#he deserves a stress and wrinkle free morning <3

[intotheelliwoods]

-> -> "Have I always been this annoying?!"

Individual frames :)

#2 arms left #rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #rise leo #leonardo hamato #in a gif making kick apparently #animating in aggie.... #my beloved and beloathed #edit: oops I forgot his WRINKLES #you know what #he deserves a stress and wrinkle free morning <3

[bluejayblueskies]

to grieve and to mourn

for prompt 3 of jontim week: hold

cw for mentions of death (both animal and human), alcohol, and smoking

.

When Tim opens the door to Jon’s flat, the first thing he registers is the smell—acrid and sooty, stronger than usual, like Jon’s gone from one or two cigarettes a day to an entire pack.

 The second is the fact that it’s quiet.

 Tim kicks the door closed behind him, balancing the bag of takeaway in one hand and the bottle of bourbon in the other as he does so. He sets the takeaway and alcohol on the table, takes off his shoes, and makes his way to the bedroom.

Jon had mentioned to him once, more than a few drinks into a night out at the pubs, that he’s the type to mourn in private. Tim can’t remember how it came up—maybe something about Jon’s uni years, or something Sasha said—but Jon had spun off into a story of the time he’d caught a frog over the summer and had decided to keep it. He’d placed it in a little glass jar with holes poked in the lid and had slid it beneath his bed—apparently, he’d read about what frogs eat, and so he’d planned to go out the next day and get the necessary supplies.

 When he’d woken the next morning, the frog was dead. And it had taken his grandmother three days to convince him to leave his room for more than just meals.

 So Tim isn’t surprised when he walks into Jon’s bedroom to see Jon sat atop his bed, hair tied up into an approximation of a bun and an array of papers spread out before him in a kaleidoscope of white and black. Nor is he surprised to see the cigarette held between Jon’s fingers, burning faintly orange in the low light.

 Jon startles as Tim enters the room, nearly dropping his cigarette onto the papers. He mutters a curse, snubs the cigarette out in an ashtray next to the bed, and says, “Christ, Tim, a little warning next time would be nice.”

 “Sorry,” Tim says, leaning against the doorframe. “Went ahead and let myself in.” He holds up the key Jon had given him and wiggles it for effect. “Besides, if I’d have called, you wouldn’t’ have let me come.”

 “You don’t know that,” Jon mumbles.

 “Yeah,” Tim says. “I do. And I just… I just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”

 Jon’s laugh is dry and bitter. “Not great,” he says, gesturing to the papers in front of him with his now-free hand. “There are so many choices that I’m expected to make, like- like it even matters if her coffin is oak or mahogany, or if we have a wake or not.” He leans back against the headboard and pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s… it’s not like there’s any point to it, is there? What’s the sense in having a funeral when you haven’t got any family left to mourn you?”

 “You’re still here,” Tim says gently.

 Jon lets out a long, slow breath. “Well, I would much rather just get the entire ordeal over and done with.”

 Tim can see stress written across every line of Jon’s face, underlaid with a grief that hasn’t quite had time to settle yet. He wants to offer to help—to make arrangements for Jon, to get the entire thing squared away, to help Jon organize a proper service and go with him so he’s not alone. But he knows the offer would be rejected, no matter how he phrased it or how many times he asked. So instead, he says, “I know. And you will. For now, though, think you could take a break? I stopped by that Thai place on my way over, got that peanut curry you like. Also, bourbon, if you’re feeling up for it.”

 Jon glances down at the papers in front of him. He looks tired, and Tim’s heart breaks for it. Still, he waits until Jon says, hesitantly, “I… I suppose that might be… yes, I- I think a break might do me some good.”

 Tim brings the takeaway and the bourbon to the bedroom, despite Jon’s protests that I can walk to the kitchen, Tim, I don’t need to be coddled, and settles down on the bed in the empty space where the papers had been a moment before. He pushes the peanut curry into Jon’s hands wordlessly and pops the lid off his own squash curry.

 Tim’s never been the kind to mourn in public. There’s always been something so mortifying about showing the most vulnerable parts of yourself to people you barely know, and so Tim’s always kept it hidden until he has the space to breathe, to finally let go.

 He hadn’t cried for Danny until he’d gotten back to his flat. The icy numbness had slipped away as soon as he’d crossed the threshold and he’d broken, crumpling onto the floor in his entryway and letting out ugly, hiccupping sobs that echoed in his empty flat. His eyes had been stained red when he’d talked to the police an hour later, but his face remained neutral. Even when the officers they’d sent into the ruins of the Covent Garden Theatre came back with nothing more than empty hands and false apologies, he didn’t cry. How could he? Danny deserved his tears, not them. It doesn’t seem right, to mourn in the open, when death is such a private affair.

 But as he sits with Jon, their knees and shoulders pressed together gently as they sit and eat in a silence that could easily be oppressive but is anything but, he thinks that if he were with Jon, it wouldn’t be so bad. And given the way that Jon leans slightly into his touch, he thinks that Jon feels the same.

 Tim doesn’t bother with glasses, just takes a drink of bourbon from the bottle with a grimace before extending it toward Jon. Jon wrinkles his nose but, after a moment, he takes the bottle.

 They pass the bourbon back and forth, and Tim’s head has started to go a bit fuzzy when Jon finally says, quietly, “Thank you, Tim. For- for being here. I… I don’t usually…”

 Jon trails off, but Tim thinks he understands. He takes the bottle from Jon, gingerly sets it on the side table so as not to spill, and puts his hand on his knee, palm facing up. An invitation. After a moment, Jon reaches over tentatively and lays his hand on Tim’s, threading their fingers together. Tim squeezes Jon’s hand gently and says, “I’ll always be here, you know. Whenever you need me.”

 “I know,” Jon says softly, and after a moment, he squeezes Tim’s hand in return.

 They sit in silence for a few more minutes. Tim’s never liked silence—it’s always felt stifling, anticipatory, like a liminal space that only exists between one noise and the next. Even now, he still itches with the desire to fill it, held back only by the knowledge that that’s not what Jon needs from him right now and the fear that even if he were to say something, he doesn’t know if it would be the right thing.

 Then, in a voice cracked and choked, Jon says, “I miss her.”

 Tim turns to look at Jon; his eyes are fixed on the bedspread in front of him, and it looks like he’s trying very hard to fight back tears. “We weren’t all that close anymore, really. I don’t think we ever were, if I’m being honest. But she was the only family I had left, and now she—”

 Jon cuts off with a small, hiccupping laugh. “And now she’s gone. It’s- it’s just me.” He lets out a long, shaky breath. “It’s just me.”

 I’m here, Tim wants to say. You’re not alone. I’m never going to leave you alone.

 Instead, he lets go of Jon’s hand, slips his arm around Jon’s shoulders, and pulls Jon tightly to him as something inside Jon breaks and he begins to cry.

 Jon’s face is still sticky with tears as he presses it into the crook of Tim’s neck, curling up against him as they lie in bed, the takeaway containers discarded onto the floor. Tim wraps his arms tighter around Jon, presses an impulsive kiss to the crown of Jon’s head, and lets the soft sounds of Jon’s breathing chase him into sleep.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #jontimweek #jontim #my fic #my writing #all cw material is below the cut! #in which i ignore canon timelines

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Flatbush & Atlantic: part iv

And here’s part iv! I’d love it if y’all would reblog, this is a work I’m really proud of and the more people it’s shared with the better! My inbox is always open, and I’d love to hear your thoughts, even if it’s just “AAAAAH.” Enjoy!

part i part ii part iii

part iv

December 12

Cass grimaced, looking over at the tab on her laptop that had the Islanders game open. They were down 3-1 late in the third, and it didn’t look like they were going to be able to pull it off. It was the last game of a ten day roadie, and they had lost all but one against the Red Wings right at the beginning. And the Wings were 10-21, so it wasn’t even a confidence booster. To make matters worse, Mat was on a points drought; he hadn’t gotten an assist, let alone scored, since the first game of the trip, a 4-1 loss to the Blue Jackets. They also were playing a few players down, an MCL sprain and the ever-vague “lower body injury” kept the team from being at full strength. 

As the game came to a close, she didn’t even know if Mat wanted to talk to her. His relentless dedication was one of her favorite things about him, but it also led him to take things way too personally and be way too hard on himself even when  — especially when  — the situation didn’t call for it. He was probably beating himself up as the boys headed back into the locker room, being short with his teammates and trainers and whatever poor sports reporter had been sent to ask “how they planned on snapping this unfortunate streak” in the post-game interviews. He’d never be deliberately mean or unkind to anyone, but just like anyone, her boyfriend got stressed and overwhelmed and didn’t always know how to deal with it. I saw the game, she texted him, I’m proud of you. Call me if you want. 

Dec. 15 (wed)

Mat had barely spoken to her since the return from the roadie, and it was starting to get on her nerves. Texts were responded with single words, if they were answered at all. They were supposed to have visited the Met yesterday , but that hadn’t happened either. He had cancelled, saying that “some team thing came up” and he wouldn’t be able to make it. Barely apologized. And what pissed Cass of more than almost anything was that she wanted to help, she wanted so badly for him to just talk to her, she wouldn’t judge him or make him feel like he was a shitty player or a shitty person, but she couldn’t do that if he wasn’t even picking up her damn calls. Who do you talk to when there’s almost nobody in the world who understands the position you’re in? 

Maybe that was just it. She’d go to the people who did understand. Paige had added her to the WAGs Whatsapp group the week prior, and from everything she had gathered so far, it was exactly the sort of place to go for advice. Cass pulled up the chat, torn between not wanting to seem like she was oversharing but not really sure what else she could do. Hey, guys, she started. Mat’s been taking the losing streak pretty personally (as I’m sure a lot of your guys are) and seems to be pulling away. Any advice? I don’t want to push him but I know it’ll get worse if he just keeps it all bottled inside. Clicking send, Cass sighed, leaning back in her desk chair and trying desperately to study for her Environmental Law final. 

At some point after midnight, she closed her books and laptop with frustration. The test wasn’t until next week, but she wasn’t going to get anywhere trying to study as distracted as she was. She grabbed her phone, heading to the bathroom to brush her teeth and check the group chat. No fewer than six of the women had written back, some of whom she hadn’t even met, with long, sympathetic paragraphs overflowing with advice. She read them all, touched by the time, effort, and care that everyone has put into making her feel just a little less anxious. But the overwhelming message was clear. Find balance, but don’t let him blow you off. Be a support system, but you’re not his therapist. And repeated again and again, Talk to him. 

She tapped out a message before she turned her bedside lamp off, hoping that with morning would finally come a proper response from Mat. Can we meet for coffee tomorrow morning? You know as well as I do that we need to talk. I’ll be at Donahue’s at 8. 

Read: 12:23 AM

Dec. 16 (thurs)

Her foot tapped nervously, hands clasped tightly around the cup in front of her and beanie pulled over her head, curls poking out from under. He had read the text, but Cass had no clue if Mat was actually going to show up or not. He hadn’t responded. It was ten past eight, and Cass was just about ready to give up and head to school early. She had just put her laptop back in her bag when she caught Mat out of the corner of her eye. He gave her a small smile, equal parts nervous and almost  — bothered? “Hey,” he said softly, unzipping his puffer coat and sliding into the chair opposite her. “You said you wanted to talk?”

Suddenly, the whole elaborate speech Cass had prepared, about letting her in and supporting him and communication, left her mind. “Yeah.”

“So, talk,” Mat said, with a slight edge to his voice. 

She looked down at her cup. “I get that you’re disappointed about the losing streak. I get it and I’m sorry that you’re not doing as well as you hoped —”

“I don’t think you do get it, Cassidy —”

She cut him off. “Let me finish, Mathew. I’m sorry that you’re not doing as well as you hoped, and I do get how shitty it is when you know you’re putting in the time and effort and practice and it doesn’t seem like anything’s working, but you’ve barely talked to be about any of it.”

“‘Cause I don’t want to,” Mat mumbled. 

Cass leaned back in her chair. “And I get that. I get if you don’t want to talk to me. But you’re not talking to anyone. You’re not talking to Tito, I asked him and he said you’ve been just as closed-off with the team. You’re not talking to any of the other guys. And I’d bet you’re not talking to your parents or your sister either.”

No one gets it!” Mat said in frustration, a little louder than was necessary. “I go through so much shit and have so much pressure on me and…” He trailed off for a minute. “I don’t want to disappoint the team, I don’t want to disappoint the fans. I don’t want to disappoint my family. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Everyone had their ups and downs,” Cass started.

“And I get that,” Mat said, holding his head in his hands and looking down at her coffee cup. The same white-and-blue one he had gotten her two months earlier. “But it’s hard. It’s hard when I’m feeling like the fans aren’t getting what they deserve when they come to games, and like I’m not worth what they’re paying me right now. I know you want to, but you don’t get it.”

Cass looked away, turning her eyes to the street. The sidewalk was dusted in white, turning to slush every time someone walked past. It was the first snow of the year. “Then help me to.”

He breathed out, finally relaxing a little. “It’s not that easy.”

“I want to help you,” Cass said, leaning over the table and clasping his hands in hers. “But you can’t keep freezing me out like this, chou. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to me.”

Mat closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “I just don’t want this to become your thing too. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. I know right now kind of sucks for me but that’s just how it is sometimes, you know? It’s just how it is and I have to get over it. I have to get over myself.”

“Mat, your well-being and mental health isn’t something you can just ‘get over.’ Or even something you should. I’m not a professional, and if you need one that’s something we can find,” Mat wrinkled his face, and Cass was pointedly reminded how often men’s mental health was ignored, “but I’m here for you to talk to. Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

He ran his thumb over her hand. “But you didn’t sign up for this.”

Cas shook her head. “Mathew Barzal. This is exactly what I signed up for. I’m pretty smart,” he cracked a smile, “and I knew what I was getting myself into. Dating someone with such an unconventional job and schedule can be stressful, and frustrating, and confusing for everyone involved. But I chose it, Mat. I chose you.”

Dec. 21 (mon)

For once, Cass wasn’t headed straight home after work, or headed to a game, or — God forbid — back to the library to study. Her last final had been that morning, and she was free for three blessed weeks until the New Year. Which meant that she didn’t have to worry about turning in another essay or memorizing another case, which meant that she was more than free to go to the team Christmas party with Mat later that night. He had somehow been coerced into hosting, and Cass had promised to get to his apartment early to help set up. He was mostly done by the time she got there, so “setting up” turned out to mean setting up the bar and putting out snacks, Cass mixing up an enormous pitcher of her favorite sangria, a signature standby from her sorority’s Wine Wednesdays. 

Mat had even put up a proper Christmas tree, and Cass smiled at the piney scent as she headed down the hallway, bag in hand. “Cool if I change in your room?” She shouted down the hall at Mat, who was currently engrossed in pouring a bowl full of chocolate-covered pretzels. “Yeah, go for it,” he called back. Cass didn’t have a lot of excuses to dress up, but liked taking advantage when the occasion called for it. Her dress was short, red satin with a slit on one side and silver embellishment on the other. She used his bathroom to touch up her makeup, swiping her burgundy lipstick on and double-checking her brows. Cass shoved her work clothes back into her backpack, tossing it onto the plush armchair in the corner of his room. 

She walked down the hallway, which was pretty much bare save for a few pictures of his friends from home and one with his family on the day he was drafted. She was kind of surprised that Mat owned a single picture frame. Cass sat on the couch in his living room, looking at the Christmas tree. There were one or two Islanders ornaments, a paper Santa that she assumed had been a kindergarten art project, a photo of his family around the fireplace that looked like it had been taken a year or two earlier. Mat wrapped his arms around her, hugging her from behind. “Whatcha looking at, babe?” 

She smiled. “Your ornaments. They’re really pretty.”

“Not  as pretty as you.”

The door rang, Mat kissing her quickly before walking across the room to open it. A group of the younger players piled in, mostly rookies and call-ups from Bridgeport. One of them had brought along a keg of beer, and Cass had to fight back a laugh while showing him to the kitchen and setting it on the counter. He was just out of college, she’d stake her life on it. By the time she’d secured the keg and started getting people set up with drinks, the living room had started to fill up. “What can I get you?” She asked Paige, who had left Tito with the boys by the tree and made her way over to Cass. 

“What are my chances of getting a Moscow mule?” Paige asked. “I don’t want to be a difficult guest, but,”

“Very good,” Cass said, turning around and grabbing the vodka and ginger ale. “We don’t have the proper mugs though, so don’t be complaining.” One shot of vodka. Half a can of ginger ale. Squeeze a lime. She had bartended for a little over a year when she first moved to New York, and it was still one of her favorite things to do for friends. Mixing herself a whiskey sour, Cass wandered back over to Mat and Tito. 

---

It was well past eleven and the party was nowhere near stopping. While everyone was conscious of the noise level — for the most part, she had seen a few of the guys being reminded to use their inside voices — the conversations were still going and the drinks were still flowing. Cass had passed the tipsy point somewhere around 10:30, though she was nowhere near as hammered as some of the team. Or their dates, for that matter. She was cuddled up against Mat on the couch, heels long having since been abandoned and nursing what she was pretty sure was a vodka sprite with way too much vodka and way too little sprite. Whatever, Cass thought ruefully as she tipped the last of it back. It gets the job done. 

Mat was a touchy drunk, Cass had learned, and one hand seemed to have taken up permanent residence at her waist while he sipped a beer with the other. “What do you think Christmas will be like for you?” Cass asked softly, tilting up her head to look at him. “Since you won’t be with your family.” Mat knew it was a possibility, but he was still pretty upset when he looked at the schedule and realized that his family wasn’t going to be able to fly out to spend the holidays with him, and he didn’t have enough time to go back out to Vancouver. 

Her parents had extended the invitation for Mat to spend Christmas with them when she had been back up for Thanksgiving; he couldn’t make Christmas Day, but was able to carve out two days to visit. He smiled at her, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “You’re cute when you’re worried, y’know that?” Cass scrunched up her nose. “It’s not like I’m going to be alone. I’m doing Christmas with Beau, since Paige’ll be out of town too, and some of the guys usually plan a nice dinner thing for anyone who’s not with family.”

“That sounds nice,” Cass noted, still feeling a pang of guilt. 

“Hey,” Mat said, noticing her distraction. He sat up, turning her face to look towards him. “I’ll be fine. I’m a grown-ass man.” 

Cass cocked an eyebrow. “Sure about that?”

Mat giggled. “Okay, okay, fine. Point taken. But yeah, it would be nice to have my family, but I kind of do, y’know?” He said, nodding around to the guys. Cass could have sworn that in that moment, her heart melted. “And I want you to spend time with yours. I’d be kind of a shitty boyfriend if I didn’t want you to.” Mat leaned in, and his lips brushed against hers so that they were almost touching but not quite, hesitantly. Cass pressed against him, her fingers finding purchase in the baby hairs at the nape of his neck. She loved that he was letting his hair grow out. He tasted like whiskey and tequila and some cheap beer that she was pretty sure was Natty Light, but she couldn’t have cared less, just like she ignored the not-so-subtle wolf-whistles from the teammates. 

Everyone started clearing out around midnight, a few staying to help stuff cans and bottles into trash bags that were left unceremoniously in the kitchen to be dealt with the next morning. Cass yawned, rubbing her eyes. She had sobered up some, but was still well past the legal limit. “Whatcha doing?” Mat asked, seeing her about to order an Uber.

“Calling a ride?” Cass questioned.

“Why don’t you just stay?” Mat asked haltingly. “If you want.” Cass had obviously been over to his place before, multiple times, but hadn’t stayed the night yet. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, because she did, but it was something that was a big step for her. That meant a lot to her. But it was late, and she was sleepy, and Mat did make a really good pillow. “Okay,” she conceded. 

Mat smiled, taking her hand and leading her back to his bedroom. He rummaged through his dresser, grabbing an old Thunderbirds t-shirt and athletic shorts and handing them to her as she walked into his ensuite. “I don’t have stuff to get your makeup off, but there is soap?” He offered. 

Cass laughed. “I brought some wipes, but thank you. That’s really sweet.” She changed and took her makeup off, finding a spare toothbrush in one of the drawers and brushing her teeth. She popped out after a few minutes. Mat was already changed, dressed in pyjama pants and a comfy-looking heathered grey top. “The red toothbrush is mine now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded, cracking a smile. A few minutes later, she had claimed the left side of the bed and he had come back from the bathroom. They were lazily kissing, Mat’s hand just barely brushing the skin on her waist from where the shirt had ridden up. Cass was still tipsy and she knew Mat wouldn’t try anything, not like this, but God, it was nice just to feel close to him. After a few minutes he pulled back, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear that had fallen out of the loose messy bun she had thrown together. “What’s running through your head, babe?” He murmured. 

Cass looked down, biting her lip. She was usually good with emotions, good with communication, but something about Mat made her heart skip a beat and brain go into overdrive all at once, and somehow she was convinced that it was the best feeling in the world. “I’m just really happy right now,” she breathed. “It’s Christmas, with our friends, and you...It’s everything I could want.” 

Mat gave the softest smile. “You, with me, right now? That’s all I could want, Cass.”

Dec 22. (wed)

Cass zipped her suitcase shut, double-checking that she had everything she’d need for her two weeks in Connecticut. It wasn’t a big deal if she forgot something, there was probably some stuff left in her old dresser, and her little sister Eliana was about the same size. Mat had just texted that he was almost there. Cass grabbed her backpack and suitcase, stopping for a moment to pop out the final few chocolates on the Advent calendar her mom had sent down. She closed her bedroom door, wishing a harried goodbye to Ryanne and Stella, and ambled down the stairs as fast as her bags would allow her. She didn’t want Mat to have to double-park and risk getting a ticket. 

True to his word, Mat was just pulling up when she came out of the building, waving one hand and double-checking the street was clear before flipping his hazards on and hopping out to help her put her bags in the trunk. Kissing him on the cheek in thanks, Cass slid into the passenger’s side, giving Mat a very pointed look when she saw that the first song on his playlist was Justin Bieber. “Don’t make fun of me,” he mumbled, blushing. 

“Who said I’m making fun of you?” Cass said lightly, trying and failing to hide her smile. 

They had decided that Mat would make the drive, since he was only staying two nights they had figured it would make more sense. The directions had been plugged into the Bluetooth system, and they had just made it out of the city when Mat looked over at the passenger’s seat, furrowing his brow when he saw Cass’s expression. Something was bothering her. “What’s up, babe?”

She bit her lip. “Nothing.”

“C’mon, we both decided we weren’t going to do this anymore. You don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to, but I think you want to talk.”

Cass looked down at her lap. “I got a letter from the company that’s handling my student loans.”

“I thought you didn’t have any debt?” Mat asked quizzically.

She let out a single, humorless laugh. “That was for undergrad, and that was only because I was really, really lucky. I got some money from the school and I worked some, but that only covered about half of my costs? A little less?” 

“Which leaves you with how much?”

“A hundred and ten thousand dollars, give or take. They were sending me the payment schedule, I have to start paying it back late next year.” 

Mat breathed out. He knew that Cass didn’t come from money, but being from Canada and not having gone to college himself, he wasn’t really aware of just how debilitating student debt could get. “Do your parents know?” He asked gently.

Cass picked at a loose thread on her scarf. “Yeah. They helped as much as they could, but there’s three of us and they’re not made of money. “I, uh,” she paused briefly, “I told you I went to private school, yeah?” Mat nodded. “Catholic school doesn’t come cheap, so I was actually on work-study at my high school, which helped a lot. But I hated it.”

“Your school?” He questioned. 

She shook her head. “No, I loved my school. It was great. I just hated feeling like a charity case. My school’s in a pretty well-off neighborhood, so most of the families there had money, and some were like proper ‘old money’ New Englanders. I had some great friends and nobody ever really outwardly was an ass about it if they knew, but still…” She trailed off.

“You felt like you never quite fit in.” Mat finished.

She nodded. “It was hard and it sucked sometimes, but that’s just how it is, I guess,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. 

Two hours later, Mat pulled into Manchester, following Cass’s directions down the winding roads and corners of her hometown. “Do you think they’ll like me?” He asked nervously, eyes flitting between Cass and the road in front of him. 

Her brow furrowed. “Who? My family?” Mat nodded. “My family’s going to love you. You’re kind and you treat me with respect. That’s all they’ve ever wanted for me. And my brother already worships the ground you walk on, practically,” she added with a smile. 

“He’s a junior, yeah?” 

“Mhm,” she responded. Cass’s younger brother Noah was a junior in high school, and one of the best players on his club hockey team. Hockey didn’t run cheap and he had been lifeguarding the past few summers to pay for it, but it was all starting to pay off and he was having some interest shown by college scouts. 

Mat pulled up beside the curb in front of her house, killing the engine and shoving the keys back into his pocket. Cass popped the trunk and took her backpack, while Mat got his duffel and her suitcase. She reached for his hand as they walked up the driveway, giving it a reassuring squeeze as she rang the doorbell. 

“Cass!” Eliana squealed, hugging as much of her sister as she could manage around the bags. “Put your bags by the door, Dad’s grilling out back and I think Mom’s making your bed.” Mat had had an afternoon game and the two had left not long after, so it was dinnertime and Cass was ravenous. “Grilling in December?” She questioned. 

Eliana shrugged, closing the door behind them. “You know Patrick, you go be the one to tell the man he can’t make burgers in the winter.” She turned to Mat, also greeting him with a hug. “You must be Mat, Cass talks about you a lot.” 

Cass swatted her. “El!”

Mat chuckled. “Yeah. Mat Barzal, nice to meet you. Good things, I hope?”

“Only the best,” Eliana said, leading them through to the back porch, where her dad was grilling on the patio while Noah was doing sprints up and down the lawn. He almost fell when he spotted Cass and Mat, causing Mat to have to hide a laugh behind his hand. Her dad turned around, setting the spatula down when he saw them. Mat swallowed, sticking out his hand for a shake. “Mat Barzal, sir.”

“Call me Patrick. Good to meet you Mat, go get settled and we should have dinner ready in a few, okay?” Mat nodded. “Noah, pick your jaw up off the floor and go help them with their things, okay?” Noah ducked his head, brushing the dirt off his shorts before jogging over to where Mat and his sisters were on the porch. 

“Do I hear my Cassidy?” Cass could hear her mom inside, walking down the hallway with Noah and Mat before she ran into her by her old bedroom. “It’s me, Mom!” Cass said excitedly, hugging her mom. Mat initially went for another handshake, but she shooed it away, embracing him. “We’re huggers in this family,” she said by way of explanation, pulling away after a moment. “Ysabel Cabrera, so nice to finally meet you, Mat.” 

Mat smiled. “It’s great to finally meet you too.”

Ysabel pointed down the hall. “Noah’s got bunk beds, so you’ll be with him in there, it’s the last door on the left. Cass, I trust you still can find your room.”

“Yes, mamá,” Cass said, rolling her eyes. “See you in a few, chou.” He kissed her on the cheek, under the watchful eye of her mom, and followed Noah down the hall. 

---

Two hour later, Mat and Cass were cuddled together on the living room couch, his arm slung around her as they half-watched reruns of Parks & Rec. “D’you just want to do presents now?” He asked, looking down at her. “Because I know we’ve got plans tomorrow, and I don’t see how it really matters if we’re not going to be together Christmas Day.”

Cass looked up. “Uh, sure, if you want?” 

“Meet you back in a minute,” Mat said, hopping off of the couch and disappearing down the hall. Cass rolled her eyes, walking into her room, grabbing the envelope, and returning to the living room. Mat got up when she entered, proudly handing her a surprisingly well-wrapped present. 

“You look very pleased with your work,” Cass noted, laughing. 

“I watched a Youtube tutorial,” Mat admitted, “but did you know that there’s so much that goes into folding neat corners? It’s practically an art!”

“I’ll take you word for it,” Cass said, handing him his envelope. “Open yours first.”

Mat sat back down, running his thumb through the flap and pulling out a coupon. He looked at it quizzically for a minute. “Beer delivery?”

“Craft beer delivery,” Cass corrected pointedly. “Because I don’t want you to have to resort to Natty Light ever again. I saw your fridge, it’s actually the worst. You need taste, babe.” Mat snorted. “And they deliver to Canada, so you don’t have to worry about missing out on the offseason.” 

“I love it, pretty girl,” Mat said, kissing her. “Now open yours.” Cass carefully popped the corners open, unfolding the wrapping paper. My Beloved World - Sonia Sotomayor. “You said once that you really admire her, and I didn’t see it on your bookshelf, so I thought you’d like it.”

“I do, I love it. I love that you remembered even more,” Cass added. 

But Mat wasn’t done. “Open it,” he said expectantly.

Confused though she was, Cass opened the cover of the book. “It’s...signed? She said softly, reverently tracing her fingers over the inscription. 

“Yeah.” Mat went on, explaining, “I found it in this little bookstore in Brooklyn, and knew I had to get it for you. Knew what it would mean to you.”

“It’s incredible. You’re incredible. I can’t believe you’d do something like that for me.” 

Their foreheads touched. “Why wouldn’t I?” Mat whispered. “It’s for you.” 

And in that moment, there was nothing anyone could do to take away how happy that made her feel. How happy he made her feel. 

#hockey imagine #hockey writing #nhl imagine #mat barzal imagine #hockey smut #mat barzal #nhl smut #nhl writing #nhl imagines #nhl fluff #hockey imagines #hockey fluff #islanders imagines #islanders writing #new york islanders #islanders

[rosesforshego]

𝓘𝓯 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓜𝔂 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 7: ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢꜱ

August 28th, 2002 6:30 am.

The fabric of his cotton button-up folded around the curvature of his elbow that rested upon his desk. Pen in hand, he rearranged his day planner to accommodate a pop-up meeting that sprang upon him only five minutes prior. His frown deepened, increasing the intensity of the wrinkles that hung around the corners of his mouth, as the permanent ink scratched out the preparation of his dinner that he was going to start as soon as the shrill bell rang at 2:30 pm. His sigh, long and slow, audibly left his nose as his cheek sunk further into the palm of his hand. Looked like he would have to settle for something small, and easy to make, for his lonesome meal.

It’s for the best, he thought. After all, he had lesson plans to catch up on, and a report to write for his superiors, so he shouldn’t spend time preparing a formal dinner for the one person who sat at his kitchen table—himself.

Drew pushed the frame of his glasses until it settled between his eyes, straightening his vision before the lenses fell from his nose entirely. He was not particularly happy when he received the news of this “emergency” meeting yesterday afternoon, and he was nearly furious when he was instructed to conduct a “team-bonding” exercise for the science department ASAP. He would have to admit, it was a rocky start to the school year—the clique culture that controlled the faculty was as present as ever, despite administration’s attempts to stop its formation over the summer—but, was it his responsibility to wrangle these adults and lecture them on how to be adults? Treating others with respect and kindness was a lesson that was taught in Kindergarten. He thought by the time his colleagues were old enough to return the favor, they’d at least remember this important lesson. Alas, he had put too much of his faith in the faculty, yet again, and it was his job to clean up their mess.

Sometimes he wondered why he accepted this “department head” position. It seemed to be more trouble than it was worth.

Besides this babysitting gig, he was tasked with orchestrating this afternoon’s gathering like a poorly-trained conductor in front of a group of ill-prepared musicians—but that seemed to be the theme of every department meeting for Dr. Lipsky. He and his colleagues knew that little direction equated to little progress, but no matter how many times the science department had voiced their concerns over faculty and students, their meek solutions were lost in the ether, never to be discussed by their boss—the Principal—ever again.

His gaze remained transfixed upon the daily planner in front of him as the vague image of his colleague’s solemn faces flashed before him. After years of poor treatment, he wondered why they still worked at Middleton High.

They deserved better.

The door to the lab shuffled against the floor, displacing a thick layer of dust that accumulated upon the tile. Behind the frame stood the slender stature of Miss Goodwin, carrying two freshly-brewed cups of coffee. Startled by his unsuspecting presence, she nearly receded into the hallway, but instead of giving in to her insecurities and subsequent embarrassment, she confidently stepped into the dimly-lit room, illuminated by the dawn’s rays.

“G’ mornin’, Drew.”

“Good morning, Sheila.”

She closed the door behind her, pressing her sole against the slab, maintaining her balance as she slowly moved closer to him. Drew watched her, in awe, confused and intrigued by the way she carried herself on top of the thin heels of her shoes. He always found fascination in the ability to remain balanced upon such thin plastic and, while Sheila crossed the room with a bit of elegance in each step, he found himself with a lack of understanding for such a feat, yet maintained his sense of child-like wonder.

Sheila placed the coffee in front of him, dissuading his roaming eyes from staring at her grace. Not like she particularly minded, nor noticed. The cup rested within the perfect ring that was created by the coffee that sat on his desk the day before. She cocked her head at the sight, a little perplexed and amused that Drew didn’t wipe away the ring. She thought that such a small marking would have driven him insane.

Maybe she assumed wrong.

She smiled, her teeth peeking out from being her blackened lips in an endearing way that Drew could get used to. However, her sly ploy to distract him was not successful as his eyes landed upon the gloved hand that subtly retreated from the cup, carrying within her palm a crumpled, yellow piece of paper.

“What’s that?”

Her sweet smile faltered.

“What’s what?”

His brows lowered, along with the melody in his voice, “The paper in your hand.”

She grew anxious at the twang of accusation within his tone as her hand deposited the paper within the pocket of her blazer.

She lied through her grinning teeth, “Receipt.”

His gaze bore holes into her fake demeanor, which nearly made her forehead glisten with sweat. Bull, he thought. What kind of receipt was printed on yellow paper?

“Well,” his legs swayed, turning his chair from side-to-side, bringing his idle body with it as he chewed on his words. Curiosity may have killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back and that was the principle he lived by.

“Feel free to throw it away in my trash.”

He gestured to the bin beside his desk.

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” she deflected, nearly immediately, at his intriguing proposition. Drew sat up, his back pressed into the chair as he watched her free hand wave his words away. She had something to hid, he was sure of it. Just, what? He needed to know.

Quickly, without weighing the consequences, she continued to spin her web of lies as she attempted to add a sort of justification to her statement, “I need it for reimbursement purposes.”

Reimbursement? For what?

Enough beating around the bush; it was time for the direct approach, “What do you mean—"

“So, Doc,” she slid her leg onto his desk, closing the artificial gap between them with such abrupt energy that she nearly split her coffee onto her gloves.

Strange, he mused, eyeing the deep, burgundy that encased her hands. The morning was not chilly. Why did she choose to wear gloves?

The desk creaked beneath her frame, accommodating her weight as she shifted into a more comfortable position. Her words, abrasive against the calm that encapsulated the room, pulled him away from his curiosity, “How’s your morning?”

Truthfully, he was rather appalled that she had decided to make his desk her new seat, but he did nothing to stop her.

A sliver of raven hair fell from behind her ear and Drew resisted the urge to brush it back into place—not like the kind gesture would have eased her frazzled mind. After her successful break-in the previous morning, Sheila had not expected to find Drew slouched behind his desk. She hoped that her sly caper would be just as successful—if not more since she took his coffee suggestions to heart—but, as she felt the heat of her embarrassment rise to her flushed cheeks, there was nothing she could do. Though, she was a little upset that she would have to trash the note she wanted to leave for him. Not in his trash, though.

Maybe it was for the best.

Drew’s raging mind remained fixated on her hunched stature. The confidence that she had entered the room with dissipated behind the worry in her eyes. He may not have known her for long, but if he knew a thing or two about human behavior, he would have to guess that she was stressed—possibly due to whatever secrets she hung over his head. He hoped that Sheila, of all colleagues, could confide in him, but it was only Day 3 of their budding friendship. Maybe he was asking for too much too soon.

The corner of her mouth quivered nervously as her eyes searched his, waiting for his absent reply. Her words pierced the conversation in a way that was rather odd for the two of them, then hung in the space between them as Drew remained silent on the matter. She smiled, meekly, attempting to quell the quiver, but to no avail, as she hoped that he’d drop the subject and free her from her entanglement within the web she spun that would make even the most dignified of spiders proud.

So, drop it he did.

He leaned further into his chair—opening his crossed arms in a comfortable, calming gesture to ease her tension, but he maintained his watchful eye, unsure of where the conversation would lead, nor how his colleague would react.

Miss Sheila Goodwin was a book he’d have to pry open with his bare hands if he wanted to know her secrets. She wasn’t going to simply give them to him, despite his charms.

“Fine,” he replied. His chair squeaked under his weight.

“Just fine?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at his response. The quiver in her lip subsided.

“Drew, I’m surprised. You’re usually more elaborate than that.”

Usually? She’d only known the man for three days. Yet, she possessed the uncanny ability to analyze his behavioral patterns—his strange, wacky, slightly familiar with an aura of comfort patterns. It was something she’d like to explore.

“Well, I had a meeting with the department heads this morning,” he continued, obliging to her subtle request, “and I—”

“Wait,” she interrupted, her curiosity clutching her rational mind, “The department heads? Why did you need to meet with them?”

A short snort escaped Drew’s nose as he crossed his arms, closing the invite he had extended towards her, “I’m the head of the science department.”

Oh.

A pale pink broke through the green tint of her skin. Monday may have been her first day as a full-timer, but she had her substitute experience to fall back upon, and she was rather appalled at herself for not knowing this important bit of information. She knew who held the reins over the other departments, but not for science.

It was just her dumb luck that Drew Lipsky had to be the head of the science department—and she just had to showcase her ignorance in front of him.

How embarrassing.

“I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t worry,” Drew waved his hand, dismissing her apology, “You’re new. I’ll give you a pass on this one.”

Truthfully, he would’ve given her a pass anyway—on anything. She was nice to him, treated him with kindness and respect that he had craved for years. Why be pressed over a silly matter?

She subtly rolled her eyes, which prompted a cheeky smirk from her colleague.

“Thanks.”

With a gentle push, she gracefully leaped from the desk. Her heels pressed upon the hard floor with a satisfying clack that rang within Drew’s ears. He watched her brush the accumulated wrinkles from the cloth of her slacks and, without saying a word, departed from his workspace.

Drew lurched forward, stretching his hand towards her receding frame, but stopped his movement before he could grasp her arm.

Damnit. Leave it to Drew to screw up practically every good thing that graced his miserable, lonely life.

He retracted his hand and leaned back into his chair, watching her stiff stature fade into the greying light. James had always warned him that his sarcastic personality was a niche sense of humor. His mother had always told him that he shouldn’t utilize commentary in the form of jest. He always knew that his awkward, geeky, socially inept personality would drive others away, but he had hoped that this time things would be different. That they’d click. That she’d understand his sarcastic wit and appreciate the sense of humor that had tormented him throughout his formative years. It was never his intention to offend her and, if he did, he was deeply apologetic about it, but for Sheila to simply state her thanks, then saunter away without a word pierced his beating heart.

When he first found her, sprawled upon the mucky floor, prying gum away from its hold on the tile, a warmth grew within his chest. She and her infectious personality was a gateway to a plethora of opportunities to find friendship within another—someone outside of his little group of scientists who understood the hardships of teaching; someone who’d laugh with him, talk with him, support him through his successes and his failures. He desired for someone different, who could release him from the strong confines of his mundane routine. A colleague who could provide a sense of fulfillment in his dull life.

Was that too much to ask?

She zeroed in on the port that led to the vacant hall outside of his classroom, but she didn’t pass through it. Instead, she turned to the long lab table that sat beside the door and snatched a chair from underneath it.

Sheila dragged the padded, metal legs across the tile towards Drew’s desk, then haphazardly spun the chair and straddled the plastic seat. The back of the chair faced the scientist in an informal, comfortable manner as she rested her elbow on the metal—her balled fist held her chin while the other lazily draped over the chair. A slight grin crept upon her features as her stature invited Drew into the easy-going, laid-back atmosphere her informal stature created.

“So, what happened?” she asked, “Tell me more.”

Drew blinked away the uncertainty that pooled within his eyes. For a brief moment, Sheila recognized a subtle perplexed look etched into the crease between his eyebrows, but it quickly faded once he found the courage to compose himself.

“Well,” he brought a finger to his thin lips, tapping them as his eyes trailed to the brown stain on the white ceiling, “this year has been off to an. . . interesting start.”

She shifted in her seat—the uneven legs rattling against the tile, “You’re tellin’ me.”

His gaze met hers for a brief moment of understanding. Her smile softened the corners of her eyes, but her emerald irises displayed a similar sort of uncertainty, laced with sadness and frustration, that reflected within Drew’s.

The job never got easier and he didn’t have the heart to tell her.

“Yeah,” a small chuckle escaped with his response and faded into the thick atmosphere, “you’re not the only one who had a rough first day if that’s any consolation.”

“Somewhat,” she admitted. It was nice to know that she wasn’t the only person left to suffer in the harsh elements that came with the high school, but the curve of Drew’s frowning lips indicated that there was an issue that ran deeper than new teacher initiation day.

Drew broke eye contract with Sheila, his gaze wandering to the posters the clung to his classroom walls. His lips formed a thin line to counteract the growing frown from settling into the creases that formed deep folds around his face. He was positive that she’d hear about the events that were recounted in the early morning meeting, but, after the horrifying experience she called her first day, he fought against the urge to gossip, despite the intense curiosity that laid within her, begging for him to keep her in the loop that she was shoved out of.

Sheila placed a gentle hand on his outstretched forearm. The simple gesture immediately forced his eyes to find hers, but they still held a vacant expression as his mind remained lost within his thoughts. Bothered by his distant stature, and his stand-offish gaze that passed through her, she leaned closer to his stiff body that swayed, slightly, in the chair.

“Everything alright?”

“Huh?” he shook his head, her voice yanked him from the confines of his head.

The look of concern that lined her clenched jaw startled him, yet sent shockwaves of a calming sensation that eased his mind. It was an open invitation for him to confide in her.

It was everything he could’ve wanted.

“Oh, yeah,” he regained his composure, removing his arm from Sheila’s touch, “the meeting went well. I’m just not looking forward to hosting one later this afternoon.”

“With the science department?”

“Yeah,” he eyed her as a soft gleam reflected in the beautiful blue that captured Sheila’s attention, “I was hoping to go home early. Maybe take a nap. . .”

“You’re already that tired?” she asked, raising an eyebrow as a hint of a mischievous, playful spirit rose within her banter.

“I only wake up this early if I have to,” he retorted.

Lately, it seemed as if he could never get enough rest. Waking up before the sun didn’t help.

“Not an early riser, I see,” she remarked, crossing her arms upon the back of her chair.

“I thought you knew,” he said, gesturing to the coffee that sat, untouched, on his desk. Its warm steam continued to seep through the cover, dissipating into the morning air. It invited Drew to take a sip—to wake his drowsy, clouded mind—but he remained immobile, too attentive to the conversation, and Sheila’s cheeky responses, to move.

“I made a guess,” she admitted, “It was nearly a fifty-fifty shot since I knew next-to-nothing about you.”

“You knew I liked coffee, didn’t you?”

She laughed—its melody allowed the light from the new, morning sun to enter his welcoming gaze, “No.”

“Lucky guess?”

“You could say that,” Sheila remarked as she stood from her chair, snatching her coffee that sat beside Drew’s upon her departure, “Hopefully I made it right this time.”

“Not like you made it wrong last time,” Drew mumbled, leaning forward to grab his cup.

The liquid behind the Styrofoam warmed his cold hand. He hadn’t meant for Sheila to hear, but in close quarters, it was difficult to mumble anything without her sensitive ears grasping onto every word. She was quick and keen—blessed with a youthful spirit; a witty personality that he’d have to learn how to keep up with if he wanted to maintain the friendship that bloomed between them.

“Yeah, well,” she pushed the chair back towards the lab table, its legs scraping against the floor as it nestled into the nook beneath the chemically-stained surface, “I tried to follow your instructions, but you didn’t give me any.”

Drew brought the coffee to his lips. The bitterness that coated his tongue the day before was replaced with a rich, creamy taste that brought chills to his ample skin. He hummed into his cup, delighted by the taste, indulging for a moment in the delicious caffeine that would, without a doubt, aid him through the long day ahead.

“It’s perfect,” he remarked, reluctantly pulling the cup away as his gaze trailed towards his colleague who was making her way out the door.

“Hey,” he sat up in his chair as she turned her head in his direction, “where’d you get this?”

She smiled, her irises beaming in the sunlight, “I made it just for you.”

With that, she left—the click of her heels echoing in the empty hallway.

The corner of his lip curved into a smile but immediately faltered as he set down his coffee.

If she made it, then what was the paper for?

Alarmed, he abruptly rose from his seat and followed the draft that flowed out the door in her wake, all the way calling her name, asking questions that demanded answers, as child-like laughter beckoned Drew to Classroom 121. 

#dr drakken #drakken #drew lipsky #shego #miss go #sheila goodwin #drakgo #kim possible #kp fanfiction #drakgo fanfiction #if you could read my mind love #iycrmml #iycrmml update

[thomasbadger76]

Vampire Facelift.

2 Cartridge 11 Line 3d Hifu Non Surgical Face Lift Body Lift Maker Uk

Content

Gummy Smile Therapy With Botox

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Posted: Fri, 15 Jan 2021 07:15:00 GMT [source]

For more information, we offer a privateinitial consultationwith Dr John Tanqueray at our Northamptonshire facility. At Mulberry Home Facility & Laser Centre, our customers tend to be a little older and also replying to the initial signs of ageing with the look of soft lines as well as early creases. Nonetheless, every person is various and also instead of providing a precise standard, we would recommend calling our team to talk through your worries. At product tour & Laser Centre, we only provide BOTOX ® as well as Bocouture branded wrinkle relaxing shots. Some providers use alternative brands and these may also go to a cheaper price. However, our company believe that some things are unworthy compromising on.

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[athenagc94]

Gust and Piper - Beginnings Pt. 5

Whew!  So here’s another part.  I’m returning to the office at my job come Monday, so I won’t be able to post as freely as I did when I was working from home, so I wanted to get as much content as I could out in the open!  Please enjoy.

You can read the first the other parts here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

I’m also posting the story here on AO3!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gust shrugged off his suit coat and threw it unceremoniously over his shoulders.  His body ached and he could feel the itch of sunburn beginning across the bridge of his nose.  It had been a long day down at the harbor.  Normally, he never worked on site.  He preferred his life living behind the scenes, away from clients and the more hands on experience of construction.  That was Albert’s scene, they were behind schedule on the harbor project and Albert had come to the decision it was all hands on deck in order to make up for lost time.  As co-owner of the business, that included Gust.

The Harbor Project was big for A&G, but he was beginning to wonder if they’d bitten off more than they could chew.  Gust learned pretty early in the day that he wasn’t built to handle the stress of manual labor.  His limbs felt like jello.  If he was able to get out of bed in the morning, he’d be surprised.  In short, he was stressed.  He needed a drink.

Instead of heading home, he found himself turning towards the Round Table.  Music and laughter could be heard on the other side of the door.  The usual ruckus of a Friday night.  He paused just outside the door.  He needed a drink, but was he willing to sacrifice his peace of mind?  Yes.  He swallowed his pride and pushed through the doors.

He kept his head down as he approached the bar.  One drink, then he’d head straight home.  That was the plan.  He just had to stick to it.  He waved Django over.  The mixologist took one look at him and his disheveled appearance, and got straight to work fixing his usual, apricot juice with two shots of vodka.  Gust licked his lips.  Moisture clung to the surface of the glass as Django slid the glass into his hands.  He downed half the drink in one go, relishing in the refreshing tang of the apricot.

“Rough day buddy?”

Gust almost choked on his drink.  Piper was sitting in the stool next to him, but she looked different.  The Piper he knew was covered in grease and dirt with her hair thrown in a haphazard top knot.  Her hair was down around her shoulders in loose waves.  She even wore a little make up.  Her trademark coveralls were nowhere to be seen this evening.  She’d opted for a delicate silk button up the color of spring leaves and fitted jeans.  His eyes fell to the brooch on her collar.  The brooch he’d given her.  It was her statement piece this evening and it worked.  Light, did it work.

“Piper?” He struggled to swallow.  His throat felt like sandpaper.

She glanced down at her outfit, then back at him.  “Did you seriously not recognize me?”  She looked offended, which was fair, even if that wasn’t his intention.

“It’s not that,” he said defensively, “I’m just surprised, you aren’t in your usual get up.” He took another sip of his drink, but it did nothing for his dry throat.  The brooch paired with the blouse really brought the blue out in her eyes.  “You look so put together.”  He made a face.  That was tactless, even for him.

Piper rolled her eyes and settled back in her seat.  Gust had to stop himself from lingering on the curve of her hips.  Those coveralls hid a lot.  “I now see why Albert handles the client relations.  You suck at complimenting people.”  

Yes.  Yes, he did.  “I handle clients when the need arises,” he said firmly, “I helped you.  You got your workshop addition.  What more do you want from me?”

“Yes and you were just as prickly then as you are now.”  She chuckled and crossed her legs, which only accentuated the curve of his ass.  He tore his eyes away and stared pointedly at his glass, mentally berating himself.  No.   He wasn’t Albert.  He would not oogle, especially Piper, of all people. He had more class than that.  

“So what has you in such a foul mood besides well, ya know, everything.”  She knocked shoulders with him playfully.  “No offense, but you look like you were hit by a DeeDee Transport on your way over here.  You normally look so put together.”  She was using his words against him now, but Gust found himself smiling nonetheless.

“I spent my day transporting bricks and concrete for the Harbor project.”

Piper gasped.  “You,” she stifled a chuckle, “but those lily white hands of yours have never seen a hard day’s work in their life?  How’d you survive?”

Gust snorted into his drink.  Apricot juice dribbled down his chin and onto his rumpled shirt.  That seemed appropriate considering the circumstance. Piper looked so satisfied with herself.  Her shit eating grin was unreal.  “Well, I’m here aren’t I?” he wiped the juice away with the back of his hand.  “I survived.”

“Yeah,” she snorted, “barely.”

“What about you?  Why are you all dressed up?”

“I’ve got a date.”  

Gust swallowed thickly.  A date?  He racked his brain.  In all their recent conversations, she’d never mentioned an interest in anyone.  Not that she’d say anything anyway.  She spent most of her free time with the Civil Corps.  He’d seen her dancing with Remington at Albert’s party.  Maybe they were involved romantically.  He shook his head.  No.  That would have gotten around. The town wasn’t very large.  People talk.

“Yeah?”  His voice was hollow as he finished off the rest of his drink.

Piper hummed in response.  “Yeah, a long standing one.  Sam and I play games on Friday nights.  She likes to call it date night.  Not sure how Phyllis feels about that though.”  Gust immediately relaxed.  Sam.  Sam, who was in a happy relationship with Phyllis.  Sam, her best friend.  Of course, they’d spend their Friday nights together.  That's what friends did.

As if on cue, the doors to the Round Table swung open and Sam came barreling into the dining room.  She was followed by Remington and Arlo, who seemed less enthusiastic, but still pretty happy to be done with their day.  Gust grimaced.  He always left when the Civil Corps brats arrived.  He trained his eyes on the dregs at the bottom of his glass. Sam flung her arms around Piper’s neck which sent her back into him.  He gave no reaction, eyes still on his glass.  

A new wave of exhaustion rolled over him.  He wanted  to crawl into bed and sleep for the next 24 hours.  It was an attractive prospect.  Maybe he would.  Piper had all but forgotten him as she chatted idly with Sam.  He swirled the remnants of his drink and watched the chunks of apricot drift around.  One drink, then straight home.

“Hey.”  He looked up.  Sam was gone and Piper was standing.   “Do you want to play a game with us?”

“A game?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard they’re fun,” she said smugly, “you should try it sometime.  Fun, I mean.”  Gust massaged his temples tiredly.  People kept telling him that.  “Sorry, I think I deserve a few jabs at your expense every now and then.  But I’m serious you should join us, at least for one game.  I think you need to let off some steam.”

“What I need is some sleep.”

“You can do that too, after you play a game with us.” She glanced down at her watch.  “It won’t take that long.  I’m terrible.  I promise.  One game and you’re free to go, so what do you say?”

His mind was racing.  Piper wanted him to stick around.  He searched her eyes.  She had to be doing this out of pity.  He was sitting here and moping over an empty glass.  She just felt sorry for him.  That was the only reason she’d extend an invitation.  Her expression seemed genuine enough, maybe even a little nervous as she waited for his response.

“Fine.”  He stood up and began rolling up the sleeves of his button up.  “I’ll play one game.”

Piper tried and failed to hide the shock on her face.  She nibbled at her lower lip as they walked towards the game room at the back of the restaurant.  Gust’s own heart was racing.  He wasn’t lying when he said he was tired.  Even so, he’d accepted her invitation.  He never had an issue with turning down invitations before.  He couldn’t dwell on his poor life choices for too long before, they reached the game room.

Arlo and Remington had already claimed the coveted shooting game along the far wall.  Gust watched as Arlo shot each of the targets with a marksman’s precision.  He expected nothing less from the captain of the corps.  On the other side of the room, Sam was gathering darts from the board.  A wide smile broke out across the face as the pair entered the room.  He didn’t like the mischievous look she gave him.

“Are you joining us for a game, pretty boy?”

Gust wrinkled his nose at her.  He loathed that nickname, granted he loathed Sam in general.  She was loud, obnoxious, and the way she scarfed down food made him physically ill.  This was why he avoided interactions with her at all costs.  It was easy enough to do.  Gust didn’t gravitate in the same social circles as the Civil Corps, or any social circles really.  Yet, here he was, about to play a game with the very people he tried to avoid.

“I am.” His voice was tight.

“Well then,” her smile turned a little more sinister, “it looks like we’re playing darts this evening.”  She waved the barbs in her hand.  “Are you guys ready to get your asses handed to you?”

Gust scoffed.  Another reason he disliked Sam.  She had far too much pride. When she got competitive it was like looking in a mirror, one he wasn’t ready to look into yet.  Still, he combed his fingers through his hair and tied it back in a low ponytail.  “Are you ready to get yours handed to you?”

Sam’s eyes sparkled, and he was pretty sure the same spark was in his.  “That sounded like a challenge to me?”

Gust smirked.  “Perhaps it was.”

“Loser buys the next round.”

He could feel the electric air between them and the exhaustion in his bones seemed to melt away.  He hadn’t played darts in years, but he was fairly confident in his abilities.  He didn’t intend on folding so easily, not if he had the opportunity to beat Sam at her own game.  “I like apricot juice with vodka.”  

Sam’s expression hardened.  “Then you can buy it for yourself when I win.”

“You’re on.”

Sam was good.  Scary good, but Gust had anticipated this.  Her confidence in her abilities was warranted and if they weren’t in the middle of a competition he might have admitted it.  But they were, so he didn’t.  She’d managed to get full points her first go around, but Gust didn’t let that deter him.  He took a deep breath and rolled the dart between his fingers.

“Sometime today, pretty boy?”

Gust resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  She was one of those opponents.  He wouldn’t let her taunts get to him.  The dart board spun slowly in front of him.  He watched as it made one, two rotations, then threw the dart with a flick of his wrist.  It soared through the air with a certain finesse before planting itself firmly in the board. It only took one before the adrenaline was pumping through his veins.  One after the other, the barbs found their mark.  He smirked.  A perfect score.  He still had it.

“No way.”

“Wow Sam, I think you finally met your match.”

Gust glanced back at the girls with a smugly.  “Your turn.”  

Sam looked positively elated as she hurried over to him and clapped him hard on the back.  “Looks like I found a worthy opponent.  I was beginning to think I was the best.”  He winced and tried to mask his groan of pain with a cough.  Piper arched an eyebrow at him, unconvinced if the amused smile playing on her lips was anything to go by.  Gust huffed and settled against the slot machine, which only made her smile wider.  Damn it.

“I guess we’ll have to see who slips up first.”

↢↢↢↣↣↣

Ten rounds.  Ten rounds of perfect scores.  Gust wasn’t a mathematician by any means, but he felt like this shouldn’t have been possible.  He glanced down at his watch.  Even still, an hour had passed and neither of them had missed a shot.  Over the hour, they’d gained the attention of Remington and Arlo, who now sat with Piper at the prize counter, watching in awe.

“How are you this good,” Arlo asked, “I’ve never seen you in the game room before now.”

“They have dart boards in Atara,” Gust said as he tossed another dart.  It soared through the air, hitting its mark and Sam muffled a groan in the heel of her palm.  Gust smirked and yielded the board back to her.  “Whenever I hit a creative block, I’d throw darts.  It was a thoughtless task that helped clear my mind.”

“You could just say it was something fun to do?” Remington said.

“You’re allowed to have fun.” Piper added with a smile.

“I don’t know if you’ve realized this Pipes,” Sam said as she chucked a dart at the board, “but fun is for humans.”  Gust huffed.  He knew where this was going.  Sam gave him a shit eating grin before tossing another dart at the board.  “And I’m not entirely convinced that Gust is human.”  The boys laughed along with Sam, but he noted how Piper stayed relatively quiet from her perch on the counter.  This surprised Gust.  She loved making jabs at him.

“I’m not a machine,” Gust said once the laughter died down, “I know how to have fun.”  He crossed his arms across his chest and glared evenly at Sam.  “I just find joy in more intricate endeavors.”

“Yeah, okay, you can get off your high horse.  We know you think you’re better than us.”  Her words cut him like a knife.  Sure, he’d received petty jabs from a few people, but no one had called him out so casually before.  Gust frowned, but Sam had already turned her attention  back to the board to toss her last dart.  It landed right on target.  Another perfect score.  Sam groaned and kicked the ground.  “At this rate, I’ll never get a drink.”

“You could always buy your own drink?” Piper offered as she picked at the dirt under her nails.

“Then what’s the point of winning?”

“You could always give up,” Gust couldn’t hide the smug edge to his voice, “and admit you’ve finally met someone who’s better than you.”  He approached the board and gathered the darts as they entered the twelfth round of their game.

“Dream on,” Sam snapped, “I won’t give up that easily.”

Gust sighed.  He’d already stayed out later than he wanted to.  The initial adrenaline had worn off and now he could feel the exhaustion settling back in his bones.  He was ready to turn in, but he doubted Sam would let that happen without a definitive end to their competition.  She was unyielding, but Gust was willing to swallow his pride if it meant he could finally leave.

“Very well.”  He pushed up the sleeves of his button up and turned back to the board.  With the flick of his wrist, he let the dart soar across the room.  It embedded itself in the wall, barely missing its target.  He made sure to aim for one of the crosshairs, so the hole wasn’t too obvious.  “Oh clumsy me,” he deadpanned as he stepped away from the board, “There goes my streak, I guess you win.”

The group looked at him, entirely unconvinced.  Sam stepped forward and glared up at him.  She stood at least a head shorter, but the fierceness in her eyes made Gust sweat.  “That wasn’t a real win.  You lost on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Gust gave Sam a wide berth as he stepped around her and made his way back into the restaurant.  “I’ll go get those drinks.”  He slid into one of the seats beside him and out of the corner of his eye he saw someone slip into the one beside him.  He didn’t need to look to know who’d followed him.  He only spared Piper a glance before waving Django over.

“A melon mix,” his gaze flicked back to Piper, “and a red tea.”

“You don’t have to buy me a drink.”

“Loser buys a round,” he said tiredly as he slid some gols across the counter.  “I’m not having a drink, so you can have mine.”  He handed her the glass.  “It’s what you were drinking when I came in, right?”  She nodded and took the glass with a mystified expression.  

“Thanks.”  Gust only hummed as he took the other glass and made his way back towards the game room.  “That was pretty impressive.  Your dart skills, I mean.”  Piper took a tentative sip of her drink and hissed contentedly.  “I’ve never seen someone go head to head with Sam like that.  It was admirable.”

He shrugged.  “It wasn’t anything remarkable,” he said, “I still lost.”

Piper made a face at him.  “Did you though?”

His lips curved into a small smile.  “I did.”

Piper snickered into her drink.  “Of course, well better luck next time,” she said.  Gust wanted to tell her that there wouldn’t be a next time, but he wasn’t given the chance.  Sam was on him the moment he walked back into the game room.

“That wasn’t a real win and I won’t accept the outcome,” Sam said hotly, “you threw the game.  I want a rematch.”  Gust blinked down at her and she narrowed her eyes at him.  “Unless you’re scared?”  He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t unnerved by the primal glint in her eyes, but that had nothing to do with his ability to play darts, it was his survival instincts telling him it was time to go.

“I’m not scared and I won’t be playing again,” he said as he handed her the drink.  She didn’t even look at it as she passed it off to Arlo who was now hovering just over her shoulder.  He looked at it warily and he passed it off on Remington.  Gust was only mildly concerned that he looked ready to jump into action.  He didn’t really want to consider what this meant for him.  “I’m tired.  So, I’m going home.”

“Fine then,” Sam crossed her arms, “rematch next week.”

Gust cocked his head at her.  “I beg your pardon?”

“I want a rematch next week.  We always play on Friday nights.  Meet us here and I’ll kick your ass in a new game.  For real this time,” her glare was unwavering as she stared up at him, “I’ll drag you out of your home if I have to.”  He could tell that wasn’t an empty threat.

“I think what Sam is trying to say.” Piper stepped between them and gave Sam a pointed look.  “I think she’s trying to say that she’d like you to join us for another game night.  It was fun.” She turned her attention back to Gust and smiled.  “So please join us again next week.”

He should say no, right?  Though he loosely considered Piper a friend, he had no desire to forge a kinship with the members of the Civil Corps.  He glanced back at the dart board.  It continued to its slow crawl and he found himself mesmerized by it.  He did, however, miss playing darts and he almost enjoyed the company this evening, though he’d never admit it out loud.   “Ask me again on Friday.”  He blinked and Piper mirrored his expression.  He was just as surprised as they were by his response.  “We’ll see if I’m in the mood to deal with you incessant chatter, but I make no promises.”

“O-Okay,” Piper managed through her shock, “I’ll stop by A&G at the end of the day to see how you’re feeling.”  Gust nodded numbly.  “Thank you for playing with us.  I think we all enjoyed it.”  She and Sam shared a look and the blonde huffed and crossed her arms.

“Yeah, whatever, it was fun,” Sam said tight;y, “but I will win next week.”

“We’ll see.”  Gust offered the group a curt nod.  “With that, I think I’ll take my leave.”  

They offered him a ripple of waves and salutes as he spun on his heel and made his way out of the Round Table.  As he made his way home that evening, he found himself smiling.  Perhaps it was the remnants of his drink, or the high after a good game of darts, but for the first time in years, he felt good.  For once, he wasn’t thinking about leaving Portia.  In fact, he was almost looking forward to next Friday.

#my time at portia #mtap #mtap gust #mtap builder #mtap sam #mtap remington #mtap arlo

[ohnomybreadsticks]

First prompt from my little celebration is finished, for Anon who wanted “Gavin realises he's been hanging out with the wrong crowd of android haters. He doesn't dislike androids but to fit in with the crowd he went along with it. Now, he wants to apologise to Nines and make amends.”

Wednesdays were for drinking with the guys. They had been since Gavin’s academy days, to the point where weeks when he couldn’t attend felt weird and uneven. His colleagues at work may have been surprised to learn that Gavin had such a long-standing social circle, but he was a surprisingly social guy. Well, with the right sort of people. The group he had fallen into at the academy was full of men who didn’t tiptoe around issues. If they had something to say, they said it loudly, and Gavin appreciated that sort of brash attitude. It was easy, speaking his mind in this crowd, and God knew he had very little ability to filter his thoughts or his actions. Arriving at the shitty dive they had been going to for years, he was greeted with pats on the back and a beer was pressed into his waiting hand.

“So Gav, how’s life with the plastic prick? You still keepin’ it in its place?”

Oh yeah, another reason Gavin had stuck with this group for so long was that they all shared his views on androids. And, like anything, they shared his views rather vocally. Up until the revolution, this particular bar had been sporting the tell-tale signage reminding patrons not to bring their property with them into the establishment. It had been taken down, of course, but this wasn’t exactly the kind of place that androids were likely to feel welcome in, anyways. Which suited the patrons who had come back after the evacuation just fine.

“Oh yeah, yeah, damn thing still follows me around, but I don’t take any shit.” Gavin replied with a laugh, shooting Monty an easy grin. They had always talked like this, the words practically fell off his tongue, even before the alcohol had a chance to loosen it. With the topic brought up, more of the men around the table began to complain about androids they had to deal with in their career or private life. Tony’s daughter had joined the protests for android rights, Frank’s office was flooding with new hires still ‘fresh off the assembly line’ as he put it, and Carter worked city planning for the area around New Jericho.

The same sentiment echoed back and forth across the table, each man bemoaning his fate of having to deal with the ‘damn plastics’. They’d never be people, it just wasn’t right that good jobs were being taken away from hardworking Americans, they couldn’t really be trusted anyways… Frank got so worked up he slammed his glass down on the bar and startled Gavin, growling out something about not voting for any more presidents who would be pushed around by fakes like this. And the circle agreed, all nodding sagely and shooting each other looks as if to revel in the confirmation.

Gavin wondered suddenly when this weird tightness in his chest had started. He was nursing his beer and drifting off into thought as the familiar reassuring words washed over him. Yeah, he was better than those fuckin’ plastics. His old gripes about being replaced at work by ‘something that can’t even feel’ would have been welcomed at this point. But…why did the words seem to stick in his throat? Briefly, he wondered if that heartburn his doctor was always warning him about had crept up suddenly. Taking another swig of his beer in the hopes that that would make things clearer (it never did), Gavin considered when the use of the word ‘it’ to describe androids had started to make him want to itch out of his own skin.

Maybe it was when Nines first approached Gavin for help, LED whirring nervously as he admitted his pre-construction software maybe wasn’t as helpful as a good old ‘gut instinct’ on this case. Or maybe he had lost his taste for it while watching Nines carefully smooth the useless stress blanket around the shoulders of a shaking android, still disoriented from the beating they had gotten while trying to, god who remembered any more, walk in the park of something. Gavin had always accused Nines of being an unfeeling robot, but in that moment he had been able to show more human kindness to the victim of a senseless crime than Gavin would ever have been able to.

A sudden good-natured jab in the ribs brought Gavin back to himself. He glanced over and found the table watching him expectantly. When he didn’t reply, Tony repeated himself, “I said, your folks over at the DPD are holding the line, right? Making sure these things don’t get out of control?” The easy answer, which would usually have been burning up his throat to spit off his lips, just wouldn’t come to his mind. Instead Gavin simply raised his glass and said dully “Just doing my job.” The other men chuckled and took that however they wanted, as the evening sauntered on.

The tightness in his chest didn’t fade for the next few days, and Gavin found himself unsettled and off-balance at work. Every time he looked at Nines, he wondered what his partner thought of him. Certainly nothing good, given their rocky relationship at the beginning of working together. And yet…he still brought Gavin coffee in the afternoons when he clearly wasn’t feeling well, and walked out to his car in the evenings when their shifts ended at the same time. Not the actions of someone who hated their partner outright on a basic fundamental level.

Was that even how Gavin felt any more? Thinking about it now, maybe ‘saying whatever you wanted, and saying it loudly’, wasn’t how you went about making things any better. Not to mention, the things his drinking buddies always had to say were inevitably negative in some way. Gavin wasn’t one for introspection and personal growth, but even he had to admit that they couldn’t just keep going forward the same way they always had after what Jericho had done. After what they had all seen.

It was a Wednesday morning when Gavin found himself nervously leaning on Nines’ desk, waiting for him to arrive. The android was always punctual, and 8:15 found him stepping briskly up to his workstation. Gavin’s presence seemed to throw him off, a surprised look flashing over his face for just a moment before he adjusted. “Can I help you, detective? I don’t believe our first briefing is any earlier than ten.” Gavin shook his head, using what was left of his mustered courage to stick his hand out, offering it for a shake.

“I never introduced myself. Properly.” Gavin muttered, thankful for once that Nines’ hearing was insanely sensitive, “You deserved better than a bunch of slurs when you first joined up here.” Nines stared at him curiously, just for a moment, before reaching out and taking the extended hand. His grip was firm and his skin was warm, just like anyone else. “Gavin Reed. I’m your new partner.” Gavin said, aware that this was possibly the cheesiest thing he had ever done. He just had to hope that Nines wouldn’t hate him even more than he already should.

Instead, much to Gavin’s relief, a tiny hint of a smile spread across Nines’ lips. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Detective Reed. I’m RK900, but you can call me Nines.” There was a pause, then in a softer voice he added “I would like it very much if you called me Nines.” Gavin let out a deep breath, shooting Nines an apologetic look he knew wasn’t enough to make up for all the toaster and tin can jokes. But it was a start. So was asking “Can I…take you out for a drink or whatever tonight? To celebrate the new partnership and all.”

“But today is a Wednesday.” Nines countered, confusion now wrinkling his brow, “I was led to believe you have a standing engagement tonight.”

Gavin simply shrugged, admitting “I think I’m going to have a lot more free time on Wednesday evenings from now on.”

The smile on Nines’ face growing slightly wider finally lifted some of that tension in Gavin’s chest. He could work with this. He could get better.

------

And there you have it Anon! I hope you enjoyed it, it was a fun prompt! Thank you for requesting it <3

#dbh #detroit become human #reed900 #g9 #dbh gavin #dbh rk900 #canon typical slurs #bready's fic #request fill

[iwillgiveyoumyhappiness]

김재현, Kim Jaehyun

anonymous asked:

I love it when I catch you looking at me then you smile and look away paired with Kim jaehyun ( nflying )

Group: N.Flying (엔플라잉)

Member: Jaehyun

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.

.

After a long day at work, three weeks of poorly repressed stress, and leaving the house late and on the brink of an argument with your fiancé, what you expected was a cold, empty house with a lonely, regretful feeling.

What you got, however, was said fiancé—the one and only Kim Jaehyun—waiting anxiously by the door for you, biting his nails while he leaned against the wall outside your apartment. 

You furrowed your brows. “Did you get locked out, or—?” you started, already reaching for your keys.

He held up a hand. “Before you say anything!” he said quickly, cutting you off. He dug around in his pocket, pulling out a lavender envelope with cute stickers plastered all over it, sealed with a heart blowing a kiss. “Please read this.” 

He looked almost a little shy, handing over the folded paper; a massive change from his usual bubbly personality. You couldn’t help but think you must’ve really hurt him this morning. 

You’d grumbled a lot of things you didn’t mean and you wouldn’t liked to apologize to him for it, but you knew he wouldn’t let you until you’d read whatever was in the envelope. 

You pried the flap open with your thumb, your palms getting a little sweaty. 

Inside, there was a letter. You felt silly for getting so nervous, as most envelopes contained letters, but things that had to do with Jaehyun always made your heart flutter, so you supposed it wasn’t that odd. 

You gave him a look before he urged you to read it. You sighed, going straight into it. 

“Hey, sweetheart,

it read.

Maybe you don’t want me to call you that right now, and that’s okay. I didn’t say it out loud, so I hope you can forgive me. I think you must be working pretty hard. You look tired.”

Instinctively, you went to rub your under-eyes, positive that there must’ve been dark-circles there, maybe some wrinkles tossed in. 

You heard him stifle a laugh. You looked up at him, but he just gestured for you to keep reading, trying to force his smile back down and swallow his addictive chuckles.

“Knew you’d do that.”

You rolled your eyes at his cheekiness that he managed to sneak in, even in writing. 

“I just wanna let you know, if you were lashing out because you’re really stressed or something, I understand. I don’t blame you. If it’s because of me, I also don’t blame you. In that situation, I would only blame myself.”

You wanted to rip up the paper and tell him that it wasn’t him at all, but you kept on reading. That small bit of pride that kept pulsating in your stomach forced you not to forgive him so easily, even though he totally deserved it.

It wasn’t his fault that you argued that morning, and you didn’t want him to feel like that. Yet, the mean part of you did. The selfish part. How you wished you could murder that bit of yourself. 

“Now, I know that you’ll forever chastise me, saying: ‘Honeyed words don’t fix everything!’, but I think I’ll test my limits, if that’s okay with you. That’s why I have compiled a short list of ten things that make me fall head-over-heels for you all over again, every single day.  Ten is really isn’t enough, but I wanted to keep it short so if you forgive me, I can hug you sooner than if I wrote down ALL of the reasons.” 

You almost chuckled, but you decided to keep it to yourself. 

It was a nice atmosphere for silence, a warm spring breeze blowing gently at your back and ruffling your hair. You could feel how desperately he wanted to push that hair gently out of your face, behind your ear, but he refrained. 

You appreciated that. 

“Reason #1: Your sleepy face in the morning

It’s super freakin’ cute, and you don’t even notice it. In the mirror, I sometimes watch you while you’re brushing your teeth (not creepy, I swear), and you always look like you’re about to fall back asleep. It makes me want to protect you forever and ever, like a weird, tired burrito.

Reason #2: Your unique sense of humor

It’s not that you’re not funny, really! It’s just that- you’re such an original, sometimes I need you to explain the genius that goes on within your brain. (Please don’t hit me. T-T)”

You smiled at that last bit.

“Reason #3: Your courage

You’re literally the strongest person I’ve ever met, and I’m not just saying that to be cheesy. Remember when your family was going through that tough time, or when they totally didn’t approve of me? Lots of people would’ve just taken their opportunity to walk away from that, but you didn’t. Even though it was hard, you stuck around and you worked it out until the very end. I think that makes you really gorgeous, sweetheart. Probably why I asked you to marry me. 

Reason #4: The way you kiss my fingertips

I’ve gotta say, I thought it was really weird when you first did it, but as time passed, it became one of my favorite things. I craved it, and when I didn’t get it, I threw an internal hissy-fit. Like- GIVE ME MY FINGER KISSES, WOMAN. It’s really special and I feel like it’s only for you and me, so I should treasure it more.

Reason #5: You drove me to the ER at 3 AM

You remember that, right? It was before we were even dating! I confessed to you in the car while I was dizzy and almost passing out, but luckily, after I woke up in a hospital bed, strapped up with wires and IVs, I still remembered. And you did, too. You accepted me. Thank you for accepting my weird, unromantic confession. It means a lot.

Reason #6: Making my birthday special every year

You never fail to surprise me with something awesome and thoughtful. It makes me feel like someone truly pays attention to the things I say. The things I like, the things I don’t, and the things that slip out of my mouth when I’m not paying attention. I swear, you know me better than I know myself...  I’ve almost cried at so many parties because of you. Do you know how not-manly that is? Speaking of not-manly!

Reason #7: I can sob openly around you

I don’t think you’ve ever judged me, to be honest. I used to think when I first started dating you, ‘Be a shoulder for her to lean on. Don’t crumble and be the pants of the relationship’. Turns out, I was more like the socks. You’re always there for me when I’m not doing well. You force me to eat when I get too skinny, you make me sleep when I’m overworking, and you assure me that it’s okay to cry around you. It’s because of you that I’ve become a crybaby. Sad movie? The tears are coming out. Happy ending? Oh my gosh! I’m so relieved! I better cry. Bad day? It’s okay to let it out, ‘cause I know you’re here to comfort me and make me feel less emasculated.

Reason #8: How much you believe in me

Even when I don’t believe in myself, you tell me how well I’m doing or how much you think I’ve improved, or even how much you love it when I do the most trivial of tasks. You think me folding the laundry and putting it away for you is the coolest thing on the planet, and that makes me want to do it more often, ‘cause you make me feel like a superhero. Your superhero, so it’s even more special. 

Reason #9: Your beauty

And I’m not talking about that outward stuff (though... you have that too), I’m talking about what’s on the inside. It’s your soul. It’s your happy heart that’s sometimes a little blue, but it always perks up again. It’s your intriguing mind and thoughts, and it’s your individual charm that no one else could ever hope to live up to. It’s your passion for your dreams, it’s your patience for mine, it’s your generosity, and it’s your wisdom. It’s everything that is you, and it’s beautiful. 

Reason #10: When I catch you looking at me then you smile and look away~

This is probably the most important and meaningful thing to me, weirdly enough. It makes me feel like you love me as much as I love you. It feels like you have me on your mind and you can’t help but seek me out. It feels like you care about me to the extent that you’re just like, ‘Huh... Where’s Jaehyun?’, and then when you find me, you smile. Not because I smile at you and you return it, but just because I make you smile. At least, I think I do. It hurts my heart in a really good way. You look so shy, yet confident, and you make me feel adored. I don’t deserve you, I don’t think. Probably never will, but I’m still so glad that you put up with me.

So! With all that being said, do you still wanna marry me? ‘Cause I still love you, sweetheart.”

What a strange, curious thing. You were crying. 

Tears were slipping down your cheeks, chin and nose, all soaking the paper and making it crinkly and weak. You started choking back sobs. 

Jaehyun heard you—of course—but he still didn’t overstep the boundaries. He waited for your green-light, looking at you with those concerned puppy-eyes.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” you coughed out, rolling your teary eyes. You sniffled loudly and wiped your nose with your sleeve. You held your arms out widely, dropping the paper and envelope to the ground. “Hug me already!” 

Within seconds, he came rushing over to you, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. He always held you like this; not to prove how strong he was, just to have you close as possible. 

“You still like me?” he asked softly, muffled by your collarbone.

You shook your head, leaning forward. “Nope,” you said. You pushed his bangs up, kissing his forehead. “I still love you.” 

.

.

.

Don’t ask me why I chose this gif, please. I felt like it. Accept it as that.

Thanks for the request! It was a lot of fun. ^-^ Very cute, much sweetness, and it was fun to try and work in the concept! Thanks again, and feel free to stop by any time!

I hope you enjoyed it; have a good day/afternoon/evening. 

#for anon #kim jaehyun #n.flying jaehyun #n.flying #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #kpop angst #request #reaction #requested #this is really cute

[takingcourage]

The Start of Forever - Part 5

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Pairing: Drake x MC

Word Count: 2,387

Series Summary: The wedding has passed and the Duke and Duchess of Valtoria are free to begin their lives together away from the constraints of court. While honeymooning in Texas, they’re confronted with questions from their past that raise implications about their future. (Slight AU)

Chapter Summary: Drake and Jena spend some time alone after a difficult conversation with his mother. 

Author’s Note: Whew! Apologies for the unexpected hiatus on this story. Now that I have some free time again, I should be able to finish posting this story. I appreciate your patience through the long delay!

Tagging: @andy-loves-corgis, @carabeth, @speedyoperarascalparty

All things considered, Karen Walker had been rather more understanding than she’d expected. As Jena loaded her cereal bowl into the dishwasher, she thought back over the painstaking conversation that had ended less than an hour before.

Drake had not underestimated the effect that their news would have on his mother. On learning that her son had been given a duchy, color had drained slowly from the older woman’s face until a dull white shell was all that remained. In spite of her polite responses, the visceral reactions had been painful for all three of them.

Shortly after their previous discussion had finished, Karen had pulled Drake aside for a private word. After what she'd seen over the past eighteen hours, Jena could only hope that the woman was doing him no further damage.

She tried to convince herself that she’d done nothing but hurry along the inevitable, but guilt assailed her all the same. This certainly wasn’t the way she’d envisioned this day going. At this point, so much of their morning had been consumed by unpleasant conversation that she wondered if Drake would want to leave early for their night back in Dallas. She glanced a the stovetop clock, trying not to get her hopes up.

The quiet intonations from down the hall were at least somewhat reassuring. There had been no yelling -- of that was certain. If she was venturing to guess, she didn’t think she’d heard anything that sounded like crying either. Both seemed like signs in favor of productive conversation between mother and son.

Jena found a rag draped across the head of the faucet, dampened it, and set about clearing crumbs from the table. As she finished the final swipe across the width, she sensed a presence coming toward her.

“You don’t have to do that, Wittman.” The soft-spoken words startled out of her thoughts, despite her intuition.

“I know. But I needed something to do.” She cupped her hand underneath the cloth and shook the contents into a nearby trash can. “You doing okay?” Having rinsed the rag, she returned it to its former spot and rubbed her hands down the front of her jeans.

“Fine.” His brown eyes were trained on her, and she raised a quizzical brow as he opened and shut his mouth. Eventually, the words ventured forth. “Would you be interested in going riding? I was hoping to get the chance to show you around the ranch…”

“I’d like that a lot, actually,” she assured, still taking in his appearance.

Drake looked tired. It was evident in the exaggerated slackness of the skin around his eyes. A pang of guilt plagued her as she contrasted this with their time at the cabin. He’d been so peaceful there. After all of the stress she’d seen on that face in the past months, it sickened her to think that she’d been the cause of more.

“Good. We may as well get over to the stables. Have you ever actually saddled a horse, Wittman?” He raised his brow in challenge.

“No, but I think I’m about to learn how.” 

“Just as long as you don’t go scaring the horses. I don’t want to have to reenact that rescue from the derby.”

Jena scoffed at the slight, shaking her head in disbelief as she followed him out the front door. “You know that’s not how it happened, Walker.”

“Of course not,” he acquiesced, treating her to a half smile. She rolled her eyes and fell into step at his side, slipping her fingers into his. 

Jena had only ridden horses a few times during childhood, but she’d adjusted to the practice fairly quickly after coming to Cordonia. When she wasn’t taking day-long treks for foxhunting, she found that she actually enjoyed it very much -- especially when she was fortunate enough to have her husband’s company.

Riding around his family’s property spawned memories of exploring Valtoria with him on horseback, and she felt a pang of longing for their home. There was so much waiting for them when they returned. As much as she had enjoyed the honeymoon, some part of her was giddy at the thought of starting real life together.

Today, however, she was focused on Drake’s wellbeing. Other than the extremely thorough instructions as he’d guided her through the process of saddling the horses, he’d been fairly quiet since coming to find her in the kitchen. Jena's mind overflowed with words that could fill the silence, but nothing felt right. She breathed a grateful sigh when he chose to speak instead.

“I was pretty upset with you this morning, Wittman. I was sitting there drinking coffee and thinking that you were being unreasonable -- that you’d judged my mom too harshly. I’m not so sure anymore.”

The uncertainty in his voice halted her instinctive response. Jena breathed out slowly through her nose, biding her time in case there was more he wanted to say.

“I’ve never felt so angry with her before. She can doubt me all she wants, but doubting you -- I never thought she’d go that far. That’s a line she shouldn’t have crossed. I feel like I don’t even know her anymore...”

“For the record, I didn’t want to be right,” Jena admitted softly, grateful that they kept their horses at a relaxed pace so that she could meet his gaze. Her heart clenched at the distance in his deep brown eyes. “I just know what it’s like to defend someone who doesn’t deserve it. Finding out they’re not who you thought they were...it’s a hard pill to swallow.” She fiddled with the leather reins between her fingers, hoping that she was treading lightly enough to cause no offense.

“Your dad?” he asked simply.

Nodding, she met his eyes. The distant look gave way to a tenderness that mirrored her own worry for him, and she was struck by just how broken both of their families had been. “I wasted a lot of years making excuses for him, Drake. When I finally forgave him, it wasn’t because he’d done anything to deserve it. I just needed closure.” Drake stretched out a hand and she took it gratefully before continuing. “I don’t want you to have to go through all of that with your mom. I hope you’re able to figure things out and find a way to start over, but please don’t beat yourself up about it if you’re not.”

Her husband sighed, taking his time to respond as he turned his gaze to the horizon. “I sort of have to. I mean, dad’s not around any more. She doesn’t exactly have anyone else.”

Jena shook her head in an attempt to clear the conflicting emotions. She’d realized long ago that his protective instinct would have a propensity for getting them in trouble. She just hadn’t expected the trouble to take this form. “You always want to defend the people you care about, Drake. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you -- one of the things I love most about you too. But sometimes you have to think about protecting yourself. Sometimes that may even mean letting others protect you.”

“I don’t like to have people worrying about me.”

“We’ve been over this before…”

“I know. And sometimes having you around to worry about me is a good thing. I wouldn’t have come clean with my mom if it hadn’t been for you.”

“I hope it was the right decision.” She’d spent the past several hours second guessing her encouragement from the night before. “Did things...go okay?”

“Heh.”

She waited several moments, but he elaborated no further. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she ventured finally.

“Just that I think it’s going to take some time for her to adjust to the idea that I’m a noble and that I’m staying in Cordonia for good. But I think some part of her is proud too. Maybe someday she’ll come around to the idea that I’m not just wasting my life over there.”

“Does she really think that?” The words felt strangled as Jena worked them out of her throat. So many of her early interactions with Drake became clearer as she considered Karen’s likely influence.

He clicked his tongue to encourage the horse, but her question remained unanswered. Several paces later, he came to a sudden stop. Jena pulled the reins gently and dismounted to stand beside him in the tall grass.

“We’ll let the horses graze for a bit.”

She stroked the mare’s bony cheek and dropped the reins, putting her hands in her pockets instead. Squinting against the mid-morning sun, she followed Drake to a line of fencing nearby. Green stretched before them on every side, the light wind stirring long blades of grass into mesmerizing waves. She wondered vaguely if this was the sight that had enticed Karen to come back from Cordonia. Out here, in the warmth of late spring, it wasn’t hard to imagine the appeal that this land must have held.

Drake leaned against the nearest post, a wrinkle forming between his brows. With ease, Jena mounted the fence beside him, steadying herself with a certain hand.

Did I cross a line? Why hasn’t he answered my question? Jena hated the thought that her carelessness might have caused such distress. A week ago, she wouldn’t have been so bothered by the thought. Now, as this man’s wife, she felt some measure of responsibility to read his mind. The notion was ridiculous, but present nonetheless. Just as she was clearing her throat, he spoke.

“I’m not sure what my mother thinks anymore. She didn’t take it very well when I moved back to Cordonia. Wanted me to forge my own path instead of running back to the palace.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

“Going back?” At her nod, he continued. “I had a lot of questions at the time, but in a way, mom’s right. I’d been following Liam around for so long that it was easier to just settle back into that when I came back from the States. It took me a while to find where I belonged in all of it.  But no, I don’t regret it. Cordonia is home.”

“You’ve found your way now. And with or without the courtly graces, you’re still Drake Walker,” she beamed encouragingly. “I just wish your mom had taken the chance to get to who that man is.” A fresh sting of remorse accompanied the words, and she looped her fingers around the hand that rested beside her on the fence.

Drake interlocked his fingers with her own and lifted his face tentatively. “I think I’d like for her to get the chance to.”

Her pulse quickened at the meaning that underpinned his words. Biting her tongue, she shifted her weight toward him and took in his pensive expression.

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” He hiked a hand through his hair. “But I’m not sure I’d ever forgive myself if I cut the relationship off completely. I’d always wonder if things could have been different. I’m not saying that I want to come out here for Christmases or anything, but--” preoccupied, he ceased speaking as she squeezed his hand. 

“I’ll support whatever you choose, Drake. I can’t say I have a very good first impression of her, but I respect how much she means to you. If I had any hope of my dad changing for the better, I’d probably make the same choice.” Her tone grew wistful at the impossible notion. “But I think we’re going to have to find a compromise. I don’t want you bending over backward to make her a part of our lives if she won’t even meet you halfway. You can’t do that to yourself, Drake.”

“Agreed.”

“So she’s going to have to understand that there are boundaries she can’t cross. It’s going to take some time for us to establish trust again.”

“Sounds fair to me,” he considered, stroking her knuckles with his thumb as he looked to her face. “She’s been through a lot, Jena. I don’t want to put her through more than she deserves.”

“I know,” she responded quickly to the flash of pain in his eyes. “But if she puts you through more than you deserve, she’ll have me to contend with.” Although her tone was light, they both knew that the threat was genuine.

He hoisted himself onto the fence beside her, dropping his hands to his sides. “I never thought I’d be so happy to get back to Valtoria, but I’m really looking forward to it.”

She offered a wry smile. “I am too. I know we’re going to try to work things out here, but I can’t wait to get back to Dallas and then home.”

“It’s the last night of our trip, Wittman. How do you want to spend it?”

“Seeing as it’s the last night of our honeymoon,” she emphasized, “I was thinking room service, hot tub, and…some drinks.”

“Now that’s a plan I can get behind.”

“I’m not going overboard though. We’ve got a day full of traveling tomorrow.”

“We’ll sleep it off on the plane.”

“Maybe you will," she joked, hopping down from the fence. “I’ll be awake for it all.”

“Even if I keep you up all night?”

Jena threw him a look over her shoulder. "That didn’t exactly work for the trip out here." He extended a hand toward her and she settled into the space between his legs, running her palms against toned thighs that were stretched taut from his heels pressing into the lower rail.

"I’ll take that as a challenge.” The glint in his eyes sent tendrils of heat through her core.

“Just keeping you on your toes, Walker.” 

Drake shook his head at her accompanying wink. 

“Ready when you are,” she announced, rising to the tips of her toes. Drake cradled her cheek in his hand and leaned into the kiss. His lips were soft and warm, heated by the morning sun. She snaked her arms around his waist and melted into him with pleasure. When she finally pulled away, it took several moments for her head to clear.

The kiss told her all she needed to know. They would make it through this.  Together. 

#playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #the royal romance #trr #drake walker #drake x mc

[thewayofthetrashcompactor]

“i’m the wedding planner, and you’re the best man/bridesmaid” ❤️

Thank you @reylocanoncrumbs ! I was hoping someone would send this one in

wedding/engagement prompts (send me things!) 

I’m combining these with the prompts for @reylo-week-2018 , because I can. This is for Day 1: Colors! (and late as always because that’s just my life)

Words: 1.7kRating: T

Rey stares in horror at the unzipped garment bag hanging from her closet door. She'd been thrilled with how forward-thinking she was in getting her maid of honor dress dry cleaned before Rose’s wedding. It'd get all the creases out of the fragile fabric that had formed from being shoved in her closet since the fitting, without Rey having to trust herself with an iron. Not that Rose would be upset if the dress was wrinkled, but Rey wanted everything to be perfect for her two best friends’ wedding. Now, the sheer overlay is mangled and torn, stuck to the dress underneath in unsightly clumps.

She thinks about dragging it back to the cleaners and demanding to know what the hell had happened. At the very least, this is the kind of thing they should have mentioned when she picked it up yesterday. But she'll have to deal with them later. Her hair and makeup is already in place and she needs to get to the venue soon to make sure Rose and Finn have managed to drag themselves away from each other and out of bed. Quickly, she digs into her closet and pulls out the sleeveless green wrap dress she'd worn to graduation. It's the only thing she has that's nearly nice enough, and Rose had even helped her pick it out. She snaps a photo of the remains of her original dress and sends it to Rose, just so she knows what's happened, then tosses on the new one and gets on the road.

When she arrives at the old B&B, she's barely gotten out of her car when she's accosted by a tall man in a dark suit.

“Where have you been?” he snaps at her, crossing his arms over a ridiculously broad chest. “The wedding starts in three hours, and you are responsible for getting the bride ready. What -" He stops as he looks her over. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“My dress,” she says with a raised eyebrow. “Who the fuck are you?”

(cont. under cut)

“The wedding planner. That is not your dress, your dress is pink satin and chiffon, because the theme color is rose pink. Not whatever the hell this is.” He prods the strap of her dress in disgust. She scowls and slaps his hand away, and is gratified to see him wince.

“Where's Poe?” she demands.

“Came down sick. Something contagious. I'm taking over for him. Where is your dress?’

Rey wonders if Rose knows about the change in planners. She shrugs with an affected lack of concern designed to irritate him. “Got destroyed at the dry cleaners. Figured this would work just as well.” She has to hide her grin as he grinds his teeth.

“It's. Not. Pink. The wedding colors are clearly defined as rose pink and cream, and that is neither.”

“Roses are green too,” Rey says cheerily. She's really starting to enjoy being able to watch this stranger's blood pressure rise. His cheeks have gone past rose pink and are headed for red. She briefly considers telling him that if he doesn't calm down, he won't match the theme colors either, but thinks he might actually burst a vein.

“That is not how that works!” He doesn't quite yell, but it's close. He looks like he might go start kicking a rose bush.

“Rose said it was fine.” She hasn't actually heard back from Rose yet, but she probably won't mind. Rose saves her irritation for things that matter, one of the reasons they get along so well. If Rose does has a problem with it, they'll figure something else out, but Rey's not bowing down to some hyped-up event planner with a God complex.

He glares at her suspiciously, and Rey knows he doesn't buy her story, but he can't prove it. “Fine. Fine. If the bride says it's okay, then it's fine.” He points a finger at her though. “If she's unhappy though, I will strip you down and force you into something suitable.”

Rey glares back, offended that he thinks she'd do anything to upset her friend. “Fine,” she spits, and shoves him aside to stride up to the house. She turns around at the doorway though, unable to resist one last parting shot. “You may want to take that stick out of your ass though! I don't think it's the right color either.” She shouts this across the yard, just in time for Jess and and Kare to pull up and get out of their car. Rey flushes and ducks into the house, leaving the speechless wedding planner behind her.

Rey manages to avoid the replacement planner almost entirely up to and throughout the wedding. As expected, Rose is more than okay with the change in dresses, even saying the contrast in the dresses will be an improvement. Rey tallies a mental victory for herself against Mr. Rose Pink. She and Rey chatter excitedly as Rey helps Rose into her dress, and by the time they're down to the final hour, they're joined by the rest of the wedding party, all thrilled to see their friends tie the knot.

The ceremony goes off without a hitch, and Rey only cries twice. The newlyweds say their vows under a flowered arch on a gorgeously sunny day. Rey couldn't be happier for them. Afterwards, it's a blur of photos and congratulations, and then the garden is transformed into the reception area. Once Rey has done her duties with her speech and deftly avoided the bouquet toss, she feels free to settle at the back of the crowd with a glass of wine, watching the party contentedly. She jumps when someone comes up next to her, and then glares when she sees who it is.

“Oh. You,” she says with as much disdain as she can muster. “Come to tell me how my green dress ruined the wedding?”

She watches him out of the corner of her eyes and is surprised that instead of snapping at her, he turns pink, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. “Actually, I wanted to…apologize for that,” he mumbles, and she nearly drops her glass in shock.

“Really?” She takes a sip and tries to keep her tone aloof.

“Yeah. I...may have been under some stress this morning. With Poe dropping out and having to come in at the last minute to a wedding I'd never even fucking heard of before eight o'clock this morning, and then trying to decipher Poe’s notes, which are always a fucking mess, why he can't just use a binder and tabs, I do not know, and then trying to figure out who was who and making sure everything was in the right place.” He takes a deep breath. “And I may have taken it out on you. And you didn't deserve that, even if you did show up in a green dress. So I'm sorry.”

She looks at him, wide-eyed, speechless for a moment. “Thanks,” she says, when she finally unsticks her tongue. “...I should probably apologize too, I didn't need to antagonize you the way I did.”

He chuckles, and it's a deep, rich sound that makes something completely unnecessary flutter in her chest. “No, I deserved that. You just gave back what you got.” He holds out his hand. “I never even introduced myself. Ben.“

She takes it. “Rey.” He nods.

“Nice to meet you.” His tone is surprisingly earnest.

“You too,” she says, and is surprised to find she might even mean it.

They turn back and stand in companionable silence. Ben flags down a waiter and takes a glass of wine for himself. “Really, I didn't need to worry,” he says after taking a sip. “Those two are so in love the entire wedding party could have shown up naked and they wouldn't have noticed.”

She snorts, choking slightly on her wine. He quickly turns and pats her back with a huge hand that nearly covers her from shoulder to shoulder, a thought  that only makes her cough more. “You okay?” he asks with concern.

“Yeah,” she gasps, regaining her breath. His warm hand rubs her before falling away, and she misses it almost immediately. She gestures to Finn and Rose at the head table. “You're right though. They would have been happy today no matter what.” She smiles fondly. “I'm glad today went well for them. They deserve it.”

He looks over at her and smiles too. “That's why I do this, you know. Getting to help people have their day together, seeing them happy.”

She looks over at him and cocks her head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks down at his wine and takes a large swallow. “Didn't always used to believe in this kind of stuff, some bad experiences, spent a while making people miserable doing something else. This is good though. Not every couple is like them. Days like this remind me why I changed.”

She looks at him with wide eyes, not expecting that kind of confession. “That's really sweet.” She glances at her own drink. “I don't know if I always believe in that stuff either, but they make me want to.”

He smiles fondly at her. “You can tell they're the kind of couple who'll stick together even when things go wrong.” Rey nods, thinking of all the things Finn and Rose have already gone through. Ben's smile turns teasing. “Even maids of honor showing up in the wrong color dress.”

She hits his shoulder loudly playfully and laughs. “Hey!”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender and grins at her.  “Really though, you were right. The green worked better than I could have planned myself. And you… you look beautiful.” The last part is said completely seriously, and she blinks, not expecting the change in tone.

“Thanks,” she says, blushing.

“And see, there's that rose pink,” he teases, nodding at her face. “Perfect.” She wrinkles her nose at him, but doesn't stop grinning.

They chat for the rest of the party, only interrupted when Rose and Finn come over to thank them both. Rey stays past seeing the happy couple off to help him clean up, not quite ready to leave. And when she finally does, it's with his number in her pocket and a promise to call tomorrow.

#reylo #reylo fic #benrey #reyloweek2018 #rffa writers #modern au #prompt fill #my fic #colors #reylocanoncrumbs

[tales-of-a-fallen-star]

Starlit Waltz (Ignis Scientia/Reader)

Genre: Fluff/Romance Words: 2215 

A/N: Okay, so I’ve had this idea floating around in my head for 3 hours straight now and I’m afraid if I don’t write it down IMMEDIATELY it just ends up on my pile of ideas that rot on my hard drive (which look accusingly at me on a regular basis). So here I am, trying to put this into words as best as I can. I hope there aren’t too many mistakes (but feel free to correct them), I always try to proofread but commas and prepositions are my arch enemies. I hope you enjoy it!

A sigh left your lips when you finally closed the front door of your apartment behind you. You closed your eyes for a few moments, the back of your head resting against the cool material of the door. It was early evening and through your eyelids you felt the last rays of the setting sun, which fell through the window across the hallway and sheathed your apartment in an orange-golden hue, their warmth easing your stressed and tense muscles.

Your day at work has been beyond stressful and busy and you looked forward to getting home before you even arrived at your work place this morning. You only had 20 minutes of your shift left when your boss came to you and practically pleaded on his knees for you to stay for an extra two hours to finish up all the statistics and paperwork and you didn’t have the heart to decline his plea and stayed longer, though now your body punished you for that decision. You felt how a flood of tiredness seeped into every muscle of your body and you just wanted to collapse right there on the floor of your hallway. But you knew you had to pull yourself together because there were still some chores waiting for you, especially the laundry.  When you opened your eyes again, you stretched a bit and let out a small yawn before taking off your shoes and putting them back in the neat row below the coat-hangers on the left side of the hallway. You slowly walked down into the open living room, the couch looked all too inviting but you had to resist. You couldn’t rest just yet, or else you weren’t going to get anything done today, so instead you continued your walk to the open breakfast bar and placed your key chain in a small bowl placed atop of it, your purse finding its place on the back of a chair in front of the breakfast bar.

It was only now that you realised that Ignis wasn’t home yet. Instinctively you looked at the clock to your right. It was almost 8 pm. That was odd, he should’ve been home by now, but maybe the two of you share the same fate today. He was probably held up in the Citadel as well and had to work longer than usual, although his working schedule was almost inhumane in your opinion.

Before you did anything else you walked around the breakfast bar towards the coffee machine. You knew that, if you didn’t want to fall asleep within the next 10 minutes, you needed some well-deserved coffee to keep you awake and breathe some life back into your tired body. You prepared an entire pot, not just a cup for yourself, so Ignis could enjoy one cup of his beloved Ebony when he got home as well. You poured yourself a cup, the warm and familiar smell of coffee climbing slowly up your nose, sending calm and relaxing waves down your spine and through your entire body. Taking a few careful sips, you savoured every moment and every drop before, ultimately, your cup was empty and you knew it was time to do the pesky chores now, and so you made your way to the bathroom.

Another sigh escaped your lips when you walked into the bathroom and saw the washing machine, looking accusingly at you, and you had to collect every bit of composure to start to get to work. You rolled up your sleeves, took the basket beside the washing machine and put all the washed pieces of clothing into the basket. When the scent of the laundry detergent danced around your nostrils you started to relax a bit more, inhaling the scent as much as you could before you put in the next load of clothing into the washing machine, this time for dark clothing, and started the correct programme. Then, with the basket in your hands, you made your way to the dressing room to hang the wet laundry on the drying rack. 

Before you really started to get to work though, you walked back into the living room towards the big stereo and inserted your favourite CD with lots of classical pieces on it. Listening to them relaxed you and made you feel good. It also made doing chores a lot more pleasant.

When the cheerful tunes of the Valse di Fantastica finally started chiming through your apartment a smile settled across your face and you immediately felt a lot more motivated. You walked back to the dressing room and got to work, paying special attention to flatten out all the small wrinkles in your clothing with precise motions. After a while you remembered how relaxing this could be and enjoyed yourself even more, your feet started moving along to the rhythms and tunes coming from the living room. When the next song, the Starlit Waltz, started to play you picked up the next piece of clothing, one of your favourite dresses, and held it in front of you, now actually dancing to the music instead of hanging the dress on the drying rack. 

You tried to remember the last time you actually danced around like this and you were flooded by memories of a ball at the Citadel you attended a few years ago. You remembered all the bright lights, the decoration and the orchestra playing the most beautiful tunes you ever heard, one of them the Starlit Waltz. You also remembered how that evening a specific pair of green eyes met yours for the first time and how you were immediately enchanted by them. Enamoured in your memories and the music you closed your eyes and just kept dancing through the room, all the stress of the day forgotten, completely missing the pair of green eyes looking at you as you did so.

Ignis just stood there in the frame of the door, admiring your every move. He couldn’t help but smile seeing you like this, just as cheerful and happy as you were on the night of the ball, where he met you for the first time. 

It was the night of the ball held in celebration for King Regis’s 45th birthday. Ignis wasn’t necessarily on duty that evening, but as adviser to the Crown Prince himself, he basically was on duty all the time, this evening was no exception. Noctis wasn’t really the type for parties and balls, thus he attended the ball only with reluctance and stood most of the time near the buffet, eating and trying to avoid other members of the court as best as he could. Ignis watched Noctis from a corner of the room, a sigh escaping him as Noctis spilled some Ulwaat berry juice on his dress robes, purple stains spreading on the white material very quickly. Ignis approached his charge with a slight frown on his face.

“Noct, perhaps it’s best if you went back to your quarters and got changed. It wouldn’t seem appropriate for the Crown Prince to walk around in stained dress robes, let alone on an occasion such as this one.”

“Um- yeah. You’re right, I guess.” Noctis agreed, though he seemed to be almost relieved to leave the room and Ignis couldn’t help but think that he spilled the juice on purpose. Noctis went towards the door, not looking back and avoiding as many looks as he possibly could. Ignis crossed his arms and looked after him, scanning the crowd. When Noctis left through the open doors Ignis let his gaze wander towards the other side of the room, scanning all the people who danced to the music played by the orchestra, one person standing out the most to him.

Ignis’s gaze lingered on you for what seemed like an eternity. You danced so gracefully with every one of your dance partners and with so much passion and joy, you made it look so effortless. He couldn’t help himself but to stare, the sudden need to have a dance with you just once growing with every second he watched you. When the current song came to an end, he collected himself and approached you with elegant strides, his eyes never leaving your figure. Just in time you turned around to see him approaching, looking directly in your eyes. When he finally stood right in front of you he gave you a brief but elegant bow before holding his hand out to you.

“May I have the honour of your next dance?” he asked smoothly, a small smile on his lips.

“Of- of course.” you stammered, feeling slightly flustered by his sudden approach, a small pool of excitement building up in your stomach. You put your hand into his and walked over to the dance floor with him where a few other couples already collected themselves in anticipation of the next song. You shyly looked up at Ignis and placed your right hand on his left shoulder while he put his left hand around your waist. You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks and looked down at your feet.

When the song, a waltz, finally started the two of you set into motion, the nervousness you felt before faded away when your heart took over, losing yourself completely in the music and the rhythm. You looked into Ignis’s eyes, those beautiful, beautiful eyes and started to smile. He looked back at you, admiration radiating from his gaze.

“A beautiful song, isn’t it?” you said after he twirled you around and caught you again in his arms.

“Indeed. This piece is called ‘The Starlit Waltz’ if I do remember correctly.” he responded and all you could do was smile.

While the song went on and the two of you danced together as if you never did anything else in your lives, you took in his features. His light-brown hair, which was elegantly styled back and framing his face, his jawline and his cheekbones, which seemed to be sculptured by the Astrals themselves, his full lips, which made you wonder how they would feel on your own, and his eyes, his beautiful and wonderful green eyes, which radiated a certain warmth and ingenuity that you weren’t likely to ever forget.

When the song slowly faded to its end, the two of you came to a halt and each of you made a courtly bow with the last note of the Starlit Waltz chiming through the hall. Afterwards you looked into each others’ eyes for a long time, forgetting the world around you, until a tall and muscular man with dark brown hair approached the two of you.

“Hey, Ignis, his royal highness needs your help with something. Apparently, the problem is ‘tying’ him up quite a bit, if you get what I’m saying.” the man said while pointing with his thumb somewhere behind him. Ignis gave the man a curt nod, immediately understanding what he meant but never breaking eye contact with you.

“My apologies, it seems I am needed elsewhere, but I’m certain it will not take too long before I return. Will I have the honour of another dance with you then?”

“It will be my honour.” you said with as much composure as you could muster and he gave you a warm smile in return. He took your hand into his and gently placed a chaste kiss above your knuckles, before disappearing with the other man in the crowd.

Now, while looking at you, he felt that same urge to dance with you again. When you twirled around once more he decided to step in. With one smooth and elegant motion, he took the dress out of your hands, throwing it back in the basket and getting in the right posture for the dance, taking your left hand and placing his left hand on your waist.

You immediately opened your eyes in surprise and looked into his eyes, a smile broadening on your lips as the two of you danced the same way as you did years ago.

“Good evening, darling, I hope you don’t mind me stealing you away from your previous… partner.” he let out a small chuckle as he looked back at the dress in the basket, before placing a small kiss on your cheek. You rolled your eyes at him and let out a small chuckle yourself.

“No, I think the dress doesn’t seem to mind, neither do I, as you are a far superior dance partner, anyway.” you retorted with a smug grin on your face. He then twirled you around, always in perfect rhythm with the song, and caught you back in his arms. When the song ended the two of you just stood there before melting into each others’ arms, embracing one another. You heard him letting out a small sigh.

“Long day, huh?” you asked.

“Yes.” he said while turning his head to face you. He took every of your features in, admiring every little detail, before losing himself in your eyes. He cupped your cheek with his right hand before placing a gentle kiss on your lips. When your lips parted he rested his forehead against yours and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“But I do believe the best part of it is about to start.” he smiled before kissing you again.

#sooooo #there you go #i hope you enjoyed this little piece #i do admit i planned on letting it end a bit more....saucy #but i'm not good at writing smut #still need some practice on that #ffxv #ffxv one shots #ffxv fan fiction #ignis scientia x reader #ignis x reader #ignis scientia #my work

[janeykath318]

How Lena McCoy’s Sabbatical Was Ruined 3

Lena McCoy drove off, satisfied with having put the brat in his place. She didn't have much patience with men these days, especially if they were the pretty type who hit on everything that moved. Fool me once, shame on you, Fool me twice, shame on me was her constantly repeated mantra since her ex had turned out to be a jerk.   As she parked in front of the Enterprise Cafe after checking in at the motel, she wondered how long it would take for the story to spread that the visitor had found Archer's dead body. They might view her with suspicion instead of the friendly welcome she had been used to.

  "Hello again, Doctor McCoy!" Called Gaila cheerily when she walked in. "Back so soon?" "Yeah," she smiled at the cheery waitress. "There's been a....complication with my nice, peaceful, vacation and I'm going to figure out a plan B over your fabulous coffee." "Oh, dear," Gaila sighed, looking worried. "It wasn't the water heater again, was it? Scotty's had to fix that thing for Jon more than once the last couple years." If only, thought Lena, trying not to cringe at the mental image of poor Archer dead flashed through her mind. "No, nothing like that," she managed. "I'll just find a quiet spot to hang out." "Okay, hon. I'll get your coffee in a jiffy." Gaila practically danced away, her red curls bouncing behind her.  Lena sighed as she sank into an inconspicuous booth in the corner. She wracked her brain over and over, trying to think of anything about Archer that had indicated he was worried or uneasy. All he'd said was "I'll be by this morning to do some maintenance work, should be done by the time you're back." She didn't know him well enough to be able to detect any deeply hidden anxieties not could she imagine the man having any enemies. Possibly it was someone from his military days? She was so deep in thought, she barely noticed Gaila delivering her coffee, nice and black like she wanted. No fancy, shmancy, sugar-laiden crap for her, thank you very much.   She felt her ruffled spirits begin to settle down as she sipped the strong brew. Scotty was the best, she thought. His peach pie was pretty good, too. The sandwiches though, were sublime. The turkey club was her favorite. Right now, her mind wasn't on food, though. As she pondered how long she'd be stuck here and wondered if Kirk knew what he was doing (seriously, he looked like he was fresh out of cop school), she was approached by a stranger. "Can I help you, ma'am?" She asked warily, hoping it wasn't a small town reporter wanting to grill her. The middle-aged blonde woman smiled in a friendly fashion, though stress clearly marked her face. Lena guessed she'd heard the news. "I'm sorry to intrude, Doctor," she spoke quietly, "I'm Winona and I work with the mayor at city hall. Mayor Pike would like to talk with you, if you have a moment. We're stunned about Jonathan and he'd like to make sure you're all right. I'm very sorry your visit was disturbed like this. It's normally a very peaceful town." Lena figured it was coming eventually. Jon's friend deserved to know what happened. "Sure, I'll talk to him, "she said carefully," but I probably can't tell you much without getting in trouble with the police." Winona relaxed and smiled a bit. "Don't worry about that. I'm retired from the force and I know people still there. We won't disturb the investigation."   Lena relaxed a bit. "Good. I don't need to give Detective Kirk any more reason to be annoying." She snarked, still aggravated at the man. Winona suddenly burst out laughing. There was something familiar about her when she laughed: the way her eyes crinkled at the edges with mirth and the near-snort noises that resulted. "You're not the first to say that", Winona said when she contained herself. "Jimmy has that effect on people. I love my son to pieces, but he's a little sh--brat sometimes." Lena chuckled at the way Winona corrected herself then suddenly flushed. She was talking to the detective's own mother. Good thing she hadn't used her own more.....descriptive language of her impressions of Jim. She was embarrassed enough as it was. "Jim's your son?", she squeaked out at last. "There I go, putting my giant foot in my mouth again." Winona waved her stammered apology away. "You're fine, Doctor. Jim tends to come on too strong, especially when he meets a pretty lady." "I gathered that much when he ogled me in the grocery store," Lena remarked dryly. "You want me to come with you now? I'm settled at the motel, so I guess I'm ready whenever the mayor is." "It's just a couple blocks down street," said Winona. "You can follow me. Chris is so upset about this, he's pretty much canceled every non-crucial appointment today." "Poor guy. Such an awful thing to happen." Lena stood up, left her payment on the counter and followed Winona Kirk out the door. A few minutes later, they entered a stately stone building in the heart of downtown Riverside. It had a elegant interior decorated with shades of brown and blue and plenty of leather chairs scattered about. Winona showed Lena to the office where a receptionist looked up as they entered. "Hi, Janice. Is the mayor available?" "He's meeting with Jim, but he told me to tell you feel free to interrupt." The blonde assistant relayed these instructions with a nod to the closed inner door. Winona nodded and boldly knocked on the door. "I've brought our guest, Mr. Mayor." Lena heard a muffled "come in, then" and a chair scooted backwards as if someone got up to go. They entered the room just as a tired-looking Kirk emerged. He acknowledged his mom briefly, but only said a distracted "hey, Bones" to Lena. Good, she thought, the boy had settled down to do his job. The mayor was sitting at his desk, a  nice-looking grey haired man in his fifties, she guessed. He stood up and held out a hand. "Doctor McCoy, thank you for coming. I'm sorry your vacation was disturbed like this." Lena shook his hand, feeling sympathy for the man whose world had just been rocked. "Not nearly as sorry as I am for your loss, Mr. Mayor. Jonathan was a very kind man." His face wrinkled in a weak smile. "Thank you. He was. We appreciate your cooperation in this. Officer Kirk says you've been very forthcoming with him and Officer Spock." "Well, I want to see the scum that did this brought to justice, sir," Lena said honestly. "And I plan on sticking around to help it happen."

#my fics #genderswap #mckirk #AU #fem! bones

[satorisa]

Lift the Veil - Chapter 4

Lift the Veil - Chapter 4: Sunday Morning

Rating: T

Summary: After living in Tokyo for the past six years, she decides to head back to Azumano to escape the big city. However, she now has to face everything that she tried to flee from all those years ago. How exactly will she fare when the pages of a long forgotten book start turning once more?

Read On: FanFiction.Net, Archive of Our Own

It’s two weeks! You know what that means? Update time! Have a chapter that I have somewhat mixed feelings about, but I still feel to some degree is relevant to the story. PREPARE FOR THE ANGST TRAIN NEXT UPDATE.

Sunday Morning

But things just get so crazy; living life gets hard to do.  

Several months after moving to Tokyo, during a fit of desperation to find an isolated place where I could think and escape from the energy of the big city. I stumbled upon a small cemetery hidden in the shade of a skyscraper. And every Sunday morning, instead of staying in bed or heading to church, I’d slip into an unappealing yet comfortable ensemble and navigate the dawn-colored concrete jungle to my place of respite.

Even though I had no reason to visit anyone there, I felt at home amidst all the graves. Back in Azumano, I dropped by the cemetery on Sunday afternoons to visit Grandma Rika or the enigmatic Rio Hikari, and I probably started to associate the calm my visitations brought with cemeteries. Odd, I knew, for a young woman to find solace in a place like this, but quaint cafés reminded me of simple yet meaningful rendezvous, and the Shinjuku Gyoen National Garden was forever tied to The Garden of Words, a movie hit too close for comfort.  

Sometimes, I’d bring a book with me (Sugaru Miaki’s works filled most of my memories shaded under the cherry tree. Although technically not of literary merit, I found his ideas fresh, and his prose relatable to a young adult struggling with her past). Other times, especially when no one was around, I’d talk to the grave au jour and carry on one-sided conversations that helped me cope during those stressful years.

With Biito-san, I’d talk to her about my newfound love for Japanese literature, and the excited stories I’d discovered printed on mere paper. Misaki-san kindly listened to my typical girl and college problems and, for those brief hours, I’d channel the Risa I left in Azumano. And lastly, whenever Kiryuu-san’s ghostly son wasn’t visiting, I’d talk to him about current events, cultivating the worldliness that sprouted from living in Tokyo.

However, once I graduated and started working at one of the many cram schools dotting the cramped streets of Tokyo, I no longer had the time or energy to head to the cemetery. My job, despite its good pay, had ridiculous hours catered to desperate students aiming for their dream schools. And once I started my internship at NHK, I had to say goodbye to whatever sliver of a life I had left. Whenever I miraculously had free time, I’d grab a couple of beers (Duvel, Stella Artois, or Belle Vue Kriekbier depending on my mood) and linger in the cemetery until closing time, downing energy drinks and miso soup from the corner store to slightly sober up before heading home. On most days, however, I barely had time to myself: I’d spend the whole day editing stories, leaving only a couple of hours for me to freshen up and sleep before starting my day all over again if I was lucky enough to even head home. There was always something to report somewhere, so I often found myself holed up in my cubicle either editing away or in meetings to help refine the stories and contribute to the broadcast’s schedule.

And, for whatever reason, I woke up one day at 3 AM with the grandest idea of abandoning my stressful lifestyle to head back to Azumano and re-open Pandora’s box. Honestly, I should’ve just transferred to Sapporo instead.

“Risa! Wake up!”

Retreating under my covers, I tried to block out Riku’s booming voice and the obnoxious sunlight filtering in through the opened blinds. Even though I loved mornings, I’d rather come to consciousness of my own accord instead of having someone else do it for me.

“We’re going out for Sunday brunch!”

I mumbled, hoping that she would get the hint and leave me alone. After treating myself to some well-deserved beers last night, I wanted to have a quiet day all to myself to wrap up my first weekend back in Azumano. Apparently, even that was too much to ask for.

“We’re leaving without you!”

Rolling around under the covers, I silently hoped that she would leave me alone soon. Once I left Azumano, I quickly abandoned my family’s Sunday tradition of going out for brunch. I liked to say that college simply ate up most of my time and, while that was mostly true, I just couldn’t bear to have my brunch end. Even something as menial as that became tainted.

Hearing a sigh of defeat and my door close, I popped out from under my sheets, irritated that I was too awake to easily fall back to sleep. Grabbing my phone, I checked the time and, after realizing that I was awake on a Sunday morning with absolutely no obligations, I jumped out of bed, deciding that it was a good day to go visit the cemetery.

After all, I hadn’t visited my grandmother since I’d left. She deserved my company after such a long absence.

The baristas took forever to prepare my latté macchiato, and I could see the bouquet I had just bought already wilting, but the negativity stirring inside faded away when I found myself at a delightfully empty cemetery. People usually visited throughout the day, so there was always someone around whenever I would visit the cemetery with Hiwatari after mass every week.

When I arrived at Grandma’s grave, with everything I needed in tow, I noticed that it was clean. My parents and Riku only visited during holidays, so I knew it couldn’t be them, but I didn’t want to entertain the possible identity of Grandma’s other visitor.

I started tidying up the grave, starting from the top and working my way down. I didn’t have to do much since it was practically spotless, so I finished off my quick work by sprinkling some water around her headstone. After replacing the dried flowers with new ones and lighting an incense stick, I clapped my hands and closed my eyes.

Hi, Grandma. I’m sorry that I haven’t visited in a while. Tokyo’s been keeping me. I paused. Rude of me, isn’t it?

The breeze blew by. Tokyo was…different. And difficult. It was a good break from Azumano, but there’s nothing like home, as they say, even if the sea air messes up my hair and makes me nauseated at times.

I sighed. College was…consuming, especially since I majored in both Japanese Literature and Journalism. I spent so much time fussing over grades and studying than hanging out with friends, but those years were memorable nonetheless. My independence taught me a lot of things about myself I wouldn’t have learned if I went to college with Riku and Daisuke and stayed close to home like I originally planned, so I’m kind of glad that I went despite it all.

Amongst the sea breeze, I could hear grass crunching underneath someone’s steps: another visitor arrived. Since I couldn’t get an internship at a news station when I graduated, I worked at a cram school which was terrible because the pay didn’t justify my ridiculous hours. After a year of that torture, I got an internship at NHK before they decided to hire me as a full-time editor. I barely got sleep and rarely went home, but at least I was productive.

And, knowing me and my inability to stay fixated on something for long, I decided that I had had enough of chasing my dream and moved back here. I love home, don’t get me wrong, but this wasn’t a wise choice, but I already followed through with this plan; I just have to deal with the consequences.

Opening my eyes, I looked at the incense. A good amount still needed to burn, so I sat by her grave and pulled out a book (Woman on the Other Shore by Mitsuyo Kakuta. I thought it was fitting for my return to the past), waiting for the incense to crumble to ashes before heading back home.

“Harada-san?”

Looking up from the book, I saw Hiwatari hovering above me, holding a bucket of water and a grocery bag with incense and flowers sticking out of it. He also had a messenger bag slung across his chest and, compared to his kempt image at work, donned a baggy grey sweater and wrinkled khakis. And his hair was a mess.

While I found this image of Hiwatari slightly amusing, I was more concerned with what he had in his hands.

“What…are you doing?” I cautiously asked, dog-earing my page before putting the book back in my bag and standing up.

“Visiting.”

“Someone you’ve never met?”

“It had become a habit after high school.”

I scowled at him, but he didn’t seem to notice as he set down the bucket and grocery bag. Since I had already cleaned it, he splashed some water around before adding his bouquet of baby breaths to my flowers and lighting some incense for her. He closed his eyes, sharing a conversation that only he and the Heavens were privy to.

“Thank you,” I grumbled. “For coming to see her so often.”

He only nodded since he wasn’t done talking to Grandma. When he finished, he shot me a careful smile. “Since I visit my mother quite often, I started to gravitate here as well after you left. There’s no need to thank me.”

I nodded, and an awkward silence filled the air. Even though I wanted to escape, Hiwatari’s recent incense addition would keep me here longer than I wanted to. My book would keep me good company, but I didn’t want to be around Hiwatari any more than I needed to.

“Have you dropped by my mother’s grave?”

I frowned, trying to word my reply in a way that didn’t seem scathingly rude. Although Hiwatari had done enough to warrant my attitude, Rio Hikari was innocent and didn’t deserve my wrath and disrespect. “No…I thought it would be weird for me to visit since I’m a stranger to her.”

“She’d appreciate the company.” Because you were the only one that would come and visit her besides me.

The unsaid context made me shiver. I didn’t want to face the cold truth of Rio Hikari’s practically non-existent legacy. The only other person who visited her besides Hiwatari was his adoptive father, but Mr. Kei magically disappeared when Kokuyoku was sealed away, and I only tagged along with Hiwatari back then because I didn’t want to spend my Sunday afternoons alone at home. Riku and Daisuke never came along since the couple would go off on a date after brunch. And despite the Niwa family’s loving acceptance of Hiwatari after Kei practically bailed, they would never visit his mother’s grave; they were still quite cold regarding matters involving the Hikari family.

Sighing, I grabbed a white rose from Grandma’s bouquet before heading towards the modest grave of Rio Hikari. Hiwatari followed suit, his hands in his pockets as he tried to focus on anything but me. I placed the single rose amongst the cluster of baby breaths, lighting some incense that Hiwatari gave me for her before clapping my hands together and closing my eyes.

Hi, Hikari-san. It’s…awkward speaking to you after everything. Six years later, and I’m still burdened by it. It’s kind of pathetic considering that you had the strength to endure your family’s burdens up until your death, but I’m still hurting from it. I took a deep breath, pursing my lips as I regretted my thoughts. Anyhow, it was nice talking you to again. I hope you’re doing well, and I’ll maybe visit sometime soon…

“Thank you.”

I turned to face Hiwatari, knowing full well the weight of his words when I saw his expression. I made a living by reading between the lines, and I hated how I could never take anything by its face-value.

“I’m going to check on the incense at Grandma’s grave. Goodbye.”

I hastily passed by him, heading back to Grandma’s grave and hoping that the incense was nearly burned out. The faint thrum of a headache vibrated through my head, and I knew that I had to get out of here to destress before things got ugly.

After for what seemed like forever and a half, I finally fled the cemetery and somehow found myself at Mizuame de Noisette. Walking inside, I smiled at the rustic interior and the light chatter, and I could feel my stress floating away.

The menu, hanging behind the cashier, had neatly scrawled chalk describing the French-named food with succinct description in Japanese. I couldn’t help but laugh at the outlandish names; had this been around back in high school, I would’ve already had a ball ordering the foods, childishly indulging myself as some French trendsetter.

I got a simple Mille Feuille and rose-accented earl grey and settled into a seat by the window before pulling out the novel I started earlier, plowing through it while mindlessly snacking away. Once I finished my book, the sun had already set, and the evening crowd started trickling in, enjoying the specialty cocktails they served at night.

I probably had dinner waiting for me when I returned home, but I didn’t want to go back. This was me escaping that cage, running away from everything home stood for to me in some form of half-assed rebellion coming several years too late, so I rushed back up to the cashier, swiping my phone quickly for an order of a lychee cocktail. Back in my seat, I waited for my drink to arrive before downing it and ordering another one. Eventually, after god knows how many drinks, someone started heading for my table to drop off the Cosmopolitan I ordered.

His long, blond hair had taken me aback. Not that I liked my men with long, blonde hair, but Azumano lacked Tokyo’s crazy fashion scene. Only after staring at him for a while longer did I realize that he looked oddly like Krad.

“Krad?"

He turned his attention towards me as he placed my drink on the table, and I couldn’t contain my gasp at his kind features. Even with the sharp edges of his face, I could see an uncanny gentleness almost reminiscent of Hiwatari.

“May I help you, ma’am?” he asked. His voice, something I remembered as booming and vindictive, seemed to hum like a car engine coming to life before a morning commute.

“What happened to Hiwatari?”

The question came out before I could fully comprehend its weight. There was no point in asking the demon that hated Hiwatari since birth and that, although vanquished all those years ago, probably still haunted him to this day.

In the innocent setting of the café and illuminated by the warm lighting above, his demonic features shone. His mouth curled into a snarl and those eyes, previously filled with innocent curiosity, radiated with malice. The tray he held dropped to the floor as his hand seized my neck.

I struggled, trying to pry him off, to no avail. None of the other café patrons seemed to notice, even as my drink plummeted to the ground, spilling and shattering in a grand display. He pushed my table and chair away, and they luckily landed in a vacant space with a loud clatter.

Pulling me up off the floor, he leaned in. I could feel his breath, heaving like a bull about to charge. “Why as a stupid question like that, girl?” His last word dripped with venom. “You know as well as I do that it was you. You happened to Hiwatari. You…”

I’d heard these words countless times before. This speech, in its entirety, bounced around my head during even the most menial of tasks back then. And, unfortunately, these were the only words that resounded through my head when everything fell through in that very moment. Even when it—

“Ma’am?”

A warm hand shook me awake, and I came to in front of a café noisette and what seemed like a bag of leftover bread.

“We’re closing now. Here’s some things to help you sober up. And don’t worry about the price; they’re on the house.”

“Thank you…” I mumbled, downing the drink even though I wasn’t fond of coffee. It was bitter, of course, but it had a nice finish. And it was a good wake-me-up.

“Do you need a ride home, ma’am?”

I got out of my seat and managed to walk around without stumbling. “No thanks,” I said, glad that I sobered up enough to not look like a pathetic drunkard after passing out. “I’m sorry for the trouble. Thank you for everything, and I hope you have a nice night.”

After stepping out of the café, I opened the bag of bread and started munching on whatever I fished out. I glanced at my watch, noting how late it was before returning to my basic mindset of eating while heading home.

“Harada-san!”

Despite hearing my name, I kept marching on as a buzzed woman with a one-track mind, determined to eat this delicious bread on her journey home. So much so that I didn’t care about the familiar mop of periwinkle approaching me.

“Harada-san!”

Even with the repeated yelling of my name, I continued to lackadaisically go my merry way, this time nibbling on what seemed like the top of a brioche bread bowl. Even though I was physically functional, my mental state was far from sober.

“Harada-san, do you know what time it is? Your family is worried about you.”

Had I been in my right state of mine, I would’ve told him that, as an adult, I did not need my family worrying about my whereabouts no matter the time before rushing back home before he could get another word in. However, since I was too busy wondering about the origins of the new piece of bread I had already eaten half of, I was too preoccupied to acknowledge Hiwatari’s presence or the fact that he, of all people, was looking for me.

Finding me unresponsive, he simply sighted, pulling out his phone to briefly call someone—Riku, I realized after returning to this memory without the effects of alcohol in my system—before sighing and accompanying me home in awkward silence. At my front door, my parents showered him with thanks before turning to me, puzzled at my odd expression and the sight of me munching on bread.

“Sorry it took so long,” he apologized, slightly bowing. Despite my intoxication, I noticed his labored breathing that he somehow hid. Not well enough apparently to go unnoticed by my drunken me, but I unfortunately had an eye for detail, even under the influence.

“No, it’s fine.” Both Riku and my parents bowed. “Thank you for going out of your way.” Once my parents stood up, glad that their wayward daughter returned safely, retreated to their bedroom. “Where did you find her?”

“Mizuame de Noisette, clearly intoxicated but somehow cognizant and conscious to some degree.”

“What? Why would she—”

“Sorry to interrupt, Riku, but it is late. And we do have work tomorrow.” With another shallow bow and a wave goodbye, Hiwatari left without a fuss.

Riku closed the door behind me, sighing as she led me to my room. “Getting drunk on a Sunday evening? Really? Are you still in college?”

“Nope, but this bread is really good.”

She sighed again. “I was worried that you’d do something stupid, especially after our talk a couple of nights ago. And you did, but what did I expect?”

“Why didn’t you just come and look for me?” I stared at her, eyes wide awake and alert.

She blinked, shocked at my sudden composure, as if my dopey attitude a couple of seconds was a mere façade. It wasn’t, of course, but the rage of Hiwatari finding me that vulnerable briefly overrode my overwhelming urge to wobble like a penguin and smile like a schmuck.

“I looked around earlier at some places closer to home since I didn’t want to leave Mom and Dad alone for too long. I called Dai to help, but it seemed like he had his hands tied, so I was left with calling Satoshi, who hung up the moment I said that you weren’t home.”

Sighing, I couldn’t stay angry at her. Our parents were growing old, and our mother was harder to handle with that sensitive heart of hers. Daisuke’s business couldn’t be helped since he had a rambunctious family and was the Azumano’s Museum of Fine Arts curator. However, Hiwatari’s immediate reaction to my disappearance unsettled me.

Deciding to move this conversation to more interesting grounds, I smirked with another piece of bread in my hands on a straight course to its slow and soggy death. “So, when are you and Daisuke getting married?”

#dnangel #satorisa #satoshi hiwatari #risa harada #lift the veil #my writing #fanfiction #i like this chapter #i feel like it adds some depth to risa's character #a lot of depth to risa's character #not really? #i dunno #i like the ending though #and unfortunately no saehara in this update #:( #but eh #have some krad? #and japanese culture update! #so they believe that energy drinks and miso help to curb a hangover there #ramen too! #but my mother swears that coffee helps #and bread or having carbs in general is good for sobering up #and uh...it's hard to describe japanese cemeteries so if you have any questions feel free to ask!