? We almost missed it? My memory picks back up with me weeping because I was confused. Where are we? What are we doing? Please don’t be mad at me — I hate me, too. Will you marry me? Please? When is your next trip? Will you please be safe? Will you be safer if we’re married? I’ll protect you. Just think about me. Am I enough?

My spark ignited. The day after that trip, I looked down at him and, as if I were waking up from a nightmare, I thought, “You will never change. But I can. And fuck you.”

As I climbed out of bed that day, my brain fried from my hangover, I grabbed my phone and sent a message to a friend who had gotten sober the year before. He told me we could get coffee so I could ask him questions. I went. That’s when he told me about a meeting he was chairing. “Come,” he said. “It’ll be easier to explain if you just see it for yourself.”

So I did. My nightmare came with me, supported my decision, held my hand, and while I was watching my friend chair the meeting, as I listened to the stories of everyone in that church basement, I realized I wouldn’t be whole, I wouldn’t be safe, unless I didn’t need that hand in mine anymore.

A year has gone by since then. Over time, the spark grew into a candle flame, which exploded into a fire, and I haven’t had a drink or a drug since. The medallion is heavy, and it brings me back to NYC, to the thousandfold traumas of emotional abuse, to the guilt of allowing myself to be caught up in a whirlwind of self-doubt, but I’m learning to find comfort in the weight of it.

This is the first time I’ve written anything like this since I lost my footing. It isn’t anything like my other posts — my therapist says I’ll probably never get that same easygoing talent back, not without a lot of effort, and so I suppose that’s what this is. My therapist inspired this post, actually. He’s sober, too, and knows what I mean when I talk about not being able to wrap my mind around where I am; when I talk about the weight of the medallion, and the two sides of that coin. He says to me, over and over:

“You can trust yourself again now. You never lost your quiet place, it’s all still there. It’s just different now.”

I’m pleased to report that my new quiet place is in bloom. Hope is alive again and her light is as gentle and steadfast as ever. Desire and Dignity are rebuilding my gardens, and the Sliver, the little tether I hold closest of all, is the gatekeeper, the star in the sky, and the only thing that matters to me anymore. His name is Shay, and I love him again. I can’t wait for you to meet him.

[that-one-fandom-vore-blog]

Quick list of who’s who in the borrower au because I need to get this outta my head!

Hannah: Borrower. Skittish and slow to trust when it comes to anyone who isn’t Lex for the most part, though she does talk more to Ethan than most strangers. She doesn’t go out borrowing much— only with Lex— so when one of her few trips alone end in discovery, she goes into a full panic.

Lex: Borrower. Although she’s the one who taught Hannah the rules of borrowing, she breaks them on the regular to give the kid something to smile about. Confrontational and suspicious of newcomers— especially humans, thanks to the fact that her mother was allegedly eaten by one— Ethan’s on thin fucking ice, though... it’d be easier to hate him if he wasn’t so nice.

Ethan: Human. He really, really didn’t expect to find little people living in his walls if he’s being honest, though he’s very gentle with Hannah. He is, however, standoffish with Lex due to the fact that their first meeting involved a stab wound to the back of his hand from a thumbtack. He leaves stuff out for them and writes notes to Lex and Hannah, though they usually don’t write back.

Tom: Borrower. After his wife died, Tom became a lot more reckless in his borrowing. He doesn’t mean to be so gruff and unapproachable, but Jane’s death left him broken. He’s a distant father, and Emma has to do a lot of his borrowing for him. He’s tangled with Wiggly a few times, and in truth, he wants what’s best for Tim, even though he has a weird way of showing it.

Tim: Borrower. He loves his dad lots, but understands that things aren’t like they used to be, so for the most part, he stays in the walls. Him and Hannah get along okay when they interact, and he adores spending time with auntie Emma.

Becky: Borrower (yes, I know, I changed it). Tom and her had a sort of relationship in the past, however, she ended up leaving to try and broaden her horizons. When her and Tom reunite, it’s bittersweet when she shows up to the apartment and finds him injured. She makes the mistake of asking about Jane.

Frank: Human. Runs a chain of toy stores and keeps a clean apartment. He’s convinced that there are pests in the walls and works his damndest to lay traps to lure them out, and he’s going slowly insane, seeing traps closed and clearly set off with no victims.

Linda: Human. Lives on the top floor with her four (4) boys and her cat, Wiggly. As she is in canon, she’s very entitled and downright rude to everyone else. Sets Wiggly loose in the halls to deal with the mouse problem, and although her house is well stocked, no borrowers dare venture inside for fear of Wiggly.

Gary: Human. His apartment is a mess. He’s seen flashes of borrowers before, but always writes it off as lack of sleep. Wiggly sometimes ends up at his place for the night when Linda forgets to let him back in. Between working toward an official law degree and making a name for himself as the worst attourney to ever live, Gary’s much too busy for talk of borrowers.

Howard: Human. He’s the owner of the apartment complex, and although he enforces a strict no pets rule, he lets Wiggly stay because of the rodent problem they seem to have. Wiggly hates him. All in all a good guy, though whenever he does inspections, he can’t help but notice that there are several mouse holes in the walls that seem almost prescicely made.

John: Borrower. He keeps to himself for the most part, and he’s pretty reckless when he borrows. He’s fought with Wiggly an intense amount of times. He always carries a makeshift grapple hook and bow. He takes a liking to the Foster girls, though once he finds out about the human involvement going on in the apartment complex, he becomes even more withdrawn and elusive.

Sherman: Human. He saw a borrower one (1) time and is now a crazed conspiracy theorist, deadset on trying to capture one. He’ll stop at nothing, though his traps are laughable. The borrowers in the complex like to trip them, just for the hell of it. It’s driving Sherman nuts.

Paul: Human. He doesn’t spend too much time at home, thanks to a stressful office job, but he keeps a tidy apartment and is one of the most plain tenants Howard’s ever had to deal with. When he first discovers Emma, he sort of mentally shuts down for awhile the second she’s under a cup. Paces, grabs his hair, and spits “okay” at three hundred miles per hour.

Emma: Borrower. She’s reckless to an extent, and although she knows she should be careful— seeing as she’s risking the livelihood of every other borrower in the complex— she sort of likes fucking with Paul. When she gets caught, naturally, she flips out and demands to be let go, and she’s surprised to the point of freezing up when Paul actually listens.

Hidgens: Human. Emma’s been discovered by him, though instead of dissecting and hurting her like she thought he would, Hidgens actually becomes a pretty valuable ally. Yes, he’s a little crazy, but he leaves stuff out and he’s nice to talk to. He used to live in Linda’s old apartment, though since it had roof access, he used it for experiments. After being struck by lightning, he was moved down a few floors, and although he’s never been quite the same, he still tries his best to make sure Emma’s comfortable coming by.

Bill: Human. One of the first of Paul’s friends to get introduced to Emma. He’s gentle with borrowers, though he’s much less nervous and more inquisitive than Paul was when he first meets her. He’s not entirely sure what to think about borrowers, but he handles it as well as anyone can.

Charlotte: Borrower. She’s withdrawn, shy, and bad at borrowing, but she’s trying her best to put a good foot forward after narrowly escaping a human that meant her harm. She’s sweet to the other borrowers, specifically latching onto Emma as someone she can talk to. All her clothes are handmade and patchwork— stolen materials— and everyone in the complex has at least one sweater from her.

Ted: Human. He’s newer to the complex, and frankly, fucking hates the rat problem, thanks to hearing scratching in the walls. He doesn’t understand why Paul always gets defensive when he brings it up. His apartment is a complete mess, and he’s allergic to Wiggly. He’s easy to borrow from, seeing as he never keeps track of anything.

Oliver (because a lot of y’all care about him in this fandom, and you can’t be blamed): Borrower with Very Low Blood Sugar. He’s sweet, if not a bit nasally and rude. He truly has kind intentions, though nine times out of ten, he comes off as a know it all. He doesn’t mind— other people only slow him down. He and Lex interact, just because he’s one of the only borrowers she’s met that’s her age.

Wiggly: Linda’s terrible cat.

Apotheosis: Hidgens’ terrible snake.

[hansensgirl]

salvatore. | vii.

summary. | Bucky Barnes doesn’t believe in love anymore. Especially after the tragic, unknown death of his wife, Natasha. He thinks it’s stupid and a waste of time and- oh my. Hello there, you. There you were, with your notebooks and your novels, writing your heart away. He’s hellbent on saving you from this nasty world, his elusive neighbor that has him under the stupid spell of love. You soon find yourself trapped in a tragic love story with Bluebeard, not Prince Charming.

warnings. | NONCON/DUBCON, dark themes, manipulation, gaslighting, arguments, toxic relationships (reader and steve), cheating, nightmares, violence, mentions of death/murder, spying, voyeurism, stalking, use of cameras, angst, fluff, dark!bucky, protectiveness, obsessiveness, creepy bucky, perversion, kidnapping, choking (not the kinky kind), passing out, suffocation, and more. 18+, MINORS DNI.

word count. | 3.4k

pairings. | Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Steve Rogers.

a/n. | we’re nearing the end!! please read all the warnings before you click the ‘keep reading’ button! don’t forget to enjoy and don’t forget to reblog! salvatore masterlist.

“I’ll be back before you know it, doll, don’t worry. I’ll call you and text you nonstop, okay?” Bucky reassured, pecking your lips between each word of his. You pulled further away from him and laughed. “Yeah, yeah. Where are you going, again?” you asked, hating yourself for forgetting so easily. It was almost like he never even told you. “That bachelor party, remember? For my friend Sam?” he repeated, almost as if he had told you billions of times before.

Truth be told, you didn’t remember.

“Oh, that’s right! Okay, baby, have a good trip and stay safe. Tell your friend Sam I said congratulations––wait, you have a friend named Sam?” you questioned, not knowing of this friend. You may have been quite forgetful but you didn’t recall him speaking of any friend by the name of Sam. “Yep, but I don’t talk about him too much,” Bucky informed, and you tilted your head. You opened your mouth to ask him another question, but he checked the time on his wrist before sharply inhaling.

“Gotta go now, doll, don’t want to be too late,” he told you, kissing you once more. “Love you, bye!” he shouted as he closed the door behind him. “Bye!” you called back, and you were left all by yourself in his home. He already gave you a tour a week ago, the day after he spoke to you about your nightmare. You never slept after that, but it wasn’t shocking. That kiss was everything you could’ve ever dreamt of.

You felt like Sleeping Beauty, finally getting that kiss from Prince Charming that you needed so badly. You sighed with a half-smile on your face, and you could already feel boredom settling into your bones. With Bucky, every second of the day was filled with fun. Whether it be through stupid conversations or through needless movie commentary. You hadn’t written in all that time, and it was just a tad bit upsetting for you.

Your notebook was untouched, and so was your nice fountain pen along with your computer. It wasn’t like you had writer’s block, and it wasn’t like you had no motivation to finish your first chapter… No, wait, it was exactly like that. Every time you thought of your story, you’d have to stifle a loud, loud groan that would be savoured for when you stub your toe or when you’d accidentally burn your hand on the stove.

You didn’t resent your story. It just felt like a burden at that point in your life. But with nothing else to do other than writing, you felt oh so pained. Not physical pain, no, just the kind that would be a burden. You were sure that the floorboards were tired of feeling your feet stomp on them throughout most days. Sometimes, you’d sit on the stairs and hum to yourself—some sort of random rhythm that you would then mess up and forget about.

“What to do, what to do, what to do…” you whispered to yourself, hooking your thumbs through the loops of your jeans. If it weren’t for Bucky and his easily distracted behaviour, you could’ve had a belt there. But mistakes were made, and even though you offered to help, you officially knew then that Bucky never wanted you in his basement. Not in the past, not in the present, and definitely not in the future.

You joked around, saying that he just has dead bodies buried behind the shelves that were covered in cobwebs. But his forced chuckle had you apologizing quickly, and he told you to go drink some water and throw out your energy drink. You did exactly that, and he was back to his happy self. Spewing stupid puns like hilarity was his college major, with a big silly grin on his face.

Steve was always stoic, so maybe that was why you weren’t used to the almost overwhelming (yet lovely) company of Bucky.

Though Bucky spoke most hours of the day, you never heard of this man named ‘Sam.’ You had hung onto every single word of Bucky’s whenever he spoke to you. Even if he was repeating himself most of the time, you still made sure to listen to everything. He had never spoken about his friend to you, ever. As a matter of fact, you didn’t know much about him personally. You knew bits and pieces about his life as a soldier, but you didn’t know anything else.

He had no family pictures, no childhood stories, no generation-old recipes, nothing. Absolutely nothing. It weirded you out because he knew every bit about you. Even things that you’d never tell your mother, even if you had to. You didn’t even know about any past girlfriends of his… Except for one. He’d call her by the name of ‘Natalia’ but only when cursing or spewing out on the grave swears that could have someone rolling even if they didn’t decay yet.

Only a man with something to hide wouldn’t tell you anything about him, right? Because that was what Steve did, and he had one too many things hidden from you.

You spun around, making a full beeline for the stairs that didn’t creak under your feet (unlike your staircase). You envied Bucky for that, but you also envied him for more practical, more reasonable things. Such as the way he just couldn’t fall for pranks easily or the way he’d get something right almost all the time. You gripped the railing tightly, careful not to fall as you were climbing up the steps as quickly as you could.

Cardio wasn’t really your thing, not then, at least. You preferred simple stretches and long walks. Maybe the occasional weight lifting, but your little coloured dumbbells never did much. You were faced with the first bedroom at the top of the stairs. It was a guest bedroom, and he told you that it was pointless to go inside and clean it. At the time, it made sense. But maybe he was just trying to avoid having you go in there and see something you shouldn’t have seen.

You exhaled shakily and pushed the door open. You were met with a gust of cool air only because the window was left open. Bucky did that a lot, only because his home would become predominantly more humid than usual. You didn’t search the drawers or anything else in that room as well as the other guest bedrooms because you knew you’d find nothing in there.

There was only one bedroom left to check, the one that you and Bucky shared. It was a work in progress. Not in the sense that you were renovating or something along those lines. It was a bit… bland, to say the least. Not one piece of that room felt like home. You asked Bucky if he had any mementos or paintings to keep, but he shook his head and walked out. He wasn’t a very personal man, and it had more flaws than perfections.

You turned the doorknob and walked inside, taking in the notes of that vanilla body spray that Bucky loved so much and the lingering scent of his aftershave. You went to his bed and lifted the fluffy mattress up. Nothing. You gently placed it back down, hoping that your muscles wouldn’t give out. You opened up some of the bedside drawers, and you even peaked underneath them. Nothing. You let out a groan that was also a sigh of relief.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to find something bad or if you wanted to find nothing at all.

You slowly brought yourself up to your feet. You strode a few steps over to the closet and slid the mirror door to the other side. Half of the closet was filled with your clothes, and the other half was filled with his clothes. He had more leather jackets and sweaters than anything. Steve had the opposite of that problem. The blond hero loved his white tank tops and his white t-shirts. The dryer would constantly shrink them, and you could never complain about that.

Neither could Natasha.

You ran your hands between all the pockets and fabric in your closet, but you didn’t find anything. You snapped your hands back, bringing some hangers down to the ground. “Fuck,” you gritted out, looking down at the mess. You wordlessly kept staring at it, all while flailing your arm around to find the door. You grabbed it and slid it close. You had more pressing matters to deal with.

You didn’t check the dresser because you’d know if Bucky ever touched it. Your next best bet was to check the bathroom, even if it might’ve been fruitless. You searched the cupboards underneath and above the sink. Still, you only found freshly purchased products that you would find yourself stocking up on at least once a month—pads, tampons, shampoo, conditioner, razors, and everything else you needed, not him. Nothing there belonged to Bucky.

You once again didn’t know whether you should be elated or frustrated.

You dragged yourself out of the bathroom and out of the bedroom. You wore a pout on your face, resembling a little spoiled kid in a candy shop. In the hallway, you were at a crossroads. “Goddammit,” you groaned, squeezing your hands into fists. You walked down the stairs, not even bothering to hold onto the railing or the wall. You always loved to run your hand against the wall, especially when you were descending down the stairs.

You knew that he was too smart to hide anything in the living room and the kitchen. You felt like you were losing your mind. Even though you couldn’t find anything, you knew Bucky was hiding something from you. It was the same gut feeling that you had when you were with Steve. You listened to it, and you were right. Therefore, you believed that you were right about Bucky being secretive.

You stood at the bottom of the stairs, with your hands on your hips and your bottom lip between your teeth. You didn’t know where else to check. The garden seemed idiotic, and none of Bucky’s floorboards creaked in a peculiar manner. No can or jar in his cabinets looked off, and his shelves didn’t seem like they could move. His stack of books about the human mind didn’t seem fake either.

You spun in a circle, and so did your mind. Everything merged into a colourful blur, and you nearly missed the large splash of white that suddenly intruded into your vision. You stopped moving and looked over just to see the door to the basement. The door was never opened, even when Bucky was downstairs doing the laundry. You smiled to yourself. It was perfect, and it made so much sense for him to hide something in there.

The airport was loud. Families and couples yelling at each other and the sound of suitcase wheels against the floor. A lovely voice came on the intercom, announcing a flight that was departing. From New York to some city in Arizona. In Bucky's hands were his passport, his ticket, and his backpack. Bucky wasn’t sitting in one of those enormously uncomfortable chairs that everyone else was.

He was meters away from the waiting area, contemplating whether the trip was a good idea or not. He didn’t need to be plagued with guilt by what happened to Natalia. He was doing much better now that she was gone. The gothic house probably needed to be cleared of cobwebs and creepy crawlers, but he could’ve just hired someone for that. The only reason why he was contemplating his trip was because of you.

You seemed to eat up every lie he spewed since he met you, but you didn’t appear to buy his cover-up for the flight. Bucky never felt bad about lying to you because you needed to be protected. You were bawling in your bedroom about your job, taking insults from your mother and getting carelessly drunk with a stranger just before he thoroughly swept in on his white horse. You needed him; you always did.

Bucky knew that you’d let your paranoia and suspicions get the best of you. He was glad you allowed that to happen with Steve, but he wasn’t going to let it fly when it came down to himself. “Fuck,” he grumbled before turning on his heels and making his way out of the area and out of the airport. He had to protect you from the harsh truth, only because he’s your knight in shining armour.

You didn’t grab ahold of the railing because it was made of wood. Splinters were the worst; you simply just loathed them like anybody else. You placed your hand against the wall for support and tried your hardest to not make too much noise. Basements always gave you the creeps. The air in the room was thick and heavy, week-old vapour stuck in there, and you wondered how the wood hadn’t begun to rot yet.

Your fingers clashed with what seemed to feel like a light switch. You were at the bottom of the stairs, an old carpet resting beneath your feet to protect you from the cold floor. Your nose was filled with the scent of different detergents and softeners that Bucky would use. Against the wall were the washing machine and the dryer. Next to the dryer was a small, worn-down sink. It was clearly stained and dirty, and you wondered how old the house was.

In the corner was a little wire deck shelf. On it were boxes and many other random objects. You managed to push yourself into the small space that was between the washing machine and the rack. You grabbed the first and the only box on the highest level, surprised that it was lighter than it seemed. You looked inside, only to find old leather gloves and a first aid kit. The white of the kit had a bit of dried blood on it, and the gloves were creased.

You grimaced, but you figured that they were from before he retired. You put the box back and reached for the other one that was two levels down from the top. It was much heavier than the previous one, and you were scared that you would drop it. You peered into the box and found a sleek black gun. Your eyes widened, and you nearly let go of the six faces of cardboard.

But it also made sense for him to own a gun. You didn’t want to think of the possible reasons to scare yourself, so you pretended as if you didn’t see it and put it back. The rest of the shelf just had little old objects that seemed like they came from a thrift store or a pawn shop. One was a small porcelain deer in a pink skirt with glitter on its spots. It made you smile; of course, Bucky would have something like that. The deer’s bright doe eyes looked up at you, but they seemed more sad than anything else.

Though you marvelled at the statue at first, it eventually made you feel uneasy. You tore your eyes away from it and slowly made your way out of the cramped space. You didn’t know where else to look, and your gut feeling didn’t seem to go away. Though the lightbulb was turned on, the room was still dark. The area next to the staircase was particularly shadowed, and your stomach dropped just a bit as you stared at it.

You swallowed thickly and nervously, but you were also elated at the fact that you finally found somewhere worthy of checking. You stepped into the darkness, and you pulled your phone out of the pocket of your jeans. You turned the flashlight feature on and shined the light throughout the space. The ground was barren, and so were the walls. Dust covered them, though.

You rested your off-hand against the side of the staircase, sighing to yourself before realizing that there was a space underneath the stairs. You bent down and shone the light there, moving it around to try and find something. When that was of no help, you stretched the hand that was on the stairs to try and feel for something, anything. Your digits brushed up against what felt like a shoebox. Your heart jumped, and you fumbled around trying to grab it.

You dragged the box out from the staircase while you bit your bottom lip. You sat down on the dirty floor, and you hesitated in opening up the box. You wondered if it was best to let sleeping dogs lie, to just ignore your intuition and to trust Bucky. But you knew better than that. You really did. Your shaky hand lifted the top of the box, and you set it down on the ground.

You pointed your flashlight inside the box, and you gasped loudly. It was filled to the top with different things that were oh so familiar. Maybe it was because they belonged to you. A pair of pink panties that you thought your washing machine ate was at the top. You took them out of the box just to find a few old notebooks of yours. You believed they were under your bed, but it seemed to be otherwise.

A few lipsticks and a hairbrush were there, too. You didn’t recall them being missing, and you certainly didn’t remember giving them to Bucky because you never did. You dug everything of yours out of the box. Polaroids, more panties, jewelry, polaroids of yourself and your body, as well as much more. At the bottom was a bunch of folded papers in a Ziploc bag.

You pushed the square slider at the top to open the bag, and you pulled out the papers. You opened them up just to be faced with a file detailing almost everything about you. There were pictures of you around your house, at work and doing other things. One was of you showering, and you felt sick to your stomach. You didn’t know whether you should cry, call someone, or be angry.

But what you did know was that you needed to get as far away from Bucky as possible. You quickly shoved everything back into the box, and you put the lid back on. You grabbed it and placed it under your arm before trying to stand up. You unlocked your phone and searched through the screen for the Phone app. You needed to call your mom, maybe ask her if you could stay with her for a bit. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you panicked, not being able to find her contact.

You turned around and managed to click on her name, and you began to make your way up the stairs. You clicked the call button and put the phone on speaker. You listened closely as it rang, and you waited for the ‘ringing’ to turn into a timer. But you didn’t look where you were going, which is why you let out a scream as you bumped into something. No, someone.

You looked up slowly, just to see Bucky staring at you. His face was filled with hurt, and you heard his metal arm whir as he clenched his fist. “Where do you think you’re going, doll?” he asked innocently, smiling at you. “Uhm, I- I was just going to go eat lunch!” you lied to him. Your voice was shaky, and so was your entire body. You felt nauseous, and your legs felt as if they were going to give out.

“Good, I’m glad you’re going to eat lunch. It’s important to have all your meals, y’know. But do you really need to go through my things and steal, too?” Bucky questioned, taking a step towards you. “Please let me go, Bucky. I won’t tell anyone!” you promised, ready to sob and beg to him. He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “No can do, doll. Can’t let my best girl go,” he exasperatedly explained to you, almost as if you didn’t learn about his stalking ways.

His hand came up to your face, and he stroked your cheek. The metal felt weird against your sweating skin. He moved his hand down to your neck, and he suddenly wrapped his fingers around your throat. You dropped your phone and the box, and you wrapped your hands around his wrist. “Shh, it’s okay, you just need to take a quick break from reality. That’s all,” Bucky cooed, and you found yourself struggling to breathe. Your vision began to darken, and you eventually passed out in his arms.

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

hi💕 did you get my ask yesterday? anyway it’s okay if you didn’t, i just got another idea because i’m feeling shitty today, what about chris and you liking each other but you don’t want to say anything because you don’t feel worthy of him so when he insinuates you just dismiss him and he thinks you don’t like him like super angsty but happy ending?

This one was fun, I hope I got that bit of angsty feel to it, while keeping it light hearted. If he ever told me he had feelings for me, I would be all adkfjakldfjqier HOT MESS. Lol. If you like this kind of theme, @jtargaryen18 has a great chapter one with this feel called Jealous Guy with Chris x Reader. Its so good! 

You looked at Chris as you popped open his fridge, and stuck your head in. “Buddy, if you are out of beer before this bbq even begins, can we even call it a bbq?” Straightening and looking at the thread bare shelves, you arch a brow. Did he even eat?

“Its out in the garage Y/N, trust me I know better then not to have beer.” He rolls his eyes at you, making burger patties and setting them on a platter, a splash of Worcester sauce, salt, pepper. Yea good enough. You make your way to the garage through the kitchens side door and grab two bottles. Okay, thats better. He had a full fridge in the garage, as well as the extras to bring out into the back yard when they go to set up.

Going back in, you make sure the door is firmly shut, outside was sweltering already, and you considered the idea that you all maybe should have extra ice on hand. “Yes I got plenty of ice to” Chris says with a grin as he rips off some saran wrap and covers the burgers before handing you the platter to place into his fridge.

“I promise, I only asked you here to hang out. I got all the rest covered." Chris moved to wash his hands and you hip check the fridge shut.

"Okay! Okay! I give! I'm here.... Only as a guest...."

He paused, knowing it was coming.

".... Who feels like she should help you get ready."

That earned you a hand towel being chucked at you, the two of you laughing as you both headed out to his patio, calling Dodger to join you two, and Chris snagged his sunglasses while waiting for his pup to join you two.

The two of you has been best friends for many years, it was an easy going, no expectation kinda deal. There we're times, you wanted to take it further, you knew those little over the top things he did privately for his girlfriend's, after all you had helped him brainstorm a few of them. But they were never for you, always the best friend, you weren't complaining. You valued this, but you wondered what it could have been like.

You were out of his league anyways, you knew that, he knew that. Life is what it is. These were your thoughts on the subject.

But the past year he pulled back from that scene. Seemed to focus on himself, what he wanted to accomplish after his Marvel stint. You had asked him a couple times if he was seeing anyone. Chris would just kind of shrug, become elusive in his answers. "He, I'm to busy"

Somehow you would never catch his glance your way when you would go back to what you were doing. He was not to busy, he was conflicted.

You were his best friend. He didn't want to ruin one of his most valued relationships by asking for more. Even if it could be the best thing in his life.

"When's everyone supposed to get here?" You ask, as you move over to sit on the edge of his in ground pool. Kicking off your flip flops and lowering to dip your toes in, and sinking your leg in as you sat down, careful with the glass bottle. He loped over next to you, already barefoot, he lowered next to you and took a drag before he set it next to yours.

"Couple hours yet, although Scott and Zach will probably be by sooner."

"They are so damn cute" you remarked, having just met Scotts boyfriend a few weeks ago when you were invited to a party they were throwing

Chris chuckled softly, watching Dodger on the other side of the pool, rubbing himself in the freshly cut grass, staining his white fur green. "They really are, and Scotts so happy, probably the happiest ive seen him in a long time." You picked up on that wistful note, glancing over at him and let your shoulder nudge him. "Did I just hear a note of longing Christopher, Mr. I like being a bachelor?"

You were only teasing, but he looked thoughtful at you, blue eyes scanning over your face, and you felt that all familiar tingle flushing the tops of your cheeks. Damn it y/n, check yourself woman.

"Well maybe, yea. I would like something more then the occasional fling, and just sex. But I'm not sure she be interested in me like that. We've never discussed it, and shes never necessarily hinted in more then what we got."

You, so completely not picking up on what he was really saying, cause in your mind, he couldn't ever be into you. "Well doofus, you have to tell her. Come on, your a catch Chris. Any woman would be happy with you, and with luck, she will make you happy to." You tipped back your bottle, the icy cold beer tingling your lips in that delicious way, your tongue would swipe along your bottom lip, Chris trying to keep himself from getting to distracted.

Playing with the neck of his bottle, he sloshed it a bit, and then set it aside before taking a drink from it. “Okay, I will. Y/N, what do you say, would you like to go out on a date with me?” You just about choked on your beer, sputtering and he reached over to tap his hand against your back. “Jesus Christ woman, breath!”

“You-you want to go out, with me? why in the world would you want to...?” Your voice drifted off, and Chris arched his brows, reaching out to take your hand, which you let him. Still shocked at his question.

“Really Y/N? You cant really be questioning why? Ive known you for years. We have fun together, you already know about all the risks that come to dating me. Youve never, wondered about what it would be like for us? Cause I have many times.”

“Well yea Chris, I mean... ive noticed, dont get me wrong. But im me... your you, it just...” You gave a shrug, not really wanting to say those words. Chris tilted his head, blue eyes searching for what you werent exactly spitting out, and shook his head.

“I dont get what you mean Y/N, what does that have to do with anything?”

“Come on Chris”pulling back your hand, you splashed your leg a bit while drawing it out, and wrapping your arm around it as you bent it, watching the water run down to the tips of your toes, suddenly they were fascinating, you could really just watch those droplets race away all day then to answer Chris’s question. But he wasnt backing down, and you could feel his incredibly blue in the sunshine, im innocent but also know what Im doing to you babes, eyes fucking staring at you. “You are so out of my league, Ive seen the woman youve dated in the past.”

Taken aback, his brows furrowed in frustration. “Thats bullshit Y/N, you think I would think anyone wouldnt deserve me cause I happen to make movies?” He went silent, contemplating what he wanted to say next. The fact that you felt that way about yourself just proved that he was going to have to show you how incredible you were. “Just a chance Y/N, if you have any feelings for me. Its all I ask for.” Turning back to you, he dipped his head to hover near yours.

Waiting for you to give an answer, your heart race cause he was that close. You could feel the soft breaths of air coming from his soft breaths and your eyes darted to those full lips, making your own throb with wanting to brush against them. But hes your friend, your mind screams and then a soft whisper. But he can be so much more.

It was all interrupted when Scott called from inside the house, and you pulled away, scooting back and moving to a stand, grabbing the emptied beer bottles. It was an excuse to get away from what you actually wanted to say. “Let me grab us another!” Racing away to go greet Scott, Chris lets his head falls into his hands, groaning. I was so close, and scared you away.

Scott busted through the door to find Chris pulling himself to a stand, catching the drawn look he had, he tilted his head “Out with it, I know that look, and thats the one you use when something is bugging you.”

“Nothing is wrong Scott” Chris lied, Dodger promptly coming over to greet his “uncle”, in which Scott immediately ruffled his ears. Not to be distracted though, he gave another spill it motion.

“Okay, if you MUST know Scott, I might have told Y/N I had feelings for her.”

Scotts eyes widened, and he grinned. “Well its about damn time Chris! You two have been dancing around each other for a year. Even Zach said we should just push you two together to kiss.”

“Yea well, it didnt go as I hoped.” His hand went up to the back of his neck, rubbing it. “She feels shes not in the same league? How is that even a worry.”

Scott shrugged and loped his arm over his brothers shoulder. “Hey, shes probably just nervous and caught her by surprise. Talk to her again after the party, and relax bro. Trust in your gut.” Chris wrinkled his brow as he listened to Scott, he made some good points. It was unexpected after all. He had certainly never hinted it before at you that he had any real interests. “Come on, let go see what those two are up to and finish setting up.”

Inside, you and Zach were dicing up some fruit they had brought for a fruit salad, having avoided bringing Chris that second beer, and Chris didnt remark on it once they came back inside. He smiled over at you and you glanced down right quick, moving to drop the strawberries in. Was it going to be awkward? Fuck you hoped not. But to your relief, there was no change. Everyone fell into an easy chatter, Chris went and started his grill, and before you all knew it, the party was underway with people showing up, bringing more food, games were played and most likely to much beer got consumed.

The evening started winding down, and you bid your goodbyes, touching Chris’s arm “So im going to head out, it was a great time, dont forget to drink some water before bed though. You will wake up with a headache.” A frown plays on his lips.

“Wait, your really leaving? I thought we could talk.” His eyes flashed hopeful at you, and honestly right now it was all more then you wanted to get into.

“Yea, I got an early morning and stuff I need to take care of.” White lies werent harmful, right?

“How about I come over tomorrow then?” He was still trying, one thing about Chris, once he set his mind to something, he rarely backed down.

“Text you, I promise!” You say a bit overly cheerfully and dart out the door, leaving him on his own once more. Digging out your keys, you escape to your car and pull out of his drive. Driving around, you ended up going nowhere near home, instead you drove around, trying to process your thoughts.

Why couldnt you Y/N? Dont you deserve some kind of happiness and youve always been attracted to him. Just always putting yourself down, you did that with your ex to. Here Chris was saying he had feelings beyond just friends and you ducked out the door before telling him that you might have as well for years.

This was how it went for a couple hours, getting dark you turned on your head lights, and before you realized where you were, your car pulled into Chris’s driveway, tapping your fingers on the wheel. His lights were still on, but everyones cars were gone. Were you really going to do this? Yes... Yes you are. Y/N, you have someone who wants to see if you two are meant to be something more, someone you actually care for as well. Stop holding back.

Going up the front steps, you consider letting yourself in, but you simply knock instead, twisting your fingers together. Dodgers bark emits, and you can hear Chris on the other side. “Hush boy, its okay. Back up buddy.” And then the click, he opened his door and a quirk of a smile folds up the corner of his mouth. “Hey.... “ You take a deep breath and step up to him, grasping his face in your hands, and sweep up to your toes to reach him. Why he have to be ridiculously tall? The sharp taste of beer and him flooded your senses, and his arm tilted around to brace you in close, holding back enough so you could control this kiss, it was yours, and he wasnt about to scare you off again.

Pulling back, you smooth your hands down to his shoulders, clearing your throat. “First of all, Chris you know I dont want to loose our friendship, second I want to see how good we could be. And third...”

Suddenly Scott appeared in the background, grinning wide. Apparently he didnt leave. “ITS ABOUT TIME YOU TWO!!!”

Cats out of the bag, you and Chris were going to see where this would go.