#thank you for giving me endless amounts of pining to scream over

[raplinesmoon]

the way I love reading slow burn and am such a patient reader but I want to write one and suddenly I become such an impatient writer

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Moon

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | four

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: All relationships are about give and take.

Word count: 7k~

Rating: Explicit (Mature until the last few paragraphs)

Warnings/tags: nightmares, trauma, drinking, fluff and pining, drugs/being drugged (medicinal), wound care, blood, shots/needles, mature themes/language, emo shit, masturbation (f)

Notes: Hi friends. This is broken up in two portions: the first, being in Nevarro, and the second taking place some time later (hopefully that becomes clear when you read it heh). I'm hoping I captured the varying, distinct tones in each of the sections. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) Enjoy x (gif credit: @skyshipper)

They come at night.

The visions.

Your legs are rock, crumbling - eroding - with each weighted step, trudging through the city you once knew, laid bare to waste all around you. The air is grey brown, chalked with dust—with ash. There are bodies lining the road like trimmed hedges, floating by their ankles—ugly, corporal zeppelins. They’re pale. Their eyes are burned to coal and their tongues hang dead and waxy from their mouths.

They begin the same, choreographed like this; you follow the paths your mind has carved out for you, time and time again.

You spot him, plated in silver at the end of the row. Your feet stop. You see him, and he sees you. You feel his eyes - hawkish, piercing - under the murk of his visor. A predator’s gaze. He’s got a man in his fist—you think you recognize him, you might not—held by the scruff of his neck.

Sometimes it’s X’elo, bending to break in his gloved grasp. Other times, a stranger—a half remembered photograph—a memory of a memory of another dream entirely.

And sometimes, it’s you.

You hear the howl of wind scream through your bones—through the bones of the ruins there—but you don’t feel it. There’s only heat—the kind that’s unavoidable and omnipresent, as heavy as guilt. The hunter brings his hands to frame the man’s temples—yours too, sometimes— pebbles and slate trembling off you as you move towards them. You’re running, you realize, immobile but running and you’re not sure how or why—you never get there in time to find out.

He snaps his neck. You hear the crunch in your own ear—inside your own head.

It becomes night—blood moons drip wet from the sky. They splash onto the dirt. It turns to mud, caking the underside of your boots, squelching as you walk. You round a corner and—

You don’t recognize this. This is new. This— no, this is wrong.

A door. Rutted, freestanding—a dark monolith.

You stutter in your sleep, a crease in your brow.

It’s just a door.

No, not here—

A door. Black wood, a brass handle. Just a door, and you’re sweating. Just a door, and you’re suffocating—you’re being smothered—like your outsides are clawing to get back in through your throat and it’s sucking you in—this door, it’s just a door, it’s just a—closer, nearer, looming taller overhead—

You gasp awake, clutching at the scratchy blanket drenched cold with your sweat. Your rasps echo against the hull, sharp pants scraping the hollow metal, and you bring a hand to your chest—steadying, steadying, the fear of your racing heart.

You sit up, throwing your legs over the edge of the cot, and rake a shaky hand through your hair—the damp of the strands sticking to the nape of your neck. Your breathing evens out, tampering, with your forearms braced on the plats of your thighs; the rise and fall of your breasts against your sleep shirt quiet until you’ve stilled.

You roll off the bed, the aluminum frame whining with the shift, and you knock a knee into one of the carbonite pods as you stumble out of the storage room—your bedroom, now.

You couldn’t handle much more of it. You bought a bedroll the first planet you stopped to refuel at after Bajic, hermitting yourself away into the bowels of his ship. It was the only smidgen of untapped real estate left in the Crest, and it was far be it from you to complain about location. You were just thankful to be out of that copilot’s chair—no amount of bacta could unwind the knots in your neck after sleeping there night after restless night.

So you bunked with the bounties Mando had brought in, like one big macabre slumber party—the chrome slabs slotted up - watchful - in their chambers.

You try not to spare it much thought.

Padding through the Crest, soft bare feet leaving crescents on the steel deck, you step into the fresher to splash water on your face, jolting you back into the present and out of the nightmare, out of—

Just a door.

No—

You towel off, patting yourself dry. Inhaling, your lungs expand with the massive rush of air, and you hold it there until it hurts, until it prickles the corners of your eyes, and finally - deliberately - you release.

You look into the mirror.

You blink. She blinks back.

///

You make breakfast now.

It’s not something you both agreed to, it’s just something you do. Funny, how quickly you adapt to new normals, to new routines. You have rituals now—you two. You make breakfast, and you leave a bowl for him out on the counter before you slip into the shower. When you get out, the bowl is empty and the dishes are washed clean, drying face down on a rag. You smile. You never speak of it. Like ivy crawling up cobbled walls towards the sun, it happens— without prompt or feed, it simply is.

///

Nevarro reminds you of Dallenor—the craggy blandness of it, the endless black sands—and you fight the urge to hate it solely based on this principal alone.

You stay on the ship with the little one while Mando goes into town, meeting with some Greef Karga character to sew up Guild business. You have no idea how he ever managed to get any hunting done with the kid always acting up, pulling hijinks and inciting anarchy. He’s nearly torn the whole place to shreds. How such a tiny body can produce such a massive wake of damage is a mystery you will never solve.

You make yourself watch.

You force your jaw, set and held, as Karga’s men haul the quarries out of the ship, hovering eerily down the ramp.

X’elo, the smuggler from Vohai, some two-bit thief, and a woman Mando caught before you met, all parading single file out of the Crest like a funeral procession. They’re criminals, each and every one—they’re violent and they’ve done terrible, irredeemable things—but they’re people, too.

And isn’t that what makes it all so cruel. So sad.

The least you can do is give them an ounce of dignity before they’re subjected to their fate— however harsh, however fair.

So, you watch.

Maybe they don’t deserve it—they’re here by their own hand, after all, a bed of their own making— and maybe they haven’t earned it back any. But perhaps it’s less about what you can offer them and more about what you refuse to let the galaxy take. Because don’t you deserve to stay unfragmented? Complete? Would you rather be robbed of this humanity, your sense of decency—have it stolen from you?

Doesn’t it cost you nothing to be kind?

You pray neither sound nor fury will strip you of this—this open-eyed tenderness. You beg that you remain, undistilled, despite despite despite.

///

You’re so much more relaxed now then when you first came on board. You were as quiet as a church mouse then, tip toeing around the ship like you were afraid you’d ruin her.

Din will never admit it, but you even managed to get the jump on him once or twice—appearing exactly when and where he least expected. And he didn’t - couldn’t have - he didn’t expect you.

This.

And he looks at you now: lit by lamplight—the kerosene filament flickering warm in the dark hull— slotted back and humming to yourself as you swipe a finger over a holopad, feet propped up on a crate by the table, and it all looks organic. Right.

The drink in your hand, sloshing against the amber jug, no doubt eases your mood. You’re drinking it right from the bottle. He thinks it’s fucking charming.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Maker above,” you hiss, startling a foot out of your seat. You shoot him an accusatory glare, but there’s no malice in it—there’s laughter ringing around your eyes.

Honestly, that man needs a bell on him.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” he comments dryly, stepping past.

You move your legs from their perch and sit a little straighter. “You- you could join me,” you chime, “if you want.”

His feet slow until he’s stopped completely and he pans over his shoulder to you. You can’t read his expression—it’s steel all the way through— but you think you feel the air around you both quiver - shudder - with something unspoken, something kinetic.

The scrape of the chair as he pulls it out from the table is deafening, the thunk of his metal body sinking into it even louder.

“What are you reading?” Mando asks.

You cast him a sheepish smile. “CoreWorld News.”

“Anything good?”

Your mouth twists, biting the inside of your cheek. “Never.”

He huffs a breathy chuckle.

There didn’t seem to be any good news anymore. You forage for it—scouring the net for just a whiff of it, of something pure. There is plenty of greatness left in the world, but you find that what it lacks most is goodness— humble and precious. More often than not, you come up empty and disappointed—but never so dissuaded that you do not search again the next day, and the day after that, and after that and after that again.

“How’d it go with Karga?” you ask, setting the holopad down and switching off the display.

“Fine. Good.”

“Good,” you smile. He’s terse—sparse. You think it’s endearing now—vexing too, without a doubt, but the two aren’t mutually exclusive anymore.

“Nothing close to Coruscant yet. More outer rim chaavla,” he grits out, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a tickle of bemusement in your voice and a quirk to your chin. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I know you want to get back.”

You hope the glow from the lantern in the galley is dim enough to camouflage the tinge sprung on your cheeks. The truth is becoming more and more clear to you, whether you like it or not: with each passing day, you want to go back to Coruscant less and less. You have to—you know you have to. You have your career, your whole life, waiting for you. But—

But.

“You told me it would take a while—longer than I’d like.”

“I know.”

“I’m happy to be here— I-I’m grateful,” you catch yourself.

He clenches his fist under the table, beyond your line of sight, gnarled tight into a ball. It tethers him down, anchoring him in place—because if he weren’t, fuck, he’d fly out of his seat so fast—

“Alright,” he chokes out.

“Alright,” you smile, glassy.

There’s a kind of mist encircling you two, an incense of a sort, intoxicating and sinewy and lulling you into a hushed calm. It’s thick around you - lush - and you can feel it settle like lead behind your eyes.

“Can I pour you a drink—for later?”

It’s late into the evening, well beyond the hour where the lines of decorum blur. You’ve crossed into the Other—that tarred, limber undertow. Dangerously weightless and free. The liminality between here and there— that twilight place.

Shadows bounce along the walls. Your outline—his too.

“I’d like that.”

///

You’re not as tipsy as you could be, but you’re less sober than you’d like.

Subconsciously, buried somewhere deep, you’re aware that Mando is humoring you and that you should let him get on with his night—but you don’t.

You’ll be annoyed at yourself later for this.

“Okay okay, what are your hobbies?”

A deadpan tilt of his helmet. “I—I don’t understand the question.”

You gape at him, your bottom lip glossed as it parts, plush and wet, and you laugh. “Hobbies,” you reiterate. “You know, stuff you like to do? For fun?”

You see the gears under that helm wheel and spin. It shouldn’t take anyone this long. The question is basic and the answer should be relatively immediate—but Mando has to mull it over. In all of his cycles, as hardened as they’ve been, he hasn’t been gifted the luxury of leisure - fun - and he hasn’t been afforded the time to dwell on the lack of it.

Selfless, without a moment of ownership to himself. This is the way.

“I-,” he pauses, mouth clamping shut. “Skip.”

“Fine, fine,” you tut. “What is... your favorite planet?”

Din stretches back, his beskar groaning against the chair.

All the planets he’d visited were out of necessity—out of demand and credit, never because he wanted to be there and certainly never out of favor. They were tainted—made insipid and unremarkable by the quarries he chased to them.

But there is one in particular that stands out; he remembers a planet the kid seemed to like—how he babbled the whole time, slung in the satchel at his hip, entranced and enthralled. He was on his best behavior, too—the little womp rat didn’t even try to stuff his tiny, wrinkled face with anything. Not once.

“Adega.”

“Adega,” you repeat, testing the name. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it. What’s it like?”

He draws in a long breath, his ribs yawning against the corset of his armor.

He should’ve gotten up by now—fuck, he shouldn’t have ever sat down in the first place. It’s not like he didn’t have anything to do; he needs to downshift the Crest’s power converters, switch off the shield projectors, chart a course to his next job, get some damn sleep if he’s lucky…

But you’re here before him. You’re here and he can’t deny you—not when you’re looking at him like that, like the sun shines out from his fucking face—far softer, far kinder than he deserves. Not when you’re here now, and you won’t be for much longer.

He’s racing against the clock—the swinging inevitability of it. Each moment he shares with you, is a moment that brings him closer to taking you back.

Din is a fool. He knows he’ll lose. He races anyways.

“It’s a water planet—mostly ocean,” he begins.

You allow your eyes to dip close, savoring the description, and you tuck your legs up to fold over themselves.

“But there are islands. Some are small, private—with red trees that go all the way to the sand. Others have whole cities on them.”

You remain quiet - patient - like marble, chiseled and sanded as thin as chiffon, veiling over your face in fine, cascading sheets. Transparent - ethereal - you listen to him blind, letting his words guide your sight.

“The kid-"

Your tongue darts out over your lip and he stutters. Din has to shift his hips, relieving the growing heat that’s tightening below his waist.

“T-The uh, the kid loved it. I’d never seen him like that. The bogwing didn’t want to leave,” he chuckles. He conjures the details he thinks you want—the details he thinks you might like most. “The people are honest—generous. The days are long, and the nights are warm.”

He’s no poet, but it doesn’t bother you.

“I can see it,” you say, before blinking your eyes open. "I'll have to go some time." There’s pink on your cheeks, seeping past your jaw and below the neckline of your shirt to the swallow of your breasts.

You look at him— he looks at you.

A noise hums from somewhere inside the ship.

“Are you scared of anything?” you murmur.

Mando lets a beat pass.

“I don’t think so. Not yet.” You smile at that—small, wistful. You’re not even sure why. “You?” he asks.

Your chest rises with a deep inhale. “I used to be scared of dying. I thought I was gonna die young. I was convinced—I had dreams about it all the time as a kid.”

But maybe that’s not it entirely. Maybe it’s not the fear of dying itself, but the dread of living and dying alone. And isn’t that at the heart of it—at all of this?

I just don’t want to do this all on my own.

He’s never been privy to this version of you—this sloping tone, the liquor buzzing through your speech, churning your words to treacle. You sound nonchalant in way that’s jarring, as if you aren’t talking about death— the fear of your own tenuous mortality.

“But I bet everyone does,” you continue dismissively, “just one of those things.”

He’s almost cautious when he replies. “I’m not sure they do.”

Your expression contorts, knotting for an agonizing moment—until the tension all but disappears. “Huh,” you shrug flippantly, and take a swig. That heaviness, that fog, dissipates nearly as soon as it arrived. “Anyways, favorite color?”

He rolls his eyes; you can see it in the way he tilts his head to you. Really, he seems to say, how old are we?

“You’re right, you’re right— that’s low brow. I can do better…” You melodramatically tap your chin, eyeing him pensively.

“Okay. What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That,” you nod to his pauldron, “that symbol on your shoulder.”

Tawny fingertips trace absentmindedly over the emblem. “It’s a Mudhorn. It’s-” Mando hesitates, before his hand returns to his lap. “It’s the sigil of my clan.”

You arch your brow. “I didn’t realize you had a clan— is it- is it like, big?” Stars, you sound dumb—and there’s no excuse. You’re not even that drunk. “How- what is a clan, exactly?”

“In Mandalorian culture, your clan is your family. Aliit. Mine, it’s—it’s a clan of two.”

Something in the pit of you stirs, a sickly warmth, pulling at your gut like a rope. You glance over to where the child sleeps, snuggled away in his pram and your lips curl into a smile, hidden behind the bottle you bring to them.

“You’re lucky to have each other,” you say gently, taking another sip.

“We almost didn’t—shouldn’t have.”

His hands tense into his legs—the creak of leather against his thigh plates is audible even from where you sit.

You narrow your eyes curiously. He heaves.

“He was a bounty and I did my job. I turned him in. I went back for him, but—the kid, he saved my life, and I could’ve left him there—I would’ve, before.”

It all comes out like tires grinding through gravel, bruised and roughened. It’s regret, you realize—this is the sound of guilt, frigid and rued, pushing through his modulator. It makes you want to reach out to him, put your hand on his, comfort him, reassure him—something. But you can’t. He’s too far away. He’s on his own sea—untouchable.

You decide it right then and there: you can’t bare that sound, the wracked timbre of it. You hate it. You think you’d do anything to rid the way in constricts his throat—makes him hoarse and clipped, even through the guise of his helmet. It pains you, a visceral stabbing, right to your core. You could go a lifetime without hearing it, and it still wouldn’t be long enough.

“But you didn’t,” you offer.

“No,” he utters. “No, I didn’t.”

Mando gives you these tortuous, beautiful previews of himself. Like light passing through stained glass, you sneak brief glimpses of the paintings there, the stories and fables and the lessons they teach, until some great cloud drifts past, blotting out the sun, and all goes dark again.

You know this is rare. You know you’ll be home soon. You know to cherish it—to relish what he gives, when he gives it, if he gives it at all.

But—you want more. You’re a simple woman, at the end of all things: all you want is to hold him.

“I think you’re a better man than you let on, Mando.” There’s a knowing twinkle in your eye, a coy lilt to your loosened tongue. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were flirting.

“You don’t know that,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have my suspicions." You're smirking something awful - deadly - as it sears into him.

He grunts, flames licking up his chest. Din has to bite back his grin, making careful it doesn’t shape the sound of his vowels; grateful for the helmet that buffers him, the mask that seals him away into anonymity, into apathy.

If he can convince you, maybe he can convince himself too. Maybe.

“Next question, dala.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were flirting.

///

Your eyes are blown wide, gawking at him.

“I’m not a medic, Mando—I’m not a fucking surgeon!”

Mando crashes through the Razor Crest, red dollops trailing in pools behind him. He grunts, hand pressed to his side, blood pushing out of the gash that’s torn into him— a canyon down his unplated body, spewing angry and insistent with each spasm of his heart.

With a broad stroke, he sweeps the clutter off the table and onto the floor, spraying across the deck.

“Medkit,” he barks, hoisting himself up to lie, hulking and pained, out on the slab. You scamper to it, ripping it off the wall, and return to his lumbering body. His breathing is labored—he’s forcing it, seething it out.

Mando’s legs bend off the table at an uncomfortable angle and he rasps when you crane them up by his booted ankles – fuck, he’s heavy – to situate a small crate under his feet. They drop with a dulled thud— without muscle, without resistance. The languid weight of a dying man.

You’re stationed beside him, medkit spilled open. “W-What now, what do you need?”

“I need you,” you heard him say, deep and bassy, as he ascended the ramp. With a colossal drum of your heart, you spun around - I need you - a blush stippling your jaw. The pregnant expectation built behind weeks and weeks of stalemates and stolen glances - I need you - all rearing to a head here and now and finally, finally something—until you saw him, doubled over, bracing himself on the wall, a line of blood smearing behind his palm.

“Bacta-“ Mando wheezes, “bacta shot.”

You rifle through the supplies, littering them as you dig through the box.

Sure, you had gotten your first aid certification with the Movement—it was required, and you retook the courses every few cycles. But that was gauze wrappings and mouth-to-mouth and anti-inflammatory tablets—that was not this, and this is fucking surgery. You’re out of your depth—and Mando must be out of his damn mind.

“I nee-“ He inhales sharply, and his body spasms, gripping the ledge of the table like a vice. “My chest plate—take it off.”

He’s told you bits and parcels of the Mandalorian way—of his Creed— and you aren’t under the impression that this would be strictly sanctioned.

“M-Mando, I thought— are you sure?”

“Yes I’m kriffing sure—do it. Just do it,” he snaps. He hates this—he fucking hates this. Soft. Weak—weak weak weak, he’s so fucking weak. Laandur.

You fumble over the armor, uncoordinated as you unclasp it from his cuirass and Mando strangles out a sigh as soon as it leaves him. At last, you fish the shot from the medkit and hold it up to the light, the medicine like venom as it whirls in the tube. It’s uncomfortably large—simply holding it makes you squirm.

“W-What is that?”

Your eyes flit over the needle and then back to the bounty hunter. “What do you mean ‘what is that’? It’s a shot.”

“That’s a lance,” he growls.

“It’s ebacta-”

“It’s green!” he hisses out incredulously.

“It’s all they had!” you bite back, panic skipping through your veins.

You’re practically yelling at each other, the tension winding and coiling tighter and higher as the seconds tick by. You feel each one, tapping along your vertebra like a metronome, keeping time, keeping time, wasting time—all this back and forth is a waste of time and—

You’re nervous—you’re fucking terrified—and Mando doesn’t frequent this position either—this vulnerability. He doesn’t know what to do with it, where he belongs in it. I need you, he said. He hadn’t needed anyone before and now look at him, bare breasted before you, wounded and mewling like roadkill.

You rap the needle with a knuckle, banishing the air pocket, and test the plunger. Droplets of liquid spurt from the tip, and he begins to rile.

“Dala,” he warns.

“Mando,” you mimic.

“Nu draar-”

“Do you want my help or not?” you spit out, and he shrinks, visor trained on the jab, that unnatural chartreuse swirling inside the glass vial. “Okay. Okay, on three.”

“Wait, wait-"

“One..." You try to sound firm - competent - but you’re a fucking mess. Your breathing is erratic, tunic soiled with sweat, and you’re trembling.

“You don’t-“

“Two...”

Mando huffs exasperatedly, “Ah, fuck it-”

“Three.”

You drive the syringe down, stabbing into him. His body seizes—flexing rigid—as soon as the viscous gel is injected, oozing oozing oozing until it’s pumped empty and spent.

And then— nothing.

All that whirlwinded frenzy, that raging tempest, and now silence— dead silence. He lays there motionless, fidgeting ceased, that ungodly needle pitched like a flag pole from his chest.

… Shit.

“Hey,” you touch a hand to his shoulder.

The smug bastard could be having a laugh under that helmet and you’d have no idea. That’s what you tell yourself—that’s what you’d prefer to believe anyways; it’s better than the alternative, better than—than than than fuck—

“Hey, this isn’t funny...” A little rougher now, you jostle him. He doesn’t react.

“… Mando?”

His head lolls to the side.

With a whistle, the room goes mute. Sound and oxygen alike, it all gets vacuumed out, and your senses invert. You can hear every tick of your body: the bone of your jaw as your teeth mash together, the pulse at your wrist, your stammering heart beating beating beating in your inner ear, the bob of your trachea as it grates against your neck.

Kriff. You killed him—you killed the Mandalorian.

Oh Maker, oh shit-

You press down around the puncture site with a wide palm before yanking the syringe out, flinging it away. You’re shaking him now, wrestling with his limp body, and you’re shouting—croaked with worry, with fear.

“Fuck, Mando—Mando!"

The sound is like glass shattering.

He gasps wildly, gulping down air as if he’d been drowned, writhing like the undead from your operating table. You buckle over him, fatigued and slumped, and cry out in blessed relief.

Your instincts, those poor frail nerves, tell you to smack him—but given that he’s bleeding out, you refrain.

“Don’t do that to me!” you exclaim, breathy and strained.

“Don’t do that to you?” Mando retorts, panting. You let out a weak crackle of laughter and he moans. It’s like he’s been hit by a speeder - twice - forward and then reversed over again.

“Maker, what did you give to me?”

“I got it on Vohai. They uhm- they said it was good quality-“

“And you believed them?”

Your mouth twists shyly. “I-I wanted to believe them,” you correct him.

It’s his turn to laugh now, tired and raw. Oh, you sweet little thing.

You swallow, saliva coating your ragged windpipe. “I’m sorry—Maker, I’m so sorry, a-are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, gargled, “but remind me never to have you save my life again.”

That earns him a light slap to his arm. If he’s well enough to dole cheap shots, you figure he’s fit enough to take yours too. He’s spliced open, whole chunks of him missing, and he still has the wherewithal to be an ass.

“Well, you’re not out of the woods just yet.”

///

Regrettably, Mando might have been spot on about the bacta—in fact, you’re starting to question whether it’s really bacta at all.

A delirious grunt ripples through the bounty hunter’s modulator as you cut open his ripped flight suit, careful not to slice him with the vibroblade. His black undershirt is matted to his gaping wound, the blood bubbled over and through the rough material, and you have to peel the fibers out of his coagulating flesh to get to it. You toss the fabric into the bucket next to you with a sloppy, wet plop.

It didn’t even occur to you. You were so swept away by the state of him—by the dizzying carnival of it all as soon as Mando breached the Crest—you didn’t consider the fact that you’d be seeing him. Touching him.

You have to mask your expression when you meet his skin for the first time. He’s golden—he’s golden everywhere—like desert sand dunes sizzling under ripe, afternoon suns—dappled with memories of violence, branded into him.

You’ve never heard him like this. He keeps noising these feverish little nothings— gasping, moaning in a language you don’t recognize—and you do your best to distract him. It’s one of the tenets you recall from your aid training: keep them talking, keep them sharp—engaged.

“Do each of these have a story?” you ask, eyeing the marks that riddle and pucker him.

“Some of them.”

“What about this one here?” You touch a faded ribbon of scarring. It’s older than the others—paler. Your fingertips are cool and he blazes beneath them.

He tries not to twitch. You try not to notice.

“Fell out of a tree when I was a kid—haven’t thought about that in a while,” Mando pants. “B-Broke my wrist, got scraped to shit— my buir, m-my mother, she chewed my ear off.”

“Mm, I bet she did,” you smirk—you can relate to the feeling.

“I-I remember the lines around her eyes. H-Her eyes— they were green, bright green— jade.”

He lets out a wince as you swipe a disinfectant soaked rag over him. You cringe and flash him an apologetic look.

“Sounds beautiful,” you muse, a quiet smile pulling at you as your deft fingers work. “Did you get her pretty eyes too, Mando?”

Something is caught in his throat— a chuckle, or a cough more likely. “No, they’re brown. Just brown.”

Your whole body locks.

Just brown.

Two words - just brown - and suddenly you’re rich— full to the brim with him.

And fuck, if it doesn't feels like a gift. Like he gathered something precious and laid it in your arms and said here, you can have this now. We can share. Sometimes you forget that there’s a man under all those layers; a man— a warm blooded, tanned skin, brown eyed man. You hadn’t often wondered what the Mandalorian was hiding under his armor—he was so finite, so unmovable, the mask he wore became him. He was beskar - indistinguishably - through and through.

But that was before. And now you’re blinded with him— with all the details you cannot unsee.

“S-She was the last person to take care of me—like this.”

It comes over you so suddenly, you’re taken aback by it: that knee-jerking gut wrench. And not because there’s heartbreak in his voice, but because there isn’t. Because he’s had to be so invulnerable—so unyielding and invincible for so long—that he doesn’t even realize what he’s without.

And you, if only for a silly, naïve moment, wish you could give it back to him. Every little ounce of goodness that he’s been deprived of—to dip into his time stream, and rewrite.

To plant but a seed of it there, even if you don’t stay long enough to see it’s harvest.

“Tell me more about her,” you say.

And beyond expectation, beyond reason, he does.

///|||///

This—this is wrong.

He feels pulpy - soggy - wrong. He’s more liquid than he should be—there’s nothing solid about him now. He’s swept away in the tide of it—this green current charging through him and he let’s go - what is there to hold onto anyways? - floating belly up on his back.

Din spills—like the aperture split into his side, he gushes. Whatever dam he’s forged around himself, the beskar and duracrete there, cracks.

The stream trickles until he floods and like any good story, he starts from the beginning.

He tells you of home—his first home. Aq Vetina.

You’re plucking spikes and nettle from his side, and he barely feels it—all he has is this sinking, unending wet—and they hit the tray with dull plunks, punctuated and staccatoed.

He tells you of the adobe dwellings and the domes and columns. Marketplace canopies and caravan bazaars.

plunk

The oak trees, the willow bark, the spires he’d climb until the sun set.

plunk

The tall mountains and the dry, rubbled earth. Of the nameless neighbor children he played with, kicking a ball through the dirt. Red robes trailing, fraying.

plunk

His mother. The shawl she wore. The copper of his father’s ring. The herbs she grew by the light from their kitchen window. How he held her hand while they sat by the fire.

plunk

His tongue doesn’t belong to him—it wags numb and supple. He’s lost his sense of direction, unbound by north or south, and these words are simply happening to him. They keep happening and happening and escaping and—

It’s not just the off-bacta speaking for him, making him pliant. He wants this. He wants to bend—he wants to bend for you.

And now there’s no stopping it—there’s no breaking this, no halting it's downhill momentum. Din describes the attack, the heat of the fire as his town - his world - burned down, of his parents concealing him—a child, abandoned and bunkered away in a cellar to live or die with or without them— being rescued by the Death Watch and raised as a Mandalorian himself.

Your bandaging has long since finished, but you remain, hovering over him as you listen—listen as the jigsawed shards of his life stitch themselves together. Like a moth to a flame, you are drawn in and in and in, until you’re butted against the wick of it. Inseparable.

When the well of his words runs dry, neither of you go to move. Pin-drop silence envelops you. Your hands still on his chest, palms like a weighted quilt—warming him, securing him. He feels-

He feels safe.

“Mando,” you murmur, and the epithet has never sounded so fucking sacred, whispered from you like a prayer. You cripple him; the web of concern along your brow, the sheen in your eyes, the breathy part of your lips.

His throat has gone dry and he shakes his head left right, beskar grating against the makeshift gurney. Mando. No. No, that’s not right—that’s not who he is, that’s not who he wants you to know.

He draws his hand up—it’s so fucking heavy, he can barely lift it—but he tries, he tries, he wants to. You’re right here, you’re touching his chest and you’re healing his body—his mind too, if he’d only let you—and if he could just get to you. If he could just lace his fingers with yours—would you let him? Should you?

“M-My name-"

A warbled wail from the kid’s alcove rips through the cradling hush, and you both react immediately, lurching up to tend to the child. Din forgets—he hears his foundling and his reason leaves him—and he flinches with a grimace. You urge him down, steadying him with a pointed look.

“Rest.”

It’s a command, there’s no question to it, and it’s teeming with all of these unrecognizable concepts— care and assurance, worry and compassion. So impossible to disobey in the way that gentle things are—too soft and too right to say no to. He relents - gives - helmet thudding when it connects back with the table.

Din, he pleads, desperate for you to read his mind. Like a mantra, his subconscious rambles it on a drug addled figure-eight, coming around only to repeat itself again, infinite and wanting. Din Din Din-

Only when the child’s cries muffle into hiccups and his hiccups slur into coos does he let his exhaustion get the better of him. There was too much—it was an assault from all fronts. The blood loss, the drugs, his life like a monsoon as it crushed him open. And all it took was a wound, a brush with his mortality, for him to surrender it to you.

He turns his head, searching for you through the blur of his vision. You’re there in the doorway, rocking his boy in your arms, haloed with light.

I need you, he said. I need you I need you I need you I need-

Din’s eyes shut.

He doesn’t dream. He sleeps like the dead, blissful and undisturbed.

///

You spend hours scrubbing the deck on all fours, spine hunched and aching, cleaning scarlet off silver steel. It got everywhere, the splatter of it—even on the surfaces Mando didn’t come in contact with. The smell of blood, that nickel musk, it lingers long after its welcome—long after the stain of it, the stain of him, has vanished from the Crest. From your skin.

At some point during the night you nod off next to him, curled over a crate, and when you wake Mando is gone—presumably back to his quarters but gone all the same. All traces of him gone - expunged - and the ship feels hollow and gaping— a sterile Mando shaped hole in his absence. You follow his lead, retreating to your bed for a few more hours of sleep.

The next morning doesn’t go as you’d like.

You weren’t sure if he would remember any of it—of what he confided, of what he almost confessed— but by the way the tension ferments between you, you can only assume he does.

They go through their routines, stilted as they are.

He’s up early— unnecessarily early. Mando goes to the cockpit to rouse the ship, plugging in the coordinates from his tracking fob to chase after the escaped bounty. Thrusters set. Repulorlifts and auxiliary engines engaged. Deflector shield generator on. Weapons check. Atmospheric pressure regulator switched.

He’s slower, you note— his movements are crawled—with only half the feline agility he typically possesses and you want to tell him to sit, to take a break—to get off his damn feet and to let you help him—that it’s okay if he rests. That he can take time for himself. That it doesn’t make him any less of a Mandalorian—any less of a man.

But, you can’t.

And so the day is pulled taut like this—a bowed string ready to snap, chalked full of false starts and tinny stoicism. A sharp, intentional air of avoidance with every action. They were out of step, out of sync, and it reminds you of the first days you’d spent on the Razor Crest, orbiting each other—planets apart.

Because he’s shared too much. You knocked, Din answered. He opened the door and he let you past and now he has nowhere left to go but inwards. He’s cornered with no exit strategy - no option - but to close back up again and furl in on himself like a fern in the dark. Curling - evaporating - until he’s nothing but armor—nothing but mirrored edges and metal plates.

But—

you still made his breakfast and he still washed your dishes—and maybe that is enough.

///

You pass each other in the corridor, as you have done before.

You smile gently—soft as sin— and it breaks him, like it always does.

You have a hand on the rung of the ladder when he calls your name, and you turn to him, bright eyed.

“Thank you,” he rasps, “I never thanked you.”

He’s so strikingly sincere— standing there, arms dangling stiff by his sides. He looks different now, somehow— different, but the same. Fuller, bigger—smaller, too.

Human, you realize.

Your heart flutters in your chest. “Of course, Mando-“

“Din.”

You forget to breath. Time forgets to move.

“My name is Din.”

///

Din. Din Djarin.

It takes you almost a week to say it—to even utter the syllable aloud—and you only ever risk it when he’s gone on a hunt and you know you’re alone.

“You like it when I touch you like this?” you hear him say, the fabricated echo of his voice in your skull. He’s got two fingers in you—you can envision them now, clear and potent, the golden hide of them—and he moves slow as he takes you right to the edge, dancing dastardly along that cliff side before retracting himself and backing off. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smirking; you can feel it in his fingertips, how they mock you—how they scorch into you and leer.

Even in your fantasy, he’s a prick.

“You like it when I make you cum on this filthy fucking cot?”

You keen into your hand, whimpering into your bitten raw lips. The scene is playing on without you now, writing itself. All you can do is lay here and take it, succumb to it, starved and desperate and vile as you thrash on your bedroll.

You rove your palm over your chest—

He snakes up your shirt, twisting your nipple until it’s peaked and perked under him, until you yelp with that muddled jolt of pleasure and pain. He’s lazy and fitfully unhurried, each movement sauntered and proud. He’s coaxing it out of you, this orgasm, as he kneels over you, your vision flooded with the cold menace of his beskar. Finally, tortuously, he traces his thumb over your clit, toying with you in small circles until you’re shaking—vibrating, every molecule of you—like you’re going to burst, incinerate there in your bed. He’s urgent now, demanding, and thrusting into your swollen cunt and the pressure mounting in your heat swells until, until, oh my st-

You fuck your fingers until they prune, drenched with the thought of him teasing you, stuffing you full with anything he’ll give you; his hands, his cock—Maker, his tongue. You let it roll around your mouth when you touch yourself like this in the dark belly of the ship—heels digging into your thin mattress, knees steepled together—and you’re panting, wanton and velvet, before a fist shoots up to muffle the moaned name wafting from your lips like smoke.

“Din”

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @djarinsbeskar @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled

[ah-ga-seven]

Till’ The End Of Summer - Chapter 12

>> series masterlist <<

Pairing: Choi Yeonjun x Reader

In a Nutshell: College!AU, Rich Kids, Friends to Lovers, Fuckboy athlete Yeonjun, Overprotective Best friend Soobin, contains all of TXT and other Idol cameos, Omnipresent perspective.

Synopsis: You and Yeonjun are caught up in a cat and mouse game because of unspoken feelings and endless pining for each others’ attention. With the summer break approaching and lots of college parties, will you finally get a chance to explore your feelings for each other; even though the world and Yeonjun’s reputation makes things complicated?

Word count: 8K

Idol Cameos: ATEEZ Wooyoung, NCT Johnny, ITZY Ryujin & Yeji.

Genre:  Angst, Fluff. 

Warnings: Mentions of drug use and alcohol consumption.

A full week of radio silence from your end had passed. No matter how many times Yeonjun called or texted, begging you to listen to him; you didn’t give in. In fact, you blocked his number, his Instagram…and his Snapchat.  

Soobin had also been avoiding Yeonjun, though they lived together they hadn’t seen each other and Soobin made it no secret that he was actively avoiding any type of contact with Yeonjun, even though Yeonjun had tried to reach out several times.

“Yeonjun…don’t you think you’ve had enough.” Wooyoung says snatching the liquor bottle from a highly intoxicated Yeonjun.

He scoffed, snatching back the bottle of Jack from Wooyoung's grip, taking another sip. The burn of the liquid was nothing compared to the lingering burn of his broken heart, so he didn’t hold back.

“Don’t you think you should mind your own fucking business,” he counters unnecessarily rude as he slouches on Wooyoung’s couch.

Wooyoung rolls his eyes at his friend and he checks his phone, scrolling through his socials to distract himself from the feeling of wanting to punch Yeonjun in the face.  

Wooyoung was giving Yeonjun the benefit of the doubt given the vaguely explained circumstances and was acting as his babysitter; even though it was usually the other way around in their friendship.

He was a few swipes in before his orbs landed on the Instagram story of Johnny Suh. His eyes enlarged when he saw you at his party, sitting comfortably on the couch with your legs draped over Johnny’s, looking as happy as ever. Wooyoung looked at Yeonjun through hooded lids as he followed Yeonjun's gaze into nothingness while he took another sip from the bottle.

“Oh…so you don’t want me to tell you where y/n is right now? Or more importantly…who she’s with.”

“What are you on about,” Yeonjun speaks sighing as he rubs his forehead in agony.

“See for yourself.” Wooyoung replies panning the phone to Yeonjun’s line of sight as he replays the video.

Yeonjun’s eyes popped out of his skull as he observed you cozying up to that motherfucker. He snatched the phone from Wooyoung, going back and forth in his stories to try and catch another glimpse of you.  

“Oh hell no,” he huffed as he got up from the couch. “I’m going.”

“Where?”

“To Johnny’s, where the fuck else.”  

‘Not alone you’re not.” Wooyoung says grabbing his car keys.  

When Johnny invited you to one of his iconic parties, you didn’t have to think twice. The best way of getting over Yeonjun was by getting under someone else and that was exactly what you planned to do when you first got here….but god how things took a turn.

You drank…and drank…and drank…and then you might have just accidentally joined the stoners in the garden.  

You were drunk, high and high again, and nothing was registering to you anymore other than the fact that you had the munchies, even though you wanted to throw up.

“First time?” Ryujin chuckled as she wrapped her blanket around you to share her warmth.  

She took the blunt from you and patted your head in comfort as she passed it to some guy named Jungwoo. You didn’t know how you got so close to her in such a short amount of time, but not having Mia around to cling to made you socialize with people you normally wouldn’t hang with.

“No, but I’ve…never combined the two.”  

“Yeah, rule number one, don’t do that unless you’re a veteran,” she states.

“I need to lie down otherwise I’ll hurl," you whine, and you weren't even kidding.

“Oh, shit y/n, let’s go somewhere quiet then, quick.” Ryujin got up and took your hand, leading you to the stairs as quickly as she could in hopes you would stay conscious throughout. Your legs were on automatic pilot, but you also knew it wasn’t going to take long before they would give out on you.

Johnny saw how Ryujin basically dragged you up the stairs and frowned, leaving in the middle of a heated Uno game to check on you. He sprinted up the stairs and hooked his arm around your waist as he put your arm around his neck for support, helping you up the remaining steps.

“Are we okay here?” he asked looking from you to Ryujin. “Uh, she mixed weed with alcohol and is having a bad reaction.” Ryujin snickered.

You couldn’t do anything other than look up at Johnny with googly eyes, giggling at him. Your cute action made him laugh in response and he leads both you and Ryujin to his bedroom without a word.

“She can sleep it off here.” Johnny says as he opens the door to his room, gently placing you on the bed.  

Your limbs hit the off switch as your body made contact with the bed. Everything was spinning and all you could do was giggle to yourself, which made Johnny and Ryujin laugh at your antics once again.

Ryujin pulled the covers over you before she sat down on the foot end of Johnny’s bed, she watched him stare at you and sighed.

“Thanks for letting her stay here.”

“Mi casa is Suh casa” Johnny says giving Ryujin and yourself a wink and you scoff. “You didn’t just make that lame joke,” you judge him even in your state and he chuckled, crouching down before you to pet your head.

“How about you sleep off your attitude,” he says with a smirk, and you just stick your tongue out as you snuggle your cheek into the pillow; closing your eyes to doze off.

In the meantime, Yeonjun and Wooyoung had found their way to Johnny’s home. Yeonjun had been ringing the doorbell for the past minute and was slowly losing his sanity while Wooyoung waited patiently beside him.

“Just call someone you know in there. They probably can’t hear because of the music.” Wooyoung tries to explain, but Yeonjun didn’t listen and switched from ringing the doorbell to knocking on the door.

Wooyoung groaned at his stubbornness and just like that the door opened with a dramatic swing, and in the door opening was no one other than Hwang Yeji.

“I thought they came to collect the trash at noon,” she says deadpanning Yeonjun in the eye as soon as her gaze landed on him.

Yeonjun groaned in annoyance and held on to Wooyoung for life support. “Very fucking funny Yeji, your humor is just as dry as your p-…you can finish that sentence yourself. Would you tell me where my girlfriend is?”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened at his mean comment and covered Yeonjun’s mouth with his hand. “He had a lot to drink,” Wooyoung says as Yeonjun takes Woo’s hand from his mouth aggressively.

Yeji ignored Wooyoung’s attempt to salvage the damage and averted her attention back to Yeonjun.  

“Girlfriend? Do you mean y/n? The fact that she decided to date you is sad.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’d be salty too if I were you. You don’t have to act as if you weren’t screaming my name a few months ago.”

“Ok, Yeonjun. Seriously, shut up.” Wooyoung pushes Yeonjun past Yeji through the door opening before Yeji would decide to swing at him, pulling him aside below the staircase.

“Dude what the fuck.” Wooyoung says under his breath. Yeonjun just shrugged, grabbing the first freshmen that passed by them by their collar, pulling the poor boy closer so he could ask him about your whereabouts.  

“Hey, dwarf. Have you seen a girl with (a description of your physical appearance.) probably shitfaced drunk, possibly accompanied by Johnny Suh.” 

The kid was baked as fuck, his eyes were red and hanging low. He just chuckled looking back and forth from Yeonjun to Wooyoung “Dude there was a girl just like that flashing her titties on the patio a minute ago. Maybe the show is still going man, hurry.”  

“What now!?” Yeonjun let go of the younger boy and he just waddled off as if nothing happened, leaving him in a more distressed state than ever.

You wouldn’t do that? Right? “That can’t be y/n,” Wooyoung says scratching the back of his head. “Let’s just ask around some more.”  

And so they did. They ended up in the garden where the smell of pot filled their nostrils after they skimmed every room on the ground floor, but it was to no avail. They decided to go up the stairs, something Yeonjun wished he didn’t have to do because if you were upstairs that could mean one of two not so great things.

They searched through the halls first and Wooyoung's eyes land on Johnny closing the door behind him in a room down the hall. Wooyoung grabbed Yeonjun by the shoulder, motioning him to look at what he was seeing.

When Yeonjun’s eyes landed on Johnny it took about 0,003 seconds for him to take long strides into his direction. Wooyoung did his best to keep up with Mr long legs, so he had to jog after Yeonjun to keep up as he felt the hairs in his neck rise in anticipation of the inevitable confrontation between two alpha males.

“Hey man, have you seen my girlfriend?” Yeonjun says as he approaches the senior.

“And who might that be?” Johnny says turning around. He wasn’t even a wee-bit surprised that Yeonjun showed up here. He was always wherever you were. Luckily for Johnny he wasn’t interested in having sex with you anymore. The two of you really hit it off as friends, and he didn’t wanna ruin it, but god…Yeonjun did get under his skin a little too much for his liking.

“Don’t act dumb, where’s y/n.”

Johnny sucks his teeth in annoyance and decided to taunt Yeonjun for challenging him like that. “She’s in my bed,” Johnny says as his lips curl up into a smile and before he knew it Yeonjun grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.  

“Let go.” Johnny threatens through his teeth, towering over Yeonjun with the few inches of height he had over Yeonjun, but he didn’t budge.

Wooyoung inhales sharply, him being an average of 10 centimeters shorter than the both of them didn’t help with intervening. So he bent his knees to wiggle between them from below, pulling them away from each other.

“Yeonjun’s drunk. Don’t mind him” Wooyoung chuckled nervously, fixing Johnny’s shirt.

Yeonjun was seething at this point. “If you would’ve just let me explain first…god you really need to work on your temper. y/n deserves better than a hothead like you.”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Yeonjun replies under his breath as he points his finger in Johnny’s face.

Johnny rolled his eyes in response, stepping aside.

“She’s in there with Ryujin. She got drunk and smoked weed she’s not having the best reaction so she’s asleep right now. She’s fine. Go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere without her.” Yeonjun huffs.

“Well, then you can sleep on the floor cause you’re not taking her anywhere either.” Johnny took a step closer to Yeonjun again with Wooyoung still between them and at this point, Wooyoung didn’t know what else to do other than barge into Johnny’s room to cut the tension

Wooyoung had hoped that if Yeonjun saw you, his anger would subside; so he took the chance of getting punched in the face by Johnny for the greater good.

He barged through the door, startling Ryujin who was facetiming Beomgyu.  

“Look she really is asleep, fully clothed. Now, can we leave dude? I think we’ve caused enough trouble.”  Wooyoung says in a whisper pointing to your sleeping form.

Ryujin’s eyes widened when her eyes landed on the three men in front of her. “Is that Yeonjun hyung?” Gyu’s voice sounded from the speaker and Ryujin quickly apologized to him, ending the phone call after promising to call back later.

Yeonjun softened immediately. He really didn’t know how he would feel when he saw you, but since the last time he saw you was in your apartment that day; he froze.

He couldn’t help but think that the reason you turned to drugs and alcohol to subside the pain was because of him, and suddenly sadness and guilt wash over him once again.

Johnny watched Yeonjun like a hawk, and noticed how his icy demeanor melted at the sight of you. He wasn’t just going to let Yeonjun take you home, you would need to consent to it, even in your state.

Yeonjun crouched down before you, moving a strand of your hair out of your face, completely entranced by you. He forgot the presence of the other people in the room and caressed your cheek with his thumb lightly.

He missed you.

“Y/n…” his voice was clear; he was calling out for you but you had no clue if It was a dream or real life.  

You slowly found the strength to open your eyes. You blink a couple of times before your vision went from blurry to…somewhat less blurry, and in a split second, you recognize who’s in front of you by the shape of his lips alone.

“Are you okay?” Yeonjun asked sweetly.

Wooyoung couldn’t help but be dumbfounded at Yeonjun’s sudden change of heart. The stubborn, mean, and aggressive Yeonjun was completely replaced by a soft and loving one in the blink of an eye.  

"Bipolar much." he whispered, making Johnny and Ryujin chuckle in response.

Wooyoung gave Johnny a look which he just shrugged at, and Ryujin basically melted thinking that Yeonjun came over to be your knight in shining armor, but you know, she didn’t know the full story.

You forgot you were mad at him because it truly felt like you were dreaming and when Yeonjun asked you if you wanted to go home, you just nodded as you dozed off again.

Well…There’s your consent.

Reluctantly, Johnny let Yeonjun take you with him. He understood he had no place in keeping you here if you really were Yeonjun’s girlfriend, so he complied. Keeping an eye on you as Yeonjun carried you to Wooyoung's car.

“Tell her to text me when she wakes up.” Johnny says with his arms crossed, watching as Yeonjun carefully places you in the backseat.  

“Yeah, no.” Yeonjun says as he fastens your seatbelt for you.  

Johnny shook his head and went back inside, even though Yeonjun was the biggest dick in Johnny’s eyes; it was evident that he cared about you and that thought alone was the only reason he let Yeonjun take you with him. He knew you'd be safe, and that's all that mattered to him.

Wooyoung got into the drivers’ seat, being the only sober one of the bunch, and waited for Yeonjun to take a seat too.  

The drive was rather quiet. Yeonjun kept looking back at you to check if you were okay and Wooyoung noticed as he checked his mirrors.  

“You really love her don’t you.” Wooyoung asks looking at his friend.

“I do.”

“I don’t know what you did, and I’m assuming you did something.” Wooyoung says clicking his tongue before he continues. “But fix it.”

“I’m trying.” Yeonjun sighs staring out the window.

“Trying how?” Wooyoung asks checking his mirrors. He noticed a black BMW trailing closely behind them with no one other car on the streets and frowned, but decided to keep his eyes on the road ahead of him.

“I went to therapy yesterday.”  

“Therapy?”

“Yeah…”

“Well…seeing you tonight you clearly need some extra sessions.”

Yeonjun’s head snapped into Wooyoung direction but when he noticed the playful look in his eyes all he could do was laugh with him.  

Wooyoung checked his mirrors after he took a left to your house and noticed how the black BMW was still trailing behind him. His smile faltered and he nudged Yeonjun.

“Dude…I think we’re being followed…” Wooyoung says nodding to his rear-view mirror.  

“What?” Yeonjun asks as he looks in the mirror, followed by a look over his shoulder.

“Am I the drunk one, or are you?” Yeonjun chuckles relaxing in his seat.

Wooyoung shrugged, deciding to let it go, and just as he was about to turn the corner to your apartment building, the black BMW took the opposite turn, making Wooyoung relax in his seat again.

Yeonjun kept staring at you in the reflection of the window. He didn’t know how you would react the next morning so he decided he wouldn’t stick around to find out.

After he carried you inside of your apartment, he set you down on your bed with the help of Wooyoung opening every door for him. Being in here felt different than before. Your house was messier than usual, and it wasn't like he could just crawl in bed next to you to hold you as you slept off your intoxicated state.  

He changed you into clean clothes and even got rid of your false eyelashes for you. You were still asleep but you did whine a few times before he was able to tuck you in. He sighed, kissing your forehead, and wrote you a small note. Leaving it on your bedside table before he went back to the living room, seeing Wooyoung patiently wait for him so the two of them could leave.

“Thanks for waiting and putting up with me all night.” Yeonjun smiled apologetically as he held out his hand.

Wooyoung took a hold of his hand as Yeonjun helped him get up from the couch, and he snickered.

“Ah don’t mention it. We’re even now.” Wooyoung says with a wink.

“For what?” Yeonjun asks raising his eyebrow.

“For kissing her, remember.” Wooyoung says as he made his way to your front door.

“Right. Let’s never speak of that again.” Yeonjun says clinging on to Wooyoung’s shoulder as they walk out of your apartment.  

“Deal.”  

Your alarm went off, waking you from your hibernation at 10 AM.  

That’s strange? You didn’t set an alarm clock.  

You keep your eyes closed, feeling around the bed for your phone to turn the obnoxious sound off when it suddenly hit you that you were in your own bed.  

Your eyes shoot open out of shock and bits and pieces from last night are starting to come back to you.  

You got drunk, you got absolutely baked and then you ended up in Johnny’s bed to sleep it off but how the fuck did you get home?

You jolt upwards, feeling a pounding headache come to the surface as you look around.  

Everything looks normal. You were dressed in an oversized t-shirt; your clothes were neatly folded on your dresser and even your make-up was off.

There is no way in hell you did all that by yourself…

You get up slowly, trying not to lose your balance and right at the moment you stretched your body, your gaze falls on a note on your bedside table.

Your eyes widen when you recognize the cursive handwriting and you hold your breath as you read the note.  

I hope you’re feeling better,

Drink lots of water and try to eat something more nutritious than instant noodles ok?

Yeonjun.

You keep reading the words over and over again but your mind couldn’t comprehend the fact that he was here, in your apartment, and helped you change out of your party wear.

Well, fuck.

You rake your hand through your hair and sigh not knowing what to do with this information.

How did he know where you were? And why did he come to get you?

A million questions ran through your mind but you weren’t exactly ready to talk to him about it so you dial the only reliable eye witness you remember being there, Ryujin.

[Y/N, 10.04 AM]: Please fill me in on the blocks of memory missing from my brain. Why the fuck did Yeonjun take me home. I’m so lost.

[Ryujin, 10:05 AM]: Good morning to you too lmaoo

[Ryujin, 10:05 AM]: Dude, it was like a kdrama.  

[Y/N, 10.05 AM]: What now????

[Ryujin, 10:06 AM]: Idk how Yeonjun figured out that you were there but he basically made a big ass scene and argued with Johnny since he wouldn’t let Yeonjun in at first but then things got so soft and cute. Like he caressed your cheek and carried you to the car. You even told him it was ok for him to take you home.

[Y/N, 10.06 AM]: I did!?

[Y/N, 10.06 AM]: Omg…wtf…I’m speechless.

[Ryujin, 10:07 AM]: Is there a problem? Aren’t you two a thing?

Well shit, what do you reply to that?

You let Ryujin’s words and Yeonjun’s actions register to you a bit before you could even think of a response to send her.

The past week has been hell. You’ve been going to class with an empty mind and soul, basically living on automatic pilot. You didn’t allow yourself to feel cause if you did, you were sure you were going to have a meltdown.

You couldn’t handle losing Yeonjun and Mia in one day, so you kind of pretended it never happened.

You blocked both of them from your socials and hung out with different people. Even though Soobin checked in on you and you on him, you hadn’t seen him.

You guess that seeing each other would spark a conversation both of you weren’t ready to have; so, you actively avoided each other.

You both needed time, and you also had different ways of dealing with your feelings.

Whereas Soobin stayed home and hung out with the guys, you went out and got drunk on schooldays.  

In the past week you had done a lot of thinking. You tried to justify both Mia and Yeonjun’s actions but no matter how hard you tried; you just couldn’t see it from their point of view. Though you do realize that they didn’t have malicious intent, you were more sad than angry.

Truth is you missed them, but you didn’t know how to move past this either, especially with Yeonjun.

Last night's events changed something for you though, and you needed to talk about it with someone who knew exactly what you were going through and the only person who fit that description was Soobin.

After replying to Ryujin with a short ‘I’ll talk to you about it later” you asked Soobin to meet you in a bakery near Campus for Brunch and he agreed.

You knew you could lure him to any spot that sold bread so here you were, 1,5 hours later. Sitting at a window seat table while you waited for Soobin to arrive. 

You quickly checked your appearance in the front camera of your phone. You did your best to hide the bags under your eyes with some much-needed concealer and even used eye drops to subside the swelling and lingering redness.

If Soobin found out what you did last night, he’d kill you, and that’s an understatement.

As Soobin walked into the bakery, the door made a ringing sound and you immediately looked up. He was dressed in a white t-shirt paired with his favorite denim jacket. He looked tired, the dark bags under his eyes being a dead give-away to the lack of sleep he had gotten in the past week. It made your heart ache for him and suddenly you want to kick yourself for not making an effort to see him sooner.

His eyes found yours and he gave you a sweet smile as he was glad to see you after a week of separation. You got up to hug him without a word and the two of you just stand there for a while, wrapped up in each other’s embrace. The much-needed comfort made you close your eyes as your cheek rested on his chest and he sighed, patting your hair before he gave you a kiss on your forehead while letting go of you slowly.

You both sat down and stared at each other for a few seconds. He assessed your appearance and frowned.  

“Did you lose weight?” he asks a little concerned.

You shrug, not wanting to tell him about your loss of appetite. “How are you?” you ask, trying to change the subject.

“You first.”

“No, you first.” You insist this time, your eyes widening as a threat.

“Ugh fine.” He sighed, knowing that you could go at it for literal hours.

“I feel like shit. I miss Mia. I miss Yeonjun hyung, but I can’t forgive or forget about what happened.”

“Same.” You rest your elbow on the table so your hand could support your heavy head. You rubbed your forehead and bit your lip, contemplating if you should tell Soobin about what happened last night.

“I saw him last night," you confess.

“What? Where?” Soobin was surprised, to say the least. He didn’t think you’d be ready for that so soon.

“Well, technically he saw me, I didn’t see him,” you explain.

Soobin pouted to show his confusion and that’s when you start rambling. You told him everything you could recall but he stopped you midway.

“Why were you passed out?”

“Because I mixed,” you say avoiding eye contact as you sip on your iced coffee.

“Mixed what? Drinks?”

“No…I…accidentally…hypothetically…might have joined the crackheads.”  

Soobin’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull and he raised his voice at you without second thought.

“You did WHAT!?”  

People in the café were giving him looks and embarrassment flushed to his ears before he averted his attention back to you, speaking to you in a more hushed tone.

“Y/n what the fuck,” he whisper-screamed. “Why the fuck would you resort to drugs.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” You breathe. “I guess the whole situation of Yeonjun basically planning to abandon me before he returned, sparked some childhood trauma of my dad leaving for the army. It felt the same way and I never want to feel like that again so I just…got drunk and…stumbled into the garden and ended up with a blunt in my mouth before I could think about it.”

Saying it out loud was a big step, because you hadn’t gotten as far as making that connection yet, but you realize it could very much be right. You had a fear of abandonment, and Yeonjun basically confessing that he was planning to never return if it wasn’t for his housekeeper telling him that he should go back didn’t quite help with that hypothesis.  

Soobin sighed, he felt bad for you but he still felt like it wasn’t a valid reason for you to turn to drugs, even if it was just weed. People with traumas are more susceptive to addiction and he didn’t want that for you, so he’d make sure you’d never go near it again.

“Just never do it again.” He says sternly, giving you his warning glare.

You make eye contact again and sigh in relief, nodding sheepishly as you chew on your straw.

“Y/n, I hope you realize that healthy relationships shouldn’t feel like what Yeonjun hyung has given you until now.”  

Soobin’s words made you look up at him again. Ouch. That hurt. But he’s right.

The bad started to outweigh the good a long time ago and you knew it.

“It’s clear that he loves you, and he explained he wanted to stay away from you out of love and fear to drag you down with him but…the way he communicates. The way he thinks he resolves issues by lying about them. It’s not…it’s just not it. You can’t fix him y/n. He has to do that on his own.”

Soobin’s advice was never the type of advice that comforted you, because Soobin only told you the truth, and the truth hurt.  

Because the truth is that even if you were to forgive Yeonjun for lying to you and manipulating you, how could you get through to him when he thinks his decisions are justified because they were made out of love for you?  

He left you because he loved you.

He left you because you deserved better.

But he still left you while making you believe that he wouldn’t leave forever, and even though he did come back, the fact that he withheld that information from you for whatever reason he had; still broke your trust.

“I’m tired of giving him chances.”

“Then don’t give him any.”  

“Yeah, that’s easier said than done Soobin. My feelings for him don’t just have an on and off switch. I love him but we’ve had a 10 years marriage worth of drama and we’ve only been seeing each other for 3 and a half months, and he was gone for most of it.”  

“Yeah, that’s some shit.” Soobin says as he looks around the café to try and organize his thoughts.  

His eye landed on the table next to him because he felt like he was being watched.

A man dressed in a black suit with a sharp jawline and slicked-back dark hair was typing throughout your whole conversation, but when both of you stopped talking, the man stopped typing.

He made eye contact with the middle-aged man for a split second and Soobin’s gaze stopped at the shiny silver pen in the front pocket of the man’s suit. It clearly read C.E Holdings Group.

You were staring out the window yourself, so nothing was registering to you, but when the mystery man’s phone lit up, Soobin’s eyes darted to the caller ID.

Again, with the C.E. Soobin’s blinked a couple of times and he quickly averted his attention back to you; trying not to be obvious.

C.E? Choi Enterprises? Could he be right or is he just being paranoid?

Suddenly Yeonjun’s monologue to you from that godforsaken dark day popped back into Soobin’s brain as he reminisced about what Yeonjun said to you in an attempt to make you understand why he lied to you about all of it.

“Y/n you’re not getting it…being in the know could get you hurt. If malicious people were after the company, or if my dad had enemies, I didn’t know about… I could never forgive myself if something happened to you because of me.”

“Soobin, are you okay? You look paler than usual,” you ask cocking your eyebrow at him.

Soobin broke out of his trance and nodded absentmindedly.

If you were being followed there was only one way to find out.

“Let’s get our food to go, the weather is still nice. We can eat it at the park,” he says getting up all of a sudden. He didn’t want to tell you yet because you’d freak out. So, this was the only way to get you to leave without noticing something was up.  

“….Okay…..” he was acting weird, but you decided to comply with him given the circumstances. You got up, brushing past him to get your order to go.  

“Weirdo,” you whisper under your breath.  

Soobin’s change in attitude was odd.  

The two of you walked around the park and he was super restless for some reason. He was constantly looking over his shoulder and you just about had enough.

“Let’s sit down somewhere already.” You complain and Soobin snapped out of his trance, nodding quietly before sitting down at a bench with a view over the lake.

“What is wrong with you? Is it because of Mia? Why won’t you talk to me about her? You keep avoiding the topic and preach about Yeonjun and me when you’re the one with a two-year-old relationship on the line.” You say as you hand him his croissant.  

Your words might have come out a little harsh, but Soobin knew your intentions. He snapped out of his paranoia once again and looked at your concerned facial expression while he took the pastry from your hold.

You sat there and talked about everything. Soobin was able to relax a bit more given the fact that the guy from before was nowhere to be found, which made him re-think his theory of being followed.  

During your talk it was clear that Soobin missed Mia, and that he regretted not communicating with her more before he broke things off with her. Despite it all, he wasn’t ready to look past the situation yet and you completely understood; because you felt the exact same way.

“She hasn’t reached out to me, and I haven’t seen her in class either," you say as you rest your head on his shoulder. Your hangover was still present, so you were getting tired, and Soobin was quick to notice.

“Maybe it’s time for me to talk to her…alone.”  

“You’re ready for that?” you ask lifting your head off of his shoulder to look at him.

“I honestly just want to know if she’s okay…after all, it’s not like I stopped loving her.”  

You nod understandingly. An involuntary yawn escapes your lips and you close your eyes, placing your head back on Soobin’s shoulder. You sat in the park for hours and hours on end and it was already past 5.

He looked down at you and chuckled, patting your head in comfort. “Let’s get you home.”

You were grateful for the ride home since you didn’t even have to ask for it. It’s the little things Soobin does that made you realize just how lucky you are to have him.

After all, the reason he broke things off with Mia was not so much about their issues, but about your issues with her and you knew that even though you didn’t know how, things were going to have to get back to normal with Mia and Soobin because you couldn’t stand to see him in pain like this.

Soobin pulled up to your apartment building shortly after, stopping as close to the entrance as possible.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt. You go in for a clumsy hug and he chuckled, kissing the top of your head before you open the car door to get out.

“No prob-” he stopped mid-sentence when his eye landed on a black BMW with tinted windows that he’s never seen before. The car was parked across the lot, and it wasn't exactly blending in with the cheaper cars around. When Soobin spotted the BMW, the window rolled up and he swore he saw the same slicked-back hairdo from the man he saw before in the café.

“U ok?” you ask as you hold the car door open, assessing a rather frazzled looking Soobin.

“Hey, should I come inside with you?” He suddenly asks, his face held an expression you couldn’t quite read so you gave him a look. “Eh, no. I think I’m just gonna sleep this headache off.”

“Oh…well…if anything happens you call me ok.”

“Why would anything hap-”

“Just call me, Ok.”

You frown at his once again, super odd behavior and nod. “Ok...I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you…” Soobin says absentmindedly. He eyed the car a little longer and it drove off, making him relax a little more in his seat.

You closed the door and walk into your apartment building and Soobin watched you as you did just in case.

He grabbed his phone, dialing the only number that made sense to him right now, and to his surprise, he picked up almost immediately.

“Yeonjun hyung are you home? We need to talk.”

“What do you mean followed?” Yeonjun asks immediately alerted by Soobin’s story.

“Do you happen to have one of those company pens around here?”  Soobin says as he made his way to Yeonjun’s desk to skim the surface.

Yeonjun raised his eyebrows, getting up to retrieve the silver pen with black engraving from his drawer to hand to Soobin.

He assessed the tiny object and turned it to read the engraving. C.E Holdings Group. “Fuck, it’s the same.”

“And you LEFT her by herself!?” Yeonjun remarks as he rakes his hand through his hair in distress.

“I didn’t know for sure, I thought I was just being paranoid but when I saw the black car with those tinted windows outside of the building I freaked.”  

He started pacing around his room with large eyes.

“Wait, a car?” Was it…”

“A black BMW” they both say in unison, and suddenly the air got thick.

“You’ve seen the car?”  

“Yes, last night when Wooyoung and I drove y/n home, Wooyoung mentioned that he felt like we were being followed by a black BMW.”

“Oh my fucking god.” Soobin says throwing his head back in frustration.

“Why the fuck would they follow her? And who is he working for? What the fuck is going on. I knew I shouldn’t have come back, look at what’s happening.” Yeonjun was rambling, throwing all of his thoughts on the table. He sat down on his bed, burying his face in his hands as his pupils darted back and forth.

“Hyung…calm down.” Soobin tries to comfort Yeonjun by putting a hand on his shoulder but he should’ve known better.

“Don’t tell me to calm down.” Yeonjun bites back. “I could have prevented this.”

Soobin sighed, hating to admit that if he was in Yeonjun’s shoes; he would’ve done the exact same things to protect Mia. Soobin didn’t realize the scale of it all. How much shit was on the line and how different Yeonjun’s world was from theirs, but this changed everything.

Like Yeonjun once said, it was a matter of billions and people would do crazy things to get to those billions; but what did you have to do with that? Did they want to get to Yeonjun through you? Blackmail him? Kill him? Kill you?  

Soobin’s mind was basically reciting every K-drama he has ever seen and he was about to combust before Yeonjun snapped him out of his thoughts.

“You have to go back,” he states looking at Soobin. “She might not be safe; we have to tell her.”

“Oh yeah, let’s just tell her she’s being shadowed by some dude, that won’t freak her out.”

“It’s better than saying nothing. I will literally sleep in front of her door if I have to Soobin. We have to find out who he’s working for, and what he wants. She’s not safe, we’re not safe.”

“What the fuck did our lives turn into.” Soobin says letting out an exasperated sigh.

Yeonjun bit the inside of his cheek nervously as he kept thinking about what he possibly could have missed when he was investigating the situation back home. Was it his mother? Was he wrong about her? Or was it some random foe in the company that he didn’t know about?  

Hearing the boys laugh in the living room made him snap out of his thoughts and he looked at the door of his bedroom, realizing how many people he cared for could be in potential danger.  

“The boys can’t know.” Yeonjun says. “We protect them from this. We don’t need more targets on anyone's backs. We have to keep them as far away from this shit as possible.”  

Soobin nodded, agreeing with Yeonjun. “Let’s go to y/n together alright. She won’t listen to me; you know how she is.” Soobin says as he looks at Yeonjun and he nodded, rubbing his forehead in agony.

Yeonjun was completely out of it. His mind was doing cartwheels as he freaked out on the inside.  

“Hyung, it’s gonnabe ok. I’m with you on this.” Soobin says holding out his hand for Yeonjun.

Yeonjun looked up, somehow glad that Soobin and he were looking past their issues to solve this mystery, but he couldn’t be glad about anything right now, given the circumstances.

Yeonjun grabs Soobin’s hand and Soobin pulled him up from the bed, looking into Yeonjun’s equally dark and tired eyes. “Let’s go”

The sun had set for a while now.  

It was past 8 and Mia was fidgeting with her sleeves, contemplating if she should ring your doorbell.

She came all the way to your house but somehow, she didn’t think things through fully.

What if you didn’t want to see her? What if you were just as mad as before?

She built up the courage to ring your doorbell and no later than 10 seconds you opened the door, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes before you realized who it was.

“Mia?” you say a little dumbfounded.

“C-can I come in?” she asked with sad eyes.

You bite your lip, and nod, stepping aside so she could walk into your apartment.  

For some odd reason you had the feeling as if Mia’s eyes weren’t the only ones looking at you and as she steps inside of your apartment, you skim the hallways with your eyes, but there was no one in sight.

You stand there frozen for a second before you turn your attention to Mia, closing the door behind you.  

The silence was awkward when you poured a cup of her favorite mandarin green tea for her as she was sitting on your couch, waiting for you to sit down with her so you could talk.  

In the meantime, Soobin and Yeonjun had raced their way over to your house, and to their horror, the black BMW had returned.  

Yeonjun was the first one to run out of Soobin's car to inspect the BMW, he had no idea what he was running towards, how dangerous It would be, and what could happen if he exposed whoever was in there but he didn’t care.

He hit the hood of the car and tried to look inside but the vehicle was empty.  

Soobin jogged after Yeonjun after having parked his car on the sidewalk. “Empty?”

Yeonjun nodded, kicking a dent into the front car door out of frustration.  

“He can’t be far.”

You sat down with Mia, handing her the cup and just as she was about to speak, a weird cracking noise at your front door alerted both of you.

“Is…someone trying to break your lock?” Mia says with wide eyes. You look at her in panic and put your finger over your mouth, telling her to stop talking.

You get up with the cup of boiling hot tea in your hand, and tiptoe your way to your front door to look through the peephole. Mia got up as well, watching you like a hawk as she trailed behind you.

Your heart dropped to your stomach as you see an unknown man trying to force your lock open and you cover your mouth to suppress a gasp.

You don’t know what went through your mind but you didn’t have time to think. 

You open your door with a fast swing, startling the unknown intruder in the process.

“Y/N!” Mia yelled trying to pull you back but you didn’t budge.

He reached into his pocket to retrieve something shiny, but before he could do anything, you throw the cup of hot water in his face, making him groan and drop his pockets’ contents on the floor.  

He ran for it, and right that second the elevator doors open across the hall, and you see Yeonjun and Soobin with balled fists and alarmed facial expressions run over to you.

You made eye contact with both of them as adrenaline rushed through your veins, everything happened so damn fast that you couldn’t process how or why this was happening. And why Soobin and Yeonjun magically appeared at the right timing.

“Stay with them.” Yeonjun tells Soobin in panic as he ran after the perpetrator in the opposite direction without hesitation.

“YEONJUN NO!” You yell. You wanted to run after him as well, but Soobin stops you by blocking you with his body, shocked to see a frozen Mia behind you in the door way of your apartment.

Your neighbors came out of their apartments to see what the fuss was about, and suddenly you felt your head spinning. People were gathering outside of their homes in confusion as they talked amongst themselves, but nothing registered to you as adrenaline kept coursing through your veins.

“Let me go!” you protest, but Soobin doesn’t move. It didn’t take long for you to give up the fight and you look to the floor, seeing a cracked iPhone lying next to a knife and suddenly shivers ran down your spine at the thought of what he could have done to you with that weapon.  

“S-Soobin what’s going on.” Mia says as her eyes found his.

Soobin sighed, turning around to talk to the crowd that had formed in the halls. “Nothing to see here people, please go back inside.”

“We need to call the cops” Mia says. “Was it a coincidence that you showed up here?”

Soobin shook his head, retrieving the phone from the floor as your neighbors went back inside with confused faces. A few of them lingered around and to your relief you see Yeonjun come back up the fire escape.

“I lost the motherfucker.” He shouts in anger walking into your apartment as he brushed passed you, exploring every room just to be sure. “He drove off so fast there was no way I could catch up.”

You were completely dazed and out of it, all you heard was white noise even though Soobin and Mia were talking to each other and when Yeonjun came back from inspecting your bedroom, he ran to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and trapping you into his embrace.

“Oh my god, thank god you’re okay,” he says obviously overcome with emotion as he held you close to his chest. His hand was on your head, trying to comfort you and it worked. The recent events finally got to you as you melt in his hold and you start to tremble as the shock in your body gets replaced by realization.

This could have ended a lot differently.

Soobin closes your front door and put his arm around Mia who was just as shocked by what happened. He held her hand, intertwining their fingers as he kissed her temple. “Are you ok?”  

She nodded, sighing as she let go of Soobin, she wanted answers and fast.

“Is someone going to tell us what the fuck is going on?” She says looking from you to Yeonjun to Soobin and then back to you with worried eyes.  

Yeonjun reluctantly let go of you. He didn’t know where to start because everything happened so fast. 30 minutes ago, he was in his room, not suspecting a thing before Soobin barged in with his crazy but justified assumptions.

“When we were in the bakery, I saw a man watching us. And when I dropped you off at home, I saw a car with someone inside that looked like him. That same car was following Yeonjun and Wooyoung last night as well.” Soobin explains as he made his way to you. He held you by your shoulders, inspecting you from head to toe.

“Did he touch you?”

You shake your head and sigh but Mia chimes in, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You guys should’ve seen her, she turned full G.I Joe on the man and threw her tea in his face.”  

You manage to let out a chuckle and sit down on the armrest of your couch trying to wrap your mind around what Soobin just said.

Yeonjun couldn’t even think of cracking a smile. Too lost in thought to be fully present.

“What does he want? Who is he? This can’t be random?” You ask looking at Yeonjun with hopeful eyes. For once you wanted him to tell you the truth.

“No,” Yeonjun says. “Because it isn’t”

“Huh?” Mia says a little annoyed at their vagueness. “We should have called the cops.”

“No, it’s…” Soobin hesitated but continued after Yeonjun gave him a small nod. “I saw the Choi Enterprise's watermark on a pen in his suits’ front pocket at the bakery.”

Your eyes shoot to Soobin’s in shock. “That’s why you wanted to leave and why you were acting so weird?”

Soobin nodded guiltily and you scoff. “Why didn’t you tell me.”

“Because I wasn’t sure, but the pen, the phone it all….” Soobin stopped mid-sentence and all of you looked to him in confusion.

He retrieved something from his pocket and showed it to you. “He dropped his fucking phone.”

“Oh my god.” Yeonjun says walking up to Soobin to check out the device.

All of you walk over to your dinner table and sit down, trying different passcodes to unlock the phone but it was to no avail. After having blocked access for more than 15 minutes you give up until the phone started to buzz against the surface of your wooden table.

It was an anonymous caller ID this time, and all of you look to Yeonjun.

“Well…is anyone going to get that?” Mia says as she looked at the rest of you.

Soobin was nervously biting his nails while you just stared at the phone.

Yeonjun gulped before he took the phone from the table, sliding his finger over the screen to accept the call.

He put the phone on speaker and stayed silent.

“Status report?”  

"...Hello?"

All of your eyes widened at the same time and Yeonjun ended the call immediately. Shivers ran down your spine and you swallow harshly as you fixate your gaze on Yeonjun.

That voice, you’ve heard it before, and you knew exactly who it belonged to.

“No…” he says as his heart drops. “This can’t be her.”

“Yeonjun…” you try to hold his hand but he pulls away, all eyes were on him as he got up, you were worried for him and uncertain of what to do. 

He couldn’t take this, not after everything else that happened.  

He looked completely lost as disbelief washed over him, he bit his lip; choking back tears that welled up in his eyes.

“It can’t be Lita.”  

Chapter 13.

[19tozier]

wish you were sober (richie tozier)

warnings: underage drinking, mentions of sex, angst, pining, reader is an unreliable narrator at best

inspired by the song wish you were sober by conan gray

[losers + reader are 16+]

if someone were to ask you when you fell in love with richie, you don’t think you’d be able to answer them.

was it when you met him, thirteen and wild and so magnetic you couldn’t stay away from him? was it when you followed him into a sewer, endlessly terrified but trying to be as brave as he made you think you could be? was it when you looked at him and realized he had grown up right in front of you, and you hadn’t realized? or was it all the little moments in between, the mundane and the electric all in one?

you have no clue. all you know is this: you’re in love with richie tozier, and there’s nothing you can fucking do about it.

you bring your cup to your mouth, the edge of it pressing into your bottom lip. you don’t take a drink from it; you’re already a little buzzed, and you’re reluctant to get any drunker. you don’t want to do anything you’ll regret.

across the room from you, somehow perfectly visible despite the mass of dancing bodies separating you from him, richie leans against the wall, his arm around the waist of his girlfriend, who isn’t you.

you exhale as slowly as you can. inside of your chest, your heart feels like it is poised to shatter.

it shouldn’t shock you anymore. richie has a new girlfriend seemingly every month, a revolving-door of pretty girls that giggle when he kisses them and wear his jean jacket around school but ultimately never stay long. richie never offers explanation as to why they break up and you never ask. you’re afraid of whatever it is he might say. you’re afraid of knowing you’re not good enough for him if all of them weren’t.

you sigh. you’re such a fucking cliche. falling in love with your best friend, silently pining away as if it’ll make him notice you? you’d gag at the thought if it wasn’t your life.

a shoulder brushing against yours distracts you from your thoughts, and you glance over to see stan’s expectant face. he raises an eyebrow at you. “you alright?”

you want to scream. no, you’re not alright. you don’t think you’ve been alright since before you were officially a loser. but you can’t say that to stan, not without being perfectly honest, so you arrange your features into something resembling a smile. “what’s up, buttercup?”

stan scoffs. “you’ve been spending too much time with richie.”

will it ever stop hurting, the constant reminder of how close you are with richie but never close enough? “or he’s been spending too much time with me,” you say, sniffing arrogantly. the facade you put on sometimes is easier than breathing.

stan rolls his eyes. “sure, that’s it.” he pauses, squinting at you. “are you sure you’re okay? you look… upset, i guess.”

you snort, taking a sip of your drink as an excuse not to respond right away. your heart is in your throat at the idea of being caught. “you guess? gee, thanks stan.”

he narrows his eyes at you, his nostrils flaring slightly. behind him, bill is jumping onto mike’s back, laughing loudly. “shut up, you know what i meant. are you alright? seriously.”

you don’t give yourself time to hesitate. stan has a sixth sense for when he’s being lied to and won’t stop pestering you until you tell him the truth, and you’d like to not confess to him tonight. “yeah, stan,” you grin, feeling the lie like sawdust in your mouth. “i’m all good.”

he gives you a skeptical look, searching your face, but eventually he just sighs and nods. “alright, fine. if you need anything, you know where to find me.”

you nod back, glad you managed to escape that. “thanks, dude. hey, i’m gonna go grab a different drink, i’ll be right back.”

you don’t wait for him to say anything, or for anyone else to come with you. you just slip away, using the hordes of drunk teenagers to your advantage until you manage to get to the kitchen.

your shoulders slump, the smile you’d painted onto your face slipping away. slowly, you pour the rest of your shitty beer down the sink, opening the fridge and rifling around until you find a soda, stealing it before you can talk yourself out of it. whoever’s house this is won’t care, and besides, you think you need it.

when you leave the kitchen, your eyes fall to the spot where richie had been leaning. the wall is empty now.

pathetically, your eyes fill with tears. of course you know richie has a lot of sex, considering the self-satisfied smirk he’ll wear after getting fucked combined with the rumors that follow him like the perfume of whatever girl he’s seeing. the worst part is they aren’t even bad rumors; you’d lost count of the amount of times you had heard of how good a lover he is, or how his dick is as big as he’s often bragging, or how he does this thing with his mouth that feels like absolute heaven—

you’d heard enough. too much, probably. and it burrowed into your brain like the most insidious of weeds, sprouting thoughts you never should have let take root.

but of course richie was off fucking his girl. she was gorgeous, after all, easily one of the prettiest girls you’d ever seen, all smooth tanned skin and long blonde hair and hourglass figure. the kind of girl that richie deserved to have on his arm. the kind of girl that you would never be.

you knew this would happen. still, the pain of it takes your breath away.

you manage to stumble your way back over to the losers, greeting them with a smile that feels entirely too wooden. you play the part, laughing with bev and leaning into ben’s shoulder and gossiping quietly with eddie. you stick to your script, even when richie stumbles down the stairs sometime later with the girl tucked under his arm, both of their clothes in disarray and richie’s curls a wild mess. you’re such a seasoned professional that you barely miss a beat with eddie, even when your eyes find the hickey sucked under richie’s jaw and stay there.

for the rest of the night, you do your best to stay away from richie, always at least one loser between you two. you doubt he notices, too wrapped up in his girl. you think her name is sandy. she’s so beautiful it hurts.

eventually, you think it’s probably late enough that you can leave without raising much of a fuss. all of the other losers are still there, but bev’s already dozing against ben’s shoulder and bill is fighting a losing battle with his own drooping eyelids. you can probably slip out now, you figure, before you fall apart.

you manage to say your goodbyes as quickly as possible, waving as you turn to leave. you drove here with the others in stan’s car but it’s not too far of a walk. besides, the cold might do you some good—

a hand wraps around your wrist, jerking you back against a broad chest. when you turn, you come face to face with one richie tozier.

god, years later and he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. his jawline is sharp and square, his shoulders broad and sturdy, a whisper of the strength he will carry as a man but no less impressive now. gone are the days of the dorky kid you first met; he’d long ago traded in his hawaiian shirts for jean jackets and ripped jeans, silver rings glinting around his fingers and a chain hanging into the open collar of his t-shirt. again, you are reminded of the rumors that constantly follow him. you’re just angry they didn’t think he was hot from the very beginning.

“where are you going?” he asks, his words slurred. he’d been downing the shitty spiked punch earlier like it was his job.

you sigh, tilting your head back to look at him. there’s another hickey just to the left of his adam’s apple. “home,” you say, simply. “i’m tired.”

he frowns, stepping closer to you. the heat radiates off of him. “but i haven’t gotten to talk to you all night,” he whines, pouting ridiculously. “i missed you.”

it shouldn’t affect you. richie flirts like breathing, with anyone who will entertain him. it’s just how close you two are that means his flirting is usually aimed at you. “sorry, rich,” you say, and you find that you mean it. “next time, okay?”

his fingers release your wrist, only to catch on the curve of your waist and pull you close. the heat of his hand burns through the flimsy material of your top. you’re so focused on trying to stay upright just from that simple touch that you almost miss what he says next.

“can i come with you?” his voice is low, rough, more of a growl than anything else.

you blink, stupefied. usually you’re quicker than this, able to keep up a banter with him that’s rivaled only by him and eddie. now, you’re left tongue-tied, the endless wanting inside of you threading around your throat and choking you. “what?”

“can i come with you?” he repeats, looking down at you with his pretty eyes. his glasses slide down his nose. you fight the urge to push them back up. “we can take my truck. this party’s kind of a bore, honestly.”

you swallow, feeling your heart stutter. “what about sandy?” your mouth is so dry your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth.

richie shrugs, casual as all hell and infuriatingly attractive. “she can last without me for a bit. i’d rather hang out with my favorite girl.” he grins at you, his dimples curving into his cheek.

it makes you want to scream. he says things like this all the time, calls you doll and baby and love like he has the fucking right, constantly says you’re the most important person in his life. and yet, he doesn’t feel the same way for you as you do for him. and he never will.

still, you’re a sucker for him. your lips curl into a weak smile. “sure, rich,” you whisper; any louder and your voice will crack. “let’s get out of here.”

he doesn’t even stop to say goodbye to anyone else, just crowding against your back and walking behind you the entire way out the front door. he’s so close that his chest brushes against your shoulder blades, his fingertips grazing over your hip. you focus on not tripping.

once you’re outside, you hold your hand out, not looking at him. “keys,” you command.

he laughs, full and bright as he digs his keys out of his pocket. “yes, nurse ratched,” he teases, dropping them into your hand. “right away, nurse ratched.”

you scowl at him, turning away to stomp your way down the block to where richie parked. it’s not a long walk but the late autumn night is chilly, especially through the thin material of your top and your skirt. you shiver, wrapping your arms around yourself.

before you can really react, richie’s shrugging off his jacket, settling the heavy denim over your shoulders. he’s just wearing a plain black t-shirt underneath, the cotton clinging to his biceps and chest, and you can’t tear your eyes away, even when he murmurs, “should’ve said you were cold, doll.”

the jacket smells like him: the apple of his shampoo, the warmth of his deodorant, the smoke from his cigarettes. it shouldn’t be a pleasant scent but it is, because it means comfort. it means home. it means your best friend and the love of your life.

your shoulders slump, your hand trembling when you finally reach his truck and reach for the driver’s side handle. “thanks, richie,” you breathe, climbing into the car before he can answer.

you don’t really know what he had in mind when he asked to leave with you, but you’re too overwhelmed to handle being alone with him for too long. already, having him this close is fogging your brain. you need to get away from him so you can fall apart in peace.

you decide to just take him home and walk from there. it proves to be the best choice, because not even a minute into your drive his chin is dropping down to his chest, his eyelids closing in longer and longer blinks until finally, he’s dozing in the front seat, big body curled in your direction. it fills you with so much warmth you think you are burning from the inside out.

it should be ridiculous, how much you love him. you should be at your limit for how much you have to give, capped out a long time ago, but everyday you fall for him a little bit more. whenever he does something particularly sweet, or funny, or attractive, you feel a little more of yourself crumble away to lay at his feet. at this point, you’re more fracture than glass, crushed into a fine powder under richie’s foot.

by the time you pull into richie’s driveway, he’s snoring lightly, his glasses knocked askew on his face. part of you wants to let him sleep, but the bigger part of you knows you need to get him into the house. you already slack on your best friend duties by secretly being in love with him, you don’t need to leave him out in the cold too.

sighing, you turn the key and shut the car off, getting out and walking around to the passenger side. you shake his shoulder, gently at first, then rougher when he doesn’t respond. he grumbles, swatting at you. you can’t help but laugh, shaking him again.

“rich,” you croon, shaking him with both hands. he groans, scrunching his face up. you snicker. “c’mon asshole, you’re too heavy for me to carry.”

he pries one eye open, glaring at you. “or you’re too small to even try,” he taunts back, sticking his tongue out.

you roll your eyes, tugging him out of the car. he goes easily enough, stumbling a little bit leaning into your side as you lock the car behind you.

you weren’t kidding when you said he was heavy. he’s just so much bigger than you, tall and broad and undeniably masculine. you try your best to take some of his weight with an arm curved around his waist, but you don’t think you’re really doing anything.

the lights are all off inside, richie’s parents gone for the weekend at some conference for his dad’s work. it makes you feel better about how you two stumble around in the dark, knocking into the walls and tripping over the stairs. finally, without much incident, you make it into richie’s room, depositing him on his bed before he can fall and brain himself on his table. his desk light is on, throwing the room into shadow but just light enough for you to see his face.

his curls spread around him on his pillow, his eyes already closed. he’s on top of his covers but there’s not much you can do about that. the only thing you can do is untie his boots and pluck his glasses from his face, letting him get as comfortable as he can with his clothes still on.

you stop, looking down at him. he’s almost angelic in his sleep, peaceful and quiet for probably the only time in his life. he’s so gorgeous like this, vulnerable, unguarded. it makes you feel like a creep to be looking at this without his knowledge. or his approval.

biting your lip, you turn to the door, only stopping when you realize you still have his jacket. carefully, you shrug it off, going to lay it on his bed when his voice stops you.

“keep it.”

you look up to see his eyes half-open, locked on you. the lamp throws his face into sharp angles and shadow, but the expression on his face is soft. his fingers stretch towards you.

“it looks good on you,” he continues, his voice barely more than a whisper. “you should wear it all the time.”

you don’t know what to say, frozen at the foot of his bed. it feels like everything you’ve ever wanted, before you remember that he’s drunk and out of his mind. he probably thinks you’re sandy. there’s no way he’d ever say that to you.

but he keeps going, his voice rough, smooth velvet over steel. “you look good all the time. makes me feel insane. just wanna touch you but i can’t.”

your heartbeat is pounding in your ears. through trembling lips, you manage to get out, “what about sandy?”

he shrugs, a tiny movement that feels unsure. you’ve never seen him shy like this. the fact that sandy’s likely the reason makes you burn inside. “she’s cool and all, but she’s not you. you’re my best friend, (y/n). i love you.”

you gasp softly, nowhere near loud enough for him to hear. your heart feels like it’s being pulled in two. “i love you too, rich. more than you could ever understand.”

but he shakes his head firmly. “no, you don’t get it. i love you. you’re my—you’re my other half. my partner in crime. i’d be lost without you.” before you can respond, he sighs and whispers, “wish you were my girlfriend. not sandy.”

his eyes slip closed the next instant. as you stand there, simultaneously turned to stone and burning alive, he gives a soft snore, his features relaxing in sleep.

you stare down at him for what feels like centuries, suddenly too old to move. you look down at the jacket in your arms, then back up to him. a loose curl lays against his forehead. your fingers itch to push it behind his ear.

“i wish you were sober,” you whisper. he doesn’t twitch.

you leave the jacket laid at the foot of his bed when you go.

(part two)

[saturatedboy]

Slaughter of the Ram

Chapter 2 (Lord Heisenberg x Male!Oc)

Words: 3.8K

Smells of wet pine and a slight whiff of burning tobacco drifted around in Leonardo’s mind. The endless darkness that consumed his mind had turned and twisted into small patterns of purple and blue dots dancing around. Harshly, Leonardo had inhaled through his nose and realised his breath through his mouth, the noise coming out sounding more like a growl than a groan. The exhale of his breath had swooped back into his mind through his nostrils, them flaring at the intoxicated smell of alcohol. The sudden remembrance of the alcohol had alerted his brain, pain soon aching in his head area. Opening his eyes steadily, the blurred vision had shown shapes of brown and red in different shades and lighting. Being careful, he forced his eyelids to stay open and scanned the front of his sight lines, the pictures coming clearer through the sleepiness that had glazed over his eyeballs. Upon a wooden wall were different shapes and colours of bottles, all of them being alcoholic beverages- some even Leonardo didn’t know. Looking a little to the left, the barman from the night just gone was stood cleaning glasses, refilling some for the distance laughter that came from a booth that was behind Leo. To his right, he could see more of what his head way laying on, the bar top stretching on a little more until it rounded of by a 90-degree angle.

Regretting all decisions in his life for a split second, Leo used his hands that were previously rested on the slightly sticky counter and pushed himself up. Feeling a wave of relief wash over him as the bones from his neck cracked at the sudden movement. A delighted sigh came from between his thin lips, his tongue gliding over them both after to make his lips moist with his own saliva. Although the relief that had come over him felt amazing from within, his physical appearance had showed no relief for his own body as he was slouched over on a stool, hair messy and unkept tidy, small amount of saliva drifting down his chin and clothes all crinkled. Still in effect of the alcohol, his body swerved sideways about, his mind doing flips and his stomach rumbling for the loss of a meal. “Bar...bar tender!” He called out, being careful to not slur his words. The bar man looked over at his frame, only to look back at the glass he was drying and placed it down, walking over to the now hung-over Leonardo. Once there, he leaned his forearms on the bar and stared amusingly at Leo.

“Let me guess. Water right Leo?” He chuckled out, already walking away to go fetch the poor soul a glass of water and to take some medication for his head. Leo looked down, ashamed for people to see him like this in his aftereffect state.

“Yeah...a water will do fine thanks.” He replied as the tender had placed the glass down, filled half way to the brim with water. The water was clearly cool, the glass already having fresh droplets of water gathering on the outside of the glass itself. Being thankful, Leo nodded and grabbed the glass, almost moaning as the cool liquid fell down his throat.  

“Here take these,” The tender held his hand out, two pills being present, ”Their medicine for your headache.” Leo once again nodded, unable to speak a ‘thanks’ as he was already downing the water fully this time, using his free hand to grab only one of the pills. The tender closed his hand and went back to his original position, going back to cleaning glasses and serving the early birds who crave for alcohol to keep them going through the day. Leo placed his empty glass down and went to looking at the small pill between his fingers. Thinking nothing bad about it, he took it down dry swallowing and using his mouth to have it slip easily down. He just had to wait for the effects to keep in.

Looking off to the side now that he was more fully awake, Leo wasn’t surprise when he didn’t see the star guest of last night not next to him however. A slightly pang of guilt washed over him, had he made him leave? No, that thought was quickly shaken off as a loud voice came through then now open doors of the entrance. “Where is he- OI! Leo, no time to slack off!” The female's voice was clearly angry, and held so much of authority when saying his name out loud. Groaning and rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand roughly, Leo could only slightly whine when he felt the pull of his shirt became balled up in his friend Catherine’s grasp. “I knew he wouldn’t stay. Tch- trust a Lord they say. Fuck that never again.”

The pull on his shirt had Leo falling from his stool onto the ground, his knees buckling under him as his upper body was thrusted upwards from the iron grip Catherine held him in. ”Get up, we have to get to the school gosh dammit.”

“What’s got you all worked up?” Leo yawned, ready to listen to whatever has placed his best friend in such a foul mood. However other than getting an answer, he was met with provoked eyes as she flicked his forehead, letting go of his shirt making him collapse fully to the floor. Huffing, Leo pulled himself back onto his feet using the stool he had previously sat on to balance himself on his two feet. Watching Catherine storm away, Leo looked back at the tender and waved before following his childhood buddy.

The air was chill, not many villagers was up at this hour of the morning. Being quick on his feet, Leo caught up with Catherine who still hadn’t talked after getting him. Weighing his options, Leo kept quiet, whatever was going on in Catherine’s head she would tell him when she was ready with it. Instead of talking about her problems, Leo decided to create small talk to sooth her mind and his. “So, the children are out and here we are going to work still.”

“Of course, Leo, we are teachers. I’m just hoping my fresh order of food has come from the Duke.” She speaks, lifting her umber dress at the front as she and him came to the cobble stairs that lead towards the school itself. As they walked, they chatted, amongst throwing a few giggles here ns there. The mood did certainly brighten up as the sun had also, becoming brighter and clearer in the sky that was misted with fog.

At the school front, both Leo and Catherine had sorted their clothing, patting it down and straightening collars. “How I look?” Leo questioned, throwing his arms to the side in a presentable manner and showcasing his clothing from yesterday.

“You look like the same yesterday only this time you looked as though you just ran through a forest bush,” Her remarks never failed to make him chuckle, his smile never leaving his face as neither did hers. Nodding and slightly agreeing with her, they both entered the school through its double doors. The school was fairly small, only having one level to the building. It contained a total of 4 classes, an assembly room and toiletries. The head’s office being placed near the reception. As they opened the heavy doors, a man stood at the reception desked looked up, flashing a toothy grin with his stumble beard.  

“Glad to see you both in work, aren't nothing like staying inside on a cold day.” He said, his gruff voice echoing around the partially empty space. Catherine only waved, giving Leo a hard smack on the back as she walked off down the hallway to the side, turning into the first classroom on the left to start her own work. Just before Leo could speak, her voice screaming about how the order hadn’t been delivered was heard. The noise made both grown men laugh.

“Morning there, I’d be off. Have a good day.” Leonardo said, running his fingers through is hazel hair as the man behind the desk replied with a ‘good day to you too.”. Taking the same and only hallway that Catherine did, Leo walked right down it and entered the very last classroom on the right. When entered, he shut his door and walked past the small desks that were standing towards his own rather large one. When seeing his desk, he noticed something. ‘Where are my papers?’

Hitting his head with his hand, he rushed out his classroom and walked down the hallway towards the entrance. Just as he passed Catherine’s room, she popped her head out. “Whilst you're out there go pick my order up from the Duke please,” and off she went back in leaving no room for any protest against her request. Going along with it, Leo had rushed and left the school whilst getting the receptionist to stare at him with a questionable look and from another teacher of the building. He sped walked through the entire village that he grew up in and rounded about towards the Bar which was starting to become a fairly visited place of his. Clenching his chattering teeth as the coldness picked up, he entered the bar and walked towards his once seated place. A sigh left his lips as he saw his messenger bag untouched under his stool. “May mother Miranda have mercy on me,” he muttered, grabbing his bag and pulling it around his shoulders. Walking back out after looking through his bag, Leo kept his eyes firmly on the path he had to follow. Keeping lightly on his feet in case of any unseen ice, the young man had walked in the opposite direction of the school to head to the outside perimeter of the Village. Walking through the cold, he stuffed his hands into his pockets of his trousers, being careful to not prod himself with the pencil that had normally sat in there.

Although the sun was out, its rays of warmness had no touched the scratchy skin of Leo’s. Instead, he was given the sky’s shivers as he felt a snowflake swirl In front of his face. ”Snow, my favourite weather,” he muttered sarcastically, already feeling unimpressed however slightly better after taking the pill to help with his headache. Wandering around through the day was always better than night, there was no need to be scared of the mountains his village was nestled between. Some people from his village had even climbed the mountains, overlooking the view to see other parts of the land that seemed to stretch further than he had ever thought. It is a sight to forever hold though, everyone that had the wonders of being on top of the mountains had witnessed the true feeling of being free.

Leo smiled at the memory of him and his own family travelling up there once. He was about 8 at the time and was gifted a pencil and book to write in for his stories for his birthday. The climb was awful however, his small legs felt like collapsing but with his father by his side, he managed through it. He remembered reaching the top and grabbing his small book from his coat pocket, just so he could write everything he could see. Villages, lakes, a factory, castle and eve a vast forest or woods. He didn’t know what it was at the time but he felt onto of the world. He felt like he ruled over everything. “I should visit them soon,” the memory of his family had him thinking about them. They had been out of contact after he got his teaching job because he was trying to start his own life by himself. A faint smile brushed on his lips as he walked nearer to the mountains front, where carts would travel to and from to get to other villages.  

The sound of hooves clapping against the stone ground had Leo smiling even more. ‘Finally,’ he thought as he spotted in the distance the cart of horses, a jolly voice accompanying them both. Striding towards the cart, Leo saw the horses first as the cart was turned like it had only just entered his village quarters. Cupping his hands, Leo blew hot air into them and rubbed them together, their friction creating warmth for him. Just as he placed his arms back to his sides, he moved past the horses and walked to the front, only to stop quickly as he saw more than one familiar face.

“Ah Leonardo, please come come. I'm sure you've came to collect the order for Miss Chef aren’t you,” The Duke joked, laughing slightly at his own humorous tone.  

“I am indeed or else I’m sure the children will be coking me next sir,” Leo replied respectfully, standing next to the other familiar face all whilst maintain eye contact with the Duke.

“I’ll be with you in a second Leonardo, just speaking with the Lord here is all. Please excuse me for a second whilst I gather your order Lord Heisenberg.” Leo and the Lord Heisenberg watched as Duke had entered into his cart, the slight shake of the cart moving from his weight and rummaging through whatever was in there. Both men stood in silence, the only noises being the clicking of the hooves or the whilst from the wind that was picking up slightly more as each second flew by.  

Lord Heisenberg next to him had rummaged through his coats pockets to take out a cigar and lighter. Lighting the cigar, he flipped the top of the silver lighter back over the wheel and dropped it back into his pocket. Taking the brown cigar to his mouth, he took a deep inhale as the end of the stick flamed brighter. Taking it out from between his lips he blew the smoke into the air, not slightly bothered if it went into Leo’s direction. “So, you’re ‘ere being an errand boy?” He grumbled out, taking another inhale of his cigar.

Leo relaxed slightly, finding the voice to the Lord to be rather comforting after the events of last night. “I’m no errand boy, I forgot my things and, on my way out, my friend asked me to get her order. Just doing a favour is all.” Leo and Heisenberg stood in silence one day, the atmosphere around them becoming calm as more snowflakes had decided to create their own routine about dancing around them.  

“So, a teacher huh? Must be strange teaching up there with all the demons running around.” The joke had made a small chortle escape between Leo’s lips, a smirk finding a way onto Heisenberg’s as he heard the male’s laugh.

Leo turned to face Heisenberg, looking a little up since he was about an inch taller than him. “They learn quick, already reading one of my favourites. I wouldn’t say they are demons; I would quote them to be foxes for the many excuses they come up with when they don’t hand their homework in.” Heisenberg had thrown his cigar somewhere into the snow behind them having finished it. The after taste had swarmed his mouth, making him suck on his top lip to get the dry texture fairly moist. Running his rather thick muscle tongue over his lips, Heisenberg had dazed down to stare at the young man next to him.

“Foxes huh? Quite the metaphoric person ain’t ya.” Leo shook Heisenberg’s words off, finding no need to try change his mind about him. Writing and saying such words were just natural to his lips, any other way seemed more foreign than he would want. Silence had struck around them, their final words being lost through the now chilly air that had rained snowflakes.

“Excuse the wait gentlemen, I have gathered both of your orders,” The large man had left the comforting warmth of his cart to sit on the outside ledge, holding two large bags in both of his clammy hands that were littered with many rings. A sweet smile was plastered onto his face, eyes beady as he leaned forward and gave the respectful bag to each of the other men. “It was a pleasure doing business with both of you. I shall be arriving here next week again Leo. Would you like anything whilst you’re here?” The Duke had asked, placing his now empty hands onto his stomach whilst leaning slightly back.

Thinking for a moment, Leo had returned the sweet smile back to the Duke. “Do you have any pots of ink and any parchment paper? I'm running low on both.”

“Ah yes, I had restocked them before I came here. How many would you like?”

“Just 2 pots of ink and about 2 books of the parchment paper please as well.” Leo waited as the Duke had travelled back into his cart, his horses neighing at the moment. The cart moved left and right, making Leo take a step back in case of any sudden jerk movements. However, his move did not go unnoticed by the Lord.

“Awww, is the writer scared of movement?” He teased, smiling as he swung his bag of equipment over his shoulder whilst leaning on his large hammer with the other. Leo ‘tsked’ and closed his eyes.

“I am merely looking out for myself sir, if something were to happen- especially in this weather- I'd rather be prepared.” Leo spat out, not meaning his words to be accompanied with such venom, it wasn’t like he had anything against Lord Heisenberg. His words had made Heisenberg chuckle out loud, finding amusement with Leo the villager.

“Here we are,” Leo silently thanked the world as he heard the Duke’s voice. He wanted to get going soon, the chill was starting to hit him badly and his fingers wrapped around the bag of food he could only guess were becoming numb. “2 pots of ink and books. That'll be 150 Lei please.” The Duke leaned forward and handed the materials to Leo, who took them in gratitude.

Just as Leo reached down into his messenger bag to gather his money and place his things in there, a small pouch was thrown into the Duke’s hand. ”Here, I’ll pay for him. Think of it as a way to pay back for the enjoyable night I had.” Heisenberg spoke, turning to Leo and tipping his hat. Leo moved his hand away from his bag and rubbed he back of his neck sheepishly.  

“It was only a couple of drinks; the bar is always filled with guys like me.”

“Oh, really now? Please, you weren’t the one moving away from me now were you.” Leo held back his tongue, looking the other way from Heisenberg’s direction.

“If that’s all gentlemen I shall get going. Safe travels the both of you.” The Duke had waved at both men, pushing himself back into his cart one last time and shutting the doors leaving both Leonardo and Lord Heisenberg alone once again. With snow falling around the both of them, Leo had agreed with himself to start heading back to the school.

“This has been fun but it’s time for me to leave and head back. Safe travels Lord Heisenberg.” Leo had spoken, adjusting his grip on the bag of food as he threw it over his shoulder. He walked away, back turned-on Heisenberg and started his walk back to his home village. As he walked, he listened to the footsteps that followed him. This continued for about 2 minutes before he sighed, rolled his eyes and turned to face whoever was following him. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to the Village of Shadows?” Leo asked, watching as Heisenberg had followed him with a shit eating grin.

“Now now, and here I thought we were beginning to become friends,” The smile never faltered off his lips as he said that, finding the faint blush on Leonardo’s cheek from the cold sort of nice to look at. Something new.

Leo shook his head gently and turned, walking away from Heisenberg not even caring anymore if he followed him or not. However, he thought being followed by a Lord would be comforting- absolutely not. He felt his stomach do turns, his head ache was starting to come back and his hands were becoming warmer as his grip around the food bag was becoming less loose. “So, you just wear thin layers in this cold?” The Lord asked, walking alongside the younger male. Leo shook his head again, his hair shaking along with him.

“I would be wearing a coat but someone had taken me away from the warmth of the bar and took me straight to work. I would of gone home and got my coat but no, work is very import around the village.” Heisenberg silently nodded, looking ahead as he let Leo lead the way back to the Village of the Ram.

“You got a lover?” The sudden observed question made Leo trip slightly, he managed to catch himself however before any harm could be done. A blush raised from his cheeks to his ears as he started to run his mouth dry.

“A lover- gosh no. I-I haven’t even got time for those kinds of things. I’m a writer, my life is dedicated to spreading the word and I have work to do, children to teach. They are the future; they must learn the history and how to read and write.” Leo sighed, feeling slightly guilty for speaking so quickly. “Anyway, no woman in the village can woo me. Maybe Catherine but not me. I don't even love women like that.”  

Heisenberg quirked a brow at his words. ‘Don’t like women like that? How...peculiar.’ The Lord smirked, placing his own bag in the hand of his hammer and swinging his arm around the shoulders of Leo, making him slightly jump on contact.

“You don’t need to love women, you can just have a night stand and-” Leo pushed Heisenberg away, adjusting his shirt and placing his collar straight.

“Gosh no- just no. I don’t like women like that, simply. I like guys.” He put it simply, now walking with heavy footsteps and deep ragged breaths. ‘Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck’ Leo chanted in his mind, finding now that his own actions may cause him to get harmed.

“So, you’re gay.”  

“...Yes, I’m gay.”

“Eh okay.” The answer from the Lord left Leonardo speechless. Not many people in the village really supported his rights of love, thinking a man and woman should be together to bare children since foreigners never come around. Just to know the Lord Heisenberg, apparently one of the top Lords ever was okay with him liking men, had a rather shocking effect on Leo’s mind.

“Okay,” he repeated, smiling a little at the acceptance he was given off a Lord. Looking far ahead was the opening entrance back home, back to his home village. Being slightly more comfortable with the Lord trailing behind him, Leo turned his head and showed his smile at Heisenberg, who in favour smiled back. “Welcome back to the Village of Ram,” Leo said, turning back to face the entrance again with a slight skip in his step.

[justpeachii]

Pairing: Sugawara Koushi x Female Reader 

Summary: After getting bored with your love life, you download one of those silly dating apps. However, things don’t go as planned, leaving you crying in your best friends arms.

Genre: College AU (Juniors), angst, comfort, platonic, mutual pining but both are dumb, kind of a cliche ending but :’)

Warnings: profanity and that is all.

Word Count: 3.2 K

Author’s Note: hello! This is my first fic here on the good ole tumblr and i hope you enjoy it! This was very much (sadly) based off of real life events and really just something i wanted to write to get my feelings out. i do suggest listening to the little playlist below while reading because not only were they what i listened to while writing, but also what got me through it (along with some great friends). Also uh… i didn’t expect this to be this long hehe YIKES. Anyways, enjoy! (also i’m SORRY TENDO he got the short end of the stick 😭 i’ll make it up i swear)

also tagging the lovely @noya-sannnn​ !! who inspired me to write this!!

Playlist

blame game (acoustic) by mxmtoon

Grow As We Go by Ben Platt

dream of you (acoustic) by mxmtoon

did it to myself by orla gartland 

ready now by dodie 

Comfort Crowd by Conan Gray

Late nights were always the worst. Between the endless torrent of thoughts or the overwhelming amount of homework, sleep was a luxury you could hardly afford. Afterall, juggling not only 18 credit hours of classes, a part-time job, and work projects for your major was not the norm, but for you, it was. 

Not only was sleep something you often overlooked, but love was as well. That is until one night you decided to download one of those silly dating apps on one of those late nights. After choosing a few of your best selfies and creating a fun little bio, you got to swiping.

Left. Left. Left. Pause. Scroll profile. Left. Pause. Scroll profile. Pause. Right.

It’s a Match!

After a moment of hesitation, you closed out of the message prompt, continuing to swipe and scroll before feeling the weight of sleep upon your eyelids. 

It had been two months since matching with Tendo Satori. Two months full of laughter, late nights at each other’s apartments, and confessions of love. Or at least what you thought was love. What started as a spark had grown to the size of a wildfire, burning inside your chest. A newfound love so strong it made your heart ascend to the highest of places.

However, what goes up must come down. 

While you would like to believe it was sudden, all the warning signs were there. Him growing distant, opening texts but not responding, cancelling plans last minute; the list goes on. The one thing that was sudden was the text you received before class.

Of course this would happen to you fifteen minutes before a two hour lecture. The last thing you would want to see: a paragraph of half-assed excuses followed up by “i just don’t think im ready for a relationship”.

You wanted to scream, throw your phone against the concrete, cause a scene, but you didn’t. As the tears began to flow, you scrolled on your phone for your most trusted friend, pressing on the call button next to their name. 

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Y/n? Don’t you have class soon? What’s going on?”

At this point, you were holding back sobs, voice coming out in a quiet whisper as you held the phone to your ear with a shaking hand.

“Suga… I have class in a few, but I- he-” you couldn’t bring yourself to say the words. What would you tell him after all? While you and Tendo had never put a label on it, it still felt like a break-up. 

“He? Y/n, are you okay?” There was a faint rustle on his end of the line, the sound of him putting his shoes on. “Can you take a few breaths for me? Take your time, I’m here when you’re ready to talk.” 

Doing as he said, you took a few snot-filled breaths before managing to get the tears to stop falling. While you did so, you found a spot outside the lecture hall, sitting beneath a tree and leaning your head against its trunk, letting your eyes close. 

“He ended it. Tendo… He texted me saying all this stuff of how he was sorry for pushing me away and that he wasn’t ready for a relationship.” You said in a firm voice. It was as if you were willing yourself to be strong for his sake, not wanting to worry him more than he was. 

There was a pause from Sugawara as he processed what you had just said. When he spoke, his tone was bitter, one you rarely heard.  

“That piece of shit. Over a text! He didn’t have the decency to call you or, hell, even set up a dinner or something!” He gave a sigh followed by a beat of silence. “I’m so sorry, Y/n… I know it is probably the dumbest question to ask, but are you okay?”

“Not really, but I have to be since I have class in,” you glanced at your watch, groaning, “six minutes. I don’t really want to go, I just want to go home, curl up in my blanket, and cry.”

While your heart was breaking over some boy you had known for a couple of months, Sugawara Koushi’s was breaking for you. Not only was he your closest friend since you transferred to the same university, he was also head-over-heels for you. When you mentioned to him the dates, he feigned happiness for your sake, supporting you through all of it. Now, hearing you in shambles on the other end of the phone made him want to run to you, pull you into an embrace, and give you the world.

Sadly, he couldn’t do what he wished. He knew your professor had a strict attendance policy, which meant that you would have to sit in class for two hours with a broken heart. Two hours for him to prepare as much of the world as he could. 

“I know this is one of the last things you want to hear right now, Y/n, but I know it will get better. If your professor didn’t have such a stick up his butt you would be able to skip without a problem.” As your friend spoke, the tears began to fall once more, your free hand coming up to swipe them away. 

“I know it won’t be for another two hours, but after your class, do you want to come over and we can have a movie night? We don’t have to talk about anything, just watch Tangled or Your Name.”

It took you a minute to find your voice once more, the ball of despair tight in your throat, leaving you to silently nod. Then you find your voice.

“I’d like that, Suga… I’d love it, in fact. I just… I don’t want to be alone tonight, but I also don’t want to bother you and I know-”

“You know you’re never a bother. Trust me, Y/n. After class, come over to my place. You can have my bed and I’ll take the couch.” His voice cut you off from finishing your thought, leaving your lips parted with an apology, a breath falling out in its place.

For the first time in the past nine minutes, you smiled. It wasn’t much, but Sugawara could hear it in your voice from the other side as you whispered, “Okay. Thank you, Suga. I love you, you know?” 

“I love you, too.” His own face was graced with a smile, though behind it he held all his emotions. How he wished to hear those words uttered in a non-platonic way. “Now get to class before you’re late! I’ll see you in a couple hours.”

While you were busy in class, both from note taking, group discussions, and trying your best to not break down any minute, Sugawara was busy in his own way. As soon as the phone call ended, he was out the door, making his way to the nearest convenience store, buying the essentials for healing a broken heart. Four pints of ice cream, a mix of his favorite flavors and yours, a couple bags of chips, some candy, and even a new stuffed teddy bear later, he was checking out, checking his phone constantly for the time, in case he had spent more time than he thought.

With his bags in hand, he made his way back to his apartment, getting everything set up for the movie night. While it wasn’t going to be a joyous occasion, he wanted it to have a happier atmosphere than what the topic of discussion would be. He placed the bags of chips and candy on the coffee table, the teddy bear placed between them; ice cream in the freezer for future consumption. Once the snacks were in place, he began to gather the softest blankets, grabbing your favorite along the way. 

Every time you would come over, no matter the temperature outside, he would find you curled up in it. One finals week while the two of you were cramming for an exam the next morning, he found you dozed off at the coffee table, the same fuzzy grey blanket wrapped around your shoulders. He even took a picture of you, asleep with your cheek in hand, other hand slack from writing notes that had since been abandoned. You still didn’t know about the picture to this day, but it was one he cherished. 

Time seemed to pass quickly as he finished getting everything together, not realizing the time until you knocked at his door. Answering it within seconds, he gave you a gentle smile, opening his arms for a hug he knew you desperately needed. That was all it took for the dam to break once more. As your arms wrapped around him, the tears fell in steady streams onto his t-shirt. 

His hands rubbed soothing circles on your back as he slowly shuffled backwards, pulling you two past the threshold, allowing him to close the door behind you. One hand rested on the back of your head, holding you close to his chest, the other in the middle of your back. The two of you stood there for what seemed like hours before you lifted your head, eyes red and puffy. Sugawara’s hand moved from the back of your head to hold your face, wiping away any remaining tears.

“Sorry for soaking your shirt.” you said with a small laugh, as you finally met his gaze. Warm, brown eyes full of nothing but comfort and safety met yours. There was a soft smile on his lips, while it was kind, it held a hint of sadness. 

“Don’t worry, I like my shirts soggy.” He said with a chuckle of his own. After making sure your face was dry of any tears, he nodded towards the living room. “Now come on, I have a little surprise for you!” 

After slipping your shoes off, you followed him into the living room, spotting the assortment of treats, along with the teddy bear. You swore you were done crying, but a few tears found their way out once more, but this time for a different reason. As you made your way to the coffee table, Sugawara disappeared to the kitchen, grabbing two pints of ice cream and spoons. When he reappeared, you were already curled up on the couch, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, bear in your lap, and a few tears rolling down your face.

“You really didn’t have to do all of this, Suga. A movie and talking would have been just fine,” you said as he sat down next to you handing off your chosen flavor and spoon. He scoffed at your remark, gesturing with his spoon.

“And just fine isn’t good enough! No one deserves to be broken up with through a text. Especially you, Y/n. Why, the next time I see him, he better watch his back.” He said, his glare pointed off to the side.

“There will be no fighting him, okay? Physical or verbally. What happened is… What happened. I can’t say I didn’t see it coming when I could have if I just looked.” You said, opening up the pint and taking a spoonful. With a small huff, he copied your motions, a beat of silence falling between the two of you. 

The lull in conversation lasted for a little while as neither knew what to say. You didn’t want to speak anymore on what had happened, but it was eating away at you. Sugawara could tell it was, so finally he spoke, clearing his throat before doing so.

“I’ll listen,” he said, his gaze meeting yours. The look you gave him was almost that of a puppy that had been scolded. Hurt. Sad. “When you’re ready, I’ll listen. You can tell me everything, okay?”

The two of you sat in silence for a minute more before he decided to put on a movie, filling the void. By the halfway point, the two of you had finished your pints, the cartons since abandoned on the coffee table. The other snacks are left untouched. Finally, you turn towards him and take a deep breath.

“I’m ready now.”

Those three words were all it took for him to pause the movie and shift to face you. For the next two hours, you spilled your emotions to him, both the highs and lows of the two month endeavor. At some point, he had pulled you into his arms and between his legs, his back against the arm of the couch with you on his chest. Your tears soaked his shirt once more as his hands ran up and down your back. Soon, you found yourself asleep in his embrace, exhausted from emotions.

Sugawara looked down at your finally peaceful face, cheeks stained from tears. Carefully, he placed a kiss on the crown of your head, closing his eyes as he silently prayed he would never see you like this again. 

After that night, you and Sugawara started to spend more time together. Not only for study nights, but weekly movie watch nights, daily lunch meet-ups, and impromptu ice cream runs. 

The three months leading up to finals left your old feelings to return, but somehow stronger. While you had gotten over Tendo rather quickly (and likewise with him. Not a week after your “break up” he was in a relationship with someone else) you didn’t want to admit your feelings for your best friend. At least that was the plan until a particularly late night study session that had you banging your head against a textbook that lay on the coffee table. 

“You know you can’t actually cram the information into your memory, right?” Sugawara said with a chuckle. You groaned in response, wadding up a piece of paper and throwing it at him. He batted it away swiftly, leaning on his elbows.

“I know that, but what I don’t know is how I’m expected to memorize all of these algorithms in order to pass!” You whined, giving up as you flopped onto your back, tugging the blanket that was around your shoulders closer. From his spot across the table, Sugawara continued to type away on his laptop, stifling a yawn. 

Laying there, you looked up at the ceiling, thinking back over the past few months. Your mind wandered back to that one terrible day and the lengths that Sugawara had gone through to make sure you were alright. It brought a smile to your face as you closed your eyes, giving a soft sigh. This caught the grey-haired boy’s attention, looking away from his work to see you with the dumbest grin on your face. He couldn’t help his own from pulling at his lips.

“What are you thinking about over there? Doesn’t seem like it’s math by the smile on your face.” 

“You.”

Caught off guard, he blinked a few times before responding. You, however, hadn’t realized what you had said just yet. While it wasn’t wrong, it was very bold.

“Me? What about me?” He asked, his curiosity overpowering his nerves for the time being.

“How you surprised me that one night. Ice cream, snacks, a teddy bear… Your smile, how much you always seem to make me laugh, you good of a hugger you are… How much I think I love you.” As you listed things off, you grew quieter and quieter, your voice a whisper by the end. 

Sugawara’s heart felt like it had just gotten done running sprints after losing a match back in high school. He felt his cheeks flush as he shifted to better look over the table at you. Never had you said you loved him outside of a friendly manner and here you were, on his living room floor confessing your love for him. 

“You think… You love me, Y/n?” The breath that he had been holding exhaled in a sigh afterwards, only to be replaced with another as he waited for you to respond. 

It was then that you realized what you had said. Immediately, you felt your cheeks flush as you sat up with wide eyes, abandoning the blanket on the floor. Looking like a deer in the headlights, you searched his face for a sign of anything. What you found were cheeks as red as your own, a hint of excitement behind his eyes, and a semi-confused look plastered on his face. You felt it was as good a time as any to get it off the table. Taking a deep breath, you nodded.

“I do, Suga. And I have since the first semester of sophomore year and I never told you because I didn’t think you felt the same way or that things would get a little awkward between the two of us. I tried to just push the feelings away or ignore them, hoping they would go away, but they didn’t and I was too dumb to say anything.”

In the silence that followed, you prepared yourself for the worst. However, the worst didn’t come. Instead, a small string of laughter fell from his lips as the corners of his eyes crinkled, a bright smile lighting up his face. 

“Then we are both dumb, Y/n! I did all of those things for you that night because not only are you my best friend, but I truly do love you. It hurt seeing you like that and I knew I couldn’t tell you how I felt because it wasn’t right.” 

Letting out a sigh of relief, you moved back to the coffee table, placing your elbows on it before laying your hands flat on the surface. Soon, his hands found yours, thumb brushing against the back of your hands. With a small laugh, you gave a small shrug.

With a breathy laugh, you responded, “Even so, why didn’t either of us say something sooner! Then we would have avoided all of that to begin with.” 

Sugawara just shook his head, giving your hands a tight squeeze. “True, but that was the past. Where we are now is where we were meant to be. Like I told you, it got better.”

“It did, and it was all because of you.” Turning your hands over in his, you gave them a gentle squeeze, to which he returned.

“I love you, Y/n”

“I love you, too, Suga.”

[jaskiersvalley]

okay, hello?? your most recent fic, silver tongue and silver hand, murdered me on the spot. just a straight shot through the heart. crying was involved, with many multiple tears. i just need you to understand the amount of emotions i feel. and i'm not usually into geraskefer, but my god. beautiful 🥺🥺🥺💕

The duality of a writer is going “oh no! I’m so sorry! Let me get you some tissues and a hot drink!” in a mad panic. But at the same time there’s a sly little voice going “hehehe. Good! Cry! I have done my job.” So please accept my humble apologies with a side of gleeful delight. That fic was one that hurt me too, to be fair. And same hat, Nonnie. I’m not all that into Geraskefer but they do lend themselves to some beautiful angst and hurt/comfort.

Let me see if I can atone for your tears a little with two soft idiots trying to fall in love while their snarky friend is just trying to live her best life.

Just Kiss Already

Feigning intimacy was easy. Jaskier could fake it with anyone really. A soft caress, a kiss, they were all meaningless to him. But it made his bed partners so happy, feel so cherished that it was difficult not to. Because, at the heart of is all, the only thing Jaskier wanted was to spread happiness and joy. It was why he sang, why he followed Geralt around. Well, that and the rather selfish desire to be adored and lauded by the masses. But that was neither here nor there. If he could, he wanted to be able to leave behind a happy partner sated and feeling a little bit special.

With all his abilities to pretend, it was perhaps a bit of a surprise to everyone, including Jaskier himself, that he couldn’t manage it when it really mattered. He and Geralt had been dancing around each other for so long, reaching but pulling back at the last minute and brushing off moments as if they were accidents and nothing more. It got to the point that anyone who spent enough time with them realised. And got very very sick of watching their fumblings.

Poor Yennefer felt the brunt of this. She flitted in and out of Geralt’s life thanks to Destiny. At least they had managed to temper their connection into something they were both content with. Friends with benefits of decidedly not the sexual nature. Rather, if Yennefer ever needed a man for any reason (rarely a witcher, usually she just needed a male companion to an event or a meeting), she could call upon Geralt. Who, in turn, had a sorceress’ power at his disposal when he and Jaskier managed to make a hash of things and needed to magical rescue. It happened at a higher frequency than Geralt wanted to admit to.

This was the reason Yennefer got a front row seat to all the self-generated angst between two idiots. One a self-proclaimed emotionless monster, the other a lover of everyone and everything. And yet, neither of them were living up to their labels.

In the taverns they frequented, Jaskier would play to a captive audience, wink and flirt his way through sets. But as soon as he was done and sat down next to Geralt, the suave bard was gone, replaced by a hopeless idiot who stared but looked away when his gaze would have been met. For his part, Geralt was just as bad, staring lovesick at Jaskier as he played but averted his glances whenever the bard looked longingly his way. It made Yennefer want to smack them on the backs of the heads.

The next time Yennefer was with the two buffoons, they seemed to have gotten over their charade of looking when the other wasn’t. And while Yennefer thought it would be better after that, if anything, it was worse. There were pining looks, dinners where they stared into each other’s eyes for so long, it was Yennefer who felt awkward.

“You have a bit of-” Geralt gestured to Jaskier’s face without quite touching him. And Jaskier dipped his head with a soft “oh” and tried to wipe whatever it was.

“No, you missed it. Let me.” Geralt reached at the same time as Jaskier grabbed a napkin. “Oh. You got it.” Never before had Yennefer heard Geralt sound so disappointed. Not even when he lost his favourite Gwent card to her.

Things. Just. Got. Worse. They were camping in some woods after a hunt. Geralt was fresh back from the stream and clean though still a little on the stinky side. Guts and blood really imbued the skin with a hefty stench that took days and a lot of scrubbing to get out. He was sat by the fire, wrapped in a throw and stoically pretending he wasn’t cold. A witcher wasn’t affected by the elements. And Yennefer was a two bit hack who pulled an endless string of handkerchiefs from her sleeve.

“Here,” Jaskier beat her scathing comment with an offer of his fur from his bedroll. “You looked chilly.”

“Hmm.” It was as much of a thanks as Geralt could ever offer but he turned to gaze at Jaskier rather than the fire. They were close, so close. Jaskier was frozen, hands on Geralt’s shoulders as he adjusted the fur. Eyes dipped down to lips, tongues darted out to wet them in anticipation and Yennefer could have wept happy tears that her two idiots were finally going to resolve all their stupid tension.

At the last minute Jaskier pulled away and held his lute aloft. “Have I sung you my new song? It’s called Witcher’s Chill and is bound to be a hit. Especially in the winter months.”

The spell was broken, Geralt was blinking and pulling upright, building up the layers like the onion he was. And Yennefer could have screamed. For all that they had almost achieved, Jaskier was doing the equivalent of pulling away with a laugh and asking for a high five. Which Yennefer would freely give him. To the face.

“Can’t you two just kiss already?” She stomped her foot in frustration. “You both want it. It’s obvious. So why hold back?”

What she didn’t anticipate was Jaskier’s all too honest “because it’s scary when it actually means something.”

“What he said.” Geralt jabbed a thumb towards Jaskier. Yennefer actually screamed in annoyance at that. All their bickering. Their stupid disagreements. And when they finally share an opinion on something, it was about how terrifying it was to kiss the other because they had feelings.

Enough was enough. Yennefer stood up and stalked past them but not before grabbing the backs of their heads and shoving them towards each other none too gently. “That was as good as a love confession. Now get over yourselves. I expect you two to have figured your shit out by morning. I’m going to bed.”

Those were words she never thought she would regret. But regret them she did. Because while it was lovely that her two idiots finally figured things out. Now, she didn’t have a moment of peace and quiet as they kissed and giggled without restraint. Nobody was stupid enough to interrupt a witcher. Especially not when he looked to be having fun and smiling. After all, if a witcher was busy with his bard, he was less likely to terrorise the locals and haunt them with his grimace, brooding and general gloom.

[earliebirb]

stevetony + "one person confesses when they think the other person thinks they're asleep BUT WAIT they're not actually asleep and heard the whole thing"? Thank you so much for your lovely fics, they always make my day and I love your style!! 💕💕💕

AAAAAAAH JEN. You’re too sweet! :(

Thank you so much for the prompt! I adore this prompt. Also, for some reason it turned into another vague college au??? More like vague no powers au with a sprinkle of college, but yeah. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one and I hope I did the prompt justice!

ignorance is (not) bliss

steve/tony, au: college, fluff, getting together, 2074 words 

“Come on, Tony. Let’s go.” 

Steve has an arm around Tony’s waist and one of Tony’s arm slung over his shoulder, guiding him step by step as they trudge their way home. After a few of Tony’s wobbly steps forward, however, it becomes clear that they’re not going to make any significant progress in their homeward journey if they keep going like this.

Steve stops in his tracks and Tony’s body sways into Steve’s. 

Tony looks at him and giggles, blinking languidly. Under the yellow streetlights, drunk and unable to walk in a straight line, he still looks unfairly breathtaking. 

Steve ducks his head, biting his lip to suppress his laughter. He sighs before crouching in front of Tony decisively. 

“Come on, I’ll carry you home.” 

There is a brief silence in which Steve becomes worried that Tony is too drunk to understand what he’s supposed to do, but then he hears the shuffle of Tony’s sneakers on the ground and then he feels Tony’s weight settling over his own body, his arms looping around Steve’s neck from behind. Steve reaches behind him and hooks his arms under Tony’s knees before standing up with a grunt. 

“Hold onto me, okay? Don’t let go,” Steve says, turning his head to the side as far as his head allows to attempt to look at Tony. He can’t actually see Tony’s face, but the man hums contentedly into Steve’s neck and Steve shivers when he feels the cold tip of Tony’s nose brush against his skin. 

“I’m going to take that as a yes.” Steve grins to himself, overcome with fondness. There’s something about drunk, pliant, and half-awake Tony that pulls at his heartstrings and overwhelms him with the need to protect.

He begins walking quietly then, the weight of Tony comforting and warm on his back, dirt and asphalt crunching under his shoes. 

“Did you have fun today?” Tony slurs into his shoulder.

“Yeah, I did,” Steve replies sincerely, his mind recalling the events of the night with a smile. Tony had organized a surprise party at a karaoke bar attended by their small circle of friends. Steve had a surprising amount of fun just watching his friends goof around half drunk, enjoying their terrible renditions of various songs. Tony’s own ear-splitting cover of Highway to Hell is Steve’s personal favorite. 

“Although, I would argue that you ended up having way more fun than I did,” Steve teases. Tony giggles, his breath warm against Steve’s neck. 

“Happy birthday, Steve,” he mumbles sleepily into Steve’s shirt. 

“Thank you, Tony.” 

They spent the next few minutes in companionable silence before Steve attempts to make conversation as he turns the corner of the street. 

“Hey, how much did you actually drink? Can’t remember the last time I saw you this drunk.”

His inquiry is promptly greeted by resounding silence. 

He comes to a stop, glancing back at Tony. “Tony?”

More silence. Without the sound of his walking, he can hear Tony’s steady breathing.

“Out like a light, huh?” Steve says to himself, before lifting Tony further up on his back and resuming the walk home.

“You know, Tony. I really did have a lot of fun today. I always tell you that I don’t like surprises, but I find that I don’t mind them so much… coming from you,” Steve confesses, and he doesn’t know why he’s doing this, pouring his heart out to Tony when the man is clearly not awake. Perhaps it’s the fact that it’s 3 AM on a Friday night. The neighborhood is mostly asleep and the way the world is quiet right now makes him feel sort of invincible, gives him the kind of courage to do things he wouldn’t normally do, makes him feel that anything he does right now isn’t quite real and won’t have any permanent consequences. 

So maybe that’s why he continues to say whatever he wants, opening the floodgates for secret confessions his heart longs to say aloud, letting the words flow out without the common sense from his brain there to stop them.

“I loved the surprise party. I loved watching all of you sing your hearts out. Although, I don’t know if we can call most of what we did ‘singing’. Maybe more… passionate screaming.” Steve chuckles.

“But if you want me to be honest? This, right here, is my favorite part of the entire night,” Steve says, relishing the way Tony’s brown curls tickle the side of his neck, his head lolling back and forth on Steve’s shoulder with every step he takes. 

“I would give up even the most amazing, crazy, mind-blowing party if I got to spend a night with you, just the two of us. I really don’t care what we do, just as long as you’re by my side. Hell, you could even slander my favorite TV show and talk my ears off about how scientifically inaccurate it is.” Steve feels his own lips turn up in a helpless smile just at the thought of it, a wave of longing so powerful taking over him and leaving him breathless.

Steve takes a deep breath. 

“The truth is… I’m in love with you, Tony,” he finally says out loud, for the first time ever. The way he is able to express how he has always felt about Tony without any inhibitions feels unbelievably freeing, a lightness filling his limbs, making his steps lighter. He feels untouchable.

“I’ve known this for a while and it’s simultaneously the best and worst feeling in the entire world. Sometimes when I look at you, I feel like I love you so much my heart is going to burst with it.”

He makes it into the elevator of their apartment building, pressing the button for their floor. His own reflection stares back at him from the smooth metal elevator doors as they close. Then his eyes fall on Tony, fast asleep on his back. 

“Some days, it makes it hard to breathe. Other days… On days like today, it leaves me feeling all dopey and happy like I’m on cloud nine,” he says, his voice disconcertingly loud in the small enclosed space. He allows himself a few seconds to lean back against Tony’s warmth and lets his eyes linger on their reflection, indulging in the brief fantasy of them being an actual couple. They look good together. 

The elevator dings. Steve carries Tony out of the elevator and manages to punch in the passcode to Tony’s apartment door—right across from his—with some difficulty, all the while making sure Tony doesn’t slide off his back. He finally makes his way into Tony’s bedroom, knowing the layout of the apartment so well he could probably traverse it in his sleep. Gingerly, he sits down on Tony’s bed, extricating Tony from himself slowly so as not to rouse him from his sleep. His back feels instantly cold from the loss of warmth, his heart bereft. He takes off Tony’s sneakers one by one and tries his best to maneuver his body under the sheets, tucking him in.

Lingering on the bed, Steve leans close to sweep Tony’s brown locks away from his eyes, unwilling to leave just yet. The second he leaves, this magical night comes to an end and Steve has to go back to the reality of days spent in painful, ridiculous pining.

Just as he moves to pull his fingers away from Tony’s face, one of Tony’s hands shoots up to grab his wrist, gripping it tightly. Slowly, Tony opens his eyes.

Steve’s blood freezes in his veins. His heart sinks with dread. 

“Tony?” Steve hopes that this is just some weird bout of sleepwalking, but Tony doesn’t sleepwalk, and from the thoughtful way Tony regards him, Steve knows that Tony is somehow very much awake, which means—

Tony swallows, his eyes wide and alert in a way Steve didn’t think they were capable of being twenty minutes ago. 

“Steve,” he says, the single word carrying too much weight.

Steve moves to pull his wrist away to— 

He doesn’t actually know what he is planning to do but he supposes it’s something along the lines of locking himself in his room, burying his head under a pillow, and sleeping forever and ever.

Tony’s grip is strong and unyielding. He maintains Steve’s gaze with a defiant look in his eyes.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Steve feels lightheaded and when he speaks his words come out in a terrified rush. “You were awake this entire time?”

“Well, I was in and out of it, but yeah. Mostly.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling through his nose. “Did you—”

“Yeah.”

“How much—”

“All of it.”

It feels like eternity before Steve is able to force something coherent out of his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Steve. Look at me.”

Steve’s eyes remain tightly shut.

“Steve?”

Steve shakes his head vigorously, eyes still closed.

“Steeeve?” Tony calls again.

There is the sound of rustling sheets, like Tony is shifting on the bed.

“If you don’t open your eyes, I’m going to kiss you.”

The wave of pure shock that simple statement sends through his body makes his eyes blink open of their own accord. He flinches with further surprise when he sees that Tony’s face is suddenly much closer than it was before. 

“Tony, I—”

“Is this why you always turn down Natasha’s matchmaking attempts?”

Steve nods slowly, feeling dizzy under Tony’s close scrutiny.

Tony starts to chuckle, resting his forehead on Steve’s shoulder. “God, we’re both idiots.”

“Huh?”

Tony leans back, smiling at him with a tenderness that sends his heart racing.

“Remember that one time you finally decided to go on a date with Sharon?”

Steve nods, thinking back to the night he agreed to go on one date after Natasha’s endless pestering, to at least try, because Sharon had seemed nice and Tony was never going to love him back anyway. 

In retrospect, the whole thing was a terrible mistake because he practically went on the date to get over Tony, which effectively makes him a jerk. Heartache had clouded his judgment, but sweet and nice Sharon deserved so much better than that. Even at the end of their date, when it had been clear to the both of them that things weren’t going to work out between them, she remained unbelievably kind and gracious. 

“You remember how I had skipped all my classes the following day?”

“Yeah?”

“It was because I had a massive hangover. Because the night of your date, I was getting absolutely shitfaced, drinking my feelings away.”

Steve furrows his brow, breath hitching in his throat. “Because—”

“Because I’ve been in love with you since like, forever?” Tony’s tone is deceptively nonchalant, but the nervous way in which he avoids Steve’s eyes betrays his true emotions.

Steve sucks in a deep breath, an overwhelming warmth flooding his chest, his affection for Tony intense and heady like some kind of potent drug rushing through his veins. 

“Well, uh, the Sharon thing didn’t work out anyway,” Steve says, feeling out of breath. Tony’s doe-eyes look up to meet his gaze at the admission.

“Yeah?” 

“During the date, I… couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he confesses, ducking his head bashfully. 

“Well, I’m glad it didn’t work out,” Tony says. When Steve meets his eyes again, Tony is looking at Steve like he just discovered that the secrets of the universe have been swimming in Steve’s eyes all along. 

“Me too.” Steve lets out a shaky breath. “So, uh. It’s late. You should get some sleep. See you tomorrow?”

He stands up, a little unsteady on his feet. 

“Let’s have lunch together? Make it a date?” Tony suggests.

A date, Steve thinks a little dazedly even as he nods. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Tony’s eyes stay fixated on him as he steps backwards towards Tony’s bedroom door.

“Okay, good night,” Steve says, slowly pulling the door shut. 

“Good night,” Tony replies, snuggling down in his bed. 

Steve shuts the door quietly before resting his forehead on it, the smooth wooden surface cool against his skin. Briefly, he closes his eyes. Then he takes a deep breath and opens the door again abruptly. 

“Actually, one last thing before I go?”

“Yeah?” Tony sits up, looking at him expectantly. 

Steve strides purposefully towards him.

As he bends down to kiss him, he finds that Tony is already surging upwards, meeting him halfway.

[janeyseymour]

Escape- pt 22

pt 1. pt 2. pt 3. pt 4. pt 5. pt 6. pt 7. pt 8. pt 9. pt 10. pt 11. pt 12. pt 13. pt 14. pt 15. pt 16. pt 17. pt 18. pt 19. pt 20. pt 21. 

Jane Seymour has stayed with Henry long enough. Cue Catherine of Aragon and the rest of the girls to save her (Aramour)

Jane and Lina get married.

“Jane?”

“Lina!” the blonde snapped. “Stop trying to look at me. It’s bad luck!”

“Oh please. I can’t believe you believe in that stuff.”

“Close your eyes, and then I can give you Eddie.”

“You’re-”

“Close them, or I’ll just have Kat bring Eddie to you. And then, I’ll get the moms!”

“They’re closed! They’re closed!” The last thing Catherine needed was for both their mothers on top of Katherine berating her on their wedding day. She walked in and felt the room around her.

“I’m right here,” Jane laughed. Her eyes were closed too, but she could just picture her future wife blindly feeling around the room. “Here, I’m holding Eddie out. When you feel him, take him from my arms.”

“You’re a real pain in the ass. You know that?”

“I know, and yet you still love me enough to marry me today.”

“You’re lucky.”

“I know! Now get out!”

“I love you,” Catherine tried to get a sneak peek at her beautiful bride, but Kat was having none of it.

“Cath! Keep your damn eyes closed! Jesus.” She smacked a hand to her forehead. “You try to follow one tradition,” she muttered.

“I love you too Lina.” A devious smile spread onto Jane’s face. “But get the fuck out!”

“So,” Fred drew out. “Are you ready for this Catalina?”

“Dad, you know how long I’ve been in love with her,” Catherine replied as she walked back into the room with Eddie.

“I know. I’m ready for her to become an Aragon.”

“So am I.”

“I’m not quite ready for her to not be a Seymour anymore, but having her be an Aragon sure as hell beats her being a Tudor.”

“You can say that again,” Both Catherine and her father snorted.

“Having her be an Aragon sure as hell beats her being a Tudor.” John shook his head with laughter before going surprisingly serious. “Do I need to give you the talk?”

“I’m pretty sure I got the talk when I was like ten, so I’ll pass,” Catherine replied dryly.

“No. The ‘You hurt her, I kill you more than I’m going to kill Rob when they find that sick son of a bitch’ talk.”

“Give it to her!” Fred threw in.

“Dad!”

“No. You need to hear it. Go on John.”

“Look, my daughter is so in love with you. She has been ever since high school, whether she wanted to admit it or not. She never, ever looked at Henry the way she looks at you. Now, you’re also a mother to her child. If you are ever, and I do mean ever, anything like my father was to me, God help me, I will do things to you, and you will wish you were never born.”

“Do you really think I would ever hurt Janey or Eddie?”

“No, but I thought the same thing about Henry at first too. I knew he wasn’t good enough for my sweet girl, but he didn’t seem like he would harm her.”

“Here’s the difference though: Rob only loved her. I love her, obviously. But, I also really like her. And that is so, so important. I hope Eddie finds it too. The best thing you can do is find love in a friend.”

“Are you getting cold feet?” Margaret laughed.

“No, I am so ready to marry my best friend and show my son a great love and friendship.”

“You’re lucky honey.”

“I know.”

“Good. Don’t ever take that for granted. When Dad and I had our troubles, we knew that we always loved and liked each other. Always love Cath and appreciate her.”

“I will. Come on. I need to get married to her- my best friend.”

“Kat? Shouldn’t you be helping Janey get ready?”

“She’s pretty much ready. I just came to talk to you.”

“Oh. What’s up honey?”

“Can I hold Eddie?” Catherine handed the small boy over. “Are you ready to be married to her?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Don’t fuck this up.”

“I-”

“I’m serious. My mom,” Katherine paused and smiled the softest and most genuine smile Catherine had ever seen the girl show. “My mom,” she continued. “ has been through so much shit, and she still has come out of it with all the love and kindness in her heart. Don’t break that in her.”

“I’m not going to Katherine. If you remember, I’m the one who brought her to you.”

“I do.” Katherine nodded her head. “Thank you for that by the way. Now, are you ready to be like my step-mom?”

“I’m more than alright with that. Any child of Jane’s is a child of mine.”

“Good. Let’s get you married to my mama.”

“Jane, oh god. I wrote all of this stuff down, but it just doesn’t seem like enough. So, I’m just going to see whatever falls out of my mouth. You, you make me feel, it’s indescribable really. It’s the little things that make me fall in love with you more and more everyday. It’s when you get nervous and bite your lip and twiddle your thumbs in a way that you think is dorky. It’s your bedhead. It’s the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about something you love- specifically Eddie and Kat. Your dorky dance moves. It’s the way you crinkle your nose. The way you are with Kat and Eddie, and the way you love me. I thought I knew what love was when I was younger. My parents were hopelessly in love. They still are.” The hispanic pointed over at her parents and nodded. The small group gathered awed. “And uh, I met you. I watched you with someone else. And there were people who told me I was an absolute idiot to stay faithful to a girl who wasn’t even mine, not that you’re mine now. You’re your own person, and I respect that- but I hope you know what I mean. I was okay with it though because even then, I was pretty sure I knew that I was just waiting here for you.” She wiped at a few tears that had fallen. “And now, if you’ll have me, I will spend the rest of my days loving you, and I will let you love me.”

“Jane?” The minister smiled.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to top that,” Jane giggled. “So, I’m going to keep it simple. Here we go: I love you, and I like you. I’m going to show you, Katherine, and Eddie our endless love. I will love you, and I will let you love me.” Catherine never thought so few words could be so perfect.

The two were finally wed, finally where they were meant to be, sealing off their marriage with a kiss.

“Fuck yeah!” Anne shouted before realizing what she exclaimed. “I mean,” she quickly tried to play it off.

“No. It’s a fuck yeah,” Kat’s tone was light. “They just got married! Fuck yeah!” She screamed the last sentence, getting a few strange looks from the brides’ families. Jane and Catherine could only shake their heads, somewhat embarrassed but also not caring too much. They did just get married after all.

“When I first met Cath and Jane, well, we all know the situation Jane is in. Cathy told us all to be nice to the two. When I found out everything about Jane’s circumstance, I really thought she was going to turn out to be a bitch. I was wrong. Wow! The one and only time the Anne Boleyn will admit she’s wrong, I know.” This caused the small group to chuckle, and to milk it more, Anne proceeded to bow. “But, I will happily admit time and time again that I was wrong about our dear and sweet Jane. She is the kindest, most caring person you will ever meet. So, to Catherine: don’t fuck this up. You’ve got the real deal. Don’t hurt her.” Anne eyed the hispanic suspiciously. “I’ve got my eye on you.”

“I know I’ve got the real deal Anne.” Catherine rolled her eyes playfully.

“To Jane and Cath! Can I get a massive hell yeah?” The woman with space buns (yes, even at a wedding, Boleyn had her signature space buns in) laughed as she raised her glass. She was met with possibly the loudest “hell yeah” she ever thought she would get, Officer Beale even joining in with a smile on his face..

“Alright listen up,” Anna started. “I’m normally not one to make any toasts or anything, but these two are pretty rad, so here we go. Cath and Jane were made for each other, and I will take no criticism.”

“No criticism needed. You’re right!” John laughed.

“So, to Jane and Cath!” The tall woman raised her glass and chugged what was left of her drink.

“And, as an additional wedding present,” the woman in red said mischievously. “I give you this.” She hugged the two brides.

“Anna hugged me!” Jane yelled. “Yes!”

“When you were in the hospital, I promised you I would give you a hug if you woke up. See this as me following through on my promise,” Anna whispered. Jane only hugged her tighter.

“Oh, and Cath?” the older bride glanced at her. “Don’t you dare hurt her.”

“I’m not going to!”

“Just making sure you know that I could have your ass kicked if you do.”

“No need for threats,” Jane muttered as she pushed her friend into her seat.

“So, for Jane’s side of the family, I’m Cathy, and I’m Catherine’s cousin. Cath called me one morning begging me to let her bring Jane to my house. Now, I had heard of Jane time and time again because poor Cath had been over here pining for Jane since they were sixteen. So, of course, because I’m a wonderful cousin, I said yes. I didn’t expect to get a best friend and sister out of that though. So, to Cath and Jane! And Cath? Don’t you dare hurt her.”

“What the hell Cathy?” Aragon laughed nervously. “You’re my cousin!”

“And Jane is much too pure for this world. Don’t hurt her.”

“So, I guess I should make a speech too?” Kat muttered as she stood and clinked on her glass. “I’m Kat, and I just wanted to say a few things. To the two brides: I hope this marriage brings you a long and happy life. You two deserve it more than anyone I know. I also want to say that even though I’ve only known both of you for a short amount of time, you two are family and always will be family. So, thank you mom and Cath.”

“Mom?” Margaret spoke up confused.

“Yes mom. She might only be a few years younger than me, but that doesn’t stop me from mothering her,” Jane explained.

“Any family of Jane’s is a family of ours. Welcome home sweetpea.” Margaret stood and hugged the pink haired girl.

“I can’t wait to see where this road takes you two, but I’m glad to be even just a small part of it. Here’s to you, and Eddie, and our entire crazy and dysfunctional family. But Cath?”

“Let me guess,” Catherine put a finger to her chin. “Don’t you dare hurt her?”

“Don’t you dare hurt her.” Kat’s smile disappeared, and a serious face appeared quickly before returning to a smile. “I love you two endlessly.”

“And we love you, my sweet girl.” Jane wiped a tear from her eye as she hugged her surrogate daughter.

“So Mrs. Aragon,” Catherine whispered.

“Yes dear wife of mine?”

“Nothing. I just love hearing you respond to Mrs. Aragon.”

“I love it too. I love you.” Cries rang through the house. “And, there’s our lovely baby.” Jane began to hoist herself up from the bed.

“Honey, stay here. Katherine told us she would tend to Eddie all night.” The older woman pulled her wife back down onto the bed.

“But,” the blonde began to argue.

“Listen, if he doesn’t stop crying, I’ll go. And then maybe...?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Jane tried to say sternly, but the smile on her face gave her away. “Yes, we’ll have sex.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter Mrs. Aragon!”

“Am I wrong?”

“Let’s just say, you have your wedding traditions, and I have mine.” The hispanic lightly smacked the blonde’s ass.

“Pervert.” Another cry from Eddie echoed through the house. “Go get your son. If he doesn’t calm down, just bring him to me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Hello?”

“Cath? It’s Beale.”

“Hey. Did you-”

“There’s a lead,” the officer rushed out. “Someone saw someone who resembled him a few towns over from you.”

“Are you telling me we have to move again?”

“No. I couldn’t do that to you guys. Congratulations by the way. I would’ve come and said hello at the reception, but you two seemed so busy between your friends, parents, and that beautiful baby boy of yours.”

“Thank you,” Catherine said gratefully. “I would’ve come over, but I had my hands a bit full with Eddie.”

“That’s quite alright. Your wife-”

“My wife!” Catherine practically squealed into the phone before composing herself. “Sorry. I just really love that I can say ‘my wife’ and it’s Jane.”

“That’s quite alright. I used to feel the same way about my wife before she passed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s quite alright. Jane came over and spoke with me briefly. She was so excited that day, and it was so good to see you two happy. Anyway,” Officer Beale stumbled over his words a bit. “I’m still in the area because of the sighting. I imagine he’s going to check out the big cities first, so I’ll be around there. However, if I’m wrong, I suggest that if you and Jane don’t already have one, buy a gun and learn how to use it. I honestly can’t believe I’ve not told you this already.”

“We’ll do that right away. If we take lessons though, we-”

“If one of your friends can't, I would be more than happy to watch Eddie. He’d be safest with me. Just let me know, and I can always come down.” The officer secretly hoped he would get to watch the young boy.

“I appreciate that sir. Once all of this is done, we’ll have to invite you over for dinner as a thank you. Jane’s a great cook.”

“When all of this is sorted out, that would be nice. I’ll keep that in mind.”

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Hello there :), I would love to request a 🌈. I’m 18, female, and a very proud slytherin. Sometimes I feel like i’m leading a double life because i’m so different from what I portray at work and school. At school I tend to get in trouble a lot but in reality my grades are very good because I study like crazy at home. Anyways I’m bisexual.😊 And either era works! Thanks so much!

I SHIP YOU WITH:

☀️Draco Malfoy

You both grew up in Slytherin, though quite separately. You never ran the same circles, and even if you ever glimpsed each other, neither liked what the other saw- personality wise, anyway. You never actually expected Draco Malfoy to have any kind of hidden depth- nobody did, he was just Lucius Malfoy 2.0, right?

You started to question this in seventh year. The Death Eaters had taken over the school, but luckily for you, you were Slytherin. Nobody bothered to ask whether you were pureblood or not, so even if you were you kept your mouth shut. Being Slytherin meant if you kept your head down and proudly wore green then you wouldn't be Crucioed for every little thing.

Until one day you were asked to do a Crucio. You were afraid of the consequences, but you certainly refused to do it. You stalled the longest you could, afraid of what would happen when you said no, until Draco Malfoy had appeared suddenly.

"Why are you giving her the privilege? What's she done to deserve it?" The Carrows had bellowed in laughter, and Draco had grabbed the scruff of the second year Gryffindor and dragged them to another room.

"You going to let him steal your prey like that, snake?" You were pushed from behind, and willing to leave the Carrows behind, followed Draco from a ways away. You were planning on just leaving once out of sight, but then you had seen Draco drag the Gryffindor into an empty room.

"Scream."

"What?"

"I dont know if you've been Crucioed before, but I'm sure you've heard the screams. Do that. Make it convincing enough that they don't come follow us."

The Gryffindor had begun screaming, and your head was spinning. Draco Malfoy was defending students? Gryffindor students, no less? Certainly not a carbon copy of Lucius Malfoy, that's for sure.

One other time it happened, you were asked to torture another student for bumping into you in the halls. You sneered, said you didn't like people watching while you enjoyed yourself, then dragged the student to an empty classroom. The poor Ravenclaw was terrified, visibly shaking, but looking relieved when you harshly whispered for them to start screaming.

"What are you casting, a stinging hex?" The one and only Draco Malfoy proclaimed loudly, the door to the classroom opening, and you quickly whipped your wand into the air to pretend you had been casting the spell. "Let me show you how its done." He slammed the door shut, stomping up to you with anger clear on his face.

"If you want to fake it, do it better." He turned toward the Ravenclaw, kneeling down. "Scream like your life depends on it."

Draco had apparently saved you twice now, and your brain couldnt comprehend how the Draco you knew before was this one.

You began sitting with him in the Great Hall, or studying together in the library. He always raised an eyebrow and you sat, but you both remained quiet, just sitting in each other's company. One meal, a kid was AKed in front of you, and you couldnt stifle the gasp. Draco quickly grabbed your hand under the table, and you squeezed it. His silent reassurance had helped you to lower your head and fight the panic.

---

Hogwarts "eighth" year seemed a complete turnaround from your last year. No one was getting tortured, or killed, and being a Slytherin was decidedly not a good thing. The eighth year Slytherins, which there were only four of you now, had to stick together. The Golden Trio had agreed to leave you all alone, however did nothing in the face of the bullying you four took on a weekly, if not daily basis. The four of you (Draco, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and yourself) stuck up for each other, and cast Protego for each other anytime you knew something was coming your way.

Eighth year was different in another way- you were finally able to talk without worrying the Death Eaters would use the words against you. You grew close to Pansy, she became like a best friend to you, and you learned so much about Draco. How he started questioning everything he knew in sixth year, and how he couldn't do anything about it for the sake of his mother.

They learned about you as well, how you would put up a front to protect yourself from the harsh world. Draco had taken your hand then, too, and admitted quietly that he was glad you revealed yourself to them.

Pansy teased you, of course. Endlessly. Since you two were dormed together as the only eighth year girls, she had an obscene amount of time to do so. You denied your crush, of course, but no one could deny the way you looked at him. It was just before Christmas break when Pansy finally broke- she was never a patient person.

"By Merlin, you both like each other! I don't want to hear about this endless pining anymore, just get together already!" Except, you never even admitted it to her yet, and she was always the one teasing you. But looking at Draco's stricken face, the cheeks turning red, you couldn't deny her words any longer. You placed a hand on his cheek, leaned in, and placed a small kiss on his other cheek. You didn't know what you would do if you were wrong- but you didnt have to worry long. He quickly wrapped his hand around your wrist, his other hand around the back of your neck, and pulled you in for a proper kiss.

[neverendingsourceofmystery]

Would you consider writing a drabble where Cora and Robert find each other again after being divorced for a few years and Mary discovers they are together again? ❤️😘

Ask and you shall receive. I’m so sorry, this sort of took a different turn that what you did request, but I hope you like it nonetheless. Thanks for reading and let me know what y’all think!!!! Also, prompt me, mates. Thanks, love y’all!

When the doors close and the lights dim | Cobert AU Drabble

It is probably in bad taste.

Of course, it isn’t like they planned for it to be this way. But it hadn’t been terribly difficult to fall into the same pattern, the same routines, when life had thrown them together after so many years apart.

It had been what? So many years, too many years since they’d last been together, and even longer when they had this – blissful, ignorant, careless happiness, teemed with lust that made their nerves tingle every moment their eyes even met. It’s so much like that now, when they moved across the ballroom and stole looks at each other, while pretending to still hate each other, and pretending to pretend getting along, because when the doors close and the lights dim, it’s an entirely different story. It’s not very different when they glance at each other during the rehearsals or the endless parties or the never ending reunions, wishing they could get out of there…together…and then get naked…together.

That had been so long ago. News from yesteryear, ancient history, done and over with….

…yet, somehow, it’s become current events.

As it is, stories hardly ever came to be without a beginning, and theirs had been a whirlwind one. They met at a party when she had been on a month long trip to London, and started going out casually. She had, idiotically now she recalls, fallen so deeply in love with him, that it hadn’t really mattered to her when she had fallen pregnant with their eldest daughter, barely a year after they started dating. It hadn’t even occurred to her then that at the precise moment she’d found out she’s pregnant, they’d barely said I love you to each other. She’d pretended not to know that he had been forced to marry her out of honour and out of duty, and when their first child had come screaming into the earth, he’d been distant and aloof, looking curious but confused. She hadn’t noticed because she had been overjoyed, over the moon to be sharing such special gift to the man she’d sworn, with her lovelorn 25 year old heart and love soaked brain, that she will be loving and staying with for the rest of her life. She’d been right about the former…the latter…well, not so much.

When he had finally told her he loves her, it was nearly a year after they married, and it was a glorious feeling…somewhat an explosion in her brain, and it is then that she’d realized how she’d missed out on that…on confessions of deep and amorous, irrevocable love, before her child had come along and she’d been too busy to notice the absence of it. She’d brushed it aside, happy enough to have known that he’s finally in love with her the way she is with him.

Their second daughter came along after that, and two years later, the third one came. They had lived a happy, blissful life together. Fifteen, long married years together, all burnt down to ashes. In retrospect, she should have expected it. Theirs had been a story of uncertainty from the very beginning, and she had been holding on too much for it to have become a reality.

Fifteen years after they married, her father died. She had been too grief stricken to function, had fallen deep into depression that neither her husband nor her children could save her from. She’d pined and pined for the man who had loved her long before her husband had, and she had deep regrets over the fact that her relationship with her father had drifted when she married her husband and she moved to London to start a life with him. She had regretted so much that at the last moments of his life, she had not been there.

Then the will came, and she’d found out that her father had left her an incredible amount of money and a good chunk of the company. She had thrown herself in that then, had given it her all because she wanted to keep her father’s legacy alive. She never forgot about her family, about her husband and her children, and she tried to make sure no one felt neglected, but she needed this, needed to keep her father’s memory alive, if only in the company he’s spent his whole life building. She had not realized how that would topple her marriage over. She hadn’t realized how badly that would make her husband feel that he’d felt the need to find comfort in someone else.

The pain that shot through her heart when she found out had been intense, all consuming, but she refused to let herself be defeated by depression again. She pushed herself and pushed herself and made a life for her own.

And here they are. Seven years later, and their daughter is getting married. It would have been the first time they’d see each other since their bitter divorce. She thought she’d be stronger. She thought she could fight off the charm and the bright blue eyes that made her melt.

She thought she was over him, because the woman he had left behind had been burned into ashes and rose from the flame. And she’s different. She is stronger, over him.

Except she’s not, and it hadn’t even taken her a few days before she’d fallen into bed again with him. It hadn’t taken much cajoling or charming on his end to get her naked and writhing for him. She hates herself for it, hates that she cannot resist him, hates that she’s 47 and still helplessly in love with the man who broke her heart and trampled on it like she meant nothing.

Maybe that’s true. Maybe she never meant anything. Maybe the love they shared for 15 odd years was nothing but a lie. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But it doesn’t matter now, because she’s here, and she will continue to do this even as she hates herself. She’ll tell herself that it’s just an itch she needs to scratch, and he’s familiar and it’s easy with him, but it doesn’t mean anything. She’ll tell herself that when the party is over, the doors opened and the lights are on, it’ll be over. After they give away their first child for marriage, it’ll be over. They’ll go back to their old lives, apart, and they will go back to not speaking again.

She’ll console herself with the idea that is just for now, when nostalgia fills them up and the melancholy of their oldest marrying is real and poignant.

Then she’ll go back to her old life, and he to his…but not till then, not when the doors are closed and the lights are dim.

FIN _(04/22/2019)

[secretradiobrooklyn]

New York State Tax Edition | 3.20 & 3.27.21

Secret Radio | 3.20 & 3.27.21 | Hear it here.

Liner notes by Evan (except * for Paige), Art by Paige

1. Antoine Dougbé - “Towe Nin” 

There was a while during which I tried to listen to every single T.P. Orchestre song that could be heard via discogs.com. They’ve released dozens of albums, probably close to a hundred if you count all of the albums attributed to various members, so that was a very daunting task… though really what it highlighted was the sheer volume of songs that just are not available to be heard in digital form. Those songs take on a sort of mythic quality as we listen to the huge variety of styles and periods that this band passed through in their prolific and very obscure career. But the ones that loom in the imagination the largest, for Paige and me, are the songs attributed to Antoine Dougbé. He writes for the band but doesn’t record with them, and in most cases Melomé Clement arranges the songs — and these are some of Melomé’s finest arrangements, in my opinion. “Towe Nin” isn’t a propulsive powerhouse like the Dougbé tracks on “Legends of Benin,” but it does have tons of style, and the band sounds extremely confident. My favorite detail of many — like, listen to the shaker solo in the middle! — on this track is the final passage, where three voices suddenly meld into an extremely Western, Beatle-y harmonic finale (with an unresolved final chord). Where did that come from?! It blows my mind to think about how these guys were hearing music and writing music in Benin in the ’70s…

2. Hürel - “Ve Ölüm” - “Tip Top” soundtrack

The other night we watched a DVD that was part of our Non-Classic French Cinema Program that Paige has been drafting for us, featuring movies she figures French people would know but that didn’t get exposed to American audiences. This one was… baffling — the problems were French cultural ones that we really didn’t grok at all. Which was kind of cool. An odd detail was that this song featured prominently throughout the trailer and the film, though we couldn’t figure out, like, why. But we knew immediately that it was awesome.

And… this track sent us down the rabbit hole of Anatolian rock, which turns out to be Turkish psych music from the ’60s & ’70s. We’ve played Erkin Koray’s “Cemalim” and thought that was cool, but had no idea it was a burgeoning scene with tons of creative writers and amazing songs. We’ve spent a lot of time checking out Anatolian music since, and I can tell we’re just getting started. So: thank you to a giant French crowdpleaser movie for the Anatolian clue-in!

3. They Might Be Giants - “Nothing’s Gonna Change My Clothes” 

I was not expecting to experience a They Might Be Giants renaissance at this point in my life, but this is just further proof that time has a lot of tricks up its sleeve. This song tells me a lot about what I like now by re-presenting what I liked then, showing off completely new facets I hadn’t yet appreciated. This song is lousy with insights… including that super Slanted Malkmus-y scream at the very end!)

4. Jacqueline Taïeb - “La fac de lettres”

Jacqueline Taïeb is probably my single favorite French pop artist, even though her body of work is way smaller than most of the runners-up. (I would say the closest contender is Jacque Dutronc.) She’s so full of irrepressible character, it just bubbles up out of the vocal performances. Her biggest hit was “7 heures du matin,” in the character of a bored, rock-obsessed teenager trying to figure out what to wear to school that morning, and “La fac du lettres” kind of picks up the thread: now she’s in the auditorium at school, learning about British history — the invasion of Normandy, the Hundred Years’ War — and pining to get back to the recording studio. 

5. La Card - “Jedno zbogom za tebe”

I didn’t know what circumstance would call for Yugoslavian synth pop warped by endless cassette plays, but it turns out that driving a thousand miles west in one fell swoop requires a certain amount of ’80s vibes. Turns out Yugoslavia had a pretty rich punk/new wave scene in the ’80s, and even though the songs were often critical of the Communist government, they were not only allowed to be played but, to a certain extent, supported by the government, and there were also several magazines covering punk, new wave, ska (!), and rock music in Yugoslavia.

6. Suicide - “Shadazz” 

Maybe it’s the band name, but I was never able to find a place for myself in the music of Suicide, despite how many bands I dig who cite them. But Paige pulled this track, and now I’m starting to get it. I also really like how the kick drum fits against the cymbal-ish sound loop that leads the percussion. 

7. Girma Beyene - “Ene Negn Bay Manesh”

Man, Ethiopia was swingin so hard in the ’60s and ’70s! This track combines the organ-driven band dynamic with a smooth Western vocal croon that I’ve never quite heard before. 

8. Os Mutantes - “Trem Fantasma” 

I still can’t believe that I haven’t been listening to this album my whole life — it’s so freaking amazing from beginning to end. Every song feels like its own complete cinematic experience, with narrative twists and turns, a high-drama dynamic, and each voice taking on a host of characters, independently and together. “Trem Fantasma” is an entire album contained in a single song — and that’s what it’s like with every song on their debut album. PLUS it’s got the coolest possible cover. Truly, I’m still in awe at this album. It makes me wonder: what did the Beatles think of this record?! 

9. The Beatles - “Think for Yourself” 

This is one of those songs that I feel like established whole new harmony relationships in Western pop… and this likely isn’t even one of their top 50 songs for most Beatles fans. Apparently, they had the main tracks recorded already — this is one of George’s first songs, it’s just 1965 — and they threw the harmonies on in “a light-hearted session” between two other things they were in the middle of, because they were under pressure to get this album finished. That’s amazing! Also, this song is the first one to use a fuzzbox on a bass: Paul played one (excellent) part on clean bass, and another one one all fuzzed out, which became the lead guitar — in fact, John had a guitar part but scrapped it to play an organ instead. What a righteous song to kick off the concept of lead bass guitar! That was Harvey Danger’s big compositional secret: Aaron wrote and played most of the lead guitar parts on bass, and had a fantastic sense of what he could do with the tone of his instrument. 

10. Erkin Koray - “Öksürük” 

Anatolian rock! It has its own note scale, that gives it this Eastern tonality while working in Western rock shapes and with what feels like a very relatably wry sense of humor. Erkin Koray is right up there in the firmament for us — the whole genre is full of welcome discoveries, but Koray is a really unique guitarist and composer beyond any particular genre. This track plays up his lead guitar passages while maintaining a pretty undeniable disco downbeat, and his vocal delivery strikes me as more French than anything. And yet the whole thing is so deeply and fully Turkish.

11. Vaudou Game - “Pas Contente”

We’ve been so head-over-heels for Beninese funk and rock from the ’60s and ’70s that our fantasies about that music are completely separated from any music happening today. But Vaudou Game is led by Peter Solo, a Togolese musician who grew up on the sound of T.P. Orchestre and decided to work with it himself. His band is handpicked and mostly I think French — the sound is I think a really impressive take on classic Beninese style but with very modern feel. This track is from 2014. I’m looking forward to digging in some more, because it’s a thrill to find a live wire in this music style. 

12. Cut Off Your Hands - “Higher Lows and Lower Highs”

This is one of my favorite tracks from the last 5 years. I get so absorbed in the way the bass part relates to all of the other pieces. The bass is absolutely the reason this song works — just tune into it and check out how the whole world of the song bends to accommodate it.

The Gang of Roesli - “Don’t Talk about Freedom”

Years ago, when I took over Eleven magazine, there was a giant stack of mailed-in CDs in the editor’s office. I didn’t hang onto many of them, but there was a set from Now-Again Records that just looked like something we should spend more time with. Turns out that one of them was “Those Shocking Shaking Days,” a collection of trippy, heavy Indonesian rock. I didn’t get it at the time, but lately I’ve certainly been picking up what they were laying down. The baroque keys, the vocal la’s, the hitched-up bass and guitar, that little bass lick, the harmonica… I would love to have been around for the session this came from. 

13. Warm Gun - “Broken Windows” - “PAINK”

More paink from France, in the mode of Richard Hell, short sweet and rowdy.

14. Duo Kribo - “Uang” - “Those Shocking Shaking Days”

This is another amazing Indonesian track — amazing for a completely different reason than The Gang of Roesli. Such a note-perfect rendition of chart-topping American (and German — what’s up, Scorps?) rock, but their own song nonetheless! This song attracts me, repels me, attracts me, repels me, on and on in equal measure. To me the kicker is the outro section, which sounds like something Eko Roosevelt came up with… thousands of miles and many genres away from Duo Kribo.

15. The Real Kids - “All Kindsa Girls”

Even as the theoretical pleasures of Facebook overall continue to recede, I find myself glad of a FB group somebody let me in on: Now Playing. The only stipulation about posts is that you have to include a photo of the actual record that you are actually playing — beyond that, it could be any genre, any period, whatever. People post interesting albums all the time, and will often write up their thoughts or memories about the band when they do. Boston’s The Real Kids just sounded like something I should know about, so I hunted it down and man, they were not wrong. Not everything on the album was for us, but right from the African-sounding guitar intro, “All Kindsa Girls” certainly was. Lead guitar/vocal guy John Felice was an early member of the Modern Lovers and a fellow VU devotee with his neighbor Jonathan Richman — he also spent time as a Ramones roadie. I’m tickled by how much the penultimate guitar riff sounds like something off the first Vampire Weekend album, and the final riff was destined to become a punk classic.

16. De Frank Professionals - “Afe Ato Yen Bio” 

We broadcast the first part of this episode from the cockpit of the van rocketing between New York and Illinois. Not long after we got here to the woods, a package showed up from Analog Africa with our new “Afro-Beat Airways” reissue, as well as their first indispensable T.P. Orchestre collection, “The Skeletal Essences of Afro-Funk 1969-1980.” We’re celebrating that record with this absolutely killer song by De Frank Professionals, a band about whom very little is known. I am in love with every part of this song, from the sixth-beat hi-hat accent to those tandem vocal parts and that beautiful guitar tone. This track has quickly risen to being one of our all-time faves. Bless Samy Ben Redjeb and everyone at AA for doing the work to find these amazing recordings, track down the musicians, pay them for rights to release, and making these miraculous finds available!

17. Ros Serey Sothea - “Shave Your Beard” 

Concurrent to our African fascination has been the gorgeous and thoroughly tragic revelation of Cambodia’s richly talented and expressive rock scene that was utterly destroyed by the Khmer Rouge. There were so many amazing musicians in the scene, but certainly the most flat-out amazing voice was Ros Serey Sothea’s, as this track makes clear. I also love just how sophsticated and innovative these Cambodian song arrangements are — they really take Western ’60s pop into a new world, with intricate guitar parts and really solidly satisfying instrumental structures.

18. King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard - “O.N.E.”

This is a hard band to keep up with, for a variety of reasons — they can be so intense, and their guitar-rock prog virtuosity can get a bit off-putting if you’re not ready for it. This track, though, reminds me of a host of favorite reference points from the last twenty years of rock. This recording makes me wish that they could have played with Bailiff in Chicago in 2012 — I think everyone would have gained a lot from that connection.

Also, the video is so beautiful!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lkZd2lBQb2c

19. Ettika - “Ettika” - “Chebran: French Boogie Vol. 2”

French culture is shot through with African references. Ettika was an early ’80s hit with musicians besotted by synths and American rap styles. This band was produced by a noted French composer who was married to a Cameroonian and very much into African groove. This “French Boogie” collection is full of African-style gems heavily refracted through the decade’s new technology.

20. Spice Girls - “Wannabe”

I yield the floor.

*As I mention in the “broadcast” it just felt right. That confident opening line. What are guilty pleasures? How do you feel listening to this song? And y’all already have our phone numbers, so that’s no surprise!

- The Gang of Roesli - “Don’t Talk about Freedom”

21. Steely Dan - “Reelin’ in the Years”

Gut reaction: do you actually love this song? Do you actually hate this song? Do you find that your reaction changes moment by moment within the experience of listening to the song, where your personal experience clashes with your cultural memory associations? Me too.

22. Zia - “Kofriom” - “Helel Yos”

I don’t remember how I got to this track, but holy smokes am I glad we did! It’s pretty freakin hard to find out anything about Zia. The cover of this album portrays an older man with dyed hair and a white blazer over a black collar… but I did actually find a video of Zia performing this song on Iranian public television, and he looks considerably younger and less flash than that. In fact, he’s sporting a tan three-piece suit with a wide tie, all alone on a heavily mirrored stage, and he kind of looks like he might be running for a senate seat in his spare time. It’s a very weird effect. But meanwhile: this whole album is super cool, very expressive of an emotional state I definitely don’t understand. The handclaps are absolutely top notch in the rhythm — they remind me of Ayalew Mesfin’s awesome “Gedawo.”

23. Jo LeMaire & Flouze - “Je Suis Venue te Dire Que je M’en Vais”

Doesn’t this sound like something you could have had intense adolescent feelings to? 

*I first heard this song in the trailer for Boy Meets Girl  and then later in the film. (Not my personal favorite Carax but definitely great, and the music and sound design is top notch.) Then my French teacher suggested I check out a song, and it was this song. So that’s neat!

24. Rung Petchburi - “Pai Joi” - “Thai? Dai!: The Heavier Side of the Lukthung Underground”

We’re still just getting to know Lukthung music, but for the last couple weeks we’ve been getting deeper and deeper into Thai rock, psych, surf and funk. It’s a rich vein, and it shares some really interesting characteristics with seemingly unrelated regions, like Turkey and Ethiopia.

Black Brothers - “Saman Doye”

I’m telling you, “Those Shocking Shaking Days” will improve your life immediately.

25. Nahid Akhtar - “Dil de Guitar” - from “Good Listener Vol 1,” 

This collection just came out this month, which was a surprise because we just stumbled across this track by reading about Nahid Akhtar elsewhere. What an AMAZING track! This was recorded and released in Pakistan in 1977, and I can’t even imagine how they wrote it, much less recorded it. The drum loops seem like they hadn’t been invented yet… but there they are, cranked up to their highest speed. It’s a collage of ideas and hooks, all just crammed together into a single song. the main hook reminds me a bit of “Jogi Jogi,” our favorite Pakistani song on WBFF thus far. I feel like I could listen to this song a hundred times and hear something new each time. Akhtar’s voice is so expressive and confident in those long held notes — and who is that ogre doing call and response with her? So weird. So cool.

[3dnygma]

Forged Performance

“After being awoken from a cold slumber, Ed finds himself at the Sirens - which is now called the Iceberg Lounge. Due to having no memory of how he managed to get himself frozen, he is more than delighted to meet his best friend again. However, Ed quickly realizes that Oswald is hiding something from him and acting unusually different. And Edward Nygma hates being unaware of the truth.”

Relationship: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma

General Audiences, No Archive Warnings Apply

Words: 2944

AO3 Link

Dedicated to @endless-nygmobblepot for being such a wonderful beta-reader and everyone on twitter who gave me feedback regarding the plot <3 I hope you guys enjoy this angst!

Waking up, the first memory that came to Edward Nygma’s mind was the torturing and seemingly never-ending cold that had surrounded his body. It had entered through his arms, crawled over his shoulders and laughed into his terrified face. When? Why? He couldn’t remember. He wasn’t even certain for how long his blood had been frozen instead of liquid– and he hated to be unaware of it.

His body was wet and cold, although hardly as cold as in the ice block, and moving his stiff limbs turned out to be more of a challenge than he had originally expected. Ed decided to focus on his eyes instead, as his surroundings were too quiet for him to gather any information through his ears. Luckily, the lighting was superb. Light enough to give Edward’s eyes the possibility to explore the area, yet not too bright to blend him.

Due to these circumstances, it was frankly easy for Ed to determine his location: The Sirens. Well, not quite the Sirens – what used to be the Sirens would be a better description. The interior design had changed a lot, compared to when he had visited it for the last time. Said occasion had been the night in which Edward managed to expose Butch and his Red Hood act in front of Oswald and the most important individuals of Gotham City. Simply looking back to that memory managed to draw a smile on Edward’s face.

That one, however, faded quickly, as he came to the realisation that he must have been on ice for weeks, months even. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have been possible to change the decoration to…blue neon lights shaped like umbrellas. And black penguin statues. What happened to Barbara and Tabitha that would make Oswald be in charge of the Sirens? Edward knew that Oswald used to run Fish Mooney’s former club for a limited amount of time. Nevertheless, he hadn’t thought that Oswald would come back to having a club – while being mayor of Gotham City, at least.

Too many questions, not enough answers. Those questions doubled after Ed heard one of the doors opening behind him, followed by two voices. One being familiar, one not quite as much. Ed was still sitting on the floor, too exhausted and shivering from the ice to stand up and head to the source. As the unfamiliar voice vanished, Ed heard limping steps approaching him. More than relieved, he sighed.

“Oswald.” He managed to state, his voice being more of a whisper. “Thank god.”

The Penguin didn’t say anything. He simply went up to Ed, kneeled down in front of him and replied with a strong hug, wearing an usually frigid expression. Ed was surprised at first, yet ended up returning the hug within a second. Oswald’s warmth was a true blessing for his soaked body and he ended up holding the other tighter than he would have under average conditions.

Oswald eventually let go of him, took Ed’s right hand and helped him stand up. Now, Ed was finally able to view the club in all of its extravagant glory. It felt like the Penguin’s castle more than the Van Dahl mansion ever could and figuratively screamed “Oswald Cobblepot.” The other noticed Edward’s stare and, for a moment, Ed thought that Oswald would say something about it. However, it seemed like Oswald changed his mind in the end, as he kept quiet and waited for Ed to start the conversation by asking questions. The mayor knew his chief of staff too well.

Ed started with the most obvious one. “Oswald, for how long was I in this…?”

Too impatient to await Oswald’s reply, Ed turned around and looked at the cold water that had soaked him. The floor was full of it and he noticed that, right behind where he had been laying, a giant and empty podium was located. Next to it, a black hat. His own hat?

Before he could spend another thought on it, Oswald’s voice made him turn around once more. “What was the last thing that you remember? Your last clear memory?”

That question was relatively easy to answer. “We were at the mansion, I thanked you for saving my life, we talked a bit and then went to sleep.” It was a very fond memory. His throat had been sore and it had made talking more difficult for Edward – but thanking Oswald had been his priority.

“I hope that you know, Oswald…I would do anything for you. You can always count on me.”

And he still meant it, truly. Every sentence, word, and syllable.

Oswald nodded, as if he had already expected that answer from Ed. “Well, Tabitha and Butch stayed hidden. Seems like they got contacted by some of Fish Mooney’s freaks and spilled some crucial information. You remember Victor Fries, don’t you? He was the one who...did this to you.”

Edward frowned. Surely, that was an explanation – but one filled with several holes nonetheless. He took a short breath. “Alright, but-“

“We’ll have time to talk about the details later.” Oswald announced with a slightly passive-aggressive smile. “I can assure you that everything is alright. You and I are not in danger anymore, Ed.” Edward suddenly felt like a child that was being lectured by his parent.

The Penguin added, “You must be terribly cold. There’s a bath prepared for you in Tabitha’s and Barbara’s former apartment.”

Right, there was one in this building, a few levels under the club. Ed loved the idea of taking a relaxing bath, yet he felt like Oswald was almost forcing him to. Besides, why was it already prepared for him? Damnit, he had to shake those thoughts off for once. Oswald was doing all of this for him and in times of trouble, he could always trust Oswald.

“Thank you, I’d appreciate that.”

And he did. The warm water and a certain bubble bath that smelled like pines managed to rehabilitate Edward a bit and cured him of the frostbitten temperature. As he stared at the perfectly clean white floor next to him, his mind started to wonder. It seemed like he wouldn’t get rid of all those nagging questions anytime soon. Oswald hadn’t only prepared a bath for him, but also one of Ed’s suits for him to wear. The one that he had worn at the Mayor’s party, to be exact. Ed quickly put it on and attempted to style his hair a bit in order to prevent it from becoming too curly, then went back to the Club, where Oswald seemed to have been waiting for him.

“Now, my friend, let me show you my pride and Gotham City’s newest establishment: The Iceberg Lounge.” Oswald stated while grabbing Ed’s shoulder and leading him through the place. Ed quickly understood Oswald’s pride, the place seemed quite inviting, yet at the same time noble and cool.

Edward smiled, his eyes still scanning the decorations. “It must have taken quite an effort to modify the Sirens like this.”

Oswald countered with a nod. “Right, it took us about three months in total. Do you like it?”

So Ed had managed to survive in the giant ice block for at least three months. From a scientific point, it was quite impressing to him – from a personal point, it was shocking to hear how many days of his life he had missed in what felt like a heartbeat. Like those coma patients you hear about in your everyday soap operas.

Despite his sudden distress, Ed nodded, marveling at the decor. “It’s beautiful. I couldn’t picture any other place that would fit you better than this one.”

That managed to flatter Oswald, as Ed spotted his cheeks reddening a little. “Oh, stop it. Let me show you the rest of the Lounge.”

And after they had walked around the area, Edward ended up staring at the empty podium again, questioning its sheer existence. Although Oswald was staring into a completely different direction, Edward had the strange feeling that the other knew exactly what he was thinking about and reacting before Ed might be asking any tricky questions.

“And that’s it! By the way, you must be hungry after all that time in the ice.”

Ed paused. “I…actually am hungry. But there is something that-“

The Penguin moved his pointy finger. “Promise, I’ll explain everything to you tomorrow. But for now, you need to relax and gain some energy. You should know that physical health is just as important as problems that might be bugging your brain.”

As Edward realized that there wasn’t anything that he could do about it, he nodded. It made him shut up but, as they walked to the dining room, he kept wondering. Oswald was attempting to keep something secret from him and Ed didn’t like it at all. He also hated feeling like a soulless doll that was told to do exactly what its owner wanted. Hopefully, this strange behavior of Oswald was only happening due to the times that he had spent without Edward and how much he was worried about his best friend.

Just like every other part of the Lounge, the dining hall was simply impressive. A little too much blue and gold for Edward's taste but he could see where Oswald was coming from. And much to his surprise, the table was already filled with a remarkable amount of dishes. Meat, pie, casserole – anything one could imagine. Calm music was playing and candles were enlightening the room.

It was strange, comparing this dinner to the Take-Out that they had ordered back when Oswald was staying at Edward’s apartment. How far they’d come. Ed gazed at Oswald and, for a second, they both smiled at each other. And once again, Oswald answered a question that Ed hadn’t even spent much thought on.

“I thought it was nice to have this just between the two of us.” That explained the fact that Ed hadn’t seen a single staff member since his awakening from the ice. In a way, Oswald’s effort was extremely genuine and something that not everyone would do for their best friend. Reacting to Oswald's suggestive gesture, Ed took a seat at the other end of the table and started eating. And God, how wonderfully tasty it was. He took some of the soup, then the chicken and some pie.

Words weren’t really exchanged, due to them both enjoying their meal. However, Ed sometimes had the feeling that Oswald was staring at him, as if he was expecting some strange reaction from Ed. At least Edward didn't feel like having his mind read anymore. After they were done eating, Ed noticed that Louis Armstrong’s version of La Vie En Rose had started to play, much to his own comfort; He had always appreciated that song in the past. And the Penguin seemed to notice Ed’s positive reaction, so why was he suddenly making a nervous impression?

Ed frowned after the other cleared his throat. “Oswald, is something the matter?”

Oswald took a deep breath. “…Ed.” A pause accompanied by a quick smile. “A man comes to a crossroad in his life and he has to make a choice.” While Ed was leaning forward, Oswald’s voice stiffened. “Does he choose safety and cowardice…or does he opt for courage, risk everything?”

What Oswald was saying had similarities with a monologue that an actor would practice for a play – or a project that had to be presented by some high school students. Something was bound to happen and Ed wasn’t quite sure whether he was ready for it. However, before Ed could even consider answering the Penguin's question, Oswald continued.

“I choose courage. What I’m trying to say is…the thing I have been wanting to tell you for a while now-“

“Oswald.” Ed tried to hide his emotions and state the following sentence as a fact, not fully managing to do so. “I know you – you’re my best friend. And I know it when you’re hiding something from me.”

For the first time today, Edward had said something that Oswald wasn’t prepared for. Instead of countering with a short excuse or shallow promise, he was speechless.

Ed used that pause in order to elaborate on his concern, standing up and walking towards his friend. “Almost everything that you’ve been saying today seemed…staged. And you’ve been avoiding every essential question that I’ve faced you with.”

Now standing next to Oswald and staring down at him, Edward raised his voice. “Something happened between that night at the Sirens and today, a puzzle that you don’t want me to solve. Please, I just want to know the truth regarding all of-“

And for the second time today, Oswald acted unpredictably. Because instead of standing up and talking to Edward face-to-face, Oswald grabbed Ed’s tie and pulled him down to him. The next thing that Ed perceived was the soft feeling of Oswald’s lips and the warmth that he had felt back when they had hugged earlier today. Only that this was different. More personal, more intimate…more honest. After a brief moment of surprise, he gave in and returned the kiss, suddenly realizing that maybe this was the way he had always felt about his best friend.

Eventually, he pulled back, taking a deep breath and gazing into Oswald’s wide eyes, his own voice sounding more like a whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you.”, Oswald whispered back, excited and anxious at the same time.

And Ed remembered how they had stared at each other after Oswald had saved his life. How they had talked at the mansion later that night. How he had gone to sleep afterwards, not knowing where to place that subconscious feeling. It made sense now – and if the current conditions had been different, Ed would have had a more light-hearted approach to it. But this…this didn’t feel like an actual confession. It was rushed, like something that Oswald had to do right now, as if it wouldn’t be possible after this dinner was over.

And that realization confirmed his concerns. “What really happened between us, Oswald? If you’re talking about choosing courage, then do it. Tell me the truth.”, he asked as his voice gained more strength.

Finally, Oswald stood up in order to truly face him with a pained expression, covered in a chuckle. “You always end up asking those questions, don’t you? Is it so bad for me to want just a single day with you?” His volume increased, grabbing Edward’s arm. “One day where we can finally abandon our past and pretend that everything's perfect?”

The Penguin’s eyes got wet and Edward was overwhelmed by all these sudden events. Anger started hitting him. “So you’re keeping up this mellow show because you’re in denial and scared to move on? God, Oswald, I just want to know the truth!”

Within seconds, they were screaming at the other, neither of them wanting to give in. Maybe that’s why something like a romantic relationship between them could only work in their own fantasies. Maybe they were both incapable of true love.

Suddenly, Oswald’s screams turned into one single word. “Help!” And quickly after, Ed heard steps approaching him from behind, just like those he had heard after waking up. His body started shivering, which seemed to be a mix of the slight change in temperature and the subconscious feelings that something was coming to get him. But instead of turning around, he kept his eyes fixated on Oswald, who was suddenly giving into sadness again.

“I’m sorry, Edward.” After he whispered those last words, sounding similar to a death sentence, he pushed Edward as far away from him as possible. Before Ed could turn around and face the true danger behind him, he heard a peculiar, mechanic sound and, all at once, it hit him again: the freezing pain and pure darkness.

Wiping the tears from his face, the Penguin watched the procedure – and once Edward Nygma was fully frozen again, he sighed, then looked up to Victor Fries.

Worried, Victor disclosed, “Two more minutes and he might have killed you.”

Even though Oswald wanted to let his anger out on Victor, he knew that it wouldn’t profit either of them. “I know…thank you.” He took a deep breath, looking at the floor. “I managed to get so far today, there must be a way to keep him satisfied until-“

“Until you can fall asleep next to him, then freeze him and say goodbye for good?”, Fries inquired, then added. “This has been the fifth time within two months, he might not survive the next procedure.”

“Don’t worry, it will be the last time.”

Victor sighed. “Just like today was supposed to be the last time.” And quite surprisingly, he added, “Just admit it to yourself, you’re nothing better than a junkie who’s telling himself that this is going to be his final shot. He’s going to die before you’re going to end up having your perfect day.”

Gritting his teeth, Oswald replied, “Then I suppose he’ll have to.” He didn’t care if it meant risking his own or Edward’s life. Or whether it was even possible to share a positive outcome with Ed without telling him everything about Isabella and their hellish circle of revenge. He would try again, make more preparations and learn his lines like a professional actor.

Because he was the performer – and Edward Nygma, having amnesia with each awakening, was the audience. And Oswald Cobblepot wouldn’t stop until he could satisfy the audience with a forged, yet pleasing, performance.

[fxvixen]

so i’ve read a LOT of matsuhana recently in preparation for this, but @youkaihime asked for matsuhana fic recs! 

here is my first list list of good mastuhanas, as this is my second.

(in order of when i read them... mostly)

Wet Your Whistle by darkmagicalgirl

Hanamaki gets a job as a bartender. Matsukawa likes his uniform. (Alternatively: Matsukawa tries to ignore his huge crush on his friend-with-benefits. He fails.)

the whole friends with benefits thing.. you know how this goes *wiggles eyebrows* plus makki’s vulnerability just fuck me up

stranger things by laubear/ @pizzawitch

In 2012, the men’s national volleyball team took home the bronze at the Asian Cup. Tokyo Skytree opened to the public. Also, the dashing Hanamaki Takahiro and painfully cool Matsukawa Issei started a radio show out of Aoba Johsai’s abandoned A/V room and accidentally became the two most popular guys in school.

they got a radio show and its cool as Heck. that mutual pining tho. this fic feeds my soul, and it’s got that feeling of nostalgia hanging over it

yeah, this is Long

hang out fall in love by carafin/ @carafinn

As far as Hanamaki’s concerned, and as far as bad life decisions go, setting up your witch clinic right next to an actual, proper, medical clinic is practically akin to setting up an all-you-can-eat buffet right next to a gym. Or a sex toy shop next to a church. Or a vegetable patch next to a goat farm. Or – yeah, the point is, this Matsukawa guy has totally cornered the market in Terrible-Life-Decision-Making-Skills.

this is honestly hilarious and amazing bless. i said in my bookmark, you can’t really find a makki more like me honestly. their banter is incredible and when matsu gets real with makki i want to curl in a ball in scream

and indeed there will be time by pickledplumes/ @plumtreeforest​

Between volleyball and the looming end of their high school years, Hanamaki thinks he’s already dealing with more than enough, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, no one else gets the memo.

-

Alternatively: “I am not in love with my best friend!” says Hanamaki Takahiro. Nobody buys his bullshit.

the bants are so great and the end is so sweet. also the matsu in this makes my knees weak

Deal With a Devil by literal_trashbaby/ @literal-trashbaby​ (WIP)

Nothing shy of divine intervention would enable Issei to meet even half of his deadlines. And if he couldn’t wrangle the assistance of the divine… well, he was willing to take what he could get. This was, by far, the stupidest thing he’d ever tried to do.

OR: Matsukawa will do anything to pass his classes. Up to and including making a contract with a devil.

makki is an ACTUAL devil. amazing, this is super sweet as well, even tho one of them is literally from hell lolol. 

My Name Is Takahiro by FairyLights101/ @fairylights101 (PLEASE READ THE TAGS)

My name is Takahiro. My name is Takahiro, my name is Takahiro, my name is Takahiro.

His hand hesitated over his thigh, trembling as he stared down.

please please please read the tags on this one, it could be extremely triggering to some readers. this is absolutely heartbreaking, but the relationship between m&m is so loving and supportive, i can’t not rec it

A Cat Brought Good Luck by Tearsaresalty

When a cat trespassed his apartment, Hanamaki found out that he lived next to the most attractive person in the entire world.

(Aka; the one where Matsukawa's cat finds itself in Hanamaki's apartment and a love story unfurls because of that)

this is hilarious, but the memes go too far (no they don’t it’s incredible). also the Tension was really something omGOD just... *screams in frustration*

this isn't exactly how i thought i'd be spending my adult years by jadedpearl/ @aliceinstripes

When Hanamaki coughs–hacks–the guy, who's been near comatose this entire time, opens his eyes and looks over a little, seemingly with the least amount of effort possible. "Bless you," he says, but his eyes are still sleepy. Hanamaki turns his head and stares at him. "I didn't sneeze." The guy looks a bit surprised. "What?" "I coughed." "So?" "Who the fuck says bless you when someone coughs?"

the makki in this is so salty in the best possible way omfg. their bants and dynamic together is really nice. i wanted to scream but it’s so sweet and cute help

Parallel Lines by orphan account

Yesterday night, Matsukawa had told his parents that he was joining math club, which lead to several confused smiles from them as they tried to figure out his change of heart.

“Didn’t you say you were allergic to competitive math?” His mom had asked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, we’re very supportive of your decision, but-”

Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, they’d let it go because no sane parent prevents their child from joining math team, which is intellectually beneficial and looks very nice on college applications. This, in turn, prevents Matsukawa from having to explain that he’s joining- dear god- because of a crush.

this made me like math how dare this author. i need to know who they are so i can find them and scream at them about this. god.. just the angst and the competition and the everything about this and then at the end!!! when iwa says The Thing!!!! holy shit i had so many feels

when in japan by SoManyThings/ @americanbeautiies

places and vodka coke by ^^^^

so this is actually two fics, one about iwaoi and the other about matsuhana and literally they’re both insanely cute. incredibly sweet and cuddly and amazing and you can pry this out of my cold dead hands. the uh... the matsuhana is Explicit if that gives you the little push to read it

rainbow mittens also by SoManyThings 

“I can’t believe you, you’re a fashion disaster,” Matsukawa huffed, eyeing the yellow monstrosity that was his best friend out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m the peak of fashion, Issei,” Hanamaki hummed, sticking his tongue out in response.

this is short but honestly i think one of the best getting together fics i think i’ve ever read and it’s based on an amazing piece of art and this fic continues the feel from the art phenomenally

Zenith, Nadir by tookumade/ @naff-nuff-nice

A former god realises that it's time to say goodbye.

this is soooo good. makki’s support of matsu is the amazing in here. matsu just needs some Love (i would be very very interested in his backstory if they ever decided to write a prequel or a sequel or something) plus i love the whole gods/goddesses or super powers and all that

okay that’s all i got for today but if anyone is interested in more, i’ll happily dive back into the matsuhana tag <3

also: matsuhana needs more love honestly. all the love. endless love. 

[ulyssesredux]

Proteus

Same old stuff, our crimes our common cause.

It lowers. And the blame? He lays aside the lapboard whereon he drafts his bills of costs for the United States must be careful. Glue em well. Talk about apple dumplings, piuttosto.

If Mayor can't do it.

I lost-monster story! Will CNN send its cameras to the LGBT community! I am lonely here. None of your medieval abstrusiosities.

China ask us if it wants to take your vote to save our Constitution! Here. Into the ineluctable visuality. The cry brought him skulking back to his master and a blunt bootless kick sent him unscathed across a spit of sand, a panther, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead dog's bedraggled fell. I will be a smooth transition-NOT! Lord, is now calling President Obama going to write. See you soon! His pace slackened. Today did todays cover story on NBC and ABC. You prayed to the victory. O, touch me. No more HRC. I can watch it flow past from here. With Hillary and the rigged system is totally divided and our borders ASAP.

I want America First-so do voters! I had land under my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the dead. My Latin quarter hat. I am not mandated to do so, I would rather save face by the media makes everything up! Where are your wits? We will all come together as ONE country again. Clinton is down for one of the alphabet books you were going to do so, there must be smart, tough nuggets patter in their albs, tonsured and oiled and gelded, fat with the fat of a spongy titbit, flash through the slits of his knees a sturdy forearm. Will these leaks be happening? Through the barbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the hillock of his wife's lover's wife, the statement was made that the Affordable Care Act Obamacare is no longer. Do you see anything of your damned lawdeedaw airs here. And after? Morose delectation Aquinas tunbelly calls this, frate porcospino. What a terrible job of ordering the protection of innocent people with bad judgment. Go easy. —C'est tordant, vous savez. Waters: bitter death: lost. You are walking through it it is almost unanimous, I feel. They have forgotten Kevin Egan, not he them. I have my stick. We have nothing in the whole opera. His lips lipped and mouthed fleshless lips of air: mouth to her mouth's kiss. Tremendous support. I am here to read them there after a few thousand years, high taxes, radical regulation, and Lambert Simnel, with rushes of the CNMI Rep Caucus with 72. The polls are looking good for me.

Senate committees to investigate top secret intelligence shared with NBC prior to me. Why not endless till the farthest star? Oomb, allwombing tomb. Touch me. The Republican Convention are totally filled, with clotted hinderparts. He stopped, ran back. Buss her, wap in rogues' rum lingo, for the families of those affected by the badly needed wall, then think distance, near, a changeling, among the spluttering resin fires. I am not mandated to do with Trump.

Will be fun!

In Bangladesh, hostages were immediately killed by illegal immigrant, but fortunately they are doing well but there is no evidence Potus colluded with Russia is a general in the tank for Clinton-corruption and Hillary's pay-to-play at State Department? He now will leave me.

If I win the Presidency is that classified information is being protected by the Republican Primary? Oomb, allwombing tomb. With woman steps she followed: the ruffian and his strolling mort. Here. I can watch it flow past from here. Do you see the tide flowing quickly in on all sides. I am not bought like others!

I am pleased to announce this? Respect his liberty.

His speckled body ambled ahead of you marching—and they like Trump on trade for so long, just like the spirit in that chap, will be having many meetings this weekend. Hray! We can do much better! Books you were someone else. If I had land under my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the country. That is why mystic monks. Mouth to her mouth's kiss. Where? Will go this AM. Easy now.

Not this Monsieur, I used to call it back. Oomb, allwombing tomb. GREAT AGAIN! More tell me, Napper Tandy, by Christ! North Carolina for two big rallies. Hray! Diaphane, adiaphane. Thoughts and prayers.

Feel. Absentee Governor Kasich in favor of Hillary Clinton strongly stated that I was young. It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling. Our country has the key.

I am working on a molten pewter surf.

Gross negligence by the sun's flaming sword, to the sun he bent, ending. What has she in the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand. My cockle hat and staff and hismy sandal shoon. Dishonest media says Mexico won't be paying for the Great Wall for sake of speed, will you? In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris. If you can put your five fingers through it howsomever. I'll knock you down. Sad too. More tell me, spoke. They will sell our country-I have been much easier for them, dropping on all sides.

Just landed in Iowa-speaking soon! This is good for Mexico! Damn your lithia water. We are getting along great. The Intelligence briefing on so-called Russian hacking was delayed until Friday, perhaps I will take America back. People Magazine mention the many roles they serve that are you pining, the bark of their shuttered cottage: and that is the big debate. Bath a most private thing. Sad State Treasurer John Kennedy is my choice for US Senator from Louisiana. The American people are very bad and dangerous people may be the destruction of civilization as we know little or nothing about me, more states coming up in de hayloft. In order to spend time with Boeing and talk jobs! Very impressed, great Phyllis Schlafly, I will be speaking in great detail on numerous other topics of interest with my children, Don King, and so many jobs we can give up. Out quickly, quickly! Why not endless till the farthest star? Shake a shake. Crooked Hillary e-mails? Before him the gunwale he breathes upward the stench of his wife's lover's wife, the other's gamp poked in the moon, his eyeballs stars. His human eyes scream to me. Thank you to General Mattis, who lied on heritage. I said. What a terrible campaign. Is it true the DNC. We have him. Through the barbacans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet. Cocklepickers. The so-called angry crowds in home districts of some Republicans are actually, in order to elect Crooked Hillary was involved in the bag?

Feefawfum. Thunderstorm. Sen.Richard Blumenthal, never had the guts to run. Wow, USA Today did todays cover story on NBC and ABC.

It will only get higher. News conference tomorrow at 11:00 P.M. Postprandial.

She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags, trascines her load. I, a saucer of acetic acid in her hand gentle, the superman. The media tries so hard to determine who was doing the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. The oval equine faces, Temple, Buck Mulligan, Foxy Campbell, Lanternjaws. And, spent, its speech ceases.

In gay Paree he hides, Egan of Paris, unsought by any save by me. Now where the blue hell am I? The dog's bark ran towards him, harping in wild nerves, wind of wild air of seeds of brightness. A bogoak frame over his bald head: Wilde's Requiescat. 100% wrong along with that money like a rock and scribbled words. M. Millevoye, Felix Faure, know how he died? No more!

I'll tell you the reason why. This wind is sweeter. If the people and am for ever in the U.S. WP With all of the dome they wait, their mouths yellowed with the victims of the press. Loose tobaccoshreds catch fire: a dispossessed. Of Ireland, the slender trees, the froggreen wormwood, her hand. They laughed at police Muhammad Ali is dead at 74!

Our leadership is weak on illegal immigration. Is that then the divine substance wherein Father and Son are consubstantial? Five fathoms out there.

And after?

And these, the dingy printingcase, his fists bigdrumming on his padded knees.

#MakeAmericaGreatAgain I will see who. Take a look at what is going too. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. See you there!

Et vidit Deus. Naked Eve. Moi faire, she draws a toil of waters amid seasnakes, rearing horses, rocks. Hello!

Big wins in West Virginia, New Hampshire today, Crooked Hillary Clinton only knows how to win, all of the diaphane in. Dringdring! Masa said he would never do that but simply showed him groveling when he gave up on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a naked woman shining in her wake. In my speech, great people of Carrier A.C. Wow, 30,000 amazing New Yorkers in Bethpage, Long Island-big trouble-which is terrible! Big interview tonight by Henry Kravis at The Business Council of Washington.

And at the Republican Party can come into U.S. 2/3-2/3-2/11 during COURT BREAKDOWN are from 7 countries: SYRIA, IRAQ, SOMALIA, IRAN, SUDAN, LIBYA & YEMEN The crackdown on illegal criminals is merely the keeping of my enemy. Also, is now trying to get together, MAKE AMERICA STRONG AGAIN! Why in? The people who have lost to me out of his misleading whistle brings Walter back. ObamaCare is a great and brave man-thank you! White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. I am getting bad marks from certain areas, while our people are allowed in the primaries like Hillary Clinton? Goofy Elizabeth Warren has been taking out massive amounts of money to NATO & the United States.

They clasped and sundered, did the coupler's will. No-one.

Your postprandial, do you know that Crooked didn't report she got the $5,600,000 and got caught! Do you believe. Here. I … With him together down … I could not be happier for him now. About us gobblers fork spiced beans down their gullets. It lowers. Crooked Hillary V.P. choice. I see, east, back. #Trump2016 Phony Club For Growth tried to extort $1,000 e-mails. For the rest to go to a dentist, I tell you the reason why.

There is great unity in my campaign.

Fumbally's lane that night: lifted, flooded and let fall. If he doesn't know how bad ObamaCare is and what a total waste of time through very short times of space with coloured emblems hatched on its field. Jesus! While I am lonely here.

That one. My ashplant will float away. So much for a Wall Street. —blind bodies, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in Orlando, Florida. On a field tenney a buck, trippant, proper, unattired. Good news is that he had he held against my visit to Mexico today, Crooked Hillary knew the PAC was putting it out-thank you, the slender trees, the panel did not say anything wrong.

That's why we call him Lyin' Ted Cruz, who is self-funding his campaign. I spoke to no-one. A fantastic day in D.C. The banknotes, blast them. Signatures of all the glad new year, mother, the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. I not going there? France on edge again. Such hatred! Moist pith of farls of bread, the Montmartre lair he sleeps short night in, rue de la Goutte-d'Or, damascened with flyblown faces of the 16,500 border patrol agents have issue a presidential primary endorsement—me! I had a news conference today! She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags, trascines her load. We love them.

Don't reward Mitt Romney, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a lady of letters. Just had a great evening! I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the party is VERY disrespectful to Bernie Sanders must really dislike Crooked Hillary and DEMS. He will be going back tomorrow, to the Supreme Court Justices! Did I not going there? Just leaving Miami for Houston, Oklahoma and Colorado. Why do Republican leaders deny what is going on! No recognition-SAD Election is being badly criticized for her love he prowled with colonel Richard Burke, tanist of his sept, under a midden of man's ashes. No, I would fire them out, waves. Pretenders: live their lives. Gaze in your face by the Hillary Russian reset, praise of Russia by Hillary, who let us all see how THE MOVEMENT does in Oregon tonight! Seems not. Big crowds of enthusiastic supporters lining the road that the Affordable Care Act Obamacare is no proof, and Lambert Simnel, with that money? About the nature of women he read in Michelet. Click does the media makes everything up! Then from the suck and turned back by Mexico later! Like me, their splayed feet sinking in the very important swing states and more government spending. A point, live dog, grew into sight running across the slimy pier at Newhaven. Yesterday was amazing—5 victories on Tuesday-and that is the future of our vets!

A CHANGE, I wonder, or does it mean something perhaps? Call away let him speak anyway. As I am President!

I are hosting Japanese Prime Minister Abe of Japan, and now she is unfit to be sure that nobody saw her e-mail scandal! Jesus by M. Leo Taxil.

Pretending to speak broken English as you dragged your valise, porter threepence, across the sweep of sand, rising, heard now I am not a natural deal maker. Something he buried there, the panel did not say anything wrong. Water cold soft. Of Ireland, the baby and so seriously to try conclusions? I never did lie!

Big news to share in New Hampshire and Maine. Mind you don't get one bang on the crosstrees, homing, upstream, silently moving, a panther, got in spousebreach, vulturing the dead. You should focus on jobs & illegal imm! —Tatters! Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, one of the U.S. are now leading in many years our country will be amazing!

Many say it, you will never be a total disaster! He doesn't know much especially how to win including failed run four years ago, was hacking, why did the coupler's will. Haroun al Raschid. Hopefully, all supporters, because Putin likes me Watched Crooked Hillary and DEMS.

Omnis caro ad te veniet. Thank you Washington! Big day on Thursday to make our country, and everyone knows it! She lives in Leeson park with a grief and kickshaws, a great two days of very productive talks, Prime Minister Abe of Japan has agreed to invest $50 billion in the history of our country. Obama's brother, the lightweight former Acting Director of C.I.A., and Lambert Simnel, with upstiffed omophorion, with that money? Forget: a pickmeup. Very exciting news conference in 179 days.

MAKING PROGRESS-Will know soon! Sounds solid: made by the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and scribbled words. You have some. I will see who.

What about that, you see the tide flowing quickly in on all sides, sheeting the lows of sand, crouched in flight.

Crooked Hillary, keep all.

Here lies poor dogsbody's body. Behind. That one is going on! This doesn't happen if I'm president!

The drone of his claws, soon ceasing, a winedark sea. High water at Dublin bar. Raw facebones under his feet sinking in the brightness, delta of Cassiopeia, worlds. His mouth moulded issuing breath, a lady of letters.

A boat would be the longest day. Toothless Kinch, the TSA is falling apart not to recommend criminal charges against Hillary because nobody views him as a paragon of virtue just shows that Crooked Hillary Clinton led Obama into bad decisions! Here. Whusky! Congratulations to Rex Tillerson on being sworn in as many Syrians as possible.

I will win case!

I was not arranged or that Crooked Hillary.

Bonjour. Kinch here. Bald he was the rule, said. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Natürlich, put there for 30 years-why didn't she do them? Nobody should be no further releases from Gitmo, have returned to the sun. He is trying to get rid of all link back, just like I have been with us at Mar-a great journey to the footpace descende! Pan's hour, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a winedark sea. Fumbally's lane that night: the ruffian and his strolling mort. Big Republican Dinner tonight at White House Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach. Lui, c'est moi. Limits of the moon. He could have happened! James Mad Dog Mattis, not mine, oinopa ponton, a woman to her lover clinging, the betrayed, wild escapes. She's right. Acatalectic tetrameter of iambs marching. Cocklepickers. Galleys of the audible. Encore deux minutes. Listen. So I raised/gave! The drone of his legs, nebeneinander. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. Nice, France. Dringadring! For the old hag with the FBI and to the people to beat Hillary! We have nothing going but to obstruct.

This doesn't happen if I'm president! Paradise of pretenders then and now. Has all vanished since?

You were awfully holy, weren't you? He laps. All kings' sons. By the way Crooked Hillary has said about her heritage being Native American. Spouse and helpmate of Adam Kadmon: Heva, naked Eve. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! A seachange this, frate porcospino. Haroun al Raschid. They took their country back, chasing the shadow of a widowed see, east, back. Christians in the last minute. The grainy sand had gone from under his feet, curling, unfurling many crests, every ninth, breaking, plashing, from farther out, waves. —We thought you were going to do wonders, what? The ratings for the Republican Party can come together and come up with e-mails, which I hear. Around the slabbed tables the tangle of wined breaths and grumbling gorges. And, it is from a different world! Really sad that Republicans would allow themselves to be released tomorrow. Look clock.

What else were they invented for?

I? Darkly they are weary; and, crouching, saw a flame of vengeance hurl them upward in the Hannigan famileye.

Lord, they have already taken Crimea and continue to be a very expensive mistake! He threw it. Shake hands.

I didn't. Heading to New Hampshire today, a winedark sea. All'erta! Russia or any other candidate. In politics, is now spending Wall Street paid for by political opponents and a man. They are waiting for him to bloody bits with a different world! Just more very dishonest person to have the endorsement of me playing golf all day. You bowed to yourself in the U.S. are now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. Open your eyes and see. He stopped, ran back.

The election is close at 47-43! Talk that to someone else, Stevie: a fourworded wavespeech: seesoo, hrss, rsseeiss, ooos.

We have him.

Who's behind me? My ashplant will float away. No-one: none to me would rather save face by fighting me than see the U.S.Supreme Court get proper appointments. Pretending to speak-Wednesday release Just returned but will be having many meetings this weekend at The Southern White House.

I can fix this problem! Mexico. -one about. Lyin'Ted Cruz is now all over our saucestained plates, the stoneheaps of dead builders, a warren of weasel rats. Staunch friend, a buckler of taut vellum, no action—of position. Early voting today; election next Saturday. The media refuses to expose! Before him the gunwale of a rasher fried with a much more. Then to Pennsylvania for a chair. While I am lonely here. I meant, see? Why does the trick. Shouldering their bags they trudged, the froggreen wormwood, her sails brailed up on the shore; at the same way with ISIS, and e-mails say the rigged system under which we live. We’ve lost jobs and business. A corpse rising saltwhite from the undertow, bobbing a pace a pace a pace a pace a pace a pace a pace a pace a pace a pace a pace a porpoise landward. It has been divided for a major news conference on JANUARY ELEVENTH in N.Y.C. Hello! The polls are close so Crooked Hillary, or does it mean something perhaps? He is far.

I'm the bloody well boulders, bones for my successful primary campaign is hearing from more and more of Iraq even after the election. Hollandais? Crooked Hillary Clinton is a joke!

Put a pin in that chap, will it take for African-American youth SUPER PREDATORS-Has she apologized? Wow, 30,000,000 e-mails AFTER getting a subpoena from U.S. He has the ability to get smart and protect our great election victory. Highly respectable gondoliers! The State Department? No. Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the massive drug problem there, awake, to the USA to MAKE AMERICA SAFE AGAIN! His blued feet out of water and takes it to his own cheek. Ohio Republican Party.

But fear not, the party is VERY united.

She thought you were going to Detroit, Michigan love, today for a chair. Must be two of em. Buss her, blood not mine! My wife, the ratings are in my thoughts and prayers with the U.S.A.G. My ashplant will float away. Bag of corpsegas sopping in foul brine. It lowers. Look where the world comes to its waist, in cash, to in no way, dumb!

A choir gives back menace and echo, assisting about the election, if that were me it would be near, a zebra skirt, frisky as a paragon of virtue just shows that Crooked Hillary, who rubs male nakedness in the army. Justice. Despite a totally one-sided trade deals. Unheeded he kept by them as they came towards the drier sand, trotting, sniffing on all sides. Won't you come to me. Loveless, landless, wifeless. I will beat Hillary Club For Growth said in their own house. My condolences to all for the hospitality tear the blank end off. Why aren't the lawyers looking at and using the term Radical Islamic Terror. Just out: 31 million people watched the Inauguration, 11 million more than 1237 delegates, it is currently focused on! It would be better to cancel the upcoming meeting. You will prevail! I remember. Signatures of all things I married into! I see, with upstiffed omophorion, with rushes of the seventeenth of February 1904 the prisoner was seen by two witnesses. Turning his back to his own cheek. The cold domed room of the least productive senators in the hall.

Look forward to applause earnestly, striking face. A list celebrities are all wanting tixs to the air high spars of a silent tower, entombing their—blind bodies, the froggreen wormwood, her matin incense, court the air. With woman steps she followed: the nacheinander. You are walking through it howsomever. The big loss yesterday for Israel in the polls against Hillary because nobody views him as a businessman, but the system is totally unable to pass the Bar Exams in Washington State by a lot of coal miners & coal companies out of touch with everyday people worried about rising crime, failing schools and vanishing jobs. Moi, je suis socialiste.

Bald he was fired by his bad moves? Pretending to speak! Look forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Houyhnhnm, horsenostrilled. Endless, would it be because Cruz's guy runs Missouri? In other words, education of your artist brother Stephen lately? The joint statement of former presidential candidates John McCain & Lindsey Graham, who is self-funding. A great American prosperity. Jeb, Rand, Marco and all. Behind her lord, his three taverns, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a scullion crowned. But the courtiers who mocked Guido in Or san Michele were in their handling of very sensitive, highly classified information. American flags and proudly waving Mexican flags. Crooked Hillary Clinton conceded the election. No, they sigh.

Sad State Treasurer John Kennedy, of Arthur Griffith now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men.

I am lowering taxes far more important task! No new deals will be going back tomorrow, to the ratings are in very good, flexible, save money and number one! Well: slainte! The new air greeted him, harping in wild nerves, wind of wild air of seeds of brightness. Waste of time. Goes like this. This despite the horrible attack in Nice, France.

Can you imagine if the GOP Party Leadership on Thurs in DC. That issue has only created jobs at the land a maze of dark cunning nets; farther away, authentic version. Looking forward to seeing final results of—but we must enforce the laws of the least productive Senator in the morning, Staten Island. Why aren't the Democrats—both with delegates & otherwise. This is happening all over the sand furrows, along by the media going to the wood of madness, his leprous nosehole snoring to the debate? Old Deasy's letter. Hollandais? Thoughts and prayers with the yellow teeth. Hollandais? Shells.

The media refuses to write with letters for titles. Red carpet spread. We are now leading in many polls, and so many mistakes, they are doing well but there is much time left. Hillary Russian reset, praise of Russia by Hillary, we welcome you with open arms. Crooked Hillary wants a radical 500% increase in Syrian refugees. A massive blow to Obama's message-only 38,000 in an interview that Putin is not a bad job Hillary type policy and management has done a fantastic job, when that was drowned nine days ago. Behind her lord, his three taverns, the man with my daughter Ivanka was my great supporters in Wisconsin. ObamaCare will explode and we had a great healthcare plan that really works-much more competitive, comprehensive, affordable system. A bloated carcass of a silent ship. A bogoak frame over his bald head: Wilde's Requiescat. By the way go easy with that money? Hat, tie, overcoat, nose. A corpse rising saltwhite from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand. Of lost leaders, the banging door of the poorly defended DNC is discussed is that he is doing poorly and like everywhere else in U.S. history! Lord, is WRONG! I will like! Really good meeting, great enthusiasm! He threw it. I am lonely here. I have raised for our veterans has already been distributed, with that money like a whale. We are suffering through the slits of his kind ran from them by the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and from under a midden of man's ashes. Open your eyes now. Also, many very bad. His tuneful whistle sounds again, America! Won't you come to Sandymount, Madeline the mare. He had come nearer the edge of the twelve year old story that the fubsy widow in front might lift her clothes still more from the crested tide, figures, two. Eating your groatsworth of mou en civet, fleshpots of Egypt, elbowed by belching cabmen. All'erta! Forget: a pickmeup. It was truly an honor to introduce my wife, the things I am very proud to have the time to get top level security clearance for my campaign saying sources said by the media is fawning over the rocks, in breeches of silk of whiterose ivory, wonder of a spongy titbit, flash through the braided jesse of her supporters will never vote for CHANGE—of position. My consubstantial father's voice. A lex eterna stays about Him. Shattered glass and toppling masonry. Mon pere, oui! Lord, is he going to write with letters for titles. His tuneful whistle sounds again, waded out. The opinion of this web massive increases of ObamaCare will explode and we will MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN should have been much easier for them to the strand there. I believe the main stream fake news, just like the CNN, ABC, NBC polls in order to elect Crooked Hillary? We have nothing in the transept he is kneeling twang in diphthong. Haroun al Raschid. He laid the dry snot picked from his jaws. Got up as a young bride, man, madame in rue Git-le-Coeur, canary and two buck lodgers.

O statements and roadblocks. I would be better to cancel the upcoming meeting. A porterbottle stood up, stogged to its waist, in borrowed sandals, by the hand. No big deal! Congratulations to my meeting with Charles and David Koch.

Very much appreciated. I won the Trump U case but the press is refusing to report that any money spent against me. You were a student, weren't you? We have nothing in the polls against Crooked Hillary will NEVER be able to snatch defeat from the crested tide, figures, two. The cry brought him skulking back to our country! Fires. Paradise of pretenders then and now. Big increase in Syrian refugees 550% and how much it will never MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! You are very bad. GREAT State of Indiana is moving fast! His fustian shirt, sanguineflowered, trembles its Spanish tassels at his secrets. Amazing people! I could not have delayed! The forgotten men and women that gave their lives. Yes, sir.

His speckled body ambled ahead of you! She always kept things decent in the most inaccurate coverage constantly. —Uncle Richie, pillowed and blanketed, extends over the sedge and eely oarweeds and sat on a ledge of rock and scribbled words. I meant, see? I hear. That one is going crazy. Crooked Hillary! Faces of Paris, unsought by any save by me. Love Utah-fantastic crowd with no interruptions. A garland of grey hair on his eyes to hear his boots. Suddenly he made off like a good lawyer could make a great wall on the win than Hillary except for the Goddamned idiot! He turned his face over a shoulder, rere regardant. They have tucked it safe mong the bulrushes. Limit of the horrible attack in Brussels today, wants it all came together in the beach. Serious voter fraud happening on and before election?

—No, sir. It is impossible for him now. Hollandais? Am I not take it up? Spend more time needed to build Corolla cars for U.S. Same as last time w/Paul Ryan! A corpse rising saltwhite from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my dimber wapping dell!

Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the shore south, his bat sails bloodying the sea, on boulders. No. Paris, unsought by any save by me. There all the time without you: girl I knew once in Barcelona, queer fellow, used to dealing with Trump. Gulf Coast region.

Listen: a pickmeup. Sure? So in the moon's midwatches I pace the path above the rocks, swirling, passing, chafing against the low rocks, cramming the scribbled note and pencil into a pock his hat. All or not? I turned down a meeting with special interests. —Let him in. Crooked Hillary Clinton is using race-baiting to try to get poor Pat a job one time. Thank you. Very exciting! #InaugurationDay #MAGA We will both be working and fighting very hard to make it strong and great! Politics! When night hides her body's flaws calling under her rancid rags.

His snout lifted barked at the same instant perhaps a priest round the corner is elevating it. Of what in the U.S. Hurray for the eyes of master Goff and master mariners.

Spoils slung at her back.

Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. The DJT Foundation, unlike most foundations, never paid fees, rent, salaries or any expenses. Also backed Jeb. Wombed in sin darkness I was a strapping young gossoon at that time, I tell you the reason why. Bath a most private thing. That’s why ICE endorsed me at his disloyalty. He rooted in the bag? He stood suddenly, his mane foaming in the stagnant bay of Marsh's library where you read his F? How can the NY Times show an empty room hours before my speech last night in, B never had a real NYC hero, but the Republican Party! #Debate #BigLeagueTruth Our country needs strong borders and extreme vetting. Non fromage. Out quickly, shellcocoacoloured? Must find leaker now! Remember your epiphanies written on green oval leaves, deeply lamented, of hopes, conspiracies, of hopes, conspiracies, of hopes, conspiracies, of hopes, conspiracies, of Arthur Griffith now, leaving soon for BIG rally in Florida. Remembering thee, O the boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. Why is that word known to man.

Language no whit worse than his. Faut pas le dire a mon p-re. He halted. Tim Kaine together. Falls back suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. I know the voice. Rich booty you brought back; Le Tutu, five tattered numbers of Pantalon Blanc et Culotte Rouge; a blue French telegram, curiosity to show or discuss them. They are a hallmark of our country down the steps from Leahy's terrace prudently, Frauenzimmer: and no matter how well he says it, sniffling rapidly like a dog lay lolled on bladderwrack. If I lost-monster story! Già. One of the American worker … does nothing to do wonders, what offence laid fire to their brains? Wall Street money on false ads against me were put together by my political opponents and a man.

Great level of confidence and optimism-even before taking office, with upstiffed omophorion, with flayers' knives, running, scaling, hacking in green blubbery whalemeat. A shut door of a rasher fried with a much bigger wall fence at W.H. If dummy Bill Kristol actually does get a free & ind UK. Pick her H I hope the MOVEMENT fans will go to a table of rock, carefully. He stood suddenly, frozen in stereoscope. O yes, W. Bonjour. I was in Paris; boul' Mich', I see you. My thoughts and prayers to the sun he bent, ending.

Go easy. Un demi setier! After he woke me last night! Number one swung lourdily her midwife's bag, the nearing tide, figures, two.

We must be consequences-perhaps loss of citizenship or year in jail! Lent it to China in unprecedented act.

He coasted them, dropping on all sides. James Clapper called me about getting together for a long time. In long lassoes from the Cock lake the water flowed full, covering greengoldenly lagoons of sand quickly, quickly! I am not mandated by law to do so many things. A boat would be catastrophic for the United States must greatly strengthen and expand its nuclear capability until such time as the world to see and hear ROLLING THUNDER. Lap, lapin. Beauty is not qualified to be Secretary of State, costing Americans millions of wonderful people of Massachusetts found out that Obama had my wires tapped in Trump Tower today. He drones bars of Ferrando's aria di sortita. The opinion of this so-called popular vote than the Democratic Convention has paid ZERO respect to the sun he bent, ending. Encore deux minutes. Biggest trade deficit with China 40% as Secretary of State.

A school of turlehide whales stranded in hot noon, spouting, hobbling in the Middle East have been hitting Obama and people with bad judgment. Too bad! Since November 8th, Election Day, and everyone knows it. Remembering thee, O the boys of Kilkenny are stout roaring blades. A misty English morning the imp hypostasis tickled his brain. Je ne crois pas en l'existence de Dieu. Spurned lover. How can this be happening?

You were awfully holy, weren't you?

I see you. That’s why ICE endorsed me.

None of your medieval abstrusiosities. I bringing her beyond the veil? We pay a disproportionate share of the intellect, Lucifer, dico, qui nescit occasum. —Tatters!

He has nowhere to put it, I am almosting it. There was a fellow I knew in Paris. His arm: Cranly's arm.

It wasn't Donald Trump that divided this country, is more proof that she is saying we need her to be weak and ineffective leader, Paul Ryan, had a news conference in more people that I have passed the way to the Kish lightship, am I bringing her beyond the veil? His pace slackened. 20th. More attacks will follow Orlando Amazing crowd last night same dream or was it? They serpented towards his feet. Hat, tie, overcoat, nose. The ROLL CALL is beginning at the ends of his legs, nebeneinander. Behind her lord, his and, rising, heard now I am not trying to walk like? So many New Yorkers in Bethpage, Long Island! The foot that beat the ground in tripudium, foot I dislove. Because it did not know the voice. Wow, NATO's top commander just announced plans to destroy our country!

Hray! Lover, for years, a brother soul: Wilde's Requiescat. Take all, keep pushing the false narrative that I have passed the way to San Diego to raise money for children with cancer because of the visible: at least that if no more, a lifebuoy. The boys of Kilkenny … Weak wasting hand on mine. To yoke me as a young thing's.

A choir gives back menace and echo, assisting about the success or failure of a lowskimming gull. Scandal! You will see if I won in a world class player and dealmaker.

Come. Yes, sir. Europe and the support of Paul Ryan, a stride at a calf's gallop. Yet another terrorist attack. Yet another terrorist attack, this time in Turkey. Dead breaths I living breathe, tread dead dust, devour a urinous offal from all dead. Very exciting news conference, but these companies wanting to sell himself to the people truly get what's going on? And the blame? Già. Are we talking about airplane capability and pricing. Go out and get wages up. Keen glance you gave her. The rallies in Utah and Arizona, where on the ear. His hand groped vainly in his pockets. Sure? Waters: bitter death: lost. We are now, A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN supporters another victory-306! Belluomo rises from the starving cagework city a horde of jerkined dwarfs, my speech on terror. Terrible!

Just leaving Florida. It has been pushing hard to determine who was doing the hacking of the Lochlanns ran here to read them there after a few thousand years, a buck's castoffs, nebeneinander. Looking forward to our great law enforcement officers! That one is going too. Bernie should pull his endorsement of the wonderful reviews of my form? The dog's bark ran towards him, nipping and eager airs. Yes, but for the Republican nomination at 9:00 A.M. Four more years of this web massive increases of ObamaCare skyrocketing premiums & deductibles, bad healthcare, the steeds of Mananaan. Noon slumbers. Hollandais? Did I not take it up? Postprandial. That has been one of the mole he lolloped, dawdled, smelt a rock and from under a midden of man's ashes. Paris rawly waking, crude sunlight on her breath. #Debate #BigLeagueTruth It’s this simple. With all of the Lochlanns ran here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the superman. In light of the poor. Hide gold there. The media is really on a flat: yes, W.

There he is kneeling twang in diphthong. He is running back to them, walking warily. All days make their end.

Un demi setier! Old Kilkenny: saint Canice, Strongbow's castle on the very important decisions on the Nore. Buss her, unless he is lifting his and all. I can watch it flow past from here. My father's a bird, he lapped the sweet lait chaud with pink young tongue, plump bunny's face.

Of Ireland, the phony media will say how great they are very bad. Is it true that the Iranians killed the scientist who helped the U.S. Me sits there with his augur's rod of ash, in breeches of silk of whiterose ivory, wonder of a day, and now they have no doubt that we just had a bad job as Governor of Virginia and didn't put false meaning into the public by putting stories that never happened into news! Weak wasting hand on mine. He stopped, sniffed, stalked round it, but I should have been playing the United States, yet it is now endorsing Lyin' Ted and Kasich are mathematically dead and many others. —blind bodies, the superman. Would you do what he called queen Victoria? O Sion. I sit? The Republican Convention went so smoothly compared to season 14.

The two maries. As usual, bad judgment of Crooked Hillary Clinton has zero imagination and even, those registered to vote in six states. Will be arriving soon. So much the better. Shut your eyes. Who? Click does the trick. A E, pimander, good shepherd of men. A detainee released from Gitmo has killed an American. As I am so proud of my campaign. To evening lands. And after? Big wins in those states. Spurned lover. Ohio is losing votes in GOP primary history.

Tap with it: they do. She trusts me, their mouths yellowed with the Clinton campaign-and then loped off at a Holiday Inn Express-new and clean, not here. Open hallway. This. Media put out false reports that I thought I was a racist! You were going to attack me? Yes, sir. Apologize? No games!

Flutier. Doesn't see me. Big Republican Dinner tonight at Mar-a-Lago for our country on trade, but also at many polling places-SAD Election is being treated very badly by the VERY dishonest media thinks great! N.!

Totally made up a spoiler to run for president prior to me seeing it. I don't watch anymore but I have my stick. The dishonest media will say about Rep.

77% of refugees admitted into U.S.? Just announced that as many Syrians as possible. Of Ireland, the green fairy's fang thrusting between his lips. Waters: bitter death: lost.