#and the letters are also spaced out slightly more to accommodate for these things which is good it increases legibility

[hua-fei-hua]

truly nothing could ever hope to compare to the feeling of spending over half an hour looking through one's font collection to switch up a thing only to decide to use the font you'd been using originally will suffice

#thirty minutes is actually severely lowballing it #also this post is mostly abt how i've been editing the gnshn font to be Not Bold for reasons that are like 45% enrichment 30% for Me #and like 25% for friends/just so that this can Exist and also not be weirdly painful to look at when writing #bc it Also bothers me when writing that this font doesn't have ligatures which like #at first i thought it was crazy that i didn't notice it in-game but then i paid more attn to it in-game and i was like #'how is this working So Well in-game but not in my writing software' and i think i have Some idea of why #the heavier weight makes it easier to read against the varied backgrounds as well as at smaller varied font sizes #it's also white text with a thin dark outline in-game to give it a bit of depth; i think that's another contributing factor #and the letters are also spaced out slightly more to accommodate for these things which is good it increases legibility #and so overall it works well in-game but then when you try to write with it you're like 'what the fuck why's it ugly' #花話

[emeraldenha]

TRUST FUND BABY

pairing: ex!taehyun x gn!reader | genre: the five stages of grief (bargaining), breakup au, lovers to exes, angst | w/c: +780 words | warnings: none <3

click here to check out the Thursday’s Child series masterlist!

When you told Taehyun that it might be best to part ways, he didn’t quite understand.

It was so out of the blue — no signs, no warnings. He didn’t even get a chance to see or talk to you one last time. All he found was a handwritten letter and your half of this month’s rent waiting for him back at your shared apartment. The place felt so empty. The closet that used to be cluttered with all your clothes was suddenly filled with space, one pillow instead of two on the bed, your toothbrush no longer by the bathroom sink. When he tried to call your phone number, it automatically went to voicemail. You were gone without a trace.

Seated at the kitchen counter, letter in hand, he almost didn’t want to open it. Opening it would be acknowledging that this was real, that the bubble Taehyun was living in — thinking that everything had been fine — would be shattered. He took his time processing the words you wrote that felt so definite and of defeat, the paper also slightly tattered which told him that you had been planning this for a while.

He didn’t realize how much you were hurting. It was honestly a complete slap in the face. You wrote about how much things have changed since the beginning of his and your relationship, specifically how much he’s changed. You said it wasn't his fault; you weren’t mad. It was just that the future he had in mind clashed with yours and it was only a matter of time before separating paths. 

When you and Taehyun first met, neither of you were considerably good people. You became friends through hanging out with the wrong crowd and would often spend time together to escape the realities you both were avoiding. Though as much as you embraced the worst in each other, it wasn’t long until that surface level fun turned into something deeper, confiding in each other’s every secret and learning a newfound sensation of happiness through falling in love.

You promised him that you’d work on improving yourself, and he promised you the same.

Looking back, Taehyun wished he appreciated you more. You were the reason he stopped crashing at his friends’ places and settled down on a decent apartment, you were the reason he got a stable job, you were the reason he wasn’t afraid to love again. He used to thank you every chance he could but now he’s so busy drowning himself in work that he oftentimes falls asleep at the office and barely ever returns home, home to you. He was like a ghost.

To Taehyun, that was normal. He was admittedly obsessed with money more than anything as he refused to be the loser that hit rock bottom like before. Devoting himself to his job was how he kept himself motivated from falling into old habits. That didn’t mean he never loved or missed you when he was away, he just happened to prefer the subtle moments. Eating makeshift dinners because you’re both too exhausted to cook or falling asleep next to you on the couch while you were watching one of your shows — that was enough for him.

He knew to an extent that this bothered you. While he relied on his workplace to be his safe haven from the past, you relied on Taehyun. You hated seeming pushy, but you craved his attention. You used to nag at him constantly for his repeatedly short responses or halfhearted efforts. Taehyun would try to accommodate, but at the end of the day, he brushed off the issue thinking it wasn’t a big deal.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to no one while curled in bed, facing the side you once occupied. “I won’t be greedy anymore. I’ll remember every second to love you like you’re the only person on earth. I’ll talk to you about my day when you ask, make something for us to eat even though it might not be edible, whatever you want. I’ll tell you all the things I think but never say. Just please come back.”

Taehyun was tired of being a loser, because in his world, there was no such thing as happy endings for losers like himself. That’s why he tried so hard to no longer be the person he once was.

But despite all that, without his lover, he felt like the same old loser nonetheless.

A tear falls from the corner of his eye, silently. “If only I could turn back the clock… I would’ve never let you go that easily. I would’ve never let you go until you really knew how much I love you. I’m sorry, at least know that I'm sorry.”

main masterlist

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @woooooooosh8 @todorokiskitten @yangcica

TAGLIST: @minilinooo

#kshop net #txt #tomorrow x together #txt x reader #txt au #txt drabbles #txt imagines #txt taehyun #taehyun txt #kang taehyun #taehyun x reader #taehyun au #taehyun imagines #taehyun drabbles

[stagevalencia7]

How You Can Spot Faux Louis Vuitton In 2021

If the luggage do not come properly packaged, they're decently straightforward to scuff up. Luckily most of those scuffs can be cleaned/buffed off, however some cant. Other times you'll have the ability to have marks from no matter printing they do for the colour. Part of my white bag has some red from the lining on the deal with. I must say six of the baggage had been superior with the ysl being one of the best. On the opposite hand, the genuine bag having its textual content thinner, the quantity of kerning between the letters is bigger than the one between the pretend bag’s letters engraved into the buttons. In the image with the fake vs actual LV baggage above, we have pointed out how the pretend bag’s keychain has its inscriptions looking too thin, as they're fit too little deep into the steel. Lastly, the third type of interior label is the printed one, and this may be seen especially on the tinier baggage such as contained in the Louis Vuitton Multi Accessories bag’s coin purse. We have compiled this ultimate guide on the method to spot faux Louis Vuitton products so that you’d easily know whether or not the merchandise you’re looking at is a real or faux LV. But the Favorite has a slightly taller shape, thus, permitting it to accommodate more things in its interiors. The Favorite, a flap bag, includes a magnetic closure as nicely as an extra inside pocket for extra cupboard space. The Favorite’s gold chain strap and leather shoulder strap are also barely shorter so it’s a fantastic selection for petite ladies. Get the Favorite clutch in Damier Ebene canvas for a extra understated look, though its feminine form will nonetheless entice the proper of attention. I just ordered my second bag from them and I'm so pleased! I know lots of people are hesitant to purchase due to having to western Union the cash but like I mentioned I've done it twice and had no issues. This can also be one of my favourite components of LV luggage. https://phoenet.tw/blog/post/get-the-best-louis-vuitton-replica-bags Does the leather straps are likely to age like the actual LV? That is considered one of my favorite parts of my actual one. I would say it’s exactly like the unique. I like it and received a lot of compliments within the Christmas and New Year parties. My neverfull vachetta patina properly like an genuine one. So I wanted to get your ideas earlier than I think about shopping for the identical one. Louis Vuitton’s hardware baggage is also produced from high-quality stable brass, which is durable and evenly colored. Many pretend bags will reduce corners with low cost, overly shiny gold plating. When it comes to buying a fake low-cost Louis Vuitton bag, there may be each good and unhealthy information. The good news is you could simply discover a number of replicas for every bag of this brand. On the other hand, the unhealthy news is that not each pretend you see is of excellent high quality. Unfortunately, my bag was taken at Customs. Thanks for making my purchase splendidly simple, fast and with perfect results. The pre-shipment footage have been terrific & so many with completely different views. Where you get hold of your bag can additionally be an indicator as to whether or not it is a faux. If you are in a position to shop in person then Louis Vuitton bags could be bought at Louis Vuitton shops and boutiques. For those who choose to shop online, check out the official website for a number of luggage in the latest kinds. wikipedia handbags When you are shopping for an costly, name brand purse like a Louis Vuitton, you will need to know you are getting the real deal. The stamps and pattern on a Louis Vuitton bag are often good indicators of its authenticity. Looking at different minor particulars, such as the hardware and stitching, also can allow you to to spot a fake or real bag. Make sure to research the vendor as nicely to see if they appear trustworthy before you purchase your bag. First time coming to the shop and never the final. Most ladies's deepest want is to own a designer purse. However, you would agree that their value is ridiculously high. For that cause, the recognition of replica Louis Vuitton bags has grown in recent years. The luxury brand produces its purses in workshops located in France, Spain, and the United States, and does not outsource manufacturing to cheaper areas like India and China. Unfortunately, with the rise of the brand’s reputation additionally come the counterfeiters. Fake Louis Vuitton bags have dominated the e-commerce business, resulting in numerous eBay sellers who offer knockoffs at ridiculously low prices.

#louis vuitton replica #best replica louis vuitton bags #replica louis vuitton

[failedthetopikexam]

Korean This vs That Word Differences #9

쓰다 vs 적다

Both of these mean ‘to write’ and for the longest time I was just using whichever one whenever I felt like it, but actually there is a slight difference to be aware of. 쓰다 means ‘to write’, like ‘to write a letter’ or ‘to write a book’. But 적다 specifically means ‘to write something down’ like a memo or a phone number. My Korean teacher usually asks us ‘적어 주세요' when asking us to note something on the board after dictation, but she also says ‘써 주세요' at times when she wants us to write any text that we created ourselves.

저는 제 여동생을 위해 시를 쓸게요 - I will write a poem for my younger sister

저는 이 빈칸에 제 이름을 적을 거예요 - I will write down my name in this blank space.

하숙집 vs 기숙사 vs 고시원

I used to have a tough time remembering the difference between these accommodation spaces - I guess the take home message is that all of these are multi-person living spaces, but there is definitely a clear distinction.

하숙집 is a boarding house - the kind of place where you live when you are renting a room in a house where other people also live - sometimes things like food and laundry are provided too. It gives off a very ‘living with a host family’ vibe, even if you are pretty much house sharing with other people of a similar age.

기숙사 are college/university dorm rooms - mostly you will share a room with someone else (or more than one person... sometimes 3 other people!). When you think of the word ‘dormitory’ you are probably thinking of a 기숙사.

고시원 have you ever seen the KDrama ‘Strangers From Hell’? (kinda scary). Anyway the place where they live is a 고시원 - they are TINY narrow rooms for individual use but all the other amenities are shared. There are no other added luxuries at all but the rent is usually cheap which is why students sometimes find themselves there.

자연 vs 천연

When talking about nature, I’ve always used 자연 in it’s noun form, such as ‘I like nature - 저는 자연을 좋아합니다’. Or even in it’s adjective form (자연스럽다), ‘Just speak naturally - 그냥 자연스럽게 말씀하세요’.... but I only recently realised there is another way to say ‘natural’.

So 천연 also means natural in the adjective form, but really it’s referring to something that has never been processed or changed out of its natural form (e.g. it is naturally occurring on earth, like mountains or the sea). An easy way to remember this is that the meaning of the first character 천 (天) means sky, which is a reminder that it came from the heavens.

I read a really good example (credit here) about cotton, which has a few terms in Korean. One of these is for the natural product that is picked off plants (솜) and another is for the fabric that we use day-to-day (면). 솜 is naturally occurring therefore you would use 천연 to describe it, but you could never use 천연 with 면 because it has to be processed (changed) to make that fabric (you would use 자연 instead).

But apparently it’s common for people to intentionally use both of these interchangeably so that they can indicate that a product is actually more natural than it really is.

찾다 vs 발견하다

Almost all Korean learners will know that 찾다 means ‘to find, to search for, to look for’ etc. Well, 발견하다 means ‘to discover, to find’. The distinction in Korean is as clear as it is in English. 찾다 is used when finding something that you already know exists, whereas 발견하다 is used when finding (discovering) something that you didn’t know was there before. For example:

시계를 찾았어요! = I found my watch!

저는 새로운 서점을 발견했어요 = I found (for the first time) a new bookstore

체험 vs 경험

With these two words we’re talking about ‘experiences’ - but two slightly different nuances. 경험 is a general past experience - this is something that you have done before, and as a result got an experience from it. For example, work experience, the experience of travelling abroad, the experience of waking up late for school etc. The key thing is that it is an event that happened in the past.

However 체험 mostly talks about something that you feel/experience directly - like a spiritual experience, or experiencing hardships, or experiencing the feeling of zero gravity. It infers more of a present moment feeling rather than 경험 which is talking about things that have definitely already happened. So, 경험 is almost like the knowledge you get after experiencing something (체험).

자동차 열쇠를 잃어버렸다고? 나도 그런 경험이 있어... - Did you say you lost your car keys? I have had that experience too..

저는 그 사고를 매일 다시 체험해요 - I re-experience that accident every day

#it's been a while but I'm kind of back.... haha #This vs That #vocabulary #korean vocabulary #korean #korean vocab #korean language #korean language blog #Korean langblr #langblog #language #language study #langblr #study #study notes #studystudystudy #studyblr #Korea #korean words #korean study notes #korean studyblr #korean study blog #한국어 연습 #한국어 #한국어배우기 #한국어공부중 #artist: IU #album: lilac #Rating: 4

[idesofrevolution]

Black Leather

Sorry, I just have been in weird headspace yet again. But whatever we have a story, yay... By the way, I’m slightly inebriated so if there are typos, GENTLY DM me and I will fix them later or whatever. My boozy demeanor may also explain my very... colorful language on this one. Don’t be too offended. Wahhhhh

It was a dark and stormy night... Nah, I’m fuckin with ya. It was a pretty clear night, actually. A Friday night to be specific, and after a long couple of hours in my old office, I have to say, it was a fuck shit day. All in all, after doing a solid 12 hours behind my computer screen under the dim light of a flickering fluorescent bulb, I’d felt as if I had earned a drink or two. Every now and again I’d go out with a few work friends to grab a Vodka Soda or two, but ever since we’d moved office spaces across town, our watering hole was a little too far out of the way. I found myself going out alone that particular evening, when I came across the Raw Hide.

The moment I walked through the door into the bar, dimly lit with a scarlet red light, I knew that this wouldn’t be the same experience I’d been used to. The cement floors were dirty and littered with wet napkins and questionable puddles, the wallpaper was literally peeling off of the walls, the bartender was wearing only a leather vest with assless chaps... But at the end of the day, Svedka is still Svedka, and if I was lucky, he’d be heavy handed.

“What can I get ya?” The bartender spoke with a slightly slurred, but gruff timbre. I coughed out my Vodka Soda order and sat down on the barstool, pulling my phone out to hopefully avoid making eye contact with the other various patrons. Yet, past all the beasts of men clad in harnesses and netting was one single guy in the back booth. Couldn’t have been older than his mid twenties, and he sat there in the booth by himself, sipping on a Jameson on the rocks. The bartender placed my drink on the Miller Lite coaster on the bar and walked away, but my eyes did not break with the kid in the corner. That dark brunette hair, and deep abysmal eyes... Something felt different... Off... Wrong... And yet, so inviting, alluring, intriguing...

He raised a single eyebrow, and nodded toward the door. Completely lost in his gaze, I’d forgotten entirely about the drink sitting on the bar. I trotted along past booths of laughing bears and drunk twunks, until I met the mysterious man at the back door. He pushed it open, holding it with his arm. I walked outside, catching the subtle scent of aged leather, pomade, and masculine musk as I brushed past him. He followed and the door shut on it’s own. Out in the back alleyway, he leaned against the metal garage door, pulled out an American Spirits cigarette, and lit it with a mischievously intense glance. He offered me one, and not wanting to lose whatever semblance of interest he had in me, I obliged.

“What’s yer name, kid?” The man’s voice was relatively high pitched, but gruff and scratchy. I stammered, tripping not over words, but the very letters that build them. I couldn’t even give an audible response. “Heh, yer smitten. That’s what I thought.” He took a drag off of the cigarette, and smirked at me. He knew exactly the hold he hand on me, and I was powerless to prevent it; though it was not my intention nor desire to protest. “The name’s Westie, short for Weston. And his name is Nicky.” He pointed behind me at the second greaser I hadn’t even noticed had crept up behind me. I turned my head, feeling the heat of his close body looming over me.

Nicky was considerably bigger than me: height, muscles, hands, feet, chest... bulge... He stared at me with that bad boy smoulder one would expect from a rough and tumble “Rebel without a Cause.” I could smell the musk from his well worn ribbed beater shirt, and the greasy oil-stained harness boots; it was intoxicating. He gripped my chin between his thumb and finger, turning it to examine it.

“Yeah, Nicky is a picky guy. I had to bring him someone that would be a good fit for him, ya know? Though it’ll be one hell of a tight squeeze.” Westie laughed as Nicky got handsy with me. Pinching and prodding, even going so far as grope my growing bulge, not once breaking eye contact with me, nor budging from that scowlesque smoulder. His touch was rough, and not just in referencing the callouses on his meaty hands. His gropes, his pokes, everything was assertive and firm. Again, though I couldn’t protest, I didn’t want to... Everytime those rugged, jagged fingers ran across my skin, I wanted it even more. Nicky looked me over one last time, then turned to Westie with a single, apathetic nod. “Aight, boys, let’s make it happen.”

Westie flicked his lighter, and lit the cigarette that had sat between my lips unlit this entire time. I took a drag, but only got a small puff before it was pulled away by Nicky. My back now to him, I heard him inhale deeply, and a puff of smoke blew right past my head. I closed my eyes, as I felt Nicky’s breath on the back of my neck, his hands and leatherclad arms slowly wrapping themselves around my waist. His supple lips planted themselves on my lower neck, slowly and sensually kissing me. His arms raised from my waist, slowly rising to my chest, pulling into a tight hug. I felt the throbbing from his growing bulge against my behind, as he started to grind against me.

With every shallow breath, I could taste the smoky flavor of Nicky’s hot breath. I could smell the sweaty, dirty musk radiating from beneath his heavy leather jacket. I could feel his body pushing against mine... Or rather, into mine. Too caught up in the sensory overload he had given me, I didn’t see that the tip of Nicky’s firm pecs had begun to sink into my back. It was the pressure, the weirdest sensation of some gelatinous form pushing into me, through me, past my skin, my bones, my lungs and muscle. I could only moan in absolute euphoria as I felt his chest push out from beneath my skin. It was only then that I caught a glimpse of my corruption, my new physique, I glanced down to see two, meaty, thick slabs of pectorals where mine used to be. Nicky’s stained, smelly tank slithered across my torso, covering the popping abs that began to protrude from my stomach.

His entire upper body was submerged into mine, and my skin was struggling to accommodate him. I could hear the elastic stretches as his arms and hands were snaking their way from beneath my new abs up toward my shoulders. I knew where they were going and I was helpless, or rather delighted, to feel his thick biceps and manly hands slip my arms on like a pair of gloves. Our arms flexed their strong muscles beneath the worn leather sleeves of the sweaty old jacket. I could hear him laugh a little bit, and sigh in his own waves of endorphins. He put our hands onto my groin, unzipping my chinos and pulling down my boxers. His own pants followed quickly, his heavy, thick uncut snake closed in on my eager hole before plunging in. I gasped at his girth stretching me open, but after I felt his balls slap against my cheeks, the pain was gone. He just kept pushing forward until his balls were slurped into my body along with his crotch. Our hands grasped my erect cock, and I watched with bliss as his longer, thicker, bigger dick slipped into mine. It stretched malleably, as if he were thrusting into a pocket pussy, before it stretched lengthwise out and his hefty balls fell into mine, dropping substantially.

We both let out a cry of enrapturing pleasure, and he slammed his head into the back of mine. Things were blurry, as if I were experiencing a severe headrush. Dizziness, fuzziness, immense pressure, and then, clarity. Still grasping and now pumping our cock with one hand, we brought our second to our face, pulling the skin to adjust our combined visages. The skin snapped tightly against our new face, but the skin would remain elastic. His tongue thrusting into mine, we opened our mouth and took our first breath. Looking down, our legs the only unmerged part remaining.

We took off Nicky’s boots; hot, wet, heavy musk poured from the weathered opening. As his wet, socked toes began to push against the heel of the man I used to be, they slid effortlessly past the skin. Recalling that Nicky’s favorite part of the merging process was in fact the feet, we happily obliged, bringing the boot to our face and inhaling the rank, ripe funk of it’s cavernous confines. We felt the dank, sticky, yellowed socks wrap around our increasingly growing feet, his toes slipping into mine and wriggling with one last loud schlorp... We were now... me.

I blew my load, more than enough for two virile young men. There, in the dim light of the back alleyway, in a massive puddle of my hot, sticky cum I stood. Westie clapped, the wet stain of his own massive load adorning the front of his jeans. He walked towards me, and slapped my back. To him, I am and will always be Nicky. After all, as I slipped my deliciously ripe boot back onto my cum-soaked socked foot, I smiled. The police only know what Nicky ‘used’ to look like, they don’t know the NEW Nicky that you now know before you. Letting Westie sniff the other boot, one of a pair which had outlasted dozens of other Nicky’s before me, I knew that the one smell of consistency that we both enjoyed would continue on. Long after even the next... iteration of me is created and merged forward. As is the way we do things. And now that you know... Well... I’m sure you’re happy to know we’ll be heading your way soon. Very. Soon.

There ya go. Mergy, musky, greasy greasers. Coming next is going to be the creation of a new long term character, a collaborative effort with @floppyderp that we’re both very excited to unveil. If you liked it, PLEASE consider giving to my tip jar. Click on THIS LINK to toss me a few quid.

#male possession #male merging #male transformation #takeover #musk #smelly #feet #greaser #badass transformation #boots #leather #badboy #minionization #original

[i-rely-on-you]

Did it break your skin?

Stepping up closer to his fairy the soldier looked at her imploringly, daring her to lie to him. ��

“Did it break your skin?”

Realisation dawned on the woman at his question. Of course he had worried about her being injured. It was a dangerous undertaking to catch a Burned One, even more so when you were on your own.  

Shaking her head slightly she mumbled, “No, I’m not infected.”

This didn’t seem to placate the soldier standing before her in the slightest as she saw his eyes narrow and his gaze darken a fraction.  

Taking her hand in his he began to search for scratches, looking her up and down. Getting into her space the fairy realised that he didn’t believe her. This had happened before she remembered sadly and they had almost paid a dear price for it. A price paid in blood.  

Taking her by the arm gently but firmly the specialist began to angle her partly exposed forearm every which way to see a little more clearly in the dim moonlight.  

She had downplayed her injuries one too many times before, making them seem harmless when in fact she had been bleeding out. So he wasn't taking any risks with this.  

The woman was notorious for giving little weight to her own suffering.  

Especially with it being a Burned One that had potentially hurt her so he stepped closer, pulling on her arm to get near her. Gliding one of his hands up the expanse of her arm and past her elbow he looked for entry wounds or nips in fabric.  

His eyes roaming over her form, taking her in with the utmost care and a tinge of fear mixed into his grey orbs.

His gaze stopped on her neckline where he pushed his fingers between the material of her blouse and her warm, soft skin and pulled at it without a moments thought what this could look like to other people.  

The headmaster fumbled with her neckline trying to sneak a peek at the skin beneath.  

It must've looked a sight.  

But he didn't care. Worrying about meaningless notions such as prudery in times of war meant certain death. And even now it had no place in the space between them. It never had.  

His worry for the woman before him greatly outweighing any and all want to cling to propriety at the moment.  

Propriety be damned if this was anything less than what she tried to make this out to be.  

He would march her over to Ben's greenhouse the moment he found anything that resembled a nick in skin or a bruise for that matter.  

He would sling her over his shoulder and walk her over there himself if she so much as looked at him the wrong way.

But she never protested, her eyes shining warmly in the moonlight.  

She let him touch her so freely, his hands roaming her body without so much as a word of protest. Stepping even closer to her now he brushed his chest with the side of her arm as he began to inspect her neck a little more closely now.  

His fingers got stuck in the tight neckline that restricted him from seeing any more of her skin so he slid his fingers around her slim neck to the knot holding the flaps of material at her front.  

Loosening the delicate knot with ease he slid his whole hand in between the garment and her skin, laying the expanse of her neck and shoulders bare to his gaze.  

She didn't even make a sound at his bawdy behaviour.  

Skimming his eyes over her exposed neck and parts of her shoulders he revelled in the fact that he couldn't find any blood or scratches he so feared to discover.  

Laying his hand flat on the back of her neck, his fingers splaying over the top of her spine, he was pulled back by her soft voice near his ear.  

"See? I'm fine."  

Pulling back slightly to find her eyes seeking out his she murmured softly, “You worry too much Saul.”

Blowing out a breath the specialist dropped his head to her shoulder with a soft thud.  

The place where her collar bone met her shoulder a comfortable spot for him to rest his weary head for a moment he breathed into the silk of her blouse in relief.  

"But you could've very well not been, Farah."  

The air leaving his mouth sent a warm tingle over the fairy's chest. Her partially exposed skin rising with goose flesh at the sensation.

His warm front now connected with her side completely made her relish the warmth radiating from his body and seeping into hers. Lifting a hand to lay it on his side in a soothing manner she stroked up and down his ribs and back comfortingly.  

She knew what he was thinking. How much fear must've been cursing through his veins when she had gone off to catch the creature. Leaving him in the dark.  

She had felt it. She always could. It was the same reason she let him undress her so freely just now. He needed the closure, the touch to confirm that she was in fact fine. He needed this.  

His pleading voice pulled her from her thoughts once more.  

“Farah, I beg of you.” His head lifted from her shoulder again to look at her through watery eyes.  

“Please don’t do something so foolish as this ever again. Please.”  

His begging would be the thing that did her in she knew. She could never say no to him. Not while they had still been students. Not during their time on the force. And not now.  

Feeling her own eyes water at his desperation she nodded mutely, her eyes cast to the floor in shame.  

Time had been of the essence, yes. But would she have had the time to shoot off a quick text letting him know of her plan. Possibly.  

Feeling his finger hook beneath her chin gently he lifted her face to look at him once more.  

The torment clear on his face he looked at her. His deep grey eyes boring into her very soul he stood before her, his gaze open and naked to her very eyes.  

But there was also something else in those deep pools of stormy clouds and tumultuous waters.  Something she would recognise anywhere.  

It was love.  

The devotion for her and her wellbeing couldn’t have been any clearer if he had painted it over his head in neon lettering.  

The affection in his gaze outweighed the fear by tons she noted.  

His lips were turned up into a sad but soft smile. He knew she didn’t mean for him to worry. She would never make him suffer intentionally. She couldn’t.

Laying one shaking hand on his stubbly cheek Farah caressed his skin tenderly, his eyes closing with the touch as if on instinct.  

The hand still spanning his side pulled him closer towards her so that his body was angled into hers, his towering form slightly bent to accommodate for her slightly shorter frame.  

Slowly but surely the soldier dropped his forehead to hers gently, bridging the minuscule distance between them, making them both close their eyes at the intimate contact.  

Breathing in her familiar scent he began to relax a little. The tense muscles in his shoulders losing their taut stiffness and making way for a more unwound stance.  

Without opening her eyes the fairy whispered, “I promise.”, before slowly encircling his waist, pulling him even closer to her.  

Banding his own arms around her the headmaster nodded carefully, without dislodging their connection and sighed, the gratitude palpable in his movements.  

There would be no venturing out into the woods alone anymore on neither of their parts, they knew.  

They would face this new threat. Together.  

Tomorrow.  

For now they had each other to cling to. A comfortable embrace to share. To remind themselves not to be afraid of what was to come. They would manage. They always had and always will.  

It was a promise.  

-fin

Thank you so much for reading I hope you enjoyed ☺️ please leave a comment and drop some kudos and let me know what you think ♥️

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30349365

#silrah #fanfic #ao3 #something soft #farah dowling #saul silva #farah dowling x saul silva #bring back farah dowling 2k22 #farah is taking a nap #farahs hair

[another-miracle]

#4: We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair

“Well then!” Obi says, arms crossed behind his head as he watches Miss pull Eisetsu to his feet. “I guess we’re all agreed to return to the estate, hm?”

Eisetsu nods solemnly. Beside him, Miss dusts off her cloak before looking at him expectantly. Obi turns to Tsuruba who clears his throat at the attention.

“It seems that returning to our place of lodging may not be the wisest decision,” Tsuruba tells them. “For all we know, the people after Eisetsu may be scouring the area in search of him. And from what you’ve shared, it seems we’ll need to make haste towards the Rugalia Estate.” 

He points slightly northward, in the opposite direction from where they came from. “I saw an inn earlier while I was scouting out for your assailants. We could spend the night there.”

The journey to the inn is uneventful, Eisetsu and Obi walking quietly behind the other two. From the corner of his eye, Obi can tell that the tension from the conversation prior has not completely worn off judging by how Eisetsu’s shoulders are raised, how his arms are wrapped defensively around his body. Sighing, he grudgingly claps a hand on Eisetsu’s back. The man looks up at him, startled, and Obi attempts a kind smile - which probably ended up looking like a grimace. Nevertheless, it serves its intended purpose and Eisetsu smiles back, hands dislodging from their place at his elbows. Obi pats his back again for good measure and they continue their journey to their accommodation.

At the inn, Eisetsu and Tsuruba take the lead in speaking to the innkeeper while Obi hangs back with his Miss. She nudges him briefly, eyes sparkling. “This feels like that time when we had to stay at an inn with Zen and the gang.”

“Yeah, only now we’ll need to keep our guards up quite a lot more.” Obi thinks back to how it was unsaid for Mister to take up watch while the rest of them visited the baths. “Miss Kiki and Mister really spoiled us, didn’t they?”

Miss hums in agreement, mouth quirking to the side.  She leans a little into him and Obi has to resist the urge to place a hand on her head. She must miss them, he thinks. 

“-need lodging for four people,” Eisetsu’s voice rings out. “And towels and robes to spare, if you please.”

The innkeeper frowns slightly. “Ah, we’ve lodging for four - but only two rooms with a bed each. Assuredly they are large enough to hold two though! And towels and whatnot will be provided as paid.”

Their party looks at one another. Eisetsu turns back to the innkeeper.

“That’s fine,” he states. Tsuruba visibly tenses and Obi almost does a double-take. “Wait wait hold up hold up- Eisetsu-dono, let’s review the sleeping arrangements?”

Eisetsu huffs, fringe flying. “What’s the problem? Tsuruba-dono and I can share one room, and the two of you can share the other.” 

“Ah,” Tsuruba starts. “Um-”

“Bahh, you saved my life,” Eisetsu states, flicking his ponytail behind him. “There’s no reason for me to remain suspicious of you.”

“And us?” Obi bites out in annoyance. 

“What’s wrong? You didn’t have a problem being in the same room at the estate? If I recall, the rooms only had one bed - and assuredly, they were not meant to fit two.”

Obi feels Tsuruba’s gaze settle heavily on him and cold sweat begins to form at his brow. Ah, he thinks. He knows about the understanding between Master and Miss.

Just as Obi begins to sputter out the truth, Miss interrupts. “Y-yes! We did that! It’s fine - Obi, shall we? It’s been a long night, and-” Miss yawns, an obvious feint- “wow, I’m absolutely smashed!”

She waves them goodnight and walks off. Obi stares after her, mouth ajar. He turns back to the two, then back to his Miss’ retreating back. Caught between the need to explain everything, and following her up, he manages a, “I-need to protect- Miss!” before stumbling off after her. Obi briefly catches Tsuruba’s gaze sliding off them and Eisetsu waving his hand to shoo him off. Obi’s face feels terribly hot.

He quickly catches up with Miss and glares down at her, hoping that his eyes will communicate his absolute incredulity at the situation. What is she thinking?! Doesn’t she know the implications of what she’d suggested? 

Of course, Miss remains blissfully unawares, happily stopping outside their room, unlocking the door and wandering inside. Obi takes one look into the corridor before closing the door behind them.

Turning back, Obi sees Miss taking off her robe and placing it on the back of a nearby chair. Her hair falls out of the hood to frame her face, the ends curling slightly at her chin. Obi rubs an exasperated hand down his face. God, may he survive the night here.

Throwing his hands in the air, Obi exclaims, “Miss, we’ve no need to keep up with the ruse! At this point, I’m sure we can trust Eisetsu enough with the true nature of our relationship! He probably wasn’t serious with his advances on you anyway, judging by his story.”

Miss tilts her head, a thoughtful pout on her face. “Is there a need to tell him though? I feel like it may only cause more misunderstandings.”

“More- Miss, Eisetsu thinks we’re together! You’re promised to the Second Prince of the country! How is that not already a misunderstanding!”

“Well,” Miss begins to fold her cloak. “We did stay in the same room at his estate. If anything, that whole series of events was a consequence of being promised to said-prince. And the continuation of the ruse was to also hide the fact that Zen showed up at the estate - which, Eisetsu still has no knowledge about.”

Miss turns to him then, arms crossed, and Obi does not like that look. “Are we to tell Eisetsu that the Second to the Crown was traipsing around his estate with him unawares? He’s already told us how sensitive he is about his reputation. Think about what telling him would do to the poor man.”

“But-” Obi starts. Miss raises an eyebrow. 

Obi wants to scream. 

“Fine,” Obi concedes. “But if we’re meant to share the bed, I’m taking the left side.”

Miss smiles, triumphant.

---

“Obi?” 

“Yes, Miss?”

“Are you awake?”

A sigh- “I am now. What is it?”

Obi turns and finds Miss much closer than he anticipated. Alarmed, he shifts to the edge of his side of the bed and props his head on his hand, elbow pressing into the pillow. Miss seems to ignore his ministrations and looks deep in thought. Obi waits. 

“Obi,” she calls softly. “What did you think of Eisetsu’s story about Lady Kageya?”

Humming, Obi leans back and moves his arm behind his head. He stares at the ceiling. What did he think? 

“It’s...rather tragic, isn’t it?” Obi speaks slowly. He doesn’t say that their tale sounds eerily familiar. Doesn’t say that it rubs him the wrong way. Doesn’t say that it sounds an awful lot like what may happen- has happened- to his mistress and master. “Seems like Eisetsu really took a hit. Both in his relationship with Kageya and with his father.”

Obi lowers his gaze and watches as Miss’ fist clenches into the bedsheets, her face ducking behind the blankets. Staring at the crown of her head, red cascading over white, he laments at how in another life, Master and Miss may have it easier - an existence together - without all this talk of reputation, of titles, of rumors. It is a simple life he wishes for them; and it is a simple life they cannot have.

Obi offers what he can. “Miss, don’t worry,” he tells her with a soft smile. Lightly, he touches her fingers clasped tightly around white. She looks up at him, eyes teary. Obi’s heart breaks.

“Master will not forsake you like that.” His finger comes up to wipe away the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. “You are worth- so much more than reputation. Lest he send you away with coin, perish the thought.”

Obi hears Miss breathe in shakily. A part of Obi breaks for the two; years of memories apart, and miles and miles exist between them. Yet- yet. Another part of Obi seethes. He is incensed at the insecurity spurred and left to fester in his Miss by the reality of it all, and by the lack of assurance Master gives her. It’s one thing to allow the other space to work towards their goals. It’s another to entirely ignore the other, only corresponding through a middleman (he’s seen too many letters signed off by Mister), and turning up only to jeopardize said-goal. 

Miss buries her face deeper into the pillow, shoulder shaking. Exhaling heavily, Obi slots his arm under her and cradles her to him. Wet droplets immediately hit Obi’s skin at his neck and Obi tightens his hold on her.

“Shh...it’s okay. You’ll be fine.” Miss’ arms wind around his torso and she grips him hard. Obi’s hand comes up to stroke the back of her head. “Both of you will be, for sure.”

----

Dawn breaks. Obi’s eyelids are crusty and his eyes are just refusing to open. Not when it is so warm and lovely, and Obi just wants to ignore the light pouring into the room. Turning away from the window, he throws his arm over Miss, wrapping his body around hers. She whines a little, and Obi chuckles slightly behind closed lids, bending down to brush his lips against her fringe. 

A few seconds pass. Immediately, Ob’s brain wakes up and he shoots himself to the edge of the bed, short of falling off. Eyes wide, he stares, affronted, at his two hands positioned awkwardly in front of him, away from what isn’t his. 

Miss shifts and Obi freezes. Her eyebrows scrunch up at the sun rays and she buries her head deeper into the sheets. 

“Too bright,” she whines. Obi’s arms fall back onto the bed and he laughs. He pulls slightly at the blanket to reveal Miss pouting cutely, hair mussed in different directions. Suddenly, Obi’s chest feels too tight.

“Good morning, Miss,” Obi says, too soft.

Miss whines again and cracks open one eye to stare him unamused. Obi huffs out a laugh. She exhales roughly and props herself up with two hands on the pillow. Obi looks up at her as she rubs a fist over her eye, hand then stretching back behind her with a yawn. Her entire body slumps and she looks down at him again. With bleary eyes, she smiles down at him, dimples and all.

“Good morning, Obi,” Miss greets him, just as soft.

Obi’s legs immediately hit the floor. He turns away so fast he almost has whiplash. Something like this - this soft, vulnerable thing - isn’t meant for his eyes, isn’t meant for people like him. 

With his back to her, Obi states mechanically, “We should start getting ready. If it’s already this bright, Eisetsu and Tsuruba would be waiti-”

A touch at his hand and Obi pauses. Warily, he turns to Miss and is anguish to note that Miss looks as wonderful and angelic as she did moments ago. She tugs slightly at his wrist and Obi just follows, facing her fully. Her fingers play with his, intertwining and brushing against his palm, and Obi is just- burning. Soaking up all the warmth she offers, but just- incinerating on the inside.

“Thank you,” she tells him, squeezing gently. “For being here. With me.”

Obi’s heart lurches. His face has never felt so hot. Play it off, his mind screams. Play it off, play it off, play it off! And desperate, Obi completely bypasses the voice in his head and brings her fingers to his lips. He looks up at his Miss’ face, as red as her hair, and sees her lips forming into a pleased smile. Inch by inch, Obi reels back his heart, offered on a platter for the taking, and swallows down his unadulterated adoration for the woman in front of him. He sets her hand down, smiles, and finally pays heed to the shouting in his mind.

“For you and Master,” he says. For you, he doesn’t say. “Anytime.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #yixin's fic #and there was only oNE BED #it's about time to be honest

[jadekitty777]

On Your Six, Chapter 1

Okay first of all, did we all coincide the Taiqrow Week with Father’s Day... accidentally? Because that’s secretly genius. 

Secondly, whoops we’re also meshing with Qrowin week - hope y’all are okay to share!

Finally, let’s get down to business. Hi y’all, hope you haven’t missed me too much. Hopefully I can make up for my silence with this absolute beast of a fanfic. This is going to be a single, interconnected story matching the prompts of the entire week. I hope those of you who choose to read it, will enjoy it!

Day 1: Tattoos for @taiqrowweek

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overrall

Words: 2.3k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Marks

~

The day Taiyang walked into his shop, before even a single word was spoken, he knew.

It wasn’t from any particular mannerism. Everyone’s body language was different. A chattering mouth. Averted eyes. A tapping foot. A drooped posture. In the short time Qrow had been doing this, he’d learned no single action could encapsulate the variety in which people expressed their shame.

Yet, not a single one could escape the stench. It was a foul thing. Sharp and smokey, like a tire fire on a junkyard, it lacquered over an omega’s scent so completely that it was near impossible to catch a whiff of the true smell that was originally there.

Even now, as Qrow inspected the damage upon his former friend’s bare back, mere inches away from the man’s scent glands, he couldn’t pick out a hint of the sunflowers and fresh soil that was Tai. Nothing left except the reek of burnt rubber and dishonor.

He didn’t call attention to it, just like he didn’t call attention to the shake in his friend’s shoulders as he placed a hand over the first mark. “This is extensive.”

“I know. But, I didn’t know who else to turn to.” Even as he turned his head to look at him, Tai hunched over a bit, and the brand seared across his shoulder blades stretched with the movement. “You’ll help me, right?”

Qrow’s eyes flitted between watery eyes and stained skin where the word SLUT, all in caps like some mockery of a grand declaration, taunted his every decision since their falling out and left the taste of bile on his tongue.

“Of course.” He promised.

~

It was widely thought that it was a farmer that first came up with branding back during the Early Modern period. Having been “inspired” by the tagging of the cattle which kept them in order, the alpha decided to do the same to omegas, ascertained the same outcome would follow. The practice was later adopted by prisons and other corrective facilities. Back then, it was merely a way of keeping track of those who had been in and out of the system by searing the skin with an iron that had the center’s insignia on it.

Advancements to the printing press and mail systems did away with that particular need, but while the jails abolished the practice, reformatories did not, releasing studies that claimed the procedure resulted in more ‘proper’ and ‘desired’ behaviors in omegas and were absolutely critical to full rehabilitation.  Despite newer evidence showing these original claims were likely falsified simply for convenience and often actually had a devastating effect on an omega’s psyche, the three-century long old policy had yet to be abolished from the system.

The most the outcries had done the past few decades was change the method on which the ‘brand’ was applied. Instead of an iron, it was done with a tattoo needle and instead of an insignia, it became a single word that was like a permanent reminder of what landed the omega in the facility to begin with. The stench was caused by the use of the chemically enhanced ink that made it impossible for laser technology to fully remove.

In short, if an omega wanted the mark gone, their only choice was to cut out their own skin. Most, like his mother, accidentally killed themselves trying.

Which led to where Qrow was today, trying to shake things up in the only way he knew how. So, he jumped off society’s grid, took up a needle and his drawing skills, and turned the marks into works of art. More importantly, he gave the omegas who came to his door a way to recover and take back their lives.

He just never thought Tai would be one of them.

Once he’d taken the pictures he needed and Tai’s shirt was back on, things were relaxed enough he could brew some tea. As he handed the other man his cup, Qrow finally asked, “So, how’d you find me?”

“Wasn’t that hard.” He replied, fingers wrapping around the porcelain. “The omegas back at the reformatory would whisper before bed. It didn’t take me long to figure out they were talking about you.”

Qrow froze, trying to hide his trepidation. “Oh? They say my name?”

Tai snorted. “Not your name, but a name.” His expression turned cheeky. “Don’t worry though. Only someone who knows Harbinger used to be your Relics & Wyverns character could put the pieces together.”

“Ah, can it!” He barked as a flush worked its way up his neck. Still, tension drained from him. While there were no laws that specifically stated what an omega was required to do with their mark after their rehabilitation was complete, if he was caught tampering with it for them, he knew the courts could claim he was willfully interfering with a person’s emotional stability. Might even get him on a few counts of practicing mental health care without a license too.

Still, he didn’t particularly want to be sent to the slammer, which was why he worked so hard to keep to the underground. Never told anyone his name. Moved often. Kept minimal contact with clients. Whatever it took to make sure only the people who needed to find him could.

“I’m glad that you’re doing alright for yourself.” Tai said, giving a cursory glance to the shoddy working space that doubled as his apartment. Beyond his tattoo kit, he rarely took much with him when he relocated. Sometimes he got lucky on the accommodations and the place would already be partially furnished, other times he had to make do with what he could afford from the nearest thrift store.

This place was one of those latter times. He had a mattress on the torn up box spring with a chipped nightstand beside it, a circular, rickey table with two chairs for the dining room, a fairly barren kitchen area, and a slightly beat-up leather recliner for the clients.

It wasn’t hard to see Tai was really reaching as he said, “Your place is… nice?”

It was Qrow’s turn to snort. “At least be honest and tell me I live in a shithole.”

“I was not going to – okay, yeah it is kind of a shithole. But, you’re eating okay and everything, right?”

What an omega. “Yes mom, I’m getting my three squares a day and I’m even brushing my teeth before bed.” He lent back, the plastic chair creaking underneath as he did so. “But you didn’t exactly come here to critique my living conditions. Think there’s a lot more important stuff to talk about, don’t you?”

Suddenly, the tea was much more interesting than his face. “Yeah. Right. Um, guess there’s a lot to catch you up on, huh? You don’t even know about-”

“Whoa, hold up a sec.” He quickly interrupted. “Let’s get one thing straight: I don’t ask for any of my clients’ stories unless they feel like sharing. Some do, some don’t. But my help doesn’t come with any strings attached.” He met his gaze, stressing the next part carefully, “Even if they’re friends, okay?”

Tai still seemed to hesitate. “But, don’t you want to know about Yang?”

Of course, he did. He had about a thousand and one questions whirling through his head. But that didn’t matter right now. “You ready to talk about her?”

For the second time that day, tears shimmered in Tai’s eyes. He looked away quickly, saying nothing.

Yeah. He figured as much.

“Then no.” Qrow cleared his throat some. “Besides, I’m still a total disaster when it comes to handling people when they cry.”

That one, at least, earned him a weak chuckle.

“Some things never change?” Tai said with a sniff, rubbing the corner of his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“If it ain’t broke…” He shrugged. “Anyways, what I meant was, how do you want to change up that lil’ blemish a’yours?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. What do you normally do?”

“Turn it into a single design. But, I’ve never had to work on one so large before. That thing’s taking up about half of your back. Still doable, just… more difficult.” It was easy to busy his designs enough the word got lost under all the rest. Working on a scale of this size though, there weren’t many things he could think of that would both look nice and cover up the word. “Not to mention, we’ll have to take a lot of breaks, so your skin can heal.”

“How long do you think it would take?”

“Well, with three weeks between each session and the scale and details… probably nine to twelve months?”

Tai’s face fell. “Oh.”

“Something wrong?”

“Oh, no I mean…” He sighed. “I was just, kind of hoping it would be done before October, is all. Before the kids come home.”

Kids?!

As in plural?!

Qrow had to bite his tongue to physically stop himself from breaking his own rule. Took a deep, steadying breath.

Okay. That was six months away. There was no way. Unless…

“Well, we could make it four separate designs. One for each letter. That way I could work on one side and then the other while it’s healing. If we meet every week, should be doable. Gonna be some long hours under the needle for you though.”

Tai lit up just like the sun he was named after. “I can handle it. I’ll do anything. Oh-! We could even make it four dragons, couldn’t we?”

Qrow barked out a laugh. “I mean yeah, if that’s what you want. Give me your scroll deets. I’ll work up some designs over the next few days and send them to you.” As he pulled out his device to input the information, he added, “We gotta work out a schedule too. What days are RO?”

“She visits on Tuesdays and Saturdays right now. It’ll go down to once a week pretty soon. I’m also TA-ing at Sanctum Middle, so weekdays are pretty full.”

It was all par for the course. Even after doing time at the reformatory, omegas still had to have frequent visits from their rehabilitation officer, to make sure they were keeping a steady job and homelife. That meant good evaluations from his superiors and a living space that looked like not even a speck of dust had had a chance to touch down. This was especially important for omegas like Tai, who would have to fight for every top mark he got. If he failed to, the RO would claim he was still unfit to raise his own children and keep them in the fostering system.

Qrow knew that was the reason for the six-month time limit. He had no doubt that once Tai was out of parole and had his pups back, he’d be hightailing it out of the kingdom. But for the RO to still be visiting at that frequency… “Did you come looking for me right after you got out?”

“I-” The tea had become interesting again. And cold. “Yeah. I knew you were working out of Mistral, and Atlas allows for transfers to Argus.”

At this rate, his tongue was probably going to have indents from his incisors. Once he knew he wasn’t going to start prying or, worse yet, shouting at Tai - because really how stupid could he be?! – he opened his mouth and said, “So, Sundays then?”

For the first time in nearly six years, Tai smiled at him. “Sounds perfect.”

~

For the next few days, Qrow did nothing but draw. Whether it was with a buzzing needle or a pencil, his hand was rarely empty. Even as he downed his morning coffee or spun his suppertime noodles onto his fork, his other hand was moving over a sheet of paper, his muse on overdrive as he tried to pick out the perfect designs for each letter. By nightfall, he was sending at least half a dozen pages full of sketches to Tai, then checking his phone every five minutes as he impatiently anticipated his reply.

It didn’t actually matter where they started, because once they decided on which letter was going first, Qrow’s focus would narrow to the second one over. The tricky thing was, Tai had always been the type who was simple to please – well before a reformatory could ever drill that lesson into him. Even when they were young, whether it was a question of what game they wanted to play or what food they wanted to eat, Tai would almost always just grin and say ‘whatever you want’. Which meant, every sketch was perfect and Qrow had to work twice as hard to actually find something he truly fell in love with.

He knew he finally struck gold for S when Tai figured out how to use the circling tool on his scroll and sent the shot back with an exuberantly loud ‘THIS ONE’, followed by a horrendous amount of exclamation points.

Qrow had never felt prouder.

It was a small effort to resketch the piece in full and line it. Adding color was more challenging, as he had to balance what looked nice with the limitations of his inks. But leaving it without was absolutely not an option. Not for someone who used to decorate his walls with paintings of tropical beaches and autumn-locked forests and had had a Crayola box spectrum of begonias sitting on his windowsill in his childhood room. Tai was a man who radiated a rainbow both in his life and in his heart. To try to dull that by leaving him in nothing but blacks and grays was a crime Qrow wasn’t willing to commit.

Besides, the design wouldn’t translate well without it.

So, he kept working at it until he knew it was just right. When the omega’s excitement only seemed to grow, he knew his labor was over.

#qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #Taiqrow #taiqrowweek #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

[pascalls]

Blinding Lights

Charlie finds solace in a familiar face after a run-in with Lovejoy.

I WANTED TO WRITE SOME CHARLIE x SAM ROMANCE SO HERE YOU GO.

Music: Blinding Lights - The Weeknd

For once, the anticipation that had settled in his clawed toes was not unpleasant.

It had been about three weeks since he’d last seen his… friend. Sam had ventured off on one of his lengthy hauls and Charlie was left to try making conversation with Larry whenever he stopped by Moe’s after work. The man was not the best conversationalist. Even less so than Sam. But it was, at least, company. Even if the late nights were earning him some ire whenever he made an attempt to return to the Lovejoy’s. Which he was beginning to fret about, whenever it came time to do so. Helen had been suspicious, as of late, wandering down into the basement at inopportune times and forcing the hybrid to take cover behind some piece of furniture or clamber out the window before he could be spotted.

Helen was clever. It wouldn’t take her very long to figure out what was going on, if he wasn’t cautious.

So he spent more time away, taking advantage of Moe’s cranky brand of hospitality and crashing in the man’s bed alongside him on more than one occasion. Regrettably, the paychecks that were coming from the school were still not enough for him to find his own place. But it was enough to make sure that he could get food regularly and the occasional small trinket or gift for Connor when he was able to see his son.

It was an improvement.

The muggy late-Spring air signified that they were certainly in for some heat in the upcoming summer season. Despite the slight slick of sweat that had coated his back as he strolled down the sidewalk, he didn’t allow the humidity to dampen his spirits. A busy day at the school - there had been an unfortunate incident where several gym students ran headlong into some cacti that Willie had forgotten to remove before the class encountered it - had meant that he was looking forward to meeting Sam in the evening to unwind.

Since the fall, where Charlie had allowed a bit of drunken boldness to make a move on the older man - one that he hadn’t been sure would be reciprocated - the two spent quite a bit of time together. It was a pleasant contrast to the nearly constant paranoia that he dealt with when he spent any modicum of time with the reverend. Something internal told him that this was a good thing, but he did his best not to get too carried away. Even if he and Sam had shared a few more… intimate moments, he was loathe to get so comfortable that he expected it as a default of their ‘relationship’. Whatever that relationship was. It had not been so neatly defined thus far. Part of him was okay with that - it meant that perhaps he was not in so deep that he could make a drastic mistake. But the other part of him… Well. He was desperate, deep down, for some solid footing.

Luckily, he was patient.

As he watched the sun begin to dip beyond the horizon, Charlie made his way towards the depot where he knew Sam left his truck. At times, the man would opt to sleep in the cab instead of actually trying to get back to his home. And Charlie didn’t mind that so much. There was something homey and comforting about that tiny bedroom where they didn’t have much of a choice but to press into each other’s personal space. It made for a good wingman… on more than one occasion. But his desires were not always so lecherous, he reminded himself. Today, he just wanted to bring his friend a hot meal that he’d picked up on the way - some teriyaki chicken and chow mein, along with a few cans of Duff - and make up for the lost time. Sam had confided into his more than once that life on the road was a bit dull and dreary. Returning to Springfield was generally the highlight. Charlie had agreed, but did his best to not be… so blatantly enthusiastic about it.

Tugging uncomfortably at his mask, he eagerly picked up the pace. Sam had told him that he’d be back by seven-thirty, and it was nearing eight already. Charlie looked forward to ditching his uncomfortable attire in favor of just being himself. Sam had kept his word - that he would not tell anyone about Charlie’s secret - and had kept that just between them. Even when they were around Moe, who was just as wise to the truth as they were. Charlie respected the man’s ability to keep things to himself, and he welcomed the fact that Sam didn’t seem to mind at all. It was a little strange, he told Charlie once. But, he admitted, that he’d seen a lot stranger during his years on the road. Charlie didn’t argue with that, even if his hind-brain wanted to. But it made the nights that they spent together a lot less strenuous. No hiding, no pretense. Sam was easy-going and confident in himself and what he liked. The hybrid found it… a little intimidating, at times. And might have found it almost frightening if Sam didn’t have a distinct way of putting him at ease.

Ugh. He felt himself a little hot in the face, just thinking about it.

His route took him past the church where he hesitated, feeling sweat bead at his temple for an entirely different reason. Hidden underneath his disguise though he was, there was something oppressive about the building that loomed overhead. He’d been hesitant to be seen in the church anywhere near the reverend as of late. It had a tendency to come back to bite him. He’d also pulled himself away from Chalmers’ obvious attempts at corralling him into this or that. Alarm bells had been set off at some point and he panicked, keeping his distance from both Tim and Gary for the sake of his own hide. Something had told him that despite his churning desire to be wanted by either - or both - of them, it was unwise.

Still… it was hard to ignore those desires. Every time he caught Lovejoy’s eyes, it opened up a whole box of feelings that he tried his hardest to cram down. The effort made him want to puke, at the best of times. At the worst of times, he followed his feet and simply absconded from the situation.

“I see that you’re purposefully avoiding me,” said a voice from a few feet away. It made Charlie jump and nearly drop the noodles in his possession, but he managed to keep his grip on it, glancing over at the church’s sign which had been hiding the reverend in question. Oh. He must have been changing the words and… Charlie hadn’t noticed.

Defensive, Charlie let out a little snuff. But he did his best to keep his cool. He didn’t want to ruin his mood by getting into an argument. Especially not when he was already late in meeting Sam. The last thing he wanted was for the other man to think Charlie had stood him up. “I had plans. And I’ve been busy with work. I’m not avoiding you.” Internally, he wondered if maybe he was trying to reassure Tim. That he hadn’t forgotten about him. Even if their encounters were strained, once upon a time, he thought that the man might return those torrid feelings that the hybrid had clung to now for months.

“You’ve had a lot of plans the last couple of weeks,” Lovejoy replied, clearly suspicious of the hybrid’s motives. He shut the box of letters he’d been using to change out the sign, glancing down at the bag of food that Charlie was carrying. “Are you doing food delivery now?”

“No,” Charlie said calmly, ignoring the reverend’s initial observation. Sure. He had plans a lot. Which was mostly just crashing with Moe. But Lovejoy didn’t need to know every detail of his life. “If you wanted me to share my calendar with you, I would have. But you never asked.” It was a bit of a dig. To make Tim really consider how overbearing he was being. As usual, it probably wouldn't work. But that wouldn’t keep Charlie from making the attempt anyway. The holy man was usually too far up his own ass to realize.

Lovejoy tried his best to maintain his composure, drifting closer to the hybrid as if he were going to engage in friendly conversation with a parishioner. As he was expected to do. But his stare was still accusatory. And Charlie noticed that it looked like the man wasn’t getting much sleep, the dark circles underneath his eyes even more prominent. “Not knowing whether or not you’re down there makes it hard for me to figure out what I need to do to keep Helen off your trail. Checking in would at least be appreciated.”

The hybrid stared at Tim, trying his best not to let guilt jab at him from somewhere in the back of his mind. No, it wasn’t his problem if Tim wanted to continue to lie to Helen, whether or not Charlie was there. At this point, he was loath to say that he even wanted to keep being a secret from the reverend’s wife. The town gossip though she was, would anyone really believe her if she happened to mention that there was a reptilian succubus living in her basement?

Probably not.

Charlie breathed out a little sigh, leveling his stare at the other and refusing to duck his head to appear meek. “Then just assume I’m not. I’m making a fair enough income now. I can find other places to sleep that are a little more comfortable than under your train set.” It was a lie. Sort of. The income had nothing to do with the fact that he had an ally or two that he could rely on for a nice, warm bed. Even if Moe’s had a weird smell to it, he at least had a mattress. And Waylon was occasionally accommodating, as long as Charlie could provide a bit of ‘entertainment’ and distractions in the process. And Sam… Well… When he was in town, Charlie had never been turned away. It brought a bit of a warm feeling that settled in his belly and emboldened him just a little in the face of the reverend.

Tim looked a bit taken aback. As if he’d been slightly offended. “So… what, you don’t need me anymore?” It had been clearly meant as an attack, but there was a slight twinge of hurt in the man’s voice.

The hybrid looked away briefly, not meeting Tim’s gaze. He recognized when he was being guilted. Lovejoy was good at it. “That’s not what I said.” Maybe. Maybe he didn’t need Tim anymore. Despite the aching in his chest, he’d long-since been affirmed that there was nothing for him if he chased the expectation of being welcomed into the reverend’s arms. But he hesitated to admit that here and now. Not when he was running late to meet Sam. “I’m not ungrateful,” he continued. “I just… I’m not interested in burdening you with myself for any longer than I need to. You can’t tell me you don’t want that space back to yourself?” He turned the situation back around on Lovejoy, pressing him to say otherwise. Maybe trying to get him to admit something one way or another.

“I’m only concerned with what you’re telling people about me,” Tim said, tension in his shoulders. He didn’t like being cornered like that, Charlie knew.

“I’m not telling people anything. Even if I did, who would believe me? You’ve got… y’know. Jesus on your side or whatever. Anyone here would take your word over mine in a heartbeat.”

Lovejoy found it hard to argue with that, but he chased the urge to do so, taking a step which blocked Charlie’s way forward. Whether he did it on purpose or not, Charlie felt slightly threatened, feeling his scales bristle in mild fear underneath his clothes. The time was ticking by. Sam would undoubtedly believe that something had happened if the hybrid didn’t get going now.

“You’re my responsibility. If I let you wander around without knowing where you are or what you’re doing, who’s to say that Burns won’t come looking for you?” Lovejoy stared at Charlie with apparent conviction. “The bible says that a good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.”

“I’m not a sheep!” Charlie snapped, though he did his best to keep his voice down. It was not yet night and there could be others passing by. “I’m sick of you calling me that. I wasn’t put here for you to guide me to the light. You’ve got plenty of people in there,” he pointed to the church, “waiting for you to tell them what to do and how to live. Just because you hit me with your car doesn’t make me one of them.” Angry though he was, he wanted nothing more than to leave. End the conversation. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200. So he pushed past the other, trying to make his way towards the depot again.

“I just want to save you!” Lovejoy called after him, desperation lacing his tone. But Charlie was not feeling kind.

“From what?” He called back to the other, whirling around to narrow eyes at him. “From my Sin? Because right now, the only thing I need to be saved from is you.”

Tim paused, clearly taken aback. “You don’t mean that.”

Exhaling into his mask, Charlie bit back an aggressive retort. “I only have so much fight in me,” he said, loud enough just for the other to hear above the buzzing of the nearby street lamp. “I can’t keep chasing something that you’ve told me time and time again is wrong. You tear me apart in six different ways every time you look at me and you still expect me to get on my knees and beg you for a single positive interaction. I don’t want to do that anymore.” He sighed again, shoulders slumping. “You know how I feel. How I’ve felt. If you don’t want to - or can’t - return that, then the onus is on me to move on.”

The reverend seemed rooted to the spot, unable to say anything in return for a few moments. As if he was having a hard time refuting what he was being told. Charlie knew he couldn’t. It had been more than enough times that he’d said to the hybrid that what he felt was wrong - they couldn’t be together. No matter what emotion or desire lay underneath the surface of Lovejoy’s religious shell. And Charlie was simply tired.

“I-” Tim began. But he was cut off as he looked up to see that they were no longer alone.

“Charlie?”

The hybrid turned back around to see that their conversation had been interrupted by Sam. He blinked in surprise, then moderate embarrassment. “God, what time is it?” He said, haphazardly trying to cover up what he and Lovejoy had just been discussing. “I didn’t mean to make you come this way to find me. I was on my way, honestly.” Sheepishly, Charlie smiled from behind his mask. It wasn’t immediately obvious, but Sam’s easy-going nature meant that he could return the gesture just as easily.

“It’s alright. I just thought something mighta happened. Glad t’see that you weren’t held up too much,” Sam replied cheerfully before his attention shifted to the reverend to whom he gave a courteous nod. “Rev.”

Lovejoy was tense from head-to-toe, forced to process Charlie’s last words and put one and one together to come to a conclusion that Charlie knew he’d hear about later. The reverend’s gaze was squarely on the barfly before he was able to regather his composure and return the nod. He didn’t know the man’s name. Had never bothered learning it, even if Sam made the rare appearance from time to time in the church. He had no particularly strong religious convictions.

Charlie glanced back at Tim nervously. No doubt, they’d have to pick up that conversation later. “It was nice to see you, Reverend,” he said after a moment. “We’ll chat again soon.”

Sam looked from Charlie over to Lovejoy, the tension in the air palpable. But he said nothing, gesturing for the hybrid to accompany him back to the depot. His home was a little too far for them to walk there without the trip taking them well into the night. So the truck would have to do for now. Not that he or Charlie minded very much.

Charlie followed behind, casting one last look at Lovejoy. He could swear that the holy man looked like he was about to break into a tirade, but he heard nothing and eventually focused fully back on Sam, hoping that his pre-planned rendezvous would block out the feeling that he’d just shattered Lovejoy’s heart in some type of way. Maybe because he knew how it felt…

“You alright?”

Sam’s voice broke through the veil of guilt that threatened to pull Charlie under. Shaking it off, Charlie glanced up at the other and nodded, allowing himself a slightly nervous laugh. “Yeah. Just… you know. Getting preached at sometimes kind of throws me off.”

“Didn’t seem like a typical sermon,” Sam replied, glancing at Charlie knowingly from behind his glasses.

Clearing his throat, Charlie tried not to make eye contact. He had a… difficult time lying to Sam. Whether it was because he genuinely trusted the man or didn’t want to lie to him, he wasn’t sure which. But he didn’t want to get into the particulars. Especially not when he felt like it… might put things at risk. Nope, he didn’t want that. “I brought you some food!” He said instead, holding up the bag with the chicken and noodles within. Hoping that would be a sufficient distraction. Luckily, Sam seemed to accept that the hybrid was not an open book at that exact moment, and he took the bag from the other before patting Charlie’s plastic beak affectionately.

“Y’can take that off if y’want. There’s nobody on these side streets and nobody at the depot. We shouldn’t be bothered any.”

Breathing out a little sigh of relief, Charlie tugged off the mask and cloak, holding them in his arms as they walked. It was becoming more of a chore to keep his disguise maintained from day to day. Whenever he got the opportunity to not wear it, he considered it a blessing.

“That’s better,” the barfly said with a little smile.

Charlie had to keep himself from giggling like a fucking school girl. Fuck. What was wrong with him? They’d certainly had more intimate moments than this, but something as simple as that tiny, hidden compliment had him reeling. Stupid.

They walked side by side until the depot fence came into view and the hybrid followed Sam through the gate and towards his rig. The bright red was always a stand-out and made it easy to identify. He was thankful for that, knowing that had he not been able to tell the difference, he may have frightened some random trucker on more than one occasion.

“Wasn’t too bad of a trip, I take it?” Charlie asked as he came to the door, waiting patiently as it was unlocked and Sam clambered inside, reaching out to offer a hand for Charlie to climb up right after him.

“Boring, but otherwise pretty run of th’mill,” Sam replied, shutting the door behind him and making his way back to the not-very-roomy bedroom that he slept in. Charlie set the bits of his disguise in the front seat and hopped back with him, making himself comfortable on the bed and giving a lazy stretch. Sam settled on the floor for now, opening up the food that Charlie had brought him and making short work of it. Obviously hungry.

“You never seem to have very interesting stories. Unless you keep them all under wraps.” Charlie scooted up behind Sam, rolling onto his back on the bed and batting gently at the man’s hat like a lazy cat.

“Warehouses and truck stops don’t really make for interestin’ conversation.” Sam removed his hat and placed it over Charlie’s face with a gentle huff of laughter in between bites of his food. Something about his rumble of a laugh made the hybrid’s stomach flip pleasantly. It was a comforting sound after his earlier confrontation with Lovejoy. “Besides, I have more interestin’ stories whenever you drag me into somethin’. Wouldn’ make sense t’tell you about ‘em when you were there.”

“Aw,” Charlie replied, sitting up and setting the man’s hat atop his own head to wear. Feeling a little goofy and giddy as he did so. “Didn’t realize you felt that way.~” His voice lilted teasingly as he settled into their usual back-and-forth routine of flirt after flirt. Despite Sam’s quiet, old-man demeanor that he normally carried around, they both played off each other fairly well. It was something Charlie cherished. And something he figured that not many others were able to experience when they were sharing Sam’s company. It made him feel… special. Wanted.

He kept that bit to himself.

“So…” Sam began once he’d finished his food and was working on one of the beer’s that Charlie had provided him with. The hybrid was not as interested in getting drunk tonight, but he’d more than adjusted to the perpetual scent of alcohol and cigarettes that had long-since settled into Sam’s clothes. In fact… there was a part of him that enjoyed it. “I’m guessin’ I didn’t actually interrupt a sermon earlier.”

Charlie tensed slightly, reaching up to remove Sam’s hat and set it aside as he shifted his gaze away from the other. Guilt threatened to bubble up inside of his gut again. “...That obvious, huh.”

“A little. Th’way he was lookin’ at you made it look like you’d ran over his dog.”

Scoffing, Charlie didn’t answer right away. Uncomfortable with the topic, but knowing that he likely owed Sam some form of explanation. He trusted the man. Though he worried, internally, that getting too far into his fucked up dynamic with the reverend would frighten Sam away for one reason or another.

“He was just upset that I wasn’t coming around as often. Mostly just been… minding my business whenever you’re not here. Hanging out with Moe… That kind of thing.” He hesitated to go into further detail than that. Sam didn’t need to know that he occasionally slept over with Smithers too. It made him feel like a little bit of a… slut… Not that he would say so.

“Uh-huh,” Sam replied, nursing his beer and seemingly lost in thought until he continued. “And he’s… not likin’ that he can’t keep tabs on you?”

“...Possibly.”

“Hm. Sounds like he’s upset that you’re not as obsessive over him as he wants you t’be.”

Charlie frowned a little to himself. Sam had probably hit the nail on the head. His tail curled around himself as his insecurities were brought to light, though he had a hard time being upset at Sam about it. The man was only saying what he’d been able to observe. It must have been pretty obvious, now that Charlie thought about it… “I’m sick of his hovering. It’s gotten out of control.”

“And y’told him that?”

“I tried to.” Charlie’s ears dropped back against his hair, admitting in a not-so-verbal way that he had not been as assertive as he probably should have been.

There was silence for a moment as Charlie stared down at the sheets on the bed and Sam seemed to be focused on his drink. Until he seemed to be finished with it and set it aside to toss in the garbage later, getting up with some effort and getting himself into the bed to sit next to the hybrid. Charlie glanced away from him. A bit ashamed that the topic of Lovejoy had been brought up at all. Drunkard or otherwise, Sam had some good powers of observation. As much as Charlie enjoyed his company, it made him feel like he was being seen right through.

“He’s gonna have t’accept that you’re your own person eventually. Whether or not he wants to,” Sam finally said after a few minutes had passed.

“I’m not even sure I’ve accepted that yet,” Charlie responded with a bit of a bitter laugh. He hadn’t meant to say that, but it came out of him all the same. “And the last thing I need is to put the burden on you to help me do that. It’s not your responsibility.” He found himself echoing what he’d told Lovejoy, but from… a different part of himself. With Lovejoy, it was through tired defeat that he tried to remove himself from the situation, but now… He just didn’t want to saddle Sam with more drama that the man surely didn’t need in his relatively quiet life.

Before he realized it, he felt a press against his shoulder, turning to glance at Sam as the other closed the distance between them, watching for a heart-pounding moment as the barfly reached to intertwine their pinkies as they had done several times before. It was a much more romantic gesture than Charlie had initially meant it to be the first time they’d done it. But now… It set his nerves alight and made him wish that his face weren’t so red.

“Might not be my responsibility, but m’happy to help you along,” he murmured to Charlie, the slight slur in his words not at all dampening the intent which made the hybrid wheeze a little with embarrassment as he unwittingly scooted his hand to take a more firm hold of Sam’s. Maybe clinging to it. Just a little. God help him.

“You could really fool everyone, you know. Into thinking you’re just ‘some guy’ at the bar,” Charlie said after a moment of trying to calm his racing heart. “And not… you. The you that I know.”

Sam chuckled a little. “The me that you know is not as drunk as I usually am.” Leaning over, he pressed a kiss to Charlie’s temple. A gesture which did not qualm the aggressive thump-thump going on inside of Charlie’s chest. He didn’t altogether understand why he couldn’t get himself together. He was not unfamiliar with the concept of being smitten, but he’d been denied a positive response to it for so long, that he hesitated to call it that this time too.

At least until another kiss was placed to the side of his face and he faltered, unable to resist allowing himself to hope. Maybe it would be different. Lovejoy never gave him this kind of affection so openly. Not without a fair amount of pestering. Not without an argument and harsh words. Not without pleading and tears and a thick, heavy feeling that hung around his head. Right now… all he felt was light. There was fear, but as the seconds ticked by, Charlie tried to muffle it.

And eventually he turned, meeting Sam’s gaze for a prolonged moment. It was honest, he thought. There was no sense of an ulterior motive. No reason for Charlie to believe that this was all a long-con. Sam was not that kind of man. Right?

Right?

His hesitation was not missed. Reaching up with his other hand - his fingers rough and calloused, Charlie noticed - Sam placed it gently against Charlie’s cheek. Holding his face delicately and softly, as though he was trying to provide the kindest support. To offer warmth through the touch that would squelch that fear.

God, Charlie thought.

Let me not be wrong again.

As though a dam had burst, Charlie leaned forward and captured Sam’s mouth with his own, drawing him into a heated and nearly desperate kiss that Sam returned after a moment of trying to process the act. Every time Sam went away for a while, the hybrid forgot just how warm and comforting his kisses were. His hands were strong, but kind. He tasted like beer and smoke, but Charlie couldn’t get enough. He drank in the affection to the point where he thought that it would drown him. But it would be a sweet death, Charlie thought.

For once, he forgot about Lovejoy. As he broke the kiss to take in a breath, he caught Sam’s eyes again.

“I missed you,” he blurted out against the other man’s lips, red in the face when he realized how brazen the admission was. But he certainly wouldn’t take it back. The feeling was only solidified with Sam nodded, a bit breathy in his murmur of agreement before Charlie felt himself being pulled into another kiss, toppling over and onto the bed as he felt Sam’s arms closing around him.

It hadn’t been the first time they’d spent the night together, but there was something different now. Charlie hesitated to put words to it, but as he felt himself get lost in the comfort and security of Sam’s presence, he knew that he would have to, eventually.

For now, he was okay with accepting the warmth and safety he was being offered. He was okay with murmuring more sweet words when he could find the words to say. He was okay with being vulnerable. He was okay with the warm, smoky sound of Sam’s voice in his ear. He was okay with the touch of his hands; the heat between their kisses; the thrumming of his own heart.

He thought about the next time Sam would have to go away for a while. It made him ache.

Maybe he’d tag along.

In the corner, his phone lay unattended, dutifully remaining in silent mode as the night wore on. The screen blinked lazily, but otherwise didn’t bother to alert its owner that he had missed several calls from the reverend.

They would go unanswered tonight.

#tj writes #the simpsons #simpsona #oc #only took me like 4 hours LOL

[magnetictapedatastorage]

coped-and-pasted biography

My name is [---] and right now, I can see.

When I was in middle school, other kids were frightened of me, even before I came out as a lesbian. Classmates would whisper that I looked possessed, that maybe I was the devil. It's hard to blame them. Imagine the kind of look an old woman would give you if she could see your secrets like neon signs. Imagine a thousand-yard stare from some poor bastard that went to Vietnam. Imagine any of the Muppets, but especially cookie monster. Imagine Raven, from "That's So Raven." Go ahead and evaluate what that face looks like on a young girl.

I don't know how often they happened back then. I only started counting them after I was already 18 years old. I think the record was something like 30 in a day.

Imagine going blind 30 times in one day.

At first I thought they were seizures. Absence seizures, to be exact. They're a type of seizure that makes you stop in the middle of a sentence, stare into space for a little while, and then start talking again with no recollection of having stopped. Sort of like your mind is just absent for a while. Obviously, that wasn't it. I was aware of myself during these strange and frightening periods of blindness, though the loss of your sight can be very distracting.

So I went to some specialist, got sensors glued all over my head, and spent 2 days in the house with a camera watching me. I was supposed to press a button when the... "Fuzzouts" happened. It was a lot of money, but worth it because seizures are incredibly serious. I had a few fuzzouts, pressed the button each time, and maybe two weeks later got a letter saying my brain wasn't giving up any more secrets than a fish being waterboarded.

I don't remember if I was relieved or not, since it wasn't seizures but we still didn't know what it was, but I definitely remember how hard it was to get the glue out of my hair.

I remember searching "sudden blindness" on google, and reading a warning that told me to go to the emergency room immediately because by god sudden blindness is serious! I remember ignoring it, maybe huffing a bitter laugh that if the first 18 years of them didn't kill me, I'd be damned if a fuzzout would kill me today. I remember combing through Wikipedia, and one night finding something strange.

"Spasm of Accommodation, or Ciliary Muscle Spasm", it was called. I remember printing something out, or maybe just writing it down. I remember going down the stairs, early evening on a Friday. I remember my parents eating pretzels with microwaved spicy cheese dip. I remember talking to my mother using the phrase "cautiously optimistic."

I remember walking into the eye exam room and telling the doctor that I thought it was a ciliary muscle spasm. I remember her lips slightly parted, before she said I had taken the words out of her mouth. I remember wondering why she hadn't said something when I was five. I might have been angry.

She told us to go to a place called something-something Eye Vision Therapy. I'd like to know what other possible type of vision you'd need therapy for. It was a small place, especially the exam room, which was so short it had to use 2 or 3 mirrors to emulate the ability to do exams at the proper viewing distance.

The first "test" was deceptively easy. I was given a popsicle stick with a face drawn on it, and at the other end of the small room, a sheet of printer paper was held up, that also had a face drawn on it. I was supposed to look at one, focusing until the image was sharp as could be, then give a signal, and look at the other, and repeat. It was an endurance test for depth of focus, to see how many switches it took before my eyes became fatigued and started to slow down.

On the first switch, it took 12 or so seconds to switch my focus from one to the other. I don't remember the exact number.

I remember the tears falling from my tired smile. I remember waiting for someone to say "Oh my god," or "That's awful," or even "How have you survived this long?" I've always wanted to hear a doctor say that.

None of that was said. I remember asking "How bad (is it)?"

I think the doctor might have said "Um."

In any case, my accomidative reflex was 50x slower than normal. Roughly.

I wound up coming in for therapy sessions, and nearly stopped after the first. It was physical therapy, not the kind where you lie on a couch and die a little. The vast majority of their business was with kids who got such a bad concussion that it messed up their vision temporarily. The sessions were to help them relearn a few things, and then their sight would be fine.

I remember sitting in a chair, so glad to finally be among professionals who would treat my condition as a serious thing to be overcome. I remember having brought a mountain of paperwork, on their request. My full medical history. The reason I was here. The ciliary muscle spasm that had been blinding me more than a dozen times per day ever since I was born.

I remember a youngish man with a beard asking, in an upbeat manner, how I had gotten the concussion.

I remember looking at him with death in my eyes, and saying I had never received a concussion in my life.

He was the owner, but I didn't know it at the time. I thought he was a clueless intern who should've been barred from talking to patients.

I came back anyways, on my mother's insistence. After crying in the car the entire way home. I remember the one word for the man: "unprofessional." My mother used that word on the phone.

I was 18 years old at the start of vision therapy, and the room had a victory bell. Not the pokemon. A victory bell is a little wall-mounted fixture that I've heard is common in cancer treatment centers. You're supposed to ring it when you're cured. I used to cry just thinking about it, imagining myself driving home afterward.

I am 20 years old. I haven't been to the office in a long time. Not since they said there was nothing more they could do.

I still cry thinking about the bell.

My name is [---], and right now I can see.

--------------------------

cross-posted from Neocities, a short autobiography from November 2019, my last reserve of information regarding this condition.

anything about ciliary muscle spasms is ALWAYS ok to reblog.

#ciliary muscle spasms #had to remake the post for the tags to work

[artificialqueens]

You'll Never See It Coming, 1/? (Jaida/Nicky/Jackie) - Viktor

Summary: Jaida and Jackie are two private detectives, with the objective of taking down a mysterious thief that has been bugging them for a year now.

A/N: As someone who writes Jaida a lot on his blog, it was about time I dropped one of my Jaida works in here! I really hope you like this, I got really attached to this AU haha! You can find me in my blog @theviktorr if you want to see more! Enjoy <3

The sun rays were starting to sneak inside of Jaida’s room, filling the open spaces of the semi-closed blinds.

Jaida hated sleeping with light. It was almost tempting to get up, close the blinds properly, and tuck herself back in her bed. However, she had work to do. And the annoying beeping of her alarm clock made sure to keep her awake, as the brightness from her phone blinded her for a few seconds when reaching to turn the shit off.

She stepped off her bed, running one of her hands across her messy hair and rubbing her eyes with the other. It was just 7:30, and she had a lot of work to do. She put on her slippers and got herself comfortable with her favorite robe, sighing at the sudden warmth she got from them. She finally opened the blinds, letting the sunlight illuminate her bedroom. It wasn’t a big bedroom, but it was big enough to be comfortable in it. She looked outside the window for a spare second, smiling at the potted flowers on the window sill. They were perfectly cared for, Jaida swore she could almost smell their perfume. Her roommate was really talented, huh?

Jaida finally got out of her bedroom, her senses overwhelming with the smell of dust and old books, which she found not-so-oddly anymore, after all the years spent surrounded by it. After all, being around secondhand bought books, piles of yellow toned documents and tables stained with melted wax made her feel all sorts of happy; she felt more at home than she ever did with her blood family. She quickly noticed that the signature scent of her housemate’s coffee wasn’t there. And knowing that trails of her partner’s coffee were always left, even after drinking it hours ago, she figured her friend was still asleep, and Jaida couldn’t blame her for it.

It wasn’t even necessary to go to her bedroom to confirm it. She only had to look around to find her partner sleeping in the living room, accommodated with her head resting on top of her arms, which were laying on top of their old wooden table, and her favorite golden glasses were thrown across the table. She was calm, her breathing seemed slow and steady. When did she even go to sleep…? She did tell Jaida that she wanted to stay up a little longer, that she thought she was finding some useful information within these books she borrowed from their local library. She probably got caught up on her reading again and fell asleep after some hours. Jaida smiled, tucking a strand of her friend’s brown hair behind her ear. She took off her robe, gently setting it on top of the older woman’s shoulders, and silently left the living room, heading to their small kitchen instead.

Now, Jaida’s coffee wasn’t as sweet and tasteful as her partner’s, she didn’t know the secret behind the flavour she enjoyed so much during their typical breakfast, but she tried her best to make it appealing for her. She took the time to make pancakes and toast some bread, choosing her friend’s favorite marmalades. She cleaned up the table, if we could consider “cleaning up” moving and piling papers to a corner of the table, and served the improvised breakfast while the woman still slept peacefully. And when the last mug was finally left on top of the wooden surface, she sat down by her side, softly squeezing her shoulder to wake her up.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” She smiled at her, only getting a groan from her partner, who raised her head slightly, and then buried it between her arms again “Jackie, you have to wake up… I made you breakfast, come on.”

Jaida rubbed her hand on Jackie’s back, with the woman slowly waking up and stretching a little on her seat. She turned around after finally opening her eyes and getting comfortable, gifting Jaida one of her adorable smiles.

“Morning…” She yawned. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did. Now eat, we have a long day coming.”

Even if Jaida could sound cutthroat sometimes, Jackie knew it came from a place of love. She took a sip from her coffee, getting adjusted to the heat, and after asking Jaida to hand her the glasses she left on the other side of the table, she eyed yesterday’s newspaper, giving another look at the words she highlighted in neon yellow last night. It was crystal clear that Jackie hardly got any sleep, she had dark bags underneath her eyes and she couldn’t stop yawning, even if the coffee was keeping her slightly more awake.

Jackie meant the world to Jaida. Both of them were private detectives, and undoubtedly had chemistry. They worked amazingly together, and have managed to solve so many mysteries with their shared thoughts and intellect. They made a good name out of themselves with their efficiency and hospitality towards both newer guests that were just starting to work with them, or old acquaintances that trusted their methods so much they always came back to them. They moved together only months after they started working as a pair, buying an old small house that smelled like dust and looked like history. They remodeled it, of course, with Jackie adding all sorts of flowers and plants to make it look alive. Jaida even remembered that her favorite flowers were marigolds and sunflowers; and even if Jackie was sad she couldn’t plant any sunflowers, she bought fake ones and made sure everything was decorated. She even handpainted pots in their free time; she wanted the house to have her creative touch to it. And she did it, because Jaida had never been happier.

However, their happy days ended exactly one year ago, when they were approached with the mission of capturing a mysterious person that called themselves ‘la voleuse fantôme’, a thief that was after the richest people she could find. And they still couldn’t find her. They even admired her talent to escape them, two of the most renowned detectives in America. But they couldn’t give up yet. They had to capture her and get her in jail for her crimes, this had already gone too far. Whoever she was, they would need to step up their game if they didn’t want to be discovered, because Jaida and Jackie were sure they had her in the bag this time around.

“Have you checked the mail, Jaida?” Jackie inquired.

Jaida didn’t answer. Well, she did, by standing up and going to their porch to check if there was anything new. And within cards signed by Jackie’s best friend, Sasha, or postcards from Heidi, Jaida’s little sister, she noticed that there was something that stood up between all their usual mail. It wasn’t odd to them, the red envelope was already a normal thing for them to see. It was the thief, she knew it. They looked so extra, sending bright red envelopes to their house and, as far as they’ve seen them, dressing like a caricature, with a big white hat, a checkered cape and the most expensive masks Jaida and Jackie had ever seen.

The younger detective went back to the dining table, sliding the colorful letter across the wood and letting Jackie have the honors of opening it this time. She carefully did it, unfolding the paper inside it and reading the thief’s disgustingly perfect handwriting. Jackie cleared her throat and started to read the content, feeling how shaky her hands were as she got towards the end of it.

“Good morning, detectives.

You two are so much fun! It’s already our one year anniversary of you guys chasing after me and failing miserably. And to celebrate, I prepared my best show just for you!

I’ll show up at Gigi Goode’s masquerade ball next Sunday. What will I steal, you may ask? Well, that’s simple…

I’ll be taking grandma Goode’s crown that has been passed on for the last generations.

I wonder how it’ll look on my head when I wear it.

See you guys next Sunday!

With love,

   La voleuse fantôme.”

Oh, so it was at Gigi’s place this time.

Fuck.

Knowing they were good friends with the Goode family, especially their future heir, a young girl known as Gigi, failing at capturing the thief would mean that they would serve both of their heads in a platter and show it to everyone during their massive reunions. Jaida got chills down her spine at the thought of that. It was scary, yes, but it motivated her to catch the thief. Not only catch her, but also throw her behind bars once and for all. She wanted to get rid of her already and keep living her normal life with Jackie, resolving simpler murders or investigating nannies for old women who wanted the best for their kids. As much as she loved the thrill of this ‘voleuse fantôme’ lady, she really wanted a break and a very well-deserved nap.

She looked back at Jackie after a moment, noticing the nervousness in the Persian’s eyes, and carefully grabbed her by the wrist, squeezing it. She looked back at the brunette, and after a short sigh, managed to give her one of the confident smiles Jaida liked so much from her. She could see the motivation behind those golden eyes, there was a fire in them that Jaida couldn’t even explain. She was ready to do it. And seeing that look from Jackie gave her that little boost of confidence she needed. She was ready, they were ready.

“This time around, I’m sure we’re gonna get them.”

#rpdr fanfiction #jaida essence hall #jackie cox #nicky doll #jackie x jaida #jaida x nicky #lesbian au #detective au #phantom thief au #you’ll never see it coming #viktor #concrit welcome #s12 #rare pair

[ginnranger]

A Strange New Student

Summary: 

Ginn is a new student in a prestigious London private school. It’s pretty obvious she is not the type to be in private school, but is that going to stop her? Honestly, she doesn’t even know the answer to that one. 

But she does have a pretty good guess, when she meets Alex, Martin, George, Louise, and Elsie. They are pretty different from her. They seem nice enough, but will her past lessons allow her let them in? Another good question. 

Word count: 6542

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The large, stone hallways of Churchill high school were a lot less busy than Ginn’s old public school back in Liverpool. She guessed that was because barely anyone was able to afford the tuition to actually attend this school. How she got in was a complete miracle, sparked by some pretty unfortunate events.

The biggest understatement of her life.

Ginn was not used to anything that she had already faced in this new school at all, and she had only been in the building ten minutes. The students hanging around in the hallway before class were well behaved, milling around and chatting instead of running and fighting. The floors and lockers were clean, free of graffiti and chewing gum. The uniforms were the weirdest part; everyone wore it neat and proper, the boys’ ties being evenly tied, their shirts neatly tucked into their trousers, which were not sagging halfway down their butts, and their blazers free of burn holes and glue stains. The girls’ skirts were closer to the knee than the butt, their blouses also neatly tucked, and their cardigans neatly buttoned. Everyone’s shoes were perfectly shined, not a scuff in sight.

Every student had neatly styled hair, not a strand out of place. They all had perfect posture, shoulders squared and backs straight, the girls tending to keep their feet touching each other. Their faces shone with happy, satisfied smiles. There was no anger, hunger, or sadness in these people’s lives. Very different to what Ginn saw back in Liverpool. It was obvious these teenagers knew their place in the world. So did Ginn, and it was not surrounded by these people. They made that clear with their odd looks.

She stood out for many reasons around these people. For one, she was the only girl wearing trousers and a tie. Ginn flat out refused to wear a skirt, and the rules said trousers could not be worn without a tie, so she was stuck in the unflattering, unfitted, too big boy’s uniform. Her tie was relatively neat, but she had not buttoned the top of her shirt, and pulled the tie down slightly to accommodate the room the lack of a top button provided. her blazer sleeves had been rolled up slightly to accommodate her shorter arms. Her shirt was tucked in, but it was not neat. the sides of the shirt were bunched up, as she had tried to angle it in a way it was more fitted to her feminine frame. It was not working, but she felt comfortable. When Ginn stood, she leant on one leg, arms crossed, and her feet obviously not touching. Her shoulders slumped, and her hands folded into fists, no matter whether she was walking or standing. When she walked, her back curved forwards slightly, and her eyes shifted between everything that moved, glaring into every pair of eyes she met. Ginn had to be aware of everything that was happening around her. Just a little compulsion of hers. Her hair was cut short, mostly jar length, with layers getting shorter as they went up, and a fringe cut in line with her eyes, parted favouring the left side, and whilst that was not abnormal for girl, it was expected that she would make an attempt to calm and style her messy mop of ginger hair. But she didn’t. She liked it messy. It gave her an excuse to have her fringe covering her left eye. You see, Ginn had heterochromia. Her right eye was a bright, electric blue, whilst her left eye was a shining light brown, almost orange when the light hit it just right. Ginn preferred to cover her left eye with her hair, as it blended in with the orange strands better than the blue did. That, and the brown colour was not the genetic colour. Her mother had blue eyes, and her father had green eyes, so brown was definitely not a family eye colour.

Ginn could tell people were looking at her as she wondered the fancy hallways towards the administration office, though she couldn’t tell if this was because of her rough, stand-offish appearance, or the fact that it was early November, and she was a new student entering year 10. Honestly, Ginn didn’t care which one it was. She didn’t expect to form relationships with these people.

She managed to reach the administration office, where she was expected to pick up her time table and ID card, after a few minutes of cluelessly wondering around, following strange signs written in the worst font for someone like her; cursive. How is that acceptable, you may ask? It honestly isn’t, but this school had an aesthetic to stick to. Ginn was dyslexic, so anything that wasn’t block letters or her own handwriting was torture to read. As she reached the old looking, oak wood door, she straightened her back and readjusted her backpack, forcing her face to change from confrontational to neutral. This was the face she preferred to show in front of adults, as they could never figure out what emotion she was feeling so they struggled to ask her questions. She opened the door and walked up to the desk, waiting for the old woman sitting, typing on her computer, to look up at her. She did quickly, luckily.

“Hello there! What can I do for you today?” Her voice was far too perky and high pitched. It irritated Ginn’s ears. Ginn forced her face to remain neutral, pushing down her natural, uncomfortable reaction, so she could respond as quick as possible.

“I’m the new student. I was told to pick up my stuff here.”

“Ahh, yes! Ginn Ranger, am I correct?” The woman squeaked, smile never faltering.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Ginn avoided eye contact, uncomfortable with her full name being announced.

The woman rooted around the organised mess that sat on her desk, until she found the right envelope that held Ginn’s ID card and timetable. She handed it to Ginn and asked her to sit down for a moment, as the headmaster wished to speak to her before classes started. Ginn forced herself to swallow a groan as she nodded and took a seat next to the desk, facing the door to the headmaster’s office. Her leg bounced quickly as she stared into space, trying to concentrate on her thoughts rather than the loud world she lived in. She slouched in her seat after finding a comfortable place in her imagination to rest. Sadly, it only took two minutes for her to be called into Headmaster Windsor’s office.

“Hello, Miss Ranger.” Mr Windsor was far more serious. much more pleasant to Ginn’s ears. “It is a pleasure to finally have you here.”

Ginn only forced a smile as she sat awkwardly in the chair. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, taking in every detail she could. the shelves behind Mr Windsor mostly held the textbooks this school studied. Two of the four shelves held the textbooks. one held a collection of frames, some holding pictures of what Ginn assumed to be Windsor’s family, other holding certificates. One was a certification of first aid, one an inclusivity certificate, another being Windsor’s degree in teaching. The inclusivity certificate intrigued Ginn, as she knew for a fact that this school was pretty exclusive.

‘Guess it’s for everything except class.’ She thought to herself.

The final shelf held folders, ordered by category. The first was labelled ‘Enrolment’. The second was labelled ‘Disciplinary Reports’. The third was ‘Human Resources’. The fourth one was what Mr Windsor pulled off the shelf and flicked through. It was labelled ‘Inclusive Support’. Yay.

“So, Miss Ranger-” Ginn interrupted Windsor.

“Call me Ginn.” She said quickly and sheepishly, shoving her hands under her legs to avoid her usually gesturing that annoyed so many adults. “I prefer just Ginn.”

“Ok then.” Mr Windsor peered over the top on his reading glasses, unhappy with the interruption. “Ginn. Your old school transferred us your files and records last week, and I feel we must discuss some things before you head to classes.”

Ginn bit her lip and nodded. She had always gotten pretty good scores in lessons, but she was by far the favourite student to any teacher she ever had. She had a tendency to speak her mind, even when out of terms. Especially then, actually. She also did not have the best track record when it came to peer relations. Most of her past incidents were not her fault, but she had to claim some as her own doing. What could she say? She knows how to stick up for herself.

“These records say you are a very smart young girl, you could thrive in an academic environment, if provided with the right resources. This is why our scholarship program chose you to be our first representative of the… less fortunate.” Windsor hesitated with that last part. He really needed to brush up on his appropriate language book.

‘Just say I’m poor and move on.’ Ginn thought to herself.

“However,” the dreaded sentence conjunctive. “You do have a worrying amount of negative peer relations reports. I must tell you, Ginn. Fighting is strictly prohibited on the campus of this school.”

Ginn let her voice take the lead. “What’s your stance on fighting in self-defence? Mine is that is fine to fight, as long as you don’t start it. Pretty sure those records say that’s what I did.”

Oh dear. She really should have thought before speaking.

Windsor looked exasperated. Ginn was clearly not the first wise crack he had dealt with. “I believe anything can be sorted with the right words. As long as it is reported, it will be dealt with.”

“What about the times it can’t be reported?” Ginn’s voice deepened as she became serious. “That’s what happened in my experience. I couldn’t report it, and if I could, nothing happened, so I sorted it myself. Sure you wont have to worry though. This doesn’t exactly seem like the place where fights happen.”

Windsor chuckled and nodded. “You are an interesting young lady, miss- Ginn. I’m sure you will fit in with the class I have placed you in. All of your teachers have been informed of your mental heath and learning difficulties, as per your request.”

Ginn hated how that was phrased, but she thanked him anyway. ‘Gotta try and be polite’, after all.

“I have assigned a young man to help guide you around school as you settle in.” Oh no. forced interaction. “He should be outside now.”

as Windsor finished his sentence, the phone device on his desk beeped, and the voice of the receptionist through the door sounded out, saying ‘a Mr Peterson was here to see Headmaster Windsor.’ Windsor told the receptionist to send him in, and the device buzzed, causing Ginn to cringe. That sound was horrible!

Before she could fully recover, the door opened behind her and a boy around her age walked in. He had pale white skin, with bright blond hair, shaved at the sides and combed over, the parting favouring the right side of his head. His eyes were cornflower blue, shining and bright. He had a small, wonky smile on his face as he greeted the headmaster and took a seat on Ginn’s right side.

“This is Alex Peterson. He will be, what we call, your class escort.” Windsor introduced the boy to Ginn, and the boy turned to Ginn and smiled, offering his hand to shake, which she just looked at nodded to him. Windsor broke the awkward tension between the two and continued. “He will show you around until you are comfortable with your surroundings.”

Ginn hated this idea. She could see why they implemented it, many people would want it, but she was not one of those people. She would much rather just figure it out on her own, even if it meant being late to all her classes.

“The bell is about to ring. You two should head off now.” Windsor gestured to the door, and the two teens picked up their bags and walked out.

 “So…” The boy, Alex, said, drawing out the ‘O’ sound. “Can I see your schedule? Just so I know for sure where you are?”

Ginn wordlessly shoved the piece of paper into Alex’s hand, still avoiding eye contact with him. Alex shot her a strange look, realising this was going to be so much harder than he originally thought. He did think she would be quiet, being new and all, but dang.

“Cool, you’re in mine and my friend’s form.” he handed back the paper to the new girl and started walking, being closely followed by her. “You’ll like Mr Caxton, he’s fun.”

Ginn hummed in response. God, she was not making it easy for Alex.

The bell rang and Ginn tensed, her shoulders squaring, and her fists clenching. Another loud, irritating noise. This school was just made to make her uncomfortable.

Unfortunately, Alex had noticed her reaction to the sound. “You ok? It’s just the bell, no need to worry.” he chuckled.

“Fine.” Ginn grumbled through gritted teeth. She started storming off down the corridor without a plan, and luckily Alex jogged to catch up to her before she reached the turning point.

Alex desperately wanted to break the awkward air between them, but did not know how. This girl seemed tense, understandably, as she seemed quite strange to the standards of this school, so he did not know how to approach anything with her.

“So… where you from?” Alex asked, trying to study her body language. She walked like she was trying to look tough, as well as be silent in her steps. She succeeded on both aspects as she definitely looked intimidating, and her steps barely echoed around the halls.

Ginn subtly looked Alex up and down, figuring out his motive, in both the question and with helping her. He stood straight and proud, taller than her by a good few inches. Although, that wasn’t hard, as Ginn was only 5”3’. She estimated him to be about 5”9’, and she guessed he still had room to grow. He was looking at her expectantly with a small smile, his blue eyes shining in curiosity. She could see no malice in his wonderment, so she answered.

“Liverpool.” She said, bluntly. To be exact, she lived in a small terrace house, in Roscoe Street, very close to her primary school, Pleasant Street Primary. Ginn had hopped around several high schools in the past four years, so she couldn’t say how far she lived from them. She did not live in a great area, but it was close to the city centre, and she always felt safe there with her parents. She missed Liverpool.

Alex nodded, biting the inside of his mouth in mild frustration at Ginn’s refusal so converse. “Cool. Good city. What brought you to London then?”

“Family stuff.”

The two sighed, knowing that conversation was not going to happen right now.

 The two arrived at the classroom after everyone else had arrived and sat down. Alex greeted the teacher with a cheerful ‘good morning’ and he sat down on a table for four, with two other boys, whom he greeted and immediately started chatting and laughing with. The boy sitting next to him had slightly more tanned skin than Alex, but he was still quite pale. He had neat, honey brown hair, with a full fringe that was cut just under his eyebrows, the top of head was thick with hair facing forwards, and what Ginn estimated as one inch clipped shaving around the rest of his head. His eyes were forest green, thoughtfully staring at Alex as he spoke, but also at someone on the other side of the room Ginn couldn’t locate. The other boy had his back to Ginn, but from what she could see, he had dark, sun kissed skin, and the only messy head of mahogany brown hair she had seen in this school. Well, there was an order to this mess, unlike the mess that sat on her own head. His hair was methodically spiked up, then brushed forward. He appeared to have every portion of his hair cut to a similar length, apart from the front.

Ginn heard her name and she turned, seeing the teacher beckoning her towards his desk. she walked over, head down.

“You must be Miss Ranger!” Oh god, he was perky. “Now, I like to ask before I start teaching new students, if you don’t mind, what would you like me to call you, and what pronouns shall I use for you? And are they the same in class, privately, and in front of other adults?”

Ginn blinked at the sudden questions as she let her mind catch up with her ears. “Just Ginn, thanks. Female pronouns, all the time.” She said quietly.

“Perfect.” Mr Caxton smiled softly at Ginn, then continued. “I have been told of the support you require, so don’t be afraid to approach me any time!”

Ginn felt extremely awkward, biting her lower lip, and nodding, avoiding eye contact. She always hated it when her personal stuff was brought up by other people. She knew they were only trying to help, but it never helped Ginn. all she did was nod.

“Ok, so everyone in this class has their seat. I had everyone choose to sit somewhere at the beginning of the year and that is where they sit for the rest of the year. The only available seat is across from your guide, Alex. Go sit down, and we’ll start up, ok?”

Ginn glanced over at the table of three boys. She would be sitting next to the dark-skinned boy. He looked like the more energetic person in the trio. Freaking fabulous. At least the seat was on the left side, so she wouldn’t be bumping elbows with the seemingly right-handed boy.

Ginn had nothing against boys. Truly, she didn’t. She was just very insular, and teenage boys tended to be pretty rambunctious. She also didn’t exactly have a perfect track record with relations. Not just with boys, girls too. But, well, Ginn’s short, slim stature was not a good match up when she fought with boys. Luckily, she is quick, so at least she has that going for her.

She sighed and walked over to the table, unslinging her bag off her shoulder and sat down, immediately leaning on her hand and staring at the floor. She dazed, and started thinking about what she could draw. She thought of characters from tales she enjoyed, and she started moving her finger on one spot of the table, mimicking drawing. This was something she did when uncomfortable. Actually drawing is much better, but she hated showing others her stuff, so rarely drew when sitting at a table with strangers. Or classmates, as she should call them.

the three boys had noticed Ginn sitting down, and turned to her to smile and greet her, but she was avoiding all eye contact. Alex shrugged, realising this was going to be his week. Boy to Ginn’s right decided to break the awkward silence by introducing himself.

He went to speak, nudging her first to get he attention, but before he could speak, she jumped at the sudden touch, tensing her shoulders and clenched her fists, straightening her back and gasping lightly. Her duel coloured eyes stayed locked staring forwards, and she took a few breaths before she snapped her head to look at the boy and growl, “What?”

Now she could see his face, she took in his features. He looked nervous, likely due to Ginn’s aggressive nature. He had warm, russet brown eyes that where currently wide in shock. He was handsome, with a square jaw, and strong cheekbones. His mouth was tight in shock at her reaction. Luckily for him, he recovered quickly. His eyes softened into a more relaxed form, and his tight mouth morphed into a cool side smile.

“Hey,” his voice was smooth and joyous. Enjoyable to Ginn’s ears. Wait what? “I’m Martin Williams. This is George Groden, and you’ve met Alex. It seems like we’re desk mates!”

Ginn struggled to relax her muscles from the sudden touch. She swallowed and forced her hands to open as she shoved them under her thighs. Her voice was failing her, so she just looked back at the table and nodded, humming ‘mm hmm’.

The boy, Martin, made eye contact with the other two, concerned by the reaction. He decided to pry a little, tying to get Ginn out of her shell. “Ginn, right? Interesting name, never heard it before. Where’s it come from?”

Ginn was shocked by the question. Usually when people found out about her name, they made a joke about alcoholic parents, or threw out guesses as to what it was short for. Her name was Ginn. Not Ginera, or Ginevra, or even Geneva, shockingly. This question made Ginn happy, and her vocal cords decided to work.

“It’s a combination of Gill and Finn.” Ginn kept her head down but was smiling lightly for the first time in a while. “Gill was my mum’s mum, and Finn was dad’s dad. They wanted to honour both of them, so it was either Ginn or Fill, and Ginn was pretty gender neutral.”

She huffed in amusement at that last bit. the story of her naming was always interesting to her, especially when you think of the whole story of a young pregnant woman and her husband staring at each other, trying to make the other back down, until they came to the compromise of combining the names.

“That’s cool!” Martin said, enthusiastically. “You have such an interesting story! I’m just names after my grandad!”

Ginn smiled, amused by the boy’s excitement.

Before they could continue, the teacher cleared his throat and started the lesson. It was English. This was not the best subject for Ginn due to her dyslexia, but she had a creative mind, and enjoyed story telling, so it wasn’t so bad. Well, unless they were reading old stuff, like Shakespeare or Jane Austen, they were utter torture for Ginn’s brain. Sadly, that is exactly what they were doing. Romeo and Juliet, to be exact. They started the lesson reading the play, the characters being assigned to a random assortment of students. Ginn struggled to follow along as they worked, not understanding anything they were saying. The words were floating around the page, lines and letters flipping and swapping place, it was giving her a headache. It didn’t help that the most dramatic character in the play, Mercutio, was being voiced by Martin, who was slowly becoming more and more dramatic in his reading, his movements rocking the table, making reading even harder for her.

After they had finished the first four scenes, Mr Caxton instructed the class to discuss them as a table. Ginn was thankful for this as she could finally rest her eyes for a minute. She rubbed her eyes and led her hands up to brush her hair up out of her face, letting it fall how it wanted, which was apparently not in front of her eyes. She looked at the trio of boys expectantly, waiting for a conversation to start, when she noticed they were all staring at her. Alex looked shocked, staring curiously, eyes switching between each of her eyes. George seemed curious, one eyebrow raised, and a small smile spread on his lips. Martin was far too excited for Ginn’s taste.

“Woah!! You have heterochromia?!” He said far too loud. “That’s so cool!”

Ginn quickly dipped her head and brushed her fringe over her brown eye, feeling her face flush red.

“If you say so...” She muttered under her breath.

This conversation was clearly going nowhere, much to the dismay of the three boys. Ginn was obviously not a conversation person, and the boys were not interested in discussing Shakespeare, so decided to further press.

“You don’t think so?” George questioned.

“Let’s just say it’s not my favourite thing about myself.” Ginn grumbled, shooting them a sarcastic and awkward smile. The boys shared a look, all expressing different thoughts and emotions. Martin locked eyes with his friends, then looked at Ginn quickly, and back at them, wiggling his eyebrows and smirking. The boys shot him warning looks, but he ignored it, turning around to look at Ginn, leaning his elbow on the table and putting his head on his hand, wearing his flirtatious, lopsided smirk.

“Well,” He said, making Ginn look us at him. Once she saw his face, she huffed, rolling her eyes, and looked back down at her work. “I think they are beautiful, completing the gorgeous image you hold all over.”

Ginn felt panic rise in her chest. She had never been complimented like that before from the mouth of someone who... had little to no obvious ill intentions. This boy did not seem to be particularly threatening, but still, Ginn could not be help but be wary. She clenched her fist around her pen in panic, as her defence mechanisms snapped into position.

“Say anything like that again,” She turned and glared at Martin through her hair. “And I break your hand.”

Martin tensed up, squeaking in fear as his arm slipped off the table in surprise. Ginn did not break eye contact, however, needing to maintain her tough exterior.

“Well ok then.” He squeaked. Pleased with herself, Ginn looked back down at her work, deciding to do the work herself. The boys fell silent and just did the work, quietly discussing Shakespeare out of fear for their hands.

At the end of the class, after a long lesson of awkward silence between the four tablemates, the boys packed up and met with Elsie and Louise. Ginn had rushed out of the classroom a lot quicker that the others, so Alex had already failed at his job of making sure she was ok. This was going to be a rough day.

 The final class of the day was P.E. Luckily for Ginn, sport was something she excelled in. Unluckily for Ginn, she had to get changed in front of other people, which was less than ideal.

Alex instructed her to follow Louise and Elsie to the girls’ changing rooms. Ginn kept her head down and shuffled along with the other girls as they chatted, complaining about the lesson they were going into.

“P.E. sucks, I hate it so much!” Louise groaned, dramatically. “I mean, I like exercise, but the structure of P.E. is so messy, and its so boring!”

“I know!” Agreed Elsie. “It’s even worse right now, doing those weird drill things.”

Ginn perked up at that comment. If they were anything like the ones she used to do in Cadets, she was golden! She didn’t look at the other girls, but she did smile and huff in satisfaction.

“You like P.E., Ginn?” Said Louise, sounding surprised. The girl looked Ginn up and down quizzically. She did not exactly fit the typical description of a fit girl. She looked very skinny, but Louise guessed that was mainly due to her oversized uniform.

Ginn hesitated with her answer, wondering how to answer without sounding weird. “Yeah, kind of. I like exercise, and I’m used to pretty strict sessions, so nothing really bothers me much anymore.”

The other girls seemed satisfied with her answer luckily.

After only moments, the three girls had reached the girls’ changing room. As the tried to find a free section of bench to place their bags and clothes, Ginn was silently praying that no one would pay attention to her so she could change and slip out unnoticed. She utterly hated changing in public. Sadly, her prayers were not answered, as the only available space was on a bench in the middle of the room, with a group of chatty girls surrounding it. Perfect. The three set down their bags and started undressing, quickly swapping from blouse to P.E. polo shirt. Ginn was particularly mad about their easy method of swapping from skirt to shorts without presenting their underwear; slipping the shorts on under their skirts, then taking off the skirt from above. Ginn, wearing trousers, had no such luxury, so had to take advantage of her too big shirt and take off her trousers, hoping they would cover her behind as she slipped the shorts on. Now for the bit she dreaded: changing from shirt to polo. She wanted to do this as quickly as possible, but struggled due to her ever growing anxiety. She slipped off her tie and unbuttoned her shirt, then readied her polo shirt to be the correct way to slip on as soon as she rid her back of it’s professional cotton attire. Quickly, she took off the shirt, and immediately heard what she feared.

Louise and Elsie had gasped, quietly. They had finished changing and lacing up their trainers, and were waiting for Ginn to finish changing so they could walk out together, and happened to glance up when they saw her take off her shirt. The two girls were sitting on Ginn’s right, so they could see what Ginn was worried about clear as day. Right across her back, from the bottom of her shoulder blade, creeping up to the top curve of her right shoulder, were two long, pale, jagged, and bumpy scars. They looked awful, and the two girls were certain that they were from a horrible incident from a long time ago. This scared them, as they worried about Ginn’s safety and current situation.

Before they could say anything, Ginn tugged her polo shirt over her head, hiding the scars before anyone could ask questions, or, god forbid, anyone else saw them. Louise opened her mouth to speak. She was not sure what she would say, but it was instinct. Before she could make a sound, however, Ginn shot her a warning glare, her blue eye shining like a lightning storm, her amber eye shimmering like a raging fire. Her lips were tight and eyebrows knitted in a tight V-shape. Her ginger hair had fallen before her face, blocking the light from reaching her face, only making the looming pit of aggression in Ginn’s aura stronger. Her fists were tight. Louise only just realised the new girl’s flat and scarred knuckles. Louise immediately shut her mouth. She offered an awkward, slightly scared smile, but Ginn just straightened her back, slipped on her battered old trainers, and started towards the door. Louise and Elsie shared a concerned look, then darted up and dashed to keep up with Ginn, who had suddenly developed a quick, strong stride.

Once all of the students had gathered in the sports hall, the P.E. teacher, Mr Dullan, called registration and introduced the aim of today’s class. The class knew they would not like this lesson. Mr Dullen was clearly in a bad mood, he was completely stiff and glaring at everyone who made eye contact with him. Ginn was not happy when he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to face him when she marched into the hall, so he could interrogate her about who she was. He seemed satisfied after a full 30 seconds of comparing her to the ID picture that was on his register. But, this was a respectable school that definitely would not accept her doing what she wanted to do at that moment, and tuition was far too expensive for her to be kicked out on her first day, so she let it go.

“Ok, everyone!” Mr Dullen shouted, making a huge, distracting echo ring around the room. Ginn knew she would barely be able to understand him immediately. “I don’t want to deal with teaching you all today, so you’re just going to do run laps around the school grounds all lesson.”

The entire class groaned and started quietly complaining to themselves and their friends. Well, all except Ginn, who enjoyed running. Also, the echo in this room was getting to her, and she was finding it hard to concentrate. She silently thanked every deity she knew of that the run was outside.

“Alright, alright, quit the complaining!” Mr Dullen yelled, making Ginn bunch up the hem of her polo shirt in her hand to squeeze. She found early on that this was a better coping mechanism than her automatic reaction, which was covering her ears and gripping locks of hair and pulling. Distractions from bad noises are always oh so fun. Mr Dullen carried on, interrupting Ginn’s thoughts, “Everyone get your butts outside!”

The crowd of grumbling students headed towards the doors leading to the yard so they could start the run. Before Ginn could disappear into the crowd and go off to enjoy her run, Louise had grabbed her wrist and started to speak.

“Hey, are you ok? We should talk abo—”

“Do not touch me!” Ginn growled, ripping her hand away from Louise, immediately marching off in a strong, quick pace.

As soon as she set foot on the outside area of the school grounds and witnessed part of the crowd all heading in the same direction, she started her rounds of the school with a light jog, preparing her body and lungs for a long, pleasant run. She really needed to calm her mind, after everything that had happened today, especially in the last few minutes.

 Louise was incredibly confused by that reaction. She had noticed Ginn tense up and ball her shirt in her fist, and she knew Ginn had not calmed down from whatever emotion she was feeling after presenting those scars in the changing rooms.

“What was that about?” George said, the four friends walking up to Louise so they could walk the laps of the grounds together.

“She’s seemed pretty tense all day.” Alex offered. “Maybe you just scared her and she reacted.”

She definitely has something she’s hiding.” Elsie said, as the group wondered outside and started walking. “She had two huge scars on her back. She got real tense, more than usual, when we saw them.”

“Let’s go find out what’s up with her.” Louise said, determination in her voice. Then, she sounded unsure. “If we can catch up to her...”

Ginn was no where to be seen as they walked their round. They knew this because Ginn was extremely noticeable in the crowd of students, being one of the only people in the school with ginger hair. She was even more noticeable because her hair was messy and choppily cut short, and her P.E. kit, like her uniform, was too big and looked it. They walked quickly around the grounds, talking and looking around. Ginn was nowhere to be seen.

“She must actually be running.” Martin shrugged. “That girl is an enigma.”

“An enigma you’re crushing on!” Alex said teasingly, elbowing his friend in the side and laughing.

“Shut up!” Martin pushed Alex to the side, a crimson blush rising in his cheeks. “I am not!”

“Then what was that comment in the changing room about?” George smirked and raised and eyebrow.

“Ok!” Martin’s dramatic flare revealed itself as dramatically waved his hand in the air and pointing at nothing in particular. “You have to admit, she is quite pretty!”

Martin stared a the group, waiting expectantly for their response, to which he got a couple nods, but mostly just looks of ‘my dear boy, calm yourself’.

The group continued to walk around the school grounds, giving up on searching for the strange new girl, she was far gone and they could not see her at all. The lesson went by relatively quickly, the group only lapping the school once and only going another 20 yards before Mr Dullen blew his whistle and called everyone into the changing rooms five minutes before the final bell rang. The five friends wondered back into the school, avoiding the stares of disapproval from Mr Dullen.

Louise and Elsie were slowly changing out of their kits when Ginn finally appeared by their side. She was sweating slightly, despite the November chill outside, and her breaths were long, quick, and laboured. As expected, she did not greet the girls, she just started changing, first preparing her shirt to be quickly thrown on after she removed her polo. Louise and Elsie tried not to look at her, feeling her haste and discomfort with being around people after what happened earlier. However, Louise is a pretty stubborn girl, so waited for Ginn to finish changing before she confronted her.

“Hey, where were you all class?” Louise tried to keep her voice perky and welcoming, rather than the interrogating tone she almost used. “we were looking for you when you ran off.”

Ginn let out a small growl of annoyance. “Ahead of everyone. Just needed to run.”

She removed her shorts, her shirt covering her underwear, and slipped on her trousers, then sat down to put on her school shoes. She never looked at Louise. Not that that was expected. This girl is so strange.

“You must be quick then!” Louise laughed lightly. Ginn just hummed. “It’s pretty impressive, running is pretty hard.”

This made Ginn’s head snap up, shooting Louise a confused look. “How is it hard?”

Louise and Elsie shared an amused look. Elsie laughed lightly and said, “You know, keeping pace without losing your breath, stuff like that.”

Ginn hummed thoughtfully whilst finishing up lacing her shoes. Once she was done, she stood and picked up her bag, just in time for the final bell to ring. Ginn attempted to supress her cringe at the sound, but her efforts were in vane, as the other two girls noticed. Luckily for Ginn, all they did was share a look and stand with their bags.

“Not sure I follow, but ok.” Ginn broke the silence, starting to walk out alone. However, Louise and Elise had other plans, both speeding to catch up to her and standing on either side.

“You’re a real enigma, you know?” Louise chuckled. That was apparently the wrong thing to say, as Ginn glared at her, a quiet and low growl echoing from the bottom of her throat. Her eyes raged, like a fearsome lightning storm and a blazing fire. Even though she is a very small person, Ginn knew how to make herself look large and terrifying.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Erm... well, I... I just meant that you, well,” Louise stuttered and squeaked, as if she were learning how to speak again. “I just mean that you’re, you know, pretty mysterious...”

Ginn grunted and said something like ‘that’s the point’ as she stormed off, out of the building and around the corner towards the front gates, not to be seen again that day.

“Well, you kinda fucked that one up, huh?” Elsie chortled anxiously.

“Thanks for helping there Els. Come on, let’s just go find the boys.”

Alex, George, and Martin exited the boys changing room a few minutes later. The girls explained what happened as they walked out of the school and back home. The only thing they could all agree on when it came to Ginn: She would be very difficult to befriend.

#no war au #rangers alive au #ginn ranger #Alex Peterson #george groden #martin williams #louise mitchel #elsie brown

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

#ACLA24 #ACLA24HighSchoolStudents #youtube #youtube video #climate leaders #climate solutions #climate action #climate and environment #climate #climate change #climate and health #climate blog #climate justice #climate news #weather and climate #environmental news #environment #environmental awareness #environment and health #environmental #environmental issues #environmental education #environmental justice #environmental protection #environmental health #high school students #high school #youth #youth of america #school

[jeichanhaka]

The Robbed That Smiles

Chapter Thirteen

Rubbing the edges of his forehead, a vein on one side popping out slightly, Mordo staggered a bit. The spell he’d just used had taken its toll, both in the casting of it and in the effort expended to keep its source contained. As though responding to his temporary weakened state, a bunch of chains rattled behind him: the power source of his spell struggling to free itself.

Wrapped in chains of forged metal and magics, and sealed in a space within which a constant binding spell was in effect, was Vision. Barely conscious and warded back with potent magic and beyond human technology, the sentient android who had once been simply an A.I created by Stark, looked up at Mordo. Exhausted and unable to speak after the wizard leeched power from him for his spell, Vision could only scowl.

“I take it, you’re finished?” Came another voice, its owner stepping forward with an air of arrogance. The haughtiness developed over years of believing everyone around you was a fool. “I assume this makes up for the upset I caused your plans?”

Still standing nearby the prison housing Vision, Mordo shifted his gaze from the android to the other man. “Only if you stick to your promise to keep your machinations from ruining my plans again, Dr. Pendrick.”

“Of course.” Pendrick replied, his countenance still smug though his voice sounded contrite. At least briefly. “Are you sure you don’t want to do a tiny thing for me? A favor that’d surely be child’s play for someone with your capabilities.”

Studying the other man, particularly his arrogant posture and demeanor, with a reproachful eye, Mordo said nothing. His attention turned back to the imprisoned Avenger and the binds entrapping the fellow. The power, ingenuity, and tech behind the contraption unnerved the wizard. The mere presence of alien technology being used in it pointed towards Pendrick’s ambitions being more than what the wizard had first assumed. More dangerous. Schooling his unease from showing on his face, Mordo turned away. Not towards Pendrick, but towards a heavily bolted door.

Inscribed with an array of lettering resembling sanskrit in certain ways but completely alien in others, the door drew the sorcerer’s eye. It would attract anyone’s eye - an imposing, heavy metal door sealed in what amounted to a laboratory dungeon would spark curiosity in anyone. Even without the incantation-esque writing drawn around it or the particular microchip-wire design superimposed beneath said lettering.

“...what is it you had in mind?” Mordo turned back to Pendrick and asked, his voice and posture composed. Neutral and noncommittal. Pendrick half-smiled at that, but didn’t answer the other. Instead glancing from the sorcerer back to the imprisoned Vision, but without focusing on the Avenger. It was the binds that got his attention, not the sentient android.

Pendrick continued staring at the binds and muttered. “Nothing this moment. I simply wanted to know if you’d be open to aiding me, if I ever request it. If you have qualms or doubts of any sort or think you will, then our business is concluded.”

��You haven’t mentioned what you wanted. How can I decide if you haven’t even said what….”

“You either agree to help or you leave. Simple as that. With what - that I’ll reveal when you’ve agreed.” Pendrick continued, waiting for Mordo’s answer. “Before you dismiss me outright though, may I suggest you mull over how I captured this marvel of sentience before us,” He gestured towards Vision. “...despite the power it possessed and ask yourself: is your magic on par with an Infinity Stone?”

“Infinity Stone?” Mordo muttered, staring at Pendrick with a wary glint in his gaze. The other man simply returned the stare, the ghost of a smug smile tugging at his lips. A hundred or so seconds passed in silence as neither man spoke, just kept focused on their spur-of-the-moment staring contest. The wizard broke first, briefly glancing away and grimacing at their surroundings before addressing Pendrick. “...when did he contact you?”

Pendrick tilted his head, his arms folded in front of him. His body language feigned bewilderment while his eyes lit up with understanding. “He? Who are you talking about?”

Mordo glowered at the scientist, ready to portal the other man into a worse place than Rogers and the soldiers. “Deny it if you want, I know he contacted you.” The wizard paused, waiting for the other man to reply. When no response was forthcoming aside from a raised eyebrow, he continued. “He’s the only one who could have provided you with all this alien magic and tech.” The wizard muttered almost under his breath and gestured around at their surroundings, a dour expression on his face.

Pendrick eyed the wizard wordlessly and took his time to mull over the other’s words. He turned away from Mordo, his expression losing none of its smugness. “If you know that much, you realize going against me is ill advised. As is not aiding me in my endeavors.” The threat in the scientist’s words hung heavily over the other. Despite that, Mordo scowled and clenched his jaw tighter.

~0~

Sitting in a room that was little larger than an economy-sized walk in freezer, Finley Morfield attempted to calm his racing pulse by taking a few deep breaths. The composure he’d shown during his meeting with Thor and Strange nonexistent. Yesterday he had his government position to protect him and the guaranteed backing of at least a few senior agents and officials to circumvent any fallout. After all, his actions and decisions had all been to secure the country against the mischief god, and any other possible threat.

Now though…

With the attack on the Sanctum having failed to secure Loki while also resulting in some US soldiers going missing, the ‘guaranteed’ backing he had counted on was untenable. Even the senior officials who wouldn’t be bothered by his failure would likely refuse him any support now, considering his past in Hydra was likely now known to the Avengers. His superiors and fellow agents in the Mediation and Evasive Defense department had already known about it when he was brought in, full-disclosure of his past having been a requirement of the deal he struck to avoid being tried with other ex-Hydra. But most others did not.

Something that was certain to change now that the Avengers - especially Stark - knew. And it wouldn’t matter that he was now as anti-Hydra as the billionaire inventor. He was screwed.

-“I see you decided to take advantage of the accommodations.” Said Stark over the speaker system, his voice coming from just under the surveillance camera in the top left corner of the room. “Unfortunate. I actually liked that chair.”-

Morfield clenched his jaw at the comment and its implied meaning, but made no protest. Three years ago or if anyone else had made the comment, he might have and had actually done so a few times, but not now. He understood the Avenger’s irate.

-“No comment? Huh. No protest that since your reasons for working for Hydra were financial that my comment is inappropriate? That you’re not like those who actually believed in its doctrine?”-

“No.” Morfield replied. “You can say and make whatever comments you want. I did work for those bastards once so I deserve it.”

-“Huh.” Muttered Stark and there were a handful of seconds of silence over the speakers, during which Morfield assumed the Avenger was either assessing him or communicating with his fellow Avengers. Judging by the scathing vocal tone the billionaire used, Morfield wouldn’t have been surprised if the other had assumed he’d defend his past. Or denied it mattered. “You’re not like what I expected. You actually sound...”-

“Contrite? Regretful?” Morfield finished the other’s sentence.

-“‘Genuine’ was what I was about to say.” There was another pause, this time with static and ruffling noises coming over the speakers, signs that Stark hadn’t bothered muting his end this time. The silence lasted upwards to two minutes before the Avenger spoke again, and when he did, his demeanor was slightly changed. “Agent Morfield, the current director of SHIELD has already given authority to my team to interrogate you. According to SHIELD and your department’s head, you weren’t authorized to do anything but negotiate with Thor about his brother....”-

“Negotiation was getting nowhere.” Morfield growled, glowering at the camera. “It was clear neither the thunder god nor the wizard were being impartial, despite evidence, to the threat of Loki having the….”

-“Thor’s brother doesn’t have the Tesseract.” The billionaire interrupted gruffly, his voice seeping with displeasure. “Believe me, I’d be the first in line to lock Loki up if he did. He doesn’t have it.”-

“Then the liar god has you fooled and if you can’t see that….”

-“Fucking shut up.” Spat Stark, the anger in his voice striking even over the intercom speakers. “Your buddies’ attack on the Sanctum almost caused fatal injuries to a pregnant guest staying there. And it seems one of your colleagues was a hitman sent specifically to target her.” The Avenger paused and watched through the surveillance camera as Morfield paled.-

“Pregnant? Rains’ target is pregnant?” Morfield’s eyes widened, horror lightening his cheeks. ‘Is that why Mordo deviated? Qualms against harming an innocent?’

-“Curious. You genuinely seem horrified.” Drawled Stark, disbelief coloring his voice along with spite. And an undercurrent of rage, one that quickly flared up as he continued. “Too bad your Hydra buddies two years ago didn’t have the same sympathies. I’d still have a daughter.”-

Morfield started, the horror in his countenance shifting to shock mixed with repugnance. As well as the first real glimmer of regret in his eyes. The topic change was swift, but he understood what the other man alluded to. “My Hydra buddies? I left those bastards several years ago. I testified against and outed many of them. I….” He sucked in a breath, realizing fully what Stark had assumed and what the man didn’t know. “You think I’m working for them again. I...you haven’t read my file, yet. The one kept by SHIELD’s director and Homeland Security.”

-“I plan to after we finish our chat. I admit I am interested in how you hoodwinked….”-

“I haven’t hoodwinked anyone! I hate Hydra the same as you. Similar reason too. That’s why I joined the department of Mediation and Evasive Defenses.” Morfield seethed, the anger in his voice as vehement as Stark’s. “Those cowards kidnapped and killed my nephew two years ago, same as your daughter and so many other children. If you think for one second that I’m working for them now or that….” The agent trailed off, his gray eyes livid. His fists clenched tightly, his nails nearly breaking the skin of his palms. He heard a click as Stark muted his side of the intercom system, allowing a heavy silence to permeate through the room. It lasted a while, long enough for the quiet to become uncomfortable and for Morfield to flinch when static came from the speaker. He settled himself and watched the camera, expectant for the Avenger to resume his interrogation.

An alarm trilled from over the intercom instead, killing the silence and causing Morfield to jump out of his chair.

~0~

“Really?” Loki muttered as the fifth door shut in his face and the deli’s owner locked and bolted the door. Four other places he had tried before this one: one corner store, one grocery, and two restaurants. None of them would serve him or allow him to step inside, not one of the owners even waited for him to explain what he wanted before sealing their entrances.

It would be simple work to break in, of course, his illusion magic alone would provide an easy way to work around the Midgardians’ stubbornness. Or he could strongarm his way in, using his godlike strength to coerce the mortals. But that would lead to the Avengers getting on his case once they found out. While using illusion magic to disguise himself just to shop...enraged him. Over the past year he had cultivated a rapport with these five particular businesses, having gotten fed up with being viewed with fear and suspicion.

Having put in the effort to build rapport with these mortals, being forced to use his illusion magic to trick them was irritating. What point was there to cultivating goodwill if it didn’t benefit him when he needed it? To make things more irritating, until a short while ago, these business owners were open to him. Allowing him unfettered use of their stores and to buy either with Midgardian currency or through ‘quid pro quo’ arrangements.

It was obvious to him what this sudden refusal of theirs to serve him stemmed from: The Statue. Whether his switcheroo or Strange’s was uncertain, but it was the only significant thing that would warrant their ostracisation of the god.

“After I helped….” Loki scowled, backing away from the door after briefly considering magically locking the deli and imprisoning its owner. Instead he glanced at the apartment windows above the deli, a vindictive smirk spreading over his lower face when he saw the window to the deli owner’s apartment was open. “Mrs. Watts, your delightful oaf of a spouse has been seeing that red-headed floozy from the bar again. Just this week. You know the one - thirty years younger than you with the ginormous…”

There was a loud screech as the deli owner’s wife heard him, the sound as harsh and vehement as a harpy and followed by the thump of a door swung violently open. Loki grinned and walked off, paying little mind to the spat his words had triggered. He had already caused similar fusses at each of the other four places after being ignored. Ranging from reporting terrible sanitary conditions to revealing money laundering and cheating - each tidbit having come to his knowledge through his quid pro quo arrangements with the businesses’ owners. (It was curious how little these Midgardians cared to hide things from him, even those whose arrangement with him hadn’t included help concealing their lies.)

‘That’s done. Now where to get Selfie something to eat?’ Loki searched around, strolling down the sidewalk. His smile smaller as his focus switched back to finding his doppelganger sustenance. ‘Something healthy yet tasty….’

Stopping abruptly outside a random storefront, the mischief god frowned. His eyes narrowed and he made no effort to move, a curious sensation running up and down his spine. Similar to what the Midgardians would describe as a chill, he recognized the touch of non-Midgardian magic. More interestingly, he picked up traces of Vanaheim derived seidr along with Jotunheim frost. And hints of something else, more sinister, that made him want to bristle.

He settled instead on deepening his frown and eyeing the storefront window, taking advantage of the glass and lighting to watch the reflection of his surroundings.

“It’d be best not to resist.” Said a voice, one familiar and whose owner stepped close enough into view for Loki to see them reflected in the window. The trickster god’s stare grew livid and wary seeing his interloper, even more so when the other’s partners stepped into view. “Now be a good little god and give us the Tesseract.”

Loki scowled, leering at those approaching him through the reflective glass. The main intruder, the one that had spoken to him, hung back though while his two partners neared the god. Curiosity colored Loki’s gaze, lessening the expression of his anger and his wariness. “...you and your master have been busy.” Said the mischief god, turning around to face those that had approached him. One was adorned in metal armor embellished with rune designs that were rarely seen outside Vanaheim and were rife with seidr energy. The other was a male Jotunn, sparsely armored and towering over them in height, although he was average size for his race. Neither of them were known to Loki, though judging by the clan markings he bore, the Jotunn was one of Laufey’s kin. Loki scowled.

“Of course. Thanos’ vision for the universe is not something to be halted forever. Even by the setback three years ago.” Ebony Maw paused and stood calmly in the middle of the street, completely unfazed by the angry and confused humans shouting at him. A few of the human onlookers scurried off, either through instinct or from recognizing Loki and realizing something dangerous was about to happen. Most did not though.

“Setback? A...oh.” Loki drew his lips into a grin, one subdued and mirthless; the rest of his face bearing a rigid, regal countenance. Identical to the airs he put on while imprisoned in Asgard, and equal in obscuring his actual emotions. ‘The Tesseract.’ His lips pressed into a thinner line, a heavy frown that masked his rising trepidation. ‘Of course. They wanted it and I left it on Asgard to be destroyed…’ He grimaced and pulled his jaw taut. ‘I really should’ve just bloody taken the thing.’

“Hand over the Tesseract. Denial is futile. We know it’s on this planet.” Said the Vanaheim battle mage, brandishing a heavy spiked mace that was laden with seidr. Either an adult female or young male judging by the voice, the armored stranger closed the remaining space between themself and the mischief god. Ebony Maw hung back and watched, as did the unknown Jotunn.

Loki rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Seconds later the battle mage lunged at the god, swinging their magic endowed mace. In those same seconds the mischief god’s illusionary form flickered away and he flung a few daggers at his enemies backs from where he’d reappeared. One for each of them. None of the blades found their mark - two were dodged, and one caught mid-throw. Loki scowled and slipped behind an illusion.

‘Norns, of all the….’ The mischief god seethed in his head, considering his options while the Midgardians that hadn’t already fled now did so. Alarmed by the skirmish, they scurried away or hid inside the buildings and shops lining the street.

~0~

“Fuck.” Hissed Stark inside his Iron suit as he was thrown backwards by a bulky-armored intruder. Similar to the humanoid creature that had attacked yesterday with the maul, this new intruder also said nothing. Just attacked. Swinging its spiked fist at the Avenger within seconds of the tower alarm sounding. The billionaire barely had time to shield himself within his iron suit before the being’s fist contacted his torso.

Despite the protection of his iron suit the punch winded him and threw him against one of his workshop’s tables. There his arm struck the edge, and though the impact was buffered by his suit, a sharp burning pain shot up his arm. He sucked in a breath. Realizing only moments later, after his fellow Avengers in the room drew the intruder’s attention towards them, that his injured arm was the same one that had bothered him since yesterday.

Stark swore. The pain shooting up his arm was paralytic and even through the din of fighting, he heard one of his fellow Avengers asking if he was all right. “I’m fine. Just….” The inventor hissed, his answer cut off by a sharp twinge. Seconds later, he scowled and forced himself to ignore the pain best he could and dive back into the skirmish.

He managed to get a few energy blast hits in on their mute attacker, helping to wound him just as an explosion rushed through the building. Originating close to where the agent Morfield was being held, the explosive shockwave sent him flying into a wall or some other unyielding surface. And he gasped in pain as his arm struck whatever he crashed into with enough force to snap in half if not for the protection of his iron suit. Instead he blacked out, unable to ignore the burning agony pulsing from his hand.

#marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #loki (marvel) #loki #thor #the avengers #oc #steve rogers #stephen strange #tony stark #alternate universe #parallel universe #canon divergence #female loki

[nctinfo]

[TRANS] Jaehyun interview for ‘Grazia’ April 2019!

“I think I want to show a little bit more of me. I’m always trying my best and working towards higher goals but this year I want to show various images of me either through special stages or multiple channels. I have to grab each opportunity one by one.”

”You’ve practiced bowling for 3 weeks and became a silver medalist at the ISACs! Were you always this good at sports? It’s something I got from my dad it seems. I’ve naturally liked sports since I was a kid so it was a part of my life. Especially ball games, I’ve tried about all of them and I ended up liking basketball the most. So if you were to take a physical strength test you’d end up as #1? Whenever there was a sport event I was running as a representative of my school. Hahaha. What else is there that you can say you’re good at? Try to brag about yourself a little. If there’s something that sparks my interest and I like it, I immerse myself in it till the very end. It’s not always like this but when I start something I try to do my best at it. What has gotten your attention recently? Recently I was into bowling for a bit, but even then something I always love is music and singing.

Not long ago NCT 127 held a solo concert. Since it’s the first concert since your debut it must be extremely meaningful to you personally. That’s right. After the concert was done I felt really grateful that my job is being a singer. Usually, I’d say I feel happy after performing. After that concert, the feeling has become so much clearer. Was there anything you were worried about during concert preparations? From the very beginning, we wanted to show different charms so I was preparing in order to do that. From stages to showcase songs to dance performances and walking stages where members could spurt their personal charms. Is there any moment that you could point out as the most crucial? We’ve prepared our lightsticks to have fun with our fans. There was a time when we were trying to synchronize our lightstick movements but then it seemed like I had a bit too much fun as the lightstick started shaking slightly. And then my lightstick just flew off. I was holding onto it with way too much power. So the moment when in the end I was just waving the handle of the lightstick has remained in my memory. (laughs) So is there any moments that you felt were a bit regretful? We held concerts on 2 days and the first day was fun, but also a bit of a shame. It felt like each moment was really rushed so we thought we’ll have to take a more relaxed approach next time. So Day 2 was more chill in comparison to Day 1, but then at the end, our final talk lead to a really emotional moment so I tried to bear with the unknown feelings that resurfaced. So it was even more of a shame. I thought we can’t even make it fun till the very end... So I learned that your heart will only feel lighter if you let everything go without any regrets on the stage. So now that you’re touring in Japan you’ll be pouring your heart like this? That’s it. Every stage, every concert one by one I’ll be pouring it all out until there’s nothing left. (laugh)

What does ‘NCT 127-ly’ mean? Have you ever thought about it? Um… Neo? I think that’s our charm, being always new and fresh. Whether it’s a concept, a song or appearance wise we always try our best to showcase something new, I think it’s a good thing about us. As of now is there anything you or NCT 127 need? I would like to gain a lot of experience through our concerts. The more I learn from experience, I realise I need more different experiences more than anything else in order to move forward. Before you knew it 4 years have passed since your debut. As years repeat, do you feel like you’ve grown as a person? I feel so every time we release an album. When recording I put effort into each song but later when listening there’s always an unsatisfying bit. Then I go like ‘Next time I’ll have to sing it like this’ and practice through self-reflection. So then when recording the next album I can put things I learned into action. It’s the same when shooting jacket photos for an album or when having magazine photoshoots. In order to be more comfortable, I practice laying down. So that I can showcase a different image. Doing something for a long time doesn’t make it any easier. Now, what’s something you’re used to by now and what do you still struggle with? I guess to a degree I know how music shows work (laugh)? No matter what time I have to get up and get ready, I’ll get used to that pattern. Something that’s still hard is singing and dancing. It really is endless. You think you’ve gotten better and the next thing you know there’s something else to improve. So I still get nervous when I’m in front of the camera. It didn’t seem like it when I saw you when you were shooting earlier? To be honest… I was nervous earlier too. Then how much better would you be if that stress disappeared? I’d love for it to go away quickly (laugh).

You had your first solo photoshoot today. Be honest, have you prepared at all? I was a bit careful with my diet yesterday. Hahaha. I usually look for poses I like in magazines or when we’re out shopping I browse some on mobile apps more often than not. Those things help me out a little. Since you have a lot of interest in fashion, do you dream of the next generation fashionista title? Hahaha. If I’ll have a bit more interest and study hard… Wouldn’t it be possible? What’s your personal style? I don’t have one exact style I like. I try wearing various things. Rather than going for something fancy or plain I tend to prefer something closer to an unique style. For instance even if I wear a shirt and slacks, I like it when the fit is unique. So it’s still a long way. I need to build up more experience. Usually, with new year, you abandon things you’re used to and embrace the unknown. Not long ago you have stepped down from your radio program of 2 years, it seems to be bittersweet. It really is a shame. As we were seeing each other every day of the week it felt a little more like a family. Before the last broadcast, I kept telling myself ‘You will not cry. You can’t cry’, but as we were reading handwritten letters I got all choked up. As we received messages from our listeners everyday it felt like we got closer, and thinking that I won’t see the staff again makes me feel weird. With having to do radio duties during busy schedules you never really had a day off. Even if we had really tight schedules we haven’t missed a day. On days like this, I’d go to the broadcasting station with a healing mindset. So on the other hand, is there anything new happening this year? Today’s shoot (laugh)? Oh, that’s rewarding to me as a head editor. It was fun. I’ve tried different styles and there wasn’t any particular concept which I liked. And a few other things include our tour, we did our first Korean concept, we’re touring in Japan and soon in North America too. What’s your goal for this year? I think I want to show a little bit more of me. I’m always trying my best and working towards higher goals but this year I want to show various images of me either through special stages or multiple channels. I have to grab each opportunity one by one. What are the higher goals? Becoming the best singer and becoming a person with own confident colour. And personally, I want to become a bigger person. What’s Jaehyun’s own colour? My dressing style or the tone of my voice. Or it could be my style of dancing. I’m still trying to find it out myself. Then what are you greedy for in the future? First of all whenever given a chance I’m going to do my best and face whatever’s in front of me. Kinda like ISACs hahaha. Tell us a trivial thing that made you happy recently. I bought new scented candles recently. They smell really good, so I light them up, connect a Bluetooth speaker and listen to music so it’s really comfortable and nice. If you could spend one day freely, what would you do? Time and space can be bent. I’d really like to travel. I haven’t had a chance to go to Europe, so I’d like to visit there. Go on a week course that takes more than a week in just one day. It’s your birthday soon. How would you like to spend it this year? If I think about it, it’s been special every year since I turned 20. On my 20th birthday, we had the first performance in Thailand. Last year hyungs sneaked into my radio broadcast and threw me a surprise party.  So regardless of what I’m gonna do this year, it’s gonna be a good time. If you could give yourself a birthday present, what would it be? Travel package (laugh)! With everything in it, from plane tickets to accommodation. Personally, what kind of shining moment do you want to make this year? If at the end of this year I look back and think ‘Ah, I’m proud’ it would be nice. I’ve been working hard until now, but from now on I want to always keep running without a break. If we were to add a new modifier in front of NCT 127 what would be good? To the World. It’s our slogan too (laugh).

Translation: Alex @ FY! NCT (NCTINFO) | Source: Grazia Scans — Do not repost or take out without our permission!

#NCT #jaehyun #t:trans #t:interview #Grazia #Grazia: April 2019

[urflowersdied]

soft sounds from another planet

In which you get called in to help Harry’s writers block and become his new creative muse in the process.

A/N: Hello, hi, how are you? January’s been a bitch of a month for me, and even though I wanted to work on another part for Cold as Ice(d coffee), it just wasn’t happening. But I pulled myself together and wrote this 2.4k word one shot. I basically told dialogue to go fuck itself on this one, but I still hope you guys will give it a read! (Oh, also I guess this is mature-ish?)

Special thanks go out to the wifey @theasstour and writer extraordinaire @meetyourmouths for dealing with my insecurities while writing! 

Hope you enjoy!

Sophomore albums were a difficult hurdle to overcome. Harry knew that. Had been warned by everyone - from his best friend and manager Jeff to artists he had been idolising since childhood which had now become wonderful mentors to him, even his mother, who had a weird knack for pretending to be some sort of music journalist, had tried to lower the expectations he had set for himself. And he had tried to keep all of their advice in mind when he travelled to Tokyo in late December to begin the creative process, but, staying true to his overachieving self, Harry quickly fell back into old patterns of stress and anger whenever he couldn’t quite get the sounds in his head onto paper and into the microphone.

Tonight was one of those nights. The kind of night where his hair resembled a likeness of Medusa rather than Cupid, and where his roots ached from the constant tugging his own hand had performed - and not, as he would have preferred, out of pleasure. Instead, frustration had fuelled his actions. Thomas, leaning back in a swivelling chair next to him, lit the end of a joint. The previous hours had not been productive in the slightest, and the collaborator was desperately looking for a way to get his artist… relaxed. Out of the prison his own mind had created for itself.

Tom knew that the weight of huge expectation was resting on the young man’s shoulders. Not necessarily pressure induced by his record company - Harry was basically another member of the Azoff family, and anything he would create would be received with welcoming arms and exclamations of love -, but rather from critics. Fans. Friends and foes.

For every admirer Harry had gained throughout his years in the music industry - and there were a lot of them - another individual could be found that was just waiting for him to fail. Anticipating for him to create something they could turn their nose up at. At least, that’s the impression Harry often got.

Inhaling puff after puff of smoke, Tom debated his next move. He knew the guy next to him well enough to be aware of how deep he could descent into minuscule cavities in his psyche. Once he had fallen, it was difficult to pull Harry out of these depths. “Think you shouldn’t stress about it, mate. Let’s just call it a night and then… we’ll try again tomorrow. One bad day doesn’t ruin the album.”

Of course Harry knew that. He was painfully aware that, in some weird way, an artist depended on these bad, horrible, dreadful sessions to create something even more vibrant the next time around. The issue was that Harry didn’t want to rely on them. Wasn’t too fond of needing to endure these kinds of emotions and feelings to create a musical experience. He had enough experiences to draw inspiration from. Ones that were difficult to revisit, but that he knew would ultimately help him create the vocal pictures he aspired to paint - with melodies serving as the canvas and words as paint. What he didn’t thought to be necessary was the grievance of writer’s block robbing him of these crucial tools.

Massaging the corners of his eyes with his right thumb and pointer finger, Harry let out a sigh. At the very least he could agree with Tom on one thing: it was time to let this downer of a day come to an end. “Yeah… Gonna turn in, I think.” Usually he would stick around, indulge in one of his bad habits with his friend - when Harry was in a good mood weed had established itself as a great way to unwind after a productive day, but he fears today the drug would result in a rather unpleasant outcome - and maybe even catch the sunrise casting a hazy glow on Tokyo. Right now, though, he just craved the comfort his bed could provide.  

After offering some more words of encouragement, Tom whirled his chair around to watch the retreading figure of a defeated man. As soon as Harry’s hunched back was out of vision he grasped his phone and sent a little prayer out to everyone that would lend an open ear. This little plan of his needed to be set in motion, immediately. Because if he had to deal with this version of his mate for much longer he might actually get bit by the same bug that had infested Harry’s trains of thought.

You were a godsend. Harry was sure of it. Whichever lightning bolt had sparked the idea in Tom’s mind to invite one of his wife’s acquaintances - nevertheless a simple university student currently on exchange in Tokyo -, he was grateful for that weird force of nature and had even toyed with the idea of sending a grateful letter to Thor.

Because it really shouldn’t have worked. When his collaborator first introduced you to each other it had taken all of the will power Harry could muster up to refrain from scoffing. Sure, you were in the process of following a musicology program, but he knew enough professional musicians and producers that he could have contacted. His problem really didn’t lay with the array of creative minds available to him, but rather with the barricade that had erected itself within the confines of his own head.

It only took a few short days for him to realise the purpose of your presence. How the sound of one simple giggle leaving your vocal chords chipped away at the frustration his mind had been housing. How the sheer joy displayed across your face as the inner workings of the music industry and the process of creating an album were introduced to you brought fresh wind into Harry’s own perception of his career. He really was grateful to possess a quite established name at his age, even if it brought some unwanted side effects like pressure and contempt.

But your mere presence in the studio hadn’t been enough - at least not in your own eyes.

It had started with a late-night trip to a small hole-in-the-wall karaoke bar in central Tokyo. You were absolutely certain spending a few hours not worrying about his own music, but instead imitating what other songwriters had created before him and singing his “pretty little heart out” - these were obviously your words and not his - would turn out to be restorative for his soul. And Harry thinks that, yes, perhaps that could have been the case… had you not been there to shift his focus from the stage and glaring stage lights to the way your eyes seemed to droop ever so slightly as you fought the exhaustion creeping up on your. He knew that your schedule was particularly busy nowadays, not only having to focus on classes, lectures and projects but now also on this nuisance of an artist who couldn’t seem to get his shit together companionless. So, the outing was cut short - Harry opting to get you safely back to your accommodation in lieu of downing another alcoholic substance in the karaoke establishment.

Then you had felt bad for “ruining his night” - once again, these were your words as he would never get the impression that you could ruin just about anything -, organising another get-together later in the week. Harry couldn’t really claim to be an avid concert goer. He loved taking time out of his days to treat him and his friends to shows put on by icons such as Paul McCartney, Fleetwood Mac or The Eagles, but being at his level of celebrity attending other gigs was more difficult. That you would actually drag everyone to the first random concert which took place in Tokyo that night was definitely not something Harry had expected. It was of course just his luck that it happened to be some kind of EDM show, but no matter how little the thumbing bass and flashing lights interested him, keeping a watchful eye on your enjoyment left him feeling thoroughly inspired by the end of the night.

It wasn’t as though Tom or anyone else that spent time around Harry and you in Tokyo didn’t notice. No matter how slick he thought he was, heart eyes were incredibly difficult to hide. So nobody could say they were surprised in the slightest when your visits to the studio became more frequent over time. And when you started keeping him company for late night studio session after everyone else decided to call it a night, none of them bothered to do a double take. Tom hadn’t necessarily planned this outcome - Harry looking at you as though you hung the start up in the sky and you being equally as infatuated by him -, rather just thought you would be a wonderful friend to a stressed out young man and knowing you had also been in need of a friend apart from all the stress university put you under, but he would not be caught dead complaining about the situation. His collaborators creative drive was back on track, and he was looking forward to his wife thanking him for keeping an eye out for her friend when he arrived back home.

So, here you found yourself. Sitting next to Harry on the couch that was placed in the studio space to offer its inhabitants a small sense of homeliness and comfort during close-to-frustratedly-ripping-your-hair-out moments. Earlier in the evening you had helped him record a demo version of a possible album song, humming the melody quietly into a second microphone as he sang some lyrics he was quite honestly still struggling with. Now you were just casually scrolling through your various social media timelines, completely encompassed in words written by one of your friends. Harry had attempted to get some shut-eye but no matter how often he tried to force himself to look at the inside of his lids, he couldn’t.

His eyes simply couldn’t not focus on you when you took up space in his vicinity. The way your hair fell in front of your face, but still didn’t completely succeed in obstructing his view of your features. How you continuously either hummed or whistled his previously recorded melody, so softly that he wasn’t even sure you were aware of your actions. Your fingers handling the mobile device, how soft he remembers them to be from previous interactions and how he longs for them to touch him. He was utterly intrigued by your whole being, no matter how hard he sometimes tried to deny it. Harry had already noticed the addicting feelings - whatever they may be - he harboured for you seeping out of multiple lyrics and chord progressions he had generated recently.

After weeks of struggling to keep emotions at bay, he felt like he couldn’t contain them any longer. And once you’ve noticed a shift on the couch cushion next to you and switched your line of sight from your device to his intense gaze, you weren’t sure restraint belonged to your vocabulary either.

There was no need for words between the two of you. Not in this situation. Not when this captivating young man was in such close proximity that you could feel the rapid puffs of his breath on your face, aiding the blood currently rushing through your veins in warming up your entire body. You were convinced you wanted to live in this moment for the rest of your life - but then his breath disappeared and you wondered how foolish you had been to long for the previous moment to last.

Because this one… this new scene you found yourself in surmounted the previous one by miles. This was the kind of moment motion pictures tried to recreate. The kind of moment authors longed to emulate. The kind of moment that stuck in your memories like taffy to teeth. Harry’s lips delicately pressing down on yours would serve as fuel for daydreams for the rest of your life, you were sure of it.

And Harry… well, he felt like he had won the jackpot. That you reciprocated his outpour of emotions, kisses and touches was a bewildering reality to grasp, but he welcomed it nonetheless. As his hands slid down the sides of your waist and helped you settle comfortable onto his lap - a space he had imagined your figure perched in for a while now - he tried to decelerate both of your movements. He wanted to make the most of this exact place in time, not knowing when or if it could be recreated.

The kisses exchanged between the both of you soon became too many to keep count. Even though the pace had slowed, the heat infiltrating the studio air rose quickly. Nothing mattered more than the other person participating in this encounter. Lost in fingertips tracing lines and shapes into skin, the gentle movement of hips trying to create friction, soft sounds escaping two sets of plush lips.

Harry was convinced that coaxing out sighs of pleasure from deep within your figure would become his favourite past-time activity. He experimented with every spot imaginable: enveloping your earlobe with his tongue, pressing passionate kisses down your neck, smoothing his ring-clad hands up and down your thighs to ultimately let them rest on your backside. And each time he discovered another part of your body you awarded him with yet another noise. Not before long he wouldn’t be able to remember the melody that had been established earlier in the evening, your sounds transcending any tune his mundane brain could have envisioned.

Just before he got too carried away, Harry forced himself to create the tiniest bit of distance between your physiques. He wanted to continue - god, did he ever want anything more? - but he was also set on gradually progressing with this relationship in its early stages. Giving both of you some time to get acquainted a little more instead of diving in head first.

Reaching his hands up to grasp your flushed face, he couldn’t prevent the boyish grin spreading across his own. While you were still attempting to catch your breath Harry racked his brain for a cheeky comment to break the silence which had seeped into the room. It wasn’t an awkward situation - far from it, because he felt incredibly comfortable right here - but if there was a way for him to tease out another onslaught of your giggles, then he would do everything in his power to do just that.

“A little out of breath, are we? There’s more where that came from, but we’ll save that for another time, love.”

#harry styles #fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #fanfic #harry styles fanfic #one direction #one direction fanfic #harry #styles #please please please leave some feedback #i'd enjoy hearing your thoughts #hsliveuntour

[wistfulcynic]

Honeysuckle

Summary: Emma finds herself in a precarious position while trying to return some library books and shy librarian Killian comes to her rescue. He’s sweet and kind and Henry’s bookworm hero but there’s also something about him that she doesn’t know. 

(Something good)

a/n: All the thanks to @shireness-says for letting me borrow the adorable cinnamon roll that is Librarian!Killian, and also for inspiring this fic with her actual life. Librarian!Killian is a bit Deckhand Hook, a bit Lt Jones, which is a version of Killian I’ve never written before. It’s been fun, and not coincidentally this is the only thing I’ve ever written with a G rating. 

(Thanks also to @katie-dub whose beautiful fic Her Happy Beginning inspired me to try a new style of narration.)

@whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainsjedi @kmomof4 @thejollyroger-writer @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @ultraluckycatnd @hollyethecurious @teamhook

Rated: G

On AO3

Honeysuckle: 

Life, as some wise person once said, is just one damned thing after another. It’s full of frustration and elation and misery and comedy and so, so much embarrassment. And sometimes, on those most rare and exquisite of occasions, all of these factors coalesce into one grand, transcendent experience that makes the person living it wish simultaneously to die of humiliation and live in that moment forever. 

Dear Reader, such was the experience of one Emma Swan, medical assistant and single mother, on the third day of the sixth month of the twenty-eighth year of her life. 

The day began as an unremarkable one. Emma dragged herself from bed at the unholy hour of six-thirty am, banged on her son’s bedroom door on her way to the kitchen, and spent the next ten minutes mainlining coffee and forcing herself into full consciousness. When Henry appeared she poured him a bowl of cereal, kissed his forehead, and headed for the shower. So far so ordinary. 

Things didn’t start to go wrong until Emma, showered and dressed and with her still-damp hair pulled into a practical ponytail, took the opportunity of Henry’s regular morning dawdling session to reread the latest letter from her secret pen pal. 

(Secret only because Emma was perhaps overly conscious that having a ‘pen pal’ in this day and at her age might be seen by some as rather ridiculous. Not even Henry knew, although she’d had the pen pal far longer than she’d had the son. Since she was ten years old, in fact, and her fourth grade teacher had arranged a writing exchange with a class in England. For reasons Emma could never fully articulate she had bonded instantly and strongly to the boy across the sea known to her only as ‘K’ —again for ‘reasons’, these best known to themselves, they addressed each other by their initials only— and throughout her life of foster families and failed relationships he remained the only person who had never left her. Virtually anonymous though it may be, it was by far the longest and most stable relationship of Emma’s life and nothing but Henry had ever been more precious to her. But she kept it secret because it was ridiculous. Yep. That’s what she told herself.)   

But back to the letter. 

On my way to work yesterday I came across what I think must be some of the first lilacs of the season and I thought of you, it read. I always think of you when I see flowers and I can never decide which one suits you best, which probably makes sense since I have never seen your face. Are you sweet and springlike as lilacs are, or are you more of a full summer flower like a rose? Maybe you are a slim and elegant calla lily, or perhaps a tall and slightly terrifying sunflower? (Don’t laugh, E, sunflowers are scary! Have you ever seen one? They remind me of Triffids (that’s a book reference, love, and before you ask yes there’s a movie as well. Read the book first) and the way they move to follow the sun is creepy.)

(I know you’re laughing at me. Stop it.)  

It is true I regret to say that Emma had laughed the first time she read the letter, also the second time and possibly the third. But this being the sixth or seventh (tenth) reading the words elicited a smile that came less from mirth and more from a sort of sighing wistfulness as she imagined her never-seen dearest friend sniffing lilacs and thinking of her. 

She wished she knew what he looked like. 

She had tried many times to paint his face in her mind, one that fit the beauty of his words, but found she very literally could not imagine it. Emma’s experience with men was one that is sadly not uncommon among beautiful women whose positions in society are tenuous. As a single mother with only a high school diploma Emma had encountered more than her share of creeps and assholes, men who mistook her vulnerability for weakness and attempted to take advantage of her.

It was a mistake they did not make twice, but the sad result was that Emma had soured on men and relationships and all but given up hope that she would ever find someone who loved her. And as for a man so sweet and kind that he stopped to admire lilacs and wondered what kind of flower she might be, well, he was an impossibility in her experience, simply too good to be true.

She knew of course that K was real. Someone had been writing to her for nearly twenty years. She had no desire to meet him, though (she did) for fear of the crushing disappointment if he didn’t live up to the image she had of him in her mind. No, he was much better left to her imagination and the pages of his beautifully written letters. She couldn’t bear to lose those letters.  

She was just indulging in speculation over what sort of flower he might be when Henry’s voice and the thud of the books he dropped on the table in front of her brought her back to reality. 

“Mom, these books are due back today,” he said. 

“What? Why didn’t you take them back yesterday?”

“I forgot them at home. I didn’t even remember they were due until Killian reminded me. But we can return them now, can’t we?”

Emma tried to remember that he wasn’t trying to exasperate her, he was just absent-minded. “Henry, we are already late. Can’t you take them after school today?”

“No, I have D&D after school.” 

“I’m sure you can miss it one time—” 

“No, Mom, we’re in the middle of a campaign and I have to be there.” 

Emma threw up her hands. “Okay, fine, but you’ll have to take the bus to school.” 

“Mo-om!” 

“No, I do not have time to take you to school, then go to the library, then work. I’ll drive you to the bus stop then swing by the library and put your books in the drop. Hurry up now, are you ready?”

“Yeah, just let me grab my backpack.” 

He ran to get it and Emma absently slipped the letter into its envelope and the envelope into one of Henry’s library books before gathering the books in her arms and slinging her tote bag over her shoulder and herding her son out the door and into her car. 

(I wonder if you can spot where this is going yet?)

Ten minutes later Emma pulled into the library parking lot with as close to a squeal of tires as her creaky Bug could manage and grabbed Henry’s books from her passenger seat. Hurrying to the book drop she tipped them in…

And remembered. Far too late. 

“My letter!” she cried, and without thinking of anything beyond recovering the treasured words, Emma dove headfirst into the book drop, trying to catch the book that held her letter before it fell. She was a slender woman and the book drop more sizeable than most, but it was decidedly not designed to accommodate the ingress of any size of human, and so all she accomplished was to wedge her shoulders tightly into the narrow space with one arm stretched out in front of her inside the chute and the other sticking out of the drop’s opening at an odd angle. With the toe of one foot she could just touch the ground while the other one dangled helplessly in the air. She kicked with her leg to try to yank herself free but succeeded only in sending her practical flat shoe flying off her foot and landing with a splash in what she felt certain was a mud puddle, just as the sound of Henry’s books landing in the bin at the bottom of the chute reached her ears. 

Perfect, she thought. Just perfect.  

This, as I’m sure you have deduced my lovely Reader, has been the embarrassment and yes also the comedy portion of our tale. The former feeds the latter until it is fat as we all know from our own lives, and in the years to come Emma would learn to laugh when telling and retelling the story of her predicament. Though it must be said that, as is often the case with embarrassing things, she saw absolutely no humour in it at the time.

The frustration came into play moments later as Emma made further attempts to extricate herself from the drop, only to find that the position of her shoulders and her hands and her legs left her entirely unable to get enough purchase on any solid surface to provide sufficient counterbalancing force to un-wedge her. She was well and truly stuck, profoundly uncomfortable, and by that time almost certainly late for work. 

It was then that the misery kicked in. 

“Fuck,” she shouted, and the word reverberated down the metal chute, echoing back to her in a way she considered almost insultingly on the nose. She closed her eyes and let her head fall against the side of the chute and wondered just what the hell she was going to do now. 

(It will not, I feel certain, have escaped your notice that we have not yet had elation. Fear not, gentle Reader, for it is to come, and far sooner than Emma expects.) 

Fortunately both for Emma and our story a rescuer soon arrived, not on a white charger as in a fairy tale but aboard a practical secondhand Volvo in a rather nice shade of blue. 

Now Killian Jones may well have wished, deep in his heart, in that remote corner where he kept his love of adventure stories and even fancied himself a bit of a rogue, for something sportier, something a touch more dashing. But Killian Jones was a librarian, and the financial realities of our world dictate that librarians do not drive sports cars. So Killian had sighed for what was never to be and bought the Volvo —and adamantly rejected the silver one, he was not a vampire, sparkly or otherwise— and it had to be said that he’d never regretted it. 

All he regretted that morning was the broken shoelace that had made him too late to walk to work and smell the lilacs. 

As he pulled into the parking lot he was surprised to see a yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked haphazardly in the closest spot to the door that wasn’t reserved for the differently abled. It looked very much like the car that he’d frequently seen young Henry running to, the one that would naturally be driven by his mother…

Impulsively Killian pulled into the space next to the yellow car instead of continuing to the employee lot. His heart had begun to pound and his mouth was dry. 

It’s probably not her, he told himself firmly. There have to be other yellow Bugs in the neighbourhood. 

(There definitely weren’t.)

But if it was her he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to stutter a few incoherent words before excusing himself awkwardly and fleeing to a private corner where he might catch his breath, which was what happened every time he tried to talk to Henry’s mother.

Now Killian Jones, as, dearest Reader, you well know, was a handsome man, and one not so caught up in books and fantasy that he was unaware of this fact or of the effect it had on women. He could be smooth enough with the female species when he put his mind to it but something about Henry’s mother —he didn’t even know her name— tied his tongue and stopped his throat and robbed him of every shred of eloquence he may otherwise possess. 

This didn’t stop him from trying, though. The humiliation was worth it to see her smile. 

He got out of the car as quickly as possible, cursing as he caught the strap of his satchel in the door, then hurried to the library’s main entrance, looking around in a way that he hoped didn’t make it too obvious that he was looking around. Where would she be? he wondered. If she was here that is, if it was her. Come to think of it, why would she be here? Why would anyone? Who went to the library an hour before it opened to, what, stand around in front of the door and wait? 

His attention was finally drawn, after a moment or two, to the after-hours book drop when the person stuck inside it began banging and shouting loudly enough for even the most distracted bookworm to notice. 

Wait… the person stuck inside the book drop?

Killian turned to look, mouth gaping open in astonishment, too taken aback to even feel ashamed that he very definitely recognised that arse. 

So that’s where she was. This simultaneously answered several questions and posed a good few more. 

He hurried over, knowing that he ought to do something, but very uncertain as to what that something ought to be. 

“Um, hello?” he ventured. “Excuse me?”

Her voice was muffled but the annoyance came through loud and clear. “Oh thank fuck, I thought you’d gone,” she said.  

“Um. What?”

“I heard your car door slam so I started banging to get your attention, but then no one came and I thought you’d left, or gone in another direction or something.” 

“Ah. Er, no. I’m, uh, I’m here. What, um, what can I do for you?” He winced even as he spoke the words.

(She robbed him of all eloquence, you recall, even when all he could see was her backside. Perhaps especially then.)

She paused just long enough to make her opinion of his question clear. “Get me out of here!” she shouted.

“Aye, of course, lass, but, er, um—” Killian assessed the situation from three different angles just to be sure that there was no other option, that it wasn’t simply his physical attraction to her getting the better of him “—I’ll have to, uh, there’s no other way except to, er, touch you—”

“Yes, yes, I know that’s fine, just get me out!” 

“Aye, all right, um, can you push on the inside of the chute at all?”

“Yes, but I can’t get enough purchase on the ground to counterbalance, so I can’t force my shoulders out.” 

“Ah, yes, I see. All right, well you push and I’ll just, um—” Cautiously he wrapped his arm around her waist and braced his hand against the wall of the library. “I’ll brace you. Are you ready?”

“So ready.” 

“Okay, on three. One… two… three!” 

Killian planted his feet firmly on the ground and he could feel her muscles tense and flex as she pushed on the wall of the chute, and with her body braced against his she was able to un-wedge her shoulders from the narrow space and then with a final heave she freed herself from the drop, the force of it sending her stumbling backwards against Killian, whose other arm automatically wrapped itself around her and held on tight. 

She smelled like honeysuckle, was all he could think.

Too soon she was straightening up and he forced his arms to let her go, and she turned around with a smile that nearly ended him. 

“Thanks,” she said. “I thought I’d be in there at least until the library opened.” 

Emma was trying to be cool but the truth was that even from inside the chute she’d recognised the voice and accent of Henry’s favourite librarian, his hero really, the man who had recommended all his favourite books and who always had time to discuss them with him. Henry talked about him almost nonstop. 

“Ah, it’s Killian, isn’t it?” she said. “We’ve talked a few times before, I’m Henry’s mother.”

Killian swallowed hard and forced himself not to panic. “Aye, I remember. Er— sorry, I don’t know your name.” 

He’s so cute, thought Emma. She’d always thought so, if she was honest, not just his face but the adorable way he couldn’t quite manage to talk to her. It was sweet, and frankly a blessed change from the way men usually acted around her.

“It’s Emma Swan,” she said, and held out her hand. Killian took it gingerly, like he was afraid it might bite him. 

The jolt of sensation that went through both of them at the contact seemed to confirm his fears.  

They both pulled their hands away, laughing nervously, and thorough the haze of his confusion something prickled in Killian’s mind. E. Swan, he thought, just like…

“You must be wondering how I managed to get stuck like that,” said Emma, interrupting his thoughts, attempting to brazen through her own jumpy nerves by talking.

“Well, yes, I confess it did cross my mind.” A complete sentence in her presence, that was a first, he thought. 

“Yeah, it must be a pretty weird thing to encounter first thing in the morning.”

“I assure you, lass, we’ve seen weirder in this library.” Two complete sentences, what had come over him? 

“That’s nice of you to say. Okay, here’s the thing. I kinda… left something really important in one of the books I returned, and… look I’m so grateful to you for rescuing me but would you mind maybe going to see if you could find it?” She kept her face calm but he could sense her anxiety in the way she twisted her hands together. “It’s, well, it’s personal and I don’t want to lose it, or you know have strangers reading it—”

He waved his hand to cut her off. “Say no more, it would be my pleasure to retrieve it for you. Um, what is it?”

Her smile shone relieved and brilliant, and Killian’s powers of speech abandoned him yet again. 

“It’s a letter. In an envelope. I mean, just like a normal envelope. But… open.” 

He nodded, groping desperately for his words. “Letter. Envelope. Got it. I’ll, um, go now. Uh, stay here.” 

“Where else would I go?” she asked his retreating back. 

Killian hurriedly unlocked the main doors and raced down the stairs to the bin at the bottom of the book drop’s chute. He realised he’d forgotten to ask Emma —he felt a small thrill using her name— which book she’d left her letter in, but fortunately he remembered which books Henry had checked out during his last visit. They’d had a long conversation about each, after all. He ruffled through the first one but no letter fell out, the same result for the second. The third, however, produced its treasure, an ordinary, unremarkable white letter envelope. 

One that looked strikingly familiar. 

Killian stared at the letter in his hand, addressed to one E. Swan, in a firm, flowing, elegant script.

A script he recognised. 

Because it was his own. 

Bloody hell. 

(Be honest, now, kind Reader, you aren’t going to tell me you didn’t see this coming?) 

Killian wanted to hyperventilate. (Is it possible to want to hyperventilate?) His favourite patron’s mother, the woman he’d admired (and yes, done a bit of pining for) from afar was also, somehow, the pen pal he’d had since he was ten years old. His dearest friend. 

It was too ridiculous. It was impossible. 

(It was actually just a very strange coincidence, and who among us hasn’t experienced one of those? But Killian was feeling rather dramatic in that moment, so we’ll give him a pass.)

 (Now Reader, you are likely wondering how it is possible that two people who communicate via letter, a medium of communication that requires the knowledge of one’s recipient’s address as a matter of course, could possibly be unaware that they lived in the same neighbourhood of the same small town, mere blocks from one another as it turns out? The simple explanation is this: Both some years ago had arranged P.O. Boxes for their letters to each other, finding it easier (and if we are honest, more securely anonymous) to simply ask the post office to forward their letters as they moved around rather than keep updating each other directly. Killian’s P.O. Box was in Syracuse, NY, where he had gone to library school and his first port of call in the USA while Emma’s was in Tallahassee, FL, where she had stayed for two years after Henry was born.

Could they have saved themselves a fair bit of time and no small amount of loneliness had they just used their real addresses? Or, you know, their actual names? 

Yes. Yes they could. But then we wouldn’t have a story.) 

As Killian reeled from his astounding discovery, Emma was sitting on the hood of her Bug, wincing as her shift supervisor (and friend) laughed, so long and so hard Emma feared she’d give herself an aneurysm. 

After a while she began to hope for an aneurysm. 

“Oh my God,” Ruby gasped, once she was finally able to speak through her mirth. “That is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time. Years, probably.”

“Not helpful, Rubes. I only called to tell you that I’ll be in as soon as possible, I can probably get going in about five, ten minutes or so. I’m really sorry.” 

Ruby’s appreciation for a good joke did not affect her empathy for a friend in need. “Look, Ems, we’re not busy today, three patients have already cancelled their appointments. I can cover what’s left. Let’s just call this a sick day for you and if you want you can make up the shift this weekend. Go home and rest. You’ve had a narrow escape after all.” 

Emma groaned. “I hate you.” 

“You love me, and don’t forget I’m covering your shift today so you really shouldn’t be stuck up.”

“I mean, that’s just terrible.” 

 Ruby laughed. “Call me later. I’ll be waiting so don’t think you can wriggle out of it.” 

“You are the worst and I’m hanging up now. Goodbye. And thanks.” 

“Any time, doll.” 

Emma hung up the phone just as Killian came through the doors holding, she was relived to see, her letter. 

And with a very peculiar expression on his face. 

She felt her heart flutter. He looked… intense. It was a good look on him. 

She remembered how his arms had felt around her and the flutter became a gallop. 

He handed her the letter. 

“You’re honeysuckle,” he blurted. 

“I— what?” Emma blinked in surprise. 

“Honeysuckle. Not lilacs or roses, or sunflowers, thank goodness.” 

How could he… no! she thought wildly. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t have. He seemed so nice. 

“Did you read my letter?” she cried, somehow feeling more betrayed than angry.

“No! That is, I sort of did, but—” He ran a hand through his hair, looking distressed. “Oh, I’m doing this all wrong.”

“Just what exactly are you doing?” she snapped. 

He took a deep breath, and looked her in the eye. “Let me introduce myself,” he said. “We really haven’t been properly introduced. My name is Killian Jones. Killian with a K.” 

Emma gasped as the import of his name plus the fact that he knew what was in her letter hit home. K. Jones. 

“You— you’re K?”

“Aye. I mean yes, I am. And you’re E. Who smells of honeysuckle. I’ve always wondered.”

“You wondered what I smelled like?”

“I’ve wondered a lot of things about you, love.” He smiled, not the awkward, shy smile he normally gave her, but a bright and brilliant one full of joy and just a hint of mischief. It made her feel feather-light and ridiculously happy. This man she could definitely picture sniffing lilacs and thinking of her. He was real, and right in front of her, and her imagination had utterly failed to do him justice. 

“Listen,” he said, more confident than she’d ever seen him but with nervousness just creeping in at the edges, rubbing at a spot behind his ear and looking just over her left shoulder, “Would you, um, like to have a drink with me? You probably have to get to work now, but maybe later—” 

“I have the day off.” The words were out before she could stop them. 

Hope lit in his eyes. “You do?”

“As of five minutes ago,” she confirmed. “My boss said I’d clearly been through enough already today and told me to take a sick day. But, I mean, don’t you have to work—”

“I’ll take a sick day too,” he said hurriedly, pulling out his phone. “Just give me a minute.” 

The phone rang only twice before Belle picked up. She was nothing if not efficient. 

“Hi, Belle, it’s, er, Killian.” Of course she knows that you numpty she saw your name come up on the screen, he thought. 

(Killian is a terrible, terrible liar.)

He cleared his throat and continued. “I’m, um, so sorry but I’m not well today.” 

“Not well,” repeated Belle.  

“Er, no, I think I’ll have to stay home.” 

“You sound fine, Killian.” She sounded strict, when she was usually so kind. He forced himself not to panic, and attempted a little cough. “No, I assure you,” he said, “I’m very ill.” 

“Very ill, you say.” 

“Er, aye.” Why is she repeating everything?

“Too ill to come to work.” 

“Um, yes.” 

“Too ill to come to work and not in fact currently standing in the patrons’ car park with Henry’s mother?” 

He gaped. “How do you—”

She laughed, a familiar, warm sound, and Killian felt the knot of tension in his chest begin to melt. “I heard you come in through the main door and I came to see what was going on,” she said. 

Killian felt a stab of guilt. “Belle, I can explain—” 

“You don’t have to. At least, not yet. I’ll be demanding a full explanation tomorrow, when I feel certain you’ll be well enough to come to work.” 

“Of course. Thank you, Belle, you’re a treasure.” 

“Just be sure you actually talk to her this time.” 

“Aye, I think I can manage that.” It was easier now that he knew he’d actually been talking to her for the best part of twenty years. 

He ended the call and turned to smile at Emma who smiled back at him, and now, my darling Reader, we come at long last to the elation. The sheer, shining joy of experiencing something you’ve wondered about for years and finding it surpasses even your most elevated expectations. 

They went for coffee. They walked to the coffee shop, past the lilacs which were just beginning to fade, and they sniffed them together. 

Their conversation flowed with surprising ease, or perhaps not so surprising. In a way of course they had only just met but in another way they had known each other for years, and they were pleased to discover that there was no awkwardness between them other than that which results naturally between two people who are wildly attracted to each other and only just beginning to explore it. 

They explored it eventually. And thoroughly. 

And when the following year they stood in a country garden with Belle and Ruby and a Henry who was almost dancing with excitement and exchanged rings and promises of love and fidelity, the trellis above their heads was heavy and fragrant with honeysuckle in full bloom. And not a sunflower in sight. 

(Ah, I love a happy ending, I hear you sighing, beloved Reader. I do as well but I fear this is not one. It is of course a happy beginning.)

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