#i don't have one notebook without all the clues listed in them from some time i was bored in class

[morbific-or-felicific]

-AGNOSTHESIA PART 2 Featuring Scaramouche & Kazuha

Part 1 Part 2

Meaning: The state of not knowing how you really feel about something, which forces you to sift through clues hidden in your behaviour, as if you were some other person

Word Count: 2k~

Description: A study session at Scaramouche’s dorm end with you getting fucked my him and his roommate(Kazuha)

Edited By: @pretty-princess-peach

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You were shivering slightly as you knocked on the door. It was pouring outside, and you had gotten absolutely soaked when you had run over to your boyfriend's dorm building for your study session. You would have grabbed an umbrella or something, but you thought you would be fine with just a hoodie.

Scaramouche opened the door and somehow already looked upset.

“Do you not own an umbrella?”

“I didn’t think I would need it…”

“You’re an idiot. You know that, right?”

“Shut up and let her in, Scaramouche.”

Kazuha was sitting on the couch reading and apparently didn’t feel like dealing with Scaramouche’s idiocy. Scaramouche rolled his eyes and moved aside so you could come in, and Kazuha returned to his book. You set down your bag by one of the couches, and another shiver ran through you. Your boyfriend sighed.

“You’re going to get sick. Go get in the shower. I’ll put some clothes in the bathroom for you.”

He didn’t even give you a chance to respond. He just went to his room to look for something dry for you to wear. You sighed. You didn’t really have a choice, and he was probably right anyway, so you made your way to the bathroom without any protest.

Scaramouche was definitely right. The warm water was making you feel a lot better. As the water flowed down your body, you looked around the shower. You had showered at their dorm before, but every time, the duality of the products in there cracked you up. There was Scaramouche’s two-in-one shampoo and conditioner along with his two-in-one face and body wash. Then there was Kazuha's array of colour protecting hair products, hair masks, exfoliating scrubs, and an almost empty bottle of red hair dye that had no business being in the shower.

When you were done warming up, you got out of the shower and dried off your hair the best you could before putting on the pair of sweatpants and the t-shirt that was miraculously too big for you. Then you hung up all of your clothes, as well as your bra, on the shower curtain rod to dry before heading back to the living room.

Kazuha was sitting in the same spot as before, reading his book, but now there was a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of him. Across from him, Scaramouche had a cup placed in front of where he was seated as well. You noticed that there was one next to him that was probably meant for you.

You grabbed your bag, sat next to your boyfriend, and started pulling out your textbooks and your notebook, placing them in a pile on the coffee table. Scaramouche raised his eyebrows disapprovingly at your actions.

“Are you sure you’re ready to start studying?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

You were a little confused. You had warmed up in the shower and were wearing dry clothes. What more could he want you to do?

“I think he’s just worried that you haven’t warmed up enough yet.”

Kazuha made his comment without looking up from his book.

“Baby, I’m dry now. I'm all good. Don't worry.”

There was a smug little smile on Scaramouche’s lips that gave you a bad feeling.

“But are you warmed up?”

“Y'know,” Kazuha was still staring at his book. “You really have to make sure that you’ve completely warmed up.”

You rolled your eyes at the two of them.

“Okay, give me a blanket or something.”

Scaramouche’s smile grew. He picked up your bag and moved it onto the floor next to the couch.

“Why don’t you get on my lap?”

You turned bright red. What was he thinking? Kazuha was right there! You could see him gently smiling behind his book, which just made it all the more mortifying.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Kazuha wouldn’t mind, right?”

Kazuha finally set down his book and looked you in the eye.

“Not at all.”

“But, we can’t, that’s-”

Scaramouche kissed you, effectively cutting you off.

You stared at him with wide eyes as he pulled away before speaking.

“Just relax and let us warm you up. Okay, dummy?”

You blushed, looking down at your hands. You nodded.

“Use your words.”

“Okay…”

“Come on, say it like you normally would. Tell Kazuha what you call me.”

Your blush intensified and you couldn’t get yourself to look at either of them. You sat there, quietly trying to get yourself to speak, but you just couldn’t.

Scaramouche got bored of your silence and grabbed your face, squishing your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. He narrowed his eyes at you.

“Speak.”

“Sorry, master…”

Scaramouche’s face morphed back into a pleased expression, and he released your face.

“Good girl.”

Kazuha was watching the two of you, eyes sparkling with fascination.

“Wow, she really is a good little slut. You weren’t lying.”

Kazuha’s kind tone while degrading you drove you insane.

“Come on, are you going to disobey me?”

“No. Sorry, master.”

You started climbing onto his lap, but before you could, he stopped you.

“Actually, stand up. I want you to strip for us.”

“What…?”

“Are you going to disobey me, pet?”

“No, Master. I’m sorry.”

You stood up, facing Scaramouche, and started undoing the bow on the sweatpants you had borrowed. They dropped to your feet, and you pulled your panties down after them. You felt yourself turn even more red, if that was even possible. Next, you pulled your t-shirt over your head, bracing for the fact that there was nothing covering your boobs at the moment. Scaramouche let out an appreciative hum at your obedience. It was embarrassing enough when you were naked in front of just your boyfriend, but being naked in front of him and his best friend while they were fully clothed? It was humiliating.

“Come here. Now.”

You went to straddle his lap, but once again, you were stopped.

“Turn around and face Kazuha. You want him to have a good view, don’t you?”

You looked at the ground, still bright red as you turned around to face Kazuha. You sat back on your boyfriend's lap, and you felt his hands slide up your sides.

“I’m going to fuck you, and he is going to watch the entire time. Then I’m going to let him fuck you.”

You nodded, still not making eye contact with the man sitting across from you. You felt your boyfriend reach between your legs.

“Hah, you’re so fucking wet.”

“I think the desperate whore wants us to fuck her.”

You whined at Kazuha’s sweet tone mixed with his degrading words.

A moan escaped your lips when you felt your boyfriend start to draw circles on your clit. Scaramouche moved his fingers back so they were lined up with your hole and pushed them inside. Again, you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you as he fucked his fingers in and out of you. When he added a third finger, your moans became more desperate, needing something more than his fingers inside of you so badly.

“Huh, she really does sound pathetic.”

“I’m not- ah!”

You were cut off by your boyfriend using his other hand to play with your clit, all while fucking you.

“‘Ah, mmm hah, I can’t- mmm, feels so good!’”

Scaramouche mocked your moans egged on by kazuha’s comment.

“You’re close, but you don’t sound as worthless.”

Your boyfriend threw his head back laughing, clearly enjoying himself.

He stopped playing with you and placed his hands on your hips. He lifted you up until you were just kneeling over him. You heard him fiddling with his pants and knew what was coming next, or at least, you thought you did. However, before you could sit down on your boyfriend’s cock, you felt the whole world shift, and all of a sudden, you were face down, ass up, on the couch.

“Scaramouche. What are you- ahhhh!”

He pulled you up by your hair until your back was against his chest.

“Fleshlights don’t talk.”

With that, he pushed you back down onto the couch. Your face was somehow still pointed towards Kazuha, so you made an attempt to turn it away. Immediately, you felt a smack on your ass, making you yelp.

“Fleshlights don’t move either.”

You wanted to apologize, but you were afraid of what would happen if you spoke without permission.

Your boyfriend lined himself up with you and pushed inside in one stroke, making your face scrunch up and causing you to let out a pained whine. He didn’t give you any time to adjust before he started fucking you hard and fast, making your closed eyes shoot open.

The first thing you noticed when your eyes opened back up was Kazuha watching you intently as he languidly stroked his cock. You made eye contact with him, and he smiled gently at you. He continued to stare you down as Scaramouche started drawing fast circles on your clit, and your moans got even louder.

“Fuck, you’re really getting off to me fucking you in front of my best friend? You’re such a whore.”

He hauled you up again, this time with his hand around your throat. He tightened his grip and whispered in your ear.

“I bet you’re excited to get fucked by him. You want me to watch as you fuck my best friend like the little whore you are?”

His words mixed with the rush of him choking you pushed you over the edge. Your whole body tensed up, and you had to bite your lip hard to stop the little scream that was trying to make its way out of your throat.

“Oh fuck.”

Your boyfriend moaned at the feeling of you cumming around him. You felt the rhythm of his thrusts become disconnected before he came in you. You felt his cum warm your insides, and you let out a happy little sigh.

“Does she really feel that good?”

Scaramouche shrugged.

“Hah, I guess.”

You could already feel Scaramouche’s cum dripping down your thighs as Kazuha stood up and walked over to you. He knelt on the couch in front of you.

“Wait what are you…?”

You were confused. He wasn’t actually going to fuck you, was he? But Scaramouche was already inside of you…

Your question was quickly answered when he rested his hand on your waist and started pushing his cock inside of you. You let out a whine at being stretched so much. It hurt, and you were still so sensitive.

“Fuck, she does feel good.”

They started fucking you, and you felt like you were going to cum just from the situation alone. The fact that your boyfriend and his best friend were both balls deep inside of you was driving you wild. Not to mention how unbelievably full you felt. You didn’t care about the pain because the pleasure was worth it.

After only a few moments, you were cumming again.

“Fuck, you really are so fucking pathetic. You like taking two cocks at once, huh?”

“Come on, be nice. She’s a slut. She can’t help it.”

You were whining at the overstimulation but still made sure not to talk.

They continued fucking you until they were both getting close to their ends. However, before they were done, they both pulled out and stood up.

“Get on your knees.”

You were confused but did as you were told.

“Fuck, she’s so obedient.”

“She knows her place. She’s my toy, afterall.”

The two men stood in front of you, and after a few moments, they both came on your face. You had your mouth open and eyes closed, just like Scaramouche had taught you. You were such a good toy.

Finally, it was over. You were exhausted and now covered in cum, and the boys were done. Well, Scaramouche was, but Kazuha didn’t feel like pushing either of you for more. Your boyfriend scooped you up and carried you to his room, placing you in the bed. He disappeared, returning shortly after with a warm cloth to help clean you up. He covered you with blankets and laid next to you while Kazuha went back to his book.

Tag List: @lilia-sspouse @but-a-peach @stannazuna @yourlocal-bunny @lordbugs @randomlycockroach @licensedsimp @leena-shi @cesimaaa @welpthisisfine @dainself-when-playable @fic-rebloga @bubblyxdolly @wanderin-stories @iwysbellez

morbific-or-felicific

[kirbyddd]

ultima 4 is sublime

it's unbelievable how well the gameplay has aged. it's not just notable for its place in history, it's a piece of art worth experiencing to this day

you MUST use a notebook though, every secret and puzzle in the game is solvable without a guide and surprisingly streamlined, but you MUST TAKE NOTES

they don't have to be detailed or anything, just when someone says "Some dude in this town can do X" or "I heard theres a hidden path behind the shop in town Y" write it down: "X guy in Town," "path behind shop in Y." Once you figure out the format of what you need to master the virtues it's easy to make a little organized list that basically becomes your guide for where to head next, so there's never really blind wandering around.

the whole game is a network of rumors and secrets, but unlike most old rpgs (and honestly many modern ones), every solution is discoverable in game just by talking to npcs. for everything else the game books literally give you maps and directions

also ignore the spellbook and class info theyre great atmosphere and imagination to read but theyre overwhelming if you think they actually describe the game mechanics as they claim (classes are mechanically meaningless and reagents are like 1g each so youll have infinite of them... meaning in practice spells work the same as in any other game) Ultima games are far simpler than their manuals make out, as is the case for most classic passion projects where instruction manuals were more canvases for the creators to share their dreams for the experience they wanted to create rather than technical reference guides

also dont run from battles it'll drain your Valor that's really the only regular annoyance, but battles only take a few seconds anyways once youve gathered your party so it's not that big a deal

also MAKE SURE YOU TALK TO EVERY SKELETON IN THE SPOOKY TOWN there are a bunch of generic ones who dont say anything but there's ONE skeleton who looks exactly like all the others who gives you a critical hint so make sure you dont miss him. i did and that was the one thing that got me stuck after completing nearly the entire game hgfvhsjsy. that was the only easily missable thing like that i encountered in the entire game so it threw me for a loop. but i guess the fact that it's the only easily missable clue in the game is testament to how thorough and thoughtful Ultima 4's design was compared to other rpgs of the time. JUST MAKE SURE TO TALK TO ALL THE SKELETONS

[greypetrel]

For the Florence + Machine prompts - 'this is the only thing I've ever had any faith in' for Radha Lavellan~

Hello! Thank you for asking, and thank you for asking Radha! :D I get her definitely too little attention, I’m glad she can have a moment for her own. It's long, so I put it also on Ao3.

Post game, post Monster fic, we’ll see what became of her and I’m fixing her and Aisling, I hate to see them quarrel and she had... Some things to sort out.

CW: mentions of childbirth and pregnancy. Very mild, there's nothing graphical, but better safe than sorry.

Tis the prompt list

Come Scoglio (🎶)

39. This is the only thing I've ever had any faith in

And you, you were the one I treated the worst Only because you loved me the most We haven't spoken in a long time I think about it sometimes I don't know who I was back then And I hope on hope (hope on hope) I would never treat anyone like that again Grace - Florence + the Machine

Radha didn’t want to come but Pavyn had insisted.

Pavyn had decided to go even before he asked for the hahren’s counsel. As most often when he made a decision, she discovered soon when she got back to the clan.

After the Darvaraad, she woke up in a dilapidated, but dry enough, ruin by the sea. The Eluvian was closed and inert, no matter how much she kicked and screamed. Her daggers were back in their sheathes, cleaned and polished, and all she was missing was her notebook, which she had to abandon in the Library when she was surprised by the Viddasala. There were no clues, no hints at all around her: whatever that building had been, its purpose was long gone, eaten by the sea and wind that blew from a façade that was missing and opened to the waves. She couldn’t activate the Eluvian, of course, and all she had to do, after beating the rooms carefully, looking for anything she could use and finding nothing at all save for some carvings depicting marine life, she walked off, seething in rage, delusion and desperation, and found herself in sight of Wycome. It made her all the more furious, because how dared he.

And still, she screamed at nothing at all, she cried, and she walked back to the clan, not knowing, now, without her notes, without a clue, where to head next.

Pavyn had been Keeper since a year, she discovered. And even if her bare skin caused some gasps and whispers, she got back to whatever her life before leaving had been. She wasn’t the same person she had been when she left, and everything in the light of what she knew felt… Pointless. Bleak. It didn’t matter anymore. The clan, luckily, was too busy to really mind her, and still remembered that she was on the solitary type. Life in Wycome was hectic, and, she discovered, proceeded with more ease than she had thought it would.

She didn’t participate much, even if Pavyn asked her to sit in the City Council with him, bring her experience in the Inquisition to good use. She refused. All that Aisling had done not listening to her but to her advisors bore fruit, and the Dalish and the city lived together in harmony. It made her all the more furious.

She was furious, because all she could think of when she thought of Aisling, was her face when she had stopped her from killing the very Dread Wolf, and how she hadn’t reacted with an apology when she had called her a traitor. And in all the years she had known her, Aisling had never apologized for something she wasn’t sorry for.

All she could think of when she thought of Aisling, now, was that she had doomed them all, and willingly. And what was the point of having saved the clan and contributed to effectively giving them a better chance at a stable life, permanently camped around a city that welcomed them and accepted Pavyn and Deshanna in the government? What good was it, if everything was for nought?

She just told the Hahrens that Aisling was a traitor to the People, that the Dread Wolf had her scent and she betrayed them all past forgiveness, working for an evil wizard she had put her trust in and saved against all better thoughts. The Hahrens, though, refused to listen to her without listening to Aisling as well on the matter. She had done good to them, after all, and paid a high price for it. She at least, Pavyn told her looking in her eyes with a finality to it, deserved to be listened to.

There was nothing to do but waiting.

Waiting for some strange elves to come and speak in the night of a future for elves all over Thedas. Strange elves that Radha took on the side, when she caught one talking to a couple of un-tattooed fishermen, and threatened to kill if they didn’t leave the city alone. She told the spy her name, and spitted to go tell his puppeteer just exactly whom she was. And to go fuck himself.

Waiting for an Aisling that never came back, just wrote.

She never read any of her letters.

And yet, somewhat short of four years later, Pavyn told the clan to pack their things, left just the older Hahrens and everyone who didn’t want to travel, and set the Lavellan off to another journey.

And told her, calm and collected as he did when he explained Nehnis that no, evoking refined sugar right from the Fade wasn’t anything he could do, that if she hadn’t come, he would have tied her and shut her into an aravel forcibly, and to stop being an idiot.

---

The farm was defensible, cozy, and filled with people and life.

All in all, it did look like a clan. A clan of Templars and former so of all ages and upbringings and grades of lucidity, to which added Dagna, Sera and the Chargers. Everyone able was working, helping out in the house, stables or in the fields, no one was much shocked to see a Dalish clan arriving, and they were greeted as any other visitor.

Aisling was very round with child and not happy to see them, not at first. There was the same stiffness about her that was there when she had to entertain aristocracy in Skyhold. Smiles and politeness, but from three steps away. Pavyn ignored that and hugged her, as did the rest of the clan. She exchanged with Radha but a brief glance, and she lost all the ease she gained with the welcoming as soon as their eyes met. It lasted but a moment, before Vyrina dragged her away and asked her if she could feel the baby kicking and how did she felt. She didn’t look for her again.

Radha was happy she didn’t. She didn’t want to be there, after all.

She made herself scarce, avoided everyone that knew her. She glanced Sera and she knew instantly that it would have been a fight: she shadowed Aisling even more than Cullen did as she walked along the farm and refused to just sit down and rest, told them that they were all too fussy, it was just a late pregnancy and she wasn’t dying. She laughed, adding a “not anymore” that made everyone groan.

They weren’t the first clan to visit, most likely, but Radha didn’t care. She just wanted for this baby to be born so they could return North, as she told her mother when she came and tried to talk her down her offense.

“At least come. Your brother, me and the other Hahrens here are listening for her, today. You were so adamant in condemning her, the least you can do is be there when she tries to defend herself.”

Her mother, she could hear it in her tone, wasn’t happy with her. Radha didn’t care. Radha stopped caring for much of anything when she discovered who exactly Solas was, and stopped caring about the rest when the person she thought was her sister and on her side defended him and not her, with the world at stake.

Aisling told the clan everything Radha had been silent about. She explained them about Solas, who he was, and how she yes, acted on his behalf without knowing it for much of her mandate as Inquisitor. And how yes, she discovered he was the Dread Wolf chasing for the Viddasala in the labyrinth, and willingly saved him from Radha.

Pavyn asked her if it was because he could save her life.

She answered yes.

But she would have done the same even if she hadn’t been on the brink of death.

It caused a ruckus, everyone started to buzz and talk, and she sat there, impassible with her hand on her belly, still as much the Inquisitor as Radha left her, even dressed in commoners clothes, even with her hair braided in a style Radha saw Fereldan women wear, even if years had passed and no one in the farm that hadn’t been there seemed to know exactly who she and Cullen had been. Dignified and solid in her position.

Radha just glared at her, but it was perfectly pointless.

“I refuse to believe he’s unsalvageable. You thought I deserved a chance to speak, even if I was ultimately the reason you all got targeted in Wycome. I don’t see why he shouldn’t deserve exactly the same. He saved my life time and time again, I wouldn’t be here if he was evil, and if you think I’m idle on the matter, you’re mislead.” She refused any help from Vyrina who jumped up trying to help, rose on her feet again, huffing and wobblying on her spot. Her balance, Radha noticed, was off. Finally, Aisling sought her out in the crowd, her green eyes staying on hers with fire burning behind them, and the next words were more for Radha than for everyone else. “But if thinking he deserve another chance makes me a traitor, than be it. He’s more powerful than any of you realise. If you really think that hate and open hostility will ultimately save us all, I am glad to call myself a traitor and die as one.”

Silence around, Radha held her eyes and clenched her fingers on her arms, her pride and rage flaring again.

“If you can excuse me, I have duties to attend. I will accept any decision you’ll come up with.”

Aisling just informed them and, bringing her hand to her heart and after bowing as much as she could without tripping, she turned her back and marched away back to the house, without turning her back.

The clan had a lot to talk, that evening, but Radha didn’t participate. She marched in the opposite direction, and entered her aravel, tired and… With a weird mixture of utter disappointment and frustration, and the old wound burning nastily.

How bitter, how much it tasted of salt to feel yet again that she was the third wheel in whatever mentorship relationship Aisling and Solas had. That even if he kissed her and called her Venhan and indeed told her first whom he was... what she thought was love vacillated and burst and turned to hate, Aisling’s didn’t falter, not after almost dying, not after losing an arm because of him. That she was still, after all this time, there to defend him, when Radha just wanted to stuck her dagger deep in his chest and see if there was actually a heart. She could cope with whatever happened and find her peace only if she found out there was none.

Bitter still, being left there to think that either Aisling’s affection faltered for her, and just for her. That she could make peace with Ydun of all people -she saw them talking the other evening, and laughing in the end. That she could make peace with the man who almost killed her and took her arm, and all she herself got was disagreement and the reminder in front of the whole clan that her rage served no one. It made her feel like it was all in her head.

She was called by at least three people asking her for help, but Radha just slammed the door of her aravel shut and tossed her jacket on the bench. Marched to the bed. If she was so despicable to be blamed for what she said, there was no point in helping out. See how much Aisling had helped her.

She stopped abruptly, focusing on the bed.

On her pillow lied her old notebook, the one she had lost in the labyrinth. Kept in pristine conditions, a little worn with time and stained in the ink she spilled when she had to flee, the latch around the cover, tied up with a bow.

A small piece of paper was folded beneath, in a terrible cursive she didn’t think to be still able to read so well.

I found it in the Library. Leliana insisted I should keep it, in case. I fixed the binding where it was ruined, didn’t touch the pages. I couldn’t do anything for the spilled ink. No one had time to decipher it, in Halamshiral, and I never attempted it, later.

I didn’t think you would have trusted it in any courier’s hands, so I was planning to give it back as soon as the Chargers made it to Wycome. You all came South first so here. It’s yours.

With-   Hoping it will-  I’m- A.

She screamed as she tossed it on the other side of the cart, and screamed some more in the pillow, not knowing what else to do.

She kept it. She found it and kept it for three years. Fixed it.

It was true that she would have hated for her to ship it with the first random messenger, and it made her so, so angry.

She wanted hostility, a good excuse to hate her truly and for good and give her reason to be angry. Not her notebook back and the rage still safely kept in her heart.

---

The child was born on a Thursday evening.

“Thursday child has far to go”, Vyrina declared, beaming as she gave the child, cleaned and checked that it was healthy, back to the mother who finally lied down on the bed. “It’s a healthy girl and before you ask: no, it’s too soon for curls.”

Radha left Aisling that she was crying, in joy this time, and didn’t turn back, even if she heard her call her name as she stepped through the threshold. Even if Cullen turned to try and stop her, too, running up the stairs back again.

She didn’t know how she felt.

Cullen had been shooed off the room, apparently for trying to tell his wife what to do in childbirth, and Deshanna had dragged Radha up to help in his place, pushed her into the room. She had kneeled in front of her and surrected her, better than what she could do with just one hand. Aisling just commented that it wasn’t a good moment for her to stop pretending she didn’t exist, and that was it. She accepted the help she was offered, and was all in all too preoccupied with more urgent matters to really do much else or to be hostile.

She wondered, as she entered her aravel, grunting everything was fine to the clan members that asked her for news. She told them it was fine, the baby was healthy. She didn’t stay to hear the name, and she didn’t care. She had nothing to do with it. She picked a small box with some first aid supplies she kept in a bag, always at the ready should she depart quickly.

Opening a jar she found inside took some effort, with her fingers not closing perfectly. They never did, not after she grabbed a knife and was late in reaching a healer. The tendons never healed properly. Beside that, she noticed with irritation that her hand was trembling. She ignored it and pushed through, managing to open the little tin. The elfroot paste was a little stale, but growing up with her mother she knew when it was too old to use, and that wasn’t it. She left the jar and the lid on the bed beside her hip, and quickly slipped her shirt out of her belt and up her head, examining her bare shoulder.

Aisling bit her, in instinct and in pain. Not hard enough to draw blood, but it left a sore, angry and purple. It was, all in all, better than just…

She spread the paste generously on her shoulder, putting more frustrated force in her fingers than she should have. Her hands were still trembling, and it frustrated all that much.

The hurt her sister gave her was done when she was in labour, tired and exhausted and in Radha didn’t want to know how much pain. The actual hurt. Nothing bad had happened, in the two weeks they’ve been there.

There had been no confrontation, Aisling hadn’t look for it. Not after three years of very sporadical letters between the death of Corypheus and the Exalted Council, and the next years of total silence.

And yet, Aisling knew her still, and knew her boundaries and how much she could push. She knew that forcing her to speak wouldn’t have worked. She answered the accusations, spoke her mind, and kept outside the limits Radha imposed.

The worst thing was that Radha knew that it went against what Aisling would have wanted to do. Which was to talk. After those years, she still was adapting to her boundaries first.

Exactly like-

“You can’t treat people like you treat horses, da’len.”

No.

She wouldn’t think of him. Even if her mind, traitorous and confused and still in pain, went exactly there. In territories she hadn’t allowed it to roam in years.

She saw the drops falling on her trousers, painting them darker, before she realised she was crying.

Three years of being angry at the man she thought she loved for ultimately taking her sister away, at her sister for defending him and not her -and a part of her still knew that if she managed, she would be living with the consequences still- and said sister was still there, waiting for her to be ready to come closer. Keeping her things and giving them back. Calling for her name right after she gave birth.

She slipped down the bed and took her head in her hands, fingers splaying on coarse buzz-cut hair, and allowed herself to sob.

Three years of rage, and she was finally tired of it.

The farm was so busy with people that it looked like the Inquisition never ended, just moved. Leliana and Vivienne were missing, as well as Cole and Varric. The rest was all there, cramped together in rooms and tents and couches and in every available space.

Finding Aisling alone had been difficult.

Difficult, but not impossible. Radha just had to wait and be close enough to know, not enough to actually be seen and dragged in.

Well, there was Cullen with her, but neither him nor the newborn really counted, at this point.

They were discussing about food, standing in front of the other in the kitchen.

“I’ll be fine. If it’s a soup, it won’t require much effort.”

“You didn’t sleep and aren’t feeling well either. Let me help, I’m sure Doris will behave. It’s just soup, not baking, I can help you.”

“You gave birth three days ago, I just have a headache. Having something to do will help me, not you. Go and sit down.”

“Exactly, it was three days ago, I can stand for a while. She’s sleeping and well tied, my hand is free. Let me help and we’ll go sit down together, sooner.”

“It’s never sooner with you in the kitchen, love-”

Radha knocked her knuckles on the jamb of the door, loud enough to catch their attention. When they both turned towards her, Radha caught Aisling stiffening up, her hand instinctively going up to rest on- it hesitated on her stomach, and corrected its course up to the head of the child, securely wrapped to her chest. There was a moment of stasis between the three, before Cullen smiled at her and nodded.

“Just in time. Maybe you can get her to sit down and take a nap.”

“The bench outside is free.” Radha answered, unsure of it. Her eyes ran to Aisling, who was looking at her, unsure of what to do.

An invitation. Radha hoped she was really still the person she knew, even a little, and would accept it.

“I don’t want to bother you.” She answered, and Radha knew she meant more than just now.

“You do bother me, if you stay here.” Cullen announced with affection, making Aisling pout at him. “And if I ever partially knew your sister, she wouldn’t have asked if she wasn’t ready for a yes. Right?”

He turned towards her, expecting.

For all she mistrusted him when they first met, she had to admit that Aisling was right. On him as well. She nodded once, enough to signify a yes.

“Wonderful. Now go, I don’t want any of you three in my kitchen.”

Aisling grumbled, as she was gently pushed towards the door, and it only made him chuckle and bend down for a hug and a kiss. One to her, and one to the tiny head that peeked out from the cloth of the binding. A long strip of halla wool, dyed in teal and embroidered finely in golden thread, that the clan gifted her for the birth as it was custom.

Radha stepped on the side to make the other pass, and Aisling smiled at her, if somewhat awkwardly as if she didn’t exactly know how to behave.

Honestly, Radha didn’t know either.

So, they fell into old habits. She didn’t talk, nor Aisling pushed her too. Radha just nodded to the side, where she saw the free bench on her way there. A small stone one under a wooden arch that held a wisteria tree that climbed the arch and up on the side of the house. In the sun, but the leaves shaded it nicely: whomever had built it -for the stone was old and smoothed by wind, rain and snow, thought it carefully. Aisling refused help to sit down, and wobbled her way, grimacing a little but stubbornly making it on her own. With a relieved oomph when she finally sat and rested her back against the stone, bending her head behind and closing her eyes. She was tired, of course. Her hand kept absent-mindedly caressing the baby’s head, ruffling delicately hairs so fine they almost looked white in the light.

Radha sat beside her, but didn’t rest nor relax. She just looked before her, at the clothing line, the veggie garden and then the fields and the woods. It was a nice place, days still warm in the early Kingsway.

“I’m sorry I bit you.” Aisling broke the silence, after some minutes. “And… Well. For everything else I guess.”

A deep sigh escaped her lips. All that time, and her apology -which Radha knew would have come- meant nothing. All that mattered, right now, was that she was there.

Her, and her horse methods for people.

In spite of everything, it brought a smile.

She turned to look at her, and found out that Cullen was right: she looked tired, dark circles under her eyes and eyelids half closed, struggling to stay open as she kept caressing her daughter’s hair. Radha could have found out something to say, surely. She just apologized. Instead, she just told her.

“Sleep.”

And slouched a little beside her, on the backrest of the bench, crossing her arms to her chest and her legs on the sittee, with a sigh as she closed her eyes. Once again, as they had done hundreds of times as children and teens.

Aisling had trouble falling asleep at night, she either couldn’t or wouldn’t. So, when Radha was tired too, she just hugged her and closed her eyes beside her. Soon enough, Aisling lied down and in respect for her rest, closed her eyes. Or just stayed quiet not to disturb her. She knew because she wasn’t really sleeping. Not right away, and she felt her tossing and turning at her side.

Radha didn’t hugged her, today. She stood there, close but not enough to touch. Aisling didn’t toss nor turn. She just hummed a “Thank you.” And her eyes definitely closed, her breath slowed down.

Radha fell asleep too, lulled by the warmth and the sweet smell of a brand-new baby.

She awoke, a couple of hours at best later judging by the sun, with the child crying, shrill and seemingly very desperate, loud in her ears. Too close to it, actually.

Radha jolted up, realizing she leaned to the side in sleep, onto Aisling. Aisling who was already awake and fussing for the child, hushing her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Do you need help?”

“No, no, it can be- Ah.”

She slipped the cloth down her shoulder and very, very delicately, shifted the now thrashing newborn in a good position for feeding. With effort, still not used to it.

Radha turned, out of feeling still on edge and not knowing where to stand, and kept turned, ears alert in case she needed something. No request came, tho: she kept muttering nonsenses to the child, humming a song about food and milk and baby cows Radha was pretty sure she invented on the spot.

“There, all better now, no?”

It was the signal, said louder for the benefit of everything present, that it was done. Radha gently turned, and saw her there, an impossibly small child whose back she was tapping on her shoulder – she had forgotten just how little newborns could be- with the faintest of taper to her ears, smiling and relaxed. For the first time in her life she looked like she belonged, melting with her surroundings. At peace.

More at peace, when the child burped and Aisling cooed at her and cheered her as if she just learnt to speak at the mature age of three days.

Radha couldn’t understand, until now, why exactly did she decided to even have that baby. The thought had been offensive and she thought it egotistical. Seeing it for herself, tho…

She felt on the fence, the gate was open, and as much as she had believed she would have found only despise and contempt there…

There were a thousand of questions she could ask, a thousand she had for her, a thousand of whys she had on the tip of her tongue.

“What’s her name?” Was the only thing that jumped on her lips.

Aisling turned, and the same bright smile was for her, now. Tinged in sadness, still, but bright.

“Niamh.” She told her. “We wanted something short.”

“Andaran atish’an, Niamh.”

The child gurgled in all answer, and her mother giggled at it, eyes shining. She didn’t cry, tho. She concentrated on her baby, slipping her down her shoulder and in the crook of her arm, extremely carefully as if she was made of glass.

“I am sorry, Ra.” She told her, in the end. It encompassed everything and at the same time nothing at all. It wasn’t remotely enough to erase all that went through.

And yet. She was still there, and she wasn’t fighting back. She had accepted accusations and hate and silence and just stood there, weathering the storm, flexing under the wind. Unmoving.

Ghilan’nain for guidance. Her mother had said.

A stone in a storm, a fixed star to set your course too. It was soothing to know that even after all that time, even after everything… Aisling was still there where she left her. Accepting contempt and accuses and rage.

“I am, too.” She just answered, equally encompassing everything and nothing at all. “Can I-”

“Yes.” Aisling said back, before she could even finish, relief settling deep in her voice.

They giggled together at that, and Radha reached forward with her hand, caressing gently the head of the baby. Soft and velvety hair, fine like silk, and plushy cheeks like her mother.

“Do you want to hold her?” Aisling asked, tentatively.

Radha considered. Exhaled loudly.

“Maybe later.”

Aisling just smiled broadly at her, nodding in all answer.

No more words were said, no more words were needed, for now. They just sat there, relaxing in a rare moment  of quiet in a terribly crowded farm. The sun was gently setting beyond the woods, and everything felt at peace, finally.

For the first time in more than three years, Radha felt like there would have been a later.

[snarkwrites]

ssw | pietro maximoff; you make my heart beat faster. [ suggestive ]

Notes:

Okay, so.. This is kind of a follow up to the one shot I wrote a few months ago, happy birthday. So this picks up the next day. Idk where this idea came from or if it even makes sense when read immediately after that one, but ah well. My brain kept nagging at me to write the thing so I wrote the thing.

[ happy birthday ] for those who haven't read it already.

The translation: ty chuvstvuyesh', chto delayesh' so mnoy, kotenok = "do you feel what you're doing to me, kitten?" loosely via Google translate.

Prompts:

taken from either [ HERE ] or [ HERE ] give or take. It could be one or the other or a mix of both at my own choosing.

the daydream of him inside you // seeing the bulge in his pants // you make my heart beat faster. - those were all the prompts / inspiration used to write this.

Fandom / Character:

MCU / Pietro Maximoff x Barton!OFC, Nicola.

Other Writing Nicola / Pietro can be found in:

[ happy birthday ] + several other oooold posts way back on the blog I think. I wanna write a fic for them one day. We shall see, though.

Warnings:

[ NSFW. Absolutely no minors.] If you're underage, this was not written for you -nor should you be reading it. If you choose to keep reading, this is strictly a you problem. I can't do anything about it. I warned you.

Things you need to be warned about before reading: implied sexual encounter.

Yes. I realize that I don't go full into writing out the scene. But there's enough here that anyone underage has zero business reading it. So, I'm warning you guys now.

Tagging:

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@kyleoreillysknee

@micolegg

@mrsstevenbuchananstark

Other Stuff:

[ ABOUT MY WRITING | TAG LIST DOC - IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED, THAT IS. ]

“Are you feeling okay? You’ve barely touched your food, Nicola.”

My mom’s concerned question cut through my thoughts and I made myself smile, nodding. Taking a bite as I replied through a mouthful, “I’m fine. Was just thinking. That’s all.”

“About?” my mom eyed me expectantly. Hints of an amused smile played at her lips. I hesitated for a moment. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost swear that somehow she knew something was up.

,, would it be a stretch to think so? One, she is my mom and two, I’ve been acting skittish and just plain out of it all damn day...” the thought came and as quickly as it did, I shoved it down in the depths of my brain.

I shrugged. “ Nothing in particular.” I gave the vaguest answer I could come up with. If she had one tenth of a clue what I’d really been thinking about just now, I’m honestly not sure how she’d react to it.

I’d been replaying last night over and over again in my mind all day. Every single part of me was dying to ask Pietro if it meant anything or not but at the same time, every single part of me was also scared to death to do that very thing. The one or two times we’d been alone with each other today and I did try, the words got stuck in my throat. And he wasn’t behaving any differently than he normally did, so I kind of just… Let it go. Started to convince myself that making the two of us love the night before was just a one time thing. As my best friend Simone would put it, “Sometimes, you just need to scratch that itch.”

The whole problem with her theory is that even now, having scratched this particular itch.. I wanted to do it again. And again.

I wanted so much more than that too. The brief glimpse I’d gotten of Pietro beneath the sarcasm and the flirty swagger the night before completely did me in. I’d gone from trying hard to keep him at arms length to falling head over feet in love with him and knowing this drove me crazy.

I felt someone staring at me.

I looked up just as Pietro was looking down. Pouting to myself a little, I reached out to grab the spoon in the bowl of mashed potatoes to scoop another serving onto my plate. Pietro reached for the spoon at the same time and when our hands brushed, I felt this little jolt.

He moved his hand but not until he’d let it linger against mine for a second or two. His gaze not leaving mine for the entirety of it. Under the table, my thighs clenched tight. I could see his hands all over me again in my head. Feel his cock buried deep inside me.

I went from a little wet to full on soaked between the mental imagery and the brush of his hand against mine. My stomach coiled.

My body tensed a little.

I dropped my gaze first, busying myself with putting more potatoes on my plate. Pietro kept watching me.

My parents were talking at the head of the table as my mom fed Nathaniel some smushed peas and carrots... My little sister scarfed down her food and then shot out of her chair and out the backdoor to go play a game of tag with my brother in the backyard before it got to dark to play and they had to come inside.

I dared to glance up from shoveling food into my mouth and Pietro gave a teasing wink. Biting his lip as he openly fucked me with his eyes.

And there it went.. The lazy flip flop of my stomach. And no matter what I tried, I couldn’t tear my eyes out of the ocean blue depths of his.

I couldn’t take any more of the torture that was being around him and not having the courage to ask what I was dying to know so I stood and grabbed my plate as soon as I finished eating, making my way into the kitchen to put it in the sink.

I went ahead and washed it while I stood there. I was just drying the plate and about to put it away in the cabinet overhead when I felt Pietro’s muscular body press against me from behind. Wordlessly, he took the plate from my hand and sat it on the top of the stack inside. I turned to face him.

This put us body to body.

I swallowed hard. My mouth opened and closed and for about five or six seconds, I willed myself to say something. Do something.

But I couldn’t bring myself to. Because as much as I was dying to know whether last night was a one time thing or if there was really something between us… Parts of me were scared to death that if I asked, I wouldn’t like the answer.

And that kept me quiet.

Pietro’s hand raised. Reaching out. Brushing strands of hair out of my eyes. I barely restrained a whimper at the touch. His eyes flashed a brighter blue and his head tilted slightly as he stared down at me.

Lost in thought.

His hips pressed into mine harder. When I felt the bulge in his jeans, I took a few shaky breaths. His hand rested on my hip, squeezing. Digging the tips of his fingers into it. He leaned down slightly and his mouth grazed the shell of my ear as he asked, “ty chuvstvuyesh', chto ty delayesh' so mnoy, kotenok?” in a breathless whisper.

If I thought I was wet before, hearing him speak to me in his native tongue had me soaked. Absolutely flooded. The only word I could pick out of whatever he’d asked was kitten. And as usual, when he called me kitten, my heart fluttered just a little more in my chest. He rocked himself into me clumsily and I sucked in a breath.

“Pietro.” I muttered. I was right on the verge of asking him what he’d just said. And asking him about what the night before truly was, if he felt anything or if it just kinda… happened. But just as I thought I’d finally be able to get the words out, it’s like my brain froze up all over again. I frowned at myself in frustration and sighed, shaking my head. “Nothing. It’s silly.”

I heard my dad calling my name from the next room, so I stepped away from Pietro reluctantly and went to leave the kitchen. Pietro grabbed hold of my hips, holding me in place for a few seconds. Staring down at me.

“ I need to talk to you later, kotenok. Alone.”

All I could do was nod. Tell him that I was going to go up to my room in a few minutes.

He nodded.

I stepped away and walked into the next room, only barely managing to pull myself together enough to talk to my parents without either one of them seeming to be aware of just how flustered I truly was.

As soon as I got done talking to my dad, I made my way upstairs. Shutting the door to my room and leaning against it just to hopefully pull myself together.

I still couldn’t.

I flopped across my bed, picking up the Anatomy book and my notebook, preparing to start studying again for the final I had coming up soon and just as I settled into it, there were two knocks at my bedroom door.

I slipped off the bed, wandering over to the door. Opening it.

Pietro leaned in the doorway, gazing down at me. That hungry look in his eyes again.

I stepped out of the doorway and let him into my room, shutting the door behind me. When I turned around to face him, we were body to body. Leaning into me, he put a hand against the door, just above my head. I could feel him straining even harder against his jeans. His other hand raised, resting against the side of my face. Cradling my cheek as he closed the distance between our mouths.

I started out with my palm down. Determined to keep distance between us until I finally worked up the courage to ask my question, hear my dreaded answer and be done, but by the time his tongue slipped past my lips and started to trace my teeth, I was clutching at the front of his fitted black shirt instead. He nipped at my bottom lip, tugging until I felt it swelling under pressure. The kiss deepened until I got so lightheaded I thought I’d melt.

He seemed to sense this because he crushed me against him and the hand cupping my face drifted down. Skimming down my side. Stopping at my hip.

The kiss finally broke so we could breathe and we pulled apart; breathless. Staring at each other quietly. Wide-eyed.

“Kotenok…” he muttered softly. Fondly. His voice dying away as he stared down at me like he was lost in thought. Trying to say something.

“What’s up?” I mumbled, my stomach flipping and flopping lazily.

“Last night was..” he went quiet on me again and I tensed a little, bracing myself for him to continue. Preparing myself in the event that what he was about to say wasn’t what I longed to hear.

So it shocked me when he was closing the distance between our mouths all over again as he muttered in a lust-filled whisper, “Last night was more than just sex. You make me feel things that I haven’t before, kotenok.”

My breath caught in my throat and I didn’t realize it until I finally took a breath and it was shaky. I gazed up at him, letting his words sink in. Trying to wrap my head around it. I went to say something, to tell him that I felt the same way and I didn’t do what we’d done last night often, but he pressed the side of his finger against my lips, silencing me and continued to speak.

“You make my heart beat faster.” he took hold of the hand I had rested against his chest, placing it over his heart. I gasped quietly as I looked up at him again and saw the way he was looking back down at me, a look of pure and total adoration.

He looked nervous as hell. Fidgeting a little. Not quite sure what to do with his hands after he moved one off my hip and let go of my hand with the other. He went to step away, swearing under his breath and I realized that he wanted me to react somehow.

I pressed against him from behind. My hand wrapping around his where it lingered on the knob to my bedroom door. “Don’t go. Please?” I asked in a hushed whisper. Pietro turned around and when he did, I melted against him. Raising my arms to wrap them around his neck. Dragging my fingers through a thick mess of platinum blond. Tugging at it as I rose to tiptoe and crashed my mouth against his. Laughing softly when our noses bumped and our lips connected all over again; hungry. Desperate. Frenzied.

He reached down, twisting the lock on my door knob so that it was locked and no one could come in by accident. A low growl rose up from the depths of his chest, hanging in the air between us only to be swallowed by the kiss as our mouths reconnected and it deepened. I rubbed myself against him clumsily. Needy.

His hands locked across my ass and he slipped me up his body, stepping over to my bed. Dropping me against my mattress softly and positioning himself on top of me. Pressing his hips into mine. Bucking against me as his mouth strayed from my own, working it’s way down the side of my neck. His lips caught on my pulse, making me shiver and rock myself up into him as I gave a needy whine and raised my legs, squeezing his hips with my knees. The kiss broke and he muttered against my mouth with a teasing grin, “ Think you can be quiet for me, kotenok?”

“ I can try.” I whimpered as his mouth worked down the front of my throat, teeth scraping against skin. Stubble tickling me. Making me cling to him as he snapped his hips against me and his hands moved down between us, catching in the hem of my shirt. He pulled me up to a sitting position and pulled my shirt off, tossing it onto my bedroom floor. I tugged at his shirt, whining impatiently and he chuckled. Nipping softly at my bottom lip as he teased, “Patience.”

“Pietro.” I pleaded.

He tugged his shirt over his head, letting it settle on the floor near mine. And then he was leaning in. His hands moving up my sides. Stopping to squeeze my breasts, growling to himself quietly before reaching around. Hooking a thick digit beneath the band of my bra and working the clasps free. He pulled it off, balling it up and tossing it on the floor with the rest of our clothes as he leaned into me even more, my back pressed flat against my bed all over again. He positioned himself on top of me, his body spreading my legs wide and as his head dipped down, my fingers curled in my blanket and thick blond hair.

His mouth worked across my collarbones. Then lower. He squeezed my tits together, mouth diving down. Latching onto one of my nipples. Tongue circling lazily until he’d teased it to a point and I was squirming beneath him, rocking my hips, desperate for any kind of friction I could get. My fingers caught in the waistband of his jeans and I worked the button and the zipper free. He pulled away and slipped off the bed to shed his jeans and underwear and eyed me hungrily. Leaning down. Meeting my gaze with a mischief filled smirk as he took off my pants. Holding my gaze the entire time.

I kicked my pants free at the ankle and he was on top of me again. The tip of his thick cock brushing right against my fabric covered crotch as he bucked into me and muttered against my mouth, “Are you ready for me, kotenok?”

“Please?” I begged breathlessly, barely managing to keep my voice a whisper as I did so. When he smirked at me as if he were pleased with himself, I realized exactly what his goal was.

He wanted to see just how close he could get me to getting loud.

I pouted up at him and he chuckled. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re being a tease. I know what you’re trying to do.”

“Oh?” he muttered, his hand disappearing between us. Slipping into my panties. Fingers working me open. Burying deep in my throbbing, wet sex. I arched my back and gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair, tugging at it as I rocked against his hand.

It wasn’t enough. I wanted him buried to the hilt inside of me. Now.

But Pietro was in a teasing mood tonight. Something told me that the more I begged, the more he was going to prolong it. And if I didn’t beg? He’d prolong it.

I was absolutely fucked.

One way or another, he was going to have me screaming his name by the end of the night.

[jasonbehrs]

i wanna read every word, chapter 2

by airauralintensity (aka me, jasonbehrs!)

“Have you ever fallen in love with someone you’ve never met?” “Uh, do you mean like we’ve-been-doing-long-distance-slash-online-dating or like I’ve-been-crushing-on-the-cute-barista-at-the-library-cafe?” “Ummm, more like I’ve-read-their-poems-and-sure-they’re-very-talented-but-their-handwriting-alone-makes-me-smile.” “… That’s oddly specific.”

fandom: kpop, super junior characters: eunhyuk, ryeowook; guest appearances by the rest of sj-m and yesung ship: eunwook genre: romantic comedy themes: alternate endings, strangers to lovers, handwriting, identity reveal setting: college chapter: 2/4 word count: 5.2k

read it below or on ffnet, aff, wattpad

A/N (6.6.2021): Welcome to the next installment folks! Some clarifying things:

- This is the first of two alternate endings to the story, which answers the question, 'What if Ryeowook finds out first?'

- I got some interesting reviews/PMs about the last chapter? Eunhyuk isn't pining after Yesung or anything, and I didn't mean to indicate that would be an aspect of the story. If you were looking forward to it, I'll be disappointing you today haha. Feel free to let me know how much you hate me in a review ;)

Also, today would have been my grandmother's 102nd birthday, so I'm dedicating this chapter to her since she always loved seeing me write. Love you, Nanay!

~~~

He and Hyukjae haven't hung out alone before, but he's sure this won't be awkward. Their only real link may have just been Yesung, but Hyukjae successfully ingrained himself into their entire friend group in the short weeks since they first met. Besides, even if Hyukjae weren't so willing to help him with his twisted scavenger hunt for love, Ryeowook thinks he'd like to hang out with him some time anyway. He's grown to like Hyukjae, really.

At least, that's what he tells himself when he turns the corner and sees Hyukjae sitting alone on a bench in the quad with his legs crossed, a laptop over one knee and an open notebook on the other, waiting for him to arrive.

Ryeowook takes a breath to steel his nerves then heads over to plop himself right next to the other. He doesn't say anything and takes out his own work instead. They don't have to start with the crush thing.

"Ah, my favourite person under 5'2". How do you do?" Hyukjae snarks without pausing his typing.

In response, Ryeowook uses a single finger to tip Hyukjae's notebook onto the ground without remorse.

"Ya!" Hyukjae picks up his notebook and slaps Ryeowook with it.

On the downswing, Ryeowook freezes.

"Oh shit, did I hit you that hard? Sorry, I didn't mean to," Hyukjae hurriedly apologises, but that's not it at all.

Ryeowook had caught a glimpse of the notes hurriedly scrawled across the open book. He would recognise that handwriting anywhere.

"Why don't we get started then," Hyukjae offers uneasily, eyeing how Ryeowook's stance hadn't relaxed yet. "Um, did you bring a copy of one of the notes like we discussed?"

Of course he did. Ryeowook was so excited to be one step closer to identifying the person behind the song lyrics that took up as much space in his brain as his Food Sciences lecture notes, he had brought the whole ass scrapbook with him, eager to show off his favourites to a new and willing audience.

But now, Ryeowook is panicking. He found the object of his affections much sooner than for which he was ready; and said object is sitting right next to him, staring at him expectantly and eager to help.

Not letting himself think it through, Ryeowook rummages through his bag looking for viable scraps of paper. There is no way he is going to hand Hyukjae's own work to him, so he makes do with what he's got.

He bypasses the lyric samples he actually prepared for today's meeting and found ones of his own making which he had intended to recycle weeks ago but never got around to. He silently thanks himself for this terrible habit as he frantically smooths out the small squares of paper before handing them to Hyukjae.

The other raises his eyebrows as he reads through the papers. "Damn, I was hoping that maybe one of these things had even a little similarity to an assignment we've heard so far, but no dice."

Ryeowook nods, affecting understanding disappointment even as he privately rejoices.

"Do you mind if I keep these? I can, like, surreptitiously check people's notebooks during group assignments," he offers with a laugh. "Pearl blue sticky notes can't be that common in a class of 50, right?''

Ryeowook smiles, wide and fake. "Fingers crossed!"

~Even though we're making awkward conversation, it's clear that we're happy to be together.~

Thus proceeds their search for Poem Person. (The gender-neutral nickname Mi had come up with stuck even after Hyukjae revealed those were not actually poems being left behind. Alliterative nicknames are just so catchy.)

"Okay, what if we tie a balloon to your chair and hope Poem Person likes balloons enough to take it with them around campus?" "No way, they won't take it." "How could you possibly be so sure?"

Sometimes, it's Hyukjae coming up with ridiculous plots.

"Trust me. They curl their lowercase L's." "I'm gonna let this go, but I want you to know that makes zero sense."

Plots which Ryeowook foils with equally ridiculous reasoning.

"''We might have never known each other, but we crossed faraway paths and came together. We crossed the distance of a stranger that's farther away than space.' Huh, not bad." "You think so?"

Sometimes, it's Hyukjae asking to read more of the scraps that Ryeowook collects, partially so Hyukjae can make fun of him, but mostly so that he has more clues.

"Yeah. I mean, it doesn't help me at all, but your man's got a way with words. I wonder why he doesn't submit any of the stuff you've shown me for class. It's worth critiquing."

An ask which forces Ryeowook to wrack his brain for passable imitations of song-lyrics-that-could-be-mistakenly-construed-as-poems and to get used to writing with his nondominant hand.

"Pass. Pass. Pass. Pass." "Really? You're passing on Park Hyungsik?"

Today, neither of them are feeling very motivated, so Hyukjae pulls up the Facebook profiles of his classmates and let Ryeowook play smash or pass because "it's fun to hear strangers' opinions on people you know."

"Oh, absolutely. Does that guy look like he cares where he dots his i's and j's? Hard pass," Ryeowook maintains.

Hyukjae shakes his head in amazement as he pulls back his phone. "You'll meet him one day, and you'll regret this moment; mark my words. Hyungsik is universally loved. Honestly, I'm not convinced yet Poem Person isn't him. He fits basically all of your criteria."

Ryeowook has to actively smother a knowing smirk. "What a shame."

He didn't come clean to Hyukjae in the quad that day because he panicked. Ryeowook was not mentally ready to meet the object of his affections so soon, much more confess, so he acted on impulse to buy himself some time.

Once he had it, he got curious.

It's no secret that Ryeowook had built up an idea of what Poem Person is like. The lyrics provided some insight, of course; but most of his intuition came from the handwriting itself. From what he could see, Poem Person was supposed to be intensely passionate, excitingly impulsive, and almost sickeningly romantic.

"Okay, how about this guy?" Hyukjae asks as he passes his phone over again.

Ryeowook takes one look at the screen and snorts. "Very funny. Pass."

The app is opened to a photo of Hyukjae himself posed unnaturally on a couch wearing a forward-facing snapback perched atop his head and an awkward half-smile, and Ryeowook refuses to look at it any longer before he does something he'll regret, like coo affectionately.

"Pass!?" Hyukjae repeats with mock-incredulity. "Don't you think he looks charming and witty and oh-so-loveable?"

Ryeowook indeed had a lot of thoughts about what Poem Person would look like, and 'charming,' 'witty,' and 'oh-so-loveable' have indeed flitted through his mind. Actually, Ryeowook finds that Hyukjae and Poem Person aren't altogether dissimilar.

Hyukjae is passionate about his craft, to be sure, but it doesn't occupy every one of his waking moments like Ryeowook expected. He is as much of a romantic as the next person is, but really Hyukjae is poetic, a distinction Ryeowook learns and appreciates very early on. Hyukjae is a little too thoughtful to be so impulsive, but his quick wit and ability to do/say/become whatever a situation calls for more than fulfill the quota for chaos that underlay Ryeowook's original supposition.

So yes, Ryeowook is withholding the truth so that he can slot the person he made up in his head into the person Hyukjae is, but it's been worth it.

"He looks like a brat and like his feet smell." "YAH! My shoes don't breathe!" "Get better shoes, then." "Give me the money, then." "Get a job, then." "That's not fair! Helping you find Poem Person is basically my part-time job!" "Consider it more of an unpaid internship."

Before Hyukjae takes his turn to volley back, his phone rings in his hand.

"Ah, as much fun as this was, I gotta go. I have a mini-showcase coming up, and I've been slacking on rehearsals." He shakes his phone towards Ryeowook, and the latter could see an alarm screen that reads "get your dumb ass to the gulliver center!"

Ryeowook's heart beats a noticeable thump thump all of a sudden. "Can I come with?"

"S-sure," Hyukjae says, shocked by the offer. "But why?"

That's a great question. For now, he says, "Because your internship is getting in the way of your studies, and I feel bad," but later, he'll know it's because he didn't want his time with Hyukjae to end so soon.

A grateful grin spreads across Hyukjae's face, and Ryeowook will add that onto his list of reasons later as well. "An audience is always welcome."

In no time, Hyukjae is in a practise room in the athletic center stretching his limbs every which way while Ryeowook watches as intently as possible while feigning interest in literally anything else in the room.

The bass-heavy noise music that Hyukjae puts on startles his attention back onto the dancer, and Ryeowook can no longer hide how blatantly he stares.

Hyukjae moves through the choreography so fluidly it almost looks lazy. He goes from jagged angles and harsh lines to sinewy curves and rolling waves to strong stomps and high jumps with no hesitation. He plays with the rhythm of the music, and he makes full use of the space available to him. Ryeowook is barely processing one impressive move when Hyukjae executes another one; and before he knows it, the performance is over.

"So," Hyukjae pants, "what'd ya think?"

"It's…" Jaw-dropping. Powerful. Hot. "… impressive," Ryeowook says at last.

Hyukjae smiles tightly. "Thanks. It actually needs a bit of work for the showcase, but I don't think the routine is all too shabby."

Ryeowook watches as Hyukjae watches himself through the mirror, redoing parts of the choreography over and over again at different tempos just to fine-tune his movements, and he can't help but feel like Hyukjae needed more from him.

"Um, I wonder if maybe it's lacking emotion?"

All movement halts. "What?"

Ryeowook didn't mean to say that; but now that it's out, he finds himself needing to continue. "You move well, um, obviously," he gestures awkwardly to Hyukjae's person, fighting a blush. "It looks physically difficult, sure, but what is it that you're trying to say? Like, I'm guessing you chose that song, too, right? So, why?"

Hyukjae stands in the middle of the room, arms limp by his side, and staring at Ryeowook with an unnervingly blank look on his face. Ryeowook hastily backpedals, "But hey, what do I know? I'm sure your professors will watch you and see all the nuances I can't with my untrained peon eyes. I was just… talking to talk, I guess."

"No, but I think you have a point," Hyukjae interjects.

Ryeowook perks up. "I do?"

"Yeah, like… I was so focused on trying to show what I can do with something only I could do, but that means basically nothing when any one of my classmates could learn my routine with only a week of practise. The only way I would be able to stand out is from whatever I put into it, but you made me realise I didn't put anything into it." He plops on the floor, eyebrows furrowed in consternation.

Ryeowook shakes his head adamantly. "No, no! There's clearly something there! You just need to, like, bring it out more. You have that whole idea—that this is something only you can do. You can take that, morph your routine into a testament to your need to prove yourself. Start with some trepidation, throw some desperation in the middle, and end with triumph. Honestly, I think I saw a little bit of that in your performance already. Maybe it was an accident, but now, just… do it on purpose."

"'Do it on purpose,'" Hyukjae repeats to himself. His head is down, so Ryeowook can't immediately tell what he thinks of the idea. He's ready to apologise again, even offer to go home so that Hyukjae can concentrate better, but then Hyukjae raises his head. "Alright, let me give that a try."

His eyes are filled with will and determination. Ryeowook, of all people, put those there.

He sits back and watches Hyukjae rehearse his routine over and over again, getting better and more evocative each time.

The Hyukjae before him is not a Hyukjae Ryeowook would have been able to guess based on his handwriting and lyrics alone.

Ryeowook knows basically nothing about dancing; but over the past few weeks, he's really come to know Hyukjae. He's noticed how the other is prone to express himself through movement, like when he accentuates his stories with body language and physical reenactments. It belies a comfort and confidence with his body and what it can do with which Ryeowook could never empathise. It's a subtle thing, but impactful nevertheless.

He smothers it down because he doesn't want to give Hyukjae the wrong idea, but he wants to laugh.

Only he could fall for a dancer's words first before anything else, and only he could fall for the same person twice.

~Where should I start? When should I say it? Darling, our seconds, our minutes together were beautiful.~

"Ryeowook, why haven't you asked to see my handwriting yet?"

"What?"

They had commandeered a study room in the library, but honestly neither of them are making a lot of headway in their respective assignments. Ryeowook didn't want anything to do with Organic Chemistry, but this conversation is making him reconsider his previous stance.

"Isn't that what you're into? Trying to infer people's personalities based on their handwriting?"

"I'm not into it. It just happened."

"Okay, sure, but aren't you, like, good at it now? Read mine! Tell me what it says about me."

Ryeowook, desperate to squash this idea immediately, blurts out. "It… It won't work!"

"Why not?" Hyukjae pouts.

Ryeowook scrambles. "Because I know you already. Yeah. I'll see and interpret things in a way that confirms what I already know."

Hyukjae eyebrows furrow in what Ryeowook can presume is consternation. "Sorry," he offers feebly.

Some more time passes, and Ryeowook makes mild progress on his O-Chem work, before Hyukjae speaks up again. "So if you can't do me, can you do my friend?" he asks with an excited tone that makes Ryeowook wary.

"I do not want to do your friend." You, however…

"NO! I mean: can you interpret my friend's handwriting? Here. He left it at my place last time we studied together."

Hyukjae's smirk radiates smug self-satisfaction, and with one look at the paper, Ryeowook understands why. He actively controls every muscle in his body to prevent the facepalm that's threatening to break loose.

He has to give Hyukjae props, though. If Ryeowook weren't already so intimately acquainted with the handwriting on the page before him, the other's ploy could have worked.

Regardless, he still finds himself in the position he was trying to avoid in the first place.

All the best lies are based in truth, right? "So I can tell your friend has a very high-stress major. The handwriting is cramped and small, like he can't waste a single stroke or else he'll miss something he needs to write down. Ah, see how he doesn't fully cross his t's and dot his i's? He thinks he'll be able to read his own handwriting later. He probably has decent memory or just has a lot of faith in himself."

Hyukjae nods with an impressed frown. "Huh, not bad."

It would be so, so easy to stop there, but Ryeowook can't. He loves Hyukjae's handwriting too much. "And look here," he points excitedly to a cross-out near the center of the page. "He could cross out his mistakes with a single line or a little squiggle, but he completely blocks it out instead. It suggests he has more confidence with the obvious; but really, I think he needs the reminder. Like, 'Yeah, I made a mistake. I'll move on, but I won't let myself forget. That way I don't do it again.'"

A moment later, Ryeowook realises with a jolt that he had been holding and smiling at the scrap paper a little too tenderly. He whips his head up in embarrassment, an explanation-slash-apology at the tip of his tongue, but Hyukjae doesn't seem to notice.

In fact, Hyukjae has been silent the whole time. Ryeowook chuckles awkwardly. "Am I right?"

"Huh?" Hyukjae intones as he's brought out of his reverie. Ryeowook thinks he sees something in his eyes when their gazes meet, but Hyukjae blinks and it's gone. "I'm sorry, what did you ask me?"

"I was wondering if I was right. About your 'friend,'" Ryeowook reminds, air quotes clear in his tone.

Hyukjae shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. "I think you're more right than even he's ready to admit," he says with a hand at the back of his neck and a sardonic quirk of his lips.

The sight causes an unexplainable swell of affection within Ryeowook, and he turns away. "He can take his time," he assures, eyes trained on his textbook even though he can't read a damn thing.

Hyukjae nods his thanks and turns back to his homework, but Ryeowook doesn't feel right letting it end here.

"Hey, wanna give my handwriting a try?"

~You always lift your head to look up at me. I want to take my big hands and cup your small cheeks.~

Next time they're meant to hang out, it's the weekend; and Hyukjae texts him to meet him at Bomnal.

"Both of us were here just two days ago, and we have to be here again in two days. Don't we spend enough time in Bomnal as it is?" Ryeowook complains as soon as he enters the atrium of the academic building.

"Think of it like a field trip. Come on, Wook," Hyukjae says as he leads them to the second floor lecture hall.

"Pretty sure field trips are meant to take us out of the classroom, but sure, whatever," Ryeowook grumbles as he follows along.

He's testy. He knows it, but he can't help it.

This is the first time both of them will be in Bomnal 235 at once. It feels like a turning point, like he's going to learn something today whether he wants to or not. He wonders if Hyukjae feels the same sense of impending that he does, or maybe it's just worse for him because he's in love.

As soon as they open the doors, the automatic lights flick on and douse the room with a very awake yellow.

"So… where do you normally sit?" Hyukjae asks as he motions to the empty seats before them.

Ryeowook freezes. Now that it's upon him, he can definitively identify this as the thing he was anxious about.

What if he tells the truth, Hyukjae realises Poem Person is him, and he feels awkward about it? Their comfortable but still-very-new friendship would evaporate on the spot, and Ryeowook won't have him in any capacity, much more a romantic one.

So, in another impeccable display of judgement, he decides to lie again.

"Oh, you know… I change it up," he mildly comments as he moves to somewhere near the middle of the first row. He sits down and gives an unassuming grin to his friend, who makes a face. "You're one of those people? Haven't you heard of the same seats code of conduct? You fed me some crap about curling L's when really it's your fault the balloon trick wouldn't have worked," Hyukjae jokes in that way where he's completely serious but is phrasing it with humour.

Ryeowook feels a genuine, fond grin spread across his face before he can help it, and he quickly ducks his head. "Why are we here, again?" he asks instead of dwelling on the validating comfort of being known.

"Why not?" Hyukjae asks as he moves to sit down. "This is the place it all began, right? Might as well."

Ryeowook, for his part, only stares.

Hyukjae went up to a seat in the rear right quadrant of the lecture hall. Ryeowok's own, real seat is directly in front of where the other is sitting. That can't be a coincidence.

"Um, I'm guessing that's where you sit?" he asks as casually as possible.

"Huh? Oh! Haha, yeah. It's funny, I didn't even think of sitting anywhere else. My feet just automatically guided me here."

"So funny," Ryeowook squeaks out.

"Yeah, my friend in the class actually used to sit with me, but it became very apparent very quickly that we would never get anything done if we did, so he moved down there." Hyukjae points with his foot to Ryeowook's seat, and Ryeowook's breath hitches in his throat. "Sometimes when I'm bored, I just can't help but throw stuff onto his desk just to annoy him." Hyukjae mimes a free throw shot towards the desk and smiles.

Well, if there were any doubt before in Ryeowook's mind that Hyukjae was Poem Person, it has summarily been erased.

Ryeowook hums but says nothing else, letting a companionable silence stretch between them as he acknowledges the warmth that settles into his chest when he confirms with himself that yes, he is glad that Hyukjae is Poem Person.

"Why are you helping me?" he asks, curious and without judgement. The abrupt question startles the other out of whatever reverie he had settled into during their respite, but Hyukjae bounces back quickly, as he always does.

"You know, I had to figure that answer out myself," Hyukjae answers with a laugh. He leans back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head, staring out at the empty lecture hall. "I told you I would at first because it was obvious that I was the only one in a position to actually help. It wasn't even an option in my mind that I wouldn't… But even after my sense of obligation ran out, I wanted to keep going.

"You're cool, Ryeowook. You're fun to be around, you're sassy, you're down to try anything once. You're totally comfortable being yourself, and your 'self' is crazy. Like, who else trusts in their gut enough that this person you're chasing after is worth the effort? Who else would go to the lengths to which you're willing to go just to meet him? Honestly, I think that's pretty awesome. I don't know if I could have that same confidence you do."

He tilts his head towards Ryeowook then and gives a close-lipped, self-convinced smile. "If anyone's gonna find love based on a few scraps of paper and a dream, it's gonna be you."

Ryeowook nods mutely. He hopes the distance between them is enough to disguise the blush on his cheeks.

Hyukjae faces forward again. "If I think about it, I guess I'm being selfish, too. I want to believe a love like that is possible; and if I help you find him, I'll get to see it happen for myself… I really hope this guy is worth it, Ryeowook. I think it would break my heart as much as yours if he weren't."

He is, though. He's so worth it. "Me too."

~Longing is a beautiful pain I thought I could endure.~

Ryeowook walks out of the campus mail room, and life couldn't get better.

He just picked up a care package his mom sent him; he got a 94 on his last Nutrition Essentials quiz; and Hyukjae loves the new low-fat, protein-enhanced strawberry scones recipe he tried out yesterday.

Speaking of whom, he thinks this whole Poem Person plot is going to wrap up soon. The last time they must have actually worked on a strategy to find out who Poem Person was, like, two weeks ago at least; and Ryeowook's glad he can stop pretending he has any interest anymore.

Their friendship has wholly evolved beyond the point of needing a project to work on in order to spend time with each other anyway. Why pine after a fictitious man when he has a whole Hyukjae right there, who buys him coffee lattes simply because he's Hyukjae's dongsaeng and who helps him study for his quizzes even when Hyukjae himself is stressed.

Ryeowook tells himself that with some more time, the whole mystery will just fade into an inside joke between the two of them, a white whale they can reminisce about when they're sipping soju and reminiscing… preferably cuddled on a couch and with his head on Hyukaje's shoulder.

However, his friend group did not get the memo.

"So, uh. What happened to Poem Person?" Henry asks one weekend while everyone is at Ryeo-Mi's apartment.

"Shut up!" Kyuhyun admonishes with a slap to the back of Henry's head. "Ryeowook hasn't annoyed us with that in weeks. Aren't you grateful?!"

"I actually am very curious about what happened there. Weren't you and Hyukjae supposed to find him together?" Yesung asks.

"The gen—" "Maybe I'm manifesting, Mi! Ever think of that?"

Ryeowook cuts in before Mi's feelings get even more hurt. "Yeah, we were, but honestly I've kinda given up on the whole thing."

He expects some shock, but he couldn't have predicted who would be the most affected. "You're just gonna give up on finding love!?" Mi despairs.

"Actually, the potential for a romantic relationship was never confirmed," Henry quips. Yesung gives Henry a high-five.

"It was just a little crush," Ryeowook defends. "I've moved past it, as I was bound to do eventually." He says this last part to Kyuhyun, who he knows was the most annoyed with his actions back then.

"'Eventually' doesn't end in time for finals week, Wook," Kyuhyun retorts.

"Well, now you never have to worry about it, Hyun."

"Is love dead?" Mi desponds aloud, but no one pays him any mind.

Ryeowook pats his roommate's shoulders in a half-hearted attempt at consolation. If Mi turns out to be the only casualty in this whole ordeal, Ryeowook will count this as a win.

What he doesn't count on is the fact that Hyukjae would invariably hear about it.

"Is it true?" Hyukjae corners him after Ryeowook picks up his order from the on-campus cafe.

"You know, I don't think so. I think she's just Henry's accompanist for rehearsals," Ryeowook responds genuinely, certain that the latest gossip about Henry's potentially secret girlfriend is what Hyukjae must have been referring to.

"What? No!" Hyukjae stops in confusion but stomps after Ryeowook once he gets his bearings back. "No, I heard that you gave up on finding him, that you gave up a while ago. Is it true?"

Ryeowook hesitates to sit down at the open table he found, and Hyukjae's entire posture seizes in betrayal. "Alright, got it," Hyukjae says with an edge to his tone. "Do me a favour, yeah? Never talk to me ever again."

"Wait!" Ryeowook calls once Hyukjae turns on his heel and storms off. "Hyukjae, wait!" He pays no mind to the fact that he's abandoning his belongings as he chases Hyukjae outside. "I get that you're angry, but don't you think this is a little much?"

He reaches out for Hyukjae's upper arm, but the other immediately shrugs it off. Ryeowook flinches and retreats slightly. Despite the other's obvious fury, Hyukjae is stopped in place and seems willing to actually talk to him, and Ryeowook holds onto that hope instead.

"No, actually," Hyukjae sneers. "I think this is the perfect amount of much when you find out your best friend has been wasting your time for who knows how long!"

Of all the things Hyukjae could have said in that moment, Ryeowook didn't expect that reaction at all. It stings more than he expects, cuts through his defensiveness; and despite his position in the situation, he can't help but need comfort. "What do you mean?" he asks in a confused, desperate voice.

"What do I mean?" Hyukjae repeats exasperatedly. "Ryeowook, we spent weeks together trying to figure out how to get you your dream guy! We never even got anywhere, and, and… And it's all because of you! You shot down basically every one of my ideas practically from the beginning, even after I told you how much it would personally mean to me. That is, like, the textbook definition of a waste of time!"

"You weren't having fun?"

"What?" Hyukjae demands incredulously.

"All that time we spent together," Ryeowook clarifies as he steadfastly meets Hyukjae's angry gaze. "You didn't have fun?"

Hyukjae is silent, and his body posture screams obstinate defiance, but his eyes remain trained on Ryeowook.

"You didn't come to look forward to spending time with me? You didn't spend your free time thinking of ways to make me laugh?"

Hyukjae rolls his eyes. "So what? What does any of that mean when you were just stringing me along? You… you weren't even using me!?" he exclaims, voice rising in a hysterical question. "That was literally the whole basis of our friendship, and you couldn't even do that? Like, what could you have possibly gained from lying to my face like that for all this time?"

Ryeowook gives a watery smile at the non-answer and looks down at his fingers fidgeting together. "I did, too," he says in a voice so quiet it was like he intended to keep that to himself.

It's silent for a long time after that admission. Hyukjae's lividness has dissipated, and he is only left with a disappointment so painful he doesn't want to dwell on it any further. He moves to leave Ryeowook alone outside of the cafe, but Ryeowook's voice stops him.

"W-What did you say?" Hyukjae asks with apprehension.

Ryeowook ignores the tears falling from his eyes as he repeats himself. "I'm in a rush to catch you, but you're in a hurry to leave. Should I just surrender? Now we're like an old and worn notebook filled with scribbles."

Hyukjae simply stares, and Ryeowook takes that as his cue to keep going. "Take your beautiful smile with you. Don't leave it here. You saw me with tears in my eyes."

By heart,

"I was a selfish man, but my life is divided into before and after I knew you."

Ryeowook recites lyric,

"When I first saw you, it felt like a miracle."

after lyric,

"I'm thinking of you more today. I wonder how tomorrow morning will be. Will I miss you more than I do today?"

after lyric;

"I'm honest because I don't know lies before love."

and before he knows it,

"I'd place my feelings on the thawing snow. I'd hang my wish on a disappearing star, but only if you ask me to."

Hyukjae is within arm's reach.

"It's me?" Hyukjae whispers into the scant centimetres between them. "It's really me?" he asks again when Ryeowook had simply nodded.

Ryeowook can't even help it when he recites, "Even when you ask me again, for me, it's only you." with a breathy laugh as he shyly looks away.

Hyukjae moves to gently hold Ryeowook's hand. "And you're okay with that?"

Ryeowook wants to laugh and melt and cry and run away, but instead he settles for an earnest nod and a hesitant smile. "Are you?"

Hyukjae answers him with a kiss, and it feels like a dazzling melody.

~Together, we can make all our unfulfilled dreams come true.~

[bts-fantasy]

@beautifuloperanickelturkey requested:

DNA, Anpanman, Crystal Snow

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Notes

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Trigger warning!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You smiled as you watched the yellow envelope fall to the ground as soon as you opened your locker. Without losing another second you picked it up looking at the familiar handwriting.

 

To Y/N

 

You would be lying if you said you weren’t waiting for this letter the whole week. Closing your eyes you inhaled the sweet odor of roses rising up to your nose and a warm feeling spread in your chest that made you a giggling mess. Cautiously you looked up and down the hallway checking if anyone had caught you. There weren‘t many students around at this time of the morning. You always came way earlier to school knowing there won't be much going on and you could hide behind your books until the bell rang without being noticed.

 

Your fingers slid along the envelope tearing it open as you eagerly unfolded the content eyes fixed on the black ink.

 

I can see your sad eyes even though you try to hide it behind a smile

I can hear your soul crying out for help even though you say that you're fine

Just know that there's someone out there dying to know how your day went

There's someone out there wanting to hold you when you're broken

Someone who wants to be by your side during good and bad times...

 

...and that someone is me.

 

Your heart was racing as you held onto the paper your eyes moving across the few lines over and over again. A feeling of being looked after came over you, something you hadn‘t felt in a long time and it knocked the breath out of you. You stood there frozen in your spot with teary eyes until the words turned into a blurry mess in front of you. You put the piece of paper back into the envelope closing it carefully before putting it on the top shelf where you kept all the other letters from the mysterious writer.

The letters started appearing in your locker a few weeks ago and you still had no clue who it was. They were encouraging and motivational that kept you going even though you wanted to be left alone.

You didn‘t have any friends at school, only a few acquaintances so you couldn‘t tell who would do something so thoughtful and sweet for you every week. At times you felt alone you'd look at the letters and immediately feel at peace because someone out there cared for you.

 

Closing the locker you took a deep breath before you mentally prepared yourself for another monotonous day.

 

You were sitting in class right before lunch break taking notes of what was taught. Your mind slowly drifting off due to your tired and hungry state as you wrote everything down without really paying attention to it. However, that quickly changed when you heard the word "group project". Suddenly you sat straight in your seat looking at your teacher in front of you with a list in her hands. The project had to be done in pairs and you weren't allowed to choose your partner. You started shifting uncomfortably in your seat watching everyone else eagerly wait for the teacher to read off their names. You looked at the familiar yet strange faces around you feeling as lost as ever as you listened to various names being called out followed by cheers or disappointed shouts.

 

"Y/N and... Hoseok!", your teacher looked up at you with a reassuring smile as you turned around. Hoseok was staring at you with the brightest smile you'd ever seen as he held his two thumbs up excitedly. You forced a smile before turning around quickly again. The feeling of being under extreme pressure filled your chest again as you hoped for this all to be just a nightmare and that you'd wake up soon in your bed. But you weren't dreaming and you had no way out of this either.

 

"Hey, Y/N. Wait!", you heard Hoseok's voice calling after you when you tried to walk away after the lesson. Slowly you turned around in the middle of the hallway facing your partner who was still smiling as bright as the sun. You didn't know much about Hoseok but that was because you never had the courage to talk to him. He'd tried many times to break the ice around you but you had avoided it successfully every time... until now.

You knew you had no other choice than to spend time with him and you couldn't help but think that it would go completely wrong.

 

Looking down at your feet you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders waiting for him to catch up to you. Once he was standing in front of you could hear him slightly panting.

"So... uh... I thought we could eat lunch together", he paused as your head snapped back up and you stared at him with wide eyes.

"To go through some stuff for our project of course!" He scratched the back of his head awkwardly as a slight tint of red covered his cheeks. You nodded agreeing to his plan since you couldn't bring out a single word.

A few minutes later Hoseok was sitting across from you munching on his tuna sandwich the scene reminding you of a chipmunk. Hoseok didn't force you to keep the conversation going and you were extremely thankful for it. You would be lying if you said you didn't enjoy the comfortable silence surrounding you both.

But when he didn't mention your work even after finishing your food you just had to open your mouth.

"Uhm... about the project...", you began slowly, your voice merely a whisper as you kept your eyes low. Without another word, he slid a piece of paper across the table where a phone number was written down. You looked up in surprise watching his lips turn up into a warm smile.

"Just text me whenever you feel like it, Y/N."

With a short nod, he stood up and left the table leaving you with a surprisingly warm feeling inside of your chest. For the first time, you felt light after talking to someone. The familiar pressure was replaced by a safe feeling as you stared down at the paper lying in front of you.

 

Days went by and you and Hoseok talked to each other almost all the time. You were eager to find out more about the only person who actually felt like a friend to you. He pushed all your fears away with his words of encouragement and you were thankful for the way it helped every time. You were making progress with your project but you as a person were slowly changing as well. Hoseok had the same impact on you as the anonymous letters that still appeared in your locker every week.

 

Do not worry love

None of this is coincidence

We are completely different baby

Because they found two fates

 

You smiled down at the note as you felt the warm feeling creep into your heart once again. But this time you felt something else as well as you stared at the lines.

Butterflies.

Closing the door to your locker you took a deep breath to start your day. Today was going to be good you told yourself.

Hoseok was waiting in the library for you so you could work on your project. It was the first time you both actually decided to meet up after school and you couldn't help but feel nervous. Sitting down on the seat across from him you tried to smile your brightest smile which ended up being an extremely awkward one. But Hoseok seemed to be more than satisfied with it his eyes shining like a clear night sky. He was already prepared with a notebook and pen waiting to take notes for your schoolwork. With a concentrated look, he took a hold of his pen and swiftly moved it across the notebook and you watched him with a fond look until your eyes fell on the paper.

The handwriting. His handwriting. It was exactly the same as your mysterious letters.

 

Your heart dropped as you stared at him as he was still concentrated on his work. Your throat was dry as a desert all of a sudden as you realized that the person you were looking for this whole time was sitting right in front of you.

Hoseok looked up at you once he was done writing raising an eyebrow at the look on your face.

"You... You wrote them...", you stammered clearly unable to form a full sentence as you watched his cheeks turn bright red.

He scratched the back of his head a habit of his whenever he was lost for words and needed time to think about what to say.

"Well, you turned down every attempt at talking to you so I thought I'd write them down. I'm sorry, this is awkward...", he chuckled nervously looking down at his hands avoiding your stare.

"No, don't apologize, please. You literally helped me break out of my shell and I don't know how I'll ever be able to repay you!"

Hoseok finally dared to look up at you staring right into your eyes. You felt your heart skip a beat as you stared back into his sparkling eyes that spoke to you more than a thousand words.

His lips slowly turned up to a smile and you couldn't help how contagious it was as you felt your own smile spreading across your face.

"Oh, I know a way you could repay me." You raised your brow expectantly as you waited for him to continue.

Hoseok took a deep breath before reaching out to take your hands in his. His eyes were fixed on you as if there was nothing else around you and you felt like you were the only one in the library at that moment.

 

"Will you go out with me?"

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Headhunters Nyc - Popular Ice Hockey Bar In Manhattan And New York City

Applying for fashion jobs huh? You're finally reading this. You are near your computer getting in order to start submitting resumes and waiting around for interview call buttocks. But wait! Don't do one thing else if you read pertaining to of clues about and issue into google that you've the dedication required to try for and work in vogue. There are several crucial anyone must know before attempting to get fashion perform. Sure the movie "The Devil Wears Prada" shows us several of the craziness of the fashion industry but let's just discuss this injury is a bit as well as give you some realistic expectations a person begin decide to proceed. 

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If an individual might be willing to the change that you need to see the actual world world, you will need to to look a little out belonging to the ordinary. To your seem a little off-center. Wind up be called crazy.

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Listening to Music - For me the music needs to stop barking with a light tempo that is conducive for reflection. Truly like my show tunes nevertheless i can't for you to "You Can't Stop the Beat from Hairspray" without taping my toes and singing. Chopin's piano music would work well for me. What would work for you? 

Hire Headhunters Nyc -  13 Secret Things You Didn't Know About Nyc

When researching terrorism, Experienced the opportunity examine close up and even touch C-4 explosive. Automobile demonstrated by drawing a line around a 3 in x 3 in section and told me that has been created enough to blow up a whole city obstruction. As I recall, the C-4 explosives were the proportions a brick and slightest gray colored and the feel of professional molding clay.

The job didn't last - regarding a month or so, as i decided we was more appropriate behind a receptionist desk instead associated with kitchen. I Headhunters Nyc didn't touch the wok for years, but later when i found myself out of college, along with a hectic jobs in nyc and often no period for cook, the stir-fry became my messiah. 

14 years later Discovered myself still fascinated in this particular industry as the young engineer. It is overwhelming. Most of time I will not clue what i am . There are a great deal of codes, circumstances, and Headhunters In Nyc owners preferences to understand exactly to be able to do in every situation. Is actually a saying in the industry sector that together with time whining everything and can be good and your job, it is time to retire. My pops has visited the sell for 30 years more than I have and he still doesn't know everything he needs to know. He is however not bad at his job when he knows what mistakes could be made because he has seen it all happen. Exactly how can I be finest without 30 years of experience?

All in all, you will discover several avenues one might pursue for autism treatment for adults. Only one of least difficult and easiest is providing them with an involving emotional customer support. In the end, treatment for adults with autism can encompass many different things, but finding friendship and emotional support won't be overlooked.

We have watched a roller coaster of an '08/'09 season that five weeks ago saw the Birds just about nailed shut in their coffin, swept away for the rest from the season almost as much ast they has become last year, and the entire year before that, and the season before which in turn. Then head coach Andy "Big Buddha" Reid benched quarterback Donovan McNabb, and also the team has literally risen like Lazarus from the dead. McNabb has been playing through his mind; grizzled defensive genius Jim Johnson has shaken the bones of his aging D-line until they rattled and shook. There's hope in metropolis of Philadelphia that this football-crazed town hasn't obtained in too long of some time. 

The main benefit which are then found in the region of Albany is the living financial impact. If a person wants to rent an area in Albany, then the rent it costs low as opposed to rent cost in the urban cities like Ny and several parts of the nation. A three bedroom house could be rented at a cost of $500 excluding the utility fees. Even with the utility bill the maximum rent can sum doing $700. Compared to a three bedroom house on the inside urban cities, the costs are low.

I remember riding the train from New Jersey to The big apple to my day piece of work. I was journaling in a notebook and that i thought,"Gosh, how am I going to try this?" I had bought into the mantra, "Build it and they will come," if I first started my business, I was struggling to obtain clients

Swayze plays James Dalton, a guru in the field of doorway security (bouncing). When he's hired due to his jobs in nyc, he's entrusted with the care of the most troublesome roadside bars to all of Mo. When not training other bouncers at the Double Deuce, failing for each other and fighting off a nasty local businessman, Dalton can be a cerebral threat who holds certain amount in Philosophy from NY 

However, Ralph Lauren's primary objective has remained to make the quintessential American look, together with clothing he designs. He created the costumes for a couple of major films in the 1970s: "The Great Gatsby" (1973), and "Annie Hall" (1978). Ralph Lauren's goal isn't generate "fashion" as such. Instead, his mission might be to create clothes that might described as "timeless classics." Such clothing doesn't go out-of-style from one fashion season to the subsequent. 

Jeff Slate: So I'm of course curious concerning story behind Long Wave, but I'm intrigued on your revisiting the ELO material too. As i listen to those new ELO recording just sound dazzling. They still retain that magic that they had when When i first heard them as a kid, nevertheless voice sounds phenomenal and it is also really well recorded, that this sounds maybe better as compared to old days, and it will do seem like from a producers standpoint that you've taken might help to prevent knew back when you made the original records and imbued the actual recordings with 30 years worth of expertise. So let's talk about the ELO record and good reason.

The announcement of Keflezighi, Abdirahman, and Ritzenhein provides race two members within the 2012 Oughout.S. Olympic men's marathon team and one member of their 10,000-meter team, respectively. Boosting the depth for this American roster are talented pros Jason Hartmann, Guor Marial, Janet Bawcom, Serena Burla, Maegan Krifchin, Adriana Nelson, Molly Pritz, Stephanie Rothstein Bruce, and Lindsey Scherf. 

Resources:Information to do this article comes from following the careers of artists listed, news stories, magazine articles, reading biographies and autobiographies, in addtition to talking to public opinion on a personal level. I verified data I remembered by visiting websites and at Wikepedia over the web.

Author Name:- Shreya Mehta

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