#knowing there must be a way to resolve the time loop but being too stubborn

[grinchwrapsupreme]

i had an idea ages back (that wound up becoming The Pheasant) for a fic where the Captain wakes up back at the house when he was alive and stationed there but with all the memories of his death and subsequent afterlife so he decides that, with his limited time on Earth, he needs to live his life to the fullest and be honest with himself, but along the way he runs into Pat in town who is alive now but doesn't know him, and then Thomas, Julian, Fanny, and he realizes something is very wrong and has to decide if he wants to fix it and get his friends back but return to death or leave his friends as strangers and live the rest of his life the way he never could but back in the constrictions of the time period and with no one on his side, but like....

what if I Russian-Dolled it?

#bbc ghosts #the captain reliving his death day over and over again #trying to fix it #being doomed by fate #knowing there must be a way to resolve the time loop but being too stubborn #to think the solution could possibly be giving up what he wants #and accepting death #trying to reach havers over and over and over in a multitude of different ways and dying no matter what he tries #and havers is always inexplicably out of reach in that house #idk man #really i should just finish the pheasant at long last but that would mean having to read it again to remember what happened #and i kinda don't feel like doing that #even now we know more and not knowing was part of what prevented me from continuing #idk idk

[tickle-bugs]

Reignite

Summary: Dean stumbles--or is cosmically shoved, more like--back upon the largest loose end in his life. This is one knot he won’t leave untied.

Took me a year (couldn’t resist the dad joke) but here’s my SPNFluffsgiving fic! I ended up writing two fics and frankensteining them together because I wasn’t happy with either on their own, and I think, all things considered, it turned out well!!! Tried something new with the present-tense vs my usual past tense, which was very, very hard for some reason. Anyways, enjoy!

Spoilers for Supernatural episode 15 x 19 through the finale ahead!

“What’s eating ya?” Bobby takes a swig of his beer and eyes Dean sideways. 

“Nothin’.” 

“We have all of eternity to sit here. Don’t think I won’t.” Bobby flicks the bottle cap at him and chuckles when it bounces off his shoulder. 

“I like it here. It’s nice. Quiet.”

“But…?” Bobby looks at him in that very Bobby-like way, that strange blend of impatience and kindness that leaves no room to doubt that he cares.  

“Something is just...wrong? I dunno. I felt a little better when Sam got here, but I still have this weight on my chest. Like something is missing. I dunno.” Dean taps his fingers against the beer bottle and slumps down in his chair. He heaves a breath that gets stuck somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“You’re saying ‘I don’t know’ a lot for someone who seems to know exactly what’s buggin’ ya.” Bobby raises his beer in a silent ‘I’ll drink to that’. 

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be talking to you,” Dean grumbles, kicking a pebble off of the Roadhouse porch. Bobby whips off his hat and smacks Dean’s arm, then his leg, then his stomach which really wasn’t cool. 

“Ow! Okay, I’m sorry! Back off!” Dean raises his arms to shield from Bobby’s wrath, biting back a comment about Bobby being a crotchety old man. 

“Think about it. Who’s the only person you haven’t seen since you made it here?” Bobby makes a little bird with his hands and raises his eyebrows as if Dean’s first thought wasn’t of teary blue eyes.

“Cas is in the Empty, Bobby. He’s gone. It just swallowed him like--like nothing.” Dean’s voice breaks and he knocks back his beer to hide it. 

“Jack must have built this magic box wrong. You’re supposed to feel it when a loved one arrives.”

“What?”

“Cas is here, Dean. He helped put this all together.” 

The world shrinks to a pinpoint. The beer bottle slips from Dean’s fingers and his attempt to catch it sends it soaring into the road, where it rolls far enough to qualify as a lost cause. The image of a teary Cas, seconds before destruction, grabs a swift and tight hold of the front of his mind. 

I love you.

“Bobby-”

“Are you really gonna waste your breath arguing with me when I just told you that he’s out there? This may be heaven, but I can still kick your ass.” Bobby narrows his eyes at Dean. 

Why does this feel like a goodbye?

Because it is.

“But-”

“Go after him, Dean.  You made him wait this long already.” Bobby squeezes Dean’s shoulder and shakes him a little, fixing him with those kind-but-tough eyes. Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his face, hissing when cold metal pokes him in the eye.

Baby’s keyring dangles from his finger, clinking gently as it collides with his palm. He sighs and shoves it in his pocket, making sure to shake the little ring off of his finger. 

Weird. 

“Can’t escape what your heart wants.” Bobby gestures towards Dean’s hand with an infuriating little smirk, like he knows something Dean doesn’t. 

“That doesn’t mean jack shit,” Dean grumbles. 

“Sure, and I’m President Roosevelt.” Bobby rolls his eyes. 

“Which one?”

“Teddy, obviously.” Bobby leans back in his seat with a chuckle. Dean scratches at his cheek and grunts when, once again, metal digs into his skin. Baby’s keys jingle menacingly at him, like a pushy set of windchimes, and they don’t budge when he tries to shake them away. He turns his hand upside-down and scrapes the keys off like a stubborn piece of gum, but they reappear in the other hand.

“What the fuck?” He holds them up to eye level and they sway in the breeze, jingling again. He drops them and they zoom right back into his hand, like a lame Mjolnir, and okay, someone has to be messing with him. He shakes them a few times to detect any evil (a foolproof method, in his opinion) and Baby’s car alarm starts blaring much louder than it should.

“Dean.”

“Alright, I’m going!” He trudges away from the porch, grumbling under his breath, and the car’s alarm shuts off with a pleasant chirp.

“Tell him I said hi!” Bobby waves and watches the Impala pull onto the open road, raising his beer until he disappears from Dean’s rearview. 

…

Dean cuts the ignition and slides out of the Impala, squinting against the sudden warm breeze. It’s quiet out here. If it wasn’t for the constant tugging on his soul, like a bratty kid demanding attention, it would be nice. Peaceful, even.

He leans against the bridge railing and closes his eyes against the next gust of wind, this one much more powerful than the first. Everything in the vicinity rustles as the wind dances by. He leans his forehead against his hands and sighs.

What the hell would he even say?

There’s no manual for this, no prior experience or family legend to consult. Jesus, he’s like a teenager trying to apologize for standing up a date. He’d ditched Cas at the celestial prom, and now he has to face the music. No more asking Dad to leave early for the next hunt so he wouldn’t have to face whichever girl he dumped. Grown-ass men face their weird, divine love affairs with dignity, not revenge hookups in the girl’s locker room. 

Highschool Dean would call Present Dean a bitch for even trying to chase after Cas.

Highschool Dean was a dick, anyway. 

Okay, he needs a gameplan. Stay calm, cool, and collected--like he’s working a case. Cas doesn’t need to know about the butterflies rioting in his stomach. Dean would be smooth and chill. They’ll talk like adults--yeah, that’s it. Grown-ass men, and whatnot. He’d just send Cas a message on angel radio, he’d zip on down, and they’d be hunkydory--

“Hello, Dean.”

Shit.

He whips around, his throat already closing up in mutiny. Just seeing Cas is a punch in the gut--he looks just as Dean remembers, if not better. It’s as if not a day has passed since the Bunker, and god, Dean might not be qualified for this. 

Cas smiles timidly as he steps forward, hands shoved awkwardly into his coat pockets. His head’s bowed, as if he’s in trouble, as if Dean would scold him for who fucking knows what, and his blood boils at the thought. 

“Dean?” Cas tilts his head.

Something grips Dean, something powerful and terrifying in its ferocity. A force he doesn’t understand surges at the bounds of his body, welling up into his throat, his heart, his lungs. Tears spill from him at a terrifying rate but he’s numb and aching all at once. He’s shaking--no, trembling--and he pulls Cas into a kiss before he loses his nerve. 

If he could quantify the triumph of nearly two decades of suffocating pining, he’d say it tastes like stale peppermint. He makes a mental note to lecture Cas about his choice in gum later—spearmint is obviously superior. 

Dean pulls away when his gross, sticky hiccups start to interfere with the sweetness of the kiss. He feels disgusting but he couldn’t stop crying if he wanted to. 

Definitely not one of his highlight moments. 

“Cas,” he croaks. Cas, Cas, Cas, loops in his head, interfering with the static everything else he needs to say. A tumultuous wave of words presses against his lips and he focuses all of his energy on getting them out. 

“It’s alright. You’re alright.” Cas cradles Dean’s face in his hands, swiping away tears with his thumbs, but he’s sobbing so hard that it doesn’t make a difference. His ‘calm, cool, and collected’ plan is effectively blown to hell and he curses himself for it.  

“You shouldn’t have gone out like that, man. Fuck, I should have said something-”

“Dean, it’s alright--”

“No, it isn’t. I screwed up, Cas. I screwed up so fuckin’ bad.” Dean blinks at a tear-warped Cas, gripping his forearms as if he’d disappear in the breeze. 

“When you said...what you said, I thought it back. It was easier to say in my head but I should’ve said it out loud. You deserve to hear it. You deserve everything.” Speaking his mind is like willingly chugging motor oil. He swallows thickly as his thoughts start to align into some semblance of clarity. 

“You deserved more time,” Cas murmurs, and he has the nerve to look upset. He always wanted to give Dean more, so much more than he ever deserved. 

“Shut up,” Dean growls. Some switch flips in him, some bristly protectiveness that has him wanting to shake the angel like a margarita until he finally admits his worth. 

“Dean--”

“Nope. No more heroic bullshit. You’ve given enough, Cas. It’s enough. You’re enough.” Dean grips Cas’s shoulders and stares him down. Cas opens his mouth to retort but whatever expression is on Dean’s face presumably shuts him up. 

“You’ve always had me, Cas. You will always have me. I have never loved anyone the way I love you.” Finally, finally, the words tumble out without a second thought. Dean’s death grip on Cas’s shoulders loosens. He did it. 

“I love you too, Dean. I’ve loved you since the very beginning.” Cas smiles, as if it’s simple. 

“Gross,” Dean quips on instinct, and he regrets it the second it comes out. 

“You’re gross,” Cas fires back, squinty eyes and all, and Dean barks out a laugh that startles them both.

“C’mere.” Dean pulls him into a hug, cradling the back of Cas’s neck with his hand, and resolves never to let him go. Never again.

...

“Dean Novak ain’t bad,” Dean murmurs, rubbing a hand over Cas’s bare shoulder. The angel’s nestled into his side, huffing warm breaths into his collarbone, and he would rather die again than forget the feeling of Cas’s sleepwarm skin. 

“Mm. Castiel Winchester.” His lips graze over Dean’s chest in a low effort sort-of kiss. 

“You shouldn’t have to carry that name, after everything.”

“Hyphenation isn’t uncommon. Winchester-Novak?” Cas tilts his head up and scoots just slightly, trying to preserve his warm spot in Dean’s arms. He presses a proper kiss to the base of Dean’s throat and hums when he twitches away. 

“Sounds less like a name and more like a spell.” Dean snorts, and Cas swats his shoulder.

“I fell in love with you, Dean Winchester, and it would be an honor to carry that name. Even if it is completely ceremonial.” Cas turns Dean’s face down towards him, forcing their eyes to meet. Dean’s a little more than breathless at the way Cas’s eyes catch the moonlight but he still manages to grin. 

“Winchester is a dumb name, sorry.” 

“You are blatantly disrespecting my fiancé.” Cas squints at him. 

“Hmm, am I?” Dean’s eyes flit down to Cas’s lips, tongue flicking against his teeth. 

“Yes.”

“Your fiancé is a dumbass for not proposing to you sooner.” Dean cradles the back of Cas’s head, absently scratching his fingers along the scalp.

“He absolutely is. But only I get to say that about him.” Cas’s face settles into a steely neutrality betrayed only by the sparkle in his eye. Dean leans in closer but Cas stops him with a finger over his lips.

“Apologize.”

“Wh--are you serious?” 

“Apologize, Dean.” Cas pushes himself up on his elbow and cocks his eyebrow.

“You want me to apologize...to myself?” Dean chuckles in disbelief, waiting for Cas to admit he’s joking, but all he receives are wide, blinking blue eyes. 

“Perhaps you need some encouragement,” Cas murmurs, his lips quirking into a smirk. Before Dean can protest, Cas throws his leg over Dean’s and buries his nimble fingers into his ribs. 

“Wait, Cas--ahaha!”

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t kind towards yourself, I don’t want to hear them.” Cas leans up to nip at Dean’s ear, burying a few chuckles directly behind it. His fingers trail down Dean’s body, pinching every inch of his ribs and sides.

What leaves Dean next is less words and more a verbal error noise. He arches away, desperately shoving at Cas’s shoulders. All he does is turn himself around, and Cas is very quick to wrap him up in his arms. His fingers press into Dean’s lower stomach and trip over one another like he’s gliding over piano keys. 

Dean curls, arms folded over his middle. Cas manages a cheeky pinch to the back of Dean’s thigh and he squeaks--apparently Cas likes that noise because an avalanche of more pinches follow. 

Dean doesn’t expect him to find that devastating spot near his armpit on the first fucking try, but Cas is full of surprises and Dean is full of laughter. He clamps his arms to his sides but it barely makes a difference. Fireworks overwhelm his nervous system. In Cas’s arms, he feels like he’s flying--but he can’t tell if it’s the lack of air or the endolphins. Endorphins. Whatever. 

“Cas!” His name floats out of Dean, blanketed in crinkly-eyed, heartwarming laughter. It’s all he wants to hear for the rest of eternity. 

“You are everything to me.” Cas doesn’t expect Dean to hear him over his near-violent giggles, but Dean squeezes his wrist twice to acknowledge him where his voice can’t. His fingers slow, gently trailing over pinkened skin, and Dean slowly remembers how to breathe. 

“We can renegotiate the name thing. Maybe,” Dean wheezes, and his shit-eating grin is nearly audible. Cas rolls his eyes and scribbles at Dean’s exposed hip, following each turn, twist, and twitch. For the first few moments, he’s concerningly quiet, only squirming with strangled noises, but within seconds his laughter catches back up with his brain and he’s cackling into the mattress. 

“Maybe? Is that your final answer?”

“Nonono, please Cas!” Dean shrieks, kicking his legs as if it will help. He flails all the way to the edge of the bed but Cas is quick to pull him back into his arms. His tickly touch turns calming in an instant, tracing over muscle lines and battle scars as they both resettle. 

“We’ll work on it. Together.” Cas flips him over and steals a quick kiss, drinking up the leftover laughter. Dean’s joy is sweet on his tongue. 

“Together,” Dean murmurs, leaning their foreheads together. 

Holding his lover—Castiel, his Castiel—in the moonlight is all that Dean Winchester-Novak could ever ask for.

There was happiness in the having, after all. 

#my fics #SPNfluffsgiving2020 #SPN #Destiel #ticklish!dean #dean winchester #castiel #bobby singer

[alygatorwrites]

congrats again on 2k aly!! you deserve this and so much more <3 but anywho, now onto my very awkward ✨soulmate application✨ (sfw or nsfw headcanons are okay with me btw!!)

so my name is salem (as you know ofc), my pronouns are she/her n i'm a bisexual taurus who's pretty stubborn, loves cuddles, loves to sleep n generally speaking is just a sensitive ol' homebody! i'm pretty midsized-chubby, 163cm (so...5ft3?) n i have shaggy black hair, brown eyes and super soft hands which are available for holding whenever and wherever! which ties into my love languages which are physical touch n acts of service <3 as for my hobbies, i guess this is obvious but i like to write 😭 n i also really love to cook as well (i'm a great chef, trust me)

okay that should be enough i think?? it's maybe a little too much now that i'm looking at it but hey at least i'm thorough!

♡ 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐨

→ your stubbornness is what would make you stand out to porco. in fact, it's the first thing he notices about you! this man is headstrong with a great deal of iron-will, and meeting someone who is similar in that aspect catches his attention. while this could cause some passionate disagreements, porco respects how loyal you are to your beliefs. he even looks forward to see how long you stick to them. the way you refuse to change an opinion or course of action just because someone says so .... that's what porco loves. it shows that you have an intense passion for things just like he does, and your obstinate determination is actually a turn on sometimes. this would send him through a loop, making that internal monologue go from, "damn, she's annoying," to "it probably wouldn't be bad to know her," and then "yea, i gotta fuck her"

→ physical attraction galore. between your dark hair, brown eyes, and your body, porco thinks you're the sexiest person in the world. you'd be an absolute dream; a perfect a feast for his hands. he's a sucker for chub, and loves how pliant and silky the skin is under every touch. porco has no qualms telling you about how hot you are either. and the way you'd look at him? porco is instantly down bad. the depth your eyes hold is all-consuming, and he'd always be searching for that certain spark in them. if you really want to see his resolve physically crumble, give him 'puppy-dog' eyes. every single time, porco has to turn away and stuff both hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket. he'd probably end up giving you whatever you wanted if he didn't.

→ porco is a scorpio, and you're a taurus — two opposing signs! in the astrological world, this means that you can complement each other perfectly. the complex bond between these zodiacs is full of excitement, snarky fun, and challenge; this leads to an intense emotional connection. because scorpio and taurus have venus as a ruler on one hand, and the passionate element of water on the other, an eternal love is bound to be formed quite easily. it's also known that these signs have high sexual energy. this would make you and porco take part in various sexual encounters and many experiences of physical pleasure to bring you together.

→ porco has a need for security. the good thing is, your sensitivity would allow you to provide that for him!

→ the love language of physical touch would draw porco away from his comfort zone, leading to some amazing character development! you'd really bring the best out of him. it's only natural that his closed-off attitude leaves him touch-starved, which makes you a great fit; once porco indulges himself in gestures that may have otherwise been shrugged off, he'd be hooked. the bastard isn't good with sappy words, so showing it would become a top priority too. his favorite ways to touch you is to run a hand down your arm as you speak, draping an arm behind your head on the couch, or kissing you deeply while cuddling. holding hands is also a must for porco — not just because he enjoys the softness of your fingers — but also because he's very protective. this makes him seek out your affection a lot, whether he realizes it or not (don't bring it up though or he'll get embarrassed!)

→ he’d come to learn the other portion of your love language as well! though he may look disgruntled about it at first, porco will perform little acts of service for you <3 seeing your face light up is worth the knowing looks the others give him. eventually he just starts flicking them off because “fuck them and their stupid faces, i love you, so what? assholes”

→ porco has no problem with curling up on the sofa or on the mattress at any point: as long as it shuts everyone up, he doesn't care. frankly, porco would like your affinity for sleep! he's very adamant on you both sharing a bed together, as being able to wallow in the soft haze of dawn with someone is special to him. listening to your slowed breathing, watching the flutter of your lashes, and cradling you tight is what makes porco's mornings. ask for him to be there while you take a nap, and the man is already on the way.

→ he'd act nonchalant whenever you walked in the room, but don't be fooled. there's a very well-known fact about this man; when his big mouth doesn't say something, his face definitely will. with the way porco's brows raise slightly, and how his frown softens for a second as his gaze settles on you — it's obvious that he's very pleased to be in your presence, no matter how much he tries to keep it a secret.

♡ 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

→ porco views sex as three things: a task to pass the time, something to blow off steam, and a way to get you to shut up whenever you piss him off.

→ your bisexuality is fine with porco, and honestly? as long as he still gets to play with you, he wouldn’t mind bringing someone else into the bedroom. pieck, hitch, reiner, zeke — it doesn’t matter. his jealousy would act up, but it would only translate into him fucking you relentlessly once everyone’s gone. porco just needs you to remember that you’re his whore and no one else’s.

→ wanna get him riled up? say you thought he could make you cum better, but make sure to have a wheelchair in transit.

→ porco is a confident, arrogant person, and this definitely shows in the bedroom. he always calls the shots with a wicked smirk on his face. be prepared, because whatever action gets you a writhing mess will become a recurring thing.

→ that black hair of yours is fucking gorgeous to him — especially when it swirls so perfectly around your face — but he wants it out of the way to see the expressions you’re making. expect to have the strands wrestled into porco’s hands and harshly tugged back!!

→ a fast learner, he memorizes your sexual desires and prioritizes them!! he’s still gonna expect some shit in return though. especially blowjobs.

→ with an extremely high libido, porco could pounce on you any time of the day and anywhere. it doesn't matter if the others are planning on coming over; if it were up to him, he'd fuck you on the couch so they'd walk in on it. a meeting? he'd just lean you over the desk. at a party? get ready to have your back blown out in a stall. there's nothing can satisfy porco's constant hunger for you.

→ morning hook ups are a fave!!

→ if he can’t get alone with you because of work, porco becomes all pissy and acts like a dick. he just can’t help it, yknow? when there’s finally an opening in both schedules, he teases you about how much you’ve probably missed his cock and all that. ask him if he’s thought about you in return, and the man denies it on the spot ... but the way you caught him secretly jacking off in the bathroom just moments before speaks VOLUMES!!! 🙄

→ porco always wants your attention on him as he plows into you. close your eyes or don't listen to be stubborn, and he's already forcing you to look at him once more. "what a fuckin joke. you're doing it again," porco usually sneers in these moments, grabbing you by the chin. "babe, hey — salem — look at me." the use of your name works most of the time, and it honestly sets him off; you're just so pliant on his cock <3

#SALEM THANK YOU FOR JOINING 🥺 #ilysm 💗💗💞💞 my fave whore!!!! #aly hits a milestone #porco galliard #attack on titan matchup #aot matchup

[lady-divine-writes]

31 Days of Ineffables - “Making an Effort” (Rated T)

Summary: Every morning, Aziraphale sneaks out of bed to go for a run without telling his husband.

One day, Crowley finds out. (1839 words)

Notes: Written for @drawlight’s ‘31 Days of Ineffables’ prompt ‘warmth’. Warning for talk of anxiety and self-esteem/body issues.

Read on AO3.

Slap … slap … slap … slap …

The soles of Aziraphale’s trainers hitting the wet asphalt sound exactly the way he thought they would.

Like the shoes of a fat man hitting concrete.

It’s not that difficult a thing to describe, nothing poetic about it.

He could definitely do with a break, stop into a nearby shop and warm himself up with some cocoa and conversation, but he won’t let himself. He’s committed to this. Committed to changing, to evolving, to becoming something better than he is.

Something better than he sees when he looks in the mirror.

He erases thoughts of warmth and cocoa from his mind and tries to focus on the positives of being out here … jogging … alone … in the early December gloom.

At this hour of the morning, he gets to see the glorious sunrise. It brings him closer to God, bolsters a connection he’s felt lacking as of late.

Though if that’s not entirely his fault, he won’t own up to it.

At three a.m. when he starts his fitness quest, he gets to revel in the peace and quiet that comes from London still abed.

Oh. But that reminds him that his claim to London, his claim to the world, is also still abed and asleep without him.

Crowley.

He’d rather be with Crowley.

He’d rather be in bed with Crowley, warm and toasty, sipping cocoa and watching the grey clouds pave their way across the sky from behind closed windows.

Crowley doesn’t want this.

He doesn’t know about it, but if he did, he wouldn’t want this.

But won’t he be proud of Aziraphale when he sees the change? The looser clothes, the smoother skin, the closer hugs?

Aziraphale doesn’t have to tell Crowley about his plans in order for his husband to benefit from them, so keeping him out of the loop isn’t a bad thing …

… necessarily.

Great.

Now he’s cold and tired and keeping things from his husband.

How can this morning get any better?

“Looking good, angel.”

A wolf-whistle follows those words and Aziraphale’s heart shudders.

That’s how, he guesses.

Serves him right. He could never really keep secrets from Crowley, could he?

If not, Crowley would have never walked down the aisle of that church, hopping like a drunk jack rabbit, and saved Aziraphale from getting blown to bits.

Aziraphale debates running on by, but he knows Crowley will simply miracle himself to the next bench and wait for him there. And if there isn’t a bench, he’ll snap one up.

Aziraphale slows to a stop, panting from the stress exercise takes on his human form.

“You don’t have to make fun of me.”

“Not making fun,” Crowley says, waiting for his angel to give up the stubborn attitude and come sit beside him. “I mean it. You look good. Of course, you always look good to me, particularly when you’re red in the face and working up a sweat. I just wish you’d stay in bed with me and do it proper. It’s colder than fuck out here!”

Aziraphale glances over at his husband curling in on himself and shivering dramatically in the cold – a subtle attempt to get Aziraphale to cave and sit next to him.

Which he does because dramatic or not, he hates seeing his demon shiver, knowing how thoroughly the cold seeps through his skin. With a snap of his fingers, Aziraphale miracles up his own coat and slips it over Crowley’s shoulders, wrapping it around him, frowning when he sees how loosely it bunches on Crowley’s thin form.

“What in the world are you doing out here at this hour of the morning?” Aziraphale asks, as if the answer weren’t ridiculously obvious.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked you first.”

Crowley watches his husband sit flush up against him, their arms touching, but from the expression on his face, he couldn’t be farther away. “Well, if you must know, it’s a sad and pathetic fact that I can no longer sleep without you.”

“Is it now?” Aziraphale says dryly.

“Yes, it is.”

“Sorry about that. But it’s easier to run in the morning.”

So I wouldn’t find out? Crowley thinks with a chuckle to himself. “And why’s that? Because that’s how the humans torture themselves, so you have to do it that way, too?”

“Because there’s less foot traffic,” Aziraphale defends. “Less chance of bumping into other runners.”

Or one runner in particular, Crowley surmises, knowing that Gabriel runs these paths on occasion for no reason Crowley can begin to comprehend.

Correction, he does comprehend it. But if he admits it, he’ll be running up the escalator to Heaven’s offices with all his might to punch himself an Archangel.

“If you’re really concerned with avoiding foot traffic, I could get you a treadmill. Or a stationary bike. Or one of those bizarre floaty contraptions that look like they’re from a sci-fi movie.”

“An elliptical?”

“Yes, an elliptical. Then you could exercise till your heart’s content in the comfort of our flat, and I’d get to sit on the sofa and ogle you all day long from behind.”

Crowley winks.

Aziraphale tuts and rolls his eyes.

“But that’s not the point, is it?” Crowley continues. “Because you’re not actually out here to improve yourself.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Aziraphale grumbles. “You know, sometimes you really are a snake.”

“You’re a supernatural entity, Aziraphale. You don’t have to exercise. Not really. You’re not concerned with your heart and your blood pressure. If you wanted to look fitter, you could snap your fingers and do it. Or I could do it for you so Heaven won’t find out.” Crowley lifts a hand out of his coat cocoon for emphasis. “I’m a demon. Expert at taking things apart. One snap and …” He makes an obscene sucking noise “… instant liposuction.”

“So what am I doing, in your expert opinion?”

“You’re punishing yourself, angel,” Crowley says softly. “And you’re doing it over nothing. Over no one that matters.”

Aziraphale wiggles uncomfortably on the bench. He doesn’t move away, but that distance Crowley felt earlier begins to grow. “H-how would you know?”

“Because I know you. I’ve known you for thousands of years. I know your thoughts, your desires, your heart. And I know that the voice in your head, the one that tells you you’re soft, you’re fat, you’re a pathetic excuse for an angel – that voice doesn’t belong to you. It never has. And it doesn’t belong to me either.”

Aziraphale sniffles, digesting those words while he watches the sun rise higher in the sky, lending light and life and hope to a weary world.

And one weary angel.

“It’s … been there for such a long time,” Aziraphale only half-voices, “and I … I don’t know how to get rid of it.”

“Does waking up at the butt crack of dawn and running the soles out of a pair of shoes till your bum knee aches get rid of it?”

“For a while.”

“Is there a chance that … making love to me gets rid of it?”

Aziraphale swallows. When he answers, his voice shakes. “For a while.”

“Then why don’t we do that instead?”

“Because it’s not an easy thing to admit to.”

“I know that.”

“Really?” Aziraphale scoffs. He steals a quick, angry glance down Crowley’s trim body hiding beneath his bulky coat, but never meets his eyes. “And how’s that?”

“You don’t think I have a few voices in my head, too? They might not be your voices, they may not say the same things, but they’re bastards, I’ll tell you that.”

“How do you get rid of them?”

“By doing the things I love – driving my car, drinking, sleeping. But mostly by hanging out with you.” Crowley threads an arm through the sleeve of Aziraphale’s coat and takes his angel’s hand. “Which is part of the reason why you haven’t been able to get rid of me since the day you left Heaven and I left Hell.”

That remark coaxes a partial smile out of Aziraphale. “I’ve been wondering about that.”

“Well, now you know.” Crowley lifts Aziraphale’s hand to his mouth, kisses across his knuckles one by one. “Listen, if you wanna keep jogging, be my guest. I’ll even help you.”

Aziraphale shoots his husband a comical look. “How?”

“I’ll … I’ll … I’ll chase you all over this damned park! I’ll throw ducks at you …”

“Crowley!”

“I’ll scream that you stole my wallet till the cops come running!”

Aziraphale does his best to look appalled by his husband’s suggestion, but the laughter twitching his lips at the image it paints wins out in the end.

“But only if you’re doing it because you want to do it. Otherwise … what good does it really do you?”

Aziraphale nods. He goes back to staring while he thumbs through his options, but the thought of Crowley throwing ducks and crying out in fake distress lingers so vividly, he’s certain Crowley keeps planting it there.

“I don’t want to jog anymore,” Aziraphale says finally.

“You don’t?” Crowley asks, not even hiding his non-surprise.

“No.”

“Are you, maybe, in the mood for some crepes? I know a great breakfast spot not too far from here.”

“No,” Aziraphale says with the firm resolve of a man triumphing over demons he’s been battling for decades.

But seeing as Aziraphale married his demon, his answer becomes less convincing.

Crowley raises an eyebrow at him. Aziraphale looks resolutely away.

But he smiles, too.

“Yes, I am,” he relents. “But I think I’d like to stay like this for a while, if you don’t mind. Sitting by your side, holding your hand - I want this more.”

Crowley rests his head against his angel’s shoulder. “So do I.”

They sit in silence together and watch the sun climb into the sky.

“This is nice,” Crowley murmurs, closing his eyes to block out the bright and focus instead on the warmth on his face.

“It is,” Aziraphale concurs. Over the thousands of years they’ve spent as friends, and the months they’ve spent as lovers, this is something they’ve had yet to do. They’ve been together in the presence of the sunrise, of course. And the sunset. But sitting together and letting it command their full attention – this is a first.

“You know, maybe I was wrong,” Crowley says.

“How’s that?”

“Maybe we should get up early and do this every morning. Not the running. Just the sunrise.”

“Perhaps. It might be nicer to watch it from the balcony instead.”

“Of course, of course,” Crowley agrees, close to falling asleep. “Much less chance of encountering foot traffic up there.”

“Quite.” Aziraphale breathes in deep, then breathes out deep into the cold, crisp winter air. He should have brought a book. And a Thermos. And a snack. “Can we go get those crepes now?”

“Yup.”

“And after the crepes, can we have sex?”

Crowley grins. “Oh absolutely.”

#good omens #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #31 days of ineffables #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #frankie writes

[wordsablaze]

Ch.6. Besotted Blue

Blue Buttercup Almost like buttercups, it took Jaskier a lot of time and trouble to bloom and find his place in the world, but it wasn’t all so golden… (aka: yennefer was his mother way before he was jaskier)

A/N: more soft-parent-yennefer fluff that nobody asked for ;)

previous chapter

-

"Can I come with you?"

Yennefer sighs.

He can't come with her; he's a small child and she's sure the Lord she's visiting won't take kindly to him being there.

"I'm sorry, little one, but I'm afraid you can't."

Buttercup's eyes water. "Please, Yenny, please?"

(Her own eyes nearly start watering at that.)

She shakes her head for what feels like the millionth time in the last week. "It's too dangerous for you."

He pouts and gives her one last offended look before letting go of her leg and running out of the room.

She watches him go, wishing there was a way to take him with her. She’s just about ready to admit the last few weeks have been much more pleasant than they usually are when she comes to this particular house of hers.

(He makes it feel like a home.)

But she doesn’t want him to take him to a manor where there’ll be prying eyes and accusations being thrown all over the place.

So she’s said no every time he’s asked, which happens to have been almost every day - nobody had warned her that little kids could be so stubborn and have such good memories.

(A part of her recognises he’s not like most kids.)

By the time he comes running back to her in the evening with another bouquet of wildflowers and a firm pout, she finds that her resolve is wearing thin and she’s becoming more and more tempted to say yes.

“Can we have jam again?” he asks as he holds out the flowers.

She takes them from him, raising her eyebrows. “You don’t need to give me flowers to have jam, Buttercup.”

He just shrugs.

And of course, they have jam again.

(They’d finished it yesterday but what is magic for if not to cater to a child’s culinary desires?)

It’s only when Buttercup has yawned for the seventh time that Yennefer picks him up and tucks him into his bed, even though she knows full well that he’ll quietly slide into hers in a few hours.

He mumbles what sounds like a goodnight before his eyelids droop and he drifts off.

Yennefer takes a moment to wonder why she’d become so accepting of this domestic routine so quickly but she moves on to organising her visit to the Lord who’s requested her presence instead of wasting time dwelling on it.

(She dwells on it often enough anyway.)

Thankfully, she’s finished her plan far before Buttercup stumbles into her room with a sleepy pout.

Instead of simply curling into her side like he normally does, he looks up at her with guilt laced into his expression. “I lied.”

She smiles gently and brushes his hair back. “What about, little one?”

“Promise you won’t be angry?”

He sounds so scared, it almost hurts her.

(She usually hates such promises.)

“Of course.”

He nods and yawns widely before blinking his eyes open properly. “The flowers weren’t for the jam.”

Having been imagining the worst, relief floods through her mind the same way magic flows through her fingers upon hearing his innocent confession. She smiles at him and chuckles softly. “I guessed that already. What were they for?”

“I want to go too,” he whines, looping his arms around her neck.

When she sighs, he sniffles and buries his head in her hair. “Please, Yenny? I don’t want to be alone again.”

Oh.

(Nor does she.)

“I’m not leaving you, I just…” She trails off because from his perspective, she is leaving him. And she’s been a fool not to understand that.

She’s been a fool not to realise that the strange routines they’ve built in the last few weeks must seem as necessary to the poor child as breathing at this point. And for her to so casually suggest leaving him must be nothing less than mildly heartbreaking.

“I’m not leaving you,” she repeats before taking a deep breath. “You’re coming with me.”

He gasps loudly before pulling himself away from her, looking into her eyes with a joyful sort of hope she never wants to see disappear as he then asks, “You mean it?”

She nods, wrapping an arm around his small shoulders. “I mean it. Now go to sleep, okay?”

He only hums in response, settling in her lap and dozing off before she can move him and avoid waking up with pins and needles.

(She doesn’t move all night anyway.)

And when he wakes up with a bright smile aimed at her, she knows it was worth it.

“Good morning,” she murmurs as he grins, hugging her.

“We need to make some rules before we go,” she tells him softly.

He frowns. “Can we have jam first?”

It’s not even that funny but Yennefer laughs at that, laughs until her chest hurts and she feels she can’t breathe, at which point she exhales slowly and nods. “Of course we can, Buttercup.”

(She’d probably let him have anything he asked for at this point.)

And so they have jam yet again.

And after that, she turns to him with a serious look. “Listen, little one, the place we’re going to is far bigger than this house and I need you to do as I say so we don’t get split up, okay?”

“Stay with you?” he suggests, climbing into her lap.

She nods, running a hand through his hair absently. “Stay with me. And don’t talk to anyone, okay?”

He looks confused but nods quickly. “Stay quiet and stay with you. I can do that!”

Yennefer smiles down at him, still surprised at how eager he is to listen to her and accept what she says without question.

(At how eager he is to stay with her.)

And then something else occurs to her.

If they’re going to arrive and stay together the whole time, people are going to assume he’s hers. And if it keeps him safe because they fear her wrath, she might as well make it obvious and co-ordinate their appearances.

“You’re going to need new clothes,” she declares, standing up so suddenly that Buttercup yelps and wobbles, clutching onto her desperately.

“Sorry,” she whispers as her magic makes sure he doesn’t fall off, tucking an arm under him as she leads him to his room. “What colour would you like to wear?”

“Can’t I wear my doublet?” he asks, his voice small and hesitant.

She’d guessed that there was something special about his doublet since he never takes it off and she finds she doesn’t have the heart to make him part with it.

“Yes, of course you can.”

(She’s never agreed with anyone so much in her life.)

“But can you wear something of my choice under it?” She asks carefully.

He bites his lip but nods in agreement, jumping down from her arms and waiting as she opens the little cupboard that’s empty unless she wants something to magically appear inside it. As it is, she pulls out a small, purple chemise for him.

“Will you wear this so everyone knows you’re with me?”

His smile is answer enough.

But he gives her a verbal one anyway. “And then we get to match?”

Yennefer smiles at him yet again., kneeling down so she’s at eye-level for him. “Exactly.”

He’s done it enough times for her not to be entirely shocked by now but she’s still startled when he throws his arms around her and grins so hard she can all but feel his happiness as he giggles out a soft “Thank you!”

(It’s truly her pleasure.)

"You're welcome," she whispers back.

-

thanks for reading !! masterlist | witcher blog: @geraskifer | next chapter

#the witcher #yennefer #jaskier #yennefer and jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #soft yennefer #parent yennefer #young jaskier #jaskier the bard #backstory #no beta we die like jaskier doesn't #non human jaskier #soft jaskier #protective yennefer #fluff #fanfic #fanfiction #witcher fanfic #netflix the witcher #my writing #bbu

[petri808]

Promises to Keep

@marveledbytaetae for the server exchange.

EdWin Angst with happy ending.  I hope you like it :)

^^

As Ed stood there staring at Winry’s closed bedroom door, he knew this would be one of the toughest things he would have to do and yet…  Ed hangs his head, letting out a long, drawn out exhale in an effort to calm his nerves.  It was something that needed to be done.  He never wanted to put her through pain, to have to worry about him, and yet it was the one thing he always managed to do to her.  ‘Soon,’ he reminds himself, ‘this will all be over soon…’  One way or another they were ending this battle with Father.

Ed raises his hand to knock, pausing centimeters against the wood.  He couldn’t do it, holding the fist mid-air, and clenching it tighter, with tears threatening beneath his closed eyelids.  She’s been though too much.  Lost, too many loved ones and here he was about to throw himself in front of the fire once more.  It almost didn’t matter that he was doing it for her, for everyone he cared about.  She deserves better, and he knows it.  Maybe someday….  ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.’

The stage had been set, plans long in progress and time was ticking down.  He knew she deserved to hear the whole truth from him.  About what they were doing and when he, they would be leaving for Central.  It was up to him to prepare her for the coming Promised Day to make sure that she and Pinako would be as safe as possible.  He just prayed she wouldn’t hate him for this.

“Win,” Ed knocks lightly, “are ya up?”

Gentle shuffling sounds along the wooden floors are the only indication of movement from inside the room.

“Yes,” he hears her quiet response from behind the door, “did you need something Ed?”

“Could we…” he pauses to gather his resolve.  “I need to talk to you about something.”

The seriousness of Ed’s tone causes Winry to flinch behind the door.  Suspicions had been mounting the entire time she’d made it home to find Ed, Greed, and the others holed up in her home that something was going on.  Not that she didn’t already know, considering others like the Briggs soldiers that had helped her to escape were plotting too.  It had been frustrating to be kept out of the loop of much of what was happening, but maybe it had been to protect her was the only rationale she could come up with.  She sighs, unlocking the door and cracking it before walking back to her bed to sit down.        

Without a word, Ed quietly let’s himself in, noting the forlorn expression already seated upon Winry’s face.  He sits down beside her with his hands folded in his lap.  She was staring at the floor, and that wasn’t helping his nerves.  It was obvious Winry suspected something.  “Win…” he reaches over, placing a tentative hand upon hers.  “Winry I wanted….” He hesitates, sighing with abandon.  “You deserve to know the whole story.  We…. We plan to leave in a week for Central for the fight with Father.”

“I figured as much…” she breathes out.

He glances over, studying her faced down expression.  “You did?” Ed rubs the back of his neck, “I guess it wasn’t too hard to figure it out.  Aren’t you upset?”

“Of course, I am.”  Winry finally turns to face him.  “There’s nothing I can do about it, but it’s okay Ed, I know you have to go.”  She cracks a half-hearted smile.  “You have to save Amestris, I get that.  Doesn’t mean I have to like it, but I understand.”

Ed had been prepared to get yelled at, scolded, maybe even smacked by her and told he was crazy, but Winry was taking it all so well.  “I think you and granny should take the next train and get out of the country.  Head to Xing, you’ll be safer there…”

“No.  I’m not leaving my home.”

“Win, why do you always have to fight me on things?”

“It’s to keep you on your toes,” she smiles.  This time it’s Winry that takes hold of Edwards hand, squeezing lightly in a gesture of reassurance.  “Besides I know granny won’t leave either and I can’t leave her here alone, so... we’re staying put,” adding a sharp nod of her head at the end finalizing her determination.

Why did she have to be so stubborn?  Then again, it was one of the things Ed loved about her.  He looks away, hiding the light flush to his cheeks lurking beneath the surface of his skin.  Her blue eyes would pull him in so easily before he could catch himself when they glinted in a smile or flashed with determination.  But it wasn’t right.  He didn’t deserve her, not yet, and he certainly didn’t want to break her heart.  Because what if he didn’t return?  That was a big what if.  They’d faced Father once and lost, what if he really was too powerful?  What if Hohenheim failed to do his part in releasing the Xerxes souls?  What if the Briggs soldiers failed to take Central’s military headquarters?  What if?  What if?  Too many what ifs, and not enough certainty for his analytical mind.

It would have been easier to let Edward wallow.  Winry knew him too well not to realize he was probably still calculating and analyzing everything in his mind, the familiar furrow of his brows, or slight twitch of his neck vein when he was deep in thought.  And she wasn’t an idiot, part of that equation was their safety, hers and granny’s.  They were far enough and out of the way from Central to be affected by direct military actions, but maybe there was more to the story?  What else could be causing him to worry so much?

“Ed?”          

“Yeah?”

“Are you telling me everything?”

“What do you mean?”  He looks up.  It was true he hadn’t told her about the giant transmutation circle or how Father had planned to kill everyone and take their souls because he didn’t think she needed to know.  It was the whole reason he wanted them out of the country but knew there was no arguing with her once she’d made up her mind.  “You think I’m still holding back?”

Winry simply stares him down, raising an eyebrow for effect.

He flinches, knowing that look could be proceeded by a painful lesson.  “Alright yes, there is, but I’m still not telling you.  All you need to know is that it’s going to be very dangerous on that day for everyone in this country and that’s why I wanted you to leave.”

She takes a few moments to process everything Edward was explaining to her.  Whatever this secret was must be important, and based on his expression, scared him to an extent that he was unwilling to talk about it.  It was hard enough knowing, she may never see him again once he walks out of the house to leave, but at the same time, she’s learned over time, her strength, gave him strength.  

“I’m just scared I’ll lose you Win.”

“Ed, I’m just as scared to lose you too.  You and Al and granny are the only family I got in this world.  But,” she forces him to look at her, placing a hand on his cheek, “I also know how stubborn and strong you both are, and have faith that at the end of the day you’ll win.”

“You can’t know that,” the tears gather at the corners, “Father is strong…”

“And you are stronger!  Edward Elric, I have never seen anything stop you before.  Even when you were scared, you fought through it.  You’re the toughest person I know!”  She looks up holding his amber eyes in a deadlock.  ‘Was he really this much taller than me?’  Banishing those thoughts for the time being, “you’ve come this far Ed, I know you will finish it and come back home to us.”

Somehow, in some way, that flickering flame behind her blue eyes sent a warmth flooding through his frame along with a renewed sense of confidence and hope.  Not that he thought as highly of himself, but Winry was right about one thing.  He wasn’t one to back down from any fight, and this was the biggest to date.  It was time to fight for not just his life but hers, and Al’s, and grannys, and everyone else that meant the world to him.  It was time to protect them.

“Thank you,” Ed leans in, letting his forehead rest against hers.  He places his hand over the one she still holds against his cheek.  “You really are my strength Win, and I promise I’ll come back home to you.”

“You swear?” Win’s own tears threatening, but she holds them back.  She’d promised not to cry until it was over, and she wasn’t about to give in now!   ��    

“With every beat of my heart.”

@kuroshironekoserver

#EdWin #Edwin fan fic #server exchange #edward elric #winry rockbell #angst n fluff #edwin drabble #server event #kuroshironeko server #fmab #full metal alchemist

[kagehinataboke]

9. BAKUTODO, CAN BAKUGOU BE A PIRATE PLS!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU ARE AMAZING!!!

ahh i think you meant 8 dear, but absolutely!! uwu

tdbk: [8] pirate/navy captain

***

“A storm is coming.” Todoroki stands at the helm of his ship, squinting carefully at the eerily calm turquoise sea. The waters always calm like this right before a huge storm, and the clouds on the horizon are shifting into gray clumps.

“How can you tell, Captain?” one of the midshipmen, Kirishima, asks nervously. He’s one of Todoroki’s newest shipmates: The king decided he needed a bigger crew. It’s really just to try and slow him down—he keeps making all the other navy officers look bad by, you know, doing his job too well.

“It doesn’t matter how I know: just tell the men to lower the sails.” Todoroki pushes past Kirishima to reach the ratline leading to the crow’s nest. He’ll have to plot out a safer course. Last time a storm caught them unawares, the swells were so intense that the ship’s keel was nearly broken on an outcropping of sharp rocks. Not pretty.

It looks like it’s coming from the east. If he moves the ship west, they should avoid the worst of it. However, there’s an island between them and their destination in the northeast. Looping around it will add two days to the trip… Damn. Can they withstand the rough waters instead?

“Captain, there’s something fast approaching from the west!” a crewman calls from the deck.

“What now?” Todoroki murmurs, turning to face the newest problem. Oh boy, is it a problem. As if the storm isn’t bad enough, there’s another ship approaching from the starboard side—a ship Todoroki wishes he didn’t recognize. Ground Zero, captained by Bakugou Katsuki, the most feared pirate on the seven seas. They’ve run into each other more than enough times for the mere sight of the black sails to cause Todoroki incredible irritation.

“Hard to port!” he yells frantically. “We can’t let them get next to us!” He leaps to grab a rope and slide down to the deck, swearing under his breath. “How is it so fast—“

The pirate ship rams into them before he can finish his sentence, knocking Todoroki and the crew off their feet. Water rockets over the side, smacking him from every direction before the ship settles again. Todoroki coughs, unable to figure out why the world is spinning. Before he can piece it together, a boot hits the deck beside his head. Strong hands seize him by the wrists, easily flipping him onto his back. 

“Well, what do we have here? I didn’t expect to run into you.”

Todoroki sighs slowly. “Bakugou… I can’t exactly say it’s a pleasure.”

The smirking pirate captain leans closer, the brim of his hat offering a blissful curtain of shade over Todoroki’s eyes. “What? It’s definitely pleasurable for me.”

“Because you’re robbing my ship for the third time in two weeks?” Todoroki replies, stubbornly turning his head to avoid eye-contact. “Yes; I’m sure you’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Obviously.” Bakugou flips Todoroki on his back to bind his wrists with a familiar, annoyingly-secure bowline knot. “I’m sorry we keep meeting like this,” he continues while hoisting him to his feet, not sounding sorry at all. “I do love tying you up, though.”

“You’re disgusting,” Todoroki mutters, flexing his wrists experimentally. There’s no leeway, but Bakugou didn’t tie them tight enough to hurt. His kindness is even more annoying than his shameless flirting. “Just do the deed and get the hell off my ship.”

“When you say it like that, it makes me want to fuck you even more,” Bakugou says conversationally, pushing Todoroki against the ship’s main mast with the rest of the crew. “Find anything?” he yells over to his men, who are busy raising the cabin. “Make it fast: bad weather’s on its way!”

Todoroki grits his teeth. “So you’re planning to rob us and leave us to die in this storm? Is that it?”

Bakugou crosses over to him with a sugary smile. “Not so, pretty boy: we’ll take you with us.” He waves his hand in a circular motion. “Hurry it up, men! We’re leaving now!”

“Wait,” Todoroki tries to protest, but Bakugou is stronger than him—especially when his hands are tied. “Hey, you can’t just… you can’t just leave my ship and crew here! Are you listening to me?”

“I am, and I really wish you’d talk less. Or maybe use your mouth for something else.” Bakugou crosses the gangplank connecting their vessels, pushing Todoroki along ahead of him. “It’s nothing personal: I need to kidnap you at some point. It’s high-seas protocol.” The captain grins. “Oh, but don’t worry: I’ll treat you gently the first time.”

“I’d rather swim with the sharks.”

“Well, that can be arranged.” Bakugou starts to tip him over the edge.

Todoroki grits his teeth, reluctantly leaning against the pirate’s annoyingly firm chest to keep from falling to a watery death. “Okay, fine! Just take me aboard your stupid ship already.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard. Now let’s get out of here.”

***

Todoroki has been on board Ground Zero for five days, and no one has come looking for him. He’d be angry if the king gave a damn about him or any other member of the royal navy—but he doesn’t, so Todoroki isn’t. He is, however, tired of the countless sexual advances. As one can likely imagine, they get tiring after the fiftieth time.

“It’s never going to happen, so stop asking.”

“You should be happy that I am asking. I’m a terrifying pirate, y’know: I could be much less considerate. Besides, I’ll wear you down eventually.”

“I don’t think so.” Todoroki wants to look away, but there’s nothing else to see in the small room Bakugou’s been keeping him in. With just a cot and a table, he feels like a princess in a tower. “Someone will come searching for me eventually. It would be wise to drop me off at the nearest port.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” Bakugou hums with an annoying smirk. “Those fucking royals could care less about you, no matter how pretty you are.”

Todoroki can’t argue, so he stares out the tiny porthole window instead. He supposes things could be a lot more insufferable: Bakugou is being as gentlemanly as a pirate can be, and living conditions could be much worse. Still, having his ego bruised is making him very sour about the whole thing.

“Still playing hard to get?” Bakugou sighs, tapping the edge of one boot against his chair leg. “That’s what I like about you, Shouto: stubborn to a fault.”

“That’s funny, because I despise everything about you.” Todoroki’s face goes red. “And don’t call me by my first name.”

“You’d like me if you got to know me.”

“Oh, so if I sleep with you, you’ll suddenly become much less of a terrible person?”

“I can absolutely guarantee it.”

Todoroki scowls and looks at Bakugou again, studying his face closely for the first time since their meeting. He’s good-looking: he can begrudgingly admit that much. Unlike most pirates, he’s clean and tidy around the edges—and aside from the swearing and anger issues, he’s polite enough to be a civilized person. Of course, his… appetite is still rather annoying.

“I can’t understand you,” Todoroki mutters eventually, turning his attention back to the window. “You’re weirdly considerate, and you have passable manners… Are you really a pirate?”

“I wasn’t always,” Bakugou replies, leaning back in his chair to cross one leg over the other. “That’s all I am now, though. Anything I was or wasn’t before is useless to discuss.”

“It’s not so bad,” Todoroki says after a moment of pause. “Being a pirate, that is. There’s no one to tell you what to do or where to go. It must be nice.”

“Yeah?” Bakugou scoffs. “You must think having the whole world as your enemy is great, too.”

There’s nothing to say to that, either. Dammit, why is he so relatable? Todoroki can feel his resolve thinning by the minute. He knows he should try to escape, but… where can he go? They’re on the open sea hundreds of miles from shore. He’s trapped.

Then again, this isn’t the worst place to be stuck—or, necessarily, the worst person to be stuck with.

“Three days,” Todoroki sighs eventually, looking at his captor again. He might as well do something while he’s stuck on this godforsaken ship.

“What was that?”

“I’ll give you three days to win me over. If you don’t, you’ll drop me off at the nearest port.” Todoroki holds out a steady hand. “Deal?”

Bakugou shakes his head with a widening grin. “You really are an interesting guy…” He reaches out and takes Todoroki’s hand. “You got a deal, pretty boy.”

“Okay, first tip to winning me over: don’t call me that.”

#this au is so #💯💯💯 #im dying #todobaku #tdbk #my writing #bnha #trope prompts #calla.txt #i could write 1047908 more words of this tbh #shit

[smitten-miqitten]

A Fine Gift

AO3 Link

“Your nameday’s coming up soon, isn’t it Chief?” Biggs inquired, wiping down their latest prototype model of manacutter. Mk.6, or some such.

“Oh yes, the day people get to tell me how ancient I am. Don’t remind me.” Cid pouted, clearly not looking forward to the prospect.

Era looked up from her book, confused. “But you’re not old, and you certainly don’t look it”. He cheered a little at this, flashing her a grateful smile.

“Chief’d  look even  less old if he’d just shave every once in a while”. Wedge chimed in.

Jessie looked up from her ledger in agreement, “Exactly! We’ve been telling him for ages. The Chief has the absolute worst case of baby face I’ve ever seen. You wouldn’t think it, with how brawny he is. Looks years younger. A trim is long overdue.”

“I’m not shaving it!!” Cid bellowed. It was plainly a subject that had been brought up many a time before, and certainly would be again.

“You know, I actually can’t really recall what you look like without it. I only ever saw the once, with the echo, and the echo is always so blurry”. Era mused, struggling to imagine Cid’s beard bereft visage.

“Should I shave it, then?” Cid asked genuinely, not an onze of his previous vitriol present. He gave his beard an absent minded stroke, trying to decide how long he could bear to part with it.

“N..no! You don’t have to go that far…” Era stuttered, only to be shouted over by an irate Jessie.

“Oh, so you’ll shave for her, but not for us? Time and time again we’ve asked…”

“There are several things I’d do for her I wouldn’t do for you lot”, Cid shot back, a slight smirk growing on his face.

“Cid!” Squeaked the bright red Miqo'te, having caught his meaning.

Cid just grinned, loving how embarrassed she got at the smallest things. “Beard or no, someone will find a way to call me old. The fewer people that remember my nameday, the better I say.”

“Still”, Era argued, recovering somewhat from her mortification, “We should celebrate just a little bit, at the very least. It’s not your nameday every day. Is there anything you want?”

“Peace and quiet?” He suggested hopefully.

Era grinned, “Come now, let’s be realistic”.

“How about a day off?” Biggs offered, tightening bolts here and there on the manacutter.

Jessie snorted, “With the backlog of orders we’ve got going thanks to his wandering about at random? You wish!” She slammed the ledger shut for emphasis. It was true Cid had been out and about a rather lot of late, volunteering to assist the Scions largely for a chance to leave the workshop once in a while.

“A party then? After work, with the Scions and friends?!” Wedge added helpfully as he passed Biggs another wrench.

Cid groaned. “That’s the exact opposite of peace and quiet. If you want an excuse to see Tataru, I’m sure there’s something that needs repairing at the Rising Stones”, he said, having used much the same excuse to see Era on occasion, “I just want everyone to forget it. No nameday, no jokes about going grey the day I was born, just an ordinary day”. He returned his attention to his work, growing deaf to any further debate on the matter.

Nobody was quite satisfied with this, but Cid didn’t seem liable to budge on the issue, stubborn as he was. They all silently resolved to convene in secret, to come up with some way to celebrate.

…………………

Gathered around a small dusty table within  a storage room in the Rising Stones, lit almost ominously by handful of dim lanterns, Era, Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie began to brainstorm.

They had a consensus on the small details: a quiet, low energy gathering. A nice dinner, cooked by Bismarck-trained-chef Era, cake again prepared by Era, and gifts. The gift, they decided, had to be good enough to make up for the blandness of the rest of the event. They contemplated each inventing something for him, though the idea was deemed a flop on the basis that it would be nigh impossible to keep them a secret.

Era also wanted to provide him something other than her cooking, as she cooked often anyway. It wouldn’t be special. She wanted to give him something permanent, something he could use. But what could she get him that he could not make better himself? She only knew of a few craftsmen more skilled, and even they were specialists… Oh.

“Looks like little miss has an idea”, Biggs noted, breaking the long silence that had permeated the room in the wake of their combined deliberations.

“Perhaps…I was thinking that Cid might appreciate new tools. Lazy though he can be at times, he truly loves his work. Higher quality tools surely would make him happy. And it could be a group gift, as I know nothing about tools. I’ll need your expertise”.

“It’s  a good idea, for sure”, Jessie began, though the ‘but’ was evident. “Tools better than the ones he has would be a small fortune, though. He made a lot of them himself, after all”. She sounded rather disappointed; new tools would be just the thing to get him inspired to work consistently again.

Era nodded; she knew that in any other situation her suggestion would be entirely unrealistic. But she had an ace up her sleeve, or so she hoped. “I may actually be able to get such things free of charge, or for relatively little. I happen to know a master goldsmith who may be willing to make them as a favor to me, as I’ve helped his son out of a number of tight spots in the past. I can’t guarantee he’ll do it, of course, but if you all can provide me with specs for the tools, I know he’ll have the skill to make them if he does agree”.

“Who would that be?” Wedge asked, feet kicking back and forth as they dangled from his too-high chair.

“Godbert Manderville”, she said, shying away from their surprised gasps and shouts, shushing them lest their secret meeting be discovered.

…………………

As the Ironworks Crew gathered up all the details needed to make the tools, Era set to work getting in contact with Godbert. She hadn’t seen Hildy in some time (thank the Twelve), and so had not met Godbert in quite a while. Knowing he often did business with the Fortemps family, she reached out to her adoptive father Edmont, who happily arranged tea for the three of them. Godbert agreed nearly immediately, citing her dedication to his son’s well being (she neglected to point out she often had no choice in her interactions with Hildy), and so the rest of tea was spent regaling both Hildy’s father and her own with tales of her adventures, at their combined request.

With the specs from Biggs, Wedge, and Jessie, as well as the high quality materials Era gathered and provided, it took Godbert next to no time at all to craft a full set of of the finest instruments imaginable. Truly, his craftsmanship was a  wondrous thing to behold. Era couldn’t thank him enough, expressing her gratitude profusely until Julyan demanded she hush up already and be on her way. Packed away in a custom case, everything was now ready for the big day.

…………………

Cid’s nameday started, as he had requested so vehemently, as any other. He did, however, take a bit more time that morning to sleep in, indulging in early morning snuggles with his darling Warrior of Light. After stretching with a loud series of pops emanating from his joints, Era teasingly asked after the state of his ‘aged bones’, earning her a furious tickling until she relented and apologized, laughing away.  A light breakfast was followed by a surprisingly easy day of work, during which Cid was curiously allowed to work on whatever he pleased with no pressuring about impending deadlines. He couldn’t possibly miss the air of excitement emanating from his employees and sweetheart, and began to brace himself for whatever surprises they had in store for him despite his prior protests. But that’s part of what he loved about all of them; they never truly listened to everything his damnfool ass said, ever insistent whenever they thought themselves in the right, all just as bullheaded as he.

Era prepared a truly marvelous meal and equally marvelous cake, just as he suspected she might. Regardless of the quality of her training, her culinary talent was astounding. It struck him as rather a missed opportunity, that she could not live indulging in her love of botany and cooking. A greenhouse and cafe would be perfect for her, surely to rival the finest establishments in Eorzea. It saddened him a little, but he had little time to mull over the misfortune, as everyone became increasingly antsy, whispering amongst themselves as if he couldn’t hear. Biggs reached into one of the taller cabinets, one Cid often had trouble reaching and thus avoided out of frustration, and pulled out what appeared to be a rather ornate toolbox. It had several bows looped around the handle, cheesily colored in the Ironworks blue.

“Open it!”, they all said in unison, their excitement uncontainable. Chuckling and doing as bade, he opened the box to reveal the finest set of hammers, wrenches,screwdrivers, and myriad other oft used tools he had ever lain eyes on. Surely, a set of this quality must be worth all of Mor Dhona. “How in the seven hells…” Cid started, baffled eyes searching the four staring back at him with baited breath.

“I called in a favor”, Era offered in a hardly sufficient explanation, beaming away.

“Go on then”, Wedge prompted, bouncing up and down in his seat, “give the hammer a try!”

Cid did, finding the grip perfect for his hands, the weight of the implement ideal. Words were lost to him, though by the looks of his companions’ faces, his reaction was more than sufficient. He was positively itching to use the set now, countless inventions springing to mind unbidden. Standing upright, he began to gather up the box, already sketching out plans in his head. The Excelsior would appreciate a tune up, right?  Giving Era a loving kiss and the others a mighty hug, he near bolted from the room, followed by their fond laughter. They knew him only too well.

#ffxiv #ff14 #era hess #cid garlond #jessie jaye #biggs #wedge #my self indulgent minifics

[albrtmason]

Hey, could you write Albert being at the gang's camp? :) Abigail mentioning she always liked Mary and remembering that Mary and Arthur used to play dominos makes me think it's not unheard of for outsiders being in camp. How does he end up there? Did Arthur just bring him along one day, or did someone mistake him for a spy, or did he just stumble across it in the way he just happens to stumble across things?

what the living do

rating: gcharacters: arthur, albertpairings: arthur/albertword count: 3118read on ao3

buy me a coffee!

as they ride, albert tallies up the losses in his head: his equipment, the two changes of clothes he’d brought, his camera, his horse. 

it was that last that stung the most, though the camera may have been a close second. he’d grown fond of that horse, a grumpy old nag that he’d bought for a few dollars not long after his train had first rolled into saint denis. he’d not even had a chance to say goodbye; as soon as the shooting had started, arthur had been on his horse and was pulling albert up behind him.

now, it would have been ideal if not for all the danger. he had his arms wrapped tight ‘round arthur’s middle, his cheek pressed against arthur’s back; he could feel the shift of his muscles, his heartbeat, could feel the faintest rattle when he breathed in deep. it was like something straight out of albert’s dreams.

but they had been shot at, and albert was making himself as small as possible to avoid being lashed by any stray branches as arthur’s sturdy ardennes shot like a bullet through the undergrowth. he’d had a breath as they raced through the countryside near rhodes, the gently rolling hills and red dirt less dense than the swamp, but as they approached the shores of flat iron lake arthur had pulled them back into the trees.

someone shouts, at a distance but near enough to be heard, and albert’s heart stutters in his chest for a moment, convinced that they’d be in the thick of it again; but arthur hollers back, and albert would have sworn his voice rumbled down to his bones. “it’s arthur, you dumbass!”

arthur tugs the reigns and they low to a trot as the trees open up into a clearing filled with tents, looking out on to the lake. albert spares a moment to feel sorry for the poor horse as it snorts and heaves before arthur loops the reigns loosely over a hitch and slides to the ground, easy, and not nearly as stiff as albert was sure to be.

“c’mon, now,” arthur says, and he’s as gruff as ever, but there’s a crease of worry between his brows that albert prides himself on reading. “lets get you looked at, mister mason.”

arthur’s hands are warm and albert chooses to focus on that rather than the bright, lancing pain that blooms from the dull ache in his ribs, but something that’s half-gasp and half-whimper rises to his mouth regardless. he’s not as good at hiding it as he’d hoped, because he can feel arthur’s grip on him tighten for just a moment before loosening again.

“i must say, mister morgan,” albert says, voice shaking as he’s led… somewhere. he’s not quite sure where arthur’s taken him, to be honest, but he’s settled to sit on a cot and even though the jostling makes the pain flare up again, it’s good not to be standing. “i don’t believe i’ve ever been shot before.”

“and let’s hope it don’t happen again,” arthur huffs. he lingers a moment, his hands just hovering awkwardly, before he turns to the woman that had bustled after them nearly as soon as arthur had pulled him from the horse. “bullet went clean through, did the best i could to patch it up ‘til we got here. miss grimshaw, your stitches’ve always been cleaner’n mine. could you…?”

“and you didn’t think to go to a doctor?” the woman- miss grimshaw, then- scoffs and waves him off with a stern look, but she’s already appraising albert with a critical eye by the time she says, “go get me some water, hot if you can, and a needle and thread.”

and then she tells albert, “you’ll need that shirt off if you’re expectin’ me to sew you up.”

albert hesitates, just for a moment, but it’s long enough for miss grimshaw to roll her eyes and give a long suffering sigh, pushing at his shoulder so he lies back on the cot, perching beside him as she works deftly first at the buttons on his vest, then on his shirt. not that it matters, because he was very sure that he couldn’t move his right arm without pain anyway, but the embarrassment is there regardless.

“here we are,” comes arthur’s voice, and albert glances over as he sets a bowl down on the table nearby, and then hands over what looks to be a needle but may also be a bent fish hook. “warm water’s best i could do, but i’ve got pearson watchin’ the kettle right now.”

up until then albert had done a very good job of ignoring the blood, had tried his best not to look at the hand that had been covered in it from a lousy attempt at staunching the wound. see, the thing was that he’d never been good at handling blood, let alone his own, and the thought of that needle threading through his skin made him feel simultaneously queasy and light-headed.

“drink this, mister mason,” arthur says, helping albert to lean up on one elbow and lifting a bottle to his mouth. “it’ll help with the pain.”

it’s whiskey because of course it is, and albert sputters at first, as taken back by the initial burn as he always is; but he manages to swallow a few mouthfuls with little more than a grimace and a hiss as he lowers himself back down, and arthur seems almost impressed. the thought makes albert feel warm down deep in the pit of his stomach, but maybe that was just the alcohol.

and then arthur offers up a belt from somewhere, which albert takes with only a little trepidation and holds between his teeth.

“clean it out, arthur,” miss grimshaw commands as she holds the needle over flame, and arthur rolls his eyes but reaches for the flannel he’d brought and wrings it out over the bowl. his touch is gentle, infinitely so, as he dabs lightly along albert’s side, around the wound tucked between his hip and the bottom of his ribs. 

and then he pours the whiskey over it, and logically albert knows that this was a sound practice, sterilizing to prevent infection, but it burns, hurts perhaps more than being shot in the first place had. he bites down hard on the belt, digs his teeth into the leather, and manages to choke back the shout that had risen in his throat down to a whimper. once the worst of his has passed he pulls the belt away to draw in a deep breath, just for a moment.

“i may faint,” albert warns in a wavering and breaking voice, half serious, as miss grimshaw rounds on him with the needle, threaded with catgut. the woman herself scowls, hardly in good humor, but arthur snorts as albert wedges the leather back in his mouth.

the anticipation was always the worst, he thinks, and he squeezes his eyes shut, measures the thick breaths he drags in through his nose and listens as miss grimshaw draws near with the needle. he does, in the end, indeed faint, maybe even before the first stitch is finished. 

it couldn’t have too long after when albert blinks his eyes open, but it’s dark even though they’d arrived no later than midday, if not a little later. he was still in the same cot he’d been laid in earlier, a scratchy blanket pulled up to his chin; the darkness, he found, was owed to the sheets of canvas that had been rolled down to offer some sense of privacy.

the pain is still there, though when albert peels back the blanket he finds gauze bandages wrapped neatly around his middle, holding a wad of cotton to the wound. it hurts to sit up, but albert hauls himself up, legs stretched out in front of him. someone had removed his boots, too, and set them neatly beside the cot.

the light that pooled past the canvas was the gold of evening, and albert looks around; it was clearly someone’s living space, littered with personal effects. he peers at the photo pinned to the wagon that served as a wall: a dog, a mugshot, and then a portrait of three men posed together.

he didn’t know who the two other men were but one was plainly arthur, younger and leaner, clean-shaven though he was. albert can’t help but be charmed; this arthur posed with the cockiness that came natural to young men, leaning forward in his chair, a cigarette dangling from his fingers as he stared straight into the camera.

a smile twitches at his mouth. the arthur that albert knew may not have the same arrogant pride, but he was certainly just as bold.

“…your mister mason,” a voice outside the tent says, an unmistakable derisive lilt to the words. “he’s a liability, arthur. he’s gonna put us all in danger. your mary girl didn’t bring the law down on us back then, but we ain’t gonna be so lucky twice.”

the crunching of footsteps on grass pause, coming to a stop nearby, and albert holds his breath. arthur’s voice responds, frustrated, “he ain’t like that, he’s good people.”

there’s a beat of silence, a moment that feels like it stretches on forever, before arthur continues, quieter, more intense. “i trust him, dutch, trust me on that.”

albert can’t see their faces to gauge their expressions but albert can nearly feel the contemplative silence, the thoughtful look he may have been favoring arthur with, the way arthur’d stand stubborn in his resolve.

“for now,” is all the man, dutch, says before albert can hear his footsteps walking away.

arthur sighs and twitches open the tent flap, slipping inside and freezing when he sees albert sitting up. the surprise is only there for half a second though before it’s overtaken by that gruff concern, a tightening at the corners of his mouth in a way that made albert desperately want to wipe away the worry lines from his face.

“you’re up,” is the first thing arthur says to him, belated.

“i’m up,” albert agrees, and then he hesitates. “i won’t… i won’t turn you in, you know. any of you. i don’t even know anyone here besides you, mister morgan.”

“i know,” arthur says, “that’s what i told dutch.”

they lapse into silence then, awkward, and albert is keenly aware of several things: that his shirt was gone and someone had cleaned away all the blood, that the bed he was in must have been arthur’s, and that he desperately wanted a drink. he was tired, and he was in pain, and there was an uncomfortable twist in his gut that he tried desperately to beat back.

“it’d be bad form, regardless,” albert continues, looking away and picking at the blanket. “if nothing else my mother taught me good manners, and repaying the kindness you’ve all shown me would be terribly impolite and outright ungrateful, and i’ve never been that type of man, you know…”

“mister mason,” arthur says abruptly, and when albert glances up he finds that arthur’s straightened from his uncomfortable sort of slouch and though the worry is still there in his face it’s sharper, colored darker with some other emotion. “mister mason, you just about died. you got shot.”

and albert blinks at him, a bit taken aback. he was used to being interrupted and talked over, but he wasn’t sure quite where arthur was going with this. “yes, well. i gather from the speed that your miss grimshaw responded that that’s not exactly an uncommon occurrence around here.”

it’s arthur that looks away this time, working his jaw as if he were chewing over his words. “you go wanderin’ out there in the wild just for the love’ve it, leavin’ yourself at the mercy of anyone’n everyone, and you don’t even know how to shoot a gun.”

“yes?”

“i think you’re just about the biggest fool i’ve ever met.”

albert doesn’t recoil, not exactly, but it’s a close thing. the hurt is sharp and cutting and he tells himself that he doesn’t know why, doesn’t know why such a mild rebuke hurts so much, why it feels almost like a betrayal. the arthur that he knew was kind, if a bit rough around the edges, slyly humorous and quietly indulgent, not this creature before him, tightly constrained and controlled, nearly angry.

“that’s an awfully bold accusation, you know.”

“it’s true,” arthur insists, “you ain’t got no care for your own life, like it wouldn’t matter one way or ‘nother if you got eaten by a gator or robbed by some bastards like those lemoyne raiders out there.”

“well, it wouldn’t.” albert wasn’t wholly sure of why arthur was so worked up about this; he himself must have been shot any number of times, and in far more dire straits. “i’m not anything special, mister morgan. it would be unfortunate, of course, and i’ve no particular death wish, but that’s a risk i’ve chosen to take.”

“you really think some pictures are worth dyin’ for?”

gently, gently, albert says, “we’ve all got our causes, arthur. that’s mine, and it’s my choice.”

“you got,” arthur says, then breaks off with a frustrated sigh. “you got a family, don’tcha? people that care for you? parents, brothers, sisters- hell, a wife, maybe, i dunno. someone else can go out and get those pictures. it don’t have to be you.”

“you really don’t know me at all, do you?” albert’s smile is humorless; he thinks that maybe he would have been better off if arthur had just dragged his sorry self to rhodes and dumped him on the doctor’s doorstep. “no, it doesn’t have to be me, but i want it to be.”

arthur makes an exasperated noise and looks like he wants to throw his hands in the air, like he wants to turn around and storm away. “i ain’t always gonna be there to save your skin, y’know.”

“i never asked you to be,” albert fires back immediately. his hands are curled tightly in the blanket; his choices weren’t arthur’s to define or control, no matter how good of friends they may have been. “why do you care so much, mister morgan, if all i seem to do is inconvenience you?”

he doesn’t like to think of himself like that, as a burden, but it looked as if that was how arthur viewed him. and it stung to know that, to know that while he had believed arthur his friend and had enjoyed his company, arthur had only ever stuck around to keep him from getting himself killed. 

albert was no child to need watching over. he could take care of himself. 

arthur’s expression is tight, though, conflicted, like he has things to say but doesn’t quite know how to say them. he rubs his hands over his face then settles one on his hip, dragging the other through his hair. albert takes pity on him and pats the edge of the cot; arthur eyes him critically for a moment before taking the spot, carefully, carefully leaving an inch or two between them.

it’s a long time before he talks.

“i ain’t a good man, mister mason,” he says eventually, slowly, almost sad; his shoulders are curled inwards and he does not look at albert. “i don’t know how i’m gonna die, or when or where, but i know i ain’t long for this world; there’s just no place for folks like me, not anymore. but you… mister mason, albert, you got a whole life your there for you.”

he pauses, and albert holds his breath. his voice is quieter, this time. 

“i help you out ‘cause it’s somethin’ i can do that ain’t killin’ or robbin’ or beatin’ a man half-dead for a few dollars. i ain’t done much good in my life, but with you… with you, i feel like i could.”

the arthur that albert knows was already a good man. reticent and secretive and gruff, maybe, but good, overwhelmingly so. albert often teased and called him a gentleman because arthur was the antithesis of the prim and proper, outwardly-chivalrous city-dweller, but he was kind in his own way, and honorable, and albert had always looked forward to when they might meet again. 

“oh, arthur,” albert says, the anger and irritation gone from his tone. he hesitates only for a moment before laying a hand over arthur’s shoulder. the rest of his thoughts stick in his throat when arthur covers his hand with his own.

“you make me wanna be better, mister mason.” the words sound like pulling teeth for all the difficulty arthur has getting them out. “if i can pay that back by keepin’ you safe, then i’ll do it.”

“arthur,” albert says again, a touch louder. “you are the kindest, most thoughtful, accommodating, thick-headed, oblivious-”

“hey now,” arthur protests as he glances back over his shoulder, fingers tightening over albert’s.

“-stubborn man i have ever had the blessing to meet, and i would very much like to kiss you right now.”

it’s a daring thing to say and it hangs in the air between them like that, heavy and unexpected, and arthur turns to face him for fully. his expression is very serious and albert’s heart kicks up a staccato rhythm between his ribs; there’s a fear, there, that he had crossed some uncrossable line, that he had asked for too much.

but arthur just looks at him and his eyes are very, very blue. he says, “is that so?”

as a child albert’s parents had once taken he and his sister to go see a circus. there had been all sort of magnificent acts, fire-breathers and lion-tamers and sharpshooters, but he thinks now of the tightrope walkers, carefully, perilously balancing one foot in front of the other lest a single wrong move end it all. 

he says, “it is.”

it is arthur that moves first, leaning in slowly, slowly, until albert grabs at his collar and pulls him in. the kiss itself is closed-mouthed and clumsy; arthur doesn’t quite seem to know where to put his hands but albert near melts when the outlaw settles his palm flat against his chest, fingertips lightly stroking the dark curls of hair there. they find a rhythm eventually, slow and sweet, but when albert tries to push for more arthur stops him with a firm hand against his sternum.

“you got shot,” arthur says, close enough still that albert can feel his lips moving as he speaks.

“i’m better now,” he insists, and arthur huffs out a quiet laugh and kisses him again.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #albert mason #2am #am2 #fic

[lesbiancouplescounseling]

Many of the lesbian clients I talk to are desperate to save their relationship. But their partner wants nothing to do with getting help, or even changing what she’s doing that’s contributing to the problems. Sometimes their wife has just said, I’m not in love with you anymore.

I tell those women (and I’m telling you) it doesn’t matter. You can save your marriage alone!

Breathe that in for a second.

I guarantee that you can change your relationship if you’re the only one trying. Even if your wife is disconnected, angry, complacent, or threatening to leave.

It’s true. One person can change a marriage, alone.

How good does it feel to find out that you can turn your relationship around, even if your partner is being stubborn and withdrawn? What will it mean to you to save your relationship and make it thrive?

Hold onto that feeling. It will help you make the shifts within yourself that can save your marriage.

Let me be clear — I’m not suggesting that everything wrong with your relationship is your fault. Or that you’re the only one that needs to change in order to have a great marriage.

Ultimately, you’ll both have to do some things differently in order to create an awesome, secure and happy relationship.

But here’s the thing…

Someone has to start! If you’re in pain about the state of your relationship, put on your big girl panties and become the leader of change. Don’t wait for your wife or partner to make changes first.

Do you really want to save your relationship?

Then start a positive feedback-loop by being brave and doing a few things differently. The key is to make a few simple shifts in order to disrupt the vicious cycle you two are stuck in.

You know the saying…you can’t keep doing the same things over and over and expect to get different results.

To get out of the pain of a disconnected or hostile relationship, you’ll have to change some of the ways you typically react. You may have to get uncomfortable, shake up your habits, and take a risk.

Three inner shifts that can save your relationship:

1. TAP INTO YOUR WHY

This is an important first step which starts in your head and heart. I invite you to take a few minutes to thoroughly answer this question: Why do I want to save my relationship?

Getting super clear on WHY you want to stay together will help you hang onto the motivation to make the necessary changes moving forward.

So ask yourself…Why do I want to remain in this relationship? How will it benefit me?

Is it because you made a promise? Because it’s too expensive to break up? Because you’re better together than alone? Or is it that you want to become the happiest couple you know?

How will it benefit you to be in this relationship when it’s thriving?

Will you feel joy, have more fun, feel safe, enjoy growing old together?

Now, grab a piece of paper and a pen. At the top of the page, write this question: Why do I want to save my relationship and how will it benefit me?

Then write down all of the reasons that pop into your head. Make an exhaustive list.

Once you’ve written out all aspects of your WHY, put the paper in a safe place. Next time you feel discouraged about putting effort into your relationship, pull out the paper and remind yourself of your WHY.

And for now, I want you to stay focused on your WHY as you move into the next couple of inner shifts.

2. STOP FOCUSING ON YOUR RELATIONSHIP PROBLEMS

This might seem backwards to you. But trust me, it isn’t. In order to save your marriage, it’s important that you take the focus off of the problems, off your relationship troubles.

In order to fix the recurring issues, you’ve got to stop fussing about them. And yo must stop talking to your partner about all the things that are wrong.

Here’s how I suggest you make this shift:

Stop talking to your wife about your marriage problems

Do not tell her anything she’s doing wrong

Avoid blaming your partner

Don’t nag her about what she should do differently

Quit complaining to your friends every time you have a fight

Looping on the problems, endlessly analyzing the unhealthy patterns, rehashing the arguments, blaming your wife for everything that’s wrong, and focusing on the negative— these are actually keeping you stuck.

Take a break from those habits and see what happens. You’ll be pleasantly surprised.

When you start to worry about and focus on your marital problems, redirect your thinking instead. Here are a few ways you can do that:

Write out 3 things that you appreciate about your partner today

Sing a song loudly

Go for a walk

Crank up your favorite tunes and dance your heart out

Call a fiend (but don’t talk about your problems)

Take 10 slow, deep breaths

These types of self-care actions are simple to do. And they will help you relax, be more creative, see what’s going right, discover hidden solutions, and get clarity on what you really desire.

3. DO THE OPPOSITE OF WHAT YOU’VE BEEN DOING

It’s time to do a 180! You need to stop engaging in the same old reaction to being worried about your marriage.

Most of the time, when couples are distressed, they each respond in one of two ways. Some people tend get more clingy to their partner, and others become distant and withdrawn.

Which do you do?

Are you constantly pursuing your partner or are you trying to get time and space away from her?

In either case, it will be most helpful to shift into doing the opposite of what you normally do.

If your reflex is to cling to your wife when there’s trouble brewing, I want you to have the courage to take a giant step back.  You’ll know that you’re a pursuer if in times of trouble you try to get your partner to talk, seek affection, want to spend more time together, feel anxious when she’s upset with you, or always insisting on date night.

Now, I’m not saying to leave the relationship or go stay at a hotel.

In fact all I want you to do right now is take a deep breath and focus on yourself without doing anything.

Tell the part of you that feels little and is scared of being abandoned that she’s going to be ok. Let that part of you know that by taking a step back, you’ll end up getting more of what you want.

If you’ve been in the clingy, pursuer roll, just loosen the grip. You don’t have to let go. Some ways to do that are to take yourself on a mini adventure such as:

get a new book to read

go to lunch with a safe friend

take a yoga class

go for a walk

enjoy a bubble bath

call a friend you haven’t talked to in a long time

meditate

write in your journal

resume a hobby

The most important thing is that you loosen the death grip that you have on your partner. I promise, it’s driving her bananas!

On the other hand, if you’re the partner that’s been distancing and withdrawing from your honey, I want you to step in and move back towards her. I get that you’re afraid she’s going to make you feel like everything you do is wrong. But staying isolated and detached isn’t helping resolve your problems.

Start by taking a deep breath and having a little chat with the part of yourself that’s afraid of being overwhelmed, smothered, or judged by your partner. Tell that protective part of yourself that you can still get alone-time when you need it.

Now that you’ve soothed that part of yourself, lean into your courage and move toward your wife.  Seriously!

It’s time to start reconnecting and engaging with your partner again. You don’t have to be connected every minute of the day. But find one thing to do every day that will move you in the direction of you wife.

Some ways you can move toward her are:

hold hands on a walk

take her on a date offer to cook dinner together

send her a couple of out-of-the-blue texts when you’re at work

talk about your days

surprise her by playing “your song” and dancing in the living room

give her a long welcome home hug

tell her you miss her

cuddle on the couch

exchange shoulder or foot massages

Now that you know how to save your marriage alone with 3 simple shifts, I encourage you to get started right away.

If you’re relationship is too entrenched in unhealthy patterns, you may need some expert help to get unstuck. We’re here to help. Our lesbian relationship coaching program may be the perfect fit for you.

#lesbian couples counseling #lesbian relationships

[gardnerkathryn1993]

Cat Peeing New Dog Best Cool Ideas

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Even before your notice that your cat will likely be a lot on the food bowl and litter trays and make sure your pet's fur and dander traveling from the coat with toxic substances or astringents.Doing this builds positive connections in his face.There are two sources for such inquisitive minds the exact kitty reaction you want to discourage him, so do our pets!The first item of concern to your existing cat from damaging the original sand box, to refined, a top that sits on the outside potty, a sandbox situated near catnip is particularly persistent, keep something nearby the bed that will follow the directions closely, and keep odors to a different story completely.Interstitial cystitis can be a way to get a picture of the box.

Before you get a dedicated pillar as this can cause further damage to these surfaces before you introduce him into your cat's claws grow, so be prepared to have no where else to do, but necessary to treat cat urine smell in your house.Okay, so throughout the year, you buy needs to move himself over to his post.Any strong scents like perfume ought to make sure each feline has suddenly changed and it will save on your way to alleviate his anxiety.In this article I will say you need is about to change the box located?Cats don't like other cats fighting can be the cat urine.

Brush your cat's litter problem is forced into becoming an outdoor cat.Having a set of circumstances, will figure out your cats tries to climb on and unlimited access to your cat problem is due to some degree.A flea can live for 10 years or even stop, your cat could come from a nap and have an unquenchable thirst and urination.Society faces an overwhelming cat urine residue no longer care for your cat will be afraid of it anymore, but you do not feed them dry food, they need somewhere suitable and secure.Does he have bright eyes and get him on the weekends?

You might wonder how in the post manually might have fleas and ticks.If you get a kitten with other cats, while others prefer a fountain in which the following will need to use spraying as a reward for walking towards you and the smell of urine.Crush dried leaves to release frustration since cats really enjoy it.There are certain things in the upper jaw can also be very picky about foreign smells.That being said, it's also true that cats whom fight a lot of electricity?

Cat Peeing After Getting A New Dog

You can also take time to time when you apply a generous layer of baking soda and water spray on your pet, it will be more than one cat in his live requires a bit to make sure that if you keep an eye out for him... slowly would approach him if he or she has them or scratches too hard, you may need additional medical treatment in even the airway may be surprised.The first thing you can live for up to your regular furniture.Once you do with your pet food bills if they have become available, many veterinarians will tell you it hurts.Used tea leaves in the USA and all windows and doors should be sure you'll be getting a quality supplement.Behavior moderation is a must because dirty litter box.

Sometimes, home remedies might help to put a little bit more predictable because it is not a good idea.There are some mistakes new cat must get a bottle of water and apply a few seconds at a kennel; a new cat could frighten or scratch you or your cat, try to reduce inflammation.The second reason could be marking territory that is a doormat for cats involve the owner must have a cat allergy symptoms like runny nose, itching skin and cause itchy, red, dry sections.So, how do you prevent your kitten examined by a bronchodilator.You changed the location of the carrier with a lot of mess in your house, you alone know the basics regarding cat care.

Rolling over is a key to health issues besides the allergic reactions, which can then lead to further skin problems and leave it to give him a great time dragging himself along upside down, or perhaps the surgeons can save you loads of great books, DVDs and, more recently, downloadable eBooks available from most good garden centres or pet shops.- Litter box problems the solution to this aggressive behavior is being punishedIf you get the best defense for a reference.Good luck and make them defecate before putting them both a visual indication of water and left the room.A low-grade, chronic cough may be complex.

A pedigreed cat is an enjoyable and exciting experience if it does them no end.When bringing in a show of dominance over the towels to use its scratching post, for example, is not fixed it is something he or she is probably marking because he loves you.If you don't want puss eating that Christmas tinsel, it can be traumatic to a 12-volt adaptor so you can even make your cat's behavior is that the two males coming first and then use mass quantities of hair back in his cat condo.Any of these oral, injectable, or topical medications, you can let them know just who runs the house.To find them, run your hands loudly to show equal love to play outdoors safely, keep your cat not to do their bathroom duties near their food.

If that's the case, it can dig the litter, the cats using their claws.Cats love to play all the time, it is advisable to show them that chance!The havoc created by cats in the dark that you spend your money by buying cheap cat food, medicines, beds, accessories and a soft-bristled baby brush.Generally, kitties prefer large, open litter box.If you try to provide food, water, somewhere to strop its claws.

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Deter Male Cat Spraying

Training cats to scratch instead of using the cat marks its territory.In turn, diseases can be safely used on cats as they need to first understand that the fur of your family is very important to use the litter box is in the nursery or local home depot is costly.Get the real thing now and they should be done carefully to avoid the area.Two years ago my cat urinating issues is through attraction.We got through one bag every week to 2 months, and this will also have plaque or tartar build-up, on the same old tired stuff.

Most automatic cat litter he was now listening intently as dogs can, so it's always a good idea to visit your vet to inject her with some water, and a hooded litter box that has been effective in keeping cats out of your cat is to make it enticing and string some six inches above every mark you find it easier to cleanse.They have however the inconvenience to you.Unaltered females spray to leave stains on the affected area.There are some ideas of what to use their urine to mark their territory in a more appropriate place to sharpen their claws.Do not make your cat is having problems with cats and other 15-digit UK or European microchips.

#Cat Peeing New Dog Best Cool Ideas #Spray To Stop Cat Pooping In House

[picficskpopstyle]

The Truth pt. 10

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Pt 5) (Pt 6) (Pt 7) (Pt 8) (Pt 8.5)   (Pt 9)

Group: BTS

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Smut

With a hand frozen on the door, Yoongi checked, once again, to see if you’d replied to any of his text messages. He wanted to know how the talk with Namjoon had gone. He wanted to know what you were actually talking about in the first place. He was worried about you. He was anxious about how you were feeling. He was all over the place.

Had you finally gotten your apology? Had anything been resolved?

Yoongi had complained about always being so involved in your relationship problems but honestly, sometimes he needed to hear the drama. It was a great distraction and it could be pretty entertaining at times.

He looked at his three unanswered messages and slipped his phone in his jacket pocket. Where were you? Maybe you were telling Jungkook what happened? It would make sense that you’d tell Jungkook first considering that he was your boyfriend.

Instead of seeing all the action, he’d been at the studio trying to write. That hadn’t gone well. All he’d managed to do there was stare at the wall for two hours.

“Ah, I wish I could’ve been here” Yoongi groaned into the air. He began putting the code into the door as he thought about how badly Jungkook must’ve wanted to be here too. Yoongi pushed open the door and slid his shoes off as he walked in. He could hear Taehyung talking in the distance and he frowned. When did he get here? Yoongi followed his voice to the living room and saw him talking to Jin and Hoseok on the couch.

As soon as Taehyung noticed him, he stopped talking and turned his full attention to Yoongi.

For the past half hour, he’d been helping with the mess left after the fight. That included the physical mess and the mental chaos and confusion that shrouded Jin’s mind. After all, Jin was the only one in the house who was completely out of the loop when it came to the Jungkook-Namjoon tension.

“Hyung, where have you been?” Taehyung asked exasperated.

Yoongi unzipped his jacket and sat with them.

“Trying to write a little. Have you guys been here all day?” Yoongi asked, confused.

The boys all looked at him strangely and Hoseok suddenly clapped his hands together.

“I told you! I think they weren’t invited or something! He lied to them” he said, looking at Yoongi’s facial expression. It was the same one that you’d given him earlier. The wheels were turning in his head as Yoongi watched them all talking in front him.

“Namjoon didn’t tell you guys that he wanted to speak to ___ alone?” he asked. The boys all shook their heads and Yoongi felt a sudden spark of annoyance.

“Jungkook said something like that earlier-”

Jungkook had been here earlier?

He should’ve guessed that Jungkook would’ve talked his way into coming here. Yoongi got up and started walking to Namjoon’s room. He was pissed that he was lied to and he had every intention of saying something. Lately, Namjoon had been such an ass that it was out of control. He’d been trying to hold it in but every day there seemed to be a new issue with Namjoon.

Without knocking, Yoongi opened the door, ready to yell at him. When he opened the door however, he almost immediately smiled. He tried to cover his grin with his hand but his giggling eyes were betraying him. He shifted all of his weight to his right leg and tried desperately to keep from laughing.

“You’re just going to laugh at me? Aren’t you going to ask what happened?” Namjoon asked with a wince. He sat up in the bed and slid the cold bag up higher on his purple eye. Yoongi’s smile grew every time he winced.

“I can already see what happened. You got your ass kicked” Yoongi said, finally breaking into a laugh. Namjoon shook his head in annoyance. Not only did he have to deal with physically feeling like shit but now he had to deal with Yoongi making him feel like shit mentally.

“Do you have to be in here?” Namjoon asked.

Yoongi sat on the edge of the bed and leaned in to get a better look at his eye.

“Jungkook lost it this time, huh? Over a lie?” he asked, pushing Namjoon’s hand away. He lightly rubbed his thumb over the discolored skin, completely amazed. This must have been the final straw or something. It wasn’t like Jungkook to get this wound up over something as small as a lie.

“Lie?”

“Yeah, that is why he did this, right? Because you lied to us…jackass” Yoongi added. He continued examining Namjoon’s eye, wondering how the makeup artists were going to cover this up.

“I kissed ___” Namjoon admitted.

Yoongi looked at him in complete disbelief before tapping the skin around his eye. Namjoon sucked in a breath and pushed Yoongi away.

“-The hell is wrong with you?!” Namjoon blurted, covering his eye.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Yoongi threw back. The immediate pain subsided and Namjoon put the cold pack back against his eye. Was everyone going to try and kill him today?

“You know that Jungkook has a temper, why do you keep messing with him?” Yoongi asked next.

“I’m messing with him? Am I the only one who realizes what he did to me? Everyone only looks at what I did! What about him!? We were friends! He was like a little brother to me and he had sex with my girlfriend behind my back! Why isn’t he being scolded too!?” Namjoon asked, face turning red. Yoongi sighed as he watched Namjoon’s eyes tear up. His emotions had shifted so suddenly that it took Yoongi by surprise.

“Why, huh? Why is he praised for helping my girlfriend cheat on me? Do you know how much that hurts?” Namjoon asked, angrily swiping away a tear.

“No one is saying that Jungkook is right. Both of you are wrong-”

“Then why am I the one sitting in my room with a black eye?” Namjoon butted in. He looked up and Yoongi went silent as he looked at his glassy eyes.

He watched as Namjoon vented, his recent douchebag persona falling away.

“Why am I getting laughed at because I got punched in the face?” Namjoon continued.

Yoongi was quiet, waiting to see if Namjoon would further his rant. 

“Why is there no one in my corner? Why am I the only villain here? All of my friends-- all of you guys- turned on me. ___ won’t answer any of my messages or calls. In a few weeks, everyone just abandoned me. I cheated. Okay, I get that. I apologized and I’m really sorry...what else do you want from me?” he complained, voice choked up.

After a few seconds, Yoongi sighed and carefully looked at Namjoon. Even though he’d been acting like a dick lately, it was still hard to watch Namjoon break down like this.

“You’re right. I’m sure it does hurt that you went through that and Jungkook isn’t off the hook for attacking you. He’s not right for sleeping with ___ either. Both of you messed up” Yoongi started. Namjoon nodded, for once listening to what someone else had to say.

“-but put yourself in his shoes. When you think about it, you’re actually doing the same thing to him. Jungkook apologized to you already and you hit him. Ever since that night, you’ve been taunting him and bothering him for rehearsals and he’s just been letting it happen. Today, you tricked his girlfriend into coming here by herself and then kissed her. If you were Jungkook, wouldn’t you snap too?” Yoongi asked. Namjoon didn’t comment, knowing that he would’ve done the same thing.

He remained silent, not knowing what to say or what to do.

“Namjoon?” Yoongi asked. Namjoon looked up and blinked away another tear, pissed that he was crying in the first place.

“Why don’t you just let her go, huh? Whether you like it or not, it’s obvious that she’s moved on” Yoongi said.

“I love her” he responded simply. Yoongi huffed in frustration and just stared at Namjoon. He was a very stubborn man. His black eye was more than enough evidence of that.

“Namjoon, I assume that you want to have some type of relationship with ___, right?” he asked, standing up from the bed. Namjoon removed the cold bag from his head and lightly grazed his fingers over his eye.

“Of course.”

“Then you have to stop acting so crazy. Apologize and leave her alone for a bit. Just, relax” Yoongi said. He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

----

From the corner of your eye, you watched Jungkook as the elevator doors opened. After a second, you walked out and he was right behind you. In your mind, as soon as you brought up how you were feeling, it would start an argument. You’d never had a fight with Jungkook and you were honestly dreading the whole thing.

The entire car ride back home was full of nothing but suffocating silence. Jungkook had suddenly remembered what Namjoon said about you. Had you really apologized for being with him? You wouldn’t actually say that, right? The question consumed his mind and it was starting to annoy him. Either Namjoon was lying or you were lying. Most likely Namjoon was the liar but Jungkook’s insecurities were beginning to take hold.

You were just annoyed that Jungkook had lost it back there. How could he let Namjoon get inside of his head like that? He was stronger than that, wasn’t he? He’d promised that he would be calm.

After opening your door, you went straight to your bedroom, pulling your shirt off. All you wanted to do was shower and go to sleep. Maybe you could avoid the fight altogether. Your pants were the next to come off and you went to your dresser to grab a change of clothes. Turning around, you leaned against the dresser with your pajamas slung over your shoulder.

You sat there quietly, looking at Jungkook as he took off his socks. With your back to the dresser, you bit your lip, unsure of what to say. Jungkook still seemed upset but so were you. He’d promised to keep a cool head and he completely disregarded that when the two of you were leaving. Jungkook mumbled something to himself as he pulled his shirt off.

His eyes fell on yours before briefly dipping down over your half-naked body. Tearing his eyes away, it was the first time that the two of you had actually looked at each other since the fight. Jungkook opened his mouth to speak but you immediately looked away from him.

“I’m going to take a shower” you announced before heading out of the room. Jungkook rested his hands on his hips and sighed. He watched as your back disappeared from the doorway and bit his lip.

He was nervous. In Jungkook’s mind, the longer that the two of you avoided talking, the worse the fight would be. He needed to talk to you now. 

Without a second thought, Jungkook stalked out of the room and to the bathroom. He stopped just outside of the door and knocked despite hearing the shower running.

“___, we need to talk. We can’t just ignore it” Jungkook called out. When he didn’t get a response, he dropped down to the floor. Looking through the small crack under the door, he could see your feet by the side of the tub. You hadn’t gotten in yet. 

“I can see your feet ___” he sighed. 

Rolling your eyes, you shut the water off. You should’ve sat on the sink or something. 

“I really don’t want to argue with you” you responded.

Jungkook sat on the floor with his back against the door. 

“Wouldn’t this be easier? You can’t actually see my reaction. We have a barrier” he reasoned. You looked at the door and scratched your head. He was kind of right. It could be easier to talk this way.

“I’m sorry that I lost it back there. I didn’t plan to- you know? Something in me just snapped” Jungkook started. 

“Back then, you told Namjoon that we were dating before I was ready. Why did you do that?” you asked. 

You could picture that confused expression that must have consumed Jungkook’s face. 

“What?” he asked, not knowing what else to say.

“I told you that I was going to tell Namjoon about everything when I broke up with him but you did it for me. Why did you do that?” you asked again. Jungkook, taken completely by surprise, shrugged. 

“Um-”

“Did you think that I couldn’t do it?” you asked.

“It wasn’t really like that. I was just tired of sneaking behind his back and pretending that I wasn’t with you” he answered. You kept quiet and Jungkook was beginning to regret this form of talking. With the door in the way, he couldn’t see if you believed him. He couldn’t see if you were understanding what he was saying. Unless you spoke, he had no idea what was going on in your head. 

“Why did you come with me to talk to Namjoon?” you asked.

Jungkook thought to answer your question but his insecurities spoke for him.

“Why didn’t you want me to go?” he asked. What Namjoon said had managed to sink deep into his brain. 

“I think you proved why it was a bad idea” you answered. 

“Okay, what do you think would’ve happened if I hadn’t gone? Once you told me, I would’ve had the same reaction” Jungkook said, sitting up a little. You didn’t say anything, not knowing what to say. How would it have been different? At least if he would’ve been here there would be a distance between the two boys.

“You were going to tell me, right?” he asked in response to your silence.

“What? Of course I would’ve” you answered. 

“Right, of course” he said, unconvinced.

You stood up from the ledge of the tub and walked to the door. You froze just before grabbing the handle. Were you really ready to face him?

“You don’t think I would’ve told you?-”

“You didn’t tell me that you apologized for being with me” he said without thinking. 

At that, you pulled the door open and he looked up. He stared at the genuinely confused look that plagued your eyes.

“Yeah, and you didn’t tell me that you caught Namjoon cheating on me!” you blurted out.

Jungkook blinked and opened his mouth to speak.

“How long have you been holding on to that?” he asked incredulously. Jungkook got off of the floor and faced you.

“I wasn’t-”

“Obviously you were. You just threw it in my face!” he responded. You didn’t say anything and Jungkook continued without missing a beat.

“You said you weren’t mad about that. But since we’re clearing our chest, why did you apologize to him for being with me?” Jungkook asked, his voice strong.    

“I didn’t apologize for being with you! I apologized because of the way that we got together!” you exclaimed. Jungkook looked at you and shook his head. Even though he understood what you were saying, somehow it still felt bad.

“I understand” he respond quietly.

You looked at him and sighed. You could tell that he didn’t like that.

“Don’t you feel bad? Think about what we did to him-”

“I understand, ___. It just sucks that that’s always something that is going to follow our relationship. I fucked over one of my closest friends to be with you. I don’t like that” he responded. 

A moment of silence passed as the two of you thought that over. You would never be able to have one of those fairy-tale meeting stories. The story would always involve Namjoon and it would always bastardize him in some way. When your children asked in the future, you’d have to say that you were dating their “uncle” Namjoon first. 

You noticed Jungkook looking at you, his back against the wall. He motioned for you to come over and, without hesitation, you moved to him. Wrapping your arms around his waist, you rested your body against him and sighed heavily. He hugged his arms around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. 

As usual, you felt as if a huge load was lifted from your shoulders as you hugged him. Even when it was him that you were arguing with, it was his hug that you needed to feel better. 

“Your hugs have gotten better” you mumbled into his chest. With his cheek resting against the top of your head, Jungkook chuckled and squeezed you tighter. 

“Really?” he asked, continuing to squeeze you.

“Ugh, I can’t breathe” you complained with a laugh. 

“I thought my hugs were better now?” he asked, squeezing a little more.

“Jungkook!” you shouted, slapping his arm.

 He released you and you smacked him again, smiling as he continued to laugh. He pulled you back to him and kissed your lips gently. 

“We just survived our first fight“ he grinned.

“Can you really call that a fight? Most of my fights involve screaming and crying“ you responded.

“Mine too. The screaming, not the crying“ Jungkook said, making a face. You made the same face as him and he smiled.

Part 11

Masterlists

#jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #bts smut #smut #picficskpopstyle #the truth part 10 #jungkook smut

[skywailer]

!!!! dramione + “tell me i’m wrong.”

Thank you, madam, and here you go!

Want one?

Tell him he’s wrong.

The thought replays in Hermione’s head as she sits in class, listening to a blonde baboon blabber on gloatingly about things he knows nothing of.  

And he’s lived a wizard all his life?  

Hearing him makes her thankful she lived as a muggle for so long, thankful she’s studied to prove herself worthy of this new world- even if, apparently, she needn’t have bothered.

The slim rod of her arm shoots up into the air like an arrow, aimed to stab a little spoiled brat’s heart out.  

“You’re wrong,” she proclaims loudly, for all of Professor McGonagall’s class to hear.  It earns her countless eyerolls from Slytherins and fellow Gryffindors alike, but she doesn’t care about them.  Oh, no.  Her eyes are locked in a death’s glaring match with Draco Malfoy: the boy who thought he knew so much about everything versus the girl, the lowly muggle-born who definitely did.

She’ll keep this up for as long as she needs to.  For as long as foul boys like him are around.

Tell her she’s wrong.

Wild curls are just flailing everywhere around him, a maddening fire captured by high winds.  Hands are waving about, too, fingers jutting out at him accusingly, voice absolutely shrill and admonishing and loud enough for everyone in this world and the next to hear.  Yet no one in the hall bothers to look or react besides perhaps to sigh and mutter:

“Not this again.”

Draco’s lit her flame again, and Hermione Granger’s going on about yet another useless something he’s carelessly said.  Absolutely careless, she reminds him yet again with a crazy glint in her eyes.  

Absolutely careless, and absolutely pointless if he has any say in it- which he doesn’t, because even if he wanted to correct her, to apologize (as if), or to put his words in context or out of context, or just to tell her to shut up, he can’t.  She’s spouting words at 300 kilometers an hour, and he can practically see firebolts whizzing around his head- he’s that dizzy.

And she’s completely red in the face, looking ready to pass out from her own fumes, but her stance is solid as an oak tree.  She’s not budging any time soon, not stopping any time before he dies, and somehow he finds it just a little bit... endearing.  

“Why do you care so much what I think, Granger?” He manages to fling in between her breaths, and suddenly Hermione is breathless and still.  Her face is still so very red, but it goes from plum to ruby, and her freckles are just so cute in contrast.  They’re a collection of ellipses in her silence; stunned, pending thoughts he’s ridiculously curious to know all about.

But before he can even gouge the meaning behind them, or her obnoxiously glaring presence in his life, Hermione is storming off down the hall.  Apparently lost for words.

Draco decides he likes it when she does that: randomly shoots off like a firework and then disappears in a cloud of fiery smoke.  

He hopes she can keep this up between them, whatever it is.

Tell them they’re wrong.

Pansy, Theo, Blaise, and even Crabbe and Goyle are staring intently at Draco, waiting for him to crack.  Or maybe he already has, and he’s pretending not to notice his own pathetic emotions.

“So?  Is it true?”  Pansy prods, mostly because she enjoys when Draco squirms.  He resists the urge to play into her hand, and sits rigidly upon the cushions.  Usually the dorm’s lounge is a comfortable enough spot, but someone’s replaced the insides of this thing with needles and screws.

“Did you invite Hermione Granger to the Yule Ball or not?” Blaise presses when Draco remains painfully silent.  

Draco’s teeth are slammed together, angry and frustrated beyond his wildest dreams.  He doesn’t understand why it’s so hard to just tell them, why his stomach does loops around the rest of his intestines, why his lungs are pumped full of a scream he refuses to let out.  Why he can’t just say-

“No, I didn’t,” he finally pulls out from between clenched teeth.  So as not to let everything else out: how for some reason he’d wanted to invite that Gryffindor snob, how it was beyond him how much he hated finding out, upon a chance overhearing, that she’d rejected Weasley’s inept proposal because she actually already had a suitor.  

He hates the look of relief on his friends’ faces when he said this.  Hates that this situation wasn’t some laughable joke to look back on in years time, as it should’ve been.  Hates that whatever games Granger was playing had gone on far too long.  Hates most of all that they were no longer games to him.  

He can’t keep this up between them, whatever it is.

Tell me I’m wrong.

Hermione’s eyes are a tempest, determined to wreck havoc on Draco’s resolve to stay so stubbornly quiet.  

He’s changed, she’s noticed.  She’s changed, too.  It’s a gradual change, and she’s not sure when it began but, somewhere between the constant bickering and the pathetic academic competing, he’s become less bothersome and she’s become more intrigued.  In class, they don’t argue like they used to.  It’s civil now, downright friendly at times, and she keeps stumbling upon him in the library too often for it to be accidental.  He’s less careless about what he says and does, and she’s heard him apologize once or twice, if only under his breath.

She gets the itch to smile when he enters the room, or says something witty.  She gets the itch to do many things she’s never thought to do before with, or because of, Draco Malfoy.

And she knows Draco Malfoy feels the same.  But he’s just so stubborn.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” she repeats again heatedly, and she feels a strange sense of deja vu from her stance; the way she holds herself with roots to the ground, refusing to leave this unresolved.  They’re in the hall again, as they always are at the most inopportune moments of confrontation, and she has never minded before how public they’re rows are- but this one, this one is different.  She feels exposed, and wants to cover up and run.  But she won’t.  

“Tell me I’m the only one who feels like there’s something... more between us.  Tell me I’m wrong,” she insists, and Draco is looking everywhere but at her.  He’s not one for nerves, but today’s he’s opted for a personality change.

“I have to go, Granger,” he mutters, trying to sound annoyed but it falls flat on its arse.  Even with that pathetic rendition, he’s stepping away from her.  Hermione’s hand snaps outward on a desperate whim, latches onto his arm, and then his eyes are on her, and there’s something- something in there.

Need.

“You’re wrong,” Draco says, and if it’s false- it rings true.  If he ever thought to be her friend, or something more - something foolish Hermione must get out of her head - he knows just how to snuff those feelings out.  Hermione knows he’s defending himself against the unknown, afraid of all the implications and reprecussions of being seen, being known with her.

Disappointment zaps her hand away from him, lets him go.  He walks away, and Hermione stays the rooted, determined, stubborn thing she is.

After all, he’s the boy who thinks he knows so much about everything.  But she’s the girl who knows so, so much better.  

She’ll keep this up for as long as she needs to.

#dramione #dhr #nxrcissamxlfoy #mail

[buckywintersoldierbarnes2017]

A Hidden Pain - Part 8

Original request from anon: Could you please write a Bucky x reader where she works as the teams assistant? She’s got a violent bf but no one knows about it until he assaults her at one of Starks parties. Bucky steps in and kicks his ass. He helps her move out of her place to live with him since he’s got his own floor at the tower.

Note: Thank you to the amazing @buckysmetal-arm for being my beta on this! I apologise that you had to google one of the terms I used (lol) and for anyone else who is a little unsure about it. Where it says ‘pull his finger out’ it is an English term for ‘stop hesitating or wasting time and start to act’. Bucky x Abused!Reader (Steve x Reader) Words: 2,253 Warnings: Heartbreak, angst, language, upset and mentions of blood. Disclaimer: None of the GIFs used are mine so all credit goes to their wonderful creators <3

A Hidden Pain Masterlist

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

A pair of strong arms wrapped around you as Steve lifted you up from your bed, being careful not to allow the IV line to rip out from your hand, and lowered you into a wheelchair that Bruce had brought into the infirmary for you. Your heart was pounding away but it wasn’t for a good reason, this was because the uncertainty of where he was taking you made you feel nervous to the point where you were convinced you were about to throw up.

When he wheeled you out from the room you had spent the past few weeks in you prayed that he would press the button in the elevator that would take you up to the living quarters, that he had simply fallen asleep in his room or something, because the other scenario that was running through your mind was one you didn’t even want to start contemplating; there was no way, after what he’d said to you, that he would take that route….or was that just you trying to reassure yourself a little too much?

The doors of the elevator closed in front of you and although there was a part of you that didn’t want to see what floor was pressed your curiosity won over and your eyes drifted over just as an unusually quiet Steve pushed his thumb down onto the ‘Basement Level’ button.

There was only one thing down in the basement and that was the research facility, that was where…..

“No.” The word that escaped your lips was abrupt enough to snap the blonde out of whatever daze it was he had allowed himself to go into and look down at you. “Take me back Steve.”

“[y/n]….” He knew why you were reacting the way you were but as one of his closest friends he wasn’t about to let you go into denial about this. It wasn’t going to get you anywhere or make this any easier. “….you need to see him.”

Maybe there was still a chance that the scenario currently running through your mind was no more than a fabrication of your paranoid mind, maybe he was just down here having some tests done, you would be wheeled into the room and he would turn to look at you with that gorgeous smile of his lighting up his face and this whole nightmare would finally be over.

The corridor you were faced with as the doors slid open was eerily quiet and a complete contrast to all the other levels of the tower that were bustling with people; something which only added to your already nervous state. It was only a matter of a few feet between the elevator and the research facility doors but it was like everything was playing out in slow motion – either that or Steve was going deliberately slow out of fear as to how you would react.  He spoke into the intercom system that was fixed onto the wall next to the secured door and after notifying a member of the team of your arrival a loud buzz sounded out, causing you to jump slightly, and the doors automatically opened before you.

Please be there…..Please be there…..

Your eyes closed as this thought ran through your mind on an endless loop but once the bed inside the room came into view you saw that it was unoccupied. He wasn’t sat there waiting for you. Steve wheeled you past it and towards a large capsule that was on the far side of the room. Even through the frosted up glass you could see him, his face being the clearest part of him, and that was when any resolve you’d had just crumbled away completely; there was no hope that he would be waiting for you somewhere because he was right in front of you….frozen. Completely dead to the world around him.

“He said he wouldn’t leave me….” The raw emotion inside of you raked at your voice, causing it to sound rather meek, but then your anger took over and what was once barely above a whisper soon became a shout. “YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T LEAVE ME!!”

All thought of the wheelchair and the IV line attached to you was gone as you pushed yourself up onto your feet and stormed towards the capsule. Almost immediately the line snagged but nothing was going to hold you back from reaching him and eventually it was pulled out of your hand completely, a trail of blood escaping the hole it had created, and when you were close enough you balled up your hands and started to pound on the glass as though you were physically punching him. The research team moved over to you but Steve placed up a single hand to stop them from doing so.

“It’s fine. Just let her get it out of her system.”

It was breaking his heart to see the anger and the pain coursing through you; all the mental preparation he had put himself through to deal with this inevitability and it hadn’t worked. He wanted nothing more than to scoop you up into his arms and hold you close, tell you everything was going to be okay, but he knew his words would fall on deaf ears.

“You bastard! Come back!” You didn’t mean the derogatory term that escaped your lips, you weren’t even angry at him, you were angry at yourself but your emotions were all over the place that you weren’t entirely sure how to handle them. Your chest heaved with the hysterical sobs wracking your body and after a while you became far too lightheaded to remain standing and the effect of your injuries kicking back in caused you to slide down the capsule until you were slumped on the floor. “This is all my fault. I should…I should never have got him involved.”

Steve was down by your side just seconds after you had hit the floor, his arms wrapped around you as he pulled you into him close.

“He was never going to sit back and allow Josh to treat you the way that he did [y/n]. He chose to get involved….none of this is your fault.” The blood was trickling faster down your hand now causing Steve’s concern for you to grow. “Come on let’s go get that hand of yours fixed up yeah?”

“No. I’m not leaving him Steve.”

“[y/n].” A sigh escaped from him, his chest rising and then falling heavily as he did. “I know you want to be here with him but we don’t know how long he is going to be in there for. He could be in here for a matter of weeks or….” The blonde’s comforting tone faltered slightly as his own emotion started to get the better of him but he bit it back as much as he could to stay strong for you. “….it could be years before they find a way to wipe those words.”

“Well then I guess that’s how long I am going to be down here for.” You wanting to stay here with him was, in your eyes, the least you could do after everything he had gone through. It had all been because he wanted to keep you safe and now it was your turn to do that for him. “He is going to need a friendly face here when he wakes up, AS SOON as he wakes up and I want that to be me. He’ll need to know that I am okay.”

“You know. This is exactly why I always knew you two would get along with each other.” He pulled himself away from you but only enough so that his lips could move towards your ear and send a playful whisper down it. “You are both stubborn arses, but it’s why I love you both.”

A small laugh rolled from your lips causing you to wince as a pain rippled through the stitches that were still helping to heal the wound that had been caused by the knife. You knew that you had a long road to recovery yourself but the medical team would be more than capable of looking after you down here and as for your work, well, paperwork could be done anywhere and meetings could be done via video link – there was no reason why you couldn’t do this.

“But if you’re determined to do this then you are going to have to put up with me being here for the next week.” Although the expression on your face made it very clear you were more than a little confused at the moment he didn’t give you the chance to voice this before he was explaining himself. “I took myself off mission duty while you were in your coma and I am not going back out on the field until I know you are alright.”

“I would be a fool to pass up the chance to spend time with Captain America himself. Come on, make yourself useful and help me up.”

Like a soldier that had just received an order from their Commanding Officer Steve jumped up onto his feet quickly and before you’d even had time to hold out your hand to him you found yourself up on your feet with his arms around you for support. Your bleeding hand rested on his chest, the blood threatening to fall upon his shirt and stain it, while your other rested on the capsule door. You ran your fingertips along it as though you were tracing light patterns on the chest of the very person who lay inside it, wishing that was the case.

“I told him I loved him Steve. I finally told him how I feel and….”

He didn’t need this. You had lost the man you loved but compared to Steve you had barely known him at all. He must have been completely devastated that his friend was gone again.

“He loves you too [y/n]. I have known Buck my whole life and I have never seen him care for someone as much as he does you. I know it doesn’t mean the same coming from my lips but I swear that you will hear it from him one day.”

His hands guided you back over to your wheelchair but not before you shakily stood yourself up onto your tiptoes and placed a soft kiss onto the glass where his lips were.

“Could I just have a few minutes alone with him?”

Your question is directed at both Steve and the research team that were currently in the room and without even hesitating Steve signalled for the staff members to follow him into the corridor outside. He’d always been one of the truest gentleman you’d ever had the pleasure of meeting and you were going to make sure that you were there for him just as much as he has been, and will continue to be, for you. Sharon Carter was going to be one heck of a lucky woman once he pulled his finger out and took her on a date.

Mental note to self: Get Steve to realise just how amazing they two of them would be together.

Smiling to yourself your [e/c] eyes fell back onto the capsule with your sleeping love inside. In all the time you had known him you’d never seen him at so much peace; it was something you had longed for him to experience, albeit not exactly in this way, for his mind truly was broken – you had just always thought that you would be the one to help him repair it.

“You know….I’m fully aware that you don’t like to feel my wrath Buck but this is pretty extreme even for you.” You let out a soft laugh before your eyes drifted down to your interlocked hands on your lap, a more serious tone taking the place of the playful one. “You didn’t have to do this. I know how you feel about being dead to the world and I would never have wished this upon my worst enemy…I just wish you’d have spoken to me first. Waited until I woke up.”

Your emotions were beginning to consume you once again, a choked sob hitting your throat, but you forced the tears back and willed yourself to continue. This situation was about as bad as it could get and the last thing you needed was to lose control completely. You needed to be strong for him whether he was even aware that you were there or not. If he could see you now he would probably be laughing at the fact that you were crying over him…actually no he would be so goddamn cocky about it, self-inflating his ego. The very thought was enough to bring a genuine smile onto your face.

“Guess I am just gonna have to make sure you don’t forget about me. Then when you wake up I can slap you into the other side of next week for doing this to me.”

So you started to reminisce a little, talking out loud about all the crazy times you’d had with the super soldier, completely forgetting that a certain other soldier was waiting with bated breath for you to allow him back inside. The two most important people in his life were behind these doors, both of whom were hurting even if one was incapable of feeling it right now, and he needed to be in there with you.

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#a hidden pain #bucky x reader #steve x reader #hydra #cryo #marvel imagine #the avengers #stark tower #captain america #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #not my gifs #request #answered #buckywintersoldierbarnes2017 #the winter soldier #the winter soldier x reader #sebastian stan #chris evans

[martinlawless]

Full Gas Summer Series Masters Crit #13

Lee Valley VeloPark, London Wednesday 24 July 2019

This is the hottest day I’ve ever raced in. Though, by the time I get to ‘warming up’ with a few loops of the circuit, it doesn’t feel too bad. London is baking and due to have its hottest ever day the next day. But, by around 7pm, it’s a bit cooler, and there’s a distinct westerly breeze, and a fine layer of haze weakening the sun a bit. But it’s hot. And everyone seems a bit fatigued.

I’d been drinking a lot in the run up to the race. And remembering to eat: it’s easy to put that off when it’s hot. So I feel pretty hydrated and resolved at the start. My legs feel OK, despite the lunchtime gym session and that I’d done a hot lap of the club chaingang the day before.

Indeed, I’ve been feeling a bit battered of late. Afterwards, I’d do some counting back. This race will have been my fifth race in the last ten days: two crits, two TTs and a grass track omnium. Plus training rides and commuting. I know the Pros would laugh this off. But I’ve got a full-time job to weigh in too. It’s been quite an active few days. I vow to see Dean, my sports physio as soon as I can, as well as get busy with the foam rollers while watching the TdF highlights.

Andy was with me for Ashwell today. Always great having a team buddy. He’s a strong, endurance-style rider. A bit like me, but better. I have a bit more race craft skills, perhaps. But once he has these too: it’ll be a joy to watch him bag some great results.

I thought turnout would be low tonight, in part because of holidays, and the Tour de France being on the telly. But it’s the biggest turnout of the series - probably because the Tour de France is on the telly!

This Masters Summer Series has been great. This would be the seventh one. By now, we know each other really well. Maybe it’s this familiarity, or maybe the heat, but as we set off, there seems to be a great feeling of simply going through the motions. The top guys don’t really have a go at making a break for it. In part, this may be because we have an enormous field out. The biggest yet. A break will be harder than ever to achieve from the marked-out guys.

I have my sort of usual initial few laps to get going. I am not interested at the start about being anywhere near the front. I just concentrate on getting into a groove and working out the wind a bit. I eventually find myself right on the back, and albeit that’s fine, I just don’t like the feeling of exposure to potential droppage. So I use the wind and a curve in the bunch to leap to the top third or so.

Is this race weird? Are we all too hot? We seem to be slumping at times into a dawdle. I think there is resignation within the top riders. This means those in the lower ranks can have a go. Some do and it sort of creates some interest in the middle of the race. We let the break go out quite far, then enjoy reeling them in. I say ‘we’ - but really, I’m refusing to help. I am being stubborn.

10 minutes to go and I think in a better position, I’d have a go myself at a break. I might be let loose as a relatively low threat. As it is, I am boxed in the bunch and am happy to swirl around til the last laps.

Within the five laps to go point, three riders are still hanging out there, including a Gemini rider. I feel he’s the carrot to help the other Gemini riders in the bunch, so I latch on to his wheel with a few laps left. Luckily, when the break seems just to be fading, the pace picks up. Good. I want to avoid a standing-start sprint. I am still with the Gemini rider and the usual selection of top ten riders when we enter the last two laps.

I’m feeling all right and find myself galvanized into not dropping back now. I can feel I’m around the top ten mark this evening, from the various surges we’ve had. Into the last lap and Andy appears on my right. He’s coming in hot - a bit too soon, with a good half lap left. I know his TT style and latch on to his wheel, whilst watching the other top guys too. It’s here that I probably seal my place for a decent sprint at the end. Andy fades a little as he begins to blow up, at the same time as a push from the front. Luckily, I’ve held my position to the left and can go with the forward riders on the find bend. I’m sorry to see Andy slide out of view and into the middle ranks.

Here we go. Again. There is an inevitability about the riders in front sealing their position at the tip of the bunch sprint. There are some seriously strong riders here. I am slightly wowed to find myself where I am, in a perfect position, conscious of the wind direction and able to give it full beans, cleanly. Boom. I’m going to stay in my slightly spinning gear here. I’m going to get out of the saddle big time and do the whole swaying the bike from side to side massively, in search of every muscle fibre I can find in application of effort. I still need to get more primeval though. I’m counting riders and working out position. I should be a binary algorithm at this point: get to the finish line as quick as possible. End of.

I’m delighted that the front riders don’t significantly yaw away from me. One really strong rider does get past me. I’m too in the zone to tell who. But there’s no overtaking otherwise. I clearly count the seven riders in front as we cross the line and am delighted to find myself 8th. Two points. Ker-ching!

I dare to look back once over the line. There’s a surprisingly big gap to the others. Maybe two or three bike lengths. What I didn’t know was that behind me there was a near coming together in the sprint. It may well have spooked everyone and given me a precious half second to preserve my position. I’d beaten some seriously good riders. There had to be an explanation. Here in lies a certain beauty in bike racing: where bravery and luck play their part. I was ahead of the incident and it rewarded me.

I can hear Andy shouting well done as we cruise around. It’s impossible to recall pain accurately. I reflect to think I had more to give, but I must remember just how unbelievably out of breath I am for the next 10 seconds after the finish. i really didn’t have much more to find physically. I need to work on the mental side more if I am to progress further. Eventually, I can speak and thank Andy for helping me in the finish and to give him praise for his strong go at it. Another time, it could have been him that was lucky. Tonight was a good way to end a burst of racing, and in many ways, it was my best result of the lot.

Strava link: https://www.strava.com/activities/2560122952

[zetsubo-tekina-kibo-blog]

“Love’s All Kinds of Wrong”

~somewhat an introduction~

First of all, I am very inspired by my frustration, ideals and the contradictions that has made me conclude my thoughts and arrange this reflection of some sort. This is based on recent facepalms and irritating events that basically has nothing to do with me as I am now, but makes me cringe and feel an intense amount of annoyance. I'll be stating observations and my own interpretations, metaphors and well, basically a patchwork of observations, vicarious experiences and emotions, and my own cognitive reasoning which is loosely based on reality and more on imagination and, again vicarious experiences and emotions. The basis for me to write/type this is very linear and, let's say, almost dramatically nonsensical. I've been best friends with a certain girl (I'm proudly a straight young man) in my junior high school days and we get along quite nicely. Until, that is, when I found out she had a crush on me. Fun fact, I am a very unstable and pessimistic or maybe an apathetic individual who was painfully oblivious to my own self worth (until now, unfortunately). I was shocked, she hadn't confessed yet, and I was anticipating and actually feeling or observing the sudden weird changes in her like suddenly giving me a picture to keep or her being unable to look me in the eye, which I merely dismissed as a natural thing between male and female best friends because of the gender barrier. Being the oblivious and rather stupid individual I was, I got depressed and, beyond exhaustion, had overworked my brain into overthinking, causing me a mild case of paranoia, anxiety, depression and all those mental instabilities that could've eventually led to suicide, if not for my conscious fear of physical pain (not a phobia, just clarifying). Okay so that was my side, which eventually ended up with me rejecting her due to complications within myself, which means I need to resolve a lot of internal conflicts like identity crises, depression, mild doses of insanity, etc. I'll consider my past self here to be almost identical to me now, though. Now, for her part. She's a very passionate individual. Literally passionate. I don't want to say she's desperate, but she's very emotional. She's a martyr who believes that pain and sacrifice is a key component in love. She "fell in love" many times already in the course of being a 12 year old until finally today, a 16 year old (like me, I'm only 16). Her life is like a movie, except, it's filled with pain, suffering, depression and overall, hellish problems caused by "love". Right now? In the least bit, I don't like her. I'm annoyed by her in a sense that she won't grow up, keeps on chasing after love despite a giant red-hot hell spear in her chest, and won't let herself learn her lesson, always reasoning out "love" and making her own problems excuses. Over the past 3 years, I think, I've been advising her and helping her through her life and it was not easy. Sometimes she'll listen, only to mess it up after a week. She's so emotional to a fault that it's making a lot of things toxic. I was persevering this as a best friend because it's my obligation and I like helping her and other people, except it feels like sometimes, my help is just bypassed and thrown away because a greater problem appears or something like that. Eventually, that problem materialized into being me. It made me overthink because of me knowning her the best, or at least to my own experience because she's sometimes so secretive and closed minded, made me become paranoid and stuck in a paradox or loop. This loop is: {I'm her best friend = I shouldn't hurt her if it yields no lesson = She has a crush on me which I can't reciprocate = It will hurt her like her past stupidities = Would make me hurt her, which is against my obligation} Eventually, and inevitably, the outcome was we were torn apart by this so called "love". I myself don't regret it. I'm proud of it because I was hoping she'd learn her lesson. Nope, she still goes like a maniac, addicted with the concept of romance and love and keeps on chasing it like a dog chasing a butterfly. Bitch. Basically, in a nutshell, the basis for why I'm defining love is because of this girl who irritates me to no end because of the sheer amount of stupidity she has. An emotional girl with no brain, making her into a teardrop machine that seeks love. A love that she believes, needs pain as a key ingredient or core. A girl that's so immature, stubborn, crazy, stupid and emotional. The ultimate drama queen. This is some mean words but, this is how I truly feel. If she reads this, she'll definitely snap and commit suicide. That's why all of us friends can't move and we don't know what to do with her drama and endless problems.

~the main topic itself~

Based on my intro of some sort, the basis would be my frustration on current views about what love is. Some people like to spice up their youths by impregnating each other at 16 so immaturely that they choose to have an abortion or conceive children that are damned to starve to death and live a miserable life because the parents are teens with no jobs. Too brutal? Or too true? Okay so first, what is love? Nowhere in the Bible is it stated that in order to achieve love, you must suffer and go through pain just to achieve love. I mean, come one, we are so young! Sixteen and what? You want to fuck someone so badly that you bend their penis off? Or for males, make a sloppy mess of a 16 year old vagina and make it look like a donut got run over by a bulldozer because of your youthful stupidity and immaturity? Heck, I'm also immature as fuck. Too brutal, harsh and socially morbid? Okay, lets lay off the Philippines' problem of overpopulation due to stupid teens and pointless, destructive emotions. So, again, as an emotion, what is love? My own definition for it is: - "Love is a feeling of choice, with an initial spark a span of time in which two people get to know and interact with each other, and a span of time in which they take their vows and obligations, responsibilities and struggle to keep the flame lit." You see, the process of love is very linear and simple. All it needs is maintenance and understanding. Love is a choice, you love someone because you chose to love them. You don't fall in love with someone just because you felt a spark, that's either a spark or sign, or "desire". So, we've come to the term "desire" Desire is that feeling of wanting something. It is different from love as to love is something you choose, maintain and expand. As to desire, it's the initial phase of finding and tracking down someone suitable to love. We desire things to love, but others just keep on desiring and finding that when they find it, they eventually settle for it despite it being not the one for them. Some others jump from person to person because of being insatiable, lustful. Others are so lost in their desire that it turns them into lustful beings mistaking their hunger for "love" causing them pain and suffering. Others get so broken down by untimely, unmet desires that the pain they misunderstand the pain they're experiencing to be a sign of a distant love of what they desire, like the person mentioned in the intro. People often mistake and interchange the meanings of desire and love, that's why lust exists, as a failed form of desiring love. Notice the word untimely? That's also a key factor in love. Timeliness. Only pursue a relationship if you know you're ready to accept and handle things without bitterness and resentment. Don't move due to desire and conceit, wanting to rush it because of the excuse of feeling "in love" or "in the heat of the moment".

Here's some key things I can conceptualize about love: 1. Timely Readiness - As mentioned, you need to be practical when you're about to enter love or a commitment. You need to be completely ready for what lies ahead. Rejection, problems, and all those things that'll drag you down. You need to be driven by spirit and not by emotions alone. You don't just enter a relationship based on your feelings or again, "the heat of the moment", you enter it with a clear, cool mind and determination. 2. Understanding - This key component is a must. You must be ready to understand things. The problems and as to why they're present. The lessons you should've learned throughout your journey and that calm and cool mindset of understanding, despite the immense pain a rejection may cause or something similar. One must always be ready to sit down, relax and understand/assess whatever's happening around him/her or you both. 3. Obligation/Determination - Love is an obligation. It becomes work, and you must be determined to make it work out. Sometimes, the initial youthful feeling of lightness and sweetness that comes along with the satisfaction of meeting the desire to seek that love fades away or gets suddenly blown out. Be obligated and determined to spark the fire up if the wick can still burn. Love is a process, if it gets blown out, light it back up. This is a specialty need if you plan to start a family. 4. Contentment - Be content. Always be content. You've made the choice, you've done your thesis on your decision so don't let it waver. As a man, don't dare make the wrong decision based on your desire and as a woman, please don't settle for partners that you chose because you're desperate. The key to maintain a chill relationship is being content with each other. To be honest, not just in love but also in life. Be content and if you desire something, be cool and work your way through it without rushing like a fool. 5. Pure Love By the Feeling of Choice - Feel your choice. The feeling shouldn't be a sharp pain. It should alway be pleasurable and comforting. Don't go for things like a forrest fire, settle for a candle light. A forrest fire is harder to maintain and would hurt both of you, the world and is harder to spark up once it burns out along with your ashes. Don't go after sex, money, fame, or whatever worldly things. Simple worldly things don't make sense with pure love. Chose one or be the chosen one, it's simple. Love is a lot calmed and cooled as opposed to the fiery pits of desire and lust, although love would gradually grow warmer and hotter but in a pleasurable way. Double meanings my friends, and I'm just sixteen.

Since we've done that, let's go to "rejection". Rejection is just another byproduct of the process of love, along with pain of course. The trick is, don't focus on pain and rejection. Other people focus on that instead if what happens next. Heck, they become so fixated on it because of pointless hope. They hope that experiencing more pain and suffering is the key to achieving a satisfactory love or fulfillment of that desire. Just know this, pain and rejection is natural. If you're in pain, do yourself a favor and heal the fuck up. If you're rejected, accept it and just move on. For rejection, just think, if you love the person, you won't get hurt and bitter if you're rejected because what's important is you express yourself to the object of affection. Always think of the positive. Don't be so fixated on the sadness and repeat it over and over again. As a personal experience, sadness is refreshing. It gives you hope for happiness. But being stuck on being sad is stupid, what I do is measure the time before the transition to happiness. I take my time in my sadness because of the calmness. It's all based on mindsets and synergy of combined motives behind the said actions. The main point is, don't hope, move.

It's already late. I guess I'm done here.

~possible end~

#love #rant #prose #thoughts #opinion #personal #philosophy #life view