#it's midnight for me which automatically means that it is HAZEL TIME

[stood-onthecliffside]

it's my bestie @iknowitwontwork birthday! yes time is really moving which is INSANE! but hazel how are you so talented and kind (gaslighter but lets pretend that you're not for today!) and an amazing person in the entire world!! forever in love with the nh timezone and even though you're mean to me which is like being mean to a baby :/// that's okay because you're one of my favourite mutual on this silly little website,,, ily so fucking much <333 especially when you scream me to go to bed (even though your sleep schedule aint the greatest) ily ily ily butter burner okie muhaw <333

US IN A NUTSHELL BASICALLY

[allsassnoclass]

hi hazel! for the prompts how about "67. When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More", i wanna say for mashton but if you want to write some muke that works as well i think! -taylor<3

@squishmichael I looooooooooooove mashton. just in case anyone forgot lol

mashton: when one stops the kiss to whisper "I'm sorry, are you sure you-" and they answer by kissing them more

"Michael?"

Michael blinks, then forces himself to look up from his computer and the seemingly endless code on displayed onscreen. Ashton is standing in the doorway, dressed for bed with boxers, a big t-shirt, and his glasses perched on his nose.

The only thing Michael needs less than the mistake in this program is the sight of Ashton in his glasses with his legs on display.

"Hey, Ash. What's up?"

"How long have you been working?" he asks rather than answering. "I called your name a few times before you looked up."

Michael sighs and rubs at his eyes. His own contacts should probably come out soon, but he knows that if he gets up now he's not going to want to sit down and do more work.

"I can't figure out where the error is," he says. "The client wanted the website done by Monday and I really didn't want to have to work this weekend."

Ashton hums and comes to stand behind him, putting his hands on Michael's shoulders and beginning to rub out some of the tension there. He's probably looking at the computer in an attempt to help even though he knows nothing about programming. Michael doesn't know how he got such a great roommate, but in his current state he might cry about it if he thinks on it too long.

Michael exhales, submitting himself to a brief break to let Ashton work his magic.

"You know," Ashton says, voice low and gentle, "you'll be more likely to catch the problem tomorrow when you're awake and rested verses now when you should be asleep. It's past midnight and you've been at it for hours."

He digs his thumb into a knot in Michael's shoulder. Michael lets out a sound before he can stop himself, leaning into the touch, feeling his muscles unravel under Ashton's hands.

"I don't want to," he groans. "I was going to sleep in tomorrow, then we have that thing with Calum later, and I need to do laundry. I'm running out of acceptable clothes."

"Don't worry about that," Ashton says. "I can throw your stuff in tomorrow."

"Thanks."

"And we're not meeting Calum until mid-afternoon. You can sleep in, then work a bit after lunch. If you still don't manage to find the problem, you have all of Sunday."

Michael hums. He doesn't want to admit that Ashton is right, but it's getting harder and harder to argue with him the longer this massage goes on. He feels like he could melt into a puddle right here in his chair, but he'd much rather do so in his bed, possibly while curled around Ashton.

"Come on, Michael," Ashton coaxes, leaning more into Michael's space. If Michael didn't know better, he'd say that Ashton is fully aware of the affect he has on him and using it for evil, but there's no way he would continue their easy-going intimacy if he was aware of Michael's true feelings.

Well, maybe he would. Ashton's cool, so he probably wouldn't ruin their friendship if he found out. Sometimes, Michael even lets himself read a little too far into things and consider the possibility that Ashton feels the same.

"Michael?" Ashton asks, hands stilling and jarring him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry," he says automatically. "Just thinking."

"Yeah, I think it's time for bed," Ashton says. "You weren't thinking, you were zoned out. I could feel you drifting off under me."

Michael fights down a blush, thankful at least that Ashton can't fully see his face.

"It's your fault for giving me a massage," he tries to protest. "You know how relaxing your massages are."

"All part of my evil plan to get you to stop working and come to bed," Ashton says, rubbing his thumbs in hypnotic circles on the back of Michael's shoulders. "It's for your own good."

Michael sighs again. He really should keep working, but Ashton's right. At this point he's probably overlooked the mistake five times without realizing, and he's not in the best mindset to continue now. The most effective use of his time would be going to bed, even if that means losing Ashton's attention until he wakes up tomorrow.

"I don't want to move," he says in a pitiful attempt to elongate this moment. Ashton snorts, leaning down to wrap his arms around Michael's shoulders in a hug. Michael hopes Ashton can't feel the way his heart speeds up with him draped over his back.

"Come on, Michael," he says, gently rocking them back and forth. "Moving is good for you! Moving means you get to go to sleep in an actual bed!"

"I can't," he says. "You'll have to carry me."

Ashton hums like he's actually considering it.

"I could try to fireman carry you, but honestly I don't think it'd go over well," he says. "Besides, I doubt it'd be very comfortable for you."

"Damn," Michael sighs.

Ashton releases him, pulling out Michael's chair and offering both his hands to tug him up. If Michael spends a bit longer than necessary drinking in the sight of him up close, he can blame it on being tired and a little out of it.

"Why do you hate me?" he groans dramatically, taking Ashton's hands and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Ashton doesn't release his hands immediately nor back away, so they're standing really close, closer than is properly acceptable for two roommates. It takes everything in Michael's willpower not to take one more half-step forward and lean against him.

"I don't hate you, Michael," Ashton says. "Not even close."

Ashton smiles, a gentle and private thing between the two of them. His eyes are soft, an emotion in them that Michael thinks he recognizes, one that takes his breath away.

Ashton's eyes flicker down to his lips, then back up to meet his gaze. Michael inhales, because he didn't hallucinate that. He knows that he's tired, but he's not that tired.

"Are-- did you just--"

He doesn't know what he's trying to ask, but thankfully he doesn't have to complete the thought, because Ashton is kissing him.

Michael has thought a lot about what it would be like to be kissed by Ashton. Would his lips be chapped or smooth? What would he taste like? Where does he like to put his hands? Would he be gentle or rough? Does he like to lead the kiss or does he prefer to follow his partner? Would Michael enjoy it because Ashton is particularly good, or just because it's Ashton?

Michael doesn't think about any of those things when he feels that first press of lips against his. His first immediate thought is holy shit, then his mind goes completely blank and he kisses back. There's no space for him to form cohesive thoughts because everything inside him kicks into overdrive. He might have been dead on his feet a second ago, but now his whole body is lit up like a live-wire, right down to the nerve endings in his fingers, which have somehow tangled themselves in Ashton's hair. It's beautiful and wonderful and he can't get enough, which is why he doesn't understand why Ashton is leaning back.

"Wait," Ashton says, breathless in a way that definitely makes Michael's heart skip a beat. "Sorry, are you sure you--"

He doesn't even dignify that with an eye-roll, just kisses Ashton again, letting out a pleased noise when Ashton pulls him closer by his waist. When they eventually have to take a breath neither of them go very far, foreheads almost touching.

"So," Ashton says, then clears his throat. "I don't hate you. Obviously."

"Yeah," Michael says. "I kind of got that."

Ashton giggles, genuinely giggles, and Michael can't resist kissing him again.

"You're supposed to be going to bed," Ashton says when they part again.

"I don't want to," he says. "I want to keep kissing you."

"Okay, what about this: you go take out your contacts and brush your teeth, then meet me back in my room. We can keep kissing right up until you fall asleep, then if you're still into it we can continue in the morning."

"I'll still be into it," Michael says. He leans back a bit more, waiting until he's fully caught Ashton's eye again to continue. "I've liked you for a long time, Ashton. I don't think I'm ever going to get sick of kissing you, but I definitely won't after only one night."

Ashton's smile leaves him just as breathless as the kisses did.

"Go get ready for bed," he says. "I'll wait for you."

Michael smiles and takes one more kiss with him for the road.

[440mxs-wife]

Lost and Found

"You want me to work this case with who?" Arthur Ketch asked.

"Relax, Ketch, she's had field experience before, she just hasn't been in the field much lately. Trust me, she'll be perfect for this," Dean assured him.

"This is not a training op, a learn-as-you-go thing, this is a serious case, Dean. I need an experienced hunter to carry off the cover story and perform her duty. I don't think she fits the part, and she's not my type anyway," Ketch complained.

As if on cue, you walked through the War Room on your way to the main living area. You had a book in one hand, which you were reading as you walked. A cup of cocoa occupied your other hand. You reached the living room and settled into a corner of the couch with your favorite quilt.

Dean cleared his throat behind you. Without looking up from your book, you asked, "What do you need, Dean?"

"So, we have a case right now that requires your unique....talents," he started.

You closed your book in annoyance and narrowly gazed at Dean. "To what 'unique talents' are you referring? What exactly do you want me to do?" you asked.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, something he tended to do when he was nervous or about to do something he didn't want to do. "This is Arthur Ketch, former British Man of Letters. There's a case involving a vampire, named Simon Foster. He's hosting a formal party by invitation only. Your cover would involve you posing as a couple with Ketch," he explained.

You knew this wasn't the whole story, so you waited for Dean to finish. "And....you have to dress up, like evening-gown type dressing up," he added.

You took a few moments to assess your potential hunting partner's attributes. You knew that in the past, he had been a ruthless killer for the British Men of Letters. However, you also remembered how he rescued Gabriel from Asmodeus, at great risk to his own safety. He was working with the Winchesters from time to time as a free-lance operative.

Aside from the professional evaluation, you had to admire his broad chest and tall, confident stature. He had sparkling blue-green eyes that you knew had to hold a certain amount of mischief every now and then. He had just enough of a beard to be considered ruggedly handsome and sexy. And that accent made you a little weak in the knees, if you were being truly honest with yourself.

Ketch interpreted your silence to mean that you were refusing to work with him on the case. "As I told you, Dean, she's not right for this mission," he retorted.

"Mr. Ketch, you don't know me very well. And I only know of you what I've heard in the tales of your exploits from Sam and Dean. Maybe it's time we got our assumptions about each other out of the way, and work this case? Hmm?" you replied as you rose from the couch.

Ketch walked over to where you were standing and said, "Well, my dear, since you have dropped the gauntlet, I accept your challenge. Oh, by the way, I do hope you have something appropriate to wear. Flannel and jeans won't fly in this instance, darling," he smirked.

You took one step towards Ketch, close enough so that you could detect the scent of his aftershave. With more calm in your voice than you currently felt, you looked deep into his eyes. "There's more to me than flannel and jeans. Buckle up, Mr. Ketch. It's going to be a fun ride," you replied, making a show of adjusting his tie before walking out of the room.

Ketch looked over at Dean, who was alternating between shock at your actions and outright laughter at Ketch's expense. He turned on his heel and went to his room, which was fortunately in the opposite direction of yours.

You spent the next week and a half preparing for the upcoming hunt with Ketch. Most of the time was occupied doing research, looking through books and poking around on the internet. Otherwise, you could easily be found at the firing range. You felt you were a little rusty, and the extra range time would help increase your accuracy. You also didn't want to give Ketch one single reason to regret partnering with you.

"Research days" were long ones. You made sure to take plenty of breaks to stretch your legs. If you made yourself a snack, you brought one back for Ketch also. Where you had hot cocoa or coffee, you made tea for Ketch. He never asked you for anything, but for you, it was almost automatic to share in your hospitality. It was in these little ways that you were trying to show Mr. Ketch that his assumptions about you may not be accurate.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ketch stared at the glass of milk you brought to him, along with three chocolate chip cookies you had baked the day before. Today, it was muffins at breakfast, cookies in the afternoon and pie with dinner. The woman certainly has her talents, he thought. Maybe she can pull this off after all.

As you nibbled on your cookie, Ketch took a moment to study you. You had greenish-hazel eyes, one of which had a small dark mark in the iris. Your medium length chestnut locks couldn't keep themselves from falling in your face. On more than one occasion, Ketch found himself wanting to reach over and tuck the wayward curls behind your ear. As you searched through the reference books, he could see the look of deep concentration on your face. He had to admit, you may just have the determination to get the job done.

He had followed you one day to the shooting range to see how you handled a firearm. He watched as you carefully loaded the rounds into the clip for your .380 pistol, and inserted the clip. When the weapon was ready, you raised it into position, took aim and systematically emptied the clip. You left the target hanging on the range, so as soon as you left, Ketch went over to check your results. He was amazed to find that all rounds except one hit center mass, just like they were supposed to do. The only one that didn't hit center mass was a head shot.

From what he'd seen, you were more than capable of performing your part in this case. You had already demonstrated to him that you could handle a firearm. This skill likely translated to other weapons as well, so Ketch wasn't worried about that.

You'd also shown him your sensitive side. It was in the way you took care of everyone in the bunker, including him, despite his initial dismissive attitude towards you. It occurred to him that it was partially because of you that the Winchesters' hunting operation was so successful. You made sure everyone was fed well, had clean clothes and injuries were patched. Not just the physical injuries either, but the emotional ones as well that can take their toll on a hunter.

One night, he had a nightmare that left him calling out in his sleep. In his nightmare, he was put on trial by the British Men of Letters. All of the people he had killed were brought in as witnesses against him, and of course, he was found guilty. His punishment was that each victim got a chance to kill him, causing him to experience his own death several times over.

He jerked awake to find you had crept into his room and were sitting on the edge of his bed. You gently laid a hand on his arm to assure him that he was safe and that it was only a nightmare, not real. He tried to be the tough guy, rather than let you see how upset the nightmare had made him. He didn't want you to think he was soft or didn't have the guts to carry out the mission.

You never asked what his nightmare was about, probably figuring that he wouldn't want to tell you. You simply stated that all hunters had nightmares from what they've seen and done, so he was no different, that even you had them. In fact, you'd had one that night as well, and were having trouble getting back to sleep from it.

Ketch couldn't believe that someone so kind and compassionate as you would have anything to fear or regret about what you'd done in the course of hunting. You told him that some of your nightmares were about loved ones being tortured or killed while you were forced to watch. Most of them, though, were about the people you couldn't save, in addition to all of the guilt and helplessness you felt about the outcomes.

When it appeared to you that Ketch was uninterested in the comfort you came to offer, you awkwardly stood up from the bed. You mumbled that if he needed anything, you were down at the end of the hall, then you made your way to the door. As your hand was on the doorknob, ready to leave, he asked you to stay so that he could comfort you. He assured you he meant no funny business, that he was only offering a way for you both to get back to sleep. You looked at him, a little skeptical at first, then relented with a shy smile.

Ketch held up the blanket for you to slip into bed beside him. You started out at the far edge of the bed, your back to him as you laid your head on the pillow. He reached over to drape an arm around your midsection and pulled you closer to him. He accidentally nuzzled your neck with his stubbly chin and breathed in the scent of strawberries from your shampoo. When he exhaled, his breath was warm against your skin, but you seemed to shiver a bit in response. In a shaky voice, you whispered, "Goodnight, Arthur," took his hand in yours and closed your eyes. He whispered "goodnight" and also closed his eyes, a smile etched on his face.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ketch was putting the last minute touches on his tux while he waited for you to get ready. He made sure he had the invitation listing both of your names. He also made sure he had his sharpest machete ready, along with some dead man's blood. He was about ready to call out to you to see how much longer you'd be, when he heard the unmistakable sound of high-heeled shoes on the tile floor.

You were dressed in a midnight blue, floor-length gown, with a slit halfway up your left thigh. The A-line gown had a criss-cross bodice that hugged your curves, and featured wide straps that crossed in the back. Embedded in the fabric were tiny crystals that sparkled as they hit the light, reminding Ketch of the stars in the night sky. You wore your silver sparkly pumps to finish your wardrobe.

You chose to sweep your hair up in a French twist. You kept your makeup simple, mostly earth tones, with pink lipstick. You chose white crystal stud earrings and a velvet cameo choker to complete your jewelry selection.

When he saw you, his mouth ran dry, and for a moment, he had lost the ability to form a coherent thought. You noticed that his bow tie needed a little work, so you set your small handbag on the table and proceeded to fix his tie. "There," you said. "Now it's perfect. You look very dashing this evening, Mr. Ketch," you remarked.

"I must say, you look absolutely stunning, my dear," Ketch finally said. "This dress certainly suits you and definitely brings out your eyes," he murmured, so softly that only you could hear him.

"Thank you," you said quietly, a blush rising on your cheeks. At that moment, Dean walked in on the two of you and whistled. "Whoa! Lookin' good, you two!" he declared. "'Specially you in the dress," he said as he winked at you. You looked at Ketch, rolled your eyes and jerked your head in Dean's direction. He chuckled softly at your dismissal of Dean's compliment.

You looked at the delicate watch on your wrist and noticed the time. "We should get to the party, so that we don't miss our chance to take out the host," you remarked.

"Agreed. Shall we, my dear?" Ketch asked as he held out his arm to you. You slipped your hand through his arm, and he tucked it close to his side as you ascended the spiral staircase together. As you left, Dean sent up a silent plea for a successful hunt, with everything going according to plan.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You and Ketch walked into the party, hand in hand. Ketch let go of your hand long enough to retrieve your invitation and hand it to the bouncer at the door. You felt Ketch's hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the room. When you reached the dance floor, Ketch skillfully turned you around so that you were in his arms, ready to dance.

"We don't have time for this," you hissed.

"We have to blend in, Love. If we don't, we'll be in some deep trouble before we've had a chance to ID our objective," Ketch firmly but softly stated. "Now, let's dance," he commanded.

You settled into the waltz, allowing Ketch to lead you all around the dance floor. He was an amazing dancer, probably part of his training with the British Men of Letters. Fortunately for him, you had also taken dancing lessons, so you weren't completely clumsy. As you moved across the floor, you kept trying to find your host, the vampire.

"Relax, darling, I've already spotted him," Ketch assured you. "When this song is over, you are going to slap me as if we've just had an argument. After that, go to the bar for a drink. Don't worry, our host the vampire will seek you out. He'll see a beautiful but heartbroken woman. Let him convince you to go somewhere private where he can 'console' you. I'll keep my eye on you both and wait for the opportunity to take him out."

"You want me to slap you, then walk away as if we've had a fight about something? Okay," you shrugged, doing as you were ordered. "JERK!!" you spat out as you turned on your heel and went towards the bar. Ketch stood there, staring after you and holding his cheek. He was left wondering if maybe you enjoyed your part a little too much.

You perched yourself on a barstool and ordered a drink. As you sipped it, you felt a powerful presence approach you on your left side. It's him, you thought. Where the hell is Ketch? you wondered as a slight panic set in. You didn't dare turn around, though, as that may blow your cover story.

"A little trouble in love, hmm?" a deep voice rumbled.

You turned towards the source. "Pardon me?" you asked.

"Oh, where are my manners? My name is Simon Foster, and I'm the host of this soirée. But I'm sure you already knew that, didn't you?" he purred, his hand lightly brushing your arm.

You fought the instinct to pull your arm away in disgust. "Of course I know you. Simon Foster: CEO of Foster Industries, head of the second largest shipping company in the world. Desperately clawing his way to being the first largest shipping company in the world. Offices spread out all over the globe, such as in New York, Liverpool, Rio de Janeiro, Sydney, Marseille," you finished.

"Well, I'm impressed. You've certainly done your homework, my dear. But enough business talk. Let's get a little more personal," he suggested.

"I really should be getting back to---" Simon put a finger to your lips. "Let him suffer a bit first. Besides, my sister Cynthia seems to be occupying him," he snickered.

You turned your attention towards where you'd left Ketch. You were shocked to see him with his arms around a gorgeous, leggy blonde woman in a red sequined dress. Simon turned your face back to him, so that you were looking into his eyes. "Come, my darling, let's go somewhere a little more private, and get to know each other better," he coaxed.

You gave him a quick smile and slid down from the barstool. You had only had the one drink and sipped it at that. However, you felt a bit unsteady on your feet, as if you'd had more like four drinks. Simon offered you his arm to support you as he led you away from the bar area to one of the private rooms. Ketch, you silently pleaded. Don't leave me, please.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

No sooner had you left to go to the bar, that a blonde-haired woman in a red sequined dress came up to Ketch and asked him to dance. Ever the gentleman, he obliged, but did not lose sight of you. The blonde woman introduced herself as Cynthia Foster, sister of your host, Simon Foster. He engaged Cynthia in conversation, maintaining his cover, while trying to learn anything he could about her brother. The next time he turned his attention towards the bar, you were gone and so was Simon.

You and Simon stumbled into his private study area, where he closed the door and locked it behind him. In one swift move, he backed you up against his desk and started kissing you. As you stuck out your hand behind you to keep from falling over, you cut your finger on a letter opener.

When you examined the cut and the blood dripping from it, you could see the pupils in Simon's eyes grow wide. He took your finger in his mouth and tasted the blood. "Oh, darling. You taste so sweet, just like I knew you would," he growled as his fangs came into view. He pushed your head to the side and sank his fangs into your neck.

You knew you had to do something before you fell unconscious from losing too much blood. You carefully slid your hand down your thigh under your dress to release one of the syringes of dead man's blood you had hidden. Unfortunately, Simon caught on to what you were doing and wrenched it from your hand. "YOU!! You're a hunter!!" he screeched, throwing you to the floor and causing you to hit your head on a table in the process.

From the blood loss and possible concussion, you were finding it hard to remain conscious, let alone fight back. Fortunately, Ketch had burst through the door, wielding his machete. He took two long strides towards the vampire and skillfully sliced off Simon's head. With the mission objective met, Ketch turned his attention towards you. He noticed the bite marks on your neck and placed his handkerchief over it. He told you to hold it there to try and stop the blood loss.

"Ketch....Ketch....Arthur...." you whispered. He turned to look into your eyes. "I'm sorry. I should've....should....should've paid better attention," you remarked softly.

"Shh, try not to talk now, Love. Let's get you back to the bunker and patched up, good as new. I just hope to bloody hell Dean doesn't kill me for this," Ketch muttered. He placed you in the front seat of the car, buckled you in and then he ran around to the driver's side. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. Ketch threw the car into gear and sped off into the night, headed back to the bunker.

"I'm so tired, Arthur," you replied as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

"Hold on, Love, hold on. We'll be there soon, just stay with me. Keep holding that kerchief up to your neck, darling," he soothed. When he didn't hear you respond, he looked over to see that you had fallen unconscious. He mashed down the accelerator in response, and soon the bunker was in his sights.

Once in the garage, he parked the car and ran around to the passenger side to get you. He scooped you up into his arms and pounded on the bunker door. Sam answered and quickly ushered you both in, then called out for Dean to help.

"What the hell happened, Ketch?!? You were supposed to look out for her. Is that what this looks like??" Dean thundered.

Ketch didn't say anything as he carried you to the infirmary to care for your wounds. You had bite marks on your neck from Simon, and a gash on your forehead where you'd hit the table. He placed you gently on the bed and went to the cabinet for what he would need to clean you up. Dean snatched the suture kit out of Ketch's hands and pushed him aside.

"Now see here, mate--" Ketch started angrily. "No, you see here. I'll take care of her. Been patching her up long before you came along, and I'll be doing it long after you leave," Dean retorted.

"Dean," you mumbled, opening your eyes. "Knock it off. It wasn't his fault," you muttered, sitting up a little. "He took out the vamp and his sister, mission accomplished," you said as you fell back onto the bed. "Arthur?" you called softly.

"Right here, Love," he said as he sat beside the bed and took your hand in his.

"Can you please stitch this up?" you asked, pointing at your neck and forehead.

Dean reluctantly handed him the suture kit and then stepped aside. "As you wish, darling," said Ketch. "Can someone please bring me a basin of warm water and a washcloth? I'll need to clean up some of this blood to see where I need to stitch," he explained. Sam left to go get the basin and washcloth.

Ketch looked at you with guilt in his eyes. You could tell that he felt responsible for what happened to you after having lost sight of you at the party. "Arthur, stop it. This wasn't your fault. I know how to take care of myself. It's just that this damn dress is so confining, which is why I'm a jeans-and-flannel kind of girl," you joked. He chuckled and you could see the relief in his eyes to know you would be all right.

"Well then, once we clean you up, we'll let you slip into something, shall we say, less confining and more comfortable?" he teased. By this time, Sam had returned with the basin and washcloth, as requested.

Ketch gently cleaned and dried your wounds. Turns out, the one on your forehead just needed those sterile tape strips to hold it closed, no stitches needed. Your neck was another story, though. Ketch took great care in making the stitches small to minimize the scar you were inevitably going to have. Dean brought back your pajamas so you would have something comfortable to change into. The guys then left the infirmary to give you some privacy as you changed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Weeks went by with no new cases or missions, which gave you time for your wounds to heal. You also felt yourself getting a little closer to Ketch, but you weren't sure if he felt the same way. He would always call you "Love" or "Darling". While not necessarily meant in a romantic way, it made you feel special each time he said it.

One afternoon, you were reading your book when you heard an argument in the hallway between Dean and Ketch. You heard sharp tones in the voices of both men, so you went to investigate.

"So you're just going to leave? Without even saying 'goodbye' to anyone, especially her?" Dean snapped. "After everything that's happened?"

"Dean, you know as well as I do, relationships and hunting don't pair well together. As far as any relationship I may have with her, it would be foolish to entertain such an idea. So you see--" he stopped.

"What's going on here? Arthur, what are you talking about?" you asked.

"He says he's found a case and after he's finished, he won't be coming back to live here," Dean retorted.

You felt the blood drain from your face. "Arthur, is this true? I thought....never mind what I thought," you muttered.

"Oh, let me guess. You thought that there were 'special feelings' between us? Darling, trust me, you don't want to get mixed up with someone like me. Not after the things that I've done," he finished.

"You still don't get it, do you?" you snapped in a rare flash of anger. "I don't care what you've done in the past! That isn't the man you are today, and he's the man that I....I love. There, I've said it. I love you, Arthur Ketch. And if you can't see that love is a gift and that it's worth fighting for....then maybe you should go," you choked out.

Ketch picked up his bag. "Well, I guess that's it then. Nothing more to say, I suppose, except goodbye," he said.

Tears in your eyes, you watched him walk up the spiral staircase and out to the garage. You jumped when the bunker door slammed shut, then you ran to your room and closed the door.

"Damn you, Ketch," Dean muttered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Soon after Ketch left, Sam and Dean started finding some new cases to work. You mostly stayed behind to do much-needed research for them. You were still heartbroken that Ketch decided to leave even after you declared your love for him. However, you tried to keep up a brave face for Sam and Dean. You smiled even when you didn't feel like it, just to keep them from asking if you were okay.

One night after a particularly dicey werewolf hunt, you were relieved when the boys finally came through the bunker door. Only this time, they weren't alone, they had someone with them. The man was injured and seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. You told them to bring him to the infirmary while you went to get the water basin and a washcloth.

"Okay, fellas, tell me what happened," you said. As you started to assess your patient, you gasped to see that it was none other than Arthur Ketch. The man to whom you had given your heart, but who didn't seem to want it.

"We found him locked in battle with that werewolf. He was holding his own until the werewolf slashed him across his stomach with its claws," Sam explained.

"A-all right. Let's get him cleaned up then I can see where he needs stitches. Dean, hand me a few suture kits, Sam help me get his jacket and shirt off," you ordered.

"Are you going to be okay with this? I mean, after what happened the last time he was here?" Dean asked.

"Dean, I'll be fine. Strictly professional, just the way he likes things. The sooner he gets well, the sooner he'll be free to leave me again," you said, your vision a little blurry from unshed tears. Dean squeezed your shoulder in support, and you gave him a small smile. Then you dipped the washcloth in warm water and started to clean Ketch's wounds.

After you had stitched him up, you dressed him in a clean T-shirt you had found in his bag. You left briefly to get your book so that you had something to do while you kept an eye on him.

Little did you know, Ketch was aware of what was going on the entire time. He heard the pain in your voice when you mentioned how he'd be free to leave you again once he was healed. Right then, he made up his mind that he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. He just had to figure out how to show you that.

As you kept watch over your patient, you noticed that he had started mumbling in his sleep again. You drew your chair next to his bed and took his hand in yours. "I must be out of my damn mind, going down this path again," you muttered to yourself.

All of a sudden, you heard him say your name, and how he was sorry he'd hurt you. Then he said the words you longed to hear, "I love you, and I'm not leaving you again". He's asleep, he doesn't know what he's saying, you told yourself. You looked down and saw that he had opened his blue-green eyes and was searching your face for some sign of your feelings for him.

"Arthur? How are you feeling?" you asked gently.

He reached up with his free hand and cupped your cheek. "I've been better. The werewolf tore up my stomach, but I'm also hurting in my heart. You see, there was this wonderful woman I got to work with a while back.

“She's kind, considerate of others and is the most beautiful creature I've ever met. She sort of wiggled her way into my heart, and well, she never really left. But I left. Like a coward, I left her, which I never should've done," he confessed.

"What are you saying, Arthur?" you whispered.

"I'm saying that I was a fool to ever have left you, my love. I'm hoping that someday you can forgive me. You've helped me to see that love is a gift and it's definitely worth fighting for. I love you," he replied, pulling your face down to mesh his lips with yours. They were as soft as you'd imagined they would be, but firm, as he took charge of the kiss like he did with everything else in his life.

"I'm so glad you came back. I love you, Arthur Ketch," you said softly.

[toldbymae]

𝐆 𝐑 𝐀 𝐕 𝐈 𝐓 𝐘 ~ 𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐀𝐮

C H A P T E R  O N E: BEGIN AGAIN

Fandom; Choices stories you play

Pairings; Ethan Ramsey x Mc (Lucky-Rae Longford)

Summary; Emotions are the luxury you can’t afford as a Doctor, consider this something Ethan Ramsey learned early. When the sun sets, all hope seems lost. That is, until a wide-eyed young intern tumbles, quite literally, into his life and the sun has never shined brighter. 

Warnings; Swearing, Graphic descriptions of injury, Alcohol consumption, NSFW, Character death, Violence, Mentions of stillbirth, Physical abuse.

Word Count; 1.4k (1,467 including this and the above.)

Author Note; This story is an au and starts at the beginning of open heart book one. The storyline won't entirely be the same, some aspects will change eg; Miss Martinez won't end up dying because of mc...instead it'll be because of someone else. In this story, you’ll hate Landry even more.

𝗚𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗶𝘁𝘆; 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗰𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘀 𝗮 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝘁𝗼𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗵, 𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗼𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘀.

Enjoy!

LUCKY-RAE

After a six and a half hour flight, Lucky got off the plane and made her way through security, grabbing her suitcase and making her way through the crowd of loud and rowdy people. Most of them wore a smile, running into the arms of friends and family, while others were crying and watching as they bid goodbye.

Life is something precious.

It's strong and yet, it's so fragile and easy to take away.

The automatic doors opened and, almost instantly, she was hit with golden rays of the sun. Boston, she smiled and began venturing down the street.

Lucky couldn't wipe the irreplaceable smile off her face, nor did she want to. This is going to be the start of something new. Something good. Something...unimaginable.

The sudden vibration of her phone drew the redhead from her thoughts as she hastily grabbed it out of her pocket.

Landlord guy; 27 Ilford terrace, be there at 3 pm and I'll give you your keys. NO LATER.

Lucky; Sure thing

She tucked her phone safely back in her front pocket and called for a taxi, told him the destination she was heading to, and sat comfortably in the back seat, after putting her luggage in the boot, with the much-needed assistance of the driver.

25 minutes.

The car set off and Lucky leaned her head against the window, watching everything pass her by.

A smile crept back onto her face.

It's happening, it's finally happening. All these years of dreaming, believing, and working hard have led her to where she is right now, where she will be in the future.

Edenbrook Hospital, one of, if not the most, prestigious in the country. Widely known for its efficient and dedicated health care and team.

It hadn't always been her dream to work there, nevertheless, Lucky was determined now more than ever, not to allow the past to cloud her judgment or decisions.

All the people she'd save...all the people she'd be able to help...and those who she can't save...

Seconds descended into minutes which soon felt like hours and the taxi pulled up outside her new home. She thanked him, paid, and dragged her suitcase behind her as she walked up the steps and patiently waited for her landlord to arrive. She spotted him making his way down the road, wearing a blue shirt and loose-fitting black trousers.

"It's nice to finally meet you in person Mister...."

"Just call me Farley." He said delving his hand into his over-sized pocket and fishing for the keys.

"Thank you, I promise to take good care of the property...Mister Farley."

He laughed, "I know you lot will."

She paused, you lot. But there's only one of her...

"What did you mean?" She asked.

"Oh..." He laughed again, "Go inside and you'll see, Doc."

And she did. She unlocked the door and trekked up the stairs and wished there was a lift.

Lucky's breath was instantly taken away. The view was simply spectacular, the apartment was spacious, too spacious.

"This isn't all for me, is it?"

"Turns out you really are as smart as you look." He retorted, turning his head and pointing out all the other bedrooms which would be accommodating other people. Lucky shifted uncomfortably.

"Don't worry." He reassured, "I'm sure you'll get along with them just fine." Without another word, Farley departed leaving Lucky alone.

Her momentary peace was interrupted at the sound of voices and the door flying open. Five people walked in, luggage trailing after them, and meek smiles.

"He really wasn't lying..." Someone moaned, a slim and tall man with wild curly, hazel nut-brown hair, with baby blue eyes.

"I got one can't wait!" The voice of a short, brunette squeaked, smiling from ear to ear. Lucky couldn't tell whether or not she was being genuine.

"What are the odds of us all Woking at ED?" Another woman rolls her eyes and makes her way into the kitchen and raids the fridge.

"Well...I guess I should introduce myself?" The uncertainty in her voice caused Lucky to internally cringe.

"Lucky." She extends out her hand and the small girl, no taller than her, shakes it.

"I call dibs on the largest room." Says the girl whose name Lucky is yet to know, who is currently stuffing her face with a chocolate bar, "I'm Jackie, that's Sienna, Elijah, and Landry."

"Pleasure to meet you." Lucky replies. Sienna smiles at her, "I think we're gonna get along just great and I love your voice, are you, Welsh?"

"Irish, from Killarney."

"Well, is anyone hungry might as well order something." Elijah says getting his phone and looking up nearby takeaway restaurants.

Hours of talking and unpacking later, the interns sat at the table eating pizza and watching TV, feeling nothing except mixture exhaustion and relaxation.

"There's this bar down the road called Donahue’s, wanna go?” Jackie suggests, earning the attention of her new fellow roommates.

Landry shrugged, “I mean I don’t mind...but we’ve orientation tomorrow so...let’s not drinking too much.”

“Alright, let's go.”

...

ETHAN

The bar was still and quiet as the diagnostician drank the last of his whiskey and motioned for the bartender, his long time friend Reggie, to get him another.

"You sure you want another?" Reggie asks, hesitant.

Ethan almost instantly nods and the sound of voices filling the once empty bar drew him from his thoughts.

One in particular caught his eye.

Her laugh sounded like a melody he could listen to every day.

Her eyes, glassy, pure, and ruby green. So beautiful and mesmerizing.

Her hair, long, curly, and auburn shade of red.

Her freckles, as golden as the sun, spread across her face like stars in a midnight sky.

Ethan forced himself to turn away, unable to get the image of her out of his head.

He wouldn't see her again.

Or her dark red lips, so kissable.

He drank the remainder of his drink and decided to call it a night, much to Reggie's relief.

From the corner of his sky blue eyes, he sees her stumbling and about to fall, glass in hand. He catches her just in time and she smiles and drunkenly laughs, before throwing up a river on his green jacket and white top. Ethan sighs and helps her walk over to the nearest booth and sits her down.

“Shit...” She says, “I’m such a lightweight. Sorry, I uh...you know.” Her eyes dart to the ground and her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get you some water.” Ethan walks over to the bar and Reggie gives him a bottle of water, he opens the bottle and passes it to her. Lucky smiles gratefully and drinks it.

“You're a lifesaver...sorry again about your-

“It’s fine, really.”

A hesitant silence falls upon them until Lucky speaks, “I’m not usually like this.”

“I’m really, really, really nervous about tomorrow...”

“What’s tomorrow?” He asks.

“My intern orientation at Edenbook Hospital. Have you heard of it?”

“Yeah, I certainly have. I don’t think you have anything to be nervous about. You're going there for a reason, remember that.”

“...You know exactly what to say. I like that.”

He sits down opposite her, properly able to see her golden freckles in the soft and warm glow of the light.

“I haven’t asked.” He began, “What’s your name?”

She laughs, playfully slapping his knee, “My parents named me something, like, super weird...don’t go laughing okay?”

“You have my word.”

“Lucky. Lucky-Rae to be exact.”

...

The following morning felt like a complete nightmare. Ethan was in the shower and for once, not even lukewarm water could calm him down.

He dreamed about her.

What was wrong with him?

Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined her long red hair tickling his skin as her lips pressed tantalizingly against his flesh, traveling lower and lower...

His eyes darted upwards at the clock and the time was five minutes past six. Ethan didn't bother wrapping a towel around himself and turned the shower head off before getting dressed and making his way to work.

The traffic was even more so annoying than usual.

Cars sped past him and all could hear were the screams of the couple arguing in the car in front and a baby crying in the car behind. Ethan resisted the overwhelming urge to gouge his ears out. Half an hour passed and Ethan was walking in the hallways of Edenbrook, watching the nurses organize patient files.

An hour later the interns arrived and the hospital wasn’t silent anymore. A sudden commotion corrupted, he turns his head and a woman has collapsed and isn’t moving. Without another thought, he rushed over and ushered for space.

Ethan looked around and noticed an intern rushing over, long red hair, dark green eyes...golden freckles. As if this day could get any worse.

[pastelwitchling]

Reading update: I’ve pulled a midnight read (haven’t done one of those in over a month), and finally finished the second half of The Mark of Athena 🎉 Er — I’m exhausted with both the lack of sleep and the extreme emotions I’m feeling right now at that ending, so I’m going to write down my thoughts, then go to bed for a bit.

I gave this book a 4.5 out of 5 stars which... is new for me because all of Rick Riordan’s books I’ve ever read, aka anything with Percy Jackson, I’ve always given it 5 stars. I couldn’t do that this time. The writing was phenomenal, the adventures amazing, the Greek mythology always so incredible... but I had a few issues with a few things.

Frank and Hazel were so annoying. I liked them by the end, but, personally, it just wasn’t enough to save them completely. Hazel had little to no character, I didn’t care at all what was going on with her, and she seemed to constantly be punishing Leo for being related to Sammy. It’s like every time he spoke, she had to judge him, and it was so irritating. Frank was just mean to him. Everyone always says Frank’s such a big sweet teddy bear, but he spent this book bitter at everything Leo said because he was jealous of him, even after Leo reassured him he wasn’t interested in Hazel. Every time those three were together, it felt like Leo was apologizing because Frank and Hazel continuously took every thing he said in the worst way possible. I just didn’t like them. They — and Camp Jupiter — are the ones that dropped this rating.

I liked Piper a lot more in this book, I just wish her connection to Aphrodite went beyond her love for Jason. I wish she embraced her feminine side, I wish we could’ve seen her — I don’t know — painting her nails when she was stressed (I do it when I’m stressed, it’s very therapeutic), or actually enjoying seeing her own mother instead of being embarrassed by her. I’m tired of this idea that if you reject makeup and don’t care about your physical appearance, then that somehow makes you better. I would’ve liked to see a different take on that with Aphrodite’s daughter.

I always thought Annabeth was a little annoying, and she was kind of in this book, but mostly, I just fell in love with her by the end. Her intelligence, resilience, courage, and love for Percy was just so beautiful and inspiring and simply fantastic. I didn’t really love her before, but I certainly do now.

The Jason and Percy teamwork? Yes.

I want to cry every time someone calls Percy, “Son of Neptune,” and he automatically corrects it to “Poseidon.” Just — yes.

I was so happy to see Nico and Percy interact again, it brought tears to my eyes. Their relationship and interactions were always my favorite in the original series, so I was so happy to see Percy’s last real interaction in this book be with Nico.

Best line in this series is Nico’s, “Percy’s the most powerful demigod I’ve ever known. No offense to you guys, but it’s true.” Baby, yes, let me hear someone (and not just anyone, but Nico di Angelo) acknowledge the original Hero of Olympus, I am here for it.

The ending. I knew it was coming, this is a reread, and it still killed me.

Okay, that’s all I’ve got. If you’ve read The Mark of Athena, let me know your thoughts on it. I’m exhausted. I’m going to bed.

[flowerflamestars]

Coming Home: Part Nineteen

The rising sun felt like a surprise, time liquid in this new space Nesta was inhabiting.   Clad in nothing but a ruby ring, she watched soft gold begin to paint the space beyond the thrown open windows. The balcony had no doors left- the story of which she had no plans on admitting to anyone. From that gaping doorway came the breeze off the winter ocean. Salt and storm and something wild as it drifted through her hair- Nesta couldn’t understand the meaning, but still it called. Cassian had spent three intermittent nights trying to teach her the songs the wind sang.   She suspected she’d never be Illyrian enough to hear the words, but through Cassian, Nesta could feel the open sky. One more dream, between them.  Cassian traced a gentle hand down the redness lining her thighs.   The muscle beneath his hand jumped. Because apparently Nesta’s faery body had decided this was what it was made for, and in her heart of hearts, she had to agree. Not that Cassian helped- gods and immortal honey- unabashedly nude as he knelt between her legs, all bedhead and sleep roughened voice, new light hugging the wicked curves of wings.   “I don’t understand why you’re not healing,” He murmured, still focused on the marks his stubble had left behind.   Until he looked up, and caught the predatory glint in her eyes.   Cassian laughed. That happy sound so big it could fill a Velaris street- her heart was overflowing.   Instead, she bumped him with one leg and nodded meaningfully to his right side. “You’re not healing either.”   The place were she’d sunk her teeth into Cassian’s neck was a kaleidoscopic bruise, two tiny scabs hiding in the color. His second laugh shook the bed, but what Nesta liked more was the blush. From this angle she couldn’t see the second bitemark- on Cassian’s shoulder.   He’d come with a shout when Nesta bit him that time. Tangled together beneath the open sky, he’d curled around her body in the aftermath, until nothing existed but the stars and warm screen of Illyrian wings.   Some infinitesimal time later they’d been talking, still tucked so tightly together Nesta wouldn’t have been able to move if the sky fell down on them. Cassian had his face buried in her neck, breathing without a hint of subtlety or shame the scent of her skin.   Nesta deliriously muttered something about biting back and he had laughed. “Different instincts,” Cassian explained, smile wide against her collarbone. “If I had any self control to leave, would go kill something with my bare hands to feed you.”   “Barbarian,” Nesta growled without a hint of heat. Cassian shook his head- not in disagreement, but to press his face even closer to her. “You’re the one that marked me.”   The utterly smug tone was cut off with a hiss as Nesta dragged one hand over the wing she laid atop. “You,” she said, “Were already marked.” She had to pause for a moment, to appreciate the instant and radiating tension of Cassian’s body against hers. “No ones taken mate marks as elaborate as yours in centuries.”   He half rolled, not for space, but to throw back his head as her fingertips carefully found the curve of bones for flight. The helpless pleasure of the gesture- the bared expanse of his throat- made Nesta hungry. Cassian groaned. “No one but you.”   Again, with a wildness that was the best thing she’d ever felt, Nesta pulled him on top of her. Right there on the cold ground, irregardless of the open air, the brightly lit city bellow- what mattered was this: the endless stream of words, praise that flowed from Cassian’s bitten lips straight up to the stars overhead.   Later, much later, Nesta brought it up again, through the warm haze of a midnight hour spent in the House of Winds kitchen.   “It tasted like,” Nesta shook her head, the wordless sense memory bouncing back and forth across the bond. His blood in her mouth, and Nesta had felt nothing but good. More than good. A possessive high that had locked in her bones and crowed her heart as she tasted Cassian’s strength.   The tone of her voice won the slow battle Cassian had been fighting with himself to remain a few feet from her.   Perched lightly on the marble counter, Nesta had been watching with no small satisfaction the war between his absolute focus on making her tea and every time Cassian caught sight of her bare legs in his periphery.  Instincts.   In two long strides Cassian crowded into her space and picked up one hand in his. Closer- more sudden, more intent- than he ever would have moved around her without clear invitation, even three days before. Never too much, but no longer haunted by the specter of rejection.   Pulled by the motion, the too large neckline of her borrowed shirt slipped down one shoulder.   Nesta felt so much as watched Cassian’s hazel eyes track the motion and fought the urge to shudder.   “I liked it,” Cassian’s voice rasped. Echoing back, Nesta was flung into the memory from the other direction. Tactile Cassian, whose heart seemed to explode in his chest every time he caught sight of the marks she’d left: belonging. Further- the pleasure pain overwhelming pleasure of her sharp teeth.   Blinking, Nesta’s vision resolved itself back to the kitchen and Cassian’s blushing face.   Lightly, she tapped one red cheek, the color subtle on his dark skin. “But Illyrians don’t bite?”   Twisting, Cassian nipped her fingers. “Different kinds of biting, sweetheart.” Like ripples growing, he pressed to the forefront of her mind the sight and feel of his teeth on her breasts. Followed by the conflicting, intertwined thought that Cassian wanted to taste every single inch of Nesta’s skin- how pale she’d been, bare in the moonlight-   In the here and now, Nesta wrapped her legs around the smooth expanse of Cassian’s hips. Found herself pressing fingertips into his pleased mouth- and pulled back on the bond.   His wings, so beautiful the sight hurt her, spread out against the sky. The sheer delight Nesta took in the raw strength of Cassian’s body when he picked her up- held her at face level like it was nothing- pressed her against those warm stone walls and-   Cassian groaned.   “If we have sex in this kitchen Rhys is going to banish us.” He ground out, dropping his face to the crook of her neck.   Nesta leaned her cheek against the riot of his hair, waves brushing her lips. Every place their skin touched felt like torture, heaven. “Would he really know?”   The gust of Cassian’s sigh tickled her throat, warm and tantalizing. “Az would.” Azriel also knew damned well how to keep things quiet, in Nesta’s personal experience. Straightening, she brushed a hand through Cassian’s hair, catching the waves in just enough grip that his breath caught.   “I don’t know,” she murmured, “I wouldn’t really mind having to hide out in the mountains.”   A kiss was brushed beneath her earlobe. “We could hide out in the mountains,” Cassian suggested in a voice that promised hiding out would involve even less clothes than their current hermitage. “There’s hot springs in the northern range.”   She saw them in his minds eye: steam billowing from bioluminescent water, its blue glow nearly as bright as the light painting the sky overhead, so far north daylight barely existed half the year.   His mouth had continued when words stopped. “The snow never melts there,” Nesta gasped.   “Mhm,” Cassian growled in agreement, sucking kisses down her neck. “I’ll keep you warm.”   He already was. Nesta’s other hand was pressed across his bare stomach, smooth skin hot and heady. Gold still lingered in odd places- the shadows between abdominal muscles, in the tracery of Cassian’s promise marks, streaked glowing over one hipbone.   Nesta knew there was silver still too- in curves of her cheeks, hiding in the bow of her mouth.   Nesta also knew now, as guessed, dreamed of, the fire between them had no extinguishing point. Magic had nothing to do with it. Shining mate bond light spilled between them was strange-  but it seemed utterly natural.The muscles beneath her hand shifted, tense as Cassian’s mouth continued its slow descent. She was molten, languid already in his arms when Cassian pulled her clear off the counter.   They hadn’t made it to the bedroom.   Now, five days later, Nesta flopped back onto the mess of pillows. Overhead, the stone ceiling bore one long crack, spiderwebbing out to show ribbons of color hiding in the mountain construction.   As it turned out, her perfect control had its limits.   That particularly beautiful limitation freed himself from the tangle of her legs to follow Nesta down. The landing bounced the entire bed, as Nesta rolled onto her side to bare teeth at Cassian’s softly concerned face.   And throw one leg over his hips for good measure.   Automatically, she found herself face to face with Cassian, one warm hand spanning the small of her back. “I’ve only ever seen you bruise in battle before."   Impossibly, the depth of his gaze grew. Remembered, perhaps, as Nesta was, the countless horrific injuries she’d seen him take during the war. How her hands had shaken, when she bound his broken wrist. How she’d known it was there- half the memory escaped in gold between them before she could stop it.   Nesta, frozen like a statue, not in shock or worry as Feyre had seemed to think, but locked in the focus it took to not move. Not to let a single bit of her reaction show as she felt every hit Cassian took and landed, how the muscles of her own back hurt from the phantom pull of his wings as Cassian dove out of the sky into an enemy horde.   She’d bitten a hole in her lip when his wrist shattered and he kept on using it. Cassian winced.   Hearing the words coming, Nesta smacked a hand over his mouth before they made it out.  “Do not apologize.” Despite the bitten redness, Cassian’s lips were soft, completely plush against her palm. Again, heat coiled up her spine.   And Cauldron take them both he smelled it, pupils growing wide as Cassian turned his face. Not to free himself, but to press those lips to the inside of her wrist.   A breathless sigh escaped her before Nesta managed to refocus, pulling her hand away.   “I think it has something to do with the light.”   Cassian had caught her hand. Not stopping the motion, but twisting their fingers together. So it was smiling down at their intwined hands that he spoke. Naked in bed with her- taut with tension- and he was happy to be simply holding her hand. “The bond is still settling. Maybe the light is a sign of that, we’re open to each other.” Open was one way to describe the way Nesta felt like she was made solely of magic and flame. Flesh and blood along with it- made to be touched- surely, but fae and untamed in a way she’d never been before.   As her lips twitched at the word open, Cassian pressed the real thought of the bond settling to her. Settling- becoming- Cassian wished the light could spread. His heartbeat ticked up in Nesta’s ears as the image grew hungrier, a near feral desire that didn’t show at all in his happy face.   Cassian wanted the color to transfer.   Gold smeared over her naked body. Her bare skin, gilded with his touch- saturated in his scent- the marks of her teeth set in permanent scars- sweat on his dark skin tinted the silver of her mouth- glowing, glowing, glowing.   Nesta sat up.   The motion was so fast Cassian’s wings snapped out as he tried to follow, face abruptly very, very red. He honestly thought she didn’t like that- even now. In her head, the image of her own body through his eyes, glowing like a beacon and dripping with his scent, burned.   Surprise wasn’t worth one bit of shyness creeping into his gaze.   “Sweetheart,” Nesta purred, the phrase so obviously borrowed from his tongue she might have blushed herself, “Stay here.”   One meaningful stroke up his neck before Cassian’s brows rose, familiar challenge in his smile. Distantly, Nesta wondered if endearments existed in the Illyrian language. Almost no one, even the Illyrians themselves, spoke it anymore. But she’d heard the meanings of those liquid, beautiful names given to warriors: sky-cleaver, wrathful-blood, dreaming dark, loyal heart. That was Cassian.   And she might not be able to paint him in gold, but Nesta suspected she had the next best thing.   Winnowing across the House now that she’d rewritten the wards took less than half a thought. She knew Amren had done the same thing twelve thousand years ago, and it had never failed her. Still- the rush of ancient power from the bones of the mountains reached out toward Nesta as she landed, easy, in her office. The stone here had either been alive once, or had taken so much power in the years since the cities founding that it became irrevocably more, a watchful giant.   The absurd box of Summer Court diamonds was exactly where she’d left it, half hidden under shipment records and rare, fascinating books Nesta had pretended not to notice Cassian sneaking onto her shelves to be found.   Even in the dim light before day, the pink and white and red gleamed with clarity her human self wouldn’t have been able to believe.   Cassian wanted her gilded- but he was treasure himself.   Hands full, Nesta let herself be caught in that infinitely precious grasp as she stepped out of nothing back into their bedroom, Cassian’s catch so precise he had to have been listening for her.   Equally obliging, he let himself be pushed back onto the bed, grinning as Nesta followed to climb on top of him.   It was only after she’d straddled his hips and stilled that Cassian paid attention to what was in her hands. Dark eyes dragged from her bobbing chest to her pleased face and back, before dropping to the precious stones.   She was hit with the crystal clear thought that he no idea what she intended- but Cassian would let her do anything.   Nesta could rip the wings from a full-grown Illyrian warrior with her bare hands. Could shake mountains with her strength, will the life from an immortal body- it was easy to reduce diamond and ruby to a soft dust so fine it barely existed at all.   A twist of magic, a deep breath, and the sparkle was already slipping from her hands to coat them both. And Cassian started laughing.   “Is the message that I’m better than gold?”   Under her greedy hands, shimmer smeared over the taught expanse of his muscled stomach, the impression of her fingertips clear. “General, you’re better than the stars in the sky, haven’t you heard?”   The praise that spilled from his mouth in between laughs carried them from one dawn to the next.   They shone for days. —- Some nights later, that big beautiful bed left behind a glittering ruin, pink still streaked in Cassian’s curls, they took back up trading stories.   In a low, half-wry tone that she knew hid nothing, Nesta had commented on the difference her immortal eyes made looking at the sky.   What she didn’t say was that she’d been making herself learn the stories, each little legend for the wheeling constellations Nesta could see now. How she’d hated them when she’d first come here- even the sky was different, even more damned beautiful.   She hadn’t expected Cassian to grin and pull her upright, laughing off her questions until they were at the highest point of the House of Wind; a thousand lights bellow them, Velaris and it’s rainbow brightest in the dark.   Nearly as bright as the million stars overhead, careless and beautiful as gemstones, scattered sparkling sugar.   Cassian had favorites. “See the one so bright it almost has a pink sheen?” He was pointing, curls flying back from his face in the breeze. “We call it Ishtar, the lion of East, the last light in the sky when the sun rises.”   It was an effort not to lean in as he turned his face back to her, capture those smiling lips.   Instead, Nesta slid a step in front of him, feeling the laugh down to her bones as Cassian spluttered, wind neatly flipping her unbound hair across his face. “Human call the same star Asteria,” It was fainter in her memories, no less bright than the North Star. To her faery eyes, it burned, occupied by two other bright lights. “The star of prophecy.”   “Asteria,” Cassian replied, looping the entirety of her hair between his hands and tucking it between them. “Humans believe in prophecy?”   “Fate,” Nesta replied, with all the gravitas she could muster barefoot and mostly undressed, melting back into Cassian’s chest.   “Fate,” He murmured back, body and wings curving around her. There was a silent question to it- not intentional, but the bond whispering, spinning from a tangle of memory.   Ice cold ground and bright, infinite sky. Stories that tasted like smoke in the back of Cassian’s throat, racing through clouds the precise color of her eyes.   “I think,” Nesta began, glad to be looking out at the city, “I was always going to end up here.”   Cassian went completely still behind her.   “Everything- the war, Hybern, the Cauldron. All that blood. It would have hurt more to be here, just human. I wouldn’t change it.”   The huge breath Cassian let out warmed Nesta to her bones. “I didn’t think I’d ever be lucky enough. It was enough to stay alive for, the possibility.” Abruptly, he crushed her to his chest, a full body hug. “And you would have figured it out. It didn’t change anything to me that you were human, Nesta.”   “Figured it out?” Nesta laughed, the sound muffled by Cassian’s embrace. “I would have been petitioning some dark god for immortality by now. I wouldn’t want a halfway.”   “You’d pick the right god,” He whispered into her hair, before pressing a kiss to her brow.   And then another: her cheek, the shell of her ear, every bit of skin Cassian could reach without letting her go.   “That sounds like you would have helped me,” Nesta purred, pleased beyond measure at the way her voice turned the endless affection into a feeling so complete Cassian buried his face in her hair.   “I’d have offered up Rhys as a blood sacrifice by now.” — Cassian had diamond dust on his skin, bruises up his back, and Nesta’s hair in his mouth.   He’d never, ever been happier.   Pulled her up here to see the stars- laughing, protesting, manhandling him right back. He’d barely managed not to say what he was thinking, only because he didn’t have the words. Cassian wanted to tell her that he would have flown her high enough to see every star her human eyes hid from her. Would take her to every corner of that infinite space, that sky he lived and breathed and worshiped that was alive in Nesta’s eyes.   She’d called him better than stars- how could words explain that she meant more than a thousand years of fair wind?   Her laugh brushed over his arms, that sound he was sure no one else in the world got to hear.   Cassian wasn’t thinking- it was possible he’d transcended that entirely in favor of feel, of touch, when he blurted, interrupting her- “We should buy a house.”   Nesta’s stillness didn’t scare him like it once would, but when she twisted in his arms to turn and face him, Cassian couldn’t read the mix of happy emotions on her face.  Nesta raised a slim brow. “We already have a house.”   Helplessly, his eyes fell to her bottom lip. “No, I mean, just to ourselves.” Nesta’s bright eyes made him keep going, a spill of words much more giddy than anxious. “I know you like the houses in the historic district more than Feyre and Rhy’s place. We can look there, or up at the mouth of the Sidra, for the view of the city. The harbor’s pretty, but not as good for flying, and you’d have to hear the waves all time.” Cassian was extremely aware of how fast he was talking. He was going to marry her. Marry his mate and make a home with her. “I want to look, and buy one together. For us. For our family.”   Nesta brushed cool fingertips over his jaw. “The historic distinct is much nicer than downtown. But I’d like to be up high, you know,” She murmuring, smiling like danger, “For the flying.”   Cassian was going to look tomorrow. He’d buy a chunk of mountain from Rhysand if he had to.   “A second house makes sense, we’ll need a place in Velaris.” Nesta was saying, head tipped. “At least for visiting.”   “Visiting?”   Nesta’s eyes snapped back to him. “From the Steppes.”   Cassian’s heartbeat rose fast enough he felt lightheaded, Nesta’s scent near and close and altered- melded with him- abruptly overwhelming. “Wait,” Cassian said, voice colored enough she smirked, “We have a house. You and I, have a house?”   “Well, not a finished one yet.” Nesta laughed, “I showed you the plans.”   Would she ever, ever stop surprising him? Cassian hoped not.   “And this house,” It was a fight not to kiss her, to get the words out, “Is in the Illyrian mountains?”   Her second laugh was even louder, enough that she buried her face against Cassian’s chest. “It’s on the plans for the city,” Nesta insisted, voice pitched with amusement, “It’s marked with our initials.”   It took a second, and then Cassian was laughing too, more out of disbelief than humor. “ Wait, C.A & N.A? On the bluff above everything?”   Nesta growled.   “No, no Nesta- C.A as in Cassian Archeron?” He’d never had a last name before. Wondered, before proposing, if it were something he could ask of her. If Cassian were a human man, he’d have a name to give her. If he’d possessed an Illyrian family title it already would have been hers. “Can I use Archeron?”   She spit hair from her face and glared up at him, so much love in her scent he could practically see it. “It’ll be your name. It’s yours already.”   A name, a home, a life.   He’d always thought she’d want to stay in this jewel box of a city. They’d go back and forth; her armies and his, duties and love that bound them to the Steppes, but now. Now, every door was open.   Nesta, through the wide open bond, was watching him realize this.   “Cassian,” She murmured, “It’s your home, of course we’re going to live there.”   It was true for him in a way it would never be for his brothers- Rhysand, who would always be a high fae High Lord before anyone else, Azriel who’d embraced otherness wholly- and Cassian, whose blood was a gift and a burden and a reason, Illyrian to his heart and soul.   He wanted to make a better world for his difficult and long bloodied people- and Nesta Archeron already had a head start on building a new one.   “Two houses,” Cassian agreed, and let the bond fill with a hundred possibilities.   Wildflowers that grew only in the highest mountains, blooming for just one day, twined in her hair. Racing with her through the northernmost glowing skies. A bedroom of all windows. The views above two cities, the warmth of stone walls and Nesta’s touch.   And how she replied.   A house full of windows. The Velaris skyline reflected back in his eyes, the taste of air full of old trees and biting chill that filled her lungs with wonder in ancient mountain forests. So much work and so much time- she wanted them to do it all together.   The flash of a red dress, sunlight awash through a ruby ring.   Children, their perfect, tiny Illyrian wings shot through with gold.   Cassian didn’t realize he’d shut his eyes until he was opening them at her prompting, looking in Nesta’s silvered gaze.   “Come one, General Archeron,” She purred, “Let me show you home.”

@mylittlebigplanet @endlessworld246 @illyrianinterrasen @ofstarsanddreams@sannelovesreading@dreamingofazriel @saholiveira7 @ice-queen-a @aelinashgalathynius@tntwme@andyousaidtruelovedidntexsist @a-court-of-nessian @skychild29@urbisie@acojemmanessianandelriel @regularlyconfused @voiceoftheroses @jjellybean@moonbeammadness@anastasia-orlov @deathbytitanium @my-fan-side @iwishistayedd @missing-merlin @maddieimhot@saltierthanbottomofapretzelbag @saolmaith @tswaney17 @plroberson@sarita801 @tragically-broken @bookofmaas @captainannika @fromthelibraryofemilyj @the-sun-the-moon-the-truth24 @archeron-queens @palomagtre @missanniewhimsy @catherine-herondale-roseland @facetedasthenight@selfdestructive-selfobserver @maeben @abillionlittlepieces@imblankcanvas @massiverockcollection@curiousitykilledthecas @katlady13 @acotar-feels@missmathdork @thatoneslytherinmuggleborn @stormsword3303 @littlewarlock @keshavomit

[rubyastari]

His Almost Twin

Sometimes God works in peculiar ways. There are times when God simply plays the Universe to direct you where to go. Other times, that happens just to clarify what has been going on in your mind lately.

A couple of days before that Saturday, a friend asked you to go to a karaoke night party with her. She said she’d been stressed out lately, so she needed to blow off some steam. You realised you’d been feeling the same way too, so you agreed to go.

Hours before the karaoke night, you’d read your best friend’s post on his timeline and was immediately worried. It had been ages since you both really talked to each other. When his caption said something about ‘...facing challenges ahead...”, you couldn’t resist asking him what had been going on with him lately.

Since you have been best friends for so long, his answer wasn’t that surprising. Obviously, he wasn’t ready to talk about it, so you decided to wait. Still, you couldn’t get that off your mind.

So, how was the karaoke night?

You had to admit, it had gone well. People were having fun, so were you...that your original plan to leave early had been completely forgotten. It didn’t matter that your friend had to leave early. Somehow, you felt like still sticking around for another moment.

Then there he was, standing tall at the corner of the venue, talking to some other girl. The girl was sporty-looking with her fisherman’s hat, well-fitted tee, a checkered shirt tied to her waist, skinny jeans, and trainers. Her hair was dyed in a slight reddish ombre. The guy...you couldn’t believe your eyes at first.

He was almost the dead ringer of your big brotherly, hazel-eyed best friend! The greyish hair, stubble, rather fair complexion, and he was even wearing the same checkered shirt your best friend also has.

That was when your mood suddenly turned a bit darker. If it had been your best friend, you might have already rushed there just to give him a hug and ask him what had been going on. Instead, you carried on singing when somebody handed you the microphone.

The girl in a hat had dragged him to the centre of the venue when somebody urged the rest to gather for a selfie group shots. He bumped into you and you both exchanged looks. He smiled at you, so you returned the same smile. Then the group separated and you went back to your seat again.

So, what had made you guys finally talked to each other?

As the night wore on, more people left the venue. You decided to stand in the corner, since you’d been sitting practically almost all night. When you noticed him standing a bit farther from you, something inside you made you inch closer.

No, this is not one of those rare chicklit / chickflick moments, you silently told yourself. In fact, what you felt that night was far from that. You were still thinking about your best friend and he just looked so much like him. You felt something choke your throat inside.

He noticed you and smiled again. God, he had a really sweet smile that sparked warmth in his brown eyes (not hazel like your best friend’s). You automatically smiled back at him, because his smile was indeed infectious.

“Do you own this place?” No idea why that dumb question suddenly popped out of your mouth. Perhaps you were already so tired. You should’ve returned home by then. That random question had cracked him up laughing, though.

“What?” He had a distinctive accent, which was obviously not American, British, or Australian. Having been in the language business for quite some time, you immediately noticed that it was not a European accent as well – despite his looks. “What made you think I do?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed but not defeated by it. You were about to bail, when he suddenly asked you:

“Come here often?”

“No, this is my first time here,” you told him truthfully. “You?”

“The same.” Then he gave you that sweet, infectious smile again. “Nice voice, by the way. You’re a good singer.”

“Thank you.” That had warmed your heart. Then you ended up chatting. He wondered if you had come to such events more often and you said no. You told him that IRL, you were more like a very boring person. Now he was genuinely curious.

“Really? Like, how?”

“I love staying home, reading a book, or watching TV shows,” you explained. “Or writing.”

“Oh, that’s really good,” he seemed impressed. “Do you know Netflix?”

“Of course.”

“So, what do you write?” To your surprise, the conversation rolled over naturally. He told you his name and you told him yours. It was as if the two of you had been friends for quite a while. He was nice and friendly, not just handsome. He was also smart, working as an engineer. You weren’t too surprised when he also told you he was from one of the countries in the Middle East. His features were quite a dead giveaway.

Your conversation was interrupted when another girl handed you the microphone, asking you to sing again. He beckoned to you to carry on, so you belted out the lyrics on the screen. Despite the sadness of missing your best friend and worrying about him, you still managed to have fun that night.

After that, you went back to your conversation with him. He told you that, when he was not hanging out like that, he usually stayed home to watch Netflix or went to the gym.

Suddenly, you felt like blurting out:

“Okay, I have a really weird confession.”

He turned to you, looking interested. You held your breath for a while, before saying:

“You remind me of my best friend.”

He didn’t expect that, obviously. His smile widened as he clasped both hands together, as if praying.

“Aww, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“No, really,” you persisted. “You really do look like him.” You pointed at the checkered shirt he was wearing. “I mean, he even has the same shirt – exactly like this.”

“Really?” His smile faded, his big brown eyes radiating more curiousity now. “Do you have his picture?”

“One moment.” You reached for your bag and took out your tablet. Once you found his pictures, you showed them to him. His brown eyes widened in awe.

“Oh, my God!” he gasped. You let him trace his fingers on your tablet screen, swiping pictures. Then he touched his own forehead. “I also have those lines here. The perks of being an engineer.”

You cracked up laughing. You realised that you were beginning to like this guy. He had a sense of humour.

“How old is he?”

“He’s 42.”

“Ah.” Then, completely out of the blue, that guy turned to you with a mischievous grin. “How old do you think I am?”

“Uh...the same?” You cringed, hoping not to offend him. You usually played that game and enjoyed people’s various reactions when they guessed your age wrong. “Like, in your early 40’s?”

He laughed. “I’m 33,” he finally admitted. He pointed at his chin. “It’s probably my beard.”

“I’m sorry.” And no, I have zero problem with your beard, you were tempted to add. You love beards, but you didn’t want to scare him off. That might have sounded too creepy.

“Nah, it’s okay.” He shook his head, still smiling. “I get that a lot. I’m kind of used to it.”

To be fair, you decided to reveal your age. Still, you couldn’t resist being a little too honest by saying: “Some people have thought I must have been in my late 20’s or early 30’s.”

“More like, in your early 30’s,” he stated, which was fine for you. Then he asked again, “Your best friend. Where did you guys meet?”

You memorised each fact like the back of your hand. Some years ago, at a workplace. You mentioned his name, his origin, and how you two ended up becoming best friends. You even talked about how your mother was also fond of him, that she allowed him to call her like a son calling his mother.

“Basically, he’s like a big brother to me,” you went on proudly. “I’ve always wanted one.”

“He seems like a nice guy.” The guy’s brown eyes softened as he smiled at you. Again, you felt that familiar warmth. You agreed.

“He is.” Then you sighed and looked ahead where the crowd were still singing and cheering before them. “I miss him so much.”

“Then keep in touch with him,” he suggested kindly. “Have you contacted him again lately? Where is he, by the way?”

“I have, a few hours before this event,” you told him. “He’s back home now, but he used to live here for about seven years.”

“Maybe I can be your big brother too,” he offered kindly. You giggled.

“No.” He was clearly amused and so were you. “You’re younger.”

You both laughed. The conversation went on. He asked if you liked singing karaoke style and you confidently said: “I’m a huge karaoke fan!”

“A huge fan, huh?” He smiled again. “Maybe next time we can hang out singing with the other guys and girls.”

“Sure thing.” You exchanged phone numbers. Since his name was pretty generic, you asked for his full name. He was grinning when he said it:

“My last name means ‘wrong’ in Indonesian and ‘right in Arabic.”

You gazed at him with your mouth open. “Like that football player?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “It’s a common name back home.”

“Wow.” At first, you let him type his phone number on your tablet. Then, when you typed his full name, you joked a little: “If the guys I know see your name here, I’ll have to tell them: ‘No, this is not that football player’.”

He laughed.

It was past midnight when both of you stood waiting outside for your ride shares. You noticed that he was now smoking, which dampened your spirit a little. He noticed your expression and grinned, gesturing at the well-lit cigarette in his hand.

“I know,” he said, as if reading your mind. “My lifestyle is shit. I also go to the gym regularly, but I’m still fat.”

“No, you’re not.” Besides, it doesn’t matter, you wanted to add. Still, you chose to keep your mouth shut.

“Yes, I am.” He shrugged again. “I can’t be like that football player you mentioned.”

You smiled. “It’s okay.”

When his ride share arrived first, he looked at her and smiled for one last time that night. He said: “Nice to meet you. Be home safely.”

“Likewise.” You smiled back. “Take care.”

That night in your room, you replayed that moment and realised one thing before you finally fell asleep:

You’re still missing your best friend and worried about him...

Hopefully he is alright...

 R.

[vanillabeanniall]

91 Questions Tag

thank you 2 ryan @selkatha for tagging me, i love to talk abt myself

(under the cut bc you guys dont want to see this on ur dash)

THE LAST – 


1. Drink: water
 2. Phone call: 
i think it was my friend asking me where i was bc we got separated in cvs 3. Text message: i praised my roommate for having a baguette 4. Song I listened to: ...i just watched a very potter sequel 5. Time you cried: first night i spent alone here

HAVE YOU EVER –
 6. Dated someone twice: nope 7. Been cheated on: nope 8. Kissed someone and regretted it: yep (i dont like the two of them)
 9. Lost someone special: yep 10. Been depressed: not diagnosed but a bit for a while a few years ago 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: no

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS –
 12. spring green 13. warm yellow 14. orange/red (like neon peach)

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU –
 15. Made new friends: yes!! even just this summer ive made a ton and im so scared abt never seeing them again after the program ends next week
 16. Fallen out of love: i’ve fallen out of a crush
 17. Laughed until you cried: nope 18. Found out someone was talking about you: yeah that BITCH
 19. Met someone who changed you: not really. just me
 20. Found out who your true friends were: yeah those BITCHES

MORE – 
 21. Kissed someone on your facebook? do i even still have that?
 22. How many of your facebook friends do you know in real life? probably most of them? i dont remember who im friend with on there 23. Do you have any pets? nope 24. Do you want to change your name? not anymore 25. What did you do on your last birthday? got my drivers license and got the flu
 26. What time did you wake up? 12:30 and even then only bc i had a date at 12:45 27. What were you doing at midnight? watching a very potter musical 28. Name something you can’t wait for: seeing julia again
 29. When was the last time you saw your mother? a few weeks ago
 30. What is one thing you wish you could change about your life? i want independence
 31. What are you listening to right now? nothing bc its finally cold enough to not have that GODDAMN FAN ON
 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom? yeah a few
 33. Something that is getting on your nerves? my sleep schedule & my final 34. Most visited site: this bitch right here

SCHOOL – 
 35. Elementary: it was fine. i was the smartest one i knew and i had no friends but it was fine. catherine and i watched les mis its the strongest memory i have 36. Middle: ha let’s not 37. High: i love high school tbh theres a lot to get into here but i wont 38. College: i love harvard university where i am right now its a dream tbh

ME – 
 39. Hair color: brown
 40. Long or short hair? masculine long feminine short 41. Do you have a crush on someone? not right now. i got broken up with today tho 42. What do you like about yourself? im smart af
 43. Piercings? ears & nothing else 44. Blood type: why is this one of the questions????
 45. Nickname: vas, a few things, idk
 46. Relationship status: again,,, broken up with today 47. Zodiac sign: aquarius
 48. Pronouns: she/her but i really don’t care much bc genders not really real anyway 49. Favorite TV show(s): BROOKLYN 99 50. Tattoos: i will!!!!! but as of now, no
 51. Right, ambidextrous, or left-handed? right handed but i play wii sports left handed

FIRST – 
 52. Surgery: adenoids out as a child
 53. Piercing: ears
 54. Sport: b!a!s!k!e!t!b!a!l!l!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 55. Vacation: i do not remember
 56. Pair of trainers: i dont know u british fuck

CURRENT – 
 57. Eating: nothing but i just ate so many goldfish crackers goddamn
 58. Drinking: nothing but good reminder to stay hydrated hold on.
 ok water 59. I’m about to: sleep
 60. Listening to: nothing its totally quiet right now

FUTURE – 
 61. Waiting for: college 62. Want: to find my soulmate 63. Married: for damn sure
 64. Career: product designer

YOUR TYPE – 
 65. Hugs or kisses? neither mostly but hugs
 66. Lips or eyes? eyes? i guess? i dont have much of a preference 67. Shorter or taller? taller pls but thats hard bc im tall so like does it matter 68. Older or younger? dont really care but ive mostly been into older people (not old people. not much older. fuck this answer didnt come out right) 69. Nice arms or nice stomach? both i love muscles (not like wild muscles like soft ones u know wht i mean) i wanna get ripped
 70. Sensitive or loud? sensitive i HATE loud
 71. Hook-up or relationship? relationship. 100% 72. Troublemaker or hesitant? really depends 73. Kissed a stranger? nope 74. Drank hard liquor? just sips 75. Lost contact lenses/glasses? yes too many times rip
 76. Turned someone down? nope im no hot commodity 77. Sex on first date? nope not now thanks 78. Broken someone’s heart? not that i know of 79. Had your heart broken? yeah but not romantically 80. Been arrested? no
 81. Cried when someone died? yeah. ive been to too many funerals 82. Fallen for a friend? only once (not again thanks)

DO YOU BELIEVE IN – 
 83. Yourself? yes, i have a strong conviction that i am capable of anything (which is bad bc like im smart but it leads me down dangerous paths both of things i cant do and the path of narcissism for example i tend to think im automatically smarter than everyone and i get competitive af but to be fair ive never lost them) 84. Miracles? yeah sure 85. Love at first sight? no but infatuation tho (thanks harry styles i stole that answer from u)
 86. Santa Claus? no but i like that
 87. Kiss on first date? really depends 88. Angels? yeah im actually really religious

OTHER – 
 89. Current best friend’s name: J U L I A 90. Eye color: hazel but mostly green unless it doesnt feel like it
 91. Favorite movie: WONDER WOMAN

k thanks yall ill tag (basically half of who ryan tagged rip i need more friends) @uswntinharmony @spnife @kaisder unless ur too cool 4 that

[kwonhozhi]

A Penny For Your Thoughts, £400 For Your Meal

its now been a clean 2 weeks since i posted the last thing so here we go i guess,,, next thing i post should be the angus thongs au so i hope this tides you all over xxx

my love to @alrightevans @alrightpotter and @prongsyouignoramus for helping me get it from the mess it was when i wrote it 18 months ago to this

AO3

8:50. Avery glances at the bill and goes down to his car to retrieve his conveniently forgotten wallet.

 8:59. Malfoy goes down to see what’s keeping him.

 9:29. Nott slips out to answer an important call.

 9:44. Mulciber dons his coat to take a piss.

 9:51. Severus excuses himself for a quick fag, and Lily is left sitting alone at their table with a growing sense of suspicion.

 9:53. Lily finally convinces herself to look at the bill, and her stomach drops to her knees.

 11:41. “Ma’am?” the waitress asks, and Lily was sure she’d seen the worst of the girl’s frown, but she was wrong.

 “A-another glass, please,” she mumbles, and the waitress’ eye roll and impatient huff says it all. There are eight or nine completely full glasses in a little grove in front of her already, and she doesn’t exactly have a plan of action, but at least this is buying her more time.

 She’s buying herself more time, with money she doesn’t have.

 “Of course,” the waitress spits, and sweeps away.

 This close to midnight, Lily’s fairly confident they’d like to shut up shop shortly. She tears her eyes away from the frankly excessive amount of wine sitting full in front her, and glances around the previously bustling dining hall. She almost, almost pegs herself as the last diner, but there’s a man about her age on the other side of the room. He has a dozen or so desserts scattered around him, each as untouched as every one of her wine glasses. He gives her a tight smile as they make eye contact, and turns back to his food, pensive. Lily does the same.

She could call Petunia, but the thought of being a further £250 in debt to her sister’s beastly husband is even less appealing than the prospect of management throwing her into a cellar and skinning her alive.

 The waitress returns with a glass of chardonnay or something else Lily has never quite liked, and places it down on the table with a little too much force. They both watch the spillage seep into the tablecloth for a moment, then the waitress strides off in a huff.

 A part of Lily still hopes for the return of one of her party, though she knows it’s a lost cause. She should have expected it – Severus’ new friends aren’t exactly the honourable type. This is, she realises with a horrific dawning, the only reason she was invited at all. Exams-are-over celebration my arse.

 She deserves this, doesn’t she? Mary and her used to do the exact same thing on double dates that went wrong. God, they didn’t even have to speak to know when to excuse themselves, they’d just share a look that said ‘oi, this is a bit shit, isn’t it?’ and they’d bolt.

 She’s been doing the maths over and over in her head for the last hour and twenty minutes, and even with the hundred pounds in her account, the seventy five in her wallet isn’t going to cut it. How the fuck did Severus’ mates manage to rack up the cost to four hundred pounds? Did they order their food laced with cocaine?

 “Miss, you need to pay. Now,” the waitress hisses, and she’s flanked by the entire serving staff.

 “Yes,” Lily agrees faintly. “Yes, of course, you’re absolutely right,” and the noose tightens around her neck, “I just – my friends all left, you see, they thought it was funny, I suppose, and I don’t have quite enough to cover the bill, so if you’ll let me call my sister so she can…” Whatever the opposite of convincing is, Lily is apparently it, because her waitress looks thoroughly unimpressed with the story. It’s true, Lily wants to yell, I’m not making this up!

 “If you won’t pay,” and Lily notes the use of the word won’t rather than can’t, “I’m going to have to call the police.”

 “Is there a problem?” and Lily just about jumps out of her skin as she whips around to see who it is. It’s the man with the desserts, apparently having made his decision, finally on his way out. “Are you short on your bill?”

 Lily gives a small nod, cheeks burning, trying not to let the gravity of the whole situation crush her. Her humiliation is up to her neck, her chin, her ears, she’s drowning, oh god is she drowning. They’re going to call the police, and she’s going to go to prison, and she’s never going to get hired, because what school’s going to hire a twenty-three year old with a criminal record?

 “I clearly can’t let you call the police on her,” the man says, and shoots Lily an honest to god winning smile. “Look, she’s distraught. Add her bill to mine.”

 “I can’t let you do that,” Lily says, automatically, and god, Lily, why can’t you let your morals go for twenty fucking seconds?

 She couldn’t see him properly from the other side of the hall, but up close he’s quite a looker, with rectangular glasses perched carelessly on his long, thin nose, and thick black hair that’s just begging to be played with, and stop it, Lily.

 “I’m not paying for your meal, I’m spotting you the money, and you’ll pay me back when you can. Add it to my bill,” he says to the waitress, and her expression softens at his insistence.

 “Of course, sir,” she says, and he could be made of sunshine by the way she looks at him.

 “I mean, it’s not your fault your friends dined and dashed on you,” he’s saying, and Lily snaps back to attention, “and I have the money.” His hazel eyes twinkle and maybe he is made of sunshine.

 “Are you absolutely sure?” She grabs his elbow as he begins to reach into his coat pocket, “One thousand percent sure?”

 “One thousand and ten percent sure,” he assures her, and she smiles despite herself.

 “Alright,” she laughs. “Alright.”

 “James,” he says, and she takes his long fingered hand, wondering vaguely if he’s any good at piano.

 “Lily.”

 “Excellent. Beatrice, add Lily’s bill to mine.”

 The server nods as she takes his credit card, and James turns back to Lily. “I say we down this wine as soon as, then we can get out of here before Bea sells us to some shoddy black-market op. What were you planning on doing with it all, anyway?” he says, taking a sip of whatever was closest to him, and grimacing.

 “Well,” and her face burns red, “I was sort of hoping if I stalled for long enough, one of them would come back.”

 “Not very good friends, are they?”

 “They’re not actually my friends,” Lily admits.

 “Ah yes, a phenomenon I know well. I get invited to dinner then everyone drifts out without me noticing because oh, James’ll pick up the bill. James is frankly quite sick of it,” and something in his tone pushes his accent from upper class to posh.

 “If you knew they weren’t coming back, why’d you order so many deserts?”

 “Ah,” he starts, his brown cheeks darkening considerably. “Yes, that. A friend of mine adores the desserts they do here, and I couldn’t decide which he’d like best. I’d just made up my mind to take them all, because I have another pair of friends who’ll eat the left overs anyway, doesn’t matter, I’m rambling. Anyway, I was on the way out, and I saw you were sitting alone, and, and I assure you I mean this in the least creepy possible way, I had to make sure you weren’t about to get arrested.”

 “Which I was.”

 “Which you were, so lucky thing I was here.”

 “Lucky thing,” Lily agrees drily.

 “I like to help out where I can. Beatrice,” he calls, and she reappears, holding his card. “Would it be possible to wrap up the desserts for Remus? Only he couldn’t make it tonight, unfortunately.”

 “Of course, sir.”

 “Excellent. Now, Lily,” and he hands her a glass of wine, “if you drink it fast it barely tastes awful. Assuming, of course, that you have no objections to a bit of mild intoxication.” Lily takes the glass, clumsily, and she might have jumped out of her skin when their fingers brushed against each other just now. “Quickly, quickly, before Olivia gets too cross.”

 They’re giggling when Beatrice reappears again, with an ornate box, which she refuses to hand to James, no matter how much he tries to grab it. “I’m sorry, sir. Olivia says I’ve got to personally deliver it to your car. She doesn’t want tiramisu all over the foyer. Again.”

 James snorts loudly, and Lily can’t help but laugh along. She follows James, who follows Beatrice, who leads them out of the dining hall, and they’re halfway to the garage before Lily stops dead in her tracks. James spins around with a frown. “What’s wrong?”

 “Severus drove me here.”

 “Oh. Do you want me to drive you home?”

 “You’ve just had five glasses of wine,” Lily points out, and James gives her this really blank stare and oh god, did she just hallucinate the entire thing? But dawning makes its way onto his face in an instant, and he laughs, bright and clear.

 “I have a driver!” he laughs, and she smiles too, but it’s sort of like, what the fuck.

 “You have a driver.”

 “I don’t even know how to drive,” he says, frowning. This seems to be more for his own benefit than hers. “I’m twenty-three and I can’t drive. What if I’m being chased by the police and I need to get away? I can’t!”

 “You have a driver,” Lily says again, and he looks at her like he’s just remembered they were having a conversation.

 “Yes.”

 “You’re like, a prince, or something. Aren’t you?”

 “Or something,” he says, eyes twinkling even when faced with her scrutiny.

 “I don’t live that far away, honestly, I’ll just walk.”

 “You’re going to walk, alone, through London at half past midnight? No.”

 “No?” Lily asks, raising an eyebrow dangerously.

 “I’ll walk you. No, it’s fine! I’ll call an uber or something from your house. Settled, let’s go.”

 “You don’t have to,” Lily says, but she’s already reaching for his hand.

 “I want to,” and he’s leading the way onto the street. She turns to their left and he follows, dreadfully, tripping a wide arc to come back by her side. It’s almost a dance, would be a dance (if they were a little more sober).

 “How many times did that waitress call you sir? Like, fuck.”

 “Happens a lot when people know you primarily for the size of your bank account.”

 “How come you’re so rich, anyway? Everyone knows your mid-twenties are for being dirt poor!”

 “Blame my parents. They were rich, ipso facto…”

 “Were? What happened to their riches?”

 “Nothing. The riches are fine, they’re just dead.”

 “Right. Sorry.”

 “No, they were old,” he says quietly, and she squeezes his hand, “I mean, I wish they weren’t dead, obviously, but…”

 “My dad died too,” Lily offers.

 “Sucks, huh?”

 “Yeah,” she sighs. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just pulls her closer when a group of teenagers leers at them, and she smiles softly at him. “I never knew this walk could be so nice,” she whispers, and he smiles back down at her. “I’d never have spoken to anyone like you, never in a million years.”

 “Because I’m so intimidatingly handsome?”

 “Yeah, that’s it. That’s definitely it. “

 “I get it a lot. The only people who want to talk to me are other rich people and… well, I guess that is how I met my best friend, actually, so it mustn’t be a completely bad thing.”

 “You ramble, you know that?”

 “I’ve been told.”

 She laughs, and it strikes her that she’s done that a lot since she met him.

 1:21. “I’m on the left here.” She drops his hand, but it’s only because her front gate requires both of hers to be opened. She stands in her tiny front garden, and she can’t think of anything funny or cool or witty say. “You’re good company.”

 “Good you think so, because you’re going to be seeing a lot of me from now on.” Lily frowns, confused. James cottons on, and grins. “I know where you live, and you owe me about 400 quid. And, of course, you’re really quite pretty.” She kisses him without really thinking, but it’s right, him bracing himself on her gate as he leans forward to meet her, and her backlit by her porch light.

 They break apart when the most expensive car the neighbourhood’s ever seen pulls up to the kerb. “You had your car follow us?” she asks.

 He just smiles, a broad and honest thing, and steps backwards, reaching into his pocket. “This is going to be the worst thing I’ve ever done, but here’s my number.” He hands her a card.

 A business card.

 “Oh my god,” she says, turning it over in her hand. He kisses her again, and disappears into the car. She waves as he speeds off, and looks back down at the card.

 James Potter, Potter Industries

 She laughs – of course he’s James Potter. The laugh echoes down the now-empty street, and Mary’s light flicks on upstairs.

 “That you, Lil?” she shouts out the window.

 “Yeah!”

 “You alright?” Her head pokes through the lace curtain, concern apparent on her face. “You sound like a loon.” Lily just laughs, laughs as she pulls out her key. “Lil?” Mary calls down the stairs as the door clicks shut.

 “Yeah. Yeah, I’m great Mare. I’m on cloud fucking nine.”