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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v.

then he turns up at your door.

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within.

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over.

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight.

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed. It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on.

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code.

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time.

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water.

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine.

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.” The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious.

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new.

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed.

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?”

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone.

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one.

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they?

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.”

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper.

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go.

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked.

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs.

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least).

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for.

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good.

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone.

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend.

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way.

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God.

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence.

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things.

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.”

Ah.

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.”

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new.

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased.

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs.

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples.

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice.

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off.

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs.

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?”

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight.

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality.

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own.

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

#btswritingcafe #magicshopnet #btswriterscollective #taehyung x reader #bts #taehyung x you #taehyung au #bts au #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung scenario #taehyung imagine #android taehyung #robot taehyung #look you know the drill by now: I don't know how to tag effectively #taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #dbh is so good guys. I love connor. like. an alarming amount.

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clairdelunelove · 4 years

Text

AOT Valentine’s Day Headcanons

eren jaeger x reader, jean kirschstein x reader, armin arlert x reader, levi ackerman x reader, erwin smith x reader, porco galliard x reader, genderneutral!reader

genre: insane amounts of fluff, comfort

warnings: slight cursing, insane amounts of fluff

synopsis: small scenarios of what some aot boys would do for you during valentine’s day.

a.n: enjoy the lovely day with some of these cuties! remember to take care of yourselves and know you’re all loved <3

eren jaeger

this man would definitely try to cook a nice dinner for you

especially if you’re having a hard week

expect him to be researching the best recipe a couple days beforehand

“what are you doing, eren?”

he’ll glance up and nonchalantly mutter, “nothing, babe” while scrolling through fancy recipes

on valentine’s day it’s his time to shine

waits for you to leave the house and go to work before leaving to pick up the necessary ingredients

gets in a verbal argument with a store clerk if he doesn’t find the exact name of what he’s searching for

“are you deaf? I said I needed a bag of shrimp”

“and we have that, sir. you said you needed a bag of prawns right?”

“it’s shrimp! how many goddamn times do I need to repeat myself?”

gets home with bags full of groceries and gets to work

slowly chops all the vegetables and curses when he nicks his finger with the edge of the knife

puts too much oil in the frying pan and tosses everything in there

scrolls through his phone while waiting

spends fifteen minutes ogling at his screensaver

of course it’s a pic of you

ends up burning everything he made

orders takeout, plates it real nice, and attempts to brush off that it was his cooking once you’re home

“this is so good, babe!” you exclaim while lifting the fork to your mouth, “tastes like the order we usually get at that one French restaurant.”

“glad you like it, baby”

cue his nervous sweating

jean kirschstein

simp energy!

makes previous reservations to take a painting class with you

tells you to dress warm before the two of you head out

so! happy!

has the goofiest smile on the actual date

tucks your hand in his pocket while walking to the art studio

spends the whole time checking over at your easel

audibly approves of everything you do, even if you’re drawing a line

“wow, it looks great sweetheart”

scrunches up his brows while concentrating

listens to the art instructor say to paint something that they love

takes it quite literally

paints you

tries to get each pretty feature about you

swipes his hand over his cheek and gets paint on it

literally sweats out of pure focus and won’t want to leave until he’s done

“jean, babe, we gotta go”

“five more minutes please. almost done”

five min turns into five hours

jean’s painting of you is surprisingly amazing and he’s even lowkey impressed

has a random stranger take a pic of you and him together while holding up the paintings

treats you to an expensive restaurant afterwards and pays

full stomachs = happy couple

pulls you close while walking through the downtown streets

whispers cheeky pickup lines into your ear and presses a kiss against your head

best. day. ever.

connie springer

did you say it was valentine’s day?

shit

definitely forgets about the whole holiday but is quick enough to put something together for you

you both aren’t super invested in sappy holidays but connie tries each time

the morning of, he’ll run to the nearest shops and try to pick out a bouquet of flowers for you

everything’s sold out

will curse his luck and literally sprint out of there

kicks himself for not planning in advance as he’s walking up the driveway of your house

notices the neighbor’s beautiful flowers

idea!

he will dash through each neighbor’s yard and pick their flowers so a mismatched bouquet rests in his hand

“happy valentine’s day, my favorite goofball!”

“thanks, babe,” your wide eyes stare at the uncoordinated bouquet in your hands, “I love it”

cue the mud that falls to the floorboards

you scold connie about the dirt that’s still stuck on the roots since it dirties the floors

he’ll take you out to watch a comedy show too!

whole evening of laughter while his arm is wrapped around your shoulder

you were both glowing in happiness (along with having a sore stomach) afterwards

wraps his sweater around you since the evening was getting chilly

drives you home and gives you the sweetest kiss

he’ll pull away with a, “wow” while being completely dazed out

let’s you take his jacket home and texts you corny jokes the whole night

Maro Bott

desperately! wants you to be his valentine

almost cries tears of joy when you accept his confession which only makes you confused

“Marco, sweetie, we’ve been dating for two years”

“doesn’t matter, love”

shows up extra early with a bouquet of roses

“happy valentine’s day!”

expect him to walk inside the house and look through all your cabinets for a vase

helps you pick out an outfit because he has the “perfect date” planned

causes you to be wrapped in bundles of clothing

won’t tell you where he’s taking you once the two of you are in the car

“an,” you tilt your head and albeit a bit puzzled, “ice rink?”

“time for some ice skating!”

laces up your skates before he even does his own so he makes sure it’s secure

will ask multiple times if your feet are comfortable

once he has his skates on, it’s game over

can’t walk without holding onto your hand for a couple moments

“this is harder than I thought,” he confesses with a nervous grin

gets on the ice and falls

hard

the thump causes everyone to look at the two of you and he only responds with, “oh look (Y/n)! I’ve fallen for you! Get it?”

undoubtedly makes you giggle and onlookers awe

gets the hang of ice skating and teaches you how if you’re scared of falling

makes excuses to pull you close and sweetly kiss your cheek

“it’s part of the learning process”

the day was as sweet as Marco is

Armin Arlert

bookstore date!

will definitely plan in advance because he wants everything to be perfect

expect a good morning text that’s a whole paragraph long <3

still asks you, “can I be your valentine?” even if you are both dating

plan on wearing matching outfits for the day

light academia style of white turtlenecks, beige pants, and cardigans

will take a selfie with you and set it as his lock screen so he can awe at it every second

“you’re breathtaking”

intertwines your fingers with his when you’re holding hands

swings it while walking

lots of attention once the two of you step inside the bookstore

constant whispering about the matching outfits and innocent affection

he’ll lead you to the back of the store and spend the entire day there

sits on the floor, leaning against the wooden bookcase, and stroking your hair while you’re laying on his lap

silence = peace

piles of books around you both

“how’s the plot, love?”

will ask that when his head is resting on your thigh and inwardly loves how comfy you are

buys all the books you want and waves away your credit card when you try to pay

“consider it repayment for spending the day with me”

holds the tote bag of books the whole time despite it being heavy

stops by the cafe to buy cups of hot chocolate

notices a small amount of whipped cream on the corner of your mouth

chuckles and stops to literally lean down to press his lips against yours in order to wipe it off

whispers, “you’re so lovely, angel”

both of you will pull away with flushed faces and lovesick smiles

Levi Ackerman

“what’s this for, brat?”

frowns once he opens his front door and you’re standing there with a wide grin

“happy valentine’s day, dear! I wanted to watch a movie then-”

“yeah, yeah”

lets you in anyways

takes the large basket full of movies, snacks, and skincare out of your hands

sets it on the kitchen counter and you immediately pop a bag of popcorn into the microwave

your movements are quick as you’re scurrying around the kitchen retrieving bowls, plates, and napkins

levi watches you from the couch, inwardly pleased that you’re able to memorize the layout of his house since you’ve been over so many times

he’d never tell a soul though

movies with levi!

he won’t pay attention to the movie at all but still comments film mistakes

“he wasn’t even wearing that sweater in the previous scene”

“levi, honey, who even pays attention to that”

“people with eyes”

allows you to cuddle close to him but his fingers itch to bring you even closer

audibly groans when you move away to fetch something

“self care time!” you exclaim while holding up a pack of face masks

will not let you put one on him once he sees how silly they look

“please?”

“no,” he states, “they look fucking ridiculous”

does it anyways once your puppy dog eyes are on display

curses as you slick his hair back and put one on him

hates it and voices his opinion

but at the end of the day, he agrees with the saying, ‘happy wife, happy life’

and oh yes, you were going to be his wife one day

Erwin Smith

imagine sleeping in and waking up to breakfast in bed

pancakes, waffles, bagels, raspberry streusel muffins

and everything’s like

in the shape of a heart <3

turns on some classical, romance music

sweet candles that smell like vanilla = burning

that’s what this man would do

wakes up super early

determined to whip everything up pronto

folded all the laundry, cleaned the dishes, vacuumed the house

amazing

10/10 gentleman

“good morning, love”

edges the bedroom door open with his shoulder while holding a tray of delicious food

definitely still in casual wear clothes

a sweater and grey joggers that he wore to sleep

loves the smile on your face

says “happy valentine’s day” and presses a kiss on the back of your hand

sits on the edge of the bed while you eat

chuckles when you feed him

lets you though

brushes your hair back each time you take a bite to eat

amusingly shakes his head whenever you over-exaggerate a hum in delight

pleased smirks!

definitely tried to swipe whip cream over your cheek just to hear you giggle

it’s beautiful

watches the way the sunlight pours through the window and creates a glow on your face

serenity, calmness, and adoration

discreetly pinches himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming

wouldn’t want this day to end

Porco Galliard

“you doin’ anything today or what?”

will be the first text you get from him in the early morning

after a second passes, the little dots show up to indicate he’s typing again

“nvm. lemme take you out today”

shows up to your place unannounced and immediately notices what you’re wearing

“you’re wearing that? like for real?”

“is there something wrong with it?”

notices the panic in your eyes and immediately stutters

“nah, just,” he’ll bring his hand up to swipe at his noise while avoiding your gaze, “think you’ll be cold but you can wear my jacket or whatever.”

leads you to his muscle car and opens up the passenger door for you

surprisingly chivalrous for the day

drives throughout town to pick up stuff like a blanket, picnic basket, pre-made food, drinks

pays for it, of course, because he claims he’s the better man like that

“only scummy men let their partners pay”

spends the whole day driving around, hand on your thigh, while blasting your fav songs”

rolls the windows down so other drivers look your way

will also flip off anyone that suggestively gazes at you

loves when you belt out the lyrics and eagerly want him to join your singing session

rolls his eyes, “me? singing? gross.”

will sing 100% but only if you don’t call his bluff

pulls to the side of the road and sets up a romantic picnic spot nestled in an open field

drapes his jacket over your smaller physique and only mutters, “wear it before you catch a cold”

spends the evening star gazing, letting you rest your head on his chest while his hands are folded behind his neck

carries you back to the car once you’re asleep, snaps on your seatbelt, presses a kiss on your forehead, and mumbles, “thanks for lettin’ me take you out today, idiot.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger #eren jaeger headcanons #jean kirschstein #jean x reader #jean kirschtein headcanons #armin aot #armin arlert #armin x reader #levi ackerman #erwin smith #porco headcanons #porco galliard #connie springer #connie x reader

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leahseclipse · 4 years

Text

Daily surprises

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None that I can think of.

Summary: Everyday, Spencer finds a new book in his bag, as he begins to look forward to it when the event has been occurring for a while.

Requested by @writing-in-april

A/N: I really liked writing this request!!! it really was cute asF!! Thanks for proposing that April, the fic u wrote for me last time was amazing (as ALWAYS), so I hope that you’ll like this one.

And uhh sorry about the books parts, I don’t know any of the books- I literally googled the summaries-

Word count: 3.8k

Books have always been a passion of mine; I have always been fascinated by how words can make the reader feel, how each reader can have a different opinion about them, different feelings, every reader is different when it comes to the fact of the opinion they have about the work.

They had always been a sort of shelter to me. I usually had the habit (and still have it) to comfort myself in them, they’d be able to express feelings like no one could, allow me to learn about various things, subject, build an opinion on a subject I had never thought of having an opinion, debate or even mention before.

I had been collecting more and more of them through the years, to the point of having an apartment that could be mistaken as a sort of tiny library.

My books are literally everywhere, in my shelves, on my couch, on the low table, under and on chairs, even at my desk, and in my bag.

I always carry around one or two in my bag (of course, if they both don’t contain a lot of pages to the point of weighing a ton when combined together), in case I happen to have free time (which happened to become rare when I had begun working at the FBI), and have nothing else to do but read.

It also happened to be a passion I've been sharing with another person, more known as y/n.

She had first mentioned that she didn't happen to read a lot, but eventually appreciated reading, which I was more than happy to hear, considering all the books I knew and how much it meant to me.

Clearly, she didn't expect me to know a whole library in my brain when she happened to ask if I could recommend a few; but she always liked to hear me rambling about them.

She had eventually begun taking a liking to reading again; often asking me about books I've read, talking about her opinion on the book she had read, which would often be followed by an endless rambling from me, being much longer than what she had previously explained, or even expected when I had begun sharing my opinion as well.

It was nice to have someone else to talk about books with, without feeling I could possibly be disturbing them.

Most of my colleagues would either stay there until I'd be done, they knew how much I appreciated talking about these to them; even if the majority of the team wasn't much interested, they were just being polite and respectful by staying.

Now that I talk about it, I probably should have apologized for all of the times I had rambled for a large amount of time when talking about the four books I've read in a day.

They're pretty much the main subjects I talk the most about, if, of course, I exclude Star Trek, Doctor Who, and the many subjects I throw facts about all day long from the long list that includes all of the things I'm interested in;

...which would take quite a while to detail its entirety, since I probably would take the time to explain each of them as detailed as possible, without letting any word behind, as my brain would constantly send me as much information as it contains...which again, means, a lot.

But, even if my passion about them is often difficult to keep for myself without having the need to ramble an essay worth long about them, I try not to begin to talk about it, or mention it, except if someone else does.

That became rare…as I often end up talking more than intended each time.

Reading can sometimes lead me to fall asleep quite later than I planned before even taking the book itself.

Having the ability to read fast has often led to many nights with little sleep, considering how many books I can read in a short amount of time.

The aftermath of it isn't pleasant, as it results in more fatigue on top of the one I already have because of how late I'd stay up when working at the bureau.

The feeling I had this morning when I had woken up happened to be one of the side effects of a long and endless reading session I had done the previous night.

Little did I find out after thinking about it for a bit that I'd probably be regretting it at the end of the day, if not earlier.

Even if my body was telling me to stay in my bed considering how tired I was, work couldn't allow me to do it, unfortunately.

It only took a quarter of an hour in order for me to get ready, as I already had been crossing the door to leave my apartment without having the time to think about doing it.

The rest of the morning wasn't as busy as it usually would be; only paperwork for the previous days, nothing too complicated.

But because of the short night I had, the coffee trips have been quite numerous after a while.

A short conversation had occurred later in the day between y/n and me when she had gone to peek over my desk, curious to why I had been going in and out of consciousness; and leaving a lot to take refills.

I didn't mind her asking at all, on the contrary, I had been waiting for an opportunity to talk with her; but as I didn't want to disturb her, I just kept glancing discreetly at her from time to time, hoping something to talk about would awaken a future conversation.

After a while, I noticed that she had left the room, just as I had the thought of something situated in my bag.

I had soon taken it in search of what I've been looking for, as I suddenly happened to be quite surprised as I found a book that I didn't remember putting the night before, any other day, or even this morning before leaving my apartment for work at all.

‘The Collector, John Fowles’

It was a surprisingly good choice, and the person who had put it there either had good taste or personally knew my preferences; or even both.

Who knows.

Even I would be explaining it to myself, and not to anyone; I’d prefer not to engage myself in that; as it could last up to an hour considering the length, and all that is to explain in order to understand the moral, and the motives of whatever is in the character’s mind in the book; so...a lot.

“Withdrawn, uneducated and unloved, Frederick collects butterflies and takes photographs. He is obsessed with a beautiful stranger, the art student Miranda. When he wins the pools, he buys a remote Sussex house and calmly abducts Miranda, believing she will grow to love him in time. Alone and desperate, Miranda must struggle to overcome her own prejudices and contempt if she is to understand her captor, and so gain her freedom.”

The resume of the book had simply begun automatically playing itself before I could even lay my eyes on the back cover; as I had read this book more times than my two hands could ever count, and you know; because of the eidetic memory thing, even if I had read it only once, I would have remembered it anyway.

I remember reading it for the umpteenth time around last week, precisely on a saturday, at 11PM. As long as I can remember, I apparently had nothing else to do but read, and absolutely not any other book to pull out of the shelf, except that one.

Even if I had strictly- no idea -of who could have truly placed it there, except y/n-, I still had appreciated having this work as a possible distraction, or a way to pass the time if I eventually happened to have no idea of what I could do next, in case I didn’t have any work left to do.

As I raised my eyes to the desk in front of me, I happened to meet with y/n’s eyes just when she had happened to stare at me as well.

“What’s that book genius?”

“Oh, that? It’s the collector, from John Fowles. I like this one, but- is that you who put it there?”

“Yeah...why?”

“I uh- no particular reason! I just uh...wonder why it’s there…?”

“Well, read it, and you’ll see.” She said, as she stood to go god knows where.

“Read it? But I’ve already read-” I hurried out, but she had already gone out of the room, shooting me a smile before disappearing in the corner of the door. I stood there for a good minute, as I decided to open the book and read a bit of it as she previously told me to before leaving without even giving me an answer. She always liked to be mysterious, that’s kinda the reason I fell in love with her for.

It really took a while so I would get a number.

She had slid it in one of my file just when she had left the building to go home, I swore I didn’t even have any breath when I had attempted at catching her before she has gone to her car, and if I hadn’t decided to go, one minute later, she would have been on the road, and I doubt that calling people on the road would have been safe and clever for me to do it.

It might have been a bit “mean” to do that as some would say, but we always had the habit of doing that, way before we started dating. We’d always let the other try to guess what the other meant, what he wanted to say, it all was a game, a sequel to the story that would occur later, all of these discussions, secrets, have been a preparation, and kept for what happened right now.

It all was thanks to her, because if she wouldn’t have given it, I doubt that I would have gathered the courage too soon. Probably in 10 years or so, if not.

As I still was in my lecture, a bright blue paper with an inscription written in black ink had brought my attention, which led me to read it.

“I know you’re surprised, yes, it’s in a book, and yes I could have told it to you in person, but I find it better in a note, you can keep it and carry wherever you want. It's also better as a note, and, in a book, because you had always liked books, which became the passion that has made us grow closer. This book was the first one that started a conversation between us, I don’t remember the day, but you probably do. This note might be confusing, but I wanted to do that, because at least, you have a reason to finish the book, because you might have another surprise soon. -yours truly, y/n”

The note had even ended with a heart; she’d always write one at the end of her texts, even a small word sometimes, it probably was an habit of hers, I don’t really know, we never mentioned it once, as I didn’t mind at all, I really liked the attention.

Well, I pretty much like everything she does, whether she’s talking to me, talking to someone else, or doing whatever thing. I always like to see her around; I tend to get more relaxed when she’s with me; she always talks with me, and tries to know about what I do, even if I often noticed she probably didn’t understand a single word of whatever I rambled about.

Among all of the subject she was at ease with, books happened to be one of them, she’d always participate actively, as most of the subjects included in the books would often inspirate her, push her to talk more than she usually would with other subject, or even in general, I’d help her find her words, participate in the conversation by argumenting, agreeing with her opinion, sharing my opinion so that we could compare them and argument once more about the differences, I’d also initiate the conversation by switching to another book when we’d have nothing else to talk about the book, or if one of the details in the book would make me think of another one.

Our discussions would often last hours, we wouldn’t even realize the amount of hours we’ve spent talking until one of us would think to look at the time.

Even if I liked every single moment we’d spend together, if I had to choose one (a temporary, as I always change my mind on which moment I prefer as I again like every single one), It’d be our numerous discussions about books, I had and would never grow tired of it.

As much as I like to hear her talking, I often let myself get distracted by her, to the point of having to be “woken up” from my thoughts by her when I happened to not pay attention.

Because in these moments, all that matters is that I get to hear her voice, her smile as she passionately talks about what she likes, she way she always talks while moving her hands around, when she looks at me while I talk, when she touches my hand with the tip of her fingers to take the book situated in my hands.

She made me get more and more excited about the moments when I’d reach for a book in my bag, or somewhere in the drawer of my desk.

Especially when she had begun picking my interest by telling me she might propose another book the next day...or so?

I don’t think I’ve been more excited about reading a book again before now.

Who would have thought someone would have such an effect on me on a subject I admire before y/n arrived in my life? I’ve never been so passionate about something other than books before her.

My waiting (that had seemed like an eternity) had only lasted till the next day, not long after my arrival at the bureau.

I hadn’t expected it, but the book had happened to be situated close to my keyboard, which after thinking, was obvious, if I’d take account of the numerous trips we both had done throughout the morning due to various reasons concerning either paperwork or matters of previous cases.

I had taken a seat on the desk, quite empty for a while due to, again, the trips, as I had glanced at the surroundings, only to see a few members of the team, busy doing whatever task that was in front of them.

‘Great Expectations, Charles Dickens’

Again; fairly surprising, but quite a good surprise to discover, as I hadn’t seen it for a while before today.

The edition of the book present on my desk was one of the original versions of it, The cover had a black color, along with the title and the author written in large letters under the title of the book, both just on top of an illustration representing a woman holding a bouquet of various types of flowers, behind it, the outfit she wore was visible; a white embroidery, with a grey-ish and black necklace on top of it, which was situated around her neck. The illustration was displayed in the shape of a large square, almost taking the rest of the bottom of the cover, as a space was present after the closure of the white border around the illustration.

My eyes wandered around the cover, as I switched sides, ending up on the back of it.

“Considered by many to be Dickens’s finest novel, Great Expectations traces the growth of the book’s narrator, the orphan Philip Pirrip (Pip), from a boy of shallow dreams to a man with depth of character. From its famous dramatic opening on the bleak Kentish marshes, the story abounds, with some of Dickens’s most memorable characters; Among them are-”

I wasn’t able to finish the rest of the summary, as a familiar scent had caught my attention, two arms embraced my shoulders.

“You didn’t say hi today. I’m gonna begin to think you don’t love me anymore.” She had said, in an obvious playful tone that had taken some time for me to understand as it was, only a joke.

“Sorry, I’m married to someone, my work.” I had said, before the feel of her lips on my left cheek interrupted me; as, before she could go, I turned my face, stealing a kiss from her.

“Is that your apology?” She asked.

“If you see it that way, yeah.”

“Then I accept your apologies;”

“I’m glad, I couldn’t bear to see you in such a state that would make you sad, all because of me.” I talked in a dramatic tone, which seemed as if I was doing a play, but she had laughed at it, so, turns out that my ‘play’ had been worth it after all.

“Have you opened it yet?”

“No, I only read the summary. Why, is there something there again?”

“See by yourself.” She said, gesturing her hand in the direction of the book, as I opened it per request.

When my eyes fell on the first page, I had expected to see the page on which the title and the author are written in black, but instead of it, a picture that had apparently been printed in a matte paper was taped on the page.

The picture had contained a picture of me, reading a book while I was sitting on the floor, against the wall, of what seemed to be my apartment, the book I was holding seemed to be the same ones I was holding in my hands.

“When did you take that? I never saw you taking your phone when we were together.”

“That’s because you never pay attention to your surroundings when you read. A fire could happen in the apartment and you wouldn’t even notice it until you’d smell the smoke.”

“No, you’re lying, I do pay attention…sometimes.”

“See? You admitted it yourself. The tone of your voice when you reached the end of the sentence even said it for you.”

“Yeah but, did I...do something wrong or…?”

“No, nothing wrong. On the contrary, your focus was so strong that I was able to take the picture. So, that’s a good thing, do that more.”

“Now that you told me that, I’m gonna pay more attention, you might attempt to kill me behind my back.”

“Yeah, I might kill you if you keep saying that. I’ll kill you with a bad book, I’d be a shame to kill you with a good book, I might damage it.”

“You care more about a book instead of possibly committing a murder on the one and only love of your life?”

“My one and only love is tea, you know it.” She said, as I faked being offended. “Come on, I’m kidding. But, if you keep insinuating that, I’ll care more about the book. So, if you don’t want me to kill my one and only love, behave on your best.”

“Okay, behave on my best.” I said, tracing the outline of the picture with my index. “Even if the thought of seeing myself in that picture is kinda weird, I’ll keep it. Thanks for it, I’ll read it, well, if...I get to finish the work on my desk.” I said, as we both glanced at the paperwork on the desk.

“Yeah...I, uh. Yeah. I don’t want to...sadden you even more, but you should check your mails, there...might be more.” She said, as she tapped my shoulder before leaving, the smile on my face dropping as I came to the realization.

“I guess the reading session is getting postponed then.”

The week had really been full of a lot of surprises (if I don’t count the case we had, of course), she had pulled out books I haven’t read for years; books that I had wanted to read, but never got the time for; or even books I’ve never read, but she had surprisingly matched my taste well, as I ended up liking them more than I thought I would before even starting the book.

To my surprise, we had gotten to have rest for once after the busy week that cancelled all of our plans in a snap.

I haven’t even realized that it already was October 31st today, the work had completely gone over everything else that made up my thoughts, to the point that I haven’t thought of the book y/n had chosen today.

She’d always put it either on the top of my desk where I could see it, or in my bag, but after a minute or so of searching, I didn’t see it.

The only book that I could see was in my bag, a copy of ‘The Narrative of John Smith by Arthur Conan Doyle’, I had always left it there, it was one of my favorite books, I had never gotten anywhere without it.

‘Maybe she forgot about it today. It happens.’

We had a small party like we usually do (when a case doesn’t interrupt us, of course), and various small events had been organized.

As I had been looking around, my attention had been snatched away by a hand slightly tapping my right shoulder, as I turned around to see y/n.

“Missed me?”

“Yeah, I did.” I said, as I brought her closer, and brought my lips to hers, as we exchanged a brief kiss. “Where have you been?”

“I was with Penelope, just for a bit, because if you didn’t see it, she wasn’t around either.”

“Wasn’t she? Oh, apparently not.” I said, as I saw her coming in, walking in the direction of Emily who had called her.

“What were you thinking about?”

“You, and books.”

“Oh, talking about books, did you notice something?”

“Something? Uh, no. I haven’t seen one, except the book I always carry.”

“And what is it?”

“The Narrative of John Smith, why?”

“Well, you just noticed something. The book you just saw is the one you were looking for.”

“But, I had it yesterday, and all of the days before. I-I don’t get it.”

"In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s October 31st today; the date the book was published by the edition you own, it even was the first book I laid my eyes on when we met.” She pointed out.

“...you just reduced my IQ to 60 in a minute.”

“Oh, did I?”

“Yeah, I knew it was our anniversary, but never had I thought that this book was involved.”

“Now you did, and you better remember it, and never forget to carry it.”

“I would never.” I said, as I gently put my hand on her cheek, as she suddenly raised herself on the tip of her toes, kissing me before I even got the time to think of it.

“Happy anniversary Spence.”

“Happy anniversary y/n.”

#Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Spencer Reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader

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acnelli · 4 years

Text

The Speech

Hermione becomes the first female Minister Of Magic, so Ron has to hold a speech about it.

Just in case you’re wondering...I was never very interested in Pottermore or anything that got published after DH, so there might have been a female MoM before Hermione but I think this little detail is not important to enjoy the story ;-) I also don’t really see Hermione as a MoM. For me Hermione works at the Ministry, creating and pushing for laws to protect and improve the life of those oppressed and fighting for equality. But I liked the idea of a very nervous Ron talking about his wife in front of a huge crowd.

You can also find this story on FFN and AO3.

I'm so screwed.

This sentence was stuck like a mantra in his head ever since Kingsley talked him into this nonsense.

Who in his right mind would want him, Ron Weasley, to hold a speech? Sure, it was his wife that becomes the next Minister of Magic and she also will be the first female one. Which makes him the first husband to hold a speech about the new Minister.

But why couldn't they just skip this stupid tradition?

Not that he wasn't able to talk a lifetime about Hermione. But he sure wasn't ready to talk about her in front of half the Ministry, his entire family, a bunch of friends and not to forget these annoying press people.

Ron was fairly confident that he would say something stupid. He was Ron bloody Weasley after all and if anyone would describe him to a stranger this would be in his character description: Saying and doing stupid and/or inappropriate things.

Kingsley was about to end his speech and Ron knew that it will be mere seconds before he was called up to the stage.

Oh Godric, please don't make me embarrass myself in front of my children.

He thought back to this morning when his fifteen-year-old daughter made him a cup of tea to calm his nerves.

"Don't worry, Dad. You will do just fine. And please eat something." Hugo said, as he shoved a slice of toast at him. He picked his breakfast up and even took a bite, mainly to appease his son.

Hugo stared at him, determination and worry on his face. It never failed to amaze Ron, how much his son was like Hermione, both in looks and character.

Ron sighed and took another bite before shoving the plate away from him. "I' m sorry, buddy. Might eat this backwards if I'm having one more bite."

He sipped his sweet tea and wondered why the hell he was such a nervous wrack. It was the Quidditch games at Hogwarts all over again.

Ron thought he was over his insecurities, but old habits die hard, right? Looking at his two children made him feel a tiny bit lighter though. They both got his ginger hair and freckled skin with the tendency to get burned easily when out in the sun. Hugo got the warm brown eyes of his mother, Rose Ron's blue orbs. Rose sat beside Ron on the kitchen table, sipping her own tea. She was already in her dress for the ceremony, her long wild locks pinned up at the nape of her neck. She rarely touched her breakfast. Ron knew she was feeling the same anxiety he felt. Two years ago, during summer break, Hugo told Ron that Rose never eats breakfast before a Quidditch match and would sometimes spend the better part of these mornings in the bathroom. Rose was in many ways like him. She was funny, loved Quidditch, normally eats on behalf of a whole Quidditch team and had a temper similar to Ron's. Thank Godric, she got the brains of her mother.

None the less, she could easily comprehend what Ron was going through.

"And now, ladies and gentleman, please welcome Ronald Weasley.", Kingsley announced and stepped back for Ron.

He took a deep breath before he finally entered the stage and went to the podium. His family clapped excitedly in the front row, even cheering for him. He looked over to Hermione, who smiled and winked at him. Of course, the whole Weasley family joined the festivities today to celebrate with Hermione. They were all sitting in the second and third row along with his parents-in-law, who looked both proud and just the tiniest bit nervous.

For a short second he feared, that his impulsive decision from this morning. to ditch his sorry attempts of the prepared speech, was probably the worst decision of his life, but when the applause died down, he hadn't much time to panic over it. So, with a final deep breath and a look into Hermione's eyes, he started to speak.

“Th- thank you”, he said after the applause died down and tried not to flinch about the noticeable tremble in his voice.

“Well, as tradition demands, I'm expected to hold a speech about our new Minister of Magic. Speeches are not exactly my strong point and, in all honesty, I dreaded this moment ever since Kingsley asked me to hold it.” Ron threw a pointed look at the former Minister who just gave him an innocent smile.

Over the soft laughter of the audience, Ron heard a snort and quickly located the source. Harry was smirking at him and Ron supressed the urge to flip the tosser off. He hated The Daily Prophet with a passion, but for this headline he might forget about his principles for a day and actually buy this piece of garbage. Nevertheless, he decided against it, mostly because he didn’t fancy to be on the receiving end of some rather nasty hexes performed by his wife and mother.

“Some of you might be surprised to learn that I haven’t prepared this speech during todays breakfast, but for the better part of the last weeks evenings. Though certainly not perfect, I thought the outcome was quite passable. But last night I went over my words and realized that I would tell you things about Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley that all of you already know. Actually, you could have found the better part of my words on a chocolate frog card. Instead, I would rather tell you about the first day Hermione and I met.”

As Ron let his gaze wander over to his family, he saw a smiling but slightly puzzled Hermione looking at him. “The day I met Hermione was, of course, the very first day at Hogwarts. On the train ride I already met Harry Potter. You’ve probably heard about him at some point, saved the world or something like that. Anyway, in that train compartment Harry and I immediately became best friends and while we stuffed ourselves with a ton of sweets, a girl opened the door to our compartment, asking us about the lost toad of a fellow student. I was showing Harry some useless spell my dear brothers told me about, that of course, did not work. This girl though, performed an actual spell just perfect and informed us that she read every first years school book over the summer as preparation for our upcoming classes. Sure enough, she outshined everyone in every class and there wasn’t a teachers question she had no answer to. Back then and especially on that first day, I could never imagine to be friends with Hermione Granger. I thought that she’s a bossy know-it-all and on Halloween, two months after our first day at Hogwarts, she heard me calling her just that. As an eleven-year-old boy, it never seemed possible to me that Hermione could be sincerely hurt by my words. But of course, it upset her. Very much.

That being said, I’ll never regret these nasty words, because this Halloween night was the beginning of a life-long friendship between me, Hermione and Harry. If I hadn’t said that in front of her, she would have never locked herself up in the bathroom to cry and Harry and I would have never ran to this said bathroom, because a mountain troll was wandering the halls of Hogwarts and Hermione was the only one who hasn’t been warned about it. Ever since the three of us beat that troll, I could not imagine a good day without Hermione as a friend by my side. She still nagged us about doing our homework and scolding me for swearing too much and said things like ‘Ron, it’s Hermione, Harry and I’, but when I look back, the unhappiest times were when we didn’t speak to each other or when I wasn’t able to talk to her.”

He paused for a brief moment as surely the darkest time of his life came to mind, when he abandoned Harry and Hermione on the Horcrux hunt, his heart full of pure fear and hopelessness when he thought he would never see them again. Or the weeks of Hermione being petrified, as he could still see this young red headed boy talking to her in the hospital wing, desperately wanting her to tell him off for staying out after curfew.

“Hermione did and achieved a lot of great things in her life. Most of these things you might already know, like her helping to defeat Voldemort and his Death Eaters or her success in freeing the House Elves. Although these are amazing and exceptionally brilliant achievements, Hermione is so much more than the brightest witch of our age and a war heroine. Did you know that the beginnings of her efforts to free House Elves lay in our Hogwarts years? Back then, she started a campaign to free them and it didn’t stop her, that for a very long time, it had been a one-woman-movement. Her courage and ambition to help the defenceless and her undying sense of justice are exceptional and even more admirable, if you consider, that as a Muggleborn, Hermione had been in great danger herself, being the main target of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. Regardless what she went through herself, she never stopped to look out for others, especially her family and friends. And this is what she’ll continue to do as the leader of Wizarding Britain. Hermione will fight for a better life for everyone, for all of you and for those, whose suffering is still invisible to us.

I once read an article about Hermione inheriting the title of the brightest with of our age. It said, that she sure is intelligent, but mainly book smart. If you ask me, a person, who is simply book smart could never use the knowledge in real life, right? Well, nothing could be further from the truth. Hermione’s quick thinking and brilliance at everything she does, saved Harry’s and my life more times than I care to admit. Even in the most dangerous and horrible situations she was in, her highest priority had been to keep us safe.”

I was wrong. These were the darkest hours of my life., Ron thought and Hermione’s screams echoed through his mind.

“Hermione saved me in more than one way. She taught me self-worth and confidence, which, especially as a teenager, I hadn’t much of. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. She was there for me when I needed her the most. And the best thing of all: for some unbeknown reason, she loves me. And in the end, this makes me the luckiest bloke in the world.”

For the next words Ron looked only at Hermione, who gave up to hold back her tears for quite some time now. “Befriending you had been the best thing I had ever done. I heard a lot of people say that they married their best friend. Well, I certainly did. We went through so many adventures -good and bad- together and I`m happy to say, that the good ones outweigh the bad ones big time. I love you, Hermione and I`m ready for this next adventure to come our way.”

#romione #ronmione #hermione granger #ron weasley #hugo weasley #rose weasley #hugo granger-weasley #rose granger weasley #weasley family #granger weasley family #minister of magic #my fic #my fanfiction #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction

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breathinginthevapor · 4 years

Text

Villain

Summary: Bucky lets her go.

A/N: I have decided to try and post every monday the next (hopefully) many weeks. I know I haven’t posted in such a long time, but I really hope you guys will welcome me back and support my little attempt at uploading regularly. This is my first finished Bucky piece, but there’s many more to come! It’s my contribution to @ugh-supersoldiers 5k challenge, and the prompt is in bold (sometimes bold doesn’t really show on my page, though, so sorry if that’s the case) Congratulations Gracey!

Did I make myself cry while writing this? Yes. Did it hurt writing? Yes. Did I still enjoy it? Yes because apparently I’m a sadist that likes pain to a certain degree but damn this was close to being too much.

Word count: 1400+

T/W: uhm, i don’t really know. Let me know if you experience any!

He can’t bring himself to look at her when she packs her bags. Throws soft sweaters and pretty dresses and favourite books down a sports bag Nat got him for Christmas a couple years ago. Pink with tiny little flowers and butterflies. Everyone laughed for hours when he opened up that present, and maybe that’s one of the reasons he’s always liked it. It has reminded him of good times and friends and happiness, but he doubts he’ll ever use it again, even if she does return it.

From now on, it will be haunted by this terrible memory.

He can’t bring himself to look at her, so he looks at the rain drumming on the window. Droplets slide down the glass before they disappear to make room for others, and it’s just an endless circle of replacement.

There’s always someone to take your place.

Always someone else to keep her cold feet warm at night.

Always someone else that will learn to love her, just like he did.

He can hear her sniffing, and at one point she drops something heavy. The noise alarms him at first, old instincts kicking in, but he calms himself down by counting seconds. His therapist told him it would help, and as one of the few things, it does.

It has been 349 seconds when she speaks.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

Her voice is brittle, and she sounds like a little girl that has experienced the unfairness of the world for the first time. Bucky knows she has known loss and pain as much as anybody else, but there’s always been that innocence in her, too. The general belief that the world will bring you good things if you are a good person. It is one of the things he fell in love with. And one of the things that makes him push her away now.

That little girl inside her should be protected, but he can’t protect anybody, and least of all her.

“Please, Bucky,” she begs him, and he does as she wants, but hides his face partly behind long locks of dark hair. He uses it like a shield, and it sometimes feels like he can put just a little space between the world and himself when he looks through it, and he needs that. But it is the first time he has been hiding from her..

She walks closer to him, slowly and careful like you would approach a hurt animal. Still, he backs up against the window, cold, hard, unforgiving glass against his back.

She must sense it because she immediately stops and stands still in the middle of the floor, looking terribly desolate and abandoned.

“Please don’t be scared of me, Bucky,” she says, and she sounds so broken, and all Bucky wants to is pick up the pieces and mend her. But he can’t.

“I’m not,” he assures her, voice thick with emotion.

I’m only scared of what you make me feel.

Biting her lip, she nods unsurely as if she doesn’t entirely believe him. And really, it’s ironic that he’s the one who’s scared. He’s the soldier, he’s supposed to be the brave one. But the brave one has always been her.

“I would never hurt you, Bucky,” she promises him, and Bucky believes her. He is aware that sometimes, it isn’t a choice to hurt someone, but he also knows that she would never do so on purpose. That she would hate herself if she did. Just like Bucky hates himself for hurting her.

Bucky watches her crumble. It happens fast, legs giving out and quiet tears rolling down her cheeks as she suddenly sits on the carpet. She puts her face in her hands, and he doesn’t even think about it, just strides over to her and pulls her to his chest. Tears soak his shirt as she sobs against him, big, loud cries that makes his heart clench.

He holds her tight and runs his hands up and down her back. She has her palm against his collarbone, and she crumbles the top of his shirt in his hand, and he figures she’s feeling the same desperation that is rushing through him.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, and goosebumps rise as her warm lips move upon his skin.

“Don’t be,” he says, and he doesn’t notice the tear on his face before it hits her hair. “Don’t be,” he repeats.

She looks up at him with big eyes, red and glossy from crying but beautiful all the same. The kind of eyes that pierces right into your soul and sees all of your faults, but doesn’t judge them.

Her lip quivers when she speaks, “I really wanted us to work, you know? I really believed in this.”

His throat constricts and it feels like the moment lasts forever, before he admits, “Me too, doll.”

That makes her smile, a slow movement of the corners of her mouth that seems so far from the usual grin that takes up half of her face.

“I’ve always loved that nickname,” she admits, hand reaching to his jaw with a feather-light touch. Her hand is shaking, and she doesn’t try to hide the big, fat tears that rolls down her cheeks and past her lips or the shining adoration in her eyes. She lets him see it all, her vulnerability and her ugly parts and her scars and her faults, and Bucky loves her for it.

“Dunno, guess I feel special when you call me that. Like I’m the one for you, the same way you are for me.”

“You are, doll. The only one.”

He knows it’s a small act, but he makes sure to use the nickname. If he can show her how special she is, he will.

“Of course you are, doll,” he sobs, and presses her face into his chest once more, because he isn’t courageous like her.

He rocks them both from side to side, like cradling a baby, and they cry into each other, two lovers being torn apart.

He doesn’t know how long it goes on, but eventually, she pulls her face away and presses a sweet, chaste kiss again his lips. He can taste the crying on her lips and tries to savour the soft feeling in his heart for harder times.

“You make my world turn, Bucky Barnes.”

He doesn’t know how she does it. Says things so perfectly with the words of a poet without ever sounding pretentious. Maybe she’ll write a book one day. He hopes she will, imagines buying it in a cozy bookstore and feeling close to her as he reads her penned down thoughts. Sees himself absorbed in it while sitting in a soft chair, a gentle glow from a bedside lamp. Perhaps it will be dedicated to her husband, to the love of her life. Or perhaps to him. To the one who so unwillingly broke her heart.

“I should go,” she says, every soft-spoken word laced with pain.

He doesn’t want to let her leave. But he has to. For both of them. So he loosens his grip and stands up alongside her, watching her pick up the bag.

He hates goodbyes.

She stops in front of his door and turns around, face crumbed and biting her lip.

“I just- I really hope one day you realize that you’re not the villain in your own story.”

He looks at her, and he knows he loves her and that it doesn’t change anything.

“I really hope you’ll be happy, Bucky.”

He feels his eyes drop wet at that.

“You deserve it.”

He disagrees, but he doesn’t say it. What would it matter? They’ve never seen eye to eye about that.

“You too,” he tells her, honestly, but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. She has such a way with words, piercing right through him while he stumbles like a child and never says the right things. But he has try for her.

“Thank you,” he stops her as he begins to ramble, “For understanding. Always understanding. And for being here when I needed you. And for loving me. And for letting me love you.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “And- and thank you, for letting me let you leave.”

She nods and smiles through her tears, and Bucky doesn’t think he would be able to forget that image, ever. Not even if he tried. It carves its way into his mind, a sharp pain in the back of his head.

“‘Course, Buck. Anything for you,” she tells him, and Bucky is once again reminded by the unconditional love he doesn’t deserve.

And then she leaves him.

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fortheheavenssake · 4 years

Text

MM ANON II - 1

April 15, 2020

1. April 15

MM ANON …… doctor gone batty……… LA for dummies ……… Doctors Within Borders ……… social insistence ………… hugs not bugs……… absolutely isolated Kate. ……… “ not a whisper ma’am ……… St George’s chapel of course!!…………… with humility skippy, with humility.

Mm anon verified

MM ANON … to forgive Devine. To accept ones shortcomings is a hard pill to swallow especially if like myself your behaviour Is mired in self justification and blind contempt … it’s taken me a long time to ask forgiveness ……… and pride is a killer of the spiritual light. To those who can find forgiveness on their heart I thank them, humbly and sincerely. ……… MM ANON

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3. April 30

MM ANON ……… the only virus ………… wonderful children to hug…… magnificent isolation ma’am……… dirty Megan,clean Harry ……… will never be the same ………… big things for a future princess ……… home cooking ………… “ ground control to major Tom” ………. “ and wash your bloody hands!!!……… an archificial birthday ………… trooping the colours???

Thank you! Happy to have you back!😊❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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4. April 30

MM Anon

MM ANON …… Many thanks skippy ……… a privilege to return to you all ……… graciously thankful to pg , skippy and all anons. Callidus er populum

Welcome back….😊💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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5. May 1.

MM ANON … it’ll cost us thousands …… “ ‘‘tis the times’ plague , when madmen led the blind “……… 🎼 all the clubs have been closed down 🎼………… “ if you both don’t stop fighting I’ll send you to Madagascar “ ………… “ one makes ones bed”…………… “ well wash your bloody hands AGAIN!!”…………… “ there so funny on screen Philip” …… Quo victuals est super eam et irrumabo …………… next slide please.

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6. May 2.

MM ANON ……… bless all who come here……… stay safe ……… not sneezing season ……… birthday girls world following ……… sitting on the toilet screaming and howling ……… Plasma fantazma?……… 🎼give a little bit 🎼……… “ I swear ,I’ll send you to bloody Madagascar “……… “another top up sir”………” leave the poor man be Philip “……… “no ma’am not yet” ……… Wilfred!!!!!………… “ Bloody Wilfred!!”……… conspirators will spread another sort of virus.

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7. May 3

MM ANON ………Lucrezia Markle……… For her own well-being … she’s kicking and sedated ……… safety net for Harry ……… a very private LOCK-down ………” GATEWAY“intervention …… “NHS Catherine , Sterling work darling “ …………” yes ,I love Frozen 2” ………… PTA……… “ your experience would be valued ma’am”……… “ I myself am best when least in company “……… absque misericordia

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8. May 4

MM ANON …… granny flap…… delusions of gran-tour…… “ aye, some wantid er’ but Walt dis-ney “…… a p****hub offer worth millions …… a secret return …… Lottie leaded Cambridge assault ……… “ a very prominent speech for VE DAY ma’am”. …… unlocking the unlock able ………… 🎼day by day…🎼………… pause ,pray, proceed. …… optimistic optimism???

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9. May 5

MM ANON …… Thank Dear anon for interpretation …… and yes if you’re struggling dear pg … prayers and hugs

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10. May 5

MM ANON ……… “ hi Kate , how wonderful to hear your voice “😂😂😂………… Archificialy archificial. ……… 🎼but sometimes,ya get what ya need🎼……… “ if you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue “……… a Duchess,a Duchess and a Duchess walked onto a bar……… tunc non transiet ……… an infectious tube……… my my margarita ……… let go let god. ……… ( and Thank skippy).

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11. May 6

MM ANON ………… archificial anniversary ……… “she hasn’t a bloody clue “ ………I speak for Meghan ……… 🎼he’s a real nowhere man🎼……… “ the fool doth think he is wise…… “………… 🎼come fly with me (not)🎼……… A few weeks more …………” we do the outside first Philip” ……… Bloody jigsaw………” Sydney!!!!! “……… “ Mmmmm , interesting, a virtual Balcony “ …………… “ yes , a new medal is appropriate” ………… unlockdown!!! ………… “ give us a hug”.

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12. May 6

MM ANON ……… Sooooooo , where is Harry in the duck / rabbit video????????????????? An archificial attempt to ingratiate herself as a mother of a surrogate child. She looks a tad sheepish 🐏🐏🐏🐏🐏🐏🐑🐑🐑🐑🐑🐑. 😂😂😂😂

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13. May 7

MM ANON … Spider Sandwiches ………… the photographic phenomenon ………… “O Christ, she knows her way round a Cannon” ……… “ modest, small and incremental “ ……… “ she’s still spitting bullets over the duchesses children “ ……… “ my goodness, Charlotte trumps everyone”. ………… another modest outfit. ……… the books a flop, who would buy it? ……… “ dada duck duck”…………”ANOTHER sex tape!!!!! “…………… her irrelevant life………… desperately seeking ANYTHING………… a sad demise Rachael!!

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14. May 7

MM ANON …… dear and inquisitive anons ……… THE RIDDLES ARE “ ENTERTAINMENT “ only, a parody and lightness of spirit and soul! It’s a privilege to be here , by the grace of Skippy …………… enjoy!! 💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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15. VE Day 75, May 8

MM ANON …… My mother was a plotter at Northolt fighter base in 1943 where she met my father who was a pilot, I remember her saying that the Polish pilots were the bravest men she ever met. ………… we shall remember them 🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧

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16. May 8

MM ANON …… The Queen, god bless her……… blackout ……… the king/ the Queen the nation ……… never give up, never despair ……… the home front……… 🎼some sunny day 🎼………… 🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧………… 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸……… 🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦……… and all who fought ……… a day like no other……… at the going down of the sun and in the morning ……………… ‘ we shall remember them.

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17. May 9

💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜MM ANON ……… Dear pg , your gracious tribute to the riddle. I Ended the post in tears ………………… respect.

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18. May 9

MM ANON …… “ it’s an unlock Jim, but not as we know it “……… on yer bike……… 🎼that’s life,……🎼………… Bar Wars………… survival of the fit-test……………”a vulgar mansion “…………… Spider sandwiches……… an emotional exhibition, Bravo!! ……… now that’s TRUE grit…………… be- bop-a-loo-la RIP……… The Serenity prayer……thank you for this forum xxxxx…………… it will end ,…one day!!

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19. May 10

MM ANON ……… Rachel 43………… archificial 15 months ……… hospitality will become inhospitable ………… the R factor ………… “Henry, don’t do that”. …… return to school??? …………… no guidelines …………… be alert,the country needs lerts………… risk assessment!!! ………… an issue of safety ………… it’s the economy,stupid!! ………… test, Trace and isolate. ………… a silver lining 🌈🌈

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20. May 11

MM ANON …… Thrive???………… definitely Malibu ………wear a mask ………… confusing but amusing ……… a question of credibility ……… 🎼 we can be heroes ……🎼…” what ever happened to wrinkle cream?”……… love and hugs to all our anon friends ……… 🎼 now there are three steps to heaven 🎼………… Brave New World ……… a quiet Queen.

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21. May 13

MM ANON …… for saving my mother ……… father ……… grandmother …… grandfather …son ……… sister……… brother……… daughter ………… thank you for saving my life nurse / doctor /……… how can I EVER thank you all ……… from the bottom of my ❣ ……… I can never find the words ……… my gratitude is unending ……… god bless you all. ……… GOD BLESS YOU ALL!! 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

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22. May 13

MM ANON ……… “come on Kate, off to Queens”……… Charlotte goes first……… “George ‘ get your bicycle “……… 🎼bye bye miss American spy🎼……… 🎼listen , do you want to know a secret 🎼……… stay alert 🤣🤣🤣……… trains, planes and automobiles……… driving miss day-see? ……… FOUR!!!! …………… an art gallery,when??……… single prayers please.

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23. May 13.

MM ANON …………… to all who visit ………… riddles are entertainment only … a parody ,a light and fluffy expression. 🤣😂🤣😂🤣😂Thank you all for understanding.

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24. May 14

MM ANON …… school of thought ……… bulldoze in and takeover ……… Braveheart & Boris ………… dead theatre ……… GOT………… Charlotte summer ……… anticipation of antibodies ………… China???………… death of Hollywood ………… 🎼blow a little whistle 🎼………… we have no plan B……… I’m so bored ………… “ we’re gonna need a bigger fence”

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25. May 15

MM ANON ……… a lovely surprise ……… sweet Charlotte ……… it’s teaching Jim, ……………”Harry, you know you’ll always have a place “……………”he’s not happy Catherine “ ……… R1………… re-train………… clubbings, clubbed…… Tea-CHING…………… “ yes, that’s a really good question”…………2 metres for ever???………… a rally in Calais. ………… GBHMTQAOGC 🇬🇧🌈🇨🇦

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26. May 16

MM ANON …… “ I’m keeping my tennis shoes on”……… “I’m not getting out of bed for less than 3mill” …… cold nose undercover ………… a learning yearning ………… “friends thou hast, and there adoption tried “…… …… 🎼ya gotta give a little 🎼……………… “I’m not happy about them returning William “ …………… “ One needs ones hair attended too”………… “ I’ll bloody cut it myself !!”……… “ I know!! … SYDNEY!!”

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27. May 17

MM ANON …… a Diamond evaluator ……… Of no consequence whatsoever ……… straight to credits. ………… LA Confidential ………… 🎼no sir I don’t mean maybe 🎼…………… 🎼Don’t fence me in🎼…………… “ I want Adele you a story “……………… The man from U.N.C.L.E. Harry …………… “ ones lockdown sucks” ………… “ miserable without Boddys old thing “ …………… “Sydney’s slacking “.

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28. May 18

MM ANON ……… a personal loss………… the Dynamic Duo………… FPhishing……Nlcola Nike Snike ………… Hydroxy- foxy(do not do this at home)…………………” a suitable case for ( shhhhh) treatment “ ………… “ no comment “ …………… “ a game of cards old thing “…………… “patience Philip ……………” ………… ma’am , it’s Charlotte and George on tic-toc…………… “dance, gan, gan, you dance, … Sydney!!

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29. May 19

MM ANON …… Ana-adversity …… the gathering marital storm…………” first family visit will be the United States when normalisation hits ma’am” …………”life will return ma’am”……… Who is that? …………… guesting the testing ……… “ they won’t return early ma’am”…………… “one speaks to Catherine,daily , and the little ones” ……… “it’s interminable Sydney,” …” a Little top-up sir”

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30. May 20

MM ANON … Regarding the gathering of unhappy people, slutmeg only invited the men she had slept with , with their +ones ……… the members of the RF who attended treating it as a pantomime and a priceless observation of side- eyes and laughter. HMTQ look at slutmeg… EPIC. 😂😂😂😂😂😱😱😱😱😱

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31. May 20

MM ANON ……… 5 years old ‘ COVID security ……… transmission admission??……… 1st. June. …………… A pollution solution ………… free at last……… kiss 💋 me 😱😱😱………… another Father???…………… Spanish,French and judo 😂😂😂…………… lies,damm lies, and MM……… an expensive squat………… A Greece-y gamble. ………… “ is one sitting comfortably’ good, Once apon a time “

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32. May 21

MM ANON …… “what , seen at Lympstone “………… a Diplomatic retreat ……… A-Nul-ment………… NY bio-diver-city……… facegrime ………… Charles, a man for all see-sons……… thermal Heathrow ………… 1st Solo address ………… high-end-ing ………… “ clever children, such a lovely dance”……… “ no darlings gan-pops with Sydney “………… “ yes’ we’ll all bake a cake “………… “ pretty Jim-jams Charlotte “.

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33. May 22

MM ANON …… 88 two fat ladies ……… two blacked out Discovery’s in St Leonard’s ……… Priti Draconian …… pray,or else!! ………… gel my temperature ……… wash your hands then wrinkle cream ……… a memorial event ………… Hong-Gone…………” well, wake him up Sydney!!………… “bloody hell Sydney “ ………… “ sorry ma’am , Charlotte wants to play bingo”……… “ wonderful , clickerty duck”

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34. May 23

MM ANON …… 44 million? ………… anons’ how much on clothes?………… “still looked trash”………… evidences of past yachting 😱😱😱😱😱………… LA EX?? ………… “ in Exeter”…………… “ Josh Stones!!“………… a second peak? ……………not in Spain 🥳🥳🥳………… meanwhile in WC. ……… “ gan gan I want a tiara “ ………… “ and one day you shall “ ……… “ is nanny back Catherine?”……… “where’s my bloody slippers “ ……” your wearing them sir”

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35. May 23

ANON … As we all submit our little posts give a thought for the reason we can , it’s the ever faithful skippy and her eclectic forum ……… love, prayers, animals, history, royalty, and silliness ……… god bless you dear skippy 💜💜💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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36. May 24

MM ANON …… Cummings going?………Lottie nottie going ……… Harry’s 💡 idea……… “give birth? Incapable!! ……… “during yachting “………… “ I’ve seen the evidence “ ………… “ she lied to TBRF” ……… MOS knows!! …… 🎼we’re all going on a summer 🎼………… to pray or not pray………… “ Pleeeeez gan gan!! “……… “ one day you shall sweet girl” ……… “ next year , if things are admissible “ ……… “ he’s a tad grumpy ma’am”……… “ ignore him Sydney”

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37. May 25

MM ANON …… Charlottes WWWeb……… Rules, What Rules. ……… in flight,flight. ………… Tinsel down……… hugs not bugs ………… non essential retailers open ………… no pubs, sport , cinemas, theatres, …………… Cummings,a shaggy dog story. ……… a very angry electorate ………… “ I want to go school gan gan”………“let’s see your dancing “………”no, school gan gan!!……… “ Oooooo, whats mummy doing “ ………… “ Sydney, refreshments ‘please.

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38. May 25

MM ANON …… MEMORIAL DAY …IN HONOUR OF THEIR SERVICE ……………… 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦🇬🇧

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39. May 26

MM ANON …… Kate re-opening high street……… “excellent, as retail ambassador “……… W&K will have the public’s ear” …………”a late family tour ma’am’……… “ that’ll put a a Kate among the pidgins” …… “ a damaging tome sir “……… “ opening book shops, how’ll that work?……… “you can’t handle books……… “ o’ Philip, a quiet night”…… “ bloody hell !! What’ no tic-toc ?……… “nanny’s organised bingo”:…… “ ahhh, ……… Sydney ‘ something strong!!

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40. May 27

MM ANON …… KATE MIDDLETON IS A FUTURE QUEEN! She has three beautiful children and a loving husband, solid, grounded and intelligent. THIS IS THE FUTURE OF OUR MONARCHY ,I THINK SHE HAS MORE SPIRITUAL STRENGTH. AND WILL BE THE FOUNDATION OF THE CAMBRIDGE FUTURE. GBHMTQAOGC 🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧

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41. May 27

MM ANON ………”I get tired of Lottie tic-toc-ing” ………… “little Louis gets tired using the trampoline “……… “ I’m off to Queens,tennis “……… back on his Ducati……… Nanny is making 🥘 paella ………… “I’ve managed to acquire that box set ma’am” …… “ Gangs of London or The Sopranos“……… both ma’am”……… “bloody epic Sydney “……… “ is that bumbling Minister still running round the palace “……… “ tell him to piss-orf”……… “ top-ups”

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42. May 28

MM ANON …… MM drone ing on…… tittle Tatler ……… lockdown tour T-shirt ………… ahhhhhhh, rate!! ……… school digital haves’ digital have nots……… rid the clap!! ………… one metre ………… “ it’s football Jim, but not as we know it “………… “To his good friends, thus wide lle ope my Armes: ……… “ look Philip,it’s Louis bouncing “ ……… “they have a new dance”……… “ return of a routine“…………” Maria and Lottie swimming “ …… “bloody hydrotherapy on Sunday “……… “ I think that’s enough Sydney “

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43. May 29

MM ANON ……… looting/ shooting ………… “ tic-toc Nanny”………… “ ok! Charlotte, get Louis too” ……… “ George,do it properly “……… W&K , It’s a challenging schedule ma’am” …………” there having a bike day at Brands Hatch with Ducati “ ……… “ Nottingham cottage ma’am”………… “like old times ma’ am”……………” I’ll have a quiet word with Donald “………… “ not Philip, his diplomacy is wanting”………… “exiting times ma’am”……… “ one shall insist on compliance Christopher “

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44. May 30

MM ANON …………… another billionaire friend ………… she lies on lies…………desperate for attention ……… a roadmap to nowhere ……… up up and away ……… all white on the night …………LTA talks with Kate ………… MENSA with Charlotte??………… “ bright as a button ma’am”. …… “ not this side of the family “………” there coming over next week”………” Mmmmm , live tic-toc”……… fairycakes Sydney.

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45. May 31

MM ANON …… it Musk be love ……… nine elms………… agent provocateur ………… teetering on the edge………… body cams?? ………… amateur photographers unite ………… front line statue ……… 🎼I heard it on the grapevine 🎼………… “ no darling not today”……” we’re going to visit gan gan” …………”staying overnight ma’am” ………… “ a few days Sydney “………… “ tomorrow night, it’s a little concert Philip, don’t get grumpy “ ………… “bloody hell, I’m low on refreshments. “

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46. June 01

MM ANON … Balmoral Fern………… plastic Nile. ………… in the Bunker ………… Autopsy …………………Truth , Justice and the American way ………… WC welcome …………… “ would one know how to barbecue Sydney??” ………… William will oblige ma’am……”one prefers coronation chicken “…………… “unicorn sausages ,Lottie George??……… “just salad ma’am. “

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47. June 02

MM ANON ……… keep your distance ………” it’s a curfew Jim , but not as we know it “ …… “ A plague o’ both your houses “……… house today , gone tomorrow ………… “all lives matter “ …………… cut and roots and streaks ……… B&EC are reluctant to return ………… Minister misleads testing ……… office of national ridistics ……… 🎼I I see a bad moon rising 🎼………… blackout Tuesday ………… “ “wear a body-cam old thing, then I can pretend I’m riding “ …………… “one would look ridiculous Philip!!”……… “ Sydney, stop pouring “

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48. June 03

MM ANON …… 2020 another royal baby ………… development in Portugal ……… more charges eminent Minnesota ……… a wet summer ………… ISS a strange smell? ……… … London protests …………NAACP……… size 12 , and the shoes 👠 ……………” mummy , mummy- goes viral ………” we’ll old thing, I wasn’t expecting that ending “……… “ so enjoyable Philip ‘ anymore Sydney?……… “ I think Catherine has Peaky-Blinders ma’am” …… “ is it a bit GBH ? “ ……… “ yes ma’am”……… “Ohhhh goody”.

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49. June 04

MM ANON ……MM heartfelt acting……… W&K just heartfelt 💓………… the Tatler connection ………… 🎼stormy weather …………… 🎼………… MadDog…………2nd degree. X 4……………… 14 days to binge. ……… a Russian contamination …………vaccine summit ……… ”that’s a terrible selfie Philip, it’ll frighten her” ………” let Sydney do it!! “ ……… “take one together ma’am” ……… “ give me the bloody thing !! “ …… bloody tic-toc “ ………… “ one zooms” ……… “get him some refreshments Sydney”

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50. June 04

MM ANON …… “ Heartfelt video “ anything heartfelt in the life of MM is self indulgent. A selfish PR attempt to seem engaged in the national conciseness Her agenda …… “how can I make this about ME!!! “ this woman is so shallow. ………… a Caucasian of infinite insults. A pitifully example of insecurity and ego. A walking talking resentment. God help her!!

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51. June 5

MM ANON …… never look a gift bandwagon in the mouth…… everyone is crawling out the woodwork ……… “I’m covert 19 , fly me” ……… M&H on the March??? ………… over 40,000………… flight attendant/ ……… the dodgy R…………… mandatory masks ………… The Amazon too ??? ………… online celebrity … “ There here Philip “ …………” one has to distance darlings “ …… “ yes there lovely shoes” ……… “ look Philip, live tic-toc “………” it’s wonderful wonderful “ ………… “amazing, he’s shot up “ ………” shall we have a little refreshments?”

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52. June 6

MM ANON …… the battle of Whitehall ……… agent Provocateurs………new trading …… it’s a Sunday Jim ,but not as we know it ………… social distancing got wet……… antibodies have the answer ……… R is above 1 in the SWest Of England. 😱😱😱😱……… second spike😱😱😱………🎼when I was 65 ,it was a very good year 🎼………… “ look it’s mummies wedding “ ……… “it’s mummy gan gan” ……… “ yes , so pretty the coach “ ………” I want one “ ……… “ one day sweetie, one day” ………” will you come gan gan ? “ ………… “ I’ll try darling “.

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53. June 7

MM ANON …… I’d like to thank pg /LK and all the anons who attempt/ solve and interpretations of the riddles that skippy graciously lets me post 💜💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💓💓💓🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧Many thanks to all those who partake.

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54. June 7

MM ANON ……who’s her next favourite millionaire ……… Malibu?? ……… NYC??……… another sad video cry for help ……… archificial ( firsts words) 🤣🤣🤣………… mad / bad & dangerous to know ……… “ it’s me, me film me!! ………… “ turn around!! “ ……… “ he’s not letting her agenda rule” ………” this is not up for debate “………… “yes ones looking forward to traveling up there “ ………” get in touch with the Gillie” …………… “ can one travel to ones other residence?…………… “ can’t find my bloody glasses, Sydney!!

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55. June 8

MM ANON ……D.O.J.……… A Stern retort. ………… the sept. Soothsayer ……… A 14 day suicide for the trade………… in court today ……… Beatrice tooo tu!! …………… wonderful Wessex……… more photos from Kate??? ……… no fuss birthday ………… “ shall one suggest a gathering of 8 .” ………” no, silly’ Balmoral?? ……… MM desperatum iri videbatur……

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56. June 9

MM ANON ……… everyone and their brother,brother ……… wow!! What a photo Kate!!…………… little Louis gets a surprise …………… a well rounded future of three( four) ……… A birthday tic-toc dance………… “ do Catherine , come and bring the children “………… “maybe a change of routine “………… “ Both of you are an example hope”……… “ yes George,I’ll see if we can get to a match”

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57. June 10

MM ANON … Gone……………everything is now B&W…………… “ but’ tomorrow is another day”………… “ but old thing, I look like bloody Bela Lugosi” ………… “ shutup Philip”……… “ just Take the bloody picture “.………”they’ve hardly ever been on a train William “………… “ yes , they’d be very excited 😜 “ ………… 🎼we’re all going to the zoo tomorrow 🎼…………… she lies for exposure……… yachting’ secret exposure !! …………… this time it’s explosive!! ………… “ great scoop Beth.”

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58. June 11.

MM ANON …… dib dib dib……… one metre before July …………care-ing monarch online ……… 🎼What picture,what a photograph 🎼………… DOC museum of photography ? ………. Columbus falls……… “ I shall insist it’s the best TTC old thing “ …………a trace race. ………… Sunday Balmoral?? ………… “ plenty of fresh air for them” ……… “ in the lodge” ……… “C&C can stay here” ……………” your good at this zoom lark old thing “…………… “Group Of eight, a dinner party

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59. June 12

MM ANON …… for the anon who thinks she has superior knowledge of the riddles and has a problem with the wonderful interpretations of LK and pg. ……… I suggest you join the other ignorant anons who pay us a fleeting visit ……………THEN DISAPPEAR!! Skippy, we’re the ones who love you 💜💜💜💜💜

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60. June 12

MM ANON …… my BFF , sacked……… mr President,welcome ……… on mental health ‘ goal……… “they’ll still turn up old thing “………… “ they won’t see anything Philip “ ……… Boris,incandescent!! ……… “🍕 Pizza night children “………… “ thecrown old thing “ ……… “ NO!!” ………… “ we haven’t finished peakyblinders” ……… “ bloody brummies” ……… “ PHILIP!!………… Sydney ‘ we’re out of your refreshment sir “ ………… WHAT!!

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61. June 13

MM ANON …HMTQ was social distancing ……… beautiful in blue……… “ amazing bloody parade “…… to Broach the subject …… “ you looked magnificent old thing”. ……… KHAN GET IT RIGHT …… a WEE disturbing …… hugs 🤗 not bugs……… the China syndrome ……… open market 😱😱😱………… won’t ring Beijing …………… “ Ahhh, Sydney, you refreshed the refreshments “ ………” ignore him Sydney “………… “ I found an old vidio TTC , 1975 Old thing, our favourite hits” ……… “ those were ones days” ………” we looked the mutts-nuts old thing

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62. June 14

MM ANON …… Adeleville……… Westfield?? ………… Charlottes delivery …………… 🎼grab the cash with both hands🎼………… another scam charity …………… she’s a race… ist ………… she publishes the book ………………… we will destroy her, we have the tapes…… “ no more Mrs, nice ma’am!! “ ………… “ ones gloves are orf Christopher ………… “ it was a very good year,old thing “.

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63. June 15.

MM ANON ……… Shetland lift-off……… LIZA with a ‘ don’t know em……………” it’s shopping Jim, but not as we show it……… “ matter of fact it’s all dark” …………… first jet easy ………… Brexit,old white guys drinking a lot. …………… a moment of reckoning ……… a virtual Wimbledon?? ………… Catherine to the rescue …… “ Ahhh , a relaxing night old thing “ …………… “Sydney’s provided a new box set” …… “Boardwalk Empire” ………“ bit violent old thing” ……… “ Epic Philip!!”…… “ones usual Sydney “………… “great!! No bloody tic toc.

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64. June 16

MM ANON …… “she Ascot nothing on me” ………… para-thanks William ……… PC , LOST weight??…………Oxford,Oxford ……… STIR-oid ………U-Turn dinner …………… falling tragedy ………… the Paris peasants are revolting ……… ……… “ we can still dress-up cabbage 🥬 “ ………… “Anne, my yellow ensemble”……… “Sydney ‘ a photo”……��… “that’s a keeper, old thing” ……… “ here we go , tic-toc, the three of them” ………… “O, and Catherine!!” ………… “ ehhhh, And William “ ………… “ make it a double Sydney “…… “ how entertaining Philip “

——————

65. June 17

MM ANON … Goal no goal, offside!! …………red zone……… rear ended,whoops!! ………… saliva sample ………… another rally?? …………… a £ 900,000 paint job. ………… madam NYC incognito …………ZOOM to William ……… mutant outbreak confirmed ……………… NDA bombshell. …………joining the UN? …………… Chile lockdown ………”how many episodes old thing “ ………… “ yes , that Nucky chappie is a tad violent” ………… “ she’s meeting at Wimbledon “……………… “ Nanny’s taking them to the zoo”

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66. June 18

MM ANON ……… “NEVER………… “ ………” mon dieu” …… 🎼some sunny day 🎼……… “ good to meet again Mr President “………air corridor ……… “ to be honest,he was an obnoxious old bastard” ……… world beating 🍒……… non app- licable …… “ Bolt-hole. ………… self interest ……… BOE- more money!! …………… pepper sprayed……… “ O Philip, it’s the last one “……… “Always Downton Abbey old thing”

——————

67. June 19

MM ANON …… HMTQ boost……… cup cakes in kings-him ………… Garden-send-her ……… September kids ………… hack Australia ………… Bei-ching ………… Charlotte & George together ………… no longer alert ?? ………… “ get packed Philip we’re orf soon” ………debt, what debt? ……… slave day………… ONS………… “ bubble bubble- toil and trouble” ……… 🎼teach your children well🎼………… “Sydney ‘ don’t forget my tigger PJs”……… 🎼swing low,sweet chariot 🎼………… “ Cabbage ‘ it’s tic-toc time”.

—————-

68. June 20

MM ANON ……… Hello!! ………… “ It’s a rally Jim , ……… viva espana ………… 🎼drink, drink, drink,🎼…………… black wall……… MM , another agenda!! ………… bollotics ………… “ Kate and William,the children are with nanny “ ………… “ Dover Sole and lemon parfait old thing “………… cream caramel,and Irish coffee Sydney!! ………… “September 9th ma’am. …… “ Stay over Catherine “

——————

69. June 21

MM ANON … give us a hug………… Duchess of Cambridge Royal collection ……… in the footsteps of lord Lichfield ………… EOS C700 Christmas present … … “ slow the testing down”…………Kung-flu…………… Size matters………… reopening NYC……… “ get ya hair 💇🏽‍♀️💇🏼‍♂️cut” …………… “ 🙋‍♂️🙋‍♀️🍺 “ ………… Rachel for president?? …………… archificial daddy day?? ……… spotted in St Johns Wood.

——————-

70. June 22

MM ANON ……… noose-car……… Ahhhh, Germany……… BOE-meltdown ………… free at last………… testing the TEST!! 🏏……… Terrorisk ………… ONE ,small step………”I think She’s turning Japanese”………… Saint Lennox …………… A rush of wind…………… “ well now you’re free to be reunited with the little monsters”……… “ bloody hell’ what a joy” ………… “ O Philip ‘ hugs 🤗 lots of hugs” ………… “ and live tic-toc , I can hardly wait “ ………” I’ll have to muster some liquid courage, Sydney!! “

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71. June 25

MM ANON ……”they seek him there” ……… your services are no longer required ……… street rumble ……… phwew, wot a scorcher………… we’ll fight them on the beaches ………… it’s sunburn Jim , but not as we know it ………… mutation sensation ……………🎼you’ll neeeeeeever walk alone🎼……………… sign on the million dotted line ………… take the TRASH out…………… “ a letter ma’am”.

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kingofthenorth49 · 3 years

Text

Made in China

I don’t know about you, but it sure feels like we are living through the start of World War III.

Now before you scroll past and think my tin foil hat is on too tight this morning, hear me out. It’s not like this doesn’t make sense or anything, if you connect the dots it would appear that the next global conflict will look much different than the previous two.

Think about it. China has been posturing for years to become the next world superpower, and if you can see through the medias bullshit you can read the overtures that are being made in the Asia region along with the saber rattling in the Middle East, you can see that it didn’t take long for Biden to unravel almost 50 years of progress towards peace.

War is inevitable and necessary to the state, and if you ever read Sun Tzu “Art of War”, a Chinese war treatise from the 6th dynasty you would understand the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting. He also said that the outcome of war is pre-decided and gave solid advice on the best way to conduct campaigns to conquer foreign powers.

Now before you get your panties in a bunch, I’m not accusing China of deliberately inducing a world-wide pandemic through the use of a genetically modified pathogen after spending years devaluating the US dollar using printed money (not like we have room to talk, but we also haven’t been on a buying spree like the Chinese have in say, Canada for example.), but if I were President Xi Jinping that’s what I’d do. The best war is one where you risk no resources.

Again, not saying the Chinese are attempting to destabilize the United States, not at all. Just saying if I were going to take over the world that’s how I’d do it, from a far, using disinformation and creating confusion and chaos in the streets of my enemy. Not like it hasn’t been done before.

See many of you see people like me as conspiracy theorists, people who are to be dismissed because we believe in things others’ think are foolish, things that seem farfetched and impossible to be going on in a frame of present reference. I just see myself as a guy who likes history and reads a lot of books that were written before Google came along and dumbed down our nations. Anyone who has ever read a book on the rise of the National Socialist German Workers’ Party in 1920’s Germany would understand completely. If you were to pick up a couple other books on how Hilter rose to power on the back of that party, you’d understand also how quickly people can be manipulated, and how the media and ideology can quickly create a firestorm of hate that makes it easy for societies to crumble. Read even further on how the German army used deceptive tactics to invade Austria and Poland so quickly they didn’t have a chance to prepare.

That’s not a conspiracy theory, that’s history and we all know those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

I guess watering down history is a good thing, right? Taking down statues, changing historical accounts in the name of political correctness, and not encouraging people to critically examine all aspects of history to learn from them helps us become a better society.

Let me give you the Cole’s notes version of how quickly things can go off the rails when the wrong ideology gains traction in a society where people intend to do evil. Again, not saying our current situation is remotely commensurate with our current situation, but it’s a good example of how quickly things can go from good to evil.

Here we go.

1933 - The Nazi Party takes power in Germany. Adolf Hitler becomes chancellor (or Prime Minister) of Germany. Nazis temporarily suspend civil liberties.

1934 - Hitler combines the positions of chancellor and president to become “Fuhrer” or leader of Germany. Jewish newspapers are no longer allowed to be sold in the streets of Germany.

1935 - The Nazis intensify the persecution of people that do not agree with their political philosophy. Jews are deprived of their citizenship and other basic rights.

1936 – Nazi's boycott Jewish owned businesses. The Olympic Games are held in Germany; Signs barring Jews are removed until the event is over. Jews no longer have the right to vote.

1938 - German troops annexed Austria. On Kristallnacht, the “night of broken glass,” Nazis terrorized Jews throughout Germany and Austria and 30,000 Jews are arrested. Jews must carry ID cards (papers!) and Jewish passports are marked with a “J”. Jews no longer had businesses, attend plays, concerts etc. (maybe they were unvaccinated??) All Jewish children are move to Jewish schools. Jewish businesses are shut down; They must sell businesses and hand over securities and jewels. Jews must hand over drivers licenses and car registrations. Jews must be in certain places at certain times.

1939- Germany takes over Czechoslovakia and invades Poland. World War Two begins as Britain in France declared war on Germany. Hitler orders that Jews must follow curfews; Jews must turn in radios to the police; Jews must wear yellow stars of David.

Now I’ll stop there.

Those are all non-debatable historical facts, no subjectivity in my interpretation, just the facts m’am. Look how quickly one ideology took hold in a country ripe for change. At the time of the 1930’s German’s were desperate for change as they had just came out of world war 1 and were suffering from paying reparations for their conduct during that conflict and when Hilter came along he lit a fire under the German people by blaming the Jews for the loss of WW1.

Five years. Five years from the time a tyrant took power until he was able to start killing 6 million people.

Now if you are one of those types that believe “it can’t happen again” look no further to all the other genocides over the past 100 years, up to and including the Uighur crisis currently going on in China where they have over 1 million Uighur Muslims in concentration camps and they are mass sterilizing these people to the point it’s actually consider a genocide, as it’s reducing the Muslim population in the western provinces of China though declining birthrates. If these women don’t submit to forced intra-uterine devices or monthly pregnancy tests, they are put in prisons.

Put in prision because they needed to take a test, shot, or device and wouldn’t?

Say it ain’t so Joe, say it ain’t so.

Folks, some people are evil. Rotten to the core. They have no soul and are in the most desperate need of getting laid of any person on the planet. That’s reality. You can choose to stick you head in the sand and pretend the boogeyman doesn’t exist, but in truth the boogey man will always exist because humans are nasty evil creatures capable of the most horrendous conduct, and if you think ignoring them or passing laws to prevent them from doing things are going to stop them, well you are just stupid. Sorry, I can’t soften that up any because I owe it to you to be blunt in these times.

Now if you’ve made it this far I think you would agree that something is amiss these days, there’s too many conspiracy theories of the past few years that are now seeming to be true, yet no one wants to talk about where the end game is. I’m not sure what it is, but I have some theories, most involved China or George Soros, but the data indicates more towards the former versus the latter.

Trudeau loves China, he’s said so on many occasions to the point of gushing over their communist form of government. His father was a Marxist, and his mother loved communists. Literally. **bow chica bow wow**

Hunter Biden and the Big Guy are in bed with the Chinese in a different way that Margret and Fidel. We’ve seen the emails, the testimony, and the allegations. For them, it’s about money. Last week the Big Guy shut down the investigation that Trump started into the Wuhan lab. That’s now created a firestorm that will likely make 9/11 look like a traffic accident. Coincidence? I think not.

We recently had two Chinese scientists with ties to the Chinese People’s Army kicked out of our highest security epidemiology lab here in Canada after CSIS had concerns they were passing information back to the Wuhan lab (a lab so highly classified Canadian scientists have a hard time getting security clearances to access it), and Trudeau drew the ire of senior Canadian military personnel when he bullied them into allowing the Chinese to hold winter war games at CFB Petawawa. Why is Trudeau so moonstruck with China?

Dot, Dot, Dot.

Once again, I hope I’m wrong. I really, really do, but go back and walk that timeline again and ask yourself if you now understand why Netanyahu hit Hamas as hard as he did.

Never again.

Can you blame him Comrades?

Now as you sit here in North America today, especially in Canada, does it not seem eerily similar to what has happened before in history? Keep in mind that Jews were loaded onto boxcars under the premise to take them to safety from the angry German peoples.

I really do hope my tinfoil hat is too tight and it’s cutting off the circulation to my frontal lobe, I want the Canada back I grew up in, and the America I fell in love with. I just hope this really is just a bad bug that’s part of a cyclical pattern of virology and this isn’t the start of a global war to reorganize the planet power structure and de-populate the globe.

The dots just tell a different story.

Jim Out.

#ww3 trudeaumustgo wearesoscrewed enough

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bazzybelle · 5 years

Text

Carry On Countdown - Day Eleven

Notes: So… I wrote this story (the first half) during one of my spirals. Go find my WLW fic if you’re that curious, I don’t want to word-vomit about my mental health again. I had originally wanted to just keep the first half, but @fight-surrender helped me to find a little hope (some that I was missing, to be honest).

Lyrics/title are from the song “Let It Be” by The Beatles. This is my favourite song and never fails to help me cry out my emotions and help me calm down when I’m too in my own head. It’s what’s playing in the background, as I try to make sense of the jumbled words/emotions bouncing around up there.

Also, a disclaimer, I am aware that everyone’s experience with depression is different. I am coming at this fic based on my own personal experiences and spirals.

All my love go to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for talking me through this fic and encouraging me to post it despite its grim tone; to @fight-surrender for listening to me during my thought spirals and for being a beacon during my dark moments (also, for giving me the idea to add some hope/reflection into the story); and to my husband who makes me tea when I’m sad and doesn’t push me to talk about my sadness and has been nothing but supportive though my journey of returning to writing.

I’m also gonna give love to @giishu and @f-ing-ruthless-baz because my newfound friendship with them has given me life. Thank you.

I’m working at being ok. Love to you all. Be kind to yourselves and to each other.

If you’re going through a hard time, I send you love and support. My inbox is always open to talk/cry/laugh about stupidities.

TW: Depression, thoughts of worthlessness. Suicidal thoughts.

Day 11 Prompt: Angst Day

Title: Let It Be

________________________________________________________________

When the night is cloudy, there is still a light that shines on me. Shine until tomorrow, let it be.

SIMON

It’s better if I lay here on the sofa.

That way, I can’t muck up anything more than what I’ve already mucked up.

It’s better if I lay here on the sofa.

That way, I don’t have to see the looks of pity and sadness on Baz’s and Penny’s faces. That way, Baz won’t have to look at me and realize that I’m not worth his time. I’m not worth anyone’s time.

It’s better if I lay here on the sofa.

That way, the constant light and hum of the television can help numb me of whatever I’m feeling inside.

Useless, wasted, worthless…

A fraud, a phony, a fake.

The colours outside my window turn from orange to yellow, to white. Then back to yellow, and orange, and finally to the deep blue of night. The cycle repeats day after day after day. I run the risk of losing track of time completely, if Penny and Baz weren’t here all the damn time.

And they are always here.

Always hovering, always asking me questions, always trying to get me to talk.

I don’t want to bloody talk! I want to sleep. I want to be alone. I want to disappear and no longer burden anyone.

Maybe it would have been better if the Humdrum had finished me off completely. Maybe it would have been better if I wasn’t around. Penny would be in America, with Micah and Baz would be moving on with someone more worthwhile. They would have moved on and found their place in this world. A world that I no longer belong to. A world that I never really belonged to.

It was all really a lie, wasn’t it? A beautifully crafted, perfectly executed lie. I was never meant to exist in the World of Mages. I am and have always been, just a Normal. Everything that I felt during the last 8 years of my life have been a part of that elaborate lie. The happiness, the power, the sense that I was a part of something amazing. All of it was a lie.

The friendship I felt with Penny, the love I felt with Baz; also lies. Those are the lies that hurt me the most, because they are persistent. They didn’t go away like the other lies. They didn’t go away with my magic. They didn’t go away when The Mage and the Humdrum were defeated. They didn’t go away when I failed to save Ebb’s life.

Instead, they stick around because they pity me. They stick around because they both made promises to me, and they don’t wish to break them. They stick around because maybe I make them feel better about themselves. If Penny or Baz have an off-day, well, at least they aren’t like me. At least they have their magic and at least they belong somewhere. No matter how much the world hurts them, they will never be as fucked up as me.

I can hear them now, in the kitchen, making some food. They’re always making me food, trying to get me to eat something. Just the thought of eating something makes me sick to my stomach. The smell is nauseating. I haven’t been able to keep anything down for very long. I mostly just eat the crisps I buy from the corner store and wash it down with some cider. Penny has nagged endlessly at me that I cannot sustain myself on a diet of crisps and cider. It was annoying at first, but now I’ve learned to drown her out.

A small voice inside is telling me that they’re doing it because they’re concerned for me and that they just want to help. I shut that voice up and insist that they see me as so pitiful that I can’t even cook for myself.

They’re probably right. I’d probably just end up setting the flat on fire. Let’s hope Baz isn’t nearby if I ever do attempt to cook for myself.

I know what will happen next. They’ll finish cooking whatever it is they’re cooking. One of them will sit at the table and do schoolwork while eating. The other will sit down on the sofa’s armrest and try to get me to eat something. Then they’ll switch places. That goes on for about a couple of hours, until the food’s gone cold. They’ll then wrap the food up and finally leave me in peace. They’ll study together for a few more hours until Baz decides he’s had enough and leaves for the night. Penny will usually go to bed once he leaves.

It’s at this time, where I finally get off the couch. I will walk to the balcony of the flat and just stare outside at the other buildings, the sky, the people, and the ground below. I will lean my body halfway over the edge and just stare at the ground below. I’ll stare and I’ll think and maybe I’ll push myself a little further over the edge. Maybe I’ll bring myself closer to the ground this time. Maybe I’ll finally have the courage to let go. Maybe I’ll finally have the courage to finally let Penny and Baz free from ever worrying about me again.

Or maybe I’ll be a coward and make my way back to the couch. More likely, it’ll be that outcome because I’ll think of their faces and how I just want to see them for one more day.

But, who’s to say really?

“Snow? Would you like some of this fettucini? Bunce has tried a new recipe and she’s convinced it’s good enough for Ramsey. I personally think she’s daft.”

So Baz has the first shift today. Very well then.

Here we go.

*****

I close the notebook and take a deep breath. The entry I’ve just read was from a very dark moment in my life. Or rather, it was a recollection of a very dark time in my life. I had written it at the suggestion of my therapist. He suggested that I start keeping a journal as a way to track my thoughts. That way, it would be easier for me to isolate the negative thoughts in my head. The belief was that, by isolating my thoughts, it would become easier to challenge them. By writing them down, they become tactile. By becoming tactile, they become easier to fight and replace with more positive thoughts.

I thought it was all bollocks at first and was not very good at tracking my thoughts. That is, until one of my intrusive thoughts settled into my brain and would not leave. It sat there and festered and festered, until it completely took over. That day, I nearly returned to the sofa and threw away everything that I had worked so hard to achieve. That day, I looked at Baz, and thought about the ways he would be better off without me and that maybe I should end it right now.

Instead of giving into my dark thoughts, I asked him if he had an empty notebook and a pen I could borrow. And because he is an absolute intellectual wanker, of course he had a spare notebook in his bag, as well as a burgundy pen (Baz likes to use non-conventional writing tools. He’s currently very excited about using fountain pens). I could tell from his eyes that he wanted desperately to ask me what was wrong. I gave him a sad smile and sat down at the table and began to write.

I wrote and I cried, and I thought back to that dark, depressing part of my life. Baz had made me some tea and sat down next to me, rubbing my shoulders and grabbing my hand when I needed it. I continued to write as he brought me some food and reheated my tea when it got cold. I cried, as he held my hand and ran his thumb over my rough knuckles. When I was done, I closed the book and let him hold me. I let him hold me while I cried onto his expensive shirt.

I now look at the entry and think about how far I have come since not only the day I wrote the entry, but also the time where I felt no hope. It’s been almost seven years since my last year at Watford, and I can’t believe how different my life has been since then. It hasn’t been easy and I still slip up from time to time.

My notebook has grown into a collection, spanning throughout my experiences volunteering with displaced youth, throughout my work as a counselor, and throughout my decision to go to University, specializing in Psychology. I turn to the framed diploma on the wall (Baz had wanted to get the most distinguished looking frame; I veto-ed it right away considering it was just an undergraduate’s diploma), and to the acceptance letters in my hand. I had gotten accepted into a Master’s program at both University College of London as well as Cambridge fucking University.

Imagine… Me, Simon Snow attending a University as prestigious as fucking Cambridge.

Cambridge.

I haven’t yet told Baz about my acceptance letters, but I have been talking about and stressing over this application process for nearly all of last year. I had gotten the letters this morning and I was planning on waiting until he got home before telling him.

Baz.

I think about Baz and how far we have come as a couple. When I think back to how we went from enemies, to lovers who could not communicate, to now being a healthy stable relationship. I can’t believe it sometimes. We do slip up and we do fight occasionally (rarely… if ever at all), but we always come back to each other. We needed some help in learning how to bridge that gap in communication, but after a lot of work, I think we’re starting to get to a point where we’re just happy together. The doubts about us barely linger in my mind anymore. Now, I just want to focus on making sure that Baz feels happy and secure with us. I do that by letting him know that I love him and care about him and that I will always be there for him.

We had been living together for almost a year (Penny had moved in with Shepard, after convincing him to stay in London -- like he was EVER going to leave Penny, the man is mad about her) (Baz’s aunt moved in with a Normal woman she had been seeing for years, so she wasn’t upset by the loss of a flat-mate) and I would say the biggest challenge has been learning how balance giving space and receiving love and affection. I would say that we’re not doing too shabby.

As if my thoughts summon him, Baz steps through the threshold of the flat, groceries in his arms. “Hello Love. How was your day?” He asks me. I love it when he calls me that… Love. I’m his Love, and he is mine. I smile and blush. It makes me happy that even after all this time, Baz can still make me blush like this.

“Hey babe… I uhhh… I have umm... some news.” Baz raises an eyebrow at me. He places the bags on top of the kitchen counter and walks over to me. He places a kiss on my head, when he notices the letters on the table. His eyes widen and he grabs both letters from the table.

Baz is quiet. I start picking at my cuticles and my leg starts to bounce. Baz looks at me, and it can only be described as a look of complete adoration. Seven years ago, I would have hated that look and fought it. Now, I smile back at him and grab his hand as I nod at him.

“Simon…” he breathes out. He settles slowly into the chair next to me. He looks at me and back to the letters. He gives my hand a squeeze and lifts it up to his face. He gives it a small kiss and nuzzles it softly. “Love, I knew you would make it in… Bloody Cambridge. I am so proud of you, my darling.”

I blush and momentarily look away from him, before I remember that it’s alright to feel vulnerable and that I’ve earned this moment of bliss. I look back at him and I can feel a few tears in my eyes. Baz cups my face in his hands and draws me into a deep kiss. I grab onto his face and I take in everything about him. His scent (still the same combination of cedar and bergamot that he’s always had), the cold of his hands, the softness of his lips. The light hum of his voice as he takes me in as well. He breaks our kiss and places another one on my forehead.

“Bloody Cambridge…” I gasp out, shaking my head. I still cannot believe it.

“Love… You’ve earned it!” Baz is running his fingers through my hair. I tip my head towards him, enjoying this calming touch.

“Can I handle it?”

Baz barks out a laugh. “You’ve killed a dragon during first year. You defeated a chimera during our fifth. You graduated Uni with honours! You can handle anything and everything!”

“But it’s so pretentious…” I make a face and stick my tongue out in disgust. Honestly, the thought of being surrounded by people who were probably more pretentious than Baz (wait… that may not be possible, no one is more pretentious than my posh boyfriend).

“Simon…” Baz raises an eyebrow at me. “I think you can handle a few pretentious snobs. You won me over without even trying.”

“I’ll be so far away.” I move closer to him and wrap my arms around his waist. Baz pulls me onto his lap and I settle into the crook of his neck. I nuzzle him a little and think about how crazy I’ll be without him near me everyday.

“I’ll come visit. Crowely, maybe I’ll even move there with you until you’ve done your Master’s.” Baz is lightly scratching my back and I let out a tiny moan. I fucking love it when he does that. I pull away from him for a second and wrap my arms around his neck. I stare into his stormy-grey eyes.

“I’m fucking terrified.” I whisper.

Baz’s lips curl up into a gentle half-smile. He trails his fingers over my arms. “And that’s alright. We’ll figure it out.”

“Together?”

“Together.”

Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah let it be. There will be an answer, let it be. Let it be, let it be, let it be, yeah let it be. Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years

Text

1015.

5k Survey LXIX

3501. Is 'no glove, no love' your STRICT policy? >> I don’t have policies for activities I don’t participate in in the first place.

3502. What is the best Epic movie (examples of epics: ben-her, gone with the wind, last temptation of christ)? >> I don’t know what else falls into the category of “epic movie”, so... can’t really answer. 3503. Finish the sentance. Hey, Hey we're the: Monkees People say we: But we're too busy: The time to hesitate is: now You're too: physical It's a nice day to: start again 3504. Have you ever had 'missing time'? >> Only in the context of being intoxicated (and that one botched suicide attempt). 3505. Have you ever sent an electronic greeting? >> Maybe a long time ago.

3506. If you could send anonymous tips to people you knew who would never ever find out who sent them who would you send the following tips to? doesn't know when to leave: poor crotch hygenie: talks to much: band/art/dream is going nowehere: most likely to get arrestted: needs to get their life together: bad taste in clothes: bad taste in music: needs a hobby: 3507. Are you more likely to download porn or disney movies? >> I don’t download much of anything, really. Streaming has become my default mode of consumption. 3508. What is it with people? >> ??? 3509. Do you eat too much sugar? >> I can assure you that I do not. 3510 Imagine you have aband. Let's name your band. Adjective: Animal(plural): Your band name is (adjective) (animals) Under Glass! Could be better? Let's try again. Adjective: Noun (plural): Your band is (adjective) (nouns) With Puppets 3511. Are you desperate but not serious? >> I have no idea what this means. 3512. Was there a time when you were younger and it took less to get you excited? What did it take then? What does it take now? >> Honestly, I have no recollection of excitement experiences as a child. I do know that excitement is difficult for me nowadays because 1) I’m still pretty emotionally blunted, particularly for positive emotions and 2) I automatically attribute all physical feelings that could suggest excitement to anxiety instead (because I’m still learning the difference). 3513. Remember learning to write in elementary school? We spend 2 years learning to print..then they throw that out the window and teach kids cursive. Why? If cursive is so important and easy to read then why aren't books printed in cursive? Why aren't cursive computer fonts more popular? Why do buisness forms always say 'please print'? Schools are so preoccupied with teaching kids the complicated but traditional skill of cursive writing that more emphasis is put on that than on teaching kids how to clearly express their ideas through writing. I move that cursive writing become a jr. high school elective instead of a grammer school priority. Who's with me? >> This seems like a personal rant based on your own experiences and I have no dog in this fight, dude. I think of penmanship like art -- script writing is an art form and being adept at it can lead to some pretty results. Just don’t use it if you don’t care for it. Also, I’m pretty sure very few (public) schools care about cursive writing in this era, lmao, so this is also an outdated rant. 3514. Can you think of anything else (besides cursive writing) that is unhelpful, or unuseful, yet traditional and unquestioned? What? >> Whatever. 3515. Name one female celebrity who you would guess wears size ___ clothing: 0? 5? 12? 16? 20? 3516. Have you ever been to a place where the restrooms were named in a clever way rather than just saying men's and woman's? I've seen Hens and Roosters, Bart and Lisa, Dudes and Babes...what have you seen? >> Yeah, I saw “Pirates” and “Wenches” once. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen others but I can’t remember what they were now. 3517. What is the 'message' or 'point behind': Fight Club? Donnie Darko? AI? Minority Report? Solaris? A Walk to Remember? You've Got Mail? 3518. have you seen, and what are your thoughts about these movies: Drumline? >> Now this is a question block I can actually answer. I did see Drumline, but I was 13 at the time so I have no real recollection of my feelings about it. The Hot Chick? >> Nope. Maid in Manhattan? >> Nope. Star Trek: Nemesis? >> Nope. About Schmidt? >> Nope. Okay, maybe I can’t answer this question block after all. What are most of these movies...? Evelyn? >> --- The Guys? >> --- Intacto? >> --- The Jimmy Show? >> ---

The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers? >> I did see this, but I don’t remember much of it either because it was at least half a decade ago. I do assume I enjoyed it. Gangs of New York? >> --- Two Weeks Notice? >> --- The Wild Thornberrys Movie? >> --- Smokers Only? >> --- Treasure Planet? >> --- The Santa Clause 2? >> --- 3519. START this sentance: ....and I think to myself, what a wonderful world." >> ---

3520. What is: insanity? normal? farenheit? 3521. Tell us about yourself in the third person for a bit: >> I’d really rather not attempt that. 3522. If someone breaks a law, should they be punished if they did not know it was a law? >> Oh, I don’t know. This is a concept that can get real thorny real fast. 3523. If it's so much easier to learn languages when we are very young (and it is, something to do with the developing brain) why do they wait until jr high and high school to teach them? >> I don’t know anything about the justifications behind public-school curricula, dude. 3524. Name a band you sort of like: Dream Theater. You are wearing that band's t-shirt in a store. SUDDENLY some guy you don't know comes up to you and goes, "Hey! You like (insert name of the band here)??!!" This is obviously a really stupid question because if you didn't like them you wouldn't be wearing the t-shirt. Your witty reply is: >> It’s not a really stupid question, first of all, because it’s a conversation starter as opposed to a straightforward inquiry. I’d assume he’s excited that someone else seems to be a fan of a band he likes, and is opening the floor to talking about it. Which is great! Let’s talk about prog metal! Now, on the other hand, if the tone of “hey, you like Dream Theater?” is skeptical, like he’s assuming I’m just blithely wearing the shirt without actually liking the band or whatever, then I’d probably just give him a simple “yep” and see what happened after that. I’m not going to immediately be sarcastic or “witty” until I am positive about what kind of interaction is happening. 3525. If you were organizing cd's in a music store what section would you put each of the following in (don't forget the 'bargain bin' section!): Blink182 Depech Mode Weezer Led Zeppelin The Doors Avril Lavigne Nelly Manfred Mann Iggy Pop Pink Floyd Guns N Roses Shakira Britny Spears Tool Ozzy Osbourne Madonna The Rolling Stones The Beatles Motley Crue Bon Jovi 3526. Does coffee stimulate your mind or body more? >> It stimulates my anxiety drive, is what it does. 3527. Can you do 'six degrees of seperation' to anyone famous? >> I assume not. 3528. What's the oddest thing in your home? >> Me. 3529. Do you find it odd when people who are not handicapped use the handicapped stall: in the bathroom? >> No, I’ve used it because the close quarters of the other stalls wig me out sometimes. Or I’ve used it because the other ones were disaster zones. Or I’ve used it because I was also getting changed in the stall, or something, and needed the room. in the parking lot? >> You need a whole placard (or handicapped license plate) for those, so there are obvious rules. 3530. Do you sometimes find yourself talking to yourself? Do you answer yourself back? >> No, I talk to the Inworlders, not “myself”. 3531. In your head do you call yourself 'I' or 'you' or both? >> Er... “I”? 3532. What is the best excuse for why you haven't done your homework? >> --- 3533. Someone tells you 'well there are black people, and then there are n*ggers'. What do you think? >> I think that person’s an out-and-out bona-fide bigot, obviously? What the fuck else am I going to think (besides “I have to leave immediately”)??? 3534. Does culture shape behavior or does behavior shape culture? >> Yes. 3535. What determines whether a person will be: intelligent? pretty? happy? sucessful? 3536. What is social loafing? What is groupthink? >> ??? 3537. I have an idea. let's change the english language by making the words fewer, shorter and more concise. What do ya think? >> No. 3538. What are the physical symptoms of: joy? fear? shame? 3539. Here's the scenerio...your little eight year old brother is hangin out in the house when you come in..and catch him watching the playboy channel! What do you do/say? He says, "Why can't I watch this?" What is your response? Why do you respond that way? >> I don’t have an eight-year-old brother and I don’t know anything about how I would respond in a sibling-dynamic situation because I’ve never been in one. 3540. Who REALLY has a higher sex drive, girls or guys? How can you tell? >> --- 3541. are you usually carefree? >> No. 3542. Do you generally prefer reading to meeting people? >> This is an odd comparison to make. 3543. Do you often long for excitement? >> No. 3544. Are you mostly quiet when you are with others? >> It depends on what kind of situation I’m in and what kind of day I’m having. And who the others are. And where we are. Context, people. Details. Please. 3545. Do you often do things spur of the moment? >> No. 3546. Are you slow an unhurried in the way you move? >> Sometimes. If I’m doing something I hate or that triggers me, then I tend to be a lot more hurried. 3547. Would you do almost anything for a dare? >> I wouldn’t do anything on a dare. 3548. Do you hate being in a crowd who plays jokes on one another? >> Er... 3549. Do you enjoy wild parties? >> No. 3550. Have you ever paid for something priced more than $5.00 in only change? >> No, but I was with someone that did. We had to scrounge for change in her car so we could buy enough gas to get us the rest of the way home, lol.

#surveys #survey #5000 question survey #not for reblogging *glare*

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icantlose · 4 years

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@thebastardmeteocrusherpilot || continued from this!

Wolf can’t help but chuckle at the suggestion of Galaxicos buying him a drink. The truth of the matter was, this was a bar he had owned and the woman who operated the joint was someone he personally considered his mother-figure. The lupine’s very deep and very personal attachment he’d had to the boar meant that just about any drink he had -- alcohol he would order and Star Wolf would actually pay for in order to stock up on -- was something he never had to dig out of his wallet and purchase. There were pretty few occasions where the wolf truly found himself in such a position at all. When he did, it was borne of a desire to act kindly towards Maggie and ensure to himself that his mother-figure was financially stable and not because buying one’s drink was, you know, the right thing to do.

“When I was in recovery, after my eye was taken from me, I didn’t have a lot to do. Most of my day spent inside Venom’s medical wing was watchin’ Andross’s shitty TV, gettin’ victimized by Venomian soldiers that felt way too strongly about the fact that a Cornerian soldier occupied the same area that many of their brothers and sisters in arms lost their lives in during such violent war.... And readin’. The mad doc had a lot of classic literature available for the patients to read through and, missing an eye, I Ironically found myself readin’ a hell of a lot.”

“I read a lot of Edgar Allen Poe’s work, his poems and short stories often resonated with me and I kept findin’ myself goin’ back to his writing the most.” Wolf gives a casual shrug of his shoulders, hands desperately digging into the pockets of his trench coat in order to locate his pack of cigarettes and his lighter, which, no time is wasted in lighting himself a cigarette.

“Actually, I was visited by Andross himself. The man apologized for what his captain did to me and as an attempt to make peace, he gave me a gift. It was a book -- which was probably a pretty cruel joke on his part, more I think about it. But it was called A Singular View: The Art of Seeing With One Eye, by Frank B. Brady. It’s a really intimate, detailed book that talks about learnin’ how to adjust to life without havin’ both your eyes. It’s, uh, it’s a book that means a lot to me. I still have it and sometimes... I read it again.”

“I’ve finished it quite a few times over the years, Gallybear, but every time I read it, I find somethin’ new to learn from it. It definitely helped with the pain, and trauma of losin’ my eye, but the fact that there’s a book out there that’s meant for people like me to learn how to cope and adjust and grow from such a traumatic physical loss means the world to me. Andross was a motherfucker, but... he’d do shit like this -- express how much he gave a shit...”

“--And it really fuckin’ felt like he gave a shit.”

#thebastardmeteocrusherpilot #Hey! Be quiet! I haven’t finished telling my story yet! || HEADCANONS

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nomimits7 · 5 years

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Undecided Chapter 1...

Title: Undecided Pt 1

Genre: Investigation, murder, masked behaviour.

Warnings: murder, psychotic behaviour, might be triggering.

Members: Detective OT7 x Forensic scientist Reader

Note: Phrases like this are just add-ins to help with the story line… If they confuse you, feel free to ask!

Summary: Moving overseas for a once in a lifetime job offer was one of the scariest things Y/N ever did. That was until she got stuck in a twisted investigation of random murders, all with one link but no leads. Closing in on the culprit(s) Y/N doesn’t realize the danger she’s getting into. With no family or friends, can Y/N dare to trust those seven closest to her with her life?

Thanks Geek for being the best beta reader ever!! @feed-my-geek-soul

Prologue

•♡•

Death: The personification of the power that destroys life, often represented in art and literature as a skeleton or an old man holding a scythe.

•♡•

“Who do we have here...?”

Most people are not given the privilege to choose between life or death, the choice is made for them. Most people would choose life if they were ever given the chance, but you? You were different.

Death has always fascinated you. You used to binge watch documentaries on serial killers, read hundreds if not thousands of books on murder, even your school speeches all revolved around the minds of these criminals. This is something you slowly fell in love with. The mystery, the way they think, but most of all the way they always got caught for their unholy crimes. It was during one of these moments you realized YOU wanted to be the one bringing their fantasies and creepy fetishes to an end. The idea of taking something away from someone that took a life, was like your own personal high.

After completing school, you followed your dreams and studied to become a Forensic scientist. After only 4 years you had your Honours degree and ready to take on the big bad world out there. This proved to be way much more difficult than you initially thought it would be. Finding a decent job as a female forensic scientist was nearly impossible. Most companies only wanted males or more experienced females. They always found some or other excuse to not hire you, to afraid of the risk.

“We’re sorry to inform you that the position requires someone a bit more experienced Miss Y/N”

It’s not you, it’s the system. You knew you were one of the best out there, but clearly being born without a third leg dangling uselessly in between your sturdier legs was a problem. A big problem.

Your country, well they’re still getting use to the whole ‘Women are equal to men’ thing. The chance of you finding a job even as an intern was next to nothing. Again, the risk was just to big.

“I just don’t get it… I can do an even better job than anyone of those three-legged idiots they call men,” you said before pouting into your coffee. Your best friend Lusai just sat there and patiently listened to your mumbling. He was always the best at giving advice on life problems, especially yours. This man you have known for almost 15 years. This man knew you better than you knew yourself.

“Lusai, what should I do?” You whined as his silence became too much to bear. “Come on, you know me better than I know myself. What’s next for Y/N?”

The red-headed, green eyed male stared directly into your eyes. Your best friend was handsome. Red heads being the rare species, he was a well-known ladies’ man. Alongside his green eyes, he even made you swoon from time to time. Clearly, he was doing something right, you see your dear Lusai wasn’t the thinnest or ‘muscle mania’ type of man, no, he was a solid, tall guy that picked up girls like it was a daily trip to the local supermarket.

“Y/N” he sighed. “You know dam well what to do! Just keep looking. Take a breath and keep going. Somewhere someone will see your talents.”

Wise words always seem to leave his mouth. Either that or you were just way to desperate. Even though he was the definition of a fuckboy, he was a smart fuckboy. Both in life and sex.

“See, that’s why I always come to you first!” you said as a smile spread across his plump pink lips.

“Yeah, I was your first everything” He retorted with a smirk.

It’s true. Your best friend was your first everything. Maybe being best friends with your ‘first crush’, ‘first kiss’, ‘first make out’ and ‘first sexual contact’ wasn’t the best idea ever. But hey, the idiot crept into your heart and well, he’s stuck there now. You still love the guy to death, but you always learn from your mistakes. Him, being a painful reminder of that.

“Whatever.” You bite back.

A comfortable silence settles in between you as you slowly sipped the rest of your drink. You loved how you could sit in complete silence and still share so much with someone. The rest of the day consisted of interviews and shopping.

In summary… it was fruitless.

Nonetheless you chose to take Lusai’s advice and keep trying. Somewhere out there, someone will see that you are worth the risk. You are passionate about your work and that’s what makes you different from the rest.

It wasn’t long until you found yourself in the same coffee shop, at the same table, sitting across the same person, drinking the same dam coffee. You were in need of something stronger than coffee. Unfortunately, you hate alcohol as much as you hate rejection. Your hope of finding that dream job was slowly fading. Lusai was a smart boy, and so he did what most smart people would do if a friend was on the brink of depression and self-pity, he made a horrible joke.

“So, the other day I bought a bottle of still water.” He began.

With confused eyes you looked at him expectantly.

“I bought that bottle and threw the water down the drain.” He said as he took a sip of his drink.

“Why did you buy water just to throw it out again?” you asked a little annoyed.

“I wanted to set the water free” he was now staring at you, his face void of any emotion. A beat went by as you sat there, dumbfounded, only to burst out into a fit of laughter.

“There we go! There’s the Y/N I know” he said with a chuckle.

“I hate you, you know that right?” You said as you attempted to punch the speed devil.

He simply shook his head as silence once again took a hold of the atmosphere. You must be doing something wrong. Your studies included practical practice, yet you are seen as inexperienced. You got lost in your jumble of thoughts until Lusai cleared his throat across from you. You turned your attention back to him as his worried eyes made contact with yours.

“Y/N” he began with a shaky breath. “Maybe, just maybe you shouldn’t limit yourself to our country. I mean, you always wanted to travel. Maybe this is just a sign that you should search overseas.” He carefully added. Examining your face as he waited for your reply. Like most people out there, packing up and leaving everyone and everything you ever knew behind scared the living shit out of you. It has been one of your many dreams to see the world yes, but leaving completely without certainty of returning? That scared you.

“I- We’ll see” was all you could say. What more can a scared brave girl say when you had no right to show your weak side? Even though Lusai knew you, you never allowed him the opportunity to see you as a weak woman. And now was no exception.

His words definitely stuck with you. That very evening you began your wild search into the great unknown pages called the internet. You found hundreds of opportunities, but none of them struck your interest. Either it was just an office job (which was a big no, you needed to be out there and not locked up behind a creaking old desk signing papers) or they were just simple internships with little to no pay. None screamed your name, until you came across a rather unusual advertisement.

Z private Investigators.

Needed: Forensic Scientist.

No skills needed nor any experience. We have enough staff to help with the basics.

Status of request: Urgent.

Contact Mr Kim if you are interested. 08**-9634-09**or [email protected]

Well, this should be interesting. It was as if this advertisement was made just for you. You clicked on the link and that’s how you delved into this company’s history.

“It’s located in South Korea, some place called Busan at the moment. But its almost like a company on wheels. They move around a lot to different cities. At the moment there’s seven employees, all men. There were unfortunately no photos whatsoever.” You explained to Lusai over the phone as you sat crossed legged on your bed still scrolling through their homepage.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Apply Y/N. Working with seven men can’t be that bad. And you’ll get to travel! Maybe this is what you have been waiting for, the worst that can happen is receiving a no.” Lusai said

After hanging up you got started on your email:

Good day Mr Kim,

My name is Y/N. I have recently Graduated with my honour’s degree in Forensic science. I’m 20 years old. I know I am way to young, but I was home schooled. Attached is my resume.

I hope to hear from you soon

Kind regards,

Y/N

And just like that you found yourself a mere week later, on your way to the airport for a personal interview. Mr Kim had responded with the exact words: ‘For a 20-year-old your resume is sure impressive. You sound like a very intriguing girl, I can’t wait to meet you. We don’t believe in interviews over the phone. How soon can you fly out?’ Now here you are saying goodbye to your closest relatives on your way to the great unknown.

The flight was probably the scariest part of the whole ordeal. The shaking of the plane as turbulence took over for what seemed like an eternity, definitely made you thankful for every blessing you have received. The fact that you were alone on a man-made bird and the fact that you were sitting next to a creep, his hand kept ‘accidentally’ touch your left thigh, wasn’t helping. When the plane landed some 20 hours later you were more than happy to get the hell off the overgrown chunk of metal.

Walking out of the plane you saw a masked man standing near the window with your name scribbled on a paper. This guy was completely dressed in black. He had long, defined legs (in skinny jeans that did wonders for his thighs, if you were being completely honest), broad shoulders covered in a very loose fitted black hoodie, completed with a face mask and fishers hat hiding his hair completely. His eyes though, big brown ones, they were calculating.

As you walked over to this black ninja looking assassin you gave yourself the most needed pep talk.

“Just breathe, no one knows you other than Mr Kim. Fact they don’t even know what you look like. You are fine, just peachy. Oooh shit I’m getting closer. Shut it! you got this girl. Just bre-“

“H-Hi, I’m Y/N.” You said as you came face to face with this mystery man in black denim, and really good-looking thighs. You could see him smile under his mask. He nodded to you and turned around. Awkwardly you followed him to a big black SUV. Without a word he ushered you inside and off you went. The ride was silent as you stared out the window. You had no idea where you were going but soon the van left the city and entered a quieter scene of houses and apartments. Slowly your eyes got heavier as sleep overtook you. So many questions haunted your dreams, so many.

You woke with a small gasp as you felt someone’s hands on your thighs. Looking up you came face to face with, yet another, masked man in all black. This was someone else. Someone with soft yet dangerous eyes. This time, though, the unknown man removed his mysterious mask.

Time stopped as you came face to face with heaven. This man had brown almost almond coloured hair, his soft deep almost black orbs stared straight at you. He gave you a boxy grin as he saw you taking his god-like features in. His deep voice startled you as you got lost in those mysterious orbs for eyes.

“Hi Y/N, Welcome to Busan. My name is Kim Taehyung. Or Mr Kim, whichever you prefer. This is the place you will be staying, I do hope it’s to your liking. We’ll give you a day or two to adjust. I’ll let you know when your interview will be. I’m so sorry for leaving you alone like this but we have some business to attend to. Have a peaceful evening Y/N.” Taehyung said as he stood up. He helped you out of the van and before long you found yourself, yet again, alone.

That evening after packing away your stuff and making yourself at home with a bottle of wine and a Domino’s pizza, you couldn’t help but let your mind drift back to the almond haired man you met. Taehyung. Those eyes made your skin tingle, and not in an arousing way. There lurked a sense of danger behind them, a danger that perked your senses with curiosity.

As you sat on the couch your curiosity got the best of you. Seeing as you were too tired to take in your surroundings, you decided to do your own little research on the boss before you go for your interview. Pulling out your laptop you opened Naver and began your escapade into the life of Mr Kim.

“Huh? He… he doesn’t exist? How does someone not exist on the internet?” Even you can be found with a simple search of your name. Hell, your whole life’s history could be found through a simple search and a click or two. Interesting, interesting indeed.

That evening you went to bed with even more questions than answers.

Oh, if only you knew what you were getting into…

Chapter 2

And there you have the first chapter... I hope you enjoyed it. Don’t be shy to ask if something is unclear... Love you <3

Tag list: @gukptune @theweirdkidsontheblock @sugasheart @sugashaye @bulletproof-fanfics @carirosesg @crazy-fangirl-10 @waitingforanangel @deafeningstudentdreamergoth @slimou13 @autumnboo126 @chaechaebean217 @littlepinknightmare @sugasheart @kimmieann @nvghtlytae @part-time-patronus @ohmyspook69 @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @allayna24 @mikaelaaaaaaa713 @shyfox101 @djumbreon @bangtanwifey14 @honeydewseoks

If you want to be tagged in the next chapter, like this chapter !

p.s. Some names tumblr refuse to tag... I am so sorry, I did try

#nomimits7 #undecided #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #chapter 1

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snowycrocus · 5 years

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Frozen Fanfiction Ice Bros!

“To Be Brave”

For those of you that thought I couldn’t write fluff- hah! I’ll show you!

Inspired by a quote by Robb Stark (see notes at end) I’m just at season 3 of GoT so TAG YOUR SPOILERY SH*T PEOPLE! 😁

----------------------

He shouldn’t say anything.

Just keep your mouth shut, Kristoff, he tells himself.

But it’s no use. He’s just too damn curious.

He tries to push the thought away to the back of his mind. He can ask Elsa later – a story for another time, perhaps.

This, he knows, is their quiet time. Their alone time. No questions, little talking.

Of course, Anna says ‘no one likes to be alone,’ and despite the fact that he and Elsa sometimes do, in fact, ‘like to be alone,’ they both love her too much to argue when she demands that they spend some ‘alone’ time with another person.

Ugh, what he does for love!

But he does love Elsa, in his own way – like the sister he never had.

She’s confusing, and obstinate, and goddamn frustrating sometimes. She’s this weird mix of self-loathing in combination with a surprising amount of arrogance and cockiness that he can’t quite figure out. He never knows if what he says will make her laugh or make her withdraw; if she’ll shove a fistful of snow down the back of his neck in jest or simply stalk off, flurries following her.

But she’s surprisingly warm-hearted; tender and loving and caring. Her smile brightens her face like nothing else can, and for someone who hadn’t touched another for thirteen years she certainly knows how to give a good hug. (Hey, he’s had some rough days, okay?) Anna may be his lover, yet Elsa still completes him in a way that he never even knew he needed. A friend.

They’re sitting silently by the meadow just outside the castle grounds – their own, secret spot. Elsa always brings a blanket and a book. And snacks. (She may nibble on some cheese occasionally but they both know the food is for Kristoff). He sits with his back up against the rough bark of a thick tree trunk. Sometimes he’ll fish, sometimes he plays his lute if it won’t be too distracting for Elsa. Sometimes he naps. (And he caught her doing so one time, too).

This is their monthly alone time. It’s peaceful. They don’t have to say anything.

But he can’t resist, not this time.

“Did you want to be Queen?”

He doesn’t think she even hears him at first. She’s deeply into her book, the only sign of her hearing him the firm press of her lips together. She’s lying on her stomach, feet raised into the air. It’s so odd to see her like this, in contrast to her stiff posture and controlled expressions, movements – controlled everything – while inside the castle. Here, it appears to him, she is like a fish walking on land. Something he would never expect to see.

But, he supposes, he never expected to see ice magic either.

She calmly slides a bookmark in place before sitting up cross-legged to face him. She squints. “Why do you ask?”

He sighs internally. Such diplomacy. She always has to find out the reason before giving an answer.

He was in a new room this morning with Anna, he explains. The room with their old family portrait – all four of them, with the late King and Queen. “You both looked so little,” he explains fondly. He barely remembers seeing them at that age in the forest so long ago. “And you looked…different.”

Elsa’s mouth splits into her lopsided smirk. “I should hope so,” she says. “I quite hope I don’t look as I did when I was seven.”

Kristoff rolls his eyes. Such snark. “Yeah, funny. But I wondered if you knew then, what you would be. And if you wanted to be Queen, or knew what it really meant.”

Elsa carefully sets her book down next to her, mulling over his question. If it were anyone else who asked her that, she would lie. “Of course I knew,” she would answer. “I had been trained my entire life for the role and all that it entails.”

But Kristoff wasn’t just anyone – this was someone that could be discreet, someone that deserved her honesty.

“I don’t know,” she answers him truthfully. Her eyes meet his and her gaze is piercing. He notes her hands leave the book and play with the fabric of her skirts in her lap – they always have to be doing something, never idle.

She doesn’t continue, but Kristoff knows by now to wait. Elsa, as intelligent and sharp as she is, isn’t one to think things through quickly. She acts and speaks rationally, logically, after much deliberation and thought. Anna’s opposite. Kristoff waits for more words to spill from her lips.

Her eyes drop down to her fingers still playing with her skirts. “It’s not something I ever gave thought to; whether I’d like to be Queen or not. I never had a choice, so why think otherwise?” She gives a wry smile. “My thoughts were more regarding how I could manage being Queen if I couldn’t leave my bedroom.” She huffs in remembrance. “I couldn’t have fathomed what being Queen actually meant. My entire childhood was devoted to learning to be Queen, and yet it’s not something one can truly learn and understand until the crown is placed on your head and people are looking for you to lead.”

Kristoff nods in understanding. It’s one thing to learn something in theory, another to actually act on it.

Elsa closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them she holds out her palms in front of her, gazing at them as if they contain some secret.

Kristoff knows they do.

Elsa’s next words are faint, nearly a whisper. “I couldn’t even control myself. I couldn’t keep my sister safe. I couldn’t join my mother at tea.” She bites her lip. “I couldn’t learn how to rule from my father at an actual council meeting.”

A life measured in cant’s. Kristoff has felt useless; like a failure at times throughout his life, but he had enough accomplishments as he aged that he felt adept at at least some things.

The woman sitting in front of him was the most responsible, capable being in the entire kingdom. And yet, he realizes, she’s never felt like anything more than a failure.

“Hey.” Kristoff reaches out to place his hand in hers before thinking better of it. He rests it on her shoulder instead, and she looks up to meet his gaze. “Sorry I asked. Why don’t we go back to doing our own thing?” He hates to upset her. Should have known to keep quiet.

Surprisingly, Elsa smiles – it’s weak, faint, but it’s there. “No, I – let me explain.”

She continues, her words stronger than before. “I didn’t understand. How was I supposed to lead an entire kingdom – thousands of people – when I couldn’t even leave my bedroom? I was – I was so scared.”

Kristoff’s desperate to turn the conversation around. “But you did it! You were brave. You overcame a lifelong challenge, figured out the answer. And you got your sister back.”

Elsa chuckles. “Kristoff, I was never brave. I never have been. I ran away from my problems.” She pauses. “Well, I always tried to, anyway.”

“My life, up until – well, you know – was ruled by fear. When Anna and I were first separated, I thought I’d be in control within a year. Then when I was ten I told myself that thirteen was the age by which I’d have everything figured out. Thirteen passed, and I knew that as an adult at sixteen, that was when the answers would come.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at her foolishness. “At sixteen, I realized maybe I would never control it.” Her voice breaks on the word control.

“At eighteen,” she continues, “I knew it was…hopeless. I begged my father to make Anna heir. I told him I was too scared of what I would do as Queen to my people, too scared of how I could possibly rule an entire kingdom behind closed doors.”

“But my father-” she smiles fondly, “my father insisted that it was fear that makes a good leader. He once told me that being a King or Queen is like having children- you fear for if they’re safe, if they’re fed, if they’re healthy. You’re afraid of them being attacked, afraid of them struggling. He told me that being a Queen would always mean being afraid, and that’s how I would know if I was doing my job well.”

Kristoff nods, thinking. “That…makes sense.” He had heard about Anna and Elsa’s secluded childhood, of course, but hadn’t known such details that Elsa just shared with him. “I guess you can’t be brave if you don’t have fear.”

Elsa nods. “It didn’t quite help me back then,” she says, “but now, looking back – I see that without fear, this is no growth, no reason to push the boundaries.”

Her words bring back memories. Kristoff remembers watching Anna attempt to climb a cliff face, seeing her take charge and fight off wolves. He remembers watching her hair turn white and seeing her shiver and pass out while her skin turned to ice. He remembers the fear – pure, sharp and cold – that shot through him.

“I always thought I was better off on my own.” Kristoff adds. “I was brave, and independent - I had my life figured out with no one to burden me.” He smiles. “I thought I was so tough – that I could overcome anything, just me on my own. I always had before.” Elsa tilts her head slightly as she listens.

“Growing up, just me and Sven – we could do anything. I found and cooked my own food. I found my own way into ice harvesting, made enough to finally buy my own tools, developed a reputation. I scaled mountains and learned how to survive out on the ice. I thought that’s what made me a man.”

He shakes his head, his hair flopping over into his eyes. Elsa nearly brushes it away before she thinks otherwise. “Courage, power, strength – I thought that’s what made me strong. But then – then I met Anna.”

Elsa grins. She knows how Anna changes people.

“And I learned I wasn’t strong or brave, after all.” Kristoff continues, blushing. “I never had anything to be strong or brave for, until I met her. I had something to lose.”

“She taught you what true bravery is.” Elsa concludes.

Kristoff nods. “I think she taught both of us.”

“That she did,” Elsa agrees. “I didn’t understand, back then, how one can be brave if he’s afraid. But things have changed.”

Elsa settles back into a more relaxed sit, her legs still crossed but her arms supporting her weight behind her. She smiles softly. “It’s not a matter then, of whether or not I wanted to be Queen. It’s about what it meant to me, about what I thought I couldn’t do and could do. Anna’s been the one to show me that it’s okay to have fear, but that you have to live despite it.”

“Right,” Kristoff agrees, snatching up the last bits of bread and cheese laid out on the plate. He contemplates, chewing. “To be brave, you have to have something to fear for.”

Elsa smiles softly. “I suppose we’re lucky to have so much to fear – to have someone to fear for.”

“Just for the record,” Kristoff says, “I think you’re pretty brave – you’ve gone through a lot but you don’t let your past stop you.”

“Thank you,” Elsa responds. “You’re pretty brave too, you know. No one else could take Anna’s antics for quite as long as you have!” She covers her mouth to laugh demurely and Kristoff lets out a loud barking laugh at her words.

“That’s true.”

“Yes. Now, hush. I was just getting to the best part of my book.”

---------------------------

Inspired by Robb Stark - I was watching this episode and Robb was talking about something his Father had once told him: “I asked him, ‘How can a man be brave if he’s afraid?’ That was the only time a man can be brave, he told me.”

I’ve been wanting to do another Ice Bros fic for a while, and always intended to have Kristoff ask Elsa the question from this fic, and upon hearing that quote I had to write it down because it was so perfect!

Please please let me know what you think of this, readers! You know how much I love hearing from you all. ♥️♥️

#frozen #frozen 2 #kristoff #elsa #anna #ice bros #frohana #disney #frozen fanfiction #fanfiction #to be brave

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monikafilefan · 6 years

Text

Not Time For Regrets

The week before Tempus Fugit, a worried Mulder and a sick Scully find themselves on a library floor in deep conversation. Rare moments of emotional comfort occur and talking isn’t the only thing that happens. Mulder finds Scully a perfect birthday gift.

Tagging @today-in-fic @baronessblixen @peacenik0 @scully-eats-sushi @skullsmuldon @leiascully @allyinthekeyofx @lappina @lokisgame @viceversawrites @storybycorey

“Please, Scully,” Mulder pleads as he watches her swiftly exit the passenger seat and slam the door.

Sighing, he shuts off the rental car’s engine and gets out himself. He meets a more than usual stubborn Scully at the local public library doors, arms taut and back stiff.

Resigned to losing this particular argument, he stands back and takes a good look at her as the evening’s sunset highlights her features. Her usual vibrant copper strands have now taken on a rusty dull auburn. Her alabaster skin looks more pale and gaunt than ever with her once form fitting suit now loosely hanging off her lithe frame. Dark shadows paint half circles under her still fiery blue eyes that bore into his own with determination.

He swallows back the bitter taste of dread and waits patiently for her response. All he receives is two clenched hands gripping her boney hips, pursed lips, and an arched brow that nearly reaches her hairline. Mulder simply nods, reluctantly agreeing to her silent terms and moves to hold the door open for her, but is held back by her fingers grasping at his own.

“I don’t need to rest, Mulder. I don’t want to waste this… opportunity to just be right now.” Scully’s heart pounds in her chest as she tamps down the urge to empty her stomach once again, right there on the library’s front steps.

They had arrived in the outskirts of lower Michigan on a case three days ago she herself had insisted they take, even after Mulder had more than suggested she catch up on some much needed sleep. Sleep that she knew she’d never really get. A slew of restless nights and the busy schedule she kept in the attempt to avert her mind away from anticipation about her doctor’s appointment, had run her energy level down to empty. But she needed a consistent distraction with recent blood test results looming over her like a black cloud, and that only worked in her favor if she was working too.

While driving their way back into town to check out of their motel, she’d mumbled over at Mulder to pull over with a hand over her mouth as she was struck with a powerful wave of motion sickness. At least that’s what she told him it was. She had been experiencing bouts of blurred vision and intense shooting pains throughout her forehead all day while they worked their case. That truth was much more difficult to admit aloud.

“Okay, then. If you’re sure you’re feeling better…” She doesn’t answer with a “yes” because deep down they both know it would be a lie. So a smile and a quick rub of her fingers alongside his is all he gets. He’s grateful for every touch she offers. “And I’d like that, by the way. To just be with you right now, too.”

“Then let’s go in where it’s warm,” she nods. “And you know what? I think I might just buy myself a novel series,” she adds sharply while eyeing the book sale sign. There is no attempt to hide the fact that they both know her endeavor at finishing such a task may prove to be too ambitious in the end.

Scully won’t look him in the eye as she jokes off her sarcasm and it stings Mulder almost as much as the meaning of her words. He can’t lose her, won’t. He feels like at this point, he has never been more desperate for answers in his entire life. And a desperate Mulder, he has learned, is a dangerous one.

Scully walks through the doorway, oblivious to the festering of his unseen wounds, as he follows close behind with a hand at her back and an ache in his heart.

Scully wanders ahead as Mulder stops at a rack of postcards, bookmarks, and history memorabilia. His elbow bumps into the side and that’s when he sees it swaying under the fluorescent lighting. Picking it up and rolling it around in his fingers, he reads the inscription on the back and grins in delight.

“That’s my favorite keychain of them all,” the gentle voice of the Librarian calls from behind the counter. “After all, It’s the journey made together that means the most.”

Mulder nods, squeezing it hard into his palm. “I’ll take it.”

——

The library is quiet and calm. It reminds her of her summers spent reading Anatomy and Physiology books surrounded by air conditioning while enjoying the solitude she was lacking at home.

She runs her fingers along the curved spines of each book as she casually passes through, absorbing her memories from her childhood and slows as she notices what genre of book she’s actually touching. A warm smile spreads across her face at the thought of Mulder doing the same thing she had done has a young man honing his brilliant mind.

“There you are,” he announces, brushing her arm. “I never thought I’d find you happily searching through the Science Fiction and Paranormal section. Willing to take a walk on the wild side with me?” She bites her lip, rolls her eyes, and ignores his chuckles.

“You’re free to take a detour if you want. But I think I’m going to stay on

the other side of wild for tonight, Mulder.” Allowing herself a smirk at his conflicted expression, she can tell he would really rather not.

“I’d rather stick with you if you don’t mind a tagalong on this quest of yours.”

She almost laughs at his play on words and realizes that their own personal quests are forever woven into each other’s. No matter how great or small. “Sounds awfully familiar.”

——

Scully makes her way from shelf to shelf, inspecting the books labeled with price tags. At dusk there are only a few other people sitting down reading in the rural library and the peaceful break from their usual routine should be something Mulder looks forward to, yet the deeper reasoning for the entire visit still churns low in his gut.

To him, it feels like the calm before a storm.

Scully reaches for a book that catches her eye and stops abruptly in front of Mulder. “Umph!” she pitches forward and teeters on her toes at the same moment strong arms snake around her front and suck her backward.

Without thought, Mulder slides one arm around her hips and the other across her ribs, hugging her lithe backside along his front as her tiptoes barely touch the carpet. He feels her ragged breath hitching through her pronounced ribcage beneath his palm, and can tell she’s just as shocked at his affect on her as he is.

If she falls because of him and decorates her already sensitive skin with one more bruise, he’d feel horrible for days. Just one more tally to add to his mental chart of things to feel horrible about, so Mulder only holds her tighter.

“Mm, it’s okay,” she hums. All of a sudden, it dawns on him that he’s whimpering against the crown of her citrus smelling head.

The world spins around him as Scully smooths her hands along his forearms that embrace her. And then it hits him with a force of an unbridled storm, that he is actually holding his entire world.

Mulder forgets himself. Right then, he forgets he’s holding her flush against his chest; forgets he’s nuzzling his nose deep into her hair; forgets he’s thumbing the strip of exposed flesh along her defined waistline; forgets he’s memorizing her—and forgets that he already has memorized everything about her.

Scully finds a way to breathe out his name through her own sudden rise of emotions cresting in her throat. “Mulder?”

“Yeah?” he rasps and blinks himself back to reality.

Instead of admonishment, he receives a soft touch trailing over his grip that rests under her breast, and a slight brush of her cheek along his.

“It’s okay. I’m still here.”

Mulder stifles a surging sob as the words “ for now ” linger like smoke from embers of dwindling flames.

——

They find themselves sitting in a cozy reading corner of the library’s reading room after a few minutes of self-recovery and renewed mask’s of stoicism.

They sit on the plush carpet together, shoeless with hips touching as Scully runs her fingertips along the shimmering words etched onto the large hardcover book she’s picked out. Never in her life has she chosen a book adorned with more photos than words. But this time, Scully allows herself to indulge in dreams of seeing all the amazing places she will now never be able to experience in person.

“So, The 100 Most Underrated Wonders Of The World , huh? Just let me know if you’d like a travel partner. I’ve been known to pack light,” Mulder jests and nudges into her. She grins because she knows exactly how light he packs. Sometimes even forgetting his underwear.

She places a hand on his thigh as she sets the book across their laps, and her eyes widen, remembering that he is currently commando under the Armani slacks she’s touching. Scully bites her lip at the memory of Mulder’s distressed face as he frantically searches through his suitcase for his missing underwear on their first night spent here. She had actually spat out a cackle and rolled onto his bed in a fit of belly laughter for the first time in seven months.

“What’re you wearing that sly smile of yours for?”

Eyeing him with an arch of her brow, she tosses back, “wouldn’t you like to know?”

“More than you realize, actually. You keep me guessing more often than not.”

“Good,” she says and strokes the image of the roaring sea on the book’s cover. “As for the book, I’ve always felt that books are a journey of the imagination and since the only travel I do is work related, I couldn’t help but wonder.”

“What it’s like to have a life? My fault, Scully,” he sighs and shakes his head as if to clear his mind. She only scoffs in return and chooses to ignore how wrong he truly is. “Okay so open it up and close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes? Mulder, the whole reason to I chose this book was to see the what I can only imagine.”

Clucking his tongue at her, he moves her hand to the edge of the page and says, “close your eyes and flip randomly to a page.”

It seems silly, considering, but looking at Mulder’s face light up, she feels a rush of excitement herself. As if she were one of those crazy people standing in front of the departure board of flights at the airport, picking at random where they were to travel next.

“Okay, fine. Let’s see where we go.” She flips the pages and ends on vivid green. “Ring of Kerry, Ireland,” she grins. Ireland is one place she and her family have always wanted to visit. “It’s stunning. Says here, the Irish are some of the friendliest people you’ll ever meet.”

“I’d have to agree with that assessment.”

“I’ll bet,” she huffs recalling Bill Jr’s friendliness level regarding her partner and hides a rising blush.

“Where to next? Roswell has to be in here somewhere.”

“Let’s hope not.” Scully flutters the pages once again and catches a page with the white sands of Hawaii on it. “Ha of course. Let’s move on to something a little less obvious.”

She turns the page over once and the sight takes her breath away. “Catalina Island, CA,” she mutters.

“I take it you’ve been there before? Your dad?” Mulder grabs her hand and she instantly relaxes under his reassuring touch. “Memories, huh?”

“Yeah. Good ones though. It really is beautiful there. We would all take a trip every summer and go on a weekend sailing escapade,” she sniffs and smiles. “Missy always got sea sick and I was the one stuck holding her hair back while she dangled over the bow.”

“Ah the power of sisterly love…” Mulder trails off and stills as the word “sister” ruminates.

Scully squeezes his hand again and he says something that surprises her.

“Samantha, Missy, and…” Now you , screams within Scully’s mind and she shakes her head at how much the reality of that rings true.

In a rare moment of honesty, she tells him how she actually feels on the subject of her terminal diagnosis. “Truth is, Mulder, it feels like I’ve been knocking on heaven’s door for awhile. After everything before… Now, it’s like I’m just waiting for someone to answer.”

“Not on my watch, Scully,” he shuts the book and slips over her waist to rest it on the floor. She could see his jaw clenching over and over as he did. Mulder touches her hand and kneads his thumb along her knuckles. “Dammit, don’t you give up on me.”

The desperate look in his eye and the trembling grip of his hand on hers sends a sharp pang through her heart. She wants to stay and fight the good fight with him, doesn’t want to let him down. But the cancer that she fears will invade her bloodstream sooner rather than later, would have very different plans for their future together.

“Mulder, I…” She stops herself when she realizes she has nothing truly reassuring to say in order to quell the fear of the most important person in her life.

“I’ll fight anyone, give anything to find a cure. But you—” His voice wavers and he sucks in a shuddering breath as he turns to face her fully. “You have to fight just as hard alongside me. We’re partners. You have my back and have I yours.”

“I know,” she chokes, and can’t hold back the swell of sentiment rushing upward. A lone tear seeps from the corner of her pooling eyes as her chin quivers. She doesn’t have the strength to look away from his swirls of green and gold and finds she doesn’t really want to.

“I can’t lose you. I’m selfish and needy and admit that I can’t do much without you. And no, I don’t ever want to go back to a time when I did.” She can tell he intends to smirk at his words but his mouth twitches into a frown instead while his eyes flutter shut. Her chest tightens at the sight. “But most of all, I can’t imagine living my life without you in it, standing right by my side. Please, Scully, I just can’t do it.”

She palms his face, melting into him as her heart flickers faster in her chest. “Mulder…”

And then it happens. His arms circle around her, fingers splay out between her shoulder blades, a palm cradles her head as his lips barely wisp over hers. With one hand on his chest and other holding his jaw, Scully presses her lips back into his, soft and slow. The kiss is brief, tender, perfect before she pulls away.

“Oh, Scully, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” she moves her two fingers across his trembling bottom lip, silently thanking God for the first time in so long for the opportunity to taste him this way. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not. For us, life is just too short to regret; and I don't regret a thing.” The only thing she regrets is facing the day she has to leave him behind.

Mulder nods several times. To himself or herself is something she cannot tell. “Happy Birthday,” he rasps out.

With a haze in her eyes and a tingling on her lips just inches from his face, she smiles. “Mulder, it’s not my birthday yet, and it is sort of tradition to forget.”

“There’s a few more days for that to still end up happening,” he whispers closer now, tucking a wayward strand of red behind her ear. “But, that doesn’t mean I can’t celebrate your existence a little early. I forget because I’ve learned that time spent with you, Scully, is worth celebrating every day of the year.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just don’t do anything embarrassing if you do remember.” She can’t help but return his playful smirk at the cheesy celebratory line yet hot tears still trickle down her flushing cheeks anyway.

“That remains to be seen, Scully. Hey, It’s okay to let it out,” he soothes.

Though she never fully opens herself up to Mulder for a multitude of reasons she just isn’t willing to face towards the end of her life, shying away from the feelings leaking out her eyes just seems pointless anymore.

Mulder has never seen Scully once cry in regards to her diagnosis in front of him and his stomach tumbles as he witnesses it now. Mulder cradles her face within his hands and swipes away her sorrow. If only he could do that so easily for the cancer slowly taking her away from him.

Hope that one day soon he will do just that is the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

He leans in further, brushing his nose against the curve of her damp cheekbone. “What do you say I buy you this book and we find the closest Wonder Of The World and go there tomorrow? We can just be in one of the most beautiful places on Earth.”

She sighs with a slight shake of her head, grateful now more than ever for her best friend. Pulling back and answering softly, “I don't need to go anywhere else. That’s not what I need right now.”

“What do you need from me, Scully?”

With her chin in his hand, she stares unblinking and is as sure with her abiding words as her unwavering adoration for him. “Kiss me, Mulder. Just kiss me.”

Denying Scully nothing, Mulder deeply and passionately covers her mouth with his, lips sliding against one another’s. Scully pulls at the nape of his neck, urgently gripping a fist full of his dress shirt and she moans, low and long. Mulder hugs her tightly and tilts her head back further, looming over her arching back to allow their tongues to perfect their dance of desperation. His heart races faster with every flick of her tongue against his.

They keep on kissing, tasting one another’s salty tears as time continues to hasten the inevitable.

Time is what they need the most; and time is the one thing they do not have nearly enough of.

Yet , Mulder hopes despairingly as their lips eventually retreat from one another to become their own again. Mutual expressions of love felt and unsaid are shared, clothes are straightened, and hair is smoothed. By tomorrow, their time spent in comforting intimacy together within the walls of this musty old library will have been pushed to the wayside.

“We-we should go now,” Scully clears her throat and stands, composing herself now as she wistfully re-shelves the travel book. She wants to say here, in this illusion of tranquility and comfort, letting herself believe she might actually make it to the Ireland or even Catalina Island someday. Blinking away thoughts and remaining images of Mulder’s face caressing hers, she tucks her blouse back in as she slowly does the same with her raging emotions.

Scully feels Mulder’s gaze assessing her from where he remains hunched at her feet. She takes comfort in the knowledge that they both understand what another day brings for them in maintaining their status quo. Regardless of the now obvious intricate feelings for one another.

The most important things between them are to be left unspoken for now, but not forgotten.

For Mulder, time may be an universal invariant, but so is his love for Scully.

He watches her swipe harshly at her cheek as she begins to walk away from him. And he knows for certain if a miracle cure born of evil from a Smoking Man who’s threatened the life of the most important person in his life exists, then Mulder is willing to risk a dance with the devil to find it.

#cancer arc #angst #scully's birthday #first kiss #hurt/comfort #UST #unresolved romantic tension #reblog if you like it

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