#i hadn’t thought about them since 2018 somebody help me

[logan-the-artist]

girl help i am back in my IT brainrot

#i hadn’t thought about them since 2018 somebody help me #my art #drawing #art #sketch #log’s art #it the movie #it movie #reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #richie x eddie #eddie x richie #it 2017

[bluejayblueskies]

the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter One: white daisies Words: 2.9k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies

Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

.

Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five| Chapter Six| Chapter Seven

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(cw for mentions of knife violence, mild blood)

There are white daisies on the kitchen table.

They’re what Jon saw first when he opened his eyes, awake and gasping for air, sprawled on his back on the floor and staring up at a brown ceiling and a brown kitchen chair and the bottom of a brown table and, amidst it all, a splash of white that caught his eye. He stared at the flowers, a memory tickling at the back of his mind—Martin cutting the flowers from a patch just outside the cottage, tucking them into a vase on the center of the table, Jon running a finger along the waxy petals and whispering, Daisies for Daisy—and then, with a rush, the rest of the memories came flooding back and he sat up so quickly his head spun, his hand going almost instinctively to his chest where the knife was—

But there wasn’t a knife. He was in the safehouse and there were fresh-cut daisies in a vase on the table and there was no knife. There was, however, when he pulled his jumper up to look, a scar—thick and raised, like it had been there for years.

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, the door flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

There are still white daisies on the kitchen table less than two days later, when Jon has fallen apart and picked himself back up again and fallen apart and picked himself back up again, more times than he cares to count. He sits in the hard wooden chair, legs crossed and elbows resting atop the varnished wood, and stares at the flowers, still as vibrant as the day they were picked nearly… six months ago? He wishes he knew how long it’s been, but he can’t. He can’t Know, and the Eye is gone, and he can’t speak, and his tears are soundless as he buries his face in Martin’s chest and grapples with the fact that for the first time in years, he’s never felt quite so human.

Martin thinks they’ve gone back in time. Jon thinks that time has caught up to them. Like the world, stitched back together and made anew, has simply picked up where it left off, unaware of how deeply scarred its inhabitants have become. Though Jon really doesn’t think it matters much at all.

It’s not the first argument they have. And it certainly will not be the last.

For now, though, Jon stares at the daisies, one hand tap tap tapping the cheap ballpoint pen on the moleskine notebook Martin had given him and the other wandering down to his left calf, where bite marks as wide as dominoes sit in even rows across his skin, scarred up before they’d even reached the next domain.

He rubs a thumb over one of the raised scars—the second set that had been left on his body by the same hands, both born from violence yet so distinct and different in Jon’s mind—and thinks, with a twinge of something deeply longing, I miss Daisy.

He’d missed her in intervals after he’d collected the bite mark scars on his calf. There had been so much to think about, so much to focus on, but in the quieter moments, he would think about the fact that she was gone—really, truly gone, in a way he couldn’t explain away like he could their first time in the safehouse—and feel the loss as acutely as a knife in his side. (Though now that he has experience with that specific brand of pain, he knows that the feelings aren’t quite the same. A knife is sharp and cutting, radiating pain. That ache was deeper, and it settled next to his bones, preparing to make itself at home within him forever.) Now, there is sunlight streaming in through the lattice windows and Jon closes his eyes when he sleeps and fear is as dull as a butter knife, and there is no limit to the moments of quiet. He looks at the white daisies, and he aches.

“Jon?” Martin says quietly, and Jon startles, still unused to not Knowing when somebody is near to him before they announce themselves. “Is… is everything all right?”

Jon nods reflexively, then bites his lip and slowly shakes his head. He looks down at the table for a moment before flipping open the moleskine, uncapping the pen, and scratching words neatly on the next available line despite the way his hand shakes ever so slightly as he writes. I miss Daisy.

He holds up the notebook, and Martin steps closer until he can make out the cramped words on the page. His forehead furrows like he hadn’t been expecting it, but after a moment, he says softly, “Me too.”

Jon gives him a flat, disbelieving look, and Martin sighs. “Okay, maybe I don’t. At least, not- not like you do. But I… I know you cared about her, Jon. I know she was there for you when I- I wasn’t, and I… I wanted to meet the version of Daisy that you pulled out of that coffin. Really meet her, I mean, without all of the loneliness and fog and- and end-of-the-world drama.” A corner of Martin’s mouth turns up into a sort of unhappy smile. “I guess I miss what could have been, then.” Quieter: “I’m sorry. I know that she… she meant a lot to you.”

Jon nods once, folding his hands together on his lap and worrying them together. He opens his mouth, then closes it with a frustrated sigh and reaches back for the notebook. Hastily, he scrawls, I think she would have liked you. Then: I wish you could have met her too. Then, hesitantly: I told her about you. I talked about you a lot. She never understood why I left you alone with Lukas, but she respected my decision to do so.

He holds it up, and Martin’s eyes scan the page quickly. Jon can see the moment Martin reads the last line, the way his jaw tenses and his throat bobs as he swallows. “Only nice things, I hope,” he says after a moment with a bit of forced cheeriness.

Jon exhales loudly through his nose—a breathy laugh, the only kind he can manage anymore—and shrugs.

Martin’s lips twitch into a smile, but it quickly folds under the pressure of the troubled look upon the rest of his face. “I’m glad that you had her,” he says quietly. “And I’m sorry you lost her.”

She had me as well, Jon scratches, holding it up for Martin to see. Then, his train of thought continues and he holds up a finger, pulling the moleskine back down to the table and inking a few more lines onto the page. It was hard to be human, but we helped each other. I wish I could have helped her during the apocalypse, and I wish I could help her now. It hurts to know that she could have had this, truly separated from the Hunt, but that she wasn’t given the chance.

He holds it up, trying to keep his hands steady as he gives Martin time to read through it. Then, Martin takes the moleskine from him and sets it carefully on the table before folding Jon’s hand in his and squeezing gently. He rubs his thumbs across the back of Jon’s knuckles as he says, “I know, love. I know.” He lifts Jon’s hand to his lips and presses a gentle kiss to it. His lips brush against the back of Jon’s hand as he says, “Would you… would you like to do something for her? A memorial, or- or something to remember her with? I know there wasn’t much of a chance to do so back when—back before, and it… it might help.”

Jon looks down at his lap, considering. He knows that Daisy is gone; he doesn’t know if this would make the ache in his chest lessen or grow tighter, and to do nothing and stay the same feels like the safer of the two options. Then, he catches a glimpse of white out of the corner of his eye—the daisies, sitting on the table, vibrant and alive and glowing slightly in the bright sunlight—and, eyes still locked on those waxy petals, he nods.

“Okay,” Martin says quietly. “All right.”

.

.

.

They stand atop one of the grassy hills close to the cottage, a thick scarf wrapped several times around Jon’s neck to keep away the cold and his mittened hands holding the bouquet of cut daisies, their petals fluttering and stems bowing in the wind. The moleskine is tucked away in his coat, but he hasn’t used it since they arrived out here. Martin’s arm is tucked around Jon, hand resting on his opposite hip as he pulls Jon close to his side, and they’re both silent as they stare out over the grassy knolls, peppered with orange and white cows and brown pickets with wire strung between them.

Jon takes a daisy from the bouquet, holding it carefully in his hand lest it blow away too early, and watches it wave back and forth in the wind, flimsier without the support of the rest of the flowers. He remembers calling Daisy’s name with dirt clustering at the corners of his mouth and filling his nostrils, feeling terror grip him as the soil around him began to shift and move, rivulets of water trickling into his eyes and stinging as he tried to blink them away. He recalls the relief, all-consuming and so potent he thought he would choke on it (if he hadn’t already been choking on dirt, so much dirt, soil and clay and sand and gravel all mixed as one), when she had called his name in return. He takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and releases the flower, watching it catch in the wind and be carried away, down the hill and out of sight.

He pulls another flower out of the bouquet and thinks of the way Daisy’s hand felt in his when he finally made contact, fingers calloused and rough and fingernails ragged and caked with dirt. Her grip was so weak, muscles unused to the trial of being made to grasp and cradle and hold, but she held on as the dirt pressed down on them and they struggled to breathe and, still, with their lungs compressed and weary, they used them to form words. He thinks about not alone, though, not alone, and lets the flower go, watching it tumble away on the breeze.

He pulls another flower and thinks of when Daisy said that she’d planned to kill him, and how he wasn’t even able to muster up the energy to care.

The petals on the next flower are wet. For a moment, Jon thinks that it’s started raining and he just hadn’t noticed. Then, he feels Martin’s hand brush against his cheek, wiping away the next few tears with his thumb, and his next breath rattles in his chest.

He remembers being with Daisy in his office, him sitting in the chair behind his desk and her standing in the corner, trying to remember what it felt like to be vertical. He remembers sitting across from her at a sticky pub table, his hands wrapped around an equally as sticky mug of beer as she pulled a surprising amount of laughter out of his mouth. (He suspected that the warmth running through him by the end of the night was only partially due to the flush of alcohol in his system.) He remembers sitting on a now-ratty cot in document storage, one earbud in his ear and the other in Daisy’s as they leaned against the wall, thighs pressed lightly together and hands clasped in a way that felt easy, his nose wrinkling as The Archers played tinnily through the earbuds. He remembers being slumped against the brick wall behind the Institute, cigarette held between two shaking fingers as he tried to pretend like the nicotine would satisfy the burning hunger growing within him, and the shoulder that had pressed firmly against his as Daisy had slid down to sit next to him, a similar sort of hunger clawing relentlessly within her as well. He remembers standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom in the Archives, staring at his own eyes and wondering if they looked just a bit greener today, just a bit less human, and finally walking back out to see Daisy leaning on the wall next to the door, her voice leaving no room for argument as she said that she’d bought a bottle of whiskey and they were going to share it between them. He remembers lying on one of the cots and staring at the darkened ceiling, hearing her breathing deep and even beside him, one thin arm slung over his chest, and thinking about how much stronger than him she was, that she would rather die than be who she was before. (She never thought he was a monster. He hadn’t quite believed it, but he had been grateful for it all the same.) And he remembers what it felt like, slipping into the tunnels beneath the Institute and leaving Daisy and Basira behind to deal with the chaos that lay above ground, unable to shake the horrible, sickening feeling that it was the last time he would ever see Daisy.

Their last night together had been spent listening to the historical podcast that Jon had managed to convince Daisy to try. He thinks she only put up with it as long as she did because she spent much less time listening to the hosts and much more time listening to him talk over them, supplementing their research with his own and going off on long, rambling tangents that more often than not ended up a few subjects away from history. She never minded when he rambled, and he never felt that choking, itching feeling at the back of his throat that caused the words to die halfway through a sentence that he so often got when he felt that he was boring those around him.

They hadn’t even gotten to finish the episode they were on.

Jon remembers it all, and he lets the flowers go one by one, watching them tumble away down the hill until his hands are empty, hanging uselessly in the air for a moment before he drops them limply to his sides. He knows he’s crying in earnest by now, and he hates it. It’s a terribly vulnerable feeling, to be mourning out in the open, and he hates it. His breath hitches in his throat—he would choke his words if he could form them—and he hates it.

He hates it, but he doesn’t stop Martin when he wraps his other arm around Jon and pulls him gently into his chest, whispering soft platitudes into Jon’s hair as Jon buries his face in Martin’s scarf to hide his tears. Martin’s hands rub circles across Jon’s back and his lips press against the crown of Jon’s head and he whispers, “It’s all right, love. It’s all right,” and Jon allows himself one abrupt, hiccuping sob before he pushes all remaining sounds deep within him where they cannot escape.

And down below, near the base of the hill, the daisies lie scattered amongst the grass and the bushes and the weeds, like the first flakes of winter snow.

.

.

.

There are daisies on the kitchen table again. These ones are yellow, collected from the garden in the back before the frost has a chance to set in and wither them. Sunlight makes dappled patterns across them as Jon sits at the table and drinks tea for the third morning since he found himself able to do so once again, made with no milk and two sugars just as he likes. He can hear the gentle rumble of water from the bathroom, his own hair already shower-damp and pulled back into a loose braid. The jumper is Martin’s, too large and draped over his hands where they wrap around his mug, and the kitchen smells of tea and daisies and home. If Jon closes his eyes and shuts off his mind and focuses only on the seep of heat into his palms and the brush of fabric against his arms, he can almost pretend like everything between before and now had been a dream.

Almost.

Jon takes a deep breath, opens his eyes, and takes a long sip of his tea. He’s halfway back to setting the mug on the kitchen table when there’s a creak, a rattle, and a burst of cold air as the front door of the cottage swings open.

The mug slips out of Jon’s hands and knocks sideways on the table, spilling tea across the varnished surface and rolling dangerously close to the edge before its handle strikes the table and brings it to a halt. He distantly registers that his jumper sleeves are stained with tea and that the puddle is seeping towards him, preparing to drip off the edge, but the thought is buried beneath an icy wave of shock as he stares, wide-eyed, at the open doorway. At the figure standing within it.

Daisy stares back, eyes wide with surprise, face streaked with mud and blood, one hand still on the door handle, and says, “Jon?”

#tma #the magnus archives #jaisy-week #jonathan sims #daisy tonner #martin blackwood #my writing #my fic #ehe here we go! jay's second iteration of a post canon fic #otherwise known as 'the miraculous ladybug au' ajdhjlgak #before tag

[castiel-kline]

once upon a birthday

Birthdays haven’t always been Jack’s friend, but he’s starting to realize that every May 18th he reaches is a miracle rather than a tragedy.

May 18, 2017.

Jack saw that combination of letters and numbers everywhere on his first day of life. He saw it on the corner of the newspaper on Sheriff Barker’s desk, watched her scribble it on a page of notes she was writing up about him, saw it light up on Clark’s phone when he opened it to show Jack something “cool.” 

It would be a while before he realized that date’s significance.

-

May 18, 2018

Jack was seated around a campfire with the other kids of the rebel camp, staving off their fear of the incoming dark by telling them a story. It was just the plot of Clone Wars, but since it didn’t exist in this universe no one called him out on it. 

Bobby’s voice carried over the sounds of the camp settling down for the night, low but still decipherable. 

“...our supply’ll run out by the 25th. We have to keep moving, get some more.”

Jack never did learn what they were about to run out of, because Mary’s response snared his attention even tighter.

“Remind me what day it is now? I lost track while I was… you know.”

“Right, I get it. It’s May 20th.”

And Jack stopped short in his tale, the realization that he’d been alive more than a year hitting him like a blast from one of Michael’s soldiers. The little girl next to him nudged his elbow and asked if he was okay.

“I’m fine,” he said, smiling gently. “It’s just that my birthday was two days ago. I only realized now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. We could sing to you now?” All the children nodded their agreement, but Jack shook his head.

“Thanks, but it’s okay. Besides, I need to finish telling you about Ashoka’s rescue mission, right?” They leaned in closer around the fire, and Jack went back to his narrator voice. “Now, she knew it would be a dangerous journey, but…”

That night when Jack was trying to sleep (Mary made him promise to attempt four hours, even though he didn’t really need it) he wondered if birthday celebrations lived up to their reputation. He wondered if his was ever going to be worth celebrating, given all the pain and death that day had brought.

With the new knowledge that he was a year old, Jack dreamed of his mother- wafting through hazy gold memories of a furniture warehouse, Castiel beside her, in the days before Jack was capable of hurting anyone because he couldn’t control his powers. In the days when he still felt safe.

-

May 18, 2019

“How’s it goin’, kiddo? Enjoying the quiet?”

Jack whirled around to face the Empty head on, unwilling to show just how much its appearance had startled him. It didn’t bother him much, per Billie’s instructions, but sometimes it liked to taunt him. Usually it appeared as his mother, sometimes Cas, but today it looked just like him.

“What do you want?” Jack asked, lifting his chin. His doppleganger mirrored the action, before smirking and sauntering closer.

“Oh, calm down. I don’t bite, I’m just delivering a message.”

“A message from who?”

Billie would just deliver a message in person, and no one else could contact him in here. Maybe Cas could-

“Hmm, I don’t know,” it interrupted Jack’s thoughts. “Time? The Universe? Anyway. Happy birthday, sport. Enjoy the official start of your terrible twos.”

With that the Shadow vanished, leaving Jack alone in the dark once again. He sat down and curled his knees to his chest, wishing there was a corner or a wall he could press his back against. He felt exposed and vulnerable in the vastness of the Empty’s nothing, and it was making him uneasy.

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what his family was up to down on earth. Would they be sad? Too busy fighting Chuck to notice? Were they even alive?

He wished with all his might that they weren’t alone. Alone wasn’t what you should be on somebody’s birthday.

-

May 18, 2020

As endings went, Jack’s was shaping up to be okay. He’d finally had a good birthday- even if it was both impromptu and a few days early. He laid in bed, belly full of his first ever birthday cake, for once not thinking about his upcoming demise.

A soft knock on the door sounded, and Jack sat up in surprise. A glance at his phone confirmed that it was nearing four in the morning, which only thickened his confusion.

“Come in?”

When Cas pushed open the door, Jack smiled.

“You’re back!” he exclaimed, pushing off the blanket and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Cas pushed the door to a close behind him and shuffled further into the room. “Sorry, I know it’s late, but I had a feeling you’d still be awake.”

“Is everything okay? Nothing went wrong with talking to the angels, did it?”

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine,” Cas assured him. “The angels are going to keep an eye out for Amara, but that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”

Jack frowned. Then why…?

“Happy birthday,” Cas said, pulling a gift bag out from behind his back. “I know it’s early, but I heard you celebrated while I was gone. So I picked something up on the way home.”

“Thank you,” Jack breathed, taking the gift and settling it on his lap. His first birthday gift.

Cas took a seat next to him, giving Jack’s arm a gentle nudge.

“You can open it now, if you’d like.”

Jack didn’t need to be told twice. He tore into the tissue paper, eagerly unveiling the surprise it hid from view. At the bottom of the bag was a teddy bear, clad in overalls that smushed down its soft brown fur.

“Your mother always wanted to buy one for you,” explained Castiel. “We placed the order, but it didn’t arrive before…”

“Before.” Jack sighed, throat suddenly tight with emotion.

“If you don’t like it I can take it back-”

“No, Cas, it’s great. I love it. Does it have a name?”

The question didn’t faze Cas in the slightest.

“Well, the official name according to the store is Marvelous Marvin. But I believe it’s customary to name a stuffed animal anything you’d like.”

Hmm. Jack studied the bear’s face for a moment, tilting his head. “Marvin’s good,” he declared. “I like it.”

“I’m glad.” Cas smiled, then stood up. “You should get some rest.”

“Wait!” He hadn’t meant to say anything, but as soon as the word was out he realized he really, really, didn’t want this day to end. “I saved a piece of cake for you. And I’m not tired, so…”

It only took about ten seconds before Cas gave in with a fond shake of his head.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Jack followed him to the kitchen, Marvin under one arm.

His third birthday, and his first good birthday.

What would almost certainly be his last birthday.

-

May 18, 2021

There were many things in life Jack had learned to think of as little miracles. Some seemed utterly insignificant, like the flowers that managed to grow between cracks in the sidewalk. Saying hello to his mother should have been just as beautiful and commonplace, but to Jack every chance was more wondrous than the sun shining through a storm.

He whispered it now, breathing another miracle into being in two precious little words.

“Hi, mom.”

Kelly looked up from what she’d been reading, face lighting up in joyous surprise. She came forward and swept him up in her arms, and Jack allowed himself a moment to be grateful. In spite of everything, the universe allowed him to have this.

“I didn’t think you’d be back yet,” she said as she pulled away, her hands clasping his. “I mean, you said you had to fix all the parallel universes, and Cas said there’s hundreds of them…”

“I’m not done yet,” he said. “Amara’s still out there, and I’ll have to go back soon, but... I really wanted to spend some time with you today.”

Kelly frowned, concern taking over her features. “Is everything okay? Do you need help, or-?”

“I’m fine,” Jack assured. “It’s -on earth, anyway- it’s May 18th. 2021.”

Realization struck. “It’s your birthday.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d even want to celebrate, because my being born wasn’t a good day for you, and-”

“Jack, baby.” Kelly put a hand on his cheek, swiping away the tear he hadn’t known was falling. “My death was not your fault. Okay? Of course I want to celebrate your birthday with you.”

“Really?”

“Really. We can call Cas down here, watch some movies, make a cake-”

Kelly was already moving to the kitchen, all ready to start baking.

“Mom, wait. I… I had a birthday cake once,” he told her. “And that was… special. Could we think of something else to do? Just you and me and Cas?”

“Of course, honey. It’s your day. Cookies?”

Jack nodded, and he smiled. Because in that moment it was crystal clear that each year spent growing older, especially those spent with the people that he loved most, were little miracles too.

And he had plenty more birthdays to look forward to.

#happy birthday jack!!!! #listen this fic did NOT want to get written but I hope what I managed to pull together is okay! #jack kline #nougatparty #spn fanfic #my fic #kelly kline #castiel #dadstiel and nougat son

[starlightinhumanform]

The Art of Love: Chapter 14

Fandom: She Ra (2018)

Ship: Glimadora

Summary: It’s a date! Sort of... 

Warnings (for this chapter): None (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: High School AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rivals/Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Fluff

A/N: Hey everyone!! I hope you enjoy this long-overdue update! Once I have some chapters done and ready to go, I’m going to begin uploading far more regularly. Thank you for sticking with me and as always, love you all 🖤✨

Ao3    The Art of Love Masterpost    Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Glimmer woke up feeling rested for the first time in possibly months. She felt like maybe— just maybe— things weren’t as bad as she had thought. After all, the project was going well and her grade might go up, she and her mom had spent some nice time together, Bow was sending her weird memes, and— last but not least— she and Adora were friends. Was “friends” the right word? They were more than friends? less than friends? They were Friends*

(*Stipulations May Apply).

Glimmer stretched her arms over her head, smiling as sunlight streamed through her window and splashed across her face. It was warm and golden and seemed sweet somehow— much like a certain jock she knew. Or maybe she was just projecting her crush onto the entire world, even the very sunlight.

———————

The day passed mostly uneventfully. Well, apparently a big fight broke out during one of the passing periods and the whole school was talking about it but Glimmer had been on the opposite side of the campus at the time of the event and frankly didn’t care.

She managed to make it to Chemistry early which seemed to be a surreal experience for both her and Weaver. She tried not to pay attention to the stunned look of incredulity Weaver gave her as she walked by.

Glimmer nearly sat down at her desk before deciding that— just this once— maybe taking a risk would be alright. She made her way to the counter on the side of the classroom. More specifically, the counter where Adora and Cat usually stood before class started. She lifted herself up and sat on the edge of the cool, black plastic of the slab. Now all that was left to do was wait.

Cat and Adora stalked in a few minutes later; and stalk was the correct description— their legs, obviously powerful from the years of soccer, beneath the matching running shorts they wore. Glimmer swallowed and and it seemed it stick in her throat. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

The only thing less noticeable than Cat’s bright red crop top was the glower painted across her face, “Hi, Glimmer. Can I ask you what you’re doing over here?”

“Oh uh—“ Glimmer could feel a blush rising to match the colour of Cat’s shirt.

Before she had a chance to finish, Adora lunged forward and tackled her in a hug. Even without the shock, the force of it nearly knocked her over onto her back.

“Hey Glimmer!!” Adora was beaming and Glimmer couldn’t help but return the smile.

“Hi Adora?” She didn’t mean it to sound like a question but maybe it was appropriate seeing she sure as hell didn’t know what was going on. How did Adora always manage to freeze her brain??

For once Glimmer was grateful to hear Weaver’s voice as the teacher began snapping at everyone to go to their seats.

“Oh! Bye then! See you in a few minutes!” Adora waved brightly and turned to practically jog across the room.

Glimmer slipped off of the countertop still feeling dazed. But the fog in her brain felt different than usual, like it was lighter somehow. By the time she sat down, she realized she had been smiling since Adora had hugged her.

Ms Weaver’s voice echoed meaninglessly in Glimmer’s mind. She didn’t care about the pedantic nonsense the teacher was complaining about or whatever useless information she was yelling. All Glimmer cared about was the way Adora’s arms felt wrapped around her and how happy she seemed to see Glimmer. Glimmer’s head may have been empty but her chest felt warm and filled to the brim.

Weaver clapped her hands and the sound startled Glimmer from warmth within her. Chairs began scraping against the dirty linoleum floor and students moved to work with their partners so she could do the same. Glimmer stood up, about to join the shuffling tangle of students. She was surprised that Weaver was giving them so much time in class to work on the project but if it meant more time she got to spend with Adora... well, she wasn’t complaining.

In the time it took Glimmer to stand and reach for her bag, Adora had already slipped into the desk next to her.

“Oh!” Glimmer stood still, feeling dumb as she blinked down at Adora, “I was going to walk over to you but—“

“Beat ya to it,” Adora cut her off with a wink.

Glimmer tried for a smile, “Yeah I guess so.”

It felt like her insides were clenching together in a fist. Stop making yourself look like an idiot, why do you have to be so awkward? You’re going to make her think you don’t like her. Again.

When she sat down slowly, her knees were stiff, like she had aged several decades just from the stress of trying to talk to Adora the past few days.

Adora smiled at her. Glimmer tried to smile back but she could tell she wasn’t quite accomplishing her goal. Despite the noise of chatter and crafting and the various sounds of high school students getting off track, the silence between them was glaring, nearly painfully so.

Say something, anything. Glimmer couldn’t, she didn’t know what to say, how to say it. Adora was just a girl, just a normal girl; why was she so damn hard to talk to? You’re lying to yourself. She’s not some normal girl. She’s so much more than that. You wanted this, you wanted to feel this way. Now handle it.

“Your hair looks really nice today!”

At the sound of Adora’s voice, she realized her eyes had glazed over and she tried to focus on Adora’s face.

“—Not that your hair doesn’t normally look nice I just meant that, you know, I noticed it today and—“

“Oh,” Glimmer’s face was burning. A thousand thoughts sped through her head too fast for her to make sense of any of them. One suggested that Adora could like her as more than a friend, another shot it down quickly, one was just happy that Adora had noticed her at all, a final thought suggested that her face was burning hot enough to fry an egg, “Thank you, um, yeah, thanks. Thanks so much.”

Adora’s smile widened, “You’re welcome!”

Silence spread through the space between them again. Glimmer wished she knew what to say. But what could she say? That she had never seen someone so pretty in her life? That she wanted to spend every day she had left on this planet learning every freckle on Adora’s face and every fleck of gray in her eyes? That she couldn’t stop thinking about her laugh and her voice and the dumb jokes she made. No, there was nothing Glimmer could say. She could feel Adora’s gaze on her, soft but inquisitive, looking for something or trying to memorize something she had already found. If Glimmer hadn’t been blushing already, the intensity of those eyes would have done it.

“So...” Glimmer tried to look anywhere but at Adora. She wished they were far, far apart so she could think clearly but she also wished they were so much closer. Glimmer didn’t know what she wanted, “We should probably get to work, shouldn’t we?”

“Yeah, of course. You’re right.”

Adora turned to face the desk and began gathering the materials she needed. Glimmer squirmed when Adora was looking at her but somehow not having her attention was worse. Glimmer wished she could just make up her damn mind.

“So it looks like all we need to get done is the presentation slides and then figure out who is saying what.”

Just as quickly as the blush had risen, Glimmer felt the blood drain from her face, “Wait, why does anyone need to say anything?”

“We have to present our projects, remember?” Adora was smiling at her kindly.

“Um, no, I guess—“ Glimmer looked down, the words sticking heavily in her throat, “I guess I forgot. Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s alright! No big deal!”

Glimmer’s hands came to life, fidgeting sporadically as she clutched them in her lap, “No, it’s not that. I’m just really bad at school presentations.”

She felt stupid but it was the truth; she liked making things and showing them to others... just from a distance. When she had to present it, had to tie herself to it, she felt like everyone was analyzing and critiquing her; not whatever she had made. It made her freeze and choke up and forget everything she had planned on saying. She didn’t want to let Adora down, didn’t want to show her how useless she could really be.

Adora had part of her mouth quirked to the side, comically deep in thought, “Would it help if we practiced presenting it a few times before hand? Just the two of us?”

“I don’t know... maybe?” It would be even worse if she didn’t try at all, right? If she just gave up and let Adora do all the work on her own? Right? For once her mind left her without its input. Great, the one time I could actually use it and now is when you decide to shut up. I’m disappointed in you, brain, disappointed but not surprised.

“It’s worth a try!” Adora scrolled through the slides she had made, obviously trying to make a decision about something, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to finish these by the end of the period; do you think we could hang out together after school today and finish it?”

“Yes!” The word was out of her mouth before Glimmer had the chance to think about it.

Adora looked happily surprised, “Ok, great! Meeting me at the soccer field at 4:00?”

Glimmer was still in stunned disbelief at what she had said, “Yeah, yeah sure. Sounds good.”

“It’s a date!” Adora face turned pink as Glimmer’s shock shifted onto her, “I— oh. I meant like, you know, a date. Not a date, just a date.”

Glimmer couldn’t help but laugh. Her head was light, like somebody had taken out her brain and replaced it with cotton candy. A date? She didn’t mean it like that, of course she didn’t. She couldn’t. She’s perfect and I’m just... me. You’re getting ahead of yourself and you’re getting hopes up far too high. When those hopes are proven wrong— and they will be proven wrong— you’re going to have a long way to fall. Don’t let yourself get hurt like this.

She took a deep breath, hoping to settle all of the ideas and questions and that word from rattling around in her head. Her anxiety was right, she was getting way too ahead of herself.

Glimmer cut in through Adora’s rambling, smiling sadly. Adora was, well, adorable when she got all awkward and lost her usual composure; but it hurt knowing that Glimmer could never get what she wanted, settling on looking from afar. A date, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Right, right of course you did, sorry,” Adora still seemed sheepish which puzzled Glimmer.

She wanted to ask why Adora was acting so weird, but she was arguably the far weirder one of them so maybe it was best to just leave good enough alone, “I guess we should probably get back to work then?”

The rest of the period went by quickly, Adora diligently gathering and typing information and Glimmer doing her best to be helpful, placing the text onto the slides.

Adora seemed caught up in her work and Glimmer didn’t want to bother her. But with her eyes focused and face grimacing, Glimmer just wanted to make her laugh or at least relax a little bit.

Glimmer tried to focus but there really wasn’t much for her to do. Besides, she couldn’t stop thinking about how close she and Adora were sitting, nearly bumping shoulders. It would be so easy to just lean over and kiss her cheek. Shut up. It’s never going to happen. Stop letting these feelings get so strong. But how could she not feel this way? She almost felt bad for not being more productive.

The bell rang and the classroom once again erupted into noise as students raced to leave Weaver’s domain.

Adora stood up and grabbed her bag in one swift movement, “4:00 at the soccer fields! Don’t forget me.”

Glimmer watched her jog out the door, melting into her seat. She couldn’t forget her if she tried.

If you would like to be added to The Art of Love taglist, please just send an ask or reply to this post!! 

~ @lunacy13 @shlikensfurlyf ~

#glimadora #glimadora fanfic #glimmer #adora #spop #she ra #she ra fanfic #glimmer x adora #adora x glimmer #spop glimadora #glimadora high school au #she ra high school au #spop high school au #glimadora fluff #glimadora angst #high school au glimmer #high school au adora #starlight writes

[hopewritcs]

shipwrecked. four.

pairing: tony stark x f!reader

word count: 3.6k

summary: au based on the film overboard ( both the 1987 and the 2018 versions influenced this ).  y/n is a widowed mother of four children, who works constantly to make ends meet, and relies on her friends and family to help out with her children.  all the while she’s still working toward her own goal of publishing a novel.  y/n is working at a “last minute emergency” party on a yacht where she meets tony who seems to believe that since it’s his boat, he can order her around like any other person who works for him.  let’s just say their first meeting does not go well, as it ends with y/n in the water and a laughing tony topside on the yacht.  their second meeting?  oh, thanks to a bump on the head and a case of amnesia, it’s all going to go according to plan ( she hopes ).  

notes: okay so i just decided to start watching all the mcu movies from the beginning and it’s brought me back to this fic.  i know i sometimes take eons to update, but i really appreciate all the love and support for my fics i’ve seen.  i hope you all enjoy this as much as i enjoy writing it.  -- also, just a reminder that joanna is 12 going on 13, kate & dean are 9, and leo is 6.  

trigger(s): amnesia

masterlist: here

shipwrecked tag list: @and-drew-101, @witheringblooddemon, @hulksmashin-bannerpackin ( if you want to be added to the tag list, send me a message !! )

Having Tony around was making your life both easier and more difficult.  You had more free time, as you now had someone to split the house chores with--the ones that the kids couldn’t do for their weekly chore wheel like making meals and prepping lunches--which you spent working on the novel you’d been writing for years.  It was a pet project you’d started working on when you were pregnant with the twins, you never expected it to amount to anything other than something you liked passing time by doing.  

After your husband’s death it was something you’d turned to and worked on it in the late hours of the night when you couldn’t sleep.  It was turning into something of a memoir, based on personal experiences but with fictional characters.  It was nowhere near what you’d originally thought the work of fiction to be, but it had helped so much writing it.  

You worked out a schedule with Lenore and Billie for yourself and Tony to make sure one of you was always home when the kids were leaving in the morning or coming home after school--completely ending your dependence on the babysitter you used to hire, thankfully since it saved you money.  

However, you’d also say your life was more difficult to control with Tony in the picture since every time a personal question popped up, it took you by surprise.  

He was still dealing with amnesia, and struggling to remember who he was on top of the family you two had--even if that part was technically a lie, he was doing his best.  The first couple of times the questions were simple enough.  

“Do I like strawberries?”  / “Do we have family meals every day?”  /  “When are the kids birthdays?”  /  “How did we meet?”  

Every question was usually followed by a sigh as he’d mutter, “I hate that I can’t remember anything.”  Which only broke your heart a little bit further every time you heard him say it.  

Sure, you played the part of struggling marriage well.  It wasn’t hard, since you could classify your feelings for Tony more along the lines of hate than anything else at the beginning.  It was supposed to be a means to an end.  

But, as time went on, you started to feel something.  You and Tony started to connect, and you saw how he was with the kids and it made your heart flutter.  This was never something you expected to happen again, but the house almost started to feel like home.  

Within the first couple of days, Tony seemed much happier too.  Where at first Tony would quietly observe everybody during family meals and not say much, after the first few days Tony was leading conversations and participating in them often.  

Tony surprised you by writing little notes down.  You found a couple loose sheets of paper in the coffee table drawer with lists of things.  One list included things that needed to be fixed around the house--you knew they all needed to be done, especially the dish washer, but you hadn’t had the time or money to hire someone to do anything--and there were also sheets for you and the kids.  Notes in Tony’s stark scrawling pen about each of you; birthdays, favorite things, things he noticed, questions he wanted to ask.  

You’d made sure to put the papers back how you found them, not wanting Tony to know he’d been caught.  Maybe it was also for yourself to make sure you kept some distance.  

Tony was not your husband.  

You ignored just how often, after only just a week, you’d need to remind yourself of this fact.  

A week into living with Tony, the family had really begun a routine.  It was like you all fit together.  You’d gotten a couple of text updates from Billie, pictures of Tony at work at the garage.  

At first, you showed them to Lenore and the two of you laughed about it.  After a while, you started to save them just for yourself.  

“You like him!”  Lenore exclaimed one morning, barging into your office with two cups of coffee.  

You turned your head from the computer and looked at your friend, shaking your head, “Good morning to you too, crazy.”  

“Come on, tell me you don’t feel something for him.”  Lenore said, placing a cup of coffee in front of you and raising her eyebrows.  “I mean, he’s been living at the house for a week now.  You spend all your time with him.  He’s a natural with the kids, and Billie says he’s doing great with the cars.”  

“Your point?  Because none of that points to me liking him in the way you’re implying.”  You sighed, tapping on the desk as you grabbed the cup of coffee and took a sip.  After a long pause you continued to speak, “Do I find him exponentially less irritating than originally thought?  Yes.  But I do not like him.  This isn’t middle school, we’re not at a sleepover talking about our crushes anymore.”  

Lenore was still looking at you with a smirk that said I don’t believe a word you’re saying.  “You’re telling me you have no feelings for him?  None whatsoever?”  

“Yes, Len.  I really don’t have feelings for him--how could I, I don’t even know who he is.  Better yet, he doesn’t even know who he really is!  Is this all something because he doesn’t remember what made him be a jerk?  Is it some side affect of the amnesia?  I don’t know.”  

“Oh, so you want to like him.”  She was actually giggling at your comment, which made you more irritated than you’d been at her original accusation.  

Maybe she was right, you wanted to like Tony.  If not in the way Lenore was implying, you wanted to like him and feel more comfortable around him.  But there was a part of you that still held onto the first interaction you had.  The interaction you had with the real Tony.  

“Sweetie, it’s okay.  You’re allowed to want to like somebody else, it’s been--” 

You threw your hands up to stop her from continuing her thought, shaking your head.  “Don’t go there.”  

“Y/N, I’m sorry, but it’s true.  If you want to like someone, you can.  It’s not going to change anything that happened before.”  

“Lenore, I love you, but can I just get back to work?  I’ve got to be home early today.  I don’t want to have this conversation with you today, or ever frankly.  Until there’s someone real in the picture.”  

Lenore shook her head and turned back to leave your office, but not before looking at you and saying one last piece of mind.  “Tony is real.”  

You ignored it, because she was wrong.  Everything that Tony had been was lost to him with the amnesia.  This Tony, the fake husband you’d been living with, he wasn’t real.  

You couldn’t let him be real, couldn’t allow your feelings to cloud your judgement.  

So, it was easier--better for you and everyone else--to just pretend like you felt nothing for him.

Tony was already home when you arrived, which shouldn’t have surprised you.  In fact, Tony being home wasn’t what surprised you as you walked through the front door.  What surprised you was what Tony was doing.  

He was on the kitchen floor with Kate by his side, the two of them working on the dishwasher.  That was what made you stop in your tracks, the front door closing behind you as you stepped into the house.  

Kate was curled up in the floor with Tony, the door of the dishwasher on the floor on the opposite side of them, as they went back and forth handing each other tools and whispering about what needed to be done next.  

You knew you should leave them be, let the two of them work on the dishwasher--even if you worried they might make it worse.  Though, since the machine wasn’t working to begin with, could anything really be worse than that?  

Except, you couldn’t bring yourself to leave the front doorway, watching the two of them at work.  

Kate had been the quietest of your children, even before you had lost your husband, but you could tell how excited she was to be working on this project.  Even if she was whispering with Tony, you could see how her eyes brightened as they spoke and tinkered with the machine.  You moved around the room quietly, trying not to disturb the two of them--though with every step further into the house, it seemed as though the two of them had no idea you were in the room.  

You tucked your purse into it’s usual spot, doing what you did when you got home from work every day and took off your shoes and hung up the coat you’d been wearing.  

Even after all of this movement when you turned back around, the two of them hadn’t moved more than a couple of inches.  Clearly they had no idea they had an audience to their little workshop.  

Taking your cellphone out of your pocket, you snapped a couple of pictures from a distance, looking at the way Tony worked and how he seemed to talk Kate through what to do instead of just doing it himself.  

This was not what you’d expected.  

Oh boy, you were in trouble.  

“Mom, you’re home early too!”  Leo exclaimed, coming from the stairs and running to greet you with a hug.  Dean followed behind him, holding onto books.  

“Hi sweetie.” You bent down and gave your youngest a kiss on the cheek and brushed back his hair from his eyes as you continued to speak.  “Are you guys working on school stuff?”  

“Dean’s been helping me with stuff for the spelling test I have on Monday.”  Leo nodded, pointing to his brother with a grin.  

“Oh yeah?”  You walked over to Dean and turned your attention back to Leo.  “What do you think, is he gonna ace the test?”  

“If he would pay attention instead of running around the house, maybe.”  Dean said with a shrug, gesturing for his brother to come back up the stairs and study some more.  

“I thought I heard the door, so I wanted to see if it was Jo coming home or if it was Mom!”  Leo exclaimed, racing over to Dean with a frown on his face.  “And I am too doing good.  You’re just c-r-a-n-k-y, cranky.”  Leo stuck his tongue out at his brother and then ran back up the stairs, leaving Dean to chase after him.  

You were almost laughing at their antics until you realized what Leo had said and you walked towards the staircase shouting up at the two of them--even if you knew it wasn’t going to reach their ears as you heard their bedroom door close, “Wait--what do you mean Jo coming home?  Is she out?  She didn’t call and ask first!”  You were already tugging your phone out of your pocket in order to call your daughter, halfway through finding her phone number in your contacts when you heard someone else speak.  

“She wanted to go to the movies with some friends when I picked the kids up from school.  I thought it would be okay, she said Ryan’s mom would drop her off in time for dinner.”  Tony explained, still on the floor with Kate, but he was sitting upright now and looking to put the door back on the dishwasher.  

“What?  You thought it was okay?  That’s my kid, Tony.”  You sighed, shaking your head as you walked toward the kitchen, your arms crossed as you looked at him angrily.  

“You know what, Y/N?”  Tony sighed, running a hand over his face as he turned his attention completely to you, “You keep saying my kids.  They’re ours, aren’t they?  So maybe you could trust me with our kids.”  

And there it was.  The one part of this whole secret you hated.  

You dropped to one of the seats at the kitchen table and sighed, putting your hands in your lap and looking down.  You didn’t want to fight.  You hated that you got so angry so quickly--if it was any other situation, you wouldn’t have been so mad at Joanna--but it was only natural since you were still going back and forth about trusting Tony.  He was proving to be trustworthy, but the back of your mind was replaying him push you off the yacht every time you wanted to completely trust him.  Besides, you’d asked Joanna to stay home and watch the younger kids, so she’d betrayed your trust.  

He was right though, for everything he believed the kids were both of yours.  You couldn’t fault him.  

It was a long and admittedly tense pause as you looked between your hands clasped together in your lap and at your “husband”.  It was going to be hard to explain that technically, both of you were right in this instance.  You couldn’t explain why without giving everything away.  So you settled for sighing again, shaking your head and speaking softly.  It was clear from your tone that you were still angry, but you wanted the argument to be over with.  “I just...if it happens again, text me.  You have to let me know where she’s going to be.”  

“You’re right.  I-I should have called you first to ask.  I’m sorry.”  Tony stood up and walked to the kitchen table to take a seat beside you, putting his hands on top of yours as he looked at you.  

“I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have said that the way I did.”  You admitted softly, looking at his hands on top of yours.  It felt weird and comforting all at once.  

“No, you were right, they’re not just your kids or my kids.  So I shouldn’t have told Jo it was alright when I hadn’t spoken to you first.”  

You turned your gaze back up to look at Tony and offered him a half smile, shrugging your shoulders.  You flipped your hands in his so that you were holding his hands instead of letting his rest on top of yours.  “Next time we’ll both know better, then.”  

Tony nodded, smiling back at you and then standing up.  “Alright.  Not to change the subject--but to change the subject, our youngest daughter and I have been working since we got home from school and we’re pretty sure that we’ve fixed the dishwasher problem.”  Tony tugged on your hands and you stood up, following him the couple of steps to the dishwasher and he left you by the counter so he could sit back with Kate.  “Isn’t that right kid?”  

Kate nodded, grinning as she turned to look at you.  “Daddy says I’m a natural with mechanics and machines!”  

“Are you sure?  We could have called a professional to get this fixed.  Are you sure it’s gonna work?”  You were worried, simply because you didn’t have the money in order to pay to get it fixed, and you didn’t know what was going to happen when they turned the machine on.  

Kate however, was unfazed, standing up and walking over to you with a grin on her face.  “Uh, duh, it’s gonna work!  Dad’s super talented with this stuff.”  

“So are you, kid.”  Tony grinned back at her, holding up the door to the dishwasher and nudging her.  “Now, if you’re done convincing mom that the dishwasher will work, you wanna help your dad put the finishing touch back on.  Then we can do a test run.”  

Kate looked at you, like she was waiting for your answer so you nodded and nudged her back to the dishwasher where she happily helped Tony put everything back together.  He held the door in place while he talked through Kate screwing everything back in position.  

Oh hell, you were really in deep.  

When Joanna came home, in time for dinner that you and Tony had both cooked together, you decided you were going to take her aside to talk with her about everything that had happened.  You’d calmed down a lot since you originally found out, but you still wanted to have a conversation with her about everything that had happened.  In the end, while the pair of you worked on dinner, you’d told Tony that you were going to ground your oldest daughter given how she’d not told you where she was going or who she was going to be with and only told Tony.  He agreed, simply because this was your punishment--though he did point out that he thought it was a little too harsh for the young girl.  

However, you waited until after dinner to have the conversation.  

Tony knew you were going to have a talk with Joanna, just nodded his head and let you go off with her as he cleared the table, telling the other kids that they should grab the ice cream from the freezer for dessert.  

You led Jo out to the front yard and walked over to your car with her.  Once you were far enough from the front door you rounded on your daughter and looked at her.  “What did we talk about?”  

“Uh, what do you mean?”  she asked, crossing her arms and looking at you like she had no idea what you were talking about.  

“Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what you did, Joanna.  You asked Tony if you could go to the movies and left your brothers and sister home with him.”  You exclaimed, managing to keep your voice down low enough so no one would overhear.  

“So what?  I think he’s a decent guy, mom.  I mean, you talked about him being an arrogant ass--”

“Language!”  

“And yet he’s been great with us.  He’s nothing like what you said he was, mom!”  Your daughter shook her head, like she couldn’t believe what she’d heard you describe Tony as.  

If you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t disagree with her.  This Tony was different than the one you’d originally met the other week on the yacht, and it was getting harder to see what everything was like originally.  

Yet still, your argument still stood, “He’s got amnesia, Jo.  He doesn’t remember what he was like!”  

“Well maybe this is the kind of guy he would have been anyway.  Maybe he just needed to get hit in the head for it to happen!  Don’t you trust him?”  

“Do I trust him?  That’s not the point, Jo.  The point of this is that I asked you to watch out for the kids and you blatantly disregarded what I asked you to do.”  You explained, shaking your head.  “Honey, it doesn’t matter if I trust him or not.  I asked you to do something, and I expected you to do it.  You’re grounded, for the next two weeks.  School, home, and after school activities only.”  

“Mom!  That’s totally unfair.”  

“Unfair?  What’s unfair is I had no idea where my daughter was when I got home today.  What’s unfair is that you didn’t text me, or call me, and ask if you could go to the movies.  What’s unfair is that I was worried sick about where you were.”  

Jo rolled her eyes, “Would you have even said yes if I asked?”   

“Maybe I would have, but that’s not what we’re talking about.  You scared me today.  I need to know where you are.”  

“This is so stupid.”  Joanna sighed, turning around and walking back towards the front door.  

“Watch your tone.”  You called after her, following her back to the house and walking into the front door.  “Apologize to Tony.”  You whispered to Joanna as you went into the kitchen to help the kids get their ice creams ready to eat.  

Joanna followed you to where the kids were and looked at Tony, shuffling on her feet as she cleared her throat to get his attention, “I’m sorry.  I should have told you to call mom, cause she’s in control of everyone’s life and can’t imagine anybody saying something without her permission.”  

“Joanna!”  you exclaimed, turning around to look at her.  

“Hey, Jo.  Watch your tone, and apologize to your mother right now.”  Tony said.  He didn’t like the way she implied that, since he knew that it wasn’t your intention.  You had just worried about her, and wanted to make sure she was alright.  

“Why should I?”  Jo crossed her arms and glared at you from her place by the kitchen table.  “It’s not like I can go anywhere, I’m grounded because of her!”  

“Enough.”  Tony spoke firmly, with a shake of his head.  “That’s enough, Joanna.  She has every right to be worried about you and where you were.  Apologize and go up to your room now.”  

“Ugh, whatever.  I’m sorry, I guess.”  Joanna sighed and turned around, walking up the stairs.  

The rest of the kitchen was quiet, with the kids not wanting to say anything and neither you nor Tony saying anything else on the subject.  The tension in the kitchen was awkward, as the five of you continued to make ice cream sundaes in silence for a while.  

You hadn’t expected Tony to stand up for you like that.  In fact, there were a lot of things you were still learning.  

But you didn’t want to think of that, because deep down you worried about the day Tony’s memory would come back and what that would mean for you, and the kids, and him.  

You were, without a doubt, in trouble.  

But, hey, the dishwasher worked perfectly now.  Maybe that was a sign that things were going to be alright after all.  

#tony stark x reader #tony stark au #pre iron man i #tony stark x y/n #tony stark imagine #shipwrecked

[qtakesams]

When Life Goes On, Go with It

Two years ago this month, I moved to Edgewater, Maryland, to complete a summer internship with the Smithsonian Environmental Research Center. SERC, as we call it, is a branch of the Smithsonian Institution that specializes in climate, coastal, terrestrial, and various other types of sciences. Their campus is an hour east of Washington, D.C. They own hundreds of acres of land, on which they house their laboratories and fields.

It was just after my sophomore year of college ended. As with many underclassmen years, mine was turbulent. I endured a drastic shift in my social circle which had, even if temporarily, left me feeling stranded on a campus I was still learning about. I’d had a rough spring semester, finding a lack of motivation to complete any assignment.

Most undergrads face that year: the one where nothing feels right, and each path feels like a dead-end. I had applied for a SERC internship on a bit of a whim. Entering college, I’d seen myself as a fiction writer and editor, planning to end up in a corporate publishing house. Sophomore had shown me I desired other things, and I applied for SERC’s science writing internship completely unsure if I’d actually like the work. What if I didn’t? What if it felt worse than the previous semester? What would I do if I couldn’t bounce back?

All of this, I decided, would be worth the risk. When I got an email from the internship’s advisor in March, offering me the position, I accepted it. The rest, as some might say, is history.

SERC is a hard place to find until you’ve visited a few times. The brown sign is easily skipped by the eyes. Coming from the west, you approach SERC on the left side of the road. Immediately, you forget that you’re technically in the suburbs, less than thirty miles from the epicenter of political heat in America. After a few turns, you arrive at the gate. When SERC is publicly open, you drive on through. When you’re an intern coming back from the bar at night, you have to swipe your ID card. You drive a few more turns, watching closely for deer, before that final right turn that drops you into the parking lot of the intern dorms and the labs.

I fell in love with SERC within days of my arrival. There were the intimidating factors of the place: fellow interns at Ivy Leagues and respected colleges, scientific labs into which the government itself funded millions, no meal plan, and the stick shift vehicle I would drive all summer. I was terrified when my mom drove away. I explored the floor of my building, admiring the kitchen, perusing the book selection. By eleven, I was in bed. I was tried from traveling, but more so, I didn’t know what to do. I’d briefly interacted with the other intern already on my floor, but I didn’t know him well enough to go say hi. There were four interns moved in below my floor, but I hadn’t seen any of them yet. I suddenly seemed wildly out of my element, though I had felt comfortable at SERC the moment I drove through the gate.

Of course, I grew happier at SERC. The happiest I’d been in years. Within weeks, I made strong friends, adjusted to my job, and began to close my GPS when driving to the store.

My work felt good. The articles I wrote and the media I created reached thousands of people, many of which gave positive comments. My words were reaching people, and the people were responding.

I was raised by a scientist, but more importantly, by well-educated, empathetic people. Loving my planet was part of the gig when I was growing up. In high school, I began to see where my privilege in this education existed. My friends at school didn’t seem to care about the things I’d be taught to care about. Water consumption, electricity, knowing the landscape on which your house is built. I knew important moments in history, and how they affected me. I had early knowledge of politics, to the point where I knew who George Bush was before his presidency ended (when I was 10). Ignorance and empathy tend to go hand-in-hand, mostly because ignorance leads to apathy. We’ve seen this cause-and-effect equation hold catastrophic, deadly consequences in 2020.

When I arrived at SERC, it didn’t slip by me that I suddenly had access to information that most people only dream about. Many of us are ignorant (I remain ignorant to 99.9% of what happens on this Earth) by circumstance, not by choice. Accessibility is one of our biggest problems of a global society attempting to function in a digital, climate change-riddled world. Sixty percent of the globe now has Internet access, but that leaves 3.08 billion people without the knowledge they need to protect themselves from the setbacks of climate change. Most of those people, as it would turn out, are terribly affected most by war, poverty, hunger, climate, social injustice, etc. These things intertwine and cause one another. Not always, but often.

My position at SERC gifted me access to science occurring in real-time. When the Pandemic would hit a year later, it would be surprising but not shocking. On a planet where politics and science are brothers, and the population is soaring too high to properly maintain, containing a spreadable virus is like trying to hold a cup of water in your bare hands. Sooner or later, it’s going to slip between the cracks and go everywhere. If it slips far enough, you’ll never find a towel strong enough to collect it all.

In March of 2020, when I moved home to isolate, I knew the rest of college was trashed. Not my degree, necessarily, but the experience of college. I would lose that experience in its normalcy, and therefore the skills which develop from that normalcy.

I did soon realize, however, that we are not always fortunate enough to do something about mass-casualties or problems. There’s not always an answer, straightforward or not. When there is one, you should grab it with both hands.

That summer of 2020, I decided I wanted to pursue a master’s degree after college. Higher education is not unknown in my family; we boast high degrees from prestigious universities. I am the opposite of a First-Generation student (one of my great-grandparents also had a master’s degree). Graduate school had already been on my mind when I started college, but I didn’t know what for. An MFA in fiction had felt the most logical to my teenage self in 2017, but by 2018, that felt out the window. What I had realized by the summer of 2020 was that, in the midst of the chaos and absurdity, was that I could in fact do something about what was going on. I can’t solve climate change, or house the homeless, or save every polar bear, or even eradicate a virus, but I can help in my own way. On some level, I can do something about the many crises. This, in itself, is “doing something”.

Science writing is a polarizing subject, of this I have been aware my entire life. Unfortunately, we’ve made science political, though politics are generally opinion (with strong empathy) and science is fact. It’s a tough, competitive field, but so is everything else. If you want to “make it” in this world, you have to willingly shed blood, tears, and probably sweat profusely. As I watched the COVID cases skyrocket simultaneously to the people I knew who cared not to stay home, I could tell something was off. People weren’t listening. If they were, it was usually to the ignorant voices on television.

I could feel my cheeks burning as I watched the Johns Hopkins map. It seemed cruel that we, as a society, could do that to ourselves. That we could allow this virus to spread and kill, but also that we had put ourselves in this position. I had already been envisioning myself as a science writer every day since my time at SERC had begun. Finally reckoning with the knowledge that not everybody is a scientist, nor cares to be one, was the icing on the cake. I couldn’t fix it all, but I could offer my help. So, I would.

When I began this blog two years ago, it was solely for abroad purposes. It was a fabulous way to let anybody who cared know what I was experiencing and how I was handling those experiences. Studying abroad, no matter how or where or how long, is difficult. Studying in general, for any length of time on any subject, is mindboggling tedious. I give kudos to my friends and family who have any advanced, foreign, or nontraditional education.

What I discovered after I began writing blog posts and sharing my thoughts is that there’s always more to the story than the words on the page. That’s why I’ve added to this blog in the year and a half since my abroad semester ended; there is always more to tell.

In a few weeks, I begin my master’s degree at Northwestern University in Chicago. My degree is in journalism, with a specialization in Science and Health reporting. I’m nervous to my core, as I am with any new adventure. I just graduated college last weekend, so my emotions are running wild. Yet, I have a feeling I’m about to finally be where I’ve wanted to be for years. I love words. I love messing with them, shaping them, using them to fit whatever project I want. I also love science. I love knowing what is happening around me, and why and how it is. Combining them already feels like a dream come true, so I’m sure the next year will feel magical.

The classes of 2020 and 2021 are probably the most resilient in history. A Pandemic, racial and social injustice, wildfires, remote learning, wifi issues. We’ve seen it all, and it’s made us stronger every day.

I think I’ve worn this blog out for this phase of life. My thoughts on what I’ve talked about here are valid and important, but they don’t exist alone. For somebody who’s pretty much been writing since she could hold a pencil, I hate journaling. I’ve tried so many times, and never succeeded, with the exception of this blog. That said, it gave me an incredibly strong, consistent manner of getting my thoughts on the page, for which I am endlessly grateful. If you’ve kept reading my thoughts and words, you should know I’m endlessly grateful for you, too.

All of this is saying that, whether you’re ready or not, life keeps going. Life can be cruel, it can be challenging, it can be beautiful. No matter what, it keeps going. As my friend Ferris once said, if you don’t stop and look around from time to time, you could miss it. So much changed so drastically in the last year. I’m still processing it. I might always be processing it. Most importantly, I think, is that I’ve learned to flow with it wherever it goes. It’s harder sometimes than other, but the result is usually worth the grind.

You might read my stuff in the Times once day, or (my personal favorite dream) National Geographic. I don’t know honestly know where I’m going, but I’m okay with that because I do know that I’m on my way. I’m still going. When life continues, you should go, too. You never quite know where the climb will lead, but you do know that the view will be great.

#study abroad #science writing #thoughts #media #graduate school #graduate student #class of 2021

[koreanstudentiseul]

Class related struggles

After a small break from posting to focus on Korean I've noticed I have hit a new roadblock, and one I hadn't anticipated at the beginning of the year.

Over the summer I managed to pass from the Int1 class to the Int2 class with my tutor and I was absolutely bricking it when she told me this because from my studies into Beginner was a big leap in work load, and Beginner to Int1 was insanity I had 200(ish, it varied by chapter) vocab/expressions a week and it was just impossible to clear a chapter before the next one was assigned. So the thought of it going up again was not fun, however so far that's not happened. It's only been about 20 words a week but all the grammar explainations are now in Korean so that's maybe the trade off there.

However, with this dip in the immediate workload I've noticed that I don't find Korean fun anymore. I feel like I'm just doing it for class now and it's just for a deadline and I feel stagnent with my progress I feel like I'm still a beginner and I'm a fraud in the Int2 class cause I may know 1200 words but I can't use 98% of them cause I can't make sentences and express myself in Korean.

I don't know if this feeling is burnout, it doesn't feel like burnout though it's more unlike being unmotivated and just not wanting to do anything with Korean even just getting my flashcards done is a struggle right now and I'd finally got them under 200 a day after the peak of 400+ in Int1 which did slightly fry my head near the end. I've noticed before I'd do work for my class but also do things for myself like topik grammar classes, or ttmik courses, or using my books, but now it's so hard to open anything to study for fun.

So with this I've basically been pouring an unhealthy amount of hours into animal crossing *again* which I say like I haven't done the same thing in Skyrim before several times over across I think 6 save files now and 2000 hours minimum not even going into other games but shhh.

I want to try and strike a better balance for the remainder of the year, I know it's not even 3 months but I think since I'm skipping my normal end of year activities such as Inktober and NaNoWriMo because I do not have enough time/energy this year and I'm not going to try and actually burn out again like 2018 because no, it should be doable to make small changes to try and regain the fun in Korean and not hit 1000 hours in AC before November because atm that's very likely.

At the moment my plan im progress is I want to try and doing daily writing in the vain hope of getting some progress with the sentence forming thing and hopefully it will help with getting comfortable with the grammar too. My friend very kindly made me a list of topics to write about to get started so we'll see how well I can answer those. I'd also like to wrap up my topik grammar class cause it will expire soon and there's only 3 classes left of the 23 total and it probably will be useful for some of the harder propmts cause there's some tricky ones in there. Though she may say the same for the ones I gave her so I shouldn't complain.

Once I get the topik course done I'll probably relax a little since nothing else can run out, I might then split my time reading and progressing ttmik classes cause I don't want to over do it since I will still have homework, and tests, and just generally other homework so I don't want to commit to too much. I just want to be doing something in Korean that's for me and what I want to do not just for classes and somebody else. So if nothing else tomorrow I will be here and posting in Korean and hopefully it's not a disaster...

#StudyLog #KoreanStudyLog #studyblr #langblr #language #language blog #langblog #learningkorean

[haberdashing]

fog on a mirror

TMA fanfic. Sasha begins to unravel, but an unexpected meeting provides some relief.

Continuation of breath in a graveyard by @akosyy. Definitely read that before you read this.

on AO3

Sasha had known that Tim was her anchor for a while now. Even before he knew it was her, knew that they’d been close well before she became little more than a voice on a tape recorder, they had talked, long hours spent together, their voices intermingling when their bodies no longer could. He had cared about her even when he hadn’t known her name. Even her death hadn’t been enough to force them apart for good.

His death, on the other hand...

Some part of Sasha had hoped that he would turn up there in the Institute, stuck here like she was. Not that it was a fate she’d wish upon him, or upon anyone, really, but... it would be nice to have the company, at least. It seemed, though, that if Tim was haunting anywhere it would be that damn wax museum in Great Yarmouth, far from her domain, far from her watchful eye.

Sasha wasn’t all that surprised to find that when Tim was gone, she began to drift away, unanchored as she was.

Martin tried, bless him. Martin really tried to be there for her when nobody else was. But there was only so much he could do to help. She wasn’t the only one who was suffering because of the aftermath of that explosion, after all. She wasn’t the only one who’d lost her anchor.

Maybe it would be different if Melanie or Basira knew about her, but while Martin could conceivably had told them about her, given Sasha others who could both hear her and recognize what it was they heard, he never offered and she never asked. It was probably for the best, really. Neither of them seemed like they’d take the idea that somebody they didn’t know had been watching them all this time without their knowledge or permission terribly well.

Maybe it would be different, too, if Sasha could say anything useful, pass along the information she’d learned along the way, but that old static still rose up when she tried to explain about the Institute, about Elias, about anything of any real importance. All she could offer was a conversation partner, and as it was, it sounded like Martin talked to a ghost often enough when he visited Jon, though Sasha at least could talk back. Martin was probably growing tired of having only ghosts to speak with, anyway.

As it was, Martin’s chats with the tape recorder grew less and less frequent as days turned to weeks turned to months until they ended entirely. Sasha hadn’t known their last conversation would be exactly that when it happened, but then Peter Lukas...

Well. Martin was still technically in the Institute, but once Peter Lukas got a hold of him, he might as well have been gone, too.

All of them were gone, then, and Sasha began to fade as the aching certainty of it set in.

She’d pass by someone she knew and not remember their name, or how she knew them, or any of the little things she’d gleaned about their life in her time spent as the Institute’s resident ghost. She’d forget the lyrics to the songs she made herself keep singing despite everything, would mix up tunes and not realize that they didn’t go together until she was through. She’d see something that triggered a memory of her life before her death but the details would be hazy, like she was trying to see them through a thick pane of glass, or through dense fog.

She knew that this place was hers, that the people in it were hers, that she was here to watch and listen and not to act, but little by little, the rest started to fall by the wayside.

It was... some months later, though she couldn’t have given a date, or even a number of months that had passed, when she saw him, a thin, dark man with a cane slowly but steadily making his way down the stairs into the Archives.

A lightbulb went off in her head as the man turned the lights of the Archives on--it was night, now, and the residents of the Institute had already long since left--and she knew he wasn’t supposed to be here, though details beyond that initially eluded her.

Her first thoughts were that he was an intruder, like that man with far too many limbs who had attacked the Institute months ago, the sight of the Archives staff fending him off both fascinating and horrifying to her uninvolved eyes. But no, he didn’t look like an intruder, thin and weak as he was, and he clearly knew exactly where he was going as he wandered into an office that had been vacant for quite a while now and sat down within it, sighing slightly as he sank into the chair.

Then she remembered, distantly, that he had died. That it had all gone wrong--that was the phrasing that Martin had used, then, that it had all gone wrong--and he had died. He wasn’t the one who had been her anchor, but they had died side by side, fighting the same fight. Except that he was here now.

He was here now, and he wasn’t a ghost like her. He’d turned the lights on, after all, was able to take his jacket off and adjust the chair and turn on the computer in front of him. He had died, and yet he was physically present in a way she could only dream of, in a way she had only been in those distant, foggy memories of hers. A zombie, perhaps, but not a ghost.

And as she stood there and watched this strange visitor to the Archives rifle through dusty files, after a moment, he looked up and watched her right back.

“...Sasha?”

It took her a moment to realize that that was her name, and another moment to think to speak up, and another silent moment to remember that speaking didn’t work like that for her, not now, not anymore.

If the man noticed her silent, slow processing, though, he didn’t show it, shaking his head--his hair was long and shaggy, black and silver strands clinging to his face after every movement--and smiling weakly before digging through his bag for...

Ah. For a tape recorder. Which he set on the desk, looking her in the eyes as he pressed the play button.

“Sorry, is that better?”

Her breathing came through the tape recorder loud and clear. How long had it been since she’d heard the sound of her own breath?

“For a certain definition of better, I suppose.” The words came out of her almost as smoothly and naturally as her breaths did.

“Right. Right, that makes sense.” He laughed, soft and sharp, with no humor in the sound.

“Jon?” It had taken her longer than it should have to remember that name. They had been close, once. Too much had changed, but perhaps that part didn’t need to. “Jon, what happened? Martin said you were dead.”

Granted, Sasha knew that that wasn’t entirely true, given that hospitals generally weren’t in the business of taking care of dead people, but while Martin had touched on Jon’s condition in their chats back when they’d had them, he never outright explained what state Jon was in now; Sasha had gotten the feeling that it was something of a sensitive subject, and she hadn’t pushed. She knew that Jon had been in the hospital, that he was still technically considered dead, and that he wasn’t expected to recover, but that wasn’t enough to put together the full story. She’d assumed brain death, when she’d assumed anything at all, but that didn’t exactly match up with current evidence.

“Not quite.” Jon broke eye contact with Sasha, looking down at his cane, which he began to fidget with absentmindedly. “It’s... it’s a long story.”

Sasha shrugged. “I’ve got nothing but time.”

“Do you?” Jon stared back up at Sasha. “You look... fuzzy. Are you alright, Sasha?”

She could tell he was trying to change the subject, but she couldn’t entirely blame him, either. Maybe he wasn’t ready to talk about his near-death experience, or whatever, yet. That was fair enough.

Besides, he had a point.

Sasha laughed, her laughter soft and shaky and slightly tinged with static as it rang out from the tape recorder. “I do feel a little... fuzzy, actually.”

“Probably not a great sign, that.”

Sasha shook her head, her laughter a little louder this time, but still shaky and filled with static. “No, probably not.”

“Do you want to... to talk about it?” Jon went back to fidgeting with his cane, though he kept his gaze locked on Sasha, the gleam in his eyes downright eerie in the dim archival lighting. “You know, I never did get a statement from you, even though I thought that’s what you were here for at first... maybe that would help, getting to tell your story, having someone hear you out.”

Sasha thought about it for a moment. On the one hand, she suspected Jon had more reasons than he was sharing for wanting to hear her story, and she could tell he was still trying to get out of explaining what had happened to him. On the other hand, he looked about as bad as she felt, and... and maybe it would be good for her, being able to explain it all to somebody who’d be glad to listen.

And she wasn’t the only one without an anchor here, was she?

“I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours afterwards.” Jon opened his mouth to speak, and she held up one hand to stop him. “Doesn’t have to be right now, right away. But I want to hear it one of these days. When you’re ready.”

“I...” Jon let out a long, slow breath. “Alright, fair enough. We have a deal, then.”

“And the tape recorder’s already running, of course.”

“Of course.” Jon laughed a little, and Sasha noticed that his voice sounded slightly hoarse as he did, just before he cleared his throat. “Statement of Sasha James, regarding...”

“...Her death and subsequent existence.” Sasha finished, trying not to notice how Jon’s eyes lit up as he switched into statement mode.

Jon nodded silently before continuing with his speech. “Taken direct from subject, 16th of February, 2018. Recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.”

That bit was new, and it stuck out clearly enough in Sasha’s mind; Sasha had heard him record statements more times than she could count, now, and it was always always always “Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus Institute, London”. A few times she’d spoken the words along with him, when she’d known that she wouldn’t be heard, getting the same rhythm that he always used down after a couple practices. The fact that he was calling himself just “the Archivist,” now, the term she’d only ever heard used by those who were in too deep and saw people as roles more than as individuals... well, it wasn’t a great sign.

But then, neither was the fact that Sasha was apparently fuzzy to Jon’s eyes, albeit not to her own, or the fact that the static crept up on her sometimes even when she was saying nothing of consequence.

They were both drifting, perhaps. They both needed an anchor.

Sasha forced herself to summon up a smile, weak but present just the same, and Jon smiled back at her, and though he looked like hell and his eyes gleamed unnaturally as they stared up at her, in that moment, everything seemed almost okay.

“Statement begins.”

#ghost sasha #sasha james #tma #tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fic #the magnus archives fanfic #personal #my writing

[choicesfanatic86]

If Only:  Chapter 18

DISCLAIMER:  All characters belong to Pixelberry Studios, except characters unique to my story.  Those belong to me. ;)

PAIRINGS:  Liam x Riley (MC)

SUMMARY:  And they're off to Cordonia!  Riley and Liam have a heart to heart about what to expect when they arrive in Cordonia.

TAGS - If you would like to be tagged for If Only, please message me.  I am reworking all of my fan fiction, and I know that a lot of people may no longer be in the fandom, or maybe they no longer want to follow If Only.  If that is the case, I didn't want to unnecessarily tag someone.  So please, let me know if you would like to be tagged for future updates of this piece.

PERMANENT TAG LIST:  @umccall71 @drakelover78 @jamielea81 @bobasheebaby @speedyoperarascalparty @hopefulmoonobject @theroyalweisme @gardeningourmet @jlouise88 @hamulau @traeumerinwitzhelden @blackcatkita @mrs-simmy @kaitycole @alwaysthebestchoice @mfackenthal @trr-duchessofvaltoria @pbchoicesobsessed @liamxs-world @flyawayboo @devineinterventions2 @ranishajay @jayjay879 @alepowell @greyeyedsmile14 @mspaigemoore @princesaakl @annekebbphotography @angelicfangirl  @katurrade @cordoniaqueensworld @ao719

TAGS for If Only:  @kawairinrin @gracechoices @madaraism @starstruckzonkoperatorbat  @zilch3 @herladyshipxx @writtenbycandy @choiceswreckedme  @queencatherynerhys @asprankle @hdcathcart @viktoriapetit @boneandfur  @xxrainbowprincessxx @diamond-dreamland @flowerpowell @crookedslimecreatorpasta @debramcg1106 @ladynonsense @hellospunkiebrewster @sleeplessescapades @mitalijoshi @ladyoftherings @jemrmax2love @sashatrr​ @gooddaykate​​

11/25/2019 - It has been over a year since I updated If Only, and I feel absolutely sick about it.  I apologize for not updating as regularly as I should have.  I came back in May with the intent to keep writing and bring new stories to the fandom, but my world got rocked with a horrible family situation.  I went MIA initially because I had a family emergency come up in September of 2018.  My father was diagnosed with stage 4 esophageal cancer.  He became stable at the beginning of May which prompted me to feel a bit reinvigorated to write again.  We were thrown for a loop when he passed away suddenly and unexpectedly at the end of May after a brief period of stabilization. His kidneys shut down and he went into respiratory failure.  Ironically, the cancer may have weakened him, but it wasn't his cause of death.  I was a wreck.  I've slowly gone through the grieving process and wanted to try my hand at writing again.  I can't promise you I'll be consistent, but I'm going to try. Thank you all for the amazing support and thoughts.  Thank you for your sweet reviews.  I will be going through all of them. <3

Chapter 18

Riley was certain of one thing – she would always find herself awestruck at being able to fly on a private airplane.  She hadn’t traveled all that much before, but when she did, it was a pain.  The astronomical cost of airline tickets, the long lines, the long list of TSA security no-nos that she could never seem to grasp . . . all of it made the whole prospect of travelling more of a nuisance than anything else.  Traveling with Liam, on the other hand, had been nothing but a dream since the moment they got to the airport.  Liam once again took charge guiding her to where they needed to check in.  Things at the airport had gone just as smoothly as they had when they left Las Vegas.  Actually, it had gone even smoother than Las Vegas since they were flying out internationally and that terminal had not been nearly as crowded as the domestic terminals.  Liam once again breezed by as Riley trailed behind him, still unaccustomed to the life of private jet-setting.  She still found the entire thing to be a bit surreal.  What normally would have been a two hour process had only taken them twenty minutes.  Apparently, the life of royalty had some major perks.

A little over an hour later, Riley found herself sitting on the private plane that was scheduled to take them to Cordonia.  She stared absently out of the plane’s window as she contemplated how differently her life had ended up than what she had planned out over the years.  For one, she never, ever saw herself sitting on a private plane as they waited for the all clear for takeoff.  For another, she never thought she’d get married to a complete stranger on a whim – in Vegas, no less.  Then again, she also never thought she’d ever meet someone like Liam.  She bit her lip lightly as she watched him joke around with the flight crew.  Apparently, he knew all of them quite well.  They weren’t treating him like a prince, but rather an old friend who they were excited to see.  But that was the thing about Liam – despite his royal roots, he seemed like such an average, ordinary, everyday guy.  He was genuinely a good guy - somebody you could sit around and have hours of conversation with and never got bored.  She smiled and watched as he fawned over pictures of one of the flight attendant’s newborn grand-daughter.  He never fell short of amazing her.  She had always pictured herself winding up with some sort of science geek, who, like her, had spent years focusing on his education to land the perfect job.  Liam was completely different.  The connection they shared was one in a million.  The time they spent together alone in her apartment had further solidified that fact.  She’d have been foolish to let him slip away from her in Vegas, and if she had, she’d likely never find that sort of connection with someone else ever again.  Their relationship wasn’t something that you could just dismiss as being a spur of the moment, one-time fling.  He made her feel alive again, and she loved how he had forced her to reevaluate the life she was living, and helped her to see that none of it was what she wanted.  It felt as if they had known each other for years instead of only a few days.  There was just something about Liam that brought out her desire for an exciting new adventure.  For the first time in years, she didn’t have a plan, and it scared the shit out of her.  There was no denying the fact that she felt like she was swimming in the deep end of the pool without any sort of lifejacket.  But, for some reason, she was okay with that, because she knew she’d have Liam by her side to help keep her afloat.  

Riley’s smile grew as he chatted with a different flight attendant about their travel plans when they got to Cordonia.  He was going on and on about how he wanted to take her to their country house to show her the orchards of apple trees.  She looked around the bustling plane – apart from the three flight attendants she had seen, she had counted four more flight attendants and two pilots on their flight.  She shook her head in disbelief.  It was crazy to think that all nine members of the flight crew were aboard just for them.  It was hard to believe that this was her life now.  

Liam grasped one of the male attendants on the shoulder as he headed back over to where she was sitting.  “You look rather deep in thought,” he murmured as he sidled into the seat next to her.

She smiled softly.  “Just thinking about what a whirlwind this has all been.  I guess it’s just hard to believe that we won’t have to listen to crying babies or fighting for space for our carry-ons in the overhead compartment.”

“I admit, those are things I have never had to worry about when I traveled,” he smirked.  “But I can imagine those sorts of things would be rather inconvenient.”

“Exceptionally so,” she chuckled.  “You’re so amazing with people, Liam.  The way you talk to them and treat them with the utmost respect regardless of your status,” Riley looked at him in admiration.  “You’re just a genuine, sweet man,” she said, clasping her hand in his.

He looked at her adoration.  “I’ve known all of them for years – since I was old enough to travel with my father,” he smiled.  “They’re like another set of family members.  The older woman I was talking to?  Dolores?  She just welcomed her first granddaughter.  My father gave her some time off to spend with the new baby,” he explained.  “Being royal doesn’t make you any less human.  Having compassion and being respectful are just decent things to do,” he explained as he squeezed her hand back.

“Well, you don’t see a lot of that in New York,” Riley mused.  “And I’ll be honest, people can become a bit snooty when power goes to their head.  Trust me.”  She thought of the many rude people she encountered as she walked along the streets of New York City.  There was always some guy in a total rush with a cell phone pressed against his ear and a briefcase swinging from his hand pushing his way down the sidewalk trying to get the next available cab.  New York people were savage.

Liam chuckled at her observation.  “Quite true, love.  I assure you, that is just how I was raised.  I just couldn’t live with myself if I treated anyone with anything but the respect that they deserve.”

“You are one in a million, Liam Rys.” She smiled broadly, squeezing his hand tightly.

“As are you, Riley Rys,” he winked at her.  

She blushed as she changed the subject.  “So, do we have any layovers or are we landing straight in Cordonia?”

He shook his head.  “No stopovers, that’s not how private jets work, love.  The flight should take about eight hours tops,” he explained.  “We’ll be arriving in Cordonia at around 7:30 in the morning.”

“Wow, that early?” Riley asked.  

“The time difference will take a bit getting used to, especially since you’ve lived in New York your whole life,” he explained.  “The early arrival will be beneficial to us, I’m sure.  I doubt the press will have caught wind that we’re arriving that early.  It might give us enough time to get you to the palace without the mad rush of press on our tails,” he reasoned.

“The press?” She asked, her eyes widening.

Just as Liam was about to explain further, the pilot came over the loudspeaker announcing that they would be preparing for takeoff.  Riley inhaled deeply as she felt the power and speed of the plane push forward as it readied itself for take off.  She was momentarily distracted from the idea of the press and what exactly he meant about them being on their tails.

When they reached a comfortable elevation, the captain came over the loudspeaker again.

“Your Majesties, thank you for joining us this afternoon.  We expect the flight to take roughly eight hours, and we are expecting clear skies and smooth travel.  Should you need anything, please let any one of our staff attendants know and they will be glad to assist you with whatever you may need,” the voice boomed.

“Was he talking to me, too?” She asked, her eyes widening once more.

“Well, yes, love.  You are the future Queen of Cordonia.  It is only right that he address you as such,” he explained.

Riley knew that marrying Liam automatically meant that she was royalty, too, but having someone actually refer to her as one was crazy.  

“Your Majesties, would you like a beverage?  Wine?  Or champagne perhaps?” Dolores, the attendant Liam had been talking to earlier asked.

“Love?” Liam asked.

“Um, maybe just some water?” She asked quietly.

“Of course, Your Majesty.  Prince Liam?”

“I’m fine, Dolores,” he smiled brightly at the older woman.  “Maybe when we have our meals I’ll have a bit of scotch,” he added.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she acquiesced as she poured Riley a glass of water.

“This is surreal,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

“Love, this is what you have to look forward to each time you travel,” he laughed.  “With our busy schedules, it only seems right that we travel as comfortable as possible.  After all, we don’t know when we’ll have a spare moment to ourselves again,” he said knowingly.

She nodded nervously, her hands fiddling about in her lap.  That’s actually what was worrying her.  What was life going to be like now that they were heading out of their Las Vegas and New York bubbles?  

Liam leaned over, clasping his hands around hers and smiled.  “You’re fine, love,” he murmured encouragingly.  “Now that I have you held captive in an airplane . . . ” he trailed off, eyeing her a bit nervously.

“What?” She asked; worry once again coursed through her body.

“Are you ready to talk about what you’ve signed up for?” He shot her a nervous smile.  He looked as if he were waiting for her to jump ship . . . or in this case, plane . . . any second.

She eyed him suspiciously, taking a large gulp of her cold water.  “You act as if I just signed up to go to war or something,” she chuckled anxiously.  “I know you don’t want to scare me, Liam, but I think I can handle whatever they’re going to throw my way,” she said.  Think being the operative word.  She talked a good game and tried her best to calm the quaking nerves inside of her, but in truth, she was absolutely petrified.  She had no clue how to be a princess . . . let alone a queen when that time inevitably arrived.  How on earth was she going to manage it all while still getting to know her new husband?

“I don’t mean to sound so cryptic,” he explained apologetically.  “I suppose I just wanted to prepare you for what might happen when we arrive,” he said vaguely.

“Are you expecting a grand welcome?” She arched an eyebrow.

“Well, possibly,” he admitted.

Her eyebrow arched a bit higher.  “Oh,” she said nervously.

“To be quite honest, I’m not sure what to expect.”  He ran his hand nervously over the back of his neck, and looked at her bashfully.  “Our early arrival does buy us some time as I mentioned, but I’m honestly not too sure what the Cordonian people have been told.  I’m not sure if they’ve publically announced the end of my engagement to Olivia,” he said uncertainly.  “In fact, I’m not sure if they even announced that we’ve gotten married.”

“And if they have?” Riley asked.

“If they have, then you can expect the press to be hounding us until they get a printable story,” he sighed.  “It’s the nature of the press, love.  They have a hunger for a scandal . . . the more prominent the person, the more desirable the story,” he said glumly.

“And being the heir to the Cordonian throne, any story about you would be explosive,” Riley said, understanding where he was going with his explanation.  The press wouldn’t let the story rest until they had every single detail about the end of his engagement to Olivia and their subsequent marriage in Vegas.  They were in for one hell of a welcome if that were the case.  She shook her head hesitantly.  The idea of being hounded by the press wasn’t something she was particularly looking forward to.  She had never paid attention to those sordid, trashy tabloids back home.  She had always thought that it was grossly negligent to publish half-facts and over-exaggerations.  This was the conversation that she had been worried about.  Up to this point, everything had been a vague and distant idea that she had formulated inside of her head, but as Cordonia loomed closer and closer in front of them, at some point they’d have to discuss the elephant in the room, and apparently, Liam had decided that “some point” was right then and there.

“I wish I could say that this will be easy, love . . . but it won’t.  I wish I could take the burden of the scrutiny of the press and the people and my family away so that you would never have to endure a single unpleasant moment.  But having lived this life in the limelight for as long as I have . . . I know that many will have . . . reservations,” he explained hesitantly.

“Reservations?” She asked, slightly confused.

“They may publish some untrue things about you . . . they may suspect we got pregnant out of wedlock, hence the quickie marriage . . . they may even publish some nasty, untrue remarks about your friends and family . . .” he trailed off.

She winced a little.  She had never really had a thick skin growing up.  She had always been sensitive, and she didn’t like to be teased or taunted.  The idea of having a whole nation scrutinize her every move, made her physically ill.  The idea of having someone critique how she acted, what she wore, who she spent time with . . . it all felt too much.  But to have that extend to her family and friends?  She couldn’t imagine dealing with that on top of everything else.

Liam continued.  “Olivia was a well-liked Duchess, and although the marriage was arranged, I’d imagine that many may not take kindly to the broken engagement . . . and our subsequent union,” he reasoned.  

“Like Bertrand,” she arched a questioning eyebrow.

“Yes, like Bertrand.  Some of the people of Cordonia are traditionalists.  They may not be so welcoming to the fact that I have married someone not of the country.  Not of Europe for that matter,” he explained.  “But I have no doubt that once they get to know you . . . the you I fell in love with . . . all of their reservations will disappear,” he said optimistically.

“I hope so,” she said meekly.  “I know it’s going to be tough . . . I just don’t want people to hate me, you know?”

“They won’t hate you, love,” he chuckled.  “How would they hate the most amazing girl I’ve ever met?”

Riley sighed, leaning closer into him.  “You were engaged, Liam.  To a woman you have had a friendship with for most of your life.  Are you telling me that she’ll warmly open her arms and welcome me to the palace?”

Liam grimaced in reply.  “Well, obviously not.  Olivia will prove to be a difficulty.  Of that, I’m quite sure.”

“And your parents?”  Riley added.  “You got into quite the tiff with your father before we left.”

“As did you,” he reminded her.  “My father and stepmother will come around.  Once they realize that Cordonia’s future will not be in any jeopardy and that the monarchy will continue, they will warm to the idea of our marriage.  It will take time, love.”

She nodded.  She sucked in a long breath.  She needed to be strong.  As long as she had Liam by her side, she knew they’d be able to overcome whatever difficulties that were headed their way.

“We’re going to get through all of this together, Riley.  I will never forget how much you’re giving up for me . . . for us,” he said passionately.

She leaned in for a soft kiss.  Liam deepened the kiss before pulling himself away.  “I have such a hard time controlling myself around you,” he said breathily.

“Let me distract you.  Tell me about Cordonia.  Not about the press or the bad stuff we might encounter,” she shook her head.  “If I’m moving to a brand new country, I should know everything there is about it.  The internet wasn’t too helpful.  I guess it’s so small that not a lot of people actually know a whole lot about it,” she frowned.

He nodded.  “It is small, but I assure you it has a rich history.  A history that you and I are now a part of,” he smiled.  “I’ll happily answer any questions you’d like about Cordonia, but I think that the best way to get to know our beautiful country is to experience it first hand in person,” he said.

“I’m looking forward to seeing everything,” she agreed. After a brief moment, she asked another question. “So, can I get a job when we get there?  Or is that sort of not allowed.  I just don’t want people thinking I’m some sort of gold-digger.  Your friends already accused me of being a crown-chaser, and I don’t want people thinking that I don’t want to work . . . because I kind of do?  I mean, I don’t really know what I could do considering I have a degree in Biology   . . . and I’m a medical school drop out . . . but there has to be something right?” she rambled out

Liam stared at her as if she had three heads.  She supposed it was a silly question.  Did royalty work?  She tried to think back on the lives of various royal figures - did Princess Diana have a job? What about Princess Eugenie?  How about Duchess Kate?  Surely an independent woman such as Duchess Megan Markle kept a job?  She frowned, she was being ridiculous.  Of course they didn’t have jobs.  They were too busy jet setting alongside their husbands.  She frowned at the thought.  She had never seen herself as being a woman who relied on a man to do all of the hard work.  She hadn’t liked when Liam’s friends had thought of her as being a crown-chaser, and she certainly didn’t want the rest of the public thinking the same thing.  Shouldn’t she be able to prove that she’s way more than just some woman that Liam met in Las Vegas?  She wanted to contribute in someway . . . even if she didn’t know exactly how she could contribute.

“You don’t have to work, love.  I told you that.  You will want for nothing the moment you set foot inside the palace,” he assured her.

“That’s such a strange concept,” she frowned.  “Not working . . .I mean, I went to college, got my degree, held quite a few jobs over the years, and now I just . . . do nothing?” she pursed her lips.  “I don’t want people to think that I married you for anything other than love,” she said softly.

“Being Queen is a job in itself Riley,” he explained.  “You’ll be expected to plan social functions, attend political meetings, coordinate various social programs, meet with different international figures . . . although the compensation process might be quite different than what you’re used to, you will very much have a job in Cordonia,” He rationalized.  

She nodded, although she still had a hard time wrapping her head around the whole concept.  “So the whole social functions thing . . . is that like party planning?”

“Oh, love.  It is far more than just a party.  Why don’t I give you a brief history of Cordonia and some perspective on the monarchy and perhaps then you’ll understand a bit more about how important the social season is to the Cordonian people?”

She nodded eagerly, sitting up in her chair.  “I’d like that a lot actually.  I feel like I’m jumping out of a plane without a parachute when it comes to knowing anything about Cordonia.  I really don’t want my first impression with your family to be me clueless about the country I’m now a resident of,” she gave a nervous chuckle.

A few hours later, Liam had recounted a not-so-brief history of everything about Cordonia.  Riley had no idea how Liam was able to remember all of it.  She guessed having grown up there gave him an upper hand, but still.  He was able to recount every single monarch and every single duchy that.  He could even rattle off population stats that all sounded like a bunch of mumble jumble to her.

“Lords and Ladies . . . palaces  . . . waltzes . . . balls . . . court . . . my head is spinning, Liam,” she frowned.  She needed some aspirin, or maybe a stiff drink.  She hadn’t expected her Cordonia 101 class with Liam to be easy, but she had hoped that she’d be able to at least glean some information to help her survive her first few days there.  Instead, she felt like she had nothing but information overload.  She couldn’t tell you who anyone was or what city was what because all of the names and places started to merge with one another after a while.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but you’re doing remarkably well,” he said encouragingly.  “Hopefully some of the notes you took will help,” he smiled.

Yes, she had taken notes, but she had no clue what was important and what wasn’t.  She hadn’t even known Cordonia even existed before meeting Liam.  Now, she suddenly needed to know everything there was to know about the tiny country.  How on earth was she going to remember everything?  

“Trust me, love.  In time, all of this information will become second nature,” Liam beamed at her.

She snorted.  She didn’t want to tell him that she was more of a math and sciences sort of girl as opposed to being a history buff.  She couldn’t imagine a time when all of these Cordonian factoids would become second nature.

“Here.  Let’s test some of your knowledge now.  I’ll give you an easy one,” he said excitedly.  “What is the capital of Cordonia?” Liam asked expectedly.

Riley licked her lips nervously.  Her eyes scanned the notes in front of her, but she could barely make out half of her short hand.  She paused, uncertainly.  “Valtoria,” she half-asked.

“Correct,” he smiled at her proudly as he rubbed his thumb back and forth over her hand.  “You don’t give yourself enough credit.  You’ll have Cordonian culture down in no time.”

She smiled tightly in response.  She hoped he was right.  She had been taking notes off and on during their discussion, but she didn’t really know how it would help her if she got ambushed by the press.  It’s not like she could pull out a set of flash cards when she was getting interviewed.  She didn’t think that’d earn her any brownie points with the Cordonian public.  

Liam continued to quiz her on questions during the last few hours of the flight, and Riley admittedly was starting to remember some of the major things that Liam had taught her, but she still felt that all of the information she had just gained were whirling inside of her head like a tornado.  She had never wanted to excel at something so much in her life.  She felt like she was back in school, trying to cram in as much information as possible.  She just hoped it stuck.

“What if I mess up?” She asked worriedly.  “It took me years to even learn all the capitols of the fifty states,” she frowned.  “And even then I still managed to goof up every now and then,” she said, her voice laced with a bit of panic.

“Riley, love, you’re a natural at this.  You may not be Cordonian by birth, but we will have you be a star pupil on Cordonian history in no time,” he said encouragingly.  “Like I said, you’re already doing so well.”

“I don’t know how I’ll remember all of this,” she said faintly.  “There’s a reason why I went to medical school.  Liberal arts wasn’t exactly my strong suit,” she joked.

“I’ll be there to guide you, and my friends, once they get to know you, will be more than happy to provide you with some help along the way.  I happen to know that Bertrand majored in history at our university,” he said.  “I’d be happy to talk to him about perhaps giving you some private lessons on Cordonian culture,” he offered.  “He’d actually be well-suited to help you adjust to court life.”

“Bertrand  . . . yeah, I don’t think he’ll be very much inclined to help me considering he wanted to have our marriage annulled,” she sighed.  “He also seemed to think that I would be the demise of Cordonia.”

“Well, yes, remember, Bertrand is a traditionalist.  His duty to country comes before all else.  But regardless, he’s still my friend, and as such, he’ll want me to be happy.  If I ask him to help you adjust to court life, he will do it.  Begrudgingly at first, but after he sees how well suited you are as my wife, he’ll come around.”

Riley sighed.  What an optimist.  As much as she wanted to believe that Bertrand would help her, she believed that he’d probably eagerly wait for the moment for her to fall flat on her face.  She was about to ask Liam a few more questions about Cordonia when she felt a slight rumble under her feet.  She felt the plane begin to descend, and looked at Liam a bit concerned.  “What was that?” She asked in alarm.

“We’re getting closer,” he explained as his eyes peered out the window.  “It looks like we’re descending a bit to prepare for landing,” he reasoned.  His eyes grew a bit brighter as he stared out the window.  “Well, Mrs. Rys . . . if you look out to your left you’ll catch your first glimpse of your new home,” Liam beamed proudly.

Riley leaned against the window, her eyes gazing out into the distance below her.  She could just make out the aerial view of the country.  A million thoughts ran through her mind.  They were here.  They were finally here.   Riley gazed out at the shimmering blue ocean below her.  Cordonia’s coastline was breathtaking.  The little information she found on Google did nothing to prepare her for the sheer beauty of the country below her.  

She turned to Liam in awe, and he greeted her gaze with a beaming smile.  All it took for her worries to wane was a single look at Liam.  She knew this move would be hard, and she knew that she would be faced with a lot of scrutiny, and although she still had reservations about what would be like as an outsider, she knew that as long as Liam stood by her side, she’d somehow manage to pull through all of this.  

“That’s our country,” he said, leaning over her, pressing a soft kiss on the temple of her forehead.

“Our?” She whispered, still a bit overwhelmed about the reality of finally being in Cordonia.  She turned to face him, his eyes fixed on her in admiration.

“Yes, love.  The moment you said yes . . . the moment you signed those papers . . . this became all of yours,” he said proudly.

#liam x mc #liam x riley #king liam #trr #trr fanfic #trr fic #choices trr #choices fanfiction #fanfic #the royal romance #theroyalromance #the royal romance fan fic

[propertyofnikkisthighs]

Sure Feels Right Ch. 4

Taglist: @hllywdwhre, @xxkellsvixen19xx

Warnings: Soft smut 👀

2019

It had been a few days since the ‘cuddle puddle’ incident and everything was still very much the same, and yet things were different between Lux and them. Colson would look at her with softer eyes and would sometimes just reach out and touch her lightly while he was talking or doing things and then would retract his hand and go about his business. Rook would lean on her or want his hair played with if they were sitting next to each other and he wanted to spend more time with her, which she thought was impossible considering they were on a tour bus together, but here she sat watching him and Slim battle each other in the newest mortal kombat.

“Rook can I puh-lease borrow Lux now?” Casie pleaded from the entry to the back of the bus. She had joined them last night for a few shows and Lux was grateful because it meant the boys were on their best behavior. “She promised to paint my nails and we all know she truly doesn’t care about watching you guys play this game.”

Lux chuckled at the put out expression on Rook’s face and pat him on the knee. “Here I come Casie.” she said getting off the couch slightly appreciative of Casie intervening. Casie grabbed the small container with different polish in it from Lux’s bunk as they made their way to the small table.

“Okay what color would you like? I have red, dark blue, black, yellow, purple, and green with glitter in it.” Lux presented the different bottles of polish as she named the colors.

“Ooh yellow! Then I can wear the dress I have with the sunflowers on it to the show tonight” Casie bounced with excitement in her seat. In so many ways she was exactly like Colson.

“So are you excited to be out of school for the summer?” Lux asked getting started on the young girl’s nails.

“School isn’t terrible, but I like being able to go on tour with Dad. The tour bus is fun.” Casie smiled and looked at her yellow fingers before blowing on them gently while Lux started on the second hand. “Yellow was a great choice.”

“Well if it isn’t two of my favorite ladies” Colson spoke through a yawn before leaning down to kiss Casie on the top of her head. He walked over and repeated the action to the top of Lux’s head and went to go make coffee as if it were nothing. Lux had briefly stopped her actions and could feel her ears growing red. He had never done that before.

“Dad look Lux is painting my nails to match the dress Aunt Ash bought for me!” Casie seemed to be ignoring the blatant display of affection Colson had bestowed upon Lux. She was beaming with so much happiness Colson felt his heart clench at the sight before him. Lux was so good to his little girl.

“Yeah Lux is almost as cool as your dad” He smirked sipping his coffee.

“Well you should let her paint your nails then too Dad. That would be very cool of you” Casie had Colson’s smirk as if it had been copied and pasted onto her face.

“Is that supposed to be a challenge Casie? I’ve let you paint my nails.” He squeezed in next to her and they both stuck their tongues out at each other. They were so alike in many ways.

“Blow and don’t touch anything until the top coat dries” Lux instructed and grabbed the polish she knew he would want for his nails, black. She was gonna use the yellow for his middle finger so he matched Casie but Casie stopped her.

“Wait!” She carefully pushed the purple towards Lux “For the middle finger since most of the show is black and purple themed for the album colors” Casie was probably a genius. Lux finished both of their nails and applied a clear coat to top it off for the both of them when Rook and Slim came out of the back and Casie instructed that they also needed their nails done to match. So Rook ended up with black nails and Slim ended up with dark blue nails and neither were too excited about that, but nobody was about to tell Casie no. The good part about Lux having to paint everybody’s nails was that the time went by much quicker and it wasn’t long until they were setting up for the show.

The show went without a hitch and Colson pulled Casie on stage for a few songs and she tried to pull Lux, but she was too fast and got away. She preferred the side stage anyway. 

“The show was so kick ass!” Lux yelled practically pouncing on Rook the moment he made his way to her. He picked her up in a hug and spun them both around before he placed her on her feet again. The post show adrenaline could be felt through all of them which meant the boys would probably rough house later if Casie didn’t scold them. Colson tossed Lux over his shoulder and made his way towards the bus before she could comment more on the show.

“Colson! I’m wearing a skirt!” Lux tried to wiggle her skirt back down some, but it was no use, she could feel the breeze.

“Stop wiggling or you’ll make the skirt ride up more.” Colson replied matter of factly and placed his other hand over her butt to block the view. Lux felt her face heat up and was glad Colson couldn’t see her redness from his position. Rook was following behind them with Casie on his back pointing and laughing at Lux. This was embarrassing.

In all honesty, Colson didn’t NEED to block Lux’s ass, there was nobody in front of them that would be able to see anything. He told himself he was doing it to ease her mind, but really he just wanted to be able to touch more of her. Seeing her with Casie was increasing his want to touch her and be touched by her and so, he was covering her ass. Lord help him.

2018

Lux came up for air panting wildly, lipstick smudged, cheeks flushed, and a grin that could split her face in half. The girl in front of her was a mirror for how she looked minus the giant grin. Fuck she loved New Orleans. When Ash said they got to visit Colson while he was filming the Motley Crue movie she hadn’t expected to get to party like this, she should have known better with Colson involved. Colson was playing Tommy Lee (who Lux also got to meet with Nikki Sixx on set and she almost died) and she was positive everyone knew they couldn’t have found a better person to play Tommy. He had dragged her, Rook, Douglas, and Daniel to a strip club, well dragged wasn’t the right word because all of them wanted to go; but he had the idea first. That was how Lux had found herself in the private booth making out with one of the strippers while the boys watched.

“Holy shit” Douglas was the first to break the silence. He was cute with his hair a bit messy from his wig and his eyeliner still on from today’s shoot. It gave Lux butterflies.

“See didn’t I tell you she was amazing?” Colson beamed her way. He was always proud when she did what he had dubbed  “Colson like behavior”.

“I think she’s damn near wife material.” Daniel cooed putting a hand on her shoulder. Colson had told Lux that the director wanted the boys to really get into their roles and Daniel seemed to be practicing his Vince Neil charm on many of the ladies tonight. He and Colson were even wearing matching shirts that were open to show their (incredible) abs. Her mouth was getting dry thinking about it too much so she grabbed the shot Daniel had in his hand and took it with a wink.

“No offence Colson, but I think want to hang out with Lux now. She may be the coolest person here.” Douglas laughed.

“Dougie, I would eat you alive.” Lux smirked at him over her shoulder. If she played her cards right she would get to mark fucking a british guy off of her fuck-it list (bucket list). Perhaps Douglas was feeling bolder from playing Nikki Sixx and he was leaning into his role, or maybe it was all the shots they had done, but something had him wanting to act more impulsively around Lux.

He leaned down inches from her face and whispered “I think if anyone is eating somebody tonight I’d rather it be me to you.”

Lux almost had to clench her legs shut and kept looking between his eyes and his lips before he curled his mouth into what was becoming a signature smirk for him. He leaned away and sipped his drink still smirking while Lux tried to collect her thoughts. She was damn near ready to grab Douglas’ hand and physically drag him to her hotel room. Colson kept flashing his eyes between the two in confusion looking a little miffed, so Lux decided to help improve his night. She excused herself to go to the bathroom and found one of the dancers whom Colson had been making eyes at all night.

“Can you go give a private dance to my friend there in the private booth?” Lux gestured with her head “You can’t miss him he’s the pretty blonde with all the tattoos” She slipped the girl some money after she nodded having seen who Lux was referencing. Lux watched as the dancer approached Colson and pulled him into a different private room for his dance mentally high fiving herself when she saw his excited expression. Now to get Douglas and get him out of here.

Colson had to hand it to Lux, she really fucking knew his type. The dance had been beautiful torture, but he worked enough charm and magic and knew she’d come to his room tonight. She said her shift was about done and she’d meet him near the bathrooms so they could head out the back door. He was gonna look for Lux to tell her thank you when he noticed her and Douglas were gone. He chuckled to himself and shook his head. She was so like him sometimes.

Colson groaned as the girl bobbed her mouth up and down his length. He would have to thank Lux later. He needed to stop thinking about Lux right now. He tangled his hand in the dark hair of the girl on her knees before him and squeezed his eyes shut. She moaned around him in her mouth and he practically died on the spot. If she kept this up he wouldn’t last long. She pushed as much of him as she could fit and worked the rest with her hand. He threw his head back and panted unable to stop a small moan that bubbled in his chest. Fuck he loved New Orleans.

Lux was wincing from the knob of the cabinet being pressed into her back, but she refused to stop Douglas from what he was doing with his fingers. A broken moan escaped her lips before his crashed down onto hers. The kiss was hungry and needy matching everything Lux felt as she bucked her hips up to meet the pace of his fingers. She briefly heard a loud moan in the next room over and almost regret her decision to go back to Doug’s room instead, but her thought on the matter was cut short by Douglas lifting her off the counter and carrying her to the bed. She needed to shut out the thoughts of Colson, even if hearing his headboard hit the wall was a bit painful on her heart. She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on the man removing her shirt to kiss down her body. He kissed her hard again and they scrambled to remove the remaining bits of their clothing. Douglas fixed her with a smug grin and lightly pushed her to down to lay against the mattress as he made his way down her body again. He was stopping to bite and suck on parts of her body and she knew she would resemble a leopard tomorrow. Douglas positioned himself between her legs and nipped at her inner thighs looking up into her eyes.

“Now I believe we discussed the finer points of eating earlier, right?” Douglas smirked and before Lux could respond he had his face between her legs. Her hand found her way into his hair as breathless moans filled the air. Fuck she loved New Orleans.

#machine gun kelly #mgk #machince gun kelly fanfic #mgk fanfic #colson baker #rook fanfic #mgk x oc x rook #rookxx #sure feels right

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

God's Children (Fem!reader x The Seed Family, part 3.)

Description: In the year 2018, a huge nuclear attack took place, having its epicenter on Hope County, Montana. All the people were supposed to be gone, but the reality turned around to be much different from that.

A/N: Okay, I should have posted like a week ago, but exams from laws are shit, dawg.

Tagging: x

Warnings: None here, clean as John's butt.

Masterlist: H E R E

East Coast, Atlanta, 2014:

After finishing his studies definitively, John moved back to Atlanta, bought his own flat in one of the best, most modern and most secured buildings in the whole town. It was a very expansive and very luxurious apartment, just as John was used to.

His lifestyle was excessive, full of the most expansive stuff, John wasn't counting his money. He had loads of it, almost gross loads of it. His works were one of the best in Atlanta, he was working at one of the advocate offices with a big name in the business, and until that day, he hadn't lost any of his cases. He was one of the most expansive and the best-paid lawyers in the state.

Some told that he had a gift from God himself. Or that he might be the Devil, because of his non-disappearing grin, confidence and persuasion skills.

His sexual life was just getting wilder and wilder. He started to visit high-class swinger parties, used many varieties of drugs and alcohol, John had access to the best escort services in the whole town thanks to his friendship with the city ambassadors. They were beautiful, slim, flexible, but John couldn't find the resemblance he wanted. He couldn't find any other matching dark sparks on someone else's eye. So he still thought about you and those countless nights, sometimes he was getting off during watching your old pictures where you were together.

Sometimes he even though of you in his work. You were really clever, so sometimes he was playing with the tip of the pen with his mouth, thinking about what you would tell on his current case. John was sometimes inclined to call you or he tends to write you an e-mail, but he never truly contacted you.

He knew that you got work in one of the good Georgia advocate offices, he knew that you're there, but he never searched for you.

In the summer of 2014, it all had started. The slow "colonization" of Hope County. One day, John came home really late. He was tired, sobering and all he wanted to go was to go to sleep. But he had about twenty missed calls from an unknown number. Thinking it's one of his clients from the current case, he called back as soon as he took the clothes off and sat to his table with a glass of water.

"John Duncan, the advocate office of Adelaide Maine. Can I be at your service?" - John mumbled tiredly, covering his face with his palm, sighing out loud. He just wanted to sleep.

"They told me that you stopped using your real name, but I wasn't inclined to believe that." - A male, really pleasing voice chuckled from the other side.

"Okay. That's not funny. Do I know you?" - John dropped, drank the whole glass and started to walk around the apartment, looking down on Atlanta all naked. He needed to get his beard cut in a barbershop asap. And the sooner, the better. But the mysterious called was making him frown at the moment.

"Of course you do. My name's Joseph. Joseph Seed." - That made John almost fall to the ground. He loudly gasped for breath and took hold of a table in order not to fall down. Was it even possible that it could be...? No. Their family was torn apart years ago. And since them, any of his brothers called him, texted him or provided any form or making contact with him.

John learned how to pretend that he is an only child. When somebody asked about his family, he was used to answering that he's the son of Duncans, that he has one older sister and that they adopted him when he was small. He never told anyone that he was born in Rome, Georgia or that he had two older brothers.

And now some man was calling him, saying he's Joseph who used to take beatings for John to protect him. John tried to forget his own past, he cleaned after himself - he burned every case file he got his hands onto, always lied about his roots and identity. Nobody could just search it up.

"If you're just making fun of me, I'm warning you that I don't find it funny at all. Who the hell you are?" - John asked and leaned his palm into the glass of the wall and looked down with a dead expression.

"I told you already told you that I'm Joseph Seed. Your brother, John." - The man told again in a persuasive tone again. He was nice, he seemed to be happy. Just as John remembered his older brother. They were fourteen years apart and Joseph disappeared when John was only four years old. The third brother became a soldier, he was called Jacob, and John had absolutely no memories of him at all. John was in denial. He was wiggling his head from side to side and couldn't just accept what the man was telling him.

He managed to avoid that man's texts and calls for two weeks, sometimes he turned his phone off, sometimes he just simply blocked the number on his decide... But the man always found a way to call him again. Whether it was a different number or contact him through social media, Twitter, e-mail, anything. But one day, a man showed at the office where John was working.

He was an average built man in his height and weight, but way neat and charismatic. He had a perfectly cut beard, his hair was in a man bun. He had a black suit on, yellow aviators over his eyes and he was smiling at everyone with grace in his eyes.

He was kinda similar to John, in the way he spoke and in the way how people listened to him. That man was smart, using almost Shakespearean langue and Bible quotations, smooth with the constructions of his sentences. The people inclined to listen - he had charisma just like John could use some mind play.

"A man is looking for you. You have a client appointment today?" - Carol looked into John's office. He sat behind a desk, playing with his lips between his fingers and though about the file he had opened up. She had dresses which were hugging her waist in a seriously sexy way and her boobs were on a complete display for John. They were fucking, almost every day during the lunch break. She seemed to be smart, but she was just another object for John to fuck.

Just as he told, any of the women who he had in his arms, had not got that deadly insane look in their eyes. But he could talk to her whenever he felt like or needed help.

"No. I should have the first appointment after the lunch break." - John furrowed his face and closed the file, putting it back on its place. - "Let him in. Maybe it'll turn out into a million-dollar contract."

And so the mysterious man came into his room. He had a shy, kind smile on his lips, sitting close enough to hold John's hand if necessary. He was strangely calm in every move he made, which made John frown a bit.

John hadn't got any single idea that a different man will come out of the office after the appointment. The man brought everything with him - John's right birth certificate and his whole adoption file, he talked about finding John for the last whole year until he learned that he's using name Duncan, discovering how far was he able to go with his successful career. They talked about John's childhood memories, bringing up the worst ones. And it was matching Joseph's in an almost scary way.

Then Joseph went on with talking about his big plan, about creating a whole church. He was talking about some doomsday coming and God's voice sounding in his head, telling him what should he do. He was sure that they should start building their church in a small region of Montana. It was named Hope County and Joseph was perfectly clear about buying an old, abandoned church area in the Henbane River region. Somehow, he had the money and Joseph wanted specifically John to rejoin the family.

Joseph had a vision - he wanted to start a religion and slowly save the whole country before an event called “the Collapse” comes. Joseph was a good, influential speaker. So good that he was successful in persuading John to listen. Joseph made John terrified when he was describing the Collapse in specific details. He insisted on saving John because he loved him. Even when destiny has separated them, Joseph was completely sure that he needs to cleanse John from God's wrath.

His plan was just as simple as complicated - to buy the properties at Hope County, one by one, to start a religion, get followers and save them by building bunkers. And when the doomsday comes, they'll be safe and sound in those bunkers. That would be expansive. Extremely expansive.

They needed to find someone who would fund the whole thing. Joseph had the biggest hope in their followers when they'll gain some. Then the businesses they'll buy, the gas stations and groceries. The plan was actually structured pretty well, the layouts were determined perfectly. Joseph was a smart guy.

And so, John agreed just like that. He wanted to belong and Joseph sent him signs that he's offering him the family he always dreamt of. Brothers who would keep each other safe no matter what. And Joseph fucked his head up perfectly - he got under John's skin in a matter of an hour.

When the Seed brothers left his office, John immediately canceled all of his appointments and went to study the map of Hope County. He needed to study it, to know the money ranges they actually were talking about.

John completely closed himself in his own head. The cases he was working on at the time when the Seeds have visited him were the last ones he finished before he quit at the office. He full concentrated on Joseph's plan - he was negotiating with the authorities around Henbane River, he was corresponding with the sellers, but those things are so ridiculously intricated that he knew that he won't be able to finish the contract negotiation on his own.

---

Georgia, 2014

"It was extremely intricate. It was almost genius-like. He must've thought about all of it for months, maybe years prior." - You told your colleague, drinking a cup of coffee and among at her. It was a chocolate latte and you were discussing the last case you've been working on. It was a delicate one evolving a whole big ass web of lies, neglecting and drugs, almost everything. But you managed to get that fucker to the jail, just where he belonged.

Your BlackBerry phone suddenly vibrated in your ass. You pointed a finger on your colleague and excused yourself from the dialogue. You looked at the display, reading the small letters when the sun shone on it.

"What's that? You contact #42?" - Your colleague jokes. You were famous for having a lot of men contacts in your phone - wherever you just went with them to grab dinner or to have a long, fun night. But you hadn't named them on your contacts list. They had just numbers - but you knew who is #2 or #35.

"Shut the fuck up. That's an e-mail. From some guy named John Seed. Don't have an idea about who that is, but he wants to have an appointment. This Friday at three. Pays in cash, extremely important." - You made a surprised face at her and she giggled. We were fun to work with, your faces were the best and you had just the dumbest shit to say. But you were a hella good lawyer.

Everyone was surprised with your two years lasting practicum at Phelps & Black's at such a young age. And you were nuts good as a lawyer, so they were just taking her as a miracle happening that you ended up at that exact advocate office. So your co-workers liked you and you were good at your job. Score 10/10, bingo!

So your life went on its own pace for the other two days - working on cases during the day, being present trials at the local court and having plans with the numbers in your contacts in the evening. You even went to a family dinner on Wednesday.

Your father still wanted to have control over you, even when you were a grown woman and you had a great job. He was watching over you, every step you took. Your father has dreamt about your future before you were born - he was just like that to your siblings and mom as well. Now he wanted you to build a career. So you worked hard.

But the appointment came sooner than you anticipated. So you took yourself some coffee and a cake before three a.m., prepared the paperwork that needed to be done when accepting a new client. You hoped that it would be at least something partially strange or exciting. You didn't want to just advocate some white ass rich woman who was racist to a man of color and called him a slave. Yes. Those things were pretty normal at the court and you had two fucking cases like that.

You lighted up some candles who smelled really nice to lighten up the atmosphere, you prepared the office to be subtle, intimate, to relax the client.

Your office phone rang, so you picked up. - "Miss Y/L/N? A man is here. He says that his name is John Seed. Should I tell him to go?" - Myrtle was so sweet to you. She was the assistant for the whole office, letting the people in, giving you the mails from postmen. She thought that mister Seed is another of your numbers.

"This one is alright. Let him in, show him my office. Be my angel. Thank you." - You sang in a laughing voice. By the time your office's door opened, John has already ordered a coffee and a glass of water. You heard that man flirting with Myrtle and you smiled to yourself. Myrtle was a nice, shy girl.

You were seriously sure that this poor girl didn't even know what sex is - that's how innocent she actually looked. So she was glad every time a man actually tried something on her. She was all hearts, chocolates and flowers girl. She wasn't even ashamed, just a long time run. Maybe the mysterious John was a guy for her in the end?

"That would be lovely. Give me two chocolates and hurry up, can't wait to see your face again." - He laughed and you stood up, making sure your jeans were perfectly clean and tight on your body, you checked out your face, your hair and the shirt you had on were showing just the nice portion of your cleavage. Physical appearance made the clients more inclined to believe you.

"Good day, Mr. Seed..." - You smiled at the neat man a offered him a hand with a big smile, but your heart stopped when the man actually looked at you. - "John?" - You whispered in a guessing tone.

You haven't seen him for two years. He still looked just as you remembered him. Perfectly cut beard, baby blue eyes, nicely cut hair, and a beautiful smile. Neatly clothed, looking like a million-dollar baby, his expression smiling at you.

"I was looking forward to finally see you again." - John hugged you and closed his eyes. He was enjoying your smell, inhaling your the smell of your shampoo and your very own personal smell. - "No call, no message, no nothing. I'm personally touched."

You sat opposite to him, smiling, automatically getting the paperwork done. You still remembered his name, his date of birth, the town where he was born. You just knew all of that.

"You shouldn't be. I told you I don't have time for personal relationships. Men in my life gave only numbers now. You had a name. That's a fucking privilege" - You chuckled and when you were done, you leaned into the chair, sipping another sip of your chocolate latte. - "I was just thinking that Myrtle finally found some normal guy to go out with. How naïve am I?"

"Well. I can take her out, you know, try to make her feel alive?" - John grinned and you chuckled.

"Dear Lord, don't you dare. She is a good girl."

"Am I a bad boy?" - He asked with portrayed drama in his voice. Myrtle shyly knocked on your door, bringing John the coffee he was waiting for along with two small milk chocolates. He was checking her out in front of you, being completely shameless. Some things don't change with time.

"I haven't even said that, John. I just think that your needs don't... Suit hers." - You told him when Myrtle left, being all nervous and reddened because of John. She clearly felt affectionate towards him. John was like that.

"You seemed to like the things I was doing to you." - John chuckled in a darkened tone and you rolled your eyes. Sex. He always thought of sex. But this was a business meeting. You couldn't exactly say that you would not like to fuck John right on the spot, but you were in your lawyer mode.

"So tell me what's up? Haven't heard of you as of 'John Seed'. Never ever." - You asked curiously. You kept intense eye contact with him, he didn't look away from you. That man was a piece of fucking work.

"That's why I came to you. I needed to talk with you about a very delicate family case." - He took a sip of his coffee and gave you a big smile. Myrtle was a coffee brewing miracle. That was the best coffee he had in a long time. - "I thought you personally, so I know how you think like. You know how I think like and I just really need you by my side now. I thought more like... The personal case then an office case."

"You want to hire me?" - You asked curiously and John just answered with a nod.

"Will you help me? I will pay you for overtime, I will pay you for taking extra care of me as your client, I don't want just any lawyer. I specifically need you." - John leaned over to catch your hand. John Duncan... Now John Seed, your laws mentor, and idol needed your help. And he was willing to give you a ton of cash. You had a good payment, but extra cash was a thing that always made you smile. And you knew that John really likes to be extra fancy in those sorts.

You liked fancy things. Fancy jewelry, nice clothes, good electronics. Like any other woman.

"I don't want this to be the office's case. I want this to be your own case. Can you do that for me?" - John kissed your knuckles and gently bit the tip of your middle finger while looking you in the eyes. So now you were using chemical bangs in your brain and your pussy. Great. And those chemicals were just brewing within you. He was still doing a thing to you, after all that time.

"John... Are you trying to make a deal here or you're trying to clear the path to my panties?" - You took your hand out of his gentle grip and laughed. - "You're fucking unbelievable."

"Maybe I want to have a deal with some really fancy services, miss Y/L/N?" - John sat back to the chair and smiled. You sighed out loud, drinking your coffee and taking a piece of your chocolate cake.

"Let's see the deal first. What do you need?" - You asked with a serious face. John needed to cut off the topic of sex to speak with you about the thing he wanted to speak about actually.

"My brothers came back to me, both Jacob and Joseph. We spoke for an hour and since then, I feel like a new, reborn man. They spoke with me about the faith God destined for our family. It's huge and so important you're not going to believe me." - John said in a joyful tone. You heard that he's happy. His brothers made contact with him, that made you smile. The last time you spoke about his family, he thought that he will be forever alone. His brothers reaching out to him? Great news.

"I want to buy a property in Henbane River, Hope County. An old church. But at this moment, it's the property of the state of Montana." - John said in a calm tone. - "Joseph is a prophet. He... Saw things that are kinda hard to explain. But we knew that we should start a church, do let people know that God loves them and he wants them to be safe. And we want to start there."

"Only one church in Montana which is the property of the state? You obviously have some connection to the ambassadors, you can talk it out. You're a smart man. You certainly don't need my help in such a small task." - You wiggled your eyebrows playfully. You were right. That was child's play. He needed to help with something else. So he dropped a bomb on you.

"Are you fucking with me?" - You asked unbelievably. That was ridiculous. Those guys had a plan - not to own one fucking old church, but to slowly buy the whole country. John showed you plans of properties in the order he was thinking about buying it. There were a lot of them, but... - "You want to own a whole fucking region of a state. You want to own Hope County? Isn't that slightly immoral?" - You asked and chuckled at the map. That was insanity. That plan had no chance to work out.

"I'm sorry to tell you, John, but this is madness. There would be so many contractors, many people, you will most probably have a problem with the state when I look at the count of state-owned property. And money... That's just too much. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but you have like a 10% probability of it actually working out." - You said to him and you believed yourself. That was pure madness, the stunt John and his brothers planned on doing.

"That's why I need you during the negotiations and in the charge of finances and to help me with contracts. We can work as a team because we're capable of doing this on our own." - John looked you in the eyes. You gulped out really out and leaned back to your chair. He had the money for buying some of it, sure, but... This was like a megalomaniac fantasy. You won't pay anything in the end, and you will even get paid.

It will be just some negotiations. Nothing more. Just a friendly help. And with the money, he was offering you for your help? It was just a business.

"Okay. I'll help you, John."

#god's children #far cry 5 #far cry new dawn #far cry fanfic #reader x the seed family #joseph seed #john seed #we are still in the ballpark

[memorylang]

Easter Epilogue in America | #35 | April 2020

Friday, March 6, 2020, I disembarked in North Las Vegas, Nevada, to a home I hadn’t lived in since high school 2015. I’ve been here a couple months now, by time of writing. 

With today’s stories, I bring you from my first days and weeks back in the States through April’s end. I share reverse culture’s shock’s role in my readjustment to Vegas life, as COVID-19 grew across the States. But I’m a hopeful man, so you know my stories end well. 

As a good friend reminded me the night I learned all Peace Corps Volunteers had to go, "The steps of a man are established by the Lord, when he delights in His way" (Psalm 37:23). Consider this the epilogue to my very fruitful, memorable, and—dare I write—life-changing adventures. I've no regrets. 

Overture

Week 1 (March 6-12) was a blessing, having just returned to an America vaguely like the one I knew. Gosh, I love fruit. Thankfully, a few friends saw me. 

Then Week 2 (March 13-19) brought big changes and new deadlines. But, meanwhile, Week 3 (March 20-26) began my home improvement operations. The following weekend saw a drive to Reno to see my 19-year-old sister at uni. 

Weeks 4 and 5 (March 27-April 9) saw my 21-year-old sister visit Vegas from LA, starting with the 24th birthday of my older brother and ending after Easter Sunday. 

Week 6 (April 10-16) began with Holy Week, then driving Sister back to LA, followed by the restart to fitness routines. My routines expanded, Week 7 (April 17-23). Week 8 (April 24-30), Dad visited that weekend, so I braved minor puncture wounds from yard work with him plus an excruciating medical procedure. Fitness routines continued, and I shifted my diet from a fruit obsession to increasing my protein intake. 

Week 9 (May 1-7) began by closing loose ends with my Peace Corps stories. I’ve begun next steps while home, as we lead into Mothers’ Day. 

Landing—Returned to Vegas

From tens of thousands of feet in the air, I felt the end of an era. Nine Mongolian months ended. 

The midday we landed, I wanted to get up and leave elsewhere, not to the house in Vegas. 

I’m an English teacher. It’s a school day. I should be teaching. 

My 18-year-old high school senior brother picked me up from the airport. Haha, he said he skipped English class to get me. Dad seemed upset that my bro missed class, but Bro had stable senioritis, with college plans secured. I loved the irony of skipping class to get a teacher. 

Neighborhood in Reverse Culture Shock

A few hours after we came home, I went forth to community walk around the neighborhood, trying to make sense of things. 

“Hello, how are you?” said someone in passing. “Oh, doing great,” I replied in usual fashion. 

Well, I wasn't [doing great]. 

As I walked I weighed how when I used to live in Vegas, in 2015, I was more concerned with, what's the newest game? What's the latest episode? Yet now I feel more detached, less purposeful. I continued on to the park. 

I love the fragrances and fresh air beneath the trees. I lied in the grass. 

In another way, I felt, I only tolerated Vegas. There's more for me out there. There are so many cities and places with people I'd rather see and be with. 

But God is with me here, too. It's the second Friday of Lent. 

School buses drove by as I walked home a couple hours later. Middle schoolers walked and biked my neighborhood. (Was it my neighborhood? I'd hardly reintegrated...) 

Middle schoolers jeered to each other about whatever. Some kids probably had crushes on each other but felt too shy to speak up, uncomfortable with the status quo. I felt like a watcher no longer a participant. Yet I was them, here, 10 years ago. 

I had some dinner then slept shortly after, from 6:30 p.m. to 1 a.m. in our home’s guest bed. There I realized, I might be sleeping here a while. 

Strange Days Ahead

By Saturday morning, my first one waking at home, I still felt I’d feel lonely without my senior cohort if I came back to Mongolia. Thankfully at least a half dozen said they plan to return. And senior cohort members who continued keeping in touch with me were great comforts. I still felt encouraged to apply to be a Resource Volunteer, sometime after conquering my 16-hour jet lag. 

“Frozen II” tracks from the day before looped in my head most mornings. Film themes of change, grief and controlling the few things we can felt uncommonly personal. From Saturday on, I looped English and Chinese tracks from “Frozen II” while coping with being home. One jetlagged 3 a.m. morning, I even transcribed and translated the tracks between languages. 

Later Saturday morning, I walked back to the park. I spotted a tree. So I climbed it. Surprisingly my park had a sturdy one. Who knew? The tree’s been here all the dozen years my family has... 

Atop its branches, I felt I might wake up from a dream and be back in Mongolia the next day. 

I felt still reeling from my bewildering first Peace Corps Week. From seven days ago, I left my Mongolian city, came among nearly 100 fellow Volunteers, joined half on a journey across Europe, then found myself back in Vegas with my four siblings still in school. So mystic. 

American Culture Redux

I’d jot general musings about culture during these first days back in the States. 

We say, “Pardon me,” as though the mere act of engaging a stranger in conversation might offend against a stranger’s time. 

In the West, we highly value possessions, and we treat time itself as something to possess. 

In the States, we travel separately to functions. We might chit chat some before or after. Then we part ways to do whatever we’ve already scheduled. 

I wondered if I should ask to visit people or accompany them. Would that be weird? I felt my integration habits of Peace Corps lingered. But I considered, I still had plenty I could do by myself, like taking time to process my sudden evacuation.

In the States, we decide against reaching out to people. Perhaps we fear simple greetings to friends, with nothing more, might impose on their time. On the flip side, I receive multiple messages per week from Mongolians simply writing to say good morning or hello—so pleasant. I should cherish others’ care, never reject. 

Resettling In

I cut my hand dropping down the tree, so I applied pressure, elevated the wound and headed home to clean and bandage it. I felt weirdly at ease, remembering Peace Corps health trainings. I recalled “Dear Evan Hansen,” too. 

My family was busy with life, so the house felt rather quiet and still most hours. Already, though, I brainstormed ways to keep busy as a Peace Corps Volunteer on admin hold. 

I began by finishing my Peace Corps blog stories. The day after, I’d already have my newest online, “Trilingual Adventures, My First Mongolian Winter | #22 | January 2020.” Coincidentally, that story was my last from before Coronavirus quarantines in Mongolia began. 

Mongolian friends still messaged me every so often. They're so kind. I hoped they wouldn’t lose hope I'll return. [Nine weeks later, they’re still hopeful.] Meanwhile, I still wanted to search for a Vegas Mongolians Facebook group when my jet lag was up and I felt ready to start speaking Mongolian again.

I considered planning a trip to my alma mater in Reno, Nev. for a week later that month, once I settled more into the States’ routines. On the topic of routines, I decided maybe I'd visit church most weekdays to establish some semblance. I'd help my folks as best I could, so I’d still feel like I'm serving somebody. I even thought of getting my 23-year-old brother's bike repaired, to borrow it every so often! 

To end that reflective weekend, later that Saturday, my little brother drove me to the bank to deposit the funds I withdrew earlier that week in Mongolia. Then he treated me to my first American fast-food in a while. I attended Mass for the first time in weeks that evening. On Sunday, I marveled at seeing free to-go boxes, when Dad’s fiancée’s family invited my brother and I to celebrate the oldest daughter’s birthday. I enjoyed my first Thai tea in a long while. 

That week, I frequented daily morning prayer, rosary and Masses at church. Then walked around the community and continued blog tales either from the public library or from a local Starbucks (coincidentally the same one in which Black Friday 2018 I committed to Peace Corps service). On separate days, a couple friends also reconnected with me. I attended Mass seven of eight days this period, returning to Reconciliation that final Saturday and dreaming dreams most every night two weeks thereafter. 

Peace Corps Global Evacuation

Week 2 (March 13-19), my cohort learned we were being reclassified as being Returned Peace Corps Volunteers—as in, we’d officially completed our service. This followed with sudden paperwork, thankfully not due for a few weeks. This led to global headlines of all Peace Corps Volunteers coming home, too.

Between home projects to tidy the house or weed the yard, I joined up with the National Peace Corps Association group writing to our legislators to support Returned Peace Corps Volunteers worldwide. I spent the days preceding the Holy Triduum completing my final paperwork. 

I felt comforted nonetheless Peace Corps Mongolia insisted we could reinstate, assuming Mongolia’s situation resolves within the next year. I felt willing to take that bet. 

COVID-19 Escalates Across the States

My second week, church closed. I still frequented the park but felt amazed to see more people than usual. A couple more friends reconnected. 

A few weeks later, businesses shut down, schools closed, and I felt more adjusted. America was looking like the rest of the world. I trusted Americans generally had a good sense of sanitation practices, so I felt less concerned about establishments open. Mongolia lacked drive-throughs, so businesses there often closed outright. 

But my weekend between Weeks 3 and 4, March 26-28, felt the first time I heard how rapidly COVID-19 escalated in the States. My little brother played podcasts as we drove to deliver supplies to our uni sister sheltering in Reno. From the news, I heard the U.S. now led the world in Coronavirus cases. That sounded bad. I felt especially baffled hearing that Nevada, with a population slightly less than Mongolia’s, topped over 100 times as many cases. I felt more at risk in the States! 

During the trip, I also encountered American jargon, like, “Out of/due to an abundance of caution…,” “social distancing” and “Flatten the curve.” I felt critical of whether many Nevadans really knew what the jargon meant, considering how many cars remained on the road, how close people gathered in parks and how shoppers hardly kept distance. Though, I also recognized that Mongolian media might have used similar stock phrases that I just didn’t know... Nonetheless, Mongolians officials seemed more willing to pause operations to let health workers build capacity, and citizens tended to comply. 

If any last brave friends wanted to see me, the closest we got to physical touch was to raise our feet toward each other and bump our shoes, as bros might fist bump or clasp hands. I commented touching each other’s feet together in Mongolia would’ve been a serious taboo, hehe. Still, I left those as my last in-person meet-ups to #StayHome and limit concerning others.  

Perks of Being American

At home, my time zone matched most friends’ again, which made phone and video calls so feasible. I chatted with whoever reached out or replied to my outreach, which led to lovely chats with relatives, mentors, past classmates, fellow Peace Corps evacuees and more. 

Introverted friends inspired me much when I checked in with them. They joyously shared how much time they’ve had for uninterrupted time to themselves and work from home. Introverts often touch my soul. 

Being an ambivert feels weird for me sometimes, in how I straddle both sides. Extroverts often seem the ones I want, but introverts seem the ones I need. Nowadays, when being extroverted takes the effort, I find inspiration flowing from introverted bliss. 

Community members I met in Mongolia continued keeping in touch with me, which helped me remember and stay close to my prayerful Lenten commitment to consult God on my projects. 

Easter 2020 #WithMe with Family

My fourth week, my 21-year-old sister, the USC junior, flew in to celebrate our older bro’s 24th birthday. She brought her Nintendo Switch, so I soaked up the fun of “Super Smash Bros. Ultimate,” Nintendo’s “ARMS” demo and Jackbox Games with the family. After unis went online, our older bro transitioned to quarantine with his girlfriend and her sisters, but he still visited to celebrate his birthday with us. 

I also felt joyful during Holy Week when the World Youth Day 2019 Mass soundtrack appeared on Spotify. It was an incredible choral and rhythmic masterpiece I never thought I’d hear again. I recently learned, too, a childhood best friend would receive confirmation this year—magnificent!

As on Sundays, I saw the Lent and Holy Week services on YouTube, between channels like Shalom World with Pope Francis, Ascension Presents with Fr. Mike Schmitz, Word on Fire with Bishop Barron, and Our Lady of Wisdom Newman Center with Fr. Nathan Mamo. A Kansan relative joked how COVID-19’s let us “attend” Mass in our jeans, haha. Dad’s fiancée and I talked about the newfound freedom to just choose any online pastor per week. 

My Easter 2020 apex came Good Friday. I felt moved by the Vatican’s Way of the Cross, which read Italian reflections written by incarcerated and those whose lives they affected or whose lives affect them. They reminded me, for many of us, COVID-19 is nothing compared to the ‘normal’ sufferings of those behind bars, starving for hope. 

Renewed Motivation

After Easter Sunday, my lil’ bro and I returned Sister to L.A., Dad returned to work in northern Nevada, and Older Bro returned to sheltering away. So since the beginning of Easter, April 12, 2020, I’ve spent my days seeking to accelerate into a newer, more stable motivated state. 

I decided first to honor Dad’s suggestion to work-out and, with my lil’ bro’s help, added focused fitness to my days. I borrowed my siblings’ game system and games to finish one I started years ago while on the treadmill. I personally doubled-down on blog stories to get two through a week. And, setting up my new horizon after, I started looking back into language studies. Week 7 (April 17-23) added my return to polyphasic sleep to boost productivity. 

I’m a hopeful man. So some days, especially between 4 and 6 a.m., I draw or write stories about the ideal life I wish I could be living. This helps me delve into where my yearnings really are, mentally. After seeing “The Rise of Skywalker,” I even doodled an Avatar like Rey meditating in the air. Then I try giving my wants back up to God, accepting I can’t have all those things right now. Usually this process illuminates desires I hadn’t acknowledged before. 

I also recognize the steps I can take now to draw me closer to my future desires.

I spend idle thoughts when possible praying for others. I realize with so many people already praying for me, I needn’t worry about myself, since I’m taken care of. Instead, I should think to the ones who do not know the hope I feel. I wish some encounter might intrigue them and offer new peace. Such exercises remind me too of my privileges and help root me in my giving self. 

Ecclesiastical Latin’s been a fun quest toward greater knowledge. It bridges both Mongolian and Spanish grammar, while drawing vocabulary I’ve encountered across English, Spanish, Mandarin Chinese and Mongolian, too. Plus I understand church music better now. It’s a fun journey. I found regarding Church language that Mandarin and Mongolian more frequently transliterated straight from the Latin, where English and Spanish adapted. Fun reading. 

Five Months of Freedom

I read the soonest I might return to Peace Corps service in Mongolia would be October 2020. So, I’ll be here in the Pacific time zone for long, if you want to call someday. I’ve cherished my adventures and look forward to those ahead.

I’m ostensibly home for the summer, so I plan to write at least once monthly a new piece sharing unpublished bits from Mongolia, maybe a few new tales from American life, too. 

Hard to believe after packing my Mongolian apartment, evacuating in our caravan to the capital, saying so-long to many, flying around the world and finally landing in Vegas, I’d finish revising and editing these blog stories #22 through 38. I’d been drafting them for months, weeks and days! At last, we’ve caught up. 

So, as the days come, I’ll rise, read Scriptures, reflect, journal, chat with Asia, take to the treadmill, play some games, see some films or shows, try to eat well, try to work most muscles, try not to strain something, then return to writing, other reading, napping, showering, sorting, teeth-brushing, thinking and marveling. This leaves plenty of time to socialize. And I do miss you, wherever you shelter.

Keep in touch, Friend! 

Up next is a 2020 Mother’s Day reflection. 

You can read more from me here at DanielLang.me :)

#Peace Corps #Mongolia #memoir #memoryLang #MayThe4thBeWithYou #StayHome #WithMe #Coronavirus #COVID-19 #Nevada #culture shock #news #Las Vegas #Lent #Easter #USA #God #Catholic #evacuation #story

[ahgaseda]

the hot tea || chapter 01

⇥ synopsis : your best friend, Jackson, never fails to argue against your apathy toward love and romance, but his plan to confess his true feelings toward you is rudely interrupted when you start a blog chronicling your past relationships...

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language and dialogue, recurring alcohol or drug use, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

Home was a beautiful sight after such a long day. You trudged inside the shop and the dainty ring of a lonely silver bell was music to your ears. The sound signaled to the owner in the back, who stepped out with a towel as he dried off his freshly-washed hands.

“Hey,” Jackson greeted with a broad smile. After a quick glance, he changed his tone and asked, “Rough day?”

“The roughest,” you huffed, sidling up to the bar and plopping down on a stool. The place had cleared out, closing a few minutes earlier. The silence and emptiness were welcome and you tiredly slipped out of your shoes, letting your feet dangle.

Jackson offered, though he already knew the answer, “Tea?”

“Yes, please,” you sighed in relief.

Though his specialty was smoothies (and educating people on the importance of organic ingredients to promote healthy living), Jackson never failed to serve you a warm cup of tea at the end of a long day. He had different varieties too, and always seemed to know exactly which one you needed to soothe your morale.

As he pushed the small cup your way a few minutes later, you took a sip, dropped your head onto your hand, and asked, “Do you think some of us are just destined to be alone?”

Jackson released a long exhale - one that could easily have been perceived as exasperation, but you knew to be pity - and leaned against the counter across from you. Then, he replied, “You know I don’t.”

You rolled your eyes. Jackson agreed with you on many things, but this wasn’t one of them.

Living as neighbors in the apartments above the shop you currently sat in, Jackson was the last person you expected to bond with when you moved out on your own. And he had not been very keen when it came to taking on a tennant either, but he also hadn’t been prepared to buy the entire building when picking a spot for his new business.

Still, the arrangement worked wonders for you both. You needed a relatively cheap but safe place to live and he needed help making the hefty mortgage payments every month.

Jackson opened his mouth to ask what had brought out your poorly hidden disdain for relationships, but you beat him to the punch.

“I finally heard from that guy again,” you told him, taking a tentative sip of your hot tea.

Jackson lifted an eyebrow.

“Last night… at three o’clock in the freaking morning.”

Your best friend groaned and shook his head with disappointment, disheveled hair falling across his forehead. “Booty call?”

You slumped forward onto the counter, letting your forehead rest on the cold surface, and whined, “What is it about me that attracts nonsense?”

“Some guys just don’t know what to do with such a hot piece of ass,” Jackson teased, patting your arm.

Lifting your head, you swiftly narrowed your eyes in scolding.

Jackson put a hand over his heart and defended, “This is me providing comic relief.”

He was certainly a professional at that and you couldn’t help but smile in amusement. Pulling out your phone, you started, “Since I am doomed to the life of a spinster and a house full of cats…”

Jackson was quick to interject, “Are you maybe just a little dramatic?”

You shot him a look of mischief. “Only a little.”

He chortled.

“As I was saying,” you began, scrolling to your text messages. “Krystal had an idea.”

“Krystal is an enabler,” Jackson said with a level of monotone and indifference he consistently reserved for your other best friend.

Fighting a laugh, you continued, “She says everyone is blogging nowadays and…”

Jackson interrupted yet again to ask, “Blogging about what - work?”

Growing impatient, you fussed, “Jackson, I bake cookies for a living.”

“Fancy cookies that are delicious and have added at least five extra pounds to my voluptuous ass,” he quipped, reaching back and emphasizing the point with a loud smack to his buttocks.

You met his eyes and glared, blinking slowly with irritation.

Jackson flashed you a wide smile, happy to see he had gotten under your skin, and said, “Please proceed.”

“I wouldn’t blog about work,” you explained, emotionless. “I would blog about sex.”

His eyes widened with surprise and undeniable interest. A devilish smirk on his lips, Jackson replied, “You have my attention.”

“Since Krystal and I unanimously agree that anyone would be hard pressed to find somebody who has had the catastrophic dating history that I’ve had…”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed; more so to let you know he was listening, not that he necessarily agreed.

“And I have a flair for excessive vocabulary and witty narratives.”

“I see where this is going,” Jackson said, sounding rather unimpressed.

Rubbing your hands together, you asked nervously, “What do you think?”

Starting a blog that would catalog your shortcomings when it came to romance and intimacy had never crossed your mind, but a long-winded conversation in the middle of the night with Krystal had given her the idea. Little did Jackson know, if he didn’t condone it, you had already decided you wouldn’t go through with it without his approval.

After all, he would feature quite prominently on the blog.

Jackson tapped his chin and shrugged, noncommittal. “I mean, I’ve heard of people journaling as an alternative to therapy.”

“Which in some cases they desperately need,” you said with a scoff.

“Desperately,” he echoed, shaking his head as a few of his friends and relatives came to mind. “But it’s definitely better than adult coloring books.”

Pointing your middle finger to the ceiling, you grumbled, “Do you have to shit on all of my hobbies?”

Jackson chuckled. “I’m kidding… sort of.”

You snorted.

“If it’s something that will make you happy, then do it. Venting out our frustrations can help us get to a better place mentally and move forward. But always remember the golden rule,” Jackson told you, suddenly stern.

You joked, “Never eat raw cookie dough?”

Jackson grimaced at the thought, but didn’t comment. Instead, he finished, “Don’t ever step on other people to get yourself above them.”

“It would be purely humorous, I promise,” you said, downing the rest of your tea. “Nothing shady or vengeful about it.”

He gave you a single nod. “Good.”

You watched Jackson take your now empty cup and put it in the sink for a short wash, offering him another thank you as he did. Your eyes lingered on his arms, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and despite how exhausted you were, your mind was having no trouble coming up with ways he could put those rough hands to use.

As Jackson moved to switch off the lights in the back, you returned your focus to the blog and added, “I’ve been pretty lucky in that all of my exes are generally good people and don’t hate my guts.”

“A miracle considering your ability to inspire annoyance,” your best friend smarted, returning to the counter.

You folded your arms and exclaimed, “Hey, I’m the one with the savage repertoire!”

Rolling his eyes, Jackson chided, “Don’t use words I don’t know. English is not my first language.”

You snickered, “Apologies.”

“So, all done here,” Jackson murmured under his breath, grabbing his keys. “After I lock up, wanna come over to my place and fuck?”

“What are best friends with benefits for,” you replied with a grin.

chapter 01 ⇥ chapter 02

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

#got7 fanfiction #got7 smut #jackson wang smut #got7 scenarios #jackson wang scenarios #mark tuan smut #jaebum smut #jinyoung smut #youngjae smut #bambam smut #yugyeom smut

[scottpippencool]

I’m very quietly laying in my apartment and staring at the ceiling. Sleep doesn’t seem to come cheap these days, even if I feel like I’ve earned it. This is to be expected, since I am finally doing everything I wanted to do.

For the longest time, you can ask anyone, I’ve wanted to move up to the DMV area and land a job using my degree in DC. After graduating from the T in 2017, I had a few contacts talking me up as if they’d be able to help me do just that. Then, suddenly, they all stopped talking to me at the same time.

Broken & defeated, I moved back home w my folks and landed a decent paying job w benefits. On my first day, they brought in an assortment of executives that work for various departments, but there was a trend in their testimonials that really bothered me. Each one of them had a dream that didn’t work out, so they ended up at ADP and were happy to settle. This really bothered me to no end, because each one of them seemed to be putting on a brave face because they HAD to give this testimony, but none of them seemed happy about it. This is when I knew I couldn’t stay there forever.

I could’ve left home in 2018, but I was kind of terrified of failing again and falling back into that deep depression that I had in 2017. So I settled and called it “sowing seeds” even though I wasn’t actually applying myself to do anything other than my job and coming home and sleeping. My boredom put me in dangerous situation after dangerous situation, and that’s when I knew I needed to leave in 2019, or so I thought.

My plan for 2019 was to get promoted, work that promotion for a few months and then leave in the fall. I got promoted in Feb to a data analytics position (or so I thought it’d be), so far so good. My plan was to start applying for new jobs in July and possibly get hired in Sept/October, because I’m aware these things take time. You know that saying, “man makes plans and God laughs?” Well God got a good laugh off of my plans, because in late June, my mother was diagnosed with cancer.

Of course, with this news my plans needed to change. There’s no way I could leave her holding the bag and apply to other jobs during this trying time. So my plans had to wait. September rolled around and she started her treatments; I attended Mondays with her. In the midst of all this, I got into a car accident on the way to work somewhere in here and possibly did some lasting damage to my back (yes, I know I need to get it checked out), which put a halt to my working out. It was honestly tough.

Watching my mother tough out those treatments which were obviously a bit traumatizing for her made me realize that I was born with that sort of strength as well. I set to work with creating my own website in order to build my brand and bide my time while we waited. When her treatments ended, I started to apply for jobs again, and yet again, it took time.

I launched my site LowPreaux.com on my 26th birthday from my desk at work, and the overwhelming support I received honestly took me aback. I hadn’t been the best friend to everyone since we got the news, and I’d done my trademark of being unavailable while I sorted things out. So to see all of this traffic flowing through my site from my city and even from around the world was.....I can’t even explain how good it made me feel. People I didn’t even know were approaching me and telling me they love the site. Within that week, a recruiter I’d been working with gave me a call and told me she had a position I’d be interested in.

2020 began and I was right where I needed to be; in DC with my friends singing ‘The Box’ at ignorant levels. For some reason, I woke up on the 1st with a calming sense of clarity, even though a lot was at stake within that very same month. I had to force myself to stay present with my friends because I was struggling with the duality of trusting God & also knowing that nothing ever works out 100% for me. The very next week, my recruiter called and told me the firm I’d applied with requested an interview. I was beside myself in shock. I drove up that week and gave one of the best interviews I’ve ever given, no joke.

That next Wednesday, my folks went to oncology to see if my mother’s treatments had worked, or whether we needed another round. No sign of anything anywhere and it’s very unlikely to return. The news felt like somebody had finally lifted the anchor that’d be around my neck for the last half a year. I hadn’t heard anything from my recruiter since the interview, so I just picked up my phone and shot her an email. Her response: “wow, great timing! They actually just reached out to me 10 minutes ago, and they’d like a second interview!” God laughs. I had two more interviews, and then the week after that, they run a background check. Another week passes and I get my offer letter. God laughs. They offered me the max with benefits and wanted me to move as soon as it was comfortable for me.

I put my two weeks notice in that same gotdamn day.

We make plans, and God laughs.

Im currently typing this from my apartment in Northern VA. I start my new job on Tuesday. It’s been a roller coaster from start to finish, but I don’t know that I’d trade the way this all worked out for anything. I guess I’m typing this to say, post grad depression is very real. It’s happens to everyone. Yes, even to those people you see in Belize for summer break. You may not get that job you wanted SO bad immediately. You very well may run into a lot of adversity. Your plans may be forced to change. You may be delayed, but that doesn’t inherently mean you’ve been denied. Everything takes time. Especially things that are worth it.

[skellylicious]

The Ending

I suppose this was inevitable. Aloe and I had a falling out back in August of 2018, and even before then, she no longer had time to write with me anymore. At this point, I feel that I have to do this in order for both myself and Voidster to have closure. Voidster needs to be able to move on with his story and his relationships with other muses, without being held back by his damaged relationship with his mate, G. 

If you haven’t already, you can read about Voidster and his mate here. I consider this to be the conclusion to The Sin Mansion, but I’m still unsure whether to post it on AO3. I’m sorry about this. I know a lot of people shipped Voidster and G, but I no longer have the heart to write them together. Everything comes to an end eventually. (This story mentions spokenwithhands’s muse, (not by name), but it is primarily about allocatealoe’s muse, who is also called G. Sorry for any confusion!)

He rested his palm against the cool glass of the window. It was winter, but the snow on the ground had been melted by a steady downpour of rain. Outside was grey and dismal, much like his mood. Every time he returned home, he found himself spending less and less time there. G actively ignored him most of the time. When he wasn’t ignoring Voidster, he spoke in the flat monotone he had affected for dealing with humans, primarily. A voice he used on strangers, not with his mate.

The girl rarely left her room now, and Voidster let her be. He had touched her only once since they had brought G back from the brink of death together, and her typical reaction of fear and disgust had unnerved him, somehow. Instead of soft human flesh in his grasp, he had seemed to see a fragile, skeletal limb. He had expected to look up and see a fearful half-face spilling over with indigo galaxies and stars.

Since then, he had left her alone. And in turn, G had taken more interest in her. He moved her things to the bedroom right beside his office, and spoke more frequently with her, as if she were his equal. As if...he cared for her. While his soul spilled over with disdain for Voidster, his mate, he showed only tenderness to the human. At first Voidster wasn’t sure what to make of it. Now, the pieces had begun to fit together, and the shape of the puzzle left him shaken.

He wouldn’t normally have heard his mate approach, but since G’s leg had been crippled, he made the faintest whisper of sound when he moved. Despite the surgery, despite Voidster’s best efforts to repair the damage he had done, some consequences of his insanity remained. The slight limp that now affected G’s leg was the least of these consequences.

“You’re home.” He hadn’t expected G to make the first move, to open the conversation. G had not sought Voidster out since they had returned from the prison, where G had gone to die. Against the slight ache in his soul, Voidster turned. As he expected, G’s face was flat, expressionless. When he spoke again, his words were too.

“I want you to leave.”

Hearing G say this stirred memories within Voidster. Memories of when he had first arrived in this timeline with the intent to stay. G had tried everything to force him to leave. He had tortured Voidster, tried to kill him, even tried to fling him back into the void. But Voidster wouldn’t leave. He’d had nowhere to go, and G presented a worthy challenge for his abilities. A strong male that intrigued and enticed him. He had stayed. And then, when Sun had died, G had needed him to stay. He had finally embraced Voidster, as Voidster had always dreamed of happening. He had wanted him, he had even said he loved him.

For a long time, it was enough for both of them. G was in agony over the loss of his human mate, and Voidster provided the comfort he needed, in the form of specialized torture and vicious sex that left them both aching and satisfied. And it kept escalating. They kept pushing each other harder and harder, fighting and making love with the ferocity of beasts. They cared for their human pet together, and tortured other, different humans together in an effort to replicate her shimmering gray soul. The research had been intriguing, but more than that, it had been a thing that further bound them together. A common purpose that gave them something to strive for besides mutually assured destruction.

There were no subjects in the basement now. It was silent and empty, the black stains of G’s blood still splattered on the table where Voidster had destroyed his leg. That room had been the one he always used when G was hurting and in need of the tender therapy of his blades. Now it had been violated, saturated with remembered hatred and violence. Voidster couldn’t bring himself to enter, even to clean the mess that had been left during his rut.

G would never forgive him for what he had done. That much was clear. It was shown in the loathing in his face whenever Voidster entered a room. It was shown in the bitter silence that had settled between them like an impenetrable mist.

At first, Voidster had thought...had hoped...that this recovery would be no different from the rest. It was hardly the first time he had hurt G, had scared him, had broken trust. But once G had recovered from his time in the human prison, it was clear this was not the case. He had bitterly blamed G for being so spiteful, for being so implacable and unforgiving, at first. But slowly, over time, he had come to realize the severity of the damage he had done. Not just physically, but emotionally.

G made a noise in his throat, and Voidster glanced back up at him, then felt something on his cheek. He slowly raised his claws to face, and felt shocked when they came away wet. He was...crying? How strange. He cleared his throat, and finally said, [Very well.]

G nodded slowly, and Voidster continued. [How long do you want me to leave you for? You realize I have hardly been here, I have given you space, as you have seemed to desire it. But you can’t patrol the entire property by yours-] “Forever.”

Voidster halted, shocked. Forever? G couldn’t mean that. He needed Voidster. Yes, he was angry at him now, and would perhaps never forgive him for what had happened, but Voidster was still needed to help protect the property from intruders, to watch over G, to eventually warm his bed again. He gave a weak chuckle, running his claws over his skull in a sweeping motion, stopping when he realized his hand was trembling.

[Forever? Don’t be dramatic, G. You know that you need me here, a-and besides that, this is my home.]

G’s expression hardened, the white pinpricks of his eyes standing out in the shadows of the still room. “This was your home,” he corrected slowly, his voice cold and static-laced. “No longer, Voidster. I don’t need you like I once did. I don’t want you.”

The cold in G’s voice was nothing compared to the freezing sensation in Voidster’s soul. He felt numb, this couldn’t be happening. He hadn’t expected G to forgive him, but to say he no longer needed him? To say that he no longer wanted him? G was lying, he had to be, but as Voidster searched his face, he found no trace of a lie. The ice in his heart was pierced by a searing heat, and he took a step forward, angry. [How dare you. After everything I have done for you, after everything we have shared together! Have you forgotten my promise? If you abandon me, I will unleash the full force of my rage upon this world, I will destroy everything you hold dear. Is that what you want? For the girl to die? For your human friends to die?]

G remained motionless, his eyes narrowing. “That was true, once. But now? If you carry out your threats, Voidster, I will ensure that the people you have come to care about find out what you have done. If you destroy this timeline, it will follow you to every timeline you visit thereafter. I will ensure it.”

Voidster paused in his tirade, suddenly cautious. [What are you talking about?]

Sneering, G took something from his pocket, tossing it toward him. Voidster’s phone landed on the floor with a soft thump, the screen opened to a picture of the eldritch being he had claimed as his pet. The one who shared G’s name, but little else with the hateful lich standing before him, except perhaps Voidster’s care for them both. Voidster was silent, staring down at the phone, at the picture before him.

“You were far from subtle about your relationship with him, Voidster. About your friendship with the others in that timeline you’ve been visiting. Did you think I would not notice your wounds having been healed after our fights? That I would not notice their scents upon your hide? You did nothing to hide the pictures or messages on your phone from them. And I have the information to contact them, now.”

His mind wasn’t working, all he could do was stare down at the picture of that familiar, beloved face. If his pet found out...if Bird found out...surely he would never be allowed near them again. The bar he had come to regard as a second home, the room he had been given in Bird’s home...he would lose that.

The threat he had made to destroy G’s timeline had been made almost two years ago. Yet so much had changed in the past few months. Voidster had never believed he was capable of coming to care for anyone but his mate. And yet...the thought of losing his pet, of losing the others he had grown familiar with...it filled him with dread.

[You are making me leave because of this other male? Because of this other timeline?]

At that, G looked almost amused, giving a slight shake of his head. “No, Voidster. I’m not angry that you’ve found someone new to torment. I am...relieved. I am relieved to be rid of you. You were my own personal demon for far, far too long. Now you are somebody else’s cross to bear.”

Voidster felt the sting of those words, flinching slightly at the venom in G’s voice. He had known G was angry at him, he had known that G had not forgiven him. He hadn’t known that G had grown to hate him so much. His naturally violent and volatile nature struggled to surface, but it was subdued by the pain and dread saturating his soul. Stooping, he picked up the phone, slipping it into his trouser pocket with a gentleness that belied the extremity of his emotion.

“I’ve packed your things, and left them on the kitchen table. Your blades, your instruments, the drugs, the trinkets you’ve collected. All of it. Take it and go. Go to that other timeline, and never come back.”

A pained snarl was building in his throat, burning and aching to be released. But he refused. His face felt like a mask, too stiff and heavy to reflect the turmoil within him. G had given him no choice. But there was one last thing.

[And the girl?]

G paused, then said slowly, “She is mine now. Consider her your payment for the pain you have caused me. Besides, where would you take her? Your friends don’t know about her, do they? They don’t know how you’ve hurt her, how you’ve raped and tortured her.” [It was no more than you did!] He said with a snarl, his claws clenching into a fist. [Acting as if you had never taken her against her will, as if you had never harmed her. How amusing.] He wasn’t amused, he was furious. [Tell me, has your weakness for human girls finally won? Will you make her your new mate when I’m gone? Love her until your soul breaks from it, and you finally shatter into dust when she dies? FINE! I wish you both the joy of your suffering!]

His words didn’t seem to affect G as he had hoped. The other man simply shrugged, his eyes never leaving Voidster. “That is no longer your concern. What happens to her...what becomes of me. That is a story you are no longer part of.”

Voidster’s shoulders sagged. His anger drained from him, leaving him empty and aching. [You truly want me to leave.]

“Yes.”

[Then, there is nothing more to say.]

“No. Take your things and leave, Voidster. I wish…” G paused, a distant, almost pained expression in his eyes. “I wish that I had never met you. You’ve brought me nothing but pain. Leave me in peace, now. It is the only way your debt can be repaid.”

Voidster was silent and motionless, the white noise of the rain enveloping them both. His soul seemed to shudder within him, the fractures growing deeper and wider. After several long moments, he finally stirred, forcing his foot to lift, forcing himself to take a step toward G, to walk past him to the kitchen.

When he was near, when he felt his mate’s heat, when G’s scent drifted into his jaws, he almost faltered. He wanted nothing more than to turn and envelop the smaller male in his arms, to keep him, to refuse to leave. How he ached for the comfort of a single embrace, a touch, any sort of connection. But G stepped away from him, and the moment was over. Shoulders slumping, Voidster kept walking.

He walked into the kitchen, and saw some unfamiliar luggage on the table. G must have purchased it just for this. For some reason, that thought hurt even more. There wasn’t much to carry, just the barest remnants of the life he had shared with the lich, of the work he had done here with him. He was leaving behind much more than he was taking.

He gathered the bags into his arms, holding them for a moment and looking around, committing the details of this home to memory. When movement caught his eye, he paused, his gaze lighting on the girl. She was in a pale nightgown, her long blonde hair falling down to her waist. She didn’t look surprised, he realized. She had known, G had told her. Of course he had.

Rallying himself, he inclined his head toward her, unable to hide his pain. [Pet,] he rumbled, and she met his eyes warily, her hand gripping the doorframe.

“What is it?” she finally said, her voice barely audible.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak, bowing his head. Then he raised it, his eyes glittering with unshed tears. [Take care of him.]

She hadn’t expected that, he could tell. But she smiled a little sadly, and nodded. “I will, Voidster.”

[Good.]

He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to do this. For a moment he even forgot how, his magic swirling uncertainly within him, not remembering how to access the void. Then he thought of his pet, of that other home in his pet’s timeline. Not his true home, but now the only place he had left. Instinct took over, and he finally stopped fighting it, letting his magic draw him away. Forever.

#tsm bonus stories #the sin mansion #voidster #lich gaster #spot #spokenwithhands #an-annoying-bird #there will be an rp event following this story on askvoidster's blog #my writing

[gilkwon-blog]

[ oh sehun, cis male, he/him, twenty-six ] I DON’T KNOW by JON D? whenever i hear that song, it reminds me of GIL KWON. maybe because they’re SOFTHEARTED but also DIFFIDENT. they’ve been living at mulberry apartments since DECEMBER of 2018 in APARTMENT 402 and have 3 ROOMMATES.

Background

slight bullying tw.

Gil was born as Gilsu Kwon in a hospital in Minneapolis when he was only 0 years old. There was much rejoicing due to the fact that he’s exceptionally loved and well sought after and also handsome.

Because of their love of travel, both of his parents work as international educators, meaning that Gil had already moved away by the time he was three, so unfortunately he doesn’t actually remember very much of living in the best city in the world. Seriously. Minneapolis is fantastic. Full of beautiful people, specifically those born at Methodist Hospital (though to be clear anybody else born at this hospital is only following the trend that Gilsu set; nobody has ever been born at this hospital that wasn’t copying him).

With his parents actually coming from Changwon, SK, Gil had bounced between two other countries before they finally came to settle in the small port city of Ålesund, Norway. As it would turn out, this is the place that he ended up spending the majority of his childhood and adolescence, and where he would make his best friends in the whole world, too.

By this point he was already fluent in two languages, but learning Norwegian was a struggle for him. He often got teased for not being fluent, and for being quiet, awkward --- too tall, even back then. His interests were less sociable than most peoples’ might be, and he tended to come off as withdrawn, shy. It wasn’t a good look to the other kids, which only made him want to be smaller, less visible. He spent more time on his studies than he did with any sort of ‘friends’, and he worked hard at learning the language, too. His parents helped.

The people who helped more so were the only two others in his whole class that got treated as oddly as he did, though they didn’t seem to mind quite as much as Gil. They were unabashedly strange, not following trends or caring about what was said to them, but more so setting the trends and throwing more of their classmates off-kilter with their peculiarities than could be kept up with. Gilsu was enthralled by them, almost in a hero-worship sort of way, and after spending the majority of his time on his own, things seemed to change rapidly for him when instead he began to spend all of his time with them.

There was Cherry, with her fiery personality and her loud, pretty laugh, who once punched a boy in the face for being mean to Gilsu. Then there was Will, quieter, but still just as odd, who seemed to do everything with a cool certainty that made Gil both envious and have a bit of a crush at the same time. They helped him gain confidence and come out of his shell, expressing his passions more so with them in a matter of weeks than he had with anybody in his entire life. They never teased him for loving magic tricks or for burying his nose in a fantasy novel, and he may of even roped them into a drunk, for their parts Dungeons & Dragons session or two with him over the years.

When he was fifteen, his parents started considering moving again. It was one of the worst things imaginable to Gil. After being uprooted so many times, and after struggling so much to find friends he could fall in love with like this, who would love him back, it just felt incredibly unfair to him. This would be the first and last time he ever defied them, running away from home only a couple weeks after they had presented the idea to him. It was all super dramatic, but he felt very justified, and Cherry snuck him into her parents’ house and let him sleep in her bed with her. Of course, little did he know that his own parents were already aware of exactly where he was, and they were just giving him space, secure in the knowledge he was safe where he was at.

It was about three days before they’d had enough of that, and his dad showed up to collect him, having no more of his nonsense when they needed to prepare to leave. Gilsu was so sad, he felt like his heart was actually broken. There might not have been any romantic love between the three of them (at least not in a way that was spoken), but that didn’t change how intensely he felt for them. It certainly didn’t change how much it hurt that he was being forced to leave. 

This time, they ended up in London. It was easier for Gil now that he was older, bigger, more intimidating in his own right. People tended to steer clear of him, and while it did get lonely at times, he much preferred it to how he used to get bullied in his old school (at least, at first).

It was around this time that he started getting into working out, and then in turn, taking self defense classes. He found it cathartic to focus on his body, on burning muscles in the remote solitude that turning his much up really loud offered him. He couldn’t do that when he was being instructed, of course, but that was another story entirely as it turns out.

Fast forward a few years, and he was graduating. At that point, Gil had only a vague idea of what it was that he wanted to do. There wasn’t much demand for his particular skill set (card tricks and pulling coins out from behind peoples’ ears isn’t exactly marketable in most circles), and he was a bit lost. It took him a good year and a half of working part-time at a supermarket and paying his parents meager rent to figure it all out in his head. Even then, it was more per chance than anything else.

ASSAULT TW

Gilsu has a major protective streak. One night, when he was walking home, he stumbled upon a scene that has stayed with him in vivid detail to this day. Somebody who had starred on one soap or another (Gil isn’t so sure which one) had found themselves caught out with a group of "fans” that weren’t treating them too kindly. It was more instinct for his own part --- and perhaps a lingering sense of responsibility, when he thinks back on it, considering how many times people had interceded on his behalf when he was being hurt --- when he got in the middle of it, separating the involved parties and throwing a punch or two with unfortunate necessity. As with most bullies, all it really took was somebody bigger than them standing up to them, and they scattered. The police were called, but all Gil received was gratitude, especially since nobody was left around to press charges against him.

This was his first taste of finding out what it was he wanted to do, and though protecting people hadn’t been so much as a thought in his mind until then, it just seemed to... fit.

He took a bodyguard training course as well as getting his other required certifications, and with the number of the person he’d sort of ‘saved’ still in his phone, it was easy enough for him to rope himself a professional gig after that. He started climbing the ranks, protecting small-time celebrities and politicians at first to gain the knowledge and experience to do better, and then roping bigger and higher paying jobs as the years passed.

Currently

Gil eventually got to the point where he was being hired by politicians that weren’t so ‘small-time’ as all the rest, and word got around to the right circles. When he was offered a position that included a rather large salary (to go along with a relocation and a large amount of responsibility), it wasn’t too difficult a choice for him to take it. 

This is how he ended up in Baltimore, following behind a runaway Prince, and doing what he does best --- keeping his head down and going unnoticed. He’s only there to do his job, or so he tells himself, and he uses that as reason enough to remain as reclusive as possible. With the exception of his roommate, it’d be a wonder if anybody in Mulberry even knew he existed.

🍌🍌🍌

#soundintro #this blog is new so this wont show up !!!!