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dangercocktail · 4 years

Text

The Pandemic by DangerCocktail

When panicked news reports began overseas, Lucas shrugged most of them off as an issue too far from home to be concerned with. There wasn’t a lot of information coming from the hot zone anyway so he assumed most reporting was pure speculation. The country where the pandemic originated muzzled the press and scientific community within their borders so reports were sparse at best. Not to mention that part of the world had a reputation for being a bit of a mess anyway. Military refused to let anyone enter or leave the country and even more extreme, the Internet had been downed. Rumors circled, the ones that Lucas had heard at least before he stopped paying attention to the news, that the infection was extremely contagious for men specifically and might have been a military grade weapons test gone awry.

Ignoring the hallmarks of what his friends called a global crisis, Lucas packed his luggage for a two week cruise he had scheduled well before any rumblings of a fast moving disease. Walking aboard and exploring the ship, he smiled and winked at several of the handsome men also arriving who returned his greeting. Lucas was a notorious flirt and he planned on having a pretty damn good time aboard the ship.

Eventually settling in to begin his vacation, Lucas stretched his long legs lithe with a tennis player’s muscles out on a deckside chair. He watched the city fade away into the ocean’s horizon as he sipped a bottle of beer. It was going to be nice to check out from the stress of the world news and society in general. He pulled his sunglasses down to cover his eyes and quickly fell asleep.

Waking a couple hours later, Lucas stretched to shake the soreness of the hard deck chair out of his muscles, then stood and gathered his things. His room had to be ready by now, his luggage having been transported by a porter, and he was starting to feel hungry. He wandered over to one of the many restaurants offering food aboard the ship and stood in line to receive a bowl of teriyaki chicken and vegetables. He promised himself he’d relax, allow himself to enjoy a few indulgences on this trip, and if needed, drop a couple pounds to get back to fighting weight when he was home. The teriyaki bowl wasn’t such an indulgence, his healthy eating habits died hard. He chuckled when he passed a 24 hour pizza kiosk and swore to be back later that night for a slice or two. He was on vacation.

After several days of travel and stops in ports increasingly exotic to Lucas’ usual day to day, he had fallen into a leisurely routine. Lucas woke every morning to a breakfast of eggs, fruit, and toast delivered to the room so he could watch the sunrise over the ocean as the ship skimmed to its next destination. He had even begun enjoying a mimosa with each breakfast because why not, all expenses included. Following breakfast, he would hit the gym, lift for an hour or two, shower in the luxury locker rooms of the cruise liner’s locker rooms, then get dressed in tasteful but casual vacation wear for a day of leisure, exploration, and occasional trips into foreign locales. He had met many people over the course of the first week on the excursions shoreside but was legitimately enjoying being on his own, able to go and do whatever he pleased with little thought towards the rest of the world.

Every night, Lucas would stroll through the mostly deserted decks of the ship as he was near the only one up and about at 1 am. He wound his way through empty stairways, greeting the ship’s crew who were working overnight to clean and prepare for the following day, Lucas giving them a friendly nod as he passed. His destination was always the same, the 24 hour pizza place where he ended his nightly walk and would enjoy a nightly indulgence of two slices, heavy with sausage and garlic. He had just thanked the server for the slices, sat down to eat with one slice almost in his mouth when the audio system for the entire ship signaled an incoming message through loudspeakers hidden in the extravagant columns and furnishings of the decor.

“Attention please. It is of critical importance that all passengers aboard the Tantalus Destiny please return immediately to their cabins. A critical issue has been reported to the staff and we are exercising extreme caution. We will inform you when exiting your rooms will be appropriate but for the moment, please all passengers outside of their cabins return immediately. Thank you.”

Lucas looked inquisitively at the worker behind the pizza bar who looked back and shrugged. Lucas decided he might as well finish his two slices quickly then head back to the cabin. He was halfway through his first slice when he observed another passenger turn the corner and head to the pizza counter. The man was fairly handsome and the father of a family Lucas had chatted with briefly on an excursion two days previously. His name was Craig. Lucas laughed to himself, assuming that Craig also wanted to grab a few slices for the night if they were going to be locked up for a bit. Lucas continued eating, watching Craig talk to the server behind the counter but began noticing something strange about Craig.

When Lucas had first met Craig, he had appraised the man’s looks, as he usually did with any man he met, and put Craig decidedly in the handsome category. Craig had a ruggedly handsome face and a solid build, with a couple extra pounds around the middle that most dads were carrying. Lucas was never bothered by a few extra pounds though strove to keep them off himself. However tonight as he watched Craig pile slice after slice onto his plate, he noticed that Craig seemed rounder from behind. In fact, Craig’s t-shirt was riding up on love handles that pushed over the waistband of his sweatshorts. Lucas thought that the pile of pizza that Craig had amassed would definitely explain any new weight gain, especially if it was a nightly habit like Lucas was engaging in. As Lucas went back to his own pizza, slightly proud that he was only one or two pounds heavier from the cruise indulgences, Lucas stopped mid-bite as he saw Craig visibly and noticeably expand.

It was as if there was a hidden pump, inflating Craig from somewhere inside. As Craig turned with his plate piled with more slices of pizza than Lucas could quickly count and a slice already being pushed into his mouth, his shirt began riding up further as his belly swelled forward. In a matter of seconds, his modest dad belly and love handles tripled. His navel widened and deepened with each step he took, receding quickly into fat that rapidly accumulated. Craig’s chest surged forward and began to bounce in rhythm with his expanding belly, folded over the front of his shorts and still growing wider and rounder. His legs and arms were expanding as well, swelling incredibly fast as if beestung and losing all semblance of musculature. Craig’s face, bearded and handsome, had grown so fat in those few steps that he had taken that his jawline had disappeared completely and was swelling with fat every second that passed. By the time Lucas stood up in shock and began to walk towards Craig to help, Craig’s belly had become so large that he started to wobble, lost his balance, and fell on his enormous backside, his shorts and underwear ripping in the process. As Craig landed on the ground on his ass that was now almost as wide as Craig was tall, his fat production increased, his belly surging forward and to the sides as his arms lifted with the newly acquired flesh. His shirt began to rip like a tube of biscuit dough, Craig’s flesh pushing it open as it rose into the air. By the time Lucas reached him and the expansion had stopped, Craig was a rounded ball of a man unable to reach the front of himself by at least a foot, still shoveling in slices of the pizza that had survived the fall and were balancing atop his belly.

“Oh my god, Craig,” Lucas started, stopping a few feet from the whale of a man in front of him. “What the hell just happened?”

Craig looked up at Lucas from the floor, his fat face covered in pizza sauce. “They had it at port...the men. They had the disease,” Craig said, his words muffled from the enormous bites of pizza he was taking. “I’m just... so...damn hungry”.

Lucas backed away in revulsion as his attention was immediately drawn to a crash at the pizza counter. The server behind the counter was stumbling around in confusion, his uniform ripping open to reveal a huge belly that was swelling alongside his swollen chest. Lucas watched as the man expanded in under twenty seconds to the same size as Craig, but as the man went to fall to the ground from the sheer size of his girth, he became wedged between the wall and the pizza countertop. His belly kept swelling in all directions, spreading across the countertop as the man rose slightly in the air. Unperturbed, the server began grabbing slices of pizza and eating them himself.

Lucas panicked for a moment before realizing he had to get away from these two inflated men before whatever this was infected him. He ran from the dining area towards the stairs that would take him back to his cabin. Muffled grunts and outcries of shock could be heard from different hallways as he ran, occasionally followed by a loud and padded thud. Lucas was nearing the stairs when he felt his pants burst open at the front, the button skidding off across the floor. Slowing to an alarmed stop, Lucas looked down in horror to discover a round slab of fat pushing out atop his shorts like a doughnut swelling with cream.

“Oh god, no,” Lucas exclaimed, as he felt his butt begin growing so quickly that his shorts split up the back. Involuntarily turning back towards the dining area, he felt hunger overtake his body as his shirt drew tight across his swelling chest and nipples. He began waddling forward, his thighs forcing themselves together with new chub as his calves melded into his ankles with fat. From the periphery of his vision, he saw his cheeks rounding and his face settling into the fat of his neck. Beginning to feel the pull of his own massive heft and knowing that soon he would be stuck on the floor, a fattened ball of a man, Lucas maneuvered his enormous form towards the closest source of food he could find. As his legs slid out from under him and he fell onto his massively padded ass, pinned beneath the still growing fat of his body and overcome with the undeniable need to feed, he leaned his head back and opened his mouth to eat from the food source he was ultimately able to reach: the cruise liner’s soft serve ice cream machine.

#weightgain gainer bhm weightgainfiction

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mrsluttystark · 4 years

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Repeat After Me Part 2

Part 1

You guys have no idea how much it meant to me that part 1 was so well received. Thank you from the bottom of my little starker heart!

Tags: nff, age difference, former teacher/student, mention of daddy kink, mention of choking

Word count: 3.1k

Read below the cut

Peter wakes up five minutes before his alarm, like he always does. He absolutely hates the shrill screech of it. His bed creaks and groans as he sits up and swings his legs over the side. Suddenly, the springs that had previously been holding him up collapse under him, making him yelp in surprise. Peter made a mental note that maybe it was time for a new bed, he’d been holding on to the rickety twin mattress he had all his childhood since it was the only thing he had left from May’s.

He usually went into the lab on Saturdays, even though he was supposed to be off during the weekend. It’s not like he has plans or anything, but he guesses he could shift his schedule around a little to go mattress shopping.

His arm darts out like clockwork and taps his screen to turn the alarm off before his phone could utter the first mind melting ring. Peter runs a hand through his hair to brush some stray curls out of his face and stretches before getting out of bed to do his morning routine.

It’s not until Peter sits down at his two-seater dining table with a bowl of captain crunch berries, two pieces of toast, and a cup of earl gray tea, does he finally check his phone.

The spoon is barely out of his mouth when he sees the notifications. Eyes wide, he chokes on the cereal trying to force its half chewed self down his throat. He can taste the oat milk is his nose and it is not good.

Mr. Stark accepted his friend request and messaged him? Peter looked around his apartment, skeptical. Was he dreaming? Was this one of those life-like dreams where he gets ready for the day then wakes up and has to do it all over again? He looked down at his arm, should he pinch himself? No, Peter, that’s stupid.

He shook his head and looked at his phone again, opening the Messenger app.

Hey, Kid.

Shit, he was toast. Collecting himself, Peter took a deep breath to prepare himself for a conversation with his former high school teacher (that he may or may not want to fuck him senseless and cuddle afterward). He racked his brain thinking about how to approach this. Should he be bold?

Hi, Daddy. Please cum down my throat? Yeah...that might be too bold.

Hello, Mr. Stark. I humbly thank you for accepting my friend request. Ugh, too weird.

He’s overthinking it, he knows. Peter types out and deletes maybe five more messages before he finally settles on:

09:10 am

Hi, Mr. Stark. It’s Peter.

09:11 am

Parker.

Peter threw his phone down on the table and put his head in his hands, bowl of cereal soggy and forgotten. He made a face at it and pushed the bowl away, pulling his toast closer. He took bites of a slice distractedly and washed it down with some tea. He’d regret not eating a proper breakfast later, but right now his appetite was replaced with a turning feeling that he couldn’t quite place. His phone vibrates on the table, startling him from his thoughts.

From Tony Stark 09:22 am

Yeah, Peter. I did read your name on your profile.

09:23 am

Right. Sorry.

From Tony Stark 09:23 am

Don’t worry about it, Kid. Just pokin’ fun.

09:24 am

(sweating emoji)

Thanks for accepting my friend request btw, Mr. Stark.

From Tony Stark 09:26 am

No big deal, thanks for the request, it’s been a while.

And Tony is fine, you’re not my student anymore, Pete.

09:26 am

Yeah, okay. Tony. I can do that

So you remember me?

From Tony Stark 09:27 am

I remember all my students

09:27 am

Really???

From Tony Stark 09:28 am

No, not really lol

But I do remember you, you were a lot skinnier back then.

09:30 am

(eye roll emoji) And you were a lot younger

From Tony Stark 09:31 am

Ouch, that was uncalled for

09:32 am

You asked for it

So what have you been up to?

From Tony Stark 09:34 am

I’m a mechanical engineer now, quit teaching a few years ago. What about you?

09:35 am

That’s awesome! You were way too smart to be a teacher.

I’m a research chemist

From Tony Stark 09:38 am

Thanks, kid.

That’s about where I’d thought you’d end up, as smart as you are.

09:40 am

Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Stark

Tony*

Sorry.

From Tony Stark 09:40 am

Everywhere?

09:41 am

Everywhere.

From Tony Stark 09:50 am

Say, Pete. I don’t actually have a habit of checking this app and I’m about to head out of the house for the day. I’d like to continue this conversation, so here’s my number if you wanna text me [hidden contact information].

No pressure of course.

From Tony Stark 09:53 am

Peter?

New Message

To: Tony

You know who I am.

From: Tony

Had me there for a second kid.

I’m about to drive, I’ll text you in a bit.

Peter put his phone down for the first time in almost an hour, eyes straining to refocus after staring at his screen intensely for so long. His heart was pounding in his chest and his cheeks were starting to ache from smiling. Had that really happened? Peter brought a hand up to rub at his jaw, still in a daze. He was finding it very hard to believe that this wasn’t some elaborate dream because there is absolutely no way that this could’ve happened in real life. Talk about a glitch in the simulation.

He really got Tony Stark’s phone number, and he didn’t even have to ask for it!

Peter scoffed in disbelief, no fucking way! He opened the Facebook app again and went to Tony’s profile. Turns out there wasn’t much else on it, he had a total of 3 profile pictures and less than 100 friends, none of which were other students and only a few midtown teachers. So, he either was a very private person or he didn’t use Facebook at all. And if it was the latter (or both for that matter), why did he accept Peter’s friend request in the first place?

Peter decided not to think about it right now.

He went to his profile pictures and glanced at the current one he already studied last night. The previous one was just the Guns N’ Roses album cover for Appetite for Destruction. Classic Rock fan, noted. His first profile picture, though, was an absolute masterpiece. Tony looked to be on a beach somewhere, his hair was wet and messy from the clear blue salt water. Peter wanted to run his tongue over every inch of the olive toned skin exposed to the sun. His smile was radiant, framed by neatly trimmed facial hair, with thick, dark eyebrows peeking over his sunglasses. Swung low on his hips right below a toned stomach were hot rod red swim shorts that stopped in the middle of his thigh, showing off his tan legs dusted with dark hair.

Peter tried not to look, he really did, but he could not stop his eyes from landing on the older man’s crotch. And he was not disappointed. There, curving onto his thigh, was a long, thick unmistakable dick print. Peter’s mouth watered at the sight as his own cock stirred with interest.

Fuck. He wondered how big he really was in person. How far he could take it down his throat. He wanted to know how it would feel to be stretched and filled by Tony’s cock.

Scooting his chair back abruptly, Peter shot up off of it. His hard-on tenting almost painfully in his pajama pants and it was starting to create a wet spot. Mattress shopping can wait, Peter needed to cum, like, yesterday.

He rushes to his room and yanks the drawer of his night stand open, revealing a wooden box. Peter unlatches the box and grabs a bottle of lube and his veiny lifelike vibrating dildo with a suction cup right behind the silicone balls from his small collection. This one was by far his favorite, it’s eight inches long and he loved feeling the veins and the girth of it filling him up.

Peter lays a towel down on his bed and climbs to the middle, carefully avoiding the new dent in the mattress. He bunches up the pillows behind his back so he’s laying at an incline, then starts rubbing himself over his pajama pants while he uncaps the lube and squeezes some onto his fingertips. Clumsily, he pulls and shimmies his pants down his hips with his left hand, breath hitching when his heated erection makes contact with the cool air in his apartment. It lands with a light smack against his abs and Peter tugs his shirt up and under his chin. Kicking his pants off his bed, Peter spreads his legs. He can feel his hole puckering in anticipation of being used.

His left hand begins lightly skimming his torso, feeling his abs contract under his finger tips. Bringing them higher, he rubs across his chest, pinching his nipples softly. Peter rubs the lube between his thumb and forefinger to warm it up, then starts rubbing the tight ring of muscle in circles, making his cock jump.

Once he’s coated, he sinks a finger in slowly to coax himself open. His left hand continues caressing his body, skirting across the area right above his cock. Peter lets out a plethora of whines and pants, eyes screwed shut at the feeling. The image of Tony’s face urging him to take another finger.

He knows Tony’s fingers would be thicker, stretching him wider than Peter ever could with his own. The younger man hoped his former teacher would be able to handle him the way he wanted. Peter imagined large, strong hands encircling his throat while the other gripped hard on his hips while he took him.

Three of his fingers are buried deep in himself before he even touches his neglected, leaking cock. His left hand comes to collect the precum pooling at the head and dribbling down his shaft, allowing his hand to glide along his hot skin. He strokes himself lazily as he pulls his fingers out and reaches for the dildo. Uncapping the lube again he slicks up the silicone and brings it to his open, waiting hole.

Pulling his left hand off of his cock, Peter grabs one of the pillows and stuffs it under the small of his back.

He imagines Tony looking down at him with dark, analytical eyes, watching Peters every movement. The rise and fall of his chest, his heaving breaths. The way Peter keens when he’s stretched like he longs for the sting of it. Would he fuck into him slowly or would he seath himself in one smooth, quick stroke?

Peter chooses the latter.

He cries out as he pushes the dildo balls deep into his ass without pause. The pain from the stretch mixes deliciously with pleasure. Sweat beading on his forehead has Peter’s curls sticking wetly to his skin. His entire body is covered in a thin sheen of it.

The young man turns onto his left side, dildo still deep inside him. Peter reaches around his back with his right hand and grips the bottom of the suction cup. He sighs, easing the dildo out slowly before pressing the button at the base of the shaft to turn on the vibration and ramming it into himself once more.

Tony would be taking him from behind, a long arm encircling Peter’s body, hand coming to grip him at the base of his neck, right above his collarbone so that he could pull the younger man down and onto his thick cock while he fucks up into him.

Peter continued to fuck himself roughly with the dildo while he thought of Tony’s hard body doing it to him instead. He’d whisper dirty things in Peter’s ear while he fucked him. Tell him that he’s such a good little slut for his teacher. Peter whined at the thought, he’d love it if Tony let him call him Mr. Stark in bed.

He starts stroking his cock faster, feeling his orgasm build in the pit of his stomach. His right arm is starting to get tired from fucking the dildo into his ass for so long, he’s gotta cum soon.

Peter’s eyes fly open when he hears his phone vibrate through the thrumming in his ears. It’s a text from Tony.

How’s my favorite student? Miss me?

That does it. Peter’s entire body jolts as he cums all over his hand and the towel he laid on the bed, a high whine caught in his throat.

He’s still trying to catch his breath a few minutes later, after he eases the dildo out and places it on the towel. He wipes his hand off on it as well before he grabs his phone. He definitely needs a shower now. Then he’ll go to the mall.

To: Tony

Don’t flatter yourself

To: Tony

Maybe a little

Tony can’t help but smile at his phone, he might have been a little too eager with the message, typing it up as soon as he put his car in park. The easy banter going on between him and Peter was refreshing. Tony couldn’t remember the last time he felt genuinely excited to talk to someone, let alone text.

As the conversation kept flowing while Tony picked up his dry cleaning, he could only deduce that it was because they were nearly equal on an intellectual level. It may have helped that Peter was easy on the eyes as well.

They talked about their projects at work and the research behind it, what it was like at Columbia for Peter, and how MIT had been to Tony. The older man made a mental note to ask where Peter worked at a later date, maybe he could recruit him. He learned that Peter’s favorite colors were blue and red. That he hated horror movies but watched them anyway just to spite himself. He loved rom-coms and (surprise, surprise) sci-fi movies. He couldn’t cook to save his life, Tony assured him he could give him lessons if he wanted, he could make a mean Chicken Piccata.

Tony couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty about it at all. The conversation was innocent and Tony was a flirt by nature, Pepper never had a problem with it. If anything, this thing with Peter was just a budding friendship. The universe knows Tony needed someone to talk to.

Around noon, Tony’s stomach started to grumble, not surprising considering the hearty breakfast of black coffee he had this morning. Peter mentioned earlier that he’d been craving Gyros, and that didn’t sound half bad right about now. He was a few blocks away from the mall anyway.

From: Peter

Here’s a contact picture, in case you needed one...

[see attachment]

The picture Peter sent was absolutely adorable. His bangs fell over his forehead, slightly parted to the side so it wasn’t completely covered. Tony felt utterly entranced by the younger man’s smile and the way his left eyebrow looked like he’d slept with his face buried in a pillow. He was wearing a T-Shirt with a science pun on it, as if the kid couldn’t be any dorkier. Tony loved it.

To: Peter

Is that a sly way of getting me to send you a selfie back?

Cute shirt by the way, where ya headed?

From: Peter

Maybe...did it work?

I’m going shopping for a new mattress, old one crapped out on me.

To: Peter

Here, since you asked so nicely

[see attachment]

From: Peter

Oof, you can just delete mine. You just made me go from a solid 6 to like a 2

To: Peter

Hey, give yourself some credit, you’re definitely at least a 5

KIDDING, I’d rate you a solid 9, kid. Just because there’s always room for improvement

From Peter:

I would just like to know who gave you the right to be so sassy and RUDE

To: Peter

Definitely my narcissistic ego

No, but seriously Pete, you’re stunning. Don’t listen to the old guy

From: Peter

Pls you’re not that old, Tony.

To: Peter

A man after my own heart. Thanks, kid.

From: Peter

Anytime :-)

You’re more like my friend’s hot dad if anything

To: Peter

Little shit.

From Peter:

;-)

Tony shook his head fondly and stuffed his phone in his pocket as he entered the mall, looking around for something indicating what direction the food court was in. He hadn’t been to this mall in a while, he admits since he’s been making more money it’s kept him from coming and eating the fast food they had here. So he followed the signs until he got to the food court, and noticed there were still quite a few tables open for him to sit and eat at. He made a point to stay as far away from the family with three screaming children as possible.

He scanned the choices until he found somewhere that had gyros and went to go stand in line. The menu wasn’t too extensive, he could either get a gyro platter or a falafel platter, and he already knew what he was here for. His eyes fell from the menu to the person in front of him. Not to be a creep, he’s only human, but he had a fantastic ass. A perfect little bubble butt.

The man was a little shorter than him, he had a trim waist that opened up to broad shoulders not bigger than Tony’s. Incredible figure. He’s probably a dancer or a marathon runner. He also noticed this man had brown curls. That made him snort softly to himself, he either had a type or Peter just invaded his mind in a short amount of time. It could be either, honestly.

His eyes dropped to the phrase printed on the back of his shirt.

Never trust an atom, they make up everything

Ha. Peter would love that shirt.

Wait.

Peter has that shirt. It’s the one he was wearing in his selfie.

“Peter?”

The man in front of him whirled around to look at him with a puzzled expression. Tony suddenly found himself unable to move or say another word. He was instantly captivated by doe eyes and one of the prettiest faces he’d seen in a long time.

He watched his confusion turn into realization and then disbelief and dare he say: panic.

“Tony?”

@sweetqueen449, @slut-for-starker, @dim-ships-johnlock, @starkerhowlter, @sthefystarkersworld, @crazycocococonut, @bris-sins, @delicateavenuenacho, @ironspiderstarker, @katzenbaby1, @spider-iron-man, @rebel13lion39, @twokinkybeans, @frenchfrostpudding, @cherrygoldlove, @silkystarkk, @icandoakickflip, @irondaddio, @briesb1tch

creds to @problemchildnoonewanted for some of the messages in the beginning

#starker #sluttystark stuff #starker fic #starker au #ironspider #tony stark x peter parker #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #Peter Parker/Tony Stark

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multiplefandomfics · 3 years

Text

Change for the better

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC!Amelia

Warnings: cheating, angst, smut, swearing, sub/dom undertones, sir kink, size kink, unprotected sex

Words: 2169

Moving to London hadn’t been easy. Leaving friends, family and everything that had been familiar behind to start fresh. But it had been necessary.

Let’s start a few weeks earlier, shall we?

“Darling? I’m home. I made it earlier than I thought. The surgery fell flat. Patient died before I could cut him open. Such a shame. Would have been a really cool surgery.” Amelia called through the two story townhouse.

“Jake? Where are you?” she followed the music to the bedroom door and pushed it open. She stepped inside and heard giggling and laughter from the en suite bathroom. In that moment she knew exactly what was going on. Still she wanted to confirm it so she opened the halfway open bathroom door fully and there they were. Her fiance Jake and Amelia’s favorite scrub nurse Olive in the bathtub together.

“Are you fucking serious? I work 15 hours everyday to finance your lazy ass and that’s how you thank me? Screwing my OR nurse? You are unbelievable, asshole!! I’m done with this- with us! I’m leaving.” she yelled furiously. She grabbed most of her clothes and other things, threw them in suitcases and duffel bags and crammed them into her car.

“Baby wait!” Jake had stumbled out of the house behind her. “I’m sorry this was a one time thing. I love you. We are getting married in 6 weeks. Surly you don’t want to blow that off.” he tried to convince her.

“You think I still want to marry you after you fucked that little whore in my house? And that’s what it is by the way. MY house. I want you out by the end of the week you can leave the keys on the kitchen table. I never want to see you again. Goodbye Jake.” and with those words she had gotten into her car and left him standing there in his bathrobe.

She was seeing red and did not have a goal to reach. She did not want to see her parents because her mother was an arrogant bitch who only thought about what the neighbors would think about her breaking off the engagement. Her mother would probably make her marry the cheating bastard anyways.

So she kept on driving. 16 hours and a ferry boat ride later and she arrived totally exhausted in London. She always wanted to see the town again and now was the time.

She had found a hotel where she could park her car in a garage and went to check in.

“Good morning. I’d like to check in please.” Amelia asked, friendly.

“Good morning. Of course. Do you have a reservation?” the desk clerk smiled broadly.

“No, unfortunately not. I came here spontaneously. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all Miss. I just need your ID or Passport and Credit Card to check you in.” she kept on smiling so sickly sweet.

“Alright, sure. Here you go.” she handed her cards over.

20 minutes later she had her car parked inside the garage, her stuff in her room and was face planting the bed. She fell asleep almost instantly.

When she woke up the sun was almost setting but she felt rested and decided to find a bar or pub to drink and maybe get laid.

She took a shower did her hair and make up and put on the hottest dress she could find before asking the desk clerk in the lobby for the closest and coolest bar around.

Turned out that that pub was exactly 200 metres away from the hotel and was already relatively crowded at 9pm.

Amelia found a stool at the bar top and got the attention of the bartender.

“Hi what can I get you?” she asked.

“What can you recommend for a woman who has been cheated on by her fiance in her own house with her favorite co worker?” she sighed.

“Wow that sounds like a story I’d like to hear completely. You know what? I’m gonna mix you something and you spill your guts. You will feel much better afterwards, I promise you.” she had already grabbed a tall glass and was pouring various kinds of alcohol inside.

The night progressed like that. Melissa, that was the bartender's name, handed her drink after drink but slipped a few shots of water in between once in a while. Which Amelia was too drunk to notice. They talked for hours.

At around midnight someone sat down next to Amelia and ordered whiskey. Amelia had already sobered up a little and recognized the voice instantly.

Her head snapped to the left and indeed there he sat- Superman- The Witcher himself: Henry Cavill.

“Holy crap, you’re Henry Cavill!” she exclaimed breathlessly.

“Yes I am. Nice to meet you.” he smiled warmly. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I am Amelia and yes you can.” she turned her body now fully toward him.

“You seem upset. Care to tell me?” he suddenly asked after chugging his drink.

“I have told this story already today. Melissa would you be so kind as to tell Mr. Cavill my shitty last 24 hours?” she almost begged the bartender.

“Of course my dear.” Melissa winked.

“Well, long story short:her fiance was an ass and cheated on her with a coworker in her own house. She left instantly and drove 16 hours straight through and came to London.” Then she walked over to another customer on the other side of the bar.

“Wow, I’m sorry to hear that. It’s a riddle to me how someone can cheat on a woman as beautiful and obviously intelligent as you. Such a shame. But maybe luck for me?” he winked and seemed very sure of himself.

“I didn’t pick you out to be such a flirt. But I like it.” Amelia had nothing to lose. For the first time in ages she felt free and if that ended in her getting to sleep with the really hot actor which is Henry Cavill she would definitely go for it.

They talked about this and that and by the time last call came around she knew so much more about Henry than magazines and the internet could have ever told her.

“I’m sorry to break this up guys but you will have to leave now. It’s 6am and we are about to close.” Melissa came around the bar.

“Alright Mel, see you tomorrow maybe.” Henry said and tipped her generously.

Henry and Amelia walked through the streets. “You want some coffee? Sober up a bit more? Keep talking? I really enjoy talking with you.” he finished.

“Yes sure. You know a place not too far which is open?” Amelia smiled at him.

“Of course. It is 6am in London. I know the perfect Deli for breakfast and coffee. Let’s go.” he grabbed her hand and pulled her over the street and towards a brightly lit Deli.

They both got inside, ordered coffee and sandwiches and sat down in the almost completely empty Diner.

“These are really good.” Amelia pointed to her sub.

“I know, that’s why I like coming here after a night out.” he agreed.

Then Amelia’s phone rang. She took it out of her jacket pocket and groaned.

“It’s him isn’t it?” he asked and she nodded annoyed. “Here, give me that phone. I’ll talk to him. He will leave you alone after this.” he smiled and she again had nothing to lose.

“Hello. Amelia’s phone. She cannot come to the phone right now. She is very busy right now. Who I am. That is none of your business anymore. As far as I know, you cheated on her and she left you. So now she is free and can do whatever with whoever she wants. Goodbye douchebag and never call this number again. Oh yes, I am supposed to remind you that you have a week to move out.” with that he hung up and Amelia couldn’t stop herself from laughing so loudly other customers were starting to look.

“Thank you Henry. That was epic. But I think I’m still going to block him on all channels so he keeps away from me. And I wanted to marry that son of a bitch. How unbelievably stupid of me.” she buried her head in her hands. Suddenly her mood had changed dramatically.

“Hey.” he laid his hand on her cheek and forced her to look at him.

“Hey.” he repeated himself. “It is not your fault that he is a cheating bastard. You were working hard to support his ass and he did not appreciate that.”

“But maybe I should have taken more time with him. Maybe then he would not have cheated…”

“Stop it! It is not your fault. It is exclusively his. Stop thinking about it. You dodged a bullet, beautiful.”

“You are right. I should be grateful that he is gone.” she looked into his beautiful eyes and kissed him. She just jumped into cold water.

“My hotel isn’t far. Wanna go?” she whispered against his lips. He nodded energetically.

The walk there was quick. Only a few 100 metres stumbling, kissing over the sidewalk.

“Which floor?” out of breath after the elevator doors had closed.

“8th.”she mumbled.

He grabbed the key card out of her hand and unlocked the door.

She stumbled inside before him and he caught her before she could fall, carrying her to the bed.

“Strip for me darling.” he demanded.

“Yes, sir!” she saluted at him

“I like the sound of that.” he smirked naughtily.

She stripped obediently and waited for him to remove his clothes as well. But he didn’t budge.

“Get on your knees!” he commanded. There was a quiet understanding between them. The question whether she was okay with this or not was only asked by his eyes and she obediently dropped to her knees. So he continued with opening his pants and pulling out his dick. “Now open up sweetheart and don’t you dare touch yourself.” his voice was stern but he had a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Amelia opened her mouth wide and stuck out her tongue. He grabbed her hair into a ponytail and slowly pushed his length into her mouth and down her throat. She had to work hard to suppress her gag reflex. “Shit, babe. Fuck you’re a natural.” he groaned. It was music to her ears. She took him deep and stroked what couldn’t fit in her mouth with her hands. Bobbing her head up and down. Sometimes her throat constricted around his girth when she had to swallow which made him let out the most amazing noises.

Suddenly he pulled her off of her. “Stop! I don’t want it to end too soon.”

He pulled her up and kissed her deeply. “You are amazing. Now on the bed with you. On your back. Legs spread wide. I need some space.” he winked and again she obeyed.

She was so excited. Her juices were flowing freely down her thighs and ass cheeks.

He kneeled between her legs and swiped his dick head through her folds. Catching on her clit ever so often. “Oh shit Henry. Please don’t tease me.” he smirked. “Beg for it then. Tell me what you want.”

“Please, sir I need you so bad. I’m so wet for you, only for you. I need to feel you.” Before she could say anymore he lost his last bit of composure and pushed inside her.

“Damn! Holy- Fuck. So deep.” she moaned. His thrusts were hard and slow giving her the right amount of pain and pleasure. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head when she neared her end. She clawed her nails into his shoulders and was only able to moan a mixture of his name and curses. “Cum for me darling!” he whispered into her ear kissing down her neck and that was all it took for her to let go. Then he lost it too.

When he had caught his breath he rolled off of her. “That was great!” she panted.

“Yes, it was. We definitely need to do this again. Did I hurt you?” he suddenly asked concerned.

“Only in the best way possible. That was really hot.”

That is essentially the story of how Amelia moved to London. She wanted to be close to her new future. She never heard from Jake again and after Henry had talked to him on the phone he had moved out really quickly. So Amelia could sell her house and get a position at a hospital in Britain's capital city. Even her mother shut up about the broken up engagement after Amelia had told her who her new boyfriend was.

In the end, Amelia finding out about her stupid idiot of an ex-fiance cheating on her, was the best thing that could have happened to her.

#cheating #angst #smut #HenryCavill #OFC

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leeknow-bestboy · 4 years

Text

If You Close One Eye - Chapter Three

Ships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Bang Chan/Yang Jeongin | I.N, If you really squint you can notice Lix is into Binnie, Hyunjin was into everyone once

Characters: All the kids, The ex kid isn't here I edited him out, Other Character Tags to Be Added

Trigger warnings: panic attack, ptsd, original character death, homophobia, original character cheating, descriptive imagery.

Word count: 5172

Chapter: 3/?

Next (Out soon!) / previous / first

Tags: Murder Mystery, amateur detective minho, Soulmates, not your typical soulmate AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Slow Burn, Slow Build, good things take time let it slowburn, minho is singlehandedly responsible for the slow burn so blame him, no soulmates in this universe only they are, criminology student minho, art student jisung, POV Third Person, chan deserves better and he does indeed get better don't worry, art references please look stuff up, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, best sibling bond ever.

"If you close one eye, you can see what your soulmate sees"

Born with one eye an unnatural golden color, Minho and Jisung have been forced to cover them up with colored lenses in order to blend into society.

The magic to their eyes? Even they still didn't know.

This is the story of how criminology major and dance minor Lee Minho found himself hopelessly in love with the serial killer, local artist Han.

[Alternatively, let's see how long I can make these two dumbasses pine without one of them snapping. Edit: they finally did]

[Also WARNING: a HUGE amount of Jeongchan ahead, it's not subtle at all! So much fluff--]

"As impressed as I am with you, I think the right thing for now would be to take time off. You can probably tell this had been quite a destructive journey for your mental state." Jae commented.

Now back in the office, the two detectives had stood opposite to Minho with Sungjin and Wonpil supervising from the back of the room.

"I found her though! Her case went cold from how long it's been, and I found her under 24 hours! Now you tell me to take a break?" Minho's voice cracked, almost offended by the idea.

"Minho, we never thought you would find her. Nobody planned to show you a second corpse a week into your training, it's too much." Young k insisted.

In the back of his mind Minho knew he had a point, but he couldn't accept that he'd be put to rest. Not like this, not while the prosecution started working on locating Min-ra's killer.

"I'm involved! I can't stay home and do nothing while they work on this, it's my case." Minho pleaded, only to be met with two pairs of sad eyes. Didn't they get it?

"I understand, I do, but you're still young- these are a lot of horrors for someone to go through before their twenty second birthday." Young k reasoned, hand lifting to Minho's shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

"You guys... How do you cope with this job, then? How come you hadn't gone crazy?" Minho asked, now despaired. He made his way to the usual chair- a comforting source of routine in the madness that was going on.

"We have. In case you hadn't noticed, we all are a little crazy around here." Sungjin spoke up, hand smoothing out the stress gathered between his eyes. That might have been a good point too, had Minho known what this team had gone through in the past few years.

"You might think we're toughened up, for me I'm fine as long as I keep god in mind- I remind myself of heaven and hell, so death doesn't scare me anymore, but it still stays with me, so I can't sleep so well." Jae revealed, earning a shocked glance from the younger.

"Me too," Confessed Young K, shocking Minho farther. These guys were professionals... did they really not adjust yet?

"I used to be a cop, in my time- a serial killer went on a spree, and I was the one who always found his victims.

Always, on my shift-"

He paused.

"I kept dreaming of them, waking up in cold sweat with red marks from scratching myself in my sleep.

It got into my head that I had to find the killer to put them at rest. I was denied access to the case though, so I did my digging independently without a team. Sungjin scouted me after I found him, and I kept working since."

A long silence followed, broken when the black-haired detective continued. "It didn't help; finding him, I mean. What helped was doing things, investigating, staying occupied. We're a little similar, I think."

Minho didn't know how to respond, so he didn't. Instead, next it was Wonpil who spoke up.

"Me and Dowoon, we hadn't witnessed as much gore as these two, but we get to face a lot in real time. Back when I started, some people scared me so much I couldn't sleep- Just people, looking in their eyes and knowing they wanted to hurt me, knowing they could, might, and that I was responsible for getting it under control.

I didn't get to shoot anyone; I hope I'll never- but Dowoon did. It's the reason he only deals with phone calls now… he's always been too kind for this job, that softie. He never did anything to deserve his emotional baggage."

Minho sagged. Cops as well, then… if he hadn't signed for the internship, he still might have ended up the same way. The thought was jarring, suggesting something Minho never considered when he picked his ideal career path.

"I have too many stories to tell, you'd probably rather not sit through them all.

I do think, as far-fetched as it might sound to you right now, that you have a spot in this team. Minho, let your sunbaes ease you into this- after that, you can prove yourself as much as you'd like." Sungjin summarized.

Minho let his head hang, struggling to accept that they've all felt the same. Then… there was no getting better, was there? As time went on, the burden only got heavier.

"I will, I'll take a break." He surrendered, leading to Wonpil releasing a sigh of relief and opening the door they had closed earlier for privacy. As he did both eavesdroppers toppled over, landing on the floor with a hard thump. Seeing as Chan was the one on the bottom, he had it a bit worse, softening what could have been a rough fall for the younger.

"You two are insufferable." Minho commented, stifling a chuckle. Paying closer care, he couldn't help a sigh at noticing that, despite the embarrassing situation, the first thing Chan managed to refocus on was the intern atop him whining softly from being startled so bad.

The blond groaned, gently checking the other for injuries. What was it now, had he hit his head when he fell? Did he fail to notice everybody's eyes on him? The excuses have been slowly running out one by one.

"I'm heading home." Minho announced, walking around the two laying on the floor and waving on his way out. This had almost distracted him, but… not really.

From that point onward, it was bound to get worse.

"Ryujin? Are You there?"

Minho sat in his car, a light rain shower tapping against all windows as he waited. The month of march has been full of sunshine and clear sky, and so far it seemed april only had those as well- so of course for the weekend of his sister's birthday there had to be a drop of temperature.

Ryujin hummed, sounding bothered. "Oppa, you're calling me now? Last time we talked..." She trailed off. That's right, he should have checked up on her- it was inconsiderate of him, but frankly he didn't know how to broach the topic after telling her the bad news.

"Where are you? Let's talk." He pushed on, intending to apologize in person. That, and make up for all that he should- he's thought up a plan to cheer her up and celebrate her birthday properly.

"Why does it matter? I'm home, it's raining." She replied, voice betraying the fact she was upset, and for a good reason.

"Put on something comfortable and come down, I'm outside." He instructed, a small smile spreading across his face at the sound of her shuffling quickly about her room without hesitation. Five minutes later she was already stuffing her umbrella at the feet of the shotgun's side.

"Oppa!" Ryujin smiled, wrapping her hands around Minho in a hug that said it all; I'm not mad anymore, I missed you, are you okay?

"Put your seatbelt on, we have a reservation to catch." Minho ordered mischievously. That implied he's reserved a table, but to a person who's known him for years growing up, it should be easy enough to tell what he really has in mind. As such Ryujin smiled back, sitting obediently and tacking her belt into place before grabbing his aux from the hatch and playing some music.

When they arrived, the studio was dark. For a platonic date between siblings Minho hadn't bothered to light up candles or scatter flower petals and had instead left the studio as it was. He pulled open the trunk, taking out a short vanilla cake with whipped cream topping that he's bought on the way to Ryujin's.

Covering the cake container with his umbrella, Minho gestured for Ryujin to head in first. She did, stepping into a stairwell that headed up towards the studio he rented. After joining her he struggled with the umbrella and container, trying to pull out the keys he's been given. Eventually he succeeded, making a short happy sound before unlocking the respective door.

Ryujin stepped inside, smiling wide and letting her hands swing about. The sight had been endearing, causing Minho to smile softly. He set down the cake container, placing the cake atop it before laying down himself and crossing his legs. Ryujin sat on the other side, watching him place candles and carefully light them up with a newly purchased lighter he got for the occasion.

"Happy birthday, to my favorite nerd." He congratulated, laughing at her content smile.

"I missed you. I didn't think you would come, but you even prepared all of this... What about college?" Ryujin Interrogated.

"Make a wish first, the wax is melting." Minho avoided neatly. They can talk for a while afterwards.

Ryujin took in a breath, blowing out the candles decisively. "Not telling." She announced before he could ask the usual question.

Minho chuckled, messing his little sister's hair only a little while considering if it'd be too much to sing her happy birthday. Deciding against it, he took out a knife from the container, realizing he forgot napkins. Whatever, it's no mousse. He passed her the knife, watching her cut out a slice and crumble it quite messily as she ate.

"Ryuddaeng," Minho started, tone straightening out. "How have you been?"

Ryujin's smile faded, swallowing what was left of her slice before responding. "I don't know what to say. Everything feels frustratingly normal."

Minho felt relief wash over him at that. "You're sleeping alright? Eating too? How about any birthday plans with friends?"

Ryujin moved her hair behind her ear, uncrossing and then crossing over her legs. "I'm okay, I did cancel my plans with the girls though, it felt disrespectful."

Minho sighed, rolling a shoulder. "You know it had nothing to do with you, the estimated time of death is the last day she was seen, over a month ago."

Ryujin averted her gaze uncomfortably, picking her nails before forcibly setting them behind her. "I didn't know, I don't know anything about what happened, I didn't think you'd know either."

Minho raised a hand to his face, realizing he kept Ryujin in the dark to an unfair extent. "I've been looking, like you asked. I was the one who discovered her, so the police offered me an internship and shared their findings."

Ryujin straightened, interest piqued. "You intern at the police now? Is that okay? Wait, you found her? Yourself, you mean… god."

Minho nodded.

"You're not joking right?" Ryujin asked again, shocked expression turning sad.

"I'm serious. I came to check out a field she drew for her Instagram, right outside seoul. I don't know what I was expecting, I don't think I was ready to actually get somewhere searching for her." Minho added, trying to keep his composure as memories came flooding back. Ryujin rushed over, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. He guessed she wasn't expecting it, either.

"After results came in, they ruled it a suicide; she shot herself." He ended, hoping to wrap up the story so that they could lighten up a little. He was startled to feel tears drip down on his neck, figuring he's caused the opposite of his intentions. What for? Chelle was never worth his little sister's tears, she just wasn't.

"That must've been so scary." Ryujin mumbled, and Minho was hit with the realization she was crying for him, rather than her late ex-girlfriend. That made things both better and worse, leaving him lost on how to comfort her.

"Ryujin, I'm fine. I got talked through it by the police team, they calmed me down and fixed me up, I'm as good as new." He promised, petting her hair awkwardly. In truth he wasn't, and they didn't, but she didn't have to know that.

He didn't tell her about Min-ra.

Pointedly didn't about Chelle's cheating, either.

After Ryujin calmed down a little, a small smile showing with lot of effort from Minho's side, the two ate a few more cake slices and stood up. Minho swiped the crumbs to the nearest trash can and plugged his phone to the studio's aux cord, playing a steady beat. "Remember this?"

Ryujin smiled, dancing lightly to show that she does. "Come on! it's a good occasion, let's clear the air." Minho commented, raising the volume and dancing a little on his own, smiling through the mirror at his sister, perfectly coordinated with himself.

Since young both had loved this pastime more than any other hobby, helping them bond and providing good stress relief. When they were dancing, it was as if everything went away: their dad, school, occasional homophobia, bad days and broken hearts. Here they were, pretending to be Chanhyuk and Suhyun, dancing to how people move.

"You're taking it easy on me! I hadn't rusted yet." Ryujin complained as the song came to a stop.

"What are you feeling?" Minho asked, grin spreading across his face. Now they're talking.

"I still have my playlist for these, let's start with Taeyong and Ten." Ryujin suggested, already on her way to fix them up on Min's phone.

"Steamy." He commented with a chuckle, swiftly followed by an "Only if we do good-bye baby too."

Ryujin rolled her eyes. "You're so embarrassing."

"We can try cover hard carry after." He offered.

"Taemin's Move, too! You told me last time you figured out how to do the part we were stuck on, I want to see." She turned, eyes challenging him silently.

"Deal." He assured, recalling his practice with Dahyun of the girl's class, a same age friend who had offered to teach him. At that Ryujin smiled, rushing up to his side for the start of next song.

"Jisung! You scared the life out of me!" Seungmin whined, making annoyed motions towards his stubborn roommate who's been up all night as per usual.

"I'm almost done, give me a minute." Jisung assured, knowing that was an obvious lie. This time he hadn't been drawing in the living room or kitchen, but had instead set up his stand in the bathroom, hence scaring sleepy Seungmin on his nightly pee break.

"No, Jisung, you need to go. I need to pee really bad." He insisted, and had he been anything other than upset the crudeness of his own speech would have made him blush. Frustrated Jisung stepped out, carrying his canvas with him.

"I hate anatomy, why do I do this to myself?" He asked aloud, only to be answered grumpily with a "because you religiously draw every single one of your fever dreams, you weirdo." From across-the-door Seungmin. He had a point, too.

Today's painting had been only a sketch for now, something that's been on his mind since an insect of some sort came crashing into his eye at random. The vision of people dancing, beautifully so. Really, he could have been more focused on the vision if he wasn't panicking and batting the thing away, but the thought was enough. He knew for sure his professor would appreciate it as well, since the work of Edgar Degas was included in their future study course.

It was around a week ago that the same professor picked an interest in Jisung's art and asked him if he'd like to have them presented in a proper show, which was the dream of every art student ever.

Of course he agreed, but since then his anxiety kept growing. He knew he was good, he loved his own art dearly, but he wouldn't know what to do if others did not.

Rather than letting it eat him up, he decided to push forward with all his might, doing his absolute best for every new piece he wanted to enter.

So far, he had drawn almost seven out of ten pieces for the show: A tall grass field, a city view through a window, an iced coffee cup, a drawing of a park and a drawing of a cat- although that one might not be good enough to show. After that came a short block, and then he drew the club scene, and then today he started on the dancers. As for the showering man, he considered it shortly, only to decide it felt way too intimate to showcase.

Jisung hadn't considered himself a landscape artist, but by what he's been inspired to paint lately, that might have been the direction his mind wanted to go.

More than that, Jisung always drew mundane small things that made life unique in his eyes, and although he couldn't find himself excited at his own cups of coffee without context, there was something about those moments specifically that made him feel like they were meant to be cherished.

"Okay, I'm done. You can have the mirror back now." Seungmin informed, having caught on to the reason Jisung has been drawing in the restroom to begin with.

"Sleep well Seungmin-ah" Jisung wished affectionately, quietly cooing at his sleepy roommate as he made his way back to bed and flopped down.

Although Jisung was the night owl, Seungmin often had stress keep him up, then the next day he'd be extra exhausted and ready for sleep. Today seemed to be one of those days, judging by his friend's unmoving figure so soon after collapsing in bed.

He couldn't help but admire him. The two have been sharing a room for give or take a year of college, and have known each other since high school by chance. Seungmin was taking up animal science as major, claiming he was attracted to the idea of a straightforwardly good profession such as veterinary medicine. Not only that, but he also minored in photography, making him stand out from the other nerds in Jisung's eyes.

While the two came in contrast with each other in many ways such as; how neat they were, their favorite subjects, favorite creative outlets, how they got down to studying and the way they dealt with stress, they both found enough in common to bond over easily.

They both liked the same music, found the same things pretty or gross, both liked to capture and preserve chosen memories in their own way, and most importantly they were both caring and tended to each other's needs. The result was, expectedly, a strong friendship that grew almost immediately after moving in.

Focusing back on his work, Jisung's mind wondered with some three AM thoughts. How much different will their lives turn out? A vet and an artist, in college they may live together well, but years will tell of the gap between the two.

Life had a way of doing that, tying different people together naturally or forcibly. How many chances will he get to befriend someone like Seungmin? And just how many unlikely things like it are left for him to experience?

Although he believed himself to be highly likable, Jisung didn't have many friends in college, only Seungmin and Changbin from his minor. It's been different in high school, but in college being an introvert really took its toll, isolating Jisung until he felt too late to join the already formed friend groups all around him. That's fine, he assured himself- his art, what mattered most to him, at least he still had that. When he was drawing, he never seemed to get lonely.

Closing his eyes, he recalled again the dancers; a boy and a girl. Should he attempt a new concept? If the boy was the moon, the girl was a star. Their poses suggested they were close friends rather than coworkers, and Jisung wondered if boosting their contrasts would add or take from that fact.

For some reason, his instinct told him to shine more light on the boy, and he only half frowned when he realized he's been putting so much more effort into him rather than splitting it equally. Alright, he reasoned. Let's not do that, brain.

He sighed quietly, looking to where his finished pieces were laying against the wall in a stack. Should he pay a visit to the dance majors in his college? The thought made him anxious. No, he'd rather stay inside- he could look up references if he wanted. Lightly slapping his cheeks, he turned back and continued his work in silence.

Minho spun, goofing around rather than practicing a specific choreo. At the corner of his eye he could see Hyunjin doing something similar, half clinging to Felix at the other's laughter.

"Hyung!" Felix called him over, worry ghosting over his face for a moment as if he noticed something was off. Minho smiled uneasily, walking over to the two. What was it?

"Did you sleep well? You seem tired, you have bags under your eyes." Felix questioned, cupping Minho's face with both hands. Minho pursed his lips, causing Felix to let him go with an eyeroll.

"I'm fine, I just have a lot of work. I'm jealous sometimes- I wish I majored in dancing, then at least I'd be stressed about something I like."

Hyunjin made a face, almost offended that Minho made their lives sound like a dream when in truth the two dance majors were working long and hard hours just as he did. "Change your major then." He challenged.

"I can't do that." Minho sighed for the hundredth time. It was clear to him that his mother would fund whatever he set out to do, but he never felt comfortable relying on her, they didn't know each other well enough- a strange thing to say about one's mother. No, he decided years ago already, he wants to make a living for himself without her support.

"I got an internship too." Minho added, using his bragging rights for once after refusing to do so in front of Ryujin.

"You did? Where?" Hyunjin asked, offense long forgotten or at least bottled down to where it won't bother him. If Minho got something cool going for himself, then what's there not to support?

"In the district nine police station, I'm working with the detectives there." Minho dropped the information as if it wasn't a big deal. He knew it was, but after the things he's been through it seemed more like a curse than a blessing- not that they needed to know that.

"Oh right!" Felix called, tone raising with a smile spread across his face. "Chan-hyung told me you were working with him! You two are interns then? I thought he was doing volunteer work." Minho paused, reminding himself that Felix and Chan did in fact know each other quite well.

"He's volunteering at the emergency call center; I intern with the investigator team. It's a bit different, but we do work in the same office block." He explained, noting with slight fright the ray of sparks flying from both his friends' eyes.

"That's so cool! It's like you're a movie star!" Hyunjin hyped, the other nodding furiously.

Minho reached to rub his neck, pulling the hat of his hoodie over his head to relieve his fluster. "I'm still new, I don't know anything." He lied, wishing he could be praised for something good like his hair, his face or his dancing… not like this.

"We can say we danced with a detective like Sherlock Holmes." Felix added, clinging onto Hyunjin's shoulder with the other instinctively reciprocating the affection. Obviously he was blowing things out of proportion, but they both tended to be overly supportive of Minho in everything he did.

Minho hummed, hoping they'd cool off after a moment.

The dance instructor entered, giving them a once over before calling for the rest of the class members' attention.

As embarrassing as it was, Minho Felix and Hyunjin were all sophomores despite their age gap due to the fact Minho spent a little over a year working and saving money to fund himself, while the two of them enrolled immediately after high school.

Normally he shouldn't have been allowed in the majors' class at all, but it was the minor's squad instructor's call at the time to up his studies, which led to his current instructor always keeping an eye out for every flaw and mistake that could justify kicking him out.

Unfortunately for him, Minho's spot was well deserved.

Calling him out for demonstration, the instructor asked him to dance what their class had practiced last time, which was four days earlier. Relying on his fogged-up memory from before the Min-ra incident, he still managed to execute it perfectly, mentally patting his own shoulder in pride.

"Okay." The instructor went on, not finding any particular flaws to pick on this time around, yet infinitely patient for them to show up sooner or later. "Let's begin."

"Minho-hyung! Are you up for ice cream?" Felix's voice sounded not thirty seconds after the instructor dismissed them. Minho turned, drying his hair with a towel. He had a gap in his class schedule of forty-five minutes, which meant he probably could take the younger up on that offer even after a quick shower.

"Sure. Hyunjin too?" Minho asked, making eye contact with the friend in question.

"Yeah." Hyunjin smiled before making his way to the shower room.

After they were clean, the three headed to an old ice cream place that had survived impressively in that spot for at least ten years. Ordering three cones of a combination they all love; strawberry vanilla, they left the place with a feeling of satisfaction at treating themselves for a change. For Minho especially, a treat was a good call during the week he was supposed to recover in.

He only managed five or so well-earned licks though, before he felt an itch at his right eye. He groaned, signaling the others to halt in their walk for him to rub the dirt out real quick.

Art, multiple pieces spread across the floor. One of the field, another of the club- a third one of a park, an iced coffee and a city view that seemed eerily familiar. Minho froze, unmoving. The common interest was clear: they were all signed HAN.

The sound of Felix and Hyunjin screaming in unison brought Minho back to reality, lowering his hand and realizing to his misery that he dropped his cone of ice cream. Felix passed his cone to Hyunjin before wrapping his hands around Minho and patting his back gently, an attempt to comfort his friend over the loss of vanilla-strawberry ice cream rip. Minho could swear he was crying a little, too.

"Felix, Felix I'm fine." Minho attempted, glancing over to where Hyunjin was standing, eyes teary and sniffing heavily. Oh for fuck's sake.

"It's just ice cream! I can go get a new one." He added, although he had no such intention.

"But you're broke." Felix sniffed, tightening his hold. Minho's lower lip trembled. That's true, he is broke.

"It's okay, don't worry, I don't need it. I'm good." He lied.

"You can have mine." Hyunjin offered, wiping his eyes awkwardly on his forearm since he was still carrying both cones.

"Really?" Minho asked, touched. That meant a lot, coming from Hyunjin. All three of them needed this treat after feeling so stressed for a long time…

"I'll remember this." Minho promised, Felix taking his que to let go so he could take Hyunjin up on his offer. Under different circumstances he might have declined, but he had his class on white collar crime in less than fifteen minutes.

Hyunjin took one last lick before longingly passing his ice cream to his friend. "Make sure to hold it well." He requested, giving Felix's cone back to him as well and pulling out his phone to check the time.

"Yongbok, we have to go; theory's at the other building." He informed, pulling Felix to him before pushing him towards the right direction.

"Bye hyung!" he called, Felix waving with considerably less enthusiasm at the prospect of dance theory.

Walking toward his lecture hall, Minho entertained the thought that maybe his hallucination was an attempt made by his subconsciousness to divert his attention towards anything of actual importance. Following the thought, he decided a small checkup wouldn't hurt. Sure, there were plenty of Hans, it was a common surname- but maybe if he searched for Han artists in his area, he could narrow it down to a list. Why artists? Regrettably, only for the sake of the context the name was brought in.

Looking up the name on google under his table with one hand, Minho made use of his ambidextrousness to write down the list of Han artists from district nine. After farther thought, he expanded the search to include Hans in his living area around the college and from around Min-Ra's home. If he was lucky, he wouldn't have to include all of seoul.

Narrowing it down to two artists, Minho found that neither of them drew in the style he saw. Was he overdoing it? And just what was he searching for, anyway?

Annoyed, Minho typed down "art signed HAN, seoul", and hit a tumblr account for first result. That couldn't be a reliable source, and yet he entered in search of anything useful.

The url read hansquirrelart, which was only somewhat promising. Reading the description, Minho could tell why google directed him there.

"Han Jisung, 00', seoul." He read, assuming this couldn't be the guy he's looking for, since the world of a nineteen or twenty-year-old squirrel aesthetic art blogger wouldn't seem to have any overlap with Minho's. However, since Minho himself had no idea of what he was expecting from his search, he scrolled down a bit to see the content. After a few memes, a first art piece showed, marked big and red with "WIP".

Minho's blood froze, recognizing the style of the drawing. The caption read "Peek of my recent classwork, might not finish. Not very into this one." And the end was signed clearly with HAN, the same way the works he hallucinated were.

Now driven, Minho followed links from the tumblr to a similar twitter and Instagram that wasn't private, all under the same name. "Guess what?? Ya boy got a spot in an art show this saturday!! Come see me, everyone's invited :D" read a recent post. Minho jotted down the details before moving to the Instagram, breath hitching as he saw a picture of a guy with his face crossed out by a filter. Despite everything, he seemed oddly compelling.

"Mind sharing these notes with the class?" Called the professor, upset at the sight of Minho furiously writing what seemed to be minor details while others listened.

"Ah? No, I'm sorry." Minho apologized, quickly turning off his phone and throwing it in his bag with the resolution to continue later. For now he should focus on passing his classes.

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rhysreece · 4 years

Text

Fortified

2/7

When Logan once said he hated being restrained, he had meant it metaphorically. Now, however, he's adding the literal definition to the list, because his wrists have gone numb, and the blood is starting to dry rather uncomfortably. The stone of the cell is cold and too solid to be uncomfortable, just at the right angle to dig into his neck, above the iron shackle choking him slowly. Dirt and blood matt on his skin, as his flesh rots off his chest, the icy breeze from nowhere sending little flashes of pain across his chest. His chest that rattles as he breathes, constricted by so many open wounds, dripping blood onto the floor between his feet, forced into the upright position. Captivity is not where he thought he'd be yesterday.

Perhaps it is prudent to review the events of the past 24 hours, to understand how he was in the position he currently found himself.

This time yesterday, Logan was hunkering down in order to avoid the recurrent event of Patton's personality shift, beginning exactly seven days before midnight on All Hallow's Eve. For those seven days, hell on earth breaks loose, and the others suffer. However, through proper experimentation, he has discovered that he is the only one who remembers. The mirror, that blasted hall, the blood. Thanksgiving.

He shudders at the thought of Virgil, tears and blood mingling into one, sloppy stitchwork pulling at his skin, forcing a wide, eerie smile. Logan had hoped it wouldn't be as bad this year, because he'd prepared, blocking entrances into his room, stockpiling food, setting traps. Clearly, Patton had other ideas.

He'd noticed something was wrong at precisely 12:34 pm yesterday afternoon, when he'd heard Roman talking to himself, which in itself isn't alarming. No, what worried Logan was what was being said.

"Oh Roman you silly silly prince, you're supposed to protect people from threats and now Janus is dead and Logan is missing, and it's all not-"

The sudden, too-sharp silence was almost enough to get him to run out, wielding a weapon in desperation, but he decided against it, silently apologising to Roman as he fortified his defenses and huddled in a tense, paranoid silence. Every little shadow seemed to flicker and move malevolently, every tiny noise seemed to herald his inevitable doom.

Needless to say the overly-happy knocking at his cupboard door, from the inside, sent him screaming. Refusing to question how Patton got into his cupboard, he scrambled out of his bed, legs tangled in the layers of bedding he'd used to protect himself.

This gave Patton time to step out of the cupboard, brush himself off, look around at Logan's attempts to keep him out, and laugh. His cruel, sharp, borderline unhinged laugh that sent shivers down the bravest side's spine.

"Uh oh Logie Bear! Looks like my cutie little baby boy wasn't quite smart enough to keep me out! Tut tut tut, my little brainbox. Ah well, nevermind. You won't need intelligence where you're going. See, you're just a bit too clever for my liking. You're a threat, sweetie! I can't have you running around helping people, so I'm gonna have to put you in time out!"

Either too scared or too confused, Logan was rooted to the spot, and couldn't bring himself to fight back as Patton drew near, lightly kissing his forehead with such tenderness that it was like nothing else mattered in that moment, before hitting him round the head with a baseball bat, and knocking him out cold.

When he'd woken up, he'd thought for a moment that Patton had blinded him, and his blood froze. It took a while to adjust to the dim lighting, but he appeared to be in a cell, under Roman's castle judging by the pseudo-medieval architecture. His wrists were cuffed to the wall, holding him close with its iron grip, cold as death against what little unscarred skin he had left. Unfortunately, he wasn't alone.

"Hiya Lo-Lo! That nasty snake is taken care of, so now we get to play a game! Doesn't that sound fun?"

The way he tilted his head so playfully, the excitable, puppy-like expression, it was so close to being Patton. Real, sane, tangible Patton, but that blasted bow tie, stained red in places and dulled by vigorous washing and use, it was a sign that he was not in a safe position, spread open before that false god of a father figure friend.

"Patton, you must let me go, we - we can fix this, I can fix this, just let me go!"

The shackles like skeletal fingers around his wrist and neck didn't shift, as Patton brought down the whip, lashing across his stomach in a flaring, overwhelming line.

"Oopsies! You gotta listen to the rules before you start to play, or else you might get hurt!"

Damage must be kept to a minimum in order to sufficiently escape, which meant complying. Logan's newest hypothesis? His dignity would not survive this experience. Looking back on it, Logan has to agree, his hypothesis is correct. His dignity didn't survive the experience. Neither did he, really.

"Fine. I'll play your game."

"Wonderful! Here are the rules. I'm gonna ask you a question, you're gonna answer me. If I don't like the answer, then I'll beat that into you. If you succeed, we can even have some adult fun times later. So, ready to begin?"

Logan nodded, overwhelmed by the combination of pure fear and pain coursing through his body. It raced along his nerves like lightning, spreading pain and suffering.

"Good. Okay! Question one is this. Do you think of me as a father figure, Lo-Lo?"

An easy enough question, but Logan still hesitated, assessing the situation. If he answered wrong, if he didn't play along with his idealistic delusion, then his chances of survival were sure to plummet.

"I suppose I do, Patton."

"Excellent! Just one issue, Logie!"

"And what would that be?"

"You hesitated."

Logan's stomach dropped, as Patton's tone did, as Roman would put it, a full 180, polarising from his usual happy and somewhat deranged demeanor to entirely lucid and unimpressed, which gave Logan the distinct impression that this was going to hurt.

He heard the whip before he felt it, a deafening crack, followed by that blinding, searing pain in arcing lengths across his body, wet with blood and gore. Specks of blood stained Patton's sleeves and face, but he paid no mind, a look of false sympathy to hide the mocking laugh clearly building.

"This could have been avoided, baby boy. You didn't have to lie. If you'd just told me the truth, the punishment wouldn't have been as bad."

"Yes it would."

Logan had to bite back a screen as the whip came down across his face, knocking his glasses askew and leaving blood to dry across his cheeks, sticky and warm.

"You know I don't like it when you kiddos answer back."

Almost instinctively, not entirely of his own free will, Logan replied.

"Sorry, D-Patton."

Seeing Patton's face light up was somehow more terrifying than his anger, as he was pulled from the wall into a bone crushing hug. The snap and the flaring pain he felt in his rib were honestly not his biggest concern.

"Awww! Lo-Lo, baby boy, you're so cute! Gosh, I could just eat you right up! You're not forgiven, but that has really made my day, kiddo! Now, ready for the next question?"

He pulled away, and grabbed his chin, tilting Logan's face to meet his, inches from that sugar-sweet smile, those rounded glasses, those godforsaken eyes, usually the colour of a sunny day's sky, now red as the setting sun, with flecks of black like stormy clouds. His voice now quiet, soft, and caring, lulling him into a sense of security that he couldn't escape from, no matter how hard he tried.

"If you're good, baby boy, I'll take good care of you, after I give you my little prize."

Those 'questions' went on for hours. 17 hours, 58 minutes and 42 seconds, to be exact, before Patton 'had to go' and left him, sheets of flesh flapping off his body, coated in blood, and barely conscious. And that is where he is. On review, Logan realises he should have covered the mirrors, those blasted, cursed mirrors. He sighs, then goes entirely still as he hears a familiar sound coming down the stairs.

Virgil, hyperventilating and crying, looking for him, with a mock-concerned Patton following behind, a hand on his shoulder. On closer inspection, Virgil's eyes appear to be clouded white, as Patton guides him into the cell across from him, whispering far-from-sweet nothings to him.

Oh. So that's his plan.

Shit.

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bearsfakedthemoonlanding · 4 years

Text

Gender Queer: There’s a Few Memories that Stick to me that I’m Sure Don’t Mean Anything to Anyone Else

[Content warning: mild transphobia, drunk driving mention, mild homophobia, mentions of abusive relationship, F-slur used for self (second to last paragraph)]

I’m sixteen years old, sitting on the kitchen table while my mom tuts around in the kitchen. I haven’t come out yet, but I have cut my hair off. Julie Andrews pixie that my mom tried to fix, but it was too short to turn out anything but boyish. I think it’s starting to grow out, get a little shaggy. I didn’t have any idea how hair gel worked at that age. I was wearing baggy jeans and chucks and a green t-shirt that said “Meddle Not In The Affairs Of Dragons, For You Are Crunchy And Taste Good With Ketchup.” My favorite uncle got it for me. Mom is staring at me for a long time, and I finally turn to look at her and ask, what? what’s up? She doesn’t want to tell me, says I don’t want to know. I insist. She finally sighs and says, “Well, I was just looking at you, and for a moment I felt like I was looking at the son I could have had. That’s strange, right? I’m sorry.” She thought I’d be upset, like I didn’t know what I was doing, and while I felt bizarre it wasn’t because I was sad. It was because I was happy. She looked at me and saw a son, saw a boy, and something about that felt so right that I felt guilty. I shouldn’t have wanted it. I didn’t change anything, though.

Twenty-two years old. Work got out at seven-thirty, and I drove the hour and a half to a different time zone to the only gay bar within driving distance. Jackie’s in South bend. Or Vickie’s maybe. It��s dark, and I’m in a pick up truck and a black t-shirt. The city can be dangerous in certain areas and I’m anxious about everything I’m doing. Gay bars are different here than they are in Vegas. Still, I bolster myself up and go inside, walk with wide shoulders and heavy boots, trying to feel brave to be taken seriously.

It’s empty. The bartender is a gorgeous person with long hair and lipstick and rough hands. They laugh when I order a Seagram’s but oblige, and I torture myself trying to find a polite way to tell them how pretty they are. My not-yet-girlfriend texts me and tells me not to be such a baby, to have fun. I want to go home.

Then two people walk in, a man and a woman both shorter than I am, and they pass around a plate of vegan fudge that I’m dumb enough to eat even though it could easily be laced with something. I’m a disaster with weed, each and every time. I got lucky. The boy sits next to me with the girl on his other side, and she leans around him to flirt with me, hand on me knee and shoulder and neck, and he sits there and smirks at me. It’s not predatory. He doesn’t look at me the way I’m used to men looking at me, like I’m something pretty and easy and delicate. We arm wrestle. He leans his head on my shoulder. I feel like a man.

They dance with me, two more Seagrams and I’m no longer self-conscious, though I am blushing. She drags me around by the belt loops. He lets me put my hands on his sides. She pushes me against a wall, and kisses me neck, and he places a hand on my chest over my binder and seems happy to find it, which is not a response I’ve ever had before.

They tell me I’m the best of both worlds, half-way between a man and a woman, and that they’re bisexual and best friends and looking for someone to play with. I play for a while, safe there in the public eye and probably pissing off the regulars there for a quiet night. I tap out after four or five drinks and drive myself home, a little drunk, very unsafe, but absolutely glowing.

I’m eighteen years old, and in less than 24 hours I’ll be admitted to the hospital and put on a ventilator for pneumonia-- so obviously this memory is hazy. I’d gotten up at six that morning to get work done before school, I’d struggled through school, and I’d stopped at a gas station before work. There, I bought two doses of Dayquil, a coke, and a five hour energy. I slammed it all and clocked in to the job that I hated. It payed $6 an hour and was hardly enough to put gas in the beater truck I drove around everywhere.

I’m going through the racks, bending down to pick clothes up off the floor and rehang them. Goodwill was my personal nightmare. Every time I leaned over, my head spun and vision danced with black, and my heart would pound and skip so hard I was half-convinced I was dying.

Someone’s sweet little grandma drops something in front of me, and I stoop down to pick it up for her. She says, “Oh what a sweet young man!”

And the friend she’s with, another darling grandma, says, “No, no, that’s a girl.”

“It’s a boy.”

“It’s a girl.”

They argue back and forth, and I’m too dizzy and nauseous to be an active part of the conversation. I remember standing there doing my best to keep the floor from rocking underneath me while also glowing in adoration. I was wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt under my smock, and my baggy navy blue school trousers. I was an enigma, and I was overjoyed.

After work I would go back to school for play rehearsal-- my part was small, unimportant, a Pick a Little Lady in the Music Man-- so I spent most of the evening on the floor between seats listening to my friends talk. I would get so tired, head spinning and heavy and eyes burning, that I would have to lay down. Every time I was horizontal, my chest would heavy and coughs from the bottom of my gut would overwhelm me enough to have me right back up and doubling over. Eventually, someone dragged me up to our director, who sent me home. I insisted I could drive. I don’t remember anything between talking to her and being at the doctor’s office the next morning, suffocating behind a face mask and half-collapsed in the waiting room.

He was terrible. Sneaky, passive-aggressive, physically aggressive. He was rude to waiters and condescending. God only knows how I was stupid enough to waste so much time on him, let alone give him any power over me. It started with a loss of virginity, when he offered blatantly and my dumb-ass brain told me “it’s now or never.”

It was terrible. Should have known from that first night, when I went over to watch movies wearing sweatpants (men’s section), boxer briefs, and a pull over sweatshirt (hers). He said, “you really dress like this, huh?” He’d only ever seen me in workout clothes at our college sport club.

The thing about bad men is that it doesn’t matter what your gender is, if you have a vagina that’s all they see you as.

We were out on a date a few months in, bowling at a casino after grabbing dinner. He’d said to dress up, so I put on my nice black jeans and a button up shirt. He was disappointed. We argued over who got to pay the bill. I won, and he snapped something about how he didn’t have to waste his money at least.

We went bowling. Every bowling date I’ve gone on with men (3) have been absolute train wrecks in totally opposite ways. This time, we spend the night at odds with each other, as he takes it all seriously and tries to give me pointers, and I do trick shots-- sliding on my knees and bowling belly-down on the floor and spinning around with my eyes closed. He thinks I’m ridiculous, but I’m having fun.

We’re walking back, and he pulls his hand out of mine and sticks it in his pocket. He says “We look like homosexuals,” and I’m baffled, because at 20 years old I might be butch but I’m still a girl. He says, “You walk like a man, and why are you dressed like that?” He tells me I ought to grow my hair out, or at least put some makeup on. He asks, “Do you ever wear dresses?” Asks me to try and put in an effort.

I bought a dress a few months later, and I showed it to him. He frowned.

When I look in the mirror in a dress, I see nothing but a boy in a dress. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but when you’re not thinking of yourself as a boy it feels rather disheartening. I had some weird hope that the dress itself would transform me into a woman. I think he did too.

I didn’t wear that dress again until my twenty-first birthday celebration with my uncle. He came in from out of town to waste money on a elaborate, drunken celebration. He has money to waste like that. I dragged one of my friends along, my roommate since sophomore year, and it was the most drunk I had ever been and she was a sweetheart about holding my hand and leading me around and adjusting my dress every time the straps slipped down or I spread my legs too far. Nothing makes me feel like a fag quite as much as wearing a dress. I still don’t know how to feel about that.

In a way, I’m glad that he never saw me as “pretty.” I’m glad I managed to be such a disappointment, and to crawl my way out of it with my life in tact and his pride rather bruised. He deserved nothing less, but his gross comment-- his confusion, disgust-- still makes me grin when I think about it.

I’ve taken so much joy throughout the years in other people’s confusion about me. At nineteen I used to proudly say that my gender was “confusion.” To be fair, I am rather confused by it. So are other people. And in its own way, isn’t that rather wonderful?

#honorable mention i'm 15 and tell my boyfriend i'm going to try jacking off #he says girls can't call it that #and i tell him girls and boys are the same thing anyways #and how does he know i don't have a penis #dating men has been a very interesting experience #especially since every one of them expected me to be a girl #sorry boys #trans masc #trans masculine #trans boy #transgender #trans #lgbt #queer #nonbinary #memories

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petitrenard · 4 years

Text

George V

Juliette sat in the back of the towncar and could barely contain her excitement - she had finished her last interview! She grabbed a photo of front of the building, posted it to Instagram with the caption fin. and took a long, satisfying breath. Very French. Very done. She looked at her phone. 8:30 p.m.

“Back to the George V?”

“Yes. Please and thank you.”

The last 6 weeks on tour had been a blur of promotion and the next 48 hours in Paris had been the carrot Juliette desperately needed to get her through. It was her first time here and she wanted to see everything, but first she wanted to sit in the Hammam at the George V spa.

She was lost in thought when her phone vibrated. It was an Instagram message notification.

Hey Jules! It’s Ethan, Doug’s old roommate. I saw you’re in Paris. Been living here for 2 years. If you need a tour guide or want to catch a drink let me know! Would love to see you. Juliette smiled broadly and as her car pulled up in front of her hotel she took a moment to drink in this message.

Ethan was her older brother’s roommate from college. She first met him when they moved Doug into his dorm at the University of Michigan. She was a geeky high school junior carrying boxes of ramen arguing with her mom when Ethan walked in with his parents. She had a serious crush on him from the moment she laid eyes on him.

Ethan and Doug stayed friends and roommates throughout college and although the two weren’t living in the same city, they were still friendly and chatted frequently. Now here he was...hunky Ethan...texting HER...about getting a drink...in Paris. It was more than high school her could have ever imagined. She made a mental note to leave out the “hunky” when talking to him.

Juliette stopped at the front desk to confirm her appointment before heading up to her room. Once inside, she pulled out her phone to respond. Ethan, nice to hear from you. Would love to meet up. Tonight? Staying at the George V. Heading to spa shortly, back in room in about two hours. International cell service spotty, so insta is best - or hotel phone. Room 507.

When Juliette returned to her room 2 hours later she was blissfully relaxed...and super soft and smooth. She was so relaxed that she didn’t bother to change back into her clothes after her session, but instead opted to skulk the back stairs to her room in the oversized robe they offered her. She flopped on to her bed and casually picked up her phone. No messages.

It was 11:00 p.m. and Ethan “No Messages” wasn’t going to stop her good time. She had all of Paris before her, an in room bar and a 24 hour room service menu. Yes sir, I know how to have a good time. Good time is my middle name. Before she had left for the spa she placed an order for an American Cheeseburger and fries. She made the decision to eat the burger on her terrace...naked, like a glutton.

With the order placed, she turned on some music, opened the windows to the terrace and made herself a drink from the bar. Right as she was about to step on to the terrace, the doorbell rang. Juliette walked over to the door and opened it. It was Ethan.

“You’re not my cheeseburger.” she exclaimed.

Ethan laughed, “I’m sorry to disappoint you. I am not your cheeseburger.”

Juliette cringed a little bit. Yep. That’s Ethan. Great laugh, super hot and here you are J..in a fucking nana sized robe with no makeup on and your hair in a ponytail. All you’re missing is a box of ramen.

She composed herself, “Ethan! What are you doing here at my room? I mean, not that I’m mad...I’m sorry, it’s been a long day. What’s up?”

“Well, I messaged you, but it didn’t go through. Then I tried to call you here, but the line was busy. I didn’t want you to think I was being flaky or standing you up, so...”

She looked at the hotel phone and it was off the hook. “Oh man, I left the phone off the hook after I ordered my cheeseburger. Of course. Please come in, I can get dressed and we can head down to the bar if you don’t mind waiting.”

“I do not mind waiting.” And with that he walked into Juliette’s hotel room. As he walked past her she reached out and hugged him a hello. He was wearing her favorite cologne, Tom Ford’s Vanilla Tobacco.

As she closed the door behind him the sound of a room service cart rumbled down the hallway. Just as she was about to close the door, the cart bumped the door slightly and left it ajar. A sweet looking younger man was on the other side of the cart. “Excuse me, excuse me.”

Juliette opened the door. Ethan turned around, smiled and said, “Your cheeseburger.”

“So it would seem.” she giggled.

The decision was made to order another cheeseburger and take their dinner on her terrace. They made fast work of the cheeseburgers and a bottle of whiskey. Ethan worked in finance and had spent the last two years helping his company establish their office in Paris. They laughed about Doug and talked about music and art and Juliette’s promotional tour.

It was a lovely evening and Juliette was thrilled that she didn’t have to change out of her nana robe. It had been a long day and this night had been just what she needed. They were sitting on the terrace in one of those lovely moments of space. When the conversation has a natural lull but it isn’t awkward. Juliette looked at Ethan and smiled. He pulled out two cigarettes, lit them at the same time and handed one to her.

She didn’t smoke on the regular, but that move was so smooth that there was no way she was turning down that cigarette. She took a long drag and said “I have a confession. I used to have such a crush on you when I was younger.”

“Really? I had no idea. You were always leaving the room whenever I came around.”

Juliette laughed. “Yeah, I had a real subtlety back then.” Ethan laughed too and she playfully reached across the table at him. “I left the room because you were a hot college guy and I was a 17 year old geek with braces and fluffy hair.”

Ethan smiled and nodded. “It was very fluffy.”

“It was the 90s. Perms were all the rage. I was excited to get your message and see you again.”

“Now that you’re a successful author and your hair seems to have de-fluffed you think you’ve got a shot?”

They both laughed really hard, “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Sell 5 million books, fly to Paris, fuck Ethan.” Their laughing died down to a slightly more awkward silence. Juliette took another drag and looked at Ethan. He wasn’t smiling. He was staring at her.

“Ethan, I’m just being silly. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t sell 5 million books just to fuck you. I’m a really talented writer.”

With that Ethan smiled, “I know you are Jules. I wasn’t uncomfortable. I was just thinking about it.”

“My book?”

“No. About fucking you.”

Juliette’s heart skipped a beat. Suddenly she wished that she was wearing more than just the nana robe. She cursed that she hadn’t stopped at Agent Provacateur upon arrival. She put out the cigarette and stared at him while readjusting in her chair. When she did that her robe fell open revealing her thighs. Ethan didn’t try to look away. Her heart beat faster.

He got up from his chair, walked over to her and placed his hand on her soft, smooth thigh. Juliette wrapped her arm around his forearm and pressed her face against him. She kept her legs closed, but slid his hand deeper between her thighs until his wrist was touching her clit. She looked up at him, bit her bottom lip and started to gently use his hand to masturbate.

Ethan smiled. He bent down and kissed her neck, then her shoulders. He moved down to her breasts and licked and sucked on her nipples. Juliette arched her back as he did that and she rubbed herself more intently. Ethan took his cue and he grabbed both of her wrists with one hand while his other hand slid between her pussy lips.

He grabbed her lips and gently tugged on them so that Juliette would stand up. She stood up and followed him over to the bed. He sat her down on the edge of the bed, released her wrists from his hand and spread her legs wide. Ethan continued to make his way down her belly until he was face first with her pussy.

“It smells like vanilla.” he said.

“You sound surprised.”

“Not surprised. Excited.”

Juliette placed her legs over his shoulders and Ethan began to lick her pussy. She couldn’t believe how amazing it felt to have him between her legs. He ran his tongue all the way up and down her lips one last time and then he slipped his fingers into her waiting pussy.

He brought his face up to her and she pulled him close and licked his lips. Then she licked hers. “Not only do I smell like vanilla, I taste like it too.” Ethan took a deep breath and began to kiss her intensely. He was fingering her as he began to take his pants off.

He fumbled with his belt and it felt like he took forever, but once it was unbuckled Juliette’s hands took over and he stood over her. Kissing her face, fingering her pussy and loving every second.

Juliette drew immense satisfaction from how hard he was. She also felt her mouth water when she saw him naked. She pulled her face from his and whispered to him, “Please don’t just think about it, do it.” Ethan hesitated only long enough to pull the rest of her robe down, then he slid himself into her pussy.

She took him into her balls deep. He stayed deep inside of her and began pumping. He didn’t pull out very far, he just kept pushing deeper and deeper. Juliette’s nipples got really hard as she felt his balls slap against her ass. She put her hand around his shoulders, lifted herself up slightly and began grinding into him.

It only took a few moments for Juliette to be on the verge of cumming on him. He was rhythmic in his pumping and his mouth was tirelessly exploring the rest of her body.

“I’m going to get you sloppy with my cum Ethan. Is that ok?”

Ethan stopped fucking her for a moment, looked her in the eye and said, “Not only is it ok, I insist you cum on me.”

Juliette had been holding herself on the edge of her orgasm for a while and Ethan’s insistence pushed her over the edge. She grabbed two of his fingers and began sucking on them. Her back arched and she wrapped her legs around Ethan so that she could hold him on her while she came. Her legs were clasped tight around him until the moment she began to cum.

Ethan felt her pussy tighten and her legs weaken, but he pushed as deep as he could to keep her cumming. As soon as her pussy relaxed, so did her legs, and Ethan knew he had to cum too. He began pulling himself out of her until he was almost all the way out, then he slowly slid himself back in down to his balls.

Juliette’s pussy was warmed up and eager for his cum. She began wiggling her hips in a circular motion and sucking harder on his fingers.

“Fuck, Juliette. I’m going to cum.”

“Cum inside me.”

Ethan’s balls twitched and the thought of dropping a load inside of her was too tempting to not do. He took his fingers out of her mouth and with his thumb he began to rub Juliette’s clit. He picked up the pace of his fucking and Juliette groaned and spread her legs even wider. Ethan started to cum inside her and then he pulled himself out of her, stroked his cock and kept cumming all over her tits and face. Juliette groaned even harder and used her fingers to rub the cum on her nipples.

He looked at her and she was covered in his cum. She was now sucking and biting on the two fingers she had used to rub the cum on her nipples. Juliette smiled at him. Ethan laid down beside her - exhausted. They laid there for a few moments catching their breath.

Juliette turned to Ethan.

“I’m going to get up and take a shower before I go to bed. I am a very dirty girl and I’m going to need help to make sure that I’m very clean.” Ethan nodded at her.

She smiled at him and walked towards the shower.

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raybyanothername · 5 years

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Chaperones are for Bad Influences - TimKon Week Day 7

Tim is forced to take Damian to a playdate with his friend. Said friend just happens to have a cute brother. There is some light flirting, a little obvious ogling, but mostly there is coffee.

Written for the final day of TimKon Week 2019 Day 7 - No powers/No capes AU - First Kiss

-.-.-

The room was dark when Jason flung the door open. He stomped in loudly - making zero attempt to avoid things strewn about the floor - towards the window, where he promptly flung the drapes open. All of these actions, combined with his belly flop onto the bed, earned him a ferocious grumble and his little brother attempting to bite his arm through the comforter.

"If you actually rip through the comforter to draw blood, you will be breaking two Alfred rules at once," Jason spread out on the bed, making sure the bulk of his weight was on the ball of limbs in the center. The biting stopped.

The grumbling grew louder, "You are an absolute asshole, Jason." A tsking came from the doorway. Tim's growl increased, "That goes double for you demon brat."

"I'm not the one using offensive language." Damian did not enter the room. He stayed in the threshold, nose in the air.

Jason snorted, "This time, baby brat." Damian's mouth twitched. "Just because you swear in a different language, doesn't mean we don't know what you're saying."

"That was a double negative."

"Your grammar is atrocious."

The room went silent as the younger brothers realized they'd just accidentally agreed on something. Jason smirked and rolled off the bed, "Good, you two are getting along." He ruffled Damian's hair on the way out the door. "Cause Alfred said Tim was to take you on your playdate to the park."

The comforter flew off the bed as Tim sat up, "What?!" Jason was already cackling on the other side of the hallway. Damian was glowering at his feet. "Why do you even need a chaperone?"

"That is not your concern!" Damian fled from the doorway, muttering under his breath about 'ridiculous overreactions.' It was the plural that made Tim suspicious. Damian reappeared in his doorway with a scrunched scowl on his face, "We leave in an hour, Timothy, and I will not be late!"

Tim arrived at the front foot one hour and one minute later. Damian's left eye was twitching as he stood in the parlour with his backpack. Alfred stood beside him, hand on his shoulder.

"So which park are we going to?" Tim asked Alfred. The butler smiled. "Not a park?" Alfred shook his head. Tim looked down at Damian, "Didn't you just go to the zoo last weekend?"

"Not with Jon." Damian sniffed, arms crossed. "And I have not yet finished my portrait of the lioness and her cubs."

Tim asked no further question. He did stop for coffee on the wall. Damian yelled at him all the way through the drive thru. It was worth it to watch the vein in his forehead throb in near identical fashion to the one in Bruce's.

"I'm telling Father you tried to make us late!" Damian groused as Tim pulled into the VIP parking space that was reserved for their family. They really did take Damian to the zoo far too often... Maybe they could just leave him, let the zookeepers raise the demon brat. They probably has specialized training for dealing with feral animals.

"Dami!" Tim was startled by the chipper voice as a flash of blue ran past him to hook his brother in a side hug. There was now a young boy hanging off his brother's side, looking at his brother fondly. This, obviously, was Jon.

Tim blinked, "Not what I expected." The two boys were talking in hushed, excited tones. Damian's posture remained rigged and his face neutral, but he had a soft smile aimed at the ball of blue energy that was now talking with his hands.

"We should visit the lions first, I believe you will find their behaviors both familiar and majestic."

"Are you insinuating that Lois is a mama lion?" Yet another voice startled Tim. He should probably be paying more attention…

Damian looked narrowly at the broad shoulder teen that came up beside Tim. "Yes."

"Okay." The teen shrugged, "That's probably fair." Tim took a moment to glance over the guy - he was definitely built, probably from some sort of sport, and he had a jawline that could cut paper.

"Who are you?" Damian's entire frame was strung tight. Tim sighed. He sent up a quick prayer to whatever God or gods may exist to save his sanity. Why didn't he ever meet hot guys at the library?

It was the ball of energy that answered the question, "This is my new brother Conner!" Jon grinned wide at Damian, "Now you're not the only one with cool siblings."

Damian scoffed, "I would hardly call Timothy cool, Jon."

"You're the one that said he hacked Wayne Enterprises' firewall, that's pretty cool." Jon argued, completely missing Tim choking on his coffee.

"Damian!" Tim hissed, eyes narrowed, "That's not suppose to be public knowledge." The two younger boys rolled their eyes and continued to argue about the definition of cool as if Tim had never spoken.

Conner, however, was looked at Tim sideways. "Aren't you…like, a Wayne?" Tim shrugged, took another sip of his coffee cause his throat now hurt. "Doesn't that mean you hacked yourself?"

"I wasn't a Wayne when I did it," Tim admitted under the intense scrutiny of the man's gorgeous blue eyes. Conner's eyebrows rose higher, but his mouth stayed shut.

The two teens spent the day followed their younger brothers around the zoo. Tim only had to stop Damian from trying to release an animal twice. He didn't bother stopping him from berating the zookeepers.

Penguins were awesome, afterall, and their enclosure could stand to be cleaner. He had also been far too busy watching Conner lean over. The glutes were just as well-muscled as the shoulders.

"So, do you know why we're here?" Tim asked as they walked through the aquarium. Conner hadn't said much of anything and Tim was officially feeling creepy for ogling the dude so much without talking to him.

Conner raised a brow, "Cause Jon asked me to?" Tim stopped. His head turned from Damian to Conner slowly as the realization rushed over him.

"Are you telling me you're not here to chaperone?"

Conner shook his head, "Lois said I could just drop Jon off, as long as there was someone with Damian."

"So…Lois only requires someone to be here for Damian…not Jon?" Tim spoke with a scowl, head turning back to his brother. His voice went low as he cursed his brother's name.

"Jason is your other brother?" Conner guessed as Tim started walking again. Tim nodded, "So…you're a middle child?"

Tim snorted, "Technically, I am the second youngest. I think Cass would be the official middle child. If we don't count Steph. Which I am generally adverse to do." Really, the fact that Bruce had pseudo-adopted his ex-girlfriend (before she was even his ex!) was just the sort of family weirdness that Tim didn't like to dwell on.

"How many of you Wayne's are there?" Conner chuckled, scratching the back of his head he smiled at Tim. Blue eyes shifted down and back up.

Tim blushed under the very-obvious glance. He cleared his throat, looked around for a coffee cart. "Five, legally, assuming Bruce hasn't adopted anyone else in the last 24 hours. But, Bruce has a habit of taking in people who need him, so I'd put the actual count at around a dozen, just to be safe."

"Wow," Conner breathed out. Tim absconded towards a coffee cart to avoid more questions - he didn't actually know Conner after all and he was officially rambling. About his siblings. Ick.

Damian was explaining the hunting patterns of his favorite shark when Tim got back, because of course he was.

"Your brother scares me," Conner whispered into Tim's ear upon his return. A shiver ran down Tim's spine.

"He scares most people," Tim said as he looked literally anywhere but at Conner. Jon, apparently, was not most people because he was chirping questions at Damian to keep the topic going. Tim eyed him warily - anyone who liked Damian was obviously insane.

Conner's hand was suddenly resting on Tim's lower back. Tim looked at Conner out of the corner of his eyes. The other teen was relaxed, shoulders back, head up, leaning against a bar that ran the length of the glass. Tim gulped.

"Dami, did you want to go back to the lions to finish your painting?" Tim was gaping at the wonder of Jon Kent as the boy literally pulled Damian towards the enclosure they'd started at. Damian just…went. Without complaint.

Tim tugged on Conner's arm, "Did he just…comply?" Conner nodded, eyebrow raised, "The world may be ending." He checked the sky - still dark and dreary, still Gotham. Conner chuckled. Tim then realized that he was now, essentially, tucked into Conner's side.

"You wanna get another coffee while he paints?"

Tim blinked. He looked straight into Conner's face. Eyes open, mouth quirked. Tim nodded, "The farther from the coming calamity, the better, I suppose."

Now, Tim didn't make a habit out of kissing boys he'd just met - thank you very much, Stephanie! - but Conner had bought him coffee. A large coffee, with the exact amount of sugar and cream that he liked. With a double shot of expresso! So you see, really, Tim should get points for not jumping him right then and there.

"Your lips are really soft," Conner murmured as Tim pulled away. He was smiling, a goofy kind of smile with teeth and everything. Tim blushed profusely. Conner kissed him again, a soft press of lips that moved against his with just a hint of pressure.

Tim ran his tongue along Conner's bottom lip and enjoyed the man's shudder. The pressure increased and Tim found himself pushed up against the railing of the zebra exhibit.

When they returned fo their brothers, Damian was packing up his paint and Jon was attempt to talk down a security officer. Tim slipped the dude a hundred and the man dispersed. Jon looked up at him with a pout. Tim shrugged.

"I have completed my portrait," Damian informed Tim with a triumphant grin. He gestured towards his easel with a small flourish. The painting was good - visceral and bright - and the lioness looked both feral and fond.

Tim gave him a thumbs up, "Looks good to me."

Damian nodded, "Of course it does, even a amateur can recognize talent." Tim resisted the urge to shove his little brother only because he still felt vaguely warm from his time with Conner. Not because his brother was staring at his painting with trembling eyes.

"Do we need to wait for it to dry?" Conner asked. He stood much closer to Tim now than he had earlier. Air just barely whispering between them. Damian narrowed his eyes on that space before looking up at their faces.

"You may leave whenever," Damian sniffed, nose rising in the air. He gave Jon a quick nod, "Thank you for spending the day with me, Jon."

Conner stared straight into Damian's twisted scowl. He then grinned and leaned over to peck Tim on the cheek, "See ya around, Tim."

"See ya," Tim waved as the other set of brothers walked off. Jon was already jumping and throwing his hands up as he talked. Conner looked over his shoulder at Tim and winked.

Tim chuckled, smiling to himself. Damian huffed and Tim looked over at him. "You barely know the man, Tim, can't you keep your…your carnal desires to yourself."

"Did…did you just call me Tim?" He didn't exactly gape at Damian so much as eye him warily.

Damian's cheeks flushed, "That is not the aspect of the sentence you were meant to focus on!"

"Yeah, yeah, keep it in my pants, got it." Tim waved a hand as he leaned down to look at Damian, face to face. His mouth twitched into a grin, "But you called me Tim. Not Timothy."

A stuttered denial was cut off by Tim sighing loudly. He made a dramatic show of holding a hand to his chest - Dick would have been proud. Damian growled at the gesture.

"I can't wait to tell Dad how nice you're being to me. Protective even!"

Damian's left eye twitched. It was the only warning before he sprung on Tim.

When Alfred got to zoo an hour later to pick them up from security's holding area, he did not ask about the fist fight, nor did he comment on their dishevelled appearances. He instead focused on the painting that security had leaning against the cell.

"It's really quite vibrant," Alfred nodded his approval, "Your brush strokes have improved immensely Master Damian. Ms. Kyle will be delighted, I'm sure. Might I suggest a mahogany frame, to bring out the golden undertones?"

#timkon week 2019 #timkon week #timkon #ray writes #fanfiction #fanfic #dc universe #dceu #batfamily #batfam #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #no powers au #no capes #timkonweek

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mayquita · 5 years

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Call Me (27/?) - The Final Countdown

A/N I still can't believe that four years have passed since I started this adventure. But I’m not only celebrating the fourth anniversary but also that with this chapter the story has reached 200k words!!! As always, my apologies for the delay, but to compensate you for the wait I bring you a long chapter. It was supposed to be shorter, but as usual, I got carried away a little. And here’s the result. I prefer not to reveal anything else about the chapter, but there’s a note at the end of the chapter with some explanations.

I’d like to express my gratitude to @saraswans and @onceuponaprincessworld for your advice and perpetual support and @chrissascorner for being my beta, thanks for helping me edit the whole thing. You three are the best. Thank you also to everyone else for your patience and for your support.

Summary: Emma loses her phone after a chase, but she finds a phone in a cafe just when she needs it most. Killian forgets his phone in a cafe when he is about to take a flight to Ireland. Killian makes a call to his own number hoping someone answers on the other end of the line. What will happen when Emma is the one answering the call?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8Chapter 9 Chapter 10Chapter 11 Chapter 12Chapter 13 Chapter14Chapter 15 Chapter 16Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26

FF.net Ao3

Chapter 27 - The Final Countdown

I was born to love you With every single beat of my heart Yes, I was born to take care of you Every single day of my life

Saturday, September 30, 2017

Queen's song echoed in the kitchen while Killian prepared dinner, the lyrics and their meaning slipping inside his mind and spreading a warm sensation all over his body.

A thought crossed his mind as he hummed and wagged his hips to the rhythm of the music, causing a wide smile to bloom on his lips. There was no doubt that Queen has been part of the soundtrack of his life since he was just a child, accompanying him in his childhood, changing and adapting to the experiences he went through over the years.

The band and their songs had been his only companions on his darkest nights, first when Liam had been about to die and then after losing Milah, when he had entered that spiral where he wasn't able to do anything but drown his sorrows in sex and alcohol, get into fights —in an attempt to replace the heartache for the physical pain— and wallow in misery while listening to the saddest and most melancholy songs he could find.

It's a Hard Life, Too Much Love Will Kill You, Save Me, Somebody to Love... He had listened to these songs in a loop, locked in his bedroom, repeating the same routine day after day until Liam had taken the reins, as usual, coming to his rescue and offering him the possibility of a new beginning on the other side of the ocean.

Now, five years later, he kept marveling at how his life had changed and how that was also reflected in his particular life soundtrack. He felt blessed to have found Emma for many reasons, but the fact that they shared musical tastes added an incentive to their relationship.

The change had been subtle at first, but after confessing their feelings two weeks ago, they had begun to replace their old companions with songs full of feelings and positivity. Once again Queen put the background music to a stage of his life, and this time he expected this stage to last as much as possible, something like forever.

His smile widened when the first chords of the next song resonated in the room, causing him to continue humming, shaking his head to the rhythm of the music while cutting the fresh tomatoes that would serve to make sauce for the pasta they'd have for dinner.

I want it all, I want it all, I want it all And I want it now.

He wanted it all with Emma. He wanted to sleep every night with her in his arms and wake up every morning with her at his side. He wanted the whole package, the happily ever after. He wanted and wanted. He was aware that it was still too soon — they would celebrate three months together tomorrow —but after so many years surrounded by darkness he was eager to grab every little bit of happiness within his reach that would keep him in the light. And Emma was pure light, like a beacon that kept him on the right path.

He couldn't be prouder of her. After her meltdown two weeks ago when she fell injured, she had been able to overcome her own fears, to open up to him even more, to be vulnerable and express her feelings. She was more affectionate, her smiles were brighter, the spark of her gaze more intense, causing his love for her to grow more and more if that was even possible.

That subtle change in her had not only been reflected in her behavior towards him, but towards the people around her. Now she was more willing to spend time with her friends, was more communicative with her boss and even took the initiative when organizing plans with their friends' group.

It was as if after the accident, she had been injected with a renewed energy to the point that it was quite complicated to get her to be on sick leave for more than a couple of days. In the end, she had agreed to stay away from the office for a whole week and do desk work during the following week, but she would start working at full capacity next Monday, now that she seemed fully recovered.

The memory of her accident caused a chill to run through his spine, especially when he thought she would be exposed to those dangers again. He had no choice but to resign himself, though, and trust her and her abilities. At least she had understood that she now had someone always waiting for her at the end of the day, no matter what happened, so it seemed that she was more willing to stay out of unnecessary risks and return to him every day.

That was precisely what he was waiting, for Emma to come home. She had decided to accompany Belle and Mary Margaret to go shopping since, according to the ladies, they needed to renew their wardrobe with the arrival of autumn. It seemed obvious that she was having a great time since several hours later she hadn't yet returned. He had received a message a while ago, though, informing him that she would arrive in half an hour and that it was better for him to have some dinner ready because she was famished — Her words.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips when the next song began to sound. Somehow Emma had managed to include the bloody It's My Life on his playlist, alluding that, whether he liked it or not, that song was already part of the soundtrack of their relationship. She was right, of course, he admitted to himself as he shook his head.

He cast a sideways glance at the wall clock as he filled a saucepan with water to boil the pasta. The music and his thoughts had kept him so distracted that if he didn't hurry, Emma would arrive before dinner was ready.

Something caught his attention before he focused his eyes on the food preparation again. His gaze shifted slightly to the calendar near the clock. September 30th. A strange sensation settled in his stomach, his eyebrows knitting together as he tried to figure out why suddenly that date seemed somehow significant.

The realization came so unexpectedly that he felt as if he had been punched in the stomach while all the air left his lungs. Tomorrow would be October 1st, which meant that in just one month he would be flying to Ireland. For five bloody months.

He shouldn't feel so shocked, not considering that his trip to Ireland was something that had been hovering over their heads from the start. Hell, even the origin of their relationship had occurred when he was there.

He even had a continuous reminder in his usual talks with his family through video calls, in many of which Emma was present. Whenever his niece asked him when he would return he responded in the same way. Soon, sweetheart, soon.

The problem was that that soon seemed so far away at first, so, with the excuse that there was still a lot of time to worry about it, they had chosen to ignore it, not to let his possible departure affect their incipient relationship.

The date on the calendar now marked the beginning of the countdown on his inexorable path that would lead him to separate from Emma.

Just when he left the pot full of water on the counter, the player was silent for an instant before the next song began. He almost expected to hear the first chords of The Final Countdown, as a sign that the universe was laughing at him. Although that didn't happen, the next song did nothing to improve his sudden change of mood, rather the opposite.

Spread your wings and fly away Fly away far away Spread your little wings and fly away Fly away far away

Yes, definitely the universe was laughing at him.

A heavy sigh escaped between his lips as he ran a hand through his hair and swallowed hard in an attempt to drag the bitter sensation that threatened to crawl up to his throat. Unable to concentrate on food preparation, he started pacing the kitchen area driven by the growing uneasiness that had taken hold of him.

Fate was definitely cruel, at least to him. It seemed that all the stars had decided to line up tracing a net that would prevent him from fully enjoying his stay in his hometown, no matter what happened.

Before Emma, the bittersweet sensation and the constant pressure on his chest had always accompanied him a sign that, although he was going to visit his family, the ghosts of his past would always be present, stalking him and making sure to remind him of everything he had gotten and in contrast, everything he had lost.

Now, however, even though he had already left behind — or at least was on his way to do it —his old demons, that bittersweet feeling would still be present, since he couldn't wait to reunite with his family, but the feeling of leaving Emma behind was hard to assimilate.

Killian pressed his lips together to avoid groaning in frustration wondering if his heart would ever be at peace, if he would get the full happiness he thought he deserved, because it didn't matter that he was coming back, he was fully aware that during his stay in Ireland his thoughts would be consumed by a single person, Emma Swan.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not realize at first that a new song began to play. The sounds of the chorus finally reached his ears, bringing him back to reality.

Well, come on and let me know Should I stay or should I go? Should I stay or should I go now? Should I stay or should I go now?

An almost unstoppable impulse to throw the phone against the nearest wall seized him. Instead, he just pressed the stop button, leaving the room silent, the music was no longer appealing to him.

He was being overdramatic, he was aware of it, but he seemed unable to stop the spiral of feelings swirling inside him, while the lyrics of the previous song repeated in his mind in a loop. Should I stay or should I go?

Maybe it was a sign. Maybe he was worrying about nothing. Maybe it was best to stay this year in Boston, in this very flat, with Emma by his side. Why then did he feel that this was not the best solution? The mere idea of not seeing his nephews and his niece caused a twinge in his heart. He hadn't even made the decision yet and he already felt a sense of regret in the pit of his stomach. He not only had responsibilities back in Ireland but he longed to see both his family and his friends there.

He squeezed his eyes closed while rubbing his forehead in an attempt to relieve an incipient headache while wondering how he had come to this situation in an interval of only a few minutes.

He alone was to blame for not having dealt with the subject previously, but there was no point complaining now, He had to make a decision. At least before, he just had to worry about himself, but now that he was in a relationship he should also consider Emma's feelings. If there was something that had become clear after her accident two weeks ago it was that, despite her efforts to be more open, Emma still harbored trust and abandonment issues. His heart clenched at the thought of becoming one more on the list of people who left her behind.

A familiar sound caught his attention, pulling him out of the maelstrom of thoughts that crowded together in his head. The clink of the keys in the lock announced Emma's arrival, as if she had been invoked. Despite his inner turmoil, a soft smile tugged at his lips. She was home, finally. The need to get lost in her, to forget everything for a while, seized him, so he hurried to the front door to welcome her as she deserved — or rather as he needed.

Emma still felt strange with the weight of the keys in her hand. Not in a bad way but rather in an unusual sense. This wasn't the first time she had used the spare keys since Killian gave them to her a week ago, but she still had a hard time getting used to the fact that her boyfriend trusted her enough to allow her free access to him, literally. Perhaps the fact that no one had ever had that deference with her had something to do with that strange feeling.

Details like this made her wonder once in a while if they wouldn't be running too fast. They would be celebrating tomorrow that they had been together for (only) three months and Emma not only had the keys to his apartment — and he had hers —but spent half of her time there — most of her time, actually.

Those thoughts faded quickly, though. She just needed to open that door for a sense of peace to settle in her heart. She would be welcomed by the warmth that emanated from the interior of the apartment, by the aroma coming from the kitchen, and by protective arms that would embrace her, giving the moment of an aura of normalcy, a sense of rightness.

What Emma did not expect was to be received with such intensity the moment she crossed the door. She barely had time to close the door behind her when she was approached by Killian, who wrapped her in his strong arms while pushing her gently against the wooden surface, pressing his body against hers, his lips looking for hers as if he was hungry.

After the initial shock at the unexpected reception, she responded in kind, dropping the keys and the bags she was holding to place her arms around his neck while she returned the kiss with the same fervor.

Emma kept feeling amazed at how her body reacted whenever Killian kissed her. It was as if all her senses stopped working properly, leaving her in a state of daze where everything around her seemed to fade away. Well, that was not entirely true, it wasn't as if her senses stopped working but rather intensified, directing their focus to the sensations that flowed from her body as his lips devoured her.

This occasion was not going to be different of course, but before she fell completely intoxicated and succumbed to the sensations, a glimmer of lucidity crossed her clouded mind. There was something urgent, almost desperate, in the way Killian held her or in the intensity of his kiss. Making a great effort, Emma pushed back a little, her hands cupping his face as she searched his gaze.

"Hey, are you okay?"

His eyes were clearly darkened by lust but Emma also detected a glimpse of something else crossing his gaze. When Killian blinked that subtle shadow disappeared, though. Emma was distracted by his words, her eyes drifting to his lips. "Sure, love. I just missed you." A small smile appeared on his face but she didn't have time to appreciate it since his lips were on hers again.

He lifted her up with barely any effort causing her legs to circle his waist as he held her and began to walk towards his bedroom, his mouth never leaving hers.

Deep down, she suspected that something was not quite right, that his reaction seemed too intense, caused, rather than by pure desire, by something deeper. Whatever it was, Killian seemed to wake up suddenly, since, when they were halfway, he slowed his advance, loosening his grip until she rested her feet on the floor. He pushed back gently, his eyes searching for hers.

This time she did take her time to inspect his features. His brow was slightly furrowed, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen from their brief make-out session. The shadow of his gaze reappeared more clearly, but again, Killian's hoarse voice caught her attention. "My apologies, love. I got a little carried away... I'm... sorry." He reached out to scratch behind his ear, as he averted his eyes, the blush of his cheeks becoming more pronounced. "Do you want this right now? Or maybe you prefer to just have dinner?" He asked, his voice dripping with uncertainty as he gestured toward the kitchen area.

Something was definitely not right with Killian. Emma tilted her head and studied him again through her narrowed eyes. The desire was evident, radiating from him in waves that reached her, sending electric shocks all over her body, blood running hot in her veins. She, of course, wanted this but she was also aware that Killian intended to use sex as an excuse to avoid, for a while, whatever it was that was troubling him.

She reached out to brush his cheek gently, pressing a little to force him to look at her. "I want this, believe me, but I also need to know what's wrong, Killian."

"Nothing." His lips curled up in an attempt at a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "It's been a long day without you and I... I just need you." The intensity of his gaze caused a shiver to run through her body. Emma was aware that his words hid a deeper meaning. The glimpse of pleading in his gaze contributed to that belief, causing her heart to tighten in her chest. He was saying without needing to express it out loud that he needed her to forget for a while. She couldn't refuse his request, not when she felt her skin burning, craving his touch and her lips tingling waiting for new kisses. She could do nothing but succumb to desire and hope that when the time came he would trust her enough to confess what was going through his head.

"Take me to bed, Killian." She whispered before fusing her lips with his, letting herself be carried away by the sensations in her attempt to offer Killian what he needed and get what her body craved.

Once in the shelter of his bedroom, they gave free rein to their passion so intensely that there was a moment when Emma felt slightly overwhelmed. She had learned from the experience of recent months that Killian was a generous person in bed, always trying to offer her all the pleasure before getting his own. This time it was no different in that regard, but his actions acquired a somewhat more desperate touch as he explored every inch of her skin reverently, recreating himself in every freckle, every corner as if he wanted to etch them in his memory.

Her old ghosts from the past made their appearance in the form of a sense of panic emerging inside her. His longing gaze did nothing to mitigate her growing unease. What if ... But then he muttered "I love you, Emma," her name sounding like a prayer and causing any worry to leave her body and her thoughts. He loved her and she loved him. Nothing else mattered.

From there she dedicated herself to enjoying one of the best sex sessions shared with Killian. He looked like a man on a mission, determined to extract every drop of pleasure from her body, playing it perfectly as an instrument, and paralyzing any coherent thought, her mind focused only on him and the intensity of her feelings towards him.

Both seemed insatiable that night. They only needed a few minutes to recover and started the second round. This time they made love more slowly sharing soft caresses, loving glances, and searing kisses while their bodies danced in a quiet tune until they reached sweet release.

Killian seemed calmer after their amorous activities. He lay on one side facing her, his fingers tracing delicate patterns up and down her back. His lips drew the first genuine smile of the night while his gaze seemed clearer, more serene, no trace of his previous agitated expression.

Emma was tempted to interrogate him, but she didn't want to risk clouding his mood again. She felt so sated and relieved to see that Killian had managed to relax that she thought it would be better if she left the interrogation for the next day. Even so, she didn't resist addressing him subtly.

"You know I'm here, whenever you feel ready to talk, okay?" She whispered as she gently stroked his hair at the back of his neck.

"Aye Swan. I know." His lips brushed hers for a moment before looking back into her eyes with a significant expression. "Tomorrow. I promise."

"Good." She snuggled against him, feeling a protective arm wrapping her. "I love you." She muttered while resting her head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against her ear.

"I love you, too. More than anything."

The last thought that crossed her mind before succumbing to sleep was that those words hid an even deeper meaning than it seemed. Something told her that she would soon find it out.

Sunday, October 1, 2017

The sun had not yet risen when Emma woke up the next morning, finding the room covered by gloom and a warm body behind her. After letting out a yawn, she cracked an eye open to check the time on the bedside clock. Too early.

Emma snuggled into Killian, feeling his strong arm on her waist and his chest against her bare back, not an inch of space between the two bodies. Although she couldn't see his face in that position, his soft breathing indicated that he was still sound asleep.

She felt like she was in a protective cocoon, all around her inviting her to go back to sleep. Just when her eyelids become heavy, her body decided to betray her, bringing her back to the world of consciousness. Both her bladder and her stomach protested due to the excessive hours of inactivity, making it impossible for her to fall asleep again.

In spite of the fact that her mind was still partly cloudy, some flashes of the activities from the previous night began to appear, causing her cheeks to blush. Emma also vaguely remembered that she hadn't been able to eat any food, since they had started their coupling as soon as she arrived home, just as her stomach was reminding her with a very loud rumble.

It was the memory of what happened a few hours earlier that led her to turn around carefully so as not to wake him up, with the intention of observing his features once her sight had become accustomed to the semi-darkness that surrounded them. Her heart fluttered as she checked his serene expression, only a faint wrinkle between his brows as an indication of his previous agitation.

She had no choice but to attend to her physiological needs, but, since it was Sunday, she wouldn't wake Killian. Not yet. After placing a feather kiss on his forehead, she got up and went to the closet, to the section that had already been reserved for her, and grabbed a shirt and panties, then headed to the bathroom with stealthy steps, so as not to wake the sleeping handsome.

Her stomach did a little somersault when her eyes landed on the two toothbrushes resting together on the bathroom shelf. She still had a hard time getting used to seeing her belongings occupying a space in his apartment. In other circumstances, she would have felt a torrent of panic and an urge to run. Too fast, she would have thought. That hadn't happened with Killian, though. In fact, since the first time she was in his apartment, she felt that sense of belonging, that she was in the right place.

That feeling had increased to the point that she was comfortable enough to have her own section in his closet or even she had now taken over one of the bathroom shelves. It was a matter of practicality after all. If she spent several nights a week there, it was logical that she had at least her toothbrush and a comb. And her favorite conditioner. And a bathrobe. Even a dryer. A girl likes to have her allies around, right?

After relieving her bladder, and refreshing herself a little — she had ended up so exhausted after their passionate lovemaking session that she had not been able to bring herself to remove her makeup —she went to the kitchen, her stomach growls getting louder and louder.

As she crossed the living room Emma noticed the various bags scattered on the floor while the memory of Killian's reception yesterday came to her memory, causing her knees to weaken and a warm sensation running through her veins. What an intense night!

Once in the kitchen, she found a similar scenario. There was a pot full of water on the counter, and the ingredients of what appeared to be the beginnings of a tomato sauce forgotten on the cutting board. It was like watching a scene frozen in time, as if someone, Killian in this case, had felt the urge to suddenly stop what he was doing.

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion, a sense of apprehension settling low in her stomach as she wondered what could have happened. It wasn't like him, someone usually quite tidy, to leave the kitchen in that state. Could he have had one of his panic attacks? At least he had had the good sense to turn off the stove because otherwise, the apartment would have become fire fodder while they created another type of fire in the bedroom.

Emma shook her head to try to get rid of that disturbing feeling. Killian had promised to tell her what had happened, so she had no choice but to wait. After letting out a heavy sigh, she turned on the coffee maker and began to clean the kitchen, continuing with the mess of the living room.

A few minutes later, the delicious smell of freshly brewed coffee reached her nostrils, so after finishing cleaning everything, she went back into the kitchen, prepared a giant mug of coffee and looked for something to eat in the cabinet. Her lips drew a smile of satisfaction when she found the poptarts that Killian kept just for her.

The sunlight was already beginning to seep through the windows, but since it was still early, she needed to find some entertainment while waiting for Killian to wake up. If it wasn't because they were already in October and the temperatures had dropped considerably, she would have been tempted to go up to the rooftop, since it was one of her favorite places. Instead, she grabbed Killian's laptop, the poptarts, and the coffee mug and settled on the couch, ready to do some work.

In recent weeks, she had been feeling more and more involved in Killian's business, especially in the social media section. She could spend hours working on the laptop or with her phone, either managing the website of the business that had improved considerably thanks to her magic — Killian's words — or acting as a kind of community manager running all social media to try to attract more customers, especially now that the peak season was over, but several guided tours and excursions were still available.

Belle had pointed out, on more than one occasion, that Emma worked almost more than herself and that she should be rewarded by being turned into a proper employee with her consequent salary, something Killian agreed with, but she always rejected it. She did not consider what she was doing as a job but as a way to put her knowledge to good use, something that brought her full satisfaction, increasing her self-confidence.

She soon got down to work, losing track of time as usual. Just when she was focused, an unexpected sound coming from the laptop startled her to the point that she almost dropped the device. Liam was calling.

Her eyebrows furrowed while looking at the time on the clock. Wasn't it a bit early for a video call on Sunday? Maybe it was something important. Before answering though, she cleared her throat and straightened her back, placing the laptop on her lap. She didn't mind talking to Liam at all, but she couldn't help her stomach tightening into knots in anticipation before starting a call with Liam, especially if Killian wasn't present. After taking a deep breath, she pressed the answer button while forcing her lips to twist into a smile to mask her nervousness.

The slightly blurred image of Liam appeared immediately on the screen. It was fun, in a way, to watch as his expression transformed several times over the course of just a few seconds. He went from sporting a radiant smile, to changing his expression to one of confusion when he realized that it was she who was answering to finally turn into an expression of regret, probably realizing that it was Sunday, what meant that, obviously, Killian was still sleeping.

"Good morning, lass." The smile returned to his lips, but then his face again showed a worried expression. "I didn't wake you, did I?"

And just like that, all the nerves disappeared and Emma could relax. In these three months, she had been able to learn a lot about the Jones family and she already knew that Liam lived in a state of almost constant concern and had a tendency to overanalyze everything. It was a little exasperating, at first, hence her initial nerves before starting a conversation with him, but deep down she had taken a certain fondness for his behavior.

"Nope." She answered with a dismissive wave of her hand. "But your brother, you know, he's still navigating in the world of dreams."

He chuckled quietly and rubbed his eyes with one hand, as if he wanted to get rid of the accumulated fatigue, before addressing her again. "It's Sunday, I know. Forgive me, love, I have a lot on my mind lately."

"It's okay, I'd been awake for a while." She offered him a cordial smile before continuing. "How are all of you guys over there? How are the kids?"

"All good, but the beginning of the school year is driving me crazy. September has been a very long month." He certainly looked tired, even though it was barely lunchtime there. "Anyway, now it seems that we have all adapted back to the routine, so I hope everything will flow better from now on. But enough talk about me." He waved his hand in front of the screen, his lips drawing a soft smile. "How are you, lass? Is your shoulder fully recovered?"

"Everything's fine." She raised her arm and rolled her shoulder to prove her point. "I'm returning to work tomorrow at full capacity." Emma suppressed the urge to roll her eyes when Liam's brow frowned slightly, wearing the same expression as his brother when he tried not to show his concern. They were so alike that sometimes it became a bit overwhelming.

From there they held a lively talk on various topics, the kids, her new case or the end of the peak season. Despite those nerves of anticipation that always appeared when she started talking to Liam, a warm sensation seized her whenever they talked, as she felt increasingly comfortable and integrated with the Jones family, as if she was part of them too.

What Emma did not expect was that the conversation would take such an unexpected turn.

"Oh god, I almost forgot the real reason for my call." He hit his forehead with the palm of his hand as he shook his head. "See? These children of mine cause me to lose neurons by leaps and bounds." Emma couldn't help a laugh bubbling in her throat at Liam's overdramatic attitude, something he also shared with his brother. "Anyway... there it goes before I forget it again. Do you know if Killian has already bought the tickets?"

"Tickets? What tickets?" She asked tentatively. She honestly had no idea what he was talking about, but that didn't prevent a strange sensation from settling in the pit of her stomach, causing her body to go suddenly tense. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"The plane tickets to travel to Ireland, of course."

Her stomach dropped to her toes while her smile faltered the moment her brain processed Liam's words and their implications. "There's only one month left and if he doesn't hurry the tickets will cost him an arm and a leg. As always."

Her eyes drifted for a moment as she took a deep breath in an attempt to pull herself together. He's leaving. Emma shook away that thought and pressed her lips together forcing a neutral expression before responding. "No, he hasn't bought them yet. I'll tell him later." She managed to reply in a carefree enough tone, or so she expected.

Although Liam continued speaking, Emma felt unable to process what he said, her mind occupied with other concerns. One month left. How had time passed so fast? Emma shouldn't be surprised, though. She knew, even before they started dating, that that was his life, that he spent half the year here in Boston and the other half back in Ireland. She knew that, they were both aware, but they had decided to live their relationship in the present without worrying about what might happen in the future. Also, back in July, November seemed so far away.

"Emma, are you alright?"

Liam's words brought her back to reality. Emma swallowed hard hoping to drag her unease down as she curled her lips up. In no way was she going to put more worries on his shoulders. "Yeah. I got distracted for a moment, thinking there is only one month left and we still have to finish some projects for The Jolly Cruises."

Luckily Liam didn't seem to notice her inner turmoil, as he smiled back at her, his face showing an expression of affection that caused her heart to calm down for a while. "That brother of mine has managed to involve you in his business, hasn't he?" He rolled his eyes, as his smile widened before continuing speaking without waiting for an answer. "You're doing an amazing job, by the way."

His compliment had an immediate effect on her, causing her cheeks to blush, a shy smile pulling at her lips. "Thank you. I was working right now on it while Killian sleeps."

"Oh, sorry for the interruption, lass. I'll let you get back to it, then." The conversation did not end there, though, since suddenly Liam's eyebrows arched and his eyes widened as if he were remembering something. "By the way, when Killian decides to buy his tickets you could take the opportunity to buy yours too."

"Mine?" What was he talking about?

"Well, considering that Killian will spend Christmas here, we assumed that you would come too." A warm sensation began to run through her veins as her heart swelled in her chest when she heard him. Both the expression of affection that appeared on his face and the spark of hope in his gaze only increased that feeling especially when she processed the true meaning of Liam's words.

"Eh..." She trailed off while swallowing hard to try to drag down the lump in her throat. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times but she was unable to make any sound. It was like she was so busy trying to curb the intense emotion that threatened to overwhelm her that her brain seemed unable to form coherent words.

She had never been invited to Christmas celebrations. Ever. She had practically ignored these holidays by keeping busy or locked in her apartment so as not to witness the happiness of others. She hadn't even considered that possibility when she started dating Killian so she didn't know how to handle so many emotions dancing inside her.

"You have to come, Emma. We will all be here." Emma had been so distracted for a moment that she didn't realize that Elsa had appeared on the screen next to her husband. Her expression was gentle, as always, but her slightly maternal tone, as if he were addressing one of her children, had the desired effect, as Emma managed to get out of her trance. "Christmas at the Jones' house is always special. It has been some time since we brought someone new so I'm sure that with you here it will be even more special."

She was totally doing it. Damn it, she deserved for once a good thing to happen in her life. It seemed such good things had not stopped happening since she had lost her phone. Now that her life seemed to have taken the right path she wasn't willing to lose more opportunities to be happy. And if she had to cross the ocean for the first time in her life to spend Christmas with her boyfriend and his family, nothing and nobody could stop her.

"Okay." She breathed out. "I guess I can use a couple of weeks of vacation since I’ve never taken one." She continued in a more firm tone while the corners of her lips rose slightly drawing a timid smile.

"That's amazing, Emma!" Elsa almost yelled, her voice dripping with excitement. "I can't wait to see you in person and finally hug you."

"Wait for the children to hear the news." Liam added, the wide smile on his face matching his wife's and probably also her own.

They continued talking animatedly for the next few minutes. There was something in common in all the members of this family, no doubt, that was their ability to spread their genuine enthusiasm to others. They got her to forget for a while about the implications of Killian's departure by having her focus instead on her own journey.

Only when she finished the call after saying goodbye and promising them that she would talk to Killian to buy the tickets did she realize that the smile hadn't disappeared from her face since they had begun planning her visit.

Her inner calm did not last long, though. The moment the living room fell silent again, the image of Killian made an appearance, causing her smile to fade and a feeling of unease to wash over her.

He's leaving. He's leaving. He's leaving.

After letting out a deep exhalation she set the laptop on the coffee table and laid back onto the couch, with her head on the arm while she massaged her temples in an attempt to eliminate those thoughts.

He wasn't leaving. He would only travel for a few months and then he would come back to her. She was sure of it, but that didn't stop her selfish side from making an appearance. He could always choose to stay. They both could travel a couple of weeks during Christmas and come home together.

No. That was not an option. She may have lived the last years selfishly, looking only for herself because she had no one to lean on, no one to fight for. That stage of her life had been left behind, though. The love she felt for him was so intense that his happiness had become one of her goals in life, because if he was happy she would be too. And she was fully aware that she didn't have the exclusivity of Killian's happiness. She could not take him away from his other great source in that regard, his beloved family.

The sound of footsteps coming from the hall drew her attention, so Emma raised her head slightly, directing her gaze in that direction. Killian appeared at that moment in her sight, as if he had been invoked.

He was... he was many things, but at that moment she could only think that her boyfriend appeared gorgeous in his sleepy state. Emma sat up a little leaning on her elbows to delight in the glorious image in front of her. His eyes were still partially closed giving him an adorable drowsy expression and his hair was completely disheveled. He was shirtless, of course —she wasn't going to complain at all, his bare torso was certainly a vision.

His lips moved subtly up when his eyes fell on her. "Morning." He mumbled in an almost intelligible tone and then, without giving her time to react, he laid on her, pressing his body against hers and burying his face between her breasts.

Emma couldn't help smiling while her hand brushed his hair. If there was something she had learned since the very beginning, it was that Killian despised having to get up early on Sundays. Whenever he had to get up early that specific day he ended up dragging an aura of moodiness for the next few hours. Today was still early for his standards.

"If you wanted to continue sleeping you could simply have stayed in bed."

"Nonsense. This mattress is much more comfortable." He muttered without bothering to move his head, his low voice muffled by her own body sending electric waves all over her skin. "Not to mention the pillow, magnificent." He raised his head, his piercing blue eyes fixed on hers and a smirk blooming on his lips. He then returned to his original position while making a satisfying sound as he settled back against her chest.

So he wasn't in a bad mood today, that was good. They continued in that position for a while, he emitting soft moans as she massaged his scalp and she feeling his warm breath on her skin.

There was something special in these little moments, where everything seemed to be calm and they remained in their own bubble of bliss, both together, enjoying each other, with nothing that clouded their happiness. Emma closed her eyes as she tried to etch this scene in her mind. She decided right at that moment that she was going to treasure as many more moments like this as possible, since they would be her companions when Killian was away, as a reminder that what she had experienced wasn't a dream, and also as a promise of future. They would share these experiences together again.

"Who were you talking to before?" Killian's hoarse voice brought her back to reality.

"It was Liam. The poor guy is still a bit disoriented with the schedule after the start of school." She bit her lower lip, doubting whether it was a good idea to explain the true reason for his call or not. At some point they would have to address the issue. Why not right now? After taking a deep breath, she kept talking. "He wanted to know if you had already bought the plane tickets."

His body tensed above her, while she held her breath waiting for his next reaction. He remained in the same position for a few seconds while her heart pounded so hard that Emma was sure he would be feeling it.

After a moment that became eternal, he let out a heavy exhalation before pulling up and sitting next to her. Without looking at her, he dragged a hand down his face and rubbed at his scruff.

Emma also sat up, crossing her legs in front of her, while carefully watching all of his reactions. "About that..." His voice trailed off as if he was deciding what to say next. He nodded in an almost imperceptible movement that didn't go unnoticed by Emma and then he looked into her eyes, the ghost of a smile adorning his face. "I've been thinking that maybe this year is better if I stay here."

Her eyes widened and her breath hitched as she tried to process the meaning of his words. His gaze remained fixed on hers, those piercing blue eyes capable of reaching her very soul. He was choosing her. He had made a decision. He had chosen her over everything — or rather everyone —else.

"I mean. Maybe I can travel for Christmas, since I wouldn't like to miss the holidays there. Or maybe I can arrange a couple of trips in alternate months. I don't know..." He was rambling, his hand reaching to scratch behind his ear in that characteristic gesture of his, but then, his eyes bore into hers while his features turned into a solemn expression. "I just know that I don't want to be separated from you for five bloody months."

Everything made sense at that moment. She realized what he had gone through the night before, his struggle as he tried to decide what he should do. She also understood how after making love, he seemed much calmer, his expression more serene, as if that inner struggle had ended with a clear winner. He chose her. I love you, too. More than anything.

She felt a lump in her throat, a surge of emotions rising in her chest as the back of her eyes began to sting. She allowed herself a few more seconds to remain in that sensation as if she were floating. Then, she squeezed her eyes to stop the incipient tears as she lightly shook her head in an attempt to not let herself be seized by emotions and to act rationally.

For once in her life, someone had chosen her, regardless of anything or anyone. She already had that, she could already treasure it as something precious. But she couldn't allow him to make that decision, at least not without first expressing what she felt.

"No." The word came out of her mouth before she even had time to process it.

"No?" His voice dripped with confusion as his brows furrowed.

She felt the irresistible urge to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin under her fingertips, to make that wrinkle between his eyebrows disappear. She did not resist the impulse this time, so without thinking twice, she got up and sat astride him, her hands cupping his face.

"I appreciate your choice. You don't have any idea of what it means to me." The smile that blossomed on his lips almost made her melt into a puddle. She had to blink a few times to break the spell and be able to continue. "But I'm also sure that I won't be the cause of you being separated from your family."

He made an attempt to reply, but she brought her index finger to his lips and tapped them lightly. In response, he pressed a gentle kiss on her finger and remained silent. This was a decisive moment in her life. She was aware that by making this decision, she was ignoring her selfish side, the one who had helped her survive all these years ago. She knew she was taking a leap of faith, but she was also sure that no matter what, Killian would always come to her. After taking a deep breath, she continued talking.

"You should go. Your family loves you, they're looking forward to your return. Your niece asks every day when you're going back home. Besides you also have responsibilities there. We... We will figure out what to do next year, with more time to organize."

Both remained silent for a few seconds, while she watched as endless emotions crossed his gaze, the blue in his eyes more intense than ever. She felt his hands placed on both sides of her waist while caressing her skin under her shirt in a rather distracting movement. It was Killian who broke the silence, his hands never leaving her body.

"Next year... I like how it sounds."

It sounds like a promise. Like a future.

“So…”

He tilted his head and she mirrored him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He then threw back his head and let out a deep sigh before his eyes fell on hers again. The intense flash of his gaze was a clear indication that he had finally made his decision. "Okay... I'll go with one condition."

This time it was she who looked at him in confusion. “What condition?”

"That you travel to spend Christmas with us."

She didn't even have time to explain, since Killian suddenly seemed extremely motivated, any inner struggle forgotten to focus on a new goal. "You can't turn it down, Swan. I'm sure Graham won't deny you a couple of weeks of vacation." The excitement radiating from his body was such that Emma did not dare to try to interrupt him again. "Think of it as a way to fulfill your dreams. You can finally travel to Europe and you can also live, even temporarily, near the sea. It's a perfect plan, love."

"Okay, I accept." She said simply while shrugging her shoulders in a nonchalant gesture. She pressed her lips together to stop the laughter that had begun to bubble in her throat.

"You do? Just like that, without objections?"

"I mean. You could have saved your speech. Very convincing, by the way. The truth is that I had already accepted before."

"Before?"

This time Emma couldn't help bursting out laughing. It was as if Killian was living in a state of permanent confusion since they had begun this conversation.

"What is so funny?" He asked in an amused voice.

"You keep asking with an expression of confusion like that." Emma made an attempt to imitate his expression with her eyebrows furrowed and her eyes narrowed, causing him to chuckle.

The liberating laugh subsided after a few seconds although Emma could still feel his vibrant body under her touch.

"That's because I can't figure you out today, Swan. You keep surprising me." The sound of his velvety voice and the tone full of devotion did something in her insides. "But you never answered my question, love."

"It was your brother." She admitted. "He and Elsa convinced me to travel and I accepted."

"So is it true? Are you going to travel to Ireland?" She watched his expression of disbelief, his eyes flickering quickly between hers, as if he still didn't believe it.

She nodded with a slight movement of her head, while her lips curled in what she hoped was a reassuring smile, her hand gently brushed his cheek.

The expression on his face became one of pure happiness, his sparkling gaze the last thing she saw before he pushed her against him and kissed her hard.

The last coherent thought that crossed her mind before getting lost in the incredible feeling of being kissed by Killian Jones, was the somewhat startling idea of flying for the first time over the ocean. She better get used to the idea of making the trip, because there would be nothing to stop her from flying to Killian and his family.

The countdown began. But instead of counting the days left for Killian to leave, she decided to focus on the days left to fulfill her dreams. She couldn’t wait to discover Europe, but what she was looking forward to the most was being able to enjoy the Christmas spirit for the first time, something that had been denied to her before but now, thanks to Killian, would finally come true.

Before you yell at me, Killian leaving to Ireland was something planned from the beginning, but hey, Emma is going to travel too and I have plans for them there. They will only be separated during one chapter, I promise (maybe I shouldn't, given my tendency to split chapters, but that's my plan anyway)

Thanks for reading :)

@rouhn @couldnthandleit @teamhook @malec4everr@kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @suwya @thisonesatellite @lfh1962 @let-it-raines

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs au #call me #cs au ff #mayquita writes #my cs writings

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daysswithyou · 5 years

Text

Hugs and Kisses

Characters: Jae x You

Genre: Fluff, slice of life

Word count: 2.1k

Description: When you’ve had a hard day at work, and Jae is there to comfort you.

Credits: puuung1 on Instagram; do check out their work, the art style reminds me of Jae so much! :)

---

Pulling into the parking lot, you let out a deep sigh as you sink into the seat. As you twist your neck from side to side, you hear the sockets in your neck pop, bringing some short-lived relief from the tension that’s been in your neck the entire day. You can still feel the tightness in your shoulders, but hopefully a patch would do the trick later. Reaching over to the passenger seat to grab your bag, you wince harshly at the sharp pain from your lower back. You must have hit a nerve.

You catch a glimpse of your lock screen, a wistful smile making an appearance on your face. It was the last selfie you took with Jae 2 months ago before he went on tour, and you haven’t seen him since. Your relationship was sustained through constant texting and late night Skype calls, lasting way into the early mornings. Sometimes you momentarily regret staying up so late with him when you arrive to work dead beat, but for him it’s worth it.

He’s finally coming back tomorrow, another 24 hours without him. You can do this Y/N.

Stepping out of the car, you made the slow walk home to your apartment, taking your time opening the door. Swinging the door open, the first thing you noticed were that the lights were on.

Did I forget to off them this morning? Argh I must have, what a waste of electricity…

You were about the flip the switch before the sound of thundering footsteps drew your attention away from your current task. Turning around, you spot a very familiar lanky figure with a mop of light brown hair charging towards you at full speed.

Your husband was home.

“Jae!”

You spread your arms out wide, getting ready to embrace him but you didn’t even have time to give him a proper hug before he picked you up from the floor, twirling you around the entire living room. You were now clinging onto him for dear life, peals of laughter spilling from your lips. Jae finally puts you down after making 1 round throughout the entire living room, not letting go even after your feet has touched the ground. He nestles his face into your hair, deeply inhaling the scent of your peach shampoo that he loved so much. He holds you close by your shoulders, pressing a kiss into your hair. Only then was he satisfied to release you, giving you a chance to question him.

“Aren’t you supposed be home tomorrow darling?”

“Yea but I changed my flight to an earlier one.”

“That must have cost you a lot.”

“A few hundred.”

“You didn’t have to, you know. You could have saved the money.”

“Well, yea it’s true. I do value money but I know I miss you more than I will miss the money and hence the decision.”

You laugh at his ridiculous reasoning, unable to argue with him except to peck him on the lips.

“Welcome home Jae.”

“Hmmm, I miss your kisses babe.”

“Ok, shall I give you one more then?”

“Why are we only stopping at one?”

You chuckle at his cheeky request, but you continue to indulge him with the kisses that he’s missed so much.

“Yea this feels so much better than all the flying kisses you give me over the screen during our Skype calls.”

“Of course.”

You pull back to look at his handsome face that you missed so much, tracing your fingers over the bridge of his nose before bopping the tip of it. However, Jae wasn’t enjoying it as much as you were. He frowned when he observed your face, noticing your pale complexion and darker eye bags. Removing his hands from your cheeks, he gently places his fingers on your chin, tilting it from side to side to get a better look at your face.

“Babe, have you been eating well? You look like you lost a lot of weight, your cheeks are hollower now and they’re not as fluffy as before…”

“Have I? I didn’t notice.” You bring your hands up to pat your cheeks, indeed being able to feel them sinking in more than usual.

“It’s been a rough time at work huh? My poor baby…”

“Yea.. and it’s a particularly rough day today. Tell you about it later. Let me go clean up first?”

“Yea sure babe, go ahead. I’ll run the bath for you.”

Pressing a kiss into your forehead, Jae finally detaches himself from you as he runs to the start the bath, albeit a little reluctantly. His touch lingers at the ends of your fingertips, and you’re already missing being able to hold him.

The bath is nice and warm the moment you step in, courtesy of Jae. You realise he even remembered to put in the lavender scented oil, the loud thoughts in your head becoming quiet as you breathe in the soft scent. Closing your eyes, you sink into the bathtub and let yourself rest.

---

You had barely stepped out of your bedroom before Jae engulfs you in a warm blanket, hugging you tight through the soft fabric.

“Feeling better?”

“Much~ better thanks to you.”

Jae smiles his smile, the one that has his eyes turning into crescents and shows off his neat rows of pearly whites.

“Alright my beautiful wife, let’s go sit down then you can tell me all about your day.”

“Ok, but honey, you know I can’t move wrapped like a burrito right?”

“Gotcha.”

And that’s how Jae has both of you shuffling over to the couch like emperor penguins, him moving from side to side as he hugs you from behind, taking small steps as you try to keep up with small waddles of your own.

Settling you on the couch, Jae places his hands over your shoulders, pulling you close as he begins to comb through your hair. You, on the other hand, made yourself comfortable by placing your head on his shoulders, removing your hands from the blanket so that you can slip your fingers through his, smiling when he curls his slender fingers around yours, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“What happened at work?”

“Where do I even begin…”

You honestly meant it when you made that comment, work had been overwhelming so far and you didn’t know how to piece it all together to make it coherent.

“You know Jackson went on paternity leave for 2 months right?”

“Yea, what about that?”

“So I had to cover his duties and truth to be told, it’s not fun at all. Having to do 2 people’s job for 2 months has been insanely tiring. I didn’t even occur to me until you mentioned it just now but sometimes I get so busy that I work overtime and miss dinner entirely. Despite all the effort put in, I still messed up. Sigh.”

“Come on baby, it mustn’t have been that bad right? You’re always thinking that you’re doing a bad job when you did great.”

“No this time round, it’s real bad. Like, even you would agree with me when you hear it.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“So we had a meeting with our suppliers today and usually Jackson’s in charge of it but you know, since he’s away, the responsibility falls on me now. I was supposed to come up with a renewed business proposal, which I did but here comes the worst part: I could not answer their questions during the Q&A session. I did not do enough research on the current market condition and overall, I just made it seem like my company did not know what it was doing. Needless to say, I got a pretty terrible lashing from the boss afterwards and then...there was the really rude intern I was telling you about that just had to make my day worse.”

“What did he do to you?”

“He didn’t say anything to me, he just glared at me and started slamming things down to show his displeasure at me when I corrected the way he was preparing documents. There are certain procedures to follow and things to be checked but he just skipped all those critical steps. He may be the nephew of our duty manager but that’s no way to go.”

As you talked, memories of today’s happenings slowly floated to the forefront of your mind, making all the bitter indignation rise like sour bile in your throat. You push back the tears of frustrations that threaten to fall, and opted to stay silent lest Jae heard your voice cracking and gets all worried. He just got back from a tiring tour, you wanted him to not have any worries for the moment.

“Baby, you did a great job and you did the right thing. No matter what others see, you know how hard you’ve worked for the past 2 months. You might have messed up on a big event, but it was just this once. Look at me, look at us! We make mistakes on stage as a band all the time but it’s ok. Give yourself credit for all the other things that you have been able to accomplish successfully in the past 2 months, alright? As for the intern, it’s just a pity that he can’t see how you’re trying to guide him to become a better person. All I can say is good luck to him, the real world is going to be harsher.”

“Jae, that’s so mean.”

“It’s the truth! You know I never sugarcoat my words.”

“I do… thanks for listening to me Jae.”

“No problem babe. Remember, you did a great job my beautiful, lovely, hardworking wife.”

Jae places a kiss to your forehead with each word he says, and it almost feels like a chicken pecking on it’s grains and you laugh at the mental image in your head. When Jae pulls back, you see a glint on his face and you know he’s got an idea.

“Jae… what are you thinking of?”

“I was just thinking of ways to cheer you up; hey wanna see my baby photos?”

“Baby photos? Where’d you get them from?”

“Mum brought along a bunch of photo albums with her when she came to the airport to see me today. Said she found them when she was cleaning the house recently. You got to see them, some of them are really funny. I didn’t even know she had these photos!”

You settled yourself by the coffee table as you wait for Jae to pick out his photo albums. You watch as he bends to flip through them, choosing which ones to show you. He comes back with an armful of them, proceeding to spread them out all over the table.

“I get to choose any one of them?”

“Yea!”

You choose the one that looks the oldest; you could smell the dust that has settled deep within the pages, the cover already yellowing with age. It was your best bet to find some golden photo of Jae as a baby and true enough, the first photo you laid your eyes upon already had you crooning at how adorable he was.

Jae had his feet laid straight in front of him, holding onto a Pooh toy as his mouth opened into a wide “O” shape. Clearly, something was making him very happy.

“Is this the same Pooh bear that lying in your studio now?”

“It is.”

“I can’t believe you kept it for so long! How is it not falling apart after so many years?”

As you continued talking, Jae had settled behind you, pulling you to sit between his legs as he places his chin in your shoulder.

“You did taekwondo as a kid!”

“For a short while. I lost interest after some time and moved on to badminton.”

“That’s so cool though… I got myself a talented husband.”

You turn to nuzzle your nose into his cheek and Jae scrunches his nose at the ticklish feeling.

“Of course you did. Oh wait! I actually have a funny story to tell you about taekwondo, it’s so ridiculous, you won’t believe it!”

Hours pass as Jae continues telling you story after story that has you doubling over in laughter, laughing till your stomach aches and tears are prickling the side of your eyes. As Jae closes the cover of the last album, fatigue envelopes you like a soft blanket, lulling you to sleep right there in Jae’s arms.

“Thank you for cheering me up Jae.”

You angle your head to the side to plant a lazy kiss to his jaw and Jae reciprocates by dipping his head to place a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Anything for you angel. Rest now, you did well today.”

#day6 #day6 scenarios #day6 imagines #day6 jae imagines #day6 jae scenarios #day6 fluff #day6 romance #day6 slice of life #day6 jae fluff #day6 jae romance #i am on a roll wow

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hazardville · 4 years

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Fuck You Facebook

So, in case anyone’s seeing this without coming here from my Facebook: Facebook removed this post because it was flagged as spam. I’m preserving it here because this information should be shared and Facebook’s attempts to obscure the sharing of health information should be condemned, widely and publicly. Enjoy. This is a long post addressing two underlying issues with the current response to the pandemic that leave me concerned. It’s the longest post I’ve ever written. The Medium version of this post (link below) has been viewed 1.2M in less than the last 24 hours as of 3/17/20. For those of you not taking action, or believing the pandemic to be “over hyped”, you can make fun of me as much as you want now or when this is over. You can make me the subject of memes and post it everywhere. I will pose for the picture. I am not trying to convince you, but I do feel compelled to share information that I deem critical to all of us, which is why I am posting this at all. WHY YOU SHOULD TAKE 5 MINUTES TO READ AND CONSIDER THE INFORMATION I AM SHARING: As of 3/15/20 at 9 am PST this post has been shared over 50k times since it was posted 2 days ago. So a lot of people find value in the post and although it's a long read, I believe you will find this information valuable too. For those of you who don’t know me well, I am analytical and metered. I don’t freak out nor do I respond emotionally. I also don’t post a bunch of bullshit or political or controversial stuff on Facebook. I founded and am CEO of a successful software company that provides SaaS based data, analytics, and dashboards to recruiting departments at companies we all know. As you would expect, I am data driven and fact based. Before founding my company I held executive roles leading very large recruiting teams at some of the world's fastest growing companies such as Starbucks and Google. At Google I was fortunate enough to report to Sheryl Sandberg before she took the Facebook COO role. I was a Chemical Engineering major in college and have a business degree from a top undergraduate business school. I am not one for hyperbole or histrionics. My bullshit factor is close to zero. I share all this personal information only to help solidify that this post may be worth reading and sharing with others. I would encourage you to forward or share this post at your discretion. Many people do not understand what is happening with the pandemic to the degree required which is why I took the time to write this and share this on Facebook. Now that I've gotten the introduction out of the way, here are two issues I want to bring to everyone’s attention. ISSUE ONE: SOCIAL NORMS ARE POWERFUL MOTIVATORS AND GETTING IN THE WAY OF PEOPLE TAKING THE RIGHT STEPS IN RESPONSE TO THE PANDEMIC: One of the current problems with addressing the pandemic is the social pressures of taking action today. It's awkward, and feels like an over-reaction. The reason it feels like an overreaction is that most people OVERWEIGHT the currently reported cases and inherently UNDERWEIGHT the mathematics of how the virus is spreading and what will happen in about 30 days time. This is because our brains tend to think linearly as opposed to logarithmically. It’s the same reason many people don’t save for retirement or understand compound interest. To create a new social norm, human beings like to see behavior modeled. This serves as a signal that says, “oh, someone else is doing it so I should do it also.” SO HERE IS A SOCIAL BENCHMARK FOR REFERENCE - THIS IS WHAT I’VE DONE FOR MY FAMILY TO DATE: I have already isolated my family. We have canceled EVERYTHING. We have canceled previously scheduled doctor visits. Social get togethers. No play dates. Normal routine meetings. Everything has been canceled. It's difficult and socially awkward. Some of you think I’m crazy, but I’m doing it not because I am afraid, but because I am good at math (more on that in part 2). I had to have my 16 year old daughter quit her job coaching junior gymnasts at the local gym, with one day’s notice and also tell my kids they can't attend youth group at church. Both of those were tough discussions. I told a very close friend he shouldn’t stay at my house this weekend even though he was planning to and had booked his flight from the Bay Area. I canceled another dear friend’s visit for later this month to go snowboarding on Mt Bachelor. We are not eating out. Our kids are already doing online school so we don’t have to make changes there. I would not send my kids to school even if they were in public or private school. We have eliminated all non-essential contact with other people. We will only venture out to grocery shop when required. We will still go outside to parks, go mountain biking, hiking, and recreate to keep ourselves sane and do other things as a family, just not with other people. We have stocked up on food and have a supply for ~2 months. We have stocked up on other goods that if depleted would create hardship, like medicines and feminine hygiene products. We have planned for shortages of essential items. THE REASON I HAVE CHOSEN THIS ROUTE FOR MY FAMILY IS MULTI FACETED: 1. Although my family is considered low risk (I’m 49 in good health, Angi is 46 and in good health, and our kids are 14 and 16), we must assume that the healthcare system cannot help us, because the hospitals will become overwhelmed very quickly. Most American hospitals will become overwhelmed in approximately 30 days unless something changes. More on this in part 2 below. So although we are in great health and unlikely to become gravely ill, the risk is greater if you do not have access to the medical care that you need. This is something for everyone to consider. As a society we are accustomed to having access to the best medical care available. Our medical system will be overwhelmed unless we practice social distancing at scale. That said, the medical teams in Italy are seeing an alarming number of cases from people in their 40s and 50s. Triage tents are already going up in the parking lots at many hospitals close to the epicenters in the United States. 2. It’s not a matter of if social distancing will take place, it’s a matter of when. This is because social distancing is the only way to stop the virus today. As I will explain in part 2 below, starting now is FAR more effective than starting even 2 days from now or tomorrow. This has been proven by Italy and China (and soon to be France and other European countries who have been slow to respond.) [updated as of 3/14 France is now on lockdown mandated by the government]. Wuhan went on lockdown after roughly 400 cases were identified (and they had access to testing that America has systematically failed to do well to date). The US already has more than 4 times this number of known infected cases as Wuhan did when it was shut down, and our citizens are far more mobile and therefore spreading the virus more broadly when compared to Wuhan. Yet our response is tepid at best. If hand washing and “being smart” were sufficient Italy would not be in crisis. So I pray the draconian measures are coming from our government, because they are required to stop the spread of the virus. It’s better to start sooner than later as the cost is actually far greater if we wait. I pray they close all schools and non-essential services the way that Italy and China have done. 3. Spreading the virus puts those in the high-risk category at much greater risk. This is the moral argument. It’s a strong argument because there are only two ways, as of today, that the virus can be stopped: let it run its course and infect 100s of millions of people, or social distancing. There is no other way today. If you don’t practice social distancing, people downstream from you that you transmit the virus to will die, and many will suffer. 4. The risk of infection is increasing exponentially, because the quantity of infected people, most who will not show symptoms, is doubling every three days. So the longer you wait to self-isolate, the greater the chance of you or someone you love becoming infected and then you infecting others because more of the population is becoming infected. There are twice as many infected people today as there was on Tuesday. 5. The virus is already in your town. It’s everywhere. Cases are typically only discovered when someone gets sick enough to seek medical attention. This is important as it typically takes ~5 days to START showing ANY symptoms. Here’s the math: For every known case there are approximately 50 unknown cases. This is because if I become sick, I infect several people today, and they infect a few people each tomorrow (as do I), and the total count of infected people doubles every 3 days until I get so sick I get hospitalized or get tested and become a “known case”. But in the time it takes me to figure out I am sick 50 others downline from me now have the virus. So every third day the infection rate doubles until I get so sick that I realize I have the virus an am hospitalized or otherwise tested. Harvard and Massachusetts General Hospital estimate that there are 50x more infections than known infections as reported (citation below). The implication of this is that the virus is already “everywhere” and spreading regardless if your city has zero, few or many reported cases. So instead of the 1573 reported known cases today there are likely 78,650 cases, at least, in the United States. Which will double to 157,300 by this Sunday. And this will double to 314,600 cases by this coming Wednesday. So in less than 1 week the number of total infected in the United States will quadruple. This is the nature of exponential math. It’s actually unfortunate that we are publishing the figures for known cases as it diverts attention away from more important numbers (like the range of estimated actual cases). [Update as of 3/15/20 - I've been sent more research that may add clarity to the ACTUAL cases vs CONFIRMED cases and will update this post with any conclusions] 6. Some people cannot, or will not, practice social distancing for a variety of reasons and will continue to spread the virus to many people. So everyone else must start today. The reasons above are why I have begun to practice social distancing. It’s not easy. But you should do it too. The hospitals will be at capacity and there are not enough ventilators. You will hear a lot about this issue in the coming few weeks... the shortage of ventilators. ISSUE TWO: MANY PEOPLE ARE FOCUSED ON THE WRONG NUMBERS: Yes, the virus only kills a small percentage of those afflicted. Yes, the flu kills 10s of thousands of people annually. Yes, 80% of people will experience lightweight symptoms with COVID19. Yes the mortality rate of COVID19 is relatively low (1-2%). All of this true, but is immaterial. They are the wrong numbers to focus on... The nature of exponential math is that the infection rates start slowly, and then goes off like a bomb and overwhelms the hospitals. You will understand this math clearly in the next section if you do the short math exercise. Evergreen hospital in Seattle is already in triage. I have heard credible reports from people on the ground that they are already becoming overwhelmed. And the bomb won't really go off for a few more days. Probably by Wednesday, March 18th (next week). In just a few days from now we will hear grave reports from Seattle hospitals. [update as of 3/15/20 - see the comments section below for an update from a staff member at Evergreen Hospital in Kirkland, WA] You should assume the virus is everywhere at this point, even if you have no confirmed cases in your area. YOU SHOULD DO THIS SIMPLE 2 MINUTE MATH EXERCISE (NO REALLY TAKE TWO MINUTES AND DO IT): To further understand exponential growth, take the number of confirmed cases in your area and multiply by 10 (or 50 if you believe Harvard and Massachusetts General estimations) to account for the cases that are not yet confirmed. If you have no confirmed cases choose a small number. I’d suggest 10 cases in your city, if no cases are yet reported. But you can use whatever number you like. This number of infected people doubles every ~3 days as the infection spreads. So literally take your number, and multiply by 2. Then do it again. Then do it again. Then do it again. Do this multiplication exercise 10 times in total. 2 x 2 x 2 x 2 x 2 x 2 x 2 x 2 x 2 x 2 x (the number of estimated infections in your city today (not just the reported cases)). This result is the estimate for the actual cases in your area 30 days from now. The math will take 30 seconds to complete with a calculator and it’s worth doing the math to see how it grows. This end number is the number of cases in your city 30 days from today if a large percentage of the population do not practice social distancing. 2 to the 10th power is 1024. When something doubles 10 times, it's the same as multiplying by 1024. The infection rate of the virus doubles every 3 days. In thirty days there will be 1,024 times the number of infected people in your area as there is today if your community does not immediately put social distancing into practice. One thousand and twenty four times as many infected people as there is today, in just 30 days. Next, divide the final number (the scary big one) you just calculated by the current population of your city and you will be able to get the percentage of people THAT YOU KNOW PERSONALLY who will be infected 30 days from now. Next take 15% (multiply by 0.15) of that final 30 day number of total infected people (the number you calculated by multiplying by 2 ten times). This will provide an estimate of the serious cases which will require hospitalization, and compare it to the number of beds and ventilators available at your local hospital. Google the "number of beds" and the name of your local hospital now. It takes 2 seconds and the number of beds is easy to find. 65% of beds are already occupied by patients unrelated to the coronavirus. St Charles in Bend, Oregon where I live, has 226 beds and the town is roughly 100,000 people. Most hospitals have on average, 40 or fewer ventilators. 5% of patients require ICU treatment. There are very few ICU beds compared to regular beds in hospitals. There are very few negative pressure areas in any hospital to deal with the containment of airborne diseases. These numbers you just calculated are the Big Problem: Too many patients, not enough beds, and a serious shortage of ventilators (the biggest problem) if we don't immediately begin social distancing. More on this biggest problem related to the insufficient quantity of ventilators is below. COUNTRIES THAT GET OVERWHELMED WILL HAVE A MUCH GREATER MORTALITY RATE BECAUSE THEY WON’T BE ABLE TO ADEQUATELY CARE FOR THE SICK. And by sick I mean not just coronavirus patients. Your son or daughter that needs acute care surgery this May for his badly broken leg will be attended to by an orthopedic doctor that has been working at maximum capacity and working 18 hour shifts for 7 days every week for 6 weeks because it was required to care for all the coronavirus patients at her hospital. Or the orthopedic surgeon will be sick with the virus and your son or daughter will be operated on in a tent in the hospital parking lot by a non-expert or a member of the National Guard. Your elderly Mom that has diabetes and goes into acute distress next month may not receive ANY medical care because the doctors are consumed and have to prioritize patients based on triage guidelines based on success rate probabilities. Your sibling’s family that are all injured in a terrible car crash in June will have diminished care. If one of them needs a ventilator there will be none available because all of them will be in use by critical coronavirus patients. Your young friend with cancer and a compromised immune system from treatment will succumb even though the cancer was curable and the treatment was working, because their body was too fragile to combat the coronavirus due to the chemotherapy and they couldn't receive the customized, acute care required due to the hospital being overwhelmed. All of the above is currently happening in Italy, who had the same number of infections we have today just 2 weeks ago. You must start social distancing today. The count of actual virus infections doubles every ~3 days. The news and government agencies are lagging in their response. So we hear that the US only has 1573 cases today (3/12/20) [update as of 3/15/20: 3115 confirmed cases), ( see https://www.worldometers.info/coronavirus/) and it doesn't seem like a lot. It would be better to report the estimated actual cases, since reported cases don’t tell us much. However, we know from China that the actual number of cases are at least an order of magnitude greater than the reported cases, because people get infected and do not display symptoms. In math, an "order of magnitude" means ten times difference, or put another way, a factor of 10. 100 is 10 times greater than 10, so it's an order of magnitude greater. Harvard Medical School / Massachusetts General Hospital just released their estimate (recording is here: https://externalmediasite.partners.org/Mediasite/Play/53a4003de5ab4b4da5902f078744435a1d) that the actual cases are 50x greater than the reported cases. So we likely have 75,000 cases in the United States already. The number of reported cases is not that important. But let’s assume the current number of cases is only 10,000 ACTUAL cases in the United States just to be conservative and model out what will happen: If we don’t stop the virus from spreading, in 30 days we will have 2 to the 10th power more cases of infected people because the infection count doubles every 3 days (the virus doubles every 3 days and there are 10, 3 day periods in 30 days). The math: 2 to the 10th power means 1,024 times as many cases as we have today (2 times 2 repeated 10 times). This number is a catastrophically big problem for all of us: We will have 10 million+ actual cases (10,000 actual cases today x 1,024) in the United States in just 30 days’ time if we continue without extreme social distancing. 10 million people with the virus. And it will keep doubling every 3 days unless we practice social distancing. 15% of cases require significant medical attention, which means that 1.5 million people will require significant medical attention if 10 million people get infected (15% of 10 Million total infections = 1.5 million people requiring hospitalization). 1.5 million hospitalizations is way more than we have beds for at hospitals in the United States. And 65% of all beds are already occupied in our hospitals. But many patients (5%) with the virus need ICU beds, not just any old hospital bed. Only about 10% of hospital beds are considered intensive care beds. So we will have a huge bed shortage, but that is not the biggest problem, as we can erect temporary ICU shelters and bring in more temporary beds, as Italy has already done, and California and Washington hospitals have already done. Evergreen Hospital in Seattle has already erected temporary triage tents in the parking lot as of 3/13/20. All regular beds are full at Evergreen Hospital as of yesterday. Once the government of China, Norway, and Italy came to understand this math, they reacted accordingly and shut EVERYTHING down. [update as of 3/15/20 now France has done the same lockdown]. Extreme social distancing is the only response available to stop the virus today. The United States is not responding well nor are other countries like the UK. Countries that do not respond well will pay a much larger, catastrophic price. But hospital beds are not the big problem. The lack of ventilators is the big problem. Most estimates peg the ventilators in the United States at roughly 100,000 to 150,000 units. See the study from last month: http://www.centerforhealthsecurity.org/resources/COVID-19/200214-VentilatorAvailability-factsheet.pdf The primary and most serious comorbid (comorbid is a medical term that means co-existing or happening at the same time) condition brought on by the Coronavirus is something called bilateral interstitial pneumonia which requires ventilators for treatment of seriously ill patients. So if 1.5M people of the 10 million infected 30 days from now require hospital care (15% of the 10M estimated total infections), 1.3M may not get the care that they need because we don’t have enough ventilators, beds, and ICU beds in the United States. And remember, this is only if ALL OF US EFFECTIVELY start social distancing by April 11th (30 days from today). This increases the mortality rate significantly. BUT IF WE START EXTREME SOCIAL DISTANCING BY MARCH 23 (12 days from original writing), WE AVOID OVER 1.4 MILLION PEOPLE GETTING CRITICALLY ILL AND OVERWHELMING THE HOSPITALS: If everyone takes extreme measures to social distance, and the United States can dramatically reduce the spread of the virus 12 days from now, the math is very different, as the exponential growth will only be 2 to the 4th power (12 days divided by the doubling rate of every 3 days equals the exponent of 4): 2 x 2 x 2 x 2 = 16 So instead of 10 Million cases in the United States if we wait 30 days, if we act 18 days sooner, we will have only 160,000 cases (16 times the estimated 10,000 actual cases as of today), of which 15% are likely to require hospitalization. This is 24,000 critical patients (a huge difference compared to 1.5 million acute patients). The difference between taking extreme measures now, versus waiting even a few days, is very large due to how exponents work in math. THE OUTCOME IS EVEN BETTER IF WE TAKE ACTION IN THE NEXT 6 DAYS: If the vast majority of the population self isolates and implements social distancing in only 6 days from now the exponential math is 2 to the 2nd power (6 days divided by the 3 days it takes the virus to double means the exponent is only 2). In math this is "two squared". 2 x 2 = 4 Multiplied by the estimated 10,000 ACTUAL cases as of today (3/12/20) that means only 40,000 total cases will develop, 15% of which may be critical which is 6,000 critical patients. This is why you should share this post broadly. If people begin social distancing in the next 6 days it will greatly reduce the impact on all of us. It's why they say a "post goes viral". SOCIAL DISTANCING WILL REDUCE THE FINANCIAL IMPACT TO YOU AND YOUR FAMILY: Finally, the longer everyone waits to practice significant social distancing the greater the economic hardship will be on all of us. Lost jobs. Mortgage defaults. Closed businesses. Bankruptcies. All will be minimized if you start social distancing today. Some of the reasons the economic impacts will be reduced are worth mentioning: If we stop the virus now the overall duration of the outbreak will be far shorter. The stock market will normalize more quickly and recover more quickly. Businesses and people will be able to survive a shorter duration outbreak vs a longer duration outbreak. More companies will avoid bankruptcy if we begin to practice social distancing now. This is a big financial reason to begin social distancing if you are employed by any company: if companies see that the virus is being slowed, they will be less likely to conduct layoffs. You will be more likely to be laid off or experience a job-related event if we don’t practice social distancing immediately. As an HR executive, I’ve been involved in many, many layoffs. It’s the last thing companies want to do. But if they see that the pandemic will be shorter lived vs long and drawn out, they are less likely to make the permanent decision of laying off staff. The overall economic impact that hits your bank account will be greater if you wait or you don’t practice social distancing. This is why Norway acted now, because it’s less economic impact to take drastic measures early than to do them later, and it saves a lot of lives and suffering by doing so. And Norway has only one confirmed death as of this writing. Many people have suggested they want to support local restaurants and other businesses, who have seen sales drop by 50-90%. Stopping by and visiting them won't save them. What will save them is social distancing and what you do after the pandemic is over. If you are concerned, call them and buy a gift certificate over the phone. START TODAY. I CAN’T STRESS THIS ENOUGH. YOU MUST START TODAY. Finally, the article that I posted yesterday written by Tomas Pueyo has been read 30M times in the last few days and has been updated with new information. It’s worth reading again. Here’s that link. https://medium.com/@tomaspueyo/coronavirus-act-today-or-people-will-die-f4d3d9cd99ca Other up to date data I frequently consult regarding the pandemic is here: https://www.worldometers.info/coronavirus/ I hope this is helpful and useful. My brain focuses on the math and I try and be fact based in my analysis and interpretation of how I should respond. THERE IS MORE INFORMATION IN THE COMMENTS BELOW WORTH READING AND I WILL BE UPDATING THIS POST, AND THE COMMENTS, WITH MORE INFORMATION, (AS OPPOSED TO CREATING NEW POSTS). MY FINAL PARTING THOUGHT: Please share or forward this post at your discretion. If everyone shares this post and two of your friends share this post and so on, we use the power of exponential math to work in our favor, which seems appropriate given the virus is using that same exponential math against us. HOW YOU CAN REALLY HELP: If you know people who have large numbers of followers, or people in the media, please leverage your personal relationship with them and ask them to amplify this post by sharing it or the Medium Post (link below) For people not on Facebook you can email or text the link. It would be useful to get the post on Twitter and LinkedIn by sharing the Medium post. If you know people in government this fact-based post may help inform them to make the best decisions. It's time for us humans to go on the offensive against the virus. We must fight back. There is only one way to do so: Social Distancing. Do it today. NOTE: Anyone, including the media, is free to use this post, any related content, in all or in part, for any purpose, in any format, with no attribution required. Please direct message me if you have other ideas for how to raise awareness. Finally, I can no longer keep up with friend requests given how much this post has been shared. To receive updates or follow me, please use the "Follow" button on Facebook. 3/16/20: I am preparing a second post, now that 4 days have gone by since the first post. To receive it please follow me on FB. I can not keep up with the friend requests. https://medium.com/@Jason_Scott_Warner/the-sober-math-everyone-must-understand-about-the-pandemic-2b0145881993 https://www.facebook.com/jason.scott.warner/posts/10163742243430144

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blancheludis · 4 years

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Tagging: @tokky231

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers Characters: Tony Stark/Steve Rogers, James Rhodes, Pepper Potts, Bruce Barton, Steve Rogers Chapters: 24/?, Words: 130.123

Summary: Tony meets his soulmate under the worst possible circumstances. It is not just a kidnapping gone wrong. It turns out Steve and his gang picked him on purpose and they want some personal revenge. If only he had managed to say the words written on his soulmate’s arm before they threw him back out into the streets.

—

Tony falls asleep in the car – or he appears to be drifting in and out of consciousness, his head lolling to the side only for him to jerk up again moments later, looking around with wide eyes for a moment before going back under.

Steve has to force himself to keep his eyes on the road instead of looking over at Tony every other second to check whether he is still breathing. The bond does not help one bit. It is brimming with a kind of low-frequency urgency, almost overshadowed by the stressed racing of his heart. It feels like a warning, although the main part of the danger is supposed to be over. It puts him on edge.

The moment he is alone, Steve is sure he will freak out. He is barely holding himself together as it is. This is the first time he has been this afraid for someone since Bucky was taken prisoner, vanishing into the desert. A part of Steve thinks he does not have a right to feel that way, but he is beyond all common sense.

Ever since Bruce told them something was wrong, despite knowing very well that this could happen, especially since it is not the first time Stane tried, Steve felt like he was being undone, unravelling at the seams. If not for his friends and Thor, he would have stormed that warehouse without any plan at all, running in, guns blazing, in his single-minded quest to find Tony.

Now that Tony is sitting in the passenger seat, easily within touching-distance, Steve is hardly any calmer. This entire matter could have gone utterly wrong every step of the way and Steve cannot imagine what that would have done to him.

For the moment, it does not even matter that this is probably mostly the bond speaking. That bond he did not choose, that he and Tony have been fighting against with little to no success. This is what Steve is feeling. Unsettled and panicked at the thought of being unable to save this man he barely knows. He is not sure how he could have dealt with losing Tony, ignoring the fact that they never really had each other in the first place.

Tony rouses when they come close to the tower, just enough to point him at the entrance to the underground parking lot.

“It’ll open,” he says, almost a reassurance, even though Steve was not going to question the directions. He would not care to leave the car standing in the middle of the road if it allowed him to bring Tony upstairs more quickly.

The shutter does open the moment Steve turns towards it, before he even had a chance to push any button or talk to a nightguard. His worry rackets up another bit at the thought that Tony’s security has been this lax the entire time, but he pushes it down ruthlessly. The danger is over. Stane is not going to plan another hit on Tony.

A veritable light show starts when Steve pulls into the parking lot. It looks like someone is attempting to guide him, plunging most of the lot into darkness but leaving an easy-to-follow trail. Steve hesitates, but he sees a smile on Tony’s face as he glances over. It is small and dimmed by exhaustion, but it is sign enough that this is no foul play.

Steve follows the lights and is guided through another shutter into what appears to be a private part of the garage. He barely spares a glance at the glamorous cars but finds a parking spot close to the elevator and gets out before he can begin to doubt himself.

By the time he opens the passenger door, Tony has managed to get the security belt off him but has not moved beyond that, staring at his hands, which are still flecked with blood.

“Tony,” Steve says quietly, approaching as non-threateningly as he can. “Let me help you out of the car.”

Tony looks up and stares at Steve as if he can look right at his soul, leaving nothing hidden. At first, he does not move, and Steve fights against the heartbreak that causes. This is hardly the time to think about whatever is or is not between them. Getting Tony home is the only thing that matters right now. Everything else comes later.

The prospect of getting out of the car and walking clears Tony’s head a bit. He looks around, breathes, and appears rather secure on his own feet. When he does not let go of the arm Steve offered him, they walk together towards the elevator.

Steve thinks that he should have asked Bruce to do this, who had offered despite wanting to meet Thor at the hospital. Even Natasha might have been the better choice. There is already so much history between them that Steve feels like he is overstepping now. He wants to keep Tony safe, to bring him home, but it is hardly his place. If Tony were in better shape, he would undoubtedly tell Steve off for this. They have come so far now, though, that there is no more bowing out.

The elevator door opens before Steve can press the button. Someone has to be watching them, and he cannot quite squash the suspicion he feels at that. This might be Tony’s tower and Tony does not seem surprised, but after what they have just been through, Steve is reluctant to lead Tony into the unknown.

“It’s all right,” Tony says, pulling Steve into the elevator as if he has not been leaning on Steve up until now. “It’s safe.”

Considering how recklessly Tony handed himself over to people he knew wanted him dead, they might have differing opinions about what might be safe. Steve does not argue, however, but simply moves slightly in front of Tony when the door closes behind him and the elevator starts moving, ready for whatever might expect them once they reach the penthouse.

Despite the height of the tower, their journey is over rather quickly. Steve wonders why he ever thought differently. Tony is a wunderkind when it comes to tech, after all.

Together, they stumble out of the elevator and, for the first time since getting Thor’s call, Steve does not know what to do. Everything has been so clear up to this point. Save Tony, get him home, make sure he is all right.

They saved Tony. His injuries seem limited to bruises and shock. He is home.

Steve feels like he does not have a right to be here, not with Tony clinging to his arm while he is still drifting in and out of awareness. Stane’s men tranquillized him, Thor reported, and Bruce said part of Tony’s current state is due to that, mixed in with general physical and mental exhaustion. He should not be left alone. And he will not be.

For all Steve knows, Ms Potts or Colonel Rhodes are already on their way. Bruce promised to send them here. Until then, though, it is only Steve and Tony.

“I’m sure you want a shower, but let me get you something to drink first,” Steve says and starts walking, even though he has no idea where to go. A couch or Tony’s bed would be ideal. He can find the kitchen once he has made sure that Tony is not going to fall over.

“This way,” Tony murmurs and nudges Steve down the hall.

The first thing Steve notices upon entering the living room is the view of New York. Windows spread the entirety of the wall, leaving a sea of lights blinking up at them through the darkness. It is beautiful. Under different circumstances, he could spend hours drinking in hat view.

For now, he escorts Tony to the couch and helps him settle down. Tony looks smaller this way, sinking into the cushions. Steve straightens to look for a blanket when Tony’s head shoots back up from the pillow.

“Stay, please,” Tony says, the word echoed by a sudden stab of near pain through the bond.

It leaves Steve reeling. He has longed to hear that word, to have Tony not rejecting him at every turn. Not like this, though. Not while in pain and still shaken from what happened this day, from the new barrage of truths about Obadiah Stane.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Steve promises, managing to keep his voice light. “I’ll just get you a glass of water.

Tony looks like he is going to refuse that, but finally, he nods and lets go of Steve’s hand.

Steve finds the kitchen without problems and gulps down a glass of water himself before filling one for Tony. He wonders whether he should find a towel to help wash off some of the blood from Tony’s skin before he can get that shower. With a start, Steve realizes he is stalling. For the first time in their acquaintance, Tony has not told him to leave, and yet Steve is looking for ways to stay away a bit longer.

This is not how it is supposed to happen, of course, not with Tony beaten up again and too exhausted to keep his distance, even though he made it very clear he does not want Steve close. Steve is not going to exploit Tony’s current state of mind and insert himself. He still has to make sure that Tony is all right.

With a small sight, Steve takes the glass and goes back to the living room, where he kneels down next to the couch and helps Tony drink. They are engulfed in silence, which should not bother Steve as much as it does. The less they talk, the less they can say things they might regret later.

Tony hums as he sinks back into the cushions, but when Steve makes to stand and sit in an armchair, Tony’s hand reaches out and grabs Steve. There is not nearly enough strength behind the movement that Steve could not have tugged himself free, and he probably should have. He is only human, though, and the thought of rejecting Tony is unbearable.

Carefully, Steve sits down on the edge of the couch, making sure to leave Tony enough room, while also making it clear that he is not going anywhere.

“Bruce said he was going to call Ms Potts,” Steve says. He needs Tony to know that someone is coming who he can trust more than Steve.

Tony stills as if he realizes for the first time that he is clinging to Steve and not one of his friends. A few seconds later, he gradually relaxes and does not yet let go of Steve.

“Thank you for coming,” he says quietly, although with a firmness that belies his sleepy state somewhat.

It helps to know that Tony is not completely out of it, Steve thinks. Otherwise, he really could not stay.

“Of course, we did,” he replies. Whether they would come for Tony was never a question. Not for him and not for the rest of the team either. Not a single one of them showed even a trace of doubt when the call came. Despite all their squabbles, Steve is undeniably glad to have such friends.

“T’was stupid,” Tony mutters, closing his eyes for a moment. “We gotta lie to the police now.”

Steve takes the opportunity to study Tony’s face. He has never had the chance to do that before without it being marred by frowns or caution, without Tony actively hiding from him. Tony is beautiful. Even exhausted and with blooming bruises, he is radiating a strength, a kind of noble endurance, that is drawing Steve in.

“That doesn’t matter as long as you are safe,” he says and means it.

The police could already be knocking on their door while Steve is hiding away here with Tony, but he knows his team can take care of itself. They all knew the stakes, they all have ways out. He needs to be here first.

“I told you to stay away,” Tony blurts, but it lacks any heat. It feels more like Tony is trying to give him an out, an opportunity to say he regrets what happened tonight because it might put them in trouble. His eyes weigh heavily on Steve.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says anyway. He is. If he could, he would change a lot but not that they followed Thor tonight to rescue Tony. “I –”

“No.” It is a half-hearted protest, but Steve falls silent immediately anyway, waiting for what Tony has to say. “I mean, why didn’t you? Why put your friends in danger for me?”

There is no easy answer to this. This is Steve’s job, in a way, but with Tony, it is also much more than that. He never had to coerce his team to do anything.

“It was never an option not to,” Steve finally settles on saying. “I know this situation is not ideal. Neither of us chose this bond, and I’m so sorry for how we met, but we are soulmates and –”

He trails off when Tony’s face closes off abruptly, the relaxed sleepiness replaced by something tightly-coiled.

“It’s the bond.” Tony sounds so rejected that Steve wants to gather him up in his arms. Instead, he lets go of Tony’s hand when Tony loosens his hold, appearing uncertain whether he still wants them to touch. Steve does not withdraw but leaves the decision up to Tony.

“Of course, it is,” Steve says, although it is far more complicated than that. “But it’s not the bond alone. You’re brilliant, Tony, and we wronged you, and that alone would be reason enough to help you now.”

Falling for people so quickly makes a mess of everything. Self-preservation is right out the window when one can only think of someone else anymore. Steve does not mind that as much as he probably should. He would give himself without hesitation for everybody on his team. He had loved Bucky within moments of meeting him and they are family to each other now in ways other people seldom reach.

Tony is a special case, though, because his brain and his heart wanted different things at first. The bond made him long someone he was not sure he could trust, and then his heart followed after even while he was still clinging to reasons why none of this is a good idea. Tony has a place to himself in a ranking of people that are most important to Steve, and that is not an involuntary thing anymore.

Steve has never had problems with big emotions. He never fought against them. Loving someone has always been easier than letting them go. He has just never before been in a situation where letting go was basically the only choice given to him.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says very quietly. It is still enough to rip Steve out of his thoughts and settle him firmly back in the present.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Steve replies as firmly as he dares.

It has him reeling that Tony would want to apologize to him. Steve has been in the wrong for most of their acquaintance, while Tony just tried to get by without getting hurt too much in the process.

“You’re not hearing me,” Tony argues with just a hint of irritation in his tone, which mellows out as soon as he continues. “I’m sorry for what happened with my weapons. I’m sorry for putting your people in danger.” He pauses, evidently struggling to find the right words. “I’m not ready for this to be any more than it is now, but I am sorry for everything that happened.”

Steve would have launched into another apology, as he is likely to do for the rest of his life where Tony is concerned, when a quiet, automated voice speaks up.

“Colonel Rhodes is on his way up, sir.”

It startles him, making him think of intruders or other danger, but Tony perks up at that, propping himself up on the couch while looking towards the door with a small smile.

“You called Rhodey.”

“Ms Potts must have. We thought you shouldn’t be left alone and needed someone you can trust.” Not me, Steve thinks but leaves it unsaid.

He also squashes down the slight disappointment rising in him at his time with Tony being cut short. For the first time ever, they have been speaking somewhat amicably about their situation. It was full of apologies, yes, but without laying blame at each other’s feet.

Steve gets to his feet, grieving the way his hand slips easily out of Tony’s grasp. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to hide somewhere until I can sneak out,” he says with some regret. “Colonel Rhodes has a right to be mad at me, but I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day.” Meaning that Tony does not need to witness another murder today.

Looking away from the door, Tony focuses on Steve, appearing entirely more awake for the moment. “Thank you, Steve.”

His name in Tony’s voice feels like a caress when it is spoken like this, with warmth and honesty, void of accusation.

“I’d say any time, but we should not repeat this,” Steve counters with a small smile. “Take care of yourself, Tony.”

He thinks about adding that Tony should call if he needs anything, but he carefully swallows the words. This is not what helping Tony had been about. He did not want to increase his chances for a happily ever after. He just wanted to keep Tony safe.

Steve disappears down the hall and through a door to the right into what looks to be a guest bedroom. It is luxurious but impersonal. Steve’s room at the base could have fit into it thrice. All that does is remind Steve of how different he and Tony are, what different kind of lives they lead. He does not like where this train of thoughts is going, so he leans his head against the door and listens for what is happening outside. He does not want to miss his window to disappear.

Rhodes has a kind voice, even while it is full of a brimming worry. Steve notices that without being able to make out any words. He is not here to eavesdrop, so he quietly gets out of the room, certain that Rhodey will be distracted enough for a few minutes so that he can sneak out.

Despite his best intentions, Steve stops in the hall, peering through the door into the living room, wanting to see Tony’s best friend.

Rhodes looks softer than on the pictures they had of him while doing their research for the job to get Tony’s USB drive. He is tall and moves with the kind of precision fighters often possess. Without the military uniform and the severe face, he looks much gentler, though. Although that might be due to the fact that his arms are currently full of Tony clinging to him like there is no tomorrow.

They embrace the way people only do when they are entirely comfortable with each other, when there is no doubt that their friendship is genuine. They embrace like they know that this is the safest place in the world for them.

Steve cannot see Rhodes’ face, but Tony’s is pointed slightly in his direction. The exhaustion is still evident, but that does not take away from the brilliance of Tony’s smile. It is completely void of bitterness or sharp edges despite the day they had. Steve has never seen him smile like that, neither in person nor on TV. Yet, even tired and in pain, that is the first thing he does with Rhodes close.

Rooted in place, Steve cannot look away. This is a Tony he has not seen before, and a stupid, misplaced longing runs through him.

He finds that he is – jealous. The mere thought is ridiculous. He has no right and not even a good reason to envy Rhodes for his friendship with Tony. At the same time, he knows exactly why the sight of them hurts. Steve will never be able to have this with Tony. Even if they work something out, if Tony forgives him, if they decide to stay in each other’s lives. They are already ruined in ways that make something as pure as Rhodes and Tony’s friendship impossible. Steve ruined that for them.

Tony looks up and his eyes fall directly on Steve. He does not appear surprised, not even displeased. He keeps clinging to Rhodes when he mouths, “Go.”

It does not hurt, mostly because Steve knows that Tony is right. And, for once, Steve does exactly as he is told.

---

Back at the base, his team is still awake. They are sitting around the kitchen table, freshly showered, and nurse drinks while they are waiting for him. Bruce is absent and probably still with Thor. That is a problem they need to tackle at some point. It might not be their business who Bruce is in a relationship with, but keeping his involvement with Thor from them speaks of a lack of trust that Steve thought they have already overcome. Then again, the past weeks have shown how easily they can fall apart if pushed.

“How is he?” Natasha asks, her eyes piercing him as if she does not need him to speak to get her answers.

Steve walks straight past them to get himself a glass, but Clint thrusts a full one at him when he tries to pass. He takes it and downs it in one go, relishing the way the alcohol burns.

“As well as he can be,” he says, calmer than he feels. “Colonel Rhodes arrived shortly before I left.”

He gets to his chair and refills his glass from the bottle on the table before he sits down.

“And he let you live?” Bucky sounds incredulous and Steve cannot blame him for it.

From the way it looked, Rhodes’ first priority was to take care of Tony, but getting rid of Steve arguably is part of that. If his rank says anything about his abilities, he might have been able to take Steve out without ever letting go of Tony.

“I thought it wise not to make my presence known,” Steve answers, sounding more nonchalant than he feels. He is too tired to allow himself to think of his regrets. This night was already painful in so many ways.

Snorting without humour, Bucky asks, “And Tony let you do that?”

Steve does not want to talk about this. They have all survived the night, Tony is going to be all right, although the mental wounds will undoubtedly take a while to heal. His arm is aching just enough to not draw his attention but not leaving him any peace either.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Steve all but snaps, clinging to his glass. Then he takes a deep breath. He does not want to argue with his friends either. “What about you? Everybody all right?”

They look tired but unhurt. Steve knows better than most that appearances can fool.

“No injuries,” Natasha reports shortly. “Bruce called and said Thor is not going to have any lasting damage either despite running around most of the day with a hole inside him.”

Steve nods. Relief spreads through him at that. He likes Thor. More so, though, he knows that Tony would be devastated if anything more were to happen to Thor. Or any of them, probably.

He cannot get the sight of Tony pointing that gun at Stane out of his head. How steadily he held himself, how he barely even hesitated. It would not surprise him if the entire matter appeared to drag on for an eternity for Tony, but Steve watched him step up, raise a gun, and put two bullets in his godfather’s heart, all in between two breaths.

This is not a matter to be proud of, and Tony collapsed soon afterwards, but for all the crushing things that have happened to Tony over the past weeks, he stood tall and did what needed to be done when it mattered.

“So it’s over now?” Clint speaks up, balancing precariously on only two legs of his chair. Despite the nonchalance in his tone, he looks a bit rugged too. “Stane is dead, Stark is safe.”

“I guess so.” Steve should sound happier about that, but now that he delivered Tony safely to his home, he realizes just how final all of this feels.

There is no more reason for them to stay in contact, not if they keep ignoring the fact that they are soulmates. There are no more missions to coordinate, no more secrets to unveil. It truly is over.

Tony has to heal. Steve has to rebuild trust with his team and in himself too. They all have to deal with the doubts that rose over these weeks, the way they quarrelled with each other.

“Are we going home then?” Clint asks. It sounds pointed, somehow, like there is a question underneath the question, but one that no one wants to speak out loud.

The mere thought of leaving is jarring. Even if Tony does not want anything to do with Steve anymore, it feels wrong to simply return to DC and continue his life as if nothing happened. That is the only thing he can do, of course, if he does not want to go mad or do any more unforgiveable things, but he cannot just admit that.

“First, we’re going to wait and see how Thor is doing. Bruce is not going to go anywhere until he’s released. And then –” he trails off, having no idea what comes after that.

“All right,” Clint says and does not even sound snappish about it. “Now that that’s cleared up, I’ll go to bed.”

Steve is surprised. He expected another lecture about how he needs to leave Tony alone, about how they should not meddle in things that do not involve them. Instead, Clint gets up and Natasha follows shortly after him, nodding goodnight at them and putting her hand briefly on Steve’s shoulder as she passes him by.

They have not cleared up anything, and yet Steve feels like this is the closest they have come in ages to understanding each other.

Bucky remains where he is, playing with his glass without drinking from it. “Are you all right?”

Steve looks up at him, catalogues the slight frown and the bags under his eyes. Even between them, there are so many things left unsaid.

“Of course,” Steve replies, and manages to sound firm about it. “I’m glad it’s over.”

And he is. It would be madness not to be. With Stane out of the picture, Tony is safe, and that is all he wanted. Well, a big part of what he wanted, at least. Tony’s well-being matters more than anything else.

“I thought I’d feel more when Stane died,” Bucky says, quiet enough that Steve almost does not pay it much mind.

Then it hits him. This entire mess started with the wish for revenge, wrongly pushed on Tony. Stane was responsible, though. He sold those weapons, he made their lives unnecessarily hard during the war. He was the catalyst for so many of their personal losses.

Before Steve can find anything to say, Bucky continues. “But, in the end, it wasn’t him, yes?” He sounds almost even glad about that, as if he could not bear to hate another man for this. “He might have sold the weapons but he didn’t pull the trigger. It was stupid to hope this would change anything.”

Steve’s heart breaks for his best friend, then. He knows this feeling, this clinging to some scenario in the hopes of it healing any of those scars they carry. That is not how it works, though. They can certainly help each other, but healing comes from within. They could take out everybody who ever unlawfully held a Stark weapon, and it might be good to know that no other atrocities will be caused by them, but that does not erase what happened.

When Bucky was taken prisoner, Steve killed every man who hurt him, but it did not make Bucky any less damaged or less afraid. It did not soothe Steve’s anger or guilt. The real journey of getting over that began afterwards. And they have yet to complete it.

“But things have already changed,” Steve says, sounding urgent enough that Bucky looks up at him. “It was so bad when we first came back. You’re getting better with each day.”

Bucky nods but shakes his head right afterwards. “It feels like wading through neck-high mud at times. You never know when you’re managing a step forward because you’re so preoccupied with not choking on it,” he says, grimacing. “It does get better, but then you look down and see that there’s still mud everywhere and you feel like you’re right back where you started.”

Steve has been at Bucky’s side every step of the way, every freefall and ever painful climb. He has seen hopelessness on Bucky’s face before and this is not that. Being reminded of everything that happened might be painful, but Bucky is stronger now. He is on a good way.

“Perhaps you should take a break,” Steve suggests, thinking they could all do with a little distance to this. They should all re-evaluate what they want from life.

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asks, sounding upset all of a sudden. He is leaning slightly away from Steve as if he cannot believe Steve would doubt his capabilities. “This is the only thing that got me out of bed for so long.”

That was what had driven Steve the most to bring the Avengers to life. To give Bucky a cause he could get behind, something to believe in, a chance to do something good in the world.

“Yes, but perhaps it’s just holding you back now,” Steve explains, calmer than he feels. The last thing he wants is to make Bucky think he is rejecting him. “You are much better, but this always shows us how despicable people can be.” How despicable they themselves can be, too.

Bucky looks down at his glass and drinks before he answers. “Better us than someone who hasn’t seen all of this before.”

This is not supposed to be some kind of punishment. They were well suited for the task and felt like they could change things, if only one step at a time. The way Bucky talks, however, makes it sound like he has taken to it as some sort of atonement. Only Steve cannot even begin to fathom for what.

“I’m just saying –”

“I know what you’re saying. And I appreciate it,” Bucky cuts him off, tired more than angry. “Now, you look like you need a shower and then sleep for two days straight.”

Steve does not want to go, not when there is yet another thing hanging between them, another almost-misunderstanding. They are supposed to stick together no matter what, and he cannot let Bucky think this has changed. At the same time, he knows not to push. Bucky looks like he needs to think without Steve talking over him.

It is harder than it should reasonably be, but Steve nods. “I could.”

He knows that was the right decision instead of pushing further when Bucky’s frown lessens and the fingers around his glass relax, if only a fraction.

“Then go,” Bucky says. “We’ll wake you if something happens.”

Steve does not ask what might happen. It is over. Nothing more should be coming for them except for the usual dangers; the police finding out, or someone who is out for revenge. They all deserve a rest.

“You should sleep too,” Steve says quietly, unable to go without at least trying to make sure Bucky will be all right.

“I will.” Bucky smiles and it appears genuine enough to ease the worry sitting heavily inside Steve’s stomach. “Now go. And do try to stop thinking about what might happen next. We’re going to tackle that but not tonight.”

Steve is afraid he will not be able to tackle anything at all. He has always had his problems with endings, with letting go. Bucky has his back, though. Just like Tony has Rhodes to help him through this, Steve has his friends. Neither of them is alone. That has to be enough.

#stony #marvel #fanfiction #soulmates #angst #slow burn #aftermath #hurt/comfort #actually more comfort for once #tony stark #steve rogers #obadadiah stane #my writing #ao3 #leave the gun on the table #we're getting to the romance part #took me long enough #all the best for the new year

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homenum-revelio-hq · 5 years

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Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Nicky!

You have been accepted for the role of non-biography character AINSLEY ABBOTT with the faceclaim of Olivia Taylor Dudley! I really loved the idea of having a half-blood character who is pretending to be pureblood, especially in the climate of this rpg. I think it will add a lot of excitement to the roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Nicky

AGE: 30+

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Medium, sporadic; I work retail hours which means that my schedule is not consistent between days. I expect to be able to make several replies each week, however, and am available to check-in or chat often. Tuesdays and Thursdays are the only time I’m really out-of-touch for considerable periods on a regular basis although in general I have more free time in the latter half of the week than I do at the beginning – and of course when Winter Holiday Shopping Season rolls around I will be more absent than usual!

ANYTHING ELSE: currently playing Dorcas Meadowes!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Ainsley Marigold Abbott

AGE: 28

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis-gender female, she/her. Ainsley does not realize it (because it’s not a term or identity she’s ever heard of before) but she is in fact a panromantic asexual. She has experienced crushes before, but since kisses and cuddles leave her feeling nothing but tired and bored she assumes that her affections are utterly fleeting – not understanding that a desire for sex and a desire for romance may be two different things – and said crushes usually curdle the moment anyone acts on them; elsewise they simply flicker-out after she pines from afar for a while, telling herself there’s no point because she just isn’t wired that way. She thinks there must be something wrong with her but (especially lately, with her sister) what she has seen of romance does not seem to be enticing enough for her wish she were any different. (note: I am aware of the delicacy of writing any asexual character with the notion of them being “broken” but as an aromatic asexual myself, I think I will be able to approach the topic with appropriate sensitivity! I am, however, happy to discuss this idea further both with the admin and with any fellow players who are concerned or curious about my reasoning or experience.)

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood (but currently faking status as a pure-blood at the request of her sister)

HOUSE ALUMNI: Ravenclaw

ANY CHANGES: none

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Ainsley fits very well into the mold that people like to think of as the “traditional Ravenclaw” – bookish, quiet, academically gifted. That stereotype very much does not fit the majority of the House, though; Ravenclaw Tower is often a noisy place full of chaotic experiments and passionate arguments and the occasional impassioned spurt of poetry. While there are quietly studious Ravenclaws, even they tend to be more of the obsessive breed than the merely academic; a House based around a love of learning for its own sake is not, necessarily, going to be a House full of good test-takers and obedient homework-doers. Ainsley enjoyed the chaos most of the time (except right before tests – which was the only time the academically-minded Ravenclaws revolted against their noisier, more idiosyncratic housemates to demand quiet for a while) and considered it to be both educational and entertaining. An uncharitable person might call her voyeuristic; a nicer description might merely state that she is an observer of human nature. However you say it, AInsley likes to watch people. She finds her peers both fascinating and, with increasing frequency with every year, baffling. A sort-spoken girl, Ainsley is also easily mistaken for meek – which she isn’t; only quiet. She would rather have an argument through owl post or in impassioned papers and essays than face-to-face, where it’s too easy to fumble over one’s words or forget an esoteric fact that can’t be looked-up mid-shouting match. Her writing, however, can become quiet fiery, to the point where one might almost expect her quill to scorch the paper as she scrawls her way across it. (For such a quiet, reserved girl, she has very broad handwriting – especially when emotional!) When she does have to stand-up to someone in person, she tends to shake and shrink in on herself – but fortunately, she usually has her more boisterous sister there to take-over when the stress of a fraught social interaction overwhelms her. Or at least she did, when they were both children; now Ainsley is on her own more and more, both because Nessie can’t exactly follow her to work and because she’s occupied with her own endeavors – the main one of which Ainsley does not approve, and isn’t at all shy about saying so. Ainsley is more opinionated than she seems; it’s just that her strongest opinions tend to be about things like Arithmantic equations or antique Runes or the history of the etymological development of spells. Not things that most people care about enough to have opinions over. Perhaps the most surprising thing about Ainsley is that she’s actually good with a wand. One would think that a witch like her would be interested strictly in the theoretical – but Ainsley believes that the only way to truly understand the theory behind something is to also understand it in practice. Since her allegiance with the Order of the Phoenix, many a Death Eater has had the unpleasant experience of being hexed by this seemingly-harmless bluestocking while they were focusing on shielding themselves against someone who actually looked like a threat. Of course, take her glasses away and Ainsley isn’t going to be hexing anything smaller than a train car– not with any accuracy, anyway.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Ainsley‘s extended family is a large and widely-dispersed one and she grew-up knowing that just about anywhere she went, there would be someone related to the Abbotts close by enough to have her back in a pinch. It was quite the safety net, really – although at times it came across as stifling, especially during her awkward adolescent years. (How much can one truly feel like one is spreading one’s wings when one has to constantly wonder how much of the story is getting back to mum and dad?) For the most part, Ainsley liked it – especially given that her immediate family was small, so her childhood ended up having a rather good balance between intimate family relationships and broad family network. As far as that immediate family, Ainsley’s consisted of two parents (Hubert and Moira Abbott) and one sister, Vanessa, who went almost universally by Nessie. (Ainsley herself did not favor nicknames, and once out of the toddler-stage where both she and her sister referred to herself as “Lee-lee,” preferred to use her full name.) The girls were born barely two years apart and, thanks to Ainsley being born late in the spring and Nessie at the very end of summer, actually attended Hogwarts with only a one year gap between them. This led to them being very close both as children and later as adults, and the sisters suffered from little of the disagreements and competitions common to many close-age siblings – due in part, no doubt, to their parents’ insistence on focusing on their individual strengths rather than comparing their talents or weaknesses against one another. The Abbotts (at least, Ainsley’s small branch of that three) were the sort of parents who could and did spend time indulging their children’s particular interests, but didn’t hover over every aspect of their lives, especially as the girls grew older and could be more easily left to their own devices and entertainments. Part of that was due to mum’s increasing workload – she was one of the original designers for the Nimbus Racing Broom Company, having been a close friend of Devlin Whitehorn for years, and as the company’s popularity soared so too did its demands on its employees’ time – and part to dad’s promotion from junior to senior auditor in the Ministry’s Department of Magical Finance Management; they both simply had less time to spare to parent as their careers demanded more and more of their attention instead. It wasn’t that Moira and Hubert ever became bad parents – just busier than they had been, when their girls had been young. It meant more financial security and comfort, though, which was nice – but also more distance and distraction from their daughters. At least they were both already in Hogwarts by then, with plenty of their own distractions on which to focus. Ainsley and Nessie made up for any lack of parental involvement by sticking together, and neither would have said they ever noticed anything missing from their childhoods – until Nessie fell in love with someone she could not have. Now as long as she was a half-blood, anyway. There was no way that someone like Jayesh Rosier would ever be permitted to marry an Abbott – not since they slipped off the pillar of purity on which they had once stood, anyway. But Nessie wasn’t going to let a little thing like blood-status stand in her way…and as little as the idea of pretending to be pure-bloods appealed to Ainsley, she couldn’t say no when Nessie asked: “Oh come on Ainsley, you know there’s no real difference between a pure-blood and a half-blood. We were raised in the magical world too, it’s not like we’re muggle-borns! Our blood’s as good as anyone else’s. In fact it’s already mostly the same blood, so it’s hardly even a lie to say ‘oh actually, we checked the family history, and our branch is still pure, look at that!’ And if it is, it’s a lie that everyone’s telling. How many people do you think can really say they don’t have any Muggles in their family tree? Anyone? No, everyone does it–” “Not to the Rosiers, they don’t! I’m not protesting the–the morality of what you’re doing, you idiot, I’m worried about your life! These people are fanatics!” “Jayesh isn’t a fanatic–” “Jayesh won’t be the one holding the wand when they find out you lied and kill you for it!” “Ainsley…who’s going to find out? Are you going to tell them?” “What? No, of course not–” “Besides, Jayesh loves me. His family won’t hurt me. He wouldn’t let them. And after they see how happy we are together, it won’t matter anyway.” Ainsley was very much sure that it would, but she could also see that there was no talking her sister out of this foolishness. Love, Ainsley thought with disgust, it destroys people. I’m glad I’ve never fallen victim to that kind of stupidity – not realizing, of course, that she very much had, for it was love of her sister that compelled her to go along with Nessie’s mad plan. It wasn’t hard: a bribe here, a forged document there…as Nessie had said, everyone did it. The methods were well-established. Ainsley couldn’t help but wonder if everyone else who had walked this reckless path had felt so sick with nerves over every step. But her sister was happy. And that was what mattered. NOTE: I am leaving many details about Nessie deliberately vague in case anyone would like to pick her up as a Secondary or something, I hope that’s all right! If not I will gladly make some more concrete defining choices about her, just let me know!

OCCUPATION:

Ainsley is a staff editor at The Daily Prophet. She keenly wants to be a columnist, but so far none of the pieces she has turned-in have been run in the paper – there’s just too many stories this week, dear; it’s all this Death Eater-business, you know; maybe next month… It isn’t a lack of wordsmithing skill that gets in her way, but a focus on topics that just don’t interest other people. The Prophet values AInsley for her keen eye for detail, impeccable (obsessive) fact-checking, and grammatical precision; many of the staff-writers give her their pieces for proof-reading prior to publication. Many of those same staff laugh behind her back about her weird obsessions with archaic forms of magic or speculative archaeology – or the Arithmancy! Oh, the Arithmancy! Ainsley has no idea that she is an object of ridicule at the office, which makes it hard for the “gallant” reporters who try to catch her interest by “defending her” to their fellows whenever they think she’s listening – but she usually isn’t; Ainsley is very good at tuning-out the world around her, and spends most of her downtime with her nose buried in some ancient tome or fresh academic journal. Sadly for those young gallants, she’s perfectly content without their company – or perhaps it’s for the best; none of those wizards would probably enjoy a date with Ainsley, should they somehow manage to secure one. Sure, she’s easy-on-the-eyes – but what about the ears? It’s not like she’s going to want to make small-talk about the latest Quidditch upset, after all…and so few people find a discussion on the importance of comma placement or the intricacies of reverse Arithmancy to be entertaining dinner conversation, much to Ainsley’s bewilderment.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Surprising to most people, Ainsley is a fighter for the Order. That isn’t all she does, of course; none of them can really only do one thing when they’re part of a rag-tag army of volunteers on what is seeming more and more like the losing side of a war. Her other chief areas of value to the Order come from, firstly, her esoteric knowledge: Ainsley never made a particularly study of Dark Magic, but her research into odd little archaic bits and pieces of magical history and alternative theories means she knows more about it than most of her fellows. Knows enough to help pick-apart Curses and alleviate their suffering; knows enough to help undo many a boobytrap without loss of life along the way. She doesn’t have Moody’s grizzled calm or Dumbledore’s warm wisdom – but when they aren’t around, she’ll do in a pinch. The area where she should be the most obviously valuable – that of The Daily Prophet – is not one where she’s been of as much help as the Order would like. Ainsley doesn’t have the sort of clout they need to turn a story in their favor; doesn’t have enough influence over her coworkers to try and change anyone’s mind (and honestly, probably lacks the delicacy of social interaction to get away with such efforts undetected anyway). She gets to see the stories before they publish a lot of the time, because she’s editing them for grammar, punctuation, and outrageously nonfactual statements (far too many of the latter of which the Editor in Chief overrules her on and publishes anyway) but she rarely has enough time between when she turns-in her polished drafts and when the paper goes to print to give enough advance warning to her fellows in the Order to do any good. On the surface, having someone inside The Daily Prophet seems like a real coupe…but unfortunately, that someone is Ainsley Abbott. As for Ainsley’s feelings, she knows that she’s often a disappointment – but she doesn’t know how to make that better, so she pushes the feeling away as best she can and ignores it. On the other hand, it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the realization that the Order might be losing this war. When she joined, Ainsley loved being a member. Sure, it was dangerous and often scary and sometimes overwhelmingly awful…but it also reminded her, a little bit, of life in Ravenclaw Tower. The arguments had different subjects and the experiments were less creative, but there was the same sort of energy in the air. Now most of that’s been sapped, and the influx of “new blood” looks to be too short-sighted and foolhardy to bolster AInsley’s flagging spirits. She doesn’t mind breaking the law (is too much that sort of Ravenclaw to worry about silly things like human laws…or the laws of nature even, at times!) but she didn’t join the Order for a lark; she had an end goal. And every day, that seems to be slipping farther and farther out of the Order’s reach…

SURVIVAL:

As far as ordinary logistics go, Ainsley survives on her salary as an editorial assistant for The Daily Prophet. She shares a small, plain-but-decent flat near their London offices with her sister, Vanessa, although she might have to move to a less expensive location when the inevitable happens and Nessie moves out to get married – but that’s a problem to face in the future; maybe she’ll take a roommate instead. (Maybe someone from the Order. It’s one of the few places she has real friends.) It will be odd, getting used to living with someone who isn’t family again – the first time she’ll have done that since the Hogwarts dormitories – but AInsley is a Ravenclaw; she likes new experiences. As for staying alive…for the most part, Ainsley survives because no one thinks she’s a threat – no one who would want to hurt her for it, anyway. Many of her own allies have trouble wrapping their heads around the idea that this seemingly-meek, nerdy little eagle is anything more than a useful bookworm; the Death Eaters certainly have no reason to suspect her at all…and less reason than most, maybe; after all, as far as they know, she’s a middling pure-blood without ambition or angles of advancement, happy to take a back-set to her sister’s social climb. And no one who was helping said sister marry into the Rosier family would be so foolish as to join an organization opposing everything the Rosiers hold dear…right?

RELATIONSHIPS:

Ainsley’s most important relationship is, of course, with her sister – and despite the strain that Nessie’s marital prospects (and their attendant secrets and lies) have placed on the sisters, that is one bond that remains as strong as ever. As for her co-workers…well, Ainsley has yet to figure out where and how to really fit-in with the rest of the Daily Prophet staff. (Perhaps because she’s so often correcting their misuse of commas or calling their attention to “innocent” little factual errors that she’s too hard-nosed to let slide into print.) The closest she’s come to making a true friend at work is probably Edmund Gwynder, their newest staff photographer. Maybe he just hasn’t been around long enough to find Ainsley tiresome yet…or maybe the fact that she can’t correct the grammar of a photograph endears her to him. The fact that she feels guilty enough over the fact that he almost lost a hand in an Order-related incident, and consequently she makes more of an effort to actually engage when he talks to her, might have something to do with it too. Within the Order of the Phoenix, Ainsley fares much better. Maybe it’s the bonding-effect of facing death together; maybe it’s the fact that she has saved many of her fellows’ lives once or twice before (and they, her) or maybe it’s just that in a group made-up so largely of misfits in one fashion or another, Ainsley fits in. Maybe it’s just that she’s much too curious to be judgemental when someone else confesses to fears or failures, and that makes her a great comfort in times like this. Those she’s particularly close to include Edgar Bones, with whom she once shared a common room and classes – although Ainsley was, and remains, shocked that it was Edgar who joined the Order, not Amelia….but then, she joined too. Maybe the rest of the world should stop underestimating quiet Ravenclaws…and maybe Ainsley, of all people, should have known better than to jump to that same stereotypical conclusion. At any rate, she’s glad Edgar is here; it’s nice having someone around with whom she shares so much in common – not just a former Hogwarts House, either; they both have a penchant for watching, a drive for learning, and a sibling they love more than life itself. Caradoc Dearborn isn’t quite as familiar a face – or at least he wasn’t, before they both found themselves in the Order; they knew each other at school of course, but their paths crossed less often. These days, Ainsley finds him not just familiar but reliable – a pillar of strength and logic in a world tilting off its axis. Gladys Gudgeon is another year-mate she’s glad to see getting involved, although so far the other witch has been staying at more of a distance…but Ainsley thinks that ought to change. The more legitimate government connections the Order can form, the better – especially if they all mean to not be arrested once this war is over!

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: I think it would be interesting to get AInsley to a point where she realizes that she can fall in love without falling in lust – but I’m not sure that’s likely to happen, and I’m definitely not sure what kind of character would be the one(s) to inspire that breakthrough…but if something looks like it’s kindling, I’ll certainly be all for exploring it!

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Ainsley isn’t prejudiced at all. Sure, she knows that being raised in magical society is a superior upbringing to that of Muggles but that doesn’t make her prejudiced; in fact, it just means she expects less of Muggle-borns because she knows they’re starting at a disadvantage, which is the opposite of being prejudiced against them of course. And it has nothing to do with blood-status, oh no! As a half-blood (even if she’s pretending otherwise these days), Ainsley would be silly to pay any credence to blood-status. It’s all to do with one’s experiences. Being born magical is just better, that’s all – that’s obvious. And of course the older one’s magical lineage, the better one is established within the magical world – but purity has nothing to do with it. Of course not. And as for unclean – sorry, as for inhuman beasts like werewolves and giants and goblins and centaurs…well, they’re interesting to study, sure enough! But Ainsley wouldn’t invite one of them over to dinner! That would just be absurd. She’s no more likely to treat a House Elf with the same respect with which she does a person than she is to sprout wings and start flying without a broomstick – less, honestly; that sounds like just the sort of experiment that Ainsley would be captivated by. House Elves, on the other hand…well, they’re useful and they’re often sweet and that’s nice, but they aren’t people. No more are any other non-human beings or (worse yet) those unfortunate half-breed creatures. Oh, Ainsley can be perfectly civil and even kind to them – especially if she’s studying them; she’s learned quite a lot from her forays to the McKinnon farm to talk to and observe the lycanthropic subjects sheltering there, for instance, and she was one of the few students to have managed to strike-up the occasional interaction with one of the notoriously shy merfolk inhabiting the Hogwarts lake back at school – but she’d never make the mistake of thinking that they’re people like her. That sort of foolish, illogical anthropomorphizeing empathy is how good researchers get eaten.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

I am honestly just so excited to get to explore the imperfections and prejudices within the Order; too often fandom makes 99% of the characters in HP so black-and-white in terms of good-vs-evil when most of them aren’t. Sure, there are extreme end-of-the-spectrum characters like Voldemort and Bella and Umbridge who are pretty much Pure Evil (and the occasional opposite end like the hardly-flawless-but-wholly-good-hearted Luna Lovegood) but for the most part, the people in this story are just people. (All that “both light and dark inside us” blah blah blah stuff.) But when you only focus on the Good Guys vs Bad Guys – particularly when the cause the bad guys are fighting for is so bad – it’s easy to gloss-over the flaws in the people fighting against them; easy to forget that they aren’t always great too. Easy to forget that just because you’re fighting against a group of people trying to enshrine prejudice as near-holy writ in their society doesn’t mean that you’re automatically free of prejudice yourself. (Maybe some of the people in the Order are there because they oppose blood-supremacy, but does that mean they like werewolves? Doubt it! Or what about the ones who come from Muggle roots who thus have Muggle prejudices that the wizarding world has little of – racism, for starters! What about queerness? Is it more tolerated in a magical society where people can change genders as easily as they transfigure themselves into rabbits and armchairs, and where marriage has always been about preserving the family line more than romance so who cares what the gender of your “bit on the side” is as long as you produce a proper heir? Etc. What about religion? I doubt too many wix go in for Muggle religions, when so many of those belief systems take the tactic of “thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!” so how does that conflict play-out between those who grew-up with one foot in the magical world and one in the Muggle? So many options for turmoil!) Just because someone is paying enough attention to know that Voldemort is evil doesn’t even mean that they don’t share some of the same ideals being spouted by the Death Eaters – maybe unconsciously, maybe to a lesser degree, etc…but still there, in their head. Internalized. Needing to be unpacked, confronted – but fandom does so little of that. Good Guys are Good, End of Story. The Order were all friends who got along, la la la! Nope. Don’t think so. The Order was made up of a bunch of scared, desperate, angry, beleaguered people (several of them outcasts in their own way) fighting life-and-death battles against an enemy they couldn’t always even find, opposing their own government in many ways in order to “do the right thing” – fighting a war that half the populace would rather just went away. Even if they had all started as buddies, that would have been enough strain to crumble half their friendships by the end – and conversely, to forge people who otherwise have nothing in common into lifelong mates. The interpersonal relationships and inevitable clashes and arguments and confrontations – those are going to be awesome. I’m so excited.

PLOT DROP IDEAS: Things to inspire more inter-personal conflict in the Order; things to erode people’s trust in one another. Unfortunate circumstances, suspicious choices – maybe someone is seen talking to somebody whom other Order members know to be a Death Eater, but they didn’t get the memo yet and just think they’re an old friend, but the others don’t buy that explanation… Maybe someone has to make a purchase in Knockturn Alley that they don’t want to talk about publicly, which should be fine – everyone deserves a little privacy! But can they afford to grant that in the middle of a war…? Maybe someone (a Death Eater, a concerned citizen, a copy-cat) stages an attack that the Order gets blamed for, and certain members of the Order (Dorcas and Emma? James and Sirius?) have a hard time convincing the others that it wasn’t them… Maybe somebody defects; maybe somebody dies.

ANYTHING ELSE? nope!

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:

PAST:

There are a lot of Abbotts in the world. They’re an old family and rather than dwindle over the years like so many other old families, they’ve multiplied. Ainsley has cousins upon cousins upon cousins, and ties to most of the magical families in Great Britain (and abroad) if you trace those family trees back far enough. Everyone knows an Abbott – and everyone knows they aren’t pure. Not anymore; not since the 1940s, when the societal shift post-Grindewald led to a relaxation of blood-standards among many of the older families (the Bulstrodes, the Bobbins). But not every family loosened their ideals of purity, and some of those that did not were the most prestigious. This led to the Abbotts not so much being exiled from the higher echelons of society as drifting slowly to the side as the blood-purists solidified their grasp on the top slots and everyone else stood back and let them. For Ainsley, that was a stroke of luck; she’s the type of witch who prefers the sidelines, prefers watching to interacting, especially in a crowd. It is a trait that surprisingly few of her Hogwarts Housemates shared, but while AInsley preferred the company of her fellow quiet academics she was nonetheless delighted to let the more rambunctious Ravenclaws entertain her with the endless experiments and impassioned debates that made their Tower such an eye-opening place for a quiet, curious young Abbott to grow-up.

PRESENT:

Ainsley might have been expected to go into some esoteric research position after Hogwarts, locked away in a room full of dusty books and quills and quiet. But quiet was best when it was surrounded by something exciting – and Ainsley liked sharing what she knows almost as much as she likes learning something new. So she turned to a very different source of the printed word: journalism. Her career at The Daily Prophet has not proved to be as fulfilling as she had hoped when she was first hired as an editorial assistant, however. She thought that would include writing a few articles herself – fleshing-out the paper’s coverage of current events and societal gossip and economic and investment minutia with some columns on important topics like Arithmancy theories and archaic rune translations. Somehow, though, there’s just never enough room to squeeze in her pieces; too much other news keeps getting in the way. That isn’t what drove Ainsley to leave her desk and take up wands against the Death Eaters, though; she did that for her sister. Vanessa was always the more impractical, romantic of the two – but their differences did nothing to drive them apart, and there’s nothing Ainsley wouldn’t do for the person she loves most. Including fight to make a world where Nessie would be safe to follow her heart. That’s why Ainsley went along with her sister’s scheme to pretend to be pure-bloods so she could marry Jayesh Rosier – and why AInsley decided to cut to the chase and just destroy blood-prejudice. The Order hasn’t had as much success as she’d hoped, though, and now Ainsley is starting to wonder if she isn’t potentially doing Nessie more harm than good. What will her prospective in-laws do if they find out Nessie’s sister is fighting against their precious Dark Lord?

FC CHOICES: Olivia Taylor Dudley, Song Ji-Hyo, Amy Acker

#homenumaccepted #harry potter rp #harry potter roleplay #harry potter rpg #marauders rp

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gunnerpaxton · 5 years

Text

worst year of my life | self para

Gunner’s not entirely sure, since his memories are reasonably limited, but he can’t help but think that two years old was the worst year of his life.

It’s rare that family trips to the family pool were a thing, and he’s spent the better part of their hour there wailing at the top of his lungs. Elias is far older than him, almost 8 now, and he gets to swim with friends in the deep end of the pool. Gunner’s never even been in the shallow end on his own, and he’s got enough autonomy set now that this fact doesn’t settle well with him. He wants to be with his big brother, and no one is listening.

Finally, after attempting to ‘ignore him’ to see if he would self soothe, Gunner’s father mumbles, “Alright,” as if noting how blue the sky was. He leans over to pick Gunner up by the waistband of his swim trunks – which hurts, they’re Elias’ old pair from when he was 5, already all long limbs while Gunner was nothing but chub and short, waddling legs – and tosses Gunner into the deep end of the pool, uncaring and without a second thought.

He pays off the lifeguard who dives in after Gunner’s splashing, panicking form so that he doesn’t call social services. They don’t get groceries that week because of it, and Gunner’s dad still makes jokes about how he’d rather gotten those than a son who can be used as an arm rest.

Looking back, it’s probably 10 years old that’s the worst year of Gunner’s life.

He breaks his nose for the first time underneath the fist of an 8th grader who towers over Gunner because he can. He’s the smallest in his class, and the rumours about the sort of shenanigans his parents get up to have started to spread. Specifically, to Roger Castle, whose mother had gone to Gunner’s own when she heard she was a medium, begging her to talk to Roger’s dad who passed away two years ago. Of course Gunner’s mom says he’s at peace, and gets a hearty tip out of it. That earns them ice cream that night, so Gunner doesn’t understand why it’s a bad thing until Roger’s pummeling his face in until Gunner’s sobbing and choking on his own blood.

Two hours later and their dad’s picking them up from the police station. Elias’ hand is swollen from where he’d broken Roger’s nose right back, but with one swift punch instead of the several it took until Gunner’s had cracked, once he’d caught sight of the scene on his walk to pick up Gunner to head home. He gets let off with a warning when they see the state Gunner’s face is in, but their dad still yells at Gunner to stop being a pussy when he hears him whimpering and sniffling in the back seat of the shitty pickup truck he had to borrow from their uncle.

If 14 isn’t the worst year, then Gunner doesn’t know what is.

His parents never leave town, never go on trips. Had never had the money, until their dad wins big at the casino one night. They blow it on plane tickets and a trip that the winnings don’t even fully cover, and without a second thought, they’re leaving town without much care.

The night before Wyatt goes missing, him and Elias almost get caught stealing from the convenience store about a 20 minute walk from their house. They make it home in less than 10, sprinting and laughing somewhat hysterically when they can’t believe what they got away with grabbing.

“Dude,” Elias huffs once they’re on their front steps, “Who knew your little legs could move so fast? Barry Allen in the flesh.”

Gunner beams with pride at the compliment, still shining with joy when Elias says he’s leaving for the night the next day. He doesn’t even bother putting up an argument despite their parents warning, even walks Wyatt halfway to his own friend’s place as he meets up with his own.

Less than 24 hours later, they’re back at the police station. There’s a new chief of police, someone that doesn’t look much older than Elias, which is concerning since his brother’s so fresh out of his teen years he still whines about it sometimes. But he’s nice and promises Gunner he’s not being questioned, that they just want to help when he continues to sniffle and ask for his parents, who’re on the next place back to Wyoming.

His mom wails that night. And every night after that. The kind of shrieking, screaming cry that gives Gunner nightmares so bad he wakes up vomiting for months, and even random days after that, too. To this day. She reiterates how badly she wants to die more often than not, and Gunner takes so much time off school to just stay in her room and watch her, make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid, that he actually starts to notice when his dad stops coming home at night.

At 17 years old, Gunner’s just about had enough.

He’s started seeing Sarah again, a childhood friend that he’d lost contact with once Wyatt went missing. It hurt her little brother too much to be around the Paxton’s without his best friend there. But she comforts him on the nights where he wakes up panting and eventually throwing up again, shushes him when he apologizes in between heaves.

Sometimes, he thinks that maybe he’s in love. Doesn’t really know though, never really saw it up close even with his own parents.

He confesses secrets and fears to her easily. She runs fingers through his hair as he does so, kisses him senseless when she can tell he doesn’t have the words to explain how he feels, and he believes that this has to be love, doesn’t know what else it could be.

But on the last day of high school, what he figures would be the best day of his life, he’s greeted by scattered images of himself, of Elias, who escaped Wyoming long ago but still has people whispering about him in the halls. Their eyes are crossed out, ominous and like something out of a horror film, and the word ‘murderer’ is under each printed out picture. The first thing Gunner thinks is that he wishes the picture that’d been used of him was better than his 10th grade picture, hair too short and standing on edge, showing off how dumb and young he looks.

Pasted on his locker, on several lockers, is a long list of the secrets Gunner had whispered to Sarah on nights where he would shake so bad he was scared his neck would snap from the brutality of it.

He still thinks that maybe this is love, that maybe his parents had it right after all.

That night, the nightmares are so bad that Gunner can’t pull himself out of them, sobbing and clutching at his chest to try and feel a heart beat, but his hands are numb. They can’t seem to grasp and touch anything, and it makes him panic more, eyes blurring around the edges. He sort of just hopes that he’ll pass out, but when it doesn’t happen right away, he stumbles out of bed, stumbles blindly towards the kitchen.

He doesn’t hesitate when he stabs a fork into the back of his hand. The scream that emits from him is actually shocking – Gunner had expected to feel nothing, but he’s almost relieved when his hand screams in protest, yanking the fork out quickly and gasping as he grasps at the injury he’s caused gratefully.

His dad backhands him so badly, drunk and angry from being woken up, that Gunner’s nose breaks for the third time.

Gunner’s just shy of his 21st birthday, and he’s beyond relieved, since 20 years old has easily, been the worst year of his life.

He’s in the basement of a party, and he’s with a boy. Except Jack’s more than just a boy, but even when they’re pressed up against each other, properly kissing like they’d die without it for the first time since whatever this is has started, Gunner still refuses to admit that fact to himself.

Usually, whenever his heart began to pound and his nerves sang with giddiness in Jack’s presence, he could hear his dad’s booming voice in his head. Reminding him that he wasn’t allowed to go to Tommy Laren’s birthday party in the 5th grade because he had two dads. At the time, Gunner didn’t understand what was so bad about it. Tommy had two dads that cared about him when Gunner had none.

But he doesn’t hear his dad this time, probably because he can’t hear anything past the blood pounding in his ears.

If he could hear the pathetic, whining noises he was making while kissing Jack, he probably would’ve dropped dead. He’d been with girls and watched porn where the girls made similar noises, and in a way, it’d always been a bit of a turn off. Thought maybe the pornstars just wanted to seem sexy and the girls tried to make things go by faster by making desperate panting sounds. But Gunner’s making those noises himself, and they’re fully clothed, merely just standing and kissing. It’s embarrassing.

He’s about to ask if Jack wants to move to the couch, wants to just go home, when he can hear the basement door open.

It feels like something in him has shattered, gasping violently at the idea of someone coming down and catching them making out like Gunner had seen Jack do with others at parties like this before.

He doesn’t even say anything, doesn’t have the decency to when he stumbles so quickly out of Jack’s grasp that he momentarily trips over his feet, only catching himself on the shelf stood erect beside him before falling onto his ass. Jack moves forward, like he wants to catch him, but Gunner merely spits out a cowardly, “Don’t,” before he’s pulling himself up properly again, beelining it up the stairs of the basement and into the washroom door right beside the basement’s own door.

Staring at himself in the mirror, Gunner watches his wide eyes brim with tears, pants heaving in and out of his chest and reminding him why he was so out of breath. Swollen lips and tight jeans are something else that gives it away and Gunner hates this. Hates looking at himself. Hates himself.

His dad’s yelling at him in his head, loudly and disapproving. And for once, Gunner doesn’t blame him.

It’s with a swift movement, one he didn’t even see coming, that he lurches forward and punches the mirror in front of him so aggressively it shatters, dramatic and splintering like the movies. It hurts. Deliciously. His knuckles are already scraped up, glass stuck into them, and he wants to feel that again. It’s the closest he’s been to feeling alive for all the wrong reasons in a while, and that’s more comforting than the way his heart had screamed just moments ago in the basement with a boy.

So he punches the mirror again. And again. Expression falling blank and knuckles crying for relief as blood and crushed glass drip into the sink below him.

“What the fuck is going on in there?!”

Pausing, Gunner remembers where he is, what’s going on around him. This isn’t his house, this isn’t his mirror. He doesn’t really have it in him to feel bad for what he did, instead finally forcing himself to step back from the mess he’d made. Can’t even bring himself to attempt to clean it, clean off his hand.

He does mumble a sorry when he finally opens the bathroom mirror, ignores the gasps he hears when people see the mess, hand dripping blood onto the pristine cream coloured carpet beneath him.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

Besides, he’s been through worse.

#abuse tw #self harm tw #kidnapping tw #depression tw #suicidal idealization tw #homophobia tw #internalized homophobia tw #wrow............... wipes sweat after all those tw #fcking . hope i got them all bt pls let me kno if i didnt #anyway had this in mind fr a while n jst rly wanted to Write It Out #bt read w caution it rly is a bit . Much #also? A Beef

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