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ballorawan740 · 3 years

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SCP Scenarios: SCP x Reader - McDonald's Sprite (REQUESTED)

Requested by: @katnotmore123

Bro y'all be simping for Sprite and I'm here simping for 7Up...

I mean I like them both but I just prefer 7up over Sprite... It's like comparing Pepsi and Coke ngl but with a more subtle difference

SCP 073 (Cain)

You came back to the foundation one day with a cup of iced drink and Cain had asked what you were drinking and you showed him

He was mildly confused but soon understood the beverage since he had seen them somewhere on the web (no, not the hub, an advert from McDonald's)

You asked if he wanted to try some and he did, so you gave him a sip

You were slightly annoyed and surprised since you drove over an hour and hadn't had anything to drink and the last thing you wanted was someone taking your drink

But since it was 073, you made it an exception since you hadn't expected him to have any food or beverages outside of site 17

You figured that he had enjoyed it as he reminisced his past about being able to eat plant-based food but no longer could

You felt bad and agreed to get more when you next go back

The researchers had wondered if the drink had ever rotted in his mouth but realise moments later that it's mainly made out of artificial ingredients aside from the natural flavourings

SCP 076-2 (Abel)

I have high doubts that you would be able to persuade Abel to drink such a plain beverage, so you had devised a plan to get him to try

You made a bet with Abel in which the loser has to finish off the drink, not that you'd complain (you unhealthy mf), but you really wanted him to give it a try

Abel accepted and had very much lost the bet

He had taken a sip and you noticed that he's enjoying the drink and teased him

He spat it out and flat out denied it (like the tsundere he is) but continued drinking it anyways

Some of the researchers monitoring Abel's cell found it rather amusing that he enjoyed such a "plain beverage" and did try to tease him about it

Let's just say it didn't end very well as it resulted in somebody's head being chopped off

You both had agreed that if Abel stops trying to breach his containment and be more cooperative, you or somebody else in your team would buy him more Sprite from McDonald's (and by 'buy', I mean kidnapping the whole chain's Sprite dispenser)

SCP 999 (Tickle Monster)

999 would most definitely take the drink out of your hand since his little tingles tell him that whatever you were drinking was sweet

And he was very much right

You were slightly shocked but wasn't surprised since he does have quite a sweet tooth

Every now and again, SCP 999 would ask if you had any more of those drinks and would even ask what they were

You had explained to him that it's a lemon and line flavoured soft drink created by the Coca-Cola company (the more you know right?)

He was intrigued and sweetly requested if you could buy him more and you obliged

You would use your time off to buy a dozen of Sprites from McDonald's and would sometimes buy other soft drinks like Coke and Fanta for 999

Needless to say, you had an orange blob as your personal pet who would give you unlimited hugs since you spoiled him with so many drinks

SCP 682 (Hard to Destroy Reptile)

This mf of a lizard right here is just as stubborn, if not even more than Abel, and would reject trying that beverage at all for the whole entire week

You had to bribe him and the researchers were laughing their socks off from this interaction you both got going

He did give in but was rather hesitant at first

Once you poured some into his mouth, he seemed slightly disgusted from the taste

He would just sit still for a moment as to contemplate then stuck his tongue out as a sign of disgust

But bring the cheeky person you were, you spilt more into his mouth which led to him farting for the next few hours to which everyone laughed

Dr Bright heard the commotion and came to see what was happening

Let's just say he encouraged you to carry on if you want your head cut off but found it amusing regardless

In short, don't ever give him Sprite unless you want to torture him

SCP 049 (Plague Doctor)

Does this bird doctor even drink?!

You mention multiple times about human food and how delicious they are

Mainly McDonald's Sprite and their food since its rather popular

ESPECIALLY THEIR CHEESE BITES/STICKS!!! HAVE YALL EVEN TRIED THEM!? THEY'RE DELICIOUS AF!!!

OMG they've released the garlic ones but I preferred the normal Mozzarella sticks and cheesy bites though

Anyways, back to Sprite, our side chick

049 would be intrigued about this 'Sprite' since you spoke so passionately about it like your life depended on it and requested you to get him one for a try and so you did

When he drank it he was surprised at the foreign taste

He asked if there were more beverages like it and you answered honestly, carrying on with your love for McDonald's and offered to buy him some for a try

Basically, 049 would give it a try since you spoke so passionately for them

He wouldn't necessarily hate it, but he wouldn't love the drink as much

I'd say he would be intrigued to try something new outside of his role in curing the pestilence

SCP 035 (Possessive Mask)

I am so sorry guys, I'll have to make 035 hella short since I can't think of anything interesting for him

DO YALL THINK THIS BOI CAN EVEN TRY?! JUST LOOK AT HIM!!! HE'S A BLOODY MASK!!!

The closest thing for him to try the drink is if you gave his now possessed body some beforehand so 035 could telepathically understand the taste

Like if you just straight up gave him the drink I don't think he would be able to drink it even if he wanted to

If the now dead body never had Sprite, then you ould just describe the tase to him in form of arts (I like to imagine 035 would be into arts, especially performing arts since he's basically a theatre mask)

SCP 105 (Iris)

Our girl here has a high chance that she might have tried McDonald's Sprite

But she just prefers healthier foods (this healthy mf knows that y'all can't keep healthy, that's why she's here to start your New Year's Resolution which is to stay healthy)

You both would recommend food which is healthy or unhealthy and would try them

Iris is more than capable of controlling her diet, but you, on the other hand, have a hard time doing so (don't lie, we all know y'all like junk food)

So, you both compromised in which you can have junk food as a reward, namely your favourite beverage, Sprite

You just love the citrus flavoured, colourless beverage so much that Iris would have to hide the drink from you (ah yes great promotion from me XD)

What would you do without our girl, Iris, eh? (Die from overeating unhealthy food which causes heart attacks and strokes, of course, fun!)

Anyways, sometimes when you're the one going out, you would be the one to buy a few dozen bottles of Sprite from McDonald's (bro do they even sell bottled drinks? Ik they do in KFC from where I live OwO)

Iris would drop dead from the sight of you bringing in so many Sprites into the foundation

She would most likely drink some with you, not because she likes them, god no

It's because there's no more room to store them and she's just a little bit thirsty

SCP 106 (Old Man)

This old man would be so confused by all this food and drinks from the outside world

His first impression of McDonald's was that of a circus since you've shown him the older advertisement for McDonald's since it fits his age (love you 106!!! Not)

And then you gave him a menu, and god did he not have any glasses (boi he do be needing to go to Specsavers fr)

He read Mozzarella Sticks as mosasaurs pricks, the Spicy Veggie One as spicy vag- and what's worse is that he read Double Quater Pounder as double quantum pounding (he even read Coke wrong!)

You and the foundation staff burst out of laughter at his 20/20 eyesight

So one day, you returned to the foundation with some Sprite in your hands in hopes that 106 would give it a go and so he did

He found the flavour somewhat new and strange but still enjoyed it nevertheless (this boi here do be a man of culture, am I right?)

Anyways, 106 loved it so much to the point that during one of the breaches, he disappeared from the foundation and reappeared with 10 boxes of Sprite

The researchers then realised afterwards that 106 had used his pocket dimension to teleport to the nearest McDonald's and stole the boxes of Sprite without even paying

They were even more surprised to find that the workers there were ordinary humans and weren't even fazed about 106 teleporting to their business (Sames here bro! If anyone stole my food/drinks I'd be pissed too regardless of who it is!!! Food is food!!!)

You basically made him addicted to Sprite

SCP 096 (Shy Guy)

(Imma be honest here, idk if this guy eats since he's facing the wall and covering his face like 99% of the time unless some guy saw his face)

You were sat in 096's cell and was debating on what food to get from McDonald's

096 was curious about what you're talking about since he heard you mumbling bout food from this so-called "McDonald's"

So you explained to him the concept of food and that generally speaking, unhealthy foods are tastier and typically served quicker in at places like McDonald's

Imma be real here, I like Burger King's chilli cheese bites a tiny bit more since the McDonald's at my place is stuck with garlic cheese bites atm

It's not like I hate them, but I just prefer the old ones, but it's nice that McDonald's changes up their food every now and then

Anyways, back onto our side chick

You bought your favourite Sprite along with the double quantum pou- quarter pounder

096 was upon curious and so you let him have a bite of your quarter pounder and your Sprite

Let's just say that 096 found it weird and didn't ask about human food again

Dr Jack bright

Jack Bright is very much aware of McDonald's and other fast-food chains since he does have a fair share of memories of eating them with his family and because the bodies he possesses do be unhealthy af (just like you)

You were talking about food with one of your co-workers and Bright just so happened to be nearby and butted his head into the conversation

Your co-worker also just happened to leave for a meeting so you're both stuck together talking about McDonald's

Sometime later, you bought to the foundation some food, including Jack's favourites as he had mentioned not long ago

You both tried each other's food and he was mesmerised by the Sprite since it's been a while since he had it

So whenever you went back, you would buy a larger bottle of Sprite for Jack since he wouldn't have much free time and needed to drink more anyways

Sometimes, when you're both talking about food, you'd make up puns for them or just laugh at your misinterpretations since you're just as blind as a bat (btw I've read somewhere that bats have good vision, they just use echolocation a lot)

Some of the things you both would say would be "Did you hear that McDonald's gave all their employees large laptops for Christmas? They were Big Macs" and "Hey, Ronald McDonald - been watching any good clown movies? Ronald: I'm loving it"

One time, he smacked your bum and casually said to you "Girl, this quarter-pounder will take you to a whole different level of experience" and then left

Dr Simon Glass

Another doctor who has knowledge of fast foods

He's similar to Bright in a way as he doesn't leave the facility as often as he likes since he's constantly busy

Also, he would make terrible jokes and puns using wordplay

When you told him about your favourite drink, Sprite, Glass immediately said "I went to the store to get eight cans of Sprite. When I got home, I realized I’d only picked seven up"

You just looked dumbfounded at his puns and laughed as he continued

He did manage to take a sip and drank the whole can of Sprite instead

You even bought some wrap with extra mayo and told Simon about your friendly chat with the waitress/cashier and mentioned her former co-workers

And you died on the inside because his only reply was "She should go back sometime to ketchup with her old co-workers or she mayo not want to"

To shut him up, you have decided that buying him Sprite would work and it kinda did

Only for a short while though

Dr Alto Clef

Clef is well aware of the fast-food chain called McDonald's

It was hard to ignore it as a lot of people younger than him had kept talking about it, even you

Even worse if it was you talking about McDonald's since you have an obsession with their Sprite

Poor Clef was confused as he assumed that all lemon/lime flavoured drinks were the same

Oh boy was he wrong

You came back with your lunch from you know where and 2 bottles of Sprite

One was from McDonald's and the other from Lidl along with some of your favourite pastries, like croissants and toffee yum yums

You had him try all the foods and both Sprites and he finally gave in to the fact that McDonald's Sprite tastes more superior than the other

Not only that, he made dirty jokes and puns about the food in McDonald's

Like "Baby, you got more legs than a bucket of McDonald's", "Come over to my house and I’ll give ya a happy meal", "Do you work here? Because I’d like to order some fries with that shake" and "Girl when I am done with you, you won't be looking for no toys in this happy meal"

Dr Benjamin Kondraki

Benjamin Kondraki would be the type of person who would be reluctant to try but would anyways since you asked so kindly and gave them those eyes

And by that, I mean a death glare

NGL he doesn't seem like the type of fella to be eating a ton of unhealthy food

I mean he doesn't necessarily eat salad or anything overly healthy, but he does have a balanced diet for the most part and does treat himself sometimes, but not too often

You magically crept up behind Kondraki and scared him unintentionally but you still laughed anyway because you're evil

He looked down and realised that the packaging was from McDonald's and you were holding a familiar clear bottle in your other hand

You were kind enough to share your food with him and he thoroughly enjoyed it

Then after that, you forced him to drink some Sprite since he has PTSD from your unhealthy obsession with it

And yes, he did end up drinking it

And no, he didn't like it nor did he hate it

You were upset that you thought he shot you down about Sprite but quickly regained your happiness since he did tell you about the drink being just above average

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ghost-of-winters-past · 3 years

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can’t blame me for falling (when you look at me like that)

summary: On the road to see your old childhood friends with Bucky, you found yourself wishing you’d never reach your destination. Oh, the line between friendship and love could be so thin, especially when Bucky kept looking at you like that.

pairing: bucky x fem!reader

warnings/synopsis: AU, mutual pining, swear words, another friends to lovers because honestly we love to see it. Requested by the wonderful @barnesbabyy You have no idea how much fun I had writing this! Feel free to request again whenever! (4.3k words) Also, I have a smutty part 2. Raise your hands if you want it.

"Fucking hell." The black duffel bag stuffed to the brim with clothes, toiletries and a few bags of chips hit the ground with a heavy thud. The zipper had only closed halfway so that the football tricot you had thrown in last was still sticking out of it. Waving your arms in the air like some kind of flightless bird, you tried to get back control of your body while your feet were busy sliding over the iced patch on the New York sidewalk. "You okay over there?" Bucky sent you a bemused look, his tousled, brown hair sticking into every direction due to just waking up. "No. I almost just died!" you shot back with a dark look after finally managing to not smack face-first onto the street. Muttering a few obscene swear words, you took Bucky’s offered hand and let him help you off the slippery ice. "Yeah, looked pretty bad. Was already planning which headstone I was gonna buy you." "Haha, really funny." "Admit it, you would miss me," you then added and watched Bucky picking up your bag from the pavement. "Jesus Christ, woman. What’s in this thing?" he groaned and still hauled it into the car trunk as if it weighed absolutely nothing. Show-off. "Just some essentials," you shrugged and went to round the car so you could finally get on the road when Bucky suddenly opened the bag and started to dig through its contents. "Hey! Get your filthy paws out of my stuff!" "What the hell do you need five king-sized packs of Reese’s Cups for?" he asked with a raised brow and an amused smirk tugging on his pink lips. "You know we’re only gone for like five days, right?" With flaring nostrils, you ripped the sweets from his grasp. "One for every day! And now you’re not gonna get any of these, congratulations!" you huffed, pushed him to the side with your elbow and stuffed the candy back into your bag. Beside you, you could hear Bucky laughing, a deep rumbling belly laugh that made something flutter in your stomach. Maybe you had caught his flu after he kept annoying you to take care of him last week, insisting he couldn’t leave the bed and needed someone to make him soup and bring him lemon tee every two hours. Normally you would have just told him to suck it up and quit being a baby like he always did when you were sick, but when he had looked at you like that with his stupid big blue ocean eyes you just couldn’t say no.

"Can we leave now? There’s supposed to be a lot of traffic and I wanna at least get to North Carolina before sundown." You didn’t even wait for his answer and just slid into the passenger seat where you had already bunkered some water bottles and salty pretzels. Just in case you or Bucky would get car sick. You were already buckling up and hoisting your socked feet up onto the dashboard after kicking off your boots. With a little sigh, Bucky got into the driver's seat. A groan rolled over his lips when he saw your propped-up feet. "Get your smelly feet off my dashboard." "My feet don’t smell, asshat," you said, stretching to reach the radio to try to connect your phone cable. From the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky shaking his head before starting the engine and mumbling something along the lines of being rude to the person chauffeuring you along half of the American east coast under his breath. Miley Cyrus' deep voice started to blare through the speakers and you could hear Bucky’s annoyed sigh, but chose to ignore it. Everybody knew the person in the passenger seat had the power over the music. "Let’s go!" you yelled and put on your sunglasses as Bucky expertly wove into traffic. There were at least nine hours of road ahead of you for today and you couldn’t wait to get going. The sooner you left, the sooner you could finally see Sam and Steve again.

"Hey, let’s play a game!" you excitedly suggested after about thirty minutes of driving. Bucky chuckled. "If that means you turn off the music, I’m in." You turned the music down. "Okay. Fuck, marry, kill." Bucky threw his head back, groaning annoyed. "That’s not the driving game I was thinking of," he said. You shrugged. "Don’t care. You start. Sam, Steve and me. Go." Giggling when he threw his head back again and let out an even louder groan, you turned around to face him and crossed your legs on the seat. "First of all: Kill Sam. That’s not even a question." Agreeing, you nodded your head. "I really don’t wanna answer the rest." "Oh come on!" you yelled and playfully shook his shoulder. "No!" he yelled back, a laugh rolling over his lips right after. "Bucky!" "Okay, okay!" Grinning, you watched him think about his answer for a while. His eyes wandered over to you for a few seconds, his cheeks reddening a little. "Say it!" "I refuse!" "Bucky, say it!" "Don’t force me to do this!" "Say it!" "Fuck and marry you, dammit!" It was dead silent. You were confused. "That’s not-" "I’m not gonna do shit with Steve! I’m either gonna fuck and marry you or nobody at all!" Slapping your hand over your mouth, you tried to hold in your laugh. "That’s not what I meant," he mumbled, embarrassed. "You love me," you started to tease him, dragging out the love in a high voice. "No. In fact, I’m gonna throw you outta the car right now." Bucky started violently pushing at your upper arm. "Get your fucking eyes back on the road!" you yelled and slapped his hands away, trying to catch your breath from laughing so hard that your eyes had teared up.

You had been sitting in the car for just over three hours when you had to make your first pit stop to get gas. Passing through most of Pennsylvania with just a few complications due to traffic, you were now just about half an hour away from crossing the border to Maryland. You were currently filling up the tank while Bucky escaped to the toilet. He had complained about needing to pee for at least 45 minutes, and you had just blown him off by reminding him that he should have gone before you left New York this morning. He was like a little child, telling you that he didn’t need to pee this morning so he didn’t go and when you had noticed the almost empty tank, you had let him wobble off while taking care of getting gas. "You want me to drive for a while?" you asked as you saw him coming back towards the car, a content look on his face. "Nah, I’m still good. You can drive tomorrow." "Okay, I’m just gonna pay real quick and then we can hit the road again," you said, putting the tank cap back into place and grabbing your wallet from the passenger seat.

Waiting in line to pay, your gaze wandered out of the big shop windows onto Bucky. He was standing in front of the open car door, languidly stretching his arms above his head so that the hem of his blue shirt kept riding up. Even from the distance, your breath hitched a little as you saw the toned sliver of skin that was now exposed to the cold February air. You had seen him without a shirt many times, and every time you had to suppress the need to run your hands over his defined muscles. Constantly you had to remind yourself that friends usually didn’t do that. The veins in his arms were almost bulging out, and you could have kept watching him for ages if the cashier wouldn’t have cleared his throat at that moment and ripped you from your observations. You put a bar of chocolate and a bottle of coke on the counter and proceeded to pay before heading back to Bucky. He was now sitting in the car again, his feet dangling out the open door and typing away on his phone. He quickly put it away when he saw you approaching.

"Can you gimme the chocolate?" he asked after getting back on the highway. "Not when you’re driving, you’re gonna kill us!" He sighed exasperated, knowing you were referring to the one time the two of you were driving upstate and he almost swerved off the street trying to open a bag of skittles. "It was one time, get over it!" You let out a little scream as he tried to reach for the chocolate in your hands, the car immediately swaying a little to the right. "Okay! I’m gonna give you a piece when you put both hands back on the wheel. Ten and two o’clock, mister!" Bucky let out a little huff, opening his mouth to complain when you held a piece of chocolate in front of his mouth. Not taking his eyes off the road, he gently closed his lips around it. The pillowy skin grazed your fingertips, sending an electrocuting tingle up your arm and then down your spine. You could feel your heart thrumming in your chest as you slowly lowered your arm. Clearing your throat, you got back to stuffing your own and suddenly very hot feeling face with chocolate.

You had been watching fields and trees passing you by with your arm propped up on the car window. After your little gas stop, it had been silent between you two. When Bucky had looked over to you after another hour of driving, he found you sound asleep with your head resting on the cold window. A small smile spread on his lips when he heard your quiet snoring. Careful, he first slipped one arm out of the sleeve of his brown jacket, then the other one before placing it over you as a makeshift blanket, not even taking his gaze off the road once. From the corner of his eye, he could see you pulling the jacket up to your chin in your sleep, a content sigh escaping your pretty lips. His eyes flickered over to your thigh, fingers itching to reach out and place his hand on the soft fabric of your sweat pants. But he didn’t know if you would be okay with it, even though you’d probably not notice. So he restrained himself and gripped onto the steering wheel tighter, focusing on the road again.

You didn’t know how much time exactly had passed, but when you woke up, it was already getting dark outside. Yawning, you stretched your arms above your head, promptly bumping into the car ceiling. In the process, the jacket slipped down your torso. Confused, you looked over to Bucky. "Hey, sleepyhead," he said and sent a warm smile in your direction. "Hey," you grumbled back, your voice still thick with sleep and yawned again. You could feel the cold seeping through to you, so you decided to slip into Bucky’s jacket. The smell of mint and his aftershave, something woodsy and warm, surrounded you, and you couldn’t help but take a deep breath. How did he always smell so good? "Where are we?" "Just a few miles outside of North Carolina," he said. "You hungry? I saw a sign for a 24-hour diner a few minutes ago," he then added. "I could go for a burger." "You got it, doll." Warmth spread through your chest when you heard the nickname he usually just reserved for women he tried to pick up at your local bar. You just hoped he didn't hear your heart beating in your chest. Clearing your throat, you let your gaze wander out of the window again, letting Bucky's delicious smell fill your nose, almost lulling you back to sleep.

There were just two other cars parked in front of the retro diner when Bucky killed the engine. It was dark now, the cold air filling the car as soon as you opened the door. Burying your hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, you followed him to the entrance. "Thanks." Bucky noticed the red hue that was spreading on your cheeks when he held the door open for you, his heart doing a little jump when he saw how cute you looked in his jacket. It was a good few numbers too big on you, the sleeves bunching up around your wrists and its length covering up your butt. His head shot back up immediately when he realized he was checking out your ass, something he usually didn’t do. I mean, he had noticed you had a nice ass. Many times. And yes, admittedly, he had caught his hand reaching out to give it a good hard slap every now and then, but that’s just what best friends did, right? Right? That didn’t mean he was actually checking you out. He was just…observing.

A waitress motioned you over to a free booth at a window. She handed you two menus as you sat down and quickly took your drink order before leaving you to decide on food. "I need something greasy," you stated with a longing look at the cheese fries that were displayed on the plastic-wrapped cards. When Bucky didn’t say anything, you lifted your eyes from the menu and found him staring at you with a thoughtful look, his tongue running over his plump lips. "What?" "You just look so damn good in my clothes," he said, his voice a few octaves deeper than usual. Goosebumps spread over your arms when you watched him biting his bottom lip. Then he suddenly seemed to snap out of it, eyes widening a little before clearing his throat and hiding his face behind the menu. Even if you had known what to say, you physically couldn't bring yourself to even utter a word. Your throat was suddenly so dry that you greedily took a big gulp of the water the waitress had just placed in front of you. Awkward silence took over after ordering your food. "So, are we gonna stop for a motel soon?" "Let’s just take the first one we see, yeah?" Nodding your agreement, you started to play with the sleeve of his jacket. Then it was silent once again. Thankfully it didn’t take too long for your food to arrive, and once you started to dig in, Bucky’s comment from earlier was long forgotten.

"Shit, this is amazing," you said in between bites, an appreciative moan leaving your lips when you bit into the juicy burger. "You have a little something. Right there." Bucky motioned to your mouth, a little laugh tumbling from his lips when you tried to reach the cheesy spot with the tip of your tongue. "Wait. Let me." Reaching out over the table, his thumb moved to the corner of your lips. You could feel your heart stop for a second as you looked up into his wide blown eyes. Something was different. You didn’t just see it in the blue of his eyes, you could feel it in the air. Bucky’s thumb stilled, pulling down your bottom lip as his eyes settled on the sight of his thumb resting on the delicate skin of your lips. Without even a second thought, your tongue shot out, licking the cheese from his fingertip. "Fuck," you heard him curse quietly, a shaky breath escaping his mouth. Your eyes widened in shock and a weird feeling settled deep in your stomach. "I need to pee."

Jumping from your seat, his hand fell from your face. You could feel his stare on you as you ran off to the restroom, inwardly cringing at your own words. A hand came to rest on the spot he had touched after you had locked yourself in one of the stalls. Staring at the beige tile, you could not believe what had just happened. It was almost as if your brain had short-circuited. You didn’t even realize what you were doing until you had already tasted the salt of his fries on his fingertip. Convinced that you had just ruined your friendship, you sat down on the closed toilet seat, burying your head in your hands. You still had to spend at least ten more hours crammed in the car with him, and you could already imagine the awkwardness. Why? Why did you have to act this weird? It’s not like you had confidently decided to suck his finger into your mouth, your body had just acted on its own. He must have been thinking you’re a freak now. I mean, who did this kind of thing?Realizing that things would only get weirder the longer you hid from him, you tried to calm your nerves and slow down your breath. You were almost sure you were close to the brink of a panic attack, but maybe you were just overreacting.

Bucky was staring out of the big window next to the table, absently playing with his fingers. He could still feel your tongue running over his fingertip. Groaning, he shifted in his seat and pressed his eyes together. But all that came to his mind was the way you had looked up to him through your lashes while your tongue had been wrapped around his thumb. "Fuck," he muttered again, knowing he couldn’t just forget what it had felt like. Where did this suddenly come from? Initially, all he wanted to do was wipe the melted cheese from the corner of your mouth, but it was as if his own body had betrayed him. He hadn’t even realized what he had done until he could feel the warmth of your mouth. His eyes shot open again and he found your approaching reflection in the mirror. He could already see the uncomfortable look on your face. Immediately he felt guilty. You didn’t say anything when you sat down, just reaching for your burger and calmly starting to eat again. So he did the same, his eyes glued to the silver table and an awkward silence between you two.

Bucky wordlessly paid for dinner and silently followed you back to the car. You didn’t even dare to argue with him about paying for you. Hell, you didn’t even look at him anymore. He was almost 100% sure he had ruined your friendship. You drove about another twenty minutes before finding a decent motel and booking two rooms for the night. "Well, night then," you said with a timid smile, not really meeting his eyes, once you were stood outside of your room. "Good night," he responded and let out a sigh when you shut the door. It was not even nine o’clock, usually the two of you would hang out a little longer, but he could understand that you didn’t want to see him. He felt horrible for backing you into the corner like that. He had been laying on the bed for what felt like an eternity, his thoughts jumping between the fact that you were childhood friends and literally had seen each other in diapers, and the feeling you had evoked when you had looked at him like that. He could not deny the tingle in his bones when he had felt the warmth of your tongue. And it really shouldn’t affect him like this. After all, he had done way more intimate things with women, but when he now thought about it, he realized that he hadn’t brought one home in a long while. In fact, he couldn’t even remember the last time he picked up a pretty girl from the club or the bar. He would rather leave with you, getting a coffee at midnight or playing video games at your apartment until the sun would rise. You just gave him this feeling he couldn’t even put into words. But he had never felt like this with anybody else. Even now, when there was a thin motel wall separating you two, he could feel your presence. It was as if his mind was desperately trying to reach out to yours, craving to intertwine itself with you. Bucky shot up when he realized it. Fuck it, he decided. He was out the door in seconds.

You were sitting on the bed absently playing with your phone, your chin propped up on the palm of your hand. The beige wallpaper suddenly seemed extremely interesting. You groaned as you tossed your phone aside and let yourself fall back into the mattress. The hungry look in Bucky’s eyes had imprinted itself on the back of your mind, making itself comfortable there. You didn’t think you could ever forget the way he had looked at you, the way he had tasted. Letting out a quiet scream into your hands you threw your head from left to right. No, this was a bad idea, you decided. But what if- You didn’t even allow yourself to complete that thought. There’s just no way he had felt the air change around you back in that diner too. There’s just no way his heart had been beating like crazy too ever since. But what if it had? You didn’t know what to think, you just knew one thing. If you didn’t get off your ass and ask him, you would never know. And probably go crazy. You clumsily stumbled over your bag that was lying in front of the bed on your way to the door. You were almost completely sure of what you were about to do, but you didn’t have any more time to think about it, because when you pulled the door open, Bucky was already standing there.

It was as if you both finally stopped thinking altogether. Your bodies were gravitating towards each other as if you had never done anything else in your life. You could feel his warm lips pressing onto yours with the same desperation you felt. Eyes closed, your hands buried in his short locks, you pulled him as close to you as possible, and shamelessly pushed your body into his, the two of you moulding together perfectly. A shiver ran up your spine when you felt his tongue slipping into your mouth, a little sigh escaping your lips. It was as if all the tension left your limbs as soon as you tasted him on your tongue. Hurriedly you led him back into your room, not daring to let off his lips for even a second. The door slammed shut behind you before Bucky’s hands gripped onto your waist. You could feel his lips spelling out your name against yours, his beard pleasantly scratching at your skin, a quiet moan following when you tugged at his hair. His hands wandered down to your hips, pulling your lower half into his, and you obediently melted into him. "Should we talk about-" he mumbled against your lips. "Stop. Just-just stop talking," you groaned out, the kiss too amazing to ruin it with a serious conversation. He happily obliged, pushing you deeper into the room until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you tumbled onto the sheets in a giggly mess of tangled limbs. For tonight you agreed to stop thinking about what could possibly happen after this and gave into what your bodies and minds so desperately craved for.

"There you are! Oh man, I’ve missed you guys! Come, give me a hug!" Sam had a huge smile plastered on his face as he pulled Bucky and you into a greeting hug. "It’s been ages!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Looking good, Sam!" you complimented him smiling and giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "Guys! Look at you!" A grin tugged at Buckys lips as he pulled Steve into a brotherly hug, slapping his back lightly. "You ready to watch the big game?" you asked the tall blonde and found him showing you his blinding teeth. "Hell yeah. It’s not every day that the Giants play in the Super Bowl!" "Do you need help with your stuff?" Sam asked, but before you could say anything, Bucky shook his head. "We’re good. You wouldn’t be able to lift her bag anyway," he teased him and just earned himself a light smack on the back of his head from you. Even in the setting sunlight, his eyes twinkled a little as he fondly looked down at you. Sam and Steve were already making their way back inside the house while the two of you started to unload the trunk.

"Here, let me." Bucky gently took the bag from you and shouldered it. "What a gentleman," you grinned up at him, almost getting lost in the sweet look in his baby blue eyes. "For you, always." He slowly leaned down to you, as you gently placed your palm over his chest, right where his heart was beating in an elevated, steady rhythm. "Now I just need to kill Sam and marry you to complete my list," he joked, referencing your driving game from yesterday. Immediately your face felt like it was on fire. "And there we go, back to being a pig." "Come on, you love it." Yeah, you did. You had never seen the type of smile now displayed on his face before. His eyes roamed over your entire face as if he tried to commit it all to memory, right hand resting low on your back, just over the swell of your ass. "Say it again," you then whispered, your face only inches away from his. "Don’t know what you mean, doll." Clicking your tongue on the roof of your mouth, you smacked his chest. "Say it. Need to hear it again." A lazy grin took over his handsome features. Bucky lowered his lips onto yours, but before you could kiss him properly, he moved them over your cheek, down to your neck and then back up again, where he found that place right under your ear. He placed a quick, loving kiss onto the spot he had already marked repeatedly last night, your trembling legs almost giving out under you. His lips grazed the shell of your ear, making you shiver excitedly as he whispered the words he had traced and mumbled into your skin at least a million times the night before. "I love you."

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atsukashii · 4 years

Text

❝chance encounter❞ // k. takami

SYNOPSIS: ➛ bickering with Japans number 2 hero about ice cream flavours in a supermarket wasn’t how you expected to spend your Friday night

» CHARACTER PAIRING: keigo takami/hawks x reader

» WORD COUNT: 2.9K

» GENRE: normal?

» WARNINGS: swearing & fluff and just crack really

« masterlist || ao3 »

You had been craving mint chocolate ice cream literally all day. But then again, craving anything with exceedingly high levels of sugar and crap-loads of chocolate wasn’t anything new recently. In times like these, owning your own bakery was both the best decision you’ve ever made, and a huge mistake. Considering you had been up since three am baking away in the kitchen of your cafe and had snacked on basically one of every sweet thing that came out of the oven and anything you had in the display cabinet, if you kept this up you’d have to get a gym membership. But right now, you wanted mint chocolate ice cream. You look down at your stomach and for a moment, the thought of eating healthily crosses your mind. The thought is, however, instantly pushed out by the idea of you, on your couch, in your pj’s, with a pint of mint chocolate ice-cream, watching TV and de-stressing about the absolutely crappy day you had. That sounds way better.

Walking straight down the candy aisle of the supermarket, you don't even bother glancing at your basket as you toss in chocolates, chips, soft drinks, and any unhealthy food you can physically get your hands on. Out of the corner of your eye, you see an old lady coming towards you with a trolley, who looks up from her list, and eyes your basket with disdain.

Cut me some slack, you want to snap at her, I’m heartbroken and pissed off!

You ignore the dirty look she gives you, and snatch a bottle of Coke off the shelf. You were very much aware that you currently looked like you had been digging through garbage all day. Your clothes - even though you wore an apron - no doubt have flour on them, your hair looks like a rat made its home on your head, and your eyes dry and itchy from crying. You knew you looked like a mess, you have just surpassed the threshold of actually caring about your appearance. Like your ex didn’t care about showing up at your shop with his new thing after dumping me only two weeks ago…

The second your friend and co-owner of the cafe saw him in the store, they kicked him out, wielding the broom like a weapon. You had wished that they smacked him in the face with it, but fearing assault charges - they didn’t. He didn’t leave however, until after he had flaunted his new relationship in your face. You had thankfully moved on past the whole, ‘why’ stage of the breakup, and came to the conclusion it was purely because he was a trash human being. However, to say that it didn’t hurt seeing him holding another girl’s hand and acting like he used to do with you, with someone else - well that would be a lie. It had been two weeks after all, and considering you had been together for two years - it felt as if those 24 months had meant nothing to him.

So now, you wanted to drown your pain in chocolates, and mint chocolate ice cream and no one was going to stand in your way.

You walk over to the freezer section of the store with confidence in your step, suddenly excited to get home and start bingeing the romance section on Netflix. That enthusiasm quickly dies as you reach for the handle of the freezer, your eyes locking onto the empty row where your favorite ice cream flavor always sat. You’re joking… You blinked at the glass as if trying to force the food into being before you.

There. Is. None. Left.

“You’ve got to be kidding me right now,” you groan. Of all days for there to be a shortage, it had to be today. You look down at your basket of Oreos, pocky’s, soft drink, chips, and everything else you had craved the second you saw it on the shelves. I’d trade it all for ice cream though… Resting your head on the cold glass of the freezer, you let out a groan of frustration. This was just the topping to an already crappy day. It was ironic when people say not to cry over spilled milk - and here you were wanting to cry over ice cream.

“Tough day?” A voice startles you away from the fridge. Following the sound, your head snaps to your left where your eyes immediately meet a golden pair that have your lungs spluttering and frantically, trying to figure out how the heck to breathe. Okay, he’s attractive. Like really attractive. His golden eyes are practically glowing at you with amusement, his hair looking like liquid gold - and super soft. You kinda want to touch it. In washed-out black jeans, a white t-shirt, and a denim jacket stopping the cold from the open freezers, he looks too attractive to be real. But then your eyes lock onto the red wings, peeking from behind his shoulders and you know who he is in an instant. The question though, was why the heck the number two pro hero Hawks was even currently talking to you right now. Realizing you hadn’t answered him yet, and instead, were just checking him out instead for god knows how long, you clear your throat and reply.

“Tough week.” You correct, pulling yourself together before looking down at your basket again, hoping it doesn’t look as pathetic as the rest of you. “And to top it off, there’s none of my favourite ice cream left.” Letting out a groan, you shift on your feet. You don’t know why you just said that maybe you didn’t want the attractive blonde hero to go just yet.

With an over-dramatic wince, Hawks leans his shoulder against the glass, as chilled out as the food inside the freezer. “Ouch, I know that feeling. That’s true betrayal,” he says, his eyes playful. It brings a small smile to your lips, and he takes that as an opportunity to stick out his hand to you. “Keigo Takami,” Hawks introduces himself as if you didn’t know who he was. Maybe he doesn’t think you would know… With a friendly smile and butterflies flying frantically inside your stomach, you shake his hand.

“Y/n Y/l/n. It’s nice to meet you,” you reply, trying not to think about how big his hand is compared to your own. God, was there flour on your hands right now? You prayed you had managed to wash it all off fully and that you didn’t suddenly look as run-down as you thought you did. Quickly -but not too fast to make him think you didn’t want to touch him- you drop the handshake and wipe your hands as inconspicuously as you can, on your jeans.

“Beautiful name,” he glances at the empty ice-cream shelf. “But a girl with questionable choices in ice cream flavours.” You gape at Keigo in utter shock. Oh, he did not just say that.

“You did not just say that.” You repeat out loud.

“I’m afraid so.” He answers, one hand in his pocket the other holding his basket, and a care-free smile covering his lips. “Who likes mint choc anyways?” For a moment you sputter for a response at this blatant ridicule against the best ice-cream flavour to ever exist. You will happily fight anyone on that, including the number two pro hero in Japan.

“Intelligent people, that’s who.” You argue back. “I bet you’re the kind of person whose favourite is vanilla.” His golden eyebrows shoot up at your words.

“What’s wrong with good old fashioned vanilla Y/n?” Your name slips off his tongue like pure honey and it would normally send shivers down your spine. No, you will not look past this obvious disrespect against your ice cream preferences, not even for hot guys. No, you will not.

“It’s the most boring flavour to ever exist.”

“And mint choc isn’t?” He asks like it's a loaded question. Shaking your head at both his uneducated taste buds and this whole conversation, it begins to dawn on you that you’re smiling. When was the last time you smiled a lot recently? You question yourself, trying to wind back through your hazy memories of the past two weeks - and coming up with nothing.

“Mint chocolate is the best. You should tell your taste buds that what the ice-cream they think they enjoy is crappy ice-cream.” and Hawks is grinning at you, it’s a smile that is contagious, and has your own growing bigger with every passing word.

“I’ll be sure to let them know.” God this whole conversation was one of the weirdest you had ever had in your life. And the fact that you had it with a pro hero, and Hawks for that matter...that just made it thirty times more strange. Looking back to the freezer, you decide you still want ice cream and settle for strawberry and cream, which earns a look from hawks as you put it in your basket.

“Shut up,” you defend, fake glaring at the blonde. Holding his hands up feigning innocence, Keigo shrugs at you.

“I didn’t say anything sweet-cheeks.” Your cheeks in question flush hotly at the term, and you quickly fiddle with the handle of your basket, giving you something to do so you don’t stand there looking like a complete idiot at his blatant flirting.

“But if you’re going to question my taste buds, then yours must be just as bad. Because last time I checked, Wagon Wheels were still way better than Oreo's.” His eyes meet yours, delight swirling inside his liquid golden irises and you can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out your lips, shaking your head slightly.

“Okay, you’re definitely crazy.”

“Only a little bit,” Keigo smirks before his smile falls at the contents of your basket. You square your shoulders, knowing that there’s a chance that he might give you shit for its contents like that old lady from before. But the words that do come from his mouth surprise you.

“Was that the last KitKat?” Immediately, you look at the red packaging of the chocolate block inside your basket, and then back to the pro hero who is now gazing at it like it's made of diamonds. Hawks look’s like you imagine you had when you’d grabbed it off the shelf, seeing that it was the last one and deciding that it had to be some sort of sign that things were looking up for you. That was, of course, before you had seen the travesty of the empty mint chocolate shelf of the supermarket freezer.

“I’ll trade you.” Keigo suddenly says, making you eye the man. “I’ll trade you the KitKat for this,” he finishes, reaching into his basket and… pulls out a fucking tub of choc mint ice cream. Are you kidding me??

“You’re joking.” Staring at him, at the sheepish smile across his face, you shake your head.

“Afraid not.” He tilts his head at you. “That is unless you don’t want it…” going to lower the tub back into his basket, a noise comes out of your throat that has him smirking again. Embarrassment flooding your features, you shift slightly and glare at the hero.

“I thought you didn’t like that flavour?” You point out, wanting to know what the hell was going on.

“Oh no I do - it's one of my favourites. I just needed a reason to keep on talking to you,” Keigo admits unashamedly as you feel your cheeks warm again. If I was ever questioning if he was hitting on me…

“Oh,” is all you can manage to get out before your brain begins to catch up with the world again. “Well, in that case, I’ll trade.” Agreeing, you pass him the chocolate block and he gives you the tub of ice cream, your hand brushes him and you try not to act like a crazy person about how attracted to him you are.

“Thank you,” you try to say but it comes out as a slight whisper. His mouth morphs into a cocky smile, which just makes you flush even more.

“No, thank you y/n” he says, shaking the Kit-kat for emphasis in his hand. “They’re the best chocolate to ever exist.”

“Finally we agree on something,” You laugh, finally turning you back on the freezer and begin to walk backward, away from the hero. When he notices you moving from him, with every step away from that you make, he takes one forward, following you through the store.

“No, we agreed on the ice-cream too,” he beams.

“That’s right because really, you were just being an ass and hiding that fact from me.” You sass back, spinning around so you can see where you’re going.

“In order to keep talking to you, it was a sacrifice I was willing to make.” He says, hurrying forward until you are walking side by side down a different aisle, moving slowly towards the checkout. Your footsteps are both slow and leisurely as if neither of you wants to reach the check out just yet. “But it worked, didn’t it? So I’d say it was worth your glare.” You turn that ‘glare’ back on him and raise an eyebrow at his antics.

“You could have said something else you know.”

“Such as?” He asks, genuinely curious. You weren’t an intimidating person, so you weren’t sure as to why a guy such as Hawks would be wary of approaching you. Especially when the reality is that those roles are definitely reversed. Was your resting bitch face that bad?

“You could have said, ‘Hey, I think you’re cute. Can I have your number?” Rolling his eyes at your words, disbelievingly.

“You’re telling me that line would work on someone like you?” Unsure if that was a compliment or not, you stop in the middle of the aisle causing him to stop next to you. You look into his eyes, trying to judge where his mind is but he’s hard to read. The only thing you knew, was that his smile seemed genuine and very amused by you. That was good enough for you.

“Try me.” You test, confidence coming up from who knows where. With raised eyebrows and calling your bluff, Hawks smirks at you.

“Hey y/n, I know we just met but I think you’re really cute. Can I have your number?” He teases.

“Sure.” Keigo blinks at you for a moment, then two - as if he can’t believe the words that came out of your mouth. First, it comes out slowly, then all at once, the corners of his mouth pull up into a dazzling smile, and a deep laugh rumbles from his chest. It’s the smile though, and the happiness that seeps from him that has your head feeling dizzy. A small smile cracks across your face as you begin to rattle off your number. Keigo scrambles for his phone and quickly types it in, not missing a beat for a second. One he slips it back into his back pocket, you move your basket to your other arm and walk away from the hero. Only looking over your shoulder when you’re a few feet away.

“It was nice to meet you Hawks.” Keigo runs a hand through his blonde hair, a delighted chuckle slipping past his lips that has you grinning. He had so underestimated you.

“You’re going to keep me on my toes aren’t you?”

“Oh, you bet bird boy.” You say, turning away from him and walking to the checkout. Today might not be that bad after all, you think as the older lady scans your items and bags them. It’s only then that you realize again that the whole time you had been talking to Keigo, your crappy day had been forgotten and you had actually laughed. The entire thing, he did because he noticed you frazzled and looking down. Your respect for the hero grew, and it took everything in you to not turn around to where you knew he was now standing a few people behind you in the line. Instead, you left the store, the smile not moving from your face. You don’t even make it a few feet from the glass automatic doors of the supermarket before your phone pings, vibrating in your jacket pocket. Reaching inside you look at the new text, immediately knowing who it’s from.

From Unknown: Want to go get dinner with me sometime this week? - the KitKat fiend.

You giggle at the way he ends it, and quickly tap out a response.

As long as it’s not seafood I’m there. You reply, before you turn around, looking through the glass windows and finding his golden hair quickly. In the midst of a conversation with the store clerk, he suddenly reaches for his pocket and grabs his phone with furrowed brows. Suddenly, a beautiful, bright smile that even has the shop lady hesitating with her scanning just to witness it, stretches across his face. Keigo quickly fiddles with his phone before putting it away and turning his attention to the blushing woman behind the counter. Looks like he has that effect on everyone. Your phone vibrates in your hand.

To bird-boy: It's a date.

Who would have thought a small chance encounter with the number two hero where you bicker over ice cream would change your life in such a monumental way.

#hawks fluff #keigo takami #takami keigo #bnha takami keigo #mha hawks #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #keigo takami fluff #takami keigho fluff #lolsplaysbingo

289 notes · View notes

vanchlo · 4 years

Text

Birdy (Green Eyes / 2)

Read the first part, Green Eyes, here! :-)

Blurb Synopsis: After finally meeting the mysterious Mr. Styles you subbed for, you take a job at the same school, right across the hall from him. You’re unsure how much longer you can hide your feelings for him as you’ve grown to become best friends.

Genre: Teacher Harry, fluff, romance, angst, and a little sad.

Warnings: None

Word Count: Nearly 8k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: Blackbird by The Beatles (click to listen)

Your desk was covered in Twix wrappers, multicolored gel pens, and empty cans of Coke. The new school year hadn’t even begun, and your desk already looked like a tornado had come by. Not to mention the fact that school started in almost three weeks and you hardly had any classroom books. You kept telling yourself it’s a high school English classroom, not a third-grade classroom. There’s a library down the hall for a reason, but the classroom barren of books drove you nuts. Your desk wasn’t shy to books though, as favorites of Harry had found a home on the dark wood.

Leaves of Grass.

Catcher in the Rye.

The Sun Also Rises.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Walking into your classroom on this sunny morning, the thought makes the smile on your face grow wider. Finally, you can say that you have your own classroom. The sight of the week-old books leaves the smile there on your lips. A laugh dances off of them at the sight of the Roald Dahl book, bringing you back to the memory when you found it there one morning.

You had asked Harry why he included it in the occasional stack of books he loaned to you. He said it’s required reading, because so few people know the movies are based on a book. You’re just wondering when he’s going to slip The Outsiders or Stuart Little under your door next.

The rows of ancient cream desks stare back at you, and you wonder just how you’re going to command a classroom in a few days. Well, seven of them to be exact. Then you try to remind yourself, for the twentieth time, that you’ve done this before. It won’t be so hard, then. Perhaps you’ll even have some past students, and that should help. Right?

You’ve barely gotten a few steps into your classroom, because of the thoughts muddling your mind. Sighing, you slip off your bag to leave on your chair. One that some days you don’t even sit in, because your legs are walking miles around your classroom, setting up. Thumbtacks are scattered across the expanse of your desk, reminding you of the unfinished walls. Before you can think about the posters sitting in the corner, a flash of pink catches your eye. Furrowing your brow, your eyes flit back to the flash of color.

It’s a hot pink Post-It note with messy handwriting in black ink.

Should I get us burgers or subs for the meeting we have today?

PS: You’re officially a teacher now with your own pad of Post-Its ;)

You’re sure that the insane happiness painting your face would look more at home on that of a teenager. Nonetheless, you can’t get rid of it, and you wouldn’t want to. This rings even more true when you see the note is stuck to a copy of Matilda. A warmth blossoms in your chest as you pick it up, running your thumb along the weathered edges. Ones you haven’t touched in ages, it seems. Within seconds you’re stepping into the hallway, thoughts knitting together in your mind. They’re from the love you have deep down for this story, a favorite book, and movie of yours as a child. The elation budding in your mind stops when you find his door closed, just as you had minutes ago. Unable to hide your disappointment, a pout tugs at your lips as you turn around.

“Ya gotta verdict already? Dat was quick,” a voice drawls from behind you. Your pout is a thing of the past, and a grin is making its way to replace it. Spinning around, your summery dress follows your twirling body.

A couple paces away, Harry stands at the top step of the staircase. His trademark brown leather backpack is slung over one shoulder. A black Fleetwood Mac t-shirt hugs his upper half, a black and blue flannel covering his arms. His old skool Vans echo down the hallway as he walks towards you.

“Well, I’ve already read it,” you inform him, observing his content smile turn into a confused one. “A couple of times actually. Once when I was 8, then some other times through the years.”

“Ah, so I got lucky and happened upon a lifetime favourite, have I?” he smirks, only a few steps away now.

“Mmmhmm,” you nod, your growing hair tickling your chin before you move it away. “When are you going to tell me what your favorite book is?”

“When ya finally guess it right,” he quips, stopping in front of you. A dimple falls into his left cheek as he shows off his sparkling teeth. Okay, sir, it is too early in the morning to be looking this attractive.

“I’m going to have to ask you to stop being so chipper when it’s only nine in the morning,” you tell him firmly, but it’s all for show. Poking his chest, your finger just hits pure muscle. Swoon.

“Then maybe wake up, already, birdy,” he chirps, the Raybans in his hair moving when his head goes from side to side. Chuckling, he grabs hold of your finger and tries to bite it, but you pull away in time. The mention of the recent pet name slows you down, but you haven’t gotten bitten yet. “Ya betta not fall asleep in today’s meetin’ like ya did last week.”

“I didn’t fall asleep, I was just resting my eyes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands into the air. His amused giggle greets your ears as he unclips his ring of keys from his blue jeans.

“Yes ya did, ya don’t getta lie t’ me, love,” he responds in between laughs, seemingly finding this more amusing than it really is.

“Oh, so John can fall asleep at meetings, but I can’t?” you ask, your voice raising with laughter and faux annoyance.

You watch Harry pluck his sunglasses from his head as you walk into his dark classroom. The streams of sunlight speckle desks and pictures donning his walls. As you flick on the light, the smell of oranges wafts over you again. The red bowl sat upon his desk filled with the citrus makes you feel at home, albeit his mere presence does that without fail.

“No, ya can’t. Sorry, love. I don’t make tha rules ‘round here.”

“Lame,” you sigh, paging through the book mindlessly as you fall into his new chair. He finally splurged and bought a comfy leather one that you steal every chance you can get.

“Want a Bit-O-Honey, honey?” Harry offers, pulling your eyes away from the familiar pictures. Grinning, you take the wrapped candy from his outstretched hand, trying to ignore the pet name. You find it hard to forget as you half look through the book and half watch him peel off his flannel. A sight, indeed.

“Wait, how’d you put this in my room if the door was locked? The other books you sneaked in when I stepped out,” you ask suddenly, working on the piece of hard candy in your mouth.

“I tol’ Marty tha janitor I forgot sumthin’ in yer room.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice even though his back is to you. A broad one at that. When he turns just the slightest to peek at you, you find crinkles around his glimmering eyes.

“Harry!” you scoff, your jaw falling to your chest, although not quite.

“Oh stop it, ya know ya like it.”

Groaning, you cross your arms over your chest in annoyance, but it doesn’t last very long.

“I don’t like all of these meetings,” you complain, throwing your head back onto the headrest. You flip to a page that makes you smile at the sight of cartoon Matilda.

“Get used t’ it, ‘s one o’ tha big differences between bein’ a sub an’ a salaried teacher. Shoulda just stayed a sub then,” he jokes, driving you to pick up a Bit-O-Honey and throw it at his head. Turning away from the things he’s unloading from his backpack, he whines. “Heeey! Watch dat arm o’ yers, ‘s a scary one. Maybe ya should be teachin’ gym class instead.”

“Sports are ew,” you reply, ducking when he throws it back at you. “Harry Styles, you stop it!” you manage in between giggles, finally closing the book.

“Oh ya, and what’re ya gonna do ‘bout it in t’ose heels, huh?” he teases, his hands leaving the pockets of his oversized backpack. “Ya gonna fly over t’ me, li’l birdy?”

Huffing, you set down the book on his neat desk. Placing his hands on his hips, he turns to you and sticks out his tongue.

“Oh, that’s it! You’re going to get it!” you threaten, standing from the chair as his laughter fills the room.

“‘m soooo scared, boohoo,” he teases with a fake sob, his fists mimicking wiping tears from his cheeks. Snickering, he returns to his backpack. “Go hang up yer posters in yer room and leave me be fer once.”

“You’re no fun,” you proclaim with a final whimper. Grabbing the book, you come up from behind him, softly hitting him with it on the shoulder.

“I warned you,” he retorts. Before you know it, he gently grabs your wrist and pulls you over to stand in front of him.

“Warned me about what?” you jest, a giggle wedging its way into your sentence as you drop the book onto a desk. You know that you’re getting on his nerves now. It’s the only time you’ve heard his teacher voice come out, but hey, you’re not complaining.

His thick eyebrows above those eyes raise, wrinkling his forehead tan from your days at the beach the last few months. Harry pushing you off a rope swing into the water, him bitching about doing all of the paddling during your canoe trip, not so accidentally drenching your back with water from his paddle, and head dunking competitions while swimming. The tan looks far better on him, you think, as you admire the sun-kissed freckles peppering his face.

“I told ya one time dat yer good at pushin’ me buttons, and here ya are doin’ it. I know I shoulda neva told ya dat,” he mutters, the curls atop his head dancing as his head rocks back and forth. The nervous laughter bubbling inside of you finds its escape, and you know that you’ve done it now. “But I guess ya jus’ don’t listen, do ya, bird?”

You can’t stop yourself, and there you are poking his dimple with your finger. This time, you squeal when it finds its way between his nibbling teeth. His name leaves your lips in a near shout which only grows worse as his fingers dance along your ribs.

“Stop, stop!” you cry out, but with no avail. His other arm comes around your middle to trap you with your back against a desk, despite your squirming. His other fingers dig into your sides before finding the soft flesh of your tummy.

“Stop bloody screamin’, yer gonna make e’rybody think ‘m murderin’ ya or sumthin’,” he titters. You almost give in at the sight of his crinkly eyes and the smile stretching across his face.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Then I might jus’ hafta find a way t’ shut ya up, my li’l bird,” he coos from above you, a brunette brow raising.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really,” he hums, the tips of his fingers ghosting over your side now.

His bubblegum lips relax, falling into a knowing smirk. The laughs disappear from the both of you as his fingers still, resting on your side. The seconds tick by as your heart hammers in your chest, because his face is closer than it was a second ago. You gulp, suddenly finding the gold flecks in his eyes you didn’t know were there. Or the smattering of tiny freckles along his nose. That all becomes a thought of the past when his lips become the only thing you can think about as they near you. “Shall I?” Harry says in a breathy whisper, and you’re nodding even before his last syllable hits the air.

Your skin feels hot and prickly all over as your eyes fall closed, waiting for what happens next. The very thing you’ve dreamed of since that day you dropped the books in front of him. When he took off his shirt at the beach, revealing his toned chest covered in black tattoos. The charisma and kindness he carried at your very first meeting after you were hired, the beginning of you two being joined at the hip.

His lips are soft when he presses them against yours, and warm. He surrounds your lips with his slowly, as excitement rushes through you. A woodsy smell engulfs you when your nose brushes against his prickly cheek. His lips feel like velvet against yours with the slightest taste of Carmex chapstick. You’re sure he can feel the smile hiding on yours as his top lip fits between yours like a puzzle piece. His thin beard you’ve never seen him without tickles at your skin as your lips mold together. You can still feel the tingle on your lips after he’s pulled away. As well as the one that spreads across your body when those green eyes look into yours.

“See, I was right. It did get you t’ shuddup,” he mumbles, the blissed-out smirk on his face covering every inch of his skin. You’ve seen his nervous smiles and everything in between, but you’re certain you’ve never seen that smile before. Not that your face is any better, because right now it’s a competition between whose smile is bigger. It might just be a tie, and you wish there could be a tie-breaker.

“You should do that more often,” you smile, an uneasy laugh bringing an end to your risky words.

“I think ‘d be happy with dat.”

You try to tell yourself you’re glad his hands didn’t stray to your face, because he would’ve felt the heat of your tomato likened cheeks. There’s no use, because you want them there, but on your sides, as they are is better than nothing. It fills your stomach with multitudes of butterflies just to have your hands on each other.

His hands draw shapes into your back when you wrap him in a hug. The fresh smell of his citrus body wash fills your nose, your skin touching the fabric of his shirt.

“Ya gonna get all soft on me now, are ya?” he whispers above you, his cheek against the side of your head.

“Mmmhmm,” is all you can muster as you find yourself dragging the tips of your fingers along his side.

Raising your head to peek up at him, his eyes drop to you. “Good, I like ya dat way,” he murmurs, running his thumb along the roundness of your cheek. His tongue peeks out of his lips, held between his teeth. “Verdict?” he almost laughs, causing the butterflies inside of you to stir.

“I don’t know. I think I might need um, another sample,” you smirk, watching a corner of his mouth meet his cheek.

“Tha’s fair,” he agrees before dipping to plant another kiss to your lips. His lips are even more decadent a second time, and you quickly realize how addicting this could become. You realize it’s the only addiction you’d be okay with having as the tip of his nose caresses your cheek.

Your lips part with a soft smack, much too soon for your liking. “We should prolly get back t’ work,” Harry snickers, his breath against your face sweet from the caramel candy.

“Yeah,” you agree aloud, much to your dismay. “I’d give it an A, by the way.”

“Hmmm,” he thinks aloud, quirking his eyebrows in response.

“A long overdue one.”

“‘d say yer right there,” he echos, pinching your cheek between his fingers. Giggling, you pull away as your laughs mix with each other’s.

“Hey, Harry!” a voice calls, sounding far away.

You separate quickly, like two magnets repelling each other. It saddens you, but when a colleague steps into Harry’s classroom a moment later, you’re met with relief as you grab the book off the desk.

“Hi, Trent. Ya ready t’ see who falls asleep first in t’day’s meetin’?” he quips, stuffing his hands in his pockets, nonchalantly leaning against a desk.

“My money’s on John, for sure,” Trent jokes, pressing his red glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Oh hi, Y/N,” he says, greeting you. You wave with a small ‘hi’ as you stand at the edge of the classroom near the windows uneasily.

“I dunno, my money feels pretty good on her,” Harry teases, pointing a finger at you before winking.

“Whatever. I better go take my nap now that you reminded me,” you return, sauntering out of the room and into the hall.

Out of his presence, the butterflies take flight inside of you. A warmth fills your body all over when you reach the safety of your classroom. Closing the door, you fall against it with happiness jumping from the smile on your lips. Squealing with your hands held to your chest, you soon sigh at the thought of his lips. His lips soon being on yours again, and again, and again.

Exhaling, you step down from the chair and stare at your hard work. Nodding in approval, you straighten the skirt of your patterned mustard dress. The happy face of Anne Frank looks back at you from the enlarged poster of her autobiography. Dragging your feet over to your desk, you plop onto your brown spinny chair, ignoring your heels forgotten on the floor. You bask in the new ambiance of your classroom, feeling the pleasure from the new posters donning your walls.

The Diary of Anne Frank.

Ross from F.R.I.E.N.D.S saying ‘you’re means y-o-u a-r-e.’

The quote, ‘Never forget what you are, the rest of the world will not’ - Tyrion Lannister.

A funny grammar poster that makes you feel like an even bigger English nerd.

Frowning, the last poster in the corner sits there begging to be shown off, but you need help with it. After the events of earlier, you’re nervous to approach Harry. A sweet kind of nervousness, but nonetheless it’s there. Huffing, you grab the edge of the desk to pull you closer. Pressing play, the Queen song crawls from your laptop’s speakers, slowly filling the room. Clicking through your open windows, you finally find the unit plan you’ve been working on.

Voices carry down the hallway outside your door, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. Squinting, as if it will help your hearing, you then tilt your head to look out your half-opened door. Jackson from the nearby history wing walks by, laughing at something somebody said.

“Dis betta not be a bloody heavy desk, Jack,” somebody responds, amusement laced in their voice.

“Hey, I know that voice,” you softly whisper to yourself, your lips curling at its sound.

“You’re the one who agreed to help me! You can’t get out of helping me bring it in now, Harry!”

You hear the melodic sound of his laugh, perhaps one of your favorite sounds. The butterflies return when you let yourself think about getting to hear it as much as you’d like in these walls. 5 days a week for 9 months out of the year- well, something like that.

A couple seconds later, Harry zooms past your door saying, “Get t’ work!” in a mocking deep voice, winking.

“You!” you shout back, giggling to yourself with hot cheeks. You attempt to return your attention to the document open on your screen. It’s difficult, you find, because the thing consuming your mind is how nice Harry’s bum looked in those jeans.

Chatter pecks at your ears as you swivel in your chair, watching your new colleagues converse around the table. Your new boss laughs with somebody standing at the room’s front by the projector screen. Reaching forward, you pluck another carrot from your plate to nibble on nervously. Once again, you pull out your phone to busy yourself, only making you feel guiltier for not mingling. You’ve already said at least a ‘hi’ to everyone in this room already, and you have the rest of your career to get to know them, you tell yourself. Bouncing your leg, your eyes drift to the clock on the wall. Impatience spreads like a hot wave throughout your limbs, bringing your eyes yet again to the back door to the conference room. When is he going to get here, you guess fervently, counting down the minutes until the meeting starts.

A thud! surprises you when a white paper bag lands on the table in front of you.

“Hmm, I didn’t know ya were a jumpa,” a voice snickers, its owner soon coming into view in front of you. Harry. “Why ya lookin’ like a lost puppy, bird?” he coos, pushing out his bottom lip as he pulls out the chair to your right.

“I’m not,” you retort, continuing to scroll through Instagram, stopping when you see a picture of a Goldendoodle puppy.

“Yes, ya do. What, were ya wonderin’ what’d ya do if I didn’t show? Can’t have ya missin’ yer security blanket now,” he teases, poking you in the ribs with a glint in his eye.

“Stop,” you giggle, placing your phone face down on the table. Sitting up and eyeing the food, you pinch his thigh for good measure.

“Hey, watch those fingas, missy. They keep gettin’ ya into trouble lately,” he warns, tsking as his head goes from side to side. Opening the bag, he pulls out a familiar wrapped burger to hand to you.

“Thank you, I’ll pay you back.”

“Shhhh, ya can pay next time. Sound good?” Harry hums, flitting his eyes to you with an eyebrow raise.

You give him his answer with a nod before taking a bite of the cheeseburger. Your boss starts to tell everybody to find a seat so they can begin the meeting. Out of the corner of your eye, Harry sets a packet of fries in front of you. Shooting him a smile, he returns it as he feeds one between his happy lips. Chairs squeak and whine as they’re moved and sat in around the long table. Somebody nudges your foot, and to no surprise, you find it’s Harry. He holds out a covered paper cup, a red straw poking from the top. A ‘thank you’ is held in your smile and he just nods, slipping off his sunglasses to set down. Your attention is stolen by his fingers raking through his curls to put them back in place.

A thought pops into your head unwarranted, and consumes your attention as the principal speaks. I wonder if this means now I get to run my fingers through those curls, you ponder as you grab a fry. At the most inconvenient time possible, your mind starts to dig around. Doubts soon fill your thoughts, along with questions about what this will be with him. You try to push them away and lock them in a box, but they’ve done their job. Any smile left on your lips is gone now, and you continue to eat your burger quietly.

“Ya eat jus’ like a bird with t’ose li’l bites,” Harry whispers, scooting closer to the table to retrieve the packets of ketchup from the bag.

Turning to look at him, he holds a glowing smile in his eyes for you. His shoe knocks into yours and he leaves it sitting on top of yours. Take that, stupid brain, you announce to your thoughts as you affectionately bump your knee against Harry’s.

Reverting your thoughts to the towering figure speaking at the front of the room, a smile buds on your lips at the feeling of Harry rubbing his knee against yours.

Rubbing your hands across your eyes, you feel the breath leave you in a whoosh. Tapping the board with your electronic marker that’s a pen, highlighter, and an eraser in one, you drag it in zig zags. The scribbles on the board disappear in a flash. Suddenly, it falls from your hands when you feel a pair of arms surround your waist.

“Hiya, bird,” a voice says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. Their warm breath tickles the nape of your neck, and so does the collar of their shirt. Spinning around, you find Harry standing there, a pout forming on his face. The adorable Starry Night tie you bought for him hangs loosely over his cornflower blue button-down. “What, why won’t ya lemme hug you?”

“Harry, anybody could walk in,” you insist, prying his arms from your waist. Bending down, you pick up the pen and place it back in its holder with a click.

“All tha students are gone by now, babe. ‘s half past 3, and any dat are around are at practice. Tha last place they’d wanna be ‘s back t’ a classroom afta their first day o’ school,” he murmurs, wedging his way back into your good graces as he pulls you back into his arms. “I wanted t’ see how me birdy’s first day went. Sooooo, wha’s tha verdict?”

“It was good. A little overwhelming, though,” you hum in return, letting your head fall backward to fit against his cheek.

“It ‘s fer e’rybody, love, so don’t worry. It’ll get betta, jus’ hang in there. Tha first month ‘s nothin’, that’s tha honeymoon period befo’ e’rythin’ goes wild.” His lips brush against your cheek with every word, the feeling of his ticklish stubble something you’re not yet used to.

“Harry!” you scoff, turning your head to find his hairy cheeks creased with a devilish smile behind you.

“‘m kiddin’, well not really, but hey, ya got me t’ help ya through it all. Don’t fret, love,” he tries to assure you, brushing the back of his fingers along your side. “What was yer favourite part o’ yer day, hmm?”

“Seeing some familiar students from when I used to sub. It was nice to catch up with them and hear stories,” you reveal, looking down as you cover his hands settled on your tummy with your own.

“Mmm, that’s good. Familiar faces are always nice,” Harry mumbles, the point of his nose dragging along the expanse of your cheek. “Did I tell ya yet ya look really pretty in yer new dress?”

“Yes, you did. About three times, but thank you again.”

“Welcome, bird. I hope no teenage boys are crushin’ on ya now,” he jests, planting a loud kiss on your temple. The remnants of his minty piece of gum cover your face in a silent cloud as he laughs at his own joke.

“Yuck! Oh and like there aren’t dozens of girls fawning over you in your classes?” you chuckle, bringing a whine to his lips when you squirm in his arms. “Put that lip away.”

“Or what? Hmm, what’re ya gonna do ‘bout it? Ya can kiss it away like all tha girls in me classes wanna do, if ya want,” Harry smirks, wiggling his eyebrows at you once you turn around. Lifting a hand from his arm, it lifts to brush back the brown ringlets falling onto his forehead.

“You’re gross sometimes. It makes me wonder how I can kiss that potty mouth.”

“Well ya do, and ya sure seem t’ like it,” he winks, dramatically licking his lips with a loud slurp.

“Stop!” you exclaim, collapsing into laughter, your head returning to his chest. His hands clasp over your back, his thumb brushing your skin through the jade dress you wear. You’re grateful for your face hidden away in his chest for when you feel his lips pepper kisses from your temple to your neck. He leaves your skin tingling from his magical touch, and his growing curls leave a trail down your neck.

“I think dis year’s gonna be a good one,” he coos against your ear, letting his smooth nose brush against its lobe. “I got tha reason right here.”

“Can we do this though?” The words jump from your lips without a chance to catch them and shove them back in their safety.

“Do what, love? Kiss? ‘Course, ya jus’ take yer lips and my lips, and put ‘em togetha’ like dis,�� he wisecracks, lifting your head to show you the humor painting his face. Puckering his flushed lips, he closes the space between you to press a peck to your waiting lips. Pulling away, he quirks an eyebrow at you in silent questioning.

“That’s not what I meant, Harry,” you continue, your words falling short of the thoughts buzzing around in your skull.

“Then what’d ya mean?”

“Can we, I don’t know . . ,” you begin, but you lose your footing. Leaving his arms regrettably, you almost lose your footing quite literally when he tries to hold on. A sound leaves his lips at your departure, but you try to ignore it. That’s easier said than done, you realize as you fight with yourself, wondering if you should say that word or not. “Date . . as colleagues?”

They they are, free to the wind. It feels like coming home and your heavy book bag leaving your shoulders, although this time it’s far less trivial. The similarity doesn’t ease your anxious mind as you stop in front of your desk, fingering at the note that greeted you this morning. A pink Post-It note smattered with his sometimes unreadable handwriting, resting on top of a box of novels he gifted to you for your classroom.

To my favorite teacher - I know you’ve been dreading this day for months, and looking forward to it, too. You’re going to do great. They’re going to love you. You’re not going to mess anything up. You got this, bird. Remember that. Take it easy on yourself. Remember, you have to take care of yourself, so then you can take care of them. You’ll learn from each other too. Just keep remembering pizza at the beach with me tonight to celebrate your first day.

Harry xoxooxoxoxo

“‘Course we can, as long as it doesn’t bleed into our work life. What d’ya mean?” Harry says, trying to inject lightheartedness into his words. You both can hear the failed effect they have, and they only make his words sound sadder.

“I don’t know, I don’t want to like, get in trouble, or something. I just started this job.”

“Oh,” is all he mumbles. Mumbled or not, you hear the finality in his one word. As well as all that it says with that single syllable.

Looking over your shoulder at him, you find the confirmation you needed knitting together his features. “Harry,” you say, turning the rest of your body to face him. He takes a step back, and now you know you’ve done it. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then how’d ya mean it?” he retorts, coolness playing in his voice. He knows he’s done it, too. “Hmmm, bird? Ya only care ‘bout dat part o’ it - if we get caught and what people would think? Only wanna keep me a secret?” His words bite as he spits them into the air. They hit your face with a sting, but nothing compares to how he threw your nickname into the mud. The nickname you love, that happened all because of the first meal you shared together.

“Harry, don’t. You know that’s not what I meant- Y-you’re being ridiculous,” you press, stepping forward. It’s like one step forward and two steps back, because he continues to walk away from you. Quickly, your hands grow shaky as the feeling consumes the rest of your body.

“No, I know what ya meant. Or ‘s there mo’ ya want t’ say? Want t’ say dat ‘Oh, ‘s too risky, so maybe we shouldn’t do dis anymo’, even tho’ it makes us happy,’” Harry persists, his right hand lifting in question, before it falls with a slap to his thigh.

“We never even said what this was,” you try to say, but before you get any further, you know you’re just making it worse. You know that he’ll read into your words incorrectly and assume the worst, despite your true meaning. At the realization, your heart pounds harder in your chest. The look on his face like you just slapped him tells you all you need to know. “Harry, wait.”

“No, yer right. We neva said what dis was, but apparently ‘s nuthin’ worth labelin’ or takin’ risks fer,” he grumbles. His head falls with a spiteful smile, but when it lifts again something shatters in your chest. With wet eyes, he continues in a croaky voice, “Then why’d ya take tha job knowin’ I was mad ‘bout ya?”

Your lips wobble with his name dangling from them. When you try to walk over to him, you’re only two steps in when he holds a hand up. “No, don’t. ‘m glad ya told me early on. ‘m happy I didn’t already start fallin’ fer ya or anythin’. That’d be real shitty, wouldn’t it?” he wheezes, a strange smile tugging at his lips dealing failed sarcasm. Sniffling, a tear falls down his tanned skin and he brushes it away. With a shake of his head, he turns to walk out of the door. You know that you shouldn’t, but you let him, because you know you have to.

Collapsing at your desk, your head falls into your hands. Tears splash into your palms as your chest shakes, wondering just how you turned the best first day into the worst first day.

You know that a note won’t be there, but you continue to wish as your heels clack down the halls of lockers. You know that you’ll see his face no matter how hard you try to avoid him, and that it’ll hurt more than you thought it would. Although you prepared yourself, unlocking the door to your classroom and finding no notes from him hurts more than you suspected. The hurt only stings worse when you pass each other in the halls with your students trailing behind, eyes falling away instantly. The spark in the air is lost when he huffs, passing you on the way to the vending machine in the lounge, leaving as soon as he came. Although the hurt grew as the attacks came and went, nothing could prepare you for the absence of his notes that week. That was an eventuality you had dreaded thinking of since the day you found the first one, back in his classroom.

You tried at the very least, albeit an understatement. Notes dropped into his mailbox went unanswered, as well as texts and phone calls. Even the bag of Bit O Honeys failed at their messages of apology. A few times you thought about trudging into his classroom after the bell rang, and hashing it out. Each time you mustered just enough courage to do so, a staff meeting got in the way. Or, within 5 minutes of the bell, his door was locked and he was gone. Speaking of staff meetings, you suffered even worse at those. No longer was he your security blanket at your side, because he no longer saved you a seat. Slowly, the young and pretty visual arts teacher grew to get on your nerves as you watched her be a little too nice to him. He didn’t entertain her taunts and turn to you with a smirk to rub it in your face. No, he was a good guy, and you had to go and ruin it, or what was becoming of it.

He ignored you - at staff meetings, in the copy room, in the staff lounge, in the halls, when both of your classes were in the library - basically everywhere and anywhere. It was an understatement to say you suffered because of it. You had to buddy up with Jen, the poetry teacher. She took the brunt of your questions, whether technology-related or English related. You became fast friends, but unlike the easiness with Harry, you quickly felt you were a nuisance. That was something he never made you feel like, well, until now that is.

You made the mistake of getting your hopes up when you found a bag of Bit O Honeys in your mailbox one morning. That is until the white note on it told you in his writing to stop plugging his box with them. Instead, you tossed them on the counter in the staff lounge to share, never wanting to see those yellow and red wrappers again. Quickly, what you thought had become your dream job morphed into a nightmare. His face filled your thoughts day after day, and it especially distracted you when your mind chose the tear-stricken memory. It bled into your lectures and although it stung less when you saw him, without fail every day, it was messing with your mind. It didn’t help when you were beginning a unit on Romeo and Juliet and a student joked you could play Juliet and Mr. Styles could play Romeo, quite literally.

You had been staying after school every day to finish lesson plans, grade tests, reflect on teaching, and plan for the next day. The October chill that arrived this week only made you want to stay in your cozy classroom with the Autumn decorations you hung up. Soon, it would be Halloween and costumes would fill the halls. The thought pours memories into your mind, but a particular one sours the enjoyment for you. The memory of planning a matching costume with Harry. Jay and Daisy from The Great Gatbsy, like the English teacher nerds you are. Were.

Swallowing past the lump in your throat, you reach for your water bottle. A groan finds its way past your lips when you pick it up, only to find it's empty. Standing with it in your hands, you cross the room to your door. After a few steps into the hallway, your movements freeze at the sight of his open door. Biting back any hesitations, your hand shakes when it presses against the wood.

Something thrilling washes over you when you find his head bent over his desk. His left hand covered with varying rings props his head up as he marks the page with his favorite red pen. A Micron pen, but only you would know that. Pausing, he fiddles with the tan braces strapping his shoulders clad in a handsome white and gray checkered button-down. Words stick together inside of your mouth, and when you hear the click of your shoe, regret surges inside of you.

“I made a mistake,” you say, testing the waters, although you know they’re stormy. Clearing your throat, you hope the subsequent ones will come out louder and stronger, before he can stop you. Your galloping heart jumps when he lifts his head to look at you, a question painting his face. “I fucked up, and I could never say how sorry I am. I said the wrong things, and I didn’t mean them that way- that’s not the point . . . I miss you, Harry. You’re all I think about, even when I’m thinking of other things, or when I’m teaching. That’s how I know it’s bad, because even though it’s only been a month, it still hurts like it was yesterday,” your voice screeches to a halt. You take one step at a time as he watches you.

A curl tickles his bearded cheek, making you want to tuck it back into place, but you can’t. A crumb from a chip sits on his chin, making you want to brush it away, but you know you can’t. And neither can you whisk away the worry lines forming around his eyes.

“I need you, not just to help me figure out how to use a projector or what a conjunction is again. But I need to tell you about the good parts of my day, and even the bad parts. Because even though we haven’t talked for like a month, my mind still goes to you when something good happens, or even bad. Even my students tease that we should be together, so that says something,” you try your hand at joking, but he turns his attention back to his desk. “Harry, please. I’m sorry,” you plead with him, tears catching the last of your words.

“Sorry doesn’t jus’ make it all go away, bird,” he returns cooly. His head lifts ever so slightly, only to fall. As if he changed his mind a few seconds into a decision.

“I know, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I’ll buy you Bit-O-Honeys for the rest of your life, grade your papers, check your mailbox, or buy the next meals for a month. Anything.” The apologies run off of your lips, but he doesn’t say anything, nor do his actions. An exhale whooshes over your pursed lips as your nails dig into your clenched palms. Defeat covers your body as you turn to leave.

“None o’ dat takes away what ya said,” he announces painfully, the new fabric of his chair squeaking with his movements.

“I know,” you say automatically, a battle waging its way inside of you of whether to look at him. As if his words laced with hurt didn’t already leave you breathless. “So tell me what I have to do.”

“I can’t do dat, bird. Ya should know,” he sighs, clucking his tongue in disbelief.

Your eyes fall shut and your jaw clenches in anger, but the sweet smell of oranges brings you back to the moment. “I’m sorry that I made it seem like it wasn’t worth being with you, because it was, and I realized that even more after . . what happened. I’m sorry that it didn’t seem like I was dedicated enough, but I want to be a- I want to show you that I can be, and I want to be that to you. I’m sorry that I care too much about what other people think, because I only care what you think. It’s ripped me apart lately knowing that you hate me, and how you can’t even be around me, and . . ,” your string of words breaks off, stolen away by your onset of tears. They rumble through your chest with tremors, and the embarrassment brings your hands to your face streaked with them.

The howling of the wind hugs the windows, masking any other sounds. If there were, you can’t hear them, but you do feel something. His fingers wrapping around yours, pulling your hands away from your face.

“Ya gonna stop now befo’ ya make me cry too?” he hums, one corner of his lips turned up ever so slightly. With raised eyebrows, they pose the question to you. Nodding fast with hiccups stealing your words, he kneads your hands between his own. “Are ya gonna shuddup or am I gonna hafta make you?” Harry softly laughs.

“You’re going to have to make me,” you return, stumbling over your sobbed words.

“Good, was hopin’ ya’d say dat.”

Smirking playfully, he steps forward to cup your face in his hands. The callused tips of his fingers make quick work of the tears staining your face, as well as his lips. “Don’t cry, and don’t ever say dat I hate you,” he coos in between pecks to your wet skin singing with his kisses. “Don’t want me pretty birdy t’ cry no mo’.”

“Your bird doesn’t want to cry and be sad, and miss you anymore,” you whimper, trying to hold it all in, but it comes pouring out.

“Baby bird,” he pouts sadly, his rose lips round and extended. His brow presses into a sad line as the same emotion carries his words. “Lemme make it all betta.”

Nodding, you hiccup again as you cover his hands with yours. His subsequent smile warms your insides cold and aching from the long days without him. His lips bring a respite when they touch yours, ending the harsh drought. Kissing him back, you revel in the feeling of his unkempt scratchy beard against your face. Just one more thing you missed. Severing the kiss, you mumble an ‘I’m sorry’ against his chapped lips.

“Shhh, ‘s okay, love. I know ya are,” he tells you before bringing his lips back against yours. They move together slowly, welcoming the return of the other.

Your mouth falls to envelope his bottom lip in between yours, his facial hair feathery against your mouth. Hungrily, you kiss him and savor his familiar taste and smell. Fingers drifting to his hair, they return home to his buttery curls. His lips pull away only to plant another kiss against your mouth. Too soon, he breaks the kiss with a breathy laugh against your lips.

“My goodness, lemme breathe, love.”

“Sorry . . I missed you.”

“Ya sure did, bird. Think I missed ya a li’l more, though,” Harry chuckles as your hands fall from his locks. His thumb steals the last hint of a tear from under your eye. The amusement creasing his features disappears swiftly. “‘m sorry too, y’know. I overreacted, and I shouldn’t have put meself over yer job. It wasn’t fair o’ me t’ do dat. D’ya think I can have those Bit-O-Honeys back, or were ya serious ‘bout buyin’ me a lifetime supply?”

Groaning, you playfully shove at his chest, only to have him wrap you up in his arms. “I guess I was serious.”

“Hmm, ya don’t sound too serious ‘bout it, bird. But that’s okay, I got all tha honey I need right here,” he replies, planting a kiss atop your head nuzzled into his neck, swaying you back and forth. Nodding, you finally let yourself relax for the first time in weeks at the greeting of his sweet smell. One that feels like home to you. “Wait, yer students said we should be togetha? That’s funny, cuz so did mine.”

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bigdaddib · 4 years

Text

Promise pt.2

This isn’t going in the direction I was expecting lol, but we’re sticking with it for now ig.

At seventeen years old, Arya was terrified for Gendry to go to college, so she was forcing promises on him left and right.

“Promise not to forget about me,”

“I promise,”

“Promise to come home every weekend,”

“I’m still living at home Arya,”

“Promise to come to my house every weekend then,”

“That’s less than I come over now,”

“You know what I mean,”

“I promise,”

“Promise not to like anyone better than me,”

“I’ve made that promise four times now,”

“Promise…” she wanted to make him promise not to fall in love with anyone, but she knew there were still some things she couldn’t ask him. “Promise that you’ll shower more often,”

“Hey,” Gendry pointed a finger at her. “I shower more than you do and we both know it,”

They made plans at the beginning of the year to spend the summer together, drive across the country or something like that. They didn’t really have any of it planned out, but they were leaving in four days. Gendry was helping her pack. “I’ll need a swimsuit, right?”

Gendry shrugged, “It’s a possibility, for sure,”

She threw a bikini in her bag. “Books?”

“Are you gonna read them?”

Arya shrugged, “The radio could stop working or something. I could read to you,”

Gendry snorted and so did Arya.

“Are we going anywhere cold?”

“I’d prefer not to,” he answered.

“So, no blankets?”

“No, bring lots of blankets,”

When they were done she pushed her four, fully packed bags to the side and shoved them off the bed so she could sit next to Gendry. They immediately leaned back into the bed with her head on his shoulder. He smelt nice, like any hot boy would smell, only better because he wasn’t just any hot boy, he was Gendry.

Arya was angry the first time she realized he was more attractive then everybody else. She hadn’t realized it for a while actually, he’d always had the same face to her. But then she noticed everyone else noticing him and Sansa’s friend Jeyne Poole asked Arya if she thought he would go out with her, so Arya decided to take a closer look. It was the worst decision she’d ever made.

She was perfectly content not noticing his broad shoulders or his high cheek bones or straight jawline. She didn’t need to see how he towered at least a foot over every other boy in school, in the world really. Or the way his light eyes glowed bright against his dark hair. It didn’t do her any good to notice these things, because while he got hot, she got not.

She was still called Arya Horseface, she was still shorter than everyone she knew and it seemed no amount of kickboxing, archery, ballet, and numerous different haircuts weren’t going to change that. And before Gendry got hot, it didn’t matter that she wasn’t hot, she never even thought about it. But now that he was, and now that she noticed, and now that she couldn’t stop noticing, it meant he would never keep his promise.

Of course, she knew that promise had been shaky since the beginning, and she sort of knew he was not under any real obligation to keep that promise. But still…did he remember? Did he intend to keep it... maybe over the summer? When it would be just them traveling who knows where?

“Jeyne Pool has a crush on you, you know,” she decided to tell him. It hadn’t been long since Jeyne had asked her about Gendry, it hadn’t been long since Arya noticed Gendry’s physical attributes, hadn’t been long since her life spiraled out of control. Only eight months, really, but somehow it felt like she’s spent her whole life feeling this way.

“A lot of people have a crush on me,” Gendry grinned and Arya nudged him. How long had tons of people had crushes on him? Has he acted on any of those crushes? Was it too late to hold up his end of the promise? She liked to think he didn’t, or if he did she’d like to think he’d tell her about it. As far as she knew, there wasn’t anything she didn’t know about Gendry. As far as she knew, she either saw everything that went on in his life first hand or he told her about it, as far as she knew he was still a virgin. But maybe that was naïve of her.

“A boy had a crush on me once you know,” she told him like it was a big deal.

“Oh?” he turned to look at her. She didn’t look back; he was too close and his eyes were too blue.

“Mmmhmm, his name was Micah and he followed me around everyday during recess,” She told him honestly. Micah and her had a good thing going, actually, before he moved away.

“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” he said.

Arya nodded, “I know, they’re making a movie about it,”

Gendry chuckled, moved onto his side and looked at her with his head propped on his hand. “Its gonna be your senior year, how does that make you feel?”

Arya rolled her eyes, “It’s just another year,” and she wasn’t looking forward to it without Gendry. She knew how to talk to people and she wasn’t lacking in friends necessarily, but Gendry is what she looked forward to everyday, and now that he wouldn’t be there it seemed rather dull. He wouldn’t walk her to school or skip out on class to eat lunch with her. Now she had to make small talk with her lesser friends and wait until it was time to get home.

“I bet, when I’m not there, you’ll find out a lot more people have crushes on you,” he told her.

Arya frowned as she finally looked up at him. It was a mistake, as she knew it would be. With him so close she could feel his breathe over her cheeks and most definitely the firmness of his torso against her arm. In the position they were in now, she could almost imagine what it would be like to reach out and touch the scruff of his face, something she’s obviously already felt before but this would be different. This would be different because it would be a sort of lead up. She would start with feeling the scruff, then she would slip her hand into his rather fluffy hair (hair which he had her to thank for after making him promise not to ever buzz it off again) and then she wouldn’t have to do much else because he would already be leaning towards her, and then…

Arya frowned at him, “What?”

Gendry shrugged, “I think guys were just scared to ask you out cause we’re always with each other. Either that or they think you’re a lesbian,”

Arya snorted. “Right. And why is it all these girls aren’t too afraid to ask you out, hmm?”

“They probably think you’re a lesbian,”

“I grew out my short hair, okay?” Arya huffed. He’s been making lesbian jokes at her ever since she had buzzed all her hair off. Actually, Gendry had been the one to physically do it while Jon supervised. There was a lot of screaming and a lot of laughing.

“The memory will never grow out,”

The night before they were supposed to leave Arya dragged Gendry to a huge party that was in celebration of the seniors leaving. Gendry hadn’t been to a single party throughout his high school career and Arya felt an obligation to change that. She wanted to take at least one of his virginities.

“Its so…crowded,” he mumbled, crossing his arms.

Arya nodded, “How observant you are.”

She could hear him roll his eyes. “How long are you gonna make me stay?” he asked.

Arya shrugged, “As long as it takes.”

“As long as what takes?”

“As long as it takes for you to get so drunk you’ll never want to leave,” She gave him a deep dimpled smile, one he did not return as he looked down at her.

“How are we supposed to drive across the country tomorrow if I have a hangover?”

“Oh please, we weren’t gonna leave until around five anyway. Come on, I’ll get you started,” she took his arm by the elbow, it felt too sensitive and revealing to take him by the hand now that she’s noticed him. One touch and he’ll know she was still thinking about that promise she forced him into.

“You’re not gonna leave me alone, are you?”

Arya liked to say she wouldn’t, but if there was a challenge tempting enough, or if she got tipsy enough, she might end up wandering around. She wouldn’t intend to, she might even think she’s only a few steps away from Gendry, but she would do it none the less. “I’ll try not to,” she knew she could keep that promise at least.

“Yeah, that helps,” his voice gave away that it didn’t.

Arya supervised his next two shots and forced him into a third. She was sitting on the counter so she could look him in the eyes for intimidation purposes. Also, his eyes were pretty, and she was getting drunk with him. So, the closer she was to him, the better.

“Here,” she gave him a rum and coke to sip on for the next hour or so. He was a big guy, but he hardly drank because he was afraid to turn out like his father, so she didn’t exactly know how high his tolerance would be. It did seem like his blinking was starting to slow down, but that might be her own intoxication reflecting off of him.

“What do you want me drunk for anyway?” he asked with a smile, placing a hand on her thigh. She hadn’t realized he was standing right in between her legs until then. Kind of crazy, thirty minutes ago she was too nervous to hold his hand.

“So I can take advantage of you,” she smirked into her own cup. Gendry leaned forward, resting his head on her should and the hand that was previously on her thigh moved up to her waist. “I see its working?”

“Well, I’ve got a promise to keep, don’t I?”

Arya stilled. She wasn’t drunk enough to handle this new topic with anything related to cool nonchalant-ness. This was the very subject she’s been thinking about bringing up for the past six months, after forgetting about it entirely for nearly seven years. Arya cleared her throat, “Do you?”

She felt his lips smile against her neck. “After what you put me through to make that promise? You’re gonna take it all back now?”

She bit her lip, trying to really think through this conversation, to be rational and coy and sneaky and…whatever else there was to be because it was right there. If she played her cards right, she could take it. She could have him, really have him, and all she needed to do was say the right words.

What words were those?

“I’m not sure, what promise are you talking about again? We’ve made so many,” she made a point to wrap her hands around his shoulders, link her ankles around his hips. His grip on her waist tightened.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “There was the one about you always being my favorite…”

Arya hummed, “That was a good one.”

“There was the one forcing me not to be into Sansa?”

“One of my best.”

“And there was…” he tilted his head so his nose was pressed to the side of her neck, the hand at her waist moving to her lower back. “I think there was one where you made me promise to never watch Desperate Housewives without you.”

“Oh yes. I am holding you to that promise,” Arya told him firmly, allowing a hand to get lost in his black hair.

“Arya?”

“Hmmm?”

“I think I’m drunk.”

Arya laughed, “I think you are too.”

“It’s embarrassing that it happened so fast.”

“It’s cute.”

“Don’t leave me the rest of the night?” it sounded more like a plea than the first time he asked.

Arya was now determined to not let herself get distracted. What could be more distracting than Gendry? The man that was standing between her legs with his face cuddled into her neck? The man who had been turning beautiful and smart right under her nose and who she had just started to notice. How could she not have seen him? Was she too late? Or was there simply never going to be a right time?

Later on, it was Gendry who did the leaving. Arya barely allowed it and only did because it was Jon he was leaving her for. She would’ve stuck around them too, if Sansa hadn’t pulled her away.

“How did you get Gendry back at a party?” she asked, peaking at him.

Arya curled her lip, “Get him back? He’s been to one before?” she didn’t like this. She didn’t like Sansa knowing something about Gendry that Arya didn’t. In fact, she hated it.

“Oh please, as if you haven’t heard. The homecoming party? At Ygritte’s?”

Arya’s frowned deepened. “I wasn’t here for homecoming, I was at Bravoos for dance camp,” she had been gone two months and Gendry had face timed and called her everyday for those two months. He had made a point to, since he was incredibly angry about her going in the first place.

“It’s just going to be you and Jaquen, alone, in the middle of the woods? Are you fucking crazy Arya?!”

“Yes, me and Jaquen and my entire dance studio. Also, several other dancer studios and teachers, alone in the woods, with bunk beds and like...Well water. Not the sexiest of places.”

“If Christian camp can get sexy, so can ballet camp.”

“Christian camp can get sexy?”

“Arya! That guys a creep, I don't like the way he keeps...looking at you,”

“Gendry! He’s my dance teacher, it’s his literal job to look at me,”

“Promise me you won’t go.” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand. His pinky was already out and shoved right into her face.

“You’re not serious,” Arya blinked at him, unamused.

“I’ve never been more serious about anything.”

“Not even when you made me promise to always eat lunch with you?”

“You’re not taking this seriously,”

“No, and I’m not promising that either. We already paid the place. You’re being stupid.”

The conversation lasted longer and they both only got angrier so Arya didn’t want to think too hard about right now. She was trying to remain as calm as possible. He would’ve told her about a party, why wouldn’t he?

Sansa put a hand to her head, “That’s right! You weren’t there! Well, it was crazy. Nobody expected him to act out so wildly. I don’t think he expected it either, he was so mad at anyone who brought it up afterwards, and everyone brought it up,” she giggled into her drink.

Arya hated that she had to ask this, “What’d he do?”

“Oh Gods, what didn’t he do,” she said after her drink. “Skinny dipping, table dancing, body shots…he even got caught fucking some girl on the front lawn,” she smiled at Arya, “You would’ve been so proud,” patting Arya’s shoulder, Sansa walked away.

“There you are,” Gendry found Arya on the roof, carrying a more than half empty bottle of vodka. “You weren’t supposed to leave me, especially not to be a loser sitting alone on the roof,” he reached for a drink, but Arya took a swig instead of handing it to him.

She shouldn’t be mad. That’s what she kept telling herself. She shouldn’t be mad. It was a ridiculous promise he was forced to make by a ridiculous child. It didn’t matter that he broke it, it didn’t matter that he had even made that promise to begin with, it was fake from the beginning. He was just agreeing to get her off his back.

But why wouldn’t he tell her about it? Why would he hint at it tonight? That’s what hurt, the secrets. She’d never kept a secret from him. Never. But he kept this from her, and this was big. If all she was was his best friend, fine, she could take it, but best friends knew about each other’s sex lives. They knew about their party lives. To not tell her was…to do it at all was…

She shouldn’t be mad.

“You okay?” he asked, scooting closer.

Her lips pressed together to not yell at him. To not say, “No! You’re not a virgin anymore and you didn’t tell me! Why wouldn’t you tell me?! Why would you keep me wondering about this stupid promise when you’ve broken it almost a year ago now? What else have you lied about? Was that not even your first time?! Does Jon know about all of this?! Rob? Sansa knows! How could Sansa know more about you than I do?! I’m supposed to be your favorite! You promised I would always be your favorite! Or were you lying about that too?!”

It was all at the tip of her tongue, ready to be placed into the world, because that’s what she did. She said what was on her mind, she was honest with him.

Or, at least she had been up until about eight months ago. Now she was just as bad as he was. She was lying every time he touched her, looked at her, every time she had trouble looking back at him. She wasn’t telling him the complete truth anymore, because she had hope that maybe he wasn’t either. But she was hoping he was harboring some different kind of secrets, secrets that matched hers. Not secrets like these, secrets that crushed hers into nothing but secrets. Into nothing but silly girlish fantasies. She never wanted those, she never wanted fantasies and pining, she wanted archery and dance. She wanted to travel the world, she didn’t want to waste precious dreams and ambitions on something so…so…so Sansa. But she did, and she couldn’t look down on Sansa anymore, that would be stupid, because she was stupid just like her now.

“Arya,” he nudged her shoulder, she still hadn’t answered him.

“I never expected you to keep that promise you know,” she wound up spitting at him.

He blinked, “Sorry?”

“I don’t know why you felt like you had to keep it a secret…why you needed to lie about it, but I never expected you to keep that fucking promise, okay? It was stupid, I was ten, you really think I’ve just been sitting around waiting for you to take my virginity?”

Gendry brought a hand to his forehead, rubbing it. “Arya…if this is about that one party—”

“The one you never told me about. I just heard about it from Sansa.”

“Everything about that party was a fucking a mistake, Arya. It was…one of the scariest nights of my life and I never even wanted to think about—”

“That promise was a fucking mistake, this whole thing is a fucking mistake. I’m done just,” she clenched the bottle tightly in her hand, “Clinging onto you. I’m done worrying one day you’ll wake up and realize you don’t need me anymore, because that day came a long time ago and I’ve just been so…” her teeth ground together.

“What are you talking about?!” he bent forward to try and catch her eye but she turned away. She didn’t want to see his eyes, she knew the second she did she would start crying. “Of course I need you, Arry, you’re my best fri—”

“Because I force myself on you!” Arya burst. “I force you to make and keep promises you have no interest in, I force you not to move on from me, and I see now that that’s…that’s stupid! You’re gonna do what you wanna do with who you wanna do it with, and maybe you’ll tell me about it and maybe you won’t and I’m stupid for thinking—”

“I didn’t tell you because I was so fucking ashamed! Not because I-I…I was acting just like my dad, Arya! I had unlocked him and I didn’t want you to look at me that way!”

“If I’m your best friend, you would’ve come to me about that. I would’ve come to you,” now she did look at him, just so he would know how hurt she was, so she could rub it in to his stupid beautiful face. “Did you go to Jon?” she asked.

Gendry opened his mouth, closed it, looked at his lap.

“I’m gonna stay home for the summer,” Arya said after a while. “You can do whatever you want,” she left him the vodka bottle before leaving.

Listen...angst is my favorite. I didn’t start this with that intention but..uhh...

#Gendry Waters #gendrya #gendryaau #gendrya ff #Arya Stark #arya x gendry #gendryafluff #gendrya fanfiction #gendryaseries #pt2 #friends to lovers

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yesloverboy · 5 years

Text

Never Let You Go (mgk! Tommy Lee x Reader)

Requested: Anon

“I have 2 requests but they are completely up to your interpretation anyways, so for one like tommy taking care of his drunk girlfriend or friend or whatever you want and then another request would be tommy (lol love my tommy) where like the reader and tommy are friends and they’re at a bar and readers ex is there and shit goes down. Hopefully those make sense, do what you want!”

Note: Listen, I know it’s been a hot minute but my love for Tommy and Crüe will never die so thanks for being patient! Love y’all bunches and I will be posting about my updated writing schedule shortly.

word count: 2,712

[Warnings: blood, violence, cheating, toxic relationships, swearing, and alcohol mention.]

permanent tags: @colsonbakersnoseringmain, @lululovesgwtw, @kingbouji3

mötley tags: @lauravic

tommy tags: @chlobo6

After your breakup, you were almost certain that not even all the alcohol in the world could drown your problems. Heartache left an unfillable void in your chest that wanted to suck every last bit of your happiness deep down inside, never to be seen again. Luckily, your best friend, Tommy, was determined to spend the entire weekend proving you wrong. According to Tommy, alcohol can drown any problem if you’re with the right people– and he just so happens to be your favorite person in the entire world.

If someone were to ask you weeks– maybe even days –ago, you would’ve claimed that your boyfriend Kyle, of three and a half years, held the position of favorite in your heart. That is, until you found him grunting and thrusting into a woman that most definitely wasn’t you. Hell, she wasn’t even a woman you knew. As it turned out, your beloved boyfriend had been fucking other women on and off since they day you’d met.

Teary-eyed and utterly brokenhearted, you went to the only person you knew who could hold you together at a time like this– Tommy. In his usual fashion, Tommy had greeted your desperate raps on his door with a goofy grin and open arms. However, once his blue eyes met your red-rimmed ones, his chipper mood quickly dissolved into concern.

“Hey button, what’s the matter?” Tommy asked, using his long arms to envelop you in a tight bear hug. Button had been his nickname for you ever since grade school. Tommy had always been bad with names, and the rainbow buttons of your first-day-of-school overalls sealed your place in Tommy’s memory from that day forward.

You had prepared what you were going to tell Tommy on the cab ride over but, the moment he uttered your nickname, everything fell to pieces. Big, fat tears welled up in your eyes, dripping onto Tommy’s shirt like heavy rain. To your relief, he didn’t press any more questions your way. Instead, he shushed you softly and tucked you through the doorway with a protective arm.

It wasn’t long before Tommy had you curled on the couch, wrapped tightly in a quilted blanket with your head resting comfortably in his lap. He gave you time to cry out the rest of your frustration as he ran his long fingers through the snags in your hair. Tommy didn’t say much, even if seeing you in crisis mode devastated him to the core. You were always the strong one of the two of you, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to keep it together while you crumbled at his feet.

After a while, your sobs eventually devolved into pitiful sniffles, allowing you to catch your breath enough to finally speak. When you finally mustered up the courage to tell Tommy what your boyfriend– well, ex-boyfriend – had done to you, his blood began to boil incessantly beneath his skin. Tommy wanted Kyle dead. Hell, deader than dead. If you hadn’t just been sobbing in his arms for the past hour, he’d already be on the phone with Nikki to plot your ex’s demise.

Tommy physically couldn’t comprehend how a slimeball like Kyle could possibly have it in him to cheat on a girl like you for so long. You were patient, kind, and positively beautiful in Tommy’s eyes. For most people, a guy like Tommy is a lot to handle, but you never asked him to shrink himself in the presence of other people. You loved Tommy’s ‘too-much-ness’, as you affectionately called it, and wanted nothing more than to bottle it up and save some for the rainy days. Unfortunately, this day had been the rainiest of them all.

Although he would never admit it, you were Tommy’s dream girl, and he would do whatever it took to make you feel like your old self again. Even if it were only for a few, fleeting moments in between bloodshot eyes and broken cries.

...

It’s that same desire to make you happy that has Tommy dragging you to some sleazy new wave club halfway across town. You and Tommy are renowned metalheads in the L.A. music scene, but you can’t deny the way that the heavy synth and pounding bass lifts your spirits from the inside. As much as you despise its trendy nature, the appeal of cheap pop music isn’t entirely lost on you, and going to the last place anyone would expect to see you is exactly what you need right now.

The club is packed full of patrons, each demonstrating new and interesting ways to incorporate nylon and neoprene into their glowing ensembles. You and Tommy undoubtedly stick out like sore thumbs, but you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as he takes your hands and swings you across the dancefloor. You Spin Me Round blares through the sound system, causing the light-up floor to vibrate obnoxiously beneath your feet.

Tommy picks you up and begins spinning you around in his arms at a dizzying pace, causing you to erupt into a fit of cringes and laughter. The two of you haven’t even made it to the bar yet and you’re already giggling and shoving each other like a pair of carefree idiots. Tommy’s childlike sense of fun and comforting grasp bandaids the gaping hole in your chest for a moment, but the fear of your all-encompassing sadness leaking out again makes you shiver beneath the strobing lights.

As if he can read your mind, Tommy’s roughhousing ceases so he can stop and look at you. His dark blue eyes scan yours for any sign of an imminent breakdown on the horizon, but you quickly plaster on a brave face. You have no reason to hide the wave of sadness passing through you, but figure there’s no time like the present to practice looking fine in front of those you love.

Before Tommy can ask if you’re okay, you bounce on your tiptoes and grasp at his shoulder for leverage. “I’m going to get us some drinks, okay?” you project your weak voice into Tommy’s ear, practically yelling over the pulsating music.

Tommy seems to get the idea and offers you a weak smile as you turn towards the bar. Stay here, you mouth and Tommy shoots a reassuring thumbs up in your direction. With a shaky breath, you maneuver your way through the energetic crowd, doing your best to scout out the farthest available bartender. Initially, the crowd and the noise did a great job of clouding your memory, but now you needed a little extra help from some good, old fashioned hard liquor.

You belly up to the bar, relieved that the music is just quiet enough in this corner of the club that you don’t have to strain your voice as much. Giving the bartender your best fake smile, you order yourself a double vodka soda and a Jack and Coke for Tommy. It feels like it’s going to be a long night, and you could use all the help you can get to even dream of keeping up with Tommy’s excessive drinking.

Just as you’re about to grab the glasses and search for your lanky companion, you sense an all too familiar presence at your side.

“Y/N? Baby, is that you?”

You suck in a breath, the sickly sweet tone of Kyle’s voice driving an icy stake into your palpitating heart. No, no, no, no, you flounder, this can’t be happening. You turn around, mouth running dry as soon as your eyes meet the confident gaze of your ex-lover. It was a look you had seen a hundred times before, and yet the familiarity of it all is exactly what’s bringing you to your knees.

Kyle takes a step forward and you immediately find yourself taking an instinctive step back, the base of your spin quickly bumping harshly into the bar’s edge. Kyle rests a casual hand on the bar next to your hip, not exactly pinning you to the spot, but making it more than apparent that he doesn’t want you to leave just yet.

“Thought that was you, sweetheart, I’d recognize that tight ass anywhere,” Kyle purs, looking down on you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, “Miss me yet?”

The ice in yours and Tommy’s drinks rattles in its glasses, giving away the tremor in your nervous hands. You want to yell, scream, cry– anything, but you find yourself frozen to the spot. The memory of Kyle on top of that mystery woman in your shared bed replays in your head like a threat, reminding you that he never really loved you at all. Feeling small and pathetic in front of the man that abused your trust for so long, you silently pray that the floor might swallow you up.

You grit your teeth as hot tears blur your vision, but do not speak. A sob starts to build in your throat and, before you’re able to release it, a flash of movement catches your eye. Looking past Kyle, you’re relieved to find Tommy storming over to the scene with bared teeth and clenched fists.

“Hey asshole!” Tommy growls, jerking Kyle’s shoulder back in an effort to yank him away from your trembling form. The look of overwhelming fear and anxiety in your eyes fans the fire in Tommy’s chest, and it takes all of his strength not to drag your ex to the floor right then and there. In all your years of knowing Tommy, you never imagined he could ever look this furious and you find yourself getting scared.

You aren’t scared of Tommy, no, you could never be– you were scared for Kyle.

Kyle just laughs and brushes at his lapels for show, raising his hands in mock surrender, “Easy there, man. I was just about to ask my girl if she wanted a ride home, is all. Isn’t that right, hon?”

The cockiness in Kyle’s voice turns your stomach as he looks back at you expectantly, silently willing you to comply. Your eyes dart between him and Tommy, and you can already picture how the next couple of minutes are going to unfold.

Tommy steps directly into your ex’s personal space, the visible height difference making Kyle shift his jaw nervously. To anyone passing by, Kyle probably appeared to be in total control, but you knew him well enough to recognize the look on his face. He’s in deep shit, and he knows it.

“Funny you call her that, Kyle,” Tommy spits, his voice dripping with venom as he presses an accusatory finger into Kyle’s chest. “Make no mistake, I heard you had a girl– actually, a long list of girls. But Y/N? Yeah, she ain’t one of them. Never was.”

Kyle laughs nervously, puffing out his chest in a weak attempt to seem taller. “Is that right? Then what is she, then? Your girl?”

“And what if she is? What the fuck are you going to do about it?”

Tommy’s face is only a few inches away from Kyle’s, the tension in the air so palpable that even the bartender across the way seems to be frozen it. The bass from the dancefloor thumps ominously in the distance, its hollow thud matching the heaviness of your heartbeat.

To your surprise, Kyle is the first to relent. Casting you a bitter glance, he shoves Tommy’s chest away from his and begins backing slowing out of the room. His eyes never leave Tommy’s, watching him with the same caution as a zookeeper getting ready to feed a hungry lion. You breathe a sigh of relief, but it comes far too soon.

“Fine, have her,” Kyle hisses, “she’s a lousy lay, anyways.”

The moment the insult left your ex’s lips, his fate was sealed. Tommy’s restraint melts away as he lunges forward, his fist swiftly connecting against Kyle’s nose with a sickening crack. Blood spurts out from Kyle’s face and onto the glowing floor like a broken spigot, instantly causing your stomach to flip queasily. Even in the low lighting you can see splotches of ruby red seeping into the fabric of his stark white shirt.

Kyle stumbles backward, falling disoriented to the floor. He cries out in agony but Tommy continues to stalk forward, relentlessly hunting him into a corner like some kind of feral animal. You know it can only get uglier from here and, as much as you’ve enjoyed seeing Kyle eat his words, you really don’t want to add bailing Tommy out of jail to your to-do list.

Before Tommy can cock back his fist for another hit, you catch his arm. The glasses you were previously grasping in your hands clatter noisily to the floor, the watered down alcohol and soda pooling lazily at your feet.

“Tommy, that’s enough,” you warn, but the words are cushioned by tenderness you feel for him. All ever Tommy wanted to do was shelter you from all the bad things in the world, and you’d be lying if you couldn’t admit that he did it well.

With an angry sigh, Tommy begrudgingly allows you to pull him to your side. Snaking his arm protectively around your shoulders, he frowns slightly as you shiver beneath his touch. It pains him to see you this way, shaking with anxiousness in the presence of a man you used to give all your love to– a love that he didn’t even deserve. Without thinking Tommy presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, the touch so faint you almost miss it.

“I’ve got you, button,” Tommy whispers, his voice barely audible over the music. Your heart somersaults in your chest as you gaze up at Tommy, your watery eyes connecting with his soft blues. Even panting and red-faced from his encounter with your ex, he still has the same happy face that drew you to him all those years ago.

Without a second thought, you lace your fingers with Tommy’s, holding his arm in place as it rests on your frame. “Let’s go home,” you sniffle, nuzzling his bruised knuckles with the side of your tear-stained cheek.

You lead Tommy out of the club, leaving Kyle moaning pathetically in a pool of his own blood. Not even a bartender or a bouncer cared to bat an eye at his pitiful display, and you can’t help but wonder if he would look the same after suffering a broken nose. Kyle may have left a permanent stain on your heart, but Tommy made sure he wouldn’t be able to so much as look in the mirror without remembering what he had done to you.

The summer air is balmy outside the club as you and Tommy await the next available cab. You stand in comfortable silence, your form still pressed firmly against his side as he puffs on a cigarette absentmindedly. Tommy’s free hand curls around the ends of your hair, the small, intimate gesture causing you to blush.

“So,” you say finally, breaking the silence, “your girl, huh?”

Tommy’s eyes widen, his blue irises swimming in orbs of white. “Oh, uh, that? That was nothing– just, uh, don’t worry about it–” he stammers, his face flushing pink with embarrassment.

With a grin, you rise to your tiptoes and place a gentle kiss on Tommy’s cheek, stunning him into silence. “Someday,” you whisper, “Maybe not today, but someday soon.”

Your words tumble through the night air like a promise, intertwining with Tommy’s ever visible heartstrings and grasping tightly. Tommy always fell for girls hard and fast, but with you it was different. His love for you only grew with each passing moment, embedding itself in every look and every action until it all culminated into a single punch. You were what he had always been looking for, and he was exactly what you had been missing all along.

Tommy holds you tight for the rest of the evening, playing with your fingers on the cab ride home to eventually tangling his legs with yours as the two of you collapse in a heap on his couch. No matter what happens, no matter how long it takes– Tommy would be yours forever, and forever isn’t nearly long enough.

Masterlist

#i personally love this #but tell me what you think anyways #mgk!tommy lee #mgk!tommy lee x reader #tommy lee x reader #tommy lee #nikki sixx #mick mars #vince neil #motley crue oneshot #motley crue imagine #motley crue #the dirt #the dirt movie #the dirt netflix #tommy lee imagine #tommy lee oneshot #writing #the dirt requests

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spacegaywritings · 4 years

Text

Hello, we are the Neighbours - 1/2

Heated Afternoons

Summary: Virgil and Remy have been close for years. Remy is rather shy with new people but supposed to introduce himself to the new neighbours - of course Virgil is around to help his friend! Turns out, the boring old neighbours have a hot adolescent and fae are pretty hot. Virgil uses she/her and he/him. Remy uses he/him. Emile uses they/fae.

tags: a LOT of swearwords, edginess, Teenagers scare the living shit out of me, weapon mention, hints at violence, slight creep factor, being salty at authority, lovingly insulting one another, food, piercings, kisses, bold moves, innuendo, visual puns, cigarettes (no smoking!), edibles, mentions of getting high, marijuana (implied), saying mean things about your mom but not really meaning it bc social anxiety ah Tumblr: next // ao3: all / 1 / 2 . // masterlist . My KoFi - Support me ♥ or Commission me Story under the cut:

“I can’t believe she is doing that. This little bitch. I swear to fucking everything unholy, I will move out the second this stupid university accepts me.”

Virgil glanced at his friend, the long man fidgeting wildly as he fumbled with his house keys.

“You got them or not?”

The addressed adult shot him an angry glare.

“Of fucking course I do! Do you take me for an idiot, too?”

The smaller one shrugged, his black and blue beanie moving a bit as if to shake itself in denial at the mean sound.

“Do I look like I care that you are a crazy dog? I kinda stopped at some point, if you did not notice it before. Just for clarification, Riri.”

Virgil flicked the rainbow button on his beanie heartlessly.

“Can we go before your mom comes back and makes us bring these shitty biscuits, too? “

Remy snorted in offence and pushed the little box with his elbow, not even sparing it a glance.

“What-fucking-ever. Let us just go. Can’t take this shit with these two treating me like I am five. I am literally done with school and just waiting for an acceptance letter, I am even working and saving up and they still treat men like I am some fucking toddler who cannot even walk straight!”

His friend rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the counter.

“Yo, I am willing to babysit you, stop acting like that. I am allowed to baby you!”

He heard a hissing sound when Remy sucked an annoyed breath through his teeth. His rainbow knee socks contrasted greatly with his sour mood. His whole outfit was about the opposite of everything people would expect from him. Except for his black combat boots. Those looked exactly like his knife-stabbing mood towards the whole world (well, safe for his friend Virgil. She would be safe for now.)

The young adult looked like the embodiment of sunshine and rainbows with the bright pair of knee socks hugging up his strong legs. His plain black skirt was lacy and lazy in the way it fell over his thighs. Askew, like the neon pink bow in his shoulder-long hazel hair. A white shirt saying “Sleep” in holographic block letters completed the odd look he offered. It was so huge, it was wearing Remy more than he wore it.

Virgil shrugged, her unicorn/bunny onesie (“Virgil, this shit literally has a fucking tail like some of Bambi’s followers, not like a proud, rainbow-shitting creature to break laws and eat tears with supernatural ‘fuck you’ magic!” - “Shut up, maybe it was declared a unicorn because maybe this is what it feels like you intolerant moron”) called “Philly” largely encompassing her frame. It was white and pink - the little tail was as rainbow as the rest of his heart and mind.

..Even if nobody could see that.

“You will get the biscuits if you are fast enough with me. Get your ass going!”

Remy pocketed his keys at last and stuck his pink tongue out at his friend.

“You were literally the one to keep dragging this whole thing out”, Virgil reminded him patiently, her hand digging into the soft pockets of whatever synthetic cheap-ass shit her comfortable dream suit was made of.

“You know, you got me and I look nice but I will fuck up a dude if he fucks with my little baby.”

Something about her voice seemed to drop into a level of threat. Something... just something in his voice was so morbidly dark, it gave Remy chills for just a moment.

He muttered, walking to the door.

“I will not take you to the ice rink anymore if you flash a fucking knife, you silly bunnycorn.”

Virgil followed, by now two unwrapped lollipops in hand. He stretched one into her friend’s direction, barely nudging his lips. It was coke and almost as dark as Remy’s raven, makeup on his mouth.

“Bunnycorn sounds debatable. You may use it and I will refrain from stabbing you. Also, you know I dropped my butterfly into the fucking gutter. I will never get it out. Can’t exactly tell the cops I found an illegal weapon in there but want it out and in my possession. Too suspicious. They will get me locked up or some shit. I am not 13 anymore and they will fuck me up.”

She shrugged.

“Whatever. Eat the pop, bro”, he encouraged as she slipped the sweet ball on a stick into his mouth. The unicorn ripped the door open and swung it to the side so violently, the hinges cried and her body leaned in to follow the force her hand needed to contain.

“Ooops, you are an eager piece of shit”

Virgil shrugged and jumped down the little set of stone stairs. It was like these blocks of cobble stone. They were uneven and ugly. Truly hideous and useless.

A ramp would have been so much better, especially considering those were the flattest two steps of shit he had ever seen in his life. At least then Remy’s family would be able to get Remus in without carrying his stupid wheelchair - or needing to buy a fucking lift or whatever they usually did. Stairs sucked anyway. This house was on the fucking ground, not in the sky.

“I fucking hate your parents sometimes, not gonna lie, dude.”

Remy shrugged at that.

“Feel that every day, pal.”

His friend smiled patiently as he closed and locked the door behind him, careful not to break it further. The door was okay but Virgil*s consistently energetic treatment was not.

“Okay, whatever. Let us get to those neighbours. I am ready for the real shit going down!”

Virgil hopped on her bare feet, the jingles on her earring dancing and chanting happily.

Suddenly, she stooped and flinched, her hands immediately flying to undo her buttons.

“Yo- Yo what are you doing? Stop ch- WH - WHAt the FUCK ?!”

The small social reject nudged the other and pointed her wet lollipop at him. There was judgement in his determined eyes.

“If you wanna introduce yourself to the neighbours, you gotta establish dominance. We are gonna out-weird these boomers! This is the perfect strategy to make sure they are gonna leave ya and your dummy thicc brother alone.”

The unicorn happily danced.... or just prepared for a violent attack at something.. someone. She was charging her energy. The ketchup paint on her pink undershirt assembled to say “Tell Jesus to suck harder”. It was framing the upper and lower parts of the shirt, perfectly framing the upside-down paragraph on it.

“We are going. I want my stupid biscuits because your mom does not use raisins. She used fucking sprinkles and chocolate. This is my fucking aesthetic.”

A shrug accompanied the statement.

“Who likes raising biscuits anyway, I mean - really? Those are sad ones and if you don’t have any better, you take it but we are all striving for higher things in life.”

Remy rolled his eyes but softly approached his friend. There was something vulnerable in his step when he offhandedly looked at Virgil, no scowl or complaints hiding away the feelings in his face.

A little bit of pain seemed to paint his features, exceeding the simple level of discomfort. He stretched his arms out for a hug.

His trusty idiot of a friend immediately pulled him in, her arms wrapping around his middle. A sigh tickled his neck.

“I will fight your feelings”, he mumbled.

The taller one shook his head before shrugging.

“Just stay...”

The sentence broke off.

Maybe it was just Virgil but these two words were just a part of so much more he could and should have said.

Instead, the tall dude stretched his shoulders enough to tug his arms away from Virgil’s strong hug. It was nearly suffocating but not him, his bad feelings.

Virgil had the most grounding hugs Remy had ever felt. This could be all due to the bunny costume he was wearing but this was not the first time Remy got her embraces and suddenly felt wiped clean of all the bad feelings.

A small smile dared to fly the corners of his lips upwards.

“If she bitches around, we will dip. I will doubt it, though. She’s gonna be busy with Remus because fawning over him will never get tired.”

He shrugged. It was quick and unconvincing.

After the shrug, his shoulders still seemed pulled down enough to be identified as “burdened”.

Virgil noted it with an eyebrow raise. She was too wrapped up around the lollipop to turn this matter into a long and wild evaluation of this family and all its issues.

They were better off than his stupid shit relatives anyway.

“Hey, hottie, did I tell you about Logan?”, he asked instead. Something in Remy seemed to drop and he brushed against Virgil’s side as he took one of her hands and squeezed it.

“No, tell me while we walk. What about Logan? Who is this even?”

Remy was tame when grounded. He was so tame and nice when you were nice.

The man was calm when you showed him it was okay to be calm and right to be composed without imposing it as standard he had to follow.

“Okay, listen!”, Virgil started, his naked feet jumping into motion and leading them on to their destination just a few houses down, “so, my sib came out, right? And..”

She made a wet sound, a squelching could be heard as she pulled the lollipop out for a moment. Remy was so close, he swore he could hear the tiny gremlin swallow. He chuckled and leaned his head against hers for a bit.

It was more symbolic than practical and he immediately retreated after Virgil pressed her head’s side against his.

“And they were looking for a name. Just a few minutes before I got my ass over to yours, they came up to me and said they wanted to use “Logan” as preferred name, so I was like “huh? But that is your name, sibby” and they groaned but took it as acceptance.”

The taller one smiled weakly.

Their destination came into view.

“You are a good sibling, you know? Logan can be happy to have you throughout all of this.”

Virgil shrugged as she dropped the shrinking lollipop into her mouth once more. He pointed at the moderately-sized house. It looked sort of regular, one big VR still parked in the front.

“This one?”

Remy’s eyebrows narrowed, huddling together. They were slightly plucked but still looked natural. Somehow, Virgil felt proud of this.

A nod indicated yes at last. It felt annoying - how could a nod even express annoyance?

The unicorn snuggled closer.

“Enjoy your coke, bastard.”

The younger one groaned, rolling his eyes as he - once more - used the stairs.

Virgil scowled at them while the male glared.

“Literally, stairs are a pain and we should fucking bomb them away, honey.”

Remy squeezed his hand.

“Uh.. I mean,,.. fuck stairs but.. um”, he looked down, his eyes showing him just how much he was standing on a stranger’s doorstep, “fuck.”

Discomfort pooled in his hear, making him feel cold all of a sudden. It tickled in him but in a way that made him feel like he was going numb.. maybe he would just faint.

Instead, he kept stuttering about the door, just repeating the nonsense echoing through his burning mind

“It is okay, Remy. I can kiss it away!”

She grinned at him and leaned in. The stuttering stopped at once.

Wide eyes stared into the curiously baby blue orbs Virgil’s face held.

Coming closer and closer and-

“Yo, I really appreciate the company, but I really just wanted to go back inside.”

A voice like dark sandpaper rubbed between them, sawing their intimacy away and making Remy jolt in surprise. Hot, bloody anxiety flooded back into his consciousness whilst Virgil closed the distance between them as the unicorn/bunny stepped back before her tall baby.

“Okay, bitch, that is it, I will fucking FIgthT yOU!”, he screeched, bouncing up.

Remy acted fast to pull the furious ball of rage back into place. At least the unicorn was so small, he could easily contain the raging bean.

The new voice was more than voice, it was a person. Evidently, they already looked like friends, despite Virgil’s sudden threats and Remy’s gut-freezing anxiety. The styles seemed to unify them. They all looked like a bunch of social rejects old people would frown upon and little kids would point at. Brave teenagers would be scared and young adults would try to dominate then.

A person with an actual body stood there, dismissively leaning against the nearby wall of the house. A beanie adorned their head much like Remy’s and in contrast to Virgil’s messy ginger head.

Skin darker than a slight tan, eyes green like a miracle and so deep, deeper than the forest and every treasure.

A few strands of different colours could be seen to defy the beanie, They proudly stood out in the sunny light of a comfortable Sunday afternoon. Remy could identify a colour akin to pumpkins and different shades of green as if sculptured by nature personally.

Unnatural colours for hair but still, the stranger wore them as if this was the most natural of all occurrences.

Was this a bit of light blue? It contrasted with the row of shiny piercings in the stranger’s ears -- they all looked like little cartoon items of food? And that nose ring was to die for...

“And you wanna fight me, why?”

Virgil hissed, his jaw snapping together but only biting air before the newcomer.

“Ff-f-ucking ffforg-get it”, Remy jumped in, still mesmerised by how ripped someone’s jeans could really get. They were not revealing but fitting with a bit of space while being scratches and patched at any place he could identify.

Virgil came back to life at this comment, vocalisations of all the threatening kinds were thrown like from a feral animal.

The “suck the right butts” shirt with a human cartoon butt next to a burning cigarette seemed to tickle Virgil a bit into a level of slightly less intense readiness to throw hands. At least the weirdo had some style.

“Alright. Would you step away, then? I want to go back inside and eat my pancakes.”

Something within Remy died as the person said that.

Oh fuck.

Everything that did not matter seemed to matter an this point.

“You are the new neighbour?”, Virgil blinked dismissively and waved, “overrated.”

The stranger clicked a tongue impatiently, one blonde brow quirking up in question without him repeating his words.

“That b-bitch is on fucking coke o-or some ssshit! Don’t mind him!”

Remy pushed Virgil to the side, his arms still wrapped around him as to not let her fall down these miserably sad stairs.

Virgil huffed.

“Coke? You fucking picky shit, You can have cherry if you want it! I took it only because I love you more than I like coke flavour and you fucking thank me like this? I wanted to be nice and you are being a dumb butt again!”

He pouted.

Emile looked as uninterested as ever. If there was a sleeping stone on the porch, maybe there would be a chance this person would be more interested but right now? Not so much. The person was unimpressed, forest eyes blank in apathy.

“Listen, you two are very entertaining but -”

Remy cut this speech off in a.... honestly, there was no words for what exactly this special piece of human did at this point.

For some anxiety-logic reason (and for this “reason” only), he smacked Virgil’s furry thigh and let out an inhumane screen before pushing himself in front of the door and pushing his hand between him and the new neighbour. Or whom he deemed to be that person.

Virgil was next to him instead of before him and looking less smug or feral, just a tad confused at best. A reaction like this had her blink and swallow the cherry flavour of her saliva that came from the generous lollipop in her mouth.

He could not complain about that.

Well, maybe Emile would complain.

“Excuse you?”

A blonde eyebrow rose up. The stranger looked at Remy as if he was nothing but a mortal insect to the mighty deity this person was.

Remy was not shaking but his heart was uncontrollably sweating, swirling around his chest cavity and basically running in circles at an immense speed. Great panic ruled his existence and left him gasping and shaking his head for a moment.

“I- I am bit- REMY!”, he started, “I AM REMY”

He basically screamed his personal introduction at Emile. Panic regulated the tone of his voice and make his further screeches even more incoherent as Virgil just stood by, awestruck and frozen at this... this event of uncommon occurrence.

Honestly, she would lie if she claimed to have ever seen this sort of behaviour before. This was pretty much a first after considering just how anxious Remy was around strangers. Maybe the gayness in the air was just overriding the last bit of influence his braincell had?

Virgil appreciated the feeling but did not share the sentiment (which is a lie). He really did not (LIE). He REALLY did NOT!! (cheap lie. Read: he very much did but pretended not to care as much while his eyes tried not to shape into tiny hearts for how attracted she was to this new person).

Holy shit those two needed some more social contact other than each other.

“I am Emile. Fae/faer and They/them. I am not not really-”

Fae sighed, interrupting faer own sentence.

“My grandparents lived here for longer. I am the only new one here. I came here for a summer job only, so you don’t have to deal with me for long. You can just go back and make out in front of your own house now.”

Virgil blinked, underwhelmed.

“Shut up.”

Remy immediately drew in a gasp of air. It was loud, audible and more than just intrusive to anyone on the street. This sound could have been heard by everyone in the entire neighbourhood.

“Virgil, you insolent prick, shut up yourself, you wanted to be nice and help! You are not getting knife privileges, you .. you.. sucky.. fucky.. me-mean...”

He stumbled over his own words, suddenly finding himself at a loss of words as he was faced with the situation he was in.

This was too much. What was this even?

This was absurd, this is what it was. It was absolutely confusing and weird and not as it should have been. He should have given some stupid biscuits to some stupid neighbours and just bad-mouthed his mom for a bit longer because of how salty he got at the forced social interaction. Instead, he was caught in the gay panic that was this.. this fucking mess!

“If you don’t say “yes”, tell us to leave”, Virgil growled as he leaned in.

Emile did not back away even by an inch.

Actually, fae even leaned in, fae leaned in so much, fae could whisper right against Virgil’s lips. The thought of a word was lost on their lips as they moved and pronounced just enough of a “yes” for her to shoot forward and press their lips together.

Within seconds, hands got caught up in fingers, in strands of hair and articles of clothing.

Virgil brushed over the beanie, trying to find something to hold onto as he pulled down the giant of a faeling for a good session. There was no real grip there. Instead, she opted to do the one good thing she could be doing instead.

The unicorn tugged Emile down, pushing them against the door - right next to Remy who squealed in reply at the sudden crash.

They groaned into the kiss, hands looking for more roughness in the endlessly silkiness of a onesie. The push against the door was not even minded with as much as a mental note or even ...anything, really. The groan might have been nothing but pleasure.

But as soon as Virgil, The Storm (TM), has come, as soon he left again. She pulled away, clicking her tongue.

Somehow, she must have lots her lollipop.

If he had even half a mind for anything but getting more of Emile, she might have realised how she had dropped it in the moment their lips had crashed. How else would lips get that close in the first place? Lollipops were a good way of policing closeness - too good. They prevented kisses too much.

Virgil stepped back a bit, looking at Emile and Remy in satisfaction. Her curious eyes switched between one tall to the other tall pal.

“So... you two gonna shake hands now and say the whole neighbourhood shit? I did not come here for nothing.”

She shrugged, looking away as if to look for something. Sure, she found it on the ground. The pink ball of lollipop she had dropped in the excitement of sweeping in idiot up in a storm of a sudden kiss, the winds of passion and electricity of pleasure and excitement meeting.

Nonchalantly, the unicorn picked up the piece of trash and threw it into the trash in front of the house.

All the while, Emile and Remy watched her quietly.

“I told you to do the societal bullshit thing, so we can be nice and steal your biscuits Remy’s mom made.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I am Virgil, by the way. I am a unicorn and you would not dream to dream of me even in your wildest dreams.”

Fae nodded.

A new sense of knowledge - respect - was in their violently green eyes.

Remy simply shook his own head into waking his brain up.

“Remy, he/him. Virgil uses she/her and he/him.”

He cleared his throat, voice weak but not exactly recovering even after his little treat to his throat. He swallowed his coke-flavoured lollipop liquids.

“Sorry about ..”, he gestured towards his friend who cuddled up next to him as if he had done nothing more but given her mom a hug or whatever trivial thing like texting a bro, “that.”

Virgil huffed but said no more, only leaned into his side and sighed, sounding surprisingly void of energy.

“Do you want to come inside?”

Remy flinched at the question. The hot neighbour was pulling this fucking beanie off their head, revealing their colourful hair. Green and blue, orange-ish and purple were easily spotted in the mess of a dyed paradise. Faer hair were curled like clouds. Exactly like clouds. It was probably the most balanced state between curled up and simply wavy hair.

Virgil shrugged.

“Nah, did you not hear us? We came here by force because we hate life but adults think you gotta be nice to new neighbours. So imma go to Remy’s and eat these fucking biscuits his mom made for you because they will be great and you cannot have them. You can dream of them.”

She hugged him as if to prove a point.

The neighbour shrugged.

“Just wait a minute. I want to give you something. You guys.. you guys need it - you deserve it, you know?”

They pulled the beanie back over their head.

“Re- Remy? Can you move, I gotta get inside for a moment.”

Fae gestured towards the door and Remy quickly pushed against Virgil enough to straighten up his slouching friend a bit and give way to Emile.

The feral idiot seemed.. pretty much asleep at this point. Was there any point in even trying to wake her up? Probably not.

Anyway, the deity of a neighbour disappeared inside for a few moments and quickly came back with a little box.

“Biscuits”, fae stated rather bluntly. So much about them was just so blunt and straightforward without being straight in the slightest.

“I don’t think mine are better. I know it.”

They winked before disappearing into the house again, the door clicking shut with a loud and definite sound. For now, this was the last bit of interaction they would be able to squeeze out of faem.

But..

Virgil shook awake at the sudden impact of the door slamming back into its frame and pushing the lock until it clicked and closed as it was supposed to act. Instead of staying awake, his eyes switched from shot-open to rolling up to reveal white only until his lids had the mercy of blanketing these pools of eyes.

Her head travelled upright against the door with a dull “donk” and immediately lost all support from her neck, therefore rolled back against Remy’s shoulder.

“Virgil! Virgil, hey! Food!”

The bunny mumbled and turned closer to hugged Remy from the side. His arms reached around the entirety of the barely dressed man, a few curious fingers started tugging at his short skirt.

“Virgil!!”

The naughty friend groaned at the loud noise as if she had room to complain with even a bit of ground to stand on.

“Nooooo”, he whined. His body pulled back, forced by the magic of friendship to respect the boundaries of Remy’s super important message or whatever the shit,

He just wanted a nap and biscuits, man.

“Fuck..fuck you..mm”

Virgil was still busy rubbing her eyes when the taller man pointed at the box.

“We got more biscuits for you”, he informed the feral cryptid, “and it is in a box - Emile’s box. You know what that means.”

The onesie-clot bitch shrugged, shaking his head. A moment passed while Remy hugged the box, a dirty grin appearing on his lips.

“Wait~”

He lifted the lid just enough to reach into the box and get the first biscuit. Instead, there was a little.. piece of paper?

Remy pulled at it until it was in proper vision to see. He skipped down the stairs while Virgil sluggishly stumbled down the miserable excuse of stupid stone stairs. Literally those shits should be forbidden and aborted. Everyone would just trip over stairs but not on ramps.

Ramps were cool. Get ramps, kids.

“Vi, you h-”, Remy held his breath, stopping himself from saying anymore. Instead, he passed a note to a rather tired and moody baby of a bunny.

>>Get high with me tomorrow? xx xxx xxxx xxxx - HMU, you two are cute. BTW, love the shirt.<<

The awakening pal patted his own thigh suddenly, then the box and eventually reached up to Remy and pulled him into a kiss as if his lips depended on it.

It was much shorter than the wild session of kisses he had shared with Emile.

Again, as soon as Virgil came, as soon she was gone again.

With that, she grabbed the box and ran off.

“You bitch won’ be gettin’ any coke nor any COCK without me!”

He jumped around the corner, back to where the two had come from.

“You owe me a few cherry kisses yourself, Virgil!”

Remy promptly ran after her, cheeks ablaze, baked from the sun of a thousand kisses, heart flying on the wings of compliments and mind thriving on the warming and tickling light of hope.

Inside, Emile peeked out of the windows enough to see the two chasing down the block. Littering was bullshit but these two surely were some good.

The new neighbours were not so bad after all.

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sirjustice405 · 4 years

Text

Must have machine dude, my cooperative bank of Kenya a/c no 01116294445000, name is kevin nelson omondi, ID no 26540140

Baby star-soft, either made with white guava, tangerine, banana, yam, bringanya and flowers in the boom process inserting all the below into the grinned solution of the above.

Gear bolt remover auto-matic and hand rotated as with the pulley, too soft that u realize not u r untied the bolt from the nut dude as in the below link

https://alexnld.com/product/3-jaw-inner-bearing-puller-tooll-kit-inner-hole-bearing-pull-maintenance/

https://www.google.com/search?sxsrf=ALeKk01nkADmgIQC-YVWfoySyjuiCcoEGw:1596346626448&source=univ&tbm=isch&q=automated+car+wheel+remover+machine+alibaba+images&client=firefox-b-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjn_e3M5vvqAhUJfBoKHWAPBJ8QsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1280&bih=910

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B5Ctp89AH58

House super drum size armored glass where on the edges to the ground, it has sweeping on the ground normal bullet proof cloth as with most African lorries or buses mad guard.

When subdued but still wanna continue to claim people their own yet with bad character b4 they tell u to feed their own which aint ya shit again which if u refute they organize ya attack must end, when many who knows how to see those who see things on the eye are employed to settle the dust of disputes. Mr Hindu now time is ripe to get to ya nation. mFalme wa yawhodi to bring the fact of many such people from different walks of like who have known how to make military vehicle and missiles yet partake corpse not as u claim.

Small medical bottles like surgical spirit or eye/ear drop bottles when place inside rye, Garbage or dough, fruit juice and the below as hay, cut raw mango pieces, groundnut husks, African broom stick, pineapple, purple fruit, charcoal water, pumpkin pieces, okwaju outer peel makes mini-missiles like in the link below that uses the solar generator as explained earlier in other following tumblr a/c

https://www.edrmagazine.eu/idex-2019-lig-nex1-unveils-40-mm-mini-missile

https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fweaponews.com%2Fimages%2F2019%2F05%2F05%2F7242c9080cf140bab7ad1cbf52884f0f.jpg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fweaponews.com%2Fnews%2F65350426-turkey-showed-a-mini-rocket-yatagan-and-bought-ukrainian-missiles-cone.html&tbnid=KZP6nw-NbbywPM&vet=12ahUKEwjbhYLQ6PvqAhVGiRoKHSe2DTgQMygEegUIARCsAQ..i&docid=dSAwRLgDX_yjmM&w=800&h=436&q=south%20korea%20mini-missiles%20images&client=firefox-b-d&ved=2ahUKEwjbhYLQ6PvqAhVGiRoKHSe2DTgQMygEegUIARCsAQ

http://earthfinds.co.ug/index.php/features/item/778-man-making-missile-in-hoima-wants-to-meet-museveni

At the red houses adjacent or opposite to White Gate Kisumu along odinga oginga road on ya way to kibos sugar factory, harbors a super drum size hole which detective from different nations can come to see to atest that what is in book about the earth crust radius is a hoax as its from 10 -16 KM as Some Nigerians and Ghana men have made it here to attest the same above yet Mr white man still want to bother or rule us with day time lies. Fuck u dude synonymous with the bible, was made that way so a blessing in disguise to us.

Skyscraper and roads, u make holes with like bore hole digger machine, then mix much ya city garbage with sewer or just normal water, fill the hole, inside insert the explained/mentioned above along wire cut wires, bolts and nuts from hardware then with high intensity water pump, hurl cold water in the boom process or spit saliva from up high and boom ya building or road as per your style gotten from internet pictures or PS4 OR 5.

Must have for ya kitchen if still living in traditions, now that artificial charcoal also made using garbage and inserting the name above inside alongside sample of charcoal real or from photos making such Kg prices to reduce by up-to 70% cause involves not cutting down trees with lawn moving, grass cutting machines that required earlier robust men to eliminate such as now we need semi-weak men, of respect to the law, not all generous and outside the house thinkers as partially business oriented to move the world as can not spoil human race or not snoopers as chicken out dude as 2 fold homey, houses as well and welded gates window can be made as charcoal above to eliminate the pride of robust men with women once and 4 good

https://goldsen.en.alibaba.com/product/60229068498-805560538/TOLHIT_Small_Handheld_Speed_Variable_Metal_Wood_Steel_Cutting_Saw_Machine_Pneumatic_Portable_Band_Saw.html

U mean Nija still reach, yet our attention was shifted to that side with women as calabar, men, i feel like i want to puk as vomit, where will we turn to to get the women we have desired 4 life,maybe middle east dude. Yam can be sold to nations in the temperate world who produce such not and make shampoo, baby star-soft and soaps we did not know bro, see that market dude

my cooperative bank of Kenya a/c no 01116294445000, name is kevin nelson omondi, ID no 26540140, car and electric or plane, boat, submarine company who wish to pay me tribute send me dem cash into that bank a/c number as wire, away out of no way dude to tell me shit again to get to the counter, i debit my money anyway i wanna Mr Lazy!!! As in the link below

https://transferwise.com/gb/swift-codes/KCOOKENAXXX

Gold good than steel as makes ya head shape-full as rye bread and small and always thinking as good feeling synonymous with Manhattan island NY.

Cut carrot juice also when placed take the place as mentioned below, hay, pumpkin, coconut leave dry stick, purple fruit, Ginger, groundnut, broken sticks pineapple, lemon, orange outer peel, yam, sweet potato, raw mango or water lily as u can try many people with every machine to see which comes out good and even charcoal water or mix all that dude

Candy can be made like sugar, where in that juice like orange, pineapple, purple fruit or any fruit that makes juice u place the above as orange outer peel and boom ya candy or cough drops as with it u can mix need leaves with Ginger and lemon and boom ya cough drop or syrup dude

Carrot, human feces brown 1, red guava makes gold in the boom process when placed in sewer water or garbage and even corpse of rude people. Soda make as candy above as with cut oranges, sprite with female pee, Bitter lemon with cut lemon while stony with cut Ginger as the above all placed to remove the benefit of doubt dude. Coke u mix neem plant leaves with Wild sunflower, add much water in the boom process

Negro its up to u, to desist other tribes as not u as u have learnt as well to make Gadgets dude, maybe white-men playing dice to depict ya of being rude to facilitate ya annihilation by another nation cause u got no-sense which aint our problemo but yours dude

Ice cream is even made with ice placed in yogurt in the boom process or u place bubble gum as same in the boom process and ya ice cream as it builds cities like Chicago which when other spheres have learnt the same, its collapse dude. Hay or gum tree sticks can also take space of ice or use interchangeably. Ice cream IC, Jama-ic-a, icu, bury me dude, ica in local jargon. Tryna playing my insanity as portrayed in my writings which much i got from people on other tumblr a/c, aint mine dude, and if so my being insane has led to almost 2 thirds of world countries making airplane, military vehicle, missiles, cars, buses, phones all ahead of them, which if they as portrayed above they could have made it 1st or if were mine and could rob them their self-hood, they could have annihilated me to officiate such innovations which now they want to delete of what they cant delete, meaning they are insane claiming me to be them yet i don’t give them what they have ever wanted most to give them leverage well ahead b4 any other world tribe. Dem insane dude, AE your u claim, my writings on tumblr yours as those countries made machines as airplane or phones, u want to sue them dude, the above can also make paints with rye dough, flowers or gum tree extract dude

SAUCER JETS as in the link below are made with inserted yellow egg albumen or sweet potato in garbage as planes can be made using the same as above heaped with much cut used water bottle to have the metallic shinny appeal not as dry synonymous with many made African emerging airplanes

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=nasa+saucer+jets+images&client=ms-google-coop&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwihjcCn8_nqAhXvA2MBHVAVD_QQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1280&bih=891

Maroon Kenyan money note is made with cut strawberry where many spit and boom ya cash after placing all mentioned above.

Known Kenya is poor when her cash crop can be made well in the boom process but still wants the leisure associated with many inland lakes like Victoria and trukana, the Negro blooded and that’s it dude as TZ or UG lakes are much deeper like Tanganyika 4 the above, Get to chad or Malawi dude, go shallow inland lake that can offer u the same as above dude

When u place purple fruit as Zambarau or yam or orange peel in the boom in Garbage, solution makes even range rovers, Cadillac, heavy machinery, electrical appliances and accessories, jets, planes, military vehicle, when what u want u place their cut diagonal photo as well. When it fails with charcoal water, pumpkin, pineapple, coconut leaves/sticks or as those mentioned above try as well with the above and even the Fanta black currents u can add into the solution 4 more results with other gadgets that has not been made as u keep on trying to get the best results dude.

Germans time is the essence, u sponsor some men who behaves like your own to say shit in my ears, i cant dude, take it all away, who is greatest, what has disturbed u 4 ages, here i come and i give the client like nation b4 u like Uganda, Tz and Jamaica and still not ashamed like Internet and pay TV, phones and home appliances. Cant u see u r a toddler to me, get ya way dude, what i can do great to ya, is sleep with ya woman not to marry but to pay as will bring bad disturbing kid without respect. U r the epicenter, u came with Illuminati and must eradicate it lest u r annihilated dude.

Shinny airplanes like the USA or air peace Benin made 1 are made with Garbage but much ripe mango of the same magnitude added to give it that feeling dude or rye as u add made or after the plane made, repaint it with shinny paint as with like Burkina Faso or Mali 1 in the links below which aint shinny

https://allafrica.com/stories/201906300137.html

Getting money online thinking u got by as a head of ya pals, then shortly u r forced to pay like with 2goinvoice, even getting jobs 4 kids and building homestead 4 respects, which eliminates the same altogether so u get back to insulting ya long ago homies 4 no apparent reason. U Mexican as u heard carli or Texas were the same so wanting good life 4 ya kids and connected with Mexicans 4 that to happens as enjoy bar kalare make u insane water now can be made much in the boom process as in tumblr a/c sirjustice350, so ya plan fails so harsh with others. Eblotong'i bwana, warn them if u r not their described dude and Christ thing infused on 1 now failed, eating corp of this tribe or person made u to be innovative, so sell the same to the whole world to get cash as failed dude. Go to hell and die, where now are ya long time plans, dead and gone dude, stop ya shit bro lest 1 cut ya with machiethe

Rye paints or unhurt u add sweet banana in the boom process then ya paint or rubber tree extract like 1 in Liberia or other cut banana u add purple fruit or egg shell and boom ya paint bro, or detergent in water then add sweet potato and boom ya paint bro

Iran fighter jet in the link below

https://www.airforce-technology.com/projects/kowsar-fighter-jet/

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sirjustice404-blog · 4 years

Text

New ways to kill a rat

Baby star-soft, either made with white guava, tangerine, banana, yam, bringanya and flowers in the boom process inserting all the below into the grinned solution of the above.

Gear bolt remover auto-matic and hand rotated as with the pulley, too soft that u realize not u r untied the bolt from the nut dude as in the below link

https://alexnld.com/product/3-jaw-inner-bearing-puller-tooll-kit-inner-hole-bearing-pull-maintenance/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B5Ctp89AH58

House super drum size armored glass where on the edges to the ground, it has sweeping on the ground normal bullet proof cloth as with most African lorries or buses mad guard.

https://www.edrmagazine.eu/idex-2019-lig-nex1-unveils-40-mm-mini-missile

http://earthfinds.co.ug/index.php/features/item/778-man-making-missile-in-hoima-wants-to-meet-museveni

https://goldsen.en.alibaba.com/product/60229068498-805560538/TOLHIT_Small_Handheld_Speed_Variable_Metal_Wood_Steel_Cutting_Saw_Machine_Pneumatic_Portable_Band_Saw.html

my cooperative bank of Kenya a/c no 01116294445000, car and electric or plane, boat, submarine company who wish to pay me tribute send me dem cash into that bank a/c number as wire, away out of no way dude to tell me shit again to get to the counter, i debit my money anyway i wanna Mr Lazy!!! As in the link below

https://transferwise.com/gb/swift-codes/KCOOKENAXXX

Gold good than steel as makes ya head shape-full as rye bread and small and always thinking as good feeling synonymous with Manhattan island NY.

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=nasa+saucer+jets+images&client=ms-google-coop&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwihjcCn8_nqAhXvA2MBHVAVD_QQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1280&bih=891

Maroon Kenyan money note is made with cut strawberry where many spit and boom ya cash after placing all mentioned above.

https://allafrica.com/stories/201906300137.html

Iran fighter jet in the link below

https://www.airforce-technology.com/projects/kowsar-fighter-jet/

1 note · View note

dragonagethistle · 5 years

Text

Into the Breach - Chapter 1

Hello, loves.

Have had this fic idea bouncing around in my head for 2 days so we’re starting something new (for me) here. I’m sure the Modern Girl in Thedas trope is completely overdone but I just could not get this fic out of my head. I should have proof-read this but I want to go to bed and I definitely want to get this posted while it’s still Dragon Age day so...

Read on AO3 here

Chapter 1 - Happy Birthday

[So sorry, looks like I’m not gonna make it tonight.]

[I’m literally the worst friend, I’ll make it up to you.]

[Happy birthday]

She stared at the string of messages on her phone, thumb hovering over the keypad as she considered responding. What was there to say though? As much as her gut felt heavy with disappointment, she wasn’t particularly surprised. After all, this was the fourth year in a row that her attempts at celebrating her birthday fell apart.

Farrada signed and turned the screen of her phone off. She walked over to the window and moved the curtains aside to check outside. Large, fluffy snowflakes fell through the air, the fierce wind whipping them around in every direction until it almost looked as if they were circling in mid-air. Boots it is, then.

She knew she couldn’t blame anyone for not making it to her place in this weather. She knew no one had really been able to give her a concrete ‘yes’ in the first place. But it still stung, and her movements were sharper than usual as she jerked the laces of her former Air Force boots tight.

She re-opened her phone to request an Uber to the nearest bar. It would be crowded and noisy, and she knew logically that it would not improve her mood. None of that mattered in the moment though. She moved into the bathroom to check her makeup and wiped off her lipstick. No point in fussing with that when it was just going to come off as soon as she got a couple of drinks in her. For a moment her gaze paused on the silver tiara on the counter before she gave a half-hearted smirk and situated it on her freshly dyed, pink hair.

“Will you actually wear this more than once?” her mother had asked so many years ago.

“Yes!” a much younger, more enthusiastic Farrada had responded. “I’ll wear it every year on my birthday!”

It was a silly thing, almost more of a headband than a tiara, but Farrada still loved the tiny, metal black roses woven along the silver band and, with a few exceptions, she had kept her promise.

She moved through her apartment and stuffed the pockets of her winter jacket with her hat and gloves, deciding to bring them on the off-chance that by the time she was ready to leave the bar she would prefer to wait outside for her ride. She grabbed her worn, leather purse off of its hook and propped it on the arm of her futon as she rifled through the pouch.

Phone, wallet, keys, pocket journal, pen, chapstick, mirror… Should be everything.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket to alert her that the ride she requested had arrived. Farrada wrapped her favorite scarf around the lower half of her face and neck, zipped her jacket closed, and left the apartment, locking the door behind her.

“You Farrada?” the driver asked as she approached the car. She nodded yes and he unlocked the doors for her to enter the back seat.

“Thanks for driving out in this storm,” she said.

“Oh, no worries, this is nothing if you’re local. Going out to do anything fun this Friday evening?” He asked.

“Getting drunk,” she muttered, propping her chin on the palm of her hand and staring out the window at the flurries of snow.

“Well, at least you’re not driving!” he said cheerfully as he pulled out of her apartment complex. Farrada gave a non-committal noise in return. She was in no mood for talking to strangers.

The bar was blissfully close, and she exited the car with a wave as the driver cheerfully called after her to be safe. The bouncer checked her ID as she stripped out of her coat and scarf and folded them over her arm, handing back the card with a sunny “Happy birthday!” She fought the urge to roll her eyes as she slipped her card back into her wallet and muttered her thanks in return.

The karaoke room was crowded, but Farrada was relieved to see that there was room at the bar. Alcohol could take the edge off of her various chronic pains, but she had yet to test if she manage standing without pain if she were drunk and did not want to test that theory. She took a seat at the bar closer to the back of the room where things were slightly quieter and took a moment to hang her jacket and purse under the counter before ordering her first shot of amaretto.

She didn’t wait long enough to feel it before she ordered her second.

The room was full of people, full of laughter and music, and she finally felt some of the tension ease from her shoulders as the liquor creeped into her system. She laughed at the snippets of conversation she heard around her, trying not to be too obvious whenever she reacted to a punchline that was not directed at her.

She started ordering her amaretto with coke as well, watering the liquor down with something sweeter to pace herself. She sang along with anyone on stage who had chosen a song she vaguely knew, not caring if the people around her heard. Every time Farrada felt herself approaching sobriety again she chased it away with another drink.

She didn’t know how long she sat at the bar before the buzz of being happily drunk around music was replaced by the melancholy of yet another failed birthday celebration. Eventually she checked her phone, and when she saw it was approaching midnight Farrada decided she had stayed out late enough. She closed her tab, grabbed her belongings from under the bartop, and headed out of the bar to call another ride.

The snow was still falling, even thicker than before, and she half considered going back inside but the cool air almost felt like relief on skin Farrada hadn’t realized was overheated in the crowded room. Once she confirmed a driver was on their way to get her, Farrada pocketed her phone and slipped on her mittens.

The light above her went out and Farrada looked up with a frown. The area around her wasn’t so dark that she felt unsafe, but she knew it certainly wasn’t an ideal situation. Further along the building green light spilled out from around the corner. Farrada knew it wasn’t wise to approach what looked like an alleyway alone at night and certainly less than sober, but something about the shade looked oddly familiar.

“Someone, help me!”

Farrada froze in place at the cry, swaying slightly against the wind. Something about that voice was familiar. She felt her brows furrow in annoyance. Where have I heard that voice?

“... Help me!” The voice cried again.

Farrada’s feet seemed to carry her forward of their own volition, until she was running and skidding towards the light spilling from around the corner, trying to clear the fog from her head so that she could help.

As she rounded the corner, green filled her vision and she shut her eyes against the light as she fell.

And kept falling.

Farrada curled in on herself, feeling sick as she fell through the air. She couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t even open her mouth to scream, she was paralyzed by one of her greatest fears.

She hit the ground hard, slamming most of the right side of her body into the dirt.

“Fuck!”

“Andraste’s tits! Where did you come from?”

What?

Farrada opened her eyes to see a shorter, brunette woman staring up at her from below. With a jolt she realized she had landed on a piece of land floating in mid-air, and as she looked around she felt her stomach sink through the ground.

“This… This is the fade. How the fuck is this the fade?”

“Who are you?”

“We don’t have time for this!” the heavily accented voice that Farrada had followed here called out and she turned her head to see the glowing visage of the former Divine hovering above the ground. “We have to move!”

“No, no, no, this isn’t real.” Farrada said as she picked herself up off the ground. Her right shoulder and hip were bruised from her landing and she was forced to limp to the edge of her floating platform. “This can’t be fucking real.”

“Worry about that later,” the woman - the Herald - called. “Can you get down?”

Farrada’s mouth went dry as she looked down but she knew what was coming. If this was somehow real, she would rather not stick around for the giant spiders that were bound to show up any moment. She tightened her grip on the strap of her purse and lept.

The Fade didn’t adhere to the laws of physics, and Farrada landed much more easily not far from the other woman. The brunette rapidly approached her, hands outstretched and glowing green.

“Are you all right? Can you move?”

She knew that accent, that long braid of chocolate brown hair, those freckles…

“Selina?”

She pulled back and the sage green light around her hands went out. “Who in the bloody name of the Maker are you?”

The Spirit-Divine cried out and both women looked up to see the giant, nightmare like demons crawling towards them rapidly. Farrada reached forward and grabbed Selina by the wrist.

“Run.”

Farrada hissed as she put weight on her injured side and Selina immediately pulled one arm over her shoulder and wrapped her hand around Farrada’s waist, helping her move as quickly as they could up the path Justinia was ushering them towards. The path was steep, and Farrada could hear the monsters scuttering over the rocks behind her, growing louder in their approach until she and the mage were nearing the crest of the path. Selina reached her free hand out towards Justinia’s and as their hands touched, light flashed once again and the two women stumbled onto the snow.

This isn’t real, Farrada thought one last time before she slipped from consciousness with her arm still over Selina’s shoulders.

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Inquisition #MGIT #Modern Girl in Thedas #yes this trope is overdone #Imma write some more anyway #Farrada Martin #Selina Netting #canon divergence #angst is incoming #Don't wanna tag characters that will be in this later since they're not here now #but more is coming #dragonagethistle #thistle writes

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translightyagami · 6 years

Note

Otp questions for Matsuda/Light?

dflkjskaljf;ldfsakj ALL OF THEM????? aight dude.

1: Who spends almost all their money on the other?

i don’t think either of them spends a lot of money on each other. their relationship isn’t rlly....over the table. but i think matsuda gets light presents sometimes like that sashmi phone charm or fun socks. he definitely DEFINITELY gets light something on valentines day bc he sort of hopes light will do the same but uh light has to go on his lunch break to the nearest convience store and buy some shitty chocolates bc he doesn’t want matsuda to know he forgot. except matsuda like knows, he’s just too nice and a little too into light to say anything.

2: Who sleeps in the other’s lap?

matsuda will lay his head on light’s lap while light is doing paper work. its late on a tuesday when they hv light’s apartment to themselves which almost nvr happens and he’s running his hand thru matsuda’s hair. its almost like they’re a real couple. it’s almost like light cares.

3: Who walks around the house half-naked and who yells at them to put on some clothes?

they r both way too conservative abt their bodies to walk around half naked anywhere but if matsuda spills something on his shirt he’s not gonna soak in that cold coffee. he’ll strip that shirt off and use light’s washing machine and then chill in the kitchen. light yells at him, which scares the shit out of matsuda bc light almost nvr yells at ppl if he can help it, and tells him that misa is going to b home in like an hour so he can’t b waltzing around w no shirt on. then he stops, sees matsuda’s wide eyes and his anger slinks back into it’s cage so he offers to blow him as an apology.

4: Which one tells the other not to stay up all night and which one stays up all night anyway?

matsuda is always getting on light for staying up too late. “you’re giving kira too much of your time!” he says and light just gets this ugly look on his face like he’s halfway to a laugh but also abt to melt. “how else can we bring him to justice,” he says, “if we aren’t giving up some parts of our comfort?” that shuts matsuda up.

5: Which one tries to make food for the other but burns it all by accident and which one tells them that it’s okay and makes them both cookies?

god they both suck so hard at cooking. matsuda tries to make them like romantic meals and light lets him bc he loves it when ppl do things for him ever at all. all the meals end up burnt and light tells matsuda he doesn’t mind but he rlly rlly does bc then he has to explain to misa why their apartment smells like burned chicken. they order takeout or go somewhere to eat and its rlly uncomfortable for the rest of the night.

6: Which one reads OTP prompts and says “Oh that’s us!” and which one goes “Eh, not really”?

oh for sure matsuda sees those, like, couples memes and wants desperately to send them to light and b like “ha that’s us” but he’s not sure if they count as a couple since light makes him leave immeadiately after they fuck. so instead he just sort of casually will announce that this meme makes him think of someone and light doesn’t look up from his work like “what’s a meme?”

7: Which one constantly wears the other’s clothes?

god they r like different sizes but sometimes, if light is weak and lets matsuda convince him to go to his place, light borrows a shirt from matsuda that’s too big on his all flat angles body. it hangs on him and it kind of....turns matsuda on a little?? they’re all his old college track shirts. light always returns them promptly the next day, washed and folded in a plastic bag.

8: Which one spends all day running errands and which one says “You remembered [thing], right?”

light likes to send matsuda on errands bc he knows he can and also he hates hving to do small tasks so he’ll like send him to get lunch and then when he gets back will get huffy if he forgets to bring like...enough napkins.

9: Which one drives the car and which one gives them directions?

it’s canonical in my headcanon that light is a very bad driver and matsuda actually had to help him learn so matsuda drives them most of the time. light gives surprisingly good directions for what a shit driver he is, mostly bc he has a good memory and spent a lot of time using the subway so he knows his streets. get him out in the country tho and he’s like “uhhhh turn left?? maybe right??? lets use the gps.”

10: Which one does the posing while the other one draws?

light poses and matsuda draws a shitty stick figure w a tie on. light must stiffle the urge to rip it up and it’s the greatest feat of strength he’s ever managed.

11: If they were about to rob a museum, which one does backflips through lasers and which one is strolling behind with a bag of chips?

uhhuhuhuuhhh shit man i literally hv no idea with this one!!! neither of them can do a backflip but matsuda is convinced that if given the chance, he could do one and then light and he hv that charlie and mac argument of “u can’t do a backflip” “i do a backflip every day of my life!!”

12: Which one of your OTP overdoes it on the alcohol and which one makes the other stop drinking?

literally. neither of them stops the other one. light doesn’t drink a lot but matsuda will take him out clubbing which means light gets drunk off two cocktails and half of matsuda’s rum n’ coke. he dances to ariana grande and pulls matsuda on the floor and matsuda is so flattered by the attention that he lets light get drunker until he’s swaying and they hv to take a cab back to his apartment bc he can barely stand.

13: Which one likes to surprise the other with a lot of small random gifts?

i think i said in the first question, but matsuda often leaves light little gifts.

14: Which one keeps accidentally using the other’s last name instead of their own?

dslkfjla;skdfj;aslkfj;slfa matsuda sometimes puts yagami as his last name but that’s only bc he spends so much time w that family. he’d b so pleased to marry into it honestly. its a secret dream of his to propose to light and for light to accept and it keeps him warm on nights when light won’t return his calls.

15: Which one screams about the spider and which one brings the spider outside?

neither of them take the spider outside but matsuda will just smack it w his shoe. light gets the bug spray and watches the spider die, slowly and painfully. he only ever does this when no one else is around but god, it’s a little thrill to take the edge off.

16: Which one gives the other their jacket?

matsuda forgets his jacket A Lot and so light will offer his as a token of affection (or at least as much a token as light can manage). it nvr fits but the same song and dance happens every time. matsuda wishes that light would forget his jacket once so it would b the other way around but uhhhh mr. five hundred plans at once has nvr been unprepared for bad weather. except once on a certain rooftop but like who’s keeping score?

17: Who keeps getting threatened by the other’s overprotective older sibling?

their relationship is secret so nobody. but if sayu knew, she’d hv a word or two for matsuda abt dating her wonderful brother who deserves the best boyfriend life has to offer.

18: Who’s the first one to admit they have feelings for the other?

hmm. this one is......tough. neither of them every say anything but matsuda almost does. it takes a while. it takes several times of matsuda getting up to put on his shoes and looking over his shoulder, asking if light’s sure he wants to be alone. its a lot of him “dropping by” when he knows misa isn’t home but light didn’t ask him to come over and just watching tv together. he’s like a frog in water slowly boiling until he realizes the water is too hot and he’s burning with some kinda something for light. so he works up a little courage and a little stupidity and one night, after sex, he rolls over and asks light what they are. light blinks and smiles. “we’re friends,” he says and matsuda’s heart is a brick sinking into his stomach. “oh,” he says. “okay.” he doesn’t bring it up again.

a week later, light calls one of their outings a date and the brick starts to lift.

19: How good would your OTP be at parenting?

Oh They’d B Such Shit.

20: Which one types with perfect grammar and which one types using numbers as letters?

is this.....are you trying to ask me who does 1337 speak? okay okay. u would b surprised but i think light uses a lot of text chat when he messages ppl he’s closer to. if its like a work message, its all business but if it’s like a booty call to matsuda its like “hey wyd?” matsuda texts in such.....text code....u would hv to hv one of those “what is ur teen saying” guides next to u to understand. light can’t keep up. the only time matsuda texts with perfect grammar is when he’s sexting and honestly? that is half of what drives light wild.

21: Who gets attacked by a bully and who protects them?

here’s the facts: light likes matsuda but if he saw him getting bullied or anything and protecting him meant bringing himself to literally any harm? he’d turn right around and go in a different direction. matsuda defends light constantly whenever someone says something abt him being kira. anyone got anything to say abt light yagami? matsuda is on ‘em at the drop of a hat.

22: Who makes the bad puns and who makes a pained smile every time the other makes a pun?

god matsuda makes so many puns. he’s out of control. every time he opens his mouth its light’s worst nightmare which is nice humor and fun. he’ll grit his teeth and smile but inside he’s in special dead hell which is for ppl hearing bad jokes. BUT there’s one time where light is doing something and doesn’t catch himself b4 just out loud making a pun and the grin on matsuda’s? could’ve lit up an entire stadium.

23: Who comes home from work to see that the other one bought a puppy?

if matsuda ever brought a puppy into light’s home, he’d b out on his ass in a minute. his dick game isn’t that strong.

24: Which one gives the other a piggyback ride when they’re tired?

matsuda is actually a little stronger than light, he’s like short-ish but built and frequently has to carry light home from clubs bc he can’t handle his alcohol. when he does carry him, light gets v handsy and matsuda has to like try and calm him down which is hard bc matsuda is drunk too? uhuhuh here’s something: one time when matsuda was carrying light home, light kept up this stream of conversation abt nothing and then started to make this weird, choked crying noise and matsuda was like whats wrong and light just kept saying “he’s dead” all gargled n shit. matsuda got him home and everything and light offered to hv sex with him but there was something so dead eyed abt him that matsuda was like “uhhhh i’ll just go home.” and light looked v small and matsuda knew he should probably stay, that light would b sick soon and probably vomit and he should definitely stay but he leaves anyway. he thinks abt that a lot after he shoots light. abt the way he lay there like a corpse, like he died six years ago and was haunting himself.

25: Which one competes in some sort of activity and which one does the overzealous cheering?

every once in a while light will do some intramural sports like soccer just to keep up his physique (he’s one of those ppl that like sports over like gym time) and matsuda always goes w misa under the pretense of their friendship. secretly tho he’s checking out light’s legs in shorts. light has v defined thighs.

26: Who takes a selfie when the other one falls asleep on their shoulder?

matsuda takes eight selfies every rare occasion light sleeps on him and uses the kitty ear filter on them. he only sends the snapchat to his mom, who is the only person that knows abt him and light, and keeps the photo saved on his phone. light nvr finds out abt them. matsuda’s mom snapchats him back a thumbs up.

27: Which one would give the other a makeover if they asked?

light would definitely give matsuda pointers and he actually does it, unsolicited, pretty often. if he could get a crack at matsuda’s waredrobe? god. the amount of macy’s casual wear he would shove in there. he hates matsuda’s day off clothes. worn jeans??? no thanks!!!

28: Which one owns a pet that the other is absolutely terrified of?

matsuda has a lizard named suds and light is not terrified of it, okay??? he just doesn’t like how it feels when it touches his skin and also how its eyes look and also he’s maybe a little scared of it so whatever

29: Which one holds the umbrella over both of them when it rains?

light insists on holding the umbrella bc he’s taller and likes the control but if he’s super busy and speedwalking he lets matsuda do it. also bc he likes flexing his ability to make ppl do things and it makes him feel royal to hv someone else hold his umbrella.

30: If your OTP went on vacation, where would they go and what would they do? Who would take the pictures?

well, they’d literally nvr go on vacation bc they r not in that kind of relationship BUT if they did, they’d probably just go out to the country to a bed n breakfast in the gayest fashion possible. light would use the time to read some books he bought but nvr got around to reading. matsuda attempts to write a science fiction story which he is too embarassed to show light. light hacks his computer when he’s asleep so he can read it and finds out that the love interest is just a thinly veiled version of himself so he shuts the computer and crawls in bed, blushing bc he’s flattered and bc there were a lot of alien sex scenes w his character.

matsuda takes several phone pics of light falling asleep in the car on the way to the bed n breakfast and is sorely tempted to save one as his phone background. he doesn’t but he does keep one of those pictures even after light dies. it reminds him that light was human. that somewhere there was a person in there, that he didn’t sleep with a monster.

#death note #y'all better like and reblog this bc i went and answered 30 damn questions #under a read more bc its long as hell #i got carried away on a couple questions.....#Anonymous

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sirjustice406-blog · 4 years

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Iran fighter jet in the link below

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anadventurousgirl · 6 years

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‘You’re going to run around Malta. On your own. Call that a holiday?!’

What is a holiday? A holiday is our time to relax; to do exactly what we want to do. For many it is sitting by a pool or on a beach, leaving only occasionally to stroll around some ancient ruins. For others it is sleeping until midday before rising to eat, drink and party the night away. I have tried both of these and at some point they suited me. Nowadays I like activity and adventure. So for my end of summer holiday I chose to run around Malta on my own.

I was warned about the heat and reminded of the perils of solo female travel. But I don’t respond well to caution. I had four nights on the island and a route plotted; let’s just see how it goes!

Day 1: Thur Sept 6th 2018 – Valletta to Bugibba

Getting there

My alarm calls me from blissful sleep at 3am. Brew Dog gazes at me from his bed, perplexed. He’s not an early riser.

A surprisingly fast passage through security is frustrated by the fact my clear plastic bag is the wrong size. Who knew?! The hideously patronising security lady calls me ‘my darling’ at the end of every sentence as she insists I jam my toiletries into a bag specially designed not to fit them all. In return I deliver world class eye rolls in her direction. I’m pretty sure she was unaffected by their intensity.

In years past I always traveled dressed to the nines, wearing my highest heels. Today I fly in full running gear with my 8kg backpack containing all I need for the next five days. Everywhere I run this pack will be on my back. It needs to be as light as possible.

Instead of having the 6am beer most people are having (time doesn’t count in an airport) I go in search of a bar which will fill my water bottle and pouch for me. Once I get to Valletta I will be running straight away, so I need to be well stocked.

I always imagine that when I fly I may end up beside a deeply interesting person. We will engage in conversation, swap life stories, leave the plane friends, stay in touch and meet again in a far flung place in ten years time. Bless my romantic mind. Instead I am beside a couple whose aroma is booze and fags. She stares desperately out of the window as he complains about:

Having a female pilot

The plane not having taken off yet

Daylight

Being awake (we’re all wishing he weren’t)

There not being a television (despite wanting to be asleep)

The fact his wife wants a drink (I’m not surprised she wants one!)

That he’s flying Jet2 and not EasyJet (what’s the difference?!)

Blissfully he falls asleep quickly (I suspect his wife slipped him something) and man-spreads himself across us for the rest of the flight.

Better get running!

The bus from the airport is cheap and straightforward, depositing me at the Triton Fountain, which just happens to be my start point. After a few pack adjustments I am good to go and off I run. Oooo, downhill, yay! Just around this corner…oh, a shipyard with a security fence. That doesn’t look good. Back up the hill then and my first route diversion. The best laid plans eh!

Back on track and it is every bit as hot as I had imagined and then some. For 6 miles I follow my route fairly easily before it is blocked again…by a shopping centre. They may not have wanted a sweaty runner passing through but I’m grateful for Debenham’s air con. Resisting their Blue Cross Sale I emerge from the underground carpark and continue.

The heat is starting to take its toll and I’m briefly revived by a lemon Fanta from a street stand. A rub has started on my back from the shorts I am wearing. Wearing a backpack creates a fun new opportunity for pain when running. Any seams on your clothing are gently ground into your skin and I had made a mistake with the shorts I was wearing today. Luckily me reserve shorts had less seams and therefore less pain. But there was no where to change now, so it was a case of out up and shut up.

I am an idiot

My way is blocked again. Signs tell me my path crosses a military zone. You can cross it but not if red flags are flying. In the distance I can see one building with a red flag fluttering. It seems odd to only have one flying and I consider crossing anyway. Then I think about how stupid I would look if I got shot or blown up. Sigh. I divert again and have to run along a busy road. The views are lovely but the close proximity to cars is not. That evening, as I tuck into beer and pizza, I spot the Maltese flag flying from a nearby building and do a huge mental face palm. That was what I had seen in the distance, not a warning flag.

Cooling off in the sea at last

Other than my stupidity the only thing slowing me down is the heat. I stop for juice and water but this causes me stomach cramps. After 12.5 miles I spot a small bay with just one couple swimming. It’s time for a dip in the crystal waters. There is nowhere to change so I just swim in my shorts and sports bra. It feels perfect.

It is just a couple more miles to my Air BnB accommodation in Qawra, near Bugibba bay. Having showered I head out for the evening. Feeling strangely un-hungry but thirsty for beer. My host for the evening has told me where to go to enjoy the sunset and I do so before the beer awakens my hunger and I inhale a pizza.

The day has been eventful but little do I know how easy it will feel looking back. As I walk back in the darkness I decide to rise early and be on the road by 7am to try to beat the heat.

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Day 2: Fri Sept 7th 2018 – Bugibba to Bahrija, Rabat

Let’s go

Despite the sweltering heat and lack of air con I slept well. Rising at 6am, breakfast is a cup of tea and slice of flapjack. I leave the apartment by 7am, into the dawning day. Malta is already hot but bearable. For the first hour I happily jog along. Attempts to run in the shade are thwarted by others trying to walk there also – selfish. By 9am the heat is oppressive once more.

As I track the undulating coastline I lose my path once again. I regain it by dropping down barely used paths through allotment type areas. I look at my bare, scratched ankles and wonder idly about snakes. Losing my path had meant losing time and I am feeling low on fuel. Wherever I can I stop to take on sugary drinks but the heat stops me from wanting to eat a thing.

I am walking all of the uphills but more and more I am walking other sections too. The path is rocky and I have a slight propensity for falling over when running. Despite the fact I am getting better at falling without injuring myself I still prefer not to do it. With the backpack on my feet are not light on the ground. If I do go down the extra weight of the pack will take me down hard.

At the times I drop down to meet the sea I stop and pour water over my head. At some point I remove my trainers and let my feet soak in the salty water. My toes are getting pretty battered and sore. It’s trainer change time. After my experiences in Iceland I have chosen to bring a second pair of trainers. Pair two are lighter and more comfortable but have less grip; something which will make for some nervous moments later on!

Finally the fall comes, not on rocky ground but a concrete step. Only my pride is bruised my my GPS takes a slam as I hit the ground. This may explain why it keeps freezing during the rest of the trip.

The heat has me feeling lightheaded now. I force down a tiny bit of homemade energy food (plumpy nut!). It is a reminder once again of how far the human body can go on a small amount of energy…and a lot of stubborness.

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My holiday, my choices

It has been a while since I saw a town or village and my water is running out. Sitting under a low tree for some small amount of shade I make a deal with myself. I have covered 16 miles; if I want I can stop at 20. Once I have made this deal I am able to carry on. At the end of the day, this is my holiday. Being alone is not always great but at least I can make my own choices.

After another mile I come to a small beach area. I don’t know it at the time but I’m just above Popeye Village. A ramshackle fishing village built especially for one of my childhood favourite films. Now anyone who knows me knows I don’t sit still enough to watch films. The very fact that I watched Popeye many times (I even had the video!) means it’s a real tragedy that I didn’t know I was at this set!

I buy 2 litres of water and a coke from a stall holder and he gives me his chair to sit on in the shade. He can’t know how wonderful this felt.

Feeling much better for a drink and a rest I strike out again. As soon as I get going the punishing heat gets to me again. I am stopping every mile or two now but shade is hard to find with the sun so high in the sky. A dead lizard at the side of the road looks how I feel.

Coming to another beach area at 20 miles I push on. Suddenly there is a scarily steep climb on unstable ground. My trainers aren’t coping well but I make it up and wedge myself between two rocks for a rest in some shade.

As I prepare to move down the other side of the climb a Maltese man comes up to join me. We pass comment about the heat. He then asks if I’m alone and would I like to go swimming with him. I decline and explain I need to move on but am unerved to hear him close behind me as I move on.

Now it is perilously steep and slippery going down. At times I have to sit and slide down on my bum to get down safely. I want to get away from my companion but have to stay calm and not rush. Finally his footsteps subside and he turns back.

Spotting the next bay, Gnejna, I gratefully (not gracefully) make my way down. I have covered 22 miles on foot, it is another 4 miles to my accomodation. Enough. I have an ice cream, go for a swim and call a cab. This is a holiday after all!

Tonight I stay in a small country village, Bahrija. There are a few restaurants, all specialising in the local delicacies; rabbit and horse meat. As a vegetarian these don’t especially appeal so I stick to one of my freeze dried meals with snacks from a local shop. Strangely in four days of running I don’t see any rabbits or horses…perhaps they’ve eaten them all already?!

My fingers are hugely swollen in the heat and my toes look as if they have had a good fight amongst themselves; always prone to blisters, they are starting to bubble now. I empty a sachet of rehydration salts into my overnight water and set my alarm for 6am. As I fall asleep my legs twitch and jump over imaginary rocky paths.

Want to know how I get on with the second part of my run? I really hope so! So that you don’t miss out on my suffering pop your email address into the box below and you will be notified when Part 2 is published.

[jetpack_subscription_form title=”Never Miss An Adventure!”]

Call that a holiday?! Running around Malta – Part 1 'You're going to run around Malta. On your own. Call that a holiday?!' What is a holiday?

#adventure #challenge #malta #running #trail runing #travel

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gracewithducks · 6 years

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The Sea is Not Full (Ecclesiastes 1:1-14)

This week, I had the great joy of attending a friend’s wedding, and it’s gotten me thinking about the questions that we encourage couples to ask one another when they are just starting their married life together. Questions like – where should we live? and do we want to have children? and who will do the cooking? and are we on the same page in our faith? And the other important questions, too: will we drink Coke, or Pepsi? Will the toilet paper roll go over, or under? And, what are your beliefs when it comes to making the bed?

Okay, so maybe we don’t always have those conversations up front. But in my experience, so many times, while we’re on our guard when it comes to the “big” potential hazards – child rearing and division of labor and finances – we can overlook how important those little daily choices are, and how disagreement on the little things can build to a big thing, over time.

Take bed-making. When Mike and I were first married, we were both in that haze of shock and awe that we were actually “adulting,” and we took great pride and delight in putting together our first adult home, together. And in the early days, we were careful to make the bed each morning, if for no other reason than because making the bed each morning seemed like a sensible and responsible adult thing to do.

This lasted about a week.

And then my beloved, my groom, my sweet husband, looked at me and asked, “Why bother? I mean, nobody else sees our bedroom. And we’re just going to get back in it tonight. So what’s the point?”

And I found I couldn’t give him a compelling counter argument. All our lives, someone had been expecting us and reminding us and hounding us to make our beds… but now we were adults, in our own home, with our own rules – so we entered the non-bed-making years of our life together. The blankets would stay all day wherever we’d left them when we climbed out of bed, and unless one of our mothers was on her way over – or unless the covers had gotten so hopelessly twisted we had no other choice – we didn’t bother making the bed at all.

And I’m so very sorry if this act of rebellion against order and society tarnishes your opinion of me!

No, as rebellions go, it wasn’t that dramatic, really. And we muddled on and adulted just fine, even with our bed left in shambles every day… until one fateful day, when I read an article entitled: Make Your Bed, Change Your Life.[1]

I’ve often amazed by the power that little choices have to shape our lives in bigger ways. And what I found in this article is an author who makes just such an argument in favor of the daily chore of bedmaking. He writes, “I make the bed every morning… [because] I know it makes me feel better before heading off to work. And it definitely makes me feel better to come home to a neat and clean bed at the end of a long day… But I didn’t realize that the simple act of making the bed just might be the world’s easiest success habit. Not because it automatically brings [you] fortune and fame, but primarily because it starts a chain reaction of other productive habits.”

And there’s a book – The Power of Habit – which argues that “making your bed every morning is correlated with better productivity, a greater sense of well-being, and stronger skills at sticking with a budget.” The author calls bed-making a “keystone habit,” because it snowballs into a pattern of good choices. Starting your day by choosing to be responsible, by choosing to control one small bit of chaos that you have power over, can help you make better choices the whole day through.[2]

Gretchen Rubin, the author of The Happiness Project confirms that, in her happiness research, the “number one most impactful change” that people shared in their lives, that led them to feel happier, was making their bed.[3]

It turns out that taking just a few minutes to make your bed, rather than being a waste of time, can make you more productive, reduce your stress levels, and make you happier. So I said to Mike, “Look, there’s research that says that making your bed is one of the little things that you can do that makes a big impact on your life. I think maybe we should try it.”

To which he, very passionately and eloquently, replied, “No.”

To be fair, we did talk about it. And he found all the research very interesting; he just didn’t find it very compelling. “It’s a waste of time,” he maintained. “It’s a waste of energy. It doesn’t make any sense to me to worry about making my bed when I’m just going to mess it up again.”

For Mike, bedmaking is an ultimate exercise in futility. It’s meaningless busywork that, once started, will never be done. And it’s not at all the way he wants to start his day.

And although we never discussed bedmaking in our premarital counseling, we did discuss the importance of choosing our battles – which means that more often than not in the Desotell household, one side the master bed is made, and the other is not.

I can’t say that making the bed makes me happier. There are certainly some days, when I’m busy and exhausted and overwhelmed, when the whole thing stays a mess until we try to order it enough to crawl back in at night. But there are also days, when I’m busy and exhausted and overwhelmed, when it’s actually kind of reassuring to know that here, at least, is one place where I can bring order and calm into the chaos of my life. I can’t do a lot, but this is one small thing I can do. And it won’t last forever – soon, it will have to be done all over again. But I can handle that. Most of the time.

This is what so much of our lives is, isn’t it? Doing the small things we can do, using what power we do have to change what we can change, knowing that it probably won’t last and soon we’ll have to do it all over again. There are always more dishes to be washed, more garbage to take out, more laundry to fold, another meal to plan, another shopping list, another bill to pay. Cross one project off your list, and another quickly takes its place. Mike and I are even known to joke about the fact that there is always another sermon to write – and you guys even expect us to preach a new one every single week ((gasp)). The work of our lives is never really done. It just keeps going, on and on and on.

And sometimes, it starts to wear on you, to wear you down. Sometimes, the whole hamster wheel leaves us wondering, “Is this all that life’s about? Isn’t there something more? If this is it – then what’s the point?”

So far this summer, we’ve spent our time with the Book of Proverbs. And in Proverbs we find the voice of an insightful friend, who encourages us to make good choices, to work hard, to live with integrity, and if we do, we will live a good life.

But now we move to the book of Ecclesiastes, where we hear the voice of the Teacher, who finds that those answers aren’t enough anymore. What’s the point, he asks, of working hard? What’s the point of doing what’s right? There’s always more to do, more to do, more to do – and then we die. Is this really all there is? Is it all just one big exercise in futility? Why should we bother at all?

And so we start here in Ecclesiastes chapter 1, where the Teacher proclaims,

“Vanity of vanities… everything is in vain. What do people gain from all the toil at which they toil under the sun? A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains forever.” Nothing changes at all. “The sun rises and the sun goes down, and hurries back to the place where it rises [again]. The wind blows to the south, and goes around to the north; round and round goes the wind… All streams run to the sea, but the sea is not full… All things are wearisome, more than [any]one can express…What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is nothing new under the sun.”

Everything is meaningless; all that we do, the work of our lives, is as vain as trying to catch the wind.

I told a preacher friend of mine that we were starting Ecclesiastes this week, and she said, “Ugh, I don’t like Ecclesiastes at all.” And this is why: because in Ecclesiastes we find the voice of the weary; in Ecclesiastes we find a Teacher who despairs of answers, who laments that nothing ever changes; we find a Teacher who sounds very much like he has given up.

Over all, it’s not a very uplifting or inspiring little book. And yet I find it so very encouraging that this voice, too, is a part of scripture. This voice, too – the voice of weariness, the voice of resignation, the voice of frustration and despair –

this voice has been preserved and passed on through generations, remembered and revisited – and so we know that, when we are weary, when we are resigned to frustration and despair, when we feel like giving up, when we wonder what’s the point of it all – we are not alone. This, too, is a valid part of the journey of our faith.

And I’m not just talking here about chores or housework or even jobs and careers – but about the bigger picture. One of the things that I love so much about this congregation is that, as people of faith, we believe that our faith compels us to work to make the world a better place. We believe that following Jesus means living as he did: it means loving outcasts, and advocating for the powerless; it means crossing borders and inviting outsiders in; it means offering forgiveness when we’d rather be keeping score; it means pushing beyond our comfort zones, and thinking about more than today and more than just ourselves – and often, living faithfully means challenging the narrative that we’re being told by the voice of power, it means telling a new story, and living like we are already in that new story today.

And loving God and loving our neighbors is difficult and exhausting work. Literally, it is eternal work: it doesn’t end. It’s so very disheartening when the world is so slow to change. And no matter what happens, there is always another lesson to learn, always another prayer to pray, always another hurting neighbor in need of compassion, always another offense to forgive.

And we can find ourselves stretched so thin, as we try to simultaneously make sure the people around us are being cared for while also working to change the system that’s leaving them behind; as we advocate for racial harmony and gender equality and an end to sexual discrimination, and as we work for conservation and environmental justice, as we are simultaneously outraged by the treatment of refugees and immigrants and the neglect of our own veterans and public servants, and as we try to make sure everyone gets an education and a living wage and food to eat and a place to live and health care… and it’s a lot. And we can find ourselves wearing out and wearied, and so often, it feels like we’re shouting into a chasm, like our voices are too small to be heard, like we’re trying to empty the ocean with a teaspoon – and we take one step forwards and two steps back, and nothing ever changes at all.

Discrimination isn’t anything new. Fear isn’t anything new. Violence isn’t new. Lying isn’t new. Greed isn’t new. Division isn’t new. The abuse of power isn’t new.

As the Teacher says, there is nothing new under the sun. And it sure feels like nothing changes. Maybe nothing ever will. The rivers keep running to the sea, and the sea is never filled.

And if that’s where you find yourself: tired and frustrated, and overcome by the futility of it all – hear this: you are not alone. Even Jesus grew frustrated, when the people and the world around him were so very slow to change. And here we are, twenty centuries later, and we face the same evils; the same struggles go on and on.

When Jesus was overwhelmed by the needs that pressed in on him, when he was overcome by the problems all around him, he withdrew to pray – to rest, to take care of himself for a while, to find his own center and be renewed in God’s strength. And sometimes, that’s all we can do… but that’s okay, too.

And it’s okay to rage against the futility of it. And it’s okay to ask, “What’s the point?” That is a part of our journey, too – it’s right here in the bible, after all – and often, though it’s difficult, those seasons of struggle and frustration are also where we grow. When we look for the bigger picture, when we consider whether the way we’re spending our lives is worthy of our lives, then we start to get closer to what matters most.

And though perhaps the Teacher might think it’s meaningless vanity, I dare suggest there’s still power in being faithful with the little things – in doing what we can, changing what we can, giving what we can – even if some days all we can do is get out of bed in the morning… and if we’re lucky, we might even make it. Big things start with small steps, after all.

May you know that God is with you in your seasons of anger and frustration. May you know that God is faithful in every season of your life. May you be able to be honest with your struggles, and honest with your questions. And may God find us faithful even when it seems futile, because we still believe that nothing we entrust to God’s hands is ever lost – not even us.

God, you know how much we struggle, when we work so hard but so little seems to change. You know the frustration and the weariness that fill our lives. Be with us right where we are; be with us, as we ask big questions and struggle with difficult answers. And help us, in the meantime, to be faithful in what we can, in all the small ways we can, every day we can. In Christ’s name we pray; amen.

[1] I don’t know if this is the actual article that reignited the conversation, but it was something very similar. You can read this particular article, by Andrew Merle, at https://www.huffingtonpost.com/andrew-merle/benefits-of-making-your-bed_b_7980354.html

[2] As cited in Andrew Merle’s article, above.

[3] Again, cited in Merle’s article, but I highly recommend Rubin’s book itself.

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the-record-obituaries · 6 years

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Dec. 20, 2017: Columns

The first pizza I ever tasted...

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

One quiet morning a few weeks ago I had a visit from North Wilkesboro Mayor Robert "Landslide" Johnson. Robert and I go back a long way and our conversations usually don't go on too long until the "good old days" comes up.

Well, shortly after Robert arrived, I had another visitor drop by, longtime Wilkes educator, Ned Pierce. Ned stops by once and a while to look at all the treasures so neatly displayed here at the offices of The Record and Thursday Printing and, on occasion, brings in something to add to the collection, like the 40's era automobile license tag holder from Midway Pontiac. This day was another in which he had an item of interest he shared with Robert and me--two flyers from the old Starlite Drive-In Theatre which was located for many years just off Hwy 421 at the intersection of Hwy 115, and, like most drive-ins, showed second and third run movies at a bargain price. The property that housed the Starlite is now pretty much occupied by the Holly Mountain IGA Food Store.

Ned couldn't stay too long, but Robert and I both started telling stories about our visits to the Drive-In during its heyday of the 50's and 60's. One of the flyers was from 1967, and it was amazing how many movies (9 feature length films as well as cartoons and short subjects) they showed between Aug. 20 and Sept. 2, including double features on both the Friday-Saturdays covered by this trifold brochure. Most of the movies were 5-7 years old, including 1961's "The Great Imposter" with Tony Curtis and 1960's "Cry for Happy" with Glenn Ford and Donald O'Connor.

When we began to look over the second of the flyers, several years older from 1959, the conversation moved on. The manager was listed as Garland Morrison, and the cashier was his wife Virgie, as sweet an old couple as you could ever hope to meet. One line touted the Star-Lite as the largest screen in Western North Carolina, and we did notice that Starlite was spelled as Star-Lite in the older version, with a phone number 3637-M. And, yes, we did discuss the movies which were playing which weren't nearly as "old" accordingly, as those in the first flyer. Two were from 1957, "The Sad Sack" starring Jerry Lewis when he was in his heyday; and Lana Turner in 1957's, gasp, "Peyton Place."

But it was the panel that invited you to the Star-Lite Grill that really caught our attention. They operated quite a restaurant smack dab in the middle of the parking lot, with hamburgers, barbeque sandwiches and ham sandwiches for only 30 cents each, hot dogs for 20 cents, and popcorn and Cokes for only a dime. They went on to advertise a double-decker burger for 50 cents, fish sticks and chips for 40 cents, a 1/4 chicken dinner for 50 cents, and then the biggie--P-I-Z-Z-A Pie, with all the trimmings, 80 cents.

I am not sure who had the first pizzas in Wilkes County, but Robert and I both agreed that we had never seen or heard of a pizza until they began fixing them at the Star-Lite Drive-In. The Mayor did add that he thought Glenn's Tastee-Freez was selling pizzas not too long after the drive-in had them.

All in all, the random visit by our friend Ned Pierce ended up being the best part of the day for a couple of old, long-time Wilkes County residents, and we both thank him. Before our visit was over, Robert and I had talked about so many places to eat that I had to go for an early lunch.

And one more thing. I love a good marketing line AS MUCH AS ANYONE, and the 1959 flyer had a great one. As noted in the early part of this column, the Star-Lite Drive-In showed second and third run movies. Apparently, Garland Morrison had that mentioned to him one time too often, and the flyer stated in big bold letters, "ALL OF OUR PICTURES ARE NEW UNTIL YOU HAVE SEEN THEM!"

Well said, Mr. Morrison.

Christmas Cheer

By LAURA WELBORN

We are right around the corner to Christmas and as always we try hard to make it a perfect holiday, yet it can be the time of year that we are the hardest on ourselves.

This year I hope to be proactive and be intentional about this holiday season.

This year I will let others stand beside me, I will seek them out and make it a priority to reach out and be with others. There is light and darkness in all of us. The important thing is to focus on the light- how we provide light for others and how we let light in from others. There is always someone who has dealt with similar emotions and who wants to help you, the trick is opening yourself up to it.

"Life often leads us on journeys we would never go on if it were up to us. Have faith. Believe. Believe in yourself through hard times. Believe in your capacity to heal. Believe that the answers are out there waiting. Believe that life will surprise you again and again. Believe that the journey is the destination.

Every single day we have to accept the fact that things will never go back to how they used to be, and that this ending is really the beginning. Life is endless impermanence. It means nothing is really behind you. It means life always begins now and you can have the fresh start you want whenever you want. Be humble. Be teachable. The world is always bigger than your momentary view of the world." (Marc and Angel Hack life blog)

Remember to be thankful for all the things you do have. Let your enthusiasm rise from the darkness by seizing the present opportunity you have to be appreciative. Breathe it in. And

then do your best to take the next smallest step forward.

Be thankful for all your experiences (the good and the bad), look forward to the lessons learned along the way and be thankful for the unanswered prayers for they may have been that checkpoint in our lives. Make this Christmas fun and just enjoy the season- whatever it brings. Open yourself up to others and let your own light shine bright.

Recipe for Failure … A Divided Jerusalem

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

President Trump's recognition of Jerusalem as the capital of Israel skirted the question of the city's final boundaries under Israeli sovereignty, leaving them to be determined by final-status negotiations between Israel and the Palestinians. His stance is in line with the Oslo Accords, to which both parties agreed amid fanfare and a White House lawn ceremony.

But despite the Palestinians' signatory acceptance of Jerusalem's disputed status, their disregard for international law and diplomacy has consistently undermined peace efforts.

In addition to the terror group Hamas, which has sworn to destroy Israel, PA President Mahmoud Abbas's disdain for the rule of law is not surprising. Reacting to President Trump's statement, and no doubt stung by U.S. congressional support for the Taylor Force Act, Abbas declared all previous agreements null and void - perhaps forgetting they were already null and void due to Palestinian denial of Israel's right to exist, and insistence on preposterous pre-conditions to "peace" talks. Is it any wonder that the official, PA fantasy maps, which plasters "Palestine" over the map of Israel, are routinely distributed to their media, educators, schoolchildren and terrorists? Militant Islam is the real replacement theology.

Abbas, who routinely distorts and denies Jewish history in Jerusalem to get his way, and has turned down offers for a two-state solution three times, learned well from his former mentor, Yasser Arafat.

Shortly after Arafat signed the Oslo Accords, he placated the Muslim world by proclaiming the Oslo agreement was merely "the first step on the road to Jerusalem and jihad," author Hirsch Goodman said; Arafat then compared the Oslo Accords to Mohammed's 628 A.D. peace treaty with Koresh-once Mohammed gained enough power, he "slaughtered the Koresh tribe to the last person and conquered Mecca."

Wise King Solomon warned in Proverbs: "When you sit down to eat with a ruler, consider carefully what is before you and put a knife to your throat if you are a man given to appetite." Israel and America are considering carefully what is before them, and they are on the same page: it's counterproductive to sit down with Palestinian "rulers" who desire neither peace nor two states, but who literally want to put a knife to Israel's throat, while touting their own "right" to self-determination. Trump knows this, of course, as does the U.S. Congress, where the Taylor Force Act has strong bipartisan support.

Palestinian leaders' modus operandi indicates beyond the shadow of a doubt that handing over East Jerusalem to a terrorist entity who continuously prove they'll never keep their end of the bargain would be a tragic mistake with deadly consequences for both Israelis and any Palestinians who sincerely desire peace and a chance for a normal life.

If the Palestinian leaders really understood Israel-a vibrant democracy that supports the concept of self-determination and a state for its neighbors, it might dawn on them that bona fide negotiations would propel them at a faster pace to achieve their proclaimed goal. Of course, that presupposes that they really want to live side by side with Israel in peace. If that's not true, then peace talks would be a sham anyway.

If Palestinians realized that real states require statesmanship, they would have had their state long ago. A statesman values negotiation; he perceives that successful diplomacy is not "my way or the highway" but rather, consensus. Bullying, saber rattling, rage, dire threats and violence-not Israel--are impeding the dream for peace which the Palestinian leaders claim to be seeking.

A Revolutionary Christmas

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

On a recent visit to historical Brattonsville in McConnells, S.C., I had the opportunity to learn about a Southern-style backcountry Christmas during the time of the American Revolution.

Historic Brattonsville is part of a group of Culture and Heritage Museums in York, S.C. Also, included in the group is the McCelvey Center, the Museum of York County and the Main Street Children’s Museum in Old Town Rock Hill.

William Bratton moved to York County in 1766. In the Revolutionary War, he was a patriot, and started with the rank of captain and rose to the rank of Colonel. After the War Col. Bratton would hold various public offices including S.C. House of Representatives and S.C. Senate

In 1776 Colonel William Bratton built a one-room log home that was added to over time to meet the needs of a growing family.

Celebrating Christmas during the 18th and 19th centuries could be thought of as right or wrong depending on which side you were on. This period was for sure met with much change and growth of identity.

It was not odd to hear the minister say, wait a minute this is not biblical, and church people should not partake.

Traditionally the end of the year had been a time of celebrating the harvest, so the addition of a big Christmas celebration was a challenge to the standard way of doing things.

While Martha, Col. Bratton’s wife was not big on the idea of Christmas she did like a good party and would invite guests for fellowship.

While some people were not pleased with the evolution of the blending in of new Christmas activities, it was not such a challenge for everyone.

The idea of a joyful celebration of life with good food and seasonal greenery with a bit of dancing would eventually start to take hold and by the 1870’s it had become an accepted part of general society.

Dr. John Simpson Bratton, one of many children of Col. William and Martha Bratton built the Homestead House between 1823-1826. The 12-room antebellum mansion which is among other historic buildings on the property, is certainly a focal point of the now 755-acres Historic Brattonsville site.

During my visit, I met many skilled costumed interpreters. One lady was making biscuits, and I ask; what is the secret to making a perfect biscuit? She said “A lot of love and do not overwork the dough, just don’t overwork it and it will be just fine.” I was glad to hear it; that’s one thing that has not changed over the past 200 years.

I also had a chance to visit with Father Christmas; he explained to me that his job was not easy at the time of the American Revolution. A lot of walking was involved. He did share a few secrets that made his travel a bit more tolerable. But I don’t think I am supposed to talk about that. It was also interesting that his primary color was green, not red.

As the sun went down, it was by candlelight; that I listened to live period music. I sat and enjoyed the sounds of the past and the smell of freshly made wax candles. It was as if for a moment I had traveled back in time, I felt the nip in the air, I could hear the people nearby enjoying the flames from a fire pit with crackling wood.

Yes, things have changed, but people still have the incredible capacity to come together and celebrate life with smiles, hugs, laughter and a solemn gratitude for the opportunity to do so.

Carl White is the executive producer and host of the award-winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In the Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its eighth year of syndication and can be seen in the Charlotte viewing market on WJZY Fox 46 Saturday’s at 12:00 noon. For more on the show, visit www.lifeinthecarolinas.com, You can email Carl White at [email protected]. Copyright 2016 Carl White

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