#many many moons ago i bought water color paper so that i could use the water colors my mum bought me like 2yrs ago

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[h2bakugou]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: hii, new look oo, also first genshin post. i wrote this a while ago, and it’s loosely based off of tangled. i’ll probably keep this look for the genshin posts but mha posts will stay the same!!

at the time of writing, these characters do not have official ages, all characters are written within an aged up (18+) alternate universe.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’re a little more than determined to spend time with the so called ‘vigilant yaksha’ and he’s a little more than persuaded at the mention of almond tofu.

𝐤𝐞𝐲: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/e) - your element

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: swearing, fluff

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.4k

;cut for length;

The air was crisp as you trudged on through to the Wangshu Inn. The once clear blue sky had begun to melt and mix with the purple and pink hues of a sunset. Stars began to hang in the sky, illuminating millions of constellations for you to glance upon on your journey.

You had made plans for the evening. To spend with Xiao. That was if you could drag him down from the Inn to come with you. You had little hope you could actually manage the task ahead of you, but you just had to believe. It wasn’t as if you were asking him to come march into Liyue Harbor with you.

You had other plans. While a calming stroll through the lit-up city of Liyue would be nice with the so-called ‘Vigilant Yaksha,’ all you really wanted to do was spend some alone time with him.

As you step foot onto the lift that would bring you into the treetop that held the Wangshu Inn, you could feel your nerves beginning to grow. Maybe this was a bad idea? What if he was busy and already had plans to do something? What if-

“Are you just going to stand there and go back down?” Xiao’s voice cut through your intrusive thoughts when you realized you were still standing on the wooden lift, now stopped on the top floor. You quickly darted off, turning to see it begin to lower.

“I was lost in thought. Sorry.” You apologize and smile, forcing your nerves down as you stood in front of him.

“What brings you here?” Xiao asked, beginning to walk around the wooden terrace, over to where he usually gazed out upon the landscape of Liyue.

“I came to see you, actually.” You spoke softly, admiring how Xiao’s features seemed to glow from the sun’s setting rays. His amber eyes gleamed as he turned his head to look at you, taking in your own seemingly glowing appearance in the sunset.

“It’s always something with you.” Xiao commented, looking back over the land. He preferred to be alone, yet there was a little piece of him that did enjoy your company. Although you were persistent and rather eager to spend time with him, he secretly enjoyed your surprisingly quiet presence whenever you bought him Almond Tofu.

“Whaddaya’ say we go take a little boat ride? Just the two of us, the water, and maybe some yummy Almond Tofu?” You’d said the magic words.

“Almond Tofu?” Xiao had been captivated yet again by the mortal dish. He’d say it was your superpower to make a dish so well, but with how many times you’d prepared it for him, he could only say it was just from practice.

“I know you prefer to be alone, but just for a little while? It wouldn’t hurt to dine elsewhere tonight.” You knew he hadn’t eaten yet. He had a set schedule of eating dinner promptly at 7:05 pm. You’d made it on time with about an hour to kill, which would give you plenty of time to get to where you had planned everything out, time to eat, and a few minutes to spare to talk.

“Fine. But only for a little while.” Xiao was staring at you. You were making those puppy-dog eyes that he found hard to resist. You were one of the few mortals Xiao was ‘fond’ of.

“Great! Let’s go!” Your hand darted to his, pulling him along quickly as you rushed over to the lift which had returned up again. Xiao was unfamiliar with the warm feeling of your hand in his, but he swallowed his snide comments and let you be contempt with the sudden gesture. It was his job as a Yaksha to ensure your safety and comfort.

The small journey there didn’t take long, your destination was right near the bottom of the Wangshu Inn. Getting into the wooden boat was a bit tricky, but all was well when you sat down.

Xiao glared at you as you sat in front of him on the wooden boat, asking him nicely to use some anemo power to push the small wooden boat off of the land and into the water.

“Pretty please?” You begged, fluttering your eyelashes. Xiao groaned and in a swift few movements, the boat began to float on the water, moving slowly down the river.

Sitting back down across from you, Xiao took in the sights. A small lantern adorned the bow of the small wooden boat the two of you sat in. The water around you was clear and blue, reflecting the stars that twinkled in the sky above. It was ethereal and beautiful. Xiao couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen something so gorgeous.

“I’m sorry, it’s a bit tossed around, but it’s still Almond Tofu.” Your rather long journey to Wangshu Inn had proven to be a bit difficult, running into a Ruin Guard had certainly thrown you off the beaten path. You handed Xiao the container that held the meal you cooked up, thankful that it still looked appetizing.

Xiao didn’t hesitate, digging into the delicious meal that you’d made from him. Even when you didn’t have any ulterior motives when you showed up to see him at the Inn, you always brought or made him Almond Tofu, as a thank you for his protection.

It was an unusual bond, the one you shared. Xiao could ignore you, or tell you to go away, and you’d give him a nod, giving him an offering before parting ways. But you always came back, the same familiar bright smile adorning your lips.

Even on the days when Xiao could tell you weren’t okay, you always wore a smile. Because you got to see him. He would never understand, or at least at the moment, would never understand how seeing him brought you so much joy. Perhaps it was beyond him. He didn’t wish to be a burden on someone who seemed so happy, that’s why he distanced himself from you. But it never stopped you from climbing up that big tree right to where he sat on the branches, an eager smile on your lips as you hoisted yourself over the branch.

The sky had finally tuned a deep dark navy blue, lit up by the stars and the rising moon. You had finished your own helping of Almond Tofu and patiently awaited Xiao to finish his. You didn’t say much, only commenting on the beautiful sky as you quietly pointed out stars.

When Xiao finished eating, you stored the containers back into your satchel and glanced over at him. Xiao’s amber eyes met with yours and for a few seconds, he swore he saw your face grow a bit redder. You quickly looked away, worried about making him uncomfortable.

“Now that we’ve eaten, I can head back.” Xiao said curtly, ready to turn the boat around and return to where you’d departed from.

“Wait!” You quickly stood, attempting to stop him which only rocked the boat more, causing you to become unstable and fall over onto him.

Lifting your head, you were met with those cold amber eyes, only ten times closer. Your noses were just about touching as you stared at him. You couldn’t help but ogle at him, your heart beginning to beat faster.

“Are you, um, alright?” Xiao asked bluntly, his words were sharp and unfamiliar to his tongue. You nodded and quickly sat up, regaining your composure on the wooden bench of the boat you had been previously sitting on.

“Sorry! I just uh, can we wait a little longer?” You ask softly, glancing out in the distance. Xiao sighs and returns to his own wooden bench, crossing his arms over his chest.

A few minutes go by of complete silence. It was beginning to feel deafening as you waited. And then, just over the horizon, a singular lantern floated into the air from behind a hill.

Xiao peeked an eye open at your gasp, glancing over to where you were looking. His eyes widened as he began to see dozens, no hundreds of paper lanterns flood the sky, illuminating it with an orange glow.

“I’ve waited years to see this.” You said softly, carefully leaning over to try and get a better look.

Today was a celebration. For some unknown reason to you, thousands of lanterns got released into the night sky, adorning it with a warm glow from the small flames that burned inside them.

You had always heard rumors of the celebration, but every time you came around to ask, you were met with news of having missed it by a few days, or you were simply not there in time to see it.

But tonight, with Xiao, you were witnessing it for the first time, together. As lanterns littered the sky, you were mesmerized by the beautiful sight. A few lanterns drifted toward you, Xiao extending an arm to catch one. He glanced over at you as you reached for one as it touched the water.

Xiao huffed quietly, catching your attention. You glanced and smiled at him as he offered you the lantern in his hands. You took it graciously, your fingers grazing across his as you lifted it back into the air, watching it rejoin the others it had parted from.

“Is this what you wanted to wait on?” Xiao asked, watching as lanterns drifted all around you. You nodded and looked down at your reflection in the water.

“I thought you might like to see them too.” You glance back at Xiao and then at your lap.

“I know you think you’re a burden to those you’re around, but to me, you’re special.” You confess. Xiao is quiet for a while as he admires you. The glow of lanterns that floated on the water lit up your skin, appearing to give you some sort of aura. Xiao’s muddled feelings made him only more confused.

He wasn’t supposed to feel such attraction, let alone to a human like you. Yet, he felt a strange, warm sensation in his veins.

“Special.” Xiao repeated, earning your attention.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better protector. Thank you for always being here for me.” You felt giddy and warm inside, your heart racing as you bit your bottom lip.

“You’re welcome.” It wasn’t the first kind words he’d ever spoken to you, but they were nonetheless surprising. After all these years, living in a blur, Xiao could see perfectly clear, someone who truly enjoyed his presence.

Shining in the starlight, he laid his amber eyes upon you. You were right here, right in front of him. It was all crystal clear now. His thoughts and feelings, although still new and unfamiliar, were brought to the light.

Leaning over, Xiao placed a nervous hand on your waist and pulled you into him, his lips meeting yours.

He balanced on one hand which rested beside you on the wooden bench, his body bent over you as he kissed you. You kissed back, both surprised and contempt. Kissing back, you moved your lips against his, leading him through the kiss with ease. When he pulled away, he stayed frozen over you, staring into your eyes.

“Your lips taste like almonds.” Xiao commented. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Well of course they do.” You reach a hand up and twirl a strand of his hair between his fingers. Xiao feels fuzzy as you do so. He’s so used to people being so cold and being cold to them. Being blunt and harsh would usually scare people off, which is exactly what he wanted.

But here you sat, that same goofy smile on your lips, giddy and flustered after just one kiss. Xiao placed one more kiss on your lips, it was short and straight to the point. After he leaned back and glanced back out at the lanterns.

Xiao didn’t want to speak out loud on the topic, but he did think the lanterns were beautiful. It was soothing, mixed with the sound of trickling water from the river, it was a sight to behold, one he was thankful you’d shared with him.

After returning to the shore, you made your way back to the Inn. The two of you walked side by side quietly, your pinky laced with his. When you reached the foot of the large tree which held the Inn, you let go and stood beside Xiao.

“I had a lot of fun tonight, with you.” You spoke quietly to not disturb the peace around the Inn. Xiao glanced at the ground and then to you.

“It would be foolish if you tried to journey back home, you should stay at the Inn for tonight.” Xiao knew you could be stubborn as well. You were planning on traveling toward Liyue Harbor, but that journey alone would take hours.

“Oh, I’ll be alright, I’ll make it at least halfway before I need to stop-”

“You can stay with me. I won’t say it again.” Xiao’s grip on your hand was strong, but gentle. He wasn’t hurting you, but you could tell by the tone of his voice, he seemed concerned for your journey.

“It’s not safe. And I’m not going to save you a second time today.” Xiao’s comment was humorous in intention, but it sounded more like saving people was a chore.

“Alright, I’ll stay.” You sigh and begin to head up toward the Inn’s front desk. Xiao followed suit, bringing you up to his own room. It wasn’t anything super lavish, like what people would’ve expected for a Yaksha.

There was a rather large bed and many war-type relics and artifacts littered the room, from swords to pikes you swore you’d seen him use before.

“Sleep. And you better not snore.” Xiao changed quickly behind a room divider and waited until you said you were decent to step out. You both wore simple sleep clothing.

“I thought you didn’t get tired.” You huffed, smiling as you crawled into the bed,  a yawn leaving your lips.

Seeing Xiao in something so plain looked almost criminal. He looked like a normal human. Xiao crawled into the bed and scooted as close to the edge as he could. 

“Just because I don’t tire doesn’t mean I can’t sleep.” Xiao’s tone shifted as he sat down on the edge of the bed, debating on whether to lay down beside you or stay sitting up, eventually he caved and laid beside you, as close to the edge as he could get, leaving you plenty of space to sleep.

But as the night carried on, you inched closer to one another, eventually ending up in his arms, held tightly, it made Xiao feel secure to hold you in his arms. He was safe, you were safe. It made him feel at home. Like he still had a piece of tranquil mortality inside him.

He knew he’d ‘wake’ up tomorrow and play the role of the ‘Vigilant Yaksha’ but for now he’d hold you in his arms as you slept and hope for this to be a glimmer of redemption for a better, more peaceful, kind of karma.

masterlist

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Rough Drafts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Explicit descriptions of a murder scene, argument, angst, and cursing.

A/N: Okay, so I know I said I was gonna publish this yesterday but I got Cassandra Clare’s newest book and I couldn’t put it down. I seriously love that lady. Omg. Anyways, it’s here now! And it’s angsty! And there’s gonna be a fourth part soon I promise! For real. Don’t forget to reblog, comment, send me an ask or a message and overall just adore me so that I may continue to feel good about myself. As always thank you for supporting me and I hope you enjoy!!!

[ Part One | Part Two ]

___

An incredulous laugh bursts from your lips, your nails cutting crescent moons into the palms of your hands as you try and convince yourself that this isn’t actually happening.

“Do you have alibis for your whereabouts on Monday, June eighth, Saturday, June thirteenth, and Thursday, June eighteenth?” Spencer can see your leg bouncing rapidly under the table, your eyes flying over the pictures and the expression of Emily Prentiss. You seem genuine, but he can’t trust himself to get an accurate read of you anymore.

“I, uhm, I- I wouldn’t know off the top of my head. I keep a planner, I’ll forget things otherwise.” The burst of iron in your mouth is not something you’re unused to, having chewed your cheek so badly that the skin there has broken under your teeth.

“We’ll need to see that.” Emily isn’t sure whether or not she believes that you’re guilty, watching the way you seem to unravel before her. When you look at the crime scene photos, it isn't with any pleasure, but with disgust. Your nose wrinkles a little at the bridge and you keep looking away as the blood from your face starts to drain. 

Either you’re a really good actress or you aren’t the unsub.

Emily says as much as she flips through the small teal planner that you’d willingly given them. Due dates for chapters, publishing events, book signings and days for book tours fill most of the pages in your most neat handwriting. Dates you plan to go visit your mother, grocery shop, doctor’s appointments, even plans to go somewhere and write.

Everything is explicitly stated, that way you’re never unsure of what you meant to tell yourself. That is, until around three weeks ago when a handful of days are notated with an ‘S,’ followed by a random doodle. Sometimes it’s a tiny heart drawn absentmindedly while you discuss the plans over the phone, other times it’s a cartoon bunny or a top hat.

Garcia is the first to take notice of it, her fingers faltering in their constant thrum against the keyboard in front of her. She glances out of the side of her glasses, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

“Looks like lonely girl found herself a boo.” 

“That makes sense,” JJ says from the chair she’s pulled into Penelope’s office from the bullpen. A pen is stretched between her hands, her posture relaxed into the curve of the stiff, government-issued rolly chair.

All the girls have gathered into the tech analyst’s room while the men take turns interrogating you. Well, all except Spencer. He just stands behind that window watching your every move with eyes like a hawk. “What doesn’t make sense is why she keeps it secret even in her personal planner.”

“Maybe she has a stalker? That could be who is doing all this?” 

“Then she wouldn’t keep careful notation of everything else going on in her life. A stalker would follow her every move, not just her romantic interests. Even if he is in love with her.”

“A partner, maybe? Like the days they planned the murders or days they were acted out?”

“None of the days line up with the crimes, save for this one,” Emily leans the book toward the two women with her finger just underneath June fifth, the day Alison Crane was abducted from outside her campus dorm room. It’s the third ‘S’ scribbled into the corner of a day in the entire book.

“And there is nothing else written in relation to this ‘S’ character?” JJ shakes her head, looking for any clues that could be nestled among the loops and curls of your writing. Reid would be better at this, he was the graphology expert among them. So why wasn’t he back here helping?

“Then I guess we better try and get her to talk about it. Meanwhile Garcia, we’ll get Rossi and Reid to head over to her apartment and you can hack into her computer?” Penelope spins the chair, a flash of bright colors and blond hair. She clicks her tongue in response, throwing up a fingers gun and winking.

“Whatever you need me to do, I’m on it like sexy on Derek Morgan stepping out of the shower in a towel.”

After some arguing, and maybe just a little bit of pleading, they manage to convince Reid to join Rossi on a trip to your apartment. He can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable, standing in your living room. Not because he’d been here before, but because he’d never been here before.

The empty mugs that litter every surface, smelling of old coffee and your favorite coffee creamer (he only knows it’s your favorite because you explicitly ask for that creamer at every coffee shop the two of you have ever gone to), is unfamiliar to him. He’s invited you to his apartment at least three times. How come he had never been to yours?

Small pages and notebooks of scribbled ideas and dialogues cover just as many areas as the coffee cups do, your handwriting messy and cramped in every note. It’s almost like you couldn’t get the idea out of your head fast enough.

The bed in your room is meticulously made without a wrinkle in sight, but that could be because of the obvious bed you’ve made yourself along the salmon pink couch that stretches out in front of your TV. A multicolored crochet blanket is thrown haphazardly over the back, a pillow still slightly squished against the arm.

On the coffee table is a half opened laptop, a notebook with red and black ink scribbled in the lines, and a still full cup of coffee. Rossi makes quick work of calling Garcia and helping her get patched into your computer. It’s strange, watching her move the mouse on your screen from miles away.

Reid never stops moving, walking the length of your studio apartment with his eyes peeled for any kind of information he could find. It’s obvious that you spend most of your time in the main room, which houses the kitchen, a small dining area, and the living room. A door leading into your room branches off to a small bathroom which is just as disorganized as everything else in your house.

Hair products, skin washes, and all kinds of makeup are scattered across the sink and back of your toilet. It’s funny because every time he’s ever met up with you, you’re bare faced and your hair is still drying from the shower you took before leaving your house. The tube of lipstick he picks up makes him think he doesn’t really know you at all.

On the nightstand in your room is a bottle of water with the label ripped off and the two Rossi books you’d bought that fateful day in the bookstore. The label from the water bottle is stuck between the middle pages of one of the books. The passages in question don’t lend anything to connecting you as a homicidal maniac, let alone a serial killer.

Back in the living room, Garcia is snooping through every aspect of your computer.

“I don’t know whether or not the be freaked out by her web history. There’s a lot of murder-y questions here. ‘Signs of a post mortem amputation,’ ‘How much blood can you lose and still live?,’ ‘Most brutal ways to be killed.’ It’s creepy.” Rossi is flicking through the notebook from the table, his eyes squinted as he tried to make sense of the abbreviations and scribblings of another writer.

“She writes crime novels so it isn’t entirely strange for her to be looking at those types of things.” Thankfully, the defense of your web search history comes from the older man who looks up as Garcia delves deeper and deeper. Spencer had thought it first, but hadn’t said anything to avoid suspicion. He’s smart enough to know that the truth has to come out eventually, but he wants to be sure of your innocence (or guilt, he reminds himself a bit glumly) before he reveals your link to him.

“I’m not seeing anything she could be using to contact a partner unless her partner is one of the publishing people she’s constantly messaging via email.” At this Spencer stops, leaning against the back of the couch with his weight resting on the heels of his hands. The stance appears relaxed. He is anything but.

“Why do we assume she has a partner?” Reid asks, impatiently pushing a stray curl away from his face. Rossi glances at him curiously, otherwise undistracted from the shake the movement gives the couch.

“Oh, Prentiss, JJ, and I were looking through her little teal book earlier and the only thing not explicitly stated was just the letter ‘S.’ It’s why they came back to interrogate and they sent you guys to her house. I thought they told you.”

Spencer wants to beat his head against the wall.

“That isn’t a lead, Garcia. You have to tell them that ‘S’ isn’t her partner.” The mouse on the computer screen falters, several saved documents for different rough drafts of books or drabbles are pulled up the way you might have papers scattered about in front of you.

“What is it? Do you know who ‘S’ is?” Rossi is turned sideways on the couch, looking over the back and up at the distressed man in front of him. It doesn’t take him long to connect the dots when they make eye contact. Penelope impatiently whines over the phone.

“I’m ‘S,’ I’ve been seeing her for the last three weeks. I’m sure if you tell me the dates then every single one of them will be days that we’ve had plans together.”

“I’m sorry, what?!” Before anyone has the chance to say anything else, the door to Garcia’s office opens and a second voice filters through Rossi’s phone speaker. It’s JJ.

“Let Reid and Rossi know there’s just been another murder.”

This time it’s a fifteen year old girl. Her hair is black and wet, her lips are as blue as the sky, and she’s naked. Water droplets from her skin have soaked into the sheet of paper that was layed over her chest. The bathtub she’s in is completely empty, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that she was drowned there. The bruises on her shoulders from the force the unsub used to pin her down are dark against the contrast of her already pale skin.

...The man leaned over the tub, his eyes squinted in thought and his lips skewed a little to the side. Ryder stayed focused on the crime scene, for the most part. But even detectives of her caliber, and higher, could easily get lost in the eyes that look up at her from beneath long golden-brown lashes.

“Detective?” She blinks the distraction away, looking back at the girl, her black hair wet and spiraling like the snakes on Medusa’s head against the ivory siding of the drained tub. Ryder can’t help but wish the girl had been lucky enough to turn her killer to stone. Maybe it would have saved her.

“Agent.” She crosses her arms, looking anywhere but at the man across from her, pretending to look for any useful clues. Ryder had gotten to the crime scene fourty-five minutes before the pair of FBI Agents had walked in. The man, who had introduced himself as Supervisory Special Agent Matthew Gray, had decided to join her in the second floor bathroom. His partner, a woman named Katherine Swift, had taken to looking for clues through the rest of the house.

Agent Gray is beautiful. It’s the only adjective that seems to stick to him with certainty, every other aspect of his personality just as elusive as the exact color of those eyes. Even as short as his hair is, the golden brown tendrils are unkempt and curl every which way. Ryder has to force her hand to stay at her side and not reach up to smooth an alfalfa that does nothing for the serious expression on his face.

She keeps imagining what it would feel like if he reached out to kiss her, curling his fingers into her hair and bringing her unworthy lips up to meet his. He’s tall so she would probably have to stretch a little, but she wouldn’t mind. Not when his hands are tangled in her hair and he’s giving her the kiss she’s been silently begging for since the moment he flashed that crooked grin at her.

The imagination is so vivid that she jumps when her own partner, Detective Russo, comes around the corner of the hallway and straight into the bathroom...

The paper crinkles in the evidence bag as Morgan places it on the table, trying to ignore the daggers being glared into him on the other side of the mirror.

Nobody on the team had been very happy with Spencer when they heard the news about your relationship, Hotch had nearly snatched him by the scruff of his neck when he made to go into the interrogation room. But after several minutes of thoroughly explaining himself, Hotch had sent Morgan in. To say Spencer was infuriated was an understatement.

“Do you know what this is, (Y/N)?” You look down at it, twisting the evidence bag so that you could read the Times New Roman font you always wrote in when writing in Microsoft Word. The words cover the front and back of the copy paper, but you don’t have to read it through all the way before you know what it is.

“It’s a page from my newest book.” The bag scratches against the tabletop as you push it away from you, crossing your arms over your chest. Your face is stoplight red with embarrassment at the thought of Spencer reading this page, mostly because you had pulled so heavily from your own thoughts when first meeting Spencer to write Ryder and Gray’s first meeting. You created Matthew Gray to write about Spencer Reid in a way that felt less ‘high school diary entry.’

“More specifically, it’s from the book you just started working on about a month ago. The one that only you and your agent have access to.” Finally, Morgan sits. Before, he’d just been pacing around you the way a lioness might stalk around her prey before she launches an attack. It made you uneasy, but that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

“Do you know where we found it, (Y/N)?” His muscles bulge against his shirtsleeves when he leans them up on the table. Derek Morgan is a very attractive man, you’ll give him that, but if making you uneasy and putting you in the room with a attractive man to fluster you was their strategy then they should have sent in Spencer.

“My computer.”

“We found it on the body of a dead girl.” Another picture joins the ones already shuffled around the table. You can barely look at it, nausea and tears building in your throat at the sight of another person dying the same way you’d written in a story. When you don’t respond, Morgan continues.

“‘She was found at the bottom of an empty bathtub, a pale leg hooked over the edge of the porcelain siding, and her arms pinned to her sides in death. Bruises discolored the skin at her shoulders, and Ryder knew at first glance that her cause of death would be asphyxiation by drowning.’” He drops the paper back to the table, having picked it up to read the passage from the end of the page.

“That’s wrong,” You say, leaning back over the table to look at the paper again. Derek looks down, like the words might have changed in the moment he looked away, but the text stays exactly the same as before.

“That’s exactly what is written here.” You shake your head, pulling the bag back to you and wrinkling your forehead in thought.

“I don’t doubt that is what you read, Agent Morgan,” Your eyes fly over the page, reading the end of the excerpt with overwhelming relief. The bag sticks a little to the pad of your index finger as you tap over the paragraph in question. “But I rewrote this scene only two nights ago. It’s on my computer, I’m sure your tech analyst can confirm my claim. This girl, Bella, she doesn’t die from drowning anymore. Her hands are tied above her head to the faucet and she’s strangled. I couldn’t decide if I wanted it to be by her sister or her girlfriend.”

JJ rushes back to Penelope’s office, on a mission to confirm your statement just as you had suggested. Meanwhile, Morgan’s mind is rushing to figure out the mess he is currently sat in. You lean back in your chair now, unsure if the dizziness you feel is from lack of food or the sudden realization that they couldn’t pin this to you anymore.

“I’m not your bad guy. If I was doing this to prove to my mother that my writing is good, that I chose the right career, as your profile says, I wouldn’t change the scene in my book and not change the murder.” In Morgan’s earpiece, Hotch tells him that you were telling the truth about editing the scene two nights ago.

“Unless you planned it to throw us off track. We know about your relationship with Spencer, you’ve probably found out all kinds of things to do to keep us from catching you.”

You clench your teeth, straightening into your chair and pinning Derek down with a look you’d learned from your mother. It makes him think of his mom, your eyes narrowed and your gaze so cold that it could cause frostbite. He watches curiosily as you tilt your chin up a little, trying to hide the pricks behind your eyes and the wobble of your lip. Derek notices them, the entire team notices. They’re trained to notice.

“I want a lawyer.” You say simply, you voice is sharp and quiet but it does the job of slicing through the tension already building in the room.

“Come on, you don’t need a lawyer.”

“That’s where you’re wrong again, Agent Morgan. I do need a lawyer. Because even though I have full-heartedly trusted the justice system since I was in diapers, and even though I came to these offices willing to help your team in any way that I could, you are still trying to use me as a scapegoat instead of actually doing your fucking job and finding the bastard who is killing people in my name.

“A study from criminal law bulletin says that 10,000 people are wrongfully convicted of serious crimes every year. One in every twenty-five people sentenced to death are innocent, Agent Morgan. Just since 1973, more than 160 people were exonerated from the death penalty. That’s not even counting the people who were killed. But you sure as hell aren’t about to make me apart of that statistic because you want to waste your time trying to piece an investigation around me. That’s not how you’re supposed to do your job. So until you can remember how to do it correctly, I do need a lawyer. Thank you.”

By the time you finish you’ve leaned over the table, your index finger jammed into the wood to make your point. It feels like your chest is on fire as you slam back into your seat and cross your arms, determined to keep your silence for the rest of the time you were forced to sit here.

Everyone on the opposite side of the mirror is stunned into silence, their eyes focused on you even as Derek gathers all the things from the desk and walks out looking a little flustered himself. If Spencer was totally honest, your outburst was actually kind of hot. He has to remind himself that you may have killed eight people in cold blood.

Your lawyer makes it to the BAU in record time, his red hair expertly gelled back from his face. His icy blue eyes only cracking when he sees you sitting by yourself in the interrogation room. Spencer can tell by the way that he lowers himself on the balls of his feet to talk to you, reaching out to touch the hand that sits on your thigh, that he knows you personally. He likes you, actually. Spencer tried to tell himself that it doesn’t make him glad when you pull your hand out of his and awkwardly pat his arm.

He’s been lying to himself a lot today.

Hotch is the one to go back in the room, he was the best at dealing with lawyers. Unfortunately his best wasn’t enough to keep you in custody and soon your lawyer, who Spencer learned was named Jeremy, was walking you out of the room for the first time in six hours.

Your back cracks when you stand, your shoulders rolling back to try and ease some of the stress you’d been holding there since this morning. The sound of the door swinging open for you is almost heavenly, the feel of the air outside of the room is damn near enough to make you cry.

When you look to the side, ready to leave out the second door that leads into the hallway and away from this mess, you meet eyes with the only profiler of the BAU that you hadn’t seen that day. Spencer looks back at you with an expression that you find hard to put into words.

He almost looks sorry, the regret evident in the slight widening of his eyes, but at the same time his chin is tilted up like he is facing an enemy he has vowed to take down no matter the cost. His shoulders are squared, but his arms are uncrossed and his palms are open.

And even though you knew you wouldn’t be there without him knowing, the reassurance that Spencer knew and even suspected you is like a blow to the chest and stomach. It robs you of air, causing you to stumble.

Jeremy reaches to steady you. You shake him off, pulling your eyes from the young doctor and focusing all of your attention on the door knob.

“I’m fine, Jeremy.” Your tone of voice is more harsh than you intended but you’re still struggling to collect oxygen, even when you slide into your car by yourself, it feels like you can’t get enough air. The walk from the BAU offices to the parking lot had passed in a blur. Jeremy’s talk about staying at home and keeping your head low had gone by even faster, and now that you have time to truly be by yourself, everything hits like a ton of bricks thrown at you from a speeding train.

In the midst of your panic attack, gasping for air into the palms of your shaking hands, questioning everything about yourself and your career, you don’t register the shuffle of movement in your backseat. You’re so deep in your mind that you almost don’t notice the cool press of a gun barrel against the back of your neck until a familiar voice lifts your head from your hands.

“Drive.”

[thefloorisbalaclava]

50 questions tag game

tagged by @acomplicatedprofession ❤️

1.) What color is your hairbrush?

brown

2.) Name a food you never eat

brussels sprouts and mashed potatoes

3.) Are you usually too warm or too cold?

too cold

4.) What were you doing 45 minutes ago?

typing a paper like i should be doing now lol

5.) What’s your favorite candy bar?

kit kat!!

6.) Have you ever been to a professional sports game?

nope. i used to love going to all my sister’s volleyball games when she was in college. she was at the top of her division!

7.) What’s the last thing you said out loud?

“that doesn’t make sense, cassandra”. i talk to myself a lot when i write

8.) What’s your favorite ice cream?

coffee, banana split (but only the friendly’s brand), and plain old chocolate

9.) What was the last thing you had to drink?

water

10.) Do you like your wallet?

yes...it has din on it. what’s not to like?

11.) What’s the last thing you ate?

pudding

12.) Did you buy any new clothes last weekend?

yes!

13.) What’s the last sporting event you watched?

i don’t know

14.) What is your favorite flavor of popcorn?

movie theatre butter!

15.) Who’s the last person you sent a text to?

my friend

16.) Ever go camping?

YUP! my sister and i love it!

17.) Do you take vitamins?

i’m SUPPOSED to

18.) Do you go to church every Sunday?

nope. haven’t since i was like...10

19.) Do you have a tan?

what kinda question...my skin is brown. i’m naturally tanned lol

20.) Do you prefer Chinese or pizza?

PIZZA. i would live off pizza or thai food if i could

21.) Do you drink soda through a straw?

sometimes

22.) What color socks do you usually wear?

usually wild and crazy colors. and sometimes mismatched! “life is too short to wear boring socks” - troy baker

23.) Do you ever drive above the speed limit?

i don’t even have my license bb

24.) What terrifies you?

CLOWNS, the idea of a bug crawling into my ear, sleep paralysis

25.) Look to your left, what to you see?

my air purifier

26.) What chore do you hate the most?

cleaning the bathroom especially the fucking toilet. i wear two pairs of gloves every time i clean it lol

27.) What do you think when you hear an Australian accent?

steve irwin, of course!

28.) What’s your favorite soda?

ginger ale

29.) Do you go in fast food or in the drive through?

depends

30.) What’s your favorite number?

i used to say 11 but i honestly have no idea

31.) Who’s the last person you talked to?

my mom - she called to scream about hamilton being on disney+ lol

32.) Favorite cut of beef?

sirloin

33.) Last song you listened to?

the sweetest taboo by sade

34.) Last book you read?

this goddamn book for my comparative history and research class lol

35.) Can you say the alphabet backwards?

it would take me a while

36.) Favorite day of the week?

i dunno...

37.) How do you like your coffee?

sweet

38.) Favorite pair of shoes?

my first pair of toms from YEARS ago

39.) Time you normally wake up?

9 or 10 then i just lie there for a few hours lol

40.) Sunrise or sunsets?

sunsets

41.) How many blankets on your bed?

one

42.) Describe your kitchen plates?

they’re these new environmental friendly ones i bought in four different colors

43.) Describe your kitchen at the moment?

its clean and fully stocked because i went shopping yesterday

44.) Do you have a favorite alcoholic drink?

amaretto sour or a black and blue (guinness and blue moon together)

45.) Do you play cards?

sure do. loooove me some blackjack and poker

46.) What color is your car?

i don’t drive

47.) Can you change a tire?

i actually can because i used to help my uncle when he was fixing cars.

48.) Your favorite state, province, country, etc.?

new jersey will always be on top but oregon is breathtaking! as for country it’s hard to say. i have soft spots for so many

49.) Favorite job you’ve had?

when i was in college i worked in one of the dining halls and it was so entertaining. especially when i worked the late nights and all the drunk and high kids would come in telling me how good my pizza was lololololol. i would just throw bbq sauce and chicken on top and they’d be like “OH MY GOD DID YOU MAKE THIS!!! ITS SO GOOD!!!”

50.) How did you get your biggest scar?

there’s one i got when i was camping and slid down the side of a small hill. there was one i had on my head for a while where i got hit with a rock (don’t ask). and one on my thigh courtesy of my ex (don’t ask)

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Artifice | Chapter Eight

[A/N: It’s been such a long time, and I need to dedicate this chapter to @lilhan for being so patient and supportive.] 

CHECK OUT THE STORY FROM THE START

Her skin was hot, buzzing as the heavy air pressed against every inch of her body. It seemed to invade her clothes, worming its way into her sense of being. The young painter needed to clear her mind from the lavish Beale house. It’s limestone brick and royal red aura was too heavy and suffocating.

Just a few months ago she had been in South Carolina. Anderson to be exact. It was a small town with nothing more than a main street lined with brick shops. The bricks were weathered, even though they had just been laid a few years before. The road had no paving and the air carried the same heat that it did now; one that was so overbearing that Beca wanted to tear out of her own skin and escape the house that only operated under slowly spinning fans. They did nothing but push the milky heat around.

Sweat was beading against her rising chest each time she took a hurried step. Her shoes were loud against the drive, one that looked a lot smaller when she took the carriage to the large mahogany doors no more than a week ago. Again, her movements cut through the air.

She had talked late into the night with the lady of the house. Her skin felt tight and tired. Chloe downing one glass of wine after another without showing any type of intoxication. Beca herself nursed a drink, spinning it around the glass easily as it left a film on the glass. She didn’t’ have an interest in keeping up with Chloe, she knew she couldn’t. Instead, she listened as the woman finally lulled her own conversation into silence and made an excuse about needing to get to sleep. The both of them knew soundly that neither would sleep.

Beca hadn’t. Instead, she slipped out of the front door and down the long steps before the rest of the estate had a chance to stir. She needed a walk, a clear mind to get objective about a piece of art that was meant to adorn the empty place above the mantel. A place that had a faded frame where the sun had washed too close to a color slathered against the drywall. A color that Beca still believed was all wrong for the room.

Her sketchbook was tucked under her arm, the leather was uncomfortably close to exposed skin, her eyes scanning across the edge of the property as she glanced at the large oak that rested near a brick fence. It must have taken ages to design and establish the perimeter, but she was grateful to see the bought of shade. It gave her a good view of the house, and she could feel the sweet breeze of the sea the second she lowered herself down against the rough bark.

She didn’t pull from her sketchbook right away; each drawing had its own memory that she would rather crumple up and throw to the side. But her art was an expression of progress more than it was a tell-tale loop into the past. The memories she could replace with new ones, the pencil strokes that were pressed into parchment were another story.  

The young painter leaned her head against the tree, not as stifled as she once was in the hot tropical sun. Her fingers played with the edge of the paper, as her other hand ran rhythmically against the curved edge of the charcoal instrument she used to sketch. Her mind was drifting, and her eyes were drooping.

“Now I’m quite positive that you’re stalking me, Miss Mitchell.” The statement had a bite to it. Of course, it did, she was barely twenty. There was no reason to insinuate knowledge or wealth by adding a prefix to her name as the woman did.

“You wouldn’t’ be here if you didn’t’ want to be found, Maria.” She mumbled into her drink. The artist could smell the liquor as it burned a neat hole into her throat. She refused to look up at the girl, refused the acknowledge the heat the pulled at her spine. `

She was dark and classical compared to the women she grew up around. They were soft in their features and carried around an innocence that was never meant to be broken. They wore their Sunday best and powdered their cheeks until they were red in eternal youth. Maria didn’t care much for makeup- she carried natural beauty that swam in chocolate brown eyes.

Beca felt a heat apply to her own expression as she flashed her stare back towards the bar's counter. It was scratched but it was better than looking at Maria; That wasn’t entirely true, she found company quite easily in the wife of her mentor. They had shared a few midnight conversations over creamy wine.

A few nights ago, Beca had been wondering the halls. She had no idea what she was looking for, a solace in the moonlight. A time where she didn’t fall into the edged buzzing and sting against the right side of her face where Christian had struck her one too many times.

Instead, she stumbled upon Maria, trying to cool herself in the property bathhouse. She had no shame under the pale casting of the moon. Her body curved against the terra cotta tile, legs spread as the water trickled close to her skin. She noticed Beca quickly, not pulling to cover herself as her naked body writhed against her own touch. Instead, she almost beaconed to the young painter as if she needed assistance.

“I’m sorry if I was too forward the other night.”

Beca swallowed painfully loud. She turned in her chair and took in how much cherry blossom pricked against the air. “Don’t fret about it, Maria. Cosas pasan. You must forgive me for staring.”

“Cosas Pasan” She mirrored, grasping onto the glass that was still in Beca’s hand. Her touch was warm and electrifying. “I had to satisfy myself considering Christian gets so wrapped up in his moods sometimes.”

“That’s nice,”

Maria tilted her head back and downed the rest of the whiskey in one sharp swallow. She let the glass fall to the counter with little more than a clink as she leaned against the counter. Everything else seemed to silence itself. The blare of Latin music almost as strong as the primal scent of sex that her instructor’s wife carried.

“Very,” She purred.

Her breath was hot against Beca’s neck, leaning in cleanly as she touched her lips behind the woman’s earlobe. She froze, clenching her eyes shut as she breathed in. A light moan escaped her lips, pressing into the woman who now wrapped perfectly painted hands around her midsection.

“I used to be his muse, but he paints a new infatuation now. The city, the nightlife.” She sighed against the back of Beca’s neck, running the side of her thumb close to the hemline of her pants. “Almost like I’m not good enough for him. Could you paint me?”

The question almost didn’t’ register against her mind. She made a sound that was a mix between a yes and a primal grunt of approval. She wasn’t sure she could even form coherent thoughts right now much less push a horse-tailed brush against a stretched canvas.

“Tenía pocas dudas.” Her voice was raspy and her touch heavy “You know where to find me, little one.”  

[evaceratops]

tag games

there are like 10000 of these in my drafts so i’m going to do them all at once in one big post, organized by who tagged me

tagged by @leopoldjamesfitz

name: eva

gender: female

height: 5′0″

sexuality: ace as heck

what image do you have as a wallpaper? fire emblem awakening cutscene screenshot

where do you see yourself in 10 years? livin the dream as a researcher at the monterey bay aquarium

if you could be anywhere right now, where? yosemite national park, or monterey

what was your coolest halloween costume? ... is it weird that i legitimately can’t think of one

last kiss: uhhh i’m assuming this is in a romantic context, so never

have you ever been stood up? this would require having been planning to go on a date in the first place, so no

what’s your favorite 90′s show? is kim possible from the 90s

favorite pair of shoes: there’s these black and gray tennis shoes that i really like

favorite fruit: cherries

stupidest thing you’ve ever done: download fire emblem heroes i legitimately forgot about chem lab once and missed the entire thing and didn’t realize until a week later

favorite book: .. you come into my house and ask me to choose One, you absolute fool,, just to spite you my answer is all 35+ books of the warriors series

colors i’m currently wearing: black, brown, denim

last band shirt i bought: 5 seconds of summer, like 2 years ago

last band i went to see live: the oh hellos!

last song i listened to: masterpiece theater III by marianas trench

lipstick or chapstick: definitely chapstick, i’ve always hated makeup

last movie i watched: pacific rim uprising

last 3 shows i watched: i think i watched a few episodes of total drama island and pretty little liars with my sister recently, and the third... probably voltron?

3 characters i identify with: arc trooper echo from star wars, ricken from fire emblem awakening, pidge from voltron

books i’m currently reading: the song of roland for my medieval history course, aaaand i’m in between the first and second books of my reread of the dawn of the clans arc of warriors

what’s your favorite song(s) to sing/hum? probably willow tree march by the paper kites

what’s your favorite flower/tree/plant? italian cypress,, and most other evergreen trees tbh

favorite colors? navy and pretty much any shade of blue/grayish-blue, dark red, gold

what do you always doodle? it varies depending on what i feel like that day but yesterday it was cats and dinosaurs

how do you take your coffee/tea? i can’t have caffeine so i don’t drink coffee at all and i rarely drink tea, but with tea i’ll use like 3 entire packets of sugar and nothing else

favorite candle scent? pine, or the ocean

sunrise or sunset? is this referring to the warriors books with those titles or the actual times of day sunset

what perfume do you wear? none

what’s your go-to dance move when you’re alone? ... i don’t even know

favorite quote? shrug emoji,, i just don’t think about this stuff i guess

favorite self care routine(s)? taking a long bath/shower and then going to bed early or reading a book i like

what color are your eyes? grayish-blue

what’s your favorite eye color on others? i’ve always thought brownish-green looks pretty cool

favorite season? why? fall/winter because i like cold weather and rainstorms

cheek, neck, or nose kisses? cheek kisses but also why aren’t forehead kisses on here

what does your happy place look like? anywhere in the sierras or along the coast of california

favorite breed of dog? i’ve always thought huskies are really pretty even though being around big dogs makes me a little nervous (i am 110% a cat person)

do you ever want to be married? if so, what colors would you pick for your wedding theme? no

cursive or print? print

favorite weather? THUNDERSTORMS.

Rules: Choose any three fandoms (in random order) and answer the questions.

i choose: heck, let’s go with the 3 i’ve been most into recently!

star wars | fire emblem | warriors

the first character you loved: 

anakin skywalker. i still remember being indignant when ahsoka talked back to him in the tcw movie | either lissa or frederick | probably dovewing (i borrowed the fourth apprentice from a friend and read that first before going back and reading the rest of the series)

the character you never expected to love so much:

probably ezra bridger, tbh! i started watching rebels purely for ahsoka and rex and did not expect to get so attached to the ghost crew literally within the first 5 minutes of spark of rebellion | TAKUMI | ... god, it’s so hard to remember these things, the first time i read these books was so many years ago... squirrelflight, maybe?

the character you relate to the most:

echo! i used to read encyclopedias for fun as a kid so i understand his love of the reg manual | probably sumia? i don’t quite have self-esteem issues like she does but i do tend to downplay my strengths and kinda write myself off. plus we both love reading and even tend to prefer the same genres (mostly fantasy and fiction) | leafpool because i too spend a good deal of my time pretending everything is fine even if it’s not and trying to fix my mistakes,

the character you’d slap:

wat tambor | fernand | clear sky. i’ve had enough of that dude

three favorite characters (in order of preference):

anakin, kanan, rey | gaius, takumi, lissa | JAYFEATHER, lionblaze, bramblestar (if i’m being totally honest jayfeather alone is favorite characters #1 through 10 for this series i love him SO MUCH no one else even comes close)

a character you liked at first but don’t anymore:

... i don’t really care for ventress? i don’t dislike her, but i don’t seem to like her as much as everyone else does. i thought she was cool the first time i watched tcw all the way through, but now... | cherche, maybe? i don’t think i’ve ever really disliked a fire emblem character - at least not one from any of the games i’ve played - but i’m not as interested in cherche as i used to be | sorry, dovewing

a character you did not like at first but now do:

ahsoka, believe it or not. i don’t remember caring about her too much when tcw was first airing, but i really like her now | camilla | as usual i never really disliked hollyleaf but i like her more now than i did the first time i read the books

three OTPs:

anidala, kanera, ultimate rarepair™ arcmaiden | the Original Rarepair™ ricken/lissa, chrom/sumia, gaius/robin | bramblestar/squirrelflight, lionblaze/cinderheart, hollyleaf/fallen leaves (honorable mention for bluestar/oakheart bc i do love me those classic and tragic Forbidden Relationships but hollyleaf falling in love with a literal ghost is just too good of a concept and is therefore slightly higher in the rankings)

tagged by @minhoruns

rules: bold your aspirations!

AIR: I have small hands • I love the night sky • I watch small animals and birds when I pass them by • I drink herbal tea • I wake to see dawn • The smell of dust is comforting • I’m valued for being wise • I prefer books to music • I meditate • I find joy in learning new truths from the world around me

FIRE: I don’t have straight hair • I like to wear ripped jeans and overalls • I play an organized sport • I love dogs • I am not afraid of adventure • I love to talk to strangers • I always try new foods • I enjoy road trips • Summer is my favorite season • My radio is always playing

WATER: I wear bracelets on my wrists • I love the bustle of the city • I have more than one set of piercings • I read poetry • I love the sound of a thunderstorm • I want to travel the world • I sleep past noon most days • I love dimly lit diners and fluorescent signs • I rewatch kids’ shows out of nostalgia • I see emotions in colors and words

EARTH: I wear glasses • I enjoy doing the laundry • I am a vegetarian or vegan • I have an excellent sense of time • My humor is very cheerful • I am a valued advisor to my friends • I believe in true love • I love the chill of mountain air • I’m always listening to music • I am highly trusted by the people in my life

AETHER: I go without makeup in my daily life • I make my own artwork • I keep on track of my tasks and time • I always know true north • I see beauty in everything • I can always smell flowers • I smile at everyone I pass by • I always fear history repeating itself • I have recovered from a mental disorder • I can love unconditionally

rules: spell your url out with song titles

exeunt - the oh hellos viva la vida - coldplay anna sun - walk the moon caves - haux earth - sleeping at last red hands - walk off the earth all the right moves - onerepublic the royal we - silversun pickups ophelia - the lumineers pompeii - bastille stay frosty royal milk tea - fall out boy

tagged by @autisticpadme

rules: list the top ten songs you’ve been listening to lately

masterpiece theater III (by marianas trench), willow tree march (by the paper kites), 3. wake up (by arcade fire), valley - reprise (by the oh hellos), you of the light (from the fire emblem: fates soundtrack), the royal we (by silversun pickups), the last of the real ones (by fall out boy), alight (storm) (from the fire emblem: fates soundtrack), where is your rider (by the oh hellos), enishi (from the fire emblem: fates soundtrack)

[dearophelia]

brightly shone the moon at night

Five Christmases in Olivia Shepard’s life. ~5k, G, includes references to parental death (not Hannah, she’s fine). [if you’d like background music] | AO3

one, mindoir.

Yawning, Charles quietly pads down the stairs, sidestepping the edge of the landing and the squeak that developed during the fall. He should’ve checked the weather before even getting out of bed – easier to plan how many layers he’ll have to pile on – but at some point, cold is cold, and they reached that point two weeks ago. At least the new heater Mark built for his engineering class seems sturdy enough for the chicken coop, even in the snow and subzero temperatures.

He reaches the bottom of the stairs and turns toward the kitchen to start coffee, but pauses with his hand hovering over the coffee maker. It isn’t nearly as dark as 3:30am should be: the kitchen lights shine into Mark’s room if the door hasn’t shut just right, so they turned off the motion sensors until he has a chance to fix his son’s door. He starts the coffee maker and, suppressing a yawn, looks around. His brow furrows when he looks into the living room.

The Christmas tree is on. And there are two mismatched socked feet sticking out from underneath it.

As the coffee maker burbles to life, Charles walks over, nudges a few gifts out of the way, and lies down next to his daughter. “Morning,” he says quietly. He follows Olivia’s line of sight up into the tree, smiling at the sparkling white lights Hannah carefully threaded through the branches.

Olivia huffs the kind of quiet little sigh only possible from nine-year olds.

He turns his head to look at her. His children are early risers, but 3:30 is pushing it. “You okay?”

She sighs again. “I didn’t get my homework done,” she admits, a twinge of guilt in her voice. She covers a yawn, and doesn’t take her eyes away from the lights and glittering ornaments above.

Charles knows that tone. What she means is I couldn’t get my homework done. “That’s okay,” he assures her. School’s almost over for the winter, one more missing assignment won’t matter. And if any of her teachers decide to say something about it, there isn’t a single one of them he wouldn’t fight on his daughter’s behalf. There’s an Alliance ship due in January with supplies; he and Hannah have already decided to have the ship doctor work with Olivia. They both have their suspicions about why she’s having trouble reading, but an official diagnosis would open a few doors. “Can I help?”

Shaking her head, Olivia scoots closer to him. Charles takes the hint and lifts his arm, letting her cuddle into his side. He brushes her hair out of her eyes and kisses the top of her head. “I love you,” he says, hugging her close. She nods and rests her head on his shoulder.

They lie side by side in silence for a while. Charles lets his eyes drift out of focus, turning the tree above into a blur of white lights and shiny smears of color. Water runs through the pipes from upstairs – Hannah’s awake. “We should get up before your mom comes down. She’ll think we’ve finally lost our minds.”

Olivia giggles and sits up with him. He stands and offers her his hand, then tugs her up and into a tight hug. “You’re my favorite daughter,” he says.

“I’m your only daughter,” she points out, hugging him in return.

“Yeah,” he grins as she steps back, “but I don’t have to like you,” he teases lightly.

She scrunches up her nose and, after a moment, sticks her tongue out him.

Charles laughs. “Do you want to help with the chickens?” He doesn’t need the assistance, though Hannah does need a truly tremendous number of eggs for today, but Olivia doesn’t look like she’s interested in trying to go back to sleep yet.

“Yeah,” she nods.

“Go get bundled up,” he says, and then heads into the kitchen for at least a sip of coffee before he has to pile on three layers of warmth.

The snow’s deep enough outside that he goes first so Olivia can step in his footprints. He keeps his stride shorter in deference to her nine-year-old legs, and holds the coop door open for her. Olivia makes quick work of collecting all the eggs while he feeds the chickens, changes their water, and checks the heater.

He lets Olivia go first on the way back, smiling into his scarf as she carefully steps in his footprints in the snow. Cold moonlight glitters over the ice that’s covered the trees and the vines, but warm welcoming candlelight shines from every window in their house.

“Thanks for your help,” he tells Olivia once they’re back inside.

Tugging off her purple hat, Olivia smiles up at him, a happy smile a billion miles away from the sigh she gave him earlier. She wraps her arms around his waist, hugging him tight even through two sweatshirts and a jacket. “I love you,” she says, a little muffled.

Charles smooths out her hair, and settles his hands on her back, hugging his daughter close. “I love you too, Liv.”

two, citadel.

Olivia glares at the stove, and her third attempt at toffee. It goes into the matter recycler with the other two, but at least she didn’t set off the smoke alarm this time.

“This is not difficult,” she mutters, rising up on her toes as she scrubs at the burnt bits. They only have one saucepan, and she’s getting tired of cleaning it. Toffee is fussy, it was fussy on Mindoir even when she knew all the quirks of the stove, but it’s never made her want to throw the pan out the window before.

Well. It did last year, but that’s because it was smoking so bad she genuinely thought it would catch fire, and the kitchen window was conveniently open. After staring at her for a minute, Mark told her to try out for softball in the spring, and then went outside to fetch the pan.

Olivia thoroughly dries the saucepan – even brings out a fresh towel, just in case – and sets it back on the stovetop. Lights and decorations went up around the human sectors of the Citadel over a month ago, and she’s heard nothing but carols on the walk home from the transit station for two weeks. She can count six brilliantly-lit trees and three menorahs in the windows of the building across the street, and someone’s gone to great lengths to hang garland and ribbons along the stairwells of their own building.

And yet, their apartment remains dark. No lights, no tree, no stockings on the wall, no wreath hung on the door with jingle bells that ring every time a cargo skycar flies past. No nutcrackers on the shelf or Santa figurines tucked into every corner, no candles in the windows.

She thinks the candles bother her most of all. She bought one, a little electric thing she found in a shop while she was taking the long way home last week; she turns it on every night after Mom comes home, but it’s not the same. It’s just one candle. They have six windows.

Sighing, Olivia dumps sugar back into the pan for one more effort. They don’t have a tree or decorations, Mom didn’t even ask what she wanted (which is fine; Olivia’s throat gets tight whenever she passes the Santa at the center of the upper Zakera shops, has to duck her head down and blink hard when she hears him ask a small child what they want; it’s better that nobody ask, lest she tell the truth and finally tumble over the same cliff her mother catapulted over six months ago in a small room on an Alliance transport), but it’s Christmas. And at Christmas, even though it hurts so badly to remember laughing while Mark dashed outside for the scorched pan, she makes toffee. Burning it a few times is part of the tradition, even if there’s no one around to see.

She’s spreading melted chocolate over the hardened toffee when Mom finally gets in. Olivia looks over her shoulder and offers her a smile, and not just because she’s carrying a pizza that smells wonderful. Olivia tries to be a little less sad on Tuesdays and Fridays; therapy days are hard for both of them – she dreads Monday and Thursday evenings so much she’s about to call it quits – but Mom always seems fragile afterward, like a gust of wind would shatter her into pieces.

“You’re making toffee,” Mom says, a strange, distant tone in her voice. She sets the pizza down and takes out two plates.

“Fourth attempt,” Olivia admits. She pokes at a particularly-stubborn corner until the chocolate finally covers it.

Mom laughs – it’s a tiny thing, more of a slightly-upbeat huff than a true laugh, but it’s more than Olivia’s heard in months. She bites her lip as she sprinkles toasted walnuts over the chocolate, determined not to cry into her candy.

“I was thinking,” Mark says once they’ve sat down to pizza.

“That’s dangerous,” Olivia says, out of habit. But when she looks up, it isn’t Mark sitting across from her – it’s Mom. “Sorry,” she immediately apologizes. Maybe she shouldn’t quit therapy after all – Mom and Mark sound nothing alike.

Mom simply shakes her head and smiles. “I was thinking,” she starts again, “this place could use some decoration.”

There’s a sadness in her eyes – but it isn’t the sharp, stabbing sadness of half their family just suddenly gone. It’s a dull sadness, an ache. Guilt, maybe.

Olivia realizes that her single little candle in the window isn’t as secret as she thought. Her vision blurs and she swallows hard, willing the tears not to fall. “Yeah,” she says quietly after a moment, “it could.”

“Meet you after school tomorrow? We can go shopping, grab dinner?”

The tears fall anyway, and Olivia quickly wipes them away. She sniffles, but manages a smile. “Sounds like a plan,” she says as Mom squeezes her hand.

three, thessia.

“I’m gonna murder this paper,” Olivia says, hauling the box into their apartment, “do you want to help me set up this tree?”

Liara looks up from her laptop with her brow furrowed, trying to figure out what one thing has to do with the other. “Where did you find a Christmas tree on Thessia?” she asks, standing up to help Olivia. The box is just about as long as Olivia is tall, which bodes interestingly for the rest of their evening.

“I didn’t,” Olivia says. She hangs her coat and scarf on the hook by the door, drops her hat and gloves in the basket, and toes off her boots. “It’s freezing outside.”

Liara looks at her roommate’s reddened cheeks, then outside to the snow that’s been falling for three days, and then back to Olivia. “That happens during winter.”

Olivia presses her lips together and stares flatly at Liara for a moment before walking into the kitchen to find something that can pry open the plastic box. “I ordered it from the Citadel months ago,” she says, coming back in with, of all things, a metal offset spatula. “Never again am I going for the free shipping option,” she grumbles.

“Is this,” Liara gestures to the box and steps out of the way, “why you’ve been living on noodles and coffee for the past two months?”

“No,” Olivia grimaces, working the spatula into the seam of the box.

For a moment, Liara considers videoing this endeavor, but decides she’d prefer the video of her at a karaoke bar for Olivia’s birthday not ‘mysteriously’ end up on the archaeology department’s internal website, so leaves her omnitool where it lies on the table.

“I’ve been living on noodles and coffee because I have five research papers and a thesis proposal all due within forty-eight hours of each other next week.” With a twist, she pops open one corner. “And because the universe hates me, I also have to present that thesis proposal in person on Christmas Eve, and Dr. Aridana can’t reschedule, so even if I could afford to go home, I can’t,” she growls at the box and glares at it. With one last shove, the lid pops open with such surprise force that Olivia loses her balance and falls on her rear. She sighs. “Hence the Christmas tree.”

Liara still isn’t sure what one has to do with the other, but doesn’t say so. She offers Olivia a hand up. Though they’ve lined up neatly the past few years, Serrice’s winter break just barely misses human winter holidays this year, and instead they have finals the whole week of Christmas. She’s heard no end of complaints about it from her human colleagues, though Olivia has been silent on it until now.

“Is everything alright?” She helps Olivia lift the tree from the box and set it aside, revealing even more decorations underneath.

Olivia huffs and bats her hair out of her eyes. “Christmas is…weird for me. I don’t know how I feel about it anymore.” She looks away toward the windows, and when she looks back, she looks a little distant. “I feel like I should be there though, for Mom. It’s five years, this year,” she says quietly, almost to herself. Blinking, she shakes her head, clearing her thoughts, and hands Liara two strands of lights.

Liara nods, and gently bumps her friend’s shoulder before she begins to unravel the twinkling lights.

After a few minutes of silent working, Olivia turns on some quiet Christmas music. Liara defers to Olivia on how best to string the lights up on the tree and instead goes to work on the garland. They don’t have a fireplace, as she’s given to understand is a traditional location, but they do have plenty of bookshelves.

While Olivia is shoulder-deep in the tree, Liara subtly types a message to her mother – would you mind terribly if I brought Olivia home for holiday? She doesn’t even have half the next sentence typed – an explanation of why she’s asking to bring her roommate home – before a response appears.

Not at all. I will make sure the guest room is ready.

Liara smiles and deletes her half sentence. You might also want to stock up on human coffee, she suggests, and then sets her omnitool back down so she can focus on the task at hand.

When Liara leaves her room later, in need of a slice of cold pizza and a glass of juice to fuel the next three hours of research, she’s surprised to find the apartment darkened. Olivia usually works in the living room, needing space to spread out star charts and maps, and she hasn’t gone to sleep before Liara for at least three months. Olivia’s bedroom door is open, and the little string of lights she’s hung up around the window illuminates enough for Liara to see that her roommate hasn’t simply tripped over her own feet and just decided to stay where she landed face-first in bed.

Puzzled, Liara walks down the short hallway to the main living space. She pauses at the edge of the room, wondering if she can get her snack without intruding, or if she should tiptoe back into her room and leave Olivia to her solitude.

Olivia sniffs and wipes at her cheeks, but doesn’t look away from the small candle-shaped lights they’ve placed in the windows. A quiet rumble heralds the heat kicking on, and warm air gently blows into the room; the Christmas tree glitters in the dark behind her. The hollows under Olivia’s eyes cast haunted, cold shadows against her pale skin. Liara wonders when she last slept. Olivia blinks, and the candles reflect off tears trailing down her cheeks.

Liara shuffles her foot against the carpet, letting Olivia know she’s here, and then walks over and sits beside her. Snow falls softly outside, sparkling in the lights.

“They’re my favorite part,” Olivia whispers, “the candles.”

“What do they symbolize?” Liara sets her arm around Olivia’s shoulders, letting her friend lean into her.

Olivia rests her head on Liara’s shoulder. “That there’s safe harbor inside. A warm place to wait out the storm.” She wipes at her eyes again. “We had them at the farmhouse,” she says softly. “The colony got battered by blizzards a few years, and Dad always opened the door for anyone caught out in the snow and cold. Neighbors, mostly, but sometimes transients, even people whose company he couldn’t stand.”

Liara hugs her and presses a kiss to the top of her head. The matriarchs have a similar tradition, though it lasts all year; she’s met her share of unexpected houseguests over the last several decades. “Would you like to come home with me over break?” she asks after a while.

Sniffling, Olivia sits up a little so she can look at Liara. She pushes her hair out of her eyes and nods. “Yeah.” A smile – small and trembling, but still a smile – quirks at her lips. “Thank you.”

Liara smiles in return, and tugs Olivia back into a hug.

four, normandy.

She has to hand it to her crew. Middle of a war, and they’ve still managed to decorate the entire ship for Christmas. Wreaths in the hallways, candle lights in every window (her doing, two nights ago, when her insomnia thoughts took an ugly turn toward something she wasn’t sure even her meds would be able to lift her back out of), strands of multicolored twinkling lights looped around cables and cabinets, an incredibly tacky Santa Claus next to the armor fabricator. A stocking for each member of the crew – including the aliens – hangs along the medbay windows, candy canes hooked on each one. Someone’s even found a Christmas tree.

Such as it is.

They’ve done what they can with lights and garland and ornaments (mostly weapon mods balanced precariously on the branches), but it still looks like it was the last one on the lot. Given wartime rationing and that fake Christmas tree manufacturing likely isn’t a high priority for anyone, Olivia would bet that it probably was.

“That is the most pathetic Christmas tree I’ve ever seen in my life,” Joker says, lifting his glass of eggnog in mockery.

“I can return it,” Ashley offers, light enough to be joking but with enough bite in her tone that she means it. She peers over the gifted baked goods from Hannah, and selects a snowflake-shaped sugar cookie. The icing sparkles with decorative sugar and Ashley breaks the cookie in two, offering one half to Cortez. He takes it with a smile.

Joker holds up his hands in defeat. “Hey now, let’s not be hasty. Where else is Shepard gonna put our presents?”

Olivia snorts into her coffee. “Look who thinks he’s getting more than coal.” Truthfully, she’s bought gifts for all of them. Some are practical, some are very not, and each of her crew will find something tucked away in their bunk or locker when they turn in for the night.

“It’s perfect,” James steps in. “It’s scrappy, just like us.”

Olivia raises her mug. “To the Normandy, and her amazing crew,” she toasts.

“The Normandy!” everyone shouts.

“Enjoy the party,” Olivia says as Ken turns on music and several brave souls go in for another glass of Vega’s eggnog. Christmas itself isn’t for another three days, but there’s no guarantee about tomorrow, let alone three days from now. Tonight’s a quiet night of travel, surrounded by mass effect fields and inky space as they fly toward the Caleston Rift in search of Garneau and Leviathan. They might as well celebrate when they can.

Olivia makes the rounds, chatting with her crew and politely turning down every offer of eggnog (she saw what went into it). She pauses beside Gabby, and stands quiet as the other woman says a prayer and lights seven candles on her menorah. She asks about family for the crew who are still in contact with theirs, and doesn’t for those whose families are missing or gone – she offers them a warm hug instead.

Eventually, she makes it through everyone and gets a refill on her coffee before looking for Garrus. She finds him leaning against the wall, apart from the others. Frowning a little – he’s usually not this quiet amongst their friends – she walks over to him. “You okay?” she asks, sitting on the table beside him. She bumps her shoulder against his.

He blinks silently, and the deep breath he takes immediately tells Olivia that, despite whatever he might be about to say, he is very much not okay.

But he doesn’t try to deny it. “I miss my mom,” he says so quietly that it’s almost lost amidst a very rowdy – and incorrect – rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

Olivia quickly does the calendar math in her head – Alterra isn’t for another few months, but she supposes any winter holiday, especially right now, is enough to bring up memories of lost family. “Come on,” she says, taking one more sip of coffee before sliding off the table. She catches his hand and tugs him away from the wall and toward the elevator.

They leave the party to a number of teasing ooooohs, and she makes sure to walk them underneath the mistletoe. Despite his melancholy, Garrus smiles as she lifts up on her toes to kiss him. She squeaks a little in surprise as he dips her low to the sound of cheers and a few wolf whistles.

“Have fun and don’t trash the ship, please,” Olivia calls before rounding the corner.

They ride the elevator in silence, and once inside their quarters, she withdraws a wrapped package from her desk drawer. She’s also bought him the boots he’s been lusting after every time they walk past the store; they’re in his armor locker, shiny blue bow on top of the box. But this one is more important tonight.

“Merry Christmas,” she says, sitting on the couch with him. She offers Garrus the package.

He leans in and brushes a kiss to her cheek, and then turns his attentions to the package. She’s given him wrapped gifts before – last Christmas and Alterra, and a belated birthday gift once he was back on board – and he always treats them the same: like the paper is just as precious as the gift inside. She has no idea how he manages to get the paper off in one sheet, without a single rip: she has five fingers and no talons, and can’t manage that kind of delicate work.

Garrus opens the lid and sets it aside before unfolding the tissue paper to reveal the gift. He gently lifts the candle light out of the box. “It’s a candle,” he says quietly, almost reverently.

“Well, I was going to get you a garage door opener,” she smirks, grinning even wider when he pokes her in the side; they’ve been joking about that for a year. “But,” she settles back to serious, “I thought this might be better.”

Garrus looks over to the window behind their bed, and the two candles she’s set there. He looks down at the candle in his hands, and then over at Olivia. “Why are there two this year?”

She sighs, and tucks herself deeper into her sweatshirt. “Everything’s a horrible mess,” she says softly. An understatement. “I just wanted Mark and Dad to know I was thinking about them.”

He nods, and looks down again. “And so, this is for…my mom?” The tight, thin rumble in his voice betrays his outward calm: he’s far more upset about his mother’s death than he’s told her.

Olivia scoots across the couch toward him. She leans up and kisses his temple. “Yeah.”

Garrus pulls her into a tight hug and nuzzles her neck. “Thank you,” he whispers softly, holding her close.

five, citadel ii.

“She doesn’t talk much, does she,” Hannah says, more of an observation than a question, as she rolls out sugar cookie dough.

Olivia looks over her shoulder, and finds Nora in the living room playing with her brothers. Quentus, already almost as tall as the other two put together, places the last block high on the tower and crows in victory. Nora and Nico silently share a look – a look that, even from kitchen, Olivia can tell is nothing but a conspiracy – and Nico subtly shifts position under the pretense of stretching out his knee, and knocks the tower’s base with his foot.

There’s a moment where everything hangs still, and it looks like the tower might only just wobble, but then the whole thing crashes down around her children in a shower of brightly-colored plastic blocks. Quentus’ slightly-irritated subvocals vibrate through the air, countered only by Nora’s giggles.

“No,” Olivia says, turning back to her chocolate once she’s sure they’re going to start building again and she won’t have to break up another block-throwing fight. “She can,” she clarifies, stirring the chocolate chips, encouraging them to melt faster, “she’s just quiet.”

Hannah bumps Olivia’s shoulder with her own and gives her daughter a small smile. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“And then that someone else you know ended up shouting at people for a living, so look how well that turned out,” Olivia teases. She doesn’t shout much these days, not in the sense of raising her voice to dalatrasses and primarchs and clan leaders who forget that they’re on her ship by invitation only, but she’s nearly perfected her tone of parental disappointment. She never uses it with her children, though it seems to be tremendously effective on diplomats.

“I think she turned out just fine,” Hannah says, a surge of pride catching in her throat. She swallows and rummages through a plastic box, searching for the star cookie cutters amidst rabbits and pumpkins and hearts.

Smiling, Olivia looks over her shoulder at her children once more. They’ve begun the tower again, but shorter and wider this time so they can all reach. She turns back and pours the chocolate over top of the set toffee she made earlier. She only burned it once, a personal record.

They work mostly in silence for the next hour, Hannah cutting out cookies and sliding batches into the oven while Olivia starts on another round of candy, until muffled voices rising from the basement herald the return of Garrus and Zaeed. Both women look up when the door opens, twin expressions on their faces of it cannot possibly have taken two hours to simply find all the lights. The two men stop in their tracks, Zaeed half-in-half-out of the doorway, and Garrus trying to hide behind him on the stairs below. Neither one of them are carrying anything at all.

Olivia breaks first. “What password did you change?”

“That was one time,” Zaeed says, defending both of them.

“It was my coffeemaker. It exploded.”

“I heart Garrus isn’t a difficult password,” Garrus says.

The corner of her mouth quirks up in a grin she’s trying very hard to hold back; they’ve held this exchange countless times in the last ten years. “It is when the keyboard in question doesn’t have an emoji setting.”

“It was voice-activated.”

“Well, your instructions were unclear.”

Hannah clears her throat. “Weren’t you two supposed to be getting the lights?”

Garrus and Zaeed share a look, and sheepishly retreat back down the stairs.

Much later, once cookies are iced and lights are hung and candles placed in the windows, and once everyone else is asleep, Olivia brushes a kiss to Garrus’ mandible, and sneaks out of their bedroom and downstairs. Despite her quiet, frustrated requests to the stars, the galaxy does not come to a halt just because it’s Christmas; her office released an updated relay repair schedule earlier this week, and she’d promised her staff she’d keep an eye on her email in case there was any resistance to the new schedule order.

She stops on the landing and smiles softly. The glass has shifted to nighttime mode, blocking most of the ambient light outside, and the candles shine bright in the windows – one in each, except for the window on the end, holding three. A quiet noise draws her attention toward the Christmas tree, casting soft warm light over the living room.

Three pairs of feet – two turian, one human with mismatched socks between them – stick out from underneath the tree.

Her smile widens as she walks the rest of the way down the stairs, and turns toward the tree instead of her office. The galaxy can wait half an hour.

“Enjoying the view?” she asks her children. Quentus scoots over, making room, and she lies down between him and Nora.

“It’s really pretty this year,” Nico says, looking up through the branches.

She reaches an arm around Nora to rest her hand on Nico’s shoulder. She gives him a squeeze, and his subvocals rumble happily. Quentus nudges her arm and she lifts it, letting her eldest son scoot in close; his crest has started to grow out, he might not be able to lie on his back like this next year. Nora makes a content little snuffle and cuddles into her side, eyes wide and fascinated by the lights and shiny ornaments of her first tree.

“I love you,” she whispers after a while. She presses a soft kiss to Nora’s and then Quentus’ forehead. Her engagement and wedding rings glitter and shine in the lights as she squeezes Nico’s shoulder again.

“Love you too, Mom,” Quentus says, and the other two echo him.

Nora yawns twice in a row, but Olivia decides they can all lie here for a little longer. She looks up at the tree and lets her eyes drift out of focus, turning the green branches, white lights, and multicolored ornaments into a sparkling, cheerful blur.

[sakuurae]

gaming antics [m]

summary: taeyong has been too distracted by his games lately so you decide to snap him out of it.

❀ pairing: gamer!taeyong & reader insert

❀ includes: smut (fingering, penetration, facial, oral)

❀ wc: 6k

❀ note: Im back! :’) With a new fic about my babe, Taeyong. Haha. I hope you guys like it!

Taeyong had always been an avid gamer.

He would spend hours on end smashing his thumbs all over the game controller while spitting curses to his frustrated friends through a small headset. Those hours sometimes ran into an entire day, and maybe he skipped out on catching a few winks of sleep—to put it short, he was in love with gaming. Since your friendship began with Taeyong you had known how much of a hardcore gamer he was—gaming was how the two of you bonded, so his love for the hobby never really bothered you to begin with.

Not until you started to date him a couple of months ago. He attempted to change his habits and shape himself into a decent boyfriend who could go on multiple dates with you whether they are small breakfast meetups or quick coffee runs. Those lasted for a good while, but he reverted to his original self soon afterwards, almost like the lively dates with you are not as fun as the silly shooter games he spends his life on. He reverted back to the game invested Taeyong—the one that spends more time staring at a flashing screen, furiously pressing on the loose buttons of his controler, than looking at his girlfriend.

You always attempted to talk to him while he took those short breaks. Usually he spent a good five to ten minutes getting water or catching a breath of fresh air outside, but he typically shrugged you off. This time you were going to take a different approach—a very distracting approach.

Two days ago you were lounging on the soft maroon couch in the living room of Taeyong’s stuffy apartment, mindlessly watching television as a simple pastime. It was like watching shows that were a bore would speed up the time in your boyfriend’s current game match. He was cooping himself inside his bedroom, door open since the start of the morning—he wasn’t even holding you when you woke up—and that was the final straw.

You left the apartment after munching on a small breakfast, freshened up and trailed out of his door for the sole purpose of finding something to distract Taeyong from his appalling screen. It was supposed to be a distraction—just enough—like his favorite snacks or two plain movie tickets. Though, you found something that caught your tired eyes way more—and something that would capture his own just as much.

As you walked down the sidewalk with the summer heat beating down on your exposed skin you realized you wanted to bide time. You were well aware that if you returned to Taeyong’s apartment he would still be active on his bed playing video games until the sun will set, so you sauntered the sidewalk, allowing you eyes to roam to familiar parts of the city. That was when you found something that caught your eye.

It was a dainty clothing store on the corner of the block; you never bothered to step one foot inside because the exterior of pastel pink always drew you away. But on that day, you wanted to do all you could to stall time away from Taeyong’s place—stall time from buying a distraction. So you entered.

The scent of perfume and artificial strawberries lingered in the air—far too strong for your liking and it caused your nose to scrunch. Its sweet particles stuck to the thin apparel whether it were to be chiffon or cotton. There was an array of multicolored dresses and folded pastel tees, each looking far too expensive for your simple taste, so you decided to venture deeper into the store. The colors started to vividly pop out more—become more vibrant—the saccharine scent increasing by the step. You allowed your hand to feel the fabric as you dragged it across the metal racks, hands dancing in the soft material. Though, all your movement ceased once you reached the back of the “innocent” clothing store.

Behind the racks and past the towering shelves laid out a not-so-innocent sight before your eyes. Instead of the appealing dresses that were spread throughout the store, charming customers by their pretty pinks and purples, they had a variety of… lingerie. From the purest of white, darkest of black, and deepest of red—each came in silk, satin, or lace. The store maintained its darling vibe, ribbons and bows also available on the shelves in the back, some even adorned the clothing unnecessarily. You gulped, perusing the revealing articles. Jeez, people might as well wear nothing. Though, the clothing did give you an evocative idea.

You considered purchasing one of them—any one of them—because each would appeal to your boyfriend’s eyes, you knew that all too well. Vivid scenarios of Taeyong ogling at your body made you vibrate in excitement; he would ache to place his hands on you and that was all you wanted. To have him strip you of the lace because it got into the way is an imagination that makes your core ache. Finally, you found the premier distraction from that stupid game console of his. You gave it another thought, wondering if you were making the right choice in impulsively purchasing your first set of lingerie. After a mild debate between white satin and black lace you decided to purchase the latter—the one with the arousing garter. You felt impatient, fingers rapidly tapping the counter in hopes that the cashier would speed up. Then, all of a sudden you felt a surge of excitement.

Excitement from what though? Taeyong’s long-awaited attention towards you, or the fact it would lead into something more?

You watched carefully as the cashier bagged your thin, arousing clothing—not the slightest judgement written on their face. They had probably seen more—and you used that fact to calm your nervous jitters. After the cashier finished bagging the revealing apparel with a bright grin, you paid, took the back, and zoomed out of the store.

You held the handle of the pastel pink paper bag close to you, a helpless yet hopeful smile blossoming on your face.

At the moment, you were laying on Taeyong’s couch again with the television flickering its scenic colors. You were dressed in one of his favorite sweatshirts, blue jeans snug around your waist. Oh, and the lingerie you purchased two days ago uncomfortably beneath the outwear. You had bought the lingerie to show it off, but the thing was Taeyong wasn’t giving any time for you to “show it off.” You became impatient, fingertips quickly tapping on the soft cushions of the sofa to zip through time.

“Babe!” you called out to him, irritated.

But there was no response.

You grumbled, petulant, and waited for a few seconds to see if he would respond with at least a loud hum, but there was nothing.

You groaned, “Taeyong!” You raised yourself from the comfort of the sofa with plans to move to his bed.

“Yeah? Give me a second,” he told you, rapid with his attention still deadlocked on the game.

You rolled your eyes and started to trudge down the hall, entering his bedroom with a stern frown. There were flames in your two orbs—flames that Taeyong couldn’t bother to see because he was so invested in gaining one, two, and many more kills within the match. You leaned against the doorframe of his bedroom, a look of annoyance painted on your expression. Your toes were tapping against the hard wooden floor, arms crossed like your fire was being fueled by heated disappointment.

“Okay, okay,” Taeyong let out. You cocked your eyebrow, surprised that he was actually paying attention to you and—

“Alright,” he spat into the microphone of that stupid headset of his, “yeah, I’m going to the west wall right now. Let’s go snipe the-”

“-Taeyong!” you exclaimed with a childish stomp.

The boom of your voice caught him by surprise, causing his body to jolt and fumble the controller out of his clammy palms. The anger that laced your tone swam in his ears and he didn’t bother to hide his character in a safe place within the rebarbative virtual reality, and looked at you with eyes of hesitance. “Y-yes?” he asks, unsure and innocent.

The bottom line: you were mad.

His room wreaked of musk and hints of sweat; thank gods his windows were cracked more than halfway open. Sunlight seeped into his room, lighting up the few fractions of darkness that would soon envelop the perimeter. The sun was setting, ready to fall asleep for the awakening moon. The scent made your nose scrunch—more than the time at the pretty pink store—and you began to walk to him.

You took notice of his appearance: his hair was damp from his recent shower, a loose white tee draped his muscular physique, and his lips were pursed into a pout as if that was his set expression. The frown on your face made him feel like he had committed all the wrong in the world, bottom lip beginning to quiver for he was not prepared to face your wrath.

The look of innocence in his eyes made your expression soften; it was almost impossible for you to express your anger towards your boyfriend. You sighed, and threaded fingers into your hair, grabbing onto his controller. “How do you pause the game?” you asked him, pressing all sorts of unfamiliar buttons on the controller.

“I- well, you can’t pause a live match,” he told you. His eyes trailed to the walls, muttered words of his friends being repeated in his ears, each inquired where he was and why he is idle. He opened his mouth to respond to them, but you took off his headset with care.

“Taeyong-” you tossed the headset to the side- “can you pay attention to me?”

Taeyong’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat, uneasy from the sight of you being… needy. For some reason it was an unexpected sight to Taeyong, something he cannot comprehend. He knew he had been neglecting you for quite some time, but he always assumed it wasn’t that much of a bother to you because you never acted upon it—not until now.

And that was when he realized what he might be doing something wrong.

“Um- sure,” he mumbled, head hanging low as if he was ashamed.

You smiled, a small hint of victory sketching on your face. “Great.”

The game blew a transparent black square to the screen, indicating that the match was over and his team had lost the match they once owned. “You know,” you began, “we haven’t hanged out in a while.”

You used the pad of your index finger to trail from his jawline down to his chin, tilting his head up to lock eyes with your own. Your two orbs were blown with a certain darkness. Lust, want—nothing else but need. Taeyong’s lips parted; no words left his mouth.

“You haven’t talked to me in a while,” you informed with a pout like his own. You rested your two hands on his shoulders, leaning lower by a few inches, and sailed them down his arms so you could grab onto his hands. With his large, sweaty palms in grasp you moved them to your waist, hoping he would get the idea of what you wanted: to have your imaginations come to life.

He was reluctant at first, fingers dancing at your waist as he ran through his jumbled thoughts, and finally he grasped you. “You haven’t touched me in a long time,” you said, voice withering into a whisper. It sounded like your words blended in with the air and the static of the silent speakers.

Taeyong stammered, “I- sorry.” He pulled you closer to him, regret from his actions dawning over him. “It’s just that the game, you know.”

“Is the game more important than me?” you questioned, pouty. “I’m your girlfriend.”

You sat on his lap, straddling his thighs, and he leaned back whilst slowly propping his arms on his mattress. “No…” he trailed off. “I’m sorry it seemed that way.”

You smiled like a vixen, implying the desires in such a simple expression. “You need to make it up to me.”

“With a date?” he inquired, thoughtful in the wrong way.

Your arms tangled with his neck, pulling yourself closer to his physique. You breath twisted with his own, hints of cold mint swirling with cherry candy. “A date?” you repeated, unsure yourself. “Sure,” you playfully giggled, “afterwards.”

“After what?” he asked.

“After this.”

You pressed your lips over his own, catching him entirely by surprise. His eyes widened as your lips danced to the melody of his pounding heartbeat; it did not take long for him to ease into the kiss, and soon, under your electric touch. You coasted your hand to his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his smooth skin before both of your bodies fell onto the soft mattress with a bounce. The kiss did not break—in fact, it deepened. His hands lingered in the air and hovered over your body while he shut his eyes, finding true pleasure in the heated kiss.

His grip found its home at your hips, a firm hold as he attempted to pull you lower over his crotch. You broke away from the desired osculation to catch a quick breath, eyes locking with his own briefly. You smiled at him lively. “What?” he mumbled, cocking an eyebrow upwards.

You were looking at him past the lush curtain of his lashes. “Nothing,” you assured. You pressed your lips into a thin line, patient for the long-awaited moment. You wanted Taeyong to slide his hands underneath your sweatshirt, palms grazing over the smooth of your waist until they meet the thin lace. You giggled to yourself; the thought of Taeyong’s reaction was sure to be risible.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” he commented while pulling you closer to him. “What are you laughing about?”

“You’ll find out,” you mumbled over the tender skin of his neck.

Taeyong merely laughed in response, continuing with the session. You peppered kisses on him, catching a whiff of his scent that appeared to be a swirl of cherry and hints of spice. He raked a hand through your locks, lightly tugging on them to catch your attention. “What are you planning?” he inquired.

“A surprise.” You grinned.

Taeyong’s grip tightened on your hips and he used the open chance to flip both him and you over. His head was directly above your own now, body parallel from yours. Your hair splayed out perfectly on the sheets, surprise in your eyes from his unexpected action. He kissed you again; this time it was more messy, sloppy—almost as if his patience ran thin.

You moaned into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut as his hands start to linger at the waistband. His palms slid up your body and back down—a simple tease before he sneaked them under the sweatshirt. Majority of Taeyong’s attention was focused into the kiss, feeling the enlivening sensation that he had not felt in quite some time; well, until he felt another fine layer of clothing adorning your body. His eyebrows furrowed together out of confusion as he rubbed circles onto the exquisite fabric, mind slowly placing two and two together.

Once the light bulb flickered on in his mind he broke the kiss within a heartbeat, a puzzled expression awaiting you. It took once glance at your face that now tinged with pink, your eyes looking everywhere but his own, for him to realize it. “Did you go shopping recently?” he asked you with joy.

You nodded your head; it took every fiber of your being to bite back a smile.

“Shopping for me?” he added, pinching onto your lace covered skin. “Is this my surprise?”

“Mhm,” you confirmed, hand playing with the nape of his neck.

“Mind if I see?” he queried, already hiking the sweatshirt up on his wrists. He moved slowly and with care, almost as if you were as fragile as glass itself, until you graced him with a small shake of your head.

He grinned, pecking onto your nose before he raised himself from you. Both of his arms grabbed a hold of his sweatshirt that you looked comfortably clad in and he soon lifted it above your head, tossing it to the side as if it had no value whatsoever. His gaze fell back on you and the lingerie you bought, glints of surprise and excitement twinkling in his eyes. “Whoa,” he said with a shaky breath.

Taeyong gulped, face flushed with the deepest shade of cherry as he took in your dashing appearance. The lace you chose appeared so delicate; he felt as if it would tear with his light touch. A few ribbons crossed over your chest, some on the side to keep the revealing apparel together, and Taeyong felt an urge to tug on the bows to reveal your whole body. His gaze casted downwards by the inch, almost as if he was perusing the intricate patterned lace on your physique. Then, the fun came to an abrupt halt when he noticed that your jeans covered the rest of the tantalizing surprise.

His fingers immediately began to toy with the button and zipper of your jeans, gaining a sudden rush to rid yourself of the article that was fueled by desperation. You lifted your hips off the mattress, aiding his process of tugging your jeans off your legs and tossing them to the side. You moved your body to the center of his bed, sheets resting directly underneath your barely naked body like a royal cushion. “Holy shit,” he muttered, absolutely astonished.

You enjoyed the way he was gawking at you; it was a moment that had not occurred in a while, and it felt amazing to have his attention. You fixed the free strands of your hair, moving them into place while he remained uneasy. His pants was suddenly growing tighter; his large member was becoming hard, increasing in its size within the confinements of his jeans. His mouth was agape, eyes blown wide from the shock caused by you.

The thin lace barely rested around your waist, dainty fabric dangling barely to cover your womanhood. A silk onyx ribbon trailed from the lingerie’s corset down over the curvature of your ass, soon connecting with the garter to hold up the stockings.

He began to make his way towards you again, movements desultory as he crawled on his bed to have himself on top of you again. His palm snaked around your waist as he sneaked a peek at the valley of your breasts, mouth watering at the elegant sight. “You look perfect,” he told you, loving the lace that adorned your body.

“I bought it for you,” you whispered, tilting his chin up so you could meet his eyes.

Taeyong grinned and placed a soft kiss on your shoulder. The moment proceeded when you mimicked the same movements he did: you slid your hands underneath the flimsy white tee of his, lifting it over his head to strip him of the pesky article. His toned body was revealed within an instant: the gorgeous shade of his skin, brief outline of incoming abs—it was all flawless, and, to be honest, it made you crave for more.

“It might be ruined in a moment,” he told you, voice low to an agitating whisper. Taeyong hooked a finger under the thin lace, toying with it momentarily as his eyes perused the splendor that was your breasts. He appeared reluctant and as if he was waiting for your cue to continue; whether or not he should rip the lace off your frame or not.

Though, once you and Taeyong lock gazes that filled to the brim of voracity his two palms slid under the only openings of the lingerie, hiking it on his wrists as he came closer to your chest. The ribbons ran taut, stretching from Taeyong’s relentless movement, and soon Taeyong undid the bows, the zip of the ribbon coming undone the only noise that was audible alongside your steady breath.

Taeyong struggled for a few seconds, the rising inclination of excitement kindling his flame of fervor. He needed to taste you���now. And so he kept it loosely wrapped around your body, enough for the soft material to slide off with further movement, and his mouth instantly attached itself onto your erecting nipple. His hands were playing with the underside of your breasts, giving them frequent squeezes and showing them with enough love—the love that appeared to be missed.

His hands appeared to work magic on your body; whether they were feather-light touches on your thigh or cursory kisses of passion. With the pleasure of him as a whole, you coaxed under his touch; and soon, you were the one who wanted to taste him.

Taeyong gave your breasts a tight squeeze, massaging them in a perfect circle as he took a slight breath. Your fingers sailed to the sheets and twisted the thin layers into a whirl, head sinking deeper into the lush pillows on his bed. You inhaled a sharp breath, the moan silenced by the heavy air until he took one of your hard buds into his teeth, grazing it with zeal.

“Ah, T-Taeyong…” you uttered, eyes clamping shut.

You felt him smirk onto your skin, the music that was your lust-infused voice bring him to his own edge. One of his hands devotedly snaked down your torso and slid right under the lingerie with ease. You loosened your grasp and peeled the remnants of the light material off your skin to give more room to Taeyong and his expert actions.

Two of his digits slid up and down your soaking womanhood, your clit in between the diminutive gap. You gasped, mind turning into a daze and vision beginning to blur. Rather than struggling, you allowed yourself to become lost in the sensation that Taeyong was graciously providing you with. It did not take long for him to slide one digit into your core—merely testing the waters—before he continued with three slow pumps. On the fourth his digit pulled out to the tip and, with much skill, he prodded a second finger.

Your hand flew to your mouth to shield a cry; the enticing sensation of your boyfriend’s mouth and fingers working wonders on your body was overwhelming in every sense. His digits drove in and out of you with desire and excitement, sometimes curling in the most mesmeric way possible. He lifted himself off of you, eyes giving the signal of captivation by the image of you beneath him. Sweat was starting to accumulate on your forehead, much like his own, and you were a panting mess from the work of his expert digits alone.

You propped yourself on your elbows with the last fragments of your strength, heavy eyelids that felt like they have been locked for eons struggling to open themselves to your boyfriend. His fingers were still onset to bring you the your high heaven, and an impermanent look of his digits driving into you made an eruption of a delightful heat burst within your chest.

You felt yourself coming close to the edge: your mind was a whirlwind and breaths extremely unsteady. There was a tauten feeling in your stomach, almost as if your insides were twisting together the further the moment escalated. “Taeyong,” you breathed, “I-I’m getting close.”

He cocked an eyebrow upwards. “Are you?” he asked friskily. The devilish grin that crossed his face made you doubt the intent behind his words, almost as if there was something malicious twinging within.

You took too long to respond to him—both his impatience and your own rant thin—and he slipped his fingers out of you and popped the digits into his mouth. He made sure to lock eyes with you as his tongue peeped out of his doll-like lips, the wet muscle swirling around his own fingers that were coated with your need. Taeyong found contentment and satisfaction from your divine taste; he can no longer fight the compulsion that was being drawn from between his thighs.

He took off his pants, along with his briefs, quickly and they soon met the floor. His solid member sprung against his lower abdomen, the tip of his cock an angry red and leaking with his own desire. It was enthralling to you: finally seeing your boyfriend in his whole glory after months. You attempted to pull yourself off your position on his bed, eager to take his impressive length into your mouth for a fraction of the savor, but he presses you back down to the bed.

“You seem to want a taste,” he commented lewdly.

You nodded your head, desperation present in your veins. “I do…” you admitted. There was something explicitly raunchy behind your two simple words, for they confirmed Taeyong’s assumptions and caused a thousand of hopeful, impure imaginations to rise in his mind.

“You can wait, right?” he asked, feigning uncertainty. An idea crossed his thought clouds; he wanted to see how far he can push it. And your desperation aided it more than you ever would have thought.

You shook your head like an angered child. “No, I… I want a taste now.”

Taeyong chuckled, a rhapsody to your ears, as he wrapped his hand around his hard dick slowly. He started from the base and dragged up his grip with gentle care, and then allowed his thumb to circle over his leaking slit to spread the stickiness around his head. He jerked off his aching member slowly, preparing himself for the main course. You watched with the opposite of delight, pouty and hopeless; that was, until you felt the tip of his dick run up your soaked core and back down—a succulent tease.

You swallowed your breath, eyes downcasted to his cock as you awaited for the impact. Slowly but surely, Taeyong slid himself inside of you. “You’ll still get a taste,” he muttered, almost incomprehensible.

You were about to question his comment; that was until he filled you with his cock, delectation rising soon afterwards. You spat a curse or two from the sensation, the pleasure carrying up your body in light tingles. Taeyong kept himself propped up above you with his elbows on either side of your body, his head hanging low from the pleasure, also, being too much for him to handle. He had held himself back for so long within the duration of your arrival—and it was even harder with the lasting image of you dressed in extravagant lace invading his mind. To be inside of you once more was a feeling he had not felt for a while—just as much as you—and it felt like a seventh heaven to be reunited with one of the wonders in the world.

He began to thrust in and out of you with a steady pace, fear of moving with recklessness and haste, but with enough energy to keep your senses keen. Your mind already felt as if it has hit the highest state of a euphoric excitement, but Taeyong appeared to push you further. It was an absolute frenzy to have him drive his wanted cock in and out of you; each of your flames were being kindled with elation, raptures of delight soon to occur.

His sweat started to drip from his temples, the pearls falling onto your own exposed, perspiration-coated skin. A look of raw jubilancy was sketched all over his face, much like your own, and you then allowed yourself to dive into the needed feeling. You shut your eyes and allowed Taeyong to work his charm.

His member, without effort, slid into you all the way and filled you to the brim, and slipped out of your womanhood to the raging tip of his cock. The feeling of elation extended, but it wasn’t enough for you to release—yet. The slow process continued for a good few minutes, then there was a brief pause. The head of his dick remained rested at your entrance for quite some time, almost as if he faced a mild war in his mind—nonetheless, he rammed back into you. This time, with an angry force.

The impact of his cock ramming inside of your pussy sent you a few more inches higher on the bed; a loud, luscious moan ripped from your throat as well. Taeyong smiled as if he had won the grand prize, and repeated the same awaited action. Thus, he earned the same response; alongside, your cries for your boyfriend only raised its volume. Every second with Taeyong moving inside of you was absolutely thrilling, and he added onto the perfect delectation by pressing his lips to your neck. He sucked marks of love onto your skin, almost like each one was a silent apology about his behavior. It did not take long for your skin to become a masterpiece of crimson and violet hues—created by yours truly, Taeyong.

“T-Taeyong,” you uttered, barely. “I really- agh- am g-getting… ah!”

Taeyong only smirked at your inability to form sentences, your mind far too jumbled in its own bliss to think coherently. He thrusted himself into you harder, faster, reaching his own release with yours. “Do you need to come?” he asked you.

You nodded your head frantically, desperately without words, and the reacted with one last austere thrust. His tip was at your soaked hole and he took a deep breath before his hips harshly rolled back into you. You cried, delighted, and it sounded as if you attempted to scream out his name—but you just could not.

That was the final piece of the puzzle to complete the moment; you hit the fervent cloud nine, mind transported into the wild fantasy that reached your body as well. Your hands clawed at the sheets and flew around Taeyong’s body. His body gained light scratches and your arms looped around his neck as you held onto him for dear life.

As your mind remained in its heaven you felt yourself spill each fraction of your need all over your pussy. Taeyong slowed down his thrusts and moved with fragility to aid you until your mind came back to earth, and that your body returned to reality. The extended moan that emitted from your mouth swam in his ears; and he absolutely loved it.

It took a few more smooth, secure rolls of his hips for you to return. Your chest was heaving for air, baby hairs sticking to your sweat coated forehead—you looked completely fucked out, and he loved it enough to tuck the picture in the depths of his memory.

Taeyong fluidly pulled out of you, solid member rested in between the gap of his thumb and forefinger as he steadied his new position. He shifted himself above you, legs inching on the bed closer to your head and you felt the crimson tip of his length hit the bottom of your chin. You raised yourself, head tilting upwards and mouth falling wide open once you catch onto your boyfriend’s provocative actions. You fluttered your serene eyelids open, vision hazy as you attempted to focus.

The last image you caught of Taeyong, prior to him spilling his load inside of your mouth, is a devil-like smirk that played with his lips. He jerked his wrist quickly a few times, grip tightening around his aching length with every pump up and compact slide downwards. “Agh,” he groaned, eyebrows furrowing themselves together.  “Open up,” he demanded. “Y-you said you wanted a taste, right?”

Sweat proceeded to drip down his temples; his skin became damp from the entire session. He steadied his leaking cock by your mouth, eyes barely able to keep themselves open as he attempted to watch you swallow him and his load.

“Ah,” you voiced, impatient.

Taeyong hushed you by sliding the head of his hard dick over your petal-like lips, the tip resting at the edge of your parting. Completely aware of what you wanted, he stopped pumping himself to let you take over. He barely had a hold of his own cock that twinged; within moments, he emptied his cum inside of your mouth.

It came in spurts, the splashing ivory and milky texture; it coated your mouth and gained a thick layer over your tongue that then bathed in the salty wetness. Everything became messy: some landed on your chin and dripped down to your neck, a few drops even fell down your cheeks. He moved away for a split second; though, a split second was all you needed to swallow what he emptied inside of your cavern before you reached your head over to his cock once more. You took the tip in your mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive head and tongue flicking over the salty slit. Your taste buds were met with a burst of saltine as you milked him dry and relished in the exquisite taste that came from his need.

“F-fuck,” he uttered, his head throwing back. His eyes clamped shut from the light contact of your lips around his sensitive member, a groan lodging in his chest.

Taeyong’s hands flew to your hair once more to give it a few gentle tugs. “B-baby, I- stop, I’m too sensitive-”

With one last dip to the base, your nose hitting his lower abdomen, Taeyong bent over and released a miniature cry—one that was a clear signal that this moment alone was far too much for him to handle.

You released him with a pop, a bright grin gracing your face as you licked the outline of your lips slowly; your half-open eyes locked with his that are completely clouded, both minds in a grey daze of raw lust. Taeyong gulped, unsure of what to say. The way you looked beneath him was an image he would love to etch in the quilt of his memory—and so he did. Your tongue peeked out from your mouth to lick the remnants of his wetness, and it was quickly followed up with two of your fingers swiping over the dribbles that remained on your face. You eyed the pearl-like stickiness for a heartbeat right before you slid your two digits in your mouth, delighted by the sensation.

“S-shit,” he cursed. “You look so hot doing that, baby.”

Taeyong lowered himself next to you, being completely drained. He planted a kiss on your forehead, fragments of fatigue already creeping back to his body. You turned your body to face him, love replacing the lust that was once limpid in your own two orbs. You grabbed onto his hand and gained a firm grasp that he tried to return back. You kissed his nose softly. “What about that date you wanted to go on afterwards?” you asked him, sweat-coated limbs already tangling with his own.

“We can do it later—when I wake up from a nap, probably,” he informed you. “I want to be there when you’re picking out lingerie.”

“Oh?” You cocked an eyebrow up, voice raising into a childlike excitement. “You liked what you saw?”

Taeyong smirked. “I always like what I see.”

“More than your game?” you questioned, forehead touching his own.

He paused, humming in thought. “I’d miss out on a lot if I fell in love with my video games.”

You rolled your eyes. “You act like you’re not in love with them now. I had to find a distraction.”

“But I love you more,” he pressed, holding your hand tighter, “and if it means for things like… today to happen again, then you should know my choice.”

“So…” you trailed off, another idea surfacing in your mind. “How does tomorrow sound?”

[immortalfailures-archived]

Young and Sweet

Oh how the year passes so fast when you have friends to distract you.

June third arrived and left, just as it had every year. Reme was out of town so she couldn’t be there, but she hand wrote a fifty four and a half page apology letter to Jinx writing in excruciating detail how bad she felt. And then there were at least four pages that just repeated the words ‘I’m sorry, don’t hate me.’

Jinx hadn’t minded though. All she cared about was that it wasn’t as big of an event as they made it out to be last year. Yes she appreciated it and thought it flattering that her friends would do that for her, but she was never one for huge parties in her honor. Instead she kicked Lex out of the house and let herself relax. She ran a bath and soaked in the scented bubbles, surrounded by candles and herbs. After that she indulged in a “small” shopping trip.

She bought yards upon yards of fabric so she could make summer clothes for the three of them, along with some fabric just to have in storage. She purchased tea, candles, bath bombs, scrubs, bubble bars, soaps, etc. She went all out to make the day a self care day.

When she returned home and dropped her bags, the first thing she noticed was a poorly wrapped blue box on the counter tied up in a silver ribbon. Lex was so predictable. Without hesitation she opened the box, it was no bigger than the palm of her hand.

Removed the paper and top revealed a pink ribbon with a little silver moon charm. She recognized it immediately as the item she used as a collar for Estrella so many years ago. Where did he find this? It had been lost for years!

But she then noticed a trunk under the table. There was a note on top that read:

“Wait until I get home for this one. I want to see your reaction. -Lex”

But Jinx was never one for listening. She pulled out the box, with much difficulty, and pried it open. It was badly singed and damaged by weather. The bottom looked like it had molded due to excess water damage, and the (possibly previously gold?) rims had been worn out and dulled.

She finally managed to unhook the latch. In it were… Toys? The inside of the trunk looked completely untouched compared to the outside. It had painted walls that looked like a six years old’s attempt to paint space. There was a dark blue plush bottom that looked like it was been repaired considering there used to be a rip in it from when Jinx shoved a toy a little too forcefully into it… The memory came back to her in a rush.

This was her old toy box! She shuffled through everything quickly. With every toy she removed was another tear that ran down her face. Out came a pair of battered wings made from an old leather jacket, a toy sword with plastic gems glued onto it and gibberish painted on the side, and a toy ship that had been broken and glued together multiple times. Next was a broken broom stick that had been glued and taped together many a time with only an indigo ribbon to cover the ugly taping method. She continued further to find a ghost doll that was made from a white piece of cloth and a string. She hugged the doll close and placed it carefully on her lap.

After that there was old baby books that she hid there because they were her favorite, a box of colored pencils that went along with a sketchbook filled with “clothing” designs, a few articulated dolls like barbies, and of course her favorite stuffed animals. Soon, once it was empty, Jinx was quick to pull up the plush bottom. There, sitting neatly in the middle, was a folder. It was decorated in bright glitter and gell pens. She reached in and carefully removed it, running her hand across the surface and watching the little specks of loose, faded glitter fall on her skirt.

Without another moment of hesitance she opened it up. And there they were. Pictures, both drawn and photographed, of her and her family. There was a picture of her and Estrella playing in the water at the lake their family vacationed to often. Another was a group photo of them in bathing suits in front of the lake. Laurence (her father) held a newly nine year old Jinx on his shoulders while her mother and sister (Helena and Amelia) laughed at them. Another showed a tiny baby in homemade dragon wings running around and chasing little Amelia while Jinx stood in a battle ready pose holding a toy sword. Laurence was on the ground pretending to be dead with his tongue sticking out.

There were at least twenty more. All these memories she thought perished in a fire seven years earlier. She couldn’t believe she was seeing this, that this chest had managed to make it through all that. It was impossible.

“I knew you wouldn’t wait.” Lex was leaning in the doorway of the kitchen watching her with a half smile on his face.

Jinx whipped around, startled. She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and stood. “Where- Where did you find this? In such amazing condition? I don’t… it’s not possible!”

“Mom liked to put protection charms on the important stuff. Luckily this was one of them.” He moved towards her and knelt by the box. Longingly he looked at the photos and felt a pain in his chest from seeing his parent’s faces. “What I wouldn’t give to see them again…”

There was a pause, long, but not uncomfortable. It was like time had stopped completely. Finally, after what seemed like years Jinx spoke, “You saved these… From the house… Didn’t you?”

Lex nodded, his eyes not moving from the pictures. Jinx slowly sank down next to him. She let her head fall on his shoulder whilst tears began to fall again. “You never fail to amaze me, Lex.”

He let out a breathy laugh and put an arm around her. “Anything for you, little sis.”

fin

[foxinthealley]

10-25!

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?

- Usually on my side.

11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends?

- I don’t know if there are any that I just could explain easily enough. Those are old and weird.

12: what’s your favorite planet?

- I am not really a space person so, umm, I’m gonna be boring and say Earth.

13: what’s something that made you smile today?

- I kissed my bf today and we both got a tiny electric shock (woop woop static electricity). That has never happened before, it was quite funny.

Also, a funny picture of a cat.

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?

- It would probably be full of nerdy stuff and gaming consoles and my plants and include me suffering cause there would be dust and dirty dishes and stuff cause usually those things pile up when many people live together.

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!

-  “If you ever stepped on the moon, your footprints would remain there forever.

The first footprints put on the moon will probably be there a long, long time — maybe almost as long as the moon itself lasts.

Unlike on Earth, there is no erosion by wind or water on the moon because it has no atmosphere and all the water on the surface is frozen as ice. Also, there is no volcanic activity on the moon to change the lunar surface features. Nothing gets washed away, and nothing gets folded back inside.”

16: what’s your favorite pasta dish?

- Probably chicken pasta.

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair?

- Well my hair is lilac at the moment and I like that one, so that.

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up.

- Well, this was an accident, but I was over at my friend’s place few years back and she had this new puppy. I always wear woollen socks cause my toes are always cold. We were drinking and eveything was all fun and games and then - I stepped on to a big pile of this puppy’s shit with my woollen socks. My facial expression was very precious, I’ve heard.

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?

- I am awful at keeping journals, it never lasts.

20: what’s your favorite eye color?

- Green.

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.

- It’s and old khaki green bag that I got from my mum like four years ago and I think she bought it from flea market. It is big and kinda “hippie stylish” bag where I used to put all my stuff - people were amazed about all the necessary and not-so-necessary stuff I had in that bag - i.e. toothpaste, tissues, lip balm, very many different kinds of pens, drawing paper, a scarf, mittens, a tiny battery used fan, a lighter, make up, etc etc etc. Basically I just needed to add a tooth brush and I was ready to go even for a few days. It has been with me on bars and festivals and geez who knows where. It is an amazing old bag.

22: are you a morning person?

- Not really.

23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?

- Read a book, play some video games, go for a long walk, bindge-watch tv-series, go to a bar and have a good cider.

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?

- Yup.

25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into?     

- Hmm. I don’t think that I’ve broken into very many places. Though once I broke out of school. Our part of the school was in a separate building and there was this courtyard in between the main building and ours - and the yard had like a 2m fence all over it but it was open during the schoolday, obviously. Well, one day I did a long day at school and being still a new student I didn’t know that there was a basement passage to the main building where this problem would not have happened - I got out of our building just to notice that all of the doors were locked and the fence gate was also locked. So I climbed over the 2m iron fence with my big ass schoolbag cause it was the only way to get out. I felt like a fucking criminal and hoped that there would be no alarms so no one would not come running up to me and ask me what the hell I was doing.