#i like the idea of physical buttons for page turning so i can lay in one spot and lot move a lot to advance the book

[roughentumble]

why do so many ereaders advertise their bright screens. i thought the whole appeal of an ereader as opposed to using a phone or tablet was that it was gentler on the eyes than other screens in your life

[laurensprentiss]

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 19:

A/N: Here it is besties, v sorry for this but I live to cause chaos!! They both have some growing and living to do over the next chapters which will span around ten years. Stick around it’s gonna be interesting! Also Hotch looks rlly good here hehe

Warnings: None, really. Swearing, mentions of pregnancy, heavy angst.

———

“I'm scared I'm going to spend the rest of my life in a state of yearning, regardless of where I am.” - Melina Marchetta

———

08:00

It happens slowly then all at once. He knows he feels lighter, physically, before he’s fully conscious - can’t feel the warm weight of you on top of him. He frowns as he slowly awakens fully, feeling for your body next to him.

When all he feels are sheets, he comes to, a little quicker, opening one eye to look around. When he doesn’t see you, he figures you left to go to the bathroom but a piece of paper on your pillow catches his eye.

He frowns as he sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes when the doorbell begins to ring incessantly. He looks between the door, the paper and then the door again, tucking the note underneath his pillow to come back to later. He takes a cursory look at the clock -

08:00

He runs downstairs with a grin, thinking maybe you went out to grab coffee and forgot you didn’t have a key, but when he opens the door, icy shock runs through his veins.

“Hi, Aaron.”

“Haley?” He replies stunned. He glances behind him, increasingly alarmed now as to your whereabouts.

She averts her gaze from Hotch’s half naked form, it’s nothing she hasn't seen before but there’s a barrier between them now. Even with what she’s about to tell him.

“Can we talk?”

“-This…. isn’t really a good time.” He replies, glancing behind him again. He uses his body to block what lies behind him, clothing littering the floor as evidence of last night. His cheeks run hot when he realises Haley already spotted it all.

“We need to talk. I wouldn’t have shown up like this, but she told me to come by at 8. Said I should talk to you.”

He frowns. “Who?” He asks, despite hazarding a very good guess he already knows the answer.

“Look, can I just come in? I'm really cold and this is incredibly awkward.”

He sighs, “Yeah- yeah come in.” He steps aside to let her in, picks his shirt up off the floor and begins to button it as he invites her to sit.

Haley tells him that she managed to track you down outside your apartment yesterday. His jaw ticks and he runs his thumb over his bottom lip, agitated. “Why would you do that?”

“I figured I owed her an apology. Ultimately I was the one who put her in danger with-” She licks her lips. “With him. I thought we should talk.”

“So you resorted to stalking?” He paces. He can’t figure out why you’d ask her to come by now, especially if you were going to spend the night last night.

“I know, I’m sorry.” She looks sick. “I kind of knew that you felt something for her, and I figured she probably did too. Clearly I was right.”

“I’m not doing this with you.”

She throws her hands up. “No! No, that's not what I meant. I need to tell you something but before I did, I needed to tell her, I owed her some courtesy after everything at least.”

He tilts his head and his eyes narrow. “Get to the point.”

She pulls out an envelope and slides it across the coffee table. She breathes shakily, nodding at it. “It’s all in there.”

He watches her quizzically, confused at her demeanour - she’s never been one to be at a loss for words. He takes a seat opposite, studying her as he peels open the envelope.

A sliver of cold panic works its way through his veins as he scans the page.

LABCORP DNA TESTING SERVICES

Sample 1 - BROOKS/HOTCHNER : Positive Match

Sample 2 - BROOKS/HOTCHNER : Positive Match

“What the hell is this?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

She swallows thickly, abetting her gaze. “It’s a paternity test. I’m pregnant.” She tells him quietly.

His chest tightens and his head starts swimming. “What? I don’t believe you.”

“It’s right there on the paper. It’s yours.” She looks like she’s holding back vomit, the colour on her face drained. She studies Aaron for any kind of a reaction but he still looks confused.

“I want another one.” He tells her waving the paper. “How far along are you?”

“3 and a half months.”

“Wait,” He winces as the cold realisation hits him. “You told her?”

She nods.

The colour drains from his face and he shoots up from his seat, remembering everything he’d told you yesterday about how he would do things differently if he ever became a father. Knowing now what you knew then, he can’t begin to fathom what must have been going through your mind yesterday.

He shoots up the stairs three at a time, hoping he’s not too late.

———

06:00

Your eyes burn with the lack of sleep and the aftermath of your breakdown. You lay still against Aaron’s chest, your hand splayed flat against his skin. You’ve been watching him sleep for most of the night, memorising all you can about him, and imagining an alternate future where you could’ve ended up together.

But it doesn’t help. All it goes is drive a stake deeper into your heart because no matter how much you imagine, it doesn’t change your future. The sun begins to rise sure enough, a promise of another day but the lighter it gets, the more your stomach turns and the tighter your chest gets.

You pull Aaron in closer one more time, fusing your body to his and you close your eyes. His hands run down your bag gently as he stirs in his sleep. You take a minute to take him in one last time, despite your aching heart you try to hold onto the happiness you’d felt before it all came crashing down.

You doubt you’ll feel for anyone the way you feel for him. But you can’t be selfish, not now. You whisper to him, barely audible, the words you need to get off your chest and with a gentle kiss to his sleeping face, you slink out of his arms.

You gather your clothes, and from the credenza drawer downstairs, grab a pen and paper.

‘Dearest Aaron…’

Tears stain your face as you initial the bottom of the letter and with a final breath, you fold it and scrawl his initials on top. You reluctantly walk back upstairs and when you see Aaron’s peaceful face in a deep sleep, it takes everything in you to walk away. You place the note on your pillow, and turn away before you change your mind.

But as you approach the door, you turn to take one last look at him, willing your memory to hold on to this image, to the feel of him. To what it feels like to be loved by him.

“Goodbye Aaron.” You whisper.

———

08:30hrs:

He struggles to get his pants on, throwing on odd socks and grabbing the note on the pillow which he stuffs haphazardly into his three day old jacket. He runs down the stairs three at a time, passing Haley on the way as he grabs his keys.

She looks at him with panic and confusion. “Go back to the hotel, I’ll call you!” He tells her. She looks around, stunned as the door slams shut behind him.

He fumbles with his phone, dialling your number, but it goes straight to voicemail. He tries Emily but it goes to voicemail too. He dials the direct line to your assistant and on the last ring, she picks up.

“Agent Hotchner?”

“Leah?”

“Yeah? Is everything okay?”

He desperately asks if she has any idea of where you are today, if you have anything on your docket.

“Not that I can see, no. Is everything okay?”

“Look, can you find out if she’s home and call me?” He hangs up and purposely turns on the sirens to weave through traffic to your place. In a cruel twist of fate, he curses the numerous traffic logs he encounters on his way, thinking he’ll deal with the fallout of using his lights without reason later.

He finally turns onto your street, tires screeching as he pulls up behind a blacked out towncar, into which an older gentleman appears to be hauling suitcases. He doesn’t bother closing the door as he exits his SUV, his eyes trailing on the suitcases being piled into the trunk of the towncar when he hears your voice.

He stops in his tracks.

“Alright, James. I think that’s the last of the b-”

The air leaves your lungs when you catch sight of him. There’s a brief moment when you think you think you’re imagining him but your chest squeezes when you look at his face, halfway between confused, devastated and just plain betrayed.

He utters your name with a shaky whisper. “What is this? What’s going on?” He asks unsteady, already knowing the answer.

You hand your bags to James who ducks between you to receive them, the tension thick and heavy. “I’m sorry, I planned on…” You struggle for the words. “Being done earlier than this. This is what I wanted to avoid.”

He retreats, eyebrows shooting up. “This, what? You wanted to avoid saying goodbye to me? You couldn’t even extend me the grace of telling me you were leaving?” He pulls out your note from his pocket, shaking it in front of you. “You left this and thought it would be enough? After everything that happened with us.”

“Come on, Aaron. You know that’s not what I meant. But you know why I’m leaving, it’s why you’re here. And I knew you would do this, I knew you’d try and talk me out of going. That’s why I didn’t tell you.” You swallow the lump in your throat.

The desperation inside him starts to claw at him. “You don’t have to leave. We’re adults, we can figure this out.” He takes both of your hands tightly in his.

You shake your head. “I won’t put you in that position, I know how important this is to you. I won’t put myself in that position either.” He opens his mouth to oppose you but he knows as well as you do that this is the end. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this but this was easier when I had a stalker, all I had to worry about was making it through the day without being murdered. But things are real now, you have a career and a family to worry about, I have to go to college. I guess we just didn’t think this through.”

He retreats slightly, a hurt expression on his face. “That doesn’t mean it was wrong.” He says, quietly. “I told you I’d wanted to be with you for a long time, and I meant it. I don’t regret any of it.”

You cup his cheek. “Neither do I. But we both know what needs to happen. I can’t stay.”

He caresses your hand on his cheek with bereft eyes. “You changed me, you know?”

You laugh dryly. “With your gig at the BAU? Forget it, you’ll be saving people left and right.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice cracks. “I’m just sorry we couldn’t have more time. I think this could have been something.”

“Did you read the note?” He shakes his head. “Wait until I’m gone to read it - you don’t have to. But if you ever find yourself doubting or second-guessing who you were to me - who you are to me? You should read that. It has everything you’ll need to know.”

He brings his forehead to yours, glassy eyes watching you with so much affection you think you might just break. “Can we stay here? Just for a minute? I’m not ready to let you go yet.” He asks.

You nod and loop your arms around his neck, tiptoeing to reach his height. He hugs you back with ferocity, face burying in the crook of your neck as he takes you in, memorises the way you body slots against his, how you smell and feel. He presses his eyes shut, willing his brain to commit every last feeling to memory, terrified that there may come a day when he no longer remembers how he loves you.

You muffle your sobs as best as you can, clutching at the material of his shirt, and the small tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. Try as you might, when you close your eyes, all you can see is a reel of your relationship with Aaron, spanning from the moment you met to now.

All of it comes rushing back: the gazebo, your apartment, numerous late night coffees and dinners, his face in the cabin, the hospital and of course, the nights and days you spent in bed. The pond, the balcony, the laughter. The love. You feel a hole consuming your chest and you struggle to breathe, cursing yourself for falling in love with the one man you couldn’t possibly ever have.

James beeps from inside the towncar, and you reluctantly loosen your grip on Aaron, sniffling as you let him go. It feels infinitely harder to detangle yourself from him now, like tearing a bandage off of a raw wound, but you know you need to go.

And so does he.

His eyes are watery when you look at him, yours mirroring his heartbreak. “I guess this is it.” He rasps.

You clear your throat. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Can I kiss you goodbye?”

You nod solemnly. His hands cup your cheeks lovingly, wiping away a stray tear. He leans in, and presses his lips to yours for the last time. He takes his time, allowing himself to linger in the moment, and convey everything he can in this kiss without having to say it. Wants to remember how soft your lips are and the way you taste.

Your tears fall steadily now, your own hands tangling in his hair. You selfishly wish you could stay here, throw away any and all integrity just to keep him for yourself. But you both have things to do, futures to live.

You break the kiss, forehead resting against his. His hand cradles the back of your head, and he presses a tender kiss to your forehead, lips lingering before he finally lets go.

You fish in your pocket and take his hand in yours, dropping your key into his palm. He looks at you quizzically. “Keep it, give it to the super, I don’t mind. But lock up for me?” You ask him.

He nods, closing his hand around yours, a desperate attempt to keep you close for a few more fleeting moments. He presses a desperate kiss laced with finality on your lips as you release yourself from his embrace.

Watching you reach for the car door sends him into a tailspin. You’re just about in the car when you hear him call your name. His voice is strained. “Listen, I just- before you go. There’s something I need to tell you.” His face is contorted with desperation and his voice laced with something utterly heartbroken.

You know where he’s going with this. You weren’t sure if he felt it until now, horrible fucking timing, but it’s still something.

“Don’t. I know what you’re going to say, Aaron. Please don’t.” You sob. “This is already one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, please don’t make it harder. I know what you’re going to say. But before you do… just please don’t?” You plead.

He swallows thickly, choking back tears, too. “I do, though.”

You breathe through the hole in your chest. “I know, Aaron. I do, too.” Your smile is bitter as you open the car door and step inside gingerly, keeping your eyes on the sidewalk where he stands. He walks over to you, tangles your fingers with his briefly before cradling your chin, wiping another stray tear.

“Maybe in another life?” He whispers.

“Maybe in another life.” You tell him with a sad smile.

“Goodbye, sweetheart.”

I love you.

“Goodbye, Aaron.”

I love you.

He watches the car peel away longingly, muttering aloud the words that he’d whispered two nights ago when he thought you were asleep.

“I love you.”

———

09:15

Your car pulls up to the airstrip forty-five minutes later and you can hear the deafening engine of the plane before you even step out of the car. You place a $50 in the hand of the man who opens your door for you, throwing a quick thank you his way as you obscure your puffy eyes with a pair of sunglasses.

You offer the men loading your luggage a small smile and hand them their tips, before boarding the plane. You spot Emily on the far left side of the plane, her face buried in a copy of Mother Night.

When she sees you, she shoots up from her seat, throwing her book onto the table in front of her. “Oh my God! You came! Hi!” Her good arm wraps around your neck for a hug and you stiffen against her. “What made you change your mind?” She asks.

You close your mouth just as soon as you open it when the curtain dividers open.

“Darling!” Ambassador Prentiss emerges from her office, behind a divider on the plane. She has a phone receiver against her chest, you assume to muffle her voice to whoever is on the other end. “Emmy and I are so glad you decided to join us, we’ll be taking off in around 15 minutes.” She tells you, glancing at her watch.

You shoot her a polite smile and thank her, and she looks between you and Emily, excusing herself back to her office.

“I’ll let you girls catch up.”

Emily leads you to the seat opposite her, her face now showing signs of concern. She watches your face for an answer but when nothing comes, she asks outright.

“What happened? I thought you were going to stick around and see what happens? You had a date right? Her words scratch your skin.

“Date’s off.” You swallow.

Her eyes widen. “What? Why?!”

“His ex is pregnant and it’s his.” You reply nonchalantly, rapidly blinking back tears behind your sunglasses.

Her mouth drops open. “Holy shit! Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” You reply, gazing out of the window.

Emily watches you in shock, unsure of what to say. She can tell by your demeanour that you’re in shock but she can’t do anything except hold your hand and tell you she’s sorry with a quiet voice.

“Yeah.” You sigh.

———

09:00

When he keys open your apartment door, he’s hit with an eerie silence, a heart wrenching emptiness. He attempts to turn a lamp on but the electricity has been turned off, leaving the living room cold and dark.

His mind fills in the spaces between the emptiness, picturing you sitting on your couch, or on the bar stools around your island. Can hear the incessantly loud TV, and your laughter from your room.

Your room is just as empty too, a few stray clothes hangers remain in the wardrobes and when he turns to look out at your balcony, he swears he sees your shadow outside. He makes sure the doors and windows are secure and makes his way back to your living room, the entire experience harrowing, like walking through a graveyard of memories.

His legs give out as he walks back to the living room, sinking onto the couch. A picture of you catches his eye on the side table next to him, the same one he’d caressed gently when you’d been taken by Jordan. He’d thought then, that was the worst moment of his life, had he known what was to come, he’d have reserved his judgement.

He swallows the lump in his throat as he gently brushes a finger over the glass, unable to keep the tears from coming now. He wishes with everything you could have stayed, can feel it deep within him that you’ll keep a part of his heart for years to come. Then he remembers the note.

He opens the folded paper with trembling hands.

‘Dearest Aaron,

I sit in your living room right now, struggling for the words to write but I can’t seem to come up with anything that truly encapsulates how I feel. How I’m incredibly sorry to have to leave like this, how I wish with everything in me that I didn’t have to, I wish this could have ended differently.

I want to say thank you. You may not know or understand this, but for all the good and bad, you truly changed my life. I met you during the darkest and scariest part of my life, when I had nobody - when I was all alone. And in you came like a light and protected me fiercely, taught me everything I needed to save my life. You did that.

You saved me.

You changed me.

Despite the circumstances, we did have something, a friendship, maybe the start of something more - something real. Don’t ever doubt that. The last two days were two of the best of my life, a fitting reward, I thought, after everything I’d been through. But I couldn’t let you talk me into staying, because I know you, and you would have tried, told me that we could’ve worked something out - and it would’ve been selfish of me to stay.

I want you to know that I am so incredibly happy for you. This wasn't an easy decision, but I’m leaving of my own choice. I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be an amazing father. That child will be loved and oh so lucky to have you and your warmth as a father. I know how much this means to you, how important it is for you to give your child a better life than the one you and Sean had.

And you will.

Thank you for everything you did for me, thank you for saving me over and over again. Thank you for teaching me to be brave, and for coming into my life. My hope for you is that you’ll build a wonderful life with your beautiful little family and achieve everything you’ve ever wanted and more.

You’ll change the world one day.

Know that I will always have a special place for you in my heart.

I’ll never forget you.

All my love.’

He swallows the burning in his chest. Two days were all he had with you and he stupidly saw himself able to imagine a future with you, could imagine loving you for the rest of his life - but then he’d been in love with you long before you’d asked him to stay.

He winces as something digs into his chest and he reaches for his inside jacket pocket until something cold makes contact with his fingers.

His heart stops, molten lava running through his veins.

Your necklace.

He grips it until the sharp edges of the pendant feel like they’re about to puncture his skin.

Maybe he wasn’t destined for peace, for love. The love that he wanted. Maybe a happy ending wasn’t written for him and he’d have to make peace with that. At least he had the memory of your face burnt into his brain, the smell of your hair, the sound of your laughter.

That finite part of you would get him through eternity.

———

20:00

You’ve rejected every meal you’ve been offered by the staff aboard the plane, instead choosing to down Emily’s bottle of red wine. It eases the heaviness in your head, that’s true but the ache in your chest still remains.

Emily’s since drifted off to sleep, her book laying open against her stomach, meal half-eaten. You stare at the blinking lights of the plane and the clouds below you until everything starts to blur.

You love him. He loves you. That much is true. You never had believed in the concept of the right person but the wrong time, how could you? If the person was right, the timing would surely be inconsequential.

That was until you met Aaron.

In this life, in the grey harsh reality, after everything you had been through with him, the simple fact that two people love one another pales in comparison to the bloody reality of commitments, matters of the mind and sacrifice.

He loves you and you love him. It just isn’t enough.

He aches for you and you ache for him. But it’s still just out of reach.

Your hearts aren’t your own anymore. But you have to go on anyway.

———

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[everlarkficexchange]

That’s Just Tachy

Written by: @everybirdfellsilent

Prompt 153: Best friends!Everlark who have always been in love with one another. Katniss is in a pretty serious accident, of course Peeta visits her every single day. He notices that every time he enters the room her heart monitor beeps due to elevated heart rate. He notices and finally mentions to a mutual friend (Madge? Finnick?) how it’s sweet that she gets excited to see her friends, said friend rolls eyes and is like uh yeah ok “friend”. Peeta’s all what? Cue suspicion so next time he visits her he takes it a step further and gives little touches (brushes her hair back, strokes her cheek, grazes her arm? LET IT BURN) to see what happens. Sure enough her HR skyrockets. Tell us all the sweet and suspenseful details :))) [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone] (@peetamewllark)

I do not own The Hunger Games or it’s characters. All credit where credit is due.

Thank you to @xteenwolfwritingsx, @smartalexy, and @papofglencoe for looking this over for me!

Warnings: Some language. (I think?) Mostly just fluff, though. (Rated K-Teen.)

Word count: 6,712

A/N: This didn’t turn out quite how I wanted, but it is what it is. 😆 It was a 2k document I sat down to flush out and suddenly it was over 6k words, so I figured it was time. I like to write where you just jump right in kind of like a TV show, but that didn’t really work for this prompt, and was a sort of learning curve for me. But I still hope you all like it! This was fun to write, and I have loved this prompt from the beginning. (Especially the “LET IT BURN”. Haha! So here are my two lovesick idiots who don’t know it until it’s right in front of their face. I have missed writing for them.)

Xxx

“You guys coming?” Jo called from up at the front of the group as they made their way across the quad. 

Glancing back over her shoulder, Johanna stopped, effectively stopping Gale and Finnick as well, and they all stared at the two stragglers of the group who were locked in some kind of glare off. 

“I don’t trust him,” Katniss stated, her eyes never wavering from his. 

“Me?!” Peeta cried in disbelief. “You’re the one with impeccable aim and on the archery team, why in the world am I the bigger threat here?”

“Because you started it.”

Gale huffed. “Started what?”

“Poking me in the sides at the most inopportune moments all day.”

Gale sighed heavily. “Catnip….”

Her head snapped his way, the glare now on him, she missed the two thumbs up Peeta sent Gale from behind her in thanks. “You know I hate that nickna-”

The rest of her sentence stopped abruptly as she felt two strong and familiar hands start to play her sides like a piano, and it was a wonder she avoided letting out a screech. Batting the hands away with her own, using the thin folder in her hand to swat at them as they tried to come near again, she couldn’t help the smile that crawled across her face, muttering nonsense at the lighthearted taunts Peeta sent her way. 

Finnick rolled his eyes, smiling almost imperceptibly. “Come on, let the lovebirds be.”

As the three up ahead continued on, Peeta and Katniss called a truce, both breathing heavily, an errant chuckle here and there the only noise as they caught their breath. 

“So are you meeting up with Haymitch before work today?” Peeta asked, staring at the ground as they began to follow their friends. 

“Yup,” Katniss nodded, looking at the ground herself, but glancing over at Peeta every now and then. Each time made her heart race just a little bit more, and she wasn’t quite sure how that made her feel. “I need to talk to him about enrolling in one more course, or how to get some extra hours somehow.”

“Well, we’ll meet up when you’re off work later, then, and you can tell me how it went.” He looked up and right at her. “And, you know, if Haymitch doesn’t have any ideas, I can always try and talk to our professors and see where that gets us.” His voice was smooth and deep, and he playfully bumped shoulders with her as they continued to walk. 

She couldn’t help but blush at the implication, knowing Peeta could sell anything to anyone with the way he spoke. “I’ll think about it,” she managed to get out. “But I have to work late tonight, so I’ll just text you when I get off, and we’ll go from there. Sound good?”

“Sure,” he said, sticking his hands in his pockets, and she couldn’t help but sigh in relief knowing he wouldn’t be poking her for the foreseeable future, making him smirk. “How late?”

“I’m not sure exactly. They just said some may need to stay late.” She shrugged, clutching her folder close to her chest. “But not too late, I don’t think. Definitely before midnight.”

“I’ll see you at midnight, then.”

Xxx

She’d been in an accident. An awful, terrible accident. 

There were more details, he was sure, but his mind tuned out of any further conversation past that. Images flashed in his mind, everything from horrendous to benign, of the condition she was in, or would be in. Did she need surgery? Did she need a kidney? A really big bandaid?

All he knew was that he’d be there for her. They all would. Because that’s what friends do. They protect each other, it’s just what they do.

Xxx

They went in as a group, right before visiting hours were over that same day. 

He didn’t know what exactly he was expecting, but he still had a breath catch in his chest at the sight of her. 

Gale and Johanna were teary eyed as they walked around to the opposite side of the bed, Gale gently taking Katniss’ hand in his where it lay beside her on the bed, and Jo hanging back behind him, almost as if to have a barrier between her and the situation. 

Finnick stood beside Peeta on the opposite side, up by her head, and rested his hand beside her head, supporting his weight. Normally one for a playful nudge or flirtatious tuck of hair behind one’s ear, his lack of physical touch and in fact distance between his hand and her spoke volumes. “Hey, Katniss,” he said softly. The hitch in his voice not missed by anyone in the room, or the shuddering breath he took in after. 

Her eyes fluttered open, and while still somewhat glassy from the pain medicine pumping through her system, she let out a tentative smile, and gently squeezed Gale’s hand back. “Hey,” voice scratchy from lack of use. “What-” she coughed a rattling cough, making everybody in the room cringe. “What happened?”

“You were in an accident,” Finnick’s voice came out much stronger than before, relief painting his tone. “No one else was hurt, they think you just fell asleep at the wheel coming home from work.”

Her pulse kicked up just slightly at the info, but her typical poker face was in full swing. 

“Don’t worry, your job is giving you paid leave until you are totally recovered. You shouldn’t have been working that late, anyway.”

Her eyes flicked over to Peeta as he spoke, her heart monitor seeming to glitch as it registered a missed beat. 

“They just don’t want a lawsuit,” Johanna muttered, causing Katniss to laugh, which turned into a major coughing fit. 

A nurse poked her head in, pushing some buttons on machines that started to let off incessant beeping, and letting them know visiting hours were over. 

They all filed from the room, including the nurse, but Peeta stayed behind. Reaching out to take her hand in his left, he gave it a squeeze, and smiled. “I’ll be back by tomorrow. We’ll go over the assignments coming up.” 

Her heart monitor started an intermittent beeping again, a light flashing at the top. “Shhhhhh, it’s okay.” He reached up to brush a piece of hair behind her ear, and the monitor started going crazy, the nurse coming in, lightly scolding him and ushering him from the room. Turning off all the beeping, the only sound was Katniss’ shallow breathing and rapid heart rate. 

One last squeeze to her hand, and he was out the door. He faintly heard the nurse say, “Calm down, honey, your boyfriend can come back by tomorrow.”

Then the monitors started going off again. 

Xxx

True to his word, the next day Peeta showed up as soon as his last class was over, giving him just a few hours with her, as opposed to every other day when his schedule allowed most of the afternoon, if she’d let him stay. 

He smiled at the thought. She did love her time alone. But however long she’d let him stay, he would.

Rounding the corner into her room, he saw Haymitch on the other side of the bed with his hand on her shoulder, grinning down at her, and Katniss sitting more upright than the night before scowling up at him.

Following Haymitch’s glance up, she met Peeta’s eyes, and almost instantly startled away to look at the floor when her heart monitor started beeping like the night before. 

Looking at it with knit eyebrows and a slight smirk, he made his way into the room. “So you got defective machines, huh?”

Pushing a button on the rail of the bed to make the head go up slightly, she sat a little further up, muttering, “Something like that….”

Haymitch snickered, quickly coughing to cover it up, moving to the recliner in the corner of the room, observing them over the top of a magazine he grabbed from atop a nearby table. 

At some point during the exchange, a nurse must have come in and turned off the alert, though Peeta still noticed the rapid beeping of her pulse. 

Holding up the assignments, giving them a little jiggle and raising an eyebrow in question, Peeta set them down on the little rolling table over her on the bed when she gave him a little nod.

Reaching out to touch a few pages absently, she finally muttered in a scratchy voice, “You came back.”

It took a moment before Peeta realized she was talking to him, but he quickly shook his head and said, “I said I would.”

They stared at each other for a moment before the monitor started beeping again, Katniss sighing and reaching out to push a button and silence it. Looking back to Peeta, she held his gaze before darting it all over the room, looking anywhere but him. “They said I could do that.”

Haymitch snorted from behind the magazine, earning daggers of a glare from her. 

“Thanks for coming by, Haymitch. You really didn’t need to.” Her tone was sincere in her thanks, but also very clear in her sarcasm. 

“Nonsense, sweetheart!” He lowered the magazine to his lap, which made a slapping sound against his thighs. Feet propped up on the footrest of the recliner, legs crossed at the ankles, he just smiled. “I’m your advisor, and I’m here to advise in any way I can.” He glanced at Peeta. “On whoever I can.”

He snickered, blocking the tissue box she threw at him with his arm, before pulling the magazine back up to read. 

Chuckling softly, Peeta pulled up a nearby chair to sit next to Katniss. “Luckily, we have all the same classes, except for one, which Finnick will bring by. He gets off before me, so he said he would swing by on his way home.”

Katniss just nodded, staring at the pile of papers on the little table. 

The nurse came in with a little cup of pills. “Time for your medicine!” She glanced at Peeta and smiled. “See? I told you your boyfriend could come back!”

Katniss started choking on the water she had used to take the pills, spluttering as Haymitch guffawed in the corner. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she choked out, taking another quick sip as the nurse pushed the button to silence the alert to her elevated pulse yet again, not even sparing it a glance, taking the empty cup when Katniss was done with a smirk. 

The nurse looked at Peeta with a raised eyebrow.

“Yup, just friends,” he clarified, and wasn’t really sure if he liked the way that made him feel.

“She just really loves her friends. Close knit. Tight bond,” Haymitch said emphatically to the nurse. 

She smiled at him. “I see.”

Xxx

The next day Peeta sat next to Finnick in one of their shared classes, in the back row of the stadium like seating. Finnick leaned back in his chair, hands knit behind his head like he was laying out in the sun lounging on a pool float somewhere.

After a few moments Finnick turned his head just slightly toward Peeta on his right, his eyes still on the ceiling. “So what you’re telling me, is her pulse was elevated the whole time you were there?”

“Yeah,” Peeta said, tossing his hands up a little in exasperation and letting them lightly slap back down on to the desktop. “I was concerned at first, but then,” he smiled, looking down to the desktop for a moment, playing with his pencil, then looking forward again. “Then I realized it was whenever we talked, specifically, not Haymitch or the nurse, and I put it together. She’s just really glad to see her friends, I think. I mean, I don’t blame her, that place is all greys and whites and blah.”

When Finnick didn’t respond, Peeta looked to his left to find Finnick still splayed back, but looking right at him. “Just ‘blah’?” He stared blankly at Peeta. “You think she’s happy - so happy it sets off alarms - that her friends are bringing a dash of color into her world?”

“….Yeah?” Peeta was hesitant to answer, shrugging his shoulders as he responded. 

Rolling his eyes, Finnick rolled his head back toward the ceiling with the movement, scoffing and letting out a small chuckle. “Uh, yeah. Okay, ‘friend’.”

“What-” Peeta huffed, looking for the right words, “What are you- What do you even mean, Finnick?”

Finnick shrugged with a smirk, everyone quieting down when the teacher walked in. Looking to his friends one more time, Finnick spoke in a hushed tone as the teacher began the lecture. “You’re a great friend, Peeta.”

They both looked forward toward the lecture happening in front of them, but Peeta wasn’t absorbing anything, his mind going a million miles a minute trying to figure out what Finnick meant. 

He had his suspicions, but, no…. Surely not. Finnick was crazy.

Xxx

He had waited until the end of the visit to test Finnick’s theory. 

As he went over the notes he had taken, reading them aloud to Katniss while she sat with the bed a little straighter up than the day before, her head back and eyes closed while she listened, he kept looking at her. Wondered what was going on in her head. Silently daring her to open her eyes and meet his. 

Shaking his head as Finnick’s voice echoed in his head, he went back to staring at the paper as he read, not even looking up.

The medicine she was on for pain made everything blurry, so he had volunteered to read to her. But as he went on, he found himself unconsciously speaking to the rhythm of her heart monitor, her pulse holding steady for the time being. And he couldn’t help the little grin that came across his face.

“And that’s it,” he said, closing his notebook and looking up to see Katniss blinking her eyes open, letting them readjust to the hospital room’s bright lights. 

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice a little stronger than the day before. 

Reaching out like the day she came in here, he gently took her hand in his, giving it a soft squeeze. “Don’t mention it.”

He glanced to the monitor that registered what looked to be a missed beat or two, but her pulse stayed fairly even, going slightly higher, but not enough to set off any alarm bells - on the machine or in his head.

The nurse came by and poked her head in the door, announcing that visiting hours were almost over, then came all the way in to the other side of the bed. 

Katniss looked at the needle in her hand with disgust. “I hate this medicine,” she said offhandedly. “It is supposed to help me sleep, but it just gives me nightmares.” Looking at Peeta as the nurse injected the medicine into her IV, her pulse started to quicken. 

Absentmindedly packing up his stuff, Peeta looked to the monitor when it finally started beeping and flashing. Swinging his backpack onto his shoulder, he noticed a particularly high spike, setting off new alarms he hadn’t heard before, and he looked to Katniss worriedly. 

As the nurse came around the foot of the bed to turn off the machines, fiddling with them after the blaring stopped, Katniss spoke quietly, “Peeta. Stay with me?”

It was a question, not a statement or demand, and he so wanted to give in and ease her mind as she fell asleep, but visiting hours were over. 

Katniss looked like she was starting to drift off to sleep, reaching for him blindly with the hand he had held moments before. 

The nurse looked between them, smiled and winked at Peeta as she made her way out of the room. “I’ll come check on her in a few hours. You know, she is allowed one person to stay with her.”

Setting his backpack on the ground, Peeta went to the hand still outstretched for him, and held it tight. 

“Peeta?” Her voice was small and barely awake.

“Yeah. I’m here. Go back to sleep.” He went to go over to the recliner in the corner, but her hand clutched his with a strength he didn’t think had returned to her yet, keeping him beside her. 

“Stay with me.”

This time it wasn’t a question but a statement, a demand, and it made him smile. Glancing to the monitor again, he saw her heart rate settle back down as the chair he had moved over earlier scraped against the floor as he pulled it closer to her bedside, still clutching her hand tightly in his own.

“Always,” he said matter of factly, as if any other answer were wrong. 

Resting his chin on his hand, giving hers one last squeeze, he stared at her and smiled softly. He found himself yawning and drifting off to sleep soon, preparing for the nightmares, and dreading the moment he would finally have to let go.

Xxx

Peeta woke to sunlight hitting his eyes, blinking them open only to squint and lift up his left arm to block the rays slipping through the blinds. Looking toward Katniss, he saw her staring at him, already wide awake, and she even smiled a little bit. 

“Good morning,” she said, her voice leaps and bounds better than previous days. 

“Morning,” Peeta mumbled, sitting up from where his head still rested on his hand, groaning at his stiff back stretching for the first time in hours, and swiping at his face, hoping he hadn’t drooled in his sleep. His hand froze over his eye as he blearily gave it a rub when he heard a giggle.

Eyes snapping to Katniss, he saw her smiling broadly and uninhibited. “You really aren’t a morning person, are you?” she asked.

Yawning, Peeta spoke through the stretch. “You’re really a morning person, aren’t you?”

She threw her head back and laughed the first real laugh he had heard in days. Leaving her head back against the bed she sighed. “No,” she said honestly, and they both chuckled. “No, I’m really not, but that was the first night of sleep I have had since being here, and I guess I needed it, so thank you.”

Reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, Peeta let his hand linger, and heard the monitor spike, making him smile. “I can tell. Your hair is crazy.” 

She scowled at him but it melted into a chuckle and pink cheeks.

Letting his hand fall slightly, down to her cheeks, he traced the back of his finger over her blush. “You’re getting your color back. That’s good.”

She reached up to grab his wrist gently, groaning what sounded an embarrassed reply. 

“Hang on,” he mumbled, and she lightly held on to his wrist as he moved down to trace her lips with his thumb.

Her breath hitched and the monitor beeped faster again. 

Grinning impishly, he swiped his thumb on the side of her mouth as if wiping something off, and said softly, “You drool.”

She shoved his hand away, once again trying to scowl but ended up snickering along with him as he jokingly wiped his hand on his jeans, making a ridiculous face before chuckling himself.

Xxx

Since it was a Saturday, Peeta took his time, lingering at her bedside, and lounging in the chair he had slept in, despite Katniss telling him repeatedly to go sit in the recliner in the corner, so he would be more comfortable. 

Instead of comfort, he took the chance to sit by her and steal a glance every now and then, since he no longer got to do it in class. He always felt a sense of calm when looking at her, much like last night, when Katniss’ heart rate had calmed down when he agreed to stay. Something just felt right. 

They brought her a breakfast tray, if it could even be called that. Peeta stared at the tray just like it that sat in his lap, thanking the nurse who had given it to him with a wink and a smirk, and trying to decide what exactly was on the tray that they were trying to pass off as “food”. 

Standing up after the nurse left, he walked his tray over to the nearby counter, turning to see Katniss glaring at him. 

“If I have to eat this, you have to eat this,” she hissed, gesturing to the food then him with her fork. 

Peeta gulped. “How about we share?”

Katniss narrowed her eyes at him briefly, before mumbling a “fine”, looking back to the food and picking at the imposter waffles. 

The TV was playing softly in the background, the only other noise aside from Katniss’ incessant fidgeting. 

“Are you okay?” Peeta asked after what felt like the millionth time, and tried to swallow the “waffles” that didn’t seem to want to be eaten as much as he didn’t want to eat them.

Katniss grimaced. “Yeah, it’s just,” she fidgeted again. “This is the most uncomfortable bed, and I can’t find a way to help it anymore. They changed my medication to something a little less potent, so now I’m feeling all the aches and pains and itches and everything glorious.”

Peeta chuckled. “Well, how about we get up and walk around the hallways a little bit, and after that I can give you a little massage?” He had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling at her wide eyes. He didn’t need a machine to know her pulse was elevated, her cheeks gave that away as they tinged pink. Ever since Finnick had made his “observation” the day before, he’d found himself being much bolder than he had ever been before. “I mean, it can’t be too much different than kneading bread….”

Katniss simultaneously choked and chuckled at the same time. “The medicine I’m due for in a few minutes makes me really dizzy, and I’d have to use the walker, and-”

“And I’ll help you,” Peeta interrupted, earning him a scowl. “I’ll walk right beside you in case you need help, and catch you if you start to fall.”

“And if I can’t walk the whole time you’ll go find me a wheelchair at the nurses station, right?” Katniss rolled her eyes with a little scoff, but her cheeks still bloomed in a bright blush. 

“No, I’ll just carry you if it comes to that.”

“Oh.” Was all Katniss could muster, a short decisive nod in confirmation as she sat the bed up all the way, lowering her propped up feet and pushing away the tray of “food”. “Could I- I mean, Can you-” she stuttered out, timidly reaching her hand out in a request for help up.

Peeta scrambled to his feet, immediately offering his hand to help her sit totally upright, easing her legs over the side of the bed and lowered the rail on the side to help her even more. 

She turned toward the edge of the bed, her feet dangling off the edge in the yellow socks with grippy bottoms they kept replacing every day, and flitted her eyes over to the walker in the corner, Peeta following her gaze and immediately reaching over with his long reach to grab it, placing it in front of her. 

“Can I have my robe, please?” she asked in a small voice, pointing to where it hung on the bathroom door. “These hospital gowns are drafty in all the wrong places.” She pulled a hand down her face, sighing at the words that kept coming out of her mouth. “Sorry, too much information.”

Peeta smiled as he handed her the robe. “No, I get it. I’ve been in here once or twice, remember?”

She smiled sadly. “Yeah, I remember.”

As Peeta helped her into the robe, he also smiled sadly. Staring at the floor, memories he’d rather forget started flashing through his mind. He must have spaced out, or maybe he clutched her shoulders just a little too tightly, but the next thing he really registered was Katniss holding his face in her hands, searching his face frantically. 

“Stay with me,” she echoed her words from last night, once again not a question, but a matter of fact. 

Locking his eyes on hers, he found the fog clearing. Swallowing thickly, he nodded, letting his gaze dart around the room. “Thanks,” he finally muttered, smiling sadly one last time before he cleared his throat and smiled a bit more genuinely. “Now quit procrastinating.” 

Xxx

They made it a few laps around the floor before Katniss was too tired to make one more round. When they passed back by her room, they went in and saw that the food trays had been removed, thankfully, and the bed linens changed. At the foot of the bed sat a new hospital gown, bright yellow and folded neatly, on top of it a matching set of those same yellow socks. 

“Feel up to changing?” Peeta asked her as he helped slip off her robe, carrying it back to the hook on the bathroom door. 

“I guess,” Katniss sighed, her breathing labored. “Makes the most sense to do it before getting back in bed.” 

“Let me know if you need any help,” he said, holding the bathroom door open as she shuffled by, the gown and socks clutched tightly to her chest with one hand, the other holding the back of the hospital gown together as best she could. 

Closing the door all but a sliver, Peeta stood right outside in case she needed help, absently staring at the TV. His mind was far away, though, thinking about all the times he had been the one in here, and she had visited and helped him. He didn’t dwell on the reason he was there, but the fact she had come to help. 

“Peeta?” Her small voice echoing around the small bathroom caught his attention. 

“Yeah?” He cleared his throat.

“I need some help tying this gown.”

Now it was his turn to have his cheeks go pink. Nothing is more awkward than a hospital gown. The door slowly swung open, and her back was revealed to him, her hands clutching the back tightly around her hips, but her back was on full display, making him swallow thickly. 

It was moments like these that he found himself getting lost in an emotion he only ever felt around her, but he never fully understood. If he had to describe it, it was how he pictured love feeling.

Slowly walking into the little room, he stepped up behind her, closer than needed, and noticed she was shaking as he reached for the little ties. 

“Are you cold?”

“Y-yeah,” she stuttered out, looking at the floor. 

Slowly tying a double knotted bow so it wouldn’t slip open on accident, Peeta accidentally brushed his fingertips on the soft exposed skin of her back, and she instantly stilled. “Is that too tight?” he asked softly. 

“N-no. But can you tie the top one a little looser? I think when I sit down it might be just a little too tight.”

He nodded, reaching up to tie the top strings in just one bow in case she wanted to adjust it, and his skin brushed her clavicle, making her shiver once again. 

Leaning in toward her ear, he spoke in a low voice, “Can you please hold your hair up? I don’t want to get it caught in the strings.” 

The shivering turned into a violent shudder before she nodded, lifting her hair up with her free hand not clutching the lower part of the gown closed, and took deep, steadying breaths.

“Thank you,” she breathed, letting go of her hair as he set his hands on her shoulders, pulling her back flush with his front gently, and placing his chin gently on one shoulder, his cheek right by her ear.

“Don’t mention it,” he said in a quiet tone much like her own. With their bodies so close, he could feel her rapid heartbeat against his own, and they both were above average.

“I’ll let you take care of the lower ties.” He took a few steps back before turning to go back to the room. Her voice so close behind him startled him. 

“I think I will leave those open. I’ll be under the covers anyway, and it makes it a little easier to move and sit in that bed. But I could use your help switching out these socks…. If you don’t mind.” She smiled timidly. “Bending over is still really hard.”

Nodding, he gestured her to the bed and helped her sit on the edge. Pulling off the old pair and putting on the new, he heard her hooking the various little monitors back up as she settled back in. Looking up he saw her plug the pulse monitor back in and immediately the machine started blaring like it had before. Looking up at her with wide eyes, they both glanced at the monitor as the nurse came in and turned it off. 

“Why does that keep happening?” Peeta questioned her. “Isn’t that something bad?”

The nurse smiled kindly at him. “That? Oh, that’s just tachycardia. Elevated heart rate. The machine has certain parameters set for ‘normal’ and sometimes exertion or excitement can make your pulse shoot up to what the parameters deem ‘too high’. It’s completely safe.” 

She leaned into Peeta. “But between you and me, I think it’s just you in general that keeps making hers go off. You have some effect on her, no one else who visits has it going off this much. Someone named Finnick had it going, but she was laughing really hard. Haymitch seems to put her in a bad mood - or annoyed - and that sets it off sometimes. But you, you make it go off the most. I’d be very unhappy about that if she wasn’t looking so much better having you here.” The machine went off again, and the nurse glanced at a mortified looking Katniss before smiling knowingly at Peeta. “Just push this button if it happens again.” Reaching out she silenced the machine once again, winking at Katniss, before promptly leaving the room. 

Katniss and Peeta just stared at one another for a long moment before he clapped his hands together and said, “Now how about that massage?”

He reached out and shut off the machine before it let out too many alerts.

Xxx

If he had thought it through, tying the gown before the massage wasn’t the brightest idea, but he was so glad he had because it was one more excuse to be so close to her. He was surprised she wasn’t swatting him away with how ticklish she tended to be. 

The head of the bed was lowered enough for him to squeeze in behind her, and they finally settled on her sitting between his legs as she hugged a pillow to her front as she slightly bent forward, and laid her head on a pillow on the little rolling table they had locked to sit in front of her. Her head was turned to her right so he could see her profile, and her typical braid going over her shoulder had been done so he could have easier access to her shoulders and neck. 

He wanted to take a moment to just admire her, but he understood the horribleness of a hospital bed, and went to working on her shoulders immediately. Working from the bottom of her shoulder blades up to the top of her neck, he tried to be gentle not entirely sure what might still hurt from the accident, but dug in to the knots he found, earning appreciative groans from her. 

He worked down to her lower back, right above her hips was as much as he could get to, and he made a mental note to ask the nurse for a heating pad next time she came in. Even his baker trained hands couldn’t work that tension out without some help.

“Is the pressure okay?” He kept asking, to which she answered a groggy sounding yes every time. Finally instead of an answer he got a snore in response. Glancing to her face he saw her peacefully asleep, not even a flinch as he found yet another knot near her shoulder blade. He worked on it gently for a few minutes, not seeing her flinch once, but finally decided that was enough for now. 

Someone cleared their throat to his left, and he snapped his head to see Finnick leaning in the doorway, ankles crossed, arms crossed over his chest, and a smirk across his face that was absolutely beaming. 

“Friends,” he said quietly, but with emphasis, snickering, before hanging his head and gently shaking it.

Double knotting the one tie and loosely tying the top one again, Peeta slowly eased out of the bed, taking the pillow Katniss was hugging and adding it to the one that had been behind his back, slowly lowering her back until she was laying on the slight incline of the bed, her snoring not wavering once. He took the pillow her head had been on on the tray and gave it to her to hug like the other one, and she clutched it tight, snuggling into the blankets he pulled back up over her.

Walking past Finnick, Peeta gave him a dirty look before continuing out into the hall, pulling him along by the elbow when Finnick didn’t follow, closing the door all but a crack so he would hear if she woke up or the machines went off. 

Finnick was just smirking.

“Why did you have to say anything the other day?” Peeta hissed. “Everything was fine until then, and now I can’t think about anything else.”

“Could you before? Really?” Finnick prodded. “I mean, sure, you didn’t sit an analyze her heart rate, but can you honestly tell me you didn’t think about her, look at her and get that feeling you can’t really describe but understand, and just know this person is supposed to be in your life?” It was quiet for a minute before Finnick spoke in a softer voice. “I get it, man.” He put a hand on Peeta’s shoulder, despite Peeta’s arms still being firmly crossed. “It’s the same feeling I get-”

“Let me guess, it’s the same feeling you get when you see me?” Peeta’s sarcasm was off the charts. 

Finnick threw his head back and laughed. “Well, yeah, but in a different way. No, man, it’s how I feel when I see Annie.” Peeta’s face softened at the mention of Finnick’s fiancé. “And no matter how long we have been together, that feeling doesn’t change. It gets more comfortable, yeah, but it’s the same feeling, same emotion.” He smiled a goofy smile and looked off in the distance over Peeta’s shoulder. “It’s like…. You look at them and….” He met Peeta’s gaze again, “you know you’re home.”

Peeta had to glance over his shoulder to see if Annie was actually there, because the way Finnick had stared down that hallway, Peeta was almost certain she had to be there. 

Letting his arms drop as he sighed, his shoulders hunching, Peeta rested his forehead on Finnick’s chest and groaned softly. 

Snickering, Finnick pushed him to arms length, hands on his shoulders, and gently shook him until he met his eyes again. “You’re here. You’re safe. This is real.” He sighed. “It’s a really messed up situation, but it’s where you are.” He grinned impishly. “Now go get her and tell her you love her, you idiot, before I do.”

Gently shoving Peeta back toward the room, all thought of flipping Finnick the bird faded from his mind when he heard Katniss sleeping fitfully, moaning softly in what sounded like pain or distress, and her monitor registering a higher and higher pulse rate. 

The nurses words about what causes the elevation came back to him, and Peeta was in the room and beside her faster than Finnick could say “go”. 

The door shut softly behind him, but it was enough to make Katniss sit upright in bed, wide eyed, immediately grimacing and groaning as she grabbed her midsection.

Peeta put a hand on her shoulder, and she immediately flinched, but looking up and seeing his face, relief washed over her features, and her pulse began to calm down. “You’re okay,” he reassured softly. 

“Thank you,” she all but whispered. “I am now that you’re here.”

They looked at one another and shared a soft smile, their eye contact never wavering. 

“Scoot over,” Peeta said simply, jutting his chin forward as if to motion to her which way to go.

“What? Why?” Katniss asked, but did as he asked. 

Slipping his shoes off, Peeta took the pillow she had been hugging away form her, ignoring her lighthearted protests, and stuck it a bit further up than her pillows, and climbed in the bed in the spot she had made for him. Pulling the sheets up over them, he laid his head on the pillow slightly further up, and gently pulled her so that she was resting on his chest, hugging him like she had clutched the pillow. 

“You slept better leaning forward when I was giving you the massage, I figured this might help-”

They heard a snort from the doorway and both looked to see Finnick in the exact position he had been in only minutes earlier. “You two idiots are going to be the death of me,” he muttered softly with a smirk, hanging his head once again with a gentle shake.

Looking back to one another, Peeta began again after a moment of silence, “Really, it was just an instinct, I’m sorry if I- I can get out of you want-”

He was cut off by Katniss firmly planting a kiss on his lips. Pulling away just enough to speak, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“Always,” Peeta responded without even thinking.

They both smiled when they heard Finnick whoop and say something about “finally” from down the hall before the door clicked shut.

Searching each other’s face, eyes flitting this way and that, from lips to eyes to nose to lashes, the space between them slowly began to close again, until it finally disappeared and was lost in a kiss, then another, and some more. 

In longing touches, laughter, and whispered discussions. 

Stolen glances and hidden smiles. 

The distance between them stayed small, much like the distance between each heart beat, until finally the nurses cleared her to no longer need the monitor. Probably more for their own sanity than anything else. 

When she finally got dressed in normal clothes and was discharged, she came out of the bathroom after braiding her hair, and smiled as Peeta waited for her by the door, his own broad smile across his face, one hand outstretched for her. When they were within touching distance, he firmly gripped her hand with his, reaching out to touch the tip of her braid with the other, fiddling with it absentmindedly, a goofy grin on his face.

Walking the few feet to the waiting wheelchair the hospital insisted she leave in, Peeta let go of her hand, but stayed as close as he could. After she finally was in the passenger seat of his car, he once again took her hand across the console, threaded their fingers together, and they both smiled. 

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Looking at him now, she understood her feelings of only a few days ago, walking through the quad with stolen glances. 

“Ready,” she said. 

Shifting the car into gear, Peeta gave her one more dazzling grin, and one last squeeze of her hand, before he turned to look at the road, and they rode in comfortable silence, and that wonderful feeling, of knowing that that special someone loves you back. 

After a few minutes, Peeta finally piped up, “Just so you know, that truce I called in the quad the other day? That only extends a few more days.”

Katniss turned a glare on him and he snickered.

[blog4snape]

What if I meant it? (1)

~~~~

Genre: General but with a bit of fluff, romance, drama, a hint of angst, and hurt/comfort if you squint. 

Pairing: (young) Severus Snape x Reader

Summary: You (22) ask Snape (18) if he’s going to graduation. 

Rating: Citrus (completely and utterly safe for work with some soft fluff and a hint of angst and drama)

Warnings: Anxiety attack, Panic, Unwanted physical contact, Ignoring boundaries and personal space,  Mention of child neglect, Hints of child abuse,  *spoilers and jokes onward* Reader/Teacher probably projects but you didn’t hear it from me, Teacher tries their best to be professional but it sure won’t last long lol, Snape being tsundere if you squint, Snape being a bit of a drama queen in year 7.

Word Count: ~1.8K

Date Written: 09/10/2020

~~~~

June 18th, 1978

The half-moon windows were open, letting a nice summer breeze dance with the curtains. You sat at your desk, your quill scratching away at the parchment beneath you. Your student, Severus Snape, was laying on his back among the pillows and cushions in the pit, flipping through yellowed pages in an old book.

“Are you going to be at graduation?” You asked, not looking up from your paperwork.

“No. My dorm-mates aren’t going. And she’s not even going to be there, so why should I?” He responded, shifting slightly among the soft fabrics.

“Who’s she?” You raised a curious brow, glancing up at him for a moment.

He rolled onto his stomach and looked down. He sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

You took a moment to scratch your arm, confused at the sudden change in his demeanor. “It sounds like it matters a lot to you.” You prodded.

He rolled his eyes and pressed his face into the center of the scuffed book.

You sighed after a few moments of silence. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine.” You assured calmly, dipping your quill into the ink well as you continued writing.

There was a beat of silence. He sighed, pulling the book away from his hooked nose. “It’s my mother.” He explained.

You stopped scratching your quill at the parchment and you looked up at him. He wasn’t looking at you, or even anything in the room. His eyes were unfocused and distant as his fingers fiddled with the corners of forgotten pages. 

“Do you want her to be there?” You asked softly.

“No… I don’t know why I even said that.” He muttered, turning onto his side and facing away from you. 

“Does she matter a lot to you?” You asked. 

He shrugged his shoulders. “Not like I matter to her.” 

Your heart cracked. You stood up from your desk and sat on the floor, cross-legged behind him. You reached out a hand and rubbed his back in gentle circles. You looked at your lap and exhaled. “Why do you say that?” You asked, evenly.

You felt his back rise under your hand before falling as he sighed deeply. “She wasn’t there… She hasn’t been there. She doesn’t even write ‘me. Not even for the holidays.” 

You swallowed the woeful lump in your throat. “Do you want her to come to your graduation?” You asked, twirling a dark lock of his hair that had draped across his shoulder blade.

“I don’t even know what I’d do if I saw her.” He murmured.  “Like… would I be happy? Would I be disappointed? Would I be mad that she shows up all of a sudden after ignoring me my whole life?” His voice raised as he kept speaking, a sharpened edge embedding his final words. 

Your teeth grated down on your lips further as he continued talking. You had known his home life was bad, but you never knew he was outright neglected. “You don’t deserve that,” You hissed, squaring your shoulders. You stopped rubbing his shoulder and dug your nails into your lap instead.

He peered at your hardened features from over his shoulder. “Deserve what?” He questioned, his eyes scanning up and down your face.

You stopped chewing your lip, your mouth catching his eyes' attention. “You don’t deserve that. A mother who has neglected you and only bothers to pay attention when you’ve achieved something? When you’ve finished something?” Your tone laced with pure venom. “Where’s the love in that?” Tears pricked your eyes as you stared at your flexed fingers.

He licked his lips, still focusing on yours. “There is none.”

Your shoulders fell as well as your face and breath. “Has she ever… shown you any love?” You nearly whispered, your fingertips barely relaxing their assault on your thighs.

He sat up, stretching his long legs out. He sucked his upper teeth and looked at his knees. “Maybe she has, once or twice. I can’t remember anymore.” He stared at the fingers gripping your lap tightly. 

You stared at the same fingers, your eyes glistening in sorrow. “How could she not love you? How could she not pay any attention to you?” You mourned. “You’re respectful, you’re brilliant. You’re a lovely boy that any mother should be proud of and would be more than lucky to have.” 

His stained fingers wrapped around your wrist, his nimble thumb tracing alien shapes into your skin. Your head snapped up to look at him. He glanced up from your lips to look into your eyes. His eyes were swirling with something you couldn’t quite place. 

“You really think so?” He whispered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“I know so-” You began, confidently. 

You never did get to finish that sentence. 

Severus quickly closed the space between you two, his mouth firm on yours.

You didn’t kiss back. You were frozen solid as if you were trapped in cursed ice. 

He was pressing further into your lips, trying to deepen the kiss. His other hand reached up to your cheek. He stroked a scarred finger across your skin before you snapped back into reality. 

You gasped loudly and pulled away from him as quickly as possible. Your hands caught you before you fell on your back. “What in Merlin just happened-” You sputtered, with a red face and tears that you didn’t realize had fallen. Your knees pressed into your chest, kicking off of the ground and scooting you closer to the desk you considered safe as you clutched desperately behind you. 

His hands were suspended in the air. He looked horrified. His countenance rivaled the giant squid’s- it turned white, then pink, then red, then blue. As he turned purple he quickly sucked in a large breath, his face turning back to red. “Prof-professor, I’m- I’m so- I’m so sorry-” He stuttered. 

You continued to stare at him incredulously, your chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. 

He avoided your face. “I don’t- I didn’t- I have no idea what- what came over me!” He stammered, wringing his hands together.

You shifted, sitting on your knees and facing him. “Why did you-”

“I don’t know!” He blurted, before slapping his hands to his treacherous mouth.

You jumped, your hands further gripping the wood behind you as your back pressed against the solid surface. 

  “S-sorry! I didn’t mean to yell! N-not at you!” He apologized, holding his hands out placatingly. He started to breathe heavily, moving his hands to the emerald striped tie that was currently too tight around his neck. He started wringing it, wrinkling the fabric and trying to pull it away from his neck. He made a choking sound.

“Stop, stop!” You intervened, grabbing his fidgeting hands. “You’re going to hurt yourself!” You warned.

He nodded, still breathing heavily. His hands ran down his face instead, pulling at his skin and any stray hairs unlucky enough to be caught in the crossfire. 

You loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top buttons of his white collar. “Okay, now deep breaths. In through your nose and out through your mouth. Hold a moment before release.” You demonstrated, putting your hands on his trembling shoulders.

After some moments of patience, he followed your lead. His breathing calmed, and so did his self-destructive fidgeting, but the burning crimson hue of his cheeks didn’t. His head dropped and he let out an elongated sigh. “I’m so sorry.” He murmured. “I don’t know what came over me, kissing a teacher-” He buried his searing face into his stuttering hands.

You patted his head awkwardly. “There, there.” You grimaced. “It was an accident… although a weird one. Please never talk about this to anyone.” 

He inhaled deeply, nodding his head. “I’m just- I’m just going to go back to my common room.” He thought aloud, standing up. 

“Maybe that would be for the best…” You followed his lead, patting his back. “See you in class tomorrow.” You took your seat at your desk and tried to focus enough to continue doing paperwork. 

You didn’t realize Severus was still in your classroom until he cleared his throat. You looked up at him. 

“Yes?” You asked.

“Professor-” He began, wringing his tie and standing in front of the closed door. “What if- what if it wasn’t an accident?” 

You stared up at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

His voice faltered as his mouth opened and closed. With a quick shake of his head, he crossed the room with urgency and stopped at your desk. He leaned over, his hands on opposite sides of your paperwork. He was in your personal space, but you didn’t move, still staring at him with wide and confused eyes. He breathed deeply, the warm air fanning across your face. “What if I meant it? To kiss you?”

Your mouth opened slightly, before closing again. You set your quill in its well and folded your hands on top of the desk. “W-what?” 

“Please,” He urged. “Tell me- tell me you care. Tell me you feel the same-” His voice rasped, “the- the same about me.” 

“Severus-” You began, blinking your eyes and shaking your head. “I can’t. You’re my student- I can’t just-” You lost your voice. “It’s unprofessional.” You muttered, holding your head down.

“What if I wasn’t?” He pressed. 

“If you weren’t-?”

“If I wasn’t your student.” He dug his nails into the desk, his knuckles turning white.

“You are though-” You furrowed your eyebrows and grimaced. “Severus, I cannot have this conversation with a student.” 

His words spilled out at a rapid pace, “I’m graduating this week. I’ll be there. I’ll be there if you’re there. I’ll show up so you can have me as I am-” He implored desperately, trying to grab your hands. 

“Severus Snape!” You pulled your hands away and stood up, your chair screeching in protest as its curled legs scraped across the floor. “That is enough! Leave my office at once.” 

He stared at you for a while, still breathing heavily. You held your ground, eyes set harshly on his. He pushed himself up off of your desk and stormed out of your office, his emerald robes following behind him in a flourish. He ripped open the door and turned around for a moment to glare at you. He slammed it shut with a scowl on his face. For a few moments, it was silent. You stayed standing, staring at the door as your harsh eyes dissipated. You heard him sigh behind your door before his heavy steps echoed unevenly down the hall. 

You crumbled into your seat and held your face in your hands, knowing the stack of paperwork sitting before you won’t get done in this lifetime.

~~~

A/N: This was my first attempt at drama, I hope it worked out well! Thank you for reading <3 This work is a part of my larger series, Afterimages of You. You can read it here on my Tumblr Masterlist or on my AO3!

[unsteadyimagines]

Curiosity Killed the Cat (Spencer Reid x Reader)

SUMMARY: After a very intense and stressful case, Y/N and Spencer are to share a hotel room for the night. Y/N decides to unwind and make herself at home with a hot bath – accompanied by a special helping hand. Much to Spencer’s surprise, he finds himself in a sticky situation as to whether or not act on his desires. Because after all, curiosity killed the cat.

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

WARNINGS: Smut (masturbation)

NOTE:

***Feedback is always welcome for future improvement!

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Entering through the automatic hotel reception doors, Y/N can feel her feet ache from her heels with every step she takes, which she hopes will no longer be many. Standing in the elevator with Spencer, all that can be heard is the music playing before they reach the seventh floor.

“Oh my god, I don’t think my feet have ever ached so badly from heels before,” Y/N laughs, stumbling aimlessly down the hall clutching onto Spencer’s arm for support. Not that he was much help, he was stumbling just as much as Y/N. They first pass David’s room, then Tara’s, then Luke and Matt’s, and finally, Emily and JJ’s room, which happened to be right next to Y/N and Spencer’s.

“Could you two keep it down! It’s already 2am and we’ve had a long day.” Luke and Matt lean against their hotel room door, lightly yelling across the hall, laughing at the state Spencer and Y/N were in. It’s not that they were drunk, they were just tipsy but the lack of sleep they’ve had in the last 48 hours was definitely a strong contribution to their intoxicated state.

This was probably one of the hardest cases Y/N and the rest of the team had experienced, it was so physically exhausting there was not one part of their body that didn’t ache. When Y/N and Spencer made it to their room, Y/N struggles to successfully swipe the key card through the slot, taking a few attempts before the door was able to open. As soon as Y/N stepped onto the carpet, she rid herself of her heels, feeling the soft carpet under her aching feet while Spencer takes off his jacket, chucking it onto his bed. Both of them sobering up slightly, they start getting ready for some much needed sleep.

“Do you want to use the bathroom first? I was going to run myself a bath.” Y/N asks, opening her suitcase and grabbing out her pyjamas, underwear, toiletries and a small satin pouch.

“No that’s okay, you can go first. I’m going to stay up for a while and read anyway,” Spencer smiles, grabbing his book and making his way to the couch.

Y/N walks into the luxuriously big bathroom, locking the door and turning the faucet on, the sound of the running water echoing in the air. Massaging her own shoulders while waiting for the bath to fill, she knew that her strained muscles would soon be relieved by the hot water. Meanwhile, Spencer was making himself comfortable on the couch, already many pages into his book, deeply engrossed.

As the bath starts filling halfway, Y/N decides to hop in, sighing in content at the water temperature that was helping sooth her entire body, closing her eyes and finally letting herself relax after what could definitely be described as a physically draining and lengthy day. Humming to herself, she lays there completely still, growing tired the more she’s relaxed.

Running her hands through her hair and massaging her scalp, Y/N suddenly begins to miss the touch of another person. She misses how men would would stroke her head and knead her skin, but this only made her frustrated because she was laying in the water alone. This had her yearning…

Being deprived of her own touch or anyone else’s, she slowly slides her hands up over her stomach, lightly brushing her fingertips over her nipples, which are already growing sensitive to her touch. Tugging at each nipple with a gentle force, she squeezes her thighs together, trying to release some of the pressure that’s already forming. Trailing her hands down her stomach, she lays her hand flat against her pussy to the slickness that is already there, curling her toes slightly at the touch.

She then remembers the small satin pouch she brought into the bathroom with her. Her mind wanders, slowly bringing the pouch closer towards her. Debating in her head whether it was a good idea or not, she fears there’s a chance that the bathroom along with the running water won’t be loud enough to muffle the sounds that would soon be coming from inside. Maybe Spencer might be so immersed in his book that the sounds around him will drown out.

“Hey, Spence!” Y/N softly shouts, waiting to see if he will respond. She waits a few seconds and hears nothing, confirming to her that Spencer can’t hear her, or at least hopes he can’t. Making herself comfortable, she leans further back into the bathtub, resting her head and taking a deep breath. Opening the satin pouch, she pulls out the vibrating device she didn’t expect to need while away on the job. In saying that, she couldn’t be more grateful to herself for packing it anyway.

Settling in, she excitedly turns the power of the vibrating wand on, a soft buzz filling the air, the vibrations she feels in her hand get her all the more excited to really relax after a long day. Slowly running the head of the wand down her neck, to her chest, she circles her left nipple and then her right, her breathing getting slightly heavier. The sounds she’s making as well as the wand turning her on even more now. Letting out a deep sigh, she then slowly starts to run it down her stomach, circling her navel before trailing further down to her core – the area she needed it most.

“Mmm yes,” she whispers to herself, the pleasure already making her eager for more. Running the toy up and down her pussy, she can’t keep still, her hips bucking up into the vibrating head, whining in satisfaction. Once she got used to the feeling, she presses a button to increase the speed, the vibrations filling the room even louder this time. She could feel herself getting more wet, moving the toy even harder against her pussy.

“Fuck,” she moans louder, gripping the ledge of the tub tightly with her other hand. Her head falls back in pure bliss, drowning out the outside noise.

Meanwhile, Spencer – who is still oblivious to what was going on in the bathroom, was flipping page after page, finding the quiet and dimly lit room so peaceful among the constant chaos that was his job. He thought he could hear people outside of their hotel room door, but didn’t think too much of it, and instead turned another page, changing his position on the couch.

Y/N, on the other hand, was squirming, trying to muffle her moans at the risk of getting caught. She decided to change her position, standing up and sitting on the ledge of the tub, spreading her legs on either side. Placing the wand against her pussy again, her legs struggle to stay wide open, wanting to relieve some of the aching pressure.

Once again gripping the ledge of the tub making her fingers turn white, her breathing shortens into small pants, her release getting closer. Her pussy throbs, dripping into the water below her, while she struggles to maintain her composure.

“Oh my god, fuck yes,” she gasps softly, her head rolling back.

“Right there,” she moves the toy faster and faster, her pussy pulsating, the pleasure almost becoming too much. At this point, she doesn’t even care about the possibility of Spencer being able to hear her, too wrapped up in the pleasure she’s giving herself.

Bending the head of the toy slightly to add more pressure, she whimpers, her eyes flutter shut, and her mouth opens, but she can’t utter a word - only soft pants being able to escape. The vibrations against her clit have never felt so good, so she uses her other hand to pinch her left nipple, wishing it was someone else’s hand; a hand much thicker, bigger, rougher.

Inhaling sharply, she can’t keep quiet anymore, “Fuck yes, right there, oh my god fuck.” Moaning loudly, this time it captures Spencer’s attention. He thought he heard something as he looked up from his book, placing his bookmark in the page he was currently reading. He waited to see if he could hear it again, and he did. Completely unaware to what it was, he gets up from the couch and walks slowly and quietly towards the bathroom door, wanting to make sure Y/N hadn’t had an accident. It was a farfetched worry, but he remembered they both had been drinking despite the intoxication mostly having worn off by now.

“Y/N? Are you okay in there?” Spencer asks, knocking on the door, hoping to get a response.

“I-I’m fine Spencer, t-thanks” Y/N replies, her voice trembling.

“I thought I heard noises, so I just wanted to check if you were alright. You know, make sure you hadn’t fallen asleep or drowned,” he explains, looking up at the ceiling.

“O-Okay S-Spence… I’ll be d-done soon… oohh,” Y/N replies, which Spencer found a little odd, but decided not to question it. Just as he took one step away from the door, he heard another noise, except this time he obviously assumed it came from Y/N, gasping loudly and the sound of water splashing around. Pressing his ear to the door as subtly as he could, his heart instantly started beating heavier once he realised what she was most likely doing in there.

“Mmm shit, oh- oh fuck yes,” her moans start getting louder, which gives Spencer confirmation of her actions. He gulps, wondering if he should give her privacy, fearing that he’s already crossed a boundary despite Y/N still not aware of Spencer’s ear against the door. But when he hears the toy’s vibration echo in the air, it only turns him on even more, his jeans suddenly getting that little bit tighter.

He feels incredibly guilty and creepy listening to his co-worker partake in such an intimate act, but he can’t help himself, listening further. The thought of Y/N naked and wet, pleasuring herself is what encouraged him to quietly unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants and push his hand down until he was gripping himself teasingly, biting his lip to stay quiet.

He could hear the water splashing quicker and Y/N’s breath become more ragged, which only made him move his hand up and down his hardening cock faster, quickening his pace, resulting in his breathing becoming shallower.

“Fuck,” he groans in a whisper. Biting his lip isn’t keeping him quiet enough, so instead he bites into his fisted hand, while touching himself with the other. Rubbing his thumb over his tip that’s now leaking pre-cum, he shudders at his own touch, sinister thoughts running through his mind.

While Spencer continuously palms himself, running his hands up and down his shaft, Y/N is so close to her climax, her soaking wet clit throbbing against the silicone head of the toy and her legs trying to shake themselves shut. “Oh g-god, f-fuck, fuck y-yes mmm.”

She’s so close she can feel her need for release building; she doesn’t have long till she comes completely undone. Y/N increases the speed of the vibrator one more time, a jolted spark running through her entire body and a deep heat forming in the pit of her stomach signalling to her that she’s about to orgasm. Tugging at her nipple with her other hand, bucking her hips up into the air with ragged moans, she finally releases all her stress and anxiety from the past week.

“Ooohhh shit, fuck, holy – fuck,” She exclaims loudly, squeezing both her eyes and legs shut, shivering from her orgasm – waves of pleasure cursing through the entirety of her body. Absolutely exhausted, she regains some strength, sitting herself back in the tub, soaking in what was left of the lukewarm water, and trying to even out her breaths.

While Y/N recovers post-orgasm, Spencer is just reaching his. Rubbing his cock harder and faster than before, his breath comes out deep and in pants, trying to be as quiet as he can - yet failing. His toes curl in his shoes, his hands longing to grip Y/N’s hair but settles for his own.

“Oh my god, ah – holy fuck,” he grunts, coaxing himself through his own orgasm, his head leaning against the bathroom door as he brings himself back to reality. When he comes out of his own little world, he realises he can no longer hear Y/N. Not wanting to risk being caught, he hurriedly cleans himself up before making his way back to the couch, picking up his book as if he had never left his spot.

10 minutes later, he hears the lock of the bathroom door, and out walks Y/N with wet hair and a flushed face, in sweats looking refreshed and muchmore relaxed. She stands leaning against the door, smirking at Spencer. Spencer’s eyes glance over to Y/N’s, confusion and nervousness written all over his face. The fear of Y/N potentially hearing what he was doing because of her makes his throat tighten and a knot form painfully in his stomach.

“You heard me, didn’t you?” Y/N asks, anxious to hear his answer. It’s not like she purposefully wanted him to hear, if he had, but the pleasure was all too much for her that she simply just could not keep quiet. Waiting for Spencer’s response, he lets go of his book and fiddles with his hands.

“Oh- uh, heard what?” Spencer acts cluelessly, not wanting to give himself away. He would be devastated if she found out and became repulsed by his behaviour. No longer being able to make eye contact with Y/N, he becomes interested in the front cover of his book, wishing the tension in the room could disappear. He doesn’t know whether it’s sexual tension or an awkward one, but either way he wanted it gone.

She slowly prowls her way over to Spencer who’s analysing her every move. Once she reaches the couch and she’s looking down at him with that same smirk as before, he gulps, confused as to what to do. He’s never been in a situation like this before. Y/N places her hands on both sides of his shoulders and straddles his lap, her eyes now level with his. Spencer’s hands stay by his side, not knowing what to do until he knows Y/N’s intentions. He lets out a low gasp as Y/N begins to leave light, feathery kisses all over his neck, gently rocking her hips into his. Making her way back up his neck, she grabs both sides of his face and roughly slams her lips against his.

Spencer’s too aroused to reject her touch. Instead, he grips Y/N’s hips, helping her to move their hips in sync, earnings small whimpers from the both of them, only increasing their need for each other – a need for each other they didn’t even realise they had. Disconnecting their lips, Y/N whispers in Spencer’s ear, making him shiver in pleasure. “I know you heard me… in the bathroom. I could hear you too, Spence,” running her hands through his hair, she tugs resulting him in letting out a loud grunt, gritting his teeth in both pain and pleasure. She smiles, surprised she has this effect on him already - and they’ve barely even started.

“Y-you sounded… sounded so fucking h-hot, I-I couldn’t help myself – fuck!” he hisses, grinding his hips with Y/N’s even harder, her back arching in ecstasy.

“F-fuck Spencer, please please just fuck me,” Y/N whines, attaching her lips onto the nape of Spencer’s neck again, feeling his cock grow harder and harder under her dripping wet pussy – which was still covered by her pyjamas.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Spencer chuckles, lifting Y/N off the couch with her legs wrapped around his waist. He spins around, throwing Y/N back onto the couch, making her squeal loudly and spread her legs for Spencer to nestle in between, attaching her lips back onto his, kissing every area of skin she possibly could to leave marks.

Little did they know they both wouldn’t be getting any sleep, fucking till 3…4am, before having to leave to get on a flight in the next few hours, not caring in the slightest whether the rest of the team could possibly hear everything in the rooms next to theirs.

Tags: @emmalvei-blog​ 

[rhysismydaddy]

After Midnight pt. 1 (Feysand)

Synopsis: After a tumultuous, heartbreaking relationship, Feyre Archeron turns to online dating for a break from normalcy. Or rather, to Velaris Nighttime Ventures, the most exclusive, high-dollar escort system around. She needs to ease back in to intimacy, so this seems like the perfect idea. But what happens when her escort turns out to be someone she can’t get out of her head? Someone who seems to understand and appreciate everything about her? 

My many disclaimers: Stole a line in here from The Hating Game. And one from ACOTAR obviously. And the story line is loosely based off of The Kiss Quotient. Basically, I’m a fraud.

__________________________________________________________

~Feyre~

If I told any of my friends I’m about to hire a hooker, they’d laugh themselves silly. 

And, to be honest, the idea is a little ridiculous to me, too. 

I’ve never had a problem getting a date in my life. Brownish blondeish hair, blue-gray eyes, and an athletic build give me slightly above average looks. A lucrative job makes me financially sound and independent. A lifetime with two sisters gave me a sense of humor. 

I’ve dated prom kings, nerds, and everything in between. I’m completely normal. 

Or at least I used to be. 

After everything that happened last year, I don’t know if that’s true anymore. 

My therapist tells me constantly it’s okay that my last relationship changed me. And the multiple degrees on her pretty green wall tell me she knows what she’s talking about and that she’s completely correct. 

Even if... even if it doesn’t feel okay. 

Even if I can hardly stand looking in a mirror or being hugged or someone giving me a compliment. 

Even if I haven’t felt like myself in so long, I don’t even know if I’d recognize it if i did. 

Because while I used to love putting makeup on, choosing a dress, and going out, the thought now fills me with so much dread it makes me nauseous. 

What if I just make the same mistake as last time? 

My sister's told me my whole life to guard my heart, but I always laughed it off and  said she was being cynical. And what do I have to prove it? Trust issues and a standing appointment Dr. Motley. 

Men don’t deserve my trust. At least not right now. 

But... it’s time to move on in the physical sense. 

And since running the risk of taking home the wrong man scares me shitless, I’ll start with someone who can’t reject me, can’t make me feel worthless. 

Someone who won’t develop feelings for me or get attached and demanding. Someone... who won’t mind giving me control. 

A hooker. 

Or escort, like the Velaris Nighttime Ventures website says as I scroll through pages and pages of profiles. 

Gods, this is more stressful than my first gallery opening. 

All the profiles include is a picture, probably-fake name, height, an age, and a simple sentence about them. 

It feels creepily similar to online shopping. And there are so, so many options. How the heck am I going to choose one? 

Scrolling down further, my eyes roam over men of every skin tone, age, and height. I don’t have any real preference, but decide I need to have a few ground rules, otherwise this will take forever. 

Age? I’m twenty-seven and don’t have an interest in being a cougar, so I set the range from twenty-eight to thirty-five. 

Height? At 5′6, I’m not exactly tall, but I’ve always found men who were more attractive, so I shrug and put the minimum at six feet. 

Pressing enter, I watch the website sort, then look at the number of men left. Thirty. Not bad. 

Scrolling through slowly, I realize it’s kind of like a yearbook for an all male college or something.

A college full of really sexy men. 

I pause on a few, but something about them make her keep going. I want the complete opposite of my ex, so any with features like him get eliminated. 

Eventually, I get to the last row, feeling a little dejected. 

But then I see him. 

His eyes seemed to pierce through the screen, and once I see him, I can’t look away. Without another thought, I click on the profile. 

The name under the picture reads Rhysand. No last name, probably for privacy purposes. He’s a few years older than me. And tall--6′3 tall. But that isn’t what draws me closer. It’s the sentence he’d written. 

To the stars that listened -- and the dreams that are answered. 

My fingers ignore the rational part of my brain and click the button to book an appointment, and before I know it, I’m looking at a confirmation page. 

For tonight at midnight. 

Oh gods.

~Rhysand~

After working at the bar for a few hours, I head back to my shitty apartment to get ready for tonight’s appointment. 

Someone has booked me for an “evening of adventure and pleasure” as the confirmation email tells me. 

Wonderful. 

All I know is her name: Feyre. It doesn’t sound like an old-lady name, so there’s that. 

Those are the worst. It feels like fucking someone’s grandmother. Not that I’d know, exactly. And I mean sure, most of my clients are older. But there’s older, and then there’s old. Fine line between the two, let me tell you. 

Most of the people who hire me are in their forties, trapped in miserable marriages, and desperate for a decent lay. They’re also filthy rich, because I’m not cheap in the slightest. 

It’s why I’d agreed to this shit in the first place. 

Yeah, I have to psych myself up and sleep with a random lady, but the pay is killer. And the more money I make, the quicker I can stop. 

So I shower and go through my pre-appointment routine, trying not to think about what’s become of my life. 

There weren’t any special requests on the appointment, but the meet was set for a swanky hotel downtown, so I put on a dark suit and white dress shirt. My hair doesn’t need much work, so I leave, figuring I’ll get there early. 

The drive over’s quick, and soon I’m walking inside and sitting at the bar. She has my picture, but I don’t have a clue what she looks like, so she’ll have to come find me. 

After a few minutes, someone settles next to me, and I turn around with an expectant smile. 

But when I see who it is, I stop. And hating myself more than I thought possible, I tell the woman, “Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.”

Which really fucking sucks, because she’s beautiful as hell. 

Smooth skin, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and kiss-me lips kind of beautiful. 

She gives me a strange look, then says words I’d never expect from someone like her. “I’m Feyre. I’m the... client.”

The way she cringes on the word tells me it’s her first time doing something like this, and the thought makes me a little too happy. 

I know I should say something to comfort her, but all I can think is... she’s definitely no grandma. 

~Feyre~

He keeps staring at me for a few more moments, then smiles and says, “Sorry. You’re not what I was expecting.”

I nod, then realize I have no idea what to say. Or do. Fuck, this is weird. “Do you want a drink?”

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “Feel free, though.”

That’s the first good idea I’ve heard all day. After ordering from the bartender, I turn to the man next to me and smile sheepishly. “I don’t really know how this works. It’s my first time with... this.”

“I figured.” He’s turned toward me, one arm braced on the bar. “You can have your drink, and we’ll go upstairs when you’re ready.”

A nervous laugh ebbs out of me, and I blush. “Okay.”

Gods, am I really going through with this? 

I mean sure, he’s hotter than all hell, but he’s a prostitute. 

Would you rather invite a random man home with you? the bitch that lives in my brain asks with a knowing smile. 

I ignore her as a drink’s set in front of me, finding it helps a little. The man next to me just watches, face a mixture of confusion and amusement. 

Somehow, the photo didn’t do him justice. He’s ridiculously attractive, with dark hair, almost violet eyes, and tan skin. There’s a hint of stubble on his strong jaw, surrounding the sensual mouth that’s currently smirking at me. 

I’m definitely attracted to him, but this is still weird. 

“So, why are you doing this?” he asks as I drink. “If you don’t mind.”

I’m sure as hell not telling him the truth, so I say, "I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

Rhysand smiles, and it only makes him more attractive. “Fair point.”

Then he looks me up and down, raises his dark brows, and asks, “Ready?”

Not in the fucking slightest. “Sure.”

By the time we reach the elevator, I’m practically shaking. Telling myself that I can do this--that it’s what I want, for gods sake--doesn’t really help. But I don’t say a word as we glide up, then walk to the room I’ve rented for tonight. 

When we get inside, I avoid looking at the bed as I turn to him. 

Rhysand smoothly takes off his suit jacket, then leans against the wall and crosses his ankles. “You seem nervous.”

He certainly doesn’t. Every move he makes is smooth and easy, like he’s so comfortable in his body he doesn’t ever get nervous or self-conscious. 

Must be nice. 

“I do?” It’s a deflection, and we both know it. 

“You’re shaking like a wet dog.” My nose wrinkles at the analogy, and he grins. “A very cute wet dog.”

I told myself I’d be alright, but now that I’m alone with him, I realize I’ve told absolutely no one where I am tonight. And if things go wrong... I start pacing. “I’m, uh... it’s just... nothing. Let’s do this thing.”

I should write sonnets. 

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say a word as he walks to sit on the edge of the bed. Feeling like the biggest idiot in the world, I sit next to him. 

“Why don’t we just take things slow?” 

Thank the gods. I nod. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, using manners I definitely hadn’t expected but much appreciate. 

I nod again, trying to keep my hands from shaking. 

Rhysand raises a hand, but I swallow and push down the flare of panic as he cups my jaw and tilts my face to his. Then he leans in--keeping his word and going very slowly--and I brace myself as his lips brush against mine.

My body doesn’t exactly know how to feel when they touch. On the one hand, a very handsome man is kissing me. On the other... a man is kissing me. 

I ignore the second thought and kiss him back. 

His lips are silky soft against mine, slowly urging them open, and then his tongue is in my mouth, caressing mine. Everything’s slow and sensual and practiced. 

And even though it’s a picture-perfect moment, it feels like that scene in the movie where the dumb blonde goes down the dark hallway while the entire theater screams at her to run. 

Oh gods oh gods oh gods. 

My brain’s playing me a repeat of the last year on fast forward, and I press my eyes closed to try and block it out. 

I’m fine. 

Rhysand leans into me, and then I’m on my back with him hovering above me, still kissing me. His surprisingly muscled frame is heavy against me, pressing me down into the soft sheets, and his elbows are by my head.

Nothing’s wrong. 

Everything’s wrong. 

I take a quick moment to remind myself that if this had happened a year ago, I’d probably have wrapped myself around him and let him do whatever he wanted. 

But the past twelve months weren’t just a bad dream. And the band-aid protecting the stupid, naive girl I used to be from the harsh realities of the world has been ripped off and torn to bits. 

And suddenly, I can’t breathe. 

His head snaps up immediately, and violet eyes gaze down at me, full of concern. A weak hand comes up to press against his chest, and he sits up immediately. “Feyre? Are you okay?”

I shake my head and practically roll off the bed onto the floor. It’s completely undignified, but I don’t care. My lungs are on fire, my throat tight with the tears I’m barely holding back. 

I have to get away from him; I have to get some space. 

My back hits the wall, and I curl into myself, pressing my forehead against my knees. 

Breathe, Feyre, breathe. 

The silence in the room is broken only by my gasps, and I focus on the sound, letting it remind me that I’m here, that I made it out. 

I don’t let myself think about the other person in the room. It’s just me, and I’m fine. I made it out. 

There’s scratchy carpet under my legs, a wall behind my back, and more than enough air in the room. 

Eventually, my brain catches up with the obvious, allowing oxygen to fill my chest. I’m gulping down breath after breath until my heart rate finally starts slowing down, and it’s only when my head stops feeling fuzzy do I open my eyes. 

Rhysand sits on the bed, beautiful eyes wide, watching me. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Gods, he’s probably uncomfortable beyond belief. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, cutting him off and shaking my head. I know I should get off the floor, but my legs feel like jello, and I don’t want to crawl around again. “I, um...”

The words to explain the panic don’t come easy, but he stays silent, giving me time. 

And because I’m a coward who still can’t admit what happened to me, I repeat the words my therapist suggested I try. 

“I have problems with intimacy.” It’s hardly a whisper, but I know he hears it. “And, um... I thought it would be easier with someone like you.” I flinch at my own words and try to make it sound less offensive. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay, Feyre. I understand.”

Tears burn the edges of my eyes, but I force them down and steady my voice. “You can go. There’s money on the desk.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you like this. Unless I’m the reason.”

“No, it’s not you,” I assure him. “You’re great. I just have a hard time relaxing with- I mean around-”

“Men,” he finishes quietly. 

And even though I didn’t tell him, he looks like he can read the words off my face. Rhysand doesn’t say another word, but his eyes are understanding and calm. 

He extends a hand, the silent invitation clear, and for some reason, it makes me smile as I slowly get to my feet, using the wall to support me.

Walking over, he takes my hand in is, and I notice how rough his palms are. Before I can wonder what he does to get such big callouses, he takes my other hand and places them on his shoulders. 

“You’re in control. There are no expectations with me.” The words wash over me, settling in, and my heart slows down a bit. “If you want to kiss and call it a night, we can. It’s up to you.”

For some reason, hearing that he doesn’t care helps. It’s the reason why I chose this, I guess. I’m the client, and I’m in control. 

Finally feeling calm, I slowly run my hands over his shoulders, down his arms. He’s heavily muscled, but it’s smooth and lean, not bulky. From a physical life, not from hours spent in a gym.

I can see the faint lines of tattoos beneath the shirt, but I don’t move to unbutton it. 

His eyes stay on me, and I meet them as my hands drift to his face. The stubble I’d noticed earlier is rough against my fingers as I trace his jaw, then the strong slope of his eyebrows. 

It’s been a year since I touched a man. Longer since I did so this... leisurely. 

My hands find their way into his dark hair, and I smile at how soft it is. His head tilts back a little and his eyes drift close. I don’t know if he’s putting on a show or actually enjoying this, but he seems calm at least. 

And I think... I think this could work. 

Working on my intimacy issues with him could help fix me, maybe even get me ready for a real relationship. 

So I lean in slowly and press my mouth to his. 

Like he said, I’m in control. While earlier had felt like being kissed, this feels like kissing. I move my mouth slowly over his, tracing the curve of his lower lip softly. 

He really is a beautiful man. 

And patient, too. He’s extremely patient while I take my time learning the shape of his mouth, then the angle of his jaw. He stays still, eyes closed, letting me explore. 

I slowly drift back to his mouth, and when he eases his lips open, I meet his tongue with mine. It’s slow and light and just enough to make me want more. 

My breath comes shorter, but it isn’t in panic.

Taking his hands from the bed beside him, I place them on my hips. His fingers flex, but they stay exactly where I put them, even as I wrap my arms around his neck and press a little closer to him. 

We’re still just kissing, but I feel it in my entire body, all the way to my toes. 

I pull back and take a deep breath, not knowing how to put what I want into words without embarrassing myself. Bright violet eyes meet mine as Rhysand runs his tongue across his lower lip. “Just say it.”

How can he read my face so well after just an hour of knowing me? 

“Lean back,” I say, my face warm with a blush. “But don’t turn us over. I can’t... I feel trapped.”

Rhysand just nods, gripping my hips tighter, then lays down with me on top of him. My chest is against his, my legs resting in between his. It’s the closest I’ve been to someone in a long time, and I wait for the panic to set in, but none comes. 

“You okay?”

A small part of me wishes he wouldn’t be so damn understanding and nice. It’s making me feel so incredibly stupid, even as it warms my heart. 

I nod, then put my head down against his chest. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why?”

Looking back up, I meet his eyes hesitantly. “You’re probably so weirded out by me. Paying you just to come make out like teenagers.”

He smiles, and it makes some of the nerves untangle. “Silly woman. I could kiss you all night. You have the most delicious mouth.” He leans in and kisses me, as if to prove it, then makes a deep humming sound. 

“That’s absurd,” I mutter, even though I feel a lot less anxious now. 

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “You taste like fucking candy.” His arms loosely wrap around my waist. “Tilt your head to the side and I’ll prove it.”

I do, and his mouth meets my neck, slowly but in a way that makes it feel like I’m being devoured. Tingles shoot down my body as he sweeps my hair off my neck to get better access, and a soft moan escapes me as he sucks on the spot between my shoulder and neck. 

He pulls away enough to say, “You have a really sexy moan, too.”

My face goes scarlet, and he grins up at me, then we’re kissing again. Gods, the man can kiss. He’s letting me control everything, but it’s obvious he’s good at what he does.

Even though I’m almost delirious with lust--something I haven’t felt in a long, long time--I know this is enough for tonight. I’ve already had one panic attack, and I don’t want to push myself too hard. 

So I pull back and tell him, “You can go. I don’t think... this is good for tonight, I think.”

“I feel like you’re not getting your money’s worth if I leave now,” he says, and if I could’ve sworn I hear a hint of sadness in his tone.

I shrug, not telling him the money for tonight was nothing to worry about. Instead, I just slide off him and stand up, straightening my shirt. “It’s was more than okay. Seriously. Thank you for being so understanding.”

Rhysand rises fluidly and grabs his jacket, then turns to me. Before he can speak, I say, “I actually wanted to talk to you about another appointment.”

After an awkward pause, he says quietly, “I don’t really do... repeats.”

“Oh.” There’s no way to hide the disappointment in my voice. 

I’d thought that I’d be able to work with him slowly. Build on what we did tonight. The thought of having to find a different man and explain why I’m so emotionally stunted... shit. 

What if I freak out again, in front of someone new?

Gods, no wonder he doesn’t want to come back. He’s already had to deal with an hour of my trauma. Who would ever sign up to do it again? I’m damaged goods.

“It’s not you, I promise. I’ve just had a few clients get sort of... attached. So I made a policy to not meet with women more than once.” He sounds nice and apologetic, and it grates my nerves a little. 

Rejection is rejection no matter how you look at it. 

And no matter how fucked up I am, I don’t need anyone’s pity.

But, like a big girl, I smile and nod. “I get it. It’s fine. I’ll find someone else. Your money is on the table.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Find someone else? What do you mean?”

My eyebrows fly up at how shocked he sounds. He just saw firsthand how not okay I am, and he’s surprised? 

“I mean that I’ll find someone else. I have intimacy issues, and I need to work on them. I understand completely that you’re uncomfortable with that, and I’ll find someone who isn’t.”

There’s a flicker in his jaw. “And you’re planning on using the website for this someone?”

“It’s really none of your concern.”

“Feyre, there are some not so great people on there. You shouldn’t use-”

My patience snaps. “You have absolutely no right to lecture me. You don’t want the job, I will find someone else, since it’s such a goddamn burden. Now thank you very much for tonight, but you’re community service is done. You can go.”

There are too many emotions on his face to process them all, but I definitely register shock. 

“I promise it isn’t about you, okay? You’re great. Hell, I’d want to sleep with you even if I wasn’t getting paid. But I have a policy, and-”

“Like I said, I understand. You can go now.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t use the site to find another guy.”

There’s something about the command in his voice that grabs every last thread I’m hanging by and rips them free. I march over to him and jab a finger into his chest. “Do not tell me what to do. Ever.”

Rhysand eyes narrow, but it isn’t in anger. It’s like he’s looking at a puzzle, and he just figured out the piece he’d thought would fit won’t. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

I remove the finger-gun from his chest, but he doesn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he catches me completely off guard by saying, “I’ll do four more appointments.”

Rolling my eyes comes a little to easy. “Don’t do me any favors. I’m not your goddamn charity case.”

“No, because if you were, you’d probably be a little grateful.” Whatever retort I had planned dies in my throat. “But it’s not pity. I don’t want you getting hurt by some other guy from the site.”

There’s enough genuine concern in his voice for me to believe him. And the last thing I want is to put myself in danger. 

But I still ask if he’s serious, because to be honest, it sounds perfect. 

If I can fix myself in six appointments. 

That’s a pretty big if. 

“Yes, seriously. But I’m going to charge you more, and we can only meet here.”

I shrug because I sure as hell wasn’t about to invite him to my place. And unless he’s planning on charging enough to buy a house, it should be fine. “Okay.”

He glances at me, then down at himself, like he’s suddenly aware he’s still standing here. “Okay.”

And just like that, I’ve hired a hooker. 

____________________________________________________

Part 2 is here because I have no self-control. Let me know in the comments/my box if you want to be tagged :)

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[nananikki-hey]

Talk Sick

Chapter One

Chishiya x Reader

4.9K Words

Only the first 1.7K words bellow, please read the rest on Ao3!

Tokyo was dark, eerie and pitch-black in a way it had never been before, in a way that left you feeling cold and shaking as you padded down the road on unsteady steps. Or maybe that was just the wind on your damp skin (damp with sweat or blood, you didn’t want to be sure) and the tangy taste of blood still on your tongue that made you feel disgusted right down to your core.

Try as you might, you could hardly remember what had happened in the last few hours. It was all just blurs, pleading screams you couldn't understand, that desperate fear in your gut that burned you from the inside out and made you capable of things you didn't want to be capable of ever again.

And red.

So much red.

You thought maybe it was better that the last clear thing you could really recall was your friends’ smiling and laughing faces, as they raced into the salt water at one of the many beaches Chiba had to offer, and left you sitting in content under an umbrella on the sand. Even then, you chose not to really remember, because you doubted it’d give you answers to any of your questions anyway. Because Tokyo was dark.

And you were all alone.

Cradling the arm in a cast to your stomach (because it ached, and you were cold) you stumbled down a lifeless street with no real aim to where you were going, you just wanted far away from that red covered room and the guilt that sat heavy on you there. Gripped tightly in your other hand was a playing card and phone you picked up and hadn’t really payed any mind to after it had chimed that simple “Game Clear”, it wasn’t like you could read anything else on it anyway, and it barely functioned enough as a torch to see your feet. You didn’t know where you were, your feet had carried you for hours already and they hurt with each ‘slap, slap, slap’ against the concrete, and you didn’t know where you were going. But you were tired, and your ears rang.

And Tokyo was quiet.

You just wanted to sleep, and wake up from this nightmare.

Waking up sprawled in the backseat of a car that isn’t yours the next morning, a crick in your neck, arms stiff, leaves you confused for a moment. You just lay there and stare at the roof for what feels like an eternity to try and remember how you got there. The screams came back unbidden, muddy and distant, yet you can’t shut them out fast enough – ending up curled up like a spring and biting your hand to stifle the sobs that make your chest tight for an agonising hour. Then as you quietly unfurl, wipe your eyes, and feel already rough dried tear-tracks; you’re hit with the sour sense of deja vu as you remember crying yourself to sleep just like this the night before.

You had wandered for hours, through the night and hoped to find someone, anyone that could answer your questions. Deep down you were hoping that you just weren’t truly alone now, after the death of so many, but inevitably had given up. You’d found the closest unlocked door, climbed in, and gone to sleep with pleads for it to be a dream on your quivering lips.

Now – when the quiet world outside was still there, overrun with grass and decay, and the physical reminders still stained your skin red – you couldn’t deny it anymore. Tokyo had gone empty of thousands of people, leaving you and (hopefully) a few others in a situation you were sure most would call apocalyptic. But you decide now wasn't the time to think about that, not to dwell and mope and sulk, now was the time to focus on fixing the little things.

Big things would come later (and so would the panic).

You popped the door open and climb out onto bare, unsteady feet as you take a second to look around and maybe figure out where exactly you were; somewhere still in Tokyo, that you knew. You and your friends had wandered around on your first week of vacation enough to have a vague idea of where you were, but you didn’t live here and you certainly didn’t speak the language. So without any of those signs that helpfully included English underneath the Japanese, you had no idea where to start.

“Well…” Your voice was worn, croaky and dry. You didn’t want to think about how it was from all the screaming yesterday. “Small things first… I need to learn how to read.”

You had heard a lot of things about what talking to yourself meant; that it was a sign you’d gone crazy, that it was a good way to work through problems, or that it was even a sign of trauma. Right now you are more inclined to think it was a mixture of all, but what would you know? You weren’t a psychologist.

You looked to the phone still gripped tight in your free hand, pressing the button to bring up the display and glance over the things you could see. The app icons you could understand well enough; a camera, settings, the time, and a gallery for whatever photos or videos you would take. The problem came with the two others. While clearly marked ‘Game’ and ‘VISA’ in English, once you tapped into them the display was mostly Hiragana and Kanji, and the scarce few Katakana you could read weren’t helpful. You’re being naively hopeful right now, you knew, but you weren’t stupid; you figured they were a count of what ‘games’ you had played and, being on a travel VISA already, a VISA for whatever this world around you was (be it another one entirely, the future, or some sort of illusion didn’t matter anymore). Still, seeing the single Heart sign staring back at you made your gut churn uncomfortably, you weren’t going to trust anything in this world at face value anymore. Not when a simple game of catch turned into a one-sided massacre right before your eyes.

So, you decided then and there that the first thing to do was to find a bookstore and track down a Japanese-English Dictionary and start translating every little clue this phone could give. You pause with a shiver, remember that you were still only dressed in your swimmers from yesterday, and sigh.

“Clothes… I’ll need clothes.”

You tucked the phone into the safety of your top, not wanting to risk losing it, and set off. Tokyo is huge, and still as empty as it was before, but with the sun out it’s much easier to find your way around even when you can’t read the signs.

It takes hours, hours that feel gruelling and hopeless and wear at you with every bookshop you find that doesn’t have a guide you can read, but eventually you find what you’re set out to on the bottom shelf in the back of an older bookstore. The store was small, cramped with books, mostly old and full of dust; it’s the type you could picture a small old lady with a welcoming smile to run but seeing it now just makes you feel like the city is just that more empty. But you take the book, sit down right where you are and pull out the phone to rest it on your knee in one fluid motion. Then start flipping through the yellow pages.

You are halfway through the second word in the VISA display when you realise it probably would have been better to find a pen and something to write on before starting, because translating into Romaji then translating into English word-by-word was going to have you getting something wrong. You tuck the phone back where it belongs, hold the book under your cast arm and go off in search of things to write on. You’re lucky, because right across the street is a decent sized Mall, so you know your search will be quick. You go in also hoping to find some clothes along the way.

Which you do. One of the first stores past the coffee shops and little diners at the entrance is a niche little clothing store, with a sign in kanji you can’t read. You almost hesitate at the door, the thought of stealing weighing on you. But you remember the screams, the blood – this world wasn’t going to be nice to you, so why would you be nice back? - then you’re picking up the first backpack you see and stuffing it with clothes. But only a few.

You don’t know what these ‘Games’ are yet, and you’re not naive enough to think it’s a one-and-done deal, so what you grab is practical more then fashion. Sweat pants and a jacket for weather, underwear, shorts, a shirt with a design you didn't pay too much attention to, to change into now. You find and duck into a bathroom, locking the main door without bothering with a stall (because you might not have run into anyone yet, but if apocalypse type movies have taught you anything, never leave yourself vulnerable). Just as you start to strip, you catch your own reflection in the wall wide mirror and freeze; you’d been ignoring it, the blood that had dried and flaked onto your arms, your face, your swimmers, everywhere. But seeing it now there was more then you imagined, almost more blood then bare skin and it makes you’re stomach churn. You all but lunge for the sink, turning the tap frantically and collapsing to your knees when nothing comes out, not even a pity drop.

Now that you had seen it, you could feel it. The crusty dryness that clung to you like a second skin, between your toes and even fingers. You wanted it off, the proof that people had died around you, had died because of you. You didn’t want to see it, you didn’t want to feel it, you didn't want it.

“Please… Please…”

[urbancripple]

I’ve updated my gear page and added more of my recent recommendations. I also fixed the shitty image formatting so stuff isn’t cut off :D

Each purchase made through those links helps support my site. So many of your have done that recently and it’s been a great help with keeping things running around here. I deeply appreciate it.

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Urban Cripple’s Wheelchair Gear and Accessories

If you want suggestions on what kind of gear you should get for your wheelchair, check out this list.

Wheelchair Tools

Every Day Carry (EDC)

In the Kitchen

Around the House

Bags and Carrying Cases

Food and Fuel

Wheelchair Tools

I don’t carry a ton of gear with me when I go out, but what I do have is super critical to staying safe and mobile while rolling through god‐knows‐what in the streets. Most of this stuff falls in the “Oh shit!” category. You won’t need it every day, but you’ll be glad you have it when you do.

Tekton Long Arm Ball End Hex Key Wrench Set

Most wheelchair components are held together with either with some kind of hex screw. If something goes wrong, you’re going to need a set of wrenches to fix it.

I like this particular set because it comes with both metric and standard wrenches and folds so it can lay flat in your bag or tool wrap.

Pedro’s Tire Levers

Don’t let their size fool you: these are great tire levers. What I love most about these things is the fact that they come in pairs and are designed to wrap around a spoke so you can keep one in place while using the other to remove the tire.

When not in use, they snap together and can easily be tossed in a bag or stashed under your chair.

PRO Bike CO2 Inflator

If you realize your tires are dangerously low after leaving the house or you pop a tube and need to reinflate the replacement, you’ll need a C02 inflator.

Make sure you always keep a couple of spare cartridges on you and remember to never store a fresh C02 cartridge in the inflator: it’ll just be flat by the time you need it.

Black And Decker ASI300 Air Station Inflator

For regular tire maintenance, I really love this air compressor. It’s powerful enough to fill a standard wheelchair tire but small enough to travel in a vehicle. It can even be powered by your car’s DC outlet.

Every Day Carry

This is the stuff I keep with me and use every day.

Foldable Phone Stand That Fits In Your Wallet

It’s a ridiculous piece of plastic and aluminum, but it fits in your wallet and actually works really well to hold your phone up. I use it when doing video calls with coworkers so I don’t have to move my laptop, open it up and plug in my wired headphones.

Harbinger Pro Non‐Wristwrap Weightlifting Gloves

By far, gloves are the most important piece of gear for your chair. City streets are super gross and full of hazards that can stain, cut, or bruise your hands. A good pair of gloves should offer you plenty of protection from hazards while allowing you to maintain your grip, dexterity, and the ability to use touch‐sensitive devices like a smartphone.

That’s why I love these weightlifting gloves from Harbinger. They have enough padding in the palms to protect from dirt, grime, and heat (gripping your tires while going down hill can burn your hands) while the fingerless design lets you keep your dexterity and use a smartphone.

Tactical Flashlight

I know we all usually use our phones when we need a flashlight, but I find a dedicated flashlight to be a lot more effective ( and a lot less expensive if you drop it.)

These flashlights are small, light, and crazy bright. They also come with various modes including strobe and S.O.S.

Contigo Extreme Vacuum Insulated Stainless Steel Travel Mug with Handle

The only way you can safely carry a hot beverage while pushing a wheelchair is by keeping it in an airtight container. I really like this mug because it’s insulated and has a clip. The clip is great because you can easily attach it to your bag or to the back of your chair (I use the backrest release bar). Because it seals so well, you don’t have to worry about it spilling.

Snap Lock Folding Pocket Knife

I like this knife because it’s small, sharp, and easy to carry. Just don’t accidentally leave it in your jeans for the TSA to find (true story).

AmazonBasics Lightning Cable

Fun fact: lightning cables are super cheap if you get them from anywhere except Apple.

Cocoon Grid‐IT Organizer

These things are great for taking all the small stuff that usually ends up rolling around in your bag and keeping it in one place.

Portable Charger Power Bank 22400mAh

Having your phone die is terrifying. This thing will charge your phone and tablet several times over. However, it does take a long time to charge the battery itself.

Slim Portable Charger Power Bank 10000mah

It won’t charge your device as fast or as many times, but it won’t take up nearly as much room in your bag as the other battery.

In the Kitchen

Cooking while everything that is boiling or on fire is at face‐level can be a bit daunting. Here’s some stuff that’ll make it safer and easier.

Meal Prep Containers: 3 Compartment with Lids, Food Containers

These meal prep containers are microwave/dishwasher safe and they stack. It’s a great way to prep meals and save yourself some time and energy.

Extra‐Large Silicone Freezing Tray with Lid

These trays are great for freezing stews and sauces and such. I do a lot of large batch cooking and these are waaay easier than trying to portion stuff out into ziplock bags. The lids make it easy to move it around one handed (what wheelchair user hasn’t gotten wet trying to refill an ice cube tray?)

Silicone Baking Mat

These things are a life saver in the kitchen. Basically, if you use them, you’ll never have to clean a baking sheet/pan ever again.

16 inch Kitchen Tongs

When sitting in a wheelchair and using the stove top, it can be really tough to reach both the temperature dials and anything sitting on the back burner. These super long tongs let you easily reach and turn the knobs on your stove and anything that might be sizzling away on your back burners.

Ove Glove

These things are machine washable and can withstand up to 540 degrees of temperature. They grip well and make it easy to get stuff in and out of the oven. In a pinch, they’ll even double as a makeshift pot holder.

OXO Steel Press & Pour Insulated Cocktail Shaker

If you’re looking for a cocktail shaker that doesn’t freeze your hands off, won’t burst open, and can be operated with one hand, you should get this one. I make a lot of cocktails at home and I really hate cocktail shakers. Your standard Boston style shaker has a tendency to break open on you if you don’t seal it right (and that means your chair gets covered in booze) and it’s a pain to open if you seal it too tightly. This cocktail shaker has a really straight‐forward design. The top is screw-on, it has a simple push button in the lid for pouring and sealing, and it can pour from any direction. I highly recommend it for folks who wanna mix drinks at home but don’t wanna risk wearing their beverage.

Around the House

This is the stuff I keep around specifically because it makes daily life easier for me when I’m at home.

Microfiber Cleaning Cloth

For folks trying to keep their place clean while avoiding using up too many cleaning wipes or paper towels, I’ve found that having a stack of cheap microfiber cloths on hand plus a mix of water and vinegar in a spray bottle really helps keep things sparkly while cutting down on waste.

Multi‐Position Heavy Duty Folding Hand Truck and Dolly

This dolly is great if you need to move something that’s too big or too heavy to carry on your lap. It can be configured in multiple ways and folds up easily for storage.

Retractable Dog Leash

Walking your dog with a standard leash can be tough if you’re in a wheelchair. I use a retractable dog leash with my dog so that I can easily adjust the amount of slack I need to keep her under control while not getting the leash tangled in my chair. In addition, the size of the handle lets me easily loop it through the buckle of my Grab‐It Pack, which means I can securely hold onto the dog while pushing my chair with both hands.

Bags and Carrying Cases

All of the various bags and slings I use to carry stuff when I’m out of the house.

13.3 Inch Sling Bag Riding Hiking Bag Single Shoulder Backpack

13.3 Inch Sling Bag Riding Hiking Bag Single Shoulder Backpack

This bag is small and doesn’t have a ton of storage, but I wanted something that I could wear constantly and had just enough room to hold my backup charging cables and small tools so that I could go out without having to have as much physically strapped to me. If you need something with more storage, they have a bunch of different sizes that are meant to hold more stuff.

This isn’t the exact bag I use day‐to‐day but it is the correct style. I really like the sling style bags: they’re light enough to not restrict my movement and the single strap means it won’t shift around as I push my chair.

Food and Fuel

This is the stuff I carry with me in case I’m too busy to pack a proper meal.

ThinkThin High Protein Bars

It’s always a good idea to keep some kind of portable snack in your bag if you think you’re going to be out and about for an extended period of time. I like to keep a couple of these ThinkThin bars in my bag just in case I’m stuck between meal times. They don’t taste like death or cardboard and they’re not just a glorified candy bar.

[minyoonmeme]

Normalcy of the Pretty Posse

Chapter 1 

Word Count: 2494

Pairing: reader x ?????

Genre: like 90% fluff, 10% stupid jokes and bad humor

Description: Stupid Jeongguk and his cute sweaters and pretty posse of hyungs. 

(Disclaimer: This will probably have some typos. I started writing this instead of doing some Statistics homework and spent so long on it that I have zero time to edit. Sorry~)

next

masterlist

There was no game plan. There never really had been, at least not for me. Making it past 16 was something I had never foreseen, never imagined I could do. And now, here I am, alone in a country in a university far from home with no idea how life is supposed to go. Okay, maybe I’m being pessimistic because I’m not completely alone. I have friends if you count the two idiots who don’t let me drown in takeout boxes on weekends. They’re wonderful, they really are, I promise. 

Yoonjin is the sweetest person I’ve ever met no matter how much I want to strangle her into putting herself first. She’s the one who calls me about anything and everything. Don’t tell her that I secretly love that she calls me first when something happens. Chaebin is my right hand gal. My broski. My homegirl. My uh… well she’s great honestly. She’s all bark and no bite with the strongest affiliation for cute things, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. These two are pretty much my whole life other than the impending doom of my failing future that I have chosen to personally personify. Makes it less scary if it's punchable, honestly. 

“Are you gonna actually do your work or are you gonna stare at your coffee all day?

Rolling my head to the side, I eye Chaebin with the blankest face I can muster. 

“I didn’t ask to be criticized when I asked you to come to the library with me.” 

“No, but you did ask me to make sure you finish your paper in time for practice tonight. Yoonjin will cry if you let her go by herself again.” I groan, throwing my head against the cushion of the booth’s chair. She’s right, I know she is. I’ve missed two weeks of dance workshops and Yoonjin, without missing a beat, after every workshop comes knocking on my door teary eyed and sputtering about how she was all alone and lost without me there. Food usually helps soften her up. 

“You think she’ll forgive me if I miss just one more week?” Chaebin twitches her eyebrow up as she side eyes me from her computer. I slump even further and push my laptop farther away in favor of laying my head down. “You’re right. She’ll probably accuse me of abandoning her and our friendship if I skip one more time.” 

“I’ve literally seen you pump out a 12 page research paper in 3 hours, just go dance or whatever tonight and stress yourself later.” 

“Anxiety and Red Bull are a toxic combo, but I’ll have you know that I got a 94 on that paper.” Smiling smugly, I turn my head to look at her. She’s not wearing her glasses today, so it’s hard to tell if she’s glaring at me or blind today. “If I bail, are you gonna be okay by yourself? I can swing by afterwards with Yoonjin, so you don’t have to walk home alone tonight.” 

Her glare softens as she shakes her head no before grabbing some eyedrops. Oh. So she is wearing her contacts. “No, I’ll be okay. I came packing.” Her right hand pats her bag before she smirks and continues searching through her syllabus. 

I eye her bag warily and half jokingly say, “Please, tell me you don’t have a gun.” 

Her face scrunches as she stares at me. “Are you stupid? Why would I have a gun? I meant I have my phone and a taser. Do I look like I know how to shoot a gun?” 

I shrug and start packing up my bag. My joints scream and pop from being stationary so long. “I am, do I look like I know how to shoot a gun? You never know Chae, I could be a highly skilled marksman just waiting to take someone out. I might not even be a real college student, just a really good undercover assassin.” 

Her nose twitches as she clicks open a few browsers. “You almost cried last night when you saw a stray cat ignore you. I highly doubt you’re killing anyone these days.” 

“Animals love me and that one hurt, don’t use my feelings against me. Don’t you remember when you cried because you thought I was ignoring you last year?” Her face dropped as she coughed into her shirt, trying to hide the red splotches. “I was literally sick for three days and you came to my apartment with food because you thought I hated you. What was it you said? Something about not being allowed to hate you if you fed me.” 

“We don’t talk about junior year, I was going through it.” Her voice was tight, but I could tell she was amused. “It’s almost 6 o’clock, you should text Yoonjin and tell her that you’re not abandoning her tonight.” She slides my bag towards me and lets me scoot past her out of the booth. 

“Yoonjin and I will be by later to walk you back to your apartment around 9:30. Sound good?” My legs wiggle as I try and get a feeling back into them from sitting so long. When I stand there longer than normal, her eyes flash up as she nods and waves her hand at me to leave. 

To: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

You wanna meet outside the commons tonight or walk over together?

From: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

WAHH 

YOU”RE COMMING? No more awkwardly standing in the back by myself!?!?!? :)))))))

[crying egg dog.pdf]

let’s meet in the the commons

To: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

7? By the double doors upstairs?

From: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

No, no, no my friend come ASAP. We have much to discuss.

To: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

Uh okay???? See you in like 10 minutes I guess??? 

From: Yoonjin the Trash Bin

See you! <3

_______________________________________________________________________

“You actually did come.” Yoonjin’s hand reaches out and pinches my arm before she settles back against the wall. “I thought for sure your text was all some weird daydream I had conjured up.”

“Chaebin convinced me that our friendship was on the line if I left you alone at another workshop for the third week in a row.” My bag landed on the ground as I slide down next to Yoonjin. Her hair, newly cut and dyed to a short choppy greyish purple bob, was still something I needed to get used to. Yoonjin had failed her midterm last week and as a result decided that her hair would rejuvenate her life and, thus, her will to study. I still don’t think she’s bought her textbooks for this semester yet, but that’s not my business. 

“As she should! It was your idea to start coming to these dance things, and you left me!” Despite her anger, she still turned her smoothie toward me as an offering. “I look like a loose limbed monkey in there. At least with you there, you explain the steps to me.” I choke on the smoothie a little bit, as she crosses her arms.

“Loose limbed monkey? Yoon, you look fine! These workshops are meant for people who don’t have dance experience. It was your idea to try dancing, I just found a place to do it” Her face contorts as she sips on her smoothie again, shaking it to mix it up and get some frustration out. 

“It wouldn’t be so bad if people like you or Jeong-fucking-guk didn’t kept coming. It’s not fair to suck and then have to watch you two just like magically do it.” Her head gets thrown back with a thud as she grunts. Immediately I laugh and rub the back of her head in oder to soothe the soon to be ache. 

“I can go if you want since you seem to not want me or Jeongguk here apparently.” Her eyes dart over to me in the most non threatening but threatening way possible for someone like her. “Okay, so I’ll stay. Make your mind up Yoonjin, I can’t keep playing these games with you.” I click my tongue against my teeth as she smacks my thigh closest to her. “You said something about Jeongguk coming right? Since when does he come out to these things? I thought he was a dance and choreography minor? Shouldn’t he be with the big dogs or something in like a real class dancing?” 

Yoonjin hums, offering me the rest of her smoothie. It’s a green looking health smoothie from a self proclaimed health bar down the street. It’s for sure my favorite, and definitely not her’s, so I take it and nudge her as a thanks. “That’s the thing, I didn’t even know he went to these things. Usually I just hang out with you and everyone else who hides in the back with me, but last week he came up to me and asked if you were still coming.” I raise my eyebrows in surprise and nod for her to continue. “I told him you’ve been busy and he kinda just nodded and shuffled away. He did tell me to tell you to take it easy though.” “Were you ever planning on telling me that a boy approached you about me?” 

“I'm telling you now and that’s all that matters. Besides, I thought you swore off men after the mishap freshman year with that one Tinder date.” 

Immediately my face heats up, and I grimace at the memory. “We don’t talk about that for a good reason, you brat.” If she’s mad I called her a brat, her smug smile doesn’t show it. I go to open my mouth and further yell at her for bringing up the traumatizing story when a pair of black heavy boots skids to a stop by my stretched out legs. 

Okay, so here's the thing about Jeon Jeongguk . He is terrifyingly good looking. So much so that looking at him hurts, like physically hurts. Jeon Jeongguk could punch me in the face and I would say thank you for the attention and bow before passing out. Okay, that’s perhaps way too far but he is attractive and built. God, is he built. And he’s not even an asshole about it! Most guys who exercise thrive on showing off their bodies and flaunting their muscles. Not Jeon Jeongguk , though., Nope! Jeongguk wears sweaters and button ups that make him resemble a Korean version of Mr. Rogers. All smiles and kind eyes with a heart of gold. Men like Jeongguk are the reason I have heart issues and top notch acting skills. 

“You’re back!” My eyes blink a few times at Jeongguk before I register that he's looking at and me actually speaking. When I don’t say anything Jeongguk fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt and looks at Yoonjin before letting out a cough. He speaks a little calmer now, more airy and rushed. “Yoonjin said you’ve been busy and I was worried you weren’t gonna come back ‘til next semester. Not that I worried about you or like not not worried about you, but uh…” He sputtered a little and lets out a small huff of air before ruffling his hair back. My lips pressed together as I swing from internally swooning over his cuteness to the attractiveness of him pushing his hair back. “It’s good so see you back. Hobi hyung, says it's good to have some experienced people in the class to encourage and help beginners.”

“Is that why you keep coming too?” 

Maybe he doesn’t expect my question or for me answer him at all, but he blinks a little too hard and shyly looks over my shoulder rather than my face. It’s cute and maybe it makes a smile break out on my face. Just maybe though. “Yes! Hobi-hyung asked me to help him since he can’t uh ya know help everyone at once.” He doesn’t sound too sure of himself, but I let it go seeing as this is our first comprehensible conversation. 

“That’s sweet of you to help your hyung for free. Does Hoseok-shi think I’m there to do the same? I feel a little bad missing the past two weeks if you’ve been doing it all by yourself.” I frown and pinch my eyebrows a little tighter, looking the direction of the doors. Should I apologize? Yoonjin beside me, I can tell, has grown more and more interested in our conversation as she undoubtedly is texting our group-chat with Chaebin about what's happening. She nudges me to focus when the conversation stalls a little. The nerve of her, I swear.

Jeongguk , getting redder and slightly more panicky, shakes his head no a little too roughly. His hair looks a little messed up, and I nearly squeal with the need to fix the adorable mess that he is right now. Outside, however, I just smile softly and encourage him to explain. “Hobi-hyung and I are okay, you’re just like an added bonus to class cause you know you obvious have some experience with your technic and seem to pick up the dances quickly.” It’s a little rushed, but I think I make out everything he’s saying.

“Are you trying to say I’m a good dancer Jeongguk ?” It’s meant to be lighthearted and playful, but Jeongguk physically widens his eyes and looks everywhere, but in my direction for a few seconds before he stops trying to voice anything out just nods. My hands clasp in my lap as a I suppress a smile and will the flush to disappear from my cheeks. “Thanks, you dance really well too. I can see why you’re studying dance.” 

Jeongguk whispers the faintest, “Thank you,” before shoving his thumb in the direction of the door indicating that he’s gonna help them set up for the workshop. I wave goodbye and watch as he does the same and dashes behind the door. Now that he’s gone, I can breathe a little easier. That was probably the weirdest experience I’ve had today, or this week for that matter. Pretty people don’t just go up to me and talk, let alone me of all people. And when I say pretty people, I mean pretty people like Jeongguk and his pretty posse of friends.  Jeongguk and his hyungs are just uncommonly so pretty and somehow together all the time. Even now Jeongguk is inside with Jung Hoseok, a graduate student who hosts the beginner dance workshops on Thursday. The fact that  Jeongguk even talked to me, or asked about me last is enough to twist my insides a little. Normal people talk to people all of the time, but  Jeongguk was not normal and his hyungs are not normal. I mean they are, but they project this ethereal aura that just intimidates everyone. So, why for the love of God was Jeon Jeongguk just talking to me?

“Are we gonna talk about what just happened or are you gonna keep staring at the door?”

“Shut up, I'm trying to process everything.”

[mcrmadness]

Madness draws: Behind the Scenes of the Bela/Farin: “Widumihei” comic.

A few months ago I posted here this comic:

CLICK HERE for the original post about that comic where you can see it in better and bigger size, and also reblog it ;)

And this post is just a deep dive into how I plan, do and draw my comics.

Let’s start with sketchbook things...

So every comic needs a story, right? My comics usually are born from either some dialogue I imagine in my head or by an impulsive inspiration that happens when I see something or talk with people and a random idea is triggered. I’m very good at coming up with new ideas solely based on just one word or so which is why I often ask people if they have anything they would want to see/read because I suck at coming up ideas on my own. Or I do get ideas, but not as often as I’d want to.

This particular idea was very old and I have tried but I cannot find the piece that was my inspiration but it was in some of my old German books because I remember laughing at it with either my brother or even with the German teacher in 2011 or 2012. I was only able to find my first “sketch” of the story:

This is in the notebook I used for writing down some comic ideas and even had one comic in it, plus it’s also my fanfiction writing notebook. It has no date but I know for sure it was either 2011 or 2012 because that’s when I did my last Bela/Farin comic and pretty much started my (unintentional) 6 year pause from drawing altogether.

I have always been trilingual when I do these plans for my comics, often writing the “narration” in Finnish and the dialog either in English or German because I just cannot imagine them to speaking Finnish. The translation of that text goes as:

COMIC (sarjis = sarjakuva = comic book in Finnish)

1. The phone is ringing. 2. F: “Widumihei?!” B: ? 3. B: “Farin wtf?” 4. Farin walks from another room. 5. B: “Widumihei?” 6. F: “It means, “will you marry me?”“ 7. B: *wtf* REPLAY:

1. Bela is sitting/laying somewhere. 2. The phone is ringing. Reached with his hand? 3. Looks at the phone, “wtf?”, a thought: “von Jan: Widumihei?!” 4. Bela: “Farin?” / “Jan?” 5. F comes from another room, looks in from behind the door frame or something. B: “Widumihei?” 6. F: “Widumihei: “WIllst DU MIch HEiraten”“ 7. B: “WTF”

So when I then started to draw these comics again in 2018, I kept thinking about this one too and still wanted to draw it one day. If you have read the finished comic, you may notice something different in the old plot versus new: I switched Bela’s and Farin’s roles. Back then I didn’t know too much yet but over the years I have learnt much much more about them and I just figured that asking to marry him even as a joke would be too much for Farin and that it would fit Bela’s persona much much better.

***

I had a bit of problems with getting started with this one, mainly because the last times I drew a dä comic was in June 2020, in April 2020 and before those in October 2019. Because of so long time between the comics, I just always forgot about my methods and in which order I do things and what works for me the best. So every time I started to work on a comic, I had to start completely over because all I had was blank paper and I somehow needed to get my thoughts in order and out of my head, into a physical form aka as text and images on the paper, and it’s easier said than done.

So pardon me but from this on the text is going to get a little bit confusing for a little while from now on - but it’s also a very good look over how the life with my suspected ADHD be like sometimes...

I started working on the plot once again to my sketchbook... I think it was somewhere in the beginning of 2020. Because the next idea there is from the summer. This is what the plot looked like at that point - here I had already switched their roles:

Shortly, the texts go: 1. Farin is reading a book. 2. A phone makes a noise. 3. (Farin) looks at it/read the message. / 6. B appears into the doorway. / 11. F spits out the tea.

And underneath it you can see one of the stick figure storyboards I often do in order to kinda see the text in pictures better, and I will write down or draw important aspects like expressions (Farin’s eyebrows) or things like *facepalm’* or *eyeroll* so that I remember to add them.

Next I was struggling with the era. It needed to be an era with the old mobile phones with SMS options but still not too early because I feel that Farin would have not been the first in line to buy a brand new technology object, especially not when it’s a phone. I was even googling when did Germany get their first mobile phone - I remember I got my first phone aka Nokia 5510 in 2000 or 2001 after my mom got a new one and gave her old one to me, so the story shouldn’t happen too many years before the Millenium.

Originally I planned 1997 for that - I needed to think about that based on their styles because shorter hair is harder to draw. Here’s me trying out some hairs and how they’re to draw and which era would suit my needs the best. I actually find the text hilarious altho it’s mine but this is what it’s in English:

Time period -> 1996-1997? 1998 I’ve never drawn 1999 is not that much fun to draw 2000 is already a bit too late? Bela not that much fun to draw. -2001 moustaches are not fun to draw?

I think I was struggling with my thoughts because the next thing in that sketchbook is yet another storyboard:

Or actually I think this was just to see how many sheets I’d need and how many panels I could fit on one sheet.

Anyhow, I then did other things for some time before I got back to this project this year. Including finishing with the sketchbook I had been using since 2010 (and the half of it since 2018!) and I had to get myself a new one. So when I started to think about this comic again, one night I was just thinking about some Bela/Farin scenarios as usual and suddenly I just felt that I NEED to do the comic in the 1998 style!!! So suddenly we jump from the original 1997 idea to the new era, only because of the colors. 

So asap I grabbed my sketchbook and started to look for the proper colors for the hairs:

This one I posted here before too as I was struggling a lot and just felt that I didn’t know how to draw, again. Sometimes when I feel like that, I start drawing with my non-dominant aka left hand because it doesn’t have all that in muscle memory so drawing and writing with it feels more free and it feels almost like pressing a refresh button in my brain. Suddenly the right one know again how to draw because left isn’t too well in control. The below part of the image is done completely with the left hand, including the coloring.

And because I had now a new sketchbook, I somehow couldn’t... deal with the plot and plans being in a different sketchbook than everything else so I had write the plot/dialog AGAIN, into this new sketchbook, along with the storyboards and everything:

Translations: kirja = book, puhelin = phone, oviaukossa = in the doorway, teet suusta = tea(s) out of a/the mouth. “Puhelin zoom” just means “close up to the phone screen” in Madness.

You can also see that I found out that I don’t need to do the stick figure storyboards to imitate a sheet when I can just draw this rectangle and smaller rectangles inside of it and write there numbers to match the things in the dialog to make it much easier for me to plan the pages. And here’s also a small easter egg: there’s 13 panels overall in this comic :D I almost did 12 but then felt that no, I really need to do 13 because, you know, the hairs, the era, the album title. And also because I like the number so much lmao.

So from there we get to the second storyboard which is not just stick figures anymore but just me planning how I want the panels to look like. To get the imagery of the rooms and facial expressions etc. out onto the paper so that I can see them in real life instead of my shady imagination that sometimes isn’t as vivid as what I could be.

Also have you ever tried to draw a beach chair? It’s more difficult than you’d think:

I tried to draw the same thing from the same reference photos so many times and still I always felt like I was trying to draw that impossible triangle or some other illusion image. And it just went on and on here:

Originally I also had planned the second panel to be a close up of the phone so that Farin’s face would be left at the background from the frog perspective. That’s what I was trying to with that weird-ass face on the left but turned out that I have never drawn these characters from such angle and I just... couldn’t see it in my head clearly enough to be able to draw it. So I dismissed that idea and that’s why the angle changed from a phone close-up to a side view to the room and at Farin.

As I was in the middle of planning the second page, I suddenly wasn’t happy with my original plot anymore. I wasn’t sure if it would work and needed to think about it one more time. So I wrote two other dialogs here, along with a storyboards for them both. I ended up choosing B from those two options eventually.

I don’t remember anymore if I had already done the first sketch of the comics or not but at some point I just felt that I no longer knew how to draw in my style. Sometimes you just draw and learn wrong things and wrong methods that you get used to and then you have to take a break and actually do a little bit of studying over your own style to find again the way how you want to draw, and get rid of the bad habits and find the good ones again. In my case it was to draw the eyes way way too big when they originally never were THAT big, so I had to learn how to draw them small and normal again. That’s why I did these, as I really needed to pay attention to the faces and remember how to draw them again:

The front-side views were another big readong for this “study” because I have drawn that perspective only once or twice before and I needed to figure out how I want to draw that. Also, I don’t know if it’s just me but for some reason the front-side Farin reminds me of one of the parent characters from this cartoon called The Rugrats which I watched as a kid. It was totally unintentional, but you can google The Rugrats if you don’t know how the charatcers looked like in the cartoon.

The things below are just me testing something. The red Farins were just to test how the colored pencils work on each other and how the fineliners work with the colored pencils, and which way is the better way to do the shading. And the red colored pencil was the only one available at the time so that had to do.

A little bit about the heads btw: You might notice some difference between the left and right faces. It’s because I have always, always struggled with drawing anything that is looking at right. Most of the animal portraits and all I have drawn so that they look at left because I just find it so much easier to draw. I think with comics it’s because I always start with the eye (and the eyebrows if I don’t forget it) and then do the forehead, nose, mouth and chin, and after that I either continue from the hair (from the front) or do the ear first. But when I am drawing them to look at right, I have to basically draw the mirror image and starting from the hair is not the key because it can easily mess up with the perspectives. I still usually draw everything in the same order but it really is difficult because I’m doing a mirror image and my own hand is on the way, too. Basically I’m drawing from right to left instead of left to right! (I think I should try drawing those with my left hand, then...)

And from here we get to the first sketch of the comic. From here on the images are from my phone’s camera so they are sometimes illegally bad but no can do, I again didn’t think I’d post these to anywhere:

Here you can see I was mainly just focusing on the shapes and the space inside those panels. Just trying to see the perspective and how everything is. The only thing that I drew more precisely was the third panel, with the hand and phone. I had quite a nice memory of old phones in my head but I still googled for some reference photos of Nokia 5110 phones as that was my first phone (as I mentioned earlier), and I also happened to have some of my other old phones on the table nearby so I took my own hand reference photos too:

They always say there’s a little bit of the artist in their art and this one literally has that - “Farin’s” hand is actually my hand! :D And I think the size is kinda on point too because this phone was like 2-3 times smaller than Nokia 5110 and I have small hands, and I believe Farin must have much bigger hands, so the 5110 probably would have looked about the same size in his hand.

After the first sketch, the next step was then - the second sketch:

I also wanted to add more action to the panels so that it’s interesting to look at and not just basically the same panel over and over again with just different speech bubbles, so I came up with the idea of Farin spitting out his tea not being as cartoony as it could be and that he would have to actually clean it up instead of just leaving it there just because in cartoons/comics everything is possible. That way I got more depth into the panels and it was also interesting for me to draw because I drew lots of new postures I have never drawn before, and I’m surprised how well it went despite me not even looking for any kind of reference photos! The only things I used reference photos for were the beach chair, and the phone in a hand. (I have actually always been quite good at drawing 3D objects and spaces, especially if they are rectangular.)

So yeah, this is the phase where everything is then finished with pencil and what follows next is drawing the lines with fineliners - I use Sakura Pigma Micron fineliners for everything else, and black Promarker for doing the lines for the panels (and also if I need bigger pitch black areas done).

Here are the panel lines done but I only had a photo of this first sheet.

And here are both sheets with the finelining done and all pencil marks etc. erased. I really like this part because it looks so clean when all those sketch marks are gone. It’s also crazy to think I literally spend hours drawing something in pencil only to erase it all away later :D

And here’s one photo of the coloring process, the first one has only the base colors done but none of the shadows yet (apart from the shirts), and the second one has some of the shadows done but not everything yet.

Usually after coloring, I will then go through everything with the fineliners one more time to make sure all the lines are dark enough as it just gives everything the finished yet a bit “sketchy” look that what I really like with my comics. The actual last detail is always adding my signature along with the date or year.

And here’s the finished comic one more time for comparison:

Don’t forget to check and reblog the actual post about this comic if you read this post all the way here. I’d appreaciate that a lot since art and artist on Tumblr are not really that much appreciated.

[newtafterdark]

Taste of Metal - Chapter 7: Between Pancakes and Digital Islands

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26157634/chapters/65487961

Summary: What if the overwhelming VR experience Gordon went through, had a deeper purpose than just being a simple simulation & a freelance debug job for him?

But most importantly- what if Gordon Freeman listens to Metal & used to be in a band? aka. the “Metalhead Gordon AU”

- - -

Gordon slowly came back to consciousness after several hours of dreamless sleep, searching for his glasses around him with barely opened eyes. 

 He felt his sore muscles protest, screaming at him to just lay still on the futon beside Tommy, Darnold and Sunkist… and honestly, that sounded very inviting. 

 His hand finally found his glasses and he put them on with a slightly shaky hand.

 Yeah, at this point there was no denying that his body was slowly catching up with the stress, now that he was no longer in imminent danger.

 He propped himself slowly up with his intact arm, letting himself wake up at a casual pace as he looked around the room, checking on his new roommates. 

Tommy, Darnold and Sunkist were still out cold, cosy among kicked-off blankets and pillows, Tommy snoring away softly as he laid there, limbs spread out like a starfish and Sunkist curled up at his side.

 Darold was laying half on top of Tommy, one arm resting gently on the man’s chest, his breathing calm and even. 

 Gordon tilted his head at them, smiling. The domesticity of the whole situation was a relief to his nerves. That, and Tommy and Darnold just looked absolutely adorable like this. Gordon shook his head, chuckling at himself and slowly got up to his feet.

 “Yo, you up!”

 Gordon, to his own surprise, didn’t jump at the noise of Benrey’s voice. What did catch him by surprise though, was where the voice was coming from-

 “Yeah, Gordon's up… and you… uh… you’re okay up there?”

 Benrey was sitting on top of Gordon’s storage closet, looking up from something in his hands.

 “Yeah. Cool cosy watch spot. Got a pillow up here and everything--”

 Squinting up with his still tired eyes, Gordon finally made out the thing Benrey was now showing to him.

 “Is that my Nintendo Switch?”

 “Whuh? Nah, that’s mine.”

 “Benrey… just don’t delete my save files, okay?”

 “...It’s really not yours, bro. Here, looksie-”

 With that, he bent down, showing Gordon… an extremely scratched-up Switch with several glittery Lisa-Frank stickers on the back. Huh. 

 “Oh... Sorry, man. I really thought-”

 Benrey just waved him off and leaned back up, his back resting against the wall above the closet.

 “All good. Wanna have my friend code?”

 Gordon thought it over. While he still felt a smidge of unease around Benrey… well, it couldn’t hurt trying to bond over video games with the guy while they were all living in Gordon’s apartment for the time being. 

 “Yeah, sure! Just want to check on everyone and get some breakfast ready before I do anything else. You… uh, stay cosy up… there?”

 “Will do, Gordo.”, Benrey assured him, giving him a mock salute. 

 Gordon let out a snort at the sight and slowly made his way to the kitchen to check on the remaining members of the Science Team… and Tommy’s dad. 

 “Hello, Gordon!”

 Gordon yawned and gave the trio at his small kitchen table an apologetic smile. 

 “Mornin’. Sorry, am still exhausted as fuck… you all good though? Sleep-wise and all that?”

 “Better than any night at Black Mesa… but Let me tell you- you sound like a damn foghorn when you snore!”, Bubby teased with a smirk, his feet resting on the table and his arms behind his head.

 Gordon turned red at that.

 “It’s n-not that bad!”

 “Oh, it absolutely was, my good bitch!”, Coomer assured him with a smile- “But in a way we could all appreciate!”

 “It was almost… like a small concert, Mr Freeman. Between you, Tommy and... Benrey.”, G-Man added, smirking a bit before he took a sip from the mug in his hand.

 Gordon blinked at the sight of the mug, his thought process derailed from thinking about his snore habits back to what he wanted to do the kitchen in the first place-

 “Oh shit! Breakfast! Do I even-”

 “I took it upon myself to refill your kitchen with… appropriate nutrients. If you… stand by wanting to house everyone for a while, I assumed it would make the first few days easier on you.” said G-Man, setting his mug down.

 “Y-Yeah… it- it absolutely does! Thanks, man!”, Gordon let out a flustered chuckle.

 “I do want to... let you know though that I will not remain here. While I… appreciate your eager hospitality… I have... business to take care of. Regarding the state of Black Mesa… and what my employers were able to assess since our departure from the facility yesterday. I… do not like being “out of the loop”, so to speak. ”

 G-Man reached down the side of his chair and pulled his suitcase up, setting it on the table and opening it, facing it away from everyone but himself. He pulled out a few papers and handed them to Gordon. 

 “While I am gone… for the time being… do give this to Tommy. He will know what to do with it.”

 Gordon looked down and scanned the pages, Bubby and Coomer leaning over curiously to catch a glance as well.-

 “...”Approval for ”Pocket-Dimension Expansion of Limited Space”? What-”

 But when Gordon looked up, G-Man was gone. 

 “What a show-off.”, Bubby huffed and crossed his arms. 

 “Now Bubby, everyone should be allowed to show off their powers now and then!”, Coomer reminded the man, then stood up- “Now, do you need any assistance with preparing a hearty breakfast, Gordon?”

 “Huh?... Oh! Oh yeah!”

 Setting the papers on the table, for now, Gordon moved over to the fridge to assess what they had to work with-

 “Man… okay, Wow. G-Man didn’t fuck around… Yeah, we can go all out with a proper big breakfast, if you guys want!”

 Bubby made his way over to look over Gordon’s shoulder and let out a huff-

 “I don’t even know what half of all this junk is, but I guess we have enough to come up with something edible.”

 Gordon rolled his eyes at that, reaching inside the fridge to grab a carton of milk and handing it over to Bubby. 

 “Less doubting our cooking abilities, more helping me decide what we want to make, jackass.”, He said with a grin, sticking out a tongue at Bubby, then letting out a laugh. 

 Coomer beamed instantly at Gordon’s playful retort, while Bubby was standing frozen in place for a second in shock but eventually allowed himself a chuckle.

 - - -

 Several minutes later, the trio was joined by Benrey… who admitted outright that the smell from the kitchen had been too good to ignore. 

 Gordon puffed up his chest a bit in pride, while he was in the process of frying pancakes… then smirked as an idea came to mind. 

 “Hey, Benrey?”

 “Yo?”, the guard looked over in slight confusion.

 “Wanna see a gamer strat?”

 “Whu-”

 Gordon lifted the pan from the stovetop, his grip on its handle firm- and made a short forward-backwards movement, angled slightly up- which made the pancake flip in the air before it landed perfectly in Gordon’s pan once more. 

 …

 There was absolute silence in the kitchen for a moment.

 …

 “YOOOOOOOOOOOO~!!!”

 “WHAT THE FUCK?!”

 “I didn’t know you were trained in advanced cooking techniques, Gordon!”

 Gordon looked over his shoulder with a bright smile.

 “I taught myself a bunch of them actually! Mostly from watching friends and family and then trying them on my own until I got them right! In a way… I guess I trained myself for this moment.“, Gordon mused, humming slightly as he adjusted where he was resting his still sensitive stump against his body. 

 Before any of the others got a word in, he went on-

 “... and for previous moments like this. Ain’t the first time I only had one working hand to work with! I broke this arm so many times in the past, at this point I am almost used to barely using it....”

 Gordon finished setting the last pancake on the stack, set the pan down and turned around.

 “Still… I am already thankful that you want to make me a prosthetic, Dr Coomer.”

 The older scientist pulled Gordon into a gentle side hug.

 “Again, it’s the least I can do, Gordon. Bubby also offered his assistance! Not to mention Benrey!”

 Gordon blinked and looked over to the two people in question.

 “R-Really?”

 “Look, we were dumb shits who didn’t know the bastards would pull this bullshit on your physical body. Doesn’t make it better… but you know. Already said my two cents about it last night… but yes, the least I can do is help build a hand that is even better than your original one.”, Bubby said over cutting strawberries and bananas into slices.

 Gordon accepted that with a grateful nod before he felt a slight pull on his t-shirt sleeve. Looking down, he was faced with Benrey, hands still holding his Switch and looking anywhere but at Gordon.

 “You good, Benrey?” The man before him remained silent, but then lifted his Switch up for Gordon to see.

 “Look, please? While I try to pick the right words? ”

 “Y-Yeah…? Sure, man…”, Gordon said as he gently took the console from Benrey, leaning it against his stump so he wouldn’t drop it and using his intact hand to move the joystick and push buttons. 

 It turned out Benrey was playing “Animal Crossing: New Horizons”. Gordon had the game himself but hadn’t had the time to play it properly between the recurring jobs from Black Mesa and other freelance programming work. 

 He looked at the scratched screen, the game already running and the player character, Benrey’s little villager, standing in what appeared to be a huge field of blue windflowers… and trees that had star pieces handing on them. Of course, Benrey would be the type to mod his game. 

 While Gordon moved the character through the flowers, occasionally stopping at a few furniture items Benrey had placed- he had a full rainbow squad of monster statues lining the left beach- Benrey began to talk.

 “The… uh… the selling you out to the boots thing was a dumb strat. Dummy brain didn’t think anything would happen IRL. Thought it would be a funny moment in the game, ‘cause it would just respawn… but then it didn’t. A-And then Coolatta Senior found you after we got out and-”

 Slowly, the blue windflowers made way for pink tulips… only to be followed up by orange roses. A sea of them stretching over the island… this must have taken Benrey hours to create...

 “- you know I like being an ass. it’s FUN! But only when… w-when we can laugh about it? And we can’t laugh about this… so… shit’s fucked. You don’t gotta be all like “I don’t hold that shit against you”. I know you already said that but… uh… I’m still sorry. Was real shitty of me… so I’m gonna help the doc’s with your new hand.”

 Finally, Gordon reached the end of the island, where he found two big star pieces sitting in the sand… with a sign behind them, reading- [> Restart?].

 He looked up, brows slightly furrowed. After a moment of silence, he set the console gently down on the table. 

 Benrey looked increasingly nervous, until-

 “Benrey.”

 “y-yeah, what’s up, br- HURGH!”

 Gordon had pulled the slightly smaller man into the tightest hug he could muster and Benrey positively melted into the touch, wrapping his arms around Gordon carefully in return. He got an assuring squeeze and found the confidence to give a slight squeeze back, relieved Sweet Voice spilling freely out of his mouth, earning him a few chuckles from Coomer and Bubby in the background.

 Gordon eventually pulled back, his hand remaining on Benrey’s shoulder, said man instantly hiccuping out a bright pink orb at how the taller man was looking at him. 

 Benrey had never been good at reading human expressions… but whatever Gordon’s face was doing, it made him feel warm and safe inside. 

 “Alright, you one-of-a-kind cryptic bastard-”

 Gordon took a step back and extended his hand towards Benrey. 

 “Gordon Martini Freeman. Human. Graduated MIT with a doctorate in Theoretical Physics and currently a Freelance Programmer.”

 Benrey didn’t even hesitate a millisecond as he grabbed Gordon’s hand-

 “Benrey Lover. Xenian. Black Mesa Security Guard and now...uh... full-time gamer?”

 Gordon smiled brightly at him.

 “Nice to meet you, Benrey.”

 Benrey nodded, a hint of what could be described as their first proper smile on their lips.

 “Samesies, Gordon.”

[writerfangirlbooks]

You-Know-Who

Crowley x Reader

Prompt: You sold your soul, but continued to be human after ten years due to helping around Hell and being Crowley's assistant. You fell for each other, and boom came the rise of Lucifer, who forced you to be his new toy and assistant.

Originally a two-parter on my Wattpad book but condensed for one here!

Word Count: basically 4000.

Credit to gif owner!

"Won't you ride my white horse? What kind of bloody garbage is this?" Crowley demanded, his red eyes glowing hauntingly in the motel room. The only light was the sun that seeped through the blinds of the scratched windows. You had seen Crowley angry, of course, but he appeared ten times worse now. He was livid... and frightened.

"I don't know, Crowley," you responded, a bit of an edge weaseled its way into your voice. "He just gave me the papers to deliver to you."

You rubbed the side of your temple, exhausted. Lucifer had you working just less than twenty four hours a day. You were only human and needed sleep. Crowley noticed and his eyes flashed back to normal, softening instantly. He nodded and scanned through the packet again.

You knew the two of you were an odd pair; you sold your soul at twenty because you had lost almost all despair once your cat Marney died - she was the last family you had. You had been visiting a friend with Marney at fifteen when your parents and brother all died in a car wreck. So you found a demon and made your ten year deal, demanding and receiving your cat back. Once you died, you met the King of Hell to determine your fate. He thought your story was stupid, so he wanted to teach you a lesson and hired you to be his assistant, while also giving you your life back. A couple years passed, and you had fallen for Crowley.

Here you two were again, supposed to be on opposite sides. Crowley was on the run after Lucifer rose, decapitated his mother, took his throne, and forced you to be by his side. Of course you had tried to escape, with and without your lover's help, but Lucifer had managed to find your soul and kept a leash on it. You went where he went unless he summoned you to do his bidding. And his latest order just happened to be to find Crowley and deliver the letter, without knowing the intimate connection the two of you shared.

"This is practically written in gibberish. Look at this." He flipped to the third page and you were expecting something completely different. Your fingers touched as you held the papers, trying to decipher a code. However, you quickly realized you recognized the words.

"Crowley," you released a small, genuine laugh, the first one in at least a month. "This is a song, from a few years ago, by Ozzy Osborne. It's called Mr. Crowley. It's supposed to be in the biblical sense. I don't know why he would give this to you. It doesn't seem threatening."

You both held the lyrics into the light to get a better look.

"Maybe not. But a song? Are you sure? About me? Why in Purgatory would someone do that, biblical or not?" Crowley asked, seeming flabbergasted, though more calm. His eyes danced to yours.

You smiled at him, glad for the few minutes to spend together. You didn't know when Lucifer would call you back. You knew that once he found out about your relationship, he would never allow you to be the one to communicate with Crowley again.

"There's a lot of things in Ozzy's mind that I'm not sure about. Look, I know we aren't going to have much time today. He's been driv-" You were interrupted.

"He as in Lucifer?" Crowley asked for confirmation, setting the papers on the tangled and messy bed, though it wasn't like that when you first came in.

You gasped, wanting to smack your forehead. How could you not have told him! Crowley heard and turned towards you, curious of your reaction.

"Don't say his name! He can hear!" You started freaking out by breathing rapidly and shaking your hands wildly. Crowley immediately took your hands to calm you. He engulfed you in a hug. This wasn't something Crowley normally did. During the day, he wasn't a very physical person, but he knew you needed comfort.

"Y/N, don't worry. It's alright. You are safe for now," Crowley assured you. You took a breath and nodded into his shoulder. When you were certain that He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named was not going to be in the motel room momentarily, you stepped away. You prayed that he wouldn't hear, but knew that wouldn't work. God had been incognito for years.

"Pull yourself together. You know we don't have much time. Don't try to figure out the song right now. I'll worry about that later, darling. Y/N, tell me what he's been up to. Has Lu- has he hurt you?" Crowley asked, setting you down on the edge of the bed.

Lucifer was the devil. He would hurt, maim, kill, torture. He would do anything to get what he wants. He had hurt you no less than five times within the week so far. Mostly minor cuts, except for when Lucifer almost slit your throat when the waiter at Starbucks gave you the wrong type of coffee. He was a bit high maintenance. Then there were the times he had shoved his tongue down your throat and you looked at your knees.

"Nothing that can't be fixed with time." You tried to sound brave, but Crowley could see right through you. You could feel his protectiveness enter the room as he sat next to you, taking your hand. It would usually make you smile, seeing the one drop of humanity left in him, considering it was always directed to you. Now, you wished it weren't there. The Crowley you first met wouldn't have pity on you.

"What did that damned devil do to you?" Crowley asked, his fingers tightening in yours.

Instead of his usual suit, the former King of Hell wore a pair of dark jeans, khaki button down, and boots. You were in nothing better, torn jeans, old Converse, a tank top under a high school sweatshirt. It was what you were wearing when Lucifer rose from Hell and took you. You had been able to wash the outfit and yourself only three times so far with your little spare time.

You leaned the top of your head onto his shoulder, thinking of what the right answer should be. You had barely begun to speak when your eyes started to water. Your stomach churned. If you weren't already sitting, your knees would have buckled. There was only one person that could emit so much terror into a person.

"Crowley, run." You barely squeaked out with a low grunt, clutching his hand.

Even if he had had time, you knew he wouldn't have disappeared. Not without you, and the both of you knew Lucifer could find you quicker than he could snap his fingers. There he was. The powerful entity stood casually in the center of the room, arms crossed impatiently. His eyes were dark, yet somehow playful. His pout was anything but sympathetic. It stood more along the lines of a cruel sneer.

"Well, what's going on here?" He feigned thoughtfulness before bursting into a surprised I-Know-Now face. "Oh! Let me take a guess. You two were planning to run off! I probably should have seen this sooner, but I never really imagined that Y/N would stoop to an ex-crossroads demon. What a surprise! Now, I suppose I'll have to make an actual demon do my deals... Y/N, sweetie, you were doing great. I'll keep you, but for something else entirely."

You wanted to puke. Your cheeks were bright red. You felt nauseous. Just your everyday feelings next to just Lucifer. When he spoke, all attention was drawn to him. Not only did he crave it, but it was natural. He was a warrior angel. He was absolutely ruthless.

"If you think you can lay one measly-" Crowley began speaking, furious and fast. He immediately stood up from the bed. You remained there for a second longer, staring up at the one you loved, knowing this would be one of the last times you would see him in a long time. Finally, you stood, knowing hope has all but slapped you in the face.

"You can't stop me, Crowley," Lucifer said, his voice lowered, almost soothing. "And neither can you, Y/N. Hell's not the most entertaining, but it will work for now."

He eyed the two of you, your fingers itching to wrap around Crowley's. The tension grew as chills ran up your arms, which was soon replaced by a burning heat. You staggered back a step with wide eyes. The sensation began at your finger tips, making it way slowly and menacingly up your arms, down your torso, and swiveled around the bottom half of your body. You released a groan as it hit your pelvis and stumbled into the nightstand. You felt a shadow cross over your front protectively. Your vision was starting to fade. Your head throbbed as it landed harsh against thin weaves of string, somehow formed into carpet.

"What have you done," hissed Crowley. As your vision blurred, the last thing you remembered was seeing the former King of Hell, the last person you loved, standing above you.

<->

When you came to, you were on the bed again. You felt sore all over. Finally, you recalled the latest turn of events, which were not pleasant ones. Except for the last that you remember. Crowley.

His name prompted you to sit upwards, which was a horrible idea. Your headache was still there and more painful than it had been. You let your head fall back against the pillow and groaned. This was not going to work.

"Y/N? Darling, are you awake?" A British voice rang out.

"Mhm," you mumbled, still trying to sit up. You felt a cold hand move into yours, which was surprisingly sweaty. You blinked twice, still dazed. Crowley hovered over you.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" His voice came out, low, almost nervous. He looked at you for barely a second. Immediately, you felt that something was off.

"I feel fine, actually." You mustered up a convincing smile. "What happened?"

"Well, Lucifer was strangling you. I attacked him and he evaporated, leaving you," he announced simply.

"Really?" You slowly got out of the small motel bed. You sensed you were being watched, so you knew you had to be careful, and get Crowley back as soon as possible. As terrifying as it would be to know the truth, you needed it to form your plan.

"O-of course, darling. Why would I lie to you?" He stuttered. You turned to look and 'Crowley' flashed you a smile, one that you have never identified, but was still vaguely familiar on an opposite body.

"I know you wouldn't," you said sweetly. "Let me just get changed first."

"That's not necessary. We need to leave soon, before Lucifer catches up." Your suspicions grew more and more, almost turning to pure certainty with each dreaded word.

"I'm sure we have time," you replied nonchalantly, turning away as you tossed your sweatshirt and tank top over your head at once.

Hearing a quick intake of breath behind you, your heart rate increased. You deliberately turned so he could see your chest - what wasn't covered by the dirty bra. You opened the closet door, pretending to contemplate what to wear, when you were actually thinking of the easiest plan to threaten the devil.

However, you didn't hear him come up behind you.

-

You had been almost completely naked in front of the literal devil. Just another Tuesday. You felt bile in your throat as you took your time. Knowing that that particular vessel was Crowley's favorite, you wanted to save it for him. If he was even still alive.

Once you finished changing clothes, you stared into the closet for a minute longer, staring at your two knives. You couldn't go back to Hell without your king. Not only would the demons tear at you, so would Lucifer, in a much crueler manner. You had never been in the hunting life. You had no experience, just what Crowley taught you.

"You almost ready to go, sweetheart?" He couldn't be called a man. There wasn't a word to describe him. Just Devil. His voice spoke, using the voice you loved; the voice you listen to for hours; the voice that listened to you; the voice that was now possessed by Satan.

You wanted to catch him off guard. You knew Crowley's mannerisms, and saying sweetheart was not one of them. It belonged to someone else. Someone, whose heart was anything but sweet.

"What'd you say?" You tried sounding nonchalant, as if you had just not heard him speak. You felt slightly better now that you changed into cleaner, more presentable clothes, despite the nauseous feeling in your stomach.

"I asked if you were almost ready to leave, darling." Lucifer's voice was rougher than Crowley's. He didn't even try to sound appreciative, or like he actually cared about you. The way he used the true King of Hell's nickname for you ensured your hatred for him.

You walked over to him, as if nothing could possibly be wrong. You presented a sweet smile and set a hand on his shoulder, which was very stiff. You swallowed down bile and leaned up and kissed his cheek. "I just need a minute."

You had stepped away to grab your stuff, but a hand wrapped tightly around your wrists and pulled you back to him. You stared at the vessel, becoming frightened. Lucifer looked back, no emotion seeping through, before slamming his current meat suit's lips against yours, biting down. You nearly fell back from the force as his tongue entered your mouth. Damn, you would have loved to throw up right then - and proceed to run for your life.

"S-stop," you muttered, trying to tug away. One hand was gripped firmly where it was twenty seconds ago, creating a bruise. The other was creating another elsewhere - on the sensitive part of your waist, right on your hips. You could try to kick Lucifer, but you knew the way that vessel worked, so you also knew it wouldn't be easy to injure him without something major.

He continued to kiss you, roughly and passionless. You struggled to get away, murmuring for him to end whatever this was. His eyes darkened as you preceded to break away. You feared for the time he would continue to pretend to be Crowley. You were terrified now, that you wouldn't be strong enough. To save yourself. To get Crowley back.

"You can't tell me no," he said, his voice incredibly deep.

You hated yourself for not being able to out him, but you knew when you did you would surely be killed, and that death would be slow and dragged out, unlike the HellHound when they took you. You had to feign such ignorance, as if you would not be able to tell who Crowley is.

"C-Crowley. S-stop it, p-please." You cast your eyes down, stuttering for effect, as you stumbled away from Lucifer.

"P-p-please! C-Crowley! Oh, give me a break, would you, Y/N? This is too good!" Lucifer was laughing incredibly loud, and it appeared mocking was his go-to stance, as his voice returned to his own and true one. You were nearly trembling all over, too afraid to even close your eyes.

Instead of trying to think of a witty comeback or trying to get a weapon, you swiftly moved your hand out of his and punched him in the nose, before taking off. You swung open the door and started screaming, "FIRE!", as you ran as fast as you managed down the stairs, hearing people exit their own rooms.

"Y/N!" You heard your name screamed from the second floor, as you were nearly outside. People began to flood around you, unaware to the fact that there was no fire. Panting, you looked both ways before sprinting across the street, making your way to the one place you knew. An entrance to Hell.

< - >

The door was locked in the abandoned warehouse. You went around to the back, finding a smashed beer bottle and making a slit down your wrist and smearing it on the door knob. A trickle slipped into the keyhole and unlocked it. You opened the door to find darkness. Sliding your hand against the door, you flipped on the light switch and locked the door behind you.

Your eyes first identified the wooden shelves laced with traps, poisons, spell books, and notebooks. You stepped in, the door shutting and locking behind you. Taking a breath, you scammed for any threats before deciding you had found sanctuary. Still, there was no Crowley.

Looking around, you made your way into the hallway, searching the rooms. The first was the only room with internet access, along with the only computer, that was new... back in the nineties. You stopped in the entrance to the bedroom further back, examining the silky black sheets that looked as if they had never been used. They had, of course.

Recalling the only time you've ever been here, you sat in the middle of the floor, daydreaming now that you were finally away from the literal devil who was trying to kill you and may have possibly murdered the King of Hell, your boyfriend, though you didn't use labels.

This was your third mission away from Hell, within four months. Mr. Crowley had just turned you back to human about two weeks before. You had forgotten quite a bit, especially the sweet, thick smell of the air in fall, as the leaves began to change colors and it gets chillier, something you hadn't noticed in your three months as a demon.

Your boss wanted you to grab some items from his warehouse in the busy New York. You hadn't grown up here and no longer had demon senses, so you had to fine your way around the hard way. All he did was give you an address and that was that.

Now, you stood in the front of a large building with three locks on the door. Mr. Crowley had never told you anything about needing keys. The windows looked worse than glass, meaning they would be difficult to break into, though you were sure that he did not want you to hurt his warehouse in any way, only to find a safe way in and out.

So you walked around to the back of the building, not noticing the thuds your boots made on the pavement. Once again, you found a door, but after twisting the knob, it refused to open. You let out a sigh in frustration and looked around for clues. After attempting to kick down the door, the only effect was a leg in some pain.

"What. The. Heck," you grumbled, wishing you had your phone, so you could leave an angry message. But of course, your boss had it.

"Well, Y/N, are you just going to stand there all day or go inside?" The British voice said from behind you.

Turning around, you saw the King of Hell - your boss. He stood with his arms crossed, a few feet away. His black coat was snugged tightly around his shoulders. You could barely see his tie near the collar. You forgot about his attitude problem for a moment, staring at him; his recently trimmed beard, the dark, always demeaning eyes, black clothes. Damn it, you followed orders as a demon. Now you were gawking at a demon hundreds of years your senior, and fifteen years elder, if you went by what his meat suit looked like.

"I-it's locked," you stammered, feeling your cheeks turn red.

He let out an exaggerated sigh and rolled his eyes, propping out his hand to you. Your brow furrowed and you hesitantly set your hand on his. He pulled out a knife from his other pocket and your heart race increased in the cage. You let out a gasp in shock, drawing Crowley's eyes to yours.

"What? I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just showing you how to unlock the door," your boss defended impatiently.

Mr. Crowley made a small cut on the front of your wrist, barely drawing blood. You watched it trail down your hand, but he caught it before the blood could reach the ground. The King of Hell continued to hold your hand as he lead you back to the door. He paused, staring you down.

"Don't ever let your blood touch the ground. It is the most important thing about you, humans that is. Blood is the key."

Your boss turned back around, dragging you with him. He lifted your hand over the door and let the blood slide into the doorknob. There was a click and he went inside, checking for any threats. You followed numbly, covering your wrist.

"Do you understand? This won't be your last time here, no matter what happens," he said, moving around, checking the books.

"Y-yes, Mr. Crowley," you confirmed, feeling heat in your cheeks.

He cast you a look that made you freeze. When he completely faced you, you insides churned, but not in a horrible way. He stared at you for a moment longer than you knew appropriate, but neither looked away, until he blinked and picked up a book, shaking away whatever he was thinking.

"Call me Crowley, love. Mister sounds too official. Think of us as friends, or business partners, if you prefer," said the King of Hell.

He flipped through some pages, quickly scanning over the words in foreign. You stood, frozen in place. A demon, a ruler of hell - was asking you to treat him like an equal. You would have thought you were dirt on his shoes, but when he looked at you like that - it was definitely not like looking at dirt.

Business partners.

Equals.

Friends.

Love.

<->

That quickly changed, you knew. Within about twenty minutes, you were a little more intimate than business partners. You stretched your arms and legs, mind steel playing the day you realized your feelings for Crowley. Finally, you got up and shut the door behind you, walking the hall.

Abandoned warehouses were supposed not to be occupied, yet you still felt creeped out by the eerie silence. You made your way into the kitchen and looked for any foods that might not be expired. When you caught the first whiff of something, your stomach growled loudly.

That made you realized that you hadn't had anything to eat in at least one day, and haven't had an actual meal in about a month. You opened cabinet doors, searching for the smell. After about five minutes, you still couldn't identify the smell.

Instead, you went to the bathroom and pinned your hair into a ponytail, retrying twice until it looked decent and not like a rat's nest. You checked to see that the water worked before stripping out of the clothes you had changed into just two hours ago. You turned on the hot water in the bathtub, and plugged the hole, waiting for it to fill.

You went into the smaller bedroom, that held a fair of amount of your clothes from a few months ago, and started searching for something clean. You settled for a pair of black jeans, a red tunic, and a leather jacket - one you had thought you'd lost. You folded the items and set them on the counter, slowly dipping yourself for the bath, taking a breath, waiting to feel relaxed.

There was a loud bang and two male voices began shouting.

[lokispettigerr]

To Summon A Witcher: Chapter 2- Geralt x Reader NSFW Smut

Summary: Part 1 located on Masterlist. Reader lives and works in one of the most romantic cities in the US, Charleston, SC. However, because of the city’s colored past, romance isn’t the only thing that can be found there– it is said that ghosts, goblins, ghouls and the like make the city their home. When Reader meets one of these creatures she has to get the help of someone not quite so human in order to be free, but he frees her from much more than she ever expected.

Word Count: 1,641

Warnings: Violence, Witchcraft, Supernatural Spookies

Taglist: In reblog

A/N: Chapter 3 is already completed and I am practically humming with excited energy to continue this story with you all! I hope you all enjoy it. Part 3 will be posted on my Patreon a week before it is posted here. Check it out if you are thirsty and need access to this lusty soul drink sooner!

The bell above the door trilled loudly announcing my entrance.

As my eyes adjusted to the gloom of the shop I could barely make out the odds and ends that took up residence in, “Dos Gatos Negros”, the local metaphysical shop that I had been a frequent patron of. The owner of the shop had been the only person to successfully help me with the shadow-beings that haunted me in my teenage years.

A muted voice called out, “It’s alright, mi amor. You are here now.”

I could finally relax. I was safe here and I let that feeling of security wash over me.

The crystal curtain on the far side of the store rattled as Maricella pushed past it.

“Marci, I need your help.”

“Estoy aqui. I knew you would be here this day.”

For being a “bruja”, a witch, Maricella looked completely normal.

Marci wore simple clothing, a floral button-up blouse, black jeggings, and ankle-high, slip-on boots.

Marci rushed towards me and grabbed my arms, her fingers gently resting at the hook of my elbow.

“Speak to me.”

“It’s started again, Marci.”

“How long?”

“A couple of months,” I said.

Marci released my arms and clicked her tongue, “Mesas?! You waited this long in your suffering, to come to me?”

I bit my lip.

“Why, mi amor?” Her voice softened.

“I’m not a child anymore, Marci. I’d hoped I could handle my own problems.”

Of course, I tried to handle the entity that had latched itself to me but without Marci’s guidance, nothing was effective. Everything I tried felt fraudulent like I was trying to be something I wasn’t and I was certain the entity knew that.

“Come,” She said as she guided me back through the beaded curtain and into her private room.

As I sat on the other side of the round, cloth-covered table laden with animal bones and teeth, dried herbs, smoking palo santo, tarot cards and the like, I relayed the story of the cemetery and the storm and all that had happened the last couple of months.

While I told Marci the story she poured me a cup of tea and urged me to drink it from time to time.

Finally, I finished the story and my tea.

“Here,” she said, indicating for me to give her my now empty teacup.

I handed it to her and she held it before her eyes to inspect the remnants of the tea leaves.

Marci quirked an eyebrow at me.

“The cup says more than you. Speak.”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, Marci.”

Marci walked over to stand beside where I sat and held the cup before my eyes.

“Look there!” She impatiently pointed, “A man here and a wolf. Don’t you see?!”

I scrutinized the blob of sodden tea leaves, but no shape took form.

“Marci, I--”

“No, you see! A man, here, yes? And a wolf within his heart. And there!” She pointed to the opposite side of the teacup, “Is the sombra, the shadow that follows you.”

“...Oh, yeah, yeah I think I see what you mean.”

Marci slammed the teacup down sensing my fib.

Her lips twitched as if I was humoring her, reminding me of a parent trying not to smile as they caught their child in an imaginative lie.

“Who is he?” She pointed at the teacup.

Because of my lack of involvement with anyone I thought perhaps she had made a mistake.

Marci stood, impatient, all but crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot.

Just then, it dawned on me. I wanted to dance around with a lightbulb over my head shouting out “Eureka!”.

“Marci, I’ve been having a reoccurring dream. Well, more of a changing dream but reoccurring of the same person! A man with shoulder-length, white hair that carries a sword strapped to his back almost like someone would place their bow and quiver. Around the hilt is a brooch. He wears a wolf pendant around his neck!”

I then relayed a few of the dreams I had to Marci.

Marci took a deep breath, strode over to her seat across from me and plopped down.

“You dream of him because he is the only one who can help rid you of this sombra.” She said, knowingly.

“But Marci!” I exclaimed, “I’ve never seen this man in my life. From the look of the dreams, the clothes he wears, where the dreams take place, he isn’t even from this time.”

“Not in this life,” Marci corrected.

Marci believed in past lives and that whoever you connected with in a past life often found you in another, as a kind of kindred soul. Kindred souls sought each other out, never ceasing until they were united again.

It sounded cheesy and ridiculous and overly romantic on the whole notion of souls and “soulmates”.

In truth, I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about past lives, but I really wasn’t ready to start believing in them now.

“You must find him.” Silence followed Marci’s words ad they settled on me, a weight that I felt I could not begin to bear.

I imagined myself acting like a child saying in a whiny voice, “Nu-uh, I don’t wanna and you can’t make me!” All while Marci dragged me along as I pouted and kicked out.

I sighed, “I have no idea how to do that, Marci. I don’t even know who he is.”

Marci scooted her chair away from the table and stood, “Well, you came to the right place.”

I groaned.

“Shh,” she snapped and she moved to stand behind me.

Her hands rested on either side of my head and her warm fingers touched softly at my temples. “Close your ojos, mi amor.”

I did as she ordered, letting my world succumb to the unknown and willing sightlessness.

“Relax your breathing.”

I did as I had done many times before with her and relaxed, breathing in 1,2,3,4, holding, and then slowly exhaling.

Marci was leading me into a trance state.

Her voice lowered an octave, resonating pleasantly.

“Now think of this man. Everything about him, his hair, his eyes, his face, his body. Let him appear before you.”

“He’s here,” I said, my voice sounding distant and hollow.

“Muy bien. Watch him very closely. Listen to all that is around him. Listen for his name; look for a year, a place. Anything. If the scene changes, let it. Move with him.”

Slowly, my physical senses fell away. My reality shifted and I was no longer with Maricella. I was no longer sitting in the back room of her shop; no longer felt the velvet cloth that covered the table under my fingertips; no longer smelled the smoke drifting from the palo santo.

Instead, the man was before me, the scenes changing as if I was flipping through the entirety of the dreams I had of him like the pages of a catalog.

I followed him through a deserted town. The ground beneath my feet was made of stone slabs that felt slick with rainfall. I watched as he stood before several men, all with intent to slay him, and I continued in the shadows as he painted his blade with their blood, until he stood alone.

The scene before me shifted, like fog removing all that was around us, and replacing it with something new. He wearily entered an inn, trying to hide his identity with a large, black cloak-- his eyes glowing through the shadow cast upon his face as he scanned the tables and patrons.

Near the bar, a man wearing an apron was nailing a yellowed parchment to the wooden wall. A calendar, indicating that the year was 1210. 1210!

My eyes found the white-haired man again. He looked so tired, so withdrawn as he moved to the far corner to sit at a table alone as he listened to all the boisterous noise of the crowded inn. I wondered why he wanted no one to recognize him. It was as if I knew that he craved for no one to notice him but for someone to see him.

Then all around me the noise and the smells and sights of the inn fell away, being eaten up by my avid and hungry mind and replaced with something new, something better.

In the bed, beside me, he lay, his scar-ridden, broad-muscled shoulders before me. I reached out my hand, fingertips tracing the scars as if mapping out a constellation of pain.

The bed creaked as he shifted to turn toward me.

His eyes opened like the petals of some breathtaking bloom.

My breath caught in my throat, painfully, as he looked at me, his golden eyes missing nothing.

“Hmm,” he hummed.

The sound made me swoon. Never had I heard such an erotic utterance.

His strong, deft fingers smoothed a stray lock of my hair behind my ear and I leaned into the palm of his hand.

“All manner of creatures have I seen,” he purred, “and not one has captivated me as much as you.” His lips curled into a heart-melting half-smile.

“If I saw nothing else,” He kissed my forehead, “No beauty upon this ground ever again. I would mourn not if only your face was the one I saw.”

I bit my lip and giggled, my hand moving to cup his chiseled jaw, “Geralt,” I sighed, “What would I do without you?”

I awoke from my trance with his name, a decadent utterance, falling from my lips like warm honey. My lips held the ghost of a kiss he had placed passionately on my lips. I looked to Maricella, my eyes wide with wonder and my revelation.

“Geralt of Rivia,” I said, “His name is Geralt.”

[peeves-a-legend]

Maximum Entropy

Original Fem!Elementalist x Wizarding World 

A.N. ~ Sooo... I made a new account finally!! And I wanted to restart my page with this piece that I had started a while ago. I hadn’t gotten around to finishing it, but I couldn’t let this idea slip through my fingers with the potential that it has (at least in theory lol). As of right now, the main love interest is undecided; I’m just going to let that unfold as a write. 

Summary ~ Beatrice Drayton is a fourth year at Arctosov Academy for Elementalists when a stranger comes searching for an alliance. Despite centuries of turmoil between hands and wands, she finds herself across the world, willing to work with the folk that bare wands. Harry isn’t the only one with a prophecy, and it just so happens that Drayton’s destiny relies on the success of Potter’s. End of HP book 4 and onward.

Warning ~ Language and probable violence (eventually)

Word Count ~ 4k

Chapter One

There are only a few days left of this term. Only a handful of classes left to study and then I’m free of academic duties for the summer. The bitter Canadian frost had finally submitted to the heat that the lengthened days brought, allowing the vast Boreal to bloom lush with green. Up until now, the school grounds remained in a turbulent state of snow, slush, and mud. Spring was honestly my least favourite time of the year. Maybe if the school was farther South I’d appreciate the season for what it’s worth, but sleet storms and the rapid amplification of mosquito swarms were all too common in the Northwest Territories prior to the sun and shine of the summer months.

I ran through the sun-lit halls of Arctosov Academy in a desperate attempt to get to class on time. It’s moments like this where I’m grateful for the sleek material of the uniform that hugs tight to my limbs and torso. When I was given the purple and black spandex in first year I complained about the tight-fit jumpsuit till I was blue in the face. It’s so itchy. I’ll freeze come wintertime in this cloth. It’s too tight. Blah, blah, blah. Little did I know that I would eventually praise the aerodynamic nature of it when gliding through the crowded corridors.

 The halls of the school were simple, straight passageways that stacked 13 floors high, etched into the side of one of the many mountains that framed the expansive waters of Great Bear Lake. The walls that continued with the face of the mountain were made of tall, clear diamond windows. The bottom of the diamond glass meets a white marble floor while the top of the smooth surface contrasts sharply against the jagged ceiling made of mountain rock. The wall opposite to the lake view was different on all 13 floors. For example, the 9th floor hall (the one that I am currently sprinting down) has a wall made of solid gold. It looks quite gaudy if you ask me. I much prefer the wall made of pure orange flames on the 4th floor. Along each of the distinctive corridors are doors that lead to different rooms that lay in the belly of the mountain. Classrooms, dorms, restrooms, the gym, the dining hall, the kitchen, the library, multiple training rooms, and so on. The only routes that connect each parallel floor to each other are the stairwells that resided at either end of the halls.

 As I dodge through bodies, I can’t help but curse my luck. Not even a time-turner could spare me a few moments of peace between classes that I have back to back and over each other. My brothers and my friends tell me I’m just being dramatic, but it’s not like they would actually know the stress of going through the amount of training that I’m subjected to. To think that I’m only in fourth year!

 I reach the last door on the opposite side of the hall that I entered from and swiftly glide through the misty veil that floats where a door would be placed anywhere else in the world. Arctosov is all about the dramatics when it comes to decor. As soon as the frothy air clears I’m met head on with a group of fifteen or so third, fourth, and fifth year students standing in a large circle. My brother Zaidyn notices me first, taking a step over to make room for me in the ring. I mouth a silent thanks and he offers a small smile in return.

 Our attention is quickly turned to the tall and slender man that paces in the center of the group. At least he had stopped publicly addressing my tardiness every time I showed up to his class a little more than five minutes late.

 ‘…We will be spending a great deal of time in today’s lesson harnessing the energy in the room in combination with the particles that occupy this space,’ thin lips stated as narrowed eyes observed the group of students. ‘We will be conjuring vortex winds; a tornado if you will. But the key is to keep it controlled and clean. If I witness any funnels produced above the hip,’ Professor Turcoff said, addressing a poor third year directly now, ‘consider your Friday evening booked with a detention.’

 ‘Well he seems to be in a stellar mood today, don’t you think?’ Zaidyn huffed quietly enough so that only I could hear.

 ‘Absolutely.’

 ‘Want to work together?’ 

I nodded in response as the circle separated off into smaller groups setting to work. We found a less crowded area off towards the edge of the large circular room. All the training rooms are circular in shape with high steel walls, a steel floor, and a steel ceiling. It’s like being trapped in a tin can and we’re the beans. Cool beans, might I add.

 ‘Now I want you all to focus,’ Turcoff said firmly over the mild chattering that circulated in the room. ‘I don’t just want you to start pushing the molecules around in your vicinity. I want you to feel them. Connect with them. Turn the gases into a fifth limb. Then, and only then, will you have total control.’

 With that, I closed my eyes and opened my palms at my side. This was always my favorite part of conjuring magic. To just feel the vibrations of the atoms that are at my mercy for manipulation. The fluid motion of the air as it swirls around each finger, catching ever so slightly on the craters of my fingerprints. The fuzzy, almost ticklish sensation when my skin radiates deep crimson and ripe orange flames. When I suck the moisture from the air that is plentiful, turning the vapours into a blanket of water that obeys at my command. The deep and gyrating rumble that surfaces from all four sides of the room that I’m standing in, mountain rock waiting to collapse if I let it.

 But the others wouldn’t understand, you see. For the individuals that attend this very class with me cannot feel the lick of a flame. They cannot consume the hydrogen and oxygen in the atmosphere that is necessary for the flickering lattice of its corresponding liquid. They cannot part the earth at its surprisingly brittle seams, only to allow greenery of sorts to erupt from deep within those cervices. They can only control the air that streams gently over the purple fabric of our jumpsuits. Of course, there are other things that all benders are capable of, but the limit of those abilities is always an arm’s reach away.

 All because of one silly chromosome.

 Now’s a great time to mention that I’m the only girl in a school full of boys. Why? Because I’m the first female bender that had been born in over 4000 years. The third one ever, to be exact. For whatever rhyme or reason it is extremely rare for a female bender to be conceived, to the point where it is literally unheard of. At least until my existence, that is. 

All male benders pass down their elemental ability to the children they procreate. If a son is born, he will take after his father’s magic. So will his sons, and his sons’ sons. But if a daughter is born… it’s a slightly different story. 

Female benders harness power differently than their male counterparts. They are able to tap into magical stores that allow access to all areas of elemental manipulation, rather than a single vault. We assume it has to do with the fact that the first bender was a woman herself. Born from the earth and nurtured by the universe, or however that story goes. 

But why are female benders so scarce? Nobody really knows. I personally think it’s a method to mediate power. I could not even begin to imagine a world filled with all-powerful women with a temperament like mine. The globe would combust in a matter of seconds. Nuclear, man.

 I open my eyes and witness a knee-height funnel of air directly in front of me, swirling gently in a clockwise coil. With a slight curl of my fingers, the twister begins to steadily grow till it’s at the height of my belly button.

 ‘That’s tall enough, Ms. Drayton.’ But I wasn’t going to feed it any more than I already had. I am in control. The particles will not control me. I look to my brother who has also mastered the task at hand, posture poised with a satisfied smirk playing at his lips. The rest of the room seemed quite confident as well, mind a few individuals who had let the wind get away on them.

 The rest of class seemed to be swept away and before long I’m reaching into the skin-hugging collar of my jumpsuit to retrieve the time-turner from around my neck. Four down, only eight more classes to go till dinner. Kill me now.

 When I started school in first year, I was beyond excited to learn how to let my powers flourish. But if somebody would have told me that I would be taking four times the amount of school work as every other student at Arctosov, I think it’s fair to say that my enthusiasm wouldn’t have peaked so high. It is partially my fault though. I had been advised to extend my school years to double the standard duration. Unfortunately, fourteen years fell onto deaf ears. 

Finding shortcuts is my specialty. 

At least some classes are mandatory for all students, like elemental and magical history, calculus, magical and muggle variations of physics and chemistry, and other basic level classes that focus on universal bender abilities. I guess that knocks a couple extra classes off my horrendously long list of academic requirements. Unfortunately, that still leaves quite a hefty load of ability-specific classes on my plate.

 ~

 The day couldn’t have gone any slower. I mean, it was all fine and dandy until some imbecile pissed off Professor Yawny in Flora Manipulation. The idiot conjured a garden of nettle and didn’t know how to retract the growth, which ultimately led to the suffering of some unsuspecting bystanders. Got a hive or two myself, but nothing compared to the group of students that took the brunt of it on the front line. This little stunt earned the class a ten-page essay on retracting plant growth and the dangers of uncontrolled herbage. Honestly, just what I needed.

 As soon as the last period bell chimed (for the third time today), I quickly chucked my notebook and ballpoint into my bag and hurried out of Atomic Theory. I always change out of my jumpsuit before dinner. I hate eating in clothes that expose my well-fed stomach. 

I make my way up to the thirteenth floor to access my dorm. The thirteenth floor is by far the coziest of them all. Instead of cleared and pristine halls, upon entering the corridor one is met with a scattered array of sofas, tables littered with magical and muggle games, bookshelves cluttered with various paperback and hardcover copies, and the single Jadeite wall lined with primarily hockey and quidditch posters. A stereo plays some top muggle hits; the audio competes for volume with the crackling sounds that emit from the large pit in the centre of the hall where a seven-foot high flame resides. There are only two doors carved into the green wall: the girl’s and the boy’s dorms. 

The boy’s dorm is essentially a revolving door. People are always filing in and out of the community space. The girl’s dorm on the other hand was simply built out of respect. They never expected anybody to occupy the space, but knew that even though the chances were slim, a female student might enrol one day or another. Thank God for those engineers’ prognostic train of thought, otherwise I’d be either bunking in the fifth-floor supply closet or with a bunch of dudes.

 Weaving my way around a collection of occupied ping-pong and pool tables, I move quickly not to interfere with the final plays of said matches. These boys tend to get cranky with hunger and exhaustion during the final countdown before supper. The steady sound of the hall dies as I pass through the veil that mists over the entrance to the girl’s dorm. It’s a plain space, but what can I say, I’m the only chick to enter this part of the underground school. I’ve managed to liven the place up with some creeping vines and flowers along the tall, straight marble walls that lead to several bedrooms and baths. Even though the hall is meant to appear light and spacious, the lack of fellow roommates makes this place feel more than empty. Like a blank sheet of lined paper, everything here remains untouched and waiting for scuffs and scrapes of wear, something to push its clean order into the hands of disorder. 

Chaos theory loves to make a mess of things.

 I swing through the eighth door on the right into the space that I had claimed as mine. I got rid of the other three unoccupied beds and transformed the room into one that I could proudly call my home away from home. Just like every other room in the school, the dorm is circular, so placing furniture in a way that I didn’t hate turned out to be a real pain in my ass. It took me all of first year to decide where I wanted to place my bed, my desk, and my wardrobe in relation to the door. Once I figured that out, the rest was quite fun. Potted plants invade any and all counter space available in the room, while little knick knacks can also be spotted within the jungle. The skylight ceiling illuminates the white brick walls, casting an intense glare to any prying eyes above the diamond-glass. I think it’s chic.

 I rummaged through my wardrobe for a pair of blue jeans, sneakers, and my royal purple Arctosov crested pullover. One look in the full-length mirror, quickly fixing my hair to get it up and out of my face, and I set off towards the dining hall. I was at the top of the thirteen flights of stairs when a hand closed around my shoulder, slowing my quick pace.

 ‘In a rush are we, ‘B’?’ Jaxon. The only person in this school foolish enough to get between me and my awaiting meal. I sped up, forcing the gangly fourth year to keep stride.

 ‘You try tack on eight extra classes to your schedule. See how you fair come dinner time.’

 ‘I think you’re just complaining for pity,’ he teased, meeting my rib with his elbow. ‘“Look at me, the most powerful being alive. Tired, stressed, and hungry! You have no idea what it’s like to be so damn awesome all the time! It’s exhausting! I –”’ My hand shot out to push Jaxon off balance, nearly sending him down the last couple stairs in the flight we were walking down.

 ‘Your impression of me is beyond inaccurate.’

 ‘And your muscles are beyond underestimated,’ Jaxon shot back with a smirk, rubbing his arm where I contacted him with the blow. ‘Didn’t know you possessed the power of super-strength as well.’

 ‘Like you said, I’m just so damn awesome.’ Our grins mirrored each other as we bounded down the rest of the steps to the first-floor dining hall. This is how our banter went most of the time. It was quick, it was witty, it was smooth. He always knows just how far to push to elicit a shove back, and I always shove back. But he also knows when he’s about to push too far. Rarely ever had we actually fought with one another. In the last four years of school, we’ve only actually fought once, and that’s a story nobody talks about anymore. It was stupid, but it was explosive, and I mean literally explosive. Jaxon is a fire bender, so I’m lucky that I have the ability to take the heat. The library shelves that surrounded us during the dispute… well, they didn’t survive. 

Jaxon was my best friend. A brother. Nothing more, nothing less. In my eyes at least.

 Like cattle, students were milling into and about the dining hall trying to find a place to sit at the single spiral table that coiled into the center of the round room. Purple banners bearing our school crest hung from the high rock ceiling, flashing the menacing stare of the Kodiak that was featured in the heart of the emblem. The student body had encountered a few of the rather large bears during my years at the academy. I never thought I’d ever get the chance to witness such fear amongst a group of insufferably cocky teenage boys, and I loved every second of it. Bunch of pansies.

 ‘B!’ My attention is quickly captured by my two brothers sitting in the middle of the spiral of students. Jaxon and I walk down the winding aisle to sit in front of Zaidyn and Treston, who have also changed out of their uniforms. It is only when we take our seats that I realize that something is definitely not right.

 ‘Hey guys, why the long faces?’ I ask, hesitation evident in my wavering tone. If Treston looks startled, then something big must have happened. This sixth year is not easily phased. 

A couple of our other friends join the group, sitting on either side of Zaidyn and myself. They also become attentive to the tension held within the conversation. Bret and Oscar share a look between themselves then with me, silently looking for an explanation. I simply shrug my shoulders. 

This is weird.

 Treston is the first to speak. ‘Didn’t you hear?’

 ‘Hear what?’ Jaxon and I replied in unison.

 ‘One of them is here,’ Zaidyn continued. ‘Apparently wants to give a speech or something after supper. Not sure what about though.’

 ‘What do you mean here?’ snaps Jaxon. ‘I thought that they weren’t allowed on our turf?’

 ‘Yeah, I’m sure they wouldn’t appreciate it if someone of our kind went poking a nose over the fence,’ Oscar added. Zaidyn simply shook his head in shock. ‘I mean, legally they can’t be here, right? Documentation exists for a reason –’

 ‘Documentation is nothing but a piece of paper and a couple of lousy signatures. Words mean nothing to them. They’ve always turned their backs on allies and their own. Don’t you ever pay attention in Magical History?’ It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but I can still see how my sharp words stung Oscar. He’s always had too much pride for his own good, especially when it comes to his grades in school. His glare notified me that I’d hit a weak spot.

 ‘Alright ladies, claws away,’ Bret chimed in. Always there to referee, but it’s usually Jaxon and I that he tries to simmer down. ‘I know it’s news that none of us want to hear, but if it’s true then we have to keep our heads on our shoulders and on a swivel. I can’t see anything good coming out of this, and I know neither can any of you,’ he said addressing the quiet group.

 ‘All I’m saying is that agreements were made for a reason. If they hadn’t been made, then the magical world would be in a completely different state as of right now. They should be considering themselves lucky that they aren’t extinct,’ Oscar sighed. I had to agree with him there. ‘Our ancestors were patient and wise, which is why we lost so much blood to the wands. But too much animosity had festered for far too long, and quite frankly I don’t consider myself patient or wise. You can’t tell me today’s generation would be so kind as to forgive and forget.’

 Oscar was right and we all knew it. Everybody in the hall knew it, too. We may have forgiven them, but we sure as hell have not forgotten. We are reminded every day we walk through these halls – the only halls on the planet that houses students of our kind. The number of benders left was a thought to make my blood run cold. Although, we are making a comeback; slowly but surely. I gave Oscar a small half-understanding, half-apologetic smile.

 Before I could add anything further to Oscar’s words of truth, a lavish dinner appeared on the table below our chins. Elk roast, wild salmon, kale salad, stuffed mushrooms, and more. I prayed that saskatoon pie was being served for dessert later in the evening. The apprehensive atmosphere quickly dissipated as we dug into our grub. Frowns were replaced with filled-cheek smiles, and the uneasy silence was enveloped in hearty laughter. Talk of the latest playoff news and summer plans seemed to entertain the table enough to keep the conversation going. It was interesting being a part of the guy’s gossip sessions during meals. Not that I would actually call it gossip; maybe more along the lines of petty pissing contests. Wouldn’t be the first time I sat through a mine’s bigger than yours argument.

 It was when our Headmaster stood up from the semi-circle teacher’s table at the back of the hall that the reality of the situation set in once again. Professor Fobert never has to gather the attention of the many eyes leering in anticipation, for their focus was already on him. Fobert’s aura demanded one’s gaze, it did not ask. He was tall, sternly featured, and looked tough as nails. His black-scaled tunic wrapped snugly around his torso, making the greying man look ready for battle at a moment’s notice. When the hall’s sound died down, all that could be heard was the vibrations from deep within the mountain’s abdomen, rock waiting to respond to our Headmaster’s request.

 ‘Good evening, students. I shall speak frankly and I shall speak clearly, that way you will not misunderstand what I am about to tell you.’

 Well that’s a new introduction.

 ‘I have never assumed any of you as naive, therefore I refuse to start now.’

 A very new introduction.

 ‘Most of you are aware that we have a guest joining us this evening. A guest that has come from overseas to speak to you all.’ It seemed as though our Headmaster couldn’t speak quickly enough. Every student in the room was now perched on the edge of their seat, listening intently for the next words to leave Fobert’s mouth. We knew where this was going, but nobody wanted to acknowledge the elephant in the room. 

Fobert opened his mouth to speak again, but words never escaped. Instead, a toothy grin tightened the flesh around his chin, and his eyes looked over the heads of the students sitting before him. Naturally, we all turned our heads in the direction of our superior’s gaze towards the entrance to the hall.

 If the hall was quiet a moment ago, it sure as shit wasn’t anymore. We didn’t even need a second take to confirm our suspicion.

 The man was about the same height as Professor Fobert, but the age difference was quite notable. Where Fobert was steeled with sharp middle-aged wear, the other man appeared worn with the drooping and sagging lines of old-age. He did not wear a tunic and pants, but a floor-length grey robe that matched the colour of his long, neatly kept beard. The cuffs on his sleeves tapered off in the shape of a bell at the knuckles of his boney fingers.

 Only people of wizarding blood dressed like that.

 ‘Albus!’ 

[peanut-in-the-goal]

96, 95, 91, 90, 89, 88, 84, 82, 81, 78, 76, 67, 64, 63, 62, 61, 60, 47, 41, 32, 31, 30, 27, 25, 24, 23, 22, 18, 17, 14, 9, 8, 7, 5, 4, 3, 2

100% thought that you were counting backward from 99 lol

96: Do you have any relatives in jail?

not that I can remember

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?

Florida

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what's even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?

Telekinesis 

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren't really doing anything, they're just standing around your bed. What do you do?

Actually, the first thing I might do is pray 

Pretend to be asleep, waiting for the sun to rise, while I lay there I devise a plan in which I stay calm and keep my breaths even. Pretend to oversleep so my parents will come in and see the mummies standing around my bed and do what they believe to do

89: What would be a question you'd be afraid to tell the truth on?

Well for one, this question is terrifying 

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?

I don’t wish death upon anyone

84: What is a saying you say a lot?

That’s nice

82: What is your favourite word?

ANGST (I hope you realize this is a joke)

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone?

“It’s dark and scary, it’s small, lemme out!”

(I actually have no idea tbh)

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity?

Yes, 100%

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?

I— not hating the other person

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM?

Scrolling through Tumblr, reading on Ao3, homework. You know, the usual

64: Where is your best friend?

At her house, watching Tv on the couch

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?

ew

62: What's your favourite animal?

Snek

61: Are you wearing socks right now?

yes

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?

Pygmy Puff

47: Do you have any obsessions right now?

The cubs ig 

41: What was the last book you read?

I was reading House of Hades by Rick Riordan until 4am last night (this morning?) 

32: What's the worst place you have ever been to?

Probably my friend's house just because she has like 7 different tarantulas as pets, more than that actually

31: Smell the air. What do you smell?

home

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.

Right: Moniter Left: Bookshelf 

27: What's a sound you hate; sound you love?

Absolutely hate the sound of eating noises. (chewing, forks scarping, glasses clinking, burping, etc.) I physically can’t listen to that without getting uncomfortable/wanting to puke. (my friends send me asmr stuff and I hate them for it sometimes)

I love the sound of my team when we go out to a team dinner and we all sit at our own table fooling around

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

video chatting

24: Do you have a collection of anything?

I have a sticker collection from like 4th grade (don’t ask)

23: How do you vent your anger?

Writing/picking fights

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping?

Hell no

18: Do you believe in karma?

I believe that if you don’t watch yourself and what you say, you’ll regret it later on

17: What was the last lie you told?

I’m fine

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?

running/playing soccer

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you?

depends on who wrote it, probably not

8: Girls... (finish the sentence); Boys... (finish the sentence)

Girls deserve the right over their own bodies

Boys can wear what they want if they want to wear a dress, let them

7: What's your strangest talent?

can shake my eyes

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say?

Byeeee

4: What do you think about most?

Why do people read my stuff, do they tell me it’s good just for the sake of being nice? I bet they do that with soccer too

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.

it only had 15 lines, so here’s the first complete sentence

“Never try to out-argue an Arab or Shortchange a whore,” Casa remembered advice from the past .”

Okay look I have no idea what this book is sorry

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

Leo Knut

[kindapinkskies]

living daydream || h.s.

im baaaaack! this is so short but it’s something and i hope you like it. she has been stuck in my head for five days and this has been in my head also. how is everyone? are we good? how’s fine line? let’s talk about the masterpiece. 

you should probably listen to she while you read

i love you already

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

He sees her at the end of the bar with the room dowsed in a deep red. The light gives her face a sultry look, shadows hiding half of her face. They hold eye contact for a moment too long, both captivated by the others eyes and he should be scared. Scared that he’ll be recognized but he finds himself calm, for the first time all day. He’s utterly entranced by her, the way her hair falls over her shoulders, the way her body is relaxed (even in the uncomfortable looking clothes), the way her lips move as she talks to a friend all while holding eye contact with him. 

He’s afraid to blink, afraid that the ethereal being at the end of the bar will disappear if he does. 

And when he does blink, she does disappear. 

His head whips around in all directions, in too fast of a movement to be natural, but he can’t spot her. The person she was talking to is still there, where she should be, but they look like they’ve been alone all night. Like they were never even talking to her, like she wasn’t just there. He swivels around in his chair, trying to catch sight of her moving through the crowd, through the mass of bodies moving around in the deep red light to a guitar solo from a Pink Floyd song. He comes up empty. So, in return he empties the glass he’s holding in one gulp. 

Time goes by almost in a haze and his mind is spinning. It also seems like the red light gets even darker but that just might be the copious amounts of alcohol running through his system. The music doesn’t really change, different guitar solos fill up the area and the crowd of people dancing don’t move too far from hip sways that are a little too dirty for such music. 

There’s a hand on his shoulder some time later and he whips around so fast, hoping for it to be her, only to come face to face with the last person he really wants to see right now. Of course he’d be found here, should’ve known that someone so close to him would find him. He just wanted to get away, away from work. 

“Harry, lets go.” Mitch is stern with his words, a deep frown set on his face.

But Harry doesn’t want to go anywhere.

“No,” he protests, instead focusing on Mitches hair, on how it has gotten long again and how it sways around his shoulders in slow motion. 

Mitch steps between his knees, “You’ll be spotted here if you get messy. You get messy.”

He blinks. Blinks again. Blinks one more time. Tried to get the haze to go away but then, just over Mitches shoulder, she comes into view again. Her top has lost a few buttons and it seems like her skirt has gotten shorter. Her arms are above her head, as she runs her hands through her hair before dragging them down the front of her body. He watches as her hips move in perfect tune to the bass drum and run of the guitar. He follows her every move and when they make eye contact again, Harry can’t help but shamelessly stare. 

He isn’t sure how she doesn’t have the attention of every single person in this bar. He’s shocked that he’s the only one that seems to notice her. 

He stands up, effectively pushing Mitch back, under some sort of trance as if her eyes were calling him to her. But, Mitch places a hand to his chest and that makes Harry break his attention for a split second and he hates himself for it because when he looks back up, she’s gone. 

The spot she was once in, filled by some middle aged man. 

Like she was never even there. 

Maybe it is time to go. 

+

She won’t leave him alone. Not physically but mentally. It’s been thirteen days since the night of the bar but she’s still there. She haunts him almost and he’s not even positive that she’s real. One moment she was there but then she wasn’t and Harry’s not too sure if he’s just created this perfect human being in his head or not. 

He closes his eyes and she’s the first thing he sees. The red behind his eyelids gives the perfect shade of red, right where she belongs. In that perfect red light, it compliments her skin, her body, the way she moves. He has no idea who she is or where she’s at but she’s always there, in his head. Where his mind spins at the thought of her. 

He swears he sees her one morning though, when he’s taking a friends kid to school in the morning. Swears that she’s dropping a young girl off to the same teacher he’s about to speak with but he’s not close enough to truly tell if it’s her. But then he feels it is because there’s a tug on his hand as he’s being pulled across the street and he looks away for a second before looking back and she’s gone. 

Just like in the bar. 

+

“I’m going on a trip.” She says to him one day. 

She’s sitting in his office, the makeshift one he’s created, in the studio. The small corner of the room where he goes when he wants to focus a little bit more without any distractions. She doesn’t seem to get that though. She follows him anywhere. 

He blinks at her, his vision a little hazy as he focuses on her. “Where are you going?”

He doesn’t know her name, doesn’t know where she’s at most of the time. She just shows up. Shows up most of the time when he wants to be alone. She’s there so he won’t feel so lonely. 

She only shrugs and when he blinks at her again, she’s gone. 

She’s gone when the current producer he’s working with walks up to him with a coffee in his hand, placing it on the table next to Harry. He leaves him alone after that but he can hear him in the room, messing around with the soundboard. He’s not alone anymore. 

She doesn’t come back. 

“Harry, man, are you alright?” The worry is clear in Mitches voice. “You’ve been distracted.”

He blinks at Mitch, focuses on him actually being right in front of him and it takes a few seconds for his words to register in his mind. He finally mutters out a “Yeah, I’m good,” before turning back to the paper in his hands. 

His brows furrow at the words written on the page. He doesn’t remember writing them. 

I’m going on a trip. 

Where are you going?

+

The room is a deep red again, darker than the last time but that makes it only that much better. This time it’s in his room though. The music is still the same, quieter, but it’s still the same just like the red light. 

He’s seemingly in a trance once more, his eyes stuck on hers before they move down her body. She’s straddling his waist, her body positioned just right on his hips as he leans against the headboard. His hand move up her sides, tracing the lace of her black bra. His fingertips move over the fabric carefully, like if he were to press any harder it would rip. It won’t and he knows that but that doesn’t stop him. He just takes it all in, takes in the way the fabric is a stark contrast to the red glow of her skin. 

She’s bends down and her hair cascades around them both as she presses her lips to the base of his throat, just under his chin. His breath catches in his throat and his hands grip her hips a little too tight. She moves up the side of his neck, her lips leaving behind marks of red and purple and he can’t find it in him to stop her. Not when this is all he’s wanted since he saw her at the bar all those weeks ago. Not when she’s normally just something that might be in his memory. She’s here. And she’s in his bed. 

“How was your trip?” 

He’s not too sure when it happened but eventually she’s the one laying down and he’s the one above her. He’s listening to her sharp intakes of air, the curse words tumbling from her lips, the soft moans, the sound of her lips as they come in contact with his skin. He’s basking in the feel of her all around him, as close as he can get. The feeling of her nails moving across his shoulder, her leg around his hip with her heel digging into his lower back, her hand tugging harshly in his hair. He stores every touch; every pull, every movement, every kiss into his memory. He wants to be able to live this moment over again, even when it’s over. 

“I’m going on another one.” 

She falls asleep right there. Right there in his bed. And he can’t help but think that this is the longest he’s ever seen her, ever been with her. She’s still just as ethereal as the first time he saw her and he has a hard time believing that she’s real. That she’s not just in his head. 

He goes to the bathroom and when he comes back she’s gone. The only thing placed on the bed is his song book that he doesn’t even remember using. 

The room isn’t even red anymore. 

But the words on the page are written in red. 

How was your trip?

I’m going on another one. 

+

“I swear she’s real.” Harry defends one afternoon when Mitch doesn’t particularly believe him. They were talking about that night in the bar. The night he met her. 

Met is used very loose though. 

“Harry, you don’t even know who she is.”

“Sure I do.” Harry scoffs. “Her favorite color is red.”

Mitch doesn’t look convinced and Harry isn’t even convinced himself. He’s not sure what’s real and what’s not anymore. Any time she’s around, it feels so real. He feels her touches and can her hear voice so clear that she has to be real. She can’t just be someone he sees when he’s feeling like it. 

But he can’t be sure because she lives in his daydreams, too. She’s the first person to pop up whenever he closes his eyes, whenever his mind wanders a bit too far away from his current state of mind. Her smile, the slope of her nose, the light in her eyes. It’s always right there whenever he only thinks about it. She’s just there. 

But as soon as his attention breaks. She’s gone. 

+

He sees her again. This time the bar is a deep orange color, making it look like the room is slightly on fire. The music is still the same but this time it’s a live band playing the guitar runs and the bass drums. It makes everything feel more. She’s at the end of the bar again, looking at him, smirking at him, as if taunting him. He’s already four drinks down and the room is spinning about but he can see her perfectly clear. Just like he always can. 

He stands up when she does. 

Walks the same direction she does. 

Subconsciously sways the way she does. 

His steps stumble a bit but he follows her anyway. 

He runs a hand through his hair when she turns a corner but he makes sure to not break his attention. He doesn’t want her to disappear. 

Her hand wraps around his bicep and he staggers into a wall when she pushes him up against it. She covers his body with her own in seconds and she runs a hand down his chest. Her fingers trailing over the skin there, dipping underneath the fabric of his unbuttoned shirt. His knees falter slightly but she just smiles at him before she places a kiss to the base of his throat. 

“I missed you.”

He goes along with her movements, basking in the feeling she gives him. The mesmerizing feeling of her. 

“Yeah?” 

Someone calls his name though and his attention breaks. 

She’s gone. 

He stares at the wall across from him for a few moments and his attention focuses on someone’s handwriting there. 

I missed you.

Yeah?

+

He sees her back at the bar while he’s talking to the old man next to him. 

“She’s a real looker,” he says and it makes Harry follow the mans finger. He nearly falls off his chair when he sees her. 

He looks at the man again and when he looks back she’s still there. His attention broke and she’s still there. He just nods his head at the man before getting up, this time his walk more stable. More in control of himself, almost like this is real and not some sort of daydream. 

“Hey, it’s good to see you again.” He says as soon as he gets to her. 

She looks up at his and confusion paints itself on her face. Her brows are furrowed and her lips are pursed slightly. 

“I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

Harry’s knees give out and he has to catch himself against the bar so he doesn’t tumble to the ground. She doesn't even know him? How could that be? He looks around for a second and the room is just dim, like a normal bar, the fire orange color gone. He didn’t even notice. 

He realizes that everything isn’t hazy, his mind isn’t even spinning like it normally is when she’s around. 

“Oh uh, I’m sorry I must’ve mistaken you for someone else.”

Harry’s heart leaps into his throat when she places a sympathetic hand to his bicep. She smiles sweetly at him before turning away from him. 

He stands there, dumbfounded, for a few minutes. Her touch lingering on his arm. The very real touch. The touch that feels so familiar. The touch he’s felt before. 

He closes his eyes and he sees her, sees the red, feels the touches and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t even know who she is. 

She only lives in daydreams with him. 

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

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